Chapter Text
The overlap between day shift and night shift at the Pitt was always vaguely apocalyptic.
Too many people. Too much noise. Attendings trying to escape. Night staff shambling in clutching caffeine like life support. Phones ringing nonstop. Somebody yelling for transport. Somebody else crying in the hallway.
Normal stuff.
Jack had only been on shift twelve minutes and already a psych patient had called him a narc, Whitaker nearly dropped a urine sample and someone in triage was actively vomiting into a plant pot.
So, honestly, he barely noticed the ICU nurse at first.
Tall. Pretty. Blonde. Leaning against the desk beside Robby with the unmistakable body language of someone flirting successfully.
Robby looked exhausted in that loose-limbed end-of-shift way he got after twelve hours in the ED, stethoscope shoved into his pocket, sleeves rolled up. But he was smiling.
Jack felt the familiar little ache in his chest and ignored it professionally.
“Dr Abbot!” Santos called. “Room nine wants more pain meds.”
“Pretty sure that’s a day shift problem. Did you assess them?”
“...potentially.”
“Meaning no.”
“Meaning I intended to.”
Jack snorted softly and reached for the chart.
Behind him, he heard the ICU nurse laugh at something Robby said.
“So eight o’clock?” she asked.
Jack kept reading the chart. Robby leaned one hip against the desk. “Yeah. There’s a place down by the river.”
“Good. Because last time you picked the crappy bar.”
“That bar had character.”
Jack smiled despite himself. That was the problem, really. He liked Robby. Even when this hurt a little.
Across the desk, Whitaker looked up slowly from the computer. Then looked at Jack. Then back at Robby and the ICU nurse.
His expression shifted from confusion to horror in real time.
“Oh my god,” he whispered.
Santos followed his eyeline. “Oh my god.”
Jack already knew where this was going.
“No,” he said immediately.
Nobody listened to him.
“Is he cheating on you?” Whitaker hissed.
Jack closed his eyes briefly.
Across the nurses station, Robby finally seemed to realize the entire department had gone weirdly quiet. “What?”
Santos looked appalled on Jack’s behalf. “Dr. Robinavitch.”
The ICU nurse blinked. “...should I leave?”
“No,” Jack said quickly.
“Yes,” Whitaker said at the same time.
Robby looked between all of them, deeply confused and deeply tired. “What is happening?”
“You’re going on a date,” Santos said.
“Yeah?”
Whitaker looked at Jack like a Victorian child witnessing a public execution. “But you and Abbott are together.”
Robby went still for half a second before he rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”
The ICU nurse muttered, “I am leaving,” and vanished immediately with the instincts of someone escaping a building fire.
“Wait,” Santos said, looking between them. “You are together.”
Jack shrugged lightly. “Sort of.”
Robby sighed. “It’s casual.”
The silence that followed was incredible. Full system failure silence.
“I’m going home,” Robby announced.
“You can’t just leave after detonating that information!” Whitaker cried.
But Robby was already backing away toward the doors. Jack watched him go automatically.
Robby glanced back too.
Just briefly. That soft familiar look flickered across his face for one stupid dangerous second before he left with a wave and disappeared out into the evening beside the ICU nurse.
The ache in Jack’s chest sharpened. He swallowed it down.
Setting her eyes back on Jack, Santos said carefully, “Define casual.”
Jack kept his eyes on the chart in front of him because he wasn’t sure what to do with his face. “We’re not exclusive,” he said evenly.
Whitaker made a small choking noise.
“No, hold on,” Santos said. “Hold on. You mean you’re sleeping together.”
“Amongst other things,” Jack said, trying to stay unconcerned and relaxed.
“But Robby dates other people.”
“Sometimes.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Jack finally looked up. That question always felt strange. Not cruel. Just... odd. Like people expected him to be lying.
He gave a small shrug. “We agreed on it.”
Whitaker stared at him. “But do you like it?”
Jack blinked and then smiled easy and careless, the same expression he wore while walking patients through procedures and talking down violent drunks. “It works for us.”
Dana chose that exact moment to walk into the department carrying coffee.
She took one look at everyone’s expressions and immediately understood. “Oh no,” she sighed.
“Dana,” Santos said. “Did you know about this?”
“I know everything Santos, you need to be more specific.”
“About our attendings’ situationship and Robby’s dating habits.”
Dana looked unimpressed. “Of course I knew.”
“You LET this happen?”
Jack laughed quietly under his breath.
Dana pointed at the Pittlings with her coffee cup. “You idiots thought they were normal dating?”
“They act married!” Whitaker exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Dana said. “But they are both idiots.”
Jack had enough of this conversation, and since the floor wasn’t kind enough to swallow him whole, he turned back toward the board, looking for something to distract himself.
“Right,” he said. “Who’s dying?”
—
The gathering had started as drinks. It became a conspiracy around midnight.
The residents had claimed the far corner of a sticky little bar three blocks from the hospital, still half in scrubs and running on the kind of exhausted delirium unique to emergency medicine.
Whitaker was two beers in and emotionally unable to let the situation go. “I’m serious,” he said, leaning over the table like a man discussing government corruption. “I cannot stop thinking about it.”
“About what?” Mel asked, though she already knew.
“Abbot.”
“Which part?”
Whitaker looked personally betrayed. “The part where he’s apparently in love with Robby while Robby wanders the earth collecting side quests.”
Across from him, Santos pointed aggressively with a mozzarella stick. “THANK you.”
Mohan snorted into his drink. “You people are acting like Robby’s committing crimes.”
“He practically is.”
“He’s not cheating.”
“He’s spiritually cheating.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It should be.”
Javadi had stayed mostly quiet up until now, nursing one drink slowly while listening to the others spiral.
Then she said, very calmly, “Abbot deserves someone who chooses him first.”
The table quieted a little.
The actual issue. Not the open relationship itself. None of them particularly cared about that. Half the hospital had bizarre sex lives and complicated emotional arrangements. They worked in emergency medicine. Stability was basically mythical.
The problem was Jack.
Jack, who brought Robby coffee every shift without asking his order. Jack, who stayed late if Robby looked tired. Jack, who looked at Robby like he hung the moon over Pittsburgh with his bare hands.
And Robby, meanwhile, kept insisting he “couldn’t do serious right now.”
Santos slammed her drink down decisively. “We make him jealous.”
Mohan blinked. “Excuse me?”
“We flirt with Abbot.”
Whitaker’s eyes widened immediately. “Oh my god.”
Mel stared at her blankly. “That’s insane.”
“It’s effective.”
“It’s manipulative.”
“It’s funny.”
“All excellent points,” Javadi murmured.
Whitaker was already visibly getting on board. “No, wait. Wait. This could work.”
Mohan looked around the table in disbelief. “You all need hobbies.”
“We have hobbies,” Santos informed him. “Mine is workplace interference.”
The terrifying part was how quickly the plan evolved after that. Because once they started thinking about it, they realized two things immediately:
Jack Abbot was objectively very attractive.
Robby was already hanging by a thread emotionally whether he knew it or not.
“He watches Abbot constantly,” Mel said.
Whitaker nodded violently. “YES. Like one of those security cameras that follows movement.”
“And Abbot doesn’t notice because he’s too busy being weirdly devoted.”
Santos leaned back in triumph. “Perfect. We psychologically torment him until he admits feelings.”
“You people sound like Victorian aunties trying to orchestrate a marriage.”
“Correct.”
Mohan rubbed his temples. “Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, I entertain this insanity. What exactly is the plan?”
Santos grinned. And that expression should’ve worried everyone more than it did.
By the second round of drinks, the operation had expanded beyond the Pittlings. Because once they
started texting people, they discovered the entire ED had opinions.
Strong ones.
Dana’s response:
finally. took you idiots long enough.
Princess:
I volunteer as tribute
Mateo:
can i flirt with abbott if im straight
Santos:
especially if youre straight! i will be flirting 2 and i like women
Langdon:
absolutely not involving myself in this
followed immediately by:
unless it would annoy Robby
Perlah simply sent back a thumbs up.
“This department needs therapy,” Mohan muttered.
“No,” Whitaker (who had drunk too much too fast) said darkly. “It needs parent trap tactics.”
The phrase “Operation: Emotional Consequences” was coined around 1 AM.
By 1:15, they had rules.Nobody hurts Jack.
Nobody pressures Jack.
If Jack genuinely seems uncomfortable, abort mission.
The objective is not cruelty.
The objective is making Robby realize he’s being an idiot.
“And if Abbot starts actually enjoying the attention?” Mel asked.
The table paused.
Santos frowned slightly. “I mean. Maybe?”
Whitaker thought about it for a second. “Honestly that’d probably be good for him.”
Because Jack acted confident. He flirted easily. But there was something oddly disconnected about it sometimes, like he never believed anyone was serious.
None of them missed the way he’d gone quiet for a second earlier that day when Whitaker asked if he actually liked the arrangement with Robby.
Nor the way he’d smiled right after. Too fast.
Javadi swirled the ice in her glass thoughtfully. “I don’t think anyone’s chosen Abbott properly in a long time.” Alcohol seemed to make her wise.
—
Operation: Emotional Consequences began on a Tuesday.
Appropriately enough, the entire ED was already on fire.
Not literally, though Whitaker did briefly set a blanket warmer alight. The department had three traumas rolling in, two psych holds screaming at each other across the hall, and a six-hour wait time in triage.
Perfect conditions for psychological warfare.
Jack arrived carrying two coffees and looking unfairly good for somebody clocking into a twelve-hour night shift.
Grey hoodie under his jacket. Scrubs slightly wrinkled. Hair still damp from a shower.
Whitaker watched him approach the desk and muttered “Oh, Robby’s cooked.”
“Focus,” Santos whispered back.
Robby was midway through wrapping up day shift, standing at the board with Dana and Collins discussing bed shortages.
Jack walked straight toward him automatically. He held out one of the coffees without interrupting the conversation.
Robby took it without looking. “Thanks.”
“Mm.”
No hesitation. No awkwardness. No uncertainty about whether Jack would know his order.
The Pitt Crew exchanged loaded looks. Disgustingly domestic.
Then Robby finally glanced up. And paused slightly. Because everybody was staring.
“What?” he asked slowly.
“Nothing,” Santos said brightly.
Dana physically turned away to hide her smile in her coffee (decaf).
Jack, oblivious, leaned over the desk to check the board. “We still holding psych in twelve?”
“Until upstairs stops pretending beds are decorative.”
“Cool. Why not.”
Princess appeared beside Jack like she’d been summoned by dark magic. “Abbott,” she said warmly, touching his arm lightly. “You cut your hair.”
Jack blinked at her. “...a little?”
“It looks good.”
There was a microscopic pause before Jack smiled easily. “Thanks.”
Robby’s eyes flicked up from the chart in his hand.
The Pittlings collectively sat up straighter. Princess continued smoothly. “You should keep it shorter. Makes your eyes pop. You know you’ve got insane eyes, right?”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Yeah, one’s slightly worse than the other since Afghanistan.”
“No, babe, that’s not what I mean.”
Jack looked confused for a second. He recovered quickly, grinning crookedly. “You trying to get something out of me, Princess?”
“Maybe.”
“Well now I’m suspicious.”
Robby looked between them once. Then back to the board. Then back to them again.
A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows.
Dana saw it immediately.Excellent.
—
The campaign escalated naturally from there. Not even intentionally at first. People just started... paying attention to Jack out loud.
Mateo loudly informing him he smelled good.
Perlah fixing his hoodie strings before shift.
A paramedic from Mercy flirting openly while dropping off a patient, because this had caught on.
And every single time, Jack reacted with the same startled amusement.
Like someone discovering a language he technically spoke but had never heard directed at him sincerely.
“You have nice hands,” Santos told him while he sutured a lac.
Jack glanced up suspiciously. “That’s a serial killer compliment.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes it is. Nice hands means you either want to date me or skin me.”
Whitaker choked on laughter.
Santos pointed at Jack triumphantly. “See? Flirting.”
“I’m defending myself.”
“By being charming.”
Jack rolled his eyes but he was smiling.
And Robby… Robby was getting weird. Not openly. He was too emotionally constipated for that.
But little things started slipping. Interrupting conversations to ask Jack unnecessary questions. Hovering at the nurses station. Watching people interact with Jack with increasing intensity.
Dana caught him staring at Mateo one afternoon after Mateo leaned against Jack laughing at something.
“You look homicidal,” she informed him.
Robby blinked. “What?”
“Relax your face before somebody reports you to HR.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“You look like you’re planning a murder-suicide.”
Robby frowned and looked away. Which, notably, was not denial.
—
Then came the incident.
The incident according to Whitaker, anyway.
It happened late evening during a lull. Jack sat at the nurses station charting with his glasses on, sleeves shoved to his elbows, completely focused. He’d started taking some twilight shifts, something about it working better with his SWAT schedule.
Santos leaned against the counter beside him. “You know,” she said casually, “you’d absolutely clean up on dating apps.”
Jack snorted without looking up. “I’m forty-nine.”
“And?”
“And I’m tired.”
“That’s not mutually exclusive with being hot.”
Jack finally looked over at her with open disbelief. “You people have gotten weird lately.”
Before Santos could answer, Whitaker swooped in.
“Hypothetically,” he asked Jack, trying and failing to sound casual, “if someone did ask you out, would you say yes?”
Robby, walking past with a chart, slowed.Just slightly.
Jack didn’t notice as he considered the question honestly. Then shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Maybe.”
The entire nurses station went silent. Robby stopped walking altogether.
Jack finally looked up from the computer. “What?”
Whitaker stared at him. “You’d actually date other people?”
Jack looked confused now. “...yes?”
Across the station, Robby went completely still, looking at Jack like he hadn’t seen him before. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Nothing came out.
Around them, the ED carried on obliviously. Phones ringing. Monitors beeping. Someone yelling for transport. But Santos could practically hear the tectonic plates shifting beneath Robby’s feet.
Beside her, Whitaker looked moments from bursting into delighted flames.
Operation: Emotional Consequences was officially underway.