m14mags

Latest Posts by m14mags

18+ mdni (female reader who's implied to be younger. idk what this is y'all I just need Jack and Samira so bad)

thinking about Jack coming home from covering for someone on the day shift to find both his girls, you and Samira, making out on his bed. what gets him even more worked up? you two don't pay any attention to him, either because you haven't noticed him or you're truly just too focused on each other to care about anything else.

thinking about the obscene sounds of hungry lips exploring each other and desperate moaning filling out the bedroom as you and Samira grow needier for each other. the way the air slowly starts to feel heavier, becomes filled with your scent and hers mixing together with Jack's cologne. your hands roam all over her body as you can't help but start trailing kisses down her neck until you get to her collarbone. the lewd whine she lets out when you suck on her clavicle goes straight to Jack's cock and has you soaking your panties.

and Jack's a smart man, he's not gonna interrupt his girls and get in the way of perfection. instead, he opts for pulling his cock out of his boxers to fist it, slowly at first. he watches as you move on to Samira's naked chest, taking a nipple in your mouth while you twist the other with your fingers. he can see how much you're trying to take it easy, but he knows how much you love her tits. and just as he expected, Samira yelps as you resort to biting and sucking instead of the gentle suckling you'd been doing previously.

you release your girlfriend's abused nipple with a plop sound before looking at her. and it's like you two can just communicate through one look, because next thing he knows, Jack is watching you and her giggle like the two little brats you are.

"so, doctor Abbot, are you finally gonna join us or has old age finally caught up to your body?"

you don't have to ask him twice

possessive - jack abbot

a/n: so i have this scenario in my head but idk if i love it or hate it, it’s up to you at this point 😭 sorry for any misspellings, english is not my first language

pairing: jack abbot x f!pediatrician!reader

summary: jack abbot is a possessive man and we love that

warnings: dr abbot being hot, myrna being inconvenient as always, medical inaccuracies, let me know if i missed something (gif not mine i just find it here)

Possessive is a word referred to ownership or a relationship of belonging between one thing and another.

Is the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Jack Abbot was a possessive man.

Not an inconvenient possessive man. He was subtle. One hand at the end of your back. Picking you up at the end of your shift when he isn’t working. Talking to you with the softest voice. Sharing coffee or a granola bar he had in his pocket for you. The glances to other men when you’re walking by.

He had nothing to fear with you. You sleep and wake up with him every day. He knew exactly how to show someone that you belonged to him without saying a word. He hasn't put a ring on your finger and yet everybody in the ED understands you’re his girl and nobody was crazy to question him.

It was supposed to be your day off. You already made plans with Emery and Parker to go out for dinner and have some drinks like you do every month. That’s your way of gossiping and keeping the bond stronger, especially working at male dominated fields. Keeping the girls together makes the job easier and better. You were even planning to invite Samara to the next dinner.

The best thing about the trio was initially to piss Jack off and because you worked so well together and a friendship naturally bloomed - and thank god it did. The funniest, dirtiest and best conversations came out so easily between you that it was impossible to keep track of the actual dialogue topic when you combined.

Unfortunately your phone vibrated in your purse during dinner with a message from Robby letting you know there was an emergency of a child that fell and the parents were asking for you. These things were pretty normal in your routine when you work with pediatrics emergencies. In less than fifteen minutes you were walking towards the ED entrance like you weren't just discussing panties over drinks.

Worst part of it? You had no time to change your clothes. So you were standing at the nursing station with the most expensive Valentino dress you own, brand new shoes and your favorite coat to protect you from the cold.

The scrubs were a protocol when you’re working and you were not. You hated to work without them and hated even more that your backup scrubs were not in your car. Jack must’ve taken them to wash and didn’t put them back.

Jack didn’t see you coming and he had no idea of the dress you chose for your girls night. Bridget was already laughing when you entered, holding you something to cover up until you have to leave again. She quickly took your overcoat and gave you a white coat, which helped a little but not too much because of your heels clicking at the floor.

“Wow doc, didn’t know you could look that hot.” You heard Garcia teased and shook your head laughing. “You should show up like this more often, as an experiment of course.”

“I appreciate your words Yoyo. Maybe next time I'll show up with your favorite color.” She blew you a kiss and walked away laughing.

“He’s going to need to be sedated when he hears you’re in his ED looking like this” Robby chuckled when he found at the nursing station. “Sorry I've called you, they insisted on being you. They are barely letting Mel work there.’

“It’s fine, Robby. I don’t like my day off anyway.” You winked and went straight to the room they were in.

The child parents came running to you the moment you entered their plain sight. Dr. King was accompanying them before you arrived, describing the situation in detail and how she dealt with them. And for her face you knew how those parents weren’t easy to deal with.

“Dr (Y/L/N), this is Jamie, 10 month old, previously healthy, fell from the crib around 9 p.m.. According to the mother, he tried to pull himself up using the crib rails, lost his balance, and fell over the side of the crib, landing directly on the floor. He cried immediately for about fifteen minutes, with no loss of consciousness and no vomiting. The mother noted only mild bruises in the right frontotemporal region, with no other signs of trauma. He remained active, fed normally, and showed no changes in consciousness or behavior. “ You heard Mel's words with attention while examining the child.

“You ordered any exams, doctor King?” She nodded and passed you the chart to look at.”

“A CT, x-ray and some labs just to make sure everything is perfectly fine.” You nodded, shaking your head.

“Excellent.” You smiled at her and turned your attention to the parents.

“Does he cry when he moves? Has he had any seizures? Allergies or something we need to know?” They kept denying. “Why don’t you bring him early? It’s almost one in the morning.” The parents kept their silence and you shrugged your shoulders, looking at them. “Alright then. Doctor King will accompany you to the CT and the x-ray.”

Something you loved about yourself was the way you’re pretty centered and rigid about your job, especially working around and with children. Fighting with parents? You do every shift. Making the little ones laugh? You did it too. You were tough and nice but at the same time the children absolutely loved you. The most common thing to see was you holding a child mid shift and laughing about it with the nurses.

He was waiting for you at the nursing station. Coffee in hand. Jaws tighten when his eyes land on you. Eyebrows raised while he analyzed your shoes. You leaned closer to him, enough to look professional and only a little mischievous so he could smell your new perfume - the one he bought you.

“Hi there, doctor Abbot.” You touched his arm and smiled, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “Peds emergency, they have to call the best.”

“This is not workplace clothing.” His hand reached yours, quickly brushing your finger.

“I had a nice time at dinner, thanks for asking, by the way.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go home when his exams are finished. I won’t even leave this spot.” You sit in the vague chair and cross your arms.

“Nice coat, actually.” Dr. Jack Abbot. It was his coat. “You should work with this more often since you don’t want to change your last name.”

Before you can even replied you heard Myrna screaming at the other side of the room.

“Nice ass, MacDreamy.” She pointed at you.

“Been working out lately, Myrna. Do you like it?” You teased her and she giggled.

“Watch out or I’ll steal your girl, Abbot. I killed a man before and I can do it again.”

When you turned to look at Jack again, he was serious. His forehead was tense and his knuckles white from holding his coffee mug. His hair was a little messy and there was some blood in his scrubs.

Hot. Really hot.

He didn’t care when your friends, female friends, flirted with you because he knew you flirted back joking. He respected your boundaries and you respected him too. You still find it pretty amusing how he gets all possessive over small things, lucky you he didn’t see the dress you were wearing underneath the white coat.

Vintage Valentino, sheer black chiffon, off-the-shoulder neckline with the fabric draped down the arms, creating a dramatic, sophisticated look. At the bust, a large central bow, asymmetrical and flowing skirt, with soft, layered fabric and a high front slit that reveals the left leg. Jack never complained or talked badly about your clothing, he actually enjoyed seeing you wearing the clothes you liked - he enjoyed taking off more. He describes being an extension of your personality.

“Want to talk about that dress?” He lifted up the white coat a little. “Showing legs and neck like crazy, hm?”

“Nope, we’re not doing this here. You’re working.”

“Why not? I thought you like showing off a little too much.” He crossed his arms and you sigh.

“Oh my God, is this foreplay?” His eyes locked on yours. “Fuck it, I’m into it.”

“Just stay here until the boy it’s back.” He stared at you for a few seconds and you tried to control your smile.

“Are you jealous, Abbot?” You heard Shen comment and buried your face in your hands. He just gave him the nastiest look you’ve ever seen in your life and you can tell he already gave you some looks at you in the bedroom.

The exams took a while to get ready and when they returned to the emergency room, you met them again holding a tablet to explain the situation to them. Immediately the little boy was already in your arms, resting his head over your shoulder.

“The CT and the x-ray both came normal, no injury or other systemic trauma. He’s safe and sound. If you notice something is different, bring him immediately.” You hold his little hand and smile brightly. “You’re lucky to be here today, Jamie.”

The parents asked a few questions about the exams and the therapy you chose for him and after they left you stayed inside the empty room for a while before you left to grab the rest of your stuff.

Jack was talking something with Robby when you approached them, taking off the white coat that belonged to your man and putting on your warm and cozy overcoat. His eyes went straight to your almost bare chest, he had to scan the room pretty quickly for perverts watching you. One drunk guy screamed that he wanted you to talk to him, Myrna said something about your ass again and this time Mel came in complementing your legs.

“You should be grateful you weren’t there when Emery and Parker saw me, you probably be in jail now.” He helped you close the buttons of your coat.

“Remind me to put a goddamn ring on your finger.” He whispered closer to you, making you burst out laughing.

“What a romantic proposal. I’m really emotional.” Jack rolled his eyes, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I already heard some jerks talking about you and I didn’t appreciate their tone.” You passed your arms around his shoulder - ignoring the PDA rule you established for work.

“Yeah, I’m still sleeping in your bed tho.” He agreed, laughing softly. “Gotta go now. Emery is waiting for me at Five Guys and I could kill for a burger now.”

“Be careful, beautiful.”

“Try to go home in one piece.” You squeezed his shoulder and winked before walking away.

When you arrived for your next shift there was a big diamond on your finger and the biggest smirk on Jack's face when people started to talk about it.

The beginning of the end.

Poly! Abbot x FormerBAU!F!Reader x Robby. <3

Sum: An average day at works takes a turn for the worst, as Pittfest comes to greet you with a gun. OneShot!

(This story is separate from my other BAU x Pitt works and features my attempt at my Asks for BadassBAU!Reader! I hope it was worth the wait and please read the warnings my duckies! <3)

CW: TGun violence against you and the pitt shooter, talks of killing and saving people by killing them. M/M/F, Pittfest, you're a second year resident so agegap relationships and power dynamics. A small bit of smut, daddy kink, and descriptions of body parts at the end. Very brief mentions of overdosing, a hand in a blender, Myrna. Implications of your tricking the unsub by agreeing to said crazy talk. F!Reader - mentions of you being smart, kid as a nickname by our two men. MDNI

As you're getting ready for your shift, you can't help but think about how different your life is now.

The Pitt, as Robby affectionately called it, was grueling. On your first day, you had seen two people overdosing, someone's hand stuck in a blender, and met Myrna, who decided you'd your pretty face was worth switching sides for a night or two.

Sighing, you couldn't help but laugh as you thought about how being a second-year resident was no different from being in the BAU.

Least I don't have to worry about serial killers with too much time on their hands planing their revenge on me, you think with a snort.

While you still kept in close touch with everyone back at Quantico, even offering advice and help when needed, you wouldn't go back unless you absolutely had to. Sides, what would your favorite grumpy attendings do with you? You giggle, thinking about Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby.

You had grown close to them, finding comfort in his presence. They reminded you of the best parts of Hotch, Rossi, Spencer, and Derek. When your feelings had turned romantic for the both of them, you really didn't know what to do, confiding in Spencer and Penelope. They encouraged you to try, but fear stops you, not wanting to ruin what you had.

It was enough, knowing they shared little laughs with you in rare downtimes, how they took turns being your coffee or secretly walking you to and from work. If they asked for more, you'd give it to them immediately.

But nothing goes on the Pitt without Perlah and Princess knowing, so you can only imagine what the betting sheet looks like. Most of the day shift argued you'll end up with Robby, while the night shift was rooting for Abbot.

——

As you head in, you can already sense this was going to be a tough day shift. Sailing you up to the roof, spot your favorite old man duo.

"Room for one more?" You ask, joining them.

"For you, baby? Always," Abbot smirks out, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the sadness in his eyes.

You quietly move in between them as Abbot grabs you firmly. Face buried into your hair, taking in your sweet scent, before passing you to Robby. Giggling lightly, you hang off Robby as he gives you a squeeze.

"Everything okay?" You ask, glancing at the two and noting the letter in Robby's hand.

"Just your usual existential crisis. Let's go, kid."

——

The three of you head down as you take note of the already drowning patient board, and group of new doctors in front of the nurses' station.

"We've got new students," Robby informs you as he leads you to them, leaving Abbot behind to chart. Your hand carefully brushes against his as you walk away, a silent goodbye.

"God help them," you snort out, making Robby huff.

"Alright, welcome to the Pitt. I'm your attending Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Dr. Robby. Over here, we have our charge nurse, Dana; she's the one really in charge and will be your best friend here if you want to make it. Your senior residents are Dr. Langdon and Dr. Collins. If you can't find me, you can go to them. If you can't find any of us, you go to Dr.L/N here, or honestly, just go to her anyways," he informs them, placing a large hand on your shoulder, giving it a playful squeeze.

You give a little wave and smile to the new team.

"Careful, Robby. Your favoritism is showing," Dana jokes, watching the two of you and shaking her head.

"Walking HR violations, those two." Collin joins her as they share a teasing look.

Sticking your tongue out, you sigh, glancing at the patient board. "Let's do this, yeah?"

--

Patient after patient, you barely had a second to breathe. You can tell the day's getting to Robby, as last night had to Abbot. You follow him to the bathroom, pushing him back in when he tries to come out.

"Jesus y/n. What the fuck.” he breaths out as you lock the door, blocking it with your body. "Talk to me, Robby."

He glares at you, unwilling to talk. "Move. Now. I don't have time for this."

"Hey. Please. Don't hide from me." You whisper as you move closer to him.

He drags his hands over his face. "Today, of all days, is fucking shit."

Closing the gap fully, you drag him into your arms. His body shakes as he burrows his head into your neck, arms wrapped around you. His scruff tickles you, just for a second, as his signature scent warms you.

Sighing, he unwillingly lets you go. "Walking HR violation, you know."

Smirking, you watch his brown eyes darken as he takes you in once more. The three of you have been playing this dance for a while, and you wondered once again when the dam will finally break.

——

"So, are they dating?" Santos asks Garcia, Perlah, and Langdon as they work on the same patient. She caught the two leaving the bathroom together, looking a little.. disgruntled to say the least.

"Honestly? That's the running bet. Either him or the night shift attending," Garcia answers, passing her a scalpel.

"Minimum bids $20," Perlah chimes in as Santos asks to be put down for Robby.

——

At some point, you help Whitaker get new scrubs, feeling bad for the kid.

"It's fucking shit day, kid, but you're showing up and trying. We can't ask for more." You say, giving him a clap on the shoulder before walking away.

"She's so cool," he whispers as he joins Mel, Mateo, and Javadi.

"Dr. L/n? She's the coolest and like hella smart. Used to be a therapist, I think, for Quantico or something before coming here." Mateo informs them, nodding your way.

"I feel like I know her from somewhere; I just don't know where," Javadi says as she watches you move with confidence.

"Dude has like five degrees. She's smart like you," Mateo adds, making Javadi blush and stutter.

"She really is cool," Mel adds. She likes you. You and Langdon have easily become her favorites here.

But of course, It was near the end of your shift when everything went wrong.

—-

"Where a MASH unite now. Old school. That means no fancy X-rays, electronic charting, EKGs, or anything," Abbot orders out, putting on his orange vest.

"How will we chart them then?" McKay asks, raising her hand. Abbot nods her way. "Great question. Everyone gets a patient chart attached to their wrist. Write as you go, and if you run out of room, write on their foreheads."

"Seriously?" Javadi says as Abbot smirks, "Seriously."

“Alright.” Robby claps his hands, getting everyone's attention. "You know your zones, and remember to listen to your zone leaders. Abbot, L/N with me for a second. Everyone else, go."

The group breaks up into their colored zones, tensions running high as they wait. It would be any second now.

Nodding, you join Abbot and Robby, giving the former a hug. "Thank god for you, your crazy scanner, and go bag of like everything."

"Even got your favorite protein bars, kid," making you smile. "Marry me?"

But before either can respond — The ambulance sirens ring loud and true. heart pounding and palms sweating. It was time.

——

It was a fucking mess.

So many victims as you look around. You feel pulled in twenty different directions, but it has to be done. Jake's girlfriend is dead, and Robby is missing. You don't get a second to breathe as you go to help Abbot.

"How do you know so much when you're only a second year?" Santos asks, helping with the red zone as the pink calms down.

"Kids a certified genius," Abbot answers for her, as he performs a tracheostomy. "Call Walsh. This one's ready for surgery."

"Seriously?" She asks. Langdon chimes in as he works next to you guys. "L/Ns got like 4 degrees"

You can't help but smirk "and a nice rack," getting a deep chuck from Abbot.

The two of you notice Robby's back, pulling Whittaker with him. You share a look with Abbot, knowing you'll all be talking soon.

"I've got the next one. Go help Mohan," you tell him as the next victim rolls in.

"Bullet wound in the arm," Shen tells you as you take over.

The guy's lanky with a large black sweater and jeans on. You can tell he's covered in blood despite it bleeding in with the fabric. The hair on the back of your neck stands. You note that the armed police are only outside.

"You with me sir?" you ask as you look his arm over, taking over the pressure.

"Yeah, the guy got me good," he says, avoiding eye contact with you.

"I got you." You carefully let go of the pressure, only to notice it's just a graze. A graze that's way too light to have been from whatever gun was used on everyone else here. You don't stop your movements, eyes traveling to his hands and waist.

"Did you see what happened?" You ask slowly, taking in his jittery frame. Fuck, you think. Your far from the police outside, and he's in perfect range to hurt the most amount of people possible.

"Yeah, I got to see it all." You still for just a second, and it happens.

He grabs you in a headlock, gun out, and presses it to the side of your head in a matter of seconds.

"Nobody move!"

Screams fill the air as you watch your team cover patients with their own bodies, Abbot and Robby rushing towards the center before stopping. Fear. That's the only thing they know now as they watch. Abbot's hands are clenched, knowing that trying anything would put you in a worse position.

The armed guards rush in from the ambulance entrance as the man holding you screams at them to stop.

He's frantic, head whipping from the crowd to the police. His grip on you firm, squeezing you tightly to the gun.

"Move, and I'll blow her fucking brains out," he orders, panting heavily. You can feel his body shake.

"Who the fucks in charge," the shooter continues. As Robby slowly raises his hand, Abbot beside him.

"Let's talk. It's alright, nobodys gonna move," holding eye contact with him.

"How many"

"How many what." Robby demands.

"How many did I fucking kill" the shooter spits out.

Robby swallows, not wanting to answer, so you answer for him.

"Six," you whisper as he looks down at you, moving the gun to your temple.

Whimpers fill the room as everyone watches in horror. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Abbot take a step closer before the shooter starts laughing hysterically.

"Six? All those fucking guns. All that time planning. Shooting myself in the arm to kill fucking six?? You were all supposed to die. I was supposed to save everyone, but you ruined it," he screams out at the end, and you can tell he's losing control rapidly.

You needed to act fast. You needed him to loosen his grip, just for a second.

"I know they did", you whisper calmly to him as he stares you down again. His eyes are wild, wide, and blown.

"You were going to save all of us? Weren't you?" You continue softly. He nods, looking unsure for the first time.

"You can still save us. I see you. You're who we needed, who I needed all along," you say, turning fully into his embrace. Your hand creeps slowly up his chest, trying not to spook him.

You hear terrified gasps in the background but ignore them, focusing solely on the unsub.

"That's right, that's right," he whispers. "You see me?"

You smile innocently at him, pushing your head further against the gun for just a second.

"I see you."

There.

His hold loosens as his mind wanders, but you got him.

Quickly, you move, stomping on his foot as your hands grand the gun and his wrist, twisting it harshly like Hotch taught you.

The shooter screams in pain as you rip the gun out and pistol whip him before dropping the gun and kicking it to Abbot -- Who quickly dismantles it.

"Unsub down!" You call out.

The police run in as you back away from the shooter arms up in the air.

——

You're silent. The police chief, someone you had worked with before, just finished interviewing you as you manage to avoid everyone. Up on the roof, you finally breathe. You feel the adrenaline leaving your body as you lean against the rail.

"Room for two more?"

Looking back, you see Abbot and Robby. Their eyes rimmed red, exhaustion deep in their bones. The three of you pause before Abbot breaks the spell, striding to you.

His hands grasp your heads, forcing you to make eye contact. "You ever try to do that again? I'll fucking hog tie you down. Fuck, I'm so mad and proud," your eyes teary as you stare into his.

"Can you hog tie me anyways?"

"This girl," you hear Robby laugh out as Abbot buries his head onto the top of your head. Robby moves to join you two as your squished between them. It feels like hours have passed.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Robby asks, after making sure you're actually okay.

"Remember I used to work for the FBI?"

They give you a blank stare.

"You were a therapist?"

Snorting, you shake your head. "You guys just assumed I was! I was with the BAU for a long time."

The blank stares continue.

Robby opens his mouth and then stops. "So… not a therapist."

"No!, you sexist old men!," laughing as Abbot pushes you.

"I'll show you old," he continues, grabbing you by the waist. He shares a look with Robby over your head, getting a nod back before leaning down to do something he's been waiting months for.

His kiss shocks you to the core. Lips warm, a little chapped but it's perfect, like him. Controlled and demanding obedience. You whimper into it as it feels, his fingers digging into your side and hardening cock against your tummy.

Letting go, you look at him and then Robby before he finally moves. He leans down, kissing you in a way that's fully Robby. Moments later, he lets you go.

The men stare at each other, you in between them again. You watch as their heads tilt towards each other, sharing their first passionate kiss. Another whimper escapes you as your core heats up. They're fucking perfect, you think.

Abbot clears his throat. "We should go home together." He stares you both down in a way that only Abbot does.

Giggling, you agree, as Robby's ears and neck turn red. "Let's close shop first? Then mine, Yeah?"

——

To your embarrassment, claps fill the air as you reenter the ED. Dana hugs you first. "Don't ever do that again."

Smiling, you feel relieved. "Don't really plan on it."

Your heart swells at how worried everyone was, a part of you was nervous they would have taken your crazy words to the shooter for real.

Javadi is the first to put it together.

"Holy fuck your y/n l/n!!! The Y/N L/N from the freaking BAU!! You work with David Rossi and the FBI!!!" She's in shock, having been a fan of the team, and couldn't believe she didn't put it together sooner. You looked different t in your cute scrubs, having usually seen you heels and power suits.

"I thought you were a therapist!!" Landon questions before you raise your hands in defense.

"You guys just assumed! I'm retired BAU!"

"You're too young to be retired from anything!!" He argues back, giving you a hug. "I will bite you!!!" You growl back as you both laugh. He hugs you firmly, thanking you quietly.

The two of you have always had a brother-sister relationship, and you're glad it's not going anywhere, even with his current problems.

“Alright, alright, let my girl breathe," Robby

"My girl," Princess whispers to Perla's in Tagalog excitedly! But Perlah shakes her head as she points out the way Abbot is looking at you.

"But we have questions!!,” someone calls out.

Laughing, you agree to answer a few.

"What's David Rossi like!" Victoria blushes out as you giggle.

"As charming as you think but way too old for you," you smirked at her.

"How did you stop him, the shooter?" Whittaker asks.

"It's something I'm trained for, so for the love of god, please never try that on anyone for any reason." You look at your coworkers firmly.

A sigh escapes you as you answer a few more questions about your time at the BAU. Yes, you know how to use a gun and caught some bad guys. Finally, Abbot called it quits for you and drags you back to the locker with Robby.

He grabs your bag for you, and you smile gratefully. As you leave the building, it's almost shocking how normal it is again. A room full of new patients waiting, with Myrna asking to see Abbot biblically later.

Giggling, you follow the two men home.

——

Robby's place is a quick walk. It's spacious, for just him. Neat, cozy, and almost exactly what you pictured. Photos of him, Jake, his family, and your nights out with the rest of the staff. You try not to analyze him, a part of you that's hard to stop.

You're unsure of what this means for the three of you, but you're willing to try.

"Shower?" Robby grunts out before he nods. He leads the three of you to a bathroom with a large walk-in shower.

Abbot swallows as he notices a shower bench and wall handles, his heart squeezing. "Those?…" he nods towards it.

"Yeah" Robby smiles gently, "Got crutches and Y/Ns favorite soaps too" and for once, Abbot is stunned silent. He places a soft kiss on Robby's lips, before stripping his shirt off.

You watch them, heart swelling with love and need. Their bodies are still hard from the demands of your profession. Their shirts are off before they help you with yours.

"Arms up, baby", Abbot commands as Robby removes your shirt. Your bra, pants, and undies are next. Their eyes dark with desire as they take you in.

"Fucking beautiful baby," Abbot groans, his fingers ghosting over you.

"Could watch you all day pretty girl" Robby's brown eyes taking in every inch, as he tries to ignore his rapidly growing cock.

"Shower first, please." you tiredly laugh out.

You help Abbot with his leg as he settles on the bench. You try not to stare at his salt-and-pepper happy trail, large thighs, or swelling cock.

Robby turns on the water as you help each other bathe. The water and soap feels cleansing, like a new beginning for the three of you.

——

Making your way into Robby's bedroom, the three of you lay on his bed. It's a tight fit, but its perfect.

Kisses are traded as fingers continue to feel, group, and touch. It's all so new and overwhelming, but you refused to stop. You need them now.

Abbot sits up, leaning against the headboard, and settles you into his lap. You can't help but whine and grind your ass against his cock. It's large and thick at the base, while Robby's is just a little longer.

"Naughty little girl, wanting us to take care of that perfect wet pussy huh?" He whispers in your ear as Robby spreads your legs open, kissing his way down from your thighs.

"Please, Daddy," you whimper out, having to stop yourself from humping the air. Their groans fill the room as your words sink in.

"We got you, baby, we got you. Gonna fill you all night long, we promise.”

The night was the first of many in your unconventional relationship and one the three of you would never forget.

Young At Age, Old In Heart // Jack Abbot

Prologue: Clam before the storm.

Summary: Jack Abbots unlikely affinity for the younger PT down at the VA starts to really spiral out of control when she’s brought in during a mass casualty event.

Warnings: 18+ content. Gun violence. Gun violence victims. Slow burn romance. Jack Abbot x F!reader. Age Gap! Older male x younger female. Mature content and themes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author Note: I’m trying to allow myself to enjoy the smaller things in life that bring me joy so here we are…ironically concocting some of the most gut wrenching whump you and I both have ever read. But for now…enjoy this slow burn prologue.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough.”

Dr. Jack Abbot…wasn’t expecting to see the new hire from down at the VA, with a patient in one of the examination rooms, the Pitt never seemed to have enough off. He caught the sound of your laugh, a mix of ‘this isn’t happening’ and ‘unbelievable’, peppered the pitch at which you let your laughter echo off the walls. Jack goes there on an infrequent basis, to the VA, that is, mainly when the nightmares get too out of control.

You’ve got this quick wit about you that the golden oldies love. The banter, the big personality. The way you show up and lead the room with nothing but a little conviction.

And now here you are…why were you here so early? And why were you wearing his jumper like it belonged to you?

“Hi!” Jack hears your voice as he makes his way across the Emergency Room with blinders to get to you. That first memory of you meeting played in the frontal cortex of Jack’s mind—all the while he watched you listen and take in all the Dr, you couldn’t remember her name, had to say. “I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet,” You explain graciously. “I’m Y/n, one of the new Personal Trainers here.”

“I gotta say, you’re a lot better looking than Aaron over there,” The man who shook your hand said loud enough for your colleague to hear. “I’m—“Before Jack could introduce himself to you, Aaron was shouting across the small but impactful space.

“Hey! It’s my old man, thought you fell off the perch for a second there, but I guess we aren’t that lucky?” Aaron teased as he took slow steps of confidence towards Jack. He could only begin to imagine what you were thinking after hearing such a welcome.

“Luck hasn’t got anything to do with it, and I’ll tell you that for free my brother—“ Jack reciprocated the friendly fire “How’s your mother anyway? She still call my name in her sleep—*oof*”

“Don’t mind the talking corpse in early-stage rigour mortis, Y/n,” Aaron sighed after his softly jabbed Jack in the gut. “That’s our boy Abbot, Dr. Jack Abbot, neighbour, friend and legend in and outta the combat zone.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mind me,” Jack coughed as he landed a hand on your colleague’s shoulder. He faked instability like he was trying to get a rise out of you. “Aaron here has one testicle, but–”

Okay, easy pops,” Aaron conceded to the ribbing event he’d started. “Jack here works down at the Pitt, stops by from time to time when he has some spare time, comes for a workout.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Jack,” You confirmed with a nod and a smile.

“You’ve got Y/n today, and please don’t fall victim to the cutiesy, I’m just a girl, innocence, she’s like a Venus fly trap.” Aaron turned his sights on you as his next victim. “But she goes alright, keeps the old vets in check.”

“Jack is just fine,” Jack smiled at you as you puffed your chest a little, living in the moment of the slightly backhanded compliment from Aaron.

“I think I’m gonna stick with Dr. Jack.” You left it at a wink, a small but telling gesture that Jack wasn’t too taken aback by. He gravitated towards flirtatious banter…

Because at his very core, Jack Abbot was a flirt. He was the flirt.

Jack had never been so perplexed before in the context of someone’s presence. Your smile was like a drug of sorts, like he was getting a sort of morphine straight to his veins whenever your lips curled up into a wide, bright curl.

The way you conducted yourself through the class. The energy, the passion that Jack could see so clearly. You were like a sort of espresso, a beautiful change in his mundane routine. One that he wanted to change somewhat. That’s why he was here to begin with.

The VA was a safe place. A community of people who may not have shared the same history…but understood the language.

“What are you doing in my E.R.?” Jack spoke calmly but firmly. Like he knew clarity was his best friend.

His voice sounded like a melodious symphony. Something you could listen to with intent all day long.

“Dr. Jack,” You smiled at the man who’d become…something, to you. “Danny here had a bit of a fall earlier this morning and I have a bad habit of giving these guys my phone number incase of emergencies,” You explained with care as you made sure your client and valued friend was comfortable. “Luckily, there’s nothing too serious that can’t be handled, right Danny?”

“Awful shame I didn’t catch the two of you sooner though,” Jack shrugged as he moved effortlessly around the room to get closer to you. Doing so in a way that wasn’t advertently obvious. You caught on straight away, watching him with every move he made. “My shifts just ended.”

“Y/n was just keeping me company till my sister could get here,” Danny explained as he sat with oxygen and some heavy duty pain killers. “She’s free to leave.”

“I wasn’t offering taxi service if that’s what you thought, Dan,” Jack teased as he checked over all of Danny’s vitals just to be sure. Brushing past you ever so slightly as he did. “I was just saying I’m going home, so if you code I’m not coming back to save your ass.”

“Semper Fi,” You mumbled just enough for Jack to hear you. He’d told you once while on an early morning run that it was a code. A life motto for any Marine. ‘Always faithful’. You already knew what it meant when he told you. You’d worked down at the VA for long enough to pick up a little lingo between the corps.

But you liked when you got to play student sometimes.

The look you received as Jack looked back at you over his shoulder was one that could turn anyone who ran hot…to ice in under three seconds.

“You need a ride home?” He asked just for the sake of pleasantries, knowing you didn’t need a ride, but would in fact be seeing him later for breakfast. A date. A planned adult interaction outside of work and his normal routine. Jack was working on it. The mundane that was.

“I got it, Pops,” Again, the glare nearly made you dizzy. The stern eyebrows, the tight lipped expression. “I’ll catch you later, Danny, please look after yourself and say hello to Carole for me.”

“Will do darling, and thanks again for coming.” Danny expressed his gratitude.

“Owe me a fifty, but I guess I’ll allow it just this once, for you.” You flirted back lightheartedly like you always did. They needed it. It was like a drug to them. The attention, the praise.

You liked it too. Older men. An older man that was. The man who was looking at you with such fire behind his dusty eyes. Clouded with swayed judgment and lust for the younger woman standing in the doorway.

“I knew I was your favourite.” Danny’s voice brought you back to earth, but your eyes never peeled away from the glare you were receiving.

“Oh I dunno about that, That spots already been taken.” You replied, knowing Jack would assume you were implying that he was in fact your favourite…

****************************

“Hey,” There you were, sitting right on the hood of Jack's truck as he sauntered across the hospital car park. The beat up piece of crude barely worked, but he sure loved it like it was an extension of himself. “Did you know the cafe here is actually decent?”

“Ah—“ Jack teased as he made it over to where you had perched up against his 1998 Ford Falcon. “Well, if it isn’t miss independent herself!” Jack mocks you playfully while you hand him the coffee you brought on his behalf. “Driving yourself places, I’m so proud of you! Graduating from the booster seat, also, that’s my jumper you said you nev—“

“Shut up for a minute would you?” You interrupted with a soft chuckle. “I got you these,” the bouquet of natives you had kept beside you was now on full display. “Stop by his grave and say hello later today?”

Jack didn’t respond as he reached out for the flowers. All far beyond perfect. He didn’t respond right away. He simply studied every possible angle of the natives in their perfect world of order and precision.

“How did you know?” Was all he managed to offer up, the tone in his voice now laced with a heaviness of grief no amount of time could heal.

“You’ve mentioned him and I listen,” You knew it was a hard subject to discuss, but the death of Dr. Adamson would never be forgotten. “But if you want a more intimate answer then I’d say you’ve been more on edge than usual,” You knew Jack thought he had it under wraps. “Just figured it was that.” You shrugged understandingly.

“Did you ask me out for breakfast—“ Once again, before Jack could finish, you interrupted. Finishing his sentence for him.

“So you wouldn’t jump off the roof? Yeah—”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re crushing my sprint here.” Jack faked a pained heart as he bumped his shoulder into yours. The pair of you were still leaning against the bonnet of his beat up shot box.

“Plus, you’ve been using my Doordash account and I dunno what to tell you besides you need to add an extra therapy session into your schedule.”

“God I hate you.” Jack didn’t. If anything he was beginning to question if he maybe subscribed to the other side of the coin. Love. Jack wasn’t capable of love in this sort of capacity.

Was he?

“Keep lying to yourself Dr. Jack,“ You teased with a soft laugh. “It doesn’t work on me.”

Another moment of silence passed the two of you by as you took in the crisp Pittsburgh air. That early morning mist. The soft glow of a radiant sunrise on the horizon.

“Does physical therapy count?” Jack broke the silence with a gentle knock of his foot against yours.

“Your runner's leg is—oh,” Your mind had immediately gone to Jack's prosthetic. It was still at the VA. “You were trying to seduce me, weren’t you?”

“Come home with me, I’ll make you breakfast?” It was a genuine offer that you couldn’t refuse. By why? What was Jack thinking about?

“Catch?” You counted. “And don’t give me any bullshit Abbot!”

Jack could feel your index finger poking him in the chest. You still sat beside him, but you’d turned yourself towards him. “No bullshit—no catch, let’s just see where the day takes us.”

“I gotta take Tate to Pittfest later, but I’m sure I’ve got time to play into your delusional old man fantasies.” You replied playfully with a Cheshire like grin smeared across your face.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel young, don’t you?” Jack sighed, faking defeat.

“Standard issue daddy issues, my friend,” You shrugged, leaning in to leave a gentle kiss on Jack's scruff covered cheek. “Race ya.”

******************

some of my favorite shawn hatosy tweets about his wife and why i refuse to settle for any less

my heart

Sunset

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Ex!Red-Cross Nurse

Summary: Luciana, a highly experienced and tough nurse (ex-Red Cross) working in a busy ER, is haunted by traumatic memories from her past humanitarian work in a war zone. One day, during a shift, she is suddenly overwhelmed by flashbacks of a deadly battlefield, reliving the chaos, pain, and loss she witnessed, which causes her to have a panic attack. Thankfully, Jack is there to pull her back.

Warnings: PTSD, panic attacks, war, injuries. Luciana is Latina, so a few words are in Spanish. English is not my main language.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: it's been a while since I wrote something but I was inspired after watching the Pitt. Also, this is my first time writing in englsih, so forgive my grammar.

Hope you like it!!!

Gif de emziess

Sometimes, the noises are enough to drag her back—ironic because she works in a place where silence is a pipe dream. If she can’t stand the noise, she shouldn’t work in an ER, but she does and now has to pay the price.

This does not always happen; after all, she’s been in The Pitt for years. What dragged her to the past today was a combination of shouting and the wind hitting the doors. She was so concentrated on looking at the board, analyzing the patients while searching for an opportunity to clear more beds, that she was startled when the wind hit the glass door.

The only thing she can hear is her heart beating strongly and her rapid breaths, but her mind isn’t in the PItt anymore. She’s back in hell, the heat of an explosion surrounding her, making it hard to breathe, bullets everywhere, and the only thing she sees is blood.

Blood in her clothes, in the sand, in her body. 

Blood pouring from a soldier’s leg

“Stay with me!” she hears herself screaming. “Don’t close your eyes!”

She acted fast, making a tourniquet with her belt and using her shirt to bandage the wound. She needs to get him out of here. They were in the open in the middle of a battle between soldiers and terrorists, so she grabbed his arms and tried to ignore his screams while she dragged him to hide behind a vehicle.

“Where the hell is our backup?!” she screams to another soldier. They needed to get the hell out of there if she wanted to save the wounded. 

From a distance, another scream, a familiar one. Miles, a senior doctor, the one who recruited her was now dead. One second, he was helping a soldier, the next he was on the sand with a bullet hole between his eyes.

This was supposed to be another humanitarian mission, like the many others they did in the past; they weren’t even soldiers. They were sent to a small village to help the women and children, the military was just there for protection.

This was supposed to be an offer of peace, but it turned out to be a deadly trap, and she was in the middle of it.

Her body was on autopilot, she couldn't stop to cry over the deaths. There were lives still to be saved. From her pocket, she grabs gauze and uses it to keep the soldier alive. She prayed for the helicopter to arrive soon, the soldier needed surgery fast. The medic looked around, her eyes settling on one of the four soldiers who were still fighting, firing his gun with his right arm while his left was bleeding from a gunshot.

“Hey, you!” she shouted, “come over here!”

The soldier, not much older than her and definitely terrified, crawled faster to her side. When his eyes landed on the man on the ground, he paled.

“Fuck, that’s Abbot, our medic” the soldier, a latin boy she figured by his accent, said barely in a whisper but she managed to hear it.

“Well right now he’s my patient” she snapped, her patience running thin. “I need you to keep his leg elevated and hold pressure on the wound” she told him while looking for more bandages to cover that gunshot wound. But the soldier didn’t answer, his eyes still on Abbot’s leg - or the lack of it.

“Soldado!” She switched to spanish and finally the soldier looked at her. “Necesito que tengas elevada su pierna y hagas presión así puedo revisar tu herida. Can you do that?!”

He gave her a nod and moved quickly to help. The adrenaline was high for him as he didn’t feel the pain when the medic started to apply pressure on his arm. She used her last roll of bandage and prayed to be enough.

“Where’s our damn helicopter?” she asked again, finally getting an answer “Two minutes!”

Two minutes, one hundred and twenty seconds. A lot can happen in that time.

“Grenade!” someone shouts, and she drops to the ground, her body covering the army medic. An explosion steals the air from her lungs, and pain erupts from her side. Something hit her.

“Shit, Abbot!” the young soldier screams, grabbing the medics attention. She didn’t have time to assess the situation, see if any of them were hurt, or determine her own pain;  Abbot was pale as a ghost and wasn’t responding. She quickly pressed two fingers to his throat. There was no pulse

“La puta madre” she cursed and started compressions. “Don’t you dare to fucking die, ¡¿me escuchaste?!”

You are not allowed to give up.

There’s ringing in her ears, and her vision is dizzy, but she only stops to breathe in his mouth and resumes compressions again. That’s when the wind started, making it hard to see anything, but she didn’t stop CPR. They had already lost so much, and the idea of Abbot dying under her hands was a thought she couldn’t conceive. She looked around, searching for something that could help her. She cursed, when did she let go of her medic bag? How could she be so dumb to let go of the most important thing- there it was.

“Somebody fucking get me that bag!” she shouted, hoping to be heard. If she could grab the epi, maybe she could save him.

A hand is on her shoulder, and someone is talking to her.

L-

Luci-

“Luciana!” someone’s shaking her by the arms, and suddenly she isn’t in the desert anymore, fighting to save a life.

No sand surrounded her, just concrete, and the wind wasn’t from a helicopter. She’s back in Pittsburgh, on the rooftop of the hospital where she works. 

How did she get here? 

“Luciana, hey, look at me” A warm hand is on her cheek, guiding her face to the person in front of her.

Brown's eyes met their mirror, and the door guarding her soul was wide open, making her feel bare under his eyes. The thought of being so vulnerable increased the panic in her veins. She’s not used to showing her feelings, always maintaining a stoic face when it comes to her problems. Luciana made empathy her armor, prioritizing other’s problems over hers. That way, her trauma keeps being deep inside and her mind would never have the time to address it.

Luciana Suarez built her personality around being a strong woman who has seen it all and doesn’t shed a single tear about it. When her eyes met Abbot’s, her walls crumbled down into tiny pieces, and her facade no longer existed, making it all worse.

“I need you to breathe,” he instructed her, as he would to any other patient, at least that was what she told herself.

But air seemed like the wrong option when her lungs were burning like a forest in the middle of the summer.

“I - I can’t” It was an impossible task, how can she calm down when everything feels like a nightmare? Her eyes might be seeing Jack in front of her, but her body is still in hell.

Suddenly she felt something cold and her mind stopped. It was unexpected, for a moment all she could feel was the heat - imaginary but nonetheless. When her eyes looked for the source, her heart stopped. A hand she’d seen too many times doing impossible procedures, had grabbed her with such gentleness and placed it on something metal.

It was a prosthetic foot. His prosthetic foot.

“Feel this?” he asked “ I’m alive, we survived”

He wanted to tell her so many things. That his moments on this very roof aren’t a debate over suicide, on the contrary, he’s grateful he’s still breathing and it’s all because of her. Because she didn’t give up on him, she fought and brought him back to the land of living. Yes, he lost his leg but that would never be her fault. Thanks to this angel - as he usually calls her in his mind -, he got to live. Fifteen extra years and plenty of opportunities. 

If it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have married his wife. He wouldn’t be alive to go home, marry Isabel, and live her last years with her. He wouldn’t have met his brother in everything but blood, Robby.

If it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have this job that made him feel useful without putting his life in danger. He isn’t going to lie, some shifts still took a toll on him, where the death felt like a weight he was holding.  Some nights, he was Atlas holding the sky on his shoulders and that’s why he goes back to the roof. And when the sun rise again, she appears and suddenly, the weight isn’t as heavy as before: she’s holding the sky with him, together.

God, she was barely a child when she saved his lame ass. She was twenty years old, a prodigy child who graduated early and just wanted to be a doctor and do humanitarian work he discovered after waking up in a foreign hospital.

Definitely an angel.

As soon as he opened his eyes and learned the news - learned what he’d lost -, she visited him. In his pain, he was surprised: the person who saved him was a young girl… in a wheelchair. A bullet to her back, she had to be operated on twice to get the remains off or she could risk being paralyzed for life.

She was badly hurt while saving his life and she told him all that with a little smile. In the beginning, he hated that smile. How can she be fine after all that? He lost part of his leg and already felt like his life was ending - it took him a very long time, with the help of his therapist and his wife, to make peace with this new and broken body.

It took him a few years to realize she was broken too.

He hates to see his salvation hiding the pain behind a smile, hoping nobody would notice. But he did and did nothing about it: maybe it was because Luciana was too stubborn to accept help and he didn’t know how to act on these feelings. He remembered when he saw her again, a few years ago, when she started working at The Pitt. The world stopped but his heart started beating again after a long time. Regret filled his heart at his cowardice, guilt swimming in his heart. 

Jack let himself be used to toeing between the lines: between being colleagues and something more. He already has a soft spot for her, everyone knows it. Always praising her for her good work, or consolating her when the shift was being a nightmare. He even let his fingers graze her every now and then, a small act of selfishness for his heart. But that was it. When the opportunity of doing something else, of doing something more crossed his mind, he closed the door.

Oh how Jack wished to go back in time, but that was just a fantasy. So, in return, he vowed to not be that version of himself anymore.

A hand brushing the scar on her back made her open her eyes - she didn’t know when she closed them. It took her a few seconds to remember what was happening, her mind shut down when she met the cold of-

Jack

She lifted her gaze and there he was, still looking at her like he could read her mind and maybe he could as he managed to bring her back. 

“Hey”

“Hola” Jack speaking Spanish almost makes her smile again, and he relaxed slightly. “¿Estas bien?”

When did the wind stop?

Lu took a deep breath, something that felt impossible moments ago, and cleaned her tears with her hand. “A little peachy,” she said, giving him a small smile “Sorry you had to come”.  The hate of being a burden was burning her throat.

“Don’t” he interrupted her. “You are not a burden to me, Luciana”. How did he know? She swears every time his eyes found hers, he could read her mind.

She hid her face in his chest and strong arms involved her. She’s not used to opening up about her problems, even though her therapist told her plenty of times that she shouldn’t be embarrassed about her feelings.

She protected her heart because it was too big for her own sake: she felt too much about everything, a curse rather than a gift. That’s why she hid her true feelings, she doesn’t want to suffer.

Maybe that’s why she did nothing about her feelings for Jack. He would never hurt her, she knows that, but what if they weren’t ready? What if she was too much? She would never recover from the bleeding.

“Damm my heart” she murmured, still between his arms. Her hand was still on the prosthetic, the cold metal grounding her

“Hey, don’t be hard on yourself” he rests his chin on top of her head, his fingers running small circles on her scar.

“Jack, I got a panic attack from a little wind, don’t tell me that’s normal”

A hand on her cheek brought her back to the starring contest (when she loses every time).

“You have PTSD, just like I have. You told me plenty of times that there’s nothing wrong with that”.

It’s okay to be broken sometimes.

He hugged her again, knowing she still needed the contention. They stayed like that, feeling each other heartbeat while watching the sunset. That’s when she grabbed the courage.

“I was searching for a place like this”

“A rooftop?” that made her laugh and for Jack it felt like heaven.

“No, tonto. I mean in a metaphorical sense. I was looking for a place to finally wake up and be the full version of myself”

“And where’s that?” he asks, but his eyes are shining like he knows the answer.

“Here, between your arms” there, she finally said it.

“It was time you let me hold the weight with you” he placed a kiss on her forehead and that almost made her cry again “and I intend to do it for as long as you have me”.

“¿Y si digo para siempre?” she asked in her mother language, can’t help but feel a little insecure. She just asked him forever and they haven’t even-

“Then forever it is” and he kissed all her insecurities goodbye.

Lessons In Him

Jack Abbot x reader

You spot Jack across the bar, he doesn't think you actually like him.

warnings: none yet, it will become smut later on

Minors do not interact. If you don't have your age in your bio or pinned post, you will be immediately blocked. "18+" DOES NOT COUNT. No exceptions! I CHECK!!!

You stared at him as he lifted his beer to his mouth. “I swear to god, if you don't go over there, I will.” Kacey's thought broke you from your staring, “you wouldn't dare” you shoot back at her. You know she would, she did it with the guy who you asked to prom, even if he did stand you up. “Who even knows if he likes younger women? He’s probably mid 40s, and I'm 26. He could be my dad!” She just stares at you, with a knowing look of ‘really?’. 

You huff at her, turning to the bartender. “The salt and peppered one sitting with the dark brunette. What's he drinking?”, she glances over at him, “a draft, i'm assuming you're asking so you can send him one?”, “yes.” She nods and pours one, bringing it over to him, tilting her head in your direction, as she sets it down. In front of the brunette, the wrong guy. You make eye contact with him, pointing at his friend. 

He laughs and sets in down in front of Jack, who whips his head to make eye contact with you. You smile at him, before ducking your eyes to your glass. It takes 5 minutes for you to look back and see he's ducked his head back down. You ask the bartender for a piece of paper, to write your number down. “He’s a war veteran with a prosthetic, he's probably worried you’ll run.”, she says as she hands it to you.  You quickly scribble your number down, asking her to give it to him. You see her drop it infront of him, the correct guy this time, and wait.

Jack stared at the beer in front of him, “C’mon man, she's cute and very clearly likes you!” Robby tossed his way as he slapped his shoulder. “She's young, she doesn't need to be shacking up with me. Besides, she'll see the prosthetic and run screaming." Jack tosses back at him and the bartender drops a piece of paper in front of me. “From your not-so-secret admirer.” He flips it open to see her number and a smiley face, moving to crumple it up before noticing her other note, ‘I don't mind the prosthetic, it's a part of who you are’. Robby leans over, “I told you man. Go get her!” Jack rolls his eyes at him, before chugging the last of the beer. Jack slid up next to her at the bar, “so, how’d you figure out about my leg?”, she turns and smirks at me, tilting her head towards the bartender.

 Laughing, “yeah, she tries to play matchmaker with everyone, she's too damn fast at her job, leaves her time to conspire.” She laughs like spring air, with a lightness that chips at his steeled heart. She places her hand on your elbow, leaning in when someone shoves behind her to the bar. His hand sets on her lower back, and she leans farther into him. “So, you and your friend are doctors, I could tell by the scrubs. 

If I guess the specialty, do I win a date with you?” she says after stepping back. “Ok, but first,” her friend chimes in, causing you both to look at her, “is your friend single?” You laugh at her, “he, well, it’s complicated.”, she hums, “good. I'm not either, but now I can grill him about you without having to date him.” she turns on her heel bouncing towards Robby. “Is he going to be safe around her?” Jack asks, “oh yeah, but she's about to give him the third degree about you.” She turns smirking at Jack. Jack gently grabs her wrist, pulling her towards an empty table, her staring into him as he sits next to her.

You stared into Jack as he sat down next to you in the booth. Looking around the bar as the sounds get louder, you hardly hear him asking if you're ok. “Huh, what? Sorry.” you say ducking your head down. He gently lifts your chin up with his thumb, “do you want to go outside? We can sit across the street, but it's getting loud and I'd like to not shout at you.” You nod, as he stands up pulling your hand with him. You feel him drap your coat over your shoulders, as you walk over to Robby and Kacey to let them know where you're going. Leaving the bar, the sounds instantly quieting, you're sure he can hear your heart beating now. Settling on the bench, he sets his arm behind you across the back. “Wow, didn't even do the fake yawn, you must be very confident Dr.?” “Abbot, but call me Jack.” You smile as you tell him your name back, him repeating it back to you, your mind wandering to him saying it in bed. 

“Hey,” he says startling you back, “sorry, was just thinking.” Jack laughs at you, stretching his legs out as he slides closer to you, you gladly leaning into his side. “So, do I still get a guess for what kind of doctor you are?” He laughs at you, “sure, but you get a date with me either way.” You feel your face flush, as you lean back, running your eyes over him. “Hm, the dog tags give away you were in the military, best guess Army. Sooo, Emergency Medicine. Bust guess attending, and most definitely night shift. You like chaos.” He looks at you like you're a psychic, and you laugh before he talks again. “How did you guess that? Like that's scary good.” You laugh at him, “you stitched up my roommate last year after she knocked her head after drinking too much at a party. But in full honesty I didn't realise it was you until you said your last name.” He laughs at you, before the wind kicks up and blows goosebumps up your arms. “Oh hey, here.” He says wrapping your coat around you more, leaving his arm hooked around you. 

As he wraps his arm around you, he feels your heart beating against his side. “Do you want to get something to eat? I know a 24/7 diner not far away. They’ve got great pancakes,” he says as he runs his hand up your arm. He stands up grabbing your hand in his, it sliding in perfect. He follows the sidewalk rule, keeping you close to his side, which he claims is because you are shivering. He holds the door for you, keeping his eyes not so subtle on your ass. He whips his head up when he sees you turn towards him, “where do you want to sit?” He rocks back on his heels as best as he can with his prosthetic. He follows you to the booth, the waitress coming up to give you two menus. “Do you trust me?” he asks you, you nodding at him in response, “i came with you didnt I?” you sass at him. He rolls his eyes, and orders for both of you, “so the usual Jack? This is the first time I've seen you with someone here.” she teases him, before leaning down to his ear, “she's very cute, but young…” She gently pushes his shoulder before smiling at you and walking away. He coughs, “so, that question is now, I'm not grave robbing am I?” he asks you. You laugh at him, “I'm 26, is that an issue?” He shakes his head, reaching his hand across the table for yours. You set your hand in his, as he rubs the back of it. “No, it's not.” he smiles at her, as the waitress comes back with your food. The two of you eat as you chat for an hour, you look at your phone to see 10 missed calls from Kacey. “Shit,” you say as he looks at you. 

“We forgot to tell them we left the park; they’re threatening to call the cops”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you liked it! This will be cross posted on my Ao3, ElizaKazansky86, that is the only place and name it will be under!

Taglist: @mynameismckenziemae @rhettabbotts

Just In Case (Dr Jack Abbot x FemaleResident!Reader)

Summary: He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. "Really brother? One of your residents?" Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.

Warning: all my content is considered 18+ only, smut, age gap unspecified, reader is one of Jacks resident, fluff, smut, angst, happy ending, as always barely proofread or edited plz forgive me

A quick note: I know I promised this forever ago, but I'll be completely honest, this is NOT the story I started out to write! But holy fuck it took over with a mind of it's own and I really love the way it turned out so I hope y'll do too!! also, again, shout-out to the gif creater above because this one's still my fav

ENJOY!

~~~~~

He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. "Really brother? One of your residents?"

Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.

Jack liked you from the jump. Smart, witty, a little dark like he was and not afraid to jump into the chaos with no need to know how deep. You had fit right in on his shift and for a long time you were just his best resident. His BEST, fucking resident, because God you were good. Every trauma, every code, every shitty shift you were right there doing the work and it was clear you loved all of it.

Jack had asked Robby one morning, "So, what's the deal? Why'd you let her go? You usually like to keep the star pupils to yourself."

Robby had just made that face at him, that annoying one with the shrug. "Thought I'd make her your problem for awhile."

Then the next night Jack had to split up you and the R4 in the middle of the hub. "What in the actual fuck are you two doing?" His presence had been enough to put some distance between the both of you, but you were pissed and the R4 was not letting it go.

"She walked all over my case."

"Because you were fucking it up! That girl did not have time to wait, and I told you that three times."

"And I told you to stay in your lane, I'm your senior resident."

"You are a dipshit, that was going to kill that girl by lack of action."

"Enough." Jack didn't yell. He didn't need to. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, face hard and waited.

"Dr. Abbot, she has authority issues, and it's interfering with her patient care and everyone elses."

"I don't have an issue with authority," If looks could kill the R4 would have dropped dead. Then you turned that look on him and it didn't have the venom in it, but the fight was there, that unwavering confidence, "I have a problem with misplaced authority."

Jack had held your gaze as you'd said it then nodded. He'd sent you both on your separate ways and excused himself to the bathroom where he took a leak and then stood with his hands braced on the sink as he stared himself down in the mirror. "What the fuck?" He whispered to himself as he rocked side to side and shook his head at his own reflection. He should've been annoyed at you two, not himself, but something about that look you had given him. It was like it had flipped some sort of switch. Like suddenly you weren't just his best resident, you were also…

The bathroom door swung open, "Dr. Abbot, we have a code blue coming in, ETA 5 minutes."

He nodded, "Set up trauma two."

Every shift after that he caught himself thinking things he should not be thinking about his resident. Yes you were his best resident, talented and dedicated, but you were also gorgeous. Not that he had never noticed, but now it was something he couldn't help but pay attention to. In between patients, when you passed by him or stood a little too close, he felt his pulse quicken. He couldn't help but watch you a little closer, the way you were so soft and calm with nervous patients, the way you didn't take shit from the combative ones. The confidence you had in your abilities and the drive you had to be better.

Your eyes. Those beautiful fucking eyes that never shied away from him. Your smile. Not big and bright or soft or sweet. No, the one that drove him fucking crazy? That was the tiny one, the barely there tick of your lips, up to one side before you could fight it back. That one was his favorite, because it felt like he had to earn that one. Like he had done something, just enough, to get you to crack. Like there was something you were trying to keep to yourself and if he said the right thing, did the right thing, you'd show him what it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long night. A long week. Jack had gone up for some air and some quiet. He had his back leaned against the railing and hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the horizon.

The access door opened and he furrowed his brow. Robby wasn't working today.

When he looked over his shoulder the last person he had expected to see was you, just standing there with one of your easy smiles. "Need me, you could have called."

You just shrugged as you came closer. "Don't need anything, Day shift is trickling in." You came to lean next to him. Close enough to touch. "You good boss?"

Jack glanced sideways at you. Your hair was falling down, eyes tired, smile careful. He had to fight the urge to lean towards you, close that distance just to touch, even if it was just your shoulder against his. He shook his head, "Just one of those nights. You good?"

You nodded, leaned over the railing carefully to look down, "Do you actually think about it? When you come up here or is it just... a thing you do?"

He's not sure he would have been more surpised if you had slapped him. He looked at you long and hard. When you didn't flinch, didn't shy away, he shrugged. "Depends on the day." Jack cracks a little smirk for you, to ease the tension.

You smile back at him, unphased, as you stood up a little straighter. His eyes track your every move as you lean across the railing.

Jack had been wrong when he thought he couldn't be more surprised if you'd slapped him. Becuase the last thing he would have ever expected was that you would lean across the railing and kiss him.

It wasn't anything crazy. A quick brush of your lips over his. Not long enough. When you didn't pull back all the way he watched you close. Studied you. "Just in case." You shrugged as you finally stepped back.

You were about to turn and leave when he asked, "In case what?"

You gave him another smile, this time with something in your eyes that you didn't try to hide from him as the sun crept up over the skyline. "In case tonight was one of those nights."

It wasn't. It was one of those nights, but not one of THOSE nights. Jack liked that it hadn't been some big thing. Quick and light. He liked that you hadn't hesitated. He liked that if it had been one of those nights, you thought a kiss would have changed something. It changed everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You know, the park beers is really more of a day shift thing."

You turned to the side and inwardly scolded yourself for not hearing him approach. "No beer." You shrugged but didn't offer up anything else.

Jack took another step closer, "Thinkin' about that kid?" He shrugged his backpack up higher and waited for your response.

You looked him over and even after the night you'd had, you had to fight back a smile because he looked good. This was your favorite version of Dr. Jack Abbot. Cargo pants, hair a mess and he'd pulled his scrub top off at some point and had worked the last couple hours in just atight, black t-shirt. You took a deep breath, "You goin' to tell me I did everything I could?"

He shook his head, "You already know that."

You nodded, "Yep."

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride home."

"Why?" You looked up at him, skeptical.

The grin he gave you washed all that away, "Just in case."

You thought maybe it would be awkward, letting Jack drive you home after what you'd done on the roof four shifts ago. It wasn't. Then when he had pulled up in front of your building, you thought for sure it would be awkward, but it wasn't. He just put the truck in park and tipped his head to catch your eye, "Go get some sleep okay." When you didn't move right away, he gave you a little nod, "I'll see you tomorrow."

You felt sick to your stomach suddenly, like you had been very wrong. "Jack…If I…"

He draped his wrist over the steering wheel and his eyes were soft, "Tomorrows a new day."

"Get that from Robby?" you tried to swallow down the bile in your throat, force a smile.

Jack shrugged, gave you a smirk. "Maybe. I mean it, get some sleep."

You had started to climb out of the truck, but your hand paused on the handle. You were always something of a go big or go home kind of girl. So, you turned back, leaned across the console and didn't give yourself or Jack the chance to think twice. You kissed him again. More than a quick peck this time and the air rushed out of your lungs when his lips moved with yours, slow and steady.

You were about to pull back when you felt the hand that had been draped over the steering wheel cradle the back of your head and keep you there.

When Jack did eventually let you pull away his eyes locked onto yours. "What was that for?"

You whispered, scared to get your hopes up, "Just in case I don't get another chance."

He dropped his head back against the headrest and held your gaze, "If I promise you'll get another chance, will you go upstairs and get some rest?" When you nodded he cracked a little smile, "I'll see you tomorrow."

~~~~~~

Giving you a ride home became a thing, not after every shift but more and more.

It felt like you both just craved that little bit of time alone, together. It wasn't even something seedy or scandalous, he would just... drive you home.

Sometimes you'd kiss him, sometimes he'd reach out for your hand and hold it the whole way to your apartment. At some point it turned into drive thru coffee. He didn't just pull up out front anymore, he'd park in a spot and you would talk.

Jack told you about his wife first. The broken part of him figured; get the rough stuff out of the way first. If you were going to change your mind that would do it, and he'd rather deal with it sooner than later. He told you and you had just held his hand, your thumb working circles over his palm with tears in your eyes. "I don't have the words Jack, God I wish I did..."

He didn't need you to have the words. The look in your eyes unwavering and the grip on his hand was enough. He had just shaken his head, throat still hoarse and had lifted the back of your hands to his lips. That was enough.

He told you about his leg. You never flinched once and this time it was him that stroked his thumb over your palm. Back and forth, where they rested together on the console. You had just leaned forward, held his gaze and told him it made him more of a man.

He told you about his PTSD, explained his little visits to the roof, told you about his therapist. You said you were proud of him, and leaned over to kiss him and steal the last bagel bite out of his lap. Jack had grinned, watched the way your face lit up to see it, even if your eyes were a little misty. "I want to tell him about you..." Jack waited, watched you like his life depended on it. Because, even then he knew this couldn't be casual, not for him, and if it was real he was going to do it right.

You had laughed and he panicked for half a second before you leaned in to kiss him again. "You mean, we've been working together this long and you haven't already complained about me to your therapist?"

He laughed, and God it felt like a gulp of air. He sank his hand into your hair and slammed your mouth to his. Kissed you like you'd never been kissed before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning you had whispered, "Come upstairs?" He'd thought he might combust then and there. He had searched your eyes. Those gorgeous fucking eyes that never wavered under his. He'd never forget the pretty way you bit your lip, or the way your eyes flashed with something he hadn't seen yet when he gave you one more quick kiss and turned off his truck.

Any lingering thought or rationalization that you could be something casual went out the fucking window the moment you let him press you up against the inside of your apartment door and kiss you the way he'd been wanting to for months.

The way you gasped and moaned so pretty for him when he pinned your wrists over your head with one hand and slipped the other inside your scrub pants. "Jesus Christ sweetheart..." He murmured into your ear when he felt how hot and wet you were for him.

"Jack," Your eyes fluttered closed as he eased the first, thick finger inside you, "Shit." You fidgeted, tried to chase his hand with your hips, but you didn't fight his hold on your wrists or the way he pressed you into the hard surface. You groaned, showed your teeth in something between a smile and a snarl as he gave you a second finger, but did not change his rythym.

He kept his strokes slow, steady, deep. Kissed every part of you he could reach at this angle. Your neck, the hollow of your throat the shell of your ear, before always returning to your mouth. "Feel good?"

You nodded, frantic, gave him an airy, 'Mhmm."

"Yeah?" He mouthed at the soft spot just below your ear as he finally sped up his movements and felt the way your pussy quivered and clenched around his fingers. Jack smiled as he moved up to rest his forhead against yours, "Yeah..." He answered himself as he studied your face, felt the warm puffs of air as you panted and gasped, his palm resting over your clit as he drove his fingers deeper.

"Oh shit, shit," Your words cut off with a groan as he pressed against the little bundle of nerves harder.

"Yeah?" He licked his lips and fought back a smirk as he kissed you softly, pulled his fingers out and circled them over your clit. Firmer, faster. "Going to cum for me already, aren't you sweetheart?"

"Yeah." You chased after his kiss like you needed it to breathe, your weight sinking into his hand begging for more.

Eyes locked on yours, foreheads together he gave you a little nod, "Yeah, go ahead," He sped up the circling of his fingers until both of you were breathing heavy, "Go ahead, sweetheart, go ahead."

When your eyes fluttered and rolled back Jack didn't stop, only pressed you harder into the door and kissed you in the most unholy way as you came apart for him.

Slowly as you can back down he eased off the pressure of his fingers, slipped them back inside of you and relished in the little convulsions he felt as he gave you long, slow, steady strokes. He teased at your lips, kissing and nipping until you giggled and he finally released your hands from above your head. "Good girl." He whispered as he gave you a final kiss and pulled back.

The look in your eyes told him this probably couldn't be casual for you either.

You laughed when he ducked, lifted you up by the thighs and carried you towards your bedroom.

"Don't laugh, I'm not that old." He chuckled with you into the hollow of your throat. A chuckle that turned into a groan when you carded your fingers into his already messy curls and tugged.

He had laid you down on the bed and stripped you naked as fast as possible. Desperate to get his hands, his mouth on every inch of you until you whined his name and fisted your hand in the back of his scrub top.

Jack smiled against your hip, "What?"

"Off."

"What?" He asked again as he sucked a little bruise into the smooth skin before him.

You groaned, half annoyed and half giddy, and shoved at him until he looked you in the eyes, "Take your fucking shirt off."

He chuckled, gave you a grin and rose up to his knees so he could reach behind him and pull his scrub top and undershirt off in one go. Jack couldn't help but take that half a second, to watch you hum happily and chew on your lip, to let it stroke his ego, before he buried his face between your legs.

~~~~~~

He had put it off as long as he could, shoved the thought aside and focused all of his attention on you. But, eventually, you had pulled and clawed at him until he crawled over you to cover your body with his and kiss you properly again. Jack let you take some of his weight as he kissed you, soaked in the warmth and the feel of you under him.

He knew he'd have to take his pants off, that the prosthesis would be some sort of jarring reminder and this would all be over.

He focused on your hands and how fucking good if felt as you stroked up the muscles of his back, hooked your fingers over his shoulders and pulled him closer. The way your fingertips skimmed over his arms, squeezing his biceps and smiling under his kisses like you enjoyed the way he felt. It had almost been involuntary. The jerk of his hips when you had skated your nails low over his sides, too low, too close to the waistband of his boxers where the band peeked up over the top of his pants. The way he had rolled his hips against yours and gave you a hint of just how badly he wanted you.

You made that happy little humming sound again and stroked your hands up over his back and down again. FIngertips leaving little divots under them as they moved. "Jack," Your voice was soft, airy and tight, "Am I gonna have to tell you to take your pants off too?" You fought for his eye contact and for the first time he couldn't give it to you.

Jack buried his face in your neck and kissed over your pulse, whispered his answer there instead, "Sweetheart," He breathed deep and Jesus you smelled like sex and sweat and soap and everything good in this world. "Only way this really works, is if I take the leg off." He waited. Expected the worst.

When you tugged on his hair he caved, lifted his head and looked you in the eye. You held his gaze and opened your eyes wide like you were about to make a point and wanted it to land, "Then take the fucking leg off," You cracked a smile, "Or I'm going to do it, and I have no clue how it works so..."

Jack fucking loved you. He knew he loved you, because he had said the first thing that came to mind, "Want me to show you?" With a chuckle and a nod you kissed him and with no hesitation answered, "Yeah, kinda."

So, as awkward and unsexy as it was, he showed you.

He showed you how the mechanism worked, grinned at you and shook his head as you tried to pull it off the first time. He'd turned an embarrassing shade of pink when he'd warned you, "It's not going to smell good. You know that right?"

You had scoffed, rolled your eyes at him. "I'm a doctor. I'm sure I can handle it."

Jack couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard. Especially not in bed, with a sexy, young woman, where ten minutes ago the only thing on his mind had been fucking your brains out. Now, you were collapsed on his chest and cackling uncontrollably with his prosthetic leg in one hand dangling off the side of the bed. All he could do was cradle the back of your head and try to catch his breath, because even as you were laughing, you were peppering kisses over his chest and he swore that if this didn't scare you away he would never let you go.

When you caught your breath and sat up, you set his prosthesis down by the nightstand and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "Now, take your pants off."

His eyes followed you as you crawled off the bed and walked naked to the bathroom. He tried to fight down the nerves as he did shuck his other shoe, sock and his scrub pants off, then pushed himself up to lean against your headboard. He listened to a cupboard open and close, water run. When you reentered the room and tossed a bath towel on the bed and crawled back to him with a warm, soapy rag in your hand he furrowed his brow.

"I fucking dare you to make one sponge bath joke. I swear to God." You didn't hesitate as you knelt in front of him and began to run the rag over what remained of his lower leg. Your fingers massaging the aching muscles as you went.

All Jack could do was shake his head side to side as he let his eyes fall closed and his body sink deeper into your pillows.

~~~~~

Jack hadn't meant to zone out, but Christ it had felt too good. Your soft, capable hands working over the tension in his leg after a long shift. The relief it brought, physical and mental, was unbelievable. He barely noticed you had stopped until you had moved to straddle his lap and kiss up the side of his neck.

"Fall asleep on me?"

He chuckled, "Almost." and wrapped his arms around your waist to drag you closer.

"Feel good?" You copied his question from earlier, whispered it against throat.

"Too fucking good." His cock had softened some from the relaxation, but when he pulled you down to settle against him fully he could feel himself harden by the second. "You're too fucking good for me." He caressed from your knees, over your thighs, up your waist and ribcage, until his fingers traced over the line of your arms where they had wrapped around his neck.

"Don't say that." You kissed him, deep, and rolled your hips over him. Whined a little that his boxer briefs still kept you seperated from what you both wanted. The whine turned into a squeal as he flipped you over without warning, Put you on your back like you had started.

Jack hovered over you braced on strong arms. "You still want this?" He rocked his hips into yours and searched your eyes. He could see that you knew what he meant. Not just this, not just the moment, not just sex. Him. HIs past, his baggage, all the complications that a relationship with your attending would bring.

"Yes. All of it." You looked him in the eye and smiled. Cute and sweet. Drastically at odds with the way your hands were shoving his underwear down over his hips.

Then he watched those pretty eyes roll back in your head, because he wasn't going to waste another second not knowing what it felt like to be inside you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack had panicked the first time he'd said he loved you.

He'd thought it from the start, but it had always felt to soon, too real, too say it out loud. To risk it.

Then he had woken up late one afternoon, after a restless few hours of sleep and you weren't in bed beside him. His mind, already primed for the worst case scenario after a long week, worried that you'd finally had enough. That he'd scared you away and you'd snuck off while he was asleep but, then he'd found you in the kitchen.

He paused at the corner and breathed deep as he watched you. Your back turned to him, in some t-shirt of his you'd dug out of a drawer to sleep in, hair tosseled from sleep. You were glaring at the coffee maker, arms crossed and swaying side to side, as if you could force the machine into expedience. He could feel the anxiety seep out of him as he watched you. Made his way to you.

"Where are your crutches?" Was how you greeted him, your voice rough and exhausted like him.

Jack just slid his arms around you waist and kissed the back of your head. Relished the feel of you sinking more of your weight back into him. "Bedroom." He shifted to place a kiss closer to your neck.

"Ja-ack"

"Wha-at?" He copied your tone and squeezed you tighter. He liked that you worried. With one hand he swept your hair to the side so he could kiss your neck and chuckled against it when you groaned. Annoyed, not aroused. "Been gettin' around just fine for over a decade baby."

You had grumbled, rolled your eyes, but leaned into him and smoothed your hands over his forearms, your thumbs traced the furrows in the muscle. "I know."

The coffee maker beeped, but you made no move to reach for a cup. Jack liked that you worried. He liked that you took up space in his home, in his life. He liked that you'd taken over half his bathroom, that his sheets smelled like you, that your car had a spot in his garage. He liked that you'd started teasing him about trying to get out of your lease as much time as you spent at his house. Hell, he'd pay off your fucking lease if it meant he could have you here, with him, all the time.

He wrapped his arms around you impossibly tighter and squeezed, smiled at the content little hum you let you and the way your head dropped back against his shoulder. His lips pressed against your temple, barely a kiss, "I love you."

There was no shocked expression on your face, no teary eyes, or fumbling words. Just that little smile, that ticked up in one corner, the one that he'd loved from the start. "I've been patiently waiting, but you were starting to make me nervous." You stood up and turned around in his arms. Smile wider as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your eyes flickered when he tightened his grip on your waist again. Locked you against him, arms flexing the way you always liked. Your lips brushed his briefly and then you pulled back to look him in the eye, "I love you too."

Saying it, finally, felt amazing. Like a weight off of his chest.

Hearing you say it, knowing that you meant it... felt like CPR, something bringing a piece of him back to life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you had mismatched shifts all week because you had covered some days for Cassie while she had court. So, if you saw eachother it was only in passing, at home or at the hospital. This would be your last shift on days before a weekend off and you would be back on nights, with Jack. Where you belonged.

Jack caught a glimpse of you as he walked in, but continued towards the hub where Robby was already packing up his bag like he was in a hurry.

"Hey brother, sorry but I got a thing, I got to run." Robby picked up his bag and met Jack at the corner of the station. "Your girl is goin' to do the handoff." He gave his friend a smug look as he held his fist out.

Jack scoffed, gave Robby the first bump, but gave him a shove with it. "Don't do that, and don't act like I don't know what your 'thing' is." Jack stared him down, "Let me know how it goes."

Robby nodded, "Yeah, I will. Have a good night man."

Lena and Dana looked up at Jack in unison as he dropped his bag into the chair and together they said, "She's in fifteen."

Jack scowled at the two of them, "Why are you all like this?"

Lena just chuckled and ducked out to get to work. Dana grabbed her jacket and wrapped her hand around Jacks arm, "Just a heads up, someone, I won't name names, has been hounding her all day. Playin' twenty questions about Dr. Abbot, so… she might be a little salty."

With a deep breath he shook his head and draped his stethoscope around his neck.

Dana chuckled, "She doesn't know… so, it's harmless. Just watch your step with your girl. she's had a long one." She grabbed her bag and paused as she moved to step around him, "For what it's worth, the sooner you start wearing a wedding around here again the better for all of us I think." She gave him a wink.

Jack leaned down just enough they were eye to eye. "Dana… go home."

She gave him a smile and a wink, smiled a little wider when his scowl cracked, "Fifteen."

Which is exactly where he found you, right outside the room typing on one of the portable stations.

Work had always been work and honestly he loved you even more for that, because there was something sexy about the fact that you had the self control to keep home and work seperate. Most of the time. You were still his best resident, by far, and now his senior resident. It was fun for him to see you thrive with that responsibility. It was also fun for him to occasionally toe that line, get that little rise out of you that he'd pay for later.

Today, he felt like pushing that boundary. So, he took a quick glance around before he stepped up close, bumped your shoulder with his and tipped his head to whisper.

"Think carefully about what you're about to say, Dr. Abbot."

He bit back a smirk, definitly feisty tonight. "Ready to come back to nights?" He leaned a little closer than necessary and dropped his voice, "Where you belong."

You continued to type, never even looked at him, "What's it worth to you?"

"How about you finish up here, go get some rest, and I'll show you when I get home?"

That got you a little, he could tell by the way you bit the inside of your cheek and a little color appeared on your neck.

Jack bumped your shoulder with his again as he turned to leave, "Come on," His voice back to normal, "GIve me the rundown so we can get you out of here."

~~~~~

When he got home he heard his police scanner going and smirked to himself. You had given him shit about it at first, but now you used it like a white noise machine.

He moved quietly through the house until he found you asleep on the couch in the living room in your comfy clothes. Jack knew that meant you had tried to stay up as late as possible, get your sleep schedule back on track. He leaned his right knee on the couch next to you and braced his hands on either side of you, one against the back of the couch the other on the cushion. Carefully he leaned in and kissed your cheek, "Hey sweetheart." Something in him loved that you didn't flinch, didn't jump awake, only grumbled slightly and then smirked as you awoke.

"Hey." Your voice was raspy with sleep and Jack couldn't help but move to kiss the side of your neck. You hummed and shifted to your back as you cracked your eyes open, "How was your night?"

Lips never leaving your neck he gave a simple answer, "Fine." His kisses moved, higher up towards the hinge of your jaw, "Ready to have my best girl back."

You chuckled, stretched under him and let your head roll to one side to give him more access, "Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm." his kisses became more and more involved, mouthing and sucking at your neck until he left a mark.

Wide awake under his attentions your eyes focused, "Ugh, no fair."

Jack chuckled as he pushed himself up, hovering over you at arms length. "What's not fair?"

Shifting to get comfortable you pouted, unconciously letting your legs fall open for him, as you tugged at the front of his tight, dark t-shirt. "I missed a sexy Dr Abbot night."

He couldn't help the wide smile as he shook his head, still not fully comprehending what it was about wearing cargo pants and a Tshirt instead of scrubs that did it for you. Jack was, however, man enough to admit that you liking it did something for him. "Sexy Dr Abbot night huh?" He shifted his weight, hIs left hand settling on the strip of skin that appeared just above your waistband as your shirt rode up.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, tugged on the shirt again, "Mhmm."

Jack caved, still smiling as he moved to lay down over the top of you, his smile widening as your hands moved under the t-shirt and stroked over his back, "Did you miss your sexy Dr. Abbot?" He teased as he kissed you, slipped his knee between your legs and pressed it against your core as he settled into you.

A little groan escaped between chuckles as your fingers dug into the muscles of his back, on either side of his spine. "Stop it."

"You're the one that said it." Jack chuckled with you as he shifted his weight slightly, drug his right hand the length of your body. From your throat, over a breast where he paused for a moment, palming it through your shirt in time with the way his tongue slid against yours. Then your hips began to move, of their own accord, grinding against his thigh ellictiing a moan, your lips separating from his as you threw your head back.

"Mhmm," Jack murmerd into your exposed throat, "Sure seems like you missed me." He smiled against your pulse as your hands scrambled with the bottom of his shirt. He let you drag it up over his head and then before you could pull him back into a kiss he peeled your bottoms off. Taking his time to toss them aside and then slowly caress his way from the arch of your foot, over the back of your knee and higher. "God you are gorgeous." His grip on you changed, hardened as he moved back over you. "Tell me you missed me baby." He mumbled into your mouth, groaning as he felt your hands move to unbotton his pants.

"You know I did." You smiled, nipped his top lip and watched him as your fingers wrapped around his cock.

"Oh, fuck..." His forehead dropped to yours, eyes closed and breath coming out in warm pants. "Fuck." He repeated as you stroked him, hand firm and confident, from base to tip and back. The muscles in his arms bulged and flexed as he held himself over you, fists clenching and unchlenching against the couch cushion as his cock hardened to your touch. "Baby..."

"What did you say earlier? Something you were going to show me?" You giggled, closed the short distance to brush your lips over his.

Jack smiled, ducked his head to kiss you properly and moved your hand aside so he could shove his pants and boxers down. Just far enough for him to enter you without preamble. Guiding his now achingly hard cock where it belonged. "God you feel too good sweetheart." He breathed the words into your mouth as he bottomed out, lowered the rest of his weight into you. "Too good."

Your whole body trembled underneath him as you moved to wrap your arms around his neck and keep him as close as possible. You dug your fingers into his hair, into the muscles of his shoulders and back, your legs wrapped around his hips as they moved against yours. "Jack..."

"Yeah baby?" Jack asked as he dropped a hand to your thigh, thick fingers digging into your flesh as he held you closer, fucked you just a little harder. "What's wrong?"

You let out a half chuckle half groan, your nails digging into the back of his shoulder blade, "Absolutely nothing." Your chuckle turned into something like a breathy giggle as he rewarded you with a particularly deep thrust. "Just, shit," you writhed under him as he moved the hand at your thigh between your bodies. His thumb working slow, teasing circles over your clit in time with his thrusts. "Just, you don't wanna take your prostthetic off?"

He smirked against your clavicle as he mouthed his way across to the opposite side of your neck. "Don't need to be comfortable right now baby," He picked up his pace, his thrusts and his thumb over your clit, moved harder, faster, "I need to feel you cum for me." Jack wasn't taking it slow after that, and the sounds you were making for him only motivated him to fuck you harder, faster, like he hadn't had you in a month not just a week. "So be a good girl and cum for me," The hand not playing with you slid under the back of your neck, grabbing it from behind, cradling you and applying pressure in a way that had your eyes rolling back and your back arching up off the couch. Lips against your ear, his own breathing ragged, "Need to feel it baby."

"So close, i'm so close, please, shit, Jack, I'm so close." You scrambled, tried everything in your power to drag him into you.

Jack just grinned, "I know, I know." He dropped a kiss against the shell of your ear, "Trust me," His voice was strained but his tone still steady, still soft and clinging to control. "You know I'm gonna take care of you baby, you know." When you nodded enthustically his grin widened, "Take a deep breath." When you didn't respond, he slowed his thrusts down, short and shallow, and when you whined, jack repeated himself, "Breathe. Relax and breathe."

As soon as you shuddered underneath him and took a long, deep breath, eyes slipping closed as you tried to do as he said, Jack whispered, "Good girl." HIs thumb stroked up the line of your carotid once and then settled over it, applied the perfect amount of pressure that made your head swim.

"Oh fuck...." Your mouth hung open and you moaned out his name.

Slowly Jack picked up his pace again, "Another deep breath baby."

You sucked in the air through your nose and moaned because you knew what came next. Because there was a timer running in Jacks head from the moment his thumb pressed down, and once that timer started there was no more teasing or playing, only fucking you as hard and as fast as he could. The whole time murmering every dirty thought that had ever crossed his mind. How you were his good girl, his best girl, all the depraved things he wanted to do to you, how you took his cock so well, and felt so fucking good. How you moaned his name so pretty, how he wanted to fucking ruin you, fill you up and never let you go.

When that timer in his head hit zero, he'd lift his thumb, let the blood rush back to your head and drive his cock into you as hard and as fast as he could, rubbing your clit furiously until you would shatter.

Your nails would dig into his back and you'd gasp for air, and for more. Then he'd snap, his ears would ring with your highpitched whines and his back would ache and he would empty himself inside of you. His hips never stopping until his vision cleared and he could feel the scratch of your fingertips through his hair, the hammering of your heart against his own.

"Jesus Christ," You whispered it, a sexy, satisfied giggle behind it, "I still don't understand how..." You paused for a deep breath and your pussy shuddered around him, "It happens so fast when you do that." You smile as he mouths at the side of your neck.

"Which is why," He tips your face to his so he can kiss you properly before he manhandles you around, swapping places with you so he's on his back and your draped over top of him, "I only do it when I know i'm not going to fucking last." He laughs at himself, drags you down into a vulgar kiss as he reached down to shift your hips and settle you properly. His softening dick still inside you and mess between you.

Jack laid there for a moment and closed his eyes, listened to you breathing slow to match his, a wave of comfort washed over him as he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. You settled into his grasp and hummed, a happy little sound in the back of your throat as you curled around him. Both of you half naked and spent on his living room couch. He smiled, kissed the top of your head, nowhere else he'd rather be in in that moment than right there.

~~~~~~~

His fingertips stroked slowly over your back, under your shirt, when you break the post-coital silence. "Can we talk about something?"

Swallowing down the fear rapidly rising in his throat Jack nods and kisses the top of your head, "What's up?"

"My residency is almost over."

He nods, lays the hand flat and wide over the small of your back like his subconcious is trying to keep you where he felt you belonged. "Thought about what you're going to do?"

"That's sort of what I want to talk to you about." You sit up and the both of you make a face at the way your bodies shifted together. You watch as Jack settles a hand on your thigh and you reach for the other. You take his hand in both of yours and started to massage away the stiffness you knew would be there after a long shift. "There's no guarantee I get the open attending spot here, and if I don't… I just… I guess I just want to know what you think I should do."

Jack took a deep breath and studied your face intently, held your gaze. "I'm hesitant to tell you what I think because, I don't think I can be impartial, not really. I want you to make the best decision for yourself and not let me… being selfish… affect your decision."

That made you take a moment, consider as you watched him. Your thumbs still moved in soothing circles over the knuckles and palm of his hand. "I'm not asking you to be impartial. I'm asking you, someone whose opinion matters to me deeply, to discuss a very important decision I might have to make."

It hits him in the gut to hear you say that, because he knows what he wants. He knows he could tell you. He doesn't know with certainty what you want though. "Okay, well, as your attending. You are an incredibly talented and valuable emergency physician and there's plenty of hospitals that would fight to have you. I think we would be idiots to not fight to keep you here, because you are good, you're steady and fast and you're a leader, but also because we have poured a shit ton of time and resources into developing you. It would be irresponsible to let you go, but you could go anywhere you wanted and be extremely successful."

You had to fight back tears at his praise and he must have seen it because Jack stroked his hand over your thigh with a little extra pressure and a tight grin.

"As the man that loves you…because God I fucking love you and I love working with you, but either way that's going to change soon, I want you here with me. Even if that means something other than the Pitt. And… I acknowledge, as much as it sucks, that might not be what's best for you, or even be what you want."

You're chewing on your lip hard, trying to keep your own emotions in check. You love Jack, but he is also your mentor and you value his opinion and he is honestly the only one you could imagine having this conversation with. "I don't want to go anywhere else, I want to stay where I am… I'm just terrified I … What if I put in for the open spot at PTMC and don't get it?"

Jack gives you the most encouraging smile he can without giving himself away and moves to sit up. Taking you with him as he twists around to sit on the couch properly and wrap his arms around you. "Sweetheart that's fine, if you don't work for us you'll go somewhere else. There's six trauma centers in Pittsburgh, there's 52 in the state. Hell there's over 200 level ones in the country and baby you could run any of them. I know you could." He fidgets for a moment and seems to look everywhere but you before he can get locked in. He looks you in the eye, "If you want my opinion you could go anywhere, but I want you here. I just don't want to be the reason you settle for less."

Your breath caught in your throat, "Jack…"

He can't help the thought that he's going to have to talk to his therapist about the look on your face, the weight in his chest as he sits with you on his lap, dick still just a little hard inside you, the mess you made together sticky between you and every fiber of his being is fighting the urge to beg you to stay because he needs you.

"On what planet is being here with you considered less? Don't say that." You kiss him hard, then pull back, "If I apply for the slot… they're going to look sideways at both of us."

"Let 'em. Baby, that's goin' to come down on me not you."

You scoff, "We both know it doesn't work that way. If they want to raise hell about me being in a relationship with my attending that shit could follow me."

Jack hates that that's true, even if it happens in every fucking teaching hospital in the country. "To be fair, I'm tenured and I make enough for both of us. Worse comes to worse. Fuck 'em."

"Not helpful." You smack him on the chest, but chuckle despite the tension.

He shrugs, "There's ways to go about it, so maybe we haven't made it obvious, but not like we've been keeping it a state secret either, and it's not some abuse of power, hasn't affected either of our performance. I'm still going to be with you when you're an attending, or hell, when you're the chief for that matter. If i'm still around that long. Honestly… if you want to be shady about it between me and Shen, Robby is the chief, I'm willing to bet we can rig it in your favor."

"Also not helpful!" You kiss him though, "I do find it oddly attractive that you're so willing to bend the rules though."

"I know you do." He kissed you back. "Promise to play by the rules for a change."

You smile, "So, what If I told you I wanted to stay here after my residency? What if I want the attending spot at the Pitt and to stay with you?"

Jack shook his head, squeezed you tighter, "Don't ask me baby, tell me. Is that what you want?"

"I want you. If I can have you and the Pitt, perfect. If not, I'd work anywhere if it means we are together." You kiss him again, trying to get your point across, "That doesn't feel like settling to me Jack. Not even close."

How he felt in that moment was something he couldn't name, because no matter how ecstatic it makes him to hear you say you want him a piece of him is drowning in the guilt that you could be giving up something so much better.

You run your hands over his bare chest, his shoulders and then slide them up the side of his neck to hold him in place. "Is that… Is that okay?"

Like so many times before Jack shoves that doubt aside and figures, fuck it. He thinks about that first fleeting kiss on the roof, the one in his truck, all the rides home, the coffee and conversations, the morning you had asked him to come upstairs. All the times you were the one that took that leap of faith, because he couldn't. He'd been trying not to jump for years.

He kissed you, long and slow as he thinks and then whispers against your lips. "Sweetheart," He kisses you again, "Do me a favor and go grab my bag?"

You look confused, rightfully so, but smirk and duck your head to nip at the meat of one of his pecs. "You know, I'm not supposed to be able to walk after you fuck me like that."

Jack groans and feels fucking ancient, but can't help the need to swat you on the ass and give you a little push, "Love to watch you try though."

Because, yeah, you are still a little unsteady and you both trembled as you had raised up and his semi hard dick had slipped out of you. He watched you walk out of the living room and tucked himself back into his boxers before he did up the fly of his pants. The conversation you were about to have was one he couldn't have with his dick inside you, no matter how good it felt.

When you came back his eyes drank you in, shirt askew and hair a mess, a sheen between your legs that made the blood in his veins rush south again.

"Here you go." You hold out the camo backpack as you round the end of the couch.

"Need you to grab something for me, out of the liner pocket on the inside." He smirked at the way you arch your brow at him, but still come back to sit on his lap. He holds his breath as you set the bag on the couch next to you and pulled at the zipper. Jack had to try not to stare at the patch velcroed to the front. Abbot. He lets his hands settle on your thighs while he waits, thumb stroking over your femoral artery.

"What exactly am I…"

"You'll know." He cuts you off.

You stop.

He feels your heart rate skyrocket under his thumb, every muscle in your body goes rigid and he watches as your eyes blink rapidly like you're trying to clear your vision. "That's what I want sweetheart."

Your eyes are the only part of you that moves. They jump from what you found in the pocket, to his face and back. "How long have you had this?" Because what you're holding, it's not something bought on a whim.

Jack can't help but laugh at himself, "Awhile." Is all he'll tell you right now. He fights for your eye contact, but for one of the only times he can remember, it's like you can't quite hold it. Your eyes keep flicking to him and away again.

"Why?"

"Just in case."

You look at him then, really look at him, and don't look away. Give him that eye contact he craves and he sucks in air like he can breath again, head above water for just a moment. You smirk at hearing him repeat your own words back to you from so long ago. Your voice shakes, "Just in case what?"

He smirks right back at you as he moves the backpack out of the way with one hand and then holds it out, palm up. You carefully put what you had found in his hand, unopened, because the simple presence of the small, shiny, sleek, perfectly square, black box had told you everything you needed to know. Jack makes sure to brush your fingers with his as he takes the box from you and pops it open. "Just in case you ever decided to go back to dayshift, thought I might have to bribe you."

You choke out a laugh and Jack smiles, but his throat is dry and the way you look like you're about to cry really isn't helping.

He repeats himself as he pulls out the ring, rolls it carefully between his thumb and forefiner, "This is what I want sweetheart. Then he chokes out a laugh of his own, "I don't give a shit where you work baby, wherever you want. Only thing I give a fuck about is that they call you Dr. Abbot." He cracks a smile when you laugh with him and he can feel you relax, your weight sinking into him as you lean in to kiss him. Clumsy and sloppy and with a smile.

"You're fucking ego sometimes."

"You can hyphenate if you want."

"Oh, I can, can I? So generous."

Every word between you is murmured between kisses. He diesn't have to hear you say it, he knows the answer.

He doesn't have to tell you he's had the ring your entire fourth year of residency. Just waiting for you to say you wanted to stay.

You're really shaking when he slips the ring on your finger and of course it fits perfectly and of course it's exactly what you would have picked, because it's Jack. Becasuse this has never been casual for either of you, not for one single moment.

You pull back from kissing him with a laugh and an evil grin, "You suppose I'd be more or less likely to get the attending position with your last name?"

Jack laughs with you and drags your hips closer, because as soon as this conversation is finished he's taking you to bed and doing terrible, filthy things to you the rest of the weekend. "Look me in the eye and tell me this is really what you want baby."

He can feel the metal of the ring on your finger as your hand presses against his jaw, "This is what I want Jack. This is exactly what I want."

Your noses bump together as he kisses you and nods, "Have something else I need to tell you then." He kissed you again, before you can panic. "You don't need to apply for the attending position."

You put some distance between you and for the first time in a long time Jack has to gently stop you, guide you away from putting too much pressure on his right knee at this angle. You murmur a little, "Sorry." as you scoot closer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Arms locked tight around you Jack keeps a straight face, tells you something he's wanted to tell you since you started this conversation. "It's not going to come down to whether you get the job or not. Robby already tagged you for it."

You blink, "What?"

Jack rubbed his hands over your thighs, putting in the pressure and the warmth to keep you grounded, "It's going to come down to whether you want the job or not, because they're going to offer it to you once you complete your residency."

"You're fucking with me right now."

He chuckles, "I am not fucking with you right now. It's like I told you; we'd be stupid to let you go anywhere else."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" He's almost laughing outright now, "They asked us for our recommendations, every single one of us said you. Obviously I'm not supposed to tell you, but…"

"So you were just letting me stress out about all of this!? About the fact that I might lose you, because I wasn't going to get the job, that I was going to have to leave and, and move to the opposite side of the country or something!"

"I was trying to stay out if it. In case being here isn't what you wanted." He left the 'if I wasn't what you wanted' out of it.

"Jack!, I mean Jesus, c'mon! We've been together for almost two fucking years. How would you even begin to think this isn't what I wanted!?" You're yelling at him, but you're laughing and crying and have a death grip on the back of his neck.

Jack takes a deep breath and deescalates. "My therapist says I plan for the worst case scenario as a coping mechanism, as a way to try and protect myself from the pain of unforseen loss."

Taking his lead you take a deep breath, lower your tone. "Yeah, he also says it's one thing to be prepared for emergencies and another to try and plan for the worst possible outcome to a conversation, that you haven't even initated, therefore running the risk of 'planning' that worst case outcome into existence." You scowl at him.

Sometimes he hates that you're so in tune, so invested and involved in his mental health, because it's annoying to hear his therapist come out of your mouth. He smirks though, because he also loves it a little and can't imagine anyone else holding him accountable the way you do.

"Since you brought your therapist into it, have you told him you've been carrying around my engagement ring in your backpack next to a three day supply of MREs?"

He doesn't answer you because you know he hasn't, you're just making a point. Jack smirks and smooths his hands up your back, "Sure you wanna marry me?" His chest hurts at the way you light up as he watches your eyes flick back to the ring he slipped on your finger.

"Very sure." You looked him in the eye like you were daring him to doubt you and gave him that little smirk. The one that had started this all, where it tipped up to one side like you were trying not to show him something.

Jack waited for you to lean in and kiss him, waited for your fingers to comb into his curls and your tongue to chase after his, and then he grabbed you tight and pushed to his feet. Chuckling at the way you still squeaked and giggled, no matter how many times he's carried you to bed that way. Or to the couch, the shower, the nearest wall or flat surface.

Later, when you're both exhausted and the blackout curtains are keeping the afternoon sun at bay, you're laying beside him with your head on his shoulder, one leg draped over his and your left hand on his chest. Neither of you can stop staring at the faint glint that is the ring in the dim light of the room.

"Are you sure?"

Jack chuckles, presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmers, "How many times you going to ask me that?"

You bite your lip and turn your face into his neck, "Just making sure."

He closes his eyes when he feels you trace his collar bone with your lips and he moves to cradle the back of her head, holding you close. Jack thinks again about those first two kisses, about the way you had explained yourself. 'Just in case.' He tips your head back so he can kiss you, deep and with emotion he still can't quite process out loud. "I'm sure sweetheart." He kissed you again.

There was something extremely appropriate about the phrase, 'just in case.' he thought and for the rest of his life, every time he kissed you, touched you, told you he loved you, in the back of his mind he'd think. 'Just in case.' Because he knew better than anyone, there was no way to know what time would be the last.

"Hey," Your voice was soft, half asleep when your hand rested against his jaw to pull him out of his thoughts, "I love you." You said it like you knew where his thoughts had gone.

Jack kissed you, holding you close like he'd never let you go. "Love you too."

~~~ The End~~~

Lean On Me (Part 4/7)

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Robinavitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

Things heat up over breakfast but it takes a turn for the worst during your shift.

Warnings: casual drinking, mentions of work in a strip club, general lack of clothing in the workplace slow burn

(I know nothing about working in a strip club, so this is all based off media representations, sorry for any mistakes)

Part three / part five

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee, @hagarsays, @4ishere, @omgbrianab

“I have two days off.” Michael announced as you both settled into your booth, the waitress already there filling your mugs with coffee. She didn’t even need to ask for your orders, you and Michael had been coming here every day for over two weeks now, and every day it was two cups of coffee and a large stack of pancakes to share.

You didn’t even really love pancakes, not enough to eat them every day but somehow it had become you and Michaels thing. Two coffees, six pancakes and two forks. With the last bite shared between you both. 

It was sweet, domestic, and really fucking weird, if you admitted it to yourself.

Somehow in such a short amount of time, Michael had become your closest friend and confidant. 

“I’m jealous, what is on the agenda?”

“Sleep, grocery shop and clean my place. I don’t remember the last time I gave it more than a quick hoover.”

“Oh now I really am jealous!”

Michael laughed and dug into the pancakes, a peaceful silence falling between you both as you sipped your overly sweetened coffee. Your crush on the doctor hadn’t calmed down as the days went on and you got to know him better. Instead it was getting worse with every passing moment between the two of you. 

Some days you can’t stop yourself staring into his big brown eyes, with their crinkled crows feets and soft eyelashes. His hair, receding with age, but full and salted with greys at the temple that he didn’t hide with dye or a cut, made him just look more distinguished. But the way when flustered he ran his long fingers through his hair, it was enough to make you squeeze your thighs together each time, and for you to hold yourself back from running your own fingers through the hair.

Not to mention the spark you get with every accidental touch, from a slight tap on your lower back as you enter the diner, fingers grazing together as he passes you a fork or the sugar bowl. Everytime it feels like he hesitates, holding on for just a millisecond longer than he should.

Or maybe you're emotionally wrung out and it's been a while since anyone has shown you even a little bit of affection and you don’t know how to deal with kindness.

“I also have a bachelor party tonight.”

“You do not sound that excited.”

“It's for a colleague, Dr Shen, and I’m not really sure what has been planned and the planner of the event scares me a little.”

You laugh and can’t help but love as a little tinge of pink colours his cheeks, Michael Robinavitch blushing is going to be a core memory.

“Who's planning it?”

“Jack.”

“Isn’t he like your best friend or something?”

“Which is why I know to be scared, it could either be whiskeys and steak at a fancy dinner or strippers at a seedy club and no food in sight.”

A seedy club your voice gets stuck in your throat and you can’t hear anything else he’s saying. There are over fifty strip clubs in Pittsburgh city centre and they range from fancy to seedy with yours falling somewhere just above the middle. There was no way in all of Pittsburgh strip clubs he would end up at yours.

You were not that unlucky.

“What one are you hoping for?”

“Whiskey, steaks and in bed by eleven?” he said hopefully, “because I think I'm too old for strip clubs.”

You laugh and pull the pancakes away from him and grab a mouthful, smiling as the syrup coats your lips. You may or may not have taken a little longer to lick the sweet sugar from your bottom lip.

“You’re not that old,” you croon a little, your voice dropping an octave, and you scream at yourself WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Michael stared at you through hooded lids, suddenly finding the table incredibly fascinating.

“I’m old enough to be your father.” he practically whispered.

“But you’re not.” you say, the air suddenly thick between you both, “And-” you swallow trying to find the right words, “Maybe I need someone more mature, wise-”

“Sweetheart-” he purrs, interrupting your nervous and desperate ranting. How did a conversation about whiskey and steaks get this in two sentences, you can’t keep a grin off your lips and your coffee and pancakes long forgotten as you slide your hands innocently across the worn vinyl table.

“Doctor Robinavitch.” You drag out each syllable, and you watch as he tries to catch himself, his own fingers now edging towards yours. Fingertips touching, slowly and carefully. 

“Fuck-” You whisper as he leans further in. You can’t breathe and you can’t speak as you both now sat at the edge of your respective seats, hands clasped over the table and then suddenly you felt it, his foot breaching under the table and just touching yours.  

It's so PC, so high school, and yet the touch was enough to almost send you over the line.

“More coffee?” The old sour faced waitress asked, breaking the tension. 

You both jump in your seats, hands now pulled back in laps, feet securely under your own chairs.

“No thank you.” you both mutter, unable to look at her. 

You both quickly make excuses to leave, he mumbles something about grocery shopping and you respond saying you had to go home and walk Dog.

Normally your breakfasts end with a hug and a reminder to see the other person the next day, but after whatever had just happened inside that diner you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but give an awkward wave and rush towards the bus stop.

You could still feel the touch of him on your hands as you tried to rub the feeling away but it lingered long after the bus lurched away from the stop.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You can’t get Michael Robinavitch out of your head as the night passes and you are stuck working the floor.

Everytime you get a moment to yourself, your mind wanders to his touch, the way his foot grazed yours under the table, the purr in his voice as he says ‘Sweetheart’. It pulls you in, distracting you as you handle another evening being ogled and objectified. 

Your heels stuck to the vinyl, and someone had turned the heating up to an uncomfortable level causing your body glitter to run slightly as you rushed from table to table.

It was a Wednesday night and back in the day that had meant a slow and easy night but your creep of a boss had decided that Wednesday nights was now ‘Wings Night’, where as long as you kept buying drinks, and dances, you got a free bucket of wings.

So you walked, swaying slightly to the music, from one end of the club to another, off loading beers, whiskeys and internalising every cringe as slightly greasy fingers tipped you.

“Another one here sweetheart.” bellowed a patron, whose eyes never lifted higher than your chest, his fingers slick with the sauce of a chicken wing sliding instead of snapping for your attention.

You almost roll your eyes at the nickname, from Michaels lips it could bring you to your knees, from this pathetic man it took everything not to knee him in his unmentionables.

You knew that it was part of the job, along with the tiny pleated skirt and black bra that covered nothing but your nipples, but after over ten years of the same job you did start to think that maybe you had been someone awful in a past life.

You gather the tables empty glasses and confirm they wish for another round of the same. 

More lewd comments are thrown your way and you smile in return, big and broad like you had learnt when you started.

“Another round for table seven please Joe!” you call to the bartender, Joe was an older guy who was a bartender slash bouncer and the loveliest man you had ever known. In his late fifties he had seen and done it all, and was always more than happy to dole out advice or protect the girls on and off the stage.

“You doing okay?” 

“Always!”

“Liar!” you both laugh and turn as another group of men wander into the dark club. You shrug your shoulders back and plaster a smile on your face and take a step.

Then stop.

Amongst the seven or so men stood one slightly taller than the rest, with his hands in his pocket and stunning brown eyes that seemed to glow against the glistering stage lights.

Michael.

In your club.

Your tray clangs to the floor as you lose all decorum, rushing behind the bar and ducking. 

You can’t breathe.

What is he doing here?

“You doing okay?” Joe asked, not moving from his spot, tea towel in hand as he wiped a glass. 

“Please tell me that group didn’t just walk into my section?” You prayed, there were only three of you on the floor tonight. Half the girls who had been rostered on called in sick, most likely because they didn’t want to spend half of the next morning washing wing sauce off their uniform.

“Want me to lie?”

“Fuck!” you hiss and close your eyes.

You seriously must have been a truly horrible person in your former life.

“Is there a problem?” Suddenly Joe was before you, squatting down as his knees creaked.

You laugh dryly and take ten deep breaths, each one causing Joe to frown further.

“The tall one is my brother's boss.”

“That’s awkward but-”

“Who I had the most sexually charged breakfast with this morning, and if the waitress hadn’t come over, I probably would have mounted him on top of our pancakes.”

Joe's frown disappeared and his brows shot up, “Well that's a pickle but-”

“He also thinks I work at an office supply store.”

“This is not an office supply store.”

“Oh really?” you cringe up at him but he's just smiling.

“Everyone deals with this at one point or another. At least he’s just a crush and not your husband.”

He holds up his hand and forces you to your feet. There is no good option here, you could either stay behind the bar for a moment longer, and have your creep boss find you and berate you for wasting time in front of every patron in the club, or you go out there with your head held high and take their drinks orders.

Michael looked awkward at the glance you had seen so maybe he will be too busy looking at the floor or making excuses to leave to notice you.

Wishful thinking or delusional, you can't decide which as you straighten your skirt, holster up your bra and give Joe a kiss on the cheek.

You got this you mutter as you place table sevens drinks on your tray.

You let Michael and his group settle at a table close to the stage, most of them immediately distracted by Cherry dancing to an 80s classic, her lycra outfit reminiscent of a time most of the table would have been in high school or college.

You cringe a little, it's a subtle reminder of the age gap you had been trying to ignore. You hadn’t even been born until the 90s, your parents hadn’t even known each other in the 80s! 

Distracted you place drinks in front of the wrong men, each one swapping and changing, laughing at you as you just smile through the fumble.

“Sorry guys!” You say as more notes are slipped under the waistband of your skirt. 

You take just a moment to remove the notes, placing them in the pouch you kept inside your bra, nestled in the flimsy fabric was almost four hundred dollars of slightly sticky notes. 

Your club was good enough that it was discouraged to tip in ones or twos, instead the minimum tip is ‘suggested’ to be tens or higher and with the slightly nicer atmosphere and ‘classy’ dancing, this meant it was mostly adhered to. 

Someone at Michaels table waves you down, he has a kind face, older like Michael with salt and pepper curls cut short. Military, you clock almost immediately. They are easy to recognise in places like this, you can’t put into words why but they are.

It’s Jack Abbot you guess, knowing him only from your brother and Michaels stories.

It takes only ten steps to get from table seven to their table, you lean over a spare chair at their table, smiling as the men, predictably, look south before looking at your face. You don't look at Michael purposely smiling only at Dr Abbot and the man that must be the Bachelor. 

He looked wrecked, his shirt half open and his eyes just a little glazed over. 

“I think some water for you.” you purr, some people have a retail voice or their corporate voice, you had what could only be described as a ‘slutty’ voice.

The bachelor nodded, unable to look at anything in particular. Everyone else at the table was doing okay, a few reddened cheeks but everyone was pretty much sober.

“I’ll bring over some wings, and maybe chips, let's put something in your stomach.” You say before turning to Jack, “And for the table?”

Jack smiles, looking you in your eyes, which is a rarity in your line of work, “What whiskeys do you have?”

You laugh, gently swatting him on the shoulder, “You’re in a strip club honey, we got a bottle with the word Whiskey on it and that's about it.”

“Fancy stuff?”

“It will do the job.” Both of you laugh and you lift your head up.

Suddenly your stomach is in your throat. Brown eyes meet yours and they are alight with something you can’t quite describe.

Michael is staring at you, his hands white knuckling the table as he ignores any and all attempts of his friends trying to talk to him. The air that had been sickly warm was now freezing, you look away quickly, unable to catch his eye.

“I’ll be right back with your wings and whiskey!” you chirp, your work voice long gone as you try to shrink away.

Of course he would look up at you, you had to be an idiot to think he wouldn’t look up when a waitress spoke with him, no matter the location.

You can’t get away fast enough as your heels stick to the floor.

You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away, burning a hole into your back.

“I think Dr Bossman wants to eat you.” Joe says as he gathers the glasses and Whiskey, “He hasn’t blinked since you walked up.”

You throw a cautionary look behind you, everyone at the table was chatting amongst themselves, except for Michael who was just staring straight at you.

You try to give him an encouraging smile but it falters as he stands up, his chair creaking and his friends looking at him with confusion.

You rush to tell Joe the table's order, your voice getting lost as you continue to look back at Michael whose face has now gone a particular shade of red.

It was Jack who noticed the looks between the two of you. He looks from you back to Michael and then back to you, like he was watching a game of tennis before he is laughing to himself. 

It takes Michael no time to move around his table and to get to you. Before you can even greet him with any kind of sound other than a squeak, his hand is tight around your forearm and he's pulling you towards the door marked ‘Staff- No Entry’.

rusty

jack abbot x female reader

summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.

content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!

“I haven’t done this in a while.” 

The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. It nearly gets lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door. 

Reaching up to thread your fingertips through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom. 

You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material. 

He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, had him losing his previous train of thought. 

He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.

With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.

It had been months of having you on his shift.

Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on. 

It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction. 

You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore. 

A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat, just above your waist, taking their time trailing back up with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay. After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it. 

For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation. 

Not to mention he was off his game. 

He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship. 

You could sense his apprehension. The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions. 

It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift. 

It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely. 

And it was.

The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon. 

It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital. Everyone else in that restaurant could see the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt. It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Fingertips curling just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place. 

That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice with the two of you hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there. 

The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date. 

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself. For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed. Catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex. Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes. 

That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips. 

The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight. The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.

“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you swiftly walked into the building with a small wave. 

Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning. 

It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift. 

Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning. 

His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind. 

After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning. If only  for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again. 

When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait. 

It happened on the roof. 

An especially hard call landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind. 

Jack came up to check on you. 

Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand on your cheek in reassurance, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay. 

It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his. He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate. 

More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far. 

In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship. 

A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more. 

He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time. An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension. 

That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight. 

The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it. 

Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs, the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time tainting his thoughts. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist. 

But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into this unknown territory with you. 

He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue. 

His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense his sudden uneasiness.

Pulling away from the kiss, you searched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation. 

“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.

“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides. 

“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face. 

“We could just talk.” 

A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.

“Or maybe watch a movie.” 

Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch. 

He tries to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. He’s mustering enough self-control to speak, his words coming out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that?” 

Kid. 

A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift. You were just an intern; young, hungry and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.

“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“

A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out. 

He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.

“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor. 

“What do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look up at him. 

“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”

At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear. 

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…” 

“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth cotton of his comforter feels much warmer underneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric on your palms. 

Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire. 

“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.

“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them, his hand now fully pushing your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.

“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”

Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure. 

For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slipped another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name came floating from your lips. 

“Jack.”

The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot. 

“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow. 

Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open. 

He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants. 

“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.

He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him. 

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are. 

His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen. 

He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.

“There you go sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. That’s new. 

It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word unleashes a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on Jack’s fingers.

His eyes watch as his movements slow, his digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.

It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing on his lips as he fixates on his fingers sliding in and out of your body. 

He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. Feeling how much you ached for him drove him crazy. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy. 

If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take. 

“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body. 

An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands once again slide into his underwear, only this time they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch. 

His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.

You’d only pumped over his length once and he was already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand. 

“Sweetheart.”

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again, not right now when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm. 

Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip when he has to put a hand over yours to stop your efforts. 

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you. 

“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.

You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.

He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your underwear down your legs.

In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.

Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.

Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.

“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.

“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, his fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.

You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch. 

This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.

You held such discreet authority, taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.

He couldn’t have imagined that same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you. 

When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.

The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.

He took his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he filled you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades just enough to encourage his movement until he entered you completely, pushed in to the hilt.

His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost closed while you adjusted to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.

Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him. Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat. 

It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect. 

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant. 

His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high as he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.

Instead, he collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.

He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again. 

He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.

He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he lets himself finish. An easy task given the way your back was arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him. 

“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans. Wanting to tell him you were close but unable to string together more than two words. 

“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well. 

His encouragement was all you needed to let go.

Your release washes over you in waves of bliss.

Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression taking on a state of utter relief as your head falls even deeper into the blanket underneath you.

That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.

He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.

He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him.

He felt himself getting hard again, already hungry for another round.

His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade. These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.

“What are we getting ourselves into.” As if he were speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice filled the room.

He couldn’t help but smile as he thought about what the future held for your relationship, his forehead still pressed against yours. 

my masterlist

HELLO??? stop hes too funny

F!Reader x Dr. Jack Abbot! <3 little oneshot

Sum: you answer a small newspaper ad, which leads to you living with the one and only, Dr. Jack Abbot.

Cw: “and they were roommates” trope ish? Younger female reader, age gap relationship, roommates, Jack has night terrors, widow Jack Abbot, fluff. Your a ghost writer of smut bc that’s my favorite c: MDNI not proofread

The house was too empty. Too quite. Too much for one person to take care of. It was supposed their dream home, but his late-wife never got to see it.

Never got to be carried through the threshold, never got to have morning coffee with him at the book nook, or enjoy the fire pit.

His therapist says he finds comfort in the dark but also in the barren. Never giving life to the home that was supposed to be theirs, even years later.

So when she suggests a roommate, Abbot quite literally doesn’t know what to do with that. There was plenty of room, sure, but did he really want that?

Looking around, he knows he could use someone’s help. It’s too much house, too suffocating on days like this.

Sighing, he reaches for the local pitts area newspaper for the add space number. It’s old school, almost dead but if anyone’s gonna live here with him, they should at least know what a newspaper is.

Looking for a quiet roommate. 49, Male. Looking for someone to help manage an old house for less rent. I work night shifts. No loud parties or gatherings. Contact at *********

——

Meeting you felt like a twist of fate. Some people had responded sure, but none he took seriously until he heard your soft voice over the phone.

New to the city, a writer by trade, so you assured him quite days and help around the house. You mostly worked from home and he had at least 20 years on you.

But god were you charming, he thinks swallowing as he helps you move in your small boxes.

“Dr. Abbot? Is there anything I should do or not touch?.” You asks as you settle another box on the kitchen counter. You didn’t have much but it was enough to fill the small guest room across his.

You were so grateful to have found the ad, you quite literally shook calling him. The house was perfect, yet empty, you note. Must be because he works night shifts, you think taking every thing in. It doesn’t help the good doctor is wildly attractive.

“Jus’ need some help talking care of this old thing during the day, cleaning and stuff if you don’t mind kid. Just.. just stay away from the closet at the end of the hall upstairs” he tells you, a far away look in his eyes for a moment before a little smirk graces his handsome face.

“Oh and no fires if you can help it. Firefighters are my enemy,” making you giggle.

“Sir yes sir!” You say while giving him a little salute, making him laugh. After helping you move, you’ll be honest, you rarely see him at first.

You hear him come home and leave, saying “goodbye” and “welcome home” when you catch him but never getting to really know eachother, with the both of you focused on work. You were just two roommates, trying to survive.

——

That was, until you started leaving him leftovers, feeling bad there was never much in the fridge for him. That small decisions led you to start a breakfast routine together. You shared little tired laughs and always fought on who did the dishes after.

Until you started packing lunches for him, after quickly making yourself dinner. The first time he noticed you left him food to take, his heart thumped in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

Until you started working in the living room, the little book nook becoming your spot. He’d sometimes find you passed out on it, curled up like a cute rabbit. On those days, you’d always wake up covered by a soft blanket, smelling suspiciously like a certain doctor.

Until you started leaving fresh flowers in the living room, which make him still and smile looking at them. One day, there was a small bottle of aroma massage oil next to them and a little note saying “to help with the pain!,” in your curly writing. He carries that little bottle and note with him everywhere.

Until the house started looking and feeling more like a home

Until he had his first night terror in years.

——

It started with whimpers. Fear reached you as you shot up, thunder and raining muddling the sounds coming from the end of the hall.

You gently crept out of your room to stand in front of his closed door, stalling before turning the knob. You’d never gone in his room before, not even to clean.

You see Abbot sweating in his sleep, tossing and turning. He looks like his in pain and it’s killing you inside.

Slowly you make your way to him, gently sitting before rubbing small circles on his chest to soothe him. Little hums and shushes come out of you, as you go to rest against his headboard.

You try not to think about how firm him chest is, the little salt and pepper curls that match his hair or the scars that litter his body.

It’s takes time but you feel his body relax back into a peaceful sleep, as it reaches you too. Your soft snores fill the room, as you fall asleep next to the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

——

He’s confused at first. Waking up to you curled softly against him, face nuzzled against his chest. He’s alarmed, body tensing unsure of what to do. A small part of him wants to go back to bed, pull you closer and sleep and another wants to run. His tense body wakes you up and the part that wants to run, shushes, looking at your sleepy face and tussled hair.

Your eyes widen as you realize you fell asleep against him.

“I’m so sorry! You.. you were having a nightmare and I came to check and I’m sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep here”

You look away, unable to make eye contact in shame as he swallows heavily.

His arms stop you from leaving as he tells you it’s okay. “I’m sorry I get.. from the war. I get nightmares sometimes. Thank you.. for helping me”

You couldn’t help but smile carefully. “It’s okay, I’m here for you”

——

Things changed at a rapid pace from there with Abbot, now Jack.

You were both each others closest companion. You spent his off days together, continued your shared meals and learned more than you dreamed of.

From his deployments, his late wife, his love of pineapple pizza and more.

Giggling you can’t help but recall when his red tinted cheeks when he learned about your job as a ghost writer for small smut books. It became natural, to seek eachother out, and one way or another, you always ended up in his bed.

Snuggled asleep in his arms, the two of you refused to say anything about this new tradition. The fear of breaking the comfort it brings stops you both.

Your pillows and blankets join the bed, and the room becomes more and more “our room” then his.

——

Robby can’t help but notice a small pep in Abbots step. How he suddenly comes in with well packed food and how his eyes looked brighter. Suspicion runs deep, as he wonders what changed for him.

“Getting more sleep brother?” He asks, watching Abbot get ready to leave.

Abbot can’t help but smirk “something like that”

——

The warm months great you as you and Jack settle closer into each others hearts.

He ponders, if he should ask. Ask what this is as he watches you plant flowers in his garden. His home is beautiful now, he thinks, like you.

“I think, I think we should have a house warming party.”

You can’t help but laugh as you glance up at him from the flower beds, “Can it be a housewarming if you’ve been here for years?”

“Never had or wanted one before. Seems like we should change that sweetheart”

Jack walks over steadily to you, kneeling to kiss you on your forehead.

You understand, and agree completely.

——

The backyard is bustling with new life. The flowers you planted being ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at, as you’re introduced to all of Jacks friends and coworkers.

You find yourself particularly drawn to Mel and Langdon, giggling up a storm with the two of them.

Jack can’t help but watch you from the corner of his eyes, not quite focused on his conversation with Dana and Robby.

“So” Robby inturpts his thoughts of you. “How long have you been dating her?”

Jacks eyes brows raise, a crinkle settling into his forehead.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “We’re just roommates”

Dana and Robby can’t help but share a tired and concerned look.

“Jack, she lives with you. Cooks for you. Decorates your home and entertains your friends for you. If I had roommates like that I’d probably have more kids ” Dana says, trying to get a better answer from him.

“She’s young, we don’t want to see you hurt brother,”but Jack shrugs off both if their worries again, taking a sip of his beer.

A small smile appears on his face as he watches you mingle, knowing he didn’t have to worry about you or the ring in his nightstand.

Look Out For Her

Summary: 4 years later and your almost done with residency. But it feels like your relationship with Jack may be coming to an end too. That is until you’re hurt and he has to come to your rescue, that he reveals his true feelings for you.

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, sexual assault, mentions of alcohol, possessiveness, mostly fluff

This is possibly a Chapter 1!

———————————————————————

You were half way through your 4th and final year of ER residency. Somehow still learning the ropes of being cheif resident. It wasn’t easy to have the respect of your fellow co-residents and interns when you were in a relationship with Dr. Jack Abbott, an ER attending but, he made it worth it. Most of the time at least.

Getting to this point in your relationship wasn’t always easy in anyway. What started as hook ups, turned into arguements during every shift you worked together until you cut it off. But when 3rd year came around, you guys got close again, he let you in and you let him in.

A year and a half. In your mind, this was the start of forever. At least that’s what you thought.

For the past month, Abbotts been distant and you didn’t understand why. Picking up shifts on the days you were both off, date nights were becoming a rarity, bailing on nights out with your friends.

You had a week off coming up and wanted to see if you could make it up to him, for whatever you did even though you didn’t even know where to begin.

You moved in with him 6 months into the relationship. Everyone told you it was quick but, it felt like the right decision at the time.

You woke up early while he was still at work to go pick up breakfast from his favorite spot downtown. Got home made your famous homemade peanut butter cookies that he loved. Had his favorite movies lined up, ready to play. Even put on lingerie under your clothes, ready for whatever he wanted.

You heard keys in the door and were excited for him to see what was waiting for him.

There he was. Silver curls. Black scrubs. Go-bag over one shoulder. You could look at him forever.

“There’s my favorite guy.” You ran up to him to give him a hg and kiss.

He hugged you back but, swerved his head ever so slightly when you went in to kiss him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Just had a long night. Not really in the mood for anything.”

“I planned out quite the morning for us.” You smiled at him.

“Think I’m just gonna go hop in the shower then head to bed for a little bit.” He started to walk away.

You quickly turned around to him. “Okay, no, what is your problem? Did I do something? Cause for the past month you’ve been acting cold. Blowing me off ever chance you get.”

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face you. He looked pissed. You’d only ever seen him angry like that once during a stupid fight you guys had at the beginning of the relationship.

“You left your laptop open.”

“Okay and? I’m I supposed to know what that means?”

“Were you going to tell me that you have a bunch of interviews for attending jobs at other hospitals? Or were you just going to tell me you were leaving one day?”

“Jack everyone goes to multiple interviews. You literally did the same when you were in my position.”

“One of those is across the country.”, he paused, “Were you gonna pack up and fly over there without telling me?”

“Thought maybe you could come with me and we could make a trip out of it actually.”

He put his head in his hands. “Do you want to leave?” His voice cracked.

“What? Why would I want to leave you Jack? I literally have an interview with Robby in 2 weeks for a spot here. I’m just trying to see what else is out there too.”

“But you have everything you could need right here! Why do you wanna give it all up!He raised his voice at you.”

You took a step back.

“Don’t yell at me.” You felt your breathing become faster, chest heavy.

“Why would you not tell me? This is something we should be talking about together. This isn’t just about you.”

“And it’s not just about you. It’s my future Jack. My career we’re talking about.” You said sternly.

“So where do I fit into that future then?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “You know I love you.”

“I sense a but coming here.”

You took a deep breath. “But there’s an emergency medicine research fellowship in California. They’re really interested in me Jack. Like really interested.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind already.” He walked away and went into the bedroom.

“Jack please. I didn’t say yes to anything yet. I still have to go over there and meet with them. I might end up hating it.”

He was throwing clothes into his go-bag. You grabbed his arm and he swiftly pulled away.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Where are you even going?”

He held both hands up in the air. “I just need some air.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I- I just can’t do this with you right now.”

“So if not now, then when. Jack. Come on we talked about this. Never leave mad at each other.”

“I’m not mad.”, he looked down at you, “Just disappointed.”

He grabbed his bag and walked out of the room. You felt the tears start to run down your face.

“Jack please.” You begged.

You heard him pick his keys up off the table and door slam closed behind him.

You broke. Tears streaming down your face. You sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. Your reached into your pocket for your phone and tried to call him.

Once. Twice. Three times with no answer. Straight to voicemail.

You laid in bed, crying. Eyes already swelling. After went felt like an eternity, you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of a text message.

Please be Jack.

It wasn’t. Just Langdon.

He knew you were planning Jacks favorites for the morning and wanted to know how it went. You typed out as much of what just happened as you could. He called immediately.

He could hear you crying again.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Frank, I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where he went. He turned his location off. He won’t answer my calls or texts. I just wanna know that he’s okay.” You voice broke as you tried to get the words out.

“Hey look I’m just gonna come over okay?” Gimme like 20 minutes, I’ll be right there. Please just hold on.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

You got out of bed and threw on one of Jacks sweaters. Beers of the Burgh. Him and Robby went together every year. You hated beer so you never went, just let them have their special guy time.

You went into the bathroom and saw how bloodshot your eyes had become. Splashed some water on your face and went into the living room.

Almost exactly 20 minutes later. A knock on your front door. Langdon.

You opened the door.

“Hey kid.” He always called you could since the first day you met even though he was only 4 years older.

Tears again. You almost fell to the floor. He caught you and lifted you up.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you.”

He walked you into the kitchen, had you sit at one of the bar stools and went to get you a glass of water. He knew his way around. Afterall he did help you move in and came over often for movie nights when Jack was at work.

You spent the next hour trying to explain what happened. Talking. Crying. He listened to it all.

“Have you tried to call him again?”

You sniffled. “No, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I can’t make him.”

“He has to come back eventually you know?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You wiped your eyes onto your sleeve.

“Hey, me and some of the others from work were gonna go out later for some drinks downtown. Probably do some bar hopping. Maybe you should come? Get your mind off of things for a little bit?”

“What if he comes back and I’m not here?”

“Maybe that’d be for the best. Think you both need some time to cool off.”

You agreed. “Yeah sure why the hell not. He never wants to come out with me anyway.”

“Alright, go get ready then.”

“It’s early.”

“Its 5:30 and you definitely take forever to get ready. Plus you gotta unpuff your eyes.”

You quickly turned to the clock on the kitchen wall. Shit, how long were you asleep for? How long was he gone for?

“Okay alright then. Are you gonna stay here?”

“Yeah I’ll just watch some tv or something while you get ready. I’ll drive us.”

You went into the bedroom, scavenging the closet for something to wear. Red dress. Jack picked it out one day when you two were at the mall a couple months ago. You hadn’t worn it yet. You were waiting until he finally decided to go out-out with you. Which obviously never came.

You grabbed the dress, his favorite matching bra and pantie set and went to shower. There was a part of you that wanted him to come home to see you. But at the same time you just wanted to forget about all that happened just a few hours earlier.

Out the shower. Quickly dried your hair. Threw some light curls in it. Jacks favorite hairstyle on you. You didn’t like makeup but, put some mascara and lipgloss on anyway.

You walked into the bedroom to grab your little black heels. And walked back out into the kitchen.

Langdon was laying on your couch on his phone.

“Ugh, told you you were gonna take forever. It’s time to go, everyone’s of there way to the first place.” He sat up and turned around. “Damn kid, you clean up nice.”

“Well thanks Frank.” You gave him a side eye.

“You hoping to run into him tonight or something?”

“I- don’t know, it’s just that he picked this outfit out so, I don’t know maybe I guess.”

It’s almost as if Jack knew you were talking about him. Keys jingled in the door. It’s him.

He opened the door to see you standing there in the dress he picked out.

You both stared at each other while Langdon looked back and forth, unsure if he should leave you two alone.

“You look good. Really good.” He scanned you top to bottom.

Your heart was about to jump out of your chest. “Thanks.”

You turned towards Langdon, “We gotta go.”

“Yeah sure.” He jumped up and walked towards the door. He stopped in front of Jack.

“Gimme a second with her.”

Langdon shook his head and walked passed Jack and out into the hallway.

“Can we talk?”

“Now’s clearly not the time.” You walked into the bedroom, grabbed his sweater off the bed and walked out. “I have places to be.”

“Where exactly are you going anyway?”

“Why does it matter to you? I didn’t know where you were all damn day.”

“I was at the park. The park I asked you to be my girlfriend in.”

“You just sat there in your scrubs all day?”

He looked down at his clothes. “I’m actually going back in tonight for a shift.”

You scoffed. “Typical. Anything to avoid me huh?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m clearly not Jack. Please just let me through.”

“Just be safe. Okay?” He stepped out of the doorway and out of your way.

“Always.” And you left.

Langdon was waiting in the hall for you. You walked right passed him.

“Hey.” He stopped Langdon. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” And with that you were both on your way.

At the first bar you met up with other coworkers. Nurses, coresidents, EMTs. And apparently more people were on the way.

“Didn’t realize how many people were coming tonight?” You yelled over the music.

“Yeah me either.” Shrugged Langdon.

After the first 2 drinks and tequila shot, you realized you had ate all day. And you can’t handle your liquor.

You sat alone at the bar sipping water, looking down at your phone lock screen. A picture of you and Jack at a concert together, happy. He wasn’t into live music but, if it were for you, he’d listen to anything.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?”said the bartender nodding down at your phone.

“Yeah something like that.”

“That’s his problem. You look good.”

You smiled. Langdon came up behind you.

“Hey we’re heading across the street. Heard it’s 90s music night over there.”

You got up and went with the group. Thought you’d feel better by now. That you’d be able to distract yourself by talking to everyone, drinking, and listening to the music while dancing. It wasn’t working well.

Here you had 2 more drinks. 2 more shots.

Onto the next bar.

By this time, well over a a dozen people were apart of the group.

Fourth bar. More drinks. More shots. And you could feel it. But the more you drank the more you thought about him.

You went to sit at the bar alone. You checked you phone to see that he turned his location back on. The hospital, of course.

One the nurses came up to you. “Come on girl! Let’s go dance!”

“Yeah I’ll be right there.”

No texts or calls from him.

You took a deep breath and another sip of water. As you got up, you saw a guy watching you from the corner of the room. He winked and nodded his head at you. You politely smiled and went to your friends.

No matter what, Jack wouldn’t leave your mind.

There he was. The guy watching you across the room.

“Hey baby, looking good tonight.”

“Haha, thanks.” You were uncomfortable with how close he was to your face but didn’t want any problems.

“You got a man?”

“Yeah I do a actually.”

He scanned the room. “Guess he’s not here tonight huh?”

“He couldn’t make it. Working.”

“Well that’s his loss.”

Langdon spotted you across the dance floor.

“Hey, you gotta go see Donnie playing darts. It’s crazy!”

“Yeah sure.” You turned to the stranger and half waved goodbye.

“See you later.” He winked at you.

“Who the hell was that?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, stay close.”

“What about the darts?”

“They don’t even have darts here.”

It was now 1AM. You head pounding. Each room spinning. One last bar. One more drink. You lost count.

“Come on, one more tequila shot girl!”

“Yeah sure whatever.” You took it hoping the alcohol would down the feelings out of you.

Everyone was dancing, having a good time. You just wanted to be in Jacks arms, in your bed, in the apartment you had shared for over a year.

You looked over at a couple of your friends. “I’ll be right back.” Those who heard you nodded their heads.

You went outside. Alone. Still carrying Jakcs sweater, you decided to put it on. Not zipping it up but, just wrapping it around your body. You stood up against the wall on the side of the bar. Out of view.

Took out your phone. Stared. And finally dialed Jack’s number. No answer. Try one more time. Nothing.

But the thrid time you left a voicemail.

“Jack, it’s me. Um you probably knew that already, you know caller ID and everything. B-but,” your words one slipping into another, “I think I just want to say I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about leaving. I’m stupid I know. But I love you. I always have. I- always will. I don’t want to leave you. Ever. You’re it for me Jack Abbott. I don’t want anyone else, or anything else. You’re the person I’ve been looking for my whole life. You make me a better person. I want you forever. Please just pick up the god damn phone. I need to hear your voice,”

You heard the bar door open behind you. The music rushed out into the street before becoming quiet again.

The stranger. Back again.

“Hey you get lost out here?”

“Jack I gotta go, I’ll see you soon.” You hung up.

“Not lost, just needed some air.”

“Yeah, yeah. It can get so hot in there.” He stepped closer to your body. “You know when I said you looked good tonight, baby I meant it.” He licked his lips.

“Thanks again.” You tried to step around him to go back inside.

He blocked you.

“Where you rushing off to? Not like your man is here to take care of you.”

“I gotta get back to my friends.”

“It’s okay I can take care of you out here.” He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

Your body now pressed against his. Heart pounding in your ears. He grabbed your waist with his other had before reaching down to cup your ass.

You tried to pull away. But his grip was tight. He pushed you against the cold brick wall, pinning you body with his. One hand on your waist. The other holding your arm against the wall. Scraping the skin on the back of your arm right off.

He leaned down into your ear. “Come on sweetheart. I can treat you better then he can.” His hand sliding to meet the bottom of that red dress. “I’ll show you want a real man looks like.” You felt his cold hand on your thigh.

This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not right in front of the bar. Where is everybody? Langdon? Oh god, where’s Jack?

All the thoughts ran through your head.

He kissed your cheek. You flinched.

“Damn sweetheart, wanna play hard to get I see. I can play along with that.”

He let go of your arm. He started to reach for your neck.

You pushed him. Hard. He stumbled back.

“You dumb bitch. You’re gonna have to pay for that.” He took a step towards you.

Pain. Throbbing pain was the next thing you remembered. Then blood. Yours? Or his?

Both.

You punched him. Right in the face.

You used to kickbox not long ago. Guess you still remember how to swing.

“Fucking bitch.”

You screamed. Loud. Loud enough for the security guards to hear you inside the bar. They came running around the corner.

Blood was pouring out of his crooked nose. Blood dripping down your arm from your knuckles.

One security guard grabbed him. “Guess you met you match huh? Come on, got some cops that are gonna love your ass.” He took him away.

“You alright? Come on let’s get you inside and get that cleaned up.” He walked you inside.

———————————————————————

Jack got your voicemail. Almost right after you hung up. He tried to call you back. No answer.

So he called Langdon, who was still inside the bar.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Langdon was drunk.

“Dude I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here.”

“Yeah well you should be here! It’s a great time!”

“Where is she?”

“You gotta be more specific broo”

“My girlfriend. You know the one you’re supposed to be looking out for. She called me. Left a voicemail actually. Sounded like she was talking to someone. Then hung up. Where is she?”

Langdon scanned the room. “Uh I don’t know man.”

“Can you go find her please? She sounded drunk , almost as drunk as you. I’m worried. She doesn’t handle her liquor well.”

“Yeah man, I gotchu, I’ll go find her.”

“Alright call me when you find her. I wanna talk to her.”

“Aye aye captain.”

And Langdon hung up.

He walked around the room. Asking anyone and everyone if they had seen you. No one knew where you went.

That was until you walked back in with security.

———————————————————————

Everyone immediately saw you.

Red dress with blood down the side. Blood running down your forearm. Knuckles bruised and swollen already.

You heard a murmur of “what the fucks” and “oh shits”

Langdon came running over almost immediately sobering him up seeing you like that.

“What the fuck happened?!” He reached to grab your blooded fist.

You winced in pain. Mascara running down you face. “The guy from the other bar.” Yo could barely get the words out.

He looked over your shoulder and saw the guy standing outside with security and blood running down his face.

“Oh I’m gonna go kick his ass!” He tried to get passed you.

“No, no, Langdon, stop, the police are already coming.”

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna break his nose some more.”

“Please, just go get me some ice.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“Ice, Frank, please.”

He went up to the bar for your ice. You could see the police lights shining through the window.

3 police cars. 6 police officers.

You told everyone to stay inside while you went to talk to them. Langdon begged to go with you so you gave in and let him.

At this point, the guy was already sitting in the back of one of their cars. Hands cuffed behind his back.

You told them exactly what happened as you held the ice pack against your knuckles.

Langdons eyes teared up hearing what happened. He was supposed to protect you.

“You wanna press charges?” said one of the officers.

“Of fucking course she does.” Said Langdon.

“I need to hear it from her.”

You shook your head yes.

“You can either come to the station now. Or you can come in the morning.”

“What she needs is to go to the hospital. The hand is broken. Definitely in multiple places.”

“No, it’s not, I’m fine.”

“I’m literally a doctor, how are you gonna tell me it’s not broken? Have you not looked at your own hand?”

You took the ice off. Your hand was basically twice its original size. Fuck. He was right.

“Well that guy wants to go to the hospital too. Can’t take y’all to the same place so where you wanna go so we can send him somewhere else?”

“Can you take me to Pittsburgh Trauma?”

“Yeah let’s go.” You gestured to the police cruiser and opened up the door for you.

“Can I come with?” Langdon asked him.

“Absolutely not. Get a ride or call an Uber. You’re drunk. Drive yourself and I’ll have you arrested.”

“I’ll be right there, okay? I promise you.”

He went back inside the bar.

———————————————————————

All you could think about on the ride there was Jack. How he had to see you like this.

You finally checked your cellphone.

5 unread texts messages. 7 missed phone calls. And one voicemail. All from him.

You presssed play.

“Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me right now and even if you do it’s just the alcohol talking. But look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. I guess I’m just scared. I don’t want you to go. I can’t afford to lose you. Of course I want you to pursue whatever career opportunities you want, but I don’t think I can live without you. You make me want to be a better man. You make everyone around here better. I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. Have a family with you. All here, all in Pittsburgh. I want whatever you’ll give me. I- I just need to to stay. Please. Look I gotta get back to work but call me back when you get this okay? Love you babygirl. See you soon.”

You didn’t know if your tears where from the throbbing pain shooting down your arm or from his words.

You got to the ambulance bay. You swung your legs out of the car. Feet killing you from the heels. The officer helped you out of the car and walked you inside barefoot.

One of your coresidents spotted you.

“What the fuck? Do I even want to know what happened here?”

“Get Jack, please.” You said practically begging.

You waited for what felt like an eternity from him to find Jack in a patients room.

“This better be important. I was in the middle of something.” Jack snapped his off into the trash.

He looked up and his eyes caught yours.

“What the fu-“ he ran over to you.

He grabbed your arm as you winced and pulled back in pain.

“Babygirl what happened to you?” He leaned down to look into your eyes.

You broke. Immediately tears poured down your face.

“Come here, come here. I got you, you’re alright. No one gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me here.”

He held you in his arms while caressing your hair. The smell of alcohol of your breath obvious. “Come on, let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around you and walked you into a room and sat you down on the bed.

Your coresident ran to get all the supplies needed to clean and bandage you up.

“Get the hell out. I got this. Close the door of your way out.”

It was now just the two of you. Alone.

“Babygirl I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there with you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

He started to clean the now dry blood off of you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Do you wanna tell me how this happened?”

So you told him all of it. Every single detail.

“I’m gonna find that motherfucker, I swear to god. I’m gonna break his fucking kneecaps.”

“Jack, calm down.”

“No, he hurt you. I’m gonna hurt him.”

“His nose is already broken Jack.”

“I don’t give a fuck. He’s gonna get way worse than that from me.”

“Jack.” He kept cleaning your hand.

“Jack look at me.”

He slowly lifted his head until his eyes met yours.

“I’m gonna press charges. Whichever ones I can. I want them all.”

There was a knock of the door. One of the favorite night shift nurses.

“Hey sweetie brought you a fresh pair of scrubs and our finest grippy socks. X-rays ready for you. Just come out to the hall when your ready darling.”

“Thank you.”

“You need me to help you?”

“I can get dressed myself. You have other patients anyway.”

“Those patients don’t matter to me. You’re the only one I care about here.”

“Can I just have a minute alone Jack?”

He left you to change.you looked at your fist for the first time since you got to the hospital. Looked slightly better without all the blood.

You went into the hall and the nurse walked you down to xray as Jack waited by your room. Thank god the pain meds kicked in with the alcohol because you could barely open your hand.

As you walked back, you heard yelling.

“You were supposed to be fucking watching her! Not getting filthy fucking drunk and letting her wonder off alone!” Jack was throwing his hands in the air.

Langdon stepped up to his face. “I shouldn’t have to watch her for you. You’re here fucking boyfriend. You should’ve been there yourself. Or better yet, she should’ve wanted to stay at home with you!”

“You think you can judge my relationship? Last time I checked I’m not the one in the middle of a divorce and custody battle.”

“Jack!” You yelled down the hall. “Don’t.”

You walked over and pushed him into your room.

“Frank, I don’t blame you for any of this. I need you to know that.”

“No, he’s right, I should’ve been keeping my eyes on you. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did happen. I’m okay. Or at least I will be. I’m not a kid, you don’t need to keep me on a leash. I shouldn’t have gone out there alone. No ones here to blame except the man who did this okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You hugged him and walked back into your room.

Jack was pacing back and forth.

“I’m okay Jack. You can calm down.”

Another knock on the door. “X-rays are up.”

He walked over to the computer to open them up.

“What do you see?”

“Boxers fracture.” You pointed to the obvious gap between your bones.

“Gotta go get ortho to come set it in place.”

“Can you just do it?”

“I’ve hurt you enough tonight.”

He left and came back with an ortho resident who reset your hand and put it in a brace. “Gonna need another xray in 3 weeks to see how it’s healing. In the meantime just rest, ice and elevate. You got a lot of swelling so take it easy please.”

Just you and Jack alone again.

“Jack can we talk about what you said?”

“Which part?”

“On the phone. Your voicemail.”

He knew exactly which part you were referring to but, wanted you to say it.

“The part where I said I want you to stay?”

You shook your head no.

“Then which part?”

“The part where you said you that you want to marry me. Have kids with me. Build a life with me here.”

“I meant it all. Every last part.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to cancel all the other interviews. I wanna stay here. With you.”

“You don’t need to do that for me. This is your career we’re talking about here. You can’t give up these opportunities. They won’t come around again.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for us. Jack you’re more important than some job. This all means a lot to me but, it won’t mean anything if I can’t come home to you every night for the rest of my life.”

He leaned in a kissed you passionately. He pulled away and looked softly into your eyes.

“So Jack Abbott wants to marry me huh?” You said jokingly.

“Don’t worry I’m not gonna pull out a ring right now or anything. You gotta finish your residency first babygirl.”

“Well now I’ll be expecting a ring the day after I’m done.”

“Guess I better start working on that. But for now let’s get you and that broken hand home.”

“Your shift isn’t over for another 3 hours?”

“They’re gonna cover for me. Gotta get my lady home.”

The drive home was pretty silent. He just put your favorite Radiohead album on for you. He helped you out of his truck and lead you upstairs.

He helped you pick out your favorite pajamas and you went to take another shower. Forgot you had been wearing his favorite matching set under the dress when you left. Thought the night would be ending differently for you two.

Of course you were glad that you were on good terms now. But when he put his hand on your back as you were leaving the hospital, you flinched. And he definitely noticed.

Once the booze started to wear off, you started to realize the extent of what happening to you tonight.

You cried again in the shower. Used the hot water to wash away your tears for you. Put some drops in your eyes to hide the redness.

You took a deep breath before walking out to him in the kitchen. He was holding up the breakfast bagel you bought him that morning.

“Didn’t even see that you bought these.”

“You could always just eat it now if you want. Think I’m just gonna head to bed if that’s alright.”

He open the fridge and put the bagel back inside. “Yeah let’s go. I’m just gonna jump in the shower real quick.”

You climbed into bed. Curled yourself into a ball, facing away from where he would be laying. You were holding back tears. You wanted to be strong for him. There’s was already so much going on in your lives. The last thing he needed was to be worried about you more than he already was.

You head the bathroom door open and his footsteps coming closer. You closed you eyes and preteded to be asleep.

He peeked over to see you. Eyes closed. You felt as he crawled quietly into the bed to face you.

“Hey I know you’re not sleeping. We’ve been in the same bed for almost 2 years now. You never fall asleep that fast.”

You let out a cry.

“Hey, come here. What’s wrong?” He put his hand on your back and you squirmed away as fast as you possibly could.

“I-I’m sorry”, you whimpered out.

“Can you look at me?”

You wiped the tears flowing down your cheek and rolled over to face him.

“You wanna talk about it yet?” He knew there was more going through your mind.

You shook your head. “I need you to hold me. Bu-but I’m scared for you to touch me. It’s not you, I- I don’t know what wrong with me right now. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault, okay?”

You sat up, “Can you just put your arm out?”

“Like this?” He put right arm straight out.

You laid down so that his arm was between your head and shoulder.

“Wrap your arms around me, please Jack.”

He brought you as close as you could get to him. You cried into his chest.

“I got you, I got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you ever again alright?”

You nodded and lifted you head up. He wiped away your tears.

“I love you so much babygirl. So much.”

“I love you too.” You laid back down into his chest.

Jack was wrong you could fall asleep fast. But only when you were in his arms.

Things were gonna be different from now on. Cause you ever trust anyone to put their hands on you again?

———————————————————————

Probably gonna end up making this a short series! Maybe just one more part! Let know what you guys think!

Quiet

Widower!Jack Abbott x Widow Single Mom!Reader

19.9k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: sick baby; sick mom; mentions of needles; inaccurate medical knowledge/descriptions/tests etc.; reference to past pregnancy; reference to past miscarriages but no graphic descriptions, just a mention they occurred (reader does not actively experience one in the fic); Jack was in the army; reader's husband was in the army and died while deployed; discussions of IVs and needle sticks; reader gets an IV and is not afraid of needles; mild description of IV insertion; shy reader; discussion of possible peanut allergy; mentions of covid, influenza a and b and RSV; mom guilt; discussions of loss of spouse; lots of grief and self hate for a bit; Jack is vaguely suicidal and ideating at the beginning; healing; reader and jack are human and not perfect and make mistakes; reader can't cook; baby is a boy but is not named; DOMESTIC JACK

Summary: Widower Jack and widowed single mom Reader meet in the Pitt when Reader's baby gets sick. What follows is healing, patience and becoming ready.

A.N.: Inspired by this ask. This was so inspiring and I went totally off the rails. There will for sure be a part two. I really wanted to do something with Jack being a widower but was unsure of how to. This ask came in and the idea came to me and I felt like it was a good way to work with that piece of him. The beginning is quite emotional, I'm not going to say angst, there's just a lot of emotions and sadness and grief as we define Jack and Reader's reality. I PROMISE that the end gets fluffy and happy and (I hope) funny! Part two will be more fluff with a dash of emotion sprinkled in as we watch their relationship develop and the two get their happily ever after together!

You make it to about ten before you decide to go in. It’s not a long drive and by 10:15 p.m. you’re parked and walking into the ED.

You bite your lip and bounce just a little to help keep him asleep in your arms while the woman behind the plexiglass processes your insurance and co-pay. She gives you a warm smile, says to take a seat and it’ll be just a few minutes and they’ll get you back. 

Thanking her you grab your cards and do as she says. You’re surprised by how quiet it is. There’s a few people in the waiting room but it seems more like they’re waiting on people as opposed to be seen. Small mercies, you suppose. You’ll take what you can get. 

You can only imagine what you must look like right now, how bad you must look. You wish your husband was here. Wish he had been here for it all. He’d reassure you. Tell you that you were doing the right thing by coming in. Better to be safe than sorry. You can hear him telling you it. 

A call of your last name dissolves his voice playing in the back of your head. You follow a nurse back and get settled in a room. All the basics are done, everything you expected. And like you expected the second you set your son down so that his vitals can be taken he starts to cry. It makes you want to cry. 

Bridget reassures you that it’s okay, is quick taking his vitals so you can get him back in your arms and calm him. You know you must look like a mess, hair messed up, eyes reflecting how exhausted you are and the lack of sleep, wrinkled clothes that have at least one stain somewhere, probably more. And you’re sure that your face reflects how you feel inside, how frazzled you are, how guilty, how scared, how upset, how sad, how out of control you feel. 

Bridget dims the lights for you and leaves you to hold your son against you in the hospital bed. “I’ll have a doctor in as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, “and I’m sorry for being kind of a mess. Well, not kind of at this point.” 

She just laughs. “I understand, but trust me, you’re doing just fine.”

You manage to give her a small smile back and nod. She walks out and then it’s just you and your son. Like it always is. Your husband isn’t here, he’s never going to be here. His absence is pronounced as you lay in a hospital bed in an emergency room with your sick nine-month old. You do your best to not think about it because if you do, you’ll lose it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s missing her tonight, more than usual. Maybe it’s not so much that he’s missing her more than usual but he’s more aware of how much he always misses her. It’s more acute. Like some flareup of a chronic illness. Thinking in medical terms helps.

He knows he shouldn’t do that, try to understand it like it’s some illness he can study and understand. It’s just grief. It’s just there more than others some days. Sometimes he can articulate why and others he can’t.

Tonight he can’t. 

He bends his thumb inward and puts it on his wedding band, thumbs at it so it rolls around his finger. Nervous habit. That’s what he calls it now. When she was alive it helped ground him, reminded him she was there and he’d be going home to her, could make it through whatever was in front of him. And then she died. So now he tells himself it’s a nervous habit because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to call it. 

To those who don’t know him he still looks like a husband subtly using his wedding band to ground himself or remind himself of his wife or because he’s thinking about her and so he’s subconsciously playing with his ring. 

If only. 

Jack inches a little further and looks down over the ledge of the roof. The ground looks so inviting from the roof sometimes. It would be so simple. He could be reunited with her, if such a thing was real. 

Sometimes though he wants to be selfish and not care how she’d feel about it because she, unlike him, isn’t around anymore to feel fucking anything. Sometimes his grief comes out in anger because she got it fucking easy, she didn’t have to lose him, she doesn’t have to be here, doing all this feeling while alone. He always hates himself after that even though his therapist says it’s normal. But he’s stuck here and has to do the feeling because when he tried to bury the feelings he nearly self-destructed. 

So Jack stands on the roof. Stands and feels. And Jack is tired. Tired of feeling. At least like this anyway. 

He knows she’d hate it, hate him walking off the ledge of the roof so he doesn’t. Not tonight. 

Instead he slips back under the guard rail and leans against it, lets his head fall back and the chill in the air bring him back down. 

It’s too quiet, he realizes. Maybe that’s why his awareness of how much he misses her is so high right now. He likes noise. Keeps his mind quiet. The Pitt is too quiet. Even the City as he stands on the roof. And so his mind is loud. 

It makes him uneasy. There’s always a reason for silence. For quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good.

Jack lets out a heavy sigh and then leaves the roof, heads back down to the Pitt hoping to find something to do. He’ll take anything at this point. “There you are,” Bridget greets him as he walks back in. “Sick nine-month old waiting for you,” she nods at your room, tells him your son’s name, a general overview. “Baby doesn’t seem too bad. Mom is stressed.” 

Jack nods, says a quick “thanks,” as starts walking towards your room. 

He looks in and sees you through the glass and stops. You are beautiful. Strikingly so. And Jack hasn’t even met you yet but feels like he’s known you forever, is drawn to you. It feels like he just understands you, or maybe more like he knows you’re going to understand him. It’s the strangest feeling. 

You start to glance up from looking at your son and Jack quickly resumes moving, knocking slightly on the door since you’ve already seen him and walking in, shutting the door behind him. “Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he introduces himself. 

And god, now that he’s in your space, in here with your energy it’s even more intense. It’s like he’s supposed to know you, supposed to have met you. Like some kind of palpable fate in his brain. He briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating because this is not shit he really believes in, not normally. 

Quiet, Jack thinks. It always brings something. Or maybe someone. 

“I hear we’re not feeling well.” He looks down at your son who is asleep in your arms, head on your chest. “Mom, right?”

You nod, tell him your name. Nearly trip over it because this man is so handsome it is unfair. Then you feel bad the second you have that thought. But then you start to feel pulled to him. He’s just comforting and you struggle to understand how because you don’t know him. It feels like you do, but you don’t. You’re drawn to him. You feel like you actually need to know him. Like he and you are here for a reason. 

You immediately chastise yourself for having those thoughts. Your husband, you remind yourself, your husband. He’d have wanted you to move on, to grieve and then find someone. You don’t even have to assume that or just think it. You knew it. You knew it because of that fucking video he left you that you were never supposed to have to see. 

You bring yourself back into the present. 

“What’s been going on to bring you in?” Jack asks as he logs into the computer and pulls up your son’s chart. He glances over at you and catches a look in your eye. Jack thinks you feel it too. Whatever is between you and him, the connection. It feels like you know it’s there too. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

You tell him what’s been going on, symptoms your son is showing. Jack alternates between typing on the computer and looking at you. “I, um, I called the nurse hotline, you know, on the back of the insurance card before I came in, I really didn’t want to waste your time, I know you guys are so busy. She said that it’s probably okay to wait to get in with the pediatrician, but that if I was concerned I could go to the emergency room and I really tried to wait, I did, but I just, I don’t know. I felt like he sounded more wheezy.” You shrug at him, eyes round and showing how distressed you are, a hint of glass at them that suggests you’re close to tears. “It’s RSV season, you know? I mean I know you know. And god, I don’t want to be like, doctor WebMD or whatever, I trust you and your expertise, it’s just why I came in, they tell you about it so much at all the appointments and I, I don’t want anything to happen to him. But if you think this is too much you can just say and-”

“It’s not too much,” Jack cuts you off, nodding gently. “I promise. Better to be safe than sorry especially if you feel like he’s been a little more wheezy.” You nod at Jack who keeps looking at you intently. It makes you clear your throat and look away. But when he doesn’t say anything after a second you look back up at him. “You did the right thing,” he tells you when he catches your eye contact again. “Can I?” He gestures to your son. 

“Oh! Yes, yes of course! Here, let me get out of bed and lay him down.” You give a breathy laugh that reveals how out of sorts you are. You’re clearly thrumming with nervous energy, frenetic and flustered.

“No, it’s okay. You can stay, I’ll take him and get him on the end of the bed if that’s okay?” He holds his hands out to take your son. 

“Of course, yeah, whatever is easiest for you and best for him!” You gently pull your son from you and he starts to wake and fuss. “I’m sorry, he hates not being held right now and he hates being held by anyone but me it seems like sometimes, so he might not…” you trail your sentence off when Jack takes your son and he settles against Jack as they walk to the end of the bed. “Settle.” You sit up and cross your legs to give Jack more room. “I guess he likes you,” you laugh softly. 

“Good taste in people already,” Jack quips absentmindedly as he lays your son down. You give a soft laugh and the corners of his lips pull up. You get his humor. He likes that. Not everyone does especially when he executes it so stoically sometimes. There really is a draw there. 

Your son starts to fuss again and Jack can see you stiffen a little and start to look like you’re about to apologize. “It’s alright, little guy, I’ll have you back to mom soon.” He keeps a hand gently on your son’s tiny stomach and chest while putting his stethoscope on with one hand and rubbing the chest piece on the side of his scrub top for a few seconds to warm it up before putting it to your son’s skin. “I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs in between listens, gently pulling your son up into a sitting position to listen to the back of his chest. “I’m the worst, I know, you can tell me all about it, won’t be the first or the last.” 

You sit there watching the whole interaction stunned. You don’t know why, you just never expected to get a doctor who would be so good with your son, with you. There’s something about him. Something you could never hope to articulate. You’re just drawn to him, he feels like some sort of kindred spirit which you tell yourself is crazy because you’ve known the man all of four minutes. 

Jack takes his stethoscope out and finishes his exam. “You have his clothes?” He glances up at you as you ask. 

“Hm?” You lean in a little towards him. Before he can repeat himself the words process. “Oh, yes!” You grab them from beside you. You’d taken them off earlier with Bridget so she and eventually the doctor could examine your son. 

“Thanks.” Jack grabs them from you and gets your son dressed again. 

“No, thank you. You… You didn’t have to do that.” The smile you give him almost reads embarrassed. 

“Least I could do for upsetting him so much by laying him down.” Jack picks your son up and brings him the few steps back up to you as you stretch your legs out again. Your son has already started to settle in his arms again. 

“So,” Jack reaches over for the rolling stool in the room and uses the pressure of his fingertips to slide it over to him before sitting down on it and rolling up to be closer to the midpoint of the bed so you can talk. “You’re right, he’s a little wheezy. Nothing terrible, but it’s there. His fever is still pretty low grade and I saw he’s about due for some acetaminophen, so we can recheck after we give him some more in a bit. Is RSV a possibility? Yes. So is a common cold. So is influenza A or B, so is Covid.” Jack can see you getting more panicky. 

“I…” You shake your head and look at Jack. “This is my fault.” Jack furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head a little. “I, I’m a single mom. It’s just him and I and I have to send him to daycare so that I can work and I don’t have any family around to help and I can’t afford a nanny, daycare is expensive as it is and I don’t want to have to send him to day care, even though I know that’s a normal thing and lots of parents do it and are good parents, are great parents, it doesn’t define how good of a parent you are, but I just think in this case, it’s me. I let him get sick. I exposed him. And I never wanted that, I really didn’t I just don’t have other options and it’s so hard and I spent months researching and touring locations to try and find the best one I could afford, but at the end of the day it’s still a cesspool of germs and I don’t know. I know that it’s mom guilt and daycare guilt and I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do and you know, nothing can happen to him.” You hold your son a little closer to you. You know if something happened to him you’d be gone within minutes. “Nothing can happen to him,” you repeat, a murmur. 

There’s a small silence and then you look up. “Oh my god,” you look at Jack horrified. “I just dumped that all on you and said all of that out loud. You’re a doctor. A busy doctor in an emergency room, you so do not have time for this, and god, fuck, it’s not even your job to listen anyway. I am so, so sorry.” You fight back tears because you are not doing this, you are not losing it here in an emergency room with your son in your arms. Because if one tear falls all of them will. 

Jack can see how you’re trembling. He noticed you were a little when he came in the room, noticed how chapped your lips were. 

“Hey, it’s all good.” Jack’s voice is soft and he tries to catch your eye to reassure you more but doesn’t force you when you avoid it. “I have time, you picked a good night, okay? And I know that nothing I can say will help with the guilt and I know you know but this stuff happens. They get sick. You did what you’re supposed to do, brought him in, called the hotline, monitored him closely.” You close your eyes for a second and take in a few breaths. He can tell you need to move on and not dwell here or something will open up that you can’t close and there is nobody who understands that better than Jack. “I don’t think anything is going to happen to him. I’m going to give you some choices, okay?” 

You finally look back up at him and nod, give him an apologetic smile. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

Jack nods. “First option is we give him some acetaminophen here and keep you guys here for a couple hours to monitor him and see how he does. That’s the least intensive option. Second option is the most intensive option. We test for RSV, rhinovirus, influenza A and B, Covid. That would be a swab test, one for all. We draw some blood and run a few tests just to check on everything. And then we do a chest x-ray to see if anything’s going on. Third option is a middleground. We start with the swab test. If it comes back positive for one we discuss more options. If it comes back negative then maybe we decide to do bloodwork. Choice is yours. None of them are wrong.”

You swallow hard. Your mind races as you try to decide. What if you make the wrong choice and something happens? 

“What would you do if he was yours?” You ask Jack, voice so, so small, so scared. Jack barely knows you but his heart aches for you. It’s like he understands you somehow even though he’s not a parent, has no reason to feel such a pull or connection to you. 

“Uh, wow, I… I don’t know,” Jack stutters a little because the question throws him so much. 

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, you don’t have to answer. I thought maybe you and your wife had kids and maybe that’s inappropriate too, god.” You cringe at yourself. But yeah. You’d noticed the wedding ring when he took your son from you. 

“No, no, it’s not inappropriate and we… I,” Jack looks almost pained. It’s familiar, the expression he wears. You feel like you know it well even if you can’t place it in the moment. “No kids,” he finally settles on, “I don’t have any kids. And I can’t say I’ve thought about… this, what I would do before.” He brings a hand up to his head and runs it through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest for a second before moving them back down to rest on his legs. “It’s hard,” he shrugs, and gives you an apologetic look. “The doctor in me who knows all of the possibilities says option two. But the doctor in me also knows that’s probably a bit overkill and that realistically option one is fine, and that option three is the best, that middleground.” He looks away from you and down at your son, studies your little boy whose small hand clings to your shirt. “I can’t say I’ve ever really tried to access the… paternal side of me,” Jack clears his throat, “not in a long time anyway. But I think I’d have to go option two, even though it’s overkill and involves a needle stick. I’d want the reassurance and to see the numbers and images.” 

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly and look down at your son. “Yeah, I think that’s what I want to do. I just needed, I don’t know. Not permission but… something.” You look back up at Jack and your eyes glaze over a bit. Something he recognizes, something he’s been told happens to him when he talks about his wife. His head tilts slightly at the thought. “Input.” You finally whisper. “I needed input.” 

Jack watches your bottom lip tremble and you bite it to stop it from doing so. 

Because you don’t have input. Your input is in the ground. Six feet in the ground. You never really go to have any input. Not from the one person whose input mattered most. 

And you don’t miss how you feel this connection to Jack and now he’s your input. Guilt and sorrow and grief and some vague flicker of anticipation slam into you. Anticipation is a new feeling, you haven’t had it since you gave birth. Even the way you phrased the question. Not what would he do with his child or if it was his kid here what would he do. No, you’d asked what would he do if your son was his.

You have to stop thinking about it.

Jack leans back a little and runs his palms down his thighs. “Okay, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and put in the orders for the tests and acetaminophen. You can go to x-ray with him and wait behind the door, the rest we’ll do in here. I can swab,” he says with a small smile as he grabs one of the testing kits they have out of the cabinet in the room. He quickly types an order into the computer.“But I’m going to have one of our nurses come and grab some blood. I’d do it but nobody wants that. They’re the best sticks in the place, I promise.” He gives you a small but reassuring smile. 

You can’t remember the last time you genuinely felt reassured by anyone’s smile. That’s a lie. You can. It was the last time your husband ever smiled at you. The thought makes the smile you give him in return falter a bit. Jack wonders if he did something. Said the wrong thing. 

Your son fusses a bit for the swab, but you’re able to help hold him still so that Jack can get it done as quickly as possible. He settles back easy enough. Bridget walks in with some supplies while Jack continues typing. 

Jack was right, Bridget is a fantastic stick and the needle is so small your son makes just a little whimper before resting on you again. You feel bad when you have to wake him a bit to give him the tylenol. His small hands rub at his eyes and he tries to move his head away but you coax him to it so easily, so naturally, Jack thinks to himself. “Thanks Bridget,” he says quietly as she walks out. 

“Alright,” Jack says through an exhaled breath as he finishes on the computer. “I’m gonna be honest with you,” he starts as he grabs some hand sanitizer, “I’m more worried about you, mom, than I am about the baby.” He turns to look at you as he sits back down on the stool, tilts his head at you. 

You blink at him, like what he said is still processing. “Me?” Jack nods. “I’m fine, I feel fine. I’m just maybe a bit tired because, you know, sick kid but… I’m fine.” 

Jack pushes his bottom lip out a little and pulls down, nods just a little. He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. “When’s the last time you ate?” 

You look at him again for a moment and for a minute Jack thinks he’s gone too far, overstepped, has been imagining everything he’s felt since he saw you. “Um,” you finally say. He realizes you’ve been trying to think when it was, not that he upset you or anything. “I, I don’t know, probably I had something for lunch, I’m sure.” 

“You’re shaking.” Jack points out. You furrow your brows, unsure if he’s right and if he is how he could possibly know that. “Hold out a hand.” You do as he asks and sure enough, you can’t keep it still. “When’s the last time you drank some water?” He gives you a look as he says it and tilts his head at you. “Your lips are chapped. It’s been a bit, I’d guess. You’re dehydrated.”

You look away from him, can’t decide if you’re uncomfortable with his scrutiny or if you kind of like it. It feels wrong to like it. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, okay?” He goes to continue speaking and stops, what he just said hitting him. “I probably shouldn’t have said dick in front of a patient, so I apologize for that,” you laugh at that and shake your head telling him not to. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be doing this by yourself. But you have to take care of yourself for him, and again, I know you know that,” he holds his hands up, “I just wanted to say because I’m sure it’s easy to lose sight of, especially when he’s sick.”

You nod and let yourself look back at him. “Yeah,” you nod. “It is.” 

“So, game plan for you is to get some food and water in your system. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, wow,” you laugh a little. “Dr. Abbot, that is-”

“Jack,” he interrupts you to tell you, “call me Jack.”

“Uh, okay. Well, Jack, that is very kind of you but I’ll be okay, and I can grab something once we get home. I will grab something.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “Promise.” 

Jack shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “No, you’re going to be here too long for that to be a deal. Between the x-ray and blood test results and monitoring him. Food and water or I’m going to create a chart for you and give you an IV.” He shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s something he would do for any patient. 

You both know he wouldn’t. 

In part because having this much time is a rarity, beyond a rarity even. In part because any patient isn’t you.

You open your mouth to speak a couple of times and then close it again. “Okay,” you whisper. 

“Great,” Jack smiles at you. “What do you like to eat?”

You look at Jack and you look so overwhelmed he starts to feel bad. “Jack, I, honestly?” you laugh, “I have no fucking idea. Like none. I don’t remember, I don’t have the ability to even pick.” You’re still laughing because it’s so fucking ridiculous. A simple question. And yet you can’t answer it. 

There’s a sorrow to your laugh that resonates with Jack. It sounds familiar. Sounds like his laugh sometimes. 

“Alright, well,” Jack laughs a little with you, keeps it light, “I’d say I can work with that but I think it’s really more like I’m gonna have to work with that.” 

You shake your head and cringe at yourself. “You must think I’m a disaster. God, I’m sure I look like one.” 

Jack presses his lips together and squints a little, shakes his head. “I don’t think either, nor is either true.” 

Jack leans back and it stretches his shirt against his chest, pulls it tauter. The outline of two familiar pieces of metal and rubber silencers becomes visible, just for a second. You’d been feeling a little better. Now you’re about to be sick. About to lose it. 

Your smile falls, and Jack furrows his brows, goes to ask if you’re okay. 

“Do you have dog tags in your pocket?” You glance down at his chest pocket. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I do.” If Jack had stopped right there you would have been fine. You would have been able to breathe through it, shut yourself down emotionally, and kept it all in. But he doesn’t. And you’re exhausted and your baby is sick and your husband is dead. 

Jack pulls them out of his pocket and flashes them at you. Quickly, but long enough.

Jack knows something is wrong based on the look on your face and the way you stare at his dog tags and then his chest pocket when they’re back away. You start shaking your head, squeeze your eyes closed. “Hey,” Jack starts softly. 

You shake your head faster, try to say something but all that comes out is a soundless sob as you devolve into tears. Quiet ones because your son is asleep in your arms but big wracking ones nonetheless.

It clicks into place. The draw to you. Feeling like he understood you and you him. Recognizing the way your eyes glazed over just slightly. The familiar sorrow to your laugh. 

You’re a widow too. 

And if Jack was a betting man he’d put a whole lot of money on your husband being deployed when you lost him. 

Jack’s up quickly, grabbing the box of tissues and setting them on the bed near you while reaching for your son wordlessly, only a nod and gentle motion of his hands to offer. You’re torn between whether having your son out of your arms will help or hurt, but you know it’s not fair to him and that eventually he’ll wake up because of your sobs, no matter how quiet you are. 

Jack takes him from you and sits back down in one of the chairs this time, pulling it over to be closer to the bed and kicking the stool out of the way. Your son stays asleep as Jack settles him on his chest. He feels a bit cooler too, Jack notes.

“I’m so, sorry,” you choke out quietly between sobs, “you can give him back and go, this is, this is not your problem to deal with.” Jack doesn’t reply, just nudges the tissues closer to you. 

And so you keep crying. And Jack keeps holding your son. 

Eventually you cry yourself out and are so numb you’re left with just shame and embarrassment for doing this here, in front of Jack and your son. 

As the sniffles stop, you try to look at Jack but are too embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll take him back and you can go.”

Jack stands up and hands you your son back. A wave of relief and calm washes over you at having his familiar weight back in your arms and on your chest. But there’s a pang of sadness too, you really thought Jack might stay. You don’t know why you care.

But Jack surprises you, sits back down and pulls his phone out for a second, sends off a couple of messages. He turns his attention back to you. “I’m gonna stay for a bit. The uh,” he struggles to find a word that won’t jinx everything, “patient census,” he makes a face when he says it like he can’t believe he just said those words, “is low tonight. I have time.” He lets out a long breath through his nose. “And you have nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head slowly as he speaks.

You give him a slight smile at patient census and the look he pulls, a little nod and he doesn’t push for more. He gives you time. 

But after a while he puts it out there so you know that you can. “You wanna talk about it?”

You look at him and see understanding, feel like you’re really being seen for the first time since your husband died and you don’t know why Jack is the one. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Shrug at him with a watery smile. “I don’t know how to.” 

Jack nods slowly. Pauses for a moment and takes in a big breath he lets out, a little shaky. A shaky you feel like you recognize. “My wife died five years ago, so when I say I know what you mean, I promise I really do.” 

You shut your eyes and grimace as it all falls into place. The connection you felt with him. The pull. Why he makes you feel seen. 

“God I am so sorry, when I asked earlier, about kids and if you and your wife had any, I just thought with the ring, god I of all people should know better than that.” You shake your head at yourself. 

“You had no way of knowing,” Jack shakes his head. He looks down at his ring. Then to your ring finger which is empty. That deep set confliction and need to explain starts to rise. “I still wear it because… I think… It’s-”

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. Not to anyone, and certainly not to me.”

Jack nods. You sit in the quiet for a few minutes. 

“I would probably still have mine on, but,” you sigh, “I guess it requires more backstory.” You pause to collect yourself. “Long story short is he was in the army. Scheduled to be deployed. Really short one. He was done after it too. Would have been out.” You take in another shaky breath. “We’d been trying for a baby for a while. I kept miscarrying. Little under two weeks before he was leaving I found out I was five weeks pregnant. And this one felt different. I had morning sickness. There was so much cautious optimism and he hated that he had to leave but he was supposed to be back in time for birth as long as everything went as planned.” You shrug. “He died when I was ten weeks pregnant.” 

Jack closes his eyes at that. His heart aches for you in the way only someone whose heart has been through that same loss can. 

“Yeah, pretty fucking sick of the universe. The one time I keep the pregnancy I lose the husband.” You wipe at your eyes with the tissue in your hand. “Anyway, late pregnancy my hands swelled up. Rings didn’t fit. I had to take them off. And once I had him and knew they would fit again I couldn’t bring myself to slide them back on. He was supposed to be the one to do that, you know?” Jack nods. He gets it. “So I think that’s probably the only reason I’m not still wearing mine.” 

“It’s not been five years though,” Jack points out. 

“There’s no timeline on when to be ready and take them off. I’m the newbie to the widow game here, but even I know that.” You give him a lopsided smile and Jack lets out a little laugh. 

“No timeline to any of it.” Jack offers. You raise your brows and lower them, nod as to wordlessly say true. 

You’re interrupted by Bridget bringing in some water and food for you. It’s obvious something has happened between the two of you and that you’ve been crying. “There’s an incoming,” she says quietly to Jack. “ETA four. We need you.” He nods. 

Bridget steps out and Jack stands up, puts the chair back and looks back at you, rolls his eyes. “Patient census comment coming back to bite me in the ass. Shoulda known better.” 

You let out a small laugh. “I thought it was very Scottish Play of you.” Jack smiles at you. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” He walks over to the door and puts his hand on the door handle, pauses, thinking.

Jack turns back to look at you. “What’s done cannot be undone,” he says with a little smirk. 

You laugh almost properly at that. It makes you feel, maybe not totally happy, but okay. It’s been a while since you’ve felt either. 

“Oh wow, okay, well go get ‘em Lady Macbeth.” Jack laughs softly, more of just a smile with some air breathed out of his nose as he shakes his head a little at you. 

He doesn’t say to eat and drink the water and that he’ll be back to check on you. He doesn’t need to. You know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks pass. Your son recovers without incident. You can’t stop thinking about Jack. Jack can’t stop thinking about you. He has to talk himself out of looking up your info in your son’s chart and going to stop by and make sure your son recovered okay. 

You get sick. Really sick. You finally get your son down for a nap and stare at the piece of paper Jack had given you as you left. 

“Here,” Jack hands you a slip of paper with his name and number written on it. “If you ever need anything, call me, okay? If you need help fixing something at home or someone to watch the baby for an hour so you can grab a shower, or for however long it takes you to get your hair done, or whatever. Don’t hesitate to call.” Jack swallows. He doesn’t know how this part is going to go. “Or, you know… just call me.” 

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Oh, wow,” you laugh nervously, “wow Jack, I am so flattered, truly. But I just,” you look away from him, suddenly somehow even more shy, like the man hasn’t seen you sobbing and snotty and is still interested in you. “I’m not ready. I don’t know when-”

“That’s okay,” Jack nods, “I just wanted to put it out there. But still. I want you to call if you need something, okay? I respect your answer and so if you call I’m not going to expect anything or badger you about it or try and force it on you. I just want to help.” He looks to the side for a moment and then back at you. “One vet helping an active.” 

You feel so bad about it, are so conflicted. But you could really, really use some help. So you text him, tell him it’s you. 

You - Are you at work? 

J - No. 

J - Everything okay? 

You - Did you just get off work? 

J - No, string of off days. 

You chew your lip as you pull up his contact and stare at the number. You just tap randomly at your phone and let the universe decide. If it calls him then it calls him, if it doesn’t then it wasn’t meant to be. 

It calls him. 

“Hey,” he picks up on the first ring, sounds concerned, “you okay? Baby okay?”

You clear your throat and he can already hear it, is already standing up to throw on some real clothes and grab supplies. “Baby’s great.” He cringes at how bad you sound. If you feel as bad as you sound he’s genuinely astounded by how you’re taking care of a now ten-month old while being so sick. “Me, not so much. You said to call and I… I didn’t want to and I know this is so unfair, but I don’t have anyone else and I could just really really use an hour to get a shower and tidy a few things up.”

You need more than an hour to shower and tidy up, you need to sleep for as long as you can, Jack thinks to himself. “Text me your address.” 

There’s a beat of silence. “You sure?” You ask him, give him an out. 

“Positive. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Within the hour.” 

“Okay.” It’s so quiet he almost misses it. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Text me, okay?”

“Yeah.” You hang up and do so. 

Jack stops by the hospital before he comes over, grabs a couple bags of saline, a couple of banana bags, and a few IV kits, tosses them in his backpack. Tells a raised eyebrows and confused Robby to tell Gloria to bill him for it and he’ll bill the hospital for the use of his supplies and tech during Pitt Fest before walking out. 

Then he stops by a grocery store, picks up some food and over the counter meds and then he’s on his way to you. 

The knock on your door startles you even though you know it’s just Jack. You open it and his eyebrows raise as he takes you in. You look like death warmed up. Maybe not quite that bad but Jack’s judgment of that is skewed because it’s you and he doesn’t like seeing you sick he has decided. 

“Hi,” you whisper as he walks in. “He’s down in his room, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the monitor while I shower and then I’d really love to just tidy up a bit.” You move your hand to reference your living room and kitchen, both visible with the open floor plan. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry about that too, it’s normally not this bad.” 

Jack takes the space in. It’s not even that bad. It’s very sick single mom with a baby. Not dirty, just cluttered. He notes the sparse decoration, wonders if you moved after your husband died. “It’s really not that bad,” he tells you softly and takes the baby monitor from you. “Come here.” 

He steps towards you and you freeze, not sure of what to do. He just raises his hand and puts the back of it to your forehead. Jack flashes you a concerned look. “You’re burning up. Easily 102.”

You try to laugh it off but it just triggers a coughing fit. “I’m fine, it’s okay-”

“No,” Jack says firmly. “It’s really not.” He walks over to your couch and sets his bag down, slides the baby monitor into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a forehead thermometer and nods at the couch, asking you to sit down. 

You hesitate for a second, feel like this is too much and he’s doing too much and you should say he can leave, that he should go. But instead you go and sit on the couch. 

Jack scans your forehead and frowns when he looks at it. “102.8.” His eyes flick to yours and he can see you going to say something, and he knows it’ll be something like you’re fine or it’ll come down. “Look,” he turns the thermometer around so you can see the reading. “The light is red. There’s a frowning face. So please don’t say it’s okay and you’re okay.” His words are firm but compassionate and he isn’t condescending at all. 

“Well, once you leave if he’s still asleep, I’ll try to grab some rest.” You give him a weak smile. “Promise.” 

“Oh no,” Jack shakes his head. “No way. If I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t have supplies with me, you’d be going to the ED.” He starts looking through his bag. 

“Jack, this is really nice of you but unnecessary.” His eyes snap back to yours when he hears his name come off your tongue. He likes it. Too much. You said no, that you weren’t ready. But Jack can’t help how he feels, only on how he acts on those feelings. 

He ignores your protests. “Plan of care is to have you shower if you’d like. Cool, please. And then I’m going to give you some meds, get an IV in you and a banana bag going and you’re going to go sleep.”

“I, I really think just a shower and some tidying will help me feel much better.” Another half hearted protest. It feels good to have someone want to take care of you. To have a man want to take care of you. To have Jack want to take care of you. Those are all feelings you haven’t felt in a while, and they’re from Jack Abbot. And a piece of you hates yourself for that, especially when your eyes wander to the folded American flag displayed on a shelf. 

Jack tracks your eyes to it. “I’m not trying to overstep,” he starts to explain, “just, you’re a lot sicker than you think.”

“No, no, I know that, and you’re not, I’m just not used to it.” You try to find the word but it’s hard. “The attention, I guess. Or maybe the help. Pregnancy and labor and birth and coming home with a newborn while recovering were all alone, so it’s just… strange.” 

Jack shuts his eyes and lets out a breath. His heart hurts because he knows what that kind of alone feels like. He knows how hard it can be to survive and live with. And he’s never had to experience alone everything that you have. He hates that you were alone. He’s even more in awe of you, honestly, that you were able to. There’s a sense of pride too, one he knows he has no business having. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I really don’t-”

“I know that, Jack, I promise and you’re not, I’m just.” You shake your head and look away for a second. “A mess,” you laugh softly, manage to not trigger a coughing fit. 

Jack shakes his head a little. “You’re sick.” 

You shrug, take in as deep a breath as you can. “Okay,” you nod. He knows you’re acquiescing in his treatment plan. 

“Good.” Jack pulls his stethoscope out of his bag. “You mind if I listen to your lungs before you shower? Just to have a before and try to get a read on what it might be.” 

You nod at him. Jack places his stethoscope on your chest, is careful to hold it so that his hand doesn’t come into contact with you because he knows he already expressed interest and that you’re not ready and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s using this as some weird chance to touch you or make you uncomfortable. “Deep breath.” 

Jack walks you through all the deep breaths he needs, frowning to himself a bit and not pressuring you when the deep breaths trigger your cough and he has to wait a minute to continue. The first time it happens his other hand automatically raises to go and rub your back but he catches it in time.

You don’t acknowledge it, don’t want to draw attention to it and in part don’t know how to react to it but you appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. He’s a gentleman. It’s nice and you really try to let yourself have that and let it feel nice without berating yourself over it feeling nice. But something feeling nice is so foreign and somehow feels so wrong. Like nothing should ever feel nice again because your husband isn’t here. 

“Yeah, those are junky,” he mutters as he puts his stethoscope back in his bag. “Wish I had brought a breathing treatment for you.” He looks like he’s thinking about how he could get one here. He pulls his focus back. “Shower?” 

You nod, stand up and start walking towards your room. “Hey Jack?” Jack looks up at you with raised eyebrows, body tensing just slightly like he’s ready to run towards you. “Thank you. And um, make yourself at home and help yourself to anything. I don’t know how much there is, but what’s there is yours.” You give a little nod and turn and walk off before he can say anything. 

Once he hears the shower running Jack takes a better look at the place. He finds it strange how certain parts feel like you but the overall place doesn’t in a way. It feels like someone scared to settle in, scared to make this space their own. It feels like his first apartment after his wife died did for a long time. 

He starts to tidy up, it’s really nothing major. He puts toys in the little toy bin you have, places the baby books on the floor on the bottom storage space of the table. He picks up the baby blankets and onesies laying around that he’s guessing need washed, sets them in a pile on a counter. He does the same kind of stuff in the kitchen, just picks up, wipes down. Again, nothing is dirty. It’s lived in. It’s a sick single mom with a baby who sets down an empty water bottle or paper plate and forgets to throw it away. He loads the dishwasher with the bottles and few plates and utensils in the sink. He’s not sure if what’s in there is clean or dirty but it’s fine, if it’s clean it can just get washed again. He waits to start it though, makes a note to do so later once you’re out of the shower and the hot water has had time to build back up just in case your water heater isn’t great.  

You let yourself stand under the water for longer than you probably should. You try to keep it cool like Jack said, but at some point right before you get out you let it get really, hot, just need to feel it, feel a little sterilized almost. You think about how Jack is here and doing all of this for you and what would your husband think and does this make you a bad wife. You try to get yourself to believe that your husband would be happy you’re getting help, would be happy Jack is a veteran and that you’re not a bad wife because your husband told you he wanted you to move on and find someone and it’s not like it happened yesterday. It’s been over a year. 

Once you’re out you slip on some modest pajamas, deal with your hair and put some lotion on your face, brush your teeth. You feel a little better, only because you feel clean, but still. 

Jack gives you some time once he hears the shower turn off. After a bit he knocks on your door and clears his throat. “Hey, um, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to start the IV out here in the living room or in your room.” 

Your chest clenches for a moment. You hadn’t even really thought about what it would mean for him to start it in here, just kind of assumed he’d come in and do it. But it means there would be another man in your bedroom. A man who is not your husband. 

He gives you a moment to decide because he knows the magnitude of the question he asked. 

You’re at war with yourself, but you know it’ll be better to have him do it here and have him figure out a way to get the bag to hang. “Um, you can do it in here, I guess. Unless you’d prefer to do it out there.” 

“Wherever is best for you.” There’s a pause as Jack waits for you to come over and open the door. You’re so zoned out sitting on the edge of your bed you don’t even realize. “Should I come in?” He finally asks gently. 

“Oh! Oh yes!” The way you breathe in at surprise and almost startle at having your zoned out thoughts interrupted makes you start coughing, so Jack slowly opens the door, trying to give you time to change your mind, walks in and over to you with his supplies just as slowly. 

He sets some stuff out next to you. “Shower help?” He cringes internally the moment he says it, hopes it doesn’t make it seem like he was thinking about you in the shower. 

“Yeah. Feeling clean has helped I think.” You watch as he gets everything ready. He has big hands, long and thick fingers that should make working with small pieces of medical equipment a bit difficult but they’re so dexterous and he has so much control over them that it’s not. Once you catch yourself daydreaming about his hands you look away, shame and guilt washing over you. 

“Take these, please,” Jack says softly, handing you a few pills and holding an open bottle of water. You nod and do as he asks. “Good gi-” He stops before he can finish, some pink flooding his cheeks. It’s adorable, you think. He’s adorable and he’s trying so hard to respect you and just be here as a friend helping you out. You also think about the reaction you know you’d have had if he finished the sentence. More shame and guilt. 

“How do you sleep?” Jack asks as he finishes setting the supplies for an IV up and kneels in front of you. You furrow your brows at him. “So I can put the IV in a good spot!” He rushes to explain. “Like if you sleep on your side I’ll put it on the top arm.” 

“Oh.” You think about it and tell him. 

“Hand please.” He points to the correct one and you offer him it. “Hands hurt more but it’ll be the best for sleeping. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me doing it.” He pulls a pair of gloves on. They fit nice and tight. Once he gets a tourniquet in a slip knot nice and tight around your arm he has you make a fist. 

You shake your head at him as you watch those long and dexterous fingers run over and feel the back of your hand a veins beneath your skin. Satisfied he found a good one he opens the alcohol swab and wipes the back of your hand, lets it dry for ten or so seconds while he grabs the needle introducer. He feels for the vein again and looks up at you. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You nod at him. 

He’s quick with it. You like the expression of intense focus he gets as he does it. “Okay,” he draws the word out a little, slips off the tourniquet. “Needle is out,” he places a tegaderm dressing over it, “and we’re good.” He looks up at you. “You okay?”

“Barley felt it,” you murmur. 

Jack gives a little laugh. “It’s okay, you can be honest. My pride can take it.” You just give him a look. “I’m gonna flush it. Some burning and maybe a weird taste.” He doesn’t explain much, knows you almost certainly had one when you gave birth. 

He does and then stands up, looks around near the head of your bed. “I think I still have a really old coat rack in the spare room,” you volunteer, knowing he’s looking for a way to hang the bag. 

“That would be perfect,” he nods at you. 

“Second door on the left when you walk out.”

Jack steps out. He already knew that through process of elimination but he doesn’t tell you that. He went to the bathroom while you were in the shower, placing his ear by each door to figure out which room was the nursery. Left one room to be the spare room. 

He brings it in and gets it set up. You offer him a hanger to place the bag on and he smiles at you. You give him a little one back. 

Jack puts on a different pair of gloves and sanitizes everything before spiking the bag and priming the line. He hooks it up to your IV and sets the drip rate, keeps it fast enough to get what you need into you but slow enough so that you hopefully won’t have to wake up to go to the bathroom for a while because he knows you’ll likely fight going back to sleep. 

“You need something to help you sleep?” He asks, a touch of concern in his tone. 

“I think I’ll manage.” You give him another weak smile. 

“Figured,” he nods. He grabs everything off the bed making sure to keep track of where the used needle is and then walks to your door. “Rest well.” He nods at you again and then steps out, closes the door behind him quietly. 

You let yourself settle into bed, feel your heart slam against your chest with every beat as emotions whirl through you. Guilt, for having some kind of feelings towards Jack, for asking Jack to do this, for not being there with your son, shame, grief, embarrassment, anger at yourself for quite literally everything, and the faintest glimmers of hope, happiness, contentedness and a kind of longing which are all new and in turn fill you with fear. 

You’re right though, you do manage to fall asleep. And fast. There are a few times you think you hear your son crying but it stops quickly so you don’t fully wake up. Another few times where you swear you hear someone in the room with you and them whisper “it’s just me, go back to sleep,” when they notice you stirring. If they’re real you let yourself listen to them and drift back asleep. 

Jack is surprised at how long you sleep. He thought for sure with all the fluids he has been giving you that you’d wake up to go to the bathroom, but that must be how tired you are. He lets you sleep. You need it. And for whatever reason he really, really cares about you and doesn’t like seeing you sick. It worries him, if he’s honest with himself. Seeing you sick. He worries about you. 

When you do wake up it is because you have to pee. You turn the lamp on to get there and close your eyes and flinch away from it until they adjust more. It starts to come back. The IV. Jack. Jack watching your son. You grab the bag of saline and go to the bathroom before walking out of your room. You have to stop at the doorway because it’s so fucking bright, let your eyes adjust. 

It makes you realize how fucked up your sense of time is. You have no idea how long you were out and you hope you hadn’t been keeping Jack a prisoner in your place for too long. 

When you walk into the living room Jack is on the floor with your son, some soft blocks knocked over the floor, your son on his back and cooing up at Jack, giggling like babies do at Jack every time Jack leans down over him and tickles his belly with one of Jack’s large hands and makes a funny noise at him. There’s a dirty diaper on the floor next to Jack, empty bottle on the table. 

“You slept well, didn’t you little man?” Jack sits him up and keeps a hand on him, your son pretty good at sitting up by himself but still getting the full hang of it. Small hands reach out for Jack, trying to pull him close. “Oh yeah, and now you’ve had a bottle and have even more energy to burn, huh?” Your son giggles again as Jack takes him into his lap as he straightens his legs and rests your son’s feet on one of his thighs so that he can bounce as Jack supports him to keep him standing. 

It’s the cutest scene. It’s so adorable your heart aches. It’s all you ever wanted for your son. And that’s why your heart shatters at the same time. Because your son doesn’t have it. Not normally. Your son doesn’t have a father. You don’t have a husband, the person you should be doing this with. This scene is a total one-off, a byproduct of you being sick and needing help. You appreciate Jack and all he’s done and how he’s being with your son but that’s supposed to be your husband. 

That’s supposed to be your fucking husband on the floor with your son and it’s not. 

It’s Jack. 

It’s Jack and you don’t hate it. 

Quite the opposite. You like the sight. Would like to see it again. Would like to see Jack again. And that makes you feel a little sick and a lot guilty. But you don’t stop liking it or wanting to see it and Jack again. You tell yourself you don’t though, that you don’t want to see it again and don’t want to see Jack again. You lie to yourself. The turmoil threatens to tear you in two. 

You wipe a few tears away silently and then sniffle to announce your presence. You can get away with it because you’re sick. “Hey,” you say softly, make a face and try to clear your throat. “I’m sorry I feel like I probably slept longer than I meant to.” Clearing your throat didn’t help. You still sound awful, your voice totally going. 

Your son squeals when he sees you, arms reaching for you already. You smile down at him. “Hi baby,” you greet him in the best voice you can manage, grab him from Jack. “How’s my boy?” You tickle his tummy because you don’t want to kiss him and get him sick and it makes him squeal again and babble at you. 

Jack stands up and you notice there’s something off about the way he does, just slightly. You wonder if he suffered a back or hip injury while serving. He clamps the saline bag all the way and removes it from your IV so that you’re free. “What time is it? I hope I haven’t kept you here too long.” 

Jack looks at his watch. “9:17.”

You blink at him for a moment. The sun filtering in through the curtains assures you he means in the morning. You make a face like you’re trying to pour through past memories. “What time did I make you come over? It must have been so early, I, I didn’t even realize I’m so sorry.” 

Jack smiles as he steps around you and goes to set the bag on the counter, throw the diaper away and the bottle in the sink. He turns back around and leans against the counter, holds onto the edge of it with his hands. He already knows you’re going to freak out. 

“First, you didn’t make me come over yesterday. Pretty hard for anyone to make me do something anymore. Second, I got here sometime around 4.” Your confusion deepens. “P.m. Yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” You look at him, stricken. “Oh my god, Jack, I am so so sorry! You should have woken me! I genuinely never meant to steal this much time from you and keep you hostage here, I am so sorry, I-”

“Hey, hey,” he steps closer to you but doesn’t touch you. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be apologizing for. I know I could have woken you and I never felt hostage here. I was okay with it.” He gives you a reassuring smile. 

You shake your head at him a little. “God, where did you even sleep? That awful couch? I know how bad it is, I’m so- I feel terrible.” 

“Don’t,” Jack laughs softly. “I promise you I have slept on much, much worse. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t…” You trail off because you haven’t really stopped to evaluate that. “Better I guess. Still sick but not as bad, at all.” 

“Good.” He takes another step closer and holds his hand up, gestures to your forehead. “Can I?”

You nod, still lost in thought and shocked about how you could have slept that long. “Good, fever’s still down. It broke during the night.” Your son reaches for Jack’s hand, one of his small hands wrapping around one of Jack’s large fingers. Jack lets him keep it and play with it, but steps back a little. “Shit, I promise I only went in there to change your bag and take your temperature with the thermometer.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. You hadn’t even thought to care about him coming into your room when you were asleep, hadn’t even realized that could be a line he might have crossed. “I just feel so bad.”   

“Please try not to.”

“I have to, you have to let me at least make you breakfast or something! You just watched my baby overnight for me.” You nod. “Yeah, let me make you breakfast, please.” 

“I’d like that,” Jack nods slowly, face pulling into a knowing look with a little smile because you’re adorable and going to be upset. “But I don’t think that’s going to work,” he shakes his head and then gently nods at the refrigerator. You know there must be nothing in it.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You turn your head and rest your cheek on the top of your son’s head as you try and think. He continues to coo and babble away, at Jack now, whose finger he still holds on tight to. Jack makes a little face of surprise and noise at him and your son laughs.

“Let me order something then, yeah?” You offer. You watch as Jack argues with himself in his head. Part of him wants to say no, he should get it for you, for no real reason other than he wants to take care of you, and part of him wants to say yes because he knows it’ll make you feel better. “Please.”

“Alright,” he finally nods.

“Okay, great!” You start looking around for your phone and find it plugged in and charging. It hits you then. How clean and tidy the place is. “Oh my god,” you mumble. 

“What?” The alarm in his voice is clear. 

“You cleaned.” You look around more. A laundry basket of folded onesies and blankets and other baby clothes on the loveseat. “You did laundry.” 

The realization sends you over some ledge you didn’t realize you were standing on. Your heart races. Your feelings are too conflicted. There’s too much turmoil. You know this is normal, have read about it, spoken to other widows who described what it was like to start dating again, start falling for someone. And you’re really starting to personally get it now. 

You don’t know what to do with it. And you know you’re not ready for it. But you can’t lie about it to yourself anymore and pretend that Jack doesn’t give you new feelings that you haven’t had in a long time and that you don’t want to let yourself feel them or at least try. Can’t lie to yourself that you don’t want to try and be ready for it. 

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Jack says quietly, unsure of what exactly your reaction means. While he’s also a widow it’s a bit harder for him to put himself in your shoes. He didn’t have a baby to need help with while trying to grieve and find a new normal. 

“No, it’s not that.” Tears hit your eyes and you close them, hate that they’re happening. It’s the emotional overwhelm you tell yourself. The having someone do something nice for you. The having to accept help. The new feelings. So many new feelings from one man. 

But you know yourself well enough to know that it’s also the wanting, despite how much you try to bury it and lie to yourself. The wanting to let yourself give in to those new feelings. Wanting to let yourself enjoy the new feelings. Enjoy Jack. 

“Let me,” you hear Jack whisper, feel his hands get closer to you to grab your son who laughs in excitement at the prospect of being in Jack’s arms. 

You keep your eyes closed and then turn before you open them, walk over to get a tissue and dab at them. “It wasn’t too much.” You’re speaking to Jack but keep your back to him because you’re not sure how you’ll react if you turn around and look at him. “It’s just really hard. Everything is so fucking hard. Every second of every day is an emotion, every second requires feeling.” Jack understands that one too well. “And you get used to that. The emotions, the feelings become familiar. Because they’re constant. You know what they are, what to expect. You know the feelings. They hurt so, so bad, but eventually you realize that not having them would hurt more. Would be scarier. Because they’re your normal, they fill that void in your heart. What would you be without them almost controlling your life? And then one day a new emotion, a new feeling creeps in. And it’s paralyzing. You think it hurts worse in some way than not having the familiar feelings would, but you don’t know because you never get a second to not fucking feel. And it’s because it’s new and you don’t know what to do with this new feeling and it throws everything off and is another change and because it almost always feels so wrong, to let yourself feel something new, especially if it’s a good emotion. And I know you know this Jack, I know you know exactly how I feel, exactly what it’s like. I know you get me. I know you understand. And I like that. I think part of me needs that. To move on or whatever you want to call it.”

Jack’s heart rate ticks up. This is not at all where he thought this conversation was headed. 

You take in a deep breath and squeeze the tissue in your hand before turning to look at the unfairly attractive and smart and funny and caring and playful and stoic and dry humored and witty and kind doctor holding your son. 

“You make me feel so many new things Jack. So many things I never thought I’d feel again. So many things I swore to myself I would never feel again.” You swallow hard. “And I don’t know what to do with them. They paralyze me. Not for long because they send me straight back to guilt and shame and grief, right back to those familiar feelings. I don’t know how to have these new feelings you give me anymore. At some point I lost that. So I don’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Jack’s numb. Frozen. He’s not sure what this means. He understands you because the first time he started dating and was attracted to someone he’d gone through the same thing. It was hard at first. To not feel guilty. To not revert back to the emotions you know well. He’s not sure what to say. He goes to say that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to cause you distress and will go but you start talking again. 

“But fuck Jack, I want to. I didn’t want to admit it to myself because it feels so wrong and because it’s scary and hard and makes me feel like a terrible wife sometimes. But I do. I want to know how to handle you and all the new feelings you give me, Jack.” His eyebrows raise slowly, his focus staying on you as your son starts to mouth on his finger getting saliva all over it, not phased in the slightest. “It’s just going to take time. I don’t know how much time. And I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask to wait for some unknown period of time.” 

“You’re not asking,” Jack says quickly before you can get out another sentence. “You’re not asking me to. I want to. But only if you want me to. You said that you weren’t ready, and I respect that. And you have to know that I didn’t come over here to help, or do laundry or tidy up because I was trying to pressure you or make you feel something or make you be ready or for anything other than just to help as a kind-of friend. You have to promise me that you know that.” 

“I do,” you tell him softly. “I promise.” You give a small laugh and little smile. “I think that’s actually the part that made me realize I couldn’t keep lying to myself that you didn’t give me new feelings and that I didn’t want to feel them. That I know you came here just because you wanted to help, help me, my son and my husband. And I know you did the laundry and tidied and stayed overnight to watch my baby so I could sleep just because you’re kind, and you saw it needed done so you did it, which is so army of you by the way, and not because you wanted it to mean something or make me feel bad for not being ready or pressure me or any other possible reason. You just… wanted to help.”

Jack smiles at that. Really, fully smiles and fuck if it isn’t one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. You smile back at him. It’s clear that nothing more needs to be said. You both know that you’ll work on being ready and learn how to feel and how to handle it all and Jack will wait. 

“I never said I was army.” He smirks at you. 

“Didn’t have to.” You give him a small smile. Even after this you’re still so shy. 

You go and grab your phone. “What does that mean?” He asks, tracking you with his eyes. 

“What would you like to eat?” You ignore him. You know already that it’ll wind him up. 

“No, what does that mean? I have a tell?” You shrug at him. He narrows his eyes at you playfully.

“No,” you say as you hand him your phone so he can pick something and order and take your son from him. “It means you have a recognizable backpack.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time goes on. You get better. You and Jack grow closer. You keep going to therapy, keep working on processing and figuring out how to handle the new feelings, how to stop feeling so guilty. Jack waits. Patiently. Never an ounce of pressure on you. He’s always so respectful, goes to great lengths to be so, immediately apologizes if he oversteps. And he does a couple of times because he’s human and nobody is perfect. But it’s okay.  

Jack’s injury comes out over breakfast that morning when he apologizes for having his shoes on in the house. You hadn’t even really noticed, too sick for it to register. He doesn’t tell you much about it which you respect and he’s grateful when you don’t push for more. That’s something he guesses he’s not ready for with you. Isn’t sure why though. He brings it up with his therapist. 

Jack is over more and more often. At first it’s to check on you and make sure you’re getting better because your cough lingers. And then somewhere along the lines it just became a thing. Normal. Normal for you to see him more days than not during the week. Normal for him to put your son down for the night. Normal for him to sleep in the spare room. Normal for him to cook for you and help feed your son. Normal for him to keep spare bottles of toiletries in a bin under the guest bathroom sink. Normal for black scrubs that didn’t get god knows what on them to be washed with onesies and blankets. 

Normal for him to bring five epi pens, multiple vials of epi, syringes with needles, an infant intubation kit and a cric kit to your house when you decide to introduce peanuts to your son. 

That one had gotten him an attempted, and skillfully dodged, third degree interrogation from Dana and Robby. 

You don’t touch. Not at all, save when your fingers brush if you hand each other something or when you take your son from him or vice versa. You’ll sit on the couch and Jack on the loveseat. There’s no flirting. It’s not that the attraction and draw to each other has faded, because it hasn’t. Not at all. It’s that you both know you need time and you both respect that. Jack perhaps more so than yourself, because you get mad at yourself about it sometimes. 

You do talk. A lot. About anything and everything because talking to each other is easy. It’s not work. Neither of you have to think of things to talk about or try and come up with something to keep the conversation going. It just does. And when it dies down the lull is comfortable. Then someone thinks of something or sees something on TV and it’s back. 

Eventually Jack is able to tell you a bit more about his injury, how it happened. The aftermath. He’s able to take his prosthetic off in front of you and leave a pair of crutches at your place for when he doesn’t want to put it back on. 

You talk about your spouses. Your therapist suggested it, thought it may help, to acknowledge both of your spouses and know about them. You approach Jack about it and tell him you don’t want an answer right away, you want him to really think about it and if he’s ready for that and willing to do that, and that he doesn’t have to say yes and that if he says no nothing will change. Both of you are aware it’s in a sense one of the most intimate things you’ll ever do with each other. 

Jack says yes though. And means it. He’s okay with it, comfortable with it. So one night after you get your son down you take the baby monitor, a bottle of wine and sit out on your apartment balcony and talk about them. You tell each other about them, what they were like, things they liked and disliked, funny stories. Jack tells you how he proposed and you tell him how your husband proposed. You talk about your weddings. 

You share photos you have on your phone, of your spouses alone and of the two of you together. You tell Jack his wife was beautiful, seems like an amazing woman who kept him on his toes and mean it. Jack tells you that your husband was handsome and knew how lucky he was to have you, that it’s obvious by the way he looks at you in the photos. You smile wistfully and get misty eyed together. But it’s nice, getting to know the other’s spouse, more about your past lives. It tells you a lot about each other too, as much as it does about your spouses.

You talk about how you each learned your spouse had died. There’s proper tears during that part, from both of you. It’s one time you do touch, and it’s brief, and you’re the one to initiate it, tentatively taking Jack’s hand and giving it a little squeeze when he gets a bit choked up. He squeezes back to let you know he’s okay with it. When you get choked up talking about your husband he holds his hand out over the armrest of his chair, just a little, just enough for you to know it’s there. You move yours over and let him squeeze your hand. 

You talk about moving after your spouses died. Jack tells you he just couldn’t do it. He needed space that was his own, where he couldn’t picture her in it and so he couldn’t expect to walk around a corner and see her. You tell Jack that you had to keep the curtain of the living room window closed all the time because the last time you looked out the window you saw that car pull up and two uniformed officers step out of the car, and just knew. And it made the place so dark it was bad for you so you sold the house and found this place. You admit that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to really unpack completely or decorate but aren’t sure why. The nursery being the only exception. Jack tells you that it actually reminds him a lot of how his apartment he moved into right after his wife died looked for a long time because he was scared to settle in and make a space without her because that wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to have to do that. 

As more weeks pass you start asking Jack to help you hang things. At first it sends you flying backwards in your healing because you just asked another man to help you decorate your apartment. Jack doesn’t say anything for the couple of days you’re off with him because he knows and he knows you’ll work through it. He gives you the space you need without you asking for it. You work through it with your therapist and apologize to Jack who tells you not to, that healing isn’t linear, trust him, he knows. 

Jack watches your son for you sometimes during a string of off days so that he can spend a bit less time at daycare, especially if another kid is sick. Your son loves Jack, is enamored with him. And Jack is just as enamored with him. Is so incredibly good with him. It’s a place where you struggle a lot and that you and you and your therapist discuss frequently, how to cope with seeing Jack in that kind of fatherly role and acknowledge all the feelings it stirs up for you. 

One Monday, a holiday that you were supposed to have off, something comes up and you need to go into the office, but daycare is closed. You hesitate calling Jack because you feel bad asking him to do this, especially knowing he’ll be getting off shift and you’re asking him to stay awake even longer. You don’t even know if he’ll be able to, he might not get off on time, or he might have plans. But you call him much quicker and more decisively than you did when you were sick. 

Jack’s talking to Robby when he feels his phone vibrate. He thinks it’s weird to be getting called at 6:45 a.m. so he pulls it out to check. His heart drops when he sees it’s you and he walks away from Robby mid sentence. 

“Hey,” he answers on the second ring, “what’s up? Everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah we’re fine. It’s just, work needs me to come in, not for too long, just a couple of hours, but I can’t bring him and daycare is closed with the holiday and I know this is such a huge ask because you’re getting off shift and will be so tired and I don’t even know if you’re getting off on time-” 

“Woah, woah,” Jack stops you. “Take a breath.” He can hear you do as he says. “I can watch him, okay? I’ll make sure I get off on time. And I often stay late so being up a few hours after my shift before he goes down is not going to be anything new.” 

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” You let out a breath. “You still have to let me cook or something for you.” 

“You don’t have to repay me.” 

“No I know, but still.” 

“Can I be honest with you?” Jack asks. 

“Of course.” Your heart races because you have no idea what he’s about to say. 

“You can buy me takeout. But you can’t cook.” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

You make a noise of offence. “I can’t believe you just said that! I’m offended. Genuinely offended.” But Jack can hear the smile you’re trying to hide in your voice and it just makes him smile harder to himself. 

“That I said it or that it’s true?” He’s smirking now. 

You huff and then there’s a pause. “That it’s true,” you admit begrudgingly, making Jack laugh. 

Robby has blindly swatted at Dana’s arm to get her to pay attention so that he doesn’t have to stop watching and so now both of them are staring and watching Jack go from extreme concern to laughing and smiling. It’s almost disconcerting. 

“I’m going to have to drop him off at the hospital to make it on time. Is that okay?” You’ve gotten quiet again. 

“Yeah.” Jack sounds a little unsure but not because of you, because of the two he can feel staring at him. “I’ll need a key. And I’ll give it back, I promise.” 

“Oh! Yes. You will need that, okay I’ll have to find the spare. And yeah, that’s fine, whatever is fine, I know you’re not going to use it randomly.” You breathe a laugh. “You’ll be okay with holding him on the subway? I wasn’t going to lug around the stroller, if that’s okay.” 

“We will be more than okay,” Jack assures you. 

“Okay.” You let out another breath in that way you do when you’re stressed but coming down Jack has learned. “Thank you Jack.” 

“Not a problem, you know that.” 

“Yeah, but still.”

“Text me when you’re here and come wait by the doors, I’ll open them for you, okay?” You’re thankful he doesn’t dwell. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jack hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket then turns and walks back over to Robby and Dana. 

“Everything okay?” Dana asks. 

Jack looks between the both of them. “Yeah. I’m leaving on time though.” 

“Ohhh,” Robby laughs. “Are you now? You just decided?” 

“Yeah. Did you notice how it wasn’t a question Michael?” Jack deadpans. “Just a statement of fact. I know these are big distinctions for you to make before you’ve had enough coffee.” 

“Deflection,” Robby hums, leaning forward a bit and still smiling like he can’t believe any of this even when he doesn’t know what this really is. 

Jack rolls his eyes at him and walks to a different computer to finish charting. Dana and Robby share a look but don’t push him. For now. 

Jack’s phone vibrates fifteen minutes later. You, saying you’re here. He walks over to the doors and pushes the button to open them, walks in with you a few steps, your son already happily squealing and babbling at Jack, reaching for him. Jack makes a surprised happy face at your son like he’s shocked to see him and takes him from you. 

Back at the desk Robby slowly removes his glasses as he watches the scene unfold, Dana peering over the top of hers like she does, everyone else slowly freezing once they follow Dana and Robby’s eyes to you and Jack.

“God, thank you so much Jack, I’m so so sorry.” You look stressed, frenetic and full of nervous energy that makes you even more unsure of yourself, not unlike the last time he saw you in here. He finds it adorable, so endearing.

“It’s okay. Truly. You’re going to have to believe me one day.” Jack gives you a small but reassuring smile. 

“No I know,” you breathe out. “I just… This is your work, I know. And I know you’re going to get a million questions based on the entire desk of people staring at us.” You shake your head a little as you try to find words. “And I know it’s hard to explain.” 

“Good job I don’t feel the need to explain it to any of them, then.” 

You laugh a little at that. “Yeah. Um, here.” You slide the backpack baby bag you have off and help put it on one of Jack’s shoulders. “There’s a key in the front pocket. He went down late last night and then I had to get him up early to get him ready to come here. Seeing you is the first time he’s smiled all morning. So he should probably nap earlier for you if I’m not home before then, and probably be pretty chill until he does.” 

“He’s always chill,” Jack smirks at you. “You know that.” 

“Let me make myself feel better, please,” you huff at him, clearly still flooded with nervous energy. 

“Alright,” he nods for you to continue but doesn’t lose his smirk. 

“He’s had a bottle, but that’s it, so he might be hungry when you get home, if he’s a little fussy.” You reach out and run your fingers through his soft baby fine hair to push it out of his eyes. “God he needs a haircut doesn’t he?” 

“Probably,” Jack nods. “But I’m sure-”

“That the thought of my baby needing his first haircut makes me want to sob because he’s growing up way too fast?” 

“Something like that,” he nods. 

“Yeah.” You run your hands through it and sweep it out of his eyes one last time, trying to calm some of the nervous energy that’s making you feel like you’re shaking. “Alright, I should go.” 

You lean up and kiss Jack on the cheek. By the time your feet return to the floor you’ve realized what you just did. 

Jack freezes, stunned, but not upset, not by any means.

“Oh my god,” you gasp quietly, holding your hands up in front of you to the side. “I just did that. Right here.” You close your hands into fists decisively, incredulous at yourself. “Okay, well,” you titter, “I’ve gotta go now, so thank you again so much, and let me know you guys make it home okay, and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.” You nod at a still stunned Jack, who then finally starts to relax a bit and lets a smile start to pull up. “Great. Okay.” You lean in and kiss your son’s face. “Bye baby, be good for Jack okay?” You give your son another kiss and pull back, immediately back to your nervous and incredulous demeanor. You pat Jack on the side of the arm holding your son and then cringe at the action. “Right,” you let out a breathy nervous laugh. “Bye.” You spin and walk to the doors and hit the button to be let out.

“Bye,” Jack calls back, still sounding a bit dazed. He takes a second and then looks down at your son who’s looking around the busy room and then looks up at him and smiles, grabs at his face. Jack laughs. “Yeah, bud,” Jack sighs, leans down and kisses the top of his head quickly, doesn’t even really realize he’s doing it, “you’re about to be the talk of the Pitt. We both are. And your mom.” He takes a deep breath in and looks down at your son and makes eye contact. “God help us all.” 

Jack turns and starts walking to the breakroom. He’d go to the lockers but he already knows what’s about to happen. “Not a word,” he says to Dana and Robby as he walks by. 

“Oh be for fuckin’ real Jack,” Dana laughs under her breath, already starting to follow him. 

“No, he’s right Dana, not a word,” Robby says as he starts to follow, “so, so many words.” 

Bridget walks up to the desk and looks at everyone quizzically. 

“A woman just came and dropped off a baby to Jack,” Princess tells her. 

After the words process a large smirk grows on Bridget’s face. “Oh did she now?” 

Jack sighs to himself as Robby and Dana follow him into the breakroom. He doesn’t want to do this but it’s borderline inescapable now and he’d rather it be here than out by the lockers. He slides the baby bag onto a chair. 

“First,” Dana says as she walks in, “let me see him!” She walks over holding her arms out to take your son from Jack. He leans into Jack for a couple of seconds, unsure, but then lets Dana take him. “Hello cutie! What’s your name?” Robby walks over to her and says a soft hi, gives your son his finger to hold onto while Robby looks him over, smiling at him as your son babbles some.

Jack tells her his name. “God, Jack, he is gorgeous. Look at that hair and those eyes!” 

She turns back to the baby in her arms. “Yeah, you’re handsome and you know it, don’t you? I bet you use it to get out of trouble sometimes, huh?” She winks at him. It makes him smile and giggle a little, as he drops Robby’s finger and brings a hand up to chew on. “Gettin’ more teeth in, are we?” Dana smiles at Jack as she rocks your son a little. 

“Yeah, I think so, he’s been real chewy and drooly the last two days,” Jack nods. 

“He yours?” Robby asks.

Jack’s head snaps to him. “What the fuck man?”

“Oh come on Jack, a random woman just showed up, gave you a baby, kissed your cheek and left. It’s not a far stretch. Nor is it a bad thing.” Dana looks at your son. “No it isn’t at all,” she says in a bit of a baby voice.

“And you’ve been different the last couple of months. I think you’ve only been up on the roof twice and even then you didn’t look like you were seriously considering jumping.” Robby points out.

“Oh my god,” Jack mutters under his breath. “No, he’s not mine.”

They both accept that. But it doesn’t quell their curiosity in the slightest. There’s a longer pause though, your son really the only one making noise as all three adults watch him. 

“Who is she?” Robby finally asks, looking up at Jack.

“Does it matter?” Jack shoots back quickly.

“I mean…” Robby laughs a little incredulously, “yeah, a little.” 

“Why?”

“Oh come on, Jack,” Robby draws out as he takes your son from Dana. “You’re telling me if a woman showed up and handed me a baby and kissed my cheek before walking out you wouldn’t have questions and want to know who she is? Or feel like who she is doesn’t matter?”

“Of course I would want to know, but who she was wouldn’t matter and if you didn’t want to say anything yet to keep things private I would respect that.” Jack raises his eyebrows at Robby and gives him a pointed look. 

“Jack, it doesn’t matter who she is really, if she’s in your life we’d just like to know. We want to support you and see you happy. And you clearly know and spend time with the kid, enough for mom to feel comfortable leaving him with you and to know he’s been teething for the last couple of days. You spending time at her house?”

Jack doesn’t answer for a moment but then finally gives in. “Yeah.” Dana’s eyebrows raise in an invitation for more. “Yes, I spend time at her house. I help her out. I sleep in her guest room sometimes, watch him some days. So what?”

“So she matters,” Dana smirks at him a little. “She matters and she kissed your cheek so clearly there’s something.” Jack grows a little more serious and Dana and Robby both know she just hit some sort of nerve there. “Who is she? Please. Let us be happy for you.” 

Jack takes in a big breath and looks at them for a second before resting his hands on his hips, slightly cocking one and looking down at the ground like he’s about to admit something. “My therapist.” He says it deadly serious and just loudly enough for them to hear. 

He doesn’t need to look up to know the expressions they’re wearing, but he does anyway because Robby’s face of incredulity and concern is too funny to miss. “Really?” Dana asks. 

“No!” Jack emphasizes the word with his head and a little brow furrow as he moves from his position to pace a little. “Of fucking course not! But thank you for this little exposé into what you think of me.”

“Hey, that’s why I asked,” Dana puts her hands up in defense. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t,” Jack looks over at Robby, “but he sure the fuck could. And he knows my therapist is a man, we go to the same god damn one!”

“Well I didn’t know if you found a new one!” Robby says in his own defense. Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna tell us? Anything? Or are we really wasting our time here?”

Jack stops pacing and sighs, looks at the baby boy in Robby’s arms. “It’s complicated,” he offers. 

“We deal with a lotta complicated here.” Dana reminds him. 

“Yeah well you’re not going to believe the truth,” he mutters. 

“Try us.” Robby looks at Jack with a little knowing smile and tilts his head before looking back down at your son and making faces at him to keep him entertained. 

Jack shakes his head a little and looks away as he tries to think about how to explain without giving away too much because he doesn’t want to totally destroy your privacy. “She’s a friend. Seriously. Just a friend who I help out because she’s a single mom with nobody in the area and she needs help sometimes. Her…” Jack debates on whether this reveals too much but it would explain to them why he’s so reticent to talk about you. “Her husband died while deployed. So, we have the widower widow thing in common and there was a kind of connection there, and yeah maybe it leads to more one day and maybe it doesn’t.” He shrugs at them. That’s all he’s going to say. 

There’s another moment of silence as everybody takes in what Jack just said, himself included.

“So this is what the five epi pens and vials of epi and infant intubation and cric kit were about. He’s who they were about.” Robby looks down at your son. “Yes. They were about you, weren’t they?”

“Oh, peanuts,” Dana nods, looking from your son to Jack, “you introduced peanuts after you brought it all home.” 

Jack just looks at the two of them and shakes his head. Some part of him wants to laugh at the way they went from pushing for information, to getting a little bit, to leaving it and not pushing for more and instead bringing up the supplies he took and fucking peanuts. He’s grateful for it. 

“Yeah, we did.” Robby and Dana’s eyes flash up at him and they both have little smirks. It hits him. “She did. She did, she introduced peanuts. To her son.” 

“With you there.” Robby’s smirk grows a little bit. “Ready to intubate.” 

“I think it’s very sweet,” Dana says, smiling at him. 

“I think we need to get home before his mom calls in a panic. I said I’d leave on time and text her when we’re home, so.” He walks over to Robby and opens his arms, your son all but launching himself at Jack, making all three laugh. 

“He’s certainly a big fan,” Robby smirks. 

“Of course he is, he has excellent taste already. Though he liked you, so we might have to have a chat when we get home about why our standards are falling.” He says it in his typical deadpan demeanor. 

“I was being nice and then you ruined it.” Robby throws a hand up at him. 

Jack picks up the baby bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I didn’t ruin it, I spoke the truth.”

“You’re so mean to me.” Robby looks over at Dana as they all move towards the door. “He’s so mean to me.” 

“I am not mean to you.” Jack replies, stepping out of the door. 

“A little bit,” Dana agrees with Robby. 

“Thank you!”

“But he’s a little bit mean to you too, so it all evens out.” 

Robby scoffs. “I’m not mean to him!” 

“Just like I’m not mean to you.” Jack walks towards the lockers with your son. Robby and Dana stop at the desk, giving looks to everyone to tell them to go back to work. 

Jack swings by his locker and grabs his backpack. He pins it against the lockers with one hip so he can open it enough to shove the baby bag in it and zip it back up. “Alright bud, you ready?” He glances down to check on your son. Your son gives a little smile and then lets his head fall against the front of Jack’s shoulder, almost like he’s shy. Jack has to laugh a little as he walks back by the desk. 

“We’re out,” he announces to everyone, finding the way they all glance up and try not to look shocked or stare funny. “Say bye!” He says to your son, picks his little hand up and waves it. Your son smiles for a second before turning his head away, shying away from the attention. 

Jack looks at Robby and Dana. “Thank you.” He doesn’t have to elaborate. They know what he’s thanking them for. 

The two make it home easily and without incident. Jack texts you to let you know. 

J - Made it home and are having breakfast. 

He includes a picture of your son in his highchair eating some pancakes Jack made for him. When you get it the photo makes your heart squeeze, your boys. 

The world stops for a second and you get a little dizzy when you realize what you just thought. Your boys. 

Jack is not your boy. He’s not yours in any capacity. And that thought is one you know you would have had about your husband and son. That panic comes back, the intense shame and guilt. You try to think back on all you and your therapist have talked about, try to convince yourself that it’s okay. That it’s okay to have that thought. 

That it’s okay to like the thought and even to want the thought. 

You’re able to handle it much better than you were before and you know that means something. That you’re closer to being ready.

Once you’re not so lightheaded from all the emotions you reply. 

You - Thank you.

It’s odd, Jack thinks as he reads it. Almost clipped. Three dots appear. 

You - I’m sorry about this morning and the cheek thing. I know we haven’t discussed anything like that and I don’t really know what happened for me there in the moment, so I’m sorry. And I hope you can forgive me. 

He’s quick to respond. 

J - You have nothing to apologize for, so there’s nothing to forgive. I didn’t mind it at all 

He smiles to himself a little, especially once three dots appear. But then they go away only to reappear a couple of seconds later to disappear again. Shit, he thinks to himself, was that wrong? Did it cross a line? Fuck, was it suggestive? 

He tries to think of what he can say to apologize and let you know that he really didn’t mean for it to be suggestive or pressuring or weird. But then a message from you. 

You - Well good. I didn’t either

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of nights later you sit on the couch next to Jack. It’s the first time you’ve sat next to each other like this. Jack was not the one to instigate it of course. 

You decided to watch a movie together. It’s not the first time you’ve done that. Not the first time you’ve made popcorn without asking if he wanted any. It’s the first time you don’t split it into two bowls, though. Instead you pour it all in one and come sit next to him on the couch. Not touching. But close enough to share the popcorn between you. 

He almost expects you to move once the bowl is empty and you set it on the table but you don’t. You just stay there, curled up in your blanket next to him as you watch, commenting to each other at times. He notices you comment less and less, are less responsive to his and are leaning closer and closer to him. 

He can see you falling asleep and when you blink back awake he points it out. “You wanna go to bed? We can finish later.” 

“No, no, I’m good.” You look at him and give him a smile so he knows you know how close you are to him. 

He nods and you keep watching. But twenty or so minutes later you slide a bit and your head rests against his tricep. 

Jack freezes. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he let you sleep? Does he wake you? Is it wrong if he doesn’t wake you? When he knows you might not be ready? But then the sleepiest, “s’okay,” comes from you like you knew what he was thinking. You’re out again so fast he wonders if he made it up. 

He knows you have trouble sleeping sometimes. Trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. So he’s hesitant to wake you from it when you’re getting it. You’d been so in and out of it with the movie he decides to just wait a bit, see if you wake up. 

But then Jack falls asleep on the couch with you resting on his arm. He wakes when he feels you stirring. “Shit,” you whisper, sit up and off him. “We fell asleep.” 

“Yeah,” he yawns. “I meant to wake you but must have fallen asleep before I could,” Jack says slowly as he wakes back up. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with…”

“Oh.” You blink at him like the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “Yeah. No, yeah, it was okay, I’m okay. I, I hope you were. You definitely could have woken me if you weren’t!” 

Jack nods. “I know.”

You nod back, the magnitude of falling asleep on him hitting you even though you’re not sure it should really hold any particular magnitude. “Okay. Good.” You look around and check the monitor, chuckle a little and show it to Jack. He chuckles with you at the silly position your son is sleeping in. “Probably best to get to bed.” You give him a small smile. 

“Yeah, probably.” You stand up off the couch and toss the blanket onto it, grab the bowl and put it in the sink to deal with tomorrow. Jack stands too and stretches a little. “Are you going?” You ask, almost sound a little sad at the thought. You are a little sad at the thought. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he shakes his head. “I was just going to head to the spare, but I can if you’d prefer.”

“No! No.” You shake your head. “No, I was going to say it’s late and so you should stay and not try and get home at this hour. It’s not safe.” 

Jack gives you a little smirk and you have to look away. “After you,” Jack calls your attention back, sweeps his hand at the entry to the hallway leading to the rooms. “You want me to take him in the morning?” Jack asks as he follows you. You know he’s talking about the monitor. 

“Oh, no. You have to work tomorrow so you should sleep as much as you can.” You’ve learned his schedule. The reality of that hits you both at the same time. You clear your throat. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night,” Jack replies, smiling to himself as he walks into your spare room. You know his schedule. Jack realizes he knows yours too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week or so later you ask Jack if he has a certain day off, as if you don’t already know that he does. And he knows you know. 

“Yeah,” he answers, looking up from the floor where he’s playing with your son. 

You nod. “Well, so.” You try to start but stumble. You’re nervous. Flustered in that way you get. Like both times you were at the hospital. “That’s his birthday,” you look at your son with a smile, “and I was wondering if you’d um, if you’d like to, you know, spend the day with us?”

Jack doesn’t realize he’s doing it but he stares at you for a few seconds. You just asked him to spend the day with you and your son on your son’s first birthday. 

He nods. “Yeah.” He nods a little faster. “I would love that. If you’re sure. I know it’s a special day and-”

“No, I’m sure. And I know he’ll love it.” You look at your son fondly and then back at Jack. The fondness in your eyes doesn’t go away. “He loves you.” 

Jack flushes a little at that and it makes you get butterflies. Jack Abbot is blushing in front of you. Doesn’t matter why or what you said. He’s blushing and you’re swooning like you’re a teenager. And, you realize, you don’t hate yourself or feel guilty about it. You just feel it.

“Well,” Jack laughs a little, looks down at your son and brushes some hair out of his face. You still haven’t brought yourself to get it cut but you really are going to have to here soon. “I lo-” Jack stops himself. You can see him trying to think of what to say instead. 

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, understandingly. “You can say it, Jack.” 

Jack nods and swallows. “I love him too,” he says just as softly as he looks back down at your son. 

When Jack finally builds up the courage to look at you he’s greeted by your smile. The one that really meets your eyes and makes them sparkle a bit. The one that he’s seen more and more recently. The one that gives him butterflies. 

Jack Abbot blushes again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you spend all day together. Your son is one, so the day is more for you than anything. 

You decide on the zoo. Your son loves animals, it’s a weekday so it’s not super busy, the weather is perfect. And you can take it at your own pace. 

Lots of pictures get taken. Of your son. Of you and your son. Of your son and Jack. Of you, your son and Jack. That one threw him a little when you first brought it up and asked a stranger to take a photo of the three of you. 

Jack is patient and would never pressure you and very deliberately does not ask where you’re at in healing or if you’re feeling like you’re closer to ready or anything of the sort. He lets you lead, lets you set the tone and the pace. He knows if and when you’re ready you’ll communicate that. 

You and Jack sit in the aquarium when your son needs a nap and falls asleep in his stroller. You talk about your upcoming weeks and Jack tells you stories of patients he’s had recently that he hasn’t had the chance to tell you about. 

“Have you… had to explain anything about him and I? At work.” 

Jack’s eyebrows lift slightly and he shakes his head. “No. I’m sure they’re all dying to know but like I said, I don’t feel the need to explain anything to them.” He shrugs. “Well, actually,” he lets out a little breath. “The day you came in I told Robby and Dana. Not a lot. Just that you’re a friend I’m helping out because you’re a single mom and don’t have anyone here.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “I told them that you lost your husband while he was deployed, so we had the widower widow connection. I’m sorry if that was too much.” 

You laugh a little and shake your head. Jack has talked to you enough about Dana and Robby to know that Robby is his best friend and effective brother and Dana is his second best friend and like the Pitt mom. “It’s not.” 

“Dana said he’s gorgeous.” Jack doesn’t know why all of this didn’t come out once you got home that day but he was asleep when you did and then life was just busy and moved on. And now you’re talking about it. “He actually liked Robby, so he and I had a little conversation when we got home about bringing his standards back up.” 

That makes you laugh, properly. Jack thinks he could get lost in the sound forever. Spend the rest of his life chasing it. He tells himself to get a grip. You’re just friends. Nothing more. 

“Well,” you smile at him before looking away and shrugging. “Maybe one day I can meet them. Judge for myself.” 

Jack pauses for a second only because he wasn’t expecting it. “Uh, I mean yeah. Of course. Dana will lose it if she gets to see him again.”

“He is the cutest and best if I do say so myself.” You smile down at your sleeping one year old. “God, I can’t believe it’s been a year.” It’s been over a year and a half now since your husband. “He’s so big,” you whisper. “He was so tiny, fit on my chest so nicely. And I love watching him grow up and see him do new things and learn and thrive, but damn it’s hard.” 

Jack gives you a little hum of empathy, not entirely sure what to say. He notices how big your son has gotten and he’s only been in your lives for three months. 

“Will you come with us when I get his hair cut finally?” 

Jack looks over at you, a little confused. “Yeah, course.” He presses his lips together and shakes his head once. “Any particular reason why?” 

“To be my shoulder to cry on.” You say it so simply, like it means nothing when you both know it means something. You both know you’re inviting him to another thing your husband and your son’s dad would probably go to with you. 

And Jack gets stuck on it a little. To be my, you had said, you want him to be your something, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on right now. “I suppose I can manage that.”

You share a little laugh about it. “Thanks, Jack,” you murmur. 

“Any time.” 

Once your son wakes back up you finish walking around the zoo. Jack buys him too many toys at the gift shop, all the stuffed animals he so much as glances at, much to his delight. You make your way back home together in Jack’s truck. Jack’s truck that now has a carseat in it. 

But you don’t go inside, instead you decide to leave the stroller and walk around the City. You find a place to eat and it’s weird to think about. To all the people walking by and seeing the three of you, you probably look like a family. And even though you feel some guilt, especially on your son’s birthday, you don’t completely hate yourself or let that guilt consume you. You like the idea. A lot. So you let yourself feel it.

After dinner at dusk you decide to take your son to the park for some swinging before heading back and getting him to bed. He loves to swing. You take photos of him and Jack and Jack takes them of the two of you. 

You’re so involved with your son and swinging and making him laugh that you don’t notice Jack slip away for just a second. Your son yawns. “Aw,” you give him a little sad laugh. “Tired baby? You’ve had a big day.” He reaches up for you and you pull him out of the swing, hug him close to you and kiss his head. 

When you turn around Jack is back and standing where you assumed he would be but he’s holding a single rose. You stay where you’re at, almost frozen but not in a tense way. And Jack is just as nervous that this is crossing a line when he doesn’t mean for it to be.  

“Day’s about you as much as it’s about him,” he calls to you. He starts walking towards you and you meet him halfway. “You did all the work a year ago today, mom.” He offers you the rose. “We should acknowledge that.” 

You look at the rose and then back up at him again, a bit stunned still. It’s so incredibly sweet and kind. It’s so incredibly Jack. And you know for sure then. 

You take the rose from him and give him a sappy smile. “Thank you, Jack. For everything. The rose and today and the last three months.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gives you a small smile. 

“Accept the thanks.” You give him a pointed one in return. 

“Alright, alright.” Your son has started to fall asleep in your arms. “Want me to take him?” 

You nod. “Sure, yeah. You only need one arm to carry him still. I need two now.”  You bring the rose up to your nose and smell it, smile to yourself about it. Let you and the butterflies in your stomach swoon. 

The three of you start walking home, your son fully out on Jack’s shoulder within a couple minutes. You walk back in silence. It’s a comfortable silence, a comfortable quiet. And while quiet hasn’t been as foreboding to Jack since he’s met you sometimes it still is. Like now. 

This quiet, while comfortable, is thick. There’s something about it that feels anticipatory. Last time the quiet felt like this, made him feel like this, this uneasy, it brought Jack you. 

Something about that makes him even more uneasy. Because Jack knows there’s always a reason for quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. Rarely, if ever, is it good. And he got good last time and Jack doesn’t trust the world or lightning to strike twice. 

He worries this time the quiet will bring something else. Something worse, like it always does. 

But before he can completely spiral and become even more hypervigilant than he always is, Jack feels your fingers brush against his for a second before they disappear and then come back, your fingers playing with his like it’s nothing, and then, in the quiet as you walk back to your place, you lace your fingers together and you’re holding hands and you give him a little squeeze that tells him you mean it. That you’re ready.   

Quiet. It always means something. Always brings something. 

This time it meant you were working up the courage. Is bringing the start of something more than just friends. 

Lightning strikes twice. 

Jack stops walking when you squeeze his hand and you stop with him, looking up concerned and a bit panicked, ready to draw your hand back. 

“You ready for this?” Jack asks, genuine concern in his voice as his eyes dart around your face, looking for the slightest sign of hesitation. But you can see it there too, the excitement, the happiness. The hope. “And by this I mean this,” he squeezes your hand. “Nothing more. Not until you’re ready for more. Not until you tell me you’re ready for more.”  

You bite your lip as he talks because he’s so cute when he’s concerned and he’s such a good man, wanting to make sure you’re ready and know he doesn’t expect more. And the smile that’s slowly pulling up on his face as you look at him and nod is so adorable you could scream. “Yeah. I’m ready for this.” You squeeze his hand back. “And maybe a little more.” You pull on his hand and start walking again, lean into him a little. “But only with you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you made it this far thank you so much for reading and I hope it was okay and got fluffy and funny!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are open!

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please don’t spend your life convincing yourself that love or joy is reserved for the idealized version of you that only exists in the future

You Are In Love: Chapter Three

Jack Abbot x Reader

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Warnings: Language might be the only one in this chapter? Very fluffy

Description: After babysitting Eliza and baby Abbot, Jack doesn't exactly sleep with the reader. At Eliza's ice skating recital, the reader decides to help Jack learn how to skate again after losing his foot.

--

Robby leaned against the high counter of the desk hub, pulling his glasses out to read a message on his phone. His wife approached him, bumping him with an elbow when she copied his lean against the desk hub.

“I know something you don’t know.” She greeted in a sing-songy voice.

Without looking up, trying to focus his phone screen through his glasses, Robby answered, “I already know about the patient in Psych One. Had a potato peeler shoved up his ass. Guess who had to remove it.”

She tilted her head, genuinely concerned. “What?”

Robby’s eyes flicked up over his glasses, realizing that was not the gossip she knew. “The patient in Psych One?” He repeated.

She shook her head. “That’s not what I was talking about.” She replied, but then giggled, wrapping an arm around his bicep. “Sorry you had to do that.”

He shrugged. “Not even in the top ten items I’ve pulled out of someone’s ass.” He mumbled before looking at his phone again, holding it an elderly distance away from his face. “What do you know?”

His wife grinned devilishly, pushing his phone away so that she had his full attention. Robby smiled slightly at the excitement in her eyes. “She came to work today in his scrubs.” She revealed.

“Wait, wait…how do you know they’re his?” Robby was incredibly invested now.

“I saw the shirt tag on the scrub tub.” She continued, her smile somehow widening even more. “J Dot Abbot.”

—

Only two more days of working the day shift. That’s the record you kept on loop in your brain—only two more days of annoyingly simple cases that should have gone to urgent care. At least at night, the urgent care centers were closed, and patients had no other choice but to land in the Pitt. But more importantly, only two more shifts until you worked with Jack again. 

The words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” had not been uttered, but the connection was intensely deep. When you went home with him after babysitting Eliza and baby Abbot a couple of weeks ago, you thought the trajectory to his bedroom was obvious. The hot kisses against your car door seemed fictional now that he didn’t sleep with you that night. All the signs pointed to his lap, but you ended up in his arms instead, separated by layers of clothes. He hadn’t even removed his prosthesis. You couldn’t complain too much because you woke the next morning, more rested than you had been in years, to the smell of bacon, banana pancakes, and coffee looming from the kitchen.

His chrome ringlets were still holding onto water from the shower, glistening in the early morning sunlight that shone through the window. His massive, flexed forearms looked more delicious than the pancake mix he was stirring. You were met with the warmest, dimple-filled smile as you padded into the kitchen.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He greeted, voice slow as honey.

You stepped closer, pulling at the sleeve of your lavender sweatshirt from the day before. “I’ve gotta go get my scrubs for work.” You said sheepishly.

Jack pointed to the black scrubs lying on the counter, folded neatly with military precision. “They’re not Figs, but they get the job done.” He noted.

You walked to the counter, pulling the shirt off the top, letting it unfold. A laugh escaped your lungs. “Jack, these are yours.” You scoffed.

“I know.” 

A warmth crawled across your cheeks and slithered down your chest. “All this so I can stay for breakfast?” You teased, making your way over to him again.

“Mmhmm. Go on, get changed. I’ll be done here in a minute.” He finished his order with a kiss on your forehead. 

That morning had ended with sticky, syrupy kisses before he sent you off to work with a protein bar and an energy drink. When you arrived in the baggier-than-usual black scrubs that smelled perfectly of Jack, sandalwood and citrus, Robby’s wife clocked it immediately. She gave you a nudge on the arm when you stood next to her in front of the patient board. 

“Thanks for watching the kids. Eliza told me all about it this morning.” She said.

You smiled, looking at her for a brief second, and you were met with the smuggest, all-knowing smirk. You couldn’t hold back the giggle in your chest. “Nothing happened.” You defended, and it wasn’t a complete lie.

She leaned closer, arms crossed. “Well, something happened because unless your washing machine can magically make clothes grow…” She gestured to your oversized scrubs. “Those are not yours.”

The blush on your cheeks blew your cover. “Fine. I slept over with him…but we did not sleep with each other.” You clarified.

Because of your current schedule, you only saw Jack at shift change if he wasn’t elbows deep in a patient before you got called to another patient’s room. He wouldn’t kiss you or even touch you, but he had a coffee waiting for you in your locker with a fluorescent sticky note that read “Good luck today -J” every single morning. And every morning, you would tape the sticky note to the inside of your locker, creating a colorful collage that began to rival the betting wall. You would prance out of the lounge, warm coffee in your hands, and sit at your desk. And if time allowed, Jack would sit at the computer next to you, charting, and let his knee just barely brush against yours. No words. But you could hear it in the silence.

As you shucked off your gloves after handling your last patient of the day, you heard a tiny voice screech your name, and something clung to your leg. You looked down to see Eliza, hair pulled back into a sleek bun, in a sparkly dress that matched the hot pink cast encasing her arm.

“Oh, where did you come from?” You asked as you hauled the giggling girl into your arms.

“Are you coming to my recital?” She asked, wrapping her arms around your neck.

Before you could answer, you heard hurried, uneven footsteps approach from behind you. “Eliza, do not run away from me like that again.” You heard your soldier’s gravelly voice order. “Do you understand me, young lady?”

You turned around to see Jack, holding baby Abbot in his arms, approaching with an aggravated gait and piercing gaze. Eliza cowered in shame into your shoulder. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” She mumbled, giving him the biggest, brownest, puppy dog eyes you had ever seen.

And Jack was a sucker for that little girl. The frustration immediately washed from his face, and he placed a gentle hand on her back. “It’s okay, princess. You just need to hold an adult’s hand when you’re here, okay?” He soothed.

Eliza nodded in innocent understanding. “Okay.” She answered.

Jack shook his head but smiled nonetheless. Finally, he focused on you, eyes softening when they met yours. “Hi.” He greeted with a sigh.

You nudged your shoulder against his, itching for a sliver of physical contact. “Hey.” You replied. “Dropping off the kids?”

Jack shifted baby Abbot in his arms so that you could see his chubby little face. You ran a gentle finger against his cheek, and the baby smiled. “Yeah. Eliza has an ice skating recital tonight, so we’re gonna watch the ice princess do her thing.” He answered, poking at Eliza’s side, illiciting a giggle from her. “You coming?” He asked you.

Even though you only hesitated for just a second, Eliza immediately piped up, holding your face in her tiny hands. “Please come see me skate!” She begged with those same convincing eyes she had flashed at Jack just moments ago. Damn, Robinavitches can get whatever they want with those eyes.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You assured her.

Eliza cheered in excitement, hugging your neck tightly. You laughed and squeezed her closer. It felt so natural now, holding her like this, like she was your family. Baby Abbot began to kick his legs and babble with a gummy smile as he looked behind you and Jack. 

“Hey, little man.” Robby’s uncharacteristically, overly-cheerful voice came from behind you.

“Daddy!” Eliza immediately squirmed out of your arms, reaching for her father.

Robby carefully took her into his arms, pressing a squishy kiss against her cheek. “Hey, big girl.” He greeted her before pulling her away slightly to look her in the eyes. “I heard Uncle Jack get on to you. What happened?” 

He looked at Jack, waiting for an answer, but Jack only gestured to Eliza, letting her explain. Eliza looked down, an ashamed pout on her face. “I ran away from him so I could hug her.” She said, pointing towards you at the end.

Robby nodded, squeezing her a little tighter at the thought of her being snatched up by some deranged patient. “You know the rules, Eliza. If you come to see Mommy and Daddy at work, you have to stay with a grown-up. No running away.” He lectured. “It’s to keep you safe, okay?”

The little girl nodded, moving her hands to play with his beard. “Yes, sir.” She replied, still ashamed, but with an adorable respectfulness.

And just like Jack, he was no match for her sweetness. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Are you ready to skate?” He asked with a playful seriousness.

Eliza grinned and pulled at the mesh sleeve of her skater dress. “Yes!” She affirmed. “Is Nana coming to watch?” She asked, looking around for the blond charge nurse.

Robby nodded. “Yes, she’s going to meet us there. She had to leave a little early, but you’ll see her when we get to the rink.” He assured.

The little girl smiled big, excited that her whole family would be there to see her figure skating. Robby’s wife approached your huddle, greeting both of her babies with a kiss on the cheek. Jack, almost reluctantly, handed over baby Abbot to his mother. 

“Are we ready to go?” She asked, resting her forehead on baby Abbot’s head, absorbing his cuteness after a rough shift.

Robby looked around, searching for a certain attending holding his signature iced coffee. “I need to talk to Shen before shift change. You might need to head on without me so she isn’t late for warm up.” He answered.

His wife nodded. “Okay, I can take the truck. Gonna ride with Jack?”

Jack gave a nonchalant thumbs up, affirming the plan. Robby nodded before focusing his attention on Eliza. “Daddy has to work a little bit longer. You’re gonna go ahead with Mommy and-”

“No!” Eliza exclaimed, face scrunching with frustration.

It caught everyone off guard. It was rare for the angelic child to have any kind of outburst. Robby’s brow furrowed. “Eliza.” He said sternly.

“No, Daddy!” Her big, brown eyes began to well up with tears. “You said that last time, and you didn’t come watch me skate.”

There was an uncomfortable silence amongst all of you, but everyone else seemed to know a backstory that you didn’t. Robby’s wife stepped forward, one arm holding up baby Abbot, and the other moving to rub soothing circles on Eliza’s back. “Sweetheart, Daddy is going to watch you skate. Last time was different.” 

Eliza’s bottom lip quivered as she grabbed her dad’s face, fingers nestling in his beard. “Pinky promise?” She begged.

Robby took in a shaky breath, something unusual in his eyes. Oh…those were tears. Not heavy enough to fall, but just enough to reflect light. He wrapped his large pinky around the tiny one that settled on his face. “Pinky promise.” He whispered.

Reluctantly, he let go of his daughter, so she could walk with his wife to the car. Jack noticed Robby’s distress and, for the first time in public, grabbed your hand in his. 

“Why don’t you ride with them? I’ll make sure Robby gets there.” He mumbled, only low enough for your group to hear.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Okay.” You squeezed his hand once before heading off with Robby’s wife and the kids.

–

You sat in the bleachers next to Robby’s wife. She had wrapped baby Abbot snugly in a warm blanket so he wouldn’t get cold from the chilly indoor air. Eliza moved around the ice with her friends, more advanced than the other five-year-olds.

“I’m sorry about that.” Robby’s wife finally said.

You raised your eyebrows in confusion. “For what?” 

“For Eliza’s outburst back at the Pitt.” She elaborated.

You shrugged, offering a reassuring smile. “Kids will be kids.”

She sighed, shaking her head as she seemed to relive a painful moment. “A few months ago, right when Abbot was born, she had a competition. Jack was watching the baby for us, so Robby and I could both come to the rink. But right as we were leaving, five MVC patients came in. So I took Eliza, and Robby had to stay behind and help Shen.” She explained, shifting the baby boy in her arms so that he could rest comfortably as his eyelids began to droop. “It was the first time he missed any competition or recital.”

You winced, knowing there was no way to explain that situation to a young child. “I’m assuming she didn't take it well?” You added.

Robby’s wife huffed a sarcastic laugh. “You would be correct. She cried and cried, even when he got home. Eventually, she tired herself out, but it was the first time she wouldn’t let him put her to bed.” She continued, frowning again as she said, “Robby cried for an hour that night.”

You felt your heart ache at the thought of one of your mentors crying over his little girl. “I know that was hard for him. He loves her so much.” You replied.

She nodded and smiled slightly. “He’s the best dad. He’s always talking about how the kids and I are his second chance at life. How we brought the light back into him…” Her smile grew warmly as she reminisced on her marriage and family.

You couldn’t help but smile with her. Footsteps approaching behind you distracted you from your conversation. Robby and Jack walked down the stairs of the bleachers, arms linked to give Jack extra balance. They each held a bouquet of roses, undoubtedly for Eliza after the recital. A quiet “Thanks, brother” was all you heard before the men settled on either side of the two of you. Robby leaned in to kiss his wife, mumbling something that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Meanwhile, Jack bumped his shoulder against yours, gaining your focus. “You ready to be on night shift again?” He asked.

You pretended to hesitate. “I mean, I guess…” You trailed off, looking away from his gorgeous stare.

He chuckled and looked out at the ice rink. “Ouch.”

Cautiously, you grasped the interior hook of his elbow, placing your other hand on his bicep, and leaned close. “Ready to be with the night shift people again.” 

He tilted his head lower to rest on yours, his arm flexing under your grasp. “The people?” He questioned. “Like all of them…or some of them…or just one of them…?”

You giggled at his antics, lightly squeezing his bicep. “Just one of them.” You confirmed.

Music began to play overhead, and all of the little ice skaters lined up. Eliza looked out into the bleachers amongst the other parents, searching for her family. The four of you clocked it, and you all waved at her. Even from a distance, you could see her excited grin as she waved back. Someone sat behind you on the bleachers, patting Jack’s shoulder.

“You know, you need to whip your night shift into shape.” Dana’s voice grumbled. “I left an hour late because of them.”

Jack turned around, an offended look on his face. “My night shift? It’s Robby’s department.” He defended.

Robby peeked his head up at the sound of his name being brought into an argument. “Not my monkeys, not my circus.” He retorted.

Jack huffed. “Um, it absolutely is your circus. You’re the fucking ringleader.”

“Yeah, but not night shift. They’re another breed.” Robby replied, eyes focused on his daughter.

Dana raised an eyebrow at Jack, waiting for his next response. “Whatcha gotta say about that, Lieutenant Colonel?” She taunted.

Jack waved her off. “Can you leave me alone? I’m trying to watch my niece.” He complained.

You looked up to him. “The recital hasn’t started yet, they’re just doing warm-up drills.” You countered.

His bewildered eyes flicked to you. “And it’s cute.”

Dana chuckled before waving at baby Abbot, who giggled at her. “Hey there, sweet boy.” She greeted. 

The baby reached for her, and Robby’s wife willingly exchanged him to Dana’s arms so she could record the recital on her phone. You heard Dana mumble something about “Maybe we’ll just rename you Daniel,” as the lights in the bleachers dimmed, and the rink illuminated the tiny dancers in their glittery outfits. 

–

The music ended, and the audience cheered for their kids. The little skaters made their way off the ice, and you all met Eliza at the bottom of the bleachers. She carefully wobbled over to her parents’ embrace. Robby snatched her up so they could kiss her cheeks.

“You did so good, baby girl!” His wife praised.

She giggled and covered her face. “Thank you, Mommy.” She answered politely.

Robby lifted the bouquet of light pink roses that he had concealed behind his back. “These are for you.” He announced with the chivalry of a prince.

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Flowers!” She exclaimed. “I love flowers!”

Jack smiled and held up his bouquet of white roses to her. “Then I guess you’ll like these, too.” He suggested.

The little girl could not fathom that she had so many flowers. The bouquets in her little arms nearly took up her whole body.

“What do you say?” Robby’s wife cued.

Eliza wrapped her arms around the necks of both men, squeezing them in until the sides of their heads bumped together. “Thank you, Daddy and Uncle Jack!”

They both pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jack caring so deeply for his niece. Dana bounced baby Abbot in her arms and reached for her phone.

“Okay, we need a family picture.” She announced.

Robby’s wife reached for baby Abbot. She sat him up in her arms and nestled into Robby’s embrace, squishing their family together. Dana took several pictures while you and Jack made silly faces behind her to make the baby laugh, inevitably making Eliza giggle, too.

“We need a big family picture!” The little girl exclaimed.

You absentmindedly reached for Dana’s phone to take a picture of all of them. Robby stopped her by saying, “What are you doing? You’re in the picture.”

Oh. You were in the family now. Jack smiled, holding his arm out for you to curl into for the picture. You handed the phone to another parent and wrapped your arm around Jack, leaning in close. After the picture, he pressed the most subtle kiss to your temple, and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

“Can we skate now?” Eliza asked her parents.

Robby’s wife smiled. “Yeah, let me get our skates out of Daddy’s truck, okay?”

You looked to them, a little confused. Jack caught your expression. “They let the families free skate with their kids after the recital.” He explained.

You nodded slowly before looking up at him again. “Are you gonna skate?” 

There was a hint of sadness in his gold-flecked eyes that hit you in the chest. “I don’t skate anymore.” He answered, wiggling his right foot.

Robby shifted Eliza in his arms so that she sat on the side of his hip. “It’s a shame. Me and Jack used to play in a pick-up hockey league when we were young.” He revealed.

Your eyes widened, mouth dropping in shock. “Excuse me?”

Jack chuckled and crossed his arms. “We are still young.” He protested.

Dana scoffed and rolled her eyes. “God will strike you down for lying.” She warned. “They used to come in to work with bloody noses and sprained fingers. They’re lucky they worked in a trauma center.”

The old men waved her off but still laughed. Robby’s wife returned with a duffel bag with two pairs of skates. You sat on the bleachers with Jack as they pulled the skates on and set off on the ice with their daughter holding each of their hands. Dana sat behind you both a few rows up, cradling baby Abbot as he slept in his warm blanket.

You leaned your head on Jack’s shoulder as you watched Robby expertly move across the ice. “Do you miss it?” You finally asked.

Jack looked down at you, trying to read your expression. “Miss what?” He questioned.

“Skating?” You clarified.

The silence that followed seemed never-ending. You worried that you might have struck a nerve, but then he quietly answered, “Yeah, I do.”

You smiled slightly. “Then, why don’t we go out there?”

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know…”

“Why? Are you scared?” You taunted with a smirk, thinking if you playfully challenged him, he might cave.

Jack’s eyes met yours, and boy, you could see that vulnerability again. “Yes.” His answer was short and quick. 

You smiled reassuringly. “What’s your skate size?”

“14.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting that large of a number. “Well, you know what they say.” You said with a wink.

Jack rolled his eyes but chuckled at you as you pranced away to the skate rental booth. You were going to be the death of him. 

–

You stepped onto the ice, ankles stabilizing as the traction under your feet changed. The ice wasn’t fresh, but you had no issue gliding a couple of feet. You carefully turned around to help Jack. But he waited at the entrance, stricken with fear. His eyes were blown wider than usual, and his chest moved quickly. He looked like he was about to jump out of a plane and not step onto an ice rink. 

A couple of steps, and you were right in front of him. Your hands reached out to grab his with a grounding firmness. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time.” You promised. 

He only nodded. He shifted in the skates uncomfortably, like he had every intention to take a step forward, but his feet still didn’t move. His grip on your hands tightened so much that they began to shake.

“Jack?” You whispered. 

He didn’t look at you. Only stared at the ice before him like it was a lava floor. “Hmm?”

You decided to take a trick out of his book. You moved your head until his eyes had no choice but to meet yours. Seeking out the contact. His whiskey eyes were nearly black from dilation. The fear was truly crippling him. “I’ve got you, baby.” Your voice was powerfully gentle. 

Baby. You called him baby. The first term of endearment between each other. The word left your lips so naturally, like you had called him baby a thousand times already. It was enough to ground him. It was enough to move his left foot forward, letting the blade touch the ice. 

You turned your ankles in to stabilize yourself on the ice so you could wrap your arm around his waist. His hands moved to your shoulders, grabbing painfully tight, but you didn’t care. 

“You’re doing so good, Jack.” You sang sweetly. 

The softness in your voice was the same one you spoke to Eliza with, but he didn’t feel patronized. He felt stronger and affirmed by the way you said his name. He swallowed hard when he began to move his right foot up to the ice. 

“There you go.” The praise continued to fall from your lips. 

Finally, the blade hit the ice. The feeling was so foreign to him. There were no sensors in his foot to feel the slickness of the ice. He had to predict it from halfway up his shin. Since he was a child, he could skate on ice better than he could run, and he was a fucking track star. After losing his right foot, he hadn’t dared to get on the ice again. Not because he couldn’t. He had learned to walk and run again with enough physical therapy. But he was afraid that he couldn’t. The confirmation that he couldn’t do something was terrifying. 

Jack took the smallest step forward with his right foot, studying the way his balance reacted to the ice. You patiently waited as he loosened the painful grip on your shoulders, moving his hands down to your forearms. 

Slowly, you skated backwards, pulling him with you. His feet moved cautiously, and his breathing began to deepen with confidence. 

“That’s it. You’re doing it.” You said, not raising your voice enough to draw attention, but enough to make him look up. 

The beaming smile on your face could have melted the entire rink. Jack knew in that moment that he had never been looked at with such pride and love in his life. Your eyes told him that he had hung the stars, and he believed it. A smile tugged at his lips, daring to share in your happiness. 

The happiness only lasted for a few more feet and cautious feet shuffling. His skate caught in a groove that yours had managed to avoid. The fall happened so fast, but you were ready to catch him in your arms and drop to the ice, undoubtedly hitting your head. But that wasn’t what happened. You never hit the ice. Your entire body was cushioned by his. In that split second, your soldier had changed the trajectory of your fall, taking your place of hitting the ice. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Was the first thing you heard from him, his voice breaking. “Are you okay, are you hurt?”

You sat up quickly to see him below you, fighting back the pain that had to be wracking through his body. You pulled him to sit up, grabbing his face in your hands. 

“Jack, I’m fine. Are you okay?” You asked, scanning his body for any dislocated or broken limbs. 

Before he could answer, the smallest “Uncle Jack!” rang from across the rink. You both looked up to see Eliza scurrying over. Knowing she was moving too fast and couldn’t stop herself without falling, you caught her in your arms.

“Uncle Jack, are you okay?” She asked, the worry palpable in her question. 

Jack faked a smile, but you could see him cracking behind it. “I’m okay, princess.” He confirmed. “Just fell down.”

Eliza threw her arms around his neck, and for the first time that you had seen, he didn’t relax or let go of his troubles. He numbly hugged his niece, eyes devoid of the usual joy she could impart. 

Robby quickly approached, kicking up a wave of shaved ice as he halted next to you. “You alright, brother?” He asked as he knelt down. 

Jack continued holding Eliza, hoping that eventually the pain would numb if he did. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I’m not ready.” He said, looking up at Robby. 

While the comment was clearly about ice skating to your ears, Robby knew its double meaning. Just as he was about to speak, your voice cut through. “Jack. You have to keep trying.”

Jack shook his head, letting go of Eliza. He began to struggle, wanting to stand up, but the skates kept slipping as he tried to get a grip. “I don’t think I can do this.”

You put a settling hand on his shoulder, letting it drag to his sharp jaw, forcing eye contact again. “Well, I know you can.” You reinforced. 

This time, Jack’s eyes were glassy. The threat of tears loomed off the distance in the storm in his eyes. Your thumb brushed his cheek, ready to fight back against anything that fell. 

Eliza moved over to Robby, letting him place a protective hand to stabilize her. “It’s okay, Uncle Jack. I fall down all the time, but Daddy says ‘Suck it up, buttercup.’” She imparted her wisdom. 

The tension broke. Everyone burst into laughter at the little girl’s innocent pep talk. Robby pulled his daughter tightly into his arms, shoulders still shaking with chuckles, and kissed her forehead. “That’s right, sweetheart.” He said. 

When you could see clearly again after recovering from laughter, you looked at Jack. He lost the battle to tears, letting them fall freely as he smiled. With the sleeve of your underscrub shirt, you wiped them away before Eliza could see them and worry further. 

“You have your own army around you, Jack. We’re with you every step of the way.” You assured him. 

Jack took a much-needed deep breath and reached to grasp your hand resting on his jaw. He looked up to Robby, who smiled and gave him a playful salute. He never imagined that he would find himself uttering these words as his grown ass age, but he finally said, “Okay. I can try again.” His voice was stronger now, the gravel back in his words.

You and Robby helped him stand to his feet on either side of him. With one arm thrown around each of your shoulders, he stabilized on the ice, testing the pressure on his right foot. Eliza danced ahead, doing her little twirls showcased in her recital.

“Eliza, you don’t have to show off.” Jack called out to her. “Let Uncle Jack get his sea legs back.” 

The little girl giggled as she continued to prance on the ice. Carefully, you and Robby moved to help Jack adjust to how his body balanced on the ice. Tiny steps, shuffling forward, left foot always moving more confidently than the right.

“You’re gonna be skating circles around me again pretty soon, brother.” Robby said, and it drew a laugh from Jack.

“I’ll have to pull my hockey stick out of the attic. Gotta teach Abbot how play since he doesn’t have anyone else to teach him.” He replied.

Robby chuckled and held back the urge to shove him. “You’re forgetting that I am the only thing between safety and falling back on your ass right now.” He teased.

The old men laughed, but not like usual. Like they were boys again, fresh out of medical school, having fun before they had split for different residency programs. Just like old times. As if on cue, tiny screams could be heard from the bleachers outside the rink. Robby’s wife was bouncing baby Abbot in her arms, trying to soothe him, with Dana at her side. She looked out to the ice desperately, and Robby let out a sigh. He looked at you, brow furrowed with conflict.

“I need to go help her. You got him?” He asked.

The look in his eyes transcended the simple question. Asking not if you could keep him from falling, but if you could care for him. If you could support him more than just on the ice rink. If you could handle him. You nodded, wrapping your arm tighter around Jack’s waist. “I’ve got him.” You affirmed, a small nod to let him know that you read past the question.

Robby smiled slightly and let go of Jack. “Alright, brother. Stay with her, alright?” He said before quickly moving off the rink to tend to his family, Eliza following behind him.

After a few moments of shuffling carefully, never fully picking your skates off the ice, you spoke up. “I’m sorry for pushing you to do this. You weren’t comfortable.” You apologized.

Jack stopped his movements, pulling you back to him when you glided a couple of inches ahead. “I needed this.” He replied, squeezing your hand tightly. He led your hand to his chest, then wrapped his arms around your waist. “I need you.” He added.

His breath was hot on your cheeks, warming from the cold air that surrounded you. You rubbed small circles on his chest, able to trace the muscles that hid beneath his shirt. “Need me how?” You asked.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “In every sense of the word.” He leaned closer, your noses brushing. “I need you.” He repeated.

His lips captured yours in a tender kiss, and he pulled your body as close as it could get to his, threatening to combine skin cells together. One hand trailed to his jaw, massaging the muscles there as he brushed his tongue against your lips. Fortunately, you were snapped back to reality and reminded of your public location because a shriek from the bleachers rang through the rink: 

“Mommy! Daddy! They’re kissing just like you said!” 

—

In the car on the way home, Robby and his wife whispered quietly as he drove, careful not to wake the exhausted kids in the backseat. 

“He’s in love with her.” He finally suggested.

His wife looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “How do you know?” She asked.

Robby smiled and squeezed her hand he held across the console. “Because he’s looking at her the way I look at you.” 

She smiled bashfully and shook her head. “Be serious.”

“I am. Jack never even looked at his first wife that way. There’s a connection between them that’s just…different. I saw it tonight with my own eyes.” He explained, twirling the wedding and engagement ring on her finger.

“They’re taking it slow. Much slower than we did.” She teased.

Robby chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. “It’s hard to take it slow with you. With that laugh. That smile. That body…” He trailed his kisses up her forearm, still managing to watch the road.

“Robby, stop it.” His wife demanded, but she didn’t really mean it.

“I think Abbot wants to be a big brother.” 

“Michael!”

--

A/N: Thank y'all for reading! I don't know why but I just have this headcanon where Robby and Jack used to play pick-up hockey before his accident. Thank you all for reading! Chapter 4 will be a veryyy spicy one!

Gravity Part One

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Notes: Welcome back to another accidental two-parter. Not beta-read.

Rating: M

Length: 5.6K

Warnings: Yearning (a frickin lot); slow burn; coworkers to friends to lovers; angst; fluff; canon-typical medical chat; fluff; POV switches a couple of times; Reader is roommates with Ellis; Jack 'Prolonged Eye Contact' Abbot

Summary: Abbot didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se. But the nerves that had welled around him during your first few weeks at the Pitt had never really gone away. If you were hard-pressed to examine and classify your feelings, you would (grudgingly) sort them into the mild to moderately romantic category. You blamed him for that entirely.

It wasn't fair, of course. He was handsome, knowledgeable, charming when he wanted to be. He was an amazing physician, an excellent teacher. And it wasn't his fault you had a bit of competency kink. Abbot had never made you feel anything but valued—and nervous.

Besides, it was embarrassing to admit that you had a crush on a man that you’d hardly looked in the eye for the last few years. 

It started when she was an intern. 

Jack was fully aware of his tendency toward strong eye contact. It helped him make sure he was fully getting a point across when he was guiding residents in the ER—so long as their focus wasn't meant to be elsewhere. 

He managed to meet her eye fully exactly twice—and maybe it was odd, but Jack could remember both times clear as day. 

The first one was her first day at the Pitt, when she’d shook his hand, introduced herself with a nervous tremor in her voice. Her palm had been a little sweaty, and cold, but her eyes had held his. 

The second had been a week or so later, the first time she’d lost a patient. He’d clapped her on the shoulder, reassured her that there was nothing more she could’ve done. He’d tacked on, “Don’t let it happen again,” and he’d been kidding—but she had balked, ducked her head, apologized, and hurried away. 

She had rarely met his eye since then.

At first, he’d figured that she was shy, and that she’d grow out of it. Then, he’d thought that maybe she was more reserved at work—some people simply kept their personal and professional lives separate.

But those notions had been disproven time and time and time again: when she palled around with her fellow residents; when she watched and communicated with Walsh attentively; when the senior resident that was clearly hitting on her leaned just a little too close for Jack’s liking in the staff room. 

She hadn’t backed down from a single one, hardly batted a damn eyelash.

But any time she spotted Jack, her eyes would lower or dart away—to the floor, to her hands, to a chart, to the sandwich cart, to a counter.

Now, Jack was not a man to take these things personally, but after all these years, it stuck in his craw. He didn’t think about it most days, had learned to take it in stride, found ways to work with it. It had never caused a hold up during a procedure, or in the event of an emergency. She was always active in communicating with him, she just…Never looked at him. 

“You’re going to burn a hole through her head.” 

Jack hadn’t realized he was staring until Lena said so. He glanced toward the nurse, eyed her knowing smile, and redirected his focus to the computer in front of him. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Lena snorted, turning back to the desk as someone approached to ask her a question. 

Jack only half-listened, unable to help his eyes drifting toward her again. She was hunched over her own computer, and seemed to be fighting back a smile at something Shen was saying. Another comment or two from Shen, and then her chin was tipping up, a bright smile on her lips as she held Shen’s eye.

Jack huffed a soft laugh through his nose at the sound of Shen’s cackling laugh, and it was like watching ripples in a pond—her head tipped, her brow furrowed, and her eyes darted in Jack’s direction. The smile flattened when she caught him looking, her focus lowering to her keyboard as she hurriedly straightened. She seemed to point to the charge board, mutter something, and turned on her heel, striding away with purpose.

Jack couldn’t help a swell of petty disappointment. What the hell was that? There was no way she’d heard him laugh. It was like she’d sensed a disturbance in the force. Jack shook his head, trying to refocus on the chart. 

Did she panic because he had been smiling? Had he been staring at her as long as Lena implied? Did he look like some dirty old man? 

Jack pushed off of the desk, eyeing the charge board with purpose. Whatever it was that made her skitter away like that—well. He’d forget it by tomorrow. 

--  

“Hey. You headed in?” 

You glanced back, doing a double-take at the site of Ellis standing in the kitchen doorway. 

“Uh—Yeah, just packin’ a few snacks. You need anything?” 

“I got something to ask you.” 

“Sure, what’s up?” You turned to face her, folding your arms expectantly. In the entire time you and Ellis had been roommates, you’d never seen her look concerned like this—and she usually didn’t bother trying to be delicate when broaching a difficult subject. 

“Parker, what is it?” You pressed.

“Is something going on between you and Abbot?”

Your brow furrowed, mouth falling open as if to answer—but what the hell kind of question was that?

“Excuse me?” 

“You and Abbot, what’s going on?” 

“There’s nothing going on.” 

“You sure?” 

“I think I’d know if something was happening between us, El. Where the hell did this come from, anyway?” 

“Shen said the two of you were weird yesterday, that Abbot looked at you and you bolted. And—” She shrugged, “You kinda always seem like that. Did something happen?” 

“Nothing happened yesterday! I realized I needed to go check on a patient, I’d just gotten their results back.” 

“And all the other times?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Ellis gave you a long look before she relented, holding her hands up in surrender with a mutter of, “Alright.”

“Great.”

“If you insist—”

“I do insist.” 

“But you know what they say about people who protest too much.”

“Cap it, Hamlet. You on tonight?” 

“Yep,” Ellis nodded. 

“See you in there.” 

“If you wanna wait, I’ll drive you.” 

“Nah, it’s okay,” You shifted your bag onto your shoulder. “The walk is good for me.”

“We’re gonna be on our feet for the next twelve hours.” 

“I like a warm-up,” You insisted. “See you in there.” 

Slow and steady, that was how you left the apartment—even steps, a measured pocket-pat-down at the door to make sure you had your phone, keys, wallet, ID badge…And then you were out the door.

Out the door, and down the stairs, and cursing under your breath as you stepped out onto the street. Where the hell did Ellis get off, asking something like that? Implying that something could be going on between you and Abbot? You hardly spoke to the guy. Hell—you felt like you barely said more than two words to the man that didn’t have anything to do with work. The implication that the two of you had something going on was categorically insane—and it twisted your gut up in a knot. 

The closer you got to the Pitt, the worse the feeling got, until it was bordering on nausea. You stopped a block away, drawing in a deep breath and puffing it out between your lips, trying to shake yourself of the feeling. Damnit, why’d you let Ellis get in your head that way? 

You drew in another steadying breath as you started forward again, trying to shake the nerves out of your hands. This shift was going to be fine—as seamless as the ones before it.  

-- 

“You doin’ okay?” 

It was a fair question asked by the last person you wanted to hear it from. The shift had been hell. Patient after patient seemed to have some hitch. You were slower to respond when Abbot asked you questions, prompted you. It was only made worse by the feeling of Ellis and Shen watching every goddamn interaction. 

Now, the test results were back for the patient you were least looking forward to seeing. The patient herself was sweet, but you were getting nowhere with her overbearing husband answering nearly every question for her. 

You pushed yourself to straighten up. 

“Fine,” You insisted flatly. “Thanks.” You straightened fully, hesitating as you heard him take a step away. “Actually—” 

It was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You saw Abbot go still in your periphery, and your hands flexed around the iPad in your hands. 

“I’m having trouble getting answers from a patient—a woman with a head injury. She said she slipped and whacked it, but based on where the cut is...I don't think it's possible. And her husband’s an overbearing ass. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”

“Abusive?” 

“I think so. Could you run interference?” 

“Sure. You have one of those pens, one of the—” 

“I always keep a couple in my pocket.” 

--

She steeled herself before she went into the examination bay. Jack had seen her do it time and time again when she could. He wondered how it steadied her, savored the way that she closed her eyes for a split-second, drew in a deep breath, and then slapped a smile on before pulling the curtain back.

"How are we doing in here?"

Her chipper tone did nothing to reveal the concern that she'd shared with him moments ago. Abbot followed close behind, taking in the young woman laying in a hospital gown on the bed, and the man standing just beside her at the head. Abbot took another step toward the bed, then stopped as the woman seemed seemed to shrink back, attempting to make herself smaller.

"She's fine." The man's voice was gruff in his insistence, his hand curled into a fist just by his wife's head. Abbot's eyes skated across the bruises and scrapes to the knuckles there, his own hands wringing behind his back as he took another step closer.

Jack saw her glance back toward him before she gestured, "Dr. Abbot, this is Nick and Amanda Alpers. Mr. and Mrs. Alpers, this is Dr. Abbot. He's the ER's foremost expert on head injuries." An easy fib, and it seemed to be a necessary one.

"Aren't you all trained on the same shit?" Nick grumbled. Abbot took a couple of steps closer, taking in the slight matting of hair on the wife's head, the dark clotting of blood.

"We all have our own experiences that inform how we practice," Abbot passed easily, taking one more step. "Mrs. Alpers, would it be alright if I examined the—"

"It's just a scrape, really!" The insistence was hurried, and left the poor woman in a squeak. Abbot forced a small smile, giving a conceding nod.

"May I examine the scrape?" He conceded.

Amanda's eyes seemed to dart to Nick for permission, and only after a hefty sigh did Nick wave Abbot closer.

He couldn't help but note the way his fellow doctor rounded the bed, caught on the slight flurry of her questions as he gloved up.

"Are you feeling any pressure?" He asked, gently parting the hair to get a better look at the bloody, raised bump on her head.

"N-no. No more than usual—I mean! No more than anyone ever usually feels," Amanda hurried to answer. Abbot's eyes lifted to the doctor on the opposite side of the bed just in time to see her fingers tightening around her iPad.

"Any sensitivity to light, sound...?" Abbot went on, drawing his penlight out of his pocket and shining it from one eye to the next.

"Nn-nn."

"Hm."

"If that's all, can we go?" Nick groused. "Already been a waste of a night."

Abbot straightened, sizing Nick up. He waited for his fellow physician to say something, but—Nothing. He looked at her, certain she was eyeing the chart, but realized immediately that it was a mistake. Her eyes were right on his, widening pointedly as they darted to the creep beside her. Abbot cleared his throat, doing his best to focus on the patient—though he knew he'd be tucking that look away for himself.

"Nick, can I have a word?" He asked, gesturing toward the nurse's station.

"What for?"

Abbot pushed a short breath out through his nose as he rounded the bed, taking even steps so as not to raise the brute's hackles.

"There are some things that I'd like to discuss with you. Things that, you know," He nodded, "Women shouldn't hear."

Watching understanding wash over Nick's face made his stomach turn. It was a wonder the man had brought his wife to the ER at all if that was the attitude he held.

"We won't go far?" Nick pressed, though he was already moving.

"No, no," Jack insisted, following him out, "Just a few feet." He gave her one last look, and a quick nod before tugging the observation curtain closed behind them.

--

The knot that had formed in your stomach only tightened, but it wasn’t for your own nerves or panic anymore. You didn't like letting her go, hated seeing her leave with him. Abbot came to a stop beside you, and for a moment, the two of you just watched Nick steer Amanda out of the ER.

"What'd you say to him?" You asked.

"Distracted him with football."

"I didn't know you watched."

“Sometimes. She take the pen?” He asked. 

“...Yeah.” 

“It’s a start.”

“Might be too little, too late.” 

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“You think so?” 

“Sure.”

“...I gave her my number, too.” 

You saw Abbot’s head turn toward you, and you froze, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” It should’ve been more of a scold, but you could’ve sworn his tone was tinged with admiration. 

“I know.”

“What were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t.” You turned away from Abbot. “Thanks again for distracting him.” 

“...No problem. Will you tell me if she calls?” 

“Yeah,” You nodded, turning to look at the board. “Hope she does—and soon.” 

“Was that all that was bothering you?” 

“What?” 

“You seemed a little off earlier. Just making sure everything’s okay.” 

Well, Abbot always was the observant type. It was one of the things that made him such a good doctor. You shouldn’t have been offended by his question, but in that moment, his concern was as unwelcome as Ellis probing had been just a few hours before. 

“Just one of those days—nights,” You corrected, “You know.” 

“Take a couple minutes, get some air.” 

“I’m alright.” And before you could stop yourself, you gave him a grateful smile before turning away. In truth, you weren't entirely sure where you were headed to—you’re more distracted by the fact that you’d met the guy’s eye more in the last twenty minutes than you probably had in the last two years. 

-- 

“Here.” 

“Thanks,” You took your beer as Ellis set it down and settled into the seat across from you. “John on his way?” 

“Yeah,” She nodded, “And uh…Don’t kill me, but he’s bringing someone.” 

You frowned, shaking your head as you waited for her to explain. Ellis didn’t elaborate, merely tipped her brows up. It only took a second for you to put the pieces together, and you groaned, sliding down in your chair as nerves flooded your stomach. 

“Parker—” 

“It’s just a coincidence!” She took in your unimpressed glare, corrected, “Mostly a coincidence. We always ask, he almost never says yes. It’s as hard to talk him into coming out as it is to talk you into it. Besides, it’ll help!” 

“There’s nothing here that needs helping.” 

“It’s slowing things down—”

“When has it ever slowed anything down?”

“Last few shifts, he’s waited for you to look at him when you answer and nothing. It’s making shit weird. We leave that messy personal bull for the day shift.”

“I’m not—This isn’t messy, it’s just—”

“You barely look at the guy. We all notice it.” 

“He’s so big on frickin’ eye contact, like,” You glanced around the bar, “It’s intimidating.” 

“Intimidating?”

“Yeah.”

“Intimidating.” 

“Yes! I barely even like making eye contact with you, but I live with you, so it’s mostly unavoidable.” 

“You love it.”

“Sure. Who wouldn’t want to be adopted by the meanest lesbian in the ER?”

“I thought that was Garcia.”

“No, she’s the meanest lesbian in surgery.” 

Ellis’ smile widened before she perked up, waving at someone behind you before she leaned in just a touch. 

“Just be yourself, be cool.”

“Pick one.”

“You know, I bet he thinks you hate him.” 

“What?” You hissed, “Why would he think that? And—Why would he give a shit, plenty of people hate their boss. Not that I hate him, I don’t, just—”

“Hey!” Shen’s voice cut over your nervous chatter, and you couldn’t stop your knee-jerk reaction of turning to look at him—and spotting Abbot just a couple of steps behind. Shen patted you on the shoulder, settling down beside you as Abbot rounded the table. Your eyes glued to your beer instinctively as he shrugged out of his jacket, sitting down beside Ellis. And you thought you’d just managed to be subtle enough—until both Shen and Ellis kicked you lightly under the table. It took everything in you not to kick back, instead lifting your head to meet Abbot’s eye, plastering a small smile on your lips. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” There was a little lean to his lo, a friendly tease that you felt like you hadn’t earned. And there was eye contact—heavy, steady eye contact as he folded his arms on the table. You tried to ignore the traitorous little flip in your stomach as you hurriedly lowered your eyes to the table, picking your beer up and taking a swig to try and drown the flurrying butterflies.  

“We miss anything good?” Shen plied. Ellis shook her head. 

“We were just talking about renewing our lease.” 

“I forgot you two were roommates,” Abbot commented. Ellis must’ve told him, and you couldn’t fathom why he’d remember. 

“What’s the verdict?” Shen asked.

“We’re gonna stick,” You reported as you looked at him. “Rent is going up, but, like, barely…Barely.”

“And the location is too good,” Ellis tacked on. “Half an hour to the Pitt walking, fifteen minutes by car—utilities don’t suck, either.” 

“Decent space,” You added, “And allows dogs—if this one goes through with getting a dog.”

“I’m still in research and development.” 

“Aren’t you allergic?” Shen nudged your arm. 

“Yeah, but not deathly. And if she picks a breed that doesn’t shed much and has a low can f 1 gene—” 

“I want to adopt from a shelter—” 

“So I’ll probably be moving out as soon as that happens,” You teased, “Because god knows she’ll wind up with a mutt.” 

“And sublet?” 

“Sure, John. You can move into my room, I’ll move into your place. Even trade.” 

“I don’t know about that—” 

“Better rent, better location.” 

“You won’t mind being further from the Pitt?”

“Nah,” You shrugged, “I like a long walk.” 

“Sure does,” Ellis rolled her eyes, “I don’t know anyone that spends more time just wandering around on their days off.” 

“Is it a crime to enjoy being outside when the sun is up?” 

“You ever think of switching to day shift?”

Abbot’s question caught you off-guard—it was like you’d fallen into such an easy rhythm with Ellis and Shen that you'd almost managed to forget that he was there. Your fingers tightened around your beer as you forced yourself to meet Abbot’s eye again. 

“Not once.” 

It was the truth, and it made Abbot’s smile widen in a way that felt dangerously vindicating. Unnerving quiet wrapped around your shared gaze, and Ellis clearing her throat was what finally snapped you out of looking at him. 

“So, hey,” Shen jumped in, “Did I tell you guys about my latest acquisition?”

“Jesus fucking christ,” You muttered over Ellis’ low whistle. 

“Another ebay war?” She asked.

“Not a war, an easy buy,” Shen insisted, “You know, for—”

“Yeah, your shank bank, we remember,” You insisted, smile pulling wide as both Abbot and Ellis’ laughter catches from that side of the table. “That weird-ass collection of antique medical equipment—fucking medical history nerd.” 

“I keep them as a display!” 

“Must really get ‘em going on a date night. Nothing hotter to a woman than rusty scalpels,” You batted back, nudging Shen’s shoulder with yours. You didn’t mean to catch Abbot’s eye on your way back to looking at Ellis again. And this look didn’t hold for as long as the one before it—but it was just long enough to reawaken the butterflies, even as Shen insisted,

“This one isn’t even rusty!”

--  

As you turned in for the night, Ellis teased you, insisted, “See, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You didn’t argue, because she wasn't wrong—it wasn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon out. But it was…Different. 

Your aversion to Dr. Abbot’s attention had started your first week at the Pitt, when he’d stuck close during an intubation. He hadn’t been breathing down your neck, but his steady focus had made you so damn nervous. You were used to your attendings being just a little scattered, torn in six different directions. And other matters had vied for Abbot’s attention, sure, but he hadn’t heeded them until the patient was in the clear.

You’d started to avoid his gaze after that, and it had just become second nature. Avoiding eye contact turned into avoiding him during the quiet moments of your shifts, which turned into a patient-treatment-only conversational focus. Abbot consulted on your cases, made recommendations, listened to your rationalizations. 

When he did insist on meeting your eye, you gave him just a long enough look to show that you’d heard him, but never anything more. You’d avoided palling around with him, even though you palled around with your fellow residents, and with other attendings—but you were comfortable with them. 

And Abbot didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se. But the nerves that had welled around him during your first few weeks at the Pitt had never really gone away. If you were hard-pressed to examine and classify your feelings, you would (grudgingly) sort them into the mild to moderately romantic category. You blamed him for that entirely.

It wasn't fair, of course. He was handsome, knowledgeable, charming when he wanted to be. He was an amazing physician, an excellent teacher. And it wasn't his fault you had a bit of competency kink. Abbot had never made you feel anything but valued—and nervous.

Besides, it was embarrassing to admit that you had a crush on a man that you’d hardly looked in the eye for the last few years. 

You could understand how Abbot may’ve thought you didn’t like him—if he really thought that. But he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who needed everyone to like him. It probably helped, sure, but you were positive that your countenance had never caused a slow-down or a hitch in the ER, no matter what Ellis said. You were just focused—and since when was that a bad thing? 

Either way, today had been kinda…okay. You’d made nice with Abbot, made eye contact multiple times without Ellis or Shen kicking you in the shins again. Whatever wound up happening, you’d tried, and they couldn’t take that away from you, right? 

You settled in bed, letting your eyes slip closed, drawing in a deep breath to relax yourself.

For all your initial irritation, Ellis was right—it wasn’t that bad. 

But it didn’t stop Abbot’s warm gaze from lingering behind your eyelids when you closed them, and it couldn’t keep the mirthful roll of his chuckle from playing through your mind as you tried to drift off. 

-- 

You decided to make it a little experiment, approach it as something that you could train yourself out of. Seeing him over drinks had laid the groundwork—and you had managed to look at him twice a few shifts ago, hadn’t you? 

You went into your next shift determined to look Abbot in the eye three times.

You only managed it once when you passed him by the board—a glance and a small wave.

The smile that he returned flustered you so much that you nearly walked into the sandwich cart, and it scared you out of looking at him for the rest of the night. As a matter of fact, it scared you out of it the next shift, and the one after that. 

You talked yourself out of the whole foolish endeavor. You’d managed to work with Abbot perfectly well before, why change things now? Especially when looking at him seemed to awaken something girlish and fluttering inside of you—and you couldn’t afford to be girlish and fluttering at work. 

-- 

She was doing it again. 

Jack had thought they had turned a corner after Shen and Ellis had invited them all out together, but things seemed to be moving in reverse. It had gone beyond sticking in his craw—it was almost nagging at him now, and worse now that he knew what the full force of her focus was like. It was easy to brush off before, but these days Jack was hard-pressed to admit that he felt something in him wilt whenever she avoided his eye. 

She was making a meal of it now, focused stalwartly as she instructed Javadi on setting a bone. He’d seen her head tip in his direction a couple of times, but she’d always given her head a little shake before refocusing. Was the shake for Javadi? For him? 

“...You didn’t hear me, did you,” Ellis asked, forcing him to refocus. He had heard her—and he could feign that his silence had been fueled by contemplation. He turned away from the treatment bay, arms folded across his chest. 

“See if the OR can take Mr. Tosches yet," He instructed. "I don’t want him down here too long. You follow up with the raccoon kid?” 

“That’s my next stop.” 

“Perfect, thanks.” 

“Sure—Hey, are you coming by this weekend?”

That weekend. He’d been dodging giving Ellis an answer for the last couple of weeks. She’d invited him to the last four get-togethers at the apartment, but he’d never made it to one, either because he was working, or because he just wasn’t in the mood to socialize. 

He wasn’t sure he was in the mood now, but…A fleeting smile flashed through his mind. They’d seemed to come easier to her when they were away from the hospital. And his therapist had been nagging him about leaving the house more…

“Yeah,” He nodded. “Yeah, I can make it.” 

Ellis didn’t cover her surprise well, but her, “kay, sweet. I’ll text you the address," Told him that she was just as surprised by his answer as he was.

Abbot nodded, casting another glance toward the treatment bay before turning away fully. It was just an experiment, he told himself. He would see if her smiles for him came easier outside of work, or not at all. 

If it was not at all, he’d let it go, once and for all.

--  

“Is there any coffee?” 

The question made you freeze in front of your cabinet. Your eyes darted through its contents, but you didn’t take in a damn thing. He was in your kitchen. He never came to these things, why the hell did he come to this one?

“Uh—” You turned, looking around your kitchen as though you’d never been there before. “It’s um—Yeah. Right there. It might not be hot, though. I can turn the pot back on.” 

“I’ve got it.” 

“You're on shift tonight?”

“Mhm.”

You nodded, turning back to the cabinet. Hell, what did you open it for? Goddamn, but you came in here looking for something—You huffed, shoving the cabinet door closed as you scrubbed your hand across your forehead. He wasn’t allowed to do this, he wasn’t allowed to make you feel this out of sorts in your own damn kitchen. 

“Everything alright?” 

“You know, I feel like half the time you talk to me, you’re asking if I’m okay.” It was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and embarrassment sprang up the second it did. “I should, um—You need a mug, don’t you,” You muttered, turning to the other cabinet, and glancing back toward the living room when you heard a swell of laughter. Damnit, but Ellis sent you into the kitchen for what? Napkins? Napkins would be in the cabinet.

“Well forgive me for being concerned when one of my best residents seems to spend half of her shifts avoiding me.” 

You whirled around, too stunned to do anything but meet Jack’s eye. The steady contact seemed to catch the both of you off-guard. Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment as your mind reeled. What the hell could you say to that? Well—what would you say if you were talking to Ellis or Shen? 

“...Just one of your best residents?” 

Abbot’s brows lifted, his lips quirk with a smile, and your stomach filled with that girlish fluttering again. 

“You’re certainly not avoiding me now.”

You press your mouth together, gaze instinctively dropping to the floor. 

“I don’t avoid you at work, either. I’m just—” You turned back to the cabinet, reaching into it for a mug. “I’m focused when I'm at the Pitt.” 

“Seem to be focused right now, too.” 

“Do you want a mug for your coffee or not?” 

“Oh, that old excuse.” 

“Fine, drink it from the pot. That’s Parker’s machine, anyway. She’ll kill you.” 

“She wouldn’t. We’re short-staffed as it is.” 

“Well, that’s true.” You crossed the kitchen, holding the mug out. And, though you knew the answer, you asked, “Do you need milk or sugar?” 

“No.” 

“Alright.” You turned, reaching for the cabinet by the coffee machine. Maybe it was something in there.

“...You don’t really think I avoid you," You plied, unable to stop yourself.

“Certainly avoid looking at me.”

“Focused.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You’re fine to look at.” 

“Oh?”

“Good—Good to—” No, nothing in that cabinet. Check the next one. At least, you needed to get a few feet away from Abbot before you said anything else stupid. “You’re fine.” 

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” 

“...Look at me.” 

It was so firm that you went still in front of your cabinet again, hands on the knobs, doors half-open as your heart leaps into your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re not at work, you can’t need to be that focused. If I’m so fine to look at, look at me.” 

Your fingers flexed around the knobs, palms growing sweaty. 

“Ellis asked me to grab something for her and you’ve already distracted me enough.”

“Is that so.” 

“You can be very distracting sometimes.” For fucksake. What was it about being alone with this man that had your head so horribly scrambled?

“I suddenly feel like I oughta apologize,” He commented.

“I feel like you’re making fun of me.” 

“A little.” 

You scoffed out a laugh, your nerves only worsening when you heard Jack take a few steps closer, saw him lower his coffee onto the counter beside you. 

“It won’t take long,” He reassured, raising his hand to close one of the cabinet doors. “One quick look.” 

You drew in a deep breath, planting your hand on the counter and turning to face Jack with wide eyes. You were prepared to stare at him pointedly—but you faltered at the look on his face. His eyes were softer than they had any right being. They searched your expression, sweeping over your nose, across your cheeks, to your lips, and up again—as if he was seeing you for the first time. 

“...See?” He murmured. “This isn’t so bad.” 

You struggled to swallow, throat dry; your face was flooding with heat. If this was a cartoon, you were certain that your heart would be beating out of your chest. 

“No,” You finally managed, shaking your head a little, unable to tear your eyes from his, “No, it isn’t.” 

Jack’s smile widened as he leaned against the counter a touch, fingers skimming against yours. And you knew that you ought to look away, go ask Ellis what she sent you into the damn kitchen for in the first place, but you couldn't bring yourself to move.

“You just gonna keep staring at me, Jack?” You murmured. His brows jumped slightly at the use of his first name, lips quirking with a smirk.

“You’re staring, too.”

“Making up for apparently avoiding you.” 

“Very kind of you.”

“Do what I can.” 

Maybe it was better that he was looking at your face, anyway—if he looked down, he might see the goosebumps sweeping up your arm from the gentle sweep of his fingertips against yours. It felt pathetic to get so worked up from such a simple touch. Goddamn, did he look at everyone like this? Did everyone feel like this when he looked at them? There was no way—if it was, nothing would ever get done at the Pitt. 

“Hey, did you find the Triscuits?” 

Ellis bottle snapped you out of the trance-like stare, and you whirled away from Jack like he was trying to set you on fire. The Triscuits, son of a bitch, that was what you were sent to look for. 

“I just—I just saw them,” You fumbled, pulling the cabinet open again. 

“My fault,” Abbot spoke up. “I asked for some coffee.” 

“You’re on tonight?” Ellis frowned, and you were relieved to hear her come deeper into the kitchen. “I thought you were taking the day.” 

“We had two call outs. Matter of fact, I should get going.”

You glanced doggedly back toward Jack, watching him pick his mug up and take a deep swig. You busied yourself with poking through the drawer beneath the cupboard, vaguely catching Abbot saying his goodbyes to Ellis in the background. Jeez, did the Trisuits fucking evaporate? 

You glanced toward the mug as Jack set it down in the sink, and, against your better judgement, met Jack’s eye when he turned to look at you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Sure,” You nodded. “Have a good shift.” 

“Good luck finding those, uh…” He glanced toward Ellis. “Triscuits?” 

“Uh-huh,” She nodded. “Thanks for coming, man.” 

“Have a good night.” 

You listened to his retreating footsteps, marked the opening and closing of the door…And tried not to die from complete mortification when Ellis tapped your shoulder, then pointed out the box of Triscuits where it was sitting on the counter. 

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

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 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @artsymaddie

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

well…yes.

Hiiii May i request a dr robby x virgin reader? Maybe shes an ER intern whos getting transfered to another department making her officially no longer under direct supervision of Robby, thus free to pursue. And when they do get down and dirty, she's on her third orgssm when he pulls out and finishes on her skin. She's surprised thst there's so much of his spend creaming down between her legs (and he's still hard, he's in his 50s and he's still hard aaaa flips her over and continues, hands all over her aaaaa)

Full fic or hcs or just scream with me is okay i just need to tell someone aaaaa

I’ve been thinking of virgin reader x Robby and I’m so glad you requested it. 😩🩷

- The second you get transferred, Robby can’t stop thinking about having you for himself. He’s finally be free to peruse you, and you’re the only thing on his mind.

- You’d been flirting with one another for months now. The conversation came easy between you both, and you’d slipped up one night and told him you were a virgin. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

- As much as he wants you, he can’t make the first move. You’re younger, inexperienced, and he’d never forgive himself if he made you feel pressured or intimidated. He needs to know this is what you want too.

- So when you do just that by kissing him one night over dinner, any resolve or self restraint he had went out the window. Sweet kisses turned hungry as his guided you flush against him, his mouth soft but eager as he stumbled blindly through his apartment to his room, muffled laughter echoing between you two.

- You can’t stop admiring as he strips down, much to his embarrassment, but he can’t stop looking at you, either. Your lush curves, soft thighs just waiting for him to sink his teeth into..

- Despite how desperately he needs you, he rails himself back in. He takes time to kiss over every inch of you, mouth hungry as he suckles and bites at your nipples. His hands roam over every inch of, squeezing your hips and grabbing at the generous flesh of your thighs.

- Oh, he can’t wait to taste you. His tongue glides slow through your folds, savoring the taste of you and moaning at how wet you already are. He guides your legs apart to gain better access, tongue sliding into you as his thumb rubs your clit.

- You have to beg him to finally make love to you, he’s so invested in tasting you. But he wants to make sure you’re ready.

- He’s so fucking thick you’re almost worried he won’t fit. But he’s gentle and slow as he works you open, sweet talking you the whole way. “That’s it, baby, almost there. You’re taking it so well.”

- You’re panting and whimpering by the time he’s fit inside you, hips flush against yours. His hands hold your thighs apart, easing into a slow pace as he groans low and throaty. “You’re so fucking tight, baby, feels so fucking good.”

- He spends the next hour making you cum over and over. The first orgasm was mind blowing and left you breathless, but his hips never relented. He pushes your legs to your chest, giving himself a perfect view of his cock inside you.

- “Look at that, baby. Look how fucking wet you are, soaking my cock like that.” The angle change left you speechless, his cock nudging your sweet spot over and over.

- Your legs were left trembling from the first orgasm, but his continued thrusting had you choking on your moans. “R-Robby, fuck- please-“ You were sure what you were even begging for, you were almost drunk on his cock at this point.

- “That a girl, take it. You can take it, princess, let me make you feel good.” His sweet words had you tumbling over the edge again, crying out his name and writhing as your walls fluttered around him.

- He hadn’t finished himself yet. He was holding out for one more from you, he wanted you to experience this first.

- He let your legs fall to the bed and couldn’t help but smirk at the way they shook, toes still curled. He grabbed your hips and easily flipped you over onto your stomach, cock nudging and slipping into you easily.

- Your whined and pushed your ass back to him, answering his silent worry of if you wanted more. He didn’t hesitate to fuck back into you, hands kneading and spreading your cheeks, licking his lips as he eyed the creaming ring on the base of his cock.

- “One more, babygirl, give me one more. Cum on my cock, princess. You can take it. You deserve it.”

- He didn’t need to do much to have you falling over the edge one last time, your body shaking as your muffled moans and cries were soaked up by the pillow.

- He pulled out and came with a groan over your plush cheeks, head thrown back and neck taught as he coated your skin. You managed to look back over your shoulder to watch, the sight of him caught up in pleasure making you moan faintly.

- You were pleasantly surprised to see how hard he still was. His cock was hanging heavy between his thighs, shaft glistening as he admired the mess between your legs.

- He watched you roll over and make room for him, a smile on your tired face as you whispered shakily. “More. I want more..”

- You didn’t have to tell twice.

Wrong Name

Summary: Reader visits her partner Jack in the ED to drop off his lunch catching the excited attention of all of his colleges much to his chagrin

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None! Just super cute fluff

Author’s Note: My first Pitt Fic! Basically, a short simple grumpy x sunshine reader cause I had the idea. Everyone in the Pitt loves the reader and Jack pretends to hate that, but everyone knows better. Again my first Pitt fic so any and all feedback appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

To say Jack was surprised to see you at Dana’s desk was an understatement.

He had just left you a little over an hour ago, a silent kiss to your temple, a murmured I love you into your hair, a cup of coffee left in his wake on the countertop so it was cooled down by the time you got up, the same as every day. You were still asleep when he left could you have woken up with something? Did he miss something last night?

His head was so full of the hypothetical he didn’t take the extra second to acknowledge how at ease your body language was as you leaned against the tall desk, a soft smile on your lips as you nodded along to whatever Dana was saying.

Instead, he immediately crossed the ED in a few steps, sliding a hand to the small of your back to grab your attention, cutting of Dana’s story without a second thought.

“Hey what’re you doing here are you okay?”

Your eyes flickered briefly to his, the corners of your mouth pulling up slightly at his appearance as you grabbed his bicep and gave it a small squeeze. “Yeah don’t worry I’m fine” before immediately refocusing on Dana, silently signaling her to continue.

Dana, however, as she normally does, knew better, a look shared between the two women as she stayed silent and instead focused on Jack, the man himself having not moved his gaze from your form for a second.

Pinching your shirt at the waist softly he gave it a small tug, physically pulling your attention back to him as his eyes scanned your face “is it that headache you had the other night? Is it back? I can bump you up the CT line”

“Honey” you cut him off with that small laugh that always had his chest warming “I promise I’m fine I texted you like an hour ago to meet me in the parking lot, you just forgot your lunch”

He could physically feel the relief hit his system at your words, his shoulders dropping as he finally took a deep breath, his next words tumbling off his tongue before he could put any thought to them “you didn’t have to-“

But just as he knew you would, you cut him off with a shrug and the same words you always used when he tried to dodge being taken care off “I know but I wanted to”

He couldn’t have fought the fond smile off his face if he had tried, something he knew he was going to get shit over from Dana and inevitably Robby later. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here have you been waiting long?”

“No I’ve been talking to Dana” And it was so entirely you the way you stated it like it was obvious. As if this little act of kindness in going out of your way to get him food hadn’t hijacked your entire morning. He was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to pull you into him, barely registering the way you pivoted back to Dana at the mention of her name.

“A conversation we absolutely will be finishing” spoken like a threat that had the charge nurse chuckling, “drinks later? Location and time TBD?”

“Sounds good kid”

And maybe it was a little selfish of him to want you just to himself in that moment, to pull you out of the Pitt to get even just two minutes of you alone. But Jack had found over the past year that he liked being selfish when it came to you “Oh and Langdon was looking for you earlier if you haven’t seen him yet”

“You spoke to Langdon too” he’ll admit to only faking part of the exasperation in his tone that had you giggling.

“He’s got a new puppy” you protested with a grin “what was I supposed to do? Not ask to see photos”

“You’re right ridiculous question” he conceded easily, “now aren’t you supposed to be at work”

And Jack relished the way he knew what your exact reaction would be seconds before you made it, the way your eyes widened almost comically before you reached for his arm, pulling his watch specifically into your line of sight, Jack using the momentum to press a quick kiss to your temple before he could think any better of it.

“Shit I’m gonna be late” You groaned softly, Jack chuckling at the action.

“I mean it, you didn’t have to bring my lunch in today”

“Please we both know you wouldn’t eat anything if I hadn’t” you brushed him off thoughtlessly before brightening and exclaiming “oh before I forget”. Suddenly you were pulling back from him, reaching deeply into your bag and rummaging slightly before pulling out a fistful of protein bars “give these to Dennis”

“To Dennis” he repeated with a raised brow as you pushed them into his chest.

“Yeah Dennis, well except for the chocolate ones”

“You want me to give these to my med student” he repeated with another exasperated sigh.

Again you responded exactly like he hoped you would, a giggle and a teasing push against his chest “yes except for the chocolate ones he doesn’t like those he likes the fruit ones. He won’t tell you that though, he’ll gladly take them all but he’s just being nice about it because he doesn’t want to offend you”

He couldn’t help but appreciate how well you seemed to fit into his life. How you’d forged relationships with each member of the Pitt’s team that existed wholly outside of him. It was tough now to believe there existed a time when he had been hesitant to introduce you to the chaos of the Pitt given how you now had seemed to adopt each member of his chosen family on your own.

His train of thought was effectively cut off as he watched your gaze suddenly deviate from him to something behind him, the corner of your mouth ticking up as you took one of the bars back from his grasp and yelled across the room “Dennis”

The poor kid looked terrified for a brief moment as he spun around before breaking out into a relieved grin once his eyes landed on you.

That was all the acknowledgement you needed before you were throwing the bar at him, Whittaker to his credit only looking panicked for a brief moment before he was effortlessly catching the bar, grinning down at his new snack appreciatively once he had it “Thank you Mrs. Abbot”

“Not my name” you corrected breezily with a wave “but bug Jack if you want more I’m giving him the rest”

“Great now if you’re done upsetting the natural order of my ED don’t you have work to get to” Jack cut in with fake exasperation.

“Natural order of the Pitt” you scoffed “that’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one”

Your comment had Dana snorting as she didn’t even bother to try hiding the fact that she had been eavesdropping on your conversation up to this point.

“Yeah yeah now get out of here” he rolled his eyes with a fond smile “one of us has to make sure our bills our paid this month”

“I’m going I’m going” you groaned with a matching eye roll, pushing up slightly onto your toes and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling away much too quickly for Jack’s liking with a whispered I love you.

Then you were gone, headed back the way you came leaving nothing but the soft scent of your perfume in the air around him as Jack forced his eyes down to the chart in his hands, pointedly ignoring Dana’s gaze.

Just when he thought he was going to be trapped in the inevitable teasing of his charge nurse Dr. King came running up to the station, Jack more than happy to turn his attention to her and ready to distract himself with whatever case had her moving so fast.

Instead, however, Mel’s expression with brimming with barely contained excitement, her gaze searching everywhere around Jack but never properly landing on the man himself “Was that Y/N I heard? Is she here?”

With a disbelieving huff, Jack went back to his chart “you just missed her”

“No she’s by the door with Robby” Dana cut in with a smile, enjoying the way Jacks neck nearly snapped as he whipped his gaze across the ED to where you now stood with Robby, talking animatedly about something while the older man listened with  a smile on his face and hands in his pockets, looking much more relaxed than the two of them usually saw him within the department.

Mel peeled off without a second word to either of them, the pair watching the way your expression lit up once more as you recognized her as she approached.

“You gonna correct that” Dana nodded vaguely in your direction, her and Jack leaning onto the counter of the nurse’s station from opposite sides watching you give Mel an enthusiastic high five over whatever story she had rushed over to tell you.

“Probably talk to everyone at some point” Jack shrugged in response “the Pitt can’t afford to come to a screeching halt every time she so much as walks in the doors”

“No dumbass” Dana admonishes with a dramatic groan “it’s good the way everyone brightens up when she’s here. God knows we could use some positivity around here. I mean Whitaker’s comment about the wrong name”

“I mean she’s already told him to call her by her first name but I could talk to him-“

Dana silenced Jack with a glare, the attending turning his attention back to you from across the room as you eagerly talked to Mel and Robby.

“Was thinking about asking Robby to go ring shopping with me this weekend” he admitted softly “Scale of 1-10 how bad of an idea is that”

“Not where I thought this story was going but love is love so I support-“ now it was Jack’s turn to silence Dana with a glare, the charge nurse enjoying way too much the way the tips of his ears colored at the admission.

“a seven” she mused with a shrug, turning her attention back to you as you finally said goodbye to the two doctors “maybe a six” she let the silence settle around them and watched as Jack eyed her with a skeptical glare from her periphery “invite me along and I can keep it below a three”

Jack studied her for a second, crossing his arms over his chest before nodding softly “done”

Dana fought to keep the grin off her face as Robby finally started to make his way towards the two of them, Jack catching him slipping an awfully familiar looking protein bar into the pocket of his sweatshirt “Jesus how many of those does she have”

Robby shrugged with a chuckle, eyes casting up to the board above the desk as he did so “she mentioned something about having extra chocolate ones”

“I saw her slipping Santos bags of trail mix earlier if you’d prefer that” Dana chimed in with a smirk as Jack huffed dramatically.

“did everyone get to talk to her but me this morning?”

“You get her every day, stop being so selfish” Robby clasped his shoulder with a smug grin, giving it a soft shake.

 “Selfish” Jack repeated under his breath with a shake of his head, eyes going up to the board to pick out his next case as he did so “god forbid I want to spend time with my future wife”

He hadn’t even realized he said it out loud until the Pitt around him seemed to go unnaturally quiet. Casting his gaze back down he caught Robby and Dana sharing pointed, amused looks before turning their teasing grins back on him.

All he could get out was a simple “no” before he was storming off to the closest room, refusing to acknowledge the way Robby yelled out a threat after him “We will be talking about this later”

Free Fallin' (jack abbot x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbot x university proffesor f!reader Word Count: 4.4K Rating: E

Summary: On your birthday, your best friend convinces you to celebrate in a big way. The night takes a wild turn when you get a little too rowdy and accidentally fall off a bar table, ending up in the emergency room. There, you meet the charming and handsome Doctor Abbot.

Or simply…

You’re hot for your doctor. And he’s hot for you too.

Warning: reader is 30 (adjunct professor & PhD candidate), meet-cute, language, alcohol use, implied age gap (jack is however old you want), internal thoughts about aging as a woman, mentions of a mild injury, sexual tension, smutty thoughts, mutual pining, flirting, brief jealousy (jack is not amused), banter (i hope its witty enough), romcom vibes, fluff, implied smut

A/N: This came to me, and I just had to write it. Brainrot is real. Also, I am not a doctor, so I apologize if anything is medically inaccurate. Thank you Google for your support while I researched. Ok, running away now!

Jack Abbot Masterlist

You woke up with a sharp, pounding ache behind my eyes, the kind that made your head feel like it was in a vice. Blinking against the sterile white ceiling, you immediately noticed the dull throbbing that told you that you had definitely taken a fucking fall. Your whole body felt sore, and a faint, lingering dizziness made the edges of your vision wobble.

Beside you, your best friend Naomi sat in a chair, her shoulders hunched, her face streaked with tears and sniffles. She looked up as you stirred, her eyes glassy with relief and worry. "Thank God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You’re awake."

You wanted to ask what happened, why you were here, but the pain in your head made the words come out muffled and fuzzy. She reached over, grasping my hand tightly. "You had a pretty bad fall," she explained softly. "You slipped off the bar table during karaoke, and you hit your head pretty hard. One moment you were belting out the chorus, and the next, you were sprawled on the floor, auditioning for a new role as a human pancake,"

Your lips twisted into a weak smile at the absurdity of the situation. The image of yourself flopping onto the floor during karaoke—hit you. The pain made your head hurt, but you couldn’t stop the giggle from spilling out.

It was coming back to you. You really took singing Free Fallin’ a bit too literally—literally falling off the bar table. So, lesson learned: next time don’t mix your fucking liquor.

Just then, a calm, reassuring voice interrupted. "Excuse me,"

It was a very handsome man.

He was painfully good looking.

He stepped into view, his eyes kind and professional.

"I know you might not remember me since you were going in and out of consciousness, but I’m Dr. Abbot, and I’m the doctor on your case. When you were brought in by ambulance, I was the one who examined you. You suffered some bleeding on your forehead from the fall, so I bandaged it up to stop the bleeding. You’re experiencing a mild concussion, but there’s no internal bleeding or serious brain injury."

As Dr. Abbot moved closer—you felt a 'ga-gunk' in your chest and thought it was probably just related to your lingering dizziness. He carefully adjusted the monitor at the foot of your bed, attaching the leads to your chest and checking your pulse at your wrist.

He glanced at the chart hanging beside your bed, his brow furrowing slightly as he noted your vitals—heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels—all within normal ranges. The soft beeping of the monitor was a steady backdrop to his calm voice as he explained each finding.

But your eyes kept drifting upward, drawn to the broad curve of his shoulders in his black scrubs. The way his sleeves stretched slightly over his biceps caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension and strength in his arms as he moved.

Your eyes lingered a little longer than intended, caught on the lines of muscle beneath the fabric, the way his forearms flexed as he reached to check your IV. You quickly looked away when he caught your gaze, feeling a burn creeping up your cheeks.

"Typically, patients with concussions are observed overnight, at least for 24 hours, to monitor for any worsening symptoms. Since you’re stable and your symptoms are manageable, we’ll keep you here for a few hours for observation, and then we can reassess. Do you have any questions?"

You hesitated, your tongue feeling heavy and awkward. The words caught in your throat, and instead of trying to speak, you simply shook your head, your eyes flickering downward as if the answer was written there instead.

"I’ll be back soon." He offered a gentle smile and stepped out of the room, leaving you alone with Naomi.

Naomi immediately perked up, her tear-streaked face softening as she watched you settle back into the pillows. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she leaned closer and lowered her voice. "I overheard the nurses talking," she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. "They say Dr. Abbot’s single."

You rolled your eyes, pinching her, and Naomi chuckled softly, stretching her arms above her head.

"You should go home," you told her. "You look like shit."

She scoffed, stubborn as ever. "Fuck off," she shot back, but her eyes softened as she reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "But seriously, I’m glad you’re okay."

"Thanks, girl. Go get some rest—you might need it more than I do right now."

"Happy Birthday!"

Your eyes drifted toward the clock on the wall. The minute hand had just reached the twelve—midnight. The second hand swept steadily, marking the moment when your birthday officially began.

You let out a dry chuckle, sarcasm curling around your words as you glanced at the clock. "Well, nothing screams celebration like a concussion and a hospital stay." Internally, though, your stomach clenched. Honestly, you’d been dreading this birthday—more than you cared to admit. There was something about turning 30 as a woman that felt... stressful. Sure, aging was a privilege—something to be grateful for—but lately, you’d been feeling scared about it. Thirty wasn’t old, not by any stretch, but it definitely didn’t feel young anymore. You weren’t in your 20s anymore, and that realization was going to take some getting used to.

Naomi leaned in for a quick hug. "I’ll check in later tonight. Or I guess it’s today now? But if you need anything—anything at all—just text me or call me."

"Thanks. Love you."

"Love you too. Rest up. You’ve got an entire new decade to conquer," she teased.

As the door swung open again, Dr. Abbot stepped in, a small tray in hand with a syringe and a couple of pill bottles.  He set the tray down carefully on the bedside table and looked at you with a slight smile. "Just some more medication to help you with the pain," he said softly. "And to help you sleep and make sure you’re comfortable. To be safe, we’re going to keep you here for 24 hours for observation."

A strange wave of embarrassment washed over you at his words. The reality of your situation sank in—this wasn’t just a quick bump and a bandage; they wanted to monitor you overnight. The thought of being stuck in the hospital made you feel like a dumbass.

You blinked, then hesitated before speaking. "You know, I… I almost never drink,"

Dr. Abbot paused for a moment. "Oh?" he prompted softly, a slight arch of his brow as he prepared to hear what you had to say.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the heat rise in your face. "I feel like a fucking idiot," you admitted quickly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. "I’m the boring one in my friend group. I’m an adjunct professor at Carnegie Mellon, while I complete my PhD dissertation, so I’m usually grading papers, preparing lectures, or doing research—you know? I’m not the type to get drunk on a Thursday night. I don’t really go out much. I’m usually the type to stay in, read a book, or binge-watch some murder mystery documentary."

You sighed, a little embarrassed now. "My best friend convinced me to throw a birthday party with my closest friends, even though I didn’t want to celebrate. I hate birthdays, honestly. Always have. But she said it was important and that I needed to let loose… and well, here we are." You looked down at your hands, feeling exposed and a bit vulnerable, wondering if your doctor thought you were pathetic.

He paused for a beat, then offered a gentle, reassuring smile. "You know," he began, trying to lighten the mood, "I don’t even remember my 30th birthday. The only thing I remember is waking up in a bathtub after what I can only assume was a pretty wild night. No idea how I got there. Next thing I knew, I had to go in for a shift—completely hungover. Shit happens."

You glanced up, surprised by his openness. His tone was easy, almost amused, as if sharing a little secret. He gave a small, deliberate nod and reached for the syringe on the tray. His eyes briefly flicked to your face, studying you with an almost clinical attentiveness, but beneath that, there was a subtle softness—an unspoken kindness that lingered in his gaze. He gently inserted the syringe into your IV port, administering the medication with careful steadiness. His fingers, though deliberate, brushed lightly against your wrist as he checked your veins.

"You mentioned you’re an adjunct. What do you teach?"

"Economics. Specifically, game theory."

A small, almost appreciative smile touched his lips. "Ah, game theory. That’s a fascinating field—complex, strategic, and very precise. I imagine your classes must be quite engaging. Do you find it challenging to keep your students interested with such abstract concepts?"

"It depends on the class, but I try to make it as interactive as possible," you said, forcing a smile. Inside, though, you were in pain, and you winced as you spoke, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

As Dr. Abbot finished administering the medication, he paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on yours with a subtle, almost inscrutable expression. He seemed to sense something was off.

"Game theory," he began softly, his voice smooth and deliberate, "is all about understanding the strategies of others—predicting their moves, and then choosing your own accordingly. Maybe I can apply that here." He tilted his head slightly. "In this hospital room, I suppose we're both playing a kind of game. You're trying to recover, and I’m trying to ensure you're safe. My goal is to make sure you're not in any pain, and yours—" he paused "—is to let me know if anything feels off.”

He leaned in just slightly, his tone still light but precise. "You could try to hide discomfort, acting as if everything’s fine—maybe bluffing to keep the game going. Or, you might be straightforward, signaling clearly if something's bothering you. But I’m watching for those signals—every subtle shift, every reaction." His eyes pierced into your soul. "I’m trying to read your moves—predicting whether you’re in pain or just playing it cool."

There was a brief pause before he continued, his voice soft but focused. "And I suppose I’m deciding whether to make a move now—maybe ask more directly—or wait and see if you reveal your hand." His beautiful eyes flicked over your face, measuring, attentive, as if probing for clues.

You started to feel the effects of the medication—your thoughts drifting, your senses slightly dulled, yet the way he looked at you made your heartbeat quicken. The combination of his words and the gentle sedation created a strange, intoxicating feeling.

Suddenly, with a breathless laugh, you blurted out, "You know... you’re really fucking handsome." The words tumbled out despite the pain you were trying to hide. The medication made your voice softer, your words more honest and unfiltered. You winced again, silently telling him you were in pain, your face betraying your attempt to keep up the act.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face for just a moment before he composed himself again, a subtle, knowing smirk forming, rubbing his scruff to hide his smile. "Well," he replied, voice steady and measured, as if he’d been waiting for that admission all along. "It seems you’re quite good at playing your hand."

As the medication’s gentle grip began to take hold, your eyelids grew heavier, the edges of your vision softening into a haze. The steady rhythm of the monitor seemed to lull you further into a drowsy state. Your head sank slightly into the pillow, and your breathing slowed, each inhale more relaxed than the last.

With a faint, breathless whisper, you managed to voice the question that had been lingering in your mind. "What’s your name?"

"Jack," he replied quietly.

You paused, savoring the sound of his name on your tongue, a soft, almost breathless repetition. "Jack," you echoed, the word slipping out with a tender, lingering tone before your eyelids fluttered shut, and the room gently faded into darkness.

The next morning, the hospital room was quiet but busy with the steady hum of activity outside your door. You woke slowly, the lingering fog of medication still dulling your senses, but feeling surprisingly clearer than the night before. Your body was less sore, and the pounding in your head had abated to a dull throb.

You waited a few hours before calling your parents, who lived in New York, because if you had reached out last night, they would have thought you were dying. You didn’t want them to worry, since they already didn’t love the fact that you lived in Pittsburg away from family.

After finally summoning the courage to call, you could hear your mother’s voice cracking when she spoke, trying to sound stable but failing. You could almost see her clutching the phone tightly. Meanwhile, your father’s voice burst with a flurry of questions—how you were feeling, what exactly happened, which hospital you were at, and what the doctors were saying. His tone was urgent, almost frantic, and you could tell he was weighing the options in his mind, close to booking a flight himself just to make sure you were okay.

You had to remind them both that it was just a concussion, that Naomi would be keeping a close eye on you, and that you were in good hands. You reassured them that you were doing fine, and that you would rest and follow the doctor’s instructions.

Still, you understood their worry—distance made everything worse.

Dr. Abbot—or Jack came in a few times throughout the day, each visit brief but impactful. He checked your vitals meticulously, his eyes flicking between the monitor and your face. Each time, he seemed to study you carefully as if trying to gauge how well you were really doing.

He was so attentive.

It was making you feel crazy inside. And horny.

You had to remind yourself he was just doing his job.

Your nurses, Dana and Princess, meanwhile, cast subtle glances in his direction when they thought you weren’t looking. You noticed the way they exchanged knowing looks, lips pressed into thin lines, or small smirks that seemed to carry some unspoken joke. Once or twice, you caught him with a slight blush when he thought you weren’t watching—an odd, almost humanizing detail that made him seem more approachable, more real.

You learned a few things about him—some through conversations with him, and others from the nurses. He told you he was a veteran and had been a combat medic. Princess mentioned that he’d volunteer and come in on his days off sometimes.

Dana even shared a story about him giving blood while actively treating patients, emphasizing that you had one of the best doctors on your case. It was clear he was dedicated, going above and beyond in ways that went beyond just doing his job.

Friends from your party last night trickled in over the course of the day—Naomi, of course, first and most persistent. She brought flowers, a card, and a bag of snacks. Other friends arrived in small groups, some cracking jokes, others just sitting quietly, holding your hand, or showing you embarrassing pictures and videos from last night.

At one point, you were sitting up a little with your close friend, Max. You’d been chatting lightly, everyone else had left at this point, when the door swung open again.

In stepped Jack, a serious but composed look on his face. His eyes immediately landed on you, then shifted toward Max, who was mid-laugh, clearly enjoying a joke you’d just told.

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the scene—your relaxed posture, the way this man was leaning toward you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. It wasn’t an overt gesture, but enough for Jack to notice.

"Visiting hours are over," Jack said curtly, voice even but with an unmistakable edge, as he stepped into the room and looked directly at Max. His tone was firm, controlled—more a command than a suggestion.

You glanced at the clock—there was still about an hour left before visiting hours officially ended, but you didn’t bother correcting him. Max looked at Jack with a hint of surprise, then nodded politely.

"See you later," Max leaned down and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping out of the room.

Jack’s sharp eyes lingered on Max for a moment longer until the door closed before turning to you. "Boyfriend?"

You let out a soft, amused laugh, shaking your head. "Oh my god. No, no. Just a buddy."

He blinked, clearing his throat, and then softly pulled a chair closer to the side of your bed. "In about an hour, you’re going to hit that 24-hour observation window. How are you feeling? Ready to sign some discharge papers, or do you think you might need a little more time here to rest?"

"Honestly, as lovely as this hospital stay has been—really, I’ve enjoyed the cocoon of this really sterile environment and the constant soundtrack of beeping monitors. But, I have to admit, I miss my bed. The king-size throne I call my own. Nothing beats the plush comfort of my mattress after a long day of pretending to be a responsible adult."

Jack raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Plush? Nothing beats the support of a good foam mattress. I mean, have you ever tried those memory foam wonders? They contour to your body, cradle you like a baby, and make you forget all your troubles."

You snorted. "Please. Foam beds are overrated. Give me a sturdy, springy mattress any day. Something that bounces back when I flop onto it, and doesn’t sink me into a deep abyss where I’ll never be found."

Jack chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "A bounce, huh? I’m more of a memory foam person myself. Plus, it’s scientifically proven to align your spine. You know, for healthy back support."

You rolled your eyes. "Support is overrated."

Jack grinned, crossing his arms. "Foam beds are like having a personal cloud that you can mold to your exact liking. Plus, no metal springs poking you in the middle of the night—unlike some of us who grew up sleeping on ancient mattresses that felt like a medieval torture device."

"Well, Dr. Abbot," you murmured softly, "maybe next time I need a little more support, I should find someone who can make sure I’m comfortable—preferably someone with a very gentle touch." Your gaze lingered on his, eyes flickering with a hint of invitation. "And I have a feeling you’d be pretty good at that."

His eyebrows lifted, and he gave you this look that clearly said he was surprised by your bold comment. Honestly, you were a little shocked yourself; maybe the drugs hadn’t fully worn off yet.

Fuck… why did you say that?

You could have sworn he was staring at your lips, but maybe you were just imagining it. He didn’t look like he was so much older than you that it would be out of the question for him to find you attractive, but enough that you knew he might think you were too young for him.

You shifted slightly in the bed, feeling the faint ache in your muscles as you prepared to sit up. You knew the moment had come to get yourself ready to leave. "Alright," you said softly, your voice a little hoarse. "I need to get changed before I sign the discharge papers."

Jack leaned forward slightly. "Take your time, I’ll bring those discharge papers for you."

You carefully swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up slowly, making your way to the small bathroom in the corner of the room, closing the door behind you. You peeled off the hospital gown, feeling the cool air on your skin, and then slipped into your own clothes that Naomi had brought over for you earlier—comfortable jeans, a cozy sweater, and your favorite sneakers. Once dressed, you took a moment to compose yourself, steadying your breath.

When you stepped back into the room, Jack was standing near your bedside table and had set the discharge papers there. You grabbed the discharge papers from the bedside table, glancing over them briefly—your signature was required here, a few checkboxes, and some instructions.

You picked up the pen, your hand steady despite the lingering fatigue. With a few deliberate strokes, you signed your name.

"Who’s picking you up from the hospital?"

"Naomi."

Jack nodded.

You looked up at him, offering a small, tentative smile as you extended your hand. "It was nice to meet you, Dr. Abbot,"

He paused for a moment, studying your face before reaching out to take your hand in his. His grip was firm but gentle, and for a brief second, there was a flicker of something in the air. You could sense the shift—the way his eyes darkened slightly, the way the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was struggling to maintain his composure.

"Likewise," he replied, exhaling through his nose. "But you can call me Jack. You’re not my patient anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, as if he was about to say more—maybe lean in, maybe close the distance between you with a kiss. You could sense the shift in the atmosphere—but just as that moment seemed inevitable, his pager chirped insistently from his belt, breaking the spell. The sound was intrusive, almost cruel as it echoed in the stillness of the room. You both jumped slightly, the surprise breaking the spell that had wrapped around you. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at the device, then looked back at you.

"I’m sorry," he said quickly, voice returning to a professional tone. "Something urgent just came up,"

You nodded slowly, trying to mask the disappointment that threatened to spill over. "No worries. Go save some lives,"

With a slight nod, he stepped back, giving you one last, lingering look before turning on his heel and heading out the door.

One Week Later

It was Friday, and your classroom was finally emptying out, students gathering their belongings, whispering excitedly or yawning as they headed toward the exits. Towards their weekends. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, and you leaned against the podium, watching the last of your students shuffle past, their chatter fading into the hallway.

One voice drifted over the murmur of footsteps.

"You know, I had the biggest crush on one of my professors back when I was in college."

You turned slightly, catching a glimpse of a figure leaning casually against the back wall, a familiar, easy smile on his face. It was Dr. Abbot—Jack—standing there with a relaxed posture.

Your heart still skipped a beat.

But you decided to play it cool. And not show your hand quite yet.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "What class did your professor teach?"

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Anatomy,"

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and your mind went directly to the gutter.

Stepping forward, you called out casually, "Dr. Abbot."

He looked over at you, eyes crinkling when his smile widened as he pushed off the wall and approached you.

"Call me Jack," he reminded you, voice even, no nonsense.

"Right. Jack," you repeated, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He gently lifted his hand and reached out to touch your forehead, "This okay?"

You nodded.

His touch was reassuring yet delicate. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond medical concern. You closed your eyes as he shifted into doctor mode, asking you quick questions, and how you’d been feeling. Despite the clinical tone, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart at the tender way he looked at you and asked about your recovery. After a moment, he slowly withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side and slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I hope I’m not overstepping," he hesitated slightly, then offered a nervous chuckle. "With just your name, Google made it pretty easy to find out what days and times you teach on campus when I found your syllabus online." His smile was genuine, but there was a gentle caution in his tone—like he meant no harm and didn’t want to push any boundaries. He paused for a moment before adding, "And I have to say, your rating on RateMyProfessor is stellar. Clearly, students think very highly of you."

You felt the heat creep onto your cheeks at the compliment.

"Well, Jack," you said with a playful tone, "I’m glad to know my privacy is so easily compromised. Maybe I should just start handing out my home address next." Your eyes twinkled with amusement, clearly teasing him.

"Or maybe," he said softly, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you should just hand out your phone number next. So, that I can take you out to dinner."

The grin that stretched across your face was massive.

There was just something about him.

Normally, making the first move wasn’t something you would do. But right now, you didn’t care. You hooked your fingers into the collar of his Henley and tugged him forward, pressing your lips to his. He hesitated for a beat, not reacting right away. Jack’s expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, he brought his lips back to yours, a deep guttural groan escaping him as he finally responded. Your tongue traced over his lower lip, and he took that as an invitation to intensify the kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he cupped your face with his hands as the kiss grew hotter and more frantic.

By the third date, you discovered that his bed really was as comfortable as he claimed.

Maybe foam beds weren’t so bad after all.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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have some sexy shawn scenes from reckless

Something Else (Perfumer Part 2)

Jack Abbot x Bratty f!Reader

6.8k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CWs: NSFW, MDNI 18+, established relationship, dom!jack vibes, oral f receiving, mention of alcohol, biting, hickeys, manhandling, edging, stubble burn reference, spanking, unprotected PIV sex (birth control not discussed, but implied with the established relationship), age gap (reader 30ish, Jack mid/late 40s) but not mentioned, teasing, reader is a brat, like a really really big brat, no use of y/n or related, zero proofreading of any kind.

Summary: Continuation of Perfumer. Jack finally gets off shift and home to you. Bratty reader gets tamed.

AN: This feels like such an abrupt change of pace from No Man's Land which is where I have been living. It was just in my head and I needed to get it out. It's pretty much straight PWP which has historically been rare for me. I am quite nervous about posting this one because my smut writing feels so so so rusty and potentially not very great. So, I hope it's okay!

This is the look I picture him giving reader at the beginning!

Jack hears the quiet and slightly shuddery breath you take in at his words and can’t help but smirk. 

He likes this little game you guys play, likes when you’re a brat and he has to tame you and earn your submission. Likes when you start it subtly out in public.

Collins walks up to the opposite side of the desk around the same time you and Jack arrive. You share a brief moment of eye contact and then you scratch at your ear. You stop with Jack at the desk and stand close to him, close enough for your sides to touch. 

“Hey,” Collins calls your name to get your attention. You’ve become very close friends very fast. “I’m working with your man tonight, but I’m off tomorrow with some of the other girls and we were thinking of trying that new brunch place two blocks up once I’m off.” Jack’s head pops up and looks between you and Collins before settling back on you. “We figure somewhere between nine and eleven a.m. But McKay said she was happy to provide pregame mimosas at her place while you wait for me. She said she was fine with seven, good to stay on schedule.” 

 “That sounds so fun!” You nod at her, start walking over towards her, acutely aware of the way Jack tracks you as you do. “I’ve really been wanting to try that place! Probably makes the most sense for me to go over to McKay’s at seven if she’s going to be awake, just in case you actually get off on time for once.” 

Collins goes to speak again but Jack speaks first. “Don’t you already have plans?” 

You look back over at him confused. “No? Not unless I’m forgetting something.”

Subconsciously Jack moves his head towards you. “I think you are,” he nods. “Remember, we made plans.”

“Did we? When?” You go to say more but you’re interrupted by Collins laughter. “Heather!”

“I’m so sorry, the look on his face, I couldn’t help it!” She keeps laughing and it makes you laugh. 

“What?” Jack asks, clearly unamused. 

“We’re just screwing with you Jackie!” You giggle as you walk over to him. “We had a prearranged plan and signal to do this when I finally felt the time was right.” 

Jack blinks at you. “Did you now?” 

“Don’t pout.” You stick your lip out dramatically. “I have not forgotten our plans,” you assure him. You drop your voice for only the two of you to hear and run your hands over his chest, smoothing out his scrub top. “And I can assure you that I would never forget the kind of plans we have, nor would I ever take a rain check on them for some other offer.” 

“You’re a brat,” he replies lowly, an edge to his voice that makes another chill run up your spine. 

“You like it,” you whisper back to him before leaning up on your toes to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you, Heather!” You call out to her as she walks away and she just waves, still laughing to herself. “Have a great shift Dr. Abbot. Try not to have too much fun without me. Love you.” 

“Yeah, I love you too.” His eyes still track you as you walk backwards a little and wave at him before turning to walk out. “Hey,” he calls to you. You look back with your eyebrows raised in expectation. “Promises.”

You bite your lip and nod before turning again to leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You let yourself get some sleep while Jack works but make sure to set an alarm for 6:45 a.m. so that you can be up when he’s off. Or at least when he’s supposed to be off. Unsurprisingly, there’s no text from him at 7:00, but at 7:05 you get one. 

J – Probably going to be a few hours late.

You – No worries, me and my ankles will be here waiting patiently for your arrival home.

The next text comes at 10:07 a.m.

J – You up?

You – Of course. Just freshened up the ankles for you, loverboy.

You can practically see his eyes rolling from here, but you know he likes it. 

J – You will not like what will happen if you are not on the bed naked and waiting when I get home. 

You – That another promise, Jackie?

At that one you can just picture the way he clenched his jaw as he got in his car. You’re not surprised when you don’t get an answer. 

You do as he asks though. Kind of. 

You shut the bedroom door and strip, and then you put on what you think are one of the sexiest pairs of panties you own. 

You walk over to your shared bed and lay down, propping yourself up with a pillow just enough that you can make eye contact with anyone who walks through the door. 

You let your hand drift lower and lower until your fingers brush over your clit on top of the fabric. He hadn’t given you permission, hadn’t told you to even start getting yourself ready for him. You keep touching yourself, let your fingers rub circles over your clit, use the fabric rubbing against you as a new sensation, all the while thinking of what he’s going to do to you when he gets home. 

Your panties are noticeably wet by the time you hear the front door open, fingers sticky with your arousal despite having stayed on top of the fabric the whole time. 

Jack can feel himself starting to fill out again as he reads how you freshened up your ankles for him. You’ve pushed him today. But he needs it. He thrives on it, almost always, on taming you. On pushing you to the edge of your limits. On earning your submission.  

The drive is mercifully traffic free. He steps into your place, locks the door behind him and just drops his backpack on the floor. Doesn’t put it aside in its usual spot. Doesn’t hang his coat up on one of the hooks. Doesn’t call out for you. 

His coat lands wherever it finally falls off him as he stalks through the house towards your room. His shirt meets the same fate, landing not far from the bedroom door. He’s already fully hard by the time his hand hits the doorknob and pushes open your bedroom door. 

In retrospect he’s not sure why it wasn’t, but the sight of you on the bed, looking right at him, almost totally naked and rubbing your clit over your panties was not what he expected to see when he opened the door. He didn’t expect to hear your soft panting and the softest and most breathy moan of his name. Jack. He tries not to let you see how it gets to him, how you get to him but he knows you’ll see the clench of his jaw and flare of his nostrils. You’re a sight. The most beautiful and erotic one he’s ever seen. 

You bite your lip at him, fight to keep the smirk off your face, but don’t stop. After locking eyes with him for a moment you let your eyes move from his and trail all over his chest and abdomen and arms. And the now very prominent bulge in his scrub pants. He’s too handsome. He burns you sometimes you swear, just by standing there shirtless and silent with that stoic face of his and that jaw and those eyes that ever so slightly tell you just how affected he is. 

Wordlessly Jack steps further into the room and shuts the door before looking back at you. Silence like this always means something with him. Means he’s sexually frustrated and annoyed with you. Means he’s ready to tame. The way he cocks his head just slightly, though, is a silent challenge.  

“It’s funny, sweetheart. I don’t remember my text saying anything about you being allowed to touch yourself and distinctly remember it telling you to be naked on the bed.” His voice is too calm, too composed. He has too much control over himself, it drives you insane sometimes.

“Well,” you sigh softly, roll your hips a bit as you keep circling your clit, “the text didn’t say not to touch myself.” You take a second to let out a few more moans, another of his name, lick your lips. “And technically I’m not really touching myself. The fabric is touching me, there’s been no skin on skin, Jackie,” you smirk at him. 

Jack clenches his jaw and lets out a short hummed laugh. He doesn’t say anything though. He just takes his scrub pants off, tosses them in the corner and looks back at you in just his boxer briefs.  

He stalks closer to the bed, closer to you. “You think you’re real fuckin’ cute, don’t you?”

“Are you saying I’m not?” You pout just a little too cloyingly and he knows you’re still trying to fuck with him. 

“That’s not an answer.” A little jaw clench there. 

“Hmmm,” you hum, finally take your fingers away from yourself and up to your mouth, sucking them clean before releasing them. “Well it’s the only one you’re going to get.” 

“That so?” 

He can be so quick when he wants to be and before his question has fully hit you and you can start thinking of some bratty reply he’s leant over the center of the foot of the bed enough to grab your ankles and pull you down the bed. It’s so unexpected you yelp, but not in pain. He’s a doctor, he knows just where to grab to not pull too much on your hip or ankle. “Well that wasn’t a very bratty noise now, was it sweetheart?”

He pulls you by the hips now so that your ass is at the edge of the bed, rips your panties down and off you. Before you can wrap your legs around his waist he catches them, holds them up parallel to his body in front of him, but spread just enough for him to stand in between them. It gives him the perfect view of your pussy, glistening and on display for him. You see his eyes slip down to take you in before he drags them back to yours. He holds your eye contact as he moves his face towards one of your ankles and breaks your gaze just as the side of his face starts to brush your inner calf. 

Jack turns his face completely and you can see him hold his breath while he gives you just a little check in, a quick kiss to the inside of your ankle. And then he takes a deep breath through his nose. 

His head snaps back to look at you, pupils blown as wide as they can be, jaw clenched and rolling with the subtlest twitch under his eye for a second that only you would notice. His hands grip your legs tighter, tight enough to hurt just a little. Anyone else might think he was looking at you with controlled but raging anger. 

But you know that it’s a look of primal, possessive need, that Jack’s on fire for you, all searing skin and simmering blood and deep panting breaths. You know that his cock hurts as it strains against the fabric of his boxer briefs because he needs you so viscerally.

There’s another glance down at your pussy again as you hum saccharinely. His eyes snap back to yours. The slowest smirk pulls across your face as you hold his gaze, your eyes smoldering at him. For him. 

“Just thought you might like a little reminder of what’s yours, that’s all.”

Jack’s chest heaves just a little harder at your words and his eyes narrow slightly before pulling from yours and traveling down your body to take in you, all on display for him as he decides just what it is he wants to do with you.  

His cologne. 

His cologne is what you sprayed on your ankles. His cologne with just enough of a hint of your perfume coming through behind it so that it smells like you do after sex when he’s owned you, touched you so much and held you so close and fucked you so hard and so deep that the dewy sweat of your skin has evaporated much but not quite all of your perfume away and his cologne has stuck to you, marking you as his.

He’s still silent. Not brooding like he does sometimes. He’s just thinking. Just using the silence to toy with you and make you wait. Something about that makes you shiver. 

And Jack thinks he has you at that shiver. Keeps silent. Keeps looking at your body, especially your cunt. Keeps waiting for you to be the one to break and speak first. And you will be. 

But Jack thinks he has you and you saw it in a quick sweep of his eyes over your face at your shiver and you simply can’t have that. Not yet. 

“What’s wrong, Jackie?” You break the silence and give the smallest pout before your smirk comes back. “Pussy got your tongue?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, a slow smirk matching your own pulling up. He laughs a little. It’s a little more dangerous than if he hadn’t reacted because of how controlled it is, how it shows how much control he still has left. “Cute,” he nods at you as he caresses your ankles, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re cute when you’re a brat.” 

“I try-” You’re cut off by him suddenly bending your legs at the knee and pushing them towards you as he moves closer to the bed, drops to his knees on the carpet. He rests your feet on his shoulder, leaving your ankles right there for the fragrance to perfume the air. 

He takes in another long breath through his nose and you swear you can hear him growl before soft kisses are being placed up your inner thigh. Instead of moving inward though Jack kisses outward, along the inner line where your hip and thigh meet. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t spray anything here for me to find,” he murmurs against your skin as he kisses back towards where you’re desperate for him. 

“I considered it.” The words come out a little breathless as he gets closer and closer to your center. “But decided against it because then I would’ve had to listen to you bitch about not being able to smell me.”

Jack bites your inner thigh only a few inches away from your cunt and sucks, hard. Hard enough to leave imprints of his teeth, to suck a developing bruise into your skin. As he does so his stubble rubs lightly across your lips, breath hitching and hips twitching as you fight yourself to keep them down and not give him the satisfaction. 

He releases your thigh. “I don’t bitch,” he says nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly. As though he hasn’t noticed his face is an inch and a half away from your pussy. 

“Yes you-” You’re cut off with a gasp as Jack’s tongue licks up you cunt to clit. Your head falls back onto the pillow without a thought as the sensation of his tongue overwhelms you. 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he pulls away from you for just a second, “were you saying something?”

He renders you unable to answer by giving you another lick before using the tip of his tongue to trace lazy figure-eights around your clit. His tongue drops down again and he leans into you, sucks at as much of you as he can before going up to focus on your clit, taking it between his lips and sucking, but leaving just enough space to not get a complete seal so it doesn’t feel quite as good as it could. 

You whine softly about it because Jack’s eaten you out and sucked at your clit enough times for you to know how it normally feels, that he’s fucking insanely talented at it and that he never slips like this. So you know he’s doing it deliberately. 

He gives a little grunt against you to say fine, if you’re so unhappy with it he’ll go elsewhere, and the vibrations of it as he sucks and pulls away from your clit make your hips jolt. Jack’s hands immediately come up and hold your hips down, hands strong and warm and so big as he presses his fingertips down into your skin. 

Jack trails his tongue down, teasingly traces circles around your entrance as he basks in the little mewls you make for him. His cock throbs hard against the fabric of his boxer briefs and he gives the slightest groan about it. 

As quickly as his tongue dropped down to tease you it pushes inside of you and you moan, louder than you want to for him right now. Jack’s stubble rubs against your inner thighs as he tongue fucks you a few times and then pulls out, fingers squeezing your hips harder when you whine about it. 

His lips move back up to your clit and suck again, but this time the seal of them is tight around you, his tongue flicking little circles against you in his mouth. It steals your breath for a second as your back arches while your hips remain pinned to the bed by his hands. “Oh, Jack!” The moan is quiet, clearly slipping out of your lips unconsciously. Your hands fist the sheets hard before unclenching and starting to move down to his salt and pepper curls.

Jack isn’t looking at you, he has his eyes closed as he focuses on you and the little noises you’re making for him but that you’re trying to hide and how you taste and how you smell and how hot your pussy is on his skin, chin coated in you. But he doesn’t need to be looking to know your next move. 

He suddenly pulls his face from you. “Don’t even fucking try it or we’ll end this right here, right now and I’ll go fuck my fist in the shower.”

You freeze for a second and then pull your hands back up and twist at the sheets again, give him a huff. 

Jack takes the few seconds he’s pulled away from you to move his hands from your hips and push his boxer briefs down, freeing himself. He gives a little groan of relief when his hand wraps around him and tugs a few times. You’re already a little too fucked out to really notice.

He lets his hand stay there as he brings his face back to your cunt, starts licking and sucking again. He fucks his fist as he devours you whole, needs the relief even as a piece of him mourns the fact that it’s his hand and not your hand or your mouth or your cunt. 

Jack builds a pattern with his tongue, repeats it over and over as you writhe for him against the sheets, as you give him sweet little moan after moan until you’re finally moaning his name loudly. Pleasure courses through you and heat roils in your lower belly as your muscles contract tighter and tighter and Jack works you closer and closer. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant out “just like that Jack, just like that, fuck!”

And then he changes his pattern. You let out a vaguely frustrated sigh, but can’t stay true to it because the new pattern is just as good. You can feel him smirk against you at your sigh, move his face just a little so that his stubble scratches into you a little harder, starts to etch into your skin. 

Jack touches himself faster and faster as he licks and sucks at you, paying attention to how close he is and how close you are. The grunts and groans he pulls from himself send shivers through you and drive you that much closer to the edge. Your mind is so pleasure hazy you don’t even think to question why he’s making them. 

Once he gets himself right to the edge he slows down, is more absentminded with himself as he doubles down on you, pushes you right up to that same ledge with his tongue and mouth. He can feel your toes curl against him as you get a second away from the point of no return. 

You already know what’s going to happen but it doesn’t help, doesn’t make it easier to weather when he rips himself away from you. “No!” You cry it out for him despite yourself, despite wanting to appear unaffected. 

Jack laughs darkly. “You know only good girls get to cum, babygirl.”

You huff slightly, lay there panting with your eyes closed as you try and ride out your almost orgasm, hear Jack stand up. He lets one of your legs fall gently and holds the other up against his chest by your calf. So you wait for him. For whatever is next.  

You don’t expect the way he runs the palm of his hand through you though, the way he curls his fingers to drag up you in a way to collect as much of the arousal he’s pulled from you on his hand as possible. “Fuck, Jack!”

Your eyes fly open at you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him. The sight of him wrapping his slicked up palm and fingers around himself and starting to fuck his fist is unexpected but anything but unwelcome. 

“This could be, you know.” His voice is low, followed by a few low pants as he touches himself. “This should be you.” He lets his hand that’s holding your calf adjust your leg so that he can turn his head and breathe in through his nose at your upper ankle, let the smell of him owning you course through him. His head turns back and his eyes find yours. He stares at you with that same intensity from earlier but this time it’s glazed with an even heavier lust. “I should be in your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt,” he growls at you. “But am I?”

Though an obvious answer, it’s not a rhetorical question. He expects an answer. Expects you to acknowledge and think about how he’s not in your hand or your mouth or your cunt. You stare at him, can hear your heart beating in your ears, pussy growing wetter and mouth salivating at the thought. You just can’t help yourself though. 

“Well if you have to ask Jackie…” You give him a little shrug. 

“God, fuck!” Jack groans, voice strained as he aims his cock at you and comes all over your pussy and lower abdomen. He works himself through it, chest heaving, glistening with sweat and flushed as he slows his hand and releases himself. “You’re fucking pushing it,” he almost laughs, but it’s more an observation he happens to find entertaining. 

He stares at his cum that sticks so prettily to your skin and pussy, claiming you just for him as he lets himself come down from his orgasm. “You look so beautiful like his,” he murmurs lowly, voice huskier than normal. “Covered in me.”

Before you can say anything he looks away from you and grabs the panties you were wearing, uses them to clean you off and sits you up. It surprises you a little, that he’s so eager to wipe it away. But then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. 

He shows you again just how quick he can be, and you’re yelping again at the suddenness of finding yourself bent over his knees with his palm caressing one of your ass cheeks. There’s no build up. There doesn’t need to be. You know why you’re in this position. 

“Count.” It’s an order.

“Or what? You’ll spank me?”

He does, obviously. It’s a little harder than he had been planning the first one to be just because of the extra attitude, the smacking sound a little sharper. Another one to the other cheek follows swiftly. He can feel you squirm on him and hear the softest moan that just makes it through your lips into the air despite your otherwise lack of reaction. 

There’s a pause as he waits. Waits for you to say one. Two. 

“I distinctly remember telling you to count.” His voice is still so composed even with as low in pitch as it drops.

“I am!” You huff at him. He squeezes at one of your cheeks where his hand just came down. “I am!” You repeat, doing your best to sound indignant which is difficult given the position you find yourself in. “In my head.” You feel his entire body tense. “What? You just said count. Not count out loud.”

Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He’s quite certain he hears you giggle about it. There’s some part of him that’s a little proud of you for this little display. He shifts his legs a little, spreads them just a bit and runs his hand over your cheek and under you to pinch your clit. Not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make you jolt and let out another pretty little moan for him. You can feel him start to get hard again against your thigh. 

“Outloud.”

Another little giggle. 

“Sir, yes sir.” 

He’s good at spanking, you have to give him that. He gives you ten in total, five to each cheek. He doesn’t alternate every time, brings his hand down in quick succession sometimes and makes you wait torturously for it to come back down at others, varies the pressure and how hard he brings his hand down against you, where he brings it down. 

By the time he’s done tears sting at your eyes as your ass throbs, burning and sore and stinging in its own right. 

“Good girl.” It’s low, breathed out more than actually spoken as he leans you back up, but you’re still able to hear it. The part of your brain that wants to be a brat feels betrayed by the part that glows at his praise and approval and sends warm happiness flowing through you. 

“Center of the bed. On your stomach.” For once this morning you actually do as he asks, crawl your way to the center of the bed and lay on your stomach as he takes his prosthetic off and crawls up in between your legs. 

You rest your head on its side, look back at him as much as you can. His eyes run over your ass as his hands grab your hips and haul you up to your knees. You go to push yourself up on your hands or elbows but all too quickly his hand wraps around the back of your neck and pushes you back down wordlessly. 

With his other hand he gets himself lined up with you and pushes inside you slowly, cognizant that while he’s already edged you and gotten you nearly dripping for him, only his tongue has been inside you, no fingers to help prep you. You whimper but Jack knows you well enough to know that its not from physical pain but rather from how slowly he’s sliding into you. 

As he bottoms out Jack closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, a little shaky because fuck do you feel good and fuck has he been waiting to be buried inside you since you showed up at the Pitt. 

He pulls out of you slowly, lets you feel every ridge and vein of him before he snaps his hips hard to get himself back inside of you. 

“Ohh,” you moan out, “Jack, fuck.” He does it again, pulls out torturously slow and snaps back in. 

“You want more baby?” He says as saccharine and teasing as you’d spoken to him when he got home. He pulls out a little faster this time, moves his hand from your neck and uses both hands to help pull you back onto him so he can fuck you even harder. 

You immediately go to get up on your elbows again. “Stay down,” Jack warns, curling over you a little and using his hand to guide you back down. It changes the angle, makes him slide deeper inside of you which draws a moan from you and an erratic buck of his hips as he chases the feeling. 

“But I can’t see you like this,” you pout, breathing heavily. 

“Brats don’t get to see,” Jack grunts out, leans back up and returns both hands to your hips so that he can return to fucking you harder. 

You take in a couple of panted breaths, tilt your head at an awkward angle for a second to see a little more of him. You know he sees you do it. Somehow you manage to smile at him. 

“You’re cute when you’re all worked up.” You mirror his words from earlier back to him and manage the smallest smirk before turning your head back to a neutral position. 

Jack lets out a quick scoff. “You’re really fucking something else today.” Jack slides his hands up a little and pushes down, forcing your ass to come up higher for him, again letting him get deeper and hit harder with the added bonus of keeping your head on the mattress. He watches your hands curl in the sheets as he rails you.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. 

He snarks a laugh at how you don’t have to be given that instruction twice, hand sliding between your legs and rubbing erratically at your clit as your brain starts to get pleasure drunk off his cock.  

Neither of you speak for a bit, not real words. It’s just the sounds of your panting and the moans and groans you pull from each other and the slap of skin on skin. You’re the first to break.

“Oh god! Jack!” You mewl as the pleasure starts to overtake you. He can hear and feel how close you are.

“Stop touching yourself.” Another order. You falter on this one, like you knew he would. So he stops, removes your hand himself.

Another orgasm ebbs away from you. 

You whine but do your damndest to remain unaffected, to try not to show how desperate you’re getting. But your whine has just enough of a desperate edge to it to let Jack know he almost has you. 

“What was it you said again?” He starts rubbing your clit. “Oh yes, I remember. The anticipation and wait makes it better.” He gives another dark laugh as he starts fucking you again, just as hard and just as intense. 

“Oh fuck Jack!” You gasp out. He hadn’t given you much come down time and so you feel your orgasm cresting again quickly. 

“Close, baby?” He asks like he doesn’t already know by the feel of your cunt around him. 

You can only nod as the pleasure grows stronger and stronger, your breaths coming harder and harder as you moan nonsense to Jack. 

“Jack!” You draw his name out in a moaned whine. “Need to come. Need to.” Your speech is a little slurred now. 

“Brats don’t get to come.” It’s nearly mocking the way he says it. Cocky. Like he knows he has you now. Because he does. He knows how close you are. His pace doesn’t relent. He speaks through the panting breaths he takes. “And what are you sweetheart?” 

“A brat.” You look back up at him with watery eyes and a real pout this time, on the verge of tears of pleasure. “Please-

“You still think you’re real fuckin’ cute?” he pants, cutting you off. 

“No, I’m sorry, please Jack, Sir, I,” a few tears slide down your face. “I want to be good for you.” You’re so ready for it, so convinced he’s going to let you have it now. 

But Jack stops and pulls out of you and you let out a little sob as more tears fall.  

“Shh, shh, shh,” he shushes you softly as he flips you over so you’re on your back. “I’ve got you.”

He pushes back inside you, grabs your calves and throws one over his shoulder, takes his time with the other as he lets himself take in a deep breath through his nose at your inner ankle and lets out what sounds like a growl from the deep within his chest before settling it on him like the other. His fingers on one hand toy with your clit as he leans over you and grinds himself into you. With how worked up and sensitive you are and the sound he just made for you it’s all you need and he finally lets you have it. 

Your orgasm shatters you. You swear you lose hearing for a minute, lose the ability to breathe and that your vision goes white 

“There she is,” Jack drawls, “there’s my good girl.” He moves his hand and stills his hips, let his hands grope at your breasts, fingers gently teasing at your nipples. 

You pant hard as you try to reorient yourself, finally get your eyes back open and look up at Jack. 

“Jack,” your breathing starts to return to normal. “Please,” you breathe. 

He moves your legs off his shoulders and helps you wrap them around his waist, lowers himself down so that your chests touch. “Please gets you what you want, doesn’t it sweetheart?” He leans his head into your neck and starts kissing you there, soft teasing things. 

“Yes.” It’s just as breathless as your please and something about it drives Jack wild. You let one arm slip under his shoulder and bend up to cling to his back as much as you can, the other staying above his shoulder so that your hand can find his hair, let your fingers run through it.

Jack starts fucking you again, hard. He puts his whole body into it, arching his back and using his knees for leverage to help his thighs and hips drive into you over and over. He keeps kissing your neck, sucks at it, nibbles at the spots he knows are most sensitive. 

“Oh Jack!” You arch up into him. “Jack, Jack, Jack.” He feels too good, fucks you too good. It’s unreal. 

You hear him grunt low from deep in his chest and it makes you shiver, let out a whine. “I love the way you say my name when you’re like this. Fucked out and cock drunk.” 

Jack’s voice reveals he’s just as drunk on your pussy as you are his cock.

It rips through you out of seemingly nowhere at his words, your second orgasm, just as good as your first but deeper, more intense in the way it feels like your muscles contract so hard all your bones will snap before they release with a rush of pleasure that makes you arch into Jack again. 

His name slips off your tongue in a moaned prayer again. “Jack, Jack, Jack.”

“You sound so pretty when you come for me.” He kisses at your jaw, down your neck, sucks at your collarbone while he fucks you through it.

Jack moves his hand, slows his hips to give you a little bit of time to recover. You whimper through your tears of pleasure. He’s not chasing his own release. 

Because he’s not done with you yet.

He picks the pace of his hips back up and you moan for him, claw at his back and scalp. He knows it’s not going to take much to get you there a third time with how sensitive you are, right on the border of pleasurable and painful overstimulation.

“You’ve got one more in you for me, sweetheart, I know you do.”

You shake your head at him. “I can’t.” You sniffle and he leans in to kiss away your tears. You say that you can’t but you trust Jack to know your body more in this moment than you do, trust that he won’t push you too far, only right to your limit before bringing you back. “It’s too much Jack!” You keen as his fingers return to rub tight circles over your clit again.

“No babygirl,” Jack finally kisses you, licks into your mouth possessively and moans just as loud for you as you do for him, breaks the kiss but hovers his lips over yours so they brush against each other when he speaks, “it’s just enough.” 

Your orgasm crashes over you just as he finishes his sentence, white hot and searing. Your hands tug hard at his salt and pepper curls as you go soundless from how hard your coming, almost holding your breath as the pleasure completely takes over. Your ability to speak suddenly comes back and you let out the most erotic moan of Jack’s name that he’s ever heard.

Your cunt clenching around him, the sharp burst of pleasured pain from how hard you tug on his hair and that moan of his name are all Jack needs. He follows you, coming with a groan of your name that’s so choked and even more gravelly than his usual voice that you think for a second it might make you come again. He keeps moving his hips somehow, fucking himself through it to try and keep the feeling from ending.

“Fucking christ,” Jack groans as his hips still, propping himself up on his elbows and panting as he looks down at you. “You okay?” You’re smiling at him, eyes completely glazed over, but you nod. He knows that right now you are. It makes him smile back at you. He takes another couple of seconds to even his breathing out before kissing your cheeks and nose and forehead and chin and then your lips to bring you back down. “You. Are. So. Fucking. Perfect.” He punctuates each word with a kiss.  

You blink at him, eyes a bit clearer. So he asks again. “Hi beautiful,” he smiles down at you amusedly, “you okay?”

You come back to yourself a little more and that’s when the trembling starts as you reconnect your mind and body enough for the dump of hormones and adrenaline to hit you, your body struggling to figure out what to do with all the pleasure. “Ohhh,” you sigh out, voice a a bit shaky, “I am so much more than okay, Jack. I’m trying to figure out what layer of the fucking stratosphere you just sent me to and how I get back down,” you laugh softly. 

Jack returns the soft laugh. “Good. Water now?” You shake your head, not ready for it yet. He gives you another kiss that you return and then lowers himself on top of you. He knows his body weight and the skin on skin helps with the trembling and reorientation. You wrap your arms around him, let one hand play in his curls while the other rubs up and down his back absentmindedly. Jack feels when you stop trembling and relax.

“You did amazing sweetheart, I’m proud of you. That was a lot.” He leans back up for another kiss and you beam at him, glowing in the warmth of his body and praise. 

“Thank you,” you murmur against his lips. A beat passes. “I really got you twice there with the ankles, once at work and once with the cologne.” 

Jack snorts a laugh and buries his face in your chest. “You really are something else, you know that?” He peers up at you and the only thing you see is a man hopelessly in love with you and not afraid to show you. 

“I do.” You nod with a smirk, almost smug about it. “But I’m your something else.” You grin at him. 

Jack laughs. In a few moments he’ll ask you if you’re okay again, pull a pair of pajama pants on, put on his prosthetic and walk around shirtless to get you water without asking and probably a snack. He’ll ask if you want a bath or shower and when you say no this time he’ll rub some of the salve you have on your ass to help soothe where he spanked you. And then after his twelve plus a few hours shift followed by fucking you out of your mind he’ll ask if you’re okay if he grabs some sleep, as if you’d ever say no and won’t be half asleep yourself from the fucking he just gave you when he asks. But for now he just agrees with you. “You’re correct sweetheart,” he nods, “you’re my something else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hopefully it was okay?

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Wearing War

summary : Jack Abbot’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed—but instead, you go to his favorite dive bar. You wear the skirt. You wear his tags. You push, and Jack—tired, restrained, and entirely yours—snaps.

content/warning : 18+ MDNI!!! explicit smut, dominant boyfriend Jack Abbot, semi-public sex (in a parked truck), use of dog tags in kink context, possessiveness, fingering, vaginal sex, marking/bruising, overstimulation, reader is bratty and teasing, not much plot, mostly smut

word count : 4,323

Jack’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed.

You’d imagined it—his weight pressing into the mattress, one arm tossed over your waist, the rest of the world pushed away by the rhythm of his breathing. You’d imagined curling into the heat of him, tracing the faint scar beneath his ribcage with your thumb, pressing your face into his chest and not moving for hours.

But instead, you were standing in the doorway of your kitchen, watching him rinse his hands in the sink like he couldn’t quite turn off the part of his brain still stuck at work. His scrub top was balled up on the counter beside him, and his undershirt clung to his back in soft lines.

“Let’s go out,” you said, voice careful but certain. “Just us.”

He didn’t look up right away. Just let the water keep running over his hands like he hadn’t registered the question—or maybe like he was pretending not to.

“Out?” he echoed, like the word didn’t sit right in his mouth after ten nights of nothing but fluorescent lights and hallway coffee. “You mean… out out?”

You stepped into the kitchen, folding your arms. “Yeah. Not fancy. Not fussy. Just somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic or have a monitor beeping in the background.”

That made him glance over. Barely. But enough.

His brow creased like he was doing the mental math—how long since his last shower, how much energy he had left in the tank, whether he could fake his way through being social when he barely felt human.

“You sure?” he asked. “You don’t want… like, a real night out? Something normal. Reservations. Wine list?”

You shook your head. “No. I want you. I want O’Malley’s.”

That got his full attention.

He turned, leaning back against the sink. His dog tags swung slightly when he moved. “O’Malley’s?” he asked, like you’d just suggested robbing a bank.

You took a few steps closer. “Yeah.”

He blinked once. “You want to go to a bar where the jukebox hasn’t worked since ’08, the floor sticks to your shoes, and that guy with the mullet always thinks you're hitting on him just for saying hi?”

You smiled, letting your hands slip up under his shirt, resting lightly against the warm skin of his stomach. “I want you. Where you feel good. Where you’re not someone’s doctor or someone’s emergency. Just… mine. I’ve been coming home to your things, not you. And I want to be somewhere that feels like you again.”

He went quiet at that. Quiet in the way Jack gets when something actually lands. The way he used to go quiet back when you first met him—when you’d say something kind and he didn’t know what to do with it yet.

O’Malley’s wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t even clean. But it was his.

Brick walls stained with decades of smoke and sweat and spilled drinks. The barstools wobbled. The bathroom door didn’t lock unless you jammed it shut with your heel. But it was familiar. Steady. Like Jack.

It was the first place he ever kissed you in public.

The first time you saw him relax—really relax—with his hand on your thigh and his smile easy and unguarded. No pager. No badge. Just him and a beer and the kind of quiet contentment he didn’t let anyone else see.

You wanted that Jack tonight.

Not the version who came home bone-tired and silent, who sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the dark. The one who carried too many stories in his hands and didn’t know where to put them.

“Alright. We’ll go. But I’m not shaving.”

You smiled. “I like you scruffy.”

He kissed you, slow and low, then murmured, “Twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen,” you said, already slipping out of his arms and heading for the bedroom. “You’ve got first round.”

And as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you made a beeline for that skirt.

The black one.

The one that hadn’t seen daylight since your fourth date—back when he’d taken you to a bar kind of like O'Malley's. A little louder, a little messier, but the same kind of dim lighting and cracked leather booths. You’d leaned against the doorframe of your apartment when the night was over, keys in your hand, heartbeat wild under your skin, and asked, “Do you want to come up?” like you weren’t already hoping he’d press you into the wall and never leave.

He kissed you before he even got his boots off.

Not soft. Not slow. Like something in him had snapped loose. You barely made it to the couch—his hands on your hips, mouth trailing heat down your stomach, skirt bunched at your waist. He was on his knees before you could say another word, eyes dark, breath rough against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured, voice all gravel and restraint.

You didn’t.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. Just held your thighs open like he needed to, like he hadn’t had a real taste of anything in months. He made you come twice before he even touched himself. All control. All focus. Like the only thing that mattered was what your body was doing under his.

You still think about how he looked that night.

The way he moved—deliberate and slow, like he was memorizing every inch of you. The low curse he let slip when he finally slid inside. How he pressed his forehead to yours, jaw tight, barely breathing, like you were the only solid thing left in his world. No dirty talk. No theatrics. Just him, wrecking you with nothing but steady hands and a look you’ve never been able to shake.

That night, Jack Abbot stopped pretending. He stopped playing it safe. He stopped pretending he didn’t want you like a man starved.

You hold the skirt up in the warm light of your bedroom, thumb brushing the fabric like a secret, and smile. It’s tighter than you remember. Shorter, too—but maybe that’s just the way you’re looking at it now. With the memory of his hands. His mouth. His voice when he said your name like it was something sacred.

You slide it up your legs slowly. Deliberately.

Because you don’t want soft tonight. You don’t want tired.

You want him. The version of Jack who doesn’t know how to hold back. The version who comes home and remembers exactly who the hell he belongs to.

And by the time he sees you in this?

You want him wrecked.

Not by the shift.

Not by the world.

By you.

When you came downstairs, he was in the kitchen with his phone in one hand, wallet in the other, the porch light casting long shadows across the hardwood.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t look up until he had to.

And when he did—he stopped mid-motion. The screen of his phone still lit, thumb frozen over it, breath caught in his chest like it had nowhere to go.

His eyes dragged down your body and then back up, slow. Controlled. Like he was trying not to react. Like he had to try.

His mouth opened, then shut again. His jaw ticked once.

He wiped a hand down his face, slow and rough, like the sight of you was something he needed to get a grip on before it undid him. “You really—” he started, voice low and ragged, gesturing vaguely toward your legs. “That skirt?”

You leaned against the doorframe with the kind of casual ease that was anything but. “Figured I’d dress for the occasion.”

Jack didn’t move. Just looked at you.

“That skirt’s been in the back of your closet since…” He stopped, biting off the rest like it physically hurt to say it out loud.

You smiled gently. “Yeah. I remember.”

Silence stretched long and heavy between you. His eyes never left yours.

Then, quietly—honestly: “I’m not gonna ask you to change.” He paused. “But don’t ask me to keep my hands to myself.”

You pushed off the frame with a soft shrug. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

When you reached for your bag, he still hadn’t moved.

You had to walk past him to grab your keys, and even then, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t say a word. Just watched. Like he was counting his breaths. Like if he said one thing too soon, this night would tip into something neither of you were dressed for.

You walked out together into the thick hum of summer, the heat sitting low and wet across the driveway. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the trees. The air smelled like warm concrete and fading sunlight.

As you made your way toward the truck, you let one heel wobble—just a little. Just enough.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stopping, bending at the knee like you needed to fix the strap.

You didn’t.

But you knew exactly what you were doing.

And you could feel his gaze on you. Hot. Still. Quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t come closer. Just waited, jaw tight, fists curled around the truck keys.

You stood, slow. Turned, met his eyes.

He blinked once. Swallowed. Then turned and opened the passenger side door for you like he wasn’t two seconds from backing you up against it.

The drive was quiet at first. The windows down, the music soft—something bluesy and old, not quite loud enough to distract from the weight between you.

You reached over, let your fingers brush his thigh gently. The shift in him was instant. A subtle inhale. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. His hand gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“You sure you don’t want something nicer than this bar?” he asked finally, voice low and quiet like he already knew the answer but had to give you the out anyway.

You turned toward him, soft smile still in place. “No, honey. This is about you.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead and nodded once. The streetlights passed in slow intervals, the engine humming beneath your feet.

And Jack?

He just drove. Knuckles white against the wheel. Thigh tense under your hand. Mouth pressed into a line like he was already counting down the minutes until you got home—and he could stop pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

When you walked in, his hand found the small of your back.

“Usual booth,” he said. “I’ll grab drinks.”

You turned, looked up at him with a soft smile. “No, babe. Let me. You always do it.”

He squinted slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Go sit. Relax.”

He hesitated. Then pulled out his wallet, thumbed through it, and handed you his card. You turned and walked to the bar, slow and confident, letting your heels click against the hardwood. The bar was a straight shot from your booth, just far enough that he could still see you. And you made sure to give him a show.

You leaned forward, pretending to read the drink list. Let your hips tilt. Let the skirt shift. Just enough for the lace of your thong to show.

The whistle was immediate.

A low sound from a table of men a few feet away.

And then Jack was there.

Behind you in a blink.

His hand clamped to your lower back.

And the other—

yanked your skirt down.

Hard. Final. Like the motion itself was a correction.

The fabric snapped against your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a jolt through you. You straightened instinctively, blinking.

“Jesus,” you said under your breath.

Jack leaned in. “You really wanna do this here?”

“I was just reading the menu,” you murmured.

“Bullshit. You order the same thing every time. Diet Rum and Coke. No lime. Half ice.”

You swallowed.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move again. Just pressed his hand firmer to your lower back and let the moment hang.

The bartender handed over your drinks. You took them. Didn’t say anything. Just walked back to the booth with Jack two steps behind.

You slid into the booth—on his side.

He gave you a look.

“What?” you asked, sipping your drink.

“You’re pushing it.”

You shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You’re doing this because I haven’t fucked you in ten days.”

You flushed—heat hitting your cheeks hard.

But you didn’t deny it.

Instead, you leaned in. He thought you were going to kiss him. And then your hand dipped beneath his collar. You pulled the chain free.

Unclipped it.

And slid his dog tags over your head. They settled against your chest, heavy. His name resting between your breasts.

Jack blinked.

Then laughed once. Dark. Rough.

“You wear them,” he said, voice low, “you ride. That’s the deal.”

You smiled. “I know the rules.”

He stared at you another beat.

Then stood.

“We’re leaving.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“You want people to see your cunt?” he cut in. “You want attention? Then let me remind them who you belong to.”

You didn’t argue.

Just followed him out, heart pounding.

You thought you were headed home.

But when he opened the truck door, he looked at you.

“You’re not gonna ride me in bed.”

You blinked.

He nodded to the truck. “You’re gonna ride me right here. Since you wanted to act like bait.”

You got in.

Because that’s exactly what you wanted.

And he knows it.

The truck door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thunk. One of those sounds that doesn’t echo—it lands.

Jack circles around the hood without a word. His boots hit the gravel with a quiet crunch, one slower than the other, rhythm faintly uneven from the prosthetic he’s never once complained about. Shoulders set. Gait loose, but loaded.

He’s not in a rush.

Not because he doesn’t want to touch you.

Because he’s trying not to break.

You sit in the passenger seat, legs drawn up just slightly, thighs tight, heart climbing higher into your throat with every second he doesn’t speak. The skirt’s still riding too high despite his earlier intervention—and the lace between your thighs is still damp. Still warm.

When Jack slides in behind the wheel, he doesn’t touch you.

Just plants both hands on the steering wheel and exhales. Once. Deep. Grounded.

Then he turns his head.

“I knew you wore that skirt on purpose,” he says, voice low. Strained around the edges. Not tired from work, but from holding back. Like keeping his hands to himself has taken more out of him than the last ten nights combined.

He says it like a confession. Like a warning.

And you don’t bother playing coy.

You tilt your head, smile just enough to be dangerous. “Figured you deserved something to look forward to.”

He shifts beside you, slow and quiet. One arm drapes over the back of your seat, casual on the surface—but his fingers find your shoulder. Trail down, soft as breath, to the edge of your collarbone. He lingers there. Just enough to feel your pulse.

“I’ve been looking forward to you for ten nights,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Still, he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his palm drags slowly down your chest, not lingering, not teasing—reading.

Then he moves lower.

Hand slipping down your stomach, over the edge of your skirt, until he finds the lace. The wet. The heat.

He hisses through his teeth.

"You’re soaked."

You don’t answer.

“You’ve been walking around like that since the house?” he asks, more statement than question.

Your breath catches.

His fingers press in slightly—not a thrust, just pressure. Just enough to feel.

“I know this body,” he says, low, barely a whisper. “I’ve had this pussy every way you let me. In the shower. Against the wall. Bent over the fucking sink. You think I can’t tell when you’re asking for it?”

Your hips twitch into his hand.

He doesn't give you more.

“You thought this was gonna be cute?” he growls, thumb brushing just beside your clit. “Bend over at the bar. Show everyone the lace I’ve ripped off you a dozen times?”

You bite your lip. Nod.

That makes him laugh. A rough, breathless sound.

“I should take you back in there,” he says. “Let them see what it looks like when you beg.”

You shift toward him, no hesitation now—like your body’s been waiting for this as long as he has. You climb into his lap with practiced ease, knees against the worn leather of the truck seat, thighs bracketing his hips, breath warm against his jaw.

He exhales like the contact knocks something loose in him.

His hands find their way under you, palms settling at the curve of your ass—rough and sure, reverent in the way only a man who’s gone without you can be. Like he’s grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. Real. His.

“You missed me,” he murmurs, voice low, thumb dragging a slow arc along the edge of your hip.

“I missed you,” you breathe, your lips brushing his. “You weren’t home. Not really. I kept pretending it was enough just to hear your keys in the door, but it wasn’t. I was alone. I needed—”

Jack kisses you.

Hard.

Not like a question. Like a claim.

It isn’t soft. Isn’t slow. It’s hungry—the kind of kiss that splits you open, that tastes like every second he had to swallow the urge to call you in the middle of the night just to hear you. His mouth is hot and demanding, his grip tightening like he wants you closer, like closer still isn’t enough.

You gasp against him, fingers tangling in the fabric at his shoulders, and that’s when he groans—deep and wrecked—like you just pulled the last thread keeping him together.

Because this isn’t just a kiss.

It’s ten nights of wanting.

And now?

Now he’s got you in his lap, and your skirt’s hitched up, and you’re not stopping him.

You’re meeting him there.

He bites your lip, slow and deliberate. Tugs it between his teeth, groans when you gasp. The sound spills into your mouth and coils low in your stomach, sharp and warm. His hands shift, drag you harder against him, and you feel it—how hard he is under his jeans. How close he’s riding the edge.

You rut against him before you can stop yourself, hips grinding down like instinct, like need. His hands grip tighter, grounding you, guiding you, pulling a sound from your throat you’ve never made for anyone else.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like you’ve undone something deep in him. His mouth finds your jaw, your neck, the corner of your shoulder—fast, focused, starving. Each kiss lands like an answer to every silent plea you made in the nights he was gone.

“Jack,” you whimper, breath stuttering. “Please—”

He growls. Low. Close. A sound like something tearing loose inside him, sharp and intimate and only for you.

His thumb presses into your waist, anchoring you. His eyes are on you now, heavy and dark, like he’s drinking you in—committing this to memory in case the world asks him to go without you again.

“You want it that bad?” he rasps, voice tight. “You want to fuck me right here, like this truck’s the only place that’s ever existed?”

You nod—frantic, breathless.

Your moan says the rest.

And the way he looks at you then—like restraint was never about control. It was about respect. And now, finally, he doesn’t have to wear it.

He grabs your face, hands big and steady, his thumbs resting under your jaw, holding you like he needs you still to speak clearly.

“You wear those tags,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “You ride. Like you promised. You gonna be good for me?”

You nod again, quicker this time.

“Words,” he breathes, brow low. “Tell me.”

“Yes. I’ll be good.”

He exhales like that undoes something else in him. But he doesn’t thank you for it. Doesn’t say a word. Just watches you, jaw clenched, thumb brushing your chin like you’re both already undone and just getting started.

“You made me watch,” he murmurs. “Watch every man in that bar eye what’s mine.”

You meet his stare, voice barely a whisper. “I wanted to remind you.”

“You did.”

He unzips his jeans without breaking eye contact. Slow. Controlled. Not hurried, not desperate. Just decided. Like he’s already known for days exactly how this was going to end.

The tags shift when you lean forward. They clink once against his chest before settling back against warm skin—your skin.

“Do it,” he says, voice scraped raw. “Do what you promised. Ride me.”

His hands guide you—slow, steady, reverent. Like he knows what this is. What it means. What it’ll undo.

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

A pause. One breath. Then another.

“Remind yourself who the fuck you belong to.”

Your hand slips between your bodies. Sure. Smooth. No hesitation now. You find him—hot, hard, already pulsing in your palm—and line him up.

You sink down.

You don’t even make it all the way down before Jack’s hands are on you—possessive, certain, like your body belongs to him and he’s just reclaiming it.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. His head falls forward, lips brushing your sternum as you sink fully onto him. You feel the tremor run through him. Hear the sharp breath he drags in like he’s been choking without you. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

His fingers splay wide across your hips, holding you there. Not letting you move. Not yet.

“Stay right there,” he growls. “Let me feel it. All of it.”

You whimper, thighs already shaking, because he’s thick, hot, deep—so deep it makes your chest ache. You try to move, to set a rhythm, but his grip tightens instantly.

“No,” he says, tone dropping lower. “This isn’t yours to lead.”

You gasp. “Jack—”

He shuts you up with a thrust so sudden, so deep, you see stars. The sound you make is guttural—raw and involuntary.

His hands grip your waist, drag you down harder against him with the next roll of his hips, his cock hitting that spot that makes your spine arch, your jaw fall slack.

“I’ve been hard for you for ten fucking nights,” he rasps against your collarbone. “You think I’m letting you play games? You think I’m letting you tease me, ride me slow like you’re in charge?”

He pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You’re not in charge tonight, sweetheart. I am.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ease you into it.

He fucks up into you like it’s punishment for making him wait—hands bruising your hips, his mouth hot against your throat, his body straining under yours like he’s holding back from breaking the whole damn truck apart.

Your skirt rides up higher. Your knees scramble for leverage. The windows fog, the air thick with the slap of skin, the creak of leather, your name torn from his throat like he’s never tasted anything better.

His hand slides up your spine, fingers threading through the chain around your neck. His dog tags. His.

And then he yanks.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough.

Enough to snap your head back. Enough to leave you gasping. Enough to remind you—he’s home now.

He thrusts up, harder now, sharper. You cry out, clinging to his shoulders, your body unraveling under every precise, unrelenting movement.

“You wanted me to lose it. Wanted to feel me snap.”

“Jack—please—”

His fingers twist the chain tighter, the metal cool against your throat. “You wanted this? You take it.”

Another thrust. And another.

He’s all teeth and tongue now—biting at your jaw, kissing you deep, swearing against your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You feel your orgasm building hard and fast, coiled tight in your belly.

And he knows. Of course he knows.

“There she is,” he whispers, voice almost gentle in contrast to how he’s fucking you. “You gonna come on me, baby? Hm? Let go for me?”

You nod, eyes wide, breath ragged. “Jack—God—Jack—”

“That’s it,” he says, and he fucks you through it. “Come for me. Come now.”

And when it hits, it slams into you—your whole body tensing, toes curling, nails digging into his chest, a moan torn from your throat that doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever made before.

He fucks you through it—relentless, controlled—until your walls flutter around him and your body starts to fold.

That’s when he lets go.

He growls your name, hips bucking once, twice—and then he’s buried deep, his jaw clenched, eyes shut. Like he’s finally home.

He stays there. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

One arm around your waist. The other still curled in the chain around your neck.

Breathing hard. Pressing kisses to your chest like prayers.

You let a beat pass. Then two.

You shift slightly, still filled. Still aching.

Then you lean back and smirk.

He notices immediately.

“What,” he says flatly, eyes opening just enough to pin you in place, “is that look.”

You blink, all wide-eyed and faux-sweet. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

He raises a brow. “Surprised.”

You nod. Slow. A little too pleased with yourself. “Mmhmm. I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

Jack exhales through his nose. Once. Controlled. His jaw shifts.

“Careful.”

You shrug, grinding down just a little—not enough to be obvious. Just enough for him to feel it.

“I mean… it was good,” you say lightly. “Don’t get me wrong.”

His hand flexes on your hip. Hard.

“But I was expecting…” you trail off, eyes dancing, “more.”

Jack’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then: “You done?”

You grin. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“No,” he says calmly. “You’re done.”

He shifts under you, cock hardening again. Already thick. Already ready.

Your smirk starts to fade.

But it’s too late.

You’re about to get it.

As Above, So Below I Chapter 1- I'll Tell You Everything is Copacetic

Synopsis: Two attendings, one new psychologist working both the day and night shifts on a rotation. You could have sworn you heard both of them call “dibs,” and you’re more than willing to entertain the both of them.  Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader and Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader Word count: 2.1K Warnings: Talk of mental illness and other psychological things, violence, dark humor, and some smut along the way  :) A/N: I couldn’t decide between Robby and Abbot, so I present you with BOTH. Tag list is open, Part 2 coming soon

As Above, So Below. "Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius, et quod inferius est sicut quod est superius." -- That which is above is like to that which is below, and that which is below is like to that which is above.

It based on the notion of Hermeticism; the idea that God was a magician.

The religious and philosophical idea that the universe is broken into the Macrocosm (the universe), and the microcosm (the individual).

That which is above, corresponds to that which is below in order to accomplish the miracle of one thing. In simplest terms—whatever happens in the spiritual world, also happens in the physical world, and vice versa.

Your spiritual and physical world existed on two equal and opposite sides; day shift and night shift.

Two very different shifts.

Two very different paces, senses of humor, and inside jokes 

Two very different attending doctors.

And you were vying for the attention of both of them. 

Part 1: I'll Tell You Everything is Copacetic

The promotion from the career you had grown comfortable, came unexpectedly and as the result of a physical altercation with a patient. You, the staff psychologist at a maximum-security prison, had come face-to-face with a makeshift weapon during a routine therapy session. The irony, which had not been lost on you, had been that your patient had been so worried that he’d never get out of prison, he had no insight into the fact that stabbing someone in the back with a sharpened toothbrush, would surely end in those exact consequences. He was one of your favorite patients. It was a real “Et tu, Brute” type of moment, both figuratively and literally. 

The thing they don't tell you about being stabbed in prison, is that the threat needs to be cleared before life-saving measures can be started. There you were, on the ground, bleeding from a stab wound that barely missed your spinal cord, waiting for EMS to arrive, while you almost choked to death on the pepper spray canister that had been deployed by security as they watched on in horror. The other thing they don't tell you about being stabbed in prison, is how motherfucking painful it is and how that trauma will likely linger long after the pain. 

Leaving that job wasn’t a suggestion as much as it was a directive. You were medically cleared after 12 weeks, but the optics of the entire situation made it difficult for management to move forward without shouldering most of blame. The split was mostly amicable; they wouldn’t have to feel any guilt about a weapon making its way all the way to your therapy session, and you’d never have to wear khaki cargo pants and a "stab vest" again that clearly was just for show. 

You applied for the job of Chief Psychologist at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center as soon as it popped up on your archaic Linkedin profile, and got the job the following week. The long-waited return to your hometown and all of the skeleton's in your childhood home's closet. The emergency room didn’t exactly sound like a soothing retreat for the recently stabbed, but it did promise the perfect distraction – 12-hour shifts, vacillating between days and nights, and no time to think about all of the things that had happened up to this. And, as a cherry on top, you’d be the first in this position, a long-awaited overhaul of PTMC only relying on psychiatry and social work for their mental health needs. To have someone on-site, in the emergency room, was PTMC's big wet dream; and you were happy to give them that happy ending.

---

Your shift starts at 7am and you take the long way to work to clear your head. The city you once called home has hardly changed, but the feeling of being back was heavier than you expected.

Your phone dings, a familiar face and name.

Dana: Hey kid, come find me at the nurse's station when you get here. you're gonna fit right in

Your physical therapist told you to take it slow, and walking was about as much as you could handle still 12 weeks post-injury. The pain shot down your back from your shoulder blade to your hip, a lingering limp still evident. The scar was "gnarly" according to your best friend, but you had been too afraid to look. PTMC sat at the top of the delightfully named "cardiac hill" -- One of the steepest hills in the city, home to several of the best hospitals in Pittsburgh and the University of Pittsburgh campus. According to local legend, more heart attacks happened here than any other place in Pittsburgh.

Your injury forced you to relocate with the distance in mind, but you weren't exactly thrilled to be sharing the sidewalk with undergraduate college students and their roller backpacks who barely look up from their phone. You were, however, thrilled to see one of the seven wonders of the world on your way to work-- Dunkin'.

America does run on Dunkin', and you know why? Because it's trash, and so is society. You don't walk into a calm environment of espresso machine and jazz music, surrounded by independent filmmakers discussing their film adaptations of David Foster Wallace like you would at a hipster coffee shop. Dunkin' welcomes you with bloodied open arms into a warzone. An absolutely unhinged battlefield, people screaming, the excitement of giving your order to someone who absolutely could not give a fuck. You let Dunkin' tell you what you need, and not for lack of trying. You give the order but they rarely listen. Today you walk out with a large iced mocha, with whipped cream, after ordering a large vanilla latte with oat milk. The universe just feels right, a little off its axis and sickenly sweet.

You walk through the double doors to the ER sliding in between two gurneys on their way to the ambulance bay and make your way to the nurses station, Dana waiting with open arms

"It has been far too long, my girl," Dana hugs you tightly, "and boy am I glad you are okay, and you are here. Your mom told me what happened, how you holding up"

"Almost recovered. You should see the other guy" you reply, "and you look great."

"Thanks kid," Dana smiles, her eyes shift to someone behind you "Oh captain, my captain."

"A patient?" You hear his voice before you see him, and when you turn around, it's hard to look away. He's all tall, dark, and handsome, a real father-figure vibe towering over you. Cargo pants, black scrub top, a fancy watch, a faded hoodie. This must be the place, and this guy definitely fucks. He must have clocked you the moment you walked in--looking like a lost puppy with a limp and a cup full of coffee. Of course he thinks you're a patient.

"My daughter's best friend, and your new psychologist," She corrects him, "This is Dr. Robby."

"Sorry, I saw you come in and were limping, just wanted to make sure you were okay," He nods, confirming that he did, in fact, notice you as soon as you walked in

"The limp is more of a talking point than a medical emergency, but I wouldn't say no to someone taking a look at it. I almost got laid out by an undergrad with a roller backpack on my way here." You smile, outstretching a hand, "I'm Y/N Wheeler, the new head of the psych department."

"Michael Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Robby," He shakes your hand, noticing the tattoo stretching from your wrist to your elbow and under the sleeve of your shirt. He instinctively tilts your arm to examine the ink, a thumb rubbing over your wrist softly, without even noticing he's doing it. Ooooph. You clear your throat and his eyes meet yours, face turning a deep shade of red.

"Don't worry, it definitely goes all the way to my shoulder. If you're good, I'll show it to you." You quip, maintaining eye contact until he looks away,  "and yes, the nose ring is real too."  

“Wheeler! I see you've met Robby" John Shen takes a step next to Robby, a matching Dunkin' cup in hand. He raises his glass to yours, knocking the two together, "Cheers, bitch. Never thought I'd see the day you moved back to Pittsburgh. Welcome to the thunderdome.”

Shen looks at Robby, “She's straight from the feds. You didn't see her on the news--”

You interrupt before he can divulge any gruesome details of the trauma to your new colleague, “He means that I was a psychologist at the federal detention center not that I was in prison. Although always keep your cards close to your chest."

"Sorry, You two know each other as well?" He raises his eyebrows as the dynamic playing out in front of him, "Jesus Pittsburgh really is small world."

"We met in grad school. Gave him therapy the whole way through residency” You reply, "taught him everything he knows about screaming internally while keeping a straight face." 

"Ah" Robby nods, "That really does explain his shockingly chill demeanor." 

“Oh great, you're all here." Gloria interrupts the conversation, coming up behind you in a pastel purple pantsuit. Over teams she seemed less, up tight. In person, she's all business in the front and even more business the back, "Our newest chief psychologist. We now have our own consult, and she's overseeing the entire department."

"Figured I could help the ol’ pill pushers up in psychiatry. And plus, these patients seem like a breeze compared to prison." You make a joke, trying to assess the humor of the group. Shen gets it, and laughs. Robby gets it, wants to laugh, but stuffs his hand in his pockets. Gloria doesn't get it at all. 

"She’ll be spending her time between day and night shifts, the full 12 hours, so use her as an appropriate resource," she continues.

"You save 'em and I’ll keep them from jumping off the roof" You say quietly, nudging Robby with your elbow, a smile spreading across his face as Gloria turns around and heads off to whatever upper-management office she spawned from. 

"So where did you go to school?" Robby asks, hoping your answer reveals something about your age.

"I went to Pitt for undergrad and then Drexel for graduate school. Did my internship, post-doc, and forensic fellowship with the feds" You nod, "we had an infirmary unit, which closely resembled a hospital, but more security forward than anything. I'm board certified in forensics, but my internship focused mostly on neuropsychology." 

"Don't take this the wrong way, but fuck am I glad they hired someone like you." He responds, rubbing a hand over his neck,"Hell, some of us could probably use an evaluation."

"I'm excited to be here, but I'm definitely going to have to learn the sense of humors around here. I'm pretty fucked up from the prison, i don't have a great filter, but i work hard and I care about my patients." 

He stops walking and turns to face you, "you'll fit in great. So why did you leave the feds?"

"Honestly, I was tired of getting pissed on." The way you say it, so matter-of-factly, with the ability to maintain a serious expression causes Robby to snort. It catches him off guard, a genuine laugh erupting from his throat. He looks at you like he's not quite sure what to make of you yet, but his gaze lingers, a smirk on his face.

"Speaking of getting pissed on" another attending comes up behind you, shorter than Robby, but equally as handsome in a way that screams he's got his own trauma, “Kraken is in two if you’re into that sort of thing." 

"Dr. Abbot" Dr. Robby shoots him a look like he's trying to corral his kid. These two know each other. Maybe not biblically, but you know they've definitely cried in front of each other. Something you wouldn't be opposed to seeing.

"Who is the kraken? And do I look like I’m into that sort of thing?" He wasn't expecting you to shoot the same level of bullshit back to him,even as a shit-eating grin appears on his face.

"Never met a nose ring that wasn’t," He shrugs

"A little early for kink shaming, Jack, "Shen interjects, unable to help himself.

"Can't wait to see what my tattoos suggest" you raise an eyebrow

"Sorry, Do you two know each other too?" You can't tell if Robby's annoyed with him or the conversation, but Abbot ignores him.

"Military?"

"Feds."

He nods his head in approval, narrowing his eyes like he's trying to figure out if you're worth his time, "You on nights?"

"Next week. Running a support group on how to dive off the roof and land on your feet at 1am." You don't miss a beat.

"Right up my alley" Abbot responds, "you're going to be trouble."

You catch the look between Robby and Abbot, something unspoken. For a second, you could have sworn they were calling dibs.

SOLID WORK; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 4,700+

content warnings: my minimal medical knowledge, doctor humor, abbot’s filthy mouth, some smut, fluff <3

notes: i am so beyond new to this fandom and to tumblr so please stick with me but i couldn’t not write this🫶

・❥・

”Solid work.”

My breathing slows as I start to process the complexity of the procedure I had just performed. I’d probably be blushing at Dr Abbot’s praise if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through me.

“That was your save. Not mine.”

Trust me - I am never jumping to credit a man with my work but that was the truth. I may have physically done everything but the idea and the instructions that made it possible were all Dr Abbot.

I look back down at the patient. I tell myself it’s to make sure this is all real. That I really just did that. But if I am being honest it’s to avoid Dr Abbot’s unwavering eye contact.

“Hey-“

He is not gonna let me. I look up to meet his gaze. So rock solid but somehow so warm all at once. He may as well be staring right through me.

He lightly rests his hand on my forearm to stop me from going for the suture. To stop me from giving him anything other than my undivided attention.

“-you are the smartest person in here. Take the win.”

I can’t help the exasperated smile that spreads across my face. He’s right. I’ve only got a couple months left of residency. I should just take the fucking win for once in my life.

Abbot, much to my surprise, smiles back. And he has dimples because of course he does.

He’s calm under pressure, he lies on official paperwork to get a teenage girl the abortion she has every right to, he’s the actual smartest one here, he’s kind to everyone in this ED regardless of the stress he is under, and…he still has his hand on my arm.

His hand. The veins there don’t hurt the eyes either.

We must both realize his lingering touch at the same time because he is clearing his throat and pulling away. He reaches for a surgical instrument he doesn’t need. Picks it up and then puts it down.

I swear there is a faint blush on his cheeks but if I think about that too long one will appear on my own.

“Let Whitaker stitch this up. Go home - get some rest. Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I love Whitaker but he is so slow we may as well let the wound heal all on its own.”

Dr Abbot laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs as we exit out of the trauma bay. So loud that Robby looks over and asks if he’s okay.

Don’t get me wrong. Dr Abbot has a wonderful sense of humor. A wicked one, actually. But it’s one of those dry, witty kinds. Not the animated, giggly kind.

I tell myself it’s not a bad thing that I’m proud to have gotten a good laugh out of him. That it’s not a bad thing that it gave me butterflies. That’s it’s not a bad thing that I am laying in bed wondering how the hell I am going to get him to do that again.

・❥・

Jack lets out a low moan as he recovers. His eyes are dazed, his head slightly tilted back but not so much so that he can’t keep eye contact with me.

His hand that held the makeshift ponytail in my hair starts to massage my scalp as the other hand reaches for my chin and tilts my head up to meet his strong gaze.

Once he’s got me where he wants me, his thumb travels from my chin to my lips, swiping what’s left of his release off of it.

“My good girl. So good for me, yeah?”

My thighs involuntarily clench together at his words. He knows it too. I nod as his thumb presses further into my mouth, my lips wrapping around it.

His mouth quips into a smirk, “Solid work, doctor.”

I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. Standing up from my knees on my own. Ignoring his arms trying to gently guide me up instead.

“That! That is exactly what I am talking about!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

Jack just laughs as he grabs my wrist, turning me back towards him. He’s quick to have me pinned up against our shower wall - his strong thigh spreading my own apart as he plants long slow kisses across my neck.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Back when I was a resident, otherwise known as a couple months ago, Jack consistently praised what I was doing by saying “Solid work.”

The way he did always made me dizzy. His voice would drop an octave and he’d look me straight in my eyes while he said it. There is nothing inherently sensual about the phrase but it took me a while to realize he was not complimenting the other residents like that.

Him saying it during sex started as a joke. Harkening back to when, as he puts it, I was so painfully oblivious to his flirting. To which I responded, “That was flirting?”.

He said it again to me at work the next day. Being completely and utterly genuine. I don’t even remember what I did but I did it well and he is always the first to acknowledge that. So he was confused when I just huffed in annoyance and peeled out of the room without so much of a glance at him.

I wasn’t annoyed at him. I was annoyed that now all I could think about was him. His hands, his biceps, his tongue. Everything. And I still had six hours of my shift to go.

He followed me into the on-call room I was going to find some refuge in. He locked the door behind him - closed the curtain for good measure.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

And then I felt bad. He thought something was actually wrong. That no way I’d ever brush him off like that when he was just trying to compliment me unless something was seriously wrong.

His eyes bored into mine, genuine concern and love pouring out of them. And here I was just being a brat.

I tried to be sly about the way my eyes trailed the veins bulging out of his biceps. I tried to be sly about the way I was imagining my hands tugging on his salt and pepper curls that were just slightly askew from a couple hours work. Unfortunately for me, Jack can read me like a book.

“Did you just stomp out of the ED because you’re needy?” Jack couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face at the realization.

“Well maybe if you weren’t always going Mr Christian Gray on me with the praise-“

“I don’t even know who that is but all I said was ‘Solid work’-“

Jack stops himself as he remembers the past couple nights. When he was saying the same thing in a much different context.

I can’t say I’m entirely innocent. Or innocent at all really. I love throwing in a ‘sir’ every now and again at work to tease Jack. So he does the same to me with other phrases - constantly.

And he said the same thing in that on-call room that he is saying to me right now, “But what I do know is how fucking wet you are for me. So stop pouting and let me taste you, yeah?”

He swipes a finger through my soaked folds before he’s the one sinking down to his knees as I try to keep mine from buckling.

・❥・

“Solid work, Dr Abbot.”

I smile down at my sparkling new engagement ring and then up at the love of my life.

“Seriously? You can tease but I can’t?”

“What’s that saying again? Happy wife, happy life?”

Neither of us can wipe the huge grins off of our faces. No one knows we’re engaged yet. Just how we wanted it.

A couple of months ago, right after I had taken an attending job at The Pitt, Jack had broached the topic of marriage. We’d talked about it before. We both knew we were spending the rest of our lives together. But we hadn’t actually talked about the timeline of it all - the logistics.

Jack was always extremely hyper aware about how our relationship affected me. He didn’t want it to interfere with my career or all of my hard work. So as much as he would’ve walked down the aisle six months ago, he wanted everything to be on my terms.

“Hypothetically - if I were to propose, say within the next month - would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically - if I ever say no to a marriage proposal from you - please get me a psychiatry consult.”

Jack laughed - in an airy way where you could tell he was relieved. I kissed him. There was no universe in which I ever said no to a proposal from him.

He pestered me with questions. He wanted direction but not so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised when the time came.

I told him I didn’t want anything fancy. No big party although I did want to have a small gathering with our friends and family at some point afterwards. A nice sized diamond but not gaudy. No grand gestures - just him being him is all that I wanted.

And he executed perfectly. Because when does he not. It was our first night in the new home we had bought. He said we could get a hotel while we waited for our furniture to be delivered. But I wanted to do one night with no furniture, an air mattress, some candles, and a pizza delivery.

“Like camping.” I had said.

“You hate camping.”

I laughed because he was right but he obliged me anyways. He carried me over the threshold and I made a joke about how he’s got to be careful - being old and all.

Then he carried me right over to the air mattress, said something like “Can an old man do this?” and went on to coax four orgasms from me - one from his fingers, one from his tongue, one from his thigh, and finally one from where I wanted him most.

When we were done, I threw on one of his old tshirts and a pair of boxers. He just had on an old pair of sweats and a white tee. We stared into each others eyes like two lovesick teenagers until he said “Come here - I gotta show you something.”

“Babe, the house is empty.”

“Get over here smart ass.”

Jack picked up a candle and lead us over to the fireplace. He set the candle on the mantle as I read what was now engraved into the stone ‘The Abbots - Est 2025’

“So this is why you were getting all of those random tools from Amazon.”

Ever the handy man he is. Then he was on his knee. His bad one. To which I told him he didn’t have to do that. And then he said he would even if it killed him. And I think I said something stupid like “Not on my watch.”

I don’t even remember what he said after that. He doesn’t either. We both blacked out from sheer happiness. All I really remember is him asking me to do him the honor of being his wife and me pulling him up off of his knee and saying ‘Duh!’ as fast I could before kissing him. Over and over and over again until that air mattress was just a deflated extension of the wood floor beneath it.

・❥・

Dana’s hand rests on my thigh gently. My leg stops shaking. My mind doesn’t stop racing though.

I'm not an anxious person. If anything, I can be relaxed to a fault. But I am an intuitive person - and something is wrong.

Where is he?

“Relax. When is that man ever late?”

“That’s why I’m worried.”

You would think I didn't have my own license or car the way Jack insists on driving me everywhere. He tells me it is to keep our insurance from being sky high. I may or may not be a bit accident prone when behind the wheel. I tell him it's because he's obsessed with me. He always huffs a laugh and murmurs something about two things being true at once.

The Pitt makes sense. Ever since Jack started taking on more day shifts to balance out our conflicting schedules, a lot of times we are arriving and leaving here together. But on the off chance we are not, he is still picking me up. Always with some kind of treat in hand - usually a McDonalds Diet Coke much to Jack's dismay.

Jack takes the saying 'If you're not early - you're late' far more seriously than anyone I have ever met. The day shift typically gets off at 7 PM which means he is usually here to gossip with Robby on the roof by 6:35 PM.

“Go - take a case! He’ll be here to pick you up before you know it.”

My dissents are quickly met with Dana shooing me from the nurses station and personally squaring my shoulders to the board.

I haven’t even read the first name when Robby appears at my shoulder.

“Where is your fiancé?”

“Say that any louder and you’re going to be my next patient.”

“Yeah because you two are so inconspicuous with the whispering and the giggling and the big honking rock on your finger and the-“

“-disappearing to 'clean' the on-call room.” Dana finishes Robby’s sentence as they both double over in laughter.

Dana, Robby, and Collins are the only people in the ED that know about Jack and I’s relationship.

Collins knew I had feelings for Jack before I even let myself go there. Robby knew Jack had feelings for me before he let himself go there. So they took matters into their own hands.

Collins had a $100 on Jack breaking first. Robby $100 on me. And he had an extra $100 to spare when he bribed Dr Ellis to ask me to take her night shift for a week. Oh, how that backfired on him.

Three shifts later and Robby was $200 in the hole.

Six months later, I was moved out of my city apartment and into Jack's house.

Dana offered to drive me home after shift one night. Because it was cold and rainy and my apartment was close by. My apartment that I no longer lived in.

Jack wasn’t picking me up - he was out of town at a conference. I insisted on taking an uber, the bus, walking - anything that meant not explaining to Dana why my new address was the same as Dr Abbot's. She wouldn't take no for an answer and yelled "Oh, I knew it! Bridget owes me $100!" when I finally fessed up.

One year later, almost to the day that Robby had to pony up on his bet with Collins, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

Tonight, after he picks me up, Jack and I are going to pilates together.

It was only a matter of time before Robby and Collins gave it another go and I bet Jack that Robby would fold before Collins.

What's the point in betting money when we share a bank account? Seeing Jack in the pink pilates grippy socks he does not know I got him will be priceless.

“Well, when you find him please tell him that he is late for our date on the roof."

"Stop dragging him up there - you already have a date tonight!"

"Yeah, one in which I need his advice on."

"Oh please, you're talking to the wrong Abbot if you need advice on how to woo Collins." Dana interjects. Not everyone in the ED knows about Jack and I but they do know Heather and I are best friends.

"Oh, I wasn't aware you two had tied the knot already. Do you want me to change your name on the board? I can do that right now actually. Does HR know? It'll just take a moment-" Robby teases.

I grab the remote out of Robby's hands as he laughs, "Okay fine - go have your little roof date but do not take long!"

"Well, we'd already be done if he wasn't late. Where is he by the way? He is never late for anything.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

I step forward, my elbows on the counter of the nurses station and my head now in my hands as I groan.

“Relax. It’s Jack - we couldn’t keep him away from this place even if we wanted to. Especially with you in here.” Robby squeezes my shoulder and is off to what I assume to be the roof.

I check my watch before I stand back up to scan the board for real this time - 6:50 PM.

Where is he?

I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s no new message from Jack lighting up my home screen but I open up our conversation anyways.

From Jack: I miss you

From Jack: I can’t believe Langdon is getting to hang out with you right now and not me

From Jack: If you stay at that damn hospital any longer we’re gonna have to start forwarding all these packages you order there

Little does he know one of those many packages holds his new pilates socks.

To Jack: Oh please - as if more than half aren’t all your little go bag gadgets

To Jack: And to think our colleagues think I’m the drama queen

“Incoming - Trauma 1!”

I’m happy for the distraction. I’m gowned, gloved, and ready to go before the patient is even rolled in.

The doors to Trauma 1 fly open - but not with a patient. Just Dana.

“I’m going to get Robby! You should not have to do this.” Dana is staring pointedly at me before she’s off. I don’t even get a chance to respond.

Weird. I know I’ve only been an attending for a couple months but Dana had more confidence in me on my first day as an intern than she did just now.

I now understand why as the patient is rolled in front of me.

There he is.

Unconscious. Cold. Clammy. And slightly bloody from a small cut on his forehead.

My world stops.

“Heart attack.” Langdon is here.

Somehow all I can think of is Jack’s text from earlier. I want to laugh but I can’t. What if I never get one again? I’m supposed to see him in pink pilates socks tonight. Not in a body bag.

“CLEAR!”

Suddenly all the pieces from the past couple days are coming together and I cannot believe I didn’t catch it sooner. Can’t believe he didn’t catch it sooner!

“CLEAR!”

His dizziness. The increase in massages of his amputated leg. The quick heart beat. The rash.

I hear the commotion around me. But I’m not processing any of it until it’s directed at me.

“I said CLEAR! Move!”

This cant be happening. So I decide that it’s not going to.

“No!” My voice comes out way more feeble than I meant. Way more feeble than anyone in this ED has ever heard me.

“Well I hope you enjoyed being Abbot’s favorite because you’re going to kill him and your career in one go.”

“Langdon - he is not having a heart attack.”

“Yes he is!”

“No he isn’t - take off his leg!”

“Take off his leg?! Okay, you’re literally going insane. And I’m supposed to report to you?! I know I went to rehab but oh my gosh - CLEAR!”

“I’m going to clear you out of this trauma bay if you do not get out of my way.”

You know how they say a new mom could lift a car off of her new born baby? I’m pretty sure that’s the phenomenon I am experiencing right now. I don’t exactly know what other worldly force is taking over me right now but I do not question it. I am watching myself from outside of my body as I spring into action.

I shove Langdon to the side as I lift up Jack’s pant leg to remove his prosthetic. The prosthetic that noone else in this room would’ve known he had.

He doesn’t keep it a secret but he doesn’t exactly advertise it either. Especially when he refuses to sit down on a double shift. Ironically enough, that’s probably why he is on this table.

I spot what I’m looking for immediately but Langdon is the one who speaks it out loud, “Pressure ulcer - he’s in septic shock.”

“Thanks for finally using your brain Dr Langdon but we’re going to be using mine from here on out.”

“Blood ox is 91.” Someone yells. I don’t know who. What I do know is that 91 is dangerously low.

“Scalpel.” I demand.

“What are you going to do?”

“We need to drain this fluid before his organs start to fail.”

The first and only time Jack taught me this procedure it was his save. Now it has to be mine.

I tell myself that one day we will be sitting in front of our engraved fireplace. Old. Like, actually old. Not the fake old that Jack tries to pretend he is. With kids and grandkids - telling them the story of how Jack saved his own life through the transitive property. So I better get to work.

“Scalpel. Now.”

Langdon slams the scalpel into my hand. I ignore the looks around the room. The looks that say ‘The only person qualified to perform something like this in an ED is the patient’.

“Your funeral. And his.” I ignore Langdon.

I must have cut the most perfect incisions of my life. Performed the most flawless procedure anyone has ever seen from me. I don’t remember any of it.

The loud beeping slows. His blood pressure rises. Then his blood oxygen. Then the bag I drained is full and being disposed of by Dana.

When did she get here?

Robby’s hand is on my shoulder, trying to pull me away.

When did he get here?

I hear him tell Whitaker to get a suture and close up the wound. Oh, the irony. Credit where credit is due - Whitaker has gotten much quicker under Jack’s patient teaching. Thank fucking goodness.

I think of the first real laugh I got out of Jack. My eyes start to tear up but I stop myself. I will hear that laugh again. Over and over and over again. So much so that I would get sick of it if that was even possible.

Robby is apologizing profusely into my ear. He has nothing to be sorry for. But I can’t manage any words. So I just let him move me out of Whittaker’s way but I do not leave Jack’s side.

I can’t seem to register anything beyond Jack’s face that I’m seemingly trying to force into consciousness with my stare alone.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

My head turns to Whitaker at his question but it swivels so fast back to Jack I think I give myself whiplash. Because I don’t speak - he does.

“Solid work, doctor.”

I’ve never been happier to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god.” My hand clamps over my mouth as my head dips to Jack’s chest, my arms wrapping around his shoulders.

My adrenaline tank plummets to zero and I am absolutely sobbing into Jack’s chest. Whatever was coursing through my veins during that procedure is coming out in what feels like gallons of tears and hiccups.

I don’t care who’s in the room. I don’t care that everyone is slack jawed and staring and so beyond confused. I don’t care that out of the corner of my eye I see Perlah slapping a $100 into Princess’s palm.

All I care is that Jack’s hand has found its way into my hair and when I place my shaking hand on top of it to make sure it’s real - it is. Even better - it’s warm and dexterous and alive.

He’s alive and he’s here.

He gently guides my head out of his chest. I lift my chin up to look at him - give him the eye contact I know he is seeking. That we both are.

“Baby - I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is as steady as ever. His heart beat matching it. The beat that was so faint what seems like moments ago.

I let it calm me down. I place a kiss to his chest and lean up to do the same to his forehead. My hand tangles in his salt and pepper curls as I hold his sweaty forehead to my lips and then bring my own forehead down to meet his. I close me eyes and breath him in.

He’s alive and he’s here.

“Welcome back, brother.” Robby manages to choke out through a couple tears of his own.

“Just wanted to make sure you guys weren’t getting lazy at the end of your shift.”

We all crack a smile but only Robby speaks, “Does this mean I have to work a double?”

“Not if you go park my car. It’s in the ambulance bay.”

I speak a full sentence for what feels like the first time in days, “You drove here?”

“We had a date. Plus, I wasn’t feeling quite right.” Jack nods down towards his amputated leg like it’s nothing but a minor inconvenience.

I dig into his pocket and toss Robby his keys. Robby calls for a CT and a room with a bed before ushering himself and everyone else out to give us some privacy.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling like I’d like to make the woman who just saved my life my wife.”

My hand immediately flies to the small cut on his forehead. The blood dry and crusty, “How hard did you hit your head? We’re already engaged.”

Jack chuckles, places his hand on mine and squeezes, “I barely hit my head when I fell out of the car. I’m fine - I just really don't want to live another moment without being able to call myself your husband.”

So we don’t. Not really anyways. I make Jack get every fucking scan in the book that I think we hit our insurance deductible in under an hour. He humors me by lying in the bed in one of the ER rooms as I pump a myriad of fluid and antibiotics into him.

After a few hours his blood oxygen is perfect. So is his blood pressure and his heart rate. I don’t think I’ve taken my eyes off of him once. Or my hands. Running my hands through his hair, caressing his forehead, squeezing his forearm. Just to reassure myself he is here.

He understands what I’m doing. Hears what I cannot say. He grabs my hand on its next pass through his hair and presses a kiss to every single knuckle before speaking, “Baby, I’m sorry I scared you. I scared myself honestly. But I promise, I am not going anywhere. Ever. And I am so sorry you had to go through that. You should have never had to operate on me. I don’t know how you did that. I mean if it was flipped. If I saw you come in like that-“

His voice falters, his bottom lip quivers and he pulls me into the tightest hug as we both begin to cry. I think if we could crawl into eachothers skin, we would.

We stay there like that for a while. Until Jack grabs my face, kisses every single part of it, then whispers “I love you so much but I think if you pump anymore fluid into me you’re going to water board me.”

As if on cue, Robby whips the curtain open, “To the roof we go!”

“You can’t be serious.”

Robby holds up some kind of certificate as Collins and Dana round the corner.

In the hours I spent nursing Jack back to health, I went to the bathroom one time. And only because I hadn’t gone the last four hours of my shift and I own a huge water bottle.

In that one bathroom break, Jack had managed to get Robby ordained online and enlisted Dana and Collins to ‘decorate’ the roof.

We’re still gonna have our wedding ceremony and the reception and the whole ordeal. But I agree with him - I can’t go another second not married to him. Not after today.

So we go up to the roof. Jack still in his hospital gown and me in my scrubs. Robby officiates, Dana sings because she can’t help herself, and Collins ‘witnesses’ which really means crying.

Jack is kissing me before Robby can even say, “You may kiss your bride.”

When we come up for air, Robby claps both of us on the back and says, “Solid work, you two.”

I just kiss my husband again. Because he is alive and he is here

Three

Note: This has been an idea for a lot of characters and it just...really fits Jack I think. There is also a version coming for Robby.

Warnings: Angst, Fem!Reader, regular trauma related violence, gun violence, death, established relationship, no beta.

Summary: You and Jack have your own silent way to communicate the love you have for each other which comes in handy after you're injured at Pitt Fest.

It was subtle the way that it started, a way for Jack and yourself to say 'I love you' without saying it. As the only ward clerk allowed at Central, because you were the only truly trusted one, you had grown close to Jack, ensuring that orders, be it medication or imaging, or even admissions, were entered correctly into the Epic system for the night shift team, taking some of the load off of the nurses and at the same time, making sure that all records were accurate, particularly for the billing side of things, lest Gloria have an aneurysm if something was missed that could have been billed for. Day shift had an equivalent of you, but they were new and not as trusted. It was not uncommon for Robby to stay late just to ask you to ensure that his final orders for the night were followed.

Because of this a relationship with Jack grew, the stoic, former soldier, but still a soldier at heart, cracking a small smile here and there. You would bring him coffee to start the night (while also being the official brewer of coffee for the staff lounge), ground him when he lost patients, and eventually you found yourself grabbing breakfast with him most mornings. About 6 months into the job, Jesse collects his winnings on the running bet of when you would finally admit that you were together. There was no big revelation. One night, you were both off (somehow you just happened to be on the same shift schedule as Jack, something that was not lost on you) sitting in the living room of your small apartment watching movies. You were always at your place and not his because yours was 'homey' according to him. You had been leaning on the arm of the couch, legs covered by a blanket and his head in your lap, your fingers carding through his greying hair.

You had looked down at him to find him staring at you. "My lease is up in a month, I have to decide if I'm signing again or not." You had mumbled. The corner of his mouth quirked, "Yeah?" You simply nodded. "You should move into my place, add some personality, and no rent." He had replied. "You think so? Your room or the spare?" You asked with a raised brow.

"Mine of course."

You moved in ten days later and never left. One year later, you were married. That was three years ago.

—

The first 'I love you' came after the anniversary of his wife's death, after you'd lived with him three months. He had understandably had a bad day, thankfully it was not a workday for him and he could take it easy. He saw his therapist, showed up back at home and cornered you in the kitchen where you had been preparing dinner for the two of you. Backing you into the counter, he wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead and holding you close before whispering a soft "I love you." You're not ashamed to say you cried a little before telling him that you did in fact love him too.

At work, you kept things professional. Anyone not new, knew that you were together, knew that you lived in the same house and knew that Jack was incredibly protective, but they also knew that they were the ultimate professionals, with only subtle changes. If he was hanging out by your workstation, asking you to add orders, a hand would be on your shoulder, or your waist if he was sitting, and if they were really paying attention...they would see the three soft taps or squeezes that you would leave on one another. Always three. Your silent way of saying I love you. It was integrated into everyday life, even at home when watching TV.

Dana had witnessed it once as she was coming into work one morning. The shift had been hard, four patients had been lost, and one had been only a couple of months old. Jack had retreated to the lounge, attempting to escape everything without heading to the roof, he didn't think that he was at that point yet. You had followed closely, standing in front of him, trying to ground him with soft words. Dana had walked in to put her lunch in the fridge as you'd raised a hand to his chest, tapping three times on his chest just over his heart. He'd pulled you close then, arms wrapping around you, tapping your hip three times in response as you stood quietly. Dana had decided that her lunch could go in the fridge later.

—

The morning of Pitt Fest, you were excited. Both you and Jack had the night off, Jack wouldn't be going, but he'd gotten yourself and your best friends passes for your anniversary. You were dead tired but chugged a can of Monster while packing another for the road. After getting yourself ready you kissed him goodbye, gave him three quick taps on the chest and made your way out the door where Christy and Samantha were waiting for you in Christy's car. Jack showered and went to bed for the day. 30 minutes after leaving you were coffeed up, energized and ready to party. Jack was out cold, his police scanner on for white noise in the background. Every so often you sent Jack a text, knowing he'd have it on do not disturb unless it was a phone call from yourself or the hospital. You sent updates, photos and videos. Jack finally started responding around 3:30 pm, finally giving up on sleep after briefly waking at 2. A simple thumbs up emoji was sent in response to everything you had sent. You sent back a heart, chugged another Monster and went back to the music, running into Jake and his girlfriend Leah briefly around 4.

It was just after 5:30 when things went sideways. You and your friends were close to the stage, listening to a lesser-known local band, but one that you knew well when you heard the first pops of what you thought were firecrackers...they could have been pyrotechnics, but this band didn't have the budget for that. Your head tilted, the band didn't stop so everything had to be, okay? Right?

Wrong, you were so very wrong. One moment you had turned to Christy, intending to ask if she'd heard the pops, and the next thing you knew your face was covered in blood and half of Christy's was...no longer there. Screams erupted as you dropped to the ground, grabbing Samantha by the hand and pulling her flat. Some people were running, some were taking cover, but you knew you couldn't stay where you were.

"What the actual fuck?!" You heard Samantha say. "What the fuck is happening? Y/N. We have to get Christy; we can't leave Christy!" Samantha was panicking, so were you, but working in the Emergency Department had trained you to stay calm, or as calm as you could, but this was different. You shook your head. "We can't help Christy." You said, pulling Samantha with you as you carefully maneuvered closer to the stage, intending to go under it for cover, staying low as you went.

"What the fuck do you mean we can't help Christy?" You sighed, turning slightly but not stopping as people dropped around you. You didn't speak again until yourself and Samantha were under the stage, others following your example. You turned to fully look at Samantha, pale, her eyes wide, clear signs of shock. "Sammy, I need you to focus. Christy is dead, okay, very, very dead." The fact that your best friend since childhood was gone had set in but you couldn't let yourself fall apart, you could do that later when you were safe at home in Jack's arms.

You quickly realized that you couldn't stay where you were, despite being covered from above, the sides of the stage were open, and it would be easy to shoot underneath it. You crawled to the other side of the stage, slowly, listening as the gunshots continued, getting closer and closer to the stage. Every so often you looked behind you to make sure Samantha was still following, she was. When you got to the edge of the stage you realized that there was a new problem. The closest exit was the entrance to the venue...which was on the other side of the field. The rest of the area was contained with a chain-link fence, you could climb it, but that would leave you exposed. No matter what you did, to get out you needed to leave your cover and make a run for it. Taking a deep breath, you pulled your phone from your pocket, shooting off a quick text to Jack, not having time to call him.

Shooter at Pitt Fest. I'm trying. I love you.

—

Jack had been staring at the ceiling, having not moved from the bed, when the police scanner went off. 'All units, multiple reports of shots fired at Pitt Fest, unknown number of suspects, unknown number of casualties.'

For a moment Jack's heart stopped and his blood froze. You were there. You and your friends. You, who had begged him to come along but he hadn't wanted any part of the crowds, noise and well...all of it. You were there. He was not. He shook it off, and steeled himself, slipping into combat mode, grabbing his phone and his go bag before rushing to his truck. He checked his phone to see if you'd messaged him, you hadn't, and he hesitated over the call button, only stopping because he knew your phone would not be on silent and a ringing phone could make you a target. He was out of the driveway barrelling towards PTMC in less than two minutes.

30 minutes later he received your text, he was elbow deep in a patient trying to save them.

—

Mel was taking half a second to breathe in the ambulance bay, ready for her next patient with Shen, seemingly unflappable, by her side as the next load of cars came in. As the SUV pulled to a screeching halt in front of her, Shen was by her side, swinging the door open as a Samantha immediately jumped out, blood all over her and pressing her sweater into your chest. Mel had no idea who you were, it was her first day, she just needed to triage you and get you inside, Shen however, froze. Mel noticed and her eyes widened. "No, I don't like that face. Dr. Shen?"

Shen quickly assessed you. "Fuck, she's a red..." He turned to Mel. "Help me get her in there and do NOT let Abbot have this one." Mel cocked her head to the side. "Why can't Dr. Abbot have her?"

Shen took a breath. "She works here; she's one of us. Most importantly? She's his wife."

He did not stop Samantha from following.

—

Jack had barely looked up when Shen came in with the next victim, he was busy with his own patient, it registered in his brain that the patient was being handed off to Robby, which meant they were in good hands. It was Robby shouting "fuck" that got his attention. His head lifted and when he looked at Robby, the older man was doing chest compressions, but his eyes were on Jack. Jack felt a pit settle in his gut, and then he spotted Samantha. He knew. Immediately he turned to Mohan. "Take over, now!"

Heart hammering in his chest he didn't give Mohan a moment to argue before he was rushing over to Robby, Samantha spotting him and wrapping her arms around him for a second. "I-I'm s-sorry Jack. Its m-my fault, s-she was covering m-me when she was hit...Christy's dead. Fuck, I'm sorry." Samantha was spiralling, internally so was he, he could only hear the blood in his ears. No man's land. You were hit in no man's land.

Robby wouldn't let him help, couldn't let him help. Not just for ethical reasons but if you died and Jack was working on you, well...Jack wouldn't survive that. Jack likely wouldn't survive either way, but at least if it was Robby, Jack wouldn't hate himself. Not as much. Jack watched as they were able to stabilize you just enough to send you off to surgery, Jack following close behind with Robby hot on his heels. They stopped the gurney at the OR doors, just long enough for Jack to lean down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand squeezing yours three times, even though you couldn't respond.

"Don't you fucking leave me, I can't go through this again."

Jack went back to work with the promise from Garcia that as soon as there was an update, he would have it. This was a MASH unit and there was no time to stop.

—

It's hours later when the darkness starts to fade from your consciousness. You're on your back, and part of you panics when you realize that the discomfort in your throat is from being intubated, the instinct to fight the machine helping you breathe running rampant. You reached up, grabbing for the offending tube and ignoring the pain you were suddenly feeling. You barely register the scrapping of a chair being moved as a shadow moved into your view, grabbing for your hand to stop you.

"Hey! Hey, no, none of that baby, you need that right now." You froze, unable to fight the strong grip he had on you. Your eyes focused, and there was your Jack, staring down at you, looking exhausted and like he'd aged about 30 years. His hair looked like he hadn't stopped running his hands through it. He leaned over you, letting go of your hand when he realized that you were relaxing a bit, his hand moving to tuck some of your hair out of your face and behind your ear.

"You're okay, scared the fuck out of me, but you're okay." His voice was gruff, tired and soft all the same time, cracking a bit near the end like he was holding back tears. "My therapist is going to have a field day." He said with a bitter chuckle.

You reached up as best you could, tracing your fingers over his face wearily. You felt the tears fall before you could stop them, and brought your hand to his chest, just over his heart and tapped him three times. You watched Jack's lip tremble a bit as he reached for your hand, clearing his throat.

"I know." He squeezed your hand gently three times.

I love you.

As Above, So Below I Chapter 1- I'll Tell You Everything is Copacetic

Synopsis: Two attendings, one new psychologist working both the day and night shifts on a rotation. You could have sworn you heard both of them call “dibs,” and you’re more than willing to entertain the both of them.  Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader and Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader Word count: 2.1K Warnings: Talk of mental illness and other psychological things, violence, dark humor, and some smut along the way  :) A/N: I couldn’t decide between Robby and Abbot, so I present you with BOTH. Tag list is open, Part 2 coming soon

As Above, So Below. "Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius, et quod inferius est sicut quod est superius." -- That which is above is like to that which is below, and that which is below is like to that which is above.

It based on the notion of Hermeticism; the idea that God was a magician.

The religious and philosophical idea that the universe is broken into the Macrocosm (the universe), and the microcosm (the individual).

That which is above, corresponds to that which is below in order to accomplish the miracle of one thing. In simplest terms—whatever happens in the spiritual world, also happens in the physical world, and vice versa.

Your spiritual and physical world existed on two equal and opposite sides; day shift and night shift.

Two very different shifts.

Two very different paces, senses of humor, and inside jokes 

Two very different attending doctors.

And you were vying for the attention of both of them. 

Part 1: I'll Tell You Everything is Copacetic

The promotion from the career you had grown comfortable, came unexpectedly and as the result of a physical altercation with a patient. You, the staff psychologist at a maximum-security prison, had come face-to-face with a makeshift weapon during a routine therapy session. The irony, which had not been lost on you, had been that your patient had been so worried that he’d never get out of prison, he had no insight into the fact that stabbing someone in the back with a sharpened toothbrush, would surely end in those exact consequences. He was one of your favorite patients. It was a real “Et tu, Brute” type of moment, both figuratively and literally. 

The thing they don't tell you about being stabbed in prison, is that the threat needs to be cleared before life-saving measures can be started. There you were, on the ground, bleeding from a stab wound that barely missed your spinal cord, waiting for EMS to arrive, while you almost choked to death on the pepper spray canister that had been deployed by security as they watched on in horror. The other thing they don't tell you about being stabbed in prison, is how motherfucking painful it is and how that trauma will likely linger long after the pain. 

Leaving that job wasn’t a suggestion as much as it was a directive. You were medically cleared after 12 weeks, but the optics of the entire situation made it difficult for management to move forward without shouldering most of blame. The split was mostly amicable; they wouldn’t have to feel any guilt about a weapon making its way all the way to your therapy session, and you’d never have to wear khaki cargo pants and a "stab vest" again that clearly was just for show. 

You applied for the job of Chief Psychologist at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center as soon as it popped up on your archaic Linkedin profile, and got the job the following week. The long-waited return to your hometown and all of the skeleton's in your childhood home's closet. The emergency room didn’t exactly sound like a soothing retreat for the recently stabbed, but it did promise the perfect distraction – 12-hour shifts, vacillating between days and nights, and no time to think about all of the things that had happened up to this. And, as a cherry on top, you’d be the first in this position, a long-awaited overhaul of PTMC only relying on psychiatry and social work for their mental health needs. To have someone on-site, in the emergency room, was PTMC's big wet dream; and you were happy to give them that happy ending.

---

Your shift starts at 7am and you take the long way to work to clear your head. The city you once called home has hardly changed, but the feeling of being back was heavier than you expected.

Your phone dings, a familiar face and name.

Dana: Hey kid, come find me at the nurse's station when you get here. you're gonna fit right in

Your physical therapist told you to take it slow, and walking was about as much as you could handle still 12 weeks post-injury. The pain shot down your back from your shoulder blade to your hip, a lingering limp still evident. The scar was "gnarly" according to your best friend, but you had been too afraid to look. PTMC sat at the top of the delightfully named "cardiac hill" -- One of the steepest hills in the city, home to several of the best hospitals in Pittsburgh and the University of Pittsburgh campus. According to local legend, more heart attacks happened here than any other place in Pittsburgh.

Your injury forced you to relocate with the distance in mind, but you weren't exactly thrilled to be sharing the sidewalk with undergraduate college students and their roller backpacks who barely look up from their phone. You were, however, thrilled to see one of the seven wonders of the world on your way to work-- Dunkin'.

America does run on Dunkin', and you know why? Because it's trash, and so is society. You don't walk into a calm environment of espresso machine and jazz music, surrounded by independent filmmakers discussing their film adaptations of David Foster Wallace like you would at a hipster coffee shop. Dunkin' welcomes you with bloodied open arms into a warzone. An absolutely unhinged battlefield, people screaming, the excitement of giving your order to someone who absolutely could not give a fuck. You let Dunkin' tell you what you need, and not for lack of trying. You give the order but they rarely listen. Today you walk out with a large iced mocha, with whipped cream, after ordering a large vanilla latte with oat milk. The universe just feels right, a little off its axis and sickenly sweet.

You walk through the double doors to the ER sliding in between two gurneys on their way to the ambulance bay and make your way to the nurses station, Dana waiting with open arms

"It has been far too long, my girl," Dana hugs you tightly, "and boy am I glad you are okay, and you are here. Your mom told me what happened, how you holding up"

"Almost recovered. You should see the other guy" you reply, "and you look great."

"Thanks kid," Dana smiles, her eyes shift to someone behind you "Oh captain, my captain."

"A patient?" You hear his voice before you see him, and when you turn around, it's hard to look away. He's all tall, dark, and handsome, a real father-figure vibe towering over you. Cargo pants, black scrub top, a fancy watch, a faded hoodie. This must be the place, and this guy definitely fucks. He must have clocked you the moment you walked in--looking like a lost puppy with a limp and a cup full of coffee. Of course he thinks you're a patient.

"My daughter's best friend, and your new psychologist," She corrects him, "This is Dr. Robby."

"Sorry, I saw you come in and were limping, just wanted to make sure you were okay," He nods, confirming that he did, in fact, notice you as soon as you walked in

"The limp is more of a talking point than a medical emergency, but I wouldn't say no to someone taking a look at it. I almost got laid out by an undergrad with a roller backpack on my way here." You smile, outstretching a hand, "I'm Y/N Wheeler, the new head of the psych department."

"Michael Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Robby," He shakes your hand, noticing the tattoo stretching from your wrist to your elbow and under the sleeve of your shirt. He instinctively tilts your arm to examine the ink, a thumb rubbing over your wrist softly, without even noticing he's doing it. Ooooph. You clear your throat and his eyes meet yours, face turning a deep shade of red.

"Don't worry, it definitely goes all the way to my shoulder. If you're good, I'll show it to you." You quip, maintaining eye contact until he looks away,  "and yes, the nose ring is real too."  

“Wheeler! I see you've met Robby" John Shen takes a step next to Robby, a matching Dunkin' cup in hand. He raises his glass to yours, knocking the two together, "Cheers, bitch. Never thought I'd see the day you moved back to Pittsburgh. Welcome to the thunderdome.”

Shen looks at Robby, “She's straight from the feds. You didn't see her on the news--”

You interrupt before he can divulge any gruesome details of the trauma to your new colleague, “He means that I was a psychologist at the federal detention center not that I was in prison. Although always keep your cards close to your chest."

"Sorry, You two know each other as well?" He raises his eyebrows as the dynamic playing out in front of him, "Jesus Pittsburgh really is small world."

"We met in grad school. Gave him therapy the whole way through residency” You reply, "taught him everything he knows about screaming internally while keeping a straight face." 

"Ah" Robby nods, "That really does explain his shockingly chill demeanor." 

“Oh great, you're all here." Gloria interrupts the conversation, coming up behind you in a pastel purple pantsuit. Over teams she seemed less, up tight. In person, she's all business in the front and even more business the back, "Our newest chief psychologist. We now have our own consult, and she's overseeing the entire department."

"Figured I could help the ol’ pill pushers up in psychiatry. And plus, these patients seem like a breeze compared to prison." You make a joke, trying to assess the humor of the group. Shen gets it, and laughs. Robby gets it, wants to laugh, but stuffs his hand in his pockets. Gloria doesn't get it at all. 

"She’ll be spending her time between day and night shifts, the full 12 hours, so use her as an appropriate resource," she continues.

"You save 'em and I’ll keep them from jumping off the roof" You say quietly, nudging Robby with your elbow, a smile spreading across his face as Gloria turns around and heads off to whatever upper-management office she spawned from. 

"So where did you go to school?" Robby asks, hoping your answer reveals something about your age.

"I went to Pitt for undergrad and then Drexel for graduate school. Did my internship, post-doc, and forensic fellowship with the feds" You nod, "we had an infirmary unit, which closely resembled a hospital, but more security forward than anything. I'm board certified in forensics, but my internship focused mostly on neuropsychology." 

"Don't take this the wrong way, but fuck am I glad they hired someone like you." He responds, rubbing a hand over his neck,"Hell, some of us could probably use an evaluation."

"I'm excited to be here, but I'm definitely going to have to learn the sense of humors around here. I'm pretty fucked up from the prison, i don't have a great filter, but i work hard and I care about my patients." 

He stops walking and turns to face you, "you'll fit in great. So why did you leave the feds?"

"Honestly, I was tired of getting pissed on." The way you say it, so matter-of-factly, with the ability to maintain a serious expression causes Robby to snort. It catches him off guard, a genuine laugh erupting from his throat. He looks at you like he's not quite sure what to make of you yet, but his gaze lingers, a smirk on his face.

"Speaking of getting pissed on" another attending comes up behind you, shorter than Robby, but equally as handsome in a way that screams he's got his own trauma, “Kraken is in two if you’re into that sort of thing." 

"Dr. Abbot" Dr. Robby shoots him a look like he's trying to corral his kid. These two know each other. Maybe not biblically, but you know they've definitely cried in front of each other. Something you wouldn't be opposed to seeing.

"Who is the kraken? And do I look like I’m into that sort of thing?" He wasn't expecting you to shoot the same level of bullshit back to him,even as a shit-eating grin appears on his face.

"Never met a nose ring that wasn’t," He shrugs

"A little early for kink shaming, Jack, "Shen interjects, unable to help himself.

"Can't wait to see what my tattoos suggest" you raise an eyebrow

"Sorry, Do you two know each other too?" You can't tell if Robby's annoyed with him or the conversation, but Abbot ignores him.

"Military?"

"Feds."

He nods his head in approval, narrowing his eyes like he's trying to figure out if you're worth his time, "You on nights?"

"Next week. Running a support group on how to dive off the roof and land on your feet at 1am." You don't miss a beat.

"Right up my alley" Abbot responds, "you're going to be trouble."

You catch the look between Robby and Abbot, something unspoken. For a second, you could have sworn they were calling dibs.

𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

summary: jack abbot really needs to stop overhearing conversations that he's not a part of.

author's note: here it is!! my first ever jack abbot fic ♡ thank you to everyone who has been reading the little paragraphs so far! hope you all like it!

word count: 9.7k

warnings/tags: virgin, fourth year med student reader and attending jack. age gap relationship. loss of virginity, oral sex, lots and lots of praise kink <3 normal hospital lingo and descriptions of procedures.

jack abbot knows better than to listen to the nurses gossiping. he does—because listening to them never leads to anything good. if he’s caught eavesdropping, he gets dragged in. loses money that was never meant to be spent on the bets—and seriously, the employees of this hospital have a gambling problem. 

other times he hears things he really wish he hadn’t heard. it’s just not relevant to him, he doesn’t want to know things about people that he’s not meant to know. maybe it’s a military thing, but he can’t really explain it. maybe jack is just used to keeping secrets and minding his own business. 

and the last thing that jack really doesn’t like about overhearing gossip is that sometimes, rarely and reserved only for special information, it gets trapped in his brain and becomes the only thing he thinks about for the rest of the shift. 

this is one of those times. 

he knows better—that’s what keeps coursing through his mind when he stands on the opposite side of the nurse’s station at central. keep his ears shut, eyes down, because the last time he was standing here unarmed, he learned about a pregnant technician upstairs and the married surgeon who was the father. information that he did not, does not, want to know. nor did he want to learn about the surgeon’s wife who was a nurse in the pediatric ward, or the technician’s boyfriend who is on a work trip in florida.

he thinks that was child’s play compared to this conversation. 

when jack glances up, he sees you on the other side of the desk, leaning forward on your elbows, smiling and laughing with the nurses. 

you’re a fourth year—he should let you smile and laugh while you can. you’re in that perfect, peaceful transition period between your audition rotations ending and finding out where you’re going for residency. it’s supposed to be an enjoyable time—there’s no exam prep waiting for you at home, no stressful surgery rotation coming up next week. 

jack didn’t know too much about you—you’d mostly been on the day shift for the duration of your rotation. that was normal, keeping all the students together when the majority of the doctors were there too. made it a little easier to manage.

you were a little different though. just a little. you’d specially asked to try out the night shift for the rest of the time you’d be at the hospital. it’s not the weirdest request they’d ever heard, but just unusual. fourth years cherish sleeping and spending time with family and boyfriends and organizing their life before being thrown head-first into intern year. 

(at least, that’s what jack thinks you’d cherish. the little he knows about you has been transferred from robby and a comment from the residents every now and then. all good things, and when he’d told you the night shift was your chance to prove all the good things he’d heard about you, you had beamed at him.

a smile so bright he had lost his train of thought and had to walk back to what he’d even said to begin with. he tries not to think about it when he sees you smiling like that to your patients or the nurses, like you are now. but it’s not the same one, he can tell. the one you smiled at him had been a little different, something in your eyes had lit up too, you had stood up straighter, like a current had made its way through you at the compliment. or something like that.)

and you had definitely been proving yourself. jack had learned maybe last week that you had applied emergency medicine. it made sense then, why you wanted to try out night shift, since first year interns eventually do night float. it was just practice for the future. which was great, and very exciting for you, but just not what he had expected. 

you were just so… happy. patient. you had seemed disappointed on your first day to learn that most of the emergency docs only wore black scrubs. you made up for it in other ways—a pink stethoscope, colored pens, a badge reel with a little cartoon on it. 

even looking at you now, fiddling with the pulley on your badge, listening intently to whatever the nurse was telling you, and then smiling in that reassuring way that he’s seen you do, you look like you shouldn’t be here. he briefly considers finding that surgeon’s wife, the pediatric nurse, to take you up there for a couple of hours. jack doesn’t think you would want to come back down, but, well, what does he know about you?

certainly not much. even if he had noticed the way you are with your patients—filled with an abundance of caring, a melodic tune to your voice, trying your hardest to comfort, repair, heal. he had seen you fetch cups of water and sandwiches yourself, not wanting to bother nurses. every sentence had a please and thank you attached. it didn’t take long for you to win over the patients. then the nurses. then the residents, and the attendings.

it seemed that your goal was to win over all the attendings. 

jack is still staring at you. but you’re so focused on your conversation with the nurse that you don’t even notice. and he has to stop before someone else notices, forcing himself to look down at the chart in front of him, trying to remember why he’d even come over here in the first place.

and that’s when he hears it. 

“-but i would have never guessed. you’re so pretty!” the nurse says, and he knows she is talking about you, because, well, who else would she be talking about? 

you are pretty, as unprofessional as the thought feels even entering his head. you’re very pretty, and the way you talk to everyone like they’re the most important person in the world to you only makes you prettier. 

jack almost clears his throat, before realizing that he is, in fact, eavesdropping. he can’t interrupt a conversation he’s not even a part of. and much to his chagrin, realizing that he is terrible at this, he tunes back into your conversation. 

“yeah, but it’s not about that,” you say, and you sound a little different. like you’re flushed. the words come out hesitantly, quietly. “it’s about... finding the right guy, right? i didn’t want to rush it and then regret it.” 

he hears the nurse laugh, and you laugh a little too, followed by a little groan. “i guess it is embarrassing,” you continue, before stopping, interrupted by the nurse. jack looks up briefly—you’ve got your head resting on your forearms, leaning down against the counter. he keeps looking until you bring it back up.

“no, it’s a good thing. especially in hospitals. keep your legs closed otherwise you’ll end up like that pregnant tech upstairs-”

“but that’s so horrible. his poor wife works here. and she has a boyfriend, how do you do that-” 

he keeps listening, his own face a little flushed. he both wants to and absolutely does not want to hear the rest of your conversation, but even through the fog, he thinks about how your only reaction to that bit of circulating gossip was how bad you feel for the wife. his heart beats a little faster.

“well don’t worry about that, you won’t have to deal with it as long as you stay a virgin-” you and the nurse laugh, and the phone starts ringing, and the charge nurse answers. 

she calls out, yelling for dr. abbot, and so lost in his thoughts—in your thoughts—he doesn’t even hear his own name being called for a couple of car accidents that were incoming. when he turns back to look, you’re already gone.

he needs to shake off whatever you’ve just done to him. his feet automatically take him to the trauma bay, gearing up for whatever is coming, but when he gets there, you’re standing there, waiting. a yellow gown already on you, gloves pulled. and in your hands, another gown and set of gloves—extra large, he can tell from the color. the ones that he wears. 

“dr. abbot,” you say, handing both items to him. “i heard from bridget, is it okay if i assist?” 

“yeah, sure, kid-” he thinks for a moment that he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. and how the hell is one tiny piece of gossip enough to have his head spinning like he’s some teenage boy? how does that work, when he’s never cared about workplace rumors or any of the other hundreds of medical students he’s worked with before? 

you beam up at him again, saying thank you. eager to prove your worth like always. you disappear behind him, and jack is confused for half a second before he feels your fingers on the skin of his neck—briefly, just another half of a second. you’re tying the gown for him.

how is that you’re this kind, this pretty, and you’ve never had someone to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else? that can’t be right. that can’t be fair. 

oh god.

jack wants to tie the back of yours, thinks that maybe twenty years ago he’d be a lot quicker on his feet to do what he wants with the information he’s just learned. but instead he hears the ambulance sirens pull up, and he sees the back of your head while you rush out to meet them, and he actually, for the first time in years, has to force his feet to move. 

you were so close behind him, he could smell it. not perfume, that would wear off quickly with how much they run around. it was your soap and your shampoo. clean and sweet and something like strawberries lingering in the air after you’ve taken off.

but he’s stood next to you before—how is it that this is the first time he’s noticed?

half way outside, you turn around, realizing jack’s not right behind you.

“dr. abbot?” you question, taking half a step towards him, the opposite direction. 

“yeah, coming,” jack answers and he follows you outside.

-

the mvc’s weren’t in the worst shape jack’s ever seen, but still bad enough that he needed to snap out of it. he doesn’t even want to think about how bad the rumor mill would be if word got out that he lost a patient because he couldn’t stop staring at the twenty-something medical student. (though it is hard to stop staring. how the hell did robby ever work with collins? how did he get anything done?) 

it’s not like jack is going to find out. you are strictly off limits. 

he tries to do what he always does—asks you questions. how many milligrams should you give the patient? what are the three things you should be the most worried about? the patient’s got a broken wrist from trying to brace for the impact but that’s the least of your worries, so how do you deal with it for now? 

the first one gets stable pretty quickly. the second one is where there’s more concern. he comes in, ellis saying something about the patient’s crashing and there’s a big piece of debris jammed in his chest. 

jack goes in there and he spares a glance at you. the intensity of the situation is enough to make you a little flushed, even though you’ve done an emergency rotation during third year and two auditions already this year. but it’s a good thing—you take every case as seriously as though it’s your first. worry about each patient like they’re your own family, like each step is your responsibility. 

he calls you over, asks you what medications you would give if you had to intubate. 

“uh, etomidate a-and rocuronium?” it comes out like a question, like you’re still a little uncertain, even though you’re right, like you don’t believe in yourself enough to say confidently.

he’ll have to change that. help you work on that. he can think of it now—maybe you would learn best if you had some kind of a reward system. you seem like the kind of girl who would benefit from that. maybe if he asked the questions from between your thighs and your reward was—

“dr. abbot?” the sound of your voice snaps him out of it.

“yeah. good. very good,” jack says, and he turns his head just slightly, just so he can see you beam again. “you heard the doctor. let’s get prepped for the intubation.” you move out of the way for ellis to come in, when he stops you. “no, you’re going to be doing it.” 

you pause, uncertain eyes staring up at your attending.

“a-are you sure? don’t you think you should-”

“i think you’re perfectly competent to intubate.” “you guys got this,” ellis says, taking her stethoscope around her neck and heading out. the nurse tells you that they’re all set up. you hear the blare of the heart monitor, another nurse reading off the vitals, all the way to the pulse-ox that’s too low. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” jack says, and you really, really wish he hadn’t said that. he’s close to you, handing you the laryngoscope. 

in moments like these, you realize why you were always meant to do this. you pick up the scope, carefully lowering it into the mouth and the top of the patient’s throat.

“don’t make any sudden movements. you don’t want to break his teeth,” jack instructs, his voice a gentle guide. you do know how to intubate, you must have done it a hundred times on the dummy in the skills lab. but you’ll never get over how different it is when it’s a real patient, how scared you get even when you shouldn’t be, because the doctor should never be scared like that.

but then you hear dr. abbot’s voice again. quiet, maybe even quiet enough that the other people in the room can’t hear. 

“i-i don’t see the cords-”

“take a breath. use your hand to extend the neck, get it straighter.” you listen to his instructions, hands moving by themselves to comply. “try again.” you’re looking down, and the nurses are looking at the video, and jack is looking at you. “past the epiglottis.” you push the tube a little further. “past the larynx.” a little further. “and cords.” 

you take a breath like you’ve never taken one before. the capnometer turns yellow and you finish out the steps, the rest feeling like muscle memory before handing it over to the nurse. the patient’s going up to surgery, but you make it outside the trauma room taking deep breaths to ground yourself.

“you okay?” dr. abbot asks from somewhere behind you. 

you turn to see him taking off the gown and gloves, the ones you had handed him. maybe you’d never noticed it before, but he’s got freckles over his forearms. maybe he spent a lot of time in the sun as a kid. when you don’t reply, thoughts trapped in your head and words not forming, he speaks again.

“come here,” and he guides you to the empty corner between the trauma room and the hallway. his hand hovers over the small of your back as he leads you there.

you’re going crazy—there’s no way you could feel his body heat through your scrubs. and yet the sensation lingers. he faces you, and you look up, blinking quickly. you don’t think you’ve ever been close enough to dr. abbot to see the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, or how the hair along his temples is more salt than pepper. his eyes bore into yours, and you stare up, forgetting the reason that you had even needed to speak to him. 

“are you sure you’re okay, kid?” he asks again, and you nod quickly.

“yes. yes, i’m sorry, dr. abbot.” you turn to look at the trauma room, looking at the nurses hovering over the patient you had just intubated. when you turn back to look at your attending, you realize he’s staring, just like how you were staring. 

“what are you apologizing for?”

“i-i forgot the steps. you-you had to talk me through it. i should have known,” you try to explain, though words and sentences become harder to form with each passing moment. 

“you’ve done how many of those, now? a handful? less than ten?” you nod. “you don’t have to be perfect here. you just have to try. and keep going, which you did.” you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “good job, doctor. you saved the patient.” 

“thank you dr. abbot.” you smile, beaming again, just not in the way you usually do. you’re still not that proud of yourself, jack can tell. 

the voice in the back of your head tells you that you should have been better, faster, more confident. you can’t imagine that ellis or shen or even your attending had been this hesitant as a medical student. 

“it’ll come with time, you know. no one’s perfect when they start out.” 

“did i say that out loud?” you question seriously, confusion spread all over your pretty features.

“no.” 

you’re so stupid—but maybe being so close to your serious, yet growing kinder by the millisecond attending was getting to you. the attending that you really want to impress, for reasons still unbeknownst to you. you want him to like you, to take you seriously, to think that you’d be a great candidate for their intern class starting in july. 

and then you lose your train of thought, staring at his eyes. it’s been too long, people are going to wonder where the two of you went.

but his eyes aren’t actually brown, like you thought. they’re hazel. 

“yeah,” he says, with a laugh. “they are.” 

your own eyes go wide like coins, and then you run straight to central to find a patient to preoccupy you from the embarrassment that is seeping out of you, leaving jack abbot laughing to himself in the empty corner between the trauma room and the hallway. 

the rest of your night shift is surprisingly uneventful. you had heard it was a bit calmer, but you didn’t expect such a drastic difference. but maybe it was just one of those nights. ellis wouldn’t let shen say the actual word, but you were all thinking it. it was kind of quiet tonight.

and normally, jack appreciates a quiet night. it’s like a little peace offering from god, akin to a slap on the back and a ‘thanks for your service’. he needs one every now and then, it’s the way only way to make sure for certain that he doesn’t end up on the roof a step closer than the last time.

though, staring at you from across the emergency room, watching you drink from your colorful water bottle and smile at shen and ellis, thanking them for their help while you work on notes, is certainly another way to make sure that jack abbot doesn’t think about that roof.

it’s only three in the morning though. there’s always time for the night to get worse. they’ve got four hours left, and he knows you’re off tomorrow.

well, he knows that he’s off. and then he took a peak at the schedule in one of his many free minutes tonight to see where you’ll be. he hopes the answer is at home, sleeping and eating and letting your body recover from the damage night shift does to your circadian rhythm. 

(he needs to cut it out. attendings have no business wondering what their bright eyed and bushy tailed fourth years are doing on their days off.)

but god if it doesn’t plague him—the fact that unlike what he thought, there’s no boyfriend waiting for you at home. no one to hear about your stressful day at work, the intubation that you did—perfectly, just with a little help from your overbearing attending, all the patients that you helped, and the great impression you made on the night shift. how he sees you answer every nurse carrying a question from patient with all your energy, even in the middle of the night. how you fill up a cup of ice chips for the patient waiting to go up to surgery, comforting them while knowing it’ll be sunlight outside when they’re finally taken up. 

and then he sees you sit down, taking a breath like you need to remind yourself to breathe sometimes. 

it’s just a little bit wrong. whatever he’s thinking, before he’s even thought it, it’s wrong. but how is it that you have all these things to be proud of, and no one at home to be proud of you? jack can sense it in the way that your smile grows every time you find out someone has something kind to say about you. every good job and well done is catalogued somewhere in your mind, and you wait ceaselessly for the next one, like an addiction. 

jack would spoil you, he thinks, for other people. for other men. he would praise you. he would tell you how perfect you are so many times that you wouldn’t be able to forget, that you would never doubt yourself again. that’s what you need waiting for you at home—the thing that can make it all better. 

and as wrong as it is, he knows he could do it for you. 

you look around the room and find hazel eyes staring right at you. your heart thuds in your chest. 

you smile at dr. abbot, and then look back down your notes. a minute later, you look up again, and he’s still looking. smiling. and now you can’t look away either. you had heard about the eye contact thing from other residents, it’s just a habit, they had said. you try not to flatter yourself that your attending is looking at you like he knows everything about you, including the things you don’t say out loud.

why does he have to be so nice to you? why does he have to laugh and smile even when you’re making an idiot of yourself? you should go up and apologize for that bit about the hazel eyes, though you think you might collapse into a puddle and melt into the ground if you have to bring it up again.

but you’re on for six more night shifts before the audition ends, and you ranked ptmc pretty high on your list—which may have been a mistake if you can’t stand in the presence of one of your attendings without turning into a flustered mess.

he hasn’t even done anything besides be nice to you. of course it’s that easy to unnerve you. you keep looking, watching the nurse who stopped to ask dr. abbot a question, how jack turns to talk to him, making eye contact that you were just at the receiving end of.

when the nurse walks away, jack turns back, looks right at you again. you can feel your face heat up like you just ran a mile. is this one of those things that’ll go away when you’re not a virgin anymore? that’s a heavy question for three-thirty in the morning.

here’s another one—how is every person in this hospital not in love with him?

you fluster and turn, breaking eye contact and keeping your head firmly staring at the computer screen. he laughs to himself again, walking off to check on a patient from earlier. the next time your eyes look up, they automatically go to the counter where jack was. you turn back and finish your notes.

“hey,” shen says, sliding into the empty seat next to you a while later. he opens the drawer under the desk, lifting up papers and pulling out a packet of goldfish from underneath. “forget what all these other people told you. your first rule is eat when you can.” you smile at that.

“noted. that’s a good hiding spot. inconspicuous.”

“that’s the goal. don’t tell the day shifters. it’ll be empty in an hour.” 

“i won’t. promise.”

“is your mvc still waiting for surgery?” 

“i think so, yeah,” you sit up a little straighter. you have this fear that you’ve done something wrong, that it’ll all be revealed in time.

“don’t worry, that’s normal this time of the night. i’d go check on him like once an hour and report to abbot. just because it’s-well, i’m not gonna say it.”

“right. got it. will do.” you get up, feet stumbling a little. it is pretty late. your watch says four-thirty, but you’re not tired. you’re just anxious.

you make your way to the patient’s room, the nurse filling you in on the updates in the last hour. there’s not many, thank god. you stare at the pulse-ox on the monitor for way too long, going over and checking to see that he is, in fact, still breathing. it’s silly. you know it is.

the nurse says she’ll be right back, and you look at the chart for another minute or so, trying to formulate the words you’re going to say to dr. abbot now so you don’t have to form them on the spot—god only knows how that might go.

you turn to head out, looking at the notes on the tablet in your hand, when you run into a brick wall.

“oh my god-” you almost drop the ipad, clutching onto it while it nearly tumbles out of your grip. jesus, how tired were you? walking into walls? but then the wall brings a hand to your shoulder, and that voice that’s been haunting your thoughts all night speaks.

and for what can only be the hundredth time that night, dr. abbot asks you if you’re okay.

you stare up at him. 

“you okay, kid?” 

“yes. i’m so sorry, dr. abbot. i was coming to find you.” 

“i figured. how’s your patient?”

“stable. waiting for surgery. i-i… nevermind.”

“you what?” he asks, gently taking the ipad from your hand and reading. he uses one hand to wipe his eyes, like he can take away the tiredness that way, and then runs a hand through his hair. you put your trembling fingers to your sides. he brings his eyes up from the screen to look at you. you really wish he wouldn’t.

“i was just making sure he was still breathing.” 

dr. abbot smiles at you. you smile back, but it’s half-hearted. your chest is thudding so loudly you can hear it in your ears. but his smile fades when he catches a glimpse of your shaking fingers.

“have you eaten today?”

“i had some coffee. and some water.” 

“the patient looks great. he’ll be fine. let’s get you something to eat.” 

you shut your eyes tightly, but your brain is so tired you don’t even know what you’re thinking. you’ll have to get better at this if you want to keep working here someday.

mindlessly, you follow dr. abbot. 

“between five and seven is the hardest part of the shift,” he says, opening up another drawer, different from shen’s. he hands you a protein bar. “and too much coffee is a bad thing. we don’t want your hands shaking if you need to put in a chest tube or thirty sutures at six am, do we?”

you shake your head, taking the protein bar from his hand. your fingers brush for all of two seconds. jack feels like he just touched a live wire.

“eat,” he says, and you listen. “you’re doing good, you know. it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“thank you,” you say, though your mouth is full. you lift your hand to cover, because even though it’s five am, you cannot embarrass yourself any further. “sorry about the hazel eyes thing.”

jack laughs and you smile. he has a really nice laugh, the kind that can make you calm down and forget what was bothering you all night. it really is a wonder that everyone here isn’t in love with him. you don’t even know how much longer you’ll be able to last.

“that’s okay. you’re tired.”

“everyone’s tired,” you clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “i think i’m just going crazy.”

“yeah, why’s that?”

“because i can’t stop thinking about you.”

well. looks like that’s about how long you were able to last.

you put the protein bar down on the counter. hands trembling again, mouth dropped open.

“dr. abbot, i am so sorry-” the words come out in a shaky breath, but when you look at him, when he finally moves his gaze back to your eyes, like he’s been doing all night, you see that he’s not mad. he’s not even upset.

“that’s okay-”

“no, no that is so not okay,” you blubber, words and sentences becoming harder to find by the second. “i am so sorry. that is so unprofessional.”

“well, i-”

“b-but it’s not like it’s just my fault, you’re being so nice-” 

“it’s not anyone’s fault, kid, it doesn’t work like that-” “if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours,” you say, unsure of where you’re finding these words. “you keep staring at me. what am i supposed to do?”

“have you tried looking away?” he quips, and you laugh at that. jack thinks for a moment that it’s a really beautiful sound. he doesn’t get to hear it often enough. maybe he can change that.

“am i?” you ask, after a small silence. “going crazy?”

“no. you’re not,” he replies. 

“oh. that’s good, at least.”

the two of you stay like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder against the counter, your protein bar long forgotten. jack’s looking at you and you’re looking anywhere but him.

“dr. abbot?” you say, but before he can answer, there’s a phone going off. he hears it in the distance—mvc, truck driver, incoming, five minutes out. 

“come on,” he says, doing that thing again, guiding you but not really. even if anyone noticed through the haze of five am, he finds that he doesn’t really care right now. you wear the same flustered, confused, guilty expression until he ties the gown behind you this time, which makes you a smile.

a real one this time.

“what do you think about breakfast?” jack asks, snapping on his gloves and heading outside to meet the ambulance.

“i like breakfast,” you answer, not nearly as hesitantly as you thought you would.

“great. i’m of the belief you should always eat breakfast after night shift. there’s a place down the street.”

“do they have french toast?”

“i’m sure they do. you like sweet things?” and you can’t believe the conversation is still going, the paramedics are opening up the doors in front of you. you turn to jack, nodding to answer his question. “makes sense. alright, what’d we have?”

mouth still open, you follow him out to the bay. 

-

an hour later, both of the drivers from the accident are stable. you’re yawning at central, saying goodbye to the nurse you were chatting with earlier, and without even looking, you know jack is looking at you.

you’re too tired to be anxious. all you want is to go to breakfast with him and figure out what the hell happens after breakfast post night-shift with your attending who knows that you can’t stop thinking about him. 

he brings over a cup of coffee for you. you look up quizzically. 

“i thought you said no more coffee?”

“it’s decaf. but you need something to get you to breakfast, right?”

“shouldn’t i have a coffee at breakfast?”

“no, because then you won’t be able to sleep after.” the way he talks, you believe everything he says. you smile at him. someone from the other side of the room calls him over. 

“i’ll, uh, be right back.”

“dr. abbot?” you say, right before he leaves.

“yeah?” “thank you for the coffee.”

the last hour drags. particularly, six to six-thirty. the second half of the hour, the day crew rolls in slowly, one by one. the day shift counterparts take over patients and beds, get their debriefs. you follow around behind the residents, inform the other medical student about what you had done throughout the evening.

and around seven-fifteen, you pull on your jacket, grab your backpack, and wait for jack. you don’t know who else has left yet, who else might see you two together, but you don’t really care.

you walk to the breakfast place together, your eyes stuck anywhere but on your attending, and now it feels weird, because you can’t get his name to come out of your mouth. the idea of saying jack rather than dr. abbot feels inherently wrong.

the place he takes you to is quaint. it smells of espresso and bacon, and you smile brightly at the waitress when you order a latte, not decaf. 

“what did i tell you, huh?” jack asks, and you bring yourself to finally look back at the hazel eyes that started this whole thing.

“i never said i was sleeping after this.” 

in hindsight, the coffee was a great idea. the food would have made you sleepy, and you would have missed out going back home with jack. he lives in a nice brownstone, much nicer than your tiny apartment.

it also gave you just enough nerve to ask jack if he wanted to try your french toast. to hold his hand on the walk back. to lean against his chest while he opens the door. 

“i can still walk you home, y’know,” he says, but you shake your head, watching him get his keys out. 

“unless you want to meet my roommate, i don’t think that’s a good idea.” and inside jack abbot’s apartment is everything you had been imagining for the last twelve hours. shelves filled with records, big windows, a couch that looks tantalizingly comfortable. but you have ulterior motives today. 

you keep looking around, perusing through his records while he takes a seat on the couch. you inspect with a tilted head, warmth spreading through your chest and radiating out at his music taste. such an old man, you think briefly, looking back at him sitting on the couch in his civilian clothes. your old man.

you pick one out, the first album that’s familiar to you, and bring it over jack on the couch. you sit next to him, thighs touching, resting your head on his shoulder.

“are you gonna put on music?” he laughs, and you can feel his chest vibrate with the noise. this close, you can feel his heartbeat if you place your head just right. every word that he says, you can hear the rumble first. it’s so soothing, you’d fall asleep if you weren’t so wound up.

“how are you not tired?” he questions, and you look up at him.

“i had a latte, remember. you had coffee too. how are you still tired?” you go silent for a moment, trying and failing to conceal a laugh.

“don’t even say it,” jack says, and he’s laughing too.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you’re thinking it.”

“i’m not tired enough anymore to believe that you can actually read my thoughts.”

“i can’t read your thoughts.”

“that’s a lie-”

“no, promise. i can’t. i can just tell.”

“how is that possible?”

“you want me to teach you?” you prop yourself up, leaning against his forearm while you do it. his skin is warm, and somehow despite everything you two went through the last twelve hours, he still smells good.

“if you’re not too tired, old man.” jack shuts his eyes, groaning. you laugh again, biting your cheek, wondering what he’ll say when—

he opens his eyes.

“i was gonna go easy on you, kid. but you’re in for it now.” 

“yeah?”

“yeah.” 

“promise?”

jack makes another noise—something in between a groan and a sigh. and then before you can think about it again, he takes your face in between both hands and kisses you.

and you’ve been kissed before. not well, but you know what it’s supposed to be like. after a date once you think, a date that had been pretty mediocre. you felt a spark a hundred times stronger in the last couple hours with jack than any date you’ve been on in your life.

at least—you thought you knew what being kissed was supposed to be like. as it turns out, while kissing jack, you realize that you didn’t know shit.

the way he kisses you leaves your lungs void of any air. he doesn’t pull away, not once, and you don’t either. you don’t want him to pull away, you think you might die if he does. he moves his hands slightly, one on your cheek and the other on the back of your head, holding you in place, firmly, gently. and he kisses you like he wants you to forget what being kissed is like, as though you should have no memory besides this one. 

your hands rope themselves on his arms, hard muscles tense under your touch. you move them up and down, brain so empty after the night you’ve had that you don’t know how to signal to him that you want him to take his shirt off. so you pull on his short sleeves and feel his bicep strain against your palm until you give up. you’d rather go at his pace than make any decisions at all, and somehow, you know that jack abbot won’t let you make a single decision, not if you don’t want to. he’ll decide everything, he’ll know what’s right for you, just like he has all night.

your hands finally leave his arm and wander to his hair, fingers working their way through the salt and pepper that you’ve been admiring for so many hours. his curls are messy, and you’ve ruined them, you’re sure, but you can’t stop. 

you don’t know how long it’s been since either of you came up for air, but then you hear the record drop to the ground and you pull away quickly, turning your head to see where it went.

jack doesn’t stop kissing you. his mouth is hot and his touch is lava, moving to your cheek and your jaw and then down the column of your neck. 

the moans you’ve been singing into his mouth are now out in the air, noises sweet like honey coming back to his ears.

“y-your record, i-i dropped it,” you get the sentence out in gasps. jack has his mouth over the place where your carotid pulses. he sucks hard on the skin there and your eyes shut instantly, the record leaving your mind as quickly as it had come in. he makes his way back through your cheek, back to your mouth. 

and you could almost die at the sight—jack abbot, lips red and swollen, darkened eyes looking at you like he’s going to make you pay for that ‘old man’ comment, though you can hardly remember what you had even said.

this time you lean back in to kiss him again, and he lets you control the pace for all of thirty seconds. you kiss him until your lips hurt, until your tongue is tired—but then again, so is every part of your body. but it doesn’t matter, not when you’re so close to getting what it is that you want. 

you don’t actually know how you got to his bedroom. you would have been content on that couch, or on the rug on the floor. against the door or on the countertop in the kitchen, but you guess you’ll have time for all of those things one day. 

there’s black out curtains in jack’s bedroom. they’re not shut all the way, so you look around while he stands in front of you, pulling off his shirt in one motion. your eyes are big, heart thudding while you take it in. his room is simple, just like you had imagined. the sheets are soft under your skin and everything smells good, like linen and sandalwood. you bring your gaze back, bringing a hand up to touch his chest, like you need to make sure that he’s really in front of you. 

jack takes his hand and puts it on top of the one you’re touching him with, pinning it above your head while he hovers over you. you bring the other one up voluntarily, letting him clasp it down, while he leans in to kiss you again. you keep moaning, not sure of how loud you’re being and not entirely sure if you care anymore. 

and then he stops. pulls away from the kiss, unpins your hands. you whine in frustration, shut eyes opening quickly to meet his.

“you sure about this, hm?” he asks, bringing his lips to your jaw again. he hovers there too, not pressing down enough for it to be a real kiss. you can feel his stubble rubbing against you. 

“i’m sure,” you whisper back, eyes shutting again. jack’s hands roam down, wandering over your waistband.

“there’s no going back,” he says, just as quietly as you had.

“jack, please—” and for the first time that morning, you hear dr. abbot break.

“oh fuck. say my name again, angel,” and you comply, repeating the syllable once, and then twice. it tastes weird on your tongue—like you’d get in trouble for saying it.

the thought makes you laugh. you keep giggling, unable to stop. you hear jack breathe into your neck, laughing with you.

“what’s so funny, hm?” he brings himself back over you, noses almost touching. you look straight into hazel eyes, bringing your hand to his cheek, running your fingers over the short hairs there.

“a couple hours ago i was calling you doctor abbot. now i’m in your bed.”

“you want me to stop, baby? i can. we can just go to sleep,” and you shake your head quickly. 

“no, please don’t stop.”

“well, since you asked so politely.” he starts again, kisses up and down your neck, hands pulling off your bottoms. his fingers tease over the hem of your shirt and you raise your arms so he can pull that off too. his eyes rake over your entire body and unlike what you’d imagined, you don’t feel the need to hide. you don’t want to cover yourself up, or feel embarrassed, or anything else. you want jack abbot to keep looking at you like he’s looking now, like he can’t believe what’s in front of him. you can’t believe it either.

and somehow, this is even funnier. now you’re naked in front of your attending, the very one who has been making your heart race since you met him during your third year rotation. you laugh again, before clasping a hand over your mouth.

“i think you might be a little too tired for this,” he says, and you regret your laughter right now.

“no, no, i want this. i’ve been waiting so long for this,” the last part comes out as a whisper. you tilt your head up, pressing in for another kiss. jack’s hands—hot like every other part of him—roam the bare skin of your hips and waist, all the way up to your ribcage and then back down. 

“yeah? how long?” he asks. his kisses go lower now, down your neck, onto your collarbone. he goes down to the smooth skin above your breasts, between them. everywhere except where you need him. you can feel the anticipation thrumming under your skin. “i asked you a question.” he pulls away, waiting for his answer.

“s-since i met you.” 

“i think it’s been longer than that, hasn’t it?” 

you look at him confused, but then the bastard actually smirks at you. and suddenly you’re back to ten o’clock last night, when the nurse was telling you to keep you legs closed—sorry, couldn’t help myself—and you saw someone in the corner of your eye but you didn’t want to be rude and look away, but when you left for the incoming trauma, you had seen—

“you dick-” you yell, sitting up in jack’s soft sheets. “you heard that whole conversation?” jack’s laughing and you start laughing too, taking one of his pillows and smacking it across his chest. 

“not-” you get him with the pillow again and he grabs it, wrestling it out of your hands. you realize how much stronger he is than you for a split second in that moment. “not the entire thing. just the important bits.”

“well at least now i don’t have to figure out how to tell you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling particularly vulnerable. you bring your knees in to your chest, watching jack in front of you with big eyes. “do you feel weird about it?”

“weird about what, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, placing one of his warm hands on your knee and rubbing the skin there.

“the virgin thing. do you not-”

“hey,” he says, and with so much caring behind his voice that you feel whatever’s left—if there even was any—of your resolve break. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. we can shower and go to sleep. i can take you home. whatever you want. and we can pick up where we left off when you’re ready.” 

“yeah?” you ask. 

“yeah.” 

you move back towards him, shutting your eyes and leaning in for another kiss. this time you crawl into his lap, feeling his hands roaming all over your body again. you can feel him under you—rock hard, pulsing, incredibly hot even through his pants. your hips move on their own while your hands fiddle with the tie before he takes over, undoing it for you. you hear jack groaning in your ear, and you’re positive that you’re wet enough to leave a wet mark on him. the noise is so exhilarating to you that you have to stop yourself from doing whatever it takes to get more out of him.

jack keeps one huge hand on your back, keeping you steady while he kisses you. you lock your arms around his neck, not letting go incase he tries to pull away. he flips you over in one motion—you on your back, and him hovering over you.

you don’t like this nearly as much—you want it back, the insanely rough pleasure of grinding yourself down on him. you whine again, but he murmurs one word in your ear over and over again—patience.

you’ve waited this long. you think you can be patient a little while longer.

jack goes back to whatever was on his long list of things he wants to do to you. he starts with pinning your hands down, locking you in place so you don’t flail around too much. he starts at your chest, his hot mouth working down to your nipple. he takes one in his mouth and you arch up off the bed, making saccharine noises that no one besides him has ever gotten to hear. that no one besides him will ever get to hear. 

“jack, jack,” you say his name over and over again, like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t. your body reacts just like he thought you would, only taking what you’re giving, waiting patiently for more. 

“you’re being so good, sweetheart,” and he thinks the words alone are enough to make you come. he switches over to your other nipple, and he hears you curse, the swear ripping from your mouth.

and he hasn’t even touched your cunt yet. but he knows already that he’s going to drag this out, that he’s going to make sure you can never forget it. that he’ll spent the rest of his life trying to top this moment, give you something to compare to forever.

hot kisses down your stomach while your chest heaves. he watches from his position between your thighs, hands reaching out to play with your tits while he finally does what he’s been thinking about since that trauma yesterday night. 

he moves your hands for you, putting them to work, making you tease your nipples while he spreads open your legs further. 

he stares up again, watching you comply with his instructions wordlessly, being such a good girl without even needing to be told. he needs to tell you, but he doesn’t want you to come until you’re coming on his tongue.

without waiting, jack licks the length of your pussy and makes your entire body tense up, back rising off the bed again. he uses one hand on your stomach to keep you pinned down, to make sure you keep taking whatever he gives you. he can’t talk like this, but he’ll talk you through it when he makes you come all over his dick. 

that’s what he’s thinking about while he starts to stretch you out. one finger, then two. your cunt is soaking wet, leaking down and making a mess of your thighs and his sheets and his face. he teases your clit more than he should, but how can he not? when you thrash so hard that you’d fall if he wasn’t holding you down? when you have no choice but to take it, to lay back and feel jack’s tongue on the most sensitive part of your body, the part that no one but him has ever gotten to touch? 

two fingers become three, stretching you out for him while he sucks on your clit hard, finally giving you what you’ve been begging for. 

one of your hands makes its way down to his hair, pulling on it while the other stays on your breast—you want to have both in jack’s hair but you can’t just ignore what he told you to do. 

you don’t know what the punishment would be, even though you’re sure you’d enjoy it. but that’s going to be saved for another day.

right now, you were so close to cumming, so close that you could feel yourself hurtling over the edge, and then you pull on jack’s hair harder than you meant to and he moans around you.

it’s something entirely different—the vibration from his mouth and the fact that he’s moaning while he does this to you, and whatever the combination is, you feel it split you apart. the electric current that you felt earlier when you brushed hands with jack is nothing compared to this, lightening coursing through every part of your body, head to toe, inside and out. the white hot tension in your stomach snapping makes you cry out against jack’s pillows, toes curling while he keeps going all the way through it. you can hear him, and it only makes you cum harder, encouraging you, telling you how good you’re doing, how good you’ve been all this time. the only thing you can hear after it stops is your own heart inside your ribcage, bursting like it’s going to come out.

you let go of jack’s hair, bringing your exhausted hand to his shoulder instead. he comes up to where you are, meeting your eyes and leaning in for a kiss that leaves you breathless and thoughtless all over again. 

“thank you, jack,” you whisper, too tired to say it any louder. jack laughs against your skin.

“you tired, sweetheart?” the answer is yes and no at the time, but you shake your head. you move closer to him, bringing your hand to his boxers, palming him. you can tell he’s big—big in the way that’s going to hurt, big in the way that his fingers can’t compare. big like you’re going to have trouble walking tomorrow.

“please, jack?” you say, and honest to god, how is he supposed to say no to that? even in your post-orgasmic state, tired as you can be, every muscle probably screaming at you to let you sleep, you’re so sweet in your request, so polite. just like always. he can’t say no to you even if he wanted to.

jack positions himself on top of you. this is it—what you’ve been waiting for. the result of one harmless conversation half a day ago. 

jack brings your knees to your chest, and you loop your arms around them, holding yourself in place. his arms cage you in, and you look up, meeting hazel eyes. and even though you should probably be nervous, you’re not, not at all. because you know jack will take care of you. 

he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, making your eyes shut.

“you ready, kid?” the nickname makes your heart flutter. you open your eyes, nodding again. “take a deep breath for me,” jack says, and you comply. and when he pushes inside of you, you swear everything in your body stops working for a second. 

every thought leaves your head, every muscle goes lax. your eyes rolls back, mouth dropping open. there is nothing left to think about, nothing to feel except jack abbot inside of you. 

“breathe for me,” he instructs, and you have to remind yourself to listen to him, that he knows what you need in this moment. jack abbot knows everything about you—even the things you don’t know.

you hear him—groaning and whispering things that you’re sure would make you pass out if you were in a state of mind that could understand him, but you’re not. so you wait for his kiss, take another breath, and feel him push inside of you all the way.

“jack,” you cry out, toes curling and head spinning. “jack, jack, jack-”

“i know, i know,” he says, and gives you another kiss. “you’re doing—fuck, you’re doing perfect.” he pulls out and thrusts back in, and the stretch is enough to make you cry out again. he’s going slowly for you but you don’t know how to tell him that you need more, that you might die if you don’t get more. but then again, you don’t have to tell him anything. 

he picks up the pace, eyes stuck to where he’s filling you up. he can’t stop watching, seeing inch after inch disappear inside you, like you were made for him, because fuck, you were. your hands claw at his back and you pull on his neck to kiss you again, and when he does, you moan into his mouth. but he can’t just let you take it like this, he needs to tell you, all the things he’s been wanting to say.

he pulls away from your mouth and you make another noise, upset. he smooths down your hair and kisses your forehead, working down to your temple and then your cheek and to your ear. 

“you’re being so good for me,” those six words that you love hearing so much make your entire body tighten up, including your cunt. you pulse around him as he pauses for a minute, taking in how you react to it. you moan against his skin, crying out when he resumes. 

“so perfect for me. you’re taking me so well, baby. like you were made for it.” another moan, more crying. but he knows—knows there’s something else still.

you had once thought your first time might be gentle, candles and flowers. you don’t think you would trade jack abbot and his bedroom and his half-pulled black out curtains for anything in this world.

he keeps fucking you, brutally and deliberately, each thrust telling you something different. you squeal out his name like it’s the only word you know. but it’s when he starts speaking again, when you clench down against him, pulsing so tightly, that he knows he’s figured it out.

“good girl,” jack says, and you have to press your mouth against his arm to stop from screaming out loud. “you’re doing so good, so perfect. my good girl, aren’t you?” 

“j-jack, jack, jack, i’m gonna-” 

“come on, angel. come for me. i want you to come around me. can you do that for me?” you can’t answer, though it’s on the tip of your tongue, and then it happens again—the lightening, white hot, running through you. even stronger than the first one—it rips through you. jack’s in your ear  and you can understand him this time—good girl. so perfect. you did amazing. 

you don’t think you can feel your legs. your eyes want to flutter shut but you still feel the aftershocks each time jack thrusts inside of you—and when you open your eyes to stare up at him, you lean up, silently asking for a kiss. 

he complies, pressing his lips against you. you don’t let go, keeping it going, until you whisper against his lips. 

“thank you doctor abbot,” and that seems to be the last straw for him. you wish you could engrain it into your brain forever, how jack sounds when he cums. you’ve been listening to him all morning but this, this was different. a real moan, wrangled from the back of his throat, from his chest. as good as he’s made you feel, now you get to help him, your cunt clenching around him while he finishes. you press back for another kiss, and jack deepens it, until he pulls out.

you suddenly feel so empty.

he collapses next to you, ushering you onto his sweaty skin. you’re sure that you’re drenched too, and you can feel the back of your head where hairs have stuck to your neck. 

you find jack’s hand, holding onto it like letting go might make all of this disappear. he presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers rubbing the skin of the dorsum of your hand.

“you okay?” he asks again, and you nod against his chest. glancing up for a moment, you catch hazel eyes looking at you already.

“are you okay?” he gives you another kiss to your forehead.

“you need to get some sleep.” 

“i’m not tired,” you lie.

“yes you are. why do you keep thinking you can lie to me?” he asks, still staring into your eyes. you want to look away but you don’t think you can. you lay down against him, so you don’t have to look away.

“i’m not lying.” you take a pause, take a breath. “do i still have to call you dr. abbot at work tomorrow?” jack laughs. you can feel the vibration on his chest. it makes you smile.

“close your eyes, kid. i promise we’ll talk about everything in the morning.”

“jack?” 

“yes?”

“you wanna go again?”

♡