Chapter Text
Jack Abbott knew exactly how bad it looked.
Blood had soaked halfway down his sleeve and was beginning to drip from his fingertips by the time he slipped through the staff entrance of The Pitt. The antiseptic air hitting the back of his throat.
He kept his head down as he moved through the hallway, forcing his breathing to stay even. If anyone noticed the blood they would start asking questions. Questions meant charts. Charts meant records. And records meant the SWAT command team pulling him from the field.
That could not happen.
Jack missed the front lines too much. The adrenaline, the pressure,the risk, and the responsibility of keeping his brothers alive.
Central 7 was empty. Good.
He slipped inside quickly and pulled the curtain around the bed, the metal rings rasping softly along the track. His hand came away sticky when he finally peeled his shirt off. The bullet had grazed him high in the shoulder but the bleeding had not slowed nearly enough. It was messy, painful, and very inconvenient.
Jack grabbed gauze from the supply drawer and pressed it against the wound, jaw tightening as a sharp breath escaped him.
"Come on," he muttered to himself quietly. "You’ve stitched worse."
Outside the curtain, footsteps passed in the hall.
Jack froze.
Dennis Whitaker had been making a quick pass through the central bays before finishing his shift. Central 7 was supposed to be empty. He knew that because he had checked the board five minutes ago.
But the curtain moved.
Just slightly.
A shadow shifted behind the thin fabric and the movement made the curtain tremble.
Dennis slowed.
He stepped to the door and slid it open quietly,expecting to find some lost patient wandering. What reached him first was the sound of breathing. Not calm breathing either. Labored. Controlled but strained.
Dennis frowned.
"Hello?"
No answer.
Concern rising, he pulled the curtain aside.
He stopped cold.
Dr Jack Abbott stood there shirtless beside the bed, one hand pressed against a bloody wound on his shoulder. His shirt was bunched in the other hand, soaked red. Blood ran in thin lines down his arm and across the hard planes of his chest.
For a second Dennis just stared.
Because of the blood.
Well. Not only because of the blood.
Abbot looked just as surprised to see him.
Dennis opened his mouth. "Dr.Abbot wh-hat happened?"
Jack moved before he could finish.
His good arm shot out, grabbing Dennis by the front of his scrubs and pulling him inside the bay. The curtain snapped shut behind them with a harsh metallic scrape.
Dennis stumbled forward right into him.
For a moment they were chest to chest, the space between them suddenly very thick. Dennis could feel the heat of Jack's skin and the faint tremor in the muscles of his injured arm.
Jack realized how close they were and immediately let go.
"I can explain," Jack said quickly.
He tried again.
"Well. Not explain exactly but I mean I can explain enough that it makes sense and doesn't get me suspended."
Dennis blinked at him.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. "Look there was a situation with the SWAT team and if anyone finds out I got injured they're going to pull me from the team and I really cannot have that happen."
Dennis studied him for a long second. His eyes moved from Jack's face to the blood still seeping through the gauze at his shoulder.
"You got shot," Dennis said.
Jack winced slightly. "Grazed."
Dennis let out a quiet breath and shook his head once.
"You know what," he said. "I don't need the story."
Jack looked surprised.
Dennis reached for the supply cart, already pulling gloves on.
"But I do need you to sit down before you bleed all over the place.."
Jack hesitated only a second before lowering himself onto the bed.
Dennis stepped closer and gently moved the blood soaked gauze aside to examine the wound. His fingers were careful, steady, professional.
Still.
Jack noticed how close he was now.
Dennis leaned in slightly, concentrating as he cleaned away the blood with saline. His brows drew together in focus.
"You're lucky," Dennis said quietly. "Another centimeter and we'd be having a very different conversation."
Jack huffed a soft laugh. "Lucky is not the word people usually use for me."
Dennis glanced up at him then.
Their eyes met for a second longer than necessary.
Jack suddenly became very aware that he was shirtless.
Dennis seemed aware of it too. His gaze flicked briefly across Jack's chest before returning to the wound with almost exaggerated focus.
"So," Dennis said as he reached for a suture kit. "Where are you really going to try to stitch this yourself?"
Jack smirked faintly. "You doubting my surgical skills?"
"I'm doubting your ability to reach your own shoulder without passing out."
Jack opened his mouth to argue.
Then Dennis pushed gently against his chest to steady him as he leaned in closer to begin suturing.
The contact was brief.
But it made Jack forget what he was about to say.
Dennis didn't seem to notice the effect.
Or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.
He worked carefully, stitching the wound closed with practiced precision. Jack stayed still, though every so often his breath caught when Dennis pulled the thread tight.
"Does it hurt?" Dennis asked softly.
Jack watched him for a moment before answering.
"Not as much as you'd think."
Dennis tied off the final stitch and trimmed the thread.
"Good," he said. "Because if you tear this open again trying to play hero I will personally report you."
Jack chuckled under his breath.
Dennis cleaned the area one last time and wrapped the bandage securely around Jack's shoulder. His hands lingered for a second while adjusting the gauze.
"You will rest it," Dennis said quietly.
Jack looked down at him. "That sounds like a order."
"It is."
Another beat passed between them.
Finally Dennis stepped back and peeled off his gloves.
"There," he said. "You're patched up."
Jack flexed his shoulder carefully. The pain had dulled significantly.
He met Dennis's eyes again.
"Thank you," Jack said.
Dennis gave a small shrug.
"I should tell you what happened."
Jack said as he picked up his ruined shirt.
Dennis held up a hand before he could answer.
"I said I don't need the story," he reminded him. "Just try not to get shot again before your next shift."
Jack smirked slightly.
"No promises."
Dennis shook his head as he moved toward the door, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.