#it just... it means a lot to me. robby means a lot to me.

[olisgifs]

If you could just come back, you could really help bring everybody together. Please.

[yunho-s]

do you know how surreal it is to watch a show and have the very first on screen argument be about inadequate patient care and satisfaction due to nursing shortages that are consequently due to nurses not being paid a living wage. which is something that you are intimately familiar with bc its also happening at the hospital you work at. and to hear an upper admin threaten termination at the hint of getting the news involved. which is also something you're familiar with.

🫠

[pikopiikko]

the cooldown has me SCREAMING the way robbie talked about how much they needed a positive bonded moment like this

AND TALKING ABOUT DORIANS NEW SWORD AND HOW HIS BUILD HAS PERFECT SYNERGY WITH ORYM WITH THEIR ATTACK STYLE and the comments about how it's like their attacks are like they are dancing omfg omfg

i'm so happy that robbie is super excited about his new weapon and how it's actually perfect for him and he'll get to join the fights more and be able to keep up with orym on the front lines (and he can also easily keep him healed up conscious while on said frontlines too)

[torcjdrawz]

I like these guys too (Doodles!)

IM DRY ON STUILLY.. shoutout to that one artist that draws Charobbie and lowkey slays everytime..

[hvackisser]

I'm a little sleep deprived and it's late but never underestimate to make any media angsty 0_0

But there's so much mystery behind Sportacus, his upbringing, and the 9 previous heroes before him. We don't really know anything about it but it seems to be (at least among fans) passed down GENERATIONALLY through a family tree, and you gotta imagine it's something that's trained into them from a young age.

Idk I was just watching the show and thinking about how sweet and playful Sportacus is 🥺🥺💖💖 he's always going along with the kids' games and such, it kinda makes me wonder if he likes to join them because he didn't really have anyone to play with while he was growing up.

[opheliasam]

supernatural writers ranking (personal) (removing kripke bc he’s kind of like an omniscient force)

1. Sera Gamble (THEE og sam girl)

2. Ben Edlund

3. Cathryn Humphris

4. Jeremy Carver

5. Steve Yockey

6. Robert Berens

7. Davy Perez

Nancy Won (special mention)

Last — Robbie Thompson + Andrew Dabb

[beeapocalypse]

ROBBIE images

[jonstuartstewart]

everyone fawning over robby's melodrama in this episode and yelling at santos in the other moment... whew misogyny is REAL

[renkyol]

This might have already been said but:

As much I'm loving all of The Pitt fanfiction, I've noticed a lot of people don't seem to understand how the med school and residency system works and it's annoying me. The basic order goes med student->resident->fellow->attending.

If you are a med student, you do not yet have your licence to practice medicine and have not matched to your specialty. If you are working, then you are completing a rotation, which is usually 4-12 weeks, depending on the specialty. Other healthcare disciplines (physiotherapy, occupational therapy, respiratory therapy, etc) refer to these as work placements. You do not get paid for these placements; actually, you pay to complete these placements. Whittaker and Javadi are med students.

At the end of your fourth year, in the States, you would write the United States Medical Licensing Examination(USMLE). In Canada, you write the Medical Council of Canada Qualifying Examination (MCCQE). The USMLE is completed in three steps. Steps one and two are typically written when you are a med student; step three is written at the end of your first year of residency. Provided you pass steps one and two, you are now a resident. Residents are doctors. Residency is a three to seven year training period in a specialty, e.g., emergency medicine, psychiatry, pediatrics, etc. You are matched into your specialty. Matching is, to my understanding, just the most complicated job hiring system in the world. The most important bit to know from a writers perspective is that there is a really good chance that a resident does not have a say in their specialty. A person preparing for residency will go on interviews and rank their preferred specialties and workplaces (meaning the hospital they complete their residency at), and then the hospitals and the departments decide to accept them or not. If you do not get matched, you can go through a process called SOAP, which places you with positions that did not get filled. The only way to change your specialty is to re-start the residency process from scratch. Santos is a first year resident, meaning she would have only passed the steps one and two of the USMLE that spring. This means she is most likely matched into emergency medicine. Although I learned recently that some surgery residencies have their residents complete a year of emergency medicine before starting in the OR. My personal headcanon is that Santos was soaped into emergency medicine, and that is why she was like that in the beginning. Mel and McKay are second year residents, which means they have been working as doctors for at least a year and already have emergency medicine as their specialty. They most likely would have completed all three steps to the USMLE It is mentioned in the first episode that Mel did her first year at a VA hospital which is apparently a common thing to do in the states. Mohan is a third year resident. I think this makes Robbie's comments to Mohan about switching to psychiatry really mean cause he's basically telling her to consider re-starting her residency when she's more than halfway finished. Collins, Langdon, and Garcia are fourth year or senior residents. Emergency medicine has a four year residency, so this means that they are almost done with their residencies. Surgery can have a five year or longer residency, so Garcia might still be a resident in the next season. Due to Langdon having to take most of the year away from work, he will have to re-start his fourth year.

After your residency is completed, you have the option to complete a fellowship. Not all specialties require a fellowship. These are take anywhere from 1 to 3 years. Emergency medicine does not require the completion of a fellowship, although there are a lot of options available. These are basically highly specialized training on topics in your specialty. For example, John Hopkins offers a fellowship in combat medicine for those specializing in emergency medicine.

After all of that: congratulations, you are now a doctor in attending aka an attending doctor. This means no more exams, just a re-licencing test every 5 years. You can take on residents and med students of your own to supervise, or not. No one is going to make you. You can also easily move now as you do not have to stay with the hospital you matched to for your residency. Getting a job goes back to the much more normal and not as stressful process of a job instead of the hellscape that is the residency matching program. Robbie, Abbot, Shen, Parker, and Walsh are attendings.

(Edit: Parker is a senior resident. I think I saw Parker's energy and assumed she was already an attending)

[gourde]

They did jack shit this season where's Cosmos voiced by Weird Al why wasn't the titan in the ground focused on more??? Like I think she should've been introduced much sooner instead of. THE LAST EPISODE. Like I didn't need Robby getting a GF who only appears for one episode I don't CAAAARE WHERE'S THE WHIMSY

[eddiesfaerie]

who you let in

Summary: Jack has a soft spot. He didn't expect you to be the one to find it. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, porn with plot (the storyteller within me can't help it), unspecified age gap, hurt/comfort for both of them LOL, canon typical gore? medical stuff? idk, panic attacks, trauma, angst, power dynamics (reader's a med student), suicidal ideation, Jack being flustered, oral (m receiving because he needs it), big dick Jack, fingering, rushed sex despite how long this fic is i'm sorry, unprotected PIV sex, Jack's sort of a soft dom, semi-public sex, praise kink, competency kink, lots of fleshy bodily words in here to describe lust idk

AAAAA i just spent all day writing this yes i'm embarrassed <3 also haven't posted my writing in like actual years at this point.... anyways be nice to me

It’s unlike you, Jack thinks to himself, to look so out of it. 

GSW to the chest. A young girl in her early twenties maybe. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her blonde hair somehow already matted with it, so much so that she could pass as a natural brunette. It’s gone dark with oxygen and coagulation. 

Your team huddles around her, as do the other units around the dozens and dozens of gurneys being brought in one after the other, unrelenting and without promise to end soon. 

All protocols you’ve learned in the last year are out the window. Disregarded for the mass casualty event that was PittFest. None of the residents had ever seen anything like this, you’d never seen anything like this. This was the most action you’d ever witnessed and suddenly you felt like there was a balloon in your own chest, compressing air flow or blood flow or something to your head. 

All the blood, the smell of metal inescapable no matter which section of the ER you were suddenly rushed to. 

Your knees go weak, they shake, your hands shake. Everything’s wrong- 

“She’s going white Abbot pull her out.” 

You hear your attending huff from right behind you before his hand finds your bicep, curling around it and pulling you from where you leaned over the patient. You can hardly protest, your mind elsewhere and your feet blindly follow Dr Abbot who leads you to the family room. 

“Robby I need you to cover over on the GSW to the chest for a sec.” He calls over, his voice ringing in your ears, your mind trying to focus on one single thing but everything’s registering all at once. His hand on your arm, all the beeping, the cries of agony, tubes being intubated and balloons being puffed into chests. It all seems a lot further away when Abbot closes the door. 

You never thought you were particularly his favourite. You’re much younger and typically too upbeat. You clash naturally, he’s not drawn to you and you’re not drawn to him.

Dr Abbot is unafraid of correcting you in front of your peers. After a year now of him being your attending you’ve become familiar with his ways but that doesn’t mean you’re any more appreciative of the public humiliations.

There’s something about these older ex military men, the ones who joined too young and have been in the system ever since, climbing up and up the ranks, hardening at each level to a point where disassociation is expected. Hold it in, hold it together. There’s is no I in team. All for one and one for all. All that bullshit. 

Dr Abbot wasn’t really that guy to a T but hell was he uncrackable, unshakeable, hard as stone. No doubt it’s helped him here in the ER, you’ve never seen someone as laser focused and capable as Dr Abbot. It’s almost effortless for him, it seems. Like he doesn’t have to think twice about anything. His confidence is unmatched and you’d always admired that, no matter how much you thought he disliked you. So yeah it was kind of surprising when he was the one to pull you away for a time out. 

Jack never meant to become so attuned to you. He didn’t do it on purpose. He blames it on being your attending for a while now, he’s worked with you the closet over this past year and he knows how you work, how you operate. He didn’t mean to but it happened. He feels like he can read you like an open book, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, on your face. You’ve never been one to conceal how you were feeling, unlike him. So when you stopped talking, stopped making little remarks and little jokes, nearly frozen and clearly dissociating, he knew what was happening long before the resident called for you to be pulled out. He wanted to give you a moment to bounce back as you usually do. 

Dr Abbot closes the curtain to the family room, shutting the door. He turns around and finds you still awkwardly standing there, eyes far off, elsewhere. He had expected you to take a seat immediately, he doesn’t know what you’re still doing up considering how close you look to collapsing. 

“S-sorry I don’t know what’s happening, I-” You stammer, embarrassed yet not in control of whatever’s taking over your mind and body. 

“Hey, hey stay with me, kid. Don’t go to that place.”

Abbot puts his hand softly on the middle of your back, guiding you to the chair. You sit down reluctantly, unable to move your body in a coordinated way for some reason. He kneels in front of you, groaning as he goes down and his knees cracking. 

“Listen, don’t tell anyone but I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, okay?”

“Is that- is that what’s happening?” You ask dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut. You suddenly feel dizzy. Not enough oxygen to the brain.

“How does your chest feel? Can you breathe?” 

“I feel like I can’t.” 

“Then yeah, that’s what’s happening.” 

Your lip wobbles despite how much you’re still trying to hold it together, that much Abbot can tell. You’re fighting like hell against this panic attack which might only threaten to make things worse. He grabs your hand in his, squeezing lightly. You’re barely able to return it. 

“What are five things you can see?”

“W-What?” You sniffle.

“Tell me five things you can see, come on.” He squeezes your hand again, reassuringly. 

You try to take a deep breath but your diaphragm spasms and it comes in all shaky, causing you to hiccup like a child. 

“Y-you.”

Against all odds, Dr Abbot smiles. Incredibly small but you see it. 

“That’s right. What else?”

You try to take a deep breath again. “Uh, the paintings on the wall.”

Abbot nods. You continue. 

“The curtains. The chairs. The door.”

“Good. That’s good. What about four things you can touch?”

“Your hand.” You say most obviously, since he’s still holding your clammy hand in his. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so shaken up. 

Dr Abbot squeezes your hand again and this time you squeeze back, a silent thank you of sorts. 

“Um, my scrubs, my hair on my neck, the wind from the fan.” 

“Okay, now three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Dr Abbot chuckles, like he was expecting it. 

“Sure.” He nods.

“You’re breathing.” You take a deep breath now, as if it reminded you. Abbot breathes deeply with you. 

You try to motion lazily to the door, “The doctors outside, I can hear them talking.”

“That’s right, and they’re being pretty loud, aren't they?” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood. 

You nod your head, yeah. 

“What about two things you can smell?”

You go to open your mouth but Abbot cuts you off again. 

“And don’t say me, we’re about an hour into this shift and I know I’m not smelling too pretty right now.” 

You laugh, you actually giggle a bit, albeit a bit breathless, your body still trying to catch up to your more relaxed mind. Jack smiles. 

“I can smell metal and disinfectant.” 

“Okay and one thing you can taste.” 

Your cheeks burn a bit. You know it doesn’t mean anything but when you started each sentence with something relating to him… You can’t help but think. 

“My stale gum.” 

Jack chuckles a bit, shaking his head. What were you doing with mouth in your gum. It’s not allowed on shift but everything had started so suddenly you hadn’t had a moment to toss it and you got scared on choking on it if you swallowed it. 

Abbot clicks his tongue at you in disapproval, holding out his open hand near your mouth. You look at him confused, but he just gestures to his outreached hand. 

“Spit it out, let’s go get you a new one, hmm?” 

Your face burns again, but you do what he says for some reason. 

Because he asked. 

He closes his palm around your gum for a moment before easily tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

Dr Abbot stands back up, knees cracking again. He helps you up, holding your elbows in each of his hands. You’re still a little wobbly, weak in the knees from your body’s sudden breakdown. You haven’t yet regained all your strength. 

You try to steady yourself, your hands gripping his forearms, trying to concentrate on the strength of him holding you up. 

You suddenly feel oddly close to him. Not just physically seeing as how close you two are standing but in the air, it feels like something’s shifted, like something’s irreparably been changed between you two. He’s just seen you at your most vulnerable, talked you through your first panic attack and even admitted to having experienced them himself. How many people in the ER can say they know that much about Dr Jack Abbot. 

Maybe you’re just over analyzing what’s transpired. 

“How you feeling?” His voice sounds out and you realize you had your eyes squeezed shut, when you open them Jack’s peering down at you, trying to give you the softest look he can muster. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? You don’t have to be.” You shake your head no. 

“No, no I’m good. Promise.”

“I’ve got my best med student back?”

You can’t help but look at him quizzically, laughing a little. 

“I don’t think I’m your best med student but sure, I’m back.” 

“Come on, take the compliment.” He quips and it surprises you. You didn’t think he’d press your objections. 

“I actually thought you-” Hated me, you want to say.

“I know.”

Oh. 

“I know I’m hard on you. But I only do it because I know you can take it. I think it makes you better.”

Your lips go into a hard line, you nod. Right….

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to be told I’m doing good every now and then. I do think I’m tough, you’re right, but I don’t know… I like this side of you.” You admit before you can stop yourself. 

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. His cheeks go red in that boyish way and it blossoms all the way to the tips of his ears. Your heart leaps a bit. 

If you weren’t back to yourself before, you were now. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing even though you’ve both let go of each other. It was sobering. 

“Alright kid, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He winks. 

You burn. 

“Promise.”

/

Things did, in fact, change after that.

Dr Abbot pulls you for huddles, just you and him now for feedback, no longer doing it in front of the other med students, doctors or attendees.

You stand closer to him, he stands closer to you in general. 

He’s not afraid to grab your hand and stop you from doing something. Or start something. The amount of times he’s guided you through a procedure you’d never done before with his steady hadn’t engulfing yours, guiding a blade smoothly through a patients skin or a thin tube through an incredibly small incision. 

You wondered if anyone noticed. If anyone had become attune to the fact that you followed each other around like each other’s shadows. Never one without the other. You could see Princess and Perlah whispering to each other whenever you stood close to Dr Abbot, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that at least someone noticed how he’d picked you as his favourite and warmed up to you. It made you feel special, all girlish and giggly even though it absolutely shouldn’t. 

A new unusual sound had started to fill the ER. Jack Abbot’s laughter, even quiet giggles fuelled by none other than you. Not even Robby, once his rival now best friend in the ER, could get that sound out of him as often as you do. 

Jack gets you sandwiches, juice boxes from the cafeteria when you look particularly out of it or if the moment granted a quick escape for food. He’d find a chocolate bar or anything to perk you up on days where you weren’t doing so hot, or had a particularly anguishing patient. Death was inescapable in the ER, everyone knew that but not everyone handled it well, it didn’t matter how well versed or experienced you were in the medical industry. 

Not even Jack himself. 

The night shift was now coming to a close, meaning the clock was close to striking 7am. That awkward time before the day shift shows up and the night team goes home to sleep through the day, all to start again in 12 hours. 

It was weird working in the off hours, you felt like a vampire or a bat, you thought to yourself as you climbed the steps to the roof, trying to find Jack. You knew him well now, and you know where he goes to run away when he can’t handle the weight of the shift anymore. 

You open the door, it creaked open annoyingly loud, announcing you rather ungraciously. 

Jack drops his head low at the sound of the door opening. He knew it was you coming to find him. He leans back against the railing behind him. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, calling out to you without turning his head. The wind carries the sound of his voice to you. 

The sun is threatening to come up over the city line, light only beginning to spill upwards into the sky, painting the clouds all pretty shades of light blue, pink and orange. You struggle to take in the beauty due to the night that just transpired. 

The vet hit and run. It was a hard one on Jack. He’d known guys like that in the military. They seemed untouchable, surviving tour after tour. It was never easy to watch one go, especially the ones that made it home and get taken out in some seemingly avoidable way. 

Some church bell tolls in the distance. You approach him, unsure how to answer what you’re doing up here. Checking on you, wanting to make sure you’re okay, everyone’s worried but the reality was no one batted an eye at him escaping after spending the last two hours coding this guy into the system. This was how Jack operated. Disassociate, dissociate until he couldn’t anymore and his feet carried him up to the roof. Contemplating. 

So you don’t say anything, you just stand behind him. 

Jack’s skin looks golden up here. The light passing through his curls, catching the greys. Your heart tightens. 

“It’s always a rough way to end the night.” You offer, unsure of what else to say. 

“I must’ve had a reason at one time to keep coming back but… I can’t think of it right now.” Jack grips onto the railing, leaning forward and looking down below him. 

You instinctively reach out to him, your hand going for his bicep, it’s closest to you. Despite the cool early morning air, his skin was still hot to the touch, still coming down from what had just gone down in the ER room. 

“Jack…” You can’t help but sigh, silently pleading with him to stop. 

His head turns, dark eyes meeting yours. God he looks so sad, a man worn down. 

And you realize you’ve never called him by just his name. Just Jack. 

“D-Dr Abbot, I mean- sorry.” 

He doesn’t correct you. He doesn’t particularly care right now. And the way you said it makes his heart tight like your hand is on his arm. Palms clammy with being so high up and so close to a ledge. You never liked heights and you hate that he’s always flirted with them. 

He clicks his tongue, sighing before crouching down and reeling himself back over to your side of the railing. You sigh in relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. 

Jack is completely distraught. He looks wrecked, broken. 

Your hand still on his arm, he comes to face you, standing so close but you can’t find it in you to step away from him, not when he’s like this. 

Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, you try not to freeze up at the sudden extreme closeness.

“Are you okay?” You ask dumbly, voice gone quiet because of how close he is. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, plush flesh on soft cartilage. Jack shivers, turning his head slightly and his nose pushes into your neck. 

What else is there to say to such a quiet man, lost in his own solitude of reflection. 

“No.” He says simply, plainly. 

Your heart aches for him. 

Your hand is still on his arm, you flatten it and trail it up to his shoulder, squeezing him there. 

He presses himself closer to you. You hold your breath, your heart threatening to leap up out of your throat. You swear he must feel it beating through his own chest. You think you can feel his. 

He trails his nose along your neck, up your ear. You can feel that subtle white beard that carves the angles of his face so sharply, so perfectly, colour so soft and white it nearly blends into his skin seamlessly. They catch at your skin in that scratchy way and its almost too much. 

His hands, they move and suddenly they’re on your waist, sliding around the circumference of you until he’s enveloped you in his strong arms. You can feel how sturdy he is, how solid and strong from years of exertion and force and yet you feel like you could blow away at any moment. This cannot be real. You can smell his hair, the remnants of his cologne peaking through the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. You can smell him. 

He knows this shouldn’t really be happening. You both do. You’re both very much aware of that fact. Even though its just a hug its just a hug. Jack had been aware of it ever since that day in the family room when he first worried about you. Because that’s what friends do… they worry about each other, right? Friends….

Jack lets his nose travel higher, along your hairline behind your ear, relishing in the closeness of  another living, breathing human being. Warm flesh against flesh, closeness of muscles and organs. Hearts, beating. When was the last time this happened? When was the last time he let his walls down like this? You both wondered. 

“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely, voice quiet and matching yours. He tries to pull away from you but his body doesn’t get the memo, he stills clings to you. He’s afraid of what would happen if he were to let go now. Surely he’d crumble into nothing off this roof. 

He moves his head, nose against your cheek as your hands move to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your palms. You don’t want him away either. You need him close, suddenly very close. Despite your breathlessness at the closeness, you think you’d stop breathing if he were to pull away now. You wouldn’t bear it. 

You shake your head no, “Don’t be.” You reassure him, voice still quiet. 

Something posses you and you nudge your nose with his, Jack sighs loudly, arms tightening around you and you sigh too. Your mouth opens in an innocent way, trying to get more oxygen to your brain. But you can feel his breath on yours, feel it fanning against your lips and you lean closer, pushing your nose into his again and he has to use every iota of strength within him to not lunge into you. 

This shouldn’t be happening, he reiterates to himself. All the alarms are going off in his head. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, he shouldn’t have grabbed you, you shouldn’t be letting him. You could both get in serious trouble for this. 

But you fist at his shirt, hands trembling against his chest, feeling him, muscles under supple flesh. Your lips part, small breath fanning against his lips and he breaks. He’s just a man. 

Jack presses his open mouth to yours, and you let him again for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. It’s sloppy in a desperate way, passionate and sad. You could cry if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feel of being completely encompassed by him, his soft lips on yours. 

You open your mouth wider, your hands moving from his chest to wrap your arms completely around his neck, hauling his body into yours as if you couldn’t get any closer. You wanted to meld into him. Bone fusing to bone. You let your tongue poke out and suddenly he’s right there with you, his tongue going as far into your mouth as it possibly can, trying to get to every inch of you. Jack whines and you burn at the pathetic sound. A grown man, whimpering for you. Your knees threaten to buckle. 

His body flush with yours, you can’t help but feel how his body reacts to you. Hard and solid against your hip, your leg as your bodies writhe against the other, pleading to get closer. 

“Jack,” you whimper into his mouth, unsure, testing. 

Jack lets his lips travel to the corner of your mouth, kissing every inch of you that he possibly can, your teeth as you say his name, your cheek, earlobe, the spot underneath your ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hands moving back to their spot on your waist, trailing down to your hips where he grinds you against him, making that aching part of him known. 

You whimper again, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head like the sun threatens to come over that edge and catch you both where you ought not to be. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, face burning even though you’re both as debauched and pathetic sounding as the other.

Boldly, you let one hand travel down from his neck, down his body to softly touch in between his legs, feeling where he’s hard, aching between his legs. He groans again, this time absolutely pained, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” He admits, like you both don’t know that already. He’s practically begging you to give him a reason to stop this now, even though he knows he’s already too far gone to do anything at this point. You’re too warm, too welcoming and soft and willing. Salvation. 

“Especially not here.” You manage to laugh a little. Suddenly you pull away from Jack and he thinks that’s it, you’re calling it. His instincts propel him to check his watch to check the time. T.O.D. Time of death. He’s being dramatic. 

You pull him to the opening of the stairwell, creaking open that squeaky door once again and you lightly press him against the wall furthest away from the stairs.

It’s an enclosed space, a room up on the roof. You have to open another door to get to the stairs which lead all the way down to the ER, blocked by another set of doors. If someone were to go into the stairway, you’d hear them from a mile away. At least that’s what you hoped.

Jack let’s you move him, lets you press your body against his and kiss his tanned, freckled neck. Your hand finds its spot on his crotch, feeling him through his pants. God he hasn’t gone down an inch. He feels huge, painfully hard. You can’t believe you’re feeling him like this. You can’t believe The Jack Abbot is letting this happen, you can’t believe he wants it. With you. 

“Can I?” You ask, already lowering yourself to your knees. 

Jack just looks at you in complete and utter disbelief, mouth agape as he watches you get down on your knees, pressing your face to his clothed dick, kissing him through the fabric. Kill me now, he thinks. If anyone were to find you both like this… 

He feels like a dirty old man as you pull his cock from his pants, watching it spring up and slap his belly with wide eyes, like you need it, like you’re suddenly starving. 

His cock is huge. You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this. You try not to look frightened by it, by the prospect of shoving it into your mouth and hopefully, your cunt. 

He’s your attendee, you try not to think about that. Try not to think about how you’re his subordinate and he’s so much older than you, experienced, well versed. This is all completely wrong, incredibly fucked up but fuck if it doesn’t turn the both of you on just a little more in the worst way. 

His dick is hot in your hand, skin like silk and you salivate at the pure sight of it. You look up at him, his face flushed all the way up to his ears and down to what you can see of his chest poking out through the small v in his shirt. Skin on fire. 

You give him a sort of inquisitive look and he realizes he never answered you. You looking up at him with those big, needy eyes. He can only bring himself to nod his head, at a lost for words. 

You smile up at him, hand already gliding up and down his thick length. Jack hisses at the near foreign sensation, in this moment he can’t bring himself to remember the last time this happened, let alone a time when it wasn’t his own hand. Yours is much smaller, more delicate than his, you can barely wrap it around the entirety of him and suddenly he feels dizzy. 

You lean forward, kissing the tip of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they open and close into fists at his sides. God does he want to touch you, to have you let him take what he wants but he’s afraid. Afraid of over stepping, afraid of scaring you. 

Suddenly you’re opening your mouth and kissing at the head of him, licking at his slit, collecting whatever’s pooled there and humming to yourself at the taste. You’re worried you’ll become addicted to this.

More of him slides into your mouth, all the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Suddenly his hands are flying to the side of your head, holding you there. His eyes open and he looks down at you, eyes intense, mouth set into a hardline like he’s barely hanging by a thread. You make eye contact with him and he groans, loud. You’ve only ever seen him like this leaned over a patient, intense focus, blinders on to anything except the task at hand. But this time its you. Your pussy throbs. 

Jack let’s himself thrust into your mouth a couple of times, eyes squeezed shut again, head leaned back against the wall behind him in complete surrender to you and your mouth. He says your name so broken, like its the only thing he can remember, the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You wonder if he’ll let you fuck him. 

A few more thrusts and suddenly Jack is pulling you off of him, looking back down at you again and hauling you back up to your feet. You give him the saddest eyes and he swears his heart breaks. 

“I’m- I was gonna cum if you kept that up.” He sort of laughs to himself. Jack’s never felt more out of practice than he does now, pants down around his ankles, cock heavy and begging still in your hand, and a young, pretty girl looking at him with wet eyes, hungry for him. 

What did he do in a past life to deserve this? 

“That was kind of the idea.” You smile, bitting your lip and your hand continues to move up and down on his aching length. 

Back face to face now, Jack can’t believe he has you like this, lips plump and swollen with exertion and slick with spit. Your eyes are dark with greed, hunger for something else. He never though this would happen, not between the two of you. Not that he ever explicitly thought about it but there were moments of weakness. Moments where he let his mind wander as he held your hand in his, guiding you through a procedure, noticing your body and its proximity, its warmth, that girlish smell you carry around you. You’ve always been intoxicating, a temptation just begging to be indulged in. Had he mentioned how wrong he thought all of this was?

“Jack?” You ask, pulling him out of this thoughts. 

“Hmmm?” He basically slurs, distracted by the continuous movements of your hand on his cock, it was on the verge of turning painful. 

“I asked you if you’re gonna fuck me.” You ask, devilish grin plastered on your face like you’re the cat who got the fucking cream. Or is at least trying to.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, voice cracking from your particularly harsh grip on him. 

“Is that- Is that what you came up to the roof for?” He jokes but suddenly you think he’s being serious. 

You worry thats all you thought of him, of this. A quick fuck, a need for release, a need to forget what happened tonight. 

“No, Jack that’s not- I swear-” You struggle to find your words. 

Jack smiles at you, it alleviates some of your worries. His hand moves and finds the waist band of your pants, he shoves it down until he’s cupping your sex. You gasp, his hand hot, feeling your hotter core and whats embarrassingly seeped out of you ever since you pulled him from the railing. 

Jack clicks his tongue at you, like he always does. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to fuck you, alright. You’re soaking for it.” 

Oh fuck. 

You whimper, leaning easy into his touch, letting him feel you. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his fingers gliding easy through your glossy folds, playing around in the mess you made. Its embarrassing. So much so that you almost miss him calling you baby. 

Jack doesn’t fight the temptation long, no matter how much he wants to tease you about it. His two fingers find your hole and push in steadily, afraid to hurt you. You gasp, body falling into his, letting him hold you with his other arm. Your hand on his cock stutters but is determined to keep pleasuring him. 

You moan when he pushes his fingers all the way in, crooking them to press up against that spongey spot inside of you, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. 

“Fuck-” You choke, head heavy on his shoulder, your lips grazing his neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, switching it up between that and toying with that fucking spot inside of you. 

“Jack, I’m-”

“Oh I bet you are.” He chides and you burn. 

This could have been so humiliating if you chose it to be. How quickly you folded for him, how badly and desperately you needed him. As if he hadn’t folded just as quickly, if not faster, for you. 

Suddenly his fingers are ripped from your core and he’s ripping your pants down along with your underwear. You step out of them quickly, letting him manhandle you around to get you were you wants you. 

“Look at you listening to me so easily now.” Jack remarks, turning you around and pushing you up against the wall. 

“I always listen to you.” You admit, voice breathless and breaking and sounding completely debauched. 

You feel him step in to your space, you arch your back instinctively and Jack basically purrs all soft for you. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening your folds. You whimper, shiver. You try to push into him but his hand flies to your neck, holding you still where you are. 

He leans over your back, rucking your shirt up with the hand that was holding his dick. He hadn’t meant for this to happen like this, all dirty and rushed and in his fucking workplace. He thinks about the rest of you, hidden under your scrubs, how he’d kiss every inch. Maybe that was for another time. Hopefully. 

“I know you do.” He praises, kissing the back of your neck and pushing into cunt in the same breath. You both groan way too loudly, pure relief coming over the both of you. 

Jack breaches you slowly, he knows he’s big. He’s not even being any type of way about it, he just knows its a lot from past…. flings. But God do you take him like a champ. You push your hips back into his, needing him to fill you completely you’re fucking whimpering for it. 

But Jack’s still got his hold on you, pinning you down so he can work you onto his cock slowly, at his own pace. He’s in control here. 

You both moan again once he reaches the end of you, fully seated in your velvety pussy. His head falls onto your back, his arms wrapping around you to hold you to him, anything to get closer. You scramble to gain purchase on anything, the wall, his strong arms, anything. You feel dizzy, you feel full, you feel drunk. 

“Always so good for me. Such a good girl” He moans, hips pulling back to just thrust back in punishingly. It punches a moan out from your gut. 

You nod your head, unable to speak. I try to be good, I try to be.

Jack doesn’t wait, this has to be quick anyways, you both have been gone for far too long, he’s suddenly reminded that the day shift will be showing up in a matter of minutes and God knows Robby will be looking for him up here. His dick throbs at the thought of being caught balls deep inside of you, his little med student. 

He pulls you back by the ass to meet his hips, pumping himself in and out of your creamy pussy at a brutal pace, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. He says your name, you’ve never heard him say a name quite like that and it breaks you. 

“I-Is this good?” He asks, trying to be sexy but it comes out broken, desperate and pathetic.

You nod your head frantically again, trying to turn your head to look at him and Jack’s heart soars at the sight. Your pupils blown black, eyes big and watery from the feel of his cock filling you up to the absolute brim, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. He wants to lick the sweat from you. Next time, next time. 

Jack leans closer, kissing you on the open mouth and you moan debauchedly into him. As he moved closer to you to keep kissing you it pushed his cock that much further into you, his hips grinding into your ass and his cock into the absolute end of you. You can barely keep yourself standing, you’re thankful for Jack’s strength keeping you up, you could’ve had both feet off the ground and you’d have no idea. 

His cock pummels into you, moan after moan being punched from your chest, your gut, the deepest part of you. 

You whimper into his mouth at his sweet kisses in contrast with his harsh thrusts, it was enough to make your head spin, your pussy clench, threatening to burst. 

“Tell me it’s good, need you to say it for me.” 

“S-So good, Jack. You feel-”

“Yeah?” 

You cry, you think a lone tear falls from your eye and maybe Jack kisses it away or licks it but his cock doesn’t stop and suddenly you’re cumming, completely surrendering your body to his. You shudder and twitch and your pussy squeezes his dick so tight he nearly sees stars, it takes everything in him to not blow his load inside of you in that instant. 

That would be bad, that would be really bad, that would be messy and irresponsible and fuck he’s not wearing a condom how could you both have been so stupid and drunk off each other to not grab a condom. It’s not like you have them in your scrubs but theres a dispenser in the bathroom and - 

“Jack please,” You beg, voice so small and worn out. Your hand reaches out behind you, grabbing for him and suddenly he’s pulled back to the very real reality where he is fucking the shit out of you and he’s about to cum about it. 

“Please what?” He asks, needing to hear you say it. 

“Need you- need you to cum for me. Please Jack.” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want this to be over, he needs this to go on forever, needs you to suddenly be his salvation, he’s not quite sure how he’s gone on this long without you but he knows he can’t go forward without it. 

Jack’s body tenses, his cock somehow gets impossibly harder, you feel it thicken inside of you and you moan again, another orgasm threatening to rip through you. 

But suddenly he’s pulling himself out of your greedy hole, his voice breaking as he spills himself onto the concrete floor beneath the both of you. Your cunt pulses, desperate to have him fill you again. Before you can protest his fingers lunge up into your abused hole again and he grating at that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars. 

“Need another one, yeah?”

“Jack- fuck!” It complete takes over you. 

Somehow without having to even tell him, he felt the way your pussy spasmed and cried around him right before he pulled out, he knew you were close to cumming again. And ever the gentleman he is, he’s going to give you another one. 

He’s unrelenting, just like he was with his cock. His two fingers crook up against that spot again and suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

Jack’s arm wraps around the front of your shoulders, hauling your back straight against his chest, holding your trembling body to his. You can feel his slowly softening cock against your lower back, cum still dripping from it onto your ass. 

“Do it, please.” He begs of you this time, the muscles in both arms trembling from his own orgasm. 

Jack feels your pussy spasm again, feels the way your chest quickens its breathes, the way your feet nearly kick out from under you with the strength of it all and your cumming on his hand, your eyes going black and blind from the force of it. 

You slump back against him, letting him hold you once again. Jack wraps both his arms around you, swinging you around so that his back is pressed against the wall so he can lean on something. You both try to catch your breath, clinging to each other with leftover desperation. 

Greedily, he lets a hand swipe through your abused folds, collecting what you’ve given him. You whimper, leaning your head back to hide it in his neck, embarrassed. 

“Jack,” you whine in a pathetic attempt at protesting. 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Let me.” He tells you, plainly. 

His fingers linger, scooping up what he can and bringing it to his lips. He licks everything, groaning at the taste and letting his eyes close. You whine, pushing your face further into his neck, smelling him. He smells manly, like sweat, cologne and sex. You let it envelop you. 

Jack holds you like that for as long as he humanly can. Before the thoughts of getting caught inevitably come crashing down upon him again. 

“We have to move, kid. Can’t stay like this forever.” He tells you in a sad tone. You press a final kiss to his neck, breathing him in before pulling away. 

“I know.” 

You both pull yourselves back together. Jack puts his own pants back on as he watches you pull your underwear on slowly. Mindlessly, he reaches for your pants and holds them out for you. You put your hands on his shoulders while you step into them. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, voice gone quiet again, like you already have to be hush hush about this. 

Jack kisses the top of your head sweetly. You wonder what’s to come after this. You look up at him and he gives you that slick side smile you’ve only seen him throw Robby or Dana. 

“Didn’t know you could make noises like that.” He smiles and you push him back against the wall you were both just fucking up against, your face absolutely burning. This motherfucker likes making fun of you. 

“Jack I swear to God-”

He grabs you and kisses you again, holding your face to his. You let him kiss you, fighting the want to just melt back into him and stay here. 

Jack pulls away first. His anxiety getting the best of him. 

“Can I drive you home?” He asks, unsure of what else to say. He needs to get you out of the workplace and have a normal fucking conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around grief and dying kids and elderly on life support. 

And besides he knows you take the bus. 

“Yes please.” 

/

okayyy i literally had to cut it short because this shit was getting too long LOL, i had a full final act outlined but maybe that could be a shorter part two if anyone's interested..... lmk <3

[lauraneedstochill]

can’t pretend

pairing: Jack Abbot x resident!reader summary: He is puzzled with you first, then vexed, and he can’t understand his feelings. In an attempt to get to know you better (or maybe to get you out of his head), Abbot accidentally crosses the line. (or, alternatively: what if Jack met someone similar to him in many ways. traumatic past included) »»» part 2

warnings: <rivals> to friends to lovers, slow burn, mentions of blood and injuries / I’m hinting at the age gap but you can ignore it / some complicated feelings and a LOT of Jack’s thoughts (his poor therapist will need a raise); assault. ANGST. / words: 7K author’s note: this is my first fic for “The Pitt”. I binge-watched the show in 2 days and didn’t plan on writing anything but my inspiration decided otherwise. I’ve never had a beta reader in my life, please be kind. ♡

Early at dawn, the sky is just the right color — the darkness slowly dissipates, deep purple at the edges, black fading into blue. If he squints and looks above the roofs, he can pretend he’s looking at the ocean. He’s been toying with the idea for some time but it’s more of a dream, a comforting mirage: him getting a small house by the beach, waves crashing softly in the distance, clean blue water blending into the bright blue sky. He’d wake up to the sunrise, take lugs full of cooling salty air, walk in the sand that glistens under the foaming swash. He’d probably adopt a dog — someone to pass his days with, just so the silence doesn’t get too heavy, doesn’t weigh on him when he can’t sleep at night.

A passing car honks down the street, loud and sudden, and Jack flinches, opening his eyes. That’s when the perfect image always falls apart. He is afraid he will get lonely with just a dog and with nothing to do, he will be going up the walls, bored out of his mind. But he doesn’t know how not to be alone. And some days he wishes that he did.

The air in Pittsburgh doesn’t carry any scents at this morning hour, and Jack’s gaze wanders down to the tree leaves writhing in the wind. He absentmindedly rubs his wrists when he hears the door creaking behind him.

“You know, security is getting worried about you,” Robby chuckles, his steps slow. “I heard the guys making bets on how many times a week you’ll come here.”

“Says the man who likes to brood in my spot,” Jack huffs without looking at him.

“Me, brooding? No idea what you are talking about.”

Robby gets to the roof edge but stays behind the railing, leans on it and slowly stretches his arms. His tone lets empathy in when he speaks up:

“Tough night?”

The sky is overcast, a mush of white and grey clouds the blue barely peeks through, and Jack sighs as he turns away. “Remember you told me about the kid who OD’d on Xanax laced with fentanyl? The parents sat by his bed hoping he’d wake up by some miracle,” Robby only nods when Jack throws him a glance. “I’m dealing with one of those.”

They both lost patients before, and both know that it doesn’t get easier with time. You have to tuck your grief away to walk into the room with their loved ones, offer apologies that carry little meaning, take even more grief in because this isn’t about you and this loss is not for you to carry. But they do carry it — Robby memorizes lifeless faces, Jack never forgets the names of everyone he couldn’t save.

“Brain dead?”

“Yep,” Jack drawls, hands gripping the metal rails. “He’s got three sisters, and all three were begging me. And I stood there feeling absolutely useless.”

Robby watches as his friend’s knuckles turn white. “If you couldn’t do anything then there was nothing that could’ve been done. And I’m really sorry.”

If only words could bring people back from the dead, Jack thinks bitterly but doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t want to sour Robby’s mood. And he can’t help but notice — it used to bother him way more, it sometimes would eat him alive; now Jack is mostly numb.

“I’ll sleep it off,” he mumbles.

“Not staying for the welcoming party?”

It takes a few seconds for the reminder to pop up in Jack’s head: a new senior resident, today is her first day. After Collins took maternity leave, Robby spent hours on the phone, glasses pressed to the bridge of his nose as he flipped through the applications, always unsure, never satisfied. And then he got a call and drove across the city to another hospital to meet her in person — he came back beaming. Jack must’ve zoned out so he didn’t catch the details.

“Don’t think I have a very welcoming face.”

“Should’ve seen the guys she worked with. I thought her chief of surgery would literally fist-fight me after I offered her the job,” Robby cackles.

It stirs Jack’s curiosity a bit. “She’s that good?”

“I believe she is. Skilled, confident, haven’t heard a single bad thing about her,” and even though his voice is certain, Robby dithers, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.

“But... ? I sense a but coming.”

“No-no, she’s great, really, and I made up my mind. It’s just that… She comes off as quite stubborn, and I feel like she is used to flying solo,” his eyes dart to Jack. “Reminds me of someone I know,” a smile grazes his lips, an unvoiced comparison he can’t help but draw.

Jack doesn’t see it, his gaze set somewhere on the horizon. “We all have to be team players here, that’s how it works,” he says dismissively. “I’m sure she’ll learn.”

The streets are getting busy, filling with people talking, rushing, making endless calls — and with more honking and more sounds that all merge into one unpleasant noise. And Jack is getting really tired.

“I should go back. Don’t want anyone to scare her off,” Robby puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, a friendly but firm grip. “I’d also rather not waste my time on scraping your frail body off the pavement. Let me walk you out.”

“Frail body? You are three years older, you bag of bones,” Jack quips, and they share a laugh, and it warms up his heart a little.

But the warmth fades as they get inside, into the weave of corridors, into the crowd of nurses and other doctors pacing, the lighting bright and harsh, the smell of antiseptics clinging to the walls like mold. And it is not as overwhelming as it’s tiresome; once he is out on the street, Jack takes a few deep breaths. It’s hardly a relief.

As he passes by the park, exhaustion already on his heels, he suddenly picks up a sound, something between a whine and a small woof. Jack looks around to find the source peeping out from behind the bushes — brown eyes, wet nose, grey fluffy ears, one marked with a white spot. When Jack takes a step closer, the stray puppy immediately runs off.

On his way home he gets some dog treats and throws them in his bag. He tries thinking of pet names but nothing comes to mind. And when he falls into his cold bed, thick curtains not letting any light reach him, he dreams of standing on a long road framed with grass, a murmuring of waves heard through the mist. But he can’t see the ocean.

It keeps raining, and they have to close the roof — “Merely a precaution, sir, we don’t want anyone to slip. I heard the weather is supposed to clear up in a few days,” one of the guards assures Jack. His mood these days is just as gloomy as the sky. But he’s a man of habit, so every time Jack wants to get out to the roof, he instead gets more cases, drinks more coffee, barely a few words squeezed in between that aren’t work-related.

At first, he only catches glimpses of you.

On the days when your shifts overlap, he sees you tearing along the hallways, your hair up and your face focused, removing gowns to quickly put on fresh ones, your hands either in gloves or carrying the charts. You don’t speak much, and very few times Jack gets to walk past you, he is slightly puzzled by this combination of quiet and fast-paced.

Your first week is nearing its end when Dana prompts Jack to make a proper introduction. She calls him uncooperative and calls for you herself when she sees you leaving trauma#1. You swiftly come by the nurses' station and glance up at the board — and then you finally face Jack, your gaze so piercing, it catches him off guard. He clears his throat and manages a greeting, a bit coolly.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Abbot,” you tell him calmly, offering a hand. And you don’t look away, and your handshake is firmer than he would expect. The next thing you are holding is another chart, eyes following the lines of words and numbers as you step away, Whitaker barely keeping up.

“She is so fast, she’s almost flying. Beautiful,” Princess notes approvingly, and Perlah hums in agreement.

Their voices snap him back into reality, and Jack inhales sharply, only now realizing his gaze is still on you. He looks down, pretending he needs to fix his watch. “What is this, a fan club?”

“Aw, no need to be so jealous. You will always be our favorite old white doctor,” Princess teases.

Perlah gives her a side-eye. “I thought Dr. Robby was our favorite.”

“Well, yes. But I have a soft spot for men in existential crisis,” Princess winks at him.

Perlah rolls her eyes. “They are all in existential crisis.”

“And I wonder why,” Jack deadpans, then picks a case just so he’s got an excuse to leave. And maybe an excuse to pass by the room you’re in, your gloved hands already stained with crimson.

He starts watching you more often, an impulse he can’t necessarily explain.

He’s careful, he’s not staring, but his hazel eyes always pick you out from the crowd. He’s taking mental notes: you lean on doors with your right shoulder when you rush in, you scan the injured head to toe in every case, hands moving quickly in tandem with your gaze. You never raise your voice but you keep eye contact — with the interns when you give instructions and with the patients to make sure they understand what’s going on. You are efficient with your work-ups, you’re the first one to come in and you stay late to turn your patients over to the night shift. You are meticulous and disciplined in a way he finds relatable; in three weeks' time there’s a foundation laid for him to grow respectful. But sometimes Jack can’t stop the thought: he is yet to see your smile. He is also yet to see you slip up, and that is bound to happen because no doctor is without fault.

A month in, he thinks you finally come close to failure.

A patient is wheeled in on a gurney, gesticulating, red in the face from how displeased or pained he is (probably both); still, as you talk to him, he makes pauses to listen. There’s blood on his chest and his speech is slurring, and Jack’s gaze follows you. From where he’s standing, he can see you clearly, so he can’t help but glance up a few times from his computer screen. It’s all the same routine and it seems to be working smoothly — but when he takes another peek, he sees you frozen.

Jack instantly draws near, alert and observing through the glass: the man is intubated, his shirt cut and chest bared — and with a nail sticking right out of where his heart should be. The monitors go off as the blood pressure drops. When Whitaker makes eye contact with him, Jack takes that as an invitation to come in.

“What do we got here?”

Whitaker looks half worried, half relieved. “Um-m, 41 years old male, nail to the chest, intracardiac. Prepped for the thoracotomy. Cardio is tied up with another surgery, and it’s at least 15 more minutes until we can get an O.R.”

Jack knows the patient doesn’t have that long. His gaze flickers to you but you do not meet it, and he can’t tell what you are looking at. There is no time to guess — if you’ve never cracked into someone’s chest, he’ll gladly guide you. And his guidance is assertive, if a little cocky.

“It’s not every day that you get to do a thoracotomy. And it can be daunting — also, pretty risky if you ask me—”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking,” you retort abruptly without even sparing him a glance.

And then you pick the scalpel and make the first incision, your hands steady and never hesitating, the confidence of a tsunami sweeping rocks away.

Jack has to take a step back because it would be childish to argue when someone’s life is hanging by a thread. And all his doubts are crushed before his very eyes the way ribs are under the pressure of a steel retractor you are holding, the metal sinking into flesh and blood to give you access to the heart. After the nail is out — long but intact, you deal with excess fluid and with the bleeding — and you are more nimble than he is, than he’s ever seen the other doctors be.

“Well, call me impressed,” Jack says earnestly.

The silence is a little awkward — a couple of seconds before you give reply: “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

He wonders if maybe his compliment might’ve come as patronizing. What he knows for sure is that you do not need his help. But when he backs away, he sees a glint out of the corner of his eye — dog tags left in the pile of the man’s belongings on the floor. Jack has the same tags hanging on a chain around his neck. He almost doesn’t feel the weight of them but the memories they bring are heavy — sometimes an image flashing through his mind, sometimes a nightmare stirring him awake. And mostly it’s the latter.

But today, as his shift goes on, he isn’t thinking of torn limbs and collapsing buildings and bombings that looked like firecrackers in the night. Those weren’t the reasons he kept going back — he never once craved violence, never really cared about the money. For him, it was the roar of the adrenaline and the belief that even amidst the death and ruins, he could make a change. He hasn’t felt that for a while: the rush, the determination, the power held in your hands when you are cutting into someone’s body, fixing the organs and sewing the skin together, bringing the life back in. He lacks that spark, he misses it, he wants to get it back. To prove to himself that he still can do that — or maybe not only to himself.

So now he isn’t watching you but studying, with a diligence of a man who once had to learn how to walk again.

He starts work earlier just so he can get more patients — but also to listen in on your case reports and trail your steps, peek into trauma rooms you run in and out of. He often finds himself holding back the questions: damn, how did you do that? How come you easily catch things others take so long to figure out? You take on complicated cases: a feeble woman who can’t hold her food down, her arms marked with a red rash; a young jogger who keeps fainting, short of breath; a man whose neck hurts, the pain radiating to his chest. And you examine them and pick the clues to solve the tangle of the symptoms — it’s Celiac disease, it’s kidney failure, it’s spondylodiscitis and you know exactly how to treat it. But Jack knows all these answers too. And even if they don’t click in his mind as quickly as they do in yours, it’s still a victory: he’s not as rusty as he thought he was, he is enjoying this. He can’t believe he almost let himself forget.

When he decides to try a day shift for a change, he’s met with Dana’s worried face, her wondering out loud if he feels okay. She then proceeds to ask the same question two more times, just to make sure.

“You on day shifts may be the thing that saves Robby from a heart attack, you know,” her face softens.

“Are you saying you guys get way more action than us night owls?”

Dana grins. “What, you are already reconsidering your choices?”

“Like hell I am,” one corner of his mouth hints at a smirk.

The day is busy, and he can barely catch a break, but it isn’t a chore: he’s equally enthusiastic about a road accident that left a guy with a skull fracture, an appendectomy, a stoned teenage with a knife stuck in his thigh, a street worker with a leg broken in two places. An hour before his shift ends, they get a lacrosse team of middle schoolers, and the staff shares an exasperated sigh; but not Jack. He fixes broken noses and split eyebrows and some nasty shoulder dislocations, then goes to talk to their coach — a woman in her fifties, robust and perhaps too loud with her scolding. But her blaring voice cracks as soon as the kids are out of her sight. At some point, Jack finds himself holding her hand in reassurance, and she jokes that she’d gladly marry him if only she didn’t have a wife. She also promises that all the kids' parents will give the hospital the highest ranking. And they do.

Jack clocks out when the sky is colored orange, the shadows bleeding on the pavement, and his limbs hum but this weariness is pleasant. He is content, he’s almost joyous — the almost comes from you having a day off. He got to work with so many people, why would your presence make a difference? Jack persuades himself it’s not the reason he takes a few more mornings.

But when he comes back the next time, and you’re already there, there is this weird feeling in his ribcage — a spill of heat, a flutter of his heart. He blames it on the caffeine. You stand with your eyes glued to the chart while Princess lets out a big yawn.

“If another lacrosse team comes in today, I might actually quit,” she laments.

“Send them my way,” you say with ease, without missing a beat.

“That’s ten people,” she punctuates, incredulous. “We got lucky they were just kids. Grown-up men who slam into each other while voluntarily chasing a ball scare me.”

“I’m not easily scared,” you carefully tap on the screen, scrolling through some case report, someone’s illnesses broken into signs and terms; but you do pay attention to what she’s saying. You glance up at the nurse, your voice kind: “If you ever need help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

And then you look over your shoulder as if you can feel him watching — and it’s the same as the first time: your gaze startles him, like would a fire eruption or a ball lightning. But Jack’s greeting stays rooted in his mouth because Mateo sprints in:

“Hey, there’s something wrong with my patient’s veins, can someone take a look?”

And you are by his side and following him out of the hall in what feels like barely a second.

“I’m so grateful for you!” Princess calls after you. Then she spots Jack too, her face expression turning smug. “Oh, hello there, boss,” and she grins like she knows a secret Jack wasn’t let in on.

Turns out, Robby showed his gratitude by taking a sick leave, the first in three years (Jack would’ve sent him home himself if he heard Robby’s muffled coughing one more time). And it left Jack with way more shifts to cover. He readily gulps coffee from his to-go mug as he skims through the list of patients. The others join him soon: Mel smiles at everyone, the ever-optimistic one, Whitaker looks like hasn’t slept in months, and Santos teases him about something Jack doesn’t care to listen to. McKay is running late. Langton walks briskly to the nurses' station, taps on the tabletop right next to Jack.

“Ready to get back in the game?”

“I’ve been in the game for more years than you can count on your fingers,” Jack gives him a cold stare.

Frank sighs, his fingers drumming on the wooden surface, although he sounds barely concerned. “Love the positive attitude. Dr Robby surely won’t be missed.”

“As if you are such a pleasure to work with,” Dana cuts in, hands on her hips. “You guys should redirect that buzzing testosterone into your work. No one is getting paid for whining.”

“Preach,” Jack huffs as he steps away.

He stops himself from immediately going to check up on you. And twenty minutes later, he is glad that he did — you walk back, unruffled as you always are, Matteo tagging after you. His patient is an old lady with thrombocytopenia she probably ignored until it got too bad: there are bruises sprinkled on her arms and legs, a splotch of dried blood under her nose from how often it’s been bleeding. You gave her a platelet transfusion but you suspect it’s cancer; you order more blood tests and bring her a blanket before she even asks for it. Her eyes well up, voice shaking with heartfelt gratitude. And Jack has to remind himself that he can’t pick any favorites, he isn’t in it for the long run; but if he was to pick, it would’ve been an easy choice. And no one lags behind today — he’s got a well-coordinated team, like gears interlocking in a clock, the harmony built out of weeks of practice. They make jokes, share work stories and snacks; but every time Jack’s eyes get back to you, he can’t catch even a ghost of a smile.

He finds that you are very hard to read. And it unnerves him, maybe just a little.

He tries for his attempts to look brief and nonchalant — a kind word here and there, a quick approving look, a dry joke — and you offer nothing in return. As thorough as you are with diagnosing, you take no part in other conversations, you rarely take breaks or stand around. By the time the noon rolls in, Jack is fighting the urge to grab you by the shoulders: hey, take a seat and have something to eat. And tell me how can I cadge a laugh out of you, just one will be enough.

Dana waves a hand before his face, the phone up to her ear. “There’s been some gang fight at the North Side. Four victims coming in, two critical — one shot in the stomach, the other has his head smashed in. Don’t think they both will make it.”

Jack’s bet is on the first guy but it’s the head injury that’s fatal — the victim is pronounced dead, face so disfigured they’ll need a DNA test. Mel looks away in shock, and Santos frowns. Your stare is blank and unimpressed. You volunteer to take the third guy with a pelvic wound — he’s rambling incoherently, the tight bandage over his hip already soaked; you press your hand to it on the way to trauma. Jack leaves the worst case to himself.

“Who’s down for an ex-lap?”

“Can I run the bowel? I’ve never done it,” Santos asks, hopeful.

“Sure. Once we open the abdomen and remove the bullet, you can have your fun,” he offers, and she runs along with joy.

Although Jack can’t imagine a procedure less joyful. Yet, he is fueled by his new-found appreciation for his job so he walks her through the steps: identify the entry wound and cut in, look for the bleeding and what the bullet might’ve hit. It missed the liver by an inch; but to confirm the damage they need to evaluate the area by hand.

Perlah peeks into the room. “Is he stable?”

“Well, unless Dr. Santos gets too excited and makes a bow out of his intestines,” her hands stop, and Jack breathes out a chuckle. “I’m just joking, keep going. I’d say, his vitals do look promising.”

“Then you can keep him down here for a bit. We have a guy with a balloon in his aorta, he’s gotta go up first.”

Jack blinks at her once, twice, the meaning of her words settling in. “Did someone do a REBOA?”

“You bet she did. And it was awesome,” the nurse then scrunches her nose. “Apart from the amount of blood. And by the way, the fourth one only has a broken rib, so no miraculous procedures needed.”

He doesn’t find it funny and he can’t find the word for it: it’s something in between confusion and offence. As soon as Santos’s done with stitches, he strides out to find you.

His turmoil momentarily recedes when he sees one of the cubicle curtains stained, the deep red lurking through. Jack pulls at the material and barges in — and then he’s silenced at the sight. The area looks horrifying: bright streaks of blood left on the floor, the anesthesia trolley, the table with the instruments that you are now collecting, a few droplets smudged over your cheek. Before he’s even angry, there is another feeling — a thought, a pull: if only he could brush that splatter off your face, a few brief seconds for one briefest touch. Of course, he doesn’t.

Jack keeps his hands behind his back. “You didn’t think you should consult with anyone first before doing a damn REBOA?”

“Why would I?” your eyes are on the tools.

“Because it’s dangerous as hell and since I am the attending—”

“I do know protocol. But I also know how fast a human can bleed out. It was a truncal hemorrhage, and you were hands deep in someone’s abdomen. Was I supposed to wait?”

He wishes you were meaner, rougher, anything that would give him an excuse to snap. But you aren’t doing this to show off — your tone is measured and your reasoning is simple: a man was dying and you knew how to save him. Jack realizes it is the same logic he often uses. And he can’t tell what is it that bothers him so much. If Whitaker pulled off something like that, Jack would’ve chosen to commend him. The same goes for Santos, Javadi or King, for any other intern or resident that he can think of... Except, they would’ve asked for his opinion or his help. You didn’t even think to.

Well, Robby warned him you’d be stubborn.

“I want to be informed about any life-altering decisions. At least give me a heads-up so I am not blindsided when a nurse gushes over it in passing,” Jack insists, head tilted slightly so he can catch your gaze.

What he really wants is for you to look at him. You grant him that one wish.

“Will do,” you tell him simply.

But your eyes are still unreadable, a book written in a foreign language, a manuscript he doesn’t know how to decrypt.

And either out of incomprehension or rejection, his brain makes an assumption: maybe you believe that you are better, maybe you think the rules weren’t made for you. You never really gave him cause for rivalry — you are in your final year of residency, and Jack is put in charge. But you are so bluntly independent and reserved, his every try to understand you feels like leaping in the dark. Later that day he can’t help but glimpse into your file — there’s hardly anything of interest: you previously trained in a small clinic, in a nice neighborhood, your letters of recommendation all consist of praises.

What adds to his moroseness is that you fit really well with literally everybody else. Langdon tones down his sarcasm, listens to you like he only does to Robby. Santos discreetly brings you cases she needs advice on, McKay and Mel enjoy your company when you get a free minute. Whitaker seems to be your favorite although Jack isn’t sure why — he deems him soft and insecure; but Dennis does a better job under your guidance. On rare occasions when he’s got a day off, Javadi always takes his place.

Jack figures out everyone’s relationships by his fourth morning shift; he hasn’t gotten any closer to figuring you out. He’s fighting the grimace at how bitter his coffee is when Javadi pops out in the hall and you follow suit. He catches scraps of your conversation: something about a teen with a gashed forehead. Javadi rambles — until you ask her nonchalantly, unprompted. “You don’t like the sight of blood?”

“What? Oh no, it’s fine! I’m totally fine,” Victoria stumbles over the words, but her denial is too meek.

From how nervous she is, Jack guesses that she’s lying. He almost wants to laugh — before a thought comes to his mind: how come he never noticed her fear of blood?

“It’s just a little disturbing sometimes... But I only passed out, like, once or twice.”

“I used to be like that. Fainted many times during blood tests,” you tell her quietly while entering some data.

Jack is so caught in disbelief, he can’t help a glance in your direction. But your sincerity doesn’t seem feigned. Javadi gapes at you.

“And how did you... what did you do to overcome it?”

“I found myself in a situation where someone needed help and there was no one else around to help him,” you shrug. And Jack discerns the subtle reticence behind your tone.

It only spurs Javadi’s interest. “Was there a lot of blood? Like, a heavy bleeding, a deep wound?”

Your fingers freeze over the tablet screen, your facial profile not betraying your true feelings. But Jack swears he can see the tension crawling down your body. You don’t give the answer right away, you weigh the words carefully before you say them.

“A drug overdose, he still had a needle in his arm and I must’ve missed it. Took barely a minute of chest compressions for the needle to fly out across the room. It was a lot of blood to me.”

Javadi’s hopefulness grows dim. “Yeah, I don’t like needles too. I tried drawing blood a few times but the process kinda makes me nauseous, and I can’t force myself to —”

“It’s different when it’s someone you care about.”

Your comment slips out involuntarily — and immediately you look like you want to take it back. But you get it together and meet her eyes, your voice carrying just the right amount of firmness.

“Listen, I’m not suggesting you should torture your family members. But you may not always have attendings by your side or someone else to take your place in case you feel like fainting. If you fall, you can hurt your head, you can hurt a patient, you can disrupt a surgery when every minute counts. I think you have a good head on your shoulders, and I don’t want to downplay your efforts. But please, figure it out. Otherwise, you won’t make for a good surgeon.”

You reassure her you won’t tell anyone her secret. Javadi manages a small smile, a hushed “thank you”. It is a sweet moment, a heart-to-heart chat you bond over; it’s also three times more words than you’ve spoken to Jack in weeks.

But he accepts your silence — as a challenge.

Jack keeps an eye on you, now critical, resisting the gravitation that’s been attracting him to you. Although it’s hard to find the reasons to be hard on you. Whenever he has questions — or more so when he can come up with some, you give detailed replies, and he’s left with nothing to complain about. Your patient satisfaction score is high, you are never facile or reckless with your judgment; with how smart you are, you can give odds to many doctors, him included. And Jack knows he is older, with years of experience under his belt — but he can’t in good faith wish for anyone to go through the same things he did to gain the same knowledge.

On his second week of day shifts he is still clueless about what to make of you. And Jack tells himself that he is simply looking for a connection — except, all his attempts look like he is trying to pick a fight.

“This is a teaching hospital. You are supposed to teach them things,” he grumbles as he meets you outside the trauma room. You got a guy who came in spitting blood — post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage, and things went south pretty quickly. He started choking, crashed, his airways flooded with liquid; you had to intubate him blindly. Whitaker spent an hour by your side, his questions endless — to which you did give answers, barely ever breaking focus, but you only allowed him to use suction.

“He’ll learn plenty if he is attentive enough,” you say, throwing away the gown, trying to put some distance in between you.

Jack doesn’t like it, he keeps pace with you. “Whitaker needs more practice, as much as he can get. He’s not supposed to stand there like some deer who wandered into the yard.”

You whirl around, so fast that Jack comes to a stop when you are separated by merely an inch. And your gaze burns, like lava seeping through the mountain’s restrain.

“And I needed the patient not to die on the table,” you bite back, then breathe in — and then add more coolly. “Dennis will get his chance to shine.”

“And when exactly is that gonna happen?”

“That’s for me to decide,” you state, like you would do a fact that can’t be questioned. “Thank you for your input, Dr. Abbot, but I have to get back to work.”

You turn your back to him and leave him standing there, and Jack almost feels helpless. And that’s the feeling he can’t stand. It simmers in him, it must be the reason his cheeks suddenly feel hot.

Dana tsks as she comes near, her brows furrowed and face visibly concerned.

“You know how I’ve been calling Robby a sad boy? I’m gonna start calling you a pissy boy.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” he dismisses, a humorless escape attempt. But her fingers grab at his elbow, and he pauses with an annoyed exhale.

“I’ve been watching you hammering away at her for days,” Dana makes sure to lower her voice. “If she was a student, I’d maybe let it slide, but she is a resident, a senior one. And nothing I am seeing suggests she isn’t doing well.”

His eyes dart to her hand; then he glares stubbornly at her. She looks unfazed.

“Jack, you will take it too far one day — and you will regret it,” Dana tries to reason. “She is a good kid and she’s really good at her job. Just let her be.”

“Thank you for your input, Evans. I’d prefer to get back to work,” he frees his arm, and she allows it. But Jack can feel her worried gaze as he walks away.

He doesn’t come home until the twilight hugs the sky, until he feels like he’ll pass out on the next step. Jack wastes hours on attempts to wear himself out: he walks the entire park three times, peeping about in case the puppy comes again. It doesn’t. He stops by the bar he hasn’t been to in a few weeks, orders a beer and sips on it, his musings soon drowned out by the blasting music. The alcohol tastes weird, and the bass guitar gives him a pounding headache. He takes a walk instead of taking a bus home, two miles on foot in hopes he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

But the thought of you cuts into his mind as easily as a nail does into a human body, and it stays there, vexing and robbing him of whatever little peace he’s had.

He barely gets any sleep.

And his nights are dreamless.

It’s just another Friday, and these bring in a lot of drunks — from parties and family gatherings, from business meetings that ran late and tense until someone reached for whiskey. Jack stays behind for paperwork, a tedious pastime that keeps him pinned to an uncomfortable chair. He briefly takes eyes off the screen, stretching his neck — and then a noise catches his attention. It’s someone talking in a raised voice, someone who sounds too wasted to be reasoned with. Which sounds like a problem.

Jack finds the source with ease — the nurses all glance in the direction of the trauma room, and in support of their agitation Mateo all but flies out, his face hardened at the edges. Jack gets up and gets closer, his ears open and eyes watchful.

“Should we call security?” Dana asks warily.

Mateo brushes the suggestion off. “No, it’s fine,” — but it sounds like it’s not. “I just need a short break.”

“What’s wrong?” Jack interrupts.

And it isn’t a question but a demand for explanation Mateo can’t reject. He lets out a tired sigh.

“The guy got drunk and couldn’t hold his liquor, some passersby saw him sprawled out in an alley and called the ambulance. Came in with a nasty arm fracture. He’ll live though,” Mateo looks back at the room with obvious disdain. “Unfortunately.”

Jack promptly moves forward. “I will deal with it.”

“Hold on, Rambo,” Dana interjects. And she keeps her eyes on him while she talks to Mateo. “Did he get physical?”

“Nah, he’s too inebriated. Keeps trying to get up from the gurney but mostly he’s all talk.”

More can be heard from where they are standing — it’s some drunken yelling, a disarticulated chain of curse words. And then they hear something break, a dull sound of an object hitting a wall.

In a few seconds comes another one.

“I can’t just let him trash all of our equipment,” Jack gives Dana a pointed look.

She clucks her tongue at his persistence. “It’s not the equipment that I fear for.”

“Rest assured, Evans, I won’t give him another arm fracture.”

“I didn’t think you would, but now that you suggested it so easily—”

“Finally someone decided to take action instead of all this talking,” Perlah remarks, her gaze isn’t on either one of them. And Jack turns to follow it just in time to catch you running right into the room.

His heart falls. Why the hell are you even still here?

And it’s barely three heartbeats before a realization strikes: you can’t go there alone. He can’t let you.

Jack bolts to you without waiting for anyone’s permission. He comes in just in time to see you dodge the trolley the patient pushed at you — it slams into the wall and rolls over, the instruments scattering loudly across the floor. You don’t seem scared, but you are all tensed up, gaze fixed on the guy who’s screaming his lungs out.

“You won’t trick me! I won’t let you experiment on me!”

And you don’t look away once but you must’ve noticed Jack; your voice comes out low. “I think he’s having an episode. He needs benzodiazepines but I can’t get close to administer them.”

“And you should not,” Jack retorts, eyeing the guy with discontent. “You absolutely shouldn’t deal with him on your own. Not when he’s flapping around and yelling like a fucking psycho.”

“Silently watching him wreck the room didn’t seem like a good tactic either.”

In an instant Jack’s gaze is drawn to you, pulse racing as he is struggling to bite down his emotions: why would you put yourself in danger, why can’t you ever back down, why can’t he stay away? And unexpectedly you look at him, and your gaze isn’t a puzzle or a dare but an explanation: you can’t be mad at me for the thing you would’ve done yourself. I know you would have.

The room goes quiet but only for a moment — before another cry comes, and the patient lunges straight at you. Jack’s eye catches the movement, and at the very last second, he moves to stand in the guy’s way.

The drunkard crashes into him, hands swatting at the air, too uncoordinated to land a proper punch. And then all of a sudden he headbutts Jack. The pain is sharp, shooting toward his nose, but Jack manages to stay upright. He can’t see you stopping cold or the security approaching in a hurry and in worry.

Because Jack is only seeing red.

He breathes in through the mouth and grabs the man with both hands, rough and unflinching. Jack pushes him back to the gurney, then throws him on it, face flat against the pillow; his angry cries tone down to weak whimpers.

“Shut the fuck up. Stop moving,” Jack hisses into his ear.

He can taste the blood that oozed down to his lips and he can hear the sound of footsteps in the room. But he doesn’t let go.

Jack feels a hand on his shoulder — he turns to see one of the guards, Ahmad. “Man, let us handle this. C’mon, step away.”

Begrudgingly, Jack does. Ahmad quickly takes his place, he and two other guards strapping the patient down; Mateo wriggles in the middle to sedate the guy. He dozes off, a dark purple bruise already blooming on his forehead, drool at the corner of his mouth.

You are still standing at the exact same spot, but then your eyes land on Jack’s blooded nose, and you immediately fall out of the stupor. You rummage through the nearest drawer and get a few clean cloths, then call for Dana to bring an ice pack. The guards leave but Mateo hangs back; he pulls up a chair for Jack to sit on.

“Are you okay? Any headache or dizziness or—”

“I’m fine, no need to coddle me,” Jack waves off his concerns crankily. Mateo looks at you for some support.

“He needs a head CT,” you say, gaze glued to Jack. “Ask the radiology if they can squeeze him in.”

Mateo nods and takes off with no other questions asked. The silence is now laced with tension, and while Jack’s pain gradually subsides, his anger doesn’t. He’s not the one for chit-chats, and it’s not a 'thank you' that he wants — but an admission: he was right, and you were careless, and maybe this is the one time you can agree with him.

You lean over wordlessly and wipe the dried-up blood, pushing his head back to examine his nose. Your touch is light, fleeting, but his skin heats up under your hands. You take a penlight to check for septal hematoma; then your thumbs move from his cheekbones to his nostrils. Jack doesn’t wince or look away, eyes dark and boring into you, unblinking. You put a finger to his nose and move it slowly from side to side, watching closely as his gaze follows it.

And then you pull away, and something cracks in him, a line formed on the ocean floor after it’s shaken by an earthquake, a force that pushes waves to crash onto the shore. And all his feelings surge up, unstoppable like a tsunami.

You look for more cloths, and only with your back to him, you finally decide to speak:

“Doesn’t look like a fracture but—”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Jack bursts out, the stridency of his voice barely contained.

Your hands flinch at the sound. Jack misses it or maybe chooses to ignore it, too adamant in his displeasure, too wrapped up in it.

“Do you realize how dangerous it was for you to go here alone? What could’ve happened to you if security came late? Or do you just assume it’s not a big deal if you get hurt? Can you for at least a second consider the consequences of your relentlessness, can you imagine how dire they might be? And what it’s like for someone else to throw themselves between danger and you?”

But then you turn to him, and his tirade breaks off, the anger ebbing instantly as he sees your face expression.

It would be easy to assume he must’ve hit a nerve. Except, it looks way worse than that.

Your gaze is swept with pain, eyes wide and bright with tears you are holding back. An inhale quivers at your lips, chest heaving like you are scarcely managing to curb your feelings. Like there’s been a wall you’ve built meticulously over the years, and he didn’t just put a crack in it — no, he tore it down completely, drove through it with a bulldozer, only a mess of rubble left behind. And he knows that’s not something an apology will fix.

Jack feels the guilt already swirling in his chest as he sits straighter, eyes not leaving yours.

“Listen, I didn’t—”

“I heard you loud and clear, Dr. Abbot,” your voice is lacerating, a blade you’ve armed yourself with, steel that cuts him deep. “If my company displeases you so much, I will make sure to limit our interactions. Apologies for any inconvenience.”

You turn away, and when he sees you wipe your cheeks with one quick motion, Jack knows he is the only one to blame. But you don’t let him see your tears nor do you wait for him to talk again. You rush out of the doors, and the words he catches aren’t meant for him:

“Dana, please help Dr. Abbot with the ice pack.”

He hears her coming in and he’s almost ashamed to look — Dana meets his gaze with arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head in disapproval. She doesn’t say a thing and puts ice on his nose with a face that looks like she would rather punch him. Jack doesn’t even try to come up with excuses — he knows that he has none.

He fails to find you after the shift ends: you must’ve sneaked out to avoid him, and he can’t say that he’s surprised. Jack walks home in the rain, not bothering to open the umbrella, the street lights drowning in the puddles underfoot, the wind biting his wet face. He can barely feel it. And in the privacy of his apartment — a cold, half-empty space, walls void of any color — a thought that has been lurking in his mind finally takes shape:

Jack loathes being alone.

And he messed up so badly.

»»» part 2

🎵 the title is a quote from Tom Odell’s “Can’t pretend” (the song is just so Jack-coded to me! highly recommend you give it a listen. the small part from 1:29 to 1:49 gives me heart palpitations and is very fitting for this chapter lol).

by “rivals” I meant it’s all in Jack’s head, he’s silly like that 😩 you’ll learn about the reader’s past in the next chapter!

I didn’t specify how big the age gap is exactly. google search told me you get into residency when you are in your 30s, and Abbot is def over 40. but some like to imagine the reader younger, so I didn’t want to ruin that for you.

there are definitely some medical inaccuracies (pretty sure ex-lap isn’t performed in the ER) but I am begging you to ignore that.

dividers by me & plum98.

» I plan on writing 3 parts in total (a prayer circle for my inspiration to stay with me, PLEASE). of course, there will be smut... they just have to learn how to talk to each other first. » read on AO3 » English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very appreciated! tell me if you want to be tagged ♡

[bitters-n-sweets]

run an ex — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader You and Robby run into your ex-fiance, who apparently is sorry for what he did.

warnings: implied age gap, we hate your ex-fiance bcs he cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids, robby being a supportive king bcs he knows you can handle yourself, fluff (this can be considered a continuation of take a break, but can be read on its own) masterlist

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Robby had come home on time after his shift, even left slightly early so he could prepare for his date with you. You’ve been wanting to try the new place down the street that looked like a piece of Little Italy tucked into the neighborhood, like romance itself, glowing in the corner with golden lights and ivy-draped windows. Somehow, Robby had managed to snag a reservation.

He’d worn his navy polo and beige pants that you said made him look incredibly sexy, and picked up flowers on the way to your place.

You, on the other hand, had gotten ready, wore a nice silk dress, the perfume Robby loved so much, and smiled when he handed you the flowers. You put them into a vase before the two of you left, walking hand in hand into the evening.

Now, you’re sitting in a corner booth, still hand in hand, sipping wine while you wait for your food. The low hum of soft Italian music and the clink of glass around you in the background.

“How was work?” Robby asks, his thumb brushing lightly over yours.

You shrug with a small smile. “It was okay—oh! Speaking of work, my manager’s getting married next week. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “Your manager, Hannah, right?”

“Yeah!” You light up. “You remember her?”

He chuckles. “How could I forget your work-wife?”

You laugh, nudging his foot under the table. “She’s basically my own Dr. Abbot.”

Robby raises a brow. “Are you saying Jack is my work-husband?”

“Is he not?”

Robby lets out a dramatic sigh. “He is. We’ve been married for six years. I’m so sorry you had to find out like this.”

You laugh again, and Robby just watches you, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

Dinner ends slower than it began, each course giving way to warm conversation and stolen glances. Robby pays for the bill even before you could reach your wallet, and you smile appreciatively while he winks at you.

You loop your arm around his as you walk out of the restaurant, and stop mid-way when the door almost hits your face.

“Sorry—oh.”

That voice. Cocky. Familiar. Just loud enough to cut through the warmth of the moment.

Your stomach drops before you even look.

Robby feels it—how your hand stiffens slightly in his—and follows your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He had changed his hair, but you’d still recognize him anywhere. Ethan. Your ex-fiancé. The Ethan who cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids six months before your wedding, who didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself—you found out through a half-drunk voicemail from her.

Ethan stops, eyes widening when he sees you. “I—I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You straighten your posture, grip tightening on Robby’s arm. “Hi, Ethan.”

His eyes flick briefly to Robby, then back to you. He hesitates, “I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he says, stepping a little closer. “I—I owe you an apology. For everything.”

You don't reply immediately, just hold his gaze. He shifts awkwardly, trying to read your silence.

“You look... great,” he adds. “Really great.”

You take a deep breath. Robby doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. He just stands beside you, he knows you don’t need saving—but he’s there anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Ethan continues, voice softening. “I messed up. I know that now. What we had—it was real. I want to try us again. A new start.”

You blink, before letting out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “No thanks.”

You try to walk past him, but Ethan steps in your way.

“Please,” he says, voice low and desperate. “Just… give me another chance.”

You stare at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “You cheated on me with one of my best friends, Ethan. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He scoffs, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “Okay, and now what?”

“Now,” you say firmly, “you get out of my way and out of my life, because I’m actually happy.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping as his eyes flick to Robby. “What is he, your sugar daddy or something?”

Your eyes widen.

Robby makes a face that says ‘you're in trouble now’, and calmly holds out his hand. You hand him your purse without breaking eye contact with Ethan.

“What did you just say about him?”

Shit is about to go down.

You step toward Ethan. He instinctively backs up, the shift in your energy obvious even to him. Right on cue, the waiter opens the door—Robby slides a generous tip into his hand just for that—and Ethan, too focused on you, trips over the steps behind him as he stumbles backward.

“He’s none of your business,” you say, voice sharp and clear. “But for the record? Robby is my boyfriend. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He makes me feel safe, wanted—loved. He treats me like I’m the most important person in the world. And I love him.”

Ethan’s brushing dirt off his coat, flustered, when Robby walks past—shoulder checking him just enough to make a point.

“Oops,” Robby says with a smirk. “My bad.”

You don’t bother looking back.

Robby laces his fingers through yours, guiding you down the street like none of it ever happened. Behind you, Ethan’s voice fades into the night, muttering curses under his breath.

You just smile and laugh with Robby, hugging his arm.

[randompiecesofwriting]

I'm Okay

Summary: Robby’s girlfriend is a reporter with the local news station sent out on a field assignment she was exceptionally excited for, covering Pittfest

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavich x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning: Pittfest fic! Mass casualty event, shooting, reader gets a bullet in the arm, medical inaccuracies, swearing, so much angst

Author’s Note: Took a break from my Jack fic to write an obligatory Pittfest fic because I don’t have one yet! Thank you so much for all of the kind messages notes and tags that you all have left on my work as I’ve said before it means the absolute world to me and I do read each and every one over and over again because I love them all. Thank you!!

The nurse behind the desk barely spared you a glance before waving you and Jake in, the two of you sharing a small smile as you bypassed the line of people waiting, shuffling back into the ER, pointedly ignoring the jealous glares that were being thrown your way from the waiting room as you did so.

Because the two of you were on a mission, get into the ED, grab Jake’s tickets to Pittfest then get out hopefully soon enough to give you enough time to get ready before you started your broadcast. You only had three hours of time blocked off to get this done so honestly you were cutting it close.

Your first stop once entering the ED was, as always, to Dana at the nurses’ station, the woman herself grinning as soon as she spotted the two of you entering, her eyes dancing back and forth between you and Jake with a small smirk. “Y/N on babysitting duty then”

“Definitely don’t need a babysitter” Jake cut in with an exasperated groan that had you and the charge nurse chuckling.

“Besides I’m working anyways” you cut in with a shrug “so he’s ditching me for a girl”

Dana’s gaze cut to Jake eagerly as she did her best to tamp down the shit-eating grin on her face.

“Who’s got a girl” Langdon, however, made no such effort, sliding in beside Dana eagerly making Jake duck his head slightly in response as he tried to hide his flushed cheeks.

Deciding to put the poor kid out of his misery you jumped in to save him “Today all I’m good for is gas money”

“That’s not true” Jack assured you with a mischievous glint in his eye, clearly not properly appreciating your save from Langdon “your press badge will let us skip the line too”

You elbowed Jake in the side fondly as he erupted with warm laughter, so distracted with getting your revenge you missed the footsteps that approached you from behind, jumping slightly when a hand at your hip was all the warning you got before Robby was pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head as he flew by. “I’m still upset you get to meet the girlfriend before I do”

He clapped Jake on the shoulder fondly despite the tease as he swung around the desk, Jake shrugging with a smirk in response “I like her better”

Robby snorted at the jab, eyes already scanning the desk for his next task. And you could see the exhaustion in him that had sunk to his very bones, could see the desperate need within him to keep moving, to distract himself. But you knew better than to call him on it now, knew he just needed to work through it in his own way, knew he’d find his way back to you at the end of the day.

So instead you threw an arm around Jake’s shoulders and pulled him into a dramatic side hug, jostling him roughly and enjoying the chuckle Jake let out at the motion “What can I say the kid’s got taste”

Robby sent Dana a fake exasperated glance as if to ask for at least one person to be on his side.

Dana responded accordingly “Don’t look at me like that I like her better to”

He knew better than to look to Langdon after that.

Someone on the other end of the room called out Robby’s name, and his body reacted almost reflexively to move him in that direction in response as he called out back at you “Traitors, the whole lot of you”

“Wait” Jake called out after him, realizing quickly it was of no use and dropping his voice down to a speaking level as Robby disappeared within one of the rooms “he has my tickets”

You snorted at his dejected tone “honestly that’s on you for thinking we’d be in and out of the Pitt in anything less than two hours” clapping a hand on his shoulder you pulled him in the direction of the lockers “come on I stashed a bag of m&m’s in his backpack this morning lets go for the record”

-

An hour later you and Jake had long since set up camp at Dana’s desk, you sitting in a roller chair on one end of the room with a bag of m&m’s in hand calling out to Langdon who sat in his own chair on the other side “What color?”

“Red I need the contrast” You snorted at his genuine use of strategy, shaking your head as you dug through the bag, feeling the newcomer approach from behind more than see them.

“Going for the record?” You could hear the amusement in Collins’ voice even as she pretended to be exasperated by it.

You grinned up at her in response “nine feet, that’s gotta be worth at least a page in the Guinness book right”

“Least he’s good at one thing”

“I heard that” Langdon called out across the Pitt making the two of you laugh before she called back

“You were meant to”

Finaly spotting the correct colored piece you held it up dramatically, extending it to Jake as if for inspection, the kid nodding solemnly before declaring “with this piece we make history”

You snorted at how seriously they both took this, hearing Collins hide her own in her sleeve as you lined up the shot, mimicking the movement a few times before finally letting it fly.

Langdon tracked the movement with a level of concentration you’ve only seen him use in trauma situations, dipping his head slightly at the last minute just in time to catch the m&m directly in his mouth.

He was on his feet as soon as it landed with a yell, tossing a dramatic double high-five at Jake in celebration as you dissolved into a puddle of giggles on your chair, Robby joining the group just late enough to miss the record shattering catch that sparked the reaction.

“You guys are still here?”

And you couldn’t help but sober slightly at the question, worry rising within you as you started to realize how much he was throwing himself into his work today. You’ve wasted a lot of time in the Pitt waiting on him before, but never had he fully forgotten you were here.

“Yeah we need the tickets” Jake responded good naturedly, Robby’s brows rising as he realized his mistake and having Jake follow him back towards the lockers to grab them.

Langdon and Collins took that as their chance to break off as well, giving you the opportunity to slide your chair up along side Dana’s “How’s he doing?”

“He says he’s fine” She sent you a look that told you she believed that about as much as you did, making you shake your head “just need to get through this shift and he’ll be alright”

“Yeah” you sighed doubtfully, putting on a small smile as you watched him and Jake emerge with the tickets in hand, Robby’s smile noticeably lighter after the interaction.

Jake started to make his way out of the ED as you rose to meet Robby behind the desk, giving him a quick peck and a light squeeze on the arm.

“Be careful today”

“Course” you shook off his worry easily, knowing that between the two of you there was only one who warranted such concern “take a break here soon yeah? Just a quick breather”

“I’m fine” he started to brush you off, cutting himself off at the raise of your brow, another call of his name pulling him from the moment with a tired sigh “I’ll try”

“Thank you” You smiled up at him, giving him one more kiss before stepping back, allowing him to dive back into the chaos of the Pitt.

“You know you’re the only one that can do that” Dana commented with a smirk from the desk as you started to gather your things.

“Yeah well we’ll see if he actually listens” you sighed as you finally pushed your chair back into its proper place, taking a second to give Dana a hug goodbye “look after him yeah?”

“Don’t worry I’ve got him” she assured you with a smile, stepping back as you let her go and started towards the doors to the waiting room.

“Have fun at Pittfest” she called out after you “call when you can”

“I will” you called back with a chuckle, pushing open the doors to the waiting room and joining Jake as the two of you exited the building, gladly listening to him rattle off all of the bands he and Leah were excited to see play that day.

-

Robby needed this shift to end.

It was the shift from hell, every resident he knew and trusted were gone, he was left with a heard of medical students on their first day, and now Dana was talking about quitting as well.

He needed the shift to end then he needed to hibernate for the next week straight.

Then Dana’s phone rang.

He didn’t think much of it at first, another trauma inbound, some more time to beg the one last person on his side to stay with him.

Then he watched her face drop, a look he wasn’t used to seeing on the infallible charge nurse. It wasn’t exactly surprised, wasn’t exactly sad or even shocked, it was haunted.

He furrowed his brow slightly, tilting his head to try and get a better read on her.

“Turn to channel 8” her voice came out hoarse, soft, without any weight behind it as if she couldn’t comprehend the words herself.

“What?”

“Turn to channel 8” she didn’t bother responding to him, this time pitching her voice louder to ring out across the Pitt.

“Dana?” he tried to call her attention back to him but she ignored him, clutching the phone she’d already hung up tightly in her grasp as she glued her eyes to the screen.

A familiar voice rang out across the room as the channel was changed. Nancy he realized, the lead anchor for the local news station, came onto screen. You’d introduced her to him once, you two were close at work.

Her red rimmed eyes were the first thing he noticed.

“We bring you breaking news tonight with reports of an active shooter at Pittfest the city’s summer music festival”

And Robby’s mind went blank.

There was no struggling to understand, no attempt to even process the news, just flat out rejection of the base premise. Those words simply did not go in that order, they couldn’t. It didn’t make sense for there to be a shooter at Pittfest, Jake was at Pittfest. He was here earlier, goofing off with Langdon before grabbing tickets from him he couldn’t be in any danger. He was happy, he was excited, there couldn’t be a shooter. You were at Pittfest, you’d been excited for the field assignment, your favorite band was playing, there couldn’t be a shooter.

“We go live now to field reporter Chuck Newcastle who’s on the scene now, Chuck are you with us?”

Another sentence that didn’t make sense. You were the reporter on the scene. You were the one they had sent. It was supposed to be you they went live to.

His gaze sought out Dana’s only to see the woman already looking at him. She looked panicked but that couldn’t be it, Dana didn’t get panicked, she ran the ED, she wasn’t allowed to panic.

“She’s supposed to be there” His voice sounded hollow even to himself as he watched Dana’s face crumple in response, eyes casting desperately back to the screen for answers.

He wasn’t sure the Pitt had ever been this quiet before.

“As you can see behind me first responders are currently on the scene and taping off areas as they attempt to apprehend the shooter” Chuck started to describe the situation with a hand on his ear, listening to the earpiece within it, continuing on without a hiccup “we have a reporter who was inside the festival area at the time of the event, out own Y/N Y/L/N. We’ll play a clip of her broadcast here in a second, but viewer discretion is advised”

He hadn’t realized how much of him had been hoping there’d been some sort of mix up until that moment. That you had backed out at the last minute, that they hadn’t actually sent you in, that you’d been lying to him about your plans for the day the entire time, anything that would keep you from being there.

A few heads turned in his direction at the news and he could see the hesitation on their faces, could see the silent questions they sent one another, could see the pity creep in as the Pitt all collectively wondered if they were about to see Dr. Robby’s girlfriend get shot on camera.

A hand reached for the dial and the command was out of him before he could think

“Don’t”

There as an unfamiliar edge in his tone, an unquestionable authority, a deeply buried fear masked by anger.

The hand retracted and you appeared on the screen.

“Hi my name is Y/N Y/L/N and you’re joining me here at Pittfest-“ you launched into your intro with a smile on your face and Robby drank it in greedily, heart stuttering in his chest as he desperately held onto that smile even if it was just your fake one you used for the camera, committed your voice to memory even if it was the falsely sweet one you used for reporting.

Then it all broke down.

Your report came to a screeching halt as a loud crack sounded through the background, an unnatural moment of stillness passing as the world around you froze, as everyone around you struggled collectively to comprehend, to react.

Your gaze suddenly strayed from down the lens to behind it, to your camera man, a silent question in your eyes before another shot sounded.

His heart leapt as you flinched this time, knees bending reflexively to get lower. A man in the background collapsed and instructions leapt to his throat unbidden, a silent plea to get down, to get under cover, to hide, to do something.

Instead you went after the man.

He could’ve screamed.

The camera crashed to the ground as it was dropped, the entire scene going sideways with you still barely in frame as you pressed firmly down onto the man’s chest, too far away for the audience to make anything out.

The scene suddenly cut back to Chuck.

His eyes stayed on the screen long after you left it, willing you to come back, willing them to cut back to you, willing for some sort of sign that you were okay.

He felt Dana’s hand being placed hesitantly on his shoulder bringing him back. He pushed her off without a second thought, launching headfirst into his leader roll “okay everybody listen up as the nearest trauma center we are going to be getting most of the victims”

“Robby” Dana tried to call his attention

“we need all the narcotics, paralytics and sedatives that we can get our hands on” he ignored her, delegating tasks off rapidly to anyone that would listen.

“Robby”

He ignored her again, avoided the pity in her eyes, avoided everything. “We also need to establish a temporary morgue we’ll take peds for now”

“Robby”

“Dana I can’t” He didn’t mean to blow up at her, to raise his voice, to make her physically recoil back from him. With a deep breath he tried desperately to reign it in. “I can’t do this right now, I can’t think about-“ he cut himself off, stopping the line of thought before he could get to any referral of you, severing the link in his mind before it could spiral “I can’t”

“okay” she nodded in response, a steady mask slipping into place though he could still see it in her eyes, appreciating the gesture nonetheless. “what do you need me to do”

Work, he could focus on work. He could distract himself with work. Work was good. “Gurneys, make sure all the gurneys and wheelchairs you can get your hands on end up in the ambulance bay. And see if you can get ahold of Jake or even Janey” she nodded eagerly at the instruction, happy to be able to do something, he’d have to thank her for that later, “and” he continued hesitantly “just at least see if you can get ahold of-“

“I will” she cut him off before he could get too far into it, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze before ushering him off.

Work, he could do work.

-

You don’t remember much after throwing yourself into the bed of some guy’s truck. Lying flat out on your back on the hard aluminum and closing your eyes, registering nothing until suddenly a hand was tapping rapidly on your cheek.

You cracked your eyes open at the sudden movement, coming face to face with a wide-eyed Ellis hovering over you.

“Fancy seeing you here”

She didn’t laugh, instead made eye contact with Shen on the other side of the vehicle, the two sharing a silent conversation before shouting Jack’s name in unison as Ellis slapped a pink bracelet on your wrist.

“shhhh I’m fine” you pointedly ignored the way the words slurred slightly on their way out while Ellis ignored their meaning all together, gingerly helping you out of the car and towards a gurney.

“It’s just my shoulder I can walk” you tried to protest as she forced you down, a familiar head of salt and pepper curls appearing behind her in a rush, a string of curses slipping out of him at the sight of you. “Thank you Jack tell Ellis I’m fine” You used your good arm to try and fend her off as Jack pulled a penlight out of his pocket and shined it directly into your eye “Dude it’s my shoulder not my head” you protested, bringing a hand up to rub away the shadows he burned into your vision.

“Lay back or I’ll strap you down” he threatened and though Jack was usually on the gruffer side you couldn’t help but notice the edge in his voice, that being enough to make you finally lay back and let them wheel you through the doors without a word.

Ellis followed, pushing the gurney, as she rambled off numbers you didn’t understand to Jack as he started to peel away the strips of fabric you’d been using as a dressing from your shoulder making you wince.

“Go find Robby and get him over here now” he instructed Ellis without looking up at her “Take over whatever he’s doing if you have to just get him here got it?”

She left with little more than a nod.

“How’s he doing?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up at your question for a second, hands moving fast to try and stop the bleeding “not really the priority right now sweetheart”

“Well that doesn’t bode well” you hummed back lazily, letting your eyes rest for a second.

Jack jostled you by your chin suddenly, forcing your eyes back open and on him “absolutely not, you’re not allowed to shut your eyes till Robby’s here”

“Robby then nap”

He huffed at your response then went back to digging harshly into your shoulder “Robby then nap”

Forcing your eyes to stay open was harder than you thought it would be even with the sharp pain of Jack working on your shoulder, the loud murmur of the hospital in complete chaos around you, the distant sound of your name being called.

Forcing your vision to focus you realized there as a familiar looking doctor now hovering over you with wide eyes, your familiar looking doctor hovering over you, a panicked look on his face as he stared down at you.

“Hey”

He relaxed slightly at the sound of your voice, barely enough to be noticeable but it was better than nothing.

“You’re here” his voice cracked as he said it, a hand coming up to run soft fingers through your hair before you were interrupted by Jack’s small “got it” and a small ting ringing out as he dropped a small metal object into a metal tin.

Robby’s gaze hardened as he eyed the bullet Jack had just dug out of you, wordlessly taking over for his friend and yelling out your blood type without having to check with you first.

Dana descended on the scene as if she’d been waiting just feet away, hanging a bag of blood on the pole by your head before hovering over you in the spot Robby had just occupied “you were supposed to call me”

“Sorry I got a bit caught up” you responded with a lazy smile, faintly registering Dana’s hand tangling in your hair as she smiled down at you.

“I don’t forgive you yet”

You snorted at that, eyes starting to drift closed once again before you heard your name being called.

A vaguely familiar looking man appeared over Dana’s shoulder, introducing himself as a fellow reporter and talking just a bit too fast for you to keep up “you were there right? Did you see-“

He hadn’t even gotten the whole question out before Robby was yelling out Jack’s name through clenched teeth, the physician entering your field of vision swiftly to grab the reporter by the hood on his sweatshirt and yank him back from you roughly, everyone ignoring the chocking noise he made as he gagged on his own neckline.

“Jake” you remembered suddenly, calling out the name as your hand shot out to desperately grab for Dana, the only person within reach “is Jake okay?”

Robby never answered, stern frown locked into place as he stared down at your wound as he worked, leaving Dana to fill in the gaps “he’s fine don’t worry Jake’s fine”

“Good I sent him ahead in someone’s truck” you nodded weakly, relaxing back onto the gurney “wasn’t enough room for all three of us”

Robby scoffed from beside you, eyes never leaving your shoulder even as he spit out “there was enough room”

Neither the time nor the place you decided as you let it go for now, sharing a look with Dana but electing to stay quiet while Robby finished. The man himself not relaxing until he had tied off your last bandage, fingers hover over the wound a second longer than necessary before his eyes finally cut up to meet yours, the corners of them wet as he swallowed “it’s done, you’re okay”

And you knew he wasn’t talking to you when he said it but you nodded along anways, taking his hand in yours with a squeeze “I’m okay”

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing over the skin softly as his eyes danced back and forth between your own “you make me intubate you I’ll never forgive you”

You snorted at that as you sniffed, not realizing how close you had been to crying until you were trying to speak around the lump in your throat “just a nap I promise”

“I’m holding you to that” he whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary before straightening back up.

“I love you” the words spilled out of you before you could even think to regret them, finding that you didn’t mind if you hadn’t said them before, or if this was probably the worst time to say them, it didn’t make them any less true.

Robby responded without thought, grabbing your good hand to press a kiss to the back of it, whispering the words back into your skin before nodding to Dana, letting the woman wheel you away “I’ll see you in an hour okay”

“One hour” you repeated weakly, nodding as you relaxed further back into the gurney, falling fully asleep before you had even reached your destination.

-

You woke to find you’d been given your own room at some point, not all that surprised Robby had pulled some strings to get you tucked away from the chaos of the Pitt, not all that surprised to see the man himself knocked out in a chair beside your bed looking incredibly uncomfortable.

You needed to sit up and get a drink but knowing Robby needed the sleep you did so slowly, desperately trying to minimize the noise as much as possible. You barely got a few inches up off the mattress before you heard him come to with a loud breath.

Taking a mere second to catch his bearings, he was by your side quickly, helping you up with soft whispered easys.

“Thanks” you whispered back to him almost afraid to break the silence in the room as he arranged the pillows around you comfortably to sit. He was handing you a glass of water before you could ask, gently pushing your hair out of your face as you greedily drank, wordlessly grabbing the cup from you to set aside when you were done.

“How’s your shoulder any pain?”

You shook your head waving off the concern “I’m fine it’s manageable”

He eyed you skeptically but didn’t say anything in response, your first warning sign that something was up as he didn’t press, didn’t insist.

Reaching out you tangled your fingers into his, giving his hand a small squeeze, relieved to find he didn’t pull away as you did so. “You look tired”

He huffed at that, taking your entwined hands up to rest against his lips as he leaned on his elbow against the bed, watching you for a moment “I had a long day” Another deep breath, a shake of his head “I had a really long day”

A pause, an internal debate you could see written on his face, and a small sigh before he pushed ahead “seeing your broadcast really didn’t help”

You winced internally at the statement, already knowing where this conversation was going.

He must have been able to read your reaction on your face as he nodded, carefully taking your hand and untangling his fingers from it, setting it gently back on the mattress before harshly digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. “yeah I saw that”

“Robby I-“

“You ran towards the guy who had just been shot” he cut you off with a glare, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees.

“I wanted to stop the bleeding”

“You didn’t know where the shots were coming from, didn’t know where the shooter was first” Again he shut you down “You should’ve went for cover, should’ve gotten down, I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain that to you” His voice got louder and louder as he went on, refusing to make eye contact with you as he went.

“I couldn’t just let him bleed out”

“And look where that got you” his gaze was cutting, his tone harsh “he’s still dead and you’re here with a bullet hole in your shoulder”

“That’s not fair”

“I don’t care about fair” he took a pause, took a deep breath, maybe he realized he’d started yelling at you or maybe just realized if he pushed any further he’d start to break down, you weren’t sure which was true “I care that god forbid you’re ever in a situation like that again that I know I can trust you to at least try and keep yourself safe instead of running directly into the next bullet”

“That’s not even when I got hit” The defense sounded weak even to you but you couldn’t help it, couldn’t take him looking at you with such disappointment, such frustration.

“I don’t-“ He cut himself off, forced another deep breath, forced himself to calm back down before continuing “tell me then was is before or after you sent Jake ahead”

“Robby”

“Was it before or after you sent Jake ahead”

You stared back at him in silence, setting your jaw, knowing there was no getting out of the question, knowing that the answer would be easy enough to get from other sources anyways. “Before”

He swore loudly as he stood up suddenly, pacing the room at the foot of your bed anxiously as he ran an exasperated hand through his hair.

“There wasn’t room-“

“That’s bullshit and you know it” he cut you off with a glare “you had a bullet in your shoulder you could’ve squeezed in there easily so why the fuck weren’t you in the car when it left”

You stayed silent beneath his gaze, offering no defense.

“Y/N”

“There was a kid” you shouted back in frustration, practically exploding with the phrase before taking a page out of his book and pausing for a deep breath “there was a kid crying alone and I couldn’t leave him there”

“So you grab him and take him with you”

“Leah didn’t have time for that” you dropped your voice at that, both of you knowing it was true, neither of you particularly liking it “I couldn’t look Jake in the eye and ask him to risk his girlfriend’s life for a random kid”

“So you just decided to do it to me”

You were taken aback by that, those words hitting you harder than you had expected, you hadn’t considered it like that before “That’s not fair”

“There were no more ambulances” he shot back quickly, putting his hands on the end of your bed and leaning into them “the roads were shut down, no one could get through that very well could’ve ben your last chance to make it here and you just let it go”

You clenched your jaw but stayed silent as he made his way back to your bedside, bending down slightly to capture your gaze, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“You risked at best decreased functionality in your hand. And at worst? Infection, losing the entire arm, blood loss, getting hit again”

And you knew you should let him finish, let him get it out, let him unload. Instead you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Robby cut himself off immediately, his entire body freezing beneath your touch. He stayed like that for several seconds, his entire body tensing within your hold, long enough to make you start to doubt if you had just made everything worse, before he finally brought his arms up around you in response.

He robotically positioned them around you, steadily tightening their hold on you as he finally started to relax, softening further and further into the hug before he all but melted into you. One arm tightened almost uncomfortable around your waist while the other bunched up the back of your shirt into a fist as he buried his nose into the base of your neck, holding you as closely as possible, clearly afraid to let go.

“I thought-“ the words were thick as he whispered them into your skin.

“I know” you cooed softly, tightening your arms just as much around him “I’m so sorry Robby”

You stayed like that for long enough to grow uncomfortable, your back starting to ache at the awkward angle, but you didn’t dare move, not until he did, not until he was ready.

Slowly he sat up straighter. Hands snaking along your back and up to the nape of your neck to hold you in place, to keep you close, his face coming back just far enough to keep your noses from bumping.

“We’re going to have a fight later”

“I know” you nodded with a wet chuckle, refusing to let go of his sweatshirt long enough to wipe away the tears.

“I am so angry with you right now” his voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

“I love you”

The tips of his mouth ticked up at that, just barely but it was enough.

One of the hands that were at the nape of your neck moved to cup your cheek, wiping away the wetness from your skin for you “I am so fucking glad you’re okay”

You couldn’t help but laugh again at that, the sound ringing out tragic and broken but still a reprieve from the day, a single band that had been tightening around your chest loosening at it.

“me too”

[kruxton]

FUCK IT WE BALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💯💯👍💪💪💪 (two seconds after a full on meltdown)

[mercvry-glow]

Best of wives

parings. frank langdon x robinavitch!reader

summary. frank langdon loves his wife dearly, but family is hard when hard when her older brother is your boss.

warnings. typical pitt stuff, hospital setting, frank and reader are roughly mid to early 30s, reader is robby's younger sister (not specified on blood or adoptive, with an age -gap of 15 or so years), reader is pregnant, eating, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. little bit of family light drama for the masses, and I'm love love loving all of the stuff we're talking about on here! I absolutely love this concept, and would 100% take more ideas like it for sister/daughter!reader. I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated in any form!

wc. 1400+

Frank Langdon was the golden boy of modern medicine.

At least that’s what he had tried to convince you when you first started dating.

You were a kindergarten teacher at the time, so nothing as flashy as a trauma resident at PTMC, but just as important. You just didn’t want that life—not after seeing what it had done to your brother, and certainly not after meeting Frank.

He was magnetic in that way doctors sometimes were—confident, razor-sharp, and just the right amount of reckless. The kind of man who could charm a crowded room and then disappear into an on-call room for eighteen hours if needed without blinking. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t date a doctor. You told yourself you weren’t interested in that. 

You told yourself a lot of things.

But Frank had a way of making you feel like the center of the world, his world. 

And that was dangerous.

You tried to set boundaries. “Work stays at work,” you told him once. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. It’s what I’m here for,”

He had just laughed, flashing a smile, “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on keeping secrets.”

You wish you hadn’t smiled back.

Because five years later, here you were. Five months pregnant and walking into the emergency room with food in hand for all your favorite people—and your older brother too, who still acted like you were ten years old.

You navigated the Pitt like you owned the place, a regular of this particular establishment, bag of takeout swaying in one hand and the other resting on the gentle curve of your stomach. You weren’t showing too much yet, but just enough to get a few raised brows from the nursing staff. 

You offered a knowing smile in return.

At the desk, Dana smirked when she spotted you. “Look what the cafeteria couldn’t cook up,” the blonde teased.

“I brought fries,” you said with a smile. “So you better be nice or I’ll tell the baby.”

Dana laughed and plucked a soda from the bag like it had her name on it. “See? And they said teachers don’t want their own kids pfft.”

Frank was near the trauma board, mid-conversation with someone, but his attention shifted the second he saw you. His whole expression changed—softer, brighter, like he forgot he was running on three hours of sleep.

Jack had noticed too, of course. He gave you that signature Dr. Abbot once-over, arms crossed, brows raised in disapproval even though he was already moving to take the bag from you.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around here,” he said gruffly.

You smiled, entirely unbothered. “I’m not wandering, I’m delivering. I brought you all lunch.”

And just as you handed him his sandwich, a familiar voice joined the mix.

“Let me guess… she promised she’d just drop it off and go home, right?”

You turned to find Mikey, approaching with a shake of his head and a warm, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“I did,” you said, holding your hand up in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

Robby looked you over with practiced eyes, always the doctor even when he was in big-brother mode. “You look good,” he said, stepping in to kiss the side of your head. “But next time, let one of these guys bring the food. You don’t have to run around for everyone on a Saturday.”

“I wanted to,” you said softly. “I like seeing you all. And the baby wanted fries.”

Robby a light chuckle. “Can’t argue with the baby, I guess.” He gave your arm a light pat, then turned to Frank. “You’re making sure she’s taking breaks, right?”

“Absolutely,” Frank replied, slinging an arm around you. He always wanted Robby to know he was taking care of you. Not only did you mean the world to him, but you were his mentor’s little sister. (Not that he knew when he met you.)

Jack, having stayed close, muttered, “She’s got you all wrapped around her finger.”

“Jealous?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Terrified,” he deadpanned.

The three of them exchanged looks—your husband, your brother, and the grump who’d somehow also become family.

Before anyone could argue about who was more wrapped around whose finger, the overhead speaker crackled to life.

“Team to trauma-one. ETA two minutes. MVC, multiple victims.”

The shift in the room was immediate. The laid-back laughter evaporated into focus, movements sharpening with purpose. Dana tossed the soda into the trash like she’d never opened it. Jack was already pivoting, snatching a pair of gloves from the supply drawer, and Robby stood up straighter beside you, brotherly instinct kicking in.

Frank was the only one who paused, even for just a second. His hand lingered at your lower back, thumb tracing a circle through the fabric of your top.

You looked up at him and gave him a soft nudge. “Go.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’ll hang with Robby. Maybe even get him to eat something green.”

That earned you a quick grin—tired, but genuine as always. He leaned down and kissed your temple, then, because he never could help himself, his hand rested gently on your stomach. “Be good for mom, alright?” he murmured, before looking up at you again. “Text me if anything feels off.”

“I’m pregnant, not fragile,” you reminded him, smiling as you gently swatted his arm.

“Yeah, well. Humor me,” he said, backing away even as Jack called his name. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos with the rest of the team. Jack, tough as ever, barked something to an incoming resident and tossed Frank a gown mid-stride. It landed squarely in his chest, and he caught it without looking. 

Routine. Precision. Showtime.

You turned back to the nurses station, watching it all unfold with that strange mix of pride and nerves that always bubbled in your chest when Frank was in the thick of it. You’d learned long ago that this was part of the deal—his heart belonged to you, but his hands, his mind (on occasion), and his adrenaline? 

They belonged to this place.

Robby stayed back a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Protective older brother mode was a hard one for him to turn off.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, eyes flicking down to your bump, then back to your face.

You nodded. “I’m fine. Just hungry. And I’m not leaving until someone eats this food I risked my ankles to bring in.”

He chuckled. “You’re still stubborn.”

“Runs in the family,” you said sweetly, sliding the bag toward him.

With a sigh, Robby sat beside you and pulled out one of the sandwiches. “You know,” he said, unwrapping it slowly, “when you first told me you were seeing someone, I never imagined it would be Frank.”

“Why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I thought you had more sense,” he deadpanned, then smirked when you kicked his foot lightly under the desk.

You both sat quietly for a beat, watching the monitors light up as the trauma alert clock ticked down. Through the windows, you caught glimpses of Frank and Jack suited up, already fielding a barrage of vitals and questions as the paramedics wheeled someone in.

Robby followed your gaze. “He’s good. One of the best I’ve seen at this stage.”

“I know,” you said softly. “That’s why I fell for him.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You think it’s ever gonna get easier? Having another person on the inside of all this?”

You rested a hand over your belly. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But I think loving someone like Frank… like you… it’s worth the hard parts. He always comes back to me anyway.”

Robby nodded slowly. “He better keep doing that.”

Just then, the intercom squawked again—someone calling for extra hands in trauma-one. You and Robby exchanged a look before he stood with a resigned sigh, abandoning his half-eaten sandwich.

“Go,” you told him. “I’ll guard the fries with my life.”

“You better,” he said, ruffling your hair as he passed.

You stayed there, perched at the edge of the chaos, watching the people you loved disappear into the fray one by one. And in the middle of it all, you could hear Frank’s voice—calm, confident, commanding. He didn’t raise it often, but when he did, people listened. 

Just like Mikey.

You listened too, always had. Because no matter how far into the fire they ran, they always looked for you when on the back.

And you'd always be waiting, with food in hand and that steady calm only you seemed able to carry into a place like this.

mercvry-glow 2025