Work Text:
The day had started like any other. Your alarm rang at 6pm, a reminder of yet another gruelling night shift upcoming. The sharp ring always jolted you awake. You take a moment to wake up after you hit stop on the continuous noise.
At 6:30pm, you were up and ready to face the day. You didn’t have a car, so you always walked to the Pitt, stopping at the little coffee shop on the corner beforehand. “The usual, lovely?” The middle-aged woman beams at you from behind the counter, recognising you from the countless visits you’ve made to her small business. You nod, smiling back at her. “Thanks, Lisa.” You attempt to pay her, but she refuses. “You’re a healthcare worker, sweetheart. I won’t accept your money.” You shake your head, laughing softly. “Can’t stop me giving a tip.” You smile, putting a bit of cash in the tip jar.
After receiving your coffee, you trudge to work, clocking in at exactly 7pm. “Not giving us an ounce of overtime, huh?” A voice sounds from behind you, amusement evident in his tone. “Hey, I’m a busy man, Dr Abbot.” You smirk, knowing full well you were just in bed. “Yeah, yeah. Busy my ass. Come on then, Dr Busy, we need your excellence.” He smirks back, sassing you at an equal level. Your relationship with Jack Abbot was complicated. Not in a bad way, but in the sense that neither of you really knew what you were to the other. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” You reply, hands up in mock surrender, before you chug the rest of your coffee, the heat burning your throat just right. “Reckon it’ll be busy today?” You ask, a step behind him. “I can never tell.” Jack sighs, glancing back at you.
It turns out that the word busy had an equal effect to the word quiet in the ER, because by 8pm, it was rammed. After going from emergency to emergency, you find yourself in the room of a white male, around 50 years old. “Sorry for the wait, sir. I’ll be your doctor today, how can I-?” You’re interrupted. “Oh, great. So I’ve been sitting here for four hours, and when I finally get seen, they stick me with the fucking transvestite.” He grits out angrily. “Oh- we, um, don’t really use that language at the hospital. But anyway. What’s your medical problem, sir?” You try to move on from the comment. It wasn’t your first time being verbally abused by a patient because of your gender identity. “I want a different doctor, not a fucking diversity hire.” He doubled down. That hit a nerve. But you bit your lip, nodding before exiting.
It was 8:15pm when you exited the patient’s room, approaching Jack. “My patient wants another doctor.” You tell him, dropping your clipboard in front of him. Jack tilts his head, moving away from his desk. “Did he say why?” He asks, although he has a feeling. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, as much as he’d wished it could be. “Why do you think?” You sigh, dejected. Jack’s eyebrows furrow, a mix of anger and frustration for you flashing in his eyes. “I’ll take them.” He replies, scanning the clipboard. “Him.” You correct. “I think he’d have a heart attack if you used gender neutral pronouns for him.” You joke, trying to make light of the situation. Jack laughs sympathetically, hand on your shoulder briefly before departing. “I thought that was pretty funny.” You mumble to yourself.
By lunchtime, or rather 12am, more and more incidents occurred. They weren’t all to do with your gender, mostly just generally unbearable patients. You were just glad to finally sit down and eat in the staff room. Queen plays softly in your headphones as you try to forget about work for a while. That was until a tap on your shoulder pulls you from it, none other than Jack Abbot pulls a chair to join you. He removes your headphones as he begins to speak. “Are you okay?” Jack asks, carefully, as if you’re fragile. “I’m fine, Jack. Happens all the time.” You sigh, wanting to talk about nothing else. “What are you listening to?” He asks, gently. “Queen. Why?” You question. “Queen? And you call me old.” His hand scratches absentmindedly at the dent in the table. It oddly grounded you. “You probably remember them when they were still performing.” A hit at his age, typical of you. “Hey, I am not that old.” He smirks. “You’re like double my age.” You retort. “Barely.”
At 3am, an elderly woman comes into the Pitt complaining of heartburn and fever. You’re assigned to her as the only available resident. “Any headaches or nausea?” You ask her, jotting down notes on her chart. “I felt quite sick this morning, although it has gone now. Oh, I do miss being a healthy young woman such as yourself.” She replies, and your heart drops. “Oh- um, I’m not a woman, ma’am.” You reply, trying to calm the redness in your cheeks. God, it fucking hurt so much that you still didn’t pass well enough. “Oh, I am sorry, petal. It’s my age, you see. We didn’t have all this woke, gender-sexual pronoun stuff.” She replies, to which you frown. “Well, maybe you should check what year we’re in, ma’am.” You snap, perhaps a little too harshly.
And at 3:10am, another chart is dropped onto Abbot’s desk. No words needed, just a sympathetic glance in response to your dejected one.
The rest of the shift dragged on for you, a bleed of death and life all mixed in a cauldron of shit, but soon the clock hit 7am. Dr Abbot had tried to find you before you took off, but lost you in a sea of day shift staff entering to start their shift. He engages in friendly conversation with Robby, before heading up to the roof, where he knew you’d be after a long shift. The elevator ride was long, but he soon reached his destination. The sight of you standing much closer to the edge than necessary greeted him as he opened the roof door. “What’s the point of it all?” You ask, staring at the sunrise as you hear the footsteps approaching. You knew it was Jack. It always was. “We give so damn much, but get nothing in return.” You sigh, gazing into nothing. “To save lives.” Jack responds. “To help people on the worst day of their lives.” He adds. “Well, they seem damn set on making it the worst of mine.”
You check your watch, 7:12am. “You should go, Jack.” To which he responds. “No, I really shouldn’t. I won’t let you do something stupid, man.” You scoff. “Don’t call me that, don’t act like you think that’s true.” Your voice breaks. “I know you don’t think of me like that. You’re just like everyone else, seeing me as some sort of fucking diversity hire, an incapable, mentally-ill girl.” You snap, stepping closer to the edge. “Love, what?” Jack steps closer, apprehensive. “Who put that in your pretty head?” He murmurs, grabbing your wrist. You weren’t ever going to jump, but you were so fucking tired of being misgendered and verbally abused. “Patients, coworkers. I see how they look at me, expect more of me because I need to prove I belong here.” Jack sighs, shaking his head even though he knew you’d couldn’t see. “Everyone here respects you so much, sweetheart. They tell me themselves that they think you’re amazing at your job. The way you continue to help people who don’t deserve a lick of what you’re willing to give is incredible, love.”
And at 7:15am, you stepped back from the edge and into Jack’s arms. “Never doubt yourself again, sweet thing. Nobody deserves the honour of getting in your head. No one but your old man, huh?” He jokes, kissing the top of your head. He gets a small laugh from you, which he will take considering the circumstances. “That’s more like it. How about we watch movies at my place for a bit, pretty boy?” Jack asks, guiding you off the roof and back into the elevator. “How about we save that for after we have both slept?” You suggest, visibly exhausted. “As long as it’s at my place.” Jack replies, squeezing your hand.
By 8am, you and Abbot were tangled together under his sheets, dozing off hand-in-hand.