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popeabbot · 11 days ago

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In Your Orbit- Andrew Cody

sooooo this is a little fix-it-fic SERIES of sorts I wrote after immediately needing Andrew Cody to have someone who had his best interests at heart. They might seem very doomed by the narrative but I have a feeling love will overcome! I hope yall enjoy, any and all (positive/constructive) feedback is welcome!

Wc: 5k

TW: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ mentions of violence, assault, mentions of past acts of self harm, drug use/ODs, slightly falls off of canon writing, inappropriate relationship between mother/son, foul language, death

1).Memories

A 17 hour night shift was no joke at Oceanside General.17 grueling hours of blood, sweat, tears and angry patients. There was never a bar of what to expect when those ambulance bay doors opened, it could be a kid with a runny nose or someone who’d lost a limb to a shark attack- those were the easy nights.

This night had been overdoses, car pileups and murder victims. Dr. Carmela “Cherry” Romano had been on her feet in the ER for the full 17 as she was the only attending on the floor. Her only light in her shift was the crying baby she rocked as his mother filled out her discharge papers.

“No llores baby, your mama will be done soon.” Carmela rocked through the pain that was searing through her right leg. Carmela and Matthew had become good friends through the majority of her shift.(when she wasn't elbow deep in someone who was trying to die) His mom was a single mother battling some terrible abdominal pain, she had a contusion in her bowels and had been given IV meds and bed rest to see if it would resolve on its own.

That meant when anyone had free time the 6month old became their shift buddy doctors and nurses alike. The nurses had also become infatuated with him, that boy had been passed around the entire ER so his mother could get some form of quality care.

“Thank you again for helping with Matthew, Dr. Romano, I cannot thank you or your staff enough.” Matthew’s mother Angela smiled as she scooped him up, secured him in his stroller and walked out pain free.

Carmela smiled and waved as the two left, her mind going to another place for only a moment, her shift was finally over. She moved to the nurses station to log out and head home to get some much needed sleep when an ambulance pulled in.

“Got an OD! Female: 30s, pronounced dead on scene but we need a doctor to confirm so we can hand her off to the morgue!" A male paramedic called out as he wheeled a sheeted gurney into a trauma room. Cherry looked around to see every other doctor busy, she groaned, lifting herself off from the laptop she was perched at.

“Just gotta sign off on this and then you can go home.” She muttered to herself, snapping on gloves as she walked in the room. Her blood ran cold as the sheet was lifted to reveal Julia Cody.

Cherry hadn’t seen Julia in a few months, but she would recognize a piece of her soul anywhere. Last time she saw her, Julia screamed at her in a drug-influeneced state to leave her the fuck alone and never to come back. All Cherry had come to do was check on her son Joshua after she heard he’d gotten sick due to Julia being on a bender.

Cherry had been trying to get Julia off the streets in between naval deployments and her own bullshit, but she was usually too high to listen. And now, she was gone. Cherry placed her hand over Julia’s bony wrist, no pulse, she removed the stethoscope from her pocket and placed it over her heart, again there was nothing.

Carmela absentmindedly signed the clipboard the paramedic had out for her and moved to Julia’s head. Her skin was glassy and sunken in from the years of drugs and her own abuse, long soft auburn curls clung to the sweat that covered her beautiful skin. Julia had always been like a sister to her growing up, she had molded Cherry's entire personality and made her the sister she was now.

“Is there any emergency contact in her file? Any family?” Carmela asked, her throat felt like sandpaper as she forced the words out.

“We got the kids number, he’s the one who called. I’ll put it on a sticky note and leave it at your desk.” The paramedics left, sensing the mourning that was coming off of Carmela in waves. As soon as the room was empty she allowed herself to cry, to let every tearing feeling come down at once. Carmela didn’t have a lot of women she could trust growing up but Julia, Julia Cody was everything to her. She’d kept her close when her brother was arrested, and walked her through everything she needed to know when her sister was born.

She remembered the day Julia found out she was pregnant. Julia had come into Deran's room where Carmela would usually stay, she could tell just by looking at Julia’s face something was wrong.

“I’m pregnant. It’s Baz’s. Smurf is going to kill me.”

Carmela felt sorry for Julia, because she knew Julia’s mother wouldn’t kill her. A quick death would be too kind of an exit for a Cody. She brushed out Julia's tangled hair with her hands, whispering apology after apology for not doing more. Hot salty tears ran down her face with no signs of stopping, anger and grief taking anchor in her heart. She didn’t hear the curtain open, or the charge nurse- Sierra's footsteps coming and stopping behind her, she just felt strong arms wrap around her torso.

“Mason from the morgue is here, I can tell him to leave?” She asked, leaning her head against Carmela’s back. Carmela shook her head as she wiped the tears from her face, she kissed Julia’s temple and walked out of the room. A bright orange sticky note caught her tear stained eyes, a number had been scribbled on top. It wasn’t the number she had saved for Josh, he must’ve gotten a new one or called from Julia’s. Wherever he was, she needed to get to him before his grandmother did.

The Cody family Compound-

Josh had called the one person he needed to when his mother died. Janine “Smurf” Cody. She had J pack his things up and drove him up the block to a lavish lifestyle he was never allowed to see until now.

The estate itself had to be close to 4-5,000 square feet, palm trees and a beautiful garden covered the backyard creating a shelter around the space. Cars and trucks were parked at random in the driveway, J counted at least 4 not counting the Dodge truck his grandmother was driving.

J walked around the house his mother grew up in, soaking everything up as he walked through the halls. Pictures of the boys were proudly hung through the house, but none of Julia. J kept a mental note of this revelation. His attention was taken by the smell of something burning in the kitchen and Smurf cursing as she pulled the baked food out, dumping them in the sink. Loud voices and the splashing of water could be heard outside.

“You burnt my cupcakes!” Smurf huffed as she looked at the boys rough housing in the pool. They frowned like small children. “Thank god I didn’t leave my roast for you boys to pull out or dinner would be ruined!” She pinched the bridge of her nose, turning to J with a soft smile asking if he’d like more sweets. He nodded, and with that she gave her boys one more scowl before turning back into the house.

As J introduced himself to his uncles and told them his mom was dead. Josh was met with half ass ‘sorry’s and ‘oh shit’s. He could quickly see his uncles didn’t give a damn his mother was dead, they were more annoyed he was in their house. Baz seemed to be smart, offering a ‘we’re really sorry to hear that J.” He, at least had half the mind to correct his younger brothers when they reacted poorly to the news of Julia- he may have been the only one who truly knew her.

Craig was a less than stellar sight, antsy from the coke that ran through his system and ignorant to the harsh reality of what the world was like outside of the gates of his home. He could care less whether Josh stayed or left to become like his mother. Craig didn’t remember Julia before drugs. He’d started his own tangled dance with drugs at such a young age that his memories of her were clouded. When she wasn’t with her twin brother she was off with Baz or her school friends.

Deran seemed more reserved than his older counterpart- J could see the feelings bubbling beneath his casual demeanor. He remembered Julia. He missed the sweet girl who taught him how to walk, kissed every cut and kept him away from every man who walked in the house. She would let Deran sleep in between her and Pope on the bad nights when he would wake up sobbing, Julia would remind him to stay quiet as they tiptoed from one side of the house to the safety of Julia and Andrew's bedroom. She never judged him for liking her male friends, even though he refused to acknowledge who he was until after Julia was gone, she knew.

Julia's phone buzzed in J’s pocket. He hadn’t paid attention to Baz saying something to the boys before leaving.

Do Not Answer (Baby<3)

J walked into the room he would be staying in- his mothers- and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Josh?! Honey, where are you?” Carmela’s worried voice rang out through the phone. She had always been there for J when she could, making sure he had food and clothes. She’d come by when one or both of them were sick, being a doctor she could tell when something new was on the streets and tried to help keep Julia clean. She’d been clean for over a week when she died.

“I’m with Smurf,” Josh replied coolly. The noise that came from the other line was clear- a mix of desperation, frustration, grief.

“I’ll be there in 10, please come with me, you don’t need to be in that house with her. She’s not safe Joshua.” Josh nodded as Carmela hung up. Part of him knew he should tell his grandmother, the other part of him wanted to see how this reunion would play out. After all, Smurf hadn’t seen Carmela in almost 18 years.

Carmela threw her stuff in her truck, peeling out of the parking lot to the one house she’d wished to never find herself at. Her navy blue Bronco came to a roaring halt at the oceanfront property. A young girl with long brown hair was playing with chalk on the driveway. Part of her knew Andrew would feel betrayed if he knew she’d kept up with the Blackwells without telling him. But she was always Catherine’s friend: not Barry’s.

“Hi Lena-Bear,” Carmela leaned down and planted a soft kiss atop her head. “Is your dad here?”

“Hi aunt Cherry,” Lena smiled softly, her brown eyes shining. “He’s around the side in the driveway.” Carmela patted the young girl's head, suggesting she go inside and watch some TV. She watched Lena nod and run in the house before shoving her hands in her pockets as she turned into the long driveway. And there he stood, Barry Blackwell. Carmela quickened her pace, Baz’s back was turned to her as he was working on something in the hood of his jeep.

“Hey Blackwell,” she growled, and right as he turned her left fist connected with his teeth. The force of the punch caught him off guard causing him to stumble backwards. Carmela took the opportunity to jump onto him knocking to the ground fully before laying both fists anywhere they could land. “This is all your fault.”

Baz caught her hand before she could land another blow and rolled her onto her back Carmela tried to headbutt him but Baz had the advantage now being above her.

“What the fuck are you on Carm?!” Baz spat blood as he pinned her to the ground. She squirmed under his grasp, barring her teeth at him like a wild animal. Baz had always been a weed growing through the cracks of the Cody family, he knew better than to go with Julia. He knew doing what he did would get her sent away. Baz held Carmela tightly, attempting to will her into stillness.

“Julia’s dead.” Baz’s demeanor faltered only slightly, but it was enough for Carmela to use her knees to throw him off of her. He groaned as his body hit the concrete. She threw another punch to his throat, his Adam’s apple making a sickening gurgle come from him.

“Who told you that?” He coughed. But Carmela didn’t answer him immediately, instead she dug her hands into his hair, ripping his scalp up till they were nose to nose.

“I saw her. The paramedics needed a doctor to sign off on it and apparently the powers that be decided I needed to be the one to do it.” Carmela practically screamed in his face. She didn’t care how early it was, or that the neighbors and passersby could hear. She was angry. “Smurf has your boy. Cause you’re too much of a pussy to bring him in yourself I’m sure.”

“You have no right to say that when you haven’t been here either-“ Baz gripped her wrists, attempting to free himself.

“Oh except I have been here!” Carmela laughed dryly. Pushing Baz’s head onto the concrete and circling around him like an animal waiting for its prey to move. She preferred the chase anyways. “Sure I got out through the navy but a quarter of my paycheck went to making sure your child had food, medicine and anything he needed while I was gone. When I was here I actually tried to get Julia clean. Not throw her out like trash.”

Carmela stepped forward as Baz stood, almost chest to chest so she could get back in his face. “Of all fucking people..you should’ve been paying attention. What do you think Smurfs gonna tell him when he asks about his dad?”

Baz’s eyes were filled with rage. How dare Carmela walk into his home after being gone and blame this shit show on him?? He shoved her hard, but she challenged back. Before she could attack him again a small voice came from behind her.

“Daddy…” Lena’s small frame poked out from the back door. “Why are you and Aunt Cherry fighting?” Baz internally rolled his eyes at the fact that Carmela had been adopted by his daughter.

“It’s nothin sweetie just…sibling stuff.” Baz shot a look at Carmela, wiping the blood off of his face.

“If you’re fighting does that mean we can’t go swim at grandma Smurfs?” Lena was still partially hiding in the doorway, Carmela cursed herself for doing anything that could’ve put Lena in danger. This was one of those moments when anger rose higher than reality.

“Sure we can baby, I bet Aunt Cherry will go with us too!” His lips curled into a smile but his eyes said something entirely different. Carmela nodded slightly, she was banking on the fact that she was no longer that small brunette girl Smurf had a hold of. She was a woman now, a woman who had stepped out of Janine Cody’s shadow to make her own life.

She also had a promise to keep, so she grabbed her duffle from her truck and slid into the passenger seat of Baz’s dodge charger. She needed to get to that house, just to see him again.

The summer of 1999

Julia was gone. Smurf had kicked her out, pregnant and hooked on drugs. She had thrown her son's other half to the curb simply because she loved a man she was not allowed to love. It tore Andrew apart that he didn’t go with her, he wanted to follow her badly but that woman kept her claws in deep.

His only comfort was Carmela Romano, Carmela was 16 when Julia was kicked out and it had ruined her. She screamed at Andrew for not standing up to Smurf, for not taking care of his twin.

“You can’t live under her shadow forever Andrew. Julia is smart, she'll make a living somehow but it won’t be good for her or the baby!” Carmela cried, pacing across the skate park. Her refusal to go back to the Cody House meant she and Andrew had to meet in secrecy. She loved him, maybe more than she’d ever loved anyone aside from her baby sister. But she would not stand for the way he was acting.

Smurf wouldn’t stand for it either. She didn’t approve of how much Andrew was leaving the house and how late he’d stay out because he was with Carmela. Smurf also couldn’t let Carmela knock sense into her oldest boy, she needed him under her control.

“Andrew, where have you been?” Smurf sat at the bar, drunker than she’d admit as her son slipped into the house late one night.

“With some friends.” He answered timidly, not meeting her eyes.

“Carmela isn’t someone we can trust anymore baby, she left us. That means she will rat on us, I love Adon but his daughter is a liability. Take care of her, will you baby?” Smurf had slipped off of her bar stool, her arms snaking around Andrew’s shoulders, hands resting on either side of his neck. Tears pricked in his eyes, everyone could tell how much he loved Carmela so of course he’d have to be the one to kill her. But Andrew always had a plan.

“Yes mommy, I’ll take care of it.” He nodded, staring down at her intently. Smurf smiled and placed a kiss to his lips, Andrew tried his best to not pull away. He had to play along.

Andrew walked to his room, grabbing as much cash as he had stashed in his vents. He paced the room for a while.

He didn’t want to do this.

He couldn’t kill her.

But Smurf always got what she wanted eventually, she’d made that crystal clear.

The gun on his nightstand was tucked safely into his jeans. He’d have to come back with some kind of evidence that he’d taken care of the body, bile rose in his throat at the thought of it all.

Killing Carmela. One of the only people who wasn’t afraid of him.

Never flinched when he lashed out. Always ready with a warm washcloth and a gentle hand when he messed up. The storm that raged outside mirrored the one raging in his heart. Kill Carmela, do the job. Run away with her, start over. But he couldn’t leave the boys, he would never leave Craig or Deran alone with Smurf and Baz: Julia would hate him for it.

The rain poured hard as Andrew pulled up across from Carmela’s house. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, still deciding if this was what he was going to do or not. Making his decision he cut the engine, every drop of rain hit the bone as he jogged across the street.

His fist rapped the window only twice, he was met with the window opening and Carmela’s concerned face.

“Andrew? What time is it? Did you get hurt?” Carmela furiously wiped the sleep from her eyes as Andrew crawled into her room.

“You have to get out of here.”

“What?”

“Out of Oceanside, hell out of California. Smurf wants you….gone.” The last word came out strangled. Carmela’s hands slowly fell from her face as she realized why he was there. Smurf had once again sent someone else to do her dirty work, she was punishing Andrew.

“Come with me.” Carmela stood before him, in the dark of her room. “Julia is gone, you and I both know Smurf has always had her sights on me anyways. But we could get away, find Julia and start over.”

Andrew stood silently in front of her shaking from the storm raging inside of him. He was already reaping the consequences of not standing up to Smurf with Julia…now he was faced with losing another. Carmela turned away from him and stepped closer with a paper in her hands.

“Is this…real?” He crinkled the enlistment form beneath him. Carmela was ready to get away, away from the crime and the blood…away from him. He tried to hide the anger and fear that he felt but his face betrayed him. He cringed at the way her hand slid up his face, always soft, always gentle.

“I can’t leave.” He bit out, eyes dark as he looked into hers. “If I stay I keep you safe. I have to keep the boys safe.” Carmela’s heart broke at those words, but he was right. If Andrew left, Smurf would move on to Craig and Deran who were much younger. Smurf always made Carmela stay in Deran's room ‘so he knew what a woman looked like in his bed’ but Carmela would always sleep on the floor, making sure no one came in.

“The Navy is just a way for me to find clean connections,” her words were soft, honest. “I will come back. And when I do we can start fresh, away from Smurf's shadow together.”

Andrew nodded slowly, remembering the gun that was pressed against his boxers. He grabbed the wad of cash from his hoodie and pressed it into her hands.

“Take it.”

“Andrew,” her eyes widened. “n-no I can’t.”

“You turn 17 in a month, then you’re eligible for early enlistment right? Well that’s enough cash for a hotel and food in San Diego for a month. Pack your shit as soon as I leave and get the hell out of here. Don’t come back.” He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, a kiss he put every word he didn’t know how to say into, and then he was gone.

He’d left her, with a wad of cash and a puddle where he stood, and she never saw him again. For 17 years she never saw him once, only hearing about him through word of mouth.

The Cody Compound looked the same as it always had: Lush green grass, beautiful multicolored flowers and high palm trees swaying in the breeze. Lena bolted out of the car as Baz threw it into park.

“So, what do I call you?” He asked, glaring at Carmela through a growing black eye.

“Cherry.” She answered simply. “Everyone calls me that, even J.” She’d earned the nickname after dying her hair red right before bootcamp, part of Smurf's appeal to her was that they looked very similar. Carmela was going to make sure they didn’t. Baz nodded, a slight frown on his face, before stepping out of the car.

“That was the longest beer run ever!” Craig hollered from the pool. “You missed Pope coming home!” He exclaimed with glee. Carmela froze slightly, what did Craig mean by ‘coming home’? He said it like Andrew had been gone for a long time. She twisted her auburn curls anxiously as she followed behind Baz into the backyard.

“You look like shit.” Deran commented, taking a swig from his beer before immediately eyeing Carmela. Deran looked the same as he did last time she spotted him at the beach. He’d been out for a surf competition and she’d been anonymously sponsoring him until he decided to give it up. His sharp green eyes zeroed in on her, she prayed if he recognized her he wouldn’t say anything. She always liked Deran, he was smarter than he let even himself believe.

“Who’s the hot chick?” Craig asked, smiling widely. Thank god he didn’t recognize her, she cringed internally at him calling her hot. They both noticed the limp in her step but said nothing.

“Got in a scuff with a guy over a job, she came to patch me up and Lena loves her so much she came with us.” Baz nodded.

“I’m Cherry.” She smiled, slightly raising her hand to awkwardly wave it, she needed to get off her feet.

“Grandma Smurf won’t you get in? PLEASE!!” Lena pleaded as she dashed out of the house in her swimsuit and into the pool. Craig lifted her up effortlessly and they both laughed as he helped her swim. Carmela smiled warmly at the sight.

“Not this time baby, grandma has a lot to do, we have to celebrate!” She smiled, but it quickly fell as she turned to face Baz and Carmela.

“Baz? What happened baby?” She walked to him quickly, her hands meeting his patched up face.

“Oh just a guy not wanting to help with a job, I took care of it.” He shrugged. “This is Cherry, she’s friends with Cath, Lena loves her and wanted her to come over if you have room for one more?”

“Thank you for helping patch up my boy, you’re more than welcome to stay!” Smurf smiled, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The lump in Carmela’s throat grew.

“Thank you so much Ms. Cody. Could I use your bathroom?” Smurf nodded and told her where to go. Carmela already knew but she listened intently to keep up appearances. She hadn’t seen J yet and it worried her, she needed to find him and get out of the house before she saw any more memories.

Carmela walked into Andrew and Julia’s old bathroom, ripping off her scrub pants. Her prosthetic shined brightly from the sunlight, she carefully removed it. Her leg had been screaming for relief for hours and honestly she didn’t mind having to navigate the Cody house in crutches for a few hours. Throwing her scrubs into the bag she pulled on a pair of jeans that had been cut short and sewn on the right side to accommodate. She put her crutches together, working quickly to get back before anyone came looking.

She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the door open, or the man who slipped in behind her.

“Carmela?” She would recognize that hoarse voice anywhere.

Carmela dropped her crutch and whipped around to see him. Andrew hadn’t changed, he just looked older. His eyes were harder, like he’d been in survival mode, his lush auburn curls had been shaved off completely. He stood before her shirtless, in a pair of swimming trunks.

Her eyes searched his widely, how did he know it was her immediately. He’d certainly put on more muscle since she saw him last, his large muscular arms caged her in against the sink. Her eyes moved from his face down his freckled body, stopping at the dip in between his pecs.

Andrew had always had problems, even before Julia left. Sometimes these…problems resulted in him showing up at Carmela’s house in the middle of the night needing stitches. In her time being gone she saw where her long clean scars were replaced with jagged, messy, angry scars. In the time she really knew Andrew he’d only tried to kill himself 3 times, each scar represented in that dip between his pecs.

If he cut his own heart out maybe it would all just go away, that’s what he thought. But looking at him now she saw four jagged scars around his chest…she left meaning he had to fix himself back up. Silent, angry and afraid. Carmela’s hand slowly reached out to touch the scars, but she was stopped by Andrew gripping her wrist tightly.

“What are you doing here?” He growled, eyes intensely locked on hers.

“Guess I couldn’t stay away. I’ve only been back for a couple years.” She answered honestly. “Where have you been?” That made him look away, only for a moment, before his eyes were back on hers.

“You’re the only one who’s recognized me.” She answered softly. His brows furrowed, mouth opening to speak only to close again. The minutes turned to hours as she watched a silent war wage inside him.

“I will never forget you, Carmela Romano, even long after I’m dead. However, you need to get the hell out before everyone else remembers you.” Before she remembers you. He had let her in and also pushed her away in one breath. Carmela only shook her head, explaining she was here for his nephew.

“Good. Take him, I don't want him here either.” He dropped her wrist, eyes moving from hers down her body. Carmela hadn’t put a shirt on yet and she could feel his eyes taking in the scars he hadn’t seen that now littered her body. They stopped at her leg, Carmela had made it 4 full tours- 10 years of full combat before getting the one injury that would leave her simply working at a military hospital.

It was a tale as old as time, an IED placed in the perfect spot and a group of unassuming Navy SEALS trying to find a camp. Carmela, of course, had been the one to step on it. One minute she was joking with her captain about having to make dirt soup dinner, seeing the deserted area they were trekking through, the next she had been in a coma for almost 2 months in a hospital in Germany.

“Does it hurt?”

“Only sometimes. Only when I don’t want it to.”

Andrew reached down, grazing the scar which sent a shiver up Carmela’s spine. Carmela’s eyes never left his face, watching the sea of emotions ripple and crash over it. She reached down and grabbed his hand, splaying it over her heart.

“This is real. It’s not a dream; it’s not a nightmare. Im here, and you didn’t do this” she emphasized, motioning to the stump where her leg used to be. “by sending me away.”

“You promised to come back.” His voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes slowly came back up to hers, and she could see the tiniest crack start to form in the walls he’d built since she left that night all those years ago.

“I did. And here I am. I’m starting with getting Joshua out of this house, then you.” Carmela gently pushed past Andrew in order to pull the shit that laid across her bag over her head. “Let’s get out there before they get suspicious.” She winked before taking her crutches in hand and walking out the door, she knew he watched her walk away and she was counting on it. Her life leading up to this moment was calculated on getting him back, she had to.

AHHH okay I really hope yall like this. kisses!! Gif by @sammy-bryant and dividers by @saradika

tags: @ebodebo @kchronicallyonline @glamorizethechaos @science-hoes @bobbybobinabitch @tacticalcrickit

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popeabbot · 16 days ago

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“Best toast I ever had”

Bruises Pt 5 | Jack Abbot x Reader

TW: fluff, graphic depiction of seizures, TBI recovery, anxiety, reader is having a ROUGH time, age gap, probable medical inaccuracy, brief mention of vomit !!

Word Count: 4.4k

Authors Note: I don’t have any personal experience with epilepsy but know how serious of a condition it is. I tried doing as much research as I could in regard to seizure and the post ictal state.

Prev | Next

————

Healing wasn’t linear.

You had good days, bad days, and really bad days. Jack was there for them all. The hospital decided to discharge you earlier, trusting you’d be in good hands under Jacks care, and they were correct. He kept your incision clean, held you when you cried, and helped you with your speech and motor skills that were impacted by the injury.

He was patient. When you stuttered and stumbled over your words, he sat looking at you with adoring eyes as if nothing was wrong. The frustration was not missed however. He tried to assure you, but you were just so angry all the time.

“Do you know how frustrating it is to know what you want to say but your mouth and brain won’t work together?”

“No.”

“Exactly, so be quiet and f-f-fuck off, Jack..” The words burned as they came out of your mouth. Throat dry. You didn’t want to be mean to Jack, especially after all he was doing for you. But every second of every day felt you were battling your own body and mind.

“I was angry too” Jack said after a particularly intense evening. “After my amputation.”

You didn’t answer but that didn’t stop him, of course it didn’t.

“Not just for a while — for a long time. At the world, at the war, the government, at myself. I’d look down and see this piece of metal where my leg used to be. People would call me a hero, shake my hand, tell me I was lucky — lucky for what? They didn’t see me at night, punching holes in walls because I couldn’t even put on a sock without tipping over. I hated needing help. I hated not being the man I used to be."

He took your hand in his, tracing his thumb against your knuckles.

"I'll never be the same man that I was, never — but I've learned to accept the man I am now. I can't say it’s gonna be easy. I still have my hard days— but you'll find yourself again. You'll grow and flourish into the brilliant, beautiful, and brave woman that you are. You don’t have to hide your bad days with me. I won’t hide mine either."

"No one looks at you like you're stupid or slow or broken in the head. You get sympathy. I get pity. That’s not the same thing."

"But you're not any of those things."

————

Your memory was not what it used to be, often repeating yourself and asking the same questions over and over. Every so often you’d ask Jack if he worked tonight, which he’d again explain that he was suspended with pay until the investigation was over. The only reason he managed to get Gloria to suspend him WITH pay was you. For whatever reason she had a soft spot for you, bending over backwards for the ER ever since you were hired. Whatever you asked, she granted. Robby thanks you for single handedly saving the ER from going under.

“Just take care of her, okay?” She whispered as Jack left the meeting determining whether or not he still had a job.

Had it been anyone else Jack pummeled someone for in the ER, he'd have been on his ass.

————

Your gross motor and fine motor skills were compromised slightly, but not as much as your mind. Jack made sure you had occupational therapy and physical therapy twice a week. On the days in between he helped you with your exercises and would not let you skip a day.

Despite your therapies, it was harder to button a shirt, you found yourself dropping things quite often, and your balance had deteriorated. It wasn't all the time, usually when you were tired. As exhaustion crept in, Jack noticed you grabbing onto the counter or the back of the couch for stability as you walked, or how you sometimes walked in a zig zag pattern down the hallway.

The first time you fell, the sudden thud yanked Jack out of sleep before his eyes even opened. Grabbing his prosthetic, he put it on in his haste, skipping his liner. He felt the pressure and shock shoot up his leg as the socket pressed uncomfortably on his bare skin. The shower was still running, but behind the door he heard sobs, muffled and sharp. He flung the door open to find you crumpled on the tile, trembling, one leg twisted awkwardly beneath you. You tried using the cold shower curtain to shield your naked body, the sensation making your skin crawl.

"I slipped." you muttered, angry and humiliated all at once. The tears mixing with the droplets of water on your face. He dropped to his knees beside you, already checking you for injuries.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’ve got you.” his voice was soft but urgent as he asked you questions, helping you up and wrapping you in his bath robe.

"Did you hit your head?"

"Were you dizzy?"

"Does anything hurt?"

“You feel a seizure coming on?”

————

The seizures were the most difficult part of your recovery. As weeks turned to months and you were still having seizures, you were finally diagnosed with Post-traumatic Epilepsy, another scar to remind you what Charlie had done. It terrified you, knowing one day you could slip into a seizure and never come out.

The anxiety that consumed you made your symptoms worse. Jack suggested speaking to a therapist and drove you to and from your appointments. In the beginning you asked if he’d join you, until you found the courage to go in alone. You struggled opening up about your feelings following your attack, but Jack encouraged you. Therapy was an imperative part of his recovery and finding a sense of self again; and he was set on finding the same for you.

You sat at the edge of the couch, afraid it would swallow you whole. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as Dr. Rowan introduced herself. It was quiet for a while as both Dr. Rowan and Jack held space for you to speak.

“Every time I close my eyes I feel Charlie’s hands on my neck.” You admitted during your second meeting. “Every time Jack touches me I have to remind myself he won’t hurt me. It sounds so stupid, but when he brushes my hair back, or puts a hand on my back to guide me—my mind panics. Even though I don’t want it to. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to response to gentle touch.”

“That’s not stupid at all. Your nervous system is on high alert. It’s your body’s way of protecting you.” Dr. Rowan validated you.

“He’s… g-g-gentle.” You started to stutter. “He doesn’t crowd me. When I seize, he waits until I come back, and he’s always there. But sometimes when he brushes my hair out of my face or holds my hand, I flinch. I hate it, I don’t want to be afraid of him.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

“No. Of course not. But for some reason my body is. My skin tenses like something bad is going to happen whenever he touches me, but at the same time…” you glanced at Jack who was watching you intently. “At the same time, I feel safer with him than anyone else. He’s gentle. He’s kind. He’s patient. He makes tea without asking, he learns the signs that I’m about to go out. He talks to me like I’m still me. Like I’m not broken.”

“Do you feel broken?” Dr. Rowan asked, leaning forward in her chair and adjusting the notebook in her lap.

“I know I am.” The words kept coming, like vomit. Your voice cracked as you continued, Jack staring at you as he took this all in.

“He touches my arm to help me stand, and my skin remembers things I don’t want to remember. But then… then he says my name, and everything inside me quiets for a second. I just don’t know how to let myself have something good again. It feels like I’m waiting for it to turn into a trap. How is that not broken?”

“You’re learning what safety feels like again. That takes time. It’s okay to not know how to respond to kindness after surviving cruelty.” Dr. Rowan finished and closed her notebook. When you left her office it felt like the world had been momentarily lifted off your shoulders. You walked a little bit taller, your body more relaxed.

Jack helped you into his truck, resting his hand on your waist as you hoisted yourself into the passenger seat. Before you could fumble with the seatbelt he reached over and clicked it in place for you. Your eyes both met and your chest felt as if it were in a vice grip.

“I’m proud of you.” Jack whispered.

“You aren’t mad at me?” You asked tearfully.

“Wha— why would I be mad at you?”

You weren’t entirely sure, other than you were used to being ridiculed for speaking your mind. Despite feeling a bit lighter, you cried the whole car ride. An emotional release you’d been holding back for years. Jack jumped as the first sob escaped your chest and ricocheted through the truck.

He reached over the center console and grabbed your hand. Everything hurt. Your chest. Your head. Your stomach. You wanted it all to stop, to jump out of the car. Panic began to set in and you pressed your head against the headrest, trying to ground yourself.

Jack ran his hand across your hair before settling at the back of your neck.

“Just breathe. We’re almost home.”

Home.

What was home? Where did you belong? Alone? With Jack? As sick and twisted as you knew it was, with Charlie?

Some days you wish he had killed you. Some days you resent Jack for stepping in and saving you.

“Pull over Jack.” Your skin growing more and more pale and clammy by the second. Before he could even put the car in park, your head was out the door throwing up your breakfast. Jack winced as you gagged and reached over to pull your hair back. When there was physically nothing left in your stomach, you shut the door and looked out the window, refusing to look at him. He sat there for a moment before putting the car in drive again and finishing the rest of the ride home.

Like a flip of a switch you hopped out of the car like nothing had happened. The mood swings were sometimes violent, especially when your pain was high.

“Can I cook dinner tonight?” You asked Jack as he put the keys in the door. He stalled and looked at you. Taken back by your change in demeanor.

“You sure you’re up to it?”

“Yes.” You nodded. You hated when he doubted you. He never had until after your injury. Not even when your arm was elbows deep in a man’s abdomen. “I just want to feel a sense of normalcy again, plus my OT said it’s good therapy.”

“Okay okay… just no sharp knives, okay? You had a rough day.”

Your hands shook more when you were stressed.

“You got it captain.” You smiled as he ushered you inside. You stumbled a bit but caught yourself on the counter. You missed cooking, it was always a creative outlet, but it was a bit nerve wracking cooking for Jack for the first time. He hopped in the shower so he wouldn’t crowd you, but when he came out, curls still dripping— he paused.

You were standing by wall with one arm draped over your eyes and the other searching for the light switch. Jack called out to you, closing the distance between you almost immediately.

“The fucking lights won’t turn off, it’s too bright in here!” Your words were a bit more slurred than normal, and Jack was already leading you towards the couch.

“The lights aren’t on, honey.”

“Yes they are Jack!” You yelled back through gritted teeth, “they keep flickering and it’s too fucking bright!”

“Honey, I promise you the lights aren’t off. I think a seizure might be coming on. Come lay down for me.” He took your pulse which was climbing by the second, perspiration collecting on the small of your back. “Can you open your eyes for me?” He asked laying you on your side.

When they opened, your pupils were dilated and your eyes jerked back at forth involuntarily.

“I don’t want to have a seizure, Jack.” You screamed through the sob that was stuck in your throat.

“I know, I know. I gotcha.”

“I cant s—se” was the last thing you tried to utter before you slipped into a seizure. Your eyes were wide open, unseeing, pupils blown wide. A low choking sound escaped your lips as foam began to pool at the corner of your mouth. Your whole body trembled, muscles pulling taut in violent, unnatural waves.

You let out a guttural, unearthly sound from deep within your throat, and your jaw clamped so tight he could hear the grind of your teeth. Your lips were turning blue and skin pale, eyes rolled back and lids fluttering uncontrollably. He spoke to you the whole time as he held you on your side:

"Come on baby, its okay."

"I gotcha, I gotcha."

"Breathe for me, breathe. There we go, you're okay."

"I'm here, you're okay. Come on, baby. Breathe for me.”

Jack held you in place and watched the clock, 1 minute turned into 2, and then 3. He began to panic as the 4 minute mark began to creep in. Your seizures didn’t normally last thing long. Just as status epilepticus became a possibility, your body began to relax.

You gasped violently, back arching off the couch— it feeling like all the air was pushed out of your lungs. Choking on the salvia in your mouth— you coughed and sputtered all over the couch.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart, you’re okay. You had a seizure. Just breathe. Good— good, there we go. That’s it.”

Jack. His voice. Familiar, anchoring. You tried to reach for him, but your arm barely even twitched, as if you still weren’t in control.

His warm hand cupped your cheek.

Your head throbbed and there was a sharp ache in your tongue, the taste of metal across your taste buds—you must’ve bitten it again. Your body felt wet, was it sweat or urine? Unsure if you had lost control of your bladder your hand reached down to feel the fabric of your jeans.

Soaked.

Humiliated.

“J-“ you tried to cry out, but he cut you off immediately, brushing a cool rag across your forehead. Where did he get that? When did he get that?

“Don’t try to talk yet,” Jack murmured, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You’re safe. I’m here. You came back to me and I’ve got you.”

The post ictal state was always a limbo. Time jumping anywhere from seconds to hours to even days, unsure of what happened in between. Your head hurt, your body sore and stiff. It would be hours later that you’d wake up in his bed.

Not remembering Jack stripping you from your urine soaked clothes and helping you into the bath. You don’t remember him washing your body as you sat there unmoving. You don’t remember him dressing you in your favorite pajamas and bringing you to the kitchen for your medicine and your nightly cup of tea. You don’t remember him putting you to bed and how you fell asleep before your head even hit the pillow.

But you do remember waking up the next morning, your body still sore. A stark reminder of the night before. Your jaw was stiff, the joints almost locked as you tried to shift it side to side.

Jacks footsteps grew closer down the hall and he poked his head into the bedroom.

“Morning, honey.” You smiled softly, his eyes looking at you with concern on your face.

“How bad was it?” You asked. You don’t remember ever feeling this poorly after a seizure before.

“The worst you’ve had.” Jack answered truthfully sitting at the foot of the bed. He inched closer massaging the muscles in your legs. You groaned. “I think we should call your neurologist.

“Up my Dilantin?”

“Mhm, and get you another script for Diazepam. Looked for your Valtoco when you started seeing flashing lights but you were all out.” He said, almost disappointed.

“I’m sorry I forgot I was out.”

“ s’okay. Luckily it stopped before the 5 minute mark. But it certainly felt longer…”

“You were scared?” You asked, looking at the fear in his eyes as he relived the moment in his head. Jack Abbot? Scared? Jack Abbot has been to war. He didn’t get scared.

“Terrified.”

“I hate this,” you said hoarsely.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’ll be here. Every time.”

————

It took days to recover from your Grand Mal seizure. The extreme fatigue, sore muscles, and mental fog left you bedridden for three days. Emotions were high as you feared another potential seizure. The tears flowed strong and often, the sobs keeping Jack up at night. He’d join you— crawling into bed with you to talk. The two of you would watch movies to occupy your mind. You both watched Back To The Future, The Devil Wears Prada, Jaws, Rear Window, and The Great Escape— in that order.

You hated the way your hands shook when you reached for the remote. You hated how you lost your words halfway through a sentence. You hated needing help.

On day two you tried getting up and walking around. Jack didn’t hover. He never did. He moved around you gently, quietly, giving you space unless you looked like you were about to fall, or when your frustration turned dangerous—like when you tried to carry a cup of tea and it slipped from you grasp.

You froze, breath hitched.

He was there in an instant, kneeling beside you in the shards, catching your trembling hands.

“Don’t,” he said softly, “don’t say anything. It’s okay.”

You looked at him, eyes wide and watery. “I used to be able to hold a damn cup.”

“And you will again,” he took your shaking hands in his “You’re still coming back.”

He never said “you’ll be fine.” He knew better.

On day three, you managed a walk around the apartment. Your legs felt uneven beneath you, and the hallway blurred a little at the edges, but you made it. Jack trailed behind you, close enough to catch you, far enough to let you try.

“I feel like a ghost in my own body,”

“You’re still here. Bruised, maybe. But not gone.”

You wanted to believe that.

But nights were the worst.

Every time you closed your eyes, you were afraid you wouldn’t wake up the same— or at all. That the next seizure would take more than it left behind. That you’d open your eyes and forget your name, or worse— forget his.

On day four he was pushing you to get back to your physical therapy.

“Come on,” he said holding out his hand. “You promised me five minutes.”

“It’s stupid.” You were curled up on the couch, arms crossed, jaw tense.

“It’s five minutes.”

You narrowed your eyes as he stood there with the most ridiculous smirk on his face.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“I’m enjoying seeing you try. That’s different.”

You rolled your eyes but reached for him. Fingers trembling slightly. You right leg was always weaker—tingly sometimes, sluggish. Jack stood close but didn’t touch unless you asked. You hated needing help, but hated falling even more.

You started with balance. Heel-to-toe walking along the hallway rug. You stumbled halfway through and reached out instinctively. His hands caught your waist, steadying you like it was nothing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumble, a lump rising in your throat.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

“Like I’m a child taking her first steps.”

“Don’t get upset honey. You feeling okay?”

“No.” You voice cracked. “I hate this.”

“Then don’t do any more today. Let’s just sit. Let me hold you.”

You didn’t want to cry again. You had cried enough. But you leaned into him anyway, letting your head rest on his chest, listening to the slow beat of his heart.

————

The next day was occupational therapy, which came with its own set of challenges and frustrations.

You wanted toast. Something he normally would offer to make, but he watched as you stared at the plate in front of you, knife in hand. You gripped the knife hard in your right hand, and held the toast in the other.

You tried to spread the peanut butter with shaking hands, but it clumped in the center and tore the bread. Again.

Your chest tightened. The feeling of frustration rising in your chest — hot and sharp and helpless. The same rage that boiled up every time your fingers fumbled, every time you brain lagged behind your body. You slammed the knife down, too loud, and backed away from the counter like it had burned you.

Jack came over quietly, holding two mugs of tea. He didn’t flinch at the sound. He just took one look at your face and set the mugs down without a word.

“I can’t even make toast,” you snapped, blinking too fast— trying to stop the tears that were burning your eyes.

“It’s a bad day,” he said gently.

“They’re all bad days.”

“No,” he said, coming closer. “They’re hard days. Not the same thing. Plus, I t’s always harder after a seizure.”

“I can’t write. I can’t tie my shoes. I can’t hold a fork the right way unless I concentrate like I’m defusing a fucking bomb. You don’t get it—this used to be nothing.”

“I know, but now it’s something, and every time you try again. That’s not nothing.”

You shook her head, not trusting yourself to speak. You felt the words rising in your throat— unsure how angry they’d be.

He stepped behind you, gently wrapping his arms around your torso from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Come here.”

“I said I can’t—”

“I didn’t ask you to do it alone.” He guided you back to the counter, picked up the toast, and handed you the knife again.

“I’ll hold the bread,” he said softly, anchoring it with his fingertips. “You focus on the spreading.”

It still wasn’t perfect. Your grip was awkward, and the motion uneven— your hand jerked every so often. But the knife moved. It worked. He watched in amazement as you concentrated at the task at hand. He felt like he was back in surgery with you. Watching work with fine precision and holding someone else’s life in your hands.

When you finished, Jack took a small bite and exaggerated a hum of satisfaction.

“Best toast I’ve ever had.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, trying to choke back a sob. Why did you feel so proud of yourself for making TOAST?

“Serious. Gourmet stuff.”

“Liar.”

————

The envelope was plain. Cream-colored, folded and crisp. You didn’t even have to open it.

Court summons.

You dreaded this moment. The trial date.

Where you’d have to face Charlie. The one who left you in a hospital bed, skull fractured, vision blurred, and memories stolen. The man who made you jump when you heard a door slam. The man who had once said he loved you but bruised you. Scarred you.

Jack came into the room after he heard the front door shut but he heard your footprints stop short. He looked at you, then at the letter. His jaw tensed, lips flattening into a hard, thin line.

“They called you in?” he asked.

You nodded. He didn’t say anything else at first.

You felt yourself sway slightly, off-balance, even standing still.

“I don’t want to see him again,” you whispered.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you weren’t afraid of being in the room with him. You were afraid of what would happen to you the moment she saw his face.

How easily the panic might come back.

How all the progress you’ve made may be for nothing.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Jack said. There was something in his eyes—still burning. Still coiled tight. That part of him hadn’t cooled since the night he found him on top of you in the trauma room. “I’m not sorry I hit him, I should’ve done worse.”

“Do you regret it?” You asked quietly now “Beating him like that?”

Jack laughed.

“No,” he said finally. “But I regret that you were alone long enough for me to need to.”

You didn’t cry, didn’t flinch. You stepped forward and laid your head on his chest. His heart was steady beneath your cheek.

“I don’t know if I can look him in the eye,” you whispered.

“Then don’t,” he said. “Look at me.”

The second letter came two days later.

You found it in Jack’s hands when you walked into the kitchen. He didn’t say anything right away—just held it loosely, unopened.

“What is it?” You asked.

He looked up at you, jaw clenched, eyes unreadable. Slowly, he turned the envelope toward you so you could read the seal at the top.

District Court of Pittsburgh

You breath caught.

Defendant: Jack Abbott.

Charge: Aggravated Assault.

You lost your balance.

“No— No, they can’t. You were defending me!”

Jack set the letter on the counter like it was something fragile. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“No.” he said flatly.

“What are you talking about? He was hurting me— you found him on top of me— he was— ”

“I tried to kill him.” His voice was calm, too calm. “When I saw him on you, when I saw your eyes. I wanted to kill him. I would have too— I didn’t stop until Robby pulled me off.”

“I cant lose you Jack— I can’t let you go to jail because of me.”

He stepped forward and took your face in both hands. “You are not why this happened. He is. I made my own choice.”

You shook your head, the words lodged behind your teeth. Guilt was a physical thing in your chest, heavy and pressing. Jack had protected you when no one else had.

“I’ll— I’ll testify. I’ll tell them everything. All he did to me. How much he hurt me. That you were trying to protect me. That you’re a doctor. You wouldn’t hurt anyone unless— unless…” you’re sobbing now. The words flowing.

He shushed you. Pressing his forehead to yours. Because he knew—whatever happened in that courtroom, you’d go through it together.

Tag list //

@michasia24 @emma8895eb @nosebeers @runawaybaby3 @antisocialfiore @xxxkat3xxx @livingavilaloca @popeabbot @catmomstyles3 @bxxbxy @meowmeowyoongles @midnight-dixon @nerdgirljen @aj3684 @screechingenemy18 @profoundlynerdywolf @rogersbarnesxx @sebastianstangirl01 @princesssunderworld @looneylooomis @shadowhuntyi @drlangdonsbabydaddy @celiacallsitcausal @sjester42-blog @geekgirl1996 @ksyn-faith @peggyofoz @trustme3-13 @foolishseven @floofmc @anxiousfuckupon @silas-aeiou @pinkdrinkwithraspberry @thedamnqueenofhell @tinyfairies @stellaforstar666 @ch3rrvreds @the-salty-asian @child-of-the-amis @sharkluver @introvertathome @rae4725 @cannonindeez @miserablegirliee @blackwidownat2814 @priestvss @jazzimac1967 @meganwritesfanfics @idkimhereforsmut @witchywidow97 @buckyyyismahhlife @skeletoncookiesposts @rafabarnes @glitterspark

(I think I got everyone! Sorry if I missed you!!!! Lmk if you wanna be added)

#the pitt #shawn hatosy #dr abbott #dr abbot #hbo max #fanfic #jack abbot #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #~abi’s pittrbs #pitt fics #Seriously the fucking scene with the toast took me out it was so cute

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