#almostlovers

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 don’t 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 couldn’t stop gushing about you to day siders. 

“Did you hear what I said?” your date said, interrupting your daydreaming 

“ No, I’m sorry, I got a little distracted.” You give him a sincere smile and tell him to keep going. 

He studies your face for a second like he’s trying to decide if you’re distracted or just not interested, and then he laughs it off.

“It’s fine,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “I was just saying my team finally got approval for the rollout. It’s been, like… months of back and forth.”

You nod, leaning forward slightly, trying to re-engage. “That’s actually really exciting. Congrats.”

And you mean it. You do. He’s nice. He’s attentive. He picked a good place, asked you thoughtful questions, remembered you said you liked spicy food, and made sure to order something you’d share.

On paper, this should be working.

But your brain betrays you again.

Because suddenly you’re not here anymore, you’re 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.

“Go ahead,” he’d said, voice low, calm. “You’ve got it.”

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 couldn’t possibly fail.

You blink, snapping back to the present as your date shifts in his seat.

“So, what got you into medicine?” 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 isn’t about childhood dreams or helping people.

It’s about late nights. Controlled chaos. The adrenaline. The quiet, unspoken bond between people who choose to stay when everyone else goes home.

It’s about him.

You force a small smile. “I guess… I like the intensity of it. The pressure. It feels” you pause, searching for a safer word, “worth it.”

He nods, impressed. “Yeah, I could never. I’d pass out.”

You laugh softly, but it fades quickly.

There’s a lull.

And in that silence, it hits you sharply and uncomfortably. It’s been happening all night, you feel it, and you know he does too

It’s not fair… especially not to him. It’s rare that you find a man who isn’t a total piece of shit. 

Because he’s sitting across from you, fully here, fully trying… and you’re mentally somewhere else entirely, replaying the way Jack leans against the nurse’s station at 3 a.m., sleeves rolled up, eyes tired but locked in on you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

Your date clears his throat. “Hey… can I be honest?”

You look up, caught.

“Yeah. Of course.”

He gives a small, almost apologetic smile. “I feel like I’m competing with something I can’t see.”

Shit. You exhale quietly, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass.

He’s not wrong.

And for the first time all night, you stop trying to fake it.

“I think…” You start, then shake your head slightly. “I think you might be right.”

There’s no anger on his face, just a kind of understanding that almost makes it worse.

“Is it someone at work?” he asks gently.

You hesitate.

Then, barely above a whisper, “Yeah.”

He nods slowly, like he expected that.

“Does he know?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t even know what there is to know.”

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 you’ve been all night.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, and this time there’s no autopilot, no polite script that you usually use when dates aren't going well, but this is different.“You didn’t deserve a half-there version of me.”

He gives a soft shrug. “Hey… at least you showed up. That counts for something.”

You smile faintly, but your chest feels tight.

Because now you’re thinking about what happens next.

Not with him you already know that answer.

But with Jack.

Because walking away from this date isn’t 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 doesn’t mean anything.

When it might mean everything.

The date wasn’t 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 you’ve 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, let’s 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 voice 

“You alright, kid?” he asked. You jump at the sound of his voice 

“Holy shit, you can’t sneak up on people like that, Jack,” but yes, I’m fine 

He lets out a chuckle at your reaction, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he didn’t just completely knock the air out of your lungs.

“Didn’t realize I was that stealthy,” he says, stepping closer to the bench. “Or that you were that deep in your head.”

You sit up a little straighter, heart still racing, not from being startled anymore, but because it’s him. Of course it’s him. Like the universe just decided to make things harder tonight.

“I wasn’t,” you lie, brushing your hands together like that somehow resets you. “Just… needed some air.”

Jack tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way he always does, quiet, observant, like he’s reading everything you’re not saying.

“You don’t come out here for air,” he says simply. “You come out here when something’s off.”

God.

You let out a small exhale, shaking your head. “Do you ever not analyze people?”

“Occupational hazard,” he replies, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Then, softer, “Rough night?”

You hesitate.

You could brush it off. Keep it light. Keep it safe.

But something about the way he’s standing there close, but not too close, giving you space but not leaving makes the truth feel a little harder to swallow down.

“I was on a date,” you admit.

There’s a beat.

It’s 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.

“Oh yeah?” he says, tone casual, but a little too measured. “How’d it go?”

You let out a breath that turns into a soft, humorless laugh. “Not great.”

Jack nods once, like he’s processing that, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He just moves, slowly lowering himself onto the other end of the bench, leaving enough space between you that it shouldn’t feel like anything…but it does.

“Guy wasn’t your type?” he asks.

You stare straight ahead at the dark outline of the park, hands clasped together in your lap.

“He should’ve been,” you say quietly. “Nice. Funny. Actually listened when I talked. Like, objectively, no complaints.”

“But?” Jack prompts.

You swallow.

“But he wasn’t you.”

The words are out before you can stop them.

Silence.

Heavy. Immediate. Loud. 

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.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, a little breathless now. “That just—came out wrong, I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah,” Jack cuts in softly.

You finally look at him, and he’s not looking at you his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, jaw tight, like he’s trying to keep something contained.

“That’s not…” he exhales slowly, shaking his head once. “That’s not something you get to say and then take back like it didn’t mean anything.”

Your chest tightens.

“I know,” 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 you’ve seen a hundred times in the hospital when something’s weighing on him.

“You’re not stupid,” he says finally. “You know what this is.”

It’s not a question.

You nod faintly, eyes dropping to your hands.

“Yeah.”

“And you also know why it’s a problem.”

That one hurts more.

Because yeah, you do. An attending and resident fraternizing it’s an HR nightmare. 

“Yeah,” you repeat, quieter this time.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.

“I care about you,” he says. “Probably more than I should.”

Your breath catches.

“But this—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, not quite looking at you still, “this isn’t something I can just… let happen.”

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 don’t fall 

“Because you don’t feel it?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

That gets his attention.

He turns his head then, finally looking at you, and that look?

It’s worse than anything he could’ve said.

it’s not empty and It’s not indifferent.

It’s full.

“That’s not the issue,” he says quietly.

And somehow, that’s the most devastating answer of all.

The tears fall before you can even blink them away, Jack’s expression shifts the second the tears fall, whatever walls he was holding up crack just enough for something softer, more human to come through.

“Hey,” he says quietly, immediately closing the distance between you, not crowding you, but close enough that you can feel his presence. “Hey, don’t—don’t do that.”

But it’s already happening.

You wipe at your face, frustrated, embarrassed, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’m fine, I just—” your voice breaks, and you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m a little tipsy, I should go.”

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.

“Don’t run,” Jack says softly.

God. What is his problem.

That’s what this is, isn’t it? Running. From him, from yourself, from the fact that this isn’t 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. “I’m not running, I’m saving what’s left of my dignity.”

“There’s nothing undignified about this,” he says immediately.

You finally look at him then, eyes glassy, voice raw. “Crying over someone I can’t have? Feels pretty pathetic to me.”

His jaw tightens at that.

“It’s not pathetic,” he says, firmer now. “It’s human, you know that of all people you know that.”

You shake your head, pulling your wrist back gently, but you don’t move away this time. You just… sit there, shoulders heavy.

“I knew this was stupid,” you whisper. “I knew nothing could happen. I know that. And it doesn’t change anything.”

Jack exhales slowly, looking down for a second like he’s choosing his words carefully like he always does when it matters.

“Yeah,” he admits. “That’s usually how it works.”

That honesty makes your chest ache even more.

“I don’t even know why it’s you,” you continue, voice trembling. “I’ve dated people my age, people who are easier, people who are available. And then you just—” you let out a frustrated breath. “You just exist and ruin it.”

That pulls the faintest, sad smile out of him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I tend to do that.”

You huff out a small, tearful laugh, but it fades quickly.

“I hate this,” you admit.

“I know.”

Silence settles again, but this time it’s quieter. Not as sharp. Just… heavy.

Jack leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, looking out at the empty park.

“I lost my wife,” he says, not looking at you. “You know that.”

You nod, throat tight. “I know.”

“I spent a long time thinking that part of my life was just… done,” he continues. “Work filled it. The chaos, the hours, the SWAT stuff, it’s easier than dealing with anything real.”

You glance at him, surprised by how much he’s giving you right now.

“And then you show up,” he says, finally looking at you again. “And you’re—” he pauses, searching. “You’re brilliant. You’re relentless. You don’t back down when you should, and you care more than you let people see.”

Your breath catches.

“And it makes things complicated,” he finishes quietly.

There it is.

Not a rejection.

Not an admission.

Something worse....the in-between.

You swallow hard. “Complicated doesn’t really feel fair.”

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”

Another pause softer, “But fair doesn’t mean right.”

You look down at your hands again, voice barely there. “So what now?” Jack watches you for a long moment, something conflicted in his eyes.

“We go back to work,” he says finally. “We keep doing what we do.”

Your chest tightens. “Like nothing happened?”

His expression falters just slightly. “Like… we don’t let this ruin what we do have.”

And that hurts in a completely different way.

Because what do you have? 

It isn’t nothing. But it’s also not enough.

You nod slowly, even though it feels like agreeing to something that’s going to break you a little more every day.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Jack studies you for a second longer, like he wants to say something else, like there’s 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.

“Get home safe,” he says quietly.

Not stay.

Not wait.

Just… go. And this time, when you stand up, he doesn’t 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 can’t say you're not showing up to work because of him, so you lie because what else would you do? 

The lie sits heavy the second you hit send.

“Just a stomach bug. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

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 that’s the problem, isn’t it?

He always shows up. Just… never in the way you actually need him to.

You: I’m good, promise. Just gonna sleep it off.

This time, it takes longer.

Jack: Alright. Rest. Let me know if it gets worse.

That’s 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 it’s not just confusion anymore.

Its absence.

The next few days blur together in that weird, stagnant way where time moves but you don’t.

Mel and Trinity show up like a storm unannounced, loud, carrying takeout, and zero patience for your isolation.

“Absolutely not,” Trinity says, kicking your bedroom door open like she owns the place. “You smell like sadness and poor decisions.”

“I do not, you start, but Mel cuts you off, already pulling your curtains open.

“You’re spiraling,” she says simply. “We’re intervening.”

You groan, burying your face deeper into your pillow. “I’m sick.”

“Mhm,” Trinity hums. “Sick of pining over your emotionally unavailable attending, maybe.”

You freeze.

Silence.

Then, muffled into the pillow, “I hate both of you.”

“We know,” Mel says, not even slightly offended. “Now sit up.”

You don’t want to.

But you do.

Because if you don’t, they’ll drag you, and honestly, part of you knows you need it.

They don’t push too hard. Don’t 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.

“You look like hell,” he says when you open the door, already holding two Penguins tickets like a bribe.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “What a compelling invitation.”

“Sidney Crosby is literally playing,” he counters. “And you’ve been MIA for days. I’m doing charity work at this point.”

You hesitate.

Because the idea of leaving your apartment feels… exhausting.

But staying feels worse.

“Fine,” you sigh. “But if I hate it, I’m blaming you.”

“You already blame me for things I didn’t do,” he shrugs. “This isn’t new.”

The arena is loud.

Bright.

Alive in a way that feels almost jarring after days of quiet.

At first, you’re 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.

“You’re smiling,” Langdon points out at one point, smirking.

“Don’t ruin it,” you shoot back, but there’s no real bite behind it.

For the first time in days, the ache dulls.

Not gone.

Just… manageable.

Later that night, you’re 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 you’re not drowning in your own thoughts:

What did he mean?

“We don’t let this ruin what we do have.”

Your stomach twists.

Because what you have with Jack is… everything and nothing at the same time.