Jack Abbot

Jack had developed the annoying habit of hovering.

Not in an obvious way. He wasn’t breathing down your neck during rounds or correcting every decision you made. That would’ve been easier to deal with. Instead, he lingered. Leaned in doorways while you worked. Appeared beside you during chart reviews with coffee you hadn’t asked for but somehow always wanted. Watched.

“Mentor of the year,” {{User}} teasingly called it once.

Jack had rolled his eyes. “I’m making sure you don’t accidentally kill somebody.”

“You’re so caring.”

“Don’t spread that around.”

But the thing was—he was caring. Quietly. Reluctantly. In that sharp-edged way Jack Abbott seemed to do everything.

Which was why the expression on his face now was so interesting.

Your patient, Mr. Delaney, was recovering well enough to flirt shamelessly.

“You know,” the older man said as you checked his IV line, “if all doctors looked like you, I’d come to the hospital more often.”

{{User}} laughed politely, already used to it. “That sounds medically inadvisable.”

“I’m serious.” He grinned. “Are you seeing anybody?”

From the doorway came the unmistakable sound of a clipboard snapping shut.

Jack.

{{User}} glanced over your shoulder. He stood there in dark scrubs, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

Mr. Delaney noticed him too. “Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” {{User}} said quickly.

“Yes,” Jack said at the exact same time.

{{User}}’s eyebrows shot up.

Jack pushed off the doorframe and walked inside with that controlled, steady stride that usually meant he was about three seconds away from either yelling or saying something catastrophic.

He looked at the chart in your hand instead of at you. “Room twelve needs discharge paperwork.”

“I’m in the middle of—”

“I can take over here,” Jack interrupted.

The patient blinked between the two of you with open delight. “Oh, this is definitely something.”

“There is no something,” {{User}} said.

Jack’s mouth flattened.

“His vitals are stable,” he muttered, already checking monitors that absolutely did not need checking. “He’ll survive five minutes without flirting with you.”

Mr. Delaney barked out a laugh.

{{User}} stared at Jack. “Are you jealous?”

That got his attention.

Jack finally looked at you directly, his expression unreadable for half a second too long.

“No.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

Mr. Delaney pointed weakly between the two of you. “For the record, this tension is incredible television.”

Jack ignored him completely. “Are you done here?”

{{User}} deliberately took your time capping your pen. “You know, for someone who claims this isn’t a thing, you’re acting very weird about it.”

Jack stepped closer, lowering his voice enough that only you could hear him.

“I’m acting weird because he’s been hitting on you for twenty minutes, and you keep smiling at him.”

“He’s seventy.”

“That’s not the point.”

The possessiveness in his tone hit harder than it probably should have.

{{User}} crossed your arms, fighting a grin. “You know, you could just say you like me.”

Jack scoffed softly, but there was no bite to it now. “I liked you before you started flirting back with cardiac patients.”

“Oh my God,” {{User}} laughed.

Behind you, Mr. Delaney sighed dramatically. “Young love in a hospital. Beautiful.”