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Double shifts are for the young. Jack’s known this for years. It’s one of the best parts about being an attending, mostly being able to keep to his 12 hour shifts. He only agreed to this because, well, it's the holidays, and he is a firm believer that people that have families should take as much time off as they can, especially if they have children, even if it leaves loners like him practically living in the hospital. Now that he is alone, that there is no one home waiting for him, he takes the burden of the holiday shifts on himself.
There is a strange dull in the ER. It's 3 am, and Abbot is not too tired yet, used to the night shift, but he has been doing this long enough to know that if he doesn't take the opportunity for a nap, he may not have another chance to sleep. And he still has 16 more hours of work.
He tells the head nurse that he is going for a nap. She will let the others know so they can get him for anything important. The people doing a single shift can handle the er for a couple hours and if not, they can wake him up any time. He takes a quick look at the board. There’s no one in the behavioural rooms. They are his usual spot for naps, close to the trauma bays so he can jump in at any time and less likely to be needed.
The curtains are already drawn when he gets to the room, hiding the interior, but he assumes it's to keep patients out of it, to make it seem in use.
There is a person in the bed when he closes the door and pushes past the curtains. The lights are off, but he can see the silhouette of someone lying on top of the covers. He is about to make his retreat and look for another room, inform that there is a mistake with the board and there’s a patient missing but he stops.
This is not a patient.
The figure is facing away from him in the dim light of the room, but they are clearly wearing doctor scrubs and the hair… as soon as Abbot takes a good look, he knows who this is. Dennis Whitaker. Intern.
Abbot had sent him to rest almost an hour ago and the kid had protested, even when he had dark circles under his eyes from being in the middle of a triple shift. A triple shift. That is the best testament of how young he is. Still has that energy around him. Passionate, willing to help, empathetic. He’s a good doctor, a breath of fresh air when Jack is feeling the burnout.
Jack stands there, looking at the way his chest rises with his breath. He should find another room.
But the nurses know where to find him here, it’s his spot.
It's not that difficult of a choice.
Whitaker lets himself be pushed to the side without a stir, enough that there is room next to him for Abbot to lay down on his side.
He leaves his stethoscope to the side—on the side table next to Whitaker’s—and sits on the bed. He takes his prosthetic off before lying down but leaves his other shoe on, always ready, or as ready as he can be without it being too uncomfortable. Not like the boy next to him, his shoes off and off to the side, but he'll wait to teach him about keeping himself ready even when he's asleep for when he wakes up.
Now he just puts his prosthetic next to the shoes and lays down, his chest to Whitaker's back, just enough room for them not to touch, but he still can feel the heat from his body.
This will make gossip go crazy in the hospital, but that's a worry for later. Now he just closes his eyes.
It only takes a brush of his body to Whitaker’s before the boy is turning around in his sleep, his head finding Jack’s chest with a content hum. Abbot lets him, even when Whitaker’s badge digs into his thigh. Even when this definitely crosses all boundaries. Lying next to him, that he can explain, easy. Cuddling? That's more difficult. He settles his hand on Whitaker's back, scooting impossibly closer, and drifts off.