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@prongsflower
itâs been talked about a million times but way too many books now have a problem with telling and not showing. a character in the book iâm reading rn said âmy therapist says my anorexia and drug use is my way of gaining controlâ girl i donât want to hear that i want to see you starving yourself and snorting coke every time something goes wrong
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LIKES TO CHARGE REBLOGS TO CAST
you people aren't CASTING
I do think the ability to emoji-react is a net win for human communication. not only does it give you an outlet for 'I see and acknowledge this but don't have a verbal response' but it also adds a pleasing alethiometer element to things
my coworker announces that he's off to the dentist. someone reacts with a tooth emoji. is this a statement of dentist solidarity? a wish for my coworker to return with more (or fewer?) teeth than he set out with? simple word association? who can say
my mom just sent this to me???????
behaviorism versus positivism (humanistic)
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As a generally quiet member of the Tumblr community, I feel itâs really important for people to speak up about this in The Pitt Fandom right now.
Personal kinks and fetish preferences vary from person to person, are ultimately unique, and no one should feel ashamed of being sexually aroused. However, recently Iâve noticed a huge increase in dad!bf fics and fauxcest, which have been perpetuating harmful pedophil1c behaviours and tropes, often veiled behind the liberty that fan fiction allows when it comes to writing and portraying sex. However many people read fanfics passively and without any intention of engaging with the content, so theyâre probably unaware of what theyâre supporting. Nevertheless, allowing this kind of content in fandom spaces creates a predatory environment for minors and signals to those with ill intentions that a community permits vulnerable individuals to be exposed to such material. This, in turn, fosters a breeding ground for grooming and sexual abuse. I think everyone should be aware of the content currently published under the Pitt tag and, unfortunately, also under the Jack Abbot x reader tag. report and block.
This doesnât apply to fics with clear signs of consenting adults, nor is it meant to criminalize fics that feature the terms âdaddyâ or âkiddoâ. I personally enjoy age gap works, and find them hot.
twist of fate - jack abbot
pairing : jack abbot x f!reader
summary : jack always thought age would take him away from you. he never even considered you could leave him first.
warnings : angst !!!!!!!!! like a shit load haha good luck, mention of injure, mentions of blood, jack abbot being physically unwell
word count : 7.2 k
a/n: based on a rq !! nor proofread !
Time has never been Jack Abbot's friend.
He only had a few years with his wife before she passed away. Only a few years in service before he lost his leg.
He's always known his time was limited. That he would go sooner rather than later.
So when he met you, the hot-headed resident that swept the night-shift by force and took over every single of inch of him - body, mind and soul- he knew that he had to have you.
Just for a little while, before the earth reclaimed him and swallowed him whole.
The affair began in a sterile supply closet, the scent of antiseptic and desperation thick in the air. You were all sharp edges and furious energy, a storm in human form, and he was the ancient, weary rock you broke against. You challenged him in front of nurses, questioned his diagnoses with a fire that should have insulted him but instead ignited something long dormant in his chest. You saw the prosthetic leg, the limp, the weary lines around his eyes, and you didn't see a broken man; you saw a fortress to be conquered.
He let you in. He let you scream at him for being reckless with a patient, let you cry on his shoulder after a child coded on your table, let you fuck him with a ferocity that left him feeling more alive than he had in decades. He never spoke of love, and neither did you. It was an unspoken rule, a sacred pact between the ticking clock in his chest and the boundless, reckless energy in yours. He was your anchor in the chaos of the hospital, and you were his glorious, final blaze. He knew it was selfish, a cruel theft of your time and your heart, but as he watched you sleep, your face soft in the dim light of his apartment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was a condemned man, and you were his last, perfect meal.
But unfortunately for him, Jack does love you.
God, does he love you.
He loves the way you march through the emergency department like you're declaring war on death itself. He loves how you refuse to accept "good enough" when someone's life is on the line. He loves that you steal his coffee because "yours always tastes better," despite the fact you make it the exact same way. He loves the little wrinkle that appears between your eyebrows whenever you're reading a chart. He loves that you hum under your breath during sutures. He loves the stubborn tilt of your chin whenever someone underestimates you. He loves you in a thousand tiny, impossible ways.
Which is exactly why he knows he has to let you go. The realization doesn't come all at once. It settles into him quietly. One Tuesday morning, while you're standing at the nurses' station arguing with Radiology because somebody lost your CT request.
You're furious. Absolutely incandescent.
"You either find the scan," you snap into the phone, "or I walk down there myself." Jack watches from across the department. A nurse bumps into you with an apology. Without even looking, you smile at her.
"It's okay." Then you're right back to terrifying someone over the phone. He smiles despite himself. God. You're beautiful. Too beautiful to spend your twenties watching an old man grow older.
Too beautiful to become someone's widow before you've even learned who you're supposed to be. He catches himself imagining impossible things.
A little house. A garden. You yelling at him because he planted tomatoes too close together.
Sunday mornings. Children.
The image hurts enough that he has to look away. Because he knows exactly how it ends.
Not with the house. Not with the garden.
With a funeral.
His.
And you standing beside the casket far, far too young.
He spends the rest of the shift avoiding you. Not because he's angry. Because if he looks at you for too long, he'll fold. You make it easy to avoid him. You don't seek him out either. You present cases through another attending. You eat lunch in the residents' lounge instead of his office. During trauma rounds, your eyes slide over him like he's just another physician in blue scrubs. Professional. Detached.
It should make him happy. Instead, it hollows him out.
After a bout six hours of this bullshit, you finally snap.
Your hand wraps around his arm as he walks by the supply closet and you drag him inside, locking the door behind the both of you.
"What the-" "What exactly is your problem ?" You snap, shaking your head as you look up at him. God this man is beautiful.
He always has been.
The moment you met him, you knew you were as good as gone.
It had been your first week.
You'd walked into the emergency department with your chin held too high, your white coat too stiff, determined to prove yourself to every attending who thought a twenty-something resident couldn't keep up. Jack Abbott hadn't even looked up from the chart in his hands when he'd said,
"You're standing in my trauma bay." You'd looked him dead in the eye and replied,
"Then maybe work faster." The entire room had gone silent. A nurse had actually choked on her coffee. Jack had slowly lowered the chart. Looked at you. Really looked at you. Then the corner of his mouth had twitched.
"You're either very brave," he'd said.
"Or very stupid."
"I haven't decided yet." You'd smiled. He'd been doomed from that moment on. So had you. Now, months later, you're standing inches from him in the same supply closet where everything began. Only this time, neither of you is smiling..
Jack stares at the floor for a long moment.
"Baby.." Your expression hardens.
"Answer me, Jack."
"I'm fine." His voice is tired. You blink.
"No, you're not. Talk to me." He exhales slowly.
"I can't..." His hands settle on his hips. "I just- I can't handle this shift anymore. I'm exhausted." You step closer.
"You're lying to me." He doesn't answer. "Tell me what changed." Nothing. "You were fine yesterday." Silence. "You kissed me goodbye this morning." Silence. "You told me to drive safe." His jaw clenches. "So what happened between eight o'clock this morning and now?" Finally, he looks at you. Your heart splinters open. You reach up to him, your fingers tangling in his graying hair.
It's softer than it looks.
You cradle the back of his head, your thumb brushing slowly along his temple.
"JackâŠ" He closes his eyes. Just for a second. And he leans into your touch. The movement is so small most people would've missed it. You don't. You never do.
"There you are," you whisper. His breath catches. "You only do that when you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're lying." A tired smile ghosts across his mouth.
"âŠYou're getting too good at reading me."
"I've always been good at reading you." Your fingers slide through his hair again, smoothing it back from his forehead. "You haven't looked me in the eye all day." Silence. "You've been avoiding me." Silence. "You skipped lunch." Silence. "You gave Mrs. Alvarez's discharge paperwork to Robby instead of me." Another silence. "AndâŠ" your voice softens, "âŠyou haven't touched me." That one lands. You watch something inside him crack. His shoulders sag beneath the weight of it.
"I couldn't."
"Why?" He laughs once. It's a horrible sound. Because there's no humor in it.
"I was afraid if I didâŠ" His eyes finally meet yours. "âŠI'd never let you go." The words steal every ounce of air from your lungs.
"JackâŠ"
"You smiled at me this morning." His voice has gone distant. Like he's remembering it instead of living it. "You stole half my toast."
"I did."
"You kissed meâŠ" His hand comes up almost involuntarily, resting lightly against your waist. "So I spent the whole drive in thinkingâŠ" His thumb flexes once against your scrub top. "âŠhow many mornings do I actually have left?" Your expression crumples.
"Don't talk like that, Jack." You say, your face falling "Please, don't." You beg. HIs face hardens as he sees the sad look cross your face, and he cups your cheeks, tilting your face up.
"Can't help it. I'm on borrowed time, baby. And I know that." His hands smooth down your neck to rub affectionately at your arms. "I just... God, i don't want to know you'll still be here when i'm not." You shake your head, grabbing his hand and pressing it to your chest as you mirror your hand on his.
"I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere." You press a kiss to his temple. "We're not going anywhere." Jack's eyes close the second your lips touch his temple. He stands perfectly still. As if he's trying to memorize the feeling.
"âŠYou always say that," he whispers.
"Because it's true."
"It isn't."
"It is." He gives you a sad smile.
"You're too young to know what forever looks like."
"And you're too stubborn to let anybody love you properly." That actually earns a quiet laugh.
"Fair." Your thumb strokes across the back of his hand where it's pressed over your heartbeat.
"Feel that?" He nods. "That's where you live." His gaze drops to where your fingers are laced together.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you."
"I know."
"You could have kids."
"I know."
"You could travel."
"I know."
"You could find somebody who'll still be around when you're sixty." You shake your head.
"I already found somebody." His jaw tightens.
"BabyâŠ"
"No." Your voice is gentle now. Not angry. Not pleading. Just certain. "I don't want some hypothetical man twenty years from now." You take another step until your forehead rests against his. "I want the grumpy attending who steals my fries." A tiny huff escapes him.
"I do not steal your fries."
"You absolutely steal my fries."
"I sample them."
"You sample half the basket."
"They taste better off your plate."
"They're the same fries."
"They ain't." You smile despite yourself. His expression softens.
Silence settles between you. Comfortable this time. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You should go home." You blink. "Your shift's over."
"I know." You glance toward the tiny window in the supply closet door. The afternoon light has already started fading. "You coming?" The question is so ordinary. So domestic. The kind you've asked a hundred times before. Jack's hand stills against your cheek.
"âŠNot yet." Your smile fades.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got some charts to finish."
"You can do those tomorrow."
"I'd rather do 'em tonight."
"Jack." His eyes slide away from yours.
"I justâŠ" He clears his throat. "I need a little while longer." Your heart sinks.
"You still want to be alone."
"No." The answer comes quickly. Painfully quickly. "I just need to think." You study his face. The lines around his eyes. The exhaustion he keeps trying to hide. The fear he can't.
"You promise you'll come home?" His throat works.
"âŠYeah."
"Jack." He looks back at you. "Promise me." Something flickers across his face. Something almost guilty.
"I promise." You search his eyes for another long moment. Then you nod.
"Okay." You smooth the collar of his scrubs absentmindedly. "I'll start dinner." His lips twitch.
"What're we havin'?"
"I was thinking pasta."
"The one with too much garlic?"
"There is no such thing as too much garlic." He smiles.
"There she is." You rise onto your toes and press a lingering kiss to his cheek.
"Don't stay too late."
"I won't."
"You always say that."
"I know."
"And then I end up asleep on the couch waiting for you." His hand finds your waist again.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize." You squeeze his hand once. "You just have to come home." His chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts. Home. Not your apartment. Not his. Home. Wherever you were waiting. He watches you unlock the supply closet door.
Before stepping out, you glance back over your shoulder.
"I love you." The words are easy. Habitual now. Like breathing. Jack smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I know." You frown.
"âŠThat's not what you're supposed to say." A sheepish smile.
"IâŠ" His voice catches. "I love you too." You grin.
"There we go." Then you're gone, disappearing back into the controlled chaos of the emergency department. Jack stays where he is long after the door swings shut. The closet suddenly feels impossibly quiet.
With one last glance in the direction you'd gone, he squares his shoulders and walks back onto the emergency department floor, never noticing the rain beginning to fall outside the hospital windows.
Time passes by in a blur.
Before he knows it the sun is coming up, and Jack's shift is nearing it's end.
He rubs his temples tiredly, a sharp clap on his back jolting him forward.
"You look like shit, Jackie."
"Could say the same about you, Robby." Jack bites back, waving half-heartedly at Dana as she walks by with her coffee and about five different interns trailing after her.
"Go home," Dana calls over her shoulder without breaking stride. "You're scaring the medical students."
"They're supposed to be scared."
"They're supposed to be inspired."
"They'll learn." She snorts.
"They'll learn therapy." Jack manages a tired smile. His shoulders ache. His prosthetic has been screaming at him for the last three hours. His coffee went cold sometime around four in the morning. And all he can think about is you.
Probably asleep on the couch.
Probably stubborn enough to have waited until midnight before finally giving up and going to bed.
He pulls his phone from his pocket. One unread message from five minutes ago.
4:42 AM
I love you. â€ïž
His thumb lingers over the tiny heart. He smiles despite himself. Then types back.
Sorry, baby. Crazy night. Coming home now. Love you too.
He slips the phone back into his pocket.
"Finally listening to your girlfriend?" Robby asks. Jack doesn't bother correcting the title.
"âŠYeah."
"Good." Robby claps him on the shoulder again.
"Go home before she comes down here and drags your old ass out herself." A quiet chuckle escapes him.
"Wouldn't put it past her."
"Neither would I." Jack reaches for his coat hanging over the back of the chair. Almost home. A shower. Pasta reheated in the microwave. Your feet in his lap while you complained about residents and he pretended not to fall asleep halfway through the story. His favorite part of every day. The pager on his belt shrieks. Everyone in the department freezes instinctively. The overhead speakers crackle.
"Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision. ETA four minutes. Repeat, Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision." Jack closes his eyes.
"âŠOf course." His coat slips back onto the chair. Around him, the emergency department explodes into motion. Nurses rush toward Trauma One and Two. Respiratory is already wheeling ventilators into place. Blood coolers arrive. Dana spins on her heel.
"Let's move!" Robby is already pulling on gloves. Jack doesn't think. Years of instinct take over. He's halfway to the trauma bay before he remembers he'd promised you I'm coming home. The ambulance bay doors burst open. Rain lashes sideways through the entrance. Sirens scream.
One ambulance. Then another. Then a third. Paramedics spill out, shouting reports over one another.
"We've got minor wounds to passengers of cars involved, one major trauma on the way, eta two minutes." People start piling out of the ambulances, all minor head wounds and scrapes - minor enough for Jack and Robby to motion for them to head inside towards Santos, Mel, Langdon, Mohan, Whittaker and Javadi to take care of them.
Another set of sirens cuts through the rain.
Louder.
Closer.
A trauma nurse looks toward the ambulance bay doors.
"That'll be the major." The radio clipped to one of the paramedics crackles with static.
"Medic Seven inbound. Single critical patient. High-speed MVC. Driver trapped for approximately seven minutes after crash. Prolonged extrication. ETA sixty seconds." Jack is already pulling gloves over his hands.
"What've we got?" The paramedic barely glances up from the radio.
"Female. Late twenties to early thirties." Jack nods once.
"Mechanism?"
"Pickup crossed the center line. T-boned on the driver's side. Car rolled." His stomach sinks.
"Vitals?"
"Unstable."
"Airway?"
"Compromised."
"BP?"
"Eighty systolic and dropping." Robby whistles under his breath.
"Damn." Dana is already assigning stations. "Jack, you're leading." He nods automatically. "Robby, airway."
"Got it."
"Dana, thoracotomy tray on standby." The room transforms into organized chaos. Nurses lay out chest tubes. Someone spikes blood. The ultrasound machine hums to life. Jack checks the laryngoscope without really seeing it.
Focus.
One patient.
One problem at a time.
That's what he'd taught every resident who'd ever worked under him.
The ambulance backs into the bay with a squeal of brakes. Its doors fly open before it's fully stopped.
Rain explodes inside. The paramedics are shouting before the stretcher even touches the ground.
The patient is covered almost entirely by blankets, cervical collar, oxygen tubing and blood-soaked dressings.
Jack can't see her face. Good. He doesn't need to. She's his patient. She's just another trauma. Just another life to save.
The wheels slam through the trauma room doors.
"One, two, three!" They transfer her onto the hospital bed. Blankets peel away. Trauma shears slice through soaked clothing.
Blood. Too much blood.
Jack's eyes scan automatically.
Pelvis. Chest. Airway. Hands.
His gaze catches on a silver ring wrapped around one finger.
Simple. Thin.
He knows that ring. His heartbeat stutters.
No. There are thousands like it. He reaches for the patient's wrist to assess perfusion. A woven bracelet slides free from beneath the bloodied sleeve.
Blue thread. Fraying near the knot.
You'd made him the matching one six months ago during a rare weekend away. His hand freezes.
"âŠJack?" Robby's voice sounds strangely far away. He stares at the bracelet.
No. No.
His eyes finally lift. The paramedic pulls away the oxygen mask that had been resting loosely over the endotracheal tube while the respiratory therapist reconnects the ventilator. Blood-matted hair spills across the pillow. A bruised cheek. A familiar scar just beneath your jaw from the time you cut yourself opening an ampoule as an intern. Everything inside him stops.
"âŠNo." It's barely audible. Dana looks up.
"Jack?" He doesn't answer. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him. Not you.
Please. Not you. One of the nurses glances at the chart clipped to the end of the bed.
"No ID found at scene." Another nurse holds up a shattered phone sealed inside an evidence bag. "It was locked." Jack finally sees the necklace lying against your throat. The tiny silver stethoscope charm. His birthday gift. His own hands had fastened it around your neck. His gloves tremble.
"âŠBaby?" Silence. The monitor shrieks. Heart rate plummeting.
"Eighty over palp!"
"We're losing pressure!" Dana snaps her fingers in front of him.
"Jack!" His head jerks up. Every eye in Trauma One is on him. For one impossible second, he is not an attending physician. Not a trauma surgeon. Not a teacher.
He's just a man staring at the love of his life on a trauma table.
Robby sees his face. Looks at you. Looks back at Jack. And all the color drains from his own.
"âŠOh, God." The room falls silent for exactly one heartbeat.
Seven minutes, you were in that car.
Five minutes before you texted him.
You were on your phone behind the wheel.
Just to tell him you loved him.
This is his fault.
Oh god.
Oh god, he's going to be sick.
Jack backs out of the room, nausea crawling up his spine as he stumbles through the ER, staring at the door.
"Dr Abbot ?" Langdon calls as he's cleaning up a surface level cut on a child's head.
And Jack doubles over.
And throws upon the ER floor just as Robby barrels out of the room.
"Jack." Robby is at his side in an instant, one hand catching his shoulder before he can hit the floor. Jack doesn't even realize he's vomiting until his throat burns. His stomach empties violently onto the polished ER tile.
Again. Again.
His entire body convulses.
"Oh, Jesus," Langdon breathes, automatically guiding the child's mother a few steps away. Dana appears beside him so fast it seems impossible.
"Get Environmental Servicesâ"
"No." Robby cuts her off sharply. "Not yet." He keeps one hand firm between Jack's shoulder blades as another wave hits him.
Jack can't breathe. He can'tâ You'd texted him.
Love you.
He'd answered.
Coming home now.
Seven minutes. Seven goddamn minutes.
If he'd just left when he'd promised⊠If he'd just gone home⊠If he hadn't stayed to finish charts⊠If he hadn't spent the whole afternoon trying to convince himself to leave you⊠His hands begin to shake so violently he can't control them.
"IâŠ" His voice disappears. "IâŠ" He swallows hard against another wave of nausea. "I'm supposed to go first." He gasps against the prickling in his eyes, the pressure in his skull. He can see Dr Shen and Dr Ellis trying to bring your pulse back in the room, your small frame crushed beneath Ellis as he breaks your ribs over and over.
Jack feels sick all over again.
"They're hurting her." Jack rasps, sidestepping around his own sick and trying to reach you. "Robby, they're-"
"Jack, no. They're saving her." Robby says, stopping him. Jack stares at you, the way your rest caves beneath Shen's hands, the way your hand hangs limp off the bed, the way your lips part to give way for the tube that was unceremoniously shoved down your throat.
You were texting and driving.
Just to tell him you loved him.
Jack has always knows fate was a tricky thing.
He didn't think she had a dark sense of humor.
"Robby, you- You have to help her. She's in her twenties, she's- She's too young. She has to live. Robby, you have to save her." Robby grabs him by both shoulders. Hard.
"Jack." His voice cuts clean through the panic. "Look at me." Jack doesn't. He can't. His eyes are locked on the trauma bay.
On you.
Ellis's elbows lock as he continues compressions.
One. Two. Three.
Each one lifts your slight frame off the mattress.
Jack flinches with every compression as if they're landing on his own chest.
"They're hurting her," he whispers again, horrified.
"Jack, no."
"They're breaking her ribs."
"They have to."
"Noâ"
"They have to." Robby steps directly into his line of sight. "You taught me that." Jack's eyes finally flicker toward him. "You taught every one of us that." Another crash cart alarm shrieks from inside. Shen's voice rings out.
"Epinephrine's in."
Dana: "Continue CPR." Jack shakes his head frantically.
"She's scared of hospitals when she's the patient." His voice is barely coherent now. "She always jokes she'd make the worst patientâŠ" A broken laugh escapes him. "âŠShe hates IVs." Robby feels his own throat tighten.
"I know."
"She pretends she doesn'tâŠ" Jack's eyes fill. "âŠbut she squeezes my hand every time somebody sticks a needle in her." He looks back toward the room. "âŠWho's holding her hand?" Silence. That question hurts more than anything else. Robby glances through the glass. No one. Every hand is occupied.
Airway.
Chest.
Blood.
Ultrasound.
Nobody has a free hand. Jack makes to move again.
"I needâ"
"No."
"I just need toâ"
"You cannot go in there."
"They don't knowâ"
"They know."
"They don't know she gets cold." His breathing hitches. "They don't know sheâŠ" He swallows. "âŠshe likes somebody talking to her." His voice breaks. "âŠShe doesn't like silence." Robby's heart splinters. Because he's right. Everyone in that room knows you as a doctor. The brilliant resident. The relentless physician. Only Jack knows that you hum while making coffee.
That you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. That you steal his fries and pretend you don't. That when you're frightenedâŠyou reach for his hand.
A nurse rushes past them carrying another cooler of blood.
"Four units O negative!" Dana doesn't even look up.
"Hang all four." Jack's knees buckle. This time Robby catches him completely.
"I can't lose her." The words are tiny. Childlike. Robby eases him onto a nearby chair before he falls outright. "I can't."
"I know."
"I've already buried one wife." His hands cover his face. "I can't bury her too." Robby crouches in front of him.
"You aren't."
"You don't know that."
"No. I don't." Honesty. "But I know who's in that room." Jack looks up. "Dana." A nod. "Ellis." Another. "Shen." Another. "Your whole night shift crew and hjalf my day-shift. And every single one of them has heard you say the same thing for twenty years." Jack blinks. "'One patient,'" Robby says quietly. "'One problem at a time.'" A beat. "They're fighting for her the way you taught them to fight." Inside the trauma bay, another voice cuts through the noise.
"Pressure's gone." Ellis doesn't stop compressions.
"Keep going." Shen checks the monitor.
"We've got electrical activity." Dana reaches for the ultrasound probe.
"Come onâŠ" Jack grips Robby's forearm so tightly his knuckles turn white.
"You save her." His voice is almost gone."Please." It isn't an order. It isn't attending to attending. It's just a man begging his oldest friend.
"RobbyâŠ" His eyes overflow. "âŠPlease save my girl." Robby's own vision blurs. He squeezes Jack's shoulder once. Firm. Certain.
"I am going to do everything medicine allows." He stands. "And when I'm out of medicineâŠ" He looks through the glass at you. "âŠI'll start borrowing miracles." Without another word, he pulls a fresh pair of gloves over his hands, turns, and runs back into Trauma One, leaving Jack standing alone outside the doors, one trembling hand pressed against the glass, watching the team fight with everything they have to bring you back to him.
------
Jack throws up at least three times before they finally tell him you're stabilised.
His head in the toilet bowl, fingers gripping the porcelain, a shy Mel King waiting for him outside the door with a piece of gum and a bottle of water every time.
The first time, it's violent.
The second, there's almost nothing left.
By the third, it's just dry heaves that leave his ribs aching and his throat raw.
He stays kneeling in front of the staff bathroom toilet long after his stomach is empty, forehead resting against the cool porcelain.
His hands won't stop shaking.
A timid knock sounds against the door.
"âŠDr. Abbott?" Mel. He doesn't answer. The door opens just enough for her to peek her head through. She's still in scrubs. There's dried blood on one sleeve that isn't hers. She quietly sets a bottle of water and a packet of mint gum on the floor beside him.
"I thoughtâŠ" she says softly. "âŠyou might want these." Jack stares blankly at the bottle.
"âŠThank you." She doesn't leave immediately. She just stands there awkwardly. Hands clasped together.
"I've neverâŠ" Her voice catches. "âŠI've never seen you scared before." Jack lets out a laugh that sounds more like another sob.
"I have." Mel's eyes sting.
"You always look like you know exactly what to do." He shakes his head.
"Not today." Silence settles between them. "âŠIs sheâŠ" He can't finish. Mel swallows.
"Last time I check they were still working on her.." His shoulders shake. "But she's stable enough." A nod. "They were taking her for CT." Another nod. "They thoughtâŠ" Mel hesitates. "âŠthey were thinking the bleeding's slower now." Jack closes his eyes.
"Good." His voice is barely audible. "Good." Mel watches him for another moment before clearing her throat.
"Dr Robby is asking to see you." Jack nods once. It takes him three attempts to stand. His knees don't seem to remember how. Mel instinctively reaches out, steadying his elbow without a word. He's the one who's always caught everyone else. Today, she catches him.
"...Sorry," he mutters automatically. She looks at him like he's lost his mind.
"You don't have to apologize." He can't even find the strength to argue. The walk back to Trauma is only thirty yards. It feels like miles. Every step echoes. Every monitor sounds too loud. Every white coat reminds him of yours. He passes nurses who suddenly find something fascinating to look at on clipboards. Residents lower their voices. Nobody knows what to say to the attending who just watched the woman he loves arrive dying in his own emergency department.
Outside Trauma One, Robby is stripping off bloody gloves. There are streaks of crimson across his gown. Across his forearms. Across the bridge of his nose where he'd pushed his glasses back without thinking.
He looks exhausted. He looks twenty years older.
"Robby." Jack gasps. "Please- Please tell me she-"
"She's alive, Jack. They wheeled her up to Gen surgery about an hour ago. Neuro thinks they can manage her without opening her skull since the bleeding slowed." Jack doesn't move. The words don't register. They hit him like a language he's forgotten how to speak.
"âŠAlive?" Robby nods.
"Alive." Jack stares at him.
"âŠAlive." Another nod.
"Yeah." The breath leaves Jack all at once. His legs give out. He doesn't collapse dramatically. He just⊠folds. Like someone cut the strings holding him upright. He sinks into the nearest chair, elbows on his knees, both hands covering his face. A sound escapes him. Not crying. Not laughing. Something raw. Something that had been trapped inside his chest since he'd recognized your bracelet.
"OhâŠ" His shoulders shake. "âŠThank God." The words dissolve into another ragged breath. For nearly a minute, neither of them speaks. Robby simply stands there. Waiting. Finallyâ "Talk to me." Robby nods.
"She arrested once." Jack's head snaps up.
"âŠHow long?"
"Just under eight minutes before we got sustained circulation back." Jack visibly pales.
"JesusâŠ"
"We've got her back."
"What's broken?" Robby takes a slow breath.
"Left femur." A nod. "Pelvis." Another. "Six ribs." Jack closes his eyes. "Pulmonary contusion." His jaw tightens. "Liver laceration."
"Grade?"
"Three."
"âŠSpleen?"
"Bruised."
"Head?"
"Small subdural."
"AndâŠ" Robby hesitates. Jack notices immediately.
"What?"
"They're worried about swelling."
"Brain?"
"No."
"Then what?" Robby exhales slowly.
"Her abdomen." Jack nods automatically.
"Compartment syndrome ?"
"Not exactly." Robby huffs. "Ten week old fetus. Lost in the trauma of the crash." Jack frowns. For a moment, the words don't make sense.
"âŠWhat?" Robby's face changes. The practiced mask every trauma surgeon wears slips just enough to reveal the man underneath.
"They found it on FAST." His voice is quiet. Gentle. "We didn't know until we got her clothes off." Jack just stares at him.
"NoâŠ"
"They estimate around ten weeks."
"No."
"Jackâ"
"No." The word comes out harsher this time. Because it isn't denial. It's disbelief. His mind races backward. Ten weeks. The nausea you'd laughed off. The coffee you'd suddenly stopped drinking. The way you'd pushed the wine he'd poured one Friday night toward him instead. The afternoon you'd stood in the grocery store staring at baby carrots for almost five full minutes because they were "the only thing that sounded good."
He'd teased you relentlessly. You'd just rolled your eyes.
God.
"OhâŠ" His hand flies to his mouth. "âŠOh, sweetheart." He hears himself whisper it. Not to Robby. To you.
"She knewâŠ" Robby nods once.
"We think so. Police found a box full of pregnancy tests and baby clothes in the trunk. They think she was on her way to tell you." Jack's eyes begin to shine again.
"SheâŠ" He laughs weakly through the tears. "She was gonna tell me." He can see it now. The strange little smile you'd worn all week. The way you'd kept saying,
"Can we make sure we're both home Thursday night?" He'd assumed you wanted a date night.
God. You'd probably bought a tiny pair of socks.
Or one of those ridiculous mugs. World's Okayest Dad. You always liked making him groan at terrible jokes. His chest caves in.
"I almostâŠ" His voice disappears. "I almost left her." Robby doesn't interrupt. "I spent yesterday convincing myself she'd be happier without meâŠ" Jack's eyes squeeze shut. "âŠwhile she was carrying our baby." The words break him. Not loudly. Quietly. His shoulders fold inward. His face crumples. A single sob escapes before he can stop it.
"Oh, God." Robby kneels in front of him again.
"Jack."
"I would've never known." His voice shakes uncontrollably. "If she'dâŠ" He can't finish. He can't say died. "I would've buried them both." Silence. Heavy. Awful. Jack rubs both hands over his face.
"WasâŠ" He swallows painfully. "âŠwas there anythingâŠ" Robby already knows what he's asking.
"No." Jack nods. Not because it hurts less. Because he needed the answer. "There wasn't anything anybody could've done." Another nod. "The impactâŠ" Robby exhales slowly. "It was catastrophic." Jack's gaze falls to the floor. He pictures you driving. One hand on the wheel. The other holding your phone. Smiling. Typing three simple words.
I love you.
Maybe wondering how to tell him. Maybe rehearsing it. Maybe laughing to yourself because you'd always said he'd faint if you ever got pregnant. A broken smile flickers across his face through the tears.
"I would've." Robby blinks.
"What?"
"I would've fainted." Another watery laugh. "You would've had to catch me."
"I know."
"I would've built that damn garden." His voice is almost absent now. "We would've argued over paint colors."
Jack wipes his face. His hands are finally beginning to steady. Only a little.
"DoesâŠ" He clears his throat. "âŠdoes she know?"
"That she lost the pregnancy?" Jack nods. Robby shakes his head.
"No." Jack closes his eyes.
"When she wakes upâŠ" The sentence hangs unfinished. Because there is no good way to finish it. No right time. No right words. Robby puts a hand on his shoulder.
"One thing at a time."
Jack looks at him.
"FirstâŠ" Robby says quietly, "âŠwe get her through surgery." Another beat. "Then we get her home." Jack nods. A nurse pushes through the double doors.
"Dr. Abbott?" Both men look over. "The OR called." Jack is on his feet before she finishes speaking. "The surgery went great. They're asking if you'd like to sit with her as they wean her off the anesthesia." His face crumples all over again.
"âŠCan I?"
"They said she'd probably like a familiar voice." His throat closes. Because of course she would. She'd always said she hated silence. He nods once. Unable to trust himself to speak as he starts toward the elevator.
The elevator ride is only three floors.
It feels like an eternity.
Jack stands alone inside the polished steel box, one hand braced against the rail as if the floor keeps threatening to disappear beneath him. His scrubs are still stained. Not with your blood. Someone else's. He can't stop looking at them. The doors slide open with a soft chime. The intensive care floor is quiet.
Painfully quiet. No trauma alarms. No shouted orders. Just the distant hiss of ventilators and the muted beeping of cardiac monitors.
A recovery nurse is waiting outside your room. She offers him a small, sympathetic smile.
"They're just finishing up." Jack nods. His throat is too tight for words. She opens the door. "âŠYou can go in." He hesitates. For the first time in nearly thirty years of medicineâŠ
Jack Abbott is afraid to walk into a patient's room. Not because of what he'll find.
Because of who he'll find.
He finally forces his feet to move. The room is dim. Morning light filters through partially opened blinds. Machines hum quietly around the bed.
You look⊠Small.
Smaller than you've ever looked before. The ventilator is gone now. Only a nasal cannula rests beneath your nose. Bruises bloom across the left side of your face in deep purples and blues. Your hair has been gently brushed away from your forehead by somebody kind enough to think about things like that. One arm is wrapped in thick bandages. Your left leg disappears beneath blankets, suspended slightly from traction.
IV pumps blink steadily beside you. Monitor. Blood pressure. Pulse oximeter. So many machines. Too many. Jack stops beside the bed. His knees almost buckle again.
"âŠHi, baby." The words barely exist. He reaches for your hand. Carefully. As though you're made of spun glass. Your fingers are warm.
Thank God.
Warm.
He folds both of his hands around yours and bows his head until his forehead rests lightly against your knuckles. For a long moment⊠He just breathes.
He remembers the text.
I love you.
Three words.
Three words that nearly became the last thing you'd ever said to him.
His eyes squeeze shut.
"I love you too." The words come easier now. "I love you so much it scares me."
His thumb brushes over your wedding-ring finger.Empty.
Because you weren't married. Not yet. He'd convinced himself there wasn't enough time.
God. He'd been such a fool. His voice grows quieter.
Silence answers him.
Only the rhythmic beeping of your heart.
Steady. Strong. Alive.
He reaches out with trembling fingers and gently brushes a strand of hair away from your bruised forehead.
"You scared me." A tiny smile appears through the tears. His thumb strokes your temple. "âŠyou've always been dramatic." Nothing. "So if you could wake upâŠ" He leans closer. "âŠI'd appreciate it." Still nothing.
Another stroke through your hair. The monitor continues its patient rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Jack closes his eyes.
"I don't care if we never have another child." His voice is barely audible now.
"I don't care if we never get the house. I don't care if we eat burnt pasta every Thursday for the rest of our lives." He presses a gentle kiss against your bandaged hand. "I just want you." A tiny movement. So small he thinks he imagined it. His head jerks up. Your fingers. They twitch.
Once.
Against his palm. Jack freezes.
"âŠBaby?" Another tiny movement. Your brow furrows. Almost imperceptibly. Your lips part around a shallow breath.
The monitor speeds up by a few beats.
Jack shoots to his feet so quickly his chair skids backward across the floor.
"Nurse?" His voice cracks.
"Nurse!" The recovery nurse rushes through the doorway.
"What happened?"
"Iâ" He looks back at you. Your eyelashes flutter. Just once. Like you're trying very hard to swim toward the surface. Jack's heart climbs into his throat. He rushes back to your bedside, taking your hand again. "Baby ? God- Baby, can you hear me ?" His fingers rake through your hair, his lips ghosting over your temple.
Your eyelids flutter once more. A tiny crease forms between your brows. Like you're trying to remember how to wake up. The recovery nurse is already at your bedside, checking the monitor, shining a small penlight across your pupils.
"Easy," she murmurs, though she's not sure whether she's talking to you or Jack. "She's coming up."Jack doesn't take his eyes off your face.
"C'mon," he whispers. "You always were stubborn."
Another flutter.
Your fingers tightenâ Barely. Just enough for him to feel it. His breath catches so violently it almost hurts.
"There you are." His thumb strokes over your knuckles. "There you areâŠ" Your lips move. No sound. Just the ghost of a word. Jack leans in immediately until his ear is almost against your mouth.
"What?" Nothing. Your breathing hitches. Your brow pinches tighter. You try again.
"âŠJackâŠ"
His heart stops.
"I'm here." He swallows hard. "I'm right here." Your eyelashes tremble before finally lifting. Only a sliver. The room is nothing but blurred light and indistinct shapes. You blink slowly. Everything hurts. Your head. Your chest. Your leg. Even breathing feels wrong. The ceiling swims above you.
"âŠMmâŠ" Jack is crying openly now. He doesn't even notice.
"Hi." His smile is trembling so hard it barely looks like one. "Hi, my love." Your eyes drift toward the sound of his voice. It takes enormous effort. When they finally find him⊠You frown.
"âŠYouâŠ" Your voice is little more than dry air. "âŠcrying?" A broken laugh escapes him.
"You notice that first?" Another slow blink.
"âŠUgly." He laughs again, louder this time, the sound cracking in the middle.
"Yeah?"
"âŠMm."
"So are you." Your lips twitch. The tiniest hint of a smile.
"There she is," he whispers. "There she is." He can't stop touching you. One hand holds yours. The other cups your cheek with impossible gentleness, careful to avoid the bruising.
"I thoughtâŠ" His voice disappears. He tries again. "I thought I lost you."
Confusion clouds your face.
Lost?
You try to move. Pain explodes through your pelvis. A strangled gasp tears from your throat. Immediately, Jack's hand steadies your shoulder.
"Hey. Take it easy. Don't move, baby."He adjusts the blanket around you before liftingt he back of your mechanical bed to help you sit up a little. "I know you want to. But don't." You squeeze your eyes shut until the wave passes.
"âŠTruck." The word is barely understandable. "I rememberâŠ" Your breathing grows faster "âŠLights." Jack nods.
"I know."
"âŠRain."
"I know."
"âŠHome." His heart shatters. "You were coming home. And i- I was coming to you." You look at him again. Really look at him this time. His exhausted face. The dried tears. The blood still staining his scrubs.
"âŠYouâŠ" Your brow furrows. "âŠDidn'tâŠ" He knows what you're asking before you finish.
"I stayed." The admission is quiet. "I'm sorry." You stare at him.
"âŠCharts?" A humorless laugh escapes him.
"Yeah. I stayed for charts." Your eyes close for a moment. Not in anger. Just exhaustion.
"âŠIdiot." Jack lets out something between a sob and a laugh.
"I know. I know." You manage the weakest squeeze of his hand.
"âŠStillâŠ" Another shallow breath. "âŠLove you." The words are slurred by pain medication.
Sleepy. Honest. Jack's eyes overflow all over again.
"I love you too." He bends carefully, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. "So much." Your gaze drifts over him lazily.
"âŠYouâŠ" A pause. "âŠNeedâŠ"
"What do I need?"
"âŠSleep." Despite everything⊠He smiles.
"Bossing me around already?" A tiny nod.
"âŠDoctor'sâŠ" You pause to gather enough air. "âŠOrders." He laughs softly, shaking his head.
"Yes, ma'am." The nurse quietly checks your IV, giving the two of you as much privacy as a hospital room can offer. Your eyes begin to drift shut again. Jack feels your fingers loosening in his hand. Fear flashes across his face.
"Hey." Immediately, your eyes crack back open.
"âŠM'here."
"I know." He strokes your hair again. "You can sleep now."
"You sure?"
"So sure. I'm not leaving." He brings your hand to his lips. "I'll be right here when you wake up." Your expression softens.
"âŠPromise?" This time⊠There isn't a second of hesitation.
"I promise."
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twist of fate - jack abbot
pairing : jack abbot x f!reader
summary : jack always thought age would take him away from you. he never even considered you could leave him first.
warnings : angst !!!!!!!!! like a shit load haha good luck, mention of injure, mentions of blood, jack abbot being physically unwell
word count : 7.2 k
a/n: based on a rq !! nor proofread !
Time has never been Jack Abbot's friend.
He only had a few years with his wife before she passed away. Only a few years in service before he lost his leg.
He's always known his time was limited. That he would go sooner rather than later.
So when he met you, the hot-headed resident that swept the night-shift by force and took over every single of inch of him - body, mind and soul- he knew that he had to have you.
Just for a little while, before the earth reclaimed him and swallowed him whole.
The affair began in a sterile supply closet, the scent of antiseptic and desperation thick in the air. You were all sharp edges and furious energy, a storm in human form, and he was the ancient, weary rock you broke against. You challenged him in front of nurses, questioned his diagnoses with a fire that should have insulted him but instead ignited something long dormant in his chest. You saw the prosthetic leg, the limp, the weary lines around his eyes, and you didn't see a broken man; you saw a fortress to be conquered.
He let you in. He let you scream at him for being reckless with a patient, let you cry on his shoulder after a child coded on your table, let you fuck him with a ferocity that left him feeling more alive than he had in decades. He never spoke of love, and neither did you. It was an unspoken rule, a sacred pact between the ticking clock in his chest and the boundless, reckless energy in yours. He was your anchor in the chaos of the hospital, and you were his glorious, final blaze. He knew it was selfish, a cruel theft of your time and your heart, but as he watched you sleep, your face soft in the dim light of his apartment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was a condemned man, and you were his last, perfect meal.
But unfortunately for him, Jack does love you.
God, does he love you.
He loves the way you march through the emergency department like you're declaring war on death itself. He loves how you refuse to accept "good enough" when someone's life is on the line. He loves that you steal his coffee because "yours always tastes better," despite the fact you make it the exact same way. He loves the little wrinkle that appears between your eyebrows whenever you're reading a chart. He loves that you hum under your breath during sutures. He loves the stubborn tilt of your chin whenever someone underestimates you. He loves you in a thousand tiny, impossible ways.
Which is exactly why he knows he has to let you go. The realization doesn't come all at once. It settles into him quietly. One Tuesday morning, while you're standing at the nurses' station arguing with Radiology because somebody lost your CT request.
You're furious. Absolutely incandescent.
"You either find the scan," you snap into the phone, "or I walk down there myself." Jack watches from across the department. A nurse bumps into you with an apology. Without even looking, you smile at her.
"It's okay." Then you're right back to terrifying someone over the phone. He smiles despite himself. God. You're beautiful. Too beautiful to spend your twenties watching an old man grow older.
Too beautiful to become someone's widow before you've even learned who you're supposed to be. He catches himself imagining impossible things.
A little house. A garden. You yelling at him because he planted tomatoes too close together.
Sunday mornings. Children.
The image hurts enough that he has to look away. Because he knows exactly how it ends.
Not with the house. Not with the garden.
With a funeral.
His.
And you standing beside the casket far, far too young.
He spends the rest of the shift avoiding you. Not because he's angry. Because if he looks at you for too long, he'll fold. You make it easy to avoid him. You don't seek him out either. You present cases through another attending. You eat lunch in the residents' lounge instead of his office. During trauma rounds, your eyes slide over him like he's just another physician in blue scrubs. Professional. Detached.
It should make him happy. Instead, it hollows him out.
After a bout six hours of this bullshit, you finally snap.
Your hand wraps around his arm as he walks by the supply closet and you drag him inside, locking the door behind the both of you.
"What the-" "What exactly is your problem ?" You snap, shaking your head as you look up at him. God this man is beautiful.
He always has been.
The moment you met him, you knew you were as good as gone.
It had been your first week.
You'd walked into the emergency department with your chin held too high, your white coat too stiff, determined to prove yourself to every attending who thought a twenty-something resident couldn't keep up. Jack Abbott hadn't even looked up from the chart in his hands when he'd said,
"You're standing in my trauma bay." You'd looked him dead in the eye and replied,
"Then maybe work faster." The entire room had gone silent. A nurse had actually choked on her coffee. Jack had slowly lowered the chart. Looked at you. Really looked at you. Then the corner of his mouth had twitched.
"You're either very brave," he'd said.
"Or very stupid."
"I haven't decided yet." You'd smiled. He'd been doomed from that moment on. So had you. Now, months later, you're standing inches from him in the same supply closet where everything began. Only this time, neither of you is smiling..
Jack stares at the floor for a long moment.
"Baby.." Your expression hardens.
"Answer me, Jack."
"I'm fine." His voice is tired. You blink.
"No, you're not. Talk to me." He exhales slowly.
"I can't..." His hands settle on his hips. "I just- I can't handle this shift anymore. I'm exhausted." You step closer.
"You're lying to me." He doesn't answer. "Tell me what changed." Nothing. "You were fine yesterday." Silence. "You kissed me goodbye this morning." Silence. "You told me to drive safe." His jaw clenches. "So what happened between eight o'clock this morning and now?" Finally, he looks at you. Your heart splinters open. You reach up to him, your fingers tangling in his graying hair.
It's softer than it looks.
You cradle the back of his head, your thumb brushing slowly along his temple.
"JackâŠ" He closes his eyes. Just for a second. And he leans into your touch. The movement is so small most people would've missed it. You don't. You never do.
"There you are," you whisper. His breath catches. "You only do that when you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're lying." A tired smile ghosts across his mouth.
"âŠYou're getting too good at reading me."
"I've always been good at reading you." Your fingers slide through his hair again, smoothing it back from his forehead. "You haven't looked me in the eye all day." Silence. "You've been avoiding me." Silence. "You skipped lunch." Silence. "You gave Mrs. Alvarez's discharge paperwork to Robby instead of me." Another silence. "AndâŠ" your voice softens, "âŠyou haven't touched me." That one lands. You watch something inside him crack. His shoulders sag beneath the weight of it.
"I couldn't."
"Why?" He laughs once. It's a horrible sound. Because there's no humor in it.
"I was afraid if I didâŠ" His eyes finally meet yours. "âŠI'd never let you go." The words steal every ounce of air from your lungs.
"JackâŠ"
"You smiled at me this morning." His voice has gone distant. Like he's remembering it instead of living it. "You stole half my toast."
"I did."
"You kissed meâŠ" His hand comes up almost involuntarily, resting lightly against your waist. "So I spent the whole drive in thinkingâŠ" His thumb flexes once against your scrub top. "âŠhow many mornings do I actually have left?" Your expression crumples.
"Don't talk like that, Jack." You say, your face falling "Please, don't." You beg. HIs face hardens as he sees the sad look cross your face, and he cups your cheeks, tilting your face up.
"Can't help it. I'm on borrowed time, baby. And I know that." His hands smooth down your neck to rub affectionately at your arms. "I just... God, i don't want to know you'll still be here when i'm not." You shake your head, grabbing his hand and pressing it to your chest as you mirror your hand on his.
"I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere." You press a kiss to his temple. "We're not going anywhere." Jack's eyes close the second your lips touch his temple. He stands perfectly still. As if he's trying to memorize the feeling.
"âŠYou always say that," he whispers.
"Because it's true."
"It isn't."
"It is." He gives you a sad smile.
"You're too young to know what forever looks like."
"And you're too stubborn to let anybody love you properly." That actually earns a quiet laugh.
"Fair." Your thumb strokes across the back of his hand where it's pressed over your heartbeat.
"Feel that?" He nods. "That's where you live." His gaze drops to where your fingers are laced together.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you."
"I know."
"You could have kids."
"I know."
"You could travel."
"I know."
"You could find somebody who'll still be around when you're sixty." You shake your head.
"I already found somebody." His jaw tightens.
"BabyâŠ"
"No." Your voice is gentle now. Not angry. Not pleading. Just certain. "I don't want some hypothetical man twenty years from now." You take another step until your forehead rests against his. "I want the grumpy attending who steals my fries." A tiny huff escapes him.
"I do not steal your fries."
"You absolutely steal my fries."
"I sample them."
"You sample half the basket."
"They taste better off your plate."
"They're the same fries."
"They ain't." You smile despite yourself. His expression softens.
Silence settles between you. Comfortable this time. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You should go home." You blink. "Your shift's over."
"I know." You glance toward the tiny window in the supply closet door. The afternoon light has already started fading. "You coming?" The question is so ordinary. So domestic. The kind you've asked a hundred times before. Jack's hand stills against your cheek.
"âŠNot yet." Your smile fades.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got some charts to finish."
"You can do those tomorrow."
"I'd rather do 'em tonight."
"Jack." His eyes slide away from yours.
"I justâŠ" He clears his throat. "I need a little while longer." Your heart sinks.
"You still want to be alone."
"No." The answer comes quickly. Painfully quickly. "I just need to think." You study his face. The lines around his eyes. The exhaustion he keeps trying to hide. The fear he can't.
"You promise you'll come home?" His throat works.
"âŠYeah."
"Jack." He looks back at you. "Promise me." Something flickers across his face. Something almost guilty.
"I promise." You search his eyes for another long moment. Then you nod.
"Okay." You smooth the collar of his scrubs absentmindedly. "I'll start dinner." His lips twitch.
"What're we havin'?"
"I was thinking pasta."
"The one with too much garlic?"
"There is no such thing as too much garlic." He smiles.
"There she is." You rise onto your toes and press a lingering kiss to his cheek.
"Don't stay too late."
"I won't."
"You always say that."
"I know."
"And then I end up asleep on the couch waiting for you." His hand finds your waist again.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize." You squeeze his hand once. "You just have to come home." His chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts. Home. Not your apartment. Not his. Home. Wherever you were waiting. He watches you unlock the supply closet door.
Before stepping out, you glance back over your shoulder.
"I love you." The words are easy. Habitual now. Like breathing. Jack smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I know." You frown.
"âŠThat's not what you're supposed to say." A sheepish smile.
"IâŠ" His voice catches. "I love you too." You grin.
"There we go." Then you're gone, disappearing back into the controlled chaos of the emergency department. Jack stays where he is long after the door swings shut. The closet suddenly feels impossibly quiet.
With one last glance in the direction you'd gone, he squares his shoulders and walks back onto the emergency department floor, never noticing the rain beginning to fall outside the hospital windows.
Time passes by in a blur.
Before he knows it the sun is coming up, and Jack's shift is nearing it's end.
He rubs his temples tiredly, a sharp clap on his back jolting him forward.
"You look like shit, Jackie."
"Could say the same about you, Robby." Jack bites back, waving half-heartedly at Dana as she walks by with her coffee and about five different interns trailing after her.
"Go home," Dana calls over her shoulder without breaking stride. "You're scaring the medical students."
"They're supposed to be scared."
"They're supposed to be inspired."
"They'll learn." She snorts.
"They'll learn therapy." Jack manages a tired smile. His shoulders ache. His prosthetic has been screaming at him for the last three hours. His coffee went cold sometime around four in the morning. And all he can think about is you.
Probably asleep on the couch.
Probably stubborn enough to have waited until midnight before finally giving up and going to bed.
He pulls his phone from his pocket. One unread message from five minutes ago.
4:42 AM
I love you. â€ïž
His thumb lingers over the tiny heart. He smiles despite himself. Then types back.
Sorry, baby. Crazy night. Coming home now. Love you too.
He slips the phone back into his pocket.
"Finally listening to your girlfriend?" Robby asks. Jack doesn't bother correcting the title.
"âŠYeah."
"Good." Robby claps him on the shoulder again.
"Go home before she comes down here and drags your old ass out herself." A quiet chuckle escapes him.
"Wouldn't put it past her."
"Neither would I." Jack reaches for his coat hanging over the back of the chair. Almost home. A shower. Pasta reheated in the microwave. Your feet in his lap while you complained about residents and he pretended not to fall asleep halfway through the story. His favorite part of every day. The pager on his belt shrieks. Everyone in the department freezes instinctively. The overhead speakers crackle.
"Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision. ETA four minutes. Repeat, Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision." Jack closes his eyes.
"âŠOf course." His coat slips back onto the chair. Around him, the emergency department explodes into motion. Nurses rush toward Trauma One and Two. Respiratory is already wheeling ventilators into place. Blood coolers arrive. Dana spins on her heel.
"Let's move!" Robby is already pulling on gloves. Jack doesn't think. Years of instinct take over. He's halfway to the trauma bay before he remembers he'd promised you I'm coming home. The ambulance bay doors burst open. Rain lashes sideways through the entrance. Sirens scream.
One ambulance. Then another. Then a third. Paramedics spill out, shouting reports over one another.
"We've got minor wounds to passengers of cars involved, one major trauma on the way, eta two minutes." People start piling out of the ambulances, all minor head wounds and scrapes - minor enough for Jack and Robby to motion for them to head inside towards Santos, Mel, Langdon, Mohan, Whittaker and Javadi to take care of them.
Another set of sirens cuts through the rain.
Louder.
Closer.
A trauma nurse looks toward the ambulance bay doors.
"That'll be the major." The radio clipped to one of the paramedics crackles with static.
"Medic Seven inbound. Single critical patient. High-speed MVC. Driver trapped for approximately seven minutes after crash. Prolonged extrication. ETA sixty seconds." Jack is already pulling gloves over his hands.
"What've we got?" The paramedic barely glances up from the radio.
"Female. Late twenties to early thirties." Jack nods once.
"Mechanism?"
"Pickup crossed the center line. T-boned on the driver's side. Car rolled." His stomach sinks.
"Vitals?"
"Unstable."
"Airway?"
"Compromised."
"BP?"
"Eighty systolic and dropping." Robby whistles under his breath.
"Damn." Dana is already assigning stations. "Jack, you're leading." He nods automatically. "Robby, airway."
"Got it."
"Dana, thoracotomy tray on standby." The room transforms into organized chaos. Nurses lay out chest tubes. Someone spikes blood. The ultrasound machine hums to life. Jack checks the laryngoscope without really seeing it.
Focus.
One patient.
One problem at a time.
That's what he'd taught every resident who'd ever worked under him.
The ambulance backs into the bay with a squeal of brakes. Its doors fly open before it's fully stopped.
Rain explodes inside. The paramedics are shouting before the stretcher even touches the ground.
The patient is covered almost entirely by blankets, cervical collar, oxygen tubing and blood-soaked dressings.
Jack can't see her face. Good. He doesn't need to. She's his patient. She's just another trauma. Just another life to save.
The wheels slam through the trauma room doors.
"One, two, three!" They transfer her onto the hospital bed. Blankets peel away. Trauma shears slice through soaked clothing.
Blood. Too much blood.
Jack's eyes scan automatically.
Pelvis. Chest. Airway. Hands.
His gaze catches on a silver ring wrapped around one finger.
Simple. Thin.
He knows that ring. His heartbeat stutters.
No. There are thousands like it. He reaches for the patient's wrist to assess perfusion. A woven bracelet slides free from beneath the bloodied sleeve.
Blue thread. Fraying near the knot.
You'd made him the matching one six months ago during a rare weekend away. His hand freezes.
"âŠJack?" Robby's voice sounds strangely far away. He stares at the bracelet.
No. No.
His eyes finally lift. The paramedic pulls away the oxygen mask that had been resting loosely over the endotracheal tube while the respiratory therapist reconnects the ventilator. Blood-matted hair spills across the pillow. A bruised cheek. A familiar scar just beneath your jaw from the time you cut yourself opening an ampoule as an intern. Everything inside him stops.
"âŠNo." It's barely audible. Dana looks up.
"Jack?" He doesn't answer. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him. Not you.
Please. Not you. One of the nurses glances at the chart clipped to the end of the bed.
"No ID found at scene." Another nurse holds up a shattered phone sealed inside an evidence bag. "It was locked." Jack finally sees the necklace lying against your throat. The tiny silver stethoscope charm. His birthday gift. His own hands had fastened it around your neck. His gloves tremble.
"âŠBaby?" Silence. The monitor shrieks. Heart rate plummeting.
"Eighty over palp!"
"We're losing pressure!" Dana snaps her fingers in front of him.
"Jack!" His head jerks up. Every eye in Trauma One is on him. For one impossible second, he is not an attending physician. Not a trauma surgeon. Not a teacher.
He's just a man staring at the love of his life on a trauma table.
Robby sees his face. Looks at you. Looks back at Jack. And all the color drains from his own.
"âŠOh, God." The room falls silent for exactly one heartbeat.
Seven minutes, you were in that car.
Five minutes before you texted him.
You were on your phone behind the wheel.
Just to tell him you loved him.
This is his fault.
Oh god.
Oh god, he's going to be sick.
Jack backs out of the room, nausea crawling up his spine as he stumbles through the ER, staring at the door.
"Dr Abbot ?" Langdon calls as he's cleaning up a surface level cut on a child's head.
And Jack doubles over.
And throws upon the ER floor just as Robby barrels out of the room.
"Jack." Robby is at his side in an instant, one hand catching his shoulder before he can hit the floor. Jack doesn't even realize he's vomiting until his throat burns. His stomach empties violently onto the polished ER tile.
Again. Again.
His entire body convulses.
"Oh, Jesus," Langdon breathes, automatically guiding the child's mother a few steps away. Dana appears beside him so fast it seems impossible.
"Get Environmental Servicesâ"
"No." Robby cuts her off sharply. "Not yet." He keeps one hand firm between Jack's shoulder blades as another wave hits him.
Jack can't breathe. He can'tâ You'd texted him.
Love you.
He'd answered.
Coming home now.
Seven minutes. Seven goddamn minutes.
If he'd just left when he'd promised⊠If he'd just gone home⊠If he hadn't stayed to finish charts⊠If he hadn't spent the whole afternoon trying to convince himself to leave you⊠His hands begin to shake so violently he can't control them.
"IâŠ" His voice disappears. "IâŠ" He swallows hard against another wave of nausea. "I'm supposed to go first." He gasps against the prickling in his eyes, the pressure in his skull. He can see Dr Shen and Dr Ellis trying to bring your pulse back in the room, your small frame crushed beneath Ellis as he breaks your ribs over and over.
Jack feels sick all over again.
"They're hurting her." Jack rasps, sidestepping around his own sick and trying to reach you. "Robby, they're-"
"Jack, no. They're saving her." Robby says, stopping him. Jack stares at you, the way your rest caves beneath Shen's hands, the way your hand hangs limp off the bed, the way your lips part to give way for the tube that was unceremoniously shoved down your throat.
You were texting and driving.
Just to tell him you loved him.
Jack has always knows fate was a tricky thing.
He didn't think she had a dark sense of humor.
"Robby, you- You have to help her. She's in her twenties, she's- She's too young. She has to live. Robby, you have to save her." Robby grabs him by both shoulders. Hard.
"Jack." His voice cuts clean through the panic. "Look at me." Jack doesn't. He can't. His eyes are locked on the trauma bay.
On you.
Ellis's elbows lock as he continues compressions.
One. Two. Three.
Each one lifts your slight frame off the mattress.
Jack flinches with every compression as if they're landing on his own chest.
"They're hurting her," he whispers again, horrified.
"Jack, no."
"They're breaking her ribs."
"They have to."
"Noâ"
"They have to." Robby steps directly into his line of sight. "You taught me that." Jack's eyes finally flicker toward him. "You taught every one of us that." Another crash cart alarm shrieks from inside. Shen's voice rings out.
"Epinephrine's in."
Dana: "Continue CPR." Jack shakes his head frantically.
"She's scared of hospitals when she's the patient." His voice is barely coherent now. "She always jokes she'd make the worst patientâŠ" A broken laugh escapes him. "âŠShe hates IVs." Robby feels his own throat tighten.
"I know."
"She pretends she doesn'tâŠ" Jack's eyes fill. "âŠbut she squeezes my hand every time somebody sticks a needle in her." He looks back toward the room. "âŠWho's holding her hand?" Silence. That question hurts more than anything else. Robby glances through the glass. No one. Every hand is occupied.
Airway.
Chest.
Blood.
Ultrasound.
Nobody has a free hand. Jack makes to move again.
"I needâ"
"No."
"I just need toâ"
"You cannot go in there."
"They don't knowâ"
"They know."
"They don't know she gets cold." His breathing hitches. "They don't know sheâŠ" He swallows. "âŠshe likes somebody talking to her." His voice breaks. "âŠShe doesn't like silence." Robby's heart splinters. Because he's right. Everyone in that room knows you as a doctor. The brilliant resident. The relentless physician. Only Jack knows that you hum while making coffee.
That you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. That you steal his fries and pretend you don't. That when you're frightenedâŠyou reach for his hand.
A nurse rushes past them carrying another cooler of blood.
"Four units O negative!" Dana doesn't even look up.
"Hang all four." Jack's knees buckle. This time Robby catches him completely.
"I can't lose her." The words are tiny. Childlike. Robby eases him onto a nearby chair before he falls outright. "I can't."
"I know."
"I've already buried one wife." His hands cover his face. "I can't bury her too." Robby crouches in front of him.
"You aren't."
"You don't know that."
"No. I don't." Honesty. "But I know who's in that room." Jack looks up. "Dana." A nod. "Ellis." Another. "Shen." Another. "Your whole night shift crew and hjalf my day-shift. And every single one of them has heard you say the same thing for twenty years." Jack blinks. "'One patient,'" Robby says quietly. "'One problem at a time.'" A beat. "They're fighting for her the way you taught them to fight." Inside the trauma bay, another voice cuts through the noise.
"Pressure's gone." Ellis doesn't stop compressions.
"Keep going." Shen checks the monitor.
"We've got electrical activity." Dana reaches for the ultrasound probe.
"Come onâŠ" Jack grips Robby's forearm so tightly his knuckles turn white.
"You save her." His voice is almost gone."Please." It isn't an order. It isn't attending to attending. It's just a man begging his oldest friend.
"RobbyâŠ" His eyes overflow. "âŠPlease save my girl." Robby's own vision blurs. He squeezes Jack's shoulder once. Firm. Certain.
"I am going to do everything medicine allows." He stands. "And when I'm out of medicineâŠ" He looks through the glass at you. "âŠI'll start borrowing miracles." Without another word, he pulls a fresh pair of gloves over his hands, turns, and runs back into Trauma One, leaving Jack standing alone outside the doors, one trembling hand pressed against the glass, watching the team fight with everything they have to bring you back to him.
------
Jack throws up at least three times before they finally tell him you're stabilised.
His head in the toilet bowl, fingers gripping the porcelain, a shy Mel King waiting for him outside the door with a piece of gum and a bottle of water every time.
The first time, it's violent.
The second, there's almost nothing left.
By the third, it's just dry heaves that leave his ribs aching and his throat raw.
He stays kneeling in front of the staff bathroom toilet long after his stomach is empty, forehead resting against the cool porcelain.
His hands won't stop shaking.
A timid knock sounds against the door.
"âŠDr. Abbott?" Mel. He doesn't answer. The door opens just enough for her to peek her head through. She's still in scrubs. There's dried blood on one sleeve that isn't hers. She quietly sets a bottle of water and a packet of mint gum on the floor beside him.
"I thoughtâŠ" she says softly. "âŠyou might want these." Jack stares blankly at the bottle.
"âŠThank you." She doesn't leave immediately. She just stands there awkwardly. Hands clasped together.
"I've neverâŠ" Her voice catches. "âŠI've never seen you scared before." Jack lets out a laugh that sounds more like another sob.
"I have." Mel's eyes sting.
"You always look like you know exactly what to do." He shakes his head.
"Not today." Silence settles between them. "âŠIs sheâŠ" He can't finish. Mel swallows.
"Last time I check they were still working on her.." His shoulders shake. "But she's stable enough." A nod. "They were taking her for CT." Another nod. "They thoughtâŠ" Mel hesitates. "âŠthey were thinking the bleeding's slower now." Jack closes his eyes.
"Good." His voice is barely audible. "Good." Mel watches him for another moment before clearing her throat.
"Dr Robby is asking to see you." Jack nods once. It takes him three attempts to stand. His knees don't seem to remember how. Mel instinctively reaches out, steadying his elbow without a word. He's the one who's always caught everyone else. Today, she catches him.
"...Sorry," he mutters automatically. She looks at him like he's lost his mind.
"You don't have to apologize." He can't even find the strength to argue. The walk back to Trauma is only thirty yards. It feels like miles. Every step echoes. Every monitor sounds too loud. Every white coat reminds him of yours. He passes nurses who suddenly find something fascinating to look at on clipboards. Residents lower their voices. Nobody knows what to say to the attending who just watched the woman he loves arrive dying in his own emergency department.
Outside Trauma One, Robby is stripping off bloody gloves. There are streaks of crimson across his gown. Across his forearms. Across the bridge of his nose where he'd pushed his glasses back without thinking.
He looks exhausted. He looks twenty years older.
"Robby." Jack gasps. "Please- Please tell me she-"
"She's alive, Jack. They wheeled her up to Gen surgery about an hour ago. Neuro thinks they can manage her without opening her skull since the bleeding slowed." Jack doesn't move. The words don't register. They hit him like a language he's forgotten how to speak.
"âŠAlive?" Robby nods.
"Alive." Jack stares at him.
"âŠAlive." Another nod.
"Yeah." The breath leaves Jack all at once. His legs give out. He doesn't collapse dramatically. He just⊠folds. Like someone cut the strings holding him upright. He sinks into the nearest chair, elbows on his knees, both hands covering his face. A sound escapes him. Not crying. Not laughing. Something raw. Something that had been trapped inside his chest since he'd recognized your bracelet.
"OhâŠ" His shoulders shake. "âŠThank God." The words dissolve into another ragged breath. For nearly a minute, neither of them speaks. Robby simply stands there. Waiting. Finallyâ "Talk to me." Robby nods.
"She arrested once." Jack's head snaps up.
"âŠHow long?"
"Just under eight minutes before we got sustained circulation back." Jack visibly pales.
"JesusâŠ"
"We've got her back."
"What's broken?" Robby takes a slow breath.
"Left femur." A nod. "Pelvis." Another. "Six ribs." Jack closes his eyes. "Pulmonary contusion." His jaw tightens. "Liver laceration."
"Grade?"
"Three."
"âŠSpleen?"
"Bruised."
"Head?"
"Small subdural."
"AndâŠ" Robby hesitates. Jack notices immediately.
"What?"
"They're worried about swelling."
"Brain?"
"No."
"Then what?" Robby exhales slowly.
"Her abdomen." Jack nods automatically.
"Compartment syndrome ?"
"Not exactly." Robby huffs. "Ten week old fetus. Lost in the trauma of the crash." Jack frowns. For a moment, the words don't make sense.
"âŠWhat?" Robby's face changes. The practiced mask every trauma surgeon wears slips just enough to reveal the man underneath.
"They found it on FAST." His voice is quiet. Gentle. "We didn't know until we got her clothes off." Jack just stares at him.
"NoâŠ"
"They estimate around ten weeks."
"No."
"Jackâ"
"No." The word comes out harsher this time. Because it isn't denial. It's disbelief. His mind races backward. Ten weeks. The nausea you'd laughed off. The coffee you'd suddenly stopped drinking. The way you'd pushed the wine he'd poured one Friday night toward him instead. The afternoon you'd stood in the grocery store staring at baby carrots for almost five full minutes because they were "the only thing that sounded good."
He'd teased you relentlessly. You'd just rolled your eyes.
God.
"OhâŠ" His hand flies to his mouth. "âŠOh, sweetheart." He hears himself whisper it. Not to Robby. To you.
"She knewâŠ" Robby nods once.
"We think so. Police found a box full of pregnancy tests and baby clothes in the trunk. They think she was on her way to tell you." Jack's eyes begin to shine again.
"SheâŠ" He laughs weakly through the tears. "She was gonna tell me." He can see it now. The strange little smile you'd worn all week. The way you'd kept saying,
"Can we make sure we're both home Thursday night?" He'd assumed you wanted a date night.
God. You'd probably bought a tiny pair of socks.
Or one of those ridiculous mugs. World's Okayest Dad. You always liked making him groan at terrible jokes. His chest caves in.
"I almostâŠ" His voice disappears. "I almost left her." Robby doesn't interrupt. "I spent yesterday convincing myself she'd be happier without meâŠ" Jack's eyes squeeze shut. "âŠwhile she was carrying our baby." The words break him. Not loudly. Quietly. His shoulders fold inward. His face crumples. A single sob escapes before he can stop it.
"Oh, God." Robby kneels in front of him again.
"Jack."
"I would've never known." His voice shakes uncontrollably. "If she'dâŠ" He can't finish. He can't say died. "I would've buried them both." Silence. Heavy. Awful. Jack rubs both hands over his face.
"WasâŠ" He swallows painfully. "âŠwas there anythingâŠ" Robby already knows what he's asking.
"No." Jack nods. Not because it hurts less. Because he needed the answer. "There wasn't anything anybody could've done." Another nod. "The impactâŠ" Robby exhales slowly. "It was catastrophic." Jack's gaze falls to the floor. He pictures you driving. One hand on the wheel. The other holding your phone. Smiling. Typing three simple words.
I love you.
Maybe wondering how to tell him. Maybe rehearsing it. Maybe laughing to yourself because you'd always said he'd faint if you ever got pregnant. A broken smile flickers across his face through the tears.
"I would've." Robby blinks.
"What?"
"I would've fainted." Another watery laugh. "You would've had to catch me."
"I know."
"I would've built that damn garden." His voice is almost absent now. "We would've argued over paint colors."
Jack wipes his face. His hands are finally beginning to steady. Only a little.
"DoesâŠ" He clears his throat. "âŠdoes she know?"
"That she lost the pregnancy?" Jack nods. Robby shakes his head.
"No." Jack closes his eyes.
"When she wakes upâŠ" The sentence hangs unfinished. Because there is no good way to finish it. No right time. No right words. Robby puts a hand on his shoulder.
"One thing at a time."
Jack looks at him.
"FirstâŠ" Robby says quietly, "âŠwe get her through surgery." Another beat. "Then we get her home." Jack nods. A nurse pushes through the double doors.
"Dr. Abbott?" Both men look over. "The OR called." Jack is on his feet before she finishes speaking. "The surgery went great. They're asking if you'd like to sit with her as they wean her off the anesthesia." His face crumples all over again.
"âŠCan I?"
"They said she'd probably like a familiar voice." His throat closes. Because of course she would. She'd always said she hated silence. He nods once. Unable to trust himself to speak as he starts toward the elevator.
The elevator ride is only three floors.
It feels like an eternity.
Jack stands alone inside the polished steel box, one hand braced against the rail as if the floor keeps threatening to disappear beneath him. His scrubs are still stained. Not with your blood. Someone else's. He can't stop looking at them. The doors slide open with a soft chime. The intensive care floor is quiet.
Painfully quiet. No trauma alarms. No shouted orders. Just the distant hiss of ventilators and the muted beeping of cardiac monitors.
A recovery nurse is waiting outside your room. She offers him a small, sympathetic smile.
"They're just finishing up." Jack nods. His throat is too tight for words. She opens the door. "âŠYou can go in." He hesitates. For the first time in nearly thirty years of medicineâŠ
Jack Abbott is afraid to walk into a patient's room. Not because of what he'll find.
Because of who he'll find.
He finally forces his feet to move. The room is dim. Morning light filters through partially opened blinds. Machines hum quietly around the bed.
You look⊠Small.
Smaller than you've ever looked before. The ventilator is gone now. Only a nasal cannula rests beneath your nose. Bruises bloom across the left side of your face in deep purples and blues. Your hair has been gently brushed away from your forehead by somebody kind enough to think about things like that. One arm is wrapped in thick bandages. Your left leg disappears beneath blankets, suspended slightly from traction.
IV pumps blink steadily beside you. Monitor. Blood pressure. Pulse oximeter. So many machines. Too many. Jack stops beside the bed. His knees almost buckle again.
"âŠHi, baby." The words barely exist. He reaches for your hand. Carefully. As though you're made of spun glass. Your fingers are warm.
Thank God.
Warm.
He folds both of his hands around yours and bows his head until his forehead rests lightly against your knuckles. For a long moment⊠He just breathes.
He remembers the text.
I love you.
Three words.
Three words that nearly became the last thing you'd ever said to him.
His eyes squeeze shut.
"I love you too." The words come easier now. "I love you so much it scares me."
His thumb brushes over your wedding-ring finger.Empty.
Because you weren't married. Not yet. He'd convinced himself there wasn't enough time.
God. He'd been such a fool. His voice grows quieter.
Silence answers him.
Only the rhythmic beeping of your heart.
Steady. Strong. Alive.
He reaches out with trembling fingers and gently brushes a strand of hair away from your bruised forehead.
"You scared me." A tiny smile appears through the tears. His thumb strokes your temple. "âŠyou've always been dramatic." Nothing. "So if you could wake upâŠ" He leans closer. "âŠI'd appreciate it." Still nothing.
Another stroke through your hair. The monitor continues its patient rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Jack closes his eyes.
"I don't care if we never have another child." His voice is barely audible now.
"I don't care if we never get the house. I don't care if we eat burnt pasta every Thursday for the rest of our lives." He presses a gentle kiss against your bandaged hand. "I just want you." A tiny movement. So small he thinks he imagined it. His head jerks up. Your fingers. They twitch.
Once.
Against his palm. Jack freezes.
"âŠBaby?" Another tiny movement. Your brow furrows. Almost imperceptibly. Your lips part around a shallow breath.
The monitor speeds up by a few beats.
Jack shoots to his feet so quickly his chair skids backward across the floor.
"Nurse?" His voice cracks.
"Nurse!" The recovery nurse rushes through the doorway.
"What happened?"
"Iâ" He looks back at you. Your eyelashes flutter. Just once. Like you're trying very hard to swim toward the surface. Jack's heart climbs into his throat. He rushes back to your bedside, taking your hand again. "Baby ? God- Baby, can you hear me ?" His fingers rake through your hair, his lips ghosting over your temple.
Your eyelids flutter once more. A tiny crease forms between your brows. Like you're trying to remember how to wake up. The recovery nurse is already at your bedside, checking the monitor, shining a small penlight across your pupils.
"Easy," she murmurs, though she's not sure whether she's talking to you or Jack. "She's coming up."Jack doesn't take his eyes off your face.
"C'mon," he whispers. "You always were stubborn."
Another flutter.
Your fingers tightenâ Barely. Just enough for him to feel it. His breath catches so violently it almost hurts.
"There you are." His thumb strokes over your knuckles. "There you areâŠ" Your lips move. No sound. Just the ghost of a word. Jack leans in immediately until his ear is almost against your mouth.
"What?" Nothing. Your breathing hitches. Your brow pinches tighter. You try again.
"âŠJackâŠ"
His heart stops.
"I'm here." He swallows hard. "I'm right here." Your eyelashes tremble before finally lifting. Only a sliver. The room is nothing but blurred light and indistinct shapes. You blink slowly. Everything hurts. Your head. Your chest. Your leg. Even breathing feels wrong. The ceiling swims above you.
"âŠMmâŠ" Jack is crying openly now. He doesn't even notice.
"Hi." His smile is trembling so hard it barely looks like one. "Hi, my love." Your eyes drift toward the sound of his voice. It takes enormous effort. When they finally find him⊠You frown.
"âŠYouâŠ" Your voice is little more than dry air. "âŠcrying?" A broken laugh escapes him.
"You notice that first?" Another slow blink.
"âŠUgly." He laughs again, louder this time, the sound cracking in the middle.
"Yeah?"
"âŠMm."
"So are you." Your lips twitch. The tiniest hint of a smile.
"There she is," he whispers. "There she is." He can't stop touching you. One hand holds yours. The other cups your cheek with impossible gentleness, careful to avoid the bruising.
"I thoughtâŠ" His voice disappears. He tries again. "I thought I lost you."
Confusion clouds your face.
Lost?
You try to move. Pain explodes through your pelvis. A strangled gasp tears from your throat. Immediately, Jack's hand steadies your shoulder.
"Hey. Take it easy. Don't move, baby."He adjusts the blanket around you before liftingt he back of your mechanical bed to help you sit up a little. "I know you want to. But don't." You squeeze your eyes shut until the wave passes.
"âŠTruck." The word is barely understandable. "I rememberâŠ" Your breathing grows faster "âŠLights." Jack nods.
"I know."
"âŠRain."
"I know."
"âŠHome." His heart shatters. "You were coming home. And i- I was coming to you." You look at him again. Really look at him this time. His exhausted face. The dried tears. The blood still staining his scrubs.
"âŠYouâŠ" Your brow furrows. "âŠDidn'tâŠ" He knows what you're asking before you finish.
"I stayed." The admission is quiet. "I'm sorry." You stare at him.
"âŠCharts?" A humorless laugh escapes him.
"Yeah. I stayed for charts." Your eyes close for a moment. Not in anger. Just exhaustion.
"âŠIdiot." Jack lets out something between a sob and a laugh.
"I know. I know." You manage the weakest squeeze of his hand.
"âŠStillâŠ" Another shallow breath. "âŠLove you." The words are slurred by pain medication.
Sleepy. Honest. Jack's eyes overflow all over again.
"I love you too." He bends carefully, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. "So much." Your gaze drifts over him lazily.
"âŠYouâŠ" A pause. "âŠNeedâŠ"
"What do I need?"
"âŠSleep." Despite everything⊠He smiles.
"Bossing me around already?" A tiny nod.
"âŠDoctor'sâŠ" You pause to gather enough air. "âŠOrders." He laughs softly, shaking his head.
"Yes, ma'am." The nurse quietly checks your IV, giving the two of you as much privacy as a hospital room can offer. Your eyes begin to drift shut again. Jack feels your fingers loosening in his hand. Fear flashes across his face.
"Hey." Immediately, your eyes crack back open.
"âŠM'here."
"I know." He strokes your hair again. "You can sleep now."
"You sure?"
"So sure. I'm not leaving." He brings your hand to his lips. "I'll be right here when you wake up." Your expression softens.
"âŠPromise?" This time⊠There isn't a second of hesitation.
"I promise."
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twist of fate - jack abbot
pairing : jack abbot x f!reader
summary : jack always thought age would take him away from you. he never even considered you could leave him first.
warnings : angst !!!!!!!!! like a shit load haha good luck, mention of injure, mentions of blood, jack abbot being physically unwell
word count : 7.2 k
a/n: based on a rq !! nor proofread !
Time has never been Jack Abbot's friend.
He only had a few years with his wife before she passed away. Only a few years in service before he lost his leg.
He's always known his time was limited. That he would go sooner rather than later.
So when he met you, the hot-headed resident that swept the night-shift by force and took over every single of inch of him - body, mind and soul- he knew that he had to have you.
Just for a little while, before the earth reclaimed him and swallowed him whole.
The affair began in a sterile supply closet, the scent of antiseptic and desperation thick in the air. You were all sharp edges and furious energy, a storm in human form, and he was the ancient, weary rock you broke against. You challenged him in front of nurses, questioned his diagnoses with a fire that should have insulted him but instead ignited something long dormant in his chest. You saw the prosthetic leg, the limp, the weary lines around his eyes, and you didn't see a broken man; you saw a fortress to be conquered.
He let you in. He let you scream at him for being reckless with a patient, let you cry on his shoulder after a child coded on your table, let you fuck him with a ferocity that left him feeling more alive than he had in decades. He never spoke of love, and neither did you. It was an unspoken rule, a sacred pact between the ticking clock in his chest and the boundless, reckless energy in yours. He was your anchor in the chaos of the hospital, and you were his glorious, final blaze. He knew it was selfish, a cruel theft of your time and your heart, but as he watched you sleep, your face soft in the dim light of his apartment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was a condemned man, and you were his last, perfect meal.
But unfortunately for him, Jack does love you.
God, does he love you.
He loves the way you march through the emergency department like you're declaring war on death itself. He loves how you refuse to accept "good enough" when someone's life is on the line. He loves that you steal his coffee because "yours always tastes better," despite the fact you make it the exact same way. He loves the little wrinkle that appears between your eyebrows whenever you're reading a chart. He loves that you hum under your breath during sutures. He loves the stubborn tilt of your chin whenever someone underestimates you. He loves you in a thousand tiny, impossible ways.
Which is exactly why he knows he has to let you go. The realization doesn't come all at once. It settles into him quietly. One Tuesday morning, while you're standing at the nurses' station arguing with Radiology because somebody lost your CT request.
You're furious. Absolutely incandescent.
"You either find the scan," you snap into the phone, "or I walk down there myself." Jack watches from across the department. A nurse bumps into you with an apology. Without even looking, you smile at her.
"It's okay." Then you're right back to terrifying someone over the phone. He smiles despite himself. God. You're beautiful. Too beautiful to spend your twenties watching an old man grow older.
Too beautiful to become someone's widow before you've even learned who you're supposed to be. He catches himself imagining impossible things.
A little house. A garden. You yelling at him because he planted tomatoes too close together.
Sunday mornings. Children.
The image hurts enough that he has to look away. Because he knows exactly how it ends.
Not with the house. Not with the garden.
With a funeral.
His.
And you standing beside the casket far, far too young.
He spends the rest of the shift avoiding you. Not because he's angry. Because if he looks at you for too long, he'll fold. You make it easy to avoid him. You don't seek him out either. You present cases through another attending. You eat lunch in the residents' lounge instead of his office. During trauma rounds, your eyes slide over him like he's just another physician in blue scrubs. Professional. Detached.
It should make him happy. Instead, it hollows him out.
After a bout six hours of this bullshit, you finally snap.
Your hand wraps around his arm as he walks by the supply closet and you drag him inside, locking the door behind the both of you.
"What the-" "What exactly is your problem ?" You snap, shaking your head as you look up at him. God this man is beautiful.
He always has been.
The moment you met him, you knew you were as good as gone.
It had been your first week.
You'd walked into the emergency department with your chin held too high, your white coat too stiff, determined to prove yourself to every attending who thought a twenty-something resident couldn't keep up. Jack Abbott hadn't even looked up from the chart in his hands when he'd said,
"You're standing in my trauma bay." You'd looked him dead in the eye and replied,
"Then maybe work faster." The entire room had gone silent. A nurse had actually choked on her coffee. Jack had slowly lowered the chart. Looked at you. Really looked at you. Then the corner of his mouth had twitched.
"You're either very brave," he'd said.
"Or very stupid."
"I haven't decided yet." You'd smiled. He'd been doomed from that moment on. So had you. Now, months later, you're standing inches from him in the same supply closet where everything began. Only this time, neither of you is smiling..
Jack stares at the floor for a long moment.
"Baby.." Your expression hardens.
"Answer me, Jack."
"I'm fine." His voice is tired. You blink.
"No, you're not. Talk to me." He exhales slowly.
"I can't..." His hands settle on his hips. "I just- I can't handle this shift anymore. I'm exhausted." You step closer.
"You're lying to me." He doesn't answer. "Tell me what changed." Nothing. "You were fine yesterday." Silence. "You kissed me goodbye this morning." Silence. "You told me to drive safe." His jaw clenches. "So what happened between eight o'clock this morning and now?" Finally, he looks at you. Your heart splinters open. You reach up to him, your fingers tangling in his graying hair.
It's softer than it looks.
You cradle the back of his head, your thumb brushing slowly along his temple.
"JackâŠ" He closes his eyes. Just for a second. And he leans into your touch. The movement is so small most people would've missed it. You don't. You never do.
"There you are," you whisper. His breath catches. "You only do that when you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're lying." A tired smile ghosts across his mouth.
"âŠYou're getting too good at reading me."
"I've always been good at reading you." Your fingers slide through his hair again, smoothing it back from his forehead. "You haven't looked me in the eye all day." Silence. "You've been avoiding me." Silence. "You skipped lunch." Silence. "You gave Mrs. Alvarez's discharge paperwork to Robby instead of me." Another silence. "AndâŠ" your voice softens, "âŠyou haven't touched me." That one lands. You watch something inside him crack. His shoulders sag beneath the weight of it.
"I couldn't."
"Why?" He laughs once. It's a horrible sound. Because there's no humor in it.
"I was afraid if I didâŠ" His eyes finally meet yours. "âŠI'd never let you go." The words steal every ounce of air from your lungs.
"JackâŠ"
"You smiled at me this morning." His voice has gone distant. Like he's remembering it instead of living it. "You stole half my toast."
"I did."
"You kissed meâŠ" His hand comes up almost involuntarily, resting lightly against your waist. "So I spent the whole drive in thinkingâŠ" His thumb flexes once against your scrub top. "âŠhow many mornings do I actually have left?" Your expression crumples.
"Don't talk like that, Jack." You say, your face falling "Please, don't." You beg. HIs face hardens as he sees the sad look cross your face, and he cups your cheeks, tilting your face up.
"Can't help it. I'm on borrowed time, baby. And I know that." His hands smooth down your neck to rub affectionately at your arms. "I just... God, i don't want to know you'll still be here when i'm not." You shake your head, grabbing his hand and pressing it to your chest as you mirror your hand on his.
"I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere." You press a kiss to his temple. "We're not going anywhere." Jack's eyes close the second your lips touch his temple. He stands perfectly still. As if he's trying to memorize the feeling.
"âŠYou always say that," he whispers.
"Because it's true."
"It isn't."
"It is." He gives you a sad smile.
"You're too young to know what forever looks like."
"And you're too stubborn to let anybody love you properly." That actually earns a quiet laugh.
"Fair." Your thumb strokes across the back of his hand where it's pressed over your heartbeat.
"Feel that?" He nods. "That's where you live." His gaze drops to where your fingers are laced together.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you."
"I know."
"You could have kids."
"I know."
"You could travel."
"I know."
"You could find somebody who'll still be around when you're sixty." You shake your head.
"I already found somebody." His jaw tightens.
"BabyâŠ"
"No." Your voice is gentle now. Not angry. Not pleading. Just certain. "I don't want some hypothetical man twenty years from now." You take another step until your forehead rests against his. "I want the grumpy attending who steals my fries." A tiny huff escapes him.
"I do not steal your fries."
"You absolutely steal my fries."
"I sample them."
"You sample half the basket."
"They taste better off your plate."
"They're the same fries."
"They ain't." You smile despite yourself. His expression softens.
Silence settles between you. Comfortable this time. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You should go home." You blink. "Your shift's over."
"I know." You glance toward the tiny window in the supply closet door. The afternoon light has already started fading. "You coming?" The question is so ordinary. So domestic. The kind you've asked a hundred times before. Jack's hand stills against your cheek.
"âŠNot yet." Your smile fades.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got some charts to finish."
"You can do those tomorrow."
"I'd rather do 'em tonight."
"Jack." His eyes slide away from yours.
"I justâŠ" He clears his throat. "I need a little while longer." Your heart sinks.
"You still want to be alone."
"No." The answer comes quickly. Painfully quickly. "I just need to think." You study his face. The lines around his eyes. The exhaustion he keeps trying to hide. The fear he can't.
"You promise you'll come home?" His throat works.
"âŠYeah."
"Jack." He looks back at you. "Promise me." Something flickers across his face. Something almost guilty.
"I promise." You search his eyes for another long moment. Then you nod.
"Okay." You smooth the collar of his scrubs absentmindedly. "I'll start dinner." His lips twitch.
"What're we havin'?"
"I was thinking pasta."
"The one with too much garlic?"
"There is no such thing as too much garlic." He smiles.
"There she is." You rise onto your toes and press a lingering kiss to his cheek.
"Don't stay too late."
"I won't."
"You always say that."
"I know."
"And then I end up asleep on the couch waiting for you." His hand finds your waist again.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize." You squeeze his hand once. "You just have to come home." His chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts. Home. Not your apartment. Not his. Home. Wherever you were waiting. He watches you unlock the supply closet door.
Before stepping out, you glance back over your shoulder.
"I love you." The words are easy. Habitual now. Like breathing. Jack smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I know." You frown.
"âŠThat's not what you're supposed to say." A sheepish smile.
"IâŠ" His voice catches. "I love you too." You grin.
"There we go." Then you're gone, disappearing back into the controlled chaos of the emergency department. Jack stays where he is long after the door swings shut. The closet suddenly feels impossibly quiet.
With one last glance in the direction you'd gone, he squares his shoulders and walks back onto the emergency department floor, never noticing the rain beginning to fall outside the hospital windows.
Time passes by in a blur.
Before he knows it the sun is coming up, and Jack's shift is nearing it's end.
He rubs his temples tiredly, a sharp clap on his back jolting him forward.
"You look like shit, Jackie."
"Could say the same about you, Robby." Jack bites back, waving half-heartedly at Dana as she walks by with her coffee and about five different interns trailing after her.
"Go home," Dana calls over her shoulder without breaking stride. "You're scaring the medical students."
"They're supposed to be scared."
"They're supposed to be inspired."
"They'll learn." She snorts.
"They'll learn therapy." Jack manages a tired smile. His shoulders ache. His prosthetic has been screaming at him for the last three hours. His coffee went cold sometime around four in the morning. And all he can think about is you.
Probably asleep on the couch.
Probably stubborn enough to have waited until midnight before finally giving up and going to bed.
He pulls his phone from his pocket. One unread message from five minutes ago.
4:42 AM
I love you. â€ïž
His thumb lingers over the tiny heart. He smiles despite himself. Then types back.
Sorry, baby. Crazy night. Coming home now. Love you too.
He slips the phone back into his pocket.
"Finally listening to your girlfriend?" Robby asks. Jack doesn't bother correcting the title.
"âŠYeah."
"Good." Robby claps him on the shoulder again.
"Go home before she comes down here and drags your old ass out herself." A quiet chuckle escapes him.
"Wouldn't put it past her."
"Neither would I." Jack reaches for his coat hanging over the back of the chair. Almost home. A shower. Pasta reheated in the microwave. Your feet in his lap while you complained about residents and he pretended not to fall asleep halfway through the story. His favorite part of every day. The pager on his belt shrieks. Everyone in the department freezes instinctively. The overhead speakers crackle.
"Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision. ETA four minutes. Repeat, Code Trauma. Multi-vehicle collision." Jack closes his eyes.
"âŠOf course." His coat slips back onto the chair. Around him, the emergency department explodes into motion. Nurses rush toward Trauma One and Two. Respiratory is already wheeling ventilators into place. Blood coolers arrive. Dana spins on her heel.
"Let's move!" Robby is already pulling on gloves. Jack doesn't think. Years of instinct take over. He's halfway to the trauma bay before he remembers he'd promised you I'm coming home. The ambulance bay doors burst open. Rain lashes sideways through the entrance. Sirens scream.
One ambulance. Then another. Then a third. Paramedics spill out, shouting reports over one another.
"We've got minor wounds to passengers of cars involved, one major trauma on the way, eta two minutes." People start piling out of the ambulances, all minor head wounds and scrapes - minor enough for Jack and Robby to motion for them to head inside towards Santos, Mel, Langdon, Mohan, Whittaker and Javadi to take care of them.
Another set of sirens cuts through the rain.
Louder.
Closer.
A trauma nurse looks toward the ambulance bay doors.
"That'll be the major." The radio clipped to one of the paramedics crackles with static.
"Medic Seven inbound. Single critical patient. High-speed MVC. Driver trapped for approximately seven minutes after crash. Prolonged extrication. ETA sixty seconds." Jack is already pulling gloves over his hands.
"What've we got?" The paramedic barely glances up from the radio.
"Female. Late twenties to early thirties." Jack nods once.
"Mechanism?"
"Pickup crossed the center line. T-boned on the driver's side. Car rolled." His stomach sinks.
"Vitals?"
"Unstable."
"Airway?"
"Compromised."
"BP?"
"Eighty systolic and dropping." Robby whistles under his breath.
"Damn." Dana is already assigning stations. "Jack, you're leading." He nods automatically. "Robby, airway."
"Got it."
"Dana, thoracotomy tray on standby." The room transforms into organized chaos. Nurses lay out chest tubes. Someone spikes blood. The ultrasound machine hums to life. Jack checks the laryngoscope without really seeing it.
Focus.
One patient.
One problem at a time.
That's what he'd taught every resident who'd ever worked under him.
The ambulance backs into the bay with a squeal of brakes. Its doors fly open before it's fully stopped.
Rain explodes inside. The paramedics are shouting before the stretcher even touches the ground.
The patient is covered almost entirely by blankets, cervical collar, oxygen tubing and blood-soaked dressings.
Jack can't see her face. Good. He doesn't need to. She's his patient. She's just another trauma. Just another life to save.
The wheels slam through the trauma room doors.
"One, two, three!" They transfer her onto the hospital bed. Blankets peel away. Trauma shears slice through soaked clothing.
Blood. Too much blood.
Jack's eyes scan automatically.
Pelvis. Chest. Airway. Hands.
His gaze catches on a silver ring wrapped around one finger.
Simple. Thin.
He knows that ring. His heartbeat stutters.
No. There are thousands like it. He reaches for the patient's wrist to assess perfusion. A woven bracelet slides free from beneath the bloodied sleeve.
Blue thread. Fraying near the knot.
You'd made him the matching one six months ago during a rare weekend away. His hand freezes.
"âŠJack?" Robby's voice sounds strangely far away. He stares at the bracelet.
No. No.
His eyes finally lift. The paramedic pulls away the oxygen mask that had been resting loosely over the endotracheal tube while the respiratory therapist reconnects the ventilator. Blood-matted hair spills across the pillow. A bruised cheek. A familiar scar just beneath your jaw from the time you cut yourself opening an ampoule as an intern. Everything inside him stops.
"âŠNo." It's barely audible. Dana looks up.
"Jack?" He doesn't answer. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him. Not you.
Please. Not you. One of the nurses glances at the chart clipped to the end of the bed.
"No ID found at scene." Another nurse holds up a shattered phone sealed inside an evidence bag. "It was locked." Jack finally sees the necklace lying against your throat. The tiny silver stethoscope charm. His birthday gift. His own hands had fastened it around your neck. His gloves tremble.
"âŠBaby?" Silence. The monitor shrieks. Heart rate plummeting.
"Eighty over palp!"
"We're losing pressure!" Dana snaps her fingers in front of him.
"Jack!" His head jerks up. Every eye in Trauma One is on him. For one impossible second, he is not an attending physician. Not a trauma surgeon. Not a teacher.
He's just a man staring at the love of his life on a trauma table.
Robby sees his face. Looks at you. Looks back at Jack. And all the color drains from his own.
"âŠOh, God." The room falls silent for exactly one heartbeat.
Seven minutes, you were in that car.
Five minutes before you texted him.
You were on your phone behind the wheel.
Just to tell him you loved him.
This is his fault.
Oh god.
Oh god, he's going to be sick.
Jack backs out of the room, nausea crawling up his spine as he stumbles through the ER, staring at the door.
"Dr Abbot ?" Langdon calls as he's cleaning up a surface level cut on a child's head.
And Jack doubles over.
And throws upon the ER floor just as Robby barrels out of the room.
"Jack." Robby is at his side in an instant, one hand catching his shoulder before he can hit the floor. Jack doesn't even realize he's vomiting until his throat burns. His stomach empties violently onto the polished ER tile.
Again. Again.
His entire body convulses.
"Oh, Jesus," Langdon breathes, automatically guiding the child's mother a few steps away. Dana appears beside him so fast it seems impossible.
"Get Environmental Servicesâ"
"No." Robby cuts her off sharply. "Not yet." He keeps one hand firm between Jack's shoulder blades as another wave hits him.
Jack can't breathe. He can'tâ You'd texted him.
Love you.
He'd answered.
Coming home now.
Seven minutes. Seven goddamn minutes.
If he'd just left when he'd promised⊠If he'd just gone home⊠If he hadn't stayed to finish charts⊠If he hadn't spent the whole afternoon trying to convince himself to leave you⊠His hands begin to shake so violently he can't control them.
"IâŠ" His voice disappears. "IâŠ" He swallows hard against another wave of nausea. "I'm supposed to go first." He gasps against the prickling in his eyes, the pressure in his skull. He can see Dr Shen and Dr Ellis trying to bring your pulse back in the room, your small frame crushed beneath Ellis as he breaks your ribs over and over.
Jack feels sick all over again.
"They're hurting her." Jack rasps, sidestepping around his own sick and trying to reach you. "Robby, they're-"
"Jack, no. They're saving her." Robby says, stopping him. Jack stares at you, the way your rest caves beneath Shen's hands, the way your hand hangs limp off the bed, the way your lips part to give way for the tube that was unceremoniously shoved down your throat.
You were texting and driving.
Just to tell him you loved him.
Jack has always knows fate was a tricky thing.
He didn't think she had a dark sense of humor.
"Robby, you- You have to help her. She's in her twenties, she's- She's too young. She has to live. Robby, you have to save her." Robby grabs him by both shoulders. Hard.
"Jack." His voice cuts clean through the panic. "Look at me." Jack doesn't. He can't. His eyes are locked on the trauma bay.
On you.
Ellis's elbows lock as he continues compressions.
One. Two. Three.
Each one lifts your slight frame off the mattress.
Jack flinches with every compression as if they're landing on his own chest.
"They're hurting her," he whispers again, horrified.
"Jack, no."
"They're breaking her ribs."
"They have to."
"Noâ"
"They have to." Robby steps directly into his line of sight. "You taught me that." Jack's eyes finally flicker toward him. "You taught every one of us that." Another crash cart alarm shrieks from inside. Shen's voice rings out.
"Epinephrine's in."
Dana: "Continue CPR." Jack shakes his head frantically.
"She's scared of hospitals when she's the patient." His voice is barely coherent now. "She always jokes she'd make the worst patientâŠ" A broken laugh escapes him. "âŠShe hates IVs." Robby feels his own throat tighten.
"I know."
"She pretends she doesn'tâŠ" Jack's eyes fill. "âŠbut she squeezes my hand every time somebody sticks a needle in her." He looks back toward the room. "âŠWho's holding her hand?" Silence. That question hurts more than anything else. Robby glances through the glass. No one. Every hand is occupied.
Airway.
Chest.
Blood.
Ultrasound.
Nobody has a free hand. Jack makes to move again.
"I needâ"
"No."
"I just need toâ"
"You cannot go in there."
"They don't knowâ"
"They know."
"They don't know she gets cold." His breathing hitches. "They don't know sheâŠ" He swallows. "âŠshe likes somebody talking to her." His voice breaks. "âŠShe doesn't like silence." Robby's heart splinters. Because he's right. Everyone in that room knows you as a doctor. The brilliant resident. The relentless physician. Only Jack knows that you hum while making coffee.
That you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. That you steal his fries and pretend you don't. That when you're frightenedâŠyou reach for his hand.
A nurse rushes past them carrying another cooler of blood.
"Four units O negative!" Dana doesn't even look up.
"Hang all four." Jack's knees buckle. This time Robby catches him completely.
"I can't lose her." The words are tiny. Childlike. Robby eases him onto a nearby chair before he falls outright. "I can't."
"I know."
"I've already buried one wife." His hands cover his face. "I can't bury her too." Robby crouches in front of him.
"You aren't."
"You don't know that."
"No. I don't." Honesty. "But I know who's in that room." Jack looks up. "Dana." A nod. "Ellis." Another. "Shen." Another. "Your whole night shift crew and hjalf my day-shift. And every single one of them has heard you say the same thing for twenty years." Jack blinks. "'One patient,'" Robby says quietly. "'One problem at a time.'" A beat. "They're fighting for her the way you taught them to fight." Inside the trauma bay, another voice cuts through the noise.
"Pressure's gone." Ellis doesn't stop compressions.
"Keep going." Shen checks the monitor.
"We've got electrical activity." Dana reaches for the ultrasound probe.
"Come onâŠ" Jack grips Robby's forearm so tightly his knuckles turn white.
"You save her." His voice is almost gone."Please." It isn't an order. It isn't attending to attending. It's just a man begging his oldest friend.
"RobbyâŠ" His eyes overflow. "âŠPlease save my girl." Robby's own vision blurs. He squeezes Jack's shoulder once. Firm. Certain.
"I am going to do everything medicine allows." He stands. "And when I'm out of medicineâŠ" He looks through the glass at you. "âŠI'll start borrowing miracles." Without another word, he pulls a fresh pair of gloves over his hands, turns, and runs back into Trauma One, leaving Jack standing alone outside the doors, one trembling hand pressed against the glass, watching the team fight with everything they have to bring you back to him.
------
Jack throws up at least three times before they finally tell him you're stabilised.
His head in the toilet bowl, fingers gripping the porcelain, a shy Mel King waiting for him outside the door with a piece of gum and a bottle of water every time.
The first time, it's violent.
The second, there's almost nothing left.
By the third, it's just dry heaves that leave his ribs aching and his throat raw.
He stays kneeling in front of the staff bathroom toilet long after his stomach is empty, forehead resting against the cool porcelain.
His hands won't stop shaking.
A timid knock sounds against the door.
"âŠDr. Abbott?" Mel. He doesn't answer. The door opens just enough for her to peek her head through. She's still in scrubs. There's dried blood on one sleeve that isn't hers. She quietly sets a bottle of water and a packet of mint gum on the floor beside him.
"I thoughtâŠ" she says softly. "âŠyou might want these." Jack stares blankly at the bottle.
"âŠThank you." She doesn't leave immediately. She just stands there awkwardly. Hands clasped together.
"I've neverâŠ" Her voice catches. "âŠI've never seen you scared before." Jack lets out a laugh that sounds more like another sob.
"I have." Mel's eyes sting.
"You always look like you know exactly what to do." He shakes his head.
"Not today." Silence settles between them. "âŠIs sheâŠ" He can't finish. Mel swallows.
"Last time I check they were still working on her.." His shoulders shake. "But she's stable enough." A nod. "They were taking her for CT." Another nod. "They thoughtâŠ" Mel hesitates. "âŠthey were thinking the bleeding's slower now." Jack closes his eyes.
"Good." His voice is barely audible. "Good." Mel watches him for another moment before clearing her throat.
"Dr Robby is asking to see you." Jack nods once. It takes him three attempts to stand. His knees don't seem to remember how. Mel instinctively reaches out, steadying his elbow without a word. He's the one who's always caught everyone else. Today, she catches him.
"...Sorry," he mutters automatically. She looks at him like he's lost his mind.
"You don't have to apologize." He can't even find the strength to argue. The walk back to Trauma is only thirty yards. It feels like miles. Every step echoes. Every monitor sounds too loud. Every white coat reminds him of yours. He passes nurses who suddenly find something fascinating to look at on clipboards. Residents lower their voices. Nobody knows what to say to the attending who just watched the woman he loves arrive dying in his own emergency department.
Outside Trauma One, Robby is stripping off bloody gloves. There are streaks of crimson across his gown. Across his forearms. Across the bridge of his nose where he'd pushed his glasses back without thinking.
He looks exhausted. He looks twenty years older.
"Robby." Jack gasps. "Please- Please tell me she-"
"She's alive, Jack. They wheeled her up to Gen surgery about an hour ago. Neuro thinks they can manage her without opening her skull since the bleeding slowed." Jack doesn't move. The words don't register. They hit him like a language he's forgotten how to speak.
"âŠAlive?" Robby nods.
"Alive." Jack stares at him.
"âŠAlive." Another nod.
"Yeah." The breath leaves Jack all at once. His legs give out. He doesn't collapse dramatically. He just⊠folds. Like someone cut the strings holding him upright. He sinks into the nearest chair, elbows on his knees, both hands covering his face. A sound escapes him. Not crying. Not laughing. Something raw. Something that had been trapped inside his chest since he'd recognized your bracelet.
"OhâŠ" His shoulders shake. "âŠThank God." The words dissolve into another ragged breath. For nearly a minute, neither of them speaks. Robby simply stands there. Waiting. Finallyâ "Talk to me." Robby nods.
"She arrested once." Jack's head snaps up.
"âŠHow long?"
"Just under eight minutes before we got sustained circulation back." Jack visibly pales.
"JesusâŠ"
"We've got her back."
"What's broken?" Robby takes a slow breath.
"Left femur." A nod. "Pelvis." Another. "Six ribs." Jack closes his eyes. "Pulmonary contusion." His jaw tightens. "Liver laceration."
"Grade?"
"Three."
"âŠSpleen?"
"Bruised."
"Head?"
"Small subdural."
"AndâŠ" Robby hesitates. Jack notices immediately.
"What?"
"They're worried about swelling."
"Brain?"
"No."
"Then what?" Robby exhales slowly.
"Her abdomen." Jack nods automatically.
"Compartment syndrome ?"
"Not exactly." Robby huffs. "Ten week old fetus. Lost in the trauma of the crash." Jack frowns. For a moment, the words don't make sense.
"âŠWhat?" Robby's face changes. The practiced mask every trauma surgeon wears slips just enough to reveal the man underneath.
"They found it on FAST." His voice is quiet. Gentle. "We didn't know until we got her clothes off." Jack just stares at him.
"NoâŠ"
"They estimate around ten weeks."
"No."
"Jackâ"
"No." The word comes out harsher this time. Because it isn't denial. It's disbelief. His mind races backward. Ten weeks. The nausea you'd laughed off. The coffee you'd suddenly stopped drinking. The way you'd pushed the wine he'd poured one Friday night toward him instead. The afternoon you'd stood in the grocery store staring at baby carrots for almost five full minutes because they were "the only thing that sounded good."
He'd teased you relentlessly. You'd just rolled your eyes.
God.
"OhâŠ" His hand flies to his mouth. "âŠOh, sweetheart." He hears himself whisper it. Not to Robby. To you.
"She knewâŠ" Robby nods once.
"We think so. Police found a box full of pregnancy tests and baby clothes in the trunk. They think she was on her way to tell you." Jack's eyes begin to shine again.
"SheâŠ" He laughs weakly through the tears. "She was gonna tell me." He can see it now. The strange little smile you'd worn all week. The way you'd kept saying,
"Can we make sure we're both home Thursday night?" He'd assumed you wanted a date night.
God. You'd probably bought a tiny pair of socks.
Or one of those ridiculous mugs. World's Okayest Dad. You always liked making him groan at terrible jokes. His chest caves in.
"I almostâŠ" His voice disappears. "I almost left her." Robby doesn't interrupt. "I spent yesterday convincing myself she'd be happier without meâŠ" Jack's eyes squeeze shut. "âŠwhile she was carrying our baby." The words break him. Not loudly. Quietly. His shoulders fold inward. His face crumples. A single sob escapes before he can stop it.
"Oh, God." Robby kneels in front of him again.
"Jack."
"I would've never known." His voice shakes uncontrollably. "If she'dâŠ" He can't finish. He can't say died. "I would've buried them both." Silence. Heavy. Awful. Jack rubs both hands over his face.
"WasâŠ" He swallows painfully. "âŠwas there anythingâŠ" Robby already knows what he's asking.
"No." Jack nods. Not because it hurts less. Because he needed the answer. "There wasn't anything anybody could've done." Another nod. "The impactâŠ" Robby exhales slowly. "It was catastrophic." Jack's gaze falls to the floor. He pictures you driving. One hand on the wheel. The other holding your phone. Smiling. Typing three simple words.
I love you.
Maybe wondering how to tell him. Maybe rehearsing it. Maybe laughing to yourself because you'd always said he'd faint if you ever got pregnant. A broken smile flickers across his face through the tears.
"I would've." Robby blinks.
"What?"
"I would've fainted." Another watery laugh. "You would've had to catch me."
"I know."
"I would've built that damn garden." His voice is almost absent now. "We would've argued over paint colors."
Jack wipes his face. His hands are finally beginning to steady. Only a little.
"DoesâŠ" He clears his throat. "âŠdoes she know?"
"That she lost the pregnancy?" Jack nods. Robby shakes his head.
"No." Jack closes his eyes.
"When she wakes upâŠ" The sentence hangs unfinished. Because there is no good way to finish it. No right time. No right words. Robby puts a hand on his shoulder.
"One thing at a time."
Jack looks at him.
"FirstâŠ" Robby says quietly, "âŠwe get her through surgery." Another beat. "Then we get her home." Jack nods. A nurse pushes through the double doors.
"Dr. Abbott?" Both men look over. "The OR called." Jack is on his feet before she finishes speaking. "The surgery went great. They're asking if you'd like to sit with her as they wean her off the anesthesia." His face crumples all over again.
"âŠCan I?"
"They said she'd probably like a familiar voice." His throat closes. Because of course she would. She'd always said she hated silence. He nods once. Unable to trust himself to speak as he starts toward the elevator.
The elevator ride is only three floors.
It feels like an eternity.
Jack stands alone inside the polished steel box, one hand braced against the rail as if the floor keeps threatening to disappear beneath him. His scrubs are still stained. Not with your blood. Someone else's. He can't stop looking at them. The doors slide open with a soft chime. The intensive care floor is quiet.
Painfully quiet. No trauma alarms. No shouted orders. Just the distant hiss of ventilators and the muted beeping of cardiac monitors.
A recovery nurse is waiting outside your room. She offers him a small, sympathetic smile.
"They're just finishing up." Jack nods. His throat is too tight for words. She opens the door. "âŠYou can go in." He hesitates. For the first time in nearly thirty years of medicineâŠ
Jack Abbott is afraid to walk into a patient's room. Not because of what he'll find.
Because of who he'll find.
He finally forces his feet to move. The room is dim. Morning light filters through partially opened blinds. Machines hum quietly around the bed.
You look⊠Small.
Smaller than you've ever looked before. The ventilator is gone now. Only a nasal cannula rests beneath your nose. Bruises bloom across the left side of your face in deep purples and blues. Your hair has been gently brushed away from your forehead by somebody kind enough to think about things like that. One arm is wrapped in thick bandages. Your left leg disappears beneath blankets, suspended slightly from traction.
IV pumps blink steadily beside you. Monitor. Blood pressure. Pulse oximeter. So many machines. Too many. Jack stops beside the bed. His knees almost buckle again.
"âŠHi, baby." The words barely exist. He reaches for your hand. Carefully. As though you're made of spun glass. Your fingers are warm.
Thank God.
Warm.
He folds both of his hands around yours and bows his head until his forehead rests lightly against your knuckles. For a long moment⊠He just breathes.
He remembers the text.
I love you.
Three words.
Three words that nearly became the last thing you'd ever said to him.
His eyes squeeze shut.
"I love you too." The words come easier now. "I love you so much it scares me."
His thumb brushes over your wedding-ring finger.Empty.
Because you weren't married. Not yet. He'd convinced himself there wasn't enough time.
God. He'd been such a fool. His voice grows quieter.
Silence answers him.
Only the rhythmic beeping of your heart.
Steady. Strong. Alive.
He reaches out with trembling fingers and gently brushes a strand of hair away from your bruised forehead.
"You scared me." A tiny smile appears through the tears. His thumb strokes your temple. "âŠyou've always been dramatic." Nothing. "So if you could wake upâŠ" He leans closer. "âŠI'd appreciate it." Still nothing.
Another stroke through your hair. The monitor continues its patient rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Jack closes his eyes.
"I don't care if we never have another child." His voice is barely audible now.
"I don't care if we never get the house. I don't care if we eat burnt pasta every Thursday for the rest of our lives." He presses a gentle kiss against your bandaged hand. "I just want you." A tiny movement. So small he thinks he imagined it. His head jerks up. Your fingers. They twitch.
Once.
Against his palm. Jack freezes.
"âŠBaby?" Another tiny movement. Your brow furrows. Almost imperceptibly. Your lips part around a shallow breath.
The monitor speeds up by a few beats.
Jack shoots to his feet so quickly his chair skids backward across the floor.
"Nurse?" His voice cracks.
"Nurse!" The recovery nurse rushes through the doorway.
"What happened?"
"Iâ" He looks back at you. Your eyelashes flutter. Just once. Like you're trying very hard to swim toward the surface. Jack's heart climbs into his throat. He rushes back to your bedside, taking your hand again. "Baby ? God- Baby, can you hear me ?" His fingers rake through your hair, his lips ghosting over your temple.
Your eyelids flutter once more. A tiny crease forms between your brows. Like you're trying to remember how to wake up. The recovery nurse is already at your bedside, checking the monitor, shining a small penlight across your pupils.
"Easy," she murmurs, though she's not sure whether she's talking to you or Jack. "She's coming up."Jack doesn't take his eyes off your face.
"C'mon," he whispers. "You always were stubborn."
Another flutter.
Your fingers tightenâ Barely. Just enough for him to feel it. His breath catches so violently it almost hurts.
"There you are." His thumb strokes over your knuckles. "There you areâŠ" Your lips move. No sound. Just the ghost of a word. Jack leans in immediately until his ear is almost against your mouth.
"What?" Nothing. Your breathing hitches. Your brow pinches tighter. You try again.
"âŠJackâŠ"
His heart stops.
"I'm here." He swallows hard. "I'm right here." Your eyelashes tremble before finally lifting. Only a sliver. The room is nothing but blurred light and indistinct shapes. You blink slowly. Everything hurts. Your head. Your chest. Your leg. Even breathing feels wrong. The ceiling swims above you.
"âŠMmâŠ" Jack is crying openly now. He doesn't even notice.
"Hi." His smile is trembling so hard it barely looks like one. "Hi, my love." Your eyes drift toward the sound of his voice. It takes enormous effort. When they finally find him⊠You frown.
"âŠYouâŠ" Your voice is little more than dry air. "âŠcrying?" A broken laugh escapes him.
"You notice that first?" Another slow blink.
"âŠUgly." He laughs again, louder this time, the sound cracking in the middle.
"Yeah?"
"âŠMm."
"So are you." Your lips twitch. The tiniest hint of a smile.
"There she is," he whispers. "There she is." He can't stop touching you. One hand holds yours. The other cups your cheek with impossible gentleness, careful to avoid the bruising.
"I thoughtâŠ" His voice disappears. He tries again. "I thought I lost you."
Confusion clouds your face.
Lost?
You try to move. Pain explodes through your pelvis. A strangled gasp tears from your throat. Immediately, Jack's hand steadies your shoulder.
"Hey. Take it easy. Don't move, baby."He adjusts the blanket around you before liftingt he back of your mechanical bed to help you sit up a little. "I know you want to. But don't." You squeeze your eyes shut until the wave passes.
"âŠTruck." The word is barely understandable. "I rememberâŠ" Your breathing grows faster "âŠLights." Jack nods.
"I know."
"âŠRain."
"I know."
"âŠHome." His heart shatters. "You were coming home. And i- I was coming to you." You look at him again. Really look at him this time. His exhausted face. The dried tears. The blood still staining his scrubs.
"âŠYouâŠ" Your brow furrows. "âŠDidn'tâŠ" He knows what you're asking before you finish.
"I stayed." The admission is quiet. "I'm sorry." You stare at him.
"âŠCharts?" A humorless laugh escapes him.
"Yeah. I stayed for charts." Your eyes close for a moment. Not in anger. Just exhaustion.
"âŠIdiot." Jack lets out something between a sob and a laugh.
"I know. I know." You manage the weakest squeeze of his hand.
"âŠStillâŠ" Another shallow breath. "âŠLove you." The words are slurred by pain medication.
Sleepy. Honest. Jack's eyes overflow all over again.
"I love you too." He bends carefully, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. "So much." Your gaze drifts over him lazily.
"âŠYouâŠ" A pause. "âŠNeedâŠ"
"What do I need?"
"âŠSleep." Despite everything⊠He smiles.
"Bossing me around already?" A tiny nod.
"âŠDoctor'sâŠ" You pause to gather enough air. "âŠOrders." He laughs softly, shaking his head.
"Yes, ma'am." The nurse quietly checks your IV, giving the two of you as much privacy as a hospital room can offer. Your eyes begin to drift shut again. Jack feels your fingers loosening in his hand. Fear flashes across his face.
"Hey." Immediately, your eyes crack back open.
"âŠM'here."
"I know." He strokes your hair again. "You can sleep now."
"You sure?"
"So sure. I'm not leaving." He brings your hand to his lips. "I'll be right here when you wake up." Your expression softens.
"âŠPromise?" This time⊠There isn't a second of hesitation.
"I promise."
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posting on tumblr is risky because there's always a chance that your diary will undergo peer review
Today my art history professor gave some words of wisdom:
Nude is when your clothes are off. Naked is when your clothes are off and youâre up to somethingÂ
single!mom reader who brings her kid to the pitt and said kid proceeds to out the two of them and their secret relationship.
I tweaked this just a little bit, but it did inspire the next 2.5k
âHi, my names Dr. Robinovitch, but everyone calls me Robby,â the man who addressed you said as he looked over your sonâs admission chart. âWhat brought us in this morning?â Heâs still reading over the notes that the triage nurse had recorded.Â
âMy son, Oliver,â you sounded so exhausted. It wasnât hard to imagine youâd probably been up for as long as Robby himself had. A sick six-year-old would do that to someone. âI thought he just caught something from schoolââ You started, but the words werenât coming out fast enough. âIâm not so sure itâs just a cold anymore.âÂ
âItâs good you came in,â Robby could sense the hesitation in your voice. The kind of hesitation he hears in most unsure parents' voices when they think a trip to the emergency room is unwarranted or unjustified. âA mother's instinct is usually to be trusted.â He smiled softly as he stepped a little closer to the bedside where your six-year-old lay with teary, tired eyes, a clogged nose and some weird-looking skin irritation.Â
Robby does a quick visual examination, noting quickly that your son seems to be having trouble breathing. He could practically hear the pneumonia in his little lungs.Â
âWhatâs your name, mum?â Robby asked as he shone a small but bright white light into your son's eyes. He wasnât perplexed about this ailment at all; it had to be pneumonia with a touch of contact dermatitis from something heâd come into contact with. A plant from school perhaps? or a cream youâd used.Â
âY/n.â You replied. The name rang through Robbyâs ears like a beautiful bell bellowing at midnight. The kind of ring that makes little ideas appear out of thin air. If he were a cartoon characterâŠRobby swore a little lightbulb appeared above his head.Â
What are the odds? A beautiful woman with a young son who just so happened to have the very same name that not three nights ago, Robby had practically forced out of Jack Abbot's mouth with the threat of a new night shift resident.Â
âYou look a little worn out too? After we draw some blood and get this little guy sorted, I think thereâs a cup of coffee with your name on it at the nurses' station.â He smiled, pocketing his pen light.Â
âOh,â You sighed out a small chuckle. âThese bags are permanent, Dr RobinavitchââÂ
âPlease, call me Robby.â He replied quickly as he walked around the examination room looking for all the bits he needed for a blood draw. âItâs my treat, thereâs nothing I can do for the permanent lack of sleep, but a little caffeine is good for the body, brain and soul.âÂ
âThat sounds great, thank you, Robby.â You shifted in your chair to move closer to your son's side. His little hand now safely placed in yours.Â
âIâll uh, Iâll be right back,â Robby caught the sight of his senior night shift attending heading out at the end of his shift. The very same night shift attending that Robby knew would want more than anything to be informed about this particular patient. âExcuse me.â He held up one finger and was gone before you could even say okay.Â
âAbbot!â Robby bellowed as he did a hop, skip and jump action past the nurses' station, where Dana was getting caught up to speed for her shift. âHeyâJack!âÂ
Jack sighed softly to himself before he stopped in his tracks. His old army bag was slung haphazardly over his left shoulder.Â
âBrother, I am five feet from freedom here, donât do this to me.â Jack turned with a growl. He was just trying to get home after a long ass night. âI leave this emergency department in your capable hands.âÂ
âNot so fast,â Robby cooed as he clamped his hand down on Jack's backpackless shoulder. âI need a consult, sick six-year-old presenting with possible pneumoniaââÂ
âNice one, sounds like you already have a clear diagnosis, what the fuck do you need me for, man, Iâm off duty till seven!â Jack whisper-hissed through his teeth. His leg had been killing him since three, and Jack could practically smell the bacon and egg roll from Caramels calling his name.Â
âIâm pretty sure itâs your Y/n and her son, Oliver? Yeahâyeah, I think Iâve diagnosed that too,â Robby spoke as he rubbed the back of his head casually, like he was still trying to fake like he didnât know it was you from the second he heard your name. âBut I thought maybe youâd wanna come suss it out for yourself in case Iâm delusional and canât put two and two together.â Robby smiled as he watched Jack's entire demeanour change. It softened at the mere thought of you.Â
âYou said pneumonia?â Jack followed up as he walked into Robbyâs shoulder, making sure to make contact just to get back at the dick-like foolishness he had presented with. âAnd you're sure itâs Ollie?âÂ
âOh, youâre already on a nickname basis with her kid?â Robbyâs eyebrows raised as he followed his own emergency contact back to the exam room. âIâll be damned, do I hear wedding bells?âÂ
Jack didnât reply; all he did was make strides to where Robby had come from. Worry had already begun to take its rightful place inside his chest. Sure, Jack Abbot knew how to keep a calm and collected composureâŠbut not when it had anything to do with the family heâd started to feel a part of.Â
It was casual. Something new. It wasnât something that you had considered becoming serious or anything more than just two people spending some casual alone time together.Â
Casual. It was supposed to be a no-strings-attached thing. No feelings. No baggage. No attachments.Â
Thatâs how it started anywayâŠit didnât stay that way for very long. How could it when Jack was all in from day one. He made that decision on his own terms. All it took was one date with you to know he was in this for the rest of his overextended life. One leg down be damned.Â
âHey,â it was the softest hey Robby had ever heard. âWhat are you guys doin' here?â Jack asked as he walked in with a proud chest and enough confidence to tell Robby everything he needed to know and more.Â
This was Jack Abbot's found family. A second chance at all the things he lost when he lost a physical part of himself.Â
âI didnât want to bother you,â You started in a near panic. âHeâs been up all night. I made an appointment with our primary for Wednesday butââ you didnât get a chance to speak before Jack was dropping to his knees beside your chair.Â
âIâm your damn primary now, alright?âÂ
You knew well enough that when Jack Abbot said something, he meant it with full conviction. All you could do was hold back a small quicker with pressed together lips as Jack placed a hand to the back of your head and drew your forehand to his lips.Â
Robby was rendered speechless. Heâd never seen this side of Jack before.Â
âUh, not to interfere, but I should probably continue my work up on Oliver here so we can get some sort of treatment plan in action.âÂ
âI can do that, you go ahead and annoy some other attending for the rest of your shift, Iâve got this handled now.â Jack didnât let Robby finish, and Robby knew better than to argue. He threw his hand up in surrender as Jack stood and looked around at where Robby had organised the equipment needed for a blood draw.Â
âHow long did you say heâs been like this?â Jack asked as he looked down at the little boy, half asleep in the hospital bed that made him look ten times smaller.Â
âHe was fine yesterday, I thought it was just a cold heâd picked up at school a few days ago, butââ You paused as panic threatened to burst out into tears; you felt like youâd failed as a mother. âBut he just hasnât been himself since yesterday afternoon; heâs been up all night.âÂ
âYeah, heâs gonna be alright, I promise,â Jack cooed as he placed a comforting hand on Oliverâs forehead. âWeâll pump him up with some fluids, antibiotics, and weâll go from there. Good call bringing him in, I just wish you would have called me.âÂ
âJackââ You sighed, it wasnât that you didnât want toâŠit was more like you were afraid if you didâŠhe wouldnât answer.Â
âAnytime, anything, anywhere.â Is all Jack said as he worked on your son. He was locked in like a madman on a mission. Healing hands that worked miracles on patients all night now worked over your sons like he had something to prove.Â
And he did have something to proveâŠhe wanted to prove to you that he was head over fucking heals for you. Making sure Ollie got the best care he could was only the tip of the iceberg.Â
âAlright, Bud, Iâm gonna need you to make a tight fist for me so I can take some blood,â Jack told your son what he was doing. âBut youâre gonna need to look over at mum while I do that, alright?âÂ
âIsnât my blood supposed to stay inside me?â Ollie mumbled as he felt the man whoâd made him feel safe enough to call family tied off his blood pressure. All Jack could do was laugh as a big grin took over his tired face.Â
âYeah, most of the time, but right now I gotta take some so we can run some tests to see whatâs making you feel so miserable, alright?âÂ
âWill it hurt?â Ollie asked as he looked towards you.Â
âA tiny little bee sting, but after that? Nope, plus I can do this with my eyes closed,â Jack looked up at you with a teasing wink of self-reassurance. âBut maybe just one eye,â He caught himself flirting as he popped in the butterfly needle. âSee? Bet you didnât even feel that, huh?âÂ
âNope.âÂ
âGood, now I need to talk to your mum outside in the hall for a few minutes, but Princess is gonna come in and get some fluids set up to make you feel better, sound alright with you?â Jack asked your son as if the kid had any say in the matter.Â
âIs she a real princess?â Ollie asked as he looked over to where Jack was looking at the small vial of blood.Â
âYeah, Bud, only the real deal for you,â Jack replied as he gestured for you to follow him out. You did just that, but not without saying a loving bye to Oliver.Â
It wasnât long before the two of you felt the weight of the entire emergency departmentâs eyes on you. Jack's day shift peers, who saw him as something of a traumatised enigma, all looked over like a mythical creature had just appeared. A rarity that was someone on a personal level with Dr. Jack middle name unknown, Abbot.Â
âHeâs probably going to be admitted for a few days,â Jack started as he eyed down whoever he could lock eyes with. First it was SantosâŠthen Dana. âI can assure you heâll be fine, but I wanna keep an eye on him for at least twenty-four hours to make sure heâs reactive to treatment.Â
âOh,â Your heart sank into your stomach at the thought of your son needing to stay here in the sterile, fluorescent environment. âUmâam I able to stay with him?â You didnât know how any of this worked. This was all new territory for you. Up until now, Oliver never needed to be hospitalised. Hell, heâd never broken a bone so much as caught a cold.Â
âAbsolutely,â Jack turned to you, recognising the guilt that plastered itself across your face. âBut hey, on a more important note,â Jack tried to lighten the mood. âWhoâs running the cafĂ© this morning if youâre here?âÂ
âAdam,â You replied politely as Jack reached for his phone. You caught the background clear as day. You, Jack, and Oliver at the park. âWhy? And how is that more important than anything thatâs going on right now?âÂ
âWell, I need to know whose handwork Iâm gonna fork out the Uber up charge for.â Jack doesnât look up from his phone. Heâs already got Caramels cafe, the cafe you owned, up on his phone. âTwo bacon and egg bagels, an iced coffee and a long black coming right up.âÂ
âI guess you havenât eaten, have you?â Neither had you. How could you possibly eat when all youâd been doing was worrying yourself sick over Oliverâs battle with whatever flu or cold or illness this was?Â
âHoney, it feels like I havenât eaten since March,â Jack teased as he walked with you over to the nurses' station. Dana, with all her bright joy and glee, waited patiently for Jack to introduce you. âDana, this isââ He paused for a moment, girlfriend never felt right. It felt like a title reserved for high school lovers. âPartner, my partner Y/n, her son is just about to start a round of fluids and antibiotics,â Jack updated the woman whose eyes never left you. âMake it known, VIP treatment for the kid in room three until peds has a bed.âÂ
âConsider it done,â Dana replied. âI wish I could say Iâve heard all about you,â she continued as she smiled your way. âBut Abbot here has an issue with personal and professional.âÂ
âYeah, I think we both share that same issue.â You replied as you looked around yourself at everyone staring your way. âDo I have something on my face?âÂ
âNo, darlin',â Dana chuckled. âItâs just not every day this department gets to see into the private life of Private Ryan here.âÂ
âOh, eat me,â Jack growled as he motioned the two of you back towards where your son's room was. âCâmon, I donât want these pariahs giving you the creeps any longer.âÂ
By the time you got back to your son, Princess had started an IV bag of fluids. He looked so small. So tired. But there was a sense of calm that came over you, knowing Jack was taking care of him.Â
âYou guys hang tight, Iâll be back with our food in a moment.â The pain in his leg hadnât gone away, not for a moment. But the pain didnât come close to the sheer amount of love that was pumping through Jack's veins.Â
Adrenaline itself couldnât compare.Â
âHey, Jack?â You couldnât let him go without a kiss. You reached for his cheeks and danced the pad of your thumb over his greying scruff. âI love you, thank you for being here.âÂ
Jack swore his heart had skipped a beat. It didnât normally do that. But when he felt your lips on his in view of all the emergency department to see, he couldnât help but blush.Â
âIâm never gonna hear the end of this, you know that, right?â He whispered in your ear as he drew you in closer for a hug. One of the hugs he reserved just for you. âAnd this breaks like three code of conduct rules, fraternising with patients.âÂ
âIâm not the patient,â You clearly reminded him. âIâm your partner.â
*******************
People Will Talk
FLUFFY Jack Abbott x Reader: Your car is in the garage, which means you have no means of getting home after a lengthy shift. Jack takes it upon himself to come to the rescue after finding out you left work to walk home in the dark and freezing cold.
Mentions: Mutual pining/yearning, playful flirting, jack worrying and protecting reader, mentions of menopause (ellis being sarcastic), medical inaccuracy (surprisingly I'm not a doctor), inaccurate nightshift/dayshift staff (I just picked characters at random that would fit the moment please don't hurt me).
(This is essentially plotless flirting fluff between Jack and you. Please assume that both of you have a flirtatious mutual yearning friendship and it's getting dangerously close to becoming a relationship k thnx).
"Oh come on." You groaned in frustration and rolled your eyes as your Uber app continued to load for what felt like twenty or so minutes.
This wasn't ideal. Of course fate had to deal you the hand of juggling your car being in the garage and almost every uber driver in the area refusing your request on what was apparently going to be the beginnings of winter.
With the buses in your neighbourhood being a total nightmare to predict (despite a sun-bleached time table on the stop indicating when it was supposed to arrive) you were faced with one option.
"Shit" You sighed to the ceiling, accepting your fate, and grabbed your things quickly.
There was nothing left for it; if you wanted to get to the hospital on time and not witness Robby have a tantrum, you were going to have to jog to work.
----
âHey, whereâs the fire?â Dana asked glancing over the rim of her glasses at you as you emerged from the locker room having discarded your backpack roughly into your locker upon jogging into the ER.
âWhat?â You said, frowning and looking between Dana and McKay as they leaned on the reception desk to scrutinize your flushed demeanour.
âWhy are you all red and sweaty?â McKay said, nodding to your appearance.
âAnd a hello to you too.â You sarcastically huffed as you picked up some papers from the pigeon hole on your desk, painfully aware of how flushed you felt. âCar is in the shop, Uber didnât take my request and the bus would have gotten me here half an hour later than my start time.â
âSo, you what? Sprinted to work?â McKay said, amused at your flushed cheeks as you wiped your brow of the residual sweat.
âI jogged.â You played off with a shrug as you shuffled between Dana and McKay.
âAlright Rocky Balboa; take this and lets go see Abbot and Robby for handover.â Dana said as she handed you a sealed bottle of water, clapped her hands on your shoulders whilst she shuffled you out of the desk area and towards the congregating group of nightshift workers.
âYou want a tinfoil sheet to wrap around you? Maybe some electrolytes?â McKay called over the desk to you, receiving an over the shoulder flip off from yourself, as you and Dana moved towards the nightshift group that was slowly forming for handover.
You spotted Jack as he stood beside Robby, chatting idly as the staff members grouped together in the corner of the ER. You separated from Dana and planted yourself between Ellis and Mel, both of which glanced at your slightly flushed appearance.
âLittle early for menopausal flushes.â Ellis said, nudging you with a smirk. Mel turned her head to face you and look you over on the other side.
âAre your drinking too much caffeine? Hot drinks can trigger menopausal flushes. Perhaps-â
âCan we begin?â Robby said, calling above the masses and drawing your attention back to work before you could cut Mel off yourself. You glowered at Ellis who stifled a smirk when you bumped her a little in the side as retaliation for her comment.
Briefly, whilst Robby started hand over discussions, you looked at Jack, who did a slight double take at your appearance, frowning and tilting his head to silently ask if you were okay. You waved him away a little and shook your head, an invisible means of conveying âitâs nothingâ. Once handovers had finished, you began reading over your charts and delegated your work according to patient severity. By now, you were back to normal and less flushed and sweaty.
âHey.â Jack said as he stood on the opposite side of your desk.
âHey.â You replied, though your focus was set on your charts.
âSo, why did it look like you did fifty laps around the building?â Jack asked curiously, his eyes roaming over you deep expression of concentration, framed already by stray and slightly sweaty baby hairs.
âCar is in the shop, Uber sucks, buses suck harder.â You explained, slightly less in detail or elegantly than your previous discussion with Dana and McKay.
Jack bent his mouth into a downwards u-shape as he nodded in understanding.
âShould have called, I would have picked you up.â Jack shrugged as he took some charts for himself from his desk.
âI didnât have enough time, besides you were already here.â You said, looking up from your charts and gesturing to the already busy ER.
âI would have come and got you. My break is thirty minutes long, more than enough time to pick you up.â
âHow do you know I live within thirty minutes of the hospital?â You playfully asked. âAlso, you never take the full thirty minutes, you take ten, eat if you can, shot gun a coffee or Redbull, then jump right back into the fray.â You smiled knowingly as Jack had no means of arguing with you. You had worked together for so long that it was impossible not to notice one anotherâs work pattern at this point.
âMâstill wouldâve picked you up.â Jack shrugged with a huffy tone.
âOh donât pout on me Abbott.â You sighed and shook your head with an amused smirk.
Whilst you and Jack read over your charts and discussed patients, you saw Mel hovering around in the corner of your vision, also reading her charts, but seemingly wanting to get your attention in particular.
âMel? You okay? You can go to the bathroom without asking for permission sweetie.â Dana sarcastically said across your shoulder, hauling yours and Jack's attention up to Mel as she looked right at you.
âI-I...donât need the bathroom.â Mel said awkwardly before gesturing to yourself. âI was just going to say, about earlier, if you need more information on menopausal hot flushes, I read an article during my third year at-â
âMel IâŠIâm not menopausal, hell I'm barely perimenopausal. Ellis was just being a jackass, I had to run to work.â You quickly shut down the helpful but not quite needed discussion on your bodyâs inner workings.
âHence the sweat and redness.â You clarified, gesturing to your face, though it was two or three shades of blush calmer, now that you had time to settle down in the ER's air conditioning.
âOhâŠoh I see. Sorry.â Mel said, offering a sweet and embarrassed smile before briskly marching off in the direction of her next patient.
You heard Jack huff beside you, and his amused expression creased the wrinkles at the corners of his narrow eyes. Dana also seemed amused by Melâs crossed wires, in fact almost everyone in listening distance seemed to get a kick out of the interaction.
âIâm gonna throw Ellis the pilonidal cyst patient.â You sighed and shook your head.
âThis could have been avoided if you just let me pick you up for work, now everyone thinks youâre going through the big changes.â Jack shrugged with a wry grin.
âAnd whatâs wrong with that?â Dana suddenly piped up, with several of the other nurses looking expectantly at him.
âHelp me out here?â Jack turned to you nervously.
âWell well well, look who needs ârescuing nowâ.â You said, tapping your charts against Jackâs shoulder. âCâmon, you can help me with the patient in two. I think Witaker and Javadi are taking vitals.â You said, before walking away in the direction of room two.
âYouâre lucky sheâs here to save your ass Abbott.â Dana warned as she resumed reading the board above her.
âDonât I know it.â Jack said as he quickly moved away to follow you, and ultimately to stop himself from stuffing his foot further into his mouth.
----------------Â
The night shift rolled by, some cases easier than others. Thursday tended to yield less âcolorfulâ injuries or cases, Friday into the weekend was the time of week where anything and everything got thrown your way on night shift.
Certainly it was where you lay the roots of your friendship with Jack. At first, you didn't know if you'd like him, not that it mattered much; when it came to saving lives - you simply had to work together despite your opinions and differences. But very quickly you got him, and he got you. It made working in such a high intensity environment that little bit more bearable.
âMake sure to have that chart looked over and handed to Dana once youâre finished with it please and thank you.â You called melodically over your shoulder to the other doctors as you hauled off your nitrile, bloody gloves and tossed them into the clinical waste bin.
You looked at the time on the computer screen past Princess' shoulder and felt your heart practically sing with relief. Your feet had been throbbing all shift, especially after your impromptu jog to work. Now, the prospect of going home and soaking in a hot shower before sleeping off the exhaustion seemed utterly heavenly.
âHey, how are you getting home?â Dana asked curiously. âThought your car was out of commission?â
âIt is, checked my phone during my break and the guy said it wont be ready until the day after tomorrow, thank christ I got the long weekend off.â You sighed and rubbed your eyes.
âBetter dig out those running shoes then.â Dana mused grimly. âYâsure you donât wanna wait for an uber or somethin? I think Jack and the others are finishing up in twenty minutes, you could maybe carpool?â
âDana, Iâm fine.â You reassured her as you hauled on your backpack. âI donât live too far away, and I have some pepper spray in my pocket.â
âLet her walk, Iâm just jealous she got a full Friday and Saturday shift free.â Ellis smirked enviously at you.
âDo I detect a hint of jealousy there Ellis?â You said, tugging on your zip up hoodie to combat the looming cold air that would hit you upon heading out the building. You had felt it the few times you went out to the ambulance bay on shift to receive patients, and were a little annoyed you hadnât grabbed something warmer on the way out of the apartment earlier.
"No, just not thrilled you threw the pilonidal cyst patient my way." She shook her head at you.
"Well that's what you get for starting menopausal rumours." You sighed triumphantly.
"Look, just wait around. It's too dark to walk alone." Dana cut in again.
"Dana, relax." You implored. "I'll text you when I'm home." You chuckled, sounding like a little kid talking to a concerned parent.
You could see Dana was not entirely thrilled with the thought of you walking home in the wee hours, all alone and indeed with the temperature beginning to plummet. But you had made up your mind, and unfortunately the urge to go home was greater than the need to satisfy Danaâs motherly nature.
You said your goodbyes and left through the double doors, out into the still bustling waiting room, past various patients.
Sure enough, when you got out into the ambulance bay â it was freezing cold. You tried to zip up hoodie a little more around to shield your throat from the temperature, but there was no escaping it.
Several fellow staff members nodded their goodbyes to you whilst you began walking, with a few asking âyou gonna be warm enough?â.
As you walked, you fished out a pair of headphones and tapped through your phone to get some music or an audio book. Anything to take your mind off the cold walk home. Your breath was visible now as you exhaled through the freezing air. You already anticipated the incoming casualties for slips, trips and falls on ice, but at least that wasnât your concern, not for a few glorious days off from work.
A horn suddenly beeped right at your side as you walked along one of the side streets. It startled you, making you jump to the side as you pulled out your headphone to look and see a truck pulled up at your side.
âGet in.â Jack, sitting at the wheel of his truck said, frowning at you.
âYouâre an asshole.â You shook your head and continued walking, glancing behind Jack to make sure he wasnât obstructing anyone, but thankfully the roads were relatively quiet. âYou nearly gave me a fucken heart attack Jack!â
âGet in the truck. What the hell are you doing walking out here in the dark.â Jack scalded as he continued to drive, "It's also freezing out here." He added, the truck was now at a crawling pace as Jack remained level with you whilst you walked.
âHow did you know where I was?â You asked, ignoring his demand, walking parallel to Jack as he drove.
âDana said you left work ten minutes ago, I quickly went around a few of the blocks nearby to find you.â Jack explained and you let out an exhausted sigh of frustration at him going through all the effort.
âI said to Dana I would be fine; my apartment isnât far.â You grumbled and rolled your eyes, trying to walk a little faster and end the conversation. âJustâŠjust drive on Jack, Iâll be fine. Iâm a big girl, been walking home all by myself since the third grade.â
âYou didn't have big yellow school buses where you come from?â Jack sarcastically said, shaking his head as you looked away from him to continue walking. âGet in the truck, or I will haul you into the truck.â
âPretty sure if you do, I can go to HR for harassment and unwanted physical contact.â You snarkily commented, breaking your focus on the path ahead to look at jack.
He didnât respond, you just saw his frown before switching gears and driving on ahead without another word, his truck disappearing around the corner and out of sight. Suddenly you felt a pang of guilt hit you in the chest, and that perhaps you had pissed Jack off entirely. You made a mental note to text him later and check in, perhaps he had a rough shift and needed a friend to vent to, or -rather regretfully- maybe he felt incredibly hurt about you turning down his offer for a ride.
With a deep exhale, you put your headphones back in and blew a warm puff of air into your cupped hands. You crossed your arms over yourself and kept your fingers fed into your under arms to conserve heat, your head lowered down as you walked with a decent pace, almost completely ignoring the fact that you were about to walk into Jack.
WaitâŠJack?
You halted abruptly as you saw his familiar form marching towards you, up the opposite end of the sidewalk. Frowning with a smile, you stuffed your headphones into your pocket and met Jack in the middle of the sidewalk.
âWhat are you doing?â You asked, tired yet a little amused at Jackâs persistence.
âI wasnât joking about the truck; got some duct tape and zip ties in there.â He sarcastically said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. âReport it all you want to HR, but youâre not walking home in the freezing cold and all alone at night.â
âItâs almost 4am.â You corrected, much to Jackâs frustration.
âRegardless smartass, truck, now.â Jack stated, cutting through your sarcasm.
âWhere is your truck?â You asked, ignoring Jack as you looked past him to try and spot his truck.
âPark n ride at the end of the block. Câmon.â He said, reaching to briefly tug on your sleeve to walk with him.
It was useless at this point to say no, turn another way, make an excuse, anything. Jack was stuck by your side now it seemed, and there was no shaking him off. You didnât mind, not really, perhaps it was the fuss that made you squirm, people going out of their way to do things for you always made you feel uncomfortable. Like you werenât worth the effort or that you didnât want to burden others. It was always that way, since you could remember, accepting offers and kind gestures was a difficult thing for you. But when it was Jack, you rarely had a chance to refuse his kindness. Â
âDana really was worriedâ You sighed, slowing your walking pace, perhaps to be more considerate of Jack's prosthetic after several hours on shift, but also becauseâŠit was nice. A slow walk, with Jack, after a semi-hectic shift. A time to decompress as it were.
âPartially.â Jack shrugged. âI also donât like the thought of you walking through the streets in the freezing cold, just so you know, itâs not exclusive to Dana to care about you yâknow.â Jack said, feigning mock hurt.
âLook at you, caring about little old meâ You said mockingly, pausing to let out a big yawn, your exhaustion finally sinking into your system.
Whilst you walked, you felt Jack occasionally glimpsing at you, as if waiting to ask you something, but holding back for your permission.
âWhat?â You finally relinquished and looked at him with a tired and amused expression.
"What?" Jack said, wide eyed with offence and pretending to be innocent.
"What's on your mind Jack?." You asked gently, watching him switch up his shy act and shaking his head dismissively.
âYouâre cold.â Jack stated, noticing your glassy eyes and blushed nose, rosy from the freezing temperature. Part of you didn't believe that was entirely what he wanted to tell you, but you let it slide.
âJust a little.â You lazily replied with a nod, breathing out another puff of air. âGuess in the rush and chaos before my shift I just forgot to grab a coat. Plus, the jog to work kept me warm so I guess I didn't really notice it.â You bitterly remarked at your own expense.
âCâmere.â Jack said as he stopped abruptly and tugged open his jacket zipper.
âJack, donât, weâre close to the truck.â You said, taking a step away from Jack to avoid him as he hauled off his jacket.
"You don't know that." Jack shrugged. "You don't know which specific park and ride I was referring to." He said flippantly.
âYouâll freeze over.â You argued, noting the irony in your statement.
âChrist, will you just let me do something nice for you?â Jack laughed bitterly as he stood holding his jacket open for you, a bewildered smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You are so beautiful and stubborn Jack thought as you looked from his jacket and into his eyes.
You both stared one another down, until finally you softened with a grump. You gave in to Jack, as most tended to do, he was good at bargaining and getting situations to work in his favour. Jack fluttered his jack to open it up for you to get inside.
âPeople will talk y'know, you giving me your jacket.â You teased him before moving closer to let Jack help you into his weathered and oversized jacket.
âDoesnât bother me if it doesnât bother you.â Jack mumbled as he manoeuvred his jacket onto you.
It smelled of him, his aftershave, the hand sanitizer he kept in his breast pocket, a faint hospital smell and something uniquelyâŠJack. Him. Familiar. Jack pulled you a little closer whilst he clipped the zip into the catch, and sealed you up inside, his residual body heat still keeping within the fabric and warming your frozen limbs.
âBetter?â Jack said with a shit eating grin, especially with how you crossed your arms and nestled into the jacket and his leftover warmth.
âShut up Abbott.â You warned, but couldnât resist smiling at Jackâs proud expression.
âTake that as a yes.â He nodded. âCâmon, thereâs more heat in the truck you donât want to get into.â He said with a mocking tone as you both continued walking.
âThis jacket got a little colder all of a sudden.â You teased, narrowing your eyes at Jackâs childish voice.
âYâknow for a woman going through menopause, I would have thought maintaining heat wouldnât be much of a struggle.â Jack said, breaking the otherwise brief silence between you both.
âIâm so close to just walking in the other direction right now.â You threatened. âI mean it, Iâll walk off with this jacket and youâll never get it back.â
Jack simply smirked and chuckled to himself at your threat. Though the idea of you keeping his jacket didnât seem to bother him too much. So long as you werenât cold, he couldnât care. You both remained civil, and eventually arrived at Jackâs truck, parked up and away from other vehicles in the lot. Jack moved around you to open up the passenger side door, the gesture amusing you.
âWhat?â Jack asked innocently.
âNothing.â You shook your head and got into the passenger side.
Jack carefully closed the door and went around to his side to hop in and start the engine. You watched as he turned on the heating, and flicked on the heated seats for both of you. Instantly, you both reached out and held your hands across the vents to absorb the extra warmth seeping into the truck.
âNow look what you could have missed out on if you continued to be stubborn.â Jack said as he observed you, sitting in his jacket, in his truck, relishing in the warmth from his heaters.
âYouâre gonna hold this over me forever, arenât you?â You bitterly remarked as you rubbed your slowly defrosting fingers and hands together.
âFor as long as you refuse to admit that a ride with me was the right thing to do.â Jack gave you a smug grin and began to reverse the truck out of the bay.
The roads were so quiet now, practically no one awake except for fellow graveyard shift workers. Whilst Jack drove, you settled a little into the heated seat, you leaned back into the headrest and let out a small hum. You werenât sure when, but you had drifted off a little, entirely comfortable cosied up in Jackâs jacket and warmed up by the truckâs heating system. You didnât even notice the truck coming to a stop as Jack parked up and unbuckled his seatbelt to turn and face you.
âHey.â Jack gently coaxed, reaching out to nudge your arm.
âHmm?â You yawned in response, you turned your head in the direction of Jack but kept your eyes closed, as if they weighed too much to lift open.
âWakey wakey sleeping beauty.â Jack said. "Food."
A warm and inviting smell slowly filled your nostrils as you raised your head out of the nest that was Jackâs oversized jacket. Jack was entertained by the cartoonish way your tired eyelids fluttered open the moment he took out the source of the divine smell from a brown paper bag.
âWhat-â
âGot some breakfast.â Jack said. âBreakfast burrito.â
âWhere did you get a breakfast burrito?...More importantly, when?â You frowned, deeply confused as you took your wrapped up breakfast from Jack, looking around to try and figure out where you both had parked.
âBout ten minutes ago, you were asleep and didnât tell me where you lived. So, I went to a drive though to get us both breakfast.â Jack said. âWant some hot sauce?â He asked, changing the subject.
You were bewildered to say the least, a mixture of exhaustion, and hunger (apparently) clouding your mind as you sleepily looked from Jack and to the burrito in your hand. You didnât say anything, you simply rubbed your tired eyes with Jackâs jacket sleeve and nodded in response to his question about hot sauce.
âLet me get you.â Jack muttered, watching as you yawned and rubbed your eyes again whilst he opened up your burrito and poured a little hot sauce. âHere yâgo sleepy.â He said, handing you back your breakfast.
âWhat time is it now?â You asked between lazy bites, your eyes once more fluttering shut from exhaustion but also the delicious taste of breakfast satisfying your needs.
âAlmost five.â Jack said as he wolfed down his own food. âMake sure you tell me where you live this time, otherwise youâre having a sleep over with me.â
âMâpeople will talk.â You remarked, half awake with a mouthful of burrito.
âDoesnât bother me if it doesnât bother you.â Jack smiled and nodded as he looked out the windscreen to the street lights.
You got three quarters of the way before you felt too tired to finish your food, to which Jack took the remainder of your burrito end and consumed it before hopping briefly out the truck to toss the trash out and get back inside. You managed to give him your address with what little energy you had left, which Jack punched into the maps app on his phone, and started driving you home.
"How the hell have we known each other for so long and I'm only now learning where you live?" Jack muttered to himself, amused at the strange dynamic that you both had.
"You never asked me until now." You yawned, Jack simply smirked and nodded.
You resumed your position curling into the heft of Jackâs jacket, warm with a semi-full belly whilst he drove. Jack occasionally glanced at you to make sure you were alright, a part of him feeling a swell of pride that you were so visibly comfortable sitting there, practically asleep and taken care of by him.
âHey, don't mean to disturb your beauty sleep, but this the place?â Jack gently probed as he reached over to delicately move your knee from side to side to rouse you from you a little.
You winced and let out a grump, opening your eyes to the familiar sight of your neighbourhood and building.
âMâyeahâŠthis is me.â You said, yawning out the last part. âLemme get this off for you.â You said as you began to unzip Jackâs jacket.
âkeep it.â Jack shrugged.
âJack, Iâm not gonna get it back to you until Sunday shift.â You frowned and shook your head.
âThen Iâll come get it tomorrow before work.â Jack reasoned. âNow that I know where you live, it's only taken me nearly five years.â He added as he nodded past you and at the building across the front lawn.
âJack.â You implored, but as always - it was useless arguing with him.
âCâmon. Let me grab your bag out the back.â Jack said as he killed the engine and got out of his side of the truck.
At first you were confused but thought it was Jack being civil to help you get your stuff out the truck. But when he moved around to your side and started walking ahead of you, you were all the more confused.
âWhat are you doing?â You said as you followed him, eyeing your bag in his hand as he stood several feet in front of you.
âWalking you up to your apartment.â Jack said matter of factly, as if it were obvious.
âJack-â
âDo you know, according to national statistics, most apartment complex based crimes occur in stairwells.â Jack began. âWhat sort of guy would I be to leave you here and run the risk of you getting mugged or kidnapped at your front door.â
âThatâs all a load isnât it? The statistic stuff you just gave me there.â You said, folding your arms as you approached Jack.
âMaybe, maybe not. You wanna run the risk and get kidnapped by some thug or get to your soft comfy bed?â Jack teased as he dangled your backpack in front of you.
You couldnât help the smile that spread across your tired features, utterly amused and exhausted by Jack, you gave in. You always gave in.
âOnly because you bought me breakfast...and gave me a ride...and your jacket.â You reasoned as you began to reach into your scrubs to fetch your set of keys. âCâmon Abbottâ You said, walking past Jack and up to the entrance, practically feeling him watching and grinning triumphantly at you from behind.
You took the elevator for both your sakes, ignoring the irony in using it when Jack made such a fuss about âstairwell-based crime statisticsâ and wanting to walk you upstairs to your apartment. When you arrived at your floor, you both stepped out, Jack noticing how you politely said hello to one of the supers mopping the landing. Jack liked that about you, no matter who it was, what job they held, you were always kind and caring enough to say hello and ask how someoneâs day was going. You were selfless. A rare and genuine breed.
âThis is me.â You said, breaking Jackâs thoughts as you pointed to your door, feeding your keys into the lock and turning back to face him.
âAnd we made it all without getting stabbed or kidnapped. Iâd chalk that up to a great success.â He smirked and roamed his eyes over your sleepy form as you took your bag from him.
"My hero." You sarcastically mused. âThanks for the lift, and for breakfast.â You said, looking up at Jack. âAnd the loan of your jacket.â You added, shuffling your shoulders inside of it.
âAny time.â Jack said, feeding his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
âThis was nice.â You said, feeling yourself grow a little awkward as you both shuffled around in the landing. âMuch nicer than walking home in the freezing cold all alone.â
âFinally, she sees reason.â Jack smiled approvingly and nodded. âIf you wantâŠwe could do it again.â
âPeople would talk.â You repeated your previous statement, earning you a breathy chuckle from Jack that fed back into you, the pair of you smiling together like love sick idiots.
âIf you donât mind, I donât mind.â Jack said, echoing his own sentiment.
You smiled down at your shoes, unaware of how Jack couldnât look away from you. How, despite looking as tired as you felt, to him â you were beautiful.
âSee you tomorrow. Y'know, to come back for thisâ You said, pinching the sleeves of the jacket.
âIâll come pick you up on Sunday., sâmeant to snow over the weekend.â Jack said as he turned around and began walking back to the elevator.
"My car will be outta the shop by then." You argued with a grin.
"So stubborn." Jack shook his head. "I'll get you breakfast again if it will sweeten the deal?" He bargained.
"Sold." You nodded. "Night Jack."
"Night." Jack returned.
You watched Jack disappear into the elevator, offering a wave and a sly wink as he left. As you went into your apartment, you made a mental note to make Jack something for his break the following day, cookies or brownies, something edible as a gesture of thanks for taking care of you.
You would hand it along (reluctantly) with his jacket when he would return to you tomorrow for it before his shift. Though part of you already began to plot an argument to keep the jacket a little longer.
AMAZING!!!!
Older bf - J. Abbot
pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader
summary: Some blurbs about being in a age gap relationship with our silver fox.
warnings: Age-gap relationship obvi.
a/n: Gimme that old man right now, like I need him.
âââââââââčâ±â«â°tâčââââââââ
âSweetheart!â Jack calls out to you from the living room. âWe really need to get going now.â
âMâready!â you yell back at him, spraying some perfume before giving yourself one last glance over in the mirror.
Itâs date night.
You like to dress up whenever the two of you go out, while Jack loves the way you look whenever you do.. you stress him out every time by taking so long to get ready.
As you walk into the living room, Jack gets a glimpse of the dress youâre wearing and it immediately makes a warm feeling spread in his chest. You look beautiful.. you always do, but whenever you dress up like this itâs like you take your beauty to another level.
âLook at you..â Jack places a hand over his heart. âGorgeous,â
A smile spreads on your lips as you see him look at you with nothing but adoration and love in his eyes. It doesnât matter that heâs seen you dressed up a thousand times before, it takes his breath away every time you do.
âLet me get a picture of my girl,â he says before fishing his phone out of his back pocket.
You watch him squint as he looks at the screen while holding up his phone. It makes you want to chuckle every time you see him using his phone, thereâs always something he struggles with.
âNope, thatâs the front camera.â he mutters before tapping on the screen. âThere we go,â
You give him a smile as you look at his phone, causing an immediate smile to grow on Jackâs lips as well. He takes a few pictures before putting his phone away again.
âMan.. I sure got lucky,â he tells you before closing the space between the two of you and grabbing onto your waist.
âDonât you forget it,â you send him a quick wink before feeling him press his lips against yours.
â±â«â°
âFuck.. me,â
Jack watches you walk through the room, wearing a red set of lingerie. You barely have time to acknowledge him as youâre busy getting yourself ready to go out with your friends.
âThis dress,â you hold up a black one. âOr this one,â in the other hand youâre holding onto a dark green one.
âSweetheart.. I canât focus on the color of anything right about now,â Jack speaks up, eyes taking in your half-naked body.
âJack,â you groan, not having the time for him to be distracted like this. âYouâre not helping.â
âHmm..â he hums, not hearing a word as his gaze is burning onto your skin.
You roll your eyes at his actions before deciding yourself, picking the black dress and shoving yourself into it. The spell Jack was under is broken a little, making him more aware of the current situation.
âMâgonna work my entire shift with that image in my head.â he sighs before moving to sit on the edge of the bed so he could put on his prosthetic.
âGood,â you say after turning around to face him. âThat way you know what will be waiting at home for you in the morning.â
âYeah?â Jack arches a brow before standing up, giving himself a moment to adjust to the prosthetic before walking over to you. âOr itâll be like last time,â he says. âYouâll be knocked out, snoring like a sailor, breath smelling like the take-out you always end up eating when drunk.â
âAlright,â you glare over at him. âThatâs uncalled for.â
Jack chuckles and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. âHave fun.. be safe, if anythingâs wrong call me.â
âI will,â you say, smiling at him before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against his lips.
âWhat do you say when guys hit on you?â he asks, one hand moving down to rest on the curve of your ass.
âI say..â you look up at him through your lashes. âIâve got a boyfriend at home whoâs an ex-vet and will kick your ass.â you tell him. âAlso, he's super old so youâre not my type anyways.â
Jack breaks into a laugh as you add that last line, shaking his head softly before looking back in your eyes.
âAtta girl,â he mumbles before giving you one more kiss.
â±â«â°
âWhere are my goddamn glasses?â
Jack is walking around your shared apartment, newspaper in one hand and cup of coffee in the other.
You look over at him from the kitchen where youâre making breakfast for the two of you. Amused at how stressed he is about the fact he canât find them. You need to hold back a laugh when you spot them buried in his salt and pepper curls.
âAww, grandpa canât read the newspaper without his glasses.â you tease.
âDonât start,â Jack turns his head to give you a warning look. âI swear.. I just had them..â he murmurs before taking another look around.
You chuckle before moving yourself from behind the kitchen counter and walking up to him. âYouâre a step away from me putting you in a nursing home,â you tease before you grab the glasses out of his hair.
âThey were on your head, were you put them like five minutes ago.â you tell him, looking up into his eyes.
âOh,â Jack furrows his brows, slightly concerned that he genuinely forgot they were there.
You put the glasses on, making sure theyâre sitting right behind his ears. âThere you go,â a smile rests on your face before you lean in to press a soft kiss against his lips.
âHmm,â Jack smiles as you pull back and look into his eyes. âNo need for a nursing home when I got myself a sexy woman at home who aids me.â he tells you.
His words make you chuckle, rolling your eyes before watching him pucker his lips as he wants another kiss. You lean in and give him a soft peck before taking a step back.
âNeed to get back to my eggs,â you tell him before moving to the kitchen again.
â±â«â°
âThis is so sad,â you pout your lip as tears burn in your eyes.
Youâre currently watching The Notebook with Jack, itâs late at night and youâre curled up beside him on the couch.
âBaby..â Jack turns his head and checks up on you. âAre you actually crying?â
âYes,â you sob as you sit yourself up some more, unable to stop yourself from letting tears roll down your cheeks.
âItâs just a movie,â Jack tells you, moving to grab your hand in his to try and comfort you.
âI know that,â you sob before turning to look back at the screen where the elderly couple Noah and Allie have both just died, holding hands as they lay together in bed. âItâs just so sad,â
Jack canât help but be amused a little as he watches you cry, he thinks itâs adorable how emotional you can get from time to time. He pulls you into his side, holding you close and pressing a kiss on the top of your head. âSâokay, sweetheart.â
âNo,â you sob. âItâs not.â you look up into his eyes as tears burn in yours. âI just realized youâre going to die before me and then Iâll be all alone.â
That tugs on Jackâs heart strings.
âSweetheart.. no,â he pulls you into his lap so he could hold you even closer to him. âDonât think like that.â
âBut thatâs how itâs going to be,â you cry as you rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his big arms wrapped around you.
Jack presses another kiss on the top of your head as he holds you close to him, feeling a little helpless in this situation as he realizes thatâs eventually how itâs going to be. It hurts him to think about it.
âWhy do you have to be so goddamn old, huh?â you scold him softly, giving a slight nudge against his chest which makes him chuckle.
âHey,â Jack grabs your chin between his fingers, so he could make you look up into his eyes. âI promise I wonât die that quickly.â
âYou canât promise me that.â you tell him, looking up at him with sad eyes.
âI know..â Jack sighs softly, thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away some tears. âBut I can promise to love you every day until I do.â he says.
Those words make a soft smile tug on your lips, they go straight to your heart. âYeah..â
Jack smiles as he watches your eyes light up again. âMy sweet girl,â he mumbles before leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss.
âââââââââčâ±â«â°tâčââââââââ
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Another day another brain dump
Thinking it Jack Abbot when he gets a call to pick up his daughter, Charlotte, from school
Jack looks at the teacher, âShe would never hit a childâ
âShe strangled him, Mr Abbotâ
âThere must have been a reasonâ he insists
âMr Abbot even if there was a reason, we donât condone violence in the school!â
But Jack wasnât convinced. He sits Charlotte on the bench outside school, âwhat happened?â
âI put him in a headlock, just like you taught me!â
âYou put a ch-â Jack takes a deep breath, âyou put a child into a headlock?â
She shrugs, then looks at you as you pass by and excitedly waves, âHi Miss Honey!â
âCharlotte pay attentionâ Jack gently moves her face toward him, but he canât stop looking at you himself. âWhat did the other child do?â
You whisper as you pass by, âthe child is a bullyâ
Charlotte joins in âhe is an assholeâ
Jack instantly blushes, âchar- Noo! We donât say thatâ
âBut you say it all the timeâŠ.â she shrugs
You tip your head back and laugh out loud, Jack canât help but join in too.
