✰sophie✰

Andrew did not say no when you suggested the beach.

That was how you knew he was nervous.

If he had hated the idea outright, he would have said so. Bluntly. Immediately. Probably while giving you three reasons why it was impractical and one reason why Andie would try to eat something dangerous within five minutes of arrival.

Instead, he went quiet.

You were in the kitchen, one hip leaned against the counter while Andie stood at the open cupboard under the sink, attempting to remove every clean cloth you owned from the basket. She had already made a pile on the floor and was very proud of herself.

Andrew stood near the fridge with his coffee untouched in his hand.

His eyes flicked to you.

Then to Andie.

Then to the window, where the morning sun made the kitchen look warmer than it was.

"The beach?" he asked.

"Just for the morning."

He looked back at you. "Is it busy?"

"Probably a bit."

"How busy?"

"Andrew, it's a beach, not a hostage exchange."

His mouth twitched, but the tension stayed in his shoulders.

You softened.

"We don't have to stay long."

Andie pulled a cloth free, turned, and held it out to him.

"Da."

Andrew took it automatically.

"Thank you."

She went back for another.

He watched her for a second, something shifting in his face.

"No," he said.

You paused.

"No beach?"

"No." He set his coffee down. "She should see the water."

There it was.

Not I want to go.

Not yet.

She should.

That was Andrew all over. He could still make himself brave faster for Andie than for himself.

You crossed the kitchen and touched his wrist.

"Then we'll go slow."

His eyes dropped to your hand.

He still did that sometimes.

Not as much as the first week home, when every casual touch seemed to catch him off guard. But enough that you noticed. Enough that your heart always gave a small, sad twist before it warmed again.

He turned his hand and linked his fingers with yours.

"Okay."

Andie arrived with another cloth.

She pushed it against his leg.

"Da."

Andrew looked down.

Then at the six cloths already on the floor.

"You packing?"

Andie grinned.

You smiled.

"She heard beach day and immediately entered logistics mode."

"She's not wearing shoes," Andrew said.

"She will be."

Andie looked at him.

"No."

Andrew looked at you.

"You sure?"

"She knows."

"Already?"

"She's fourteen months old. She knows anything involving shoes is an attack on her freedom."

Andie slapped the cloth against the floor.

"No."

Andrew sighed.

"Good start."

Getting ready for the beach took forty-seven minutes.

This was, according to you, a record.

According to Andrew, it was a warning from God.

Andie treated sunscreen like a personal betrayal.

You sat on the living room floor with her between your knees, trying to rub lotion onto one arm while she twisted dramatically away from you.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Sunburn is also no."

"No."

Andrew crouched in front of her, holding the tiny sunhat.

"You need sunscreen."

Andie glared at him.

"No."

"The sun doesn't care that you're angry."

She stared.

"No."

You looked at Andrew over her head.

"She has strong legal arguments."

"She has one argument."

"She says it with conviction."

Andrew tried to put the hat on her.

Andie took it off immediately and threw it at his chest.

He caught it.

Then stared at her.

"That was rude."

Andie laughed.

You pressed your lips together.

Andrew looked at you. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You have a face."

"I have many faces."

"She gets this from you."

"She gets her throwing arm from your family."

He looked down at Andie, who was now attempting to crawl over your leg to freedom with one sunscreen-slick arm and a sock halfway off.

"Probably."

By the time she was finally dressed, she had sunscreen in her hair, one shoe on, one shoe missing, and a look of deep resentment aimed at the entire adult population.

You were sweating.

Andrew had lost a button again.

No one knew how.

Andie held the sunhat in one hand like a trophy.

Andrew checked the beach bag for the third time.

"Towels?"

"Yes."

"Water?"

"Yes."

"Snacks?"

"Yes."

"Extra clothes?"

"Yes."

"Her cup?"

"Yellow one."

"The blue one too?"

"In case she emotionally matures during the drive."

He glanced at you.

"She won't."

"No."

He looked in the bag again.

You stepped close and placed both hands on his chest.

"Baby."

His eyes came to yours.

"I packed the bag."

"I know."

"You checked the bag."

"I know."

"The bag is ready."

His jaw shifted.

"I don't want to forget something."

"You won't."

"I might."

"Then we'll survive without it."

His expression said that seemed unlikely.

You smiled and reached up, brushing your thumb along his jaw.

"It's just the beach."

His eyes softened.

"No," he said quietly. "It's not."

Your chest tightened.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Behind you, Andie yelled, "Da!" and hit the coffee table with her sunhat.

Andrew exhaled.

You leaned up and kissed him quickly.

"Okay," you whispered. "Then it's not just the beach. But we're still only staying as long as we want."

He nodded.

Andie threw the hat again.

It landed on his foot.

He looked down.

"She's going to be a problem."

"She is already a problem."

Andie clapped.

"Da!"

Andrew picked up the hat.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

The beach was too much at first.

You saw it hit him the second you got out of the car.

The sky.

The noise.

The wind coming in off the water.

Children shouting somewhere near the shoreline. Dogs barking. Gulls screaming like they had urgent legal complaints. Cars pulling in and out of the car park. Waves breaking again and again and again, a sound with no walls around it.

Andrew stood beside the car with the beach bag in one hand and Andie on his other hip.

He went still.

Not frozen exactly.

Contained.

His eyes moved too quickly across the open stretch of sand.

Left.

Right.

Waterline.

People.

Exit.

You closed the car door and came around to his side.

Andie was already pointing.

"Wa."

Your heart softened.

"Yeah, baby. Water."

Andrew's gaze dropped to her.

That helped.

You could see it.

The way his body came back by a fraction because Andie was not afraid of the sky. She was not counting exits. She was not scanning faces. She was reaching toward the water with one sticky hand and all the trust in the world that someone would carry her there.

You touched Andrew's back.

"Too much?"

He did not answer right away.

Then, honest enough to hurt, he said, "No."

A beat.

"Yes."

You nodded.

"We can go."

His hand tightened on the beach bag.

"No."

"Andrew."

"No." He looked toward the water. "Just give me a second."

So you did.

You stood beside him in the car park, your hand at his back, Andie on his hip, the ocean spread huge and bright ahead of you.

No locked door.

No guard.

No time limit.

Just open space.

Andrew breathed in.

Once.

Twice.

Andie patted his cheek.

"Da."

He looked down at her.

His face softened.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I see it."

She pointed harder.

"Wa."

"I know."

You smiled.

"She wants to go."

"She's impatient."

"She is your daughter."

"She gets impatience from you."

"She gets brooding from you."

"She called the sea water after one glance. She's a genius."

"She tried to put a sandal on her hand this morning."

"Versatile genius."

Andrew huffed softly.

Not quite a laugh.

Enough.

You threaded your fingers through his free hand and started toward the sand.

Andie hated the beach.

For twelve seconds.

Andrew set her down carefully near your blanket, one hand hovering behind her back like she might topple into the earth's core.

Her bare feet touched the sand.

She froze.

Her face went blank.

Then offended.

Deeply, personally offended.

She lifted one foot.

Looked at it.

Looked at Andrew.

"No."

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Andrew crouched beside her.

"Yeah," he said solemnly. "I agree."

Andie lifted the other foot and nearly lost her balance.

Andrew caught her instantly.

She grabbed his shoulder.

"No."

"That's sand."

"No."

"I know."

You lowered the beach bag onto the blanket and knelt beside them.

"It feels weird at first."

Andie stared at the ground like it had betrayed her.

Then she bent at the waist and poked the sand with one finger.

Andrew watched closely.

"Careful."

She poked again.

Then brought her finger toward her mouth.

Andrew caught her wrist gently.

"No eating sand."

Andie frowned.

"No."

"Correct. No."

You pressed your lips together.

He looked up at you.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"She almost ate sand."

"She's at the beach. She was always going to try."

"That's not comforting."

"Welcome to the beach."

Andie poked the sand again.

This time she did not eat it.

Progress.

Then she sat down abruptly and began patting both hands into it.

Andrew looked horrified.

"She's sitting in it."

"That is also part of the beach."

"She hated it five seconds ago."

"She contains multitudes."

Andie grabbed a fistful of sand and dropped it on her own knee.

"Da!"

Andrew nodded, very serious.

"Good work."

You sat back on your heels and watched them.

Andrew crouched in the sand in front of his daughter, sleeves rolled, shoulders still too tight but softening by the second as he narrated the world to her.

It pulled at something deep in you.

All those prison phone calls.

All those recordings.

All those visits where he had spoken to her through glass, through wires, through time limits.

And now here he was.

In open air.

Telling his daughter not to eat sand.

You laughed quietly.

He glanced up.

"What?"

"I love you."

His face changed.

The beach moved around you. Wind. Water. Strangers. Gulls.

Andrew looked at you like the words had reached him anyway.

"I love you too."

Andie threw sand on his shoe.

He looked down.

"Rude."

You smiled.

"Your daughter is making memories."

"She's making a mess."

"That too."

The water was a negotiation.

You had expected Andie to run straight for it.

You were wrong.

The second the waves became more than a shiny idea in the distance, she decided caution was her new religion.

Andrew carried her down to the edge of the wet sand with you walking beside them. Andie was on his hip, one arm looped around his neck, sunhat finally on her head because the wind had apparently made it acceptable.

The water rushed forward in a thin sheet.

Andie gasped.

Her whole body pulled back against Andrew.

He stopped immediately.

"Too close?"

She pointed at the wave.

"Wa."

"Yes," you said. "That's water."

The wave slid back.

Another came in.

Andie shrieked.

Not quite fear.

Not quite delight.

Something wild and in-between.

Then she grabbed Andrew's shirt with both hands.

"Dada!"

Andrew's arm tightened around her instantly.

"I've got you."

You looked at them.

The words hit differently every time.

He had said them through labour.

Through phone calls.

Through the first morning home.

Through banana politics and bumped foreheads and bad naps.

But here, with the ocean pulling at the shore and Andie clinging to him, they sounded like a promise he could finally keep with his whole body.

"She knows who to grab," you said softly.

Andrew looked at you.

His eyes were wet.

From wind, maybe.

Maybe not.

"She does."

The waves came again.

Andie pressed her face against his neck.

Andrew turned slightly, shielding her from the spray.

"It's loud, huh?" he murmured to her.

Andie peeked at the water.

"Wa."

"Yeah. Loud."

She looked at him.

He shifted her higher.

"That's okay," he said, voice low enough that you almost missed it under the surf. "Loud things can still be safe."

Your throat tightened.

Andrew did not look at you when he said it.

You did not make him.

Some things were easier spoken to a toddler first.

Andie considered the water.

Another wave rushed in.

This time, she did not hide.

She watched it with suspicious interest.

Andrew crouched, keeping her on his knee, one arm around her waist. He let the water come close enough to touch the edge of his shoe, but not her feet yet.

Andie stared.

Then she pointed.

"No."

Andrew nodded. "That's fair."

You laughed.

"Maybe next time."

He looked at you.

"Next time," he repeated.

The words sat there for a second.

Next time.

A thing you could say now without a prison calendar attached.

A thing that meant weekend mornings and weather and toddler moods, not approvals and guards and counts.

You stepped closer and leaned into his side.

His free hand found your waist automatically.

It had become one of your favourite things since he came home.

The way he reached for you without asking himself whether he was allowed.

The way his hand settled at your back in the kitchen, on your hip in the hallway, against your knee in the car, like touch was a language he was relearning and still afraid to waste.

You rested your head briefly against his shoulder.

Andie pointed again at the water.

"Wa."

"Yes," Andrew said. "Water."

A gull screamed behind you.

Andie's head snapped around.

"Duck!"

You lost it.

A laugh burst out of you so suddenly Andie startled.

Andrew looked toward the gull.

Then at his daughter.

"No," he said seriously. "That one's worse."

You laughed harder.

Andie pointed at the gull, delighted.

"Duck!"

"Bad duck," Andrew said.

You bent forward, one hand over your mouth.

"Andrew."

"What? It's true."

"It is not a duck."

"It's bad."

Andie waved at the gull.

"Bad duck!"

Your mouth fell open.

Andrew froze.

Then looked at you with something like pride.

You stared back.

"No."

"She said it."

"No."

"She's right."

"You taught our daughter to call seagulls bad ducks."

"She learned fast."

Andie pointed at another gull.

"Bad duck!"

Andrew nodded.

"Yes."

You were crying from laughing now.

"Excellent parenting."

"She's observant."

"She's going to call every bird a bad duck."

"Some birds deserve it."

Andie clapped.

"Bad duck!"

Andrew's mouth twitched.

Then he laughed.

Really laughed.

Not the quiet, careful one from the first day home.

Not the broken little laugh that came through tears.

A real laugh, rough and surprised and carried off by the wind.

You stopped laughing just to hear it.

He saw your face.

His smile faded into something softer.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at me like I did something."

"You laughed."

He looked away toward the water.

"Yeah."

"I like it."

His hand tightened at your waist.

The gull screamed again.

Andie yelled, "Bad duck!"

Andrew laughed again.

This time, he did not hide it.

They built a sandcastle badly.

Technically, you built it.

Andrew guarded the bucket.

Andie destroyed the lower walls with one determined hand while shouting, "No," every time anyone tried to redirect her.

"This is not a castle," Andrew said after the third collapse.

"It is abstract."

"It's a pile."

"It is a fortified pile."

Andie patted wet sand onto his knee.

"Da."

"Yes," you said. "Dada is part of the pile now."

Andrew looked down at the sand on his jeans.

Then at Andie.

She smiled sweetly.

He sighed.

"She gets away with too much."

"You are part of the problem."

"I know."

After the sandcastle came snacks.

Andie ate three pieces of banana without objection, which you and Andrew both treated with the wary respect of witnessing a natural phenomenon.

Then she became furious at a cracker.

Normal service resumed.

Andrew sat on the blanket with her between his knees, wiping sand from her fingers before she could shove them into the snack cup. You sat beside him, legs stretched out, one shoulder touching his.

He kept glancing around.

Less sharply now.

Still aware.

Still Andrew.

But not trapped inside the watching.

When Andie finished her snack, she pushed herself to standing with one hand on his thigh.

"Careful," he murmured.

She stepped away.

Only two steps.

Maybe three.

Not far.

Toward a shell half-buried in the sand.

Andrew's entire body went still.

You saw the moment happen.

The old instinct rose first.

The flash of fear.

The calculation.

The need to hold her close because the world was too open and too much and she was too small.

Then something else.

Something new.

Andie moved away.

Andrew moved too.

He followed her.

Not because he had to ask permission.

Not because a guard nodded.

Not because a visit had rules about how far he could stand from the chair.

He just got up and followed his daughter across the sand.

For a second, you watched him understand it.

If she moved away, he could move too.

No glass.

No counter.

No voice over a phone saying I'm here while his body was somewhere else.

He was here.

He could go after her.

Andie crouched toward the shell, lost her balance, and sat heavily in the sand.

Andrew was there immediately, crouched in front of her.

"You okay?"

Andie held up the shell.

"Da."

He took it carefully.

"That's a shell."

She pointed at it.

"Duck?"

"No."

You laughed from the blanket.

Andrew looked back at you, deadpan.

"Not every object is a duck."

"You taught her bad duck."

"I taught her one thing."

"You opened a door."

Andie grabbed the shell back and tried to eat it.

Andrew caught her hand.

"No."

She yelled.

He scooped her up before she could escalate fully.

She kicked once, then settled against him, shell forgotten, outrage brief and bright as weather.

Andrew stood there with her on his hip, both of them looking at the water.

You reached for your phone.

"Stay there."

He turned. "What?"

"Photo."

His face immediately changed.

"No."

"Yes."

"I look weird."

"You have not seen the photo yet."

"I know."

"You look like her dad."

That stopped him.

The wind lifted his hair slightly. Andie's sunhat was crooked. His shirt had sand on it. His jeans were damp at one knee. Andie was on his hip, one arm around his neck, the other pointing toward the ocean.

He looked down at her.

Then back at you.

"Okay."

You took the photo before he could change his mind.

Then another.

Then one where Andie twisted around and patted his cheek.

Then one where a gull flew behind him and Andie yelled, "Bad duck!" and Andrew looked like he was trying not to laugh.

That one, you knew immediately, was going on the fridge.

You walked over and showed him.

He frowned at the screen.

"I look strange."

"You look free."

He went very still.

You almost regretted saying it.

Not because it was wrong.

Because it was too true.

Andrew stared at the photo.

At himself standing under open sky with his daughter in his arms.

At the ocean behind him.

At no wall in sight.

His mouth parted slightly.

No sound came out.

You touched his wrist.

"Sorry."

He shook his head.

"No."

"You okay?"

He looked out at the water.

Then at Andie, who was now trying to remove her sunhat with one hand.

"I don't know."

You nodded.

"That's okay."

"It looks..." He glanced at the photo again. "Like someone else."

Your chest tightened.

"Maybe it is."

His eyes came to yours.

"Maybe you get to be someone else here," you said softly. "Not all the way. Not instead of who you were. Just... more."

Andie pulled the hat off and dropped it.

"No," she announced.

Andrew bent to pick it up.

Your moment of deep emotional intimacy, apparently, had ended at hat refusal.

He put the hat back on her.

She took it off again.

He looked at you.

"She's doing it on purpose."

"She is absolutely doing it on purpose."

Andie grinned.

"Bad duck!"

Andrew stared at her.

"That doesn't apply."

You laughed.

By the time you left, Andie was sandy in places that defied logic.

Her hair had gone wild from wind and sunscreen.

Her shoes were in the beach bag because she had rejected them after twenty minutes and no one had the strength to argue.

She had called four seagulls bad ducks, one child's bucket Dada, and the actual ocean no.

Andrew carried her back to the car.

She was tired enough to lay her head against his shoulder, thumb near her mouth, eyes heavy.

He walked slowly.

Not because he was delaying.

Because he could.

You watched from beside him, holding the beach bag, your bare feet still dusty with sand.

"You okay?" you asked.

He glanced over.

"Yeah."

"Too much?"

He looked toward the water one last time.

The beach stretched wide behind you.

Open.

Bright.

Loud.

"Yes."

Your heart softened.

"But good?" you asked.

His hand spread over Andie's back.

"Good."

At the car, Andie objected briefly to the car seat on principle.

Then fell asleep before you had even pulled out of the car park.

You drove home because Andrew had gone quiet again, not in a bad way, but in the way he did when the world had given him too much to carry at once.

He sat in the back beside Andie.

You glanced at him in the mirror.

He was watching her sleep.

Her little feet were sandy.

One hand curled loose beside her cheek.

Her sunhat had slid sideways.

Andrew reached out and gently fixed it.

She did not wake.

"You can take it off," you said softly.

"She likes it now."

"She hated it all morning."

"She changed her mind."

"You are very generous with her inconsistencies."

"She's one."

"She's almost fifteen months."

"She's one."

You smiled.

He kept his fingers near her hand.

Not quite touching.

Then Andie shifted in her sleep and her little fist closed around his finger.

Andrew froze.

You watched his face in the mirror.

Every part of him softened.

There.

That was the whole day, really.

Not the water.

Not the sand.

Not the gulls or the photos or the bad ducks.

That tiny hand finding him even in sleep.

"You know," you said quietly, "I think she had a good day."

Andrew looked down at their hands.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He swallowed.

"I did too."

You smiled at the road.

"Good."

He leaned his head back against the seat but kept his finger in Andie's grip.

The car smelled like salt, sunscreen, snacks, and warm toddler.

Behind you, Andrew watched the streets pass through the window like he was still learning the shape of freedom.

Not dramatic freedom.

Not the kind people made speeches about.

This kind.

His daughter asleep beside him with sand on her feet.

His wife driving them home.

A beach bag full of wet towels in the boot.

A photo on your phone where he looked like her dad under open sky.

For two years, Andrew had loved you both inside rooms with locked doors.

Through phones.

Through glass.

Through recordings reviewed by strangers before they were allowed to become bedtime.

That afternoon, Andie fell asleep smelling like salt and sunscreen, her hand wrapped around his finger, and Andrew finally understood that home was not only the house.

It was anywhere he was allowed to follow you.

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You freeze, but only because you hear every possible wrong way Jack can take that.

She points up at him while the ways make weight, as if his thick-necked, broad-shouldered body isn't something you worship and instead tolerate. Ha. Oh no.

"Dada bigger."

Your daughter reaches both hands up toward her father's chest while standing on her tippy toes. His face doesn't change enough, but his hands flex as his head lowers.

"Dada bigger. You got big neck. Uncle Wobby neck not big."

Jack looks down at her.

She beams.

"More wide belly, Dada."

Jack takes one slow breath through his nose.

And you...can basically see him leave the room through his brain because of the toddler you share with him, holding up a mirror of honest baby words.

He gives a curt nod, and it looks like it takes everything in him to do that.

"Good observation, sweetheart. Just as astute as the one you gave Uncle Robby."

She claps at the praise she can't read the undertones of. "Dada belly---"

You come in between Jack and whatever sentence he's laid out for himself. You take the hand of his that comes up to his own neck. You squeeze. You smile down at your baby.

"Bodies are different, huh, baby? Uncle Robby's body is his, and Dada's body is Dada's. And whatever they look like is wonderful, how like how you look wonderful. You always will, no matter what you look like."

"I'm getting roasted by someone who isn't even two."

You ignore Robby's mutter as you try to stop Jack from leaving. He tries to leave too quickly. Without a word as his mouth thins out and curves into something so slight. But you know his heart well enough to find it's pulse in the lines of his face.

Only you. You're very proud of that.

"I'm just gonna check on something in the garage---"

"Dada. Up!"

You see the breath Jack can't take properly. Maybe there's logic to his battle this time, that he should leave before he bleeds his insecurity all over the floor. But how can he when you baby is reaching for him?

Robby's silent, finding the floor very interesting. Good. Good man. You squeeze Jack's shoulders.

"She wants you, Dad."

He sighs low.

Right. Okay. Don't fuck this up.

He lets his daughter want him by letting her just jump right into his arms when he crouches. It's total, greedy trust that he has to catch against his chest.

She tucks himself into the curve of his neck.

His big neck. His husky body. His old, broad, thick, embarrassing, beloved body.

You watch Jack's face change when your baby nestles in. Not enough to heal him, of course. Jackie would never be that convenient, but it's obvious that something in him falters under the weight of her comfort, and that's more than enough make your heart swell wildly.

She pokes his cheek.

"Dada big and warm."

You can hear Jack swallow. You can feel your eyes sting.

How could she ever mean anything that's cruel? How could she ever mean anything that isn't meant to eat at your and Jack's heart?

"Yeah?"

His voice is rough as she nods into him, and apparently, Robby has no self-preservation left.

"That's a five-star review, man---"

But when Jack shoots him a look, he knows to find some more. He lifts both hands.

"Sorry, sorry."

You baby pulls back enough to look at her dad's face as she grabs at both sides of his jaw, squishing his cheeks with chubby hand authority.

"No skinny Dada. Nooooo."

...And how could your baby say anything that isn't genuine and also hilarious?

"What's she saying?"

As if you can translate your toddler's language.

...You can.

"She's saying she likes that you're big, Jack."

And you must be an expert, because your babygirl nods.

"You hold me good, Dada. Uncle Wobby skinny. No hold good."

She points at Robby. He slaps a hand to his chest.

"Uh...Okay. Wow. I have been nothing but kind to you."

She shakes her head as she burrows against Jack again. He gives you a warning look as you kiss his neck, like he knows you're about to make him feel something and he'd rather die.

It's your job, as his lover and wife and mother of his child, to ignore him.

"Our daughter has spoken, she doesn't want a skinny dad. She likes you just the way you are."

"For the record, I can hold children just fine---"

"Robby, not now."

Jack laughs at your demand. It's gruff and barely there, but it's enough to let you know what's sifting in him. He will still be insecure. It all lives too deep inside him to be toddled away by one compliment. He will still compare with worse intentions that his daughter.

But she settles her cheek against his shoulder like he is the best-shaped thing in the world.

And you know you're looking at him like you agree.

"Well, baby...I try my best to hold my girls good."

"Good, Dada."

Robby stands slowly, rubbing his knee. He doesn't know how he feels like he's interrupting something that he was invited to, but he is.

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“I had an amazing time tonight, Jack.”

Sitting in the passenger seat of Jack’s car, you look over at the older man, enjoying the warm, spicy aroma that envelopes you from being so close to him.

“Me too, kid.” Jack reaches over the center console, taking your hand in his and interlocking your fingers. 

“Do you want to come up….?” 

Despite all the texts and the constant flirting between you two, you can’t help but still feel a little nervous. 

“I do…. but…” 

“But?” 

“I need you to know… this isn’t casual for me. If we do this… I’m all in.”

“Good, because I don't think I could ever do casual with you Jack.”

He looks down, shaking his head, letting out a breathy laugh. Gripping your hand a little tighter, Jack brings his lips up to yours. The kiss is gentle, with a hunger simmering beneath the surface. Your hand reaches out to caress his stubbled cheek, deepening the kiss. Your lips move in unison, setting a rhythm that gives you butterflies. 

Your tongue darts out, tracing his bottom lip, asking for entrance. Jack moans, opening his mouth to let you in. Your tongues battle for dominance, the kiss becoming messier and more fevered. 

Jack releases a groan, deep from his chest when you bring your hand to his crotch. You palm the bulge in his trousers, feeling him grow beneath your touch. 

Letting out a throaty growl, Jack grips your wrist before pulling away reluctantly. You look into his eyes, your brow furrowing. 

“If we keep going like this, I won’t be able to stop… And I don't think you want to have sex in my car.” Jack chuckles. 

“Not yet… anyway.” you bite your lip, giving him a wink. 

‘You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.” 

────﹒♡﹒──── 

As soon as the door to your apartment door closes, you don’t waste any time picking up where you and Jack left off. Your lips crashing together once more, you walk Jack back towards the couch. He quickly strips his jacket off, tossing it to the floor. You both giggle into the kiss as you almost take a tumble while kicking off your heels, Jack gripping your hips to keep you stable. 

You push Jack back onto the couch, straddling his lap. Bunching your dress over your hips, you grind your lingerie covered core over the prominent tent in his pants. Jack groans into your open mouth, gripping onto your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises in the shape of his hands tomorrow. 

He breaks the kiss, a string of spit connecting your lips. 

“Honey, fuck-  you gotta slow down. Got me feeling like a teenager again.” 

“You gonna cum in your pants, Dr. Abbot?” you tease, causing Jack to deliver a harsh slap to your ass. 

“Behave.” 

“I’ll try… might have to make me though.” you giggle, brushing your lips against his. 

You lift your dress over your head, tossing it to the side, exposing your lingerie that leaves very little to the imagination. Jack throws his head back, groaning at the sight of your heaving breasts. Grinding against him one last time; you stand up from his lap, holding out your hand to him. He looks up at you, his lips kiss bitten, before letting you lead him into your bedroom. 

────﹒♡﹒──── 

Jack stands at the end of your bed, admiring you. You’re laying in the middle, your hair splayed out on your pillows. Thighs spread, beckoning him closer. 

“Jaaaack, wanna see you” you say, resting your hand against your mound

“I’m right here, honey.”

“Oh my god, Jack-  you know what I mean.” you whine, rubbing along the wet patch growing in your panties. Jack lifts his shirt up and over his head, revealing his full pecs and thick stomach. 

“You really have no business being this hot Dr. Abbot.” you sigh longingly. 

“Quit it, my ego won’t be able to handle it.” he chuckles, as a blush running along his chest and up to his neck.

You giggle, biting your lip as your gaze travels down to his cock straining against his pants. 

You sit up, crawling to the end of the bed. Sitting on your knees, you reach out for his belt buckle.

“Wanna see all of you, Jackie."

Jack holds you back slightly, clearing his throat. 

“You okay?” you say, rubbing your hands along his stomach. 

“Yeah… yeah I’m okay. I just…”

“We can stop if you want.” you say pulling away slightly, concern etched on your face.

“No! I mean… no. I don’t want to stop. really don't want to stop, honey.” he rubs along your shoulders reassuringly. “I just… I gotta take off my leg… wanted to warn you.” His eyes briefly flicker away. 

“Jack… you don’t need to warn me about that, really.” You smile up at him, leaning forward and hugging his body to you. “I want you, every part of you.” 

Jack caresses your cheek, you nuzzle into his palm. His thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, letting out a shaky exhale as you take it into your mouth, never breaking eye contact. 

Your lashes flutter as you suck along the calloused digit, your hands reaching out to his belt buckle again, looking up at him for confirmation. He nods, pulling his spit covered thumb from your mouth with a pop, dragging it down between your breasts. 

You unbuckle his belt and pull his pants down over his thick thighs, leaning forward, nuzzling your face against the bulge in his boxers. Looking up at him through your lashes, you give a kitten lick to his clothed tip; tasting the precum that’s leaked through. 

Letting out a whimper; Jack grips a fistful of your hair gently, pulling you off of him.

“Enough teasing, lay back on the bed for me.”

You bite your lip, nodding your head. Moving back to your original position, you remove your bra and begin caressing your breasts as you lay back. 

Jack kicks his pants off, moving around the bed to sit beside you. He stretches his legs out and removes his prosthetic with deft hands, leaning it against your nightstand. Groaning at the relief of his limb being free, rubbing the sensation back into himself.

Dragging himself up on the bed, he lays down next to you. He turns his body towards you, propping his head up on his elbow. 

“Hi” you smile at him, blushing. 

“Hi…” he smiles back, brushing the hair out of your face. 

Jack drags his hand down to your chest, kneading your breast with his hand. You whimper, arching into his touch, spreading your legs wider. 

“Please, Jack…” 

“Please what?” pinching your pebbled nipple teasingly. 

“Mmmm please. Wan- want your mouth….”

Leaning over you, Jack traces his lips along your collar bone, “Here?” 

You shake your head, whining. 

He brings his mouth to your nipple, swiping his tongue across it, “Here?”

“Mmm fuck, Jack…” arching your back.  

“Use your words, kid. Tell me what you need.” 

“Need- ungh!” Jack bites your breast lightly, laving his tongue along the fresh mark. “Need your mouth on my pussy. Wanna feel your tongue. Jack, please.” you beg, running your fingers through his greying curls. 

“Good girl.” 

Jack moves himself down your body, pulling your soaked panties off and down your legs, before settling himself in front of your aching core. He wraps his arms around your legs and spreads your thighs wide, holding you in place. 

He runs his index and middle fingers up and down along your folds, bumping your clit with each pass. Collecting your slick, he brings his fingers to your clenching hole, thrusting them into you. 

You throw your head back, letting out a breathy moan, threading your fingers through his silver curls. 

Jack drives his thick, rough fingers in and out of your tight hole. Moaning against you as he delivers languid licks to your swollen clit. 

“Mmm fuck, Ja-ack.” you let out a high pitched moan, as the grip on his hair tightens. 

Jack looks up at you, mumbling against your pussy. “Fuck… you taste so good.” He sets a deep, punishing pace with his fingers, making your toes curl. “Taking my fingers so well. Like a good girl. Gotta prep you for me, stretch out this tight little hole.” 

You giggle breathlessly, looking down at the older man through your lashes. “Talking dirty, Dr. Abbot?” You tease, giving his curls a tight pull. 

“Oh you little…” Jack dives back to your clit, licking and sucking at the twitching bundle of nerves with renewed vigor. He continues thrusting into your hungry cunt, curling his fingers so they hit that spongy spot inside of you. 

“Oh- oh my fu-fucking god. Don’t stop, Jack. Gonna cu-cum.” You spread your thighs as wide as they’ll go, writhing under his unrelenting mouth. 

You let out a silent scream, feeling yourself gush against Jack’s face and fingers, as your orgasm washes over you. Jack works you through it, not stopping until you're shying away from over stimulation.

Coming back down to earth, you look down at the older man, smiling at the love-struck look in his eyes. 

Jack drags himself up to you, so you're face to face once again. Bringing your lips together; you taste yourself on his tongue, enjoying the way the taste of him mixes with your natural, heady flavor. The kiss is sloppy, all spit and tongues licking into each other's mouths. 

Pulling away to catch your breath, you nuzzle your nose against his, looking deep into his eyes. You rub your hands up and down along his firm biceps, giving him another quick peck. 

“Lay on your back, baby. Wanna make you feel good now.” 

Jack kisses you once more before flopping onto his back. You waste no time; throwing your leg over his lap, straddling him. Leaning down to kiss along his chest, you drag your teeth across his nipples, making him suck in a breath. 

You nuzzle into him, before unexpectedly biting into the meat of his pec, causing Jack to jolt and laugh in surprise.  

“What’re you doing, kid?” Jack raises an eyebrow at you. 

“They’re just so… biteable. Can’t help myself.” a mischievous smile gracing your features. 

Continuing your assault, you move to his biceps next. Delivering playful little bites there too. 

You pull off of him, delivering one last nibble, admiring your handy work. Jack’s arms and torso are covered in love bites. 

“You might want to wear long sleeve underscrubs for a while.” you giggle. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Jack huffs, gripping your hips firmly. 

“I can think of a couple things…” you tease, rubbing your bare pussy along his stomach.

“Kid… you know I love the teasing but I think I might explode if I'm not inside you soon.” 

You smile at him again, dragging your drenched folds along his hot, throbbing cock. 

“Cant have the hottest doctor in Pittsburgh exploding now, can we?” 

Gripping him firmly in your hand, you raise your hips up, guiding his leaking head to your entrance. Slowly you lower your hips down onto him, feeling his thick girth stretch your walls. 

You’re both breathless by the time you're filled to the hilt. 

Letting yourself adjust to him for a moment, you set a quick pace. Bouncing up and down on his cock, bracing your hands against his chest. 

“You’re so fucking perfect.” Jack groans, tightening his grip on you, thrusting his hips up into your squelching cunt. “That feel good, honey? Talk to me, tell me how it feels.” 

“Fuck- Jack! Feels so good, feel you so deep. So big… filling me up so good.” You punctuate each word with another deep, hard thrust, feeling his cock hit that spongy spot inside you. 

Your eyes roll back into your head; the sounds of slapping skin, your choked whimpers, and his deep groans filling the room. 

The coil in your belly tightens, another orgasm heading towards you like a train. 

“Ja-Jack… mmm fuck! Go-gonna cum.” 

Jack drags his fingers up to your swollen clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. 

“Cum for me, Honey. Give it to me.”

You throw your head back, cumming all over his cock with a high pitched shout. Your body convulsing as you ride out your orgasm. Letting your body fall on top of his, Jack kisses the side of your head. 

“That’s my girl. Did so good.”

Jack’s grip tightens on your hips, using you to deliver sloppy thrusts onto his cock, bringing him to his peak. 

“Oh shit- Honey I’m gonna-” Jack cums with a deep groan, hot white ropes coating your still pulsing walls. 

You let your body relax completely against him, his cock softening inside you. Resting your chin on his chest, you smile at one another, both of you sweaty and out of breath. 

“Looks like you still got it, old man.” 

“Old man huh?” Jack chuckles, delivering a playful spank to your ass. 

“Yeah… but you’re my old man.” you giggle, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips. 

────﹒♡﹒────

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The room doesn’t stop when you do— instead, Jack takes over from where you were standing, and you’re promptly brushed aside as everyone continues to work around you.

Wordlessly, you rip your gown and gloves off, throwing them harshly into the trash before shoving the doors open, disregarding the curious looks at the sight of a doctor storming out of the department.

You don’t stop until you’ve reached the ambulance bay, only then letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

It had been a simple procedure– a fucking intubation. You had done hundreds of them, only this time something had gone wrong and the patient had been put in jeopardy. All because you had panicked like a damn intern on their first day.

As a senior resident you had more authority than the people that had been in the room with you at the time, and it had been your call. You could admit that you messed up– you should have done better, not made rookie mistakes at such a critical time.

Still, Jack had never pulled rank on you– not like that, and especially not in front of others.

You know it’s silly, being this affected by a simple scolding. Had it been a med-student and you were the one supervising, you would have done the same.

But coming from him?

It stung a lot worse than you thought it would.

The automated doors in the bay slide open, and you can hear the slightly uneven steps, already knowing who it is before turning to face him.

Jack stands a couple feet away, hands crossed over his chest and looking slightly more regretful than when you had last seen him.

Yeah, when he had yelled at you–

Shaking your head to get rid of the bitter thoughts, you clear your throat–  a tense smile etched onto your face.

“I was just getting some air,” you explain, though you doubt he actually cares.

Jack nods, running a hand through his locks before they land on each end of the stethoscope wrapped around his neck.

“Yeah, no– that's fine,” he mutters, and another moment of silence follows.

Your lips part like you’re about to speak, anything to fill the awkward pause that had ensued, but Jack beats you to it.

“Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you in there,” he sighs out, “...I shouldn’t have done that in front of everyone,”

You purse your lips at his apology, still feeling that small fire in the bottom of your stomach from the verbal lashing you had gotten.

…Sorry?

Yeah, he will be.

“It’s really fine, Doctor Abbot,”

Jack’s head jerks up at that, and you force your face to remain passive, despite the urge to smirk growing stronger at his reaction. He exhales, slow and measured, like he’s actively choosing not to react. His hands drop from where they were earlier now settling on his hips instead.

“...I understand if you’re still upset–”

“I’m not upset,” you cut him off, voice bright and the expression on your face seems unbothered– but for some reason, it still feels…

Off.

“Oh. That’s– yeah– uh, that's good. But I mean, if you were–”

“I’m not,” you once again don’t let him finish his sentence.

Jack nods, a flash of what you can identify as irritation crossing his face, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. 

“Good. Great– just…head inside when you’re ready then–”

You instantly straighten up, eyes widening as soon as he says the last word.

“Oh of course, Doctor Abbot. You’re the boss!” you say compliantly, giving him a final smile before heading back into the emergency department.

“No, I didn’t mean–” Jack’s words die on his tongue as he watches your retreating frame making its way back inside the building. “...right away,” he sighs out, rubbing his face as he groans.

He had a bad feeling about this.

1. 

The sound of your melodious laughter echoes in the otherwise calm central station. The sky had fallen, the chairs were manageable, and for once, there were even some empty beds, ready to be occupied if necessary.

Jack had treated himself to some cafeteria coffee instead of his usual cup from the shared breakroom down here, and when he returned, the sight of his residents and fellow attending surrounding the hub greets him.

There, right in the center of attention is you, hands waving frantically as you share a story about god knows what. Just from watching, Jack could tell it must’ve been something dramatic, that stuck in your head. Or not. You had a habit of making things up in the name of a good story.

And a good story it must be, since there isn’t a single pair of eyes aren’t on you. Shen is leaning across the counter, that trademark orange straw in his mouth as he sips on his watered down Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Parker is sitting in a chair, elbows resting on her knees as she laughs at something you’re saying. At least Crus is pretending to work, standing by the computer and typing one word per minute, listening more than he’s charting, and Nazely…well, she’s just staring at you.

Jack doesn’t think twice of it when he comes to a halt by the rest of the nightcrawlers, pretending to look at some labs on a spare ipad.

Only that it goes completely silent when he does.

Jack glances up from the ipad, his eyebrow quirking up when the noise suddenly disappears– like someone hitting the mute button on a television.

Huh, he thinks to himself– then, he’s distracted by the fact that he grabbed the wrong ipad. Turning around, Jack makes it about ten feet away, before the laughter and storytelling is back.

He stops, turns around and stares towards the direction of the ruckus.

Walking back to the hub, the commotion stops. Jack feels his eye twitch when he watches it happen again– like clockwork— whenever he steps just far enough. 

One step closer– silence.

Three steps back, and the laughter is back in full force. 

Jack just stands there for a second, staring at linoleum floors, wondering if years of PTSD has finally made him lose his mind.

“…The fuck?” he mutters under his breath. Finally, he exhales, shaking his head once. “No,”

He walks back to the hub, picks the ipad up again, even though he doesn’t look at it.

“What are we talking about!” he exclaims forcefully, and watches as five pairs of eyes land on him. Just as Shen is about to say something, you frown, suddenly looking down at your wrist watch.

“Crap, I forgot to run those labs I ordered–” you huff, not sparing him a glance as you walk past him.

Parker stifles a laugh behind a weak cough, and Jack whirls around to glare at her.

“What’s so funny?” he sneers, straightening up as his narrowed gaze flits between his residents.

A hush falls over the area.

“…Sorry man, you’re on your own,” Crus gives him a regretful smile, patting his shoulder before leaving.

“There’s something going on with her,” 

Parker Ellis flinches, nearly dropping her tub of leftover chinese food as she stands by the microwave in the breakroom.

“Holy shit–”

Jack stands in the doorway, arms crossed and gaze unyielding— like he hadn’t just nearly scared the life out of her.

“I mean– you saw that, right?” he scoffs, following Parker as she sets her steaming lunch box onto the table. Pulling out a chair, her face twists up in disbelief when Jack slumps into the seat. Her hands shoot up in exasperation, barely able to hold back the irritation growing at sight her aloof attending.

“Sure, yeah– join me, why don't you?” she mutters under her breath, already pulling out a second chair and sitting down in it.

Jack ignores it, because he has bigger problems at hand. Like why you’re suddenly nowhere to be found, when just a day ago, he couldn’t get you to leave his side.

“She just left as soon as I joined you guys to what– run labs? We don’t run labs!”

Parker thought the mandated thirty-minute break was to rejuvenate them, so that they to would be able to provide the best care they possibly could for the patients– not to help her fifty year old boss figure out why his crush was avoiding him. She sighs, shaking her head as she stabs the single piece of broccoli in her chow mein, blowing at the steaming vegetable, far too hungry and tired to think about what she’s saying. 

“I mean, you did kinda rip her a new one in front of half the staff,”

Jack stills in his chair, before spluttering a flustered breath.

“I’ve scolded you plenty of times too,”

“Uh-huh, yeah, no– not like that. Besides, you know how she gets when it comes to you,” Parker rolls her eyes, wincing as the broccoli burns the roof of her mouth.

Jack's interest piqued at that and suddenly he’s sitting straighter, chest puffing out slightly at the words.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean–” she says while chewing her food. 

“Parker,” Jack warns, and the night-shift resident groans, putting her utensils down.

“She like, idolizes you, Abbot,” Parker begins, holding the older man's gaze while she speaks. 

“...She does?” he asks, his chest swelling with pride and doing a terrible job at hiding it.

Parker resists the urge to roll her eyes once again at how easy men are.

“Mhm,” she confirms, before sighing loudly, shaking her head dramatically. “I just feel bad for her, man,”

“Why?” the attending leans closer, practically falling out of his chair in suspense.

He had to know what you thought of him.

“Well…she did say thought it would be better if she switched to the day shift for a couple of weeks, you know– to not make you feel uncomfortable because you dislike her.”

The words are registered in slow motion, Jack’s ears starting to ring. He’s so dumbfounded by the sudden revelation that he misses the way Parker smirks at his reaction to her words.

Hook, line and sinker.

2.

“Shen, I need you to do something for me,” 

Jack finds him sitting on a rolling chair by the nurses station, loudly slurping the drops of coffee left in the plastic cup. Glancing up from his phone, the younger male grimaces, already planning his escape.

“Uh, actually I forgot about this one thing I need to–” 

“You do this for me and I’ll pretend I didn't see you on ‘flip-flop, instead of charting,” he says, pulling his own phone out as he squints at the screen, pressing some buttons with his index finger.

John gapes, then closes his mouth again– trying to gauge whether he was being messed with or this was actually real life. 

“...Tik-Tok,” he says slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child.

Jack grunts, peering up from his phone momentarily to try and understand the nonsense he was spouting.

“What?” he barks, before going back to his phone.

“It’s called Tik-Tok,”

Jack waves a hand dismissively, not even looking up.

“Yeah, whatever– Kick-Flip. Listen,”

John stares at him, eyebrows furrowing as he whispers to himself in disbelief at his aloofness. Jack was not that old.

“…That’s not even close,”

“Shen,”

John straightens in his chair immediately, shoving his phone into his pocket and finally accepting defeat.

“What do you need,” he sighs.

Jack glances around the nurses’ station, making sure you’re not anywhere nearby, before pushing his phone into John’s hands.

John blinks when he’s met with the Dunkin' Donuts website, orange and pink hues blessing his eyes.

“What is this?” he asks apprehensively– was this some kind of trap? 

Jack sighs, good leg bouncing impatiently.

“What do you mean what is this, it’s that shitty coffee place you like so much,” he retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

John leans back in his seat, giving Jack a head-to-toe scan to see if he can pinpoint any sudden illnesses in his boss. When he’s unable to find anything out of the ordinary, except maybe an extra sour mood, he relaxes.

“You want to order some ‘Dunkies?”

Jack gives him a disappointed look– Dunkin Donuts did not need an even worse nickname. 

“I’m trying to make up for something, alright? I know you know her order, so just do this for me,”

The puppy dog eyes John gives him makes him shiver in discomfort, and has him rubbing his eyes tiredly, waving a hand in defeat. Anything to stop him from looking at him like that.

“...Order something for yourself as well,”

In hindsight, Jack should have known better than to leave his phone, which has his wallet automatically linked already, unattended in John Shen’s hands. 

Because the station was now buzzing with nightshift staff, nurses and doctors alike– every single one of them giving him a “thanks”, paired with a pat on the back as they grab a donut and a coffee– not just regular, but iced ones as well, some with extra shots, some with oat milk, others with various amounts of syrups– from the cart that had magically appeared when not one, but two Postmates drivers walked in through the ambulance bay. 

“Is there no more 'glazed’?” someone calls out, and Jack physically has to bite his tongue. There were at least a dozen boxes of donuts currently residing in the emergency department. 

“We got chocolate ones in the breakroom!” Shen confirms so confidently you’d think he’s calling out codes. Which they should be doing. 

Because it's a hospital.

You return after a brief check on your patients in triage, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Shen spots you before you even have the chance to ask what the hell is going on. He grabs a cup from the cart– your cup, of course.

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding it out.

The tired smile you were sporting earlier, now turns into something more genuine at the sight of your favorite drink. Your entire face brightens, and Jack makes a mental note to have Shen text him your order before he leaves in the morning. 

After seeing your smile, he doesn’t even remember what he was mad about in the first place. 

3. 

The coffee had done its job in making you feel better, but it wasn’t like you knew Jack had bought it for you– in contrast, Jack had been forced to watch as you gave Shen a hug for, quote: “...Getting me my favorite”.

And for a moment, it was great. You were caffeinated, the patients had been dealt with and everyone had a bed.

Until it was time to chart. The computer was acting up, and the hospital's supposed 24/7 on-call engineer was in fact not working 24/7–  forcing you to use outdated, medieval, inefficient methods. 

Writing them by hand.

You sigh for the nth time, dropping the pen in your hand and flexing it as you try to prevent a cramp from forming. Behind you, footsteps approach, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.

Jack stops beside your chair, glancing down at the mess of handwritten notes, the stack of half-filled charts and the pen you’ve started glaring at.

“Is the computer still not working?”

“I’m about to develop carpal tunnel and will be forced to stop practicing medicine, meaning my student debt will be for nothing,” you mutter dramatically, face scrunching in discomfort as you press into a particularly sore spot on your palm.

He’ll take that as a yes. 

Jack watches the way you bite your lip the next time your digits dig into your palm, before deciding he can’t just stand there.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down beside you, holding his hand out to you.

“Let me see,”

You blink at him, head tilting slightly.

“...What?”

“Your hand,” he responds immediately, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls it into his warm palm. He applies steady pressure along your palm, thumb digging into your tendons.

Your eyes flicker across his face, taking in the way his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, the way his jaw clenches slightly.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does– it really shouldn’t.

You swallow, forcing your stare away, instead of at him.

His thumb travels over the wide expanse of your palm, each finger straightened by it, before it presses over your wrist. Jack feels your pulse throb under his touch.

Eventually, his fingers slow their motions, before they finally still completely. It still takes a while until Jack lets go of your hand, placing it back in your lap.

“Take a break,” he says, voice deeper than it had been earlier. You look up, eyes locking with his hazel ones.

Wordlessly, you nod, unable to find your voice and disregard his directive.

When you return a couple minutes later, your desk is free of the stack of charts that had earlier been occupying the space.

4. 

By some miracle, you manage to slip away to the roof to watch the sunrise on the horizon. The city is half-asleep beneath you, the proof being in empty streets and lack of on-coming traffic being heard. Looking straight ahead, the first light, a line of orange, breaks through the endless dark blue that had occupied the sky at night.

You rest your hands on the railing, letting the cool metal ground you as you take a deep breath of the fresh air– the first of the new day.

Deciding that you’ve been slacking off enough, you turn back to head into the hospital again and finish the last of your shift.

Though when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Jack leaning against the wall, eyes already locked in on you.

You halt for a moment, before walking up to him slowly.

“Didn’t hear you come up,” you say quietly, slightly embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable state.

“I haven’t been here that long” he says, though his amused gaze betrays his words. 

You hold back a smile, shaking your head instead. A soft breeze can be felt, tousling your tresses before you firmly tuck some behind your ear. Still, the wind is relentless in its pursuit of messing up your hair.

Jack watches the action, only to finally reach out himself and brush the stray strand out of your face properly.

You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity you’ve ended up in, and you blame the early hour and the pretty sunrise for being the reason you've let your guard down. 

“Parker told me you’re asking to be moved to day-shift?” he says quietly, his hand dropping back to his side. “I just wanted to say that, you know…”

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling incredibly silly for having such a hard time talking to you when you had a sunrise behind you. “If it’s because of me, then–”

His sentence trails off when he hears a soft giggle bubble past your lips.

Not because he forgets what he was saying, but because he hears you laugh– that same, soft melodious laughter he had been denied all night. 

Beautiful, but completely the wrong timing for whatever serious point he was trying to make.

His eyes narrow slightly, flitting across your face warily.

“What?”

You shake your head quickly, still smiling like you’re trying to hide it and failing miserably.

“Jack–”

Jack isn't completely settled, but nonetheless exhales through his nose, already regretting thinking about this moment all night, when your idea of the heart-to-heart you’re about to have clearly wasn’t on par with his. 

“I’m serious,” he says, not listening to you “If you’re switching to day-shift because of–”

You laugh again, interrupting his apology.

“Jack, I’m not switching to days,”

His head lifts so fast you’re afraid he’ll get whiplash. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, recalling what Parker had said in the breakroom just a few hours ago.

You can’t stop the wide smile forming on your face, feeling guilty at the confused look on his face, but so incredibly content that you had pulled it off for an entire shift.

“I’m so sorry, Jack–” you manage to get out through your fit of giggles.

Just then, something clicks in his mind.

The color drains from his face, his eyes widening in disbelief. 

No–no way– Jack refused to believe he had been tricked.

“Oh, oh you’re a sick, twisted person–” he begins, spluttering in bewilderment. “You did all this because I scolded you?”

You let out another laugh– still riding the relief of it all, the ridiculousness of the entire night finally catching up in full force.

“Nuh-uh, not because you scolded me,” you correct, still smiling as you step closer. “You yelled at me, Abbot,”

Jack is stunned.

“...I bought the entire department coffee,”

“Okay, that was on Shen, not me–” you retort, still smiling.

“I wrote all your charts by hand!” he exclaims, crowding you until you’re pressed against the door.

“...That one might be on me,” you admit reluctantly, though you don’t look regretful in the slightest. You smile again, entirely unbothered, even as the door presses lightly into your back and he’s very much in your space now– blocking any way exit, not that you’re concerned with finding one.

“But I didn’t make you do the charts,” you add cheekily.

“I thought you were about to quit,” he huffs, though not actually upset– his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a reaction he doesn’t want to give you.

Despite being happy with the outcome of your plan, you can’t help but feel slightly bad for him.

So just this once, you’ll make it up to him.

Pushing yourself onto your toes, you press a single, gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment just to hear his breath hitch.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” you say quietly against his cheek.

Then, you’re pulling away and giving him a cheeky grin, before finally turning on your heels and walking back into the hospital to finish the last of your shift. 

The door closes behind you, leaving him alone on the roof, and for once, not for a bad reason. 

He presses a hand briefly to the spot on his cheek like he can still feel the aftermath of your lips against it, then he shakes his head, unable to hold back the smile forming on his face.

“Fuck me,” he mutters breathlessly, before finally following you back inside. 

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But the prospect of having to find alternate escapes from the family was worrying. Surely the man was just old, preaching outdated opinions about the sanctity of marriage. It’s not like anyone could truly stop you. 

Ursula had asked why you were so bothered by it, anyway. Marriage happens because two people are delusional enough to think that they’ll be together forever. That had shut you up for a while. Sometimes, though, that conversation lingers in the back of your head. 

Like now, as you’re donned in the dress a hundred other Danforth women before you have worn. A dress she might have worn. 

You look through the arched windows of their manor at the venue below and see servants bustling about. There’s a knock on your door, and the maid behind you buttons the last bit of your dress before going to answer. You don’t have to turn to know who it is as she opens the door. It’s been nearly a day since Titus last spoke with you, and you’re sure he’s been going stir crazy. 

“Leave us.”

“But, sir-”

“Do I really need to repeat myself?”

You finally turn, letting out a weary sigh as the poor girl flinches back. “Don’t scare her. You’re the one breaking tradition, after all.”

His shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice. The maid makes the wise decision to slip past him rather than argue further. You step down from the stool she’d had you on and eagerly rush toward him. He’s got even less patience than you, reaching forward and snagging your waist, dragging you into his chest. 

You let out an airy laugh, hands wrapping around the lapels of his suit. “Missed me that much, hm?” He tenses up and you frown, glancing up at him. “What is it?”

Titus’s gaze is distant, eyes cloudy with something you can’t quite place. He finally looks down at you, face softening and lips turning up. “You’re going to do great tonight.”

Your brows furrow as you let out a confused laugh. “I hope so. I’m not really sure how I could screw up my own vows.” His lips purse, like he wants to correct you. But he stays quiet. “Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

“And what are you doing here?” You jump, head thumping into his chest as Ursula breaks up the tense moment. She lingers in the doorway, a pointed look directed at her brother. 

Titus’s hands squeeze once around your waist before he backs off. “I’m not allowed to speak with my future wife?”

A smile slips unbidden onto your face. You’re still getting used to the thought of being the next Mrs. Danforth. Ursula’s gaze cuts to you, her shoulders tense as she takes in your giddy demeanor. “It’s against tradition.”

“Oh, I don’t believe in that silly stuff,” you tell her. 

“Not your tradition, honey. It’s a Danforth thing. Titus.” Her voice is firm; there's no room for arguments. He gives you a lingering stare before following her out of the room. 

Ursula isn’t the worst sister-in-law you could have. She’s cold and distant with you, but you prefer that to being overbearing and constantly accusing you of being a gold digger. As half his family likes to do. If you were in it for the money, there were plenty of easier rich men you could have gone after. You want something else from the Danforths. Loving Titus just happened to be a pleasant change in plans. 

Ursula keeps pulling you aside. Asking if you’re completely sure you want to be with him. You know that if you told Titus about her constant questioning, he’d be beyond upset. Which is the only reason you’ve kept it to yourself. But you’d be lying if you said she wasn’t the reason you were so riddled with anxiety today. It’s not so much about marrying him as about forever being connected to his family. 

Poor or rich, though, in-laws will always be a pain in the ass. 

“I do.”

“I do.”

The entire wedding is a blur. From being led down the aisle to saying your vows. There’s only here and now. The heavy weight of the Danforth family ring on your left finger as you hold Titus’s hand. You think the priest says something about kissing the bride. But you’re not listening. The only thing you can focus on is your husband. 

He’s got that wild look in his eyes, eager and ready to devour you. The priest barely finishes what he’s saying before Titus cups your cheeks and drags you into him. Your lips part in surprise against his as he kisses you in a way that pushes the boundaries of propriety. But as Titus's hand drops to cup the back of your neck, you’re sure you’re the only one worried about that. 

Your arms wind around his neck, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as he kisses you with a fervent desire bordering on desperation. His ring is on your finger. You’ve officially taken his last name, and you can’t understand this anxiety coming off him. Surely he can’t lack that much faith in you.

“Titus,” you whisper, trying to get a breath in for a moment. He pauses, eyes cloudy as he stares down at you. “Save it for the honeymoon,” you laugh, but he doesn’t join you. His hands flex around you once, twice, before you’re letting out a short squeal as he lifts you off your feet. He does it with ease, hardly breaking a sweat as he marches you back down the aisle. 

Ursula shoots him a knowing look, rolling her eyes as you pass by. You can’t help but laugh, holding tight to him as you glance over his shoulder. But the guests don’t look happy that the ceremony is over and it's time for the reception. They don’t seem particularly enthused about you joining the family, either. Instead, they stand, staring at you and whispering amongst themselves with hungry looks on their faces. 

You swallow roughly, forcing your gaze off them. “Where are you taking me?” you demand, frowning as you realize he’s heading back inside the manor. The reception’s meant to take place in the main courtyard. 

His eyes flit down to you before there’s a small smirk on his lips. “I want a moment alone with my wife. Is that so wrong?”

You struggle to subdue the smile on your face. “We have a reception to get to.” You’re not exactly eager to go back out there with his vicious family members. But they’re going to know exactly what the two of you are getting up to. 

He scoffs, as if he heard your thoughts. “Don’t give a shit about them, alright, sweetheart. They’re having their fun. Let's have ours,” he says, setting you down in front of one of the many bedroom doors. Titus shoots you a wink, opening it and pressing his palm to your lower back, ushering you in. 

You should resist; try to remake your first impression with his family. But… fuck ‘em. This isn’t the wedding you wanted. This isn’t the house you wanted. You’re going to let yourself have a little fun today. 

You lace your fingers with his, dragging him inside after you. He barely pays enough attention to kick the door shut behind him. You let out a quiet giggle at his excitement, but it’s quickly cut off by him dragging you into another kiss. He always leaves you feeling wrecked. Like you’ve been hit with a sudden fervor, a passion ignites within you that no one else has ever brought forth. 

Your hand wraps around his suit, struggling with the buttons as you drag it down his arms. He lets out a low chuckle at your own eagerness. You suppose you’re perfect for each other. Both so pathetic and desperate to be naked and within each other’s arms at all times. 

His hands struggle with the complicated buttons on the back of your dress. A short gasp leaves you as he breaks away, whipping you around. He tries for a moment to preserve the dress, and then you hear a very loud rip as he tosses away the idea of preservation. 

“Titus!” You scold, hands coming up to try to catch the dress before it falls to the floor. It’s pointless, though. The heirloom has been thoroughly destroyed. “You know they’re going to blame me for that,” you hiss. 

Though when you glare over your shoulder at him, it’s hard to remember why you were mad. He’s got a cocky smirk on his face as he shrugs, shoving the dress down your body. “I’ll take care of it,” he swears, his voice husky with the promise of a dozen other things. The dress is the last thing on his mind. 

Your lips tilt up, and you wind your arms around his neck once more. Rough hands skate down the backs of your thighs until he’s lifting you, leading you both back to the bed. You work eagerly on untucking his shirt, nails scratching greedily down his muscled chest. “How’d I get so lucky?” You wonder as he drops you down on the bed.

He offers you a sly grin, quickly undoing his belt as you help him push his pants down. “Think I’m supposed to be asking you that, Mrs. Danforth.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’m not going to get used to the sound of that.”

He pauses, expression turning serious. “You will,” he swears, closer to a demand, really. 

Your brows furrow, some of your excitement dimming as you cup his cheek. “Of course,” you mutter, frowning as he leans into your touch. He’s usually eager for affection, but something is off. 

He doesn’t let you linger on the thought for long. He drags you down until your pelvis is flush with his and you can feel just how much your new name excites him. He reaches down to peel off your underwear, only to let out a low groan when he realizes you hadn’t bothered with any. 

He shoots you a sharp look that you only grin at. “What? I thought it would be a nice surprise for the garter toss,” he lets out another groan, face falling into your neck as you laugh. It turns into a deep moan as his fingers skate across your center, your want quickly coating them. 

That desperate urgency burning beneath his skin enthuses your own. Your hips jolt up impatiently, legs flexing around his hips as you let out an impatient groan. “Titus,” you whisper, lips skating across his jaw as he teases you. “Please.” You’ve barely finished the word before his touch disappears. 

You’re tempted to complain before you catch him pushing down his boxers, movements quick and desperate as he works to free himself. You would tease him if you weren’t so riled up yourself. How tonight goes is a coin toss, no matter how hard you worked to prepare yourself. Who knows? They might need this dress in another few months for the next Mrs. Danforth. 

The thought burns at you, bites beneath your skin, and sends white-hot rage boiling through your body. Another woman in this bed, with her legs wrapped around the man you were never supposed to want. Your nails dig into Titus’s back, earning a sharp hiss just as he inches himself inside you. 

Something on your face must give away some of your inner turmoil. His brows turn in as his hand clasps the back of your neck, and he drags you into another desperate kiss. A keening whine passes between your lips as his free arm props your knee over his elbow, somehow burying himself deeper inside you. 

“God,” you moan, finding it hard to catch your breath. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your body thrumming with pleasure only he knows how to give. 

He’s more intense than any man you’ve ever been with. Each time with him feels like a recoupling of your souls. But this is different. 

His hand slips from the back of your neck, resting over the hollow of your throat as his thumb presses into your pulse. He’s pressing himself deeper inside you, as if he’s trying to merge you into one being. One soul that can’t be split. As endearing as such a desperate desire is, there’s a gnawing worry in the back of your mind. 

He’s acting like this will be your last time together. As if this one moment is all he’ll have to remember you by. Your hands come up, clawing down his back at a particularly deep thrust. The moan it lurches from you only makes his grip tighten. 

This is not the end.

You’re so distracted by the feeling of him over you, inside you, consuming you, that you can’t pay attention to your own worry. That fire is building, spreading; you don’t want to be put out. You want to ignite and burn with him. 

Your pleasure crests as you let out a husky moan, legs tightening around his hips as you lazily meet each one of his thrusts. He loses his rhythm after a moment, lips lazing across your cheek and down your neck. Again, he lingers at your pulse, teeth digging slightly into the sensitive skin. 

You jolt, back arching as the pain makes pleasure throb in your already sated core. His hips stutter before you can feel warmth spilling into you. That fire sparks, ignites, and then shudders as you both lie there, chests heaving.  

Your fingers drag up his back, feeling him shiver at the light touch. They find their way into his hair, scratching through the loose curls. You can’t help but smile at the way he sinks into your touch, practically melting into you. 

“We should stay here,” he whispers. 

Your eyes narrow, hands stilling as you try to push him back. He’s stubborn, face pressed firmly into your neck a moment longer before obeying. “I was promised cake,” you mutter, smiling slightly. 

He chuckles, knowing that you hadn’t even been able to choose that for your wedding. “How about this… You stay here with me, and I'll get you whatever cake you want tomorrow. The actual flavor you wanted.”

You really should go back out there. Actually attend the reception of your own wedding. But you doubt you’re capable of walking right now, much less entertaining polite conversation with his horrific family. “Deal,” you whisper, dragging him down into another kiss. 

Something stirs between your legs, and you let out a low groan. “How is that even possible?”

“Look what you do to me, Mrs. Danforth,” he smirks, getting comfortable between your legs once more. You’d push him away if you didn’t like the sound of that name so much. 

Your head is on Titus’s chest when you hear it, a strange bell tolling in the distance. Your body goes still, the noise reminding you of why you ever came back here. 

“What’s that?” You play at confusion, bleary eyes opening as you turn toward the window. His hand tightens around your shoulder, breath stalling beneath your ear. “Titus?” You frown, glancing up at him. 

He’s not looking at you, gaze drifting somewhere beyond you. There’s a knock at the door before you can press further. Titus’s eyes fall shut before he shifts you away, getting up to answer. Ursula stands in the doorway, backlit by the candelabra of the old estate. You frown, lifting the covers to obscure the thin nightgown you’re wearing. 

“It’s time.” She glances toward Titus before taking a step inside. 

“Time?” you ask, gaze darting between the twins. “Time for what? I’m pretty sure we already missed the reception,” you try to laugh, but it trails off at their grim expressions. Something inside you coils tight. 

You’ve been waiting for this. 

Ursula beckons you forward, but Titus steps up. Your brows turn in as you glance over at him. His expression is pinched. Bound by the oaths and secrets of his family, but his love for you is holding him back. You slowly get out of bed, waiting for him to do something, but he stands frozen between you and his sister. 

“Titus?” you try, almost wondering if he really would break tradition. 

He turns toward you, mouth opening, and something sharp on his face. “Enough,” Ursula butts in, eyes wide as she watches her brother. “There’s something I need to show you. It’s a tradition of sorts in our family,” she explains, but her gaze never wavers from her brother. 

Your husband, who is caught between loyalty and devotion. 

You squeeze his hand as you pass by, offering a confused smile. He buys into the act, a shaky breath leaving him as he steps back. “Is everything okay?” You ask, your voice pitched to sell the naivety they’re eager for. 

“Ignore him; his nerves seem to be getting the best of him,” Ursula cuts in. Her smile is wide, too tight at the edges to be anything real. But you pretend, playing into the role they’ve come to expect from you. You follow her from Titus’s room. 

You’re only a few steps away when you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the male members of Titus’s family storming into the room. They push him back from the doorway, slamming the door closed behind them so he can’t follow you and Ursula. 

A part of you hopes he truly would have broken the rules for you. Not that they would ever let him go without some blood spilled. 

“Wherever we’re going, I’m sure I’m not dressed for it,” you joke, motioning down at the white, silk nightgown that barely brushes your knees. Ursula hums, and you glance over at her. Her shoulders are tense, expression painfully pinched. If you didn’t know her any better, you’d almost think she was regretful. You’re not sure a Danforth is capable of remorse. 

“You’ll be fine,” she tells you coolly. “I only wanted to show you something.” She leads you through the winding halls until you reach one covered in portraits. 

People dressed in suits and wedding gowns decorate the paintings on the wall. Each expression is grim and haunted. “There is a tradition in our family. One we’ve held for hundreds of years. It’s an initiation of sorts into becoming a Danforth. The final test to prove your worth.”

“Oh? And suffering a wine-drunk aunt isn’t enough?” Ursula offers a pitying laugh but brushes past your comment. Dread and anticipation coil deeper the further you walk. 

“Our family is a part of something special. We follow a man whom few others do, who has never led us wrong. Those who enter the family must also prove themselves to him. Some others who follow him like to simply play games with the brides.”

She stops in front of a portrait, and a woman with a gaunt and haunted face stares down at her. You recognize her from the pictures Titus so rarely shows you. Her mother had been gone for years before you’d ever stepped foot in this place. 

“A few simply sacrifice their brides in the name of Le Bail.”

Your head whips towards her, attention ripped away from the painting. “Sacrifice?”

“None of that’s important.” She cuts you off, turning on her heel. Her expression is flat, but her eyes are narrowed into worried slits. “When the time comes, you need to run.”

“What-" You’re cut off as steps thud up behind you. An arm clamps its way around your throat before you can even turn. A sharp prick at the skin of your neck as cold liquid rushes through your veins, and you go limp in your attacker's arms. 

You were eight the first time you set foot on the estate. A new job your mother had acquired, cleaning for the reclusive Danforths. You were nine by the time she’d fully charmed the eldest Danforth. And the wedding happened only a few days after your birthday. 

There’s not much of the ceremony that you remember. You’d stood behind your mother on the altar. She hadn’t had any other friends to join her bridal party, and Chester Danforth hadn’t minded how close his new bride was to her daughter. 

The twins had been sitting in the front row, each of them looking bored and eager to get the ceremony over with. You’d liked listening to the vows, not that you remember them anymore. You’d simply enjoyed the idea of a love so strong they were ready to bind themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. 

You hadn’t yet discovered what divorce was. Better yet, you hardly knew what a betrayal was. After the reception, Chester and your mother led you and the twins up to the top floor of the estate. 

“I want you kids to stay in here now; your new mother and I have some business to discuss.” Ursula had grimaced at Chester calling your mom her new one. But she’d said nothing, ever the perfect daughter. Titus had glared, but he rarely butted up. 

Chester glared down at his children, disappointed in their lack of response. You had lingered awkwardly beside them, still such an outlier in their dynamic. “Titus, try to get to know your new sister.”

“She’s not my sister,” Titus had snapped, only a few years older than you. Chester was quick, too quick for any of you to stop him. His hand snapped out, striking Titus harshly across the cheek. Your mother flinched, eyes wide as she hung off the arm of her new husband. You’d tried to step forward, but she’d stopped you with a terrified look. 

For a moment, the mask she’d been wearing slipped. You saw the fear in her eyes. For yourself or her, you’d never find out. 

Titus went quiet, sulked to the back of the room as Chester set his eyes on you. You’d cowered, too afraid to meet his eye. With a satisfied hum, he’d taken your mother, and she’d left without a goodbye. 

Ursula sank into an armchair, eyes fluttering closed. Titus simply crossed his arms, glaring through the window. It was only a few years' age difference between you all, but it was daunting nonetheless. 

You’d sat on the carpet, too afraid to mess up their fancy couch and chairs. “When do I get to go home?” You’d asked, your voice quiet as you fiddled with a thread on your dress. 

“This is your home,” Ursula had responded boredly. 

“For now,” Titus snapped, glaring over at you. You gulped, refusing to meet his eye. You didn’t want this big place to be your home. You wanted to go back to the apartment and hide in your room. You didn’t like these people, and you didn’t like your new stepfather. 

A bell tolled in the distance, and you jumped as laughter echoed through the halls. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a game the adults play,” Ursula told you, leafing through a book without actually reading anything. They’d left a dollhouse in the room for you to play with, but you were afraid of looking like a baby in front of the twins. 

“Oh. Will I get to play?”

Ursula’s eyes shot up to meet yours, and you frowned at the concern in them. “I hope not.”

“I’m sure she’d do great,” Titus scoffed, throwing a mean glance your way. You were pretty sure that wasn’t actually a compliment. 

It took another hour before you gave in and inched toward the dollhouse. You glanced over your shoulder, but neither of the twins was looking at you. Humming softly to yourself, you picked up the porcelain figures and danced them through the foyer of the ancient set. 

A piercing scream echoed through the halls. It rattled through your bones and made tears burn in your eyes. You gasped, jumping up with a start. The doll slipped from your hands, cracking against the floor and shattering at your feet. 

“What was that?” 

Ursula’s brows raised, boredly glancing over at the door. She let out a heavy sigh but didn’t answer you. “Part of the game.” You jumped again as Titus’s voice echoed in your ear. Whipping around, you found him hovering just behind you, but his attention wasn’t focused on you. Rather, the porcelain doll was broken at your feet. 

“Oh,” you let out a small gasp, dropping to your knees as you rushed to pick up the pieces. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, hissing when a shard slipped against your palm. 

“Forget it,” he grunted, kneeling and offering you the handkerchief from his suit. You hesitated, hardly ever having gotten a nice word from him, let alone a peace offering. He waved it in your face, and you quickly took it. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. He only stood up, going back to standing by the window. You pressed the handkerchief to your bleeding wound, grimacing as a stinging pain radiated through your palm. 

A bell tolled off in the distance, and you frowned. Suddenly, the room’s door opened. Ursula shot up straight, eyes wide as she peered over at her father. He wore a grim expression that made her own face fall, her gaze going blank as she looked over at you. 

Chester called your name, and you frowned. “Say goodbye to Titus and Ursula.” You didn’t want to. Something about his voice made your stomach twist. But you didn’t want him telling your mother you’d been bad. 

Turning back to the twins, you offered a shaky smile. “Goodbye-”

Ursula didn’t so much as flinch, but Titus had grimaced, looking away as his father rushed up behind you and pressed a syringe to your neck. Neither had objected as he dragged you from the room and threw you into your new, lonely life, with only a small envelope of cash. 

This is the second time in your life these fuckers have drugged you, and it’s starting to piss you off. You slowly lift your head, finding it heavy and aching. Your eyes blur and refocus as you struggle to take in your surroundings. 

Mud and sticks press up against the sensitive flesh of your limbs. It takes a moment for you to realize they’ve dumped you in the forest bordering the estate. With a shaky sigh, you struggle onto your hands and knees. Sharp rocks bite into your hands as you push yourself up to stand on wobbling legs. 

The blood rushes from your head, leaving you dizzy and stumbling as you try to rest against a tree. You’d never known how this works. Only got bits and pieces from drunken relatives with big mouths. 

They aren’t supposed to tell you that your wedding night ends with your being hunted like a dog, of course. But they didn’t know that you were already aware of their little tradition. Of the long list of women who’d gone missing once they visited this haunted estate. You pieced together what you could from the stories they’d told without ever giving away too much. 

Nowhere had you figured out that they drugged the women before they began slaughtering them. It seems unfair to expect a woman to prove she can survive a ruthless world when you begin by crippling her. But you doubt these people care for fairness if it comes at the expense of a good show. 

You reach up, yanking leaves from your hair as you dig into the updo they’d done for you. Buried carefully is a slim, silver pin. You slide it free and, with unsteady hands, slip off the cap, revealing the sharpened blade within. 

It’s barely larger than a letter opener. But you need whatever advantage you can get, and you were too afraid they would search you to try strapping on a knife. 

Pushing away from the tree, something sharp stabs into the sole of your foot. Glancing down, you let out a weary sigh. It’s not enough that they drug you. They need to take your shoes too? 

Do they even want you to survive? Or is this all one big joke to them?

Your chest clenches, thinking of Titus watching them do this to you. Watching them dump you in the woods to be shot at like a wild animal. Clenching your eyes shut, you shake your head. He chose his side; you knew this would happen.

It doesn’t matter where he is. You have one goal tonight, and it isn’t to survive. You want the blood you’re owed. 

Steeling yourself for the pain, you make your way through the woods. You search out any landmarks or hints as to which side of the property they left you, but it’s too dark to see anything. The best you can do is keep your steps quiet and try to remain aware of your surroundings. 

It takes a while more of walking before you hear them. Two loud-mouthed Danforth cousins complaining about their plans for later tonight. “How long do you think the hunt will take this time?”

“I don’t know,” one of them sighs. “Last time we got her in half an hour. I’m already getting fucking bored just standing out here.”

“I told you we should have started looking-”

His sentence ends in a choked gurgle as you sneak up behind him, slim blade slipping across his throat. The other man’s eyes widen as he chokes on his gasp, too shocked to reach for the gun strapped to his hip. 

You grin as the body falls to the ground, bending down to pick up the shotgun he’d dropped. The other one finally reaches for his handgun, but you’re already standing up, double-barrel pointing right at his chest. 

“Uh-uh,” you scold, motioning for him to put the gun down. He throws it into the leaves, and you let out an impatient huff. He whips his hands up in surrender, dropping to his knees before you can even tell him to. 

“Where am I?” you demand, eyes flitting across the ground, trying to find the metal glint of a gun buried in the undergrowth. Asshole couldn’t have just handed it to you?

He grimaces and shakes his head. “I can’t say-”

The blast of the shotgun echoes through the trees, scaring a few owls from their branches. You would be worried about the noise if it weren’t for the much louder screeching in front of you. The cousin wriggles wildly on the ground, screaming and clutching his bleeding leg. 

Just below his knee, his left leg is barely hanging on. The blast had been more potent than you’d expected, but it’s not like you needed him whole, just alive. “Now!” You demand, pushing closer. 

“Okay!” he screams, bloody hands slipping across what’s left of his leg. “East courtyard! We’re in the East Courtyard! Please, I need-”

You ignore him, having finally spotted the gun he’d so carelessly tossed away. His cries of pain are silenced as you bury a bullet into his head. And one into the other man’s, just for good measure. Your eyes dart down to his boots, and a wicked idea runs through your head. 

“You’re telling me she did this?” Ursula glares down at the bodies of Malcom and Brent. Two cousins whom Titus had cared nothing for. He hadn’t even known their names until some maid had rushed up to tell them their bodies had been found. 

“Who else would have?” His aunt demands, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stares at her boy’s bodies. 

“Nothing in the rules about killing family,” Titus reminds her, kneeling beside one of them. Malcolm or Brent, he doesn’t truly care. 

Ursula shoots him a sharp look as their Aunt’s blubbering grows worse. He ignores her in favor of examining the wounds on the body. One bullet to the head- what the others assume he died from. But he knows that you were stripped of any weapons you might have held, anything that would have given you an advantage in the game. 

It’s clear that you shot this one through the back of the head and the other straight to the face. He doesn’t know where you would have gotten the gun. His gaze narrows, and he finally sees the small slit against the throat. 

The true cause of death. 

You’d slit his throat with something and were trying to hide it. Why?

“I just don’t understand why she took their shoes?” His aunt cries, wiping her eyes vigorously. Titus’s eyes drop to the corpse’s bare feet, and he snorts. 

“You took hers, didn’t you?” Both Ursula and his aunt shoot him sharp glares, but he’s in no mood to play at being nice tonight. He needs to find you before someone else does. No one would tell him where you’d been dropped off, likely anticipating what he was going to do. He’s been struggling to track you down since the game began. 

“Titus,” Ursula mutters, nodding toward something in the dirt. He steps closer and sees fresh bootprints in the mud. 

His aunt gasps and shoots forward. “That little bitch,” she hisses, pulling her gun from her hip and following your trail. Ursula follows behind her, but Titus hesitates. This is too easy. You’re too clever to have already stashed a weapon on you and killed two of his family to make such a simple mistake. 

He knows it's a trap he’s walking into, but he follows his sister and aunt just so he might have a chance to see you. 

The trail leads them all to a small clearing. Too much open space for him to feel comfortable. Ursula hesitates at the edge of the field, glancing around with a suspicious look. His aunt barrels forward, paying little mind to any danger around her. 

“What the fuck?” She mutters, glancing down at the boots you’ve abandoned in the grass. Her head lifts just as a shot echoes through the trees. Titus’s head whips around, trying to find where you are. The bullet grazes his aunt’s throat, hitting just deep enough to nick her carotid, sending blood flying as she falls to her knees. 

Her hands scramble along her throat, struggling to staunch the blood as she chokes on it. Ursula takes a foolish step forward, and then she falls to her knees. A loud groan rips from her chest as she clutches her right thigh. Right where you’ve just buried another bullet in her. 

“Go get her!” She growls, slapping at Titus’s hand. He’s already moving, gaze locking onto a streak of movement further in the trees. He never knew you were such a good shot; it wasn’t information you’d offered up to him. Even on the rare occasion that he took you hunting, you always seemed to miss whatever animal you were aiming for. He had honestly been worried about how well you would be able to defend yourself tonight. 

There seems to be more to you than you’d let on. 

Your heart is pounding against your ribs, blood pumping painfully as you race through the woods. Boots too big for you slip up and down your ankles, only slowing you down as you try to outrace the predator hot on your tail. 

You can’t hear him following behind you, his footsteps nearly silent as he tracks you down with ruthless efficiency. You should have shot him in that field. Ursula didn’t matter; you could take her down in hand-to-hand easily. 

It should have been Titus you crippled. It should have been him you shot down, so he couldn’t come after you. If anyone could ruin your plans tonight, it’s him. But you were weak. You cowered at the thought of hurting him, and now he’s hunting you. 

One moment of mercy- that’s all it takes. 

A scream rips from you as something heavy barrels into your side. It’s cut off as your body slams against the ground, breath ripped from you in one violent yank as Titus straddles your hips. He clamps a hand around your mouth, eyes darting around the woods as you try to regain your bearings. 

When he’s sure no one else is around, he slowly releases you, though he doesn’t allow you to stand. He keeps you pinned and completely at his mercy. His eyes are crazed as they assess you. 

Futilely, you kick out, hands reaching up and scratching at any flesh you can find. You already know he won’t let you go, but you try anyway. “Enough,” he mutters, swatting your hands away like they’re nothing. 

That must be all you are to him, for how quickly he turned against you. Nothing.

“Go on,” you goad, teeth bared as you glare up at him. “Do it.” This is a gamble, and one you want to be confident in but just can’t be. You don’t know how he would kill you or if he’s thought about it often. 

A bullet would be quick. His hands wrapped around your throat would feel more personal, but it would hurt. Not just your death. But knowing he had loved you and could still look you in the eyes and slaughter you like an animal. This must have been how she felt when they’d killed her.

Something flashes across his face. Pained and disgusted as he stares down at you. You couldn’t have offended him. He’s the one pinning you down. He holds your life in his hands, not the other way around. But the way he’s looking at you, the gleam in his eyes, you’d never be able to guess the truth of the situation. His leash is in your hands. You should’ve known how to tug.

“Do what?” He snaps, eyes narrowed as his gaze roves over you. Still assessing, but now you can understand what for. He’s trying to see if someone else has gotten to you first. If you’re hurt in any way. 

Maybe he really does care. 

Or maybe he’s such a sadistic bastard that he wants to toy with you a bit first. 

“Kill me,” you hiss out, hate and barbed hurt frothing at the corner of your lips. “That’s what this is all for, isn’t it?” You demand, throat closing as you choke back tears. This wasn’t meant to be so fast. You’d worked for years to get to this moment. And now…

You just pass all that work off and hand your life away because you were too weak to kill your husband when you had the chance. 

“Did I mean anything to you?” You bite the words out, the truth too painful to realize as you stare up into his cold eyes. 

Your mother had been here once. Pinned down by the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with. Titus’s father had slaughtered her. Cut her down where she stood for the sake of tradition. You were a fool to think this was a fate you could escape. 

 His hands loosen around your wrist, face falling as he draws back. You wrench away from him, scrambling back from his hold as you surge to your feet. He remains where you left him, kneeling in the dirt as he stares up at you. 

“You were going to let them kill me!” You accuse, biting back the disgust you feel looking down at him. 

“No, never,” he bites out, gaze turning sharp. His hands reach out, linger in the air between you like he can’t decide if he should stay kneeling or pin you down again. “I was never going to let them hurt you.”

You hesitate for a moment, and you see how much it hurts him. Taking a step forward, his hands fly out, crumpling the ruined skirt of your nightgown in his palms. He drags himself forward, face buried in the silk as you let out a shuddering sigh. 

“I was trying to protect you,” he insists. “But they wouldn’t tell me where you were. I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

Something in you snaps. The fight you’d been carrying disappears as you fall to your knees before him. He doesn’t let you feel the impact, touch greedy as he pulls you into his chest. You have no desire to escape him or his suffocating hold. 

But that fire still burns for the man who started this all. The one who gave you a reason to get involved with the Danforths. And if you have to use Titus's warped sense of devotion to get to him, so be it. 

“Why did you let them take me?” You whisper, hands cupping his cheeks. Your eyes narrow at how he sinks into your touch. How eager he is for forgiveness. Can you trust this devotion he holds for you over his loyalty to his own family? You’re not sure, but it's a gamble you’ll have to take. 

The blood on your hands can’t be for nothing after how long you’ve waited. 

“I,” his mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. No matter what, he doesn’t have a good enough excuse for his betrayal. Which works well in your favor. 

You put a tremble in your voice; it's not hard to muster, but you lay it on as thick as you can. Your lips quiver as you stare up at him. Your voice is broken as you whisper, “Why’d you let them take me?”

Titus’s expression twitches; he flinches from the accusation. But there’s only so far he can run from the truth. “I was never going to let them hurt you,” he insists, gaze pleading. 

“They already did,” you bite back, ripping your touch from him like he’s burned you. 

They hadn’t. His ridiculous cousins hadn’t even gotten the chance to raise their weapons. He, however, doesn’t need to know that. What he needs to know is that you’re afraid, vulnerable. He has to want to protect you. 

“I can fix this,” he insists, getting to his feet and trailing slowly behind you as you pace. “Let me help you. Let me keep you safe.”

You let out a sharp scoff, but there’s no true emotion behind it. This is all just another act, one part of a long play that’s meant to be coming to a close. “Why would I ever trust you, again?”

His hands reach out, snatching up your wrists as he whips you around to face him. It doesn’t hurt, but it's tight enough that you can’t slip free from him. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, or maybe declare his love again, voices echo through the forest. Your shoulders jolt as his gaze whips behind you both. 

There’s a group coming toward you both. They’re stomping loudly through the underbrush, conversation vague and careless. They couldn’t care less if you hear them. They all just assume you’re easy prey. Even if you’ve already killed three of them. You’re almost tempted to take out your gun, show them what a true predator looks like. 

But Titus’s hands are clamping around your shoulders, his expression severe as he surveys you. “If you keep heading north, you’ll reach the estate. I want you to go to the ballroom and wait for me.”

“What-“

“Wait for me,” he demands, his gaze already seeing that gnawing desire to run in your eyes. You glare at him, but he won’t budge. 

“What are you going to do?”

Slowly, like it pains him to, he releases you. His hands slip off your shoulders, and he reaches behind his back. He untucks a gun from his belt and you frown. It wouldn’t have taken him much just to pull that on you. A part of you wants to hope that he really doesn't want you dead. But you can’t trust him and you certainly can't trust your own bleeding heart. 

“There’s no rule against killing family,” is all he tells you as he backs away. You swallow roughly, slowly heading back through the trees. But you keep your eyes on where he disappeared and how easily he blended into the shadows. 

Just as you begin to see lights flooding through the tree line, you hear it. Three gunshots and then a scream that rips through the night. You pause for a moment. Something wicked and warm fills your chest as you think of him hunting them down. For you. 

Bursting through the forest, you find the mansion just as he’d instructed. You’re finally starting to gain a sense of where you are. Glancing over your shoulder, you check that no one’s following before running inside. 

You have a decent enough idea where you are now. You run through the marble hall, stopping for a moment to shove off the too-large boots that you’d stolen. With a low sigh, you come to a stop before a grand staircase. There’s a door in front of you. Beyond it will be the ballroom. You can hide, cower as you wait for Titus to rescue you and get you through the rest of the night. 

The thought is revolting to you. It’s easier, but you didn’t claw your way here just to give up right at the end. Your nails bite into your palms as you turn toward the stairs. You swore to yourself that the Danforth line will either be ended by or controlled by you. You won’t allow your sensitivity to hold you back anymore. 

With a fortifying breath, you start up the stairs. You glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one’s followed behind you. Your heart stills, your body freezing as you hear the unmistakable sound of a hammer being drawn back. Swallowing roughly, you glance up. Just at the top of the stairs is one of Titus’s cousins. 

Her hand trembles, gun shaking in her grip as she stares down at you with wide eyes. You’re about three steps away from her. Enough time for her to fire. You doubt she makes a good shot with the way the gun is shaking in her hand. But you don’t need to be a good shot when you’re this close. One bullet will be lethal. 

You hold out your hands and she flinches, finger pressing loosely against the trigger. With a risky lunge, you leap forward, shoving her hands up just as she pulls the trigger. The shot rings out in your ear; it rattles through your brain and knocks you off balance as you try to shake off the ringing in your head. She lets out a noise of surprise, not hesitating as she leaps forward and shoves you back. 

Your bare feet slip against the stairs, heart thudding against your chest as you feel the air rush up around you. Your stomach plummets as you’re knocked down the stairs. The first impact slams against your ribs, knocking the breath out of you as you go tumbling down the steps. You land on your side, your shoulder cracking beneath the weight of your body. Pain rips through you, slams up your spine and rips across your nerves as you struggle for breath. 

Her footsteps pound above you, frantic and rushed as she aims her gun once more. Your face is smashed against the cold marble, lungs trembling as your eyes slam shut. The shot echoes through the foyer, rattles against your bones. But no more pain comes. 

Risking one eye open, you peer up in time to see her head jerk back, her body dropping with a thud. Blood pools beneath her head and you let out a rattling breath. “Come on.” Calloused hands wrap around your arms, gentle as they stand you up. 

“Titus,” you mutter, still delirious from the gunshots and pain. He stands behind you, the barrel of his gun still smoking at his side. 

“What were you-“

You’re sure whatever he was about to say would turn you away from these stairs. Away from what you’ve worked so hard towards. But more voices echo through the halls. The gunshots were enough to draw the attention of anyone still in the estate. Titus’s head jerks in the direction of their voices and you use your one good arm to shove away from him. 

They spot him as you rush up the stairs. They call out his name and gasp as they see the dead girl on the stairs. You clutch your limp arm to your chest, breath coming heavy and short. Your ribs are tight and aching. You’re certain you broke something falling. But you’re closer than you’ve ever been to having your revenge. 

Swallowing down the pain, you race to the uppermost floor. To the room you know is housing the monster behind all your tormenting grief. You don’t knock or announce yourself, just throw the door open, teeth biting into your lip at the pain that shoots up your side. 

The old man sits in his wheelchair, glaring out at the courtyard below from his window. He doesn’t even flinch as you barrel in. Just lets out a low sigh like you’re inconveniencing him just by existing. 

You stand there, staring at the senior Danforth, gun held in your good hand. “Mr. Danforth,” you drawl, wrestling your breath back into shape as you let the door close behind you. “Do you remember me?”

He hums, head barely tilting over his shoulder. “I believe you just married my son. I’m honestly surprised you even made it this far.” He lets out a little huff. Probably mad that some cheap little orphan managed to marry his only male heir. To survive their twisted game this long.

”Do you remember her?” You ask, whispering your mother’s name as you draw the hammer of your gun back. 

“Oh,” he finally turns his wheelchair toward you, a cruel sneer on his lips. “Lovely woman,” he mutters. “A shame she wasn’t strong enough to lead my family.”

Your eyes narrow, finger trembling around the trigger as you lift your arm. “She was plenty strong,” you hiss. “But how would she ever win when you drug her and drag her out into the woods? I’d hardly call that fair.”

He shrugs, steepling his fingers as he surveys you like you’re nothing more than a gnat flitting about his face. “Life isn’t fair.” 

You point the gun at him, your eyes burning as you suck in a sharp breath. This is it. You end this here. 

The door slams open behind you and you jump, gun dropping to your side. Titus crashes into the room, eyes crazed as he surveys you and his father. The smug look on Chester’s face falls as he rolls himself closer to his son. 

“She tried to kill me, Titus. Finish the game, now!”

You back up as Titus stalks forward. Your heart sinks as he slowly reaches for the gun. Your grip goes lax around it as he backs you into a corner. Your spine hits the wall with a dull thud as you release a shuddering breath. 

His hand grazes your waist, his other one taking the gun from you. “Do it,” you whisper. “Kill me.”

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. Voice low, he asks, “Why would I do that?”

Your gaze dips to his father, but he’s watching you both with a peculiar expression. One you can’t read. “Because if you don’t kill me,” you bite out through clenched teeth. “Then I will kill your father.” You hesitate, biting your lip as the truth stumbles out. “For what he did to-“

“Your mother,” Titus finishes, almost looking amused. 

“What?” You whisper. 

At the same time, Titus’s father snaps, slamming his hand against the arm of his wheelchair. “Enough games, Titus. Be done with her!”

But your husband’s eyes don’t leave your own. He’s got you pressed up against the wall. His attention is solely focused on you as he offers a wayward grin. Something malicious lurks underneath it. “You think I don’t know who you are? Who your mother is?”

”How long have you known?” You whisper, eyes wide as they dart between him and his father. 

“The whole time,” he answers, hand flexing around your waist. “I thought this was a game for you. I was waiting for you to make the first move.” His face dips forward, nose brushing against your jaw as his lips move softly against the sensitive skin. “You never did,” he wonders aloud, almost disappointed. 

“Because I love you,” you insist, hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He lifts his head, forehead falling against yours. The cold barrel of the gun bites through your nightgown and you let out a low whimper. 

“You or me?”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head. “What?”

”Who pulls the trigger, sweetheart?”

Your eyes widen as you glance between him and his father. All this time, you’d been working toward this moment, always expecting it to be your last. Wasting your life to kill the man who’d murdered your mother and ruined what good was left inside you. You’d thought Titus to be a stepping stone, an obstacle in your path. 

But this…

This is far sweeter than anything you could have dreamed up. It wouldn’t hurt the eldest Danforth at all to be killed by some nobody girl. But to have his heir in your hands, throwing away all loyalty to his father in exchange for a spot at your side… It was better than anything you could ask for. 

“Please, Titus,” you whisper, eyes watery as you stare up at him. The hammer of the gun pulls back and you slowly release him. He steps away from you. The tears disappear as a smile pulls on your lips. You lean against the wall, broken and bloody, and watch as realization dawns on Chester Danforth’s face. 

“Titus, what the hell are you doing? Throwing away your family for some whore-“ your shoulders jump to your ears as his head flips back, brains spraying along the walls. You knew it was coming, but still, Titus hadn’t even hesitated. 

You look over at him, see the tight set of his jaw, the water lining his eyes. “Oh,” you croon, reaching for him. He turns, stalking toward you as a gasp rings out. You jolt forward, turning toward the door just as Ursula walks through. 

Her hands tremble around her mouth, breath coming quick and pained as she takes in the dead body of her father. “What did you do?” She demands, voice cracking as she whips around on you. You don’t hesitate as you did earlier. Don’t let her get off easy with a shot to her leg. 

You rip the gun from Titus’s hand and aim with your bad arm. This close, you don’t need great aim to knock her brain loose. Her body crumples to the floor as blood begins to pool around her body. The recoil knocks you back, and the gun clatters to the floor as you stumble back into the wall. 

“Titus,” you whisper, stomach dropping as he stares at his dead sister. “I’m so sorry, Titus. She never would have let me live after that. I had to. For us-“

Your words are cut off as he grabs your arms, dragging you into his chest. You let out a gasp, but it’s swallowed by his lips as he kisses you. It’s fervent, violent and desperate as he shoves you against the wall, hands squeezing around your broken ribs. 

You let out a pained whine, hands dragging up his shoulders and burying themselves in his hair. He groans into your open mouth as the bell rings out in the distance. 

You’ve done it. 

You’ve made it through the night. Now… The Danforth power, the riches, everything that makes them who they are. You hold it all in your hands. Their heir, their future- it's yours to command. 

"Hey," he finally spoke up, his voice cracking the silence. "I’ve been looking at that page for a while. Why are there so many P's? Is the math stuttering?"

You laughed softly, not looking up from your notebook. "It stands for Probability, Adrian. I’m calculating the likelihood of independent events occurring within a specific timeframe."

Adrian sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. He looked at the symbols—the ∩ and ∪ signs, the Greek letters, and the brackets—and made a face like he was looking at an alien language.

"See, that’s the problem," he said, hopping down to sit on the floor beside you. "Life isn't a bracket, baby. Life is a blindfolded guy swinging a machete in a dark room. It’s chaos. You can’t put a number on... well, anything."

"That’s exactly what probability is for," you countered, finally setting your pen down. "It’s the study of the chaos. It’s finding the pattern in the machete swings."

He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours. He smelled like gun oil and the peppermint gum he chewed when he was nervous. "Okay, Professor. Hit me. What’s the probability that I actually understand what you just said?"

"Approaching zero," you teased.

You turned to a fresh page in your notebook. "Okay, look. Think about the night we met. You were in that warehouse, and I was just a civilian who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Think about the size of Evergreen. Think about the number of streets, the number of buildings, and the exact second you decided to kick that door down."

Adrian watched your hand move as you scribbled down a rough version of Bayes' Theorem:

"If we calculate the prior probability of us being in the same square footage at that exact moment," you whispered, drawing lines connecting the variables, "and then factor in the likelihood of us actually liking each other—considering you’re a masked vigilante and I’m...well...me—the numbers get incredibly small, Adrian. Like, one in a billion small."

Adrian stared at the equation. He didn't see the variables; he saw the messy, beautiful logic of you. He saw the way your eyes lit up when you explained it, the tiny smudge of lead on your thumb, and the way you spoke about him like he was a miracle instead of a mistake.

"So, what you’re saying is..." Adrian started, his voice dropping into that raw, sincere tone that always caught you off guard. "According to the numbers... I’m a statistical anomaly?"

"The biggest one I’ve ever seen," you smiled.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the edges of the paper with a reverence usually reserved for his favorite tactical blades. He carefully tore the page out of your notebook, folding it into a small, precise square.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m keeping this," he said, tucking it into the hidden pocket of his hoodie, right over his heart. "If the math says that the odds of me having you are that low, then I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I don't need to understand the X and the Y to know that the result is perfect."

He leaned over, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "I’m still gonna call it stuttering math, though. Just so you know."

"I expected nothing less," you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder, letting the comfortable quiet settle over the room.

୨୧ taglist: @gaypoetsblog @17th-sector @edynmeyer1 @fortjackson @tulipbreeze @cardcaptorrin @jeshomie @10ava01 @sunbonesss @ilikebeingdelulu @missykoaladelulu @caridundermifflin @pagingmrsabbot

You were pregnant.

Pregnant by the husband that you had separated from, the one that you actively wanted to leave.

You picked up your phone after staring at the test for what felt like an eternity. The positive didn’t change to a negative, it was just there. 

You texted Mckay, the best person for this situation.

You: I fucked up, big time. 

You: Can you come over?

Three dots came onto the screen, your heart in your throat.

Are you okay? I can be over in a few minutes.

You: Depends on your view of being okay.

How were you going to explain this? God, you were so fucking stupid.

Maybe, drinking the wine earlier before you knew would’ve made this easier to understand and accept.

You stayed in the bathroom, biting your lip— sick to your stomach.

A few minutes later, your doorbell rang. 

You walked downstairs, opening the door to Cassie standing there— her hair in a messy ponytail and wearing her oversized gray jacket.

“I got here as quickly as I could, your text was very vague.” She started.

“I’m sorry, I just.. I’m a mess.” You mumbled, shutting the door behind her as she walked in.

“So, what’s going on?” She asked, pushing a few stray hairs from her face.

“Follow me.” You signaled, walking up the steps.

She followed you, the thump of her feet against the carpeted stairs— echoing in your ear.

You walked into your bathroom and quickly picked up the pregnancy test on the counter, turning it to show her the positive result.

“What is—“

“Oh.” Mckay responded, stopping in her tracks.

“Oh.”

You laughed, trying to stop yourself from crying again.

Her eyes flickered from the pregnancy test back to you, “is it Robby’s?”

You nodded, rubbing your nose.

“Yeah.. it’s his.”

Mckay scratches her brow, her hand on her hip.

“I thought the two of you were divorcing, like you were done?”

You looked down at your fingers, embarrassed to admit that you messed up.

“We were.. I was planning on it—“

“It just had been a bit and things got out of hand after he came over.”

"Well, that was totally not what I was expecting from your text." She mumbled.

She rubbed your arm, a huff of air leaving her lungs. 

The two of you had been friends for years, but not just friends— she is your best friend. Despite everything, the two of you have managed to be there for each other through it all, the big moments and small ones.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You admitted.

Both of you walked out of your bathroom and back downstairs, taking a seat on the couch. 

Mckay angled herself on the couch to see you better.

“Are you going to keep it?—“

“I know how you feel about Robby and having children in general, but also after dealing with the miscarriage.”

It was as if Mckay’s words were going in one ear and out the other, it was hard to process what she was saying when you felt like the floor was being pulled from underneath you.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Cass. Having a baby with someone who refuses to get the help that they need, probably isn’t wise.”

For the first time in your entire friendship, Cassie gave you a look of pity— a look of hoping that things for her friend would somehow change or become better.

It was embarssing more than anything else, how you let him back into your bed and into your home— knowing that he hadn't gotten help.

How even when he wasn't kind you felt drawn to him.

When Mckay left, you laid in your bed — your mind on Robby more than anything else. You wanted to text him and be full of excitement, have him come home to some exciting announcement— watch him be excited to be a dad. Instead, you were in your bed crying— thinking of all the ways that your marriage failed.

If you kept it, what kind of life would it have? Would Robby even be alive to see the baby be born? Would he get his shit together and be a good dad?

A bunch of questions that you couldn't possibly answer.

That night, when you tried sleeping— you tossed and turned constantly. You finally gave up in the middle of the night and decided to scroll on your phone.

You looked at your text thread with Robby, the messages that you had ignored.

I didn't mean to wake you, if I did. I know that this changes nothing, but I missed you. I missed sleeping beside you, feeling your head against my chest.

You deserve so much better than me.

I need you.

You abandoned me. I would've never did that to you. I would've never gave up on us.

I'm sorry, I had been drinking and couldn't unsend it. I don't think that you abandoned me, I know that you needed space.

Talk to me, please. I need you, baby.

This entire thing was much harder than you wanted it to be. You were supposed to be excited over being pregnant, not feeling this way. After all, it was something that you and Robby had wanted— something that both of you dreamed of.

You closed the message thread and began to look up abortion pills that could be shipped to your home, discreetly and fast.

There was no reason to dwell on it, it was what you needed to do. It was what you should've been be eager to do— leave Robby and get rid of any problems that were attached to him.

You knew how abortions worked— how they got rid of the baby, how you'd bleed for sometime after, how you might need some pills for pain.

What you didn't know was if you'd forgive yourself for this, if Robby would forgive you for not including him. He was still your husband.

Two weeks later..

You sat at the clinic, the buzz of the lights overhead sounding all too familar.

That was a clinc that you found online—good reviews, more on the luxury end, and twenty minutes away from your house. It checked all of the boxes that you had.

The office felt inviting, not cold or sterile like the hospital and not judgemental or chaotic like a pregannacy crisis center.

The lobby had you and two other pregnant women waiting, one who was there with her partner— her hand on her bump and a smile on her face. The other sat there, scrolling on her phone and alone like you.

Admittedly, this appointment had made you more nervous than you intended. You craved a glass of wine more than would be appropriate to admit.

"Mrs.Robin—"

"Mrs. Robinavitch?" The nurse called, standing at the door and holding it open.

You stood from your seat, making your way to the woman and through the door.

"How are you?" She smiled, glancing from the clipboard.

"Never Better." You muttered.

Which was a lie, but that was an appointment to confirm your pregnancy— not a therapy sesssion.

She took your weight and confirmed your height before leading you into a room.

"I see we're here to confirm a pregnancy—"

"Yes." You responded.

"When did you take the pregnancy test?" She asked, scanning onto the computer in front of her.

"About two and half weeks ago now."

"Is this your first pregnancy?"

You shook your head, "No. I was pregnant abou five months ago, it ended in a miscarriage shortly after I found out."

She nodded, typing away at the keyboard.

"We're going to do a blood and urine test today, just to confirm the pregnacy. We will also check your levels to make sure that everything is how it should be, along with giving you an estimated due date."

God, that moment felt surreal. You were sitting in a doctor’s office, confirming a pregnancy and you were all alone— just like when you had the miscarriage.

You sat there, fidgeting with your wedding ring— swinging your feet as they dangled off the table. The nurse glanced between your chart and the computer screen, entering in information. The silence felt never ending.

She finally closed her tabs, swiped her badge to signout, and handed you a cup.

"I need a urine sample from you, in this. I can also get you water, if that will help you go to the bathroom."

You pushed yourself off of the table and gently took the cup from her hands.

"I should be fine, thank you though."

You walked into the tiny and dimly lit bathroom that they had in the hallway, unbuttoning your pants to pee in the cup.

Maybe, the test was a false positive and you were worried for nothing— there was no real decision to be made.

You peed in the cup, returned to the room and then got your blood drawn.

The wait is what really made you want to vomit, waiting to know if you could go back to living life the way that you had been or preparing for it to change in ways that you hadn't considered.

The woman came back into the room, her clipboard in her hand along with some papers.

"Well, it looks like congratulations are in order. You are pregnant, dear."

You wanted to laugh, your hearing feeling muffled in the moment.

Congratulations was far from what you were looking for.

You looked at her, your heart feeling as if it was being squeezed in your chest.

She smiled, handing you your papers.

"It looks like you'll be due in September as well. We will have you come back next week for a vaginal ultrasound. The front desk can help you get that scheduled."

You nodded, trying to hide the fact that you wanted to cry.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

You shook your head, "No ma'am. It seems like everything is pretty self explanatory."

"Okay, well these pamphlets and papers will give you more information about your pregnancy and resources if you need them. Please, do not be afraid to call the office if you have any questions or concerns." She added.

Within a few minutes, she guided you back into the lobby. You rushed to schedule another appointment and make it back out to your car.

Once you were near your car, you threw up in the parking lot— your nerves getting the better of you.

You needed Robby by your side, you didn't want to go through this alone.

Admittedly, you were terrified of this whole situation.

Five months later…

Life had continued on the way that it always did, finding out that you were pregnant didn't ruin you like you thought it would.

You hadn't talked to Robby in about three months and surprisingly, he hadn't said anything to you either. You wondered what he'd been up to, but you still needed space.

The restaurant was overflowing with chatter and customers as you took a seat at the table, the smell of nachos and alcohol lingering in the air.

You glanced over the menu, your thoughts interrupted by Jack taking his seat across from you.

"I'm sorry for being late, there was some traffic on the way."

You shrugged, "I just got here myself."

He adjusted in his seat, pulling a menu towards him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

You sighed, your hand on your round belly.

"I am exhausted, fat, out of breath, and now an extremely picky eater."

Jack laughed in amusement, the lines near the side of his eyes deepening.

The server came and took both of your drink orders, giving you more time to decide on food.

"How is everything coming along with the nursery?" Jack questioned, taking a sip of his water.

"It's going fine, outside of me having so many things left to do. Cassie is coming over this weekend to help with a few things."

You quickly found what you were going to eat on the menu, closing it and sliding it in front of you.

"Have you talked to Robby?" You hesitantly asked.

Jack sighed, his lip twitching.

"Yeah, I talk to him pretty frequently—"

"He's still adamant about taking that sabbatical... I mean he's just, not doing well."

The server brought back your drinks, placing them on napkins in front of you.

You sipped some of the tea through your straw, trying to bite back urge to ask a millon questions about him.

"Has he still not talked to you?" Jack pried.

The question made your heart jump in your chest, "um."

Your sentence interrupted by another server coming to take your order.

"I have not heard from him in months, so no. I'm not sure that I would've replied had he said anything though, so I guess it doesn't matter." You confessed.

"He's pushing everyone away.. everyone is worried about him—"

"He's dropping hints that he might not come back from this sabbatical." Jack informed you.

Your stomach dropped, like the way it would when you were on a rollercoaster.

"That night that he came over months ago, I was hopeful that he'd get help— that he wanted to be better. I was clearly wrong."

Jack gave you a look, a look that you knew all too well— a look that meant he was going to bring something you'd hate up.

He crossed his arms in front of him.

"Tell him about the babies."

You laughed, waving him off. "No, I'm not doing that."

Jack huffed, "you need to. He deserves to know and you deserve to have your husband's support."

"My husband has not spoken to me in months and when he did, you never knew how the conversation would go. I put up with his meaness and disregard for my feelings for months, literally until I started to fall apart—"

"I don't want to be involved in his continued spiral. I have too much to worry about." You reminded him.

"Robby needs—"

"Robby is a big boy and he needs to get help. He should've gotten help months ago and I won't use my babies as leverage to make him do the right thing." You interrupted, adjusting in your seat.

"Christ, the two of you are the most difficult people that I've ever met—"

"What are you going to do? huh? Have your babies, raise them in the same city, and act like Robby doesn't exist or hope that you never run into him one day?—"

"You need to tell him." He scoffed, rubbing his face.

"I thought this was supposed to be lunch not a lecture." You mocked.

"It is lunch, but I'm also tiptoeing around the both of you. I see him everyday and lie to his face, lie to him about how you are doing."

"What if me telling him changes nothing? What then, Jack?"

"Then, at least you tried and at least he knew."

"That's not good enough." You argued.

"What's not good enough?"

"I'm not going to add stress to my life by telling him, hoping that he'll change. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to tell him and experience this together— but I won't use them as leverage, like they're pieces to a game." You protested.

"Well, I would want my wife to tell me that I had two children on the way." He reiterated, leaning back in his chair.

"You would've never made me feel like I had to leave, so there would've been no reason to hide anything from you."

After that conversation, lunch was quiet and a little awkward. You appreciated his words, because they were true— but it also felt unfair.

Maybe, it was the heightened emotions because of your pregnancy— but it always felt like people constantly expected you to comprimise more with Robby.

Why couldn't Robby compromise with you? Meet you in the middle? It shouldn't have always had to be on you.

When you got home, you took your shoes off and curled up onto the couch. It was a lonely feeling, being pregant and doing everything by yourself. Most would argue that you didn't have to, but Michael was in no state to prepare for one baby— let alone two.

It would be a lie to say that you didn't feel bad for not telling him, because you did. You wanted to see the babies together, you wanted his input on the nursery, you wanted his hand on your belly — holding you while you slept.

You wanted all the things that any pregnant woman would dream of. You wanted the fairytale, the happy life, and happy husband.

The biggest hurdle for you was yet to come, because you had no idea how you'd handle two newborns by yourself. You had a friend group that consisted of two people that you were closest with, two people who also worked with your husband.

The stress from this situation was driving you insane, which is exactly why your doctor wanted you to take it easy.

You scrolled through your notes, staring at the two baby names that you had settled on.

Rory and Jensen.

They weren't names that you heard too often, but you had fallen in love with them. Your daughter and son had names, things were finally starting to feel real. You were going to be a mom to two children.

You dozed off on the couch and hours had passed, the dim night light in the living room glowing.

Your phone buzzed near you, which gradually woke you up.

You glanced at your screen.

It was Robby.

"Hello?" You mumbled, wiping your eyes.

"Were you asleep? I didn't mean to wake you—"

"I'm fine. What's going on, Michael?" You interrupted him, trying to understand why he called.

There was a silence on the phone, the silence filled with Robby's breaths near the mic.

"Tonight has been a dark one.. and I didn't know who else to call." He admitted.

You sat up on the couch, still groggy.

"Is everything okay?"

He huffed, but it almost came off as a laugh.

"I am sorry.. I'm sorry to call you like this after months, I'm sorry that I disappointed you.. I'm sorry that I drove you away."

"Michael, it's okay.. I just want you to be okay." You reminded him, your words coming out soft.

"I don't know what it means to be okay anymore." He spoke, his voice shaky.

"Can you come to my place? I don't want to be alone tonight." He questioned.

You started to reply, your words failing you.

"That's not a good idea and besides I can't."

"I just want to see you." He replied.

You would've loved to drop everything and rush to him or have him come over, but you knew how it would end. You'd let your guard down, remember what it's like to have him be your husband for a few hours and be disappointed again in the morning. You also would have a lot of explaining to do, given your round belly.

"I can't." You added.

The call got quiet again for a moment.

"Yeah.. no, I totally understand. I just hope you're doing well and I love you."

Before you could respond, Robby hand hung up. You felt guilty, the first time the two of you had talked in months and you pushed him away. You pushed away your husband when he needed you.

You texted Jack.

You: Can you go check on Robby? He called me and wanted me to come over, but I can't obviously.

Yeah, I can be over there shortly.

Was he okay? Did he say anything off?

You: No, he wasn't okay. He said that he was sorry, that loved me, and that tonight had been dark for him.

I'll be at his place in fifteen and I'll keep you updated.

You loved his message and tried to fight off the thoughts that entered your mind.

Hours passed and you eventually fell asleep again, but you woke up to a text from Jack— telling you that he was okay. Robby had just had a rough day at work.

You weren't sure whether you should've felt relieved or more worried, but nothing beat the guilt that gnawed at you the next day.

Days later…

Robby was glad that this was his last day of work, glad that the day of his sabbatical starting was so close.

The pitt was where he felt he was needed most, not at home with you— but helping others. It was his safe space for so long, until it began to feel like the walls were always closing in on him.

The thing that he'd loved to do for years became the thing that he dreaded most.

His struggle was widely known, a bitter pill to swallow— everyone tiptoeing around their attending thinking he might snap.

Robby walked to the desk, standing beside Dana as he picked up the iPad.

"Are you still excited to leave us?" Dana questioned, marking something on the paper in front of her.

Robby stared over the bridge of his nose, glancing between the iPad and his surroundings.

"I've been counting down the hours since I got here."

Not only was the emergency room extremely busy, but of course on the day before he leaves— Langdon returned.

The bane of his existence, the biggest mistake that he'd made.

When you confronted him months ago about him cutting Langdon slack, you were right. He should've reported him, he should've listened to you.

That was just one more thing on the list of ways that he had failed you— as a husband, as a friend, and as a superior.

He wanted to talk to you, see how you were doing, beg for your forgiveness— if you'd let him. He missed you, your smile, your smell, your energy. He missed you more than he could ever put into words. It pained him greatly knowing that he was the cause for all of it— Langdon returning, you leaving, the reason Samira was so hard on herself.

All of it.

It also didn't help how he felt, knowing that you didn't bother to come to him when he needed you. He really fucked up his marriage with the woman that loved him most.

Maybe, the best thing that he could do for you was to leave you alone.

Robby moved through the emergency room, taking mental notes of what everyone was doing— checking to see if he was needed.

He bumped into Langdon, an annoyed expression immediately on his face.

Langdon knew that Robby had been avoiding him and wanting to keep as much distance as possible between the two of them, but he wanted to apologize.

"Robby?" Langdon spoke.

"Yes, Langdon? What do you need?" Robby replied, continuing his walk and hoping that anything would come up— dragging him away from that conversation.

"I just wanted to—"

"Save it, I don't need to be apologized to." Robby cut him off mid sentence.

"You deserve an apology, because I disappointed you, and let you down."

Robby laughed, but not in amusement.

"You let yourself and the hospital down, not me."

"No, I let you down too. You trusted me and I violated that, I embarrassed you—"

"I've been trying to make up for what I did, make amends."

Robby put hand sanitizer on his hands, his eyes facing forward as he kept walking.

"You can't make up for what you did, you broke an oath and betrayed your coworkers." Robby spoke bluntly.

Langdon's lip twitched, his face reddened.

"I can try, that's all that matters. I don't want to lose anymore than I almost did, my wife wanted to leave and take the kids."

Robby gritted his teeth, "good."

Langdon nodded his head, not that he agreed with Robby's words— but because maybe he deserved them.

Langdon started to walk away, stopping in his tracks.

"Also, congrats man. I didn't know that you were expecting, I'm happy for you."

Robby stopped in his tracks, his eyes flickering to Langdon.

"What?"

Langdon smiled, genuinely unaware.

"Yeah, no one told me. My wife saw your wife at the store looking at baby stuff—"

"But let me know what the gender is and I'll get a gift. Fatherhood is awesome, you'll love it." Langdon continued, walking into one of the rooms.

Robby wasn't expecting a child, but Langdon's wife saw you— searching for baby items and presumably visibly pregnant? That's not possible.

You would've told him, wouldn't you?

Was Langdon using again? He must've been.

It was if Robby's world was spinning faster than everyone else, his heart racing and vision blurry.

Robby pushed into the empty peds room, the door quickly and softly shutting behind him.

He tugged at his jacket, his chest feeling tight like he wasn't getting enough air.

In his mind, all he could think of was that Langdon might've been mistaken—his wife must've been confused.

He knew that you wanted to keep your distance and pursue a divorce, but it never crossed his mind that there could've been other underlying reasons.

Oh, God.. He remembered that he didn't pull out when he had sex with you months ago, which made that possible. You also sent Jack to his place to check on him, instead of coming yourself— which wasn't like you.

Robby's eyes welled with tears, his heart heavy with an unexplainable grief. The idea of you going through a pregnancy alone was like he was being sawed in half.

Before Robby could even think properly, he was leaning against the wall for support— silent sobs leaving his mouth.

What if it was true? What could he possibly say to you to fix this?

He pulled his phone out, tears wetting the screen as he sent you a text.

Are you busy? I need to talk to you.

He stood in the empty and dark peds room, allowing himself to cry and think of you and the reality of his marriage.

If you didn't text back by the time that he was off, he'd stop by the house. He needed to get to the bottom of this, even if he was wrong.

You stood at the computer, trying to get through a chart as the twins kicked you. Your hand curled around your belly, your face scrunched in a pained expression.

That day had been slow, thankfully so. You didn't feel good at all, barely able to keep anything down and the twins were active. 

You wanted to go home.

Your phone vibrated on the desk, a text from Mckay.

Have you talked to Robby?

You read the text and all you could do was roll your eyes, what did he have going on now?

You: I have not, not since he called a few days ago. Is he okay?

You went back to working on the chart, making sure that you didn't forget anything.

He just seems off. He was fine earlier, but he disappeared for a few minutes and came back looking sad. He looks like he's been crying.

You: He's naturally sad lol. I'm sure he'd text if anything was up.

That's fair.

Is there a chance that things between the two of you are on the mend?

You audibly laughed reading her text, Mckay was funny if nothing else.

You: absolutely not.

I was just curious. I hate not being able to bring up baby stuff when we talk at work.

You finished that chart and clicked over to the next one with a sigh.

You picked up your phone, glancing at the text.

You: I'm sure he'd somehow make the conversation depressing, my husband has a knack for that.

You replied, locking your phone and putting it back into your pocket.

All you wanted to do was get home, take a bath and relax. You were tired, your feet were sore, and you wanted to eat. You had too much on your plate to also add Robby and whatever he had bothering him.

Your shift ended, the moon high in the sky when you walked to the parking lot. You were leaving later than you had intended, a new patient taking most of your time.

Soon you'd be on maternity leave and away from work for the twelve weeks they allowed at your hospital. Even though you'd be taking care of two newborns, any time away from the hospital was appreciated. The job was draining and it didn't help that you were growing two small humans.

On your way home, you talked to Mckay and stopped at the local coffee shop for a medicine ball tea— hoping for some relief.

ꕀ

As you pulled into your garage, you immediately felt relaxed knowing that you had the next five days off.

Five days to organize the nursery, five days to sleep in, five days to not spend so much time on your feet.

You got out of your car and closed the garage, walking into your dimly lit house—making your way to the kitchen.

You put down your bags and slid off your shoes—leaning over the counter to turn on the lights, so that it wasn't so dark.

There Robby stood in the living room— a green longsleeve shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, and blue jeans on. 

You screamed, clutching your chest and almost dropping your tea.

"Michael, what the fuck?"

"What are you doing? Why are you standing in the living room in the dark?"

For a second, you completely forgot about your obvious pregnant belly— your red shirt doing you no favors in hiding it.

Robby's eyes slowly flickered over your frame, a look of betrayal on his face— tears welling in his eyes at the devestating truth.

Langdon wasn't using, it was true. 

Your free hand curled around your belly, your heart dropping when you realized.

"How far along are you?" He asked sternly with disbelief.

You glanced down at your pink striped socks, keeping your eyes off of him— because you admittedly felt guiltier than you had expected to.

"Robby.. I can—"

"How far along are you?" He interrupted, his voice raising.

"Almost six months."

He scoffed, his hand on the back of his neck.

"Six months.. and you didn't say a word to me?—"

"Frank told me at work."

Your brows furrowed, "Langdon?”

"Yeah, his wife saw you shopping for baby clothes." He gritted.

Fuck was all that you could think in that moment.

You sat your cup of tea down on the counter, "what was I supposed to say, Robby?—"

"Hmm?"

"Anything!" He yelled.

"No, you don't get to do that. You treated me like shit those last few months that you were here. I gave you the out that you wanted!"

"You gave me an out, yet you called me over and fucked me? Does that make any sense?" He mocked.

"I was hoping that you had changed, were willing to change— but I was wrong. I was clearly fucking wrong." You roared, the heat rising in your chest.

"I woud've.. to make this work, for you and the baby." 

"Babies." You corrected.

His brows furrowed slightly, "what?"

"I'm pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl."

A tear streamed down his cheek.

"Two.. I'm going to have a son and a daughter." He spoke to himself, trying to process the news.

Seeing him try to come to terms with the news made you fight back tears. 

It was never supposed to be that fucking hard or painful, you were supposed to be happy during your pregnancy. Not standing in the living room arguing with your husband.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He sniffled.

You started to speak and then stopped, because the truth was that you didn't know. You had struggled with the news yourself and just didn't know when would be the right time to tell him.

"I know that I've fucked up, but I never knew that you felt like you couldn't trust me— not even with things like this."

"It was never about not trusting you, it was bout your refusal for help—"

"How can you raise two children when you cannot control your own emotions? when you snap with every little thing? Drop hints that you won't return from your sabbatical?"

His eyes met yours, a question behind them. He wanted to ask who told you that, but it had to be Abbot.

"Abbot and Mckay knew didn't they?"

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Yes."

"God, I just don't even.. I don't even know what to say to you right now." He admitted.

You stepped closer to him, your belly even more visible in the light.

"I should've told you sooner.. I should've, but I hope you know that it was never out of maliciousness. I thought I was.. protecting you."

"Protecting me.." He repeated as if the words felt wrong in his mouth.

"This was cruel and you were never cruel, not to me or anyone. Anything could've went wrong and you hid this from me.."

Your lip quivered, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry.. I am."

There was an exhaustingly long beat of silence, the silence getting the best of both of you.

Robby walked closer to you, dropping to his knees in front of you— catching you by surprise.

His forehead rested against your belly, his hand coming to your hips.

"Forgive me.." He whispered against your belly, his tears wetting your shirt.

"I should've done better, listened to you, been nicer, been the husband that I was supposed to be—"

"I don't want to fight with you, baby."

Your placed your hand on his head, your fingers resting within his hair.

Maybe, that was what he needed. Maybe, that was his wakeup call.

"I embarrassed you and us, I let things get bad and I shouldn't have…Please, forgive me, baby."

"I forgive you. I forgive you, Michael." You stammered.

It was never about needing to forgive him, not really. You just wanted him to see someone and stop being so angry all the time— angry at himself and things that he cannot control.

Saying that you forgave him felt like a weight off your chest, like a release of weight that you didn't realize you were carrying.

He sobbed into your shirt, his hands rubbing your belly.

"Did I already fail them?"

You pulled away from him slightly, your eyes meeting his.

"You just found out about them today, but from the stories that I've told them—You're probably already their superhero." You smiled, wiping your tears.

Robby stood up, wiping his face and taking both of your hands into his.

"Let me fix this, baby. I don't want to carry on this way with you, I never did— but certainly not now."

"Michael—" You hesitated.

"I mean it. I won't lose another moment with them and not with you either, please."

"Being without you was the closest form to hell that I've experienced in my life. I don't want to lose you, ever again." He professed.

You nodded, your skin warm at the sound of his words. You felt like you did all over again on the night that he came over.

Robby pulled you into a gentle and unexpecting kiss, one of the twins kicking your belly.

"Ouch!"

Robby stared at you with worried eyes, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, one of them kicked."

"Oh." 

You brought his hand to your belly, hoping that he could also feel it.

They kicked again and Robby's face brightned, his heart turning into mush.

"I'm sure they'll love to have you talk to them, it's about time they hear a different voice from mine." You joked.

"I'm going to have an appointment scheduled first thing in the morning for a therapist." He promised.

"Okay." 

This time for the first time in a long time, you wholeheartedly believed him.

"Well, I'm going to take a bath. I want to relax, my feet are killing me." 

Robby titled his head with interest, his tongue swiping his bottom lip.

"Can I join you like I used to? I'll rub your feet."

You laughed, throwing your head back.

"Not so fast mister."

Robby picked you up off your feet while you laughed.

"Robby!" You shrieked.

"Well, the least I could do is carry you— since your feet hurt."

There was obviously still a long road ahead of you two and things were nowhere near perfect, however— it was a step in the right direction. A step that made you hopeful, hopeful for your marriage and babies.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated.

The end of your shift couldn’t come soon enough. 

In the span of twelve hours, you’d been doused in bodily fluids twice, hit on by a creepy old drunk who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, passively dismissed by Robby after he deemed you “too slow” for a trauma (when in reality, the med student next to you was the one who wouldn’t hand you the damn tube), and had your lunch stolen when it clearly had your name written on it—four times might you add. 

To top the whole very bad day off, your husband hadn’t responded to the messages you had sent hours ago asking if he’d be back in time to pick you up because the forecast called for rain, and like all bad days had gone, your car basically gave up the ghost the moment you parked it in the employee lot. 

So, you were almost scrub-less, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and so starving you almost thought about paying an insane price for a small Uber-ed meal before you also realized that the app hadn’t saved your information and your card was currently sitting on the kitchen counter. 

Just what you needed. 

The groan, along with the rumbles of your stomach, caused many heads to turn. 

“Is there a stampede in here? Or is your stomach in the process of eating itself,” Dana asked, though her eyes didn’t leave the nurses’ board. 

Your head landed next to the keyboard with a loud thunk. “I think my stomach tried to eat itself a couple of hours ago before realizing that it was completely empty.”

“I saw you brought lunch. Where’d that go?” 

If glares could put someone six feet under, the one you were giving your computer should have imploded it. “Currently being digested in the stomach of a med student.” 

“Good Lord. You poor thing.” 

“Tell me about it. I’d been dreaming of those leftovers since last night!” 

Dana gave you a knowing look. “Did your husband cook it?” 

“Yep.” Your chair squeaked as you leaned back. “And I didn’t even get to enjoy it for the second time. He’s going to be pissed.” 

“Who’s going to be pissed?” Trinity asked, already leaning on the counter like getting closer to you would make the gossip flow over. “Cause if you’re talking about Dr. Robby, that ship sailed around 2:30.” 

You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your face. “Trust me; I already know he’s pissed off at the world. I’ve been on the receiving end of that way too much today.” 

She gave you a sympathetic wince. “I heard about that.” 

“Who hasn’t,” you muttered with a harsh snort. 

That was the other thing that had added to your humiliation. Robby hadn’t just quietly dismissed you or corrected you after the trauma, no, he rather loudly decided to spew his personal thoughts about your work ethic in front of not just your coworkers but also the patient’s family who were there for moral support. Blatant strangers had a front seat to watch your attending rip into you all while it hadn’t even been your fault. 

Just thinking about it brought another heated flush up your neck. 

“To answer your question, her husband’s the one who’s going to be pissed,” Dana filled her in while rewriting a name. “He’s very particular about who gets to eat his food.” 

Another groan rumbled your chest. “Med student didn’t even return the Tupperware. Now he’s going to be extra pissed at that.” 

For a small second, Trinity looked almost nervous. “Will you be okay?” 

Her concern made a small feeling of comfort and pride bloom in your chest. If there was one person you could count on other than your family and Dana, it was Trinity, never hesitating to step in if she even thought someone didn’t feel safe. You shot her a grateful smile. 

“Oh, I’ll be perfectly fine. He’ll be mad sure, but not at me. We’ll just pray that he won’t spot the student that did it.” 

“Amen to that,” Dana muttered. “He’s like your personal guard dog.” 

“Are we going to add that guy who tried to touch your ass earlier?” Trinity teased, and your eyes widened. 

“Definitely.” You nodded along. “Might as well add Robby to it too. My husband isn’t that fond of him already. I just wish he’d respond to my messages.” 

Dana gave you a knowing look. “He at work today?” 

“Yeah. There was a problem with one of the houses a few hours out, and he left before I was even out of bed. Said there was a contract breach, kissed me good morning, and drove off.” 

“That’s oddly sweet,” Trinity added. 

You couldn’t help the fond smile that grew on your face. “Even made my coffee for me. I found it with one of those little post-it notes stuck to it.” 

“Didn’t know he was into doing stuff like that,” Dana said with a small laugh. 

“You know how he is,” you replied. “The man’s love language is acts of service.” 

Trinity smiled. “What does he do for work?” 

Your fingers found the keyboard again while you answered. “He’s a relator and contractor. Usually, he works from home, but like today, he sometimes has to go out and inspect the houses or make sure the paperwork is in order.” 

“Sounds like you got yourself a stay-at-home husband.” 

You couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah. He actually really likes to do the house work. Plus, when I’m home, all I’m doing is sleeping.” Your eyes caught your wedding band. “He’s really good to me. Plus, he’s Jack’s—” 

“Ladies, if we have time to chat, we have time to work,” Robby’s voice interrupted the conversation, loud and on the very edge of condescending. “Especially you, Dr. Cody. Let’s focus on getting patients in and out instead of sitting around, yes?” 

You swallowed down an annoyed sigh, instead choosing to stand up without a word. Hating the way you felt under Robby’s glare almost made you want to put in a two-week notice and move departments. However, emergency medicine was your life; it was the sole reason you met the people who quickly became your family, the reason you met your husband. Your fingers quickly found your wedding band, specially made of the number of diamonds that symbolized how long you and your husband had been dating before he proposed. 

Grabbing another tablet quickly, you forced yourself to hold your head up high as you passed him. Robby wasn’t worth your fear or submission. Plus, it wasn’t like he never talked around; you’d caught him and the hospital’s case manager making small talk way too many times to count. The man was a hypocrite that couldn’t see past his own faults and projected them onto his employees.   

By the time you rounded the corner, and Robby had vacated the station, Trinity leaned in toward Dana a bit more. 

“Is there any way to contact her husband? She mentioned her car died, and it’s raining.” Trinity looked in the direction you had disappeared down. “If I were married and my boss talked to me like that, I’d want my partner to know.”  

Dana had already picked up her personal cell after Trinity’s first question. “Oh, I’ll make sure he knows.” 

_______________________

When you exited the patient’s room, you paused a few feet into the hallway, rubbed your eyes, and continued to stare at the nurses’ station. 

Dana being there with Trintiy and Dennis was nothing out of the ordinary. However, the added presence of Jack Abbot and your husband was. You hastily crossed the gap between you and the station, concern etching itself in your eyebrows and lips. 

“Andrew?” you called out. “What are you doing here?” 

At the sound of your voice, Andrew Cody turned his head so rapidly that it added another wave of worry that he might have pulled something. He stayed still, even when you stopped in front of him, as your hands gently ran up his arms and stopped at his face all while the small group watched on with small smiles (from Jack and Dana) and genuine curiosity (from Dennis and Trinity). 

“You’re supposed to be in Altoona right now. Did you get hurt?” you questioned when your eyes couldn’t find any visible injuries. 

He stayed silent while his hands quietly found yours, fingers threading between the gaps and holding you steady. 

“I’m fine,” he finally said, hazel eyes boring into yours. “Just missed you.” 

A relieved exhale escaped from your lips. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second.”  

His crooked teeth poked through a smile. “I could tell.” 

You softly pushed him before taking his hands again. “Shut up. You went hours without responding and just show up at the end of my shift. God forbid I’m concerned for my husband.” 

“See, man, I told you she’d do this,” Jack grumbled, patting Andrew slightly on the shoulder. 

“Um, not to interrupt, but did Dr. Cody marry someone who looks exactly like Dr. Abbot?” Dennis squeaked out a question, obviously trying not to step over a boundary. 

But like a sister, Trinity nudged him harshly with her elbow. “Use your brain, Huckleberry. It’s obvious they’re related somehow.” 

The two continued looking between the Pitt’s night shift attending and your husband who looked like Jack if he were ten years younger. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you early, Trinity,” you said. “My husband is Jack’s cousin on their moms's side. Andrew, this is Dennis and Trinity.” 

Andrew didn’t reach out to give them a handshake, but the appreciated nod he gave them was somehow enough. “She talks about you two a lot.” 

Trinity looked smug by the news. “All good things I hope.” 

“Definitely,” he answered. “I can tell she likes working with you two.” 

“Which is more than he can say about Robby,” Dana muttered. 

The change in Andrew, just by mentioning Robby, was so visceral that Trinity and Dennis were both shocked. 

In the few moments, the two could see how soft this hunking-fridge-of-a-man was for you. They saw it in the way he was quick to hunch over slightly when you looked him over with worry. They noticed it in the way he held onto you when he reassured you that he was only there for her and not because he had gotten hurt. They noted the way his soft smile was only for you and not even for when his cousin jested with him. 

Dana’s words from earlier rang in Trinity’s mind as she watched Andrew’s muscles tense beneath his polo. 

He’s like your personal guard dog.

Andrew shifted his weight, shoulders now seemingly broader than they had been. “Did something happen today?” 

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “It was nothing. He’s just being Robby.” 

Surprisingly, Andrew’s eyes flitted over to Trinity like he knew she’d tell him exactly what he wanted to know. “What’d he do?” 

Trinity looked at you once, and when you looked toward the floor, she answered. “He blamed her for a med student’s slow pace. Practically yelled at and belittled her in front of the other doctors in the trauma room and the patient’s family.” 

Even Jack couldn’t hold back the wince splashing across his face at the news, mind already knowing that in five seconds, his cousin might be on a war path for his friend. However, all Andrew seemed to do was take in a deep breath and hold onto your hands like a tether. 

“All right,” he finally said, body still tense. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”

“Someone took her lunch,” Dana added, drawing your eyes from the floor to her, hues flooding with betrayal. 

Et tu, brute? 

“Dana,” you hissed. 

Andrew’s grip on your hands tightened. 

In an almost attempt to throw more gas onto an already raging fire, Trinity ended with, “And she had a patient try to grope her earlier this morning.” 

Andrew’s eyes closed slowly like he was bracing for a fit of rage to overtake his senses, his mind already racing with the fact that you probably hadn’t eaten, because when he stopped by the house to change, he saw your forgotten card. Add in you almost getting assaulted, and he was one wrongly pulled Jenga block from collapsing. 

You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already feeling the brunt of the day push down on you. They only fluttered open when Andrew didn’t move, his chest the only thing heaving in an out and in motion. Somehow, that didn’t ease the queasy feeling bubbling beneath your skin. And at that moment, Robby decided to round the corner. Like most men, you guessed that he hadn’t picked up on the tension cloud that was currently circling around the station and—more importantly—Andrew’s head. 

When Robby walked into his field of view, you swear you saw the lovely hazel of his eyes darken. It should have scared you how quickly Andrew could go from your sweet and doting husband to a very possessive animal, but instead, the change had you relaxing and relieved. If there was someone you could count on for anything no matter what, that person would always be Andrew. 

And maybe (finally) Robby sensed enough tension, because his body went stiff after he looked up from the tablet in his hands and met Andrew’s eyes. 

Trinity and Dennis really thought that your husband was going to stalk over there, throw a punch, menacingly bark curse words and insults at Robby (a man who had a few good inches to tower over Andrew), and walk back over like nothing happened. But when he stayed put, only giving a beady stare that never wavered, they realized that he didn’t even have to talk to Robby or punch him for his words to get across. 

They knew that Andrew was making Robby uncomfortable by the way Robby shifted, the way he broke eye contact first, and the way he left the station looking like a dog with a tail between its legs.  

Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, that never gets old.” 

Dana smirked. “He ever use that on you?” 

“All the fucking time.” Jack scoffed. “Do you know how many family gatherings I spent trying to get away from those eyes.” 

“We have the same eyes, asshole,” Andrew grumbled. 

“But yours are scary as hell,” Jack shot back. “Might be a good time to say that my night shift needs another resident.” 

“Fuck no,” Trinity instantly said. “You can’t have her, or we’d be left with him.” 

Dennis nodded. “I’m in full agreement.” 

Jack looked over at you expectantly but visibly deflated at the apologetic look you were giving him. 

“Sorry, Jack, but I enjoy getting to spend my evenings at home.” You paused and smirked. “I know Samira’s been looking for a change of scenery if you want to ask her.” 

The small crowd couldn’t help but smile or chuckle at the now vivid flush across Jack’s face as he tried to sputter out an answer. 

“All right, get out of here kids before it looks like you’re staging a mutiny,” Dana said with a wave of her hands. 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Trinity responded with a salute of her own. 

Andrew grinned widely, finally showing the smile around more people than just you. “If we’re turning into pirates, Jack already has the missing-leg thing down.” 

“Hey!” 

You giggled loudly while Andrew wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into his side. Your hand gently rested against his chest as you hugged him back. He felt your body melt into his after he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. 

“Ready to go home?” he quietly muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Dana already gave me your bag.” 

“Yeah,” you breathily sighed. “Let’s go before a trauma comes in, and I’m stuck in here until I wither away. 

Andrew hummed. “We can’t have that now, can we?” 

“Absolutely not. I still want to have leftovers at least one more time before I’m buried. And this time, I’m putting a padlock on the container.” 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”