AJ

“you look really fine,” dr. abbot says with a scoff, shaking his head, but not pressing further. you liked that about him. he was firm, but he knew when to back off and let you be.

but it’s only hours into your shift when it all changes– a rowdy patient. confused. you didn’t even have time to diagnose him before he went for the gun at his waist and blindly fired it, right at you. right into your arm, the bullet lodging within your muscle.

everything faded into a blur after that. the commotion. the pounding sound in your ears. you think you must have purposefully pushed it down. but you woke up slowly, with a wrapped arm, laying in an icu bed. with jack abbot in the seat beside you, his head hung, fingers laced in his lap.

when you started to move, he was up in an instant– not really sleeping, you figured. “hey, no quick movements. you’re okay.” you learned later that you were okay because jack sprang into action. you learned later just how bad it all could’ve been if jack wasn’t there, if jack wasn’t used to these kinds of wounds, if jack wasn’t your senior attending.

your throat was like sandpaper, and he passes you a water bottle from your bedside. a big bouquet of flowers sits on the table in your small room. “you got out of the OR couple hours ago,” he muses softly. as you awaken more, he divulges more details. “you’re okay. you’re gonna be alright. some nerve damage is the worst of it, but it’s not likely to be permanent. they got out all of the fragments from the bullet.”

jack sat with you until he had to go back on shift. you couldn’t ascertain why– you figured it must be his guilt. it had to be his guilt. but the days went on following the assault, and you were not perfectly alright.

and you didn’t know if you were ever going to be alright again.

when you were released to go home, you stood in the doorway of your apartment and you cried. not because you’d been shot at work. not because the use of your right arm was still spotty, at best. not because you didn’t know if this was something you could handle anymore.

you cried because being greeted with no one, nothing, rattled you. there was no one to fill your water bottle with the brita. there was no one to prop up your pillows. there was no one to make sure your pain meds were being taken at the appropriate times. no one to care for you.

you kept your injury from your friends and family back home. you didn’t know if it was wise, but it felt easier. if they didn’t know, then they couldn’t coax you back to the safe haven of familiarity. they couldn’t convince you to give up the thing that was your dream. you didn’t want to be living in what was once your childhood bedroom, which was now your dad’s office. you didn’t want to hear that you could find a great job locally. as much as you were unsure at first… you were glad that you stayed in pittsburgh. even with all of the difficulty that came with it.

the first day, you didn’t leave your bed. you kept your arm propped and you avoided answering any phone calls from home. you kept up with your friends through text the best you could– they’d notice if you weren’t responding. you watched all of the first season real housewives of salt lake city, and half of a season of survivor. you let your water bottle go empty. you let yourself wallow.

everyone from the hospital was being so lovely, but for some reason, you couldn’t find it within yourself to accept their charity. when they had asked if you had anyone to help you at home, you had assured them over and over again that, yes, you would be fine. jack had looked at you with a cocked head, but he didn’t push you.

on the second day, you mustered going to the couch. you propped your arm up and finished your season of survivor and doordashed the necessary provisions that you would need while you were still healing. you weren’t expecting anyone– when the door knock, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

when you checked through your peep hole, jack abbot was the last person that you were expecting to see.

his hands were full of reusable bags. his sunglasses were still on. his camouflage backpack was slung over one shoulder. he looked handsome, and strong.

opening your door for him, you don’t know what words to say, or what questions to ask. “will you let me in?” he asks.

you shift so that he can enter. he sets the bags down, takes his sunglasses and backpack off, and puts his warm hands on your arms. his right hand lives gently below your wrapped wound. he walks you back towards your couch. “what are you doing?” you finally find the competence to ask.

“from what i’ve gathered,” he says, gruff. “your family doesn’t live here. i don’t see you off gallivanting with friends. and when you lie, you chew on the inside of your cheek.” as he helps you settle back onto the couch, he adds, “i watched your tear your cheek up when dana asked if you have anyone to take care of you.”

despite everything he just said, how he stripped you down and saw you to the bone with minimal effort, all you could think of to ask was, “how do you know where i live?”

he smirks. “we do have an HR database, you know.”

“that has to violate my rights, somehow.”

jack huffs and stands up. “maybe. are you complaining?”

always the risk taker, you think. you give a meek shake of your head.

“now,” he rubs his hands together and leans down so that he’s on your level. “what can i do to help you?”

“abbot,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t have to do all of this. i know you feel bad, i know you’re just trying to be nice, but i’m fine.” you chew on the inside of your cheek without even thinking twice about it. “go home. i appreciate you. but you got off, what– five hours ago?”

“today’s my day off,” he counters.

“even more reason to go, be home. catch up on your sleep.”

he sighs. you can tell that you’ve exasperated him. “how about this. i’m gonna clean up your place. get a real meal made for you. and by the time i’ve done that, maybe you’ll cook up some ideas for what else i can do. capisce?”

you roll your eyes, but don’t argue.

for awhile, you watch him work. he does everything with such precision and decisiveness. he figures out the rhyme and reason of your apartment quickly, and the way he moves around, you would think that he has been living in your space, your orbit, for years. he maneuvers your apartment like he knows exactly how your brain works. hell– maybe he does.

at some point, you drift off to sleep. when you wake up, the glittering pittsburgh skyline winks back at you through your big window. jack is approaching, two plates in his hand. he sets them both down on the coffee table and smirks at you. “hey, sleeping beauty.”

you try not to read too much into his comment. “hi,” you begin to stretch, but that shooting pain goes up your arm and you wince, bringing it back down. “how long was i out?”

“about…” he looks at his watch. “four hours?”

“four hours?” you repeat. you can’t remember the last time you napped, period, let alone for more than thirty minutes. you crane your neck around, and you think your apartment may be the cleanest it’s ever been. even the dishes from the immaculate meal, if the smell is any indication, that abbot made for you.

“yeah. you needed it.” jack motions with his fingers. “sit up, and i’ll help you get all set up.”

you reluctantly do as he says. he adjusts the pillows until you’re still reclined, but able to eat comfortably. he sets the plate into your hands. “oh–” he turns and grabs your water bottle. you watch him walk off to the kitchen, retrieve the now-full brita from the fridge, and fill your water bottle to the brim. he walks back and places it on the coffee table.

jack sits on the couch at the opposite end. your feet barely graze his thigh. he takes his plate and turns the tv back on, survivor starting, right where you left off.

disbelief settles into you. you stare at him and he’s staring back. and it’s hard to explain this feeling in your chest, but it takes over you, and you find yourself fighting back tears. “thank– thank you. thank you.” you look down at the food he prepared and laughed. spaghetti and meatballs. you look back up, still blinking the tears away. “thank you.”

jack’s hand rests on your ankle, and he gives it a squeeze. “you’re welcome.” he eyes your plate. “go on. eat.”

–

jack didn’t leave before giving you a thorough check up, making sure all of your vitals were still good. when he seemed satisfied, he left, and told you to text him if you needed anything else. leftovers were in the fridge. he stocked you up with easy things to prepare. he made life easier, when it felt like it was at its worst.

jack checked on you regularly– sometimes dropping by, other times with a text or a phone call. he even kept you abreast with the goings on of the office, who was whispering about who, because he knew that you found amusement in that sort of thing. everyone took turns visiting you, making sure you were well cared for. it felt like there was usually at least one person from the hospital checking in on you per day, but none more than jack. not even dana.

“you know– abbot has been really worried about you,” garcia says as you two sip on tea she’d brewed for you and munch on sandwiches from your favorite spot. “when i came down after it all happened, i don’t think i’ve ever seen him like that.”

“like what?” you ask around a bite.

she shrugs. “i don’t know. he just looked… frantic. determined.” she mulls it over. “scared. we all were, but he was different.” she pauses and furrows her gaze at you. “are you two…?”

“no!” you laugh, shaking your head. “no, god no. he doesn’t think of me like that.”

“but you think of him like that?” she asks with a smirk.

you suppose you were caught, at that point, but you glower and change the subject.

for as sad as you were on that first day, things seem to have turned around. if nothing else… it was a good reminder that you weren’t alone. not really.

–

you were able to return to work after a month. your stomach was in knots– you’d had to sleep with the lights on since everything happened because you felt so… scared. loud noises scared you. when you closed your eyes at night to sleep, you would see the man’s face under those fluorescent lights. the unbridled fear in his eyes. you didn’t know what happened to him other than that, apparently, abbot and robby took care of it. you didn’t want to know anything else.

once again, standing in front of PTMC, you were forced to ask yourself if you were cut out for this. who was to say that something like that couldn’t happen again? it was out of the norm, even for a patient on healthcare worker assault, but it wasn’t impossible. what if you weren’t so lucky this time?

you let out a shaky breath and hold onto your bag a bit tighter. you were only working half days for two more weeks, and everyone tried to get you to agree to day shift, but you were adamant that it was important that you be on night shift.

that you be with abbot.

he met you outside. when he looked at you, you felt frozen in place. your hands shake and you cover your mouth with one, despite your trembling. jack looks at you, not with pity, but with understanding. and he pulls you in, gently, by your elbow, until you’re leaning into his chest and crying, and he’s murmuring to, “let it all out, i have you.”

you don’t go inside that day. you don’t go inside the next day when you try, either. but on the third day, when abbot meets you outside, the two of you walk in together.

the feeling that you’re being coddled is one that you cannot live with. you make it clear that you can handle it, that you want to be in the thick of it with everyone. when a GSW to the chest comes in, you try to pretend that it’s okay. you focus on the work and what you can do and even when you lose him, you keep yourself together. you last the full six hours and, yeah, you’re proud of yourself. you really are.

jack finds you at the end, on the roof. you knew that was sort of his thing, but it felt right– there was clarity, being so high up, and you wanted a taste of it. the sunrise was a picture of pinks, and you smiled at it. it felt like a warm hug, from an old friend.

“you did good today.” you look over your shoulder to see him approaching you. you sit on the ground, legs crossed, and he sits next to you. “i’m proud of you, doc.”

looking down at your lap, you smile, before your gaze slowly trails over to him. “i’m slower than normal,” you say. “and i don’t think my brain is fully working again, yet. but… i’m proud, too.”

“you should be.” jack looks out at the sunrise and chews on his lip. “you really scared me.”

surprised by his words, you look at him. “you said it yourself. it was a superficial wound. the fragments were concerning, sure, but there was never going to be a serious–”

“i don’t mean the injury,” jack says. “i mean you.”

“oh.” looking back down, you pick at your cuticle. “i’m fine.”

“you always say that, but i never believe you.” jack’s hand reaches out, and he takes yours, preventing you from bloodying your fingers with your nerves. he splays your fingers out, and it feels good in its simplicity. “i want you to tell me when it gets bad. trust me– it’s going to get bad. but it doesn’t have to stay bad,” you look up at him and he smiles when you make eye contact. “and it doesn’t have to be bad, alone.”

with a light laugh, you lean forward until your forehead rests on his shoulder. his hand runs through your hair, pushing back to kiss the crown of your head. then, tilting your chin up, your forehead. and then, your eyes are fluttering open and his are nearly lulled shut, but you nod your head once, and that’s all the permission that he needs.

skillfully, his hand cups your jaw, his thumb traces the bone and you grip his wrist as an anchor. he takes this seriously, you can tell– there’s determination in his hold, and you want him to feel yours, too. and when he finally leans in and kisses you, it feels like a garden of wildflowers has just bloomed in your heart.

jack, it seems, is good at everything. he’s good at cleaning your apartment and figuring out where things go. he’s good at cooking. he’s good at knowing what it is you need without saying it. he’s good at sewing you back together– literally. he’s good at being just what you need.

and he’s really, really good at kissing you.

jack abbot kisses like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. he kisses you like you’re slipping through his fingers, like you might fade away if he doesn’t. one moment, it’s just one tender hand on your jaw. the next, it’s both, cupping your face like you’re a precious jewel. he parts from you and examines your face carefully, his fingertips tracing your brow bone, down the bridge of your nose, the cupids bow of your lip.

it started with one or two sick patients. it ended three days later with the majority of the staff dead in the span of one shift.

and when it was becoming clear that there was no way out, no way to save everyone, no way to heal those who had been scratched or bitten… you all should’ve heeded the warning that had gone out days prior. leave the city. but he hadn’t. none of you had, because you felt the obligation to this city and this work and saving as many lives as possible.

it was a ragtag group of you that left PTMC that night. the roads were full of abandoned cars, so there was no choice but to go by foot. you. robby and abbot. dana. collins. langdon. samira. about six nurses. but there was so many you couldn’t save– their faces flash behind your eyes when you lay down to sleep at night. mel. whitaker. javadi. mckay. you’re still not over mckay. you don’t know if you ever will be.

you packed up all of the medical supplies that you could under the circumstances and began towards fort knox. having spent three days by foot, aiming for 25 miles each day, but at the same time stopping and gathering supplies wherever and whenever you can… you feel a level of exhaustion that beats out even a double in the pitt.

you’ve never known jack to be… sympathetic. he became your fearless leader in these first days, and you noted that being inspiring wasn’t exactly his strong suit. if he needed someone to give a speech, he oftentime left that to robby. but he said something that stuck with you, just as you left city limits, narrowly escaping with your lives. “we’re going to be needed now more than ever. most healthcare workers across this country have likely died. we have a purpose. that’s the only thing that’s keeping me going through this hell hole.”

you repeated that in your head, day over day– when you wanted to find a creek and lay in it and let the water wash over you. get to fort knox. save lives. make this all matter. but today was hard. it was your birthday.

it was so stupid. who cares about birthdays, anymore? you don’t know where your family is. you don’t know where your friends are. cell service went down before you even left PTMC. you don’t know if any of them are even alive anymore. you have no home, no place in this world– your apartment a forgotten relic to your past. your feet burn and your hands are dry. your stomach growls at you more often than not.

but you loved your birthday, back then. you even had tickets this year to see your favorite band. you remember thinking it as fate that they were going to be in town on your actual birthday.

the tears prick at your eyes. you set up camp for the night, the hot sun finally setting into the curve of the earth. you’re right by the water, allowing you to stick your feet in the river and feel peace, if only for a moment. you had been figuring out that the majority of walkers were still in cities. the disease had hardly touched the more rural areas, which made west virginia safer than most other places. “fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hanging your head, finally letting the tears fall.

you feel him beside you before you hear him. you start, your heart nearly jumping out of your mouth. his face doesn’t move a muscle. “sorry.” he groans as he sits beside you. he doesn’t say anything, but he looks at you. he notes the tears on your face, and for a moment, you think he might berate you for them. you feel like you should be berated. you’re so lucky to be alive– aren’t you? or are the dead the lucky ones? you’re not sure if you know anymore, but you feel like you should be fortunate for… something. “please. don’t let me stop you.”

face screwed up in disbelief, you look back out to the water. “i shouldn’t be crying.”

“and why not?”

“because i’m not even crying for that good of a reason.” you bring your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on your knees.

“let me be the judge of that.”

you look over at him with skeptical eyes. before and after everything that had happened, you hadn’t been precisely vulnerable with jack before. he must sense your hesitation, because he leans back. “you know, despite my reputation…” he stares at you with that same intensity. “i’m not as emotionless as everyone seems to believe.”

“i don’t think you’re emotionless,” you say instantly. “the opposite. you’re full of it.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, chuckling. “you’re… intense.”

jack hums at your examination of him, but doesn’t say anything else, leaving the floor open for you. looking back out at the water, you say, “i turned 30 today.” you press your lips into a thin line. “and i had all these plans– some friends and i got a hotel room for the night. we got a reservation at that nice new thai food place. my favorite band was going to be playing. it all was set up to be so… perfect. and then it wasn’t. and i just–” you blow a breath out, willing yourself to keep your emotions under control. “i’m fucking angry.”

your face goes slightly red, and something flashes behind jack’s eyes at that. “i’m so angry of what was taken from all of us. i’m angry that mckay died on my watch. i’m angry that we had to–” you wince. “that we had to kill patients. i know they weren’t there anymore, but–” you suck in a gasp of air. “i think i’ve been pushing it down, you know? focusing on what needed to be done. who we could save. getting somewhere that we can be useful. but what’s the point of being useful anymore? why save people when there’s hardly a world worth coming back to?”

“be angry,” jack says, resolutely. “i’m angry. and i don’t know if i’ve got anything encouraging to say to you other than that. that i know. and i feel it too.” a piece of hair has fallen into your face, and you flinch when jack moves to push it back behind your ear. this amuses him; the corner of his mouth turns up. “am i that bad?”

“no,” you say immediately, shaking your head. you use the back of your hand to brush away your tears, sending him an inquisitive look. “i just appreciate you checking on me.”

“don’t like seeing you upset,” he says. “you look like someone just stepped on a puppy in front of you.”

you gape at him and you again get that hint of a smile on his face. you don’t know if you’ll ever get him to grin, but you think you could live with what he gives you. you think a half smile from jack abbot is worth more than a belly laugh from anyone else. “wow.”

“i’m kiddin’,” he leans into you, brushing your shoulder with his. you settle into comfortable silence, staring out into the water. the sound of it comforts you, as does the chirping of crickets nestled in the brush. for as horrific as this all is– it’s beautiful here. as much as your back hurts from carrying your pack day over day, when you lay down and stare up at a sky full of stars… maybe there is something to hope for.

“does this remind you of being out on the field?” you ask. the question had been rattling around in your head for awhile– you’d heard some of the stories of jack’s days in the military. he was unstoppable. the intensity that he carries with him is well earned, if all the stories are true. you’d probably be intense and stoic, too.

sighing, he hangs his head. “yeah.” he swings his head over towards you. “it does. being stretched thin. never knowing what you’re going to see next. not knowing if you’re going to wake up and everyone you’ve gotten close to is dead.” he pauses. “or undead.”

you can’t help it. you laugh. “i’m sorry, i’m not laughing at you, i just–” he furrows his brows as you grab your stomach, falling back into the grass. “it’s crazy. this is all so fucking crazy. undead. fucking undead.” you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. “oh my god, my stomach hurts.”

you continue to giggle, eyes shut, and jack hovers slightly over you. when you open your eyes, it’s not a half smile that you’re greeted with. he’s smiling at you full on, no holds barred. “you’re gonna be alright, kid.” he touches your chin. “you’re gonna be alright if you keep laughing.”

with nothing more, he pushes himself up, groaning as his knees creak, and walks back to camp.

rolling over onto your stomach, you watch as he walks off, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. and when he looks back over his shoulder at you, you watch him chuckle to himself.

–

there’s not a big shift that comes for you and dr. abbot. not yet, anyway– that doesn’t happen until he finds you with the walkers a week later.

you did run into other survivors on the road. since so many were fleeing pittsburgh, it was inevitable. you provided medical services as you went. there was this thought always in the back of your mind– what happens when you run across someone not so nice? that’s how these things always go isn’t it? you’d read enough books to know that typically, the biggest monster was humanity.

jack must’ve had the same thought when he diverted your group onto a path that he hoped would be less traveled, if slightly longer to get to the base. “no lives to save if we all die on the way there,” he smartly observed.

you loved to walk. the others often scolded you for going out by yourself, but it was not easy to deter you. the wind against your face and the sun on your arms was sometimes the only thing that reminded you that you were alive, that there were still simple pleasures in this world. you told robby, not asked for his permission, that you were going on an evening walk. he looked skeptically, but nodded. and you didn’t go too far– but it didn’t matter. there was a figure just off in the distance. at first, you think it’s a survivor. being this far out of the city, you didn’t run into walkers much. if you did, jack or collins typically took care of it with the guns they had looted days ago.

selfishly, you were thankful to not be tasked with defending anyone. you weren’t fighters. you’re healthcare workers. you were a resident doctor. your responsibility was to heal, not to harm. and you had witnessed enough of that harm in pittsburgh. you had your fill when you screwed your eyes up tight and screamed while you drove a knife into mckay’s chest while she, entirely gone, her eyes vacant and her mouth gaping, trying to gnash at your neck. that was still the thing that kept you up at night. you didn’t want to add to the list.

but when the head perked up, and you shielded your eyes from the burning sun, you realized how wrong you were. your heart sank and you took a stumbling step backwards. you piqued the intrigued of the walker, or it caught your scent, because it began a steady walk towards you. and then another one appeared behind it, cresting the hill. and a third. all ready to plummet down this hill towards you.

they’re fast. and with the downwards slope, they can only gain momentum. you begin to run back towards camp, but then you wonder if it’s better to lead them away from camp– what if there are others? but if you lead them away, they may not hear you… “help!” your cry is full of desperation as you begin to veer left from camp, trying to stay close enough.

the three walkers have gained on you. but for as fast as they are, jack is faster– he runs up and captures you in his arms, a pistol in his hand– three shots rings out, right next to your ear, and you lower yourself to try and escape the jarring noise. “they didn’t get you? no bites, no scratches?” you shake your head no, and the silence that follows is heavy. you continue to cover your ears with your hands. you can feel your blood pumping through you, the adrenaline of near death. every limb trembles and you sink even lower, until your hands are splayed on the still warm asphalt.

the others must have approached, because you hear jack say, “go on. we’re good.” he lowers himself to your level like a true doctor, his hand rubbing, up and down, on your back. “we’re good.”

the others heed his words and tentatively walk off, leaving you two alone. “you’re good,” he repeats. he gathers your hair off of your neck to relieve some of the heat, holding it up with one big hand. “what were you doing walking by yourself?”

“i told robby,” you say around a gasping breath. “i– i didn’t–” you look over at the bodies. one of them is a woman, certainly not much older or younger than you. “i saw her, but she was still far off. i didn’t know she was…”

from a career of working with people at their most vulnerable, jack must sense what is about to break within you. it was close at the river, but then you were mourning the loss of what your life could be. this felt bigger than that. this was coming to terms with what your life now was.

and you swiftly fall apart.

you don’t expect him to hold you, at first. you begin to sink into yourself, the tears and the cries coming like the flood. but jack swoops in, his hand to the back of your head and his other arm circling your waist. you sit on the dirty road and he holds you, despite the humidity and the heat and everything else. you should’ve known that this side of abbot existed. the side that could be steady as a rock, unyielding and ready to protect.

you’re there for so long the sun begins to sink. you look up from where you’d hidden your face in his chest. a technicolor sunset is in front of you. your red rimmed eyes take it in, and jack pulls away enough to watch your face, gauge your reaction. when he sees the wonder in your eyes, he cranes his neck to follow your line of vision. he says, softly, “think mother nature knew you needed some cheering up.”

with a wet laugh, you lean back, but jack doesn’t release you from his hold that easily. “i guess so.” you look at him through your lashes, feeling embarrassed and grateful and reckless and warmed. “thank you. i won’t– i won’t go out walking.”

he scoffs. “nah. you will. we just need to go in pairs.” he looks like he might leave it at that, but then he says, “and i’ll go wherever you want.”

–

two more weeks go by and now it’s august and the days burn orange and you’re in the heart of west virginia.

from that sunset on the road on, where you go, he’s often not too far behind. the others are not oblivious to his trained eye watching you. they’re not stupid– they notice when he is the first one to pair with you for scavenging.

seeing walkers doesn’t have the same jarring affect that it did, even days ago. it’s still not regular, but you certainly see them more than when you first got into west virginia. you still don’t carry a gun, but jack, collins, robby, and dana now do. wherever you all go, one of them goes with you. and for you… that’s jack. if not by choice, by default. everyone seems to have their pair, natural duos from your time in the emergency room. you didn’t have that then, and jack didn’t, either. he has robby, of course, and that hasn’t change– but you think something in his mindset changed when you fell apart before him.

you don’t call him dr. abbot anymore. none of you use such formalities now. what’s the use?

the group moves through west virginia terrain towards fort knox. over time, you’d gotten more and more in the way of supplies. you found an abandoned RV in good shape with the keys still in the ignition. you all held a thought for the owner before you took it. dana was driving a pick up that she spotted back near weston. it made all of you laugh when you saw her behind the wheel. most of the places out here weren’t so looted– sometimes, you hit a goldmine still. jack’s clever thinking to take the road less traveled was proving useful, indeed. that felt like good enough reason to take your time. but winter was going to be coming sooner rather than later. your slowness wasn’t going to last forever. a thought lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re sure everyone else’s, too– this world needs doctors. and maybe you’re all being selfish. maybe you’re all okay with that, for the time being. you don’t know. you’re only human.

you liked to walk to clear your head. sometimes you missed it being a solitary activity, but jack was often quiet enough that you really didn’t have much of a change. honestly, you never minded when it was jack. sometimes dana would offer to walk with you, and for as much as you love her, she has the ability to talk your ear off– but jack picked up on your cues. when he thought there might be something on your mind, he would nudge your arm. when you shook your head, he dropped it. when you would begin to talk through whatever it was that you were thinking about, he would listen, rapt.

and, you think you provide him support, too. there was so much that you’ve learned about him– you know how he takes his coffee. well, in this world, at least. he likes it black but with two of those sugar packets that you got from a starbucks. not the artificial stuff, either. he wakes before you, but you always make his second cup. you’ll approach him in his seat– he always sits in the RV in the morning, working on one of the crossword books you’d taken from the hospital. you come up to him and take his empty cup. most mornings, he says, “you don’t gotta do that.”

you reply each time with, “but i wanna.”

and, over time, you get more and more of those small smiles.

for what it’s worth, the two of you get by for awhile pretending that whatever is happening simply isn’t. you roll your eyes when langdon calls you mrs. abbot. you simply nod when robby mentions jack looking for you.

it was a long day, and a storm was brewing. you had been camped in the same spot for nearly a week, spending time scavenging the area, which was largely untouched by other survivors. you take what you need, leave what you don’t– making sure that there’s enough for anyone else who might need it in the future. your body is sore from so many night of sleeping on the ground, but that’s everyone. “alright– we need to reduce the amount of tents so that we can get everyone out of the rainfall and under the trees.” dana says, hands on her hips. she starts rattling off sleeping arrangements, pointing at you and finishing with, “you’ll be in jack’s tent.”

you look at each other from across the circle, and you have to make a true effort to keep your face neutral. jack doesn’t even flinch. “yes, ma’am.”

your stomach twists in knots as you begin tearing down your tent. jack comes up from behind you and helps, making quick work of it. you glance over at him and murmur, “sorry you’re stuck with me. i’ll keep to my side of the sleeping bag.”

there’s a glint in his eye. “i don’t know. princess has told me you hog the blankets.”

“i do not!”

he smirks to himself, satisfied with getting a small rise out of you. “guess i’ll just have to be the judge of that, kid.”

–

it’s been a long time since you laid beside a man and it meant something.

you’d been single for the better part of five years– your ex was the kind of piece of work that would make anyone swear off dating for half of a decade. you had meaningless hookups and endless first dates, but nothing that stuck. nothing that gave you butterflies.

now, there’s a swarm of them in your stomach, threatening to dislodge. you brush your teeth and your eyes trail over towards jack, smirking at something that robby said. you glance away and finish up, proceeding to change in the RV. you’re not sure how you’re supposed to dress– sweats is most appropriate, right? you run warm, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. big shirt? little shirt?

zombies could come up and kill you at any point, and your concern is how much or how little you should wear while lying next to jack. the ridiculousness is not lost on you. but, there’s a shred of you that’s thankful for a feeling that’s normal amidst everything else. feelings-induced trepidation is something that you can handle.

you opt for the little shirt– a gas station t shirt you had cropped haphazardly with a knife– and sweatpants. when you come back out from the RV, jack is no where to be seen, but there is a light on in his tent.

unzipping slowly, you’re greeted by his face looking at you. you watch his eyes zero in on the strip of exposed skin on your stomach. you watch his adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows.

the tent is generous when it says that two people can fit. you can see that jack prepped your side of the bed– two pillows, and your water bottle. “you left it outside.”

“thank you.” you kick your shoes off and climb under the blanket. jack huffs a laugh. “what’s so funny?”

“you wear pants to bed?”

your face heats. “not typically.”

“don’t do it for my comfort.” he reaches at the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head. “i will be sleeping comfortably. and cool.” he halts before he says, “and a gentleman.”

you roll your eyes, but you lift your hips and shimmy the sweats off, tossing them towards your feet. settling back into the pillow, you watch jack as he does the same, eventually rolling over to face you. he has the fly trap off of the tent, so you stare up at the stars. he never looks away from you.

“dana did this on purpose,” you whisper, and it’s the closest you’ve gotten to pure admission. “you realize that, right?”

“yeah,” he puts one hand behind his head, following the line of your sight to the stars, too. “she’s been on my case since we set up camp here.”

curious, you peer over at him. “how so?”

jack shrugs one shoulder. “telling me not to fuck around with your feelings.” his neck turns towards you. “told her i’m doing my best.”

you screw your face up. “you’re not fucking around with my feelings.”

“good.” there’s such a practicality to his words. he’s not barred by fear or by unease;  he’s confident. “but, for the record…” he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “yeah, i’m not trying to fuck around with your feelings. i’ve been trying to…”

“trying to what?”

“will you let me spit it out?” jack asks with a smirk. “patience is not always your strong suit.”

you turn your chin down, indignant. “you didn’t mind when we were in the emergency room.”

“i wouldn’t go that far,” jack counters. “i think i told you to slow down on multiple occasions.”

“now you’re just deflecting.”

a clap of lightning and thunder rings out in the open air. the rain begins just after.

“i think you just proved my point.”

disgruntled now, you move to simply roll over and go to bed and pretend the entire conversation never happened. but jack laughs again and he gently wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you back. not controlling. guiding. “don’t do that,” he says. “not when i’m trying to tell you i care about you. at least give me the opportunity to say it before you shoot me down and go to bed.”

brows furrowing, you roll over to face him. “i don’t understand.”

over the course of the month or so that you’ve gotten to learn jack intimately, know the corners of his mind and the stories that weren’t often shared, you’d resolutely pushed away the notion of you not being anything but in over your head. a woman with a crush on your authority figure. broken by circumstance and clinging to the one person who moves you feel unequivocally safe.

there wasn’t a part of you the stopped to think that maybe jack was doing the same. but that he was, perhaps, more brave than you.

“i’m not good at any of this,” he says quietly. “but if we’re going to die before the new year, i want to be selfish. and if i’ve– misread, tell me, and i’ll never bring this up again.”

silence fills the tent. your mouth forms a slight o, trying to wrap your head around the string of words that he just confessed to you. “you said before, that the only thing keeping you going was the fact that the world needs us. needs doctors.” your eyes flicker down then back up. “is that still true? is that the only reason?”

“if that was the only reason, i’d be in fort knox right now.” his hand flexes where it rests on his pillow. he’s holding back– you feel the tension pulled taut within him.

“tell me,” you say with absolution.

“tell you what?”

“tell me you want me. not just because of circumstance. but because of… me.” you are growing smaller before him. “i don’t want to just be a body to keep your bed warm until we die gruesomely.”

he laughs like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. your name falls off his lips and he extends that hand to you. you take it. he tugs you closer. you push him, he pushes you. he makes you patient, you make him articulate. “i remember, once, walking by the family room. you were sitting with a little girl who had just lost her mom in a car accident. she… i couldn’t save her. and i was dreading sitting that little girl down, looking her in the eye, and telling her. but you stayed with me.” he swallows, thinking. “i’ve watched you work on the fly and save lives without thinking twice. you’re a horrible singer, but a great dancer. you love crosswords.” he pauses. “this didn’t start last week. not even last month.” last month, when you were still a resident and he was still your attending.

“wow.”

“yeah,” jack nods his head. “wow.”

you don’t know what to say. you feel shy under his gaze, and you think he knows it. he eyes you with that cocky smirk, like he knows that you want him, but that something still holds you back. “you don’t gotta say anything right now,” he shrugs. “we’ve got time. that is, long as i’m still alive.”

you gasp and hit his chest and he keeps your hand in his and then you’re looking at each other and slowly, surely, patiently– you begin to lean in. you don’t kiss him yet. you know that he’ll leave that ball in your court. but there’s something fun about your nose bumping his and feeling his breath on your cheek and feeling the way that his hand tightens around yours. “you’re not being very patient,” you murmur, and he all but growls, and you feel it all the way down to your belly. you laugh and your hand slides to the back of his head.

his hand lands on your waist. he begins pulling you closer. “say you want me,” he asks.

“i want you.”

a shuddering breath leaves him, and it settles into your brain how affected he is. he’s drunk on you, and you on him, and your leg drags up his. you finally decide to stop your cruelty, and you close the distance. your mouth rolls against his and his tongue opens you up, and you feel like something has just split your heart, and your fondness for him is spilling out of you.

you didn’t suspect jack to be a tender lover. you and mckay used to joke that he probably fucked like a jackhammer. but you should’ve known that his patience, his sheer determination, extends here, too.

he rolls you until he’s hovering above you, hand sliding to the back of your neck and squeezes the sides, just barely. you gasp into his mouth and his knee parts your legs and every part of you feels like warm honey, sliding between his fingers. there’s a restraint when he pulls back and looks at you. “you’re trouble.”

“i thought you knew that.”

“i did,” his hand runs from the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach. it travels further to the waistband of your underwear. “now, trouble,” you flush at the way that nickname makes you press your thighs together. “do you know how to be quiet?”

“yes, i know how to be quiet, you ass–” you’re cut off with a gasping sound leaving your throat as his fingers dip into your underwear. he leans in closer and chuckles in your ear and your hips roll to meet his hand.

“do you?” he asks as his hand begins to work its magic.

“yes.”

lowering until his mouth finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, he kisses, sucks a mark into the skin. your hand finds a fistful of his hair and you want to let go, you want to moan so loud you bring every walker in a three mile radius to find you. it would be worth it to release, to feel freely and let the world know it. your hips keep moving on their own, chasing pleasure, and jack sits up to use his free hand to grip your hip and presses you down. “i’ll take care of you, doc. don’t worry.” he leans in and kisses beneath your ear. “and you can be as loud as you want when there’s thunder.”

your eyes roll back into your head and within moments, everything is shooting stars.

–

when the morning comes, you’re smug, and glowing. jack wakes you slowly. the mourning doves are just beginning to sing their song and he pulls you closer, hungry. “think the plan is to leave soon,” he says into the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. “but not too soon.”

it takes another thirty minutes for you to leave the tent. jack helps you back into your clothes with pride, looking you up and down. you scoff and push his face away, but then come back for a kiss. it’s easy to settle into familiarity when you spend so much time wondering where your life is going, what the point is of any of it– this. maybe this is the point. maybe this has to be the point.

holding the flap of his tent open for you, you clamber out, and the two of you are faced with… well, everyone. everyone smirking.

jack was born in northern virginia, near dc. he had a pretty basic childhood, his dad was a firefighter and his mom was a hairstylist.

he has a twin sister, her name is lucy and she’s a reporter for the local news station in their hometown

was a boy scout and helped build a memorial for his dad’s fire station for his eagle scout project

veteran, obviously

he volunteers at the local VFW every weekend and plays bingo with them (somehow he loses every time, he swears he’s good at bingo but howard, who served in world war 2, thinks he’s lying)

did his residency at UCLA. considered staying in california, but he missed fall and winter too much.

BIG music fan. obsessed with concerts, has befriended every music venue owner in pittsburgh and gets free tickets for being a vet and frontline worker

his top 5 artists are: tom petty, electric light orchestra, rush, toto, and dire straights -- really into punk rock though- he went to see amyl and the sniffers with mckay in philly and the two of them had bruises for weeks (kiara saw bruises on mckay's arm and got really concerned until mckay showed her a selfie of her and abbot mid-mosh pit)

he has naturally dirty blond hair

prefers the beach to the mountains

played soccer in high school, could’ve gone to college on a scholarship but chose to do ROTC in college instead, because it was a better pathway to the military out of college

became a paramedic in high school

was torn between 3 jobs in high school: firefighter, meteorologist (specifically one who chases storms), and doctor

there are rumors (spread mostly by robby) that abbot can skateboard. these have never been confirmed or denied by abbot. (there was a betting pool on day shift on whether or not he could, but then mckay took harrison to the park one day and saw abbot skateboarding. she won the bet.)

doesn’t have kids but if he did they’d be all girls. gives me MAJOR girl dad energy

speaking of girl dad, he’s a great uncle to his niece, marie (she's 10 and likes ice skating! cool kid.)

loves britney spears unironically. it’s on his work hype up playlist

was in a frat in college, simply so he didn’t have to work hard to make friends (he's an alumni advisor and volunteer for the chapter of his frat at the university of pittsburgh. the boys call him doc.)

much like robby, he’s also a big runner- did the new york marathon last year and has plans to do the pittsburgh marathon this year

bisexual, hasn’t confronted it like robby though and really just thinks about it when he’s drunk or sad

has a house in key west. has told no one, except dana. goes there for a week every summer to clear his head and work on his book

yes, i said book. he likes writing, and if he stays on track, he should be finished by the end of the year. (he's publishing it under a pen name)

also big movie fan. has seen forrest gump at least 50 times. probably more.

loves spy movies and westerns, too.

big nerd. just in general. gives everyone on night shift some pop culture related nickname most of them don't get because they're too young (but he educates them don't worry)

has worn a crop top several times before. there are photos of it on robby's phone 100%