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Part Summary : A patient comes through the The Pitt that leaves Vivienne particularly impacted, While her and Jack make up for some lost time. We also finally get to see Dr Robby.
A/N: Last chapter at this current moment! This sort of wraps up a lot of things so I hope you guys enjoy and look out for the plot twist coming up :))) (I can’t lie this could be read as a stand alone if you want some quick Jack Abbot angst)
Wc: 4k
Prev part:
6am-7am
Vivienne steps back inside just as the sky begins to pale, the first weak light of morning bleeding through the high windows. The Pitt feels different at this hour- less frantic, more brittle. Like the night shift is loosening its grip but not quite ready to let go. Day staff trickle in with fresh coffee and alert eyes, while the night crew moves slower, bodies heavy with exhaustion.
She barely has time to take two steps before a chart is pressed into her hands.
"Room twelve," someone says over her shoulder. "OB triage flagged it but sent her down here first."
Vivienne blinks, adjusts her grip on the clipboard, and nods automatically.
The exam room smells faintly of antiseptic and citrus wipes. Inside, a woman in her mid-twenties sits perched on the edge of the bed, one hand braced against her lower back, the other resting protectively over the curve of her very pregnant stomach. She looks pale-clammy, almost-dark circles smudged beneath her eyes. Next to her stands an older man, late forties, maybe early fifties, hovering too close, worry etched deep into his face.
"Hi," Vivienne says gently, slipping into that softer register she's learned to use without thinking. "I'm Vivienne. I'm one of the doctors tonight."
The woman exhales shakily. "I'm-uh-I'm Lila."
Vivienne scans the chart quickly. Thirty-six weeks pregnant. Severe abdominal pain. Dizziness. Shortness of breath.
"When did the pain start, Lila?" Vivienne asks, pulling on gloves.
"An hour ago," Lila says. "It's... it's not like contractions. It's higher. And I feel lightheaded. Like I'm going to pass out."
Vivienne's focus sharpens instantly.
She checks vitals- blood pressure lower than it should be, heart rate elevated. Lila winces when Vivienne palpates her abdomen, especially along the right upper quadrant.
Vivienne's stomach tightens. She glances at the man. "Sir, are you her partner?"
"Yes," he says quickly. "I'm Mark."
Vivienne meets his eyes, calm but firm. "I'm going to need to get OB down here right away. Lila, I'm concerned about something called preeclampsia-possibly HELLP syndrome. It can happen late in pregnancy."
Mark pales. "Is the baby-"
"We're going to take care of both of them," Vivienne says steadily, already reaching for the phone. "But we need to move fast."
Vivienne steps back into the corridor, chart clutched to her chest, pulse still thrumming from the room she's just left. As she walks, her mind betrays her-replaying the image of Lila and Mark standing side by side, his hand hovering over her belly like a promise.
Great, she thinks darkly. Even my patients are mocking me now.
The resemblance is ridiculous and unfair-age gap, the quiet gravity of an older man, the way worry sharpens affection into something almost painful. She lets out a silent, pathetic laugh at herself and shakes her head, trying to scrub the thought before it settles too deeply.
She spots John Shen near the desk, coffee in hand like it's surgically attached.
"Dr. Shen?" she calls.
He turns, eyebrows lifting slightly. "What've you got, Crawford?"
She presents quickly- measured, concise, adrenaline smoothing her words. He listens without interrupting, nodding once, twice, then gestures for her to lead.
They walk back into the room together. Shen takes over seamlessly, confirming findings, asking Lila the right questions in that calm, detached tone that somehow reassures without promising too much. He orders OB upstairs, magnesium, labs- efficient, precise.
"Good catch," he says as they step back out. "You moved fast. That matters."
Relief loosens something in Vivienne's chest. "Thank you."
She barely has time to process it before he adds, casually, a smirk tugging at his mouth-
"So," he says. "You and Abbott, huh?"
Her heart drops straight into her stomach.
"I-what?" she stammers.
Shen lifts one shoulder. "Relax. I'm not HR. Just... observational." His smirk deepens. "You're not as subtle as you think."
Her face heats instantly. "It's not- I mean-"
He holds up a hand, amused. "You did good work tonight, Crawford. Focus on that."
Then he turns away, already lifting his coffee again, leaving her standing there-flustered and exposed.
Vivienne barely has time to process Shen's words before the world fractures again.
An alarm shrieks-high, relentless-cutting through the early-morning lull like a blade.
"Room eight!"
Someone yells it from down the hall, urgency sharp enough to make her stomach drop straight through the floor.
No.
No, no-
Her heart starts pounding so hard she can hear it in her ears, feel it in her throat. She's already moving before her brain catches up, feet carrying her toward the sound she knows too well.
Trauma Two.
The old lady.
The room is chaos when she reaches it.
Monitors scream. Nurses swarm. The bed is surrounded-too many hands, too much movement. The woman's body looks smaller than it did before, swallowed by wires and tubes and the weight of what's happening.
"She's bradying down!" someone shouts.
Ellis is there-already gloved, already in command. Her voice slices through the noise.
"Crawford start compressions. Now."
Vivienne doesn't hesitate. She steps in, hands finding the woman's chest, arms locking as she pushes down hard, rhythm drilled into her muscle memory. The bed creaks. Her shoulders burn almost instantly.
"One, two, three-"
"Charge to two hundred."
She steps back, breath coming fast and shallow.
"Clear!"
The shock jerks the woman's frail body violently. Vivienne flinches despite herself.
The monitor stutters.
Flat.
"Again."
They cycle through it-compressions, meds, airway. Time stretches and collapses all at once. Vivienne's world narrows to the rise and fall beneath her hands, the sound of her own counting, the metallic taste of panic in her mouth.
Sweat trickles down her spine.
Her arms are shaking now, muscles screaming, but she doesn't stop.
Please, she thinks, fierce and desperate. Please come back.
Ellis's voice is close to her ear. "You're doing fine. Don't stop."
Minutes pass. Or seconds. Vivienne can't tell.
Finally-
Ellis checks the monitor, then the woman's neck. Again. Longer this time.
The room goes very, very still.
Ellis exhales once, controlled-but heavy.
"Time of death," she says, voice steady. "Six- twenty five."
The words land like a physical blow.
Vivienne's hands are still on the woman's chest.
No one tells her to move them.
She stares down at the face she recognizes now in a way that hurts- eyes closed, mouth slack, bruises darker under the lights. Not a patient. A person. A woman who sat next to her on a bus and talked about her life like it was still unfolding.
"I-" Vivienne tries to speak, but her throat closes.
Her hands finally pull away, trembling, and she steps back blindly until her shoulder hits the wall. Her gloves are slick with sweat. Her vision blurs.
Ellis glances at her-just once. There's something softer there now.
"You did everything right," she says quietly.
Vivienne shakes her head, a small, broken motion. Her chest feels hollow, like something's been scooped out and left empty.
The nurses begin the quiet work that comes after-silencing alarms, covering the body. The room exhales, but Vivienne can't.
This isn't like the simulations.
This doesn't reset.
This is the first life she's watched slip through her hands.
Vivienne doesn't wait for anyone to notice her leave.
She turns, walks fast, then faster, the hallway blurring at the edges as she pushes through the bathroom door and into the first stall she sees. The lock clicks shut behind her-small, thin, useless, but it's enough.
For a second, she just stands there.
Then her knees buckle.
She sinks down onto the closed toilet lid, back pressed against the cold metal wall, and the air leaves her lungs in a broken rush. Her hands come up to her face, still faintly smelling of latex and antiseptic, and that's when it hits her all at once.
The sound she makes surprises her-sharp, cracked, too loud in the quiet room. She clamps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as her breath stutters in and out, uneven and panicked. Her chest aches like it's being crushed from the inside.
She died.
The words loop mercilessly.
Not abstract. Not clinical. Not the patient expired.
She died. And I was there.
Vivienne squeezes her eyes shut, but all she sees is the woman's face- the way her body jerked under the shock, the flat line that never came back. Her hands start shaking harder, like they don't belong to her anymore.
I couldn't fix it.
Her mind spirals, cruel and relentless.
If I hadn't frozen for half a second. If I'd pushed harder. If I'd noticed something earlier. If I'd said something different.
Her breath turns shallow, each inhale catching halfway in her chest. She presses her forehead into her knees, trying to make herself smaller, quieter, like that might undo what's already happened.
What if I can't do this?
The thought terrifies her more than the death itself.
She's wanted this for so long- bled for it, studied until her eyes burned, sacrificed everything that wasn't medicine. And now, faced with the reality of it, her confidence crumbles frighteningly fast.
What if caring this much is a flaw?
Her throat tightens painfully. Tears spill freely now, hot and unchecked, soaking into the fabric of her scrubs. She doesn't bother wiping them away.
Doctors aren't supposed to break like this.
The bathroom is silent except for her breathing and the soft, humiliating sound of her crying. Outside, the hospital keeps moving- codes, charts, lives continuing whether she's ready or not.
Vivienne wraps her arms around herself, nails digging into her sleeves, trying to anchor herself in her own body.
Someone opening the bathroom door and going into a stall themselves snaps her out of it. She quickly wipes her tears and takes a deep breath before walking out to the sink.
Her cheeks are flushed a deep red, lips puffier then when she came in, quickly she turns the tap on letting the water run before splashing a small amount on her face just enough to cool her down.
As she walks back out, it seemed business as usual for the Pitt, everyone rushing everywhere alarms, and Clyde sitting at one of the reception desks borrow playing with a pen.
As she steps closer his head snaps up, "Hey Crawford how're you going?" He asks softly.
She gives him a small smile as she scrunches her eyebrows together, "uh.. I'm okay now I think." A pause, "I sorta knew her- I mean I met her on the bus this morning."
He nodded understandingly, "well if it makes you feel better we only have 20 minutes left of our shift." He says trying to somewhat lift the mood.
Vivienne nods at him silently before she sees Ellis.
Ellis is standing at the central desk, one hip leaned against it, coffee in hand that's gone untouched for too long. She looks up the second Vivienne comes into view. Her gaze sharpens- not clinical, not assessing vitals, but something quieter. Noticing.
"Viv," she says, gentle but firm, curling two fingers in a beckoning motion. "Come here."
Vivienne obeys before she can think too hard about it. Her legs feel hollow, like she's walking on borrowed strength.
She's almost there when another presence joins them-decisive footsteps, a clipboard tucked under one arm. Dana, the day shift head nurse, sweeps in with the kind of authority that doesn't need to raise its voice. Her hair is immaculate, her scrubs crisp, eyes already scanning the board like she's reading the room's pulse.
"Morning," Dana says, brisk but not unkind. Then her attention lands on Vivienne. She pauses, really looks at her. "Crawford. First night shift, right? I think we briefly met last night"
Vivienne nods. Her mouth opens, but Ellis beats her to it.
"She's been solid," Ellis says easily, like it's a fact, not praise. "Handled herself well."
Dana hums, considering. "Long night to start on." Then, softer, pointed directly at Vivienne, "How's your day been going?"
It's such a normal question. That's what almost breaks her.
Vivienne swallows. Images flash uninvited- the old woman's face, the flatline, the sound of Ellis calling time of death. Her chest tightens, but she keeps her voice steady.
"Busy," she says. "I... learned a lot."
Dana studies her for a beat longer, then gives a small nod, like she understands exactly how much is being packed into those three words.
"That's ER," she says. "Good work getting through it." Then she turns back to the board, already shifting gears. "We'll take handover in twenty."
She moves off, a force of momentum and daylight.
Ellis waits until she's gone before looking back at Vivienne. "You okay to keep moving?"
Vivienne hesitates-just a fraction of a second-then nods. "Yeah."
Ellis doesn't call her out on the lie. She just hands her a chart.
"Final rounds," she says. "Last sweep before attendings take over. We check lines, pain control, anything that got missed overnight. It's about closure."
Closure. The word sits heavy between them.
They start walking.
Ellis talks as they go, voice calm, steady-explaining without overwhelming. "We don't fix everything," she says. "Sometimes we just make sure people are as okay as they can be when the sun comes up."
They stop at rooms, peek in through doors. Vivienne follows, listens, nods. Her body moves on muscle memory now-checking monitors, scanning faces, adjusting blankets. She feels like she's underwater, everything slightly delayed, but she keeps up.
At one room, Ellis pauses a little longer. "This part," she says quietly, "is important. You don't rush it. Even when you're tired. Especially when you're tired."
Vivienne looks at her then. Really looks. Sees the lines of exhaustion etched into Ellis's face, the resilience underneath.
"What if..." Vivienne starts, then stops herself.
Ellis waits.
"What if you don't get used to it?" Vivienne finishes. "The losing."
Ellis's expression doesn't soften. It steadies.
"Then you're still human," she says. "If you ever get used to it, that's when you worry, you rushed out before we got a chance but usually when a patient passes we like to do a minute of silence... reflecting on their lives they lived, that's what brings closure."
They move on.
As they walk, the Pitt brightens around them- windows shifting from black to pale blue, voices growing louder, fresher. Night loosens its grip. Vivienne feels wrung out, emptied, but still standing.
Ellis catches her just as Vivienne is sliding her pen back into her pocket, movements automatic, like if she doesn't leave now she might never manage to.
"That's you done," Ellis says, soft but final. "Go home."
Vivienne blinks. The words take a second to land. Done. Finished. Survived.
"Oh-okay. Yeah." She nods too quickly, already reaching for her bag. "Thank you. For... everything."
Ellis gives her a look that says we'll unpack that another time. "Get some air," she adds, almost as an afterthought. "You earned it."
Vivienne doesn't wait long enough to risk another conversation. She shoulders her bag, pulls her hoodie on like armor, and slips away before the day shift can fully swallow her. Instead of heading out the front, she veers toward the stairwell-pushes through the heavy fire escape door and starts climbing.
One flight. Two. Three.
Her legs burn in that dull, satisfying way that reminds her she's still in her body. Still here.
When she finally pushes the rooftop door open, the air hits her all at once-cool, clean, sharp compared to the recycled breath of the hospital. The city stretches out in front of her, washed in early morning light. Buildings glow soft gold at their edges, traffic humming far below like a distant tide.
It's empty. Quiet.
Good.
She walks straight to the railing and steps over the low barrier, leaning her forearms against the cold metal. The height makes her stomach flutter, but she welcomes it. The city doesn't ask anything of her. It just exists.
She closes her eyes.
Breathes.
Then-
"This is my spot."
Vivienne jumps, shoulders jerking as she spins halfway around, heart slamming into her ribs.
Jack stands a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he doesn't trust them to stay still. The wind tugs at his hair, at the edges of his scrubs, but he barely seems to notice. There's something different about him now- his posture heavier, his face set in a way she hasn't seen before. Not sharp. Not guarded.
Dark. Quietly wrecked.
"Sorry," he says after a beat, voice low. Not apologetic- just... tired. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Vivienne's pulse is still racing, but it slows as she really looks at him. The way his eyes don't quite meet hers. The tension in his jaw.
"Are you okay?" she asks softly.
Jack lets out a breath that sounds like it's been trapped in his chest for hours. He drags a hand down his face, thumb pressing briefly into his brow before dropping again.
"My patient didn't make it," he says. The veteran. He doesn't have to say it. "We got him back once, but... yeah."
Something tightens in her chest in immediate, mirrored understanding. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.
He nods once, accepting it, then his gaze finally lifts to hers. "Ellis told me about the old lady. That she coded again."
Vivienne swallows. The city blurs slightly, edges going soft. "She-“ Her voice falters. She clears her throat, tries again. "She didn't survive. It was my first. I keep thinking maybe if I'd-" She shakes her head, a humorless breath leaving her. "I don't know. I didn't even know her well. I sat next to her on the bus last night on my way to this shift."
Jack's expression shifts then- something breaks open. He steps closer without seeming to realize he's doing it.
"That doesn't make it your fault," he says gently. "It makes you human."
She looks down, jaw trembling despite her best efforts. "I don't feel very strong right now."
A tear slips free before she can stop it, tracing a hot, humiliating path down her cheek.
Jack is there instantly.
His thumb brushes it away with a tenderness that feels almost unbearable, like he forgot for half a second that there are lines he's not supposed to cross. His hand lingers, then settles fully- warm palm cupping her cheek, fingers resting just beneath her ear.
The contact sends a quiet shock through her entire body.
She looks up at him, breath caught, eyes shining. "Jack," she whispers. Not an accusation. Not a plea. Just his name, fragile and full.
His hand stills. His breathing changes. She can feel it-how close he is now, how the space between them has narrowed to something electric and fragile. His forehead dips slightly, almost touching hers.
For a heartbeat, he hesitates.
Then he leans in.
The kiss is soft at first-barely there, like he's asking permission with his mouth. But the second she responds, the restraint snaps. His lips press more firmly against hers, slow and deliberate, like he's grounding himself in the reality of her. Of this. The city falls away. The hospital disappears.
Her hands come up without thinking, gripping the front of his jacket. She exhales into the kiss, every nerve ending lit up, the grief and exhaustion and longing twisting together into something heady and overwhelming.
Jack's thumb brushes her jaw, almost reverent. The kiss deepens just enough to feel dangerous- intimate, aching, real.
The two pull apart for a moment, chest hammering against their bodies, "I don't want to lose you again, it was so hard today, acting as if I didn't know you." She whispers with a distraught expression on her face.
His eyebrows scrunch in guilt, "you won't...I promise, we'll work it out." He whispers back, before their lips press together once again, this time slower, their feelings pouring out into it.
The moment stretches-fragile, breathless-
Then-
"Jack?"
The voice cuts through the air like a blade.
Jack freezes.
Not stiffening, but locking. His entire body goes rigid in a way Vivienne feels even before she registers why. His hand drops from her face instantly, like it's burned him.
They break apart too fast. Too obviously.
Vivienne turns, heart slamming so hard it drowns out the city below.
The man standing a few steps back is tall, silver beginning to thread through his dark hair,his dark blue jacket zipped up. His eyes are sharp, intelligent- and currently blown wide with shock.
"Vivienne?" he says.
Her stomach drops clean through her.
"...Dad?"
Jack exhales sharply. "Robby?" His voice cracks around the name.
The three of them just stare at each other, the truth rearranging itself in real time.
Dr. Michael Robinavitch- Robby to colleagues, legend in the hospital, the reason Vivienne's schedule had been quietly reshuffled to nights only- looks from his daughter to Jack and back again. His expression darkens with every second.
"You've got to be kidding me," he says flatly.
Vivienne takes a step forward on instinct. "Dad, I-"
He holds up a hand without even looking at her. His eyes are locked on Jack now, furious and incredulous all at once.
"My daughter," Robby says slowly, each word deliberate. "Jack. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Jack swallows. He looks... smaller somehow. Still composed, but stripped bare by the moment. "I didn't know," he says immediately. "I swear to you, Robby, I had no idea she was-"
"You're her attending," Robby snaps. "You're her superior. And you're kissing her on a hospital rooftop?"
"It wasn't-" Vivienne starts, heat flooding her face.
Robby turns on her then, anger sharp but threaded with something far worse-fear. "Vivienne, this is exactly why I didn't want you here during the day. Exactly why I asked for certain boundaries to be in place."
"So you hid me?" she shoots back, voice shaking now. "You moved me to nights without telling me why? You let me walk into this blind?"
Jack steps in despite himself. "This is on me," he says. "Look this started before I knew she was my student, She's exhausted. She's grieving. I should have stepped back."
Robby laughs once, bitter and humorless. "You think that makes it better?"
The wind rushes between them, carrying the weight of what can't be unsaid. Vivienne's chest feels tight, bruised.
"I'm not a kid," she says quietly. "And whatever this is-was-it didn't happen because I'm some weak girl."
Robby looks at her then. Really looks. The circles under her eyes. The way she's holding herself together by sheer will.
His anger falters-but only for a second.
"This conversation isn't over," he says. Then, to Jack, cold and final: "Not by a long shot."
He turns and walks away, footsteps disappearing toward the stairwell.
Part Summary: Vivienne passes the time with countless sutures and bandages while working in triage. She encounters some serious patients in between and gets into multiple confrontations with the one and only Jack Abbot.
A/N: I have combined multiple chapter in one so I wouldn’t spam tumblr so that’s why the wc is higher than usual! Also I have skipped some hours to limit the amount of filler I would have to write as I know most of you want the juicy stuff
Wc: 11k
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11pm-12pm
By the time Bridget finds her, the clock above triage has blurred into something meaningless-hours stitched together by blood, saline, and the dull ache in Vivienne's shoulders and hands. She's just finished her last set of sutures, fingers sore, mind buzzing, when Bridget leans against the counter beside her and slides a chart across.
"Couple hours in and you're still standing," Bridget says, lips quirking, "I'm impressed."
Viv exhales, rolling her neck once. "Barely. I think I've sewn half the city back together." She looks down to her watch, "God how is it already 11?"
"Welcome to nights," Bridget replies dryly. She flips the chart open, skimming it once more before pushing it fully into Viv's hands. "I've got a patient in four. Female. Glass laceration, already cleaned and closed. Vitals are fine."
Viv scans the page, brow creasing slightly. "Then why me?"
Bridget's expression shifts- just a touch more serious. "She's... jumpy. Not combative, not intoxicated. Just tense. I figured you'd be good with her."
Something warm flickers in Viv's chest at that- recognition, maybe. Or trust. "Anything I should know?" Viv asks.
Bridget lowers her voice, nodding subtly toward the curtained rooms. "She keeps flinching when people get too close. Doesn't love being touched. I think she needs calming maybe someone to talk to more than stitches."
Viv closes the chart, fingers tightening around the edge. "Got it."
Bridget gives her a quick, approving look. "Take your time. I'll be nearby if you need me."
The room still smells faintly of antiseptic and iron when Vivienne steps in, the curtain rasping closed behind her. It's quieter here than the rest of the department, but not calm. The woman on the bed is perched upright, knees pulled in, fingers worrying the edge of the thin hospital blanket like she's afraid it might vanish if she lets go.
"Hi," Viv says gently, keeping her voice low as she approaches. "I'm Vivienne. I'm one of the medical students on tonight."
The woman's eyes flick up-too fast-then dart back to the door. She looks young, mid-twenties maybe, mascara smudged like she's rubbed her eyes one too many times. Her foot taps against the mattress in a restless, uneven rhythm.
"They said you were stitched already," Viv continues, deliberately unhurried as she sanitizes her hands. "Bridget just wanted me to check in. See how you're feeling."
"I'm fine," the woman says immediately. Too quick. Her shoulders stay tight, lifted like she's bracing for impact.
Viv clocks it all at once-the shallow breathing, the way her hands won't stay still, the tremor she's trying to swallow down. Not pain. Not really. Fear.
"That's okay," Viv says, pulling a stool closer but stopping short of the bed. She sits so she's not looming, her movements slow and visible. "You don't have to be fine. You just have to be honest."
The woman lets out a sharp breath, half a laugh that dies in her throat. "I just- hospitals make it worse."
"Worse how?" Viv asks, soft but steady, meeting her eyes this time.
There's a pause. The woman swallows, jaw working. "I don't like being touched. Or cornered. Or not knowing what's happening." Her knee bounces faster now, the blanket slipping an inch.
Viv nods, like this is the most reasonable thing in the world. "Okay. Then we'll take this one step at a time. I won't touch you without telling you first. And you can stop me whenever you want."
That seems to land. The woman's shoulders drop a fraction, her foot slowing. "What brought you in tonight?" Viv asks.
The woman hesitates, then gestures vaguely toward her side. "I cut myself. On glass. It wasn't-" She stops, eyes flicking up again, searching Viv's face. "It wasn't like that."
"I hear you," Viv says quickly, gently. No assumptions. No edge. "Accidents happen." The silence that follows is thick but not uncomfortable. Viv lets it sit, lets the woman breathe through it. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps, steady and reassuring.
Finally, the woman exhales, long and shaky. "You're... really calm," she says, almost surprised.
Viv gives a small, tired smile. "I try to be. Especially when someone else can't." For the first time since she walked in, the woman leans back against the pillows, just slightly. It isn't trust-not yet-but it's the beginning of something close enough.
Viv reaches for her gloves, pauses. "Is it okay if I take a look now?"
The woman nods. Once. "Yeah. Just-tell me what you're doing."
"I will," Viv promises, and means it.
Vivienne moves slowly, deliberately, as if the room itself might startle if she rushes. She checks the blood pressure cuff twice before tightening it, narrating every small motion like a quiet promise. The patient watches her hands closely, shoulders still tense but no longer coiled to flee.
"Just going to listen to your heart," Viv murmurs, lifting the stethoscope but waiting- always waiting for the nod. When it comes, she leans in, careful not to crowd her, counting breaths, watching the rise and fall of the woman's chest. Everything is stable. Normal. Reassuring in all the ways numbers can be.
Out at the counter, Jack Abbott stops short when he notices the room still occupied. He glances at the board, then at Bridget. "Thought four was done," he says evenly.
Bridget doesn't miss a beat. She caps a pen, shrugs. "Physically, yeah. We're just doing a quick mental health check. She's anxious. Needed a softer touch."
Jack studies her for a half second longer, unreadable, then nods once. "Alright." He moves down the hall, past curtained bays and ringing monitors, until he reaches the doorway of the room Viv is in. He doesn't announce himself. Just stops there, leaning lightly against the frame, arms folded.
Inside, Viv has finished the vitals and is writing them down, her posture relaxed, voice low as she reassures the patient about next steps. She hasn't noticed him yet. Jack watches silently- the way she positions herself at eye level, the patience in her movements, the instinctive calm she brings into the space.
For a moment, the noise of the department seems to fade. Then Viv glances up. Her breath catches- just barely- but enough. Her pen stills mid-word. Jack's expression gives nothing away, professional and composed, though his eyes linger a second too long. He doesn't interrupt. Doesn't step in. Just stands there, observing, as if committing the scene to memory.
Viv swallows, steadies herself, and turns back to the patient, voice unbroken. "Everything looks good," she says softly. "You're safe."
Jack remains in the doorway, silent as a shadow, until the moment passes.
Vivienne finishes the paperwork slowly, making sure her handwriting stays neat despite the faint tremor still humming under her skin. She hands the patient a folded brochure along with her discharge summary.
"This has some resources," Viv says, tapping the paper lightly. "Grounding techniques, crisis lines, places you can go if the anxiety spikes again. You don't have to use all of it- just know it's there."
The woman takes it, fingers curling around the edges. Her eyes are clearer now, steadier. "Thank you," she says quietly. "For not rushing me."
Viv smiles, small but genuine. "Anytime. You did really well." When the patient leaves, the room feels emptier than it should. Viv turns toward the door- and nearly runs straight into Jack.
"Crawford," he says, stopping her with a subtle lift of his hand.
She stills instantly, spine straightening. "Yes, Dr Abbot?"
He glances down at the chart, then back at her. "You handled that well. Took longer than expected, but for the right reasons."
Her chest tightens at the praise, quiet and measured. She nods. "Thank you."
"There's another patient coming in," Jack continues, already pivoting toward the hallway. "I want you to observe. Teaching hospital- might as well learn something useful."
She hesitates only a second before falling into step beside him.
They stop at the next bay just as paramedics wheel a stretcher in. The patient is a man in his late forties, construction boots still on his feet, jeans smeared with something dark and sticky. He's clutching his right side, teeth bared in pain, breath coming in sharp bursts.
"Name's Dean," one of the medics says. "Fell about six feet off scaffolding. Landed on his side. Complains of severe abdominal pain, dizziness. No loss of consciousness."
Jack steps forward immediately, calm slicing through the noise. "Dean, I'm Dr Abbot. This is Vivienne, one of our students. You're in the emergency department. Can you tell me where it hurts most?"
Two nurses stood off to the side overlooking the patient, one leaned close to the other ,"what was he doing on scaffolding this last at night." Causing Jack to shoot them a quick but subtle look, shutting them up.
Dean groans, shifting slightly. "Here- feels like something's tearing."
Jack's gaze sharpens. "Alright. We're going to take care of you."
Vivienne stands just off to the side, trying to keep her sightline clear, but when she shifts a fraction too far forward, Jack reaches out without looking.
His hand lands on her upper back- firm, guiding- pressing her gently but unmistakably a step to the left. It's a practical correction, the kind attendings make a hundred times a night. Except his hand doesn't lift right away.
It stays there, broad and warm through the thin fabric of her scrubs, fingers splayed just below her shoulder blade. Too steady. Too aware.
"Stand here," he murmurs, low, meant only for her. His thumb shifts slightly, an unconscious adjustment that sends a sharp awareness straight down her spine.
Viv freezes, breath catching for half a second before she schools it. She nods, eyes fixed on the patient, on the rise and fall of Dean's chest, on anything except the way Jack's touch seems to anchor her in place. It isn't necessary anymore-she's already positioned perfectly- but he lingers like he hasn't realized that yet.
Then, just as quietly, his hand drops away.The absence is almost louder.
Jack turns fully back to the patient, voice crisp, professional. "Dean, I'm going to press on your abdomen. Tell me if the pain worsens."
Viv swallows, forces her shoulders to relax. Her skin still hums where he touched her, heat blooming under fluorescent lights that have seen everything and care about none of it. She keeps her gaze forward, jaw set, willing her pulse to slow.
No one else seems to notice. But she does. And she knows-absolutely-that he noticed too.
The tension hasn't fully settled yet when Clyde is suddenly very much in everyone's way.
"Okay-uh-Dean, you're gonna feel a quick pinch," he says, already sounding like he's apologizing for existing. He fumbles with the IV kit, hands a little too sweaty, tourniquet a little too loose. The vein rolls the moment he goes in.
"Sorry-sorry, I-" Clyde pulls back, flustered, trying again from a slightly worse angle.
Dean groans. "Man-"
Clyde winces. "I know, I know, I'm bad at this, I'm-working on it-" Viv shifts instinctively, half a step forward, but stops herself, remembering Jack's hand on her back earlier, the silent correction. She clasps her hands together instead.
Jack exhales through his nose. "Clyde."
Clyde freezes. "Yes, Dr Abbot?"
"Reset," Jack says, clipped but not cruel. "Lower the bed. Re-tie the tourniquet. Look at the vein, not your hands."
Clyde nods furiously, cheeks flushed. He does as he's told, movements jerky but more deliberate now. On the second attempt, the needle slides in cleanly. "Yes," Clyde mutters, relieved, taping it down like it might run away if he doesn't.
A beat of silence follows-thick, awkward. Bridget clears it by tossing Clyde a saline flush. "You live to stab another day, Pearce."
Clyde gives a shaky laugh. "Thank God."
Jack has already turned away, issuing the next order, but the brief disruption breaks something in the room-the tension loosening just enough to breathe again.
Viv lets out a slow exhale she hadn't realized she was holding.
Jack's tone shifts after that-subtly, but enough that Vivienne feels it like a temperature drop.
"Vitals," he says, not looking at her this time.
She answers immediately, voice steady. "Stable so far. BP's holding."
"Mm," he replies, already moving on, addressing the room instead of her. "We'll get labs, FAST exam, and imaging. I want trauma labs now."
No softness. No acknowledgment. All edges, all efficiency.
Viv adjusts her stance, folds herself back into the role, reminding herself this is how it's supposed to be. Still, the contrast is jarring- the quiet pressure of his hand replaced by distance so sharp it almost stings.
Across the bed, Bridget catches it instantly. She's been doing this too long not to.
Her eyes flick from Jack to Viv, then back again, something knowing sparking behind them. She raises a brow just a fraction as she hands Jack a set of gloves, her mouth curving faintly- not amused, exactly, but observant.
Viv keeps her focus locked on the patient, jaw tight, pen moving as she documents. She doesn't look up again until Jack steps away, already barking orders toward radiology.
Bridget leans in close as she adjusts the monitor leads, her voice low. "You good?"
Viv nods once. "Yeah."
Bridget doesn't push. She never does. But the look she gives Viv-sharp, assessing, protective-says she's clocked something, filed it away, and won't forget it.
And as Jack moves down the hall, all crisp lines and closed-off control, Viv can't decide which part unsettled her more.
The touch. Or how quickly he'd taken it back.
One by one people start leaving the room, leaving Ellis and Vivienne, "why don't you stay here a bit until we get radiology back just keep an eye on him." She says with a quick pat on her back.
Vivienne gives her a quick nod and goes to keep herself busy by checking his chart, iv, when something alerts her.
The monitor changes first.
A sharp, insistent alarm cuts through the room, different from the background noise Vivienne has already learned to tune out. She looks up just in time to see the rhythm dissolve into something jagged, wrong.
"Dean?" she says, stepping closer. "Dean, can you hear me?"
Nothing. His head lolls to the side. The monitor screams. For half a second, her mind goes blank- then it snaps into motion.
"Code!" Viv shouts, already moving.
She bolts for the crash cart at the end of the bay, fingers slipping on the handle as she yanks it free. The cart is heavier than she expects, metal rattling loudly as she drags it across the floor by herself, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might fracture her ribs.
She doesn't wait. Pads on. Clear instructions spoken aloud to no one and everyone. Her hands shake only once before she plants them firmly, grounding herself.
"Clear." She hits the button. Dean's body jerks violently against the bed.
The doors burst open almost immediately after- footsteps, voices, controlled chaos flooding the room as Jack rushes in, followed by Shen and half the team.
"What happened?" Jack demands, eyes snapping from the monitor to Viv.
"He lost pulse," Viv says, breathless but steady. "V-fib. I shocked once."
Jack's jaw tightens. "You shocked without an attending in the room?"
Her stomach drops. "There was no one else-"
"That was irresponsible," he cuts in sharply. "You don't make that call alone."
The words land hard, sharp enough to sting. Viv's hands curl at her sides, adrenaline still surging, heart racing with a sudden, awful doubt.
Before she can say anything, Shen steps forward.
"Actually," he says calmly, glancing at the monitor, now settling into a rhythm again, "that shock probably saved his life."
Jack turns toward him, his fingers going to his eyebrows out of frustration, "Shen-"
"She recognized v-fib, grabbed the cart, and acted," Shen continues, unfazed. He looks at Viv now, something like approval flickering behind his glasses. "That's exactly what you're supposed to do when someone codes and you're the only one there."
He pauses, then adds dryly, "Pretty badass for your first night."
The room stills for a fraction of a second. Viv swallows, pulse roaring in her ears, the weight of what she's just done crashing over her all at once. Her legs feel weak, but she stays upright, eyes locked on the monitor as the team takes over.
Jack says nothing. His expression is unreadable- tight, conflicted, something dark passing behind his eyes before he turns back to the patient.
But as he moves past her, their shoulders brush.
And for the briefest moment, Viv can't tell whether the tremor running through her is fear or something dangerously close to pride.
Vivienne steps out into the corridor, the noise of the code still echoing faintly in her ears. She stops in front of the board, staring at the names and numbers without really seeing them, hands braced on the counter while her breathing evens out.
Bridget appears beside her like she's always been there, leaning an elbow on the desk. "You okay?"
Viv doesn't look at her right away. "Yeah," she says, a little too quickly. Then, softer, more honest, "I'm fine."
Bridget studies her for a beat. Takes in the set of her shoulders, the way her fingers are still curled like she's holding onto something invisible. Slowly, she lifts her eyebrows-just a fraction-mouth tilting into a look that says sure you are without a single word spoken.
She doesn't press. Doesn't tease. Just gives Viv a gentle bump with her shoulder before turning back to the board.
As soon as Vivienne is alone she lets out a large sigh she hadn't realised she'd be holding in.
12pm-1am
She stood beside Parker Ellis, clipboard in hand, watching as the senior resident moved with the effortless authority that made chaos feel organized.
"Hey," Vivienne began, lowering her voice so only Parker could hear. "Would it be okay if I checked on that guy in 12B? The one who said he's been feeling off about his stomach?"
Ellis glanced at her, sharp and evaluating for a moment, then nodded. "Go ahead. Just keep me posted. You know the drill- watch vitals, ask about pain, look for anything abnormal."
Vivienne's stomach fluttered with nerves and anticipation. She didn't need to be reminded of how high-stakes even the small decisions could be, but the permission made her shoulders ease slightly.
"Thanks," she said, offering a small, appreciative smile. Parker gave a curt nod and moved to update another patient's chart, leaving Vivienne alone with her assignment.
The curtain rustles as Vivienne steps into the room, chart in hand, trying to appear confident even though her palms are still tingling from the last adrenaline spike. The patient is slouched on the bed, eyes darting around, muscles tense. He's twitchy, talking fast, voice uneven.
"Hi, I'm Vivienne, one of the students on tonight," she begins, smiling gently. "I'm just going to run through a few questions and check your vitals, okay?"
The patient jerks slightly at her tone, then laughs nervously. "Yeah... sure... they say I should be fine, but I don't know. I just... feel off, you know?" He gestures vaguely to his stomach, then wrings his hands.
Vivianne nods, scanning his chart. "I see your labs from earlier. They're mostly normal, but based on your symptoms and the patterns you're describing, it might be useful to do repeat-"
"Stop."
The word snaps through the room before she can finish. Jack Abbot steps into the doorway, eyes sharp, and his tone is colder than she expected. "We're not running another CT on him right now. He's stable. You're overthinking it."
Vivianne blinks, momentarily stunned by the blunt dismissal. Her suggestion had been logical, measured, in line with protocol. But the way Jack says it- so publicly, in front of the patient- it makes her shrink a little.
"Yes, Dr. Abbot," she says, voice steady but quieter than before, trying to swallow the flush rising to her cheeks.
Jack turns his gaze on the patient, now clipped and efficient, speaking to him as if Vivienne isn't even there. Viv's stomach twists- half frustration, half embarrassment- but she forces herself to breathe, straighten her shoulders, and stay professional.
Bridget, standing just outside the curtain, raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, noticing the shift in tension but says nothing. She's seen this before-the way Jack's words land, how they sting, and how Vivienne always has the fight to keep going.
Vivienne forces her gaze back to the patient, murmuring softly, "Alright, let's just do a basic exam for now," letting the words steady both of them as she tries to shake off the lingering cold of Jack's interruption.
After a few minutes of waiting the previous lab results pinged quietly on the monitor, small but impossible to ignore. Vivienne's eyes scanned the numbers, her chest tightening as the patterns lined up exactly with what she had suggested- every marker she'd flagged, every anomaly she'd anticipated.
Her jaw clenched. She could almost hear the invisible hum of vindication, and with it, the bitter spike of frustration. She had been right he needed a repeat ct.
Jack stepped back into the room just then, glancing at the same screen. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes flicking over the results and then back to the patient, like the numbers were an irritation he hadn't expected.
He said nothing. Not a word about the labs supporting Viv's call. He just moved with precise efficiency, checking the patient again, repositioning a monitor, giving instructions to the nurses in clipped, sharp tones.
Vivienne's fists curled briefly at her sides under the weight of her own scrubs. She wanted to say something-"See? I told you"-but the words stayed lodged in her throat. Instead, she adjusted her gloves and leaned slightly closer to the patient, forcing her focus outward.
Neither spoke. Both felt the heat, the tension, the sting of frustration-it hung in the air like smoke-but professional masks stayed firmly in place.
Bridget lingered just outside the curtain, catching the slight twitch in Viv's jaw and the sharp tilt of Jack's shoulders. She didn't intervene. Not yet. Some lessons were best learned quietly.
Jack sits at the small counter near the bay, pen moving across the chart with precision, but his shoulders are tight, jaw clenched just slightly. The adrenaline from the last patient still lingers in his veins, simmering under the surface. He scratches out notes, erases a line, rewrites it, his movements sharp, almost aggressive, like the paper itself had annoyed him.
"You've been a little... off tonight," a calm, detached voice says from behind him.
Jack doesn't look up immediately. When he finally glances over, Shen is there, coffee in hand, his tone deceptively casual but carrying that piercing undertone that makes Jack bristle anyway.
"I'm fine," Jack says tightly, scribbling something else into the chart. "Just busy. Long night."
Shen leans against the counter, quiet for a moment, watching Jack's hands tighten around the pen. "Busy, yeah," he says, voice low. "But that's not the same as off. Vitals, patient decisions... your temper. Something's off, Abbot."
Jack's jaw ticks once. "I know what I'm doing," he mutters, not meeting Shen's gaze.
Shen sips his coffee, unimpressed, letting the silence stretch. "Sure," he says finally. "Just... don't let it get in the way. It'll catch up to you if you don't watch it."
Jack grits his teeth, finishing the line of notes, and pushes the chart aside. He doesn't reply further. Shen gives a slight nod, takes a sip, and walks off, leaving Jack alone with the quiet hum of the ED and the frustration that's now curdling in his chest.He leans back in the chair, shoulders stiff, eyes briefly closing. He knows Shen is right- but he can't admit it. Not here. Not now. Not while Vivienne is still in the department, still watching, still learning... still reminding him of a night he can't unfeel.
As soon as he finishes his chart he walks towards the staffroom to cool off before seeing to his next patient. He pushes through the staffroom door with more force than necessary, the metal handle clattering softly behind him. The room is empty-quiet in that humming, fluorescent way-except for Vivienne.
She's leaning back against her locker, arms crossed, gaze unfocused like she's been standing there a while, thinking too hard. The second she sees him, her expression hardens. She shakes her head once, sharp and disbelieving.
"No," she says immediately. "Don't."
Jack stops short. "Viv-"
"You don't get to," she cuts in, pushing off the locker. Her voice is steady at first, then falters just slightly. "You don't get to shut me down like that. Not in front of everyone. I wasn't wrong."
His jaw tightens. "That wasn't the time-"
"You made it the time," she snaps. Her hands curl at her sides, knuckles whitening. "You didn't just correct me, you dismissed me. Like I was stupid. Like I didn't belong there."
Jack exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You're a student. You don't get to make calls like that without backup."
"I wasn't making a call," she says, stepping closer now, eyes bright with something furious and hurt. "I was suggesting. The exact thing the labs ended up proving."
He laughs once, breathless, but there's no humor in it. "You think I don't know that?"
"Then why-"
"Because I'm responsible," he snaps back, voice rising despite himself. "Because if something goes wrong, it's on me."
"And I'm just-what?" she fires back. "Collateral?"
The space between them has disappeared without either of them quite noticing. They're standing too close now, close enough that she can feel the heat coming off him, see the tension pulled tight across his shoulders. His chest rises and falls hard, and she realizes, distantly, that her breathing has matched his.
Jack's voice drops. "You don't understand how complicated this is."
Her laugh is soft, bitter. "You don't get to decide what I understand."
Something shifts then- off course, unintended.
His gaze flicks to her mouth. Just for a second. Long enough for her to notice. Long enough for her pulse to spike.
"You think I wanted this?" he says quietly, words rough around the edges. "You think I haven't been trying to keep things... contained?"
Her breath stutters. "Then stop acting like I'm the problem."
Silence crashes down between them, heavy and charged. Neither of them moves, but both of them lean in without meaning to, drawn by something reckless and familiar and dangerous. The air feels thick, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. Jack's hand lifts-stops-hovers at her side, close enough that she can feel it without being touched.
For a heartbeat, it feels inevitable. "This can't happen," he says, more to himself than to her.
Her voice is quiet when she replies. "Then stop making it harder."
He doesn't answer.The staffroom door swings open again. "Crawford, where'd you-" Ellis stops mid-sentence.
Jack and Vivienne jump apart like they've been electrocuted- Viv's back hitting the lockers with a hollow clang, Jack stepping away too fast, hands already shoved into his pockets like they've betrayed him.
For half a second, no one speaks.
Ellis's eyes flick between them. Not lingering. Not dramatic. Just one sharp, assessing glance- taking in the too-close spacing they'd clearly abandoned, the way Viv won't quite meet her gaze, the tension still vibrating in the air like a live wire.
"Oh," Ellis says flatly. That's it. No question. No comment. No reprimand. Worse.
She glances at her watch, then back to Viv. "I've got a patient in nine. Come on."
Viv nods immediately. "Yeah. Sorry."
Ellis turns on her heel and walks out, already mentally somewhere else. Jack remains where he is, jaw set, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall that isn't Viv.
As Viv follows Ellis toward the door, she risks one last glance back. Jack hasn't moved.
But his shoulders are tight, rigid with restraint- like holding still is the only thing keeping him from doing something irrevocable.
The door closes behind her. Vivienne keeps her eyes forward, but she can feel it.
Ellis's look.
It's subtle-barely there-but it lingers just long enough to itch under Viv's skin. The kind of look that says I saw without needing proof.
"What?" Vivienne finally asks, unable to stand it anymore.
Ellis glances at her, then deliberately looks away, adjusting the chart in her hands. She gives a small shake of her head. "I didn't say anything."
Viv exhales, half-relieved, half-exposed. "You were about to."
"No," Ellis replies calmly. "I wasn't."
They stop outside the patient's room. Ellis turns to face her fully now, expression unreadable but not unkind.
"Whatever that was," she says evenly, "I don't need to know. And you don't need me to."
Vivienne nods once, swallowing. "Okay."
Ellis studies her for another beat, then adds, quieter, "Just don't let it mess with your work. You're doing fine."
1am - 2am
Bandage. Tape. Suture. Repeat.
A split knuckle. A forearm laceration. Someone who swears they "barely felt it" while flinching every time the needle comes close. Her hands move on instinct now, steadier than she feels, fingers aching but precise. She barely notices the sting in her shoulders until she straightens and hears it-
Sirens.
Not distant. Close. Loud enough to cut through the department like a blade.
Heads lift almost in unison.
Lena's voice carries from the desk, calm but sharpened. "Auto versus pedestrian. Five minutes out."
The air shifts instantly.
Chairs scrape. Charts snap shut. Conversations die mid-sentence. Someone swears under their breath. The controlled chaos tightens into something focused, predatory.
"Trauma one," Lena adds, already moving.
Viv's heart kicks hard against her ribs as the team converges, feet quick and purposeful. Bridget is suddenly at her side, already pulling on gloves. Marco is barking for blood tubing. Ellis appears out of nowhere, chart in hand, eyes locked forward.
Jack is there too- materializing with that same unshakeable calm, voice slicing cleanly through the noise. "Let's move. I want airway set up, ultrasound ready, blood on standby."
Viv follows without thinking, pulse roaring in her ears.
The doors to Trauma One burst open and the night spills in with the patient- bloodied, unconscious, the sharp smell of asphalt and adrenaline clinging to him. Voices overlap immediately. Orders fly. Monitors scream to life.
Vivienne barely has time to orient herself before Jack's voice cuts through the chaos.
"Crawford."
She turns instinctively.
"Airway," he says. "You're intubating."
Her stomach drops. Not fear- something sharper. He steps in close, already gloved, already focused, positioning her at the head of the bed like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I'll coach you," he adds, like there was never another option.
The way he was able to change his demeanour so quickly from their fight in the staffroom to professional like this astounds her, She nods once, jaw tight, hands already moving. The laryngoscope feels heavier than it should as she adjusts her stance. The room narrows to the patient's mouth, the harsh white lights, the steady beep of the monitor counting down seconds she doesn't have to waste.
Jack leans in, close enough that his shoulder brushes hers. His voice drops instinctively- low, even, meant only for her.
"Blade in. Left side. Sweep the tongue visualise the vocal cords- do not let it go into the oesophagus."
The sound of him like this- quiet, controlled, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with touch- hits her square in the chest.
For a split second, she's not here.
She's somewhere dim and warm and close, his voice murmuring directions she followed just as instinctively, the way it had settled her nerves without her realizing she'd been frayed at all. The memory flashes hot and unwanted.
Her face heats. She hates it. Hates that he can still do this to her without trying.
Her hand hesitates.
Jack notices immediately.
"Easy," he says, mistaking it for nerves. His tone softens further, steady as an anchor. "You're doing fine. I've got you."
Purely clinical.
Absolutely devastating.
She swallows hard, forces herself back into the moment. Vocal cords in view. Tube ready. She advances smoothly now, decisively, breath steady despite the way her pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the patient.
"Tube's in," she says, voice firm.
"Confirm," Jack replies.
She does. End-tidal CO₂. Bilateral breath sounds. Secure.
Done.
The room exhales around them, already moving on to the next crisis. Jack straightens, stepping back like the closeness never existed. He looks at her once, gives a single nod.
"That was good," he says. No smile. No warmth. Just approval.
Professional. Final.
Vivienne nods back, chest tight, hands steady even as something inside her sinks. She hadn't wanted praise- but somehow, the absence of anything more hurts worse than the argument, worse than the tension, worse than the almosts.
Vivienne needs space before her composure cracks.
She peels away from Trauma like she's slipping out of a too-tight skin, pushing through the heavy doors that lead to the side entrance. The night air hits her immediately-cool, sharp, grounding. Inside, the hospital keeps buzzing: muffled voices, distant alarms, the constant hum of a place that never really rests.
Outside, it's quieter. Not silent-never silent-but looser. Less demanding.
Bridget is already there, perched on the low concrete ledge near the staff exit, one leg bent, the other stretched out. A cigarette glows between her fingers, ember flaring softly in the dark. She doesn't look surprised to see Vivienne. Just shifts slightly to make room.
Without a word, Bridget pulls another cigarette from the pack and holds it out.
No questions. No looks. Just an offer.
Viv hesitates for half a second- then takes it.
Bridget flicks the lighter, cupping the flame against the breeze, holding it steady until Viv leans in. The smoke burns her throat on the first inhale, sharp and grounding all at once. She exhales slowly, watches it drift up and disappear into the night.
They sit side by side, shoulders almost touching, both facing forward. The hospital looms behind them, all glass and light and urgency, like it might call them back at any second.
Neither of them speaks.
Bridget smokes like she's done this a thousand times in this exact spot- unrushed, unbothered. Viv mirrors her without realizing it, matching the rhythm, letting the nicotine quiet the noise in her head.
Vivienne breaks the silence first, voice low, almost sheepish.
"My dad would actually kill me if he knew I was smoking," she says, eyes still forward. "Like- bring me back to life just to do it properly."
Bridget snorts, a short, surprised sound. "Yeah? Mine tried. Gave up when I turned sixteen and kept stealing his lighter."
Viv smiles, just a little. She taps ash onto the concrete, then adds, "He's very... disappointed-parent-coded. This would devastate him."
That earns a soft laugh from Viv. Not forced. Not polite. Real. It surprises her- she can feel it loosen something tight in her chest.
Bridget takes another drag, eyes unfocused now, like she's flipping through old memories. "First night I ever worked ER," she says casually, "I fainted into a linen cart."
Viv turns to look at her. "You did not."
"I absolutely did," Bridget replies. "Big guy came in- six-foot-four, blood everywhere, screaming about his arm. I locked my knees like an idiot. Next thing I know, I'm waking up buried in sheets with a resident asking if I was dead too."
Viv laughs again, louder this time. It bursts out of her before she can stop it, head tipping back slightly. The sound feels unfamiliar in her own ears-lighter than anything she's made all night.
Bridget grins at her sideways. "I finished the shift, though. Threw up twice. Cried in the bathroom. Came back the next day."
"Why?" Viv asks, still smiling.
Bridget shrugs. "Because I cared. And because I was too stubborn to let the place win."
The smile lingers on Viv's face, but her thoughts drift- unwanted, uninvited- to Jack. His voice in Trauma. Low. Steady. The way he'd said I've got you like it was nothing. Like it didn't still echo.
Bridget watches her from the corner of her eye. Doesn't comment. Doesn't push.
After a moment, she just says, "First nights are always the worst." She flicks ash away. "Especially when you care."
Viv nods slowly, staring at the cigarette burning down between her fingers. "Yeah," she says quietly.
Vivienne stays seated long after Bridget's cigarette burns out, long after the door hisses open and shut behind her. The night air feels cooler now, heavier. Quieter in the way that lets thoughts get loud.
She hates that her mind goes back there so easily.
To him.
To the night that keeps replaying in fragments she didn't ask for- his laugh, softer than she expected; the way he'd looked at her like he wasn't weighing anything, not rules or consequences or titles. Just her. It had been easy. Too easy. An amazing night, if she's honest with herself. One of those rare ones that feels suspended outside real life, like it doesn't belong to before or after.
And that's the thing, isn't it?
After.
She presses her tongue to the back of her teeth, exhales slowly.
She hadn't expected anything grand. No declarations. No promises. But walking out into the early morning without exchanging numbers-without even a see you- had stung more than she'd let herself admit. It had made her feel... small. Like maybe she'd imagined the connection. Like it had meant less to him than it had to her.
And now here he is. Her attending. Acting like nothing ever happened.
That's what makes her so angry, she realises. Not the sharp tone. Not the public shut-downs. It's the way he's compartmentalised her. Filed her away. Clinical. Cold. As if that night had been a scheduling error he corrected.
She rubs her thumb against the edge of the bench, jaw tightening.
Because the truth- the inconvenient, humiliating truth- is that she actually likes him. Likes him enough that the distance hurts. Enough that every time he drops his voice near her ear or says her name like it's nothing, it rattles her.
And it's inappropriate. Completely. He's her attending. He holds power over her training, her evaluations, her future. She knows all of that. She should be grateful for the distance. She should want the professionalism.
So why does it feel like a loss?
Vivienne tips her head back against the brick wall and closes her eyes, letting the hum of the hospital bleed through the quiet. She knows she'll have to swallow it. Lock it down. Be smarter than this.
But for just a second longer, she lets herself sit with the truth of it.
That something real happened.
And pretending it didn't is the hardest part.
Vivienne has somehow managed to be wrangled back in triage, which at this point feels less like a rotation and more like a sentence.
The patient sits on the edge of the bed, sleeve pushed up, arm freckled and flushed beneath the harsh fluorescent light. She looks about twenty-maybe a uni student- hair dyed an uneven cherry red, chipped black nail polish worrying at the paper sheet beneath her.
"It's not, like... contagious, right?" the girl asks for the third time, eyes flicking between Vivienne's face and the angry rash creeping up her forearm. "Because my roommate already hates me and if this is some kind of plague-"
"It's not a plague," Vivienne says gently, squeezing a ribbon of cream onto a gloved finger. "And it's not contagious. It's contact dermatitis. Probably something new- soap, detergent, plant, metal. Anything ring a bell?"
The girl squints, thinking. "I mean... I did make out with a bartender who smelled like bleach?"
Vivienne snorts before she can stop herself, then recovers, smiling. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's the jewellery you're wearing. Nickel allergy. Super common."
"Oh." The girl deflates a little. "That's way less dramatic."
"Trust me," Vivienne says, smoothing the cool cream over the inflamed skin, "ERs see enough drama. You're allowed a boring answer."
The girl watches her work, quieter now. "You're really calm," she says suddenly. "I'd be freaking out if I were you. First year doctor and all."
Vivienne pauses for half a beat, then keeps going. "I am freaking out. Internally. Constantly. Plus I'm still technically a student not a doctor yet."
That earns a grin.
Behind her, the triage doors swing open and Ellis appears like a mirage- coffee in hand, eyes bright with that particular brand of ER amusement.
"Hey, Crawford," she calls. "Sick of ER yet?"
Vivienne looks over her shoulder, relief flooding her face. "You have no idea."
Ellis jerks her head toward the hallway. "C'mon. I think you've had enough of triage tonight."
Vivienne finishes taping the dressing, gives the patient a quick rundown-avoid the jewellery, antihistamines if it itches, come back if it spreads- and peels off her gloves.
"Good luck with the bartender," she adds lightly.
The girl laughs. "Thanks, doc. Try not to save too many lives tonight."
Vivienne steps out into the hallway beside Ellis,
They step out into the open chaos of the middle desk- and immediately slow.
Clyde Pearce is slumped forward in his chair, chin tucked to his chest, one hand still curled around a pen mid-sentence. His chart glows on the screen in front of him, unfinished, cursor blinking patiently as if waiting for him to wake up and remember his own name.
Nurse Marco stands to one side, arms folded, trying very hard not to laugh. Avery is on the other, surgical mask pulled down just enough to show her grin.
Marco lifts a roll of gauze and, with exaggerated care, begins wrapping it gently around Clyde's wrist and the arm of the chair- loose enough to be harmless, tight enough to be ridiculous.
Avery quietly reaches over and presses the stamp pad onto Clyde's knuckles, leaving a perfect purple "DISCHARGED" across his hand.
Clyde snores.
Vivienne covers her mouth. "Oh my god."
Ellis leans against the counter, entertained. "He's been charting for forty-five minutes straight. I give it another thirty seconds."
As if on cue, Marco clears his throat loudly.
Clyde jolts awake, blinking hard. "-I'm up. I'm up. Just resting my eyes-" He looks down at his arm. The stamp. The gauze. "What the hell?"
Marco claps once. "Congratulations, Pearce. You've been officially discharged from consciousness."
Avery pats Clyde's shoulder. "Welcome to night shift."
Clyde groans and scrubs a hand down his face, smearing purple ink across his cheek. "Please tell me Shen didn't see this."
Vivienne, still smiling, leans toward Ellis and murmurs, "Where's Shen? Isn't he supposed to be making sure he doesn't fall asleep like this?"
Ellis shrugs easily. "Probably inhaling caffeine somewhere or pretending he doesn't know Clyde exists."
She glances back at Clyde, who is now frantically trying to wipe the stamp off with an alcohol swab. "Hey," Ellis adds, softer, "this always happens with new med students starting night shift. It's hard to adjust your body clock. Can't blame him, honestly don't know how you're doing so well."
Vivienne shrugs with a small smile, then watches Clyde for a moment- exhausted, embarrassed, trying his best anyway.
They move on after the Clyde spectacle, the desk noise fading back into the steady churn of the department. Vivienne falls into step beside Ellis, clipboard tucked under her arm, the rhythm of rounds settling them both into something quieter. A few rooms blur together- checking a dressing here, confirming pain control there, a man with a migraine who squints like the lights are personally offensive. Nothing dramatic. The kind of medicine that the er is full of.
They're standing just outside a curtained bay when Ellis pauses, scanning the chart on the door.
"Huh," she says, brow lifting. "Didn't realise this one was surgical."
As if summoned by the comment, a woman steps out from behind the curtain- mid-thirties, sharp posture, dark hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun that somehow still looks deliberate. She's peeling off gloves as she walks, eyes already elsewhere, mind clearly three steps ahead.
"Yeah," the woman says briskly. "Acute cholecystitis. CT lit up like a Christmas tree."
Ellis lets out a small laugh. "That'll do it."
The woman- Walsh, according to the badge clipped to her scrub top- nods once. "Shen asked me to come down and double-check before we decide how aggressive we're being tonight." There's a beat, then her gaze shifts- lands on Vivienne.
Not just a glance. A proper look. Assessing.
Ellis turns slightly. "Oh- this is Vivienne Crawford. One of our new students."
Walsh's mouth curves, not quite a smile. "Ah." She tips her head. "So you're the prodigal daughter. Nice to finally put a name to the face."
Vivienne feels it immediately- that sharp, internal wince. The way her shoulders want to pull in on themselves. The phrase lands heavier than it should, loaded with implication she didn't consent to.
She keeps her expression smooth. Polite. Professional.
"Nice to meet you, Dr Walsh," she says evenly.
Walsh studies her for half a second longer, eyes flicking over her like she's checking sutures- then she's already moving again, attention snapping back to the chart. "I'll update Shen," she says, and disappears down the corridor, voice already fading into the noise.
Ellis watches her go, then turns slowly toward Vivienne.
"Pro-" she stops herself, blinking. "Prodi—what was that about?"
Vivienne exhales through her nose, a small, careful breath. "Probably nothing," she says lightly. Too lightly. "Maybe she mixed me up."
Ellis's eyes narrow just a fraction- not suspicious, exactly. Curious. "Didn't sound like nothing."
Vivienne shrugs, adjusting the chart in her hands.
It's not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Ellis holds her gaze for a moment longer, clearly weighing whether to push. Then she tilts her head and lets it go. "Fair enough."
They continue down the hall, footsteps syncing again, the moment dissolving back into the endless night shift.
That's when Lena finds them near the middle desk, tablet tucked under one arm, expression already set in that calm, no-nonsense way that means she's triaging three steps ahead of everyone else.
"Alright," she says, stopping in front of Ellis and Vivienne. "I've got two boards coming up from the same MVC."
Ellis straightens, all business. "Details?"
"Single-car accident. Airbags deployed. Kid in the back seat around seven years old. Minor mechanism, properly restrained. Complaining of wrist pain and a headache. Vitals are solid, GCS fifteen, no vomiting." Lena flicks her eyes to Vivienne. "Looks like a buckle fracture at worst."
Then her tone shifts- just a shade heavier.
"Mother was driving. Chest wall tenderness, abdominal pain, hypotensive in the field but responding to fluids. CT pending."
Ellis is already nodding. "Okay. I'll take the mum with Shen."
She turns to Vivienne. "You take the kid. Low acuity, but don't rush it. Kids can compensate until they don't."
Vivienne swallows, then nods. "Got it."
"Clyde," Shen adds, glancing over his shoulder. "You're with Crawford."
Clyde startles slightly, like he's been yanked out of his own head. "Yep-yeah. Of course." He hurries over, clutching his tablet like a lifeline.
Ellis pauses, hand briefly on Vivienne's shoulder- grounding, familiar. "You'll be fine," she says. "I'll check in when I can."
Then she's gone, already moving toward trauma with Shen, voices overlapping as they talk through imaging and labs.
Vivienne exhales once, steadying herself, and looks at Clyde. "Ready?"
He nods too quickly. "Yep. Ready. Definitely ready."
They head down the paeds corridor together, the noise dimming slightly as they approach the room. A small figure is visible through the open door- legs dangling off the bed, sneakers not quite reaching the floor. A cartoon bandage is already stuck crookedly on one knee.
Vivienne pauses just outside the threshold, adjusting her badge, reminding herself to soften her voice.
She steps in first, offering a small smile.
"Hey," she says gently. "I'm Vivienne, and this is Clyde. We're just going to check you over and make sure everything's okay."
The kid looks up at them, wide-eyed but alert, clutching a stuffed dinosaur with one arm.
"Hi," the child says quietly.
Clyde clears his throat. "Uh-hi. What's your name,
"My names Tomas." He says quietly.
They run through the basics first- neuro checks, vitals again, gentle palpation of the wrist. Vivienne keeps her movements slow, narrating everything she does, and the kid relaxes visibly with each minute that passes. By the time she suggests an X-ray "just to make sure nothing sneaky's going on," the child nods like it's a perfectly reasonable next step.
"I can come with you," Vivienne adds quickly, noticing the way their fingers tighten around the dinosaur's neck. "If you want."
"Can you?" the kid asks, hopeful.
"Yeah," she smiles. "I've got nowhere else I need to be."
Clyde looks relieved too, handing over the chart like he's passing off a fragile heirloom. "I'll... I'll catch up after," he says, already half-backpedaling toward the desk.
Radiology is quieter, cooler- the lights harsher, the walls an institutional shade of beige that makes everything feel slightly unreal. The kid chatters nervously as they walk, telling Vivienne about their dinosaur's name (Rexy), their dog at home, how the crash was "really loud but also kinda slow."
"You're doing great," Vivienne tells them honestly, crouching to their level before they're led into the imaging room. "This part's easy. You just have to stay very still for a minute."
The radiologist appears from behind a console, tall and thin with wire-frame glasses and an expression like he's perpetually mid-sigh. His badge reads Dr. Howard Klein.
"Alright," he says flatly, not unkind, just... dry. "Let's get the wrist positioned. Slowly. Very slowly."
He adjusts the machine with painstaking care, each movement deliberate to the point of agony. Vivienne watches the kid's face through the glass as they lie still, jaw clenched in concentration.
Dr. Klein squints at the monitor. "Hmm."
Vivienne's stomach tightens. "Hmm good, or hmm bad?"
"Hm neutral," he replies. "People rush imaging. Rushing leads to repeats. Repeats lead to complaints."
He clicks something. Waits. Clicks again.
From the other room, the kid gives a thumbs-up through the glass. Vivienne mirrors it back, smiling reassuringly, even as the seconds stretch.
"Almost there," Dr. Klein mutters, like a promise he's made and broken before.
Finally, the machine whirs to a stop. He leans back, studying the image with maddening slowness.
"Looks like a buckle fracture," he says eventually. "Clean. Stable."
Vivienne exhales, tension leaving her shoulders all at once. "Thank you."
He nods once, already turning back to his screen. "You're welcome. Try not to let them skateboard for a few weeks." Vivienne scrunched her eyebrows in small confusion but doesn't comment .
As Vivienne heads back into the room to help the kid sit up, she catches their grin- brave, proud, unbroken.
She sits on the rolling stool beside the bed, a tub of casting material balanced on the tray, while Tomas watches her with solemn intensity- like this is a sacred ritual and she's the only one qualified to perform it.
"Okay," she says gently, slipping the padding around his wrist. "This part's kind of warm and a little weird, but it won't hurt."
"It smells funny," Tomas observes.
Bridget snorts from the other side of the bed, handing Vivienne the wrap. "That's hospital chic. You'll miss it."
Vivienne laughs under her breath and keeps going, fingers steady, movements confident now. Bridget watches closely- not hovering, just there, ready to step in if needed. She murmurs small encouragements, tells Tomas a wildly exaggerated story about a kid who once tried to convince her a cast gave him superhero strength.
By the time Vivienne smooths the final layer, the cast is neat, snug, perfect.
"All done," Vivienne says, sitting back. "You did amazing."
Tomas beams. "Can I draw on it?"
Bridget grins. "Absolutely. Just not today."
Vivienne steps out to present, chart tucked under her arm, adrenaline still humming pleasantly in her veins. At the desk, Jack Abbot is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, scanning the board. He looks up as she approaches- neutral, unreadable, all attending.
"Seven-year-old male," Vivienne begins, professional voice locked in. "Restrained passenger in MVC. X-ray confirmed distal radius buckle fracture. Neuro intact, no LOC, vitals stable throughout. Cast placed. Pain controlled with oral analgesia."
Jack nods once, eyes flicking briefly to the chart. "Good, discharge when the mother comes out of surgery."
He pauses, then looks at her- not sharp, not cold. Thoughtful.
"You ever think about paeds?" he asks.
Vivienne blinks. "Paeds?"
"Yeah," he says. "You're good with them. Calm. You explain things well."
Her throat tightens, just a little. "I... haven't really decided yet."
"Keep it on the table," he says easily. "You handled that well."
There's a beat. The hum of the department fills the space between them. Then she turns to go back inside.
"Crawford."
Her name stops her cold.
She turns.
Jack's voice is quieter now, pitched lower- not for the room, just for her. His jaw tightens, like this costs him something.
"I owe you an apology," he says. "For earlier. I was out of line."
She doesn't say anything, just waits.
"I shouldn't have taken things out on you," he continues, carefully. "It wasn't fair."
Their eyes hold for half a second longer than necessary. No heat. No softness. Just something honest, finally.
"Thank you," Vivienne says, just as quietly.
He nods once, professional mask sliding back into place.
Ellis catches her again just as Vivienne puts the chart away, "Abbot tells me you did good on the case." She says with an almost proud expression on her face.
"Uh yeah.. he was a good kid, injury wasn't too bad."
Ellis nods, "how's your charting going." Which causes Vivienne's smile to drop but before she could say anything or start apologising Ellis steps in first. "It's fine, happens to everyone.. why don't you go and focus on that for a bit before we get busy again, I'll get Pearce to take over triage for a bit." She says with a smile.
Grateful for Ellis' suggestion she quickly takes her up on it, settling herself down in an alcove connected to the middle table, swiping her card in and starting the charts for the shift.
5am-6am
Vivienne isn't sure how she ended up there.
The staff room hums softly- fridge buzzing, fluorescent lights too bright for four in the morning. A muesli bar sits half-eaten in her hand, crumbs pressed into her palm. Her head rests on the cool laminate table, cheek turned to the side, body finally giving in after hours of holding itself together.
The scrape of a chair pulls her back.
She jolts upright, heart kicking, eyes blinking against the light. Jack Abbott is sitting down across from her, coffee in hand, movements unhurried. Like he's been there the whole time.
"Oh- " She fumbles for her phone, squinting at the screen. 5:00 a.m.
"God. I fell asleep for like... twenty minutes," she says quickly, already straightening, wiping at the corner of her mouth, mortified. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"Hey." His voice cuts in, calm, grounding. He lifts a hand slightly, palm down, slowing her the way he does with panicking patients. "It's fine. Don't sweat it."
She pauses.
"It's been quiet," he adds. "No traumas for a few hours. You're allowed to be human."
She lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and nods, fingers tightening around the wrapper of the muesli bar.
Jack leans back in the chair, stretching his legs out a little, posture looser than she's seen all night. No edge. No authority. Just... Jack. "You surviving your first shift?" he asks.
"Barely," she says, a tired smile slipping out. "Ellis is... intense. In a good way. Terrifying. But good."
He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. That tracks."
There's a beat of comfortable silence. The kind that feels dangerous for entirely different reasons. "You learn anything?" he asks.
She thinks about Tomas. The code. His voice in her ear during the intubation. "Yeah," she says softly. "A lot."
He studies her for a moment, expression unreadable, then nods like that's the right answer. "So," he says, casual-but not quite. "What are you doing after shift?"
Her stomach flips, traitorous. She could tell he felt a little guilt for how he was acting before, and now was trying to make it up, being friendly in an awkward acquainted way. "Probably going home and sleeping for twelve hours," she replies carefully.
A corner of his mouth lifts. "Smart." Another pause. The air hums again. The tension doesn't disappear- it just settles, quieter now, coiled under the surface.
"You did good tonight," he says finally. Not as an attending. As something else. Something harder.
Her chest tightens. "Thanks."
She glances at the clock again, then pushes herself to her feet. "I should probably-"
"Yeah," he agrees, standing too. Too close for a second. Not touching. Still aware.
They move toward the door together, the moment slipping back into professionalism-but not disappearing entirely. They step out of the staff room and straight into chaos.
The calm evaporates in an instant- voices overlapping, footsteps pounding, monitors chiming like alarms in a language Vivienne is only just learning to speak fluently. Stretchers roll past, nurses pivot mid-conversation, the department snapping awake all at once.
"Abbot!" Lena's voice cuts clean through it. She's at the desk, already moving, phone pressed to her shoulder, eyes sharp. "Two traumas incoming. Five minutes."
Jack turns immediately. "Go."
"First is an elderly female," Lena continues briskly. "Mugging- unknown time down. Police just found her. Hypothermic, altered, possible head injury- medics say she's serious."
Vivienne's stomach tightens. "Second," Lena says, already scrolling, "male, late forties. Veteran. Pedestrian struck by a drunk driver while crossing the road. High-speed impact. Hypotensive in the field."
Jack's jaw sets. "I'll take the veteran."
Ellis is already beside him. "Clyde, you're with us."
Clyde blanches- but nods. "Yep. Yep. Okay."
"Trauma Two," Lena says, eyes flicking to Vivienne, "you're with Shen and Walsh. Old lady."
Vivienne straightens instinctively. "Got it." There's no time to think. No time to look at Jack. The moment fractures cleanly, professionalism snapping back into place like muscle memory.
Dr. Walsh strides past them, already pulling on gloves, expression sharp and almost gleeful in that intimidating, surgical way. "Alright," she says, glancing at Vivienne. "Let's see what kind of mess they've brought us."
John Shen appears at her shoulder, Coffee abandoned. All focus. "Trauma Two ready," he says mildly, like this is just another Tuesday.
The doors burst open. Vivienne moves with them, hands gloving, heart pounding- but steady. The gurney barrels in, an impossibly small woman beneath layers of blankets, face mottled with bruises, dried blood at her temple, eyes fluttering unfocused.
"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" Shen asks calmly.
Walsh snaps orders. "Let's get vitals, core temp, large-bore IVs. Crawford- history as soon as she can give it."
Somewhere across the department, Trauma One explodes into noise-shouts, commands, the metallic clatter of equipment.
The old woman's blankets are peeled back and suddenly her face is fully visible under the harsh trauma lights.
Vivienne freezes. Her breath catches in a sharp, involuntary gasp. It's her.
The same woman from the bus. The soft voice. The careful smile. The way she'd talked about the other people on the bus. The woman who'd patted Vivienne's hand and told her to be careful working nights.
For half a second, the hospital dissolves. Then- "Crawford." Walsh's voice snaps her back, sharp as a slap. "Focus."
Vivienne swallows hard, forcing her hands to move even as her chest tightens painfully. Guilt floods her, hot and immediate, irrational but overwhelming. You saw her. You talked to her. You let her get off that bus alone.
"BP's dropping," Shen says calmly, eyes never leaving the monitor. The numbers nosedive.
"Ma'am, stay with us," Vivienne says automatically, voice trembling just enough that she hates herself for it.
The woman moans-low, confused-then her eyes roll back. The monitor screams. "She's coding," Walsh says, already moving. "Start compressions."
Vivienne's hands are on the woman's chest before she fully registers the words, arms locking, shoulders burning as she pushes down, counting under her breath. The woman's ribs give slightly beneath her palms. The sound is awful.
"Clear." The room stills for a split second.
The shock hits- her body jerks violently, a brutal reminder that this is not the woman from the bus anymore. This is a patient. This is survival.
Vivienne steps back, heart in her throat, watching the line stutter. Nothing. "Again."
Another shock. Another jolt. Vivienne's ears ring. Her vision tunnels. Come back, she thinks, fiercely. Please. Finally, blessedly, the monitor flickers- then steadies into a weak but present rhythm.
"I've got a pulse," Shen says.
Vivienne exhales shakily, unaware she'd been holding her breath. Her hands are slick with sweat, her arms aching, her mind reeling.
They move fast after that- fluids, imaging, warming blankets. The room stays loud but controlled, chaos reined in by experience. Vivienne fetches, assists, answers questions before they're fully formed. She does everything she can to make up for something she knows isn't her fault.
The woman is finally Stable enough for the doctors to step out, Vivienne steps back against the wall, chest heaving slightly. Her gloves are stained. Her hands shake.
The bed rolls away into a room, leaving behind only the echo of alarms and the hollow knowledge that medicine doesn't care about coincidence.But Vivienne does, And the guilt sits heavy in her chest as the doors swing shut.
One second she's peeling her gloves off with trembling fingers, the next she's pushing through the double doors and into the cold night air like the hospital might swallow her whole if she stays another second longer.
The chill hits her hard- sharp, grounding. Sirens wail somewhere distant. The city hums on, indifferent. The sky was now brightening slightly as the sun starts to make its way up. She sucks in a breath that burns her lungs.
"Hey." Jack's voice comes from her left.
She startles, turning to find him a few feet away, hands braced on his hips, shoulders tense like he hasn't quite come down from the adrenaline yet. His hair is messier than usual, jaw tight, eyes dark and searching when they land on her face.
"You okay?" he asks, softer than he sounds inside.
She huffs out a humorless breath. "I-I knew her."
His brow furrows. "What?"
"The woman. From trauma two," Vivienne says, words tumbling out now that she's started. "I met her earlier. On the bus. She sat next to me. We talked." Her throat tightens. "And I didn't do anything. I just... let her get off alone."
Jack's expression shifts-something heavy crossing his face. He steps closer without thinking, then stops himself, hands curling into fists instead of reaching for her. "Viv," he says quietly. "That's not on you."
"I know that logically," she snaps, then immediately softens, shaking her head. "But it doesn't feel that way."
He studies her for a moment, eyes dropping to the way her arms are folded tight across her chest, like she's holding herself together by force alone. "She's stable," he says. " You did good work in there."
The words land harder than she expects. She looks up at him, eyes shining under the harsh exterior lights. "How about yours?"
"The veteran?" Jack exhales slowly. "Messy. Internal bleeding, shattered leg. But he's alive. Scheduled for the OR soon."A beat.
They stand there in the thin space between exhaustion and something else entirely. The air feels charged, heavy with everything they aren't saying. The night seems to narrow around them, the hospital doors glowing behind her like a reminder of where they are- and what they can't be.
"You always carry it like this?" she asks softly. "All of it?"
He gives a faint, crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Only the ones that matter."
Her gaze drops to his hands, then back up to his face. The distance between them feels deliberate now- carefully maintained, painfully noticeable. Close enough that she can smell antiseptic and coffee on him. Far enough that it aches.
"I hate that you're good at pretending nothing affects you," she admits.
His jaw tightens. "I hate that you think I'm pretending." The words hang there, too personal, too close to the truth. For a second, neither of them moves. Their breathing syncs without permission. The city noise fades to a dull blur.
He looks at her like he wants to say more.Like he shouldn't.
"iv got a pregnant teen coming in in about fourty minutes for a mifepristone you can sit in for it, it'll be good learning." He pauses, " But for now, go get some water or coffee," he says instead, voice low. "You've had a hell of a night"
She nods, reluctant, stepping back even though every instinct tells her not to. "You too."
Their eyes linger one last second too long before she turns away-heart pounding, skin buzzing, the unspoken stretching taut between them.
Summary: Vivienne deals with some difficult patients, Clyde is trying his best, and Jack finally makes a proper appearance.
A/N : I hope you guys are enjoying this story so far, I’m really enjoying writing it as I wait for new episodes to come out. Pls let me know if you guys have any ideas or want to see anything specific unfold in the story. P.s I envision Michael Cera as Clyde.
Wk: 2.7k
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8pm-9pm
The air shifted instantly.
Chairs scraped back. Conversations died mid-sentence. The low, constant hum of the ER sharpened into something electric. Jack Abbot was already moving, coffee abandoned on the counter, posture snapping into focus like a switch had been flipped.
"Mechanism?" he asked.
"High-speed MVC," Lena replied, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Single vehicle. Ejected. EMS says hypotensive, altered."
Jack didn't hesitate. "Trauma bay one. Ellis, you're primary. Shen, you run airway if we need it."
Shen nodded, "Copy."
Parker Ellis was already pulling on gloves. "Crawford, Pearce- listen up," she snapped, eyes sharp. "You stay out of the way unless told otherwise. You move when we tell you to move. You do not freeze."
Clyde swallowed hard. "I won't freeze."
Marco passed by, already dragging equipment toward the bay. "Everyone says that."
The trauma bay came alive- monitors rolled in, suction tested, trays opened with metallic clatter. Vivienne stood just behind Parker, heart pounding, palms damp inside her gloves. The smell of antiseptic was stronger here, sharper, layered with anticipation.
"Two minutes," Lena called out.
Jack stepped to the foot of the bed, hands braced on the rail, eyes steady. "Alright. Let's be clean. Let's be fast."
The doors burst open.
"Twenty-four-year-old male," the paramedic shouted as they wheeled him in. "Ejected approximately thirty feet. GCS fluctuating between ten and twelve. BP ninety systolic en route. Complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath."
The patient was young, face smeared with blood and dirt, eyes glassy but open. One leg was twisted unnaturally, jeans soaked dark at the thigh. His chest rose unevenly, each breath shallow and strained.
"On my count," Jack said calmly. "One-two-three."
They transferred him to the bed in one smooth motion.
"Airway?" Shen asked.
"Patent but unstable," Parker said, already palpating the chest. "Breath sounds diminished on the left."
"Possible pneumothorax," Jack said. "Prep for chest tube."
Vivienne's stomach dropped. She forced herself to stay still, to watch.
"BP's dropping," Marco called out. "Eighty over fifty."
"IV access?" Parker snapped.
"Large bore in the right arm," Bridget replied. "Second line going in now."
The patient groaned, trying to lift his head. "Can't..can't breathe"
"Stay with me," Shen said, calm but firm. "You're in the hospital. We've got you."
Jack looked up briefly. "Vivienne-oxygen. Pearce- cut his shirt."
Clyde's hands shook as he reached for the trauma shears, but he did it. Fabric split open, revealing bruising blooming across the patient's ribs, one side rising slower than the other.
"Trachea's deviating," Parker said sharply. "We're losing him."
"Do it," Jack said immediately. "Now."
The room tightened, everyone moving at once. Vivienne held the oxygen mask in place, knuckles white, eyes locked on the patient's face as his breathing grew more frantic.
A sharp hiss filled the room as the needle decompression went in.
Almost instantly, the patient gasped- deep, wet, desperate, but real.
"Breath sounds improving," Shen said.
"BP coming up," Marco added.
Vivienne let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Jack didn't relax. Not yet. "CT as soon as he's stable. Possible internal bleed. Keep him warm."
The chaos didn't stop- but it shifted, controlled now, purposeful.
Vivienne stood there, adrenaline roaring in her ears, heart hammering, hands still steady on the mask.
This wasn't watching anymore.
This was being inside it.
And somewhere in the middle of the noise, the orders, the controlled urgency, she caught Jack's eye, just for a second.
He stripped his gloves off as he walked, already halfway down the hall before Vivienne realized she was moving after him.
"Dr. Abbot," she said, then immediately winced at how formal it sounded.
He stopped anyway.
Jack turned just enough to look at her, expression closed, professional, like he'd put a wall up the second the patient stabilized. The corridor around them was dimmer, quieter- staff passing without paying attention, carts rolling by like background noise.
"Can we-" Vivienne started, then swallowed. "Can I talk to you? Privately."
He hesitated. Just a fraction. Enough for her to notice.
"Now's not really- "he began.
"Please," she said, softer. Not desperate. Just honest.
Jack glanced toward the nurses' station, then back at her. His jaw tightened. "Two minutes," he said. "Over here."
He stepped into an empty alcove near the supply room, arms folding across his chest the second they stopped. He didn't lean. Didn't relax. He looked like a man bracing for impact.
Vivienne stood there, suddenly very aware of how small the space felt, how close he was without actually being close at all.
"I didn't expect-" she started, then shook her head. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Jack let out a slow breath through his nose. "Neither did I."
Silence settled between them, heavy and awkward.
He looked at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again, and when he did, the guilt was unmistakable- etched into the tight set of his mouth, the guarded distance in his gaze.
"This shouldn't have happened," he said quietly. Not harsh. Just firm. "What happened before."
Vivienne's chest tightened. "I know that."
"You're a student," he continued, voice low. "You're a lot younger than me. And now you're here- While I'm your attending." His jaw flexed. "That puts you in a position you never agreed to be in."
"I wasn't coerced," she said quickly. "I didn't feel-"
"I know," Jack cut in gently, holding up a hand. "I'm not saying that." He paused, choosing his words with careful restraint. "I'm saying I should've known better."
The fluorescent light hummed overhead. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed-too loud, too normal for how tight her chest felt.
Vivienne shifted her weight. "So what happens now?"
Jack's gaze flickered, something conflicted passing through it before he locked it down again. "Nothing," he said. "It has to be nothing."
Professional. Final.
"I'll keep things appropriate," he added. "No special treatment. No conversations that don't need to happen. If there's ever a situation where you feel uncomfortable-"
"I won't," she said, even as her heart disagreed.
He nodded once, as if that was all he could allow himself. "Good."
Another beat of silence.
Then Jack stepped back, already retreating into distance, into the role he knew how to wear without cracking. "We're still on shift," he said. "You did well in there."
It wasn't warm. But it wasn't cold either.
And then he was gone- walking back toward the controlled chaos of the department, shoulders squared, composure intact.
Vivienne stayed where she was for a moment longer, the echo of his words settling into her bones.
Nothing, he'd said.
The hospital lights buzzed on, indifferent. And somehow, that made it worse.
Vivienne stood there a moment longer, the hallway suddenly too bright, too loud, like the hospital had turned the volume up just to spite her.
Her chest felt tight- not panic, not heartbreak, just something unsettled, unfinished. She told herself she'd expected it, that this was the only sensible outcome, yet the finality of nothing sat heavier than she'd thought it would. She squared her shoulders, tucked the feeling away where it wouldn't interfere, and stepped forward.
Vivienne headed back toward the desk, fingers brushing the edge of the counter as she scanned the board for her next patient. Names blurred together for a second- labs pending, consults waiting, the quiet churn of the night shift continuing as if nothing momentous had just happened in a supply-room alcove.
She was just leaning in to read more closely when a familiar, anxious presence rushed past her.
Clyde.
He was moving too fast, eyes locked on the specimen cup in his hand like it was a live grenade. The lid sat slightly crooked, his grip a little too tight.
"Okay, okay-don't spill- " he muttered under his breath.
Nurse Avery Collins stood nearby, neatly organized as always, chart already open, color-coded tabs visible even from a distance. She glanced up just in time to see Clyde's foot catch on the edge of the floor mat.
The lid popped off with a soft, traitorous snap, and urine splashed down the front of Clyde's scrubs, warm and unmistakable. A few drops hit the floor with quiet, humiliating taps.
Clyde froze. Completely. Like if he didn't move, maybe it hadn't happened.
"I-" he said faintly. "I swear that wasn't-"
Avery calmly stepped back, hands lifting away from her clipboard. "And that," she said evenly, "is why we always double-check the lid."
Vivienne clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, fighting the urge to laugh and apologize at the same time.
Clyde looked down at himself, face flushing crimson. "I'm... I'm going to go change. I'm going to- yeah. I'm going to go."
Avery nodded once, already grabbing disinfectant wipes like this was simply another item on her checklist. "Good plan. Leave the cup. We'll get another sample."
Clyde shuffled away in defeated silence, shoulders slumped.
Vivienne watched him go, then glanced at Avery, who met her eyes with a small, sympathetic smile.
"Night shift," Avery said.
Vivienne let out a breath, the tension in her chest easing just a little.
Avery was still crouched on the floor, methodically wiping up the spill, when she glanced up at Vivienne.
"Room twenty-four," she said evenly. "Can you just pop in and reassess him? Labs are back."
Vivienne nodded, already pulling up the chart as she headed down the hall.
The patient sat hunched forward on the bed when she entered, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. Harold Finch, sixty-two. His glasses were fogged slightly, eyes rimmed red like he'd already been crying long before she arrived.
"Hi, Mr. Finch," Vivienne said gently. "I'm Vivienne. I just wanted to check in with you and go over your results."
He didn't look up.
She took a breath and continued anyway, steady and careful. "Your labs and imaging are consistent with a mild case of pancreatitis. Your lipase is elevated, but it's already trending down. No masses, no signs of malignancy."
That's when he broke.
A sharp, choking sound tore out of his chest as his shoulders collapsed inward. "You don't have to lie to me," he sobbed, suddenly loud, voice cracking. "I know what this is. I know. My wife- my wife had scans that looked 'fine' too."
Vivienne's stomach tightened.
"I'm not lying," she said softly, stepping closer. "I promise you-"
He shook his head violently. "You're protecting me. Or you don't want to say it out loud. That's what doctors do. They soften it." His voice rose, raw and desperate. "Just tell me I'm dying."
Her heart pounded, but she stayed where she was. "Mr. Finch, I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't take that choice away from you."
He cried harder then, hands covering his face, the sound echoing down the hall. A nurse peeked through the curtain and quietly retreated. The noise carried- too loud, too uncontained.
Vivienne crouched slightly, trying to keep her voice calm. "Fear can make everything seem worse," she said. "But right now, the evidence does not support cancer."
"I don't believe you," he choked. "I can feel it."
The curtain shifted again.
Jack Abbot stepped in.
He took in the scene in a single glance- the patient unraveling, Vivienne standing too still, the chart clutched a little too tightly in her hands. He didn't rush. Didn't interrupt.
"Mr. Finch," Jack said calmly, voice low and grounding. "I'm Dr. Abbott. I'm one of the attendings here."
Harold looked up, eyes wild. "You won't lie to me," he said hoarsely.
Jack met his gaze evenly. "I won't."
The room quieted- not instantly, but gradually, like a storm losing momentum.
Jack continued, measured and precise. "You have pancreatitis. Mild. Painful, yes. Scary, absolutely. But not cancer. If there was even a hint of that, you'd already be hearing those words."
Harold's breathing hitched. "You're sure?"
"As sure as medicine allows," Jack said. "And if that changes, you won't be kept in the dark."
Silence settled, broken only by Harold's uneven breaths.
Jack glanced briefly at Vivienne- not to correct her, not to undermine her. Just acknowledgment.
"You explained it well," he said simply.
Then he turned back to the patient, lowering his voice again, steady as bedrock. "Let's get you through tonight first."
Vivienne exhaled quietly, tension easing from her shoulders as she stepped back, heart still racing but steadier now.
Jack lingered a moment after the room settled, watching Harold's breathing even out before turning to Vivienne.
"You did fine," he said, quieter now. Then, firmer: "Go eat something."
Viv blinked. "I'm okay-"
"That wasn't a suggestion," Jack said, already stepping toward the curtain. Not unkind. Just decisive. "Staff room. Don't be longer then Twenty minutes."
She hesitated, then nodded, the adrenaline finally ebbing enough for hunger to crash in all at once.
The staff room was dimmer than the halls, the hum of vending machines replacing monitor alarms. Viv sank into a chair, peeling open a granola bar she didn't remember putting in her pocket, hands still faintly unsteady.
She was halfway through it when the door creaked open.
Ellis slipped in, coffee in hand, eyes immediately clocking Viv's posture. She didn't say anything at first- just leaned against the counter.
"First day," Ellis said finally. "How we holding up?"
Viv huffed a quiet laugh. "Is it obvious?"
"Only to people who've lived it," Ellis replied, taking a sip. "So. First impressions?"
Viv chewed, considering. "It's... loud. And fast. And everyone keeps talking like if they stop, something bad will happen."
Ellis smiled knowingly. "That part never really changes."
Viv looked down at the wrapper in her hands. "I keep second-guessing everything. Like- what if I missed something obvious? What if I told him the wrong thing and-"
"You didn't," Ellis said gently, cutting in before the spiral could fully form. "I heard you in there. You were clear. Honest. Kind. That matters."
Viv let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.
Ellis tilted her head. "You always get this inside your own head?"
"Only when it matters," Viv said.
Ellis laughed softly. "Then you're exactly where you're supposed to be."
They sat in companionable quiet for a moment, the room feeling oddly safe compared to the rest of the hospital.
Ellis glanced at her again. "You surviving day one so far."
Viv smiled, small but real. "Barely."
"Counts," Ellis said, pushing off the counter. "Finish your snack. Trauma doesn't wait, but burnout doesn't either."
The staff room was quiet again, the door swinging shut behind Ellis with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
Vivienne stayed where she was, elbows on the table, fingers curled around the edge like it might drift away if she let go. The granola bar lay forgotten beside her. Her appetite had vanished the second her thoughts circled back.
Jack.
The way he'd looked at her in the room- not surprised, not cold, just... controlled. Professional in a way that felt deliberate, like he was building walls in real time. She replayed it over and over: his voice telling her she did fine, the way he didn't quite meet her eyes, the sharp line of his jaw when he turned away.
It shouldn't hurt like this, she told herself. It was one night. Bad timing. Worse circumstances.
And yet.
Her chest felt tight, caught between embarrassment and something dangerously close to longing. She hated how small she felt around him now, like she'd done something wrong just by existing in the same space. Hated that part of her still remembered his hands, his laugh, the way he'd said her name like it wasn't a problem waiting to happen.
She pressed her thumb into the table, grounding herself.
He's your attending, she reminded herself. This is real life.
Still, the guilt she saw in his face lingered with her- heavy, unresolved. Not rejection. Not exactly. Something more complicated. Something unfinished.
The overhead lights hummed softly as Vivienne finally stood, straightening her badge, pushing the thoughts back where they belonged.
For now.
She took one last breath, then headed for the door- back into the halls, back into the shift, carrying him with her whether she wanted to or not.
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Part Summary: Viviennes first shift official starts, lots of patients, nurses and supervising doctors
Warning: medical inaccuracies probably
Wc: 3k
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7pm-8pm
Vivienne slid her bag into an open locker and closed the metal door with more force than necessary. The clang echoed down the narrow staff room, sharp and grounding. She stood there for a second longer than she needed to, palms braced against the cool surface, breathing in slowly until her pulse stopped trying to outrun her.
Get it together.
By the time she stepped back out into the department, the Pitt had fully woken up. The board glowed against the far wall, rows of names, ages, triage levels and complaints, already shifting as patients were moved, discharged, upgraded. It was overwhelming in a precise, clinical way, the kind of chaos that demanded attention whether you were ready or not.
Vivienne stopped in front of it, eyes scanning automatically.
She forced herself to focus on the logistics, not the fact that somewhere down one of these hallways was Jack Abbot, now in a role that came with authority, distance, consequences. The thought sat heavy in her chest, a tight coil of adrenaline and disbelief she hadn't yet found a place to put.
"Don't stare too long," a voice said beside her. "It doesn't blink."
Vivienne turned.
The woman standing there had her arms crossed, posture relaxed but unmistakably solid. She looked alert in a way that suggested she'd already been dealing with problems long before the shift officially started. Her badge read PARKER ELLIS, MD — EM RESIDENT, and her expression was neutral but assessing.
"Vivienne Crawford," Vivienne said quickly. "Fourth-year. I was told I'd be shadowing you."
The question caught her off guard- not invasive, just observant. Vivienne straightened, schooling her expression. "Yeah. Just... first night."
"Makes sense," Parker said. "Nights mess with your head a bit. You'll get used to it- or you won't, and you'll still function. Either way." She gestured toward the board with her chin. "Rule one: don't get attached to the list. It lies."
Vivienne huffed a quiet, appreciative breath. "Good to know."
Parker uncrossed her arms and started walking, clearly expecting Vivienne to follow. "Stick with me. Ask questions. Don't apologize for not knowing things, but don't guess." She glanced back once. "And if anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me."
Something about the bluntness steadied her.
"Okay," Vivienne said.
As they moved deeper into the department, the noise rising around them, Vivienne felt the night closing in- fast, unforgiving, already complicated. She squared her shoulders and kept pace beside Parker, eyes forward.
Lena caught Parker's eye from across the desk and jerked her chin toward one of the curtained bays. "Room twelve's been waiting," she said. "Mid-forties, abdominal pain. Vitals stable, getting cranky."
Parker sighed quietly. "Of course he is." She glanced at Vivienne. "Alright. This is yours to watch and help with. You don't talk over me, you don't promise anything, and you definitely don't say the word fine."
"Got it," Vivienne said.
They pulled the curtain back to reveal a man sitting upright on the bed, arms folded tight across his chest. He looked tired rather than sick, dark circles under his eyes, jaw set like he'd already decided no one was going to help him. A half-empty cup of water sat untouched on the tray table.
"You gonna tell me how much longer this is gonna take?" he asked immediately.
Parker didn't miss a beat. "I'm Dr. Ellis. This is Crawford, she's a medical student with me tonight." She stepped closer, calm and unflinching. "I hear your stomach's been giving you trouble."
"Since this morning," he said. "Burning. Cramping. Feels like someone's tying it in knots." He glanced at Vivienne. "And before you ask, no, it's not 'just stress.'"
Vivienne caught herself almost smiling and stopped. She focused instead on his posture, the way one hand pressed absently into his upper abdomen.
Parker nodded. "Any vomiting? Fever?"
"No. Just pain. And waiting."
"Fair," Parker said evenly. "Any history of ulcers? Gallbladder issues?"
The man hesitated. "Had reflux for years. I take stuff when I remember."
Vivienne watched the exchange closely- the rhythm of it, the way Parker let the patient talk just enough before redirecting. When Parker gestured subtly, Vivienne stepped forward, checking the monitor and noting the numbers, steady but slightly elevated heart rate.
"Press here," Parker instructed the patient, guiding his hand. He winced slightly.
"Upper right," Vivienne said before she could stop herself, then immediately went still.
Parker glanced at her—not annoyed, just acknowledging. "Good catch."
The man looked between them. "So what, you gonna fix it or just poke me some more?"
"We'll run labs," Parker said. "Probably an ultrasound. Make sure nothing serious is going on."
"And how long's that gonna take?"
"As long as it takes," Parker replied, not unkindly. "But we'll keep you updated."
The man exhaled, tension easing just a fraction. "Fine."
When they stepped back into the hallway, Parker scribbled notes quickly. "Likely gastritis or gallbladder," she said. "Straightforward. You did fine."
Vivienne nodded, the tightness in her chest loosening just a bit.
Parker skimmed the chart one more time, eyes flicking between the screen and the curtained bay. "Alright," she said, already half-turning away. "Room nineteen. Shortness of breath, vitals stable, labs pending. Go introduce yourself, start the history. I'll be right behind you."
Vivienne nodded. "Okay."
Parker was gone before the word had fully left her mouth.
Vivienne stood there for a beat, the weight of that sentence settling in- your first patient. She adjusted the stethoscope around her neck, smoothed her scrub top, and headed toward room nineteen, heart tapping insistently against her ribs.
The curtain was half-drawn. Inside sat a man in his late twenties, long limbs folded awkwardly on the bed, one foot bouncing nonstop. He wore paint-splattered jeans and a hoodie despite the heat, his hair shoved under a beanie like he hadn't expected to be anywhere official tonight. A crumpled paper bag sat at his feet.
"Hi," Vivienne said, forcing her voice to steady. "I'm Vivienne, I'm a medical student working with the emergency team tonight."
He looked up, eyes sharp and tired. "Cool. Am I dying?"
"Probably not," she said before she could stop herself, then immediately regretted it. "-I mean, we're just going to ask some questions."
That earned a huff of a laugh. "Good. Because I've got a mural halfway done and my boss would be pissed."
She stepped closer, taking in the shallow rise and fall of his chest. "What brought you in?"
"Can't breathe right," he said, tapping his sternum. "Feels like someone's sitting on me. Started after I carried a generator up three flights of stairs. Thought I just pulled something, but then my hands started tingling and my girlfriend freaked out."
Vivienne nodded, filing it away. "Any history of asthma? Heart issues?"
"Nope. Just anxiety," he said flatly. "Which everyone loves to hear."
Before she could respond, the curtain rustled and a man stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered, with tired eyes and a permanently unimpressed expression. His badge read Marco Delaney, RN.
"Vitals are fine," Marco said, already adjusting the blood pressure cuff. "O₂ sat's fine, lungs sound clear, heart rate's a little fast but that tracks if you're spiraling."
The patient bristled. "I'm not spiraling."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Your foot's been tapping since I walked in."
Vivienne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
Marco glanced at her. "You the student?"
"Yes," she said quickly.
"Cool. You can listen too," he said, stepping aside just enough. "He's not hiding a pneumothorax from us tonight."
She leaned in, stethoscope cold against the patient's chest, hyperaware of every second. The room smelled faintly of paint and antiseptic. His breathing was fast but even.
"Sounds clear," she said softly.
"See?" the patient said, vindicated.
Marco shrugged. "Never hurts to check. Labs are cooking. Probably anxiety or a muscle strain, but we wait."
He scribbled something on the chart, then paused. "You did fine," he added, almost grudgingly, before heading back out.
Vivienne exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath.
The patient watched her. "So... first day?"
She nodded. "That obvious?"
"Kinda," he said, not unkindly. "But you seem like you know what you're doing."
Vivienne was jotting notes when the patient suddenly stiffened, clutching his chest. His face went pale, and his shallow breathing shifted into ragged gasps.
"Whoa-what's happening?!" he gasped, and Vivienne's stomach lurched.
"Okay. Okay," she whispered to herself, heart hammering. "Breathe. Stay calm. You know this."
But her fingers trembled on the stethoscope as she tried to take his vitals. His pulse was erratic, fast, thready, and he looked like he was about to collapse.
"Sir! Can you squeeze my hand?" Vivienne said, louder than she intended. The patient's hand was slack. His foot thumped weakly against the bed frame.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath, feeling a hot rush of panic. Her mind raced: What do I do? What's next?
Then the curtain swished aside and Parker Ellis was there, brisk and calm, immediately scanning the situation.
"Vivienne, I've got you," Parker said, voice steady. "Step back. I need vitals, now."
The door burst open a second later. John Shen followed, already moving with practiced authority.
"What's going on?" Shen asked, eyes darting to the monitor, reading the numbers faster than Vivienne could.
The patient's oxygen sat plummeted, and his BP had dropped. Parker barked instructions,"Start O₂, cardiac monitor, IV line!", and Vivienne snapped into action, her training kicking in despite the adrenaline spiking in her veins.
She held the mask over his face, stabilized the line as Parker guided her, and repeated vitals like a mantra. Her hands shook, but she didn't drop anything.
Shen crouched slightly to check the monitor and muttered: "Looks like a vasovagal episode, but we'll run labs and ECG to be safe."
"Got it," Vivienne said, voice steadier now, feeling the panic ebb slightly as she followed Parker and Shen's directions.
The patient's color slowly returned, and his breathing evened. Vivienne exhaled, gripping the edge of the bed, her heart still racing. Parker clapped her shoulder lightly.
"First crash," Parker said dryly. "Not bad. You kept your head."
Vivienne nodded, cheeks hot, adrenaline still buzzing. Shen gave her a quick, approving glance before turning back to the patient.
"You did fine," he said, almost offhand, but it felt monumental.
Vivienne walked down the hallway, clutching a paper cup of water like a lifeline. The fluorescent lights above hummed softly, reflecting off the polished floors. She sipped slowly, letting the cool liquid steady her nerves after the crash in room nineteen. Around her, the department buzzed, monitors chimed, nurses called out medications, and the faint smell of antiseptic clung to the air.
Up ahead, she noticed Clyde standing near a wall, scrubs slightly wrinkled, clipboard in hand. His mouth was moving, barely audible at first, then louder.
"Uh-hello, Mr.-I mean, uh-good evening, I'm-no-Dr.-no, I'm a medical student-oh god..."
He faltered, eyes darting to the floor, then back at an imaginary patient, fumbling with the pen in his hand.
Vivienne tried not to smile as he muttered again, words tripping over themselves.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the movement of nurse Marco Delaney, already heading toward the supply closet, stopped mid-step and gave Clyde a single, razor-sharp look.
Clyde froze instantly, as if the glare had physically stopped him. His mouth snapped shut, the words dying in the air. His hand twitched like he was still holding the pen too tightly.
Marco gave a barely perceptible shrug, then walked off without a word, leaving Clyde blinking, pale, and muttering to himself under his breath.
Vivienne shook her head slightly, sipping the last of her water, trying not to laugh.
Vivienne dropped her empty cup into the bin and wiped her hands on her scrub top, taking a slow breath to steady herself after the hallway's minor chaos.
"Viv?" a familiar voice called from behind.
She turned to see Nurse Bridget Young striding toward her, hands stuffed in her pockets, expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.
"There's a guy," Bridget said, leaning casually against the edge of the counter. "Stapled his own cut closed in the parking lot. Thought he'd save us the trouble. You get to fix him up."
Vivienne blinked, a little stunned. "He... stapled it himself?"
Bridget smirked. "Yep. Thinks he's MacGyver. Name's Ethan Moreno. Mid-thirties, freelance carpenter, apparently not great with bandages but excellent with power tools. Hands were bleeding before he realized staples aren't just for wood."
Vivienne stifled a laugh. "Power tools? Seriously?"
"Seriously," Bridget said, shaking her head.
Vivienne squared her shoulders, already heading toward the bay. "Okay. I can handle it ."
Bridget gave her a quick, approving nod. "Good. And don't worry about the staples; he's not actively dying. But his pride might need more attention than the wound." She winked and went off to check on another patient, leaving Vivienne to steel herself.
As she approached Ethan, she took in the scene: the makeshift bandage of duct tape and paper napkins clinging to his forearm, a faint smear of dried blood along his palm. He looked up, grin wide and unapologetic, eyes twinkling despite the obvious pain.
"Hi," Vivienne said cautiously, stethoscope in hand. "I hear you've been... resourceful."
Ethan leaned back on the gurney, waving his stapled hand vaguely. "Resourceful? You mean reckless. But hey, I saved myself a trip in- so I'm technically efficient."
Vivienne shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Alright, Mr. Moreno. Let's see if we can get you patched up properly... and safely this time."
Ethan's grin didn't falter. "Lead the way, Doc. I trust you... mostly."
Vivienne slipped on a fresh pair of gloves, her fingers flexing around the sterile pair as she crouched slightly to get a good view of Ethan's forearm. The duct-taped napkin was a testament to his stubbornness, and she could see the faint bruising around the improvised staples.
"Okay," she said, voice calm, almost soothing. "First thing- we're going to remove these staples and clean the wound properly. It might sting a little."
Ethan's grin faltered for a moment. "Sting? Oh, great. I love pain. Said no one ever."
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "Good. I'll try to keep the drama to a minimum." She carefully lifted the staples one by one with the proper tool, her fingers steady despite the adrenaline tickling at her spine. Ethan flinched slightly but didn't move away, watching her with a mixture of admiration and mischief.
"You've got nerves of steel," he said casually, as if commenting on the weather. "Or maybe you just don't care about me."
"I care," Vivienne replied, steadying the wound with one hand. "I just don't want to stab you accidentally with the staple remover."
Ethan chuckled. "Fair."
She cleaned the wound meticulously, dabbing antiseptic over the inflamed edges. The smell of alcohol stung her nostrils, but she focused, counting each movement in her head. Parker's voice from earlier echoed faintly: don't guess, don't panic, just observe and act.
"You're pretty calm," Ethan said, trying to distract himself as she worked. "I'd be panicking if I were in your shoes."
Vivienne's hand didn't falter as she applied the new sterile staples. "It helps that I've seen worse today," she said quietly, thinking back to the chest-tightness patient and the vasovagal crash. Her pulse was still elevated, but she felt a small rush of confidence. She was doing this.
Ethan flexed his fingers gingerly. "Okay... wow. That actually feels... less horrible than I thought. Impressive."
Vivienne allowed herself a brief, satisfied smile, standing up and gently disposing of the used gloves. "See? I told you I could manage."
Ethan leaned back, wincing slightly as he tested the repaired arm. "Alright, Dr. Crawford. I'll admit it- you're officially scary competent."
Vivienne laughed quietly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "I prefer effective over scary."
The monitor beeped softly in the background, another reminder that the night wasn't going to slow down. But for a brief moment, Vivienne felt the strange, quiet satisfaction of a patient walked through safely.
Vivienne scribbled the last instructions on the discharge paperwork, careful to make them clear.
"Take it easy for the next few days," she said, handing Ethan the sheet. "Keep the wound clean, change the dressing daily, no heavy lifting. And don't try to fix things yourself again- staples aren't your friend."
She watched him shuffle toward the exit, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead blending with the soft thump of his boots on the linoleum floor. The hall smelled faintly of antiseptic, coffee, and old paper files, a scent that somehow grounded her even as her stomach fluttered.
She turned to put the papers on the counter, and froze.
Jack Abbott was there. Standing by the desk in putting something in the computer, he was standing tall and calm, like he belonged in the space even more than she did. The hum of the department seemed to dull for a moment, and Vivienne's pulse spiked, sharp and insistent.
He looked up just as her eyes met his. Recognition passed between them in a flash, brief, electric, but he didn't smile, didn't say anything. His expression remained unreadable, neutral, professional. Almost deliberately distant.
Vivienne's hand tightened around the paperwork. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, a flutter that made her grip a little too hard. Her throat went dry, but she forced herself to straighten her shoulders, tilt her chin up, and breathe evenly.
He glanced past her for a moment, scanning the hallway, then left without another word. She barely dared to watch him go, but couldn't help the faint pang of awareness that lingered in the space he'd just left.
The hum of the department slowly returned- the beep of a monitor, a nurse calling for a med, the rolling cart in the distance- and Vivienne shook herself lightly, exhaling through her nose.
Ethan was gone, the chair now empty. But the echo of that brief encounter stayed in her chest, insistent and unnerving, as if the hospital itself had shifted just for a second.
Vivienne tucked the papers under her arm and headed back toward the board, shoulders squared, mind already trying to bury the tension.
Part summary: It is Vivienne’s first day at the pitt, after getting ready she takes her usual bus, arriving to work just in time. She meets the night shift workers and another student doctor before she is thrown into the chaos of the emergency department.
Wc: 2.5k
A bit of a shorter filler chapter before we dive into the actual shift.
Prev part | next part
6pm-7pm
Vivienne got dressed slowly and deliberately, trying her best to calm her nerves.
The light in her bedroom was already thinning, the sky outside her window a bruised purple and blue. She pulled on clean scrubs still stiff from the package, the fabric unfamiliar against her skin. Navy. Neutral. Forgettable by design. Her badge lay on the dresser beside her phone, her name stark in black letters, - VIVIENNE CRAWFORD-as if it belonged to someone else.
She tied her hair back, fingers steady, expression unreadable in the mirror. No makeup beyond what made her look awake. No jewelry. Nothing that could catch or cling.
Noises of the front door clicking shut filled her ears, letting her know that Caden had just gotten home from his shift at the cafe a few blocks away.
The cafe was nice, only a ten minute walk from their apartment. It was small and filled with plants but it made the perfect environment to study in, which is how Caden and Vivienne came to know eachother.
Caden's hair was a bit frazzled, bits sticking up some bits sloping down across his forehead. As he walked through the house a scent of coffee trailed him until he slumped down onto the couch with a loud huff.
Vivienne walks out, "Hey Viv, excited for your first shift at prison." He teases her tiredly- only earning an eye roll from her.
"It'll only be for like 6 months then I can officially call myself a doctor." She says matter of factly. "I better get going tho I don't want to kiss my bus."
The two exchange goodbyes.
And by 6:17 p.m., she shrugged on her jacket and stepped outside.
The air was cooler than she expected, the kind that slid under her clothes and woke her up properly. The street was alive in a muted way, cars idling, windows lit with early dinners, the hum of people settling into their evenings. She walked past it all, bag slung over her shoulder, footsteps measured and even.
She slid her AirPods into her ears the music overflowing through her veins replacing the tight bundle of nerves she had worked up.
The bus stop sat beneath a flickering streetlight, its glow casting uneven shadows across the pavement. Vivienne stopped just short of the curb, shifting the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. The city sounded different here like it was less filtered. Sirens somewhere far off, the low thrum of traffic, snippets of conversation that didn't bother lowering their voices.
She checked the time on her phone. 6:29pm.
Plenty of time. Just not enough to relax.
The bus pulled up with a tired groan of brakes, doors folding open. Vivienne stepped on, nodded once to the driver, and scanned for an empty seat. Most were already taken filled with night-shift workers, students, people coming home from a long day of work. She slid into a window seat halfway down the bus, knees angled inward, hands folded loosely in her lap.
At the next stop, an older woman climbed on slowly, gripping the railing like it might disappear if she let go. Her long brown coat was buttoned wrong, one side higher than the other, and she smelled faintly of lavender and cigarette smoke. She paused, eyes flicking around, then settled into the seat beside Vivienne with a soft sigh.
"Busy night," the woman said, not looking at her, instead her eyes looked around the bus.
Vivienne glanced over, polite but cautious. "Seems like it."
The woman nodded before her eyes settled on Vivienne, looking at the blue scrubs that peeked out from her jacket. "Hospitals are loud at night. Louder than people think."
Vivienne's fingers tightened slightly around her bag. "They can be."
The woman finally turned, her gaze sharp despite the sag of her features. "You work at one," she said. Not a question.
Vivienne hesitated, then nodded. "I'm starting tonight."
"Mm," the woman hummed. "First nights are the hardest. Everything feels bigger after dark." She smiled thinly. "People too."
Vivienne scrunched her eyebrows in confusion but Before she could respond, raised voices cut through the bus, sharp and sudden. Two men near the back were standing now, one crowding into the other's space, words tumbling fast and angry. The bus slowed instinctively, tension rippling forward like a held breath.
Vivienne felt it immediately, that familiar tightening in her chest, her attention snapping into focus. She watched them shove eachother, the way one man's jaw clenched too hard. No blood. Not yet.
The driver shouted something. The argument dissolved as quickly as it started, one man stepping back, muttering. The bus lurched forward again, the moment folding in on itself as if it hadn't happened.
The woman beside her clicked her tongue. "Night brings things out of people."
Vivienne nodded, eyes still forward. "It does."
Vivienne stayed still in her seat as the bus rolled on, the old woman's words settling heavier than she expected. She let her gaze drift, slow and deliberate, taking in the people around her as if seeing them for the first time. A man across the aisle stared blankly out the window, jaw tight, knuckles pale where his hands gripped his bag. Two teenagers shared earphones a few rows up, heads tilted together, laughing quietly at something only they could hear. A woman near the front held her phone like a lifeline, scrolling with the focused intensity of someone trying not to think.
It struck Vivienne then, how full the bus was of unfinished stories. Everyone here was going somewhere, coming from something, carrying things she would never know. Arguments left mid-sentence. Diagnoses unspoken. Nights that had already gone wrong or were about to. The thought was oddly grounding. She wasn't the only one standing at the edge of something important; she was just another body in motion, another life intersecting briefly with the rest.
She wondered how many of them would pass through the Pitt at some point- how many would become names on charts, faces under harsh lights, problems to be solved before sunrise. The idea made her chest tighten, not with fear exactly, but with a quiet sense of responsibility. These weren't abstractions. They were people who laughed into shared headphones and buttoned their coats wrong and picked fights they didn't mean to finish.
The bus jolted over a pothole, pulling her back into herself. Vivienne exhaled slowly and looked down at her hands, steady despite everything.
The bus hissed to a stop a few minutes later. Vivienne stood, adjusting her jacket, suddenly aware of how awake she felt now. The woman reached out, fingers brushing her sleeve.
"Be careful," she said softly. "Not everyone who needs help asks for it."
Vivienne met her gaze with a single nod, "Stay safe." She told the lady.
She stepped off the bus into the wash of streetlight and engine heat, the doors folding shut behind her. By this point the medical Center was only a few blocks away the music still flowing through her earphones a little bit quieter now.
With every street she passed, the medical center grew larger, its glass exterior catching the last of the daylight. It didn't glow in a calm way, instead it was bright, clinical, unmistakable. The Pitt didn't blend into the city. It almost announced itself.
As she crossed the street, the automatic doors parted with a quiet hiss, exhaling fluorescent light and the faint scent of antiseptic. Inside, voices overlapped, paging announcements, hurried conversations, the distant echo of monitors. The night shift was waking up.
Vivienne paused just long enough to adjust her grip on her bag, she took a deep breath.
The front desk sat just beyond the entrance, cluttered with clipboards and half-empty coffee cups. Two nurses stood behind it. One taller, shoulders squared, posture effortless- was mid-sentence, her voice calm and authoritative even over the noise. The other looked exhausted in a way that went deeper than long hours, already halfway out of the building mentally.
Vivienne approached, smoothing a hand over her scrubs.
"Hi," she said, voice steady. "I'm a new medical student. First day."
The taller nurse turned toward her immediately, eyes sharp but not unkind. She took Vivienne in with one quick glance- badge, posture, expression- then nodded once.
"Lena Handzo," she said. "Charge nurse tonight."
Something in the way she spoke-clear, grounded-settled Vivienne's nerves a fraction like maybe she would get through this shift ok.
The other nurse smiled tiredly. "Dana," she added. "And I am very much clocking out." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway behind them. "You're in good hands, though. Lena runs a tight ship."
"Go home," Lena said without looking at her. "Before you start charting in your sleep again."
Dana laughed, already backing away. "Not my problem anymore." She gave Vivienne a quick, sympathetic look. "Good luck. Nights are... always interesting."
And then she was gone, swallowed by the corridor.
Lena turned back to Vivienne. "You're early. That's good." She glanced down at the desk, then back up. "Hang tight here. You won't be the only student tonight- most of you chose day shift.. you kids aren't used to reworking your body clocks getting used to working in the night sleeping in day." She rambled.
"Yeah I guess I prefer nights." She spoke softly. The real reason buried deep down.
Vivienne waited, shifting her weight, heart ticking a little faster now that it felt official.
A moment later, someone approached from her left- hesitant footsteps, stopping just short of the desk. Vivienne glanced over.
He was already in scrubs, slightly rumpled, badge clipped on crooked. Thin build. Nervous energy practically vibrating off him. He stood with his hands half-raised like he wasn't sure what to do with them, eyes darting between Lena and the desk.
"Uh-hi," he said. "I'm... I'm Clyde. Clyde Pearce. MS3."
Lena gave him a look that was neither unkind nor particularly impressed. "I know who you are, Pearce."
Clyde flushed immediately. "Right. Of course. Sorry. I just-first night."
Vivienne caught his eye and offered a small, reassuring smile. "Same."
He blinked, visibly relieved that someone else looked just as new as he felt. "Oh. Good. I mean-sorry. Not good, but... yeah."
Lena slid a clipboard toward them. "Congratulations," she said evenly. "You're both mine for the night. Don't wander. Don't touch anything unless you're told to. And if you're unsure, you ask."
Clyde nodded a little too fast. Vivienne nodded once, deliberate.
"Welcome to nights," Lena added, already turning back to the desk as if the matter were settled.
Footsteps approached with unhurried confidence, cutting cleanly through the background noise of the desk. Vivienne looked up just as a man stopped beside Lena, coffee in hand, sunglasses still perched on despite the absence of daylight anywhere near them.
"Evening," he said easily. "John Shen. I'm the attending on tonight."
His voice was calm, almost amused by default, like very little truly rattled him.
Lena nodded once with a laugh. "We're blessed."
Shen's mouth twitched. His gaze shifted to Vivienne and Clyde, assessing without pressure. "You two are?"
"Vivienne Crawford," she said. "Fourth-year."
"Clyde Pearce," Clyde added quickly. "Also a student."
"Great," Shen said, like it actually was. "You'll report to either me or Parker Ellis tonight. Depends where the chaos lands, And also Abbot if me or Ellis is busy." He took a sip of his coffee. "Try to keep it to Mostly Parker." He joked.
Clyde nodded with visible relief at having clear instructions. Vivienne absorbed it quietly, filing the name away.
Shen turned back to Lena. "Where's Abbot?"
"Running late," Lena replied. "Shouldn't be long."
Shen sighed theatrically. "Unusual for Abbot." He glanced at his watch. "Alright. Let's not wait. We'll start handover."
They moved down the desk slightly, where a day-shift stood with a tablet tucked under her arm. She looked tired in the particular way that came from having already given everything she had.
"Collins," Shen greeted. "Hit me."
Dr. Collins nodded. "ED was steady. Trauma cleared, no active codes. Robby headed out early-asked me to hand over."
At the name, Vivienne Stiffened slightly.
Shen frowned slightly. "Robby left early?"
"Family thing," Collins said. "He briefed me before he went."
Shen accepted that without comment, already shifting mental gears. "Alright. What do we have pending?"
As Collins launched into details- beds, labs, consults- Vivienne focused hard on the rhythm of the exchange, the language of it. Acronyms. Numbers. Problems passed hand to hand like objects.
Shen glanced down at his watch, then clapped his hands once, sharp and efficient.
"Alright. Seven on the dot," he said. "Night shift's officially ours. Drop your bags in the staff room, grab an iPad, and start picking up patients. Don't hover don't disappear... Crawford your with Ellis when she gets here Pearce your with me."
Clyde nodded immediately. "Yes- okay. Yep."
Vivienne stepped closer to the desk, pen in hand, signing off on a form Lena slid toward her. She leaned in slightly to hear Clyde as he murmured something to her about lockers and coffee, her attention split just enough that she didn't notice the change in the air.
The automatic doors slid open behind them.
Boots on tile. Familiar, unhurried footsteps.
"Sorry," a voice said calmly. "Got held up."
Shen didn't even turn at first. "Almost late, Abbot."
"Barely," Jack replied.
Vivienne finished signing and capped the pen, still angled toward Clyde. "Do you know where the staff room is or-"
Shen turned then, finally registering Jack's presence. "Perfect timing. Two new students starting tonight." He gestured to Clyde first. "This is Pearce."
Jack looked at Clyde, professional, composed. "Pearce," he said, nodding once.
For half a second, the hospital noise dropped out completely.
The fluorescent lights felt harsher. Too bright. Jack's face was the same, clean-shaven, controlled, but stripped of the low light and shadows, unmistakable now. Real. Present. Her stomach dipped sharply, a flash of disbelief tightening her chest.
Jack's expression flickered, just once. Surprise, unmistakable and sharp.
Then it was gone like they didn't know eachother.
"Crawford," he said evenly, like the name meant nothing more than ink on a badge.
"Dr. Abbott," she replied, just as controlled, pulse hammering beneath the calm surface.
Shen, oblivious, nodded between them. "Abbots one of our attendings tonight."
Jack seemed to be able to look everywhere but at her. "You guys'll be fine."
The words were perfectly neutral. The tone wasn't.
He stepped back after a beat, already pulling his focus elsewhere. "Excuse me. I need to check on a patient."
And then he was gone, disappearing down the corridor without another glance.
Clyde blinked, looking between the empty space Jack had occupied and Vivienne. "Wow," he said quietly. "He's... intense."
Vivienne swallowed once, forcing her shoulders to relax. "Yeah."
She turned back to the desk, steadying herself against the cool edge of it, heart still racing.
The first part of my new fanfic for Jack Abbot x original female character (Vivienne)
Fic Summary: Fourth-year medical student Vivienne is soon starting her rotation at the Pitt, but after a chance meeting with Jack Abbott, the lines between professionalism and something far more complicated begin to blur.
Part Summary: After Vivienne’s roommate convinces her to go out to a bar with him to let loose for a night, Vivienne meets Jack, a mysterious older man, the two quickly hit it off before things escalate and they find themselves at Jacks apartment.
Warnings: age gap, (jack is around 40ish while Oc is 25) Sexual themes, P in V sex, praise kink lowkey, angst, Vulnerability, one night stand,
Wc: 4k
Next part
Tw!!! Be prepared for crappy writing
Vivienne hadn't planned on going out.
She said this out loud, twice actually, while standing in front of her full length bedroom mirror, tugging at the hem of a lacy black top that felt far too intentional for someone who would be starting rotations at the emergency department in the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center in a mere week. She felt nerves starting to prick at her skin before she heard a deep voice behind her.
"You can't start at the most brutal teaching hospital in the city without one night of bad decisions," Caden said from her doorway, already dressed, already grinning manically. "It's medically irresponsible."
Vivienne scoffed, looking back to him through the mirror. "You're not a doctor."
"You're right," he replied. "But I am your best friend, and I'm prescribing tequila."
The bar Caden dragged her to was dim and crowded, full of all exposed brick and low amber lighting that softened everything it touched. Music pulsed through the floor that wasn't loud enough to have to shout over, but loud enough to stop her from thinking especially regarding her future shifts. That alone felt like a minor miracle.
She let herself relax, just a little. One drink turned into half of another. Caden talked, as he always did, filling the space with stories about people she didn't know and jokes she only half followed. Vivienne smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed when it felt natural. Tried not to picture the hospital corridors she'd be walking in soon, the faces she'd be responsible for, she shook her head to get the thoughts out, the one night she had free and she was occupying it with thoughts of the hospital, she internally scoffed at herself.
It was while she was leaning against the bar, fingers curled around her cold glass, small drops of water prickling at her finger pads, that she felt it, that strange, unexplainable awareness that someone was looking at her.
She glanced up.
The man stood a few feet away, turned slightly toward her, one elbow resting on the bar. Older, she could tell from his scruff of a salt and pepper beard and the small amount of greys occupying his roots. He had the kind of presence that didn't demand attention but still seemed to pull it in, steady and unreadable. When their eyes met, he didn't look away. It made her startled, her chest seemed to beat just a little bit faster, from excitement or nerves? she couldn't tell.
She didn't look away either.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no smile. No obvious interest. Just a quiet, held moment that made her chest tighten in a way she didn't quite understand. He was attractive in a way that made him stand out from the other people that stood around him.
"Oh," Caden said, following her gaze. "Viv, I swear to the god if you don't go over to that man right now."
She tore her eyes away. "What?"
"You've been staring at him for a full ten seconds," he whispered. "And before you say you weren't, I watched it happen." He gave her a knowing look.
Vivienne shook her head. "I'm not-"
"Vivienne," Caden interrupted, already grabbing her wrist. "You're about to spend the next year being yelled at by asshole doctors and pretending you're not exhausted. You are going over there."
She resisted, just enough to feel like she tried. "Caden, I don't even know what I would say-"
Too late.
Caden pushed her forward, gentle but determined, and suddenly she was standing in front of him, heart racing, pulse loud in her ears. The man looked down at her now, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, lines earned, not worn.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Up close, he smelled like clean soap and something darker underneath, woodsy, maybe. Vivienne suddenly became hyper-aware of herself: the way she was standing, the glass still cold sitting in her hand, the faint buzz from the alcohol warming her veins.
He tilted his head slightly. "You look like you were pushed into this conversation." he gave a Quick Look back to Caden who was now talking to a bartender.
She exhaled a soft laugh, relieved by the easy opening. "I was. My friend has a very aggressive belief in character development, plus he doesn't take no for an answer."
"Ah," he said. "Those are the dangerous ones."
"I know." She glanced over her shoulder. Caden was watching from a distance, beaming like he'd just orchestrated something illegal. "He thrives on chaos."
The man's mouth curved, not quite a smile, but close, it accentuated the lines around his face as they became slightly deeper. "And you?"
She hesitated. "um- I don't really know I guess I survive it."
Something about that answer seemed to catch his attention. His gaze lingered, slow and assessing, but not invasive. It made her feel seen in a way that was unsettling, but oddly comforting.
"I'm Jack," he said, finally.
"Vivienne."
"Vivienne," he repeated, testing it, like the name mattered. "You don't look like you come here often."
Neither do you, she almost said but held back.
Instead, she shrugged. "Is it that obvious?"
"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe you just look like you're counting down the time before your friend will let you leave." he remarks not exactly sarcastically but more in a teasing way.
Her lips parted in surprise. "I don't-"
"You are," he said gently, not accusing. "Nothing wrong with it."
Heat crept up her neck. She took a sip of her drink to buy herself a second. "And you? What do you look like?"
He considered her for a moment, eyes steady. "Someone who's learned to just let time pass."
The words landed heavier than they should have. She felt the space between them shift, narrow, electric. The music swelled behind them, bodies moving, laughing, colliding, but here, it felt like everything had gone quiet.
"You don't look my age," she said before she could stop herself.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Careful."
"Why?"
"Because now I'm wondering how old you think I am."
She met his gaze, her pulse skittering as she internally bit her lip "Older than me."
"That's true," he said easily.
It felt like that almost uncomfortable feeling that was hanging in between them was lifted, it had been acknowledged and she felt her heart begin to beat deeper, slower.
"And does that bother you?" he asked.
She swallowed. "Should it?"
His eyes darkened, just a fraction. "Depends what you're looking for."
Vivienne felt her breath hitch, caught somewhere between curiosity and caution. She told herself it was just the alcohol, just the lighting, just the novelty of being seen by someone who felt... grounded. Someone solid. She felt attracted to his presence and of course the way he talked, it made her hang on every word.
Caden reappeared at her side, far too pleased with himself, a dorky smile plastered on his face. "Hi," he said brightly to Jack. "I'm her friend."
"I gathered," Jack replied dryly.
Caden checked his phone, groaned dramatically, before he drained the rest of his drink. "I'm calling it," he announced. "I have an early morning and a moral obligation not to be hungover."
Vivienne blinked at him with surprise, it was barely 11pm . "Already?"
He nodded before leaning in, lowering his voice. "You good?"
She glanced toward Jack without fully turning her head. He was still there, relaxed against the bar, watching her with an attention that felt deliberate now. Not casual. Not accidental.
"Yeah," she said, surprising herself with how easily the word came. "I think I'm going to stay a bit." Her confession made her cheeks heat up and she was thankful that the bus lighting was dim.
Caden's eyebrows shot up. Then his mouth split into a grin. "Oh. You're staying-staying."
She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite suppress her smile. "Go before you say something embarrassing."
"Too late," he said cheerfully, backing away. "Text me. Or don't. Live your life."
And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the crowd of people dancing and the music, leaving behind a space that felt suddenly exposed.
Vivienne turned back to Jack.
"So," he said, straightening slightly. "Looks like it's just us."
The way he said it, calm and unhurried, sent a flicker of heat through her. She set her glass down, aware of how close he was now. Close enough that she could see the subtle rings of colour in his eyes, the faint crease between his brows that suggested someone who thought deeply, carried things quietly.
"I promise he hasn't abandoned me," she said lightly. "Just... temporarily unsupervised."
His lips curved. "Dangerous territory."
She laughed, softer this time. The bar seemed dimmer now, the light warmer, shadows pooling in the hollows of his collarbones, along the sharp line of his jaw. He looked comfortable here in a way she wasn't, like the night bent itself around him.
"You don't seem like the type who stays out late," he said.
"Is that so?"
He nodded. "You seem very controlled."
The word landed too close to the truth. "And you figured that out in... what, five minutes?" she let out a scoff like laugh.
"People tell on themselves," he replied. "Mostly in what they don't do."
She studied him, fingers brushing condensation from her glass. "And what do I not do?"
He leaned in just slightly, not enough to crowd her, but enough that the space between them tightened, intentional. "its strange, its like you don't let yourself be seen unless you're ready."
Her breath caught, barely perceptible, but he noticed. She could tell by the way his gaze dropped to her mouth before lifting again, slower now.
"Is that a bad thing?" she asked.
"Not at all," he said. "Just...different, girls your age aren't usually like that"
The music shifted, something slower, bass-heavy. Bodies pressed closer around them, the bar growing louder, warmer, but Vivienne felt strangely still. Anchored. Her pulse thudded low and steady, every nerve tuned to the man in front of her.
"You're different when you smile," Jack added.
"Oh?" she said, arching a brow. "How so?"
He shrugs, "It suits you, makes you look less..." he pauses, looking at my eyes before drifting lower to my lips. "controlled"
That did it. Something in her loosened, just a fraction. She smiled again, this time deliberately, and watched his expression change. Sharpen. Darken.
"Maybe," she said, "I don't always want to be."
He held her gaze, the air between them heavy with things unsaid he shakes his head before he takes a sip of his drink that felt overly crowded by his large hands incasing it. "That's usually when things get interesting."
*
Jack's apartment was quieter than the bar, in fact it was almost reverent in comparison.
The door barely had time to come to a close behind them before the tension that had followed them up the stairs snapped tight. The space was dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner and the glow of the city bleeding in through tall windows. It smelled like him, clean, familiar already somehow, paper and coffee and something warm that settled low in Vivienne's chest.
She stood there for half a second too long, suddenly aware of the intimacy of it. Of how alone they were. Just the two of them. Not a single other witness.
Jack turned to her slowly, as if giving her time to change her mind. He didn't crowd her. Didn't rush. His hands stayed at his sides, but his eyes-dark, intent, searched her face with a careful intensity that made her pulse flutter.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, breath unsteady but certain. "Yeah."
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped, he almost looked nervous, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to, I can order you an uber, pretend this never happened." He says making sure she knew she could back out.
Vivienne shakes her head, her eyes dark and heavy with lust, "I don't want to back out, I want this." She said matter of factly like there was no other option to her.
That was all it took.
He stepped closer, deliberately, and the space between them vanished. His hand came up- not fast, not demanding, just a gentle curl of fingers at her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek with almost reverent care. The touch sent a shiver through her, sharp and unmistakable.
And finally their lips brushed together. When he kissed her, it was slow.
Unhurried. Deepened not by force but by patience.
Vivienne's breath hitched as she melted into it, every thought dissolving into sensation. His mouth was warm, confident, moving against hers with a restraint that somehow made it worse-better-everything at once. She tasted faint traces of whiskey, felt the quiet hum of control beneath it all.
Her hands found his shirt almost instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric as if grounding herself. He made a low sound against her mouth at that, barely there, but it vibrated through her all the same.
The kiss grew heavier, more insistent. She felt their teeth clink together as the kiss deepened feverishly. Jack's hand slid from her jaw to her waist, firm now, anchoring her to him. She leaned in without thinking, heart pounding, every nerve alive and buzzing.
This felt different.
Not reckless. Not rushed.
Intentional.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard, noses brushing. His thumb traced absent circles at her hip, grounding and possessive in equal measure.
"You're trouble," he half murmured half groaned, voice roughened by honesty rather than warning.
Vivienne laughed softly, breathless. "You say that like you're surprised."
His mouth curved, slow and knowing. "I'm not."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, backing her gently until she felt the solid press of the wall behind her. The contrast of the cold hard wall made her gasp as goosebumps prickled against her skin, and Jack swallowed the sound without hesitation.
He pressed in, just enough to make her aware of him, of the solid heat of his body, the deliberate way he pinned her there without force. One hand braced beside her head, the other settled at her hip, grounding her, claiming the space.
"God," he murmured against her lips, the word low and unguarded.
Her pulse skittered. She tilted her head instinctively, giving him access without quite meaning to. He noticed.
His mouth trailed from her lips to her jaw, slow and intentional, each kiss lingering just long enough to make her ache. When his lips brushed her neck, Vivienne's breath stuttered, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to steady herself.
Jack smiled against her skin, she felt it before she saw it.
"Sensitive," he said quietly- a hushed whisper, not teasing, just observant.
He kissed her there again, softer this time, then deeper, his mouth warm and unhurried as he followed the line of her throat. The sensation was dizzying, heat blooming low in her stomach, her senses narrowing to the feel of him, the sound of his breathing, the faint scrape of stubble against her skin.
Her knees felt unsteady. Jack noticed that too.
His hand slid down to her thigh, fingers pressing reassuringly before guiding her weight back into the wall. It wasn't rough. It was careful. Intent.
"You're shaking," he murmured, forehead resting briefly against her collarbone.
She laughed breathlessly. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not," he replied, lips brushing her skin again. "Just means I should slow down."
He didn't, atleast not by much.
Instead, he kissed her once more, deeper now, before pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. There was something dark there, but controlled. Like he was holding himself in check for her sake as much as his own.
His hand slid into hers, fingers interlacing, and he tugged gently. "Come here."
The hallway to the bedroom was dim, shadows stretching long across the floor. Each step felt weighted, deliberate, as though crossing some invisible threshold. He paused at the doorway, thumb brushing across her knuckles, giving her one last moment to reconsider.
Vivienne didn't.
She stepped closer, heart pounding, and Jack exhaled softly- like relief, like resolve, before the door closed quietly behind them.
She stood there nervously, instinctively starting to pick at her nails as her chest rose up and down she moved her head, looking at him as he looked back at her, their eyes dark full of want and need.
He slowly inched forward silently as she inched backward until the back of her knees hit the bed forcing her to sit down.
He stood above her looking down at her desperately. "Are you sure." He says as he caressed her cheek softly.
Vivienne silently gulps as her pulse begins to start racing again, she nods, "yes, Jack please."
That was all he needed to hear before they were on top of eachother, their shirts scattered- disregarded somewhere on the floor, the bed creaked as they shifted around the bed together. She travelled her hands up to his chest shakily, feeling soft toned skin, that felt to be littered with a few scars.
They stopped for a moment as she sat up looking at him deeply, the dim city light spilling into the room cascading over his features. He looked at her deeply as her hands travelled behind her back, unclasping her bra letting it fall away, her heart was hammering in her chest.
He reached out, until his large rough hands kneaded her tender flesh , "you're gorgeous." He whispered. Vivienne arched her back, heat spreading under her skin, coiling in her abdomen.
Jack held her hips, moving her until she was laying underneath him, the pressure from his finger tips felt all the more real, as he slowly pushed himself in inch by inch, swallowed by her warmth.
She let out a shattered breath as he stretched her, until he bottomed her out, digging her nails into the wide expanse of his back, legs trembling as she adjusted to his size, a hint of pain quickly overtaken by waves of pleasure as he slowly thrusted in and out.
He groans lowly, hips snapping forward just a bit harder to feel her flutter around him, "doing so good." He cooed, before he leaned down and crashed his mouth to hers in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues sliding together, spit stringing between lips when he pulls back just to watch her face twist in pleasure.
One hand grips the sheet laying next to her, the other grabbing onto his back, as her walls start to spasm and contract, whimpers escaping her mouth. "Ja- jack I'm close." She rasped, as she felt him shudder.
"You like that? Almost there- good girl." He breathed out into the side of her neck, his warm breath fanning over her skin, goosebumps rise, his hips rolling into her at a constant pace.
Suddenly, her gut tightens, muscles tensing as she lets out a choked sob. Shockwaves grip her body as she is pushed over the edge. Vivienne slumps back as Jack continues letting her ride it out. "So good- so so so good." He pants out.
Finally his hips press deep, spilling inside of her with a long, guttural groan that vibrates through her body. He stays buried, softening slowly, arms tightening around her like he's afraid she'll disappear. his lips find her shoulder, kissing softly, lazily.
He collapses next to her on the bed, the both of them panting, a thin layer of sweat coasts their bodies as they lay together, legs still tangled.
***
Vivienne stood near the edge of the bed, pulling her top back over her head slowly, deliberately, as though she were trying to stretch the moment. The room was dim now, the city outside reduced to soft, flickering light that slipped in through the blinds and painted everything in muted gold and shadow.
Behind her, Jack lay stretched out against the pillows, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely at his side. He watched her, quiet, unguarded, eyes tracing the familiar lines of her body
She felt his gaze like a warmth along her spine.
"You always get dressed this slowly?," he asks in a low teasing voice, faintly amused.
She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "Maybe I'm savoring the moment, pretending for bit that time isn't moving."
"That's a dangerous fantasy," he replied gently.
She laughed under her breath and reached for her jeans, stepping into them carefully. It was then she noticed it fully, not just the presence of it, but the way Jack's body shifted slightly, unconsciously, as he adjusted his leg. The prosthetic caught the light briefly, smooth and unmistakable now, she had seen it before when they first got undressed but the room was dark they were both tipsy so she paid no mind to it.
Jack followed her gaze.
There was a pause, brief, but there.
"I should've said something earlier," he said, tone casual but edged with something else. "About my leg."
Vivienne looked back at him, brow knitting softly. "You didn't have to."
He exhaled, eyes drifting to the ceiling before returning to her. "Some people... get weird about it." A faint, self-aware smile. "I just- if it grossed you out or-" he pauses, "I know most guys your age don't have a missing limb" he darkly jokes.
She crossed the room before he could finish.
"Jack," she said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough that her knee brushed his. "It didn't gross me out."
He searched her face, carefully, as if bracing for politeness instead of truth.
"It didn't change anything," she added. "Not even for a second, that was one of the best nights iv had for a while." She admits.
Something in his expression shifted then- relief, maybe, mixed with something more vulnerable. His hand moved to rest over hers, warm and steady.
"Good," he said softly.
Vivienne slipped on her jacket and checked her phone once, more out of habit than urgency. The room looked different in daylight, softer more forgiving.
Jack sat back against the headboard, one knee bent, watching her with an expression that was calm to the point of neutrality. No searching. No expectation.
"You heading out?" he asked.
"Yeah." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "It's late.. well early."
He nodded, accepting it easily.
There was a brief pause- not awkward, just procedural, like they were waiting for the next step to present itself. It didn't.
"This was..." Jack started, then stopped himself. He shrugged lightly instead. "Nice."
Vivienne huffed a quiet laugh. "That's one word for it."
He smiled faintly at that, not flirtatious, just acknowledging the truth of it.
He didn't ask where she was going next. She didn't ask about his plans. Neither exchanged phone numbers of even surnames, The absence of curiosity felt intentional on both sides, they both knew this would be the last they would see of each other.
Vivienne reached for the door, then glanced back once. "Thanks for the night."
He nodded, casually, "Take care of yourself."
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway without hesitation. No last look. No pause. The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
Jack lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling for a moment before exhaling.
Vivienne walked down the hall, already filing the night away where it belonged, unnamed, and done.
Neither of them expected to see the other again.
Which, of course, was exactly why it would be a problem when they did.
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