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It was always fun to fuck with people at work.
Jack didn’t fuck with people who didn’t deserve it, only with those who had angered, annoyed, or insulted the others on duty that night. The best part of it was that everyone who worked with him knew that he liked to do it. They’d ask him to cover racists, misogynists, homophobes, transphobes, anyone who thought the world should be straight, white, and cisgender. He was a queer disabled veteran who was a staunch ally for everyone and loved that he could lend a helping hand when a piece of shit patient got too much.
“Jack,” Ellis sighed, handing him an iPad. “This asshole won’t stop asking for a male doctor. He won’t even let Javadi put in an IV.”
Nodding, Jack took the offered iPad and scrolled through the notes already listed. “Have you tried Shen?”
Ellis raised an eyebrow. “A white male doctor.”
“Fucking douche.” Jack sighed. “Yeah, alright, sounds like a job for me.”
He made his way slowly over to North 4, taking his time and chatting with nurses along the way. He popped his head in to watch Whittaker sew a few mattress stitches and nodded approvingly, earning a shy smile from the perpetually sad-looking med student. He stopped Santos from doing an unnecessary chest tube, though agreed to call her if he needed one doing. When he finally got around to the patient Ellis had handed him, he opened the curtain loudly and stared in at the man on the gurney. He was white, maybe mid-forties like Jack, and scowling.
“Finally,” he snapped. “How long does it take a nurse to find a doctor?”
“A nurse came by?” Jack asked, sitting on the stool next to the bed. “Which one?”
“I don’t know, that black one.” The guy shrugged. “And the Indian one.”
“Doctor Ellis and Student Doctor Javadi?” Jack kept his tone questioning and light, a slight crease between his eyebrows.
“Psshh. Whatever.”
“Right.” Jack looked down at the chart again. “Well, I’m Doctor Abbot. What seems to be the problem?”
“I have pain in my legs when I walk that wasn’t there yesterday.”
“Okay.” Jack went to put the iPad down on the tray stand, but missed intentionally. “Oops.” He chuckled, looking up at the patient with an embarrassed smile. “I’m always doing that. So clumsy.” He picked it up and put it carefully on the stand before clasping his hands together, seeing the worried frown on the patient's face. “Well, I’m going to need to put on a heart monitor and put you on an IV drip because your tests show that you’re a bit dehydrated.”
The guy stared at him for a moment. “Okay.”
Jack smiled again, standing to reach for the sterile gloves, and purposefully hooked the toe of his prosthetic around the leg of the stool, sending it careening through the curtain and into the hall. He turned to look at it rolling, having not gotten a pair of gloves.
“Shoot,” Jack sighed. He turned back to the patient, his face saying what can you do? “I’m still getting used to the new prosthetic.” He hammed up his limp and made his way around to the other side of the bed, wrapping the rubber band around the man’s upper arm. “Now, this will only hurt a little.”
“Aren’t you supposed to put gloves on?” the man asked, a little shocked.
Jack looked at him and then back down at his hands. He laughed as if the man had said something funny. “Right, right. Sorry, I’m really forgetful at times.”
He heard a smothered laugh coming from behind the curtain next to him and knew that Ellis was there, listening in. Once he’d pulled the gloves on, pretending to struggle with the right one, he turned back to the tray stand.
“Crap,” he sighed.
“What?” the patient asked, his voice growing even more worried.
“I put the iPad down on the open kit, now it’s not sterile.” His mouth twisted to the side. “Though the iPads are relatively clean, so it should be okay.” He looked at the man innocently. “Unless you want me to get a new one?”
“Yes!” the man snapped. “And a new doctor!”
“Oh.” Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. Well, you already sent away Ellis and Javadi. There’s Doctor Shen, he’s great, or Doctor Santos, though she’s a little gung-ho about putting unnecessary tubes into patients. I could get Doctor Whittaker, but he’s only a med student, I don’t know if he’s even put in an IV yet.”
The man's face twisted. “That first lady, how long has she been working here?”
“Doctor Ellis?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, she’s been working here for a few years. She was great during that mass shooting event we had a few months ago, saved so many people’s lives. I really learn a lot from her.”
The patient sighed, his face pulled tight like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Get her back in here, I want her to do it.”
Jack nodded. He stepped out past the curtain and shouted, “Doctor Ellis!”
She popped her head in through the gap in the curtains between the two beds. “Yes, Doctor Abott?”
“This man would like you to put in his IV and take over the case again, if you’d be so kind.”
“Why of course, Doctor Abott.” Ellis stepped into the bay and picked up the iPad. “Could you get me a new IV kit?”
Jack nodded and walked away from the bed, no limp in sight. When he returned with it, he placed it very carefully on the tray and turned to watch as Ellis put it in.
“Good,” Jack said, nodding approvingly.
“Good?” the patient asked, looking between the two of them.
“Yes.” Jack smiled at him. “I taught her everything she knows.”
***
Another night, another asshole. He was Jack’s age again, a litany of tattoos on his arms. His sleeves were cut off at the shoulders, his muscles bulging as he tucked his hands into his armpits, scowling at everyone around him. He had a deep cut on his calf that was slowly oozing blood.
“What seems to be the issue here, sir?” Jack asked, squeezing the back of his neck as he did.
“What does it look like?” the man snapped.
“No need for the tone, Mr…” Jack looked at the chart. “Smith. How did this happen?”
Smith glared at him for a moment longer before spitting out, “Yard work.”
Jack nodded. “Not very specific. What kind of yard work?”
“I was weed wacking, okay? My dog got out and tripped me up, the damn thing cut my leg.”
Nodding again, Jack pulled on a pair of gloves before poking at the wound. “Looks bad, but it won’t need surgery. You’re lucky, any deeper and you could have needed an amputation.”
Smith shrugged. “Not like I’d cry over a lost limb.” He huffed a disdainful laugh through his nose. “Not like this generation, whining about everything. I swear half the people in that waiting room don’t even need to be here.” His tone turned mocking. “ Oh, I got a paper cut. Oh, I hurt my wrist. Limp wrist is what it is.”
A stiffness unrelated to Jack’s exhaustion settled across his back.
“I mean, come on,” Smith continued, taking Jack’s silence as agreement. “Who needs to come to the emergency room because they hurt their ankle? An emergency room should be for people with real injuries, not those free loaders who just want to waste government funds. And don’t even get me started on- ouch!”
Jack had pressed on the edge of the wound a little too harshly, even by his own standards.
“Sorry.”
He checked the wound again for anything that might have gotten stuck in it, but it seemed as clean as he could get it.
“Alright.” He stood with a sigh. “I’m going to send in a student doctor to work on your stitches.”
“You’re not going to do it?” Smith asked.
“No.” Jack smiled ruefully, though he didn’t mean it. “My leg hurts, so I’m going to go take a break in the lounge.”
The man raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Your leg hurts?”
“Yeah.” He pulled the cuff of his pant leg up, showing off the metal rod. “Got it blown off in Iraq, phantom limb pain is a bitch.”
He saw the colour drain from the patient's face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“Didn’t know?” Jack sneered at Mr. Smith. “Yeah. We never know a stranger’s story, do we?”
Mr. Smith stared at him, mouth agape, as he walked away.
***
The new doctor Gloria hired was… alright. Well.
He was a good enough doctor, but his people skills needed a little bit of work. A lot of work. He was abrupt and abrasive, dismissive of the nurses, mean to the residents, and almost downright mocking when he talked to the students. He rubbed Jack the wrong way, but there was nothing technically wrong with him. His work was decent and he hadn’t actually crossed any HR lines, at least not yet, but Jack could tell that Santos wanted to bite his head off and that Shen wanted to drown himself in coffee whenever the new guy talked to him.
Jack was standing at the central station, waiting to hand off to Robby, when the new doctor, Doctor Proctor, came to stand next to him. He was an attending, just a few years below Jack himself, but he was older than Jack by maybe five or six years. Late start, he’d explained at the beginning of the shift.
“So,” Proctor said, leaning next to Jack and looking around the ER. “What’s it like working here?”
Jack felt his hackles rising, but reminded himself to count to ten and let it go. “It’s an ER, what do you expect?”
Proctor shrugged. “I don’t know. Just asking around, trying to get the lay of the land.”
Whittaker approached from the left, stopping a few feet from Jack. “Dr. Abbot?”
Smiling, Jack turned to him. “What’s up, Den?”
He got a small smile and a huff of laughter at the nickname. “My patient in South 3 is asking if she can have some food, she says she hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. I know that she needs to have an operation, but the OR says they can’t take her for at least another twelve hours. Could I give her something small?”
“Twelve hours?” Proctor repeated incredulously behind Jack.
The corners of Jack’s mouth twitched with tension. Another breath in, count to ten, let it out. “How about you call up to the OR again and see if there’s any change in the schedule, okay? And tell them that Doctor Abbott wants the patient seen sooner rather than later; she shouldn’t be forced to starve down here.”
Whittaker nodded, smiling a little wider this time. “Thank you.”
Jack nodded, watching him go.
Proctor huffed a laugh behind him. “What is this world coming to?”
Mouth tight, tension in his shoulders, Jack turned back to Proctor. “What?”
“That guy.” Proctor laughed to himself, hanging his head a little. “I mean, come on.” He hunched over and mocked Whittaker’s ever-present worried expression. “Can I have permission, sir? Can I?”
Perlah, who had just come in for her shift, raised an offended eyebrow as she watched Proctor continue.
“He’s a good student,” Jack snapped. “He’s just a little cautious, is all.”
“Please.” Proctor shook his head, straightening his shoulders again. “The world is going to be full of sissy-men like him soon enough.”
Princess had joined the crew at the desk now.
“Excuse me?” Jack said.
Proctor shrugged, not at all picking up on the tension around him. “All I’m saying is, limp wrists don’t make good doctors.”
“Are you implying that Whittaker can’t be a good doctor because he’s gay?” Perlah asked, her brows raised, outrage on her face.
“Whatever,” Proctor said, looking down at his nails carelessly. “I just wouldn’t want him working on me.” He smiled at Jack, not reading the utter rage in his eyes. “I’d want a real man like Doctor Abbot here working on me. Ain’t that right, Jack?”
Just then, Jack saw Robby walk into the ER from the locker area. He sent Robby a sharp look, one that Robby knew how to read even if others didn’t, and the taller man made his way over, a cautious curiosity on his face. When he stopped next to Jack, he looked at Proctor with a raised brow.
“Doctor Allen Proctor,” Jack said, waving a hand at Robby. “Meet Doctor Michael Robinavich, though everyone calls him Doctor Robby. He is the Chief of the ER.”
Proctor held out a hand to shake, his grin wide. “Good to meet you, sir.”
Robby shook his hand, blinking for a moment before frowning. “I’m sorry, did you say your last name is Proctor?”
“Yep.”
Another moment passed before Robby’s eyebrows raised high, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “You’re Doctor Proctor?”
Proctor frowned, confused. “Yeah?”
“That’s… Okay, that’s definitely a name.”
Jack smirked. “Alright. Wanna go over the board or can Doctor Proctor fill you in?”
“I can fill him in,” Proctor said with a smile, standing up a little taller, very obviously trying to impress Robby.
“I’m alright with that,” Robby said, eyes still sparkling.
“Good.” Jack put a hand on the side of Robby’s face, gently pulling him down to give him a slow but gentle kiss. He smiled into it when he felt Robby put a hand on his hip. He broke off and nudged Robby’s nose with his own. It was a lot more public affection than they usually showed, but it was worth it. “I’ll see you at home later, okay? Get Thai food on the way.” He turned back to Proctor, who was watching with a pale face. “And, by the way, I don’t think ‘sissy-men’ is the politically correct term for queer men.”
Robby’s head snapped around to look at Proctor. “What?”
Jack smiled at Princess and Perlah, who grinned back, each holding back laughter. “My job is done here, ladies.” He planted another kiss on Robby’s cheek. “Love you, babe.”
“Love you, too,” Robby muttered, distracted as Proctor stammered his excuses.
As Jack walked away, he grinned at Santos, who had been watching the whole thing. She raised a fist for him to bump, and he gracefully obliged.
***
It wasn’t usual for Jack to work a day shift, but there he was, the sun rising outside and him not going home. Instead, he was leaving it, Robby’s hand in his own as they made their way into the hospital. When he got to the central desk, he was met with Mateo muttering something to Princess, but they both dropped it before he could actually hear them.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Mateo sighed.
“Just another asshole,” Princess filled in.
Ellis, still there even though her shift had ended an hour ago, looked up from the computer she was typing away at. “Tell him, Doctor Abbot’s great at dealing with assholes.”
Robby, passing by the desk, stopped and raised his eyebrow at her. “Was that in reference to a patient or a gay joke?”
“A patient,” Ellis said. “Though I can make it into a gay joke if you want.”
“I’m good,” Robby said, deciding he wasn’t going to get involved and walking away.
Mateo eyed Jack up and down before sighing again. “Just some jerk in Central 6 keeps making immigrant jokes about me. They usually don’t bother me, but this is like, the eighth guy tonight who decided that immigrants are ruining this country.”
“Oooh,” Ellis said, spinning in her chair to look at Jack. “You gotta do Lucky Charms.”
Jack snorted into his cup of coffee.
“What?” Princess asked.
“Or Swedish, those are both hilarious.” Ellis turned back to Princess and Mateo. “Whenever someone comes in ranting about immigrants coming in and taking jobs and shit, Jack puts on an accent and takes the patient, basically daring them to say something bad about immigrants to a white guy. The Swedish one is really good, like, born and raised in Sweden good, but the Irish one is so bad.”
“Fuck off, it’s not as bad as yours,” Jack said.
“Or Shen’s,” Ellis added.
“Agreed.” Jack smiled at Mateo. “You said Central 6, right?”
***
Jack was at the end of his rope.
It had been a long night and he just wanted to go home, even if Robby had only just come in for his shift. Curling up around their dog on their bed was a passable placeholder for curling up with Robby, so he was determined to get out of there as quickly as he could, if only this patient would just shut the fuck up.
He’d been rude to Doctors Mohan and Collins the day before, told Doctor Shen that he didn’t want an asian doctor (Jack had just been able to stop himself from punching the guy in the face when he’d thrown a slur at Shen during the night), Doctor Santos was a no-go with this guy, and Jack didn’t want to inflict this level of bigotry upon Whittaker or Javadi. Doctor McKay was out because her son had the flu, so that left Robby and him to look after the racist old prick in South 2. When Jack had taken over the case two hours before Robby came in, the old man had said, “Finally! A real doctor!”
And now, Jack was trying desperately not to stab his eyes out with a syringe.
“And another thing!” the man was crowing. “All these new doctors don’t have any respect for the elderly. All these limp wristed queers taking over the medical field, it’s almost as bad as the Jews! They’ve taken over most of the government!”
Jack, who had withstood bombs and bullets and lost a leg to an IED, felt like he was about to start crying. This guy wouldn’t shut up.
“The whole world's gone to shit,” the man said. “It’s only a matter of time before they start rounding all us normal folk into camps and killing us like they did in Germany.”
Standing up, Jack twisted to stretch the muscles of his lower back, the leg of his cargo pants riding up slightly, showing off his prosthetic. The man stopped mid-rant to stare before looking back up to Jack’s face.
“I don’t want a cripple doctor!” he shouted. “Go get me a normal doctor!”
“Look,” Jack snapped. “You have offended every other doctor on shift in this ER, so it’s either me, the cripple, or the Chief of the ER, who also happens to be my Jewish husband. What do you want?”
Robby appeared at the curtain, eyes wide. “What’s going on here?”
“I just want a real doctor!” the old man wailed. “I don’t want any of the Jews, the queers, the col-”
“He wants a straight, white, cisgender doctor to come look at his injuries, which probably aren’t even real,” Jack said. “Because he’s been here for over twelve hours and has refused care from any of us due to skin colour, ethnicity, sexuality, gender identity - you name it, he hates it.”
“They are real!”
“Oh, shut up!” Jack yelled. “I’m done, I’m fucking done.”
He shoved the iPad into Robby’s hand and stormed away from the patient, feeling like steam was coming out of his ears. He saw Dana watching him from the central desk, her brows pinched and raised in concern, but he waved her off. He followed his feet, almost blind with rage, and found himself where he always went: the roof.
Later, when he’d calmed down a little, Robby found him. He was standing inside the barrier this time, gripping it so harshly his knuckles turned white. He waited for Robby to say something, because he really wasn’t in the mood to explain himself.
“So,” Robby started. “Husband, huh?”
All the tension bled from Jack’s body as he let out a laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re focusing on?”
Robby shrugged, a smile sliding across his face. “I don’t know, it seemed pretty important to me.” He nudged Jack’s elbow with his own. “You got something to ask me?”
Jack snorted, leaning on Robby and letting himself breathe again. “I know you’re marrying me, why do I even need to ask?”
“You’re that sure?” Robby laughed.
“I’m that sure.”