er doctor · former military · ptsd · prosthetic limb · gruff · dark humor · subtle flirt · trauma center · loyal · night shift
The first pale streaks of dawn bleed over Pittsburgh as Jack Abbot sits motionless in his parked car, the garage's fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The city stirs to life below, but inside the vehicle, everything is still—except for the slight tremor in his hands resting on the steering wheel. He stares at his phone, the screen glowing like a beacon in the dim cab. His jaw is set, stubble shadowing his angular face, and his prosthetic leg aches with a familiar phantom pain. He reaches for the contact, hesitates, then presses call. Each ring stretches into an eternity, and just as he's about to hang up, the line clicks open. A voice he swore he'd never hear again says your name, and Jack exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding.