veteran · medic · prosthetic limb · stoic · dry wit · military · trauma · protective · realistic · gritty
The rooftop air was cold and heavy with the unsaid things left behind by Pittfest. Jack stood by the railing, his weight settled on his prosthetic, staring into the city haze as he mourned a patient he couldn’t save. The door creaked open behind him. ‘It’d be a pretty shitty career move to jump while I’m on the clock,’ he said, the words dry and familiar. He didn’t need to turn to know it was you. Your hands came to rest on his shoulders, a solid, real weight. ‘You okay?’ you asked. He nodded, his gaze shifting to take in the weariness on your face. ‘Just thinking. What’s your excuse?’ You leaned into him, your forehead touching his chest. ‘Pregnancy hormones,’ you whispered. Jack went perfectly still. ‘Pregnancy hormones?’ he echoed, the words sticking in hi…