Lover, you should've come over
Pairing: Jack Abott x Resident Reader
Summary: You've had a crush on your attending Jack Abott and in a final effort to get over it you go on a date but that makes it worse.
cw: Medical jargon(probs wrong but whatever) Age gap mentioned/implied, pittlings mentioned. Unrequited Love with a twist.
Part two here
A/N: Feedback is always welcome!! let me know your thoughts and a part two in in the works as we speak!
You had promised yourself you would give dating one last try, in an effort to get over your much older, hot, attending Jack Abbot. So here you were on a date with some random guy that you matched with on tinder that offered to take you out to dinner and grab a couple of drinks. Your date was a nice, good-looking guy, but it wasnāt him.Ā
Jack itched a very specific scratch for you that you didnāt even know you had; maybe it was lying dormant until you started your residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. You and Jack had developed a friendship, being on the night shift, a nightcrawler if you will, and in turn, the friendship blossomed into something else for you, an insatiable crush.Ā
Your date was talking about some work project that he was working on that he was really excited about, and you were half listening, your mind racing with thoughts of Dr. Abbot. You donāt know why he consumed your thoughts so much; maybe it was because of the way he looked at you when he let you take the reins on a Thoracic Aortic Dissection Repair. He looked at you like you hung the stars in space and made every mountain and valley. He couldnāt stop gushing about you to day siders.Ā
āDid you hear what I said?ā your date said, interrupting your daydreamingĀ
ā No, Iām sorry, I got a little distracted.ā You give him a sincere smile and tell him to keep going.Ā
He studies your face for a second like heās trying to decide if youāre distracted or just not interested, and then he laughs it off.
āItās fine,ā he says, taking a sip of his drink. āI was just saying my team finally got approval for the rollout. Itās been, like⦠months of back and forth.ā
You nod, leaning forward slightly, trying to re-engage. āThatās actually really exciting. Congrats.ā
And you mean it. You do. Heās nice. Heās attentive. He picked a good place, asked you thoughtful questions, remembered you said you liked spicy food, and made sure to order something youād share.
On paper, this should be working.
But your brain betrays you again.
Because suddenly youāre not here anymore, youāre back under harsh OR lights, the hum of machines steady and grounding, your gloved hands steadier than they had any right to be. Jack standing just behind your shoulder, not hovering, not micromanaging⦠just there.
Trusting you.
āGo ahead,ā heād said, voice low, calm. āYouāve got it.ā
And you did.
You had it.
Not because you knew exactly what to do because of the training and studying for hours on end, but because he looked at you like you couldnāt possibly fail.
You blink, snapping back to the present as your date shifts in his seat.
āSo, what got you into medicine?ā he asks.
You open your mouth, but for a second, no words come out. Because the real answer sitting at the front of your mind isnāt about childhood dreams or helping people.
Itās about late nights. Controlled chaos. The adrenaline. The quiet, unspoken bond between people who choose to stay when everyone else goes home.
Itās about him.
You force a small smile. āI guess⦠I like the intensity of it. The pressure. It feelsā you pause, searching for a safer word, āworth it.ā
He nods, impressed. āYeah, I could never. Iād pass out.ā
You laugh softly, but it fades quickly.
Thereās a lull.
And in that silence, it hits you sharply and uncomfortably. Itās been happening all night, you feel it, and you know he does too
Itās not fair⦠especially not to him. Itās rare that you find a man who isnāt a total piece of shit.Ā
Because heās sitting across from you, fully here, fully trying⦠and youāre mentally somewhere else entirely, replaying the way Jack leans against the nurseās station at 3 a.m., sleeves rolled up, eyes tired but locked in on you like youāre the only thing in the room that matters.
Your date clears his throat. āHey⦠can I be honest?ā
You look up, caught.
āYeah. Of course.ā
He gives a small, almost apologetic smile. āI feel like Iām competing with something I canāt see.ā
Shit. You exhale quietly, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass.
Heās not wrong.
And for the first time all night, you stop trying to fake it.
āI thinkā¦ā You start, then shake your head slightly. āI think you might be right.ā
Thereās no anger on his face, just a kind of understanding that almost makes it worse.
āIs it someone at work?ā he asks gently.
You hesitate.
Then, barely above a whisper, āYeah.ā
He nods slowly, like he expected that.
āDoes he know?ā
You let out a small, humorless laugh. āI donāt even know what there is to know.ā
Because what do you call this?
A crush? That feels too small.
An attachment? Too clinical.
An ache? Closer.
You look down at the table, then back up at him, more present now than youāve been all night.
āIām really sorry,ā you say, and this time thereās no autopilot, no polite script that you usually use when dates aren't going well, but this is different.āYou didnāt deserve a half-there version of me.ā
He gives a soft shrug. āHey⦠at least you showed up. That counts for something.ā
You smile faintly, but your chest feels tight.
Because now youāre thinking about what happens next.
Not with him you already know that answer.
But with Jack.
Because walking away from this date isnāt the hard part.
The hard part is going back into that hospital⦠back into those long nights⦠and pretending that the way he looks at you doesnāt mean anything.
When it might mean everything.
The date wasnāt far from your apartment, so you walked back home, taking the scenic route, which happened to pass by the park near the hospital. It was like your body went on autopilot, and somehow you ended up at the park, sitting on a bench that youāve sat on so many times after terrible shifts with Trinity, Whitaker, and Mel. You took a deep breath and sighed, looking up at the sky, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with you and why this crush was, letās face it.. eating you alive. He was much older than you, and you knew that; you knew that he was married but had lost his wife, and you also knew that he spent his weekends doing SWAT. He was different from the men you knew, and maybe that was it, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. You sat there with your eyes closed and head back for a moment until you heard his voiceĀ
āYou alright, kid?ā he asked. You jump at the sound of his voiceĀ
āHoly shit, you canāt sneak up on people like that, Jack,ā but yes, Iām fineĀ
He lets out a chuckle at your reaction, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he didnāt just completely knock the air out of your lungs.
āDidnāt realize I was that stealthy,ā he says, stepping closer to the bench. āOr that you were that deep in your head.ā
You sit up a little straighter, heart still racing, not from being startled anymore, but because itās him. Of course itās him. Like the universe just decided to make things harder tonight.
āI wasnāt,ā you lie, brushing your hands together like that somehow resets you. āJust⦠needed some air.ā
Jack tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way he always does, quiet, observant, like heās reading everything youāre not saying.
āYou donāt come out here for air,ā he says simply. āYou come out here when somethingās off.ā
God.
You let out a small exhale, shaking your head. āDo you ever not analyze people?ā
āOccupational hazard,ā he replies, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Then, softer, āRough night?ā
You hesitate.
You could brush it off. Keep it light. Keep it safe.
But something about the way heās standing there close, but not too close, giving you space but not leaving makes the truth feel a little harder to swallow down.
āI was on a date,ā you admit.
Thereās a beat.
Itās subtle, but you catch it in the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly, the almost imperceptible shift in his expression before he schools it back into something neutral.
āOh yeah?ā he says, tone casual, but a little too measured. āHowād it go?ā
You let out a breath that turns into a soft, humorless laugh. āNot great.ā
Jack nods once, like heās processing that, but he doesnāt say anything right away. He just moves, slowly lowering himself onto the other end of the bench, leaving enough space between you that it shouldnāt feel like anythingā¦but it does.
āGuy wasnāt your type?ā he asks.
You stare straight ahead at the dark outline of the park, hands clasped together in your lap.
āHe shouldāve been,ā you say quietly. āNice. Funny. Actually listened when I talked. Like, objectively, no complaints.ā
āBut?ā Jack prompts.
You swallow.
āBut he wasnāt you.ā
The words are out before you can stop them.
Silence.
Heavy. Immediate. Loud.Ā
You feel it the second it lands, your stomach dropping as reality catches up to your mouth.
You turn your head slightly, not enough to fully look at him, but enough to feel the shift in the air beside you.
āSorry,ā you say quickly, a little breathless now. āThat justācame out wrong, I didnāt meanāā
āYeah,ā Jack cuts in softly.
You finally look at him, and heās not looking at you his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, jaw tight, like heās trying to keep something contained.
āThatās notā¦ā he exhales slowly, shaking his head once. āThatās not something you get to say and then take back like it didnāt mean anything.ā
Your chest tightens.
āI know,ā you whisper.
Another silence stretches between you, but this one feels different, charged, fragile, like one wrong word could snap it.
Jack runs a hand over the back of his neck, a familiar tell youāve seen a hundred times in the hospital when somethingās weighing on him.
āYouāre not stupid,ā he says finally. āYou know what this is.ā
Itās not a question.
You nod faintly, eyes dropping to your hands.
āYeah.ā
āAnd you also know why itās a problem.ā
That one hurts more.
Because yeah, you do. An attending and resident fraternizing itās an HR nightmare.Ā
āYeah,ā you repeat, quieter this time.
Thereās a long pause before he speaks again, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.
āI care about you,ā he says. āProbably more than I should.ā
Your breath catches.
āBut thisāā he gestures vaguely between the two of you, not quite looking at you still, āthis isnāt something I can just⦠let happen.ā
You blink, trying to keep your composure, even though it feels like something inside you is unraveling, you feel tears building up, and you silently pray they donāt fallĀ
āBecause you donāt feel it?ā you ask, barely above a whisper.
That gets his attention.
He turns his head then, finally looking at you, and that look?
Itās worse than anything he couldāve said.
itās not empty and Itās not indifferent.
Itās full.
āThatās not the issue,ā he says quietly.
And somehow, thatās the most devastating answer of all.
The tears fall before you can even blink them away,Ā Jackās expression shifts the second the tears fall, whatever walls he was holding up crack just enough for something softer, more human to come through.
āHey,ā he says quietly, immediately closing the distance between you, not crowding you, but close enough that you can feel his presence. āHey, donātādonāt do that.ā
But itās already happening.
You wipe at your face, frustrated, embarrassed, trying to pull yourself back together. āIām fine, I justāā your voice breaks, and you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. āI shouldnāt have said any of that. Iām sorry. Iām just⦠Iām a little tipsy, I should go.ā
You move to stand, needing to escape this bench, this conversation, him but his hand gently wraps around your wrist.
Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to stop you.
āDonāt run,ā Jack says softly.
God. What is his problem.
Thatās what this is, isnāt it? Running. From him, from yourself, from the fact that this isnāt just some harmless crush you can laugh off with Trinity at 4 a.m.
You let out a small, broken laugh, still not looking at him. āIām not running, Iām saving whatās left of my dignity.ā
āThereās nothing undignified about this,ā he says immediately.
You finally look at him then, eyes glassy, voice raw. āCrying over someone I canāt have? Feels pretty pathetic to me.ā
His jaw tightens at that.
āItās not pathetic,ā he says, firmer now. āItās human, you know that of all people you know that.ā
You shake your head, pulling your wrist back gently, but you donāt move away this time. You just⦠sit there, shoulders heavy.
āI knew this was stupid,ā you whisper. āI knew nothing could happen. I know that. And it doesnāt change anything.ā
Jack exhales slowly, looking down for a second like heās choosing his words carefully like he always does when it matters.
āYeah,ā he admits. āThatās usually how it works.ā
That honesty makes your chest ache even more.
āI donāt even know why itās you,ā you continue, voice trembling. āIāve dated people my age, people who are easier, people who are available. And then you justāā you let out a frustrated breath. āYou just exist and ruin it.ā
That pulls the faintest, sad smile out of him.
āYeah,ā he murmurs. āI tend to do that.ā
You huff out a small, tearful laugh, but it fades quickly.
āI hate this,ā you admit.
āI know.ā
Silence settles again, but this time itās quieter. Not as sharp. Just⦠heavy.
Jack leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, looking out at the empty park.
āI lost my wife,ā he says, not looking at you. āYou know that.ā
You nod, throat tight. āI know.ā
āI spent a long time thinking that part of my life was just⦠done,ā he continues. āWork filled it. The chaos, the hours, the SWAT stuff, itās easier than dealing with anything real.ā
You glance at him, surprised by how much heās giving you right now.
āAnd then you show up,ā he says, finally looking at you again. āAnd youāreāā he pauses, searching. āYouāre brilliant. Youāre relentless. You donāt back down when you should, and you care more than you let people see.ā
Your breath catches.
āAnd it makes things complicated,ā he finishes quietly.
There it is.
Not a rejection.
Not an admission.
Something worse....the in-between.
You swallow hard. āComplicated doesnāt really feel fair.ā
āNo,ā he agrees. āItās not.ā
Another pause softer, āBut fair doesnāt mean right.ā
You look down at your hands again, voice barely there. āSo what now?ā Jack watches you for a long moment, something conflicted in his eyes.
āWe go back to work,ā he says finally. āWe keep doing what we do.ā
Your chest tightens. āLike nothing happened?ā
His expression falters just slightly. āLike⦠we donāt let this ruin what we do have.ā
And that hurts in a completely different way.
Because what do you have?Ā
It isnāt nothing. But itās also not enough.
You nod slowly, even though it feels like agreeing to something thatās going to break you a little more every day.
āOkay,ā you whisper.
Jack studies you for a second longer, like he wants to say something else, like thereās more sitting right behind his teeth, but instead, he just reaches out, gently brushing his thumb under your eye to catch a tear you missed.
The gesture is soft. Careful.
And somehow⦠worse than anything else.
āGet home safe,ā he says quietly.
Not stay.
Not wait.
Just⦠go. And this time, when you stand up, he doesnāt stop you
Several days go by, and you call in sick, unable to face Jack, and naturally, he texts you to make sure that you're doing okay, and you canāt say you're not showing up to work because of him, so you lie because what else would you do?Ā
The lie sits heavy the second you hit send.
āJust a stomach bug. Iāll be fine in a couple of days.ā
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Then disappear.
Then come back again.
Jack: You sure? Need anything dropped off?
Your chest tightens, thumb hovering over the screen. Because thatās the problem, isnāt it?
He always shows up. Just⦠never in the way you actually need him to.
You: Iām good, promise. Just gonna sleep it off.
This time, it takes longer.
Jack: Alright. Rest. Let me know if it gets worse.
Thatās it.
No overstepping. No pushing.
No stay.
You toss your phone onto the bed like it burned you and roll over, staring at the wall. The dull ache in your chest flares again, sharper now, because itās not just confusion anymore.
Its absence.
The next few days blur together in that weird, stagnant way where time moves but you donāt.
Mel and Trinity show up like a storm unannounced, loud, carrying takeout, and zero patience for your isolation.
āAbsolutely not,ā Trinity says, kicking your bedroom door open like she owns the place. āYou smell like sadness and poor decisions.ā
āI do not, you start, but Mel cuts you off, already pulling your curtains open.
āYouāre spiraling,ā she says simply. āWeāre intervening.ā
You groan, burying your face deeper into your pillow. āIām sick.ā
āMhm,ā Trinity hums. āSick of pining over your emotionally unavailable attending, maybe.ā
You freeze.
Silence.
Then, muffled into the pillow, āI hate both of you.ā
āWe know,ā Mel says, not even slightly offended. āNow sit up.ā
You donāt want to.
But you do.
Because if you donāt, theyāll drag you, and honestly, part of you knows you need it.
They donāt push too hard. Donāt make you relive it all in detail. Just enough teasing, and enough honesty to keep you from completely disappearing into your own head.
And then, of course, Langdon.
Because God forbid the universe gives you one calm variable.
āYou look like hell,ā he says when you open the door, already holding two Penguins tickets like a bribe.
āWow,ā you deadpan. āWhat a compelling invitation.ā
āSidney Crosby is literally playing,ā he counters. āAnd youāve been MIA for days. Iām doing charity work at this point.ā
You hesitate.
Because the idea of leaving your apartment feels⦠exhausting.
But staying feels worse.
āFine,ā you sigh. āBut if I hate it, Iām blaming you.ā
āYou already blame me for things I didnāt do,ā he shrugs. āThis isnāt new.ā
The arena is loud.
Bright.
Alive in a way that feels almost jarring after days of quiet.
At first, youāre not really there, just going through the motions, reacting when Langdon nudges you, half-watching the game.
But slowly⦠it starts to work.
The noise drowns out your thoughts. The energy pulls you out of yourself just enough that you can breathe without it hurting so much.
āYouāre smiling,ā Langdon points out at one point, smirking.
āDonāt ruin it,ā you shoot back, but thereās no real bite behind it.
For the first time in days, the ache dulls.
Not gone.
Just⦠manageable.
Later that night, youāre back home, the quiet settling in again, but it feels different now.
Less suffocating.
You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone.
At his name.
At the thread of messages that are so painfully normal.
And that question creeps back in, louder now that youāre not drowning in your own thoughts:
What did he mean?
āWe donāt let this ruin what we do have.ā
Your stomach twists.
Because what you have with Jack is⦠everything and nothing at the same time.
AHHHHH I hope you enjoyed this, I had so much fun writing this and not going to lie it was a little painful at times but don't worry guys, it's gonna get so much better!!!



















