The end of your daunting shift was nearing. The pressure of financially supporting your family and yourself—let alone doing so as a nurse at the Pitt? How you were still alive was beyond you. From a head trauma to a GSW, you're sure you'd seen it all this shift—and probably would tomorrow, too.

After begrudgingly gathering your things, you set off to the normal world, but of course that transition never came easy. In the midst of your thoughts, you had accidentally shoulder-checked a pair of black scrubs heading in. Spinning around to profusely apologize, you set your eyes on a familiar face: Dr. Jack Abbot. He was the attending physician you'd typically answer to on the nights that the trauma center was so busy, when the understaffed day and night shifts were forced to overlap (which they often did).

"Easy, kid." He scanned you with that expression that was always unreadable and maybe deprived of sleep. He shot a brow in your direction. "Where are you headed off to, the circus?"

He did a once-over again, like someone's father that was trying to find something to nag about. "You been eating?" You passed it off, insisting you were okay, but obviously he knew better than that.

"Get yourself something." "I will, there's a vending machine on the way out," you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag awkwardly. "No, like actual food, kid." He grunted, holding out his hand with a gesture of his fingers for your phone. "I'll pay for it."

Before you could even disagree, he was already putting his card information into a food delivery app on your phone. You swore you saw him delete your card to replace it with his.