Ooooffff

“good work today, chief.” dana tells him as she pats his back, ready to go home for the night now. “slow day but thank fucking god.” 

he snorts. “must be our lucky day, can’t say for the night shift.” 

“ha! you tell abbot that.” dana chuckles as she finally says goodbye to lena and the others as robby stares up to the central board, backpack on his shoulder, ready to leave as well. he’d already done the briefing with jack, so he doesn’t have anything else to do other than say his goodbyes or do an irish goodbye. today was a good but slow day. 

“bye lena, have a nice shift.” your airy voice flows through the room like the cool wind. robby’s gaze shifts to see you leaning against the nurse’s station while lena chats you up for a moment. you smile at her, all wide-eyed and sunshine in them. he doesn’t notice his lips tug up as he watches you wave your hand to whitaker, who awkwardly waves back, who’s still charting and munching on a sandwich. hopefully not leaving crumbs on his desk. 

and then your gaze sets to his, and he feels that pathetic tug on his heart which causes him to swallow it down. 

“dr. robby! you’re still here.” you lighten up even more, and he smiles… almost painfully. 

“yeah, still here.” he says. “just… uh, checking if we missed anything.” 

“i think we got everything right.” you say beside him, and he can smell your citrusy perfume, your signature scent. he slyly takes a good look at you, seeing you dressed up. he can’t help himself but enjoy these few minutes before you leave. 

“you going somewhere?” he asks. 

you turn to him, nodding. “couple of my girlfriends and i are going to the movies.” 

“well, don’t let me keep you here.” he sadly has to say as he smiles at you. “you did good today, by the way.” 

“i don’t know about that. nothing really happened today. which is weird, considering we’re always busy.” you laugh, and it sounded so nice to hear for him, especially after this slow shift. 

“you’re right. but you managed and taught most of our medical students today so you did good, sweetheart.” the nickname slips past his lips naturally. your smile sweetened at that, and he noticed it. all innocent and kind. 

“good enough for your recommendation letter, then?” you joked, and he rolled his eyes playfully. he couldn’t be prouder that you’re almost completing your residency. you’re the best resident he’s had other than langdon… which he doesn' t want to think about him right now. 

“don’t get too excited now, you still got another year stuck with me being your boss.” he smiled, eyes crinkling. 

“whatever you say, chief.” you giggled. “well, goodnight, dr. robby.” 

“yeah, goodnight. have fun.” he painfully has to say as you leave his side. the whiff of your citrus scent slowly leaves as well. he takes a deep breath as he sighs, still looking up to the central board, with no thoughts of checking it again. just quietly staring and brooding as he finally turns to leave the pitt.

・゜゜・．

the city lights of pittsburgh welcome him as he rides through the highway on his bike. helmet on today, which was a relief if anyone saw him. the wind blows through the night as he finally parks at a corner street before hopping off and walking towards where his guilty pleasure is. the sex shop was like a picture back in the 90’s, neon signs glowing: red, green, blue, pink, and that. the familiar provocative signage of a woman’s leg further deepens the shame in him as he adjusts his backpack on his back before heading in. 

it was dim, a few people are in here, most of them were sleazy looking men… just like him. well, maybe he’s the better half of that, but still a miserable and lonely man. he guessed some are married, some single, no wife and kids like him. others are teenage boys who are giggling in the far corner, browsing through the porno magazines. he’s surprised that they still sell that despite the decline because of the wonders of the internet and shit. 

he sets off to look around the endless shelves of magazines. wondering what his poison is for tonight or maybe he’ll head to the booths for some peep shows, jerk off and enjoy. as long as he doesn’t go home yet, and be met with silence he’s known since god knows when he started letting himself go. the women on the magazine are all dolled up in heavy makeup, tits out, poses that let him see everything, but he can’t feel the stir in his cock yet. 

well… he’s still not that old to have an erectile dysfunction, right? no, he’s old enough that maybe that’s the reason why he’s not turned on yet. or maybe it’s because the women on the covers are not- 

he stops himself for a moment with that impending thought. 

he habitually wipes his hand down his mouth and beard, a habit that he does when he’s trying to repress himself or calm down. he does not want to think about what he’s been trying to not imagine since… fuck him, he tells himself. trying to. he manages to joke miserably. he reluctantly grabs a random magazine, flicking through the pages as he tries to immerse himself in the pictures that are supposed to entice him. 

he should have just suckered up and watched porn on his phone. he thinks now. 

“didn’t know women came here. look.” one of the young boys whispers as he hears them from the side. 

“no shit, dude. what are you, 80?” one of the other boys says back sarcastically, and he can’t help but feel amused at that. he looks up… he should not have looked up actually. 

loe and behold were you…  

in the same sex shop. 

as him. 

you. 

his resident… his fucking resident. 

in a sex shop. in this sex shop. 

his eyes almost fell out as he quickly ducked to the other isle, much further from the entrance as he stayed still and hid there like a fucking idiot. fuck, fuck, fuck, she didn’t saw me, right? he panicked. and the most important question popped in his mind. 

what the hell were you doing here? 

i mean it was already self-explanatory… but you out of all people- he’d settle for whitaker or ogilvie, maybe even ellis or mckay…or anyone… but you?

he slyly looked up, peeking over the shelf, he’s tall enough to do that without his whole face showing as he tracks your every move. and there you are, walking in the other aisle, moving to the counter. face all serious and quiet as you ignore the several stares when you pass by those sleazy-looking men. he suddenly wants to kick their asses the way their eyes looked at you like you’re one of the magazines they’re holding in their hands. fucking pigs.

it’s really you. 

same cute outfit on, the one you wore after that slow shift. he’s definitely not hallucinating, it's you talking to the cashier at this instant. 

what happened to the movies with your girlfriends? he had to wonder… did the ‘movies’ entail this? he’s curious where you’re going as the cashier hands you something, and you move away. he follows his gaze where you’re going, and he’s utterly shocked to see you get in one of the booths for the peep shows. 

movies, huh? he lets out a low chuckle to himself as he wipes his face. fuck, he didn’t expect this at all. what was he expecting, really? you, the sunshine that you are. always greeting people with a shy smile, tending to patients so kindly that gloria can fuck-off with those ‘patient satisfaction scores’ when you’re already doing that. he never once heard about your romantic escapades no matter how cunning princess or perla are trying to suck it out of you. you’re a great doctor- one of the best that he’s had the opportunity to guide. 

and now he’s seen this new side of you. 

in a sex shop for fuck sakes. 

oh, god- he wonders… he wonders what you’re watching now behind the booth. behind that closed door. and he feels blood rush all over his body. to his ears, apples of his cheeks, neck, and… 

oh, fucking hell. he looks down, there’s a slight bulge in his pants. out of all instances- god, this was hilarious. a wash of shame envelops him. he can’t be thinking of what you’re watching right now- whatever porn movie you’re indulging in, he doesn’t have the right to know. it’s your privacy. and he doesn’t want to stay here any longer when you come out of the booth and see him here. 

see him being miserable and horny like these sleazy pigs. 

he walks out of the sex shop in a haste. he quickens his steps when he’s outside, being met with the cold air that doesn’t help his shame. 

what a night, huh? 

・゜゜・．

the day after was hard. 

really hard for him. 

he spent all night under the shower, a cold shower to get rid of his… problem. he’s mortified- mortified in a sense that his ‘reaction’ stemmed from the fact that he saw you in a place where he thinks you should not belong. was it the absurdity of it that made him hard as a fucking rock? that you, the kind woman that you are, who he thought of as innocent as a feather be in a place housed in filth and pleasure? 

sexist, much? the little voice in his head berates him. 

it was not like that… he tells himself. just that- it’s you. 

the woman he’s been trying hard not to think of. he’s already got a bad wrap in the dating scene. everyone in the hospital knows about his messy escapades. he’s a walking red flag, he knows that. he’ll get what he wants then leave when things get serious. he even got slapped in the face when this one nurse he was ‘dating’ told him how much of a asshole he was to fuck and run. and to add that, you’re his resident, who is almost completing your residency. 

and he would not do that to you. 

saviour-complex as they say. but isn’t he doing the bare minimum by leaving you alone? he doesn’t fucking know. all he knows is that he can’t, he won’t, and he needs to grow up and move on. 

and no matter how much he wanted to see you smile at him, just the two of you. hear your laughter near his ear as he buries his face in the warmth of neck. your citrusy scent enveloping his nostrils, making him feel all calm and at peace. or your gentle hands that will cup his face, telling him he deserves to be here. that he deserves to be with you. 

a man could only dream, right? 

now these thoughts sparked even more the fact that he’s got a glimpse of you’re hiding. that you have needs, needs that he can satisfy… and he wonders what you were watching. was it soft porn? do you like it soft and gentle? or maybe passionate and raw. or… fuck, maybe even hardcore and that kinky shit. hell, he can do that if you want to. 

no, no, no, no- he has to stop himself right now. 

the grip he has on the ipad he’s holding tightens as he sets it down on the desk. he removes his glasses, leaning back as he sighed. today’s shift was already busy, a complete opposite of yesterday. and he’s glad because that means he won’t be interacting much with you today. he’s got interns to teach, and you as well. with the number of trauma cases coming in, he hopes he won’t have to meet your eyes and feel the shame in him. or stand close near you and get a hard-on. 

“you’re looking rough today.” dana quipped behind him, busy looking at her own ipad. 

“aren’t i everyday?” robby manages to joke, almost mirthfully. 

dana looks at him through her own reading glasses, seeming to eye him up and down. “hmm, you’re right. but you look like you can use a drink with that face of yours, robinavitch.” 

he manages to huff out a laugh. “oh, you have no idea, dana.” he finally stands up, ready to take the day on and forget about last night. “you have no fucking idea…” 

dana casts him one last judging look before shrugging at him. he leaves, already being called to trauma 2 as he sighs. 

・゜゜・．

for the rest of the days that followed, he avoided you like the plague. maybe a quick ‘hello’ or consult here and there, but he didn’t linger longer than he used to do with you- joking and talking about whatever topic was in hand. he avoided you like you were gloria. some people wouldn’t mind about this sudden and actually very minuscule shift in the air. although, of course the one who noticed it happened to be the most known observant man in his life that will point it out to him out of the blue. he’s actually frightened the way jack does these things like this almost accurately.

“you’re very weird today.” is the opening liner jack says as they do their handoffs. 

“…i don’t know what you’re talking about.” is his most obvious reply that seals the deal with jack abbot’s accurate suspicions. 

“do i have to point it out in the open, brother?” jack stares at him, holding the chart in his hand that’s deprived of his attention. robby sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

so… he tells him in a whisper… in an empty trauma room for privacy. but his nerves are on fire as he looks out in the windows, hoping you’re not near. and all he got from jack was a hum and a very amused look. 

“am i fucked up?” robby asks him, worried. 

“100%.” jack immediately says, and robby glares at him. although point-taken. “i mean, i understand… why were you in a sex shop in the first place?” 

he shoots him a pointed look. 

“okay, okay. self-explanatory, i know.” jack raises his hands up in defense. “so… let me put this straight. you’re acting all weird around her because you saw her in that place. normal reaction, probably the most common. but… the other added reason, i might add, is that you get bricked up thinking about it? well, that’s… fucked up-“

“don’t have to be an asshole about it, i’m fucking dying here just- just thinking about it!” he stops himself from raising his voice. “it’s her… in that shop.”

“sheesh, i know you like the woman, man. didn’t know you liked her so much that you think she’s too innocent to be there.” jack whistles, very much liking hearing him getting tortured. “but hey, soon you’ll forget about it. try not to think about it most of the time.” 

“that’s the problem. are you even listening?” 

“excuse me, what else do you want me to say?” jack has the audacity to be offended. “should i say, ‘oh! yeah, man, of course. she shouldn’t be there in the first place. that’s why you’re like this.’ look, i’m not someone who’d shame anyone for tapping into their… sexual fucking needs.” 

robby lets out an exasperated sigh. jack was right, of course. all the time, in fact. 

“robby, my brother. i admire you for not jumping on her like you usually do with the poor women who’ve crossed your path. means she’s special, right?” jack consoles him, and robby nods. you are special. the most special thing he doesn’t want to fuck up. 

“she is.” robby whispers, and jack smiles at him. 

“well, don’t fuck it up if you ever want to actually be with her. this kind of thing… it’s normal to be weirded out, of course. you saw her in a new perspective. but you gotta get in your head that everyone does this shit. not just you going into a… sex shop.”

“you’re not gonna let this go, are you?” he eyes him, and jack shrugs before patting his shoulder. yeah, he’s not gonna let this go the next time robby teases him, and jack has something to fire on to ridicule him. 

“we all got our needs, man. no judgement here. just that you got pulled into a hilarious situation that you do know you can just forget about, and not be weird around her.” jack finally says before leaving him alone in the room. “you know… try to repress yourself if you can’t take it anymore.”

robby actually feels a little lighter. and by the window, he finally spots you by the nurse’s station. you greet jack with a smile before your gaze lands on him. his heart started to beat uncontrollably, thinking you know he was there that night. but no… you wave at him shyly. he can’t help but wave back, finally letting his shame go. letting the curiosity of what you watched that night go. you’re here, being normal with him. and you didn’t know he was there, and you certainly did not know about his… hard dilemma. 

it was that easy, told you so. jack’s voice echoed in his head as he finally exited the trauma room. with a plan set in motion of how he’ll regulate himself. 

・゜゜・．

he took it to heart what jack suggested. 

he distanced himself from all things sexually. from jerking off, watching porn, going to the sex shop, and thinking about you in that sense. he was doing good for the first few days… felt refreshing, like he’s transformed into a young man again. or maybe he finally accepted that he’s old and his dick’s not gonna work the same way it used to be. that he’s reached the state of pure nirvana and peace. matter fact, maybe he can switch careers, and become a priest or monk for how long he’s been celibate. 

yet… it got hard after talking to you in those days. 

really hard that whenever you look at him, he can’t help but think about what you’re doing behind closed doors… or booths. that he’s suddenly hyperaware of every blink of your lashes, tiny things that suddenly make him want to run to the nearest bathroom. how you wet your lips when you talk to him about this one patient who- who he gives no fucks right now, and just quietly admires your face. the face he wonders what it would look like if he drops down and eats you- okay, stop. 

he’s not ignoring you anymore, that was a good change. but the cost of that was him torturing himself that he thinks he might be into edging if this was the case. 

you’d like that, wouldn’t you? okay, stop, again. 

and now he turns to other mundane and boring things to avoid his hand from reaching down there when he’s home. he’s off on sundays, and he actually doesn’t work harder in the ED like he usually does because you’re there, so he starts jogging. he does wordle, rides around the city in his motorcycle more often, do some yoga (he finally listened to abbot but minus the nakedness), read more books, and maybe smoked a cig here and there just to busy himself. 

and like all hard times, he breaks. he’s just a man, after all. 

on a cold sunday night he drives downtown to the familiar place of sin. he did not want to go here again knowing you come here. but maybe that night was a one time thing, right? maybe you did it out of curiosity and need. a need he can satisfy- fucking hell. and all honesty, he does not know a similar sex shop like this one that houses the nostalgic magic of porn magazines and peep shows. or maybe deep inside, he thinks you’ll be here. but he quickly shuts down that thought, 

so, he goes in, feeling a little out of place after a week of repressing himself. he just needs to watch something, something that will scratch his hard itch, and he can go back to torturing himself. he heads straight to the counter, and inquires about the booths in an awkward manner. the young cashier looks at him with disinterest, and tells him the price and gives him this sort-of coin after he pays, saying that he’ll have to insert it into the machine once he gets in. and now he waits awkwardly outside one of the booths, it seems like a busy night considering all of the others are locked as well. 

so he waits… awkwardly. 

he considers buying a magazine and getting the hell out of here. but the sound of the door opening finally makes him feel relieved. until… 

“dr. r-robby?” he’s met your wide-eyed expression and soft voice of surprise. the smell of your perfume envelops his nose as his cheeks turned bright red. 

oh, fuck. 

he freezes, and stares right back at you with the same wide-eyed expression until moments later you pull him into the booth, and he still can’t process what just happened. the door clicks shut, and he quickly turns around to be with you in this dim space… with the sound of soft moans coming from the little glowing screen which makes his whole entire face get even warmer. he stares at the porn on the screen, the soft moans come from the man being fucked the hell out by the woman riding him. the woman berates the man under her, telling him how much of a filthy fuck he is. oh wow. this is what you like to watch? 

“i-i should go-“ robby turns away from the screen, gaze stuck to you, trying his best not to get affected by what he just watched. the porn you just watched. 

“this is awkward…” you finally say, back pressed against the door, and you eye him up and down. 

“listen, we can forget about this. i never saw you here, you never saw me here, i never saw you last-“ he has to stop himself with the way he just slipped out a crucial secret. but you immediately clock on to it as you raise a brow at him. freudian slip, as they say. 

“you saw me in here before?” 

if jack was here, he’d be laughing at his face right now. or worse… looking disappointed. 

“i-“ robby doesn’t know what to say. he’s too frazzled, knowing blood just rushed down to his cock when he notices a small smirk appear on your lips. “…yeah. i’m sorry. it’s a public space… i didn’t- i didn’t mean to see you here at all.” 

soft moans run in the background, and he feels ashamed as he tries to hide his hard-on from you in a discreet way. 

“…so that’s why you’ve been weird around me.” you hum, and took a step closer to him. robby stays still, looking at you carefully. he doesn’t see you grimace or get disgusted just by looking at him. your expression was hard to decipher. were you mad at him? 

“yeah… sorry.” he lets out an awkward huff of laughter. trying to appear calm and collected. you don’t say anything for a good minute, just quietly staring at him. 

“are you hard right now?” 

huh? 

“w-what?” he stuttered. you look at him with a blank stare before gesturing down his pants. 

“i asked… are you hard right now?” 

another flush of blood rushes down at your tone. he can feel his whole body turn hot. the little booth was suffocating, and if he takes one step closer, your chests could brush against each other. robby lets another awkward laugh as he scratches the back of his head. he looks down, and there’s an evident tent on his crotch which further makes him feel disgusting. here he was, inside a peep show booth with his resident, and he’s fucking hard as a rock. 

“i need to… go.” he finally says, dropping the coin on the ground as moves past you. your passive expression breaks as you reach for him, tugging on his sleeve, and he almost shudders when your fingers touch his skin. 

“robby, wait.” your soft voice further makes him want to leave. it’s gentle, laced with no malice whatsoever. but to him, he thinks the worst. 

“i-i’ll see you tomorrow, okay? and i’m sorry, sweetheart. i…i didn’t mean to-“ he cuts of his words as he exits the booth in a haste again, just like the first time. he can hear you call out for him, but he shakes his head, walking even faster to get on his motorcycle and drive away. 

and he leaves you standing outside of the sex shop, and doesn’t notice the glint in your eyes as you watch him ride away. 

・゜゜・．

he stands very still in a trauma room. watching closely as whitaker and javadi treat a patient who got in for chest pain, and long after had a heart attack as they predicted. he’s just waiting for garcia to come down here, and he can move on to the next patient. he’s been on edge all day after last night. he could not sleep thinking about you and him in that tiny booth. his mind can’t shake that moment… 

are you hard right now? 

if he could fling himself off the roof right now, that would end his suffering because he could not calm his dick down after that. the only thing that could keep his mind from repeating that was to work, and he has been working for the past 6 hours into his shift. and he has been very adamant on not passing by you at any point and time. but the problem? 

you seem to be normal and more present wherever the hell he is. but the ED is a small space, what was he expecting anyway? 

he gets out of the trauma room once he briefed garcia of the patient’s stats and passed on to her. he goes to every available room and ward he’s needed, and when he finally stops by the nurse’s station to check the central board… of course you were there as well. and he almost lets his emotions out of his serious facade when you greet him with a smile that didn’t seem so innocent as before. or maybe he’s just being paranoid. 

“hi, dr. robby.” you say, looking up to the board as well. he doesn’t say anything back, only a hum as he tries his best not to look at you. “you good?” 

he wants to kill himself. 

“never better.” he manages to say sarcastically without sounding pathetic like last night. from the corner of his eye, he can see you looking right at him with a smile. 

“good.” you grin, and pass by him with a touch on his shoulder. he feels the hair on his skin go up at your warm touch as you leave him alone. 

good? 

…good? there’s a million thoughts running through his mind about what you mean by that. he finally looks at your retreating figure, and sighs. he’s not gonna have a nice day, is he? 

half of the hours after that spent him avoiding you, but you manage to find him everywhere he goes. you smile at him, almost like cheshire cat filled with mischief, and stand too close whenever you get the chance to ask for a consultation. there’s one instance when the two of you are treating a trauma patient, and every brush of your shoulder to his, and the feel of your body next to him has his mind going in circles. and when you pull away, you always leave with a soft smile at him, and he knows he’s about to explode. 

he goes straight to the nearest bathroom an hour left before his shift ends. he can’t do this anymore as he tries to repress every thought of you away before the semi-bulge in his pants start to become more noticeable. were you trying to tease him? he thinks, but he doesn’t have a clear indication of that. he closes his eyes for a moment, thinking of anything that will turn him off. he feels so frustrated that he’s considering drowning himself in the toilet. 

the door suddenly opened, and his eyes widened. he forgot to lock it… again. 

“robby? you okay?” your soft voice makes him groan as he turns to you. feeling irritated as he lets out a sharp breath. 

“not the time.” he grits out, and you stand there, assessing him before shutting the bathroom door and locking it. what the fuck are you doing now?

“what are you doing-“ 

“you didn’t answer my question last night.” you cut him off. 

robby shakes his head in disbelief. “sweetheart, this is not the place we should be talking about that.” 

“when will we ever talk about it, then?” you eye him, and the softness of your tone turns serious. he suddenly stiffens. “it’s a yes or no question, robby.” 

he fights back, trying to stay rational and authoritative. “i’m your attending-“ 

“yes or no?” your voice drops with authority. that you're fed up with his nonsense. he blinks, his resolve finally breaking as he runs a hand down his mouth. 

“yes.” he breathes out. and the two of you fall quiet as he looks at your expression, yet your face remains passive just like last night. you stare at him, and he finally gets a semblance of what you’re feeling right now as your gaze falls down to his bulge.

“good.” you praise him at last, and his cock jumps at that. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“…this is completely inappropriate.” 

“shut up.” you glare at him, taking a step closer to where he’s standing. “i think we’re way past appropriate with the way you’ve acted around me since… forever, robby.”  

he genuinely feels ashamed. “i-“ 

“did you like what i was watching last night?” your airy tone comes back, and he has to say no and get the hell out of here. “answer me, robby.” 

but he nods. “yeah.” 

“good. you’ve been good now, aren’t you? answering me truthfully.” you cooed, and he likes the way you praise him. “…you know, i thought you were just being very kind, like the good man that you are. always there for your residents and patients, but you always had a soft spot for me, don’t ‘ya?” 

…fuck, you knew he likes you? since when? his thoughts spiral as you’re getting closer to him. 

“i really liked it, robby. i can say that i really liked you until you started acting weird all of the sudden. that pissed me off.” you pout, and he wants to say sorry, but he stays silent as he watches your every move until you’re so close to him, he can feel your breath. you like him? his heart beats loudly as his cheeks turn red. 

“then i understand now why you suddenly changed… i thought you were disgusted by me-“ 

“i could never be disgusted with you, sweetheart.” he replies almost instantly. he had to assure you because seeing you frown made him weak. “i’m the disgusting one-“ 

“shh, none of that.” you say as your hands cup his cheeks and he lets out a tiny breath. “…i really liked it when you’re like this… so obedient and willing. you needed a little push, huh?” 

“i-i-“ he doesn't know what to say, but the softness of your hands lulls him. 

“yeah, huh? i think you deserve something special from me.” you cooed, your hands dropping down to his chest. he stares at your lips as you grin at him. 

he lunges forward, taking you in a heated kiss as you let out a noise of surprise as you kiss him back with the same energy. he grips the back of your neck to keep you steady while your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer. his knees buckled as he held you close, desperate to taste you as his tongue nudged your lower lip to let him in. you moan as your tongues clash with each other. the kiss was so messy and hot that it made him feel like he had a fever. 

you like him. god, you like him. 

robby almost whines when you suddenly pull away. both of your chests are heaving as you look at each other with heavy gazes. you grin as you wipe your mouth, savoring his taste and he licks his lips. 

“i was waiting for so long for you to make a move… but i’ll settle for this.” you suddenly say, and robby almost laughs until you drop to your knees in front of him. 

“sweetheart, w-we still have an hour until- oh, fuck-“ your hands fumble with his belt. he clenches his fist as he lets you do whatever you’re doing that he knows is downright wrong to be doing in a hospital bathroom. 

“shut up or i’ll stop, okay?” you look up at him, and he nods desperately. you unclasp his belt then immediately unzipped him. you don’t waste time to tease him as you pull the band of his boxers down until his cock sprang out. he hears you let out a tiny breath of surprise, seeing his cock jump out red and angry. 

“oh my.” you laugh as you grip him. he stares down, seeing you admire his cock as you spit on his tip all of the sudden. he shudders, biting back a moan as your hand starts to jerk him off. good god, he hasn’t touched himself in a week, and he swears he’ll cum any moment at your ministrations. “it’s so big, robby. you’re so big.” 

he lets out a tiny groan in response as you continue to jerk him off with a smile. 

“aww, how long have you been holding yourself out? it’s so red on the tip and so hard…” you say sweetly as you kiss the head. 

robot stutters. “i-i’m not gonna last long. s-shit-“ 

you suddenly stop your movements, and look up at him disapprovingly. “don’t you dare or i won’t let you cum.” 

he panics. “i’ll be good! i promise… it’s just that i haven’t- uhm-“ he’s too embarrassed to say it. 

you giggle. “aww, then you’ll have to try harder not cum, okay?” 

robby nods sadly. “okay.” 

“good.” you praise him, and he twitched in your hand. you kiss his tip again, peppering kisses all over his cock as the other cups his heavy balls. he almost dies when you finally take his tip into your mouth and suck lightly. he had to bite down on his fist to not moan loudly. or else both of you are fired if anyone caught you two. a resident sucking off their attending, what an image. 

you welcome him into your mouth as his hands flies down to your head. not grabbing it, but only holding you gently to guide you. you bob your head, moaning around him, liking the way he feels on your tongue. all big and stuffed. he lets out tiny sounds of pleasure as you continue to suck him off. 

“i-i’m close, fuck, i’m so close. i’m sorry-“ tears wet his eyes at the immense pleasure you’re giving. 

your mouth pops when you pull back, and he lets out a low whine. “that’s okay, baby. you’ll just have to make it up for me later. you’re so good for saying sorry.” 

“y-yeah?” he asks breathlessly, and your hand moves up and down on his cock. it’s all sticky and messy from your mouth and his precum. your hands feel so good around him. 

“yeah.” you grin and take him in your mouth again. this time you suck him off more harshly making him groan as he holds your head gently. his hips buck as he mutters jumbled words as he feels his balls tighten, almost near. 

“oh god, yeah- yesyesyesyes, please-“ he whispers as you feel him shoot out his release. thick white hot ropes of cum keep flowing in your mouth as you swallowed it all. his chest heaved as knees buckled at the intensity of his release. he slowly pulls out of your mouth as you cough a little as he sees some of spend drip at the corners of your lips. he feels all warm and sweaty seeing you on your knees, mouth full of cum as you swallowed it all with a satisfied look on your face. 

he helps you stand up as he tucks his flaccid cock back in his pants. he suddenly feels all shy as you lean up to peck his lips. 

“you were so good, robby.” you tell him sweetly. “but i think you can do so much better than that, right?” 

he should be saying that this was wrong, but to hell with that now. “let me make it up to you, please.” he begs as he kisses you again. you grin against his lips as you smirk at him. it’s as if you planned this from the start. but robby’s too fucked-out and smitten with the way you’re in his arms right now. 

“take me home, then.” 

・゜゜・．

haha, edged y’all.

“Deep thoughts?” Jack drawls, resting an ankle across his knee.

He watches as you blink back to reality. Your cheek is smushed against your palm, eyes glassy and distant, maybe seeing galaxies or shopping lists, Jack’s never quite sure.

The sun slips golden fingers through your damp curls, threading droplets like tears down your shoulders, staining the pale fabric of your sundress in fading watercolor trails.

“Only the deepest,” you assure him, offering a pout. More theater than truth. You lift your head. “Mostly about what kind of ice cream we’re getting later. You have important input here, Jack, don’t disappoint me.”

“You trust me with a choice like that?” Jack teases, eyes glinting.

But his palms go slick with something like anxiety beneath your expectant gaze.

He’s aware of every tiny sensation now, like the fresh scratch he’s nursing on the roof of his mouth.

Where did that come from, anyway? 

His tongue pushes at the raw little wound compulsively, over and over, sabotaging his already precious facade of laid-back, casual disinterest.

Cool and detached is apparently harder than advertised; imagine that.

“I trust you with everything, silly,” you tell him earnestly, eyes sparkling in the last slivers of the sun’s dying glow sprinkling freckles of warmth across your skin.

He nudges you with his shoulder. “Everything’s a big word. Care to elaborate?”

You nudge him back, giggling, blissfully unaware of the slow dread pooling through his chest, or the faint pressure of obligation suddenly crowding his throat.

“Oh, you know, the big, meaningful stuff. Restaurant decisions, purse-holding emergencies, spinach-in-teeth protocol. Seriously important matters. You’re at peak trustworthiness now, Jack. Consider yourself honored.”

He gives a low whistle. “Wow, purse-holding status already? I didn’t realize we’d gotten that far. Next you’ll be asking me to meet your parents.”

“That’s actually a really good idea! My parents love meeting my friends — my mom always does that embarrassing baby picture thing, but you’d totally survive.”

Friends. 

He turns the word over mentally, sour and mocking like spoiled milk, bitter on the tongue. It feels painfully inadequate, wildly inaccurate.

Friends don’t stumble bleary-eyed out the door at midnight, half-dressed, heart thudding with adrenaline because you thought you heard an intruder outside your window — only to discover a raccoon rummaging through your garbage.

Friends don't obsessively check menus for allergens, driven by irrational visions of accidentally killing you at dinner, or carry spare hair ties like some reluctant, lovesick Boy Scout prepared for oddly specific emergencies.

Jack's running out of ways to make himself clearer.

“Kid, you really make it hard to flirt with you.”

For a second, your face becomes an open book, cycling rapidly through shock, amusement, disbelief, realization, puzzlement, wonder, mild panic, bashfulness, hopefulness, and then back to sheer confusion. 

It's like a rapid-fire slideshow of everything he finds endearing and frustrating about you, distilled down into a few frantic heartbeats.

Finally, you settle on a stunned blink, eyes wide and brows knitted.

“Wait, what? You mean...right now? Or before now?”

Jack chuckles under his breath, something strained in it, hand dragging over the back of his neck like he can physically scrub away the corner he’s just backed himself into.

“Always. Constantly. I basically live in a perpetual state of flirtation-induced existential crisis with you. Frankly, it’s wearing me out.”

You hesitate, searching his face like the answer might be written there if you just look hard enough.

“Why?”

Jack nearly groans aloud, hand pressing harder against his neck, feeling an embarrassment akin to adolescence flooding his chest.

“Why?” he repeats, incredulous and mildly despairing. “Because I like you, okay? Because apparently my sense of self-preservation is broken, and being around you turns me into a masochist who enjoys embarrassment and rejection. Because you're the only person who's ever made me genuinely nervous, and I've survived literal explosions.”

He mentally braces himself, prepared for confusion at best, rejection at worst, anxiety drumming through him like a high schooler waiting for a prom date’s answer.

Instead, you crash into him, all vibrant disbelief, knocking him mentally, and somewhat physically, off balance.

“Jack!” you squeak, body pressed close enough that he can feel the flutter of your heartbeat. “Are you serious right now? You’ve liked me this whole time? Why wouldn’t you just say something? We could’ve been kissing — like, a lot.”

“Whoa, easy there,” Jack laughs, hands quickly finding your waist to stabilize the pandemonium of your limbs, half-laughing and half-alarmed by the tidal wave of enthusiasm colliding against him. “Believe me, if I’d known that kissing was on the table, I would’ve spoken up months ago.”

“So many missed opportunities,”  you lament, tipping your head to consider him, eyes wide.

Jack grins despite himself, gently teasing, “To be fair, I tried repeatedly. You're remarkably hard to communicate romantic interest to.”

"Guess I'll have to make it up to you, then.”

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

"Like this," you whisper softly, closing the distance with careful deliberation, your mouth touching his so sweetly that it mends every fractured moment of miscommunication.

And perhaps all his fumbling signals and hesitant gestures weren't really missed opportunities after all, but merely necessary stepping-stones, quietly guiding him home to exactly this moment, to exactly you.

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

WAIT FOR ME! | @sun-snatcher

You saved Abbot’s life once before. Now he fights to repay the debt.

i got a bad desire | @inknopewetrust

sex had never been a problem for jack—until now.

Birdie | @/inknopewetrust

jack once found a camcorder from his past in a box in the garage. over time, the records of these videos capture the small moments, not the large ones.

dancing in the dark | @/inknopewetrust

jack learned to deal with all of his problems alone. when he finds someone to help shoulder his burdens, he falls deeply, unconditionally head over heels for you—and he loves coming home.

Jack meets your daughter | @belleeebelleee

You’re in your mid 20s and have daughter. When you’ve been dating Jack Abbot for 6 months, you think its time for him to meet your daughter for the first time. They immediately love each other and by the end of the night he’s sitting at her play table with a princess tiara in his curls and a massive smile on his face.

Imagine | @/belleeebelleee

You find out that Jack keeps a photo of you in his wallet

Imagine | @/belleeebelleee

Jack Abbot receives a call while he’s on night shift.

Rescue Me | @/belleeebelleee

You’re on a date. It is not going well. You message Mateo to come rescue you from under the table. Or at least you think you do, because not even 15 minutes later, Jack Abbot is pushing into the restaurant, walking over to you, taking your hand and walking you out with him, without saying a word.

“I’m going to need you to marry me.” | @/belleeebelleee

We Can’t Be Friends | @imaginesofwonder

A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when Jack makes one thing clear—you were never just friends.

Property Of | @/imaginesofwonder

A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when a Jane Doe arrives wearing Jack’s dog tags.

Say It Again | @/imaginesofwonder

What should’ve been a simple grocery run spirals when Jack is judged at a glance, and you make it clear exactly who they’re talking to.

Say Yes, Idiot | @/imaginesofwonder

Jack struggles to ask Robby to be his child’s godfather, but his heavy words lead Robby to the wrong conclusion

Happily Married | @/imaginesofwonder

You’re a new ED doctor who wears a fake wedding ring to keep patients from flirting, but your observant colleague Jack notices and wants more.

Your Husband Is Who? | @/imaginesofwonder

A routine IT call in the ED turns into an unexpected reveal when Santos realizes the quiet IT specialist she’s been talking to is married to the doctor she works with.

Summa Cum Laude, Actually. | @abbotafterhours

Some people take one look at you and your pink stethoscope and make up their minds. That's okay. You've been proving people wrong since Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Futile Devices | @/abbotafterhours

he was four miles away when it happened. charting. completely unaware. and when they brought you in, pale and terrified and coming apart at the seams, he understood for the first time what it meant to be on the wrong side of the emergency.

3 + 1 | @/abbotafterhours

the three times you worry about jack's wedding ring , and the one time he reassures you you have nothing to worry about 

Jack and his fave EMT | @/abbotafterhours

The Arrangement | @/abbotafterhours

jack need's a hobby, you need to eat more. jack needs you, you need jack. love ensues!

Soft Moments | @ofstarsandvibranium

You and Jack live very busy lives as you both work night shift in the hospital. But here are some sweet, intimate moments you guys share in your hectic lives.

We Got History | @/ofstarsandvibranium

Of course, when you cover a shift for Princess, you not only work with your fiancé, but also come across your ex. The shift couldn’t be anymore interesting.

The Waiting Game, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 | @batslovebite

Uprooting your life for your brother feels like a never ending trial until you met Jack

Stubborn | @/batslovebite

Your husband gets worried when he gets a call that you’re in his ED

Old Man | @writingwithrach

when jack forgets the food you made for him, you show up at the hospital and bring it to him.

Miss Abbot | @shadeofpeach

The new residents see the lack of a ring as an invitation, unaware that twelve years of marriage has made him completely immune to their charms.

Hidden bruises | @/shadeofpeach

Working the night shift at The Pitt is hard enough without carrying the weight of a violent secret. Jack Abbot has been watching his best resident slowly fade for months until a desperate attempt to leave her abuser turns into a fight for her life.

Honey cravings | @/shadeofpeach

Being thirty four weeks pregnant and working a shift isn’t exactly the taking it easy your doctor ordered. Between heavy charts and a snack delivery, Jack makes it clear that he’s the most overprotective father-to-be.

Anti-bacterial hand gel | @/shadeofpeach

working in the ER means getting used to the clinical scent of antiseptic. Dr. Jack Abbot is a man of protocols, which is why he finds your collection of antibacterial hand gel to be a glittery distraction, until a terrified toddler refuses to cooperate.

Two reasons to come home | @/shadeofpeach

After an argument about Jack’s dangerous new hobby with the SWAT team, he walks out, leaving things shattered. Hours later, Jack realizes that the adrenaline he’s been chasing is nothing compared to the new reason to come back home after his shifts.

Please | @abbotly

Abbot’s mildly annoyed when he doesn’t seem to be his favorite resident’s favorite attending — he’s pissed when he finds out she’s considering leaving the Pitt.

Compromise | @/abbotly

Your attending is worried your mouth is putting you in unnecessary danger with testy patients, which you find ironic coming from a man who gets shot at as a side gig.

pretty please?, pt. 2 | @mactavishwritings

you were a pediatric resident at PMTC, connecting with your patients through the soft pinks of your scrubs and your gentle nature. you often were called to consult down in the ER on pedes cases. you just so happen to catch the eye of a certain night shift attending who couldn’t help the pull he felt to the pretty r3.

THE ABBOT EFFECT | @mariposium

your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. it’s never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle.

SUGAR TALKING | @seewhoyouwanttosee

Jack Abbot needs to put his lovin’ where his mouth is. You’re getting tired of his sugar talking.

Car crash | @weird-is-life

You get into a car accident with Jack's car. You worry about the car, and he worries about your health

My saviour, part 2, part 3 | @/weird-is-life

When a creep at a bar won't take a no for an answer, you fall into Jack's lap and get him to play your boyfriend

Wedding band | @/weird-is-life

Your relationship with Jack is new so when Dennis tells you that Jack used to wear a ring, you immediately jump to the wrong conclusion and block Jack

Ice-cream and fries | @/weird-is-life

A pregnant you makes a surprising appearance in the ER. Too impatient to wait for Jack in the car.

Shy shell | @/weird-is-life

It becomes Jack's mission to get you out of your shy shell around him, and somehow it works

Star-crossed | @peaky-void

Dr Abbot who lives on adrenaline and still wears his late wife’s ring leaves his girlfriend feeling perpetually second, and as grief, emotional distance, and medical trauma collide, their relationship unravels into devastating loss.

Smoke Inhalation | @therarityoflife

The ‘Pittlings’, as Jack likes to refer to them as, are unaware that he is in a relationship. He likes to keep his life outside of the hospital private. After responding to a call out to a structural fire, you and your crew are bringing four patients to PTMC for treatment. Jack is on a rare day shift, and is in the hospital when you arrive. The Pittlings very quickly learn about your relationship when your captain rats you out for giving your breathing mask to a teenager and insists you get checked over for smoke inhalation.

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | @springtyme

Watching Jack slip so effortlessly into rhythm with someone else makes you question what you thought about the two of you.

first time parents | @luvxkdrama

OLD MAN CHARM | @fromsil

having a big fat crush on your attending wasn’t the best thing, but how could you not when he looked that good?

Park!resident!f!reader | @in-ky

in which your brother finds out who your secret boyfriend is

Teaching Moments | @the-shedevil-writes

In which Ogilvie has moved to the night shift, and you’re the resident assigned to teach him. But when things start to get more and more frustrating, you rely on your husband/attending, Jack Abbot.

Babies, Med Students, and Angry Attendings | @moondustfairies

Yours and Jack's baby girl wasn't feeling too well and when you tried to find Jack in the ED, some condescending doctors thought it would be a good idea to send you away, Jack reacts exactly as you thought he would.

Backup | @starling-in-the-sky

It’s the Pitt’s worst kept secret that you’re Dr. Abbot’s favorite nurse. When a close call with a patient leaves you hurt and vulnerable, he steps in to make sure you’re all right.

Good for Morale | @/starling-in-the-sky

You’re Jack’s sunshine on a cloudy day. But there’s no way you could return his feelings… right?

1 + 1 | @secrettragedytrash

You’ve been with Jack for almost a year, and haven’t yet told him about just how bad your mental health can get. After the worst possible work day, he finds and comforts you in a moment of vulnerability. Without any other choice, you come clean about everything you’re going through.

stubborn, stubborn | @jadeittic

You, an attending at the PTMC, are one of the few who can handle being in the same room with Brendon Park without leaving with an anxiety attack. Even others wonder if you and the infamous Shark had something going on, because why is he not terrifying when she’s in the room?

Pretend It’s Nothing | @/jadeittic

two stubborn doctors. one a reckless hockey goalie, the other an adrenaline junkie with a hobby of SWAT training hides their concern behind sarcasm, until a dangerous forces them to confront the feelings they’ve been bleeding for all along

Soft Spot | @/jadeittic

after an exhausting shift, jack comes home to a chaotic, love-filled morning with you and his june-bug full off stickt breakfast, june’s mischeif, and the comfort that makes everything he does worth it.

So Stupid In Love | @antisirkbitch

A fresh new grad nurse falls hard for Jack Abbot, the older night-shift attending she absolutely should not want. What starts as secret flirting in the chaos of the ER turns into something a lot more dangerous when neither of them can seem to stay away.

Arms Length | @girlpls1102

Jack Abbott was never supposed to be more than a secret—late nights, locked doors, and feelings that weren’t allowed to exist. But when Y/n realizes she’s falling for a man who refuses to admit he wants her, she finally walks away… only for life to rip the ground out from under her in the most painful way possible. With grief taking over her world and Jack realizing too late what he almost lost, both of them are forced to face the truth: some love stories don’t start with a confession… they start with heartbreak.

Not Small Anymore | @/girlpls1102

After years of being told you'd never amount to anything, you prove everyone—especially your mother—wrong by becoming an ER nurse and building a life on your own terms. Night shifts, independence, and a healthy, loving relationship with your boyfriend Jack Abbott give you the stability you never had growing up.But when your estranged mother suddenly reappears—first at your workplace and then during your sister’s labor—old wounds resurface. This time, though, you don’t stay quiet.With Jack by your side and your sister finally free from the same toxicity, you find the strength to stand up for yourself once and for all. A story about healing, boundaries, love, and learning that you were never small—you were just made to feel that way.

dr. baby in the house | @richeeduvie

Jack’s little daughter finds his stethoscope and decides she’s going to be him to take care of him

Feeding Leggy | @/richeeduvie

Jack’s chubby little daughter, who’s half of you (the woman to ruin him), decides she has every right to share her snacks with his prosthetic.

THERE SHE GOES | @melwnst

Jack notices that you keep slipping away in baby Jane doe’s room while you’re supposed to work. Unfortunately for you, you’re predictable. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s thinking it too.

DOCTOR DEAR DOCTOR, | @/melwnst

Everything around you crumbles when Jack walks into the ER as an almost patient. You see the blood on his back— he realizes you’re not being dramatic, you’re just scared.

my regards | @foxnfreaks

you were not a jealous person. that is until it comes to your very hot boyfriend being ogled at by a new nurse at the pitt.

When Y/N first met Jack Abbot, it was at Mel’s birthday party.

It’d been a surprise event.

Something Santos had thrown together and invited the entire ED out to. It was Langdon’s job to get her to the karaoke bar, and she was completely surprised by the event. Just like that, drinks were flowing and music was blasting.

Y/N sat close to a wall, biding her time until she could walk over to Mel and wish her a happy birthday.

Then she could get out of here.

“Who’s next?! Who’s next?!” Santos laughs into the mic, tipsy and buzzing with excitement as she sets up the next song.

‘I need a hero’ by Bonnie Tyler…

Y/N wants to seep into the wall behind her. And when Santos makes eye contact with her, she definitely wants to bolt..

“Let’s go, mouse! You’ve got some lungs on you or what?” Santos snickers as she walks over with the mic. With the way Y/N stiffened, you’d think the microphone was a gun.

“Oh. No. Sore throat..” Y/N tries.

“Boo! Sing!” Santos says into the mic. “Sing! Sing! Sing!” She begins to chant, the party joining her, and Y/N can feel a tightness begin on her shoulders. She shakes a bit as she realizes she has only two options now. Make things awkward for everyone, or just give in..

As she puts on a fake smile, hand reaching for the mic, a hand grabs it first. “I know you did not just put on my song and then try and overlook me..” Jack says into the mic after grabbing it.

A few party people laugh at that and Santos smiles big as she cheers him on. He gives Y/N a slight wink. One that shows he’s got her. Y/N feels her shoulders slump a bit as she watches Jack get up on stage to start singing, making a big show out of it.

The crowd is so distracted by his performance, that Y/N can easily grab her jacket and give Mel a passing goodbye and ‘happy birthday’ before she leaves outside, breathing in the fresh air and getting far from the noise. She debates leaving, but… She stays put.

And to this day, she’s glad she did.

Jack had come out with some water for her. The two sat on the curb outside the bar and Jack didn’t speak.

He waited.

Waited till Y/N felt like she could actually handle a conversation.

“Thanks. For that.” She mutters.

“Don’t thank me. I’m a Bonnie Tyler super fan..” Jack states in a dry tone that makes Y/N debate if he’s joking or not. Until he smirks at her. Then she giggles.

“I’m Jack, by the way..” He finally says. She smiles a bit.

“Y/N…” She whispers.

*

*

*

Now enjoy these headcanons:

• Jack and Y/N’s first date wasn’t the cliche dinner date or movie night. Jack knew by this point that Y/N liked the simple aspects of life. So.. He tried to deliver. A cooking night in at her place. He had shown up with the ingredients and a promise to make her his famous pasta dish. Music played from his phone as he and Y/N made the sauce and pasta from scratch, talking the entire night and just enjoying the quiet peace.. •

• Jack learned the hard way that Y/N won’t say when she’s feeling overstimulated or drained while out somewhere. Jack is always the life of the party, so Y/N wants him to enjoy himself as much as possible. But she always gets to a breaking point sooner or later.. It actually caused their first ever fight two months into their relationship because Jack wanted her to start telling him these things.. He’d constantly say things like “I’m only having as much fun as my girlfriend is.” and “I hate seeing you like this..” •

• To fix this, Jack taught Y/N certain hand signals to use instead of her words. At first, she hesitated, thinking he wouldn’t notice her ‘subtly’ do it, but to her surprise, the first time she used a hand signal while out with friends, Jack stood right up and excused him and Y/N to go outside for a minute… •

• The hand signals were simple enough. Rubbing her chest in a circular motion, even slightly, showed Jack she needed a minute or two outside. Tugging her right earlobe twice meant she could go another ten minutes or so before she’d want to leave. Tugging her left earlobe? Oh, that meant she needed to go now. She rarely used that gesture though, because Jack was always attentive to the breaks she’d need.. •

• Jack always sits next to her while out with friends. His hand is constantly on her lower back, lazily rubbing as he focuses on the conversations around him. Sometimes he’ll put his hand flat on the middle of her back just to get a feel of her breathing patterns. If it’s too quick for his liking, he knows they need to step out.. •

• Unless they’re going out with friends or family, it’s rare that they hang out at restaurants or bars. Their date nights are usually either spent inside or sometimes in lowkey places. Bookstores, cafés, record shops. Hell, Jack’s mindset has always been ‘if you like them enough, anything can be a date’. So sometimes, he even counts the grocery store trips you guys take as a date.. •

• Y/N gets flustered at PDA, and Jack loves PDA. They’ve found common ground by doing small things. Instead of holding hands, they hook pinkies. Instead of him constantly grabbing at her waist, which is something he loves to do, she just stands close enough to him so that she can feel his body against hers. Instead of kissing, he just stares at her lips until she sheepishly gives a small air kiss which he happily accepts.. •

• When Y/N does get a low social battery, Jack knows exactly what she needs now. Quiet and comfort. He’ll get her home, run her a bath, and let her settle in to the much needed silence. He won’t speak, he won’t push her. And when she’s all done in the bath, he’ll just lay next to her while she rests. He won’t hold her, knowing she’s still trying to find her footing. He doesn’t want to suffocate her. But when she’s ready, she snuggles into him.. •

• Sometimes, Jack loves playing a little game with Y/N that he likes to call.. ‘how flustered can I make her’. Pet names, subtle touches to her hips and waist, winking at her. Whatever he can do to get her face as red as an apple. Usually done while at work because then he can snicker to himself when she finally fusses at him. He likes to playfully tease her, but he still respects her outlook on PDA, so obviously he doesn’t do it with a lot of people around.. •

• Jack loves whenever Y/N gets overly excited about something because the volume to her voice raises and it’s a rare moment that he can see.. her. The real her. The her that not many can say they know well. But he can. One night, while they were discussing the movie they just finished watching on the living tv, Y/N laughed loud without meaning to. She covered her mouth and Jack just smiled at her. “Thank you…” He finally whispered after a passing minute. “For what?” Y/N asked sheepishly. “For allowing me this…” Jack muttered before carefully kissing her forehead.. •

He was coming back from a late lunch with Jake, catching up and all. You don’t see him yet, but he’s frozen on the sidewalk, looking at the moving truck parked in the street. It’s you and his next door neighbour standing by the truck, assessing the situation.

Your friend spotted him first, raising an arm up to wave. “Robby.” 

You turned, eyes squinting. The first thing you saw was his beard, then the crinkle between his eyebrows when he was looking at you, trying to figure you out. Your friend hopped down from the truck to meet him in the middle. You followed.

“Hey, Serena.” He greeted her, voice all gruff. He crossed one arm over the other, the glint of his watch facing you. After trailing the cotton of your dress up, his eyes met yours. Golden hour was doing wonders for you.

“This is my friend,” Serena introduced you, “she’s taking over my lease while I’m gone.” 

Robby nodded, “Nice to meet you.”

“You must be the doctor.” You smiled, mouth wider than intended. Serena had mentioned him to you once or twice. Emergency doctor, barely home, but shut-in when he was. Grumpy old man, she had joked, but she never mentioned he was… attractive. 

Robby gave a bashful nod, and Serena must’ve caught you staring because she nudged you on the shoulder. You recoiled, rubbing your arm dramatically.

“Hey, play nice.” She warned you teasingly. Her eyes darted to him, leaning towards Robby like she was telling a secret, “This one bites.” 

“Serena…” You scolded as she headed back to the truck with a laugh and a skip. Face burnt in embarrassment, you cursed her out in your head. You exhaled, looking at Robby’s amusement, an eyebrow quirked by intrigue and a subtle rise of his lip. Meekly, you attempted to smile, “Sorry… Nice meeting you.” You trekked back to Serena quickly. 

Robby let out a breathy laugh to himself, before shaking his head and walking to the door. From over his shoulder, he heard you and Serena laughing to each other. 

“You didn’t tell me that Grumpy Old Man was hot.” He heard you say to Serena. She cackled with an eww attached to it.

The second time you saw him, you were coming home from work. 

It was early in the morning, six o’clock or so. You were approaching the steps to your front door, and he was just emerging from his. Rubbing your eyelids, you couldn’t help but look over. He had on a brown hooded jacket over his scrubs and dark brown boots. His hair was dishevelled, like he didn’t even look in the mirror before leaving. 

When he reached for his keys in his pocket, you realized you had been staring. His head turned and, all of a sudden, you weren’t.

“Morning,” Robby said your name as he gave a sleepy grin.

With a yawn, you nodded, “Headed to work, Dr. Robby?”

He laughed softly, “Uh, huh.” He noticed that you had a bag full of your things and were dressed in sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt, leaning against the rail. “Just got back from somewhere, or…”

“Work,” You nodded, “You know how it is.” He gave a slow nod. You grabbed your keys from your purse and reached for the door. Before opening, you turned over your shoulder, “Have a good work day, Dr. Robby.”

The third time, Robby came home from a night shift.

His sleep schedule hadn’t gotten the memo, but the caffeine in his system told him otherwise. Finishing his shift, he was absolutely exhausted yet alert. The night was college students getting their stomach pumped, babies with too-high fevers, a diner chef with third-degree burns, and sleep deprived parents pacing in the waiting room. Nothing extreme, nothing unusual, but, then again, it was an emergency department.

The sun had been peeking above the buildings that sprawled past his street, and the brisk morning temperature held steady on his way home. Medium blues and lilacs coated the sky and clouds moved so slowly. 

From your stoop, he spotted a puff of smoke flying into the air. Drowning in a dark hoodie, you were perched on your steps, cigarette in one hand and phone in the other. Your knees were pulled to your chest and you were peeking over the railing to see him. He might’ve decided he was too tired to say hello if you hadn’t waved. 

“Robby.” You called, not bothering to stand from your seated position.

“Hi.” He passed his own door, approaching you.

Your eyes glazed over his tired face and rolled up sleeves as he stopped in front of you. Putting your phone down, you patted the brick beside you, sit, like he was a dog. And he obeyed, the smell of coffee, faint pine, and hand sanitizer lingering from one place to the next.

You offered him the cigarette wordlessly, then immediately caught yourself, “Oh, sorry.” You gestured at him, “Doctor. I know.”

With slow hesitation, he shook his head slightly, “Uh, uh.” His fingers traced yours, reaching for the cigarette. He was all wound up anyway, he probably needed it. You gave it to him graciously.

In between his lips, he felt the grain of your glitter lip gloss and tasted the flavour of bubble gum on the filter. You leaned back on your hands, watching him puff. It would be a disservice to not recognize how attractive it was: the suck of his cheeks, lines on his face flattening and reshaping, the pull, then the release. He held the cigarette in between his index and middle, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Work was rough?” You asked quietly, more interested in the way the smoke played by his face than his answer.

“Just tired. I don’t usually work nights.” 

You gave a hum of affirmation, taking the cigarette back from him and puffing yourself. 

“How was work for you?” He nudged his knee against your bare legs, which were now stretched into the sidewalk landing.

“Same old, same old.” You exhaled, facing away from him and crossing one of your legs over the other. Passing the cigarette back, you caught his eye. He had been looking over his shoulder at you, expressionless and observant. Not realizing he was so close, you almost bumped him doing so. 

“What do you do? For work, I mean.” He asked quietly, then took a puff.

You weren’t really listening, scanning his figure instead. The crows feet by his eye, the tired wrinkles on the side of his neck, and the bend of his arm as he rested it against his thigh. You couldn’t even feel guilty because the sight had been that good. Eyes landed on his badge that dangled from his hip. You smiled, tapping it.

“Michael Robinavitch, MD.” You read, looking back up to him. His head turned back to you, the tired look still overshadowing whatever emotion he wanted to convey. “Cute photo.” You teased, grabbing the cigarette back from him.

“Thanks,” he chuckled softly, shaking his head to himself. He watched you take another hit, then stamp it out on the ground. “How do you like the neighbourhood?”

“It’s nice. Very…” you hummed, “Geriatric.”

“Hey…” He scolded playfully. 

You gestured to an old couple across the street, who had been emerging from their front door with a huge greyhound. Waving, you caught their attention and they returned the wave.

“The Robinsons are sweet.” You told him, nudging his shoulder, “I’ve talked to them a few times on their morning walk. Susie’s getting cataract surgery next month.”

“Right.” He nodded mockingly at you.

“But my next door neighbour…” You started, a coquettish grin growing on your face. “He’s another story.”

“Really?” He tilted his head at you and raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, he’s up at ungodly hours of the day, throwing parties and doing God-knows-what.” You exaggerated, watching the Robinsons make their way down the street. “I can barely sleep with all that noise.”

“He sounds terrible.” Robby played along with a smile.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you warned, “He’s lucky we don’t have an HOA.” 

“Okay,” he rolled his eyes. You smiled, watching as his eyes landed back on yours.

Truthfully, you nodded, “The neighbourhood’s nice, much nicer than my last one. Not noisy at all, even when I’m asleep.”

“And your next door neighbour?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Haven’t decided yet.” You pursed your lips. His eyes held yours, and your breath caught. He tilted his head at you, goading more of a definitive answer from you. Then, you nudged his arm again, “You do shut the door like a maniac, though.”

Half-laugh, half-yawn, he smiled anyway, “Uh, huh.”

You looked at the sun, which was breaking between the buildings at the end of the street. The cool morning air had dissipated into something slightly warmer, and you took that as your cue. 

“Should probably get some rest.” You said, meant more for him than you.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He nodded, starting to stand from his sitting position. He slowly made his way back to his door. You stood, watching as he walked down the sidewalk.

“Goodnight,” He called your name from his stoop, looking at you until you said it back.

“Goodnight, Dr. Robinavitch.” You smiled sweetly before escorting yourself into your apartment.

Then, it became a common thing.

Usually, it was a quick hello in the morning— an acknowledgement of his scrubs and ruffled hair and a cheeky goodnight as the sun came up. Sometimes, you’d ask for some miscellaneous ingredient you probably had at the back of your pantry (but wanted to see him). Then, it evolved into something more, like coming over for coffee in the morning.

You’d bring pastries from the bakery a few blocks down. Robby would make some comment about you “spoiling him.” You’d pat his belly playfully after he ate, like you knew him for ages. He’d smile warmly, leaning into your touch. There’d be a moment where maybe you got too close and your eye caught his with a hitch of the breath. Then, you two would go on your neighbourhood walk as if nothing had happened. 

Or Robby found himself tagging along on your grocery trips. You’d be halfway out the door with your reusable bags in tow and he’d catch you from his window. He’d insist on driving, nudging his head to where his car was parked down the street. You’d take aux, playing some modern music he didn’t really know. 

“Learn a thing or two, old man.” You’d smile, nudging him before singing along again. 

At the grocery store, an old lady would make comments about what a sweet couple you were— how you two reminded her of her late husband. Robby would stay quiet, watching your reaction, if any. Then you’d smile and thank them without a hassle. 

Or it was simply a text. Not that he expected to see you everyday, but it was nice to have some kind of reassurance that you wouldn’t evaporate into thin air one day. Some days, you had been out on the town and texting Robby about some nice-looking restaurants or cafes. He’d reply with a “Let’s do it”, secretively smiling at his phone like a teenage girl. 

If an ambulance drove by, you’d snap a picture and send it to him, knowing he was waiting for it. Thinking of you. Wink emoji. 

This became routine, and you had memorized his schedule around yours. It was domestic without the strings. It was lighthearted companionship. You liked the arrangement, and he seemed to too. Especially since work felt lonely, it was nice to come home and have a constant.

On very rare occasions, you invited Robby over for dinner, when he had come home from work and you had a day off, or when you both had a day off. 

“You probably don’t eat much in that hospital, huh?” You teased, passing him a beer from the fridge. You had been stirring the pot of pasta on your stove, while he was leaning against your counter, watching you intently. 

“I manage.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. He was in his “normal person” clothes, a simple t-shirt with a forest green collared jacket on top and some blue jeans. You two had decided to try that new bar down the street after dinner.

You watched the way he fit into the kitchen. So casually, he stood beside you like that’s where he belonged. He had taken the San Diego magnet bottle opener from the side of the fridge, exactly where he knew it was. He even took his shoes off at the door, just as you requested. His hand around the cold glass of the beer bottle was so unconcerned, just as his face was. You’d never seen him so relaxed. 

On mornings where you caught him on the way to work, it was like his shoulders were infinitely tense, automatically flinching at an alarm that wasn’t there. The times you did see him return from work, there was a weariness on his face and a slight droop of the eyes. He looked like he needed a big nap, or a cigarette. You wanted to be the one he fell into at the end of the day, and you were.

You hadn’t considered it too much, since his presence became a habit, but you realized you liked Robby more than you let on. Not only did you want him there, in your house, around all the time, but you wanted him. 

“What?” Robby’s voice and chuckle cut through that thought. His eyes scattered like he’d done something wrong.

Voice weak, mouth gone dry, your eyes darted back up to his face and you asked, “Can you pass the Parmesan next to you?”

He nodded as he obeyed, “You were staring.”

“Yeah, I just had a mini stroke, I think.” You said unseriously, sprinkling cheese over the pasta like you hadn’t said that. 

“What?” He repeated, now more alert. He had shifted forward, arms flexed and hands ready, like you needed them. 

“No, I’m kidding.” You laughed, stirring the pot again.

He settled back into his former position, “Geez, kid. You can’t just say that, ‘specially not to a doctor.”

You sucked in a breath, reaching to turn off the stove, “Dinner’s ready.”

After dinner, you two had ended up at the bar, just as intended. It was far more hip than you thought, falling into a neighbourhood of elderly people. It had a stupid name, The Orca, after the boat in Jaws. The name had nothing to do with the interior.

It was just as dark as it was on the street. The only few lights coming from very dim green glass lamps hanging from the ceiling and the purple, turquoise, green, and warm yellow spotlights that coated a dance floor. Tipsy adults had been dancing— genuinely dancing— to whatever music the DJ was playing. It was packed, expected for a Friday night. 

“I don’t think I’ve danced at a bar since I was in med school.” Robby noted with a chuckle. You were leading him towards the bar, which was busy all around.

Sliding between full stools, you got the attention of one of the bartenders. You turned to Robby, who was just inches behind you.

“What’re you drinking?” You asked, nudging your head towards the bar. 

“Gin and tonic?” He shrugged, surveying the area for some seats. 

You ordered his drink, along with a Rum and Coke for yourself, and requested an open tab. The bartender nodded and trailed off to do so. 

As a group had come and gone from your section of the bar, some guy slid by next to you, “Busy, huh?”

You had been watching your bartender, then realized he was talking to you. Turning over, you squinted your eyes, “Huh?”

Absolutely focused on you, he was probably around your age, nursing a pint. He was fairly attractive, maybe on any other night you’d care. You weren’t a stranger to getting hit on at a bar, but you had just been so disinterested, mind on something else— someone.

“The bar,” He nodded, gesturing around, “It’s busy.”

“Oh,” you shrugged indifferently, “Yeah, well, it’s Friday.”

“Yeah,” He nodded with a smile, leaning towards you, “What brings you here tonight?”

The bartender had finished up with your drinks, placing two glasses in front of you. After a quick thanks, you looked back to the guy and repeated, slightly irritated, “It’s Friday.”

Reaching out for the glasses, you felt Robby tap on your shoulder, “Seats over there.” He nudged his head to the other side of the room, then to the drinks,  “I’ll grab ‘em.” You nodded, moving aside for him. 

Slipping past you, he glared over, spotting the guy who had been speaking to you. The guy’s mouth had fallen slightly ajar as Robby pointedly asked, “Did you need somethin’?”

The guy narrowed his eyes at Robby, who towered over him, and mumbled some “Jesus” under his breath with the roll of his eyes. He walked away and Robby had followed you.

“Seems like you got some fans.” Robby said, sliding into the U-shaped booth beside you and placing the drinks on the table. The red vinyl was sticky under your palms as you scooted closer to him.

You smiled bashfully and shook your head, “Nah, he was just bored.” Robby gestured to him and his friends by the bar, who had been mumbling to each other and looking in your direction.

“A lot of attention for someone so bored.” He mocked, seemingly ticked off.

“Are you jealous, doctor?” You sang, nudging his arm with your elbow. A smile grew on your face as you took a sip of your drink.

The blush on his face and his avoidant eye contact made you settle in closer to him. You watched his hands grasp around his glass, bringing it up to his lips and completely disregarding that there had been a straw in it.

“Well, how about you?” You insisted with a nod, folding one hand over the other on the table. “I’m sure girls are all over you at the bars.”

“Honey,” he chuckled, causing you to cock an eyebrow, “I haven’t properly been to a bar in months.”

“Why not?”

“Well, work… for one.” He shrugged. “And—“

“Okay, how about work?” You interjected, leaning in. “Is it Grey’s Anatomy up in there or what?”

Robby leaned back, a smile playing at his lips and a laugh stuck in his throat, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, c’mon, are you the hospital hussy?” You sipped on your drink, teasing him with a playful grin. 

He tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes at you as he pursed his lips. You stared right back, as if there had been some competition. That was the thing about you and Robby— you acted like he was your age, not some deadbeat old man whose job ruled his life. He felt like he was still young with you, or at least virile. You acted like it wasn’t ridiculous you two were at the bar together, squeezed into a booth all romantic-like.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He furrowed his eyebrows, but his lips upturned.

You liked the element of surprise you put in Robby. Picking up on his tired eyes, the could’ve-been life that sat wistfully inside of him, you saw the dead end that he thought he met. You felt it too, so mixing it up, saying whatever was on your mind, made it less sad and less lonely. The light at the end of the tunnel, or whatever.

Finishing up your own drink, you noticed that he was running dry as well. His eyes wandered around the swarm of bodies that moved in sync. It was that wistfulness again, a sparkle of nostalgia in his eyes. A smile grew on your face as you recognized the song change.

You nodded your head at him, “You wanna dance?”

Taken aback, Robby gave a surprised smile, “Dancing? Am I in my twenties again?”

“That wasn’t a no.” You sang, smiling as you coaxed his arm to the dance floor.

“I don’t know how to dance.” He protested, reluctantly following you out of the booth.

“Does anyone?” 

You yanked him close by his forearms, having him crowd you, making sure it was obvious who was whose. He smiled like it was ridiculous, saying so under his breath as well. 

You started swaying to the music, finding a rhythm with him. He did the same, slowly trying to break the barrier between awkwardness and euphoria. You smiled, watching him do so. There was something so charming about his meeting you in the middle. 

You leaned your head towards his ear and said, “I was staring, by the way.” Pulling back, you saw the grin on his face grow wider.

“Were you?” He tilted his head teasingly.

“You knew I was.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you had a mini stroke or not.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes. 

You placed your forearms to rest on his shoulders, beckoning him to slide in closer to you. He did so, hands finding your hips. Becoming one unit, your moves glued to each other’s, just as your eyes did. Your face neared his and you smelled the gin on his lips and felt the heat of him overtake you.

“Hey,” you called, practically into his beard. He nodded wordlessly, completely entranced by his view. You leaned forward but waited for a sign of reciprocity. He smiled again before following suit.

Slowly, you exhaled, surveying his face one more time before pulling yourself up to him. Lips grazed his beard before anything and the tip of his nose touched your cheek. You felt his hands press into your lower back, grasping like he was about to slip. You could’ve sworn he made a sound when you kissed him. 

Music reverbed off the walls and the lights went out on you. The contact of his lips felt like a crashing shock. It was one press— the surface area finding yours as if he needed to memorize it. When his body pressed against yours, your shoulders heighted and your body pushed against him. More. It felt greedy. 

He started pulling back but immediately caught you again. Your lips desperately trailed him, kisses turning sloppier, faster, needier. Every press felt like you found an oasis, sipping water like you had been dehydrated for months, yet you hadn’t even tasted his tongue. 

Your hands found his hair, fingers grazing the soft texture at the base of his skull. The sensation of the skin on his lips, the graze of his beard, the hair between your fingers, the texture of his jacket on your arms all felt like too much but also too little. 

“Robby,” you mumbled, cut off by his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. 

He hummed in return, “Yeah, baby?” He left a kiss on the corner of your lips, like he was starting a trail to return to. His head moved to the right side of your neck, soft kisses along the bone behind your ear, then your jaw, then lower and lower…

“Robby,” You repeated, more as an exhale than a proper word, like it was the only thing blinding your thoughts. His lips lifted from your neck, but his hands stayed stable on your waist. You gulped and opened your eyes slowly, afraid you had imagined it all. 

When your eyes did open fully, you saw Robby, who was staring at you with a certain hunger in his eyes. The purple lights from the club surfaced over his face and you remembered where you were. He was so patient, eyes scanning around your face, ready whenever you finished that thought. Your mouth stayed ajar, dumbfounded.

Your breath desperately caught up with your heart. The sound of the music was white noise, indistinguishable from a breeze in the wind. Your eyes widened and you blinked like you couldn’t believe it. Your senses both shut down and tensed, all at once, as you zeroed in on Robby, who had grown a smile on his face. It was a movie kiss, you identified, a perfect release that could have only been rehearsed trillions of times but happened to fall into you like a shooting star.

“Honey,” he whispered, “You’re staring again.”

You snapped out of it, looking away from Robby sheepishly. It definitely wasn’t the first time you’ve been kissed, but it definitely was the first time you’ve been kissed like that. There was something so sure about Robby; maybe it was the slowburn but you assumed it was the way he guided you, like you didn’t have to worry about anything but being with him.

He squeezed his hands around your waist to get your attention and said, “Use your words.”

“Home, Robby. Please.” You inhaled sharply, “Take me home.”

The walk back was quiet. The orange of the street lights guided you home and strangers slinking around the streets reminded you just how eager you were to leave the club. Robby had slipped his jacket around your shoulders and his hand in yours. He pressed kisses into your temple while you walked, mumbling sweet little reassurance as you leaned into him. 

Your knees felt weak when you approached his door and you wanted nothing more than to feel him again and again. On his stoop, your hands and your back found stability on the cold, steel railing. You felt drunk, not from the drink, but from the buzz and possibility of Robby wanting you too.

Your bottom lip slipped between your own teeth as he looked at you. You were wide-eyed and awestruck, so desperate to know what happens next. His eyes glazed over you in his jacket and he slipped an arm between the jacket and your back, pulling you closer. 

You let out a satisfied hum, watching him unlock his door. Robby smiled down at you as he pushed it open, taking you with him. Your head reached up to his while he shut the door behind you. 

Swiftly, his face met yours and his lips enveloped you again. You sighed into it, drawing closer to him. Your hands eagerly found his chest, running your fingers and palms up and down on the cotton of his shirt. You drew your head back against the door in ecstasy, so relieved and self-indulgent.

This time, his tongue found your bottom lip and eventually the inside of your mouth in three-fourths time. It all happened so slowly, and you drank up every painful millisecond. He relaxed against you, attempting to ease your heart’s tempo. God, he knew you wanted more, but he exhibited such good self control. You whined into it, feeling lightheaded from the taste of him. 

Lips felt wet and messy all of a sudden, but he was taking his time with every kiss, both giving and taking. His mouth worked on you, like tuning a piano to perfection, with controlled movements and an ear for perfect tune. While his hands ran up and down your sides, you felt yourself shudder against him. His bottom half pressed against you as your back pressed up against the door. 

With a groan, you bit down on his bottom lip, begging for more. Your leg hiked up around his hip, craving to feel him closer against you. His right hand found the back of your thigh, running up to grab onto your ass. Perching you on him for just a moment, his lips left yours then his head dipped to your neck.

“You really want me to fuck you against the door?” He mumbled into your skin sarcastically, heat against it causing you to gravitate closer to him. You felt his nose against your pulse and his beard grazing the skin on your collarbone, overwhelming you in the best way.

“Uh, uh.” You gulped, shaking your head as he planted soft, wet kisses up the column of your throat. His hands latched onto you more firmly and he pulled you in. Face moving up from your neck, his eyes found yours and his arm slipped around your back again.

“Good.”

With a yelp, you followed as he began to drag you down the hall with him. You giggled, quick and giddy, causing him to let out a chuckle as well. Your face pressed into his shoulder, warm with excitement and anticipation— so much so, you didn’t realize both of your shoes had been checked at the door. It was silly, the way he made you blush, like you were living some life you only knew before your alarm went off.

Reaching his room, it was barely lit by the warm street lights through the window. The glow surfaced on his face and you could tell he was smiling too. You pushed his jacket off of your shoulders, dropping it to the floor recklessly. He pulled you in close again, and your mouth reached for his lips. He tilted his head up before you could meet them.

“Robby,” you scolded playfully. His beard tickled your fingers as you ran them through. 

He smiled down at you, “I just wanna look at you.”

“I’ll be here all night.” You teased, voice breathy as your hands found the scruff of his jaw. When you kissed him again, his arms went around you and lifted you up, carrying you towards the bed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your head tucked into his shoulder.

Your back hit the mattress and it felt like the perfect fit. The plush of his comforter molded around your arms and the smell of eucalyptus, wood, and man overtook you. He had a huge, cozy bed, expected of a doctor in his department— you could wonder why he was always so exhausted. You’d trade your cheap queen mattress for the memories you’d have on this foam any day.

Robby settled between your legs, bodies pressed together. You felt him above your jeans, slowly rutting into you just like you wanted. Your legs dangled around his hips automatically, allowing him to get as close to your core as possible. Eagerly, you giggled again as he placed his hands on your hips.

“What’s so funny?” He teased, reaching his head down to nip at your neck again. 

You sighed, throwing your head back to give him room, “Need you to touch me.”

Your hands found his sides, grasping at the tense muscles on his back then finding the hem near his hips to slide your hands in. Your fingertips pressed on the soft flesh of him, feeling as he moved against you.

“Where, sweetheart?” His breath made you press up closer to him. 

Your breath caught in your throat as his head slowly made its way down. First, the space between your shirt’s neckline and the base of your neck, then the valley between your chest. His right hand ruched up your shirt, the warmth from his hand meeting the chill in your skin. Each beat of your heart sped up as his lips pressed against you.

While doing so, he kneeled against you, keeping his body a distance away from yours. His eyes made their way up you dangerously slow. The space between you felt agonizing as the fabric of his shirt teased your bare stomach.

Attempting to find release for the ache in your core, you pushed yourself down to feel him against you. When his knee dipped into the mattress, your hips bucked upwards on his thigh, like a reflex. A soft sound coming from your mouth, you felt Robby grin against your skin.

He hummed, “I’ll take that as an answer.” 

As he drew his head up, you urged him to come closer, pulling him by his back. Your eyes found him in the dim light, pulling his shirt over his head. He seemed to shiver at your touch, fingers finding the surface of his chest before tossing his shirt onto the floor.

Robby followed suit, hands going under your top and pulling it over your head. Humming, you smiled as he sat back, running his hands up and down your torso. He squeezed at your chest and smiled.

You groaned, “Robby,” more annoyed than intended.

“Yeah, baby?” He leaned his head down, body hovering over you once again.

“Taking your sweet ass time, huh?” You mumbled, hands finding the sides of his neck. He shook his head and you could practically feel him roll his eyes.

His hand lightly pushed down on your bare stomach as his fingers searched for the button on your pants. Legs still surrounding his thigh, you squeezed against him as he skimmed your bare waist under the denim.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to move your legs if you want me to touch you.” He chuckled roughly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You obliged, staring up at him while he focused on getting your pants off. When he slipped them off, his fingers skimmed over your lace-clad hipbone, causing you to shudder against him. His head was tilted down, zeroed in on your core.

The wet between your legs gathered when he looked at your face, burning to be acknowledged. There was also a tingling sensation that had been playing on your lips. Desperate to find his, you reached your chin up. Through your underwear, you felt two of his fingers press against you and you pressed up with a quiet moan, taking his mouth to yours. His tongue met yours with a hum and an exhale. 

Robby was still on his knees, and his fingers found their way into your panties. Pushing the gusset aside, he slid the wet up and down your folds, causing you to buck your hips up to him. He hadn’t even put any fingers in you yet, but you were so sensitive that anything was enough.

His lips turned sloppy against yours, saliva mixed with whines. Your breath was jagged too, chasing the high he was giving. Your hands splayed around his head, so eager you had no clue if you wanted to push his head closer to yours or hold the nape of this neck, intertwining fingers with his short pieces of hair. 

Body attempted to push towards him, only failing when his other hand forced your hips down. Whining, you buried your face into him like you needed everything— lips, tongue, beard, nose, wrinkles and all. Yeah, he was hungry, but you were starving.

His fingers hooked on your panties without disconnecting his face from yours. He pushed them off with the help of your elevated hips, and you kicked them off your legs.

Moaning into his mouth, your hips met his fingers against your entrance. You whined as he stalled just outside. Face pulling away, he smiled at you.

“Eager, are we?” He teased, fingers meeting your puffy clit. He rubbed up and down, gliding around and on it. It was enough pressure for you to grasp at his shoulders.

“Need it so bad, Dr. Robby.” You whined, pushing your hips into the mattress as he went to tease your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly, fingers ghosting over you, “Wow.”

Your head fell back and mouth into an O-shape as his fingers slid into you. The gush had you moving your hips into his still fingers. He watched your face as you did so, bringing himself closer to you.

His mouth moved with yours as he rocked his fingers into you. You could gauge his eagerness by how his fingers curled in you, like he wanted to feel all of you. You really squealed when he moved to rub on your clit again, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Are you gonna finish on my fingers, sweetheart?” Robby teased before you kissed him again with a whine. When his fingers slipped back inside of you, your body met him in the middle with each movement, desperate to get off.

Fingers pumping into you, his thumb found your clit and drove you close to the edge. You threw your head back again as he lifted his. Breaths turned shorter and you clung to his shoulders, one hand making its way to the side of his head.

“Oh, fuck.” You mumbled, hips raising off the bed to meet him. You looked back at him and he had been staring at your face the whole time. The determination in his eyes made you lightheaded. He nodded as he felt you pulse around him, only to speed up. 

Your breath hurried as you felt heat bubbling in your core. Your hips locked and sweat grew on your skin, all over your body. Biting down on your lip, you hummed as your hands pressed down on Robby. You grew tight around his fingers and felt yourself gush.

Rutting your hips up to his fingers again, you moaned and exhaled. Hips stalling against him with his eyes on yours. You vibrated under him without proper release, riding the high of his pressure on you. He kept his fingers in you, causing you to pulse with an ah-ah-ah noise leaving your mouth. 

Dropping your hips, you felt the wave of release crash over you, sighing with a whine as his fingers slipped out of you. You panted as you watched a smile grow on his face. 

Gulping, you pushed your fingers through his short hair and he placed his hand on the outside of your thigh. He squeezed as he dipped his head towards you.

You kissed him slowly this time, fire inside you still burning, skin heated with sweat. Lips moved in sync and it was his turn to groan when your hand reached surfaced over the bulge growing in his pants. 

You tugged at his belt buckle, yanking it off and going for the button on his jeans. At the glimpse of his dark blue boxers, you bit your lip. He helped you, pulling his pants and boxers away altogether.

Robby was… Fuck, he was exactly what you expected. Thick, strong, filling… The length of him had already been dripping. He had fallen against your lower abdomen, painting you giddy. You didn’t mean to, but you smiled far too wide as you stared.

“Mmm, I’m excited.” You joked, looking up at him as he squeezed at the plush of your thighs.

“You’re somethin’ else.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Reaching your hands around his neck, you pressed your hips up to him as he fell between you. Grinding against the wet gathered at your entrance, he groaned into your mouth as he met you in the middle. You felt the friction against your clit as you squeezed your legs around him.

After humming into a kiss, you tilted your head away, “You’re clean, right?” He stalled against you, about to speak, but you cut him off. “Oh, doctor, right. I know…”

“You?” He nodded once, raising himself on his elbows.

“Mhmm,” you ran a hand over his beard and rested it on his shoulder, grinding over the length of him with a heavy breath, “Birth control too. You wanna fuck me raw, Dr. Robby?” You purred, chin tilting up with a smirk.

“Jesus,” he shook his head at you with a smile. 

His hand ran up and down the surface of your thigh, coaxing you closer to him. An arm caged around the side of your neck, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. Your knees locking around his waist, he slowly worked his way inside. You reached up for his lips again, smooth surface pressing softly. 

His lips felt like silk against yours, smooth sheets against your skin. The roughness of his beard only tickled you, balancing out delicately. The pads of his fingers barely squeezed on you, rather rubbing circles to ease you in.

As he slowly started to fill you in, your breath synced with his. Mouth suddenly still against yours, he panted, peeling himself off your face hesitantly. The wince in his eyes told you everything, crows feet growing beautifully in ecstasy. Fuck was the word, right, but he had started so gentle that maybe there should’ve been a word more lush, tender even. 

As he bottomed out, you inhaled sharply, eyes grazing over his face. He stared at you and ran his hand up to your side. Clenching around him, you stayed as still as he did, anticipating, waiting. 

He was deliberately slow with it, inching out of you like he was holding himself back. Rocking into you, each drag made you more eager, made you insatiable. His eyes burned into yours, watching your breath catch each slow two-seconds his pelvic bone met yours.

“Robby,” you whispered, his bottom lip hanging off of yours. 

Squeezing at your ribs, he sighed, “Yes, sweetheart?”

“C’mon, honey, I’m not gonna break.” You cooed as his forehead rested against yours.

“Yeah?” He mumbled, giving a small kiss to your lips. 

You lifted your hips off the bed, begging to meet him in the middle. Hands grasping at his back, you rocked your hips onto him. His breath turned heavy against you as his hand found your waist. Pushes turned to shoves while you prodded him to go harder on you. 

“Don’t even need to move, you’ll fuck yourself on me, won’t you?” He rasped into your lips before giving you a bruising kiss.

His hand went heavy on you, pushing your hips down on the bed. You squealed against the kiss as you felt him drive further, faster. Slipping in and out, he huffed as he met your cervix, legs pushing open more for him.

Quickening the pace, he locked you under him. He was more heavy pants and hums than he was grunts or moans. Hips snapping against each other, sweat brewing over your skin, the sound was absurd. Still, his face hung over yours, staring at you in awe.

Blissed out, you panted a mess of noises as he thrusted into you, the bed rocking slightly beneath you. You arched your back, bringing your stomach to meet his and trying to get somewhat closer to his body. Throwing your head back, you shut your eyes as the pressure wound up in you.

Legs reaching up, you locked your ankles behind his back, pulling him further in and earning a heavy shit, sweetheart from him. Chasing your high, you swore you saw stars, pressing your closed eyes tighter.

“C’mon, baby, look at me.” He croaked, muscles tightening. His hand that was on the side of your head moved to grasp your hand, which was intertwined with the sheet. 

“Feel so good,” you murmured. Your eyes fluttered open, fingers grasping as they met his hand. Your other hand found the side of his face. “Kiss me. Please.” You nodded your head up, eager to meet his lips in yours.

With the shift of his hips, his mouth caught against yours, a groan falling in between. His pace changed, harder and sloppier, skin meeting with a slap. Tongue intertwined in yours, muffed moans filled the room. Breaths were forgone for the sweetness of his saliva.

Robby noticed the way you squirmed against him, like you were just there. He reached down between you and pressed his fingers to your sweet spot. You started to writhe into him, whining and bucking your hips.

“Oh, my God.” Your hands grasped his as you let out a muffled noise. 

“God, if you keep squeezing like that, sweetheart—“ His hips stuttered, feeling you gush around him. 

The overwhelming and enduring fire in you reached its crescendo. All of a sudden, the press of his body against you, his hands on you, the light feathering of his body hair over your stomach, and, of course, the absolute jackhammer of him blended like static on your senses. Ringing grew in your ears and with another snap:

“Oh, fuck!” You choked out, throwing your head back on the pillow. 

The aftershocks of your climax still rode out as he found his. Your whines and moans filled the room as you let him use you up. Your walls clenching and contracting around him was enough to send him reeling. Hips shuddering, he plunged all the way back in. Everything in him buckled as he twitched and spasmed. 

With a few deep jerks, Robby growled into you, “Oh, shit, so fuck–ing perfect. So beautiful, baby. You’re so good for me. Fuck, yes!” Filling you warmly, he went limp with a big exhale.

Panting against him, you kept your fingers intertwined and let him fall onto you. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, sweat against sweat. The deadweight of his body felt perfect, trailing the overstimulation of it all. With him still inside of you, you pressed your hand to his back.

Lightheaded, you attempted to catch your own breath, inhaling deeply but lazily. You ran your fingers up and down the slick skin on his back. Mind going numb, you allowed yourself to doze a little, eyes half-lidded.

Huffing, he tilted his head to you, softly pressing a kiss to your temple, “Sorry, sweetheart. Must be crushing you.” He began raising himself on his elbows, ready to roll over to the side of you.

Whining disapprovingly, you pulled him back in, making him rest back on top of you. He followed hesitantly, allowing himself to relax. Your legs stayed wrapped around him, tightly holding him in as he softened.

“M’so sweaty, honey.” He said, face buried into the pillows. “Should clean up.”

“Tired,” you whined again. Sighing, he lifted his head to pepper kisses on your face, cheek, forehead, nose.

“C’mon, don’t want to see you in the emergency room with a UTI.” He mumbled into your skin.

“So dramatic, Dr. Robby.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your hand out of his to wrap around his back. Embracing him, you tucked your head into the opposite crook of his neck. “Let me hold you for a little, please?” You pleaded softly. “Then, we can go clean up.”

Exhaling, Robby collapsed back onto you. He couldn’t even try to fight it if he wanted. He continued pressing tiny pecks into your skin, nipping at your neck and up your jaw.

Eventually, you would get up, but for now, Robby was yours.

The morning slipped in like it had been attached to the night. The sun was hushed behind his curtains and you had woken up slowly and effortlessly. Over the rays that slipped in, you were in one of Robby’s worn shirts— he made some comment that it was definitely older than you. He remained shirtless, chest hair free under the morning light.

You had been facing Robby and his fingers were hanging off your ribs. Head tucked into his chest, you had an arm around the plush of his stomach by default. The snores he let out made you softly chuckle, unaware of how you possibly slept through it.

Turning away from Robby, you rolled onto your stomach, checking your phone for any morning notifications. You heard him shift next to you, the bed dipping slightly behind you.

He rolled over with a rasped “Morning, sweetheart.”

His hand surfaced over your back, under the shirt, like he was searching for something. With a tired sigh, his lips found your spine, kissing from the base of your neck slowly to the dip in your waist. The touch made you shiver against the sheets and gravitated you towards him. 

“You’re addicted to that thing.” He mumbled, his breath and the movement of his lips causing you to flinch a little. He tapped your hip with his hand, as if trying to catch your attention. The ghost of his mouth faded on your back as he fell back into his former position.

Dropping your phone back on the nightstand, you rolled over to meet him in the middle of the bed. With a smile, you pressed your hands against his bare chest and found his lips to meet yours. It felt nicer in the daylight somehow, the sunrays peeking through the window to coat the lines on his face. The plush on his lips were somehow rougher, waiting to be broken in for the day.

“Happy?” You said, running your hand over the side of his beard. Your face was only a distance away from his and your body had leaned off his side. He hummed as you pressed another delicate kiss on his lips.

You pulled yourself onto his hips, so you could feel your body flush against his. He let out a slight hum at the feeling of your skin pressed together. His hands went to your lower back, grasping to feel you closer.

“Do you wanna go to that diner for breakfast?” You pressed another kiss on his lips as you rested your arms around his head. You shifted yourself on his hips, feeling the morning greet you.

“Mhmm,” Robby nodded, but it seemed like he hadn’t really heard you. He ran his hand over your hair, letting you lazily grind over him.

You hummed, “Found out I have to go to work tonight.”

“Leavin’ me on my day off?” He mumbled, hands resting on the underside of your thighs as he pressed a kiss onto your cheek.

“It’s just later tonight. You’ll survive.” You teased, fingers playing with his hair. 

“Better make the rest of the day, then.” He said before reaching his head up to sweep you into a deeper kiss. You giggled as his hands went under your (his) shirt to pull it off.

The next morning, Jack had called Robby into the ED, although he wasn’t meant to work at all that day. With Shen on vacation, he assumed he could handle it. Apparently, patients started piling up, and there was a crisis downtown— something about a bar fight, Robby wasn’t exactly sure.

As Robby made his way in around four, Jack patted him on the back, “God, am I glad to see you, brother.”

They walked towards central, Robby looking around at the chaos flooding into the walkways. “Jesus, what’s going on?”

“Huge bar fight from the Strip District. Mostly bruises, cuts, and fractured bones, but we have one in trauma with a stab wound, about to be transferred to the OR.” Jack explained. “Everyone got in around three-thirty, so all of the beds are full now.”

“When are they not?” They approached central and Robby nodded at Lena.

Jack nudged his head over to Trauma One, and Robby followed. Peeking inside, he saw a larger man on the table with an ice pick sticking out of his side and a gash across his arm. Walsh and Donnie were over him, observing and checking his vitals.

“What happened there?” Robby asked, folding his arms.

“Someone at the bar got creative. We don’t have a full story yet.” Jack continued walking down, towards the other rooms and beds. “The police are on their way, but I don’t think anyone will get arrested.”

“Why?” 

“Ever seen Coyote Ugly?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Yes…” Robby nodded slowly as Jack gestured down the walkway. 

Robby looked to the curtains that were crowded with girls in sequins, glitter, leather party clothes, some with blood staining them.

“You chipped my fuckin’ tooth!” One of the girls in a wheelchair, who had a towel over her mouth, yelled across the way.

“It was an accident, bitch!” The other girl was on a bed, her foot elevated and a bruise on her cheek. 

The area was overflowing. Girls chattering and girls half-asleep, there was even a couple arguing in one of the rooms. Robby had experienced bar fights coming in before, but it was always a bunch of beer-bellied guys or boyfriends defending their masculinity. He toed his way over, eyes roaming the area for a quick survey. 

“Fuck, boss, do you think we’ll get fired?” One of the girls, who had some cuts on her legs and a black eye, called from one of the beds. She was being treated by Mateo.

“No way,” That was your voice, one that Robby had to second guess because why the hell would you be here?, “If Gustav wants to fire you guys, he’s gonna have to go through me first. Besides, though, you guys gotta stop bringing boyfriends into the bar.”

Swiftly, Robby turned on his heel, spotting you slumped over in a chair. By one of the beds, you had a bruise on your cheekbone, one on your knee, and a gauze wrapped around your right hand. You were in knee-high boots and possibly the most revealing outfit he’d ever seen you in. You leaned on your non-gauzed hand with a furrow in your brow. He called your name, rushing over.

Alarmed, you sat up with your eyes wide, “Robby.”

“Sweetheart,” his voice turned soft, concerned. He came to your side, kneeling next to the chair, and, immediately, you felt your face burn up.

“Fuck.” You pressed your left hand to your forehead, shutting your eyes. “This is so embarrassing.”

The girls who had been arguing across from you chirped up:

“Damn,” Kelly, a broken ankle propped on the bed, cursed your name, “Is this your man?” 

“Who else would she be cooking all that food for?” Chris responded, lowering the towel from her bleeding mouth.

“In such a good mood. No wonder she started tipping out.” Jenna, in the bed beside you, joked with a shake of her head. “Been getting it good, huh, boss?” She pinched your elbow teasingly, which made you wince.

“Ignore them.” You rolled your eyes, flitting your hand at them. You looked at him, “I thought you weren’t working today.”

“I got called in. What the hell happened?” Robby took your gauzed hand in his, examining where your palm had been cut. What he couldn’t see was Jack, who had been peering over from across the hallway. A soft eyebrow raised in interest, and a sharp inhale, this is why Robby had been so nice and calm and easygoing.

“Uh,” you looked around, and all eyes were on you, “Can we talk… privately?” He nodded slowly, standing and helping you up. You winced at his action and mumbled, “I’m fine.”

Making your way a distance from the curtains, the girls resumed their chatter, now diminished to hushed whispers. Robby walked beside you, hand still holding yours. Landing somewhere by Pedes, Robby folded his arms in front of you.

He furrowed his eyebrows concernedly, “I heard the police got involved? What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“A bunch of tourists came in tonight and got fucking sloshed.” You sighed, “I had it under control until one of them thought it was a good idea to try to grab Kelly off the bar—”

“Why was she on the bar?” He jutted his head out, now even more worried.

“Nevermind that.” You shook your head. “His group thought it was funny to harass the other girls as well.” You gestured to the curtains. “Bella was getting felt up by some asshole, and, for some reason, her stupid fucking boyfriend showed up. 

“He got crazy possessive about her and broke out into some animalistic aggression? I don’t know,” you spoke frantically and defensively, like you were in trouble with your parents, “he started howling and swinging at the tourists. Long story short, it gave everyone else an excuse to fight.”

“Okay…” He nodded slowly, then tapped at the gauze on your hand. “Doesn’t explain this.” You shook your head as your eyes caught the man who was being wheeled out of Trauma. His eyes softened, “Oh.”

“His stupid friends fled before the cops came.” You turned back to Robby, “I just wanted to protect my girls.”

“Uh, huh.” He saw the panic in your eyes settle when he nodded.

“I had it under control. We didn’t need to come here.” You reasoned with an exhale. 

“But I’m glad you did.” He placed a hand on your bicep, attempting to be supportive. You dropped your shoulders when he did, unaware you had been anxious.

“There’s, uh… Something else.” You mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear out of stress.

“Tell me.” Robby spoke softly, hand rubbing up and down your arm. 

“Half these girls don’t have health insurance, the other half are still on their parents’.” You exhaled, like you had been holding a weight in your chest. “I really didn’t wanna take them to the ER, but someone called the cops.” You explained to Robby with a hand pressed to your forehead. 

“Okay,” he sighed, “You can talk to our case manager, Noelle Hastings, and she’ll discuss some options with you.”

“She’s not gonna tell me anything I don’t already know. Can we wipe this from the record, call it a… write-off or something?” You neared Robby, able to lean towards him.

He mumbled your name, “I… Since there’s probably been a police report, it’s already on the record. Please, just talk to Noelle. She can help.” You shut your eyes with an exhale and let out a soft okay. “I’ll have them send her down.” He patted your arm, taking you closer to him.

“Thanks,” you whispered, although you weren’t really sure what for. He pressed a kiss onto your forehead before leading you back to the curtains.

After having talked to the cops, the woman identified as Noelle made her way over to you. She was long legs, shiny black heels, a proper navy pantsuit, and luscious black hair in a half up-half down. An older lady, her wrinkles were a testament to her grooming, beautiful around her eyes and complimenting her smile.

“Hi, I’m Noelle Hastings, the case manager here at PTMC.” She greeted as you stood up, one hand clutching a tablet. Her eyes glazed over your outfit as she chuckled, “Looks like someone had quite the night.”

Following her off to Central, you realized you felt silly around her. She had been so professional, and half the surface of your skin met the cold air conditioning of the emergency department, hair slightly messy from the fight. You never shivered, though, standing up straight in front of Noelle.

You laughed awkwardly, attempting to pull down the little fabric you had around your hips, “Um, I assume you’re caught up on the circumstances.” 

“Yes,” She nodded once, her eyes crinkling as she exhaled. “Some of these are quite a hefty bill for those uninsured. They are all technically work-related injuries, so I suggest talking to your boss about worker’s comp when you can.”

“Okay,” you shrugged, then looked away, “Shit, I don’t know if my boss will go for that.”

“Well, another option is financial assistance from the hospital. If some of them fall under certain income limits, they could qualify for Charity Care and PTMC will cover it.” She explained delicately, like she knew you were on edge. 

“How can we…” You looked back at her, who had a concerned look for you. “How can we check?”

“I can talk to the girls about their income, if that’s okay with them,” she offered supportively, "Then, we can move forward with some forms and things.”

“Everything okay here?” You heard Robby’s voice trickle in, coming to stand beside you. He looked to Noelle for an answer, who had made dreamy-eyes at him when he stepped forward. If she hadn’t calmed your nerves, you wouldn’t have noticed. 

You recognized the glint in her eye, a narrow like there was a secret you weren’t in on and a smirk on her face. The friendly smile on her face only grew into something more… suggestive?

“Yes, I briefed her on our options.” Noelle nodded. With you still there, girlish youth grew on her face, suddenly lit up and hopeful with a little bit of desperation. She took a step forward, “Dr. Robby, if I could just—“

“Great,” Robby nodded like he hadn’t heard her. You looked between them, inquisitive and a little entertained. Ready to walk away, his hand skimmed over yours as he looked at you, “Did you need anything from me?”

Receptive, your hand wrapped around his and gave a squeeze, “No. Thanks, honey.” 

He nodded again, a bashful smile playing at his lips before he trailed off. You watched him walk away, biting at the inside of your cheek to stop a proud smile from coming about. 

Turning back, you nodded at Noelle, “Thank you again.” 

You began to walk away, then her voice stopped you.

“Do you, uh,” she started, the veil of professionalism faltering for just a moment through her curious eyes, “Do you know Dr. Robinavitch?”

“We’re…” You stopped yourself, then cleared your throat, “Why?”

She looked away and exhaled a little, “Oh, nothing… Just—”

“We’re neighbours.” You grinned with the tilt of your head, unintentionally fishing for more information. It wasn’t technically a lie, but it definitely wasn’t what she was asking. 

“He just, uh,” She shook her head, then looked back up, “Kinda dropped out a few months ago.”

“You mean he… ghosted you?” You slowly nodded understandingly. 

Could’ve been. That’s what Noelle was. In all her polished and experienced beauty, Robby had led her on. Why he let such a woman get away was beyond you. And maybe it was self-centred to think so, but the timeline had lined up to when you landed on Robby’s front steps. 

She was older than you, more mature, no doubt. You were practically in shiny underwear in front of her with big lashes and glittery lip gloss, looking like some little aspiring cosmetologist’s fucked up Barbie doll. 

“God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” She muttered, more to herself than to you. Her hand moved to cover her face slightly, embarrassment blooming on her cheeks. In this state, she was another girl just like you, confidence faltering over this old man. 

“No,” you shook your head supportively, then offered playfully, “didn’t really know a 50 year old man could have a situationship.”

“Stupid, right?” Noelle shrugged, rolling her eyes. Removing her hand from her face while flicking her hair away, she scoffed, “Guess I just thought we had something real. Jokes on me for trying something with a man so lonely.”

You chuckled at her honesty, “Happens to the best of us.”

With a pressed smile, she nodded, “I’ll go speak to the girls now.”

“Of course,” You affirmed as she trailed off. 

A few hours after the whole bar fight party had been discharged and everyone was slowly getting caught up, Jack stopped by at Central, where Robby had been finishing up some charts. 

Knocking on the counter, Jack nodded, “How’s it going?”

“About ready to head home.” Robby sighed, tilting his glasses down to look at Jack.

“What, uh…” Jack leaned over the surface, an amused smile growing on his face, “What’s going on with the fighter from earlier?”

Robby laughed to himself, leaning over the desk like he and Jack were two girls at a sleepover, “The fighter?” He mocked, raising an eyebrow innocently.

“You know, the leader in that tiny skirt…” Jack teased, watching Robby’s expression soften, “What’s going on there?”

“Uh, she moved in next door a few months ago,” Robby shook his head bashfully, “We became friends pretty quickly, and, uh… you know.”

“I know? What are you, a teenager?” Jack scoffed playfully.

“I don’t know what you want from me, man.” Robby smiled, tilting his head, “It’s new.” 

“That’s where all your free time has been going, then?”

“Sorry I don’t want to play pickleball on my Sundays.” Robby joked, logging out and rolling his eyes. He stood from his chair, reaching for his jacket, which rested on the back of it.

“Young thing.” Jack commented, standing up straight. “Is this the one packing your lunches?”

Sighing, Robby slipped on his jacket, “Leftovers from dinner.”

“I’m happy for you, man.” With the pat of his back, he tilted his head up and joked, “Careful with that one, though. She’s feisty.”

“Yeah, I should get home, check on her.” Robby laughed with the shake of his head. “Shouldn’t even be working right now.”

Jack rolled his eyes, “Alright, Chief.”

Upon coming home, Robby saw you where he usually did, on your stoop with a cigarette and your cell phone. You had swapped your sequined halter for your big hoodie, and your legs stayed bare on the stairs, pulled to your chest and feet in slippers. Your nails tapped on your screen frantically, but your face stayed straight, eyes drooping tiredly.

“Hey, killer.” He said, making his way over to you. 

You tried to laugh but it came out as a small huff, “Hey, Hospital Heartbreaker.”

He chuckled as he sat beside you, shaking his head, “That’s a new one.”

“That, uh,” you gestured the cigarette to him, which he declined, “case manager…” You raised an eyebrow playfully as he nodded. “I was right about you.” 

“Yeah.” He exhaled, sitting back. He was close enough that his scrub bottoms were flush against the skin of your thigh. “Wasn’t serious. It was before… you.”

“Does she know that?” You chuckled with a draw of the cigarette. 

Robby tilted his chin at you, “How are you doing?”

“Seen worse days.” You tilted your head at him with a lopsided smile. “Should’ve seen the other guy.”

He nodded his head slowly, “I did.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked, more out of curiosity than concern, eyes trailing to the street..

“I… don’t know.” He exhaled.

“Hope not, that bastard deserves jail time.” You hissed half-jokingly, taking another drag of your cigarette and blowing it in the opposite direction.

Robby cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, “I didn’t know your job was so… dangerous.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, like it was the most simple thing in the world.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” His eyebrows knit together, genuine concern brewing in him. He looked at you in confusion, eyes uneasy as he waited patiently for a response.

“I don’t know…” You offered hesitantly, “I thought you’d…”

“Care?”

“I don’t know what I thought. I’m just a private person, I guess.” You shrugged dismissively, turned away from him at this point. “Working at a club isn’t uncommon.”

You didn’t mean to be so defensive, but you never thought your worlds would collide the way it did. You never intended to take Robby seriously until you realized how much you actually liked him. 

With a final puff of the cigarette, you said, “My last boyfriend was a detective. He kinda… had a thing for being invasive about my job, then our relationship turned into a sting operation. It was a whole thing.” You swatted your hand in the air tiredly.

“Didn’t take you for one with crazy exes.” He joked, but you couldn’t even smile.

“Sammy’s not crazy… he’s just,” you shook your head, unsure why you even bothered to bring it up, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Robby watched as you tapped the ashes off the cigarette and reached to put it out on the ground. His eyes softened when you looked at him.

“Well, I’d like you to stay safe.” He said, like it was a suggestion, medicine for whatever illness the night gave you. “And I want to know what’s going on with you. I don’t want to hover, just want you to come home in one piece.” His hand found the side of your face, urging you to lean into him.

“Home.” You repeated with a nod, like it was an epiphany. 

“Yeah.” He smiled. 

“What, are you my boyfriend now?” You teased, nudging his knee with yours.

“Boyfriend,” he repeated, like he was trying it on for size, running a thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah…”

You flexed them carefully, trying to look as unaffected as possible while the nurse unwrapped your improvised bandage. You weren't sure who she was. You'd heard about multiple doctors and nurses, but none of the descriptions seemed to fit her.

“Yeah.”

Unwrapping it hurts far more than the cut itself, anyway.

“Okay. Sit tight. We won't keep you waiting long.”

You nod, rewrapping your hand and pressing down again, just like he taught you. And when the door opens a moment later, you see him.

It's not cinematic. There's no slow motion, no dramatic swell of music, no sudden zoom-in. Your brain just takes half a second too long to catch up.

Robby is across the hall, near the nurses' station, hugging Noelle.

Not a quick hug, either. They're standing too close, fitting together in a way that's painfully familiar.

Your stomach drops and you look away immediately, as if you've touched a hot stove. As if looking any longer might make it real.

But you're not surprised.

Hurt? Absolutely. Surprised? Not really.

You knew about Noelle. Knew enough to pretend it didn't bother you when it probably should have.

Still. Eight days.

Only eight days -as far as you know- and he's already back with her. So much for the seven-week itch. Somehow he'd made it a few months with you. Looking at him now, you weren't sure whether that was supposed to make you feel better or worse.

You shake your head, determined not to have a breakdown in front of thirty strangers waiting to be treated.

So you step outside.

You spend a few minutes drafting a message to your boss, explaining that you might need half a day tomorrow -or at least a few hours- because you have no idea how long it'll take before a doctor finally sees you.

You hit send, and less than a minute later, you swear you hear your name.

When you look up, you try not to frown.

It's Jack.

Then again, this is the ambulance bay. Any doctor could be here.

Still, he's not wearing scrubs, and he's way too early for the handover.

“What the hell happened?”

“Hi to you too,” you say dryly, trying not to look affected.

You'd missed Jack. That was one of the less obvious downsides of the breakup. Somewhere along the way, he'd become one of your closest friends.

And seeing how worried he looks makes your throat tighten.

He steps closer, already reaching for your wrist.

“How long has it been bleeding?”

“Not that long.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“...Okay, like two hours,” you admit.

”Jesus Christ.”

“It wasn't that bad, I'm in triage. A really nice nurse already looked at it-”

“Not anymore.”

Or maybe that's what he says.

Before you can argue, he's steering you back toward the doors.

You barely register what happens next. As soon as you get past the triage, Jack says something to a nurse you vaguely recognize as Dana. She nods, glancing at a computer screen, and he asks her to page Langdon since he never clocked in for his shift.

You're not really listening. The image of Robby and Noelle is still haunting, replaying every time you blink. Their hug... the ease of it. The history in it. How easy it seemed to slip back into.

And for one awful second, you wonder if you've been looking at it all wrong.

Maybe you weren't the one who got replaced. Maybe, for a little while, you were the replacement. The pit stop. The distraction.

The room is too bright and everything is too loud. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting that harsh, clinical glow that always seems to make headaches worse. The exam table crackles beneath you when you shift, the thin paper sticking slightly to your skin. This is the last place you wanted to be.

Your hand is still wrapped, but the bandage is not doing much anymore. The gauze is damp, a dull red stain spreading through it while Jack stands nearby, arms crossed, glaring at it.

“You really waited?” he asks again, as if he still can't quite believe it.

“I didn't think it was-”

“That bad?” he cuts in.

You shrug.

“I handled it.”

“You were bleeding for two hours.”

“It sounds worse when you say it like that. It wasn't that dramatic.”

“You're in the ER.”

Before Jack can continue, Dr. Langdon steps in, already pulling on a pair of gloves. And honestly, you've never been more grateful for an interruption.

Because you know Jack... or at least, you think you do. He wouldn't let it go. He'd ask why you waited so long. Why you didn't call Robby. He'd keep pulling at the loose threads until he got to the truth, and right now you're not sure you can survive another person looking at you too closely. Or worse, with pity.

You know Jack never liked whatever was going on between Robby and Noelle. Maybe Robby kept the details to himself. Maybe Jack has no idea that the same girl who came before you apparently came after you, too.

Or maybe he knows.

“Alright,” Dr. Langdon says, flashing an easy smile.

Truth be told, he's even more charming than Robby described. There's something boyish about him, softened by confidence and experience. It's a dangerous combination.

And no wedding band. Interesting!

“Let's take a look at Abbot's VIP.”

So he knows who you are.

You immediately offer your hand, asking him to call you by your name.

You thank him, too. You know he must be busy. Hell, the whole department seems one bad shift away from complete chaos.

Langdon smiles and starts unwrapping the bandage, and as the cool air hits the cut, you hiss through your teeth.

Beside you, Jack leans forward despite himself, and Langdon shoots him a look.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

“Okay,” Langdon says as he studies the wound for another second. “Yeah. That's deep.”

“Oh, I love hearing that,” you mutter playfully.

Langdon doesn't react, though. He just adjusts the overhead light, angling it directly over your hand. It makes everything look far more detailed than you'd like.

“Can you move your fingers for me?”

You don't hesitate, so you slowly curl them inward.

The skin pulls tight around the cut. It's an uncomfortable stretching sensation that makes your jaw clench, but everything moves the way it should.

“Again.”

You repeat the motion.

“Good. Now straighten them.”

You do.

“Any numbness?” Langdon asks.

“No.”

He takes a piece of gauze and lightly brushes it across your fingertips, then along the edges of the wound.

“Tell me if this feels the same.”

You nod.

“It does.”

Langdon glances at Jack.

“Alright.” A small nod towards Jack. “No nerve involvement.”

“Your last tetanus vaccine?” Jack asks without looking up.

"Three years ago.”

Another nod.

“You're fine.”

You smile nervously as Langdon reaches for a syringe.

“This part's going to sting.”

“Define sting.”

Jack glances at you as you eye the needle. "It's the worst part.”

“Great.”

Langdon doesn't wait, and the next thing you feel is the needle sliding into the skin beside the cut.

And.

It.

Fúcking.

Burns.

“Jesus-fúck, that hurts.” You suck in a sharp breath. “Sorry.”

That makes Langdon smile and shake his head. “That's a healthy reaction. No need to apologize.”

“Breathe,” Jack adds, arms crossed.

To your surprise, he actually looks concerned.

“I am breathing,” you say through clenched teeth. "It's not my fault this feels like hell."

Then it fades quite fast. Your palm starts to feel so heavy like it’s been inflated from the inside, so you instinctively try to flex your fingers. It's such a weird sensation.

“Take a deep breath.”

Another injection and another flare of that same burning pressure.

“You'll feel some pressure,” Jack says as Langdon trades the syringe for a larger one.

It's a good thing needles don't bother you much, because that one looks ridiculous.

Quickly, he positions it over the wound and presses, and you assume it's saline what shoots into the cut. And you flinch.

It doesn't exactly hurt, it's worse.

The sensation is deep and wrong, as if something is moving where nothing should be moving. You have to fight the urge to yank your hand away.

But you are a big girl. Instead, you watch how the fluid runs out pink at first, then gradually clears. It spills onto the blue pad beneath your hand, soaking into it.

Langdon repeats the process several times and despite yourself, your thoughts drift back to Robby.

How many times has he done this?

How many cases just like yours has he seen? Distracted people catching a knife with their palm while making dinner... How many wounds has he cleaned and stitched over the years? How many patients had come before you were even born?

“Why does that feel worse than I expected?” you ask, mostly to distract yourself. You don't even expect an answer; you just need something to focus on besides him.

“Because it's inside the wound,” Jack answers, still watching carefully.

You just know he's a good teacher.

He seems so patient and pulled together. And you're jealous.

You wish you could inspire that kind of confidence in people... make them feel safe.

“I hate this shit.”

Langdon chuckles and makes a few jokes as he blots the area dry, inspecting it more closely while gently parting the edges of the cut.

But you refuse to watch.

Instead, you stare at the ceiling, counting tiles, then the lights.

Anything except your own hand.

“Alright,” he says finally. “We’re good to close it.”

Once Jack gives an approving nod, Langdon opens a sterile suture kit.

You glance down.

Thread, needle, forceps.

Jack shifts his weight but doesn't leave.

“You don't have to wait for me,” you absently tell Jack. You're more than grateful, but you know he's busy. And so is Langdon "I'm sure you have actual patients to see. And if something urgent comes up, just let some newbie practice their stitching skills on-"

And maybe Robby doesn't have to be the center of every conversation.

“Shut up,” Jack cuts in, but there’s no bite to it. He is worried... he actually cares.

Maybe you can keep Jack.

You can watch tennis together, meet for coffee. Be friends.

Maybe he doesn't have to know how much it still hurts.

The first stitch is… weird.

You don't feel the needle break the skin, but you feel the movement afterward: the tug, the pull.

Like someone's threading something through your hand from the inside.

Your fingers twitch instinctively.

“Try to keep it still,” Langdon says, flashing you a smile that could probably solve half the hospital's complaints.

“I'm trying.” You shake your head. “How many?”

You've never needed stitches before. Well, you’ve also never caught a falling knife mid-air, so there’s that.

“Six or seven, probably.”

“Great, I’ll name them all. I saw that in a film.”

“My son did that once, too.” Langdon says immediately, and Jack huffs a quiet laugh.

“First one’s Jack,” you say, lips quirking into a smirk. You already know exactly how he’ll take it, and you're happy that the mood has changed.

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late.”

“Of course it is,” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s no real anger in it. He is used to you being a pain in the ass.

Langdon snorts, smiling again. “I’d like to be excluded from this.”

They continue to talk about the shift after that, careful not to wander into anything confidential with you sitting right there.

“You’re definitely number two.”

“Why am I involved in this at all?” Langdon asks dramatically, and you wink.

And somehow, it doesn't even hurt anymore.

Then the door opens.

You flinch so hard your hand nearly jerks.

You've always been easy to startle... too aware of everything around you.

Robby used to think it was funny. He'd appear out of nowhere and say “boo” when you were least expecting it, just to watch you jump. Back when things were easy, of course.

“Hey, what do we have here?” a voice asks. “Abbot, since when do you have a VIP?”

Your stomach drops before you even turn around.

You know that voice far too well. Especially when it slips into that teasing tone... even if he isn't talking to you.

Your body goes still. You don’t even register Langdon’s needle anymore.

Jack catches it immediately, his gaze flicking from your face to the doorway as Robby steps inside.

He looks once. Then again. And only then does it register.

You. Sitting on the exam table. Hand open. Stitches halfway done.

When you finally manage to change your expression into something polite and distant, you catch the shift in his face. But you really don’t know how to read him anymore.

“What the fúck happened?”

He’s already moving toward you before the question is even finished.

You swallow, keeping your voice steady. “Kitchen accident.”

No detail, no explanation.

He stops beside the bed, eyes immediately dropping to your hand. And you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is.

Langdon keeps working, unfazed, though the room feels tighter now, like it has less air in it than before.

Robby’s jaw tightens.

“When?” he asks.

“Earlier.”

“When?”

You hesitate.

“Two hours ago. Probably more.”

You close your eyes for a second. “Thank you, Jack.”

“You waited two hours?" Robby says, sharper now, like he can’t quite believe it.

“I was fine. I handled it. The nurse-”

“That’s not okay,” he cuts in.

“I assume you checked for nerve damage," he adds, already shifting his attention toward Langdon and Jack, trying to take control of the situation.

“Can we not-"

“You should’ve called,” he says, colder now and you can’t tell who it’s meant for anymore.

Langdon clears his throat without looking up. “Almost done.”

But Robby barely reacts.

“Jack found me in triage. And, as you can see, I'm in great hands.”

Robby’s expression shifts again, while Jack raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. He looks like he’s been pulled into a game he didn’t know had rules.

“Does it hurt?” Robby finally asks after a long moment of awkward silence, as if the question is an afterthought.

But it isn’t. You know it, so it lands differently. Dangerous in a quiet way.

You glance down at your hand as Langdon finishes the last stitch.

“No,” you say. “Not really.”

It isn’t entirely clear what you’re answering.

“Alright. That’s it,” Langdon says with a small, professional smile.

He cuts the thread cleanly, leaving a neat row of stitches across your palm. Langdon presses gently along the edges of the wound, checking the closure, and in your peripheral vision you catch Robby nodding once, like he’s confirming something to himself.

A final wipe of antiseptic follows, then a non-stick pad, then gauze wrapped carefully around your hand until it no longer looks like your hand at all.

“Move your fingers for me,” you hear Robby gently ask you. And even though every single bone in your body wants to disobey him, you listen.

The movement works, but it feels strange... slightly delayed, as if your hand belongs to someone else for a moment. You wonder if this is exactly what Mary Shelley meant when she wrote Frankenstein’s monster. You almost laugh at your own thoughts.

“Again.”

You flex them once more.

“Good. Make a fist.”

You do.

Just in time to catch the small exhale Robby lets out. Relief, subtle but unmistakable... the kind only someone who knows him well would notice.

Unfortunately for you, though, you've spent enough time loving him to notice it.

“No numbness or tingling?” Langdon asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Good. No obvious nerve involvement. Tendons intact, sensation normal.” He pauses, then adds lightly, “Sense of humor intact too.”

“Obviously,” Jack mutters from his spot against the wall.

“Keep it dry for forty-eight hours,” Langdon continues, peeling off his gloves. “No heavy lifting, no gripping if you can avoid it. Change the dressing as instructed. I’ll leave notes, but I’m sure Jack will fill you in.”

Jack glances at you briefly, and something in your stomach twists -guilt, or something close to it-but you don’t know where to put it.

“And before you ask, no, you’re not magically healed because the stitches are in,” Robby adds under his breath.

“I wasn't-”

“You were absolutely going to ask.”

Jack snorts, and you choose not to defend yourself.

“Tetanus shot is up to date,” Langdon says, recapping for Robby as well. He doesn’t know exactly how close you two are, but it’s obvious there’s history there. “So no booster. Stitches out in ten to fourteen days.”

Then he tosses the gloves into the bin, and just like that, the procedure is over.

No more reason for anyone to be hovering around your bed, no more reason for you to still be in his ER.

And somehow, that’s worse. Because now there’s nothing left to distract from the fact that Robby is still standing there.

The adrenaline drains out of you slowly, leaving behind exhaustion, and a small tremor runs through your fingers before you can stop it.

Jesus, you will never try to use a knife again.

Robby notices the change immediately.

Of course he does.

His eyes drop to your hand, then lift back to your face. The concern is brief, but enough to make your chest tighten anyway. Fúck him.

“Should’ve come in sooner,” he says.

Not angry this time, just tired.

You let out a breath. Well, you're tired too.

“Noted.”

“I'm serious.”

“I know.”

“Take ibuprofen or acetaminophen once the anesthetic wears off. Dana will bring your discharge paperwork,” Langdon says, but Robby doesn't take his eyes off you as you gently thank your doctor before watching him go.

“You should’ve told me.”

You finally meet his eyes, finding his tone almost unbearably clinical. Like a lecture... like something to be corrected.

“You don’t get to be worried like that,” you say firmly.

You're tired of this conversation, of him, of pretending this doesn't hurt more than your hand does... of this whole day.

You just want to go home, order takeout, and not think about any of it.

So you hope it lands harder than if you'd raised your voice.

He blinks. “What-”

“You have no right,” you continue, just as quietly, and the room goes very still.

Beside you, Jack wisely says nothing as you adjust the bandage around your hand. You really hope the pain meds are going to be effective. You know this is going to hurt like a motherfúcker.

“I’m fine,” you add, playing it cool. “See? All patched up.”

For a second, Robby just stares at you like he’s trying to decide whether to argue.

But you step past him, with Jack following without uttering a word. Neither of you looks back immediately.

And when you finally do, just before the door swings shut, Robby is still standing exactly where you left him, staring at the empty space on the bed, jaw tight, something unsettled and unresolved sitting heavy in his chest.

Because you’re right.

And that’s the problem.

*

After they discharge you, Jack insists on walking you out. It's not like his shift has started yet anyway.

So you slow your pace, careful not to make it obvious that you're adjusting it for him. You don't know how uncomfortable it is to walk quickly with a prosthetic, and you don't want him to think you're pitying him.

“You okay?” he asks, and you flex your fingers slightly inside the bandage in response, which you end up regretting immediately as a dull, pulling ache shoots through your palm and up your arm.

“Yeah. Just... feels weird.”

“It will,” he says, still looking at your hand. “That's why you shouldn't use it.”

“Noted.”

It's only half a lie, at least. You're gonna slow down. But you can't stop using it completely. How are you supposed to just stop working? Nobody can replace you for two weeks.

By the time you reach the ambulance bay, everything feels different. Quieter.

“You got someone to take you home?”

You can't help but snort.

“I'm not dying, Jack. It's just a cut.”

“Didn't say you were.”

“I can manage by myself. I'm a big girl.”

He studies you for a second longer than necessary, and you know that look.

He's thinking about saying something... probably about Robby, or the disaster that is whatever exists between the two of you. And you're grateful when he decides against it. It's already been a long day: the knife accident, the ER, seeing Noelle, seeing Robby, talking to him.

You just want to go home.

“Yeah. I know you can.”

There's something in the words... Acknowledgment, maybe. Or acceptance or even pride. You're not sure, so you just smile.

“Thanks. Really.”

“For what?”

“For helping me. For not letting me bleed out to death.”

You add the last part just to make him smile. You know he loves drama as much as you do. Maybe even more.

And it works: a quiet laugh escapes him.

“Next time, come sooner.”

“Next time? Hell, I'm never cooking again.”

“Good plan.”

You nod, trying not to look back at the entrance. What did you expect? For Robby to drop everything and come find you? The thought is embarrassing the second it appears. It's ridiculous.

“I really hope I'll see you around. You're a great guy, Abbot.”

That earns you a crooked grin.

“I hope so. You're pretty fun to be around, even when you're bleeding.”

A laugh slips out before you can stop it, and you lift your left hand in a wave.

“Have a good shift.”

“You too,” he says automatically. Then he shakes his head. “Actually, don't work at all.”

“Yeah. Don't.”

You freeze.

Of course.

Inhale, exhale.

Robby is standing a few steps behind Jack.

At some point, he'd come outside, and you hadn't heard the door open.

So for a second, all you can do is stare. He looks different out here.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the department make him look untouchable. Outside, beneath the natural sunlight, he looks less composed... less untouchable. Exhausted.

Like whatever walls he keeps so carefully in place inside didn't quite make it through the doors with him.

His scrubs are wrinkled and a bit dirty. His hair is slightly messed up from running his hands through it, you're sure. And there are shadows beneath his eyes you don't remember noticing earlier.

Or maybe you did, and you just weren't letting yourself look for real. You used to kiss this man every morning. You used to bite his arms, caress his cheeks, and touch his hair as many times as you could.

“You shouldn't be using it,” he adds, nodding toward the bandaged hand tucked against your chest.

You shift instinctively.

“I'm not. And I've already said I won't.”

The lie leaves your mouth before you can stop it. But he knows you better than that and he has more power over you than you'd like.

When Robby takes a step closer, the rest of the world seems to blur around the edges: the ambulance bay, the traffic... even Jack standing beside you. All of it fades into background noise.

And only later do you realize Jack is no longer there.

No goodbye, as if he'd taken one look at the two of you and quietly decided this conversation wasn't meant for him (once again).

He's not close enough to crowd you, but it's enough for you to smell the hospital soap and coffee.

Close enough to remember.

“You really waited two hours?” he asks again, quieter now as he brings his left hand to the back of his head, messing up his hair.

The disappointment in his voice catches you off guard, and you can't control the hollow feeling in your stomach. You've always wanted to be good for him. You never cared about what other people thought of you on the level that you cared about Robby's opinion. So your gaze slides past him toward the street.

“Yeah. I didn't feel like sitting in an ER.”

From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten. His gaze lingers on your face, searching, questioning, but you don't give in. You keep your eyes forward. You won't let him know just how much power he still has over you.

“You should've called,” he says.

There it is. Again.

A laugh escapes you.

His audacity...

“Why?”

“Because I would've helped you.”

You almost laugh.

Of course he would've. He would've shown up and made sure you were okay.

And then he would've gone right back to not choosing you.

Because I have a hero complex and I'd help you even though I can't stand being with you.

“You don't get to help me anymore, Robby.”

His expression flickers, like something in your gaze cuts deeper than the words themselves.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I-”

“I don't care,” you interrupt, keeping your voice as steady as possible despite the tightness in your throat and the pressure building behind your eyes. “You made it pretty clear you don't want me anymore. And I made it clear I'm not interested in being your friend. So no, I don't want your help.”

The sounds of the ambulance bay drift around you. Doors opening. Tires rolling over pavement. Life continuing.

But neither of you moves.

Robby exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair while you keep your eyes fixed on the thick white bandage wrapped around your palm.

“Is it starting to hurt?” he asks, and the sudden change of subject is almost funny.

Almost.

The anesthetic is wearing off slowly, and so is the adrenaline, but you'll survive until you get home.

“Yeah.”

You see it immediately. The way his shoulders straighten... the way his attention narrows.

Like every part of him is wired to respond to that answer.

He takes a step closer before he seems to realize he's doing it.

“Alternate ibuprofen and Tylenol when it starts throbbing. You shouldn't need anything stronger.”

There he is. Not your Robby... Definitely not your Michael.

Dr. Robinavitch, the Chief of Emergency Medicine at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Safe territory.

“I'll take something when I get home.”

His gaze lingers.

Not quite staring, but long enough that you're suddenly aware of everything: your posture, your messy hair, your tired eyes. The fact that you've probably got dried tears on your face.

He looks at you like he's trying to remember something.

He looks at you like he's trying to remember something, or maybe fix something... fix you.

Or both.

You're being ridiculous.

“You should keep it dry,” he says eventually. "At least a day. Two if you can.”

“Wow.”

His eyebrows lift slightly.

“Didn't Dr. Langdon just tell me that? It's like you work here or something.”

Usually, that would've earned at least a smirk. He used to love your bratty tone.

This time, it doesn't. His expression barely changes, and the silence that follows settles heavily between you.

Suddenly the joke doesn't feel funny anymore.

Because maybe he doesn't miss this... Maybe this isn't hard for him.

And maybe -just maybe- you were never what he wanted at all.

“Just be careful.”

The words come out softer.

Not doctor-soft.

Dangerous-soft. Boyfriend-soft. The kind of soft that makes your chest hurt. That belongs to a life you don't have anymore.

You feel a fresh wave of frustration rise in your throat.

You can't do this.

“I will.”

You look at him again, and a weird feeling hits you. For one stupid second, you think he's actually going to reach for you.

His hand shifts slightly at his side, then stills.

He doesn't.

You sigh, trying not to be disappointed. You hate yourself for even thinking about it.

What is wrong with you?

“Text me when you get home.”

The words slip out before he can stop them. Like they're instinctive.

You blink a couple of times before you can find the strength to open your mouth.

You need to get the hell out of here.

“No.”

The answer isn't cruel. That's not your intention. It even sounds less firm than you'd like, but it gets the point across.

And for a moment, something in his face falters.

“Right,” he says quietly, as if he's just remembered the nature of your relationship.

Or the lack of it.

You adjust your bag on your shoulder, and the movement feels awkward with only one good hand.

“I'll be fine.”

He nods.

“I know.”

You turn away before he can say anything else. Before you can say something stupid, or even worse, tear up because he looks like he saw a ghost, yet somehow still has time to flirt with his casual ex-flings.

So as you walk, you don't look back.

But somehow you know he's still standing there watching you, just like he watched you leave the first time.

*

By the time you get home, your hand is throbbing in a steady rhythm.

You close the door with your elbow, careful not to put any pressure on the bandaged hand, and lean against it for a moment before making your way to the kitchen.

Everything suddenly feels like too much: the lights are too bright, the apartment is too quiet, and the mess. God, the mess!

The cutting board is still sitting on the counter. Half-chopped vegetables have started to dry at the edges, left exactly where you dropped everything and ran to wash your hand.

For a moment, you just stand there and stare. Then your gaze drops to the thick white bandage wrapped around your palm.

“Fúcking ridiculous,” you mutter.

Whether you're talking about the injury or yourself, you're not entirely sure. You needed seven stitches because you were trying to make yourself dinner.

You make your way to the couch and sink into it carefully. The cushions dip beneath your weight, and that's when the quiet finally catches up with you.

No Jack or Langdon. No monitors beeping in the background.

Just you and the image of Robby standing in the ambulance bay... the look on his face when you told him no. The way he'd watched you leave.

And, despite everything, the memory that hurts the most: Robby's arm around Noelle.

You shift uncomfortably, as though you can physically move the thought away. But of course, it doesn't work.

Because it’s not even about Noelle. It’s about being replaced so quickly while you're still trying to remember how to breathe around the empty space he left behind.

Your fingers curl slightly and the pain shoots through your palm and up your arm immediately.

You hiss through your teeth and force your hand open again. “God, I'm a fúcking idiot!”

Like you were still someone he was allowed to be responsible for.

You knew he was emotionally unavailable, that he was an avoidant, that there was an age gap big enough for everyone to have an opinion about it. But you stayed. You fell in love... you trusted him.

You shake your head.

The worst part is how calm he was, how concerned he still looked.

Your eyes sting before you can stop it.

“No,” you say quietly.

Like that helps.

You pull your phone from your pocket and place it face down on the coffee table before you can do something stupid.

You could text him and tell him exactly what you think of him aka call him a coward and a fúcking asshole. You could say all the things you refused to say eight days ago when he ended it.

You could do a lot of things.

Instead you just sit there, your bandaged hand still aching as something ugly and honest rises up in your chest.

Not sadness, something sharper. Something that needs somewhere to go.

Eventually, you force yourself off the couch in search of ibuprofen, and halfway to the kitchen, a laugh escapes you.

Humorless and pathetic, really.

Because despite everything you miss him.

His stupid, sad smile, his voice, his nose. The way he always stole your fries and pretended he wasn't doing it.

Ten days before you're free.

*

Two days later, it’s worse in a different way.

Not the pain, which you got used to by now. It even became more manageable.

It's the tight, itchy pull under the skin that makes you want to do exactly what you're not supposed to do. To disobey him and prove to yourself you got the power.

You want to use your hand... to test it.

But you don't (except for a few hours when a project deadline leaves you no choice and you're back at your desk, using your hand far more than Langdon, Jack or Robby would've approved of).

You tell yourself it's necessary.

You always tell yourself a lot of things.

*

The message comes on the third day.

Robby: Come in tomorrow morning. Quick check.

No hello. No how are you. No are you available.

Just an instruction. So you stare at it for nearly a minute, then type:

I was told 10 days.

The typing bubble appears immediately.

Disappears.

Appears again.

You hate that your pulse picks up.

Then:

Robby: I know. Just come in when the morning shift starts.

You stare at the message... at the familiar bluntness of it and the complete lack of explanation.

Then you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you as the podcast continues playing in the background.

You have absolutely no idea what they've been talking about for the last ten minutes.

*

You go anyway.

Partly because you're annoyed, and partly because refusing would mean admitting he's gotten under your skin.

The hospital smells exactly the same as it did three days ago: antiseptic and stale coffee.

Jack spots you before you've finished signing in.

“Back already?”

You glance up.

“Apparently I left such a strong impression the boss invited me back.”

His eyes drop to the bandage.

“Follow-up?”

“So I've been told.”

A smile flickers across his face, and you can't help but grin back. He has a kind of charm that disarms you.

“Try not to injure yourself on the way in. Or him. We can't run this hospital without the chief.”

“No promises.”

He walks with you toward the exam rooms, matching your pace without comment. The conversation stays comfortably superficial: the weather, his shift, and the last show you watched - which you're grateful for.

At the nurses' station, he slows. Dana is halfway through updating a chart when she looks up. You exchange a few pleasantries while Jack leans against the counter, listening with a half-smile.

Then Dana's gaze flicks past you toward one of the exam rooms.

Something passes silently between her and Jack, and he straightens immediately.

“Room six.”

“That's it? No dramatic goodbye?”

“I figured you'd had enough medical attention for one week.”

“Fair.”

“Good luck.”

Before you can ask what that's supposed to mean, he's already turning away.

The traitor!

The room is empty when you step inside, but you barely have time to feel relieved before the door opens again.

Robby walks in carrying a chart, and for a second neither of you says anything.

Without the chaos of the emergency department around him, he looks strangely out of place.

Or maybe that's you.

“You came.”

You set your bag down on the chair beside you, keeping your expression neutral as he pumps sanitizer into his palms.

You remember how many times you had to remind him to moisturize his hands, his skin always so dry it looked like it might split open.

“You summoned me via text.”

Something flickers across his face. Annoyance or maybe amusement. You can't tell anymore.

“Sit down.”

There's no point arguing, so you do.

The paper covering the exam table crackles beneath you as you climb up, the sound reminding you of the last time you were here.

Robby pulls on a pair of gloves.

“Let me see it.”

You offer your hand without comment, but for a moment, he doesn't take it.

His gaze drops to the bandage first, studying it like he's already looking for evidence of something worse.

Then his fingers close gently around your wrist as he starts unwrapping it.

The contact is professional, almost detached, but your stupid brain notices anyway.

Layer by layer, the dressing comes away, and he studies the wound in silence.

The stitches hold the edges together neatly now. The swelling has gone down, and the angry redness from the first day has faded into pink.

“Any increased pain?”

“No.”

“Drainage?”

“No.”

“Fever?”

You give him a look.

“No.”

His attention stays fixed on your palm, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“You've been using it.”

You let out a short laugh.

“That's a bold accusation.”

When his gaze lifts to yours, you want to hit him. It's infuriating how quickly he sees through you.

“You've been working despite our medical advice.”

The certainty in his voice makes it clear it's not a guess.

You look away first.

“I had deadlines.”

“I know.”

Somehow those two words are more irritating than if he'd argued.

Because he does know.

He knows exactly how many hours you'll spend obsessing over a project. What a perfectionist you are. He knows you'll work through headaches, exhaustion, and apparently hand injuries if given the chance.

His thumb hovers near the base of your palm.

“The swelling's worse here.”

Damn it.

You say nothing, and Robby sighs softly- resigned, as though this outcome was entirely predictable.

“You need to leave it alone for a few more days.”

“You sound like a doctor.”

“I am your doctor.”

The silence that follows is familiar, and Robby looks down and resumes wrapping the fresh dressing around your hand, carefully. Methodically. Giving both of you something else to focus on.

When he's finished, he smooths the edge of the bandage into place and steps back.

“You're healing pretty well, despite the fact you haven't been listening.”

You nod, because it should feel reassuring.

Instead, it leaves a hollow ache somewhere beneath your ribs. Healing implies moving on, and you're not sure you've figured out that part yet.

“You'll come back in a week for removal.”

“Yes, doctor.”

His mouth almost curves.

Almost.

You stand quickly and reach for your bag, but neither of you moves for a couple of seconds.

Then, before you can do something stupid, you turn toward the door.

You don't look back.

Not because you don't want to. But because you already know he'll be watching.

*

You try to work.

You really do. The laptop is open on the coffee table, a half-finished design staring back at you from the screen.

But after several minutes of pretending you're accomplishing something, you let your head fall back against the couch and close the laptop.

“Great,” you mutter to the empty apartment. “I'm completely useless. Fantastic!”

Outside, a car passes. Somewhere upstairs, something heavy drops.

Life continues. Unfortunately, so does your brain.

The problem isn't that you keep replaying memories. It's that you keep replaying a sentence.

You can do better than me.

The same calm voice, the same careful expression. As though he'd handed you a gift instead of a goodbye.

Your jaw tightens.

“No, that's bullshit.”

You push yourself upright too quickly and immediately regret it when your injured hand protests. Pain flashes through your palm.

“Shit.”

You sink back into the cushions with a groan, but it's not your hand that's upsetting you.

It's the way he left, as though he was doing something responsible. Noble. As though loving you had been a mistake he was finally correcting.

Your phone lies face down beside you, and without thinking, you reach for it.

The screen lights up.

Nothing.

No messages except the family group chat.

No notifications, either.

You stare at it anyway, then open a message box.

I'm happy for you.

You stare at it for three seconds before deleting it.

I wish nothing-

Delete.

A frustrated laugh escapes you.

“God.”

The worst part is that neither statement is entirely false.

You do want him to be happy. You just wish you didn't have to witness it.

The music keeps playing in the background.

At some point, you stopped paying attention to the playlist.

Now it feels like the playlist is paying attention to you.

Alanis Morissette's voice fills the apartment: raw, messy, unapologetically angry.

An older version of me…

A bitter smile tugs at your mouth. Isn't that funny?

“Yeah.”

You rub your eyes.

“You really thought that sounded noble, didn't you?”

The memory of that conversation has somehow become more irritating with time.

Not less... because now you can hear everything he thought he was saying.

You are not a child, and he knows it. You could have handled him telling you he stopped loving you much better than what he actually said.

The song continues.

Did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?

That one almost makes you laugh.

“Fúcking hell.”

You shift forward, resting your elbows on your knees, careful of your hand.

Everything is careful now.

The music keeps going and your mind drifts somewhere you don't want it to.

Toward Noelle. Toward possibilities. Toward images you never invited into your head.

Maybe they want the same things... Maybe he wants a baby with her.

You never really considered having kids. You can't imagine yourself in that position, and Robby knows it. You were honest from the get-go.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Nope.”

Your finger points at nothing.

“We're not doing that.”

But your imagination ignores you completely.

Of course it does.

A familiar laugh, a familiar smile, a mini-version of Robby... life continuing without you.

Your stomach tightens.

Not jealousy exactly.

Something uglier.

Much uglier.

I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother.

You've heard these a hundred times before, but now they feel like they were always about you.

And every time you speak her name

Does she know how you told me

You'd hold me until you died?

Is this what grieving a relationship feels like?

Because it's so humiliating it almost hurts more than the loss itself.

You don't want revenge or to see him miserable. You don't even want him back if being with you made him unhappy. If he truly thinks you're too young, too immature, too much of whatever it was that finally convinced him to walk away with no regrets.

You just want proof that you mattered. That he didn't walk away and immediately become -again- someone else's person. That somewhere beneath all that careful self-control and rational decision-making, there's still a place where you exist. A scar. A memory.

The thought settles heavily in your chest. Now you understand why you've been listening to this stupid song on repeat.

Beneath all that anger is a woman desperately trying to convince herself she wasn't forgettable. That she was loved.

It feels really pathetic.

You drag a hand over your face.

“God, I sound insane.”

But you reach for your phone anyway and hit replay.

*

The removal is simple and fast: clip, lift, pull.

There’s no real pain, just a faint tugging beneath the skin, more memory than sensation.

So you watch him work. Not your hand. Him.

Because this version of him is always like this: controlled, in command, careful in a way that feels effortless.

And it’s unfair how good he looks like this. Glasses on, focused, entirely elsewhere while still being right in front of you.

“You’ve been using it,” he says without looking up.

There had been no real conversation before this, just the quiet logistics of being here. He was waiting at the nurses’ station while Jack finished the handover, you assume.

When the last stitch is out, he doesn’t move immediately. Just checks the skin, thumb hovering near the edge as if confirming something only he can see.

Then he wraps it anyway.

Habit, maybe.

“You’re healed,” he says finally.

“I’m free.”

You don’t know what kind of freedom you mean.

A quiet exhale slips out of him... almost a laugh, before the silence settles again.

You flex your fingers once. Strange how quickly something that was broken can feel like it belongs to you again.

Like it never left at all.

Then you look at him, suddenly making up your mind. It feels like the last real chance to say what’s been sitting in your chest for days. You deserve better closure than silence... and better than what he gave you. You need to do this for your own peace.

“I want you to know something,” you say.

His attention shifts fully now as he waits for you to continue.

“I’m happy for you.”

The words land exactly the way you expect them to. Something in his expression tightens... not surprise, not relief. Recognition.

“I wish you and Noelle nothing but the best,” you add. “I guess she really made an impression on you. You ended up all cozy in the hospital barely a week after we broke up.”

You hope this makes him feel like shit. Because it isn’t really about Noelle.

He exhales through his nose, controlled, and you can't read his expression. His shoulders tense, his expression being unreadable in a way that only makes you more certain you’ve hit something real.

“What are you doing?”

No denial. That alone tells you enough.

You were right.

“I’m not quite as well,” you say, your tone so even it almost sounds detached, like you’re commenting on the weather instead of opening your chest and handing him your heart once again.

And the moment it leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Because it’s too honest and real, and it gives him something he doesn’t deserve anymore.

His jaw tightens.

“Don’t,” he says.

He drags a hand through his hair, and you notice it now: the smallest crack in his control. Not panic exactly, just something closer to discomfort. Or guilt.

You almost smile as pick up your bag.

Then stop. Because if you leave now, it becomes clean.

And this isn’t clean, so you turn back.

“I thought you should know you were wrong,” you say.

A beat.

“I didn’t need better than you.”

Your voice stays steady, but something underneath it fractures anyway. You just needed your Michael.

“I just needed you to stay. Or if you were going to leave, you should’ve said it properly. You should’ve told me there was someone else. Or that you didn’t love me anymore. Not… that.”

The words leave you all at once, sharp and unfiltered, like there’s nothing left to protect anymore. You have nothing more to lose.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond at all. He continues to stare at the wall, then the floor, then your shoes before he finally meets your eyes.

Then, very quietly:

“You should go.”

And something in you almost laughs at how predictable it is. How final. How cleanly he can end things when it suits him.

Your throat tightens. It becomes hard to breathe in a way you can’t fully hide. Your eyes sting, that familiar pressure building behind them until your vision blurs at the edges.

You swallow hard, but it doesn’t go away. It just sits there: heavy, humiliating, like your body is betraying you for still caring.

A short, broken sound slips out of you before you give him what he asked for.

“Well then,” you say, voice lower now, steadier in a different way. “Every time I scratch my nails down someone else’s back.” You pause, holding his gaze. “I hope you feel it.”

The silence after that is immediate. But it's far from empty... it's charged as his expression shifts. Something in him stills completely.

He exhales slowly, tension pulling through his neck and jaw, a faint flush rising there.

When he speaks, his voice is lower now, colder.

“We’re done here.”

*

The next evening settles in too easily and that bothers you.

Like nothing important happened at all.

You tried to focus on work all day, but you can barely get anything done between meetings. Even music doesn’t fill the space properly anymore.

Eventually, you stop pretending it isn’t eating at you, and the phone is already in your hand before you realize you reached for it.

Your thumb rests over the screen as you tell yourself you don’t care what happens next.

But you do.

You think about yesterday, not the words exactly, but the tone.

We’re done here.

Clean. Practiced. Efficient. Like you were just another patient he needed out of the room.

Did your relationship really mean nothing? Did you mean nothing?

The thought of Noelle slips in again, uninvited.

What did he see in her that he can't see in you? What is so special about her? What kind of power does he have to make you still think about him after everything?

Something shifts inside you subtly, almost quietly.

Permission.

He always said you were too kind.

Maybe today you are petty. Maybe you always were, just quieter about it before.

And maybe he deserves to feel all of it.

Your grip tightens around the phone.

“Fúcking asshole.”

Your fingers move before you can think about his feelings and stop yourself.

Sent.

JACK ABBOT

quarantined by @itslowkeyatthenightshift you and your attending butt heads—and it’s no secret around the ED that Dr. Jack Abbot is harder on you than the other residents. He pushes you further, critiques you sharper, expects more—and you’re done with it. Just as you’re about to go to Dr. Robby to request a switch to days and finally put some distance between you and him, your patient—and his patient—tests positive for COVID-19. Suddenly, you’re both exposed, and with hospital protocol leaving no room for argument, you have no choice but to quarantine together.

do you want the kitchen tour? by @witchywithwhiskey when your already bad date takes a turn for the worse, the head chef of the restaurant comes to see what he can do to help. when he offers to give you a tour of the kitchen, you jump at the chance to escape, and your bad night turns into something else entirely.

behind closed doors by @andrewmiinyard you took over jack and robby's spare room a few months ago and now you and jack are constantly at each other's throats. robby has finally had enough and he's hoping some forced proximity will do the trick. seems like it works a little too well.

temperature control by @mrshatosy Jack Abbott was supposed to find a safer hobby. He wasn’t prepared to find you.

you have no idea by @geminiwritten even after swapping from nights to days, you just can’t seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words “never have i ever finished during sex” ever again

the art of mutual benefit by @softundermoonlight “I will pay for your coffee,” you add quickly, stepping forward and leaning into his space. He keeps shaking his head, so, in a moment of pure madness, and lacking better ideas, you just say: “I’ll go down on you.”

gentleman's instinct by @sun-snatcher Sometimes you're reminded how merciless Abbot can be. You indulge in it.

semper fi by @hirukochan Jack Abbot finds himself feeling oddly protective over the new night shift attending. He tells himself it's natural. You were the young widow of a Marine, a military spouse who brought the greatest sacrifice for her country - your husband. He watched you push on with gritted teeth, haunted by your own demons and trauma, all for the little girl depending on you. It was only natural. Any serviceman would feel an obligation towards your well-being. Any serviceman would want to know you were safe... happy... So how come, he can't help but feel like he is stealing another man's life?

ANDREW CODY

bambi series by @miasvelvetvoid One secret changes everything. As the Cody family’s carefully buried truths come to light, you find yourself caught between running from the people you love and fighting for them. In the end, loving Pope Cody doesn’t just change your life, it changes the entire family.

here is my hand that will not harm you by @erwinsvow against better judgement, you send a letter to a man at folsom with very sad eyes. against even better judgement, you send letters every week for years until he stops replying one day. and against everything you know, when he shows up at your door, you invite him inside.

sweetheart by @pearlessance Everyone knows that Pope Cody's girlfriend is a real sweetheart. What they don't know is that, behind closed doors, you're a real fuckin' freak, too.

late shift by @in-ky Being the Cody’s on-call emergency nurse isn’t easy. A dislocated shoulder turns into late night gunshot wounds and before you know it, you’re part of the family. After a rough night, Pope needs some TLC. And who else can help him if not his favorite nurse? You’re the only one who can stitch him up, physically and emotionally.

break me down and I'll call you mine by @flowersforbucky other than the men he brings home on occasion, you’re the only person who knows that deran cody is gay. when your best friend becomes anxious that people are growing suspicious of his sexuality, you suggest telling people that the two of you are dating. everything is going perfectly…until his brother is released from prison and you start feeling things that you haven’t felt in years.

fate. by @andrewmiinyard the three times you decided to flirt with pope cody and the one time you decided to take it one step further.

crush by @pittrabbit the aftermath of overhearing that conversation between pope and baz

worthy by @stellamarielu you tell andrew you want to start a new life with him— away from the chaos of his family, and he agrees with another future promise on his mind

found out by @love-quinn as his favourite waitress at the only diner in town that’ll still serve him, you’re pope’s girl. doesn’t matter if you have a boyfriend, everybody in town knows you belong to andrew cody. especially your poor neighbours on the other side of your apartment’s paper thin wall. you’d usually try and be more considerate of the noise, but with your boyfriend in the trunk of his car, pope needs everybody to hear exactly what he was doing on the night of the third. for alibi purposes.

TITUS DANFORTH

the hunt and the vow by @sargeant-bxrnes you broke up with titus danforth this morning. by nightfall you’re running through his family’s forest with a seven-minute head start and one rule: if he catches you before sunrise, you marry him.

the devil's favorite by @hirukochan In all the years Titus had been alive, no woman had ever captured his attention like you did. Titus could not explain it, he just knew, from the second he first met you, he needed you like air. And he'd move heaven and hell if necessary to get you. Not his father, not yours, not the Lawyer, Mr Le Bail or his demons he had watching over you could ever stop him.

the lottery by @thatcorporategirlie You return to the estate after learning Chester has fallen ill, and learn that the beginning of a new game is about to unfold.

mrs. danforth by @rr-after-dark  As Titus Danforth's sugar baby, you don't know much of his secretive, wealthy lifestyle. But when he accidentally gets you pregnant with a potential Danforth heir, it's decided that you'll be joining the family. There's no manual as you're plunged into their world of extravagance and violence.

hazard pay by @spikedfearn The Danforth estate was built to swallow screams, and tonight you’re the one cleaning up what the hunt leaves behind. When Titus Danforth arrives bleeding, furious, and far too aware of your hands on him, the private medical room becomes its own kind of trap.

because this is jack abbot.

dr. jack abbot.

smart, capable, annoyingly handsome jack abbot.

and you? you’re just you.

which is why when he starts lingering beside your workstation after conversations should have already ended, you convince yourself it means nothing.

“anything else?” you’d ask after handing him a chart.

he’d glance down at it.

“no.”

but then he’d stay there. for a second.

then another. sometimes asking a completely unnecessary question.

sometimes making an observation about a patient that didn’t need discussing.

sometimes just standing there long enough for your heart to start acting stupid.

you noticed it most during night shifts. the hospital got quieter then. not quiet exactly, but softer.

the chaos dulled around the edges and somehow jack always ended up near you.

“you’re here late.”

you looked up from your computer.

“so are you.”

“i work here.”

you stared. he stared back.

then the corner of his mouth twitched.

“you work here too.”

“glad we’ve established that.”

his laugh came out unexpectedly.

it lingered with you longer than it should have.

later, when he finally walked away, trinity slid into the chair beside you.

“oh.”

you frowned.

“what?”

“nothing.”

“trinity.”

“nothing.”

you narrowed your eyes.

she grinned.

“uh-huh, sure. if you say so.”

you hated when people did that, especially when they were right.

⋆˚꩜｡

the second time is entirely different.

because this time it’s jack who notices. it starts with coffee. not in a romantic way.

not at first.

he’s having a particularly awful morning. three admissions before seven.

one difficult family.

a trauma case that refuses to cooperate with every treatment option available.

he’s exhausted. frustrated.running entirely on caffeine and spite.

then he walks into the break room.

and there it is. a coffee sitting on the counter. his coffee. exactly how he takes it.

he stares at it.

“you gonna drink that or interrogate it?”

he turns. you’re standing in the doorway. holding your own cup. looking amused.

“you got me coffee?”

you shrug.

“you looked like you were about five minutes away from fighting a wall.”

he snorts “yeah, whatever.”

you smile.

and something in his chest does a strange little flip. he tries ignoring it, he’s pushing 50, so why’s he acting like this lovestruck high-school girl?

and of course, he fails.

because after that he starts noticing everything. the way your face lights up when someone makes you laugh. the way you remember details about everyone. the way you always seem to know exactly when he’s had a rough shift. the way you look for him in crowded rooms.

and maybe he shouldn’t notice those things. but he does.

he notices all of them.

he notices you.

all the time.

which becomes a problem.

⋆˚꩜｡

the third time happens because of dennis.

and jack hates that it’s because of whitaker.

he likes dennis. everyone likes dennis. that’s the issue. you do too, apparently.

jack rounds the corner one evening and finds you laughing so hard you’re nearly doubled over.

dennis is beside you. telling some ridiculous story.

your hand lands briefly on his arm.

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

something ugly twists in jack’s stomach. he immediately hates himself for it.

because you’re allowed to have friends. you’re allowed to laugh. you’re allowed to touch someone’s arm without it meaning anything.

still. he can’t stop looking. can’t stop wondering. can’t stop noticing how close dennis is standing.

later that night, ellis finds him glaring at a chart.

“you’re doing it again.”

jack doesn’t look up.

“doing what?”

“the thing where you pretend you’re reading.”

“i am reading.”

“the chart is upside down.” jack slowly lowers it.

ellis snorts.

“right.”

“don’t.”

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you were about to.”

“okay, yes.”

he sighs. deeply.

“don’t.”

ellis says in that certain tone,

“you know you could just tell her.”

“tell her what?”

“jack.”

“tell her what.”

“that you’re in love with her.”

the silence that comes after is deafening.

then— “i have patients.”

and he walks away. which is not a denial. ellis notices. everyone notices.

everyone except you. or maybe not.

because the next morning, when your eyes meet across the nurses’ station, you immediately look away.

and jack suddenly isn’t sure who’s fooling who anymore.

⋆˚꩜｡

the fourth time happens after one too many drinks, which is impressive considering you almost never drink.

but somehow the night before turned into dinner with dennis, trinity, mel, and javadi.

which turned into drinks.

which turned into everyone deciding they were tired of watching two grown adults pine after each other.

“he likes you.”

“he doesn’t.”

“he literally stares at you.”

“everyone stares at me.”

“not like that.”

you groaned.

trinity pointed her fork at you.

“if you don’t tell him, i might.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“try me.”

you hated that she sounded serious. and maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

all night.

all morning.

all the way through your shift.

because now you’re standing at work with a hangover and enough anxiety to power the entire hospital.

you barely make it three hours before jack corners you near an empty supply room.

“hey.”

your stomach immediately flips.

“hey.”

his expression softens.

“you okay?”

“m’ fine.”

“you’re lying.”

you hum, trying not to let the fucking hospital lights get to you.

“you look exhausted.”

you chuckle softly.

“thanks.”

“you know what i mean.”

and unfortunately you do. you look away. jack waits, that’s what he always does.

he waits patiently. carefully.

like he’s afraid pushing too hard will make you disappear.

“rough night, huh?” he asks quietly.

you nod. “something like that.”

“want to talk about it?”

you should say no, you really should.

instead your eyes suddenly start burning and for some reason that’s worse.

because you’re not sobbing, you’re not breaking down, it’s just tears.

silent ones.

the kind you’ve been holding onto for months.

jack’s entire face changes.

“hey.”

his voice becomes softer immediately.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

you laugh through a shaky breath.

“nothing.”

“that’s definitely not nothing.”

you wipe at your eyes.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize.”

another tear slips down.

and suddenly all the words you’ve been swallowing come rushing out.

“i’m just tired.”

“okay.”

“and confused.”

he nods.

“okay.”

“and i really wish i could stop liking someone who clearly doesn’t feel the same way.”

the silence that follows is horrifying, absolutely horrifying.

you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

your eyes squeeze shut.

“nevermind, forget i said that.”

nothing.

“please forget i said that.”

still nothing.

“that’s gonna be difficult.”

you blink slowly.

jack is staring at you looking almost as nervous as you feel.

which should be impossible.

“why?” you whisper.

his laugh comes out disbelieving.

“because i’ve been trying not to tell you the exact same thing for months.”

your brain completely stops working. “what?”

“i like you.”

another step closer, “more than i should.”

another, “have for a while.”

the tears are still there but now you’re smiling through them.

and jack smiles too, like he’s finally allowed to.

“you really had no idea?” he asks.

you shake your head. “i thought i was imagining it.”

“you weren’t.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“oh.”

he laughs.

and before either of you can overthink it, his hand gently brushes your cheek. wiping away the last tear. his thumb lingers.

your breath catches.

so does his.

then finally,

he kisses you.

soft.

careful.

like something precious.

like something he’d been wanting to do for a very long time.

You jerked up, looking at him. 

Robby leant over the counter, sliding on his glasses and looked closer. 

He was too close to you to be studying you like a patient, but just close enough for his wife. 

“You eat anything today?” he asked. 

You squinted at him. “We literally got breakfast this morning.”

“Okay, okay.”

There were darkening circles under your eyes and your lips were chapped which was his first sign something was wrong: you treated moisturising your lips like some do religion. Other than that your body was slumped over a computer. You were far more active than this. 

“You sleep okay last night?” he asked.

You smirked. “Well no, not really, someone kept me up.”

Robby smirked right back, leaning back just enough to give you space. “Are you complaining?”

“No.”

Flashbacks of last night came to mind in searing heat. The sweat of your bodies, the grip he held on your hand as he fucked you into the mattress like he did most nights. 

They said your libido goes down the older you get but Robby was going through another one. His box of blue pills sat abandoned in his bedside draw- thank god. 

Robby nodded once. “Good.”

“But that saying,” you continued, swivelling in your chair to face him. Still, he didn't move. He could smell the shampoo you'd bathed yourself in this morning and his mouth salivated like a dog with his favourite treat. “Four rounds?”

Robby took a quick sweep of the area, making sure nobody was missing him and his wife as they flirted shamelessly. “You asked for it.”

You frowned. “Did I?”

“Hey!” called Dana. “Mr and Mrs Adams, we could use your help here!”

You playfully rolled your eyes and Robby backed away slowly, hands up in surrender. He watched Dana turn to at least give them a second to finish up their flirting before digging into his pocket. 

“Here- for your lips.”

A small, practically un-used tube of chap-stick fell from the palm of his hand to yours. He carried it for you, always. If you'd asked you'd know he carried an extra pack of nuts and hand cream too. 

He'd been doing so secretly since your first dates years ago. 

Of course the supplies were different but the sentiment the same.

You blushed, a bright smile coming to your face. “You are so adorable.”

Robby shook off the word like it was splash of cold water. “Yeah, don't let onto anyone, okay? Got a cold exterior to keep up.”

“Oh- of course.”

He could have stood there and watched you all day but he already felt Dana's gaze, un-wavering. He squeezed your shoulders and pressed a kiss on your forehead before slipping away with a quiet promise to himself that he'd get his hands on you later.

“You don't look so well, you know,” said Dana once the coast was clear of Robby. 

“Don't you start,” you said. “I've had enough of this the last couple days from Robby.”

“Oh yeah, you got something?” Dana's hand was gentle on your back. If you weren't careful she'd push you onto a bed, have you in a gown with a chart written up herself. She'd mother you; smother you in her care even if she wasn't a doctor. Even if you were the attending around the place. 

You shook your head and flashed her a un-convincing smile. 

You were sure it was a bug, or burn out.

You'd caught burn out like some do colds or flus. As the second attending it was your job- with Robby's- to make sure everyone was taught, that patients were satisfied (you found you were doing that part for your husband as well) and you were saving as many lives as you could. 

The careful art of delegation and avoidance was lost on you. You threw yourself into traumas like you were still a med student with something to prove.

“Okay, if you say so,” said Dana with a purse of her lips. 

“I do say so.”

“If you need anything.”

“Am I married to you or Robinavitch?” you teased, tugging on gloves and readying yourself for a room of hustle. 

Dana chuckled, backing away slowly to her station. “You should be so lucky, Robinavitch.”

Using the weight of your back you pushed into trauma two. 

“Okay, kids- what have we got?”

“Fetal heart rate one-two-eight.”

Whitaker was at your side in an instant, handing you the chart. “Woman in her late twenties, came in complaining of cramping and migraines, twenty-nine weeks along.”

“BP is one-seventy, over one-nineteen.”

The woman was on her side, a whole score of nurses and doctors around her. It was always double the team for pregnant ladies. When there were two patients to care for in a package of one.

“Six grams of magnesium going in.”

You floated around the room, Whitaker following you like some guard dog. You took in everything going on, reading stats and taking in numbers everyone gave to you. “Okay, ma'am, I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robin. It seems you have a medical condition called preeclamsia.”

The woman's eyes were teary and dark as they looked up to you in fear. “Wh-what?”

“Preeclampsia. Now that we know what it is we can help you.”

“But it was- it was just a headache,” she cried, hand cradling her stomach on instinct. “Is my baby going to be okay?”

“We are doing everything to make sure you and the baby do just fine,” you assured her, speaking a language you'd become fluent in. Diagnosis and comfort. Sometimes, when the job got tough, you wondered if you even really believed the words you were saying. They just floated from your tongue typically. 

“The thing is with your condition we have to take you up to OB and deliver this baby,” you told her. 

“OB's been paged,” Santos informed you. 

“But it's too early,” the woman sobbed, clutching at her rounded stomach like she could keep the baby there. 

“I know but the baby's pulse is strong which is good,” you told her. “And if we want to keep the ball rolling in the right direction we have to got to get to it now, okay?”

“Doctor Robin,” said Whitaker. “Labs are back in.”

“Read them to me.” You were still holding the lady's hand over her stomach, trying to comfort her. 

“Hemoglobin seven-point-five, platelets forty. LFT's are... woah-”

“Don't hold out on us Huckleberry, what's going on?” asked Santos. 

“They're high- real high-”

“Which can mean?” you ask out to the room, remembering the hundreds of times Gloria reminded you off your status as a 'teaching hospital,'. 

“HELLP syndrome,” said Denis. 

“Point to you.”

Under your hand the patient began to tremble. A quick glance at the monitor showed her blood pressure rising. Panic, most likely, something else it could have been entirely. 

“Hey, boy or a girl?” you asked, watching her eyes flicker. “Do you know what you're having?”

She blinked slow. “Boy.”

“Any name ideas?”

Her mouth had opened to say something but instead of a name vomit spewed, rolling down the gurney and splashing your scrubs- the one time you didn't put on a gown. 

“Oh shit- she's seizing!”

Everyone and you reacted quickly in holding her, trying to calm her shakes. 

It had never happened before, you'd never had so many senses tuning it an once but the smell of her breakfast wafted up to your nose. An un-familiar roll in your stomach curdled and you pursed your lips shut, turning away and burying your nose into the still fresh part of your scrubs. 

“Fifteen litres on by mask!” Whitaker yelled. “Intubation?”

He was looking to you. 

You shook your head, unable to speak with half your focus going on calming the insides of your stomach.

“With all the seizing we can't get a read on the baby's status,” said Santos. 

Fuck- you'd have to say something. You couldn't leave a fresh doctor and student into clampsia blind. “Ultrasound,” you breathed out, still unable to face where the sick started to soak into your scrubs. “Check on baby!” 

If Santos and Whitaker thought it was strange they said nothing, following you orders and relaying what they found. 

“Doctor Robin- do we intubate?”

Another set of hands came up to help steady her and you could back away. 

Even your shoes hadn't been spared the mercy of the vomit. 

“Not yet, push keppra, four grams.”

Grabbing clothes cutters you quickly sliced at your scrub top, thankful you were wearing something long sleeved and covering more of you then a simple vest. 

With the top in shreds you could finally breath but your stomach didn't get the memo.

“Pulse Ox eighty-eight!”

Groaning, you pulled the tray out for intubation, handing it to Santos. 

She glanced at you. “Hey, you look a bit-”

“- don't say sick or I'll throw up on you,” you warned, following her around like she was your new human shield. You wondered if she'd be flattered or pissed if you admitted she was. “Push probofal.”

“Pushing.”

Eventually the seizing stopped with everything you pushed to get her stable and you moved quick. It was like putting everything else on aeroplane mode, shutting off your own systems to get hers stable.

“Intubate, get an EEG to check her brain levels. She's paralysed now but her brain could still be seizing.”

You slipped in sick, grabbing yourself on the nearest doctor and thanking them. You stayed for the intubation only then knew you couldn't hack it anymore. 

You fled the room, bumping into Samira on your way out. 

Dana jolted up. “Hey, what're you-”

“-get Robby in trauma one.”

You found the nearest bathroom, locked it and threw up everything. You hugged the toilet like it was your anchor, your body curling into the movements. Time escaped you, it could have been minutes it could have been hours but finally you fell back and flushed, wiping away everything. 

You were young, you weren't as old as your husband. You'd had less experience in traumas all together, however you were a good doctor, capable enough to be a fellow attending. 

Several substances had been chucked over you in your time. Blood, vomit, piss- some you didn't even know the name off. 

Why had today been any different?

Clearing yourself up: re-tying your hair, washing out your mouth and applying Chapstick, cleaning your shoes and wiping tears from under your eyes, you blamed it on the bagels you'd had that morning. 

It was the only logical explanation.

Leaving the bathroom you felt momentary guilt and fleeing but spotted Robby already taking your place in the trauma. 

“Hey, hun,” Dana was at your side quick, gentle and peering at you closely. “What was that about? You doin alright?”

“Yeah,” you hummed. 

“You throw up? You sick?”

“No, I-” you thought of every other time you'd lied to Dana and how it never went well. “Yes but it's probably just food poisoning. Don't tell Robby.”

If Robby knew you were sick- after already having been worried this morning- you'd be driven home in twenty minutes flat. 

“Robby always finds out,” said Dana. 

You ignored her and pushed open the door to the lounge. She didn't follow and you were left with spare seconds to yourself. 

Your hands shook slightly as you fetched a glass to fill with water. To cool yourself down you ran your hands under, splashing the back of your neck with some. You gargled water and spit it back, ready to drain the glass and wet your sudden parched mouth when Langdon appeared in the door. 

“Hey, I've got a head lac I need you to take a look at.”

Because you were an attending. Because of the kind of person you are you put down the glass and followed him.

“She just ran out?”

There was the all too familiar buzz of the sanitiser dispenser as Robby helped himself to a generous blob before rubbing it into his hands. A beat behind, Denis did the same, following in his footsteps- literally. 

“Er-yeah,” he said, working fast to absorb every bit of hand sanitiser. “She ordered the EEG and bolted.”

Robby nodded, taking it all in clinically. “You said she looked pale?”

“Yeah but, she had just been thrown up on.” 

Being thrown up on wasn't a pleasant experience but he hadn't known you to run from bodily fluids. 

“Where is she now?” Robby asked, as if Denis was the soul person to look out for you. Well, Robby trusted Denis, a gift he didn't bestow on many so he did expect Denis to keep an eye on you at all times. 

“She went to the bathroom but I don't know now.”

Robby checked the bathrooms, finding you void of those spaces. He checked the lounge where nothing but a deserted glass of water sat.

He was almost panicking when he saw the back of you and Frank in a room. 

He paused. 

You were sat next to a young girl, holding her hand. Although he couldn't hear you he imagined the softness of your voice as it always became when dealing with a pedes case. You'd always joked that if the ED wasn't so in need of two attendings at a time you'd have left his ass for pedes upstairs at once. 

Robby didn't think so. For one, you'd miss his face, for the second thing- you liked bouncing from one emergency to another, switching off and relying only on your skills. 

You hadn't been bouncing around as quick as usual the last couple days. He realised it only in that moment.

Frank was standing with his arms folded over his chest, pitching in every now and then and also getting the girl to smile. 

He didn't want to go in, break the concentration and trust you'd formed with the small child. He'd find you later. 

Whatever was going on, the two of you clearly had it handled. 

Your dreams came to you in fades. 

There was first an annoyingly weird dream about a animal circus finding it's home in the Pitt. They said work followed you home, but it even followed you into dreams which seemed just un-fair. Then there was a stork on an elephants back. How would an elephant even get in to the place?

They turned to some much more enjoyable memories that had your body warming un-consciously. 

Robby's weight pressed down into yours on the couch in your living room. You'd begged him to put everything on you, to not hold himself up and with-hold his moans. 

And because you'd asked, he did. 

Robby wasn't a light guy and you liked him like that. The weight of him crushing you, his spit swapped with yours, sweat of his body being shared and the fingerprints you could feel at your hips. 

“Oh fuck sweetheart, oh fuck!” he'd groaned out loud. 

You felt parts of him deep in you you didn't know you could feel and still you wanted more. Your locked your ankles around his backside, keeping him into you in short and sweet thrusts. 

“Oh, you like that? Jesus Christ,” he grunted into your neck, unable to hold himself up even if he wanted to. “So greedy. Fuckin' so greedy!”

“Please, Robby, please!”

Steady hands were sudden at your shoulders and a body pressed up to yours, decidedly unlike how one did in the dream. 

“Go home,” said Robby. 

You picked yourself up from where you'd dozed off, your head in your arms folded over on the counter. In front of you, the computer was blank. “Hm?”

Robby's eyes bored into yours. “Go home, you're sick.”

“It's only twelve. I'm not sick- I'm fine,” you said, waving off his hand as it came up to test your temperature in the very medical practise of hand on forehead. 

Robby shook his head. “You were dozing this morning, you're asleep now, you threw up-”

“Dana, I told her not to say anything!” You cursed under your breath. 

“Not Dana, Whitaker,” said Robby, looking at you with brows draw in, somewhere between anger (or as angry as he could get at you) and concern. “Did you tell Dana not to tell me?”

“Because you worry.” You used your secret trick of overwhelming affection to try to starve off Robby. Your hands were clammy as they held his cheeks, fingertips grazing over his beard just how he liked. He was kneeling at your side, melting into your touch. “I'm fine.”

For extra measures you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked away. 

There was a split second of head spinning blur. The sort that had you reaching out to balance yourself. It lasted maybe two seconds but enough to worry you. 

If you hadn't taken such care in tending to Robby's own distraction he'd have clocked it and dragged you home himself. 

You maybe weren't so fine. It wasn't every day you felt as tired as you did now, and however good the night before had been Robby had given you more. Plenty. You'd surpassed twenty-fours working in the ED with no sleep so nothing could phase you. 

But being phased you were. 

The lack of sleep.... the throwing up... maybe you were coming down with something. 

You'd thrown up last week too, so it couldn't be food poisoning like you were trying to convince yourself it was. 

Robby hurried after you, the jingle of his keys and ID card and such jangling. “I'm keeping my eyes on you.”

“Sexy.”

In trauma one the two of you worked together with a score of doctors and nurses. Mrs Albany- the pregnant lady with clampsia- demanded attention. Perhaps it was a waste of two attendings working on the same patient. 

The emergency c-section you had to perform made the one patient two and as Robby worked to keep the mother alive you worked on the child, stimulating the baby boy till he breathed, wiping off the fluids and bloods and sighing when he cried out. 

Under the gown and mask you could see Robby's own dimples at you as you both saved lives. 

But the tang of iron from the uterus and child filled your nostrils and upset you close enough to tears. You were glad Esme had cleaned up the sick from early and equally as glad you had the chance to throw up your breakfast so you couldn't do it again. 

“Holy shit!” Santos celebrated, yanking off her gown and gloves next to you as you did the same, “That was crazy!”

The baby was pushed by you, heading up to the NICU, the mother following, a pulse low but steady, heading up to the OR.

You ducked away from Robby as he followed the pair out. You took Santos with you, a pushing hand on her back. “Yeah, it was- listen I've got a patient that needs blood results quick, you think if I get it you can rush it up to labs, on an ASAP basis.”

Santos frowned. You knew what she was thinking before she even had to say it. It was a boring job, her skills were better off etc. 

“Please?” you asked. 

It took a roll of her eyes but she agreed to. 

Five minutes later you had a vial of your own blood handed to her. 

An hour later Santos found you, Ipad in hand. 

“Hey, got the results for your patient,” she said. “Where are they? What room? I couldn't see them on the board?”

Dana would have had something to say about taking your own blood and getting it to labs without telling anyone. Robby too. As attending you should have been chastising yourself but there was no time for that. No need, either. 

Doctors made the worst sort of patients, especially when they felt they didn't need to be one. 

“Er, she left, discharged herself,” you lied quickly, trying to get a gage on the results that were cradled in your arm.

“Bummer. I wanted to give her good news. Or bad.”

“What?”

“She's pregnant.”

You stopped in you tracks. 

It took Trinity at least four more paces before she realised you had. 

The blood works showed just that. High HCG levels, you red blood cell count was high. Along with the nausea, vomiting, dizzy spells it made sense. 

You were pregnant. 

Inside the stomach that had been churning all day sat a life fully depending on you to take care of it. Suddenly none of your med school training mattered. Nothing you'd ever down before mattered. Looking after patients was one thing. You didn't have to go home with them, check they drank enough or ate enough, didn't have to check in with their boss they were taking it easy. 

You struggled to look after yourself. 

Throw a baby in the mix and you were doomed. 

Chuck in Robby and you were-

Robby. 

Jesus Fuck. You'd never spoken about kids. You'd only been married a year and were still in what some considered the 'honeymoon' phase.

“Everything okay?” asked Santos. “Did I miss something in the results?”

You cleared your throat. “No. No, that all... looks good. I'm just gonna take a small break. Quick one. Thanks.” 

“Hey, Robby!” Denis called as he walked out from the ambulance bay. “Congratulations!” 

“Thanks, Whitaker.”

It took Robby seconds to pause and think. What was he being congratulated for? The fact he went outside for some air? It wasn't impressive. Was it the quick life saving procedures they'd made on mother and son that sent them both upstairs alive? That was over an hour ago and Denis had been in the room. 

Robby back tracked to Whitaker. “What am I being congratulated on, exactly?” he asked. 

Whitaker looked at him like he was crazy. “The good news.”

Good news? The last good news he had was marrying you a year ago, and Whitaker had been at the damn wedding crying more than his own grandmother. 

Robby shook his head. 

“The good news, you'll be a great dad.”

Robby chocked on his breath, leaning on the counter. “Wh-what?” he chuckled in a breath. 

“You're pregnant? I mean, not you, obviously, I-I know how it works. But you're having a baby, that's-that's what they say and I just wanted to say well done. Or not well done! No, that came out wrong, jus-”

Robby had let him stumble on his words as he tried to figure out what he was saying. The baby? What baby? “Denis, what are you talking about?”

He looked around quickly for you but couldn't see you. 

“Oh my god, you didn't know, you didn't know did you?” Whitaker's face paled, his entire body sinking. “Santos told me, she told me not to tell anyone but I-I figured I could tell you! I guessed- oh god, did I just tell you your wife is pregnant?”

His wife...

Pregnant...

And Robby was finding out from Huckleberry!

Robby took a step around the counter and Denis stumbled back into his chair. “Are you telling me she's...”

Whitaker nodded when the words failed him. 

Robby thought back to the sickness you thought he'd missed last week, the way you fell asleep at the computer earlier and the general exhaustion. He tried to think back to what night could have been 'the one' but somewhere along the line you'd both stopped being careful. Condoms were abandoned in draws and your pack of contraceptive pills were still full.

“Doctor- Doctor Robby? Do you need to sit down?” Denis asked. 

Robby waved him off and gave himself one minute to compose himself. He knew panic, it was an old friend he'd lost contact with over the years, yet it returned to him then. 

“Where is she now?” he asked. 

“Oh, I don't- I don't-”

“Huckleberry!” he tried not to expose his fondness of the nickname Santos had given him but it slipped out in the most desperate of times. 

Denis gulped, knowing this. “Exam room three.”

Robby nodded and made a be-line, Casey was asking him a question as he passed but he held up a hand, ignoring her. 

Santos stepped out the room, closing the door and stopping when Robby almost collided with her. “You can't go in there.”

Robby inhaled a deep breath. It was one thing having Whitaker be the one to tell him you were pregnant. It was another to have Santos blocking him from seeing you. “Doctor Santos if you don't let me through you will miss every trauma that comes through those doors.”

Luckily, he knew how to work Santos. 

Her arms budged over her chest. “For how long?”

Whatever you had promised her to keep him out must have been just as grand a prize. “Till I see fit now let me in.”

It was like a western stand off for longer than Robby would have liked. Every second he spent out of your room was longer you were spending alone. 

Eventually, Trinity sighed and gave up. “Okay, fine, whatever, but she promised me first dibs at a REBOA for doing this. I expect that to still stand.”

Robby pushed through the room and snapped back the curtains finding you at the edge of a bed, the wand of an ultrasound hidden under your top and the grey scale picture of a baby on the monitor. 

To your credit you didn't flinch or move as he stood there.

“Lets be real this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.”

In five minutes Robby had wiped down your stomach of the gel, had helped pull your top down and sat with you on the edge of the patient bed, the curtain back to being pulled over and hiding the two of you from traumas and agitated patients and doctors alike. 

“How long have you known?” asked Robby. 

There was no anger, no mean undertones. It was frightening rather blank, the way he spoke. You'd always prided yourself on knowing how to tell when he was in a good mood or bad from the smallest of tics he had. 

He'd trained them out of himself apparently. 

Yet- he'd given you his hand and you'd pulled it into your lap, holding it and trailing your own fingers over his. 

“The time's now-” you peeked over him at the clock over the door. “- about an hour and thirteen minutes.”

He shook his head, scoffing out a smile that pronounced his wrinkles. “Why didn't you come to me?”

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought I was just sick, you know? So I thought I'd get some bloods and see.”

“Did you do the bloods yourself?”

You looked at him and that was telling enough. With the hand that wasn't with yours he rubbed at his temple in aggravation. So far there'd been little to no talk about the baby growing in your stomach but more concern about how you'd gone to finding out. 

“You should've got me,” he said. 

“Well if I thought I was pregnant I probably would have.” You tried to joke but it fell flat. 

“Probably?” he repeated quietly. 

Silence went by with only the ticking of the clock as company. 

You held onto his hand, readying yourself for the question yet to be asked. “Are you mad at me?”

Robby shook his head but didn't look at you.

“Annnnd are you mad at...” you couldn't say baby yet. Didn't know if giving the clump of cells in your stomach a name would scare him off. 

With the hand in your lap his fingers entwined with yours and clutched tight. 

“I know we never talked about kids and this wasn't planned in the slightest,” you said even if you knew Robby had stopped pulling out months ago, favouring the way you felt when your walls swallowed him up. “You can be angry.”

“You keep asking if I'm angry, do you want me to be?” he asked, finally a touch of emotion in his voice as it rose an octave. “Are you mad?”

That was the question. It wasn't planned, but it wasn't unwanted. You couldn't say that seeing the way mothers caressed their stomachs when they came in with spotting or concerns didn't have you thinking of your own child one day. That talking to that little girl with the head lac earlier with Frank didn't cause a pang of longing in your heart. 

You'd never tried to pretend you didn't want everything with Robby. Even if you've never discussed what everything was to each other. 

“When I was in med school I thought I'd have it all worked out long before now,” said Robby. “Marriage and kids. Maybe on my second marriage by now.”

You dug your elbow into his ribs, rewarded with a quick, breathless laugh. 

His eyes creased as his face scrunched up. “Didn't work out. Guess I... gave up thinking it could.”

“Then you met me, right?”

Robby looked at you. His eyes were like glass as he looked you over, his lips titled, cheeks red under his beard. He looked- if you didn't mind saying so- like a man mesmerised. He nodded. 

“I thought you didn't want kids,” you said. 

“Do you?” he asked, eyes boring into yours. 

“Do you?” you threw back to him. 

He squeezed your hand and gave you a look. 

“I think I do,” you admitted, quietly, as if you could take it back if it displeased him. “I don't know if I'll be good at it. I hardly have time to look after myself, let alone a baby. And I don't want to be one of those people that gives up work for kids cause I love my job but... I think I could love a kid, too.”

Robby nodded along with what you were saying, a smile brightening everything you thought looked dark in him.

“Do you want kids?” you asked. 

“Oh, kids?” he teased. “You're so sure its twins already?”

You rolled your eyes as he nudged his shoulder with yours, rocking the both of your bodies. 

“I want everything with you, I said so much in my vows, didn't I? You thought I was lying, Doctor Robin?”

You couldn't help but smile at the nickname he gave you and was proud to call you. After all, calling out for two Robinavitch's in an emergency proved difficult quickly. “I don't believe your vows included, I want to fuck you so hard and deep you get pregnant within the first year of marriage.' ”

“Dirty mouth, cussing like that,” said Robby, his eyes drifting down your lips as he bit down on his own. “Have to sort that out before the baby gets here.”

“Lucky we have eight months to train it out of me.”

Robby's nose had just brushed yours before he was pulling back, studying you again. His gaze drifted to your stomach, wondering if the manifestation of your nights had started to show. “You're a month along, already?”

You clocked your head side to side. “Give or take a week or two.”

“Eight months it is.”

Robby kissed you, licking into your mouth and breathing you in with deep breaths. His large hands held your cheeks and kept you in, all but drowning you in lips and touch and love. He tilted his head aside, kissing you deeper. 

At once the doors banged open and arguing voices drifted in. 

Robby pulled back with his head lowered in disappointment while you licked the taste of him off your lips. “I swear to god, these kids-” he grumbled as Denis and Trinity stumbled in. 

“Seems like you got the dad thing down already,” you said, hand rubbing up and down in his back. 

The intruders had a hoard of things in arms. Denis was carrying a large bear in hand that almost drowned him as he struggled to hold him. The bear was holding a blue heart sewen into its paws while Trinity was struggling in pulling the pink balloons in. 

It seemed they'd already made bets on what baby they wanted you to have.

“We er, wanted to get you these,” said Denis. “Sorry for ruining the surprise.”

“I'm not sorry, I didn't do anything,” said Santos with a scoff. 

“You told me,” pointed out Whitaker. 

“Yeah and I told you not to tell anyone, fuckleberry then you tell the dad!”

“I thought he knew!”

“I told you in confidence!”

“You were laughing while you were telling me! That wasn't every confident!”

“Oh my god, it's a figure of speech!”

You laughed at the two of them, hiding your face in Robby's scrubs as he leant his head back toward you. 

“He clearly doesn’t like me, Michael.” You huffed, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck.

Michael Robinavitch was your mentor and also a best friend. You worked together for almost five years after you moved to Pittsburgh. And you were one of the few people who actually called him by his first name.

Robby looked through some papers on the chart, humming underneath his breath, his reading glasses hanging low. 

“You are not listening.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the nurse station, looking through a chart. 

Dana glared up at you, shaking her head with a little smile. 

“Arguing with Robby again?”

You straightened your back a little and huffed. “I would call it an exchange of opinions.” 

Day and night shifts met for a quick briefing, Robby standing tall and serious. You were beside Mel, who looked anxious as always, stealing occasional looks at Langdon who were unusually smiley. 

Then your eyes flicked to the opposite, to who dared to stand beside your partner in crime. Jack Abbot with his arrogant and cocky energy. 

You scrunched your nose and he caught your stare, giving you a lopsided smile. He always enjoyed teasing you and you never held back. 

“So, the thing is there’s this medical conference next week and I have to pick two of us who will represent the PTMC there.” Robby started, he wasn’t a fan of those events so you knew exactly he won’t be attending. You crossed your arms over your chest, curiosity took over your brain and you thought about who he should pick.

Frank raised his hand. “I’ll go. I think I’m pretty capable of doing so.” 

Robby shook his head no. “No. I already made my choice.” And his gaze ended up on you. Oh no. Oh no. You knew where this was going.

Inhaling sharply, you were about to speak when he pointed at your figure adding: “You and Abbot.” 

Jack raised his brows in surprise, but then his expression changed into an amused one, flashing a smirk at you. “Oh, funny.”

“You can’t be serious, Michael.” You growled, anger fuelling your body.

“That’s my final decision. I expect you two to behave like the professionals you are.” Robby dismissed the meeting, others already whispering and giggling. 

You stomped on your feet, walking towards him all the while Jack still stood beside him. 

“I won’t go.” 

Robby scribbled something onto a paper, clipping it onto a chart not caring about your words.

“Come on. Don’t be silly.” Jack chuckled.

“I’m not talking to you.” You shot him a death glare and he just shook his head. 

Michael lifted his gaze to look at you, being all so serious. You know it's just a bullshit facade.

“I’m giving you a chance to solve this— this something, which I don’t understand what is, between you two. Talk it out, spend some time together, I don’t know, but don’t come back from that conference with unresolved issues you have with yourselves.” And he was gone for a patient that just came through. 

The way you were pissed off was unbelievably bad. Jack crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well, I won’t be easy on you, so you better get ready.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” You scoffed, trying to find yourself a useful thing to do, you decided to go triage.

Arriving into the hotel you were staying in Washington was another kind of shock.

After neverending bickering through the flight, you were excited to get some peace in your hotel room.

Only to find out there was a mistake with your booking and you ended up in the same room as your rival. 

One bed

Your worst nightmare, sharing the most intimate space with this unbelievable man. 

Jack shook his head when he put his suitcase against the wall, taking another glance at the bed as if he was able to divide it into two.

“Robby, you piece of shit…” he muttered, but you heard it, shooting him an annoyed look.

“I will kill that man, with my bare HANDS.” You were livid, pacing at the window.

“Calm down, it’s okay. This bed is fucking huge, so there’s plenty space for us both.” He was amused. 

“I don’t care what you think, Abbot. I’m getting my own room.” You were determined.

Casually, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You heard the receptionist. There’s no other room, because they’re overbooked. Everybody is here for the medical conference. So be a professional and suck it up.” 

You hated how he was right. 

Jack was unbelievably gentle, standing tall beside you, chest puffed with pride when you spoke with other people representing the medical field. He took in how you were glowing while talking about things you loved.

When sitting at the table, you circled the leg of the champagne flute, watching it with an empty look.

“You don’t fancy alcohol?” His voice got you out of your mind.

“Not much.” You murmured, taking a glance at the speaker on the podium.

Jack was listening to everything that was said, massaging his thigh above the prosthesis, it was one of those days he felt utterly exhausted by that damn thing. 

You didn’t care, trying to mind your own business, making some notes.

But Jack couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at your figure, the dress you were wearing was really enhancing you, as if you were born to wear that fabric. Clearing his throat, he shook his head to get back to his line of thinking.

You noticed he was staring, but said nothing, because you were already exhausted from dealing with him before, so there wasn’t a point in losing any more time with him. But you had to admit that he looked damn good in that suit, that white shirt under his blazer was really something, with those two buttons undone from the top revealing a little of his greyish chest hair. Swallowing hard, you felt your throat becoming dry, so this was the time you gulped the champagne.

Staying for the dinner and some evening chat with other doctors, one of them flirting with you, Jack decided he had enough and he excused himself to go back to the hotel room. His leg was bothering him to the limits the same as that damn young doctor trying to impress you with his successes through internships. 

“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” You huffed when you arrived at the hotel room, a little tipsy, spotting a prosthetic leg casually resting against the wall near the bedside table.

Jack lifted his gaze lazily from the tv show he was watching, already tucked in the spacious bed. 

“Scared by an innocent part of a leg? Get a grip.” He scoffed, but there was that sarcastic undertone you couldn’t unhear. 

“Pff… I don’t have limbs scattered across my flat, so…” you rolled your eyes, trying to take off your heels, but it was already a struggle given to your tired state.

He noticed your fight with the tiny straps and he sat up on the bed. “Come here, you clumsy thing.” 

And you did, landing on your ass on the edge of the bed and he gestured for you to lift your leg up so he could reach for it. Once his large hands wrapped around your ankle, your guts did a flip, the one you didn’t expect. 

Jack was focused on the small fastening that was stuck. With the surgical precision he undid it and relieved your foot from the tight grip of the heel. 

Then you lifted your other leg and he did the same. Now you had your legs on his lap and he ran his fingers over the curves of your insteps, pressing a little into the marks from the straps.

“You should consider stopping wearing those damn heels. Not good for your feet and back.” His voice soothed something in the depths of your soul, you started to melt under his skilled touch. 

“Keep it to yourself, doctor Abbot.” You muttered and moved down to rest on your elbows, the dress hanging on your figure, your skin growing annoyed of the fabric.

Jack let out a soft chuckle, pressing his thumb to your sole causing you to groan in utter satisfaction. 

“Fucking hell…” a soft mutter escaped your lips, your head falling back with a deep sigh.

“I know what I’m doing.” 

The way he massaged your feet was astounding and embarrassingly great. You thought that you could never admit this to Robby. Ever.

“Sure you do…” 

Jack hummed, tracing your ankle with his thumb. “I have an idea. Go take a shower and I’ll massage your feet even more, you can fall asleep comfortably. Hm?” 

You turned your head back to stare at him in disbelief, awaiting something mischievous behind it but his face was soft and full of honesty.

“Okay.” You whispered softly, getting off the bed, already missing his warm touch. Collecting your toiletry bag and pajamas, you disappeared into the bathroom.

After a while you were out, fresh as a daisy, a tired expression written all over your face. A scent of your shampoo hit his nose and he cleared his throat. 

Climbing into the bed under the sheets, you lay your head on the pillow, looking up at how he was seated against the headboard. 

“Were you serious or you were making fun of me?” 

Jack patted his lap again, your legs moving instinctively towards him and he moved a little closer to you for you to be more comfortable. You could smell him, feel the heat radiating from his body, but you didn’t feel nervous or scared. It brought you peace and comfort. 

“Is this okay?” He asked for your permission in a low tone, giving you a concerned look.

You nodded, eyes closing as he massaged your feet gently. 

For you it was a very intimate act. And with your sworn enemy? 

“Thank you.” Your murmur was barely heard, but he caught it, smiling to himself, working on your toes.

“I would take care of you every day if you were mine.” Jack sighed into the silence of the room, while you were already out, deeply asleep.

The first sunrays peeked through the curtains of the hotel room, having you stirring in the bed. Something heavy was draped over your upper body, heat radiating at your back. A soft hum of approval escaped your mouth, but then you opened your eyes slowly, confused a little. 

Jack had his arm draped over you, holding you close to his chest while his breath trickled your hair on your neck as he was still asleep. 

Your mind yelled at you to jump out of the bed immediately, but you decided to shift a little, your stare taking in his skin. 

Counting the freckles on his forearm, you actually felt good, safe even. 

Until you felt another thing poking into your back, blush was creeping up your cheeks. 

“Jack. Hey. We have to get up.” You tried to gently nudge him but all he did was wrap his arms around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, exhaling heavily. 

“A few more minutes, baby…” he hummed, grinding his hips into you. 

Eyes wide you jumped out of the bed, heart thumping in your chest. “Abbot. Wake up, you dang idiot!” Your voice surely caused him to open his eyes lazily, looking at you and then he shifted to lay on his back. 

“What’s the rush, huh?” His voice was hoarse and now you could see clearly the tent formed between his legs. 

“Jesus Christ, you have no decency.” You huffed, grabbing your clothes to disappear into the bathroom. 

Jack peeked under the cover to seek his morning wood only to grin. “That’s a sign my body is working well.” 

Doing your skincare, you still felt the ache in your lower belly, the one that you desperately tried to keep at bay with your own skilled hands. There’s no way you would want to have sex with your enemy. No. 

Maybe… a little. Yeah. No. 

You shook your head and once being ready, you fled out of the bathroom, taking a glance at him with the corner of your eye. 

Jack struggled to put on his leg, grunting and cursing under his breath. 

“Need a hand?” You were all sarcastic but in your mind you pitied this man. 

“Actually, yeah.” He ran a hand through his messy grey curls and you put down your phone, walking to him. Jack noticed you’re wearing a dress, again, but this time it was a nice summer one with flowers on it.

“You look good.” He hummed out and you just got onto your knees completely ignoring him as you focused on the task and that was clasping his leg on where it has to be. 

“Tell me what to do?” You lifted your gaze and you caught his expression. Sucking in a breath he got out of the trance, showing you exactly what he needed help with.

You nodded, trying your best, your dainty fingers helping but that prosthetic bitch had its own mind. 

“Shit…” you cursed and Jack propped himself back on his hands. 

“Fuck. I hate this.” 

You sat back on your heels, taking in his frustrated expression and your eyes wandered down south. 

“Abbot, are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out at the sight of his erection again.

His gaze fell down and he smirked a little. 

“Well, you're on your knees…” 

Your eyes went wide, mouth open agape when you wanted to insult him but your brain was numb. You could use some relief, a man hasn’t touched you in ages. 

“You're an unbelievable asshole.” 

“Really? Then why are you blushing? Why are you so flushed, princess?” He mocked you and you noticed his dick twitching in his shorts. 

Acting more on instinct, you managed to rip your panties off you and throwing them at him with annoyed grunt. Catching them swiftly, he brought them to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Guess we’re gonna need to prolong our stay.” His voice was suddenly so deep.

Your hands grabbed his thighs, a longing sigh escaping your mouth. “How do we play this out?” 

Jack was still mesmerised by the piece of fabric that used to hug your pussy, but he gave you a look full of lust. 

“Robby wants us to get our frustrations out. So, use me. Ride me. Whatever you like. Because I know you’re secretly thinking about all the things you’d do to me.” His body leaned closer to where you kneeled, whispering against your lips as his fingers tipped your chin. You were like a moth caught by the flame, your lips parted slightly, trembling, you were needy as hell.

Not giving you time to speak, he captured your lips in some kinda soft kiss, like testing the waters if you’re gonna kiss him back. And you waited no more. Literally jumping onto him, you wrapped your legs around his hips, his one hand keeping you steady in place while the other was a little behind him to not fall on his back.

“Eager girl.” He muttered in between kisses, gasping when he felt you grinding against his groin. 

“Can you shut up for a moment?” You breathed out heavily, arms around his neck, staring into his eyes.

“Never.” 

That goddamn smirk that was driving you crazy. 

“I hate you.” You gritted through your teeth, your hand traveling down between your bodies, into his shorts to finally take a hold of his girth. And holy shit, girl, your hand suddenly felt very small.

Jack could see it in your eyes, the surprise and warmth of your arousal when you found out how blessed he actually was.

“So, what are we saying?” His hand casually fell down to the curve of your ass, underneath the soft fabric of your dress. 

“I’m not gonna praise your cock.” You huffed, palming him, trying not to salivate at how much you wanted to have your mouth stuffed with him. But you won’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet.

Being so focused on that, you almost didn’t notice his hand on your ass moving towards your pussy, his fingers smearing in your wetness. 

“Oh, ohhh…” you jolted forward into his chest, whining in process. 

“Jesus, love, I think we both need me to be inside you soon as possible, hm?” Jack was starting to get frustrated, expecting you to be more denying as usual but you nodded fast and shifted your hips to navigate his tip to your aching folds. All that while you were holding his gaze, you were shaking at the anticipation and he helped you with both his hands to guide you down.

Once his cock started to stretch through your velvet walls, your eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth letting out a loud gasp, your consciousness faltering slowly.

“Easy, baby, easy… fuck, you’re so tight.” He got you, slowly getting you lower and lower on his length, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic moan at how you clenched around him heavenly.

After a while, you were sitting fully on him, his shaft being swallowed whole by your hungry pussy and you held onto him tight, like you didn’t want to fall off. You didn’t even have a single thought to talk.

“So this is what it gets for you to finally be quiet, huh?” His arm holding you close on his lap, while his other hand reached out to brush a strand of your hair from your face to look at you, to note how you were out of your mind, so pliant and soft. 

Then it struck him that you were still wearing that dress and he pushed the straps down your shoulders to reveal your breasts. Licking his lips, he then took your right nipple into his mouth, giving it a proper care, sucking it as if there was no tomorrow. 

“J-Jack…” you whimpered, losing your mind through being full by him. 

Trailing his way up your neck to your ear, he chuckled smugly. “Come on, baby girl, ride me.” 

Lifting your hips, you slammed back, over and over, his hands gripping your hips to help you with your moves. 

Face flushed, eyes rolled back, you couldn’t breathe from how much you loved the moment. He was absolutely perfect for you, matching your desire, holding you exactly how you expected from a man. 

Sweat formed on your forehead, hair sticking to it, you were riding this man with all your might. And he was there, for you, watching you, without any biting remark, he was enjoying himself too. 

Suddenly he stopped you, halting you fully onto his cock. You inhaled sharply, mind dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but you noticed his trembling lower lip, his features tight. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, and–” you interrupted him.

“Don’t care. Gonna take a plan b. Just fucking fill me, Abbot.” ah, there it was, the fire in your eyes was back. 

Something dark flashed across his gaze and he nodded. Quickly, he moved you on the bed, flat on stomach, and he did his best to climb on you, slapping your ass gently. 

Settling between your ass cheeks, he rubbed his dick through your folds, only to fill you again. It was really hard for him to keep his balance, so he leaned forwards onto his hands.

Your hands gripped the sheets, drooling into the fabric, muffling your moans as he pounded into your relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh baby, oh…” he whimpered, it was like music to your ears and finally you felt his dick twitching with release, his thick cum coating your inner walls.

Breathing heavily, you buried your face into the mattress when Jack collapsed onto your back, peppering your bare shoulder in kisses.

“So good for me…” whispering, it gave you shivers.

“Fuck you…” you mumbled and he chuckled.

Jack carefully slid out of you, body still thrumming with post orgasmic flow, and his strong hand flipped you onto your back.

Gasping in surprise, you stared at him when he moved between your legs, laying on his stomach, one of his hands settled on your hip and the other cupped your ruined pussy. He was mesmerised by the way his precious frosting dripped out of you. Carefully, he scooped a little by his fingers, only to push it back into you, causing you to whine in overstimulation. 

“Shhh… I almost forgot about you, how wrong of me…” he darted out his tongue and licked a long stripe to your clit, all the while his fingers were curling in your clenching cunt.

“Jack… please—“ you moaned, face frowned and eyes full of tears. 

“What is it, baby?” He held you in place, noticing how your hips tried to escape from him even though you ached to come.

“T-too much—“ you gasped when he latched onto your clit with his lips, suckling sounds filling the room and your eyes went wide.

“Fuck— gonna kill you—“ it was all you had to say when your hands flew to his hair, to tug it rough, making him grunt into your core.

“Of course.” His voice vibrated your folds to the point you were going crazy, your pussy making all those lewd sounds of arousal. 

Then he let go of you, blowing a little air onto your petal, chuckling at your squirming figure. Pulling out his fingers, having them coated with a mix of your juices and his cum, he propped himself onto his hand to bring them to your lips. 

You shook your head no, brows furrowing in annoyance.

“Open your mouth. I want you to taste us.” His voice was commanding and you let out a shuddered breath. You were a mess, you wanted to come already, to be over with it, but you had to play his game.

Holding his gaze, you obeyed, parting your lips and he waited no more, pushing his fingers onto your tongue. Inhaling sharply, your tongue swirled eagerly, moaning quietly at how intoxicating taste it was. 

Jack grinned victoriously, getting back to your painfully edged cunt, delving his fingers back into your depths.

“Look at you, taking me so well, who would have thought that you’re such a good girl. So fucking good. Mhm… come on… give it to me, all you have is mine, princess…” 

The way he talked, you couldn’t take it, your body screaming in utmost pleasure and pain from the overwhelming sensations.

“You’d be so hot being round and soft with my baby. You were made to be filled by me…” he continued and you were bewildered by this and you shot him a shocked glare.

“Stop— don’t say— holy— Jack!” 

But it was all you needed to actually reach your highest of the high, coming around his fingers, sucking him tight with your velvet walls.

Jack laughed softly, feeling so proud that his little talk made you come hard. 

Giving your pussy a soft tap, he moved to lay beside you, enjoying your panting breaths, grinning how ruined you looked, sweaty and done.

Fingers grazed their way between your breasts to your neck, ending up on your jaw. 

“You’re beautiful like this.” 

Turning your head to look at him, you let out a sigh. 

“Don’t start with this…” 

“I’m just saying what’s true.” His features softened while caressing your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. You wanted to savour every possible second of it.

“Robby can’t know about this.” You shot your eyes open with an amused expression.

Jack was smug, running his hand through the strands of your damp hair. 

“He’s gonna be so nosy. Prepare for it.” 

A soft laugh slipped past your lips, you were staring into the ceiling. 

“Thank you.”

He cocked his brow. “For what?” 

“Good fuck?” You looked at him again.

“Anytime.” He shrugged and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his leg. This time he put it on the right way. 

“Motherfucker.” He cursed under his breath and then he turned to see you over his shoulder. 

“You have to get yourself cleaned up. I can help.” He offered you his hand and you took it without any hesitation. Still having your dress scrunched up around your waist you took it off and walked to the bathroom with him. 

Jack grabbed a towel to clean himself quickly, not bothering about anything else and then he gestured for you to step under the spray of hot water. 

While you were cleaning your skin he watched you intently, leaning against the vanity counter until he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. 

After you stepped out, wrapped into a fluffy towel, you let out a sigh of relief. His hand suddenly reached out for yours, bringing you to stand between his open legs. 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I’m not a man like this.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

That took you aback. “I… Jack…” 

“Sorry, I… I just want you to know that I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. You captivated me from the moment you entered that damn hospital in Pittsburgh. You and your attitude just didn’t give me much choice.” He chuckled and his words tugged on your chest.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes.

“I was so irritated by your cocky behaviour, I knew men like you. But… it appears that I didn’t know you at all.” Your hand moved to his cheek, cupping it.

A shaky breath went through his mouth. “You’re so insufferable, you can’t imagine.” 

Rolling your eyes, you squeezed his hand instinctively. “Oh believe me. I can.”

“So, I suggest we come back and take it easy. No rush. We have to be careful around others on our shifts. What do you think?” Jack stood up, flinching a little, shifting his leg, but still holding your hand.

“Sounds good to me.” You nodded with a smile, while he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead.

“Let’s get you that morning after pill.” 

A day shift was in full swing when about three in the afternoon Jack clocked in and his eyes were searching for you through the space.

You were on a case with Robby, finished with the patient to be sent to the OR.

Taking off your bloodied gloves, you huffed at something Robby was talking about behind you. 

“Yeah, clearly I’m not in the best shape, okay?” 

Robby noticed Jack standing at the computer at the nurse station, already watching you both. “Well, maybe you should think about switching for the night since you warmed up with our daddy one leg.” The last three words he whispered near you to tease you and you smacked his arm.

“Fuck you, Michael.” 

“Ah, so, I’m not wrong with my assumption, huh?” He followed after you, when you hurried towards the charts.

“What’s the hush?” Jack smirked, taking a slow step forward Robby, who was eyeing him with amusement.

“Michael here just called you the daddy one leg.” You wiggled your brows in amusement, sipping coffee from your cup.

Jack feigned a little gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “You just hurt me, a war veteran, an amputee, Robby.” 

Robby just scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m just trying to find what’s behind this little alliance you two made all of sudden. What the fuck happened at that conference, hm?” 

Both you and Jack met with your gazes, but he decided to speak. “Well, you said we have to discuss the shit between us, and we sorted it out, case closed. What’s the matter with that?” 

“That you both almost bit your head off and all of sudden you’re cooperating without a fuss. It’s weirdly hard to believe that you just discussed it out.” Robby bounced on his feet, irritation evident from his voice as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

“Get out of your head, Michael. You’re spending too much time there.” You chuckled at your own joke, Jack trying so hard to not laugh. 

Later that day, when you were about to clock out of your shift, you stood beside Dana, who was scribbling something down, staring through her readers. Robby was discussing a case with Ellis and Shen who arrived just in time to relieve the day’s, while Jack stood close to them, somehow watching you again. 

“So, what’s he like in bed, huh?” Dana nudged your arm, looking in the direction where Jack stood. 

You bit the inside of your cheek with a little sigh. “Unbelievable, Dana. Fucking unbelievable…” 

And with that you both laughed your asses off.

This isn't the first time that Jack has watched you go on a date. No, far from it. It is the first time since he knows how sweet you sound when you cum.

He's spent years watching you try out different boys for size. The college quarterback who got too handsy on the first date that Jack had to save you from. The pretty barista who lasted almost a year. Both Robby and Jack hated him. The musician...the other musician...and the Soundcloud rapper. What the fuck was a Soundcloud rapper?

And all the disastrous dates ended with you sitting on Jack's couch, bemoaning the fact that you would never find love. You had no clue that Jack was secretly praying for their downfall. He wanted you so bad for so long.

Jack has no idea that pretty barista broke up with you because you moaned Jack's name when he went down on you... Jack has no idea that after every single one of those failed dates you went home and made yourself reach your peak by imagining the filthy things your dad's best friend would do to you.

You had been circling each other for years. But you wouldn't step back, not after Jack called you a mistake!

It's only been about fifteen minutes since you left for your date but Jack is antsy. And Robby is noticing how his leg is bouncing.

"I should go home, I'm back on tomorrow night and I don't wanna completely fuck up my sleep schedule," Jack tells Robby. Any excuse to get out of his best friend's hair when all he can think about is bending his daughter over and making her cream over his cock.

Instead, he gets home and pulls his phone out.

He won't know how to make you feel good, baby girl, let daddy make your pussy feel good.

It's only a few seconds before Jack's phone lights up with a response.

oh daddy missed his chance and now this pussy needs to be filled by someone else x

Jack shouldn't be turned on by this. By the way you're making him suffer.

He doesn't know how you like it, baby girl. I'd be so sweet, let you ride my face all night if you want to. Play with that perfect little clit.

And Jesus, you're going to make him suffer. Because you don't respond.

It's supposed to be your third date with Brian. He's a nice guy, your age, works in finance, has just put a down payment on a house in the suburbs, wants kids, has a pension.

You say supposed to be your third date because you're sitting in a cocktail bar, all dolled up and Brian is nowhere to be seen. You check your phone over and over. But there's nothing.

After an hour, you realise that you've been stood up. You have no idea what to do. Looking at your phone you dial the number you know that will answer.

You're sitting on the curb trying not to cry as Jack's truck pulls up. He immediately jumps out, parking laws be damned.

"Baby girl, what's wrong? Did he hurt you? Make you do something you didn't wanna do?" he asks as he cups your face in his hands.

And Jack being so sweet is the final straw for you. You burst into tears as you shake your head. He cradles you in his arms.

"He stood me up," you confess, embarrassed.

Jack tuts and leads you to his truck.

"What a fuckin' idiot," he tells you as he drives you back to his house.

He guides you inside and upstairs to the bathroom where he starts to run the bath.

"Look at my sweet girl, all prettied up for some idiot. He has no idea what he's missing," Jack purrs as he massages your thighs before taking off your heels.

"Why don't you have a bath here, huh, pretty girl?" he breathes.

You nod your head trying to stop crying. But Jack doesn't care. He grabs a washcloth and cleans off your ruined makeup. Then he begins to undress you, willing his cock down when he sees the lingerie you picked out.

"Oh that fuckin' idiot," he repeats. "You picked this all out for him, huh? Thought he deserved to see you like this?"

You shake your head.

"I don't know. I just wanted to have the option but I...I don't think I was gonna sleep with him," you confess.

You haven't been able to get Jack out of your head. As much as you've tried. He kisses over the soft flesh of your thighs.

"C'mon baby, let daddy get you into the bath," he hums as he removes your underwear.

You sink into the water as you let Jack run soap over you. It's not needed but his hands feel so fuckin' good. And finally he presses his large hand between your thighs, his fingers trailing to your throbbing cunt. He teases your clit first, taking his time getting you worked up before sinking two thick fingers inside you.

"That's it, baby. Let daddy make you feel good," he groans as he pumps his fingers lazily in and out of you.

You can't help but pull him in for a kiss. You need to taste him. But Jack doesn't like how his mouth his muffling your moans so he pulls away so he can hear you get loud, louder and louder until your voice all but breaks. Your orgasm tumbles over you and you expect him to pull away.

But Jack isn't finished with you. You're so stressed, he thinks. So he continues pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you're jelly in the bath.

"My pretty girl ready for bed?" he finally asks.

You nod your head, unable to form thoughts or words. He hums in appreciation. Jack picks you up, carrying you out of the bath and towels you off. He brings you to his bed, taking his time massaging moisturiser you left at his place into your body.

You settle into his bed then, tired from the overstimulation in the bath. You watch Jack through heavy lids as he undresses, shoes, then shirt, then pants, then boxers. He takes off his prosthetic leg finally before getting into bed beside you.

"Need to feel my angel around me," he breathes as he kisses you.

His lips start on yours before trailing down your neck and then to your breasts. You're a squirming mess when he finally presses the weeping head of his cock against your folds.

"So wet for daddy. You wouldn't be this wet for anyone else, huh?" he asks.

You just shake your head, his cock nudging against your clit.

"Need daddy's cock," you beg, dragging your nails down his back.

"Atta girl, use your nails on my back," he gruffs before pressing into you.

Jack isn't usually a patient man. But tonight, he takes his time with you, slowly rocking his hips into you. He wants to make this last. He wants to see you squirm under him, wants to make you cum over and over. He wants you to forget that anyone other than him exists.

"Fuck, daddy!" you cry out, tangling your fingers in his silver curls and pulling him in for a kiss.

He can feel your pussy tighten around his cock as he wrings another orgasm from you. He wants to feel this all night.

But Jack is also aware that he is a middle aged man and his own orgasm is fast approaching. The rhythm of his hips speeds up as he chases his own release.

"Fuck, daddy's gonna cum. Daddy's gonna cum in his little girl's pussy," he grunts against your neck.

You nod, letting him know it's okay. This is what you want.

As you come down from your highs together, Jack wraps you in his arms.

"You're not a mistake," he breathes into your hair. "Never a mistake."

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra

You kicked him out right after you climaxed. You would roughly shove his face in your aching core, guiding his head exactly where you wanted even if he couldn't breathe. His aftercare kisses would be dodged and instead he would be met with you tossing his clothes to him.

But it didn't stop there.

You said no to dates. Your phone was always facing down. You weren't a huge fan of PDA. He was a hidden part of your life.

He was being treated how he treated the women before you.

And he didn't like it.

Robby had tried figuring you out with each attempt he made to get closer to you. He didn't get very far each time. You weren't unhappy, he knew that. In fact, you had a very fulfilling life. You had a master's degree, earned 6 figures, had plenty friends. The list went on and on with how well you were doing for yourself.

"Keep staring at her ass any longer and someone is going to report you for being a perv," Jack spoke, knocking Robby from his thoughts.

"I'm not looking at her ass," Robby sneered as he took off his glasses. "Besides, I can look if I want."

Robby did have a right to look. Park could go to hell, he could stare at your ass if he wanted to. Robby was the last one to sleep with you. HE was the last one to be in your bed. The ball was in his court.

Jack wanted to roll his eyes at how pathetic his friend had became over you. You had taken over Robby's world completely. Jack hadn't ever seen Robby so stupid—suicidal for sure but not stupid.

"Can you please get your head out of her ass and come back to earth?" Jack commented. "Swear you're so far up there that I can see you coming out of her mouth when she talks."

In any other situation he would have found his remark hilarious. But now since he was the one on the receiving end, he found it irritating.

"I am not up her ass all the time," Robby scoffed.

The corner of Jack's lip quirked upwards, no longer bothering to hide its smirk anymore. "Yeah because when you're not up there, Park is."

The joke rubbed Robby the wrong way. That's what he hated the most about your arrangement, whenever he wasn't around, there was an opportunity for Park to come right back.

"That's not funny."

Jack rolled his eyes this time as he shook his head. "You're losing your mind over this girl for no reason. I guarantee you that she sleeps soundly at night while you lose your mind over her."

"At least she's getting some good sleep."

At first, Jack thought that Robby was kidding. That he was finally making a joke out of this horrible dating situation. But when there was no smile nor laugh attached at the end of his sentence, he was utterly disgusted.

"You're kidding me, right?" Jack asked as he placed his hand on his shoulder. "She can't be that good in bed that you're losing your mind over her."

"It's not just about her being good in bed," Robby replied.

Robby would much rather die than tell Jack about how you were in bed. For the first time, his lips were sealed shut. It wasn't common for Robby to talk about his sexual escapades but he would make a comment here or there.

Robby didn't want Jack to imagine what you were like in bed. He didn't want to implant that image into the folds of his brain. He saw the way Jack looked at you at times. Robby knew Jack wouldn't admit it but he found you attractive.

It wasn't just about you being good in bed. Despite the nature of the relationship between the two of you, there was familiarity. It was a different kind of familiarity given you were younger than him but he felt comfortable. He didn't feel like there was a massive weight against his chest. He was able to talk freely without feeling that stupid lump build up in his throat. 

"I just don't get why she keeps going back to him," Robby added as he rubbed his face. 

Jack shrugged his shoulders, unable to give him a definite answer. It was no surprise that Park had a tight grip on you. If someone wanted your attention, they had to strike when he wasn't looking.

Robby had managed to take you away from his arms just for a little bit. It was a blissful time for him. He loved your attention and he loved your affection. He was like an eager puppy, always wanting more. 

But so did Park.

And so did many other guys around you. You were free to choose your pick of the litter. 

"I don't know……maybe it's because they've been with each other for three years so he knows her pretty well," Jack sighed.

Oh yeah, three years. 

The two of you had been together or involved for three damn years. Three damn years of getting to know you. Getting to know where you were the most sensitive. Getting to hear your laugh in the morning before work. Hearing the fact from someone else felt like rubbing alcohol on a freshly raw wound.

"I don't know why I bother talking to you sometimes," Robby muttered with annoyance.

"But it's true," Jack said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Or maybe because he's just a huge wallet for her given the whole surgeon thing…….or maybe he puts her in her feminine energy or whatever bullshit kids say nowadays."

Robby scoffed. Feminine energy. Of course he put you in your feminine energy. "Please if anything she's putting me into my feminine energy. We do everything a normal couple does in a normal relationship and then she'll tell me that she doesn't want anything serious."

Jack nodded as he looked at you. Who knew you were that kind of woman. It was a little impressive you had a 50 something year old man by the balls so easily. Jack was more impressed by the fact that you didn't get attached. Most women did though he couldn't blame them. He would get attached too if a girl was treating him like a boyfriend. 

You could feel the gazes of the two men behind your back. With a small turn of your head, you waved at the both of them with an innocent smile on your face. Robby didn't waste anytime in acknowledging you, discarding the discussion between the two men right away. 

"That girl is a goddamn succubus and you're letting her suck the life out of you," Jack remarked. "It's a miracle you still have your balls." 

Robby shook his head at Jack, a silent dismissal of the remark. "She's an angel……with a pair of horns but an angel nonetheless."

Jack shook his head as a small puff of fake laughter left his lips. "Dude, you have to learn how to make yourself less available to her. I thought that being emotionally unavailable was your whole spiel."

"I would make myself less available to her," Jack added. "Or at the very least, say no to her from time to time. Hell, I'll say no to her for you."

Robby sighed. He found it hard to say no to you. No matter how ridiculous the request was, if it placed a smile on your face then it was worth it. "I like spending time with her. Why mess that up?"

"I think the two of you need some time apart. Seriously, the sabbatical will really help you," Jack said to him. "You are still going on your sabbatical, right?"

Robby nodded to Jack's question with no hesitation. "Yeah."

But was he?

If Robby left, he knew it was the perfect window for Park to come right back into your life again. Park was no exception to your little rule, even he had to win back your affection despite you being the one that walked away.

Robby's gaze was in pursuit of your body once again. He couldn't wrap his head around how you could toy with him. He wasn't your personal puppet. He was a man. He was the one that was supposed to have the upper hand. 

Maybe this was the universe telling him to throw in the towel. To just give up and find someone else to take up his time. Or maybe it was the universe trying to tell him to not give up. To find a way to get through that cold demeanor of yours.

Robby never knew when to quit.

Though he was good at telling other people when to quit.

Sometimes, a little too good.

"At least wait for me to be in the elevator to start talking shit about me, Jackie." 

The two older men turned their heads around and saw you standing behind them. In unison, they turned around so they could lean their back's on the counter. 

"How I miss the sweet shrill of your annoying voice," Jack retorted. "Not." 

Your lips jutted out in a fake pout as you pretended to wipe a tear off your cheek. "Awww boo! Here I thought that you and I were the best of friends." 

"Keep on dreaming," he muttered. 

A smirk appeared on your lips as you looked into his already tired eyes. "You know, for someone who claims to not like me, you spend a lot of time talking about me." 

Jack's eyebrows raised at your comment. Touche. 

"You know how there's incantations to keep demons away from your house—" 

"Alright," Robby interjected with a laugh as he stood slightly in front of you, shielding you away from Jack. "Why don't you let me take over so I can finish my shift." 

Jack didn't hesitate in taking the iPad that was laying besides him and walking away to the nearest room. Robby didn't need him to tell him to back off. Jack knew when to walk away, it was all about strategy. 

You sent a small wave to Jack as he walked away before you turned your attention to Robby. "Grumpy cat, isn't he?" 

Robby shrugged his shoulders. "It's just Abbot being Abbot." 

A look of suspicion flashed on your face as you looked at Jack's figure walking away. "Yeah….sure lets go with that." 

You knew Jack wasn't too much of a fan of the relationship you and Robby had. Jack liked you on your own. He just didn't like how stupid and neurotic you made his friend. Robby already had enough on his plate, you certainly didn't need to add onto it. 

Or so he claimed. 

What you didn't appreciate was his snarky little comments towards you. They started shortly after you began your hookup situation with Robby, seemingly getting worse with each week you. It was as if he wanted to separate the two of you.

There was no motive you could pin point to. 

"I don't appreciate your friend calling me a demon," you added with a pointed look. "But what I don't appreciate even more is you letting him." 

Robby immediately went to defend himself. He placed his hands in the air, silently pleading for a truce. "I didn't let him call you a demon—I told him you were an angel." 

"An angel with horns." 

Robby placed his hands on your shoulders, his hands massaging the tense muscles. "Oh come on, you know it was a joke, baby. You're still the purest angel in my eyes." 

"Oh wow. Yay me. I cannot believe how lucky I am to have this compliment bestowed on me," you dryly said. 

"Aw come on," Robby cooed as his fingers went to softly pinch your chin. "You know he's just doing it to get under your skin." 

"Sure, lets go with that too," you said with a slight mocking tone in your voice. "Can we just go fix the EKG machine so we can go?" 

"Or we could just leave it for someone else to do and we can go back to my place," Robby offered. "And finish where we left off this morning."

You smiled at his offer from amusement. The two of you had been unpleasantly interrupted early in the morning when the Robby was called in for work. You normally had time to swing by for a quickie before your shift. But once Robby was called in, he didn't have the same liberty as you to take his sweet time. 

"It's just an EKG machine, it'll take less than 10 minutes," you answered as you began to walk towards the dark and empty room of West 14. A room no one had been in since a patient had practically destroyed the walls. 

Robby sighed in defeat but followed you anyways. Technically his shift had already ended but he sure didn't mind putting in some overtime. He couldn't risk you being all by yourself. 

It wasn't a surprise how easily equipment in the ED got destroyed. There was always so much chaos going around. Nurses, doctors, medical assistants and anyone else in the room ran the risk of accidentally breaking a machine. 

You've certainly broken a few. 

"I thought this one was still relatively new," you murmured as you untangled the leads. 

Robby took the leads away from your hands, untangling them himself. "Yeah, I don't know. One of the residents told me it wasn't working in the morning." 

You shrugged your shoulders as you looked at the EKG machine. It looked intact. It still turned on. You didn't see anything wrong with it. 

"It looks fine. It turns on and everything. Maybe they didn't put the leads on right." 

"And have them potentially miss a heart attack? Oh, don't tell me that," Robby said as he looked at you, his hands working to continue untangling. "I'm going to ignore what you said and pretend that it's broken." 

You raised your hands as you shrugged your shoulders. "You can't be everywhere all at once to check everyone's work. Just saying." 

"No," Robby answered as he shook his head. "I know my residents. They wouldn't misplace a lead." 

You hummed in acknowledgment. There was a chance that Robby was right, there could have been something wrong with the machine. Technology had a funny way of behaving. 

"Well, let's try it out," you said as you shrugged off your jacket, exposing yourself to the unforgiving cold room. "I'll place the leads and see if it's really the machine or just misplacement." 

Robby nodded along. Instead of letting you out on the leads yourself, he took the task from your hands. Robby guided you onto the hard hospital bed, making sure your back was supported by the pillows behind your back. His cold hands went underneath your top, causing goosebumps to arise upon your skin. 

"They're cold!" You yelped as you yanked his hands out from your shirt. 

Robby lowly chuckled at your little whine. He didn't waste time in bringing his hands together, rubbing them to warm them up. "Sorry, sweetheart." 

After his hands were finally warmed up, his hands dove straight to your top. He smirked once he noticed you didn't have a bra on. "No bra? I should have known." Unable to resist, he allowed his fingers to skim the underside of your breast with the false pretense making sure the leads were on correctly. 

You turned your head to look screen, looking at the output. "Everything looks normal." 

Robby hummed in acknowledgement. "Yeah…..is your heart rate normally this low? It's at 58." 

"Well I am just kind of sitting here so…." 

"No, sweetheart," Robby hummed as his fingers went to check your pulse. "I think that's a little low. I think its reading wrong." 

As Robby went to adjust the leads once again, his fingertips skimmed your hardened nipple, making the EKG spike. 

Robby nearly missed it. Nearly. 

"Oh?" Robby said in a low timbre. "Was that what I think it was?" 

Normally, Robby couldn't tell when you were aroused. You often jumped on top of him and pulled his pants down whenever you felt like getting lucky. He could never hear your breath hitch or feel your skin warm up whenever he attempted to erotically caress you. 

Robby decided to push his luck again. His fingers deliberately skimmed against your breast again, this time his fingers pinching the bud. Though you didn't make a sound, the EKG revealed what you had been hiding this entire time. 

His touch makes your heart race. 

"It's a normal body reaction," you huffed. "Don't be so full of yourself." 

Robby's eyes didn't peel away from the screen. He seemingly had ignored your words as his fingers slowly traveled their way downwards. He watched as the screen showed your heart rate increasing. 

It wasn't a weakness to let Robby know what he did to you. It was more of a weakness of where you liked to be touched and what made your heart race. You knew that once Robby held that kind of power, he would abuse it. 

"Okay, we know it works now. You can take these off now," you said as you attempted to take off the leads. 

You were met with Robby's hands on your chest, roughly shoving you back down on the bed. "I didn't say you could get up." 

Your eyes widened at the rough action. You had gotten so used to taking the reigns. The simple action of him pushing you back like nothing made your heart race even faster. 

"You liked that? You like me being rough with you?" Robby whispered as his left hand went for the buttons of your jeans. "I spent so much time being gentle with you when all you needed me was push you around." 

He found your first weakness. You loved it whenever a man was rough. There had been too many times where you wished Robby could stuff your face in a pillow while he relentlessly pounded into your aching pussy. 

But that was a fantasy for later. Not one to be fulfilled while they both of you were still clocked in. 

"Someone could come in," you warned despite you lifting your hips to help him get your pants down. 

"No one is going to come in," Robby soothed. "Everyone is too busy working. Just be quiet." 

You nodded your head as you watched his hand disappear underneath your black lacy underwear. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his ran a finger through your sopping folds. 

"Don't tease me, we don't have the time," you added as you lifted your hips once again. 

"I'm making the time today," Robby replied as he continued his ministrations. "Gotta see what makes your heart race since you won't tell me what does." 

You bit onto your knuckles to contain the noises that were threatening to spill from your mouth. It wasn't your fault you were sensitive. Or how the rough pads of his fingers created a delicious friction against your swollen clit. 

"Look," Robby said as he nodded over to the screen of the EKG. "Notice how your heart races." 

Your head lolled backwards to watch the screen once again. Your vision was blurry from working a 12 hour shift and you could barely make out what was happening. But there it was, the damn machine showing your erratic heartbeat. 

"See that spike when I only use one finger against your clit? Look what happens when I use two." 

Your mouth opened in a silent moan at the added friction. The added finger made your pleasure climb instantly, just as instantly as your heart picked up. You enjoyed the added sensation for a few seconds before he replaced his index and middle finger with his thumb. 

"Now look at what happens when I do this." 

Your eyes screwed shut and a high pitched whine filled the room as he slipped his two thick, warm fingers into your pussy. Robby pumped his fingers against your velvety walls without hesitation, setting a decent pace. It wasn't too fast but it had you grinding against his palm. 

"Fuck, Robby," you moaned. "Hmmm….that feels good." 

"I know," Robby smugly said. "I can see that." 

The lewd sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt soon filled the room. It was a miracle that no one was hearing the two of you—or mostly just you. You tried to contain your moans but Robby was making it impossible. 

The man found his cheat sheet and he was using it to his advantage. 

"You're close, aren't you?" Robby asked. "I can feel you squeezing the hell out of my fingers." 

You nodded your head, unable to form any words. All you could do was keep grinding on his hand as he kept his agonizing pace. You were getting lost in the sensations and the thrill of being caught. You were right on the edge, the god awful titillating edge that seemed like it was going on forever. 

"I need…..fuck…..I need more," you whimpered. "I need more." 

"More? What more could you want?" Robby asked with a laugh. "You're going to take what I give you." 

"But—" 

"No," Robby said in a stern voice as he lowered his head towards yours. "You're going to come on my two fingers because that's all you're going to get tonight. Either come, or don't." 

A potential orgasm denial? From Robby? 

That was a first. 

You had been so used to getting your way that it felt foreign for Robby to be stern. Maybe you had to pull out the infamous puppy eyes again. That should make him fold. 

"No, no, no, no, put those puppy eyes away," Robby immediately shut down as his other hand went to grip your cheeks. "I'm serious. Either focus and come or don't." 

"Robby—" 

"Focus," Robby interjected. "Come on, sweetheart. I know you're close, I can feel it. Breathe in and breathe out." 

You nodded your head as you followed his directions. You took in a big deep breath in and even a bigger deep breath out. 

"Yeah, there you go, just like that," Robby praised. "Again." 

You followed his command without hesitation. It was working. You could feel your orgasm approaching faster and faster. The lighting hot heat was shooting up and down your legs, a telltale sign that you were close. 

"You've been doing so good," Robby praised again. "Just a little more and you'll feel so so good." 

It took a matter of seconds for your orgasm to take over your body. Your thighs clamped shut around his wrist as your pussy fluttered against his fingers. Robby gradually slowed his pace to keep you from overstimulating. The last thing he needed was for you to ruin the hospital sheets. He preferred you to gush all over his sheets. 

"Open your mouth," Robby instructed. 

You tilted your head in confusion. "Open my mouth? For wh—" 

Robby stuffed his fingers, still glistened with your essence, into your mouth. Your eyes were as wide as they physically could go at the sudden ministration. This was certainly new. 

"Lick them clean." 

You hesitated for a quick second before you swirled your tongue around his digits, making them clean. He took his fingers out of your mouth with a loud pop. He didn't say anything else as he helped you pull your jeans back on. 

By the third time your card declined in front of Jack Abbot, you were ready to walk into traffic and let Pittsburgh finish what your bank account started.

Not dramatically. Not even with much feeling.

Just a clean, practical exit from the kind of humiliation that made your skin feel too tight over your bones.

The cafeteria at PTMC was too bright for this hour, all hard fluorescent light and polished floors and the faint, permanent smell of fryer oil losing a war against antiseptic. Behind you, the emergency department pulsed on with its usual awful rhythm—monitors chiming, stretchers squealing past, somebody coughing low and ragged, the sound dragging itself through the corridor, Dana Evans barking for someone to move their ass before she moved it for them. It was a living thing down here. Hungry. Overlit. Never satisfied.

You had a wrapped turkey sandwich in one hand, a bruised banana in the other, and that particular, skin-tight shame of being broke in public.

The cashier, who looked as tired as everyone else in the building, tried not to make a face at the register.

“Sometimes it’s the chip,” she said.

“It’s not the chip,” you said, because apparently your mouth had decided the truth was less embarrassing than optimism.

You could feel the line behind you growing restless. A respiratory therapist with a Diet Coke. A med student in wrinkled scrubs whispering urgently into their phone. Dr. Whitaker, gentle-eyed and awkward, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to give you privacy by force of will. Somewhere near the coffee station, Santos was talking too loudly about a procedure she “absolutely could’ve done faster if anyone had let her finish,” and Dr. Mohan was answering in that careful, measured way that made even a correction sound like she’d considered the whole person first.

You shifted the sandwich lower against your palm.

“It’s fine,” you said, already turning. “I don’t need it.”

A hand reached past your shoulder and tapped a card against the reader.

The machine beeped.

Approved.

You froze.

Jack Abbot stood close enough behind you that you caught the familiar edge of him before you looked up—the clean, medicinal bite of hospital soap, the stale warmth of coffee, the faintest trace of sweat under scrubs after too many hours on his feet. He didn’t look at you right away. He watched the cashier print the receipt with the same expression he wore when waiting for labs, jaw set, eyes tired, patience worn thin but not gone.

“Bag?” the cashier asked.

“No,” Jack said.

You stood there with the sandwich in one hand and the banana in the other, suddenly too aware of the bruised peel, the cold give of the sandwich through the cloudy plastic, the line behind you, and Jack Abbot’s shoulder beside yours.

You stared at him. “Seriously?”

He finally looked at you.

Jack Abbot always looked like he’d been awake since the Clinton administration. It should’ve made him less attractive. It didn't. The exhaustion sat under his eyes and in the lines bracketing his mouth, but there was something about him that made tired look like discipline instead of defeat. His hair was a little mussed, his scrubs were creased at the hips, and his stance had that slight adjustment you’d learned to notice after months of seeing him around PTMC—the subtle distribution of weight that came with his prosthetic leg and the old damage he carried without announcing it.

“What?” he said.

You lowered your voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“That’s my lunch.”

“Looked like it.”

“You paid for it.”

“Sharp today.”

You huffed, heat crawling up your neck. “Jack.”

That got you the smallest change in his face. Not a smile. He didn’t hand those out recklessly. More like one corner of his mouth remembered humor existed and gave a half-hearted twitch before giving up.

“Eat the sandwich,” he said.

“I was going to.”

“No, you were going to put it back and pretend you weren’t hungry.”

You opened your mouth.

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

You closed it again.

Behind him, Whitaker looked down at his shoes like they might offer instructions, visibly desperate not to be part of this. Santos, unfortunately, had no such instinct.

“Damn,” she said, appearing at Jack’s shoulder with a coffee she had definitely not paid for recently enough to still be that hot. “Abbot’s buying lunch now? Is this a resident perk, or do I need to almost faint near the muffins?”

Mohan didn’t look up from stirring sugar into her tea. “You would never almost faint quietly enough to qualify.”

“I don’t faint,” Santos said.

“You got lightheaded during central line training.”

“That was low blood sugar and a hostile learning environment.” Santos pointed two fingers toward Jack. “But I’m serious. I want in on the cafeteria patron program.”

Jack looked at her.

Santos looked back.

The silence lasted exactly long enough for her confidence to thin at the edges.

“Or not,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “Noted. Very selective program.”

Dana passed behind the group with a stack of charts under one arm and a look sharp enough to split sutures. “If any of you are done loitering in my cafeteria like it’s a damn wine bar, I’ve got three beds backing up, a grown adult arguing with registration, a kid melting down in triage, and a Lego stuck in one of their ear canals.”

Whitaker blinked. “Who? Adult guy or kid guy?”

Dana didn’t slow down. “That’s the part that’s gonna disappoint you.”

Santos grinned. Mohan gave a small, resigned sigh. Jack, without looking away from you, said, “Eat.”

Your face was still hot.

The sandwich felt heavier now that it had been purchased by him. Not because it was expensive. It was hospital cafeteria turkey on wheat, overpriced and bland, the cloudy plastic crinkling under your fingers every time your grip tightened. But Jack had noticed. That was the part you didn’t know how to hold. He’d seen the little calculation you’d tried to hide, the quiet defeat of deciding hunger could wait until later, and he’d stepped in with no fanfare. No pity. No soft voice.

Just a card tapped against a reader and a dry order to eat.

“I can pay you back,” you said.

Jack’s eyes dipped briefly to the sandwich and then back to your face.

“Don’t.”

“I don’t like owing people.”

“You don’t owe me.”

“That’s not how money works.”

“It is when I decide I don’t care.”

You gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “That’s very generous of you, Dr. Abbot.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

You should’ve let it go.

You really should’ve.

But the humiliation had already burned off into something else, something warmer and more dangerous, because Jack was standing there with his tired eyes and that blunt, immovable steadiness, and you had never been good at leaving tension alone when you could poke it until it bit.

“Careful,” you said, tucking the sandwich against your chest. “People are gonna think you’re my sugar daddy.”

Whitaker made a strangled sound and turned toward the condiments with the strained focus of a man suddenly invested in ketchup packets, while Santos choked on her coffee hard enough that Mohan closed her eyes like she was choosing patience on purpose. Jack only stared at you, and for one awful second, you thought you’d gone too far.

Then Jack took the receipt from the cashier, crumpled it in one hand, and said, flat as a dead monitor, “People think a lot of stupid shit.”

He walked away before you could answer.

You watched him disappear through the cafeteria doors and into the arterial chaos of the ER, shoulders squared, limp controlled, already swallowed by the work waiting for him.

Santos leaned closer, grin wide enough to be medically concerning.

“Oh, that was not nothing.”

“It was lunch,” you said.

Mohan looked at you over the rim of her cup, thoughtful in a way that made you feel unfortunately examined. “He noticed before anyone else did.”

You pressed the cold sandwich wrapper against your burning face.

Dana shouted from somewhere down the hall, “Santos, if you’re socializing instead of working, I’m assigning you Lego ear.”

Santos snapped upright. “I’m not socializing.”

“Good,” Dana called. “Then you can do it faster.”

You stood there with Jack’s lunch in your hands and tried very hard not to smile.

It would’ve been easier if that had been the end of it.

But Jack Abbot, you learned, was not a man who did anything halfway once he decided it made sense.

He didn’t become flashy. He didn’t start acting like some rich asshole in a bad romance novel, throwing cash around and waiting to be thanked for it. That would’ve been easier to resist, probably. Less intimate, anyway. You could’ve rolled your eyes at that. You could’ve made fun of him. You could’ve called it ridiculous and kept your pride intact.

Jack was worse.

Jack was practical.

He bought your coffee the next morning because, as he put it, “I was already standing there.” He brought you half a container of pasta from the staff fridge because “Robby ordered too much and nobody here understands portions.” He left a protein bar beside your laptop during a night when the waiting room looked like every bad decision in Pittsburgh had agreed to arrive at once. He noticed when your left shoe started peeling at the sole and said nothing, which somehow made you more self-conscious than if he’d pointed at it.

Robby noticed before you did.

Or maybe Robby noticed everything and simply chose when to weaponize it.

It was just after noon on a bad shift, the kind where every hallway seemed to have sprouted a stretcher and every call light sounded like one more thing nobody had enough hands to answer. You were near the nurses’ station, trying to make sense of a scheduling conflict that had three departments blaming each other in increasingly creative language, when Robby came up beside you with a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

His hair was doing that thing where it looked like he’d run both hands through it enough times to qualify as a cry for help.

“Is Abbot feeding you?” he asked.

You nearly dropped your pen. “What?”

Robby glanced toward trauma two, where Jack was leaning over a chart with Dr. McKay, both of them listening while Javadi spoke quickly and carefully, too eager to be casual. Jack’s attention was fixed, but his expression had that faintly skeptical set that made med students stand up straighter by instinct.

“Food,” Robby said. “Coffee. Whatever else he’s pretending is a coincidence.”

“He bought me lunch once.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And coffee.”

“Sure.”

“And maybe pasta.”

Robby’s eyebrows rose.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you have a point?”

“Not one worth putting in writing.” He took a sip of coffee, then winced like it tasted exactly as bad as he expected and somehow worse. “Just be careful.”

That killed the humor faster than you wanted it to.

Your eyes shifted back toward Jack before you could stop them.

Robby caught it. Of course he caught it. He was annoying that way, all ragged compassion and clinical perception, the kind of man who could call out a hemorrhage, a lie, and a panic attack in the same breath.

“He’s a good guy,” Robby said, quieter.

“I know.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s uncomplicated.”

You swallowed. “I know that too.”

Robby’s face softened by a fraction. It made him look older, which was unfair, because he already looked like the hospital had been chewing on him for years and kept forgetting to swallow.

“Okay,” he said. Then, because sincerity seemed to physically pain him if left unbalanced, he added, “Also, if this turns into some HR nightmare, I’m denying I noticed.”

“There’s nothing to notice.”

“Great. Love that. Very convincing.”

You looked back down at your schedule so he wouldn’t see your face.

Across the department, Jack glanced up.

For a second, through the moving bodies and swinging privacy curtains and fluorescent glare, his eyes found yours.

He didn’t smile.

He just looked.

That was becoming the problem.

Jack didn’t flirt the way other men flirted. He didn’t crowd you with charm or drown you in compliments or make a show of wanting to be watched. He looked at you like noticing was a form of pressure. Like every detail went somewhere and stayed there. The coffee order. The bad shoe. The way you tucked your hands into your sleeves when you were cold. The way your voice got flatter when you were trying not to admit something hurt.

You wished he’d be less good at it.

You wished you liked it less.

The car thing happened on a Thursday.

You were leaving PTMC after a shift that had somehow lasted ten hours despite only being scheduled for eight, which felt like a violation of both labor law and physics. Your head ached from fluorescent lights. Your feet throbbed. The parking garage smelled like wet concrete, exhaust, and old rain, with the city beyond it slick and dark under a spring storm that had rolled in hard after sunset.

Your car made the noise again when you turned the key.

Not the cute noise. Not the “haha, she’s old but reliable” noise.

The expensive one.

A grinding, metallic cough dragged itself out from under the hood, followed by a rattle that sounded like several important pieces had started a fight and nobody was winning.

You shut the engine off immediately.

“Please,” you whispered, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. “Not tonight.”

The car answered by doing absolutely nothing, which was at least better than exploding.

You tried again.

The sound came back worse.

A knock hit your window.

You screamed.

Jack stood outside in the harsh garage lighting, rain clinging to his shoulders, one hand braced on the roof of your car. He looked unimpressed by your survival instincts.

You rolled the window down halfway. “Jesus Christ.”

“No,” he said. “Just me.”

“Do you always lurk in parking garages?”

“Only when cars sound like they’re about to die.”

“It’s fine.”

Jack looked at the hood. Then at you.

“That’s not a fine sound.”

“It does that sometimes.”

“It shouldn’t do that ever.”

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “I’m taking it in next week.”

“You’re not driving it until then.”

A laugh slipped out of you, brittle and defensive. “Okay, Dad.”

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.

Your stomach dipped.

Not fear. Not exactly.

Something else.

Jack leaned slightly closer to the open window. “Pop the hood.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“Pop the hood.”

There was a particular tone he used in the ER when people were bleeding, lying, or being stupid about symptoms that could kill them. Apparently, your car had been triaged into that category.

You popped the hood.

The storm pushed rain sideways into the garage, misting the concrete in silver sheets beyond the open level. Jack moved around to the front of your car and lifted the hood, shoulders hunching slightly as he looked inside. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just dark scrubs under a gray zip-up that had seen better decades, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The overhead light caught the tendons in his hands, the salt at his temples, the hard concentration in his face.

It was obscene, honestly, watching a man become attractive over engine trouble.

He checked something, frowned, checked something else, then lowered the hood with more control than the situation deserved.

“Do not drive this,” he said.

You were already shaking your head. “I have to get home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Jack.”

He stared at you over the hood. “You got a better plan?”

You did not.

You had forty-three dollars in your checking account, a rent payment looming like an execution date, and a car making noises you couldn’t afford to identify. But admitting that felt worse than standing barefoot on broken glass.

“I can call someone,” you said.

“Who?”

The question was simple. Too simple.

That was the problem with Jack. He had no patience for the decorative lies people used to get through conversations. He stripped things down until you either told the truth or stood there bleeding around it.

You looked away first.

Rain ticked against the garage opening. Somewhere below, an ambulance siren rose and fell, dopplering into the wet city.

Jack’s voice dropped. “Get your bag.”

“I don’t want to be a problem.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t want you fixing everything.”

“I’m not fixing everything.” He came around to your side of the car, opened the door, and stood back enough to give you room. “I’m stopping you from driving a death trap.”

You didn’t move.

Jack exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh.

“You can be mad in my car,” he said. “It has heat.”

That was how he won.

Not with softness. Not with a speech.

Heat.

You grabbed your bag and got out.

Jack’s car was clean in the way a person’s car got when they didn’t spend enough time in it to make a mess. There was an old coffee cup in the holder, a folded jacket in the back, a snow scraper on the floor, and a faint smell of leather, rain, and whatever soap he used that always made you think of hospital sinks and his hands.

He turned the heat on without asking. Then, after a second, he aimed one of the vents toward you.

You noticed.

You hated that you noticed.

Neither of you said anything as he pulled out of the garage. The rain blurred the windshield, smearing Pittsburgh into traffic lights and dark brick, ambulance bays and slick streets, the city looking bruised and alive under the storm. Jack drove with one hand low on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, fingers flexing once when his leg seemed to bother him.

“You okay?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His eyes stayed on the road. “Yeah.”

“Your leg?”

“I said yeah.”

“Right. Sorry.”

His jaw worked.

Then, quieter, “Long day.”

That was as much as he usually gave. A door opened an inch, then locked again.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The wipers dragged water from the glass in steady, tired arcs.

At a red light, Jack said, “Where do you take the car?”

You laughed weakly. “To a mechanic who knows me by name and already looks tired when I walk in.”

“I’ll call someone.”

“No.”

“You don’t know who yet.”

“I know it’s going to involve you paying for something.”

The light turned green.

Jack drove.

You looked at him, incredulous. “You’re not even denying it.”

“Seemed like a waste of both our time.”

“Jack.”

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you know a guy.”

“I’m old.”

“You’re not that old.”

That got you a glance. Brief, sharp, almost amused.

“No?”

“No,” you said, and then because you had apparently decided self-preservation was for other people, you added, “Just old enough to have a guy.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

You felt victorious and doomed at the same time.

“I can handle it,” you said, softer. “The car. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you can.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

Jack was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer.

Then he said, “Because figuring it out shouldn’t mean hoping your brakes make it another week.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

You looked out the window so he wouldn’t see it.

The thing about being broke—really, really, broke—wasn’t just the lack of money. It was the math. The constant, grinding math of survival. A sandwich became a calculation. A repair became a catastrophe. A strange noise under the hood became a negotiation with God or luck or whatever indifferent force kept old cars alive for one more day. You got used to making everything stretch until stretching felt like living, and then someone like Jack came along and called it unsafe in that blunt, infuriating voice, and suddenly the whole thing looked different.

Not brave.

Not independent.

Just exhausting.

He pulled up outside your building and put the car in park. Rain ran down the windshield in crooked streams.

You didn’t reach for the door handle.

“Thank you,” you said.

Jack nodded once.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I’ll pay you back if your guy does anything.”

“No.”

You shut your eyes. “Please don’t make me fight you in your car. I’m tired.”

“I noticed.”

“Stop noticing.”

“No.”

Your eyes opened.

Jack was looking at you now, body angled slightly in the driver’s seat, face cut by passing headlights and dashboard glow. Up close, in the dim, the lines around his eyes looked deeper. So did the restraint. He wore it like part of the uniform, like scrubs and a stethoscope and whatever pain he kept filed away under function.

Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “Why?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

“I don’t know,” he said.

It was the first answer he’d given you that didn’t sound like a diagnosis.

That made it worse.

You tried to smile, tried to make the air lighter before it crushed you. “This is getting very sugar daddy of you.”

The joke landed differently in the dark.

You felt it. So did he.

Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second. Maybe less. Long enough for your pulse to trip, not long enough to accuse him of anything. Either way, when he looked back up, his face had gone still in a way that made the warm air from the vents feel suddenly too hot.

“You should go inside,” he said.

You nodded.

Neither of you moved.

Then his phone buzzed in the cup holder, snapping the moment clean down the middle. Jack glanced at the screen, saw Robby’s name, and declined the call before typing something one-handed with the resignation of a man who knew better than to leave him unanswered too long.

You opened the door before you could do something stupid, like ask him to come upstairs.

“Night, Jack.”

His hand tightened once around the phone.

“Lock your door.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Yes, Doctor.”

His eyes lifted.

There it was again, that almost-smile. Faint. Dangerous.

“Don’t start,” he said.

You got out before your face could betray you.

The car repair cost eight hundred and sixty dollars.

Jack didn't tell you this.

The mechanic did, because you called behind Jack’s back after getting one text that said, Car’s handled. Pick it up Friday.

Handled.

Like it was a chart. Like it was a consult. Like it was one of the million things at PTMC that needed to be assessed, fixed, signed off, and moved along.

You stood in a supply hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, your grip tightening around the case while the mechanic cheerfully explained that Dr. Abbot had already squared it away.

Squared it away.

You were going to kill him.

Unfortunately, when you found him, he was in the middle of resetting a dislocated shoulder with Robby at the bedside and King handing over medication with careful, focused precision. There was a teenage patient crying, his mother pacing, Dana telling everyone who wasn’t useful to back up, and Jack looking exactly like a man who could not be murdered until after he finished being competent.

You had to wait.

That made you angrier.

By the time he stepped out, stripping off gloves and tossing them into the trash, you had worked yourself into something sharp enough to throw.

“Eight hundred and sixty dollars?” you said.

Jack stopped.

Robby, behind him, stopped too.

Dana looked up from the desk.

Santos, who had the survival instincts of someone convinced she could talk her way out of anything, immediately leaned over the counter.

Jack’s eyes flicked over your face. “Not here.”

“Oh, no, definitely here.”

Robby pressed his lips together and took one very deliberate step backward.

“Coward,” Dana muttered.

“Experienced,” Robby corrected.

Jack lowered his voice. “You called the mechanic.”

“You paid the mechanic.”

“Yeah.”

“Eight hundred and sixty dollars, Jack.”

“Would’ve been more if you kept driving it.”

You stared at him. “That is not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.”

“I told you I didn’t want you fixing everything.”

“And I told you I wasn’t letting you drive a death trap.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

For the first time, something like frustration cracked through his calm.

“No,” he said. “I don’t get to decide everything for you. But I do get to decide what I do with my money.”

Dana made a low sound. “Jesus.”

Santos whispered, “This is better than whatever I was supposed to be doing.”

Mohan, passing with a chart, said, “You're supposed to be working.”

You barely heard them.

Your whole focus had narrowed to Jack’s face, the stubborn set of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. He looked tired. He always looked tired. But underneath it was something else now, something protective enough to be annoying and personal enough to hurt.

“I can’t pay that back right now,” you said.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“It makes it done.”

You laughed once, without humor. “You’re impossible.”

“Usually.”

“You can’t just—” You stopped, aware suddenly of how many people were pretending not to listen. Your voice dropped. “You can’t just keep doing this.”

Jack’s gaze held yours.

“Doing what?”

The question should’ve been innocent, but it wasn’t. Not after the lunches, the coffee, the rides, the mechanic, or the way Jack looked at you like you were a problem he wanted to solve with his bare hands. You stepped closer before you thought better of it.

“You know what,” you said.

For a second, the department moved around you, loud and bright and indifferent, but you and Jack were still.

Then Dana slapped a chart down on the counter hard enough to startle everyone within ten feet.

“Okay,” she said. “As much as I’d love to watch whatever this is turn into a workplace training module, Abbot, bed nine needs you. You—” She pointed at you. “Take a breath before you rupture something expensive.”

Jack’s mouth tightened, but he listened.

Of course he listened to Dana. Everyone did, eventually.

He stepped past you, close enough that his sleeve brushed your arm.

“Friday,” he said under his breath.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Pick up your car Friday.”

Then he was gone.

Santos waited exactly three seconds.

“So,” she said, bright-eyed. “How does one apply for the Abbot scholarship fund?”

Dana pointed at her without looking. “Bedpan in curtain three.”

Santos deflated. “Damn it.”

You hated how badly you wanted to laugh.

By Friday, when you picked up your car, there was a new pair of black nonslip clogs sitting in the passenger seat.

Not fancy. Not wrapped. Just sensible, comfortable work shoes in your size, made for twelve-hour shifts and the brutal, steady wear of the ER. A sticky note was pressed to the box in Jack’s blunt handwriting.

Your old ones were unsafe.

That was it. No apology, no explanation. Just another problem he’d noticed and solved before you could decide whether to be grateful or furious.

You sat in the driver’s seat for a long time, staring at the note, then laughed until your eyes burned.

The fundraiser was Robby’s fault.

At least, that was what you told yourself, because blaming Robby was easier than admitting you had agreed to attend a hospital donor event while quietly hoping Jack would look at you in something other than scrubs.

PTMC held one every year, apparently. A grim little ritual where administrators, donors, board members, and exhausted medical staff gathered in a hotel ballroom to pretend the emergency department wasn’t being kept alive by overworked staff, aging equipment, and the quiet fact that everyone had learned to make do with less. There would be speeches. There would be bad chicken. There would be wealthy people using phrases like “frontline heroes” while nurses calculated how many working monitors the cost of the floral arrangements could’ve bought.

You hadn’t planned to go.

Then Gloria Underwood’s office had needed extra administrative support for check-in, and Robby had said, “It’s easy money. Wear something nice. Try not to let the donors explain healthcare to you.”

You’d said yes before checking your closet.

That was how you ended up in your apartment three nights before the event, sitting on the floor in a towel, surrounded by every dress you owned and the creeping realization that none of them worked. Too casual. Too tight in the wrong way. Too old. Too funeral. Too “college career fair,” stiff in all the wrong places and not nice enough to pass under ballroom lighting. One had a broken zipper. One still had a stain from a margarita incident you refused to revisit.

Your phone buzzed.

Jack:

Car still running?

You stared at the message, then at the graveyard of dresses around you.

You:

yes, dad

Jack:

Don’t.

You smiled despite yourself.

You:

thank you, by the way for the shoes too even though you’re insane

Jack:

You going tomorrow?

You stared at the message for a second too long, then looked down at the heap of rejected clothes around your legs.

You:

maybe

Jack:

That means yes.

You should’ve stopped there.

Instead, with the fatal confidence of a woman sitting half-naked on her bedroom floor and losing an argument with formalwear, you typed:

You:

it means maybe now i just need a dress that doesn’t make me look like i wandered into the fundraiser by accident

The reply took longer than usual.

Jack:

Show me.