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frequent flyer jack abbot x f!reader

you’ve worked night shift with jack for years now, so how come the one day he covers day shift for robby, you’re sitting in the waiting room with a nasty bruise on your midsection and a laceration across your cheek

pt 2 here

jack abbot x f!reader

wc. 9k

rating. 18+

summary. jack chooses to ignore how his heart constricts when your hands brush, how your eyes meet his, especially when his fall to the wedding ring attached to a delicate, gold chain hanging right below the collar of your scrubs. however one moment can change everything and that proves true when he covers the day shift and finds you in the waiting room injured and with red, swollen eyes.

tags/warnings. MDNI protective jack abbot, afab!reader, blood, needles, inaccurate medical descriptions, mutual pining, age gap, (reader is mentioned as younger than jack), reader is referred to as “sweetheart”, resident!reader, talks of domestic violence, graphic violence, physical and emotional abuse, possible emotional affair between jack and reader, female pronouns, female anatomy

requested? no

jack abbot can remember the day he met you, just a young second year resident transferring to PMTC due to budget cuts. you were still learning, eager with a passion he used to possess, before it became routine, steady. you’d shown up with a notepad that by the end of the way hadn’t been touched once, forgotten in your locker along with a half eaten granola bar. the minor bruise on your cheek, running into a mounted cabinet you’d informed.

he knew it must’ve been difficult, suddenly tossed into a new environment, with new challenges, people who already were accustomed to each other. however he took notice in the way you didn’t waver, chin held high and shoulders back, no matter how often that night he swore he saw your bottom lip wobble. you were resilient, something he admired greatly and found himself drawn too even on the most desolate of nights.

jack could also recount the exact moment you became something more than his favorite resident and trusted colleague, something special.

he’d found himself on the roof, not yet beyond the barrier yet gripping it as if he’d cross any moment, if he decided as much. the sun had began fading into the horizon, the soft, orange glow of morning bright against the overwhelming dimness jack felt festering in his gut.

it was then that the door to the roof screeched in protest against rusty hinges as someone pushed past. a pause as jack pondered if robby had sought him out yet again.

“dr abbot.” you, with your gentle tone that threatened to tug jack over the buildings side. his mind swam, struggling against the tide.

he could hear how your shoes approached, the squeak of the soles so pristine and new. a mark of the shift last thursday when your last pair had been made a vomit mat by a young girl with the flu.

he wasn’t sure if you’d been looking for him or simply decided you wanted to watch the sunrise, maybe both if by coincidence. you appeared in his peripheral, eyes focused ahead mirroring his own watchful gaze of the city.

“tonight was rough,” you spoke, calm, in control. he appreciated that about you, your professionalism and how you knew when to put it to use, and right then he felt properly doctored. he wanted to agree, nod, although he found himself quiet, urging you silently to continue, “it’s always rough.”

if that wasn’t the truth he didn’t know what was. you hummed low in your throat, and jack swore he could sense your next move as you glanced towards the side of his face.

“dr abbot, why do you come to the roof so often?” ah, so you’d noticed, and of course you had. always so perceptive.

he kept his eyes on the horizon of buildings, willing himself to think of an answer.

“why did you become a doctor?” he answers with a question, finally tearing his eyes away from the view to take in the woman standing a few feet away. you probably felt as exhausted as you looked. eye bags heavy beneath slightly red eyes, the look you’d get when he knew you were already clocking out and bidding everyone goodbye. he’d seen the very same on his own face many years before you came into the picture.

you don’t seem bothered by his question, eyes however deviating from his to dance around, probably searching for a response. you’re always quick when a trauma comes in, firing off directions, on the go with medications, prepared and agile and ready. but he pocketed in the recess of his mind how you’d hesitate to answer questions outside of the ER, thoughtful and important, like the words you put out there mattered.

“i don’t know.” is something he isn’t expecting to hear, no life story, no long explanation of how it was your calling, all things he’s heard and respected.

and its final, your indecisive decisiveness, no bother the oxymoron. it was a tad refreshing, hearing someone so sure be just a bit unprepared for once.

jack decides he can reward your candor, sighing like giving any piece of him away will spell doom.

“sometimes i think about crossing the barrier and,” his pause means more than words could allow, a deep set line between his brows pushing together when your breathing stutters, possibly something akin to concern, “this job can get to you.”

he doesn’t have to continue for you to understand the silent storm behind his eyes, emotions you’re far too aware of.

jack watches with batted breath he doesn’t know how to exhale as you shift from one foot to other before looking back to him. you don’t look at him with pity, no, there’s something different hidden in your gaze, something that twists his stomach.

“my intern year we had a suicide attempt brought in, benzos from his aunts medicine cabinet,” you waver, lashes fluttering like you’re just now reliving the memory. your hands tuck into your colombia zip up, shoulders rising and falling like a deep breath that can’t help but be seen. you turn towards the barrier, leaning forward so that your stomach presses gently to it, “16 year old, was being physically abused by his uncle.”

jack doesn’t speak, he listens.

“they got sole custody when he was 11, parents passed in a head on collision,” its awful, and jack can tell it must’ve left a steep mark on your soul if it’s something you can recall so vividly. he’s had those patients, the ones that leave behind burn marks and cause your faith to slip just a bit further down then the last, “poor kid barely lived, all he knew was suffering.”

you sound like you did when jack first met you, the underlying fear that came with realizing lives were in your hands.

“that was my first loss as a doctor,” the light behind your eyes has dimmed just so slightly, and jack can tell you’re reliving a moment you’d long since buried. he knows because he’s been exactly where you are, it’s like looking in a mirror, “i see his face every time i fall asleep.”

it lands in jack’s chest with a dull thud, aching at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the sound of grief.

“it’s true when they say it doesn’t get any easier.” you concede, nodding towards the rising sun like it understands your plight.

silence fills the space between you and jack, a comfortable silence that stretches across the roof. where the two of you stand together, enjoying the way the morning air gradually grows warmer.

“worse if it did.” jack replies, there’s no room for interpretation in his words, just truth.

“the good cases don’t change the bad one, but they remind us why we’re doing this,” you’re sure in your words, and jack isn’t confident if you’re comforting him or just talking to keep him occupied, like if you were to stop he’d end up on the pavement, “and sometimes we just really need that reminder to cement.”

you were wise, in a way jack saw in how you spoke to patients, their families. something that not only comes with time but also from who you are as a person.

“you don’t need to talk me down,” jack speaks, his voice fatigued and quiet, “if anything, the thought of my team scraping me off the tarmac is reason enough.”

it’s morose, he can see the way your face seems to pinch at the picture he’s painted for you.

the subtle warmth of having another body near grows as you shuffle closer, shoulders a few inches away.

“maybe i ought to come up here more often.” it’s posed as an open ended idea, although jack can pick up on the finality in your voice. he finds a himself allowing the tug on his lips to pull into a smile, chin bobbing as he nods. your throat clears.

“as long as you don’t mind the company, dr abbot.”

“jack.”

“what?” your eyes scan the side of his face, searching.

jack turns to face you, that smile still lingering on his lips as he leans into the barrier.

“colleagues that hassle me this much usually call me jack.” it’s a tease on his tongue, a hint of mirth behind his gaze.

you’ve spoken his name before, when his presence has been absent, talking to lena or on the off chance dana. even in conversations with robby. although you always found yourself back at dr abbot, feeling a line you’d rather not cross unless the man himself allowed as much.

“alright,” your teeth show as you smile, light, comfortable, “as long as you follow your own advice and address me the same.”

jack holds your gaze, the two of you drenched in the hazy sunrise, simply allowing the accumulated stress to melt away from the night. he notices your free hand playing with the badge clipped to your scrub pants. the picture is of you a few months ago, wearing the same smile.

you’re nothing short of breathtaking, and jack can acknowledge that as the sun casts rays across your face. he’d noticed since the day you’d shook his hand, face hopeful. he wasn’t blind, he could see it even behind the layer of night shift grim and fatigue, the way your eyes would sparkle. he’d always considered himself a steadfast man, firm in his ideals and grateful for what he was given.

in spite of all that that held jacks self control, he found himself ready to allow you to tear down his walls. the gorgeous young doctor that cared far too much for her own good, and for some reason sought to confront a war torn veteran in his silent qualms.

“i should get going,” you pull at the last word, like you’re contemplating not heeding it and saying with jack in silence, “especially before robby pulls up on that godforsaken donor-cycle.” it’s cynical, an ill-mannered joke that pokes at the bruise of his friends habit of forgoing a helmet. he chuckles, allowing your crude attempt at humor to erode at something resembling hesitation within his chest.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, or tonight, dr-, jack.” it’s a messy sentence of corrections that cause you to huff, and if jack were to observe your mannerisms any harder he thinks he’d notice the way you seem to fluster beneath his gaze. that being said, your embarrassment is endearing to the older man.

“get some rest, knowing our luck shit will hit the fan.” he’s serious beside the way he placates it for the sole reason you’d once mentioned that thinking bad things will happen before they do is bad juju. whatever that means.

“i expect you to do the same.” you know how jack is, always worried about everyone but himself. he shakes his head like the idea of resting is humorous, casting a glance back at your departing smile as his eyes catch the way the sun reflects off something by the collar of your scrub top.

a wedding ring. precariously looped through a thin, gold chain around your neck. the diamond is quite prodigious, layered with clusters of even more diamonds. they lay on a bed of silver and gold, the band thin and delicate, a stark contrast to your dark scrub top.

jack feels something thorny lodge between his ribs, anchoring in place and refusing to adjust. his eyes watch the fine jewelry as it rustles against your movement, eyes casting up to yours in time to return the wave you send his way.

he shouldn’t be surprised, someone as kind as you, as strong willed yet soft and gentle. someone as exquisite as you were, who the day he met set the back of his neck aflame. who just now had opened his eyes to the startling realization that you weren’t simply a pretty thing he often found his eyes searching for, you were enigma. a painfully smart, beautiful woman who just kickstarted something he hadn’t felt since his late wife.

his eyes found the horizon once more, brows furrowing as his predicament seemed fully settle.

jack abbot‘s heart beat for a woman with a wedding ring around her neck. and it sunk in that while his racing pulse stuttered at the memory of your recent smile, yours raced for another.

jack knew he from that day forward he was fucked. the weeks that went by, the months continuing to grow closer to you like it wasn’t a threat to his health when you’d lean in and his lungs would fill with the sweet scent of your perfume. every time you’d save a life, your hand meeting his in a celebratory high five, your palm soft against his rough calluses.

sometimes he’d catch you out by the ambulance bay alone, simple gathering yourself as the brisk night air soothed your panicky, fried nerves. on occasion he’d join you, standing in silence as the only sound to be heard was your joint, steady deep breaths.

“this is the third time this week, i swear her conditions are progressively getting more outlandish,” dr shen commented as he placed a patient chart beside you, the binder making a dull thud as it landed. you glance towards john, brows raised in question, to which he nods. as you open the chart, your gaze roves over the pages, “purposeful?”

you hum, low in your throat. a habit you’d grown to utilize as an indication of your thoughts processing.

“seems like hypochondria, possibly munchausen, is it the same condition worsening or is it different every item?” you probe, eyes dancing across the woman’s patient file.

“we call it FDIS now, you know what that stands for?” jack. he appears from behind, arms crossing as he comes to a halt before you and shen. your head shakes, chin dipping as you find yourself slipping into an easy smile. he always knew when to teach you, however infrequent the moments arose now.

“yes, must’ve slipped my mind, sorry jack,” shen snickers as he watches the two of you, “factitious disorder imposed on self.”

“differing from..?”

“factitious disorder imposed on another, otherwise most commonly known as munchausen by proxy.” you’re proud of your knowledge, despite the flutter of heat you feel rising to your cheeks. maybe it’s the way jack is looking at you, that tired expression of his sinking into content at your answer. or maybe how shen thought your teaching moment was comical, deciding it the perfect time to obnoxiously slurp the remaining coffee water through his dunkin straw.

“this doesn’t help me.” shen speaks after a second of enjoying his beverage, one he’d been slowly sipping for the past 12 hours, something you swore took skill.

you gaze rises from jack, falling on your friend in dire need of his colleagues professional opinion on the matter.

“you’re the attending, you should know this,” your level of sass is only emboldened by the closeness you’ve accumulated with your fellow night shift staff. a tone you would have never used on either of the men in front of you if you didn’t expect their reactions by now, “or, you could question the boss.”

your chin nods up to where jack stands, his shoulders bobbing as he exhales a sound you recognize as a softly concealed chuckle. shen makes an equally exaggerated noise, dipped in exhaustion as he reaches down for the chart he’d allowed you to mull over. he tucks it under his bicep, his free hand grasping his lukewarm latte as if it’s fine porcelain.

“different condition each time.” he continues the conversation from before jack had interrupted.

“alright, next time she’s here have her speak with psych.” you conclude shen’s query, if you squint hard enough you can see how you’ve wrapped it with a nice, shiny bow, metaphorically of course. your eyes find jack’s once more, however you find his already focused on you.

shen’s lips form a solid line, inhaling through his nose like he hasn’t had a second of peace all night.

“it’s a plan. you’ll let me know if you need help with the head lac in 5?” he asks, gingerly gathering himself to see whoever is next on the board. you simply nod, a small hum leaving you as you watch the doctor make his way towards the waiting room.

you feel the sear of eyes on your profile, the shadow of jacks form falling into your line of sight, leaning against the nurses station. you decide to throw the man a bone, watching how he’s eyeing the clock.

“hot date?” your smirk is teasing, creeping further into the apples of your cheeks as his face turns to look both offended and caught off guard. then he simmers, like you’d poured ice water over his head.

“if your idea of a hot date is tossing my prosthetic across the living room and nursing a guinness.” you lean into lena’s swivel chair, already ready to tell her you were keeping it warm if she suddenly reappears with a brow raised. you can recall when you’d learned of jacks prosthetic, it was fairly soon into transferring.

a young body had lost his right leg in a head on collision, he’d been unbuckled in the front seat. you can remember the blood, the way his mothers screams were raw and painful as she arrived hand in hand with her unconscious child on a gurney. paramedics looked dour, it had been raining that day, you can recount the way your shoes slipped a few times as you raced against the trauma.

but he lived, with one less appendage than before. the kid was young, maybe too young to process fully what had happened yet not too young to understand what he was seeing when they pulled his gown up, revealing a very bandaged stump.

you’d been to the side when jack explained what would happen going forward with the boy and his mother, flipping pages of medication orders and treatment plans.

you’d seen the look on the child’s face, too small to have such an expression of desolation. then jack lifted his pant leg, exposing the titanium.

you always wished you’d remembered the joke jack had made, the advice he gave. nevertheless, you could never, nor would you wish to scrub the image of the boys grin, ear to ear and absolutely fascinated.

“hey, if he’s causing you any issues let me know, i’ll take him out back and set him straight.” you hadn’t named his prosthetic, or the second spare he had. although you decided not too long ago that treating it as if it was sentient and capable of thought made you snort. jacks eyes fluttered shut, head shaking like he had no clue how to answer or what to do with you.

“one day you’ll let that shit go and i’ll be eternally grateful,” he quips at your attempt to get him to crack a smile, something that could be fairly rare most nights, “maybe if i pawn you off to robby it’ll be a lesson you won’t forget.”

that makes your jaw drop, stuck between thinking of a jab to return or just staring him the man like he’d offended not only you but also your ancestors.

“you wouldn’t, you think any of the day residents could handle your overly sunny disposition?” it’s not really a question, more a sarcastic rebuttal to the man’s words. the fact you had met all of the day shift staff cemented in your mind they couldn’t handle it like you could, even if it sounded arrogant. you were allowed to be full of it every now and then, a healthy level of confidence was good for the soul.

“and please, i know you’re messing with me but robby is like a disappointed uncle,” you stand to approach jack, nudging the chair with your foot as you do, letting it roll back into the counter, “like that uncle you see every blue moon that doesn’t remember your name or birthday yet can tell you everything you did wrong with that intubation.” it’s a contrived explanation that makes jacks mouth curl, ignoring the way the ac hits his overheated skin and allows him to register the scent of your lotion.

“you’re a pro at intubations, think you taught me something the first time i watched you do one.” his words spill through your gut, a sense of pride following you as your cheeks grow sore from grinning, a grin that hadn’t once slipped since jack appeared.

“oh my g-, stop,” you laugh, patting a hand against the man’s shoulder as his expression mirrors yours, “if you think flattery will get you anywhere, you’re correct.” your laughter grows, like you know no one funnier than yourself. jack watches as your head tips back, your presence setting him in such an easy going stance he nearly forgets where the two of you are. he wants to join your laughter, pretend the feel and warmth of your palm against his shoulder didn’t set something in his ablaze. be jovial and normal, allow you to pull him into the serenity he’s seen you carry.

but he can still feel your touch. the way your fingertips practically burned into his scrub top, despite your poor circulation and chilly hands. it lasts, the lump in his throat he continuously swallows just to feel it rise again. maybe it’s bile, maybe he’s sick because his hands twitch at his sides like they need to caress you or he’ll die on the spot. it’s unprofessional, it’s inappropriate. he’s glad you’re still lost in your own world of lessening giggles that begin to fade into soft breaths.

“how about i buy you a guinness in a few hours and you can bring me a coffee sometime to return the favor?” you slow into the conversation once make, eyes more awake then jack swears they were when he’d seen you chatting with shen.

“surprise me, just no double shots or i’ll not just be bouncing off the walls, i’ll become the walls.” sometimes your humor confuses him, but he stays enjoying the way your words are normally silly and ill conceived.

“i can afford my own beer.”

“consider it a thanks for teaching me about FDIS.” you shrug. jacks brows pinch inward.

“you said you already knew of it.”

“alright, consider it my thanks for reminding me of information i knew prior.” maybe someone had opened a window nearby or maybe jack could just breath better around you. like a weight had been lifted and dropped from his shoulders, no longer overbearing and constantly expecting more.

“tell you what, i’ll think about it.” he responds, eyes on the way of your gaze darts to the clock behind his head.

“thinking about staying late?” late as in far into day shift. you always arrived early into the evening, however lately it seemed like you’d been staying longer as well.

jack observes the way you look apprehensive, a tight smile taking over the genuine one you’d worn seconds ago. it made his stomach twist uncomfortably, an expression upon your features he wasn’t aware you could even muster up.

“i can’t, date night.” the words land uneasy in his chest, unable to place reason for the sudden change in the air.

jack eyes the smile lines beneath your eyes, the slight purse of your lips.

“you don’t talk about him.” jack announces.

“what?”

“your husband.”

“oh, yeah,” you chuckle, a hand coming up to fiddle with your badge, “i like to keep my private life separate from work.”

it’s a common response, one jacks heard more times than he can count. professional, letting whoever’s asking know they’re prying a bit, and to mind their business. kindly.

nevertheless, something about that kind of response coming from you settles awkwardly in jack. he knew your coffee order, he knew you liked to wear a long sleeved shirt under your scrubs. he’d noticed months ago how you like gossip with shen and lena, how you were dr parker’s preferred resident, dependable in your right.

he knew what kind of women’s sanitary products you like since this one day your menstrual cycle started and you were stranded in the hospitals staff bathroom. you trusted him with that phone call, for him to bring them to you. he can picture the look on your face after you exited the bathroom, the way you avoided eye contact and sheepishly told him, ‘thanks jack, please never bring it up though’.

and yet, you wanted to keep work separate from your private life. it felt wrong that it bothered him. he respected you greatly, and you were completely in your right to set that boundary. but if jack said it didn’t sting at all, he would be lying.

“do you keep your work life private as well?” he’s prying, but it’s all he could think of to say, glancing at the patient board. you’re a doctor, more often than not you’re working, how could there not be any overlap?

you shift from one foot to the other. then you say a man’s name, clearly your husbands.

“he doesn’t like hearing about my work, even the good cases,” you pause, almost like you’re saying too much. jack finds his gaze back on you, subconsciously leaning in at the sound of your voice, “says he has enough on his mind without me adding too it.” you laugh, but something in the way you do so sounds hollow, like you’re intentionally distracting jack from how off that sounds.

his brows furrow, his mouth opens to retort about how you husband sounds a little full of it, although he’s cut off when you rush to speak.

“he’s a really good man.”

he finds it disconcerting how you felt the need to inform him of that.

a few days later jack is sitting across from robby in the park, bench cold under him, his prosthetic off to his left.

“a good man listens to how his wife’s day went.” he’s steadfast in his words, like it’s only logical. he was married once, he knew how to treat his wife, the woman he loved. to him it wasn’t even a matter of principle, he simply always wanted to.

robby nods like he’s only half listening.

“have you met him?”

“who?”

“her husband.” jack probes, hoping maybe robby had some insight he’d managed to miss. robby leans back into the back rest of the bench, the wooden beams creaking against his weight.

“i haven’t,” robby pauses like he shouldn’t continue, “i do know he works out of town often, she’s usually alone for days on end.” that definitely tracked with the little jack knew about him. and it makes him a little forlorn, thinking about you coming home from a long shift, exhausted, maybe even upset, hurt, just to be met with an unlit house and empty bed.

jack catches the way robby looks uncomfortable, like he’s keeping something else too himself.

“alright,” jack counters, watching the way robby scratches his chin, “and you know this how?” he secretly hopes the whole time you haven’t been speaking more about your life intimately with robby then him, and he hasn’t been overestimating the closeness the two of you have grown to share.

“she’s friends with some of the day shift staff, confides in cassie, dr mckay, sometimes.” robby says, and jack just nods. condensation from the beer can drips down his hand.

“listen,” jack is all ears, “all i’ll say is, she doesn’t speak very affectionately about the fella.”

“she’s spoken poorly about him?” jack leans in further, punctuating his point as his expression twists into confusion. robby shakes his head, like the idea is absurd.

“no, you know her, she’d never speak badly about anyone,” and jack has to agree with robby’s words, you weren’t the type.

“so, dr mckay told you this?” jack inquires, as causally as he can manage. robby hums, looking towards the brick walkway between them.

“i think she was concerned,” that makes jack pause, eyes locking with the man across from him. he feels a pit form in his stomach, burrowing through his muscle and bone, “just a feeling she got.”

cassie had always been good at that, especially considering her own past and patient experience.

“a feeling?” jack implores.

“i wouldn’t look too hard into it, probably just strain from him traveling often,” it makes sense, although the pit in jacks stomach hasn’t let up, in fact it’s more like a crater now, “they got married young, it happens.”

the beer in jacks hand has been completely forgotten.

something about his conversation sat with jack even after a week of trying to push it from his thoughts. even as he was watching you perform chest compressions, his gaze was far away, focused but preoccupied, much unlike him.

“stop compressions,” he spoke, the monitor droned, the room silent, “asystole, resume compressions.”

it was one of those cases where the patient was unresponsive on the scene, unsteady rhythm in the ambulance, DOA.

but there was protocol, a standard of care they had to give all patients brought in, even if the odds were against them.

sweat dotted at the back of your neck, eyes on the monitor as it remained flat, unchanged.

“alright,” you dreaded the words as they prepared to leave jacks mouth, the go ahead to stop care entirely. no matter how tired your arms felt in the moment, you never enjoyed removing your hands and accepting there was simply no more you could do, “time of death, 11:45.”

your hands pumped a few more times, fingers trembling as they then froze against the woman’s chest. your gaze moved to her face, pale, sickly against the overhead fluorescent. a sight you never got used too.

“you did good,” jack spoke as you moved away from the patient, biting at the inside of your cheek, “you always do good.”

you can’t lie and say his words don’t help the ache, he’s always been a voice of reason against the tidal wave of doubt within your subconscious. your eyes meet his, sighing heavy as the knowledge that you’re still only a few hours into your shift falls heavy against your shoulders.

“i was taught by the best,” jack can physically feel himself soften at your comment, in addition the look directed at him, “I-,”

CRASH

a metal tray goes flying, the impact of it landing on the tile floor echoes across the ED, several gasps ringing out as well as voices speaking in confusion. an apology follows, probably a med student that wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings, an accident. jack huffs a chuckle, ready to comment about interns and their lack of awareness, when his body goes cold.

you’re pressed into the wall near where you once stood, hands pressed into the drywall at your sides, fingers slightly bent like you’re trying to stay grounded. although jack is more taken aback by the expression you now wore.

your eyes are wide, wider than he’s seen even in high stress situations, aggressive patients, family, blood spraying across your front, bones sticking out where they definitely shouldn’t be. all pale in comparison to the sheer terror you now gracing your normally relaxed features.

your mouth is open, taking in deep breaths that only seem to worsen the state you’re in. jack can’t tell if you’re hyperventilating, although he’s not going to wait to find out.

he’s taking steps forward in an instant, hands out like he’s bracing, or approaching a scared, wounded animal.

he speaks your name like a question.

“what happened, talk to me,” he’s insistent in his tone, weary, like he’s going to spook you. before he can get any further you’re putting a hand to your chest like you’ve finally taken in some air, eyes fluttering shut for a second before they reopen and land on jack, “are-,”

“i’m sorry,” you speak, voice no louder than a whisper. you face is pulled in shame, running a hand across your forehead before moving to pass the man before you, “that was unprofessional, i’m sorry.”

“no, it’s okay-,” jack is quick to respond, resisting the innate urge to reach out and grab your wrist, keep your from leaving the room. but his hand clamps at his side, eyes following your form and it exits the glass doors and makes a sharp left. jack finds his back pressing into the side of the doorframe, mind racing.

you had brushed off the interaction when jack confronted you in the break room. you were startled, it happens sometimes, you were fine. all things he didn’t really believe, but he’d decide to trust you on this. you were off the next night, and you mentioned you’d been looking forward to an actual night of sleep, not just during the day or sneaking naps in the moments during the week you could. maybe you were just tired, hence the reaction.

jack didn’t cover the day shift often, especially after discovering he was more of a night owl than anything. but sometimes you have to take the hit for the sake of it, even if it means you’ll lose a few extra hours of sleep.

at least that’s mindset jack has as he walks into the doors of the ED, the smell of various people in the waiting room hitting him as well as the pungent scent of sterile products. his bag is slung over his shoulder, badge in one hand as he readies it to show to security. as he approaches ahmad, his gaze pans over all the people in chairs. he can see a myriad of visible, thankfully minor, injuries.

his heart hits a stutter as his scan lands on a pair of eyes he’s very familiar with, no, it’s just a coincidence. it’s a young woman, in casual, comfy clothes like she’d just rolled out of bed. she’s not wearing a badge, eyes trained on her phone screen and she seems to be frantically typing something.

she has a nasty head lac, a recent looking one as well. she’s holding a dripping, probably mostly melted ice pack to her head with her free hand, he can see a wince throughout her body when she presses it into the cut.

he’s seeing things, on two hours of sleep, but then she looks up, and his worries are confirmed when it’s not just any young woman, it’s you. he’s already on the move before his brain can catch up with his body.

he doesn’t bother to speak any pleasantries as he slots through a small crowd, heart beat increasingly rapidly as he grows increasingly closer to you. he can see red on your shirt collar, down the front of your shirt. it’s wrong, you’re not supposed to be in the waiting room as a case, you’re supposed to be the doctor. why haven’t you been seen yet? why are you sitting out here with your head cracked open?

his breathing is erratic as he finally stands before you, chest heaving.

your eyes pan up, suddenly wide and caught as you stare up at him. the ice pack lowers from your forehead and jack has to physically control himself and not immediately grab it from you and press it back onto the wound.

“jac-, dr abbot.” your correction stings, it feels like a set back, something he doesn’t want to think about as a storm is still raging within him.

“does lupe know you’re sitting out here?” by this point a few strangers are staring, quizzical as to the interaction they’re seeing. jack sees the way you seem to withdraw into yourself, hands finding purchase by fiddling with the zipper on your jacket.

“stand up.” it’s not a request, his voice is rough and strained, it’s a demand. one that makes you swallow so harshly jacks worries you’ll choke. his eyes soften, he takes in every bit of your appearance. it’s his turn to withdraw.

he’s on his knees in a second, ignoring the stares. he takes your bag and slides it over his shoulder where his sits, then places a gentle, hesitant hand on your knee, touch feather light.

“please, sweetheart,” you suck in a breath audibly, the exhale coming out shaky. your eyes meet his, “let me take a look at you.”

your nod is all the push he needs to stand, stepping back to allow you room to follow him. he’s silent as he walks to the double doors, badge in the air as he angles it at security. they nod, permission to enter.

jack doesn’t bother greeting dana as she flashes him a quizzical expression, eyes falling to you only to turn to concern. he’s quick to scan for an empty patient bed, leading you to one a few rooms down. as you enter the space, your gaze stays on your sneakers, ignoring how jack closes the glass door, pulls the curtain closed.

“please, sit down,” his voice is tender, softer than moments ago. you follow as he says, “can you tell me what happened?”

he starts gathering the necessary supplies from the wheeled table in the room.

his arms cross over his chest, sturdy. you shift on the bed, fingers clasping in your lap.

“i tripped going down the stairs, hit my head on the hand rail.” it’s almost absurd to jack, you’re not particularly clumsy, and most definitely not to this degree.

“uh huh,” he doesn’t sound like he believes on second of it, and you wince at he applies some pressure to the wound, he mentions you husband by name, “did he bring you here?”

he wants to ask why you’re alone, why your husband isn’t here with you, but he bites his tongue. maybe he’s out of town, that’s the only logical reason he would abandon his wife to deal with a head injury on her own. you nod.

“he doesn’t like hospitals.” so he’s home right now. while his wife is in the hospital. jack feels something in him very similar to anger begin in boil.

“he couldn’t suck it up?” he chuckles with no humor behind it, you can feel the shift in the air.

“he’s squeamish.”

“his wife has a gash across her face.” he says it with a flat tone, straight faced. pulling the gauze away from your temple, he makes a decisive noise at the back of his throat.

“well it’s no longer actively bleeding,”

“i think most of its on my shirt.” you snicker, trying to get a genuine smile out of jack. he doesn’t take the bait.

“you don’t need sutures, thankfully, does it hurt anywhere else?” god he hopes you say no, but the sheepish look on your face says otherwise.

“yeah, when i fell i smacked my side as well,” your hand rises, gripping the edge of your jacket and shirt, he can see the hesitation in your movements, and he hones in on the skin that comes into view as you lift it, “it’s just a bit tender.”

it’s a dark purple, hues of red and pink fading in at the edges. a colossal bruise, covering nearly half of your midsection. he knows there’s no signs of internal bleeding, especially considering the fact that this apparently happened hours ago, you’d be on the floor by now. his eyes shut at the thought.

as he swallows back the bile rising in his throat, you laugh, something light, he can tell it’s fake just to put him at ease again like you’d tried earlier. it still has no effect.

“you got this from a fall?” he wants to ask more, how. how would falling down a few steps land you in this condition, it made no sense. he glances at the necklace tucked into your top.

“where was your husband when this happened?” you shuffle, eyes casting towards your shoes once more.

“out.”

“and he came home and found you?”

“yep.” they’re simple answers, ones that should quell the anxiety bubbling in jacks gut. however the way you’re avoiding eye contact forces him to think otherwise.

he takes in a breath, pulling a chair from behind him to sit himself down.

“this is a serious injury. i have to ask, do you feel safe at home?” it’s wrong the way your face crumbles like he’s figured it out, just to meld into anger.

“what are you implying?” he leans back at your words.

“i’m not implying, i’m concerned-,”

“don’t be. accidents happen.” you shrug, brushing off his comments.

“seriously jack,” you sit up with a slight grimace, scooting to the edge of the bed to place a hand on his knee like it’s your first instinct. he can feel the warmth of your palm on his scrubs, the way you’re looking at him like you need him to listen, so he does. he tries his hardest to ignore your hand on him, the drying blood on your clothes, the irk in his stomach that these injuries are congruent with a fall.

you seem to notice what you’ve just done. hand yanking back like you’d been burned.

“i’m sorry. that was inappropriate.” he chooses to look past the way you sound nervous, look past the way his heart skips a beat at the sound.

“and i appreciate it, but i’m fine, i promise.”

you move to stand, although jacks own grip is applied to your shoulder, softly pushing you back where you sat. he stands, sighing.

“at least say for an hour in observation, let us run concussion protocol on you.” you can hear the strain in his voice, and you allow yourself to agree to his terms. knowing full well as a doctor, walking out of here after a brief run down isn’t how you treat a patient properly. and as of right now, you were the patient. so you just nod.

“okay. i’ll be right back.” before jack closes the door behind him, he switches the lights to dim the room, sending you a tight lipped smile. he shuts the door quietly, facing the herd of noise beyond the minuscule room he’d just been in.

“everything okay?” dana, she’s appeared from the left holding a chart. jack sends her a look before walking towards the nurses station and leaning into the counter.

“she alright?” she asks, more concerned than a second ago. jack nods, trying to convince himself more than her.

“yeah, nothing that won’t heal, it’s just,” he pauses, scrubbing his hands over his face, this isn’t how he wanted to shift to start, not because it’s messed with his day, but because now he won’t be able to think about anything but you. picture the look on your face when you saw him in the waiting room, the nervous twitch of your bottom lip when you’d laughed about your injuries, god, he couldn’t breathe properly, “it looks like the cut you’d receive from a ring.”

jack insists you take the next few days off, he’s asked for a week but you’d been vehemently against that long. robby agreed. you accepted the time to allow healing, either that or two attendings on your ass for not considering your own health above all.

and he won’t lie, everything feels different, not as lively with you around. you had brought something he hadn’t noticed the ED needed until you left with it. he was lucky to have never noticed this, considering you’d always said you’d rather be at work than bored at home alone. however you informed him you weren’t alone this time, your husband had been back since the injury than landed you in this predicament.

he tried to push down the gnawing in his stomach. you were fine, you were healing, you had someone to look after you. then why couldn’t he reason with his instinct that something was wrong.

the day you returned it was like the incident had never happened. or at least you were deciding to put it behind you, and jack would respect that decision. you worked, joked with shen and dr walsh, assisted ellis, like everything was normal. like jack couldn’t see the fading scar on your forehead of a moment he’d never be able to scrub from his brain. a situation that had been keeping him awake at night, hoping he hadn’t sent you back to the person that had done it.

but at the end of the day, that was just a suspicion. jack couldn’t act on that, it could hurt you more then intended. he had to just let it go, if you had, so could he.

towards the end of the night shift, he found himself looking for your familiar face, hoping to congratulate you on an impressive save today. lena pointed him in the last direction she’d seen you headed off too.

he found you on the roof around 7am, watching the clouds slowly travel past, the sun coming up from behind the myriad of buildings. it was brisk out, enough that goosebumps rose across his bare arms.

he watched your silhouette for a minute, framed like a painting against the orange and blues of the awakening sky.

as he began to approach, he noticed you turn slightly, clearly aware someone was now behind you.

his eyes found yours as he placed his elbows against the barrier.

“you saved that kid in 12,” he says, and although you try to act nonchalant about it, he can see the smile creeping onto your face, “it was impressive. everyone certainly thinks so.”

“it’s part of the job.” you say with a sigh, although your cheeks hurt from grinning. jack chuckles.

“without you here, we’d be at a disadvantage.”

“you really think that?” you turn to him, absolutely failing at hiding the reaction to his comment.

“i do.” he nods, watching the way you light up. he’s glad this place hasn’t taken all chunk of your soul yet, he hopes it never happens. he’ll make sure it doesn’t.

“you don’t come up here much anymore,” you say, leaning over to nudge the man with your shoulder, “i thought it would become like, our spot.”

you’re teasing him, he can tell. yet it doesn’t stop the way he feels a slight warm tickle the back of his neck.

“i don’t have any reason too anymore, i guess.”

“you guess?” you remark.

“someone very important helped me realize that.” your mouth goes dry, hands that gripped the barriers rail tightening. the jewelry around your neck feels like it’s weighing you down, it’s too heavy, it couldn’t have been this heavy the whole time, couldn’t it? you stomach does a somersault, bottom lip biting against your teeth and you bite into the flesh.

happy. you felt happy right now. overjoyed. you can’t even think of the last time you felt that way when you were at home, or on date night, your anniversary.

you breath was stolen, something illogical and tingly and just right planting itself in your lungs.

the only time these last two years you’ve felt true, unbridled elation, had been moments you’ve shared with dr abbot, jack, the man standing in front of you. looking at you like this rising sun paled in comparison to your face mere feet from his, like pulling his gaze away from you would be torturous and inhumane.

but the ring against your chest is scratching uncomfortably against your skin, tearing and putting wear on your scrub top.

“jack-,”

it’s then you notice the breeze across your body, specifically your bare arms, and where jack is now fixated on.

ice filled jacks veins.

“what is that.” it wasn’t a question, he knew what it was. a deep bruise, mottled yellow and purple, probably already a few days old. it spanned most of your forearm, and if jack squinted it kind of resembled, a handprint? his breathing picked up, he was worried his legs would give out from the sudden fuzziness taking over his brain.

your eyes moved to him, blinking with furrowed brows as you followed his eye line, down to where you’d pushed up your sleeves.

jack wanted to puke the second you frantically pulled your sleeve down, covering the injury he hadn’t noticed until today. you looked, embarrassed, for what reason? jack wasn’t sure.

“i fell.”

“bullshit.” it’s blunt and jack feels remorse only for the way you look surprised, caught off guard by his tone and abrupt language.

“excuse me?” your attempt at sounding assertive falls flat as your voice wavers. jack takes a tentative step forward.

“is he home?”

you say your husbands name in questioningly, jack nods.

“why does that matte?” you sound worried, unsure as you blink wildly, looking everywhere but jack.

“because every time you show up skittish, and hurt, it’s coincidentally when he’s in pittsburgh,” he can see the panic set in when you realize he’s noticed the pattern, the waver in you behavior. of course he’d noticed, he’s jack, “and i want to help.”

he’s pleading, face pulled in despair that he hadn’t put it all together until now. he can physically see how you’re pulling away mentally.

“why?” your voice is small, scared, trembling in a way that hurts jack in a manner he can’t articulate.

“because i care about you.” your eyes shoot up to his, wide. your mouth opens and closes, shoulders falling from their tense position.

“is that the only reason? because you care?” he’s never heard you so unsure an fragile. he would laugh at your question if the situation wasn’t so dire.

“of course that’s not the only reason.”

“then why? jack-,”

“i’d do anything for you.” that shuts you up. your mouth closing and throat bobbing like that’s the last thing you expected him to say. jack is ready for you to yell at him, tell him you have too much going on in your life, you’re married, regardless of all of that you don’t want his help, most of all you don’t want him.

your lip quivers, he catches it.

“jack, i,” you look close to tears, stumbling over your words as you pull your jacket tighter around you, a particularly chilly breeze flowing over the roof, “this isn’t-.”

you can’t seem to find the words, blinking away the accumulation of wetness in your eyes.

“let me help you.” he begs, silver curls moving against the breeze.

jacks heart cracks as you shake your head, stepping back away from him.

“no, it’s not that simple.” he knows how this works, he’s spoken to women in abusive situations with their spouse. but it feels like all that training and knowledge flies out the window the second tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your delicate skin marred with desolation.

“please-,” he reaches a hand out.

“i’m fine, leave it.” you put an end to his pleading, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand.

he says your name, in a voice so broken you pause in your retreat to the staircases door. picking up into a light jog, you ignore the second call of your name as you disappear through the threshold, back turned away and unaware of the expression of devastation now on jacks face.

what’s he doing?

he’s racing after you as his body catches up with his brain. but you’re gone, no where to be found in the ED, the upper levels, chairs, hell he even checked the woman’s restroom. as his legs carry him to the ambulance bay, he’s pulled back into reality as the spot your car was once in is now empty. a hand combs through his silver curls, stressed.

and that’s how he spends the next hour feeling. even as he clocks out, commutes home, tosses his go bag on the dining room table and tears his prosthetic off. despair, longing to see your face, hear your voice, your reassurances.

until another half hour passes and his phone rings. he lets it go to voicemail, waiting to hear the tone and whoever’s trying to get in touch with him.

but the voicemail never comes, only more incessant buzzing after a brief moment of silence. torn from his stupor, the man reaches across the couch to grab his cell, already prepared to head back to work or tell robby to fuck off.

he’s not expecting your caller id. you never call him, you exchanged numbers for emergencies, and thankfully you’d never had to use them. but it your name, clear as day. he picks up on the fourth ring, afraid the call with cut off and you won’t return it for the third time.

he brings it to his ear, ready to spew apologies, beg for a proper conversation, but all he gets out is a choked sound as a cry comes through the speaker.

he sits up, all exhaustion gone from his body in an instant.

he can hear you sniffling, saying something incoherently, than a sob. he’s frantic, listening to you blubber about something, ready to plead for you to take a deep breath and tell him what you need, when a sentence full of anguish manages to make it through your cries.

“jack, please, i need you to come get me.”

you’ve reached the end of part 1…

thank you for reading! part 2 will be linked to this post when it’s out 💋

taglist below part 1

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