Lovin' the dinosaur fic sm!!! ❤️❤️❤️ Could you do Jack Abbot x wife fem!reader? She was raised as an independent woman her whole life but when she met Jack, he was still a total gentleman. So, obviously there's a lot of clash of how Jack should treat her and vice versa. Even though they're married, it's the one thing that drives him insane, especially in his line of work. Imagine his surprise when she came to his ER, bleeding, didn't call him, saying that she can take care of herself??? Blood, Pitt fam, worry, injury, what happens to her (she's not a doctor, lol). Do whatever you want to. Thanks!! :))
Hide and Seek—(jack abbot x wife! fem! reader)
summary: you vs knife, knife won. jack is less than thrilled when he finds you hiding in his er.
warnings: independent badass chef reader, injury and blood, a touch of jack’s angsty worry, reader ends up ok, swearing, good communication between jack and reader, jack yells at nurse, shen the mediator ftw, butchered medical and commercial kitchen info, no use of y/n
a/n: this is my first fic request omg😭i’m honoured!!! i made reader a chef for the injury hope that’s ok💕
wc: 2.8k (i got a lil carried away)
dividers by @cursed-carmine and @cafekitsune
It's not very easy to play hide and seek in an ER. Nurses walk through the hallways every second, there isn't a place not covered with fluorescent lights. It's especially hard when you're trying to hide from the attending of the ER—Jack Abbot—who happens to be your husband and the person who knows you the best.
You'd been deep in prep for dinner service at the upscale Pittsburgh restaurant you're the head chef for. Fully booked for the evening, you and your team didn't have a minute to spare, especially when your sous chef had called out sick just an hour before she was set to arrive. You'd been in the middle of dicing the bag of onions she was supposed to cut, while directing the rest of your team. It was bad luck really, your line cook started asking you about temperature for the lamb, the pastry chef was yelling she was short on lemons. You didn't have the temp memorized, and your heart rate was quickly rising at the prospect of dessert not being finished. While peering over to your recipe book and trying to problem solve from across the room, your hand slipped on the onion you'd been halfway on. Too bad your knives were just sharpened yesterday. The chef knife when right from the onion and into your hand, gashing so deep you knew instantly it wouldn't be fixed with the kitchen first aid kit.
Now you were sneaking around the waiting room, trying to ascertain the best way to get help without your husband seeing.
You weren't trying to hide your injury in malice for Jack. Jack just tended to, for lack of a nicer term, overreact and coddle you. And if there was one thing you hated people doing, it was that. You've always been an independent woman.
From the moment you were able to take your first steps and form coherent sentences, you'd been "an unstoppable little girl", at least according to your parents. From the moment you'd been thrust into elementary school, you'd been labeled "a leader" and by your teachers, and "bossy" by your unruly peers who you'd been paired with by the teachers who thought your exemplary nature would rub onto the disruptive students with crumpled papers spilling from their desks. Bossy turned into being called a bitch by the high school boys who disliked when you dared to stand up for yourself when they made crude remarks and catcalls. Those same boys who dragged their feet on helping with group projects; either conveniently "forgetting" their work on presentation day or it being so incredibly shitty it was embarrassing to put on the slideshow. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was society, but as the years went on you learned to rely on nobody but yourself. To trust others was a dangerous game, one that never ended particularly well for you.
When you met Jack, he'd caught your attention with how respectful he was. The dating scene was rough in Pittsburgh. The men were apparently not thrilled with dating a woman who made double their income and ran her 5-star kitchen army-commander style. After a male-podcaster who lived in a frat house at 28 you made the mistake of giving a chance said you weren't submissive enough to be wife-material, he'd ended up with your water glass down the front of his shirt and you all but giving up on finding a boyfriend. Jack had met you at a bar, late night after you'd finished service. He'd been impressed by your job, the kindest man you'd met, and incredibly hot. When you agreed to go on a date with him, he'd held all the doors, pulled out your chair, and paid the bill without a second of hesitation. He was a classic gentleman, maybe the last one left in Pittsburgh not in a nursing home.
It was great when it was just lunch and dinner dates, but the biggest fight you'd ever had in your relationship was when you started spending more time with him and he started doing a little too much for you. He'd folded all your laundry, vacuumed your entire apartment, and washed the pile of dishes in the sink while you were away working before his shift. Deep down you were honoured that he cared for you enough to a kind gesture like that for you. But the new waiter that dropped a dish for a high-profile customer and your line cook being in a bad mood sent you over the edge.
"Why the fuck did you do all that for me without asking?" You'd angrily called him in the morning.
"Did it upset you? I was just trying to make your life easier when you got back from work." He said, confused.
"It doesn't! Jack, I don't need you to do every fucking thing for me. I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own." He'd sensed the pain below the anger in your voice, and ten minutes later, he was at your house. After a little de-escalation and him hugging you as you cried the frustration out from the day before, you were finally able to explain to him.
"It's not that I don't appreciate it Jack, I appreciate you put the effort in to help me. It's just- I guess, if you do everything for me, I'm not useful anymore. Why do you even keep me around if I can't do anything?" Jack looked crushed when you said that.
"Baby, do you think I'm only spending time with you because you're helpful?" You sniffle, not answering. "I'm so sorry if you ever thought that. I'm sorry that anyone ever made you feel like you're worthy only if you're doing something." After that, Jack had learned to be extra conscious of your autonomy, and you learned to trust Jack; let him do something for you once and a while.
The only thing Jack was still ultra protective of when it came to you was your health. You might be married, he trusts you with everything, but the little doctor voice in his brain always tells him to double check you over even when you say you're fine.
You know by now it's his way of loving you. Especially because his previous wife died of cancer years ago, he needs to be paranoid about you. You let him; if it brings him peace knowing you're okay, it's worth your twinge of annoyance when he insists on checking your lymph nodes for the third time in the month.
When you're seriously injured, though, your independence kicks right back in. You don't want to send Jack into a spiral, and you don't want the fear of not being able to be completely self-sufficient to kick in, which you know it will as soon as Jack starts being overly cautious about your injury.
Lupe quickly waves you back as soon as she sees you ducking through the lines of people in chairs. You dart to the nurses station, seeing Lena looking up at the boards, surprise on her face when she sees you.
"Chef! What the hell happened to you, girl?" She says, rushing over when she sees the blood soaked through your white uniform.
"Please, don't tell Jack. I had a little incident at work, me versus knife, I lost." You plead. "I do not need him seeing me like this."
"You're in luck, he's dealing with a trauma right now. I'm only helping you with this highly ill advised plan because I don't need my top doc freaking out right now." She hustles you over to the triage area, calling Dr. Ellis over.
"I need you to get Mrs. Abbot over here assesed and stiched up, but Dr. Abbot absolutely cannot know about her. Get one of the med students to distract him if it comes to it." Parker salutes, turning to look at your arm.
"Damn, Mrs. Abbot, by the looks of it, the knife try to attack you." She whistles. "Let's get you an x-ray and MRI to look for any damage to your tendons and ligaments. I'll take a look once you're back and we'll go from there." A nurse takes you up to x-ray and mri, pushing the wheelchair you're in into the elevator just as Jack strips off his gloves and steps out of Trauma 1.
"We're getting fucking slammed here Lena." He says to the charge nurse.
"Yep. Full moon, its bound to bring absolute chaos." She says.
"Lena, x-ray and mri are being done for Mrs. Ab—" Ellis abruptly shuts her mouth when she sees Jack.
"What have we got, Ellis? Who are the scans for?" He asks, seemingly oblivious to Parker's close call.
"Oh, just a pretty deep knife cut, for, um, a patient. Checking for damage in her hand." Parker says, heart racing at her slip up.
"Why do you sound suspicious, Ellis?" Jack jokingly asks. "Sounds like you're trying to smuggle a patient or something." Lena and Parker freeze, scrambling to find an excuse, but Jack is absentmindedly checking his phone now, putting them at ease.
"Nah, boss, not smuggling anyone." Parker says jokingly, trying to hide her horrible lying voice.
"I know Ellis, just messing with…" Jack's voice started friendly, until something on his phone catches his attention.
"Unless you are." Jack's face is stone cold serious now. "I don't suppose either of you could tell me why my wife's location says she's on the radiology floor here."
"Jack, it's not Dr. Ellis's fault. Your wife did come in here, she cut herself with one of her knives. She is okay, I can't stress that enough, but she didn't want to distract and worry you."
"What the absolute fuck? She isn't okay unless I say she fucking is. You do not conspire with my goddamn wife to hide her existence in my ED." He's almost shouting now, the patients in the hallway looking up in interest. Shen, having eavesdropping on the conversation, figures there isn't much good that can happen if Jack keeps berating Lena and Parker. He steps next to Jack, taking a firm hold on his shoulder and guiding him to the empty break room.
"I know you're worried about your wife, man, but you are not going to have a job by 7 am if you keep yelling at Lena and Parker in front of our patients." Jack is fuming, about to retort, but Shen is faster. "They shouldn't have done that, but right now, you need to be focused on your wife. She is getting care from some meddling, but very competent medical professionals. You can see her the minute she comes back from her scans. But you being up there wouldn't be safe or helpful, you know that." Shen's pep talk seems to calm him down a notch. He takes a breath, sitting up.
"I'm going to take all the traumas that come in for the next hour. Me and Parker can handle it. You can go be with your wife, micromanage her treatment or whatever, but just don't take out your worry on Lena. She's just trying to help your wife." Jack nods, muttering a short thanks to Shen as he walks out the door, stopping right in front of the elevator to wait for the second you arrive back on the ED floor.
You're wheeled back into the elevator. The scans were fast, but your hand hurts like a bitch. You're trying to ingnore the pain in your left hand, while talking to your one sous chef in the kitchen who has rapidly been upgraded to to head chef for the night. He sounds frazzled, but is seemingly managing with your directions.
"Yes, you're right, make sure the crème fraiche has been whisked before it goes on the plate. Nope, not the main dinner plate, nope, it's the blue sides plate. Yeah, the one with the—" The elevator opens to Jack's serious face. You jump.
"I'm going to have to call you back. I promise, you got this. Text me with any other questions." You quickly hang up and look at Jack. As much as he wants to scream at you, frustrated and worried sick to his stomach, he chooses the calm approach Shen has instilled in him.
"Baby, are you alright?" You're surprised by his tone, not a touch of anger invading his voice like you'd expected if he caught you,
"Jack, I'm sorry for not telling you; I just didn't want to worry you, and it's really not that bad. Please don't be mad." You say. He's been walking beside your wheelchair, the nurse behind you trying their best to not be nosy into the attending's conversation with his wife. The nurse gets you into a room, helping you up into the bed. Jack kneels beside you.
"Baby, I'm not mad, I promise. I wish you would've told me, honey, you scared me when I saw your location." He says.
"I know, I should've told you." You concede, as Jack slips on gloves while looking at your scans.
"Well, baby, you're in luck. The knife didn't do any major damage, you're lucky. I'll stitch you up and you'll be brand new in no time." He says, peeling off the hemostatic bandage Dr. Ellis had wrapped around your hand before you went up to radiology. "While I take a look at you, please tell me what landed you in my ED."
"My sous called out sick tonight. I was chopping the onions she was suppposed to be cutting and trying to help my pastry chef and line cook at the same time, and my knife slipped." You say, hissing in pain when Jack peels the last layer of the bandage off your blood stained skin. Jack reaches for a syringe on the tray of supplies the nurse has placed by his chair.
"I'm going to put some lidocaine around the cut, okay?" Jack says gently, beginning to inject the fluid, apologizing when you yelp at the sting. "Then we can start stitching."
"You're stitching me up? I don't know if I should trust you with my hand." You sarcastically say.
"Well, you did vow to trust me in sickness and in health, and I did go to school for eight years for this. So unless you want a med student going at you like a practice mannequin, you should probably let me do it."
"I don't think you should be talking about your students that way Jack. Maybe I should let one of them stitch me up." You challenge.
"Glad to see you still have your sense of humor while sliced open." Jack chuckles. "But seriously, you're my wife, and nobody but me is going to be fixing your hand. You deserve the best, baby." You smile at his unexpected sweetness while in sterile gloves grasping a needle holder. Jack's experience makes it quick, as you press send on a text to your kitchen, Jack is sitting up, cutting the last suture and removing the drapes around your hand.
"Wow, baby, you're fast." You say impressed. "Good thing, too. I've got to get back to the kitchen; I left my second sous in charge and I'm scared they've burnt the place down by now." Jack, halfway to wrapping your hand up in gauze, abruptly looks up at you.
"Absolutely the fuck not. You're going straight back home, and elevating and icing your hand." He says, worried husband and doctor mode in his expression.
"Jack, you can't be serious. There's still hours left of dinner service. I cannot abandon my team, and besides, I feel perfectly fine."
"Honey, you need to rest. Your team will understand, they can wait." He says. "I cannot let you go and potentially injure yourself."
"I'll be fine by myself, Jack." You're voice has an edge of irritation. "You can't baby me. We've talked about this, you need to trust me. I'll come back if I'm feeling bad." Jack looks like his heart rate is about to go through the roof.
"Baby, I know you'll be fine, but you just gave me a scare. I'm not ready to let you go yet. What if something bad happens to you, and I'm not there to help you? Reports show if sutures fail on a major wound, it can lead to—" You cut off his nervous rambling with a hug.
"Jack. Please listen to me. I know you're scared, I know every worst-case scenario in your doctor-brain is running through your head right now. I'll be in a place with so many people to help me if I'm feeling bad. My line cook used to be a volunteer firefighter, too. You have my location, and I could send you hourly updates." Jack relaxes in your arms, finally calming most of his worries.
"Only if you send me hourly updates."
