Fic Reblogs~

Jack Abbot is a lot of things; strong, intelligent, well-liked, level-headed, quick to react, reliable and good at his job. If you knew him well enough you’d find he’s pretty funny despite his dry sense of humor, very down to earth and has quite the sweet tooth. One thing you absolutely wouldn’t expect by just looking at him was his love for gossip.

With his sharp jawline and casually neutral face—grumpy in a way that was unfairly handsome—chin donned with grey stubble and hair to match. Sharp eyes that noticed everything. He’s an ex-army man with a night shift attending badge clipped to his pants pocket who only drinks his coffee black—he survived losing half his leg, and yet—Jack enjoyed using all of that to his advantage.

Any newcomer at the Pitt was quickly intimidated by him—almost choked to death anytime Robby or Dana, hell; even if Shen or Ellis picked on him or called him old. Desperately looking for a patient to tend to before they saw one of their coworkers die or get scolded. But it never came, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips that was quickly so uniquely Jack.

So no, looking at Jack you’d assume he probably kept to himself—and for the most part he did. But once you got to know him a little? It wouldn’t be long before the truth came out;

Jack Abbot is a big fat gossip.

He never started the conversations, he’d wait until someone else did and just…effortlessly slide himself right into them. But you could always tell when he’d heard something new.

Like now, as you’re walking in next to him for your shift; he’s practically vibrating. An extra bounce in his step, his hands closing and unclasping at his sides. He’s shifting on his feet way more than he usually does; and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.

You try your best to keep your eyes on the board—an ever growing list of patients above you. You try to ignore him, try to start your shift and at least make an attempt to head towards your first patient; but when he leans against the counter with a rather obnoxious exhale through his nose and scratches at his scruff—you finally break.

“Alright Gossip Girl, what is it?”, You ask, crossing your own arms and lifting a brow.

Jack practically shoots off the counter, straightening up and stepping closer to you. He looks around once before speaking.

“Robby and Noelle are hooking up.”

He says it with both brows raised and eyes so wide you swear they’d pop out at any second.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it; “SHUT UP—“

Eyes from every direction flick towards you, your reaction a little louder than you wanted it to be.

“Jesus kid-“, Jack shushes you quietly; nervously looking around before he gently pulls you into the empty break room.

His hand is still on your elbow when you speak up. You force the acknowledgement at the way your skin burns perfectly at his touch to the back of your mind; store it away for later.

“Robby and Noelle!?”

He nods; “Mhm.”

“How?? When?? Robby??”, All your questions tumble out at once.

Jack shrugs, slipping his hands in his scrub pockets; “Don’t know for sure, long enough that it set McKay’s alarm bells off.”

“…Oh this is too good”, You say, eyes focused on the floor as you comb through every thought that’s now popping into your head.

“It gets better”, Jack says, leaning closer; “Dana said Noelle told her Robby sleeps with the tv on.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. The smug smirk on Jack’s face does nothing to help you. Neither does the scrunch of your nose when you realize what you’re really hearing.

“That’s way more than I needed to know about Robby”, You say.

Jack grunts something close to a laugh; “You’d be surprised.”

“Wait”, You tilt your head; “Wouldn’t you already know that about him?”

Jack’s smirk deepens; “Well yeah, but”, He leans even closer; “How would she know that?”

The information hits you again, your brain swirling at a speed that’s too fast for before coffee.

“Oh my god”, You breathe.

Jack laughs across from you, actually laughs. You force yourself to ignore what that does to your heart.

“I don’t think I can even look at him now”, You say, “I’d laugh in his face, it’s too good. I’d-“

Jack’s hand on your shoulder stops you; “Woah, kid. Don’t go spiraling on me now.”

“I’m not…it’s just so?-“

“Strange? Weird? Bordering on haunting?”

“Well, yeah!”, You say, hands flying in the air.

Jack laughs again, you ignore what it does to your heart; again.

“Careful kid”, He says, leaning in way too close; “Gotta work on your poker face or I won’t be able to share with my favorite resident.”

Favorite resident.

Your heart does a somersault and the air leaves your lungs; heat rising to your cheeks.

His hand on your lower back lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaving your skin cold and missing the contact.

“Cmon, gotta get back out there before Dana threatens to put us all in triage”, He says, that crooked smirk playing at his lips.

It stays there as you watch him push the break room door open with his shoulder, disappearing back into the noisy hum of the ED; leaving you standing there with your mouth parted and your heart beating way too fast to be close to normal.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Three hours and too many patient charts later, you finally get a moment to sit down and let your feet rest. You take a drink of your water, crack your back once and lean back in your chair; letting your eyes close and hoping you get at least a few minutes.

That dream is quickly wrecked within seconds.

You feel him before you see him, not even having to open your eyes to know who’s standing next to you—the shadow of his strong frame blocking out the blaring fluorescent lights above you. The heat you can always feel radiating off of him. Warmth you so desperately want to sink into, wrap your arms around him and nose into his neck. You briefly wonder if his cologne would smell stronger against his skin like that, or if there’d be something you’d learn to be so uniquely and purely him.

You sigh, snapping yourself out of it. Eyes still closed as you cling to the last remaining bit of peace you’ll get before he speaks and resumes his mission to annoy you as much as he can. Not that you mind in the least bit.

“What Jack?”, You breathe, fighting the smile that’s trying so hard to creep onto your lips.

“How’d you know it was me?”, You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You reek of antiseptic and annoyance.”

A noise escapes him next to you, something between a laugh and a sound of disbelief.

“Oh so you know what I specifically smell like?”, He juts.

You feel your face heat up immediately, air leaving your nose. You fumble to keep yourself composed, a string of muttered words leaving your mouth.

You peek your eyes open, peering up at a way too smug Jack. Enjoying how flustered he’s made you. His strong arms crossed over his chest; biceps bulging under his too tight scrub top. Freckles decorating his skin all the way up his arms; grey curls looking unfairly good and framing his face in a way that should be illegal—

“What do you want, Jack?”, You feign annoyance.

“What makes you think I want something?”, His answer comes from pursed lips.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m standing.”

“You have a look on your face”, You throw back.

“My face always looks like this.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey—“, His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

“What”, you sigh; “Do you want?”

His mouth is crooked in the way it gets when he’s trying to hide a smile or the fact that he’s amused; but it always gives him away. You know that look and all of his looks too well by now. Unconsciously memorized and stored away for later with all the other information you’ve filed away about him. Normal, completely casual.

It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with whatever feelings flutter to life inside your chest and set your very being alight each time you seem him. That certainly wasn’t the case, even now; when he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne and something underneath it that’s just uniquely Jack—

You snap yourself out of it before the heat climbing up your neck once again can reach your face. Forcing yourself to stay calm—steady.

Jack, who hasn’t moved from where he’s standing; that ridiculously and frustratingly adorable crooked smirk still on his face—takes a step closer to you.

“Did you know Shen has a secret supply of free drink vouchers from Dunkin?”, Jack says.

You roll your eyes; “Did you know you and Robby have matching tattoos?”

Jack falters for a moment, mouth falling open before heat pinkens the tips of his ears; “We do not!”

You shoot him a smirk, grabbing your drink and rising to your feet to walk around him. He’s following you half a stride later.

“W-Where did you even hear that?”, He gawks.

You shrug; “I’ve got my own sources.”

A second later he’s in front of you, arms up in defense as he shakes his head; eyes closing for a moment; “Woah. Woah—I—ok, you’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

“How’s it feel?”, You muse.

You watch as his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, a crooked twitch of his mouth as he rubs at the back of his neck; “You’re mean, kid.”

“And you’re a gossip”, You shoot back.

Jack pushes his hands into his pockets; “I might be.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes again; “Why would you even care if Shen’s was true? You hate Dunkin.”

“I’m nosey”, He shrugs.

“You’re something.”

But that only makes Jack’s smirk grow wider, twitching again in the way that sets your heart ablaze. God, he was gonna be the death of you.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A few weeks later, you’re strolling into the hustle and bustle of the ED for another shift. Bracing yourself for the incoming influx of patients from the holiday. The Fourth of July was always busy with firework accidents and heat stroke—among other injuries you didn’t even want to ask about.

You hoped it would at least be relatively smooth—close enough to a regular shift; that unfortunately would soon become the furthest from the truth.

You slid up next to Robby with a few patients, following Dana’s directions; having opted to come in a little early to help out day shift. The ED was already busy, already bustling with patients of all different kinds. McKay had a firework injury, Santos had a nun with gonorrhea in her eye that she deemed an “immaculate infection.” Donnie had a priaprism, Mel and Langdon had set up a cool room and Javadi was helping a girl with glue in her eye. Not to mention the fact that a baby had been found in triage and was now being lovingly referred to as baby Jane Doe. Never a dull moment.

As if the shift couldn’t get any crazier—an hour later the ambulance bay doors opened and who came rushing through with a gurney but Jack Abbot. A Jack Abbot in uniform, nonetheless.

Camo fatigues hugged his body close, sweat already peaking through the fabric. Damp hair matched as he called out to Robby. SWAT team rushing in behind him. You can’t help but stare.

“Intubated neck wound, stats not great. Is there a trauma room open?”, Jack calls out.

You’re quick to snap yourself out of it—joining him at the other side of the gurney, rushing along side him; “What’s the story?”

“My buddy Hiro, neck trauma. Warehouse robbery gone wrong”, Jack fills you in.

He doesn’t say much after that, setting up immediately once inside the trauma room. You can see he’s tense by his shoulders and jaw—worried for his friend. You jump into the chaos, helping any way you can.

“Did you intubate?”, Trinity asks, working alongside you.

“Yeah”, Jack says, not looking up; “Under active fire.”

You don’t miss the way he looks back over his shoulder, eyes flicking down as if looking for something that isn’t yet visible—or the way he winces when he rolls his shoulders.

“That’s badass”, Santos says, smiling to herself as she assists Robby.

You on the other hand; only have worry clinging to the back of your neck—hairs standing on end as you look at Jack.

It doesn’t take long for all the hands working on Hiro to get him stabilized enough to send him up to surgery. The room clears out, leaving Jack and Robby the last two lingering inside. You’re pulled into another case before you can get to Jack, forcing your worry down for later.

When you finally get a moment, Jack is nowhere to be found. The ED settling back into its regular busy hustle before SWAT had rolled in. You pick up another chart, going to check on one of your patients. What you find however when you pull the curtain back isn’t a patient—but rather the man you’ve been looking for the past few hours.

Jack Abbot stands shirtless, back to you with a very visible bruise forming on the back of his left shoulder. He turns at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, glancing around the room.

“Oh! I—sorry!”, You blurt out, cheeks heating up; “I was looking for my patient.”

Jack continues moving, sitting down on the exam bed—sliding the tray of sterilized tools he’d already set up towards him. He sets his black tee down on his lap, maneuvering the supplies.

“No patient here”, He says; “Room was empty when I got here.”

You furrow your brows, but push the thought to the back of your mind. All you can focus on is Jack—the injured Jack sitting in front of you.

“Shit, Jack”, You say, mind rushing back to the present; “You’re hurt, what happened?”

You’re already reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall, making your way around him as he reaches for his back with a swab—failing to reach far enough.

“Bullet grazed my vest”, He says, waving a hand.

“You got SHOT?”, You blurt.

“Shot at”, He says, brows raised with a shrug; “Anyways, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

But you do worry about him; more than he knows.

You ignore his words, taking the swab from his outstretched hand and gently clean the wound on his shoulder.

“Thank you”, He sighs, voice going soft.

You can’t help the smile that breaks onto your lips, soft and gentle just for him; “Anytime.”

Knowing he’s ok and safe, your mind drifts now—focusing more on the fact that he’s sitting shirtless in front of you. Thick and strong body built and freckled; just enough healthy fat around his mid-section that it settles over his belt when he sits down. Broad shoulders that stretch each scrub top he owns. You want to explore them, connect all the freckles that etch his skin—press kisses to the paleness of him.

You feel yourself bite your bottom lip, willing the heat returning to your cheeks to climb back down. To act normal.

“You ok?”, Jack asks, noticing your quietness.

“Yup, perfect”, You say.

You don’t see his quirked brow, and whatever he’s thinking—he keeps to himself. Shuffling to grab his t-shirt off his lap when you finish patching him up.

“Thanks for keeping this off the books”, He says, offering you a crooked smirk.

You nod, bottom lip still between your teeth; “Sure.”

He eyes you suspiciously when you don’t move, even after his shirt is pulled back on; “You sure you’re ok, kid?”

“Yeah!”, You answer to quickly; “I better go see if Dana needs anything, uh…I’ll see you later? For your shift?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “Yeah, see you there crawler.”

With that you spin on your feet, rushing out of the room; leaving a smiling and curious Jack behind.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

You find yourself at the hub, hiding your face in your hands—elbows resting against the top of the counter.

“What’s got you so flustered?”, Santos asks, looking up from her charting beside you.

You groan; “I don’t even know if I can say.”

Princess perks up on the other side of you; “Ok, now we need to know.”

You groan again, looking around you once to make sure no one else can hear. Thankfully spotting Jack leaving through the ambulance bay doors.

Santos follows your line of sight; “Something happen with Dr. Abbot?”

You push your face back into your hands; “God. What didn’t happen.”

Both of them eye you with quirked brows.

“I saw him…shirtless”, You mumble.

Princess’ face lights up; “Oh you lucky girl!”

“And?”, Santos asks.

You can’t help but groan again; “He’s unfairly hot. Like, so built and fit it should be illegal. He has no business looking that good in an ER.”

The women next to you exchange glances, before bursting out into laughter beside you.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on Dr. Abbot”, Santos says.

“Who doesn’t?”, You quip back, like it’s common knowledge and not about you.

Princess sighs on the other side of you.

“He’s like the McDreamy of the Pitt…or the Clooney”, She sighs.

“He’s better than McDreamy and Clooney, he’s like…McClooney.”

Laughter erupts around you again.

“So you and Abbot, huh?”, Santos asks.

“God, I don’t know. I mean we’re friends yeah, but I don’t think he even knows how I feel. Or that he’d even feel the same”, You sigh.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen him look at you. Seems like something’s there”, Princess says; “You should talk to him.”

Your face heats up way too fast; “I can’t do that! Are you crazy?”

Princess shrugs; “You never know what he’ll say.”

You sigh, nodding. You know she’s right, but you can’t push past the nerves or the fear that you might ruin a friendship you deeply value.

“He’s gone for a few hours anyways, I just need to get back to work”, You say, reaching for a new iPad.

You turn on your feet with another sigh.

“Go get your McClooney!”, Princess calls out behind you, making you shush her.

You shrink under all the glances your way, hurrying along to find Dana and focus on literally anything besides your feelings towards Jack.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It’s a few hours later when Jack strolls back into the ED, camo backpack slung over one shoulder. Patients still bustle around him; Robby’s still forcing himself to work longer.

The hub is buzzing with a few staff; Princess, Santos, Nazely, Dana and Perlah all huddled together. Jack heads towards the staff room, but he stops when he hears your name.

“Oh she’s got it bad”, Santos says; “You should’ve seen her, she was absolutely flustered over seeing him shirtless. Poor girl can’t hide her crush if she tried.”

Jack feels his heartbeat pick up.

“Our girl’s got it for Abbot, huh?”, Dana says, smiling to herself; “Can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Jack’s heart stops at the mention of his name—then quickly picks back up. A smile spreads on his face before he can stop it, ducking and shaking his head as he pushes the door to the staff room open. He knew how he felt about you, but hearing you felt the same way towards him? His entire shift just got a whole lot better.

He keeps it to himself during handoffs, even during his beginning of shift speech as everyone gathers around him. His eyes flick to you once; standing between Cruz and Ellis. His smile doesn’t falter, a warm feeling fluttering behind his ribs.

He lets you go about your shift, getting swept into a few cases of his own. It’s nearing nine when he finally comes face to face with you; a much needed silence in the break room.

He’s leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee when you come in, stopping in your tracks when you see him.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t know you were in here”, You say.

Jack scoffs a laugh; “What? You avoiding me now?”

“No”, You say, a little too quickly.

“Good.”

He watches you cross the room, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. The noise of the can cracking open fills the room, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean up against the counter beside him—a little more space between you than usual.

Silence fills the air as you both drink, enjoying the few minutes of peace you might get before it’s interrupted. Jack, as if sensing your calm—decides now’s the time to get you all riled up.

“So”, He says, tracing the rim of his paper cup with his pointer finger; “I heard something interesting earlier.”

You scoff; “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, He asks, brow quirked and faking offense.

“Jack”, You say; “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No”, He shrugs, smiling to himself as he sets his cup on the counter behind him.

You shake your head, doing the same with your can; “Lay it on me, Abbot.”

Jack juts his chin out, scratching at his scruff.

“I heard…someone that works here has a crush on me”, He says.

You feel your stomach drop, embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Something about ‘unfairly hot, so built it should be illegal’”, He says; “‘Hotter than McDreamy and Clooney?’”

“Jack I-“, You try to rush something out, but no words come out.

Your brain has shut down. You blink away the tears brimming your eyes.

But Jack just takes a step towards you, hands settling on your arms. His thumbs rub up and down, digging softly into your scrubs.

Then he hooks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. What he finds is a look he can only describe as guilty.

“Hey”, He says softly, ducking his head down to meet your eyeline.

“I’m sorry, Jack”, You rush out; “It’s highly inappropriate and I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, we can just forget this ever happened and go back to being friends. If you even still want to be my friend. I’m so sorry—“

“No”, Jack says.

You freeze; “What?”

“I don’t think I can do that”, He says softly.

“I’m so sorry Jack…”, You mutter, fearing the worst.

“I’m not.”

You look up at him fully then, finding him gazing back at you fondly—a soft crooked twitch of his lips taking over his face.

“You’re not…?”

“No”, He says; “Not when it’s you.”

Your breath catches.

“Sweetheart, I’ve felt the same way about you for so long.”

Your mouth falls open. This time you can’t will it to shut again.

“God, you drive me crazy, kid. It’s always been you”, He confesses, voice soft and deep.

Your chest is heaving by now, mouth dry and eyes wide.

But then you smile; “It’s always been you too, Jack. For so long.”

His smile widens to match yours; “Cmere.”

He pulls you in close, wrapping his strong arms around you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, not here; he doesn’t want the first time to be in the ED. Not when you deserve a real date, to be treated right.

He lets his lips ghost over your hair, pressing softly once against your crown. He rubs his hand up and down your back, before laying his cheek against your hair.

When he pulls away, his thumbs rest softly on your hips; digging in just enough to let you know he’s still there. His smile hasn’t wavered, if anything it’s only grown fonder.

“So we’re ok?”, You finally ask.

Jack laughs softly; “More than ok, kid.”

Quiet settles between you both again, comfortable and warm as you take each other in with new awareness on both sides. Then Jack shifts once; pushing himself off the counter.

“C’mon”, He says, pulling you with him.

“Where?”, You ask.

“The roof”, He tells you; “Gonna watch the fireworks. I know how much you like them.”

You feel your heart melt with fondness, before the lingering concern for him creeps up behind it.

“Jack”, You say softly, stopping him; “It’s ok, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not”, He says, offering you a smile and a small squeeze of his hand; “I want to watch them, with you.”

So you follow him up the stairs to the roof, heart pounding loud enough to echo—letting him guide you with a steady hand on your lower back.

Most of the dayshift is already up there, gathered towards the railing of the roof. Jack finds a spot just in front of the doorway, leaning up against the brick wall. Away from the crowd and somehow seeming a little more private.

You settle in next to him, closer than you were in the break room. The first few fireworks go off, and for the first time; Jack doesn’t flinch. By the tenth, he reaches quietly for your hand; interlacing his fingers with your own.

Not out of fear or bad memories, just grounding himself. That makes you fold; you let your head drift down softly to rest against his shoulder—watching the sparkles of blues and reds paint the sky above you.

Jack brushes his lips briefly against your hair again, pressing once before he turns his head back—squeezing your hand softly. You stay like that; cuddled up against him in the back of the day shift crowd—a new, stronger feeling blossoming between you. Sweetly intimate and warm. Something existing just for the two of you.

“Happy fourth, Jack”, You hum, pressing your lips to his shoulder.

He squeezes your hand again, looking back at you as a sparkle of blue illuminates his face; “You too, sweetheart.”

his boots dragged against the wooden flooring as he came in through the front door at 1 AM. he discarded of his jacket and shoes before heading towards your shared bedroom almost on instinct.

“bunny? you awake?” he called out softly, poking his head into the room while opening the door quietly.

pope was met with the sight of you curled up under the sheets, blink sleepily at him. “hi, popey. i wanted to wait for you.” you yawned.

you almost didn’t catch the frown that graced pope’s chapped lips. “you didn’t have to do that, sweetheart.” he cooed lightly, sitting down beside you on the mattress before brushing the hair off from your forehead.

“i know i didn’t have to.” you shrugged, shifting to nuzzle your face into his lap. “how was the job? everything go okay?” you asked, eyes flitting up to meet his soft ones.

“yeah.. it was fine.” he sighed, watching you settle dangerously close to his crotch. “got a good haul.” he mumbled as you practically pawed at his growing bulge.

“what are you doing? it’s late. you should sleep.” pope scolded, but he didn’t make any sort of move to push you off him. “i want you.” you whined. “i missed you all day. i just wanna taste.”

pope thought for a few moments before readjusting his position on the bed until he was sat against the headboard. “okay, bunny. only cause i missed you too. promise you’ll sleep?” he asked, receiving an eager nod from you.

he lifted up his hips to pull down his jeans and boxers, pumping himself a few times to get hard enough for you to suck him into your mouth.

you gave his tip a kitten lick before taking it into your mouth, lips already wet as pope gathered your hair out of your face for you.

he groaned when you got about half way down, the rest of his length thickening up, making you whimper against him. you were already struggling to fit all of him in your mouth.

“too much?” pope asked, rubbing your back soothingly. he hummed when you nodded weakly. “that’s okay. just take what you can.”

the next few minutes were filled with pope telling you about his day while you suckled on his throbbing cock, saliva dripping from your lips and onto his pubic bone.

pope didn’t even notice you had fallen asleep until he looked down to see your eyes closed, face peaceful while still sucking on his cock.

“silly bunny couldn’t even stay awake while sucking my cock.” he whispered to himself, his tone condescending yet loving at the same time.

he only slipped himself out of your mouth right as he was about to cum. he groaned deeply as came onto your face, your swollen lips and cheeks covered in his sticky release only making him throb harder.

he made sure to clean up your face with a wet cloth before tucking you in properly under the sheets, kissing your forehead before cuddling up beside you.

his breath hitched when you took him in your mouth fully, "fuck baby", hand coming to fist your hair as the counter top took the rest of his weight. "what's gotten into you today hm" you hollowed out your cheeks, head bobbing as his cockhead neared the back of your throat on every take. you could tell he was close when his dick twitched against your tongue and the soft grunts grew louder above you. that's when you pulled off him, batting your eyelashes at his confusion.

"what-"

"it'll be fun" you lazily fisted his cock, keeping him alert. "please jackie, get to watch us fuck whenever you want" you licked a bead of precum away, his hips jolting at the feel of your tongue again. "don't you want that?"

"fuck" how could he say no to you? "fine"

you let him cum in your mouth to seal the deal. a sex tape.

-

he struggled a little at first. settling in as if there wasn't a camera capturing his every move on you. you'd set it up at the foot of the bed, feeling your pussy grow damp as you imagined the angles. being able to see how jack looked as he fucked into you, muscles straining, his face when he was cock deep in your cunt.

"relax baby" you purred against his stubble, nuzzling at him. "this is so fucking hot, gonna watch you fuck me over and over and oh-"

you needn't say any more. jack interupted you with his mouth on yours, sucking on your bottom lip with such fervour your chin was coated in his spit.

"gonna make you feel so good baby, make you cum for the camera yeah?" any performance anxiety he had disappeared when your back arched, bare tits pressing into his face as he circled his tongue around your nipple and rolled the other between fingertips.

"fuck jack 'm so wet, touch me, please" you weren't playing up to the camera. sex was always like this between the two of you, so much dirty talk and instruction, pleads and encouragement. you were just excited you'd finally be able to play some of it back.

your pussy jumped when you felt jacks breath between your legs. a kitten lick to your clit and a pull on your thighs then he was face deep, eating you to the high heavens. he moaned into you, hips gyrating against the sheets absentmindendly until he was chasing his own release in tandem with yours.

you fisted his hair with one hand and fucked his face til you were coming all over it. he came to his knees in time to avoid blowing his load all over the bed before he'd even had the chance of being inside you.

"on your knees baby"

you planted yourself at an angle that showcased your glistening cunt, all puffy and wide open for the camera to see. jack had already discarded his prosthetic at the same time as his clothes, positioning you just right in front of him. his hands smoothed over your ass, rolling the flesh before a palm came to thwack one of your cheeks.

"mmmpf, please jack-" he rubbed away the sting. "need your cock baby. please"

the whine in your plea was just too perfect for him not to give in. you looked back over your shoulder to see him stroking himself, eyes dark and concentrating on your sopping hole as he pushed into you. slow at first but you were too impatient, sinking back on your knees to take all of him hard and fast.

"jesus fuck- slow down angel" he huffed a laugh. "you tryna kill this old man?"

that didn't help his cause, pussy clamping down around his cock because he knew how tight it made you. to refer to the age gap between you, calling himself your daddy and you his baby girl. it always elicited pure pornagraphic moans from you and this was no exception.

his hand stroked up your spine, landing at the nape of your neck. he held you there when he started to fuck you hard, face shoved into the mattress and hair tangled between fingers. jack loomed over you, deep hard thrusts until just the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

"my good girl, takin me so well, so perfect"

"j-jack, my g-god" your words stuttered in line with each thrust.

"that's it, make some noise, show the camera how good 'm makin you feel yeah" his voice was low and gravelly, concentrating hard, snapping his hips harder and faster.

"so good jackie, fuck, so close-" your knuckles paled as you fisted the sheets above your head "gonna c-cum-"

that magic word had jack panting and pulling out of you at the same time. you whined at the sudden emptiness but it was mere seconds before he was pulling you up and round.

"want the camera to see how pretty you look when you cum" he leant back, tugging you on top of him til you were sinking back onto his cock, head thrown back at the returning fullness.

"come on that's it, fuck yourself on me" he moved the strands of hair from your face, a gentle gesture that opposed the roughness of his other hand digging into your hip. "fuck yourself baby"

you wasted no time in rolling your hips, a figure of eight then up and down, wanting to feel him hit every part inside you.

"god you look so good, not gonna last much longer..."

"oh, fuckfuckfuck-" the sudden shrillness of your pants accompanied his deep grunts, pushing eachother to the edge as your hips worked manically against him. you came when his thumb found your clit (with ease), the tight circles snapping the band in your stomach, gushing all over him with a silent cry.

jack came inside you a second later. fingers deep in the flesh of your thighs, hips jerking up, your name dripping from his tongue. he slowly rocked into you until his thick white mess was oozing out of you and collecting at the base of his cock.

you rode it out together, bodies relaxing against one another after a few minutes of silence.

It was like an instant connection. Jack couldn't explain it then and he still can't explain it now. It was just one of the moments when you meet someone you immediately click with.

Like it really was like a magic, and Jack planned on seeing you again. You exchanged numbers, and just as you were about to leave your hand settled up on his chest, over his heart and you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

But that was the moment that fucked it all up. Your face came back all taut, and when your text came later that night, Jack knew, he fucked up.

'Hi, Jack. I had a great time tonight tonight, but I won't meet with you again. I don't take lightly being lied to and I sure as hell don't go out with married men. Bye."

You blocked him before he could explain. Explain that he wore that ring on the chain under his t-shirt to honor his wife that had passed away a while ago. That he really wasn't seeing anyone.

But he didn't get do that. Not with the blocked number. And he didn't even know your last name.

So all he had left was some sliver of hope that someday soon he might run into you, and finally get a chance to tell you the truth.

"Brother, you okay? You know her or something?" Robby clasps Jack on his shoulder, face all worried.

"Yeah, yeah. Something like that. Don't worry, we'll take a good care of her." Jack shakes the initial shock off of him and hurries Robby along to finish the hand off.

But the whole time, Jack can only think about the fact that you are hurt, stabilised, but hurt. And he could have been there for you, for many things if he told you about his wife right away. Even though he doesn't really go around telling people he only just met about that. But he wishes that he had made an exception that one time.

So you stay on his mind even during the shift. And when you wake up, Jack doesn't think seeing a man you blocked first thing after such an accident is a good idea. He sends Ellis there instead.

-

Once you stop drifting in and out of sleep, you finally take in the room around you. The pristine white walls, people in scrubs and the beeping of the machines.

"What happened?" You whisper, voice all dry as you try to move. It only results in jolt of pain.

"Hi, you are at the emergency room. You got struck by a car and your injuries required you having a surgery. But you are stabilised and in good hands now." Her words slowly settle down in your head as you look around the hospital room.

Ellis talks to you about all your injuries and you cringe as you hear them. You can't even imagine how you'll function alone at home.

But what makes you cringe even more is that that a certain silver fox doctor might be working in this very same ER.

"How long will I stay here?" You really don't want to run into him. Not when (despite your better judgement) you've been thinking about him. And then scolding yourself for it for a long while now.

"We don't know. We are waiting for a bed to open upstairs but don't worry you are in good hands." She tells you while she checks your vitals and reactions.

"How's the pain level?" She asks, giving you a sweet smile.

"It's low. It seems whatever you gave me works wonders."

"Great. I'm going to let you get some more sleep. Ring for us if you need anything." She starts to leave but you stop her.

Finally, awake enough, you have the sense to ask. "Uhm, can I ask you something? Do you have a colleague named Jack? He's married, has silver hair..." You ask as subtly as you can.

She grins at you and nods enthusiastically. "Yes, Dr. Jack Abbot. He's our attending doctor. He fits the description but he's not married. Would you prefer him to take care of you while you are here?"

You shake your head, utterly confused. You still hazed brain can't even understand that Jack does in fact work him, but he's not married? Maybe it's a different Jack. Or maybe you misunderstood...

You don't dwell long on it because exhaustion lays heavy on you and you fall asleep once again.

-

You asked about him, and Jack doesn't know what to think about it. It bothers him that things are still unexplained between you.

And even though he tells himself that you wouldn't want to see him, he can't resist a quick look. Just one stolen moment.

He finds you sleeping softly as he settles in the chair next to your bed. Colour finally came back to your pretty face and it warms his heart. Warms his heart, knowing that you'll be okay.

He's so busy studying every inch of you with his doctor eyes that he doesn't even notice you stir.

"Jack..." You wake up with his name falling softly from your lips. The word filled with so much surprise.

"Hey." Jack says uncertainly. He hopes he isn't already overstepping. He should go.

"I'm sorry. I'm gonna leave." He gets up, shaking his head. He shouldn't have come.

"No, please stay." You mumble out quietly. You are looking at him like you can't quiet believe it's really him in front of you.

Jack gives it a second, giving you the time to change your mind. But you don't so Jack sits down again.

"You aren't married?" You ask sheepishly, but bluntly. It's like the heavy painkillers have something against you being coy.

Jack slowly takes out the ring on the chain and you frown. "I was married. But she passed away. I wear the ring to honor her, honor the love we had for each other."

Your face scrunches as your eyes go glassy. You really, really fucked up. Fucked up the opportunity to get to know this handsome, beautiful hearted man.

But Jack can't see into your mind. He only sees your quick reaction and his doctor brain does the rest of the thinking. "Hey, hey, hey. What is it? Are you in pain?"

You shake your head. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."

Oh.

Oh.

Jack blows out a breath of relief. "You had no way of knowing. I don't blame you for coming up to that conclusion."

"I'm still sorry. I could have let you explain." Your unbroken hand inches closer to Jack's that's holding onto the bed.

"It doesn't matter know. I'm sure you have long moved on from that one night of ours." He gives you a small smile, showing you exactly that he hasn't moved on from it.

You shake your head again. "No boyfriend, no anyone."

Jack just gapes at you. Surely he heard wrong. Or maybe he's just dreaming.

"Why?"

"Because there was this handsome doctor I met at a bar, and he left a mess in my head. I couldn't stop thinking about him even when I shouldn't." It's definitely the drugs talking because there's no way you'd be this bold.

And some invisible string inside Jack's chest snaps as his hand curls around yours. "He couldn't stop thinking about you either, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry again. I shouldn't have blocked you right away."

"No, no, it was the right thing to do. But do you think..." Jack starts hesitantly. "Do you think you could unblock me?"

"Will you take me out on a date if I do even if I fucked up?" There's still small scowl on your lips, and Jack quietly laughs.

"Yes. As soon as you are recovered, I'll take you on any date you want." Jack states gently, his thumb doing circles over the soft skin of your hand. Jack still can't believe this is happening. That you really are here and talking to him.

"Promise?" You ask hopefully, eyes drooping a little.

"Promise."

jack can’t always reply to your texts in a timely fashion. even when you’re sending him cute pictures of yourself cuddled up in bed, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts with his pillow tucked between your legs. you’re begging him all sweet with your pretty words. 

just a little. i won’t even finish! just let me for two minutes please please pleaseeeee!!

and one thing about jack? he isn’t the kind of man to leave his woman unsatisfied. so, he brokers a deal with you. 

you can go ahead and touch yourself whenever you need, but you have to show him. from beginning to end, he needs to review your moment of self care. you know, to make sure you’re doing it the way you ‘oughta. to know when he needs to give you some pointers or even a physical demonstration. you get so desperate sometimes that you rush into it. but jack knows that a quick release isn’t what you really need.

which is why he needs to watch you. it’s for your own good, really. 

a happy medium is found when you set your phone up on the nightstand beside his bed and record yourself from start to finish, sending the video right after. and oh—jack savors them all. downloads each and every one and has a well-organized private folder of them on his phone.

the only problem is that sometimes, he’ll receive one of those cute little videos in the middle of a shift. and he’ll see it during a slow minute where he’s trying to catch up on charting. a notification that says your name and ‘one media file attached.’ 

this time, right above the video is a text message that reads, bought something with your credit card today <3

jack thinks it’s about time. he’d given the shiny black card to you months ago and there hadn’t been a single charge yet. 

he checks his surroundings and figures the ED is quiet enough. the worst is a tibia fracture in trauma two, but he’s stabilized and shen’s with him anyway. 

so jack sneaks off to the restroom and locks the door behind him, finds his headphones at the bottom of his pocket and sticks one in. 

when he opens the video, his breath gets caught in his lungs. this time, you’re not in just his t-shirt. you’re wearing a pink, two-piece set he doesn’t recognize. made of lace and satin and all things beautiful. 

but you make it look even more so. the shade compliments your skin and the straps lay delicately over your shoulders. jack’s dick is hard before you even finish setting the camera up. 

you lean back, and there’s this look in your eye that he recognizes all too well. it’s the same look you get when he comes home from one of his swat shifts, still in uniform with his hair a mess and smelling of sweat and sun. 

hunger. 

and jack knows long before you lean back on your elbow, long before you start to rub yourself over your lace panties, that this won’t be enough for you. not today.

he knows the minute he walks through the door, you’ll be reaching out and pulling him close. begging all prettily like you always do. 

please, jack. please touch me. i want you so bad. 

and he’ll crumble beneath your sweet, wet mouth. giving you everything you need and more. 

he watches your video with a hand pressed hard against the bulge beneath his scrubs. 

you carefully hook your fingers into the elastic band and pull the fabric down your thighs. the mesh of your top falls open as you lean back again, giving him a better look at your pretty belly. 

jack shakily exhales as he watches you spread your knees apart, giving him the most delectable view.

you start slow, just like he tells you to. manicured fingers gliding easily over your clit, spreading your arousal. you press down gently, head falling back at the added pressure.

you touch your clit for just under thirty seconds—and jack knows, because he keeps watch of those time stamps—before your fingers find your needy entrance. glossy and wet, desperate to be filled. 

he knows he’s done for the moment you press your middle and index inside. simultaneously, even though jack has told you a hundred times to ease into it. one at a time, sweetheart, he’ll tell you. little girl like you? don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew.

but he’s well past the point of discipline now. later, he tells himself. he’ll take this up with you later. 

right now, though? he’s gotta take care of himself before he has to check out a new pair of scrubs. 

he unlaces his pants quickly and pulls his aching cock out. it’s heavy in his hand—hard as stone, blushed red and leaking at the tip.

jack wraps his big hand around his length and pumps himself slowly, listening to the moans that fall from your sweet mouth, timing his movements with each thrust of your fingers. 

it’s almost like fucking you. only, his hand isn’t nearly as warm. not nearly as soft or velvety or wet as your pretty pussy or even your sweet mouth.

each stroke has him clenching his teeth to bite back the groan that threatens. it builds quick, and jack is thankful for it because the video is only three minutes and twenty-nine seconds long. he pumps his throbbing cock in tandem with you, heat searing low in his belly. 

he watches with his phone in his non dominant hand as you fuck yourself with your fingers, pussy clenching around too-small knuckles. he knows you’re close when you go all quiet for a single second, chasing that high. 

and when you finally find release, spine bending off the mattress, you whimper his name. it sounds so perfect on the tip of your honeyed tongue that jack abandons the video entirely, pressing the back of his hand to his lips to quiet the low sounds that invade the back of his mouth. 

it takes only a couple more quick tugs before he crests that peak—spilling sticky, white cum over his thick knuckles. his head falls back and his breath grows uneven as his cock pulses in his grip. 

the come down is slow. and when jack’s attention returns to your video, it’s with only seconds to spare. he’s got just enough time to see you blow a sweet kiss at the camera right before it times out.

he cleans himself up with a few paper towels and tucks his cock back into his pants. once he laces his scrubs back up and thoroughly washes his hands, jack sends a quick text back in reply. 

You look beautiful, sweetheart. You should buy one in each color. Don’t stay up too late, though. You know the rules.

you respond almost immediately. 

bed by twelve and phone up by one i know i knowww. i’ll be good 

jack smiles to himself, wishing he could cut the night short and come home to you. but he finds himself comforted in knowing you’ll be there waiting for him when he does come home. safe and sound and well rested, hopefully still in that pretty pink lace.

when he leaves the restroom, jack immediately notices the entirety of the emergency department’s staff gathered near the bay doors.

his brows furrow and his heart rate kicks up, thinking something bad must have finally rolled in to ruin the ease of the night.

he rushes over, only to find everyone gathered around a doordash driver holding eight different coffee orders. some hot, some iced, some frozen.

all individually hand picked and hand ordered. 

jack nudges mateo’s shoulder. “what’s this?”

“courtesy of mrs. doctor jack abbot,” the driver answers. “iced macchiato?”

parker raises her hand and takes the drink with a grin on her face. she pulls always from the gathered group and asks, “when did you two get married?”

jack laughs. “technically, we haven’t. not yet, anyway.”

the driver reads off a plain black coffee, and when no one raises their hand jack knows for certain that it must be his. he takes it gratefully. 

shen walks away with his iced latte already half gone. he glances at jack over over his shoulder and says, “time to wife her up, dude. and if you don’t, i will. not gonna give up mid shift coffee deliveries now that i’ve been spoiled.”

jack scoffs and shakes his head, but there’s a grin on his face and pride welling up in his chest. “don’t you have something better to do today than threatening to steal my girlfriend?”

shen chuckles and slips into one of the rooms to check up on a patient, leaving jack to find a computer and return to his charting. 

but before he does, he pulls out his phone to send one last, quick message. 

That better have been on my card.

thank you for reading, i love you!!

You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”

“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.

Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.

“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”

Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”

You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.

God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.

Handsome. Not rugged.

Competent. Doubtful.

Caring. Well, caring enough.

“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.

“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?” 

The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —

“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.

He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”

His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat. 

Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”

“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?

“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost. 

“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.

“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.

Jack huffs. “Just go.”

You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.

Well.

Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.

As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.

“Penlight. Incoming.”

You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.

You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.

The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.

Don't objectify him. Don't objectify him. Don't objectify him.

Fuck it. Too late for that. 

“So…” the man begins.

“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.

“Nick seems like a good guy.”

“Noah.”

“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”

You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.

“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”

“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”

A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.

“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.

“Yes, you just sai —”

“Only care about yours.”

That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.

Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.

You quickly regain your senses to retort.

“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.

The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”

You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.

Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”

"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."

"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.

"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.

"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."

He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”

“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after. 

“She prefers lattes, by the way.”

2

Bzzzzzzz 

“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”

Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.

Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today. 

“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.

“Yolanda, you listen to music?”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”

Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second. 

“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”

Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.

“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.

“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”

Huh, Strange. 

***

The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —

Bzzzzzzzzz.

You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”

The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.

You hate loud. So much.

You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.

Look at you being fiscally responsible. 

“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you. 

Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.

“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys. 

“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.

“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks. 

In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.

You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.

Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”

“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”

Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”

“Only women?”

“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”

“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush. 

In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face. 

You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."

“Oh, I tried.” 

You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”

“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —

“Did he forget his Roblox password?”

You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.

“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.

Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”

You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.

You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.

You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.

You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.

Does he want you to hold…?

“Your phone, nurse.”

Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.

“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”

His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.

“You're not a teenager.”

“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.

Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.

Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.

“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.

He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”

With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.

Kid. 

You need a chair. 

3

“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.

“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.

Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.

You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.

“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.

Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”

“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.

Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.

“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”

You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.

“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.

“How much is a while?”

This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.

“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.

“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.

It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.

You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left. 

“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.

“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”

Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.

You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear. 

Is nobody watching this?

You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.

His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.

“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair. 

Oh. Oh. OH.

“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.

Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.

You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.

***

You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.

“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.

“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”

“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.

Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.

“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”

“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”

“Thanks, sir.”

A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”

“Hm?”

“Where he took you. Nick.”

“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.

“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”

“What?”

He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.

“I'm an anything person, really.”

Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.

“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.

Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.

“I know.”

He says your name.

Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.

Please say my name again.

“I know, kid.”

“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another. 

You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.

You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.

By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.

“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”

Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.

You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though. 

Desperation.

You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.

+1

“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.

You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.

The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”

“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.

Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.

Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.” 

For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.

No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.

You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier. 

Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.

Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?

As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.

Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”

The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.

9 missed calls from Noah.

“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.

“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.

“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”

“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.

“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”

You take a deep breath.

“What do you want?”

“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”

“No.”

“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”

That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.

“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears. 

When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.

You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”

“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.

You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.

This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!

Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.

You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”

The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.

“Jesus, Jack.”

“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.

Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.

“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.

“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”

“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”

“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.

“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.

“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.

In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.

“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”

He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.

“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.

“I know that. Do you?”

“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.

“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.

Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.

Nurse, there's people that are dying.

“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.

“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”

Sweetheart.

“You're killing me.” 

“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders. 

A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”

You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.

The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.

“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.

Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.

“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.

Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.

“I asked you something, kid.” 

You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes. 

And, oh.

His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.

He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.

“You can continue yelling at me now.”

In and out. Deep breath.

“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.

“As I said —”

“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.

A pause.

“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

“Jac —”

“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”

His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.

“Me? What about me?”

He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”

You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip. 

He thinks that?

Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.

“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.

He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.

“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.

“What? You're my senior, you're older —”

He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.

“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."

You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.

You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.

You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.

“Why haven't you sent it?”

“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”

Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.

“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”

With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.

His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”

Deep breath. In and out.

You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow. 

Send. 

You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. 

You did that. You.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.

He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.

But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”

“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.

“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.

“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”

You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.

Fuck.

Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.

Just as you try to move your lips against his —

“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle. 

“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.

His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt. 

“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.

“That's a lot.”

“What can I say? I like paying for things.”

His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.

Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later. 

“One hand, wow.” 

“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”

He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.

He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.

You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.

“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.

“Yes, doctor.”

He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his. 

“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.

“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.

“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.

“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.

“Yes, doctor”

“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.

Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.

This day wasn't out of the ordinary for you.

Jack had been called into the hospital, so you decided to run some errands instead. Just another walk through the city, another stretch of pavement leading you towards your favourite café. The street was bustling with lunchtime rush, people brushing past without even looking up, all of it so normal you stopped noticing anything outside your immediate line of sight.

You don’t see the window workers until it’s already too late.

There’s a shout, somewhere overhead, sharp, distant, dismissed instantly by your brain as background chaos.

Then something shifts overhead.

A shadow.

A sudden loss of control.

Like something heavy slipping when it shouldn’t.

You look up.

The bucket tips over the edge, half full, unbalanced, too far gone to recover.

You have no time to react.

It drops straight down.

The impact is immediate and brutal, striking the top of your head with enough force to erase thoughts.

Air leaves you all once.

Your body goes back with force, the concrete of the sidewalks rushing up before you can even register that you’re falling. 

You don’t feel the landing.

You’re already gone before your body makes contact.

The ambulance door swings open hard.

Two paramedics rush in with a stretcher.

“Female, roughly mid-thirties–struck by falling debris,” one of the paramedics calls.

Whitaker is already moving.

“Trauma Two is open,” someone shouts from the nurses’ station.

The stretcher rolls in fast.

“Unconscious on scene,” the paramedic continues. “Hasn’t come around yet. GSC eight.”

Monitors are attached within seconds.  An IV is started. Hands move quickly, practiced, efficient.

Whitaker is at the bedside now, eyes already scanning your injuries.

“Witness said that the window cleaner’s bucket fell from a height,” A paramedic informs. “She went down immediately.”

“ID?” Whitaker asks without looking up.

“None,” the paramedic says, already reaching into his pocket. “But we found this on her.”

He places a chain into Whitaker’s hand.

Dog tags.

Whitaker’s focus sharpens instantly.

That changes everything.

He takes them without hesitation, already thinking they’ve just been handed the easiest part of the case. A name means history, allergies, blood type, everything they need.

“Good,” he says under his breath, almost relieved. “We got lucky.”

He flips the broken tags over.

And stops.

Abbot. Jack.

O Negative.

Fuck.

For a second, the noise of the room is completely drowned out, as if it had been pulled underwater.

 He reads it again, more slowly this time, in case the name changes.

It doesn’t.

“...Jesus,” He mutters, barely audible.

A nurse glances over. “You know her?”

Whitaker doesn't answer right away. His grip tightens slightly on the chain, metal pressing into his palm like letting go of it would make this situation even worse.

Because this wasn’t luck.

This was a problem.

A large one.

But more importantly, a very specific one 

“Page, Dr. Robby,” he says, voice sharper now. “And Dr. Abbot. Now.”

The nurse moves immediately at the order.

Whitaker set the tags down carefully on the tray beside you, as if they were the most important thing in this room.

Robby arrives first.

He doesn't rush in. He lets his residents lead, but the moment he steps into Trauam Two, the atmosphere shifts anyway.

“What’ve we got?” he asks, pulling on a pair of gloves.

Whitaker doesn't answer right away. 

Not because he doesn't know what's going on, but because he can’t quite find the words that fit.

Instead, he shifts slightly so Robby can see you.

Not the monitors. Not the chart.

You.

​​Robby’s expression changes instantly. Subtle, but complete. The kind of shift that happens when a doctor stops seeing a case and starts seeing a person.

He steps closer without even thinking.

His hand finds your wrist automatically, checking your pulse. His other hand moves to your eyes, checking pupils, clinical instinct kicking in.

“Found down,” a nurse says quickly. “Struck by falling debris—window cleaner’s bucket. Unconscious on scene, brief loss of consciousness, GCS eight.”

Robby nods, but there’s a little delay in it, like the information is landing half a beat too slow.

His hand stays on your wrist a fraction longer than necessary.

“I paged Abbot.”

“How—” he starts, confused, the word barely out.

He doesn’t finish.

Because Whitaker lifts his hand, the broken chain rests between his fingers. 

Just enough for Robby to see it clearly.

Dog tags.

Everything in Robby’s expression shifts. Not shock. Recognition. Then something worse. Like the entire situation snaps into place all at once.

“...Oh no,” he says quietly.

His eyes flick back to you immediately.

Because this isn’t just some random patient.

This is Jack’s wife.

Robby straightened slightly, like his body was trying to catch up with what his brain already knew.

“No,” he says under his breath, already shaking his head once. “No-no, no…”

Whitaker starts to say something. “Robby—”

But Robby isn’t listening anymore.

His attention shifts toward the door like he can feel it before it happens.

“He’s coming,” Robby says, more to himself than anyone else.

A pause.

“Fuck.” Robby exhales through his nose, one hand dragging over his face as he looks back at you again.

You’re still unconscious. Still pale. Still completely unaware of who's about to walk in.

Whitaker tries again. “Robby—”

And that's when it finally clicks in his head.

“He can’t see her like this,” Robby says, firmer now, like he’s locking onto the only thing that matters.

Not like this.

And he’s already halfway to the door, trying to get there before Jack does.

Robby barely makes it halfway across the room before the door pushes open again.

Jack.

He’s already moving fast, eyes ready to assess the situation before anyone even speaks.

“What do we have?” he asks, breath just slightly off from the rush. “You paged me.”

Robby steps in front of him, blocking the doorway without hesitation.

“Hey”

Jack frowns, thrown off more by that than anything else. “What are you doing?”

“Jack-”

“Move,” Jack says, sharper now, trying to step around him to assist the patient.

Robby doesn’t. “You can’t go in there.”

That stops him.

“What?” Jack let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Robby, what are you talking about?”

Behind him, the room keeps moving. Voices, monitors, motion, but Jack can’t see any of it past the barrier in front of him.

“Just—wait,” Robby says, quieter now.

“No,” Jack shakes his head, already trying to step around him. “No, don’t page me and then tell me to wait. Move.”

Robby shifts just an inch, and for a split second, it is enough.

An angle opens up.

Just enough for Jack to see.

There are doctors and nurses,

The bed.

You.

Unconscious. 

Blood matted into your hair, dark against your skin. Clothes still damp, clinging in the wrong places. 

Everything in him stops.

The sound of the room drops out completely.

“…No,” he breathes.

Robby moves immediately to block his view again.

“Jack,” he says firmly. “You can’t—”

“That’s my wife,” Jack cuts in, voice breaking under it despite his effort to hold it together. “What happened?”

He tries to move forward again. His brain tries to process what he is seeing. His weight shifts subconsciously to his real leg to ground him. But it all hits at once, too fast, too much.

“…No,” he breathes, barely there.

“Jack,” he says, low and steady. “You can’t—”

Robby stops him, hands on his chest this time.

“You cannot go in there,” Robby says, stronger now. “You know that.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know,” Robby answers. “But you will if you make a mistake.”

That lands.

Not because it calms Jack’s nerves, but because it forces clarity through the panic.

If he treats you like this… he could make it worse.

Jack’s breathing is uneven. His eyes keep trying to find you past Robby’s shoulder.

But he can’t.

“Let us do our job,” Robby says, quieter now. “We’ve got her.”

Jack doesn’t move.

Doesn’t agree but doesn't try to push past him again either.

A long, stretched-out second passes.

Then Jack steps back.

Just one step.

Like it costs him more than anything else today.

Robby watches him carefully, like he expects him to surge back towards him.

But Jack just… goes still.

The fight drains out of him all at once, as something snapped.

He turns away without another word.

The roof is silent when Robby and Whitaker find him.

Jack is at the edge, hands gripping the metal railing, shoulder tight. Not leaning over, just holding on. Like it’s the only thing keeping him in place.

The city stretches out in front og him.

He doesn’t turn.

They both know he heard them.

Robby glances once at Whitaker, then back to Jack.

“She’s stable,” he says.

No response.

Whitaker steps a little closer. “Vitals are holding. We’re sending her for CT—possible concussion, maybe a small bleed, but nothing immediately life-threatening.”

Still nothing.

Robby moves a little closer, not too fast.

“She’s going to be okay,”

That gets a reaction.

Barely.

Jack exhales slowly, the sound rough, like he’s been holding it in too long.

He doesn’t turn around.

“…Did she wake up?” he asks.

“No,” Whitaker answers. “Not yet.”

Jack nods once.

Silence returns, wind cutting across the roof.

Whitaker hesitates for a second, then—

“She had your tags on.”

That lands differently.

Something in Jack breaks, just a little.

A quiet, breathless laugh slips out of him, completely out of place against everything else.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough.

He shakes his head once, like he can’t believe it even now. “She hates rings.”

A tear slips down before he can stop it.

He doesn’t wipe it away.

He just stands there, staring out at the city, holding onto the railing like it’s the only solid thing left.

Back in your room, everything is calmer now.

Monitors still beep steadily, machines still running, but the urgency is gone, replaced with something calmer. Controlled

Jack hesitates in the doorway before stepping in.

He takes you in slowly this time, like he’s afraid moving too fast will break the moment.

A sudden movement pulls his focus.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here.”

Your brows pull together slightly, a small reaction to the sounds of his voice.

Then your eyes flutter.

They open slowly.

Heavy.

Disoriented.

A small sound escapes you when the lights make contact with your eyes.

“Easy, babe,” he murmurs. “Don’t try to move too fast.”

You blink a few times, trying to focus.

Everything hurts. It’s too bright, too loud. Your head is throbbing.

“...Jack?” Your voice is rough, barely there.

“Yeah,” Jack says quietly, catching it. “Head’s gonna hurt. You took a bucket to the head.”

Your eyes finally land on him, and you just stare as if your brain is trying to catch up.

“I’m here,” he says again.

Relief flashes across your face. Small. Real. Your shoulder loosens, and seeing him suddenly makes everything feel less chaotic.

“You look mad,” you murmur weakly. That gets a faint breath out of him, almost a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I was.”

His hand finds yours carefully, grounding you.

“But you’re okay,” he adds. “That’s what matters.”

Your eyes drift shut for half a moment, exhaustion pulling at you.

“Mm,” you hum faintly. “Feels like I lost a battle.”

Jack huffs under his breath. “You did,” he says. “Badly.”

A faint smile tugs at your mouth, even through the ache.

“Rude,” you whisper.

Then your fingers shift against the sheet.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Yeah?”

Your eyes flick to his chest.

“…Not on me,” you murmur.

Jack looks down at you. “What?”

“The tags,” you say, voice still rough but more alert now. “They’re not on my neck,”

You expect them to be there; they have been for years.

Jack exhales through his nose,  almost amused.

He reaches into his pocket.

Carefully, he pulls out the chain.

His dog tags.

Worn. Familiar. Still his.

He places them gently into your hand.

“That’s how they identified you, Mrs. Abbot,” he says quietly.

That makes your expression shift, softening, something warm and tried underneath it.

Then your eyes drop the break.

The link halfway down snapped from the impact.

“Oh,” you murmur. “It’s broken,” 

 “Yeah,” he answers. “We’ll fix it.”

You study him for a second, still holding onto the chain lightly as if it grounds you.

“Thankfully,” you murmur, “the government likes labelling their property.”

That gets a quiet breath out of him.

“Yeah?” he asks.

You nod faintly.

“Very official,” you add. “Important documentation.”

Jack shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“And what,” he says, voice lower now, teasing, “are you properly of?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“You.”

The teasing fades out of his expression for a second, something quieter replacing it.

“…Yeah?” he asks softly.

Your grip on the tags tightens just slightly.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Been that way for a while.”

He holds your hand a little tighter.

“Good,” he says quietly.

Then, softer:

“Keep it that way.”

Your eyes start to drift again, exhaustion pulling at you.

“Wasn’t planning on changing it,” you whisper.

Jack’s thumb moves once over your knuckles.

And this time, neither of you says anything else.

You’re leaning against the nurses’ station, half-listening to the tail end of handover, when you feel it, that subtle shift in attention that means someone’s looking at you with intent.

You don’t even have to turn to know who it is.

“Long night?” comes a voice beside you, low, familiar, edged with something that always feels a little too observant. You glance up anyway.

Jack looks exactly how he always does at the end of a shift, tired, but controlled, sleeves pushed up, expression unreadable unless you know what to look for. You do, now. Not fully, not perfectly, but enough to notice the slight slack in his posture, the way he’s leaning more into the counter than he was a few hours ago.

“Nothing exploded,” you say lightly. “That’s a win.”

He hums, like he agrees with the sentiment more than the wording. Before he can say anything else, another voice cuts in.

“Oh, that’s adorable.”

You close your eyes briefly. Samira leans in from the other side of the station, grin already forming like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night. “You’re doing that thing again.”

You don’t even look at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That,” she says, gesturing vaguely between you and Jack. “That thing. The soft voice, the little smiles, the—”

“Samira,” you warn, though there’s no real bite to it.

“You’re flirting,” she finishes anyway, completely unbothered.

Heat creeps up your neck. “I am not.”

“Mm,” she hums, unconvinced. “Sure.”

From somewhere behind her, Santos lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that says she’s been listening the entire time without needing to involve herself until now. “You absolutely are.”

You turn to her, mildly betrayed. “Whose side are you on?”

“Mine,” Santos replies easily. “Which happens to be the correct one.”

Jack exhales quietly beside you, something almost like amusement flickering there, though he doesn’t jump in. He rarely does. He watches. Lets things play out. It makes it worse.

“You’re both ridiculous,” you mutter, turning back to your notes like that’ll somehow save you.

“Robby!” Samira calls suddenly, far too loud for this time of morning.

You freeze. “Oh no—”

Too late.

Robby looks up from across the department, clearly already clocking that tone means trouble. “What?”

“Settle something for us,” she says sweetly.

“Robby, no,” you say immediately.

“Robby, yes,” she continues over you. “Are they flirting?”

There’s a beat. A pause long enough to feel deliberate.

Then Robby looks between the two of you, takes in the space you’re standing in, the way you’ve angled slightly towards each other without realising, the way Jack hasn’t moved away once.

“…painfully obvious,” he says.

You make a small, mortified sound.

“Right. Brilliant. Thank you for that.”

Jack huffs quietly beside you, not quite a laugh, but close enough. You risk a glance at him. He’s looking at you now, properly. There’s something softer there than before.

“Breakfast,” he says, like none of that just happened.

You blink. “…sorry?”

“You eaten?”

You stare at him for half a second, still catching up.

“No,” you admit. “Not unless coffee counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

You almost smile. “Thought so.”

There’s a pause, quieter this time. Less performative. Less watched.

“Come over,” he says, voice lower now, meant just for you. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Your stomach flips. Samira makes a noise that is absolutely going to haunt you later. You ignore her.

“You can cook?” you ask, softer now.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” you say, even though you are. “Just didn’t picture it.”

“What did you picture?”

You hesitate, then, “Takeaway. Black coffee.”

That gets you a proper reaction this time. A faint, real smile that shifts something in his face you don’t see often.

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

“Debatable.”

You adjust your bag on your shoulder, suddenly very aware of how much you want to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you admit.

“Good.”

Behind you, Trinity makes a quiet, knowing noise. You pretend not to hear it.

His place is quieter than the hospital in a way that feels almost jarring at first.

No monitors. No distant voices. No constant undercurrent of urgency humming through the walls. Just stillness. Clean, controlled, deliberate.

It fits him.

You step inside, slipping your shoes off automatically, taking a moment to look around while he moves further in.

There’s something grounding about it. Something that makes your shoulders drop just a fraction. Then he stops. Turns back.

“There’s something you need to know.”

You glance up, brows lifting slightly.

“That sounds like a warning.”

“It is.”

You shift your bag off your shoulder. “Alright.”

He exhales, like he’s deciding how serious to make it. “I’ve got a dog,” he says. “Ex-service. Didn’t place well after.”

Your chest softens immediately. “Oh.”

“He’s not great with people,” Jack continues. “Might bark. Might growl. Don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t,” you say gently.

“I mean it,” he adds, a little firmer. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

You tilt your head slightly. “I’m not a stranger.”

Something flickers across his face at that. “Not to me,” he says. “To him, you are.”

You consider that, then nod. “Okay. I’ll let him decide.”

He studies you for a second longer, like he’s trying to predict how this is going to go. Then—

“Buddy,” he calls.

The response is immediate. A bark, sharp and alert, from deeper in the flat.

You still instinctively, pulse picking up just slightly, though you keep your posture loose, non-threatening without even thinking about it. It’s the same instinct you use with nervous children, a soft voice, open hands, and patience.

You hear him before you see him. Then he appears.

Big. Solid. A German Shepherd with the kind of presence that fills the space without needing to move much at all. He stops a few feet away, ears forward, body tense but controlled, eyes locked onto you with sharp, assessing focus.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just let him look.

“Easy,” Jack says quietly.

Buddy doesn’t take his eyes off you. You soften your stance slightly, letting your shoulders drop, your hands visible at your sides.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, voice low and warm. “I’m not going to bother you.”

There’s a beat. Another. Then Buddy takes a cautious step forward. You stay exactly where you are. Let him come to you.

He stops just out of reach, nose twitching faintly as he takes you in properly. The silence stretches.

Then, a nudge. Gentle. Right against your hand.

You blink, surprised. “Oh,” you breathe softly.

You lift your hand slowly, giving him time to pull away. He doesn’t. If anything, he leans in further. Your fingers slide into his fur, tentative at first, then more certain when he doesn’t react badly.

“Hi,” you whisper.

Behind you, Jack goes very still. “…you’re joking.”

You glance back at him, a small smile forming despite yourself. “I think he likes me.”

“That’s not my dog,” he runs a hand through his hair, genuinely thrown. “He doesn’t do that.”

Buddy nudges your hand again, more insistently this time. You laugh quietly.

“Alright, I get it.”

It doesn’t stop at cautious acceptance. If anything, it goes in the complete opposite direction.

Within minutes, Buddy has made a very clear and entirely unexpected decision about you, and he commits to it with the kind of certainty that leaves absolutely no room for doubt. He follows you into the kitchen as though it’s his designated role, staying close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your side, occasionally brushing against your legs just to make sure you’re still there.

You try not to laugh at how insistent he is about it.

“Does he always—” you start, breaking off when Buddy nudges your hand for the third time in as many seconds, pressing his nose against your wrist like he’s reminding you of something important. “—do this?”

Jack is watching the entire thing unfold like he’s witnessing a glitch in reality.

“No,” he says flatly. “He absolutely does not.”

You crouch slightly, giving Buddy what he very clearly wants, your fingers slipping into the thick fur behind his ears. He leans into it instantly, the tension you saw earlier completely gone, replaced with something almost embarrassingly affectionate.

“He’s lovely,” you murmur.

“He’s not,” Jack replies, though there’s no real conviction in it now. “He’s selective. Very selective.”

“Apparently not that selective.”

Buddy presses his head more firmly into your hand as if he’s agreeing with you.

You smile, softer now, and something about the way Jack watches that makes your chest feel a little too full for something so small.

Breakfast becomes slower than either of you planned.

Not in a bad way. Just very stretched out, softened at the edges, shaped more by the quiet ease settling between you than any actual schedule. Jack moves around the kitchen with a familiarity that surprises you, the kind of efficiency that comes from doing something often enough that it doesn’t need thinking about.

You lean against the counter, watching him more than you mean to, still absentmindedly petting Buddy when he nudges for it, which is often.

“You’re staring,” Jack says without looking up.

“I’m observing.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not,” you argue lightly. “Observing is clinical.”

“Right,” he says. “And this feels clinical to you?”

You hesitate, caught for half a second. “…no.”

He glances at you then, just briefly, but it’s enough to make your stomach flip in that quiet, disorienting way you’re still getting used to around him.

“Thought so.”

You look away first.

By the time the food is actually done, Buddy has firmly decided that wherever you are is where he’s meant to be.

You barely get as far as sitting down before he follows, circling once like he’s figuring out the logistics, then settling with surprising care across your lap. Not tentative anymore. Not cautious. Just certain.

You freeze for a second, more out of surprise than anything else. Then you laugh softly, looking up at Jack.

“Is this allowed?”

He stares at the dog. Then at you. Then back at the dog again, like he’s trying to reconcile the version of Buddy he knows with the one currently draped over you like you’ve always belonged to him.

“Apparently,” he says.

You shake your head slightly, amused, your hand coming up to rest lightly along Buddy’s neck. He lets out a long, contented breath, eyes slipping half-closed as soon as you start moving your fingers through his fur again.

“He’s very convincing.”

“He’s never done that,” Jack mutters, still not quite over it. “Not with anyone.”

You glance at him, something softer settling in your expression.

“Maybe he just needed the right person.”

The words come out quieter than you expect. He hears them anyway. Of course he does. There’s a flicker of something in his expression again, something you don’t quite name, but it lingers longer this time.

Conversation comes easily after that. Easier than it should for something so new.

You talk about the shift, about the cases that stuck with you, the small wins that matter more than they should, the moments that sit heavier than you let on in the middle of it. Jack listens in that same focused way he always does, not interrupting, not filling the space unnecessarily, just there.

When he talks, you listen the same way. It feels balanced. It feels right.

Buddy stays exactly where he is the entire time, occasionally shifting just enough to nudge your hand if you stop moving for too long, like he’s reminding you of your role in all this.

You don’t mind. You don’t think you could stop if you tried.

You forget about time. That’s the problem.

You forget until your phone buzzes faintly from your bag, dragging you back into reality in a way that feels almost abrupt. You glance at it, then immediately regret it. You’ve stayed longer than you meant to. You always do that.

“I should go,” you say quietly, even though the words don’t feel right.

Buddy’s head lifts immediately. Jack’s gaze follows a second later.

“Yeah?”

You nod, though it’s slower this time, less certain.

“I’ve got things to do. Sleep, mostly.”

“You could do that here,” he says, almost absentmindedly.

The words land heavier than he probably intends. You feel it. So does he. There’s a brief pause where neither of you quite knows what to do with that.

“I should—” you start again, softer now, already shifting slightly like you’re preparing to stand.

That’s when Buddy reacts. At first, it’s just a low sound. Not quite a growl. Not quite a warning. Just enough to make you pause.

“Hey,” you murmur gently, hand still resting against him. “It’s alright.”

You try to shift again, slower this time, easing your leg out from under him. He doesn’t move. Instead, he presses more firmly into you, weight settling deliberately like he’s decided this is where he’s staying.

“Buddy,” Jack says, a little more firmly now. The dog ignores him completely.

You huff a quiet, surprised laugh. “I think he disagrees.”

“Buddy,” Jack repeats, sharper this time.

That gets his attention, but only briefly. His gaze flicks to Jack, then back to you, and this time when you try to stand properly, he reacts fully. The growl is clearer now. Low. Protective. Not at you. At the idea of you leaving.

You freeze, caught halfway between standing and sitting, heart doing something strange in your chest.

“Oh.”

Jack stares at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Buddy shifts quickly, rising with you, then stepping in front of you like he’s physically blocking your path. His body isn’t aggressive, not in the way it could be, but it’s firm. Intentional.

You don’t push it. You’ve worked with enough anxious children, and enough protective instincts, to know when to pause instead of forcing it.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, crouching slightly so you’re closer to his level. “I’m not going anywhere right this second, alright? Easy, sweet boy.”

His ears flick. The tension eases a fraction. You glance up at Jack, something uncertain creeping in now.

“Is this normal?”

“No,” he says immediately. “None of this is normal.”

You almost laugh, even with the strange knot forming in your chest. “He doesn’t want me to go.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

You try to shift again, slower, testing. Buddy’s reaction is immediate. A sharper growl this time, followed by him catching lightly at your sleeve, not biting, just holding, like he’s physically trying to keep you where you are.

Your breath catches.

“Okay,” you say softly, still calm, even though your pulse has picked up. “Alright, sweetheart, I hear you.”

Jack exhales, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to figure out how this is happening.

“He’s never—” he starts, then stops, clearly abandoning the thought.

You look between them, then back at Buddy, who is now very clearly attached to you in a way that’s not going to resolve quickly.

“I don’t think I’m leaving,” you say, half to yourself.

There’s a pause. Jack looks at you. Really looks this time.

“Good,” he says quietly. The word lands differently than you expect.

Buddy settles again once you stop trying to move away, though this time he stays closer, pressed more firmly against you, like he’s making sure you don’t disappear if he looks away for too long.

You sit back down slowly, letting out a small breath.

“Well,” you murmur, a little dazed. “This is insane.”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve broken him.”

“I don’t think I have,” you say softly, glancing down at Buddy, your hand moving instinctively back into his fur. “I think he’s just decided something.”

“What?”

You hesitate.

Then, quieter, “That I’m safe.”

There’s a silence that follows that, heavier than before. Not uncomfortable. Just full. Jack watches you for a long moment, something thoughtful settling into his expression.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “He has.”

Buddy nudges your hand again. Insistent. You smile faintly.

“Alright,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

The shift from you should probably go to you’re clearly not going anywhere happens quietly.

There’s no big conversation about it. No formal decision. Just the slow, undeniable reality of Buddy staying pressed against you like you’re something he’s claimed, and the way neither of you seems particularly willing to disrupt that.

You sit there for a while longer, fingers moving absently through his fur, letting your body come down properly for the first time since the shift ended. The adrenaline has finally worn off, leaving something softer in its place, tired, yes, but calm in a way that feels rare.

Safe. You don’t miss the way Jack watches you during that. Not constantly. Not in a way that feels heavy. Just enough.

“You’re exhausted,” he says eventually. It’s not a question.

You glance up at him, a small, tired smile pulling at your mouth. “So are you.”

“Yeah,” he admits.

There’s a pause, quieter now. Then, “Stay.”

The word lands softly, but there’s something underneath it that makes your chest tighten. You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to. Because you do.

“Are you sure?” you ask, voice a little gentler than before. “I don’t want to—”

“You’re not imposing,” he cuts in, not sharp, just certain. “You’re already here.”

You glance down at Buddy, who has not moved an inch from your side.

“That’s not exactly by choice.”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Still counts.”

You exhale slowly, the last of your resistance softening. “Okay.”

The transition to evening feels seamless. Almost too easy.

Jack disappears briefly into the bedroom, returning with a shirt in his hands, one of his, clearly, larger and softer with wear. He holds it out to you without making a big thing of it.

“For you,” he says simply.

Your chest warms at that in a way you don’t quite know what to do with.

“Thank you.”

You take it, fingers brushing his briefly in the exchange, and something small and electric settles under your skin.

The bathroom light is softer than the rest of the flat, the quiet hum of it a stark contrast to the constant noise you’re used to. You take your time, washing your face, tying your hair back loosely, letting yourself come down fully from the day.

His shirt hangs loosely on you when you pull it on, the fabric soft and faintly carrying his scent, clean, something warmer underneath, something distinctly him.

It settles over you in a way that feels grounding.

You catch your reflection briefly. Pause. There’s something different about the way you look. Softer, maybe. Less guarded. You don’t linger on it.

When you step back out, the apartment is dimmer. Quieter.

Jack’s already settled on the bed, propped up slightly against the headboard, one arm resting loosely at his side. He looks up when you appear, gaze flicking over you in a way that makes your stomach flip again.

Not obvious. Not lingering. Just enough.

“That okay?” he asks, nodding slightly towards the shirt.

You nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”

There’s a brief pause, something unspoken hanging between you again, familiar now in a way that feels less intimidating than it did before.

Then Buddy appears. Of course he does.

He trots straight over like he knows exactly where you are, barely sparing Jack a glance before making a small, pleased noise and jumping up onto the bed with surprising ease.

You laugh softly, shifting slightly to make room.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

He presses into you immediately.

Jack watches, unimpressed.

“Unbelievable.”

You smile, hand already moving through Buddy’s fur again.

“I think he’s the sweetest.”

“Clearly.”

You hesitate for a second before climbing onto the bed properly, settling beside Jack with a little more space than you probably need, still aware of the newness of all this.

He doesn’t comment on it. Doesn’t close the distance. Just lets you choose it.

You notice that. You always notice that.

It makes something in your chest feel steadier.

Buddy, however, has no such reservations.

Within seconds, he’s wedged himself firmly between the two of you, body half-curled against your side, head pressing insistently under your hand until you start petting him again. You laugh quietly.

“I think he’s made his preference clear.”

Jack snorts. “Yeah. Not me.”

You glance at him, amused. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I absolutely am.”

You settle more comfortably after that, shifting slightly so you’re not perched quite so stiffly, your shoulder brushing lightly against Jack’s arm in the process.

He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t react outwardly at all. But you feel the shift. Subtle. Real.

Buddy sighs contentedly between you, like he’s successfully orchestrated exactly what he wanted.

Conversation comes softer now. Slower. Less about the day, more about nothing in particular, small things, half-thoughts, the kind of quiet talking that fills space without needing to prove anything.

At some point, your head tips slightly towards his shoulder without you fully realising. You catch yourself halfway through the movement. Pause. Then decide not to pull away.

He doesn’t comment. Just adjusts slightly, almost imperceptibly, making the position easier for you without making it a thing. Your chest tightens.

Buddy shifts. You think it’s just him getting comfortable again. It’s not.

There’s a low sound. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just pointed. You glance down. He’s looking at Jack.

Jack raises a brow. “Seriously?”

Buddy doesn’t break eye contact. The growl comes again. Slightly clearer this time.

You blink. “Is he—”

“Yeah,” Jack mutters. “He is.”

Buddy nudges at Jack’s arm with his nose. Once. Twice. Then lets out another low, insistent sound.

Jack stares at him. “You’re joking.”

Buddy nudges him again. Harder. You can’t help it, you laugh, soft and surprised, even as your hand stills slightly in his fur.

“I think he wants you to move.”

“I’m not moving,” Jack says flatly.

Buddy growls again. More insistent. Your shoulders shake with quiet laughter now.

“Oh my god.”

Jack exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous.”

Buddy nudges him again. And again.

Until, “Fine,” Jack mutters, shifting slightly to the side. “Unbelievable.”

The second he moves, Buddy settles properly between you, pressing himself more firmly into your side while still maintaining a clear boundary between the two of you.

You laugh again, softer this time, your fingers slipping back into his fur.

“He’s very protective.”

“He’s very annoying.”

“You love him.”

Jack glances at you. “Yeah.”

The way he says it makes your chest tighten again.

The space between you shifts after that. Not dramatically. Just enough.

Your shoulder stays against his arm. Your head rests more fully now, the hesitation gone. His hand comes up at some point, not quite touching you at first, just hovering briefly before settling lightly at your side.

It’s tentative. Careful. You lean into it. That’s all it takes.

His hand settles properly after that, warm and steady against you, not pulling you closer but not letting you drift away either.

Your breath softens. So does his.

Buddy sighs again. Content.

Like everything is exactly where it should be.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Just the feeling of it, warm, quiet, safe in a way that feels almost unfamiliar. His arm around you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Buddy wedged firmly between you, occasionally shifting just enough to make sure you’re still there.

The last thing you register before sleep fully takes you is Jack’s voice, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Guess you’re staying.”

You smile faintly against his shoulder. “Looks like it.”

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