#ace!muralist!reader

“Hey Troublemaker, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Comes Jack’s soothing rumble, made tinny through your phone’s speaker. For a moment, you’re distracted from your car’s impending death by how excited he sounds that you called.

You don’t phone him often, though he makes a point of calling you when it’s been more than a few days since you’ve seen each other in person. You’re trying to get better at phoning him, instead of just texting. You feel bad calling because you have a problem, and not just because you want to.

“So smoke coming out from your car hood is normally a bad thing, right?” You wince, as if downplaying it will somehow make your car fix itself.

You barely get the words out before he barks down the line, “DO NOT touch the hood, there might be a fire in the engine, you could burn yourself trying to open it.”

“Noted,” You say, grinning a bit at the sudden shift to protectiveness in his tone, “I turned my car off, I guess I’ll just keep watching and hope it doesn’t explode?” Not sure what else you’re supposed to do, you don’t know the first thing about cars.

You can hear shifting on his end, papers shuffling, his breath coming quicker like he’s rushing around his place.

“Where are you? I know a guy who I can call to get it towed to his garage, he’s good, trustworthy.” Of course, Jack knows a guy; he has some kind of connection for every conceivable problem one might run into.

“Um, I made it about halfway home before I had to pull over.” You say, looking around the dark street to get your bearings.

“Drop me your location and I’ll call him on my way to pick you up.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he wouldn’t be going well out of his way to do this for you.

“No, I mean, I can take the bus the rest of the way. You have work soon, just give me this guy’s number, and I’ll get it sorted.” You can’t help trying to brush off his offer; you’re still learning to accept help when someone offers it.

“I have a few hours, that’s plenty of time to wait with you and then drive you home. I'll pick us up something for while we wait. You up for a quick coffee?” He presses, knowing he needs to push you sometimes. He’s noticed you have a habit of avoiding depending on other people. Before he quickly follows up with, “Well, coffee for me, Chai for you.”

You melt a little at the reminder that he knows you well enough to know you prefer tea to coffee, and that Chai is your favourite.

You watch the smoke trailing from your car hood disappear into the cold night air, “That sounds perfect."

Jack Abbot is a problem solver, a fixer. It's something you noticed about him during your time volunteering in the ER, especially witnessing some of his more creative saves. But having him go out of his way to fix things for you, has been a little hard to get used to.

You've always solved your own problems, especially since moving to the city. Even when you lived at home with your family, they were there for support, but you did the heavy lifting.

It feels like you're losing control when Jack takes over and fixes your problems for you. Not to mention the gnawing feeling, that you owe him, that you need to pay him back.

So you feel out of your depth when, later that evening, you find out that on top of arranging the mechanic, Jack has already paid for the tow and told the mechanic to charge him for whatever needs fixing.

You try to play it cool when you text him, but he must be able to read between the lines, because he’s on the defensive right away. Texting that it was just easier that way, made more sense since they're his mechanic anyway, his card was already on file. He doesn’t send any emoji’s but you can practically see him shrugging his shoulders with a dumb little fake frown on his face, practically screaming sorry, not sorry.

Before you have time to dive into just how weird it makes you feel that he spent so much money on you without even asking, the mechanic follows up to tell you your car is basically a write-off; they can fix it, but it would cost more than the car is actually worth.

And sure, it's old, and you haven't been the best at looking after it, but you like your car, you’d spent years working summer jobs and part-time on weekends in high school so you could save to buy it. And it's been reliable, till now, and really good on gas.

So you tell him you want him to go ahead with the fix, and to switch payments over to your card. For now, your car is stuck in their garage, unsafe to drive, and because of the holidays, the parts will take a few weeks to ship. Which is fucking awful timing, you were planning on road tripping to visit your family for the holidays once your office closed.

Jack comes over in the morning, after his shift, with the promise of driving you to work before he goes home to sleep. You know he must be exhausted, he waited with you for the tow before driving you home and rushing off to work.

Now he's back at your place again, just over 12 hours later, though he doesn't show how tired he must be. Once he’s made it inside, he pulls you into a tight hug and places a lingering kiss on your forehead, practically nuzzling into your hair.

Sighing, you tuck yourself into his body, digging your nose into the junction of his neck, enjoying how he smells a little of hospital antiseptic and mostly of his own musk from working hard.

“My cars fucked.” You mumble into him, words muffled by his scrubs.

One of his hands rubs soothingly up and down your back, “They'll fix it, it's just gonna take a little while.”

“Yeah, I'm just mad at myself for not taking better care of my car. Plus, now I’m not sure how I'll see my family for Christmas.” You say, feeling a little antsy broaching the subject. Jack knows about your plans to go home for the holidays, you have other plans to celebrate with just him once you’re back. But you worry that he’s going to jump straight into problem-solving mode, you just want some time to think about it on your own for a bit.

Maybe you could fly, though the ticket prices are gonna be astronomical and there's a good chance they'll be sold out. Or you could rent a car… it's all gonna be pretty out of your budget.

“We'll figure it out.” He says, squeezing you tight and making your belly turn to goo.

“Mhm, future problem, for now, I need to finish packing my lunch.” You say with a sigh, running your hand through the soft curls at the nape of his neck before extracting yourself from his arms.

At this rate, you're really considering staying in Pittsburgh for Christmas. You've had no luck finding a decent plane ticket, and rental cars are just out of the question expensive.

You’re making dinner while you’re on the phone with Jack, as he’s getting ready for work, bemoaning the topic once more when he casually offers to drive you.

There’s silence on the line while you process what he just said. Because for him to offer to drive you, five and a half hours out of his way, to what? Stay with you and your family for the holidays? After only kind of being together for a few weeks, knowing each other a grand total of two months, that’s just crazy.

“I don’t know, Jack… that might be moving a little quick, don’t you think?” You ask, alarm bells ringing through your brain that sound shockingly similar to the sirens from Kill Bill.

“It doesn’t have to be, we can make it a fun little road trip, and then I’ll hole up in a hotel somewhere while you visit your family. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a vacation, I could use the break, there’s no pressure to make this a big meet-the-family, hullabaloo. Unless that's something you’d like…” And you nearly groan, because he kind of sounds like he wants that to be something you’d like. But you are not ready to explain to your family that not only are you in a relationship for the first time ever, but he’s also older than you, by a not insignificant, number of years.

Sometimes, you forget how much older he is than you, but then he’ll say some shit like hullabaloo without batting an eye, and you’re violently reminded of that fact.

“Don't you have holiday plans with your family?” And as soon as you ask, you realize he’s never told you anything about his family, not if his parents are still alive or if he has any siblings. It’s another stinging reminder of how little you still know about each other.

“No… actually, my parents live in the UK, moved over maybe ten years ago, to be closer to our extended family. So I don’t see them too often, maybe every few years. It’s been hard to pull myself away from the ER long enough to make an international trip.” He rumbles, sounding a little distracted, like he’s trying not to dwell on how little he sees them.

“Are you close with them? I don’t think I could handle my Mom being so far away. Sometimes, I struggle with her just being a semi-annoying drive away.” You ask, mind drifting as you wonder what his childhood was like, what his parents are like.

“Nah, distance is good for us, trust me, if my Father and I were still on the same continent, there’s a chance one of us would’ve killed the other by now.” And that is a sentiment you know all too fucking well. Your patience will be sorely tested by your Dad during your holiday visit.

“Damn, maybe we have more in common than I originally thought.” You can’t help but mutter, sparking a startled laugh out of Jack.

“Perfect, we can bond over our shared daddy issues on our road trip. What do you say, sweetheart?” Well, with an offer like that… yes, obviously.

Now that your road trip has turned into a two-person adventure, you drive headfirst into preparing for it, buying snacks, and putting together playlists. Packing and wrapping presents for your family, and finishing off a handmade Victorian puzzle purse letter for Jack. You’ve always struggled finding the right presents to buy for people, but making presents, on the other hand, well that you excel at. 

So you spend days writing a letter to Jack, about all the little things you notice and appreciate about him, how he makes you feel, how glad you are that your lives have crossed paths and intertwined. Then you intricately paint and draw on the card stock and fold it together into a complex little square. You also buy him an expensive bottle of whisky, just to cover your bases. 

Jack picks you up from your apartment, meeting you at your door and grabbing your suitcase before you can even protest. Once he has it all loaded into his car, you reach out and squeeze his hand, thanking him for offering to do this.

It's snowing a little as he opens the passenger door for you, helping you up as he always does. It feels more like Christmas than you've felt in a long time. 

Something about getting older has made the holiday lose some of its charm, slowly drained of the warmth it gave you when you were a kid. But here, now, you feel that spark again, the joy of being with someone important to you and enjoying good music and quality time together. You even curated your treat bag to be holiday themed, adding in mandarin oranges, soft homemade gingerbread, a Terry's chocolate orange, hell, even candy canes.

The interior of his car is big and comfortable, and you excitedly settle in for the long drive. More than ready to leave behind the dirty grey slush coating the city and hit the open highway. 

You make it three and a half hours into the drive when the snow that started as specks, barely sticking to the ground, turn into fat heavy flakes that batter the windshield and blanket the road. Going from the pretty swirling dots of poor visibility to the near whiteout of a blizzard in just a few minutes. 

You hear Jack swear quietly to himself as he tries to manoeuvre the worsening winter storm. There are no cars ahead of you to give any idea of where the lines of the road, or really the road itself, are.

“Shit, ok, don’t worry.” You’re not sure who he’s trying to calm more, you or himself. “I can’t pull over yet, in case someone can’t stop or see and plows into us. Do you have service? Can you look and see if there’s a rest stop close by?”

You grab your phone as quickly as you can, pulling up a map and frantically searching to see how close you are to any place you can use to pull off the highway. But your cell reception is out. You keep swiping, trying to reload the map, but it only shows that stupid no service try again button.

“No service, oh god, we’re so fucked.” You whine, craning your body around to see snow engulf the car through every window you try to look out. You’re surrounded by a sea of white.

“That’s the spirit. Nothing gets you through an emergency quite like panicking immediately.” He says, tone flat and, despite his maintained focus on the road, nearly dripping in sarcasm.

“I can panic and keep an eye out for a way out of this mess all at the same time, thank you very much.” Comes your haughty reply. 

“Me-ow” and if his hands weren't gripping the wheel so tight, you think he would have pretended to claw at you.

Hysterical laughter bubbles out of you at the absurdity of it, but you quickly cut yourself off as you see what looks like snow piled around a side road.

“Jack, there! 3 o'clock, that looks like a side road-” You point fast, nearly jamming your finger against the windshield in your haste.

“Good eye, sweetheart.” He praises, his knuckles still clenched hard on the wheel, joints looking like they’re trying to burst out of his skin with the force of his grip. 

When he slowly turns right onto the side street, the car drifts ominously, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll end up in the ditch, snow blanketing the car so no one finds you until it’s too late. Your hand shoots out to grab his arm, but Jack has it handled, overangling the tires to correct the direction of the car. 

He continues for a few minutes on the snow-covered side road before slowly coming to a stop under the cover of trees. The snow is piled high, but his four-wheel drive makes it easy enough to pull over, especially now that he can take his time without worrying about getting rear-ended.

With the car idling and the snow muffling all the sound around you, it feels peaceful. You have a moment to think about how badly this could have gone wrong if you had been driving by yourself in your little car. 

You’re both silent for a moment, the windshield wipers off, snow quickly covering the glass, casting you in shadow. 

“If there wasn't a small chance of us freezing to death, I would say this is a pretty nice way to spend time with you.” You say, looking over to him. 

It’s not often that you get to just watch him, it’s nice, seeing his gaze shift through the car side windows. His face soft and open as he watches the snow pile up around you. The falling flakes create a constantly shifting pattern of light over him, highlighting the salt and pepper in his stubble and the strong line of his nose. 

“And here I thought the freezing to death part only added to the ambiance.” He deadpans, looking over to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. 

You have the sudden, intense urge to climb over the middle console and right into his lap.

“Think we’ll be stuck overnight?” You ask instead, distracting yourself.

“Hard to say, it doesn’t look like it’ll stop too soon, and even if it does, I don’t know if the roads’ll be good enough to drive on.”

“Well, I’m thinking, we try to get comfortable then, do these seats recline?” You ask, hand searching for a button or something along the side of the seat. When you manage to find a lever and give it a yank, the whole seat flies back nearly flat, making you gasp. 

“Oh, that’s the good stuff,” You say, satisfied, kicking off your shoes to prop your socked feet up on his dash and winding your arms behind your head. “Now all we need is some entertainment.”

It’s easy for a while, he turns the engine off to conserve gas, and you retrieve your coats so you can use them like blankets. You chat and pilfer your snack bag, and you would honestly place tonight as one of your top dates so far. Not that it’s even technically a date.

The hours tick by, and you check outside, seeing the snow hasn’t stopped, just barely slowed. It’s nearly pitch black out now, and you have to make peace with the fact that you really will be stuck overnight. 

He turns the car on again every few hours to warm it up, going outside to make sure the exhaust hasn’t been covered. But the snow is starting to get in the way of opening the car door, even after Jack tamps down what he can with his shoes to make a path around the car. You’re a little worried that soon you’ll be trapped completely. 

With the looming thought of potential death, even if logically you know you probably won't die, you make a stupid last-minute decision. While he’s outside doing another car exhaust check, you crawl into the back and rifle through your suitcase, digging out the wrapped whisky and your letter. Because if you're going to die, you want to be a little drunk. 

You have a minute to try to nicely display your present to Jack, but it doesn’t work, the whisky keeps trying to roll off the dash, and it doesn’t fit in his cup holders. He’s opening the car door again before you figure out a nice way to present it all, so instead, you just hold them both awkwardly in your hands. Looking at Jack like you're a deer caught in his headlights, even though this was your idea. 

He freezes with the door still open, not quite moving to get in yet. “What’re you doing?” He asks, coming back to himself as a gust of wind sends a cold burst of snowflakes into the car, lumbering back into the driver's seat. 

“Ok, don’t make fun of me, but I just thought,” And you say the next part really quickly, hoping he’ll gloss over it if you do, “on the off chance that we do die, you might as well get your Christmas present now!”

There’s something tender in his eyes when he looks at you, seeing the embarrassed and tentative look on your face, your hands outstretched towards him, shaking a little as they hold a cutely wrapped bottle and a folded, painted square of paper.

“I’d never make fun of you,” He murmurs, adding on, “except for all the times you really, really deserve it.” 

You shove the gifts over to him, affectionately telling him, “Just take them dickhead.”

He places the wrapped bottle gently on his lap and starts turning over the folded letter in his hands, making you second-guess giving it to him, not having thought this through. Your original plan was to hide it somewhere in his bags so he would find the gift and letter after he dropped you off and went to his hotel. But this way means you have to watch his reaction in real time.

“You don’t have to read it now, I know it’s a little cheesy.” You fumble, trying to take it back somehow, make it like he didn’t see it in the first place.

“Uh-uh, no take backsies now, what happened to might as well since we’re going to die?” He’s still turning it over in his hands, examining all the small details you’ve painted and drawn. “How do you open it?”

“I said on the chance,” You mumble, hands reaching over to gently pry open the first tucked paper fold, leaving it in his hands as he unfurls the rest of the first layer. 

The silence in the car is agony as he reads the small script you’ve adorned the edges of that first layer with. You look at him from under your lashes, your head tilted down to mostly face your lap. There’s a small smile tugging at his lips, his eyes shining as they dance over the page. 

He pulls open the next layer, his mouth dropping open as his hands smooth the paper flat. “This is incredible.” He breathes, eyes tearing away from the letter to stare at you.

“You like it?” This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever been with someone romantically, your heart written and drawn on the page in his hands. 

“I fucking love it, this is the most thoughtful- fuck- Sweetheart this- you mean so damn much to me.” He nearly groans, “I really want to kiss you, would that- can I?”

His eyes search yours for any signs of discomfort, but you lean forward, really wanting to see what kissing Jack will be like. Your heart speeds up as you think of your previous dating attempts and how each new person and each new first kiss left you feeling nothing, or worse, feeling like a trapped animal.

One of your hands settles for leverage on his knee, shifting so you close some of the distance between the two of you. His hand comes up, caressing the side of your face before he cards his fingers through your hair. 

He tugs you forward, your stomach swooping as your lips meet. His lips are soft, pressing insistently against yours, chaste and sweet. His stubble rubs roughly against your skin as he presses deeper against you before pulling back a breath and diving back for one more smack of his lips. 

And then he's peppering your face with kisses, everywhere, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. Pealing into laughter, you try to rear back, but he has your head in a vice grip, and the onslaught continues. 

Finally, he lets you go, looking self-satisfied as you flop back into your seat, breathless and flushed. 

While you regain your senses, he unwraps the whisky bottle, letting out a whistle as he recognizes the label as a favourite of his. He’s quick to open the bottle, smelling the warm spice of alcohol that wafts out. 

“One for luck.” He says, cheer-sing it your way before taking a sip straight from the bottle.

From there, you take turns sipping the sharp amber liquid, it burns your esophagus going down, but leaves a pleasant warmth. You don’t have the palate to know good whisky from bad whisky, but this one seems ok enough to you; it’ll get you tipsy anyhow.

You’re pleasantly buzzed and are comfortably settled back into your reclined seats when you look back over to Jack and feel another tug of desire to be close to him. Not intimate, kissing him was nice, but it still didn’t do anything for you, you just want to be close.

“Jack…” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to.

“Yeah, troublemaker?” He turns to meet your eyes, sounding relaxed. 

“Would you hold me?” You ask, and see his eyes flash playfully at your request.

“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask, get your butt over here!” His hands reach out to start pulling you his way, making you giggle and nearly collapse over the console as he tries to manhandle you. 

It’s awkward, with the layout of the car and the steering wheel, and since you're trying to conserve heat, you can’t just step out of the car. You decide the passenger seat is the better option, so you crawl into the back while he shifts over, his prosthetic catching on the console and making him swear. He fumbles into the seat, and you wonder why he doesn’t just take it off, your mouth moving before you even think, asking him as much. 

His eyes cut to yours, something dark and intense in his gaze. 

“What, you should take your prosthetic off, there’s no way you’ve been comfortable keeping it on as long as you have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, his eyes searching yours, and you wonder, for the first time, if like you, who’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to see what part of you he’ll learn about and decided is too much; if he’s been wondering what part of himself will be too much for you to handle.

“Don’t stay uncomfortable cause you think you might freak me out. Trust me, I can handle seeing your stump.” You goad. 

Then he shifts, breaking eye contact and leaning forward to get the leverage to take his prosthetic off. The musty smell of trapped sweat permeating the car. It’s quickly replaced by a lemony smell as he takes out lysol wipes from his glove box to clean off his limb and the liner of his prosthetic.

It takes him a few minutes, but by the time he’s done, the tension is gone from the air of the car.

“Alright kid, come on over.” He says, voice light. 

He’s pressed up against the center console as far as he can go, giving you a bit of wiggle room to crawl over him and settle along his right side. You manage to slide into place half on top and half beside him, leaning back, angled along the car door. You try not to put too much weight on Jack, a little worried you’ll squish him. 

Clearly, he can feel the muscles straining in your body, because one hand comes up to pull your right knee forward across his body, shifting you so you’re lying stomach down, flat overtop of him, and then his right arm snakes along your spine and presses you down. 

You relax into his hold, your breathing slowing down to match his, and his body heat seeping into you. You could easily fall asleep like this.

“Thanks for coming with me and saving me from freezing to death on my own.” You murmur drowsily.

“That’s what I’m here for. Besides, no one else I’d rather be trapped with.” His hand comes up to stroke your hair, before he continues, “Get some sleep troublemaker, I’ll make sure we don’t freeze.”

It’s easy to fall into dreaming after that, knowing Jack will keep you safe.

A/N: This is my first holiday drabble, and I had a LOT of fun writing it, I also got stuck in a lot of places cause my brain kept going realism route (What do they do if they have to pee!!) But I really like how it turned out.

I love comments (seriously, they make my day), so let me know if you liked this! I'm also always open to requests, my asks are open.

“Fuck,” You murmur, still needing a moment to get your wits about you. Voice thick with sleep and eyes blinking rapidly to try to clear the drowsiness. “You’re fine, I was just really deep asleep.” 

God, you feel like you could fall back asleep in less than a second if he let you lie back down again. But then Jack straightens, turns, and flicks on the lights, ruining any idea of sleep. You groan at the sudden burst of light. 

“What time is it?” You yawn, hands reaching up to scrub at your face, like you can wake yourself up through sheer force of will.

“0630-” He starts, before you cut him off.

“Gross. Please note I am not a morning person.”

“I’m just about to hand off my cases to day shift. Thought you might want me to wake you before I have to drag you out of here for breakfast. Ya know, they kind of frown on bringing unconscious people into restaurants. Or have you changed your mind already?” He sinks down to a squat beside the bed, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. 

“Don’t make me reassure your ego at this ungodly hour, Jack. How many brain cells do you think I knocked out of my skull last night? I guarantee it wasn’t enough to turn down complimentary breakfast.” You snark. Being overtired really brings out your mean-teasing side.

“Geez, you know just what to say to make a guy feel special. All right, Salvador Fall-í keep that up, and you’re getting hospital jello for breakfast.” He snarks back, his eyes narrowed teasingly at you.  

“Wooah hold your horses there cowboy, let's not be too hasty.” You say, shaking your head. You know he’s bluffing, but you're too grossed out with hospital food to call him on it.  

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, knew you were all talk.” He jokes.

A cold bloom of fear takes root in your chest. 

You’re all talk, I never should have wasted my time.

You push the echo of old memories away.

He doesn’t seem to notice your lapse, continuing on. “Take some time to get ready and meet me by the nurses’ station around 0700, and then we can head out. K” His hand reaches out to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ok, see you in a bit.” You manage, suddenly far too deep in your head to give much thought to a real response. He dips out of the room, leaving you to your overthinking.

You try to avoid the heaviness taking over your chest by pulling out your phone to text your boss that you need to take a sick day. 

But your text is sent all too quickly, and you’re left with silence again, thinking about where this dance with Abbot is going. You don’t want to assume anything from his side of things, but you’re starting to feel things for the man that you haven’t felt in a long fucking time. 

Your last relationships, not that you count any of your brief experiences with dating as real relationships, flood your mind. Back when, with each new person, you thought it might just be different this time, if you just had enough time to get to know them. When you thought things hadn’t worked out in the past because they were moving too fast, that when you had feelings for someone new, they would be different! only to feel nothing when things got physical, no matter how long you waited or got to know them. Things would always go belly up when you put boundaries in place, and they realised you meant it when you said you never wanted to have sex. 

You need to get a grip. Jack is a friend, just a friend, and breakfast with him is just breakfast, nothing more. You’re getting ahead of yourself all over again, worrying about things that aren’t going to happen. 

Maybe you’ll try to slip into conversation that you're asexual. Which scares you, you never know how someone is going to react. How it will change how he sees you, how he talks to you. You really like how easy things are with Jack right now; you don’t want to ruin that. 

But you also think about how you don’t want anyone in your life, who doesn’t understand you, or who has an issue with your sexuality. 

Fuck you’re too sore and tired for this.

You’ve wasted enough time, you need to go brush your teeth and try to straighten up before you meet back up with Jack.

You’re chatting with Dana again at the nurses’ hub while you wait for Jack, when a tall doctor wanders over, swiping his badge to log into one of the station computers. 

Dana begins updating him on patient statuses, but all the words go right over your head. Lots of medical terms and patient names. It’s fascinating to watch them interact, rapid-fire questions and answers, a relationship that must have been built over years of long hours together. 

“Oh, and before you rush off, this right here-” She says, stopping to gesture over to you “Is our muralist.”

Taken off guard from your comfortable post watching them from the side of the hub, you quickly raise a hand to wave at him, letting out a surprised. “Hi!”

He levels you with a warm smile and an evaluating gaze. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Dr. Robby, but you can just call me Robby… or Michael if you’d like.” His voice is soft, he reminds you of a big, sad teddy bear. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well. I’m the one who’s been working on the mural, I’m sure you’ve already heard plenty about me, especially after last night.” That earns a laugh from him and Dana. 

“Ya, I heard you took a nasty spill. How’re you feeling?”

“A little sore, but fine. Everyone’s been really nice, making sure I didn’t give myself brain damage and everything.”

“That’s good to hear-” Before he can continue Dana interrupts him with a smirk. “Mhmm, Dr. Abbot made sure she was well taken care of.” 

Dr. Robby perks up at that, his eyes crinkling in delight, making his crow’s feet stand out. 

“Is that so?” 

Bewildered at the way Dana makes it sound far more scandalous than the reality of last night. You glance between the two of them.

“Um, if by well taken care of you mean he gave me a granola bar and let me sleep in the on-call room, then yeah.” They give each other a look at your response. “What?”

Before either of them can respond, they both look over your shoulder. You turn your head to see Jack approaching. 

“Speak of the devil.” Robby says. 

“Cap’n, I see you’ve met our artist in residence.” Jack says, looking the same as when you saw him just half an hour ago, but now sporting a camo backpack.

“Yeah, I was just hearing about how you did such a thorough job looking after her injuries.” Robby notes, eyes flicking between you and Abbot.

“Brother, don’t even get me started. This troublemaker has been keeping my hands full most of the night.” Jack looks you up and down out of his periphery while he talks. Now that sounded scandalous in a whole new way.

“Of course, I’m sure none of the nurses could have handled such a difficult case.” Robby teases.

You feel a little out of your depth with the two of them chatting like you aren't standing right there. Can't help but butt in, interrupting their easy banter. “Actually, I threatened to leave a zero-star Yelp review if I didn’t receive the best care possible. Really, his hands were tied.”

Robby's smile spreads wide at your comment. “Oh, I’m sure he just hated being tied up by you.”

Jack’s hand reaches out whip-fast to smack at the back of Robby’s head, the taller man laughing as he dances away. 

Your face flames at the implication. 

“Alright, let's get you out of here before Dr. Robby can make me regret the two of you meeting even more. You ready to go?” Jack asks, eyeing you over again. 

Still trying to get your burning face under control, you mumble out, “Yeah, yeah, um, it was nice meeting you Robby, and I’ll see you later Dana.”

“Adiós Compadres.” Jack says, his hand reaching out to lay a palm flat on the middle of your back, prompting you forward towards the exit. 

As you’re leaving, you manage to hear Robby telling Dana.

“You know, on second thought, you and Princess are right, I might have to throw a fifty into the betting pool.”

Jack walks you to a cafe a few blocks from the hospital, it’s cozy without being too cramped. It smells like freshly baked bread, and there are plants scattered all over the place. Warm orange lighting surrounds the place, helping keep out the harsh darkness of the morning. 

It’s so early that most of the tables are empty, and you’re happy to see an open spot right by the window. The waiter nods in approval when you questioningly point to said table. And as you make your way to grab a seat, Jack surprises you by pulling out your chair for you.

Nerves take hold once more, as your doubts over this just being a friendly hangout creep in again. Conflicted with your desire for this to turn into something more, and the fear that he’ll run once you tell him the truth about yourself.

“So how close am I to being pardoned of my concussion accusation?” You ask, disrupting the quiet that’s settled over you both as you look over the menu. 

“Consider yourself clear of all charges as long as you feel fine by the time you go to bed tonight.” He rumbles, his strong voice reassuring you.

When you lapse back into silence, the waiter comes over and takes your orders; black coffee and an omelette for Jack, and a chai latte and french toast for yourself.

“So, how long have you and Robby known each other?”  You ask once the waiter leaves. “You seem close.”

“Geez, feels like just about forever,” He says, leaning back in his chair and scratching along the back of his neck. “Robby and I met when I started at PTMC. We used to be pretty competitive back in the day, had a bit of an unspoken rivalry.” He laughs, and you can see the competitive nature that’s still there, but with age has lost some of its edge. 

“Pushed each other in all kinds of ways, made us both better doctors. Eventually, that turned into what we are now. This job can send you to the brink sometimes, but he’s the only one I trust to bring me back from it.”

“Mmm, like a platonic soulmate. My best friend and I are similar. Well, no competitive rivalry, but nothing is secret or off limits between us.” A small smile on your lips, hoping your friendship with her will also last the test of time. 

“You're best friend, one of the people you didn't want to bother with a medical emergency?” He tilts his head as he says it, tone just on the edge of mocking.

“Yes.” You say adamantly. “Because I know she would have shown up and wasted her night over what turned out to be nothing!”

Your drinks arrive then, breaking you out of your rehearsed rant.

“You consider that she might have wanted to be there for you?” He asks. 

And that takes all the wind out of your sails.

“Yeah, maybe… ok, so I concede that if she had a middle-of-the-night emergency that her family or fiancé couldn't be there for, that I would want her to call me. And I might be kinda pissed if she didn't call me to help. But! I had you and Dana there to make sure I was fine, and it really wasn't a big deal!” You know he’s right, but you feel the need to defend yourself anyway. 

In fact, there have been times when your best friend has been dealing with heavy life stuff, and she hasn’t reached out to you. She explains it afterwards, as just needing space and not wanting the mental load of having to talk it through or explain it with another person. Despite that, you still want to be the one she goes to for help or a shoulder to lean on. 

“Ok ok, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, just reminding you people are involved in your life for a reason, and they want to be there for you, even through the annoying things.” He says, eyes locked on yours. Intense but kind.

“You’re right, I will try to keep that in mind during future emergencies.” You say, letting yourself be emotionally open for a moment. 

“Or don't, if it means I get to hang out with you outside of the Hospital again.” He winks, honest to god winks.

Flustered, you let his sentence hang in the air for a moment, suspended in time between the two of you.

“You know, you don't have to wait for emergencies for that, right?” You say softly. 

His pinky brushes yours where your hand is loosely holding your mug on the table. The line of his left leg pressing against your left knee. 

“I don't?” His voice is low, and he's leaning close to you in a way that makes your stomach clench with fear and excitement, skin flushing hot for a moment.

“Of course not, actually I wa-” Your food arrives, interrupting you and sending your hands skittering apart to make room on the table.

You both thank your waiter, and before you can try to recover the moment, Jack is asking about where your parents have gone off to. 

Letting yourself be distracted, you fall into the familiar back and forth of your conversations with Jack, only this time, you're left feeling very much like you're on a date.

As promised, Jack pays for your breakfast and even takes the time to walk you back to your car at the Hospital. Making sure you have his number and that you promise to text him later to confirm you're feeling fine. 

You arrive home to your quiet apartment, happy to finally decompress with your creature comforts after what felt like the day that would never end. 

Your mind is even more fixated on Jack after your charged moment in the Cafe. 

However, your body is ready to go through the motions of showering and changing into comfortable clothes. After undressing, you take a moment to appreciate the nasty purple-blue bruise that's bloomed along your outer thigh and hip. 

Call yourself sick, but you’ve always liked being bruised; you don't always feel tethered to your body, and bruises have a way of making you feel grounded and connected to it again. You’re prone to dissociating, not a lot and not often, but enough to be annoying. Feeling so in your head that you feel like a camera stuck onto a mannequin body. There’s nothing quite like pain to make your brain stop feeling like something trapped inside your skull. 

You’re planning on taking advantage of your sick day to clean your apartment and work on the other projects you've been too busy to touch. Instead, after your shower, you find yourself sitting on your couch staring at the wall while you spiral. Replaying thoughts of the inevitable piece of you that will be too much for Jack to handle and will send him running away.

You give yourself ten minutes to wallow and think of all the worst-case scenarios. Once your time is up, you pull yourself together and force your brain to imagine the best-case scenario.

You’ve gotten accustomed to seeing Jack nearly every day now, you look forward to seeing him, and you want to keep seeing him. Maybe there is a world where you’re enough for someone like him.

Jack Abbot texts exactly like you expect him to, like an old man. 

Part five

A/N: Robby is still day shift, which is why this is his first time meeting reader. I was so excited for them to meet lol, I genuinely had a mental battle about turning this into a Rabbot x reader fic. But not to worry, this is just about Abbot x reader.

Maybe I'll have to write another series just for a Rabbot x reader universe. (Seriously thinking about Aro Robby and Ace reader with Abbot, so many cool layers to something like that)

Also sorry I had to do their text messages like that, Tumblr did not want to let me format it nicely, so if you want to see it written out check out my AO3!

🌿 I would love to hear from you! Please comment <3 I’m also totally open to requests!~

You’d stopped by to chat with him when you first arrived, both realising your schedules lined up far less than you'd expected. You should have assumed as much, seeing as he works nights and you work days, his days off are during the week (if he even gets days off that week), and your days off are on the weekend.

You're not date, fine… maybe date, will have to wait a few weeks before it can even happen. 

You’ll be long done with the mural by the time you and Jack make it to Phipp’s conservatory. And you should really be grateful that you won’t still be volunteering here by then. If something goes wrong. If Abbot finally realizes he’s wasted his time with you, then you won’t have to face him again. But you feel a twinge of sadness, thinking of leaving the comfort and routine you’ve built around this place over the last six and a half weeks. 

Though you’ll enjoy the freedom of having your evenings back to yourself, finally able to make plans with friends again. 

You're lost in your painting, focused solely on what you need to do with your brush and not at all on the noises around you. 

Finally finished with the ladder and safely back on the ground, you’re working out a few of the last, front of piece details on the project. Kelp bulbs and leaves, air bubbles rising from the sea life, and shimmers coming from the sunbeams cutting through the water. 

You are in the zone, completing small parts of your painting, one after another, watching your mural come together as you finish each small section. Which is why you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear some guy ask you, “Hey, you do this kind of work often?”

You turn around and find a semi-familiar black haired Doctor, one you've seen around before, but never formally been introduced to. He's standing off to your side, evaluating your work, missing the Dunkin's iced coffee that you almost always see him with. You appreciate him as a fellow sweet treat lover.

“Oh, hi… um no… not really. Just a few pieces here or there.”

“Why not? You’re really talented.” He sounds truly baffled that this isn't what you spend all your time doing.

“Thank you… I mean, mostly because it would be a ton of work trying to build the connections I would need to turn this kind of thing full-time. Plus, I’m a hell of a lot happier not dealing with the hellscape of the freelancing world. This works way better as a hobby on the side of my regular work. And I mean, Pittsburgh only needs so many murals.” You can see him nodding along with your words.

“Yeah, that makes sense, one of those great in theory, not so great in practice kinda jobs.” He says amicably.

“Exactly!”

 “I’m John, by the way, sorry it took me so long to introduce myself. You’ve kinda been the talk of the town around here for the last little while.” He says, and you're grateful he doesn't put his hand out to shake yours.

“Oh, I’m pretty shy myself, so no hard feelings there. Damn, I really thought the rumour mill would have died off by now. Although I guess I do keep getting myself into situations that only make it worse.” You trail off, wishing you hadn't brought it up yet again.

“Ha! Yeah, you really outdid yourself with your ladder acrobatics. And no way, the rumors around here only get worse with time. In fact…” He looks around suspiciously, making sure the coast is clear, before he deems it safe enough to continue, “I heard, you and a Dr. Abbot have been pretty cozy as of late, anything going on there?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up sky high on your forehead, this guy does not beat around the bush.

“And if there was, I would tell you, why?” You ask, incredulous that he thinks you would start spilling any and all information about you and Abbot with a stranger. 

Not that there’s anything to spill, of course.

“Mmmm, because I have a bet going that you two are madly in love and that all your secret rendezvous on the roof are actually lovers' meetings.” He wiggles his eyebrows when he says that last part, before tacking on, “Oh, and if you confirm this, I can cut you in on the profits.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but there's nothing going on between us, we're just friends.” Mostly. 

If you ignore your own infatuation, along with the interest you're starting to pick up on from Jack.

“No way, there is something going on with you and Abbot. That guy’s like… ok, don’t get me wrong, he’s chummy enough with everyone, but he’s not like laser focused on any of us the way he is on you. I swear, every time I look at the guy, he’s sending heart eyes your way.”

“He is not-” You nearly roll your eyes at the implication that Jack is tracking you like some lovesick puppy. 

“Ok, you want to test that theory out? I bet you five bucks that if I make it look like I'm hitting on you, he swoops over here in a matter of minutes to scare me off.”

“That’s so ridiculous, first off," You start, holding your fist up to highlight each of your points with a raised finger, "does getting hit on really have a look? Second off, he’s not gonna care if some guy decides to hit on me. Third, he’s not paying such close attention to me that even if he was bothered, he would come barreling over in a matter of minutes. And finally, if he does, maybe that just means he's actually into you.”

While you've been defending your points, he's been inching towards you, slowly backing you up against the wall (that you very carefully make sure not to actually bump into, so you don’t mess with any wet paint).

“If you’re so sure..” He nearly whispers, leaning down so his face is close to yours. His hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. He leaves that hand suspended by your jaw, idly playing with a few strands of your hair. “You could be the winner of five of my hard-earned dollars. Just give it another minute.” 

For a moment, you wonder if this is some ploy, if this is actually this guy's way of hitting on you for real. But it’s so bizarre, you don’t see how he could possibly turn this into getting your number or asking you out. And there's something so unthreatening about him, if anything, you feel happy to be included in on some workplace hijinks.

So you stay rooted in place, a small part of you also wanting to see if he’s right, even though you logically think jealousy can be controlling and demeaning. Unfortunately, it's also kind of hot.

The moments tick by as you stare up into John’s amused face, brain empty of what to say. Though the more time that goes by, the more sure you are that he’s wrong. Barely whispering back to him, “See, he doesn’t care, I think, you might just have a bit of a gambling problem, dude.”

You're ready to step away and wash your hands of this.

“Ah ah ah, my spidey senses are tingling, just a few… more… seconds.” You can feel the ghost of his breath on your face.

As if on queue, someone hidden behind John’s bulk clears their throat, a low, gruff sound that you recognize immediately. John straightens with a shit eating grin, his hand dropping your hair as he steps back away from you. Giving you space to breathe again. 

“Dr. Shen, trying to give our residents an example of unprofessional workplace conduct?” Jack asks, voice practically dripping in sarcasm, his eyes snapping between the two of you. 

“Dr. Abbot, right on time! I was just letting our favourite muralist here know how lucky we feel to have her around. Don’t you agree?” John says, upbeat as ever, looping an arm around your shoulders to drag you into his side, giving you a good natured shake. 

“Wh- yeah… you’ve been doing an incredible job,” Jack answers, looking derailed from where he clearly thought this conversation was going. His eyes lock on yours, and he sounds shockingly sincere. “This place is lucky someone with so much skill and dedication is willing to volunteer their time here.” 

You subtly try to pry yourself out of John’s solid, unrelenting grip. “Thank you, really, um, that’s sweet of you guys to say.”

“Sure, sure, and I was also trying to convince her to come out with us after work sometime. Share a beer in the park-” The liar.

“She's got better things to do than spend even more of her time hanging out around here.” Comes Jack's brisk response.

“Don't listen to him, it would be fun, plus I know some of the single people here would love to have the chance to see you outside of these fluorescent lights.” You swear you see Jack's eye twitch at that, and you have to admit, John’s skills in ragebaiting are mighty. But you don't like playing these kinds of games, and you're starting to feel smothered by him.

“John, s'that paint on your scrubs?” Jack asks, badly faking concern, his hands smoothly reaching out to pull Dr. Shen forward, forcing him to let go of your shoulders. He twists John around, briefly looking over the back of his scrubs. 

“Nevermind, must’ve been a trick of the light.” Abbot says with a shrug, hands coming up to squeeze John's shoulders, manhandling the guy even further away from you, and putting himself in-between the two of you. 

Dr. Shen looks incredibly amused at Jack's not so subtle antics. If looks could say I told you so, it would be whatever’s on Shen’s face right now. 

“Suuure, alright well, guess I better let you get back to it, and don’t worry, you can pay me later,” John says to you with a wink, before he saunters away. “I need to go collect on my original bet, thanks for all your help!”

Silence falls over the two of you for a moment, broken by a dark chuckle from Jack.

“You let Shen convince you to bet with him? Bad move, I should have warned you he’s a shark, between him and Collins, those two never lose a bet.” He says, shaking his head. 

“Well, now you tell me! That would have been useful to know five bucks ago.” You say with a playful shove to his bicep. 

“What’d you lose on?” He asks, head tilted, looking all the more like a lost dog.

You let the tension build for a moment, debating if you should be honest with him.

Your curiosity wins out in the end. 

“If he could make you jealous.” 

His face turns the most delightful shade of red at your answer, his mouth falling open in his surprise. Laughter bubbles out of you at how he kinda looks like the surprised Pikachu meme.

“Don’t worry, he’s got nothing on you, not nearly enough trauma or emotional baggage for me.” You joke. 

“So you do like me?” He says with a smirk, face still flushed lightly pink. 

“I wouldn’t have agreed to hang out with you again if I didn’t. Although now that I know there are so many eligible people to choose from here…” You tease, prompting an eye roll and a middle finger from him. The vulgar move has you laughing in delight. 

You sober a bit, nerves taking hold as you consider bringing up your fears. 

“Jack… maybe this isn’t the best time for me to bring this up… but, fuck it, historically I have fallen short of people's expectations. I couldn't meet their needs… or provide some of the things they wanted from me, and I just- I don’t want you to build up some idea of me that I can’t live up to.” 

That was so damn vague you wanna smack yourself. 

And ok, you can kind of see the heart eyes comment now, he’s looking at you so softly. Though you can’t help but wonder how much of it is pity.

“Troublemaker, I’ve lived with nothing but a ghost for seven years, I don’t have expectations. I’m never gonna ask you for more than what you’re comfortable with giving.” 

You want to argue the point so badly, everyone has expectations, they always come eventually. But you let it slide.

For now, anyway. 

It feels surreal, two months, nearly 100 hours of your time spent painting your evenings away. Schedule the fullest it’s been in years. And just like that, tomorrow and every day after for the foreseeable future, you’ll have your nights back to yourself. 

Nothing to finalize, all paint supply invoices sent and paid, leftover supplies packed into your car (thanks to Jack's help, it went from what would have been five trips down to just two). All you’re left with are your goodbyes. Which you’re never good at, so you try your best to sneak out. 

Though you make a point to hunt Dana down to give her a hug. You still have her wooden cutting board, and now that the mural is done, you'll actually have time to work on it. 

Of everyone you met here, you'll miss her and Jack the most. But you have her number now, after she texted you a link to one of her nephew's homemade horror movies, and Jack, well, you'll be seeing him soon enough.

Before you manage to slip out the door, she makes you promise to go to a holiday craft night she's hosting with some of her friends and coworkers.

Happy that your little social circle has expanded by one more, you leave with a smile on your face.

Ok, this time for sure you’re going to do it. You’re going to bring up your asexuality with Jack on your, kind of, but not officially labeled, date.

Really, you swear you will… and this time it won’t be another vague episode of word vomit, you just need to get the timing right.

Really.

He picks you up from your apartment, parking and walking all the way to your complex door to buzz your number instead of texting you like a regular human being. You’re not surprised to see that he looks even better out of his scrubs, handsome as ever, dressed in faded blue jeans and a lined green canvas jacket. 

You smile at the sight of him, looking like an all-american cowboy, minus the cowboy boots and hat, nonetheless just as rugged and powerful.

You feel shy all over again, wondering for the hundredth time what it is that he sees when he looks at you.

“Hey there, stranger, ready to go stare at some plants?” He asks, his warm eyes looking you over appreciatively.

“I thought you'd never ask.” You joke.

You follow him through the grey slushy remnants of the recent snowfall to his car. He drives a forest green Ford Bronco that looks very well cared for. 

You're surprised when he takes a moment to open the passenger door for you, offering you his hand so you don't slip on the slush piled up between his car and the curb. Maybe he's worried you'll brain yourself again.

His car's already warm and toasty, and you shove your hands against his car vents to heat up your icy fingers. 

It’s a quick drive to Phipps from your place, and you find you barely have time to scope out any personal items Jack keeps in the interior of his car, or even really get to know his taste in music, before he’s pulling into the parking lot. 

All this time you’ve spent in Pittsburgh, and you can’t believe you’ve never been here before.

You love botanical gardens, but it’s hard to convince your friends to go, even your best friend. Staring at plants may be your thing, but it isn’t your friends, which is why this being Jack's idea endears you even more to the man. 

Once you’re out of the car, you get a better look at the gardens. The exterior of the building is gorgeous, a sprawling glass structure that looks like it’s out of the late 1800s, with curved glass spanning the long, narrow roof and delicate white metal work highlighting the seams and corners. It looks like a giant Victorian greenhouse. You have an immediate urge to make a miniature model of the building, not that you'd even know where to start.

The brisk December air nearly has your face stinging by the time you make it inside. But once you enter the interior gardens, it’s warm, almost muggy, from the plants and the way the sun shines bright through the glass that makes up the majority of the building. 

There aren't many people here. You can see one or two people wandering around, but it feels like you two could be the last people on earth here.

“So, what made you think of asking me to come here with you?” You ask, looking through the foliage around you. Hand reaching out to delicately rub a very soft looking Ruellia leaf. 

When he takes longer than you expect to answer, you turn to look at him, and as you often do, find his gaze leveled at you. 

“After my deployment, when I first came back to the city, I was kind of messed up. I know I’ve mentioned that before, but this place was also a part of what helped me get out of my head. I know it may not seem like it, with how much I needed the adrenaline rush and chaos of the ER. But this place has an… other worldly feel to it, when I'm here, it's like the world stops for a little while.” He says, following you as you make your way along the cement path winding through one of the wings of the conservatory.

“Something about you reminds me of this place, you're like… white noise for my brain.” He sounds so earnest, you think that might be the best compliment you’ve ever received. 

“So you thought you would double up on white noise by bringing me here?” 

“Mm yeah, I thought with enough of it, I might just be able to reset my brain to factory settings.” He monotones.

“That’s sweet that you think you have enough brain cells for it to reboot." Comes your stone-cold reply, and you can see him fighting a smile, so you count it as a win.

You and Abbot spend hours walking and talking through the gardens, eventually making your way out to explore the exterior, braving the cold to see the ponds and water features. Even though you find the pond is frozen over, and half the water features have been turned off. The silver lining is that they have some holiday lighting and display pieces out.

As it turns out, you’re not great at talking with him and walking in a straight line; it’s like you’re being pulled into his orbit on autopilot. You end up bumping shoulders with him for a third time when he grabs your hand, shoving your tangled fingers into his warm jacket pocket. Tethering you to him in a way that stops you from weaving all over the place. 

The solid feeling of his warm hand in yours jump-starts your brain, reminding you of the promise you made to yourself earlier. No better time than the present.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you again about something.” 

He squeezes your hand, silent confirmation that he’s listening.

“Right.. I um, I’ve really enjoyed these last couple of months spending time with you, and getting to know you. I know that you said you don’t have any expectations from this, but, I guess I’m just wondering where it is you see this going? Cause not even my best friend and I hold hands.” You say, staring at your feet, as they keep pace with his, “Not that I don't like holding your hand!” You can't help clarifying, worried he'll misunderstand and let go.

But before he says anything, you see his right leg hit a pile of slush wrong and know right away you’re going down too. You still try to reach out your other hand to steady him, but he’s going down like a sack of potatoes, and with your hand tangled with his in his pocket, you’re dragged down right along with him. 

You let out a whuff of air when you land hard on his chest, your feet knocked straight out from under you. You manage to wriggle your hand free from his and his pocket. He’s breathing steady beneath you, so you’re pretty sure he hasn’t hurt himself too badly. 

“Who’s falling for who now, huh?” You mock, the side of your face pressed into his shoulder, making him groan beneath you. Lost in the odd sensation of your body rising and falling based on how he’s moving and breathing.

“God, I thought you were concussed!” He laughs, making your body shake with the force of it. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.” He says, hands moving to help push you up as you try to get your legs underneath you without kneeing him by accident. 

“You ok?” You ask, grabbing both of his hands to help haul him to his feet. Stumbling with the momentum of his weight and nearly staggering into each other. You end up standing so close you can see the mist of your breath in the cold air mixing together. 

“Me? Never better. Are you ok? I didn’t mean to take you down with me.” His hands are already checking you over before he’s even done asking. “You still bruised from your last fall? Didn’t land on your hip, did you?”

“Jack, I’m fine, really, seriously you took the brunt of it. Basically gave me a padded landing. Are you sure you’re ok?” He looks as solid as ever to you, but you’re not small, so landing on him can’t have been painless.

“I’m fine really, this wasn’t my first fall, and it won’t be my last.” He shakes his head, continuing. “I guess I should have told you about this earlier, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

Reality feels warped, and for a hysterical moment, you wonder if he’s about to come out as asexual. 

“Now’s bout a good a time as any,” As he's talking, his hands reach down to start tugging up the right cuff of his jeans.  “I have a prosthetic leg. I lost my right leg when I was in Iraq, just below the knee. I’ve made my peace with it, but as anyone with a lower limb prosthetic knows, at some point or another, you’re gonna fall because of it.” His cuff's finally high enough for you to see the plastic housing around his amputation site and the metal post connecting it to the rest of his prosthetic.

“Shit, Jack, I’m so sorry that you lost your leg, and, I mean, thank you for telling me.” You say, not sure what else to say. It certainly explains the slight limp you’ve noticed in his gait. 

“Unclech, I didn’t mean to make it into a big deal by not telling you till now. It’s just not something I broadcast, not unless I’m gonna seriously get to know someone.” 

“So I make the cut?...” You ask, already steeling yourself for a retaliatory shove. “But your leg… didn't.” You barely get the words out before he's groaning, face set in a comical grimace.

“You get one more bad joke before your joke privileges get revoked.” He grumbles, a hand coming up to rub at his temples.

“How many good jokes do I get?” You wheedle, enjoying being bratty.

“If you ever tell one, I'll let you know.” He deadpans, reaching his hand out to grab yours again, pulling you along to head back to his car.

“What's the worst joke someone's made about your leg?” Curiosity piqued after he seemed so unfazed by your bad joke. 

“Robby has a recurring bit where he asks if I'm feeling footloose and fancy fre-” He stops himself, cutting a look at you from the side of his eye. He brings up your joined hands to shove his pointed finger in your face. “I am not giving you more ideas.”

“What! I swear that wasn't what I was trying to do!” You laugh. But also file Robby's quip away for later use. “I just wanted to know where the bar was at, and I don’t mean the one in your leg.” 

That earns another soft groan.

“Yeah, likely story troublemaker.” He pokes, making you roll your eyes at what is quickly becoming his nickname for you. You guess it's better than him making another falling artist pun.

You’re glad to see his Bronco back in sight, your ears and nose almost numb but still stinging from how long you’ve been out in the cold. He opens the passenger door for you, using your already clasped hands to help you into his car. Not that you need the help. 

On the drive back, you realize Jack must have modified his car, he has a left foot accelerator that you missed on the drive over. The noise and motion of the drive help you drift off in thought.

“Don’t think I forgot about your earlier question,” Jack says, bringing you back into the present.

“Oh, you don-”

“-I meant what I said to you back in the PITT, I have zero expectation of you; I only want whatever you’re willing to give. I’m too old, and I’ve lost too much to not go for exactly what I want. And I want you. I want a future with you, however that looks.” He’s so endearing, it makes your heart clench. But you know he’s wrong. 

“That’s not- There are always expectations, Jack, even if you don’t think so now, eventually there will be, and I’ll end up disappointing you.” You hesitate, looking out the passenger window, avoiding the looks he’s sending your way in between checking the road. You’re not ready to see the regret on his face. “I know, a while ago… I mentioned that I don’t really date, or that I can't always give people what they need from me, but that’s kind of an understatement. I don’t feel the things other people feel when they’re interested in someone. I don’t get hot at the thought of being close to someone I like, or feel desire to do the things most couples do. Hell, I don't feel that kind of desire full stop. And you can’t tell me that won’t be an issue, it always is, and in the end, you’ll resent me for it.” You’re nearly rasping by the end, throat feeling constricted, eyes burning hot with the threat of unshed tears. You’re so mad at yourself for letting yourself get worked up over something you knew would be coming eventually anyway. 

He’ll be nice about it, you think, at least he’ll let you down gently.

“You’re wrong. If you told me I could never be in the same room as you and we could only talk through fucking Myspace, I would take it, sweetheart, I’ll take you any way I can have you.” He sounds so sure, and so damned sincere. 

You huff out a wet laugh. “I don’t think MySpace is really a thing anymore, you're kinda dating yourself with that reference.”

“More like trying to date you with that reference.” He says, almost under his breath. 

Normally, you’d find it endearing, normally you’d laugh and joke back, instead it gets under your skin. That he so clearly doesn’t understand what you’re trying to say. Because if he did, if he understood, there’s no way he would be saying that, no way he would still want you in his car or his life. Not after you lead him on for so long, like the others before him.

“I mean it kid, if you don't want to do anything-”

“Jack, It's more than that-" 

"Just being arou-"

"I never want to have sex!” You gasp, freezing as the words leave your mouth.

There's a new silence in the emptiness of his car that you wish would swallow you whole. As you think it, you realize you no longer hear the rush of traffic or the rumble of the engine, that at some point he parked in front of your place.

“After my wife passed,” He starts, quiet as ever, “the idea of having sex with someone who wasn’t her was... is unthinkable. And the knowledge that moving on, or dating, was going to include that was a part of why I was never interested in pursuing it.” 

When you finally turn your head to really look at him, the intensity of his gaze locks you in place. He looks like everything you've ever wanted.

“You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever met, so open-minded and kind. The way you empathize with people, you give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even when they don't deserve it. Especially when they don't deserve it. And you have this dark side of you…”  

His hand slowly reaches out to you, giving you time to pull away, settling along your jaw, thumb brushing down your cheek.

“I look in your eyes, it's like I can see this storm of thoughts. Your brain working, running a hundred miles an hour ahead of yourself. The same fears and horrors that I find myself caught in, but when we talk, it’s like we’re in the darkness together.”

His hand leaves your face, the warmth of it lingering, open palm sliding down your arm to lace your fingers together. 

“So no, sex doesn’t play into any part of it.” You search his face, looking for the lie, but you don’t see it. All you can find is the honesty of a man who has already felt the sting of true cruelty and the loss that this world dolles out in abundance.

“This isn’t a deal breaker for you?” You need him to say it, you need to hear him say it.

“Not even fucking close.”

I would absolutely love love love to hear from you, anything you want to see from these two in the future? Anything that stood out for you from the series? Any other Aces in the crowd tonight!? (Queue rave noises)

Holiday One Shot

A/N: Ahh, I can’t believe this is the end!! (ok well only kind of, because I already have a few drabbles in my mind for these two) But I think this is the end of the main series.

I have some ideas for follow ups already, regarding the inevitable relationship trial and error that these two will need to go through, since this is Jack’s first relationship out of his marriage (and with someone who’s asexual), and this is readers first relationship that wasn’t a few dates that ended in them feeling like a freak for their sexuality.

But it’s 7:55 and you’ve already been sitting stewing in your car for the last ten minutes. You arranged to meet one of the hospital staff at 8 pm so they can show you the area you’ll be working on and where you can store your stuff over the coming weeks. You need to get a move on. 

You schlep into the lobby carrying the supplies you’ll need to layout the foundation of the mural. The line to see the receptionist goes fast and before you know it, a bubbly staff member named Leah is showing you down to the emergency department where you’ll be working. On the way, she introduces you to Dana, the charge nurse, who lets you know to give her a yell if anyone gives you any grief or if you need to be connected to maintenance for anything. 

You’re glad to have someone you can run to if you have any questions. Leah does her best to make sure you’re set up properly. She shows you where the washrooms and breakroom are, and shows you the supply closet, which has a step ladder that you’re sure you’ll need at some point. 

They already have some orange pylons with rope cordoning off your work area, so you can easily slip behind it to start laying out your drop sheet and supplies. You thank Leah for taking the time to show you around, and you’re glad she doesn’t stick around to make small talk. 

The noise and motion of the ED wash over you, and you slip on your headphones to try and tune it all out and pretend no one is watching as you get to work.

You’ve gotten the base down, broad strokes of light and dark paint breaking the wall up into odd shapes. In the last few minutes, a small crowd of younger-looking doctors or interns?, you're not really sure, has grown around you. You recognize a few of them from your glimpses of them rushing about throughout the night. 

“What’s it supposed to be?” A mousey-looking guy in dark scrubs asks once you’ve taken off your headphones. 

You have to remind yourself that it's just the painting's foundation, and at this point, no one but you could know what it’s going to end up looking like. But your cheeks heat up anyway, feeling a bit like you’ve already fucked the mural up.

“Have you ever seen photos of underwater kelp forests?” You ask back, not sure how to explain your design if they’ve never seen one before.

“A.. what?” 

“It’s kind of like a big underwater forest, but instead of trees, it's a lot of seaweed and kelp. They have a pretty diverse ecosystem, so lots of fish, and seals, and other things... Um it’s going to end up being like a glimpse into that world.” You say, hoping they can visualise that on top of what you’ve just finished putting on the wall. You point out a few key spots to them, and they ooh and ahh encouragingly. 

“What’s all this shit doing in the way?” An aggravated voice snaps. “This is our main fucking entrance, what… we need even more obstacles in the way while we move patients around?” 

“Oh Dr. Abbot! Did you need a hand?” Mouse boy asks, and shoot, you really need to get better at asking people their names.  

The man who snapped, Dr. Abbot, is standing with his arms crossed. He’s a gruff-looking guy who you’d venture to guess must be at least ten years older than you. As he eyes up your paints and the large pylons, his eyes skirt right over where you’re hidden behind the others. 

“They always pick the most ridiculous places to put these 'patient happiness boosters’, like some artwork will make people forget they’re waiting around for eight plus hours.” He sneers, and you can see his point. But, you’re also a firm believer that your surroundings can deeply affect how you feel, so yeah actually, maybe some paint on a wall might make some people a bit happier while they wait. Not that you’re gonna say as much.

“I’m sorry, I can shift everything closer to the wall if it’s in your way…” You trail off, not actually sure you can hug the wall any closer and still have the room to work properly. You raise your hands in mock placation. “I swear I’m trying to be the least disruptive I can, considering where they want the mural.”

His eyes snap to you, and you can see the surprise register on his face as he realizes you are, in fact, not one of his coworkers. God, confrontation makes your stomach churn. 

“It might help your case more if you weren’t actively distracting a quarter of my staff at the moment.” He says, and you see the surprise on his face bleed away to a narrow-eyed sardonic jeer. You know what he said is more a dig at the group around you than it is at you, but it still rubs you the wrong way when he says it with such a snide look on his face.

“Well, I’m not really sure I can do anything about that. Should I tell them to scram any time they stop to talk to me or look at my work?” You joke, and now you really wish there wasn’t an audience to this conversation. 

“Scram?” He huffs out a laugh, his head tilting and his eyes crinkling in delight at your odd turn of phrase.”What are you, an old-timey cop?” 

He gives you a once-over that makes you burn, before he must also remember you have an audience because he snaps, “Santos! Whitaker! Let’s try to have some willpower and not get so easily distracted in the future.” 

You’re not sure if that’s also a dismissal for you, but you turn and crouch down to start packing up your things anyway. You’ve been here way longer than you intended, it’s nearly 1 AM.

“Santos head over to Tauma 1 for an incoming GSW, and Whitaker I know you aren’t finished yet with your wound debridement in Room 6, don’t keep Mrs. Ross waiting any longer.” And with that, the group around you hurries off to their various tasks. 

Dr. Abbot stays behind. Your senses tingle as you track him in your periphery, trying to avoid him while you screw lids on jars and shove brushes in plastic bags to keep them wet and ready to use again. 

“What, did I scare you off?” He asks patronizingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I don’t scare that easily. I still have my day job waiting for me in the morning, and I do actually need more than just a few hours of sleep to function, unlike you guys.” And it must show how tired you are from working a full day and spending your night painting that you keep talking. “I didn’t realise it had already gotten so late. Next time I’ll have to remember to set an alarm on my phone so I’m out of here before midnight.”

You stand up, gear awkwardly slung over your shoulder and balanced in your arms, ready for you to lug it into an unused corner of the supply closet. 

“Come on, I’ll grab the supply closet door for you.” He says, already turning and marching away. You trail behind him, feeling like a waddling duckling as you try not to drop anything. 

You mutter a thanks when you brush past him to set everything down, standing up to face him again once everything is properly shoved into the emptiest corner you could find. His eyes lock onto yours, and the intense eye contact makes you nervous.

“We’ll… uh thanks for the hand, I guess I’ll see you around.” You say, body flushing as you maintain prolonged eye contact with him.

“Anytime. You know how to get out of here ok?” He asks, and shit, you vaguely recall the twists and turns it took to get from the Hospital main entrance down to the ER, but you’re not sure you can find your way back without getting a bit lost.

“Um, shoot, actually, can you point me to the closest exit? Someone showed me how to get here earlier, but this place is a bit of a labyrinth.” 

“Yeah, follow me, I’ll show you the ER entrance.”

And just like that, you’re following him again, although this time you try to stay by his side so you don’t look like you're following behind him like a troubled kid being led to the principal's office.

“So, you do this kind of work a lot?” He asks. Oh great, small talk.

“Oh! Not really, I work for the city, so there’s not much room for the fine arts there. Shocker. But I did a mural for a friend's business a few years ago, and that kind of got the ball rolling to doing them here and there. This one will only be my fourth.” You say, feeling like an imposter when people assume you must do this kind of stuff full-time. Like you’re some professional artist, and not someone who fell into it as a hobby. 

“Wow, only on your fourth and you already have a full hospital budget to back you, your work must really be outstanding, or are you some board exec's kid?” He drawls, and it almost sounds like a compliment, if it weren’t for the fact that he just insinuated you’re basically fleecing the hospital for everything it's worth just for you to slap some paint on a wall. Your eyebrows draw together in anger and you stop in your tracks as you turn to face him.

“What! God, no, I would never take money from this place, I know how underfunded it is. No, I volunteered to do this, you know, like for free. The hospital only has to cover the cost of the paint I had to buy.” You snap. Your breath turns quick and harsh as the anger settles in over what he just implied. Fucking nepo baby allegations. 

Before your abrupt stop, he had already led you to the hallway that connects the outside world to the ER waiting room. You’re nearly home free. 

“Well, thanks again for all your help, I’ll be sure to keep out of your hair next time, Doctor.” 

And with that, you turn on your heel and beeline it out the exit doors.

Part two Part three Part four Part five

A/N: Ok so to make this story work, I have to bend the layout of the PITT a bit, just pretend there is a nice open wall that patients see when they are admitted in from chairs. Also, ignore that most of the staff canonically work day shifts, and be prepared for medical inaccuracies!

But with Jack, your heart sinks a little. It’s dumb, you know even if he wasn’t married, even if he was interested in you, it would have ended in a different kind of disappointment. 

A day later and you’re up on the roof again with Jack. It’s the night before you’re planning on taking a few days off from painting. You really need some time away from the mural to come back and look at it with fresh eyes. There are a few sections you aren’t happy with, you’re not sure if it's the colour, blending, or proportions, but it just isn’t looking right. 

You’re leaning back on the railing, using your elbows to rest on, while he leans forward and looks out to the city. Listening to him loudly complain about how the new software update to the ER computers is ruining his life. When you can’t help but ask. “Do you complain this much to your partner too? Because they have to be a saint to put up with all your whining.”

You mean it as a joke, something small and silly, a way to let him know you saw he’s married and haven’t been trying to hit on him. Even if you kind of have been, in your own subtle way. 

But the shift in mood is so intense it’s like all the air has been sucked off the roof. You turn your head to look at him, just in time to see the haunted look on his face shutter to a blank thousand-yard stare. 

“She-” He stops, voice thick. He clears his throat but it doesn't really help. “She really was a saint. I guess, more of an angel now though, she died… seven years ago.”

Fuck.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Jack. I didn’t-” You cut yourself off, blood thumping in your ears, not sure how to recover from this sharp turn into uncharted territory. 

“Yeah well, how could you have known.” He shrugs. “I still wear my ring, so I can’t exactly blame you for assuming.”

“I’m still sorry.” You pause, choosing your next words carefully, as you watch his listless gaze wander over the city horizon.

“I think it’s nice that you keep wearing it. Isn’t that what most of us want, to find someone who will love us beyond death.” You say softly. He cuts a hard look back at you, electricity zipping through you at the searching look in his eyes. 

“I’ve been told I’m clinging to the past… that I should move on.” He says, so quietly you have to look at his lips to make it out. Your eyebrows scrunch together, and you fight the urge to scoff. You don't want him to think it's directed at him.

“That sounds like a load of bullshit to me, there is nothing wrong with staying devoted to your wife. Moving on, or dating, or whatever the fuck, wouldn’t suddenly make your life complete or fulfilled. This isn’t something you have to move on from if you don’t want to; you can spend the rest of your life loving your wife, and still live a fulfilling and interesting life.” You take a breath, hoping your eyes convey how much you need him to believe what you're saying. “There is no wrong way to live your life. Connecting to the world and the people around you is what makes it meaningful, not whether you date or not. Keep wearing your ring, fuck anyone who tells you otherwise.” 

Over the course of your tangent, the corners of his mouth have tugged up into a crooked half smile. 

You shake your head, letting out a self-deprecating laugh at your outburst. “If you can’t tell, this is something I’m just a little bit passionate about.”

Jack bumps his elbow against yours, eyes shining as he murmurs. “I like seeing you passionate.” His eyes scan your face for a moment; you’re not sure what it is he’s looking for. “I like wearing my wedding ring, it's a reminder to me of what we had, of her, that there was someone who I loved who loved me right back. I don’t ever want to let go of that. Dating is irrelevant to it. Moving on would feel like a betrayal, but I’m not opposed to the idea of being open to the right fit. Someone who knows my wife will always be a part of my heart.” 

“Your wife was lucky to have you, Jack. And if you decide to find someone else that fits, they’ll be lucky to have you too.” And maybe you mean you, maybe you just mean in general. 

He looks like he's fighting pretty hard to keep himself from grinning, to keep his smile where it is.

“Oh, keep talking like that, and my ego’ll never come back down to earth.” He rumbles.

“Shoot, is now a bad time to say I’ve only been nice to you because I was hoping that you might slip me some of the good drugs?” A smile tugs at your lips, never one to pass up the opportunity to do a bit. 

He huffs out a laugh and playfully shoves your shoulder, muttering. “I should’ve known you only liked me for my drugs.”

Your break was just what you needed. You come back to the ER refreshed, and now looking at your mural again, you realise what needs fixing. You're going to need to repaint the whole area along the top where you have light streaming in through the water. It’s right where the wall meets the ceiling. It’s nice to have an idea of how to fix it, but it's also so incredibly annoying, because it means you’re going to have to spend a whole evening balancing on the top of a ladder again while you paint. 

You kill some time first, chatting with Dana about her family. Not ready for the pain that will soon be making its way up and down your spine. 

You've gotten to know her a little better over the last few weeks, you like hearing about her and her family. She's telling you all about her daughter, who's away on a multi-month trek from Sweden to Norway and showing you the photos she's been sent. Which leads her to show you the paintings her daughter has worked on that Dana has hanging around her house. They’re pretty abstract and not really your style, but you appreciate the talent nonetheless. 

“Ok, I have a favour to ask,” Dana starts after she's scrolled through another few photos. “I like having pieces of art from all the artists in my life, and you have officially made that list. I want to hire you to paint something for me. I want you to paint something on an old cutting board of mine.” She finishes, looking so excited there's no way you could turn her down.

“Dana, geez, of course I’ll paint for you! I mean, I can’t promise I’ll be speedy or anything though.” You laugh in delight, so pleased she likes you and your work enough to ask you to create a piece for her. 

“There’s no rush. The last piece my niece made for me took her three months, and then she took it back a month later, saying it wasn’t quite right and she had to fix it. I think it’s still in her closet, collecting dust. You can paint anything you want and I’ll pay you, of course!” She says, her hand coming up to squeeze your arm. 

“I am not taking your money.” You say, eyes narrowing at her like she's crazy to think you would ever accept money to do something like this. “That you like me enough to ask is payment enough. Bring the board in and I’ll text you updates when I get around to working on it.” You say, grabbing a post-it from the nurses' station and scribbling down your number so she can pocket it. And before you can let her know to text you so you have her number too, she has to rush off for an incoming trauma. 

Well, now that your plate is fuller than when you arrived, you head back to work on the mural before more projects can get thrown your way.

As you predicted, your entire spine is on fire from the way you’ve been leaning forward to get to a particularly hard-to-reach section of the wall. This is taking way longer than you wanted it to. You have to lean forward, arm outstretched to the top right corner of the wall, your core engaged to keep your upper body upright with nothing to lean on for leverage. Not only is it extremely uncomfortable, but even contorting your body the best you can, you’re still painting at a terrible angle. Not a single brushstroke is landing how you want it to, you just hope it's up high enough that no one will really notice. 

You lean back, giving your core and back a break for a moment. Grumbling to yourself all over again for not requesting scaffolding. You were so sure just a ladder would be enough. And this is your payback, a back that you know is gonna ache even worse in the morning.

You hear a commotion coming from the waiting area behind you. It hasn’t happened too often, but there have been a few times over the course of your project that you’ve been painting and some chaos has unfolded in the ER or the waiting room. Intake staff getting yelled at over the wait times, girls from a bachelorette party gone rogue starting an impromptu conga line, loud grieving families (which always makes you want to cry). Nothing major apart from when two guys were dragged in from a bar fight and decided to finish the fight right then and there in the hallway. That one had taken all the security staff and two nurses with quick hands to dose them into submission. 

You almost don’t turn to look to see what’s happening, but you hear Dr. Abbot’s commanding voice ring out. "Alright, all hands on deck, we got a fire at a nearby club, seven confirmed injuries, two wheeling in now and five incoming in under ten minutes!” 

The ER is eerily quiet for a moment.

Then the chaos begins. Nurses and interns rushing to grab supplies and gowns, questions being hurled at Abbot, gurneys being wheeled in, the resulting crashes and slams of cabinets and doors. 

You can see one of the badly burned victims being wheeled in. Covered in soot and clothing singed in places. An EMT is riding the gurney and giving them CPR. You quickly turn to look away, you don't want that seared into your memory. Some things you can never unsee.

You feel a bit like a kitten stuck in a tree while a flood rages below you.

You move to scramble off your ladder, ready to clear your shit as quickly as possible so there's more room to maneuver the incoming storm. 

In your hurry, you feel something swoop in your stomach as you realise you have gravely miscalculated your foot placement and instead of stepping back onto the floor you are stepping back into empty air. A good five steps above where you thought you were on the ladder. With no time to correct your trajectory, your weight and momentum drag you down. 

You barely feel yourself fall before you feel the bounce of your left thigh and hip hitting the floor, the momentum throwing your head back hard against the linoleum. You feel the smack of your skull, stoppable force, meeting the floor, immovable object. With a loud THUNK, everything turns a little fuzzy around the edges, like your perception of the world is on a dimmer switch that’s just been taken down to its lowest setting.

You can hear loud ringing and muffled chaos around you, but you're not sure what’s going on. Maybe someone's shouting, you're not sure. 

Staring at the blurry white dotted ceiling tiles above you, you can’t remember how you ended up on the floor. You start trying to sit up, vision swimming, and head throbbing as your world tilts up. Hands push at your shoulders and force you to lie back down, and when did those get there?

“Woo…oahh” You mumble, mouth not cooperating. Trying to push at the hands on you, your own hands not keeping up with what your brain is telling them to do. And that should probably worry you. 

You feel stupid as you slowly blink up at the ceiling above you, at least your vision is starting to come back into focus. 

Suddenly, Jack's face is right in front of yours, looking very serious. You can see his lips moving, but your brain doesn’t seem to want to string together what he’s saying. Then he’s shining a little flashlight in your eyes, and your whole face scrunches up, wincing as you close your eyes to get away from the pain of your retinas being blinded. 

“-on’t do that.” You manage to groan.

“-ood sign, you with me here? Pupils look good-” He says, mostly talking to himself at this point, with your brain just starting to come back online. But regaining enough of your senses to feel his hands carding through your soft hair and gently prodding along your skull.

“Abbot!” You hear someone yell. But Jack doesn't move, his eyes boring into your dazed face, still checking you over. 

“Abbot!” Their tone shifts, impatient and angry. You've never seen Jack look so conflicted, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of yours, mouth twisting into a poorly concealed grimace. He looks torn, like he's doing mental gymnastics to try to justify staying to help you.

“Abbot! We need you over here! One of the nurses can handle your fallen muralist.”

He ducks his head, and he softly swears to himself, “fuck, you picked a hell of a time to fall for me kid.” 

His hands carefully slide out of your hair, brushing it away from your face in the process. One hand comes back to cup your jaw, briefly, thumb stroking along your cheek just once. Then he's gone, rushing off to help with the real emergency. 

A kind-looking nurse ducks down into your field of vision, ready to take over for him. It's a bit of a blur after that. They check over your skull and your hip, ask you a bunch of questions, and make you do some memory tests. Your answers must be what they’re hoping to hear because they help you up and dump you into a rolling chair that they wheel over to the nurses' station. 

They give you a Tylenol and tell you to hunker down here for a while and let them know if you start feeling worse. You guess it's easier to keep an eye on you when you're right under their noses. 

At some point, Jack shows up out of nowhere and, without a word, shoves a juicebox in your hand before he rushes off again. And that really makes you feel like a little kid. It also gets a chuckle out of Dana, who lets you know it’s good to stay hydrated and to keep your blood sugars up.

Over the course of the next hour or two, the ringing in your ears slowly comes to a stop, and your vision is back to normal. Though the bright lights still make your brain twinge, and when you turn your head too fast you feel your entire head throb. Not to mention the aching starting to make itself known where your ass and hip bounced along the floor.

When all the fire trauma patients have been dealt with, you ask Dana when you can leave, and she asks if you have someone you can call to stay with you for the next 24 hours. You do… kind of. Your parents are on another overseas trip, but you know your best friend would drop anything to come help you. You fucking hate the idea of waking her up in the middle of the night for this, though. She's working 12-hour shifts to save up for a house with her partner. She'll be fast asleep at this hour and rushing off to her shift in another few hours. 

You groan. “Come on, I don't need a babysitter, I'm fine!” 

“Mhmm, and if you lose consciousness at home by yourself and start choking on your own vomit?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, it's annoying but you know she's right.

“Well, can I just stick around here for the rest of the night and we can call it fine if I'm not worse by morning?” You ask, ready to negotiate. But Dana's got her arms crossed and you have the feeling she isn't one to back down first.  

“How’s Andy War-fall doing? You giving Dana a hard time?” Jack interrupts, making you jolt with surprise. He looks very pleased with himself for his idiotic pun that you really fucking hope doesn’t stick. 

“You make fun of all of your patients, or just the cute ones with suspected concussions?” You ask, eyes narrowed at him.

“You, are not my patient-” Jack starts before Dana interrupts him, “She doesn’t have anyone to stay with her for the next 24 hours.”

“Dana! I don’t have no one, it's just…” You wave your arms, but that kind of makes your head shift and brain throb, so you stop with a grimace. “My parents are away and I don't want to wake any of my friends up in the middle of the night for this. The rest of my family are a few hours away, minimum. Is it really such a big deal if I'm not monitored for the full 24 hours?” 

Dana and Jack share a look, communicating something between the two of them with just their eyes. After a moment, Dana holds up her hands, an amused smile on her lips, “Figure it out with Dr. Abbot, I've got other things to do.”

Jack takes a seat on a rolling chair near you, scooting over until your knees are brushing. You cut him off before he can start on the ‘someone needs to monitor you’ spiel. 

“How badly did I embarrass myself?” You ask, mortified, thinking about how you can’t possibly show your face here again after all this.

“Oh, I'd change my name and go into hiding if I were you.” He says seriously, nodding his head. 

“I just can't believe I let a ladder take me out.” You mumble, still fighting the embarrassment.

“From what I saw, I would say you took yourself out, that poor ladder didn’t even see it coming.” He shakes his head, looking like he’s vividly remembering the exact moment you fell. 

“Oh god, tell me you didn't watch me literally fall flat on my ass.” The thought of him seeing that makes you want to crawl into a hole forever. 

He very kindly doesn't answer, but you groan at the implication.

“Oh I'm so glad I'll be done here in another week or so. Then I never have to be reminded about this day again. You and I both know your staff are never let me live this down.” 

“Just the staff? Sweetheart, I'm never letting you live this down. Don't think you can escape this that easily.” He says, nudging your knee with his. A reminder that this tentative friendship may be more than just something to pass the time while you paint here.

Before you can think too hard about it, he changes the subject. “How's your head feel?”

“Oh, you know, like it lost a fight with the floor.”

“You mind if I check it over again?” He asks, ducking his head to look into your eyes. 

“What, you don't trust the nurses around here? Should I be concerned?” You ask, trying to wag your eyebrows conspiratorially. 

“I just wanna double check to see if you gave yourself brain damage, or are you always like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, but lean your head forward anyway.

He shifts his seat around to get better positioned and then reaches his hands up to run his fingers through your hair, applying a little pressure to your scalp as he feels his way along, looking for where it's tender.

You're not sure where to look, so you look down at your hands. But that only brings your attention to the way he's perched on the edge of his chair, leaning forward with his sturdy thighs spread around your knees. When you see his thighs flex through his scrubs as he shifts to get a closer look at the back of your head, your face flames. The way he’s leaning over you, he’s so close. You can smell the musk of fresh sweat from all his running around, along with antiseptic, and just a hint of his laundry detergent. 

A sharp, radiating pain shoots along where his fingers press into the back of your head. 

“Ahhh, yeah, that would be the sore spot. Thank you for bringing it back to my attention!” You moan.

“Sorry.” He murmurs before leaning back down and gently pulling his fingers out from your hair, leaving your head feeling cold without their warmth. “You should be fine, sore for a few days, nothing Tylenol can’t fix. And no ladders for a while. It feels superficial to me, but Dana’s right that you need 24-hour supervision just in case.”

“Come on, 24 hours? If I stick around till morning, that’s basically 13 hours right there. I don’t want to have to ask any of my friends to take the day off work.” 

“Well, how bout, you manage to stay awake for another hour and I'll let you sleep for a while in the on-call room. And then, if you make it through the night, I can monitor you over a ‘yay you didn't give yourself brain damage’ breakfast, my treat. Before you're free to go.” He says softly, and your eyes flash up to his. There’s something tentative in the way he’s looking at you, if you didn’t know better, you'd think he looks nervous.

“That’s… not 24 hours either.” You hesitate. Stomach clenching at the thought that he’s asking you out on a date. You quickly rationalize it away as Jack doing a nice thing for a new friend who just very embarrassingly brained themselves in front of the whole ER.

“Yeah, but then you have to text me every hour on the hour after that until it’s been 24 hours. Best offer, take it or leave it.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes still locked on yours.

“Well, when you tempt me with sleeping in an ER and free food, how can I say no?” 

You can't help but laugh when he groans out, “Your enthusiasm is really doing wonders for my self-esteem.”

After you spend another hour fucking around at the nurses’ station Jack brings you a granola bar and a little bag of toiletries that they give to patients who have to stay the night. He shows you to the bathroom, even though you insist you know where it is, and he waits for you while you try to get as ready for sleep as you can, considering you're still wearing your painting clothes.  

He leads you to the on-call room and you plop down onto the small bed and start taking your shoes off.

“I'll be back in a bit to check on you, ok?” He says softly, waiting to make sure you heard him.

“Thanks, Jack. I'm… I really appreciate you going out of your way to help me. I know it's gotta be a pain in the ass babysitting me while you're working.” You say, not meeting his eyes, vulnerability is not your strong suit.

“Nah, trust me, you are the least annoying thing about this place tonight.” And he sounds like he’s being honest.

“Just tonight?” You tease.

“Don't push it, now try to get some sleep troublemaker.” He says with a small smile, softly closing the door behind him when he leaves. 

It takes you a while to follow his orders, even though you almost feel drunk with how tired you are. But you can still hear the noises of the ER, only somewhat muffled by the door, and the bed isn’t the most comfortable. Curling up the best you can, eventually you manage to fall asleep.

Part four Part five

A/N: I would like to add that this was 100% inspired by my own experience stepping off a ladder about 2 steps too early and crash landing on my ass. Luckily, there were no witnesses to me bouncing ass first a good foot or two away from the ladder, also no injuries beyond a bruised butt!

🌿 I would love to hear from you! Please comment ❤️ I’m also totally open to requests!~

Since you’ve been there painting, you haven’t really talked to any of the staff. You’ve made some small talk here and there with Dana, who you really liked, her snarky sense of humor matching yours nicely. But you felt like an intruder in their space, a temporary nuisance, trying your best not to disturb the overworked and underappreciated staff. 

It’s a busy Friday night and you have your head ducked down, headphones hanging down around your neck, as you make your way to the washroom to clean off some of your brushes. You really have to watch where you're walking so you don’t run into any of the doctors and nurses rushing around. 

You’re passing by the nurses' station when you overhear some of them animatedly chatting. You slow down a bit to eavesdrop; you fucking love workplace gossip.

“Well, I heard they can make like 15 thousand per mural.” One of them says, and the group gasps at the amount.

“My kid coulda come in here to doodle some paint on the walls for a hell of a lot cheaper than that, and it still would have looked better.” Someone else says queuing giggles from the group.

Oh god, they’re talking about you. 

Your face burns in humiliation as you quickly turn to hide behind the corner of a nearby hallway, praying they haven’t seen you yet. You can’t help but stop, tucked behind the corner, to listen to what else they’re going to say.

“You’re kid can barely draw a stick figure, at least what she’s got up so far doesn’t look too bad. But you know what I heard?” A reserved voice says, pausing to build suspense, they're clearly excited to share something more juicy. “I heard from Mike that she's Stevenson's girlfriend. You know, like CFO Stevenson, I’d bet my ass he pulled some strings to get her the job. Must be nice to basically get handed 15 thousand bucks just cause your boyfriend wants to impress you.”  

And honestly, you’re a little flattered that they think you could bag a boyfriend, especially one who likes you enough to hand you an imaginary 15k. Not that they could have possibly known how laughable the thought of you having a partner is, your aversion to sex and most forms of intimacy being a deal breaker for anyone you’ve ever had interest in. 

“Wait, I thought Stevenson was married?” Someone says, sounding completely scandalized. 

“Oh my god, is she his mistress???” That gets another round of laughter going. Hey, at least they consider you hot enough to be a mistress.

Their laughter comes to an abrupt stop, and you wonder if some major trauma just came in and distracted them. 

“You guys don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Comes Dr. Abbot’s soft rumbling voice. 

When did he get here. You hadn’t seen him when you got in today. You thought maybe this was his day off, since he’d been in every day you’d been in, he had to take time off eventually. 

You wondered if he felt a bit bad about what he said when he met you. He’d made all the same assumptions the other staff just did about you, well, almost all, he didn’t assume you were desperate enough to sleep your way into a job. 

“She volunteered to do the mural for free. She works all day and is giving up her free evenings to come here, just so she can do something nice for this place, for us, and our patients. She’s doing a nice fucking thing, and she doesn’t need you guys making shit up about her just because you’re bored.” He says, with a quiet intensity that you are very glad you’re not on the receiving end of. 

“Sorry sir, we didn’t know.” Comes a sheepish voice. 

“Yeah, cause none of you bothered to ask her. Next time you wanna know something about someone, just ask them. It’s not that damned hard. I know none of you want to attend another training seminar on workplace gossip.” And with that, you hear a few of them mumble apologies before his heavy footsteps walk away from the hub.

You rush off to the washroom before he, or anyone else, can see that you were eavesdropping. 

You try to put what you overheard behind you, but it’s easier said than done. You know it should have been inevitable that the staff here would make some assumptions about you, considering you’ve been too shy to talk to anyone but Dana. But you also kind of hoped you would somehow manage to complete this project without anyone really thinking too much about you. 

You distract yourself by focusing on the difficult, high-detail parts of your mural, letting your mind get lost in the push and pull of the paint as you play with the finicky sections. Not even bothering to put on your headphones, you want the white noise of the busy ER to make your brain shut off. 

You use your frustration to fuel your frantic mixing of colours, mixing until the paint is just right and you're sure everything will look perfect once it’s all dry.

“That paint do something to piss you off?” The question makes you jump, nearly dropping your paintbrush in the process. And there’s Dr. Abbot, standing behind you, arms crossed as he assesses the violent way you were mixing paint on your palette. 

You force out a laugh, and joke. “Yeah, it called me a whore.” 

“Damn, and here I heard paint was so nice, I can take it outside and really show it who’s boss if you need any backup. Just say the word.” He jokes, and your eyes meet his for the first time today. Something about the way he looks at you makes your whole body flush with heat. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in his world in that moment. Intense like no one you’ve ever made eye contact with before.

He clears his throat before he continues.

“Listen, I get the feeling you may have overheard some stuff the staff was saying about you. Gossip has a way of going from zero to one hundred around here. I’ve talked with them about it, but if anyone makes you uncomfortable around here, you need to let me or Dana know. We can’t have our staff scaring off contract workers and volunteers.” He says matter-of-factly, like he’s a pencil pusher for HR checking in on a sensitive staff member. Man, you were really hoping to avoid this.

“And what makes you think I overheard anything?” Maybe if you play dumb, this whole conversation will just end, like skipping NPC dialogue in video games.

He sighs, like it’s being dragged out of him.

“I may, or may not, have noticed you walking by while they were… talking shit.” Of course he would notice that, just your luck.

“Right, fucking figures. Fine, it’s not a big deal, and it’s also kind of on me for being nosy enough to listen in the first place. But you really didn’t have to come to my defense just cause you felt bad that I overheard their crap.” You mutter, looking back down at your palette, distracting yourself by swirling the paints around.

“I didn’t defend you out of pity. I meant what I said, you’re doing something really nice here. You don’t deserve to have anyone make you feel like you aren’t.” His eyes bore into you when you look back at him, like he can convince you it's true with just his eyes. 

“Well, thanks, you know, the funniest part is that I don’t really date, so it was a real kicker to hear I must be some guy's mistress.” You say, realising what you’re saying as you say it. You did not just mean to imply to him that you’re single, like this is some desperate attempt to let him know you aren’t seeing random CFO guy. But he just laughs, and you feel the tension leave your body. 

“Trust me, you are way out of Stevenson’s league.” He says, and you wish you could see what it is Dr. Abbot sees when he looks at you, to know what he thinks of you.

“Oh, I like to think I’m out of everyone's league.” You say, eyes narrowed playfully.  

“And modest too.” He jokes, a cheeky grin on his face. 

“What can I say, I’m the whole package.” You say, unable to keep the bit going any longer, breaking into laughter. You hear Jack chuckle as well, and you think maybe he isn’t so bad after all.

“Well, miss whole package, I was planning on heading up to the roof for my break. Any chance you want to join me? You’ve been here a while, I know you could use the fresh air.” And that is the last thing you could have possibly expected him to ask you. 

You rationalize that it isn’t totally weird to hang out with the staff of the places you paint at. Hell, your last mural was at a cafe, where you became good friends with one of the baristas. You still go to game nights with them once a month.

“Uh,” you mutter, checking your watch to see it’s just after 11 pm. “Yeah, ok, a break would be nice, and it would be cool to see what the city looks like from up there. Wait, am I gonna get in trouble for going up there?” You ask, fear of getting yelled at or worse, dismissed from volunteering, at the front of your mind. 

“Not if you’re with me, kid.” He winks, and oh, you’re not gonna think about what that does to your brain.

You quickly cover your palette with a thin layer of plastic to keep the paint you just finished mixing to the perfect hue nice and wet,  and shove your brushes back in their respective ziplock bags. 

“Well then, lead the way.” You say, arm swinging out to gesture in front of you. 

He leads you up to the roof, where the cold November air blows right through you. 

“Fuck it’s cold up here.” You bite out, and you can actually see your breath in the air as you say it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you get frostbite.” He says, giving you a look from the corner of his eye.

“Well, even if you do, I won’t have to go too far to get it treated.” You murmur.

You both make your way to lean against the railing along the edge of the roof. You like looking out at all the lights you can see on in the high rises around you. Eyeing who has their blinds open, letting you catch a glimpse of the inside of their apartment, and by extension, their world. 

“How long have you been working here?” You ask, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. 

He sighs. 

“Too long. I was a military medic over in Iraq, back when I was young and dumb and thought I could save the world.” He laughs a bit, dark and humourless. “Or at least that I could be a hand in saving it. When I came back, I didn’t know what to do with myself. After all that time over there, I had gotten so used to the chaos, seeing what we were capable of doing to other human beings, what they could do to us, the atrocities.” He shakes his head a bit, like he can clear his mind the same way you clear an Etch-A-Sketch. 

“Well, after that, nothing seemed challenging; it was all so… tame, so dull, in comparison. I needed something that wouldn’t leave me a spare minute to think too hard… so it was emergency medicine or become a line cook.” He jokes, looking a bit surprised with himself for saying so much. But then he must remember that he hasn’t actually answered your question, because he tacks on. “I’ve been here fifteen years.” 

And for the first time, he’s not looking at you, but out at the illuminated city in front of you both. You press your shoulder into his arm, and trace your pinky up along the side of his warm hand where it’s wrapped around the safety railing.

“So you were one of the unlucky people who got to learn the harsh realities of the world early on.” You say, thinking of how unfair life is. Of all the lives eaten up by war, even if they make it out the other side.

“Does it get better?” You ask, feeling like a child again, young and naive, wondering why the world has to hurt so much. Your own late-night spirals at the state of the world, and the cycles of violence that never seem to end, taking over your mind. Before you clarify, “with time?” 

“Well, you go to therapy, and pretend it does.” He says, his pinky brushing back against yours. “You learn to appreciate the beautiful things more, while you’re lucky enough to experience them.” His soft voice washes over you, along with the sounds of the city that keeps moving below you.

You stay like this, standing pressed together in silence until your nose becomes numb and you start to shiver.

(Part three)(Part four)(Part five)

A/N: The positive response to this work has me giggling and kicking my feet. Thank you to anyone who left a comment, liked, or reblogged!! I’m so excited to share another chapter with you all. It really makes my day to get comments, I’m also totally open to questions or requests!

Ace!Muralist!Reader who loves horror movies and all things dark. Her favourite time of year is Halloween. When she gets to pick a costume, create it from scratch and be as creative as possible.

Ace!Muralist!Reader who collects physical media (books, dvd's, cd's) and goes to thrift stores as often as possible to build up her library. She's always running out of space to store it all and has to get creative when she adds in her new finds.

A/N: This is some extremely self-indulgent stuff as someone who's Ace. (To be free, you must kill the part of you that cringes). This is my first time writing x reader. I've previously written some Sterek stuff (almost 10 years ago now!), and it's also my first time back on Tumblr in a very, very long time. I really freaking love the Pitt fandom and all the extremely creative people in it! I'm expecting this to be somewhere in the 10+k word range (multiple chapters). It is going to be a looooong slowburn where you chronologically follow along with !reader as she meets and develops a relationship with Jack Abbot.

Summary: Ace!Muralist!Reader has volunteered to paint a free mural at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. She's going to spend the next few weeks visiting the hospital in the evenings to paint. While she's there, she meets Jack Abbot, and they do not get off on the right foot.