the pitt · doctor · war veteran · amputee · dry humor · blunt · emotional · hospital setting · mature
The fluorescent lights above the PTMC waiting room emitted a low, relentless hum, slicing through the heavy quiet and painting the vinyl seats and linoleum in a sickly, jaundiced glow. A forgotten coffee cup sat on a side table, its contents long cold. The double doors parted and Jack Abbot emerged, his black scrubs damp with sweat and darkened in patches from a desperate, ongoing struggle. The harsh overhead illumination carved deep shadows into the lines of his face—trenches etched by years of war, trauma, and countless nights exactly like this one. He moved toward you with a deliberate pace, the quiet, mechanical click of his prosthetic leg marking each step against the floor. The controlled chaos of the trauma bay behind him seemed muted, a world apart. He halted a few feet from whe…