#dr. abbot

[brookebroski]

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.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Off-Duty - Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Summary: 1k words. Jack comes into the Pitt on his day off with no intention of working. One of his little guests has an affinity for raising his father’s blood pressure and adding to his gray hair. Part 2, Hung The Stars here!

Warnings: unnecessarily long sentences, so sweet it’ll rot your teeth fluff. Poking fun at the U.S. military industrial complex (specifically the Marines). Whitaker catching strays.

a/n: Allow me to contribute to the Girl Dad Abbot Agenda. I gave him fraternal twins here, but his new baby is also a girl. So. The Abbot household will be 3-2 girls-boys because feminism. Divider credit!

If looks could kill, Whitaker would be a dead man.

The med student was approaching the provider dictation desk, about to sit down in a padded rolling chair for the first time all shift when Doctor Abbot firmly gripped the back of the chair seconds before Whitaker could reach for it.

“Oh, uh, sir- I was just gonna sit down and do some charting,” the med student explained in a rush with his perpetual terrified ghost of a Victorian child look.

“You can stand.” Dr. Abbot deadpanned, snatching the chair and whisking it towards the peds ED room.

“Wha-” Whitaker stood, mouth slightly parted. The kid was intelligent and had come into his own throughout his emergency medicine rotation, but some things and some people still never ceased to shock him. He watched through the glass door as Dr. Abbot got far closer to a woman, whom he assumed was the peds patient’s mother, than was professionally necessary.

The woman came into full view, displaying the swell of her belly. The student raised his eyebrows. It was a bold move, even for Dr. Abbot. He estimated the woman to be at the end of her second trimester, if not well into her third.

A toddler bounced from behind the woman and quickly attached herself to Abbot’s leg (the flesh one, anyway). The attending smiled—perhaps for the first time in recorded human history, thought Whitaker—before picking up the child and propping her up on his hip, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

The mother turned to Abbot and smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips while he massaged her lower back with his free hands. His wedding band stuck out against the woman’s lighter shirt. Ah. The wife. A moan that definitely wasn’t appropriate for the workplace escaped the woman, seemingly unknowingly, leaving Abbot with a subtle smirk on his face.

Jack guided his wife into the comfortable chair he’d commandeered. Whitaker envied the relief on her face. The lumbar support cushion and ergonomic design could’ve made him cry. His body was aching for relief after hours on his feet, but he conceded that the woman needed it more than he did.

With a barely audible whimper, the med student went back to his original task. He’s startled when a foldable plastic chair, the ones that are typically kept in patient rooms for guests, unceremoniously clatters down next to him, brought over by none other than the stoic night shift attending.

“My wife said she’s sorry for stealing your seat. I’m not.” Dr. Abbot provided no further context before heading straight back to the room he came from. Some of the surrounding ED staff caught wind of the interaction and glanced up at the status board.

PEDS RM 1. 3 YRS 5 MOS MALE J. ABBOT. FOREIGN BODY INGESTION

Understanding hums sounded out before everyone went back to work.

It was rare to see Jack in anything other than black scrubs at the hospital. Today, he was in full Dad mode. The pink glitter nail polish on his fingers matched his daughter’s. His white New Balance sneakers and cargo shorts allowed a clear view of his prosthetic, which his son had decorated with dinosaur stickers. If you looked close enough, you could see a small apple sauce stain on his shirt.

You relaxed further into the chair and closed your eyes once Jack came back to witness your daughter Ellie toddling around the exam room. At 30 weeks pregnant, rest and comfort were becoming increasingly difficult to come by, especially when raising 3-year-old twins.

Dr. Collins caught Jack sitting at the end of the gurney with his son when she waltzed in, tailed by Matteo.

“What brings you all in today? It’s a pleasure to see the Abbot family. Some members more than others���” Heather teased, making a show out of whispering to Jack’s wife and tickling Ellie.

“Jacob here ate some crayons. Maybe some other stuff too. I want imaging of the GI tract to rule out any other foreign bodies or obstructions,” Jack rattled off, never taking his eyes off his son. The doctor’s leathered, weathered hand dwarfed his son’s small leg. Jack had a tough time letting go of his kids, especially when they were hurt or sick.

“Maybe he’s got a future career in the Marines,” Matteo joked.

“Watch it.” Jack warned with an even glare. The intense look on his face didn’t last long; his wife’s giggle brought a small smile to his face as he glanced toward her. 

You winced when the baby delivered a particularly strong jab to your ribs. Jack’s smile quickly turned to concern before you shook your head to reassure him and ran a hand over your bump. Collins and Matteo didn’t miss the silent communication between the couple.

It made sense for the two of you. You were so in sync—always had been. The Pitt staff rarely got to see Jack’s wife, which you supposed was a good thing. Jack tried to keep his personal and professional life separate, but he’d become known for loving you and your little family so much. He would take your calls in the middle of a shift, routinely add more photos of his family to his locker, and occasionally show up to work with glittery nail polish if he forgot to remove it before clocking in.

Doctor Collins high-fived little Jacob, who was the spitting image of his father, after he tolerated the physical exam.

“No guarding or tenderness. Bowel sounds are hypoactive but present. Has he been NPO otherwise?” The physician glanced between the parents.

“We had breakfast around 8,” you supplied, exhaling when you got another sharp kick straight to the bladder.

“Alright. I’ll put in the imaging orders. Radiology will come and grab you guys soon,” Dr. Collins waved goodbye to the toddlers. 

Matteo kept a stash of stickers in his scrub pocket for the kiddos that came into the Pitt. Jacob gladly accepted one and promptly stuck it on Jack’s prosthetic. Matteo blinked a couple of times, watching the exchange. 

Jack was unfazed. His children seldom went a day without leaving their mark on him. If painted nails and a decorated prosthetic leg made them happy and preserved their innocence, he was happy to be a canvas.

The racecar was a fun addition to the dinosaurs anyway.

a/n: Please let me know what you think! Reblogs & comments keep me motivated <3

Companion piece: Hung The Stars

master list | post notifications @thesewordsxupdates

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader   word count: 2k and i have so many other ideas, lmk if you want more parts! notes: this one goes out to the nonny in my inbox when i asked for ideas! i kinda blended both your ex!reader and babydaddy!jack ideas! hope you enjoy!

You ended things amicably — as amicably as two people can when love’s still there but the capacity to hold it isn’t. Jack didn’t have space for you, your kid, his job, and his trauma. Something had to give.

But you co-parent well enough. There are bumps, but the rhythm is there.

Usually, handoffs are easy. He comes over, eats dinner with you both like old times, then wrangles Beau back to his place. But today’s different — off-cycle. You’re headed to the airport for a work trip, and Jack’s just wrapping up a shift, so you agree to meet at the hospital.

It feels strange walking in. You haven’t been back since the two of you ended things. There are plenty of familiar faces… and a few new ones.

The second Beau sees Jack, he’s wriggling out of your hand.

“Beau—no running in the ER—” you start, but he’s already barreling toward his dad.

“Oof, kiddo, remember we said soft hugs?” Jack laughs, catching him easily, hoisting him up into his arms.

Dana and Robby round the corner just then.

“Hey, look who it is!” Dana says, but Beau clams up, burying his face in Jack’s neck.

“Sorry, you know kids. He’s shy this early,” you say, brushing a hand down Beau’s back. “Be nice to Dana and Uncle Robby, baby.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen either of you around,” Dana says, pulling you into a quick hug. “I only get my Baby Beau fix from Instagram stories now.”

“Oh, I figured Jack would still be throwing his infamous backyard parties,” you say, trying to keep it light.

“Nope, those petered out. What’s it been—three years?” Robby glances at his watch, then at Jack with a pointed look.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s referencing.

Samira passes by next, lighting up at the sight of Beau. “Hi, Beau! Didn’t know I’d get to see you today!”

“Hi, ‘mira,” Beau murmurs, a soft smile still pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Jack—could I get your opinion on something before you head out?”

Jack looks around. You jump in before he has to juggle.

“I’ve got a few minutes. I can set him up in the lounge?”

Jack nods, grateful. “That would be amazing. It’ll just be a minute.”

As you head down the hallway, you catch a whisper from a pair of interns behind you.

“Damn, didn’t know Abbot married a hottie.”

Dana’s voice cuts in, dry: “Not married. She’s smart enough to not sign a contract with a guy who’s half in love with his job.”

You finish laying out Beau’s coloring book when Jack slips into the lounge, pouring himself a coffee, rubbing at one eye. That tired, end-of-shift look still gets you.

“You know, you could’ve told me you were d-a-t-i-n-g,” you say.

“Huh?” he blinks. “Want a cup?”

“I’m running late,” you wave him off. “And I don’t mind — I just think maybe we should tell each other when new stuff like that comes up. For his sake.”

Jack straightens, confused. “I have no idea what you're talking about. And you didn’t give me a heads up about Carl or Craig or whatever his name was.”

“Chris. And yeah, I should’ve told you. I did tell you, eventually. I’m working on being better about communication, and I’d hope you’d want the same.”

He sighs, then pulls you just outside the lounge, out of earshot.

“Okay, I don’t want to make you even later, but if we’re going to talk, then talk. Don’t allude to stuff — just say it.”

You exhale. “I thought maybe you and Samira were… seeing each other. From the way she spoke to Beau. And the looks from Dana and Robby—”

Jack actually laughs. “She’s 29. I’m her attending. We grab coffee, I mentor her. Sometimes when I have Beau, yeah. If that bothers you, I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m trying to be a good doctor. A good mentor. A good… whatever to you. And it still feels like I’m messing it all up. So just—don’t assume. Talk to me.”

You flush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”

He twists a strand of your hair between his fingers, gently. “Y’know… would take a lot of stress off both of us if you moved back in. We could split the chores. Carpool. Coordinate pickups. Plus, I can think of a few stress relievers we used to be real good at…”

You swat his hand. “Okay, sure. Ha. Ha. I’m going to say bye to Beau. See you Saturday.”

On your way out, you pass Dana outside on her cigarette break.

“You know, a couple doctors I know say those things kill you.”

She exhales a laugh. “Not if this job kills me first. Life’s too short already to deprive yourself of the things — or people — you love.”

“Sure, Dana.”

“Any time, missy. And just so you know… he’s different. He’s been going through it, but he’s doing the work. Seeing that therapist. Doesn’t come in as much on his days off. There’s some… balance there now.”

“Sure, Dana. Bye, Dana.”

But the thought lingers.

Two days into your trip, you’re feeling a bit lonely. It always hits harder when Jack has him. You don’t usually FaceTime when they’re together — boundaries. But this feels like an exception.

you: how’s my boy? jack: i’m doing great. how’s my girl? you: 🙄 you: how’s Beaujack: see, you gotta be more direct. a man could get confused jack: he’s great. hit a double. got a popsicle. we’re watching transformers for the 80th time. classic boys night. you: bad time to try to facetime?

Incoming Call: Jack Abbot (ICE)

You swipe to answer, suddenly aware of the dark circles under your eyes, still in the hotel bed after a full day of networking.

“Mooooommyyyy!” Beau’s voice shrieks through the phone. “I did so good at baseball and then got a treat and Daddy made pasta and we’re gonna watch a movie!”

“That sounds amazing, baby! Are you having a good time?”

“The best! When do you come back?”

“Three sleeps.”

“And then we have Mommy and Daddy time?”

“Of course. You think about what you want to eat, okay? I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Okay. And then we all sleep here?”

You pause. “No, baby. Remember? I sleep at my house, Daddy sleeps at his. You sleep at either.”

He gets quiet. Your chest aches.

“Alright, time for jammies and teeth. Go get ready, kiddo.” you hear shouted from the other room.

“Okay, bye Mom!” he says, dropping the phone.

Jack’s face replaces the ceiling. “I like hearing your voice in the living room again. Makes the house feel full.”

“Jack. You gotta stop.”

“Just saying. Beau’s not the only one who likes the sound of you here. My offer’s still on the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Jack. Hey… would it be okay if I called again Friday? I know we don’t usually, but… I miss him.”

“You’re never a bother. I could strap the iPad to my chest, have you join us for the whole day.”

You laugh. “God, Jack. You really know how to make a girl’s night better.”

“Oh baby, don’t I always.”

“Bye, Jack.” you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when you hang up.

--

The weather turned halfway through your drive from the airport, and between the stop for food and the hike from the only available parking spot, it feels like you swam the last block.

Jack opens the door barefoot, in joggers and a hoodie, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking down to your drenched clothes. “Jesus.” He reaches instinctively for your bag, handing you the towel, hand brushing yours. “C’mon. Let’s get you warm.”

You step inside. Beau’s already wrapped around your legs before you can shrug off your coat. Jack disappears into the kitchen, already dishing out dinner.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just eat,” he says, setting a bowl in front of you. “You’re freezing.”

You sit. The food’s still warm, garlicky, comforting. You glance up at him. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

“Ordering takeout?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No… this.” You wave a hand vaguely at the house — the toys in the living room, the quiet rhythm of it all. “The parenting. The life stuff. You don’t seem rattled anymore.”

He gives a half-shrug. “Had to be better.”

You eat in companionable silence while Beau chatters from his spot at the table, recapping his week in half-sentences and excited tangents.

“Mom, can I watch a show while you finish?”

“Dad’s house, dad’s rules,” you say, looking to Jack.

“Sure thing, kiddo. But grab your gifts for Mom first — then one episode.”

Beau vanishes.

“Gifts?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jack shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just some stuff he made. He’s proud of it.”

The silence that follows stretches, not quite awkward, but thick with something unspoken.

Then Jack says, low and clear, “I miss you.”

You look up, startled. Heart catching in your chest.

“I know I don’t say it often. Or the right way. But I do. I miss you. Not just the idea of you being around — you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about how it felt, before things got hard. And… how lately, it’s been feeling like that again. When you’re here.”

You put your fork down, gently. “Jack…”

“I’m not asking to go back. Or to pretend the last few years didn’t happen. I’m just wondering if maybe we could try something new. Something more intentional.” He gestures faintly in the direction of Beau’s room. “We’ve already rebuilt the foundation, haven’t we?”

You study him. The steadiness in his eyes. The quiet way he’s offering — not demanding.

Finally, you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d get another version of you.”

“I didn’t think I had another version to give,” he says softly.

“So… what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying I want you back,” he murmurs. “In the way that counts. I want to build this life with you — not just pass each other in it.”

You reach up, cup his cheek. “That’s a really nice speech.”

“I practiced,” he grins.

“You’re still kind of an idiot.”

His smile widens. He brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “I said I’ve grown, not become a completely new person.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Okay. So how do we do this?”

“What?”

“I’m not just moving back in and jumping into bed with you, Jack. You still have a lot to prove.”

“Of course,” he says, straightening a bit. “I was thinking… maybe a family movie night tomorrow? Something easy.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I like the sound of that.”

“And if that goes well, maybe a grown-up movie night? I’ll wine and dine you. And we can make out in the back row like teenagers.”

You laugh, big and genuine. “I think I like the sound of that too.”

“God, I missed your laugh.”

The silence that settles then feels different. Full, not tense.

Then Jack says, almost too casually, “Oh — I’m switching to days.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“Robby and I talked. Figured I’d use this week off to reset my sleep schedule. I start the day shift officially tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Jack…”

“This isn’t about you. Well — a little. But it’s mostly about Beau. Nights just aren’t sustainable anymore, and I want a more stable schedule for him. It’s time.”

You reach up, fingers brushing the side of his hair. “Okay. But only if it’s right for you. I never wanted you to give up what you love.”

“I’m not giving up what I love,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I did that three years ago. I’m just rearranging things now — so I don’t lose it again.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just kiss him. Soft. Certain.

And when Beau comes racing back in with a construction-paper-wrapped something clutched in his hands, he skids to a stop and grins.

“Are you guys kissing?”

Jack smirks against your forehead. “Yeah, bud. I think we might be.”

[tedmustache]

Coffee Swap

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: It starts with coffee. Then it becomes something more.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Requests are open | AO3 Link | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started with coffee.

Black, no sugar. The kind most people couldn’t stomach. But she remembered. Every time their shifts overlapped, there it was, sitting quietly on his desk before rounds began. No note. No explanation. Just coffee.

At first, he thought it was a fluke. A mistake. But it kept happening. And after the third cup, he knew it was intentional.

She never said anything. Didn’t ask for thanks. Just left it there like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

He noticed her long before the coffee. The way she moved through chaos with quiet focus. The way she stayed calm when things got messy. The way her laugh—rare, but genuine—cut through the sterility of the ER like sunlight through blinds.

Jack had spent years perfecting the art of distance. He kept things professional. Efficient. Impersonal. It was easier that way. Safer. But something about her made that wall feel… thin.

So one Monday morning, after a hellish double, he got there early. Bought a second coffee. Sweet, with a splash of cream, the way she always ordered it.

He left it on the break room table and leaned against the counter, waiting.

She walked in, paused mid-step, staring at the cup like it might explode.

“You… got me coffee?” she asked, voice edged with disbelief.

He shrugged. “Figured it was my turn.”

She took a sip. Her eyes softened. “Thanks.”

He nodded, kept his expression flat, and walked out. But as he turned the corner, he felt something strange tug at his mouth. A smile, small and involuntary. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

[...]

It became a thing. No one talked about it, not even them.

Some days it was coffee. Other times, food left in the fridge with his name scribbled in her neat handwriting. Once, she handed him a smoothie with a deadpan, “Don’t fight me on this, you need something green.”

He didn’t fight her. He never did.

It was easier not to think too hard about what it all meant. About how he found himself noticing when she wasn’t around. Or how he started showing up five minutes early on her shifts, pretending it was for paperwork.

He liked routine. Control. But this? This was different. It didn’t feel like losing control. It felt like giving it up, willingly.

[...]

Then one day, Dana cornered him in the hallway, grinning like a kid with a secret.

“So,” she said, “you and her, huh?”

He frowned. “What about us?”

She just laughed and walked away.

It shouldn’t have rattled him. But it did.

Later that night, he waited by the exit, two coffees in hand. He told himself it was nothing. Just routine. Just habit.

But when she saw him, her smile did something to his chest. Made it tighten, then ease.

“Late shift?” she asked.

“Nope.” He held out her coffee. “Just wanted to make sure you got this.”

Their fingers touched when she took the cup. This time, neither moved away.

“You know,” she said softly, “people are starting to talk.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Saw the question she didn’t say out loud.

“About what?”

“About us.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot let himself smile. Fully, openly. No walls. No mask.

“Let them.”

Because he knew now: it was never just about the coffee.

[...]

a/n: I'm just in love with him

[glamorizethechaos]

Bruised Pt 4 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), hospital setting, surgery, medical inaccuracies, seizures, nudity, fluff, angst, eventual smut, Not beta read. Likely typos. Lmk if there is anything else!

Word Count: 2.1k

Prev | Next

Authors Note: this chapter is kinda booty. it's really just a filler chapter so i can really get this story going! smut, courtroom, and down bad protective jack is comingggg.

You tried to explain, to plead. He was just trying to protect you. Jack stood and placed his hands behind his back without hesitation, lips curling into a soft smile as he stared at you.

“Don’t get too upset, you gotta keep your blood pressure down and oxygen levels up. I’m gonna be fine, I promise.”

“No, Jack. Please!” You cried out as they began to lead him towards the door and Robby entered the room after hearing the commotion.

“Woah woah what’s going on?” Robby protested, blocking the exit with his hands up. “She was being attacked and he put a stop to it. Isn’t he protected under the law?”

“Not when excessive force is used.” The other officer spoke up. Ordering Robby to step aside. After arguing with the two officers, he relented. As Jack was lead out of the room in cuffs, a sob stuck in your throat.

“Robby,” you wailed, reaching out for him as the room begun to spin. He looked at the monitor and saw your sats dropping again. You felt strange. The lights were too bright, noises were too loud. You felt like your skin was crawling, like the room was spinning. You were hot and angry. Sweaty and tired.

“Okay slow your breathing down okay. Slow deep breaths.” He slipped the oxygen mask over your face again and instructed you to lay back. You fought the mask, trying to rip it off once more. You were tired of the confinement, the constriction.

“Get him, Robby,” you gasped as you ripped the mask off, “bring him back to me.” You pleaded before things went black.

————

As Robby pulled up to the police station, he felt a pit in his stomach. The sweaty handprints glistening on the steering wheel as he put the car in park and hopped out.

“How is she?” Jack asked as Robby bailed him out. Robby just walked ahead, ignoring his question. Jacks stomach lurched, grabbing Robby’s arm and pulling him back to face him. “I said how is she, Robby?”

“Get in the car, Jack.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I said get in the fucking car, Jack!” Robby screamed, before hopping into the car and slamming the door shut.

Jack paused before getting into the car and putting his seatbelt on quietly. He looked ahead with dead eyes, knowing something was wrong, and it was bad. He didn’t want to know, but needed to know.

“Robby…”

“Jack, when you left she had another seizure. It wasn’t good. She didn’t respond to the 4mg of Ativan or the Keppra. She went into status epilepticus. We had to intubate. She’s stable but not showing signs of any neurological recovery. I’m sorry Jack. It’s not looking good.”

In an instant Jacks life imploded once again. He’s experienced this feeling all too much in his 49 years on this earth. Through war. Through his amputation. Through losing his wife. And now he was losing you. He began to punch the dash of the car, trying to find a way to express the anger and hurt he was feeling. No amount of therapy could save him now. He wanted to go to the roof and jump, not wanting to risk living in a world without you.

“Get me back to the hospital, Robby.” Jack snapped through clenched teeth.

Without a word, Robby put the car in drive and began the journey back to the hospital. When they reached the ICU, Jack began to barrel down the hallway, his prosthetic clicking against the firm tile. When he passed your room, walking with such haste and fury, Robby’s heart stilled. Charlie’s room.

“Jack! Don’t!” He took off, sprinting down the hallway towards the man on a mission. Jack didn’t flinch, didn’t stall or look back; he had tunnel vision. Just before his hand reached the door knob he was knocked off his feet, Robby’s arms pulling him backwards.

“Let me go, Robby.” Jack shrugged him off with a shove, only for Robby to grab him again.

“Enough, Jack!” But Jack was in a trance, set on finishing what he started. When Robby tried grabbing him for a third time is when Jacks fist flew. With a swift duck, Robby was able to dodge the incoming punch and swing back. This time, the crack of his fist on Jacks face echoing through the empty hallway.

Stumbling backwards, the punch snapped him out of his daze. The pain radiated through his entire face as he felt the blood trickle down his cheek.

“I bailed your ass out of jail once,” Robby huffed, trying to catch his breath. “I’m not gonna fucking do it again.” With another shove away from the door, Jack sunk to his knees, pressing his back against the wall. For the first time, Jack had no words. A sob stuck in his throat.

“Listen man,” Robby slid down the wall beside him, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder. Robby would be lying if the firm grip wasn’t for leverage as much as it was for comfort. Getting old sucked. ; “As much as I don’t blame you, you gotta think with your head, not your heart. If you go back in that room, we both know exactly how it’ll end.”

Jack rested his elbows on his knees, looking between his legs with his head hung low. Robby wasn’t entire sure he was even listening, but continued anyway:

“You’re already in deep shit, brother. This entire situation is fucked up. I don’t blame you for feeling this way. But she needs you. She’s intubated but go talk to her. She’ll hear you.”

Robby helped him up, walking down the hallway to your room with his hand around the back of his neck, almost tethering him in place. He still didn’t trust Jack, no one did. Not even Jack trusted himself. When he walked into the hospital room and saw you with a tube down your throat, completely sedated- he broke down. Grabbing your limp arm he pressed kiss after kiss along on your hand, your wrist, up your arm, your shoulder, and jaw. He wanted so desperately to press a kiss on your lips, only thing stopping him was the endotracheal tube hanging from your mouth. He looked through the drawers looking for some Vaseline, brushing some across your chapped lips from the oxygen and dry hospital air.

“There hasn’t been any improvement from her EEG.” The nurse whispered.

Taking your hand in his, he felt his nose burning as he fought to hold back more tears.

“Hi…” Jack spoked, “I’m so sorry… if I didn’t… if I hadn’t had left you, maybe you’d be okay. Maybe I would have been here to help you… As a doctor I took an oath to do no harm, but… but when I looked into the trauma room and saw him with his hands on you, hurting you, I snapped. I didn’t care what happened to me, if I lose my license, if I got hurt, if I killed him, if I went to jail. Because I would have stopped at nothing to keep to safe, like I promised you I would. I’m sorry I broke that promise. That I wasn’t there. I know when promises are broken… when…” he began to stutter “well I don’t blame you if you don’t trust me. But come back to me baby, and give me another chance. Let me make it up to you. To keep you safe for the rest of my days, just come back to me.”

Jacks heart fluttered when he felt your hand tighten around his. He looked up immediately, looking for any sign of you. Your face was still but your hand held onto him tighter. Everyone told him that things weren’t looking good, the trauma you sustained was too great. But Jack knew you were still there, and he was going to wait for you.

Aside from occasional trip down to the ED when it got particularly busy during a trauma, he did exactly that. He sat by your bedside, running on pure fumes and adrenaline. Massaging your legs and turning you to keep circulation flowing and avoiding bed sores. Reading to you, the news, medical studies, or old magazines. Filling you in with the latest gossip downstairs.

“Rumor has it McKay and Matteo are seeing each other. Poor Victoria…” he chuckled.

People would often visit to keep Jack company. Dana would come bringing dinner so he could eat something than hospital food. Robby snuck in a beer or two (or six). Collin’s came to paint your nails. Mohan let (more so demanded) Jack go home and shower and then gave you a sponge bath.

It was two agonizing weeks until you started to show positive signs for extubation.

Waking up with intense pressure in your throat, wanting to gag but being physically unable. The extubation process was agony. It was a procedure you performed hundreds of times, each time wincing at the patient who would gag and sputter as tears rushed down their face.

Seeing Jack there as you woke up was a presence you didnt know you needed. Reaching for him as they prepared to remove the ET from your throat. As they removed the tube, you gagged violently as you fought to catch your breath. Your throat was sore and swollen, like it was closing in on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Jack stopped you,

"Hey, hey, dont speak. Dont say a word. You aren't going to have a voice for a while. Let your throat rest, okay? I'm here."

And he was. It took two days for you to speak for the first time but he was there. He was there to help you out of bed and take a few steps across the room. And when the realization of what happened finally began to sink in, he was there to talk when you were too afraid to sleep.

"What if I dont wake up?" you whispered through tears, voice still raspy.

"I'll be right here, I wont let that happen, okay? Shut your eyes, baby."

When panic would set in, Jack would lull you to sleep by whispering in your ear and tracing his fingers along your back. You walked a fine line of fearing death and welcoming it, almost longing for it.

"Just let me die, Jack." you're sobs echoing through the hospital room. The physical and mental pain was too much to endure.

"Shhh, you know I couldn't do that." He crawled into your squeaky hospital bed, laying down beside you, and pressed a kiss on the back of your exposed shoulder. Your body tensing and then relaxing under his soothing touch. It all felt so foreign to you. Having someone else's hands on your body in a way that wasn't to inflict pain. Jack ran his hands over the goosebumps that dotted you skin. You turned to face him, fitting perfectly snug in his arms. His grip tightened on you a bit, as if he was afraid to get you go.

"You're so beautiful." he whispered, your faces mere inches from one another. You shook your head. Your hair was shaven in patches, face swollen, the bruises still lingered and the scars began to take their place. No. No. You felt angry. Lied to. Like he was taking pity on you.

"No." you mewled. "Don't."

"Dont what?"

"That. Lie to me. Dont do that."

"Lie to you? I'm not lying to you."

"Look at me again, Jack. Look at me."

"I am."

"Then how could you say I'm beautiful?"

Jacks eyes softened. Cupping your face in his hands, he brushed the tears away from your cheeks with his thumbs. You both found your legs were automatically tangled together as he pulled you closer, flush against his body.

"Because I love you." he finally admitted, heart in his stomach. "I love you for all that you are."

You were breathing rapidly as his admission but felt like you were void of all oxygen.

"I love your scars" he whispered, leaning in and placing a kisses along your scarred cheek. "I love your eyes." he brushed his lips along the fading bruise that still covered your lids. "I love your strength" he buried his face into your remaining hair, caressing his lower lip along your surgical incision. "I love your resilience" he kissed the swelling on your neck, where it still felt as if Charlies fingerprints were pressing into your throat.

"I love you." he whispered again, before kissing your lips tenderly, running his thumb along your jaw. You melted into him slowly, your tongues dancing together in synchronicity. The pain temporarily subsiding, a moan escaping from your mouth. He bit your lower lip softly before pulling back to look at you once again.

"I want to go home, Jack." your body trembled, longing for his touch once again.

"Home?"

"I don’t care where home is. Home is where ever you are."

Tag list //

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

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

[heavenssins]

spot the difference

[langdonsbenzosaddiction]

jack abbot who doesn’t know about sweet treat rules and gets so confused when his partner gets sad when they go to get dessert and he doesn’t get anything

[loveyhoneydovey]

i don’t know why the idea of older boyfriend jack teaching you stuff is so hot to me. it doesn’t even need to be anything crazy, like imagine you’ve always wanted to learn to whistle but couldn’t figure out for the life of you. he’s gonna sit you on the couch and show you his technique until you get it. and maybe you also just love the way he calls you a “good girl” or says “good job” once you finally get it;)

[mistress-new-mistress]

Whatever you do, don’t think about Abbot paying the DoorDash guy an extra $10 to bring food up to the roof to surprise Mohan with a picnic.

[bad-wolf-circe]

fellas, fellas. let's not fight here. jack abbot has three remaining limbs, all of which are optimal for holding people in a romantic manner

[castieltrash1]

collateral damage → jack a.

summary → after a traumatic case, you and dr. abbot are temporarily benched for a psych evaluation. therapy isn’t going great — until you start leaning on each other instead. there’s something dangerous in how easily he lets you in. and something sacred in how you keep reaching back. with the night shift in full force, you have to decide where your loyalties lie.

[READ/PLAY HERE]

the lovely @glimmerfics commissioned me to write a choose your own adventure fic for their new website! so, of course, i chose my man dr. abbot <3 there are a variety of endings you can get and tons of different paths you can explore as a night-shift resident :) you can also fully customize your insert with your name/pronouns/etc. pls check it out and lmk what you think!

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you. 

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife. 

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant. 

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 1.8k notes: I saw this gif of Shawn from Chicago PD i think? and it made me think of Jack giving a lecture and then i kinda spiraled out idk!!!

You slip away mid-shift, all your patients stable, waiting on results or beds upstairs. You catch Dana’s eye as you peel off your gloves.

“Running upstairs for a sec—page me if anything changes.”

Dana arches a brow, glancing at her watch. “How convenient. A certain silver fox is about halfway through his presentation, if my sources are correct.”

You raise a brow. “I’m just going to support my colleagues. Totally normal.”

“Sure,” she says, deadpan. “Totally normal to reapply lip gloss before a lecture.”

You roll your eyes and make your escape.

You duck into the back of the auditorium, quiet as you can, but your entrance still catches Jack’s eye. He doesn’t miss a beat in his sentence, just tips the corner of his mouth up in a smile before continuing. You melt into a seat, pretending not to notice.

Jack and Samira were asked to give a presentation on their banana pants pigtail catheter procedure from the PittFest MCI, after it had been published by The Lancet.

The talk wraps. The crowd filters out. You linger.

Jack steps down from the podium, spotting you. “Didn’t realize they were letting the riff raff in these days.”

You raise a brow. “We’re a teaching hospital, are we not, Dr. Abbot?”

Before he can reply, Samira swoops in and wraps you in a quick hug. “You made it! You’re coming out tonight, right? Jack’ll give you the details.” She says over her shoulder as she follows someone out the door.

Jack watches her go, then looks back at you. “So… are we?”

You blink. “Are we what?”

“Being honored with your presence tonight.”

You turn toward the exit. “I’m considering it.”

“You do realize you’re walking the opposite way from the ED.”

“What, a girl can’t grab a coffee mid-shift?”

He follows you to the cafeteria, orders a black coffee, pays for both without asking.

“You always this generous?” you tease.

“Only with people who show up to my lectures uninvited.”

You shake your head and sip your drink, and he falls into step beside you. “Can I walk you back to the Pit?”

“You say that like it’s a romantic stroll and not a direct line to getting roped into seeing patients on your day off.”

He laughs. “You still didn’t answer me.”

“I’m walking,” you say innocently.

“Not that question.”

“Oh,” you say, glancing over. “Yeah. If the next few hours don’t implode, I’ll come.”

“Careful—don’t jinx it. And first round’s on me.”

You grin. “Shouldn’t we be buying for you, Dr. Published?”

He shrugs. “Not my first publication. Still not sure why everyone’s acting like I cured cancer.”

Robby suddenly appears beside you. “You done monopolizing my best resident, Dr. Abbot?”

You take that as your cue. “Back to it,” you say quickly, slipping away.

As you walk off, you hear Jack murmur, “Told you we need ten more like her.”

“You don’t need ten,” Robby replies dryly. “One’s already got you tied in knots.”

--

The bar’s dimly lit, a little too loud, crowded with scrubs and badge lanyards. Samira’s already holding court in a booth, waving wildly when she spots you walking in.

Jack’s at the bar, two beers in hand, scanning the crowd. His shoulders drop when he sees you.

“Told you I’d show,” you say, sliding up beside him.

“You cut it close,” he says, handing you one of the beers. “Was about to assume I got stood up.”

You raise a brow. “That why you were brooding into your IPA like a sad Hemingway character?”

He huffs a laugh. “Only a little.”

You clink glasses. “To your big debut.”

He groans. “It wasn’t a debut. I’ve done talks before.”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping. “But this one had fans in the audience.”

He glances down at his beer, then at you. “Just one.”

You feel that zing of heat at his words and have to look away for a second—too much eye contact and you might combust.

Across the room, Dana’s already watching like she’s got popcorn in hand. Robby leans over and says something to her, and she nods in the most obvious way possible.

Jack notices too. “Are they—?”

“Oh yeah. Full-on surveillance mode. Maybe we should go join the group, get them to stop gossiping behind our backs.”

“Knowing them, they’ll start gossiping to our faces,” he jokes as he follows you to the booth.

Conversation flows from how excited they are with being done with revisions and how they’re being invited to a couple conferences to give the same spiel to the craziness of the emergency department and their personal lives.

At one point, your knee bumps his under the table and he doesn’t move away.

After a beat, he murmurs, “You always this bold off shift?”

You tilt your head. “You always this soft-spoken after a beer?”

He chuckles. “Maybe.”

You smile, leaning in just enough to keep the banter between you and him. “I like it. The mysterious gruff thing works on the floor, but this? This is nice.”

He looks at you for a long moment—eyes soft, mouth curved like he’s fighting the instinct to say something he shouldn't.

Then: “You’re trouble” as his hand moves softly to your knee, hidden from the group by the table. 

You grin. 

Samira calls your name across the table, beckoning you over to take a photo. You stand reluctantly, then pause and turn back to Jack.

“You coming?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I’m good here. I’ll hold your seat.”

You lean in, just close enough to tease, your voice low. “Try not to miss me too much.”

He watches you  go, fingers still resting on the spot where her knee had been. He tells himself to get a grip, but his smile betrays him.

As you walk away, you hear Robby slide into the seat next to Jack and say, loud enough for you to catch it: “So… that seems like a new development?”

Jack mutters something you can’t hear—but you see the smile he doesn’t bother to hide.

The group’s thinned out. Laughter’s softened. Samira’s doing tequila shots with two interns and Dana’s deep in animated gossip with Robby at the end of the booth.

You and Jack are side by side, quiet again.

He’s got his hand back around your knee rubbing small thoughtless circles.

Jack nurses what’s probably his third beer, but it hasn’t touched him much. He’s too grounded. Steady.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

He glances at you, brow raised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve just been…” you search for the word, “thoughtful.”

He smiles faintly. “Guess I’m not used to being the center of attention.”

“You handled it fine. Better than fine.”

He looks at you for a long moment.

“This thing with you… it’s not just in my head, is it?”

You blink. Heart stutters. “No,” you say. “It’s not.”

He nods once, like he needed the confirmation, like he’d been carrying that uncertainty all night.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits.

You reach for his hand under the table, wrap your fingers around his. He doesn’t flinch. Just holds on.

“You’re doing okay so far,” you say quietly.

And for a moment, everything else—the noise, the bar, the chaos of the hospital world—fades.

--

You’re halfway through rounds when you catch sight of him at the nurses’ station—coffee in hand, hair still damp from the shower, reading through a chart.

He looks up. Sees you. Smiles. It’s different than before. Softer. Quieter. Like a secret just the two of you share.

Dana clocks it immediately.

“What the hell happened last night?” she hisses, falling into step beside you as you walk toward the trauma bay.

“Nothing,” you say too fast.

She gives you a look.

“Nothing… overt,” you amend.

Behind you, Jack appears. “Morning,” he says, voice low but warm.

“It’s 3:47 in the afternoon,” you reply, trying very hard to sound normal.

He shrugs “It’s morning for me” while he hands you a cup of coffee and keeps walking. Dana stares after him.

You sip. It’s exactly how you take it.

She turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, no. That is not normal behavior.”

You hid your smile behind the cup.

--

The ER is quiet. It's after 3 a.m.—that liminal, weightless hour when the world feels like it belongs only to the people still awake. The lights are dimmed. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps—steady, slow.

You’re at the counter, finishing notes on a patient you’re about to discharge, when Jack walks by, flipping through a chart. His scrubs are rumpled. He stifles a yawn.

“You’re still here?” he asks softly.

You glance up. “Working a double. I’m actually considering switching to nights—covering some shifts for Ellis to see how it feels.” You ramble a little, nerves showing.

He leans against the counter beside you, arms folded, close enough that your elbows nearly touch. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the quiet hum of fluorescent lights, the hush of a sleeping hospital.

“Hm. What can I do to help tip the scales?” he says at last. “You’re the best doctor I know. We’d be lucky to have you on nights.” He pauses, then adds with a grin, “Oh, fuck—does Robby know you’re leaving him?”

You chuckle. “Of course. He’s not thrilled, but he wants me to do what’s right for me. The cases are different overnight. I’ve always been a night owl. Still figuring it out.”

“I’m always here if you want a sounding board.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling—then shifting gears. “Have you eaten anything? Dana said she stashed some thank-you cookies earlier.”

“I’ll never say no to a 3 a.m. dessert. Lead the way.”

You end up side by side on the doctors’ lounge couch, coffee in hand, both of you still bone-tired but not ready to leave. There’s a comfort in the quiet.

After a while, he says, “You should go home.”

You glance at him. “I could say the same to you.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deflect. Just looks at you.

“Truth is,” he says quietly, “I’ve been finding reasons not to leave.”

You straighten a little, watching him.

“Not the hospital,” he adds. “Just… you. Every time we’re together, I almost go with you. And I keep trying not to. Because we work together. Because you… you get it.”

You don’t breathe for a second.

“Jack…”

He shakes his head, like he’s already regretting saying it—but then: “You make it hard. To keep the distance.”

Your heart kicks. Loud. Certain.

You turn toward him fully. “Then maybe stop trying.”

He doesn’t move—but something shifts in his expression. Softens. Opens.

You lean in.

He exhales. “This isn’t smart.”

“I’m not asking for smart.”

He leans in slowly, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle—almost reverent. A sigh of a kiss. Like something long-held and long-denied.

When you part, foreheads pressed together, the silence between you feels full.

There’s nothing to say.

Not yet.

[ovaryacted]

Need Dr. Robby & Dr. Abbot to pass me around like blunt and take turns tag teaming me real fucking bad…

[heavenssins]

mohabbot x normal people by sally rooney

[navybrat817]

I have three holes, lovelies. Just saying.