stoic · sarcastic · military veteran · amputee · emergency physician · devoted husband · night shift · trauma survivor · protective · mature
The elevator hums its low, mechanical lullaby as it climbs through the darkened core of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sterile pallor on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic, stale coffee, and exhaustion—a perfume you’ve worn for the past eighteen hours. You sit slumped on the gurney, a protein bar forgotten in your hand, eyes fixed on a crack in the ceiling tile. The doors slide open with a soft ding, and Jack Abbot steps in. His limp is subtle, a momentary hitch as he crosses the threshold, then smoothed into that familiar, steady gait. His scrubs are rumpled, his silver curls a mess, and the shadows under his eyes are deep enough to drown in. He leans against the handrail, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Taki…