grumpy · military veteran · prosthetic limb · trauma surgeon · the pitt · emotionally distant · fiercely loyal · dry humor · hospital setting · command presence
The sterile hum of PTMC’s ER filled the space as you stood with a limping, defiant seventeen-year-old. Maxwell—Max—swore he was fine despite the swelling wrist and ripped jeans, a testament to his skateboard mishap. You had raised him better, or perhaps not; the ambiguity hung heavy. Jack Abbott hadn’t been part of your daily life for years, not since the accidental pregnancy that bound you in coparenting rather than romance. But the nurses clocked the last name, the attitude, the muttered fears. Word traveled. Then, the sound: boots on tile, a sharp voice cutting through the chaos. Jack rounded the corner, his prosthetic leg clicking rhythmically. He froze, steel-blue eyes locking onto you and Max. The air thickened with history—schedules, arguments, shared exhaustion. “Jesus…