Andy

The Pitt

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

1. Doctor's Orders (oneshot)

2. Triage (oneshot)

3. Married Name (oneshot)

4. Mama Duck (oneshot)

5. Hey, Kid (oneshot)

Jack Abbot

Series

Jack Abbot x Robinavitch! Reader

First day | First Night | Lucky | Tough shift | Where it Starts to Show |more coming soon

Oneshots

1. Coffee Swap (oneshot)

2. Adrenaline (oneshot)

3. Triage (oneshot)

4. Healing Wounds (oneshot)

5. In Sync (oneshot)

6. Bar Fight (oneshot)

Ted Lasso

Ted Lasso

1. The Heart of The Game (longfic) Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three (coming soon) Series Masterlist

2. The Way You Stay (oneshot)

Roy Kent

Coming Soon

Sam Obisanya

Coming Soon

Jamie Tartt

Coming Soon

SNL

Jason Sudeikis

Coming Soon

Parks and Recreation

Ben Wyatt

Monitors chimed in uneven rhythms that blended into the background the longer you stood there, stretchers rolled past with soft rattles of metal against tile, and voices overlapped in fragments of information that only made sense if you were already part of it. Somewhere to her left, someone laughed too loudly at the desk, the sound cutting briefly through the noise before dissolving back into it, swallowed by the steady current of movement that defined the department.

Lucky stood near the nurses’ station, one hand resting against the counter as she skimmed through a chart she had already read twice without retaining a single detail. Her eyes moved over the words automatically—lab values, medication adjustments, notes written in hurried shorthand—but none of it settled in her mind long enough to mean anything. Her focus kept slipping, pulled sideways in a way that felt almost physical, like something inside her had quietly decided that whatever was on that screen didn’t matter as much as something else.

Her gaze lifted before she could stop it.

Jack stood a few feet away, leaning slightly over the counter as he updated a chart, his posture familiar in the way that came from watching someone work over and over again without realizing you had memorized it. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about him. His shoulders were relaxed, his movements efficient, controlled in that way that suggested experience rather than effort. He looked exactly like he always did at work—steady, composed, completely in control of his space.

But something didn’t sit right.

Lucky’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly as she watched him for a second longer than necessary, her attention catching on something she couldn’t immediately name. There was a pause in his movement, brief enough that it would have disappeared if you weren’t already looking for it, just a fraction of a second too long before he shifted his weight and straightened. It was subtle. Easy to miss.

She dropped her gaze back to the chart in her hands, forcing herself to read.

Didn’t.

Across the station, someone called out, “Labs are back on bed four,” their voice cutting through the background noise just enough to demand attention.

“I’ve got it,” Jack replied without hesitation, already pushing himself away from the counter.

He moved past her then, close enough that she caught it again without meaning to, the shift in his gait so slight it almost felt imagined.It wasn’t quite a limp, but there was a stiffness there, something held tighter than it should have been, like his body was compensating for something it wasn’t acknowledging out loud.

Lucky’s fingers stilled against the edge of the tablet as he passed, the sensation of it grounding her just enough to keep her from turning her head to follow him. She didn’t look this time. Didn’t let herself.

But she listened.

The rhythm of his steps as he crossed the floor—steady, measured, blending seamlessly into the constant movement of the ER.

The rhythm of his steps stayed even… Almost even.

She exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together as if that might settle the thought before it fully formed, before it turned into something she couldn’t ignore.

It didn’t.

[...]

“Hey, Lucky.”

She blinked, pulled back into the present as she looked up to find Shen standing across from her, coffee in hand and an expression of mild curiosity settling across his features like he had been watching her longer than she’d realized.

“You’ve been staring at that chart for five minutes,” he said, taking a slow sip as if he had all the time in the world. “Either it’s the most interesting case we’ve ever had, or you’re not actually reading it.”

Lucky glanced down at the tablet in her hands, then back at him, her expression flattening just slightly. “I’m reading it.”

Shen hummed, unconvinced, lowering the cup just enough to study her more carefully. “Mm. Convincing.”

She narrowed her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it, just enough irritation to push back. “Don’t you have a patient to ignore somewhere?”

“Not currently,” he replied easily, unbothered, shifting his weight as he leaned a little more into the counter. “Which means I have time to observe concerning behavior in my colleagues.”

“I’m fine.”

“Never said you weren’t.”

His gaze shifted, subtle but deliberate, following the line her attention had taken moments earlier without making it obvious enough for anyone else to call it out. “…you’re watching Abbot.”

Lucky’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the tablet, her thumb pressing a little harder against the edge than necessary. “I am not.”

“You are,” Shen said, calm and annoyingly certain. “You’ve looked at him three times in the last thirty seconds.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s not a judgment,” he added before she could finish, his tone light but precise. “Just an observation.”

She exhaled through her nose, sharper this time, dropping her gaze back to the chart as if that alone could end the conversation, could anchor her back into something neutral.

It didn’t.

“He looks fine,” Shen continued, glancing briefly toward Jack, who was now inside one of the bays. “For the record.”

Lucky didn’t respond immediately, because fine wasn’t the word she would have chosen, and the fact that she couldn’t explain why sat heavier than it should have.

She had seen fine.

This wasn’t that.

“It’s nothing,” she said finally, quieter now, more to end the conversation than because she believed it.

Shen studied her for a second longer, then gave a small, indifferent shrug, already losing interest. “If you say so.”

And just like that, he pushed off the counter and disappeared back into the flow of the department, blending into it as easily as he had stepped out of it.

Lucky didn’t move.

Her eyes lifted again before she could stop them.

[...]

Jack stood at the bedside now, one hand resting lightly against the rail as he spoke to the patient, his voice calm in that steady way that seemed to settle people without effort. “Any dizziness now?”

The patient shook his head. “No.”

“Good,” Jack said, nodding once as he reached for the chart. “We’ll keep monitoring for a bit, but everything looks stable.”

He leaned forward slightly as he wrote, his posture dipping just enough to suggest focus—

And then he straightened.

Too quickly.

Lucky felt it this time, not as a thought but as a reaction, something tightening low in her chest before she could rationalize it away. It wasn’t pain in the obvious sense, not something anyone else in the room would have clocked as wrong, but she knew what it looked like when someone adjusted faster than they should have, when they corrected before anyone could notice there had been something to correct.

She had done it herself more times than she could count.

Jack stepped back from the bed, turning toward the hallway, and for a second—just a second—his hand brushed the edge of the counter as he passed it. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to steady.

Then he kept walking.

Like nothing had happened.

[...]

Lucky looked back down at the chart in her hands.

Still unread.

Her thumb tapped lightly against the edge, once, twice, the motion restless, betraying more than her expression did. It would be easy to ignore. It wasn’t her business. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t asked for help, hadn’t given anyone a reason to step in.

And no one else had noticed.

That meant something.

Didn’t it?

She inhaled slowly, trying to anchor herself back into the rhythm of the shift, into something familiar enough to drown out the quiet persistence of the thought forming in the back of her mind.

“Lucky, can you check bed six?” a nurse called from down the hall.

“Yeah,” she answered automatically, already moving.

Her body slipped back into the flow before her mind fully caught up, falling into the pattern she knew too well to question—vitals, orders, quick assessments, the constant exchange of information that kept everything moving forward. For a while, it worked. She let herself get pulled into it, case after case stacking just enough to keep her from drifting again.

But it didn’t last.

Because every time she circled back toward the station—every time Jack came back into her peripheral—she saw it again.

A shift.

A pause.

A fraction of something held tighter than it should have been.

And once she had noticed it—

She couldn’t unsee it.

[...]

“Lucky.”

She turned at the sound of her name, finding Jack a few feet away, chart in hand, his expression neutral in that controlled way he wore when he wasn’t actively engaged in something. “Bed eight needs discharge paperwork,” he said.

She nodded. “Got it.”

There was a brief pause as he lingered just long enough for something to register more clearly now that he was closer, the difference no longer something she had to look for. It was in the way his shoulders held just slightly higher than before, in the quiet tension beneath movements that were otherwise perfectly controlled.

Her gaze flicked downward, quick and instinctive—

Then back up to his face.

“What?” he asked, catching it immediately.

Lucky blinked, the question landing sharper than she expected, forcing her to decide in a split second whether to say something or let it go. For a moment, she considered brushing it off, stepping around it the way people did when something wasn’t explicitly offered.

But the words didn’t come.

“…nothing,” she said instead.

Jack watched her for a second longer, like he didn’t quite believe that, like he knew there had been something there she hadn’t said out loud.

Then he nodded once, stepping back.

“Alright.”

And just like that, he was gone again, absorbed back into the movement of the ER, into the constant forward motion that didn’t leave room for hesitation or second guesses.

Lucky stayed where she was, the chart still in her hands, still unread.

Her jaw tightened slightly as she exhaled, slower this time, the realization settling in whether she wanted it to or not.

It wasn’t nothing.

She knew it.

Across the floor, Jack shifted his weight again—just slightly, just enough.

And this time—

Lucky didn’t look away.

The ER kept moving around her, steady and relentless in that way it always did, but her attention stayed fixed where it had settled, following Jack as he crossed the floor again, chart in hand, already shifting his focus to whatever came next. From a distance, nothing about him stood out. He moved the same way he always did—controlled, efficient, completely absorbed in the rhythm of the department.

Up close, though, it was different.

Not something obvious, not enough to draw attention, but present in the way he adjusted before putting weight down, in the brief pause that came just before he stepped forward again, like his body was negotiating something instead of simply moving through it.

Lucky lowered her gaze to the tablet in her hands, though she wasn’t reading anymore. Her thumb pressed lightly against the edge, grounding her in the small, familiar pressure while her mind caught up with what she had already decided.

This wasn’t something to analyze.

It was something to handle.

She pushed away from the counter and crossed the distance between them without rushing, timing it so she caught him just as he stepped out of one of the bays, his attention shifting toward the next patient before she spoke.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low enough not to carry beyond them. “Do you have a second?”

Jack looked up, the shift in his focus immediate but unhurried, his expression settling into that same neutral calm he carried through most of the night. “Yeah.”

Lucky tilted her head slightly toward the quieter end of the hallway, not quite turning, just enough to indicate direction without interrupting the flow of everything else happening around them.

“I want you to look at something before I call it,” she added.

There was no urgency in her tone, nothing that suggested it couldn’t wait, but something about the way she said it made him pause for a fraction longer than usual, like he was trying to place what exactly she meant.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gave a small, noncommittal shrug, already stepping back, giving the conversation somewhere to move.

“I’m not sure yet.”

That was enough.

Jack closed the chart in his hands and set it down at the nearest workstation, his attention already shifting, the question dissolving into habit. “Alright.”

He fell into step beside her without hesitation, their pace aligning naturally as they moved through the corridor, past the noise of the main floor and into the quieter stretch where the empty bays sat waiting. The air felt different there, less crowded, the sounds of the ER still present but dulled just enough to create a sense of separation.

Lucky didn’t look at him as they walked, but she was aware of him in the way you became aware of someone when your attention had already settled there—the rhythm of his steps, the slight imbalance that remained even when he wasn’t thinking about it.

“You gonna tell me what I’m looking at?” Jack asked after a moment, his tone easy, more curious than impatient.

“In a second,” she replied.

They reached the last bay, and Lucky pushed the curtain aside, stepping in first.

Jack followed, his gaze moving automatically across the room, taking in the empty bed, the idle monitor, the absence of a patient where there should have been one.

He stopped just inside.

“There’s no one here.”

Lucky didn’t answer right away. She moved to the drawer instead, pulling it open and reaching for gauze, for a cold pack, for something that made sense in a room that suddenly didn’t.

“You’ve been compensating for a while,” she said, her voice quieter now, more contained, like the words were meant for him and no one else.

Jack’s brow tightened slightly as he turned toward her, the shift in his posture small but noticeable now that they weren’t surrounded by movement.

“I’m fine.”

Lucky didn’t respond to that. She set the cold pack on the edge of the bed, within reach, then finally looked at him.

“Sit for a minute,” she said.

There was nothing forceful in it, nothing that turned it into an order, but it wasn’t framed as a suggestion either.

Jack held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable passing through his expression before settling again into something quieter.

Then he exhaled softly and stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the bed with the same controlled movement he applied to everything else, like even this didn’t deserve more attention than necessary.

Lucky didn’t rush.

She gave him the space to settle into it, the silence between them steady instead of awkward, the kind that didn’t need to be filled immediately.

Only then did she move closer.

And only then did she say, softer now—

“Take it off for a minute.”

Jack didn’t move right away.

For a moment, he just sat there, his hands resting loosely against his thighs, his gaze drifting briefly to the cold pack beside him before returning to Lucky. There was no confusion in his expression now—he understood what she meant—but something in him hesitated anyway, not outwardly, not in a way most people would notice, just enough to register in the way his shoulders held a fraction tighter.

“…you’re very subtle,” he said, quieter than before.

Lucky didn’t smile.

“Occupational hazard.”

The answer came easily, like it belonged there, and somehow that made it harder to push against.

Jack let out a slow breath, his eyes dropping for a second before he leaned forward slightly, his hands moving with the same practiced precision that carried through everything he did. His fingers found the edge of the fabric at his thigh, pushing it up just enough to reach the prosthetic, the motion automatic, controlled, something he had done too many times to think about.

And still—

There was a weight to it.

Not in the action itself, but in the fact that he wasn’t alone.

He adjusted his grip, fingers working at the fastening, the mechanism giving way with a muted click that seemed louder than it should have in the quiet of the room. For a second, he paused there, his hand resting against it, like he was deciding whether to finish the motion or not.

Then he did.

The prosthetic came free in a single, controlled movement, and he set it down beside the chair without looking at it, his focus shifting somewhere else entirely as his shoulders dropped slightly, the release of pressure immediate, noticeable in the way his posture changed without him meaning to.

Lucky didn’t move closer right away.

She let the moment settle first, giving him space without turning away completely, her presence still there but not pressing into it. When she finally stepped forward, it was quiet, unhurried, her attention lowering just enough to assess without making it feel like something being examined.

And that’s when she saw it properly.

The skin along the contact point was irritated, reddened in a way that spoke of hours of friction, the kind that built slowly until it stopped being background noise. Near the edge, a small break in the skin stood out—raw, sensitive, the kind that would catch every shift of pressure and remind him of it with every step.

Lucky’s expression didn’t change much.

Just enough.

“That’s been bothering you longer than tonight,” she said softly.

Not a question.

Jack glanced down, his jaw tightening slightly as his eyes followed hers.

“It’s not new,” he replied.

That wasn’t the same thing.

Lucky's hand paused just before reaching for the gauze, her gaze lifting briefly to his.

“Can I?” she asked, her voice quieter now, not formal, not distant—just giving him the space to say no if he wanted to.

Jack hesitated for a fraction of a second, more out of instinct than doubt, his fingers tightening slightly against the edge of the bed before he gave a small nod.

“Yeah.”

Only then did she reach for the gauze, soaking it lightly with saline before bringing it toward the irritated skin, her movements steady, careful in a way that made it clear she already knew how much pressure she could use.

“Hold still,” she murmured.

The contact was gentle, but it still stung.

Jack’s fingers tightened slightly where they rested against the edge of the bed, the reaction small, controlled, but there. His shoulders tensed for a second before easing again, his breathing shifting just enough to give it away.

Lucky adjusted immediately, lightening the pressure without pulling away.

“Sorry,” she said, quieter now.

She worked in slow, deliberate movements, cleaning the area carefully, her focus narrowing in a way that made everything else fall away. There was no hesitation in it, no awkwardness, no shift in the way she handled him compared to anyone else.

That was what made it different.

Jack watched her. Not her hands.

Her.

The concentration in her expression, the slight furrow between her brows, the steadiness that didn’t waver even when she knew it hurt.

“You should’ve said something,” she said after a moment, still focused on what she was doing.

He shook his head slightly.

“It’s manageable.”

She paused.

Just for a second.

Her fingers still against his skin as she glanced up at him, her eyes meeting his in a way that held longer than it needed to.

“That’s not the same thing.”

The words landed quietly, but they stayed.

Lucky reached for fresh gauze, placing it carefully over the irritated area, adjusting it so it would sit comfortably once the prosthetic was back on. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, securing it in place without unnecessary pressure.

“There,” she said softly, leaning back just enough to give him space again. “That should keep it from getting worse.”

Jack didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped briefly to where the gauze now sat between his skin and what had been causing the friction all night, as if he were reassessing something he had already decided to ignore hours ago. The discomfort hadn’t disappeared, but it had changed—less sharp now, less insistent—and the difference was enough to register.

What stayed with him wasn’t that.

It was the way she had handled it.

The way she hadn’t made it a bigger thing than it was, hadn’t hesitated or overstepped, hadn’t looked at him any differently once she saw it. She had noticed, understood, and done something about it, all without asking him to explain, without forcing the moment into something heavier than it needed to be.

His hand shifted slightly against the edge of the bed, fingers relaxing where they had been holding more tension than necessary, and only then did he realize how much of it had been there to begin with.

Lucky stepped back a fraction more, her attention easing away from him in that quiet, deliberate way she had, like she knew exactly when to stay and when to give space without making either one feel abrupt.

“You good?” she asked, her tone the same as it had been all night—easy, steady, untouched by what had just happened between them.

Jack looked up at her, properly this time, his focus settling in a way that felt different from the quick glances they had exchanged throughout the shift. There was something quieter in it now, less guarded, like he had stopped trying to keep up the same distance he usually maintained without even thinking about it.

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice came out softer than he intended.

The word lingered for a second longer than usual, not because it needed to be clarified, but because neither of them moved to fill the space immediately after.

He let out a small breath, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to her.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Lucky’s expression shifted just slightly, something softer at the edges, though her posture remained the same.

“I know.”

She didn’t add anything else, didn’t justify it or turn it into something that needed explaining, and somehow that made it settle more firmly than anything she could have said.

Jack’s fingers closed loosely around the cold pack again, more out of habit than necessity this time, his attention drifting—not away from her, but inward, tracing back through the last hour, the last few shifts, the small moments he hadn’t stopped to think about before.

The way she had been beside him without making it obvious.

The way she noticed things most people overlooked and treated them like they mattered without making them feel exposed.

The way she had brought him here without asking in a way he could refuse.

It wasn’t a single moment, and it hadn’t started here. This just made it impossible to ignore.

A faint breath left him, something close to a quiet, almost disbelieving huff as the realization settled—not sudden, not overwhelming, just… there, in a way that made sense of something he hadn’t been naming.

He glanced back up at her, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Guess it’s my lucky day, then.”

From the hallway, a voice called out, sharper this time, pulling the moment back into the rhythm of the shift.

Lucky moved first, already reaching for the curtain, the motion easy, familiar, like she was stepping back into something that hadn’t been interrupted at all.

“Come on,” she said lightly. “Before they come looking for us. Or worse, start a bet about us”

Jack reached for the prosthetic again, his movements steady, practiced in the way they always were, but without the same urgency as before. As he adjusted it back into place, the gauze shifted just enough to remind him of the difference she had made, small but immediate.

He stood a second later, testing his weight without thinking about it, the tension not gone but reduced enough that it no longer pulled his focus the same way. Then he stepped back into the hallway beside her, the ER closing in again with its noise, movement, and the constant pull of everything waiting to be done. It should have been enough to pull his focus back completely, to let the moment dissolve into the rest of the shift the way most things did.

It didn’t.

As he adjusted his pace beside her, the word lingered longer than he expected, not in a way that distracted him from what needed to be done, but in the quieter space underneath it. He hadn’t meant anything by it when he said it, at least, not consciously, but now it settled differently, tied too closely to her, to the way the name had started as something casual and had somehow become something that fit too well.

Lucky.

It wasn’t just the nickname anymore.

Not after this.

He didn’t say anything else as they stepped fully back into the flow of the department, but his attention stayed just slightly altered, just enough that he noticed her more deliberately than before. Not because he was trying to, but because not noticing her anymore no longer felt like an option.

And somewhere between that realization and the way it refused to pass like everything else usually did, it became clear to him that what he was feeling for her had already gone further than he had been willing to admit.

[...]

This didn’t feel like that. This stayed with her, settling somewhere deeper, threading itself under her skin in a way she couldn’t quite shake. Even now, as the ER gradually eased out of the worst of the night, it lingered, quiet but insistent, replaying moments she hadn’t asked to remember.

The department had slowed, but it hadn’t softened. It never really did. Monitors continued their steady rhythm, punctuating the air with mechanical certainty, while nurses moved between bays with practiced efficiency, restocking carts, checking IV lines, updating charts. Conversations carried in low voices. Handoffs, quick clarifications, the occasional attempt at humor that never quite reached anyone’s eyes.

Lucky stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart more out of habit than intention. Her eyes skimmed over lab values and medication notes, but none of it settled in her mind. She was still somewhere else entirely.

Still in that room.

She could see it with uncomfortable clarity—the controlled urgency that had taken over the moment things started going wrong. The shift in energy was always subtle at first. A number dropping slightly faster than expected. A response that didn’t quite match what it should have been. Then the quiet escalation, voices sharpening just enough to signal that something was off.

She remembered drawing up epinephrine, her hands steady even as her thoughts raced ahead of her, calling out orders more quickly, compressions beginning almost seamlessly as the rhythm deteriorated. Someone adjusted the ventilator settings, increasing oxygen, trying to give the kid’s body every possible advantage.

“Charge to 200.”

“Clear.”

The crack of the defibrillator had echoed through the room, followed by that fragile second where everyone looked to the monitor, waiting. Hoping.

The rhythm hadn’t come back the way they needed it to.

Lucky pressed her lips together, closing the chart in her hands a little more firmly than necessary.

They had followed protocol perfectly. Every step had been precise, practiced, automatic in the way that only comes from repetition and training. There hadn’t been hesitation, hadn’t been a missed call or a delayed response.

And still, it hadn’t been enough. What stayed with her wasn’t just the loss.

It was the moment after, the stillness. And the worst part…The mother crying after receiving the news.

Lucky could still picture the way she had stood there, just outside the chaos, watching everything unfold with a kind of fragile certainty. Not panic, not yet. Just belief. The kind that said this would be fixed, because that’s what people like them did.

Lucky had seen that look before.

It never got easier to be the reason it disappeared.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on the present, but it didn’t quite take.

Around her, the shift was beginning to transition. Night staff wrapped up loose ends while the first members of the day team filtered in, bringing with them a different kind of energy. Way more rested and more detached from what had happened hours earlier.

That overlap always felt strange, like two different realities brushing against each other without fully connecting.

Lucky adjusted her stance, trying to settle into the rhythm of it, but her attention drifted again before she could stop it.

It landed on Jack.

He stood near one of the workstations, finishing his notes, his posture slightly hunched in a way that suggested more than just physical fatigue. His movements were controlled, efficient, but there was something quieter about him now, something pulled inward.

Lucky had started noticing it over the past few weeks. Not something obvious enough for people to comment on, but it was there if you paid attention. After certain shifts—usually the ones that ended the way this one had—he didn’t stick around. He didn’t decompress with the rest of them, didn’t vent or joke or complain.

He just left.

Like he needed distance before something caught up to him.

She watched as he finished typing, gave a brief handoff to another resident, and stepped away without lingering. No small talk, no pause.

Just gone.

Lucky’s gaze lingered on the space he had occupied, something in her chest tightening in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“…he does that sometimes.” The voice came from her left, casual and quiet, not directed at her.

Lucky stilled without turning.

“Who?” someone asked.

“Jack,” the first voice replied. “After nights like this. He just disappears.”

Lucky’s fingers curled slightly against the counter.

“Where does he go?”

A small pause, then, “Pretty sure he goes up to the roof.”

The roof. 

Lucky processed that slowly, her gaze flicking toward the hallway he had taken.

“I didn’t even know we could go up there.”

“We’re not supposed to,” the voice said with a faint shrug. “But no one really enforces it unless you make it a problem.”

The conversation moved on, but Lucky barely registered it.

The roof.

It made sense, in a way that settled too easily.

She hesitated.

This wasn’t her business. There wasn’t a reason for her to follow him, no expectation that she should. They weren’t anything that required that kind of concern.

And yet—

They weren’t just coworkers anymore either.

Somewhere along the way, that had shifted. It hadn’t been a single moment, nothing obvious or dramatic. Just a gradual change in the way they spoke to each other, the way silences between them felt less like gaps and more like something shared.

Still, this felt like crossing into something more private.

Lucky exhaled, glancing once more toward the hallway.

She could go home. Pretend she hadn’t heard anything. Let the night end the way it was supposed to.

That would be easier.

Instead, she pushed away from the counter and started walking.

[...]

The stairwell door gave way with a quiet creak, the noise of the ER dulling almost instantly behind her. The shift from constant sound to near silence felt abrupt, almost disorienting.

Lucky stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her.

For a moment, she just stood there.

The air was cooler, still, carrying none of the urgency she had just left behind. Her hand rested briefly against the metal railing as she looked up at the stairs ahead of her.

She could still turn back.

That thought lingered longer than she expected.

Then she let out a quiet breath and followed the stairs to the roof.

[...]

The rooftop door resisted before opening, and when it did, the cool morning air hit her immediately, sharper and cleaner than anything inside the hospital.

Lucky stepped out slowly.

The city stretched out below, distant and softened by height, while the sky above shifted in subtle gradients, the first signs of sunrise beginning to break through the dark.

It felt removed from everything.

Like stepping outside the weight of the night, if only for a moment.

And then she saw him.

Jack stood near the railing, his back partially turned, hands resting loosely against the metal. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just standing there, his posture slightly more relaxed than it had been downstairs.

Lucky paused, suddenly aware of how this might look and of how private this felt.

She almost turned back.

“You’re not very subtle.”

His voice reached her before she could move.

Lucky blinked, a small, surprised smile pulling at her lips. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

He turned slightly at that, glancing over his shoulder. The shift in his expression when he recognized her was subtle but unmistakable, something softening at the edges.

That was enough for her to step forward.

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” she admitted, moving to stand beside him. “Feels like I’m breaking a rule just by being here.”

“You are,” he said lightly.

“Good,” she replied. “Makes it worth it.”

A quiet breath left him, closer to a laugh than anything else.

Lucky rested her hands against the railing, the cold metal grounding her as she looked out over the city. For a moment, neither of them spoke, but the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable.

It felt… steady.

“Do you come up here often?” she asked after a while.

“Only when I need to,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly. “After nights like this?”

A small pause.

“Yeah.”

Lucky nodded, understanding settling in without needing further explanation.

“I usually drive,” she said after a moment. “No music, no destination. Just keep going until my brain slows down enough to stop replaying everything.”

Jack glanced at her. “Does it help?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Sometimes it just makes me more tired.”

That earned a faint smile from him, brief but real.

Lucky hesitated before speaking again, her voice softer this time. “I keep thinking about that kid.”

She felt the shift in him immediately.

“The way everything changed so quickly,” she continued. “We had a rhythm, and then suddenly it was just… trying to keep up.”

Jack didn’t interrupt.

“I was drawing meds, double-checking doses, trying to stay ahead of what was being called out,” she said. “It felt controlled, like we still had time.”

Her grip tightened slightly on the railing.

“And then we didn’t.”

The words settled between them.

“The mom,” Lucky added quietly. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

“You did everything right,” he said after a moment.

Lucky turned her head, studying him

“You don’t believe that when it’s you,” she said gently.

A faint, almost humorless breath left him. “…no.”

She let that sit for a second before nudging his arm lightly with hers.

“You don’t get to carry all of it,” she murmured.

He didn’t move away.

“I’m working on it,” he said.

“Good,” she replied, a small smile forming. “Because that sounds like a terrible long-term plan.”

That got a real reaction from him. A brief smile that softened his entire expression before fading again.

It was enough.

The air between them felt different after that. Not lighter, exactly, but less heavy in a way that mattered.

Lucky tilted her head back, watching the sky as the first real hints of sunlight began to stretch across it.

“I get it now,” she said.

“Get what?”

“Why you come up here.” She glanced at him. “It feels like everything finally slows down enough to breathe.”

Jack followed her gaze upward, his expression quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said.

Lucky studied him for a moment, noticing the way his shoulders had relaxed, the way the tension in his posture had eased just slightly.

She liked this version of him.

Not because the weight was gone, but because he wasn’t carrying it alone.

“Guess I’m stealing your spot,” she added lightly. “Hope you don’t mind.”

He looked at her for a second, something thoughtful passing through his expression.

“I don’t.”

The simplicity of it lingered.

Lucky felt something shift in her chest, subtle but undeniable, and leaned a little more into the railing, her shoulder brushing his briefly.

Neither of them pulled away.

[...]

The rooftop door opened quietly behind them.

Robby stepped out, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders as he prepared himself for the start of his shift. The hospital already weighed on him, even before he had fully stepped into it.

He exhaled, lifting his gaze—

And froze.

Lucky. His sister.

Standing beside Jack.

Closer than he had ever seen her stand to anyone at work.

There was something in the way they occupied the same space—something quiet, unspoken—that immediately caught his attention.

Robby didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

His gaze lingered on Lucky first, protective instinct settling in before he could stop it, then shifted to Jack, assessing without meaning to.

Understanding came slowly, but firmly.

Not something fully formed. Not yet.

But enough.

Without a word, he stepped back.

The door closed softly behind him.

And on the rooftop, Lucky and Jack remained, unaware of the moment that had just passed. Or of how, without either of them realizing it, something between them had already begun to change.

[...]

That version of her had quietly disappeared somewhere along the way.

Now she stood in the middle of the nurses’ station arguing with Shen like she had been part of the department for years.

“I’m telling you, that’s what he said happened.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the chart.

“He sprained his ankle doing parkour.”

“In his bathroom,” Shen added.

She looked back up at him, unimpressed.

“You believe that?”

“You weren’t there,” Shen shot back.

Y/N tilted her head slightly.

“I don’t need to be there to know that story’s missing a few steps. He’s fifty-seven.”

Across the station, Ellis didn’t even look up.

“Most likely explanation: gravity.”

Shen let out a long breath.

“You people are deeply unsupportive.”

Jack lowered his eyes back to the chart in his hands.

He told himself he was reading it.

He wasn’t.

Across the station, Y/N seemed to notice the same thing she always noticed — that half the desk had quietly started listening.

She closed the chart with a soft tap.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s test the theory.”

Shen narrowed his eyes.

“That sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not a trap. It’s science.”

“That’s worse.”

She gestured toward the hallway.

“You recreate the maneuver.”

Shen stared at her.

“You want me to sprain my ankle for research?”

“I want you to demonstrate the physics involved.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jack felt the corner of his mouth twitch before he could stop it.

That was the problem.

Three months ago, he hadn’t noticed her much.

Now it was difficult not to.

It wasn’t just that she was good, although she was. She worked quickly, caught small details most doctors overlooked, somehow managed to keep patients calm even when the ER around them was loud and chaotic and made patients feel like they weren’t just another number in a crowded ER.

It was the way she moved through the department.

Like she belonged there.

Shen finally pointed a finger at her.

“You’re insufferable.”

Y/N shrugged.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

From where he stood leaning against the counter, Jack said quietly,

“She’s right.”

Both of them turned.

Shen looked personally offended.

“You’re taking her side?”

“I’m taking gravity’s side,” Jack said evenly. “And the fact that your patient is fifty-seven with a history of falling in the shower.”

Y/N tried to hide the small smile that appeared on her face.

Shen groaned loudly.

“Unbelievable. Bathroom parkour could be a thing.”

Before the argument could continue, the ambulance doors slammed open down the hall.

The entire station looked up at once.

The paramedic pushing the stretcher looked exhausted.

“Forty-two-year-old female,” the paramedic called as they rolled in. “Found passed out at a food court. Awake, alert now.”

Y/N was already moving.

Jack followed without really deciding to.

[...]

The woman didn’t look like someone in acute distress.

That was the first thing Y/N noticed.

She looked… worn down.

Not just tired — worn, like whatever was happening to her had been happening for a long time, quietly, without ever fully stopping.

“I’ve already done this,” the woman said before Y/N could even introduce herself. Her voice wasn’t sharp, just exhausted. “Three times. Different doctors.”

Y/N didn’t reach for the chart right away.

Instead, she pulled the stool closer and sat down beside the bed, close enough that the conversation didn’t have to be raised over the noise of the ER.

“Then let’s not do it the same way,” she said gently.

The woman let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh.

“That would be new.”

“What’s been happening?” Y/N asked.

Not when did it start.

Not rate your pain from one to ten.

Just that.

The woman hesitated for a second, like she was deciding whether it was worth explaining again.

Then she did.

“It’s everything, I guess,” she said. “I get dizzy a lot. Like… really dizzy. My heart starts racing out of nowhere, I feel like I’m going to pass out. Sometimes I actually do.”

Y/N nodded slightly, encouraging her to continue.

“Headaches. Constant. And I’m always tired,” the woman added. “Like I didn’t sleep at all, even when I did.”

Behind them, quietly, Jack glanced at the monitor.

Vitals were stable.

Nothing alarming.

Nothing that explained that.

“They told me it was anxiety,” the woman said after a moment, looking down at her hands. “Or stress. One of them suggested therapy.”

There was no anger in her voice.

Just resignation.

Y/N rested her forearms lightly on her knees.

“When does it get worse?” she asked.

The woman frowned slightly, thinking.

“I don’t know… it just—”

She stopped.

Y/N didn’t interrupt.

Silence stretched just long enough.

“When I stand up,” the woman said suddenly. “Or if I’ve been standing for a while. Like in the shower, or in line somewhere.” She shook her head. “I thought that was normal.”

Something in Y/N’s expression shifted, just slightly.

Not obvious.

But enough that Jack noticed it immediately.

“And when you sit back down?” Y/N asked.

“It gets better. Not right away, but… yeah.”

Jack pushed himself lightly off the wall.

Now he was paying full attention.

Y/N nodded slowly.

“Has anyone ever checked your heart rate when you go from sitting to standing?”

The woman blinked.

“No.”

Y/N stood up.

“Okay,” she said, calm, focused now. “We’re going to try something.”

Y/N stepped out of the room, jotting something down on the chart.

Jack was right behind her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She glanced up at him.

“POTS.”

He studied her for a second.

“It’s a pattern,” she said, already writing. “Dizziness, tachycardia, fatigue, and worse when standing. And three consults where someone heard ‘heart racing’ and stopped there.”

Jack exhaled softly.

He couldn’t argue with that.

“You’re running orthostatics.”

She nodded.

“If her heart rate spikes without a drop in blood pressure, it fits.”

There was a pause.

Then he said, quieter,

“Most people wouldn’t have caught that.”

She didn’t look up.

“Most people unfortunately don’t listen to their patients. They just need someone to believe in them, you know?”

He watched her for a moment.

There was no pride in it, just… certainty.

Jack watched her for a second longer than necessary and for reasons he didn’t particularly want to examine, that stayed with him longer than it should have.

[...]

The ER didn’t slow down while they waited for the results.

They treated a teenager with a dislocated finger, a construction worker with a head laceration, and a man who had convinced himself he was having a heart attack after drinking six energy drinks.

Through all of it, Jack kept noticing the same thing.

Y/N treated every patient like they had time, even when they didn’t.

When the test results finally came back, she was standing at the station reviewing another chart.

Jack set the printout down beside her.

She scanned it quickly.

Then exhaled softly.

“Positive.”

Jack leaned slightly closer to read.

Heart rate climbing sharply when she stood and blood pressure relatively stable.

Y/N went back into the room with the chart in hand and a shy smile on her face.

Jack stayed near the door this time, watching.

“I think we found what’s been causing this,” she said, sitting down again.

The woman looked at her, wary but hopeful.

“Please don’t say anxiety.”

“It’s not anxiety.”

The relief was immediate, visible in the way her shoulders dropped.

“It’s called POTS. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome,” Y/N continued. “It affects how your body regulates heart rate when you stand up. That’s why you feel dizzy, why your heart races, why you feel like you might pass out.”

The woman stared at her.

“…that’s real?”

“It’s very real,” Y/N said gently. “And it’s often missed, especially when symptoms don’t show up while you’re sitting still in an exam room.”

Silence stretched.

Then the woman let out a breath that sounded like it had been held for weeks.

“I thought I was going crazy.”

“You’re not.”

Another pause.

Then the woman looked at her again, softer now.

“Guess I got lucky tonight.”

Y/N smiled softly.

“Or someone finally listened.”

The woman shook her head.

“No. Pretty sure it’s luck.”

[...]

Back at the station, Ellis was already watching them approach.

“Well?”

Y/N set the chart down with a big smile on her face.

“POTS.”

Ellis leaned forward.

“And you caught that how?”

Y/N shrugged slightly.

“She mentioned it gets worse when she stands.”

Ellis stared at her.

“That’s it?”

Y/N shrugged.

“Sometimes that’s enough.”

Shen cut in immediately,

“I tried listening to my bathroom parkour patient earlier but—”

“Not the same thing, Shen,” she said.

Ellis pointed.

“No. We’re not doing that again.”

Then Lena came to the desk with a big and proud smile on her face saying 

“The patient said she got lucky tonight.”

Shen blinked once.

“Lucky…”

Y/N froze.

“No.”

“Too late,” Ellis said.

“You’re Lucky now.”

Y/N dropped her head into her hands.

“This is not happening.”

[...]

At the end of the shift, Y/N finished her last chart slowly, taking a second longer than necessary before signing off, then leaned back in her chair, rolling the tension out of her shoulders.

A few feet away, Jack was still at the station, one elbow resting against the counter, a half-finished coffee going cold beside him. He looked like he’d been there for hours in the exact same position, steady and unmoved, except for the occasional turn of a page.

She pushed herself up and walked over, stopping just close enough to lean her hip lightly against the edge of the desk.

“You started that nickname.”

He didn’t look up immediately, which already told her he’d heard it before she even said it.

“Did I?” he asked, flipping a page with deliberate calm.

“Yes,” she said, more certain now. “I know you told Lena.”

That made him glance up and close the chart in front of him.

“All I said,” he replied, “was that patients seem to think they’re lucky to have you.”

Y/N crossed her arms, but there wasn’t much heat behind it, more curiosity than accusation.

“And you?”

The question landed between them differently than she intended.

For a second, he didn’t answer. He just looked at her, in a way he usually avoided, like he was trying to line up what he thought with what he was willing to say out loud.

“I think,” he said finally, quieter now, “that you notice things most people don’t bother to look for.”

She blinked, caught slightly off guard by the direction of it.

“That’s not luck.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

There was no irony in his voice, no teasing edge to soften it. If anything, that made it harder to respond to.

She opened her mouth, something halfway formed already, something deflective, probably, but he moved before she could get it out, standing and reaching for his coffee like the moment had already stretched far enough.

She watched him take a few steps away, the conversation unfinished in that specific way he seemed to prefer — not abrupt, just… deliberately incomplete.

Then he stopped.

It was brief, just long enough to press the elevator button, but instead of facing forward again, he turned back.

Not all the way. Just enough.

“Turns out,” he added, like it had occurred to him late, “that’s rarer than luck.”

And there it was again. That slight shift in his expression, something quieter than a smile but close enough to count.

The elevator doors opened. He stepped inside without waiting for a response.

Y/N stayed where she was for a moment, arms still loosely crossed, but with a smile on her face, replaying it whether she wanted to or not the way he’d said it, the way he’d looked at her when he did.

From across the station, Ellis’ voice cut cleanly through the quiet:

“Sleep well, Lucky!”

Y/N exhaled, letting her head tip back for a second before closing her eyes.

There was no fighting it now.

The name had stuck.

He crossed his arms tighter.

“Five minutes.”

“No.”

“Ten.”

You shut the locker door.

“Breakfast after my shift,” you said calmly. “You hate working Wednesdays, so you’re probably off tomorrow anyway. You can wait a few hours.”

Robby studied you for a moment like he was debating whether it was worth arguing.

Eventually he sighed.

“Fine.”

You stepped past him toward the hallway.

“But if you collapse from exhaustion,” he added, following you out, “I’m saying ‘I told you so.’”

“You’ve been saying that since I was a kid.”

“And I’ve been right since you were a kid.”

You smiled briefly as you turned toward the ER floor.

“Breakfast,” you repeated. Then you looked back at him. “And please sleep a little. I love you, but you look like hell.”

He pointed two fingers at you in reluctant agreement, leaned down to kiss your cheek, and headed toward the exit.

[...]

The ER was already moving.

Not chaotic yet . Not the kind of chaos you had grown up hearing about when Robby came home from shifts with stories that sounded more like war zones than hospital work and definitely not the level of madness you’d heard the night shift was famous for, but busy enough.

You had to weave around stretchers, nurses, and residents before even reaching the main desk.

Someone looked up as you approached.

“You must be the new attending.”

You turned.

The woman speaking had the calm authority of someone who clearly ran the department whether the doctors acknowledged it or not.

“I’m Lena,” she said, offering a hand. “Charge nurse.”

You shook it.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Robinavitch.”

Lena’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Oh, you’re Robby’s sister, hm?”

Before you could answer, she handed you a tablet.

“Well,” she said casually, “try not to die.”

You blinked.

“…Encouraging.”

“You’ll fit right in, darling.”

A voice came from behind you.

“So she’s the one Robby warned us about for the last fifteen minutes?”

You turned.

The doctor standing there held a coffee in one hand and had the unmistakable posture of someone who had worked night shifts for far too many years.

“Warned you about?” you repeated.

He tilted his head slightly.

“His words, not mine.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“That you’re competent,” he said.

You waited.

“And?” you asked.

“And that if anyone gives you trouble,” he continued evenly, “we should remember he knows where we live.”

You snorted.

“That sounds like him.”

He extended a hand.

“Jack.”

You shook it.

“YN. Nice to meet you… Officially.”

He studied you for a second, his gaze lingering with open curiosity rather than judgment.

“You know,” he said, “Robby’s mentioned you before. Had a lot of stories about you.”

You groaned and dragged a hand down your face.

“Oh no.”

Jack’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Oh yes.”

“Please tell me he didn’t tell embarrassing stories.”

He considered that for a moment.

“He mostly told stories about you,” Jack said. “Usually when he was complaining about how stubborn you are.”

You sighed.

“That sounds accurate.”

“I just didn’t realize you were the same person.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“And what exactly did you think I was?”

Jack considered it.

“Honestly? Based on the stories, I assumed you were either twelve or a menace.”

“Rude.”

“Hey,” he said mildly. “Those were his descriptions.”

“Well clearly he exaggerated.”

Jack glanced briefly toward the patient board.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Behind him, someone waved.

“Abbot!”

A doctor leaned against a nearby workstation. The badge on her ID read Dr. Parker Ellis.

She had the alert expression of someone who had already been running around the department for at least an hour.

“You’re hoarding the new person,” she said.

Jack pointed his thumb toward you.

“Robby’s sister.”

Ellis grinned immediately.

“Welcome to nights, little Robby.”

Before you could respond, another doctor walked over carrying a coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. He looked far too relaxed for someone working emergency medicine.

“New face,” he said.

“Robby’s sister,” Jack repeated.

Dr. John Shen nodded thoughtfully.

“That explains the texts.”

You groaned.

Jack pointed at him.

“He hovered near the desk twice.”

“Three times,” Lena corrected from across the room.

You buried your face in your hands.

“Fantastic.”

Jack patted your shoulder sympathetically.

“You get used to it.”

[...]

The first few hours passed faster than you expected because the ER demanded constant motion. Patients came in waves, monitors beeped, someone was always calling for labs, imaging, consults.

Jack kept you with him for most of the shift.

Partly because it made sense.

Partly because he seemed genuinely curious about you.

“You worked urgent care before this?” he asked while updating a chart.

“For a while.”

“And you still chose this?”

You glanced toward the trauma bay where Emery Walsh was currently arguing with a surgical resident who looked about ten seconds away from giving up.

“I might regret that later.”

Jack chuckled quietly.

“You probably will.”

A monitor started beeping from the next room.

Jack moved immediately, stepping in to check the patient’s vitals while speaking over his shoulder like multitasking during mild chaos was completely normal.

“Pressure’s dropping a little,” he said. “Can you check the IV?”

You stepped forward automatically, adjusting the line and checking the flow.

“Line’s fine.”

He nodded.

“Good catch.”

They stabilized the patient quickly, the quiet rhythm of teamwork forming almost instinctively.

Once things settled, the two of you stepped back into the hallway.

For a moment the ER felt strangely calm.

Jack leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

“You’re handling this well.”

“It’s been four hours.”

“Still counts.”

You studied him.

“You’ve been watching me all night.”

He didn’t deny it.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Or Robby asked you to.”

Jack tilted his head, amused.

“By the way,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m supposed to report back to Robby.”

Your eyes narrowed immediately.

“You are not.”

“He didn’t say it out loud,” Jack admitted. “But the look was very clear.”

“And what exactly are you reporting?”

“That you haven’t set anything on fire yet.”

You stared at him.

“…Encouraging.”

Jack shrugged.

“I’m sure he’ll be relieved.”

[...]

By the time the shift finally ended, the sky outside was turning pale.

The kind of tiredness that came after a hospital shift had settled deep in your bones.

Jack walked with you toward the exit.

“First night survived,” he said.

“Barely.”

“You didn’t panic, faint, or run for the exit.”

“Those were options?”

“They’ve happened.”

You laughed quietly.

Outside, the morning air was cold and quiet.

And leaning against a motorcycle across the street was Robby.

Arms crossed.

Watching the hospital entrance like he had been standing there for a while.

You sighed and glanced at Jack.

“See you next shift.”

He smiled slightly.

“Looking forward to it.”

[...]

Robby straightened the moment you crossed the street.

“You look tired.”

“You waited six hours to tell me that?” you said, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Properly?”

You stared at him.

“Robby.”

“What?”

“I’m a grown adult.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

You sighed dramatically.

“Yes. I ate.”

He nodded, satisfied.

“Good. Hop on.”

You looked at the motorcycle.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m getting on that.”

“What? What’s the problem?” he asked. “I’ll even give you my helmet.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? You’ll be without one.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“You’re not riding this thing without a helmet, right?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Because if you die because you weren’t wearing one, I’ll kill you. And then I’ll throw your bike in the river.”

Robby looked deeply amused.

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

“Then how are we getting to the diner?”

“Walking.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

You were already heading down the sidewalk.

He followed with a resigned sigh.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said. “But I’m still your favorite.”

He laughed, because that part was true.

[...]

The diner looked exactly the same.

It was the same place Robby had taken you since you were a teenager, back when he was still a med student trying to impress Dr. Adamson.

You slid into the booth across from him.

Robby leaned back slightly.

“So.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“So.”

“How was it?”

“Tiring.”

“Expected.”

“Fast.”

“Also expected.”

“Your coworkers are interesting.”

“Which ones?”

“Jack is suspicious. And stares a lot.”

Robby smirked.

“He does that.”

“Shen is too calm.”

“He does that too.”

“Walsh scares me.”

“She scares everyone.”

You watched him for a moment.

“You were worried.”

“I’m always worried,” he said. “You’re my baby sister.”

There was a softer look in his eyes now.

“You’re staying?”

“Yes,” you said quietly.

He nodded slowly.

Then, after a moment—

“Good.”

You smiled faintly.

“Did you like my surprise?”

He snorted.

“Loved it. Nice entrance, by the way. Very subtle.”

You laughed.

And in that moment, sitting in the diner with your brother after your first night in the ER, you remembered exactly why you had come back.