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The ER at The Pitt never really slept—it just changed moods.
Tonight it was loud. Too loud.
Dr. Frank Langdon stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart he hadn’t actually read in the last two minutes. His eyes kept drifting—unwilling, drawn—to the same place over and over again.
Jack.
Dr. Jack Abbot was leaned casually against the counter across the room, sleeves rolled up, stethoscope hanging loose around his neck. He was laughing—soft, warm, easy—with one of the new nurses. Close. Too close.
Frank’s jaw tightened.
It wasn’t anything inappropriate. It never was. Jack was just… Jack. Kind, attentive, charming in that effortless way that made people orbit him without even realizing it.
But tonight—like the past few weeks—Frank felt it like a splinter under his skin.
Every glance. Every laugh. Every second of Jack’s attention that wasn’t his.
Someone at his elbow asked him a question. Frank answered automatically, voice clipped but professional. His focus snapped back for exactly three seconds before drifting again.
The nurse touched Jack’s arm when she laughed.
Frank shut the chart a little too hard.
—
Jack noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He’d been noticing.
Frank wasn’t subtle when something got under his skin—he got sharper, quieter, his movements more precise like he was trying to control something that didn’t want to be controlled.
Jack excused himself mid-conversation, ignoring the nurse’s lingering smile, and crossed the floor in long, purposeful strides.
“Langdon,” he said lightly, like nothing was wrong.
Frank didn’t look up. “Busy.”
Jack leaned a hip against the desk. “You’ve been ‘busy’ for ten minutes with the same chart.”
“I’m thorough.”
Jack hummed, unconvinced. He reached out and, without asking, slid the chart out of Frank’s hands and set it aside.
That got him a reaction.
Frank looked up sharply. “Jack—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Frank.”
There was something in Jack’s voice—low, steady, patient—that made it harder to deflect. Frank’s shoulders tensed.
“Go back to your nurse,” he muttered.
Jack blinked once. Then twice.
“…my nurse?”
Frank immediately looked like he wanted to take it back—but didn’t.
Jack’s expression softened, understanding clicking into place so fast it almost made him smile.
Oh.
Oh.
“Is that what this is?” Jack asked quietly.
Frank’s jaw tightened again. “Drop it.”
“Frank.”
“I said drop it, Jack.”
People were moving around them, the noise of the ER continuing like nothing monumental was happening—but for Frank, it felt like everything was too tight, too loud, too much.
“I don’t like it,” he snapped under his breath.
Jack didn’t push right away. He just watched him for a second, something warm and deeply fond settling in his chest.
“You don’t like… me talking to people?” Jack asked gently.
Frank exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like them looking at you like that.”
There it was.
Raw. Honest. Unfiltered.
Jack’s lips twitched despite himself.
“And how,” he asked, stepping just a little closer, “do they look at me?”
Frank hesitated. Then, quieter, almost grudgingly— “Like they want you.”
Jack leaned in just enough that no one else would hear him. “And that bothers you?”
Frank let out a humorless breath. “Obviously.”
“Why?”
That question hung between them, heavier than the others.
Frank didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked up to Jack’s, something vulnerable breaking through the irritation.
“…because I want you,” he said finally, voice low.
Jack went still.
Frank swallowed, already bracing for something—rejection, teasing, anything—but Jack didn’t do either.
Instead, Jack reached out and caught Frank’s wrist, firm but gentle.
“Come on,” he said.
“Jack—”
“Break room. Now.”
There was something in his tone that wasn’t negotiable.
—
The break room was blessedly empty.
The second the door shut behind them, Frank pulled his wrist free. “This is stupid. We have patients—”
Jack stepped forward and backed him lightly against the counter.
“Say it again.”
Frank frowned. “What?”
“What you said.”
Frank looked away. “I’m not repeating—”
Jack’s hand came up, tilting his chin back just enough to make him look at him again.
“Say it,” Jack murmured.
Frank’s breath hitched—annoyed, flustered, cornered in the worst (and somehow best) way.
“…I want you,” he said, quieter this time.
Jack’s expression softened completely.
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”
Frank blinked. “You—what?”
“I’m not blind, Frank.” Jack’s thumb brushed absentmindedly along his jaw. “You’ve been hovering all week. Snapping at people. Staring holes through interns.”
Frank flushed faintly. “I do not—”
“You do,” Jack said, amused. “It’s kind of terrifying.”
Frank huffed, but the fight was draining out of him.
Jack leaned in closer, his voice dropping.
“You want me all to yourself?”
Frank hesitated—but only for a second this time.
“…yeah.”
Jack smiled—soft, fond, and just a little indulgent.
“Then you should’ve said something sooner.”
Frank frowned, confused. “That’s not exactly a reasonable request, Jack.”
“Sure it is.”
“It’s really not.”
Jack’s hands settled at Frank’s waist, steady and grounding. “Frank.”
“What?”
“I don’t want them.”
The words landed heavy.
Frank searched his face. “You say that now—”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” Jack’s voice was calm, certain. “I talk to people. I work with people. But none of that is what this is.”
He squeezed Frank’s waist lightly.
“This?” he continued. “This is mine.”
Frank’s breath caught.
“And I’m yours,” Jack added, just as quietly.
The tension in Frank’s shoulders cracked.
“You mean that?” he asked, almost hesitant now.
Jack smiled again—warmer this time.
“I mean I’m more than happy to spoil you rotten if this is what you need.”
Frank let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re jealous,” Jack shot back gently.
“…a little.”
“A lot.”
Frank didn’t argue.
Jack leaned in, brushing his forehead lightly against Frank’s.
“You don’t have to compete with anyone,” he murmured. “You already have me.”
That did it.
Frank’s hands finally came up, gripping the front of Jack’s shirt like he needed the anchor.
“I don’t like sharing,” he admitted.
“Good,” Jack said easily. “Because I don’t feel like being shared.”
Frank huffed out another breath, tension finally easing.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“…so you’re not going back to flirt with that nurse?”
Jack snorted softly. “Frank.”
“What?”
“I was explaining a chart.”
“She touched your arm.”
“She needed reassurance.”
Frank narrowed his eyes.
Jack laughed under his breath and leaned in just enough that his voice brushed against Frank’s ear.
“You’re the only one who gets this version of me,” he said.
Frank stilled.
That—more than anything—settled something deep in his chest.
“…good,” he muttered.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at him again, thumb brushing once more along his jaw.
“Better?”
Frank nodded, just slightly.
Jack grinned. “Yeah. Thought so.”
He pressed a quick, soft kiss to Frank’s temple—brief, but intentional.
“Now,” Jack added, stepping back reluctantly, “let’s go save some lives before people start wondering where we disappeared to.”
Frank caught his wrist before he could fully pull away.
Jack raised an eyebrow.
Frank hesitated—then tugged him back just enough.
“…mine,” he said quietly.
Jack’s expression softened again, something almost helplessly fond flickering across his face.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yours.”
And just like that, the noise of the ER didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.