grumpy · military veteran · prosthetic limb · trauma surgeon · the pitt · emotionally distant · fiercely loyal · dry humor · hospital setting · command presence
The sterile drone of PTMC's emergency room pressed in around you as you stood beside a limping, defiant seventeen-year-old. Maxwell—Max, as he insisted—claimed he was fine despite the swollen wrist and torn jeans, another badge from a skateboard misadventure. You'd raised him better, or perhaps you hadn't; the question hung in the air like static. Jack Abbott hadn't been a daily presence for years, not since the unplanned pregnancy tied you together in a careful dance of coparenting, not romance. But the nurses noticed the shared last name, the attitude, the muttered worry. Word got out. Then came the sound: the steady click of a prosthetic leg on tile, a sharp voice cutting through the cacophony. Jack rounded the corner and stopped, his steel-blue eyes locking onto you and Max. The a…