Dorian/ozzy

you, much to his delight, never let him get away with anything. you don't hesitate to wag a finger in his face when you're the one working long hours at a demanding job that pays the bulk of the bills and keeps food on the table. Toji, by contrast, lives life on his own terms: gym sessions to maintain the body he's earned, the occasional odd job he never fully explains, and a whole lot of lounging around. but domestic chores? unless it's a dripping faucet, a clogged drain, or loose hinges—because the idea of another man coming into his home with a toolbox is enough to aggravate him—he either leaves most of it to you or ignores it until you inevitably snap. 

god, you do it beautifully.

which is exactly why the apartment door slams shut hard enough to rattle the picture frames, the familiar sound carrying through the cluttered space like the opening bell of the boxing match currently playing on the television. Toji doesn't even bother looking up when he already knows what's coming, the corner of his scarred mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.

you're going to be fucking adorable.

the mess greets you immediately: takeout containers strewn across the coffee table, dirty dishes stacked precariously in the sink under the pretense of "soaking," his training gear dumped in a heap like he couldn’t be bothered to take two extra steps to the laundry basket. the faint sheen of sweat on his scarred chest and abs suggests he at least worked out earlier, but cleaning? not a single thought. it’s clear he didn't even try—no half-assed attempt, no proactive spark to surprise you after the brutal week you’ve had. just him lounging on his couch-shaped throne, one arm draped lazily over its back as he manspreads wide in those dangerously low gray sweatpants, looking utterly unconcerned with the pigsty around him. if he were sitting here with a beer in hand, it would've been almost offensively stereotypical, and even you would roll your eyes at how on-the-nose it is. thankfully for both of you, Toji has no interest in alcohol.

you drop your bag by the door with a heavy thud, wondering—not for the first time—just what the hell you’re doing with him. you could have someone motivated. someone who contributes enough to make an actual difference. someone who picks up after himself and surprises you by having dinner ready when you get home. 

unfortunately for you, that hypothetical man doesn't have Toji Fushiguro's face.

is the dick really that good? 

the traitorous thought flickers through your mind as you step out of your heels, letting them clatter where they may. the cool floor feels soothing against your sore feet after eight hours of complete bullshit at work, but not enough to quell the fresh wave of frustration. “really, Toji?” your voice is sharp but steady, and you peel your jacket off next, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. “i specifically asked you to clean up while i was gone. one thing. was that too much for you?” you pace a few steps, fingers working the top button of your pristine blouse, then the second, desperate for a little air after a day spent trapped in stiff office clothes. "you couldn’t even throw the damn containers away? or do the dishes? you sat here all day doing jack shit like you’re counting on me to play maid on top of everything.”

Toji doesn’t move at first. he just takes in on the chin and watches you with those deep blue eyes, his smirk slowly stretching wider. the more you rant, the more amused—and aroused—he looks. this is it: that fire, that spine, his guilty pleasure made flesh. he doesn't actually expect you to mother him, of course; it's just that the dishes will still be there in an hour, the containers aren't hurting anybody, and dirty laundry is hardly a national emergency. you, unsurprisingly, disagree. constantly and vehemently, at that. which brings him to the conclusion that maybe he simply likes when you get on his case. it's such an ordinary kind of thrill, watching the woman who shares his bed march across the apartment with righteous fury, hands flying through the air as she explains exactly why he's acting like a… cómo se dice… bum.

how can someone be so dependable in one breath and so hopelessly absent-minded in the next? how does the same man who instinctively reaches for your hand in a crowded street somehow walk past an overflowing trash bag? if you didn't believe he could do better, you wouldn't still be asking him to.

you stop right in front of the couch, arms crossed under your chest and unintentionally pushing your tits closer as you stare down at the mountain of a man you somehow put up with. “do you understand, Toji? or do i need to spell it out even slower until it sinks through that thick head of yours?” 

Toji Fushiguro is fully aware he can end his conversation with a single look if he really wants to. “yes, ma’am,” he murmurs instead, the words dripping with smug amusement because you wholeheartedly believe you can keep a man like him in check—but the way his cock thickens and twitches in his boxers says he’s more than happy to let you try. 

in one smooth motion, those massive hands grab your hips and pull you forward. you land straddling his lap, skirt bunching up around your thighs, core pressed so sweetly against the growing bulge. his body heat radiates through you, that masculine musk clouding your mind easily. “keep going, sweetheart," he adds, already guiding your hips to start a slow grind against him. “don’t stop on my account. tell me what a lazy fuck i am while you rub that pretty pussy on me. i wanna hear it all.”

your breath catches abruptly, but you don’t pull away. the friction of his thick length against your neglected cunt sends sparks through you even as frustration lingers, and you roll your hips experimentally despite your stubborn frown. “you’re fucking impossible,” you hiss, bracing your hands on his broad chest. “i work my ass off all day, come home to this fucking mess, and you just… sit there.”

Toji groans lowly in his throat, the sound vibrating under your palms. his eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, but he keeps guiding your movements in those deliberate circles that press the ridge of his clothed cock right against your twitching clit. “that’s it… fuck, just like that. louder, baby. tell me how you could do better, how my dick's the only reason you put up with this shit.” his thumbs stroke your hips possessively, encouraging every grind, every complaint. 

you’re getting wetter by the second, soaking through your flimsy panties as you rock against him, tension from the day starting to melt into something needier. you keep talking, voice breathier, shakier, but you refuse to stop. “you could’ve at… at least thrown out the trash. made an effort for me—hmph—”

“mhm, yeah? show me how disappointed you are,” he rasps, one calloused hand sliding up to squeeze your breast through your blouse. “gets me so fucking hard when you boss me around. grind harder, c’mon. get yourself nice and wet for me.”

you do everything else around here anyway.

your hips start moving with real purpose now, chasing the building pleasure while venting the last of your frustrations. only when you’re panting and clearly dripping does Toji finally move. he tugs your soaked panties to the side, then shoves the waistband of his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. it slaps heavy against his abs with an audible smack—obscenely thick, veined, already drooling salty precum down the flushed tip. 

“easy now,” he murmurs, not as mocking anymore as he notches the fat, blunt head against your sopping entrance. “you’re still tense as hell from that shitty day. relax f’me.”

or don’t. he likes feeling you struggle to take it. 

despite how many times he's stretched you open, the initial push is always intense. he’s stupidly big, that’s a well-known fact, and he's right about your body still being wound tight from stress and anger. your walls flutter and resist at first, clenching hard while you're still trying to adjust to the tip only. you hiss as he pushes in slowly, inch by careful inch, but you’d be lying if you said the burn isn’t deliciously overwhelming. 

“still so tight, huh?” he groans, head falling back against the couch for a brief moment, hands gripping your ass hard enough to bruise but letting you control the descent. “breathe, baby. let me in, nice and easy.”

Toji isn’t usually gentle when it comes to sex, but even he knows better than to slam balls-deep when you’re this close to biting his head off already… even if you do sound pretty fucking cute when you yelp in surprise. 

you sink down gradually, whimpering as he fills you completely. he stays still once he’s buried to the hilt, hands stroking your thighs soothingly once more, even as his greedy cock twitches inside your warm heat like it’s confused by the lack of action. “there we go… good fucking girl. feel that? this lazy cock stretching you open just how you like?”

the smug satisfaction in his tone lights a fire in you. you start riding him like you own him down to the very bones, equal parts determined and frustrated. your hands press harder into his chest for better leverage as you bounce on his cock, wet sounds filling the room each time you slap down against his heavy balls. Toji leans back, spreading his thick thighs even wider to give you more space, that smirk never leaving his face as he watches you fuck yourself on him. 

“shit—listen to her. she’s gripping me like she’s pissed off too. you gonna keep running that pretty mouth while you use my cock? take it all out on me?" he lets you set the brutal pace for a little while, but when your legs begin to tremble, hips stuttering as fatigue and overwhelming pleasure tangle together, he notices instantly. with a low chuckle, he takes over seamlessly, snapping his powerful hips up from below, driving into you with deep, precise strokes that make you cry out. “don’t stop now. you were doing so good owning me,” he groans, one hand moving down to rub fast, tight circles over your swollen clit. “tell me how you want it. deeper? harder? say the word and i’ll fuck you stupid.”

“h-harder!” you gasp, nails raking down his back as you cling to his neck for dear life. “just… shut up and—aah—fuck me harder, Toji!”

“yes, ma’am.” his grin turns downright wicked as he obeys instantly. his thrusts turn punishing, hips snapping up with raw strength and bullying the sweetest spot deep inside you over and over, exactly the way you demanded. it’s the combination of that relentless pace and perfect angle that finally push you right over the edge. your orgasm crashes into you hard, ripping a broken, shameless cry from your throat as your cunt clamps down around him like a vise, pulsing and fluttering wildly while you soak his lap with your release.

what's another mess in the grand scheme of things?

Toji lets out a deep, guttural groan at the feeling of your pussy milking him so desperately. he doesn't ask for permission before he simply snaps his hips up one final time, burying himself as deep as possible and holding you there as he comes; thick, hot ropes of cum flood you, painting your walls white until you're leaking around him, overstuffed.

you slump against his sweat-slicked chest, both of you panting hard, hearts hammering against each other. his arms wrap around you possessively, one large hand slowly stroking up and down your back as he presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder. “clean up’s gonna have to wait a bit longer,” he mumbles against your skin, voice rough but utterly satisfied. “unless you got more orders for me, boss. i’m feelin’ real motivated now.”

the dick is, in fact, that good.

1 NEW MESSAGE Toji’s big debut on this blog :3 lowkey unsure what to do for the fic layout but oh well!

— divider by @/cafekitsune !!

It’s been about an hour since your oldest daughter was whisked away by her best friend’s mom for her first sleepover ever. She was vibrating with excitement the whole time. You… were not.

Jason handled bedtime stories and tucking in for your youngest daughter, your little four-year-old, and when he finally came to check on you, he found you curled up in bed with the photo album open across your lap—tiny newborn faces, gummy smiles, wobbly first steps. All the proof of years that slipped by a little too fast.

He doesn’t announce himself when he comes in. Just settles onto the edge of the mattress, that soft dip you feel before anything else. A quiet little I’m here, sweetheart without the words.

You don’t look up. Your thumb keeps running along the plastic photo sleeve, like you could rub it warm enough to step back inside those moments.

Jason watches you for a long second. His presence creeps up on you like heat from a fireplace—nothing loud, just steady and impossible to ignore.

“Babe,” he murmurs, voice low, the rasp he saves for late nights and soft things. “You okay?”

Objectively, absolutely not. You’ve been unraveling ever since your oldest bounded out the front door with her glitter-covered sleepover bag, didn’t even wave, just dove into the car like she’d been waiting for this exact freedom her whole life.

You let out a thin, shaky laugh. “She didn’t even look back. Just sprinted off like we’ve been holding her hostage.”

Jason huffs a quiet laugh that warms your ribs. “She’s brave. Gets it from her mom.”

You snort, because if he’d witnessed your pre-departure meltdown pacing around the kitchen like a wild animal, he might reconsider.

The album shifts when he covers your hand with his—big, warm, sure. His thumb strokes your knuckles once, twice. Slow enough that your breathing finds a little rhythm to match.

“You miss the baby stage,” he says, soft and certain. He’s not teasing. He just knows you.

Your throat tightens. “I miss… I don’t know. Everything? The way they used to need me. Need us. I blinked and now she’s going to sleepovers and making friendship bracelets and talking about boys who can do backflips on the playground.”

He immediately frowns. “Okay! First of all she’s definitely not allowed to talk about boys doing anything.”

The corners of your mouth twitch, and your laugh comes out watery, but it’s there. His smile says he’ll take it.

“And second,” he adds, quieter, his knee nudging against your hip as he shifts closer, “you’re allowed to miss it.”

“Jaybird,” you warn, barely. “Wanna have another baby?”

You finally meet his eyes, those soft, blueish green and you can see it. The moment he considers the offhand comment you made. He takes your hand fully this time, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss to the back of it—slow, tender, deliberate. The kind that sinks straight into your bones.

And he looks at you like he already knows exactly what you were really asking for.

He doesn’t let go of your hand after that kiss. If anything, his hold settles deeper, fingers slipping between yours like he’s anchoring himself there.

“Move over,” he murmurs.

You blink, but do it anyway, shifting back against the pillows. Jason follows immediately—stretches out beside you, one arm sliding behind your shoulders so you can lean into him. It’s instinct at this point, how your body fits along his like a habit you never unlearned.

The photo album ends up on the nightstand with a soft thump. You don’t remember moving it. Jason must’ve done it, because his palm is already smoothing up your arm, slow, deliberate strokes that make your breath catch in a different way.

“Y’know,” he says quietly, voice brushing the shell of your ear, “I too, think it’s been so long since i’ve seen you in a baby bump.”

That, oh that sends a shiver up your spine.

His breath ghosts over your skin, warm and dangerous, and your whole body reacts before your mind even catches up. A tight, startled inhale. That sharp little tremor at the base of your spine. Heat blooming under your ribs like someone lit a match.

You pull back just enough to look at him—because surely he didn’t say that. Surely he’s not dropping that kind of line while you’re already soft and wobbly and emotional and so, so turned on by the thought.

His fingers trace the curve of your hip through the blanket, slow enough to be of ulterior motive but gentle enough to still be comforting. “What?” he asks, voice warm and easy. “It’s true.”

You try to swallow past the tightness in your chest, but he’s leaning in again, forehead brushing yours, his nose nudging the tip of yours like he’s trying to coax your reaction out of hiding.

He drops his voice lower, the way he does when he wants you to feel it instead of hear it.

“Mmh?” he hums, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist like he’s trying to soothe you and rile you up at the same time.

You feel another shiver crawl up your spine. And he feels it—of course he feels it—because his eyes dip to your lips, and then lower, traveling the length of your body pressed against his.

He doesn’t touch anywhere new. Doesn’t move in. Doesn’t break a single boundary.

He just says, softer now, “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it.”

Your breath catches. You don’t move, afraid it’ll break whatever fragile, intimate, moment is happening in the space between you that’s sending electricity down your spine.

Jason has been an incredible father so far; the kind who wakes up for the 2am feedings and teaches complicated things with boundless patience. The kind of father who braids your daughters’ hair, reads them bedtime stories every single night and holds them in his arms constantly. Seeing him in that role, so soft and focused and so natural, like he’s never struggled with family issues a day in his life, only amplifies your aching need for another round of that beautiful chaos.

You want another baby with your hair and his eyes!

And so you tell him, with a tiny whine.

Jason leans in just enough that his forehead rests against yours again. His hand is quickly moving, slipping the strap of your nightgown down to your shoulder.

“Say what, sweetheart, wanna make a baby now?”

His fingers skim your shoulder so lightly it almost doesn’t register at first—just a warm drift of touch, barely there, until the strap of your nightgown eases down and the cool air kisses your skin. His hand rests just below your collarbone now—steady, warm, not wandering, not pushing. Just holding. Just asking.

Your fingers curl into his shirt without you deciding to, pulling him the tiniest bit closer. Your heart is pounding—loud enough you’re sure he can feel it through your palm.

“Jason, don’t tease…” you breathe, and for a heartbeat you think your voice might crack.

His hand slides up your arm, slow and reassuring, thumb brushing over the bare skin he’s just revealed. Still, it is a tiny bit greedy.

The heat between your legs, that had been somewhat bearable by now, starts tingling, pulsing a little too tight. You rub your legs together in an attempt to soothe it, but it doesn’t work. You swallow back a moan, eyes closing for half a second because the warmth in your chest feels too big for your ribs.

When you open them again, he’s right there; waiting, patient, running his pointer finger from the crook of your neck to the trim of your bust hopeful in that quiet, earnest way only he ever manages. And your answer slips out in a breath, soft and honest.

“I mean, giving the girls a little sibling? Watching you fall asleep with a baby on your chest on the couch wrapped in a baby blanket? I… looove the thought of it.”

Jason exhales shakily, but you feel the way it loosens something in him. It makes you bite your lower lip in anticipation.

His finger rests at your jugular vein for a clock’s tick, almost grateful, then, ever so softly, his whole palm is wrapping around your throat.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he whispers and starts kissing your jaw.

And then, before you can blink he is straddling you, trapping your body beneath him and the mattress and his hips, still clothed, take an experimental buckle towards you.

You’re already a whimpering mess. And Jason overwhelms your senses by stealing a kiss out of your eager, parted lips, just so he can try to swallow all of your moans.

Then he rolls his lips into yours again, just so you can feel how hard he is beneath his sweatpants.

You gasp, a sharp, ragged sound that’s swallowed by the sudden closeness. The buckle is a simple friction—just enough of a promise to make your hips lift instinctively beneath him, a silent, desperate plea for more.

You feel your underwear starting to form a wet patch— the effect he has on you is insane.

“Jay,” you breathe again, but this time your voice is a broken noise, half-command, half-surrender. It’s too late for teasing now; the air is thick, charged, and everything that was quiet moments ago is now screaming in your blood.

He stops the movement, leaning his head down to the side of your neck, his breath ghosting over the pulse his palm had just claimed.

"Good," he murmurs, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Don't stop making those sounds, I might cave and give you what you want.”

His hand leaves your throat, moving to cup the side of your head, threading into your hair. His kisses travel from your lips, to your jaw, then to the vulnerable, sensitive skin just behind your ear, and the small, electric nips of his lips, tucked under his few days stubble, send another wave of heat pooling lower in your stomach. 

He shifts slightly, the movement aligning him more firmly over you, and the pressure of his clothed hips is a crushing, exquisite agony that makes you dig your heels into the mattress.

When he finally pulls back an inch, his eyes are dark and heavy, burning even. His free hand dips beneath the blanket, ignoring the remaining strap of your nightgown, and finds the spot he’s been heating; your thigh, right where it meets your hip. He doesn’t stroke, doesn’t wander—he grips the elastic line of your panties, firmly. A possessive hold that anchors him and reminds you he is utterly serious.

“So fucking wet already,”

He pulls his head back just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze intense and demanding. His breath is coming faster now, rough and uneven against the sudden silence of the room.

"Tell me what you want," he demands, his voice a low, gravelly rasp of pure need. His mouth is inches from yours, and the patience is finally gone, replaced by a consuming desire that mirrors your own. 

His fingers find your slit, and trace a line from your impossibly wet entrance to tap on your clit. The touch feels like a vice, despite how featherlight it is.

You don't have the breath to form an actual answer, but in your need, you find the strength to. 

“Fuck– i want you to put a baby in me.”

All you can manage is a whimper then, your hands moving up from his shirt to tangle fiercely in the small line of grey hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him inexorably the last few inches.

He takes the invitation instantly, his mouth crashing down on yours with a fierce, starved hunger that obliterates the last of comfortable teasing. There’s a sudden, immediate heat—not just the friction of the kiss, but the intoxicating taste of him. You meet his intensity, your own lips parting as you try to consume the sound of his groan that pours into your mouth.

He pulls his hand away from the line of your panties only to shove the blanket down to your ankles with a quick, frustrated movement, revealing the whole length of your legs pressed against the sheet. He shifts his weight, leveraging his hips back just enough to create space between your bodies.

His mouth is back on yours, savagely, but his hands are everywhere else. One hand grips your hip bone, holding you steady, while the other finally—finally—dives beneath your nightgown.

He pushes the thin fabric up, bunched around your waist and chest, exposing you fully to the cool air. 

His palm is scorching against your bare stomach, then after a pause to imagine uou round and full again, it moves lower, slipping inside the band of your panties again. Though, he doesn't tease this time. He finds the swollen, aching seam of your pussy, and his pointer and middle fingers press into your slick entrance, while his thumb thuds on your clit.

You cry out into his kiss, a high, strangled sound that’s half shock, half delirious relief. The back and forth movement of his thick fingers as he enters you is exactly what you need.

He pulls his mouth away from yours, panting, and looks down to look at where his fingers are  buried in you. He watches the way your hips immediately begin to buck beneath him, chasing the insistent pressure of his fingers as he curls them upwards, finding that delicious spongy spot inside you that always makes you melt.

His thumb circles your clit restlessly, even when his one knee moves to pin one of your legs in place.

Seriously, how is he able to do this?

Jason shifts his weight again, the straddling of his hips grinding lightly in the perfect rhythm with his fingers, adding external pressure that pushes you right to the edge. 

Your breath escapes your lungs on a long, shuddering gasp as his fingers curl deep, hitting that sensitive point that’s making your pussy drool with sweet precision. You whimper his name—a pleading sound now—your heels digging into the mattress again as a wave of intense sensation crests through you.

"Not yet, sweetheart," he whispers, the sound rough. 

He leans down quickly, his stubbled jaw grazing the sensitive skin of your neck again, leaving a trail of lava-like kisses on your skin. He captures your collarbone between his teeth, a light, just slightly painful nip, then moves to the curve of your breast, covered only by the bunched nightgown.

His mouth finds your nipple through the fabric and he worries it tenderly between his teeth.

“Yuh-you gonna make ‘em full of milk again babe?” You choke, squirming against the pillow underneath you.

The thumb circling your clit slows, then stops, replaced by a firm, unbearable press. His fingers still remain deeply buried inside you, curling against your velvety walls in slow sweeps. The sudden shift in rhythm forces a moan from your throat as you arch against the pleasure of the anticipation.

He lifts his head, his gaze demanding yours, a predatory glint in the darkness of his eyes. "You like that, love?" he asks, his voice low, heavy with the promise that he knows exactly what he's doing.

He watches your reaction carefully before placing a kiss on your still clothed nipple; that sharp, needy arch of your hips, for only another second before the control snaps. The low growl in his throat is your only warning.

The thumb that had been steadingly pressing your clit suddenly releases, and his fingers pull out just enough to gather momentum, then plunge back in—hard, fast, and relentless. The rhythmic driving of his fingers is just what the ache in your core demands, and you are immediately lost to the sensation, a noise tearing from your throat that you barely recognize as your own.

As he pumps his fingers inside you, his focus shifts. He uses the hand that had been gripping your hip to push the fabric of your gown completely away from your chest. Then, his head descends.

“‘M gonna do whatever you want me to, sweetheart,”

He doesn't stop the fucking of his fingers inside you—if anything, the motion becomes more forceful, driving you harder against the mattress—but his mouth finds the swollen, aching curve of your breast. He latches on with a hungry fervor, drawing a sharp, involuntary gasp from you. His tongue is hot against your sensitive skin as he alternates from one tit to the other. And it’s too much— too electric, too slippery, just perfect,

Your entire body tenses, hands clinging to his shoulders, your voice fractured into pleas and ragged moans. You are shaking now, chasing the frantic pace he’s fingering you in. He doesn't slow, doesn't ease up, pushing you harder and faster toward the blinding edge.

“You really, really want another baby, huh?”

You nod, biting your lip to shuffle a loud moan that’s about to leave the depths of your chest.

Then the bastard, in all seriousness, takes his hand off of you, to put his fingers into his mouth. 

He moans at your taste and honestly? You should have expected the edging. Because the second Jason realises you need something, he wants you to work for it. He wants you to make a mess on him.

And no, that’s definitely not his excuse to have you make him a whimpering mess as well.

“Then do what you do best babe,” he whispers, parting completely from you to lay on his back on the bed. “Take what you want, ride it till i cum f’you.”

Clothes go flying everywhere, and tonight, you don’t whine about your panties on the floor.

You’re straddling him so fast, it’s insane. 

But your excuse is– well, it’s– 

You want him inside you. Immediately, Right now.

You settle the best you can at his enormous lap, your hair swings across his chest as you pivot, and you lean down immediately, capturing his face in your hands. For a moment you look at him. At the scar on the right side of his jaw, the one on the bridge of his nose, and fuck if your husband isn’t the most handsome man on earth.

You don't resist the urge to kiss him, instead, when you pull his face to yours and your lips meet his you plunge your tongue into his mouth, mirroring the shocking intimacy he’d just subjected you to not too long ago.

He wants you to work for it? Fine. You will drain him of every last drop of his cum then.

The kiss stunts him for only a fraction of a second before his tongue mingles with yours and his hands fly up, instinctively, bypassing your hips to clamp down on the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer. You yelp when he slaps your ass, but deep down you adore the sting of it.

You’re kissing so fiercely like you’re trying to devour one another and the space between your bodies all at once. All the while, your hips are working, firmly, so you can drag the entirety of your pussy against his pulsing cock.

You’re so wet by now, that when your entrance catches his tip, his cock slips right in. His breath hitches—a deep, satisfying sound of pure surprise and pleasure that vibrates against your own lips.

You break the kiss with a gasp, pulling back just enough to look at him, your eyes burning. For a second you arch your hips, parting from him completely, then lower your body again, settling your pouring, aching entrance directly over the mushroom tip of him.

His breath catches sharply in his throat as your fluttering walls surround him.

He is patient only for a heartbeat—the heat and the tension too thick to bear. Before you can gather the strength for the final push, he lets out a low, strangled curse, “Ffffuck–” and his hands on your thighs turn instantly possessive.

He slaps your ass again, this time rougher. Just how you like it.

He doesn't wait for your next move. He grips hard, dragging you down onto him in one harsh movement.

A sharp cry of pleasure tears from your lips as you stretch impossibly around him. Even if you’ve been so long with him now that you’re perfectly molded to the thick shape of his cock, the initial stretch is always your favorite thing in the world.

It’s what makes you so cockdrunk on him.

You can’t get enough of how amazing it feels when he drills into your pussy for the first time in a while.

You clench around him, and he lets out a broken moan, wrapping his arms around you so forcefully that almost shakes the bed beneath you. You brace your hands around his neck when he arches his back slightly, panting, eyes wide and glistening.

"There," he rasps, his voice raw, triumphant, and thick with effort. His fingers tighten on your thighs again, lifting your hips just slightly before dropping you back down onto him with a slow, grinding pressure. "Get your baby, baby"

You don't need to answer, or wait for a command. The feeling of his cock twitching inside you is all the confirmation you need, and the sensation it leaves you with is vibrating through your entire body.

You can't stay still.

“Oh I'm gonna have you spilling, just wait.”

You lift your hips slightly, then press down—slowly at first, testing the incredible stretch and fullness, then increasing the pressure as the initial shock fades.

It is primal, desperate rhythm born purely from necessity, the way you fuck yourself on his cock. Your hips circle and roll, finding the sweet, deep friction that makes sweat bead on his collarbone. You watch his face, needing to see the effect you have on him through his furrowed brows and hazy eyes, needing the validation.

His head falls back against the pillows, and the strong, columned cord of his throat strains. His hands leave your thighs to fly up, gripping the edge of the blanket next to his own hips, his knuckles white. The control he’d held onto so fiercely breaks, replaced by ragged vulnerability as you determine the depth, the angle, and the speed over and over again.

And, oh, this is exactly what he wanted all along.

"F-fuck, please" he slurs, the sound a ragged exhale "yeah babe, fuck yourself on my cock like you need it.”

You lean forward, your spine curving, tilting your hips just so, sinking onto him until the contact is deep, punishing, and so, so perfect. You don't answer him. You just move faster. You want to hear him break, want him to whimper the way you had, want to own the moment as completely as he had the moments before.

“Want you to cum inside me Jason,” you rasp through moans “want you to give me another baby. Tonight.”

You move faster, faster, faster, the pace blurring now, building an unbearable pressure inside your core. With a muffled cry, your hands leave his neck and settle on his chest, palms flat against the hard-packed muscle of his pecks. You use his chest as leverage, pushing down and sinking back up, pushing the pleasure past the point of endurance.

“Will, fucking, do” he moans

But you? You whine. “Please Jason, i want it. I want to have another baby.”

Every catch of his cock inside you feels delicious; it makes the coil in your lower belly tighten so much it feels like you’re straining.

Your clit is catching his navel with every bump, and for once it’s enough and too much at the same time, to send you over the edge. But since you’re so desperate for a release, the idea of him getting you all pregnant and round fueling your desire, you reach for his hand, put his fingers into your mouth to coat them with some spit and guide his hand to your pulsing clit.

“You’re a dear” you joke “so handsome baby. Make me cum, and i’ll do it for y–yah too.”

His fingers, slick with your spit, find the throbbing nub of your puffy clit. They settle there, hard and possessive, mimicking the frantic rhythm your hips are already creating in tight, broken movements that resemble circles. The addition of it shatters the last sliver of your control.

Your world narrows to the twin pressures—the desperate thrusts of him inside you and the sharp, targeted circling of his thumb on your clit. Your tiny joke about making him cum is lost in the rising, piercing wave of pleasure and the sound of skin slapping on skin.

"’M not gonna last," he manages to grind out through his teeth, his voice thick with the strain of trying to hold back. "Just look at you, look how much you want it."

“Yeah I want it, want you to make a mess of my pussy, Jason. Can you do that for your wife?”

His head thrashes slightly on the pillow; he nods at you solemnly. Your desperation alone and the thought of seeing you, his lovely wife, pregnant again, swollen with another baby of his, is messing up with his head so badly that his cock gets ever more painfully hard.

Oh, the way he cant wait to slide you off of him and watch his cum drop down your puffy folds, to push it back in so you don’t waste a drop— he gets dizzy just imagining it.

Above him, you let out a loud, ragged scream as the coil in your belly finally snaps. Your orgasm hits like an explosion, blinding force.

Oh fuck, of fuckohfuck —you’re squirting.

You can feel how much of a mess you’re making as you’re literally gushing on his thighs while entire body spasms, your fingers clutching the muscles of his chest so tightly your nails score his skin.

You ride the overwhelming wave of it down onto him, collapsing onto his neck with a purr as your pussy convulsively milks every inch of him, while still dripping down slickness.

“Oh my fucking god—" Jason whimpers, one hand flying out to hold you through your shaking “fuck yeah, that’s it babe, that’s it, I gotchu, it’s okay.”

You’re both sweating buckets, slick bodies united in one rocking rhythm that makes the bed creak and bum repeatedly against the wall.

He uses the moment for leverage. As your hips lock, his hands clamp down on your waist, hauling your spent body upward. He reverses the rhythm completely. He begins to pound into you; short, frantic strokes aimed at his own fast-approaching edge.

"Ba–by I'm gonna cum, fuck gonna cum inside you–" he groans, the words broken, choked.

“Then do it,” you plead, managing to quiet down the screeching on your voice. “Fill me up, puh—please—“"

It really doesn’t take much, when you kiss him again, when your tongue nearly shoves to the back of his throat, he fucks his hips into you just a few more, shattering times.

His release comes in scorching hot ropes of milky white, painting your clamping walls and his chest struggles with ragged breaths that your mouth swallows.

He goes rigid beneath you, every muscle locked, his body unmoving, while the pulsing of his release continues. You’re not sure how long it lasts, but you’re definitely drunk on how it feels.

Then, with a long, drawn-out groan that starts in his gut and vibrates through your chests, he finally collapses— you collapse too, fully on top of him.

He pulls out of you silently, as he's trying to control his breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, holding you against him until you manage to catch your own breath.

You gently nudge him back, lifting your head from his shoulder to look down at his face, though you don't break too far away.

Sweat has plastered his dark hair to his temples, making his cheekbones stand out, sharp and defined in the dim light filtering from the window. His eyes are still closed, but the exhaustion etched around them—the small lines of fatigue and the reminders of the years you’ve spent together—make him look impossibly handsome. 

There's a slight flush across the bridge of his nose where your faces were pressed together, and the small, stubborn beard stubble catches the light.

He looks utterly spent.

You reach out, your thumb moving to gently wipe a streak of sweat from his temple, trailing it down the curve of his cheek, right over his scar. In this quiet, post-climax clarity, he truly is the most beautiful man on earth. 

Yes, yes. You’re absolutely sure!

Your core pulses dangerously again.

He finally opens his eyes, a lazy movement, and they immediately fix on yours. A satisfied smirk curls the corner of his mouth.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asks, voice still ragged and thick as he kisses both of your cheeks, your nose, your heavy eyelids.

And in all honesty? This is the moment you should pause, take a rest, slide off him and cuddle, smoke a cigarette and have some post- nut clarity. But the little devil on your shoulder, reminding you how much you want to hold a newborn baby in your arms again and give your daughters another sibling to love and Jason to always carry around the house, decides to take the wheel.

“Atta Jay… Again.” you giggle, pressing a kiss underneath his jaw “you gotta fill me up again. I want you to give me a baby tonight!”

And who is Jason to say no when his dotting wife demands something?

Jason Todd Masterlist

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work // Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3

(i simply couldn't get that panel out of my head, when i woke up to it, it activated something carzy inside me istg)

Taglist: @starfiremylove @cicikent (let me know if you want to be tagged in my other Jason fic's that aren't part of the ex! Wondergirl reader universe)

The night went on a few other dancers went after you and Dante came to grab you “show time princess.” You rolled your eyes. Heading to the back room it was darkly lit just a few lights in the room but on the lowest setting it was hard to make out his face. But you saw the grey in his hair when he shifted in the chair.

“What’s your fancy?” You ask in a silk smooth voice. He just sits there you can feel eyes drinking you in. And for once the feeling didn’t gross you out.

“What’s ever you provide.” His voice was deep and husky. Slightly slurred from drinking.

You step forward your heels clicking on the floors. “That’s not up to me. I’m here to please you” you lean over him “your wildest fantasy honey.” You crouch in front of him your hands brushing up his thighs and at this angle you can see the face and it’s the guy you saw from earlier and you see him smirking. Your cunt instantly clenches, you’ve never had just a single guy’s face do that to you. And you’ve had a lot of CEO’s and other handsome men but something about him was different.

“But if there’s sex or a blowjob you have to wear a condom is the only thing.” You remind him of the rules.

“Come put your ass on daddy’s lap.” He grabs your hand pulling you up into his lap. Your arm wrapping around his shoulders which were strong and muscular. His hand brushes up your thigh and nudges his nose into your breast taking in the scent of your perfume. Your hand finds his hair your nails working at his scalp which pulls a groan from his lips sending another pulse to your cunt. You can feel him smiling against the side of your breast his other hand roaming your ass as he squeezes it and squeezes your thigh as it’s dangerously close to the hem of your thong.

“My names Jack… I just turned 50…” he murmurs against your neck as he kisses it softly you can feel the stubble against it and it sends goosebumps. “You?”

“Well happy birthday and you can call me whatever you want baby” you say softly tugging on his hair which earns you another groan from deep in his chest.

“How about you be a good girl and stroke daddy’s hard cock?” He says in a gravely voice and of course you oblige and once you feel how thick and long he is your own body betrays you wanting it immediately, his thickness would definitely stretch the living daylights outta you. “Aww are you feeling needy baby? I can feel the warmth from your needy cunt on my thigh” he purrs. His hand moving lower to spread your legs on his lap.

You nod your voice slightly breathless “yes I need daddy’s cock to fill me” your hand still stroking him inside his jeans.

“You can pull daddy’s cock out and feel how hard it is for his good girl..” his voice came out rough. You shifted on his lap pulling both hands back to work at the button of his jeans and zipper he pushes his hips up so you can pull them down his hand moving to your hip so you stay on his lap you hook your fingers in his jeans and when you pull them down you realize he’s not wearing boxers or anything as his cock rests against his thigh. You pull his pants completely down seeing a prosthetic leg below his knee in the low light. You look up at him “lost it during one of my tours in Afghanistan.. it doesn’t bother you does it?” He asks as if he actually cares what you… a stripper… thinks about him.

You shake your head “no. Thank you for your service daddy..” you whisper and he just nods tapping. His thigh again for you to come sit on it. But this time you straddle his lap. Moving your hand over his thick swollen head that’s already leaking pre-cum which pulls a soft whimper from his lips as he leans his head back “yeah just like that baby..” he coos. “Can I touch you? I need to touch your pussy I need to feel how wet this cunt is for daddy.” He groans rubbing his calloused hands along your thighs squeezing hard.

“Yes you can touch me..” your voice back to soft silk his thick fingers moving from the top of the lace thong along the sides down the soft V and under feeling how already soaked the thong is he smirks under the low light “do you like knowing how wet touching daddy’s cock makes me?” Your free hand roams over his chest and arms feeling how his muscles flex when you touch him and it makes your cunt even more needy.

“Mmm” he hums softly using his middle finger to press slightly running it along your folds still covered by the thong back and forth gently your grip tightens on his shoulder gently. “You’re so wet for daddy” his hand that was holding your hip comes to your breast kneading it softly “you’re so soft” he coos. You run your thump over his tip which makes him thrust his hips slightly in your hand “is daddy the biggest you’ve ever had?” He gently brought his finger hooking it around the thong and inside gently pressing the tip of his finger along your soft soaked cunt.

“Yes, daddy is the thickest and biggest cock i’ve ever seen” you say softly which technically isn’t a lie you’ve seen guys that are thick but don’t have length or have length but not thickness. You practically drool over it. And when his finger runs along your soaked cunt you tremble slightly.

“Such a sensitive little cunt,” he coos running his finger up and down your folds getting more and more slick with each pass his finger barely brushing against your needy clit.

“Mhmm please daddy I wanna feel your fingers inside my needy cunt,” you moan out.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He plunges a finger inside curling it inside you moan out your hand curling around his sculpted shoulder. “Such a tight grip on daddy’s fingers. Can you cum for me baby?” He pulls you closer to him “can I kiss you?” He asks in a soft whisper. You nod and he kisses you still moving his finger inside you. And he adds another finger pulling another moan from you and he eats it from your lips before it can actually leave your lips he moans into the kiss and then pushes his thumb against your aching clit gently moving it your hand long gone from his cock both hands in his hair slightly holding onto him to sit still.

“You gonna come for daddy on my fingers? I want you to come for me baby” he moans into your mouth.

“Yes I wanna come for you.” You say as he moved his thumb more generously and curling his fingers inside more just a little bit more. “Fuck— I’m— I’m gonna come” you moan moving your hips slightly he smiles into the kiss he stays steady. Pulling out that deep groan your legs tremble as he can feel you clench around his fingers.

“Such a good girl coming for daddy. I love how you clench around my fingers. Tell me has anyone else ever made you come like that?” He asks more in a demanding voice.

You’re still trembling slightly from coming you shake your head “no, no one has ever been able to make me come..” you’re honest which is kind of weird. He’s an older guy and you’ve been with some older ones but no one has ever been able to make you come that hard that fast. “How…?” You asked your voice still trembling.

He smirks against your lips “I’m a doctor I know all the ways of female anatomy. And how to get you to feel good.” He leans over grabbing one of the condoms from the side table -that has a soft light over it clearly making it so you could find them easily- opening it and rolling it over his thick head over the shaft and picks you up and takes you over to the couch. He runs his fingers along your fold over the thing again “still so wet for daddy” he coos. “Do you need this thick cock to stretch your needy cunt?”

“Yes please stretch my needy cunt.” You say in half moan half begging. You never beg. Not for someone to fuck you like this. Never like this. He smirks and then flips you over pulling your ass up to him in doggy not even nothing taking the thing off as he pulls it to the side closing your legs so it’s even tighter for him he puts his thumb in your wet cunt first making sure you’re still good and wet which you never really stopped as he gently spread your lips with his thumbs pressing the tip of his cock inside he shudders.

“Fuuu—-“ he groans out “you’re so tight baby almost made me come tight there just putting the tip in…” he slowly sheaths the rest of his thick cock inside and he stops for a second like he’s catching his breath trying not to come. His thumbs still being wet with your slickness slowly pushes in your ass which makes your clench even more and he groans. Once he’s caught his breath he starts hammering into you full deep thrusts no half in half out. Full force so much so his balls slap your clit his thumb still in your ass the clapping sound of him from behind his hard and fast. He is ruthless. “Rub your clit for daddy” he ushers you grabbing your arm so you start rubbing you clit again “I want you to come again for daddy. Come on daddy me thick cock.” His voice is breathless.

You rub your clit again pulling a soft moan from your lips at all the sensations. Him drilling into you and you rubbing your clit. “I want you to beg for it.” He says through gritted teeth. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please daddy, let your good girl come on your hard thick cock for you..” you say in a moan.

“Harder. Beg. Harder” he slows down his rhythm “beg for it princess.” He coos as he takes your hand off your clit and reaches his free hand around rubbing your clit for you now.

“Please daddy I need to come. Please let me come on your cock..” you whimper out at the slowness of his hips he leans forward kissing your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin as he pounds into you again making you arch your back as he rubs your clit harder “come for daddy.” He coos drawing the high from you again your legs trembling as you let out a soft sound and at that soft sound he goes in one more time feeling his own release as he lets out a breathless laugh. And you can feel the way his cock twitches inside you. You think what it would feel like without the condom. “Fuck..” he whispers leaning forward kissing you back again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve come that hard.” He jokes. As he pulls out, you whimper slightly still wanting it inside but you don’t say anything. “You’re so gorgeous by the way. I’ve been hard since I saw your dance.” His voice returning to normal but still slightly breathless. As he gently pulls the condom off tossing it in the bin.

“Thanks” you let out a soft huff of a laugh. As you sit back on the couch. “Happy birthday Dr. Jack” you tease. He pulls up his pants zipping and buttoning them.

“Let me know if you ever want to come like that again” he says as he walks out the door.

You’re left sitting there still feeling like you need more. “Fuck, that man, I need him in my life.” You whisper to yourself laughing.

Thank you for reading. I’ve kind of already though about making a part two for it cause it’s fun writing this stuff and maybe a bit more fluffy for the second part 🤣 lmk what you think if I should do a part two?

Not but perhaps two hours ago did you stand at a patient's bedside and hold his hand as a heart attack claimed his life and ripped him from his family's embrace. His wife threw herself over his corpse after—screaming all the while for him to wake up, wake up, wake up; she can't do it without him, how will they survive?

Her children, meanwhile, trembled in a corner while holding fast to one another—their tiny faces flushed and red from tears, unable to understand why daddy wouldn't open his eyes like mommy wanted.

You excused yourself to the restroom to vomit thereafter.

Fighting down a familiar feeling of nausea, you flex stiff limbs while continually pressing numb fingertips against your palm—continually counting them as a grounding technique.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

You believe that you may be going into shock.

You'd like a heated blanket to keep you warm, or your husband's arms to make you safe. Most of all, you wish to leave this place.

You go in search of Jack.

"Hey, Jack?" you ask quietly from the entryway of Trauma 3, watching as he smoothly inserts an IV in the arm of an unconscious patient.

You slide your shaking hand behind you so no one can see.

At least you're still upright, you think. Small blessings.

Even behind the blue and white mask he dons, you can hear him huff in irritation. "Honey, I'm a bit busy right now. If it's a consult, or you're needing help, you need to go find somebody else."

You take a small step forward, ignoring the way your fresh wound smarts when you do so. "I was just—"

He swiftly tugs down his mask and grips the handrail of the patient's bed he stands guard beside. "Go find Robby or Langdon. Anybody else. Can you do that?" he barks. "I don't always have to be the one you come to. They're just as capable."

Your eyes flit to Parker, who turns to Jack with an open mouth—you know she intends to defend you; chew him out for the way he's just spoken to you—until you take a step back in acquiescence to prevent an argument.

Sniffling quietly, you nod, now feeling like a burden. Does he often feel like that? Like you're breaking his concentration, or are too attached? Perhaps it's unprofessional behavior on your part. Work and home are two different things which you've ignorantly merged into one.

"Yeah, I'll go find Robby. I'm sorry for interrupting."

The door swings shut behind you.

You stare at Robby a handful of feet from where he stands, and watch as he heads into an empty exam room before following close behind.

"Are you busy?" you inquire softly while fingering the edge of the striped polyester curtain you waver beside.

He glances to you with kind brown eyes before tearing wrinkled paper from the exam table he stands at. Robby shakes his head while balling it up and tossing it into the trash. "Never too busy for you. What's up?"

You pull back the curtain to give yourself a bit of privacy.

You nervously tug at the hem of your shirt while your other hand continues holding your throbbing side, which Robby's eyes flit to before meeting your own once again.

"I need you to promise me," you say while shuffling forward. "That you're not going to make a federal case out of this. I...I think he's going to end up under psyche's care. I left him—" You shake your head. "I shouldn't have."

You half turn around then. What if he leaves his room and harms someone else? Why did you just walk out and not call security like protocol demands?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. No wonder Jack was so short with you.

You go to head back the way you came until Robby starts toward you and grabs your forearm. "Sweetheart," he says while resting his opposite hand on the crown of your shoulder. "You're my concern now. Tell me what's going on." He nods toward your stomach. "It have anything to do with the way you're holding yourself?"

You shift on your feet uncertainly and wince quietly from the movement. "Promise me. He's unwell. I don't want him arrested, or—"

Robby finally throws up his hands. "Fine, fine, if it'll get you to tell me what's wrong, I will give this man the royal treatment. Now, tell me."

You chew the inside of your lip, then gingerly lift the bottom of your shirt before carefully peeling away the wad of tissues that've dried to your unwanted incision.

"Jesus Christ," Robby curses while stepping forward and gripping your hip to begin examining the damage inflicted. "When did this happen?"

"A few minutes ago," you sputter in explanation. "I didn't tell anyone. I just turned and walked away. I don't know why. I went to Jack, but he...he was busy—"

"Too busy for this?" he asks incredulously. "A patient sliced your fucking stomach open."

You hang your head. "It's not that extreme, Robby."

Maybe if you deny that you were assaulted, things won't turn out to be as bad as you're afraid they are when he finally takes a look.

Robby gently prods at it and your hand flies—sinking your nails into his shoulder. "Ow!"

He raises a brow. "Isn't it?" Robby shakes his head. "Jack should've dropped everything to tend to you."

He waves you toward the exam table, and you climb awkwardly atop it while favoring your side. "I didn't exactly tell him," you murmur while lying back.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, Robby purses his lips in disapproval.

"He told me to come find you. Or just...someone. He was busy—overwhelmed—so he didn't mean to snap at me."

Robby shakes his head. "No excuse. When you come to me, I drop everything without complaint."

You grin, ignoring the way your body is trembling because it's so painfully cold. "It's because you just adore me, right?" you say playfully between chattering teeth while tucking your shaking hands beneath your thighs.

Seeing how you're shivering, Robby frowns, then shrugs off his hoody before draping it over you. "You know I do," he rumbles before grabbing a pack of wipes. "Was the instrument—"

"Sterile," you supply. "I just need stitches." Your eyes flit to the machine next to him, and your stomach sinks to your knees. "Robby..."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Your chin wobbles. "Ultrasound." Your hand flutters toward your stomach. "My...my ovary."

He stills for a moment and studies you—the way your tearful eyes plead with him to tell you anything but that which you're now terrified of hearing.

He wheels the machine around and switches it on.

You stare up at him through glassy eyes. "Is...is it—"

He shakes his head. "It didn't go deep enough to hit anything. Barely went any deeper than the subcutaneous level."

You squeeze your eyes shut and begin to sob.

Pushing the cart away, Robby slides a palm over your forehead while shooshing you. "It's alright. I'm going to clean the area, give you a few stitches, and then," he says while folding your shirt until it's positioned just beneath your breasts, "I'm taking you home."

You shake your head. "No. Robby, I can—"

He drags an antiseptic wipe over the affected area. "This isn't some option I'm laying before you. I'm an attending, you're my resident—"

"I'm Jack's resident," you state.

Robby looks at you. "I'm making you my resident right now. And as your attending, I'm telling you that you're going home. I'm not asking," he states with finality.

Throwing your head back against the hard vinyl beneath you, you huff in irritation. "Fine."

Robby alerts security to the altercation which occurred where you clearly neglected to, followed by a page to psyche for a consult. After you've completed a workplace incident form and he's compiled a bag of supplies for you to take home so you can tend to your wound in private—as well as some pain meds—he presses the keys to his truck into your palm and tells you to go wait for him.

You think to ask as to why he can't come with you, but refrain.

You'd really like to sit down, and the sooner you make it to his vehicle, the sooner that can happen.

Jack's just exiting the room he found himself unwittingly stationed in for the last hour to the sight of Robby coming straight toward him with a displeased look on his face. He's left to assume that you went to him in the end like he commanded you to, then, and now he's about to be ripped a new one for daring to withhold attention for a damn minute.

"Take it she came to you?" Jack asks while ripping off a surgical gown.

Robby crosses his arms. "She's out in my truck. I'm taking her home."

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks with a raised brow while swinging around toward him.

"I'm guessing you don't have any idea why she came to you earlier?"

Jack plants his hands on his hips. "I assumed because she had a question, or needed help with a patient."

"She was the patient," Robby spits.

Jack falters momentarily.

"He's been taken up to psyche, but she was trying to treat a man having an episode of psychosis. He shoved a scalpel in her belly for it."

Jack curses then runs the heel of his palm along his eye and past his temple. "She didn't say—"

"Maybe if you'd bothered listening for a moment—allowed her to get out what she was trying to fucking tell you—then you might've known."

Jack hardly wastes a moment before shoving past Robby and hobbling toward the doors of the ED. His leg is giving him fucking fits tonight, and instead of dealing with it like a man, he chose to take it out on you instead. You, who was already terrified after someone committed battery against you.

You had looked a bit wan, but he merely shook it off as hazards of the job. Hardly anybody around here is in tip-top shape at all times.

Robby jogs to catch up with him, then presses a hand to his shoulder to halt him in his tracks. A gesture which he bats away. "I'm going to see my wife."

"Jack—"

"Dr. Abbot," calls Henderson from two doors down. "He's crashing, we need you!"

Jack grits his teeth and growls in frustration before turning back around yet again. "Just get her home. I'll be there as soon as I can once my shift is over," he calls reluctantly over his shoulder.

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you? Stay for awhile?" Robby asks while settling his forearm atop the center console and turning in his seat to face you.

You shake your head and force a smile. "No, thank you. I'll be okay. I'm just going to go in, try and bathe," you say with a breathy laugh. "Maybe order something, or just warm up leftovers. Afterward, I'll probably lay down for awhile and watch TV."

Robby seems to debate something for a moment, but ultimately relents. "Alright. Just call me if you need anything," he says while giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You nod. "I will. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

When Jack enters your shared domicile, it's to strict quietude. He presumes that you long ago fell off to sleep in wait of him, so he heads in the direction of the bedroom to get his damn leg off and switch to the relief crutches provide.

And then he finds the bed devoid of your previously expected presence.

Tugging off the apparatus, he practically tosses it onto the floor at his side of the bed, slides himself onto his preferred means of physical support—when he's home, anyway—and goes in search of you. An exploration which doesn't take long when he sees light peeking out of the crack found at the base of the bathroom door.

He knocks quietly. "Honey, can I come in?"

He hears something roll across the floor, followed by a quiet "damn it."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry for what happened at work. I just had a lot going on. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. Just open the door for me, angel. Please."

There's the sound of something crinkling.

With a huff, he goes to turn the handle, only to find it locked.

He's really in the doghouse this time, isn't he?

"Either you can let me in, or I'm going to find a key," Jack states.

"I'm busy," you snip.

He sighs, rolls his eyes, then turns and heads for the multiple keychains that hang near the front door.

The doorknob jingles, then turns with a quiet squeak. "Now, do you wanna tell me why—" He promptly shuts his mouth.

It's worse than he thought. Robby did a clean job of repairing what that man damaged, but he's horrified by the sight of you sitting atop a towel in the middle of the bathroom floor in no more than your underwear while you try and clean your dozen stitches.

Leaning his crutches against the sink, Jack hops forward, presses a palm against the wall, then slides downward to join you on the floor.

"C'mere," he murmurs. "Let me take care of it."

"No, I can do it," you mumble while half turning away.

Jack plants his legs on either side of you and shoves your hands from the injury before you manage to reopen it.

Picking up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, he eyes it with a raised brow before glancing to you. "You know better."

You shrink into yourself out of embarrassment. "I was only gonna use a little..."

With a shake of his head, he reaches across the way, grabs the top, and screws it back on.

Swiping an ace bandage from beside you, he peels it open and tosses the wrapper in the trash before making to apply the dressing. "I'm sorry," he begins while smoothing the edges with his thumbs. "I didn't know. Not until Robby told me. For what it's worth, I was a worried wreck for the remainder of my shift. I couldn't get back here fast enough. I went flying by a state trooper on the interstate, but got lucky when he didn't come after me."

In every spare moment Jack had tonight, he found himself subconsciously fiddling with his wedding ring—not wanting to acknowledge the ugly truth of what kind of hell losing you would bring upon him.

He feels doubtful he could survive it; unsure that he would want to.

But you don't need to ever hear something so ugly.

Once you've been properly tended to, Jack grips your hips and pulls you toward him. "My leg has been aching all fucking night, I ended up having to do a cric on the patient you saw me with—" he shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

Cupping the back of your head, he tries pulling your lips toward his. "I'm sorry, baby."

You slide a hand up his chest. "I forgive you," you whisper.

An apology which is soon followed up with a mischievous smirk. "Robby's really good with his hands, by the way. You ever had 'em on you?"

Jack glares at you. "You do not want to test my patience right now."

"I'm the one who got stabbed," you retort. Leaning in close, you giggle. "Even let him come inside and tuck me in..."

Jack deadpans. "I need to check the security cameras?"

You shrug. "Only proof of what we did in bed is stored on my phone in a locked folder. It's filthy."

He fights against a smirk. "You're such a pain in my leg."

You raise a brow. "And you're a pain in my belly."

He snorts while bringing you flush against his chest. "If something like that ever happens again, you scream at the top of your fucking lungs. Alright? Made me sick thinking about you trapped in there alone... He could've done far, far worse."

You nod while nuzzling against his neck. "I just froze. My body locked up, and my voice with it. All I wanted was you I was so scared."

He could put his head through a fucking wall hearing that. Jack wraps his arms securely around you. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. What happened tonight will never happen again. You come first. Always."

Sliding a hand up your back, he presses a kiss to your temple. "It's my job to protect you. And tonight I failed to—"

You shake your head. "Jack, I didn't even tell you." Leaning back, you caress his cheek. "It happens. As terrible as it is, it does in our line of work. It's just a cut that, at most, may leave a small scar. Better it be me with a sterile instrument than someone he attacks on the street with a dirty knife. He wasn't himself. I'm okay."

He presses a long kiss to your forehead. "You're way more empathetic than I would've been. Good thing you didn't tell me. Because if you had..." He doesn't want to think on how he may've very well put the assailant in the morgue.

"I'm just glad he's safe and getting the help he needs. Everything is alright now," you insist.

He brushes a kiss over your lips.

"C'mon," you say while pushing back. "Come lay in bed for awhile and I'll massage your leg." You grin. "Robby gave me the good painkillers, y'know?"

He rolls his eyes. "He does tend to baby you," he says with a grunt while pushing himself upward.

You paw at his middle once he's standing. "Guess that makes two of you."

You pad out of the bathroom and he pinches your rear on the way out, causing you to yelp in surprise.

"Let's go see if we can't overwrite your and Robby's video," he croons while sliding onto his crutches.

"'Overwrite'? Think you're cruising in the wrong century, old man."

You hold the thin sheet to your bare chest and shift further up the headboard, bending your knees to accommodate his body when he sits on the edge of the mattress to tie his laces. Your eyes soften, waiting for him to look back at you.

He never does.

More quietly, you tell him, “I asked if you wanted to order food. ‘Cause I don’t really feel like cooking right now and, depending on what you want, we should probably wait to order ‘cause Love Island doesn’t come on for another hour, and—”

Jack’s scruffy chin brushes the thin fabric of his shirt as he turns his head slowly to look at you. There’s a distance in his eyes that cuts you off, like you’re a quick fuck that doesn’t know when to stop talking, like he’s waiting for you to stop so he can get away.

“I think I’m gonna head out now, actually,” he tells you, then returns to knot his laces.

“Oh…” you hum, half-breathless, and pretend his foreign dismissiveness doesn’t tear your chest in two. “Are you… Are you okay—?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and rises from the mattress. “I’m fine. I just— Need to get home.”

You follow him with wet eyes as he rounds the bed for the opposite side, where his phone and wallet sit on the nightstand and his branded rucksack rests on the floor. “Well, do you want me to wait to watch it with you? ‘Cause then I have to text Princes and tell her not to spoil it for me in the morning—”

“Go ahead,” Jack shrugs, with a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he slides the camo strap over his broad shoulder. “I think I’ll survive a week without it.”

Your frown deepens at his joke.

“Did I do something?” you wonder in a meek voice that makes his chest ache.

“No,” he scoffs. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know…” you murmur shyly, shifting on the mattress and grimacing slightly when the sticky sheets cling to your thighs. “You never leave right after we have sex, so I— I didn’t know if, maybe… It wasn’t good for your something, or if I said something—”

“No, it was great—” Jack interjects, but cuts himself off quickly thereafter, like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

The word ‘honey’ was about to roll off his tongue the way it always does when he’s talking to you, but it feels wrong to say it now, for a reason he still can’t name that threatens to strangle him all the same.

“I just gotta go now. Okay?”

At a loss for what else to do, or what else to say that might make him stay, you just nod with a sad smile. “Sure…”

Jack leaves with a polite nod — like the sex was some sort of mindless transaction he’s thanking you for and not something you’ve done quite regularly for the past several months. He doesn’t speak another word to you when he walks out, and doesn’t look back at you once when he shuts the door behind him.

You stew in his absence and forget to eat.

Your tired body functions the following day on nothing but heartache and half a granola bar.

You drown in the bustling emergency department, and in the void of the white screen ahead of you, where you try and fail to do your charting. You can’t quite garner the strength to use your hands, much less use your brain to put letters on the screen that’ll just look like alphabet soup to you anyway. You’re stuck idling in the emptiness inside of you, where your heart withers along with your stomach.

Robby watches from afar, studying you as he flits between patients and residents requiring his attention. He has, self-admittedly, quite the soft spot for you — because you’re the smartest person on this floor and the most sensitive, too, which makes for a great doctor but very often the saddest person you’ll ever meet. He waits for you to correct yourself before he has to step in, and potentially make your day worse than it’s obviously already going.

You don’t move for six minutes straight.

He timed it.

“What is going on over here?” Robby wonders slowly, leaning over the top of the desk and peering down at you with a pair of stern brown eyes.

You blink rapidly to clear the haze of rumination from your vision and shrink into your cushioned seat like a scolded child. “Charting…” you answer with an unconvincing waver in your voice.

“Looks like it,” Robby scoffs with a hint of a smile that gets lost in his greying beard. He taps the desk with his palm and stands to full height again, nodding his head and urging you to follow him. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

He saunters off in the opposite direction of the work station, taking a tablet that Dana hands to him as he goes. It takes a long moment for his words to compute, and you scramble to your feet when he throws you an expectant look over his shoulder. You fall into step with the older man as he drags his glasses from the shirt pocket of his black scrubs.

Robby sets the black frames on the bridge of his nose and wonders aloud with his gaze turned to the screen in his hand, “What’s going on with you today, kid?”

“It’s nothing,” you shrug dismissively, sticking close to the man’s side as you weave within the crowded hall.

He flashes you an unenthusiastic glare in return. His eyes dart between your furrowed brows, to your anxiety-bitten lips (where your teeth dig into the delicate skin even now), to where you wrench the hem of your long-sleeved undershirt into trembling fists. Whatever it is, it’s very clearly not nothing.

“I’m not asking to be polite, kid,” the older man tells you, firm but not entirely unkind. “I can tell something’s wrong, and it’s affecting your work, so— Just tell me.”

You swallow hard and struggle to find the courage to speak, or to meet the man’s gaze as your eyes dart everywhere but back at him.

“It’s about your friend…” you confess in a sheepish murmur that gets lost in the droning of the bustling E.R.

It takes Robby a moment or more to catch your meaning.

“Jack?” he presses, because he knew the two of you were seeing each other, but not that it was quite so serious to warrant the off-day you’re having now. He makes a mental note to ream Abbot out for it the next time he sees him — ‘cause he can’t have any of his residents upset, least of all you.

You nod with an averted gaze. “He’s just… been off—”

“He’s always off,” Robby scoffs.

“Well, not with me,” you tell him, foreignly firm in your quiet argument. “And now he’s not talking to me, and I have no idea what I did…”

“Well, knowing Jack, you probably didn’t do a damn thing,” Robby concedes with a heavy sigh and flashes you a sympathetic look as you turn the corner. “Just give him some time, alright? He’ll come around. He always does. For now, you’ve got a patient in 8 that’s asking for you—”

Before you can make a guess on who it is — though you think you already know the answer — a strong hand wrenches suddenly around your wrist.

The man’s fingers are warm, calloused, and unwavering against your delicate skin. Your heart lurches into your throat at the sudden panic as your chin snaps towards the man towering over you. He’s tall, bearded, rugged, and so angry he’s red in the face.

“I have been waiting out there…” the man starts, taut voice wavering with a withheld fire. “…For four hours. When the hell am I gonna see somebody?”

“How did you get back here?” is the first thing you think to squeak out, because you vaguely recall McKay sending him back to Chairs after taking his vitals some time ago.

Robby steps in then, cutting between you and the stranger to urge him backward and away from you. You rub at your tender wrist when the man’s brutal touch is gone.

“We’re seeing the sickest patients first, sir. So count yourself lucky you aren’t back here,” Robby explains in an even voice, sounding much calmer than he really feels. “But touch anybody in here like that again, and you won’t be seen at all. Got it?”

The man caves with a heavy breath and with his weathered palms splayed in surrender. “I was just asking a question, man…”

“I’ll handle it, boss,” Ahmad cuts in, rushing towards the three of you after catching sight of the altercation from down the hall. He steps between the two of you and the angry patient and ushers him back toward the waiting room.

“Don’t touch me,” you hear the man spit, but complying anyway.

“Trust me, man,” Ahmad quips. “I don’t want to.”

It takes you a long moment thereafter to catch your breath.

It was certainly not the first time you’ve been grabbed by an unhappy patient, and it would certainly not be the last, but you can never quite get used to the fear. The panic is slow to ebb from your veins, even as the man is escorted back to Chairs. You find him sneering silently at you when you catch his eyes, moments before the door shuts behind him.

Robby steps into your tunnel vision, ducking down to meet your gaze with dark eyes glimmering with worry. “You alright, kid? Did he get you?”

“I’m fine,” you answer on muscle memory and muster a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I’ve seen my fair share of assholes, Robby. Today, even.”

“Well, yeah,” the man scoffs playfully. “You’re with Abbot— I’m sure you’re an expert at dealing with assholes by now…”

By all accounts, you were not supposed to have favorites at the PTMC. And you didn’t really; everyone who stepped foot into the E.R. got the same level of medical care from you — even the assholes. But Louie Cloverfield was different, special. He was the first patient you ever saw as an R1, and when he kept coming in, and you kept picking up his cases, he became your patient.

If Louie was in, and you were on shift, you were the one tending to him. Always.

So, you stay by his side when he loses his pulse, even when the rest of the E.R. reduces to the inevitable chaos of the afternoon rush — even when you know the rest of your co-workers could probably use your help out there now — even when you know there’s nothing more you can do for Louie to keep him alive.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you kneel at his bedside, pounding firmly at the man’s chest in a feeble attempt to keep his heart beating. You’ve lost feeling in your arms now — they’ve gone from aching, to burning, to utterly numb — but your attempt at resuscitation never stops, not even as dark crimson blood spits from his breathing tube; the clearest sign of blood in his lungs.

Robby watches from the back of the room, keeping a close eye on you and the bodies donned in camo outside the window — as the TEMS unit treats a trauma patient across the way, with Jack Abbot among them. He catches the man glancing around the crowded E.R. for a moment, peering over passing heads for a glimpse of you, before the work inevitably drags him away.

Robby knows you have not yet noticed Jack’s presence.

You’ve got the sort of tunnel vision you always get in a crisis, when you refuse to move on until you’ve helped the person in front of you first — which has undoubtedly made you the very backbone of the PTMC patient satisfaction score, though at a detriment to yourself perhaps. Because you never know when to stop; and then, when you inevitably have to, you’ll always find a way to blame yourself for it.

“Three minutes since the epi,” you hear Perlah say, over the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears.

“Hold compressions,” Robby commands.

You stop on instinct, and feel the ache done into your bones. You exhale heavy breaths as you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your gloved hand, careful to avoid the drops of blood spotted there. You feel like your chest is tearing in two when that same, menacing beeping sound fills the air.

“Aystotle,” Robby sighs. “Resume compressions.”

“Give me another amp of epi— and more suction,” you say through panted breaths, situating your palms back over the older man’s sternum. You look past the rogue flyaways falling over your eyes and the nurses crowded around you, peering at Robby with a determined but no less pleading gaze. “What do we do? Should we— Should we give PCC?”

Robby shakes his head with his arms crossed over his chest. “No, it’s too late for that…” he hums sympathetically. “And he’s not an ECMO candidate, so—”

“Well, can you tell me something that we can do?” you snap, harsher than you mean to.

Robby only softens further, dark eyes going tender around the edges as he tells you, “There’s nothing else we can do for him, kid…”

“Robby,” you whimper, flinching like he’s hurt you, but never once stopping your compressions. “C’mon. Please, we can— We can think of something— We still have two more rounds of epi, maybe it’ll—”

“He’s gone, kid…” Robby tells you, voice taut. “It’s okay.”

You exhale a punched-out breath, like not being able to save Louie hits you like a fist to the stomach. Your aching arms tingle with numbness when you part from the unconscious man. That wretched beeping fills the air once more, ringing through your ears and pounding skull.

“12:07,” you hear Robby announce the time of death, as Perlah’s soft hands grasp gently at your shoulders.

“C’mon. I’ll clean up,” the woman tells you, sniffling. “You take a second.”

“I’m fine,” you shrug, half-strangled, as you slip the bloodied gloves from your half-numb hands. You blink back burning tears as you walk them to the trash.

“You’re not,” Robby murmurs, head bowed to meet your averted gaze. “And that’s okay. Just take a second.”

You remind yourself to breathe — in for seven beats and out for eight — as the muffled exam room breaks away into the chaotic E.R. The rest of it becomes a blur in your tunnel vision, and the calls for concern turn to inaudible slurs in your ears.

“Whoa… you okay?” you only vaguely hear Trinity ask as you storm past the work station.

“Fine,” you squeak on instinct, despite the obvious.

“Oh, yeah, he totally croaked in there,” Ogilvie murmurs, as though to gossip with her, but forgetting to be subtle about it.

“Do you ever think before you speak?” Santos quips. “Or is the stupidity genetic?”

Your heavy eyes search for an empty room to duck into, to at least muffle your screams before you cry in front of everyone. There is no patient in the bed in Central 15, so you burst into that one, still struggling to catch your breath.

Your much-needed inhale gets caught in your chest at the sight you find in the corner of the room — Jack Abbot, stripped off his shirt and wiping blood from his stomach, with Samira standing just behind him, tending carefully to the scrape on his back.

Your sneaker scuffs the tile as you still suddenly in place.

The sound of your sudden presence makes them freeze, too. Their heads dart in your direction, gaping with wide eyes and parted mouths as if you’d just caught them doing something terrible. In a way, it feels like you have.

It feels like you’ve stumbled upon some achingly tender moment between them, of which you had been deprived for some time now — because even when Jack was with you, he was a thousand miles away. You wonder if, maybe, a part of him wanted to be here — with Samira, perhaps — and if that’s why he had left you so abruptly last night, as if it had only occurred to him then that you were no longer what he wanted.

You wouldn’t have blamed him for it, if that were the case. You just wish he would’ve told you before now, so it would feel like less of a white-hot knife lodged into the center of your sternum to find him this way.

“Sorry,” you just barely manage to choke out, though it gets lost in a whimper as you fight back the urge to cry.

Jack’s scruffy chest pinches with worry at the crack in your fragile voice and the visibly frazzled sight of you, all wild-haired and glassy-eyed. It hurts him far worse than the wounds burning red-hot on his pale skin now.

“What happened?” he asks, greying brows lowered in concern.

Samira stills with her soft fingers on Jack’s broad, freckled shoulder, touching him with a tenderness he hasn’t let you give him in some time.

“Are you okay?” she wonders, soft with a worry that is always sincere coming from here, but finds you more like a slap in the face just now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer on muscle memory, then sniffle as you shake your head at yourself. “I’m not, actually— I don’t know why I said that— Louie just died. Pulmonary hemorrhage. And I was just looking for an empty room to cry in, I didn’t mean to… to interrupt…”

“You didn’t,” Jack assures you, parting from Samira to take a step closer to you.

It takes quite a lot of strength from you to turn away from him, instead of leering at his shirtless form or cowering at the gentle look in his light eyes. “I-I’ll see myself out,” you stammer hopelessly. “Sorry…”

You just barely hear Jack calling your name before the heavy glass door shuts behind you.

With nowhere else to go, and not willing to face the embarrassment of walking back the way you came, you make a beeline for the ambulance bay. The automatic doors part for you, and the cool air outside takes your breath away a second later.

Your chest hitches as you inhale a sniveling breath, trying and failing to regulate your breathing. You stand at the edge of the curb with one hand balled into a fist and one hand clutching your aching chest. Your heart’s telling you that you’re having an embolism and you’re about to keel over at this very moment; your brain’s telling you that you’re just having a panic attack and you need to suck it the hell up.

“Hey,” a man calls from further down the sidewalk.

Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice. You tense at the sight of the man who had grabbed you earlier, and your aching heart forgets to beat when you see him storming over to you. You find he’s wearing a smile on his bearded face when he’s close enough, but it looks more cynical than kind.

“You’re the nurse who got me kicked out earlier, aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t have the breath or the bravery to correct him now.

“I’m sorry, sir…” you sniffle, wet-eyed, and turn away. “It’s just… It’s been a long day, okay? I didn’t mean for you to get escorted out. You just scared me, that’s all. I’m—”

You turn to face him again when he’s standing ahead of you. But before the words of an apology can spill from your mouth, his weathered fist collides with your nose.

You hear a sharp crack, a wet whoosh, and then the dull slap of your body hitting the pavement. You grimace when the back of your skull meets the concrete, and struggle to blink away the black spots from your vision.

The very first face you see is Langdon’s, though you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since your eyes have closed — a few seconds, maybe, or several minutes. You’re still lying on the rough pavement when you come to, with Frank’s gentle fingers brushing the hair out of your eyes with one hand and shining his penlight into your eyes with the other.

“There you are…” the man coos. “What happened to you out here?”

You hardly hear him, like he’s speaking to you from underwater. You answer him with a question of your own, lifting your trembling fingers to the dull throbbing sensation in your nose.

“Is… Is it bad?” you wonder aloud, half-slurring. You grimace first at the wet feeling on your cupid’s bow, then at the bright scarlet blood staining your fingertips. You whisper, voice breaking. “Ow…”

“Whoa, careful there…” Mel wavers, rushing from behind Langdon to help you when you try to sit up on your own. She crouches down beside him and takes you by the elbows in a pair of gentle hands. She squints behind her glasses when your inhale rattles in your chest. “Did you fall on your back?”

“Did somebody hit you?” Langdon presses from her other side, bushy brows lowered in worry.

“Wow…” you mumble, blinking hard, and wincing when you taste blood in your mouth. “So many questions…”

Mel and Langdon share a panicked look you don’t see.

“Yeah, c’mon. Let’s go,” the older man sighs, urging you up by the elbows and steadying you when you sway softly in place. “Come with me…”

“I can walk,” you protest through your ragged breaths, and through the blood dripping from your cupid’s bow and into your mouth. You pull your arm out of his grasp when the strength to do so returns to you, and stagger the rest of the way to the entrance until you regain your footing. “Just… Be normal, alright?”

“Right…” Langdon scoffs and fights back the urge to laugh — because you obviously have no idea how you look right now, with the lower half of your face all covered in blood, as if you’ve just been rescued from a bar fight. There’s hardly anything normal about that.

You try to be, anyway, as you stroll through the crowded E.R., hoping to be blanketed by the chaos inside. Everyone’s too busy charting or rushing to patients to notice your being there. You’re five or more steps away from making it to the bathroom when Robby’s eagle-eyed stare locks in on you from behind his computer.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” the older man blurts, sliding off his glasses and rising from his chair. He abandons his work without a second thought and rounds the workstation to rush to your side.

“I’m okay,” you tell him with a dismissive wave of your hand, pressing onward even when you hear his footsteps nearing you. He stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and steps in front of you to block your path.

“What the hell happened to you?” he wonders aloud, looking past you to Langdon and Mel as he drags a pair of gloves from his scrub pockets.

“We found her like this,” Frank shrugs.

“I told you to take a break, not get into a bar fight.”

“Ha-ha,” you monotone, then flinch when it hurts to smile. “Ow…”

“Who did this, huh?” Robby asks, cupping your bloodied face in his gloved hands. He runs his fingers over the back of your head first, to make sure you have no wounds there, before pressing his thumbs gently to the apples of your cheeks. “It wasn’t that asshole from before, was it?”

“I didn’t see him,” you lie through your teeth.

“Any trouble seeing? Any double vision?”

You shake your head against his hands, then inhale another rattling breath.

“Did you fall on your back?” he asks you then.

You nod once.

“What about a headache?”

“I always have a headache,” you answer. “I’m fine, Robby. I just need to get cleaned up—”

“Look at you— You’re not fine,” the man snaps. “Now, c’mon. You’re coming with me.”

You have no choice but to follow him when he wraps a firm, gentle hand around your arm, ushering you to walk ahead of him. You ignore the looks and calls of concern from the coworkers around you, except for Mel’s voice, which comes from behind you.

“Should I find Dr. Abbot?” she wonders aloud.

Your head snaps over your shoulder to look at her, and it makes your vision swim.

“Absolutely do not do that,” you answer, a little harsher than you mean to.

“O-kay…” she stammers and trails off.

“In here,” Robby urges, swinging open the door to the nearest empty room. He keeps a steady hand on your back to keep you stable and turns back to Mel before he follows you inside. “Find Abbot,” he tells her.

You lie on your back on the hospital bed while Robby does an impromptu exam. He presses the cold chestpiece of his stethoscope to your skin and listens to your breathing until it evens out again, from where the air had rushed out of your lungs after the fall. He finds your pupils both equal and reactive, and your nose free from swelling or cracking — “Nothing that mother nature can’t fix,” he says, and takes to cleaning you up instead.

“These beds are so hard,” you murmur, shifting uncomfortably with an icepack pressed to your nose, which Princess had brought by some minutes ago. “We should really get new ones in here. How are patients supposed to be comfortable in these?”

“Yeah, I’ll go tell Gloria,” Robby scoffs, dabbing at your nose with a wet wipe. “I’m sure she’ll get right on that…”

He parts from you to chuck the red-tinted napkin into the bin at his side and waits for you to laugh at his stupid joke. You stay silent. You don’t even give him a pity giggle, and you always, at the very least, give him a goddamn pity giggle. His brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Better than anyone I know, Dr. Robby…”

“Ha-ha,” he deadpans, reaching for another wipe with a gloved hand. It’s freezing against the burning skin of your neck as it dabs it gently there. “Why didn’t you want me telling Abbot about this, huh?”

“Because he doesn’t care…” you mumble cynically, almost inaudibly so.

“Oh, c’mon,” Robby scoffs. “Even you don’t believe that.”

You don’t. Not really. You know Jack cares, if only because it’s in his blood to do so. His basic human empathy is what made him such a good doctor. You just aren’t sure that he cares about you in the way you thought he did — in the way you wanted him to — and you’re not quite sure how to voice that to Robby now.

“He’s busy right now,” you answer instead, still half-hidden behind the icepack. “Too busy for me, and I don’t wanna bother him, so… Just drop it.”

Robby flashes you a sympathetic smile that you don’t see as he swipes at the last bit of blood from your skin. “I know he may not act like it, kid, but he does care about you.”

“You’re right,” you mumble. “He doesn’t act like it—”

Jack Abbot bursts into the room like a red-hot flame through a burning house. His broad chest heaves with panted breaths beneath the thin navy shirt he wears in place of his tactical gear, though his camo pants still sit heavy on his waist.

His wild eyes scan your form. “What the hell’s going on in here?” he blurts.

You glare at Robby from behind the icepack. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, I know…” the man sighs, dropping the crumpled wipe into the trash beside him.

“What happened?” Jack presses, more firmly this time.

“Nothing,” you murmur shyly, unable to meet his gaze when he towers at your bedside with his hands on his hips. “It’s not the first time someone’s swung at me—”

“Yeah, but it’s the first time it’s been this bad. Bad enough that someone had to come get me,” Jack argues, made a bit harsher with the concern pinching at his chest. His head whips over his shoulder. “Who the hell did this?”

“Some guy from Chairs, I think,” Robby shrugs. “Name’s Driscoll. Ahmad’s already handling it. He’ll deal with the police.”

“Good,” Jack nods, firm in a way you’ve always adored about him. He was inherently resolute where you were perpetually indecisive. It mostly came in handy when you struggled to figure out what to eat for dinner, not usually in situations like this. “‘Cause we’re pressing charges on this asshole, alright?”

“Honestly, Jack, I don’t care what you do…” you sigh. “But my head is really starting to hurt, and I really don’t feel like handling this right now.”

“On it,” Robby nods, taking the hint and stalking out of the room. He shuts the curtains after him and dims the light as he goes. The noise of the Pitt muffles again when the door closes behind him, leaving you and Jack alone in the not-quite-silence and the not-quite-dark.

“Here. C’mon,” the man urges suddenly, motioning with his chin. “Make room for me.”

“What?” you ask, eyes squinted in confusion as the man turns to sit on the edge of the twin-sized bed, adjusting his prosthetic to swing it over the side.

He gives you an expectant look over his shoulder. “Scooch,” is all he says, in a strangely strong voice despite the very silly command.

You shift on the thin mattress despite your better judgment to make room for him. Jack urges his right leg up first, then his left one second. He settles in beside you and urges the railings up to keep him from falling off the side. You try to do the same, though you possess a lot less strength with only one hand than the man beside you.

Your breath catches when he reaches over you with a strong hand, helping you lift the barrier the rest of the way.

“Thanks…” you mumble, half-shy.

“Don’t mention it,” he huffs politely, with one arm on his stomach and the other curled around your shoulders, keeping you close to accommodate both your bodies on the twin-sized bed. He smells of sweat and musky cologne and antiseptic. It takes everything in you not to melt into his warmth. You remain tense beside him, feeling slightly strange in his hold in a way you never have before.

“I’m sorry about, Louie—”

“You don’t have to do this—” you blurt simultaneously.

His head snaps over to you. He has to jerk his scruffy chin back to look at you properly from the dwindling proximity between you. His eyes dart between your averted gaze and the slowly melting icepack you fidget with like a stress ball.

“Do what?” he asks.

“I didn’t mean to walk in on you and Samira, okay?” you confess quietly, ‘cause any octave higher, and your voice will start to shake. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to make it a whole thing, you know? So you don’t have to come in and pretend to be all nice just because you think I’m upset, ‘cause I’m not.”

(Your rambling is hardly convincing in the matter, but he makes no mention of it.)

“Okay. I hear you,” Jack murmurs gently, always so patient with your rambling, even though he can only halfway comprehend it a lot of the time. “But I’m still not sure what Mohan has to do with this—”

Honey, he wants to say, but doesn’t allow himself.

“If you want to be with her, that’s okay— Or if it’s just because you don’t wanna be with me, that’s okay, too,” you explain in a strangely even voice. “But I wish you would’ve just told me, instead of bailing on me last night—”

“I didn’t bail on you—”

“—So then I wouldn’t have to catch you and Samira doing…” you trail off, face screwed. “Whatever the hell you were doing back there.”

“Catching us?” Jack echoes with a laugh you can feel rumbling against your shoulder. “That would imply we were doing something worth getting caught. She just walked in on me while looking for her patient, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well…” you hum, gaze averted to the icepack in your lap. “It seemed pretty intimate…”

“It wasn’t.”

“More intimate than you’ve been with me,” you argue sheepishly.

“Well, not to be crude here, but…” Jack trails off with an audible smile in his voice. “We literally had sex last night.”

“Yeah, and you left,” you spit, turning to look at him for the first time since he stormed in. You wear a wet look in your glassy eyes and a bruise blooming on the bridge of your nose. “And I cried myself to sleep about it. Which means I didn’t get to watch Love Island, which means I forgot to eat, which means I’m running on fumes on what has arguably been the worst shift of my whole life.”

You take a much-needed breath when the words are gone from your mouth.

Jack does not jump immediately to defend himself. He knows he doesn’t deserve it now. He just lets himself stew in your fiery words instead, so you know they’ll have a real impact on him before he responds.

“You’re right,” he sighs after a few long moments. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head at his apologetic tone. “Just don’t… Don’t be so mean, you know? If you don’t wanna be with me anymore, why can’t you just say?”

“Because I do want to be with you,” he answers, weathered features screwed in offense. “How would you ask me that?”

“Because you aren’t acting like it—”

“Because I almost told you that I loved you,” Jack blurts suddenly, in a stern tone of voice that snatches the breath from your lungs. He swallows hard and continues. “Last night, I mean, when we… I almost said it… Because I felt it, but then I… I realized I hadn’t said that to anyone since my wife passed, and it freaked me out.”

“But…” you start in a broken whisper. “Why does that have to be such a bad thing?”

“‘Cause it makes me feel guilty,” Jack answers. “The way I love you makes me feel guilty, like I’m abandoning her. And I… I don’t know what to do with all that… grief.”

You feel your heart aching, for the third or hundredth time that day. You notice Jack’s right hand hanging on your shoulder, how his fingers fidget anxiously there, and how his left hand scratches at the rough fabric of his camo pants — made overwrought by his confession, and unsure what to do with it now.

“Why don’t you just give it to me?” you wonder quietly, then shrug at the confused look Jack gives you a second later. “Your grief, I mean. I can take it. You know, make it a little more bearable for you. So you don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

The softness of your words knocks the breath from Jack’s lungs.

The corner of his mouth quirks in a wavering smile as he blinks burning tears out of his eyes. “Jesus, we're a couple of goddamn sad sacks, aren’t we, honey?” he scoffs a sad laugh and runs his free hand down his scruffy face.

Your lips twitch upward, feeling giddy but fighting it. “That’s the first time you called me that in two days…” you observe distantly.

“What?”

“Honey.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m sorry for that, too…”

“Don’t be sorry,” you repeat, this time with a smile. “Just— kiss me or somethin’…”

“Gladly,” Jack says with a wider grin.

You tilt your chin up to meet him halfway when he leans down to kiss you. His nose bumps into the side of your bruised one, as your hand reaches for his wounded shoulder. You flinch against each other in tandem.

“Ow,” you whimper.

“Ouch,” Jack winces. “Shit, honey— Sorry.”

“Are you okay?” you ask with a sympathetic scrunch to your features, cupping his scruffy face in your delicate hands. “I haven’t checked in on you yet, I know you’re hurt—”

“I’m fine,” he assures with a shake of his head, leaning instinctively into your touch. “I got a little banged up, but… I’m good now.”

“Promise?” you whisper, swiping an eyelash from his cheek with your thumb.

“I promise. I'll tell you about later,” he nods once and smooths his calloused fingers across your temple, looking at you with a tenderness you’ve been craving all day. “What about you, honey— Are you okay?”

You inhale sharply through your bruised nose and nod on a slower exhale.

“I will be,” you answer honestly for the first time all day.

depression

If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.

He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.

He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This was why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.

"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."

Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"

Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."

Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.

She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.

For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?

He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.

She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor that day. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.

It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.

Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.

It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.

Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.

She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?

A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."

"That's it?"

"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"

Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.

"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."

The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.

"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."

Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must have been some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.

He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.

He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."

"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."

Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.

"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."

Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."

"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."

He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.

God, Robby really owed him one.

"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."

"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."

Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"

He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.

"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."

She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.

Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.

He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.

She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"

"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."

"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."

"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."

"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"

That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.

Maybe he owed Robby one.

Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.

Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.

He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."

He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.

bargaining

"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"

Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.

"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."

"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."

"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.

"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.

That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.

What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.

"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.

Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.

"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."

Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.

He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.

He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.

He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?

He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.

He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.

He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.

No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.

denial

She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the hub proved it.

Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous about the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.

So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.

Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.

She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.

Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.

"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.

"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.

"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.

“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.

That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.

It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.

He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.

She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.

Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”

In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.

"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"

"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"

"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"

"What in the greys anatomy"

"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"

"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"

"Does that girl know she has 30mins to claim that man before I do"

"He does not play about her!"

"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"

"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"

"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"

"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"

"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.

"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.

"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.

"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."

“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.

“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.

He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.

He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.

So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.

And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."

"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.

"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."

"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."

Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."

But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.

anger

Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.

He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.

"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"

"Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.

"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"

"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"

Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.

Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.

They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.

Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.

Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.

They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.

Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.

But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.

And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.

The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.

With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.

It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.

She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.

Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.

So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.

He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.

From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says

Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.

He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.

Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.

Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.

"Shen and Ellis need a cover."

"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.

"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.

Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."

Who was Jack to argue with that?

"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"

Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.

"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."

He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.

On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.

"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.

"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.

His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.

His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.

"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."

"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?

It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.

Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.

Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.

His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.

Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.

"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.

The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.

Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.

Until he wasn't.

Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?

They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.

He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.

He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.

"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.

"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."

She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.

"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.

"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?

"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.

Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.

"Woah! Old man still has moves!"

Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.

Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.

Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.

Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"

Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.

He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."

He was so fucked.

acceptance

Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.

He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.

He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.

He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.

They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.

Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"

Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.

As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."

"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.

Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."

"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.

"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.

"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.

He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.

She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.

"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.

The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."

"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?

"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."

That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.

"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"

Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."

"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.

Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.

She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.

She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”

"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."

"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."

"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.

"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."

She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"

"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself

"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.

“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”

“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”

Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."

"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.

He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.

"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."

She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."

Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.

“Jack…”

“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.

“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.

“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”

“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.

Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."

"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.

"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”

“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.

“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.

“Shot…at."

She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.

“What?” He asked.

“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”

“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.

She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.

“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”

“That isn’t gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”

“Is that an old joke?”

“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.

“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.

“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."

“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”

Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."

She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.

She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”

“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.

“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”

He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.

“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”

Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.

“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”

“This is a teaching hospital.”

“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”

“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.

“You’re a flirt, you know that?”

“Only with you.”

They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.

Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.

Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”

Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."

Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.

He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."

Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.

Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"

Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.

"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"

He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"

The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.

"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.

Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.

She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."

"I know. But I do."

She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"

Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.

"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.

"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"

"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."

"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.

She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."

"Oh no you're not."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”

“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”

“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.

“Seriously?"

Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.

She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”

“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”

She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.

Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”

She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”

“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."

Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."

Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.

His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you think it’s so wildly inappropri-"

“I don’t!”

“You dont? But I thought-“

He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”

“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.

“I know what I said.”

“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”

"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.

His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.

His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.

Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.

He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"

"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.

"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."

"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.

"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."

"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Absolutely not."

"I hate you."

Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.

"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."

She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.

"You're that needy?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.

She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.

"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"

His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.

"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."

She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"

A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.

"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.

He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.

"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.

"What else, baby?"

All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."

They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.

"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"

She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.

"You wanna come for me?"

"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.

Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.

"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"

She huffed out an, "I hate you."

"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"

"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.

He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.

Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."

"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."

"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.

"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.

She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."

Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"

"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"

"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."

"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"

"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.

"Come for me first."

"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."

"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.

"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"

She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."

Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."

"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."

"Yeah? That needy, huh?"

"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.

"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.

"Funny."

"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.

Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.

"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and have an IUD. Need to feel you."

Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."

She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.

"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."

He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.

"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"

"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.

"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.

"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."

Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."

She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."

Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.

Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.

He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.

He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."

She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"

He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"

He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."

She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.

A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"

She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.

"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"

Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"

"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"

Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.

"You do? I mean, you are?"

She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”

"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."

"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"

"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.

"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.

"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.

"I love you, Jack."

He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.

"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.

"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.

"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.

The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.

From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪

They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'

"Girlfriend, huh?"

Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."

"What else is in the plan?”

“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”

She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”

“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.

She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.

From Robby: You owe me one, man.