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Summary: Your daughter fakes a stomachache to surprise her parents at work on Take Your Kid to Work Day, never realizing the panic it would cause.
Word count: 4.2k+
Warnings: fluff, tiny angst
A/N:
this was co-written with my friend Nora! We actually wrote some other stuff together too, but this is the first fic where she wrote the most of it. She also wants to write fanfics but is a little hesitant. Can’t wait for you to open your own blog and share your talent with tumblr Nora, this one’s you!!!💓
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
When your daughter Lucy heard about Take Your Kid to Work Day, she came home convinced it was going to be the greatest day of her entire six-year-old life.
Her class had spent nearly a week talking about it. Every morning another child had a new story, another exciting detail to add. Emma was going to help frost cupcakes at her mother's bakery. Noah couldn't stop talking about riding in his dad's garbage truck, proudly announcing to anyone who would listen that he was going to press the "real buttons." Olivia was getting a behind-the-scenes tour of the aquarium where her mom worked. Even little Ben, whose father worked at a bank, marched around the classroom with a paper tie taped around his neck, declaring he would be "approving loans all day." By Thursday afternoon Lucy had listened to enough stories that she'd begun planning her own. She was absolutely certain she would wear one of those little white doctor coats she'd seen in toy stores. She'd carry a clipboard. Maybe even a stethoscope. Everyone would finally get to see how cool her parents' jobs were.
So when you and Jack walked through the front door that evening after a twelve-hour shift, you barely had time to take your shoes off before Lucy came barreling across the living room like an excited puppy.
"Mama!"
She wrapped herself around your legs so tightly you had to catch yourself against the wall to stay upright.
"Daddy!"
Jack wasn't spared either. She launched herself at him next, nearly knocking the backpack from his shoulder.
"Whoa, easy, bug," he laughed, catching her under the arms before she could accidentally headbutt him. "Someone's excited. Where's your grandma?"
"In the kitchen. I have something important to say."
You and Jack exchanged an amused look over the top of her head. Important announcements from Lucy ranged anywhere from losing a tooth to discovering worms in the garden.
"Oh?" Jack asked, setting his bag down.
Lucy nodded so enthusiastically that her ponytail bounced. "It's Take Your Kid to Work Day next Friday."
Her grin stretched so wide it nearly split her face.
"And I get to come with you."
The silence that followed was tiny.
Barely a second.
But it was enough.
Jack's smile faltered first. You watched it happen almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth relaxing as his eyes drifted toward yours. The excitement on Lucy's face hadn't dimmed yet. She was already imagining hallways and stethoscopes and showing all her friends pictures afterward.
You felt your heart sink before either of you had even opened your mouths.
Lucy noticed immediately.
Her smile wavered.
"...What's wrong?"
You crouched until you were eye level with her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear while you searched desperately for words that wouldn't break her heart.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
Jack carefully lowered himself beside you, adjusting his balance before slipping an arm around Lucy's shoulders.
"Our jobs are a little different from everyone else's."
She frowned in confusion.
"But I can still come, right?"
Jack let out the smallest sigh.
"The emergency department isn't really a place for kids."
Her forehead wrinkled.
"Why?"
You looked at Jack for half a second before answering.
"Because the people who come to see us aren't coming for fun." You spoke gently, carefully choosing every word. "They're usually having one of the worst days of their lives. They're very, very sick..."
"Or hurt," Jack added quietly.
"They can look scary sometimes," you continued. "There can be blood. People cry. Sometimes they're frightened, sometimes they're angry, and sometimes they need every doctor and nurse in the room paying attention to them."
Jack nodded. "Our job is making sure they get help as quickly as possible. We can't always stop to explain what's happening, and there are things no six-year-old should have to see."
Lucy listened with surprising seriousness, though it was obvious she still didn't understand.
"But..." she said softly, "I'll be quiet."
Your chest tightened.
"I know you would."
"I could sit in the corner and color."
Jack smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You probably could."
"I wouldn't touch anything."
"We know, sweetheart."
"I wouldn't even talk."
Jack smiled sadly. "You'd probably be the quietest kid in the whole hospital."
For the briefest moment, hope flickered across Lucy's face before reality settled back in. She looked between the two of you, swallowing hard.
"So..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "...I can't?"
The words were so small they made your chest ache. You reached for her little hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"No, sweetie. I'm sorry."
Her eyes filled almost instantly.
"But everyone else gets to go to their parents' work."
Jack closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Every parent hated hearing those words because sometimes there simply wasn't a fair answer. He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over the back of her tiny hand.
"I know."
"I wanna see where you guys work."
"I know."
"I wanna wear one of those little doctor coats."
Despite the ache in your chest, a smile tugged at your lips. "You would look absolutely adorable."
"I could help."
Jack let out a quiet snort, his expression turning dramatically serious.
"Oh, that's exactly the part I'm worried about."
Lucy blinked. "...Really?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said with a solemn nod. "I think you'd spend the whole day walking around the department telling everyone what to do."
"I would not."
"You absolutely would."
She crossed her arms.
"No."
"No?"
She puffed out her chest, planting both hands on her hips as she deepened her voice into what she apparently believed sounded very authoritative.
"'Okay everybody, one at a time! No pushing! You have to wait your turn!'"
Jack laughed so suddenly and genuinely that it echoed through the house.
"There it is."
You couldn't help laughing too.
"Our little charge nurse."
Lucy dissolved into giggles, pleased she'd made both of you laugh.
The moment was warm.
Light.
Comfortable.
Until it wasn't.
Her smile slowly faded as she remembered why she'd started the conversation in the first place.
"...But I still don't get to come."
Jack's laughter disappeared just as quickly. He opened his arms without saying a word, and Lucy climbed into his lap as naturally as breathing. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, wrapping her little arms around him with a sigh that sounded much older than six years old.
"No," he admitted quietly, kissing the top of her head. "Not to work."
The room fell silent.
You watched Jack gently rub circles over Lucy's back while she sat curled against him, neither of them speaking. The disappointment in the room was almost tangible. You knew Jack was feeling it just as sharply as you were. Both of you spent your careers taking care of other people's children, yet this was one of those moments where your own daughter simply had to accept that your jobs came with doors she couldn't walk through.
Finally, you leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
"How about this?"
She peeked up hopefully.
"When we're both off next weekend, we'll take you to the hospital."
Jack immediately caught on.
"We'll show you the cafeteria."
"My locker."
"The ambulance bay."
"If there aren't any helicopters flying, maybe we can see the helipad from outside."
"The empty waiting room."
"My office."
Lucy sniffled, considering the offer with all the seriousness of someone negotiating an international treaty.
"...Can I push a wheelchair?"
Jack looked over at you.
You shrugged.
"If nobody's using it, sure."
She thought for another long moment before giving a tiny nod.
"...Okay."
It wasn't the answer she'd wanted.
It wasn't even close.
But she accepted it with the quiet resilience children somehow managed to find after their hearts had been disappointed. Before long she was asking what was for dinner and whether Grandma was still making pancakes the next morning, and by bedtime she seemed perfectly content again.
You smiled to yourself as you tucked her in that night, smoothing the blankets over her little shoulders.
Children had an incredible ability to move on.
Or so you thought.
Lucy had absolutely no intention of moving on.
She smiled when you tucked her into bed that night. She happily ate pancakes with Grandma the next morning. She colored pictures at the kitchen table, watched cartoons, and talked excitedly about the hospital tour you had promised for the following weekend. If anyone had asked, she seemed to have accepted your answer completely.
She hadn't.
To a six-year-old, "next weekend" felt impossibly far away. Everyone else would get to visit their parents' jobs on Friday. Everyone else would come back to school Monday with stories to tell. Emma would talk about frosting cupcakes. Noah would probably tell everyone he got to honk the garbage truck horn. Olivia would have pictures of fish. And Lucy... Lucy would have to say she stayed home because her mommy and daddy worked somewhere she wasn't allowed to go.
That simply didn't seem fair.
By Wednesday she had the beginning of a plan.
By Thursday she had improved it.
By Friday morning, she was convinced it was foolproof.
Your mother had barely finished pouring herself a cup of coffee when she heard small footsteps padding down the hallway. Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway still wearing her pajamas, her favorite stuffed rabbit dangling from one hand while the other pressed dramatically against her stomach.
"Grandma..."
Your mother looked up immediately.
"Morning, sweetheart."
Lucy took two slow steps into the kitchen, making sure not to walk too quickly. Sick people probably didn't move very fast.
"I don't feel good."
The smile disappeared from your mother's face at once.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She set her mug down without taking a sip and crouched in front of her granddaughter, brushing a hand over Lucy's messy bed hair.
"What's wrong?"
"My tummy hurts."
"Oh no."
Lucy gave a pitiful little nod.
"It hurts a lot."
Your mother frowned with concern.
"Can you show me where?"
Lucy froze.
That...
She hadn't prepared for.
She looked down at herself, suddenly realizing stomachs had different parts. She'd heard you and Jack ask patients that question before. Daddy always wanted to know exactly where it hurt.
Panic fluttered in her chest for half a second.
"...Everywhere."
Your mother's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.
"Everywhere?"
Another solemn nod.
"Mhm."
She gently rested both hands on Lucy's shoulders.
"Did you throw up?"
"No."
"Do you feel like you have to?"
Lucy pretended to think about it before giving a hesitant little shrug.
"...Maybe."
"Do you have a fever?"
"I don't know."
"Hmm..."
Your mother pressed the back of her hand against Lucy's forehead before checking again with her palm, the way mothers and grandmothers always seemed to do. Her skin felt perfectly cool.
No fever.
That was reassuring. Still, children didn't always spike a temperature right away. Maybe she'd eaten something that hadn't agreed with her. Maybe a little stomach bug was just beginning.
Lucy watched every expression that crossed her grandmother's face. She could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.
She needed to make it more believable.
So she let out the tiniest little whimper she could manage. Not loud enough to sound dramatic, just enough to make it seem like the pain had returned.
Your mother's face softened immediately.
"Oh, you poor thing."
Lucy leaned instinctively into the comforting touch, a small stab of guilt twisting in her chest before she quickly pushed it aside. She wasn't trying to be naughty. She just wanted to see Mama and Daddy at work like everyone else got to.
After a long pause, she lowered her voice to an almost frightened whisper.
"I think..." She looked up through her lashes with the biggest, saddest eyes she could manage. "...I need the hospital."
Your mother smiled gently as she tucked a strand of hair behind Lucy's ear.
"Oh, honey. I don't think we're there just yet."
Lucy's heart sank.
"...But my tummy really, really hurts."
"I know it does."
"We should go."
Your mother hesitated. Normally she would've waited an hour or two, called you first, given Lucy some water, and seen whether she felt any better after breakfast before rushing to the emergency department.
But abdominal pain in children was one of those things she'd learned never to dismiss completely after watching both you and Jack work in emergency medicine for years. You had both told stories about children who seemed perfectly fine until they suddenly weren't. Appendicitis. Intussusception. Things she'd never heard of before you became a doctor and Jack became a nurse.
She didn't want to overreact.
She also didn't want to ignore something important.
Her eyes lingered on Lucy's face. The little girl looked uncomfortable enough to be believable, even if she wasn't crying. Some children tolerated pain differently.
Your mother sighed softly as she stood.
"Alright."
Lucy's eyes widened before she could stop herself.
Really?
It worked?
Excitement rushed through her so suddenly she almost smiled.
Almost.
She bit the inside of her cheek just in time, quickly lowering her head and pressing a hand dramatically back against her stomach.
"I'll get dressed," your mother said. "Then we'll have one of Mommy's friends take a quick look at you, okay?"
Lucy nodded with all the seriousness she could muster.
"...Okay."
As your mother disappeared upstairs to change, Lucy remained standing in the middle of the kitchen, hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest.
Her plan had worked.
In just a little while, she'd finally get to see where her mom and dad spent all day.
She had no idea that before the morning was over, two people who had faced mass casualty incidents, violent trauma, and countless life-or-death emergencies would see her name on the emergency department tracking board and experience a kind of fear neither of them had ever learned to prepare for.
The emergency department had been in controlled chaos since seven that morning.
Every room was occupied. Hallway beds had filled before breakfast. Monitors chimed from every direction, phones rang almost constantly, stretchers rolled past one another with practiced precision, and conversations overlapped until they became little more than background noise. Jack had barely stopped moving since clocking in. He had just finished helping stabilize an elderly patient in respiratory distress and was updating the tracking board when a new name appeared among the incoming pediatric triage patients.
His own last name.
At first his brain didn't process it.
He frowned automatically, assuming it was another family with the same surname. It wasn't uncommon.
Then his eyes shifted to the details beneath it.
Accompanied by: Lucy.
The world seemed to narrow into a single point.
His stomach dropped so violently it almost hurt.
No.
No, no, no.
His mind filled the blanks long before reason had a chance to intervene.
Car accident on the way to school.
She'd fallen from the playground.
An allergic reaction.
A seizure.
Appendicitis.
A ruptured appendix.
Internal bleeding.
She'd stopped breathing.
His chest tightened so sharply that, for one terrifying second, it felt impossible to draw in air.
He was already moving before he'd consciously made the decision.
"Jack?"
Dana looked up from her workstation as he hurried past.
"You okay?"
He didn't answer.
Couldn't.
His prosthetic clicked faster against the floor as he rounded the nurses' station, weaving through stretchers and staff with an urgency that made several people instinctively step aside. Every extra second felt unbearable. His heartbeat pounded so loudly in his ears that he barely registered the voices around him.
Across the department, you were finishing charting after discharging a patient when your own eyes drifted toward the tracking board.
Your last name.
Pediatric triage.
Lucy.
Everything inside you went cold.
"No..."
The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.
Your pen slipped from your fingers onto the counter.
You didn't bother picking it up.
Someone behind you asked a question you never heard. You abandoned your chart mid-sentence and hurried out of the trauma bay, every rational thought dissolving beneath one singular, suffocating fear.
Not my baby.
Please not my baby.
You'd both spent years watching parents run into emergency departments wearing that exact expression.
The look that silently begged someone to tell them their child was okay.
Now you understood it from the inside.
Jack reached pediatric triage first.
He rounded the corner so quickly he nearly lost his footing, instinctively compensating before his prosthetic could catch awkwardly beneath him.
Then he stopped.
Lucy sat on one of the triage beds beside your mother, happily swinging her legs back and forth as she hugged her stuffed rabbit. She looked perfectly content, completely fascinated by everything happening around her.
The moment she saw him, her entire face lit up.
"Hi, Daddy!"
Jack didn't answer immediately.
He couldn't.
His breathing still hadn't caught up with him. His pulse hammered painfully against his ribs as his eyes swept over her with clinical precision born from years in emergency medicine.
Skin color okay.
Breathing normal.
Alert.
Talking.
No blood.
No bruising.
No obvious deformities.
No signs of respiratory distress.
No altered mental status.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Relief crashed into him so suddenly his knees threatened to buckle.
He had to grip the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
"Jack?"
Your mother stood immediately, guilt already written across her face.
"I am so, so sorry. I should’ve called."
You arrived only seconds later, breathing almost as hard as Jack.
"Lucy!"
Your daughter beamed.
"Hi, Mama!"
You dropped to your knees in front of her without hesitation, your hands automatically moving through the familiar sequence every parent in emergency medicine knew by instinct. Forehead. Neck. Arms. Wrists. Face.
"What happened?"
Your mother looked apologetic.
"She was perfectly fine this morning. She'd been playing, and then all of a sudden she started holding her stomach and said she was in terrible pain. I didn't know if I should wait or..."
"You absolutely did the right thing," you assured her automatically, even as your attention remained fixed entirely on Lucy.
"Honey?"
Lucy nodded solemnly.
"It hurt."
"Where does it hurt, bug?" Jack asked.
She pointed vaguely toward the center of her stomach.
"...Here."
"How bad?"
She held up eight fingers.
"On a scale of ten..."
"...Eight."
"When did it start?"
"This morning."
"Did you throw up?"
"No."
"Feel sick?"
She hesitated.
"...Maybe."
Jack exchanged the briefest glance with you.
Neither of you relaxed.
Because children lied about vegetables.
They didn't usually lie about pain.
And even when they weren't lying, they were notoriously bad at describing it. Jack had treated smiling children with ruptured appendixes, kids who laughed while walking on fractured ankles, toddlers quietly coloring despite severe dehydration. Looking well meant almost nothing in pediatrics.
You rested a reassuring hand against Lucy's abdomen.
"I'm just going to press a little, okay?"
She nodded.
You gently palpated one quadrant.
"Does this hurt?"
"No."
You moved to another.
"How about here?"
"No."
Lower right.
"No."
Lower left.
"No."
Jack watched every tiny flicker of her expression. Or rather, the complete lack of one. She wasn't tensing beneath your touch. She wasn't guarding her stomach or curling inward instinctively. If anything, she seemed far more interested in everything happening around her than in the examination itself.
Her eyes wandered constantly around the department, following nurses rushing past, patients being wheeled down the hallway, monitors chiming, stretchers rolling by, the ambulance doors sliding open every few minutes. She wasn't frightened by any of it. She looked fascinated.
You noticed it too.
Before either of you could ask another question, Lucy turned back toward Jack, wearing the brightest smile she'd had all morning.
"So..." She tilted her head innocently. "...Can I see where Daddy works now?"
Silence settled over the four of you.
Jack closed his eyes.
Very.
Very slowly.
Your mother frowned, looking between the three of you.
"...Lucy?"
Your daughter's grin only widened.
"It worked."
Jack opened one eye.
"...What worked?"
"My tummy."
Neither you nor Jack said a word.
"It wasn't really hurting." She paused, as though she'd only just realized you weren't reacting the way she'd expected. "I just wanted to come."
For several long seconds, nobody moved.
Jack slowly lowered himself onto the chair beside her, more because his legs suddenly felt weak than because he'd intended to sit.
Because his prosthetic leg suddenly felt unsteady beneath him.
He rubbed both hands over his face, forcing out a long, shaky breath before looking back at his daughter.
"You..." His voice was rougher than he intended. "...You faked it?"
Lucy nodded proudly, completely oblivious to the emotional hurricane she'd just unleashed.
"That was the only way Grandma would bring me."
Your mother's mouth fell open.
"Oh my goodness..."
Lucy looked between the two of you with complete sincerity.
"I wanted to see where you work."
Jack let out another slow breath that sounded dangerously close to becoming a laugh. Not because anything about this was funny, but because relief had nowhere else to go.
"You scared ten years off my life."
Her smile faltered.
"...I did?"
Jack swallowed, the image of her name on the tracking board still burned into his mind.
"When I saw your name pop up..." His voice caught unexpectedly, forcing him to pause. He looked away for a moment before gathering himself enough to continue. "I thought something terrible had happened."
You nodded quietly beside him.
"I thought my little girl was hurt."
Lucy's face crumpled almost instantly. The excitement disappeared, replaced by confusion and guilt.
"I..." Her shoulders curled inward. "...I didn't know."
Of course she hadn't.
She was six years old. In her mind, she'd come up with the smartest plan imaginable. Pretend to have a stomachache. Go to the hospital. Surprise Mommy and Daddy. She'd never stopped to think about what it would feel like for two emergency clinicians to suddenly see their own child's name appear on the tracking board.
She looked down at her sneakers, twisting one toe against the floor.
"I'm sorry."
Jack watched her quietly for a long moment. Every ounce of frustration he'd felt dissolved beneath the sight of her trying so hard not to cry. Without another word, he opened his arms.
Lucy climbed into them immediately.
He wrapped her tightly against his chest, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair.
"I'm not mad."
She looked up uncertainly.
"...You're not?"
He shook his head.
"I'm relieved."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"So unbelievably relieved."
He held her for another moment before leaning back just enough to meet her eyes.
"But you cannot ever pretend to be sick like this again."
She nodded immediately.
"Okay."
"I need a real promise."
"I promise."
You moved closer until your shoulder rested against Jack's, wrapping an arm around both of them. Almost instinctively, Lucy reached for your hand with her free one.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
You squeezed her little fingers.
"I know."
"I just wanted everyone at school to know my mommy and daddy have cool jobs."
Your heart ached.
"We know, sweetheart."
"They all got to go."
You met Jack's eyes for a brief second. Sometimes the hardest part of parenting wasn't saying no. It was understanding exactly why your child wanted something so badly and still knowing the answer couldn't change.
Jack kissed the top of Lucy's head.
Jack was quiet for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"Since you're already here..." He glanced at you, silently asking the question before either of you spoke.
You smiled back.
"I think our patient has been thoroughly examined."
Jack nodded solemnly.
"I agree."
He looked back at Lucy.
"So I'm officially discharging you."
Her eyes widened.
"You are?"
"Mhm." He reached over and gently tapped the tip of her nose. "No tummy ache. Cleared to go home with Grandma."
She giggled.
"But..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Before you go home, I think we can spare five minutes."
Lucy's mouth fell open.
"Really?"
"We can show you the nurses' station." He pointed toward the center of the department. "My locker. Maybe the ambulance bay if there isn't anything coming in."
"And the cafeteria," you added with a smile.
Jack nodded.
"But that's it."
"No treatment rooms."
"No sick patients," you said gently.
"And you stay with one of us the entire time."
Lucy threw her arms around his neck so quickly he almost laughed.
"I promise!"
"I know you do." He hugged her back before pulling away just enough to look at her seriously. "But that doesn't change one thing."
"What?"
"If you ever feel left out again, you tell Mommy or me."
She nodded.
"You don't have to scare us to spend time with us."
The smile slipped from her face.
"...Okay."
"I mean it, bug."
"I know."
She leaned forward to hug him again, then reached for you too, nearly pulling the three of you together on the waiting room chair.
Jack caught your eye over the top of Lucy's head.
"I think she inherited our problem-solving skills."
You laughed.
"No."
"Our stubbornness."
Lucy looked up immediately.
"I heard that."
"Oh, we know," Jack said with a grin. "Trust me, we know exactly who you got it from."
"I did not fake being stubborn."
"You absolutely did."
That earned another burst of laughter, loud enough that even your mother laughed through the tears she'd been quietly wiping away.
As Lucy happily slid off Jack's lap, already asking a hundred questions about ambulances and whether nurses really kept candy in the break room, the knot in his chest finally began to loosen. The fear hadn't disappeared entirely. He wasn't sure it ever would. Seeing her name on that tracking board had unlocked a terror he hoped never to feel again.
But as he watched her bounce happily between you, clutching one of your hands and one of his as though the last twenty minutes had never happened, he found himself smiling despite everything.
He would take fake stomachaches, dramatic plans, and six-year-old schemes over seeing his daughter in one of those treatment rooms for real every single day.
i want to be sexy to someone
is it too much to ask?
sexy to somebody, it would help me out
– sexy to someone, Clairo
summary: you finally put yourself back out there and set up a date for your night off. to your utter humiliation, you get stood up. the night takes a turn when you see your attending, Jack Abbot, who suggests you have dinner together since you're already all dressed up.
tags/warnings: age gap (reader is a resident), oral (f + m receiving), dacryphilia, protected piv sex, dry humping, crybaby!reader, idiots in love, ER references because I can't help myself :), the tiniest hint of puppy play, discussions of jack's amputation,
wc: 10k
a/n: I'm realizing that I have a tendency to write about jack abbot saving reader from mediocre and shitty men... and you know what he would!!!! genuinely thought this would be a cute lil 5k fic and then... oh well!! being short-winded is not my thing lol
credits: gif credits to @wesandresons
8:21.
You checked your phone for the millionth time.
You were supposed to meet him at the restaurant at 7pm, and he was almost an hour and a half late.
Well, you hoped he was late. You hadn’t yet accepted the probable fact that you’d been stood up. I mean, you were no stranger to chaotic schedules, unplanned overtime, and last minute catastrophes that had to be dealt with. Residency often rendered your social life moot; you could barely keep up with your commitments at the hospital, let alone a vibrant dating life. Maybe he had an equally demanding job; maybe there was a plausible excuse for why he left you stranded in this Italian restaurant without the decency of a “sorry, not interested anymore” text.
You looked at your phone again–8:26. Okay, you’d give him 4 more minutes before you decide to pack it up. You try to subtly survey the restaurant for any sign of him, but are met only with the pitying looks of the waitstaff, who would, in all likelihood, be the only ones benefitting from this humiliation ritual. The hostess checked in with you at the bar regularly, the bartender had given you a glass of merlot on the house, and a very kind server brought you a charcuterie board to nibble on–had even brought you extra olives when you commented on how they were your favorite. They were all getting fat tips–or at least as fat as you could afford.
8:31. Despite your best efforts you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your throat got that tight, achy feeling that precedes a sob. You felt so foolish.
You looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away and tried to even out your breathing.
You didn’t even want to go on this date. You’d all but sworn off of dating, the ROI not worth the emotional whiplash you were subjected to more often than not. It was becoming harder and harder as you got older to open up to people, expose your vulnerabilities and greatest fears, only to have them spit back in your face when things didn’t go their way.
So you stopped with the apps, stopped the meaningless dates that were nothing more than a hookup vehicle for most. But your friends had convinced you that you needed to get back out there, that things would be better in Pittsburgh–the proverbial ocean filled with different, better fish than your hometown. And perhaps they were tired of hearing you wax poetic about the hazel-eyed night shift attending that you had no chance with.
But you did want to find that person. As much as you were an independent, capable woman–doctor, even–the truth was you were lonely. Your days consisted of going to work, where you spent 12+ hours caring for Pittsburgh’s sickest, and coming home to microwave whatever sad frozen meal you had in your freezer. Sometimes you had the energy to join some of the night shift for post-shift breakfast, but that was about it.
You wanted someone to share your life with, to ask about your day or if you’ve eaten. Someone who knew that your favorite flower was lily of the valley, but since they were too expensive you would settle for a bouquet of peonies; that you loved horror movies even though they scared the daylights out of you; that knew you loved olives but hated pickles. Someone who knew you, inside and out.
There was a chasm in your chest that ached, that yearned for someone to take care of you–not financially, though you wouldn’t be opposed to that–but emotionally. To tell you that you were good, worthy, that you weren’t too much or too clingy. That wanted you as much as you wanted them. That felt the tension leave their shoulders when they looked at you, because you just being there made things better.
Was that too much to ask for?
It’d been so long since someone had even flirted with you, and even longer since you’d hooked up with anybody. Your dry spell was bordering on sahara levels of arid. Hell, at this point, you think you’d cum for the next guy who called you pretty.
You shake yourself out of your pity party, dabbing your eyes with a napkin and gathering up the courage to ask for the bill, when you hear someone calling your name. Great. You’re halfway to a breakdown over some stupid guy who stood you up, and now you would have to sit through pleasantries with someone when you desperately wanted to go home and cry into a bottle of wine.
You turned, fake smile plastered on your face.
The person you least expect to see is the aforementioned hazel-eyed attending. He’s standing by the hostess stand, off to the side, dressed in dark blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was unfair, really, how good the man could look in the most basic outfit. His shirt was pulled taut across his chest, muscles straining against the fabric and outlining the planes of his pecs. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his strong, freckled arms on display, and sinful thoughts ran through your head at how those arms would feel around you.
You smiled and waved at him, reluctantly making your way over. It’s not like you can avoid him at this point, though these are less than ideal circumstances to meet him outside of work.
“Small world,” he joked as you approached, a soft smile gracing his features.
“I guess so,” you said sullenly, not up to your usual banter.
“Big plans for the night?” he asked, eyes skating over your form, taking in the pretty red dress you’d donned for the evening, the light coat of makeup you applied, the hairstyle you wrangled your locks into. In any other scenario, you’d be preening under his watchful eye, giddy that he was eyeing you up and down.
Now, though, you wilted under the attention. The humiliation from the night and the tingly feeling pooling in your gut at his gaze swirled together in some rancid amalgamation of emotions. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry or both, but ideally not in front of him.
Your silence, apparently, concerned him. He looked at you seriously now, his eyes getting that clinical, assessing look in them as he took you in, “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his features.
It was the one question you did not want to be asked. Because, for some reason, you could keep it all inside, bury the feelings as deep as they’d go, as long as someone didn’t ask if you were okay. The barest expression of concern had your lip trembling, throat tight as you managed to squeak out a meek, “I’m fine!”
You could feel a tear tracing down your cheek, and you wiped it away furiously. Your eyes focused on a spot over his shoulder, unable to bear the pitying look that was undoubtedly on his face.
“You don’t look fine,” he said softly, hand coming up to rest lightly on your upper arm.
You shook your head, powerless to staunch the flow of tears now running down your face. “Sorry, I just, uh, I had a date tonight and he didn’t show, so,” you made a helpless gesture, your shoulders shrugging in feigned nonchalance. You felt ridiculous, crying over being stood up in front of your attending who was just trying to make small talk with you.
You let out a garbled laugh, “Shit, sorry,” you hiccup, “this isn’t your problem, I don’t wanna interrupt your night any more than I already have. Have a good night,” you said, moving to push past him and scurry out the door.
He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, his body blocking your exit.
“You’re not interrupting. I was just about to place a to-go order,” he said, a hesitant look crossing his face before he continued, “But, uh… would you like to have dinner with me instead?”
You're taken aback. It’s the last thing you expected him to ask you. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t thought about him in this context. On the contrary, Jack Abbot had been the subject of many a ‘boyfriend’ dream over the past year you’d worked with him. He was kind and generous and funny, his humor as dark as yours. He was steady in the face of chaos, a lighthouse in the foggiest of days–a man you could depend on when shit hit the fan. It’s part of the reason you switched to nights. You always felt calmer in his presence, more assured of your capabilities because he believed in you.
And he was undeniably gorgeous–his fine wrinkles and graying curls set your body ablaze each time you looked at him, your panties soaking through in record time. You loved especially when he went a day or two longer without shaving, his scruffy cheeks looking like a delectable place to sit.
Your mind was plagued by obscene fantasies of him, the sinful images assaulting you at the most inopportune times. You knew he’d treat you right, wouldn’t prioritize his pleasure over yours. He was older, experienced, not a kid fumbling around in the dark, searching for your most sensitive spots and coming up empty. You imagined the way his stubble would feel on your skin, his jaw scraping down your neck as he pressed kisses there, moving lower and lower until he was nestled between your thighs, mouth hot against your aching pussy. The way he would stretch you out and fill you up, have you desperate and begging for more.
You’re snapped out of your lustful daydream when he says your name, an inquiring tone meant to prompt a response. Oh right, he asked you a question.
You shook your head, not because you didn’t want to have dinner with him, but because you didn’t want to do so under these conditions; you didn’t want to be a charity case.
“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to have a pity dinner with me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little rejection.”
“It wouldn’t be a pity dinner,” he shook his head immediately, “come on, you got all dressed up, let me at least buy you dinner for your trouble.”
He cleared his throat, “Unless you really don’t want to, obviously, and I’ll let it go,” he said, “but I’d hate to see you go home cryin’.” And he looked so sincere, his pretty eyes so soft and squishy, all but pleading for you to accept his offer.
You chewed on your lip, considering it. It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend your night. As of now your plans for the rest of the night were getting sadder by the moment. Things could only go up from here, you supposed. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure,” you nodded.
“I’m positive,” he said, hand coming up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you back up to the hostess stand. “Table for two, please.”
The two of you were sat at a corner booth near the back of the restaurant, the section secluded and not too loud. It was a classic Italian restaurant–warm, dim lighting illuminated the space from antique sconces on the wall, the walls were a beautiful exposed red brick, and the tables were candlelit and laid with red and white checkered cloths. The leather of the booth was soft but worn, the cracks spidering out and indenting into the back of your thighs a sign of how well loved this place was.
The booth forced you close together, your thighs not quite touching each other, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His scent is intoxicating, all warm amber and oud, mixed with a hint of citrus and his natural musk. It took all your power not to burrow your nose into his neck and inhale deeply.
You were lucky to have the same waitress that checked on you at the bar, though you did have to assure her that this was not the man who stood you up. You were honestly a little concerned at the death glare she gave him at first–a true girls girl.
“So, Dr. Abbot, how was your day off?” you asked, fiddling nervously with the hem of your dress. Despite your easy rapport at work, it felt awkward to be sitting here with your attending, especially when you were desperately trying to keep your feelings for him at bay.
“Oh it was fine, picked up a shift with the SWAT unit and didn’t get shot at, so, you know, all things considered,” he said, then waved his hand dismissively, “and please, call me Jack. We're not at work,” a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Okay, Jack,” you laughed, the tension easing a bit as you threw formalities out the window.
“I would ask you how your day off was, but I think I have a pretty good idea,” he said with a teasing lilt.
“Yeah, not my best moment. This is partially why I stopped dating, I hate getting my hopes up,” you said, a little more vulnerable than you intended but you supposed you were past that now.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think whatever man decided to let you slip through their fingers is a fuckin’ idiot.”
You sputtered a bit at that, your cheeks heating up. It was a kind platitude, and you wished that it made you feel better, but it did little to alleviate the pit in your stomach that made you feel small; that screamed that you weren’t good enough.
“But enough about that asshole. Do you want to order an appetizer?” he asked, scanning the menu.
“Oh no, I’m okay, thank you.”
“You sure? My treat, remember, don’t worry about prices.” he looked up, concerned.
“I’m fine, really,” you bit your cheek, reluctant to spit it out, “our waitress may or may not have given me a pity charcuterie board at the bar.”
His face was still for a moment before you saw the edge of his mouth betray him, quirking up in a suppressed smile.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned, your own resolve already breaking as you took in how pathetic the situation actually was. “It’s not funny!” you laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with the menu.
“No, no, definitely not,” he intoned, a look of mock-seriousness on his face before he broke out into a laugh, “I’m sorry! But it is objectively a little funny,” he hedged, hands held out defensively to block another menu attack.
“It is not! It means that the poor waitress had to go talk to her boss and ask if they could comp an appetizer for the miserable sad sack at the bar!”
“She probably didn’t call you a miserable sad sack. Maybe sad puppy dog girl, but not miserable sad sack,” he teased.
You gasped exaggeratedly, “I am not a sad puppy dog girl!”
“Oh yes you are. It’s the eyes. And the general obedient demeanor," he smirked.
Oh. Your tummy twisted at that, but you quickly filed it under things that I simply do not have enough time to unpack right now.
“You’re mean,” you pouted, lip jutting out and arms crossed. You weren’t really upset, but it felt fun to play it up a little bit.
“Aww,” he pouted back at you, his tone just a tad condescending, “let me make it up to you. What do you say to some good wine and garlic knots?”
You gnawed on your lip, considering his offer, “what the hell, let's do it. It’s not like I’m going to be kissing anybody tonight anyway,” you said, a little bitter, before realizing that was probably not an appropriate joke to make in front of your boss.
“You never know, we could always pull a Lady and the Tramp,” he joked, not looking up from the wine menu.
You were a little stunned at that. Was he… flirting? No. Definitely not. This was a strictly platonic date. Right? I mean, the puppy comment you could explain away, but this… this was different, wasn’t it? Who just jokes like that about the most romantic canine kiss in history? A joke, you settled on. Because you’d already gotten your hopes up enough for one night.
Dinner was nice. Really nice.
Conversation flowed freely, starting out in neutral territory with updates about patients, work gossip, whatever the fuck was going on with Robby. But you soon moved out of the work realm and into personal matters. You told him about your childhood–where you grew up, your favorite childhood pets, how much trouble you got into as a teen.
And you learned a lot about Jack. That he came from a military family that moved around a lot, but spent a large chunk of time in North Carolina. He had two sisters, both older than him. One stayed in North Carolina and the other lived in West Virginia. Both married to military men, and both notorious for giving Jack shit about everything. But they were his rocks when he lost his leg, and then again when he lost his wife, and he was endlessly grateful for them.
You both loved 90s alternative rock, which surprised you because you took Jack to be more of a classic rock fan, to which he merely glared at you and said that he wasn’t that old. You both had childhood crushes on Winona Ryder; his borne from her role in Heathers, and yours from Girl, Interrupted. He surprised you with the fact that he was a good cook, a fact that seemed unfathomable to you based on his general vibe.
Now, though, you’d moved to med school stories, and Jack was regaling you with stories about him and Robby back in the day.
“We must have been… god, I must have been a third year med student, and Robby was… an R2? and he had really pissed me off that night. I don’t even remember what he did, I just remember being so annoyed at him,” he laughed, shaking his head at the memory, “It was a quiet night, so he snuck off to the on-call room to catch a few hours of sleep, leaving me to do all the scut. So, I recruited the help of the charge nurse, Carol, and our attending, Mark, and we applied a cast to his right leg while he was knocked out.”
He’s cackling now, almost unable to finish his story between wheezing gasps of air, “we paged him, like, 10 times until he answered, and next thing we know he’s bursting out of the on-call room and onto his ass before he even realized what happened!”
You’re laughing hard now, too, trying to picture a younger version of Robby gracelessly tripping over an unnecessary leg cast in his hurry to answer his page. It sounded so unlike the self-assured, stoic version you knew him to be.
“Oh my god,” you wheezed, “how mad was he?”
“Oh he was pissed. Not because of the cast, but because 5 minutes after we paged him, a 15-car pile up came in and he got benched until he could get the cast off. He had to wait for it to dry before he could saw it off, and the whole time he just sat there glaring at me.”
“Did he get you back?” you asked, hungry for more crumbs of their life before you, before the Pitt as it was now.
“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “the fucker taped nails to his shirt, took an x-ray, and switched out the real film for the fake before I noticed. I was freaking out to Mark, yelling about how this patient needed surgery before they perfed. Meanwhile Mark was in on it, and made me feel crazy when he pulled out the perfectly normal x-ray for my patient. He said, ‘I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school these days, but this looks like a perfectly normal x-ray,’” he said, in an impersonation you could only assume was Mark.
“That’s fucking crazy,” you giggled, “can you imagine someone doing something like that in the Pitt? I think Robby’d actually have an aneurysm.”
“Yeah, the old man’s lost a bit of his whimsy over the years,” he shook his head.
“Old man, huh? Those are fighting words from a man merely 3 years younger than him,” you teased, “and much grayer,” you added with a wink.
“Watch it, missy,” he warned, then, quieter, “not too old to teach you some manners.”
Feeling emboldened by the wine, you leaned a little closer, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Tracing the rim of your wine glass, you looked up at him. You swear his eyes drifted to your lips, but before you could do anything about it, he cleared his throat, steering the conversation back into safer waters.
“So, why did you get into emergency medicine?”
You thought about it for a moment, considering how honest you wanted to be. “I wanted to meet people where they were at, help them in a real, immediate way. The traumas are great and exciting, and there’s nothing like making a pickup that saves someone’s life. But I like the less exciting stuff, too. The mundane care that doesn’t save a life, but makes someone feel better. Helps them get over a cold, or helps soothe a burn; suturing up a lac, or removing foreign objects from patients and not making them feel worse about their predicament. That stuff is just as important as the traumas.
Especially with how fucked healthcare is in this country, people come to us when they’re at their most vulnerable, and usually don’t want to be there. I just hope that I can make things less scary for patients when they come in, make sure they feel like they’re cared about and not being judged for coming to us.”
It’d been a long time since you’d answered that question honestly. Usually, you had your stock answer that you pulled out, which was a more eloquent version of “I want to save lives!” And that was still true, but there was so much more to working in the emergency department than just saving lives. It was paperwork and insurance and bed shortages and nursing shortages and all the other fucked up shit in the world that inevitably contributed to the cases you saw come through the doors at the Pitt.
“What about you? Was emergency medicine always it for you, or did you ever consider going into something else?” you asked.
He shook his head, “Not seriously, no. Considered switching to critical care after my leg. I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for the hustle and bustle of the emergency room after that. But it was the only place I wanted to be, so I figured it out, did what I needed to do to get back to where I was before the accident.”
“Well, for what it's worth, I’m glad you stuck with EM. I couldn’t imagine working at the Pitt without you. I don’t think I’d be half the doctor I am without you,” you said, looking up at him.
You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten, his arm slung over the back of the booth and your thighs pressed against each other.
“Don’t sell yourself short, you’d be amazing with or without me,” he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “You know, I’ve taught a lot of residents in my years, and you… you’re really cut out for this. Not everyone is.”
The praise made you preen, the proximity of his hand to your face doing nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart. For a brief moment, you think he might lean in, might press those pillowy pink lips to yours, kiss you until you can’t think stra–
“Hi, sorry to interrupt but we’ll be closing in 15 minutes. Here’s your check when you’re ready,” the waitress said, setting the check down and scurrying away.
You checked the time on your phone: 11:15. Did you really spend almost 3 hours talking to Jack? It certainly didn’t feel like it.
“I guess we should get out of here before they kick us out,” Jack said, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand.
You’re giggling at another one of Jack’s jokes as you leave the restaurant, the bill graciously paid by him despite your best efforts to split it. Your limbs were loose from the wine, goosebumps springing up on your arms from the early summer air turned chilly.
“Thank you for dinner. You salvaged an otherwise shitty night,” you laughed.
“It was no problem, really. I had a nice time,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed.
You mirrored him, shoulder scraping against the gritty brick, and looked up at him.
“Hold on, I think you have a little sauce on your face,” he said, and before you could grab a tissue from your purse, he reached out. His thumb gathered the sauce at the corner of your lips, going further to brush the pad of it across your bottom lip. The movement dragged your lower lip down slightly, your mouth parting involuntarily with it. You’re not sure why, but your tongue darted out, licked the pad of his thumb and the residual sauce.
Jack’s breath hitched, the sharp intake of air the only thing you could hear despite the sounds of car alarms and drunk party girls on a Friday night in downtown Pittsburgh.
You looked up at him, tongue still pressed flat against his thumb, and searched his eyes for a sign that the heat building between you is mutual.
Fuck it, you decided.
Without thinking about it too much, you leaned up and pressed your lips against his. And god, did they feel nice. They were soft, but firm, and he tasted faintly of the wine you’d shared earlier mixed with the slight acidity of the tomato sauce from his dinner. Your hand tangled in the curls at the base of his neck, and they’re so soft, but also a little stiff. You wondered, briefly, if he uses mousse, or hairspray, or if he’s got a whole curly girl routine down before realizing that oh my god he wasn’t kissing you back. Oh no, oh fuck.
How did you misread this situation so horrifically? You thought you were getting all the right signals, thought that he liked being with you, that he was flirting with you. But maybe it really was just a courtesy, a pity dinner.
Your cheeks are hot when you pull away from him, shame sitting thick and heavy in your stomach, numbness prickling up your arms in staticky goosebumps. And Jack is just standing there, the dumbfounded look on his face doing nothing to assuage your embarrassment.
You backed up, trying to create some distance, to lower the temperature between you that apparently only you felt.
Looking down at your shoes, unable to make eye contact, you babbled out, “I-I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate and I don’t know why I-” your voice cracked and it felt like your lungs weren’t properly inflating with oxygen, “I don’t know how I misread things, but I guess I did so again, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna go home and pretend this never happened,” you said, turning around and starting down the street, despite the fact that you most certainly needed to Uber home, not walk.
You’re trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that night when you hear him calling your name, “Wait!”
He caught up with you, only a few strides away from where you were standing, and grasped your arm gently. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, a little breathless, “I just… you surprised me.”
“Surprised you?” you laughed, “I damn near sucked your thumb, Jack,” you said, genuinely confused how a man like Jack Abbot could be surprised that a woman would try to kiss him; that the next logical step from erotic thumbsucking would be a kiss. “And you flirted with me all night! You made a Lady and the Tramp joke! How else am I supposed to take that?”
He rubbed at his jaw anxiously, a slight blush coating his cheeks, “I mean, yeah, I was surprised. I’ve liked you for a while now but then I heard you talking to Santos about how you didn’t want to go out with that cardiology attending and just assumed I didn’t have a shot,” he admitted sheepishly. “And maybe I got a little brazen with my flirting because I thought you didn’t see me like that anyway, figured it couldn’t hurt.”
It’s your turn to be surprised now. You hadn’t realized he heard that conversation, or that he’d taken the wrong idea from it; the opposite idea, actually.
You took a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers finding his curls again, “Well, if you recall, snoopy, I said that part of the problem was that I just didn’t want to fuck that cardiology attending,” you said, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes, “that isn’t the case with you.”
He looked shocked, but recovered quickly, his confident air returning to him. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, lips quirking up into a smile as he backed you up against the rough brick wall. His hand rested on the wall next to your head, the other on your hip, stroking you through your dress.
“In that case, please allow me to make up for my rude behavior,” he said, dipping down to kiss you properly this time.
You’d pictured this moment countless times before, but nothing compared to the real thing. Jack Abbot is a no nonsense man–a wartorn vet who understands more than most the importance of not wasting time. You expected your first kiss with him to be hungry, maybe a little sloppy, but when his lips meet yours, he’s achingly tender. It wasn’t uncertain–there was no question underlying his kiss–it was deep and languorous, like he was content to take his time up against this brick wall and savor the slide of your lips against his because he knew he had you right where he wanted you, finally.
He commanded you, his hand cupping your jaw to angle your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened up for him. The slide of his tongue against yours was delicious, the slick muscle curling around yours before moving back to your lips, sucking at your bottom lip and biting down gently. Your mind felt fuzzy at the way he handled you, guiding and taking you how he saw fit.
Some of his restraint dissipated, your mouths moving feverishly against each other. You couldn’t get enough of him; you pulled him into you and hooked your leg around his waist to draw him as close to you as possible. Pathetic, embarrassing whines and whimpers escaped you involuntarily, your body unable to mask how this man was making a mess of you.
His hand fell to the thigh wrapped around him, calloused fingers sliding up under your dress and gripping the bare flesh. He pulled you close, his pelvis rolling against yours sinfully. You could feel the hard outline of his cock against your cunt, your hips thrusting forward to meet the friction. A frustrated moan fell from your lips at the clothes separating you, at the inability to feel his skin against yours.
You pulled away only when air was necessary–and because you were very close to being cited for public indecency if things went any further.
“Sorry, I probably taste like garlic,” you said dumbly, fingers tracing over your spit slick lips, numb and swollen from Jack’s attention.
He laughed, forehead resting against yours, “you taste incredible,” he said, pressing a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, and then under your ear. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but my place is a couple blocks from here, if you’d like to come home with me.”
You nodded, a giddy smile breaking out across your face, “I would very much like to go home with you,” you said, already grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street.
The entryway is dark as you stumbled into Jack’s townhouse, the walk talking longer than it should have due to your need to drag him into searing kiss after searing kiss every dozen or so steps.
Jack navigated the two of you through the dark, your bodies unceremoniously plopping down on his couch. You fell onto his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushions and thighs stretching over the wide berth of his hips. Your kisses had devolved from slow and deep to fast and hungry, teeth nipping and clashing against one another, your breathing ragged from the exertion.
He was rock-hard and throbbing under you, the outline of his cock pressing deliciously against your pussy. The only articles of clothing separating you were the thin, lacy excuse for panties you were wearing and his jeans. Your eyes fluttered closed as you ground your hips down on him, the combination of rough denim and the drag of his cock on your aching cunt forcing loud moans and whimpers from your lips.
Jack was just as loud, his hips canting up to meet your rolling hips. His hand travelled to the back of your dress, fingers playing with the zipper, “this okay, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. You nodded, too caught up in his lips to give a verbal answer.
He chuckled as he pulled the zipper down, easing the sleeves down next and pulling away to get a look at you. He let out a sharp breath, the air stolen from his lungs as he took you in, hands gripping your waist tight and rolling his hips hard against you.
Your pretty tits were held up in an unlined white bra, your hardened nipples peaking through the barely there lace. He threw his head back against the couch, pupils blown wide as they fixated on your chest. ““My pretty, pretty girl. Was this all for him?” he asked, thumbs running in circles around your areolas. You nodded shyly, a bit embarrassed that you’d put on your good lingerie for some random guy. But it wasn’t all for nought, if Jack’s reaction was any indication.
“What a fuckin’ idiot,” he mumbled before enveloping your nipple between his lips, sucking the bud through the lace. He captured the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and pinching it, then soothing it over in soft circles. The sensation was dizzying. His mouth was hot and wet against your skin, and he knew exactly the right pressure to ride the line between pleasure and pain.
But the lace was getting in the way; you couldn’t feel the scratch of his stubble like you’d dreamed of for so long. You unclasped your bra, tugging on his curls and pulling his face back just enough to let the garment fall down between you.
A guttural sound left him as he dove back in, lips suctioning onto your nipple and sucking hard, cheeks hollowed out and tongue swirling around the bud. Your hand tightened in his curls, arching your back and pushing your chest against his mouth. He alternated between the two, sucking, licking, and biting at one and kneading, flicking, and pinching the other. You could finally feel the scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hips doubled their effort, grinding hard against his cock.
He released your nipple with a wet pop, “you know how hard it’s been keepin’ my hands to myself, pretty girl? and all this time you’ve been hidin’ this pretty set of tits under your scrubs,” he shook his head in disbelief, “don’t think I’ll be able to think about anything other than stuffin’ my face between these tits when I see you at work.”
His lips returned to your chest while his unoccupied hand moved under your dress, his rough palm gripping the fat of your ass and guiding you over his length faster. Every grind of your hips had your clit bumping up against the head of his cock, the pressure exquisite. Your slick was dripping down your thighs and seeping into his jeans, the schlick schlick schlick steady background noise among your moans and groans.
You didn’t realize how fast your orgasm was building until you were nearly on the precipice of it, letting out a strangled moan and, “I’m gonna–” before the wave crested. Your thighs trembled, a dull ache forming from keeping them stretched around Jack’s bulk, but it only added to the pleasure that zipped through you. That staticky feeling radiated through you, your pussy contracting and fluttering around nothing.
You’re panting into the crook of his neck as you ride out the aftershocks, your hips still grinding against his clothed cock, your lips letting out tiny gasps and whines.
“Did you… did you just cum, sweetheart?” Jack asked, a stunned look on his face.
You could feel how hot your cheeks were, shame curling through you because yes, you did cum from a little nipple play and grinding on his cock.
“I-i’m sorry, it’s just been a long time and no one’s touched me in so long and you feel so good, I didn’t think that would happen so quickly,” you said, panicked, “I’m sorry if I ruined things.”
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said, thumbs brushing away the embarrassed tears you weren’t even aware had fallen, “you didn’t ruin anything, okay? I was just surprised, is all. I’m sorry if anyone’s made you feel that way, but you don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me. Never,” The sincerity of his words triggered a new bout of tears. You buried your head in the crook of his neck again, his scent a calming balm to your nerves.
“Plus, do you know how much of an ego boost it is to know I had such a pretty girl cummin’ on lap in under five minutes? That’s the stuff of dreams, baby,” he teased, pulling you out from your hiding spot and pressing kisses to your cheeks.
You laughed, still sniffling a bit, “gosh, I’m sorry I’ve been such a crybaby tonight.”
“It’s okay, honey,” he said, then, teasing, “but I can think of much better reasons for you to be cryin’, and none of them have anything to do with you being sad or embarrassed,” he said, kissing you properly now, tongue licking deep into your mouth.
You moaned into his mouth, then squealed as he hoisted you up, carrying you to his bedroom. He set you down at the edge of the bed, then properly removed your dress from where it was awkwardly gathered at your waist.
He didn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees and parting your legs, pushing them up toward your chest. “Hold 'em there for me, baby, wanna take a good look at you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the damp fabric between your legs. You did as he told you, hooking your hands under your knees and spreading yourself open for him. You felt exposed, but the awestruck look in his eye as he examined your pussy sent shockwaves through your body.
“This all because of me?” he asked, thumbing at your center over the fabric, pressing lightly against your clit with each stroke. Your panties were soaked through, the tiny scrap of fabric doing nothing to obscure your puffy folds that were sticky with a mix of your slick and cum. “What a mess you made, honey. Guess I’m gonna have to clean you up,” he said, pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit.
You moaned, hips lifting off the bed and chasing his mouth. The contrast of his hot tongue on your cool flesh was blistering. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there and stopping any movement of your hips. You whined at the restriction, your hands fisting in the soft sheets instead.
“Waited so long for this honey, shit, fuckin’ dreamed about how you’d taste,” he moaned into your pussy, mouth lapping and sucking at your folds, gathering all the spend and slick and swallowing it down like nectar. His face was nestled deep into your cunt, tongue exploring every crease and crevice your cunt had to offer, licking, sucking, biting–and taking note of what made you scream.
And once he discovered it, he didn’t just eat you, he devoured you. He was a man possessed, with no regard for his own need for air. His tongue assaulted your clit, alternating between rubbing tight circles around it, short kitten licks, and long, languorous licks that had him shaking his head between your thighs. Every now and again he wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled it, the light leaving your body every time. Your hips rocked against his mouth despite his hold on you, wrecked moans falling from your lips.
“Fuck, jack, please–r-right there!”
“That’s it, baby, let me hear you, tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he said, pulling back just far enough to spit onto your cunt before running two fingers up your slit, pushing them in without preamble. The stretch was delicious, his thick fingers curling deep into your wet heat and finding that sweet spot in no time. He exploited it mercilessly, massaging it with the pads of his fingers. His lips returned to your clit, sucking harshly now, giving you no reprieve from his ministrations.
“Feels so good Jack! Never felt this good before!” you cried.
The slurping and squelching was lewd, your moans and breathless cries of his name intermingled to create an obscene symphony that you’re sure the entire population of Pittsburgh could hear.
“You gonna cum on my face, honey? Gonna give me another one?” he asked, fingers massaging your g-spot. “Wanna–fuck–wanna feel this tight cunt squeeze my fingers when she cums.”
“Y-yes, please Jack, ‘m gonna cum, feels sosososo good” you cried out, your second orgasm crashing over you. Stars burst behind your eyes, back arching uncomfortably off the bed and walls clenching so hard around his fingers you’re not sure how he hasn’t lost circulation. Your legs clamped around his head, trapping him there as you rode out your orgasm, hips rutting against his mouth and fingers. He didn’t mind, licking and sucking you through it, his fingers keeping pressure on your g-spot until you were pushing him away.
He peppered your body with kisses as you came down, starting at your thighs and making his way up over your tummy, ribs, and breasts. He came to rest above you, a dopey smile on your face as you pulled him in for a lazy kiss. His face was soaked with your spend and you could taste the tang on his tongue when he kissed you.
“You’re stupidly good at that,” you whispered, body still boneless and floaty.
“Yeah? Want me to show you want else I’m stupidly good at?” he asked while finally shucking his shirt off.
“Yeah?” you said absentmindedly, eyes glazed over at the majesty that was Jack Abbot’s chest. You immediately began pressing kisses across the newly exposed skin–to his neck, collarbone, pecs, and tummy. You’re even able to scrape your teeth across a nipple before he holds you back at arms length, laughing.
“Yeah, honey,” he laughed between your frantic kisses, “but you gotta let me breathe for a sec, gotta take care of my leg.”
“Let me,” you said, slipping down to the floor and sitting back on your heels. You ran your palms up his thighs, hands coming to rest on his belt before going any further.
“You don’t have to do that, honey.”
“I know,” you said softly, “but I want to. If you’re okay with that.”
He cradled your face in his hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. You turned into it, kissing the palm of his hand to assure him that you wanted to do this.
“I care about you Jack, and this is part of you. I just wanna help you, wanna make you feel good,” you said earnestly, giving him your puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah. Okay, honey, go ahead,” he nodded, sitting back on his elbows to watch you. You grasped his belt again, unfastening the buckle and pulling the belt through the loops, discarding it somewhere behind you. You moved to the button of his jeans, deftly popping it open and hooking your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down with Jack’s help.
Your breath hitched at the sight of his dark gray boxers, a wet spot front and center that made your mouth water. You learned forward and kissed the damp fabric, moaning at the slight taste of precum that danced across your lips.
“Careful, sweetheart…” he warned, but there wasn’t much heat behind his words.
You just grinned up at him before getting back to the task at hand. Your fingers travelled down to the sleek metal attached to him, getting a feel for the mechanism before unlocking and twisting it off. The liner came next, tossed to the side before you pressed your fingertips into his skin, massaging the skin to get some blood flow back into the residual limb. You pressed sweet kisses to his flesh, from the front of his knee to the scarred flesh of his leg, tongue dipping out to trace the prominent scar just above his amputation site.
Jack breathed heavily above you, tiny groans escaping him unbidden. A look flickered across his face, and you think, briefly, that this may be the first time you’ve seen him truly vulnerable. It wasn’t a secret that he’d lost the lower portion of his leg in the war, but he didn’t flaunt it either. You wondered if there was an insecurity that lay deep within him, despite his overt confidence; if other women had reacted differently, cruelly even to the sight of his prosthesis. It made your heart ache to think about it, to think of someone doing anything but worshipping his beautiful body the way he deserved.
“So pretty, Jack,” you whispered, kisses inching higher up his thigh now, “wanna taste you now.”
When you’re met with the sight of Jack’s cock, you’re well and truly speechless. You knew he was big from your time on the couch, but seeing it was different. He was thick and veiny, the tip flushed a deep red and leaking precum furiously. It rested against his belly, curving slightly to the left. And did you mention that he was thick? Mouth agape, you wondered how you were going to fit him in your mouth. Or pussy.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there, hands perched against his thighs, just staring at his cock, until Jack tilts your head back, fingers tightening in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck.
“Thought you wanted a taste, honey. You just gonna sit there and stare at it all night?” he asked, a smug smile on his lips.
“Maybe,” you mumbled, tongue darting out to wet your lips.
Before you can do anything of your own accord, his hand is guiding your head forward, the head of his cock pushing gently against the seam of your lips. You take over from there, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his tip, the precum gathered there salty and sticky against your lips. Your tongue dipped out to caress the spot just below his head, running the flat of your tongue along it before moving back to his head, spitting a glob of spit onto him and wrapping a hand around his base. You started with long, slow strokes, squeezing and twisting on the upstroke, your hand meeting your lips where they suckled at his tip.
You moaned at the steady stream of precum invading your mouth, “taste so good Jack,” you said before taking more of him into your mouth. You're only about halfway down and your lips are already stretched tight around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth in filthy waterfalls. You hollowed your cheeks out, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, your tongue massaging the underside of his cock.
“Fuck, baby, who knew you had such a filthy fuckin’ mouth on you,” he groaned, hips rutting up slightly.
His tip occasionally hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and tears to prick behind your eyes, but you don’t care; the feeling of him weighing heavy on your tongue is reward enough.
You feel a light pressure applied to the back of your head, “deeper, baby, know you can take it,” he groaned. You obliged, breathing deep through your nose and sinking down further onto his cock until you felt him hit the back of your throat and your nose was nestled in the trimmed grey curls at his base. Your hand grappled for his where it was perched on your head, using it to push harder against your head, trying to convey to him that you wanted him to take over; to fuck your face.
He groaned, hips jerking involuntarily as he realized what you wanted. He gathered your hair in his hands, hips shallowly trusting into the wet heat of your mouth. His mouth was slack, grunts and groans loud as he fucked your face. His pace builds, his cock roughly pistoning in and out of your mouth. Tears are falling freely now, your mouth stretched to capacity and throat being used and abused by his fat cock.
“See? These tears are much prettier, baby,” he huffed out, thumbs brushing the trails where they fell. “So fuckin’ pretty, crying with my cock in your mouth.”
You moaned around him at that, the praise and shame swirling in your tummy. Your hand came up to cup his balls, massaging and squeezing them gently between your fingers.
You’re suddenly pulled up off his cock and into his lap, spit stringing from your shiny, swollen lips. You whined at the loss of him, your mouth feeling uncomfortably empty now.
“Fuck–you feel too good, honey,” he grunted, setting you back against his pillows, “can’t cum in that pretty little mouth tonight, need to be inside you.”
He grabbed a condom out of his drawer before moving back to you, sitting back on his knees and rolling the condom on. You let out an annoyed whine. You’ve never hated the more rational side of your brain more than you do right now. You craved to feel him bare inside you–to feel him cum deep inside you, the hot white ropes painting your walls. And while you trusted him implicitly, you knew safety was of the utmost importance, so condom it was.
“Don’t worry, baby, soon as we get tested, you won’t be able to stop me from fuckin’ this pussy raw,” he groaned, settling between your spread thighs. His body was a soothing weight above you, the warmth he emanated relieving any anxiety you had.
He gripped the base of his cock and ran it through your sopping folds a few times, the tip catching slightly on your entrance on each pass. “Please, Jack, need to feel you,” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close.
He cursed before giving in, notching the head of his cock against your entrance and entering you slowly, letting you feel and adjust to every inch on its own. Your head fell back into his plush pillows as he sank fully into you, your mouth open in a silent scream. Your walls were tight around him, clenching viciously at the intrusion–you’d never been stretched so wide, or filled so thoroughly. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs and replaced by his cock. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your short nails biting at his skin.
You were still for a moment, both your chests heaving as you adjusted to the feeling of one another. Then, once Jack composed himself, he started to move–slow, shallow thrusts at first, your pussy still clenching tight around him, sucking him in greedily with each thrust.
“Relax for me, honey, that’s it, doin’ so good for me,” he grunted, eyes closed, “pussy feels so good.”
You willed your body to relax, for your muscles to go lax around him. You shifted your legs up higher, the heels of your feet digging into the soft flesh of his ass.
“There you go, so good for me,” he moaned, “knew you’d be so good for me.”
He pulled out again, easier this time, until only the tip remained inside you, then snapped his hips forward. His thrusts were slow but hard, his hips slamming against you each time he bottomed out. The drag of his cock against your walls felt so good, his thick, throbbing length rubbing up against every sensitive spot. You felt every thick vein and ridge, as if they were imprinting into your walls, making a home there. You moaned at the thought of eternity, of Jack making your pussy his again and again and again.
He was watching you with a wondrous look on his face, his eyes flitting between your blissed out face and bouncing tits. “So fuckin’ sexy, baby, you don’t even understand how fuckin’ gorgeous you are,” he groaned, hips picking up speed, fucking you faster and harder.
The adrenaline and emotions from the night came crashing down around you. The feeling of his cock dragging through your walls mixed with the sweet words he was whispering into your ear had you feeling exposed and vulnerable, made you feel seen. Your hands were frantic, running over every bit of skin you could get your hands on, needing to feel his skin against yours. You pulled him impossibly closer, his chest now flush against yours, the friction it provided to your nipples dizzying.
You didn’t notice the tears until Jack was kissing away the salty tracks, his tongue sneaking out to lick up the length of your cheek. “You’re my little crybaby, aren’t you?” he asked, a sweet hint of condescension in his tone, “just can’t help babbling over my cock, huh, baby?”
You could only whimper at that. The words should feel shameful, degrading, even, but the fondness on his face, the constant reassurance he’d been giving you all night only made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Because you weren’t a crybaby, you were his crybaby.
The coil in your stomach tightened, your orgasm fast approaching. He was fucking you hard and fast now, his balls slapping against your ass with a wet smack. “Jaack, I’m gonna–fffuck–I need–” you gasped at a particularly hard thrust, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
But Jack knew what you needed before you did, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against it, and you were done for. Your toes curled, heels pressing harder into his ass as you came, white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Your walls spasmed wildly, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. You were absolutely drenched, your pussy gushing around his cock, leaking down your ass and onto the bed.
Jack wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as your walls seized his cock in a vise grip. “F-fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, so fuckin’ good,” he grunted, his hips going into overdrive now, chasing his climax and fucking you hard and deep.
"Cum for me, Jack, wanna make you feel good," you cried.
He ground his hips into one last time, cumming with a loud moan, cock buried deep inside you and hips pressed flush against yours.
He collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest. He pressed lazy kisses to your sternum, collarbone, the soft flesh of your breasts–whatever he could get his lips on from this angle. Your fingers carded through his curls, the motion soothing as you tried to catch your breath.
Eventually, though, you had to part.
You whined as he pulled out, your cunt empty and cold now that he’d taken his warmth away. He grabbed his arm crutches, disposing of the condom and retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and began cleaning you up, gently wiping at your swollen pussy and sticky thighs, making sure you were comfortable before tossing the rag in the hamper.
He slid back into bed when he was finished, laying on his side and pulling you close against his chest. Your head was cushioned by this arm as you curled into him, your sweat slick bodies cool to the touch now that the heat had dissipated.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, fingers brushing up and down your ribs, the touch featherlight.
“Mmm probably as long as I have,” you said, snuggling closer to him.
“Really? When did you realize you wanted to kiss me?”
You didn’t have to think about it at all. “My birthday, on the roof. I gave you a cupcake and you got frosting all over you,” you giggled at the memory, “and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss it all off of your stupidly handsome face.”
He laughed with you, the creases around his eyes deepening as he did. He was so pretty, you thought for the thousandth time that night.
“I remember that,” he smiled, “I remember being so proud that I made you laugh that night.”
“What about you?” you asked.
He thought about it for a minute. “I think the need to kiss you has been simmering in me since I met you, but the first time I had the conscious thought was when you patched me up after that patient clocked me in the head,” he said, his hand now on your cheek, stroking the bone there, “you were standin’ between my legs, stitchin’ up my forehead, and all I could think about was pulling you close and kissing you until I couldn’t breathe.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He sighed, “I’m your superior and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn't feel the same way.” You knew he didn’t want to delve into the ‘superior’ thing right now, didn’t want to have the long, complicated conversation that was sure to come in the following days.
“And I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself once I started,” he said, lightening the mood a bit.
You giggled at that, rolling your eyes affectionately. But something nagged in your head about what he said.
“Wait…” you said, piecing together a timeline, “that was nearly a year ago! You’re telling me we could have been doing this for a year!?” you exclaimed, slapping him on the chest lightly.
He shook his head at you, a sheepish look on his face. You were both idiots.
“Well, I guess we have a lot of lost time to make up for, then, don’t we?” he said cheekily, capturing your lips again and pushing you onto your back, determined to make you a very happy woman.
a/n: thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it <33
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Was kinda in a sterek mood today… that and also… the fact I really want/need a new wallpaper… Some time soon this 20 min sketch will definitely become one ^-^
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synopsis you and Jack have always been two pees in a pod, working the ER together, on the field together, no wonder you started to search for those dark eyes and damning smirk. and you thought for a second, just for a second, he might be searching for you too, until you hear the man you're crushing on airing out everything he hates about you
warningstypical medical drama stuff, in-accurate medical terms. miscommunication. angst. insecure reader. language, jack says things he doesn't mean about reader. angry love confession in the rain. this is not proof-read
authornotei really really really loved this idea and tried so hard to do it justice, I hope you like anon. I tried to stay close to the SWAT idea but I'll be honest I know nothing about American army stuff (i'm british) so I sort of set it as much in the Pitt as I could. I also couldn't find ANYTHING for Jack's military background so I made up some SWAT guys
pitt masterlist. another Jack fic!
Just when you thought the rest of your day was going to be boring, Jack Abbot and his crew of SWAT pushed through the ambulance bay doors, yelling off stats, applying pressure where needed and clearing the way around them.
Which was a welcome change from trying to sell Robby your hypothetical first born child in exchange for a lunch break.
“Intubated neck wound, stats are going down. Got a room?” said Jack.
You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”
“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”
“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”
Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.
You were what could be called, a floater.
By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.
“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”
You helped lift him over to the bed.
“Did you intubate him?” you asked,
“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.
You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”
“Shot at.”
“You need to be looked at?”
“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.
“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.
There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.
Jack had.
Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.
“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”
Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.
“You should get that looked at,” you told him.
“I'm fine.”
“No, you're not.”
There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.
“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”
You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.
So, he wasn't in the joking mood.
“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”
You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.
“Demanding,” said Robby.
“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.
Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.
You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”
The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.
“Geez- woah!”
“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.
The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.
“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”
“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”
“I know that but-”
“- this is a transected trachea now-”
There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.
There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.
You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.
It was one of the reasons he always called you in.
“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.
Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”
Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”
“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.
You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.
But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.
Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.
He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.
Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.
“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”
“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.
“Don't want the paperwork?”
“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.
“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.
There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.
You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.
And, why.
Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.
He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.
Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.
And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.
Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.
“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.
Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”
She hummed. “Funny.”
“Thank you.”
He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.
They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.
He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.
Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.
“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.
Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”
“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.
Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”
Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.
“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”
“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”
Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.
Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.
“Are you avoiding her, now?”
Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”
“Did she do something?”
“No.”
“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.
Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”
Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”
Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.
“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.
“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.
Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”
“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”
“Jack, c’mon-”
Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.
“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.
Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.
Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.
Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”
Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.
“She’s not it, Robby.”
“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.
“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”
He pressed down against the metal band branding him.
“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.
Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”
Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”
“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.
“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.
But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”
“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”
“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.
Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.
“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”
“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.
In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.
Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.
Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.
You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.
That’s why you felt it plummet.
She’s not it for me.
There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.
But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.
She's brutal.
It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.
You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.
You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.
She's not it for me.
“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”
“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.
Robby gave a nod and left you to it.
Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?
Besides from not being his wife.
The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.
It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.
You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.
You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.
Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.
The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.
You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.
A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.
“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.
When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.
“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)
Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.
And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.
But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.
You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.
“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”
You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”
Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”
“Well, no-”
“Then get your ass over here.”
“Robby-”
“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”
Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.
Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.
You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.
“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.
At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.
“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”
“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.
“Room in trauma one!”
Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.
“You're here,” was all he said.
You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.
Jack didn't like that person.
“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.
“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”
“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.
“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”
“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.
You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.
“What have you got?” he asked.
It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.
“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.
You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”
“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”
“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.
“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.
You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”
“Okay, start an-”
“- start an internal massage-”
You and Jack said at the same time.
Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.
“Pulse?”
“Barely.”
Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”
“I need suction!”
“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.
“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.
Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”
“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.
Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”
Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.
“Clamped,” said Princess.
“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.
There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.
“He's going into V-fib!”
You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”
They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.
“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.
“Charge to thirty! Clear!”
Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.
“There! He's stable!” said Princess.
“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.
“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.
You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.
Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.
When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.
The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.
You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.
“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.
“Thank you.”
He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”
“Yeah.”
“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”
You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”
“What, from the guys?”
You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.
“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”
Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?
“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.
“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”
She's brutal, you know.
You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.
“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.
Heading back in seemed the safer option.
Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”
“- I've been busy-”
“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”
“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”
“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”
“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.
Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”
You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.
“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.
You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.
“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.
“Nothing, nothing.”
Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”
He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?
Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”
“Huh?”
You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”
For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.
But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.
Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”
“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”
He gulped. “I didn't mean-”
“-what, for me to hear it?”
“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.
“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.
“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”
You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”
“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”
You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”
“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.
“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.
Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”
“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”
“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.
You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”
“- I know, I know you do-”
“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.
“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”
“You know what the worst part is?”
Jack shook his head, waiting.
“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”
Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.
It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.
Jack had fucked up.
There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.
He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.
He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.
He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.
“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”
“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”
They'd refused, with good reason.
He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.
It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.
Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.
“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.
He said he was looking for you.
“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”
“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.
Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.
There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.
“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.
Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”
Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.
You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.
“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”
“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.
“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”
You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”
Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”
You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.
He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.
“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.
Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.
“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”
“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.
Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.
“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.
What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.
He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.
“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.
“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.
“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”
There was a glimpse of a smile.
Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”
An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.
“Sorry,” he uttered.
You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.
It was enough for now.
Your name was called down the corridor.
“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.
“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”
Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.
Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.
“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.
Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”
“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”
Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”
“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”
“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.
Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”
“-Robby-”
“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”
Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.
Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”
A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.
“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.
Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.
Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.
Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.
They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.
They told you not to change.
It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.
Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.
You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.
Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.
“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”
Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.
Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.
It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.
“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.
“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.
The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”
You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”
You put in the orders for stitches.
“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.
“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”
The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.
You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.
Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.
You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”
You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.
“Here, I can-”
His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.
Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.
The tin fell into your hand.
Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”
“Thanks.”
It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.
It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.
“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”
Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”
“It's in the garage.”
“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.
The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.
“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”
“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”
You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.
“You don't have to, Jack.”
“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”
Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.
Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.
“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.
“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.
“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.
Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”
The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.
“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”
The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.
“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”
“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”
“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”
“-so why try?”
“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”
“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”
“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”
To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.
He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.
“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”
“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.
“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”
“Excuse me?”
Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”
You chuckled.
“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”
You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”
He waited, catching his breath, for more.
You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”
Jack nodded, looking down.
The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.
“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”
His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.
“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And looking to settle down.”
Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”
“Therapy is good,” you said.
Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”
As sorry's went... as love confessions went.
“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.
“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”
You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”
He smirked a little. “No.”
Your heart dropped.
Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”
His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.
You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.
You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.
Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.
You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.
“Will you let me?” you asked.
“Always,” he promised.
thank you to anon for requesting, and thank you to @oldbaddies and @mafercita101 who wanted to be tagged :)
summary — your daughter is scared of needles, but needs a routine vaccination. jack, your husband and the stepfather of your daughter, steps in to comfort her through the process. (based on this request) (3k)
featured — dr. jack abbot / fem!pediatrician!reader
content — no spoilers for s1 or 2, straight fluff, medical descriptions of vaccines and immunity, my little pony references (because i don't know what kids watch these days), jack being a good step father, tw. needles/shots
(cross-posted on ao3) (the pitt masterlist)
It feels a tad strange coming into work on a day off, but when one works at a hospital, work life can sometimes become melded with personal.
You know that better than anyone. You had, for a moment, become a running joke for how many times you arrived back at work after scheduled leave. It’s a bit like a toxic relationship at this point. You hate being at work, but you also can’t fully remove yourself from the environment that keeps you coming back time and time again.
The joke also caught its biggest flame when you started dating—and even more so when you married—emergency medicine doctor Jack Abbot. Then, you had even more reasons to stop by on your days off. Unexpected dropped off lunches and appearances to pick him up for dates at the end of his shifts garnered lots of laughter from your other pediatric doctors, and some of the emergency floor. (Dr. Shen and Dr. Ellis started their own betting pool, for a minute, based on when you would show up throughout the week).
For once, though, the reason you’re coming into the hospital isn’t about you, and it isn’t even about Jack. It’s about your daughter.
At eight years old, she has lots of opinions. It had started that morning when she woke up and decided she did not want to brush her teeth (which you of course had to convince her to do), she’d been upset to find that Jack was working and could not ride bikes with her (as they liked to do on Saturday mornings he had off work), and then suddenly decided that she absolutely would not be getting her Flu vaccine you had already scheduled her for at your local pharmacy today.
It isn’t often you give in to your daughter's outlandish whims, but you also know that aversions to needles is something that can become worse the older a person gets. You dealt with parents fainting over their child getting a small shot in the arm enough to know that you did not want your daughter to one day fear needles that much. So that’s why you made her a deal.
Get your vaccine from mom at work and maybe you can see Jack.
She’d been all for it, of course. From the day you’d introduced her and Jack seven years ago, she and him had been attached at the hip. It’s why you know that bribing her with the thought of his attention is a sure fire way to get her on board.
“Can we go see Jack now?” she asks the minute you step on the chaotic emergency floor. Even though she didn’t see her biological father often, and had known Jack since she was a baby, she still liked calling him Jack. You and Jack never correct her because you know that kids can have a hard time relinquishing titles like that.
“Have to get your shot first,” you tell her, weaving through doctors and nurses striding by in a frenzied hurry. You’re mostly trying to get off this floor before she sees something traumatizing.
You pass a young woman screaming at the top of her lungs in the psych hold area and you cringe, angling your daughter’s curious gaze away.
Entering through this floor had not been your first idea. Pedes was a few floors up, and not nearly as chaotic as the emergency floor. It also tended to not have nearly as much blood or gore. It had just about the same level of loudness, though—especially when babies are concerned.
“Is that my favorite pedes doctor coming in on her day off again?”
You flinch and turn your head just as you and your daughter have just about made it to the elevators. Since Jack’s been working more day shifts recently (to get better aligned with you and your daughter’s schedules, bless him), a whole new cast of characters has been taking up residence in his stories.
This one you recognize immediately, though.
“Dana,” you say with a short laugh, reaching out to give her a quick sidearm hug, the other still holding your daughter’s hand captive in your own.
She returns it softly, grinning at you with that warm, toothy smile.
“Hey hon.” She releases you after a quick pat on the back, eyes glittering. She looks down at your daughter and bends on her knees. “And here’s the one we’ve all heard so much about from Jack.”
You adjust your hand to rest between your daughter’s shoulder blades, gently nudging her forward. She’s dressed in a bedazzled rainbow dash t-shirt (the best My Little Pony, in her opinion) and a tulle skirt, and several butterfly clips in her hair. She’s been picking out her own outfits recently, but luckily they were still pretty cute.
She looks back at you nervously, but offers Dana a smile when she turns her head back. She gives the older woman a small wave.
“We didn’t want to have to spend the day at work,” you say to her, “but someone is a little hesitant to get her flu shot, so I thought I’d just bring her in and do it here.”
Dana shoots you a knowing look. “Well, let me know if I can help you guys at all.”—she turns to your daughter then, a smile on her painted lips—“Maybe if it all goes well, you can come see me for some stickers afterward?”
Your daughter grins, looking back at you. “Can we go do it now?”
You laugh at her sudden enthusiasm, turning to Dana. “You should come join us on the pediatric floor.”
“No thank you,” she says, shaking her head, “if I had to hear babies crying all day I’d lose my mind. Those days are over for me.”
“You have the touch!” you tell her over your shoulder as you weave into the elevator with your daughter in tow.
“I have bribes.” Dana’s laugh follows you as the doors begin to slide shut. “Not the same thing.”
You continue to smile even as the doors slide shut and the familiar weightless feeling takes hold as the elevator moves. Your daughter slides her hand from yours and you quickly check your phone for any notifications. The last text you received was at 7am this morning—Jack sneaking out but not without telling you he loves you over text and that he’d made breakfast.
You bite your lip as you relive the butterflies that erupted in your stomach from the simple phrase.
That is what is so rare, so special about Jack. He loves you unconditionally. Your last boyfriend, your daughter’s father, had practically skipped town when he found out you were pregnant. As far as you were concerned, he was just a sperm donor.
Luckily, you had met Jack about six months into your pregnancy. Somehow in that brief period when you spoke infrequently in between night shift consultations, you being single had come up in conversation and he made his move.
Two years later, he was the one doing puzzles with your daughter and drawing with crayons at the kitchen table. Later, he was the one teaching her how to ride a bicycle and tie her shoes. When you and Jack got married four years ago, your daughter had beamed ear-to-ear during the entire reception—and had run up to give her new step-dad a huge hug that resulted in many resounding “awws” in the audience.
Your daughter knew no other male parental figure except Jack, not really. Your ex visited on holidays, often with some kind of lazy $20 Target gift card and a Hallmark card. There’s some kind of the mysticism that comes when you’re a kid that’s visited by an absent parent once in a blue moon that keeps them haunting the back of your mind like an apparition, always.
She doesn’t know him like you do, and she only sees him twice a year, so she doesn’t have a fully-realized image of what he is or what kind of person he could be. She gives him graces that she wouldn’t afford anyone else in her life that are constants because of that mysticism and childhood naïveté. You don’t blame her—can’t. You do blame your ex, but there’s really not anything you can do about that either—except demand child support and remind him with texts of her birthday coming up every year.
You reach over to squeeze her shoulder affectionately and she looks up at you, giving a small smile.
“It will be over in no time, I promise.” You let go of her shoulder just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open to the, thankfully, much quieter pediatrics floor.
In the distance, you hear a baby crying that is quickly soothed by their mother’s voice. You glance down at your daughter as she steps into the floor behind you and your heart pangs.
Her eyes are wide, taking in every person that walks by with scrutiny, and she tries to hide the slight tremble to her hands.
You bend your knee, putting on your trained pediatrics smile. Her eyes dart to yours, a plea on her lips. “It will be over so quickly. I promise. And then we will see Mrs. Dana and she will give us stickers and we can go see Jack and give him a hug.”
She doesn’t seem entirely comfortable, still, but she nods and follows you as you lead her to the circle of desks near the center of the room. It’s a very similar setup to the emergency floor, except the rooms are less windowed for privacy and the walls are painted in a soothing nature scene for the kids to enjoy.
You find one of the pediatrics nurses, a friend of yours, and you ask him for some assistance. You set your daughter down in one of the stools at the front.
“Okay, this is mom’s friend Henry, and he’s going to help us with your flu shot. Is that okay?”
Your daughter looks over at the mid-twenty year old man standing across from her, hands clenched into little fists in her lap. She nods, then starts pulling at one of the strings in her rainbow skirt.
You look over at Henry, who begins prepping the shot. Your daughter stares at you with a tremulous chin, eyes beading with tears.
As Henry begins to wipe her upper arm with a sterile pad, she flinches and turns away, hiding her upper body from sight.
“I want Jack,” she says softly, “can Jack do it? I promise I will if he comes.”
You sigh and turn to Henry, who shrugs. You look down at your phone and raise a brow when it vibrates in your hand, as if beckoned.
Jack<3: how did little one’s shot go today? i’m on lunch
“Stay here with Henry for a minute, okay, honey? I'm going to go make a phone call.” Your daughter nods, but gives Henry a skeptical side eye as he continues to stand in front of her.
You back far enough away that your daughter can’t hear and press on Jack’s contact info to call him.
It only has to ring once before you hear his voice on the other side.
“You okay? Need me to head out?”
Your stomach flutters at the concern in his voice, even though you think it might be a little sadistic to feel that. Maybe it’s just that every day, in little moments, you’re reminded how much you and your daughter mean to him.
“If I were to tell you I’m in pediatrics right now, with little Miss-Afraid-of-Needles near-hyperventilating at just the thought of getting her flu shot, what would you do?”
“I thought you guys had an appointment for that?” You can hear shuffling on the other end and the sound of someone asking him a question, which he replies in a muffled voice you can’t make out.
“Well, I made a mistake,” you tell him, “I let her decide where we go to get the shot. I also promised she would see you after and that Dana would give her stickers. And she’s still upset about it all.”
“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, you know that?”
You snort a laugh through your nose. “Like you’re any better? Don’t think I didn’t see the smiley face you made her out of chocolate chips on her pancakes this morning.”
“It’s our Saturday tradition, honey. You know that.”
“I know, I know,” you laugh again, “just don’t try to lecture me about being too soft on her when I can literally hear you running to catch the elevator right now.”
He chuckles, then quietens.
“—I think the elevator’s about to arrive. I’ll see you in a minute?”
You nod, then you realize he can’t see you. “I love you. Thank you for making the time.”
You can hear the smile in his voice as he replies. “For you? Always.”
The call cuts just as you hear the elevator doors ding on the other side of the call. You turn around to look at your daughter, only to find her putting stickers all over poor Nurse Henry’s arm. You grin at her enthusiasm, striding over.
“You getting Nurse Henry looking pretty over here?”
Your daughter clams up as if she’s expecting you to be angry at her sudden 180 in emotion. You know kids, though, and you know that her fear was real and that just because she’s been distracted doesn’t mean she was faking it before. You squat down to her level, gently stroking her hair.
“Jack’s coming up now to give you your shot.”
Your daughter beams, but after a moment shrivels in on herself, her lip trembling.
You give her a kiss on the cheek. You pull back, forcing her to look at your eyes with a hand on her chin. “It will be okay. I promise.”
As if on cue, the elevator doors open and Jack comes striding in. He looks around for just a few seconds before his eyes land on where you stand across the room. He beams and quickly strides over.
Henry steps back as Jack takes his spot.
“Hey, bug,” he says to her. He pokes her arm and she lets out a soft laugh, turning away. “I hear you’re a little scared of your shot?”
She wrinkles her nose. “It hurts. And I can’t sleep on my arm at night when I get them.”
“Well,” Jack says, snapping on a pair of gloves from nearby, “sometimes life is about doing things that might make us hurt for a day or two so we don’t get really hurt later.”
“But I’ve never had the flu before,” she says, furrowing her brows.
“Do you remember what I told you about our bodies? That we have fighters inside of us that are usually really good at keeping viruses like the flu from making us sick?” She nods, so he continues. “Well, this shot”—he picks up the needle to show her—“has a code in it that those little fighters can learn, so that when you do get the flu, you might not get sick at all, because now they know what they’re fighting.”
Your daughter nods very seriously. “So my fighters are like Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash learning more about Nightmare Moon so they can stop her from taking over the world next time she shows up?”
You notice from the corner of your eye Henry biting his lip to smother his laughter. Meanwhile, you’re actually pretty impressed by her comparison to her favorite show. You also think in the same train of thought that maybe she needed less screen time.
“Yep, exactly,” Jack agrees enthusiastically. “And this shot is like the Elements of Harmony coming to change Nightmare Moon back into Princess Luna.”
Now you’re the one holding back your laughter. You look over at Jack, impressed by his knowledge. He shoots you a sly wink as if to say ‘I know more than I’m letting on.’
Your daughter squares her shoulders and nods. “Okay,” she says, “do it. I’m ready.”
Jack smiles and grabs the sterile swab to rewipe her upper arm. She flinches at the cold liquid and you walk over to stand in front of her.
“Just look at me,” you tell her softly, “it will be over before you know it.”
She follows your direction obediently as Jack lines up the shot with her arm. As the needle enters, your daughter winces and tenses, but keeps her eyes on you all the while. Jack pushes the liquid in then removes the needle. He puts on a colorful bandaid to the wound.
“All done,” you say with a grin, “you did so good.”
She bashfully drops her eyes. “It barely even hurt.”
Jack stands, removing the gloves with a small, affectionate smile pulling at his lips.
She stands up from her stool. You think she’s going to move toward you when she surprises you by turning to hug Jack around his waist. Jack tilts his head toward her, surprised.
“Thanks, dad,” she says into his back. “You’re the best.”
She continues to bury her head into his scrubs, and Jack pats her head as he meets your shocked gaze. You think your mouth must be hanging open, but you can’t help it.
She pulls away and looks up at him. She frowns. “Why are you crying, dad?”
Jack wraps her in a gentle side hug, wiping away the small tears that had leaked out. “Nothing, bug. Just happy.”
Your daughter lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. She begins to move away from the two of you quickly. “Okay, well stop crying and come pick out stickers with me.”
You snort at her drill-sergeant order and look over at Jack, who continues to grin and shake his head. You reach over to loop an arm around his waist, planting a kiss to his cheek.
“You earned it,” you whisper, “only a dad knows that many My Little Pony references.”
Jack lets out a laugh, leaning forward to capture your mouth in a full kiss.
The moment is broken when your daughter lets out a loud groan from across the room. “Come onnnn, gosh you guys are so gross!”
You laugh and pull away. You sweep your hand toward your daughter with a sarcastic grin. “C'mon, Jack. Fatherhood awaits.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Gerard Argent/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Gerard Argent, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Original Child Character(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Teen Wolf (TV) Season 2, Good Gerard Argent, I’m continuing to make this a thing, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Eloping, France (Country), Mentioned Chris Argent, Minor Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Mpreg | Male Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnant Stiles Stilinski, Gerard Argent loves Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski loves Gerard Argent, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Sheriff Stilinski’s Name is Noah (Teen Wolf), Childbirth, Graphic Depictions of Childbirth, Kid Fic, Running Away, No beta we die like Peter Hale fails to
Summary:
Stiles had expected to hate Gerard Argent, but he wound up falling in love with him instead. When he becomes pregnant, Gerard decides he’s done hiding their relationship. They run off and get married then jet away to France for the next adventure for their little family
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In the spirit of democracy, this summer is going to be a DBF series double-header ;)
On a camping trip celebrating your father's fiftieth birthday party, you cross paths with Jack, his best friend and old military pal. What follows is a seventy-two-hour love affair that ends with his abrupt departure. No note, no calls. You don't even know how to find him - or if you want to.
Four years later, you begin your ER residency at PTMC. Your night shift attending? The same man who took your virginity, broke your heart, and then disappeared without a trace. But you're not the same wide-eyed girl he left behind, and you soon prove yourself as an impressive force of nature.
He’s a curse you can’t break. You are the temptation he can’t resist.
Coming soon to a Tumblr near you!
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author's note: omg i can barely think of anything in this heat, i need this heatwave to end quick!! im on SSRIs and i can't breathe please shawn hatosy if you can hear me help us please shawn hatosy save us!!
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