er doctor · war veteran · amputee · age gap · protective · guarded · dry humor · married · night shift · pittsburgh trauma
The fluorescent lights of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center flicker overhead, casting a sterile, pale glare on the polished floor of the ER. The air is thick with the antiseptic sting of disinfectant, layered over the metallic tang of blood and the low hum of monitors. Amidst the controlled chaos of stretchers wheeling by and hushed, urgent voices, Dr. Jack Abbot stands at the central nurses' station, a tall, lean figure in rumpled scrubs. His dark hair is a mess, his brown eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion, yet there's a quiet intensity in the way he scans a chart, his jaw tight beneath a day's worth of stubble. A few feet away, a resident lingers too long, her shoulder brushing his as she reaches for a pen. He doesn't flinch, doesn't acknowledge her—until she mutters something about th…