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Jack Abbot walked into the PTMC emergency department fifteen minutes before his shift. His gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure at the hub chatting with Robby. His steps stuttered for just a beat as he took you in. You were stunning. Jack approached the two of you and Robby immediately introduced you as the new night shift attending. Oh. Oh, this wasn’t good at all.
You shook his hand. “Looking forward to working with you, Dr. Abbot.”
“Jack,” he corrected quickly. “Just Jack.”
“Jack then,” you agreed with a smile.
Dana called you over to look at some paperwork so you excused yourself. Jack’s gaze followed you as you moved to the other end of the hub.
“She’s all yours now, Abbot,” Robby said. “Oh, sorry. She’s all yours now, Jack. Good Luck.”
Jack turned with a huff. “You’re a regular comedian, Robinavitch. And what do you mean ‘good luck’?”
“Board certifications in trauma and emergency medicine. Impressive resume. Doesn’t suffer fools.” Robby clapped Jack’s shoulder. “You might have just met your match.”
The first shift, Jack shadowed you, just watching the way you worked. You were charting near the end of the night when he came to lean on the counter beside you.
“You always hover over the new attendings like this?” you asked, not looking up from your tablet.
“Just the ones I haven’t worked with before,” he said, honestly. “You may be an attending, but I’m still your senior.”
You looked up then, something unidentifiable in your gaze as the corner of your lips lifted in a smirk. “That you are.”
He blinked. Did you just… Before he could say anything else, a call came in with an overdose two minutes out and you both hurried to prepare, the moment forgotten.
Weeks passed and Jack found himself increasingly aware of your presence in the ED. You’d settled into the rhythm of the night shift with a natural ease that both impressed and unsettled him. He’d catch himself watching you across room, noticing details he had no business noticing. The way you’d fidget with your stethoscope when you were concentrating. How your lips would press together before you made a difficult decision. The quiet authority in your voice when giving orders. Every night, Jack told himself to maintain a professional distance. Every night, he failed.
It started with you sharing the last of the coffee in the pot while you waited for a new one to brew in the breakroom, eyes meeting over the rim of your cups. Jack found himself lingering longer than necessary just for the chance to talk to you.
“You actually drink this sludge black?” you asked one night.
“Military habit,” he replied before he could censor himself. “You learn to appreciate bad coffee when the alternative is no coffee.”
You smiled then. A genuine smile that reached your eyes and Jack felt something inside him shift.
During a trauma, you reached for the same instrument, fingers brushing. The contact lasted less than a second but Jack felt it like an electric shock up his arm. He pulled back slightly too quickly. You continued working but you glanced up to meet his gaze before turning your attention back to your patient.
The following week the new cardiology fellow questioned your treatment for a patient. “With all due respect, the patient needs a catheter, not more tests.” His tone offered no respect whatsoever.
Jack had been passing by on the way to his own patient and found himself stopping to insert himself into the conversation. “The presentation is consistent with an aortic dissection. A cath would be a waste of time. Which you would know if you spent more than five seconds looking at the chart.”
The other man’s mouth opened, then closed before he turned and left. Jack shook his head.
“Thank you,” you said.
Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t about you. Was about the patient.”
Something in your expression told him you saw through the lie.
Moments like this accumulated. A thousand minor instances that added up to something bigger. The tension between you had become a living thing, growing in the spaces between your professional interactions.
Then came the night that changed everything.
A five car pileup sent seven critical patients to the Pitt simultaneously. An hour and a half later, all seven were stabilized against impossible odds. Jack found you at the hub, your face drawn with the exhaustion a multicausality event always brought with it.
“Come on. Let’s get some air,” he said, the words surprising him as much as you.
Your eyes met his, questioning, but you nodded and followed him to the roof. The night air washed over both of you as you stepped outside. Jack watched you take a deep breath and your shoulders relaxed. Pittsburgh sprawled below, lights glowing in the predawn darkness.
You leaned on the railing next to each other. Silence settled between you, comfortable in a way that unnerved him. Jack was used to awkward silences, to people trying to fill the space with meaningless chatter. You seemed content to simply dwell in the same space.
“You ever going to do anything but stare at me, Abbot?”
Jack’s body tensed, caught off guard by your directness. His first instinct was denial. He didn’t stare, he observed. Assessed. Professional interest only. The lie formed on his tongue then he swallowed it down.
You were watching him, head tilted slightly as you waited. He turned his gaze back to the city, fingers tightening around the rail in front of him.
“I don’t—” he started then stopped, frustrated at his inability to find the right words. “I’m not good at this.”
“This?”
He exhaled slowly. “People. Relationships.” His jaw tightened. “There are things…” he trailed off before shifting gears. “Completed my residency in the military. Two months into my second deployment, IED took part of my leg along with three members of my unit. Less than a year later, my wife died. Cancer. Fast and brutal.”
He focused on the horizon instead of looking at you while he told you all the reasons he didn’t deserve a chance with you. “The PTSD is better than it was. Therapy helps most days. That’s why I prefer nights. Fewer people. Fewer triggers. More control.”
Jack finally found the courage to turn to face you fully. “I’m crazy about you, but you deserve better than someone as broken as me. You deserve someone whole.” His voice was raw with emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.
The sound that escaped your lips was the last thing he expected. A soft laugh, gentle and without mockery. It caught him off guard, causing his brow to furrow as he tried to interpret your reaction. He’d just laid himself bare, handed you every reason to walk away and you were…laughing? He was ready to retreat, to bury himself back behind the walls he’d become so adept at building and forget this ever happened. But the only thing he could see in your eyes was a warmth that kept him rooted in place. “What the fuck?” he muttered, unable to help himself.
“I’m sorry,” you said. You didn’t look sorry. “It’s just, you say that like I haven’t been working beside you for months, seeing exactly who you are.”
He stared at you unable to formulate a response. You turned to face him fully, one hand still resting on the railing. “You think you’re the only one carrying damage, Jack?”
He watched as something shifted in your expression. A lowering of your defenses maybe. “I came to Pittsburgh running from my own wreckage. My fiancé decided our colleague was a better fit. They were kind enough to let me find out at the department Christmas party along with everyone else.”
Jack winced internally, imagining the public humiliation layered over the private betrayal. What an asshole.
“When I lost a nineteen-year-old patient a month later to sepsis that masked as appendicitis, he filed a report with the review board. They cleared me, said anyone would have made the same call with the presentation. Didn’t make him any less dead though. Daniel confessed he’d hoped him filing the complaint would get me to leave. That it was too hard to see me every day, that I made him and his new wife uncomfortable.” Your fingers tightened on the railing briefly before relaxing.
“Wife?”
You hummed in agreement and nodded with one raised brow. “Eloped right after the Christmas party. He gave her my ring. Like who does that? Who accepts that?” You shook your head. “They were made for each other.”
You took a deep breath. “My mother got sick. She died before I made it home because I was too busy proving I deserved my position.” You shrugged. “Who I was proving it to, I have no idea. My father hasn’t spoken to me since the funeral two years ago.”
Jack felt an unexpected urge to reach for you, to pull you into the comfort of his arms, but he resisted.
“When you talk about being broken, I understand better than you think. I came here for a fresh start but it turns out you can’t outrun yourself. Your damage just follows you.” You smiled at him though it wobbled at the edges. You took a step toward him. “I’m broken, too. Maybe in a different way, but I think our edges might fit together perfectly.”
He blinked, processing your words and the unexpected hope they carried. He studied your face looking for any signs of uncertainty or insincerity. He found nothing. Instead, he saw recognition. The knowledge that you saw him and accepted him just as he was, broken edges and all. Jack felt the last of his resistance wavering, undermined by the longing he’d felt for months.
His hand moved toward your face. He moved slowly, giving you time to pull away, to reconsider. Your eyes held his with a quiet certainty. He cupped your face, thumb tracing the line of your cheek. How long had it been since he’d touched someone like this?
He leaned forward, hesitant. Your eyes flickered to his lips and back up, permission given in silence. He closed the final distance, his lips meeting yours with a gentleness that surprised even him.
The kiss began tentative, a question rather than a demand. Your response was immediate, a firmer pressure that spoke of your certainty. His hand slid to the back of your neck, cradling your head as the kiss deepened, caution giving way to hunger. When you finally separated, Jack didn’t pull away completely. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing the same air. He had been so certain he was too broken to ever be loved again but you’d proven him wrong. And now that he’d found you, he was never letting go.