it gives me you.

Dior, Miu Miu, Tom Ford, Chanel, and Prada are all brands that have somehow invaded your bedroom. Perfumes stacked neatly on a sterling silver stand on your dresser. Charlotte Tilbury palettes on your vanity, and Tiffany diamonds sparkling on your jewelry tray.

Despite your best efforts to tell him you really don’t need any of it, Jack Abbot buys you quite literally everything you show the tiniest amount of interest in.

It isn’t that you can’t afford it, you absolutely can. Years of medical school and brutal residency shifts had earned you a salary you were more than proud of, which made Jack’s habit of paying for everything simultaneously frustrating and endearing.

It started small. You’d pause a second too long in front of a perfume display, eyes widening at the price tag as you muttered something about how insane it was. The bottle would appear on your bathroom counter the next morning.

You’d complain that your work tote was falling apart. Three days later, a brand new leather one arrived at your apartment with your initials hand-stitched on the side in dainty gold thread.

You’d compliment a necklace in passing, and somehow Cartier already knew your address.

At first it was sweet. Then it became excessive. Which is why you now have enough designer items in your home to pay off someone’s mortgage.

And somehow… that still wasn’t enough for him.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

You’re standing in the Sephora checkout line, fully intent on spoiling yourself for once. Jack stands close by your side, seemingly distracted by his phone, squinting down at a text from Robby. You make a mental note to increase the font size later when he isn’t looking.

As the person in front of you finishes, you see his hand slip into his pocket out of the corner of your eye, reaching for his wallet.

“Jack,” you huff quietly, no real heat behind it.

“Hm?”

“Put your wallet away. I told you, I’m paying.”

He glances up from the screen, expression perfectly innocent. “Why?”

You turn to face him fully, arms crossed. “Because these are my things. I can buy my own makeup, Jack. You’ve already bought me three things today.”

His eyebrow lifts just slightly, that calm, steady doctor look settling over his features. He steps closer until his chest brushes your shoulder, voice low and warm against your ear.

“I like taking care of my girl. Why wouldn’t I?”

The cashier is smiling politely, pretending not to listen. Your cheeks are hot, fairly certain that they’re tinted a faint shade of red.

“Jack,” you warn, softer this time.

“You gonna stand here and argue with me, baby?” His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate. “Or are you gonna let me pay?”

You exhale a defeated laugh, cheeks burning.

A small, satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

He slides his card into the reader before you can make any move to protest again. While the cashier rings everything up, his arm stays looped around your waist, holding you close like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The drive home is quiet at first, city lights sliding across the windshield. You keep glancing down at the heavy Sephora bag in your lap, then over at him.

“You promised you’d let me pay today” you say, gently poking his arm.

Jack’s hand leaves the gear shift to rest on your thigh instead, squeezing gently.

“I said I’d try,” he corrects, voice low with amusement. “There’s a difference.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous. We’re both doctors, y’know? I don’t need you dropping half your salary on me every time we leave the house.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he drives.

“You work harder than anyone I know,” he says finally. “Longer hours than me sometimes. You come home exhausted and still make time for us. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing something right.”

Your chest flickers with undeniable warmth. You reach down and lace your fingers with his. “You do plenty right, Jack. You don’t have to buy me half of Sephora to prove it.”

“I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “But I want to. And I like seeing my baby have pretty things.”

The words settle warm and heavy in your stomach. Your eyes are soft as you study the side of his face.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

Back at your apartment, Jack carries the bags inside like they weigh nothing. You kick off your shoes and start unpacking the new products on your vanity, admiring the sleek packaging.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, focused look that always makes your heart feel 10 pounds heavier.

“You’re staring,” you tease, fighting off a genuine smile.

“Can’t help it.” He pushes off the doorframe and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. “You happy?”

You lean back into his chest. “Yes. Thank you… even though you have no self-control.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrates low and warm against your neck. “Good.”

You turn in his arms, looping yours around his neck. “But next time, I’m paying. I will hear no arguments.”

Jack hums, pretending to consider it. “We’ll see.”

“Jack.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ll behave.”

You narrow your eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

・・・۶ৎ・・・

Forty minutes later you’re curled up on the couch together when your phone buzzes. A notification from the jewelry store you’d walked past earlier on the way to Sephora.

Order confirmed. Your custom initial pendant will be ready for pickup tomorrow.

You sit up slowly, staring at the screen, then turn to look at him.

Jack doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He just pulls you back against his chest with a lazy grin, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

“You said you’d behave,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“I did behave,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “For a whole forty minutes. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

it was the same cycle of little things here and there that had you realize sammy was unaware of how good to you he was. it ranged from sending him a dirty text or picture while he was gone only to be met with a response like "you know you sent that to me right?", to trying to get him undressed and in your pants the second he got home just for him to scrunch his face up and say "you don't have to do that for me."

some nights, you even thought you were the problem. because every time you tried to tell him you felt needy for him, he always double and triple checked if you actually wanted to. your confusion came to a head after dinner on his couch one night.

you'd wanted him inside you since the second he got home, but as always, he looked at you like you had four heads when you tried to make a move. so you waited until after dinner and halfway through the movie he let you pick out. you lean over to start kissing his neck and you hear his breath hitch when you sling a leg over his waist to straddle him. "missed you today sammy.." you hum as you reach his lips while trailing your fingers down his soft belly to his pants zipper.

"are you sure you want to?" is what he murmurs when you tug at the metal tab. you huff, pulling back to look at him. "do you.. not want me or something sammy?" his hazel eyes look cartoonish the way they bulge outwards. "w-what? of course i do."

you play with the buttons on his shirt as you whisper, "then why are you always acting surprised when i want to be with you?" his pudgy cheeks redden instantly, a hand carding through his curls as he looks anywhere but you. "cause it is surprising for me. i guess." when your face scrunches in confusion he rubs the back of his neck as he continues. "my ex she uh, she cheated on me. and i- i think its because of y'know.. her not being satisfied with my… abilities."

the frown takes over your face instantly, heart sinking at the fact that his insecurities come from a woman who wasn't even faithful to him. you think for a second, the last few months becoming clearer in your mind. "sammy… you know that i think you're really good at sex right?"

"baby, you don't have'ta lie-" "i'm not lying! i swear, sammy. you're the only guy who's ever made me finish." he blinks up at you, hands tightening on your hips as you rock once on top of him. "i- i am?" you nod sweetly, not being able to help grinding down on him as you feel him fully harden beneath you. a small groan slips out of both of you at the movement.

"mhm.. you make me feel so good sammy. only you" his lips part at your admission before he cradles your face in his chubby hands to pull you down to kiss him. by the time your tongue slips into his mouth you're desperate, rocking back and forth and whining on top of him.

a surge of confidence rushes though your boyfriend as he whispers against your lips, "w-want me to make you feel good right now?" you don't try to fight of your soft moan of anticipation, which causes sammy to buck his hips up involuntarily as you nod.

you both quickly stand up and all clothes are discarded in between needy kisses before settling back onto the couch. you stop him before he can roll you into missionary, his go to position, and you pray that you've reassured him enough that he'll let you try something new.

you scoot around until you're hovering upright on his lap as you face away from him. you glance over your shoulder and bite your lip when you see his eyes glued to your ass. "this okay sammy?" his enthusiastic nod has you giggle, which is quickly cut off by a moan as he guides you to sink down onto his cock.

"jesus- fuck- you feel so good like this baby." sammy babbles already as you start to ride him in reverse cowgirl for the first time. you're crying out his name as he stretches you until you feel him in your throat.

even though you're not face to face, the new position lets you lean back against his soft chest and easily turn your head to kiss him. it's a sloppy kiss that has your hips faltering when he starts grinding upwards to meet each of your bounces. "oh god- so big sammy ooohh god-!" you yelp when he reaches around to rub your clit just how you taught him to, which you reward with a "just like that- mhm-! so good sammy."

sammy starts to whine into your mouth when you clench around him. "tell me that you're making me feel good. say it sammy." he hesitates for a second before you bend down and gently cup his balls that sit just below where he's touching your clit. he chokes out a groan before nodding in agreement. "im makin' you feel good baby- makin' you f-feel so good."

you're tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as you whimper, "so good sammy- best anyone's ever made me feel." he speeds up his thrusts, his thick tip hitting the sensitive spot inside you relentlessly. he breaks your kiss to stick two of the chubby fingers from his free hand in your mouth, humming in satisfaction at you when you suck fervently and look back at him with glossy eyes.

he releases them with a *pop* and brings them to pinch one of your nipples and your orgasm approaches you like the inevitable drop off at a cliff. you feel him puff out his chest a bit against your back. and when he grunts, "yea.. yea- i'm the best you've ever had- hnng - f-fucking this tight pussy better than anyone else has, r-right?", you're a goner. you spasm around him, reaching forward to grab at his knees when your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and you free fall with a shaky moan.

and sammy's right behind you, muttering a few "so good baby, fuck- best ive ever felt." and "gonna fill you up jus how you like it- gonna be so full a'me. only me." the next second your insides are flooded with warmth as he whimpers your name. you shiver at his come filling you to the brim, sending lovely aftershock waves through your body.

you sag back against his chest with a sigh, sammy wraps his strong arms around you, kissing your neck softly. you nuzzle your cheek to the top of his head where is curls lay a little sweaty now. you hold his hand in yours as you smile. "told you you were good at that."

The thudding behind your temples was monumental, a heavy, sickening pulse that made you close your eyes again with a soft, miserable whimper. Almost immediately, a warm, calloused hand slipped into yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know who it was; Jack’s touch was instantly recognisable.

"Hey, easy now. Don't try to sit up just yet," Jack murmured, his voice incredibly quiet and gentle. He leaned closer to the bed, his free hand reaching up to carefully brush a stray lock of hair away from your damp forehead, mindful of the heavy, throbbing bruise forming near your hairline.

"Jack..." you whispered, your throat feeling dry and scratchy as you struggled to focus on his face. "What happened? Everything hurts."

"You took a really nasty hit, sweetheart," Jack explained softly, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of your hand. "A patient clipped you, and you hit your head on the crash cart. Javadi checked you over, and you've got a pretty significant concussion."

You groaned, trying to shift your weight, but a wave of nausea washed over you. "I need to get up. My shift—"

"Your shift is over, nurse," Jack interrupted with a warm, teasing smile, though his eyes remained deeply concerned. "Robby wants you to stay here for observation for at least twelve hours, just to be absolutely sure there's no delayed swelling. You're strictly off-duty."

The word observation hit you like a bucket of ice water, instantly slicing through the thick, pain-filled fog of your brain. Your heart rate spiked, the monitor beside the bed letting out a series of rapid, high-pitched beeps that made Jack's brow furrow in concern.

You tried to push yourself up on your elbows, panic rising in your chest. "No, no, I can't stay! Jack, I have to go. Juliet finishes at the after-school club in less than an hour. I need to pick her up. Jack, I can't just leave her there!"

"Hey, look at me. Breathe, sweetheart, just breathe," Jack coaxed, his hand moving to your shoulder, applying a firm but incredibly tender pressure to keep you still. "Don't work yourself up. You're going to make your head hurt worse."

"You don't understand, she'll be so scared if I'm not the one at the gates," you pleaded, tears of frustration and pain leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I don't have anyone else to call. Maybe the neighbour, but she works late, and—"

"Hey, stop. Take a breath for me," Jack cut in softly, squeezing your hand tight. He leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, avoiding the bruise. "Do you really think I'd let Jules sit there worrying? Or let you stress yourself into a migraine?"

You stared up at him, your vision slightly blurry. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to go pick her up," Jack said, his voice steady, carrying an absolute certainty that immediately made the tight knot in your chest loosen. "I'll drive over right now, collect her from the club, and bring her back here."

"But... your shift tonight?" you whispered, looking at him in confusion. "You can't just leave, Jack. It's chaos out there."

"I've already spoken to the Chief, and I'm taking the night off. My leg's been giving me a bit of grief anyway, so they were happy to let me off," Jack lied smoothly, giving you a reassuring wink. "Besides, looking after my girl and our little Jules is much more important than this ER."

The words ‘our little Jules’ made your heart swell with a warmth that completely eclipsed the dull ache in your head. For the past few weeks, the two of you had been tentatively discussing the idea of trial sleepovers, taking the slow, careful steps toward moving in together and truly becoming a family.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your voice cracking with emotion. "She can be a bit of a handful when she's tired, Jack. And she might be confused seeing you instead of me."

"I'm absolutely sure," Jack promised, offering you a bright, confident smile. "Jules and I are best friends, remember? She loves my stories. I'll explain to her that you had a little bump at work and need to rest your eyes for a bit."

"You're too good to us," you murmured, letting your head sink back into the pillows as a wave of relief washed over you.

"Don’t be silly. I'm just looking after you," Jack whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a moment, letting you feel his warmth and stability. "Now, I want you to close those eyes and try to get some sleep. No worrying. I've got everything covered."

"Okay," you breathed, already feeling the heavy pull of exhaustion now that the panic had subsided. "Be safe. Tell her I love her."

"I will, sweetheart. I'll be back before you know it," Jack said softly. He gave your hand one final, reassuring squeeze before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving you to finally let the darkness take you over.

By the time the heavy doors of the ER family room swung open, Juliet was perched high on Jack’s shoulders, her tiny hands gripped firmly in his thick, curly hair as she giggled. She was a bright, energetic five-year-old, and the moment Jack had picked her up from her after-school club, her initial confusion about seeing him instead of you had vanished into pure, unadulterated excitement. To her, Jack was the tall, gentle giant who told the best stories, and getting a piggyback ride through the hospital corridors was the ultimate adventure.

"Look, Robby! I'm taller than the ceiling! I'm taller than Jack!" Jules chirped, pointing a finger triumphantly toward the ceiling tiles as Jack carefully navigated the doorframe, lowering his head slightly to make sure she didn't actually bump into anything.

"Whoa, easy there, giant," Robby said, immediately abandoning a stack of charts on the table with a wide, welcoming grin. He knelt down on the linoleum floor so he was at eye level with her as Jack gently slid her down his front. "You might be taller than the ceiling, Jules, but are you talented enough to beat me in a colouring contest?”

Within minutes, the sterile family room was transformed into a chaotic, makeshift sanctuary of warmth and crayon wax. The Pitt staff, fiercely protective of you and incredibly fond of your little girl, took it in shifts to slip away from the bustling department just to keep her entertained and distracted from the medical equipment hums outside. Samira popped in between treating patients, carrying a plastic tray from the staff room containing a tiny cup of apple juice and a packet of chocolate biscuits she had raided from someone’s snack stash.

"She has her mother's eyes, Jack," Dana murmured softly, standing near the doorway and watching Jules furiously colour the tail of a dinosaur while Dennis dramatically pretended to struggle with his own drawing. She turned her gaze to Jack, her voice dropping to a quiet, professional register. "How is she doing? Our patient, I mean."

"She's resting. The head CT was completely clear, thank god, but the concussion is still making her groggy and nauseous," Jack replied, resting his hand on his hip. "I want to get her home the very second you clear her. Jules is going to want to be right by her side, and I need to make sure we handle that transition gently."

"We'll keep the little helper thoroughly occupied here until the final discharge papers are printed and signed," Dana promised, offering a warm, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder. "Go sit with her for a bit, Jack. Don't worry about Jules for a single second. We've got her covered."

True to her word, the Pitt crew kept Jules thoroughly entertained, turning the observation wing's quiet corner into a revolving door of affection. When Dennis had to run off to assist with a trauma incoming from the ambulance bay, Trinity slid seamlessly into his spot. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her usual sarcastic edge melting away entirely as she let Jules paint her fingernails with a washable, neon-pink felt-tip marker.

"You have to stay very still, or it goes outside the lines," Jules instructed with immense gravity, holding Trinity’s hand with her tiny fingers.

"My hands are like steel. They will not move," Trinity replied, her tone dry but her eyes sparkling with rare tenderness as she let the little girl scribble over her cuticles. "But if you get this on my scrubs, I'm telling your mom you did it."

Jack watched the scene from the doorway for a long moment, a quiet, profound sense of gratitude washing over him. This hospital could be a brutal, exhausting place, but the people in it were a family, and they were protecting his. When Dana finally walked down the corridor with the signed discharge papers in hand, Jack quietly thanked the staff, scooped up Jules in one strong arm, and went to retrieve you.

Supporting you was a delicate process. You were still incredibly drained, your balance thoroughly compromised by the vertigo. You leaned heavily against his side, your head tucked against his shoulder to shield your eyes from the corridor lights as he guided you out to his car. Jules walked right beside him, holding onto Jack's trousers with a sudden, quiet solemnity, sensing that something wasn't quite right with you.

The drive back to your apartment was blissfully quiet, the rhythmic, low hum of the engine and the gentle rain pattering against the windscreen soothing your pounding head. When Jack finally unlocked the front door, the familiar, comforting scent of lavender and clean laundry made you let out a long, shaky breath of relief.

Jack led you straight to the bedroom, his arm securely around your waist as he helped you sit on the edge of the mattress. He was incredibly gentle, kneeling down to slide your shoes off and pulling back the heavy duvet so you could finally rest.

"I want to stay with Mommy!" Jules's voice suddenly cut through the quiet room, trembling and fragile. She stood in the doorway, her little face crumpling as big, silent tears began to spill down her cheeks. "I want to look after her! I don't want to go to my room, Jack. Please, let me stay!"

"Oh, sweetheart, come here," you whispered weakly, your heart breaking at the sight of her tears. You reached out a trembling arm, though the sudden movement made your head spin.

Jules didn't hesitate as she scrambled onto the mattress, throwing her little arms around your neck and burying her face in your chest, crying quietly. You wrapped your arms around her, kissing the top of her soft hair, whispering quiet reassurances that you were okay, just a little tired. Jack stood by the bed, his chest tightening at the sheer vulnerability of the two people who had completely rewritten his universe.

"Tell you what, Jules," Jack said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was close to both of you. He reached out, his large hand gently stroking the back of Jules's head. "How about we have a sleepover tonight? Right here. We can all stay together, and we can keep a very close eye on mommy to make sure she gets better."

Jules sniffled, lifting her tear-streaked face from your shoulder to look at him. "A real sleepover? Like we talked about?"

"Exactly like we talked about," Jack murmured, his voice dripping with absolute affection. "But to do that, we need to make sure mommy has plenty of room to rest her head. If I tuck you in right on this side, will you promise to be very quiet and gentle?"

The little girl nodded eagerly, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jumper. "I promise. I'll be quiet, Jack."

"That's my girl," Jack whispered.

With practiced, gentle care, Jack helped tuck the two of you in, ensuring you had enough pillows to keep your head slightly elevated to ease the throbbing pressure, and making sure Jules was nestled safely and snugly against your side. The bedroom was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the amber glow of the streetlamps filtering through the curtains.

Before climbing into the bed himself, Jack sat down on the small wooden chair in the corner of the room. He reached down, unlatching his prosthetic with a quiet, metallic click. He set it carefully against the wall, stretching with a faint sigh of relief as the pressure of the day was finally released.

Using the bedpost for balance, he hopped the short distance over to the empty side of the double bed, sliding beneath the heavy covers. The mattress shifted slightly under his weight, and almost instantly, you drifted closer to his warmth.

Jack reached out, his strong, protective arm draping over both of you, drawing you and Jules secure against his chest. Your head found the familiar, comfortable hollow of his collarbone, and Jules let out a soft, sleepy sigh, her little hand resting on Jack's forearm.

"I've got you both," Jack whispered into the quiet dark, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, and then another to the top of Jules’s head. "Robby and the day shift guys looked after us today, but I've got the night shift now. Go to sleep. I'm right here."

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"Pope!" Deran sounded surprised as he finally spotted his older brother. It wasn't too often that Pope showed up around here, especially on busy Friday nights.

"Hey," Pope was still distracted by the filth on the counter and his hands. "You really have to get this cleaned." He grumbled, and Deran just shrugged. 

Pope was usually unhappy with the state of his bar when he came in. He was accustomed to it by now.

"Did she call you?" Deran asked, having finally grabbed a small towel to mop off the mess that Pope was pointing at with a frown.

"Did who call me?" now pointing at a different stain, and when Deran said your name, Pope's head shot up, his attention finally on his brother. "She's here?"

Deran's eyebrows furrowed. "Has been. For hours, actually."

Pope's head turned, how did he miss you? He'd practically looked at everyone when he walked in. Deran pointed at a corner, and without missing a beat, Pope was off in that direction. 

You were sitting in a booth opposite of Craig, pushing a tiny glass back and forth back and forth across the table, leaving a water stain. Craig had been talking for a while, Pope could already tell from this far. You only acquired that spaced out look, after Craig had spoken to you for more than five minutes. He'd seen it your face several times, as well as on his own. 

Pope stepped up to your table, announcing himself simply by standing there, mute. Craig lifted his head from where he'd been staring at you intensely while talking. "What are you doing here?" was the first thing he directed at his brother. 

But Pope wasn't even looking at him, eyes locked onto you, worried.

You weren't meeting his eyes. At all. It's like you didn't even hear him. Pope continued to ignore his brother and bent down to your eye line. "Hey."

You turned your head slowly from where you'd been staring at the table. "Andrew!" you sounded surprised, but not unhappy as you finally locked eyes with him.

Craig hit the table with a groan, startling you. "Thanks dude, really." He shot his brother a look that held thousands of insults for ruining his 'game', but Pope didn't even glance at him as he slid in next to you and grabbed your glass, looking into it.

"Beer?" he asked with a frown, setting it back. 

You shrugged and lifted your legs, bending them until your kneecaps hit the table. There was sweat at your temple, shining, and your eyes weren't really focusing on him. 

"Hey," he said, trying to get your attention back on him. You barely raised your head, vaguely looking into his direction. "Look at me." He felt you startle by the sound of his voice, your eyes lifting to him. "Did Craig do something?" 

"No." The way you weren't looking at him, again, exposed your lie.

"I'm taking you home." Pope wanted to storm up to his brother and drag him to a corner, until he finally told him why you were this upset, and why you had seemingly not stopped reaching for more beer since the second you've stepped foot into this bar.

You stared at him for a second, really staring in a way you had never had before. Pope allowed you to, subtly dropping his gaze to check if you had any marks on you, if you were actually okay. 

His mind was always believing in the worst case scenarios since they were typically true in his life. In his instance his biggest nightmares always came true, so he learned to anticipate the worst, to give himself time to react rather that to process.

"'S'okay." You turned your head away. "Crag will take me home."

Pope's lips formed a frown, and the rejection settled hard in his heart. This was the first time ever you'd chosen his brother over him. Anytime, Any place, you always chose him. Car ride? You're going with Pope. Couch empty? You were still choosing to sit next to Pope. 

His hand twitched against his sides and curled it into a fist, trying to get control of his body back. "Craig won't be out of here for at least a few hours, and you're tired."

"I'm not tired," you mumbled, now drawing a heart in the condensation over and over again.

"Yes, you are," And you wanted to object even though he was right. "Get up."

You stared at him and you seemed taken aback by his insistence. You glanced back down at your glass, considering, and Pope waited, because he'd wait all night. Even if you decided to go with Craig, he'd still wait. You were drunk, too drunk. He'd never seen you like this. You'd never been like this. 

Pope was itching to get his hands on Craig, forcing him to spill out the words that had clearly led you to gulp down so many drinks.

You finally stood up, shaky and when Pope reached out his hands, he felt you flinch, and he felt sick. His hands shot back to his sides, straightening by his sides as he stared at you. Craig said something about him.

There was no other explanation for your rapid switch in behavior. You'd never flinched away from his touch. Never. 

You supported yourself on the edge of the table, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When you appeared to be okay, you finally glanced at him. He was looking at you patiently and extended his hand, pointing towards the exit. And you stepped ahead of him without another word. 

Pope looked back over his shoulder back to where his youngest brother stood, but Craig was already distracted by another girl, and Pope's sole justification for not stomping over there and punching him in the face was you. 

He hurriedly opened the door for you and you muttered a brief thank you, still incapable of ignoring etiquette.

Pope led you to his car, which was conveniently parked nearby. He wasn't sure how you'd have walked over there with your unsteady legs. 

He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, just barely, still incredibly inebriated. You then sat there with your hands politely in your lap like you usually did. Even your drunken state, you were polite. 

Pope was almost irritated by it. You never let your guard down. He wanted you to be comfortable, to just be yourself, let yourself loose, move your hands the way you wanted them to. To just do something…. stupid.

"Buckle up," he mumbled, still holding the car door wide open. 

You grabbed the seat belt and attempted to buckle yourself, but you didn't have the strength. Your arms were too weak, so Pope stepped closer, gently removed them from your hand and strapped you in. All while he felt you back away from him as much as you could, your back pressed firmly against the seat, head up right up against the headrest. 

He pulled back quickly, not giving you one more look, not wanting to see your facial expression anymore. It hurt him too much. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, why you didn't want to look at him or touch him, and he didn't want to know.

The car ride was quiet. It wasn't until five minutes, at least, had passed that Pope couldn't bear the silence anymore. "What did Craig say to you?"

You turned your head slowly towards him. "A lot." At least you'd changed your answer to something truthful this time.

Pope curled his lips into a straight line, almost angry. But he didn't bother saying anything else, he knew he wasn't getting anything out of you now. 

When you arrived, you swiftly unbuckled yourself and sought to exist the car, but he locked the door immediately. "Don't get out. You're drunk. I'll help you," he said quietly, waiting for you to take your hand off the handle. 

You withdrew your hand to your lap slowly, still not looking at him. He unlocked the doors, hurrying to your side, before you'd try to get out on your own again. When he opened the door, you locked eyes with him for the first time tonight. You stared at him for a while, as he extended his palm waiting for you to take his hand.

"You're nice to me," you whispered. 

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't sure if he was nice to you, but he knew he treated you differently than he did other people. He was glad to know that you considered it to be nice. But the sentence appeared rather random and anxiety flooded his veins.

"Everyone should be nice to you," he replied quietly, as you gently grabbed his hand, your hands slowly capturing his big one. He helped you out until your feet were on the floor, at which point your other hand came out and held onto his waist. Your finger wrapped tightly around his shirt, nails digging into his waist, and you forced your eyes shut. "Sorry. Dizzy," you whispered.

"You're fine." 

It took you a while, but you finally weakened your grip before dropping it altogether, followed by the other. Pope clenched his fist and then opened it again, missing your warmth. He gently grabbed for your waist, moving you away from the door, before swiftly abandoning the contact as he shut the car door. 

You were still standing there watching him with your big eyes, when he turned around, pocketing his car keys. 

"Do you have your keys?" he asked, trying to stop you from staring at him this intensely. It was scaring him, almost like you were staring right into his soul.

"No," you mumbled, shaking your head with genuine sadness. "I lost them." 

Pope glanced down at your bag. "They're in your front pocket." 

You looked down, eyebrows furrowing. "How do you know?" 

Pope didn't respond, allowing you to search through the bag yourself, until you finally heard the clinking of your keys and lightened up. "Oh! Not lost."

"Not lost," Pope repeated, as he slowly stepped towards you, palm on your back, and led you towards your apartment door. You followed without another word. 

Pope wasn't sure if this was your typical drunk self; you'd never been drunk around him, so he didn't know if your lack of words and smile were normal.

It took you a bit to get the keys into your lock, but Pope was patient, spending the wait, just watching you. 

You looked pretty; You were more dressed up than normal. Your hair was in two braids on either side, and you were wearing a white dress. You looked beautiful. 

He wished he'd arrived earlier, hung out with you, spent time with you and mustered up the courage to tell you how pretty you looked. He knew Craig had gotten the privilege of that first, Deran may have as well. He would've given anything to see your shy smile.

When you managed the door open, you glanced back. "Thank you for driving me."

It sounded like a goodbye, so Pope shoved his foot into the door. "You're drunk," he said, and a guilty expression immediately formed on your face. 

"I know," you whispered, ashamed.

"You shouldn't be alone." 

You opened the door further without another word. It appeared like you opened the door to avoid arguing with him rather than to actually welcome him into your apartment as you usually did. 

Pope hesitated, it felt almost like he was trespassing, despite the fact that your apartment had always seemed more like a home than his own ever had.

He stepped in, locking the door behind him before looking at you. "You should change." He walked past you towards your kitchen. "I'll get you water."

You walked past him without a word, wobbly and slow, heading towards your bedroom, leaving the door open. Pope remained in the kitchen, hands twitching nervously. He could still feel your warmth lingering on his fingers and he felt jittery and uncomfortable in his own flesh. He had never felt this way about you before; you soothed him like no one else. His head only quieted down when you were around. The buzzing in his brain ceased as soon as your vanilla scent struck his nose.

But tonight, something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't you simply being drunk. Something was seriously wrong.

He filled your favorite cup, a small blue one with seashells all over it, with water and carefully headed towards your bedroom. "Are you dressed?" he called out, halting just before he could see inside.

You hummed, and he came in to see you seated on the side of your bed. This time in a tank top and some shorts, your dress from earlier on the floor. He stared down at it, before setting the water on your nightstand. He bent down and retrieved the dress, before placing it in your laundry basket, which was already beginning to pile up. He frowned; perhaps he should do your laundry, but out of the corner of his eye he saw you rub your eyes tiredly, smudging whatever makeup you'd been wearing.

You rubbed again and again, until Pope finally turned to you, bending down lightly, and gently encircled his fingers around your wrist. "Don't do that," he muttered, and you looked down at him. Eyes shining brightly despite the dim nightlight on your nightstand. It was silent as you stared at him, not uttering a single word.

"Why are you here?" you finally whispered after a while.

Pope stared back, lips still curled into a frown. He just wanted to take care of you. "You're drunk." 

"I know that," you retorted, almost angrily, but still in a quiet voice. "Why are you here?" Your eyes were filled with desperation, like there was a right answer to the question. 

Pope didn't know it. He didn't know what the right answer was, and he felt panic creep up on him.

"I—I'm making sure you're okay." He decided on the safest answer. It sounded like the most reasonable to him. It sounded better than I don't like being away from you. I don't want you with with Craig. I'm scared you'll leave me for him. I'm scared he'll tell you about the things I've done. I'm scared you'll leave.

You stared down at him for a long time, before your eyes fell back into your lap, staring there for a while, fingers twitching nervously. "Craig said stuff." 

Popes ears perked up. Finally. "What did he say?" He had to bite down hard on his tongue to not let the angry tone escape him, but you noticed it anyway.

You waited, almost doing it on purpose, like you knew this was what he needed, and you wanted to take it and keep it from him. This was your version of cruelty. This is the worst thing you'd ever do to him, and he hated to tell you that this was nothing. That he considered this to be grace, because at least he was in your home. At least you were letting him touch your knees gently. At least he was allowed to look at you. That whatever you considered to be his punishment was mercy to him.

"He told me about—" you pinched your eyes tight as if recalling something awful, like it hurt you. And Pope couldn't wait to get his hands on Craig. "Just—" you couldn't get the words out and your lips were pressed so tight together that Pope was terrified you were going to start crying.

"Come on," he said, making you finally look up, and he was right, your eyes were wet. "We have to get your make up off," he muttered, and you seemed grateful for the escape, nodding, as you stood up and headed to the bathroom.

You immediately reached for one of your drawers, grabbing the wipes, but Pope gently took them from your hand. "You're shaking."

You lowered your hands to your side, turning to face him, and he motioned towards the counter. You turned your back on it, and Pope placed the wipes on the counter, before placing his hands on your waist, helping you up. You could hardly stand let alone get on your bathroom counter, so you were grateful for his warm hands assisting you. The moment you were seated, he let go as if burned.

Opening the box, he hesitantly grabbed the first wipe. But you were already scooting farther on the counter, opening your legs, and he carefully stepped between them before slowly reaching for your face. One hand rested on your while while the other began cleaning your face. You stared at him and with your bathroom light, his hazel eyes were nearly green, and he looked so pretty, your chest ached.

"I don't know why we're friends," you whispered, and Pope froze, his brain just catching on to the word friends. His hands dropped from your face as he stared at you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" was all he managed, almost breathless with hurt. His voice cracked. He didn't even bother to hide how much that question hurt.

"I just—" you realized, even in your drunken state, that you might've phrased this in the most horrible way possible. "Craig told me so much. "

You leaned forward slightly, causing his hand to travel to your hips and push you back on the counter so you wouldn't fall off. He held it there, desperate to know that you didn't despise him, and you wouldn't push him away.

You didn't. Instead, you reached down, gently grasping it and turning it over in your hand, as if you needed to hold onto him as well.

You stared down at his palm. "He said a lot," you repeated. "And I just—I don't know why you're here." 

It sounded like a rejection of him, of who he was, and Pope felt cold and warm all over his body. Nauseous too. 

Here it was. Of course, he couldn't have you. Of course, you'd be taken away from him. He didn't expect it to be Craig to take away the most precious thing in his life. He'd thought it would be Smurf, crawling her way into your life, gripping you with her demon like nails, hurting you like she hurt everyone he's ever cared about before damaging you in a way that made you never want to look at him again. He figured in a way it was her fault anyway. She made him like this. He could've been a guy you liked.

Pope stared down at your soft hand that was brushing his with gentle fingertips. 

"We're so different," you whispered, and Pope squeezed his eyes shut. Right, like he didn't think about that every day. It hurt him to have you say it out loud.

Pope brushed a thumb over the back of your hand and then closed his hand around yours, almost desperate to hold on. Please don't leave me. Please. Please. Please. He wanted to beg so badly, the panic curling in his chest, making him sick with desperation for you to keep holding on.

"I don't want to get hurt," you whispered, and Pope looked up finally, to see you biting your lip hard. You were close to bleeding.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered back, practically pleading. He really wouldn't. He needed you to know that.

"You can't know that," you said quietly, now watching his big hand engulf yours. "Craig said so many things. You like— you like so much stuff that I'm not." you whispered, hurt making your voice crack.

"You're not what?" he asked, confusion replacing the sadness in his face. "Not what?" he asked again, face tilting until he caught your eyes.

You allowed his eyes to meet yours and you waited. Once again, torturing him with the wait, and this time he did think of it as cruel.

"Craig talked about the girls he liked, told me about every girl he's ever hooked up with," you replied slowly. "And he told me about your parties, the strip clubs, the bars. He wouldn't stop talking, it was like I—I was there." Frustration crept into your voice. 

You went quiet again, looking down at your lap. "Talked about you too," and it was as if a bomb went off.

Pope couldn't be sure what his younger brother had said, but based on your reaction, he knew Craig had opted to go with the crudest version imaginable, perhaps even in the hopes that would deter you from liking Pope and instead go for him.

There'd been lots of times in the past, before he met you, where he did what his brothers wanted him to. He followed them around, prayed that they'd stop calling him strange and weird, and hoped that if he acted the way they wanted him to, they would stop paying so much attention to him and his behavior. That perhaps he might convince himself too, that he enjoyed these things. That drinking beer, getting high and picking up a girl at the bar, was what he wanted. Reminding himself that this was what he should want. That he certainly didn't dream about a girl choosing him, liking him, and sticking around. 

None of his brothers did that and neither should he. He needed to be like them, so he wouldn't feel like he was going out of his mind half of the time.

Pope stayed silent, and you huffed a weak laugh, now removing your hand from his, making it lay in your lap empty and cold. "I just— I guess I'm too drunk, but i just figured—" you shook your head. "I don't know."

You stared over his shoulder at the wall. "I know I don't exactly fit in. I mean—" you gave him a weak smile. "I don't even know why Craig approached me in the first place." Pope knew why, but he didn't want to tell you, hoping you'd never really ask. "I just— i thought maybe— you'd—" and then you stopped talking. 

Like me. 

That's what you wanted to say. You hoped one day he'd like you. But you'd said too much, and you weren't ready to expose yourself this much, just yet.

Pope stared at you. "I'd what?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head, regretting having started the sentence.

When you didn't say anything else, he lifted his hand again and started wiping your make up off. He brushed gently across your eyes, whispering for you to close them. He was gentle, too gentle, making the cleaning take longer than it should have.

"I like that you're not like—" he wanted to say me but he wasn't sure if that would be just too much. "Us."

You opened your eyes slowly, face finally bare, and you looked prettier than ever, making Pope just want to stand here forever and look at you. "Craig is friends with you because you're not like us." he said, throwing the wipe he was using away and setting the box away. He went back to standing between your legs, staring at you. "You're—nice. That's why he likes you."

You huffed a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's not all," you said quietly, and Pope made a small grimace, lips frowning, eyebrows raising. 

"Never is with Craig," he mumbled, and you giggled, and he felt his shoulder fall with relief. He can still make you laugh. That's good.

When your giggles subsided, you glanced back down at your hands, seemingly the most interesting thing today. To be quite honest Pope did think your nail polish was interesting. It was pink today with brown dots.

"What about you?"

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. "What about me?"

You stayed quiet and it's like the question was forced out of you, like you didn't mean to ask it, but your drunken state forced you to. "Do you like me?" 

Pope froze. The moment he allowed you to know how much he truly cared about you was the moment you'd be in danger. Whether that was because of him or Smurf.

Despite all of it Pope couldn't help but give in. You were looking at him with such big and trusting eyes, like deep in your heart you knew he'd say yes. So he did. 

"'Course i do," he responded, watching your face light up, like you'd still had doubts. Like you hadn't known the answer before. 

He hated that. He thought he'd shown you enough how much he adored you. 

"Good," you whispered, and before he knew it your arms were around his neck, and you were pulling him in hard, in a way you'd never done before. 

You'd never hugged him before and his hand hovered above your waist in fear. He stared at himself in the mirror behind you, but as he felt you pulling him even more, he finally wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed his cheek against your shoulder, refusing to look in the mirror anymore and see how soft you had made him. Your arms were soft. You were soft. And warm. And you smelled really nice and Pope turned his head to the other side to drown himself in your scent. The vanilla in your hair was the only thing he could smell as his nose pressed against your shoulder and his lips touched your collarbone. 

Pope worried you'd let go, because he really needed this. So badly it almost hurt. But you didn't.

You just stayed there, and Pope tightened his hold around your waist. Eventually, you gradually shifted closer, until one palm was just barely in his hair, and he hummed the moment your fingers got entangled with one of his curls. Even in your intoxicated state, he could feel your senses come alive, the senses that knew everything about him. You entwined all of your fingers in his curls and scratched once to see how he'd react. When he pressed closer, you repeated the movement again and again, until Pope practically melted like butter in your arms.

Pope wasn't sure how long he stood there holding you and letting you hold him, but eventually he loosened his hold and only then did you let go, your hands removing themselves from his hair. Your hands went to his face and you gently brushed a thumb across his cheekbone. 

Whatever beer did to you, he didn't dislike it, and he felt awful for thinking it. He knew there was a reason you didn't enjoy drinking. But you touched his face so lovingly he fought the urge to cry. 

He wasn't sure when, or if ever, he'd received such a tender touch from someone. He wanted to be in your arms forever; it made him feel like nothing could reach him there. Not his mother, not his nightmares, not his jobs, nothing. Everything was so far away when he was close to you. There was only ever you and he always wanted there to only be you.

When you pulled back, you looked tired, really tired. You rubbed your eyes again, letting a yawn escape you before looking up at him and asking quietly. "Will you stay?" 

Pope didn't hesitate. He just wanted to be close to you. 

"I'll take the couch," he mumbled, reaching for your waist and helping you off the counter. 

When you were on the floor again, you looked up, frowning. "No," you said. "Can't you sleep in my bed?"

Pope's teeth ached from how hard he gritted them against each other. He guessed drinking also made you want to make decisions. He was certain he didn't dislike that either, just the contrary. 

He looked down at himself. "I don't have clean clothes," and he most certainly wasn't getting into your bed with these dirty ones, the ones that have lived and experienced the filth that was Deran's bar.

" 'S'okay." you mumbled. "You sleep in your boxers, don't you?" 

You reached for his hand, pulling him back to your bedroom. He followed without another word, watching you slip under the covers and, almost immediately, turn to your side, exhausted, but well aware of how a drunk person should sleep.

Pope watched you, and for a second, just for a second, he thought you might've turned around for him, knowing well the privacy he'd been stripped of by his mother all his life. That you were turning, to let him know that he didn't have to ask you for privacy, that you'd always be here to give it to him. But then he shook his head, getting rid of the thought. He couldn't handle this much kindness in one night.

He slowly lifted the bedcovers and, without a word, you scooted further, not turning around until he was under the covers and only then did you turn around. 

You didn't turn around on purpose. 

"Hi," you mumbled, eyes barely open.

"Hey," he mumbled back, feeling you entangle your legs with his.

"You're not cold, are you?" you mumbled, glancing down at his collarbone peeking out from under the bed sheets. 

He shook his head. "No." You're here to keep me warm. I can't feel any cold when I'm with you.

You nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Hold me?"

Another request you would've never dared to ask had you been sober.

And Pope was terrified of doing it. Even in your drunken state, you saw the hesitation. "'It's okay," you mumbled, but Pope let out a startled "No," making you flinch.

"I just—" he hesitated, looking at you. "Yes. I can hold you," he said in such a detached tone it almost made you smile.

You slid closer, til your head met his bare chest, and you let out a relieved sigh. "You're warm," you whispered, and Pope wanted to tell you how he was never warm, always cold, how everyone complained about it. How he had never felt genuine warmth until you.

His arm slowly went down to your back, pulling you closer, palm resting on your hip. 

Your hand lifted to his chest, resting it there. "Okay?" you whispered, and he slowly nodded.

He could feel your eyes watching him, but he didn't dare meet your gaze, afraid you'd see something in his eyes, like too much love, too much emotion that was allowed for a moment like this, and move. 

Maybe this was nothing for you, maybe he was making a bigger deal of this than it actually was. He hoped he wasn't.

Pope stared at the ceiling before he spoke, fingers tightening around your hip like announcing that he was going to speak, and you tiredly opened your eyes, waiting.

"I—" he started, before starting over. "Don't listen to Craig's stories," he said quietly, still staring at the white canvas above him, while your fingers curled at his chest, fingernails now grazing his chest. He could feel you getting nervous and he rushed his next words, hoping to get rid of that emotion. "Those things they—they did happen, but not the way he told you."

He stared upward, before carefully letting his eyes drift back down to you. You were watching him with such patient eyes, it almost hurt. He wasn't sure he'd ever had someone wait for him so patiently to get his words out. Never had anyone wait for him to explain himself and his behavior. Everyone just ran with whatever they wanted to believe he'd said, not even bothering for him to start explaining.

"I didn't—" he thought about it. He wasn't sure he should actually tell you, but your fingers softly traced his collarbone, and he thought, why not? He'd already given you everything he had. His soul and his heart.

"I didn't want to do those things," he finally admitted. "I did them because I thought I had to." 

It was his way of telling you he liked you a lot, and that whatever you heard and made you insecure was nothing to worry about. That he only ever wanted to be with you, and that you didn't fit in with the Codys, but you fit in with him and he fit in with you.

You looked back down at his chest, staring right where his heart was. "I wished you didn't have to," you mumbled quietly. "Do things you didn't want to," you explained quietly, and Pope's heart ached. 

He couldn't believe that the stranger Craig had introduced oh so long ago, was seemingly the only person in the world who had put in the effort to hear him out and understand him. He stared up at the ceiling, trying hard not to just let tears spill.

"It's fine," he managed out in a rough voice, but you shook your head, against his chest.

"'S'really not." you whispered. You stayed quiet for a while and Pope thought he'd lost you to sleep. "I hope you know you never have to do anything you don't want to with me." 

Pope looked down at you, watching you tap your fingers nervously on his chest, and he gathered the courage to squeeze your hip lightly, watching you smile to yourself.

“Hey, Mrs. Lover-Girl. Look at you up and moving..” Santos jokes the second you’re in her line of sight and off the elevator.

“Follow. Now.” You grumble, desperate for a girl’s only confession. She pauses but shares a look with Javadi before quickly following you to an empty hospital room.

“What’s all this about?” Santos asks as Y/N practically yanks her insides the private room.

“I did the unthinkable..” Y/N mutters bluntly as she begins to pace.

“Ew. I don’t need to hear about whatever crazy sex thing you did to celebrate-“ Y/N quickly cuts Santos off.

“That’s just it! It wasn’t crazy!” Y/N hisses. Santos pauses at that, eyeing her closely.

“So it was like… Mild stuff?” She asks as she eyes her fellow resident.

“What?! No! Santos…” Y/N sighs heavily before wringing her hands together nervously. She looks around the empty hospital room, guilt coming on to her flushed face.

“I faked it.”

The words leave her mouth quietly. Like if she says them too loud, she’ll die. It’s quiet for too long. Too long for Y/N’s liking. Then finally, Santos speaks.

“You what?!” She asks, trying not to laugh.

“This isn’t funny! I swore when I got into this relationship, I’d never fake one ever again. I spent too much time in college doing that. Jack has always been attentive. I thought my faking days were over!” Y/N openly complains now, letting it all flood out. Santos shakes her head in disbelief.

“Then what the hell happened?!” She asks.

“A 12-hour shift and an entire bottle of wine at dinner, plus dancing! That’s what happened..” Y/N practically stomps a foot.

“Okay, okay. Just.. Breathe. Start from the beginning..” She urges as she moves closer to comfort Y/N. She’s been her best friend since those said ‘college days’. She’s seen the pieces of work Y/N has given a chance to, and yes, Jack was the best of them all.

“Trin, it was perfect. The dinner, the dancing, the food. The wine! Then we got home, and.. I felt so comfortable in the bed. He started kissing up on me, I thought I could fight through it, but…” She hesitates.

“But what?” Santos shakes her head.

“He loves taking his.. Time.” Y/N mutters before looking down at her own body to silently inform Santos of Jack’s little… Habit.

He really enjoyed ‘playing with his food’…

“Oh no..” Santos laughs quietly.

“Don’t laugh! I.. Usually I find it endearing. But last night, I.. I just couldn’t. So I.. Faked one, and told him I was too sensitive to keep going..” Y/N pouts.

“Hey, I’m sure you’re forgiven in the eyes of the relationship god.” Santos assures, a bit sarcastic for Y/N’s liking.

“It’s been two years to the dot, Trin. Is this our relationship now? We used to go all night. I’d have to call off for half the morning to sleep in!” Y/N points out.

“Yeah, I remember..” Santos sighs. “Welp! At least I don’t have to cover your shift anymore!” She smiles.

“Trinity!”

“Hey! You’re spiraling! You faked it one time. Your relationship isn’t doomed or stale. You’re just maturing together..” She finally shrugs.

Neither girl seems to notice the hospital room door open an inch or so. Jack had just gotten into work and was told Y/N was already in one of the rooms.

He’d felt a little off about last night, and.. A part of him had hoped to talk to her about it before her shift officially started. He couldn’t wait for their shared lunch time on the roof.

He pauses though when he hears her tense voice.

“Trinity. I faked an orgasm so I could sleep.”

Those words make his stomach drop.

The burning hand of embarrassment makes its presence known on his tight shoulders.

No.

No…

Jack knew there was something off about the way she’d moaned last night. He knew her body like the back of his hand. He’s 50, sure, but Jack Abbot took the act of intimacy extremely seriously.

But he also knew that deep down… The fear only his therapist knew he held on to, was coming true in this very moment. Y/N, in all her youth, had grown bored of him.

He was tasting her, and she was better off just going to sleep.

He felt so small in this moment as Y/N continues her conversation.

“Two years. Yesterday marked two years, and I did the one thing I swore I’d never do in this relationship!” She sniffles. Jack backs out of the room quietly.

He’d let her down. And he was gonna make things right…

“Hey. Y/N..” Santos whispers, all playfulness leaving her face now as she steps closer.

“I don’t.. I don’t want it becoming a habit..” Y/N worries quietly as Santos sighs heavily, hugging Y/N.

“It won’t. You won’t let it..” She assures her simply.

*

*

*

Y/N usually squeezed by on three power bars and a ton of water and coffee throughout her morning shift.

It was mostly so by 6:30pm, she could sneak off with Jack before his shift officially began. The two would grab something together, and it would count as their ‘lunchtime date’. Y/N looked forward to it everyday. Same time, same meet up location by the stairs.

But today, more than ever, she was really eager to see Jack. She hadn’t spotted him around at all. That was rare. Usually, Jack would show up early-ish, so he could help out where it was needed before going to nap upstairs on the sixth floor. No ED member was technically allowed up there, but.. Jack had made nice with all the nurses years ago. So they all turned the other way when he’d sneak upstairs to nap in an empty hospital room.

Y/N paces by the stairs as she waits to see him. She’d made up her mind that she’d just take what happened last night to her grave. And she’d never pull something like that again.

But after the ten minute mark, she begins to worry. Pulling out her phone, she texts Jack.

‘Where are you? I’m starving! 😭’

Not even a full minute passes when she gets her response.

‘Roof’

She stares down at the simple one worded text message, blinking slowly as she tries to figure out what that’s all about. Jack only texted that shortly if he was busy or upset.

With concern clear as day on her face, Y/N heads up the stairs and towards the rooftop of the hospital. The second she opens the metal door, she’s being grabbed by the waist.

“Oh!” She gasps as she’s yanked into Jack’s chest, his head finding the cork of her neck almost automatically. His stubble grazes her skin as he kisses her pulse point. She shivers involuntarily.

“Jack!” She breathes out as she pulls away a bit.

“I wanna fuck you, baby..” Jack whispers hungrily as he picks her up. She squeals at the suddenness of it all. “Right here. On the rooftop..” He continues as he catches her lips. She barely has time to kiss back.

“Mm.. Jack!” She pants a bit, head spinning as she tries to catch her breath. “Have you lost your mind?!” She whispers as he carries her to the railing.

“Look at the city, baby..” He urges as he moves back to her neck, kissing and licking her skin as he groans softly. She momentarily melts against the assault on her neck, moaning quietly before reality kicks back in.

Her boyfriend is trying to get busy with her on the hospital rooftop!

“Jack! What the hell has gotten into you?!” Y/N finally squeaks as she puts her hands on his shoulders to push him back slightly. His arms around her waist are the only thing making her feel secure as she sits on the metal railing.

He pauses at the confusion and seriousness of her voice. “I… I’m trying to be.. More exciting.” He says slowly, his tone sounding lost. Like he’d assumed this is what she wanted.

“More exciting?!” Y/N laughs. She can’t help it. Jack Abbot is the most exciting man she’s ever met!

“Yeah. I.. You’re getting bored.” Jack frowns a bit. Y/N stiffens slightly.

“Who.. Who said that?” She asks in shock. “Jack. I.. Every time we do it, it is more exciting than the last. I’d never get bored of you.” She assures as she touches his cheek tenderly. He looks down, jaw clenching slightly.

“Then why did you fake it..?” He whispers, voice coming out extremely quiet and raw. There’s this shame on his face that should be on Y/N’s. The guilt could swallow her whole just from looking at how sad her lover truly is.

“You.. How did you..?” She stammers softly.

“Does it matter? Were you ever gonna tell me?” He asks.

“Jack. Look at me..” Y/N frowns. Jack hesitates at first, but then he looks over at the only person who could ever hold the power to make him feel so small..

“I didn’t fake it because I was bored of you. I…” Y/N’s face grows hotter with embarrassment. “I faked it because I wasn’t able to keep up with you.” She admits.

“Y/N..” Jack sighs, thinking she’s just saying that.

“Jack, it’s true.” She assures, finally with her full chest. “You love going all night, and.. I.. Last night, I was really tired. So.. I faked it.” She mumbles sheepishly as Jack watches her closely, shoulders slumping as he realizes she’s telling the truth.

“You… Why didn’t you just tell me?!” Jack immediately fusses.

“You were in the middle of…” She trails off. “I didn’t wanna kill your mood.” She says softly.

“Baby.” Jack says firmly as he makes her look at him. “I’d rather you be all in it, than think you have to fake something like that.” He says simply as he looks her in the eyes. Y/N pouts slightly as she nods, letting his words assure her.

Once again, she’s reminded that even though she’s dated losers.. Jack Abbot is not one of them.

“I’m sorry you thought you had to go bigger to keep me. You have me, baby. And I’m enjoying the ride..” Y/N says sweetly, leaning in to peck his nose and lips softly in order to show she does find this man completely capable of rocking her world. Age difference and all..

“Mm.. I’m sorry I got crazy.” He chuckles. “Doing it on a roof? That’s…” He trails off as he eyes her, a sly glint growing in his eyes.

“Jack!” Y/N squeals bashfully as she realizes he’s still considering it.

“What?!” Jack defends with an innocent shrug. He eyes her, a smirk playing on his face as he steps closer, arms firmly around her waist.

“I’m still owed a big one.” He continues playfully as he looks her in the eyes, one of his hands moving between them and slowly slipping into her scrub bottoms.

“Jack! We have a 15-minute lunch break, we’re on a roof! Someone could se…” Her voice breaks slowly as she feels his magical fingers. Shakily, she grips his shoulders, panting softly as he watches with a cocky expression, loving the power he has over her.

“There you go.. Atta girl..” Jack whispers tauntingly against her mouth that slowly hangs open in silent pleasure. “You just look at the pretty city. I’ll take it from here..” He whispers before slowly dropping to his knees in front of her while she quickly grips on to the railing she’s still sat on.

Oh yeah, Jack Abbot.. Is so not a loser..

"On it," you murmured. Your voice sounded a little distant, even to your own ears, but you forced a reassuring nod and grabbed an IV kit.

Inside Bed 6, you prepped the tourniquet and tore open the alcohol wipe. Your hands were usually rock solid, it was why Jack always asked for you on difficult sticks. But as you brought the needle down toward the patient's arm, your fingers violently jerked.

The needle slipped from your hand. Panic, cold and sharp, spiked through your chest.

You gripped your right wrist with your left hand, trying to steady it, but an involuntary spasm rippled through your forearm. Your muscles tightened up, rigid and uncooperative.

No, no, no. Not right now.

You knew the signs. You lived with this reality every day. The entire shift knew it, too. But the velocity with which your blood sugar was crashing caught you entirely off guard.

"Sarah," you choked out, catching the eye of another nurse who was checking the monitor. Your voice was barely a whisper. "Can you... can you take over? I c-can't... I can't get the angle."

Sarah looked at you, confused. "Yeah, sure. I got it."

You stumbled backward out of the cubicle, your right arm tight against your chest as another spasm wracked the muscles.

You needed glucose. Now. Urgently.

You had a strange sensation, a tingling, in your legs, although you could still walk to the break room only because of muscle memory.

From across the floor, Jack catched you exit Bed 6. He frowned. It wasn't like you to hand off a procedure, especially not an urgent one. He stepped away from the central desk, his eyes tracking your swaying stride as you turned the corner into the staff breakroom.

"Hey," Jack called out softly, following you in and closing the door behind him. "Are you alright? Did you—"

You turned to face him, intending to tell him you just needed a fast acting carb, but your body betrayed you. Your neck stiffened slightly, and a small tic appeared, convulsing into a series of uncontrollable muscle spasms. You tried to reach for the cupboards, but your hand was shaking too much.

Jack froze, his medical instincts kicking in instantly.

He knew your diagnosis. He knew what a rapid drop looked like.

"Jesus, baby," he breathed, lunging forward just as your knees buckled.

He caught you before you hit the floor, guiding your trembling body down until you were sitting in one of the breakroom chairs.

"Hey," Jack commanded, cupping your face with his hands. "Look at me, doll."

You were awake. Your eyes were wide open, your gaze still fixed on him, your tics still twitching, but you weren't there. Your gaze was completely lost, glassy and unfocused. An involuntary whimper escaping your lips as another spasm gripped your hand.

"Hey, stay with me. Keep your eyes open," Jack pleaded, his fingers gripping your jaw firmly. He searched into his pocket, grabbing a tube of oral glucose gel he kept strictly for you.

"I'm going to put this in your mouth, okay? Don't swallow. Don't waste energy. Just let it absorb," he muttered, his hands shaking slightly, a rarity for Dr. Abbot. He gently parted your lips and squeezed the gel into your mouth, his eyes locked on yours, desperately searching for a flicker of recognition.

Your eyes remained swimming in an unfocused void, your head still twitching rhythmically against his hand.

The oral glucose gel was in, but your body wasn't responding. Jack knew the gel would take too long to turn this around.

He couldn't risk waiting.

"I need help in here!" Jack shouted toward the door, his voice cracking with urgency. Within seconds, the door burst open. Sarah and a resident rushed in, pausing for a fraction of a second in shock at the sight of the lead attending holding you tightly.

"She's crashing. Severe hypoglycemia, early seizure activity," Jack ordered. "Get a gurney. I need an IV kit and a bag of D50, now!""

The team moved fast. They wheeled a gurney right to the breakroom door, and Jack insisted on lifting you himself, his arms straining as he carefully laid you onto the mattress. They rushed you into an empty trauma bay, pulling the curtains shut to give you whatever dignity they could save.

"Starting IV," Sarah said, her fingers flying as she prepped your arm.

Jack didn't step back. "Baby, can you hear me?" he muttered, holding your head so you wouldn't hurt yourself. He didn't care about who listened to him calling you nicknames in a moment like this. "Are you with me?"

As Sarah successfully flashed the vein and pushed the concentrated dextrose into your IV, the violent twitching in your muscles finally began to subside. Your jaw relaxed and your eyelids grew incredibly heavy.

Your eyes closed completely. Your head rolled slightly to the side against the pillow.

"Hey, hey, no. Stay awake," Jack said sharply. He tapped your cheek, his pulse skyrocketing. "Goddammit, doll."

Jack felt nervous but he felt your breathing deep and even, your body completely limp.

"Fuck, her blood sugar is going to take a few minutes to register a rise in her brain. She’s just exhausted," Jack said gently, he didint know if he was trying to ground Sarah or himself. A patient losing consciousness after a neurological event was never just sleeping. His mind raced through every worst-case scenario: prolonged cerebral hypoglycemia, a postictal coma, a secondary head injury he hadn't seen.

"Get a fingerstick. Check her glucose levels," Jack demanded. He grabbed a penlight from his pocket, peeling back your eyelid to check your pupils. They were reactive, but you didn't even stir from the light. "Come on. Wake up. You can't sleep right now."

Seeing you completely unresponsive was tearing him apart.

"Don't do this," he whispered. "Please, wake up."

Long minutes later, the first thing that roused you from your deep sleep was the sound of the door closing. Your head felt as if it were being pressed tightly between two hands; you felt a great pressure on your temple.

"Hey..." a rough voice made you open your eyes, but the harsh lights of the trauma bay made your vision blur. Before you could even formulate a word, a violent wave of nausea surged from the pit of your stomach.

You gagged, instinctively trying to sit up.

Jack moved fast, grabbing an emesis basin from the bedside table and sliding his arm behind your back to support your weight as you threw up. He held you firmly, his hand rubbing your back as you retched, your body trembling from the sheer exhaustion of it all.

"I've got you," Jack murmured. "Breathe through it."

When it finally stopped, you sank heavily back against the pillows, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You felt entirely disconnected from your own body.

Jack quickly set the basin aside, grabbed a damp washcloth, and gently wiped your mouth. Then, he picked up his blood glucose meter from the bedside. "I need to check your sugar again, okay?"

You nodded as he pricked your finger, and a moment later, the machine beeped. Jack sighed, a mix of relief and frustration washing over his face. "Two hundred and eighty four. It's high. The D50 overcorrected you, but we can manage that. We'll give you a small correction dose of insulin in a bit."

You blinked at him, the numbers not quite registering. Your brain felt like it was swimming in confussion. You looked around the trauma bay, the familiar sights of The Pitt looking completely foreign to you.

"Jack?" your voice was barely audible.

"Mh? I'm right here," he said, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly. "How do you feel?"

"Tired..." You said, sighing. "Did... did I miss my shift? What time is it? Do I need to clock in?"

Jack’s brow furrowed. He leaned closer. "Doll, you were already working. You collapsed in the breakroom."

You shook your head slightly, confusion hitting your chest. "No… no, it's… it's Thursday. We had the day off yesterday and had a date. I need to clock in."

Jack froze, his eyes scanning yours. Postictal disorientation was common after a severe hypoglycemic episode, but hearing you sound so lost cut right through him.

"It's not Thursday," Jack said softly, his voice was tending as he tried to reason with you. He raised his hand to gently cup your cheek. "It's Friday, love. Well, technically Saturday morning now. It's 5 AM."

"Saturday?" you whispered, your eyes filling with sudden tears as you realized just how blank your memory was. "I don't... I don't remember."

"Hey, it's okay," Jack rushed to soothe you. "It's completely normal to be confused right now. Your brain just went through a war. We're gonna run some studies to check your brain."

After your blood sugar began to stabilize, he ordered a full workup. He personally walked your labs down to the desk, demanded a priority read on your chem panel, and stood over the monitor while you were monitored for any residual cardiac ectopy.

Two hours later, the results were back.

"Good news," Jack said. He sat on the edge of your mattress, taking your hand back into his, intertwining her fingers with yours. "Physically, you’re completely cleared. Your body handled the crash beautifully, all things considered."

You looked down at your lap. "I still can't remember it, Jack. I remember walking into Bed 4 with an IV kit, and then... nothing. Just waking up and throwing up on you."

"You didn't throw up on me," he corrected gently, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And the amnesia is normal. The neurologist on call confirmed it’s just localized retrograde amnesia from the seizure activity. It happens when the brain is deprived of glucose so quickly. It might come back in pieces, or it might not. But you are okay. That’s all that matters."

You let out a sigh, leaning your head forward until it rested against his shoulder. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair, holding you with protective tightness that spoke volumes about how terrified he had actually been.

"You scared the hell out of me, you know?" he whispered into your hair, his voice cracking slightly. "Don't do that to me again."

"I'll try not to, baby," you murmured against his shoulder. "Thanks for catching me."

"Always," Jack said, pressing a warm kiss to the side of your head. "You're my favorite, I always be there to catch you."

-

Jack entered the room later as the distant sounds of the early morning shift change began to filter through the curtains.

"Alright," he said, his voice was in authoritative tone. "I’m pulling you off the schedule for the rest of the weekend, and you are going home to sleep."

You groaned slightly. "You know I have a double scheduled for Sunday. The floor is already short handed."

"I don't care if the entire hospital is short handed," he countered. "I'm the attending here, and I'm putting my best nurse, my girl, on mandatory medical leave. Arguments denied."

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "You're very bossy when you're worried, Jack."

"I am your supervisor, and your soon to be boyfriend. It’s my job to be bossy," he murmured as you blushed.

He reached over, placing a small paper bag carefully in your hands.

"Here. Open it."

You frowned, peering into the bag. You pulled out a brand new glucose monitor sensor box, along with a pack of pink patches meant to secure it.

You blinked, memory suddenly sparking. "Wait... my old sensor..."

"When we were cutting your sleeve to line you, the shears caught your sensor," Jack explained. He rubbed the back of his neck. "It completely ripped it off. I had pharmacy pull a replacement from the emergency stash immediately, and I grabbed these extra-strength overlays from the supply closet so it doesn't budge during your next shift."

You looked from the box up to him, your heart swelling. Even in the middle of an emergency, he was anticipating exactly what you would need to recover.

"Thank you," you whispered, running a finger over the smooth box. "Though I'm pretty sure using hospital supply overlays for personal use is a protocol violation, Abbot."

"Consider it an attending-approved override for an exceptional nurse," Jack smoothly replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "Once we are officially off, I am taking you to my house. I'll help you with the new sensor, and then you are going to rest. I'll even cuddle you to sleep. Deal?"

You looked at him, the perfect blend of your demanding mentor and your devoted partner, and nodded. "Deal. But only if you promise not to critique my sensor placement technique."

Jack chuckled softly, leaning down to give you a warm kiss on yur cheek. "I'm not promising anything. I know you're not exactly… delicate with that."

"Shut up, Abbot, and discharge me."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Jack came in, completely exhausted after a long shift, but his expression softened as soon as he saw you. He came to your side and silenced your phone alarm.

"Morning, beautiful" he leaned down to press a kiss to your jaw. "Sensor change?"

"Mhm," you mumbled, blinking open your sleep crusted eyes. "I forgot it was hitting the fifteen day mark today."

Jack chuckled softly, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. "Do you want me to do it?"

"Would you mind?"

"I’ll get your kit."

He knew the routine by heart now.

When he returned a moment later, he had the gray zippered pouch containing your supplies, along with a fresh alcohol wipe and the box of the new sensor.

You sat up half asleep in bed, pulling off expired sensor. He sat on the edge of the bed, took his shoes and prosthetic off and then climbed in behind you, leaning against the headboard and gently pulling you back until your body rested on his.

"Don't you have to change and take care of your leg?" you murmured and he kissed your shoulder.

"I'll do it later. I want to do this first."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to, love."

"Okay," you whispered, stroking your forehead as a slight discomfort from not having slept enough appeared.

"Which arm?" he asked, opening the alcohol wipe.

"Left," you muttered, shifting your weight so your upper arm was easily accessible to him.

"Alright. This may be cold." The cool sting of the alcohol wipe gave your skin goosebumps. He wiped the back of his hand across the area in circular motion, ensuring it was clean. "How did your numbers look overnight? Did you stay steady?"

"A little high around two, but it came back down," you murmured, your eyes drifting shut again.

"Good." He put down the wipe and turned to the bedside table, picked up the plastic applicator, and assembled it with a click that usually made you a little tense. When he turned back to you, Jack noticed a slight tension in your shoulders. He lowered his free hand to your waist and gently stroked it. "Relax for me."

Jack was no stranger to needles or medical devices, but he always handled your diabetes with an extra care. At home, with you, he was very gentle.

He positioned the applicator against the back of your left arm, finding the usual spot where you apply it.

"Deep breath in," he whispered against your hair.

You inhaled, and there was a sharp click.

You winced at the sting. Jack was already pressing his fingers over the fresh adhesive, holding it firmly against your skin to make sure it stuck, just like you always did.

He left the applicator on the nightstand and as he looked down to admire his handywork, his brow furrowed. A tiny bead of red was blooming right through the center of the sensor.

"Hold on, love," he murmured. "We’ve got a little bleeder."

You sighed, too exhausted. "It’s fine, it happens sometimes. Just let it sit."

"I know, I know," Jack said softly, but he was already moving. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a clean tissue from the box next to the bed.

He applied pressure over the center of the sensor with the tissue.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, you nodded as he kept the pressure steady. "Is it a sharp pain, or just the usual pinch?"

"Just the usual," you mumbled. "Probably just hit a little capillary."

"Yeah, looks like it," he agreed, his thumb rubbing comforting caresses on your skin. He held the pressure for a solid minute, waiting patiently until he was certain the bleeding had stopped. When he pulled the tissue away, it was clean. He wiped up the tiny smudge of red from the plastic rim. "There. All clean. Looks like it’s going to hold just fine."

He picked up your phone from the nightstand and opened the app, holding the phone over the new device on your arm until it notificated it was working.

"Alright, it's scanning," Jack murmured. "Sixty minutes until it activates. I'll keep an eye on it."

He set the phone back down, face up so he could see the countdown. Then pulled you into his arms, sinking deep into the pillows and drawing the heavy duvet back over both of you. His arms wrapping securely around you.

"Baby, your leg."

"Ignore it, I will do it later." he whispered as he kissed the skin just beneath your ear.

"You should get comfortable. You know it's going to bother you later."

"I am comfortable with you against me." He followed it with another kiss to your neck. "Sleep, beautiful. Don't worry about me."

With the comforting rise and fall of Jack's chest against your back, you let yourself drift off, completely safe in his arms for the hour ahead.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

The bedroom door creaked open. You looked up from your screen to see Lily. Her eyes were half closed and her hair was a wild nest. When she shuffled closer to your bed, you noticed her bottom lip trembling.

"Lily?" you murmured, setting the laptop aside. "What’s wrong, baby? You're supposed to be fast asleep."

Instead of climbing in for a cuddle, Lily buried her face into the side of your mattress, a muffled sob escaping her. "I- I fogot, Mama."

"Forgot what, princess?" You shifted, gently smoothing down her messy hair.

She lifted her tear streaked face, her big eyes wide with anxiety. "F-For 'morrow! Is Friday and my tun for snack day. My brain is loud cause I forgot tell you!"

The panic in her voice was heartbreaking. To your four year old baby, forgetting a classroom promise felt like the end of the world.

"Oh, come here," you said softly, scooping her up into your arms and pulling her onto the bed with you. She clung to your neck, her body shaking anxiously. "What did you want to bring?"

"Muffins!" Lily wailed into your shoulder. "But the stores are closed!"

"It’s okay, princess," you murmured, pulling back to wipe the tears from her cheek. "We can make them."

Lily blinked, hiccuping. "Now? But it’s sleep time."

"Yes but we have a kitchen and I think we have everything we need," you smiled at her. "We can work something out."

The anxiety on her face instantly melted.

She nodded rapidly. "With the sweet chips!"

A few minutes later, you were in the kitchen. Lily was perched on a barstool, her chin resting in her hands as she watched you rummage through the pantry.

You managed to find a bag of flour, sugar, vanilla extract, eggs, baking powder.

"Perfect," you said. "We’ve got muffins covered. We can start and you mix while I look for the chocolate chips."

Before you could pull out the mixing bowl, steps came from the entryway of the kitchen.

You turned to see Luca standing by the doorframe. He was wearing his matching star pajamas, dragging his stuffed animal, a plush dog, by one leg along the floor. His eyes were heavy with sleep.

"Hi, you," you said softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. "What’s wrong, bug? Why are you awake?"

He pulled his thumb out of his mouth and blinked up at you. "Can't sleep," he mumbled softly with sleep. He glanced over at Lily on the stool, then looked back at you. "Was alone."

Your heart completely melted.

Ever since they were babies, they had slept in the same room. The moment Lily’s side of the room went empty, Luca’s woke up because his other half was missing.

"Oh, buddy," you cooed, scooping him up into your arms. He immediately buried his face into your neck, his plush dog trapped between you.

"Let's make muffins, Lu!" Lily called out from her stool, her voice was... pretty loud and excited.

Luca tightened his grip on your shirt and gave a slow nod against your shoulder.

"Looks like the whole team is awake," you whispered, kissing his temple. "Let's make some muffins."

-

"Alright, my little bakers," you said, setting the large glass mixing bowl on the counter. "Luca, you’re in charge of the recipe card. Lily, you’re on pouring duty."

You pulled up a second stool so Luca could sit right next to his sister. He sat up straight, holding his stuffed dog under one arm while proping up the handwritten recipe card with his free hand.

He couldn't actually read words yet, but he knew numbers and forms perfectly, tracing the bold numbers with his index finger.

"Two cups of this," Luca read aloud, adopting a very professional voice that sounded exactly like Jack.

"Of flour" you said behind him, knowing the receipt perfectly.

Lily grabbed the plastic measuring cup, scooping it into the flour canister. "Two!" she echoed, dumping the powder into the bowl.

"Now the sugar," you indicated to them. "Then put the baking powder."

"One cup." Luca commanded.

While the twins were focused on their highly official assembly line, you turned around, hunting for the bag of chocolate chips. "Where did this man hide the sweet ones..." you muttered to yourself.

"Wait, it's-" Luca screamed then whispered "Uh-oh."

In parent language, uh-oh spoken in that specific tone was an universal code for: disaster.

You turned around. Lily was holding the baking powder container completely upside down over the bowl.

"She put all of it," Luca reported, his eyes wide as he looked from the bowl to you.

"I wanted make sure it was enough," Lily explained, her bottom lip poking out as she realized she might have made a mistake.

You stared at them and shook your head with a smile. If you baked it like this, the muffins would probably explode in the oven.

"It's okay, baby," you said, stepping back over and pulling the container from her small hands. "We just have to fix it now."

For the next twenty minutes, the baking session turned into a science experiment. To balance out the amount of baking powder, you had to double measures, crack more eggs, and pour more milk.

Luca went from reading the numbers to counting how many scoops you were adding to save the muffins. By the time the batter was finally balanced, you had enough batter to feed an army.

Later, the sweet aroma of vanilla filled the kitchen. The clock now read 11:50 PM.

Golden and chips muffins sat cooling across the counter. There were easily three dozen of them, far too many to bring to kindergarten.

Both toddlers were blinking slowly against the lights, looking exhausted.

"Look how many you two made." you said, wiping flour off Lily’s cheek.

"Lot of muffins!" Luca mumbled-screamed.

"We can't take all of them, you're only 15 on your class," you smiled, looking at the muffins. But then, an idea struck you. "Hey, what if we do something special tomorrow morning? We could take some these to daddy's work."

Lily’s eyes instantly brightened. "To Daddy’s work?"

"Exactly," you nodded. "I bet daddy and the nurses are going to be super hungry after their shift. We can drop off a big breakfast for them before we head to school."

"Muffins for Daddy!" Luca chimed, he liked the idea of taking care of his dad.

"Yeah! Muffins!" Lily cheered softly, clapping her hands.

"Alright," you wrapped your arms around both of them and kissing the tops of their heads. "But now both of you need to get back to bed and get some sleep. It's pretty late."

Luca grabbed Lily’s hand and they run back to their room, ready to dream about the surprise they had waiting for Jack.

When the alarm went off at 6:30 AM, it felt entirely too soon. By 7:15 AM, the three of you were walking through the doors of the ER.

The twins were a funny contrast of sleep and excitement.

Lily was fiercely clutching a bakery box, walking by your side. Luca, on the other hand, had completely lost the battle to his late bedtime. He was dead to the world, his arms wrapped around your neck as you carried him.

The ER was in that moment where the night shift was exhausted and the day shift was just starting to trickle in.

"Well, look who it is," a familiar voice called out.

Dana was by the central desk. Her eyes crinkled with a smile as she took in the sight of you carrying a sleepy Luca and an anxious Lily beside you.

"Don't tell me Dr. Abbot forgot his keys again," Dana teased quietly, walking to greet you.

"Luckily no," you laughed, shifting Luca’s weight on your hip. "We had a midnight baking emergency and thought we'd bring muffins to the staff."

"We made chips muffins!" Lily announced loudly as she held the box up like a trophy. "For Daddy and nurses!"

Dana’s jaw dropped as she peeked inside the box. "Oh, you are an absolute angel. You just saved the whole department."

"Daddy here?" Lily asked, looking around the room.

"He’s wrapping up in the breakroom," Dana whispered, winking at her. "Why don't you go surprise him? I'll take this box and make sure we don't eat them all before he gets one."

Lily proudly handed over the box to Dana, then reached up to tug on the hem of your shirt. "Luca, wake up, let's find daddy!"

"I think Luca is staying right here, sweetpea," you whispered, kissing the top of your son's head as he let out a tiny yawn against your neck. "Go ahead. Lead the way."

Lily didn’t need to be told twice. She took off and you followed her. She stopped outside the staff breakroom, pushing the door open with both hands.

Jack was sitting at the table, staring blankly at a half-empty cup of coffee. He had already changed his scrubs, so maybe he just needed something to drink before going home.

"Daddy!" Lily squeaked, ignoring all hospital volume rules.

Jack snapped his head up. "Princess?"

Lily sprinted across the room and threw herself against him. Jack chuckled, scooping her up into his lap and pulling her tight against his chest. "What are you doing here, mh? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for school?"

"We made muffins!" Lily beamed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Lot of them! For snack day!"

"Is that so?" Jack looked up, his eyes locking onto yours as you stepped in. Luca stirred against you and rubbed his eyes with the back of his fist before he blinked them open. He spotted his dad with sleepy smile.

"Hi, Dad," Luca mumbled and reached out one arm toward his father.

"Hey there, buddy," Jack murmured softly.

Holding Lily in his arm, Jack stood up and walked over to you. He pressed a kiss to Luca’s cheek, making the little boy giggle.

Then, Jack shifted his gaze to you.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a slow peck, his free hand coming up to gently cup the back of your neck.

"You baked at midnight?" Jack whispered against your lips, his thumb tracing your jawline.

"This miss forgot to tell me it was her snack day turn," you said leaning into his touch. "And we had an uh-oh with the baking powder, so we bring some of them before dropping off."

"You have to eat one! Right now!" Lily interrupted, breaking the romantic bubble you and Jack had just settled into.

"Alright, alright. Let's go see if they left any for me." Jack said and the four of you walked back toward the central nurse's station.

The box of muffins was already open on the counter.

"Dana! Muffins!" Lily called out.

Dana looked up from the computer, a half eaten muffin in her hand. "Abbot, your daughter is an absolute culinary queen. These are better than the cafeteria's by a mile."

"Heard we have muffins this morning." Robby walked in to start his shift.

"Uncle Robby!" Lily squeaked. To the twins, Robby wasn't just one of Jack's colleagues; he was Uncle Robby.

"Well, good morning to my favourite princess," Robby grinned "What’s in the box?"

"Muffins!" Lily explained proudly, leaning out from Jack's grip so far that Jack had to tighten his hold on her overalls. "Made lot of them, snack day!"

"No way," Robby gasped. "Did you bake these all by yourself?"

"Mama and Luca helped," Lily conceded, nodding toward you.

"And she did a lot of pouring," Jack added dryly, catching your eye with a smirk as he reached into the box and pulled out a muffin.

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully while his daughter watched him anxiously, waiting for the final verdict.

Jack’s eyes went wide. "Oh, wow, babygirl, this is the best muffin I have ever had in my entire life."

"Yeah! Muffins!" Lily clapped her hands in absolute delight.

Robby grabbed one for himself, taking a bite and humming in approval. "Mmm, absolutely elite. Hey," Robby shifted his attention, leaning over slightly to look at the quiet bundle in your arms. "Are you hiding from me, Lulu?"

Luca, who usually loved wrestling with Robby, was feeling shy. He peeked out with one eye, his cheek still pressed flat against your shoulder and tightened his little arms around your neck.

"He's a little tired today, Robby," you explained softly, shifting Luca's weight and rubbing his back. "He was the official recipe reader."

"Ah, the brains of the operation, I get it," Robby smiled gently, reaching out to give Luca's small foot a playful squeeze. "You did a good job, boy."

Jack took one last bite of his muffin and dusted the crumbs off his hands before turning to Dana. "I'm officially signing off. If anything catches fire in the next hours, call someone else."

"Go home, Abbot," Dana smiled, waving him off. "You've earned it."

-

After searching for his bag, Jack reached into his pockets, looking around the parking lot. "Where did you park your car?"

"Actually, I didn't drive. We took an Uber here."

Jack stopped in his tracks. "An Uber? Why?"

"Because I knew your shift was ending right about now," you explained softly. "And I wanted us to drop the toddlers off. Maybe you'd want to be there to see Lily hand over her muffins."

He looked at you, his heart visibly swelling. "You really are the love of my life, you know that?"

The drive to the kindergarten was calm. But the peace didn't last. The moment the car engine cut out in the school drop off line, the reality of the late night caught up.

The sight of the colorful playground completely revived Lily, who scrambled out of her seat, eager to show off her muffins. But for Luca, it was too much. As Jack unbuckled him and lifted him out of the car, Luca’s face crumpled.

The exhaustion hit him all at once.

"No," Luca whimpered, his voice instantly cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. "No school, Daddy. I want to sleep."

"Oh, buddy," Jack murmured, he picked him up, holding him tight against his chest as he walked toward the doors. "I know you're tired, Lu. But you're going to have so much fun with your friends today."

"No, my eyes hurt," Luca sobbed softly, tears soaking into the collar of Jack's shirt. He reached out blindly for you, his tiny hand trembling. "Mama... please."

You stepped in, your heart breaking as you took his hand. You pressed a warm kiss to his palm. "I know, my sweet boy. But Miss Honey is going to let you take a long nap at quiet time, okay? I promise."

Miss Honey walked towards you, her face softening with sympathy as she saw Luca's face, though she smiled brightly when Lily proudly held up the massive box. "Oh, Lily, these smell absolutely delicious!"

"We made them!" Lily said proudly.

"I see, sweety. Morning to you too Luca, are you tired? I have your soft pillow waiting just for you for nap time."

Luca let out a shuddering sniffle, unlocking his arms from Jack's neck.

"My blue one? With the stars?"

"Yes, that one."

Jack kissed his son on the forehead as he lowered him to the ground. "You hear her? Your favourite one. Be a big boy, alright? Daddy will be waiting right here to pick you up later."

Luca gave a nod, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt as he took Miss Honey's hand. Lily immediately grabbed his other hand, guiding him gently into the school.

You walked back to the car in silence, the echo of Luca's quiet cries still lingering in the air. You stared out the passenger window, watching the kindergarten entrance fade from view as Jack pulled out into the street. Your heart ached, the image of your little boy’s tear-streaked face replaying in a loop.

Jack caught the shift in your posture immediately. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, reaching with the other to take yours.

"Hey," he said softly. "Talk to me, beautiful. You’ve got that look on your face."

"I feel terrible," you admitted. "Leaving him like that when he was crying… it breaks my heart. He has such a hard time during the day when he doesn't get enough sleep."

Jack gave your hand a comforting squeeze. "Miss Honey is great with him. He’ll be asleep before nap time even starts. Why is he so tired? Did Lily wake him up for making the muffins?"

"No, she didn't. She was really quiet. He woke up completely on his own because he realized her bed was empty."

Jack glanced over at you curiously. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nodded, leaning your head back against the headrest. "He came looking so lost, and the first thing he said was, 'Was alone.' It’s that twin thing again. It’s like his internal radar alarms him the second she leaves the room. He just... he relies so much on his sister. I worry sometimes that he depends on her too much."

Jack listened quietly. He pulled the car up to a red light and turned his head to look at you fully.

"Sweetheart," Jack murmured. "They’ve been sharing a space since they were in the womb. It’s not a bad thing that he relies on her. Didn't you see them at the door? The second he nodded, Lily took his hand. He protects her and she grounds him. They look out for each other." He paused to smile at you. "He is always so aware of her. Think about it." Jack chuckled. "He’s basically our security guard for our troublemaker princess. We should be thanking him."

You laughed thinking of how Luca always take care of Lily when she is up to something. "A four-year-old security guard who works for muffins?"

"Exactly. The perfect one," Jack grinned.

The light turned green, and he rolled the car forward, keeping his grip on your hand firm.

"You did good, Mama," Jack whispered, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. "No more worrying. We have a date with our bed."

"Deal," you looked over at him as he steered the car toward your home. "You have such a happy face when it's my day off," you teased softly.

"Of course I do. It means I don't have to share you with anyone else for the next hours."

"Oh, is that it? You just want me all to yourself?"

"Absolutely," Jack murmured, he smoothly guided the car into your driveway and cut the engine, the sudden silence inside the vehicle making the space feel intimate.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned fully in his seat, leaning to trap you against your headrest. His eyes darkened as they traced your face, a deeply affectionate but thoroughly pervy grin spreading across his face.

"The kids are at kinder until four," he whispered, his hand cupping the back of your neck. "Which means no interruptions, no tiny feet running into the bedroom and no toddler emergencies. I have very specific unprofessional plans for how we're spending the first hours of our date, beautiful."

You let out a shy laugh as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his wild hair. "Dr. Abbot, are you taking advantage of your exhausted wife?"

"One hundred percent," he grinned, leaning down kiss you deeply. "Let's get inside before I decide the backseat is perfect enough." he whispered against your mouth.

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