it gives me you.

"you're thinking again," he said loudly so she could hear him over the waves.

she glanced over her shoulder, smiling sheepishly.

"am i that obvious?"

"to me?" he said with a smirk as he waded closer to her as the waves crashed against his toned muscles, "always."

she laughed softly as a wave rolled between them.

"i was just...thinking about how nice today was."

"yeah?"

she nodded eagerly.

"i didn't want it to end."

jack reached for her hands beneath the water, lacing their fingers together.

"good thing tomorrow exists."

she looked up at him.

"you'd take me again?"

he smiled, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her face.

"i'd take you anywhere." he mused, “we can do whatever we want. vacation is a beautiful thing, baby.”

her heart melted into molten honey as she tried to hide the smile that was creeping across her tinted lips.

but it was impossible, of course. because he was there, looking, oh so handsome and wet. and sun-kissed.

"you're making me blush." she sighed as he guided her further into the water.

"that's the goal." he puffed his chest playfully as she rolled her eyes— though they were shining brightly.

"you're so cheesy sometimes”

"and yet..." he stepped even closer until the water lapped gently against both of them, "...you're still looking at me like that."

"like what?" she trembled, wrapping her arms around his neck while his hands snaked around her hips.

"like i'm the only man on this beach."

she whispered, "you are."

for a second, neither of them spoke.

the only sounds were the waves breaking around them and the distant cries of seagulls flying over them.

jack tutted, his thumb slowly brushing over the fabric of her swimsuit.

"c'mere."

she didn't have to be told twice.

she rose onto her tiptoes in the water, ghosting her lips against his. they both breathed each others sunscreen in as she shook absentmindedly against his grasp.

he smiled against her lips before kissing her—slowly, unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be.

she smiled into the kiss, and he laughed quietly against her as her fingers wondered into his curly locks.

"what?" he murmured.

"nothing." she said pulling away.

"that's twice you've said 'nothing' today." he said, chasing her lips with his own.

she tucked her face against his neck. "i just..."

he rubbed circles against her back making her arch into him even more.

"just what, sweetheart?"

"...i love you."

the words came out so quietly he almost missed them.

almost.

his expression softened instantly and he leaned back just enough to look at her.

"say it again." he pleaded.

his eyes glittered in the sunlight as he bent down to brush his nose against the nape of her neck.

she giggled, a timid smile blossoming onto her cheeks.

"jack..."

"humor your old man."

she shook her head, smiling as she playfully punched his bicep.

“stop, don’t say that.” she said tenderly as he rested his head against her forehead.

jack laughed, nodding his head motioning for her to speak again.

"i love you."

his eyes grew dark and he kissed her forehead. then her nose. then the corner of her mouth.

"good."

"good?" she laughed. slightly mortified.

"because i'm completely and endlessly in love with you."

she let out the tiniest, happiest gasp before pulling him into another kiss.

behind them, the sun slipped beneath the horizon but neither of them noticed.

Robby decides this entire trip was a poorly conceived idea. A massive misstep. A lapse in sanity. The ER provided more than enough mandatory proximity to his coworkers within a carefully designated bubble of sterility and professionalism. Everyone fully clothed, protected by the sturdy layers of scrubs that render everyone nearly anonymous.

Here, anonymity is laughably. Especially yours, a certain intern whose bikini could probably be folded up and stashed comfortably in his wallet. It does nothing but give him heart palpitations and guilt.

Guilt because tries not to look, he swears he tries, but you’ve made yourself impossible to avoid, stretched out obliviously in his direct line of sight.

He feels like a creep. He is a creep.

Watching you, counting the number of hours you’ve been roasting under a Mediterranean sun despite twelve explicit, detailed warnings about UV exposure.

Usually, you practically hang onto his every word like gospel, eyes wide with an adoration that inflates his ego more than he'd ever admit.

Now he’s suddenly irrelevant, and your bikini strings are distressingly thin, and he’s certain this must constitute workplace harassment somehow.

But he’s not entirely sure who’s harassing whom.

Robby rolls his head slowly to one side, neck cracking in a futile attempt at releasing the growing tension gathering behind his eyes.

It worsens considerably when you choose that instant to lift yourself onto your forearms, your bikini top predictably ill-suited for its one simple job.

Robby’s gaze snaps down to the patio concrete, determinedly studying the cracks and imperfections. 

He hears your voice drift toward Javadi: “Should I reapply sunscreen, do you think?”

Javadi offers a halfhearted, distracted “maybe?” in return.

Robby presses two fingers against his temples, ignoring the urge to snap, Yes of course you fucking should.

From somewhere off to the side, Mateo perks up at your question, practically spring-loaded in his chair, face lit like a puppy hearing his leash rattle. “I can help —”

You blink slowly, lips parted slightly as you start to agree, but Robby’s mouth moves entirely without his permission: “I’ve got it covered.”

He’s already moving toward you, steps quick and decisive, not entirely sure when his limbs became independent of his brain.

Mateo pauses, halfway risen, looking baffled but fortunately silent, and Robby ignores the little stab of satisfaction that gives him.

You tilt your head up at him, eyes soft, confused in that way that usually leads to more questions, more talking, more things he’ll have to justify.

So Robby doesn’t give you the chance. He just plucks the sunscreen from your outstretched fingers, heart hammering unpleasantly against his chest.

He’ll justify this later. Maybe. Realistically, he’s going to gaslight everyone into thinking it made perfect sense and move on.

“Oh, thank you — um, I didn’t even realize you were still out here,” you murmur, ducking your head a little. “I mean, not in a bad way! I just thought you might’ve gone inside to — um, cool off, or something.”

“I considered it,” Robby says dryly, rubbing sunscreen briskly between his palms as you sit up fully. “But I figured if I left you unattended, you’d somehow manage to get sun poisoning.”

He tries very hard to not stare as you sweep your hair forward over your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck and the slope of your shoulders, skin warm from the afternoon sun. But the image is already burned into his retinas.

“Sun poisoning is an inflammatory reaction,” you say quickly, tone climbing in mild protest, “and I don’t think —”

Your voice stutters sharply into silence as Robby’s palms press firmly onto your back, smoothing sunscreen into your skin.

“Whether you think so or not isn’t particularly relevant,” Robby says as his hands move in steady, overlapping strokes, making sure there isn’t a single missed spot. “Your skin is already overheated.” His fingers spread at your sides, thumbs dragging slightly upward as he reworks an area he already covered. “And if you’re going to insist on ignoring basic preventative care,” he adds, almost under this breath, “then I’m going to compensate for it.”

“I genuinely didn’t mean to be out this long. I was actually planning to come find you — eventually — just to, um, avoid this conversation. But clearly you got to me first, so… thank you.”

“You know, one ‘thank you’ per application is probably sufficient,” Robby says dryly, fingers deftly slipping beneath the delicate strings of your bikini. “But I won’t discourage you if you’re after extra credit.”

The thin fabric barely provides resistance, slipping easily against his knuckles as he spreads sunscreen across the untouched strip of skin it had been covering. His movements slow with conscious intention, thumb brushing along the sensitive hollow just between your shoulder blade.

He finds himself aware of every shift of your breath beneath his touch. The slight tremor that ripples through you, the almost imperceptible arch into his palm. 

“I’m very susceptible to extra credit opportunities,” you say, warmth brightening your voice as you glance back over your shoulder at him. 

His hand tightens without permission at your waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve before he catches himself, pulling away, flexing his hands like he’s shaking something off. A slow breath in, out.

“I’m giving you thirty more minutes,” he orders firmly. “Then I’ll drag you inside myself, if necessary.”

You tilt your head back. “Yes, sir.”

Jesus.

He turns on his heel before that can show anywhere on his face, heat climbing fast up his neck.

Robby stalks toward the house. As he passes Abbot, lounging casually near the sliding doors, he hears a low, sarcastic chuckle.

“Don’t suppose you’re offering sunscreen services across the board, Robby,” Abbot murmurs lazily, smirk evident in his voice. “Or is it a one-patient-only special?”

Robby pauses just long enough to extend one decisive middle finger over his shoulder, not bothering to turn or slow his stride.

“Not covered by your insurance,” Robby mutters flatly, disappearing inside.

this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!

she was tucked into one of his old navy sweatshirts, her fingers wrapped around his large hand as she blabbed about a patient from the week before.

"...and then javadi dropped the entire box of gloves," she said, laughing softly. "she blamed the floor!"

jack smiled to himself as she howled at the memory.

the line moved forward and she stepped up to the counter first, offering the barista her usual warm smile.

"hi, happy saturday!” she chirped.

"morning," the young man replied, his smile lingering longer than necessary. "what can I get for you?"

she ordered her usual iced vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin and jack ordered a new favorite, thanks to her. an extra hot chai latte.

"so..." the barista said as he punched the order into the register, "you headed anywhere fun today?"

she blinked. "oh. um... no. we’re just spending the day together.” she smiled politely.

the barista laughed. “you've got the whole weekend off?"

she nodded excitedly, "finally!"

jack stood beside her without saying a word. he was wtching as the questions kept coming.

biting the inside of his cheek, he couldn’t believe the balls this guy had. doing this right in front of him.

what hospital did she work at?

did she come here often?

and of course, as the nice and polite girl that she was— she answered every one question he had. never once realizing why he kept asking.

but jack noticed… he noticed the way the guy leaned a little farther over the counter.

the extra smile, the unnecessary conversation with the long line behind them.

the damn look. he'd seen that look before, far too many times.

when they finally collected their drinks and stepped back onto the sidewalk, she immediately broke off a piece of her muffin and held it toward his lips.

"here." she hummed absentmindedly.

jack accepted it automatically, wrapping his lips around her fingers as he took the muffin into his mouth.

"mm, you know he was flirting with you."

she frowned up at him.

"who?” she gawked, still stunned at the feeling of his lips on her fingers.

“the barista."

her brows pinched together, “he was?"

jack looked down at her.

he scoffed, because he knew she wasn't teasing him, she wasn't pretending. she genuinely had no idea.

"i thought he was just friendly."

jack let out a quiet breath through his nose. "he wasn't just friendly."

"oh."

she looked back through the coffee shop window as if trying to replay the interaction.

"i didn't even notice."

"i know baby."

she glanced up at him.

"wait, you noticed?"

"i always do.”

it became impossible to ignore it after that.

not because she encouraged it. she never did!

if anything, she was almost painfully unaware. what was wrong with being nice? she smiled at everyone, held doors open and remembered names.

she even asked people how their day was.

it was simply who she was.

unfortunately, kindness was often mistaken for interest and jack knew that.

but in her inexperienced age, she didn't.

—

one evening, they attended a hospital fundraiser.

she'd spent nearly an hour deciding she didn't have anything nice enough to wear before finally settling on a simple pale blue dress that reached just below her knees.

it was nothing extravagant, just elegant— just like she was and jack had nearly forgotten how to breathe when she'd walked out of the bedroom.

now, an hour and a half into the event, she was chatting with one of the donors while balancing a glass of sparkling water in her hand.

she wasn’t much of a drinker.

jack watched from across the room as their conversation should have lasted thirty seconds.

it had been almost five minutes.

the man kept smiling, leaning in and somehow finding new questions to ask her about her riveting job.

she answered each one, completely unaware that he was inventing reasons to keep her standing there, to admire the glittering necklace that was displaced atop her collarbone.

robby appeared beside jack with a glass of wine, following his line of sight.

"oh, don't." he chuckled, bumping his shoulder into his.

jack didn't look away. "don't what?"

"whatever's going on in that head of yours.”

"nothing's going on." he scoffed.

robby snorted at that.

"you've been glaring at the guy for the last three minutes."

"i’m not glaring."

"you are, man." he laughed.

jack sighed. "i don't like the way he's looking at her."

robby looked between them before humming.

"you know, the funny thing is..."

jack finally looked at him.

"...she has absolutely no clue, doesn't she?"

"no." he grumbled.

"mhm, i thought so."

they watched as she laughed at something the donor said. not because he was charming, but because she laughed with everyone.

jack knew the difference but the donor clearly didn't.

before he'd even made the decision, jack was already moving across the room.

she noticed him out from the corner of her eyes and her face brightened in an instant.

there it was.

that beautiful smile, the one that was only ever his.

"there you are!” she said warmly as jack's entire expression softened.

he slipped his freckled arm swiftly around her waist, his hand settling against the small of her back.

the donor's smile faltered ever so slightly while jack offered him a polite nod.

"everything alright here?"

the man cleared his throat. "of course.” he said before he excused himself.

she watched him leave before looking back at jack.

"ugh, you rescued me." she sighed in relief, taking a sip from her glass.

"did i?" he cocked a brow.

"i didn't know how to end that conversation." she admitted.

jack blinked, "well, i thought you were enjoying it."

she laughed. “i was just trying to be polite."

he crossed his arms, smiling down at her, “you didn't know he was flirting with you?"

that made her stare at him.

"he was flirting with me?"

jack couldn't help smiling, a small disbelieving shake of his head as he watched her roll her eyes.

"sweetheart..."

her cheeks flushed pink. "jack, i genuinely thought he just liked to hear the sound of his own voice."

"i know. of course you thought that."

she studied his face for a long moment before a tiny smile appeared.

"so..."

jack already knew that look.

"what?"he said wearily.

"w— were you jealous?"

he opened his mouth to deny it. then stopped because lying to her had never come easily to him.

"...maybe." he said as he watched her smile grow.

she then reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his before resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

"you know," she murmured, "i never notice any of them."

jack looked down at her as a she continued quietly.

"i’m only just looking for you."

and for the first time that evening, the tension left his shoulders.

he lifted her small joined hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her ring clad knuckle.

Andy. What the hell.

Pope stared at the lime. Then he looked up at her.

She just leaned her elbows on the bar, chin in her hands, waiting for him to try it.

"Why are you always smiling?" Pope’s voice was raspy.

"Because it’s a beautiful day, and being mean takes way too much energy and problem," she said easily. She spinned away to greet a customer. "Hey there! What can I get started for you?"

Pope swallowed hard, his chest feeling strangely tight. He tracked the yellow shirt as she moved.

She was a sweetheart. Genuinely, bafflingly nice.

He’d spent the last three days trying to find the angle, the grift, the hidden malice. But there wasn't one. She was just... good.

The front door swung open, letting in three distinct headaches: Deran, Craig, and J.

Craig immediately headed for the taps, slapping the bar. "Yo, Deran, you finally fire that old guy who smelled like damp carpet? Who's the—" Craig stopped dead in his tracks as she turned around, offering a massive wave.

"Hi! You must be Craig, Deran’s brother. He told me you drink beer like it's water, so I already poured you a cold one." She slid a frosty mug perfectly down the counter.

Craig caught it, his mouth slightly open. He looked at the beer, then at her, then at Deran. "Where did you find this one? A Disney movie?"

"Shut up, Craig," Deran muttered. He walked behind the bar, giving her a brief gentle nod. "You doing okay? Customers treating you right?"

"Perfectly! Everyone's so sweet," she said, completely oblivious to the fact that half of her daytime regulars were local felons. "I'm gonna go restock the ice. Let me know if you guys need anything." She disappeared into the back room.

Craig watched her go, shaking his head with a grin. "Man, she is just... sunshine in a person. It's kind of wild."

"She's a good kid," Deran admitted, setting up for their meeting. "Keeps the books clean, customers are tipping better because she actually remembers their birthdays. It's weird, but it works."

J, who had been quiet the entire time, leaned against the bar. His guarded expression softened into something resembling a normal nineteen year old boy.

"Yeah," J said quietly. "She's kinda cute."

Pope’s hand tightened around his drink. The glass gave a sharp crack under the sudden pressure.

Craig and Deran blinked, looking over at their older brother.

Both of them slowly braced themselves.

Pope’s posture had gone rigid, his shoulders squaring off as he turned his head slowly to look at his nephew.

"What did you say?" Pope asked.

J frowned, picking up on the sudden shift. "I just said she’s cute, Pope. Chill."

"She’s not for you," Pope said. His gaze was locked onto J.

"Pope, man, relax," Deran warned, reaching out a hand. "J didn't mean anything by it."

"Don't look at her." Pope insisted, his chest heaving slightly as a protectiveness flared up inside him. The thought of J getting anywhere near her bright energy made something sour twist in his gut. He didn't want them to ruin her. He didn't want J to ruin her.

J held Pope's intense stare for a tense moment before slowly putting his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Whatever. I'm just saying."

The back door clicked open, and she reappeared, struggling just a little bit with a heavy plastic bucket of ice. Even with her arms strained, she still had that happy bounce in her step.

The heavy tension in the room instantly evaporated the second her yellowness came into view.

Before Deran or Craig could even think about moving, Pope was already off his stool. He crossed the space behind the bar in urgent strides.

He didn't say a word, but his hands gently but firmly enveloped the handles of the bucket, easing the weight entirely out of her grip.

"Oh! Thanks, Andy!" she beamed, letting go and wiping her hands on her apron. She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling with a bright warmth. "You're a lifesaver. My muscles were about to give out."

Pope carefully dumped the ice into the well, his movements unusually gentle for a man of his size. When he finished, he set the empty bucket down and looked at her.

"Don't carry heavy things," his voice was fiercely protective. "Just ask me. I'll do it."

"Aw, you're the sweetest, Andy, thank you," she reached up and patted his arm affectionately before spinning around to help a customer who had just walked in.

Behind the counter, Craig and Deran slowly turned their heads to look at each other.

Craig’s mouth was slightly open, his beer paused halfway to his lips.

They shared an alarmed look that spoke volumes.

Do you see what I'm seeing right now?

Deran just swallowed hard, a slight nod of his head communicating total, terrified agreement.

Andrew Pope Cody had just willingly played the chivalrous assistant to a girl wearing a pastel yellow crop top.

And he looked like he'd happily do it again.

Pope walked back over, completely ignoring his brothers and his nephew. He sank back down, his rigid muscles relaxing the moment he was back in her orbit. His dark aura was entirely gone, replaced by a quiet stillness as he watched her happily chat up a local surfer.

Craig leaned over, "Well," he muttered to J and Deran. "I guess she’s Pope’s sunshine now."

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚

“Hi Rochelle, we’re gonna get you some pain meds as soon as we can. Can you tell me if you’re experiencing any dizziness or nausea?” McKay starts as they enter trauma two. from a distance Victoria and Joy watch in disbelief,

“Is that Rochelle King?” Victoria says walking over to trauma two to get a quick peek. Joy follows quickly behind,

“Whoever it is, they’re a patient. One of you find out who her agent is or whatever she needs,” Dana calls out to the two med students. Joy walks to the desk begrudgingly. “Who the hell even is she?” Dana asks Joy as she takes her phone out to find the correct phone number,

“Seriously? She just won an Oscar for that Audrey Hepburn biopic? She’s in Pittsburgh filming for the new X-Files reboot,” Joy looks at her unimpressed as Dana blinks, still confused. Joy passes her phone over and Dana’s eyes widen in surprise as she stares at the headshot of you. she hasn’t seen you in years and you were almost unrecognizable. there’s a new look in your eyes, a less naïve and more ambitious look that only those who knew you previously would notice. Dana hands the phone back to Joy,

“Call her, let her know we have her actress here.” Dana leaves and sees Robby leaving trauma two. She speeds over to him, just as he’s taking his plastic gloves off,

“How’s our Hollywood star?” Dana starts.

“Her?” Robby turns around looking back at Rochelle as they pull her gurney out. 

“What, you didn’t see that movie she was in? She won an Oscar for it.”

“Nope, I’m too busy saving lives here to watch anything.” Robby looks up at the patient board to see who’s next,

“Yeah, well the agent she was screaming about? Her agent is your ex-girlfriend,” Robby looks at Dana with panic before shaking his head, concealing his initial fright with a straight face. “You’ve got about four hours left, Robinavitch, I’m sure you can handle her until Abbot is in.” 

Robby’s palms run up his face in agitation. of course, right as his shift was on its last few hours, he’s forced to face you. it felt like an impending doom that the universe sent him for all his mistakes he made while with you.

“I refuse to sit here any fucking longer and wait for you! I can’t believe I gave up my life for this… I be should in school, making a name for myself but instead I’m in fucking Pittsburgh playing housewife to you!” you yell with hot tears rushing down your face, voice cracking as you struggle to finish your sentence. Robby stands in the middle of your shared living room, hands on his hips, quietly taking all of it. he looks as if he’s disassociated from the conversation, waiting for it to be over so he can move on with his night,

“You done?” Robby says with a mildly condescending tone. 

“Yeah, actually, I’m fucking done.” you walk to your shared bedroom, throwing clothes into a bag, rushing to get out. Robby doesn’t put up a fight, he simply sits on the couch, throwing his legs up on the coffee table. he’s been through this before with you. he doesn’t think you’ll get far and thinks it’s only a matter of time before you come running back. you needed him to survive, or so he thought. you took everything you could and bought a plane ticket heading west, never looking back. since then, you’ve been untraceable (though it’s not like he went looking for you anyways).

the sound of heels clicking against the linoleum floors snaps him out of the memory. you enter the ER dressed in a clean, well tailored designer outfit, carrying a matching bag with all sorts of papers poking out. your heavy eye makeup matches your blown out hair and minimalistic jewellery. you had your phone to your ear, quickly shutting it off as you approach the workstations,

“Dana!” you say with your arms open, embracing her. Dana squeezes you tightly in response. you look wildly different from the last time Robby saw you. if you passed him in the street, he wouldn’t be able to recognize you but there was something about your new look though that Robby wasn’t entirely buying. he felt as if he could see right through your alleged act, how could you mature so quickly from being someone who used to be so dependant on him? 

“Hey kid!” Dana says as she pulls away, her hands still gripping your forearms. “Look at you! All grown up!” you smile big at her, relishing in her kindness, 

“Thank you! Listen, I’m here for my client, Rochelle King?” in the corner of your eye, Robby approaches,

“She’s resting.” 

“Robby, long time no see,” you say, adjusting your posture so you’re standing a bit taller now. Dana slowly backs away as she watches you try to keep your composure. Victoria and Joy’s heads poke up in interest, observing from not too far away. “You know, I asked them to take her to Westbridge, but apparently PTMC was much closer.” you say, trying to take the opportunity to get a quick jab at him,

“We put her on some pain medication and are waiting on her CT results back in case she has any symptoms of a brain bleed. She’s got a concussion, an ankle fracture and some pretty bad road rash, but she’s lucky to be alive.” you nod at his diagnosis, 

“So where is she?” Robby stretches his arm out, guiding you down the ER,

“Robby’s ex is Rochelle King's agent?” Victoria asks Dana, 

“And if she is, he fumbled. Hard.” Joy continues. 

“Don’t you two have patients to check on? Chop chop, let’s go!” Dana claps her hands, breaking up the scene.

the curtains inside the ER room are closed and security stands in front of the room. before Robby opens the door he turns to you, 

“Did I get a chance to say that you look amazing?” Robby says quietly, making sure only you could hear. 

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?” your eyes squinting slightly in suspicion. 

“But between us, I’m not buying it,” you scoff at his caveat. 

“You can convince Dana and the rest of this ER that you’re a big Hollywood agent, but deep down you’re still a little girl, scared to live without someone taking care of her twenty-four seven.” 

“Unbelievable. You’re still so self-centered as always, Robinavitch. You really can’t believe that I actually made a life for myself after you.” you shake your head in shock and disappointment before entering the room. Robby follows close behind. 

“Hi!” you say softly to Rochelle, something about the tone of your voice makes Robby’s heart ache, it’s reminiscent of the way you used to speak to him when he’d come home from a rough shift,

“Miss King, we’d like to keep you overnight for observation while you wait on your results back. We don’t suspect any brain bleeding at this time but we’d like to just monitor you in case anything comes up.” your client stays quiet, nodding at the new information, 

“That’s all, thank you Doctor Robby.” you dismiss him, keeping your eyes on Rochelle. you give her a soft smile as you grab her hand. you don’t care to look at him, or give him any attention besides what’s necessary. you’re technically still working, and you weren’t going to let your ex get in the way of that. Robby watches as you pull out papers from your bag before exiting the room. 

maybe Robby will be okay with you here. an hour has passed since he dropped you off in the ER room and there’s three more to go before he can clock out and hopefully never see you again. through the ambulance bay, Jack arrives early than usual, camo backpack slung over his shoulder,

“What’re you doing here? You don’t come in till six usually.” Robby says as he double checks his watch for the time,

“Yeah, I’ve got a SWAT friend coming in for a wound check up, figured I might as well just come in and do it myself.” 

as if the universe's timing couldn’t be worse, you come out of your clients room and walk over to Dana,

“Hey Dana, are there any issues with ordering food to the hospital? My client refuses to eat anything right now unless it’s a protein smoothie.” from a distance, Jack sees you chatting with Dana, 

“Is that who I think it is?” Jack chuckles in amusement, “Didn’t think this place couldn’t get worse for you, brother.” Robby sighs as Jack gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. 

“She’s an agent for some big actress who got into an accident today. I’ll give you the rundown in a bit.” Jack stares, scanning you from head to toe. with your clothes fitting in all the right places, accentuating your waistline and hips, he can’t help but stare. 

“She looks good.” Jack says, testing the waters. 

“Yeah? She’s all yours if you can handle that.” Robby jokes. it’s the first genuine laugh Robby has had all day but Jack keeps a straight face, taking his statement seriously. you feel the burning gaze of the two men as Dana passes you a sticky note with the hospital's info. your eyes meet Jack’s first, cracking a big smile on your face. he looks a bit older than the last time you saw him, and damn has time done him well. his salt and pepper hair, deep wrinkles around his eyes, if you were put in a room with him, you aren’t sure how you’d act. 

“Hi Jack!” you say throwing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body against his. Jack wraps his arms around your waist, leaving his hands there as you pull back. 

“Hi sweetheart, long time no see. You look beautiful.” sweetheart? beautiful? Robby thinks.

“It’s what happens when you leave Pittsburgh, what can I say?” you say using your fingers to flaunt your face, letting out a giggle.

“Heard you’re here with some big actress? You live in Hollywood now?” Robby’s head tilts as he looks at Jack in confusion. 

“Yeah actually, it’s been great. I’m a talent agent to a few actors and I’m in town for a bit while we film a reboot for a series.” you beam, proud of how you’ve established yourself.

“Yeah? Well you gotta tell me about it over drinks sometime while you’re here.” Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. did Jack not remember all the times Robby had complained to him about another fight you two had? or that time Robby had to sleep on Jack’s couch?

“If you’ll excuse us, we have jobs to do.” Robby says as he interrupts the moment. Dana raises her eyebrows from a distance, catching Robby’s attention. you finally look at Robby,

“Good, so do I.” you say quickly looking back at Jack, giving him a wink. Jack shakes his head as he watches you walk away. he knows you’re trouble, and he’s willing to bet everything on you. as Jack heads to his locker, Dana quickly pulls Robby aside,

“What the hell was that? That poor girl has already been through enough of your bullshit.” Robby puts on an innocent face as Dana interrogates him,

“This is an ER, not a speed dating event and we have work to do,”

“Real professional of you, Robby. I almost believe you.” Robby walks away as Dana finishes her sentence. three more hours, just three more he repeats to himself. 

𝜗ৎ 

the room is quiet in comparison to the ongoing chaos outside in the ER. you type away at new emails before a soft knock at the door that awakens your client,

“Come in.” she mumbles, shuffling around in the bed. Jack and Robby enter the room together as you push your laptop aside. 

“How’re you doing Miss King?” Robby starts as he examines her vitals. his eyes quickly glancing at you before bringing his full attention back to the patient. she groans in response, “Hurts.” she mumbles. while Robby slowly begins unraveling her bandages, Jack puts his hand on your shoulder softly,

“You doin’ okay?” you nod in response. the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Robby or Rochelle,

“Wounds look like they’re healing okay, no signs of infection so far. Your CT scans came back good as well so no risk of internal bleeding,” Robby turns to Jack who is standing beside you, “Let’s up her pain meds and keep an eye on the wound tonight. Should be okay to discharge by the morning.” as Robby makes his way out of the room, Jack quickly turns back to you again,

“You let me know if you need anything, got it?” you nod in silence again as he follows the other attending. as the door shuts, your client turns to you, 

“What was that?” she says, eyebrows raised and with a smirk similar to a cheshire cat,

“It’s nothing, he’s a friend– an acquaintance even. I’ve known him for a long time,” you say as you pull your laptop back out. she doesn’t break her disbelieving stare, waiting for you to confess, “You’re high on pain meds, go back to sleep.” 

“I might be high, but I know when a guy is really into you like that,” you shake your head as she turns over, “Plus he’s hot! My god, should I go for older guys? Honestly, and I mean it respectfully, if you don’t jump on him, I will!” you laugh at her drug induced ramble, trying your best to keep things professional. 

just as you’re about to respond to another email, your phone begins buzzing. you’re quick to step out of the room and rush towards the ambulance bay exit. like a puppy, Jack’s eyes trail after you as you dash out answering the call,

“You know I was kinda joking when I said she was all yours?” Robby says sliding beside him,

“Were you? What happened to never wanting to see her again?” Jack challenges,

“All I’m saying is that I don’t believe she’s changed and I don’t think you should either.” Robby says with his hands up in surrender,

“Well I’m willing to be the one to find out.”

Robby shouldn’t feel threatened by Jack’s determination. he deemed that he was over you long before your relationship ended and yet he hated every time Jack made a pass at you (and even more that you were eating it up). 

outside, the red light of the ‘Emergency’ sign above illuminates you,

“I promise you, if you don’t change that stunt team and you don’t do another pass at cast and crew safety, you’ll need to find another actress and we both know you’re in too deep to do that at this stage,” Jack walks outside to see you pacing back and forth. the click of your heels fill the silence while you listen to whoever you have on the phone, “Great, I’ll have that contract sent to you shortly, thank you.” you shut your phone off letting out a deep breath. Jack waits until you’ve had a second to decompress before approaching,

“Everything okay? Saw you running out the ER, just thought I’d check on you.” you spin around to see Jack with his hands behind his back slowly walking towards you. he stops at a safe distance standing beside, looking out at the nearby road with you.

“Yeah, producers just wanna know when they can start filming her scenes again, it’s nothing really.” your tense shoulders drop as it becomes quiet again, cars passing by filling the silent void, 

“Y’know, I missed seeing you around.”

“Really? I thought I was a mess back then. I feel like my terrible decisions showed that.” 

“Like being with Robby?” you huff in amusement as Jack’s question. 

“Yeah, kinda. But it led me to meeting you…” there’s a brief pause, “And Dana,” you add. seeing Jack after years of being away has made you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time. when you left for LA, you refused to wear your heart on your sleeve again and being around him has brought something out in you. 

the way he’s checked on specifically you multiple times since arriving, the interest he has in the life and career you’ve built, and let’s not forget how much more handsome he’s become. you don’t feel like he’s making you smaller being around him, he embraces your change. he treats you like an adult and like someone who is capable, 

“The last time I was in Pittsburgh, I didn’t really know what I wanted. I just blindly followed a man who was essentially leading me nowhere.” you turn to face Jack. he mirrors your movement standing closer to you now,

“Have you figured out what you want now?”

“Yeah, I have.” 

𝜗ৎ 

thirty minutes left, Robby kept repeating to himself. thirty more minutes and he could finally go home, escape the sight of you, escape Jack’s attempts at flirting and repress any resurfacing feelings or memories he had of your time together. 

though, he couldn’t help but remember the way you used to laugh when you rode on the back on his Bonneville, or the little scream you let out when he would pick you up and spin you around after coming home. he tries to keep busy to avoid any old feelings resurfacing but he can’t help it when the last four hours have been spent watching you openly flirt with his best friend,

“Princess, have you seen Jack?” Robby asks, 

“You could try triage? I think he mentioned something about a wound check for a friend?” Robby flashes a thankful smile and heads over. he just needs to brief Jack on one more patient then he’s out of there.

in the nearby supply closet, Jack pushes you against the wall kissing you desperately as if he’s waited years for this exact moment. you moan as Jack takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. his knee pushes your legs apart and settles in between, allowing you to gently grind yourself against him. he slowly begins kissing down your neck, 

“Fuck.” you moan lowly as he marks the sweet spot on your neck. Jack quietly shushes you and puts his hand on your mouth,

“You’ll be my good girl and stay quiet, right?” you nod vigorously, his hand staying on your mouth, following your nodding movements. “Yeah, you’re my good girl.” he kissed and marked your neck, desperately wanting to show everyone he’s yours. 

Robby’s head pops in triage, doing a quick pass and even going towards the lobby to see if Jack is around. still nowhere to be found, Robby runs up the stairs towards the rooftop next. 

Jack slowly undoes the buttons of your top as he kisses up your neck again, making his way back to your lips. he hovers over them for a second whispering,

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you.” he kisses you again, struggling with the buttons of your top. your fingers run through his grey curls, stopping at the roots to gently pull and tilt his head away from yours. A quiet groan slips from him at the loss of contact with your lips,

“Tell me how long,” you whisper with a seductive smile. Jack smiles back as he looks down at you, hands still in his hair,

“Since the second I met you, I didn’t care that you were Robby’s, I always knew you’d end up here with me,” he confesses. “And I’m not letting you go, I’m not making the same fucking mistake.” you pull him back in again for an even deeper kiss than before. 

“Robby!” Doctor McKay calls out from a room. Robby dreadfully turns around. fifteen minutes he reminds himself as he walks over, 

“I can’t find Abbot and I need an attending’s opinion on this.” as Cassie goes to unravel a bandaged wound, Robby turns to grab some disposable gloves before seeing the box is empty,

“Hold that thought, let me grab a new box of gloves.” Robby says turning around to head towards the supply closet. Robby turns his head left and right, looking around as he heads towards the closet, still unable to find the night shift attending. he couldn’t have gone far, not when he should be doing his usual nightcrawler huddle with the night shift now. 

the supply closet door swings open. forcing Jack to stumble away from you. your eyes meet first with Robby’s whose eyes quickly dart to Jack’s. his lips are sticky with your lip gloss, and his short grey hair is somehow sticking in every direction possible. something about the thrill of being caught by Robby makes you lick your lips and beam a vicious smile at him. he looks back at you mortified, unable to determine if he should start yelling in anger or just close the door and pretend nothing happened. maybe this is your cue to leave and check back up on your emails and missed calls and texts. Jack and Robby turn to watch you pull a small rectangular paper out of your pocket, pressing it to Jack’s chest,

“I’ll be in town for a little longer.” you say, walking out of the closet back to the assigned room of your client. Princess watches you from a distance as you smooth your hair out and redo the buttons on your shirt. she quickly turns to Perlah to relay what she just witnessed. 

Robby stands in the closet doorway still, hands on his hips as Jack looks at the small business card. one side is simply your first and last name on a sleek blank background. on the other side is your phone number and a small description at bottom:

“Talent Agent, Based in Los Angeles”

Your shift was almost over.

You messaged Dana, who was about to start the day shift, asking her to grab you a caramel latte on her way in.

You: good morniiiiing queen of nurses, u coming today? Grab me a caramel latte on your way, please? Need some sugar :(

Dana: sure honey

Dana: be there in 10 minutes

So, doing the math, you had already proactively administered a dose of insulin. The insulin was actively circulating in your body, perfectly calculated to counteract the sugar spike from the coffee you were about to drink. You knew that a coffee like that would raise your blood sugar significantly, so you injected the exact dose to keep your glucose within range.

The only problem? Dana was late.

30 minutes late.

You were sitting at the main desk, trying to quickly update the latest data before you could leave. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but your mind was elsewhere.

Without the caramel latte to balance the insulin, your blood sugar was actively plummeting. Fast.

Dr. Jack Abbot, your attending, your boss and, for the last year, your boyfriend, was waiting for you.

He was already signed out, leaning against the counter with his jacket over his arm, ready to walk out to the parking lot together.

But as he watched you, his medical instincts kicked in. You had typed the same single sentence three times, deleted it, and were now just staring blankly at the monitor.

"Hey," Jack said. "You've been on that same line for ten minutes. Let's go, doll. Shift’s over."

You didn't answer. The world was rapidly losing its edges. The lights of the ER seemed to stretch into blurry halos, and the chatter of the nurses sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. You were dissociating hard, fading into an unresponsive silence.

Jack’s posture shifted instantly with intensity, one of a man who knew your medical history by heart.

He moved around the desk, dropping into the empty chair right next to you. He reached out, grabbing your hand.

"Hey, Dr, look at me," Jack commanded gently. He used his other hand to turn your chin toward him. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils wide and slow to react. "What's going on? How is your blood sugar?"

"I- I think.. Dana..." you mumbled, your tongue feeling heavy, as you looked at your watch. "Oh, she's late."

"What does Dana have to do with this?" Jack's eyes narrowed as he scanned your pale face.

"I took insulin," you whispered, the realization finally breaking through your own fog, bringing panic. "For a caramel latte. From Dana. But she isn't here. My glucose was dropping a little."

"Jesus Christ, you prebolused for a coffee that isn't even in the building? I told you to do not take insulin until food is in front of you during shifts."

He didn't waste another second.

He checked your app.

40 mg/dl

Jack stood up, grabbed your arms, and guided you up from the desk chair. You stumbled, your knees buckling, but his strong arm caught you around the waist, hauling you into the break room.

"Sit. Do not move," he ordered, his authority absolute.

Jack went over to the break room fridge, pulling out a carton of juice. He grabbed three sugar packets from the coffee station, tearing them open and dumping them straight into the juice to supercharge the fast acting carbs.

He sat in front of you, placing one hand behind your neck to support your head while holding the straw to your lips.

"Drink. All of it," he murmured.

You took a sip, the overwhelming sweetness hitting your tongue.

Your brain, starved of glucose, screamed for it; so you drank half the carton before Jack gently pulled it back so you wouldn't choke.

"Slow down, doll. You're gonna choke."

He watched you, keeping his hand wrapped tightly around yours, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

"Good girl. Let it hit your system."

For a few minutes, the break room was quiet except for your heavy breathing.

Gradually, the fog began to lift. The edges of the room sharpened. The distant underwater feeling receded, and the warmth returned to your cheeks.

"There you are," Jack breathed, a visible wave of relief washing over him. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, leaning into his touch as the last of the haze cleared. "I thought I had the timing right."

Jack sighed, his hand moving from your forehead to cup your cheek.

"You are a terrible patient," Jack said, his voice was entirely serious. "You're a brilliant R4, but you know as well as I do that if you want to be a doctor here, you have to take care of yourself first. You can't save anyone out there if you're collapsing at the charting desk."

You swallowed hard, nodding against his palm, feeling thoroughly cared for. "I know. You're right."

"Damned right I am," he murmured, his gaze softening as he handed you the rest of the juice. "We're checking your glucose again in twenty minutes. Then, I'm taking you home."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

and now there was a puppy in your bathroom.

a very tiny puppy. a very dirty puppy. a very skinny puppy.

a puppy that had looked at you with huge brown eyes and immediately destroyed your ability to make rational decisions.

so now you’d spent the entire night cleaning him up, feeding him tiny portions of food left over in the fridge, googling what was safe for the pup to eat, and trying to convince yourself that jack wouldn’t be upset.

or at least not too upset.

the front door unlocked just after seven in the morning.

your stomach dropped. jack was home.

you were still sitting on the couch in yesterday’s clothes, running entirely on caffeine and poor decisions.

the second he walked inside, he frowned. “why are you awake?”

you immediately looked anywhere but at him. “couldn’t sleep.” you stuttered out quick.

jack narrowed his eyes. doctor eyes. the same eyes that caught every lie told in the emergency department. unfortunately for you, they worked at home too. “you look guilty.”

you scoffed. “i’m just tired.”

“you look guilty and tired.” he kicked off his shoes. “what happened?”

“nothing happened. what makes you think that?” you defenced back.

“something happened.”

you smiled weakly.

he sighed.

“how much trouble am i about to be in?”

“define trouble.”

jack groaned. “oh no.” he pointed at you. “what did you do?”

“i didn’t do anything.”

before he could respond—

woof!

both of you froze.

the tiny bark came from the bathroom. jack slowly turned his head. then looked back at you. then toward the bathroom again. then back at you.

“…what was that?”

you considered lying.

you lasted approximately one second. “…a dog.”

jack closed his eyes. “you found a dog.”

“well technically the dog found me.”

“that’s not how dogs work.”

another bark echoed through the apartment. followed by a tiny scratching sound against the bathroom door.

jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

you stood. “before you say anything—”

“that’s never a promising start.”

“—he was abandoned.”

jack immediately opened one eye.

you continued. “he was cold.”

the other eye opened. “and hungry.”

his expression softened despite himself.

you knew it would.

jack could pretend to be grumpy all he wanted, but he spent twelve hours a day saving people for a living. he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met.

you disappeared into the bathroom before he could argue further. a moment later, you emerged carrying the beagle puppy.

the puppy looked ridiculously small wrapped in a towel.

one floppy ear. oversized paws. sleepy brown eyes.

the second jack saw him, his face did something. not much. just enough.

that tiny shift that meant he was already losing the battle. “he’s cute,” he admitted.

victory. you grinned.

the puppy, however, had his own priorities. the second you crouched near the couch, the little beagle scrambled from your arms.

straight toward jack.

jack blinked. “oh.”

the puppy climbed directly into his lap. like he’d been doing it his entire life.

tiny tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled. you watched in delight as jack looked down at the puppy.

the puppy looked up at jack. and that was it. gone. completely smitten. jack was finished.

the puppy pressed his nose against jack’s hand. jack immediately scratched behind one floppy ear. the puppy practically melted.

“oh my god,” you whispered.

jack didn’t even hear you. “hey, buddy.”

the puppy licked his thumb. jack smiled. an actual smile. the soft one. the one that made you fall in love with him. the one that meant you were absolutely bringing this animal home forever.

you pointed accusingly. “there it is.”

“what?”

“that face.”

jack glanced up. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

the puppy promptly curled up against his chest and fell asleep.

you laughed. jack looked back down at the tiny sleeping beagle. then sighed. a long, defeated sigh.

“…we should probably schedule a vet appointment.”

your grin widened. “jack.”

“don’t.”

“jack.”

he rolled his eyes. “fine.”

you practically launched yourself at him.

the puppy remained asleep through the entire thing.

it was a beautiful townhouse. it was about three stories of brick and black shutters with overflowing flower boxes beneath the windows. it was elegant without being flashy. it was lived-in without looking old.

he'd hummed his acknowledgment and continued walking.

that should have been the end of it.

but it wasn't.

because the next week she pointed it out again.

and the week after that… and the one after.

soon it became part of their routine.

coffee, pastries, the townhouse.

every single saturday morning and every single time they passed it, her pace slowed.

sometimes she'd admire the little balcony on the second floor, or the iron railings, even the huge windows that flooded the interior with sunlight. and other times she would just smile at it quietly before continuing down the block.

jack never teased her about it.

he just listened the way he always listened.

collecting and gathering every detail she offered without her realizing it.

it was like he was storing them away somewhere safe.

—

months later, she was standing in front of the pastry display at the coffee shop when jack casually mentioned the open house.

she looked up immediately.

"what.. really?" she said in disbelief. “i didn’t see a sign, though. are you sure?” she said in the middle of taking a bite of her banana loaf.

"yeah they’re showing the townhouse today.” he repeated with that signature sideways smile. “it’s a private showing.” he shrugged.

the excitement that lit her face was instant and for a moment, jack almost felt guilty because she had absolutely no idea…

when they arrived, the house was somehow even more beautiful inside.

sunlight spilled through oversized windows, warming polished hardwood floors and pale walls.

the entire place felt bright, open and comfortable.

it was a place that people built lives together and they could feel the warmth of a loved and cherished home.

jack spent most of the tour watching her instead of the house.

watching her wander into every room with wide eyes, watching her run her fingertips along the bathroom countertops.

watching her stand in front of windows and imagine things.

he knew she was imagining things because she'd always done that. her imagination was everything that made her into the dreamer that she was.

even in their tiny conversations, or while walking down the street.

she saw dreams everywhere and a beautifully bright future in every empty space.

"this kitchen is incredible." she mused, as she rounded the kitchen island and peered out the windows that rested right above the kitchen sink.

her voice echoed softly through the room as jack leaned against the doorway.

her shoulders sank as she peered into the lush backyard garden.

"It is." he said as he watched her in quiet awe.

she moved toward one of the windows, sunlight caught her hair. the sight of her standing there nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

because she looked like she belonged there.. with him. he nearly groaned at the sight of her. her hair falling behind her shoulders while she playfully pretended to wash the dishes.

he smiled wildly as she looked behind her at him and wiggled her eyebrows, causing them both to giggle.

it looked like she wasn’t visiting.

or imagining.

she was just belonging.

as if the house had been waiting for her this whole entire time.

the realtor eventually left them alone to explore.

that was when the trouble started.

because the more she saw, the more she fell in love with it.

and the more she fell in love with it, the more impossible it became for her to hide her disappointment.

by the time they reached the living room again, she was trying very hard to be realistic.

jack knew that look it was the one where she talked herself out of wanting something.

“it's okay," she said softly.

nobody had even asked a question.

jack raised an eyebrow as she laughed a little sadly.

"this place is just..." her gaze drifted toward the windows.

the fireplace.

the staircase.

everything.

"it's perfect." she hummed as jack placed his hand on the back of her small back. her words came out as barely more than a whisper as she looked up at him.

jack felt something squeeze painfully inside his chest.

because she wasn't being dramatic.

or materialistic, or unrealistic, she just genuinely loved this place.

the same way she loved old bookstores and small coffee shops and rainy afternoons cuddled with a good book.

she loved things completely, with her whole heart.

"a girl can dream, right?" she said softly to him. her smile small.

jack stared at her for a long moment— long enough that she did a double take when she wanted to pull him out and go back home.

"w-what?" she looked at him in confusion.

his hands slipped into his pockets, a nervous habit which was one she rarely ever saw.

then he nodded toward the room around them.

"good thing you don't have to." he nodded earnestly.

confusion flickered across her face. she laughed his name, "what are you talking about?"

"you don't have to dream about it, baby."

the silence that followed stretched before he finally said it.

"i bought it."

she blinked…once…twice.

the words clearly didn't fully register and he wanted to kiss her stupid as she gave him a look of pure confusion.

"i bought the townhouse, baby.” he said stalking closer to her, his shoes echoing throughout the room.

still nothing.

her mouth opened slightly.

closed it.

opened again.

jack fought back a smile because for someone so smart, she looked completely lost.

"you..." her voice disappeared.

jack nodded trying to get it out of her.

"i bought it." he said cocooning her into his arms as if to block her away from the rest of the world.

another heartbeat passed.

then another.

finally her eyes widened.

not a little.

a lot.

the kind of realization that arrives all at once. it was sudden and overwhelming and her heart was beating so fast she could have sworn that he could hear it.

"f-for us?" the question cracked in the middle.

jack's expression softened immediately.

"yeah." his voice was gentle, “so we can have somewhere that's ours."

the tears arrived instantly.

jack sighed.

because of course they did.

she slapped both hands over her face.

which somehow made it worse.

"sweetheart—"

"you bought me a house?”

his laugh filled the room. "i bought us a house."

"a whole house, jack."

"technically it's a townhouse." he teased causing her to let out a watery laugh.

then immediately started crying harder.

“i want you to decorate it however you want and i’m gonna help you.” he said softly, moving her hair behind her shoulders as she looked up at him. “we’re gonna make it ours.”

the next thing jack knew, she was throwing her arms around his neck as he wrapped his strong arms around her small frame.

of course he caught her automatically.

strong freckled arms wrapping around her waist as she buried her face against his chest.

the familiar scent of coffee and aftershave surrounded her instantly.

safe, comforting, home.

kack rested his chin on top of her head, holding her tightly. neither of them spoke for a while.

they just stood there in the middle of their future living room as the sunlight poured in around them.

the house quiet and waiting.

finally she tilted her head back enough to look at him.

her eyes were red and her cheeks damp.

beautiful.

"you remembered." the words were tiny they made jack frown.

"remembered what?" he wanted to know, as he wiped his thumb against her wet cheeks.

she laughed softly. "the windows."

his expression immediately melted because of course that's what she was talking about.

not the price, or the size and not even the investment of it all.

the windows.

the thing she'd mentioned months ago during a random walk.

"the balcony." her voice trembled.

"the flower boxes."

jack brushed his thumb against her bottom lip as it quivered.

"i remember everything you tell me." he mused.

and judging by the way her face crumpled, that might have been the most emotional thing he'd said all day.

—

later, after the realtor returned and paperwork was discussed and the reality of it all slowly settled around them, they found themselves standing on the little front patio.

the one she'd always admired and pointed out dozens of times.

jack handed her the key, simple and unassuming. yet somehow heavier than anything she'd ever held before.

she stared at it in her palm, then up at him, then back at the house.

their house. their future.

their home.

jack leaned down and kissed her forehead softly before giving her the smile that destroyed her every single time because it was the kind of smile he reserved only for her.

"what do you say we go back and start to unpack" he hummed.

and this time, when she looked at the townhouse, she didn't have to imagine anymore.

Whitaker was going on and on about some story from the street crew, and on a normal day, you would have loved hearing all about it, but right now it was like torture… having to stay put and pretend to be retaining even a single word of what came out of Dennis’ mouth while Jack toyed with you was proving to be quite hard.

Just when Abbot’s digits found the damp spot right against your hole, you caught a glance of your savior… or so at least you thought.

“Mike- " you started, only to correct yourself, “Dr. Robby! You should… you should hear this too.”

If either he or Whitaker noticed how breathy your voice was, none of them reacted.

Dennis’ brows raised in confusion at your words.

“He just— Robby loves stories… like this.”

Poor Dennis was all too eager at the discovery; he didn’t even notice the way Robby’s mouth stretched into a smirk as he glanced between you and Jack, or how he purposely chose not to sit on the free chair next to the blonde, but opted to squeeze himself in the booth next to you.

All of a sudden, your idea seemed very dumb.

There you were, sandwiched in between your two very hot attendings… your two very hot, very secret boyfriends.

If it were for them, they would have told anyone with ears about your relationship, even at work… or especially there.

Both had very adamantly expressed their wish to touch you and kiss you like they loved to do wherever they could, ER included— Jack had expressed said wish also because he claimed to be very tired of watching Langdon or Park or Shang or even Ellis check you out and not be able to do or say anything without coming off as a weirdo. Robby never said it out loud, but he also really despised having to listen to surgeons and patients flirt with you and having to keep quiet.

But you knew it was better this way; it’s not like you didn’t wanna yap to whoever would listen about your two sexy, perfect boyfriends, but you knew the consequences… the rumors and voices that would inevitably start to spread were really not something you needed at this point in life.

Which is why your relationship remained a secret— even if they loved to make it one hard to keep.

Michael took one look at what was happening beneath your skirt, and it took all of thirty seconds before you felt his arm slither behind your back, slowly infiltrating underneath your shirt until his warm hands were caressing your back, spreading shivers down your spine.

Just like that, all your dreams of Mike making Abbot behave shattered with a loud crack in your head.

Dennis was completely oblivious, too excited at the prospect of impressing his attendings with his story… poor guy had no idea neither of them were listening to a word he said.

Both men were stroking you slowly and sultily, the heat and scent of them wrapping your body as you lost yourself in the moment… In the way Jack’s fingers kept teasing you, lightly dragging from your inner thighs to your dampening heat, moving up and down as he ever so softly traced your clit— in the way Michael’s big hand softly traced patterns on your back, soothing your overexcited system just to make your heart pick up all over again whenever it ended up on your side and squeezed just enough to remind you who had the upper hand.

The temperature rose, and you were certain everyone could see the heat on your face as you tried to act normal.

Jack and Robby were thoroughly enjoying watching you squirm and bite down desperate little whimpers at their ministrations, barely containing their grins as they nodded at Dennis’ story.

You were just starting to convince yourself you could survive this when Abbot’s fingers materialized underneath your panties, all of a sudden fully exploring your slick folds without a hint of rush, unhurriedly touching your most intimate spot as if you weren’t fully in public.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, your eyes subtly widening, and then… then Jack took it a step too far.

You heard the gasp come out of your mouth before you even realized Jack’s digits had trailed up to your clit.

For a moment, you forgot to pretend as your thighs squeezed shut and you turned to Jack, eyes and mouth wide in shock. He didn’t even try to hide the wolfish grin on his lips.

“Y/n? What happened?”

It was Whitaker's soft, almost scared voice that had you remembering where you were.

You schooled your features to resemble any sort of calm as you turned back to him with a small, awkward smile.

“O-oh nothing— I just… I think I need some air.”

__  __  __

You were outside for no longer than two minutes when Jack and Robby made their way out of the bar, their eyes immidiately catching you as they began to walk in your direction.

“You guys can’t do that.”

They decided to stand not even an inch away from you, you know… like regular coworkers.

“Do what?” Jack grinned, his voice husky as he leaned closer to you, his mouth ghosting your neck.

“You know what,” you murmured, eyes shifting between the two men.

“You liked it.” Robby intervened, his hand moving some hair from your face and lingering on your cheek.

You shook your head, sending them both a glare that promised death.

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle at that, his voice lowering to a murmur as he whispered to your ear, “The proof of it is coating my fingers right now, sweetheart.”

“No need to lie, baby,” Robby cooed, his thumb tracing your cupid’s bow.

“’S ok, I liked it too,” Jack murmured, moving close enough for you to feel the weight of his erection against your skin.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as a whimper fled your mouth.

Jesus, why did they have to be so frustratingly hot?

“People could see us,” you breathed, desperate eyes finding Robby’s for some sort of help.

He usually was the responsible one, but tonight it seemed he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Let them.” Michael’s voice was hoarse, rough with need and lust.

“W-what’s gotten into you two tonight?”

Jack had stopped reining himself in and fallen to the temptation of littering your pretty neck with kisses.

“This skirt…” he explained with a groan, his hand touching the guilty fabric.

“It’s hard to keep our hands to ourselves when you look like this.” Robby chipped in, his eyes making a point of looking up and down your figure appreciatively, before one of his hands traveled to your ass to cop a feel.

You squeaked in surprise, your panties drenched at this point. “G-guys…”

Your eyes darted to the door, the sane part of your brain remembering where you found yourselves.

“Maybe we’re tired of pretending you aren’t ours,” Robby murmured, thumb caressing your cheek.

“Maybe we just wanna let everyone know who you belong to.” Jack agreed, nicking the skin at your neck to emphasize his words.

You had to bite down a moan before you forced Abbot to look you in the eyes, guiding him by his silver curls.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Maybe.” Jack’s answer was sheepish, his sweet eyes honest and kind.

You smiled at the hopeful look in his eyes, a smile that only widened when you saw the matching spark of candidness in Michael’s iris.

“It’s not like you could finger me in public if people knew about us.” You couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Mmmh… not so sure about that,” Jack hummed with a boyish grin, before his lips inevitably found yours.

He kissed you as if he’d been waiting to do it all night… and perhaps it was because that was exactly the case.

He grabbed both sides of your face as he pressed himself against you and infiltrated his tongue inside your mouth to taste all of you.

One of your hands was raking through his curls as you enjoyed his mouth on you, while the other fisted Michael’s shirt.

The second Jack leaned away to get some air, Robby was there instead, murmuring, “Jesus, baby, you’re so hot,” before capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

You went back and forth for a few minutes, making out with them one at a time while the other kissed and caressed every inch of skin they could uncover, until you were all blissfully out of breath.

“So— what do you say?” Michael asked, his brows raised in question.

As much as you wanted to give them what they wanted, to make your relationship public, you still needed to ponder through some things.

“I say… I say we need to go home right now.”

Abbot’s lips pulled into a smirk as he whispered: “We could do it right here… let everyone see.”

You ignored his words as you went on, “And then— then we’ll talk about it.”

The hopeful, joyful shock on both men’s faces was absolutely adorable.

“Yeah?” Jack asked breathlessly, not able to hide a huge smile.

“I like that idea.” Robby nodded, squeezing your side with a quick kiss to your cheek.

Most days you could ignore it. Most days you smiled politely, accepted the concern for what it was, and carried on. You had chosen to keep working. You loved your job. The emergency department was exhausting and chaotic and occasionally heartbreaking, but it was yours. It gave structure to days that might otherwise have been swallowed whole by anxiety.

The anxiety was harder to admit, but nobody seemed concerned about that part. Nobody saw the moments you sat alone in your apartment after a shift with one hand resting over your stomach, wondering if you were making the right choices. Nobody saw the nights when you woke up terrified by the sheer scale of what was coming.

You were going to be somebody’s mother. The thought still knocked the breath out of you. You were going to do it alone, and that part was worse.

The baby’s father had left months ago, long before anyone at work knew about the pregnancy. There had been no screaming argument. No dramatic betrayal. Just a gradual retreat until one day you realised you were the only person still fighting for something that no longer existed.

You had survived it. You would continue surviving it. You didn’t have any other choice. Which was why you absolutely refused to become somebody else’s responsibility, especially Jack Abbot’s.

“Why have I got room fourteen?”

The question escaped before you could stop yourself. Dana looked up from the desk.

“What about room fourteen?”

You stared at the assignment sheet in your hand. Room fourteen contained the sweetest little old lady currently waiting for discharge paperwork. Room twelve contained a man with a minor fracture. Room nine needed routine medication.

That was it. No aggressive intoxication. No psychiatric hold. No combative family members. No complicated trauma patients. Nothing.

It was practically a holiday.

You narrowed your eyes. Across the department, Jack was discussing scans with one of the residents, words thorough and professional despite the toll the rare day shift was taking on him.

Your gaze lingered. Unfortunately, Jack’s eyes lifted almost immediately. Straight to you. The man possessed some supernatural ability to know when you were looking at him.

Your stomach performed an irritating little flip. That was becoming a problem. Actually, no. The crush was the problem. The stomach flipping was merely a symptom.

Jack’s expression remained perfectly neutral. You pointed at your assignment sheet. He looked away immediately, seemingly guilty.

You knew it.

Ten minutes later you cornered him near the medication room. “Stop it.”

His eyebrows rose. “Good afternoon to you too.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You keep changing my assignments.”

“I don’t make assignments.”

“Jack.”

His mouth twitched. That tiny almost-smile somehow made him more infuriating.

“You have no proof.”

“I don’t need proof.”

“Yes, honey, you do.”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me, Jack. You keep giving me easier patients.”

Jack folded his arms. The movement pulled at the sleeves of his scrub top. Your traitorous brain noticed entirely too much about him these days. The broad shoulders. The wedding ring he still wore. The permanent exhaustion around his eyes.

The gentleness he tried so hard to hide beneath sarcasm. “You think I have nothing better to do than secretly manipulate patient assignments?”

“Yes.”

That earned an actual laugh. A short one. Rare enough that it briefly distracted you. Jack shook his head.

“I think that’s insane. You’re being a bit… God, what did Javadi call it? Delulu?”

“Never say that again. I’m serious.”

“God forbid a guy try something new.”

You stared at each other. The familiar tension settled into place almost immediately. Neither of you ever acknowledged it. Nobody else seemed to notice it either, which felt impossible.

You noticed everything when it came to him. The way his voice softened around frightened patients. The way he instinctively positioned himself between vulnerable people and whatever was upsetting them. The way he always appeared beside you whenever a shift became overwhelming.

That last one was definitely intentional.

The problem was that Jack never did anything obvious enough to challenge. Every act of care was disguised as practicality.

A patient would need transferring and somebody else would mysteriously volunteer before you could. You would arrive at the break room to find tea already waiting. A difficult relative would somehow end up redirected towards an attending physician instead of a pregnant nurse nearing the end of a twelve-hour shift.

None of it was dramatic. None of it could be called out without sounding ridiculous. Still, you knew.

“You don’t need to look after me.”

The words came out quieter than intended. Something changed in his expression. Not much. Just enough.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the department seemed strangely distant.

“You know,” Jack said eventually, “it’s possible for people to help each other without it meaning something.”

The statement should have reassured you. Instead it hurt. You weren’t entirely sure why. Perhaps because you wanted it to mean something. That was the truth you kept trying not to examine too closely. You wanted his attention. You looked for him at the start of every shift. You noticed when he wasn’t there. You noticed when he looked tired. You noticed everything.

The feelings had arrived slowly and then all at once. Now they sat heavily in your chest, impossible to ignore.

You forced a smile. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You still need to stop.”

His eyes held yours. For a second you thought he might argue. Instead he sighed.

“You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

You laughed despite yourself. “That’s rich coming from you.”

A trauma alert sounded overhead. The moment vanished instantly. Jack pushed away from the wall. Professional mask sliding neatly back into place.

You hated how easily he could do that.

As though he could simply lock parts of himself away whenever necessary. You wondered what it would be like to be that controlled. To not feel everything so intensely all the time.

“Come on,” he said. “Work calls.”

You fell into step beside him. Close enough to hear his breathing, and to smell hospital soap and coffee. Close enough that the ache in your chest returned before you’d even reached the trauma bay.

You wished it would stop. You wished it would get worse. Neither option seemed particularly safe.

Especially not when Jack glanced at you as the doors opened and asked, quietly enough that nobody else could hear,

“You feeling alright today?”

The concern in his voice was genuine. Simple. Uncomplicated. Somehow that made it harder to answer than any question you’d faced all week.

The trauma ended up being far less dramatic than the alert had suggested. A motor vehicle collision. Two patients, both conscious. One broken wrist, one nasty laceration that looked significantly worse than it actually was. Nobody needed a miracle.

For once, the emergency department managed to survive a trauma call without the world ending. You should have felt relieved. Instead, the restlessness that had settled beneath your skin earlier refused to leave.

Jack’s question kept replaying in your head. ‘You feeling alright today?’. Such an ordinary thing to ask. People asked it all the time. The difference was that most people weren’t really asking. Most people wanted reassurance. A quick smile and a simple yes.

Jack always seemed to want the truth. That was what made him dangerous. He paid attention. It would have been easier if he didn’t. Easier if he were merely an attractive older guy with freckles and muscles and curls. A crush based on appearances would eventually burn itself out.

Unfortunately, every shift seemed determined to reveal another reason to fall for him. You hated that. Mostly because there was absolutely nothing sensible about it.

Jack was older than you. Widowed. Emotionally complicated in ways you suspected only a therapist fully understood.

You were carrying another man’s baby.

The timing couldn’t have been worse if someone had deliberately arranged it.

Yet every time he looked at you, some foolish part of your heart seemed convinced there was still something worth hoping for.

By three, your lower back felt like it had been replaced with concrete. The baby had apparently decided sleep was for cowards and had spent the last hour enthusiastically rearranging your internal organs.

You were updating notes at the nurses’ station when a sharp kick landed beneath your ribs. The involuntary wince escaped before you could stop it.

Unfortunately, somebody noticed. Of course somebody noticed. “Everything alright?”

You looked up. Jack. Again. The man appeared with the consistency of a haunting. You straightened immediately.

“Fine.”

“You know I was literally standing here when that happened, sweetheart.”

“I’m still fine.”

“You made a face.”

“I make faces all the time.”

“You looked like somebody stabbed you.”

“That’s slightly dramatic.”

His expression remained unconvinced. The irritating thing was that he wasn’t hovering. Not really. He wasn’t fussing or ordering you to sit down. He was simply standing there looking concerned. Which somehow made it impossible to dismiss.

The baby kicked again. Your hand moved automatically towards your stomach. A subconscious gesture. One you’d barely realised you’d started doing.

Something softened in Jack’s face. The sight of it nearly undid you. There was no pity there. No awkwardness. No discomfort. Just warmth.

Your pulse stumbled. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

“You should take ten.”

“No.”

“Five.”

“No.”

“Two and a half?”

A laugh escaped despite yourself.

“You negotiate with trauma surgeons like this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They aren’t as terrifying as you.”

You rolled your eyes. Jack looked suspiciously pleased with himself. The sight made something warm spread through your chest. You hated how often that happened around him. The feeling had become increasingly difficult to ignore. Particularly during the quieter moments.

Those moments were always the worst. Those were the moments when you remembered how easy it felt to talk to him. You couldn’t pinpoint when it had started. At some point he’d stopped feeling like an attending physician and started feeling like Jack. The distinction mattered more than it should have.

“You know,” he said eventually, leaning against the counter beside you, “it’s alright to admit that you’re tired.”

You stared at the computer screen. The blinking cursor suddenly seemed fascinating.

“Who says I’m tired?”

“You’ve had three cups of coffee in ninety minutes.”

“Maybe I like coffee.”

“You hate coffee.”

Your head dropped backwards. “Oh, come on.”

His smile widened. “You told me.”

“When?”

“Six months ago.”

You looked at him. Actually looked. The man remembered entirely too much. The realisation struck with uncomfortable force.

Six months ago.

You couldn’t remember half the conversations you’d had yesterday. Jack remembered an offhand comment from six months ago.

Your chest tightened. The feeling wasn’t entirely pleasant. Part of you wanted to bask in it. The rest wanted to run. Nobody had paid attention to you like this in a very long time. Not before the pregnancy. Certainly not after.

The baby’s father had forgotten things constantly. Appointments. Plans. Conversations. You had spent months shrinking your expectations just to avoid disappointment.

Now here was Jack remembering your coffee preferences. The comparison felt unfair. Your emotions didn’t seem particularly concerned with fairness.

The silence stretched. Jack’s smile faded slightly. Concern replacing amusement. “You okay?”

There it was again. That impossible gentleness.

You swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Maybe because it’s true.”

His gaze lingered. Not challenging. Not pushing. Just waiting. You wondered whether he knew how difficult that made things. Most people demanded explanations.

Jack simply offered space. The urge to step into it was becoming overwhelming.

A sudden rush of emotion caught you completely off guard. Exhaustion. Fear. Hormones. Loneliness.

Whatever combination was responsible, it hit hard enough to sting behind your eyes. You looked away immediately. Embarrassing. The last thing you needed was to start crying at the nurses’ station.

Jack didn’t comment. Another kindness. He simply moved slightly closer. Close enough that you could feel the steady presence of him. Not touching. Never assuming. Just there. Ready if needed. The gesture nearly hurt.

“You’re allowed to lean on people sometimes.”

The words were quiet. Careful. As though he wasn’t entirely sure he should be saying them.

You laughed softly. A humourless sound. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His expression shifted. Something sad flickering briefly across his face. “You’d be surprised.”

The answer lodged somewhere deep. You knew enough about Jack to understand what wasn’t being said. The grief he carried everywhere despite pretending otherwise. Perhaps that was why being around him felt so different.

He never treated pain like weakness. He understood it too well.

A call light sounded down the corridor. The interruption should have felt annoying. Instead it came as a relief. The conversation had wandered dangerously close to honesty. Neither of you seemed entirely prepared for that.

You pushed away from the desk. Professional instincts taking over. Work was easier. Work always had been. People made sense when they were patients. Charts and medications and treatment plans were infinitely simpler than feelings.

Jack watched you stand. Something unreadable lingered in his eyes. Then it disappeared, locked away behind professionalism once again.

You found yourself wishing, not for the first time, that he would let you see what lived underneath it. The frightening thing was that you suspected he wished exactly the same thing about you.

The shift should have ended an hour ago. That was the thought repeating itself through your head as you stared at a computer screen that no longer seemed capable of forming coherent words.

Every part of you ached. Your feet hurt. Your back hurt. Your shoulders felt impossibly tight. Even the baby seemed exhausted, the constant movement from earlier reduced to occasional sleepy stretches beneath your ribs.

The emergency department had entered that strange period between night and morning. The chaos was winding down. Exhaustion was settling over everyone like a heavy blanket.

Those were always the dangerous hours. The hours when emotions started slipping through cracks you’d spent all shift holding together.

You rubbed a hand across your face and tried to focus on the discharge paperwork in front of you. The words blurred. For a moment you simply sat there staring at them.

Then, completely without warning, your eyes filled.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” You muttered it to yourself.

Nobody else heard. At least, that was what you thought. You blinked rapidly and forced yourself to take a breath. You were not going to cry.

Not here. Not now.

The ridiculous thing was that nothing had actually happened. It was just exhaustion. Pure, relentless exhaustion. The kind that seemed to hollow you out from the inside.

You loved your baby already. Loved them with a fierceness that still startled you.

That didn’t mean you weren’t frightened.

Every day seemed to bring a new thing to worry about. The nursery. Money. Childcare. Labour. The future. The endless responsibility waiting just around the corner.

Most of the time you managed to carry it.

Tonight it suddenly felt very heavy.

“You missed a spot.”

You jumped.

Jack was standing beside the desk, a takeaway cup rested in one hand.

You stared. Then frowned. “What?”

“The discharge summary.” He pointed towards the screen. “There.”

Sure enough, you’d missed an entire section. Your shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

Jack studied you for a second. Long enough that you knew he’d noticed. The tears. The exhaustion. All of it.

You looked away first. Humiliation immediately flooding your chest.

“You should go home.”

You laughed quietly. “I was planning to.”

“No.” His voice softened. “I mean now.”

The concern in it almost made things worse.

You swallowed hard. “I’m nearly finished.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.”

“Then go home, sweetheart.”

Something inside you cracked. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that holding everything together suddenly became impossible.

You looked down at your hands, at the hospital ID badge hanging from your neck, at anything except him.

The words came out before you could stop them. “I don’t get to stop.”

Silence.

Your throat tightened. You hated this. Hated feeling exposed. Hated feeling weak. Most of all, hated how desperately you wanted somebody to understand.

“I don’t get to fall apart,” you continued quietly. “Everybody keeps telling me to rest and take breaks and ask for help, but at the end of the day it’s still just me.”

The confession hung between you. Entirely honest. You hadn’t meant to say any of it. Months of fear seemed to have slipped free without permission.

“I go home and it’s just me.”

Your voice wavered. You pressed your lips together immediately.

For a long moment neither of you spoke. The department carried on around you, life continuing exactly as normal. Meanwhile your entire chest felt like it had been turned inside out.

Then Jack set the coffee cup down. Carefully. As though sudden movements might break something. And, maybe they would.

His gaze never left yours. “You know what’s been driving me insane for the last few months?”

The question caught you completely off guard. You frowned. “What?”

“You.” Jack huffed out a short laugh. Not amused. Nervous. The sound alone was shocking. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him nervous before. “You refuse help from everybody.”

Your mouth opened.

He continued before you could interrupt. “You carry everything yourself. Every shift. Every appointment. Every problem.”

“Jack—”

“You never let anybody look after you.”

The words landed harder than they should have. Emotion immediately tightened your throat again. You looked away. He wasn’t finished. You could tell. The realisation sent your pulse racing.

“I keep telling myself to stop.” His voice had gone quieter now. Rougher. “I keep telling myself you’re perfectly capable and none of this is my business.”

You slowly looked back at him. Neither of you seemed capable of looking away anymore. The space between you felt impossibly small, despite the fact neither of you had moved.

“I know you don’t need me.” The confession sat heavily between you. “I know that.”

His jaw tightened briefly, the way it always did when he was forcing himself to continue.

“But every time you walk into a shift looking exhausted, I want to help.”

Your heart stumbled, then stopped entirely.

“I want to take the difficult patients.” His eyes never left yours. “I want to make things easier.”

Another breath. Another heartbeat.

“I want to be the person who carries some of it when it gets too heavy.”

The world seemed strangely quiet. Every sound fading into the background. Your eyes burned again. This time you didn’t care. You’d spent months convincing yourself you were imagining it. Misreading kindness. Projecting your own feelings onto harmless gestures.

Now Jack was standing in front of you looking like he’d rather face another mass casualty event than this conversation.

The sight nearly broke your heart.

“You know why that’s a problem?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. The answer came anyway.

“Because somewhere along the way I stopped doing it just because I care about my staff.”

The breath left your lungs. “Oh.”

Brilliant response. Truly. Jack laughed quietly, a little helplessly. The sound made your chest ache.

“Oh,” he echoed.

For one terrifying second neither of you spoke. Then something shifted. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or relief, or simply the fact you’d both spent too long pretending.

Whatever it was, it finally pushed you forward.

“You make me feel safe.”

The words escaped before you could second-guess them. Jack froze. You continued anyway.

“If that’s a horrible thing to admit, then fine.”

A shaky laugh slipped out. Your eyes filled again.

“You make me feel looked after. I keep trying not to need that.”

Jack’s expression softened completely. “You don’t have to earn being cared for.”

The sentence hit harder than everything else combined. Nobody had ever said that to you before. Not like that. Not as though they genuinely believed it. A tear escaped, and then another, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.

Jack stepped closer. Slowly. Giving you every opportunity to stop him. You didn’t. His hand settled against your arm. The simple contact nearly undid you.

For months you’d been carrying everything alone.

Not because you wanted to, but because you thought you had to. The difference suddenly felt enormous.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

There wasn’t much left to say. The truth was already sitting between you. Visible at last. Jack’s thumb brushed lightly against your sleeve. A tiny movement so careful that it made your chest ache.

The man looked at you as though you were something precious. The realisation was terrifying. It was also wonderful.

For the first time in a very long while, the future didn’t seem quite so frightening.

Nothing had magically been fixed. You were still pregnant. Still scared. Still facing a thousand uncertainties.

Jack was still carrying grief of his own. Life remained complicated. Messy. Difficult.

Yet standing there beneath fluorescent hospital lights, with exhaustion pulling at both of you and dawn beginning to creep through distant windows, something fundamental had changed.

The loneliness wasn’t quite so sharp anymore.

For months you’d been trying to convince yourself that strength meant carrying everything alone. Looking at Jack now, you finally understood how wrong you’d been. Sometimes strength looked a lot more like letting somebody stay.

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“You’ve got work,” you said, and you knew that was far from refusing him. 

Jack heard that, and it took him slow seconds to fold into the gurney beside you. “I’ve got time to spare.”

He didn’t, and both of you knew that.

It was a gurney built for one, and he was not a small man. You watched him fail to make it work and do it anyway; he got an arm behind you, easing you forward off the rail so he could fit himself into the few inches of mattress. He arranged his own bulk around you with none of the certainty his hands often had. He bumped the line in your arm and went still, careful of it, then moved aside. 

He folded himself beside you like the eighteen months hadn’t happened. He settled you off your left hip without a word, the way he'd done it for years, the way his hands knew to do before the rest of him had weighed in. You let him. You hated that you let him. You were too emptied out to do anything but let him, and some part of you that you'd stopped trying to govern wanted the weight of him more than it wanted to win.

The dog tags swung forward when he leaned to get comfortable, and then they were against you; they settled cold at first, against the side of your throat, then went warm as they sat. Your felt your body do the obscene traitor thing of recognizing it as the sound that meant you were allowed to stop being awake. 

“This doesn’t fit,” you said. Your voice came out wrecked and small, nothing like you usually used.

He only hummed.

The curtains opened again, then.

Robby came through the gap with his eyes already half-down on the tablet, mouth open on whatever he’d rehearsed walking over, then it stopped. The room wasn’t the same one he’d left, for this one had Jack folded onto a single-width gurney with his arm behind you and his whole body curved around yours like he’d grown there. 

Jack stayed exactly where he was; there was no startle or guilty peel-back, nothing that would’ve held onto the cover. He turned his head, slow, and met Robby over the top of yours, and his arm stayed exactly where it was. If anything, it settled with a small claiming pressure against your hip.

You watched Robby’s whole earlier misread come apart behind his face, all of it landing wrong now against the actual picture in front of him. He'd come for something else and he visibly decided to stay on task, because the task was the only safe thing in the room.

“Jack,” he said. “It’s six. The board’s yours.” 

You felt the small tension go through Jack as his body registered the pull of the thing that had always, always won. Six o’clock; the department on the other side that was indifferent to what had just detonated in here, the one that needed its attending the same as every night, that had been needing him the entire time he’d been folded around you pretending the clock wasn’t running.

The job, the oldest competitor you’d ever had for him that used to take him out of bed at the worst hours, out of arguments mid-sentence, and out of the marriage by degrees, reasserting itself now, on schedule.

“Give it to Shen for an hour,” he said, almost flatly.

“Shen’s not on till eleven.”

Jack breathed in sharply. “Then give it to yourself for an hour,” he said, and there was an uptick at the end of his sentence. 

Robby’s brows went up a fraction, because Jack didn’t hand-off. Jack had built an entire reputation on being the one who never had to make anyone else’s Friday night worse, the one who stayed past his own shift so the next attending walked into a clean board, the one who'd missed two of your anniversaries and a Christmas because someone had to be the one who didn't go home and Jack had decided, permanently, that the someone was him.

Robby had worked beside him for years. Robby had probably never once heard the words come out of his mouth.

You felt it land in you, too, and you hated the place it landed. That had been the thing about Jack and the job; it’d never been about the laziness or ambition or even the easy excuse of patients needing him, though God knew he’d hidden behind that for years. The floor was the one place he was allowed to be needed without being known. Down here, he could pour himself out completely, give everything, be the steady voice and unflinching hands and the man who stayed without it costing him the things staying did with you. 

The department took everything he had and never once asked him to say a word about himself. It was the perfect marriage, one he could survive, and he’d chosen it over the one he couldn’t—every single time—until you stopped making him choose. 

You wanted to tell him not to bother, that you knew exactly what an hour was worth from a man who’d spent your whole marriage proving the floor came first, and that one borrowed hour eighteen months too late didn’t undo a single missed Christmas. You wanted to be cruel about it the clean way. 

“Yeah, alright. I’ve got the hour,” Robby said finally, still watching him with almost curiosity. He paused and looked at Jack a moment longer, something unsurprised in it, like he’d suspected for years Jack had a far side and just had it confirmed. “Take your time.”

He pulled the curtain halfway behind him, then stopped and looked at you. “He gives you any trouble,” he said, nodding at Jack, “tell me. I’ll have him removed.”

The rings dragged shut behind him before Jack could say anything, and it was just the two of you and the drip and the impossible four inches of mattress, and Jack let out a breath you felt move all the way through him, the held-rigid thing in him easing by a fraction now that the door had stopped calling his name out loud.

“Go,” you said into his chest, voice coming out hollow. “I don’t need you here.”

You felt him take the words—he absorbed them instead of returning them—and decided, against every reflex in his body, to stay anyway.

“Of course you don’t,” he said into your hair. “I need to be here, though.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. “One hour.”

You should have pushed him off. You had all the right words for it. But his heart was going too fast against your cheek, scared still, and you were so emptied out; the crying and the floor and the thing growing six weeks inside you. The traitor warmth was rising again underneath the grief, and you were just too tired to clamp it down this time.

You stopped holding yourself up. Your weight went all into him all at once, the same surrender and failure of the legs. You felt the breath go out of him as his arm came all the way around. He gathered the dead weight of you in against his chest like it was the thing he’d been waiting to hold.

You thought, distantly, you should be cataloguing this so you could be appropriately disgusted with yourself later. You should hold onto this fact of his fear, the fact that none of it was free, that a man could hold you like this and still have been the one who had completely torn you apart.

“There,” he murmured, a broken relief. “Okay, I’ve got you.”

There was a part of you, quietly insistent at the back of your head, that this was the first time you were letting yourself fall asleep near Jack since the divorce. No, before that. Long before the papers, since the last year of the marriage had become two countries with a cold strip of sheet for a border and you’d both lain on your sides pretending to sleep.

You hadn't slept like this in two years. Maybe longer. You couldn't pin the last time because you hadn't known to mark it, the way you never knew to mark the last time anything good happened until you were standing a long way past it.

You were going under, the room pulling far and soft the way it had before you hit the floor. The last thing you felt before you lost it was his heart slamming and his body rigid and wide awake beneath you, holding himself together by main force so you could come apart, and you let yourself go anyway, because you couldn't not, because his chest was the only place the floor had ever held and you were too tired tonight to pretend it wasn't.

This was far from safe. You knew that. He was the least safe place left in the world.

You woke to a ceiling you didn’t immediately recognize in a dark room with the lights dialed to their lowest setting, not off, never off in this building, but dimmed to the brown-amber of a monitor on standby. A family room, you placed after a second. The one off the back hall with a couch that folded out. Jack had moved you there, probably carried or walked or wheeled you to a room where you could sleep without the overheads cooking you awake. The knowing of that—that he’d thought it all through—sat in your chest like a swallowed stone. 

There was a blanket over you that was heavier than the cotton waffle-weave they kept in the warmer. It had a cedar scent, faint, the same one that had lived in his locker for years because he sometimes ran cold and refused to admit it. 

The line was gone from your arm; someone had pulled it and taped a cotton ball into the crook of your elbow, the tape overlapped carefully. It was in Jack’s way, only his. Your shoes were by the couch, set together, toes to the wall. Your badge was on the side table, clipped to nothing. He’d unclipped your badge so it wouldn’t dig into anything while you slept. 

He’d done all of it without waking you. A man could take his ex-wife down a hall and do a dozen tending things with his hands, and never have once met her eyes while he did them. You’d been unconscious for the only version of Jack that knew how to take care of you.

The space beside you was cold. Your hand went looking before you’d decided to send it, flat across the vinyl where his heat should have been, and there was nothing. Your fingers drifted up to the side of your throat next, the hollow under your jaw where the tags settled their weight when he leaned over you, and you found your pulse instead. 

What came up first—before the grief—was relief. 

It was cowardly and it filled you to the back of the teeth. He was gone, and his being gone meant you wouldn’t have to do the other part. You wouldn’t have to sit up and find his face going blank. You wouldn’t have to acknowledge you’d sobbed yourself empty into his shirt then accounted for it over the top of a paper cup of bad coffee.

He’d left, and that handed you the one thing you were good at holding: the version that none of it happened. 

You sat up, and the room slid bright then dim at the edges. Underneath the dizziness was the other fact, the six-weeks-old one, riding quiet under your ribs through every gray-out, and you breathed around it and stood anyway. You got down to your shoes where he’d left them and worked them on. 

You folded his blanket over the arm of the couch and you didn’t let yourself hold it to your face first, though the wanting was right there, quick and humiliating. You clipped your badge back to your waistband and left the family room. The hall caught you in its fluorescence all at once, that flat ER light that made everyone look a little dead, and you kept your eyes down and aimed for the ambulance bay doors because the lot was through them and the car was in the lot and the car was the whole plan.

You made it past the supply alcove and the second set of doors before you heard your name.

“Oh, good. You’re vertical.” Ellis, coffee in hand, fell into step beside you. “Park had to finish your consult, by the way.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t have anything for it. “I’ll find him.”

“You don’t look like you’re finding anyone,” she said, the words coming out easy but still slowing to match your pace, which told you what she actually thought. “You’re off home?”

“Unless someone’s found me a second job to faint at, yeah.”

“Smart.” She was already peeling off the way she came. “Drink water. Drive safely.”

You let out a laugh devoid of humor. “No promises.”

She lifted the coffee at you and turned to go. Her eyes caught on something past your shoulder, and you felt it before you heard it, the way the air in a hallway shifted when he walked into it.

“You’re up,” Jack said from behind you.

Ellis took in the picture and quickly decided that she wanted to be anywhere but here. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You stopped because your body stopped before you'd ruled on whether to, and you turned and there he was at the mouth of the corridor with a chart in his hand he was not looking at.

He came down the hall and toward you. “How’s the head?”

“Fine. I slept it off.” You hitched your bag higher on your shoulder, which was a small flag to say you were leaving, and he caught it.

“You don’t have to bolt.” He stopped a few careful feet off, close enough to lower his voice while being far enough to not corner you in. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll finish on a patient and I’ll drive you. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel after going down.”

“I’m okay to drive.”

“You went gray today,” he said, his voice even. He raised a brow at you, like he was trying to make you see his point. “Twenty minutes. I’ll get you a real meal first. Or I take you home and we get something on the way.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw when you went quiet. “Or I’ll call out. I’ll call out, I’ll come with you, you don’t have to—” He stopped himself when you started shaking your head in the middle of his words, recalibrating in real time, hearing how much of himself had spilled into the offers. 

“Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m helpless,” you said.

His thumb moved against the edge of the chart, finding the corner and working it. “I didn’t say that.”  

“Then what is this?” 

A tech rolled a cart past behind him and he shifted his weight to let it through without ever moving his eyes off you, still like he was making sure he wouldn’t flinch. 

When he spoke again, his voice had dropped out of the hallway and into the register that had no audience in it, the one aimed directly for you, and hearing it out here under the lights with his clothes on did something to the floor of your stomach. 

“Can we talk about this.” It came out as anything but a question. His eyes dropped to your middle then back up, so fast you would’ve missed it had you not been trained in him. 

Your brows narrowed as your hand went over your stomach. To shield it or simply try to erase it from his view, you weren’t sure. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said flatly. “Not for another seventeen weeks anyways.”

You watched him take the sentence and turn it over for the meaning, and you watched the number do its work behind his eyes—the number, the window he knew to the day because of course he knew it—and you watched the second it arrived.

“Are you actually considering that?” His voice had gone rough, like he was forcing the words out. 

They’d set themselves into your orbit wrong, because there was no doctor left in him—nothing neutral—and there was only the bare thing underneath, the disbelief that you were going to close the door. 

You let out a laugh that sounded more like a broken breath. “Bye, Jack.”

Three days later, Jack came to get Kevin.

He texted first—heading over for him, 20 min—with no question in it, because Kevin was the one thing the two of you could still do without negotiation. Wednesdays were his.

You buzzed him up without saying a single word back. You heard him on the stairs—you knew the weight of him on the staircase—and you’d already got the leash, the half-bag of food, and his joint chews lined up by the door so the handoff would be thirty seconds, so it could be nothing. You needed it to be an exchange where two reasonable adults move a dog between them and don’t bleed on each other doing it.

You opened the door before he knocked; he had his hand half-raised and lowered it slowly.

“Hey,” he said.

You handed him the leash. Kevin was already losing his mind at the sight of him, the whole back of the dog going, and Jack crouched to take the assault of it with one hand buried in the scruff, his eyes coming up to you over the dog’s head. You’d handed him the food and the leash and were holding the door like that said the rest of it.

He looked at the door, at you, and then you watched him decide to not take the easy exit you’d built for him. 

He stood up, making Kevin get on his hind legs to scratch at Jack’s hip. “So, we’re not even gonna say hi now?” he said looking at the bag of food that had found its way into his hand. 

“Hi, Jack,” you said, fingers tightening around the door. “There’s his food. He’s been scratching at the left ear again, so—”

“I am not asking you about the ear.”

“—so you might want to have someone look at it, or I will, on Friday.”

“Oh, my god—” He stopped, and his jaw worked. Kevin sat down between the two of you and looked up, ready, leash in his mouth now because he’d learned to carry it himself, oblivious. “You’ve been like this since you found out. You won’t—” He exhaled through his nose. “I texted you about a gyno—I sent you a name. A good one. You didn’t even—”

“I didn’t ask you for a name.”

“No. You don’t ask me for anything.” It came out before he could quiet it down, and you watched him hear it and land in the air with more weight than he’d meant to give it. “That’s sort of the problem.”

There it was, the door you’d held open so carefully, and he’d walked past it into the apartment anyway.

“Don’t,” you said.

“We both did this.” He held the bag of food in his fist, and he didn’t try to come past the doorway. “I keep—you keep looking at me like I did this to you. You were in that bed too. You let me in. You don’t get to—”

“We both did not do this.” Your hand came off the door and flat to your stomach before you’d told it to, and you saw his eyes track the motion and stick there, and you hated that you’d explicitly brought attention to where this lived. “You want to split the bar tab, fucking fine, Jack. Split it. But this part’s mine. And I’ll fix it. For both of us, since you’re so big on both.” 

Something in his face went pale. “I don’t want you to,” he said, low and stripped. “I don’t want that.”

You should have let that be the last thing. You knew that the merciful move, the one a better-built woman would make, was to close the door on the both of you. But he’d carried his weight up the stairs and the meanness was already loaded somewhere under your tongue and you'd already decided, without deciding, to fire it.

“Why?” 

He blinked as he moved around his mouth, a nervous tell. Kevin had given up on the both of you and flopped down across the threshold, half in the hall, his ribs going up and down, the leash still hooked in his teeth out of some loyalty to the idea of a walk.

“Why don’t you want me to do it?” You stepped in off the door, which was the wrong direction and toward him. “Go on. Say it. Tell me.”

“You know why.” His thumb found the rolled top of the bag and worried it, the same restless thing his hands did to a glass, to a pen, the tell he didn't know he had and you'd had years to learn.

You felt something behind your ribs knot at that. The pen sliding back across the table at you. 

You say it. You’ve always been the one that says it. You do it better.

You’d said ‘I love you’ into the dark of a call room first, twenty-nine and stupid with it. You’d said ‘let’s just go to bed, we’ll talk tomorrow’ a hundred times into the back of his neck. You’d said the word ‘divorce’ first, out loud, because he’d stood across from you with it lodged behind his teeth and made you reach down your own throat to pull it out into the air where it became real. Five years of finishing Jack; a whole marriage being his interpreter, translating his silences into things he never had to put his name under.

“No.” Your voice gave at the seam and you let it go rather than fight it in front of him. “No. You don’t get to—not this time. You can’t get away with it this time.”

“Please.” His voice went low, lips moving like there were a million things behind them caged. “Just think about this. Let—” It died there, and he started over. “Don’t do anything yet. That’s all I’m—just don’t do it yet.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not—”

“If I keep it, it’s not for you,” you said, shaking your head slowly, and felt the words come out colder than the room, cold enough that some small lucid part of you flinched away from your own mouth even as the rest of you reached for the next one. “Don’t ever get that twisted.”

His thumb stopped on the bag.

“And you don’t get to ask me for anything. Not when you can’t even say why.” Your voice came out even, which took everything and cost more than crying would have. “You want it? Say one true thing.”

He didn’t. Down through the floor came the muffled bassline of the couple below you, the ordinary Wednesday of people whose lives didn’t face the same detonation every day. Kevin had given up on the walk entirely and was now turning to his side on the threshold, pawing at the ground.

“Right,” you said, nodding.

He stood in the frame of your door with the food against his hip, and that one muscle going in his jaw, and you wanted to take it off his face with your bare hands, wanted to get under the flat of him and find the thing it was sitting on top of, the way you used to be able to, the way only you ever could.

“That’s funny,” you said, teeth grinding slightly. “You had a lot to say once.”

You watched the color go out from under his stubble in that same downward draining, the blood leaving a face by degrees, and his hand came up off his hip an inch and hung in the air of your kitchen with nowhere it was allowed to come down.

Because there had been one time in five years Jack got a sentence out whole and clean on the first pass. The one time he’d looked at you across a living room of the house you no longer drove past and said the thing he meant, all of it, so evenly. 

You’d asked for it; you’d stood in front of him with your hands shaking and begged him to tell you, and he had. Of every sentence caged in him, of everything he might have finally let out, he'd been articulate about that one. On his first try with no problem at all.

You’d asked for honesty and he’d handed you the single cruelest true thing he owned, and then he’d gone quiet again for the rest of it and made you do the housekeeping; the divorce, the paperwork, the saying-out-loud. Because apparently that was the deal, he’d said the unsurvivable thing and made you carry it the rest of the way.

“You know I didn’t mean that,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I don’t,” you said, heat building up behind your eyes. You’d go back down on the floor before you’d cry in front of him again. “I really, really don’t, Jack.”

Some part of you had wanted him to fight it. Some animal part that had been hoping for a wall to throw yourself against, and he’d given you what he always gave you instead, which was the absence of one, the open air where resistance should have been, so that you went through it and kept going and there was nothing on the other side but the cold.

“I’ll have him back before six on Friday,” he said to the bag. “If that’s—if that works.”

“It works.”

Kevin, hearing the word Friday, hauled himself up with a groan and pressed his skull into Jack’s knee. You watched Jack’s hand go down to the dog’s head without looking and he scratched the spot behind the left ear, the bad one, and Kevin leaned his whole stupid weight into it. For a second, the two of them just stood in the doorway, the man and the dog, the only easy thing left between the two of you.

You cleared your throat. “Get the ear looked at.”

“I will.”

He clipped the leash and straightened. There was a moment—you felt it coming—where he looked like he might try one more time, might reach back into himself for the sentence he'd left in halves on your kitchen tile.

“Alright,” he said finally, which was nothing. He got the dog to the door. The cedar of him moved past you in the chokepoint of the hall, close, close enough that your body did the unforgivable thing it always did and tipped a half-degree toward the warmth before you caught it and stood it back up straight.

At the top of the stairs he paused without turning around. You saw his shoulders rise with one of those breaths he took that bought him a second he didn't have, and you braced for whatever it was.

Then he let the breath go without anything riding out on it, and went down, the right side favored, the uneven weight you'd have known in the dark in any building in any life, the tags ticking, the dog’s nails on the stairs, the whole sound of him getting smaller by degrees until the street door went and took the last of it.