Archive of Our Own

Jack Abbot has been single for a very, very long time. 

When the hell would he ever have time to date?

An attending at one of the foremost trauma centers in the city, working the night shift like a dog and always coming in for overtime whenever Robby begged him to. As much as Jack will joke that he hates coming into work, it usually does not take a lot of begging from Robby to get him back into the unit. On top of all that, between therapy and dodging bullets with the city SWAT team, Jack Abbot finds that he has very little time to think about, well, anything else. He does not have time for a crush, or a fling, or situationship, or whatever the hell the kids are calling it these days–

That all changes, of course, when he meets you. 

The first time you meet Dr. Jack Abbot, the ER is a madhouse, the way it always is, somehow, but especially so during shift change. Residents and nurses scurry around like crazy, tying up loose ends from the night before while day shifters come in, groggy and coffee cups in hand. Jack is pulled in what feels like ten different directions: interns asking ridiculous questions, nurses bugging him for last-minute sign-offs on orders, radiologists calling with imaging results, and family members looking for their loved ones in the maze of the unit. His muscles are sore with exhaustion, his leg aching underneath the prosthesis, but of course, he puts on a smile and helps out, because he always does. Because he doesn’t know how not to help out. 

This is where the situation, as always, gets messier. 

After directing the X-ray tech to the appropriate room in the southwest corridor, the night shift attending overhears some shouting from across the hallway. Without thinking, he runs towards the commotion, joints and muscles shouting for a break, but he doesn’t stop. 

Thank fucking God he didn’t. 

Slurred speech and cursing erupt from a drunken patient’s mouth, spewing profanities at a poor day shift nurse, furious with the fact that he’s waited hours just for someone to check his injuries. The patient takes a rather terrifying step towards the nurse, and Jack immediately jumps in, putting distance between them. 

And of course, that’s when his terrible shift ends with an even better shit show. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down. I understand you’re upset, but–”

Immediately, there’s a sickening crunch of bone.

Jack can’t really remember too much of what happened next. He’s sure he didn’t black out, but he definitely remembers the pure fucking rage he felt once he registered the drunk motherfucker was fast enough to sucker punch him like that.

Suddenly, Dana and Robby are surrounding him, holding him back while security rushes into the room and restrains the patient. Jack’s chest is heaving, and he can feel his body trembling with anger. Deep red liquid blurs his vision; he can taste copper on his lips. 

There you have it—another perfect shift at work. 

Now, with Dana’s insistence, Jack is sitting in a treatment room, much to his chagrin, grumbling to himself for the twentieth time this week that he’s quitting, for real this time. 

She smirks. “Sure. I said that yesterday, too.”

When Jack doesn’t acknowledge her with some grunt in response, she frowns. Dana warns the attending to stay put, eyes stern but also full of worry. She tells him she needs some supplies to clean his wound before Robby comes in to stitch him up. Jack is silent but obeys. No use in pissing off Dana this morning. That patient is lucky he didn’t face the wrath of the charge nurse. 

There’s a knock on the door that interrupts Jack’s thoughts. He expects Dana, and he’s ready to quip with a sly remark that he’s fine and just to let him go home when—

“Um…hi, Dr. Abbot.”

The way you say his name, soft and gentle, Jack hates to admit it, even now–but your voice catches him by surprise. Very rarely is he so caught off guard by anyone, but he suddenly feels extremely vulnerable. Almost a little shy. 

You walk in with a sheepish smile on your face, wringing your hands together. There’s a flash of recognition on Jack’s face when he realizes you were the nurse in the room earlier. You quickly introduce yourself before apologies start spilling out of your mouth.

Jack waves a hand. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. It’s, uh…not the first time that’s happened, and definitely not the last.”

Across the room, you don some gloves. “Let me clean you up. I asked Dana if I could help. I just wanted to be able to do…something.”

For what feels like the first time in forever, Dr. Jack Abbot lets someone else take care of him. 

Jack watches you as you move about the room, preparing supplies for the stitches and getting ready to clean his wound. He’s seen you about the unit, expertly floating to every treatment room, quickly taking orders from Dana, and always ready with the assist. There is an abundance of staff working at PTMC, just in the ER alone, and he feels a little bad when he realizes how many times he’s seen you but couldn’t remember your name. When you pass in front of him, he makes a mental note when he sneaks a look at your ID badge. 

As you roll your chair closer to him, supply tray next to you, Jack can’t help but feel a strange heat rise to his cheeks. The space between the two of you feels suddenly very small. 

“This might sting. I’m sorry in advance.” Despite the situation, you crack a smile.

Something he can’t name just yet stirs in his chest. He files it away for later. 

After the initial burn of the wound cleanser, Jack can feel the tension melting away from his body. Your dominant hand works on the laceration across his brow, while the other is placed on his shoulder, steadying you as you work. 

Innocent contact, barely noticeable if it had been anyone else, but it’s you. The weight of your touch feels as if it were burning through his scrubs. Jack exhales slowly, trying not to study every detail of your lovely face. He fails. 

“That should do it,” you say, taking off your gloves. “Dr. Robinavitch said he was finishing pre-rounds, so I put some lidocaine on your cut while you wait for him.”

“Thank you.”

You purse your lips. “No, thank you for being there for me. A second later, and I’d be the one in the bed.”

Jack chuckles. “I’m telling you–don’t sweat it. I’d do it again if I had to.”

The minute the words come out of his mouth, he can feel himself getting flushed again. He’s amazed by the effect you have on him; it’s between twenty goddamn minutes with you, and he feels like a teenager talking to a girl for the first time in his fucking life. 

Biting back a smile, you hold your hand out. “Well then…nice meeting you, Dr. Abbot.”

The warmth and softness of your hands are unforgettable. 

“Call me Jack.”

The next time you interact with Dr. Jack Abbot, it’s shift change once again, only this time, there aren’t violent patients looking for trouble first thing in the morning. Instead, you’re the one getting off your shift, and Jack is rolling in. 

A few weeks have passed since the first time you two met; he’d be lying if he said that he hasn’t been missing you since then. Staffing issues have kept you both on opposite schedules, with most days leaving you with only a quick hello before one person rushes out the door and the other rushes in to jump on a case. 

Jack finds himself doing things he never does when he’s at work. Upon clocking in for each shift, he checks the staffing list from the day shift, going down the rows of names and hoping your name is on it. His eyes scan the room whenever he enters the ER threshold, hoping to catch glimpses of you in the bustle of a hectic department. He pauses when you enter a room with another combative patient, ears straining to listen for any more shouting, especially your voice. The only time he feels his body relax is when he sees you leaving the room, looking for security before you re-enter to continue your work.

He tries to ignore how he feels around you; surely his worries over you are just because you nearly got into a dangerous situation. Anyone else would be equally on edge. 

Jack Abbot does not have a crush. He has not had a crush in a very long time, and he is definitely not going to start now. 

Once Jack badges in for his shift, he is surprised to find you still at the nursing station; most of the day shift had left the building already, eager to start their weekends. But there you are, sitting at his unofficially assigned seat at the desk, waiting for him with a to-go cup.

“Hey, Dr. Abbot. Brought you some tea.”

Jack made the switch to tea a few weeks ago, both in an effort to keep his heart healthy and to avoid the inevitable jitters coffee always gave him instead of actual energy. He swears he only mentioned it in passing to Langdon after seeing the resident drink his third Celsius for the day. The sight of you beaming up at him makes his heart ache.

He can’t stop the grin that creeps across his face. “I told you—”

“—to call you Jack, I know.” You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smirk on your lips. “Just take the damn cup.”

Jack barks out a laugh, once again caught by surprise, this time by your charm and your smile. His fingers brush yours when he takes the cup, electricity surging through him at the contact. The tea is warm and soothing, with just a hint of sweetness at the end. Pride rushes through you as you watch him sip and sigh in relief. Maybe it’s the heat from the tea, but Jack feels warm with something that feels dangerously close to affection.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that,” Jack replies. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your Friday nights than to make some tea for a grouchy attending.”

“I don’t mind. I wanted to do that for you.”

The soft, earnest tone you take on is enough to make Jack fucking melt. And somehow, the great, unflappable Jack Abbot has been left speechless by a mystery woman he barely knows, but desperately wants to know more about. 

Before you can say anything more, Dr. Shen and a few residents are flying past you, calling out to Jack for more assistance. Jack curses the universe for its ill-fated timing before quickly bidding you goodbye and thanking you for the tea. As you’re walking away from the hub, you quickly glance over your shoulder, and at the same moment, Jack turns around too, winking before he runs into the treatment room. 

Your heart somersaults. You file that feeling away for later. 

There are rare instances in which Dr. Jack Abbot finds himself outside the walls of PTMC—occasional days off, doctor appointments, and today’s activity: grocery shopping. After finding one too many takeout containers in the trash this week, the night shift attending had decided that it’s probably time for a real meal.

Exhaustion clouds his mind as he roams the aisles of the grocery store, causing him to go in circles after forgetting one item in one area and needing to return somewhere he’s already been. He knows that he probably should have gone home, gotten some rest, then come back for errands later that evening since it was his day off. Still, he had wanted to get a head start on errands that day; once he was home, he rarely ever wanted to leave the house again. 

As he’s turning around the corner into another aisle, there’s a clang of metal as his shopping cart crashes into another. He’s absentmindedly muttering an apology, barely looking up until he hears your voice. 

“Hey there, stranger.”

Jack immediately snaps his gaze upward, surprised to find you in civilian clothing, looking unbelievably domestic and cozy in an old t-shirt and shorts. His mind is now unable to focus on anything else because your hair, usually up in a ponytail, falls around your shoulders, framing your face in a way that has him wondering what else you look like when you’re home, away from that godforsaken hospital. 

A strange animal inside him wonders if you’re alone, shopping with someone, or shopping for someone else. Someone else in your home, who gets to see you in pajamas when you first wake up in the morning. Someone else who knows what you look like before you go to sleep.

He shoves the thought away. 

“Wow, sorry about that,” Jack stammers out, “I, uh…long night.”

You can tell immediately how tired Jack is–his curls mussed like he’s been running his hands through them all night, dark circles underneath his eyes that look just about ready to fall asleep. Despite his obvious exhaustion, you also can’t help but notice how fucking good he still looks, with the snug black shirt he’s wearing, leaving very little to the imagination of what his upper body must look like. So that’s what’s been hiding underneath that scrub top. 

“There’s a coffee shop down the street from here,” you say, trying to remain as casual as possible, hoping he doesn’t notice the ever-present flush on your cheeks whenever you’re around him. “If you’re looking for a pick-me-up. They even have non-coffee options.”

Fuck.

Jack knows that this is the part where he says yes, that he agrees to go to the coffee shop with you instead of finishing his errands, because really, what fucking errands does he need to do anyway after this? This is the part where he says yes to the girl that has been on his mind for weeks on end, says yes to being invited somewhere, somewhere that isn’t the four walls of his apartment or the emergency department. 

Something gnaws at the back of his mind, screaming at him, reminding him that you’re a nurse, he’s a goddamn attending, and Dana would have his throat along with Gloria, dragging him by the collar if anyone ever found out you two were together. If you ever end up together. If he ever stops dragging his feet and lets himself have something, this one thing.

But it’s been a long time since Jack Abbot has been in the game. So, unfortunately, he fucks it up. 

“I just came off three twelves in a row, and I’m just so damn exhausted I might even sleep in my truck, and I’m sure you won’t want coffee at four p.m. when I finally wake up again and–”

Biting back any disappointment that sits on your tongue, you nod, trying to be understanding. “Don’t sweat it, Abbot. Just an offer.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck–

There’s a melancholy smile on your face, as much as you had tried to hide it, and Jack is screaming at himself for being such a dumbass here, and he’s about to take it back when you bid him goodbye, wishing him a good day. He curses to himself as he watches you check out your groceries and head to the parking lot. 

Without hesitation, Jack abandons his shopping cart, sprinting out to the lot, eyes scanning around until he finds you walking to your car. His joints are aching, his leg groaning with the strain of more exercise after a long night, but he doesn’t care. 

When you hear someone panting and breathing heavily next to you, you whip around, surprised to find a familiar night shift attending, bent over, winded. Now, you can’t hide the smile on your face. 

“Do you have a pen?”

Once you give one to him, Jack reaches out for your hand, carefully taking it and scrawling a number into your palm. You watch him carefully as he writes, and your heart stops when he makes eye contact with you. Your hand is still in his, even after he’s done writing. The pads of his fingers are rough, calloused; you try not to think about how they’d feel in other places. 

“There’s my number, for emergencies,” Jack says simply, a sly smile growing on his face. “You know, just in case other crazy grocery shoppers are crashing into you, now you have someone who’ll take care of that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll see you around, Jack.”

He thinks about the way you say his name for the rest of the day. 

Working at PTMC is no task for the faint of heart.

Ever since you had received Jack’s number, you feel like a high schooler all over again–texting him whenever you had a chance, even longer if it happened to be off during the same hours. 

Scheduling and short staffing issues put you on opposite schedules yet again, making it difficult for you to finally work out a date, hang out, whatever the hell you wanna call it—but you try not to stress about it. Jack isn’t your boyfriend; hell, you haven’t even gone out yet for there to be anything to stress over. 

Not seeing him made it easier to deal with your internal dilemma; nothing to deal with if you didn’t actually see the man. Texting all day long was one thing, but the thought of actually seeing him again after obvious flirting from the last time you saw him, well…that was different. 

But of course, the universe is funny like that, because sure enough, you’re picked to float to the night shift when one of the regulars goes on vacation for the next week.

Once you arrive at the nursing station, you feel a familiar presence take a seat next to you at the computers. You force yourself to bite back a smile and try not to swoon when you smell the cologne. You don’t face this person just yet, but you can already picture the sly smirk on his face. 

“That’s my seat, you know.”

And of course, it doesn’t take much for you to break, and you give him a puzzled look. “That’s funny; this chair doesn’t say Dr. Jack Abbot written anywhere.”

Jack chuckles, taking a sip of his tea. “While that might be true, everyone on night shift knows that that’s my seat. You day shifters never pay attention to the night shift rules of order.”

“You’re gonna have to take some time to teach me then, Dr. Abbot.”

The words hang in the air for a brief moment, and you swear there’s a look in his eyes that maybe leads to more than just coworkers teasing each other. How the hell does he get his eyes to fucking sparkle like that? Your heart is racing as you wait for him to respond, but before he can say anything else, an incoming trauma breaks the tension between you two. 

The universe sure has a sense of humor. You’re starting to hate it.

Truth be told, assisting the night shift was somehow a lot more intimidating than assisting with the day shift. There was something about the attendings and residents, the way they worked and how they flowed. It was always as if there wasn’t a need for many words; you’d notice the attendings holding their hands out, and the nurse with them always magically knew what to grab. 

Perhaps you were just used to the day shifters, already accustomed to what Dr. Robby would need before he even turned around, or reaching to bag someone before Dr. Al-Hashimi even called for intubation. There was probably just a learning curve; that’s all. 

Jack Abbot was a little more intimidating for some reason, in a way that you can’t really describe. He’s not harsh; he’s not overly tough on residents when they screw up, and he’s a great mentor. Still, staying at his side during traumas, assisting as quickly as you can, it almost feels as if you had just run a marathon after a case with him. 

One case that evening leaves you a little shaken, though. Motor vehicle accident: two teenage girls had come in after crashing their parents’ car trying to go for a late-night ice cream run. While both sisters had come in completely fine, both alert enough to be screaming at each other across the trauma bay, one of the sisters immediately had gone south, stats dropping almost immediately.

The sound of the flat-line on the monitor had been deafening. 

The rest of the events were a blur. Parents rushing in, guiding them to the viewing room, and the wails of both the mother and the other sister echoing in your mind for hours. 

And now, the sun is coming up, signaling the end of your first awful night shift at the pit. It’s pathetic, as you’re standing in the supply closet, trying to take a breath and do anything to stop your tears from falling. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s nerves from running around on cases with residents you aren’t quite used to yet, but your shoulders feel heavy, and your eyes are burning now–

“Oh.”

Barely a word, not even a full sentence, but you recognize that voice. 

Instantly, you whip around, praying your tears don’t fall before forcing yourself to smile. “Hey, sorry. Uh, was just looking for some catheters–”

Jack’s face is immediately full of concern, his eyes softening when he realizes the situation. As he turns around and shuts the door, you curse to yourself, curse yourself for letting anyone see you like this, especially Jack fucking Abbot of all people.

“Are you hurt?”

The question surprises you. “What? No. I’m just…I’m fine.”

His eyes scan up and down your body, quickly assessing for any physical injuries; you feel your cheeks flush. The tension in his body seems to release when he realizes that, at least physically, you’re okay. The worry doesn’t leave his face, though. As if you aren’t emotional enough, the sight makes your heart ache.

“What’s wrong?”

God.

What is it about that phrase? Even if you muster up all the fake courage in the world, gather up every bit of strength you have left, every ounce of willpower not to fucking cry – but those two words open up the dam full of tears?

Without hesitation, Jack steps forward, catching you as you exhale a sob, tears finally spilling down your face. His arms wrap around you, his hand rubbing your back as he shushes you softly. Your arms, with a mind of their own, move to wrap around him, too. Part of you is mortified, letting yourself cry in your fucking attending’s arms, but his hands and his body are so damn warm, you find yourself not caring so much in that moment. 

Jack breathes in the scent of your shampoo, closing his eyes and forcing himself to think of anything else, and not the fact that your body is pressed against him. Anything but the thought of you, like this with him, and anything he can do to keep you here.

After catching your breath and wiping the fucking snot from your face and his scrub top, cringing at the sight. You give him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

Jack steps back so he can see your face, but his arms are still around you. “What is going on?”

You let out a sigh. “Those girls tonight…just broke my heart. Sometimes, I really fucking hate our job.”

Jack chuckles, and you have to ignore the way your heart somersaults over the fact that you made him laugh. He sighs, too. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The ones you lose make you forget about all the others you save.”

The two of you stand in silence for a bit, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from Jack’s. The smile lines, the tiredness of his eyes, the stubble that’s practically grown into a beard, and his hair growing even curlier as it gets longer. It is damn near impossible to look away from him, and you swear you’re hallucinating when you see his eyes flicker down to your lips before going back up to your eyes. 

Before you even have a chance to process what’s happening, the door flies open, revealing a rather confused Dr. Parker Ellis. 

“Oh–!”

“We were just–”

“– and Dr. Abbot needed–”

Parker holds her hands up in surrender. “I-I don’t need to know. Just came in for more four-by-fours. Got a bleeder in North 10.”

 You hand the supplies off to Dr. Ellis, who only mutters a quick thank you before scurrying away back to the unit. You wish the earth would swallow you whole. As you turn to face Jack, you’re relieved (and somewhat delighted) to find a pink flush on Jack’s cheeks and neck. At least you’re not the only one dying of embarrassment. 

You’re about to return to the unit yourself when his hand grabs yours. You freeze in place and turn around. Jack smiles, that damn smile where his eyes seem to fucking shine (how in the hell does he do that????), and you have to force yourself to stand up straight; otherwise you’re sure your knees would give out. 

“Wanna get some breakfast after work?”

When Jack proposes to go out to eat, you’re nervous, but you’re excited. Finally, finally, finally – a (insert noun here; date, hang out, thing) with Jack Abbot. But when his truck pulls up to an unfamiliar part of town, away from the diner you had expected to arrive at, you start to panic.

The last place you had expected to be was Jack Abbot’s apartment. 

His place is homey and somehow familiar, perfectly Jack in every way. His apartment is very tidy but still feels warm and lived in. You feel yourself imagining yourself on his couch, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast. As much as you try to push the thought away, you can’t–it is becoming terrifyingly obvious that this crush has now launched into a full-on obsession with your attending.

While you survey the apartment, your eyes fall on the sight of his crutches in the corner of the room. Jack notices your gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed and flushed.

“I-uh–sometimes the prosthesis is a pain in the ass,” Jack says quickly, “most days after work, I take it off and just stick with those–”

“Jack, you don’t need to explain. I was just… curious.” You take a seat on his couch. “Do you mind if I watch you take it off? So that I know what to do in case of emergency.”

Something in Jack’s heart softens, as if he couldn’t fall any harder–but there you are, looking on with curiosity and care, wanting to learn. 

He is so, so, so fucked.

Jack exhales as he sits next to you, suddenly very aware of the warmth of your body next to him. As he rolls up the scrub pant leg, he can physically feel the rouge crawling up his neck. He’s a doctor, for God’s sake; this is something that’s part of him and part of who he is, but he can’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable. Two things he never wants to feel around you. 

Once the hardware is removed, he pauses for a moment, hands hovering over the socket liner covering the amputation site—the moment of truth. 

The anxiety in the air is palpable, so you rest a hand on him. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to show me. It’s alright, Jack.”

He shakes his head, still quiet. With a deep breath, he removes the socket, revealing the extremity and the scar tissue. He rubs the skin gently, sighing in relief at the contact. The site seems a little irritated, slightly swollen from a long shift. 

“Can I get you a heat pack?” 

Jack shrugs, feeling embarrassed once again. He starts to move towards his crutches. “Um, sure. Let me show you–”

You rest your hands on his shoulders as you stand. “Just tell me where it is, and I’ll get it for you. Let me help.”

He can’t hide his grin. “There’s a first aid kit in the master bathroom. You’ll find one in there.”

His eyes follow you around his apartment, and he can’t help that giddy feeling in his stomach. Like he’s a high schooler again, and he’s home alone with a girl in his house. Jesus Christ, man, get a fucking grip. 

When you return with the heat pack, you activate it and look to Jack for permission. He holds his breath before nodding, and his body relaxes when the warmth makes contact with his skin. 

Cautiously, you replace the heat pack with your hand and gently massage the skin, letting your fingertips brush the puffy scar tissue. You rip your hand away when his breath hitches for a split second.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Jack reaches for your hand, returning it to the same spot on his amputation site. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. Without thinking, you lean on him, resting your head on his shoulder and massaging the irritation away. 

Soon, Jack feels his lids growing heavy, and suddenly the room feels very warm. He remembers suddenly the whole reason you guys came to the apartment in the first place. Once again, he attempts to reach for his crutches, but you steady him on the couch. He freezes, but relaxes when he sees you bring a blanket over the two of you.

“Just sit for a while, Jack. Rest.”

He feels hypnotized.

You lean back, this time giving him room to rest on your chest. Slowly, he leans back too, letting his head rest on you. Once he settles, you place the heat pack on his scars and pull the blanket over him. The exhaustion is finally catching up to him, and just when you think he’s finally dozed off, his voice surprises you. 

“If I remember correctly,” he murmurs, “I promised you breakfast…”

You let your fingers thread through his hair, studying the salt and pepper curls you’ve been admiring from a distance until this moment. You still can’t believe where you are right now. “I know, Jack. It’s okay…”

The combination of your warmth and the sensation of you playing with his hair slowly lulls him to sleep. His breathing eventually slows, the tension melts away, and his muscles relax. There’s a soft snore suddenly, likely unheard by anyone else who isn’t right next to him, and you have to bite back your giggle. 

Just when you think Jack’s finally asleep, you gently try to move and have a pillow take your place so you can make him some breakfast. However, the minute you move, his arms quickly find you, unconsciously looking for you to stay. Your heart feels like it’s cracking in half. 

Fuck it. Breakfast can wait. 

By the time Jack opens his eyes, early evening sunlight floods the living room. He wakes with a start when he remembers how he found himself on the couch without his prosthesis. His sudden movement wakes you, too; he only stops moving when he feels your arms around him, settling him. 

Holy shit.

Jack’s breathing slowly returns to normal as he lies in your arms, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Briefly, he wonders for a moment if this is a dream; there’s no way in hell this is real, you holding him like this. 

He waits for the dream to end. Miraculously, it doesn’t.

You return your fingers to his hair, unable to stop yourself now that you’re awake; the repetitive motion had driven both of you to fall asleep. Honestly, you could do it all damn day and night. 

“Sorry I woke you.” Jack’s voice is thick with sleep, raspy and rough. 

You want to bottle up his voice and drink it every day.

A sigh escapes you. “I have to get up at some point.”

Jack chuckles, now staring at the blanket, messing with one of the missing threads. “Yeah, me too. Especially since I lured you here with the promise of a meal.”

“I’ll cook.”

He looks up at you, puppy dog eyes and a soft look on his face. God, he is too pretty.

“What?”

You shrug. “I have managed to keep myself alive all these years, and cooking is involved with single-person survival, you know.”

As you start to get up, Jack follows your lead, readying himself on his crutches. With a smile, you force him back down onto the couch. He feigns annoyance, but really, he can’t stop the smile from creeping up on him. 

“Sit. And stay, dammit.” 

The rest of the afternoon carries on in peaceful silence, with Jack reading medical journals on the couch while you prepare dinner. He’s almost unsure of himself, like he has no idea what to do while he watches you move about his kitchen. Suddenly, he cannot remember the last time he let someone cook a meal for him. The last time someone took care of him like this. 

Well, that’s fucking embarrassing.

Eventually, Jack stops reading his book; now his attention is fully on you. You don’t even notice him–all your focus has now come down to the spices you want to season the potatoes with. A few stray strands fall out of your ponytail, and your brows are furrowed with intense concentration. In another life, he would have snuck up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and kissed your neck as you stood over the stove. In another life, this would be his everyday, his normal routine.

Maybe I can get used to this.

Soon, you finish the meal, and you serve it onto two plates. You notice motion out of the corner of your eye–Jack trying to meet you at the table–when you shoot him a look. With a laugh, Jack holds up his hands, a surrender. His eyes widen at the sight of the delicious meal in front of him. 

“Now, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s cooked.” You put on a teasing tone, but internally, you’re panicking now, thinking about all that bullshit your mother used to say about the way to a man’s heart with food. Chicken and roasted potatoes suddenly do not seem as romantic as the act of making the meal.

Nonetheless, Jack digs in, absolutely delighted to be offered something homemade rather than takeout. Only when you see him enjoying the food do you finally start eating, practically vibrating with pride.

Jack sighs, satisfied with the meal. As you clean up, you frown when you check your watch.

“Shit. I'd better head out again soon.”

The night shift attending looks perplexed. “You’re on again tonight? And you didn’t say anything?”

You purse your lips. “I…I didn’t wanna say no.”

Jack panics. “Now, I don’t wanna force you to do anything–”

“I wanted to be with you today. Plain and simple.” You just about die when you notice that same, adorable flush crawling up Jack’s neck and cheeks. “Besides, I got some sleep, and I had some grub. It’s fine.”

“Well, at least let me give you some clean clothes and a ride back to work.”

And now you’re in Jack’s car, wearing one of his old shirts from basic training, trying not to breathe in the smell of his laundry detergent mixed with a hint of cologne. You had told him that it was fine, that you didn’t mind wearing the same shirt underneath your scrubs tonight, but he insisted. 

His truck pulls up to the ER parking lot, and for the first time tonight, the air suddenly feels very thin, and everything feels horribly awkward. What do you say after sleeping with someone but not sleeping with someone?

“I had a great time,” Jack blurts out suddenly. “I, uh…whatever you wanna call this, um, I wanna do it again.”

“Definitely.” Your reply is almost embarrassingly quick, but you don’t care. “Goodnight, Jack.

When you step out of the truck, Jack waves at you from the driver’s seat, lines by his eyes crinkling and looking so, so handsome as he drives away. He winks before driving off. 

You are so fucked.

Jack forces himself to take a deep breath. 

As he stands outside your apartment complex, he looks down at his shoes, silently hyping himself up before ringing your buzzer. The only thing that calms him down (slightly) is your voice over the intercom, inviting him up. 

When you open the door, any anxiety Jack has melts away when he sees the giant smile on your face. He holds out a bouquet, meticulously hand-picked at the grocery store. Something in his chest stirs, a warm feeling he hasn’t felt in forever. He feels like a teenager, on a date for the first time in his life. 

A first date. Dr. Jack Abbot’s first date in–months? Over a year? Fucking hell.

“Daisies?! How did you know these were my favorite?” As you take the bouquet, you take a deep breath, enjoying the fragrance of the flowers. 

Jack exhales a shaky laugh. “Just got lucky, I guess.”

Luck, or maybe the help of all the women on staff during shift change.

Jack studied his phone, scrolling endlessly on the same Google search - what flowers to get on a first date?

Dana, ever the shit-stirrer, just so happened to be looking over Jack’s shoulder. She smirked when she noticed most of the women on the day shift at the nurses’ station, charting away. She didn’t have to ask who the flowers were for, but she knew that the poor guy clearly needed help. 

“Looking for flowers to spruce up the apartment?” Dana had to hide her laugh when she noticed Jack immediately turning red. 

“I–that’s not–”

Mel, who had been lost in focus over a particularly hard case she needed to chart on, perked up at the conversation. “Are you looking for flowers good for decoration? I have quite a few favorites that have really livened the place up, and then Becca likes to dry them out so we have them even longer.”

Princess cocked her head. “Why flowers, though? You could brighten up your apartment with house plants.”

Perlah’s eyes widened. “Unless he needs flowers for—”

The rouge on Jack’s cheeks quickly migrated down his neck and up his ears. “Now, hold on a sec—”

Trinity, who had been nodding off while charting, suddenly woke up to the conversation. “Oh, my God. The flowers are for a girl.”

Squeals erupted from the nurses’ station, earning playful smiles from a handful of the nearby patients in the unit. Jack buried his face in his hands. He glared at Dana afterwards. 

“You are such a little shit.”

Dana chuckled. “Yeah, well, you have become incredibly obvious in the last few months.”

The girls around him had about one million questions.

“Have you asked her what kind she likes?”

“What’s her favorite color? That’s important for flower selection.”

“Does she have other favorite flowers? Something to fill up the bouquet? You can’t just get, like, a bunch of roses and call it good. That’s too simple.”

“And what about bringing her a pretty vase! What if she doesn’t have a cute one?”

Everyone pulled up their phones, looking up various flower arrangements, color combinations, complementary vases, and every place within city limits to purchase them. Jack rolled his eyes at first, but quickly made note of them in his phone. 

Later that evening, before Dana clocked out, she stopped Jack in between patients.

“Hey, Abbot.”

Jack looked up and scoffed a little. “If you’re here to give me more shit—”

“Daisies.”

“What?”

“Daisies are her favorite. She has daisy charms on her stethoscope, and she was wearing daisy-patterned compression socks the other day.” Dana pulled her backpack over her shoulder. “But you should make sure the bouquet has some baby’s breath too. Mix it up a little.”

As Jack left the ER, he pulled out his phone and googled, Where to buy baby’s breath?

“Come on in, Jack. Let me get my purse, and we’ll go.”

Your voice snaps him out of his daydreaming. His feet almost keep him glued to your entryway; you take his hand and slowly lead him inside. The touch is quick, not even worth a second thought to most people–Jack feels like electricity is buzzing through him now. 

Your place is small but cozy, with picture frames on every free surface of the walls, bookcases crammed and filled to the brim. There are plants everywhere, much to his surprise, but the greenery makes the place feel even more homey. 

When you leave the master bedroom, you arrive in the living room with just a touch of lipstick on your lips, something you weren’t wearing when you opened the door. Jack has to remind himself to stop staring when he hears you laughing nervously. 

“Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful,” Jack replies without hesitation. Normally, he would have found himself a little embarrassed or just sheepish at the scary notion of being too forward, but right now, he doesn’t care in the slightest. 

With a smile, you take his hand into yours, and something in his heart relaxes, like this is where he’s always supposed to be.

The date turns into one of those dates where you spend the entire day together. What begins as a simple coffee shop date eventually turns into a meal at the nearby diner, then an afternoon at the local bookstore, wandering to boutique shops next door, and a stumble into a local pizzeria just in time for dinner. 

“We can go somewhere else for dinner if you want,” Jack says hesitantly, “I was hoping our first dinner date would be fancier than this–”

“It doesn’t need to be fancy,” you reply simply. “Besides, the night isn’t over yet.”

And Jack finds himself back in your apartment with two boxes of absurdly large pizzas, far too much food for just the two of you (“this way I have leftovers!”). Not like he’d have it any other way, with the smile on your face as you bring him a bottle of beer and a healthy serving of pepperoni pizza. 

Before you dig into the pizza, you stop for a moment, wringing your hands together. 

“I have to tell you something.”

Jack pauses. “I feel like this is the part where you tell me you’re not perfect after all, and you have a dead body in the bathroom.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Okay, well, here goes…I wanted you to feel comfortable here, and I’m not assuming anything, but if you wanted to take off your prosthesis–just to relax! Not to engage in any…sort of, well, anything…ugh, fuck it. I bought crutches if you needed to take a load off and if you wanted to do what we did in your apartment. But here. So you have some here in case you need them.”

His heart feels like it’s bursting at the seams. 

“Thank you. No one’s ever done that for me before.”

He reaches over to you, taking your hand and squeezing it slightly. 

Jack starts to think that maybe he’s right where he’s supposed to be after all. 

After ungodly amounts of pizza, the two of you are drowsy on your couch, absentmindedly watching a movie neither of you is really paying attention to. The combination of the food, the heat pack you had given Jack, and the thick wool blanket is enough to make your eyes feel heavy. As you feel yourself start to nod off, your head leans over on Jack’s shoulder. Immediately, you perk up again, giving yourself space between you and him.

“It’s okay,” Jack says gently. “I…I want you to lean on me. It’s okay.”

Jack raises his arm, gesturing for you to curl up against him; you have to stop yourself from squealing with happiness once you’re under the safety of his body weight. The smell of his cologne, a hint of his soap, is all too much; when you yawn, he chuckles a little bit. 

You look up at him, feigning annoyance. “You think this is funny? Me going into a food coma next to you is funny?”

He looks down at you, and suddenly, heat rises to your cheeks. His eyes seem to be fucking sparkling at this point, and you can feel the cool exhale of his breath on your nose. 

“I like this. I like you.” Jack’s gaze flickers to your lips.

“I like you too,” you breathe out.

Without thinking, you lean up a little, closing the gap. At first, you feel Jack freeze, and you almost pull away until you feel him drawing you in closer, wrapping both his arms around you. You melt into him when you feel him sigh.

For the first time in months, Jack falls asleep with someone in his arms. 

This night is also the first time in many months that Jack realizes that he’s falling in love again.

“You’re allowed to fall in love again. That’s okay, you know.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Dana and Robby raise their bottles, laughing as they clink together. Jack rolls his eyes, taking a rather large sip from his own. 

Robby had insisted on taking the three of them out to the bar down the street from the hospital; after a shift like today, they all need it. It had been the kind of shift where, after some groveling and the promise of a beer, Robby managed to get Jack to come in and help out that morning.

And now, the trio finds themselves at O’Sullivan’s, the site of many a post-work rant session. 

But the topic of tonight isn’t the insane multi-car pile-up or the return of the patient who loved to streak every time they were brought back; no, tonight, all of their focus is on Jack’s lack of focus during shift change. 

The night shift attending claims over and over that he wasn’t distracted, but seeing you coming into the shift that evening with someone he didn’t know, well–

Jack was already dead fucking tired–working during day shift without a full night’s sleep always hits him hard. Sure, he was able to get some shut-eye, but he probably should have had another cup of tea before coming in. He should have known–Robby always downplays how bad it is at the ER until he finally arrives at the hospital. 

Hours flew by, and before Jack knew it, it was shift change, and he had gone the entire day without texting you, asking if you were about to come in or not. Much to his surprise, you came into work that night shift, only this time, you came in a little bit more unconventionally…

Paramedics rolled in, and one of them was just about ready to give report when he heard someone else’s voice. 

“John Doe–”

“Not a John Fucking Doe!” You snapped. “Eddie Sanchez, twenty-nine-year-old male…”

As you listed off the patient’s past medical history, an irrational part of Jack only had one question on his mind: who the hell was this guy and why was he coming in with you?

Your brows furrowed as you gave Robby your report in the triage bay; you were trying to keep it together, but Jack already noticed your hands shaking. Without thinking, Jack grabbed your head to steady you, immediately eliciting ‘the look’ from his best friend. 

“We’ve got it from here,” Robby assured you, “I can’t have you treating your friend. I need you to either clock in or wait in the family room.”

You cursed under your breath as Robby took your friend to a unit in the north corridor; you made a beeline for Dana instead, explaining the situation before going to clock in. 

Jack watched you from across the hub, eyes trained on your face. While he stood in the room with Robby, mindlessly handing items from the supply cart, he immediately dropped the catheters he’d been holding when he noticed your eyes welling up with tears. 

This was the part where he probably should have paid attention to where he was going. 

It was raining that evening, and an unfortunate puddle and a misstep left the night shift attending flying toward the hub, landing like a goddamn cartoon right at yours and Dana’s feet. The charge nurse couldn’t hide her smile now. 

The rather comical sight stopped your tears, at least for a moment, as you crouched down to his level.

“Holy shit, Jack, are you okay?” The softness of your hands as you pulled him to his feet at least lessened the embarrassment he felt in that moment. 

Jack glared at Dana before softening his gaze as he turned to you. “I’m fine, just a bruised ego is all. Are you okay? What happened to your…patient?”

“Well, Eddie’s boyfriend called me actually, saying he hadn’t heard from Eddie all evening, so I went over to check on him before I came to work and then–”

Jack hated the part of himself that physically sighed with relief at knowing the fact that Eddie really was just a friend to you. 

You stopped speaking for a moment when you realized what time it was. “Were you on this morning?”

Jack nodded. “Looks like we traded places today.”

You took a deep breath. “Looks like it. I, uh, better go check on Eddie. Thanks for checking on me, Dr. Abbot.”

As much as Jack loved when you said his first name, something about the way you smirked as you said his official title drove him absolutely crazy. 

Dana laughed once you were finally out of earshot.

“Listen, Evans–”

“My God, Abbot. You are in trouble, my friend.”

She was right, of course. The charge nurse, as annoying as she could be, was never wrong. 

Jack cringes when he remembers this evening’s events. Another sip of cheap ale.

“I, for one, find it sweet!” Dana insists. “She’s sweet, she’s cute, she evens you out. She’s good for you.”

“What are you so hesitant for? Just make it official,” Robby adds, “she’s into you, you’re single, it’s not hard–”

“It is not that easy!” 

Jack slams his empty beer glass down, shaking the bar and earning a few stares from around the room. He mutters an apology as the bartender comes by to buss the table. Jack sighs.

“Listen, it’s not like I got divorced and now I’m getting back out there, okay?” Jack huffs, “There was another life with this person, happiness and memories and–I–it’s complicated. Now just…give it a fucking rest and drink your beer.”

The trio is silent for a moment as Jack gets another beer, the two friends not daring to say anything more until the dark look in Jack’s eyes fades. 

Dana leaves earlier than the two men, not wanting to stay out too late since she’s on call over the weekend. As she bids the men goodbye, she squeezes Jack’s shoulders; Jack leans on her, a silent acceptance of her apology. 

Next to Jack, Robby finishes his beer. “Want another round?”

Jack shakes his head. “Think I’m gonna head out too, brother.”

They walk out into the street, making their way back to their cars in the hospital parking lot. Robby shifts often, shoving his hands into his pockets before taking them out and fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie. 

“Spit it out, Robinavitch.”

Robby chuckles. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be a dick earlier; I just…I wanna see you happy. And you seem happier. Whether it’s because of her or not, but…you’re happier, man. People can tell."

“Is it seriously that obvious?” Jack frowns.

The morning attending sighs, trying to bite back a smile. “There’s already a pool on it.”

“How do you know if someone is your boyfriend?”

Your question catches your friends off guard; your two favorite residents giggle as you glare at them. The end of the morning shift is right around the corner, and Dennis and Trinity have joined you at the hub, charting away. A mountain of notes sits between them, furiously scribbled since none of the portable tablets were working, and all their charting has finally caught up to them. The conversation dissipates some of their misery, at least temporarily. 

“Well, that depends on a lot of things,” Dennis begins, “how long you’ve been seeing each other, if you still see anyone else…”

Trinity sets down her dictation mic. “Wait a second…you’re seeing someone?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You glue your eyes to your computer screen. “Y-yeah, it’s been a few months, and I’m not seeing anyone else, and I don’t know if he’s seeing anyone else…”

Trinity spins your chair around, forcing you to face both of them. “You have to tell us who it is.”

“No.” 

Dennis scoffs. “We’d tell you who we were dating!”

“And that’s why everyone knows you still hang out with Amy every weekend.”

This earns a laugh from Trinity while Dennis immediately flushes bright red. You attempt to ruffle Dennis’s hair, but he swats your hand away. 

“Listen, if I tell you guys, then Trinity will tell the Filipino Mafia, then it’s over,” you say simply, “besides, I don’t know if he’d want everyone to know.”

“I won’t say anything!” Trinity holds up her right hand. “Scouts honor.”

Dennis pokes her left arm behind her back. “Your fingers are crossed.”

The duo bickers once more, now thoroughly distracted from the notes they need to go through. The question still gnaws at the back of your mind; is Jack your boyfriend?

Any time the two of you both had off days, you found a way to see each other, even if one of you had only about three hours of sleep before meeting up. Even if one of you were working, Jack always made it a point to still make time for breakfast at your favorite diner before going home to sleep. Meals were always at your convenience rather than his; when you commented on this, he simply shrugged and said he liked breakfast more than dinner. You knew this was a lie–he just knew you started your day early and ended it early because you worked out before your shifts. And you can’t help but smile, even just thinking about it; he cared more about you getting sleep than his own sleeping schedule. 

He certainly acted like a boyfriend– “forgetting” his hoodies at your place, dropping by with groceries when he knew you needed them. Keeping your favorite coffee grounds even though you were the only one that drank it. And sleepovers with Jack are definitely not like sleepovers with your friends, especially since your friends don’t sleep in your bed.

And in turn, you knew you were acting like a girlfriend, too. Texting him obsessively during waking hours, wearing his clothes to bed on nights you spent apart so you could still smell him as you drifted off to sleep. You made his tea just the way he liked it, and after hours of practicing at home, you beamed with pride every time he sighed in satisfaction after the first sip. Now and again, you found yourself making tea even when you weren’t with him, just so you knew what to try making the next time you saw him.

There was no real evidence of anyone else in Jack’s life other than you; he was always there when you needed him, and there was never a moment where he turned down a date or a day off with you. You slowly became obsessive when you were at his place–checking for spare hair ties left in the bedroom, any haircare products left in the bathroom. While there wasn’t any physical evidence, that didn’t mean that there definitely wasn't anybody else…

Everything finally felt easy, finally felt more comfortable after that first night in your apartment. You felt like you could be yourself, let loose, actually relax in his presence. Sure, a really insecure part of you was wanting there to be more, a label ensuring that he was yours and no one else’s, but it all felt so fucking childish to think like that. You were grown adults; you both had your own lives, and who cares if it’s just for a little while, right? As long as you were both having fun and no one got hurt, it’s fine, right?

I don’t want it to be for a little while. I want more than a little while. 

Lupe from the front desk shakes you from your thoughts; you realize only now that you’ve been staring off into the distance like a goddamn weirdo.

“Hey, honey,” she says gently, “Um…Dr. Abbot is out in the front. Said something about driving you home since your car died? Anyways, he asked me to come get you since you weren’t answering your phone.”

The duo next to you literally have to pick their jaws up off the floor. You thank her with a sheepish smile on your face, and she gives you a knowing look before heading back out to the lobby. You slowly gather your belongings, avoiding the look on your friends’ faces. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Dennis pinching Trinity, silently urging her to look back at her computer screen. She purses her lips together, fighting not to react; Dennis’s gaze is glued to the various scribbles in his notebook.  They can feel your stare practically burning a hole in the backs of their heads. 

“Do. Not. Start.”

“Start what?” Trinity doesn’t even look up from her notes. “We said nothing. We’re doing nothing.”

Soon enough, your shift ends, and night shift starts rolling in. Just as you’re about to leave the nurses’ desk, Dr. Shen taps the hub desk in front of you.

“Hey. Abbot’s bugging about where you are. He’s old and doesn’t have much time left. Better get out there before he starts sending out a search party.”

Behind you, Trinity and Dennis burst out laughing. You flick them off as you leave the threshold.

When you enter the passenger seat, Jack has a smirk on his face. If he’s being honest, he loves seeing you like this, just a little bit flustered and heat rising to your cheeks. You look so damn adorable; he considers leaning over the center console just to feel that warmth of your cheeks on his lips. 

“Good shift, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, trying not to giggle. “Just drive, Abbot.”

After Jack parks his truck in front of your apartment complex, you linger for a minute after he opens your door. You fiddle with his hair, clearly mussed from a nap just hours ago. The curls are slightly overgrown, but you love it that way. 

He studies your face. “Is everything okay?”

It’s hard to look at him; almost like trying to stare into the sun. Your cheeks still feel warm, and it only gets worse when you can feel how intense his gaze is. He tilts your head up, fingertips under your chin. When you don’t answer, Jack leans forward ever so slightly, bridging the gap between the two of you. It’s chaste and sweet, no pressure–a quiet question to let him into your mind. 

“It’s–it’s nothing,” you lie, “I’m tired, that’s all.”

Jack cradles your face in his hands; you feel your heart doing somersaults.

“I’m not a mindreader, kid. And I wanna know what’s wrong.”

You find his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. Without thinking, your fingertips brush over his knuckles on his left hand, bumping the wedding band. 

The fact that Jack Abbot is a widower is no secret to anyone in the ED. You remember Dana mentioning it to some effect–you can’t even remember how it came up in conversation anymore. No one really talked about it, and no one ever dared to ask Jack about it. 

When you first started seeing Jack, you tried avoiding looking at the photos on the bookcases or hung up on the walls. Over time, you let yourself study the photos, especially on nights Jack let you sleep at his apartment while he worked. 

She was beautiful, looking nearly ethereal, like a painting on the wall rather than a photo. You had so many questions at the time, but you knew that Jack would talk about her when he was ready. You didn’t think much about it after that; you didn’t think things would ever get so serious so quickly with him.

And now, with Jack standing outside your door, with certain three-word phrases lingering in the back of your mind, you feel a need to talk about it. Jack is quiet, but you can feel the tension palpable in the air; he presses his forehead to yours and sighs.

“I-I think about you all the time,” Jack says quietly, “which is why this is hard for me.”

A pit forms in your stomach. Fucking hell, you fucked up, you just had to go and touch his wedding ring, you stupid–

“I wear it because it’s hard to even think about taking it off.” The softness in his voice surprises you. “And I’m just–I’m not ready. Not yet. But believe me when I say that being with you has made me happier than I’ve been in a very, very long time.”

He cradles your face once more, bringing you up to his lips, kissing you soft and slow. You nearly melt in his grasp; his hands find your waist, steadying you. For the first time in ages, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“Let’s get you up to bed,” Jack murmurs against your lips, “wouldn’t want my girlfriend losing any sleep tonight…”

Giggles fly from your mouth as he presses his lips to your hair, your neck, any inch of your skin, while you struggle to open the door to your apartment. Once inside, you squeal as he sweeps you off your feet, bringing you to the bedroom before slamming the door shut.

You don’t get any sleep that night. Jack makes sure of that. 

The next morning, Jack wakes before you. He watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you continue snoozing next to him. Like always, he watches and waits, wondering if the dream will end and he’ll wake up alone. 

But it’s not a dream–it’s real.

One day, he’ll take the ring off. One day he may even wear another one, for a different person. He knows he’s a goner because the minute he thinks that, he immediately thinks of you. 

But for now, he lets himself rest next to his favorite person in the world. For the first time in a very long time, Jack Abbot lets himself be happy.