Chapter Text
chapter 1
Surrounded by busy healthcare workers, patients, and their concerned significant loved ones, Ellis was the first one who noticed how you're in such a great mood despite being surrounded by such chaos and uncertainty if things are gonna go well in the ER.
She has known you for the entire time you started working here, immediately clocking it the moment you step out of the locker area, still adjusting your scrubs, eyes already scanning the board.
She takes a step beside you, looking at the same board.
"You got laid?" Ellis asks casually.
"Mhmm," you confirm, almost absentmindedly, a stupid grin on your face. Jesus, you're in bliss.
"How was it?" she asks, with a neutral face.
"I almost passed out," you grin slyly, giving her a summary of how the guy you met from the bar gave you a really, really good time in his apartment.
She breaks, laughing shortly, impressed, "Damn. So I'm assuming you're gonna see him again?"
"Yep," you pop the last letter.
"Oh, now I'm intrigued," she now looks at you, arms crossed, "So, are you gonna give me some details?"
"Of course, anything for my favorite doctor," you chuckle, already expecting this question as you pull your phone out of your scrubs to show her the guy's picture.
"It's a good thing he works at night shift like me, so we can bang after work and—"
You stop when you hear someone clearing his throat, a familiar one. You already know who it is, from how deliberate he's being.
You turn around, lowering your phone.
"Apologies, did I interrupt something more important than saving people?" Jack says almost innocently, the kind of tone he uses to make you feel worse. He looks at you with his shoulders squared up and his hands on his back.
"Oh uh.. No, sorry…" you say softly, unable to meet his eyes as you put your phone back into your pocket, keeping it in mind for later. Your attention drops briefly to the floor before you straighten again.
Beside you, Ellis shifts her weight, keeping her face neutral and unaffected by the intrusion, but she straightens up her posture in front of the attending as well.
Jack tilts his head, as if he's trying to figure out what your business was before he approached you.
He doesn't reply for a moment, keeping you on your toes.
"Save the girls' talk when we're not getting swarmed by patients, okay?" he says, almost sternly but not quite.
"Okay," you answer, making yourself feel small.
"Good, now come along. I need more hands on this patient," Jack nods towards trauma room 3, and walks ahead of you, not waiting to see if you follow, because he already knows you will.
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Jack Abbot liked it more when you came into the ED with a frown on your face.
Sure, he's not fond of his favorite resident being in an awful mood. That's not something he would ever admit, because it sounds wrong the moment it’s put into words, especially coming from an attending physician. It's obviously selfish and petty, completely out of character with the kind of person he’s always been.
He is a very generous man, and the man who has gone out of his way to provide the help, comfort, and care anyone needs. He doesn't like it when people he cares for aren't happy.
But seeing you displeased—unsatisfied —also meant that whoever you chose, whoever you gave your time and attention to, that version of yourself he never gets to see didn't give you what you wanted. Which means you're still free, that no one has gotten a hold of you yet.
It sounds disgusting when he puts it that way, but he can't help it.
You are known to be that one resident who has a pretty active dating life, maybe more accurately, just a very active sex life.
Surprisingly, the people in the department didn't find it scandalous. They knew that this part of your personal life was something that you do to relieve stress. Nothing more, nothing deeper. It just so happens that this is how you cope with the stressful environment you willingly chose to be in the moment you decided to pursue this specialty.
It's not like you're reckless as well, you're… well, safe and careful. Hell, some of your co-workers approach you for advice. Some nurses and residents would approach you, trying to be discreet when asking you for your input or a tip when they're dealing with something related to their sex lives.
You were oddly respected for being that resident who, well, to put it simply, sleeps around.
Because you don’t let it interfere with your work in the PTMC.
You still show up promptly. You still work well with your peers and handle patients with the utmost care and knowledge that you have. Your charts are well-written, your decisions well-thought-out, and your hands steady even when your work environment isn’t. There’s no sloppiness to pin on you, no mistake anyone can trace back to a distraction or a bad decision the night before.
And of course, Jack knows about your reputation and, to be blunt, he's not a fan of it.
Not that he thinks it's shameful. Jack Abbot is sex positive! He doesn't care what the hell people do when they're horny as long as they're doing it safely and no one is getting hurt.
The issue is that it's you.
He doesn't think less of you because of it. God, he'd never do that. He understands coping mechanisms. He respects boundaries.
Everyone finds their own way to cope with the pressure, the exhaustion, the constant emotional whiplash that comes with this job.
Yours just happens to look like fleeting relationships and temporary release.
Over the time you have been working in his department, it took him a while to notice your pattern— whether you had a good fuck or not. Your work was consistent, which is impressive— but your mood, mannerisms, and body language are big indicators.
When you’re lighter, looser, almost amused by everything, he knows that the person you bed with was good and you'll probably see them again. When you’re sharp-edged, antsy, and just a little more reckless with your words, especially with stubborn patients, he knows that you just wasted your time with an asshole who is all talk but no fucking bite and that you probably already ghosted them.
He hates himself for taking note of it. It's none of his business. It has never been his business.
He knows to himself that it is creepy. It's almost cruel. Why would an attending physician even take note of something that isn't connected to their work at all?
Still, he finds himself watching you more closely on those nights when the frown lingers. Not out of concern alone, though that’s the excuse he tells himself—but because there’s something much more selfish in it. A selfish, fleeting satisfaction that settles in his chest when you seem to be in a bad mood, unimpressed, when whatever—or whoever—you gave your time to failed to meet your standards.
He knows better than to insert himself into something that is, by all accounts, none of his business. But despite understanding all that, it doesn't really help the gnawing feeling that haunts him every day.
It doesn't stop the jealousy that burns in his chest every time he overhears another story, another name, another reminder that people who barely know you get the parts of you he secretly wants too.
And another thing that he isn't a fan of is that you are a woman of discipline in your sex life. You are so stuck up on this rule of yours:
"Sorry, it's part of my principles not to sleep with co-workers."
That exact line is what you always say when someone from the hospital tries to hit on you—fellow residents, nurses, people from other departments.
Jack has heard it enough times to anticipate it before you even open your mouth. He’s watched it land on different people; some laugh it off, some push, some look almost insulted, but you never waver. He loves and hates how firm you are.
It is surprising and somehow irritating that you managed to uphold that stupid principle of yours for almost three years.
You would rationalize this rule of yours as the inevitability of ruining the rapport you have built with the people in the workplace. You have no plans of adding to the already messed-up environment in the emergency room.
The inevitable fallout between your co-workers seems small. But you just don't want to deal with what happens after. The day after. The shift after.
You don't want to have any friction with the people you work with. And in the ED? Friction might cause someone's life.
But Jack, the selfish man that he has become ever since you came to his department, wants to be an exception to that.
Although, he sees why you're so ironclad with that rule. Some people in the ED, of course, let their curiosities and genitals get the best of them, which resulted in a very awkward and tense working environment springing up from time to time. Witnessing what happened with Robby and Collins, along with Santos and Garcia, was enough for you to decide it isn’t worth it.
Jack can see the logic. He can respect it. He can even agree with it in the abstract.
And still, it doesn’t sit right with him that he is automatically included in the same category as everyone else. But he knows that being your attending physician? That is absolutely off-limits for you.
Being your co-worker and your superior. He definitely doesn't have a chance. The imbalance alone is enough to shut the door before it ever even opens.
But you have no idea how much he is willing to put in line to have you.
How much he wants you, and how much this want and need haunts him every fucking day.
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Jack finds himself absolutely fuming when he still hears about your latest boy toy a few weeks later. You have been seeing him for weeks now, specifically 20 days—not that he's counting, and that that he would admit, of course.
Apparently, his name is Jake. A typical name for a douchebag, Jack thinks.
If you change the last two letters of that douchebag's name, it could've been his name instead.
The fact that this one hasn’t faded out the way the others usually do. That’s new. That’s… irritating.
The longest one before him lasted almost a week.
*
"That must be a record," Ellis teases, looking over your shoulder as you send a text back to Jake.
"What?" You lock your phone, putting it back in your pocket
"Aren't you guys technically in a relationship?" She raises an eyebrow.
"Jesus, it's not that serious," you roll your eyes.
If it's not that serious, not even deep. Then why the hell is this guy still in your life?
"What's so special about this guy?" she nudged your shoulder.
"He's good, I already told you," you shrug.
"That absolutely tells me everything and nothing at once," she scoffs
"What do you even want to know?" you sigh in exasperation.
"Juicy stuff. Come on, why are you weirdly discreet now? Is he special?" Ellis probes
"Oh my god, since when have you been nosy?"
"Can you even blame me?"
"Fine, well. He's really good. He knows what he's doing, with his hands, his mouth,," you say in a hushed tone, telling Ellis the juicy stuff but keeping it vague to not further expose yourself.
But of course, Jack can still hear it. His hearing is weirdly good when he's around you, despite his age.
Ellis lets out a sharp laugh, immediately catching on. “Oh, that kind of good.”
"Crazy stamina too," you giggle.
God, you sound so cute when you giggle, but he hates what provoked you to make that noise.
"It's nice that he also works at nights. Makes things convenient. Helps me loosen up a lo—"
Jack walks up behind them again, clearing his throat. He sees you stop still for a moment.
Fuck. You thought to yourself.
"Done with your charts, Doc?" Jack raises an eyebrow, his tone gentle and polite as ever.
"Uh.. I only have one to finish—"
"Then you should be finishing it, chop chop," Jack’s gaze lingers on you for half a second longer than necessary—making you feel exposed and ashamed of what you were just talking about.
He shifts his attention toward the floor, patients filling the room.
“Trauma’s filling up,” he adds,“I expect you both ready.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, already stepping back slightly, slipping your phone deeper into your pocket as Jack turns to the other way.
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This feels very demeaning, Jack thinks to himself as he pulls down his pants along with his briefs.
Whatever this is, it feels humiliating but it's enough to get him off. He can settle with this: to think of you in times of his need and, when he's done, momentarily get you off his mind.
He feels like a teenager, holding back his stiff cock until he gets home. He always gets riled up when he's around you. This is almost a daily routine for him every after shift.
He sits down on the edge of his bed as he fully discards his scrubs, and hurriedly removes his prosthetic so he can lie down on his bed—a bed too spacious for him, but would fit if he's with a certain resident he's about to jerk off to.
The moment he got rid of what he needs to be comfortable, he lies down, head resting on his pillows as he starts palming himself, closing his eyes.
He likes to start thinking about kissing you. How your lips would feel on his, how soft and warm it would be pressed on his. He has always liked looking at your lips, and he struggles not to especially when you're presenting a case because if he indulges himself too much, you'll see through him.
He wraps his rough hand around his cock, slowly stroking it, his breaths getting heavier as he focuses on thinking about his pretty doctor.
Jack likes to think that it's him you spend your intimate moments with, instead of whoever the fuck you chose to be with that day. He wishes to be the one on top or under you, whatever you prefer. He'd do anything you'll ask him to do; he's flexible like that.
If his hypothesis is correct, supported by the stories he has overheard, you like being a sub and dom— a switch, as Santos would define it, when she and Whitaker were talking about you while they were gossiping instead of doing charts.
Sometimes he likes to imagine himself taking charge of you. He loves thinking of himself right on top of you, and there you are, lying on your back with your legs spread and glistening, every pretty part of you in front of him.
He groans softly, hand slowly pumping his hard shaft to relieve himself.
'Fuck yeah,' he whispers, picturing you asking for it, begging for it. You were always so polite when you would ask him for help with your cases, how you would sweetly ask, "Doctor Abbot, can I get your opinion?"
But you were always so polite, always so professional.
Jack can't help but wonder what you would sound like when you're not polite and professional anymore. Would you be needy? stubborn? or just bratty? Would you give in or put up a fight when he's being rough?
But then he is also very curious of letting you take charge. Just like how you would use your strict tone on him, the same tone you use on stubborn patients, younger residents and interns.
He imagines you telling him what to do to please you. Hovering over him, looking down on him like he's some pervert who is under your mercy. He has heard how you have taken care of people you dominate in bed. It's nothing really explicit but he imagines you being on top of them, grinding your core on theirs with a menacing smile as you take in every bit of reaction you get out of them as you move your hips.
He moves his hand faster now, collecting the precum leaking on his tip to spread all over his throbbing member, making it easier for him to pick up his pace. He keeps tugging himself, breathy moans filling the silent room.
God, he wishes it was him. He always does, everytime you're in a good mood after a night out, he wishes to be the one behind your delightful mood when you enter the ED.
It's selfish to think of you like this and he shouldn't entertain it. That's what he always tells himself before and after he jerks himself off, but never during. It's a painful cycle, a painful ethical dilemma that he's been struggling with.
He shouldn't be thinking of a senior resident like this. The power balance is tricky. But how can't he?
You're— everything he respects, first. You're smart and unshakably competent. You always know what you're doing in the emergency room.
You are so gorgeous too, with or without even trying. You are just so exceptional and Jack cannot get over how you plague his brain so much when he's alone on his bed.
Because there is so much of you that he doesn't know, what you're like outside of the department.
He moves his hand faster, relieving himself all of the tension and warmth building up in his cock. God, he wishes you would just let him take care of you so you wouldn't have to go through that awful cycle of hookups. He hates how it twists in his gut, this need clawing at him, making him stroke harder, the slick sound of pre-cum easing the friction. It's pathetic, really, jerking off to the thought of you while trying to push you away, to erase the way your voice echoes in his head, the way your body radiates heat when you're close, and the way your pretty face looks at him when you're listening to his instructions intently. Sweat beads on his forehead as he pumps his fist, He shakes his head, biting his lip to stifle a groan. He wants to forget about you, because this is just so complicated to be in. Everytime he gets too deep into this, he spirals. All the want, need, lust turns into this ugly anger that he feels guilty for.
Not angry at you, of course. But at himself.
Anger for feeling this way for his resident. Anger for not being the one you spend your time with outside of the ED.
He couldn't stop the spiral, the way his mind twisted the envy into something vicious. Jack's hand tightened around his cock, veins bulging under his grip as he thrust into his fist, imagining it was you around him instead—tight, slick, pulling him deeper with every roll of your hips.
The stories you'd shared in the break room, casual as if discussing shift schedules, replayed in his head:
Fuck, why them? Why not him? Jack's breath hitched, his free hand clawing at the sheets as he pictured himself instead of the people you slept with.
His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, smearing the leaking pre-cum, and he groaned low, the sound ragged in the empty room.
Jealousy burned hot in his chest, mixing with the building pressure in his balls.
It's always like this when Jack masturbates to the thought of you. All the want, the need, the ugly guilt, jealousy and anger mixed up in his body. He always puts himself through this, willingly too as much as he's afraid to admit. Because he just can't get you out of his head and his heart.
He hated how you laughed off the exhaustion of the ER, turning to strangers for release while he watched from the sidelines, pulse racing every time you brushed past him in the hallway.
He has been working with you for years and yet he knows so little about you.
Yes, he wants you, bad. But it’s about the fact that you keep choosing people who don’t see you the way he does.
People who don’t know how your mind works, how sharp you are under pressure, how steady your hands stay when everything else is falling apart.
Yet, they're the ones you go to.
They’re the ones you let in, even if only temporarily.
How can a beautiful person settle with people who don't even know how to actually take care of you?
Jack's hips bucked involuntarily, fucking his hand faster, the wet schlick echoing in shame.
He wants to be the one who makes you feel good. To outdo them all, to be the best one you have ever had, to make you come so hard you'd shatter, and you wouldn't seek this relief from anyone else because he would be always there for you. There for you to use, to go to either for comfort, for release, and even for love.
His abs clenched, sweat trickling down his temple as the fantasy peaked. He imagined how your face would be all hazed and gorgeous, as he pleases you. How you would say his name, so vulnerable under him.
With a choked curse, Jack came, ropes of hot cum spilling over his knuckles, splattering his stomach. But even as the aftershocks faded, the emptiness hit harder, his need for you, and his shame tied with it, lingering like a bruise.
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You take the rare silence in the ED as your opportunity to catch up on your charts. You settle on one of the computers easily, typing away on the keyboard when you hear a chair slide next to you.
"Someone's awfully quiet," she breaks the silence.
"I'm working," you mutter, eyes on the screen.
After another moment of silence, Ellis moves closer to you.
“By this time you’d be talking about what your cat just did,” Ellis continues, nudging your arm lightly, “or whatever random thing you watched last night, or which fictional character you’re currently obsessed with—honestly, I can go on.”
You huff out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed on the screen. “I'm just not in the mood, Ellis."
"I'm guessing something happened," she slides her chair closer to you.
"Can't I just focus on work?"
"Nope."
"Whatever."
"How are you and your boytoy by the way?" she asks out of curiosity, not that she's looking for anything juicy, but you've been seeing this guy for more than a month already as far as Ellis knows.
"He ended things," you answer, a little abruptly, and a little too flatly.
“What?” she turns fully now, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to read past your tone. “Wait—what do you mean he ended things?”
You shrug, too quickly, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t bother you. "It's whatever. It was bound to happen."
“Oh no,” she mutters, stepping closer, arms crossing. “Absolutely not. You don’t get to drop that and then act like it’s nothing. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” you insist, already turning back to your chart, hoping that’ll be the end of it.
“Uh-uh,” Ellis leans in slightly, lowering her voice but sharpening it at the same time. “Spill.”
You hesitate, filling out one section before stopping, taking a deep breath.
"It sounds weird."
"We deal with weird shit all the time, I can take it."
"Stop it."
"Come on"
"Ellis."
Ellis says your name, with a pleading tone. You sigh and remove your hands from the keyboard.
"I uh.."
"Hmm?"
"Well.."
"Just spill it out!"
"Okay!" you huff, getting annoyed by her persistence.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes monetarily.
"When we.. when we were well, doing it..I may have said another name," you say quietly.
"But! I genuinely misspoke!" you follow up a little too quickly.
Ellis raises an eyebrow.
"Whats his name again?" she tilts her head.
"Jake."
"And you misspoke how?" she emphasizes the last word.
You gaze away, feeling your head about to explode from embarrassment.
"Come on, don't tease me."
"Well it's…" you trail off.
"What?" Ellis pushes it.
"Jack" you say softly, almost a whisper.
"I'm sorry what?" Ellis asks again, thinking she may have misheard.
"I may have said Jack instead of Jake," you say in a harsh whisper
Ellis's jaw drops, "Oh my fucking god. You mean our attending?"
"It was an accident! I—"
“An accident?” she repeats, incredulous. “You accidentally said your attending’s name—your attending’s name—in the middle of—”
You smack her arm to shut her up, your face heating up so badly now.
“I know,” you cut in quickly, dragging a hand down your face. “I know, okay? That’s why he ended things.”
“Yeah, no shit he ended things,” Ellis mutters, still staring at you like she’s trying to process it. “I would’ve ended things too!”
“It wasn’t like that,” you insist, though your voice lacks the conviction you want it to have. “It just slipped out.”
Ellis narrows her eyes at you.
“Mm-hmm.”
You glare at her. “Don’t.”
“I’m not saying anything,” she says, holding her hands up in mock surrender—but the look on her face says otherwise.
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking a lot of things.”
“Ellis—”
"What?"
"God, just leave me alone."
Ellis just chuckles, messing with your hair.
"You know I can see through you right?"
"And what the fuck does that mean?" you grumble.
"Jesus, getting hostile?"
You huff, rolling your eyes.
"I'm sure it's not obvious to anyone but, you've kind of had a thing for Jack for a while, haven't you?" she says in a low voice that you can only hear.
“That’s insane,” you say, too fast.
Ellis doesn’t react to the speed. Just watch you settle back into pretending this conversation isn’t happening.
“Is it?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Mhm.”
The sound is infuriatingly calm, you just turn to the computer again.
You click through the chart harder than necessary, eyes locked on the screen.
“This is not a thing,” you add.
"Oh come on, I'm not gonna tell anyone"
"Ellis."
"And I mean, I've seen how you looked at him and—"
"Stop."
"You dont have to stick with that rule of—"
"Ellis, please stop."
"I’m not even judging you! I’m just saying maybe there’s a reason you accidentally said his na—"
"Will you please shut the fuck up!" you say a little too loudly.
The sound cuts through the low hum of the ED just enough that a couple of heads subtly shift in your direction.
You let out an exasperated sigh, grounding yourself from how that conversation rattled you a little more than you expected.
"I.. Sorry everyone. I need a break," you excuse yourself, walking straight outside the ER.
You didn't even notice that Jack has been sitting just a few feet away from you this whole time, watching you walk out of the floor.