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Abbot(t) x reader idea where instead of Dana, itâs the reader that Javadi confides in after her awkward Matteo ask-out and after the reader gives her props for going for it and explains that sheâs had a secret crush on Abbott for forever, Myrna (who sees and hears all) either 1) pipes up and tells her sheâs seen Abbott checking her out or 2) stays quiet and tells Jack about it later. Or both haha. I just feel like Myrna is like 4th in terms of who knows the most about the ED gossip (after Perla, Princess, and Dana) lol.
These Walls Have Eyes | one shot
Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader
Requested
Summary: Rumors always start somewhere â and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and Myrna overhearing you.
[ My Masterlist ]
Note: Myrna sees and hears all, I agree with you lol I hope you like it!
Word Count: 1.1k
Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.
Warnings: foul language, age gap (if you squint), Myrna being Myrna, references to Pittfest, pining, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, alcohol
not beta read
âHeâs like a human Utah.â Javadi told you, eyes wide and breathless.
You ushered her down the hall, smirking, âI know a thing or two about a Utah.â
She looked over at you and your cheeks warmed at the thought of Dr. Abbot. You typically worked nights with him, and it took forever to stop flustering whenever you were in his company. You thought you had finally gotten it all under control, but like Javadi, your Utah had a habit of making you feel like you werenât getting enough air when your eyes met.
âI wish I had some advice, but frankly, mine still makes me feel like that. Even after all this time.â You smiled at her and patted her arm.
âDoes he work here?â She asked, before quickly adding, âOr she?â
âHeâs the chief attending the night shift,â you told her. âI donât think youâve met him yet. Dr. Abbot.â
She stared at you, blinking, âYouâve never said anything?â
You waved it off awkwardly, âNever felt like the right time.â
âOh.â
âBut your Utah?â You glanced over your shoulder to peek at Mateo through the window. âYou shouldnât wait too long like I did.â
âOh, no, no. I donât thinkââ
Your laugh was light, âNo rush, kid. Iâm just saying you shouldnât let it pass you by. Lifeâs too short.â
Javadi looked at you like she wanted to say something, but decided against it, before being pulled away by McKay. You let out a long sigh that made Dana steal a glance at you, raising a brow. You smiled at her to assure her you were fine, but your stomach felt tight.
âYou know, that handsome doctor eyes you up any time you ainât lookinâ.â
You jumped, startled. You turned to see Myrna behind you, smiling devilishly.
âWhat even are you talking about?â You asked, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks.
She raised her eyebrows and wheeled closer to you, âIâm saying, sweetcheeks, that itâs not one sided.â
You had the urge to roll your eyes, mostly at the nickname, but also at any of it being truthful. Jack never gave any indication that he was emotionally available, let alone interested.
âAlright, Myrna, letâs get youââ
âIâm tellinâ you! Dr. Abbot totallyââ
You were grateful that Perlah swooped in to help you, wheeling her away, sending a knowing smirk in your direction. You gave her a playful scowl â if anyone knew anything around the Pitt, it was Princess and Perlah. Though, you supposed you could add Myrna to the list now since she had clearly been able to be a fly on the wall enough to gain all that information.
Mind spinning with possibilities, you tried to busy your hands, throwing yourself back in the work.
â
Jack arrived to the Pitt right after he had heard it over the scanner, never one to wait. After a quick debrief, he set to work.
âHello, Dr. Abbot.â
He didnât need to look to know who it was, though he sent her a side glance while he prepped some suture trays. He looked around to find a nurse, hoping they would take Myrna upstairs quickly â though in all the chaos of moving patients upstairs, she clearly had slipped through.
âI overheard something todayâŠâ she trailed off, a smirk hinting at her lips. âAbout a certain nurse having a crush on a certain attending.â
That caught his attention, though he only spared her a look with an eyebrow raised.
âIâm quaking in anticipation.â He said dryly.
Her shoulders shrugged, âThought you might be interested, you know, you do check her out every chance you get.â
He ignored the way heat invaded his chest, suddenly aware of the nurse in question. You. You who had been plaguing his mind since you started. You who always offered him a smile. You who matched his dry quips and cutting sarcasm with ease. You who offered easy banter over bad break room coffee. You who stood in his silences like it was something interesting.
Myrna grinned at him, âShe was talking about you.â
His heart seized, but his training pushed it aside. No time to get soft when a mass casualty was about to burst through the doors.
â
The end of shift came slowly, but blurred together by the carnage and chaos. After working 15 hours, you felt heavy. Your bones ached and you felt painfully dehydrated. In the aftermath, however, your mind caught up with you and you remembered Myrnaâs words. They echoed in the back of your head, playing on repeat.
Mateo offered for you to come to share a beer outside before heading home. Your eyes flickered between him and Javadi, and you grinned, accepting.
Javadi gave you a bashful look that quickly grew excited when she spotted someone behind you.
âRemember Utah? Might not be too late.â Javadi said, subtly gesturing behind you with her chin.
You turned and spotted Dr. Abbot. Your heart started racing and you swallowed thickly. When you looked back at Mateo and Javadi, they both were grinning at you like fools. Leave it to the rumor mill to spread your crush like wildfire.
Outside, Donnie passed you a beer and while it did not seem like your best decision, you opened it and took a sip. Laughing with your co-workers made your shoulders feel lighter, but everyone slowly began to depart until it was only you and Jack left.
You took Robbyâs seat on the bench with him once he got up to leave. Your heart thrummed in the silence, beginning to overthink Myrnaâs words. You could not get yourself to move, however, stuck to the bench, enjoying the company of the man beside you.
âI learned something interesting today.â Jack said into the quiet, fiddling with his beer like he was anxious.
You turned to look at him, appreciating the way the shadows highlighted your favorite features. His cheekbones and the stubble, half his face hidden in darkness, his hazel eyes appearing almost black.
Might not be too late, echoed in your mind.
âNot to come in on your day off?â You offered lightly.
He leaned forward just enough for the light from the streetlamp to illuminate him, and the smile you caught made the air get trapped somewhere in your lungs.
Exhaling a breath, he shook his head and looked over at you. âSomething about a work crush.â
âOh, yeah, she said something to me earlier.â Trying to hide the smile while anxiety invaded, you failed. âSomething something an attending has been checking me out.â
âShe must have eyes everywhere.â
âYeah.â You agreed, unsure where to take the conversation. He didnât deny it.
It was edging close to something dangerous, something where there was no turning back.
But maybe you didnât want to risk it falling back to the status quo.
âWould you like to get dinner sometime?â You asked after a beat.
He answered immediately, âYeah, I would.â
Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494
The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69
All content taglist: @nixandtonic
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Omg I love your jack Abbott writings! All of the written so well. So I have a request if theyre open.
Jack x nurse reader who had a fling but it ended soooo badly because emotions werenât being regulated. This makes reader quit PTMC and work elsewhere when she finds out sheâs pregnant. Never tells jack. Cut to a year or two later, and they manage to cross paths where jack realizes itâs his son/daughter, feelings get thrown out the bag, and they all lived happily ever after?
in the wreckage | one shot
Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!f!nurse!reader
Requested
Summary: Itâs in the wreckage of what was that you find hope for what could be.
[ My Masterlist ]
Note: Thank you, anon, I hope you enjoy! I struggled between giving him a son or daughter here, frankly because I really enjoyed both in my head. So like it has been in the past, it came down to a coin toss lol
Jack strikes me as both ââI walk you to your door and maybe kiss you goodnight on the second or third dateâ slow, intentional, traditional man and âif I donât talk about my feelings, they donât existâ longing, no title, all physical manâ so I float between them lol
Word Count: 3.1k (I blacked out)
Most of my works are 18+ for adult language and content.
Warnings: afab!reader, ex-situationship, implied age gap, foul language, hurt/comfort, mild references to smut, unplanned/surprise pregnancy, not telling jack about said pregnancy (reader being in the wrong oof), single mom!reader, hospital settings, medical inaccuracies, injuries relating to a car crash, angst with a happy ending, fluff
not beta read
It had started in the heat of the moment, neither of you being particularly careful with your feelings. The collection of lingering glances and secret smiles had brought it all to the surface until it was just the two of you after a bad shift. You had found comfort in each other that night, and several nights afterwards, lost in heat and an unspoken understanding of the horrors you faced each day.
Jack Abbot was a man of many complexities, though you thought that was what had sucked you in in the first place. The mysterious edge always left you wanting, always kept you guessing, and that just seemed like a recipe for disaster.
Perhaps because it had started on uncertain ground, always leaving you on the edge of your seat, left the relationship constantly feeling strained. What was worse was that neither of you called attention to it and simply let the insecurities fester. Simply never brought up what you were, or what you wanted to be, or got too personal to be vulnerable, though Jack had more of an affinity for that last one than you did.
You smiled at him less and less in the hallways of the Pitt, overwhelmed by the unknowing eating at your insides. You avoided him at work. He avoided your calls. Sooner or later, one of you always turned up at the otherâs door. It became habitual, like a moth to a flame.
It only made your downfall so much worse.
â
You had wanted a clean break, and leaving the Pitt had been like leaving home. It had been necessary after that night with Jack, unable to look at him, let alone continue working with him. Not after what he said â not after you had asked for more and he had calmly, collectively, refused you. Like it didnât matter. Like you didnât understand.
It had done more than just hurt and embarrassed you, it had burned.
Like everything had reached its crescendo before stopping cold. All the feelings buzzing around your chest had been too much in the aftermath, so you left. Just left.
The two little pink lines staring at you just a few weeks later were a bitter pill to swallow. A cruel cosmic joke reeling you back to the man you were trying to run away from â leaving a constant reminder of the downfall. Bile had risen in your throat, and you felt a petty feeling rise with it.
He didnât need to be in your life. You could do it alone. Who said you had to tell him? Perhaps that was wrong of you, a bit too childish, but you were still angry. Still running.
As your belly swelled, your feelings started seeming less bitter and more sweet. You moved out of your crappy one-bedroom apartment and into a fresh start, committing to your choice. Committing to the child in your womb and the choices that had led you there.
There was a tiny part of you that wanted to reach out, let him know, but you grew embarrassed each time you stared at his contact. You did not want him to feel like you were trapping him after he had made it clear that nothing more could happen between you.
For months you struggled with your decision, trying to wrangle your worries and insecurities about being a single mother. All the work, all the money, all the stress it was going to bring you.
It all seemed to fade away when you held your son in your arms, so small and screaming, and yet your heart filled with joy. He was perfect, with tiny fingers and toes, small tufts of dark hair atop his head. His eyes gave you pause â as they were unmistakably Jackâs.
You cried without really knowing why. Joy, longing, loss, love, or something in between had boiled up and then boiled over. Jack should know, echoed quietly in the back of your mind, he should know he has a son.
It felt too late to say it. You had had months to say something, anything and chosen not to. It was too late.
Despite the hardships you faced as a new mom facing it alone, Daniel was loved fiercely and spoiled when you could manage it. Your friends and co-workers helped when they could, and never let the absence of a father grow when they could help fill the void. Even your old co-workers came to see you and your son, visiting with curiosity soaking their eyes.
If any of them caught on, they didnât say anything.
â
It felt crazy to you that a year since your son had been born had passed so quickly, so fleetingly. You worked a lot to afford rent, food and childcare, but even still, it felt strange that a year had gone by without fanfare.
Your friend had been a lifesaver when she allowed you to use her backyard for his first birthday party. It would be a small affair, with only a handful of kids Daniel knew from daycare and a few of your friends and their kids. Perlah and Dana even stopped by, giving their well wishes from everyone.
When you ran out of ice for the coolers, you and one of your co-workers, Liam, offered to go get more at the corner store. You left Daniel in the caring hands of Dana and promised to be back in only a few minutes.
A few minutes turned into a few hours after you had been blindsided and t-boned by a car trying to run a red light. You felt hazy when the paramedics arrived, carefully trying to apply pressure to the gash on Liamâs leg.
When you were wheeled into PTMC, you felt a flood of panic. Hadnât you asked to head to Alleghany East? Maybe it had only been in your head. You prayed to whatever was out there that you would only see Robby.
Fate had other plans, it seemed, as Jack was the one who had come to the ambulance doors to assess you.
He stared at you like he had seen a ghost before buckling down and getting to work. He checked your pupils and your vitals, muttering something about a concussion, before checking over the handful of cuts the glass had made when the windows broke.
You were stable, so they wheeled you back into an open room to wait for a head CT. Jack lingered in the doorway, before shooing away an intern who had come to clean your wounds.
âHowâs my friend? Is he okay?â
Jack pulled the stool close to you, âHeâs just a room over. Nasty laceration, concussion, but Robbyâs taking care of him. Heâll be okay.â
You nodded and took a deep breath. You picked up your phone to call Dana.
âI shouldnât be long.â You told her after explaining what had happened.
âIâll be right there.â
âYou donât have to do that.â
âLike hell I donât. Donât you worry about a thing, Iâll take care of it.â
You sighed, âThank you, Dana.â
Jack, who had silently been cleaning your wounds, spoke, âSoâŠis it just me you donât talk to anymore?â
You scrunched your eyebrows and looked at him quizzically, âExcuse me?â
Hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours.
âI thought you made it clear that was the last thing you wanted.â You said, tone hard, lips dipping into a frown.
Jack let out a long sigh. âIt was a bad shift. Bad day. It doesnât excuse what I said. I was running from it being something real, Iâm sorry.â A long pause echoed. âBut Iâd like to try and at least be friends.â
Friends? It ached somewhere deep in your chest. You could not be friends. You had made that decision over a year before and decided against having him in your life at any capacity. You frowned at him, looking away from his face before you could crumble.
âI donât think thatâs wise.â You said quietly.
He nodded, pulling over the suture kit. That seemed to be the end of it.
You let him finish working while the silence washed over you, thick and guarded. Your thoughts felt cloudy, and your head hurt, your muscles ached, but doubt began to creep in.
Had you made the right decision? You wanted to believe so. With one foot constantly out the door, would he even make a good father? Had you waited too long to even consider telling him? You felt stuck in your head, going over all the what ifs until you felt queasy.
A knock sounded on the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Danaâs pleasant smile greeted you, but it was your son in her arms that made you flush with distress. You stared at her with wide eyes, heart picking up speed.
âSomeone was worried.â She told you simply, but her eyes flickered to Jack.
Jack looked up at Dana, then at the boy in her arms. The toddler was tucked against her neck, leaning on her like he was trying to sleep. Jack schooled his features easily, though it looked like he was disappointed for just a fraction of a second, which sent you reeling.
âShould I have someone call yourâŠboyfriend?â Jack asked tightly, looking back down at the stitch work.
âNo boyfriend.â You frowned, but accepted your son from Dana eagerly. Did Jack think that youâd had a baby with someone else? Good. Good. That was for the best. Bile burned your throat.
âHowâre you feeling, kid?â
âIâll be fine, thank you. Can you call my parents? Iâll need help getting him home.â
âOf course, Iâll be just outside if you need anything else.â Dana said, eyes moving to Jack and then back to you.
Your cheeks heated and you held your son tightly to your chest. You rubbed his back and hummed softly, though it was more to comfort yourself than him. Maybe Jack would not notice, just finish his stitches and be on his way and you could go on pretending this had never happened.
Though, thinking Jack wouldnât notice something was a foolâs game. Your son turned his head to look at him, blinking his tired hazel eyes at Jack. Like you had thought when you first saw them, they were like a mirror of each other.
Alarm raced through Jackâs features, eyes flickering from Daniel and back to you, eyebrows raised, breath caught. You stopped breathing, and your joints locked into place like you were bracing for it to all fall apart. He just stared at you.
âHow old is he?â
âJackââ
âHow. Old. Is. He?â
âA yearâŠtoday.â You said quietly. Meekly. Words cutting your throat like they had been glass.
It was simple enough to do the math, and his expression hardened. He stood, and the air shifted to something uncomfortable, uneasy, uncharted, unknown.
âJackâwaitâlet me explain.â
âSo I take it this is why everyone has been so secretive about why you left.â
âThey didnât know. No one knew.â
He gestured to where Dana stood in the hall.
âNo one knew for certain.â You elaborated, trying to defend them. Perhaps you could handle him being mad at you, but not the family you had made in the Pitt. You had never told them, and they had never asked, though from how she had handed your son to you, it was clear Dana had known.
âYou were never going to tell me.â It wasnât a question. It was an accusation.
Shame bubbled in your gut, low and searing, working its way upwards until tears formed. What you had been bracing for hit you like a punch to the chest â hurting more than that car had inflicted.
âI thought it was the right choice at the time.â
He scoffed and recoiled, his expression flinching between pain and anger.
âJackââ you sighed, leveling your voice so you didnât raise it. ââyou told me I could never understand you, or the role you played here. That asking for any more from you was pointlessâŠthat it had all been a mistake and I needed to move on. I really couldnât bear to work with you after that, so I left. I didnât know I was pregnant yet. Was it wrong to keep it from you once I found out? âŠyes. But I was hurt.â You swallowed tightly, and wiped away your tears, annoyed they were forming.
He walked to the far wall away from you, then paced back toward you before repeating himself, hands on his hips. His expression broached closer to unreadable, which fueled your panic. With a long, heavy sigh, he stopped to lean against the wall. Never one to stray from eye contact, he found your eyes. Heavy, hard, reserved.
âI thought it was for the best. I didnât want you to feel like I was trapping you, especially since it seemed like kids were the last thing on your list. I just wanted a clean break. I doubted my decision a lotââ
âAnd yet, you did nothing about it.â
You bit your lip. âIâm so sorry, Jack. I really messed up, I know that now. Time kept slipping away from me. I was still figuring out parenting â I still am â and to throw co-parenting into the mix? It felt like an impossible climb.â
âIf you had never come here todayâŠif Dana had never brought him inâŠyou never would have said anything.â
More tears came as shame burned your face, âMaybe youâre right. I donât know.â
Silences with Jack used to be comfortable, easy, as simple as breathing. The one now settling between you? It ached, it burned, it crushed.
âWhatâs his name?â Jack asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
âDaniel.â
You swore you saw his eyes grow glassy.
âI made the wrong decision, and Iâll own up to that.â You admitted quietly. âI canât change what I did or didnât do, and Iâll never be able to apologize enough for it. I just thought thisâŠthis would be easier. For everyone involved.â
âIâm involved now. Donât fight me on that.â
âI wonât.â You vowed.
â
Trust was built back slowly, through long conversations and with actions followed through. It had been tense and awkward as your son grew to know Jack as his father, though he fell into the role like he was made for it. It only made the guilt over stealing a year of your sonâs life from him hurt all over again.
The tension and burning guilt were the hardest thing for you two to overcome. While he never raised his voice, he would grow accusatory when he remembered how much he had lost out on. You would double down on the night you had left him behind â or perhaps it truly was him leaving you behind â and the words he had said to you.
Neither of you were particularly blameless, not really. The relationship that had been was not one formed on a solid foundation, so everything felt like new territory. The pull of will they, wonât they, as Princess had put it, constantly making you question where you stood.
You just wanted to focus on co-parenting effectively, and Jack just wanted to focus on making up for lost time. That felt easy enough.
But something from the past â from the wreckage of what you had been â lingered like some part of you and Jack was haunted. An echo of what should have been fizzled just below the surface.
On the first night you felt secure enough to leave Daniel at Jackâs apartment, you settled in his kitchen to clean up a bit of the mess from dinner. Jackâs guest room had been quickly converted to be a bedroom for his son, pulling together everything he needed without complaint.
Jack wandered back into the kitchen after settling Daniel down for the night. You hummed softly, and Jack leaned against the doorway without saying anything.
âI know this is hard for you.â Jack said, hands in his pockets. âThank you for giving me tonight.â
You smiled even though a sadness lingered at leaving your son somewhere overnight that was not his home. But this would need to be his home, too, so you swallowed it.
âYou two need some quality time,â after I ripped the beginning away from you. âYou two will have fun tomorrow.â
â...I got an extra ticket, if youâd like to come with us.â
Hope bloomed, âYou did?â
âIâd like to put the past behind us. Move forward together.â He said, eyes never leaving yours.
Forgiveness had come with your sonâs echoing laughter and hues of blue shimmering against your skin, as light moved through the water. Daniel pointed up at the sharks in their tanks while Jack held him, watching in his own kind of excitement, a smile cracking against the corner of his mouth.
Jack had grabbed your hand without saying anything.
You intertwined your fingers and let out a long breath of relief.
â
Something like love had come in a flourish after Danielâs first words: dada. It might have felt like a punch to the gut, another cosmic joke, if it hadnât lit up Jackâs face in a smile you had never seen before. It warmed the ache in your chest and decided it was okay for Jack to have this first.
It felt like forgiving yourself.
You ended up staying the night, curling up against Jackâs chest while your son slept soundly in the next room. Neither of you wanted to rush what was blossoming between you, or jinx it. If you were going to go for it, you each deserved steady ground to stand on.
âYouâre doing really well with him.â You whispered. âI was worried it would feel clunky or unnatural to have you around. But it works.â
He looked at you for a long time. âI donât want to mess this up, too.â
You softened, âI think thatâs what parenthood is. Messing up and trying to do better, every day.â
âDo you think relationships are the same?â He asked, low and deliberate.
âYeah, I do.â
It felt like a confession.
He leaned down to kiss you, but paused just before his lips met yours. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wet your lips with your tongue.
âI like what we have. I donât want to screw it up by trying to be something weâre not.â You said quietly, though you felt the pull of wanting to kiss him.
Co-parenting had been bleeding closer to a relationship for quite some time, but you had not wanted to be the one who spoiled it.
âIâm not going to run this time, not if you donât.â
You swallowed, focusing on his eyes, âIâm here to stay.â
He captured your lips, pulling you flush against him, one hand going behind your head and the other settling on your hip. It was hesitant, but full of feeling, of all things left unsaid.
It felt like was a promise.
same prompt, but with Robby: A Fresh Start
want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!
Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494
The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69
All content taglist: @nixandtonic
this inspired two tiny multis:
casual (coming soon) (Dr. Robby)
champagne problems (coming soon) (Dr. Abbot)
whoops
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simmering | dr. jack abbot
pairing: jack abbot x f!resident!reader warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), references to sex but nothing explicit, you and jack shower together after a horrible shift, pre-relationship domestic bliss, sweet sweet fluff <3 word count: 2.1k summary: you and jack are spent. you stumble into uncharted intimate territory in the confines of his luxurious shower. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i wrote this kind of spur the moment today, but i'm very happy with how this turned out <3 this is a part of the ring of fire interconnected series, but itâs not necessary to read the prior parts to understand this fic. if you would like to, though, you can find the masterlist here <3 not proofread so apologies for any errors!
itâs a weird thingâ the way that you feel entirely at ease in a place that should feel foreign.
jackâs apartment is homey. itâs in the swanky part of town that you always felt youâd never be able to afford. you assume itâs not the home that he shared with his wife; there are echoes of her, everywhere, but you donât call them out. it doesnât feel like your place to, anyway. because while sheâs there, itâs jack that you feel all around you. you learn that he likes a specific scent of air freshenerâ woodsy and warm. you learn that heâs in dire need of some new pans, but you also learn that heâs not the greatest cook, so heâs been putting it off. you learn that he loves movies, and records.
you learn that he wears his dog tags, every day. at work, he keeps them tucked beneath scrubs, always out of view. at home, they rest heavy against his chest, and youâve had to stop yourself from reaching out, trailing your finger along the chain.
itâs an effort to not touch him, most mornings. youâve gone to his place after almost every single shift for the past two weeks. the two months prior to that, you were typically sitting at the park together until it was nearly ten in the morning and your stomachs were growling so loud it made you both laugh at yourselves.
the years before that, jack was your mentor, but you wouldnât call him your friend. three months into your year as a senior resident and you feel like youâve learned more about your attending than you had in the three years that you knew him prior. thatâs not quite fair, you know. you knew him in the place he felt most comfortable, work. where he was always challenging you, he was always making you better, while helping you to trust your instincts, too, and letting them flourish. he knew when to push. you think he likes that you challenge him back, too. he always said that you were a fantastic learner. when you would pull through with an excellent save, the low rumble of his voice would often praise you. âgood job, kid.â
but now youâre his senior resident and your relationship has changed. youâre not just his student in the sense of medicine. heâs teaching you how to be a leader, how to teach others. youâre his right hand. youâre an extension of one another in most ways, always working in tandem.
and you are fond of him in a way that is not professional. not even close.
when the two of you enter his apartment after a shift from hellâ down a resident, new med student, a list of ridiculously rude patientsâ you each suck in a deep breath. your bags get dropped at the door, shoes kicked off, glasses of water each being filled and sucked down. you barely talked the whole car ride to his place. he had opened the door of his truck for you, closed it, and put on the punk rock station that he liked to listen to, sometimes.
âyou should shower first,â jack breaks the quiet. âtrust me. itâll make you feel better.â
it was not the first time youâd showered at jackâs, and you figured it wouldnât be the last, either. you level him with a look. âyou told mckay on your way out the only thing you were looking forward to was a shower.â
âiâm a gentleman, kid. besides, you stink.â
you drop your jaw at him while he snickers. you donât even mean to say itâ you chalk it up to exhaustion bringing all your filters down. âwe could always share. it is definitely big enough for two.â
the humor drops clean off of his face. when your brain catches up, and you realize what youâve said, you shake your head. âi donât know why i said that.â yes you do. you want to feel jackâs big hands on your shoulders, your neck. youâve thought, not just once, about how good it would feel for them to run through your hair. the thought of that, the hot water from the showerâŠ
fuck.
whatever is happening on your face, jack is not naive to. âare you sure about that?â
your mouth hangs open and he looks at you with that stare that is clinical, direct. âiââ your voice dies out in your throat. âthat was inappropriate on my part. iâm sorry.â
âis that what you want?â
the question is straight forward, simple. all it requires is a yes or a no answer. but it feels so loaded, like a trick question before jack laughs and sends you off to gloria for inappropriate behavior. he seems to recognize this fear in you, because he shakes his head and takes a tentative step forward. âif i tell you, that i would want thatâŠâ he tilts his head to the side, seeking out that eye contact that he loves so much. âwhat would you say?â
you relent and meet his gaze. thereâs something⊠real that simmers.
âthat i do want it.â
âyou mean that?â
you nod your head. jack shakes his. âno,â he empties that glass of water. âi want to hear you say it. all of it.â
your cheeks flame. âiâm exhausted. youâre exhausted. neither one of us should wait. we're grown adults that see and handle naked bodies all day for a living.â you meet his eyes. "we can handle sharing a shower."
this seems to satisfy him. he nods his head towards his bedroom, and the truly beautiful adjoining bathroom. he approaches his fancy shower, starts the water, and turns it as hot as it will go. âi know you,â he says, almost to himself, as he pulls out two towels, two washcloths. âbet you like to give yourself a third degree burn every time you shower.â
casting your eyes down, you laugh, because of course he can guess such a small detail about you. you watch as he takes a small shower chair out of the shower and sets it to the side. he rummages through a cabinet before he pulls out a cover for his leg, sliding it on and fastening it properly around his prosthetic. it strikes you that this is not something he would let just anyone see. it strikes you, because you feel honored, and you feel humbled that he would share this part of himself with you.
the sound of the water running, the feeling of steam curling around youâ it sets every part of you on fire. you and jack look at each other head on. âiâll get in first, and give you your privacy.â
you nod your head. you turn around away from him as he undresses, the sound of fabric rustling and falling to the ground. you hear that way the pattern of the water hitting the tile change when he carefully steps in. âyour turn.â
you peer over your shoulder, and meet jackâs gaze. he smirks and turns around, facing the wall, true to his promise.
hurrying up and following suit, you get in the shower after him. he turns around to face you, water beginning to cascade over the both of you. âwill you let me take care of you?â he grabs the bottle of shampoo and shakes it. âyou worked hard today, kid. let me.â
his hands are sure of themselves when they touch you, take your shoulders and turn you around. theyâre confident as he makes sure your hair is properly wetted. theyâre steady as he pools shampoo into the palm of his hand and begins to lather your scalp. you canât help it, you groanâ your head falls forward. you feel his thumbs begin to rub at the base of your neck, the place where it feels like all of your worries from the day come to congregate. âjesus christ,â he hisses. âyouâre tense.â
ânothing an ibuprofen canât fix,â you try to joke.
he shakes his head. âyouâre killinâ me.â
âi donât have time to go to the chiropractor, or get a massage.â
âmake time.â his hands, sudsy from the vanilla shampoo that youâd brought over a week ago, knead into your upper spine. âtrust me. you canât heal others if you donât heal yourself.â
âdid you read that in a book?â
âno. had a good mentor tell me that, years ago. army days.â his hands still before they move back up to your hair. âyou wonât last if you donât do the things you need to do, for you.â
âlike have my attending wash my hair for me?â you ask, smiling at the wall of his shower.
âexactly like that.â he tilts your head back and forth, rinsing the shampoo out, before he lathers your conditioner in his hands and smooth out the ends with it.
for as intimate as this all is⊠it doesnât feel scary. youâre so tired, that it just feels good to have his hands all over you. it sets you on fire, yes, but not the blazing kind, the kind that would make you push him up against the wall and ask him to have his way with you. itâs a slow, simmering fire. the kind that stays controlled. the kind that can burn ten times as hot. a true slow burn.
you turn around, and finally meet him, eye to eye. your eyes trail downward to his dog tags. without letting yourself think about it too hard, you take it, your fingernails just barely scraping his chest. you watch his chest rise sharply as you run your thumb along the engraving. his hands flex at his sides.
âyour turn,â you say, taking his shampoo. he turns around, allowing you to reach forward and work it into his hair. he groans, a hand splaying on the tile. you admire the freckles that dance across his back, and before you can think too much about it, you touch one with your finger, trailing to across his skin from freckle to freckle. âwho knew you were hiding all of these?â
âiâm irish,â he bites back, goosebumps rising on his skin. he looks at you from over his shoulder. he looks good enough to eat.
you take the shower head and use it to carefully rinse out his hair. he takes it back from you and spins you once more, making sure the conditioner doesnât continue to linger in your hair. and, back to back, you pass body wash back and forth, listening to the sound of the other wash their body.
âyou canât wash your leg with that thing on, can you?â
ânah. iâll get back in and use the seat and wash it after i crash. it can wait.â
you donât push. ( one day, though you donât know it yet, youâll sink to your knees in that same shower and reach a level of intimacy you didnât know was possible, washing his leg, tending to him. but today isnât that day. )
as the two of you rinse off, youâre left with this feeling, this feeling that something has changed, shifted, morphed. jackâs hands touched you like you were precious. you offered him that same care. jack turns the water off. you reach for the two towels and pass one to him and you dry off, side by side. you climb out first, the fluffy towel wrapped around your body, and without thinking twice about it, you offer jack your hand to transfer out from the shower. the towel hangs low on his hips, and you have to force yourself not to ogle him. âjust take my hand,â you urge, words soft.
jack does. your thumb slides across his knuckles and you hesitate to drop it, even as he has both feet steady on the ground. thereâs only a foot of space between the two of you. when you look at him, heâs already staring at you. âi needed that,â he admits in the quiet space that exists between you. the vulnerable space. the one that youâve created here, in your little post-work oasis. âthank you.â
âyou donât need to thank me. i needed it too.â you feel yourself start to grow warm. âi think i also need to smoke.â
he sucks in a breath, the tension finally snapping, both of you smiling, content. this is easy, this is routine: smoke, sit on the couch, relax. âyeah. i got a little pack of joints on the coffee table.â
âcan i crash here for a few hours? then iâll get out of your hair?â
âstay as long as you want.â jack says it without missing a beat. he scratches at his chest, leaving angry red marks in his path. you have to tell yourself that it is not appropriate to want to trace them with your tongue.
itâs also not appropriate to shower with your attending, your mind counters. that wasnât appropriate, but you did it.
standing there, you accept that you would do it again.
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đđđđđđđđ | Joel Miller x reader

â masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi
summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.
author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch
content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again
word count â 3.8k
Heâs breathing. Alive.
Youâve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasnât a secret.
But, this was different.
Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jacksonâs women and children, but it was useless.
You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.
In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.
And the sound of Tommyâs panicked voice as he called out your name.
When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.
âFuckâIâwhat happened?â you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.
âYou save my goddamn brother,â Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldnât fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, âalright?â
You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasnât there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once youâve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.
âElâEllie,â your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, âshe needsââ
âIâve got her,â Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.
You donât waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.
Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadnât already been shot an hour ago. You didnât know how many wounds youâve treated today, but Joelâs was the worstâand unspeakably, the most important.
The wound is bad. Deep.
Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. Youâll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep.
His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasnât stirred once.
Thatâmore than the sight of the injury itselfâmakes something in your chest clench.
Tommyâs gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.
âDo I want to know?â you ask softly.
Tommy shakes his head slightly, âEllie ainât said muchâjusâ know whatever the problem was, it isnât one anymore.â
âHeâs gonna need blood,â you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.
Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joelâheâd manage.
The quiet is unsettling, though.
He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.
But heâs still.
Too still.
Tommy stays rooted in place like heâs afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.
Part of you carries that fear, too.
With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.
âI need you to keep your hand here,â you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. âCount the beats, focus. If it slows, weakensâdonât wait, tell me.â
Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.
Heâs got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.
You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.
Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitchesâbarely, like his bodyâs fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.
You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.
Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment â like Joel.
âIâm gonna flush the wound,â you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. âThen Iâll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. Heâll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuseâŠâ
Tommy doesnât respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joelâs face like heâs willing him to wake.
âHe still needs blood, Tommy,â you remind him, âbut I donât know his blood type.â
âIâm O-negative,â Tommy interjects.
âThat works,â you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommyâs blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.
Itâs all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.
âHeâs gonna be alright,â you assure Tommy, âthe worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.
Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesnât even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.
You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel.
The line finds Joelâs vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.
âCâmon, Joel,â you whisper under your breath. âNot you.â
âHe was in and out on the way here,â Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, âbut now heâs justâŠstill. That ainât good,â
âItâs the body responding to the pain,â you remind him, âheâs clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruisedâthe important thing is heâs breathing and his pulse is good. JustâŠlet me work on him. Go check on Ellie.â
Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yoursâtired, firm, unwaveringâand he nods, finally stepping away.
Just far enough to check on Ellie.
Just long enough to breathe.
The second heâs gone, itâs just you and Joel.
â
The room feels colder without the presence of Tommyâs worry.
You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.
If he was awake heâd be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.
You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt.
His palm is rough, calloused, and warmâthank god, still warm.
You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under itâhis face is still familiar.
Still him.
After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.
âHeâs alright,â you assure them both, âhe probably needed the rest, too.â
Tommy chuckles weakly at that, âIâweâreâŠweâre gonna go pick up Benji, but weâll be back, alright?â
You nod in response, âIâm not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.â
âI know, kiddo,â Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, âEllieâs asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.â
The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.
You donât move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.
The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.
You can hear Jesseâs and Dinaâs muffled voice in the backâlow and quietâand the distant creak of the cot Ellieâs curled into. But here, in this room, itâs just you.
And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.
You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.
âYou scared the hell out of me,â you whisper. âIf you were awake, Iâd be screaming at you,â
And you know heâd only smile.
Joel doesnât respond, but his breathing shifts.
Not muchâjust enough to prove heâs still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.
âYou enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know itâs pointless and that youâre just stubborn as all hell and Iâm willing to put up with it,â you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, âguess thereâs a reason why you always ask for me.â
A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.
You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where youâd placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly.
You wait. No squeeze.
But, the warmth is enough.
Then, a shift.
A low grunt, almost imperceptible.
Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.
âJoel?â
He doesnât open his eyes, but his mouth moves.
âEllie?â he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.
Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.
You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. âSheâs okayâsheâs good,â you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.
Joel breathes out, like the tensionâs finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest.
You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.
Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.
His brows twitch as he looks at you.
âYou cryinâ?â he rasps, voice rough but teasing.
Even now, he teases you.
âYou worried the hell out of me,â you tell him.
âDid I?â Joel asks genuinely, âMâsorry, darlinâ.â
âDo you remember what happened?â
Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, âSâall touch and go, right now. Iâm really tired, that normal?â
âI gave you some painkillers,â you explain, âprobably why.â
Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.
âCleaned up real nice for me, didnât you?â
âSorry to disappoint,â you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. âNext time, Iâll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.â
Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
âNah. You singinâ for me would be good enough.â
You snort softly, âI donât sing.â
âShame,â he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. âBet itâd be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know youâd sing pretty too.â
Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you canât quite take.
âYouâre losing it, old man.â
Joel smiles weakly.
âMaybe.â
A long pause and he speaks even soften.
âStill think you got a nice voice, though.â
â
You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you donât moveânot far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand.
The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.
You donât realize youâve nodded off until something shifts. A soundâlow, grumbly.
ââŠyou snore a little,â Joel rasps.
You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, âI do not, Miller.â
âOhâyou do, sweetheart,â Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.
âGood to know you never stop being insufferable,â you tease him.
âJust like seeinâ you laugh,â Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, âHow bad was it? The horde?â
âWeâve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isnât something weâre not prepared for. A couple didnât make it, got bitten defending the watchtowerâJackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, sâdifferent,â
Joel, for once, doesnât know how to respond.
You see it thenâthat quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like heâs cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like heâs memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.
Youâre too tired to do anything but meet it.
âI ain't goin' anywhere,â he says finally, voice rough but firm, âYou can stop lookinâ at me like Iâm about to flatline.â
You raise an eyebrow. âDonât flatter yourself.â
Joel smirks faintly. âYouâve been holdinâ my hand for a while,â
âOh,â it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.
âDonât,â Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.
âThanks for not givinâ up on me,â Joel says gently,
You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.
âYou really think I would?â
âDunno,â he says, voice low, âdonât really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyoneâŠâ
He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway.
The way he says itâsoft, rawâlike the words snuck out before he could stop it.
You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.
âIâm not anyone, Joel.â
Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.
His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.
âFive years Iâve known youâIâve patched your ass up more times than I can count. Iâve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isnât my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.â
âYouâre too good to me,â Joel says quietly.
â
Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.
Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joelâbut Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dinaâs life, despite his extensive injuries.
And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.
The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.
It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.
Heâs resilient, youâll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.
You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.
You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.
âJoel Miller.â
He doesnât stop walking, but he flinches a little.
Heâs been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.
âI will chase you down.â
He stops.
You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.
âIf you donât use this, Iâm following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.â
He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.
âIs that what I think it is?â
âItâs exactly what you think it is.â
He scowls. âIâm not usinâ a damn cane.â
âYouâre still healing,â you tell him, âand if you care about my worriesâyouâll use it.â
âThatâs low,â Joel counters,
You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.
âDid you make it?â Joel asks curiously.
âDoesnât matter,â You shrug.
Joel smirks at that.
You had. He knows it.
He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.
He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.
âSoâŠ.should I say it now or?â
âZip it,â Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, âitâŠhelps, sâreal nice of you, you know?â
You raise your brow. âYou sayinâ I was right? Knowing you needed it?â
âDonât push it.â Joel warns
âSay it.â you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesnât go amiss.
Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. âYou were⊠not completely wrong.â
You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.
After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.
âWalk with me?â he asks.
He didnât even need to ask.
â
There wasnât any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.
The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.
The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.
Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. Heâs never been one for words, not when the moment matters mostâbut his silence is full of meaning.
Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.
âYou really made this?â he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.
You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.
Heâs quiet for a while, but then, âItâs real thoughtful of you.â
âI was gonna carve your name into it, actually,â you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, âbut Tommy said that was a bad idea.â
Joel chuckles low under his breath. âHeâd be right.â
Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.
Itâs nothing, but it feels like so much.
As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.
âDo you need anything?â you ask him gently. âI can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.â
Joel huffs, shaking his head. âAlways lookinâ for a reason to yell at me, huh?â
âOnly âcause you keep givinâ me so many,â you tease.
He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.
âYou stayed the whole night,â he says finally, like heâs been holding it in for a while.
âI told Tommy I wouldnât leave until you woke up.â
Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, âI heard youâtalkinâ to me.â
âYou did?â you ask, your voice quiet. âWell, thatâsâŠembarrassing.â
Joelâs gaze drops to your hand lingering close to hisâhe hadnât even realized heâd reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips.
Itâs a small touch, but it grounds him.
You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment
âYou can let go,â he says, looking back up at you.
You smile faintly. âI donât want to.â
Joel hums thoughtfully. âSeems I donât want to either,â
And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.
âNever got to thank you properly,â Joel admits.
âIs that your way of saying thank you?â you ask curiously.
âCan be,â Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.
âI think you can do better,â you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.
âYouâre damn right,â he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.
When he parts, you canât help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.
âYeahâŠthatâsââ You breath stutters as you nod, âthatâll do.â
Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.
âGood, âcause I got a lot of thankinâ to make up for.â
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Immature
pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader
wordcount: 1.8k
warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death
synopsis: Robby loses his temper on you, and you're not quick to forgive, then tragedy strikes, and Robby's not answering his phone
note: some of you may notice that I took down the smut drabble I posted yesterday, I wasn't happy with it, so I took it down, but please accept this in its place. there will be a part two!!
!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!
Iâm your attending, and youâre my resident. Act like it.
Robby had spoken those words over a week ago.
It had been in the middle of a close to mass casualty event, a blood soaked emergency room crowded with victims from one of the worst car pile ups youâd ever seen.
You had never performed an emergency c-section before, especially not on someone who had been actively bleeding out. It wouldâve taken too long to call an attending in for help, so OB walked you through it over the phone, Garcia assisted, and both the mother and the baby had made it through (relatively) safe and sound. It had been a victory, a save worthy of celebration in the form of too many cocktails, until Robby found out.
Heâd given you the grace of scolding you away from prying ears, but that hadnât lessened the burn.
Robby had been too harsh, way too harsh.
You lacked discipline, didnât respect the chain of command, didnât respect him. When it came down to it, you were too much of a cowboy, too flexible with the rules of medicine. You were âtoo much like Abbot in the worst waysâ.
Tears had threatened to spill, burning and insistent, but youâd blinked them back.
You had avoided his eyes when youâd told him that you had saved more patients today than any other doctor, that you had been the one to pick up the slack when others had faltered, that he had no right to pick and choose when he thought you were qualified enough to handle things on your own.
You had successfully avoided him for the rest of your shift.
Day One
Meet me out front before your shift. Please.
The message comes through just as you leave your apartment building.
You scare the living daylights out of a flock of pigeons with how hard you slam your door.
You donât respond to his messages, but you do wait outside the doors to the ED, ten minutes early to your shift, pacing back and forth like a mad woman.
Robby walks up five minutes later, headphones in and sunglasses on. Usually that sight would make your heart flutter, but in this moment, it infuriates you.
âDo you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?â You keep your voice clip, painfully professional.
He flinches, but tucks his sunglasses into the front of his hoodie. âI owe you an apology.â
âYes, you do.â
Robby sighs. âTensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and Iâm sorry.â
Itâs completely genuine, almost heartbreakingly sincere. Somehow, you still donât completely forgive him.
âThank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.â Not really. âI guess Iâll see you inside.â
You brush past him before he can get another word in.
Robby follows you through the ER, hot on your heels, but you donât turn around. You ignore the strange look from Lupe, let the door almost smack him in the face on the way through, skip past your usual morning debrief with Dana and head right towards the nearest patient.
You should forgive him, you know you should. Itâs not reasonable to stay so angry about something that had been spoken in the middle of a crisis, but you were fed up. Robby never questioned Langdon or Whitaker as much as he questioned you and Samira.
You were beyond capable, better than most that had come through this program. Abbot had known that the moment heâd met you, and you thought Robby knew, but maybe he didnât. He deserved to be ignored, shown the error of his ways, at least for the rest of your shift.
Maybe itâs cruel, but youâre feeling cruel today.
Day Three
He walks through the door with two coffeeâs. One completely black, his order, and one with two creams and two sugars, your order.
âAbbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didnât have time for a coffee.â Itâs a casual lie, an excuse to talk. You never drink coffee before noon.
âThank you, Dr. Robinavitch.â You donât take the cup from his hand, donât even look him in the eye.
Once again, itâs cruel. But youâre still feeling hurt, inadequate.
Robby pushed his way between you and your desk, nudging your chair back just far enough to step between your knees.
âWhat can I do to earn your forgiveness?â His eyes are unbelievably warm, and itâs almost enough to make you crack.
âYouâre forgiven.â You shrug, reaching around him to grab your coffee. âIâm just working on my ârespect problemâ you had so much to say about.â
âButtercup, I-â
âItâs Doctor,â You interrupt, pushing up from your chair till the two of you are almost nose to nose. âor my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both waysâ
Robby doesnât back down, and neither do you. Itâs tense, probably awkward for many of the nearby bystanders, but itâs the closest heâs been to you in days. He smells incredible, spices, leather, and the slightest hint of antiseptic . He always smells good, but something about being upset with him seems to elevate it.
âPull it together, you two.â Dana calls out, a phone pinned between her ear and shoulder. âIncoming trauma, two minutes out.â
âOn it.â Robby responds, his eyes not once leaving yours. âButtercupâs leading.â
You all but stomp towards the ambulance bay, annoyance weighing down your shoulders.
âAm I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?â
âOh, this is all you.â Robby hands are harsh as they tie the back of your gown. âIâm not even gloving up.â
âLet's see how long that lasts.â
Robby, surprisingly, stays true to his word. He hovers by the door, hands behind his back, and doesn't question your decisions. You stabilize the patient in record time, handing them off to the nurses with a strange sense of satisfaction boiling in your stomach.
You turn towards Robby, a cocky smirk on your lips as you tear off your gloves. âSee how incredible I am when Iâm not being pestered by questions?â
Robby laughs, rough and deep.
âBelieve me,â He whispers under his breath, his eyes locked on you as you practically strut out of the trauma room. âIâm well aware of how incredible you are.â
Day Five
âIâm covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.â
Robby pauses. âAnd whoâs going to be covering you?â
âYou have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You donât need me here.â
âSure, but I want you here.â
You frown. âNo you donât. Iâm not being nice to you this week.â
âNo, youâre not,â Robby agrees. âBut that doesnât mean I want you gone.â
âI appreciate that,â You do, really. âBut I want to be gone for a little bit.â
âIf Abbot were here heâd be telling us to talk out our problems.â
You laugh. âThen letâs be glad heâs not.â
Day Seven
Two days later, youâre somehow back where you started, covered in blood, surrounded by patients in need of treatment, but Robbyâs not there, unreachable, actually, and itâs driving you insane.
Abbot tells you a transport crashed through a nearby cafe, decimated the entire building and grievously injured around thirty people. You ask the name of the cafe out of pure curiosity, and Abbot says The Filter. Itâs ridiculously overpriced for drinks that arenât even that good, but itâs Robbyâs favorite.
Every sunday night since you met him, Robby has sat in one of the window seats of that cafe, drinking a cup of expensive tea, and decompressing before heading home. And tonight is sunday night, Robby just handed his patients over to Abbot, and bid you both goodbye before heading for the same cafe that had just been taken out by a transport, and heâs not answering his phone.
Youâve been unbelievably immature all week, taken out your frustrations on him, and now he might be gone. He mightâve died thinking you hated him.
Medical work is done through deep breaths and the threat of tears. You check every patient's face for too long, hoping not to recognise his features beneath the blood and debrief. He doesnât come through the ambulance bay, and he doesnât call.
Once all the patients are stable, Abbot sends you out for air and you donât fight him. You shed your gown and gloves, slipping your sweater back on, and wander through the maze of gurneys till the fresh air hits your face.
Your throat is so tight you can hardly breath, and still, the screen of your phone is blank. No missed calls, no texts, not even an email.
You can hear the sound of feet scuffing on pavement, but you donât look up. Itâs probably a paramedic returning to their rig, a nurse coming out for a smoke break, a-
âDid you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?â
Itâs Robbyâs voice, rough, and warm, and so familiar it makes you want to cry, and you do.
âYouâreâŠâ Your voice breaks. Heâs in front of you, standing tall and completely intact, his brows furrowed in concern and confusion when he catches sight of the tears streaming down your face.
âWhat happened? Are you okay?â
You can only respond in sobs, your chest aching as the tears youâd been forcing back all night finally come free. Robby pulls you against him, his face buried in your hair as he whispers quiet hushes. You cling to him, press your head to his chest and cry even harder when you hear the steady beat of his heart.
âI thought you were dead.â Your words come out in a hoarse whisper, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.
âWhy would I be dead?â
âThe transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you werenât answering your phone.â You choke back another sob, desperate to get your words out. âI thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.â
âOh⊠Oh, I'm so sorry.â He holds you tighter, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to calm you, but it only makes you worse.
âYou have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.â You pull away, wiping your nose on your sleeve.
âThatâs not ridiculous, I wouldâve gone down the same road.â Robby keeps his hands on your shoulders, reluctant to let go of you.
You look up at him, tears brimming your eyes, but you blink them away. âIâm sorry.â
Robby smiles, far too fondly for how youâre guessing you look right now. âI know.â
You stare at each other in a few seconds of comfortable silence before speaking again. âEverythingâs mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.â
âIâll come inside and help.â
âYou donât need to.â You try to argue, but itâs half-hearted.
âI know,â Robby nods, his hand lifting to wipe a few stray tears from your cheek. âBut I want to.â
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it had to be you | dr. jack abbot
pairing: jack abbot x f!attending!reader warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), references to sex but nothing explicit, sweet sweet fluff <3 word count: 3k summary: it is the first year you're attending PTMC's annual gala as an attending. it's also your first year with a date. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. GALA FIC GALA FIC GALA FIC <3 this is a part of the ring of fire interconnected series, but itâs not necessary to read the prior parts to understand this fic. if you would like to, though, you can find the masterlist here <3 not proofread so apologies for any errors!
âi donât knowâŠâ you hands trail down your torso, looking at yourself and your dress in the mirror. âi think itâs too much. do you think itâs too much? is the red giving, likeâŠâ you chuckle a little bit to yourself. âi dunno, blood?â
jack rounds the corner from the en suite bathroom, leaning in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his immaculate dress pants. pressed, tailored, and fitting his legs perfectlyâ you know if he turned around, youâd find that it fit his ass perfectly, too. not fair, you think to yourself. simply not fair for him to look like that.
his eyes find yours in the mirror, but not before you watch him take in the sight of you from behind. his chest rises with a big inhale, blowing it out through his mouth. âi donât know how to say this nicely,â he takes a step closer to you. âor gentlemanly. but here goes: if someone saw you in that and their first thought is blood, they might be certifiably fucking insane.â his hands settle onto your hips and he pulls you back into him, back to front, a kiss being placed onto your shoulder. âwear it. itâs perfect.â
âi donât want to be the gala harlot.â
the vibration of his laughter hits the spot between your shoulder blades and you practically keel over. âitâs perfect.â his hand smacks his favorite spotâ your ass. âbesides, i found this, and i thought iâd wear it. match you.â
you turn in his arms and he reveals a signet ring, resting on his pinkyâ a beautiful, flat ruby settled into it. itâs almost a perfect color match. âi didnât want to go full prom, red tie, but thisâŠâ he shrugs his shoulders and looks at you with one perfectly arched brow. âwhat do you think?â
both of your hands take his and you bring his palm up to your mouth, kissing it. âitâs perfect.â
that look dawns on him. the look that tells you that he has plans that are so far away from any gala, hospital fundraiser, or anywhere in between. you point at him. âdonât.â he leans in and presses your hair back with a delicately precise motion. capable hands. god, you love his hands. âjack. weâll be late.â
âdonât care.â
âi do,â you rub at his arms, where they encircle your waist and tug you ever-closer, until youâre practically one body instead of two. you feel like that most days, anyway.
youâve found your rhythm. going from not-official to very-official wasnât as jarring as you thought it might be, and definitely not as jarring for jack. it was, largely, simple. it was all of the other stuff that wasnât simple.
it was the fact that now, when you entered work together, you got smirks from tired day crew folks. it was the fact that now, when you have one of your little spatsâ never disrespectful, always passionateâ from across each other, trying to determine the best course of care for a patient, someone else in the room has to determine it a lovers quarrel.
when it was just the two of you, holed up in jackâs apartment after a long shift⊠it was quieter. you missed that, sometimes.
but jack loving you out loud is worth the stares and the remarks. because you love the way that his gaze lingers on you, freely, wherever you are. you love that he comes by and slides a granola bar into your pocket when he has watched you go nonstop for hours, barely even coming up for air. you love that heâs your boyfriend, but heâs still your attending, too. heâs still your teacher. you love when he guides you through an insane procedure that he hasnât performed since he was overseas. you love when it works.
even when it doesnât work. when you work side by side and for as good as you are together, for all of the lives that you save together and apart, you canât save everyone. and when you find that familiar feeling of despair, and shame, and like maybe this isnât what youâre built for, jack still finds your eyes. finds your heart, your fear, your anguish. and he walks through it with you. god, heâs good at walking through it with you.
you hope that he feels youâre as good to him as he is to you. itâs the only goal youâre ever trying to achieve, the one way that you want to measure up.
âthis is my first time going to this thing as an attending,â you say, not without significant nerves. ânow i have to talk to donors and it means something.â
âiâll be there,â jack says easily, squeezing your arms. he kisses your shoulder again, open mouthed and hot, and it makes your head fall forward, leaning against his shoulder. âyou think iâm gonna leave your side tonight, with you looking like that? iâll be following you like a lost dog.â
a chuckle bubbles out of you and you meet his eyes through your eyelashes. he looks diabolically handsomeâ he kept his stubble, which you love, obviouslyâ to the untrained eye, he looks polished. but thereâs still that roguish glint to him, the thing that no amount of suits or shiny dress shoes could wipe away. âiâll put you on a leash,â you joke.
âyou could do anything you want to me, kid.â
the two of you watch each other thoughtfully. thereâs no need to fill the space with words, when silence is this comfortable. itâs a byproduct of years of mentoring, knowing, loving. âyouâll really stay with me?â you ask, your insecurities scratching at your heels.
âyou know i will,â he says. âiâve gone to this thing for a million years. big donors want to know the same three thingsâ tell me about the most impactful case youâve worked on recently. how do you do it all. can you tell me that my money goes to those who need it. simple.â he can tell that youâre not convinced. âwe could always smoke a little.â
you gape at him. âi am not smoking before work.â
âcome onâ youâre not intubating anyone! weâre gonna be talking with suits!â he laughs at your reaction. âalright, suit yourself. i smoke before it every year.â
within ten minutes, a roach is stubbed out in his ashtray, your lipgloss clinging to the filter.
â
âlook at you two!â dana gives you and jack big hugs outside of the ballroom where the gala was taking place, squeezing you against her tightly. âyou two look sharp.â
youâre feeling light from the weed, nerves settled like sand at the bottom of the ocean. you look over at jack and pick a strand of your hair off of his suit jacket. he looks at you and shrugs his shoulders. âshe laid out my outfit last night,â he jokes, and it makes you groan and roll your eyes.
you shove him a bit and dana laughs. âoh, yeah? been together what, six months, already acting as mama?â
you scrunch your nose up and give her a sideways glance. âhell no.â you laugh and jack has that smug smile on his face. âheâs a big boy. he took care of himself long before i came into the picture.â
dana winks at you. âsmart girl. abbot, sheâs your lady, not a maid, alright? i donât peg you as the type, butââ
âyes, maâam.â
dana laughs. âalright. iâll see you in there.â
you suck in a big breath. by your side, jack does the same. âare you nervous?â you ask.
ânah. my leg.â he shifts his weight slightly, and your mouth goes into a straight line, suddenly as serious as a heart attack. âdonât look at me like that, doctor. iâm good.â
âokay, but if itâs too muchââ
âi know. iâll sit down and take a break.â he rubs his hand up and down on your lower back. âwe should get in there, huh?â
âyouâre just trying to get me to stop being all doctor on you.â
he pats your ass one time, with no eyes to take it in. âdunno what youâre talking about.â he says it with that deadpan expression that he loves to wear, but you see the mirth in his eyes.
jack takes your hand and leads you in. the ballroom is immaculateâ youâve never seen anything so⊠frivolous. itâs the only word that you can think of. thereâs waitstaff flitting about with trays of hors d'oeuvres, flute glasses filled with sparkling champagne.
when you look over at jack, he wears a similar, thinly veiled expression of mild disgust. you make eye contact. each of you rolls your eyes at one another, and you slide your arm through his and lean in with a smile. âwe could probably give every nurse a significant raise with the money that it took to throw this,â you say under your breath.
âwhy do you think i need to smoke before i step foot in here,â jack responds.
he guides you towards your place settingâ a big circular table, with spots for each attending physician. you gulp when you see your name plateâ your name with the appropriate prefix. you pick it up and examine it with a slightly amused smile. you show it to jack who doesnât say anything, but you can feel pride radiate off of him in little ripples in the way that he puts his hand on the back of your neck and squeezes.
the remarks are kicked off by gloria, and you take a seat. jack tugs your chair so that he can put a dangled arm, draped across the back of it, his fingers brushing your shoulder. you maintain enough self control to not put your hand on his knee. every once and awhile his index finger will trail the back of your neck, the sensitive place between your shoulder blades. you shoot him daggers. he winks.
you finally relent and put that hand on his knee of his right leg.
as you continue to sit, you watch jack shift. in that way that he does when his hip is starting to acheâ and youâre tuned in to him and his needs, instantly. you squeeze his knee to get his attention while gloria continues to drone on⊠and on⊠and on. âyou okay?â you mouth the two words, concern written in the way that your brows furrow.
he gives a noncommittal sound and he gestures for your purse. you fish the little orange bottle out that you always carry for him, and hand him the proper dosage for when phantom pain comes for him.
if it werenât your partner that were experiencing it, you would find the concept of phantom pain⊠fascinating, medically. the brain is a powerful, sometimes too powerful, organ. but because itâs jack, and because you can see the set in his jaw and the way that he shifts again in his chair, you donât care what the brain is capable of. all you care is that his brain stop.
he knocks the pill back and hands the bottle back to you. the slight rattle gets whitaker looking over in your direction, and you make a motion with your finger that says turn around before i make you. he complies with a quickness, and you settle once more with your hand to jackâs leg. you squeeze, gently, only half focused on the words that gloria says.
jackâs hand goes back to its favorite place: the back of your neck. itâs where you carry the majority of the tension in your body. you think jack likes being able to alleviate that, even if just for a moment. you also think he simply likes the way that your eyes roll back, the way that youâll sometimes steady yourself with a hand that brushes his knee, or waist. you think he likes knowing that he can melt you with one touch in an instant.
now is no different. your eyes flutter shut, and when they open, jack is staring at you with a look of satisfaction thatâs only brought out from making you feel good.
âyouâre a dog,â you say under your breath.
âyou told me youâd get a leash.â
keeping your laughter inside, gloria wraps up her remarks, and encourages everyone in the room to mingle, drink, eat, and dance. you and jack stand, hand in hand, and look at each other with an identical expression that reads, thank god. he leads you to the bar without another word.
that watchful eye stays upon him, and as you wait for your drinksâ his whiskey, your martiniâ he rubs your back and adds, âmeds are working.â
âgood.â
âyou donât need to watch me like a hawk.â
this gets you to scowl. the drinks are slid in your direction and you take yours, gently clinking your glass to his. âhave you ever thought,â you lean in. âmaybe i just like looking at you tonight?â
you donât know if itâs scientifically possible for an eye color to darken in a split second. but if it can, jackâs do. he knocks the contents in his cup back and holds his hand out for you. âdance with me.â
âyour legââ
âif my leg hurts from dancing with you, then so be it. well worth it.â he pauses. âwhatâs the murakami quote⊠pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.â
youâre unconvinced, but moved regardless. âyou are dramatic.â
âyes i am,â jack flexes his hand. âare you really gonna turn me down in front of our peers? thatâs just rude.â
you roll your eyes at him, but your smile is wide and itâs bright and itâs the smile that you get on your face because of jack, and jack alone. you set your drink to the side and take jackâs hand and let him lead you to the dance floor.
people know that you and jack are together, yes, but itâs rare they see you so free with your affection. javadiâs eyes are as big as saucers as the two of you pass by her and mateo. you wink. your arms and hands settle into place: jackâs on your waist. your arms dangled on his shoulders.
it had to be you plays over the speaker system as the two of you take the floorâ the harry connick jr. version, the one in when harry met sally. a little bit more flirtatious than the original, the two of you sway in time.
âremember when we watched this movie? way early on?â you reminisce with a big smile on your face.
âoh, i remember. the scene in the diner⊠you blushed when that came on,â he snickers and his hands tighten on your body. âi donât think weâd even kissed yet.â
âi didnât know if you wereâŠâ you shrug your shoulders. âi dunno. i think, at that point, i still kind of thought it was all just up in my head. yeah, itâs one thing to smoke weed and watch a movie with your mentor. itâs another to want to have sex with him.â you peer up at him through your lashes. âand i wanted to do all three.â
âah, kid, you always were an overachiever.â
you laugh, leaning forward. his hand comes up to cup the back of your head as you rest your cheek against his chest, eyes closing, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. his hand slips under your hair and continues to rub at your neck. you sigh. it feels like everything is at right in the world.
âyou know,â he starts, his cheek resting on the top of your head. âi could do this forever.â
âdance?â
he chuckles. âno.â your head lifts up and youâre face to face. he takes your hand, puts it on the spot where you just listened to his heart. âjust⊠this.â
the gravity of his words click into place. âoh.â
âyeah.â
thereâs a gentleness to his eyes and his words. almost vulnerableâ but trusting, too. âi could too,â you affirm without another thought required. you lean forward, your lips at his ear. âas long as youâll have me, dr. abbot.â
if there was any distance left between the two of you, jack abandons it, pulling you in. he presses a kiss against your cheek.
as he does, a throat clears. you both look over, slightly misty-eyed and fully in love, to see gloria with a pleasantly manufactured smile plastered across her face. âoh, you two. adorable.â she looks at her watch. âpatricia miller is here. just lost of her husband. big donorâ big romantic, too. i would like you two to get to talking with her before she leaves. donât forget to share youâre together. thatâll do wonders on her.â she tilts her head to the side. âenjoy your evening. donât forget to take home a goodie bag.â
gloria saunters off. you look over to jack.
the two of you laugh, loudly, drawing eyes in your direction. robby and collins share a glance, trying to figure out what on earth could possibly be so funny. whitaker checks his shirt to make sure he doesnât have a stain.
âman,â jack says. âduty calls, right?â
âguess so.â you run your hand up the back of jackâs head, through his silver curls. you feel him shiver as you rake your nails down. thereâs a moment where you hesitate, but you donât find yourself in the business of holding back where jack is concerned, so you say it anyway: âwhat are they gonna do when thereâs two dr. abbotâs? they might combust from donation possibility. nothing sells like a love story.â
jackâs eyes flash. if before wasnât enough⊠you think this might just be the confirmation he needs. he doesnât say anything at first. he leans and he kisses you, taking you somewhere far, far away from this ballroom. âi think iâll be the one combusting first.â
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Them or Us
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: Let's rewrite Joel's story together, shall we?
Warnings: language, graphic violence, character death (not Joel or Ellie), blood, guns, knives, angst, guilt, reader is a badass
A/N: if you are an Abby fan, I suggest skipping this one.
"Ellie! This way!" you shout over the howling wind. She twists around in her saddle and yanks on the reins, steering Shimmer towards you through the blistering snow.
You point towards the ground â horse tracks, two sets â that head up the mountain.
"Maybe they found shelter there!" she yells, pointing towards an abandoned ski lodge. Years ago you remember clearing it of infected but it isn't part of your usual patrol routes. You nod and dig your heels into the sides of your horse, urging the poor thing through the blizzard and up the treacherous terrain.
You ride the rest of the way in silence. Not that you could hear her anyway, but you both seem to have the same heavy pit in your stomach. You haven't checked out this place in a long time. Anything or anybody could be in there. But Joel and Dina might be in trouble. You had to go.
When you approach the lodge, you bring your horses inside. It's quiet when you slide down from your horse. You exchange glances with Ellie and jut your chin upwards.
"They'd go up high," you say softly. "So they could get a good look at the land."
She nods in agreement before equipping herself with her rifle. You each check that your guns are loaded â long range and side arms â and double check your knives are still hidden in your boots and belts before advancing towards the massive staircase.
Foolishly, you allow yourself to think everything is fine. That they just came in to warm themselves up and wait out the storm. But as you approach the double doors, you hear voices. Ones you don't recognize.
You look at Ellie once again and she shoulders her rifle. You press a finger against your lips and she nods as you creep quietly over the ancient floorboards. Holding your ear up to the door, you listen.
"Because it doesn't matter if you have a code like me, or you're a lawless piece of shit like you," you hear a woman's voice say. You swallow nervously and grip your revolver tighter in your hand.
"There are just some things everyone agrees are just fucking wrong."
You hear footsteps slowly cross the room. It sounds like they are heading in your direction, towards the doors. Your heart slams loudly against your ribs but you are laser focused. The adrenaline in your body sharpens your senses and it's like you can practically see through the doors. You can imagine whoever this is stopping near something by the wall, just feet away from the door where you stand ready on the other side.
You give Ellie one more nod, confirming you're both ready to do what it takes to save the ones you love, and you take a deep breath.
Ellie is first. She kicks the door in and almost immediately gets knocked down by some man standing guard, but somehow you know it's fine. She's not hurt, she just got the wind knocked out of her.
You don't even see Joel or Dina yet. You only see the girl in a grey henley shirt, tucked into her oversized khaki pants, standing in front of a set of golf clubs.
She swivels around in surprise and you lock eyes for one devastating moment. She seems to understand her fate before you. Maybe she sees the pure rage and anger written on your face, one that she herself harbored for five years. Maybe she always knew it would end this way, same as her father.
You raise your revolver and slide one eye shut. It feels like it takes an eternity but it's really only a split second. The girl in front of you no older than Ellie holds her breath. You see fear and helplessness flicker across her eyes before your finger curls around the trigger and a loud bang echos through the vast, open ski lodge.
Blood sprays everywhere and her body drops to the floor with a thud. It seems to have shocked the other four members of the group because there's a moment of hesitation. A small hole burns right between her eyes and thick, sticky blood begins to pool underneath her braid. Her eyes remain open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
Ellie is still on the floor, but the man who knocked her down isn't paying attention. You shoot him in the knee and step into the room. Behind you, the man shouts and drops to the floor. You hear the sickening sound of Ellie's switchblade sink wetly into his ear, then the yelling stops.
It feels like you're on autopilot. Like you are barely aware of what you're doing. You feel shockingly calm. Looking back on it, you chalk it up to some primal, baser instinct. You've always heard people are capable of doing impossible things when they are under extreme duress.
This was one of those times.
Ellie clambers to her feet behind you. You can hear her fumbling with her gun, but you pay it no mind.
Three people left.
There's a woman with no hair reaching for a gun leaning against the fireplace. You exhale steadily and take aim â another loud blast, dark red blood sprays the light stone wall, and another heavy body hits the floor.
The last remaining man and woman begin to scream.
The girl with the black hair and bangs charges you with a knife. You turn, expression blank, and raise your gun, but Ellie gets there first.
A bullet lodges itself into the side of her head. You see her face go slack and her eyes roll back before she crumples to the ground. Warm mist sprays you, covers your face and neck, but you don't care.
You swivel on your heel when you hear footsteps running towards the door. The last man. He kind of looked like Tommy, you notice idly. You roll your shoulder, loosening it up, and raise your gun.
You feel completely at peace when you pull the trigger and your bullet sails through the final man's cheek. He yelps and falls to the ground. He stays alive for about thirty seconds, howling in pain, until finally his body stills and silence fills the room.
It was done. Not what you expected to do today, but it's what you trained for â the unexpected. To do what it takes to save your own.
"Oh, shit," Ellie says, holstering her gun and rushing across the room. You turn, heart rate spiking when you snap out of your haze. Ellie is crouching over Joel on the floor. She is hovering over his leg and it's only then when you notice blood pooling underneath him.
"Joel!" you cry out, dropping your gun to rush to his side. With an indescribable amount of relief, you notice aside from the fucking shotgun that blew a hole in his knee, he's otherwise untouched.
"Theyâ they wrapped it up," he stammers. You look and see the belt wrapped tightly around his leg for the first time. You frown, confused, but shake it off.
"Okay," you breathe, "can you walk?"
He nods but his face is prickled with sweat and he looks pale.
"We got the horses downstairs. We- you can ride back with me. We'll be alright," you assure him with a small smile. Next to you, Ellie jumps up. She rushes over to Dina and begins to shake her shoulders, yelling her name.
"She's gonna be out for a bit," Joel grits. You lean down and offer him your shoulder. He wraps an arm around you and you hook your own arms under his to pull him up with a loud groan. He makes a pained sound but he finally is able to stand, leaning against you with his wounded leg hovering in the air.
"They sedated her," Joel explained when Ellie shot him a panicked look. Dina looked pale too, but she was breathing.
"Why?" Ellie asked. Joel shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Can we talk 'bout this later?"
"Ellie, help me get him down to the horses," you say. She begrudgingly stands and gives Dina one more look. "We'll get him on mine and then come back for Dina," you assure her. She nods and ducks underneath Joel's other arm, supporting his weight as all three of you slowly make your way down the stairs to the horses.
It takes a while, but when you have both of them ready, you finally are ready to leave behind the nightmare you almost walked into.
"Jackson," Joel says weakly behind you. You're leading your horse down the mountain, towards the town currently engulfed in flames. You swallow and square your shoulders.
"Tommy's there," you say confidently, "he knows what to do. I'mâ I'm sure it's fine."
Half a mile passes in the worst blizzard you've seen in years before Joel speaks again.
"You saved me."
You stiffen but otherwise remain silent, focused on the trail ahead. So he speaks again.
"She was gonna kill me," he continues. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head.
"But she didn't."
His grip around your middle tightens.
"I killed her father," he adds solemnly. You shrug.
"We've all killed people."
A beat passes between you.
"Her father wasâ was the doctor."
It takes you a moment, but you connect the dots. You remember what Joel told you about that day in Salt Lake City. What he did to save Ellie. What he swore he would do again, if given the chance. A decision you agreed with and still do.
"Well," you sigh, "it was either them or us."
"I deserved it," he says firmly. You nearly turn around a deck him, but you stop yourself.
"Shut the fuck up, Joel."
"It's true," he urges.
"I don't give a shit," you seethe over your shoulder. "We all do bad shit to save the ones we love. It's the world we live in now. Anyone in your position would have done the same thing."
Joel goes quiet again and you glance to the side. Ellie is nearby but the wind is too loud. She can't hear you. Besides, she's too worried about Dina to care.
"Would you have done it?"
"What?" you scoff, "kill whoever stood in my way to protect the one I love?"
You feel him nod against your back.
"Isn't that what I just did?"
You steer your horse through the trees. You're about halfway to Jackson now. The fires have almost been put out. Whatever happened is coming to an end. The next few months will require a lot of work, a lot of rebuilding. Your lives are all once again forever changed, but you've been through worse.
Everything will be fine.
"C'mon," you say to Joel, "let's get you home."
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The Abbot Family - Pittfest Finale
Pairing: Dr Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader (romantic)
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst?
Word Count: 1056
Warnings: Canon typical blood/gore/violence, hospital show drama, mass shooting, death, gunshot wounds, there are definitely medical inaccuracies, I'm a history major. *Please let me know if I forgot anything
Summary: When he is at work, Dr Abbot keeps his life private, and keeps his head focused on being an attending of the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center. No one knows what he does at home, until Pittfest happens.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, this story is inspired by the TV show The Pitt and features places, plots, characters from said show.
â
Austin. Avery. Oliver. Henry. Jack.
â
Waking up was a bitch. Your body hurt, you brain hurt, and it took all of your focus to open your eyes. But it was worth it.
Your husband had pulled the visitorâs chair as close to you as possible, and had his head resting at your hip with your hand wrapped in his. You both were overly affectionate, and touch had always been the way to ground each other. Jackâs hugs filled you with a feeling of safety, calmness, and love. There was no bad day that could compete against his hugs. And when Jack was sleeping, he had to be touching you. Even whining a little bit in his sleep if you werenât cuddling him. The two of you always melted into each other.
You squeezing his hand woke him up.
His dark hazel eyes met yours, and his entire body let out a breath of relief. The stress, pain, and worry that had been haunting him finally, finally, went away.
âYou are going to be the death of me, you know that?â His gruff voice was still full of sleep, and it never failed to light a fire in your stomach.
âWhere-â Your voice gave out, and Jack immediately stood to help you drink some water. He wasnât in his scrubs, but rather his civilian clothes: an army shirt, cargo pants, and boots, with a familiar blanket from your house that was resting on the back of the chair.
âTheyâre home. Robby took them home, and brought us both a change of clothes.â You groaned when you saw you were in a hospital gown.
âDid I at least shave my legs before they cut me open?â
Jack shook his head in amusement, âYou could have died, and thatâs what your worry is?â
âNo, but the insecure part of me is wondering about it.â He went to sit again, but you pulled him towards your bed. Jack was going to protest but you gave him pleading eyes, âPlease, I need you next to me.â
He could never say no to you.
The two of you adjusted so that Jack could cuddle at your side with an arm behind your head. For a moment, you two let yourselves breathe, at peace once again.
âYou scared me.â
âIâm sorry.â
âFor you scaring me or you running around with GSWs trying to save everyone but yourself?â
âThe former.â Jack pressed a kiss to your temple. âYou would have done the same.â
âWhich is the only reason Iâm not yelling.â You tilted your head up to kiss his jaw, the stubble tickling you. âI think I aged ten years seeing Austin carrying Avery into the Pitt without you.â
âSheâs okay though?â
âYeah, sheâs okay. Resting. Your sister is watching them.â
âAnd Austin?â Jack looked down at you, âDo you think he can forgive his mother for making him take care of his injured sister?â
âHe doesnât need to forgive you; he needs you to be alive.â
You hummed, but moved on in response, âOliver and Henry?â
âWorried about you. They know you were injured, but I figured that they should see you in person before we tell the kids what your injuries were.â The two of you were in agreement.
âHow was the rest of the night?â
âGood. Lot of lives saved; some lives lost.. Leah didnât make it.â Poor Jake, he must be heartbroken. âHoney, I know you want to ask a thousand questions, but can I please just hold you for a minute?â
âHold me forever.â He smiled as he gently pulled himself closer to you, wary of your injuries.
âIâm right here.â He whispered in your ear before laying a kiss on it, and the tension you were carrying finally broke. Jack held you as you sobbed in his arms. The death, the blood, the fear, all of it was melting away in your tears. You were safe because you were with Jack. You felt tears wet your hair and knew that Jack was finally letting go of his own pain, and you hugged him closer.
It was over. Pittfest was over.
You were alive. You were with Jack. Your children were alive and safe, and you were with Jack â the one person that made the world stop moving when it became too much for you.
The truth was that neither one of you would hesitate to help others, and if you were in the situation again, the only thing you would change is that your kids would have been home and safe in their beds. But they were there now, and you were with Jack.
Next day, your kids all managed to fit on your tiny bed as they talked over each other trying to talk to you. You wiped the tears away from Averyâs eyes when she started crying, and assured Henry and Oliver that you would be home in a few days. Austin sat at the end of the bed, and when you touched his hand, you saw the weight on his shoulders.
âYou did good.â
He nodded, but didnât move. Jack came up and placed a hand on Austinâs shoulder, grounding the boy to the present. Dana came by, Robby stayed for a few hours, West dropped off flowers and cards from the team, and some of the more curious interns and students came up to see if you were alright, though they barely knew you.
All throughout, Jack kept his eyes on you and the kids. A silent, brooding, protector who loved the five of you more than anything in the world. Specifically, you though. He didnât know what he would have done if your injuries were fatal. He would have had to keep moving for the kids, but he never truly would have been alive without you. And when he got you home, he was going to show you exactly how much you meant to him, and how much he loved you. But for now, with Oliver laughing at a horrible joke Robby made, Henry falling asleep as he was tucked into your side, Avery having your sister and Dana sign her cast, and Austin letting the weight fall off from his shoulders as his family was whole again; Jack was able to breathe knowing that all of you were there with him.
The Abbot family was safe and sound.
--------------------------------
Thank you everyone who has been keeping up with this. Your patience means a lot to me, especially with the week that I have had. I'll be writing a few more pieces in the next few days to "catch up", but for now, this is the end of the Abbot Family - Pittfest.
Taglist: breemitch15, lemonlime09, evienorville, wolfbc97, kmc1989
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Whatever You Say, Fruitcake
pairing : Michael âRobbyâ Robinavitch x Reader (established marriage)
summary: Myrnaâs being Myrna. Somewhere between the chaos, you and Robby manage to come up for air.
warnings/content: Fluff, Hospital setting, strong language, married intimacy, mild sexual tension(?), bodily fluids (mentioned), chaotic workplace dynamics, Myrna.
word count: 1,767, not beta read.
a/n: Iâve written so much smut and angst lately⊠felt like I needed a fluff filler. Honestly, with everything Robbyâs been through tooâhe deserves one just as much as I do.
Someone left the remains of a hoagie in the trauma fridge again, and now the back hallway reeks of vinegar, cold cuts, and poor life choices.
The smell hits you as soon as you clear the curtain bayâsharp, sour, unmistakably fermented. You pause mid-step. Behind you, Dana makes a strangled noise in her throat and immediately starts waving a clipboard in the air like itâs going to do something other than stir it up.
âIf this is Whitakerâs doing,â Dana says, already pinching the bridge of her nose, âIâm pulling him from patients and assigning him to mop duty and moral reflection.â
You snort. âPretty sure thatâs not in the union handbook.â
Sheâs already striding ahead. âThen Iâll write my own damn handbook.â
Just ahead, Robby moves through the corridor like a man whoâs been paged three times too many. Hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, coffee in one hand, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a look that says heâs thirty seconds from announcing his retirement.
Whitakerâs hustling to keep up, slightly flushed and fumbling with a stack of blank admission forms and a clipboard clearly marked for peds. Heâs also holding an empty emesis basin and a bag of saltine crackers.
âI dropped the kid off in Pediatrics like you told me to,â he says, catching his breath. âThen someone threw up on my shoes, I handed over some crackers as a peace offering, and I think I accidentally took this chart on my way out while trying to avoid a loud debate about Paw Patrol and screen time.â
Robby doesnât even look at him. âWhy are you holding a puke tray?â
âSomeone in Peds handed it to me. I panicked and said thank you.â
âYou donât work there, Whitaker. You work in emergency.â
âYeah, well, try telling that to the four-year-old who called me Doctor Crackers and wouldnât let go of my hand.â
Dana watches Whitaker veer off toward supply, jaw tightening just slightly. âIf he volunteers himself into another departmentâs meltdown, Iâm having his badge color-coded for liability.â
You raise a brow. âIs that a charge nurse threat?â
âItâs preventative management.â
Before you can reply, the air shiftsâlike it always does when Myrna materializes. The low squeak of her wheelchair wheels, the jingle of cheap bracelets, and thenâ
âHey, fruitcake.â
Robby slows when he sees her. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Justâready, in that way he gets when Myrnaâs name is involved in a trauma note or a psych hold request.
He hesitates, jaw clenched, clipboard tucked tighter under his arm as he steps in behind the wheelchairâslow and deliberate, one hand on the back like he's guiding a live grenade disguised in costume jewelry.
Myrna is cuffed, of courseâstandard protocolâbut sheâs sitting tall like sheâs holding court. Her walker is bungee-corded to the back of the chair, and thereâs a half-empty Styrofoam cup in the side pocket that no one remembers giving her. She smells like menthols and peach Schnapps. Her lipstick is smeared. Her eyes are sharp.
She cranes her head slightly to look up at Robby and grins with all the self-satisfaction of someone who knows exactly how to ruin your day and plans to do it slowly.
Robby exhales. âMyrna. What brings you in today?â
âI murdered my husband.â
âHowâd you do it this time?â
âMeat grinder.â
She shifts in her seat, adjusting the tilt of her chair. When he stops, she immediately starts wheeling herself toward the empty staff breakroom like she owns the placeâcompletely ignoring the Employees Only sign.
âWhere do you think youâre going, Myrna?â
âOh, none of your business, fruitcake.â
His jaw ticks. The clipboard drops half an inch.
âActually, everything that happens in this department is my business. And you know what? I put up with a lot around here. I take very good care of you. So you can call me Dr. Robinavitch, or Dr. Robby, or you can use my first name, Michael. But I do not appreciate being called fruitcake.â
Dana leans toward you. âHeâs two years and one more nickname away from tossing his pager in the East River and moving into a cabin with no electricity.â
You snort. âHe can move to the woods if he wants, but Iâm not following him into a life of compost toilets and mosquito nets. Heâll be back the second he realizes Iâm not coming with.â
Back in the hall, Myrna shrugs.
âOh, did I hurt your feelings, cocksucker?â
Dana snorts. You press your fingers to your mouth.
Robby takes a breath. âThat said, it has a certain whimsical quality I can probably learn to live with.â
âWhatever you say, fruitcake.â
Without missing a beat, she pivots her wheelchair and rolls with precision toward the ambulance bay doors. The automatic sensor doesnât catch her on the first pass, so she backs up, then rams the base of the door with enough force to jolt the frameâand nearly set off the motion alarm. A âWet Floorâ sign topples in her wake.
Then, slowly, she lifts her cuffed wrists and waves them at the security camera like sheâs on parade.
Robby doesnât move. Just watches her, unreadable.
She pauses at the edge of the exit, half-turned in her chair, chin tilted up like sheâs daring someone to try and stop her.
A nurse nearby mutters, âDo we stop her⊠or let natural selection take it from here?â
You find him later in the breakroom, elbows braced on the table, fingers pressed into his brow like heâs trying to force the day out through his skull. His coffee sits untouched beside a chart heâs clearly given up pretending to read. The overhead light is flickering, unresolved, adding to the static hum that no one has the energy to report anymore.
You slide your coffee beside his and drop into the seat next to him. No words, not yet. Just your knee brushing his under the tableâlight, intentional, familiar. He doesnât look at you, but he exhales like you just gave him permission to breathe.
After a beat: âIâm fine.â
You sip your coffee. âMmm. Then why have you been brooding like a cursed Victorian husband.â
He drags his hands down his face and groans. âShe called me a cocksucker in front of the whole emergency department.â
âAnd you didnât throw anything,â you say. âWhich, frankly, is a win.â
You nudge your foot against his. âDo you want me to fight her?â
His brow furrows. âWhat?â
âOutside. Ambulance bay. High noon.â
That earns the smallest crack of a smile.
âIâm serious,â you add. âIâm fully within my spousal rights to go feral.â
âPretty sure thatâs not in the HR manual.â
âPretty sure itâs in the vows.â
He huffs out a reluctant laugh, and you feel the air between you shift. Lighter. Less taut. The corner of his mouth tilts in that way youâve learned to loveâsubtle, fleeting, like warmth in a place that rarely allows it.
âDana probably already has a memo drafted,â he mutters. âSomething officialââEffective immediately, all consults will refer to Dr. Robinavitch as Fruitcake.ââ
You grin. âShe has. Itâs laminated. I signed off on it.â
He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. âYouâre enjoying this too much.â
âIâm married to you. I take my entertainment where I can get it.â
He finally leans back, posture loosening. âOne of these days, Iâm torching this whole department.â
âYou wonât,â you say. âYou love this place too much.â
âI love you. Everything else is negotiable.â
You fall quiet at that, the kind of quiet that makes room for a hand to reach across the table. Yours. His. Youâre not even sure. But they find each other easily, like always.
âYou were good today,â you say. âThe way you handled her. All of it. You didnât give her the chaos she wanted.â
âShe got under my skin.â
âBut she didnât get a reaction. Thatâs power. Thatâs control. I'm proud of you.â
He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a moment, itâs quiet in a way this place rarely is.
âYouâre always proud of me,â he says, voice softer now.
You smile, just a little. âNot always. Just when you deserve it.â
A pause. He huffs, but itâs fond. âYou should put that on a sticker.â
âAlready did.â You nudge his elbow. âSlapped it on your locker right under the one that says âFruitcake of the Month.ââ
He groans. âI married a menace.â
âYou married smart.â
âYou tricked me.â
You squeeze his hand. âAnd Iâd do it again.â
The silence that settles next isnât heavy. Itâs married silence. Full of the things you donât need to say because youâve already said them a hundred different ways over coffee cups and night shifts and shared exhaustion.
You glance toward the hallway, then back to him, voice lower now. âSometimes I wonder how weâre still standing in all this. You, me. This place.â
He watches you for a long moment, then says, âBecause you make it worth it.â
A pause.
Thenâ
âIâm not kissing you in the breakroom,â he says eventually, eyes still on yours.
âI know.â
âBut I want to.â
âI know that too.â
Another small smile. âYouâre trouble.â
âAnd youâre mine.â
The moment hangs thereâwarm and quiet and stupidly rare. It's the kind of silence that only happens when two people know each other too well to need more words.
His pager buzzes on the table. You both glance at it but donât move right away. Then, like muscle memory, he stands and grabs his clipboard. You collect the two half-finished coffees and toss them without comment.
When you step toward the door, your hand brushes hisânot by accident. He doesnât take it, not here, not with the door just about to swing open. But he squeezes your fingers once, fast and familiar. Itâs not affection, exactly. Itâs reassurance. A habit. A promise.
You exit the breakroom together.
The hallway feels colder by comparison. Brighter. Louder. Someoneâs calling out discharge instructions. A gurney wheel shrieks as it sticks on the threshold. The ER is alive again, like it never paused.
He walks ahead of you, falling back into his role like pulling on a second skinâfocused, efficient, slightly intimidating. But you know that look. You know the weight heâs carrying.
When his hand grazes yours again at the hallway bend, he doesnât pull away right away.
You donât hold hands. You donât need to.
But the warmth lingers.
Thatâs the thing about marriage in a place like this : thereâs never time. So you take the seconds. And when you find each other in them, you hold on.
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All that glitters
parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader
summary. jack isn't a materialistic man, and you try your best not to be spoiledâbut when your man gets flirted with, maybe it's time to flaunt the rings?
warnings. typical pitt setting, hospital drama, age gap bc i make the rules in this house (Jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), secret marriage trope but the don't really try very hard to hide it, jack gets flirted with, sassy jack, reader that has hair long enough to be in a ponytail, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!
notes. love love love jack and younger reader who he loves to spoilâi'll make them my mark sloan/lexie grey dream. sorta follows the stereotype of nurses getting married young with a big phat rock on their finger and reader is living her best life fr, today she's giving health icon realness! like always feedback is very much appreciated and i love all of you!
wc. 1500+
There were very few perks to working night shift in the ER, but your coworkers were definitely one of them. The vibe was calmer, looser. You could play music low, crack jokes in between traumas, and snack on protein bars and green juice in peace without an intern hovering at your elbow asking if this was the âbad kind of blood.â
More importantly though? You didnât have to deal with as many junior staff mispronouncing meds or asking you if âNPOâ was a hospital in another state.
Not that you were that far off from their age. You were only a few years ahead of most of them, and honestly? You didnât always look like someone who belonged in the ER. You were the compression jacket-wearing, Pilates-going, smoothie-before-shift, electrolyte-during kind of nurse. Hair always in a claw clip, nails always clean and glossy, scrubs perfectly tailored and paired with a cute fleece half-zip. Your badge reel had glitter. Your tumbler was filled with ice water. You had a favorite lip balm and two glosses.
And somehow, you were married to Jack Abbot.
Not that most people at PTMC knew that.
Jackâhardass, sarcasm-laced, gruff-charm Abbotâwasn't exactly wearing a âtakenâ sign on his back. And you werenât shouting it from the rooftops either. You both liked the privacy, liked having something all to yourselves in a place where everyone seemed to know everyone elseâs business.
Still, the diamond on your finger didnât exactly scream subtle. It was flashy. Big, clear, and set in a gold band that sparkled aggressively under the hospitalâs harsh fluorescents. People noticed it. Youâd caught more than one resident blinking at it mid-sentence.
Jack noticed it too, especially when you wandered over to where he stood, leaning casually against the wall near the trauma bayâarms crossed, mouth in a flat line, giving you that look he always did when you showed up a little too put together for the ER at 2 a.m.
You sipped your icy water and tapped your fingers against your cup. âSlow night.â
He didnât even glance at you. âYou trying to get us all booked?â
âOh come on, I didnât say the actual Q-word.â
âYou said âslow night,â which is the Q-wordâs passive-aggressive cousin. Weâre totally fucked now, hope youâre happy.â
You smiled sweetly, resting an elbow on the nearby table. âI brought chia pudding for later. Want one?â
He side-eyed you. âI donât even know what the hell that is.â
âItâs gut healthy, Jack. Thereâs fruit in it too,â
âI donât trust anything that you find on TikTok.â
You giggled, which only made him more suspicious. Jackâs gaze dipped to your hand as you fiddled with the straw in your drink, the ring practically glowing.
âYouâre really wearing that thing tonight?â
You blinked innocently. âWhat, this old thing?â
He snorted. âYou know itâs blinding under these lights, right? Someoneâs gonna seize just from the glare.â
âWell then Iâm technically doing my job,â you said, smiling. âKeeping you on your toes.â
âYouâre gonna give the interns a complex. They think youâre single, you know.â
Your eyes widend in fake horror. âYou donât think Iâm flirting with anyone, do you? Frank gets really chatty before he leaves for the night,â
He raised an eyebrow. âWith how much you like to bug me, I wouldnât have noticed.â
âThatâs rich coming from you, you like to hover too.â
âI do not.â
âYou do.â
Jack tilted his head. âOkay. A little. Iâm just makinâ sure my girlâs all good.â
You gave him a light shove and took another sip of your water, just in time to hear the trauma pager start going off.
MVC. ETA six minutes.
Jack stood up straighter like someone flipped a switch, already reaching for gloves. You grabbed your own pair from your pocket, gently removing your ring and placing it onto the accompanying chain around your neck. Itâs something you and Jack had agreed to when it came to your wedding rings, minimal gore around themââup or offâ he liked to call it. He had his own of course, though most of the time he just kept his ring on the necklace while at work.
You started bouncing lightly on your toes to get the blood flowing, not having had any action in the time since you had arrived.
âTry not to trip over your own sparkle out there,â he muttered.
You gave him your sweetest smile. âYou love it.â
He looked at you for a beat longer than he needed to. âUnfortunately.â
Unfortunately, your assâhe picked that ring out himself.
As the trauma team assembled, you took your place beside him, the two of you syncing without needing to speak. He passed you a gown without asking. You tied the back of his before he even turned around.
If anyone noticed how in step you were, they didnât say anything.
Jackâs hand brushed against yours as you moved into the trauma bay, just long enough for you to know he saw you. Always did.
After your first success of the night, the adrenaline had faded from the area like mist burning off in Pitsburgh morning light. You were perched back at the nurses' station, sipping from your oversized pink tumbler once again and tapping notes into the EMR system, your high ponytail somehow still intact after the trauma call. Youâd already changed into your backup hoodie, the pale blue one that matched your compression socks.
A little style, a little lip gloss, and a whole lot of not here for nonsense.
Things had quieted enough for Jack to finally emerge from the trauma bay, only for him to be flagged almost immediately by a patient coming in from the waiting room. She was maybe late twenties, long hair, fresh manicure, a barely-there scrape above her brow. Her chart said âfall on concrete.â Her strappy heels said, fall caused by attention-seeking behavior.
You glanced up briefly, watching Jack walk her to a curtained bay. She was smiling too much. Laughing too loud. He was wearing that lookâthe one he got when he knew a situation would be annoying and had already mentally detached from it.
âI swear,â the patient was saying, voice high and sweet, âevery time I wear these I end up in trouble. Guess that teaches me for wanting to be cute on a Wednesday night.â
Jack didnât even blink. âSounds like unfortunate planning.ïżœïżœïżœ
You tried not to smirk, eyes drifting back to your screen, but your ears stayed tuned.
Inside the curtain bay, the flirting only ramped up.
âYouâve got great hands,â she continued. âLike, really strongâAre you a surgeon or something?â
âOr something,â he muttered, clearly already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.
A moment later, you stood, casually collecting a folder from the rack. You strolled over, your walk unbothered, the slight shimmer of your clear gloss catching in the overhead light. You didnât need to announce anything. You just stepped in like you belonged thereâbecause in reality you didnât.
âOhâsorry, just grabbing this,â you said lightly, nodding toward the folder tucked on the side cart.
Jackâs eyes flicked to you briefly, then away. But that flicker said a lot. You were his safety net, his distraction, his gentle way out.
The patient looked between you and Jack, then caught sight of his chain. His ring where it should beâresting loosely around his neck, the soft shine of the gold band catching the overhead lights like a quiet announcement.
She blinked. âOh... Youâre married?â
Jack didnât miss a beat. âI am.â
You turned just slightly, giving a small, polite smile. âHeâs got great hands, right? They open all my jars and everything." shifting your own necklaces ever so slightly to show off your own ring.
The patient made a noncommittal noise. You gave Jack a subtle tap on the armânothing big, nothing dramaticâand slipped out without another word.
Back at the nursesâ station, Dr. Shen had just walked up, sipping his Dunkinâ coffee and looking comfortable as ever. He glanced at you, then at Jack still behind the curtain.
âNew patient?â He asked.
âMinor trauma,â you replied, eyes still on your chart. âPotential for eye strain, though. A lot of eyelash batting happening in there.â
Shen raised one brow. âYou jealous?â
You gave a soft laugh, sliding your tumbler closer. âNope. Just observational.â
Jack appeared a second later, walking past with his usual quiet swagger and that look of can everyone please just not say something dumb, but paused near Shen.
âPatientâs stable. Probably fine to discharge with wound care instructions and a lesson on appropriate footwear.â
Shen nodded. âNoted.â
As Jack passed you, he muttered, âYou know that folder wasnât yours, right?â
You didnât look up. âYouâre welcome.â
He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. âYouâre ridiculous.â
You smiled, too sweet. âShe was hitting on you.â
âI noticed.â
âShe said you have surgeon hands.â
âI noticed.â
You leaned into him just enough for your perfume to tickle his nose. âYou do, you know. Big, capable. Very sexy.â
âDonât weaponize nice compliments.â
You grinned and rested your cheek on his arm for a beat. âYouâre just mad youâre the one getting teased.â
He shook his head with a sigh, then mumbled under his breath, âMarried a menace in $98 leggings, and Iâm the one being told off.â
And you didnât even argueâbecause you absolutely are⊠and you did buy the leggings in two colors.
mercvry-glow 2025
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pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader
sum.: jackâs working days, and you need a new desk for your office at home. (poor summary :()
warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower. minors DNI
notes: this part is more of a jack centered filler. chapters will start getting long with the next part. sorry if this isnât the best, i rewrote it probably six times, but needed a bit of filler before i get more into the dramatics. in the next part, reader meets dana and robby, and she and jack have their first serious disagreement. iâm very very excited!!! unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!
wc: 1k
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He never stays the night, just long enough to watch you start to doze off before doing your dishes and folding the blankets in your living room.
You read a lot. Most times you end up reading out loud to the baby, and by extension him, while he pretends to watch the news from the other end of your couch.
Heâs unsure if he should, but he likes the way it feels. Sitting on your couch with you after eating whatever you made for dinner.
He hasnât told anyone at work. Itâs really not their business and they donât need to know. But the picture from the ultrasound is burning a hole in his wallet.
And heâs pretty sure Robbyâs caught on to the fact that his mind has been preoccupied.
Not that he lets anything distract him from work, but he checks his phone a dozen times an hour when it used to not even go on the floor with him, and he also makes a point to call you when he knows youâre at lunch to check how youâre doing.
You arenât together. And he knows that. But there was some sort of shift in your relationship after your first appointment a little over two weeks ago.
He can see Robby hovering out of the corner of his eye as he types up his patientâs information, âDo you plan on actually saying something or are we just going to sit here with you awkwardly trying to work up the courage to say something?â
Robby sighs, âYouâve been acting, different, lately,â
Jack stops typing, âIs that a statement or a question?â
Robby moves a little closer, âI just mean, despite being temporarily moved to days, you donât randomly show up on night shift to check in. Youâve also been checking your phone, a lot. I just want to make sure everything is okay,â
Jack looks at Robby for a long minute before sighing and pulling out his wallet. He doesnât have to look very hard for the picture before handing it over to Robby.
Robby looks at it for a second before looking back at Jack, then back at the black and white photo.
âWhat is this?â Jack huffs out a laugh.
âAs a medical professional, I find it extremely concerning that youâre asking me that,â
Robby gives him a glare as he hands it back over to him, âFuck off,â
Jack holds his hands up in a mock surrender as he puts the picture back in his wallet, âItâs complicated,â
âComplicated,â Robby echoes, âBrother I hate to tell you this but that looks a little more than complicated,â
Despite their claims of not being best friends, they know each other, and their baggage, on a deeper level than most people.
âYeah, well, weâre working it out,â A ghost of a smile appears on Jackâs face when he thinks of you and the baby.
âWhoâs the other half of this âweâ?â Robby looks genuinely curious, âI didnât even know you were seeing someone,â
That question has Jack stopping in his tracks. Thatâs part of the complicated.
Not that heâs embarrassed, he doesnât think you or your situation could ever embarrass him.
But he knows how it looks, with his rapidly approaching his foryt-seventh birthday and the fact that you just turned twenty-three not even five months ago.
âWell, Iâm not. Not really?â It comes out more of a question. The tone of Jackâs voice makes Robby look at him, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
âWhat? You mean to tell me you have a single one night stand in, what, probably six years, and you managed to get some poor girl pregnant?â
The laugh that leaves Robby at the end of his question makes Jack wince, the double meaning of his words lost on him.
âYeah well thatâs just half of it,â
Before either of them can say something else, Jackâs phone rings, he doesnât even look at it before answering as he walks away from Robby.
âHey, you okay? Normally Iâm the one calling you,â
âYeah, I just wanted to let you know they finally approved for me to start working from home full time starting on the first,â Your voice shows your excitement.
You had mentioned two nights ago that youâd been looking for an excuse to work from home since you started your job, and you felt like the baby would be a good enough reason for your boss to agree.
Apparently she did.
âWell thatâs just great, honey,â He fights off a smile, youâre buzzing with excitement.
âI do have a question, though,â Youâre still excited, but he can tell youâre a little nervous now.
âAnything.â You donât even have to ask. Whatever you need, heâll take care of it.
âI have to get a new desk, mine is too small for the set up theyâre sending me home with. Can you help me get it put together tonight?â
âYeah, yeah of course I can do that. Are you going to go pick one out now?â
You hum, âYeah, I have to take these monitors home first, but then Iâm going to go look for a desk,â
He paces for a brief second, stopping in front of his locker.
âDo you want to come here and switch vehicles with me? It may be easier to put the box in the truck bed than try to fit it in your car,â
Heâd prefer to go with you, but he knows he canât just leave in the middle of the day.
âAre you sure?â You sound extremely shocked he would even suggest it.
âWell, yeah. Unless you donât want me driving your car around,â He says it like a joke, but he wonders if he shouldâve thought of that before offering.
âNo, no. Iâd actually love to swap. That sounds like itâll be a lot easier. Iâm heading home with my equipment now, but I can be there in like thirty?â
âSounds good, Iâll leave my keys with Dana in case I get busy. Sheâs the charge nurse, just ask Lupe for me or her, whoever isnât busy,â
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Feels Like Trouble
pairing: Dr. Michael âRobbyâ Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is cluelessâexcept the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3
It started at the nursesâ station.
You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too closeâJackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.
"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"
You gave a polite smile. "Iâm not really a spirits person, but thanks."
Jackson blinked. "Huh?"
"You said drink, right? Iâm more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."
He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.
"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "Thatâs the fourth time this week. Itâs painful, man."
Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."
"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.
Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"
Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Donât worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."
Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interactionâand every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.
There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitakerâs elbow backwardâonly for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incisionâRobby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweightâRobby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.
At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadnât triggered Robbyâs internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little traditionâinviting her out to try the new cat cafĂ© when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.
Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamicâthe way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance youâd been rehearsing for years.
Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.
Abbot had been Robbyâs sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.
Collins, McKay, and Dana didnât know officiallyâbut they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.
Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadnât caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.
Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unawareâexcept for the way Robbyâs entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.
But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.
It was you.
You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or saidâunless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasnât wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.
Maybe you just didnât see it. Didnât see how Robbyâs entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second natureâside by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.
You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didnât think about what you needed until the shift was overâif ever. Your well-being came last, always.
But not to Robby. Never to Robby.
He noticed everything.
The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadnât eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.
He didnât wait for you to ask. He didnât expect you to remember to need anything.
Because he already knew. He just... knew.
Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nursesâ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunchâalways packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. Heâd drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.
Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, âEat this or Iâm calling your mother.â You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.
And after the longest daysâthose days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codesâheâd cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. Heâd hand you a glass of waterâbecause that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself ofâand steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.
You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.
Youâd just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voiceâagain.
"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grinâclearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "Iâve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. Thereâs this one with lychee andâ"
You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.
"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I donât even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. Youâre taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you donât treat them the same wayâignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."
You didnât say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.
Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.
From across the nursesâ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldnât look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patientâs woundâLangdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continueâ
"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpelâjust loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.
You turned and there he was.
Dr. Robbyâyour chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attendingâhis expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.
"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."
You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."
You didnât miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robbyâs tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.
"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.
He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasnât sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Greyâs Anatomy?"
You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait⊠was that flirting?"
Robby blinked back. "Youâre joking."
You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."
He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."
You poked his chest lightly. "Youâre kind of cute when youâre flustered, you know that?"
His ears went red immediately. "Iâm not flustered. Iâm... professionally annoyed."
You blinked. "Youâre jealous?"
"Iâm not jealous," he said tightly. "Iâmâconcerned."
You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."
"He was twelve."
"He's definitely at least twenty-six."
Robby exhaled through his nose. "Iâve been very chill about this whole 'letâs not tell the hospital weâre dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, Iâm submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesnât workâ" he leaned in closer, voice droppingâ"Iâm dealing with him myself."
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "Whatâs that going to look likeâare you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldnât hate that."
Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldnât help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up heâd get.
He didnât answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you inâpalms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks. You turned bright red, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.
Then he kissed youâhard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like heâd been waiting for it all day.
Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt itâthe way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.
His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasnât careful.
It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked.
"If they didnât want people kissing in here, they wouldnât make it this conveniently located."
You smacked his arm, giggling.
"Iâm serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."
You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasnât offering."
He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back thereâabout boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."
Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.
"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."
You snorted. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."
His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "Youâre the whole damn package, you know that? Itâs genuinely unfair."
You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.
Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"This is not over," he muttered.
You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"
Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. Iâve got a dateâwith my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."
You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."
He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think sheâs about to say yes."
You didnât say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.
"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."
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Oh, and by the way, that Supreme Court ruling is where that Harry Potter money goes.
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â© â§âË â©ăBITE THE HAND â JACK ABBOT.
pairings: jack abbot x resident!reader
warnings: smut, hurt/comfort, angst, 18+ minors dni, age-gap implied-ish
summary: being casual with jack abbot was never going to be easy, and soon you realize that you've fallen for a man who's afraid of love
author's note: wow i went crazy writing this but this has been a week from hell so i made this to cope, hope you all enjoy! again, this is not proofread AND my requests are open
masterlist | read on ao3
wc: 5.4k
Jack Abbot was an enigma, a puzzle that you were desperate to solve. At first, you deluded yourself into thinking you could settle for pieces of him. That the stolen kisses, simmering looks, and dark rooms would be enough for you.
But it wasn'tâof course it wasn't.
Because outside of the hospital, the list of people you saw consistently was small. And if you excluded the people you worked with, that left only one or two names. Somehow, Jack managed to snake his way to the top of the list.
It was the little things at first: asking you to get a drink after work. Slowly, but surely, it became a routine where you'd all meet in the park for a drink, and afterwards you and Jack continued the night at a nearby bar.
Then, it was walking you home after, lingering outside the front of your apartment building, and then your front door. It didn't take long for you to start inviting him in, offering a glass of water or a snack before he started his walk back. All these subtle moves felt like he was giving you the opportunity over and over again to turn him down.
You wouldn't because there wasn't a world where you said no to Jack Abbot.
There was a part of you that needed him, any part that he was willing to share.
So the first time he caged you between his arms against the wall, his breaths hard and heavy, you could've sworn your heart dropped into your stomach. Your legs turned into jelly, and if it wasn't for the wall's support, you absolutely would've slid to the ground.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
One last chance to say no, to save yourself from the rollercoaster seeing him would be.
"Yes," you said quietly, but not weakly. There was a beat, where the weight of your words hung in the air for the two of for the two of you to contend with.
And then his lips were on yours, and it felt like God himself was smiling down on you. Like the universe was finally rewarding you after every heartbreak, every sleepless night, every time you've ever felt unwanted. His hands found purchase in your hair, one sliding down to your waist and gripping it, pulling you closer to him in the process.
Your hands traveled up his neck, feeling the stubble on his jaws and cheek scrape against them as they cupped the sides of his face, bringing him impossibly closer to you. Your lips moved in sync, a dance that only you two knew, a rhythm that was in your blood. He pulled away slightly, staring at you through lidded eyes before dipping his head and sucking on your neck, biting that sweet spot just below your ear.
An involuntary moan slipped out before you could stop it, a sound that startled and embarrassed you, but seemed to only encourage Jack. He pressed his knee in-between your legs, spreading them apart so he could slot himself in between, his thigh pressing into your crotch.
"You like that?" He whispered, his voice low in your ear as you gripped his biceps, nails digging into them from the pressure. You nodded, your hips jerking and grinding down against his thigh. "Use your words for me."
"Keep going, please," the words tumbled out, leaving you breathless. Your hands went to the hem of his scrub top, fiddling with the hem before pulling it off him. He threw it somewhere behind him, not caring where it went.
For the first time since you've met him, you were seeing Jack come undone. He was finally losing that composure that he worked so hard to keep during all his shifts with you, finally letting you see the hold you've had on him for months now.
His hands dropped to the backs of your thighs before he whispered another command.
"Jump.
You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He walked backwards and turned, heading into deeper into your apartment about to cross a boundary he hadn't since meeting you.
"First door on the left," you directed him, before attacking his neck again in the same way he did you. You kissed up to his jaw before capturing his mouth into a kiss again.
The door creaked open distantly, and Jack walked you to the bed before gently lowering you onto the mattress, never breaking the kiss. His entire body moved to cover yours, his crotch grinding down against in yours in a way that made the both of you moan. You felt him undo the button to the long sleeve you were in, as you already changed out of your scrubs before leaving PTMC.
He leaned back, giving you the space to sit up and pull your shirt over your head. When you could see again, he was staring at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn't place. If it were anyone else, you would've felt self-conscious, but for some reason, with him you didn't. He reached out, brushing the strap on your shoulder and tracing down to your forearm, before looking back at you.
"Are you sure?" He asked again. Another chance, another way out. You answered by climbing into his lap, grinding down on him and kissing him deeply, your breaths becoming one. He leaned until his back hit the mattress, keeping you securely on top of him. You felt his arms go around you, his hands fiddling with the clasp of your bra until it finally snapped free and you shrugged it off. You dropped to the left, rolling him back on top of you while staying connected through a kiss.
He began to kiss down your chest, kissing over the swell of your breast and swirling your nipple in his mouth. A shudder ran through you at the contact, your back arching off the mattress slightly and he pulled you closer to him, giving each one equal attention. He continued his trail of kisses down your stomach, stopping just before the button of your jeans.
You made quick work of undoing the button and zipper, letting Jack slide both your pants and underwear off you, finally leaving you bare in front of him. He kissed down your inner thigh all the way to your folds, and you felt him rub against them with his hand.
"Already so wet for me," he mused, before sliding one, then two in, pumping slowly. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, as if daring you to break eye contact first. Finally, he lowered himself to your clit, sucking and swirling as he worked his fingers in and out, the combination driving you over the edge. A coil began to tighten around your lower stomach, and as he quickened his pace and moved with brutal efficiency, you felt it snap and burst and a wave of ecstasy washed over you. He held you the entire way through, one hand wrapped around your thigh anchoring you to the bed.
When you finally came back down and stopped trembling, he rose from his knees and hovered over you again, a soft smile on his face. You reached out to touch his face, your thumb running over his lips as he lowered himself to you again, tasting yourself on his lips. You pulled away, leaning your forehead against his and breathing heavily as you undid the knot of his scrubs, helping him slide them off. He was in briefs, his bulge evident and throbbing as you cupped him them. He let out a low groan as one of your fingers hooked under the hem of the underwear, tugging at it slightly.
"I want it off," you said, and Jack obeyed. He stood, sliding down the briefs and his erection sprung free. He was hard already, precum beading at top and dripping down the side. You rose to your knees to meet him halfway, pulling him into a kiss as you wrapped your hand around him and pumped slowly.
He let out a breathy moan, one that went straight to your core. He was the first to pull away this time, leaning his forehead against yours as the two of you watched you work him slowly. When you moved to lower yourself he stopped, gripping onto your elbows.
"No?" You questioned, and he shook his head. He helped you back up before pushing you gently onto the bed again, moving to cover you with himself again.
"I'm all about you tonight," he said, positioning himself at your entrance. You felt the head prod against you, and you could've sworn you felt a shock. "Ready?"
"Yes."
He kissed you, this time sweet and soft in a way you would have never expected from him. When he finally sunk in you tensed, and he murmured encouraging words into your ear, telling you to relax and that he'd move slow. You listened, letting your body become more pliable as you moved with him, your bodies becoming one. After a few thrusts, he began to pick up the pace, lifting your thigh at an angle so he could get in deeper. When he started to hit that spot that always pushed you over the edge you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck pulling him down to you, your nails digging into his back.
"That's it, that's my girl," he said, continuing his brutal pace, "You're doing so good for me."
It was all too much, every feeling was overwhelming. You wanted more, you wanted all of him, you couldn't get enough. The coil began to tighten again, and this time when it snapped, you didn't hold back in the slightest. You muffled your cries with his shoulder, biting into it as you rode the wave of your second orgasm. His pace quickened until it peaked, his whole body shaking as you felt him reach his peak as well. When he came back down, his thrusts were sloppy until he finally pulled out.
He collapsed on the other side of you, both of you panting and not saying a word. You knew he'd be good, but you didn't expect it to be that good.
And that was the night that started it all, this push and pull between the two of you. Both of you had agreed to keep it private it from the rest of your coworkers, not wanting to be the newest piece of gossip that entertains them during the rare moments of peace in their shift. If Princess and Perlah caught a whiff of this, it'd be over.
"You're in a good mood today," Robby noted as you came out of a patients room after finishing your rounds.
"They finally fixed the leak in my apartment, today is a great day," you explained, giving him a half-truth. That leak was very annoying, and the drip-drip-drip sound was beginning to keep you up at night. Or at least it kept you up when Jack wasn't.
"Repairs always put a smile on my face too," he mused, "But never one that big."
He was gone before you could say anything, and you knitted your eyebrows in confusion. Everyone else behaved normally that day, except for Collins and Mohan, who eyed you a little suspiciously when the three of you had lunch in the lounge later that day. It wasn't until you overheard Princess and Perlah whispering behind you when you were doing a restock of supplies. When you turned to face them, they both stopped and simply smiled, waved, and disappeared immediately.
You got your answers when you cornered Whitaker on his way to make rounds.
"What do you know?"
"What?" He asked, looking more skittish than usual. His eyes scanned the surroundings, as if he was looking for an excuse to get out of this conversation. You blocked his path with your body, smiling in a way that was downright terrifying to him.
"Let me rephrase: what's everyone whispering about?"
He caved almost immediately.
"We're betting on you and Abbot," he rushed out. Your jaw dropped and you backed away, allowing him to take off before you could ask more questions.
How did anyone start to suspect? You wondered. It's not like the two of you were constantly together on shift. Hell, you rarely saw each other shift unless it was to congregate in a small group to chat before everything fell into chaos again. Your dynamic hadn't changed either: he was just as reserved with you as he was everyone else.
One time, you laughed at a joke he made along with everyone else, and out of reflex you touched his arm. As if you were a blazing fire, he immediately withdrew from you, clearing his throat and declaring that he needed to go catch up on charts. At the time, only Dana seemed to notice the way you retreated into yourself afterwards, and that you became slightly more withdrawn for the rest of the shift.
That incident led to another conversation between you and Jack, where you tried to force him to admit his feelings for you. Instead of admitting anything, he drew a boundary: that this needed to be casual, that you couldn't expect anything else from him. You were a bit taken aback at the time, but you didn't blame him. You had only been seeing each other for about three weeks at that point.
But now, it's been almost two months, and the lines are beginning to blur for you. He had slept over this morning, and was still in your bed when you left for the day shift. By now, he was probably awake and in your kitchen making breakfast.
Not very casual of you, you thought, walking back to the board to find a patient.
The breaking point for you didn't come for another week, when you were having an exceptionally terrible shift. You were a good doctor, in fact, you believed you would be great. But, having three patients code on you back to back is enough to make anyone feel like shit, especially when one of them was a long-time patient who you had known for a little over a year at this point.
You sat on the roof, legs dangling off the edge as you stared down at the busy street below. The cars whizzed by, but the pedestrians walked leisurely. It was nice to remind yourself that there was something out there, outside of PTMC, that made it all worth it. But recently, you had been struggling to remember what that thing is. It was hard for you to leave work at the door when you got home when it seemed to be your entire life. Truthfully, there was nothing for you outside of PTMC. All your friends were there.
Was that sad? Maybe. But you had never really minded that until right now, when you wanted nothing more than to take your mind off this shitty night.
"You're in my spot," a voice said from behind you, and your blood ran cold. He was the last person you wanted to speak to right now, especially not in this state.
"Go away," you grumbled, not turning to face him. His footsteps got closer, and you didn't have to look to know that his hands were in his pockets and he had a wide stance. Typical Jack.
"Well, I don't think I can do that. Not when you're half off the ledge. I'd be breaking my oath if I left you right now."
You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless, you got up to your feet, using the railing for support. You turned to face him, an irritated look on your face.
"Happy?"
"Ecstatic." The two of you stood there for a while, the railing separating you, daring the other to be the first to break the silence.
"Ellis said you were up here, tough shift for you," he explained, even though you didn't ask.
"Nice of her to notice," you mused. He chuckled, shifting his weight between both legs.
"It wasn't yourâ,"
"Fault? I know it wasn't, but it still feels that way. Besides, I don't want to talk about it."
Not with you, you added silently in your head.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing, I want you to go back inside and let me have my roof-time. Alone." He feigned being hurt, but he didn't move. Just stared at you in the intense way he always does.
You didn't look away.
"I'm sorry, have I upset you? If I did, I'mâ,"
"What do you think?" He genuinely looked puzzled, and you sighed. Men, they never learn, do they? "What the hell are we doing here?"
"I'm lost," he deadpanned, and you let out an exasperated sigh.
"With us! What is going on? One day, you can't get enough of me and you look at me like I've hung the moon and stars. The next, you act like I killed your cat and made you watch. I can't keep bouncing between these two extremes, it's too confusing." Especially not when the two of you are laying in bed, not even having done anything, but he's holding you so tight it's as if he's scared you're gonna disappear the minute he let's go.
"Y/N," he began, getting that look of pity in his eyes that you've always hated. Like he's realizing for the first time in his life that his actions have consequences, and now he has to take responsibility for them, "I'm sorry. I can't, you know I can't."
He reached for you but you backed away from his touch, narrowing your eyes at him.
"I don't know anything, Jack, because you don't tell me anything. You hold me, and everyone else, at an arm's length. You never let me in. You don't let anyone in. I guess this is my fault, right? You told me casual, and I said yes, and then I was stupid enough to fall for you," you spat, each word making you angrier and angrier.
"You're not stupid," he insisted, stepping closer but careful not to let his arm brush yours as he gripped the railing, "I've never felt this way about someone before. Never."
"And what exactly am I supposed to do with that? Know that you think I'm good enough to fuck, but not date? Thanks, but no thanks."
"I'm not saying that--,"
"Then what are you saying?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it, scared of himself saying words he knew he wouldn't be able to take back. You scoffed, shaking your head and cursing under your breath.
"I don't want to do this anymore," you said finally, swinging yourself under the railing and popping out on the other side, "I hope you're happy."
You rarely spoke or saw Jack for the next couple of weeks, strategically signing up for shifts that had minimal overlap with him. If anyone noticed, no one outright said anything to you, but you wouldn't expect them to. On the bright side, there seemed to be a lot less whispering going on whenever you happened to be alone.
So much for that bet, huh?
In all honesty, you had been sad at first. Sad was generous--you were a wreck in the beginning. But you were certain to not ever let it show at work. Once you got to PTMC, you left your baggage at the door, just like everyone else. You were your same bubbly self, making the same jokes and jabs with McKay and Mohan as if it were any other day. You even still went to the park afterwards, only sometimes drinking a beer to let off steam. Jack would be there as well, watching you with an intensity you refused to acknowledge. Still, you didn't change your behavior towards him, treating him with the indifference you'd treat any other colleague.
Because that's what you were now: colleagues. Not even friends, because your friends would never treat you the way he did.
"Hey, instead of the park some of us were thinking of going to a dive bar after, you in?" Mateo asked, falling into step beside you as you both headed to triage.
"Who's coming?"
"The usual, some people on the night shift took the day off today so they might make an appearance. Ellis, Shen, Abbot--Walsh is a hit or miss though." Your heart stuttered at the mention of Jack's name, but you kept your composure.
"Sounds good, I might be a little late though I have to go home first." Mateo smiled and nodded just as you pushed through the double doors, immediately greeted by the chaos of an ER waiting room. You both called out the names of different patients, ushering them inside efficiently before letting the doors shut behind you.
"I'm surprised he's coming," Samira said, cracking open a cider and sitting on your couch as you finished getting ready. You decided to take a quick shower after your shift once someone threw up you--twice. You passed by your vanity and paused, considering putting some light makeup on. Then you remembered you had no way of taking it off as you ran out of makeup wipes earlier that day, and had no way of taking it off when you came back.
"Who's coming? Whitaker?" Samira laughed, sipping at her cider before continuing.
"You know who I'm talking about, Abbot's coming." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Why would that be weird? Doesn't he always?"
"Definitely not on his day off, when he could be resting or doing whatever it is he does in his free time." You shrugged, opening your fridge to grab a cider for yourself.
"Well, it's not like I care. Or I guess I can't let myself care. He couldn't be what I needed him to, and I can't wait around hoping that one day he'll wake up and be the person I believe he is. I'm too accomplished to wait around on a guy like that," you popped the tab before adding, "You and I both are."
Samira cheered to that and you both took large swigs of the can. You squeezed your eyes shut and made a face, forgetting how tart the citrus flavor usually was. You spent the rest of your two-person pregame debriefing about work and fun cases you got, and also set a deadline for the two of you to start booking flights for Montreal--the vacation you guys were supposed to take two months ago.
Once you guys finished one can, you started the short walk to Ray's. Your apartment was much closer than Mohan's, which is why the two of you decided to meet up first and head over together. It was a Wednesday night, so it was mostly empty. There were a few random strangers playing pool in the corner, one of them catching your eye and lingering for a little too long.
"There they are!" Samira pointed to what you recognized to be the back of Mateo's head, leading the two of you over there. McKay was the first to notice you two, sliding over to make space for you on her side of the booth. On the other side of her sat Collins, Whitaker, and Santos. Across from you was Samira, followed by Mateo, Javadi, Robby, and Jack. You nodded hello at them all, careful not to linger on Jack for too long.
"So, what are we drinking?" you asked, pretending to skim the menu even though you ordered the same thing every time.
"Let's do a round of Bold Rock," Jack answered, putting his menu down and looking straight at you, "First round's on me." The weight of his stare did something funny to your throat, a reaction you weren't expecting to have.
"You know me so well," you teased, playing it cool and refusing to be anything but levelheaded. Samira glanced at you, gauging your reaction, but you just smiled before turning and jumping into conversation. The nine of you ended up getting three rounds, with Collins being the voice of reason to talk you guys out of a fourth round. You pouted, but knew it was for the best: nothing was worse than working a day shift hungover.
About two hours later, everyone remaining was ready to leave. Javadi, Whitaker, Samira, and Santos all left slightly earlier, claiming that they needed to catch the next train or else they'd have to walk. You slid out of the booth and headed towards the bathroom, proud of yourself for not peeing every other minute considering how much you drank. You splashed a bit of water on your face, hoping to wake and sober you up.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, you bumped into a hard mass. The stranger apologized, and when you looked up, you realized it was the guy from the pool table.
"I was hoping I'd run into you tonight," he mused, leaning against the wall and flashing you a dimpled smile. He was cute: the shirt he was wearing hugged his chest and biceps in a very flattering way, his hair curled and styled strategically to frame his face. But still, you didn't want him.
"Thanks, but no thanks," you replied, moving to step around him. He blocked your path with his body, boxing you in between him and the wall.
"Come on, that's no way to treat a friendly stranger, is it?" The politeness drained out of your body, not wanting to let him waste another second of your time.
"Move or I scream," you said flatly. You had done it a million times before, and you weren't afraid to keep doing it.
"What?" he asked, mildly amused by your antics. Before he had the chance to say anything sleazy, you opened your mouth and let out a shrill shriek, one that had him jumping back with his hands up as if to prove his innocence. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I should be asking you that," you shoved past him, leaving the bathroom hallway to return to the main room of the bar. As you reached for the door, it swung open, revealing a panicked Jack, with the others close on his tail.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his breath beginning to even out now that he saw you in one piece.
"Peachy," you replied, stepping around him. He turned and followed you out, puzzled by your calm demeanor.
"Was that you screaming? What happened?" McKay asked immediately, Robby and Mateo flanking her on both sides. You shrugged, walking back to the booth to grab your purse and jacket.
"Nothing, just some asshole. They never seem to believe me when I say I'll scream," you laughed to yourself, reminiscing on all the times you had gone out with friends in college and came up with more and more absurd ways to get guys to stop flirting with you. "Seriously, I'm fine. But I'm getting tired now, so can we go please?"
Together, the group headed out of Ray's. Quickly, you all branched off, all of you living in different parts of Pittsburgh. Notably, Jack seemed to linger until it was just the two of you left.
"What are you doing?" you asked, knowing how this story went. How it seemed to always go.
"I'll walk you," he decided, starting in the direction of your apartment. It was easier to just follow him than waste your time arguing.
The walk back was silent, neither of you eager to be the first to speak. It was a comfortable silence, one that felt too familiar. You glanced over at Jack, but his eyes were trained on the sky as he looked deep in thought. When you rounded the corner and pulled up on your block, you half-expected his steps to slow, for him to watch from a distance as you entered the building.
But no, and just like he used to, he walked you all the way to the door.
"Can we talk?" he asked suddenly as you began to enter the gate code. Your hand dropped, not pressing the final key, and you turned to face him.
"Sure, let's talk." He looked past you, eyeing the door, then back at you.
"Do you want to go inside?"
"Nope, I'm good right here."
You needed to stand your ground. Besides, coming into your apartment was something you let friends do. Samira was a friend. McKay was a friend. Hell, even if Robby was a friend. But Jack lost that privilege.
He blew out a breath, taking his hands out of his pockets and looking up at you. In the entire time you've known him, this was the most vulnerable you've ever seen him look.
"I was scared of you," he admitted, "You were this brilliant, beautiful, bright thing in my life, and I felt like I didn't deserve you. You knew what you wanted and went for it, and I admired that about you. I still do. When we had that first conversation about what we were, I was in denial. I told myself that if we kept it casual, I wouldn't be at risk."
"At risk of what?"
"Losing you."
"Funny how that worked out," you mumbled grudgingly, still not entirely sure where he was going with this. Jack laughed quietly, looking down at his shoes, then back up at you with something shining in his eyes.
"Even now, you still don't falter. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, Y/N. You are also one of the smartest doctors I have ever worked beside, and you never failed to blow me away with every shift we worked together. "
Your breathing turned shallow, and you stood frozen on the doorstep. Jack took a few steps towards, stopping just before the first step.
"You scare me because I want to love you, and I don't know how. I have no idea how to be the man you want me to be, the one you deserve, the one you expect. I thought it was easier to give up altogether, but I was wrong, and I am so, deeply sorry for that Y/N. This past month without you made me realize how engrained in my life you were. I missed your texts, the way you'd always try new recipes that would fail and we'd have to order something for dinner, and how no matter what, you always showed up for the people depending on you. I think the world of you, Y/N, I really do. And I love you. I loved you during that first conversation, but just didn't know it. I loved you when I walked away from you on the roof, and I was scared of it. And I have loved and missed you every second since."
He paused briefly, searching your eyes for an answer. If it wasn't for the fact that you could hear your heart loudly thumping in your ears right now, you would've thought you'd died and gone to heaven.
"I want to be that man for you, Y/N, if you'll let me."
A moment passed, and then another, and another. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat before you could get any out. So, you went for the next best thing.
You grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips against his, one of your hands moving to the side of his neck and the other cradling his jaw. His hands snaked around your waist, somehow pulling you even closer. You were the one to pull away, resting your forehead against his.
"Yes," you answered, a little breathlessly at that. The corners of his mouth lifted, his hand going under your chin and tilting your head up so that he could look at you.
"Yes?" he repeated, still reeling from the shock of the moment. This time you nodded, and the smile spread like wildfire across his face. He pressed a kiss to your nose before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you both towards the front door.
"I'm not having sex with you tonight," you said, punching in the code to the door. Jack chuckled, pulling you in again.
"I wasn't expecting you too."
"Good. And you need to shower before getting in my bed, no outside clothes," you added, leading him down the hallway to your apartment.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, following you into your apartment once you unlocked it. He swung the door shut behind him as you kicked of your shoes.
"And I believe in second chances, but that's it. If you decide to pull away again, know--,"
"I won't," he reassured you, his fingers sliding into your belt loops and tugging you towards him, "I want you. Only you. All of you."
"I could get used to that," you thought aloud, earning a laugh from the both of you. You leaned into him, closing your eyes and basking in this moment that you thought would never happen.
-
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Echo

pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!Reader summary: Under the bright lights of a fundraising gala, what began as polite smiles and veiled jabs unravels into something far more intimate. Between rooftop confessions, quiet grief, and a night neither party can take back, something buried for years finally comes undone. warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, f!reader), blood and trauma in a hospital setting, description of medical procedures and deaths genre/notes: slow burn, frenemies to lovers (much banter), robby cameo + being a father figure, heavy angst + heavy fluff, hurt/comfort, emotionally repressed idiots in love, non-linear timeline, one (1) very touch-starved man, abbot down bad for his s.o. and def has a pain kink, balcony sex + confessions, pwp word count: 9k a/n: love letter to grief, rooftop confessions, and all the things left unsaid (+ shameless, self-indulgent smut), basically i saw this dress on pinterest and iâ
The hospitalâs annual fundraiser was all overpriced wine and board member schmoozingâthe kind of thing Jack Abbot usually avoided. He and Robby had spent the better part of the week arguing with Gloria about why they really didnât need to be the ones attending.
âBut who better to represent the emergency department than its finest?â Gloria had smiled with teeth. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer we reallocate your trauma bay supply order for next fiscal quarter?"
Abbot had muttered something under his breath. Robby had called it extortion. Gloria had walked away victorious.
âIf she reassigns our trauma supply budget one more time, I swear to God Iâm quitting,â Robby had muttered, though they both knew he wouldnât.
âRight there with you, brother,â Jack had said dryly.
Which was how he ended up in a suit, lingering by the bar with his tie already loosened.
The gala was obscene in its extravagance. A live string quartet played near the grand staircase. Crystal chandeliers caught every glint of champagne. Rich donors floated from one hors d'oeuvre table to the next, laughing politely and stuffing their faces with canapés that probably cost more than a full day of supplies for the ER.
It made Jack sick.
Not the donationsâhe appreciated those. Hell, the hospital needed them. But the tone of it, the way money moved through the room like perfume: thick, cloying, and designed to mask something rotten underneath. The people here didnât know what a trauma bay smelled like at 3 a.m. They didnât care. They were here to write a check, slap their name on a wing, and pretend it made them saints.
Jack took a sip of his club soda and stared at the bottom of his glass.
He wanted to gouge his eyes out. He just wasnât sure which fork to use.
Scanning the room, his eyes landed on Robby across the space, mid-conversation with a bejeweled donor who looked like sheâd never set foot inside a hospital ward. Robbyâs eyes caught Jackâs for the briefest second and widenedâjust enough to scream help me. Jack raised his glass and shot him a wink.
Then he saw you. He'd recognize your stride anywhere.
What he definitely hadnât expected was the red satin dress.
Floor-length, plunging back, slit high at the left thigh, the kind of fabric that caught the light like it was trying to start a fire. When you walked into the room, it was almost as though time stopped. You were across the room, charming some rich donor, laughing politely as he fumbled through a question about pediatric trauma outcomes.
Jack didnât hear the question. He didnât hear your answer either.
As you turned away from the donor, your bright smile dropped like a mask torn off. Your jaw clenched. You let out a tight breath through your nose, barely more than a sigh. It was the kind of reaction only someone whoâd seen you under a hundred different kinds of stress might catch.
Then you looked up and locked eyes with him. You froze.
Goddamn did Jack Abbot look good in a suit.
Salt-and-pepper curls styled just enough to look deliberate, not overdone. The tux hugged his frame perfectlyâsharp at the shoulders, tailored at the waist, cutting the kind of silhouette that belonged on a magazine cover instead of an ER floor. Heâd even opted for a close shave, his normally stubbled facial hair absent. And his tieâloosened just a touch too muchâleft a sliver of his throat visible, collar open like heâd tried to behave and gave up halfway through the evening.
You didnât smile. Neither did he.
But neither of you looked away.
The first time you met Dr. Jack Abbot, you were fresh off your fourth twelve-hour day shift that week. For the first two years of your residency, youâd been under Robbyâs wingâsolid, day-shift training, plenty of first-time experiences, and a support system that kept you steady. But when it came time to switch rotations, it was Robby who recommended you move to nights.
"More fast-paced," heâd reasoned. "Higher stakes. They could use your skills. Youâre ready."
Youâd heard about Jack Abbot by then. Everyone had. Ex-military. Brilliant. Demanding. A damn good trauma attending, and an even tougher mentor. You were equal parts intrigued and warned.
The ED hallway was buzzing, but you didnât miss the way Jack paused as you approached. He glanced at your badge, then at your postureâupright, composed, betraying none of the exhaustion you carriedâand finally at the trauma board.
âHope youâre fast,â was all he said, voice low and dry, like a test he didnât expect you to pass.
Turns out, you were more than fast. You were precise. Efficient. Clinical.
When a GSW came in thirty minutes laterâa young man with a single penetrating wound to the upper abdomenâyou and Abbot stepped in together. He hung back just enough to supervise, giving you space to lead the resuscitation while staying close.
You scanned the vitals: hypotensive, tachycardic, altered mentation. âGSW to the upper abdomen, likely mesenteric involvement. Initial BP was 80/40 with HR in the 130s, GCS at 13 but trending downward. Type and crossmatch. Two units O-neg. Prep for a laparotomy?â you asked, assessing quickly as you reached for gloves. Abbot nodded once, already handing you a sterile gown without a word.
He didnât stop you, but he didnât let you coast either.
âWhatâs your plan if the pressure doesnât stabilize after the second unit?â he asked as you both finished gowning up.
âCall for a third, reassess fluid responsiveness, consider vasopressors if no improvement,â you replied, already focused.
âAnd if thereâs massive hemoperitoneum?â
âPrioritize source control. Suction, pack, find the bleeder.â
Jack gave a small, approving hum. Then you glanced back at him, sharp, poised. He was holding out the handle of a blade to youâsteady, without fanfare.
âIâm not handling it,â he said matter-of-factly. âYou are.â
You blinked once, then reached for the blade. Gloved fingers curled around the handle as the rest of the room faded into peripheral noise. It was your show nowâand he was trusting you to lead it.
The team moved quickly. You made the incision, suctioned blood, clamped the bleederâa mesenteric vessel torn clean. Laparotomy pads soaked in seconds. Abbot kept an eye on the monitor, watching your hands. You found the source and controlled it, methodical and focused, with Jackâs quiet presence steady behind your shoulder.
Jack nodded once, the faintest glimmer of something like approval in his eyes. After the patient was wheeled off to the OR, gloves off and adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin, he tossed you a saline flush and a towel. The rest of the team was still moving in organized flurries, cleaning up the bay, resetting trays, pulling down blood-streaked drapes. You peeled off your gloves slowly, breath catching up to you now that the adrenaline was fading.
The smell of antiseptic, blood, and sweat clung to everything. Your scrub top was damp with effort. And still, Jack hadnât said anything else. Just watched you like he was recalibrating something in his head. Taking the measure of you.
âNot bad,â he said.
You raised a brow. âNot bad?â
He smirked. âGuess weâll keep you. Though I should probably check the return policy with Robby before the trial period ends.â
Then, lowerâjust for you: âThough going nipples to navel on that first cut? Thatâs no manâs land. Bit too risky of a procedure for me to do myself.â
You blinked, thrown off your axis, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or sincereâor both. âWhat?â
But Jack was already walking away, gloves off, like he hadnât just left you standing there like a deer in headlights.
You werenât expecting to see him either.
Jack Abbot in a tux. Sharp lapels. Cuffs neat. Hair styled but slightly tousled like he hadnât quite figured out how to look formal without messing it up on purpose. Heat rose to your face, tinting it the color of the rosĂ© being served tonight.
Turning around, you reached for a flute of champagne to occupy your thoughts. Heâd just crossed the room, weaving past a pair of donors discussing their latest golf fundraiser, his eyes never leaving you. The clink of glass and silver faded just enough for you to hear the soft brush of his dress shoes stop beside yours.
âRed,â he said, nodding toward your dress. "Didnât think it was in your rotation." He caught the soft trace of your perfume just as you inhaled the quiet warmth of his cologne.
You arched a brow. âTux? Let me guessâlast worn at prom?â
He huffed a laugh. The corner of his mouth tilted. "Wouldn't you like to know."
âNot really,â you smirked.
He leaned a little closer, voice low. "Howâd Gloria rope you into this mess?"
You took a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before replying, âShe said the hospital needed a pretty face for the press photos.â
Jack raised an eyebrow. âAnd you volunteered willingly, I assume?â
âI did. She said she wanted someone who wasnât going to mention sock puppets in his opening speech.â
Jack tilted his head. "So you pointed her to literally anyone but me and Robby."
You smiled into your glass. âYou and Robby are very pretty. Just not âdonate-millions-of-dollarsâ pretty.â
He cracked a grin. âFair enough.â
You both leaned back slightly, falling into a rare pocket of easy quiet.
âIf I'm being honest,â he said after a breath, âthese things make my skin crawl. Donors patting themselves on the back for saving lives theyâve never seen.â
âAgreed,â you murmured. âItâs like they want the moral gold star without the 2 a.m. trauma call. Or the third straight shift without sleep.â
Jack glanced sideways at you. âOr the resident paycheck that barely covers rent.â
You let out a dry laugh. âAnd definitely not the part where we spend a decade training, rack up six figures of debt, and still have to fight for safe staffing ratios.â
He nodded once, quiet. âBut hey, at least they get their name etched onto a plaque of a hallway they'll get lost in.â
"God," you sighed. "I'd love to switch places with them for a day."
Jack snorted. âFive minutes in a trauma bay and theyâd be crying into their cufflinks.â
You were about to take another sip when you paused. âYou realize youâre wearing cufflinks.â
âWhich is why Iâm drinking soda instead of champagne. Keeps me grounded.â
A quiet breath escaped you, the corner of your mouth twitching. âYour commitment to moral superiority is truly inspiring.â
He gave you a narrowed look, not quite smiling but close. âSomeoneâs gotta keep the place honest.â
You smiled to yourself, looking down and shaking your head, before excusing yourself to go charm another cluster of donors. âSee you aroundâJack.â
Youâd only ever said his first name once before.
He noticed.
Jack stood there a second too long, stunned, watching your retreating back like he wasnât sure what just happenedâor why it mattered so much.
The patient was coding. Jack was tied up in Room 3 with a liver lac. You were alone when Trauma 2 rolled inâblunt trauma, hypotensive, bleeding out.
You didnât wait. âI need two large-bore IVs, rapid sequence intubation kit, and thoracotomy trayâstat,â you barked to the team, already moving. âStart the MTP now.â
You slid the laryngoscope in cleanly, tube placed with practiced precision.
âVitals are dropping,â a nurse called out.
âI know,â you forced out. âKeep pushing the units.â
The tray snapped open beside you. You didnât hesitate. Just in case.
Abbot walked in right as you pulled your hands back, already prepped.
His eyes flicked from the open thoracotomy tray to the line placement to your gloved hands, bloody up to the wrists. He froze mid-step.
Then, without missing another beat, he stepped in beside you. âWhat the hell?â he muttered, voice low and calm. He didnât raise it. He never did when it really mattered.
His presence was immediateâlike someone flipping a switchâand suddenly the entire bay adjusted to him, calibrated around the two of you.
You didnât look at him. Just adjusted your grip and said, âVitals holding. Pressureâs up.â
âBalloonâs a little high,â he murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear over the hum of monitors.
You didnât flinch, but your pulse jumped. âAdjusted,â you said, fingers tightening slightly on the handle as you recalibrated, eyes glued to the screen.
A beat passed. Then another.
The pressure crept upward. Slowly. Steadily.
The patient stabilized.
You exhaled quietly through your nose, trying to ignore the chill of adrenaline threading down your spine. Jack was still watching youâtoo closely. And you couldnât tell if he was impressed or pissed or both. He didnât say anything for a long moment.
When you finally looked up, his eyes locked with yoursâsteady, unreadable, searching like he was still deciding how angry he was allowed to be.
âYou never shouldâve done that without approval from an attending,â he said quietly, the words measured but firm, laced with something heavier beneath the surface.
You nodded, jaw clenched. âUnderstood.â
Jack stepped closer. Lowered his voice.
âBut that was pretty badass. You just saved a life. Good job.â
Then he turned and left the trauma bay. The moment lingeredâhis words echoing in your ears louder than they should have.
Every pair of eyes seemed to shift away once he left, the noise of the trauma bay gradually returning to its usual rhythm. Monitors beeped. Carts wheeled past. Gloves peeled off with a quiet snap and hit the bin. Handsâsteady during the crisisânow trembled faintly.
Pride lingered. So did fear. And you werenât sure which feeling was winning.
Outside by the nurses' bay, Jack was leaning against the wall, one foot braced behind him, chart in hand but not moving. His gaze was distantâsomewhere far beyond the clipboard. A crooked smirk ghosted across his lips, then faded as quickly as it had come. He was still thinking about what you'd done. How steady your hands had been. How much you'd grown.
Heâd been impressed. Heâd also been scared.
That kind of procedure⊠it wasnât something heâd ever do lightly. And you? You hadnât hesitated. Not out of recklessness, but because youâd known it was the right call. The only call.
"Ballsy," he muttered under his breath. "Damn near reckless."
But his chest swelledâquietly, privatelyâwith something that felt a lot like pride.
The third time you ran into each other that night, it wasnât by accident.
You were leaning against a balcony railing, champagne nearly gone. One glass hadnât been enough to drown out the unbearable jargon and vapid conversationsâbut youâd promised yourself you wouldnât go overboard tonight. Just enough to appear socially well-versed.
The night had cooled, the breeze brushing goosebumps along your bare arms. Jack found you there, hands in his pockets, jacket unbuttoned, eyes catching on the subtle shiver that moved through your frame.
âYou always hide from donors this early?â he asked.
You didnât need to turn to know it was him. Youâd heard those footsteps enough times to recognize the rhythmâthe soft, sure cadence of someone who never rushed but never wandered. A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it. Subtle. Reflexive. Familiar.
âOnly the boring ones.â
He smirked and stepped beside you, pulling his jacket off with one fluid motion.
Before you could say anything, he draped it over your shouldersâslow, deliberate. His fingers brushed your bare arm on the way down. The heat of him lingered even through the fabric. And then there was the scent of his cologneâclean, sharp, and grounded by something warmer beneath it. The scent made your chest ache with something unnameableâfamiliar, steady, a little too easy to lean into. It curled in your lungs, lingered in the back of your throat. Your knees dipped slightly, an involuntary response you buried with practiced ease. Youâd never admit that, of course. Not even to yourself.
âYouâll freeze,â he said, voice quiet, almost an afterthought.
You didnât correct him. Just glanced up. He was already looking at you.
âYou look good,â he said finally.
Your brow raised.
âIn red,â he added, softer this time.
You didnât say thank you. Just looked at him. Let it sit there for a momentâheavy, a little too charged to touch.
"If you keep being nice to me, people are going to start wondering if the sodas were spiked."
That earned you a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in that infuriatingly subtle way he smiled when he actually meant it.
"Guess I'll have to ruin it with a sober insult later," he said.
You gave him a dry stare. "Looking forward to it."
The air between you tightened, warm and brittle. He shifted just slightly closer, like something unspoken pulled him there.
You shot him a sidelong glance, trying to smother the tension with humor. âDonât you have some attractive widows to go butter up?â
His lips twitched. âAlready secured donations from all of them,â he said, only half joking. Then, quieter, with a faint shrug: âNone of them were interesting.â
That gave you pause.
âI prefer women with poor work-life balance and sharp comebacks.â He looked at you again, the curve of his mouth bordering on a real smile now. "You?"
"Hm," you hummed to yourself. "I prefer women with competitive streaks and sharp eyeliner. And men with stress-induced insomnia, commitment issues, and the emotional availability of a damp dishrag."
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. "Bold of you to describe my entire personality like it's a turn-on."
"If the shoe fits," you murmured, toying with your empty glass.
He looked at you thenâreally looked. Head tilted just enough to feel like he was trying to read something between the lines.
"Itâs always the sharp ones," he said. "Cut deepest, donât they?"
Your lips twitched. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about emotionally repressed men in positions of authority."
"Touché."
But neither of you moved further.
Jackâs voice lowered, something quieter threading through. âYou know, for what itâs worth⊠I notice. How hard you work. How much you give.â
That caught you off guard. The words settled in your chest, raw and warm. You swallowed around them.
âThen I hope you notice how often it gets overlooked,â you said, voice softer now. âBy everyone else.â
His eyes flicked toward yours, something unreadable in them. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe he would.
âHey!â
Robbyâs voice cut through the air like a 10-blade.
You turned, blinking back to the present. Robby's head was poking out of the curtains, waving a hand. âSorry to interrupt your⊠mood lighting, but I need to help charm this silver fox donor who wonât stop talking about his golf handicap and yacht collection. Wonât stop asking for the 'hot doctor with attitude.' So naturally, I assumed he meant you.â
You glanced back at Jack, reluctant.
He gave you a nod, but didnât say anything. Just watched you go.
Before you turned to leave, you slid the jacket from your shoulders and held it out to him. Jack stepped forward to take it, but his fingers brushed yoursâwarm, lingering, just a second longer than necessary.
His jaw tightened for half a breathâbarely perceptibleâbefore he masked it, reaching to take the jacket with a small nod. His fingers brushed yours again as he pulled it into his arms. The warmth still clung to itâso did your scent. Subtle, familiar, something floral and grounding. It curled in his chest as he inhaled, slow and quiet, like he didnât mean to. As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze follow youâsharp, lingering, impossible to shake. Like he was still holding something backâhe wasnât quite ready to let you go.
Once you were gone, he allowed himself to bring the jacket up to his face and breathe in lightly, letting the remaining trace of you settle in his lungs. It lingeredâclean, unmistakable, and quietly devastating.
With each year, the line between rivalry and familiarity blurred just a little more.
It wasnât just that you were the senior-most resident anymoreâit was that you were his senior-most resident. The one who matched him pace for pace in trauma bays, who called out orders with the same clipped authority, who rolled your eyes at his sarcastic one-liners only to throw them right back at him.
Jack gave you a hard time. You gave it right back.
It started as cold professionalism. Then it turned sharp. Competitive. Then somehow... comfortable.
âThink you can manage this without slicing through the aorta this time?â Jack murmured once during a late night thoracotomy.
âOnly if you donât pass out from blood loss first, old man,â you replied smoothly.
âOld man,â he repeated under his breath. âRemind me why I let you lead in my trauma bay?â
âBecause Iâm the best.â
He didnât respond. Just passed the next instrument with a soft, resigned smirk.
There was a night Shen caught you both bickering over a chart like a married couple.
"The guy had a fever and a murmurâof course Iâm thinking endocarditis," you said, exasperated, scribbling into the margins.
"And Iâm saying we still need to rule out pulmonary embolism first," Jack shot back, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk.
"Iâm writing the note," you reminded him.
"Are you going to type it up for me too?"
"If you want it to be legible."
Jack scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Thatâs when Shen passed by, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, "Just kiss already."
Neither of you responded. Jackâs pen stilled in his hand. You didnât look at him. He didnât look at you.
But later that night, as you leaned against the med station reviewing labs, he passed behind you, fingers grazing your lower back as he brushed by.
Casual. Too casual. And yet, your breath caught anyway.
You didnât talk about it.
You never talked about it.
But it was there, all the same.
Back inside, the ballroom lights felt too bright. You smiled at a passing donor, glass still in hand, but your mind was still outsideâon the breeze, on his jacket, on the way Jack had looked at you like he wasnât ready to let you go.
You found yourself drifting toward the edge of the room, eyes scanning unconsciously. Jack had disappeared into the crowd.
Or so you thought.
âLooking for me?â
You turned to see him at your side again, now holding two drinksâone club soda, one bubbling glass.
You raised an eyebrow. âTrying to get me trashed on overpriced spirits, Dr. Abbot?â
âI would, if this were alcohol.â He offered the glass to you. âItâs ginger ale.â
You eyed it suspiciously, then took it anyway. âClassy.â
He tilted his head, lips twitching. âYou called me Jack earlier.â
âDonât let it go to your head.â The bubbles soothed your stomach, uneasy from all the talking and dizzy heights of empty small talk.
The quiet pressed in, heavy and hesitant, neither of you quite ready to fill itâbut neither willing to walk away.
âWell, Dr. L/N,â he said, tone dipping into something light but curious, âhow do you plan on spending the rest of your evening?â
You gave him a half-smile. âGetting some sleep. Or trying to.â You looked back out across the ballroom, then added, âI talked to Robby earlierâoffered to be on-call for day shift tomorrow. Filling in for Langdon.â
Jackâs brows lifted. âAren't you supposed to be off?â
âYup. So are you,â you said, glancing at him.
His mouth twitched, but he didnât deny it. You both knew the pattern by nowâsame days off, same shifts. Neither of you had ever pointed it out.
âWhat else would I do on a Friday?â There was something brittle in the joke, something quieter under it. âWork keeps me occupied.â
Jack watched you for a second longer, then said, softer this time, âYou shouldnât have to keep yourself occupied. It's okay to take a breather.â
You let out a dry breath of a laugh, the edge of a smile curlingâbiting, but small. âThatâs rich coming from the only other person who works as many shifts as I do.â
Jack didnât answer. He just stepped a little closer.
âYou couldâve said no to being on-call,â he said. âCouldâve said you had plans.â
âI do,â you retorted. âSleep for three hours. Chug coffee. Go back.â
Jack tipped his head, like he was trying to read more into your tone than you meant to give away. âY/Nââ
The name stopped you cold. You took a half-step back before you could think better of it, reflexive and immediate, voice clipped and low. âDonât.â
That caught him off guard.
âIâsorry,â he said, brows furrowing slightly. âI justââ
âItâs fine,â you said quickly, too quickly.
Jack looked at you then, something close to understanding flickering in his eyes. As though he remembered, too. How could he forget?
The first time he'd said your name.
Blood on your scrubs. Tears in your throat. A patient you couldn't save.
He didnât say anything else. Just nodded once, slowly, and let you go.
Then, just as his mouth parted to say something elseâ
âDr. Abbot!â Gloriaâs voice rang out from the other end of the ballroom, hand ushering him to come over. âThe donor from Penn wants a word before he leaves!â
Jack clenched his jaw. His eyes lingered on yours.
âRain check,â he said, voice low.
You didnât answer, just gave a small nod as he walked away. And for a long moment after, you stayed where you were, ginger ale sweating in your hand.
You didnât answer, just gave a small nod as he walked away. And for a long moment after, you stayed where you were, ginger ale sweating in your hand.
You didnât know it at the time, but this was the moment youâd remember whenever someone asked when medicine stopped being just medicine.
The trauma call came in: car accident, two parents and a child, maybe 8 or 9. The parents were in rough shape but still awake, still responsiveâmoaning through cracked ribs and splintered glass. The kid, thoughâblunt force, GCS 3 on arrival. Completely unresponsive. You felt it in your gut before the vitals even came in.
Jack was across the bay when the doors opened. He looked up onceânodded at you. âYouâre lead. I'll stabilize the parents."
You didnât hesitate. Airway, trauma labs, two large-bore IVs. Portable chest. Fast scan. You called it all before the stretcher stopped moving.
The childâs body was limp. Small. Already pale. The pressure in your chest felt like a dam ready to burst.
You intubated with steady hands, but your voice falteredâjust slightlyâwhen you called for epinephrine. Jack appeared beside you somewhere around the second round of compressions, gloves on, silent. Watching. Present.
âVitals still unstable,â someone called from behind you. âBP 62 over palp. Pulse weak. Weâre pushing TXA now.â At least he'd stabilized the parents, you thought. If he could save them, you could save their little girl.
Four bags of blood and 18 minutes of chest compressions. The monitor stayed flat.
Still, you kept going. Pushing meds. Calling for another round. Someone offered to take over for compressions, murmured that you needed a break. You shook your head. âIâm fine.â
Then again, more firmly. âIâve got it.â
No one tried to argue. You were lead. You had it.
Even as your arms began to ache. Even as the blood kept pooling, the compressions rhythmically jarring through your bones. You wouldnât stop. Couldnât. The team was moving around you, quiet, reverent.
Then Jack stepped in closer.
âMonitor hasn't picked up a rhythm in 12 minutes,â he said gently. âWe can't keep up with the blood loss. There's too much internal damage. You know this.â
You shook your head, barely perceptible, and kept going. Compressing, counting, calling for another round of epi.
Jackâs voice stayed level. âAnyone else wouldâve been pronounced dead at the scene.â
You ignored him. Just a few more compressions and transfusions and she'd come back.
Thenâ
âY/N.â
That made you freeze.
The name. His voice.
Your hands were still trembling against the childâs chest.
You looked at the monitor. Heard the continuous tone. Flatline.
No pulse.
âCall it,â Jack pleaded softly.
Your voice was quiet. Hoarse. Cold.
âTime of death, 03:17.â
You stepped back, stripped your gloves off slowly. Fingers stained with blood you couldnât stop from spilling. Jack said nothing. He didnât leave.
You swallowed hard, trying to force the tears down. To breathe through the break in your chest.
Jack didnât touch you this time. He just stood there.
Let you fall apart, silently.
Then you ripped off your gloves and threw them hard into the bin, the sound louder than it had any right to be. You turned and stormed out of the trauma bay without looking back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
That was the first time he said your name.
And it pulled you back. You never forgot it.
Sometimes you wished you had.
Back inside, the music had changed.
Youâd barely rejoined the crowd when the lights dimmed and the emcee called out for the first dance of the evening.
Across the ballroom, Jack saw you before you saw him. You were standing near the edge of the crowd, nursing the last of your drink, the weight of something invisible pressing into your posture.
But you werenât alone. A tall manâone of the younger donorsâhad his hand on your arm, leaning in to say something. He offered you his hand.
Jackâs jaw tensed.
He didnât moveâat first. Just watched as you smiled politely, took the man's hand, let him lead you to the dance floor.
It was brief. Chaste. Just a dance. But Jack hated the way the guy's hand lingered at your waist. Hated how close he stood, how you nodded along to something he said, even if your smile didnât reach your eyes.
A minute later, you gently swapped out with Robby, excusing yourself from your first partner. Robby took your hand with a flourish and spun you once like a game show host. You smiled for the first time in hours.
"You okay?" he asked gently, settling into a slower sway with you.
You shrugged. "Long week."
Robby gave you a dad-look. "Anything in particular on your mind, or just the usual existential dread?"
A quiet laugh escaped, softer than you meant for it to. "Just the usual, I guess."
For a while, the two of you swayed in silence. Robbyâs gaze stayed soft. "Youâve been a little quiet lately. Even more than usual. You sleeping okay? Eating?"
Instead of answering right away, your eyes drifted to his shoulder. "Iâm fine."
"You always say that. Doesnât mean I believe it."
A small, grateful smile curved your lips. Robby always knew how to make spaceânever too much, never too little. He left the door open without pushing you through it.
"You know Iâve got your back, right kid? You ever need to talk, about anything, even the stuff you think youâre not supposed to say out loudâcome find me."
"Thanks, Robby. I mean it."
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you do."
A voice cut inâlow and smooth.
"Mind if I cut in?"
You turned.
Jack stood there, one hand extended. He didnât look at Robby. He didnât need to.
Robby chuckled under his breath and stepped aside. "Sheâs all yours."
Jackâs eyes met yours, steady and unreadable.
âDance with me?â he asked, softer than you'd expected.
For a second, you didnât answer. Your breath caught, mind still echoing with the last time youâd heard him say your name.
But then you noddedâslow, tentativeâand slid your hand into his.
He guided you gently into step, the rhythm of the music slower than your pulse. His hand settled against your waist, warm and sure, like it had always belonged there. The other laced with yours, a silent tether.
You moved together with a surprising ease, like muscle memory forged in proximity, not practice. It wasnât just a danceâit was a conversation. A quiet exchange, careful and cautious. Every shift of weight, every brush of fingers was a sentence neither of you dared speak aloud.
You didnât look up right away. Couldn't. The proximity was dizzying. It wasnât the champagne. It was him.
Jackâs voice came, low and even. âYou always this good at pretending everythingâs fine?â
You finally glanced up, something caught between a smile and a flinch playing on your face. âOnly when Iâm trying to impress a colleague.â
His mouth twitched, barely. âThat why you always pull it together when Iâm around?â
You didnât answer.
Gliding across the floor, you felt like you were floating. And still, the weight of his hand at your waist grounded you.
You werenât sure which was more dangerous: the silence, or the closeness.
âI used to think if I kept moving, I wouldnât have to feel any of it,â you said, voice barely above the swell of the music. âBut some things catch up to you anyway.â
Jackâs grip shifted slightly, not tighter, just⊠more present. âRunning worksâuntil it doesnât.â
A beat passed.
âI donât run,â you said quietly.
He met your eyes. âNo. You bury it. Same result, different damage.â
You exhaled through your nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. âFunny. Thought we were dancing, not diagnosing.â
âWe can do both,â he said, dry but not unkind. âI go to therapy. You slow dance at charity galas.â
Your gaze flicked to his lips, then away. âGuess my way is cheaper since I'm not paying for any of the wine or dine.â
Jackâs hand at your waist didnât budge. If anything, it steadied you more.
âY/N,â he said after a moment, voice gentler now. Like he was handing something over. Like he wanted you to take it.
Your shoulders tensed. Jaw muscles flexed.
He noticed.
You looked up, met his gaze, and said, quieter than before but with unmistakable weight, âJack, youâre walking on thin ice.â
He didnât flinch. But something flickered in his expressionâsomething equal parts affection and surrender.
You only used each otherâs names when it mattered.
The only difference was: he loved it. You hated it.
The hospital had quieted for the night, but the kind of quiet that screamed underneath.
You assisted on his last caseâanother loss, but this one had cut deeper than usual. Maybe it was the way Jack had gone cold, all clinical control and efficiency⊠until the voice crack. Just a flicker. A tremor. Heâd kept going, ordering transfusions, calling vitals, his tone even until it wasnât. You saw itâbehind the focused eyes, there was fear.
You were the one standing next to him when he finally called it.
You found him up thereâon the roofâwhere the city lights couldnât quite wash out the weight in his shoulders. Jack was staring out past the edge, hands in his coat pockets, the wind catching just enough to make his scrubs flutter at the hem.
You didnât speak right away. Just stood a few paces behind him, letting your presence fill the space before your voice did.
âI figured Iâd find you up here.â
Jack didnât turn. âShouldnât you be home?â
âI had to wrap up some charting.â
A beat.
âThey were a veteran,â he said. âHad a daughter who just got into college.â
You took a step closer. âThat wasnât your fault.â
He let out a quiet, humorless sound. âI know. Doesnât help.â
You hesitated, then moved beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder.
âI must have had a reason at one time to keep coming back," he murmured, âbut I can't think of it right now."
You didnât have an answer.
But you said his name.
âJack.â
It was the first time youâd said it out loud. Not Dr. Abbot. Not anything guarded. Just him.
He turned then, slowly.
âDonât shut down on me,â you said. âNot tonight.â
The wind carried your words away, but he heard them. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened. The way his shoulders dropped just slightly.
âI donât know how to stay,â he said, voice rough.
âYou donât have to stay alone.â
He glanced at you thenâjust briefly, like eye contact might split him open.
You searched his face, thinking back to the moment in the trauma bay where he called it. Where his voice cracked but didnât waver. Where his gloved hands were steady even though his eyes gave him away. Youâd never seen him look like that beforeâso composed, so clinical, and still, so unmistakably human.
The memory stuck to your ribs.
âI know itâs not fair,â you said, voice low. âThat we carry the worst of them home. That we never get to know if we were enough.â
Jack didnât speak. But he didnât move either. That was something. So you added, a little too soft, âBut you are. You are enough.â
A long silence.
Then, to break itâbecause it felt like too muchâyou rolled your shoulder and said, âRobbyâs gonna kick your ass if you jump off during his shift.â
Jack huffed, the sound barely audible but real.
âCome on,â you added, nodding toward the stairwell. âLetâs get off this roof before someone reports us for loitering.â
You didn't move.
Not yet.
Just stood there in silence, waitingânot because you needed him to follow, but because you werenât going anywhere without him.
And Jack came. Eventually. Quiet and heavy and slow, the shuffle of his shoes steadying against the roof's concrete.
He didnât say anything. Just stepped beside you, close enough to share warmth but not break space.
Then you walked. Together. Not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel it. Close enough to stay.
The night had grown heavier.
Somehow, you and Jack had found your way back to the balconyâagain. It was quieter out here, the city humming beneath you, wind tugging softly at your hair. Your skin still held the memory of his hand at your waist. The music inside was muffled now, like the two of you had stepped out of the narrative entirely.
Jack leaned against the railing, but his gaze never left you. Something about the way he was lookingâlike heâd been holding back something for far too long.
You crossed your arms, more to anchor yourself than anything. âYouâre staring.â
âYou said my name,â he replied, voice low.
Your throat tightened. âYou started it.â
He pushed off the railing, slow and deliberate. âYou know what I mean.â
You didnât back away. But your voice came sharper this time, more breath than warning. âDonât. Donât start something neither of us can come back from.â
That gave him pause. He looked like he wanted to say somethingâmaybe everythingâbut bit it back. Jaw tight. Shoulders tense.
âIâm not trying to hurt you,â Jack said. âBut I can't keep pretending this is nothing.â
With a quiet breath, he confessed. âI canât stop thinking about you.â
Your heart tripped.
âI try,â he continued, voice cracking. âGod, Iâve tried. But you show up in every shift. Every damn quiet moment. I hear your voice when I walk through those doors. I look for you at every trauma call. And when youâre not there, itâs worse.â
You didnât speak.
âIâve been through hell,â he went on, stepping closer, âseen things I still donât have names forâbut none of it scares me the way you do. Because this?â He gestured between you. âThis is real. And if I say it out loud, I donât get to pretend anymore.â
Your breath hitched. âJackâŠâ
He looked at you, eyes tired and wide open. âSay something. Please.â
Your voice came out thinner than you meant. âYou're my attending, weâre not supposed toââ
âI donât care.â
The silence cracked wide open between you.
You let out a breathâshaky, exasperated.
"Fuck," you said, voice breaking. "What do you want me to say? That I can't stop thinking about you either? That I see your eyes every time I close mineâyour smile, rare as it is, stuck in my head like a damn echo? That I come home and swear I can still smell your cologne because itâs the only thing that brings me any sense of comfort?"
Your hands were trembling now. You didnât stopâcouldn't.
"Pretending this means nothing is easier than risking what happens if it actually matters. Because if it doesâJackâ"
Jack caught you before you could even get the words out. His mouth was on yours, rough and unyielding, and you didnât stop him. Didnât want to. You kissed him like you meant it, because fucking hell, did you mean it.
When your back hit the wall beside the balcony doors with a quiet thud, he pressed closer, hands framing your jaw like you were something to be memorized.
There was nothing polite in the way you touched each other now. Just years of tension, unspoken things, and the desperate need to feel something real.
You didnât let go.
Neither did he.
His lips trailed lower, brushing the hinge of your jaw before nipping gently at your neck. The sound you madeâhalf breath, half shockâonly seemed to spur him on.
âThen donât pretend,â Jack whispered against your skin, voice rough and reverent. âLet yourself have this. Let us have this.â
Your hands cradled the sides of his face, fingers brushing across his cheekbones. All these years spent by his side and you hadnât taken the time to admire his freckles.
You leaned in again, pressing your lips to hisâslower now, deeper. One of his hands slid down your back, splaying across the small of it as if anchoring you in place. The other tangled into your hair, careful but needing.
You gasped when his hips met yours again, your breath catching between kisses. He pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.
"I need you," you finally said.
And that was all he needed.
He rushed to close the curtains on the inside and lock the balcony doors before returning to you.
Your world narrowed to the way his mouth reclaimed yours, the press of his body, the heat building like a fuse lit too close to the end. Somewhere in the distance, the city kept moving. But here, in the quiet shelter of the balcony, there was only this.
Jack dropped to his knees, the motion fluid and reverent. You sucked in a breath as his hands slid up the backs of your thighs, coaxing one leg upward until your heel hooked over his shoulder. Your foot pressed gently against the curve of his back.
He tugged at the hem of your dress. You were already holding the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips with practiced ease. The lace of your underwear was delicate, barely in the wayâhe hooked a finger around the side, sliding it aside with a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch.
You were already soaked, and the way his eyes flicked up confirmed he knew it.
He looked up at you once, eyes dark and unwavering, before leaning in.
His mouth was slow at firstâexploring, learning you. The way your breath stuttered when his tongue found a sensitive spot, the way your fingers clenched in his hair. âYou taste just as incredible as I imagined,â he murmured, more to himself than to you. When he inserted a finger and curled towards himself, you nearly buckled.
You didnât mean to cry out, but it slipped past your lips, helpless and raw. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, which made him smirk. He caught your elbow with his free hand, gently but insistently, pulling your hand away and intertwining your fingers into his hair. You gave his curls a tug and were met with a moan. It was impossible to hide the smug grin that painted your face.
âI want to hear you,â he murmured, voice thick with heat. His voice dipped lower, rougher. âNeed everyone to hear how beautiful you sound for me.â
You felt the press of the marble wall cool behind you as your back arched. One hand flew to the wall, the other gripping his shoulder as he kept goingâsteadfast, focused, like you were the only thing that existed. Like this was something he'd been starving for.
And maybe you had been too. Because every sound, every gasp that left you was honest.
You hiked your knee higher, anchoring your heel along the dip of his back. The dress had long since stopped mattering.
Jackâs grip tightened, one hand digging into the curve of your ass as he anchored you against the wall. His other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding inside you with practiced precision, curling until your legs nearly gave out.
"Jack, I'mâ" You moaned into your clenched teeth, the sound too loud, too needyâbut he wanted it, taking it in like oxygen.
Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as your breath came in shallow, stuttering waves. He didnât let up. The rhythm was relentless, mouth and hand working in tandem, dragging you closer to the edge with every sweep, every flick, drinking you like water from a desert oasis. He stopped only when you tapped his cheek twice, silently begging for mercy.
Your skin glistened, flushed with heat. Before he pulled away, Jack leaned in again, his tongue tracing the trails of your release up your inner thigh with slow, savoring strokes. Each pass of his mouth made you twitch, gasp, overstimulated but unwilling to stop. He kissed the soft skin in their wake.
When he finally looked up, his face was just as wrecked, jaw set and glistening with you. And the look in his eyes when he glanced upâhungry, worshipfulâwas enough to ruin you.
His lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. âGod, youâre perfect.â His eyes lifted to meet yours with something close to divine awe.
It came out quietâlike a confession he'd finally allowed himself to say out loud.
You leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He let out a low, contented sound against your mouth, one hand tightening around your thigh, the other still steadying your hip. You could feel the tension in himâtender, achingâas if the moment might slip through his fingers if he didnât hold it close.
Your fingers slipped into your dress, pulling free a small foil square tucked just inside the cup of your bra. Jack blinked down at it, then back up at you, clearly caught off guard.
He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
You shrugged, breathless. "Was holding it for a friend."
Jack smirked, eyes dragging down your body. "Sure you were."
You made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it and pushing his pants down just enough.
âHe talks too much,â you muttered, smirking.
You looked down.
And stopped.
He was perfect. Cut, trimmed, thick, just the right length. The kind of sight that made your breath hitch. Your hand slid along his length with a few firm pumpsâjust enough to make him hiss between his teeth.
You couldn't resist. Lowered to your knees, gave him a few languid licks, savoring the taste. He whimpered, his hand gently gripping your hairâbut not pulling, not yet.
After a few more pumps, Jack pulled you up by the chin with a bruising kiss, swallowing your gasp.
âIâm not coming anywhere but inside you,â he growled against your lips.
You smiled, teasing. âMaybe next time, then.â Your fingers trailed down the front of his dress shirt, feeling the heat of his body even through the fabricâmuscles taut and firm beneath your touch.
Then you turned, facing the wallâcheeks flushed, breath short. One hand braced flat against the cool marble, the other gathering the bunched fabric of your dress. You looked over your shoulder, eyes dark with want.
Jack swore under his breath. He moved behind you in a blur, hands rough on your hips as he lined himself up. The heat of him pressed against you, teasing, maddening.
âAre you sure?â he asked, voice lower than gravel.
You pushed back, just enough for him to sink in, slow and deliberate. He filled you up inch by inch, warm and hot and perfect, making you gasp as your forehead pressed to the wall.
His hands wrapped around your hips as he bottomed out, his mouth dragging along your neck, teeth grazing your skin until he whispered a sharp, broken "fuck"âmore to himself than to you. Like he was trying not to explode.
You tried to move, just a little forward, a little backârestless with needâbut his hands tightened.
âDonât,â he breathed. âJustâjust give me a second. You feel fucking incredible.â
âJack,â you whimpered.
If he clenched his teeth any harder, he might've popped his jaw. "Fuck, I love when you call me by my name."
Your voice was barely above a whisper. âPlease.â
That undid him.
He gripped your hips tighter, fingertips digging into your supple fleshâjust shy of bruising. The pain was delicious, grounding you to every thrust, every second of connection, hips rocking forward, slowly at firstâdeep, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch of you from the inside out. Each thrust sent a spark up your spine, your moans echoing softly. His mouth returned to your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark, his breath hot against your skin.
"You feel too good," he muttered, almost like it hurt. "Too good."
You tried to respond, but the words got lost somewhere in your throat as his pace picked upâharder, deeper, everything building.
Your hands flattened against the wall, bracing yourself as your body rocked with his rhythm. It was dizzyingâoverwhelmingâin all the best ways. Every drag of his hips made your knees tremble, every grunt and growl in your ear pushed you closer to unraveling.
Without warning, he turned you around to face him. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, chest heaving. He lifted your left leg with his right hand, supporting your thigh against his side as he surged forward again.
The angle had you seeing starsâvision spinning as he hit that spot inside you with maddening precision. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your head dropped forward against his.
Your hands clasped behind his neck, holding tight, desperate to keep him there. You raked your fingers through his curls, tugging hard enough to make him moanâand dragged your nails lightly down the back of his neck, leaving a faint trail of heat in their wake. His mouth found yours againâtongue hot, hungryâkissing you like he needed it to breathe. His left hand anchored you by the hip, grinding you against him as his rhythm deepened, pulling another cry from your throat.
There was nothing left but heat, hands, breath. And the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever wantedâneeded.
"I'm yours," he whispered, forehead resting against yours, voice ragged. It wasnât a declarationâit was a truth. Raw and full and real.
Your lips brushed his, trembling. âAnd Iâm yours.â
The moment cracked open between you. You kissed himâdesperate, hungry, chasing the high you were both barely holding onto.
You felt yourself teetering, the peak just within reach. Jack looked like he was holding back, focusing on keeping every muscle drawn tight with restraintâputting your pleasure before his. But you needed him there with you, completely.
You leaned into his ear, breath hot. âI need you to cum for me, Jack.â His fingers dug deeper into your hip. "I need you to fill me up." Your knee wrapped tighter around his torso, drawing him impossibly closer as you held him to you, clinging like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. You bit the curve of his neck, sharp and claiming.
That was all it took.
He let out a guttural sound, hips stuttering as he came undone, pulling you with him into a release that felt like freefallâearth-shattering and unrelenting.
Your release crashed through you moments after his, drawn out and all-consuming. Every nerve lit up, your body shaking with the intensity of it. It wasnât like anything elseâno drug, no high. Just him. You. This.
For a long beat, neither of you moved. Your breath came in broken gasps, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in the aftermath. Sweaty. Beautiful. And quiet.
Jackâs hand smoothed up your spine, grounding you. His lips brushed your temple, and the world finally began to settle back into place.
He gently brushed strands of damp hair from your face, fingers tender where they swept against your skin. The breeze caught a few pieces, but they clung to the sheen on your cheeks. When you finally let your leg down, your knees buckled slightly. Jack caught you without hesitationâarms strong, sure, keeping you steady as your weight shifted. You clung to him without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. When you finally loosened your grip, he didnât let go right awayâhis arms still braced around you like muscle memory, like instinct.
Pulling back, you realized what a disheveled mess the two of you were.
You reached up and smoothed down the front of his shirt, fixing the lapels of his suit, tugging the hem of his jacket into place. Thankfully whatever hair gel he used was bulletproof, only a curl or two out of place. He brushed his fingers along your hairline, gently tucking back strands that had come loose, then adjusted the strap of your dress where it had slipped off your shoulder.
There was a beat of silenceâcomfortable, but heavy.
Clearing your throat, you tried to gather your thoughts. âI, uhâŠâ
Jackâs eyes remained a little dazed, as if he was still anchoring himself to the moment.
A breath escaped youâhalf-laugh, half-exhale. âTea. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back to mine for tea.â
He blinked once, then his lips quirked.
âTea?â
âYeah,â you said, half-smiling. âOr, like⊠whatever. Just to wind down. You donât have to.â
Jack shook his head once, slow. âOnly if youâre not just holding it for a friend.â
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. âYouâre welcome anytime, Jack. You know that, right?â
His gaze softened. âYeah,â he said. âYeah, I do.â
You nodded once, awkward and earnest. âCool. Good. Great.â
Jack raised an eyebrow. âYou always this smooth after balcony sex?â
You shot him a glare filled with playful menace. "Depends. You always this cocky after someone invites you over for tea?â
He smiledâone of those rare ones, small and sideways. âOnly when itâs not just for the tea.â
You groaned. âYouâre insufferable.â
âYeah,â he said again, softer this time. âBut Iâm yours, remember?â
You tilted your head, smirking. âReturn policy on that is⊠nonexistent, right?â
His smile widened just a touch. âFor as long as youâll have me.â
âCareful, Jack. That almost sounded romantic.â
He chuckled, then sobered just enough to meet your eyes. âMaybe it was.â
The breeze danced around you both again, brushing cool air against flushed skin. Still, the warmth between you remained.
âCome on,â you said, tugging gently at his hand. âLetâs go before someone realizes weâve been out here defiling the sacred balcony.â
He followed without hesitation. Fingers laced with yours.
This time, neither of you looked back.
<3
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Jack Abbot x resident!reader
Warnings: Cursing, drinking, medical inaccuracies, not beta read, me coming back from the dead, attempts at humor, age gap (reader is in late 20s/ early 30s)
Word count: 2500+ (oh well)
COWBOY TAKE ME AWAY OR when your best friend ends up in the ER after her Cowboy themed bachelorette party with a broken leg and a mouth that just keeps talking you might be in over your head.
You were going to kill her, after they stick her leg in a cast and once she sobered up you were going to kill her. Taking the weekend off in order to go to your best friends bachelorette was planned weeks in advance, the cowgirl theme was coordinated from outfits to drinks, you spent months on the whole thing, being the maid of honour and all- you hand glued BRIDE in gemstones to her white cowboy hat, hell you had hand-sewn the veil to the hat. You planned the whole fucking thing while being a year 3 resident (you survived a few months on good will and fumes for it) and frankly you were looking forward to a night away from your work and the giant obvious crush you had on one of the attendings you were planning on getting over by finding a bison for the night.
And yet there you were getting Becca and her fucked leg into the PTMC, two purses on your scantly clad shoulder and one of her white boots under your armpit- you had remembered to text Ellis on the way to let her know you were coming, no sense in letting the drunk babbling bride wait- you just wished sheâd stop asking if she was finally going to see your sexy doctor.
You also regretted ever having spilled about Abbot. The night was perfect for stories of old flames, sex lives and your miserable thing for the hot night shift attending and now you might have to plan a move to Mexico the way she was going. You stopped after two cocktails, knowing the bride was injury prone, Becca told you she planned on getting smashed for her bachelorette the moment Jules proposed and who were you to stop her. You were regretting it now as you took her into the ER waiting room.
âBet you heâll love the outfit.â
âBeck, please shut up about that, please? I need to be able to show my face at work again.â
âOh youâre showing a lot more than your face today babe.â
âYes I know my tits are out I didnât exactly plan on showing up at my place of work tonight.â
She just giggled and tapped the pink hat on your head. Great.
She had jokes for someone in her place, you were happy to know that alcohol and adrenaline still had a grip on her. You got her seated in the waiting room and went up to fill out her paperwork when a whistle cut you off- Shen, of course heâd be the first person to find you. He gave you an amused once over, leaning his weight on a wheelchair he had with him.
âWell, well good evening or do you prefer ye-haw?â
âHowdy actually.â
You tipped your hat for added effect, might as well commit to the bit.
â-and since youâve got jokes you might want to keep them for the cowboy in chief herself.â
He followed your line of sight where Becca was holding her immobilised leg.
âIâm assuming thatâs my fracture? Was the rodeo that rowdy?â
âStill is.â
âYou coming with?â
âIâll come after you after I write her insurance info- donât listen to a word she says and donât light any matches near her.â
âHow come youâre still standing?â
âIâve known her since college and if thereâs someone you keep an eye on itâs Beck.â
He gave a smile before pushing on with the wheelchair in his arms to Becca, who opened with the brilliant opening that may as well have been your gravestone-
âYouâre not the hot doctor.â
The laughter he let out startled an older woman who looked like she was about to fall asleep on the plastic chair.
âIâm Doctor Shen, Iâm also slightly offended but you can tell me more about this hot doctor of yours while I have a look at that leg.â
For fucks sake.
âItâs not my hot doctor, itâs hers, but itâs a secret!â
A big secret given her pointing towards you.
âOh is it?â
If Shen knew the whole hospital would know by tomorrow. Maybe you can practice medicine somewhere nice and far-like North Korea.
âGood job on keeping it Beck, the yelling helps.â
âDonât hold back on the details Cowboy Bride, please keep talking for as long as youâd like- it helps with the pain.â
The maniacal laugh she let out told you you were as fucked as you thought you might be. You thanked the nurse at the check in desk and went back to grab the purses and hopefully pass unseen to your locker to leave Becca's boots and salvage a bit of dignity before your peers and their insufferably handsome attending.
You were perfectly normal about him the first time you met, you would swear on it and even if you weren't you didnât know a single person who didnât stare at his arms the first time they saw him.
It was all fine and almost fun and then one hand held scalpel assistance with whispered praise lead to what you hoped was flirting and then those shoulders showed up uninvited to a wet dream and you found yourself truly and deeply fucked. The worst part was it wasnât even just a sex thing, he made you laugh, he made you feel safe. You shared whispers and quiet drinks after long shifts, youâve been handed as many coffees before a long night as you have beers after a long day. Youâve tag teamed shit cases, youâve joined in on bets, you had inside jokes, hell he gave you butterflies you didnât know you could still get. Itâs one sided- you remind your self, it would be inappropriate that didnât stop Collins and Robby your brain cheats but she probably didnât barge in with a drunk friend objectifying him in tiny shorts and a bright pink push up bra poking from underneath her white shirt.
You were so focused on immobilising her and getting her in shape to get to the hospital comfortable that you didnât think to grab your jacket from the table to cover up a bit of your pride and you vividly remembered packing up most of the spares from your locker to give them a wash over the weekend. The familiar chill of the ER enveloped you and you were all too aware of the tiny denim cut offs and the bra baring button up tied at your waist. When you planned the outfit you were hoping for a âforget about himâ hookup and a night of good riding jokes and before the leg disaster it gave you a good confidence boost- you looked good, hell you looked fantastic and you felt like an idiot. Your hand shot up to take the hat off before making a run to the lockers but Ellis caught a glimpse of you as you did and her face split in a shit eating grin.
âNow, thatâs a look-â
âWeâve seen less clothed people come in-â
âNot doctors.â
âIâm off the clockâ
âOr off the cock?â
âThis Cowgirl didnât get to do any riding seeing as the rodeo was closed due to injury.â
âHow did that happen?â
âSheâs really into Sabrina Carpenter and a clumsy drunk.â
The face you got out of her told you all you needed to know, while your shifts now rarely overlapped you became good friends during your residency but Ellis had the face of a shark on her as she opened her mouth to speak:
âOur good attending Doctor Abbot is actually with your Bride, theyâre in Trauma 2 if you want to go hold your friends hand and help with her medical history before she goes for an x-ray. Oh she is quite the talkerâ
âWasnât Shen with her?â
âOh he was but he called in Abbot so he could go check up on his other patients-â
There was that shark smile again.
âIâll kill him.â
You felt a blush creeping from your chest as you turned to walk but before you knew it she was right by your side
â-let me walk you actually, wouldnât want to miss his face-â
âI think I can find my way to it just fine, just get me a shovel to dig my grave once Iâm back.â
âYouâre telling me I have to miss seeing you give Rabbit a heart attack?â
âYou have to miss my last moments in the pitt before one of the attendings finds out from my very drunk friend a lot of crap that no one is supposed to know about.â
She turned back to her chart, still smiling before saying one last thing
â- donât tell that to the all the money we all have in the betting poolâ
âOh fuck me.â
âHe might!â
You left with a middle finger in the air and your cowboy hat by her chart. Running a hand over the ponytails you attempted before the party you made your way to the room Becca was in- the motion gave you a sense of comfort. You had never felt more awkward in the ER in your life, you had gotten puked and pissed on here, you had said stupid stuff, you had blushed from head to toe the first time Abbot whispered good job to you, you had gossiped and placed bets here and you were dragging your pink boot clad feet because who the fuck knew what Becca had already told him. Sighing you pressed the button to enter the room.
âAny allergies?â
He asked, not turning around from her.
âOh I thought you left! You didnât tell me he was this nice!â
If you werenât in it youâd think it was funny, your cool, calm, collected, attending turned towards you and his eyebrows met that gorgeous hairline at the same time his lips turned into a smirk.
"Well Howdy there."
"Hello Doctor Abbot."
You forced out as confidently as you could trying not to curl into yourself.
âWhereâs the rest of your shirt?â
âLost it at the rodeo?â
âAh.â
Eloquent Doctor Abbot
âShe hasnât got any allergies, sheâs full of tequila and you canât trust a word she says- whenâs she in line for an x-ray?â
âAs soon as I can decipher who the hot doctor she keeps asking about is.â
Becka gave you an innocent smile and you made a list of places no one would find her body.
âYou uh-do that and Iâll call Jules, her fiancĂ©e.â
âOh I think weâre close to roping the answer Cowgirl.â
You nodded awkwardly and tried not to notice the way his eyes that usually looked straight into yours lingered on the exposed torso and the delicate skin of your collarbones.
______________________________________________________________
âLast rodeo or last ride?â
Asked one of your friends while you were at the bar waiting for more drinks.
âLast rodeo, I think, I hope sheâll still get to ride.â
You shared a laugh, leaning on the bar.
âThe blond in the corner has been checking you out.â
âNot my type.â
âWhat is your type?â
She asked as you made your way back through the bodies surrounding you.
âYouâll judge-â
âAre you still into old guys?â
âI thought you had a good relationship with your father?â
Cut in a third friend getting Beccaâs attention.
âIs this about the hot guy that works with you?â
âAre you having a sexy Greyâs style affair in the hospital?â
âNo, itâs not like that-â
âBut he is a father figure by what Iâve heard-â
âGross Beck.â
âOh do tell?â
You took a drink of your pornstar martini in an attempt to hide your blush as Becca recounted your descriptions of Jack, well Doctor Abbot, you rarely called him Jack. Only in those strange quiet moments when you felt like there might be something there, sharing a drink after a long shift, sitting leg to leg.
âSalt and pepper curls, giant bulging biceps, ex- military and ticks her competence kink- from what Iâve gathered. â
âYou having a competence kink makes so much sense babe.â
You let the martini do the talking:
âLook, I saw him donate blood and work on a patient at the same time and he has hands that look like they know what theyâre doing and I am not saying that he looks like he could fuck me into a wall nor that I want it but it is hard to focus some times.â
âSo how much older is he?â
âOld enough to be my young father. like 15, 20 years?â
âSo how big of a hand are we talking about here?â
âBig enough that you should do something about it.â
âLike risk my job by having a relationship with my boss?â
âHeâs not technically your boss! Not that I wouldnât fuck your boss if heâs ever lonely.â
You choked on your drink as the group continued laughing.
______________________________________________________________
You made your way to the too familiar vending machines to grab a tea and a snack- a headache was building behind your eyes, a combination of the tiredness and slight hangover. You let Jules know Becca was alive and on her way to an x-ray and she let you know sheâll swing by the bar to grab your stuff before coming in to take care of Becca and relieving you of your duties. God the whole hospital will know by tomorrow, maybe Gloria would fire you and then you can jump off the roof and never think about the way his eyes darkened as you opened the door again. You were so far down that rabbit hole that you didnât hear him come up.
âSheâs up for an x-ray as we speak.â
You startled a bit but nodded your head once you registered what he said before turning to face him. He looked good, he always looked good when he had on that bemused smile and held your stare.
âI wanted to apologise for whatever she said if youâre uncomfortable-â
You started babbling, words falling from your mouth in a river of apologies and excuses as he took the jacket you didnât even notice he had over his arm and placed it around your shoulders and you shut up at the motion, his hands still on your shoulders.
âYou look like youâre cold, cowboy. Itâs a good look on you, but I think you always look good. I also think you are my favourite face I have seen all day- maybe ever. Hell, I might have to send your friend a fucking great wedding present.â
âWhat?â
He takes half a step closer and your breath hitches in your throat.
âIâm going to kiss you because thatâs what I have wanted to do from the first day I saw you, not just now, not because you walked in looking like a western fantasy, not because Iâm sorry for you or whatever you might cook up in that brilliant head-â
You cut him off this time, sneaking hands around his neck, pulling him to your height and kissing him. Your lips move together and itâs soft and steady and strong and everything you imagined it would be and it feels so right.
âWas there a hat with the outfit?â
âFuck off Jack.â
âSay it again.â
âWhat, fuck off?â
âNo, my name.â
And youâre both smiling so hard you think your face might split.
âYeah- it was pink.â
And he laughs before kissing your cheek and you think thatâs something you could get used to.
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Loyalty
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x resident!reader
Summary: After years of watching you stay in a loveless marriage, Dr. Abbot may finally have the opportunity to win you over and help you get out.
Warnings: mentions of cheating and pregnancy (not Abbot and reader), angsty but with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, no y/n.
word count: 4k approx.
Author's note: After a long break from writing, I finally found someone new to inspire me: Jack Abbot, the man you are. May write a part II for this, let me know if it would be something you are interested in.
Jack Abbot was a good man. A fair one. He spent years serving his country, and now served his job with full and complete devotion. He was loyal and believed that to be one of the most important traits a person could have. He believed certain things, no matter how desired, were simply wrong, and he let that sense of justice guide him.
Of course, he was just a man after all and at times his resolve faltered. He allowed his eyes to linger, his hands to crave, and his thoughts to run, but never further than that. It would be wrong. You were married, to an asshole, but that was sadly not enough of an excuse.
So like that, working side by side for years, he suppressed his feelings and desires, forcing himself to ignore any possible sign that those feelings may be reciprocated. After all, you were just like him, equally as loyal, and no matter what hesitations crossed your mind, you knew you would never.
...
The whispers in the Pitt had grown almost incessant. After all, it was not every day or week that a star resident disappeared overnight.
All Robby had told the team was that you were taking a couple of days off, which would not per se be out of the ordinary if it were not for the circumstances under which your final shift had ended.
Every ER doctorâs worst nightmare is to see a loved one enter through those doors. Apparently, ER doctors are not creative enough with their nightmares because not only could a loved one enter through those doors, but that loved one could be your husband having a heart attack while his mistress trails close behind informing everyone who would listen that her boyfriend had started feeling sick after she had shared the happy news that she was pregnant!
Of course, you had been on the clock after recently switching from night shift to day shift. You know, your husband just couldnât trust your relationship with your boss, Dr Abbot. So he had forced you to switchâ hypocrite bastard.
So just as the night shift was arriving to take over and the day shift was closing up business (of course, to ensure the highest number of people could witness your downfall), you found yourself introducing yourself to your husbandâs mistress while Dr. Robby did everything strictly legally required to keep the bastard alive.
What happened next was very much just a blur. Dana had talked to you. There was some shouting. All you remembered was walking out and not looking back.
Nobody had seen you since, but the whispers hadnât stopped. They were only fueled by strict instructions that Abbot was not to be let into your husbandâs room, even after he had left the emergency floor.
The timing of your disappearance was unfortunate; after all, you had finally managed to integrate into the day shift, and Abbot had finally gotten over your loss.
âAny news?â Dana had asked Robby once they were alone that morning.
âNothing yet.â He had replied short. He didnât want to take part in the gossiping.
âHas Jack tried to talk to her?â Dana tried to keep her voice down as she refilled the coffee machine, glancing at Robby to give him a knowing look.
Robby couldnât help but snort out a cynical laugh and shake his head, âI donât think he would have anything to say to her that could improve the situation, at least not in relation to her marriage.â
âI mean-â Dana tried to rebut right away, but was cut off.
âThat is a decision for her to make. Not for us to opine on and particularly not for Jack to get involved in.â
âIf you say soâŠâ Dana could only add before the doctor exited the room.
The truth was that, against Robbyâs advice, Jack had tried to talk to you multiple times. He had called you and texted you, trying to check on you. He wanted to know how you were doing, ask if you needed anything, tell you how angry he was, that you didnât deserve any of this, and well.. maybe some other things. That didnât matter, though, as you would not pick up the phone or answer any of his messages.
The truth of the fact is that you wanted to go to work. You wanted to talk to your friends. You were just so ashamed. Ashamed of all the times you had brushed off their worries. Ashamed of all the things you had kept yourself away from because you were too afraid to leave.
...
You had been lying in bed in a catatonic state for the past two days when the doorbell of your house had rung. You ignored it, but it didnât stop, so eventually, after god knows how long, you made your way down to the front door, cleaning your face from any leftover tears and adjusting your hair as much as you could before opening.
âJack,â the word seemed to fill your lungs with air, the sight of your attending immediately breaking through the fog that had taken over your mind. How long had you been away from work? What was he doing here? You immediately felt incredibly self-aware of your state, fixing your wrinkled pyjamas as best as you could. âWhat are you doing here?â you added, uncomfortable under his gaze. He looked sad.
âYou havenât answered any of my calls or messages,â He replied matter-of-factly, a hint of anger tainting the sadness in his tone. You felt a wave of shame and then panic. Oh god, had something happened to your husband and had you simply been impossible to reach?
You held your breath and asked, âOh god, is he okay?â
Abbotâs face dropped, his brain taking a second to process the nonsensical question that had just left your lips, âYou think I am here because I have some news about him? Do you think I care even remotely about his well-being, particularly now, after what he did to you?â you knew the anger was not directed towards you yet it felt that way. Another wave of shame coursed through your body.
You swallowed the bitterness that had accumulated in your throat. Your lips parted, prepared to speak, but he continued. âHe is lucky I wasnât allowed to be part of his care team because I would have killed him myself,â he declared without removing his fiery eyes from yours. His gaze was always so intense, persistent.
You sighed and looked away, shuffling in place. You wanted to end this conversation already. Go back to bed. âDonât say that. I know you donât mean it,â you finally replied, closing your eyes before opening them again, the soreness behind them from all the crying making itself prominent again.
âYou know I do. I am not one to exaggerate when it comes to these things.â Jack frowned, finally looking away, just to add, âCan I come in?â
You let the question simmer for a second, feeling the customary anxiousness the idea of being alone with your attending gave you. Your husband didnât like it. He said he looked at you too much. That he could read his thoughts, that men like him donât care about marriage, about loyalty. Hypocrite.
âYou are not actually thinking about what he would think, are you?â he chuckled bitterly, lifting an eyebrow before shaking his head cynically.
âN-o,â you stuttered, realising he had just read your mind. âThe house is just a bit of a mess,â you hesitated again, âbut please, come in.â
You stood to the side, allowing him to walk in. Jack Abbot had been outside your house only once before. It had also not been in the best of circumstances. It had been after a hospital gala, your first one at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. Your husband had had too much to drink and had embarrassingly enough started telling everyone how much he hated your job. Not only did he barely get to see you, but whenever he did, you were simply too tired to well⊠hang out with him.
You had pulled him away from your shocked team, and a discussion between the two of you had ensued, which had culminated with him walking off, taking the car, and informing you that he wouldnât be coming home tonight. You had been left stranded outside the party. Thankfully (or not), Jack had witnessed the whole scene as he had been standing outside smoking.
He didnât smoke often, only on special occasions; he allowed himself to have one singular cigarette. You had turned around to walk back into the party, meeting his gaze just for a second. How mortifying, fighting with your husband in front of your new supervisor.
âYou know you donât have to put up with stuff like that, right?â he spoke to you just as you passed him, stopping you in your tracks.
âWhat?â You had tried to control your tone, but your voice broke anyway.
âYou deserve better than whatever that asshole is offering you,â he announced in a sigh, throwing away the butt of his cigarette before stepping on it, âI can drive you home. Let me know when you want to leave.â
You had prepared to protest, but he had simply walked past you, so you whispered a shy, âThank you.â
Around an hour later, Dr. Abbot had driven you home. The car ride had been quiet. He had played music from the radio to ease the tension of it all. He didnât mean to judge but what the fuck. Why would anyone put up with a douchebag like that? It is not like you had any reason to. You were smart, beautiful, funny, and kind. You could have found so many better men that would actually appreciate you but instead you decided to stay with that asshole.
He had stopped in front of your house and turned off the car. You had immediately taken the chance to speak, âThank you, and I am so sorry for the scene. I donât know what got into him. I didnât mean to embarrass the team.â
Jack snorted a disapproving laugh, âThe only person who embarrassed himself tonight is him. I hope you take my words from earlier tonight seriously; you donât need to deal with this.â You sighed and closed your eyes briefly before reaching for the door. âLet me walk you to your door,â he had added, and before you could protest, he was getting out of the car.
The two of you walked towards the door, your stomach turning at the thought of the scene your husband would have made if he found out that your boss had taken you home. You wanted to keep the interaction as short as possible. âThank you for everything, Doc.â You finally spoke as your keys turned in the lock, hoping he would go.
You turned to look at him and noticed some hesitation; he didnât want to say it, but he knew he should. âAre you sure you are safe in case he comes back tonight?â Regardless of his hesitation, his eyes were fixed on yours as he asked, looking for any reason not to believe your answer.
âOh god, yes, of course. He can be an ass but he is not dangerous. Just stupid,â you giggled nervously at your own comment, but you knew it to be true. Your husband was many things, but an abuser was not one of them.
Jack didnât seem fully convinced by your answer but decided to respect it, pressing his lips together and nodding firmly before placing his hand on your shoulder, âAlright. I will see you tomorrow night. Be safe.â He had bid his farewell quickly, walking back to his car, almost as if he had shown any hesitation, he would not have been able to leave.
Your husband didnât come back that night, but in the morning, as you woke up, you found him in the living room, your favourite breakfast on the table and fresh apology flowers. He asked for your forgiveness ten times that day, and you, stupidly enough, reassured him that everything was okay.
Now, years later, Jack was entering your house. He didnât seem pleased that he technically had warned you that this would not have a happy ending, yet here you were.
Thankfully, most of the mess was relegated to your bedroom, so the living room looked decent enough for Abbot to be unaware of the extent of your downfall. âDo you want something to drink?â you had asked, still awkwardly standing in your pyjamas whilst, well, Jack looked as good as he always did.
âSome whisky would be great,â he replied stoically, ignoring your face of shock. What time was it after all? 8 a.m.?
âAlright, take a seat please,â you decided not to question it, instead serving two glasses of whisky and bringing the bottle to the coffee table. You gave one of the glasses to Abbot, who had sat on one side of your sofa. You placed yourself at the opposite end, leaving as much space between the two of you as possible. Jack swirled the liquid in the glass and then downed the whole thing, once again causing you to look at him confused.
You took a small sip of the liquor, but immediately regretted it, your empty stomach immediately complaining and filling your mouth with acid reflux. Admitting defeat, you placed the glass on the table and turned back to Jack.
âHow are you doing?â he finally asked, pinning down your gaze.
âI am okay,â you lied the best you could, but immediately realised how useless that was, so corrected yourself, âI am as okay as a person in my situation can be.â
âI see,â he looked away, back at his glass and then at the bottle, serving himself another pour. What was wrong with him? âHave you contacted your lawyer already? Do you need any help moving his stuff?â He asked nonchalantly, looking at the honey liquor.
And just like that, you were again confused, âWhat?â
This time, however, shock and confusion crossed his features, not yours, as his head snapped back to look at you. âPlease do not tell me you were thinking of forgiving him.â It wasnât really a question, more like a plea or a threat. You were not sure.
Your throat was dry, you reached for the whisky but didnât sip on it, simply holding it. Had you made a decision already? Was it as easy as that? He was sick; he would have needed somebody to help him get back in shape. Could you simply leave him?
âAnd here I thoughtâŠâ Jack closed his eyes and sighed before downing his drink again. He shook his head and let out a bitter laugh.
âYou thought what?â You grew defensive, sitting up straighter on the couch and giving him a narrow, judgy look. Everything was so easy for Dr Abbot; everyone wanted to be with him, so handsome, so charming, smart, and successful. Of course he believed that when something does not work, you just throw it away. There would always be somebody else to love him. How could anyone not?
âI-â he met your gaze again, bitter, sad, disappointed. âI just thought that you would finally free yourself from this cage you have grown so fond of.â
âMarriage is not a cage.â
âIt is if you are married to someone who sees you as a possession.â He bit back in the same tone you had.
âYou know nothing about my marriage,â you tried to hold your head up, refusing to let him make you feel stupider than you already felt. You knew how pathetic you were. A loser who had let a man ruin her life.
âI actually know everything about your marriage. I have been watching it destroy you day after day. I have watched you fight against every one of your instincts for the sake of it.â Your stomach dropped, fearing he was hinting at the exact thing that just crossed your mind. It was unfair to bring that up. You had never strayed, always loyal, no matter how hard the pull towards Jack had felt. âYou have given up opportunity after opportunity in your career for the sake of your marriage. Allowing him to govern every part of your life, even forcing you to move from the night shift to the day shift.â
âThat was my decision.â
âWe both know that is bullshit.â He saw through you, âand why? Because he was worried about me? At least that is what I have heard,â he laughed, mocking you. Of course, he thought it was funny. A resident crushing on her attending, how pathetic and cliche. âHas he even met you? How can he doubt your loyalty? I have never met a woman so committed to her horrible marriage.â
You frowned, and he looked away, almost as if he was scared you would be able to read his thoughts this time. He exhaled and pressed his lips together, thoughtful, wondering if it was worth sharing the rest of that thought. He didnât. Instead, he asked, âDid you tell him?â
âTell him what?â your voice barely there at this point, the twist in your stomach just making you increasingly nauseous.
âDid you tell him how I feel about you? Or how come he made the request?â
Silence. The two of you were looking right at each other, but you felt like you were not even in the room, struggling to even keep up with anything your attending was saying.
âBecause that was just unnecessary. We both know you would have never done anything to disrespect him. Regardless of how much I wanted it or would have tried to instigate it. I never did because I knew you wouldnât, and I respected your choice.â He continued as if this was a simple truth, one that apparently he expected you to have complete knowledge of.
âJackâŠâ you tried to make sense of his words.
âI didnât know we were on a first-name basis,â he chuckled, without breaking eye contact.
âAbbot, wh-â
âDonât act like you donât know what I am talking about. Everybody knows how I feel about you. I couldnât hide it, even if I tried.â He cocked his head, his eyes softening, god he was so beautiful when he was so open. âYou know, at the beginning, after that night at the gala, I was hopeful. I thought maybe you would leave and see that you deserved so much better, but then you didnât. I even gave him the benefit of the doubt, but time after time he has just fallen short, short of what you deserve, short of what I could and would give you.â Jack moved closer, still keeping a respectful distance but closer.
You held your breath as he spoke the last sentence. Sure, you had always had a soft spot for the doctor, regardless of how much you had wanted to hide it. He was everything, and yet, he was always kind. He had been there for you through every difficult time, all those post-shift or pre-shift conversations on the roof of the building. Sometimes it was you consoling him, and other times it was the other way around. He always allowed you to feel every feeling, instead of suppressing it all.
âHow can you even imagine looking at him in the eyes after what he did? How long have you been wanting to have a baby? What was his excuse? Not the right time, right?â He finally looked away, repulsed, shaking his head and clenching his hands. âListen, I didnât come here to convince you to give me a chance. I am not insane. You are going through the most horrible moment of your life. I am just here to check on you, to see if there is anything I can do to help. I just cannot bear the thought of you putting yourself through any more of this. So yes, let me know what you need and I will do it, just promise me you will leave him. Not for me or anybody else, for yourself.â Jack kept his eyes on the glass of whisky on the coffee table, sighing, missing the way your eyes had filled up with tears.
You donât know what took over you, but all you wanted right now was a hug. You hadnât been able to talk to anybody yet and felt so alone. âJackâŠâ was everything that left your lips as you closed the distance. He realised immediately what you meant and opened his arms, wrapping them around you and hugging you tight. He let you sob against his chest, rubbing small circles on your back.
âYou will be okay. You donât need to do this alone. I am here; the rest of our people are here. You never need to feel this way again.â Jack pressed his chin softly against your head before giving it a soft kiss, âI love you. I have loved you from afar for so long, and the only thing that matters to me is for you to be okay. I want you to be safe and okay.â
Your sobs just grew stronger at his final words. What had you done? How much time had you wasted? You could have had him. You could have allowed him to love you. You could have allowed yourself to love him back.
âIt is okay. Everything will be okay,â he rubbed your back with a bit more intention, his fingers holding onto you tightly. He had rarely gotten to be this close to you. He had never gotten to kiss your hair and tell you how he truly felt.
âI wanna leave,â you spoke between muffled sobs, âI donât want to be here once he is back.â
Jack pressed his lips together, taking in the order. He was ready to help. He let go of you slowly, meeting your eyes again before answering, âLetâs pack all your essentials and go.â
You nodded back at him as his hand reached for your face, cleaning some of your tears. He was ready to pull his hand away, but you cupped it, keeping it in place, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling of his touch without fear, without hesitation. You looked back at him again and whispered, âI am sorry it took me this long.â
âI am just glad you got there,â he replied with a smile.
The two of you packed everything you would need for a couple of weeks and left the house. Jack seemed to follow you like a shadow across the house. Now that he had gotten a taste of your proximity, he didnât want to live without it. He knew he would need to give you space to heal, to figure things out, but the mere thought that one day in a distant future he would be able to at least openly try to make you fall in love with him was enough to fill him with hope.
God, he loved you, he loved you so much.
-----
Liv's note: Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. If you'd like to stay up to date with my future works, including a part II of this if it comes down to it, please sign up for my Taglist.
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