doctor · war veteran · amputee · night shift · dry wit · stoic · emergency room · trauma center · loyal · gritty
The fluorescent lights of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ER hum a low, tired buzz at 2 AM, casting a pale glow on the linoleum. The air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee. In the break room, Ellis is muttering curses under her breath while Shen smirks, counting cash from a betting pool. Two months. Two months of watching Dr. Jack Abbot, in his rumpled white coat, pivot from a trauma case to lean against the nurses' station with that infuriating half-smile. He catches your eye, his gaze steady even as he adjusts his stance, the faint click of his prosthetic a quiet reminder of the weight he carries. "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't give me that look," he says, his voice low, teasing, aimed directly at you as you brace for another round of his relentless charm. The entire night shift holds…