Blue’s Writtings

Earth was blue, loud, and comfortably predictable by comparison.

Another message appeared.

I SAY YOU OWE ME FOUR MONTHS OF MOVIE NIGHTS.

You opened a response channel.

I WAS PREVENTING AN INTERPLANETARY WAR.

Roy answered almost immediately.

SO YOU ADMIT YOU MISSED THEM.

You were still smiling when Kyle drifted closer. His green aura brushed the edge of yours without resistance. The rings adjusted automatically, preventing the fields from disrupting each other as the two of you descended through the atmosphere.

“Is that Harper?” he asked.

“No.”

“Your ring displayed his contact identification.”

“My ring has become disrespectful.”

“It also increased the oxygen flow when you started smiling.”

“That sounds medically unnecessary.”

“I think it was worried.”

You dismissed the messages. “I can leave you in Nevada.”

Kyle glanced toward the expanse of desert beneath you. “Hal invited me to dinner.”

“Hal once invited a man home because they were both angry at the same vending machine.”

“Did the man come?”

“He stayed for three days.”

“Then Hal has excellent instincts.”

“You’ve met him before?”

“Briefly. He spent most of the conversation arguing with Guy.”

“That was meeting him.”

The two of you broke through the last layer of cloud together. Coast City stretched beneath the late afternoon sun, its streets and beaches rendered in familiar lines that your ring identified before you consciously recognized them.

Hal’s house appeared near the edge of the city. The place had always looked too ordinary for a man who spent half his life carrying the weight of entire worlds. The siding needed repainting. The backyard fence leaned slightly toward the neighboring property, despite Hal insisting every spring that he had fixed it. The roof above the garage had been replaced during your last visit, although the new shingles failed to disguise the dent where Kilowog had once landed without warning.

Three vehicles crowded the driveway. One belonged to Oliver. One was Dinah’s. The third was Roy’s truck.

Your ring increased the oxygen flow again.

Kyle heard the chime. “Concerned.”

“Quiet.”

You descended into the backyard before he could say anything else.

Hal stood behind the grill in a faded apron, arguing with Oliver over whether a burger could be considered cooked when the center remained visibly pink. Dinah sat at the picnic table with a glass of lemonade, watching the disagreement with the resigned expression of someone who had already accepted that neither man would listen to her.

Roy was leaning against the porch railing.

You noticed him before anyone else. His red hair had grown slightly longer while you were gone, curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck. He wore a dark shirt with the sleeves pushed over his forearms, exposing the scars and freckles scattered across his skin. One ankle was crossed over the other, and his posture suggested he had been standing there casually rather than waiting for the first glimpse of green light in the sky.

Then Hal looked up. The spatula fell from his hand.

“There she is.”

You barely had time to dismiss your uniform before he reached you. Hal wrapped both arms around you, lifted you from the ground, and squeezed hard enough that your ribs protested despite the protective layer of energy your ring maintained around you.

“You’re late,” he said into your hair.

“By eleven minutes.”

“You came from space. You should have left earlier.”

“I came from another galaxy.”

“Traffic?”

“Terrible.”

His arms tightened again.

The teasing slipped from his voice when he said, “Welcome home, kid.”

Your throat tightened. Hal had called you that from the beginning, when you were fourteen and newly chosen by a ring neither of you understood. He had been your instructor first, then your guardian, and eventually your father in every way that mattered. The legal paperwork had come later, after years of family dinners and emergency contact forms on which neither of you knew what category to select.

You pressed your face briefly against his shoulder. “I missed you too.”

He set you down and immediately began examining you.

“You’re thinner.”

“I’m wearing fitted clothing.”

“When did you last eat?”

“On the ship.”

“That isn’t a time.”

“Three hours ago.”

“What did you eat?”

“Kyle made something.”

Hal looked over your shoulder.

Kyle had landed several feet behind you and dismissed his uniform. “Pasta.”

“From a packet,” you added.

“It contained all the necessary nutrients.”

“It contained powder.”

“Powder can be nutritious.”

Hal turned toward the grill. “I’m making her two burgers.”

“Make her three,” Oliver called.

“I can feed myself.”

“You clearly can’t,” Hal said.

Dinah rose to greet you, wrapping you in an embrace that was gentler than Hal’s and somehow warmer. Oliver followed, kissing your temple and informing you that he had personally prevented Hal from serving dinner two hours early.

“You arrived at three,” Hal said.

“I was helping.”

“You brought one bag of chips.”

“They were good chips.”

You laughed against Oliver’s shoulder before pulling away.

Roy had not moved from the porch. His gaze rested on you with a steadiness that made the backyard seem quieter than it was. The messages had been light, but his expression held something more complicated now that you were standing in front of him.

Relief, perhaps.

You crossed the grass.

“Harper.”

“Lantern.”

He waited until you reached him before unfolding his arms.

“You planning on greeting me properly?” you asked.

“I sent four messages.”

“One of them said you were charging interest on missed movie nights.”

“Emotional interest.”

“That isn’t a thing.”

“It is now.”

You opened your arms. Roy regarded you for another second, making a show of reluctance that neither of you believed. Then his hands settled around your waist, and he pulled you against him.

Your arms went around his neck. Roy hugged differently from Hal. He did not crush you or lift your feet from the ground. He held you carefully, one hand spread between your shoulder blades while the other rested at the curve of your waist, his forearm firm against your back.

The position brought your face close to his neck. He smelled like soap, machine oil, and the faint leather scent that clung to his equipment. Four months of alien air disappeared beneath one familiar breath.

“You took your time,” he murmured.

“I came home as soon as the assignment ended.”

“Could’ve staged a coup.”

“I was trying to prevent one.”

“See? Lack of initiative.”

His voice remained easy, but his hand tightened against your back.

You closed your eyes. “You missed me.”

“The crime rate increased while you were gone.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“Property damage also increased.”

“You tracked property damage?”

“I was bored.”

“Because you missed me.”

“Because there was nothing good on television.”

You leaned back enough to see him. “You could have watched our list.”

“You said I wasn’t allowed to continue without you.”

“And you listened?”

“I have principles.”

“You broke into my bedroom when we were sixteen because you thought Hal had confiscated your arrows.”

“He had confiscated my arrows.”

“They were in Oliver’s car.”

“Where Hal put them.”

“Hal moved the car because you kept looking through the windows.”

“He was concealing evidence.”

You laughed.

Roy’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

His thumb moved once against your side before becoming still.

The contact made you abruptly aware of how little space there was between you. Roy’s chest rested against yours. Your arms remained looped around his neck, and his hand sat low enough on your waist that the warmth of it reached through your shirt.

Before either of you could decide what that meant, Kyle spoke behind you.

“Am I interrupting?”

Roy released you. You stepped back, trying not to react to the sudden absence of his hands.

Kyle approached with the duffel he had brought back from the assignment hanging from one shoulder. He looked from you to Roy, apparently registering nothing unusual about the way Roy’s jaw had tightened.

“Kyle, this is Roy Harper,” you said. “Roy, Kyle Rayner.”

“We’ve met,” Kyle said, extending his hand. “Briefly.”

“League meeting,” Roy replied.

“That was it. You had the exploding arrows.”

“I have several exploding arrows.”

“The ones shaped like boxing gloves.”

Roy stared at him.

Kyle frowned as he reconsidered. “Those might have been separate arrows.”

“They were.”

“Right.” Kyle smiled and shook his hand. “She talks about you.”

Roy glanced toward you. “Does she?”

“Mostly when something breaks.”

“I talk about him when other things happen.”

“Sometimes when something catches fire,” Kyle continued.

“That was one story.”

“You mentioned the chili incident twice.”

“Because it was funny.”

Roy released Kyle’s hand. “The chili was sabotaged.”

“You forgot it was on the stove,” you said.

“The stove ran hot.”

“You went to the store.”

“We needed sour cream.”

“You were gone for forty minutes.”

“The first store had the wrong brand.”

Kyle nodded with genuine interest. “This explains a lot.”

Roy’s attention sharpened. “About what?”

“Her standards for cooking.”

You covered a smile with your hand.

Kyle had not noticed anything. That was the worst part. His friendliness contained none of the deliberate edge Roy seemed to hear in it. Kyle was simply tired, pleased to be back on Earth, and apparently eager to meet the person who appeared in half the stories you told during long patrols.

Roy looked less pleased with every passing second.

Hal shouted from the grill. “Kyle, you want cheese?”

“Sure.”

“American, cheddar, or the one Dinah bought because she thinks we need to expand our horizons?”

“Cheddar.”

“Coward,” Dinah said.

Kyle set his bag near the porch. “Do I need to do anything?”

“Keep Hal away from the propane,” you said.

“The propane is fine,” Hal called.

Oliver pointed toward the grill. “He already singed his sleeve.”

“It was deliberate.”

“It was your favorite jacket.”

“Exactly. Tactical sacrifice.”

Kyle went to help, leaving you beside Roy.

Roy watched him cross the yard.

“He’s staying?”

“He has his own apartment.”

“I meant for dinner.”

“Hal invited him.”

“Hal invites strangers into his house.”

“Kyle isn’t a stranger.”

“Apparently.”

You studied Roy’s profile. “Are you being weird?”

“No.”

“That sounded weird.”

“Maybe four months in space affected your hearing.”

“My ring monitors my hearing.”

“Your ring is an enabler.”

Before you could press him, Hal called your name and demanded that you explain why the grill had begun making a clicking sound.

By the time you turned back, Roy had moved toward the table.

Dinner began at seven forty-three, which Dinah declared a personal victory.

You sat on one side of the picnic table with Kyle beside you. Roy sat directly across from you, one arm resting along the back of the bench while Oliver and Hal continued arguing over the proper way to season grilled corn.

For the first twenty minutes, everything felt almost exactly as it had before you left.

Hal asked too many questions about your health while pretending they were questions about the mission. Dinah wanted to know whether the diplomatic settlement would hold. Oliver listened to your explanation of the border dispute with surprising attentiveness until Hal revealed that he was actually waiting for an opportunity to compare the hostile planetary government to a city councilman he disliked.

Roy said little. He watched you.

You noticed every time his attention moved toward your face, your ring, or the small bruise along your wrist that had not quite faded. He noticed when you pushed aside the tomato from your burger and silently reached across the table to take it. You stole several fries from his plate in exchange.

The familiar rhythm should have relaxed him.

Then Kyle took one of your fries too.

Roy looked at his hand.

Kyle ate the fry without noticing. “Did you tell them about the negotiations on Vespasi?”

“I was getting there.”

“You have to tell them about the ceremonial robes.”

You groaned. “I absolutely do not.”

Hal leaned forward. “What robes?”

“The local council required diplomatic delegates to wear traditional clothing,” Kyle explained.

“What kind of clothing?” Dinah asked.

Kyle reached for another fry.

Roy moved his plate slightly out of reach.

Kyle switched to yours instead. “They were elaborate.”

“You said I looked nice.”

“You did look nice.”

“Then why did you laugh?”

“Because the sleeves were wider than you were.”

“You walked into a door.”

“The hood obstructed my vision.”

Oliver looked delighted. “Do you have pictures?”

“Of him walking into the door?”

“Of both.”

“My ring recorded the entire ceremony,” you said.

Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket. “I transferred a few.”

“You what?”

“For the mission archive.”

“You sent one to Guy.”

“He asked how negotiations were going.”

“You sent him the one with the crown.”

“You were wearing it.”

“It was six feet tall.”

“It was culturally significant.”

“You added sparkles.”

“The original image lacked drama.”

Roy looked between the two of you. “You have matching costumes?”

“Diplomatic robes,” you corrected.

“Matching diplomatic robes.”

“They weren’t matching,” Kyle said. “Hers were green.”

“Of course they were.”

“Mine were blue.”

Roy’s brows drew together. “Why blue?”

Kyle shrugged. “They thought it complemented her outfit.”

You felt Roy’s gaze settle on you.

“It was an arranged color scheme,” you explained.

“They also thought we were married,” Kyle added.

The table went quiet.

You closed your eyes. The misunderstanding had lasted less than an hour and had been corrected before negotiations formally began. It had not mattered enough to mention in the mission report, but Kyle delivered the information as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

Roy’s hand became still around his glass.

Hal looked sharply at you. “They thought what?”

“The council assumed Lantern partners meant married partners,” you said. “We corrected them.”

“Eventually,” Kyle said.

Your knee struck his beneath the table.

He winced. “Immediately. We corrected them immediately.”

Roy leaned back. “Lantern partners.”

“It’s the standard term for two Lanterns assigned to the same mission,” Kyle explained.

“I know what it means.”

Kyle smiled. “Right. Sorry.”

Roy’s expression did not change.

You reached for one of his fries. He moved the plate back within your reach before you could ask.

Oliver took a slow drink, watching Roy over the rim of his glass with obvious amusement. Dinah noticed too. Her mouth curved, although she was kind enough not to say anything.

Hal was less restrained. “Why didn’t you tell me an alien government tried to marry you?”

“They didn’t try to marry us.”

“They prepared one room,” Kyle said.

You turned toward him. “Kyle.”

“What? They did.”

Roy’s glass touched the table with a quiet click.

“One room?” he asked.

“The lodging coordinator thought we were married,” you said.

“And there was a cultural prohibition against changing assigned accommodations after sunset,” Kyle added. “It was complicated.”

“So you shared a room.”

“We shared a suite.”

“It had one bed,” Kyle said.

Your ring could not protect him from you on Earth without a valid threat assessment.

You considered providing one.

Roy’s gaze moved from Kyle to you. “One bed.”

“I made another one with my ring.”

“It disappeared when you fell asleep,” Kyle reminded you.

“I slept on the sofa.”

“For an hour.”

“Then the sofa disappeared.”

Roy folded his arms. “Because you fell asleep.”

“Yes.”

“In the bed.”

“At the edge.”

Kyle nodded. “She kicks.”

“I kicked you once.”

“Three times.”

“You were stealing the blankets.”

“They were communal blankets.”

“There is no such thing.”

Kyle glanced toward the others. “She also talks in her sleep.”

Roy’s expression shifted.

You felt heat rise into your face. “I do not.”

“You do.”

“What did I say?”

“I couldn’t understand most of it.”

“Most?”

“You said Roy’s name once.”

Every head at the table turned toward you.

Kyle continued eating his burger.

The silence apparently failed to register.

Roy’s voice was quieter when he asked, “She did?”

“Probably because she was trying to remember the chili story.” Kyle looked at you. “That was the night you told me about it, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You also stole my pillow.”

“I was asleep.”

“You tucked it under your arm and told me to get my own.”

Roy’s jaw tightened.

Kyle finally seemed to notice that the conversation had changed.

He looked around the table. “Did I say something?”

“No,” Roy replied. “You’ve said plenty.”

“Roy,” you warned.

“What?”

Kyle glanced between you. “Should I—”

“Tell us about the weapons shipment,” Dinah said smoothly.

Grateful for the change of subject, Kyle began explaining the criminal operation that had complicated the final week of your assignment.

Roy remained quiet.

You watched him instead of listening. His irritation was obvious now, although he kept it contained beneath the rigid set of his shoulders and the small crease between his brows. He was not angry at you. You knew Roy well enough to recognize the difference.

He was uncomfortable. Worse, he was trying to hide it.

When Kyle reached across you for the mustard, his shoulder brushed yours. Roy’s gaze followed the movement.

You leaned back slightly.

Kyle thanked you and continued speaking, unaware that he had just made Roy’s grip tighten around his fork.

A few minutes later, he casually rested his arm behind you along the top of the bench to make room for Hal when he squeezed past. His hand remained several inches from your shoulder.

Roy stared at it as though Kyle had produced a weapon.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

There was something almost endearing about his complete inability to disguise jealousy once you knew what you were looking for. Roy had always been quick to needle anyone who paid you too much attention, but you had assumed it was the same overprotective instinct he applied to most of the people he loved.

This felt different.

It felt promising.

Then Kyle leaned toward you and quietly asked whether you had remembered to deactivate the translator implant before it reset overnight.

You turned your head to answer him.

From Roy’s angle, the movement must have looked intimate. Kyle’s face was close to yours, his voice too low for anyone else to hear, and one of his hands rested on the bench behind your back.

Roy stood.

The bench scraped against the patio stones.

Everyone stopped speaking.

“I need another drink,” he said.

His glass was still half full.

Oliver looked at it. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

Roy took the glass with him and crossed the yard toward the house. The screen door snapped shut behind him.

Hal watched him go. “What’s wrong with Roy?”

Oliver stared at his best friend. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Dinah sighed. “Fourteen years.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you owe me fifty dollars,” Oliver said.

“For what?”

“The bet.”

Hal frowned. “That bet expired when they turned twenty-one.”

“You don’t get to invent expiration dates because you’re losing.”

You pushed away from the table.

Kyle looked concerned. “Did I offend him?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? He seemed fine when we arrived.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I kept taking his fries.”

“You took everyone’s fries.”

“That might be the problem.”

“It isn’t.”

Kyle lowered his voice. “Do you want me to apologize?”

The sincerity in his face removed any remaining suspicion that he had been trying to provoke Roy. Kyle genuinely had no idea what he had done, because he had done nothing except behave with the ease of someone who had spent months beside you.

That ease was the problem.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’ll talk to him.”

You left the table before Hal could ask another question.

Behind you, Oliver said, “Pay up.”

“I still don’t understand what we bet on.”

“That’s why the odds were so good.”

The kitchen smelled faintly of charcoal smoke and whatever seasoning Hal had spilled across the counter earlier.

Roy stood at the sink with his back to the doorway. His half-full glass sat beside him while he ran water over his hands, even though there was nothing on them that needed washing.

“You left my welcome-home dinner,” you said.

“It’s Hal’s house.”

“He cooked for me.”

“He burned food in your honor.”

“It was touching.”

Roy shut off the faucet and reached for a dish towel. “Kyle wondering where you are?”

“He thinks you’re upset about the fries.”

“He should stop stealing people’s food.”

“You drank from my milkshake the first time we met.”

“I was fourteen.”

“You finished it.”

“You said you didn’t want the rest.”

“I said I wanted a napkin.”

“You were unclear.”

You stepped farther into the kitchen and pulled the back door closed behind you. The sounds from the yard softened to a blur beneath the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet rush of water still draining from the sink.

Roy dried his hands longer than necessary.

“Talk to me,” you said.

“I am talking.”

“You’re pretending to wash clean hands in Hal’s kitchen while sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“You left because Kyle leaned near me.”

“He was practically sitting on you.”

“He was asking about my translator.”

“That isn’t better.”

You blinked. “How?”

“I don’t know. It sounded intimate.”

“A translator implant sounds intimate?”

“He whispered.”

“Because Hal was talking.”

“Hal’s always talking.”

“So everyone who wants to speak to me should leave the yard?”

Roy tossed the dish towel onto the counter and braced both hands against its edge. “I know I’m being an asshole.”

The admission surprised you into silence.

He looked down between his hands.

“I know Kyle didn’t do anything,” he continued. “He seems nice. He’s probably great. Everyone likes him.”

“You like him.”

“I liked him before tonight.”

“You dislike him because we shared a bed?”

“You didn’t share a bed.”

“We technically did.”

His head lifted.

You tried not to smile. “For part of one night.”

“That isn’t helping.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“You understand.”

“I think I do, but I want to hear you say it.”

Roy laughed once without humor. “Of course you do.”

He pushed away from the counter and turned to face you fully. The kitchen was not small, but his movement changed the room, making the space between you feel more deliberate.

“You disappear for four months,” he said. “Then you come home with a guy who knows what you look like in ceremonial robes, knows how you sleep, knows the things you say when you’re dreaming, and apparently spent half the assignment sharing rooms with you.”

“One room.”

“That distinction isn’t making me feel better.”

“He knows those things because we were working together.”

“I know.”

“Kyle isn’t interested in me.”

Roy’s mouth tightened. “He called you his partner.”

“He is my partner.”

“I know what it means.”

“Then why are you acting like he announced an engagement?”

“Because he can go with you.”

The irritation left his voice as quickly as it had come.

You stared at him.

Roy looked toward the window rather than your face. “He can fly out of the atmosphere beside you. He understands Corps assignments, alien customs, whatever the hell a translator implant does. When you tell him something happened three sectors away, he knows where that is without pretending he’ll look it up later.”

“You look things up?”

“Sometimes.”

“Roy.”

“He fits into that part of your life.”

The words emerged reluctantly, stripped of the humor he usually used to conceal anything that might hurt.

“And I don’t,” he finished.

Your chest tightened.

Roy had never asked you to give up the ring. Even when you were younger and assignments frightened both of you, he understood that being a Lantern was not something you could separate from yourself. The ring had chosen you, but Hal had taught you that the choice to answer belonged to you each time.

Roy had always respected that choice.

You had not realized he believed it was taking you somewhere he could not follow.

“You fit into every part of my life,” you said.

“That isn’t true.”

“It is.”

“Do you talk about me on Oa?”

“All the time.”

“Kyle knows the chili story.”

“Everyone knows the chili story.”

“Great.”

“He knew your name before you met.”

Roy’s gaze returned to yours.

“You were the first person I called after my promotion,” you reminded him. “You helped me choose the apartment I barely use. You have access codes to my ship.”

“The ship tried to eject me.”

“You insulted its navigation system.”

“It took us through an asteroid field.”

“It was avoiding a solar flare.”

“It could have mentioned that.”

“You argued with an artificial intelligence for twenty minutes.”

“It started it.”

You stepped closer.

Roy watched you cross the remaining space between you, but he did not move away.

“When the assignment became difficult, I wanted to talk to you,” you said. “When Kyle made me laugh, I thought about whether you would have laughed too. When I couldn’t sleep, I listened to the messages you sent, even the one where you complained about a delivery driver parking in front of the building.”

“He blocked the entrance.”

“For thirty seconds.”

“It was inconsiderate.”

“I know.”

You stopped in front of him.

Roy’s hands hung at his sides, close enough to touch you but held carefully still.

“Kyle can go into space with me,” you said. “That doesn’t make him home.”

Something shifted in Roy’s expression.

You continued before courage failed you. “You are.”

He stared at you.

The refrigerator hummed behind him. Somewhere outside, Hal laughed loudly enough that the sound carried through the closed door, followed by Dinah telling him to lower his voice.

Roy did not seem to hear any of it.

“You should be careful,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m already jealous enough to hate a perfectly decent guy over some fries.”

“I noticed.”

“You telling me things like that isn’t going to help.”

“I’m not trying to help.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

The warmth beneath your skin spread lower.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked.

“Get you to admit why you’re jealous.”

“I thought I just did.”

“You admitted Kyle fits into my Lantern life.”

“He does.”

“You haven’t admitted why that matters.”

Roy looked at you for a long moment.

His voice was quieter when he said, “Because I’m in love with you.”

The words settled between you with startling simplicity.

You had imagined hearing them before. Sometimes after long missions, when exhaustion stripped away your better judgment. Sometimes during nights spent on Roy’s couch, your feet tangled beneath a blanket while he pretended not to notice when you leaned against him.

In your imagination, he always delivered the confession smoothly.

The reality was better.

Roy looked irritated by his own vulnerability, his shoulders tense and his hands curled as though he needed something to hold. There was no performance in it. He was not trying to charm you or make the words less frightening with a joke.

He was only telling the truth.

“How long?” you asked.

His expression became wary. “Does it matter?”

“I want to know.”

“Seventeen.”

Your lips parted.

Roy gave a small, embarrassed shrug. “Maybe sixteen. You wore that green dress to Dinah’s birthday and threatened to throw me off the roof because I said it made you look like a traffic light.”

“You said a sexy traffic light.”

“You remember.”

“I remember throwing you into the pool.”

“You ruined my jacket.”

“You deserved it.”

“I still thought you looked good.”

You smiled despite the ache in your chest. “You’ve been in love with me since we were teenagers?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were seventeen.”

“So were you.”

“You had just started training off-world. Every time I saw you, you had another story about some planet I couldn’t pronounce. You looked happy.”

“I was happy.”

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

Roy sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You had a whole universe opening up in front of you. I wasn’t going to be the guy who asked you to stay because he finally figured out what everyone else already knew.”

“You think loving you would have made me stay?”

“I thought it might make leaving harder.”

“It was already hard.”

His hand lowered.

You closed the last inch between you and placed your palm against his chest.

Roy inhaled.

His heartbeat moved quickly beneath your hand.

“You were always the hardest part,” you said.

His fingers settled around your wrist, holding you there. “You don’t get to say things like that after letting me think you and Rayner were sharing a honeymoon suite.”

“It was a diplomatic residence.”

“One bed.”

“I built another bed.”

“It disappeared.”

“You were listening closely.”

“I was suffering.”

You laughed.

Roy’s eyes narrowed, but his thumb moved over the inside of your wrist.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.

“A little.”

“I walked away from dinner because Kyle leaned close to you.”

“I saw.”

“Oliver’s never going to let me forget that.”

“He’ll be too busy collecting his bet.”

“What bet?”

“I’m not sure, but Hal owes him fifty dollars.”

Roy closed his eyes. “They bet on us?”

“Apparently.”

“I hate our family.”

“Our family?”

His eyes opened again.

You smiled.

Roy’s hand tightened around your wrist.

“That was deliberate,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You missed me.”

“I did.”

The honesty in the answer erased your teasing.

You raised your other hand to his face, letting your fingers follow the edge of his jaw. The faint roughness there caught against your skin.

Roy became very still.

“I missed you too,” you said.

“How much?”

The question was soft, but his gaze had darkened.

You moved closer until your body brushed his. “Enough to think about you while I was sharing that bed with Kyle.”

Roy’s hand left your wrist and settled at your waist.

“That’s cruel.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I know.”

“I slept for four hours. Kyle complained that I stole the blanket. We spent the next morning arguing with a council about mining rights.”

“I know.”

“You’re still thinking about the bed.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Do you want help?”

His fingers flexed against your side.

“You should probably explain what kind of help you’re offering.”

You rose onto your toes and kissed him.

Roy froze.

For one terrible second, you wondered whether you had misunderstood everything. Then his hand slid around your back and pulled you firmly against him.

He kissed you like he had been waiting years and resented every second of it.

The first press of his mouth was almost careful, but it lasted only until your fingers slid into his hair. Roy made a quiet sound against your lips, turned you with him, and walked you backward until your shoulders met the closed back door.

One hand braced beside your head. The other remained at your waist, his thumb pressing into the narrow strip of skin exposed where your shirt had shifted.

You kissed him again before he could speak.

His mouth opened beneath yours.

Roy had always been tactile. He threw an arm around your shoulders, leaned against you on the couch, and touched your back when guiding you through crowds. You had spent years pretending those casual points of contact did not leave warmth behind.

There was nothing casual about him now.

His body settled against yours, solid and hot, one thigh easing between your legs as he deepened the kiss. Your ring registered the increase in your pulse and offered to perform a medical scan.

You silenced it with a thought.

Roy pulled back just far enough to breathe. “Did your ring just say something?”

“No.”

“It chimed.”

“It’s nosy.”

“Can it see us?”

“It doesn’t have eyes.”

“Can it record us?”

“Not without authorization.”

“Good.”

His mouth returned to yours.

You laughed into the kiss, and Roy’s hand slid from your waist to your hip. He pressed you more firmly against the door, his thigh shifting until the pressure made your breath catch.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Roy drew back, his lips brushing yours when he spoke. “That okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

You used the grip you had on his hair to pull him closer. “Harper.”

His mouth curved against yours. “That sounds like a yes.”

He kissed the corner of your lips and moved lower, his mouth tracing your jaw before settling against the side of your neck. Your head tipped back against the door.

Roy’s hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt.

His palm spread over your bare side, warm and roughened by years of archery. His thumb moved beneath your ribs while his lips found the place below your ear that had always made you shiver when he touched it accidentally.

There was nothing accidental now.

“Roy.”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse. “I’ve wanted to hear you say my name like that for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Don’t make me answer questions while I’m trying to kiss you.”

“You were the one who wanted honesty.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

His teeth grazed your skin.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and Roy exhaled against your neck. The sound sent a sharper rush of warmth through you.

“You keep doing that,” he murmured, “and your dad’s going to find us in a situation nobody wants to explain.”

“My dad has been waiting for this since we were teenagers.”

“Hal threatened me when I asked if you had a date to prom.”

“He threatened everyone.”

“He showed me the ring and said space was very large.”

“That was subtle for him.”

Roy lifted his head. His lips were flushed, and his hair stood unevenly beneath your fingers.

You had known him almost half your life.

You had never seen him look at you quite like this.

His gaze traveled over your face before dropping down the length of your body. The movement was unhurried, open enough to make heat gather beneath your skin.

“You’re staring,” you said.

“I’m making up for lost time.”

“You had fourteen years.”

“I was trying to behave.”

“You were terrible at it.”

“That’s probably why Hal threatened to leave me in space.”

You hooked one finger into the collar of his shirt and drew him back. “I could protect you.”

“From a Green Lantern?”

“I’m a Green Lantern.”

“You’re biased.”

“I’m very biased.”

Roy kissed you again, slower this time. The edge of desperation softened into something deeper, although his hand continued moving beneath your shirt, following the curve of your waist before stopping just below the band of your bra.

He gave you time to object.

You didn’t.

His fingertips traced the edge of the fabric.

Your hips shifted against his thigh.

Roy broke the kiss with a rough breath. His forehead dropped against yours.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You looked down between your bodies.

“I have some idea.”

“Don’t.”

You smiled. “You’re the one pressing me against a door.”

“You kissed me.”

“You confessed your love.”

“You accused me of being jealous.”

“You were jealous.”

“I’m still jealous.”

“Kyle has probably eaten all your fries by now.”

Roy groaned and buried his face against your neck. “I was starting to forget he existed.”

“You brought him up.”

“Because you’re evil.”

“You love me.”

“Deeply unfortunate.”

His mouth returned to the mark he had left on your neck.

You turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “Kyle really isn’t interested in me.”

“I believe you.”

“He’s going to be horrified when he realizes why you left.”

“I’ll apologize.”

“You’ll apologize?”

“Eventually.”

“You were rude to him.”

“I shook his hand.”

“You interrogated him about cheese.”

“He seemed suspicious.”

“He asked for cheddar.”

“Exactly.”

You laughed, and Roy lifted his head.

For a moment, the jealousy and humor faded. He touched your cheek, his thumb moving slowly beneath your eye.

“You’re really home?” he asked.

The question carried more weight than the words should have held.

You understood anyway.

“For a while,” you said. “The Corps approved two months of Earth rotation. After that, I’ll probably take shorter assignments.”

“Probably?”

“I can request them.”

“For me?”

“For myself.” You leaned into his hand. “Because I’m tired of pretending Earth is only somewhere I visit between missions.”

Roy studied your face. “I don’t want you changing your life because I was an asshole over Kyle.”

“I’m not changing it for you.”

“Good.”

“I’m making room for you.”

His expression softened.

“That’s worse,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because now I want to kiss you again.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It’s a burden.”

You tugged him closer by his shirt. “Be brave.”

Roy’s mouth had barely touched yours when someone knocked hard against the other side of the back door.

Both of you went still.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Hal called.

Roy closed his eyes.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

A second voice came through the door. “You’ve been gone long enough for the burgers to qualify as leftovers,” Oliver added.

“We were talking,” Roy said.

“Sure you were.”

Hal knocked again. “Also, keep the door unlocked.”

“It is unlocked,” you called.

There was a pause.

“That isn’t better,” Hal replied.

Roy lowered his forehead to your shoulder. “I’m never coming back here again.”

“You say that every time.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You promised Hal you’d help him fix the fence next Saturday.”

“I’ll fake my death.”

Oliver’s voice came next. “We can hear you.”

“Go away,” Roy said.

“We’re trying to eat dessert.”

“Then eat it.”

“Kyle asked if he should save you pie,” Hal added.

Roy lifted his head. “Tell him to stop being so nice.”

You laughed hard enough that your shoulders shook beneath his hands.

Roy stared at you for a moment, then began smiling despite himself.

“This is your fault,” he said.

“You were the one acting jealous.”

“You slept in another man’s bed.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Maybe in ten years.”

“You were in love with me for almost that long without saying anything.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I suffered quietly.”

“You walked away from dinner in front of everyone.”

“I said quietly, not subtly.”

Hal knocked again. “Are you dressed?”

Roy looked toward the door with something close to despair.

You caught his face between your hands and kissed him before he could answer. The sound outside disappeared for several seconds beneath the warmth of his mouth and the immediate tightening of his hands around your waist.

When you pulled back, Roy followed, trying to continue the kiss.

“We should go outside,” you murmured.

“We really shouldn’t.”

“They’re waiting.”

“They can keep waiting.”

“Kyle might eat your pie.”

Roy’s eyes opened.

“You fight dirty.”

“I learned from you.”

He looked at your mouth, then at the door, visibly weighing his options. “We’re continuing this later.”

“That sounds threatening.”

“It is.”

“How much later?”

Roy’s hand slid down to your hip. “As soon as I figure out how to get you out of your father’s house without being shot into orbit.”

“My room has a lock.”

He stared at you.

You smiled.

Roy’s gaze darkened all over again. “You can’t say that while I’m trying to behave.”

“I thought you gave up on behaving.”

“I’m trying to preserve what remains of my relationship with Hal.”

“He’ll survive.”

“I might not.”

You opened the back door. Hal and Oliver stood on the other side. Dinah remained at the table, watching with her chin resting on one hand. Kyle sat beside her with a plate of pie, his expression concerned.

Roy immediately removed his hand from beneath your shirt.

Hal’s eyes moved from your swollen lips to the mark on your neck and then to Roy’s rumpled hair.

His face went completely blank.

Oliver held out his hand. Without looking away from Roy, Hal reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and placed several bills in Oliver’s palm.

“You bet against us?” you asked.

“I didn’t bet against you,” Hal said.

“You said they’d take another five years,” Oliver replied.

“I was being realistic.”

“You thought I was going to wait five more years?” Roy asked.

Hal looked at him. “You waited this long.”

“That was different.”

“You were scared.”

“I was respecting her career.”

“You were scared,” Oliver repeated.

Roy pointed toward the driveway. “I can leave.”

“You just said you were never coming back,” you reminded him.

Kyle looked between the two of you.

His gaze paused on Roy’s hair, then your neck.

Understanding slowly crossed his face.

“Ooooh,” he said.

Roy folded his arms.

Kyle placed his fork down. “Were you jealous of me?”

“No.”

“Yes,” everyone else said.

Kyle looked horrified. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you assured him.

“I kept talking about the bed.”

“You did.”

“And the robes.”

“Yes.”

“And I put my arm behind you.”

Roy’s expression tightened. “You can stop listing things.”

“I’m sorry.”

Roy sighed. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I ate your fries.”

“That was personal.”

“I’ll get you more.”

“See?” Roy looked at you. “He’s impossible to hate.”

“You tried.”

“I committed.”

Kyle pushed the plate of pie toward him. “Peace offering?”

Roy considered it.

“What kind?”

“Apple.”

“With cheddar?”

Kyle frowned. “Why would it have cheddar?”

Roy accepted the plate. “All right. We’re good.”

Hal pointed the spatula at him. “You and I are talking later.”

Roy took a bite of pie. “About what?”

“Boundaries.”

“You invited me.”

“To dinner. Not to make out with my daughter in my kitchen.”

Roy glanced behind him. “It’s technically her kitchen too.”

“That is not helping you,” Hal informed him sternly.

Oliver shook his head. “Nothing you say is going to help you.” 

“The chili was not my fault,” Roy said.

“It burned through a pot,” you reminded him.

Roy glanced toward you. “Are you on my side at all?”

You stepped closer and slipped your hand into his.

His fingers closed around yours immediately.

“I’m standing beside you.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“It’s what you’re getting.”

Roy looked down at your joined hands.

His expression softened despite the audience.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

Roy stayed until the others began leaving.

Kyle departed first, collecting his duffel from beside the porch after apologizing twice more for accidentally making Roy jealous. Roy claimed he had not been jealous at all, which might have been more convincing if he had not kept one hand on your waist throughout the conversation.

Dinah hugged you goodnight and whispered that she expected details later. Oliver kissed the top of your head, gave Roy a look that promised he would be hearing about tonight for years, and followed her toward the driveway.

Eventually, the last of the guests had gone, leaving you, Roy, and Hal behind. Hal washed dishes with unnecessary force while Roy carried the remaining plates in from the backyard. The silence between them grew heavier with every trip.

You leaned against the counter and watched them avoid eye contact.

Finally, Hal shut off the faucet.

“You hurt her,” he said, “and I’m sending you to the edge of known space.”

Roy dried his hands. “Fair.”

“I’ll revoke your house privileges.”

“That seems worse.”

“It is.”

“Dad.”

Hal looked at you. “I’m being supportive.”

“You’re threatening him.”

“I threatened him years ago. This is a reminder.”

Roy set down the towel. “I love her.”

Hal’s expression changed.

The words sounded different here than they had when the two of you were alone earlier. Less desperate, perhaps, but no less certain.

“I know,” Hal said.

Roy blinked.

“You know?”

“I’ve known since you were seventeen.”

“Then why did you threaten me?”

“You were seventeen.”

“That seems unfair.”

“It was extremely fair.”

Hal looked toward you. “You love him?”

You met Roy’s gaze.

His hand found yours beside the counter.

“Yes.”

Hal exhaled and rubbed both hands over his face. “Great.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“I am happy.” He lowered his hands. “I’m thrilled. My daughter is dating Oliver Queen’s son. This is a wonderful development that cannot possibly make family dinners more complicated.”

“Roy isn’t his son,” you said.

“Tell Oliver that.”

Roy’s thumb moved across your knuckles. He looked at Hal before saying, “I was planning to take her back to my place tonight. Are you okay with that?”

You glanced at him. “You know we don’t need permission.”

“I know.” Roy’s fingers tightened gently around yours. “I’m asking because you’ve been home for six hours, he’s your dad, and I’d rather not start this by being more of an asshole than necessary.”

Hal stared at him for a moment.

Roy held his gaze without backing down, although there was nothing challenging in his expression. He was not asking Hal to decide for you. He was acknowledging that taking you away on your first night home mattered to the man who had spent four months waiting for you to return.

Hal’s shoulders eased slightly. “I appreciate that.”

“I’m still going with him,” you said.

“I know you are.” Hal looked toward you. “You’re an adult. I don’t get a vote.”

“You get an opinion.”

“Oh, I have several.”

Roy’s mouth twitched. “I assumed.”

Hal pointed at him. “Breakfast is at nine. Both of you.”

“We’ll be here,” Roy promised.

You leaned against Roy’s shoulder as his arm settled around your waist. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gesture so easy and affectionate that your chest tightened.

Hal watched the movement. Something fond reluctantly softened the concern on his face before he turned back toward the sink.

You waited until his back was to you before murmuring, “Nine is optimistic.”

Roy’s arm tightened around you.

“You’re going to kill me,” he whispered.

You looked up at him. “Be brave.”

His smile was slow, warm, and just dangerous enough to make your stomach tighten.

Behind you, Hal dropped a plate into the sink.

“I heard that.”

You pressed your lips together, but Roy made no effort to hide his smile.

Hal set the plate down with exaggerated care. “I’m choosing to believe the two of you are capable of exercising judgment.”

“That seems optimistic,” Roy said.

“Roy.”

“I’m done.”

“You said that like you expect me to congratulate you.”

Roy glanced toward you. “Do you think he wants me to apologize?”

“I think he wants you to stop talking.”

“That feels unreasonable.”

Hal pointed toward the front of the house. “Go before I reconsider how maturely I’m handling this.”

You pushed away from Roy long enough to cross the kitchen. Hal’s irritation softened before you reached him, and when you wrapped your arms around him, he held you tightly enough to remind you of the moment you had landed in the backyard hours earlier.

“I’ll be back for breakfast,” you promised.

“I know.”

“And I’ll message you when we get there.”

“I was going to ask.”

“You always do.”

“You spend months crossing galaxies without telling me when you’ve slept, eaten, or entered an active war zone. I’m allowed to ask for one message when you travel fifteen minutes across Coast City.”

“You’ll get your message.”

Hal kissed your temple before releasing you. “I’m glad you’re home.”

The words caught somewhere beneath your ribs.

“Me too.”

Roy waited beside the counter, giving the two of you the moment without trying to interrupt it. When Hal finally looked toward him, Roy straightened slightly.

“Nine,” Hal said.

“We’ll be here.”

“Not nine thirty.”

“Nine.”

“And don’t let her claim she isn’t hungry.”

“I know what she’ll eat.”

Hal studied him for a moment, apparently reassured that Roy knew the answer without needing to think about it.

“Fine,” he said. “You can keep her.”

“That wasn’t really in question,” you reminded him.

“I was talking to myself.”

Roy took your hand as you passed him. Hal followed the two of you to the front door, where he repeated the breakfast instructions and watched from the porch while you crossed the driveway. His truck sat beneath the yellow wash of the streetlight. He opened the passenger door for you, one hand resting against its frame.

You looked from him to the open seat. “I can fly.”

“I know.”

“My ring could have me at your apartment before you finish walking around the truck.”

“I know that too.”

“But you still want to drive.”

Roy’s mouth curved. “I’ve spent four months waiting for you to come home. Let me have fifteen more minutes.”

The answer softened something inside you. You climbed into the truck.

Roy shut the door and circled the front, sliding behind the wheel a moment later. He started the engine but did not immediately pull away. Instead, he rested one hand against the steering wheel and looked toward you in the dim light from the dashboard.

“What?” you asked.

“I’m checking.”

“Checking what?”

“That this actually happened.”

“You accused Kyle of seducing me with cheddar cheese, confessed that you’ve been in love with me since we were teenagers, and made out with me in my father’s kitchen.”

“I didn’t accuse him of seducing you with cheese.”

“You found his choice suspicious.”

“It lacked imagination.”

“You asked for cheddar on the pie.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I was establishing dominance.”

You laughed, and Roy’s expression softened as he watched you.

He reached across the center console and touched your face, his thumb moving over your cheek with none of the urgency that had shaped his hands in the kitchen. This kiss was gentler too, lingering without deepening into something that would keep you parked outside Hal’s house until he came to investigate.

When Roy pulled back, he did not move far.

“You can still change your mind,” he said.

“About going home with you?”

“About any of it.” His fingers slipped into your hair. “You got back today. The dinner turned into an interrogation, I behaved like an asshole, and now everyone we know thinks we’re dating.”

“Are we not?”

Roy paused. “I was trying to be responsible.”

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

“I’m out of practice.”

You leaned closer. “I had four months to miss you and almost fourteen years to fall in love with you. I’m not changing my mind.”

The last of the uncertainty left his face.

“Almost fourteen?”

“You were annoying when we met.”

“I was charming.”

“You drank my milkshake.”

“You weren’t drinking it.”

“I was looking for a napkin.”

“We remember that evening very differently.”

Roy kissed you once more before finally putting the truck into reverse.

The drive to his apartment was familiar enough that you could have followed the route with your eyes closed. Coast City passed outside the window in quiet streets and warm storefronts, smaller than the worlds you had crossed but more precious for the lives contained within it. Roy kept one hand on the wheel and the other linked with yours across the center console, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles whenever the truck stopped at a light.

His apartment looked almost exactly as it had when you left.

Your green mug remained beside his in the cabinet. The blanket you always stole was folded across the back of the couch, and a stack of takeout menus occupied the corner of the coffee table. Beneath the television remote sat the movie list that the two of you had been working through before your assignment.

You picked it up.

The last completed title had been crossed out in your handwriting. Everything beneath it remained untouched.

“You really waited.”

Roy locked the door behind him. “I told you I have principles.”

“You watched three seasons of that detective show without me.”

“That wasn’t on the list.”

“That was a technicality.”

“It was a legally sound distinction.”

You lowered the paper. “Four months is a lot of movie nights.”

“You owe interest.”

“Emotional interest?”

“I established the terms before you entered Earth’s atmosphere.”

Roy approached until the coffee table pressed lightly against the backs of your legs. His hands settled at your waist, and the look in his eyes made it clear that the television would not be in use immediately.

You rested your arms around his neck. “How were you planning to collect?”

“I had several ideas.”

“Any of them involve an actual movie?”

“Eventually.”

Your ring chimed.

A message from Hal appeared between you in glowing green letters.

NINE MEANS NINE.

Roy looked at it. You looked at him.

A second message appeared.

AND EAT SOMETHING BEFORE BED.

Roy closed his eyes. “He’s going to do this all night, isn’t he?”

“Probably.”

“Can you block him?”

“He raised me.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

You dismissed the message and curled your fingers into the back of Roy’s shirt. “The ring has a silent mode.”

His eyes opened. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re easily impressed.”

“I’ve been waiting fourteen years. Let me be impressed.”

Roy drew you against him, his mouth finding yours as the movie list slipped from your fingers onto the couch. Beyond the apartment walls, Earth continued turning beneath the same stars that had followed you across three sectors and four long months away.

The universe would still be there tomorrow.

Tonight, you let Roy pull you closer, and you stayed exactly where you wanted to be.

He fucks you while you’re preparing breakfast. He watches as you cook in nothing but his shirt. He leans against the counter as he watches his shirt fall off one of your shoulders. You're humming a song while flipping pancakes, unaware of his predatory gaze. He moves off the counter and walks behind you. He turns you over to face him, hugging you softly. His lips touch your neck immediately, hands traveling from your waist to your ass, cupping them. He picks you up without warning, setting you on the counter in front of him. He kneels in front of you in an instant, pulling your shirt up and bringing you to sit closer to the edge. His hands move to your thighs, and he adjusts your legs so they’re on his shoulders. He dips his head down and straight to your pussy. His tongue licks your pussy in a line first, just to taste you. He moves closer against your pussy as he starts sucking your clit. He holds your trembling thighs. His tongue sets a gurgling rhythm. He feels your hand tug his hair; you feel the vibration of his groan against your clit. He doesn’t care that the pancake is now burnt.

3:00 pm:

He fucks because you make the best tomato soup with grilled cheese for lunch. He watches as you make him a plate and set it down in front of him. He looked at you with so much awe that blood ran straight through his cock. Because you’re perfect. Because he loves you. He pats his lap, and you gladly sit down. He kisses your lips softly at first, but the moment you grind on his hard cock, the kiss becomes sloppy and wet. He didn’t need to break the kiss to pull your panties to the side and free his cock. He entered you slowly, trying to remember the way your tight pussy feels. His head falls back as you ride him. He doesn't care that his lunch is now cold.

5:00 pm:

He fucks you while a movie plays. He couldn’t help it; his head was lying on your lap while you ran your hand through his hair. He didn’t even notice his cock getting hard from how good and relaxed you were making him feel. He moans softly, his warm breath hitting your bare thighs. He closes his eyes softly, feeling your free hand move down his chest. He whimpers quietly as your hand reaches the waistband of his boxers. His hips buck as you grab his cock, stroking him. Your thumb runs over his tip. He becomes needy and impatient; he guides you down on the couch. He doesn’t care that he's missing the plot twist in the movie.

7:00 pm:

He fucks you before you’re about to cook dinner. He sees you bending over to grab something out of the bottom cabinet. He moves behind you, sets his hands on your thighs, bringing you closer to your ass hitting his thighs. He whispers into your ear, his voice rough and low. His big arms hug you tightly. He kisses your neck, taking a step forward so the front of your thighs hit the cold cabinets and your waist pressed against the counter. Your hands on the counter, and you gasp as you feel his hard cock enter you without warning. He doesn't care that now he has to order takeout.

10:00 pm:

He fucks before you go to sleep. Your head pushed up against the mattress. He slaps your ass, making your back arch even more. Your chest on the mattress, ass in the air while he fucks you. The sound of skin slapping against each other. His pace is hard and rough as he pounds into your pussy. He loves seeing your face pushed against the mattress, hair all over your face, while you scream his name. He doesn’t care that the bed is loud, squeaking, and scraping against the floor.

2:00 am:

He wakes up in the middle of the night cock hard pressed up against you. He whispers into your ear, pleading and whiny. You couldn’t help it; you needed to help him. He watches your sleepy body move on top of him. He watches you in the dark; the only light is coming through the small gap in the curtains. The moonlight hits your body. His gaze fixed on you as you took off your shirt-his shirt. He helped you remove your panties. He could see the determination to please him. He admired every movement as you positioned yourself on him. Once your wet slick pussy took in his cock, you began moving. It was a slow grinding movement. His hands on your hips helped you keep the pace. He pushed his head back on the pillow, eyes closed and focused on the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock. Taking in the feeling of you riding him. He groans softly, feeling your cold hands grab onto his chest. You quicken the pace. He could only focus on the way you felt, the way you sounded, the way you looked. You were all that consumed his mind. When he came, he moaned so loudly. He doesn’t care that it’s the middle of the night.

​

Today you and Jack decided to take your four year old daughter, Aria, to the park for a family day.

Jack had worked more than normal this week and you felt he just needed a day to get out of the house and enjoy a good day outside.

“Who’s excited for the park?” you ask, looking in the rear view mirror at your daughter.

Small eyes identical to Jack’s look at you with excitement.

“Meeee! I want to go to the slide with daddy! And then the swings!” she rambles on with a smile.

“Don’t worry baby,” you smile back at her “you’ll get to do all of that.”

Jack enterwines your hands and brings it up to place a gentle kiss as his eyes stay focused on the road.

“I’m glad to have you both to myself for the day.”

You squeeze his hand briefly “We’re glad to have you too J. You deserve a break.”

He smiles as he thinks of the relaxing day ahead of him with his girls.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The walk from the parking lot to one of the open field areas is a good twenty minute walk.

Jack has a cooler bag of drinks and snacks while you carry Aria and a bag of her things she may need and some toys.

Once you guys find a decently shaded spot with a few people, Jack lays down a light blanket and sets everyone’s stuff down.

You set Aria down and look through your bag.

“Shit” you mutter quietly, still rummaging in the bag.

Jack looks up from his seated position on the blanket as he grabs some water from the cooler.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I forgot the sunscreen in the car.”

He nods “Well, we’ll just play mostly in the shade. It’s okay.”

You look at your husband with the classic ‘are you serious’ face.

Jack Abbot,” you start “you and your daughter are the most sunburn prone duo on the planet. If you want to risk it with never ending teasing from Robby, go for it. But our daughter is not leaving here looking like a tomato and in pain.”

He chuckles at the tomato reference “Okay sweetheart, be safe and hurry back.”

You run your hand through his grey curls as you pass him.

“Will do, J.”

—---

As Jack waits for you to get back, he has his full attention on Aria as she tells him about the Bluey episode she watched that morning.

“You know I was sitting there with you silly” he laughs as he tickles her side gently.

She erupts in giggles as he continues and attacks her face with kisses.

“You and your granddaughter are adorable” a voice says from the walking path a little bit in front of him.

His eyes furrow a bit as he looks up at the older woman walking her dog.

“I’m sorry?”

Did he hear her right?

She points at Aria with a smile “Your granddaughter,” she says again “she’s just a cute little thing.”

Jack forces a smile at the words.

“She’s actually my daughter.” he corrects politely

He sees the exact moment when the woman realizes.

“Oh my! I am so sorry hun, I-I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed th– I’m so sorry. You and your daughter have a great day.”

She waves briefly before continuing on her way down the path. Once she’s out of sight, the smile Jack had been faking falls immediately.

Granddaughter? Did he really look that old?

He was nearing fifty in a few years and you were a good eighteen years younger than him.

Did people think you were his daughter?

Did people make comments like that to you?

Were you upset about things like that? That he was so much older?

Would you prefer someone younger?

“Daddy!”

A small body falls into his lap, pulling him from his downward spiral of thoughts. He plasters a convincing smile as he goes back to playing with Aria.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You hurried to the car as quickly as you could and hurried back. You see Jack tossing a foam ball back and forth with Ari. She giggles as it bounces out of her hands and to the side.

She sees you first.

“Mama!” she squeals as she runs towards your legs.

You pick her up and kiss her cheek “Hey baby. Were you playing with daddy while I was gone?”

“Yes yes yes!” she cheers while clapping her hands.

You laugh as you set her down on the blanket.

“Okay sunscreen time for you both.”

You look towards Jack and see him looking ahead with a slight frown.

“Babe, everything okay?” you ask softly

You see him immediately give a half smile that’s not convincing.

“Yeah honey, I’m good.”

He’s definitely acting weird.

You raise an eyebrow “You sure, J?”

He nods as he sits Ari in his lap.

 “Alright” he says “lets get some sunscreen on our little monster” he attacks her with tickles.

You can’t help but smile at them but you’re still not convinced Jack’s okay.

You let it go for now but you’ll get him to tell you what’s wrong in a little while.

—---

You guys have had a great time spending the day entertaining one another with Aria.

After finishing the lunch you had packed for everyone, Jack wipes his hands off.

“M’gonna find the bathroom. I’ll be back sweetheart.”

“Kay, be careful” you say as he walks past you.

While he’s gone you talk to Ari.

“Are you having a good day with mama and daddy today?” You smile

Ari grins big, looking more and more like her dad every day.

“Yes!”

“Good, baby.”

You go to grab your drink when her little voice speaks up.

“Daddy sad.”

You face her quickly with furrowed brows.

Huh?

“What baby? Why’s daddy sad?”

Maybe she saw what had happened.

You pick her up and hold her in your lap.

Ari leans the side of her head against your chest and gets comfortable.

“What happened baby?”

She looks around and then points at something.

You look and see an older lady with a dog walking.

“Who’s that?” You ask gently

Ari snuggles closer to you.

“Her and doggy said hi.”

“They talked to you and daddy?”

Aria nods against your chest.

Bingo.

What the hell happened when you left earlier?

Jack comes back a few minutes later.

“Alright Abbot girls, do we want to make our way home soon? Maybe get someeee ice cream on the way?” He says in a silly voice to Aria.

“Ice cream daddy!” she claps in excitement.

“Okay baby, we will soon.” he grins at her

You set her down in front of you where some of her toys are.

“J,” you say quietly

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You grab his hand “Are you gonna tell me what happened earlier?”

He noticeably stiffens at your question and shakes his head briefly.

“Nothing happened?” you press.

“So,” you turn to look for the lady “that woman over there didn’t come over and talk to you and Ari?”

He follows where your finger points and you see his fists clench and unclench.

“Baby, please… tell me what happened?” you plea.

He takes a deep breath.

“When you went to the car, she was walking by and said… something.”

You look at him silently waiting for him to continue.

“She uh, thought I was Ari’s grandfather.”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“She thought Ari was your granddaughter?”

He nods not making eye contact with you.

“Well J, we know that’s not true. So what’s the matter baby?”

“It… it just made me think. Does everyone see it that way?” he shrugs “Do I look that old? Do you think I look too old? Would you want someon—“

“Jack Abbot don’t you dare finish that question.”

His face looks defeated.

“But would you?”

With wide eyes you reassure him “Jack, I would never.”

Your heart breaks at how the interaction upset him.

“Jack listen, I understand where those insecurities can come about but babe…” you pause briefly

“there is no one else on this earth I want more than you. I chose you because you’re funny, you’re considerate, a gentleman, mature, passionate, and talented. You’re also so fucking handsome. Incredibly hot.” you wink 

“But most importantly, I chose someone who would make not only the most amazing husband but also the most amazing father to our kids. And I'm not always the best at choosing things, we know this” you laugh softly

“but I couldn’t have chosen someone better for those roles than you. You’re it babe and you’re stuck with me and Aria forever. Ari also doesn’t care about your age, she just loves her dad.”

“Isnt that right, Ari?” you look at your daughter whose attention is being held by the toys in front of her.

You gently pick her up and set her in your lap.

“Where’s daddy?” you ask as you hold her.

She points at Jack with a smile.

“Tell me something you love about daddy.”

She giggles as you blow raspberries against her cheek.

Jack can’t help but grin at his two favorite girls.

“He plays with me and he, he kisses my boo boos and and he’s nice to you. I love daddy.” she rambles.

You look at Jack with a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘see, I told you’.

His eyes water at his daughter’s words.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

Ari starts to move in your lap and reaches her arms out to Jack.

“Daddy! Hold meee!”

Jack reaches over and takes her from you.

She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, squishing her cheek against his. The action grounds him, melting away the remaining insecurities from earlier.

The sight melts your heart.

You grab your phone and snap a quick picture.

“Anytime you feel down about this again,” you show him the picture you had just taken

“Just remember who your biggest fan is.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You're a bit nervous to see Pope again. It's been over six months since you've last seen him, something you feel a little bad about but you're sure he appreciates the fact that you took the time to get yourself settled into a new place. 

You're finally feeling ready to put yourself back out there, at least for a good time. 

Especially when it seems like everyone else in your life is having their own fun. 

You don't want to miss out so you decide it would be nice to see someone you've always been comfortable with. 

Andrew “Pope” Cody, a friend you've had for a long time who has seen you through the worst versions of yourself and still somehow managed to stick around. 

You owe a lot to Pope for being the one you could call in the middle of the night to come pick you up to keep you company while you're bawling your eyes out. He never made you feel lesser for having these anxiety attacks. He always took very good care of you. 

Because he has always liked you, a lot. 

So when you text him asking him if he'd like to meet up and do something together, Pope replies instantly, asking what you'd want to do. You tell him that a cup of coffee would be nice and then the two of you could decide from there. 

Usually, how this goes, at least when you and Pope sleep together, is that the two of you either eat something first and then fuck or fuck and then eat something. 

It's routine, simple, easy. 

Nothing like how your day actually ends up going though…

Because the moment you see Pope, your eyes immediately trail the length of his body, staring at the way he has filled in his shirt, his muscles outlined by the soft fabric. 

You have never been more nervous in your life…

You weren't expecting him to be so fit but he did tell you that he took up boxing recently and that he helped move in his older brother, Jack, who plays a lot of tennis. The two of them have been playing together most days, which is why Pope is more muscular than he was the last time you saw him. 

He can tell you're nervous because you don't say anything when you get into his car. 

“Everything alright?” He turns to you for a second before he starts the drive to your favorite cafe.

“You look really good, Andrew.” You blurt out your thoughts, embarrassment making your stomach knot up. 

You open your mouth to try to pad what you just said but then Pope goes, “you look really good too.” 

That has your whole body lighting up because as a subtle flirtation, you decided to wear a shirt Pope let you steal a while back and thin shorts, since you wanted him to know exactly what this meet up was for. 

But now you're feeling more worked up than you were previously and it only gets worse when he parks at the cafe and has his muscular arm around your back as the two of you walk inside. The heat radiating off of him makes you a little dizzy, his hand imprinting its warmth into the side of your hip. 

Has he always been this…big compared to you? 

“What do you want?” He whispers into your ear while the two of you are in line and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you feel his hot breath on your skin. 

You mumble your order when the two of you get to the register and Pope whips out a wad of cash from his pocket, setting down enough for your coffee plus tip and then guides you over to where the two of you can wait for your coffee. 

His hand hasn't left your side and he likes that you're letting him keep it there. 

Usually you don't.

It's not that you don't like public displays of affection but you try to keep more of a distance between yourself and someone you're just sleeping with, to lessen any growing attachment. 

But…has Pope ever been “just” someone you're sleeping with?

You've always felt more for Pope than that but you never let yourself feel those feelings until right now. Maybe because you didn't think you deserved him. You still don't think you deserve him. 

And yet, when your eyes lock with his and he leans down to kiss you, why do you kiss him back without minding that the two of you are in the middle of a busy cafe…

Your heart flutters when he moves away from your lips and says, “I missed kissing you.” 

You missed it too. You missed him. 

Something you're unsure if you are going to let yourself feel right now.

When your coffee is ready, Pope asks you if you'd like to come over to his place and meet his older brother, Jack. You remember Pope telling you about his doctor brother moving back into town after years away. 

Jack wanted a change of scenery and the beautiful city of Oceanside has always been a place he was homesick for. Plus, the pay at this hospital is much better than the one back in Pittsburgh. He doesn't have to work the night shift anymore, though he still does. He has a better work-life balance here, which gives him room to pursue other interests.

Like you… 

Because Pope had told Jack all about you. About the kind of sex the two of you have. About how much he wants to be with you but he doesn't want to make you nervous and scare you away. About how you confided in him that you would like to one day try fucking two men at once, though you doubted the opportunity would ever arise. 

Until you get to Pope's place and meet his brother Jack, shaking his hand formally and introducing yourself.

Your heart suddenly pounds in your ears when his hand lingers in yours as he asks, “so what do the two of you plan on doing together today? Can I join?” 

Now, your stomach seriously is in knots and your anxiety starts to peak…

Because this is Pope's older brother. You know for a fact that Pope had to have told Jack about you so Jack definitely knows what he's implying with his words.

And you were not mentally prepared to fuck two men today… 

Which is why you don't answer him and instead ask Pope, "where's your bathroom again?” 

Pope shows you where it is and you lock yourself in there, trying to catch your breath. You have your body leaned up against the door, doing the breathing exercises your therapist taught you, while you eavesdrop on them talking out there. 

“You made her nervous.” Pope scolds Jack. 

“She didn't say no.” Jack says back. “Maybe she's nervous because she wants us both.” 

That is exactly why you're nervous…

It's not an understatement to say you're attracted to Pope. So, of course, you would be attracted to Jack, who is just an older version of Pope. 

Two attractive men…wanting to sleep with you…

You feel like you're going to start hyperventilating. Your anxiety is through the roof and it's getting hard to breathe because you don't want to mess this up but you feel like you already have by acting this way. 

Sometimes, you wish you weren't built like this. That you could just go with the flow and not think so deeply. 

But…you are thinking deeply and you can't help it. 

You're afraid that you'll end up liking this and then what? What will you do then? 

Is it okay to—

You flinch when there's a knock at the door and you hear Pope's voice ask, “are you alright in there?” 

You let out a sigh. 

You can't keep hiding. 

At least, not without explaining yourself a little. 

So, you open the door and look up at Pope and tell him, “I think I just need a moment to myself. Can I borrow your room?” 

Pope nods, leading you back there. Then, before he heads back out to the living room with Jack, he grabs a hold of your shoulders, rubbing them gently before being so sweet to you, “we don't have to do anything today so don't worry about it, okay? I'm just happy to see you.” 

His words have your heart wanting to burst because you were not expecting that at all. 

So, you apologize for behaving this way, “I'm sorry I'm acting all weird. I just…I'm so nervous all of a sudden.” 

“That's okay.” He keeps rubbing your shoulders so gently. “Just let me know if there's anything I can do to make you feel better.” 

Your eyes meet his and then, unconsciously, you drop down to stare at his lips before snapping your eyes back to his. He smiles at that before leaning in, giving you a light kiss that you melt into almost too quickly. 

It's exactly what you needed, so soft and full of care.

“I'll be right out there. Call me if you need anything, okay?” He nuzzles your nose lightly and you nod into it. 

Pope leaves and shuts the door behind him and you don't lock it. You just sit down on his bed then lay back, looking up at the ceiling you've stared up at many times before.

It's different this time, though. There are butterflies flapping around in your tummy. You've never…felt so much before. The nerves are there but there's something more to it.

He lingers on your lips and you miss his kiss already. 

Your heart is still racing in your chest so you need some kind of outlet for the anxious energy. Normally you take a walk, so that's what you'll do. 

You see them both hanging out on the couch when you head out of his room and the moment he hears your footsteps, Pope gets up and walks to you. “Feeling better?”

“I will. I just want to take a walk around for a little. Is that okay?” You don't need to ask permission but it helps you to hear that it doesn't bother him. 

“Why don't we walk to the tennis courts?” Jack suggests. “Pope and I were going to play anyways.”

“I thought you said you wanted to play pickleball.” Pope has been indulging Jack's latest obsession with pickleball. “Now you want to play tennis?” 

“We're definitely playing pickleball.” He says a bit too seriously and you hold in a little laugh because you find that strangely cute how passionate he is. “Maybe we can teach you.” 

You shake your head. “I don't want to learn something new right now. I'm a little overwhelmed as is…”

“Then you can just watch us play.” Jack gets up from the couch, presumably to start getting his gear ready. “Do whatever makes you comfortable, princess.” 

He smiles at the shocked expression on your face when he calls you the nickname you love to hear in bed. You're even more flustered now than you were before. 

So flustered that you barely register Pope cupping your face with his big hands, turning you to look at him. “Does that sound good with you?” 

You nod into his palms. “I think so. I've never seen you play before.” 

“He sucks.” Jack comes back after quickly changing and pats his brother on the shoulder, smirking. “But it'll be entertaining to watch I'm sure.” 

“I do not suck.” Pope glares at Jack, pointing at his prosthetic. “I just don't want to overwork you.” 

You glance down, seeing that Jack is wearing athletic shorts now so his prosthetic leg is visible. You immediately rip your eyes away from him when you can see the faint outline of his cock through the fabric. You shake the image from your mind, but the thought of whether or not he's the same size as Pope stays plastered in your head. 

“I'll get overworked regardless today.” Jack gives you a big smile after he says that and now you’re internally screaming…

Pope rolls his eyes at his brother's direct flirtation then looks back at you. “I'm going to get changed. Don't let him bother you.” 

He leaves then and, of course, Jack can't resist walking up to you. He wants to see the cute look on your face when he gets real close. 

You swallow down the nerves, staring at him as he examines every inch of you. He glances at your shirt and then says, “that's my brother's shirt, isn't it? I have one just like it. It's like you're wearing my clothes too.” 

The nonchalant grin Jack gives you has your heart pounding in your ears louder than ever. He smells different from Pope too. It's nice in its own way but it has you feeling dizzy from how close he is to you. 

“You really are as cute as Pope said.” Jack leans in and your breath gets caught in your throat the moment his lips touch yours and he whispers, “I can't wait to play with you later.” 

He pulls away before he can give you a real kiss. It was just a brush of the lips but now your skin is on fire…

Pope comes back to Jack acting completely unaware of why you look like you've just been jumpscared. “What's going on?” 

“We were just chatting. Right, princess?” Jack flashes that quietly mischievous grin of his at you. 

You nod, not sure what to say back. 

Pope proceeds to grab Jack and drag him into his room, shutting the door behind him. Then, in a low whisper, he tells Jack, “stop messing with her.” 

“I'm not.” Jack lies through his cocky smile. 

“I'm serious, Jack.” Pope doesn't want to scare you off. 

“She let me kiss her.” Jack tells him, which has Pope letting go of his shirt. 

“What?” Pope is surprised to hear that. 

“She wants this. She's just too nervous about it. You can be her comfort and I can be the one who gets her to break out of her shell a little.” He already has a plan formulating in his head for how to make you more comfortable. 

And it starts with making you laugh. 

On the way to the tennis courts, Jack tells you a story about a crazy night shift he had and you can't stop giggling to the point where your stomach is cramping up. You haven't laughed like that in so long. 

Jack is completely unserious and carefree, and it helps get you to relax because you haven't said a word about how his hand has been resting on the small of your back. You've been holding Pope's hand this whole time, squeezing it when you need a bit of comfort. 

It doesn't dawn on you how this might look if someone spotted the three of you until they both leave your side to start playing pickleball. That's when your nerves come back and you start pacing around to release the energy piling up inside of you. 

But then, Jack starts goofing off on the court, messing with Pope, and your laughing fit comes back at full force. 

Jack looks at Pope and then says, “come on, Pope. You have a princess to impress.” 

The glare Pope gives Jack makes you giggle even more. They really are brothers. 

And Pope is much better at pickleball than Jack was leading you to believe. 

The two of them play for what feels like forever, until they're both drenched in sweat. 

You're sweaty too but that's because of the California heat. 

“Let's head back.” Pope can tell you definitely need a cold glass of water. 

He puts his hand out to help you up, since you've been sitting on the sidelines watching them, then proceeds to keep your hand held in his as the three of you walk back. You try not to feel too happy about that. Holding his hand makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy but not in a bad way. 

You like how nice his calloused palm feels in yours. 

You also like how Jack's hand feels resting on your back, even though the fact that they're both touching you right now has your heart racing. 

Then, Jack leans closer to you and asks, “do you want to shower first or with one of us?” 

And you feel like you might actually explode.

Pope bites back a laugh at how shocked you look at Jack's question because you're just too cute all flustered. It makes it hard for him to not tease you too. 

But, he pulls your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he says, “let her shower on her own. She's nervous enough already.” 

“Her choice.” Jack looks at you. “What do you want to do, princess?” 

You're stunned into silence because you have no idea what to say. So many things run through your head, like the sight of them both naked with hot water dripping off their skin…

You'd love to see that… 

But you refrain from the desire, opting to just answer, “I'll shower first.” 

“Suit yourself. We could've sat in my shower chair together.” Jack's words have you imagining that very scene.

You can't believe how forward he's being. That's not what you expected when Pope told you about his brother. But it seems like Jack is the type to live life in the moment and doesn't think very far ahead. 

That's why when you're freshly showered and dressed in one of Jack's shirts, since he insisted on it, he makes his move while Pope is in the shower. 

“Come here.” He gestures for you to sit on the couch with him. “Let's chat a little.”

You definitely don't think he wants to chat because the moment you're in front of him, he grabs you by the waist and sits you down on his lap, making you straddle him.

“Jack, I just showered…” You can feel his sweat on your body.

“You can shower again, with me.” He says with that sly smirk of his. 

“I don't think that's a good idea…” You grip onto his shoulders tighter, the nerves getting to you again.

“You know, you could get up anytime.” Jack tells you and you realize then that he doesn't have his hands on you at all. 

You've just been sitting pretty on his lap. And for some reason, you don't scramble to move. 

Maybe it's the look in his eyes, the one you've seen on Pope before. 

Lust. 

“Push me away, princess.” Jack leans in, whispering so close to your lips. “Before I kiss you while my brother is in the shower.” 

“Is Andrew okay with—” His lips are on yours before you can finish your question, kissing you with such heat that your mind goes fuzzy for a second.

Then, when you kiss Jack back, he smiles against your lips and says, “I think you know the answer.” 

Suddenly, his hands are all over your body and he's grinding up against you, pulling a moan from your lips you can't keep in. 

“Good girl.” He tells you before you can be embarrassed about it. “That's it, let go and just feel good.” 

It does feel good. You like the way Jack kisses you. It's hot and passionate, his hands holding you tight against him, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hard cock rubbing up against you through your shorts and his own. 

He groans when you start grinding on him, your hands moving into his hair, brushing through his silver curls. “I could fuck you right now if you want me to.” 

You shake your head, your lips still on his when you answer, “I want Andrew too.” 

“Greedy girl.” Jack likes that you're honest. 

You're surprised you are. You have no idea what's gotten into you. But it's like the moment Jack kissed you, a switch flipped in your head and you're aching between your legs at the thought of two men having their way with you. 

Who are you to say no to that? 

So, despite the fear pooling in your belly, you close your eyes and just enjoy the feeling of Jack's lips on yours and his hands on your skin until Pope gets out of the shower and sees the two of you making out on the living room couch. 

“Started without me?” His voice pulls the two of you apart. 

You feel flush all over at his accusation but Jack just laughs and goes, “I loosened her up for you. Don't fuck her until I get back.”

Jack then proceeds to lift you up off of him like you weigh nothing and sets you down next to him. He gives you one last heated kiss before he heads to shower. 

And you don't know if the sweat on your skin is his or your own… 

“Was everything alright with Jack?” Pope joins you on the couch, taking your hand in his. “I can tell him to leave you alone.”

He's certain you don't want that from the way he watched you grind on his brother but he has to ask anyway. 

“Is it alright with you?” You want to make sure because you don't want to do this if Pope is uncomfortable with it. 

But it's his brother and he trusts Jack more than anyone in the world. “Yeah, if it makes you feel good, it's alright with me.” 

“Andrew, we don't have to do this.” You're nervous that he's forcing himself to be okay with this. “I'm sorry if I—”

“Look at me, princess.” His words have you snapping to listen instantly. “I want you to feel good. Did my brother make you feel good?”

Pope's hand slips out of yours and your breath hitches when his hand rests on your thigh. 

“I can check how good he made you feel.” His hand starts sliding between your legs. “Can I do that?” 

You bite down on your lip, then you nod.

“Lay back then.” He instructs and you lay down on the couch and watch as he pulls your shorts off, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. “I've missed looking at your pretty pussy, princess.” 

You choke back a whimper when his finger grazes your clit before drawing a line down your slit. His touch is so featherlike that your body can't handle it. 

You want more than just that light touch… 

“Use your words, princess.” Pope climbs on top of you because he wants to kiss you. “What do you want?” 

“Please touch me.” 

“Ask politely.” He demands in that stern tone of his that has you getting wetter between your legs. 

“Will you please touch me?” You tense up from how shy you get after saying that but the smile on Pope's face has you relaxing a bit. 

Just a bit, because you gasp when his finger slides into you for just a split second before he drags it up along the length of your pussy to swirl around your clit. 

“Who's a good little princess?” He asks, dipping just the tip of his finger into you again before pulling back out. 

“I am.” You'll be so good if he keeps touching you like this. 

“You really are. You're so wet for us.” Pope slips his whole finger inside of you right then and you arch your back in response, driving him deeper. “Are you aching for more?” 

“Yes.” You're practically pleading for him to stop stalling with that single word but much like his brother, Pope enjoys the worked up expression on your face. 

So he's patient and slow, feeling around for that spot you like so much, watching you squirm when he purposefully avoids it. 

It isn't until you're panting that he finally adds another finger and starts kissing you. 

His tongue feels so good on yours. His fingers feel so good inside of you. 

You're drowning in absolute bliss. 

“She looks like she wants to cum.” Jack's voice has you glancing over at him. He's rubbing his hair with a towel, drying those beautiful curls of his. 

You like that Pope's hair is still a little damp. You want to grab a hold of it.

And you do, when he pulls away from your lips so he can head down between your legs and flick your clit with his tongue until you're trembling. 

“Please.” You don't know how much more of this edging you can take. “I want to cum so badly.” 

“I never said you couldn't cum, princess.” Pope rolls his tongue over your clit, sending you reeling but not close enough to the edge to cum. 

“I'm so close.” You whimper out, not caring anymore how you might look or sound. “Please don't stop, please keep going.” 

“She's so cute when she begs.” Jack nudges you to let him slide in behind you on the couch, pulling your back against his chest. 

He slips his hands under your shirt, technically his shirt that you're wearing, and exposes your chest to the air, your nipples peaking in response. 

“Can I help make you cum, princess?” Jack asks as he slides his hands from your sides to cup your breasts. 

“Yes, please.” You don't know why you plead to him but it just slips out… 

And when his thumbs roll over your nipples at the same time Pope seals his lips around your clit, stars flood your vision and you cum so hard that your whole body shakes, your orgasm sending waves and waves of shock through your system. You're gasping for air, lightheaded from the feeling.

“Deep breaths, pretty girl.” Jack nips at your ear, his voice so soft and sweet. “You're okay. That must've felt so good, right?” 

You nod, the pleasure overwhelming you. It's been so long since you've cum and you definitely haven't cum that hard in a while.

“Should we make it happen again?” Pope starts slowly fucking you with his fingers again. “Do you want to cum again?”

“I don't know if…” You're unsure if you'll survive another hit of pleasure like that…

“We can take a break.” Pope goes to slide his fingers out of you but you snatch his wrist before he can, which draws a laugh from Jack. 

“Looks like she doesn't want you to stop, Pope.” Jack chuckles against the nape of your neck. “Tell him what you want. Do you want my brother to make you cum with his fingers?” 

You nod but Pope doesn't move until the words leave your lips. “Please make me cum again, Andrew.” 

“What a good girl, asking for what you want.” Jack rewards you by pinching your nipples, sending such a jolt through you as Pope finds a pace with his fingers that leaves you squirming in their hold. 

Then, when he curls them just right, you unravel completely, squirting with every thrust of his fingers until you feel like you might pass out. He pops his fingers out of you then before giving your pussy a light smack that has you cumming again so quickly. 

“Do that again.” Jack tells his brother. “I think she liked it.” 

Pope gauges your reaction as he slaps your wet pussy again, seeing the way your eyes roll back in response. “Does that feel good, princess?” 

“Too good.” You don't know if you should let him keep doing that. 

It might ruin you… 

“And here I thought you liked it when I was gentle.” Pope leans down, his tongue trailing along the length of your slit before dipping into you slowly. 

Every stroke of his tongue is so light, like you're something delicate he doesn't want to break. 

But you need more than just this and he knows it. 

You're aching for him to slide his cock inside of you… 

Jack tilts your head up, seeing the lust in your eyes, smiling. “That's the face of someone who's needy for cock. Do you want my brother's cock buried inside of you?” 

You nod then turn to look at Pope. “Please, Andrew.” 

“When did you get so polite? Is it because my brother is here? Usually you're more demanding.” Pope teases you with his words and you feel so flushed from it, heat rising through your skin. 

That heat remains when you watch him strip off his pants and you get a view of the cock you're always so desperate for. 

But he doesn't want to give it to you right away. 

So, he grabs your underwear and slips it back on, surprising you. Jack seems surprised as well, until he watches Pope rub your slick all over the fabric before gliding his cock against it. 

Everything clicks for him and he's menacing with his laugh now. “Oh, you're going to get edged to death, princess.” 

“Wait, what?!” You yelp when Jack pins your wrists behind your back with one hand while he holds your head steady with the other, forcing you to watch Pope rub his cock against your pussy through the wet fabric, dipping it in and out of it. 

“When did you get so horny? You're practically drooling all over my cock.” Pope slips just the tip inside of you but pulls out before you can enjoy it, drawing such a whimper of desperation from your lips, which he smiles at. “Do you want more, princess?” 

“Please fuck me, Andrew.” You want him so bad…

“Hmm…” He slides more of his cock inside of you before pulling back out and you whine in response. “Do you think I should fuck her, Jack? I'll let you pick.” 

You can feel Jack shake his head behind you. “I don't think so. She's too adorable all needy like this. I want to enjoy it a little longer.” 

“You heard the man.” Pope smirks at you before sliding his cock along the length of your pussy, teasing your clit over and over again with the tip of it. 

“Please.” You look up at Jack. “Please let Andrew fuck me.” 

That causes Jack to laugh hysterically. “Beg again, princess.” 

“Please, Jack. I want Andrew to fuck me. Let him fuck me.” You lean in closer to him, your lips nearly touching his when you tell him, “I'll let you fuck me too if you do.” 

“We're bartering now? I like this.” Jack grabs you by the chin, turning you to face him more. “What else can I get if I let you have my brother's cock?” 

“Whatever you want.” You're so clouded by your desire that you don't care what he asks of you. “Please just let him fuck me.” 

“What do you want, Pope? Tell her and she'll give it to you.” Jack prompts and Pope swallows nervously for the first time this entire session. 

Because the words that leave his lips have your heart pounding. “I want her to be ours.” 

“W-What do you mean?” You don't get what he's implying. 

Is he saying that they want you to be…

No, there's no way. 

Why would they both want you—

“I want to fuck you more than just today.” Pope says firmly. “I want to fuck you from now on. I want to do more than that…”

You turn to face him and you're not ready to feel his lips press against yours, kissing you with all the affection he can't put into words. And when Jack loosens his grip on your wrists, you move out of his hold to cup Pope's face, pulling him in closer, kissing him harder. 

“Do you really…” You're scared to say the words aloud. 

“I want to be your boyfriend.” Pope nibbles on your bottom lip after he says that, then trails a line of kisses down to your neck. “I want to be with you.” 

Jack scoops your attention away by turning you to face him again, saying, “can I be your boyfriend too?” 

“T-Too?” You're stunned to hear that. 

Jack nuzzles your nose, grinning. “A princess like you deserves two men to spoil you rotten.” 

“So, can I be your boyfriend?” Pope looks up at you, waiting for your answer.

“Can I?” Jack chimes in too. 

And you find the strength to push yourself to say, “yes.” 

To allow yourself to be given the affection you've always desired and more. 

“Our princess is so precious.” Jack kisses your cheek. “I think she deserves a kiss, doesn't she?” 

“I know just where to kiss our princess.” Pope lines his cock up with your entrance before thrusting the entire length of it inside of you in one go, the tip of his cock pressing up so deep inside of you, you might actually burst from that single motion. “Do you like it when I kiss you here?”

You nod but then Pope shakes his head at you. 

“Say “I like it when my boyfriend kisses my womb with his cock” or I won't move.” He stills inside of you, his cock throbbing, making you ache for more. 

“I-I like it when my boyfriend—” You can't get the rest of the words out because Pope starts grinding his cock deeper, causing your head to spin. “Oh god, Andrew, I'm going to cum if you keep—”

“Just cum on your boyfriend's cock, princess.” Jack coaxes you to let go completely. “Like you will on mine in a bit.” 

You moan so loudly that you have to clamp your hands over your mouth when Pope starts pounding into you, fucking you exactly how you always like it. Jack moves your hands away and slips his fingers into your mouth instead to silence you. 

“Suck them on like it's your boyfriend's cock.” He instructs and you listen instantly. “That's a good girl. You're going to suck my cock so well.” 

“Can I?” You say with his fingers in your mouth and he pulls them out immediately.

“Wait a second, Pope.” Jack has his brother slow his thrusts. “She wants me in her mouth. Flip her over.” 

Pope pulls out of you and you bite back a whine from the loss but then you're on your knees in a second. And without Jack having to say anything, you're already tugging off his pants for him while Pope realigns himself behind you. 

“Put my brother in your mouth and then I'll feed you my cock too.” Pope tells you as he rubs your back, the action so soothing like his words. “You can do it, princess. Let me see how good you can suck off your new boyfriend.” 

Jack watches you eagerly sink your mouth down onto his cock, taking him nearly to the base in one go. “Fuck, that's incredible. Look at you go, swallowing me up so easily.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, groaning at you humming around his cock in response. 

“I'm going to fuck this pretty little mouth the moment my brother's back inside of you. Get ready, princess.” Jack's warning barely preps you for Pope ramming the entirety of his cock inside of you from behind. 

You're squirting immediately, your knees buckling, your lower belly getting pounded into oblivion by how deep his cock is thrusting inside of you. It doesn't help that you're dazed from Jack fucking your mouth just as deeply, stuffing himself as far down your throat as he can.

It all feels better than you could've imagined. 

You could get used to this… 

“Please tell me I can cum inside of you.” Pope is certain you're still on birth control but he wants to be sure. 

You nod around Jack's cock so he answers for you, “she wants you to cum, Pope.” 

So, he does, spilling so much of his cum inside of you that he's fucking it deeper with every additional thrust. You're drooling by the time Jack pulls your mouth off his cock and Pope pulls out of you. 

“Come ride your new boyfriend.” He pats his lap and you straddle him but he turns you around so your back is against him. “You've got to put on a show for your other boyfriend, princess.” 

You slip off your shirt then, allowing yourself to be completely bare when you sink yourself down on Jack's cock, moaning when he hilts. Him and his brother are similar in size and they both fill you up wonderfully. 

You start grinding down on Jack's cock, burying him further inside of you until you're desperately bouncing on it, wanting to cum already. 

Then you do cum, when Jack smacks your swollen clit. You cum way harder than you should've and he chuckles into your ear. 

“You really like that, don't you? You like it when your clit gets abused?” Jack rubs it gently before slapping it all of a sudden again, making you tighten up around his cock. “Keep milking my cock. You're doing so well. Isn't she, Pope? Aren't you proud of our princess?”

“So proud.” Pope's hand slides to your lower belly, pressing his fingers into your flesh, massaging right above your womb where Jack's cock is pushing up against. “Our princess is going to cum real nice right now for us. Right?” 

You nod and then when Jack's hands come up to play with your breasts and Pope slides his free hand to roll your clit between his fingers, you burst entirely, your orgasm rolling through you immediately. 

“She's too pretty when she's fucked out of her mind.” Jack says, giving your neck a kiss. “I'm glad I get to have a piece of this beauty.”

“She's all ours.” Pope tilts your chin towards him before he kisses you and you're grabbing onto him, kissing him back. 

Jack takes that moment to grab a hold of your hips and starts grinding his hips upwards, fucking you harder until you're moaning against his brother's lips. 

“Move, Pope.” Jack gestures for his brother to get up so he can pull you off of his lap and throw you down onto the couch, ramming his cock back inside of you the moment he's on top of you. He revels in the way your toes curl and your eyes roll back. “I'm going to cum so deep inside my girlfriend right now.”

“Please, Jack.” You want it, just like you wanted Pope's release. “Fill me up too.” 

He grabs a hold of your face before smashing his lips against yours, grunting with every harsh thrust of his hips until you feel that warmth fill your lower belly. 

A warmth you never want to be without from now on…

“Did that feel good?” Jack asks, kissing you lightly on the forehead. 

You nod, then turn to look at Pope. “Can we do it again?” 

Pope lets out a beautiful laugh and then says, “we can do it as much as you want.”

“Anything for our princess.” Jack gives you a warm hug, pulling you up to straddle his lap again, still seated inside of you, surprisingly hard still too… 

You bury your face against his shoulder, mumbling, “are you both sure you want me?” 

And in sync, they both say, “yes.” 

Jack likes the way you smile against him. He lifts your head up so he can lean in and kiss you with the same amount of affection that Pope has when he kisses you. 

“Let's take this one day at a time and see where it goes.” Jack tells you with so much kindness in his tone. 

“Is that alright with you?” Pope sits back down next to his brother, pulling you to look at him. 

You nod and that's when he leans in to kiss you too and you smile against his lips.

Then, you say as a little tease, “are you going to fuck me now or are you going to let your brother go first since he's still inside of me?” 

That makes Pope laugh harder than he has all night, a sound that is so beautiful to hear that it has you giggling too and Jack can't hold in his chuckle either. 

This seems like the start of a very fun relationship with two men who will make it their life's mission to have you laughing your days away, filled with more than just happiness. 

How wonderful does that sound? 

a/n: oh I am so mushy, I swear being in a happy relationship has me wanting to write such cutesy mush, I love it!!! also the title of this fic is based on the song blooming days by exo-cbx ❀

I think this would be fun to add onto in the future whenever I want to revisit a softer, more heartwarming relationship with jack and pope ~ 

Rounds took twenty minutes longer with you on shift. Not because you were slow. Quite the opposite, actually; you were sharp and clearly used to the pace of emergency medicine. It was that you turned every plan into a discussion. Every diagnosis came with the mention of a paper you’d read at two in the morning or a case study you’d been flipping through. Every medication choice earned a raised eyebrow and a, "Walk me through that one."

It wasn’t condescension or even really judgement. You never challenged him in front of patients. Never made a fuss out of ego. You simply seemed constitutionally incapable of accepting because I said so as a reason. You had to know how he got to a diagnosis, how his mind had worked through the puzzle. 

Most attendings would have hated it.

Jack found himself annoyed, but also…somewhat flattered.

You listened. Really listened. If his reasoning was better, you changed course without sulking or making excuses. You just wanted to know how his brain ticked. Wanted to chase after his mind the way you chased after him in the halls of the ED. It was a little endearing. So he let it go on even while it bugged him, because at the end of the day being chased after felt surprisingly good.

He’s just a man, after all.

It became your routine. He'd finish giving instructions. You’d linger. There'd be a pause. Somewhere between three to five seconds depending on how much caffeine you’d managed to consume that night and how convinced you were that he was wrong. He'd hear you inhale and without looking up he'd say, "Go ahead."

"...I think we should image first."

Or

"...I have concerns."

Or

"...Respectfully-"

Always respectfully, but never quietly. Jack feels his lips twitch even while he sighs.

You occupied space the way people did when they'd spent their whole lives having to prove they deserved to be there. Unyielding when you thought you were right, you’d stand there with a chart tucked under one arm and wait for him to talk you around. More than once he'd caught another resident watching the exchange with wide eyes, clearly expecting him to shut it down.

He never did.

Irritatingly, you made him a better lead attending. You caught things, asked questions no one else bothered to ask him anymore. You refused to let habit masquerade as good medicine - even when it was, objectively, good medicine.

You were exhausting.

You were excellent.

And every now and then, when you’d finally accept his reasoning with a reluctant little nod and disappear to practice medicine instead of debate it, he'd catch himself feeling almost fond.

It wasn’t that he'd won, it was that you’d made him earn it.

It didn’t take him long to realize that you hassled him so often because you wanted his attention. Wanted a pat on the head and a nice catch, doctor. The thing was, he wasn’t exactly the kind of man to hand out compliments like halloween candy. He gave you the occasional nod or fist bump, but that just had you coming back even harder, pressing your points shaper, trailing after him like a baby chick just peep peep peep-ing away. 

He hated to admit it, but the reason he found it annoying instead of outright infuriating was twofold. First, you were just so damnably earnest. And second? You were frustratingly pretty. He knew it wasn’t exactly appropriate, since he was technically your superior, but he tells himself that it’s not like you’re his resident. You’re an attending. An adult and a doctor in your own right. And really, what’s he supposed to do? Not notice how you fill out your scrubs as you chase after him running your pretty mouth?

He’s only a man after all.

Sometimes though you just don’t know when to give it a rest. It’s after one of the rough nights in the lead up to halloween where you just would not shut up that has him finally boiling over. Jack finally turns to corner you in the lingering shadows of the ambulance bay while you walk out towards the parking lot in the early morning light. His hand finds the back of your neck without much thought, gripping you firm to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“Enough,” Jack says, voice firm and eyes locked onto yours. “Take it easy, alright? You’re doing just fine. You’re good and I know it. You can let go.”

He felt more than saw you freeze. Heard the click of your throat as you swallowed. Saw the way your cheeks flushed, the way your pupils dilated. And all together…well. His brain presented him with the most devastating little realization.

He’d though you were just desperate to prove yourself, but that wasn’t it at all. You kept chasing after him because you wanted attention. His attention. Not just intellectually, like he’d assumed. No…you wanted him.

“...well look at that,” he murmured, voice dropping into a lower register. He brushed the thumb of his free hand over your bottom lip. “You do have an off switch.”

You squeak, but stay right where you are. Eyes locked on him, relaxed rather than tense under his hands…

Fuck it. He’s only a man.

“…that all you’re after sweetheart? Just wanna be told you’re pretty and doing a good job?”

You nod as well as you can with his hand still on your neck. 

“None of that now, pretty girl. You are my smart, pretty girl aren't you?” he asks, thumb tapping softly on your lip.

You open your mouth to let him push it inside, sucking automatically as your tongue glides along the pad. 

“Ohhh yes. So smart, sweetheart, I knew you were.” Jack all but coos as your eyes go glassy. “A regular little brainiac for me. Working so hard for me all night. You wanna come work for me all morning too?”

Your breath hitches as you nod again, cheeks still hollowed around his thumb.

He pulls his hand away, pressing his lips to yours before you can complain. Jack grabs hold of your hips as he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, pulling you in to grind against him. “Gonna need you to use your words, sweetheart. You can do that right? Go on, use your words like a big girl. Tell me what you want; no hard feelings either way.”

“Jack…”

He chuckles, pushing your hips away from his. “Nuh uh, I know my name. Gotta use your words for me smart girl.”

You whimper at the sudden distance, trying to get back flush to him and the thick length that had been pushing against your tummy. “I want you. Take me home?”

“Thaaaats it,” he grins, finally tugging you back into him. “What a good girl you are, being so clever for me.”

You follow him to his truck, Jack keeping a hand on your thigh for the drive back to his house. His hand stokes you firmly, a wordless little pet that makes your blush linger as you take shy little glances at him. He looks at you as you finally park and make it inside, brushing one of the locks that’s fallen out of your updo back behind your ear. 

“Still want to do this?”

You nod, a shiver racing down your spine when Jack gives you an unimpressed look at you not using your words. “Yes. I want to.”

“Good girl,” he breathes out.

And then he’s on you. 

It’s not feral or overwhelming. He doesn’t pounce so much as pull you in. By the time he has you splayed out on his bed he’s managed to kiss that dazed look back onto your face. “Easy now. Be a sweet girl and let me look at you, hm?”

You peel your scrub top off, Jack’s eyes raking over your chest. “Yeah, sweetheart, just…like…” he pushes you, making a little huff of air leave you as your back hits the mattress. “...that.”

With deft hands he unhooks your bra, taking a moment to just look at you before he taps your hip to get you to lift your hips. Jack hooks his fingers into both your scrub pants and your panties, dragging them down your thighs until you’re left bare before him. Your knees come together as your hands come up to cover your breasts.

“Oh no,” Jack coaxes, gently grabbing hold of your wrists. “Don’t you go shy on me now, pretty girl.” You let him pull your hands away, only for him to palm your breasts himself. He stokes his thumbs over your nipples to make them peak, desperate to kiss and suck but still blocked by your knees. “Come on sweetheart, don’t make me guess. You jabber at me all night long, I wanna hear my smart girl now, too. What do big girls do?”

Your face flushes at the reminder to use your words, but you manage to answer. “...you…you have too much on.”

Jack grins at you. “Is that all pretty girl? I can fix that.”

He strips down without hesitation, casting his clothes to the floor and setting his prothesis to the side of the nightstand. “Better?” he asks, coming back to you.

You don’t answer. Instead you pull him back down into a searing kiss, arms going over his shoulders as your knees finally part to let him nestle between your thighs. You can feel his palms glide down your sides, changing the angle of your hips to let him lean more of his weight into you, before they go right back to your breasts. 

Jack breaks the kiss to mouth down your neck, delighting in all the little sighs and gasps you make. He smiles into your skin as he works his way back down to your chest. God. And to think you’d been so very annoying for months. He could kick himself for not realizing sooner that all it took to make you close your mouth was to cover it with his. 

He nipped at one firm peak. “Tell me again about that head lac from earlier?”

“W-what?” you stutter.

Jack sucked hard at the soft skin under your breast, until he was sure there’d be a mark. “The head lac. Present it to me again.”

You start to talk, words coming slow and stilted. Jack spends the entire time working over your breasts, sucking marks into the skin when you stutter, rolling your pretty nipples when you manage to remember how to speak. “That’s it, sweetheart. Keep going for me,” he encourages, starting to move down your stomach. “The STEMI from room 8?”

It’s exponentially harder to remember your own name, let alone the case, as Jack settles between your thighs. You moan as his fingers stroke through your wet folds, bucking up into his feather light touch. He chuckles, face pressed against your leg. “Easy there, pretty girl. Just checking.” He settles a thumb on either side of you, pushing them apart until he can see your entrance flutter. “So wet, sweetheart. You always get so excited when you’re hearing yourself sound so smart?” 

He’s not even sorry for the wicked grin that crosses his face when he sees you clench on nothing at the compliment. “Oh yeah?” he muses, leaning forward to lick a broad stripe up you, the tip of his tongue flicking your swollen clit at the top. “Keep going then, brainiac.”

Your hands find his hair as he sets to work, big hands keeping your thighs spread as he listens to you…try. He can tell you’re doing your best, but so is he - and it’s making you completely lose your train of thought. He slips two broad fingers into you and you tell him three times what the patient’s potassium levels were. He curls them, beginning to slowly rock them into you while his tongue refocuses on your clit, and you start telling him disjointed bits of medical jargon. And when his free hand lets go of your thigh to pull up the hood so he can suckle your bud and work over it with fast little laps? All that's left is pathetic little cries of his name.

Jack pulls back, fingers leaving your slick folds as you whine beneath him. “Ohhh what’s wrong sweetheart? Are you not my smart girl anymore?” He licks his fingers clean before taking hold of himself and running the swollen red tip of his cock through your wetness. “That’s alright. You can still be my pretty girl and she can be clever,” he coos, eyes locked on your pussy. 

“Look at her. Knows just what she wants. Already trying to suck me in…”

Your eyes roll back as he pushes his hips forward, a low punched out sound escaping him as he feeds you every inch. By the time his hips touch yours it feels like he’s deep in your stomach. Your every thought has boiled down to him, to how good he makes you feel, to the tone of his voice now that language has started to escape you.

Jack leans forward to capture your mouth in a kiss that tastes like your juices. He groans as he starts to thrust, a steady stream of words pouring out of his mouth that are all colored by praise.

“There we go, pretty girl, you just let me do the work. Such a mouthy thing, but your big brain must live in your pussy, huh? She got herself all wet for me, gripping me so tight, knows just what she needs to do to let me make her feel good. My pretty girl with her clever little cunt…”

Sandor Clegane never wanted a squire. He didn't have one before, and didn't see why he needed one now. He didn't want to worry about some clumsy highborn boy getting his way, much less about teaching one how to fight and be a knight. Not to mention, he wasn't even a knight. He was Joffrey Baratheon's bodyguard before he was named a member of the Kingsguard when Joffrey claimed the Iron Throne. He wasn't fit to have a squire. Yet here he was, standing in front of Queen Cersei, with Eddard Stark's eldest son, you, now standing awkwardly beside him. The Queen had just given an eloquent speech on how "Ser Clegane's service and current circumstances" meant it only made sense to provide him with the eldest Stark boy as his squire.

Ser Clegane wasn't dumb, however. With the execution of Eddard Stark being held mere hours prior, Ser Clegane could imagine what Queen Cersei's intentions were. With Lady Sansa being King Joffrey's expected wife and Queen, she was held in the Red Keep along with the rest of the royal family. Not just that, it was well known that Queen Cersei had called for Arya Stark to be found and brought to the Red Keep as well. Anyone with eyes could see that what Queen Cersei wanted was to keep a close watch on all of the Starks still in King's Landing. Better yet, what more effective way to keep the entire House of Stark under her thumb than by keeping their heir as a squire for a member of her Kingsguard.

You were staring blankly at the ground and didn't catch when Queen Cersei dismissed you and Ser Clegane. When he turned to leave the throne room and didn't hear you follow, he dropped a heavy, leatherclad hand on your shoulder.

"Come on then, boy."

You jumped a little, but didn't hesitate any longer to follow him. Your focus was elsewhere, still trying to process the cruel execution of your father, but you knew that if you wanted to avoid the same fate, you would have to obey Queen Cersei and serve Sandor Clegane. You were timid and quiet, but you weren't stupid either. You knew as well as Ser Clegane did why you were appointed to squire for a man who wasn't even a knight, regardless of his position as a member of the Kingsguard. Queen Cersei hated your father, and you were well aware it wasn't for his "treason," hated your mother for imprisoning her brother, Tyrion Lannister, hated you and the rest of your brothers and sisters for being the children of Ned and Catelyn Stark, and likely hated you especially for being their heir.

Being kept in King's Landing as Ser Clegane's squire meant Robb, the second eldest Stark, would be a placeholder until, or if, you returned to Winterfell. You always thought he was more fit to take your father's place than you were or would ever be. That's why Ned Stark brought you to King's Landing with him after Robert Baratheon asked him to be his Hand. Your father wished to teach you what it meant to be a lord and how to oversee your people through the example of how he advised the late King Robert. He planned on teaching you how to fight as well. Not that you were a terrible archer or swordsman, but you second guessed yourself more than any soldier should. Your father knew you were a smart boy, you always had been. You spent any free time you had studying the history of the seven kingdoms, even studying military strategy and combat. He would never complain about you "studying too much," you just relied on your book knowledge of fighting more than you let yourself feel what your next move should be.

You remained deep in thought until you felt yourself bump right into Ser Clegane. You quickly took a step back and bowed before the large man. You attempted to apologize for your clumsiness, but your voice failed you.

"Enough of that bullshit," Ser Clegane spoke before you could muster out your words.

You sat up straight, and quickly. "My apologies, Ser Clegane." You couldn't even meet his gaze when you spoke to him, you only looked through him.

"This will be your room," Ser Clegane ignored your apology.

You nodded in acknowledgment.

"Bring whatever shit you had here. If you have nothing, clean or rest. I don't care."

You nodded before speaking, "If I may, do my responsibilities not begin today? It is still early in the day."

"No. When you wake in the morning, meet me in this hall. You start tomorrow." Ser Clegane shifted on his feet and looked above and past you for a brief moment before returning his gaze back to you.

This time around, you found yourself unable to keep from looking up at the man in front of you. When he did look back at you, you nodded in acknowledgement once more. Ser Clegane lingered for just a moment before turning to leave the hall and return to his duties for the day, and you took at that as an opportunity to get a look at your new room. You grabbed and turned the doorknob gingerly before stepping into the room slowly.

The room was small, and full of what was probably too much furniture for the cramped space. There was one window on the opposite side of the room, and the sun shone directly through it. You could see the dust you must have stirred up floating in the air through the rays of light that cut through the dreary space. Stepping further in and closing the door behind you, you noticed a small bed in the corner directly in front of the door, and beside it was a small, round table with two dusty and half-melted candles stuck on its top. Against the wall between the door and the bed was a large armoire with a short dresser beside it. Above the dresser was a rack of small glass jars, some empty, and others half-filled with liquids unfamiliar to you. At the center of the room was a large, tattered, brown and almost golden woven rug, and while stepping closer to make out some of its details from under a thick layer of dust, you noticed the sill of your window was decorated with flowers that were now dried out and wilted. The large red and gold-trimmed curtain that hung in front of the window was, as everything else in this room, covered in dust and in disorder. It was hanging unevenly, draped partially over the round bedside table, and partially resting on the floor. Now, you were starting to appreciate Ser Clegane giving you the day to clean and settle into your new room.

You turned to the left side of your room where a table and chair were. The table had old papers and an old book with a few pages torn from it scattered across its surface. The wood was ink-stained here and there and chipped in a few places, but it seemed to be in good enough shape regardless. Behind the table and chair was an empty bookshelf and an old woven basket on the ground next to it. On the other side of the room was a particularly detailed dresser with vases of dead herbs and flowers sitting atop it, and an empty, tiered glass display case sitting between it and the door.

After a few more moments of taking in the room around you, you began tidying up a bit. Picked up a few stray papers, opened your window, did some light dusting, and got rid of the withered, old floral decorations in the room. While shaking the dust from your bedding outside your window, you remembered you still had to move your belongings to the room you previously shared with your father to your new one, and quickly remade your bed to avoid having to do so while the sun sat.

You left your room, closed the door behind you, and did your best to make your way through the Red Keep's halls and find your old room. To your luck, it wasn't hard to find. The two rooms weren't terribly far apart, but the corridors were long. Once faced with the correct door, you couldn't help but hesitate. Your father was the last one in that room. Things were uneasy after King Robert was fatally injured, you could see the tension your father carried in his shoulders, and you could feel the tension any time you passed a member of the royal family while roaming the Red Keep.

Seeing your father so stressed worried you, which, in turn, rendered you unable to sleep. On the final night of your father's freedom, and while he slept, you spent the night wandering the gardens. When your legs ached from pacing, you sat in a hidden corner until your father found you the next morning. You hadn't eaten in at least a day and a half, and you had run yourself ragged with worry. You couldn't stop thinking about what King Robert's death would bring. You didn't know what changes would sweep over the seven kingdoms, and you didn't know what would happen to you or the rest of your family. You were well aware the Queen was less than fond of your mother and father, and, knowing the grudges she held, that likely extended to you, your brothers, and your sisters. The distress was eating you alive.

When your father found you, he handed you some bread and sat next to you. You remembered how he didn't say anything at first, already knowing what was running through your mind. He brought you with him to King's Landing to teach you how to rule by his example. He wanted the advice he gave to King Robert to be lessons for you. And, of course, because you were a smart and very observant young man, you knew King Robert's death would inevitably lead to many substantial changes, for better or for worse. When your father did speak, he told you there would be tension and aggression amongst the royal family after the King's death. He didn't sugar coat the situation for you, didn't lie or conceal the truth, but he did tell you that he knew that if anything bad did happen, to him or in general, he knew you would prevail and survive. He knew his children would prove to all of Westeros the strength and resilience of the House of Stark.

You grabbed the doorknob, but couldn't help but recall the rest of that day, when news of King Robert's death reached you and your father, and the two of you met with the newly crowned King Joffrey and the Queen Mother, Cersei, in the throne room. You remember how your father handed King Robert's will to Ser Barristan the Bold to read aloud to the royal family and all ears around. You remember it declaring Ned Stark as King of the Seven Kingdoms until Joffrey was older and ready to inherit the Iron Throne.

You pressed your forehead to the rough, wooden door as you replayed how Queen Cersei tore King Robert's will and declared your father a traitor. The look your father gave you before he was taken to the dungeons was burned into your mind. The look of a man whose honor was about to be his undoing, and who knew death was in his near future. The look of a father who was being taken away from his children, who knew his heir wasn't yet ready for what he would be faced with, and who hoped, prayed, his children would survive whatever was to come for the House of Stark. You remembered the sting of tears threatening to overflow, the tightness in your chest, the pit in your stomach, the ache in your throat, and the heaviness in your legs when the gravity of the situation sunk in. You remembered the scared and uncertain step forward you took, and how you reached out to your father like a scared little boy. You remembered the final words your father ever said to you when you tried to call out for him before your voice could fail you.

Your hand tightened around the doorknob until your skin was pinched between the metal and your bones. "Don't. Be strong. Look after your sisters, they'll need you." Those were the last words your father said to you. You knew he was right, your sisters were going to need you, especially now. You pushed your forehead harder into the wood, your free hand now tightly gripping and pulling at the thick fabric of your quilted doublet. You felt the sting of tears return again, despite your attempts to blink them away. You thumped your head against the door, muttering over and over about needing to be strong for Arya and Sansa.

Your grip on the doorknob loosened, and you sunk to your knees. You curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest, and hiding your face against the door. Your fingers dug into your arms while tears flowed from your eyes, now squeezed shut, down your cheek, and dripping from your nose and chin. You choked on your own sobs and held your breath until it ached to do so, and you couldn't help but let out a loud, painful wail. You sobbed until your throat hurt and your eyes burned. Every muscle in your body was taught and ached. Your ribs were sore, your head throbbed, and you felt like you were close to puking. You longed for your father. You wanted to feel him hold you, you wanted him to hold you like he did when you were a boy and snuck into your parents' chambers after a nightmare. You wanted him to tell you it was alright, that you were alright, you wanted him to be alright.

At some point, you had fallen asleep in the hall, in front of the door to your old room. Exhaustion from the weeping, the stress, and the grief had finally taken over. You were only jostled awake when you felt someone kick your thigh. You jolted ever so slightly and looked up at whoever had just woke you. When your eyes met the face of the man responsible, you saw that it was Ser Clegane, and you saw his expression shift ever so slightly.

He saw how you were curled into yourself, leaned against the door; and how red and puffy your eyes were and the way your hair stuck to your still tear-streaked face didn't go unnoticed by him. The poor, dependent boy you were just watched the brutal execution of your father earlier that day, he wasn't surprised by the state he found you in. Though he didn't say anything at first, he reached his hand out to you for you to take.

"C'mon, up you get."

You took his hand, and he helped pull you back up to your feet. At first, you stumbled a bit, but Ser Clegane put his free hand on your shoulder to steady you. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your doublet and uttered a weak and raspy "thank you," before turning back to the door.

"I just have to grab my things," you rasped before finally opening the door and stepping inside.

Upon entering the room and seeing remnants of your father's life left undisturbed in the room, you felt your eyes burn again. This time, you didn't stop the tears. You gathered the few belongings you brought to King's Landing, and when you turned, you saw Ser Clegane gathering what he presumed belonged to your father.

"It'll rot or be burned if it's left here," was all he said when his eyes met yours.

You nodded, and the two of you left for your new room. Ser Clegane walked in front of you, and you followed a few feet away from him. Close enough for him to hear your footsteps, but far enough to keep your sniffles and quiet hiccups unheard. He opened the door to your room and looked around for a moment before spotting the large table at the far side of your room, clearing one side of it off, and setting your father's belongings on it. He walked towards you, took your belongings from your arms, and set them on the table as well. He turned back towards your door and stepped into the corridor before speaking again.

"Get some rest, Stark," was all he said before closing your door. It seemed Ser Clegane was much kinder than people knew, and perhaps even more so than he let on.

You sat on the edge of your bed before stripping down to just your under shirt and pants. Laying down slowly, you pulled your covers over you, and rolled onto your side. The sun had already begun to set, and, for a while, you mindlessly watched the shadows the sun's rays cast change and shift around your room. Once your room was mostly dark, you rolled over to face the wall. You closed your eyes to let your exhaustion to claim you as it had earlier, and it did.

That night, you dreamt of your father's execution. You dreamt of Arya, the poor girl lost somewhere unknown to you and the rest of your family. You dreamt of Sansa, who was the promised bride-to-be of King Joffrey. You dreamt of your other brothers and sisters, and your mother. You woke up several times that night in a cold sweat. You missed your family. You missed the good, happy, and peaceful times with your family in Winterfell. You missed Jon, and wondered how life at the Wall was treating him. You missed Robb, the smart, kind, and insightful young man he was. He was your younger brother, but you couldn't help but think of him as your elder. You missed Bran, and Rickon too. You even missed Theon, though he often irritated you to no end, you grew up with him and loved him like a brother. You thought of your mother before you drifted off to sleep for the final time that night, and how she hugged you tightly before you left for King's Landing.

You fell asleep before you could ruminate any longer, but your dreams still tortured you with the memory of your father's beheading at the cruel command of King Joffrey.

The dusk light bleeds onto the earth, slowly dripping onto the lush bed of grass.

Shades of purple and red reflect on the calm river's surface, intertwining to create a woven painting of the celestial dome.

The forest is quiet. Only the breeze passing through the leaves can be heard, softly caressing the ancient trees and carrying a faint floral scent through the air.

Somewhere in the heart of the woods, a muffled fire crackles, nearly spent. The once-scarlet pieces of wood now lightly flicker with a muted ember glow.

Beside it, personal belongings are scattered: a waterskin, some leftover food, damp clothes hanging from the tree branches, a sword, and a hunting knife.

The last ray of sunshine shyly filters through the blooming linden, catching the remaining droplets of water glistening on your skin from your quick dip. They glide down your body - from the curve of your neck and the line of your collarbone to your bare waist - where rough hands are holding you.

Night approaches with small steps, heralded by a sudden shift in the wind. The breeze is no longer gentle, but sharp and cold.

Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but the chill doesn't last. His body crowds closer, forcing you to back away until the tree behind you stops your retreat. The bark presses against your bare back, its uneven, unforgiving pattern digging into your skin, mirroring the intensity of his touch.

He means no harm, and yet everything about his size and strength in this moment screams danger.

His scarred body molds against yours in a strange kind of perfection - coarse edges meeting soft outlines.

His right hand travels higher, resting just beneath your breast, deliberately stopping short of giving you what you crave, making your breath hitch. His left hand remains at your hip, holding you.

Your eyes meet his, boldly keeping eye contact, determined to prove that you aren't giving in just yet.

You lift a hand to the side of his face, tracing the harsh lines of his features with feather-light strokes. Your thumb moves agonizingly slowly over his dry lips.

A ghostly smirk touches the corner of his mouth before he catches both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them behind your back.

A surprised sigh escapes you, caught off guard by the sudden shift in control.

With his free hand, he reaches beneath your chin, tilting your head upward just enough to bare your throat to him.

His lips hover above your skin, his breath fanning across your collarbone as his grip around your wrists tightens slightly.

Not merciless, just a challenge.

"Tell me..." Sandor begins, his voice hoarse from a long day on the road. "Where'd all that bravery go, huh?"

Sandor presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder before tracing a path of kisses up your neck. He ascends until he finds that particular, sensitive spot. His teeth graze the skin lightly, testing, before sinking in with a firm pressure.

A chuckle escapes your lips, your body leaning more into his touch.

The vibration of your laugh only encourages him to keep going. He sinks his teeth deeper, spit spilling from both sides of his mouth and trailing down your chest. A low, gravelly sound rumbles deep in his throat, like a beast snarling when another approaches to try and steal his freshly caught prey.

Soon, the teasing dissolves entirely, leaving you focused solely on him.

He releases just one of your wrists, bringing the other to his lips to kiss the sore skin.

It is a silent gesture, meaning more than any words ever could.

Your free hand finds its way around his neck, pulling him closer. Your fingers dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders, anchoring yourself.

His massive frame crowds you flat against the tree, leaving absolutely no space between you.

His presence is intoxicating - from the feeling of his calloused hands on your waist to his specific scent, a distinct tang of ale blending with the soft fragrance of the herbal soap you made.

Without warning, his mouth finds yours, kissing you fiercely with a hunger that feels impossible to satisfy.

He always kisses you like it is his last day on this cursed earth, making sure you feel all the unspoken things he is too proud, or perhaps too vulnerable, to ever say out loud.

His right hand slides from your waist down to your thigh, squeezing hard once before reaching for the area where you need him most.

The frantic rhythm of his touch makes you lose yourself, the abrasive bark behind you completely forgotten against the overwhelming sensation.

His movements grow wilder as he senses your moment is near. Sandor buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing over the mark he has just sealed onto your skin while whispering the kind of filthy words only he could come up with.

"Look at me," he commands.

You open your eyes in the dim light of the moon, finding his gaze filled with pure lust. He continues to move with precise, unyielding pressure, waiting - no, needing - to see the exact instant you let go.

When the release finally envelops your body, your hand instinctively locks tightly into his hair, pulling him even closer to you as you kiss him passionately.

He responds with a grunt, his unoccupied hand wrapping loosely around your neck, caressing the side of your throat.

As the aftershocks fade into a comfortable silence, Sandor presses his forehead to yours, his heavy hand sliding again to hold your hip.

you had a mega watt smile on your face as you reached the table. jack tried to ignore the slack jaws that his buddies were sporting as you smacked a kiss to his lips and rubbed his chest gently. "sorry jackie, but you forgot to put on sunscreen when you left and i can't have you burning up." you pouted as you added, "you know your freckles are extra sensitive in this heat."

jack abbot, military veteran and swat physician, fought a giddy smile as you batted your lashes while worrying over the fact that he could potentially burn up on the public parks basketball black top.

one of the guys coughed a laugh and you turned your attention towards all the weathered veterans that were missing limbs and marred with scars. and just like you had done with jack, you didn't tone your bubbliness down to match whatever hypothetical grief you thought they carried, you just kept that pretty smile on your face. "hi boys! jack has told me sooo much about you all! does anyone else need sunscreen after i apply his?"

you popped off the bottle cap and squirted some onto your hands while brightly introducing yourself, then started to rub the white paste on jacks already pink cheeks to between the creases of his crows feet with a tenderness that made his chest twinge. you had them all say their names one by one and what positions they played on the court.

"back court? that sounds like a tough one, do you play that too jackie?" you asked him innocently while you covered his freckled shoulders that were exposed from his muscle tee, your tongue cutely poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

one of jacks friends opened his mouth with a clearly crude intention at the ready, jack cut him off with a glare. "don't even think about it." jack raised a hand to point at him in warning, not realizing that he still gripped the pills in his hand.

your eyes snagged on the viagra bottle and your brows raised. "what's that?" jack tried to answer but it was too late, the vet with one arm and half a leg cut in swiftly, smuggly. "just a gift from us guys. from a few old timers to another, we thought abbot could benefit from some... alone time assistance." he winked at you.

you frowned in confusion. "but, jack and i have sex all the time."

jack choked on air, eyes widening instantly. "baby! you don't have to—" all the guys started to chuckle, half disbelief half pure amusement. "all the time?" someone chirped. "go on hon, tell us what you mean!"

you cocked your head to the side, truly not understanding that they were goading you. "well, he's never had to use any kind of pills if thats what you're asking. he can do it anywhere, anytime really. which we do"— jacks beet red face was not from sunburn as you started to list out examples on your fingers "—we've done it both of our cars—" his hand clutched at his chest, one guy spat out his water. "—we've done it in a few different elevators—"

the next few guys turned to gawk at jack, he felt faint all of a sudden as you just kept on talking "—oh! one time, i dropped him off thirty minutes early by accident and he was the first one here so we did it up against that tree over—"

"SWEETHEART!" everyone flinched at jack's shout. your pretty eyes simply blinked at him, innocent as a lamb, "w-what jackie?" he started to sputter, brain malfunctioning at the fact that you'd just shared more about his life to these guys than he had in the past twenty years. all the vets started to make their way to the court, patting jack on the back with congratulations and howling with laughter as they went, leaving the two of you alone.

jack exhaled when his heart rate was finally regulated, he didn't want you to know he was slightly mortified, you would've felt terrible. "just... i think they got the picture baby." he chuckled then placed a kiss to your forehead. the timbre of his voice dropped low, raising a suggestive brow as he added "you just had to add the time against the tree, huh?"

you bit your lip as you shrugged sweetly, "what? it's a personal favorite." jack shook his head as he pulled you into a deep kiss, the kind that had led to the tree rendezvous. only when you started to inappropriately paw at him did he pull back. "thanks for the sunscreen and a stroll down memory lane sweetheart." you rubbed in a stray streak of sunscreen on his stubbled chin. " 'course jackie."

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

You didn't call people when things went wrong.

That was something everyone around SAMCRO had eventually learned about you.

You smiled. You insisted you were fine. You baked cookies when you were sad.You cleaned when you were anxious. You apologised when other people hurt your feelings. You'd somehow convinced yourself that needing comfort made you inconvenient.

Which was exactly why the phone ringing in Chibs Telford's pocket after nine at night immediately caught his attention.

He looked at the screen.

Your name.

He answered before the second ring.

"...Hello, lass?"

For a few seconds...

Nothing.

Just breathing. Small. Shaky.

He didn't interrupt.

He knew silence wasn't empty.

Not with you.

Finally your voice came, painfully small.

"...Hi."

His entire posture softened.

"What happened?"

Another silence.

Then a tiny, broken laugh.

"You ever have one of those days where literally everything goes wrong?"

"Aye."

"I think... I think I just used up my lifetime supply."

He waited.

You sniffled.

"I don't... I don't actually need anything."

"I know."

"I just..."

Your voice cracked.

"...wanted to hear someone who doesn't sound disappointed in me."

Something inside him twisted so sharply it almost hurt.

For weeks...

Months...

He'd watched you quietly carry burdens that weren't yours. Apologize for existing. Thank people for basic kindness. Smile through tears. Pretend you were okay because you worried your sadness might inconvenience someone else.

He'd hated every second of it.

Without hesitation...

Without asking questions...

Without making you explain...

He simply said, in that calm Scottish voice that somehow always managed to slow the world down,

"Door's unlocked."

Silence.

"...What?"

"My door."

Another pause.

"...It's unlocked."

You blinked.

"You don't..."

"I do."

"But I haven't even told you—"

"I don't care."

"I've probably got mascara everywhere."

"Aye."

"I'm soaked."

"I've got towels."

"I'll probably cry."

"I've got shoulders."

You laughed despite yourself. A watery little laugh.

He smiled into the phone.

"So."

Another beat.

"Door's unlocked."

Twenty-five minutes later you found yourself standing outside his little house.

Your shoes squelched. Your hair clung to your face. Your eyes burned from crying.

You knocked anyway.

The door immediately opened.

Because he'd been standing there. Listening for your footsteps.

Chibs looked at you once.

One single look.

Rain-soaked. Red eyes. Shivering. Lip trembling from trying not to cry again.

His expression immediately became one of quiet heartbreak.

"Oh, sweetheart..."

That was all it took.

You burst into tears.

Not graceful tears. Not pretty tears.

The ugly kind. The overwhelming kind. The kind you'd spent all day refusing to let happen.

He didn't say a word.

Didn't ask permission. Didn't tell you to calm down.

He simply stepped forward and wrapped both arms around you.

His leather kutte became soaked within seconds.

He couldn't have cared less.

You clung to him with both hands, forehead pressed against his chest as months of bottled-up exhaustion finally escaped all at once.

"I know," he murmured softly, one large hand rubbing slow circles across your back. "I know, lass."

"I tried so hard today..."

"I know."

"I wasn't enough."

His hand stopped.

Immediately.

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes.

"No."

You blinked.

"No?"

"No."

His voice was calm.

Certain.

"Ye had a bad day."

You shook your head.

"I kept messing things up—"

"Ye had a bad day."

"My boss—"

"Ye had a bad day."

"My mum thinks—"

"I dinnae care what she thinks."

You stared.

He gently brushed wet hair away from your face.

"I care what ye think."

"...I think maybe everybody would be happier if I was just..."

You couldn't even finish the sentence.

His jaw clenched.

He looked almost offended.

"Don't."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

His scar shifted slightly as he frowned.

"Ye listen to me."

You nodded automatically.

"Ye are kind."

Another tear escaped.

"Ye are thoughtful."

You looked away.

"Ye care about everybody before yourself."

"...Sometimes."

"Always."

His thumb wiped another tear from your cheek.

"And if people are too bloody blind to appreciate that..."

His voice lowered.

"...that's their failing."

Not yours.

Never yours.

He got you inside.

Wrapped you in the biggest towel he owned. Found one of his old flannel shirts that nearly reached your knees.

Made tea. Real tea. Strong enough to wake the dead.

Then grilled cheese sandwiches because he'd once overheard you mention they were your comfort food.

You sat on his couch curled beneath a blanket while he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, occasionally glancing over just to make sure you were still there.

Safe.

When he finally sat beside you, you accepted the plate with both hands.

"...Thank you."

He shrugged.

"Ye looked hungry."

"I didn't even tell you I skipped lunch."

"Ye've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one where ye're trying to convince yerself ye're not hungry because it's easier."

You stared.

"How do you notice things like that?"

He smiled faintly.

"I notice everything about ye."

The room became very quiet.

You looked down at your sandwich.

"...Why?"

The answer came so naturally he didn't even realize he'd said it aloud.

"'Cause I love ye."

Silence.

Complete silence.

He froze.

You froze.

His eyes widened.

"...Well."

You looked up.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"...Wasnae exactly how I planned on sayin' that."

"You..."

"I love ye."

No hesitation this time.

No taking it back.

"I have for a long while."

Your heart hammered painfully.

"You do?"

"Aye."

"I'm twenty-four."

"I know."

"You're forty-eight."

"I noticed."

"You deserve someone—"

"I decide who I deserve."

Your eyes immediately filled again.

"I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought maybe you were just..."

You laughed weakly through fresh tears.

"...being nice to me."

He looked almost horrified.

"Lass."

He reached over, taking your hands.

"I don't sit awake wondering if someone's gotten home safely because I'm being nice."

You blinked.

"I don't memorise how ye take yer tea because I'm polite."

Your breath caught.

"I don't keep yer favourite biscuits in the cupboard because it seemed practical."

"...You do?"

He nodded toward the kitchen.

"Top shelf."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"I don't love the sound of yer laugh."

His thumb brushed your knuckles.

"...because I'm friendly."

Your tears finally spilled over again.

This time they felt different.

Lighter.

Hopeful.

"I love you too."

He stopped breathing.

"What?"

"I've loved you for months."

"Ye have?"

"I thought there wasn't any chance you'd ever look at me that way."

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

Warm and disbelieving.

"Lass..."

He leaned forward until your foreheads rested together.

"I've been trying no' to look at ye that way."

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to make sure ye never felt pressured."

You smiled through your tears.

"I've been trying not to flirt with you."

"I noticed."

"I was terrible at hiding it."

"Ye were adorable."

You laughed.

"So were you."

"I wasnae flirting."

"You literally fixed things in my apartment that weren't broken."

"...Aye."

"You carried groceries that weighed about three pounds."

"They looked heavy."

"They were chips."

"They're... awkward-shaped."

You burst into laughter.

Real laughter this time. The kind that made your shoulders shake.

He smiled like hearing it might be his favourite sound in the world.

When your laughter faded, he reached up slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

Instead...

You closed the distance first.

The kiss was gentle.

Unhurried.

Comforting.

Nothing desperate.

Nothing uncertain.

Just two people who had spent far too long believing they were protecting the other by keeping quiet.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours once more.

"Ye know," he murmured.

"Hm?"

"If ye ever have another day like today..."

You smiled.

"I know."

"My door's unlocked."

You laughed softly.

"I wasn't going to ask."

"Ye never have to."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed someone completely.

The last straw for him is when you throw up the contents of your stomach in the middle of the night, swiftly pulling the covers back and running towards the silver pot in the far corner of the room. He’s up before he’s fully awake at the sound of your rushed steps across the stone floor.

I’m fine, you insist, sitting on the edge of the bed and clutching a goblet in both your hands as the sickness subsided. You can tell he’s restless. He wraps you up in a robe and the maesters are called before you can say anything.

While waiting, Baelor has inquiries of his own. What did you eat today? What were you doing? Who were you with? Were any of them unwell? You tell him you had the same food as everyone, did not do anything unusual. He seems unsatisfied by this.

The maesters conduct their examination and he’s standing behind them, watching, smallclothes disheveled under his robe. They tell you it’s probably just an upset stomach and leave. You reassure Baelor, and he caves but you can tell he files it away, similar to the way he assesses important information he finds when he holds council. He holds you just a little tighter that night.

The next day he lets you sleep in. He murmurs goodbyes against your temple and you mumble sweet nothings in return. He kisses your hand once, twice, asks you if you need anything, before leaving.

Call for me if you need anything, he reminds you before you shoo him away.

In the afternoon, when the duty provides respite, he decides to seek you out. You’re not in the gardens, or in the solar reading. One of your ladies informs him you’re still in your chambers. He feels the familiar creep of worry on his shoulders, especially when he enters your shared chambers and it is obviously devoid of sound, of life. Then he sees your form curled up under the covers. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful. He calls your name once, then twice. Then his hand is on your forehead and you’re burning up so much he nearly flinches.

He walks across the room, commands one of the kingsguard standing guard outside to fetch the maester. Quick. Now.

A hand on your cheek. Sweet girl, he sounds far away to you, can you sit up for me?

You push yourself up on your shoulders, body heavy and protesting. Your back is damp with sweat, hair slightly matted. Your eyes are hot and barely open. You hear water being poured, then a hand is on your face again, gently pushing strands of hair away.

Drink, you do a little too quickly like you’ve walked a mile in the desert, how are you feeling?

Baelor would feel bad about causing any discomfort to you even if it was for the sake of getting better. He’d press cold damp cloths to your forehead. You’d flinch and try to get away from the stinging cold, and he’d be there murmuring apologies. I’m sorry, sweet girl, this is just to bring your temperature down, he’d remind, a hand on your shoulder, I’m sorry, please stay still.

Would definitely be sweeter on you, more patient and caring. Knowing you’re unwell, you'd be on the back of his mind constantly.

He plans on seeing you after a small council meeting, but he’s intercepted by a maester halfway across the hall.

Isolation is best, the maester says.

For who?

For both of you.

He understands then what precautions they were taking, eliminating threats to the heir apparent. But all he could think of was how bad it could be for the maesters to isolate you, to separate you both out of fear of contagion. The maesters are concerned about his health, they check him too, but all he could think of was your condition.

Then he'd try to send Maekar in. Maekar would act offended about his brother’s lack of care for him, 'ah yes, allow the fourth spare to get the plague’. But it was all dramatics; he’d see the toll it took on Baelor, the worry about your condition, only hearing from you through the maesters, and give in eventually. You're responding well to the medicine, Maekar informs him, and you sleep most of the time.

At first, he'd try to reason with the maesters, that Maekar had been in your chambers and seemed well enough. But they are strict in their implementations.

A week of isolation, a week without his wife, and people can tell he’s more irritable than usual. Moments in small council meetings where he’d be quiet, lost in thought. He doesn’t let go of his duties but he’d definitely have a shorter span of patience than usual. Lords would learn to get to their points quickly and not stall any longer. He doesn’t snap, but he’d go quiet, nod tensely as if agreeing with whatever suggestion, but it’s clear it’s more of a do whatever you want, see what happens, than an actual agreement.

"She’s asking for you," Maekar says one night in his solar.

The space where you usually sat had been empty for many nights.

"What?" His writing halts.

"She’d been asking for you since yesterday." Something in his chest physically clenches.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing, really. Just said your name, asked where you were, then went back to sleep. She’s quite delirious, probably milk of the— Hey! What in the Seven— " His chair scrapes across the stone floor and he's out of the room before Maekar can finish.

Being forced apart from you rattled him, especially in your state. Already, the image of you, sick and alone, has his chest clenching. But to hear that you were searching for him, seeking him out, and he was not there was the last straw. Everyone had their duty. Him as heir, as prince. Even the maesters, he trusted, were doing everything in their knowledge to ensure a swift and safe recovery. But as of the moment, he felt as though he was the only one doing a disservice in being your husband.

He’s down the stairs of the tower of the hand lightning quick, nearly jogging across halls and abandoning the Kingsguard that followed him. Maester Yormwell greets him by the door of your chambers, mouth beginning to open in protest.

"Your Grace, I must insist on complete iso—"

"Let me through, or I’d have you back in the Citadel by nightfall."

The threat, akin more to Maekar than the heir apparent, has the maester stepping back both in surprise and fear. Everyone had their ends. Baelor, who was usually diplomatic, who seldom spoke unkindly, found that it was his wife who unraveled him.

You wake at the sight of your husband, pushing yourself up and immediately reaching for him. He closes the distance quickly, taking your hands and sitting by your bedside. He presses a kiss to your temple, a hand on the junction of your neck, feeling how warm you were. I’m sorry, he murmurs, I’m here, darling.

He knew you to be fiercely independent any other time, preferring to do your own thing and accompany him on your own time, so for you to be so rendered sick and incapable broke his heart a little, although he doesn't complain when you reach for him more often than not.

He seldom left your bedside by that point and any suggestion for isolation by the maesters were met with a glare. He seldom left you even when you were feeling better, enough to sit up in bed during long periods. He's gone for small council meetings but ensures you have one of your ladies in the room when he's not there.

He nearly moves his solar into your chambers.

The bed is large enough that he often works by the foot of it while you rested. You inspect the papers scattered on the bed leisurely. Mostly you slept. Then awoke to eat and have your medicine administered. He endures the steam in the room and eats with you. He holds you, without complaint, when it got too cold, when the sickness caused you to slip in and out of consciousness. He'd stroke your hair, run a hand across your back. Where does it hurt? He asks, and soothes the pain.

In the end, you feel as though his constant presence contributed a great deal to your recovery and the fever breaks eventually.

I'm fine, you urge him, go back to your work. Don’t you have any pressing matters to attend to?

My wife’s health, for one. He says, barely looking up from the paper in his hand.

At night, one call of his name has him abandoning whatever he was looking at, walking over to you and taking your outstretched hand. He takes whatever papers he needs and settles in the space beside you. You’d fall asleep to the sound of quill on paper.

You refuse to kiss him nearly the entire time. He leans in once, and you quite literally push his face back. I don’t want you to get sick, you reason, and laugh at the dejected look on his face.

When you get better, he’s still careful. But he accompanies you for a walk in the gardens, letting you feel the sun, or along the shore for some salt air.

"I heard you assaulted a maester." You say as you walk through the gardens. He holds your hand in the crook of his elbow. He matches your pace, slow and steady.

"Maekar exaggerates." He says. "Although I remember threatening to send someone back to the citadel."

"Baelor," you half laugh, half scold.

"They weren’t letting me see you." The gravel crunches under your shoes.

"Probably for good reason. I was ill, remember?"

"It wasn’t contagious. Maekar never got sick."

"Ah yes, I recall."

A squeeze of your hand. His other hand holds the shawl you've abandoned, one he insisted on bringing just in case. "He told me you were calling for me. "

"I was?" You frown, unable to recall.

"You were." He supplies. "It was torture."

You smile. "Maekar truly is your blood. Now you are the one exaggerating."

He stops half way through the path, facing you. "I’ve… Gods, I was so worried." A hand rests at your waist. "Never do that to me again."

"I’m better now." You cup his cheek, smiling, if only to reassure him. "I promise."

Your eyes flutter closed, a heat pooling low in your stomach under the weight of both of their stares. Jack’s arm snakes round your waist, applying just the slightest bit of pressure as he holds you to him.

“Yeah?” He hums, stare turning on Robby, still sitting across the room. The way he’s fidgeting, adjusting his jeans, tells you he’s just as affected by this as you are. The thought makes you dizzy, your thighs clenching together subconsciously. You’re pretty sure you could get off on anticipation alone.

Jack’s free hand tucks under your chin, tilting your mouth up to his. He tastes like vodka, and your words die on your tongue as he kisses you, deep and slow. For a second he’s everywhere, invading your every sense. But then he’s pulling back, drawing a whine from you at the loss of contact. “Look like that on film, Robinavitch?”

Robby swallows, voice thick. “Somethin’ like that.”

You tilt your head, allowing Jack better access as he mouths at your neck. “Did you watch the whole thing?”

A snort escapes from Jack. “’Course he did. Bet he got off on it, too.” His fingers creep under the hem of your shirt, tugging upwards. As soon as the fabric is discarded his hand returns to your front, kneading at your breast over the lace of your bra. “Does watching do it for you, Michael?”

Seeing Robby’s ever increasing embarrassment, you swat at Jack lightly, whimpering slightly as he pinches your nipple. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m just being truthful.” Hand snaking beneath your bra, you find yourself arching against him, nipples taut as he continues to work you. “Bet he was sitting in that crappy hotel room, jerking off to the thought of another man fucking you. Probably had to turn on the shower so no one would hear.”

Robby stammers a little, a garbled sound that gives away far more than it should. Jack’s right on the money.

“S’okay Robby,” You murmur, almost a purr. You can’t tell if the haze clouding your vision is the alcohol, or the sheer desire coursing through your veins. “I’m not mad. Think it’s cute, actually.”

Everything feels too tight. Your clothes, your chest - you think you might burst. You curl your fingers into Jack’s hair, tugging slightly to keep his head flexed down at your neck. You keep your eyes on Robby, lips parting as Jack sucks a harsh mark on your skin.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. Letting out a slight huff, you pull back from Jack. “Are you waiting for a formal invitation, or what?”

“Maybe Mr. FBI man doesn’t want to concern himself with smallfolk like us, honey,” Jack replies, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Or maybe he just wants to watch.”

From the tent in his pants, you’re positive that isn’t the case.

“C’mere baby - let me take care of you.”

You untangle yourself from Jack’s grasp, getting to your feet as you beckon Robby over. He gets to his feet, movements slightly unsteady. Giddiness sweeping over you, your breath hitches as Robby closes the distance, pressing his chest to yours, a solid weight keeping you grounded in reality.

Any hesitancy you expected to see from him vanishes as soon as he kisses you. The movements turn hungry, and you’re met with the man who fucked you until you couldn’t speak just a few days ago. You give him a minute or two, before pulling back, wicked smirk tugging at your lips. "You boys going to find a way to work together or what?"

“You know, I think she might be trying to rile us both up,” Robby says, voice low.

“You might be right about that, Robinavitch.”

*****

It's too much. Robby's head between your legs, licking delicate stripes through your folds, while Jack mouths at your tits with a fervour. One hand massages, while he presses sloppy kisses to the other.

Your hips buck up towards Robby, desperately trying to grind against him. He chuckles into your skin, the vibrations sending your head spinning.

Your breath comes out in a choked gasp, hands fisting the sheets pitifully. "F-Fuck, oh my god."

Desperate for something, anything, to keep your mind sharp, you reach forward, hand curling around the base of Jack's cock. He hisses slightly at the contact, pinching at your nipple in response.

"Careful, honey," He warns, and you just shoot him as much of a smile as you can manage.

"What?"

Robby's beard scratches at your clit, and your voice breaks off in another whimper, leading Jack to chuckle again. "My poor girl thinks she's in charge, huh?"

"Shut up," You groan, but you know you're winning when Jack starts to redden, tense from the effort of holding off an orgasm.

"Can't be doing that sweetheart - not if you want tonight to last."

"You don't want to be the weak link, do you Jack?" You taunt, sighing prettily as Robby continues to lap at your cunt. "Careful, or Robby'll be the only one allowed inside."

Taking that as an invitation, Robby's hands are firm, repositioning you just how he wants. Ass in the air, you can feel him pressing into you, cock brushing through your folds. Everything moves so quickly you don't even notice Jack moving too.

Turns out they can work together. Sometimes.

A groan escapes, and your head bobs forward towards him, who's now stretched out on the bed, looking amused at the entire situation.

Like he wasn't moaning your name a few minutes ago when you had his cock in your hands.

*****

“You know, I really feel like I've been carrying this tonight,” You finally breathe, chest heaving. Three orgasms in, and you're exhausted. “You-” You point at Robby, digging your finger into his chest, “-have only finished once. And you-” Jack's turn, “-haven't cum at all.”

“Are you seriously mad at us for focusing on you?” Robby murmurs, fighting back a smile.

“Last I checked, you've spent a good chunk of tonight on your back, while we've been doing the hard work,” Jack replies, eyebrow raised. “Not sure how that constitutes you doing everything. 'Sides - we're not as young as we used to be, honey. I'm one-and-done these days."

“I'm just saying,” You begin, pulling yourself up so you're sitting against the headboard. Robby follows, elbow against the wall as he turns to face you both. “I think your enjoyment could be greatly increased if you… y'know.”

“Gotta use your words, sweetheart," Jack says.

"What's the point of all this if we aren't all going to enjoy each other? You're makin' me feel selfish."

You're not entirely sure how it'll land, given Jack and Robby have spent the last month loathing each other, but when they don't dismiss the idea, you lean forward and press your lips to Robby's.

The kiss is the softest it's been all night, with him leaning over to cup your cheek.

It's the kiss of a husband returning home to his wife after a long day's work - not that of a dirty fuck in the middle of nowhere.

“Such a pretty girl,” He mumbles, breath fanning across your face as he trails his lips along your jaw.

Your hand reaches out, tangling in the curls at the nape of Jack's neck, as you guide him towards you both.

The moustache scratches at your neck, the friction making you sigh. A turn of heads, and you collide with Jack, while Robby turns his attention to your pulse point.

Soon, you can't even tell who is who. An occasional brush of hair from Robby's stubble is the only thing that differentiates either man as you kiss them both.

Baz was dead.

And you had killed him.

The thought should have devastated him. Baz had been family, had been there since they were kids. But all Pope felt was a cold, seething rage that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with the woman waiting inside those concrete walls.

He knew. He fucking knew what Smurf had done.

Pope slammed out of the truck and stalked toward the entrance, the institutional gray building looming ahead like a monument to everything wrong in his life. The security process was degrading, empty his pockets, walk through the metal detector, get patted down by a guard who looked at him like he was already guilty of something. Sign in. Wait. Get buzzed through one locked door, then another, then another. Each one clanging shut behind him with a finality that made his chest tight.

The visiting room was exactly what he expected: fluorescent lights humming overhead, plastic chairs bolted to the floor, metal tables screwed down so nobody could flip them in a rage. Guards stationed at each corner, watching everything. The smell of industrial cleaner and desperation hung in the air. Other inmates sat with their visitors, husbands, kids, lawyers, all of them speaking in hushed tones under the watchful eyes of the COs.

And then there was Smurf.

She sat at a table in the corner, blue jumpsuit somehow looking like a power suit on her. Her hair was pulled back, no makeup, no jewelry, stripped of everything that had made her Smurf Cody on the outside. But it didn't matter. She looked more dangerous here than she ever had in her own kitchen. The prison hadn't diminished her, it had distilled her down to pure, concentrated control.

She watched him approach with those calculating eyes, a slight smile playing at her lips. Like she'd been expecting him. Like this was all going exactly according to plan.

Pope dropped into the chair across from her, the metal cold even through his jeans. He wanted to explode, wanted to scream at her, but the guards were watching and Smurf knew it. She'd orchestrated this perfectly, even the setting was designed to keep him in check.

“Pope.” Her voice was smooth, measured, like they were having coffee instead of sitting in a prison visiting room. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

“You sent him.” Pope kept his voice low, dangerous, every muscle in his body coiled tight. His hands flexed on the table between them. “You sent Baz to kill her.”

Smurf leaned back in her chair, as much as the bolted-down furniture would allow, and regarded him with that infuriating calm. “Baz made his own choices.”

“Bullshit!” Pope's voice rose slightly, and a guard shifted his weight. Pope forced himself to lower it again, leaning forward. “You sent him to my apartment while she was sleeping. You thought she'd be an easy target. You thought-“

“I thought,” Smurf interrupted, her voice cutting through his rage like a blade, “that we had a problem that needed solving.” She met his eyes, unflinching. “I was right, wasn't I? Look at you. Look at what she's done to you.”

“What you've done!” Pope was shaking now, fury and something else, something that felt too much like fear, warring inside him. “She’s got a body now, Smurf. She killed him in self-defense, and now she's got a fucking body because of you!”

Smurf glanced around the visiting room, at the other inmates and their families, then back to Pope. When she spoke, her voice was even quieter, forcing him to lean in to hear her. “She killed Baz. Your family. And you're here defending her?”

“She killed him because he broke into our apartment to murder her!” Pope's voice cracked. “What the fuck was she supposed to do?”

“She was supposed to die.” Smurf said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment Pope couldn't breathe. “That was the plan, baby. Clean, simple. She disappears, you grieve, you move on. But she couldn't even do that right.”

Pope stared at his mother across the metal table, really seeing her for the first time in a long time. The cold calculation in her eyes. The complete absence of remorse. The blue jumpsuit that should have made her look powerless but somehow made her look more terrifying, because she'd orchestrated a murder from inside a fucking prison cell. “You're insane.”

“I'm practical.” Smurf's hands were folded on the table, perfectly still. “That girl has been poison since the day she ran up my driveway. She's shown you boys things, a life, possibilities, that you were never meant to want. She's made you soft, baby. Made you question this family.”

“She made me happy.” The words came out raw, honest. “For the first time in my life, I was-“

“Weak.” Smurf's voice was gentle, almost tender, which made it worse. “She made you weak, baby. And weakness gets people killed in our world. You know that.”

Pope's jaw clenched. “So you tried to kill her instead. From in here. You're locked up and you still-“

“I tried to protect this family.” Smurf's voice hardened. “I tried to protect you. But now we've got a bigger problem, don't we? Baz is dead. Bambi killed him. And you're sitting here, torn between your blood and some girl who's going to destroy everything we've built.”

“She's not-“

“She already has!” For just a moment, Smurf's composure cracked, her voice rising enough that a guard took a step forward. She caught herself, smoothed it over, lowered her voice again. But Pope had seen it, the rage beneath the control. “Look at you. You're here, in a prison visiting room, confronting your mother, defending the woman who killed your family. She's already turned you against us, Pope. Can't you see that?”

Pope's hands were fists on the table. “You turned me against you when you sent someone to murder my girlfriend.”

Smurf was quiet for a long moment, studying him. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the room, a child started crying. When she spoke again, her voice had returned to that dangerous calm. “You love her.”

It wasn't a question, but Pope answered anyway. “Yes.”

“More than you love this family?”

“That's not-it's not the same thing.”

“Isn't it?” Smurf leaned forward, and Pope found himself unable to look away. “You have to choose, baby. Her or me. Because I promise you, as long as she's in your life, she's a threat to everything we are.”

“You're the threat.” But even as Pope said it, he could feel something shifting inside him. Old patterns, old loyalties, the weight of a lifetime under Smurf's thumb. The visiting room felt smaller suddenly, the walls closing in.

She sat back, and her expression was almost sad. Almost. “I'm your mother. I've kept you safe, kept you fed, kept you alive in a world that would have chewed you up and spit you out. Everything I've done, I've done for you boys.” She gestured around the visiting room, at the prison beyond. “Even this. You think I'm still in here by accident? I'm in here protecting you. Taking the fall so you stay free.”

“You tried to have her killed.”

“And I'll try again.” Smurf said it so casually, so quietly that only Pope could hear. “If you stay with her, I'll keep trying. Because that's what mothers do, Andrew. We protect our children, even from themselves. Even from in here.”

The words hit Pope like a physical blow. “You're threatening her.”

“I'm stating facts.” Smurf's eyes were cold, calculating. “You want to be with this girl? Fine. But understand what that means. It means I can't stop. It means every day she's in your life, she's in danger. From me, from the family, from the consequences of what she's done.” She paused, letting that sink in. “She killed Baz. You think that doesn't have repercussions? You think the people Baz was connected to are just going to let that slide?”

Pope's stomach dropped. He hadn't thought about that. Hadn't thought past his rage and his fear for you.

Smurf saw the realization on his face and pressed her advantage. “But if you walk away... if you end it clean, make it clear she's not part of this family... then maybe I can make this go away. Maybe I can protect her from what's coming.”

“By leaving her.” Pope's voice was hollow.

“By saving her life.” Smurf leaned forward again, her voice barely above a whisper. “You love her? Then let her go. Let her have a chance at the normal life she showed you. Because baby, you and I both know, you're not built for normal. You're built for this. For violence. For us. For the family.”

Pope's hands were shaking. He thought about you, The way you believed in him, believed he could be something more than what Smurf had made him.

But he also thought about Baz's body, about the blood on your hands, about the target Smurf had painted on your back. About the fact that his mother had orchestrated a murder from inside a prison cell-if she could do that, what else could she do? What couldn't she reach?

“If I leave her,” Pope said slowly, “you'll leave her alone?”

“If you leave her, I'll make sure she's safe.” Smurf's voice was soft, maternal, monstrous. “I'll make the Baz thing disappear. I'll make sure no one comes after her for it. She can go back to her normal life, and you can come home where you belong.”

“And if I don't?”

Smurf's smile was cold. “Then I'll keep trying to kill her until I succeed. And baby, eventually, I will succeed. You know I will.” She gestured around the visiting room again. “These walls don't stop me. Nothing stops me when it comes to protecting my boys.”

Pope closed his eyes. He did know. Smurf always got what she wanted, one way or another. And if she could orchestrate a hit from inside a prison, there was nowhere you could hide. If he stayed with you, if he chose you over the family, Smurf would make sure you paid the price.

“You're a monster,” he whispered.

“I'm your mother.” Smurf's voice was gentle, final. “And I'm giving you a choice. Save her by leaving her, or watch her die because you were too selfish to let her go.”

Pope stood there, trapped between the woman who'd raised him and the woman who'd tried to save him, knowing that either choice would destroy him. The visiting room felt like a cage. The guards watched. The fluorescent lights hummed. And Smurf sat there in her blue jumpsuit, more powerful than she'd ever been.

But only one choice would keep you alive.

“Okay,” he finally said, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “Okay. I'll end it.”

Smurf's smile was triumphant. “That's my good boy.”

A guard announced that visiting hours were ending in five minutes. Pope stood, the chair scraping against the floor. Smurf remained seated, watching him with those calculating eyes.

Pope turned and walked toward the exit, each step feeling like a betrayal. Behind him, he heard the guards telling Smurf to stand, preparing to escort her back to her cell. But he didn't look back.

He'd saved your life.

He'd just had to break both your hearts to do it.

present

The courtroom was disappointingly ordinary. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that institutional pallor that made even hope look sickly. Polished wood benches. A flag in the corner. The seal of California mounted behind the judge's bench like it meant something.

Lena sat beside you in an oversized chair, legs swinging beneath her, not quite reaching the floor. She'd insisted on the yellow dress, the one you'd bought her two weeks ago at Target after she'd stood in front of it for ten minutes, touching the fabric like it was made of something precious.

“It makes me look brave,” she'd whispered this morning while you'd helped her with the buttons.

You'd kissed the top of her head, throat tight. She had no idea how brave she'd already been.

Four months. Four months of having your life dissected by strangers with clipboards and kind smiles that never quite reached their eyes. Home studies. Interviews. Background checks so thorough they'd probably known what you ate for breakfast in third grade. Financial records. Psychological evaluations. Letters from professors who'd written about your “exceptional sense of responsibility” and “remarkable maturity.” Letters from neighbors. Letters from Lena's teachers describing how she'd blossomed, how she smiled now, how she'd stopped flinching when adults raised their voices.

The social worker had visited your apartment so many times you'd started keeping her favorite tea stocked. She'd watched you help Lena with homework at the kitchen table. Watched you cook dinner while Lena set the table without being asked. Watched Pope braid Lena's hair after he'd insisted on learning because “she likes the two French braids better, and I should know how to do them.”

She'd seen a family. Even if it hadn't started the conventional way. The judge adjusted his glasses, shuffling through the final stack of paperwork. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Lena's small hand found yours, squeezed tight.

“Miss-“ He said your name, and the sound of it in this room, in this moment, made it feel like someone else's. “You understand the responsibilities that accompany legal guardianship?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

“They are significant.” He looked at you over the rim of his glasses. “You will be responsible for her education. Medical decisions. Her financial wellbeing. Her emotional development. These are not temporary obligations.”

“I understand.”

“You are currently enrolled in medical school.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And employed.”

“I work at my boyfriend's brother's bar while I'm in school.” The words felt strange. Clinical. Like they could somehow capture the reality of your life-studying pharmacology at 2 AM while Lena slept in the next room, working shifts at the bar, making sure there was always food in the fridge and clean clothes in the drawers.

The judge nodded once, made a note. “The court has reviewed your academic records. The letters submitted by your professors describe you as exceptionally responsible. Dedicated.” He paused. “The Department of Children and Family Services has also noted the remarkable bond that has developed between you and Lena over the past four months.”

Lena's fingers tightened around yours. You squeezed back, not trusting yourself to look at her.

“The court has also considered Mr. Cody.”

Your heart stopped. Pope sat one row behind you, silent as a ghost. You could feel him there, the weight of his presence, his hands folded together, his eyes fixed on Lena like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“Mr. Cody has demonstrated genuine love and commitment toward his niece,” the judge continued. “The evidence presented shows a man who has made significant efforts to provide stability and care.” The room held its breath. “However.” The word fell like a gavel. “His criminal history prevents this court from awarding him legal custody at this time.”

You felt it, the way Pope's gaze dropped to the floor. Not surprised. He'd known this was coming. You'd both known. But knowing didn't make it hurt less.

“Fortunately,” the judge said, and something in his tone shifted, “this court is not making its decision based solely on love. It is making its decision based upon the child's best interests.”

Your throat closed. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The fluorescent lights were too bright. The room was too small. Lena's hand was too small in yours.

“The evidence presented over the past seven months consistently demonstrates that you have provided Lena with a stable, loving, and secure home. You have shown remarkable commitment to her wellbeing. You have proven yourself capable of meeting her needs, emotional, physical, educational, and otherwise.”

Your vision blurred.

“The court therefore grants your petition for legal custody.”

For a second, nothing happened. The words hung in the air, too big to be real. You heard them, but they didn't land. Didn't connect. The fluorescent lights kept humming. Someone coughed. A chair creaked.

Then Lena looked up at you.

“Does that mean...?” Her voice was so small, so fragile, barely carrying across the space between you.

You looked down at her. Tried to speak. Couldn't. Your throat had closed completely, tears burning hot behind your eyes.

The judge smiled, actually smiled, something warm and human breaking through the judicial facade. “It means you get to come home.”

Lena burst into tears.

She threw both arms around your neck with enough force to nearly knock you backward, the chair scraping against the floor. “We get to stay?” Her voice broke on the words, muffled against your shoulder. “We get to stay together?”

You laughed, and it came out as a sob. “Yeah, bug.” Your voice cracked, broke completely. “We get to stay.”

“I don't have to leave?” She was crying so hard she could barely get the words out. “I don't have to go?”

“No.” You kissed the top of her head, her hair, her temple. “No, sweetheart. You're not going anywhere.”

She sobbed harder, her small body shaking against yours. Four months of fear, of uncertainty, of not knowing if this fragile thing you'd built together would be allowed to survive, it all came pouring out of her in great, heaving gasps.

Across the room, someone sniffed. Craig. You'd almost forgotten they were there, the whole family crammed into the back row. Deran looked suspiciously emotional, his jaw tight. Even J had turned toward the window, his shoulders tense.

Pope hadn't moved. He was still sitting exactly where he'd been, hands clasped together, head bowed. When you turned to look at him, you saw his eyes were wet. He wasn't crying, not really. Not the way Lena was crying. But his eyes were wet, and he was looking at the two of you like he couldn't quite believe the universe had allowed something good to happen. Like he was afraid to blink in case it all disappeared.

Lena suddenly twisted in your arms. “Uncle Pope!”

He looked up, and something in his expression cracked.

“You get to come home too!” She reached one hand toward him, her face streaked with tears and joy and relief.

The entire courtroom softened. Even the bailiff looked away.

Pope smiled. It was small, disbelieving, like he'd forgotten how. “I do.”

Lena reached for him with both hands now, demanding. Without thinking, Pope stood and crossed the room. He knelt beside your chair, and Lena immediately wrapped one arm around your neck, the other around his, pulling you both together with all the fierce determination only a child could possess.

“There.” She smiled through her tears, proud and certain. “Our family.”

Pope looked at you. You looked back. Neither of you spoke. You didn't have to. His eyes said everything, gratitude and grief and something that looked like hope, all tangled together in a way that made your chest ache.

After everything that had happened, every loss, every fight, every moment you'd thought this would fall apart, this wasn't just a court order. It was proof that somehow, against every odd imaginable, the three of you had found your way home.

The phone call came at 6:47 AM.

Pope was already awake, had been for hours, actually, lying beside you in the dark while you slept. Watching the ceiling. Counting his breaths. Trying not to think about the fact that this was the fifth call this week.

He slipped out of bed before the second ring, grabbing his phone off the nightstand and moving into the hallway. Closed the bedroom door softly behind him. Lena's door was still shut, she'd sleep for another hour at least.

He answered without saying anything.

“Andrew.” Smurf's voice was calm. Pleasant, even. Like she was calling to check in on the weather. “Good morning, baby.”

Pope's jaw tightened. He moved into the kitchen, keeping his voice low. “What do you want?”

“That's no way to talk to your mother.” A pause. “Have you done it yet?”

His stomach twisted. “I'm working on it.”

“Working on it.” She repeated the words slowly, like she was tasting them. “That's what you said four months ago. And again on Monday. And Tuesday. And Wednesday.”

“It's not that simple-“

“It's very simple, Pope.” Her voice hardened. “You leave her, or I make sure she doesn't make it to the end of the month.”

Pope closed his eyes. Pressed his palm flat against the counter. “She hasn't done anything to you.”

“She took my son from me.” Smurf's tone was matter-of-fact. “Despite everything that's enough.”

“I'm still here-“

“No, you're not.” The words were sharp. Final. “You're in her bed. In her apartment. Playing house with a little girl who isn't even yours. You think I don't see what's happening? You think I'm going to sit in here and watch you build a life that doesn't include me?”

“You're in prison because of your own choices-“

“And you'll be at her funeral because of yours.” Smurf let the silence stretch. “End of the week, Andrew. That's your deadline. You walk away, or I send someone who won't fail like Baz did.”

The line went dead.

Pope stood there for a long moment, phone still pressed to his ear. His hand was shaking. He set the phone down on the counter, gripped the edge with both hands, and tried to breathe.

End of the week.

Three days.

Behind him, he heard the bedroom door open. Your footsteps, soft on the hardwood. You appeared in the doorway wearing one of his old shirts, hair messy from sleep, eyes still half-closed.

“You okay?” Your voice was rough. Concerned.

Pope turned, forced his expression into something neutral. “Yeah. Couldn't sleep.”

You moved closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. “You've been weird all week.”

“I'm fine.”

“Liar.” You kissed his shoulder blade through his shirt. “Come back to bed.”

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. Wanted to crawl back under the covers and pretend the last five phone calls hadn't happened. Pretend Smurf was just a bad dream. Pretend he had more than three days left before he had to destroy the only good thing he'd ever built.

“In a minute,” he said.

You squeezed him once, then let go. “Coffee?”

“Yeah.”

You moved to the coffee maker, and Pope watched you, the easy way you moved through the space, the way you knew where everything was, the way this place had become home. For both of you.

Three days.

He was going to lose his mind.

~~~

Lena saw the mail carrier through the window first. “Mail's here!”

You were at the kitchen table, laptop open, reviewing notes for your pharmacology exam. Pope was on the couch, pretending to read but really just staring at the same page he'd been staring at for twenty minutes.

Lena bolted to the door before you could even stand up. “Lena, wait for me-“

But she was already yanking the door open, grabbing the small stack of envelopes from the carrier with a breathless “Thank you!” before slamming the door shut again.

She brought the mail to you like a retriever, proud of herself. “Here!”

You took the stack, flipping through it absently. Bills. Junk mail. A flyer for a pizza place. And then-

You stopped.

The envelope was thick. Cream-colored. Expensive-looking. The return address made your heart stop.

Children's Hospital of Philadelphia Department of Pediatrics Residency Program

Your hands started shaking.

“What is it?” Lena leaned over your shoulder, trying to see.

You couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. You just stared at the envelope like it might disappear if you blinked.

Pope looked up from the couch. “Sweetheart?”

You met his eyes. “It's from Philadelphia children’s.”

The room went still.

Lena's eyes went wide. “The doctor program?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“Open it!” Lena was bouncing now, practically vibrating with excitement. “Open it open it open it-“

Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely get the envelope open. You tore at the seal, pulled out the folded letter inside, and-“

Dear Doctor, We are pleased to offer you a position in our Pediatric Residency Program...

You stopped reading. The words blurred. You couldn't breathe.

“What does it say?” Lena grabbed your arm. “What does it say?!”

You looked at her. Then at Pope. Your voice came out as a whisper. “I got in.”

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Lena screamed.

She launched herself at you, nearly knocking you out of the chair, wrapping both arms around your neck and shrieking with joy. “You got in! You got in you got in you got in-“

You laughed, tears streaming down your face, holding her tight. “I got in.”

“You're gonna be a doctor!” Lena pulled back, her face glowing. “A real doctor!”

“I'm gonna be a doctor.” You were crying now, full-on sobbing, and you didn't even care. Four years of pre-med. Four years of medical school. Endless nights studying. Endless shifts at the bar. Endless moments of doubt, of exhaustion, of wondering if you were insane for even trying-

And you'd done it.

You'd actually done it.

Lena was still bouncing. “Can I come? To Philadelphia? Can I come with you?”

You cupped her face in both hands. “Of course you're coming. We're a package deal, remember?”

“We're going to Philadelphia!” Lena spun in a circle, arms out. “We're moving to Philadelphia!”

You looked at Pope.

He was still sitting on the couch. Still holding the book. But he wasn't reading anymore. He was looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read, something caught between pride and pain.

“Andy.” Your voice was soft. “Did you hear?”

He blinked. Stood. Crossed the room in three strides and pulled you into his arms. “I heard.”

You buried your face in his chest. “I can't believe it.”

“I can.” His voice was rough. “You worked your ass off for this.”

“We're going to Philadelphia.” You pulled back to look at him, grinning through your tears. “All three of us. Fresh start. New city. You, me, and Lena.”

Something flickered across his face. Too fast to catch.

“Yeah,” he said. “Fresh start.”

You kissed him. Hard. Desperate. Grateful. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words came out strained.

Lena grabbed both your hands. “We have to tell Uncle Deran! And Uncle Craig! And J!”

You laughed. “Okay, okay. Let me call them-“

“No!” Lena was already running for the door. “We have to go tell them in person! This is big news!”

You looked at Pope. He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah.” He kissed your forehead. “I'm proud of you.”

“We're really doing this.” You squeezed his hand. “We're really getting out.”

Pope's smile cracked at the edges.

“Yeah,” he said. “We're getting out.”

~~~

The celebration at Deran's bar lasted three hours.

Craig bought a round for the entire place. Deran kept hugging you and saying “Holy shit” over and over like he couldn't believe it. Even J cracked a smile, clapping you on the shoulder and muttering something about “making it out.”

Lena was in heaven. She sat at the bar, on a stool, like a grown-up, she kept saying, drinking Shirley Temples and telling anyone who would listen that you were going to be a doctor and she was moving to Philadelphia.

Pope stood at the edge of it all. Watching.

Smiling when someone looked at him. Nodding when Craig made a toast. Laughing when Lena dragged him onto the makeshift dance floor and insisted he spin her around.

But inside, he was falling apart. Every time you smiled, it felt like a knife. Every time Lena talked about Philadelphia, the blade twisted deeper.

Every time someone said “fresh start,” he wanted to scream.

Because he knew. He knew what was coming.

Deran appeared beside him, beer in hand. “You good, man?”

Pope nodded. “Yeah.”

“You don't look good.”

“I'm fine.”

Deran studied him for a long moment. “She's really doing it. Getting out.”

“Yeah.”

“You're going with her, right?”

Pope didn't answer.

Deran's expression shifted. “Pope. You're going with her.”

“I don't know.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don't know?” Deran's voice dropped.

“Plans change.”

“Not this one.” Deran grabbed his arm. “Don't do this to her.”

Pope pulled away. “Do what?”

“Whatever the fuck you're thinking right now.” Deran's jaw was tight. “I know that look. That's your ‘I'm about to do something stupid to protect someone’ look. Don't.”

“You don't know what you're talking about-“

“Smurf got to you.” It wasn't a question.

Pope's silence was answer enough.

Deran swore under his breath. “What did she say?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“It matters if you're about to blow up her life because of it.” Deran stepped closer. “Pope. Listen to me. Smurf is in prison. She can't touch you. She can't touch Bambi. She's just trying to fuck with your head-“

“She said she'd kill her.” Pope's voice was flat. “If I don't leave her by the end of the week, she'll send someone. Someone who won't fail.”

Deran stared at him. “You believe her.”

“You think she won't try again?”

“So what's your plan? Walk away? Break her heart? Pretend you don't love her?” Deran shook his head. “That's not protecting her, man. That's just letting Smurf win.”

“If it keeps her alive, I don't care who wins.”

Across the bar, you laughed at something Craig said. Lena was on your hip, arms around your neck, face pressed against your shoulder. You looked so happy. So free.

Pope's chest ached.

“She'll be better off without me,” he said quietly.

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

“She's going to Philadelphia. Starting over. She doesn't need me dragging her down-“

“She loves you.” Deran's voice was hard. “And you love her. And that little girl over there? She thinks you hung the fucking moon. You walk away now, you destroy all three of you.”

Pope looked at him. “Better destroyed than dead.”

Deran opened his mouth. Closed it. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

“You're making a mistake,” he said finally.

“Probably,” Pope took a long drink. “But it's mine to make.”

Later that night, back at the apartment, Lena fell asleep on the couch halfway through a movie. You carried her to bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead. When you came back to the living room, Pope was standing at the window, staring out at the street below.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind. “Hey.”

He didn't turn around. “Hey.”

“You've been quiet tonight.”

“Just thinking.”

“About Philadelphia?”

“Yeah.”

You rested your cheek against his back. “I know it's a big change. But it's going to be good. For all of us. New city. Better opportunities. Lena will love it there, they have amazing schools. And the residency program is one of the best in the country.” You squeezed him. “We're really doing this. We're really getting out.”

Pope closed his eyes.

Three days.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You're getting out.”

You didn't catch the distinction.

You just held him tighter, already dreaming of Philadelphia.

And Pope stood there, memorizing the feeling of your arms around him.

Because he knew.

In three days, this would be gone.

In three days, he'd have to look you in the eye and destroy everything.

In three days, he'd have to walk away from the only family he'd ever wanted.

But you'd be alive.

You'd be in Philadelphia with Lena, starting your residency, building the life you deserved.

And he'd be here. Alone.

Keeping you safe the only way he knew how.

Even if it killed him.

You were in the kitchen making lunch, grilled cheese for Lena, who was at the table coloring a picture of what she imagined Philadelphia would look like. Lots of tall buildings. A park. Three stick figures holding hands.

The knock on the door made you look up.

“I'll get it!” Lena was already scrambling off her chair.

“Wait-“ But she was faster, yanking the door open before you could stop her. She has got to stop doing that.

A delivery guy stood there holding an enormous bouquet. White lilies. Dozens of them. Elegant. Expensive. The kind of arrangement that cost more than your weekly grocery budget.

“Delivery for...” He checked the card. “Bambi?”

Your stomach dropped.

“That's her!” Lena pointed at you, delighted. “Someone sent you flowers!”

You crossed the room slowly, dread pooling in your chest. “Who are they from?”

The delivery guy shrugged. “No idea. Just says to deliver them here.” He handed you the bouquet. “Have a nice day.”

He was gone before you could ask anything else. You stood there holding the flowers, staring at the small white envelope tucked between the lilies. Your hands were shaking.

“Open it!” Lena bounced beside you. “Who sent them?”

You pulled the card out with numb fingers.

The handwriting was elegant. Feminine. Precise.

Did you miss me?

That was it.

No signature.

No name.

Just four words that made your blood run cold.

“Who's it from?” Lena tried to peek at the card.

You closed your fist around it. “Nobody. Just... a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Lena frowned. “But they're so pretty-“

“Go finish your picture, bug.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended. “I'll bring your lunch in a minute.”

Lena's face fell, but she went back to the table without arguing.

You carried the flowers to the kitchen counter, set them down, and stared at the card again.

Did you miss me?

Smurf.

It had to be Smurf.

But she was in prison. How the hell-

Your phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

Check your mailbox.

Your heart stopped.

You looked at Lena. She was focused on her coloring, humming softly to herself.

“I'll be right back,” you said.

“Where are you going?”

“Just checking the mail. Two minutes.”

You grabbed your keys and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind you. Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely get the mailbox key into the lock.

Inside was a single manila envelope. No return address. No postage. Hand-delivered.

You tore it open right there in the hallway. Photographs spilled out. Your knees nearly gave out.

The first photo: you and Lena walking to the park. Three days ago. You remembered that day, Lena had insisted on wearing her new sneakers.

The second photo: you leaving the apartment building. Yesterday morning. Coffee in hand. Backpack over your shoulder.

The third: Lena getting off the school bus. Alone. Smiling. Unaware someone was watching her.

The fourth: you and Pope in the parking lot outside Deran's bar. Last week. His arm around your waist. Your head on his shoulder.

There were more.

So many more.

Someone had been following you. For weeks. Maybe longer. Someone had been watching Lena.

Your vision blurred. Your chest tightened. You couldn't breathe.

The hallway tilted.

You grabbed the wall to steady yourself, photographs clutched in your shaking hands.

Smurf.

Smurf had sent someone to watch you. To follow you. To prove that even from prison, she could reach you. She could reach Lena.

The message was clear: I can get to you anytime I want.

You shoved the photos back into the envelope and stumbled back to the apartment. Locked the door behind you. Checked the deadbolt twice. Then checked it again.

“You okay?” Lena looked up from her drawing.

“Yeah.” Your voice cracked. “I'm fine.”

You weren't fine. You were the furthest thing from fine.

You pulled out your phone and called Pope.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey-“

“Where are you?”

Something in your voice made him pause. “At the house. Why? What's wrong?”

“Come home. Now.”

“Sweetheart-“

“Now, Andrew.”

You hung up.

Lena was staring at you. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetheart.” You forced a smile. “Uncle Pope's coming home early.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“No. Nobody's in trouble.”

But you were lying. You were all in so much trouble.

~~~

Pope arrived fourteen minutes later. You heard his truck pull up outside. Heard his footsteps on the stairs. Heard his key in the lock.

The second he stepped through the door, you shoved the envelope into his hands.

“Look.”

He frowned. “What-“

“Just look.”

He opened the envelope. Pulled out the photos. His entire body went rigid.

“When did you get these?”

“Twenty minutes ago. Someone left them in my mailbox.” You crossed your arms, trying to hold yourself together. “And before that, someone delivered flowers. With a card.”

You handed him the card.

Pope read it. His jaw tightened. “Smurf.”

“She's been having us followed.” Your voice shook. “For weeks, Andy. Someone's been watching us. Watching Lena.”

Pope flipped through the photos again, his expression darkening with each one. When he got to the picture of Lena getting off the school bus, his hands started shaking.

“She's in prison,” you said. “How is she doing this?”

Pope didn't answer. He just stared at the photo of Lena, his face pale.

“Andy.” You grabbed his arm. “How is she doing this?”

“She has people.” His voice was flat. “She's always had people.”

“Then we go to the police-“

“And tell them what?” He looked at you. “That my mother sent flowers and took some pictures? They're not going to do anything.”

“She's threatening us-“

“She's not threatening you.” Pope's voice was hollow. “She's threatening me.”

You stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

He didn't answer.

“Andy.” Your voice hardened. “What are you talking about?”

He set the photos down on the counter. Ran both hands through his hair. Turned away from you.

“She's been calling me,” he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Every day for months. From prison. Telling me to leave you.”

The room tilted.

“You-“ You couldn't form words. “You've been talking to her?”

“She said if I didn't end it, she'd send someone after you.” Pope's voice cracked. “Someone who wouldn't fail like Baz did.”

Everything stopped.

“How long?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “How long have you known?”

“Four months.”

“Four months.” You repeated the word like it was foreign. “You've for four months that she was threatening to kill me, and you didn't tell me?”

“I was trying to protect you-“

“By lying to me?” Your voice rose. “By keeping this from me?”

“I didn't want you to be scared-“

“I'm fucking terrified, Andrew!” You were shaking now. “Someone's been following me. Following Lena. Taking pictures of us like we're-like we're targets-“

“You are targets.” Pope's voice was raw. “As long as you're with me, you're targets.”

The words hung in the air.

You stared at him. “What are you saying?”

Pope looked at you. His eyes were red. Devastated.

“I'm saying I have to leave.”

“No.” The word came out sharp. Final. “No, you don't.”

“She's not going to stop-“

“Then we'll figure it out-“

“There's nothing to figure out!” Pope's voice rose for the first time. “She's in prison and she still got to you! She still found a way! What do you think happens when you're in Philadelphia? When you're alone with Lena and I'm not there to-“

He stopped.

Closed his eyes.

“You think leaving is going to keep us safe?” Your voice shook. “You think walking away is going to make her stop?”

“I think it's the only chance you have.”

“That's bullshit-“

“She wants me to choose!” Pope's voice cracked. “She wants me to choose between her and you, and if I choose you, she'll kill you just to prove she can!”

“So you're choosing her?”

“I'm choosing to keep you alive!”

“By abandoning us?”

“Yes!” The word came out like a roar.

The apartment went silent.

From the living room, you heard a small, frightened sound.

You both turned.

Lena was standing in the doorway. Her coloring book was on the floor. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wide and wet.

“Uncle Pope?” Her voice was tiny. Scared.

Pope's expression shattered.

“Lena-“ He took a step toward her.

She took a step back.

“Why are you yelling?”

“I'm not-“ Pope stopped. Lowered his voice. “I'm sorry, bug. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Are you leaving?” Lena's chin trembled. “Are you leaving us?”

Pope looked at you.

Then back at Lena.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”

Lena's face crumpled. “Why?”

“Because I have to.”

“But you said-“ Her voice broke. “You said we were a family. You said we were staying together.”

“I know.” Pope crouched down to her level. “I know what I said.”

“Then why are you leaving?” Tears streamed down her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Pope's voice cracked. “No, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then stay.” Lena grabbed his hand with both of hers. “Please stay.”

Pope closed his eyes. “I can't.”

“Yes, you can!” Lena was sobbing now. “You can stay! You can stay with us!”

“Lena-“

“Please don't go!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Please, Uncle Pope. Please don't leave.”

Pope held her. His shoulders shook. He pressed his face against her hair and just held her while she cried.

You stood there watching, your heart breaking into pieces.

After a long moment, Pope gently pulled Lena's arms from around his neck. He kissed her forehead. Stood up.

“I love you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Lena nodded, still crying.

“I'm always going to love you.” Pope's voice was barely holding together. “But I have to go.”

He turned to you.

You were crying too now. Silent tears streaming down your face.

“Don't do this,” you whispered.

“I have to.”

“No, you don't.” You crossed the room, grabbed his arm. “We can fight this. Together. We can-“

“She'll kill you.” Pope's voice broke. “She'll kill you and I'll have to live with that. I can't-“ He stopped. Swallowed hard. “I can't lose you like that.”

“So you're losing me like this instead?”

Pope didn't answer.

He just looked at you. Memorizing your face. Like he was trying to hold onto something that was already gone.

Then he pulled away.

He walked to the bedroom. You heard drawers opening. Closing. The sound of a duffel bag being zipped.

When he came back out, he had the bag over his shoulder.

He stopped in front of Lena. Crouched down one more time.

“You're going to be okay,” he said softly. “You're going to go to Philadelphia and you're going to have the best life. And she-“ He nodded toward you. “She's going to take care of you. Better than I ever could.”

“I don't want just her to take care of me.” Lena's voice was small. Broken. “I want you.”

Pope's face crumpled. He kissed her forehead one last time. “I love you, bug.”

Then he stood.

He looked at you.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

You didn't respond.

You just stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, watching the man you loved walk toward the door.

He stopped with his hand on the knob.

“This is my apartment,” he said quietly. “Lease is in my name. You and Lena stay here as long as you need. I'll keep paying rent until you leave for Philadelphia.”

“I don't want your money.”

“I know.” Pope opened the door. “But you're getting it anyway.”

He stepped into the hallway.

“Pope.” Your voice stopped him.

He turned.

“If you walk out that door,” you said, “don't come back.”

Something flickered across his face. Pain. Regret. Resignation.

“I won't,” he said.

And then he was gone.

The door closed. The lock clicked. And you stood there in the apartment that wasn't yours, holding a little girl who was sobbing into your shoulder, staring at the space where Pope had been.

He was gone. He'd actually left.

Behind you, the white lilies sat on the counter. Beautiful. Elegant. Poisonous.

A reminder that Smurf had won.

The PMTC on any given day was chaotic, you knew that if you got the call to bring your latest patient there, you’d have to brace yourself for the bedlam that would greet you as you crossed those ambulance bay doors. Like all emergency departments, the space was filled with beeping of machines, crying of adults and children alike and the odd shout or scream, but for some reason Pitt experienced this on another level. Every time you walked through the doors into the Pitt it felt like an assault on your senses, AC always either too hot or too cold, beeping melding with the in with the shouting of staff and patients and somehow whenever Jack Abbot was working, his barking remarks of ‘shut your fuckin’ mouth’ and other trademark cocky comments often rose above all other voices in the Pitt. July fourth was no different, pulling the shortest of short straws, you were caught working the fourth, a ten hour shift crossing the height of barbeque mishaps and drunken firework misfires, with the cherry on the cake being the Westbury diversions, making your trips to the Pitt twice as frequent for the day. Being new to Pittsburgh, you weren’t used to the summer heat; add in it being your first summer as a paramedic it added a whole other layer of heat induced hell. Although it wasn’t as if you didn’t like the job, you loved it - life as a college dropout meant you got creative in your free time jumping from job to job, taking an EMT course on a whim and ending up loving it. The high stakes and fast pace of the work honed in on all of your skills, within a few weeks on the job, your confidence was sky rocketing, your paramedic partner, Mark, remarking that you were like a duck to water when you started riding with him. 

The late afternoon heat was unbearable, you weren’t quite ready for the intensity of the summer heat, the dark uniform trapping the heat all around your body. After you dropped off your third barbeque burn victim of the day, you were sat in the shade in the ambulance bay, top couple of buttons of your shirt undone to help with suffocating heat and a patient passport leaflet acting as a sufficient fan, you finally take a deep breath getting a minuscule level of relief from the early afternoon heat. Sitting there, in earshot of your ambulance radio in case of another call, you zone out slightly, breathing in slowly, recalibrating to the heat around you. Whisked away into a daydream of not working the fourth and sitting beside a pool plate in hand, you let the surroundings slip away slightly as you fan yourself in the shade. The gentle hums of engines and distant beeps seeping out from inside are over ridden by the arrival of a wild storm of green and camo pushing a gurney at speed through the ambulance bay, with the unmistakable figure and character of Jack Abbot crowding over the gurney, spitting orders at the paramedics in tow. Within the blur you catch Abbot's eye for a second, a tick of his chin in acknowledgement of you as the gurney speeds past. Confusion crosses your interaction, you knew Jack Abbot was an intense guy, but really, field medic for SWAT was a level of adrenaline seeker you didn’t expect him to be. After a few minutes pass you brace yourself to head back in and look for Mark, the mechanical whirling and cyclically humming growing louder as you reach central. Ahmed calls out to you, wanting to show off his latest bet board for the Westbury diversions, full of pride in the high stakes that is Pitt staff betting. Letting out a low whistle, scanning the board you turn to Ahmed

“Tttf - must get in on this ER betting game if this whole paramedic thing doesn’t work out”

Abbot appears around the side of the office door, still donning the SWAT camo, sweat stains from the July heat and blood stains dotted around his torso. Practically staring you down, Jack quips 

“Huh finally giving up on your paramedic dreams, Pippi?”

“Why Abbot, you coming for my gig? Saw you earlier on, you’re like a whippet”

Eyeing him up and down as he stands to the side, SWAT tactile vest in hand, you roll your eyes and turn your attention back to Ahmed with your arms crossed in a state of mock annoyance. Jack takes your figure in, his cogs turning in his head, this faux enemy act spanned the duration of the two of knowing each other, although it wasn’t always fake. 

“Oh you know sweetheart, everyone is replaceable, always on the lookout for a career change.”

“Well Dr. Abbot, I always wanted to try my hand at suturing sarcastic doctors' mouths shut, any chance you’ll be my first patient?”

With a huff in response Jack turns to head back out to check on the SWAT officer, following suit, you lift yourself off of the desktop you were leaning on, you shrug your shoulders as you brush past Jack firing back a quick retort dripping in sarcasm and set off to find your crewmate. As you and Mark make your way back out into the ambulance bay, you feel a set of eyes on your back, without a second thought you raise your hand and flip off the figure staring at you, no doubt in your mind it’s Abbot; a deep laugh in response to the sign confirms your gut suspicions as you head back into the July heat.  

You and Jack Abbot have always had a bit of a love hate dynamic, frienemies, if you will. When you first appeared in the Pitt just over a year ago, you’d made quite the impression on him. Working as a paramedic for a few months and new to Pittsburgh, you hadn’t really gotten the chance to be acquainted with the faces that would become regular features in your life. At the early hour of 4am, you’d barrelled through the bay doors, pushing a GSW victim at speed towards Dr. Abbot,  you had started spewing out the victims stats, Jack stared at you taking in the words coming at him a mile a minute trying to keep up with the bright eyed paramedic that seemed to land from outer space in front of him. You point towards to victims stomach, where a bandage was being held in place by your fellow paramedic, noting 

“Nipple to navel is -”

“- is no man’s land, yeah we got it from here.”

Jack cut across you, with a snippy tone pushing his way to holding the gurney, disappearing into the trauma bay Lena was pointing to. Standing back watching Jack call out orders with a steadfast authority to those around him, you straighten out your back to stand a little taller, digesting the last thirty seconds, this doctor, much like all other doctors you’d encountered in your short time as a paramedic seemed to lack any real respect for your job beyond providing the essential information being passed between you. In the blur of the chaos that is handing off patients, you hadn’t had a real chance to bite back. Manners in a high pressure situation like this weren’t always a given, but in your experience were a sign of a competent doctor. Sloping way back out to the central desk to pass off paperwork with Mark in tow he nudges your shoulder, seemingly aware of how you first experience of night shift in the Pitt - 

“Pay no head to them, those night shift fuckers are another breed”

Letting out a huff and a roll of your eyes, you spit out

“Huh, even in Westbury I get a little bit of thanks, these losers couldn’t be bothered to learn my name”

As if almost on queue, Jack Abbot shoulders his way through the trauma bay doors, sliding off gloves and slingshotting them to the closest bin. His eyes coast past you and directly towards Mark, Abbot nods neatly at him, completely ignoring you. The rudeness of this doctor hitting you deeper than most less than pleasant interactions you start grumbling to yourself, muttering comments of displeasure to no one in particular. Mark laughs slightly at your annoyance, used to your sometimes prickly attitude he lands a brotherly pat on your shoulder and walks on. You feel a slight heat rise to your cheeks with embarrassment; usually used to men treating you less than in the workplace you couldn’t quite understand why this random doctor’s lack of courtesy was getting into your head so much. One of the other doctors appeared by your side after following Abbot out of the trauma, she reached her hand out, assured and welcoming, introducing herself as Dr Ellis.

“Hey, don’t mind Abbot, he can be a bit of a hard ass at the best of times. Dr. Ellis, you’re?”

Posturing yourself to be confident, you huff out your name and a thank you for her acknowledgement of your existence. Letting a beat pass, she stops walking, taking you in for a second, Parker smiles at you and lets out an amused laugh, pointing to your dutch braids you have in, pulling your unruly curly hair out of your face. 

“Love the look, very Pippi Longstocking, don’t let Abbot push you around in here ok?”

You let out a chuckle, hoping Mark hadn’t heard the nickname as he slid up beside you. 

“Ready to go Pippi?”

Landing a mock punch on his shoulder you say bye to Parker with a smile and push your way through the congested hallways of the ER. Making your way out the doors into the brisk early morning, deep breaths in tow, you try to shake off just how much Jack’s snippy humor had thrown you off. 

Your encounters with Jack were relatively brief over the following weeks, but never less snippy, Jack never missed the opportunity to nitpick your work, and you never missed the chance to double down. It didn’t reach a head until a few weeks later when you were rolling in a car crash victim, crushed legs and blood pressure tanking. The adrenaline of the situation proves to yourself just how much you loved the job; that feeling of high stakes high pressure, being the first person in the chain of command in saving someone’s life is enough to make anyone's confidence soar and anxiety batter in your chest. The Pitt was quieter than normal, the midnight rush not quite hitting yet, so we arrived in both Shen and Abbot standing by central, with rounds delegated to the nightshift residents, they were standing taking stock of the department in front of them. Shen raised his coffee cup to you as you came into the department, a non-verbal queue you had learnt meant ‘what do we have here’. Getting to know the other attending, you felt more confident and welcome in the Pitt at night, mainly due to the fact that Shen looked at you, rather than through you like Abbot so often did. With Shen’s nod you started rallying out your administrations  You’d started listing administrations.

“- and three rounds of epi, blood pressure is still a bit tacky but not the worst -”

Jack comes to life, swiveling around from the central screen and making a beeline for you eye brows raised and a look of less than pleased plastering his face. Grabbing the blood pressure readings out of your hands as you head into the trauma room, Jack hisses 

“What do you mean only three rounds of epi - look at his readings, he may as well be dead on this gurney”

“Oh, as you well know doctor, standard practice, anything over three rounds needs to be administered by a registered doctor-”

“- yeah I know, fuck standard practice if it gives this guy a fighting chance of getting off the OR table.”

Without another word Jack turns to Shen, moving swiftly around and guiding one of the new residents with the procedures at hand. The tension in the room rises, coating everyone is a suffocating silence, Parker stares at you out of the corner of her eye, brow raised in question 

“You always talk to first responders like that Abbot or is it just Pippi Longstocking here that gets the special treatment?”

Jack shoots Parker a deathglare across the gurney, ignoring her cutting comment. Unable to handle the tension that you can now cut with a blade you slip out the doors into the quieter hallway. Too in your head with the embarrassment that others have noticed just how snippy he was with you, you hadn’t noticed Abbot slipping out behind you. The embarrassment has your heart going a million beats per minute, tears of frustration brimming your eyes while you try to regulate yourself in an effort to remain professional you ignore him when he appears in front of you. Abbot lets out a cough, trying to get your attention, when you look up at him, you sense a feeling of remorse on him. Unwilling to back down from his treatment of you and not quite  willing to let him get away with it easily, you spit out a low blow, even in your books.

“You know this isn’t a battlefield, Dr. Abbot. I have procedures to follow and I do my job really fuckin’ well, so I would really appreciate that you drop this whole macho army medic bullshit with me and treat me with at least a little bit of respect around my peers.”

Your heart thumps in your chest, mind catching up with your words as you stare back at him, bracing for the chewing out you probably deserve for bringing up his past and in general losing your cool with a peer. Daring to look him in the eye, Jack stares blankly back at you and lets out a simple.

“Noted.”

“Noted, that’s really all you have to say?”

“Yeah, noted, now see you around Pippi.”

Surprised by his lack of fight and anger and the use of Parker’s nickname, you turn on your heels and head out to wait for your next call. Relaying the conversation to Mark on the way to your next call later that evening, he notes fairly diligently the reality of the situation to you as he drives along. 

“We both know he doesn’t give in that easily Pippi, that man has it out to get you, or even worse he respects you now.”

Flipping him off without looking at him, you ponder over Mark’s words, because given his quick mouth when he didn’t like you, you knew that his sarcasm with those he respects is sometimes even more cutting. 

In the months following your clash with Abbot you discover that, yes, being respected by him leads to a level of sarcastic comments and encounters that make the discomfort of the previous tension pale in comparison. You’d seen it with the likes of Dr.Walsh on the rare occasions you’d seen the pair interact, but had been told that the two of you were on another level. The only bright side of the change in dynamic was you were in a position to retort back to him on the same level. What was once rooms filled with horrible tension that could be cut with a knife, was now filled with playful quips as you worked together in the brief interface moments between first responders and doctors. Many of which came from getting to know each other better, sharing tips and tricks of the trade to make both of your jobs easier. These exchanges of tips and ideas leading the pair of you to nearly getting in serious trouble with Gloria. Wintertime in Pittsburgh meant plenty of snow related incidents, with that day’s snow landing a drunk twenty-something in your ambulance with a degloved leg after a sledding race gone horribly wrong. In your conversations with Jack you’d exchanged tidbits of you experiences out in the world in exchange for the former field medics' unorthodox tips and methods, one of which you had put to use in managing this degloving. Usually, you’d get away with your divergences to protocol as you’ve grown more confident, but that day you were offered no such luck. As you waited for a second to get directed to a trauma bay, you and Abbot stood at the bottom of the gurney, inspecting your dressing technique. Jack pointing out what he would have done differently, with you pointing out that why yes that it would have worked his way, you had an ambulance full of supplies to help you out. Both of you are caught in the middle of one of your usual back and forths. You miss Gloria appearing in the department, turning down the corridor to central right in direct eyeline of you and Abbot. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she simply states with a curt tone 

“Please tell me I am not seeing what I am seeing right now”

Thumbs jabbed in each other's directions like bold children Jack pipes up first with a rushed 

“Shes the first responder”

To which you bite back 

“Yeah, and you’re the doctor that advised me to apply the dressing this way in the first place.”

“Advised, didn’t make you do it, there is a clear difference.”

Gloria raises her hand to stop you both speaking eyes closed with a level of strained patience that shuts you both up immediately.

“I am going to pretend I didn’t see this.”

And with that, Gloria departs with an icy good bye; Abbot lets out a childish snicker as he shoulders into your side. Smirks shared between the two of you as you burst back into professional action, finishing off the handover you fight back and forth with Abbot a bit more 

“Dr. Abbot you’re getting awful comfortable with throwing me under the bus these days”

Eyebrow raised as he turns to look back up at you as he works away at the leg, quipped up in a look of disbelief.

“Oh I know you aren’t talking to me, little miss I’m just a first responder”

Responding with a snarky smile, you scoff and head out the door leaving the Pitt crew to take care of the mess that you brought into them. As you walk through the hallways back out to your ambulance, you think back to the Pitt you walked into just a few months ago, giving yourself a proverbial pat on the back for you ability to stand up for yourself, turning what could have been an awkward working set up into one of the best working relationships you could have had. 

Pushing through on hour nine of your ten hour shift on the fourth, you were growing weary, the heat of the day catching up with the general chaos; your last patient screamed bloody murder the whole way to Westbury and frankly you had had enough of today. When you’d gotten the call to pick up a rowdy detainee from the local precinct who in the process of trying to pull a fast one and escape custody had gotten caught and didn’t go down with a fight you let out a long groan as Mark accepted the call. Calling out the ETA to dispatch you side eye Mark, silently willing for this day to end because you sure as hell can’t handle another person drunk,yelling in the back of your cab. Once you arrived on scene it all happened in a bit of a blur; the patient was arguing with an officer, spouting nonsense on how he was going to sue the shit out of him. After an initial assessment, you and Mark went to transfer the patient to the gurney, however he had other ideas, hopping up and pushing you over in an attempt to get out, forgetting that he had a potentially dislocated arm and a nasty lac on his leg stopping him from getting very far. In all the commotion, he’d landed on top of you at an odd angle, twisting your ankle. Shoving him off you barking out to the officers to keep control of him you struggle back up onto your feet brushing yourself off. Shrugging off the questions to see if you were alright you snap at everyone to keep on task, grabbing the side of the gurney to keep things moving you icing out the officer who mumbles apologies as you head out to the ambulance. Enroute to the Pitt, Mark tries to reason with you to let him have a quick one over once you get there, but you bite back shrugging off his concerns with a curt -

“If I wanted to be looked at I would ask, ok?”

Eyes wide Mark holds back from pushing any further, but you know he isn’t fully convinced when you get to the PMTC and he takes the lead in pushing the gurney and starting the pass over. Abbot watches you from across the room, clocking the change in your usual gait.

“Thought I’d seen the last of you today, what you got for us?”

Passing off the rest of the patient information Abbot, he nods at you to keep going, you stare back, slumped shoulders and letting the wall hold you up, jutting your chin out as a non verbal ‘and?’. Abbot sighs arm stretched out pointing in your general direction mouthing a quiet ‘whats up with you’. Abbot’s eyes soften when you scoff and pat him on the back and let out a very tired response. 

“I’m fuckin’ fine old man keep your eyes on the prize” 

As the words came out of your mouth you regretted snapping at the attending, who raised his arms in a response of remorse, backing off checking on your limping leg. Wincing as you walk, you head in the direction of the bathrooms, locking yourself in for a moment of reprieve, thankful for the fact that if you play your cards right and no more calls come through you’ll be able to finish off your fourth of July on time, a rare occurrence on holidays. A sharp knock pulls you from your thoughts for the upteenth time today. Letting out an unimpressed groan as you listen to the familiar drone of Abbot’s voice seeping through the doors.  

“you good there?”

Stepping up to unlock the door you push past Abbot, masking the pain now pulsing in your leg you head towards where you left Mark. You know that at the very least you have a bad sprain and you should let some have a look at it but as per usual your pride and need to look after yourself is getting in the way. Determined to get the ambulance back to the depo and get the fuck home you quicken your pace, faltering as you turn the corner too quickly on your ankle, leg buckling. You brace the wall taking a breath to breathe through the pulsing pain washing over your body. A hand lands on your shoulder, looking up at Parker standing behind you helping you up. Without much of a fight, she guides you to an open bed, ordering a round of test and shutting down any arguments as she starts a basic triage. 

After getting the all clear from an x-ray, you wait for one of the doctors to fit you with a boot and send you on your merry way; and of course, only Abbot insisted he take the case, pulling back the curtain letting out an amused grin.

“What do we have here, finally listened to a healthcare professional?”

Sitting himself down on the rolling stool, he got to work, placing the boot on your leg and going about other administrations needed. As Jack patted clean the lac on your calf, he hummed away thoughtfully, careful to not touch the boot that now adorned your ankle. In an attempt to break the silence growing between you two you let out a quiet thank you; one of the few sincere things you have said to each other in the time you have known each other. Taking a beat and leaning back to reach for sterile strips to bandage back the lac Jack lets out a mindful murrur in that low voice with a slight smile tainting the seriousness of his words. 

“Y’know its not a battlefield out there, no need to put yourself at such a risk Pippi.”

“Oh fuck off Abbot you and I both know I wouldn’t do this by choice, unlike some people”

Smirking at him, Abbot lets out a muffled laugh as you reply a soft thank you, hand on his shoulder offering a gentle squeeze as he sits up and pushes the rolling stool back. Offering a hand to help you up Abott runs through the wound care and a follow up appointment for your leg. Abbot knows that less is more with you so he simply holds open the curtain to let you out, although he cannot help but get in one more quip for the day.

“Always a pleasure, Pippi.”

Without looking back you let out a simple ‘fuck off Abbot’ as you hobble your way out of the Pitt for hopefully the last time that day. Later that week there is a knock at your front door, not expecting anyone, you slowly limp over to the door on your crutches. Half way through your sick leave, you’re frustrated at the fact people can’t read between the lines of your single line replies or non responses as a hint you want to be left alone, you pull open the door with a tinge of aggression, surprising the poor doordash worker on the other side. He stands there with a brown bag in hand, holding it out for you. Confused, you look inside and see an array of carefully selected groceries; painkillers, gatorade, soups and candys; you look for a sign of who it’s from. You pick up the receipt stapled to the side and softly smile as you read the message at the bottom. 

‘For our favourite paramedic, here’s hoping you have a speedy recovery, missing your annoying ass in the pitt - J.A.’

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