#Why pick jack? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brookebroski · 16 days ago

Text

Something...

You "steal" Jack's patient and he has to complain to you about it, never mind you can't even treat his patients. There's something brewing between the two of you, why not figure it out over breakfast?

Jack Abbot x fem!Reader

tags: no sexual content, all feels, Jack is a bully, not really though, name calling, getting together, all comfort, inaccurate descriptions of medical procedures and the practice of medicine in general

word count: Shawn Hats has me in a chokehold and I nearly only think about his characters, which isn't healthy to keep locked up in my brain. Let me know if I missed anything.

word count: 5.3k

The faint thumping of the MRI can be heard through the glass of the imaging suite. Possible internal trauma in an ED patient being the prey in your current game of hide-n-seek. The patient had picked a rhythmic jazz as their solace through the easily intimidating sound of the imaging process. You had pressed play and turned it up so you could enjoy the calming nature of the tune along with them; pressing the imaging start button right after.

The screens in front of you light up with the patients internal system. When the scans start coming through you make sure to keep a close eye; looking for anything that may be causing the patients symptoms. After the first few you start to question the doctors orders, usually the issue is found pretty quickly especially on imaging of this caliper, that is until the next scan pops up and you see it immediately. With wide eyes you stop the machine and pick up the suite's phone, dialing surgery.

"Come on, come on, come on," you chant with fingers crossed that they will pick up the damn phone for god's sake.

"Gen Surgery," a voice on the either end states, a breath of relief escapes you.

"Yes, Radiology, I've got an ED patient in MRI that will be having a PE very soon without a thrombectomy," the urgency in your voice increasing with every word.

"Gotcha, we'll send a tech," the voice says before the line disconnects. Docking the corded phone, you pick up your hand held and make your way to the patient, releasing them from the calm jazz.

They go to sit up and you lay a hand on their shoulder. "Keep still for a moment, someone from the OR is on their way, they are going to take you down for surgery. There is a blood clot on it's way to your lung."

The patients eyes widen, "my lung?"

"Yes, they are going to go in and break it up so that it doesn't get there."

"But, I'm on blood thinners," you nod at their statement.

"That's why they have to go in to break it up, your blood thinner hasn't done it on its own," you inform them, trying to explain to the necessity of this procedure. They close their eyes and sigh and then nod, you return it.

You spin on your heel and dial the ED, once again hoping they answer. Five rings and nothing, you cut the call and get ready to try again when the doors bounce open, a young man in a scrub cap pushing a gurney speeds in.

"Have you contacted the Doctor on their case? Surgeon wants you to have them contact the OR with patient info asap," he says as he's helping the patient onto the gurney; you shake your head.

"I tried, no one's answering, I'll forward their file to Watkins then run to the ED to let them know," you work out while walking backwards toward the suite. The tech nods and leaves with the patient as you push through the suites door and walk over to your computer, quickly opening the patients file to see whose case it is.

Dr. Abbot.

"Awesome," you mutter under your breath then forward the file to gen surg and Dr. Watkins, and make your way to the ED. On your way, your try to contact them again to no avail, causing you to grumble under your breath.

The sound of your heels clicking on the tile echoes through the nearly barren hallway, you sigh at the sound, knowing you're about to regret choosing them over your flats this morning. When you reach the door to the ED you push it open and are promptly blinded by the over hanging lights.

When your sight comes back to you, you take in the environment, scanning it over for familiar faces; Abbot or someone who can get you to him. You find nothing, so you make your way to the hub hoping for Bridgett who knows everything about everyone as all times. With the hub in sight, you spot Bridgett giving orders to a couple other nurses from behind the desk at the hub.

Taking in a deep breath to steady yourself, as it's basically asking for death to show any weakness in the ED, not ready for the staff to jump you like a pride of lions. Shoulders rolled back and a faux pep in your step, you walk up to the hub. Bridgett's eyes widen before falling into evil slits when she spots you, her gaze sliding to your shoes.

Once you're close enough for her to hear you, you greet her. "Hello, Bridgett." She smiles at you, you'd almost think it was sweet if you didn't know what she was capable of. And just like you predicted, her smile turns in to a smirk and you roll your eyes so hard you think they might get stuck and you'll spend the rest of your life staring at the inside of your skull.

"Hey, Twinkle Toes, how are you this evening?" she asks you a joking lilt to her voice. You shake your head, annoyed every single time someone uses the nickname.

"You know, Bridgett, I have never once worn shoes that twinkle into this hospital," trying, as you always do to deter them from calling you a name attached to a single mistake. Even though, it warms every crevice of your soul to be included into this band of rebel cowboys and complete and utter nitwits with medical licenses. Before Bridgett has the chance for the comeback you've basically led her to, her eyes flick over your shoulder and the evil look on her face gets more intense.

"Does that mean you wear shoes that twinkle to other hospitals? Is that some odd pass time of yours?" your head falls and you shake it, giving the impression that you're very much over this conversation, even though you're only getting started with the play fighting that happens between you and the ED. You spin on your heels and fold your hands in front of you, putting a sickly sweet smile on your face when you come face to face with Dr. Abbot.

"Dr. Abbot, just the man I was looking for," you say as you take him in. Cargo pants in place of scrub pants and a scrub top over his normal t-shirt. He stands, all five feet and ten inches of him, impossibly straight with the posture of a soldier, a man constantly ready for whatever will be thrown at him. The bands of muscle in his arms are on full display with them folded across his chest, a guard, holding himself in place. His eyebrows meet his hairline and he tilts his head to the side, waiting for you to go on.

You clear your throat, "the patient you sent to imaging," you start and he nods at you, moving closer into your orbit. "I sent her to gen surg, there was a blood clot, and it was on its way to her lung." Somehow, his posture gets straighter.

"She's on blood thinners," he says like it's impossible, you throw your hands up and look away from his face.

"And if they didn't do the job, then something stronger was needed. Watkins wants you to call up, give him info, I already forwarded the file but you know how he is, he prefers it orally," you say with the hope of someone, anyone reacting to your very innocent but also very easily taken out of context quip. A snort sounds from behind you and Abbotts eyes dart over your shoulder before he drops his head and shoves his finger and thumb into his eyes. A satisfied smile graces your face.

"Do not give her the satisfaction for making a crude comment, Bridgett, please," he looks back up and you do your best to wipe the smile from your face, and mimic his excessively straight posture. He goes to say something to you but stops himself, changing tracks. "Stop stealing my patients, please." He starts to walk away and you follow.

"Dr. Abbot, I am not certified medically to take on your patients so I assure you what I did was not stealing–" he reels on you and your eyes widen. Your brain doesn't get the memo to your legs fast enough that he's stopped in front of you, so you bump into his chest. His arms shoot out to steady you, hands finding purchase on your shoulders. He looks at you through his brows, face stoic, but you notice the slightest twitch of his lip, like he's trying not to smile.

"Stealing my patients and now physical harassment? Am I gonna have to report you to HR, Doctor?" the upward inflection he uses in 'Doctor' settles you and annoys you at the same time. You take a step closer to him, in your heels you're eye to eye, and tilt your head to the right. Abbot flinches slightly, not expecting you to get in his space, you can't help the smile that crosses your features.

"If you wish to continue wasting my time by complaining about my sending your patient to surgery where a procedure that will ultimately save their life will be preformed, then you're going to have to buy me breakfast. At least then I'll be compensated for the emotional toll it'll take on me," you hold his gaze for a second longer before turning, heading back in the direction of your office, confident in your win for the evening. All tallied up, you were still at a grievous loss but that doesn't mean you didn't get to celebrate your few and far in between wins.

"B's then? After shift," you stop in your tracks. He has got to be fucking kidding. You spin and take him in, a triumphant smirk on his face, as though he didn't just yell across the entire ED that he's inviting you to breakfast after work, as if he'd just won. Again.

When you don't answer, he continues, "there are a few other grievances I'd like to discuss as well, make sure we get it all out in the air; team building." You stick your tongue to your canine, before pursing your lips. Nodding once, clipped, final, you take him up on his offer. His smile is dazzling in its capability of both pissing you off and knocking off a couple more bricks from your once thought to be well-built reserve.

This time when you turn, he lets you go. No hassle, or quick quips to unnerve you. No, you suppose, he'd want to save them for breakfast.

It's harder than you're willing to admit to get back to work after your albeit unremarkable yet still unnatural interaction with Dr. Abbot. What had caused a switch in the normal superficial banter that went on betwixt the two of you is beyond you. Perhaps a boiling point had been met, perhaps it had all been leading to this, perhaps it was wholly inevitable. Still, you can't help but ponder the switch in tone. Dr. Abbot had always been, in some shape, playful; though the relationship you had with the whole of the ED hadn't started with him, it had started with Robby.

Long before you had learned you were a night owl like the rest of them, you plagued Robby's days with the clacking sounds of your heels and bad news. Always bad news, as Robby liked to say. That's what he had always picked at you about, he'd said that whenever he saw you he knew something bad had happened. You couldn't blame him, you almost only ever delivered him bad news, that kind of relationship takes a toll on a guy.

Unapologetically, Robby had informed Dr. Abbot–whilst you were standing directly in front of them both, after you had found out about your switch to nights–that he needed to keep an eye on you. You were an omen, he had said, Abbot would know that something was coming if you were near. Robby had looked down at you with a slight smirk on his face causing you to shake your head, then he'd grabbed you around the shoulders and sang your praises in the same breath he used to accuse you of being a bad luck charm.

Abbot in all his unbelieving glory decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Never once had he accused you of being a harbinger. No, instead he decided he'd mock you for something else entirely; your fucking shoes. It had taken one time, that's all, a minor slip of the mind. You'd been on a date before coming into your shift for the evening, what had possessed you to wear the glittery heels on your date, you're not sure. It had ran over, because of course it did, so you had rolled into work looking like a million bucks in your opinion, and Abbot had taken it and ran.

Thus, Twinkle Toes was born.

The jokes never severe, but always around the corner. He had somehow wrangled the entirety of the night shift into the fun, a leader at heart apparently. You responded in kind, informing Abbot that he was so old he hobbled around the ED griping like a hermit when kids stepped on his lawn. While you didn't see him too often, the times you did spend together began to grow a bond between you that you had not yet grown brave enough to dig into.

Breakfast? Makes no sense at all. However, you were in too deep now to come out of this unscathed, if you had turned him down then, or even now, it would be admitting something that you definitely were not ready to admit. A topic too new to broach, too raw, too significant. Something fragile that, if you were to want to build upon it, could fall to pieces at the slightest slip. If you wanted to continue, to explore this, then you had to take careful steps, and not name it before it is anything at all.

The morning comes at a creeping pace, many scans and hours of staring at the walls in existential crisis later and your heels are finally clicking through the ED once again. Exiting this way is very out of character for you, so the eyes that find you and take in your presence for a few seconds before getting back to work are expected. So is the influx of day shift, your old coworkers clocking in and greeting you.

You're parked at the Hub talking to Dana when you catch Robby's eye. The naturally forming lines in his face are accentuated by the look of confusion he can't contain.

"Twinkle Toes? What are you doing down here?" he joins you and Dana at the Hub, leaning against it. A look of hurt crosses your features at the nickname.

"Not you too, I thought I was your omen," you add a spooky effect to 'omen' causing Dana to snort. A smirk grows on Robby's features.

"You're not my anything now. You're night shift, you belong to Abbot," your eyes widen at his remark. With still wide eyes you turn to Dana, trying to see if she's on your side in this debacle. The obvious answer is no, Dana is in fact not on your side, which she proves by telling Robby the nuclear launch codes.

"She's Abbot's alright. Heard he's taking her out for breakfast," Dana turns, now much more interested in her job that the gossip, traitor. When you turn to Robby, his face looks like that of an owl, but instead of the 'who' you're expecting to hear from him, it's a 'what'. Your hand finds your face, trying to hide the shame and embarrassment on you, and hiding from the in coming interrogation from him.

"It's nothing," you try to dismiss. Robby shakes his head.

"No, that's not nothing. How did it happen?"

You tell him about Abbot's patient. About how you had found a blood clot, and had sent them to surgery without informing him, because no one answered your calls. You tell him you came to the ED to inform him of what happened, and how Abbot wanted to continue complaining about it.

"I told him that if he wanted to keep complaining about me stealing his patient that he'd have to buy me breakfast," his eyebrows furrow, before meeting his hair line and taking a step back from you. Had you said something wrong?

"My ears are burning," it comes from behind you, and you now understand Robby's reaction and you scoff, turning to look over your shoulder at Abbot.

"I'm surprised your whole head hasn't caught fire," Robby mumbles and you whip your head back toward him, feeling betrayed. When Abbot makes it to your pair, he acknowledges Robby before turning his full attention on you. Him and that goddamn stare bore into your every nerve ending.

"You ready?" he asks, like it's not the end, like it's not the beginning. You don't mean to freeze, you mean to nod or to say yes; say something at least. Thoughts of everything crashing down around you take over, you go to some far away place in your mind, Abbot no longer in front of you. Eyes fixated on some spot over his shoulder, his eyes no longer your focal point. This could ruin everything, the relationship you have with night shift, your job in general. There are too many possibilities for this to crash and burn around for you to coast through it like it's nothing.

Because it's not nothing. It is a very big something.

A guiding warmth finds your shoulder, attempting to bring you back to the present. The warm hum of your name in Jack's low voice is what breaks through. Your eyes find his, worry etched across his features. A question in his eyes, one you know well after many shifts of being hit with it through the banter and picking in the ED. Always some form of, 'you good?' or 'is this to much?'. An ever present source of reprieve, and it works, it always works. Because you know without a doubt that the very second you say that anything he or the rest of the ED says to you bothers you, it would be eradicated from their vocabulary completely. Jack would make sure of that.

"I'm good," his gaze deepens, and your heart swells. "I am, you ready?"

With a nod and a quick goodbye to Robby, who looks at you like he's just found the missing piece to a puzzle he's been working on for years, the two of you exit the hospital. Jack's hand hovers over the small of your back, you can feel the heat coming off of him; some small part of you deep down wishes his fingers would graze your skin.

The walk to the parking lot is quiet. He leads you through the sea of cars to a grey truck. It isn't obnoxious in size but large enough that you have to use the step to get inside. Once he's sure that you're situated, he rounds the front and slides into the drivers seat. He glances over at you, catching your eye to make sure you're still with him before he starts the truck and shifts it into drive.

Much like the walk to the parking lot, the ride to B's is nearly silent. Silence would normally make you uncomfortable, but you know Jack's silence. The majority of your time spent with Jack has been laughs, but there are those occasions every now and again, where it's apparent that he doesn't have it in him. Those nights you still spend the time in his company, just without the expectation of entertainment, just because you can. At the end of those moments, Jack always nodded at you and looked at you like you were the only person in the world who knew what he needed.

Maybe he was right, maybe you did know, just like he knows what you need. And so you sit, calmer and more collected than you had been all night. You happily take the solace that he offers you. The moment of reprieve before the next phase, or whatever it is that happens after this; you know it will be something.

When you arrive at B's, he turns off the truck and you both sit, neither of you moving, like you both needed this for just a little longer; the break between chapters. The movement, as though choreographed and practiced by you both many times, is natural. You turn your head in time with his, meeting eyes at the same time. A smile lifts at the corner of his mouth and, so gently that if you had blinked you would have missed it, he nods. You smile and turn to open your door but, he stops you; a hand on your forearm. Turning back to look at him, you settle back into your seat. When he's convinced you'll stay seated he pops open his door and rounds to yours.

He opens your door and before you can grab to hold onto it on your way out, he lifts a hand, offering it to you. You look down to his hand then trail your eyes up his arm to his face and meet his eyes as you take it, allowing him to help you out. He shuts the door behind you and steps in front of you. You follow behind him and see him clench the hand that you'd briefly touched before he releases it. When he makes it to the diners door he pulls it open for you, ushering you in and telling you to pick a seat.

A booth in the back corner of the diner, you decide, is a good place for ending and beginning. You slide into one side and Jack follows, sliding into the other. A waitress comes and takes your orders and you're left there with Jack and your mutual silence once more.

"So," he starts, and it would have startled you had you not been looking at him, "I suppose it's time for my complaints?" You roll your eyes fondly, and gesture at him to continue. He leans forward resting his forearms on the table, folding his fingers together, making you wonder what holding his hand in yours longer than it takes to get out of his truck would feel like. Would your heart pump faster, or would it settle. Would his scarred and calloused hands be rough in yours, would you look over it in the event that they're a welcome weight, helping keep your composure.

"You stole my patient," it comes out low and slow, still with the air of a joke. Your eyes find his, leaving behind the thought of his hands in yours. His brows are raised, if it's in challenge, you're not sure. What you are sure of is that if a challenge is what he wants, then it's what he'll get. Your hands nearly meet his in the center of the table when you push yourself forward, mimicking his position. A wicked smile slowly pulls at the corners of your lips, and Jack's eyes widen.

"Jack," you say and a breath punches out of him, "we have gone over this already. If they didn't get to surgery as soon as possible then they would have had a Pulmonary Embolism and, last I checked, that is a very bad thing." He juts his chin out in annoyance. "Now, darling," your voice dips lower at the pet name, "you've brought me to breakfast to complain about my methods, when what you should really be doing is thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Jack scoffs.

"Yes, for saving your patient," you say it with finality, assuring him that it's the way it's going to be on this specific topic. He raises his arms off the table sticking them up in surrender and leans back into the booth, he crosses his arms across his chest.

"Okay, but there are others," he tries to get back on track.

"Hit me, then," you're pawing at him, like a cat playing with a bug. You know that whatever he's got to complain about, has no legs, it's nothing real that you, or him for that matter, would consider an actual issue inside work walls. Which is why he had actually asked you when you'd prompted breakfast, these were matters that needed to be discussed outside of work.

"You distract my doctors," he throws first.

"You mean the medically trained adults who make the choice to pick at me unprompted. If I remember correctly, your staff messes with me because you encouraged them to do so," he purses his lips, you'd hit a homerun off that pitch.

"You wear heels to work," he says in way that lets you know he knows it has no ground.

"I'm a radiologist who never has to move any faster than a brisk walk and even that's only once in a blue moon. Wearing what I want, when I want to is my God given right, Jack. Tell me you don't think that lowly of women, that you base their capabilities on their choices in fashion," Jack shoots forward, the cool featured man who had previously sat before you is long gone now.

"No, not at all!" the exclamation makes you break your composure and you laugh in his face, he deflates. You're dodging blows left and right, more than holding your own in this fight, you're winning it. With the easy confidence that has been restored in you, you lean back in the booth, mimicking his previous position, proving your winning, and that you're unbothered while you do it.

The waitress comes back with your food. You're happy about this, unable to remember the last time you had eaten. You're also sad, not wanting this back and forth to end, you have always done everything in your power to talk to him as long as possible, even if it was full of playful jabs. So you're eager to jump straight back in once the waitress walks away.

"Anything else, Dr. Abbot," you ask playfully, wrapping your lips around a fork full of food. This is the most exhilarating thing you've been a part of in a long time. Catching his blows and throwing them right back in his face has been fun.

There's a slight shift in the air around the two of you. It's oh-so subtle, you barely even notice it but it's there, and you find the proof in Jack's eyes, and just like that your food is forgotten. There's a different look to his eyes, the playful light that normally dances in them when the two of you talk has disappeared, something else taking it's place. A glint that looks a whole lot like something. Endings and beginnings, you've seen them look the exact same so many times that you're not sure which this switch is associated with.

"You distract me," he had ruminated on his decision of admittance, had flipped it front to back, examining it so thoroughly that he'd be able to see it with his eyes closed; a picture of bright colors painted across his mind. You had watched him process this directly in front of you, saw the proof of the amount of reach it took to grab ahold of and pull this piece of his heart out to present it to you, so that you too could see this with him. So you could experience it together.

And all that you can manage is a choked laugh.

"I distract you?" you ask incredulously, he isn't in the least bit shaken by this, he's stoic and standing strong in his willingness to offer this to you. This truth that could make or break everything you've built, whether you knew you were building it or not. A foundation is laid and has been for a while, just sitting in wait for the rest of the structure to form upon it.

"Yes," is all he offers you. Letting you lead, letting you decide if you want to continue digging or let this slide on by. You could so easily tell him to fuck off, that he's being stupid, and that if anyone in this situation is distracting someone it's him. Picking at you and letting you sit quietly with him while he processes what's going on within himself, letting you see the parts of him that aren't yet whole. Parts of him that want to try to be.

You meet him where he is, all stoic and sure. Deciding to sail along with him, giving him the ropes to lead.

"Okay," you're afraid to ruin this, you know you couldn't if you tried, "how?"

He smiles. He fucking smiles at you and it's like it's your first time ever seeing it. The breath is stolen from your lungs, you would gasp to get it back but you're too focused on him. Too entranced to let something as insignificant as breathing mess this up.

"You make it very difficult to worry about patients when you're around. No man in his right mind could have someone as brilliant as you are in front of him and choose to worry more about his job. I am not weak in any sense, or at least I wasn't before you came along," your trance persists, bordering the edge of awe, because you feel it. You feel the exact same, and you have to tell him, of course you have to tell him.

"I–"

"Uh-uh, my turn, you listen," and you're sat. Of course what you have to say can wait, this brilliant man in front of you holds your undivided attention, you'll get your chance. You lean forward, needing to be close, needing to absorb every syllable that leaves his mouth. He follows suit, needing you to hear every word.

"There are nights I come to work just because I know I might see you. The nights after patients that have robbed me of something I didn't even know I had anymore. And, somehow, it's like you know exactly when I need that something back. You know when I need hope, and you hand it to me freely," he pauses briefly to really take you in, to make sure you're still with him. You are, until the very end. "Robby was onto something when he said you were an omen, but he must have pissed someone off in a past life because you're all good to me. You're so goddamn good, and I love you for it."

Surprise fills you and spills out onto the table in front of you. If you were a goner before, there's absolutely nothing left of you now. He consumes you whole, and you can't think of a single time since knowing Jack Abbot that you haven't loved him. Nonetheless your brows raise, mouth slightly opening. Jack shakes his head, chuckles lowly.

"I'm obvious," your expression stays the same, "and you're oblivious, we're the perfect pair." You nod, because what else can you do? He told you it was his turn to talk. Jack runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes glued to yours, and he nods in return. "You can speak."

"I love you," you blurt, like you had been waiting to say it for your entire life, Jack's smile returns. "My god, I love you, I think I always have, looking back. In the moment it was harder to see but, now? It's so clear. I don't want to spend another second not knowing I love you."

His hand reaches across the table for yours, plates sliding to the side, your new compensation for listening to his grievances being the love you share for one another. Yours reaches out for his in the same fashion, removing anything that could possibly get in the way of this. When his hand meets yours, your questions are answered. The scars and callouses are there, the remnants of past lives, time without you present. However, the weight of it all, the feel of his hand in yours, slows your racing heart. You close your eyes to feel it, the calm, the knowing, the readiness to experience this with him at your side.

That something you were feeling was a beginning, and you had hope that that beginning would never end.

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