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You thought the day you’d meet the love of your life would be nothing short of a fairytale.
Or, like, at the very least, a little bit more than ordinary. Hell, with your terrible, nightmarish fucking dating history, you’d even accept an ordinary day.
But, no.
And also, you really had no real proof that this man was the love of your life except for the fact that your brain short-circuited then genuinely exploded when you made eye contact. This was about thirty seconds ago.
And honestly, there’s a whole boatload of context that goes into explaining this non-meet-cute on a non-fairytale-day, but to paraphrase: you’re a year two plastic surgery resident at PTMC. It’s not a massive staff compared to many of the hospital’s other departments, but it’s certainly an important one. One of your attendings is required in half the damn surgeries your hospital does and, being the only year two resident, you end up in most of them too. At least, the ones that happen during your day shift.
Day shift. Heavy on day shift… as in sunshine, birds chirping, kids playing outside. You adore your shift because, though exhausted, you still have time to go home and make an easy dinner and watch the sunset after your day.
So when the senior plastic surgery resident called and asked if you could cover his night shift, you didn’t really want to say yes. Like, not at all. But when he mentioned you’d be working it with attending surgeon, Dr. Taina Garza, you practically yelled a yes into the phone. She was not only one of the best reconstructive surgeons in Pennsylvania, maybe even the country, but just egregiously cool. Tall, middle-aged, tan-skinned, black hair always slicked back into a braided bun, non-chalant, and a notable amount of body makeup on her neck you were certain covered a badass tattoo.
You were super casual about it. To a literal art.
When you first clocked in, you scrubbed in the OR for a breast reconstruction for a cancer survivor. It was one of those cases that made you remember just how much your specialty mattered. Then, you did your rounds. She joined you on the first two if only to get a feel for the day shift girl she hardly knew working her service tonight. Watched as you changed a patient’s dressing then watched as you answered a different patient’s post-op questions with the utmost care, patience, and knowledge.
With an approving nod, hum, and shoulder pat, she left the room. And, god, it took you a beat to recover. Those hands were worth millions.
You moved on to your next patient with some extra pep in your step. A young male patient recently transferred from recovery following a skin graft surgery to help with burn scars on his trunk.
His initial eye contact with you was no cause for alarm. It was hazy at best while you smiled warmly and softly introduced yourself, sitting by his bedside. And then, unfortunately for both parties involved, his eyes went wide. You watched the moment delirium settled in, a rare but sometimes consequential side effect of the anesthesia. His hands were ripping at the IV as he shot up quickly, looking for an out.
Your eyes widened just a hair as he began to grab at the medical tray near his bedside, saying, “Hey, hey, it’s oka-“
The next few moments of a pair of surgical scissors being jammed into your shoulder, security rushing in to pin the patient, and Dr. Garza bolting to you were a blur. It wasn’t exactly terrifying. They were small scissors, but good fucking god. You’d never been attacked by a patient before.
“Jesus, you need to go down to the pit now.” Dr. Garza said, carefully pressing at the growing blood spot on your scrubs as you leaned against the nearest wall.
“N-No, I’m fine,” you huffed, a bit in shock and not entirely aware that there were small scissors jabbed almost to the hilt in your shoulder. “I can fix it myse-“
“I will drag you down there if I have to.”
Your eyes darted to those hands worth millions on your stabbed shoulder then back up to her stern gaze. You nodded weakly and gulped, “Yes, ma’am.”
You’d managed to convince Dr. Garza you could make it to the emergency department on your own if she would just make sure your patient was okay. Her gaze had softened imperceptibly at your request, though she did send one of the nearby nurses with you. Just in case.
“I’ve never seen you on the night shift before,” the small, ginger-haired nurse said in the confines of the elevator, hands tucked in her scrub pockets.
Your head was tipped back against the elevator wall, ponytail a little bit messed from the chaos. Your hand kept pressure around the now-throbbing wound, looking at her with a pained expression. “S’ not really my scene.”
The nurse smiled at your pained joke, replying, “For good reason, it seems.”
You huffed out a small laugh and then you winced. This really was precisely why you did not work the night call.
When the elevator doors opened, the nurse stepped ahead of you, making you quirk a brow. She smiled at the charge nurse—a middle aged, also ginger-haired woman you’d seen before—and asked, “Hey, Lena. Any idea where Abbot is? One of our residents got attacked and Garza wanted his hands specifically.”
Who was Abbot? Why couldn’t anybody else on this floor that you don’t even recognize just stitch you up real quick? Why couldn’t you do it?
You were about to just pull these scissors out against all your years of training.
Lena’s eyes drifted from the nurse to you, widening ever so slightly as she saw the… extra appendage on your torso. She turned quickly and called out, “Abbot, we need you over here. Dr. Garza’s request.”
“Dr. Garza’s request?” You heard a soft but raspy male voice mumble as he stepped out of the closest room. A silver-haired, egregiously handsome doctor’s eyes fixed on you almost immediately, taking in the hospital scrubs, the doctor’s badge, and, of course, the wound.
And that brings you to the present. The moment you saw the love of your life.
You blinked as if you suddenly forgot you’d even been stabbed, staring at him.
He walked over to you with a tilted head, assessing the small stab wound. He clicked his teeth. “Nasty. Patient?”
“No, myself.”
You have no otherworldly idea why you just said that. Not one. You were too busy staring at his mouth.
Much to your surprise, his lips twitched.
“That’s one way to get out of work,” he smiled faintly at you, not missing where you were looking. “Follow me.”
And then he led you to an empty room, flicking on the light and closing the curtain as you plopped down on the bed. You forced yourself to breathe and looked at him, saying, “Why’d Dr. Garza specifically request you?”
One side of his lips curved again as he gloved up. “Oh, I’ve known her as long as I’ve known Robby.”
“I know Robby.” Again, not sure why you said that.
His eyes flicked to you, saying, “I’d hope so.”
Your eyes flicked to his massive biceps before you looked away. Jesus fuck.
“I don’t know you.” You say quietly, almost with a pout on your face at this whole situation.
“I don’t know you either.” He took a step closer, a professional look on his face as he took another peek at your top. “Gonna have to cut your shirt. Try not to move.”
You stayed still as he cut around the scissors, his fingers brushing your collarbone as he tugged the fabric aside. Honest to god, you could not feel the small stab wound anymore. Not when the love of your life was standing this close.
Your eyes darted to his face as he examined the wound a bit closer, wincing slightly, “Why have I never seen you if you’ve been here so long.”
He gestures with his head towards your badge that reads your name and your position and says, “You’re a day shift plastics resident whose specialty lives mostly in the OR. Don’t take it personal.”
“But I see Robby.”
His eyes flick to you briefly, a flash of amusement in their depths. “Just like you also know him?”
You smile soft. You liked that he could riff. “Precisely.”
“Hm,” he hums, looking back to the wound. “Move your fingers for me.”
You flex your hands.
“Nice,” he replies, checking your radial pulse. “Good circulation too. Gonna pull it out now.”
“Oh.”
He looks at you, noting the sudden flash of anxiety, before saying. “Could leave it in if you prefer.”
“Would probably hurt less.” You meet his gaze, noting that his has softened a fraction.
“Doubtful.” His lips twitch. “Just think about what you’re gonna eat when you’re off.”
“What I’m gonna-“
A small squelch noise as your eyes clamped shut. It wasn’t searing pain, but lord, it wasn’t a little boo-boo. You leaned forward, close enough to his chest that you could feel his body heat, before sitting back up and looking at him. A grunt as you said, “That was mean.”
“Hardly.” He hummed, lips curved as he reached for a syringe of lidocaine. “Here comes a shot.”
“I appreciate your transparency now.”
This made him smile a bit wider, which made your cheeks turn a bit pink and the pain dull a little more unrelated to the shot.
“Is it transparency if you know exactly what I’m gonna do?” Jack asked, injecting the local anesthetic as your gaze remained fixed on him.
“Maybe not,” you said, looking away to avoid being offensively obvious with how this crush was developing.
A beat of silence as he numbed you up before he asked, “Why plastics?”
“Why emergency med?” You quirked a brow.
“Not judging. Just learning about the R2 that stumbled into my department tonight.” His touch was so careful in ways you hardly knew doctors to be.
You shrugged with your good shoulder and said, “A lot of people don’t want to admit that one of their big concerns after accidents or operations is how they’ll look, but we only get one body. It’s normal to worry about how it looks. If I can help make their appearance the least of their worries, then I feel like I’ve done what I was supposed to.”
He paused for a beat and looked in your eyes. The contact was so searing you looked down. Then, he went back to work and said, “Huh.”
“Why huh?”
“Just don’t usually hear that level of honesty from a doctor I’ve just met.”
“What do you usually hear?”
He began to irrigate the wound, saying, “Not that.”
You smiled at him. “Then why emergency medicine?”
Jack’s lips twitched again and a small huff of air escaped his nose. “Most of the time it’s about saving lives.”
“Most of the time?”
He moved to grab some gauze, dressing the wound as he said, “Sometimes it’s about patching up R2’s.”
“Happen often?”
“Often enough.” He tied off the dressing, meeting your gaze in a way that made it feel like your heart was gonna stop for a quick second. “Were you covering a shift tonight?”
“Mhm.” You look away, face warm as you chew your cheek. “Besides, y’know, the stabbing, it hasn’t been half bad. It’s quieter.”
“Exactly why I like it.” He snapped his gloves off and tossed them, pumping some sanitizer into his hands. “Though I’m not sure I’ll be seeing you again after your luck tonight.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” You peered at him, an electric spark shooting through your body.
There was a brief pause before he spoke and for a second, you thought maybe you overstepped. Then, he smiled softly and said, “I don’t often get disappointed over people I’ve just met. Bad for the soul.”
You slid off the exam table and peered down to your wrapped shoulder, now numbed and pain-free, as you smiled soft. Your gaze flicked up to his, seeing him leaning against the wall now, eyeballing you with an air of curiosity. His arms were crossed and offensively huge, his eyes fixed on you.
“Guess that’s a necessary philosophy working down here.” You huffed softly, feet planted where you were. The ED seemed slow on your brief trek through it so it didn’t seem like he had to immediately break off. You didn’t really want him to anyway. This was probably the love of your life after all. “Thanks for patching me up.”
“No need for that.” His voice was even softer now, eyes focused solely on your tired face. It was something you hadn’t even registered feeling amidst the chaos, but it made perfect sense considering you were usually under the influence of Melatonin around this time anyways. “Garza will send you home if you ask.”
“I won’t ask,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “Tiny enough wound and I don’t want to miss a second of her service. She’s kind of my idol.”
This made him smile again. “Idol.”
Your cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Won’t so long as you ask to go home.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
He grinned then, real and strikingly handsome. “I’d hardly call it that.”
“I would.” You grinned too. This was so easy. Talking to guys was never easy. He had to be the love of your life.
Then, his hand shifted and you finally noticed the silver band wrapped around his left ring finger.
Oh.
Of course.
It made sense. He was significantly older than you, perfect looking, and blessed with the most charismatic personality you’d ever met. Of course he was married. Jesus, had your love life fallen to such shambles that you’d confused this all for flirting?
Your smile faltered just slightly before you looked away, nodding as you said, “I’ll talk to her. Don’t worry.”
His grin softened as he said, “Good.”
You nodded again in reply to this. Ugh. This sucked. You were so sure.
Then, he spoke again, “You know, I know you didn’t have the best experience tonight, but if Garza really is your idol, might be worth it to transition to night shift. Your circadian will be shot for a while but… a small price to pay to work under those hands, right?”
You looked back at him, snapping out of your selfish thoughts, as you replied, “Funny. I keep thinking about how her hands are worth millions everytime I see them.”
Jack stood straighter as if preparing to leave. He glanced down to your hands, nodding in their direction. “Before you know it, those’ll be too.”
You shifted between your feet, suddenly feeling a little bashful. “You’ll give me a complex.”
“The best surgeons usually have those.” He huffed and smiled soft. He held the door open for you and said, “Go home, doctor. Think about what I said.”
You chewed your lip. Damn it, you liked him. Life was so unfair to you sometimes, but you supposed it kept you humble. Your fingers brushed over the fresh bandage and the ripped collar of your scrub top, saying, “I see why Dr. Garza only trusts your hands.”
“Well, they’re not worth millions.” He looked down at you as you walked by, lips twitched.
You look up at him. “Think that makes her compliment worth even more.”
His expression softened in a way that made your stomach flip. Wow, this sucked. “Flattery. Go on.”
“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Abbot.”
It was… at first. Now you kind of wanted to throw up over this silver-haired doctor you’d literally just met.
“Feeling’s mutual, doctor.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he spoke.
Even if it had to remain a quiet secret in your head, he still might be the love of your life.
—
The next few months of your life were spent with this quiet secret becoming nothing more than a whisper. Though, in the beginning, you went to your usual attending and requested to switch to the night call.
If one thing had to come out of the culmination of getting stabbed and meeting the love of your life then finding out he’s married, let it be taking the good advice he gave you.
Your career mattered more than anything to you, so why would you not pursue guidance from the attending you idolized when it was well within your reach?
Jack Abbot was right. Your circadian rhythm punished you for the first month.
It was difficult to focus, even more difficult to stay awake. You practically lived off of caffeine pills and green tea. Needless to say, your heart endured a lot that first month.
But it became more normal. Slowly. Eventually.
You traded the sunshine for the twinkly stars, the birds chirping for the owls hooting, and the kids playing for the quiet of the city. At first, you missed your days. Then, you liked the peace that came with your nights.
You liked that sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him. Sometimes even a few passing remarks that left your stomach mushy. You just liked his face. His personality. His soft smile. Often, the whisper echoed around your skull, but you never let it loose out of respect for his relationship.
But most of all, you liked working under Dr. Garza.
After she got to know you, she let you take the lead in your surgeries together more often than not. She trusted your hands, your bedside manner, your abilities. Working under her was everything you wanted when you chose this as your specialty, and besides, she ended up making a good friend too.
You and her got drinks sometimes after work and it took a lot to not fangirl everytime she smiled at something you said or treated you like a peer rather than a subordinate. She was incredibly knowledgeable and easy to ask anything on your mind.
Combining her approachability with the fact that you now knew her better and also the fact that you two were presently tipsy at the bar after work, you peered at her.
“What’s up?” She quirked a brow at you, a questioning look on your face.
Your eyes darted down to the wedding ring on her finger. You’d met her husband once when he came to drop off food for her. He was a massive macho guy covered in tattoos. Just as cool as her.
“You’re married.” You noted, cheeks a little rosy from alcohol.
Her lips twitched. “I am. You know this.”
“I’m not.” You nodded, a thoughtful expression on your face.
She eyeballed you over the rim of her whiskey and laughed, “And I know this. Care to tell what’s going on in your head?”
“Is Jack Abbot really married?”
Oh, you were drunk. This wasn’t tipsy. Those words wouldn’t have escaped you tipsy. This was the work of a devil by the name of vodka tonic.
She blinked at you, lips still curved in a smile but hung open in disbelief. “Um, what?”
“I-“ You covered your face with your hands. “I’m drunk. Please don’t fire me.”
“I’m absolutely not going to fire you.”
You peeked between the cracks of your fingers. “Really?”
“Though, you do need to tell me exactly why you’re asking me that.” She grinned, waving a hand for you to put your hands down. “Do you have a crush on Jack?”
“What if I do,” you puffed your chest slightly, straightening your posture even though it was totally betrayed by your red cheeks. “It’s only human.”
She sipped her whiskey and smiled again at your body language, clearly leagues more sober than you. “I never said it wasn’t.”
Your eyes darted to her. “So he is married.”
Her smile softened just a bit and she said, “Jack’s a widower.”
You blinked. A widower.
Suddenly you felt terrible for complaining about how unfair your life was. He loved and he lost and that was totally unknown to you. Your chest panged, a complex mix of guilt and sympathy for him. You knew you had no real reason to really feel guilty. You’d never spoke your feelings aloud before this very moment, but still.
You chewed your cheek. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” she looked down at her whiskey and nodded, lips in a small, reflective smile. “It’s not my place to say anymore than that.”
You put your hands up defensively, a bit embarrassed now. “No, I wasn’t going to ask you to tell me more. I just- I’m sorry.”
Garza glanced sidelong at you, gaze softening. “You have no reason to apologize. Seriously.”
A silence lingered for a second and your hand slid over your eyes. Well, this was mortifying. Not only had you totally overstepped, but now you felt like you’d ruined the entire vibe you’d built your relationship with her on and-
“Get out of your head, kid.”
Your eyes met hers. “What?”
“You do that a lot. Go quiet after you think you’ve said something wrong.” She finished her whiskey and set the glass on the bar, waving the bartender over for the tab to sign. “You didn’t even say anything wrong.”
You blinked again. “I do that a lot?”
“A lot,” she exhaled with a smile, clicking the pen the bartender just handed her to sign the tab. “Jack is one of my longest friends. I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you if you overstepped but you didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“And as your friend…“
As your friend? Dr. Taina Garza considered you her friend? You felt your face get redder.
“If you have a crush on him,” she peered at you and continued, “Try talking to him. He’s been alone for quite a while. Someone like you could be good for him.”
“Someone like me?” You repeated, eyes a bit wide. You wanting elaboration actually had less to do with Jack Abbot and more to do with hearing Taina Garza’s opinion on you.
“You’re compliment fishing.”
“I-“ You gasped softly. “Am not!”
This made her laugh and grab her bag, standing up. “Someone who’s as real and honest as person as you. Authenticity is hard to come by these days. He could use that. I know I sure could most days.”
You blink again, standing as you zip up your hoodie. “Dr. Garza, I’m about to start crying.”
“Do not do that.”
“You’re making me emotional.”
“No, you’re drunk. Now, c’mon.”
You were a little glassy eyed as you followed behind her much like a baby duckling. “How should I go up to him?”
She glanced at you over her shoulder, smirking. “You could always get stabbed again.”
“You’re threatening me now?”
The middle-aged woman laughed softly. It made you smile. How cool to make your idol laugh.
“Please. You would know if I was threatening you.”
The little secret bouncing around your head—that little joke of a delusion that he was the love of your life—felt a little closer to being let out again.
—
It was a few days after that when the ED paged for a plastics consult after a young victim of a dog attack was brought in.
Ordinarily, the senior resident responded to consults, but he was in surgery with Dr. Garza. You’d sat out of this one to do a dressing change on an elderly patient you’d gotten to know well.
“Oh, Mrs. Huang, I’m so sorry but I have to go,” you looked from your pager to her, finishing off her bandage before standing. “A nurse is gonna come in just a second to check on you, okay?”
Mrs. Huang, an older woman with a hand laceration and some of the kinder eyes you’ve seen in your career, waved her hand and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, doctor. Someone needs you more than me.”
You smiled at this before heading straight down to the ED. Much like it was most weeknights, it wasn’t excessively busy. You shared a brief hello with Lena before she pointed you towards the room.
As soon as you stepped inside, you saw Jack animatedly telling a little girl a story as he held some gauze to the corner of her mouth. Your heart flipped as he made eye contact with you while the girl giggled despite the situation. You gloved up, looked to her parents by the bed, and introduced yourself before saying, “The ED team called me down here to take a look. Dog bites usually heal really well in kiddos, but I’m here to make sure it’s all cleaned out and has the smallest scarring possible.”
The mom, body trembling from adrenaline and being clutched by her husband, and nodded. “T-Thank you so much doctor.”
You walked to the opposite side of the bed and Jack looked at the little girl. “Is it okay if I show my friend here your battle wound?”
The little girl smiled. It was impressive how resilient little kids were. It was even more impressive how instantly comfortable everyone felt around Jack Abbot.
“Hey, honey.” You said softly as you approached.
He carefully lifted the gauze, meeting your gaze as he softly spoke, “Pretty clean tear from lip up. It does cross the vermillion border though. That’s why I called for you.”
You ignored the pound of your heart at his quiet voice, much too pre-occupied with the little girl. You examined the wound before saying, “You already irrigated it?”
“Yeah, thoroughly. Just wanted to get a second opinion before doing anything else.” The little girl’s eyes darted to him, prompting him to add, “You’re doing so great. Real brave.”
“Is it going to be a bad scar?” The girl’s dad said, thick with worry.
You took one more look before saying, “Not at all. In a year, you’ll hardly see it.” Her parents sighed in relief, making you sit back and smile supportively at them. “I’m just gonna numb her up a little bit with some lidocaine gel, suture it up, and you guys will be good to go real soon.”
“Thank you. God, thank you.” The mom said, clutching the cross shaped necklace around her neck.
“Could I get a 6-0 nylon?” You asked the nurse with a small smile before looking to Jack. “I got it from here if you have somewhere else to be.”
“Not at the moment.” He said softly, sitting up to give you some space as the nurse brought back your supplies. “Besides, gotta see the million dollar hands in action.”
“Million dollar hands?” The little girl lisped, looking at you wide eyes.
You smiled at her as you grabbed the LET gel, saying, “He called the best of the best just for you, honey. I’m gonna go ahead and rub some gel on your face now. Tell me if it hurts, okay?”
She nodded, unafraid. The little girl—whose name you learned to be Peyton—was remarkably unafraid the entire interaction, through the sutures, her mother gasping dramatically, and you telling them follow-up care. Peyton even walked out of the ER with an inspiring pep in her step. You were certain it had something to do with Jack keeping her so calm in the beginning.
You leaned against the nurse’s station as he walked back from walking them out. Your lips quirked. “Good call paging plastics.”
“I like to think I know what I’m doing,” he smiled in reply, leaning next to you. You could feel Lena look between you two with a smirk before he added, “I haven’t gotten the chance to really talk to you since you switched to the night shift.”
Your stupid heart and it’s stupid flutter. “Dr. Garza keeps me plenty busy.”
He smiled softly. “I’d expect no less from her. Though you don’t seem to be complaining.”
“No, never that. She’s just… so amazing.” You say sincerely, and your genuine admiration for his colleague and old friend makes his expression soften all the more.
He looks at you for a beat before saying, “How’s the shoulder?”
You laugh softly, still in disbelief that that was how you met him. You look down and then back up through your lashes, smiling soft. His gaze softens too. “Major nerve damage. Terrible scar. My physician botched me.”
Jack huffs out a soft laugh and Lena’s head slightly snaps up. You even see a resident you know to be Dr. Ellis quirk a brow at him as she walks by. Huh.
“You should really sue the bastard for medical malpractice.” He smiles.
You’re still sure he’s the love of your life, by the way.
“Oh, I’m definitely thinking about it.” You grin too, eyes crinkled. “But according to him, his hands aren’t even worth a million dollars. I’m not sure what I’d get out of him.”
He smirks and looks off to the side. “Shoot for the stars anyways.”
You take a few seconds to work up all the courage in your body before saying, “Could I get restitution in the form of a drink after work?”
Jack looks back at you, smirk settling into something softer again. “That’s what you call the stars?”
The small smile on your face grows into something realer and sweeter as you reply, “It’s my lawsuit.”
“It’s poor restitution.”
“It’s what I want.”
He looks at you for a long beat, looks to the side at nowhere in specific, then back to you with a thoughtful smile. “Settled.”
“Settled.” You repeat, smiling soft. Your eye contact lingers for a moment, your heart fluttering, before breathing the tension by inhaling theatrically. “It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”
“At so little a cost too.” His smile deepens.
“You don’t even believe yourself when you say that.”
“Nope.”
You laugh and say, “I should be done around six. I can wait if you’re busy.”
Now Lena was most certainly eavesdropping.
Jack looked towards the relatively empty ED and clicked his teeth. “Yeah, might be swamped.”
You really, really, outrageously liked him.
Love. Of. Your. Life.
Your eyes dramatically sweep over the same empty rooms and sigh, “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
His lips twitch into something private for you before his voice drops and he says, “I’ll be done by six. Meet you at the lobby.”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you there.”
—
The rest of your shift passed in a blur of anticipation so intense you felt like a high schooler again. You ultimately had to confess to Dr. Garza what was happening with your inability to stop smiling. She told you to re-focus on work, though you didn’t miss the way she shook her head and grinned affectionately.
When you found Jack by the lobby, he looked even more tired than you left him. Your head immediately tilts in concern as you ask, “Hey, you okay?”
His gaze softens at the sight of you before he quietly says, “Rough last case.”
You look between his eyes with a gentle concern, nodding soft as you ask, “Do you want to rain check?”
“Not even a little bit.” It should be a crime how sweetly he’s looking at you. “I know a good bar near here. It’s quiet.”
“Lead the way.”
The walk to the bar isn’t too long. It takes you on the path you take to your apartment anyways and you’re pretty sure it’s the bar you frequent with Garza.
“Wanna talk about it?” You peer up at him.
He looks down to you, eyes soft, before looking ahead. “Patient died.”
You look at him again, your eyes gentle in their assessment of him. He didn’t look outwardly sad about it. Just tired. A man who’d come to know death quite intimately given the length of his career.
“What happened?”
His eyes found the nearest streetlamp to look to, something to grasp, as he casually replied, “Car accident. She was basically DOA.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt any less. I’m sorry.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He replied matter of factly before glancing down to you. “What’d you get up to?”
“Mm,” you chewed your cheek, not wanting to sound overly cheerful about your day while he was feeling down. Then, you thought of Garza telling you to get out of your head and that your authenticity might be good for him. A small curve to your lips as you peer up at him, replying, “We had a patient come in around 4 for a rhinoplasty. Dr. Garza let me do it all by myself… with her supervision of course.”
“Did she?” His lips twitched at you. Maybe your authenticity did help him. “How was it?”
“I’ve assisted on them before. Spectated so many I lost count. But independently doing it?” You smile thoughtfully. “I feel pretty fucking cool.”
A quiet huff left his lips, a tired version of a laugh. “You should feel pretty fucking cool.”
You grinned wide up at him and the way all the tension in his face suddenly eased made you blush. It wasn’t but a few seconds after that that he held the door open for the bar you, sure enough, had frequented a many times.
“You got this place from Dr. Garza?” You look back at him, still smiling.
“Hell, no. She got it from me.” He said casually, making you chuckle soft.
The bartender recognized the both of you individually, bringing you your vodka tonic and him his draft beer. You swiveled in the barstool to face him, resting your chin in your free hand. “So?”
“So.” He turned to you, a devil-may-care look on his face that made your chest physically ache with want.
“You work tomorrow?” You tilt your head.
“Not supposed to. Probably will.” He says it with absolutely zero remorse for himself, almost proud that he keeps himself so busy. “Or I’ll do something else. Dunno.”
“Something else?”
“Maybe yoga. Probably text my therapist. Sometimes I volunteer to be a medic for the city’s SWAT team.”
You put a hand up between you two, taken aback. “Okay, that’s a lot to unpack.”
“Is it?” His eyes narrow playfully at you before he takes a swig of his beer.
“You’re…” You chuckle softly, lashes fluttering shut for long enough to miss the way his eyes trace your smile. “You’re unbelievable.”
He smiles while swallowing, looking to the side before you can catch him staring. “Says the girl I met for the first time with scissors in her shoulder.”
“Okay, well, not by choice.” You laugh softly and when he looks back at you, he shakes his head in disbelief. “What?”
“You.”
Your smile softens just a bit. “What about me?”
“Just you.”
Your cheeks flush pink and, unlike the last time you sat in this barstool, you really can’t blame it on alcohol. The palm of your hand slides to cover your mouth and your growing smile.
“Stop that.” Your voice comes out muffled.
“Stop what.” Jack tilts his head, smirking small. He’s so charming, so charismatic, and the most attractive part about it is that he knows it. Though, you’re pretty sure the actual most attractive part is his the way his eyes are filled with so much compassion and it never seems to turn off.
Love of your life. Seriously.
Your eyes dart to him, forcing your smile to control itself before removing your hand and grabbing your drink, taking a sip with still slightly curved lips. “You.”
“What about me?”
“Just you.”
“Touché.” There’s his grin again and there’s the feel of your heart throbbing. He reaches down, massaging his right calf casually as he says, “How’s your sleep schedule these days?”
Brushing past the last few quips felt nauseating but you kept up, smiling soft, “Oh, it’s fine now. In the beginning, I was terrorizing my body with sleep aides in the morning and caffeine at night. We’re acclimated now.”
“We.” He grins at that, still rubbing his ankle with a near imperceptibly pained look on his face. It makes you watch him curiously. Concernedly. You knew firsthand how hard the long shifts were on your feet. He didn’t catch your concern, or if he did, he didn’t address it as he said, “I like that you refer to your body as its own being.”
“I mean,” you sip your drink as some old rock tune plays softly in the empty bar, “I’m not in conscious control of my nervous system. It’s sort of it’s own person.”
“Interesting thing for a doctor to say,” he stops the massage for a second before looking up at you. “My leg is killing me. I’m sorry.”
“What? Don’t apologize.” You shake your head, setting your drink down. “Can I help?”
“Just don’t be alarmed. I have a prosthetic.”
You blink. “Jack, I’m a surgeon. Why would that alarm me.”
This makes him smile up at you again, popping off his prosthetic and rubbing the amputation site with a grateful exhale. “Dunno. Didn’t want to randomly pull my foot off in front of you our first bar outing.”
You couldn’t help but acknowledge the word first, as if he accounted for more in the future.
Your eyes flicked from where he was massaging his leg before looking back up to his face. More of the tension had eased. You liked him untensed. No other thought but that one seemed to matter
“You’re wondering how I lost it.”
You sip your tonic and huff, “Not at all.”
He sits back, grabbing his beer and taking a swig before looking to you once more, lips curved ever so slightly. “Then what?”
“None of your business.”
“So you are thinking about it.”
You shake your head, smiling. “Incorrect.”
“Tell me.”
And his voice is just so soft, so sweet, that you have to.
“It’s not that I’m not curious. I just wasn’t worried about how it happened when you were actively uncomfortable. That’s all.”
He stares for a long moment, eyes tender as always. When he does speak, his voice is laced with something that is so gentle on your ears, “IED. I was an army medic.”
“I didn’t ask you tell me.” You frown.
“You wanted to know. Know you did.” He shrugs, waving down the bartender. “Want another drink?”
“Sure.” You smile fondly at him, hoping it doesn’t look anywhere near as mushy to him as it feels to you. He misses it entirely in pursuit of waving down the bartender. “You’re an impressively strong guy.”
“Am I?” He rubs his stubble and steals another glance at you.
“You are.”
“I’m just a guy. Strength is subjective,” he nods, bristling. “But it matters to me that you think so anyway. I think you’re strong too.”
You laugh at this, “What, because I survived a teeny little stabbing?”
“Yeah, and proudly sued the doctor who botched you. And won.” He notes, tone mock serious. It makes you begin to laugh again which, in turn, makes his eyes crinkle. “But I’m sure you’re strong in other ways.”
“You speak with such conviction for a man who hardly knows me.”
“So let me know you,” he says casually, as if it doesn’t stop your heart, and sips his fresh beer. “Then maybe I’ll let you know me.”
And for the next hour, over his next few beers and your next few diet sodas in pursuit of not embarrassing yourself in front of him, you learn about each other. You tell him the abridged version of your story—where you grew up, what inspired you to go to med school, why you chose plastics, and the struggles you’ve faced along the way.
And it all feels rather pale in comparison as he briefly mentions his time in the service, his longstanding friendship with Michael Robinavitch, the people he loved, the people he lost. He never makes it dark. He tells a short version of everything, including losing his wife to COVID, and he doesn’t give you enough time to try to feel bad for him. It’s a show of his trust that he even tells you these things.
Despite the age gap and the life experience gap, he never speaks a word to make you feel small. Never ushers one statement that makes you seem anything less than him. Some advice, of course, but never condescension.
And it’s only the second day you’ve spoken to him. Really, the first day you’ve had a real conversation.
But the concept of him being the love of your life feels less like a delusion and more like a total possibility. You can’t say why. It’s clear in many ways that this man has closed himself off from the possibilities of brightness, and yet, every second of your conversation, it felt like he was looking straight into the sun.
Jack Abbot walks you back to your apartment. And after everything you’ve shared, you know it’s only going to be a friendly goodbye. You don’t want it to be anything more, despite that funny little thing you keep calling him.
Because you want to be good for Jack Abbot.
More than just the authenticity Dr. Garza had mentioned. You just want to be good for him. Good, in any way that appears.
Because Jack Abbot is the type of man that would be good for you. And Jack Abbot is the type of man that has suffered far more than he’s lived but he’d never let it touch those around him.
“Night,” he said, then speaking your name from the hallway of your apartment with such reverence that no other word seemed to compare.
You flushed pink, leaning your head against the doorframe and smiling. “It’s 10 in the morning.”
He squints at the sunlight pooling in through the open corridor of your complex, lips twitching. “Huh. Didn’t realize.”
“Shut up.”
Jack looks back at you, smiles again, and says, “Go to sleep. You had a pretty fucking cool day.”
“You too, Jack,” you say soft, eyelids heavy from the day and the lingering effects of alcohol. “You had a pretty shitty day.”
“Eh,” he shrugs, already turning. “Didn’t end that way.”
You exhale with a sleepy smile, “Sleep. Please.”
“Maybe,” he says as his feet carry him away from you.
Jack Abbot sincerely might be the love of your life.
—
Days become weeks. Weeks become months.
You spend most mornings after your shift with Garza, with some of the other residents, but a lot with Jack. Sometimes Robby tags along too when he’s free. Sometimes multiple at once. You feel as if you’ve been entered into some PTMC elite friend group, though your mentor/close friend, Dr. Garza, and your crush/close friend Jack Abbot, seem to be the highlights of all this.
Your third year of residency comes and, thanks to the mentorship you set yourself up for all those months ago, it doesn’t feel that scary at all. You’re even more certain that you’re where you’re meant to be with every passing day. Of course, it gets hard. Sometimes impossible. But it’s what you do. It’s what you love to do.
Being the third year resident, you’ve taken up the responsibility of responding to most every ED page you can. It seems to be the place where you encounter the most workplace stress, but it’s also the place you encounter the most Jack. That matters to you too.
Your belief that Jack Abbot is the love of your life has intensified tenfold, but you haven’t made any effort to address it. His natural charisma often keeps you on your toes, but there are times where you’re sure it’s more than that. Still, despite toeing the line, he doesn’t make any moves either.
You’re learning each other. That seems to be the unspoken rule, at least for you. You won’t be the thing that hurts Jack Abbot and it almost seems like he has the same philosophy about you.
There was a night where you already hadn’t slept. You’d been in the ED for a different consult when a GSW to the skull came in. It wasn’t anything you’d never seen before, but it was a kid. A little kid playing with his parents’ gun. That… wasn’t anything you’d seen before. Nothing you ever wanted to.
You’d gone to the breakroom and covered your mouth after the child had been pronounced dead, eyes fixed on the wall. They didn’t water. They just… fixed on the first poster they saw.
“Hey,” you heard his voice before you saw him.
“I’m fine,” you rasped quickly, eyes still fixed ahead.
“You-“
“I’m fine.”
“I-“
“Damn it, I said I’m fine!” You’d whipped around, meeting his gaze. There was something terrible and tortured beneath it too. He was just a man who wasn’t able to save a little kid, just like you were a woman who couldn’t either. You shook your head then, eyes going wet, “Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t-“
He’d pulled you into a hug so crushing that day it might as well have fused your bodies together. His hand, trembling from his own sadness, stroked your hair with such care that you began to cry into his scrub top.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re okay.”
“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” You’d cried, fingers curling in the fabric of his top. “I didn’t mean to-“
He’d pressed a kiss to your hair, so, so innocent in its nature in the moment, and muttered, “I know that.”
And Jack had held you until your tears subsided.
And only then did you pull back, face tear streaked, and sniffled, “How are you?”
His fingers stayed splayed in your hair, looking down at you with a remarkable amount of adoration despite his own clear exhaustion, and he murmured, “Shitty.”
You didn’t seem to have control over your hand as it began to softly stroke his back. “M’sorry. Me too.”
His eyes looked between yours before he quietly said, “Then we’ll share it until it passes.”
And he’d driven you home, accepted your invitation in, and watched a movie with you until he saw you smile again. It was a small, reactionary smile, but it mattered nonetheless.
He’d waited until you’d fallen asleep, carried you to bed despite the bone-deep exhaustion coursing through him, and kissed your forehead before leaving.
Jack Abbot was more than good for you. He was everything to you.
And then there’d been a day where you’d gone down to the ED looking for him while you had some downtime, but he was nowhere to be found. All that you saw was a nurse cleaning up blood splatter on a trauma room floor as Shen and Ellis had a quiet, solemn conversation nearby.
“Where’s Jack?” You’d asked, eyes big with worry.
“He shut down after our last patient.” Ellis looked at you with a sympathetic gaze and quietly said, “He doesn’t tell us where he goes when he gets like that. Only Robby knows”
“Is- Is Robby here?” You’d shifted between your feet.
“No, day shift isn’t due for another 45 still,” Shen said, rubbing his forehead as if he too was deeply upset by the last patient.
You turned then, scrolling through your phone with shakey hands as you looked for Robby’s number you’d gotten once at the bar. You found it, dialed it, and he’d answered with your name in a totally confused tone.
“Robby, I-“ You’d paced a few steps away. “They’re- Shen and Ellis told me Jack shut down after a patient. Where would he go?”
The line was silent for a moment, as if Robby was debating whether to tell you or to slam on his own gas pedal.
“The roof. He goes to the roof.”
By the time you’d made it to the roof, your scrubs had sweat stains from running up flights of stairs and you were panting. You saw him, on the opposite side of the railing, arms crossed as he looked out to the city.
He didn’t turn, but he said, “Michael, I-“
“It’s not Robby. It’s me.”
His head swiveled then, eyes fixing on you in moments. He wasted not one second in ducking to the other side of the railing, as if the mere reminder of why he wanted to live just appeared in front of him.
Your lip wobbled and you hated that it wobbled because, damn it, this wasn’t about you. And then your feet carried you straight to him. One arm hooked over his shoulder as the other cupped the back of his head, pulling his face to the crook of your neck. The feel of his breath against your pulse point, the proof that he was alive and in your arms, made you shudder.
“What happened?” You stroke his hair. “Tell me what happened.”
“I’m okay. I come up here to think sometimes. That’s all.” He’d said more for you than him, his voice soft as his arms tightened around your waist.
“No, because I’ve never heard you call Robby his first name a-and Shen and Ellis were upset too and…” You closed your eyes as you focused on the heartbeat emitting from his chest pressed against yours. “Jack, what happened?”
Another beat of silence. And then his voice cracked. Not much, but enough. It was accompanied by his arms tightening around your waist.
“Her hair was the same as my wife’s was and I-“
And you knew he didn’t want to tell you that at first for a reason. He was scared his grief would be too much for you. Make it seem like, in some unaddressed way, he wasn’t ready for you.
But it was grief. It was a love mostly given from earth to the stars but left its remnants buried deep inside him until he could meet the stars too.
That didn’t scare you. Not in the slightest.
That was the core of Jack Abbot, and you’d sworn you’d be good for him.
“It’s okay,” you’d whispered, and his arms had tightened around you even tighter than the day that little boy had died. You stroked his hair, your own eyes glassy and your own throat tight. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. We’ll share it… until it passes.”
And you stayed like that until Robby came out the door too, panic on his face that he hadn’t heard from either of you since. The panic was gone as quick as it came when he saw you still holding Jack, hand still stroking his hair, but sharing some quiet, private conversation that was making him smile soft.
And Robby knew it. And the world knew it.
You were good for Jack Abbot.
Later that day, when you both clocked out of work, he’d driven you back to your place and you’d sat in his truck with the engine off for a moment. Silence lingered for a beat.
“I’m sorry you saw me like that,” he looked at you with a clenched jaw and those ever-compassionate eyes. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Not proud of what?” Your eyebrows twitched. “Human emotions?”
He looked down, lips twitching solemnly as he exhaled, “I’m not proud that when I saw you, you were scared. I don’t want to scare you.”
The silence lingered for a beat more before your hand reached up to cup his cheek. He immediately leaned into your touch, eyes closing like if they opened, he’d find out he imagined you up.
“You don’t scare me, Jack,” you say softly, thumb stroking under his eyes. “Your grief, your pain, everything you’ve endured… it doesn’t scare me.”
His eyes finally did open to look at you, still leaning into your hand. “It should.”
“It won’t. It doesn’t.” You nod, eyes looking between him. “I’m not… Maybe I won’t always know the right thing to say or do, but it doesn’t mean I’m scared. I just want to be good for you, Jack. That’s all.”
“You are,” he sighed wearily, and as if you’d pulled some plug that could never be plugged again, his hand wrapped around your wrist, his head tilting to kiss your palm. Your heart stuttered as he sighed, “God, you are.”
“Jack…”
“I’m in love with you,” he whispered out, his free hand coming up to cup your frozen face. “I am so in love with you and all I have thought about for months is how I can be good for you. You… You’re a fucking angel. I don’t know if I know how.”
“You-“ You blink, inadvertently leaning into his touch. His thumb stroked against your pulse point. “You are… the best thing for me. You are- My career- It’s your advice that got me to where I am.”
He smiled softly, eyes crinkling as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead reverently. “I’d hardly call telling you to switch to the night shift advice. That was your choice. Your hard work. You did it.”
Your eyes close, chest heaving. “Told me to work under Garza. Now she’s… my mentor.”
“She adores you for you. That had nothing to do with me.” He presses a kiss to your left eyelid softly.
“Told me I’d have million dollar hands.” Your lips twitch despite your own anxiety.
He huffs out a laugh that tickles your face before pressing another kiss to your palm. “You already do.”
“You believe in me.”
“I do. But that’s not why you’re great.” He whispers, kissing your cheek. “Not even close.”
You’re frustrated that you can’t think of better examples as to why he makes you feel so warm in such a cold world. There’s so many but your brain is hardly working.
“Jack, you’re so good for me. You- Who you are is so good for me.” Your eyes open, fixing on his and seeing that they are fixed solely on your mouth. It’s a line he knows he can never uncross. A line he hasn’t crossed with anyone in years. “You are the love of my life.”
His eyes meet yours and you see the last dam break. You see his eyebrows twitch up in something akin to disbelief before his hand laces in your hair and he pulls you close to him. His breath ghosts your lips. “Say it again.”
You chase his lips but he doesn’t let you meet them. “You’re so good for me.”
“The other part.”
“You’re the love of my life.”
“Fuck.”
He kisses you then, one hand still wrapped around your wrist as the other stays in your hair. The kiss is slow and deep, yet it never loses the unmistakable compassion of Jack Abbot. Not in the way he holds you so carefully, the way his thumb strokes your hair, the way every move of his lips against yours feels like a quest to make you believe he’s all yours.
When you pull apart after a while, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, intoxicated by being so sweet to you. “That was okay?”
“Are you-“ You almost want to laugh. Not only is he the most experienced kisser you’ve ever met, but you’d both just confessed to being in love with each other. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not kidding. Want to know where your head’s at always.” He peppers kisses along your cheekbone softly.
Your nose scrunches slightly as you smile, breathing still uneven. “It was perfect. Better than perfect.”
“Perfect,” he says and you’re not sure if he’s repeating your words or using them as his own. Either way, you smile. And he seems to love seeing you smile the most. More than anything. “You’ve had a long day.”
“Hardly.” Your eyes open, fixing on his with a suffocating amount of compassion. “You had the long day.”
Jack strokes your hair out of your face and his voice comes out sincere. “You made me forget.”
That makes you smile before he withdraws, opening his door and jogging around to get yours. He grabs your backpack, as well as his own with the intention of staying, and holds the car door for you. He takes your keys and unlocks your apartment door you. He cooks for you. He stays until you fall asleep, holding you while stroking your hair.
On his own terrible day, he stays. And you know he is perfect for you. The world knows.
Jack Abbot, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is and will always be the love of your life.