si vis amari, ama

At first, you thought it was just residual adrenaline. A bad trauma, the worst one you’ve had in a while. Then you caught sight of Jack again after the code, leaning against the supply closet door outside the room like he owned the ER. Like you didn’t just lose a little girl. Like what just happened was normal or inevitable. 

But it wasn’t just that…

Your chest felt tight. Not like in the poetic, sad way. In the real way. Like your lungs couldn’t quite inflate. Like every breath was getting caught halfway down.

You sucked in air through your nose, out through your mouth. In. Out. You’d coached patients through this before. You’d knelt beside stretchers and whispered them through panic, through pain, through the kind of fear that turned people into strangers. 

But now you couldn’t even talk yourself down.

What could you do right? 

Your fingers were tingling. Your vision was dark and swam at the edges. You tried to focus on the skyline, the blinking red tip of the UPMC tower. You tried grounding yourself—five things you could see, four you could touch—but your body was already moving without you. Too far ahead. Too loud.

You tried so hard. 

The air was so loud.

Everything was spinning and you couldn’t get a grip. Couldn’t stop the thoughts from tearing you up inside.

You’d done this before. You’d worked this shift before. You’d lived through worse than losing just one patient.

So why did it feel like you were dying?

Your knees buckled a little, and you dropped into a crouch beside the ledge after passing the railing, arms wrapping tight around yourself like you could hold your tired bones together if you just squeezed hard enough. Your face pressed against the sleeve of your undershirt as the tears came—not gently, not soft. 

Violent.

  Gut-wrenching. 

Shaking sobs that left your throat raw.

And still—your chest wouldn’t expand.

You felt stupid.

You felt weak.

You hated every bit of this.

You hated that you had come back. Hated how easy it had been to step into your old shoes, like no time had passed. Hated how Jack still looked at you like he knew you’d fall apart eventually.

And here you were.

Falling apart.

A sound—distant, metallic—rattled behind you. Maybe a door, maybe a car below, maybe just the wind playing tricks. But you didn’t turn.

You stayed curled up on the rooftop ledge, hidden from the light, hidden from the world, letting the worst of it bleed out of you into the dark August night.

You didn’t need help. You Couldn’t help. 

You just needed space.

Just five minutes to breathe again.

Just five minutes to stop pretending you were fine...

40 minutes earlier

They’d rushed Sophie into Trauma 1 just after 11:00 p.m.—John had been the one to call you in.

"She’s crashing," he’d said. "We need the whole team!"

Sophie. Three years old. Belly pain. Fever. You’d seen her plenty of times tonight, tucked her into her bed with a warm blanket and a quiet promise that she’d be okay. Telling her mother it was probably just appendicitis, and that the scans you were about to present her would tell you more. 

She wasn’t supposed to code.

You weren’t supposed to be losing her.

But by the time you got back to her bedside, she was blue around the lips, more so than she was when she arrived, and barely breathing. Her tiny body limp on the stretcher as two nurses started compressions. The rapid response team was already in motion. You jumped in without thinking—hands moving, voice steady even as the inside of your chest cracked open.

Epinephrine. Airway. Fluids. Chest compressions.

The clock ticked louder than the monitors.

You watched her flatline twice.

You noticed when Jack stepped into the room, silent at the edge of the chaos, watching as you, John, and the rest of the team worked in tandem. He didn’t say anything—just nodded once when the other attending looked to him.

Backup, or oversight. A cold sort of comfort.

Everyone tried for sixteen minutes.

And when Johen called time—23:28—you were the one holding the bag mask still pressed to her mouth, your normally steady hands trembling.

The room emptied quickly. Too quickly. You were left standing near her side, eyes locked on the stuffed bunny clutched in her arm, matted with sweat and betadine.

You didn’t realize how hard you were breathing until the ringing in your ears started. You stood frozen in the middle of Trauma One, the silence around you so sharp it felt like glass. The monitors were off now, the code cart was already wheeled out, and the team had cleared with a kind of practiced sorrow that only came from too many nights like this.

You were still staring at Sophie’s bunny, your fingers curled slightly like you didn’t know what to do with them now.

“Hey.” John’s voice came from your right, gentle, low—carefully measured like he knew how you felt. He wasn’t wearing gloves anymore, and his white sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, forearms still dusted with powdered latex and sweat. His dark eyes didn’t move past your face.

“I’ll talk to her mom,” he said, nodding slightly toward the hallway, toward the quiet room—where you knew Sophie’s mother had been waiting. “You don’t have to.”

You blinked. Swallowed. “No. No, I should—”

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “I’ll do it. I’ll… I’ll figure out what the hell happened here. Go upstairs or sit down or—I don’t care, just take a second. You don’t need to be a hero right now.”

You opened your mouth like you were going to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You were barely holding yourself upright.

“She liked you,” John added, softer this time. “That kid lit up every time you walked in the room, you didn’t deserve this either.”

That broke something. You let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but the stretcher.

John squeezed your arm briefly, then moved past you toward the door. “If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m kicking your ass out of here myself.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a lifeline.

John was good at giving you those.

You stood there a moment longer—just long enough to see the dark haired male disappear down the hall—and then you turned, heart pounding as you walked straight past Jack.

He was outside the trauma bay. Leaning against the far wall where one of the supply closets was, arms crossed. Not smug. Not distant either. Just watching you like he knew what was coming. Like he could see the unraveling starting at your seams.

And maybe he could.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say a word.

You just walked—through the ER, through the hospital, into the stairwell, and kept going until the weight of it all finally knocked you down.

Present

You curled further in on yourself, forehead pressing to your knees. Your scrubs were damp with sweat and tears, your fingers cramping from the way you’d been gripping your sleeves.

You couldn’t stop seeing her face.

Three years old, with curls stuck to her fevered forehead and those wide, scared eyes that had looked up at you for reassurance in place of her mother. You had given it to her. You had promised her she would be okay.

You lied.

And now a mom was down there somewhere without her baby. Sitting in a quiet room with the weight of the world collapsing on her chest. While you were up here—useless. Shaking. Sobbing. Falling apart because the truth was you didn’t know how to carry this anymore.

The night held a weight the day could never carry.

The door behind you creaked faintly again, metal on metal.

You flinched but didn’t turn around.

Heavy steps crossed the gravel-dusted rooftop. Slow. Sturdy. Hesitant.

And then silence. Whoever it was stopped a few feet back, giving you space. Maybe unsure of whether to come closer, or maybe just unwilling to intrude on a grief this loud.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

You knew who it was.

Of course it was Jack.

The silence stretched out between you, hanging there like the fog of your breath in the thick air. He didn’t speak. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t reach for you like someone who had the right to touch you. He just stood there, a steady presence on the periphery—anchoring you in a way that made you feel both seen and raw.

“I told her she’d be okay,” you croaked out eventually, voice wrecked and hoarse from the sobs. “She was scared, and I told them it was probably just appendicitis. I told her she’d be okay.”

Jack didn’t answer.

You finally looked over your shoulder. Just a glance. He was standing with his hands on his hips, his jaw clenched but not too tight, hazel eyes locked on you—not pitying. Not judging. Just… there, always there. Like gravity. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your breath hitched again, chest spasming.

“She died thinking I lied to her,” you whispered.

This time, he stepped a little closer, but still didn’t cross that invisible line. Just enough that you could feel the weight of him beside you, the way you used to feel it late at night, when the world was too quiet and his presence was the only thing loud enough to hold you together.

“She didn’t die because of you,” Jack said, his voice low and firm. “You did everything right.”

You shook your head, curling back in. “It wasn’t enough.”

“It’s never enough,” he said, after a beat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

The wind picked up slightly, brushing your damp baby hairs back from your face. You were still shaking. Still crying. But there was something about hearing his voice that made the panic in your chest loosen just a fraction.

Not gone. Not better.

But less alone.

And sometimes that was the best you could hope for.

You didn’t ask him to stay, you never have.

He just did.

Quietly. Unmoving.

Like he knew what it meant to come undone in the middle of the night, on the roof of a trauma center, where the only thing keeping you from breaking was the sound of another person breathing just a few feet away.

Like he remembered what your silence sounded like.

And knew exactly what it meant.

You don’t know how long you two sat there—sweat cooling, panic fading into exhaustion. The sobs came less frequently now, worn out by the force of them, replaced by tremors that wouldn’t stop no matter how tightly you hugged your knees.

Jack still hadn’t moved.

Eventually, you spoke again, voice cutting the silence.

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. The silence lingered for a beat longer than you could handle. And then:

“But you did.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice again—more than a whisper now. Real. Solid. Like you couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening.

He stepped closer again. Still not too close. Still giving you the space you needed. But near enough now that when you finally looked up again, you could see the shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. Not just shift tired, but something deeper. 

You wondered if he saw the same thing in you.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” he said. “Not like this.”

That got to you. You laughed, or something close to it—hollow and mean. “Not like this,” you repeated back, wiping under your eyes with the back of your hand, definitely smearing your mascara. “And what would be the right way, Jack? Crying in front of the woman who just lost her daughter? Losing it in front of everyone downstairs?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a frown. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you cut in. “I know what you meant.”

There was a thick pause between you. Then, quietly:

“This is the first time you’ve said anything to me in over a year.”

Jack’s shoulders tensed. You saw it. Just barely. But he didn’t deny it.

You didn’t mean to look at him like that—raw, vulnerable. It slipped out anyway.

And it was too much.

Too much to be near him like this. Too much to feel everything that had been packed away and ignored and buried beneath a year of silence and pretending you didn’t care. You couldn’t do this. Not now. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

“Don’t,” you said, voice cracking. “Please, Jack. Don’t do this now.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me,” you snapped, harsher than you meant to, the words burning in your throat. “Pretending like nothing happened. Like we can just—pick up right where we left off, like before we got together and pretend that we’re just friends.”

Jack didn’t flinch. But he didn’t look away, either.

“I’m not pretending nothing happened,” he said. His voice was lower now. Careful. “You know me better than that.”

“Do I? Because I distinctly remember you saying that I didn’t know you at all,” you whispered.

Silence again. And this time it was the kind that cut.

You stood up slowly, every muscle trembling from effort and exhaustion, your heart pounding again—not from panic now, but from the weight of his presence. The sound of his voice. His stupid face. That look in his eyes that still undid you.

Your arms wrapped around your middle like they might hold in the scream rising in your chest.

“I’m not ready for this.”

Jack nodded once. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” you said, voice higher, sharp with panic again. “I can’t do this. I can’t talk about us—not tonight. I can’t breathe, Jack. I can barely fucking think.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to.”

You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and turned away again, facing the skyline like it might ground you.

Your voice was smaller when you spoke again. “Why did you follow me up here?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Because I knew you’d come up here to suffer alone… and I didn’t want that for you.”

That almost ruined you.

Your throat clenched tight. Your jaw shook.

“I thought you didn’t care anymore,” you said, barely audible.

“I never stopped.”

The words hit you square in the chest. No warning. No soft lead-in. And suddenly it was all too loud again—the wind, your breathing, your thoughts, your past slamming into you like a freight train.

You dropped your face into your hands and shook your head violently. “Shut up! I can’t do this—”

Jack didn’t move closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

So you stood there, falling apart all over again—heart racing, chest squeezing, eyes burning—while the man who broke your heart watched it all happen in silence. Not asking for forgiveness. Not offering a fix.

Just staying.

Just standing there with you.

Because maybe that’s all either of you could give tonight.

“Hey,” Jack said, voice low. “Can we… maybe take a step back from the edge?”

You didn’t answer.

Your knees still felt like they might give out again, and your lungs were tight, your hands trembling from where you’d braced them on your thighs.

“I know you don’t want anyone to see you like this,” he added, softer now. “Least of all me.”

You blinked hard, staring at the roof gravel, the skyline blurring past the haze in your eyes. Jack exhaled, steadying himself, maybe steadying you. “You don’t have to say anything. But just—c’mon. Let’s step back a little, yeah?”

You were quiet for a few seconds too long, until he took a half-step closer and offered his hand—not reaching, not pushing. Just there.

“Can’t have you doing your best Batman impression up here,” he murmured. “You’re way too tired for vigilante hours.”

It was a weak joke, but it landed gently. Your breath hitched in something that could’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“You’re not funny,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Never claimed to be,” Jack said, just as quiet.

You finally took his hand.

His grip was warm. Solid. Familiar in the way that made your chest hurt even more.

He helped you to your feet slowly, like he remembered how your body locked up when you were overwhelmed. Like he still knew you, even after all this time.

Once upright, you swayed slightly, and he didn’t let go. Just stayed steady beside you, his hand still loosely curled around yours, like if he let go too quickly, you might fall apart again.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, trying not to look at him.

“I know.”

You swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Probably not,” Jack said gently. “But I am.”

Silence fell again, thick and full of everything neither of you were ready to say.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you finally admitted, the words leaving you brittle.

“I know,” he repeated.

You stared out at the city, your chest aching, your eyes hot. Jack stood close—close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough not to crowd you.

“Do you wanna sit down again, now that we know you’re not going to hurl yourself off the roof?” he asked. “Or do you wanna go back down?”

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. Everything was too much right now. But the one thing you knew was that you didn’t want to be alone, even if that meant your company was Jack.

Not right now.

So you nodded, to what you don’t exactly know.

And Jack didn’t say anything else.

He just stayed. Right there with you, in the quiet. Not fixing it. Not filling the silence. 

Just staying.

Something you didn’t know he could do. 

Eventually your breathing slowed, falling in pace with Jack's own. The sniffles still continued, accompanied by a few quick, short breaths. The stutter in your chest did nothing to dull the overall ache, but for the time being, it was enough to just sit in silence.

You glanced over at him. He was sitting forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the floor like it held all the answers he didn’t have. The overhead light cast soft shadows over his face, catching the curve of his cheekbone, the dip in his brow. His salt-and-pepper curls were disheveled, pushed back like he’d run his hands through them too many times tonight. The freckles lined across his nose and cheeks were more noticeable under stars tonight, like faint constellations on skin gone pale with stress.

His hazel eyes were tired now, or maybe they always were and you never took the time to notice. Dull around the edges, just like your own. There was a tremble in his jaw, not quite a twitch, more like tension he hadn’t figured out how to let go of. A few days’ worth of stubble darkened his face, and beneath it all, his muscles tensed beneath his scrubs like he was bracing for impact from you that never came.

The two of you hadn’t said much. Just sat there, breathing beside one another like the old days, holding silence like it was the only thing keeping you two upright. But you didn’t need words. Not when the grief was so visible on him—etched in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his thumb moved absently against the seam of his pants, like he needed to do something with his hands or else fall apart.

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. Not because you were alone in this—but because you weren’t.

Because he looked just as wrecked as you felt right now.

Not the patient’s.

Not the trauma tech’s.

Jack.

You didn’t have to look to know. You felt him staring from outside the bay, the way you might feel the press of gravity—unseen, constant, and inescapable.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood a few feet back with Bridget, quietly observing, watching the flow of care, the choices you made.

The night charge nurse muttered something to him that you couldn’t hear due to the glass wall, and Jack gave the smallest shake of his head, like he didn’t want to respond. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable as always.

Still watching.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes.

The trauma stabilized after twenty minutes. The patient was wheeled off to CT, and the room cleared little by little until it was just you, John, and the dull thrum of adrenaline still in your veins.

You peeled off your gloves, tossing them in the bin, and took a breath like it was the first one you’d had in hours.

Shen passed you a clean towel to wipe the blood off your forearm. “He doesn’t usually look at anyone like that.”

You gave a short laugh through your nose. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” Shen said plainly. “Just seems worth saying, it’s good to have you back by the way.”

You glanced toward the glass of the trauma bay door where Jack had been. He was gone now. Only a few nurses and other doctors lingered, all working in their own right.

You sighed. “We should check on a few of the other patients before we get his CT results back.”

“After you, Doctor.”

You walked out without another glancing back at the taller man. 

Jack could watch all he wanted. No matter how much his gaze irritated you. 

You still had a job to do.

By the time you and Shen stepped out of the trauma bay, the adrenaline had faded just enough to leave a dull ache behind your eyes. But there was no time to linger. A new patient was already being wheeled into one of the rooms down the hall—chest pain, late 60s, borderline hypotensive. Shen caught the update first and gave a subtle nod toward the room. You followed him in once again, slipping a fresh pair of gloves on before even reading the chart.

The next stretch of time blurred together. You moved on autopilot—talking the patient through the process, charting on the fly, handing off labs, adjusting meds. Nothing dramatic, nothing flashy. Just work. Always work. The kind of work that kept people breathing and the ER from falling apart.

Somewhere in the middle of getting an EKG printed and ordering cardiac enzymes, you felt it again—that flicker of attention.

You didn’t stop to look this time.

You just kept moving. Talked to the patient’s wife. Wrote orders. Laughed at a joke she cracked. The rhythm of the shift slowly took back over, and with every task completed, you felt your body sink deeper into the comfort of control. Of knowing your purpose here.

Eventually, John peeled off to check on labs, and you were left alone in the room, pressing gently over the patient’s ribs to check for pain.

Outside the curtain, you could hear footsteps, voices, someone wheeling past a portable monitor. The usual. Background noise.

You finished your note. You patted the patient’s arm and reassured him gently before stepping back into the corridor. Another nurse passed you, calling your name for help in a room two doors down. You responded before your brain even fully caught up.

It unnerved you how quickly you fell back into the rhythm of things. This was supposed to be hard. You were supposed to feel out of place, off-balance, like you’d forgotten how to do this.

But instead, your body remembered before your mind even caught up—hands steady, words automatic, instincts still razor sharp, just like in the mornings. It felt wrong, almost, how easy coming back had been coming back to night shift.

Sure, talking to Jack—if you could call that awkward two-minute exchange "talking"—had been unsettling to say the least. A quiet minefield of tension layered under clinical indifference. But even that felt dulled, like a memory half-erased by time and stubbornness.

And he was everywhere. Or it felt like he was.

Just about every corner, every hallway, every half-glance through glass. Sometimes you’d turn and see his back as he walked away. Other times, it was just the edge of his voice, deep and clipped as he spoke to someone at the nurses’ station or barked out a med order mid-resus.

Whatever this was, it was different.

The air between you wasn’t angry anymore—thick with unsaid things and grief-shaped silence sure. But it wasn’t neutral, either. There was still something there. Sharp. 

Unresolved.

You weren’t sure what unnerved you more: the weight of that... or how much of it you were starting to ignore just to get through the shift.

You checked your watch. A little after 10:30pm

Still more than half the night to go.

Shen passed you in the hallway, handing off a chart without missing a beat. “They’re dumping another one on us. Room 12. You want it, or should I?”

You took the clipboard. “I’ve got it.”

Because work—this work—was the only thing that made sense right now.

And until the rest of it caught up, you’d keep your head down and your hands busy.

Room 12 was dim when you walked in, lights low and the gentle whir of the wall-mounted fan humming in the background. The mother looked up the moment you entered, eyes wide with worry and fatigue. She was holding her daughter close against her chest, rocking slightly in the stiff-backed chair beside the bed.

“Hi there, you must be mom.” you said gently before introducing yourself, offering a quick, reassuring smile as you stepped into the bay and pulled on gloves. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

The mother adjusted the child in her arms slightly. “Sophie. She’s three.”

You nodded, crouching a little to get to eye level. “Hi Sophie,” you said softly, watching for any signs of alertness. The girl was flushed, her eyes glassy and barely tracking movement. Her skin was warm and a bit damp under the harsh fluorescent light. You reached for your penlight. “Can I take a quick look, sweetheart?”

Sophie didn’t flinch when the light passed over her pupils.

Not good.

You straightened, exchanging a glance with the mother. “You said she’s been like this all day?”

The woman nodded quickly, voice low and frantic. “Started last night with a little cough. But this morning she felt warm. I gave her Tylenol but the fever never broke. And she’s barely said anything all day—she just… sleeps. She never sleeps like this. She hasn’t eaten either, and she feels so hot, like… like she’s burning up.”

You placed a hand on the girl’s forehead, confirming the fever. Her breathing was shallow and slightly rapid, her lips tinged just the faintest bit blue at the edges.

“I’m going to have a nurse come in and start a line,” you told the mom, keeping your voice calm. “We’re going to draw some labs, give her some fluids, and get her fever under control while we run some tests. Right now, she’s dehydrated and that’s making things worse, but we’re going to help her, okay?”

The mother nodded quickly, trying to keep her composure. “Is it serious?”

“It’s something we’ll need to work on, fast” you said carefully. “It’s good that you brought he rin, we’re gonna do everything we can to get her better.”

You stepped outside just long enough to flag down a nurse for an urgent line and stat labs. When you turned back to the door, Jack was standing just a few feet away.

He hadn’t been there when you walked out.

He must’ve caught part of the conversation. His expression was unreadable again, jaw tight, eyes scanning the chart in his hand. But when his gaze shifted to you, there was something softer—flickering behind the steely gaze.

You raised a brow. “Do you need something, Dr. Abbot?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I saw the chart. Thought I might lend a hand,”

You nodded slowly, measured. “I’ll let you know. I’ve got it under control for now, I don’t need another babysitter.”

“Okay,” he said, but didn’t move. Just kept looking at you like there was more he wanted to say, like maybe now wasn’t the time but he was teetering on the edge of it anyway.

Before the silence could stretch too long, Shen called down the hall, “Chest pain guy’s CT is back. You want to go over it?”

You turned your head. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec.”

When you looked back, Jack was already turning away.

Just like that. Never staying for long.

You exhaled slowly, bracing a hand against the wall for a second before heading down the hall to join Shen.

Still more than six hours left in the shift. And Jack, it seemed, wasn’t going to stop hovering.

But like you’d told yourself before: you had a job to do.

And right now, a sick little girl needed you more than Jack Abbot ever did. 

When you found John he was already scrolling through the chest CT on the monitor in the corner of the nurse’s station, one hand braced against the desk, the other holding a protein bar he’d clearly forgotten to eat.

“Find anything?” you asked, stepping up beside him.

“Yeah,” he said, offering you the screen. “Pulmonary contusion, maybe a small hemothorax, but no major vascular injury. Could’ve been worse.”

You leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the slices. “Agreed. We’ll keep an eye on that left side, but he should stabilize once the fluids catch up.”

John let out a low hum of agreement before tossing the unopened protein bar on the desk. “You know,” he said casually, “he was still standing there when I passed 12. Jack.”

You didn’t look at him. “And?”

“And,” Shen drawled, “for a guy who allegedly has nothing to say to you, he sure loiters a lot. Stares like he's waiting for a sign from God or some shit.”

You sighed and picked up the patient chart from the desk, flipping it open. “He’s probably just worried about the cases I’m on.”

“Uh-huh,” Shen said with the flat sarcasm of someone who’d known you too long to buy it. “I’ve worked here five years and have never seen that man ‘worried about a case’ unless the patient was coding or throwing punches.”

Before you could formulate a retort, Ellis strolled up with two cups of coffee and her usual too-smooth grin.

“I swear, the tension in this hallway could cure my caffeine addiction,” she said, passing you one of the coffees and raising his eyebrows. “Jack still hovering like a ghost of failed relationships past?”

You took the coffee, despite yourself. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Good, because I’m not asking,” Ellis said cheerfully, leaning against the counter beside Shen. “Just observing. Man’s walking around like someone stole all 50 of his extra 11-blades”

“He’s not my problem,” you muttered, trying to refocus on the chart in your hands.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Shen said under his breath.

Ellis sipped her coffee, watching you with that infuriating glint of amusement in her brown eyes. “Look, all I’m saying is—if someone stared at me like that across the ER, I’d either call security or ask for a second chance. No in-between.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, luckily I’m not you.”

“Tragic,” Ellis said. “If I were you, I would’ve at least milked it for the dramatic post-breakup sex. The kind that ends in a storage closet and a sexual harassment seminar.”

“Jesus,” Shen muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can we not?”

You smirked in spite of yourself, sipping the coffee. “Thank you, John! Someone has to have dignity in this conversation.”

Ellis held up both hands. “No shame here. Just saying—Jack’s hovering. You’re pretending not to care. Everyone in this department has bets on when it boils over.”

Your brows lifted. “Bets?”

“Oh yeah,” Ellis said, grinning like the devil. “Carmen’s got twenty bucks on you two making out in the ambulance bay before the week’s over.”

Shen gave you a sideways glance. “I’ve got my money on a shouting match in the stairwell.”

You stared at both of them, exasperated. “You guys are unbelievable.”

“And you’re still in denial,” Ellis said with a shrug.

You opened your mouth to respond—something sharp, something definitive—but the sound of a trauma alert overhead cut in. “This is not over!”

Shen stood up straighter immediately. “Guess we’re up.”

You shoved the chart into the bin and tossed back the rest of the coffee. “Let’s go.”

As the three of you moved down the hall toward the trauma bay, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder—just for a second.

Jack wasn’t there.

But you felt the pull anyway.

Damn him.

And damn the two of them for noticing!

The trauma bay cleared once again. Another wave handled, another body stabilized, another set of orders scribbled into the chart before you’d even caught your breath. Shen had peeled off to update the surgical team, Ellis had disappeared somewhere with a fresh coffee, and you found yourself moving on autopilot—again.

It wasn’t until you were halfway back to Room 12 that the rest of the hospital seemed to catch up with you—fluorescents buzzing too loud, your shoulders stiff from tension you hadn’t noticed until now.

Inside, the lights were dimmed slightly. Sophie was curled on her mother’s lap, cheeks flushed and damp with sweat, a cartoon playing quietly on her mother’s phone. Her mom looked up the moment you stepped in, her expression tight with worry and exhaustion.

“Sorry for the wait,” you said gently, slipping into the room and checking the monitors first. “We had a critical case come in. I appreciate you guys being patient.”

“No problem,” the mother said immediately, voice hushed but strained. “I just… she’s still so hot. And she keeps saying her tummy hurts.”

You gave a small nod, already reaching for a fresh pair of gloves. “I saw her labs just came back. Fever’s still running high—102.6—but her white count is elevated, which helps point us in the right direction.”

You knelt beside them, giving the girl another soft smile. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m your Doctor, do you remember me from earlier?”

She gave a sluggish nod, her fingers still clinging to the edge of her mom’s sweater.

“You’re being really brave,” you said, your voice low and reassuring. “Can I check your belly again? I promise I’ll be quick.”

Her mom smoothed her daughter’s hair back. “You’re okay, baby. Just like before.”

The little girl gave a small nod, and you began your exam—gentle, methodical. Her belly was tender in the lower right quadrant, and when you applied the slightest pressure, she winced and whimpered.

You exchanged a quiet look with her mom, who paled immediately.

“I think it might be appendicitis,” you said softly. “We’ll confirm with imaging, but her symptoms and labs are pointing in that direction.”

Her mother’s hand went to her mouth, tears immediately brimming. “Is she going to need surgery?”

“Most likely, yes,” you said, keeping your voice even and calm. “But the good news is we caught it early, and this hospital’s surgical team is excellent. She’s going to be okay. I’ll put in the order for an abdominal ultrasound now, and we’ll get pain control started in the meantime.”

“Okay,” the mom whispered, nodding quickly and wiping her eyes.

You gave the little girl a small pat on the arm. “We’re going to take good care of you, okay?”

As you stood and made your way to the computer, you heard the curtain rustle behind you.

John stuck his head in, you wonder if he knew he was hovering too. “Hey. Imaging is backlogged, but I flagged your order. They’ll prioritize her next.”

You gave a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

He stepped in a little more, glancing at the chart on the screen. “She gonna need surgery?”

“Looks that way.”

He exhaled, then murmured under his breath, “Hell of a first night back.”

You smirked without humor. “You’re telling me.”

John tilted his head slightly, voice dropping just enough. “You doing okay, Kid?”

You glanced back at the mom holding her daughter, still whispering soft reassurances as the girl finally drifted into a medicated sleep.

Then you looked at Shen. “Yeah.. I’m uh– I’m fine.”

He clealry didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way one of his dark brows lifted, and the way his mouth twitched like he wanted to say something else but decided against it.

You saved the orders and clicked out of the chart. “Let me know when they call for her scan.”

Shen gave a nod and turned to leave, but paused just before stepping out.

“Oh, and Ellis says the betting pool just doubled.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Shen shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger. But for the record—I still think stairwell.”

Then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone again in the dim room with the gentle beep of the monitor and the steady breathing of a sleeping child.

You shook your head and looked down at your watch.

Still a handful of hours to go.

And Jack hadn’t even cornered you yet.

Not that you were waiting for it.

Not that you were thinking about it.

Mentally, you were already triaging yourself. Discomfort: chronic. Heart rate: elevated. Emotional reserves: low. 

You weren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or dread or both, but you swallowed them down with some more of your latte and pushed open the glass door.

PTMC’s entrance was quieter at this hour—day shift winding down, night shift still dragging their feet. You scanned your badge at the side entrance, the little green light blinking you in with an almost welcome.

The elevator ride down to the first floor felt like purgatory. Too short to fully breathe, too long to avoid thinking. The lounges were dim, a few night shifters already tucked in their corners, half-dressed in layers, sipping burnt coffee from the provided mismatched mugs.

You tossed your bag into your usual locker, the motion automatic. Your hands moved without you—pulling on your issued quarter-zip over your black scrubs, clipping on your badge, repositioning your pen light.

Parker leaned back against the wall next to your locker, having put her own stuff away, “Wow. Look who’s back.”

You gave her a dry look. “Miss me that much?”

“Like a hole in the head,” she grinned. “But you’re prettier.”

“Flatter me some more and I might actually stay.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and glanced at her watch. “We’re already one down. Tony called out too. So you’re jumping right in, and Abbot’s making Shen take triage.”

Of course he was.

You turned toward the clock on the wall. 6:59 p.m.

One more minute of quiet before it officially began.

You took a breath, steady and sharp, and told yourself: You’ve done this before. You can do it again. You do it every day.

Even if the ghosts of your past were waiting behind every curtain and trauma room door.

The board hadn’t changed much since yesterday.

You approached the nurse’s station slowly, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets as if that could somehow brace you against the rest of the night.

Little comforts, right?

Robby stood behind one of the desks, one hand balancing a coffee cup, the other flipping through a chart like it would suddenly change information. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Which probably meant he hadn’t.

“You’re early,” he said, not looking up.

“Hard to be late when you’re actively dreading it,” you replied, leaning a hip against the counter.

That got a tired huff out of him. “Still on that oat milk battery acid?”

“Still drinking it. Which says more about me than I’d like.”

He finally glanced up, brown eyes scanning you. There wasn’t judgment there—just something like quiet concern wrapped in too much familiarity.

“I want you with Shen tonight. Bay two is your guys when we get hit. Ellis and Abbot are taking one if multiple roll in.” He tapped the Ipad. “We’ve got two holdovers from earlier—MVA and a dumbass who fell off a roof trying to do some TikTok thing.”

You raised a brow. “Humanity’s finest.”

“I’ll walk you through them. Come on.”

You followed Michael around the desk and into the curtained bays. He talked through the cases, voice low and even. You nodded, asked a few important questions, scribbled notes on your pad like you weren’t here sometime yesterday. 

It should’ve been fine. It almost felt fine.

Until you glanced up—out of habit really—and saw him.

Jack.

He stood down the hall by north-six, his posture all sharp lines and quiet command, chart in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize. Gray quarter-zip pushed up to his elbows, scrub pants tucked into his usual work boots. Like nothing had changed.

Like a year ago hadn’t happened.

The sound around you dulled, just for a second. Your breath caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between memory and muscle. He didn’t see you—not yet—but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

It was like seeing a ghost. 

Only worse. 

Ghosts didn’t get to keep existing without you. 

“You good, kid?” Robby’s voice pulled you back, grounding and aware of who you were staring at.

You blinked, tore your gaze away. “Yeah. Yeah, just tired.”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “You sure?”

You nodded once. “I’ll live.”

Robby didn’t press you. He never did when it really counted.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s check on TikTok guy before he tries parkour off the bed.”

You followed him, one foot in front of the other.

But your pulse still beat loud in your ears.

And down the hall, Jack was still there.

Still himself. Still okay without you.

Jack leaned against the counter with a pen between his fingers, chart open but untouched. He wasn’t really reading it—hadn’t been for the last three minutes, not since he saw you walk in.

Across the floor, you were already helping an older woman with her oxygen cannula, crouched just enough to meet her tired eyes. Ellis stood beside you, chart in hand, but it was clear you were leading the interaction. Calm. Steady. Kind in a way that never felt performative.

“She’s good, all settled for the night.” Robby said, walking up beside his fellow attending.

Jack didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Robby took a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving you. “Go easy on her tonight,”

That made Jack glance sideways, jaw tight. “You planning to lecture me?”

“Nope,” Robby said, popping the “p” casually. “Just reminding you of who she is,”

Jack exhaled through his nose, short and humorless. “Not your business.”

“Unfortunately,” Robby said, tapping his badge against his chest, “everyone’s business becomes mine eventually.”

Jack said nothing.

Robby watched you laugh at something Parker muttered, hand briefly brushing the patient’s arm in reassurance before you stood to check the monitor beside the bed. You looked lighter on your feet now—different than a year ago—but there was still something careful in the way you carried yourself. Like you were always bracing for an unknown impact.

“Don’t know how ready she is for this,” Robby said, softer this time. “But she didn’t miss a beat.”

Jack’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She’s good at compartmentalizing.”

Robby turned to look at him fully. “No. She just has no choice.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that settles between men who know there’s so much more to the conversation but choose, for now, to let it lie.

You were walking back toward the station now, tapping notes into the tablet cradled in your arm, focused and steady. The same soft ponytail. The same familiar way you chewed the inside of your cheek when you were thinking.

The same you—and yet entirely changed.

Robby nudged Jack with his elbow. “Don’t be weird tonight, alright?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Robby smirked. “I’m serious. Don’t screw up my best third year again,”

Then he pushed off the counter, dropped his empty coffee cup into the trash, and started down the hall. “Text me if the ER catches fire,” he called over his shoulder. “Otherwise, I’m pretending I’ve earned a full night’s sleep.”

Jack stayed where he was.

And when you passed him a moment later—eyes straight ahead, posture composed, not even a flicker of acknowledgement—he felt the space between you like an open gaping wound.

A quiet, barley-hidden one.

But it bled all the same.

The first few hours of your shift passed in a blur of motion—nothing dramatic, just the usual chaos that brewed under fluorescent lights and the buzz of cardiac monitors.

John had been decent company as always. Never quiet, but sharp. Efficient and funny was his personal motto. You handled the procedural tasks while he managed some of the floor, the two of you slipping into a rhythm that felt vaguely comforting.

Just like riding a bike.

By the time 9 p.m. rolled around, the ER had cooled just enough to breathe.

You stood at the nurses’ station once again, flipping through an empty triage packet when Shen handed you a fresh set of vitals.

“Room four’s post-fall. Nothing major—glucose crash and a bruised ego.”

You gave a tired smile. “Copy that.”

“Want me to take it?”

“Nah, I’ll knock it out.” You glanced at the clock again. “Might refill my water first though.”

He just nodded and wandered off, already charting something else. You made your way to the break room, tugging on your badge as you continued on your short adventure. The soft click of the latch gave way to the familiar quiet—a rare, sacred kind of silence in a place like this.

Inside the breakroom, the hum of the old refrigerator and the ticking wall clock were the only sounds.

You leaned against the counter for a second, letting your shoulders drop. The muscles in your neck ached from standing too stiffly. Your back protested in all the usual places. You grabbed your bottle, placing it under the watercooler tab for a few seconds, before taking a drink without looking up.

The door opened.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Something in your body went still—recognition without welcome. You focused on the water tumbler in your hand.

Jack stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, he worked here too for christ's sake. His steps paused briefly when he saw you, but he didn’t speak. Just moved to the counter next to you and pulled open the top drawer where the extra coffee pods were always stashed.

You watched the bottle twist around in your fingers. “You’re still drinking the hazelnut ones?”

His hand stilled on the drawer handle. “Yeah.”

You didn’t say anything else. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick but not hostile—just full. Like everything neither of you said since your last encounter had gathered into the empty air around you.

Jack moved slowly, methodically—cup under the Keurig, pod locked in, button pressed. The smell of cheap coffee started to rise.

“You look tired,” he said finally, voice low and even.

You let out a quiet breath. “You still open with that line?”

“Only when it’s true.”

You glanced at him then—just for a second. His hair was a little shorter than you remembered. He hadn’t grown back the stubble he used to keep, jaw freshly shaven like he was trying to keep everything clean and simple.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re here,” you raised an eyebrow, “Plus John and Parker, even if we’re down a few people you three can hold down the fort.”

You hummed an affirmative. “Robby seem to think we’re the dream team.”

That earned the smallest twitch of a smirk. “He’s getting delusional in his old age.”

You didn’t dare tell him he was getting old too.

Jack took his cup and leaned back against the counter, a few feet from where you stood. The room felt smaller now, like the walls had pushed everything a step closer.

Neither of you looked directly at the other.

“You doing okay?” he asked quietly, like it was an afterthought. Like he already knew the answer.

You took another drink of your water. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jack didn’t push.

He just stood there for a moment longer, sipping his coffee like it wasn’t burning his tongue. And then, with a soft nod and no goodbye, he pushed off the counter and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you were left with the silence again.

Less emotional. Less hopeful. Less you.

But that was the thing. You couldn’t cut pieces of yourself away to fit someone else’s mold, and you certainly wouldn’t let a man decide your future.

Not anymore.

So today, you’d shower. You’d go to work. You’d try. 

And maybe that would be enough—for now.

The water shut off with a hollow clunk, leaving only the faint drip-drip-drip of the showerhead and the quiet hum of the city beyond the window. You stood there for a moment, still, watching steam curl against the glass like ghosts with nowhere else to go.

You wrapped yourself in a towel, not really feeling the softness. Everything felt a little muted lately. The air. The light. Even your own skin.

The floor creaked under your weight as you padded back to the bedroom, steam following you like a shroud. Your clothes were piled neatly at the edge of the bed—scrubs folded from the night before, socks tucked into shoes, everything ready. Like muscle memory. Like obligation.

You dressed in silence. No music. No news. No sound beyond the shuffle of fabric and the occasional hum of traffic from the street below. You caught your reflection in the mirror and looked just long enough to recognize yourself, then turned away.

Hair pulled back. Badge clipped. Phone in your pocket.

The apartment was still dark, even though it was morning. You hadn’t opened the blinds in weeks. The plants by the windowsill were starting to lean, thirsty for a little attention, but you didn’t have it in you.

Coffee wasn’t worth the effort today. You’d grab something on the way.

Your keys were where you always left them, hanging off the chipped hook by the door. One last glance around—not because you’d forgotten anything, but because it felt like you should.

Then the door clicked shut behind you.

Another day. Just like the last.

And the one before that.

The minute you locked the door, your phone rang. It wasn’t unusual, but you didn’t talk to a lot of people nowadays.

Keys still in your hand, you pulled your phone from your pocket, thumb already halfway to the green button when you saw the name.

 Robby.

A sigh slipped out before you could stop it, soft and tired. You stared at it for a second, jaw tightening.

“Morning,” you muttered, voice flat.

“Hey, kid,” came Robby’s too-cheerful voice for this time of morning, clearly laced with guilt and caffeine. “Sorry to do this so last minute, but I need you back on night shift for a few days at minimun.”

You stopped walking.

“You’re kidding me, days?” you asked.

“I wish I was, it might be longer. Martinez’s kid came down with something—he’s out for at least the weekend. I need someone solid, and I can’t send Collins or Langdon…”

You leaned against the brick wall of the stairwell, closing your eyes. “So you thought, ‘Hm, who do I know that has just started getting her life together again? Oh, me! Perfect.’”

“I thought, ‘Who’s my favorite human being that I know won’t let me drown?’” he replied.

You snorted. “Flattery’s cheap, Michael.”

“Not flattery if it’s true.”

A beat passed between you.

“You know how nights are, with me” you said more quietly, tone low. “You know why.”

He exhaled slowly on the other end. “I do.”

“And you’re still calling me?”

“I wouldn’t if I had anyone else I trusted to hold the place down.” Another pause. “I’d owe you. Big.”

You looked down at your keys, still clenched in your fist. The street beyond the stairwell buzzed to life around you. You could already feel the lost sleep crawling back over your shoulders.

“You always owe me big,” you muttered.

“That’s because you keep saving my ass,” he said, like it was simple. “But hey, you’ll be working with Shen and Ellis tonight! Night shift dream team.”

“Dream team my ass,” you said, but there was no heat behind it. “You just miss having someone who keeps them in check when all the crazys come in after 3 a.m.”

“Guilty,” he said. “So you in?”

You hesitated, but you already knew the answer.

“Yeah, I’m in.”

“Atta girl. Get some more sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

You ended the call and just stood there for a second, staring down at the pavement.

It was supposed to be a new chapter. A clean slate. Instead, you were flipping back to the pages you'd barely survived the first time.