âiâm always on my own
fake boyfriend! jack x eldest daughter! reader
âKnow I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back I'm always on my own.â -All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual âparents berating their kids for their decisionsâ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. iâm normal and can be trusted with noah kahanâs discography. this fic was supposed to be crossposted on ao3 at the time of post but ao3 crashed and i lost all of my tagging and uploading process so im saving that. for later. when it is POSTED it will be linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist
âYour familyâs in town?â
Youâre at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where heâs getting them is one of the worldâs strangest unsolved mysteries.Â
You canât see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.Â
âYeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how itâs such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.â
âDinner circuit?â
You wave a hand. âItâs actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that theyâre here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time theyâre at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.â
âYikes,â The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, âAnd the whole successful doctor thing doesnât work on them? It got my parents off my back.â
You shake your head. âIâm the only doctor in the family, but they thought I shouldâve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.â
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. âThereâs money in emergency medicine. Eventually.âÂ
âThereâs money in all medicine eventually,â You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. âIâm sure if I'd picked general surgery they wouldâve found a problem with that too.â
âSo your fucked, basically.â
Your eyes slip shut again. âYep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way wonât get my mom off my back.â
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. âBest of luck with that. Youâre the only intern the night shift has got, so weâd rather you donât off yourself via poisoned wine.âÂ
âI wouldnât do poison. Iâd choke on bread so theyâd have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.â
âJesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but thatâs brutal.â
You shrug. âNot as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.â
He gapes. âWhat reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?â
âI told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.â
âThatâsâŚâ Shen trails off, flabbergasted, ââŚWow. Now I'm worried youâre going to kill one of them.â
âWay too much effort. They arenât worth the jail time.â
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. âWell, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please donât call me. I canât afford to be implicated.â
âYou saying I canât hide a body myself?â
âIâm saying I canât hide a body.â
âWhoâs hiding bodies?â Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.Â
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. âSheâs killing her parents later today.âÂ
You roll your eyes. âIâm not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and donât bring up any trigger topics, Iâll be fine.â
Jack snorts. âYouâre describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.â
âDr. Intern?â Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out youâre the only PGY1 on the night shift, âThereâs a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says sheâs your mom.â
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. âItâs six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.â
Someone behind you says âHoly shit,â but youâre already gone. As youâre speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that youâd only had a chance to skim andâ fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.Â
âMom?âÂ
âThere you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that thereâs nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldnât let me. Something about a security issue?â
âItâs not safe. Weâve had incidents in the pastââ
She waves a hand, dismissing you. âIâm your mother. Honestly, I wouldnât have had to come down here if youâd just respond to my texts.âÂ
âIâve told you mom, Iâm really busy here and I donât get very much time to look at my phoneââ
âYour brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,â She sighs, then continues on, âDid you get time off this week for dinner?â
You frown. âI thought we were having lunch.â
âWell, I figured since weâre all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effortââ
âItâs fine, mom,â You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, âI can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?â
âItâs this Friday and Saturday.â
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.Â
âCan I help you, maâam?âÂ
Jack.Â
Jack fucking Abbot.Â
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.Â
âIâm trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Donât tell me youâre security.â
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says âDOCTORâ on it, so your momâs just being bitchy. Figures.Â
Jackâs hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.Â
âIâm Dr. Abbot,â He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, âIâm an attending here at the ED.â
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.Â
âYou work with my daughter?â
âYes maâam. Sheâs the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.â
Your lips twitch at his words. Heâs joking. Testing your motherâ youâre the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, sheâll pick up on his joke.Â
She doesnât. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.Â
âWell thatâs good to hear. Weâre very proud of her.â
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.Â
âIf youâll excuse us, I need her working on patients.â
âOh yes, of course,â Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. âI didnât realize she was so important and busy here.â
You would if youâd ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.Â
Jackâs thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.Â
âIâll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?â
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.Â
âNo rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.â
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your momâs turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.Â
The second the doors close behind you and youâre enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.Â
âI,â You start, âAm so sorry. I never thought sheâd show up here, I got the flight times mixed upââ
âHey,â Jackâs voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, âNone of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.â
âI know. I know. Still, Iâm sorry. She can be⌠difficult.â
He snorts. âUnderstatement of the year. But seriously. Donât worry about it. If I didnât want to get involved with her, I wouldnât have swooped in there.â
You huff a laugh. âMy hero. Iâm pretty sure if youâd introduced yourself as my boyfriend she wouldâve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.â
âAre those desired outcomes?â
âMostly.â
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. âMight be worth a shot, then.â
Itâs a very well kept secret that youâve harbored an embarrassing, âthink about him while youâre falling asleep at nightâ crush on Jack.Â
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
âYeah, right,â You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jackâs gaze is too intense, âCould even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.â
âYou could.â
âWipe out my entire family?â
âTake me to dinner with you.â
Jackâs body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. Thereâs no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like heâs serious.Â
âAre you joking?â
He canât really be serious. Heâs probably just fucking with you. He wouldnât actuallyâ
âNo.â
You run a hand over your hair. âYeah, sure, laugh it up, hahaââ
âIâll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.â
What. The. Fuck.Â
âNo.â You gape, incredulous.Â
âNo?â He raises an eyebrow.Â
âNo, I meanâ fuck. Dr. Abbotââ
âJack.âÂ
You purse your lips. âJack. You canât just⌠pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.â
âWhy not?â
âWhy not?â You sputter, âFor one, we hardly know each otherââ
âYouâve been working here for three months. Weâre hardly strangers.â
âYouâre my boss, your way older than me, youâreââ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like âyouâre ridiculously fucking hot and I havenât washed my socks in monthsâ, âIt wouldnât even be believable. How would we even have met?â
âIn the ED, obviously.â
âHow long have we been together?â
âMonth and a half.â
âWhy are we even dating?â
âBecause youâre a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.â
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.Â
âHave you⌠thought about this?âÂ
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. âWould it work?â
âAre you rich?âÂ
Thereâs that devilish, pants dropping smile.Â
âIâm a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. Iâm comfortable.â
You worry your lip between your teeth. âI still canât⌠I appreciate the offer, but I canât subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.â
âBut you do?â
âTheyâre my family.âÂ
Jack doesnât respond, but he doesnât move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isnât coding somewhere.Â
You sigh. âWhy would you even offer, anyway?âÂ
âYou need help, and Iâm in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesnât involve people dying or getting shot at.â
âSo you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?â
âBeats drinking beer in the park.â
You canât say yes. Itâs crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.Â
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldnât be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.Â
âSo. Weâve been dating for a month and a half?â
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. âI asked you out, of course.â
âFlowers?â
âNaturally.â
âYou pay?âÂ
âFor every meal.â
âWhatâs my favorite color?â
âNavy blue. Mine?âÂ
You roll your eyes. âBlack. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?â
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.Â
âWill she really be that upset about it?â
âProbably not, but sheâll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but heâs easier to placate than my mom is.â
Jack hums thoughtfully. âWhenâs the lunch today?â
âTwelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.â
âHow about this,â He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, âLets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and Iâll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?â
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.Â
âDeal.â
â
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.Â
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, heâs as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.Â
Youâre standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just donât want to fucking go.Â
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.Â
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, heâs here and youâre not ready, god heâs going to be so upset you have to make him wait itâs so rudeâ
âHi!â You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. Itâs a thin line between the two, âIâm almost ready, Iâm so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I wonât take too long to finish up. Sorry.â
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old methodâ hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.Â
âWoah, easy girl. Nobodyâs mad at you. We have time, remember?â
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.Â
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. âI know, but that was so weâd have time to plan and itâs rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I canât get my makeup to look rightââ
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause heâs just standing in the hallway and youâre rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why canât your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
âFirst of all,â Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, âYou look beautiful.â
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what heâs doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?Â
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. Itâs your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.Â
âSecondly, we donât have to do this if you donât want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, Iâll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.â
You crack a wobbly smile. âNot even to Nurse Evans?â
âSheâd probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.âÂ
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. âI couldnât even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one thereâll be hell to pay.â
âYou could swap me with someone else?â
âDo you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?â
âTouchĂŠ.âÂ
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.Â
âIâm sorry. Iâm not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.â
âI ainât judging, sweetheart,â Jack soothes, âBesides. Weâre ER doctors. Weâre all a little neurotic.â
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity youâre trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.Â
âIâll just. Finish up. Sorry again.â
âIâm gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorryâs. Youâre gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.â
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesnât critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.Â
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.Â
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. âDo you want a shot, Jack?â
âYouâre aware that Iâm fifty?â
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
âJust thought Iâd offer,â You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, âSometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.â
Heâs leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. âIt was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. Iâm more of a whiskey man, anyways.â
âIâll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.â
Jack raises an eyebrow. âYou act like weâre going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.â
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. âSorry. I just donât want you to be unprepared, because theyâre not always bad but when theyâre bad theyâre bad, you know? And I just donât want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just donâtââ
âDo you always ramble when youâre worried?â Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
âUm. No? I donât know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.â
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.Â
âWe got this, okay? Iâm not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, Iâll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and weâre being called in.â
âWonât my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?â
Jack shrugs. âItâs the city. Something horrible is always happening here.â
He holds the front door open for you when youâve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as youâre sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.Â
âYou smell good.âÂ
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.Â
âOh,â You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, âUhâ Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.â
âItâs nice. Suits you.âÂ
You manage to squeak out another awkward âThanksâ before hastily locking the door, hoping he canât tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.Â
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.Â
(âWhat should I say if she asks if weâve slept together?â
âDo you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?â
âFair point.â)
By the time you arrive, youâve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. Itâs one of the hottest things youâve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldnât be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.Â
At least, thatâs what he says.Â
âI want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. Iâll meet you there.â
You canât help but smile at his efforts. âAnd what will you be doing while Iâm sneaking out?â
âSinging your praises, of course.â
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you âIn case theyâre still watching,â) and loop your arm through Jackâs, you feel⌠almost capable.Â
The lunch is going to suck. Thatâs a given. But Jack assured you heâs seen worse (âProbably done worse, sweetheart,â) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid âand fucking huge, how are his biceps that bigâ under your arm, and his presence is steadying.Â
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried youâd be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but thereâs no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.Â
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.Â
Youâve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:Â
âYouâve got this, baby. And if you donât, I do.â
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.Â
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jackâs grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how⌠possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.Â
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. âHoney, weâve talked about you being on time to these things. You canât be late to important familyââ
You watch in real time as your motherâs gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.Â
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isnât going down too well.Â
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.Â
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.Â
âI believe weâve met before, but Iâll introduce myself again. Iâm Dr. Jack Abbot.â
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like youâve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she canât afford in the first place.Â
âYouâre my daughterâs plus one?â
Jack nods. âHer boyfriend, yes.â
Your brotherâs gape. Your dadâs glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.Â
âHoney,â Your mother says, gaze darting to you, âYou didnât sayââ
âI didnât want you to meet him at the hospital,â You tell her, hoping the lie doesnât come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, âThe lobby of the hospital isnât the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.â
Your mother purses her lips. âWhy the last minute addition? If youâd told me that he was coming before today, it wouldâve been easier to make the reservation.â
Jack is quicker to respond than you. âThatâs my fault, actually. I didnât think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.â
You have to try hard not to smile at Jackâs not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.Â
âYes, well. My daughter doesnât always stress the importance of these things.âÂ
Jackâs grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your motherâs gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. âIâm starving.â
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.Â
âHowâd I do?â
You elbow him in the side. âWeâll discuss your performance after this is over.â
âLooking forward to it.âÂ
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your moneyâs on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.Â
To his credit, Jack doesnât cause a scene, but he doesnât back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:Â
âDo you really wanna do this right now?â
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.Â
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you donât bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. Heâs never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew theyâd ask and appropriately prepared him for.Â
âSo. Dr. Abbotââ
âJust Jack is fine.â
ââHow long have the two of you been dating?â
âA month and a half.â
âWhyâd you start dating?â
You take a generous gulp of your wine.Â
âBecause your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.â
âDo you think sheâs pretty?â One of your brothers chimes in.Â
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. âIâd have to be blind and stupid if I didnât.â
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.Â
Thatâs going in the mental folder.Â
âHave you always wanted to be a doctor?â
âPretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.â
âWhyâd you leave?âÂ
âHonorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.â
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.Â
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the âgot a limb chopped offâ bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before weâre in the clear.Â
âMr. Abbotââ
âEither Doctor or Jack works.âÂ
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.Â
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. Youâve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.Â
But Jack isnât his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.Â
This no doubt infuriates your father. Heâs always hated it when he couldnât tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.Â
âJack,â Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, âYouâre a smart man, yeah? Havenât you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?âÂ
Yikes. Questioning Jackâs competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. Itâs really hot.Â
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.Â
âWar doesnât really lend to longevity. Iâve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.âÂ
For a moment, it doesnât feel fake. Thereâs raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.Â
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, heâs passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesnât bring up any argument-starting topics, doesnât rise to bait when itâs thrown his way.Â
Heâs perfect.Â
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesnât even look.Â
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your fatherâs attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. Itâs probably the third time sheâs actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since itâs positive, youâll let it slide.Â
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jackâs hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and youâre being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.Â
âWow,â You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. âI think thatâs the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. Youâre really good at this.â
Jack doesnât respond though. Doesnât make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and heâs staring straight ahead.Â
âJack?âÂ
âThey didnât even talk to you.â
You blink.Â
âWhat?â
âYour family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didnât even ask you any questions.â
You snort. âTrust me, itâs better that way.â
He hasnât started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He canât be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
âYou ordered a salad.â He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.Â
âSo? It wasnât too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I wouldâve looked at something cheaper, I donât know why salads are so expensiveââ
âPlease donât apologize for ordering a salad,â Jack says, voice pained, âEspecially because I know you hate salads.â
Oh.Â
âHow do you know that?â
âI overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.â
Your cheeks heat. âI never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.â
âYou hardly ate anything during lunch.â
âMy family tends to have that effect on my appetite.â
Jack does not look placated. He doesnât take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.Â
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
ââŚMel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?âÂ
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(Itâs not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
âOf course I remember.âÂ
There isnât much to say after that. Youâre not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error youâve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that youâre still present.Â
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesnât.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesnât look at your phone.Â
Jack just keeps looking at you.Â
Heâll look over, eyes darting over your face like heâs looking for something, and then heâll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.Â
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.Â
âYouâre so much more than them.âÂ
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.Â
âWhat?â
âYour family,â Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part âYour parents. I hated watching you⌠disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.âÂ
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.Â
âListen,â You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, âThank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shiftsââ
âNo.â
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.Â
An old habit.Â
Something flashes across his face âgone before you can decipher itâ and he noticeably forces himself calmer. Â
âI wouldnât be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.âÂ
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. âI really canât ask you toââ
âItâs a good thing youâre not asking me then.âÂ
âJackââ
âPlease.â
Youâre stunned silent at the rawness in his toneâ the pain.Â
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.Â
âI donât know how you do it,â He continues, jaw working, âI can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.â
You shrug uselessly. âIs there another option?âÂ
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes heâd followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you thatâs made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.Â
âIâll walk you to your door.âÂ
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. Thereâs no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.Â
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where youâre getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.Â
(As an ED resident, youâve seen child abuse cases. Youâve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes. Â
You know your family isnât great. But there arenât any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you havenât done something wrong, but you feel like you have because heâs upset so maybe you can make it better?Â
âYou have that look on your face.â
You frown. âWhat look?âÂ
âThe âIâm gonna apologize for something stupidâ look.â
âI wasnât going to.â
âYou were thinking about it,â Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, âHey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.âÂ
âItâs freaky when you do that.â
âDo what?â
âYou always know what Iâm thinking.â
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.Â
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: âWhy are you upset?âÂ
âBecause your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I canât.âÂ
âOh.âÂ
Itâs not that bad. It canât be that bad. Youâve seen bad. This isnât it. Itâs hard, but itâs not bad.Â
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.Â
Jack nods towards your door. âWe can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.â
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.Â
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your âquickly approachingâ shift, you linger.Â
âHow am I supposed to repay you for all of this?âÂ
The question thatâs been burning a hole in your pocket since he said Iâll do it.Â
He just shakes his head. Like itâs simple. Easy. âThis isnât something I want repayment for. Now go. Youâre no good to me as a zombie.âÂ
âIâll just have some of Shenâs Dunkin.â
âHe doesnât share that shit. Besides, heâs off tomorrow.â
âMaybe Iâllââ
âSleep,â He points at your door, âNow.âÂ
You smile at his insistence. Heâs sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.Â
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.Â
âGoodnight.â
He gives you a little smile of his own.Â
âGoodnight.â
â
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesnât talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, heâs going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he wonât be around to take care of you.Â
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.Â
âThis really isnât a good timeââ
âRobby,â Jack starts, âThey didnât even fucking talk to her.âÂ
âJesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.â
âThey justâŚâ Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, ââŚIgnored her. They talked over her, didnât ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.â
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robbyâs moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.Â
âShe fight back at all?â
âNo. Just⌠grinned and beared it. It was fuckinâ unsettling, man. Iâve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMTâs who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.âÂ
âChrist.â
âShe flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.â
âFuck. Do you thinkââ
âI donât know. Maybe when she was younger. They donât live in state, so if they are, sheâs safe.âÂ
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. âGod. I donât know what to do, Robby. It doesnât seem like sheâs got⌠anybody. She didnât even understand why I was upset. She doesnât get why that would be upsetting.âÂ
âSheâs friends with Mel and Santos, right?âÂ
âAnd Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. Iâve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. Sheâs just been doing everything on her own.â
Jack can picture Robby nodding. âWeâve done our fair share of that.â
âYeah, and look where that got us. I canât just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.âÂ
âThat bad?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.Â
âSheâs always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, weâre all fucked up, but watching it happenâŚâ
âItâs different.âÂ
âYou could say that,â Jack sighs, âShe soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.â
âYou lost me on that last one.âÂ
âIt doesnât⌠Sheâs not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.âÂ
âIs there a difference?â
âThere is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.â
âAre you sure you want to get involved?â
âBit late for that.â
âYou could pull back.â
âFuck no, I canât. Then Iâd be kicking the puppy.â
âShe is a grown woman.â
âWho happens to look like a kicked puppy.â
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.Â
âYou finally realize how ridiculous you sound?â
Jack grunts. âIâm not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.â
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. âThatâs an answer in it of itself, and you know that.âÂ
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.Â
âI donât know, Robby. Itâs justâŚâ
âWorse than you expected?â
âYeah.â
âCome on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?â
âFuck no.â
âExactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and heâs only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. Iâm not a betting man, but if I were, Iâd bet money that heâs moved onto his third during this conversation.âÂ
âI save lives too.â
âYou wonât save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.â
âI would never fall asleep behind the wheel.â
âThatâs what they all say.âÂ
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.Â
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he canât stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he wonât be able to let it go.
â
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jackâs car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.Â
Itâs jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if youâre being honest.Â
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, youâre convinced youâve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:Â
âDid you and Jack go on a date yesterday?âÂ
And:Â
âWhatâs Jack like on a date?âÂ
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you donât answer it or any of itâs variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
Youâre not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. Thatâs conveniently nowhere near him.Â
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, whoâs pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you sheâs there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and heâs never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.Â
(ââŚI like layering scents.â
âItâs nice. Suits you.â)
Itâs all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but itâs oddly difficult. Youâve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, itâs the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you wonât access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled âFor: Jack Abbotâ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.Â
But you canât. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, thereâs a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.Â
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.Â
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesnât require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack wouldâve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isnât the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So itâs something else.Â
Itâs how they treat you.Â
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, youâd also probably be upset too.Â
But this feels different. Jackâs reaction is different. Jack is different.Â
Itâs just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You donât even live in the same state anymore. Itâs not a big deal.Â
âWhy are you hiding from me in a supply closet?âÂ
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
âIâm not hiding from you.â
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. âThis is the third time youâve been here in two hours.â
âSo? I just want to be⌠on top of things. Iâm a productive person.âÂ
âYou are,â He amends, âBut all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.â
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. âThings are just⌠weird, okay? I donât know how youâre being so normal about all this?â
He raises an eyebrow. âNormal how?â
âYou seemed pretty upset yesterday. Youâre acting like nothingâs changed, butââ
âNothing has changed.â
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.Â
You canât exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you canât quite bring yourself to agree eitherâ because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers youâve had in years isn't just nothing.Â
Itâs everything. And you, for one, canât just pretend that it didnât happen.Â
âHey,â He calls your name softly, âWhatâs on your mind? Whatâs bugging you?âÂ
âNothing.â
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so itâs just the two of you alone. âLiar.â
He doesnât probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like theyâre looking for an answer. An answer youâre too hesitant to give.Â
âIâm just worried.âÂ
âYou? Worried? No.âÂ
You cut him a glare, âThereâs a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.â
âSure,â Jack dips his head, âBut thatâs not what youâre really worried about.â
âAnd how do you know that?â
âBecause that doesnât address the fact that youâre avoiding me.â
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.Â
âWhy do you care?âÂ
The question thatâs been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just canât seem to get rid of. The puzzle you canât figure out; the tune you canât place.Â
Youâre a logic driven person. You like knowing how things worksâ why they work. Why things do the things they do.Â
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.Â
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.Â
âWhy do I care about what?â
âThis,â You gesture vaguely to the air, âMe. I donât buy that you just didnât have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People donât just⌠do that. Youâre really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, weâre just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just donât get why youâre so okay with being miserable just for my sake. Iâm not that important. These stupid lunches arenât that important.âÂ
Itâs a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man youâre harboring feelings for.Â
He doesnât respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isnât taking so much weight.Â
âYou are important. Youâre important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not âruining my week.â If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.â
âBut why?âÂ
âJesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didnât you?âÂ
You snort. âGuilty as charged.âÂ
Now itâs his turn to sigh.Â
âYou⌠seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.â
You frown. âIt is.âÂ
âIt isnât. At least it shouldnât be, but I donât think anyone ever told you that.âÂ
You scoff. âSo this is about my family.âÂ
He shrugs. âAmongst other things.â
âTheyâre not that bad.â
âThey are.âÂ
âOther people have it worse.â
âItâs not a competition.âÂ
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. âWhy is this such a big deal to you?âÂ
âBecause itâs a big deal to you.âÂ
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, youâre convinced theyâd all be looking at you.Â
Itâs Jack who speaks first though.Â
âI can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when itâs hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. Youâre selfless and kind and I donât think very many people give that back to you.âÂ
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you âsmile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, thereâs nothing to cry about.â It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you donât know what else to do. Thereâs no pre-written protocol for something like this.
âI still donât really get it.â You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. âWeâll work on it.âÂ
âWe will?âÂ
âSure,â He shrugs, âAlready started anyways.âÂ
âIf youâre sure.âÂ
âIâm sure,â He opens the door, âNow get back out there. And bring the gloves too.â
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where youâd left it and following him out.Â
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesnât hover, but doesnât pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesnât bother him.Â
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because itâs something heâs doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiverâ something that hit the nail right on the head.Â
âHey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.âÂ
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry youâre feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. Itâs great but itâs also difficult, because thereâs a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then thereâs the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that youâre completely capable of doing things yourself.Â
That probably wouldnât even work. Heâd just say something infuriating and sexy, like âI know, but I want to do this for you.âÂ
He would. He totally would.Â
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.Â
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
â
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in⌠years.Â
The lunches are fine, but the part youâve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. Heâll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.Â
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jackâs never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but youâre never allowed to order anything that isnât a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since youâre the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.Â
Itâs as frustrating as it is hot.Â
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty goodâ as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jackâs presence is⌠steadying, even when heâs not physically there. Heâs always present in some wayâ whether itâs little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you werenât previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what youâll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes heâs there in your head; in little things heâs told or taught you that you remember in the moment.Â
Itâs nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke withâ someone who hasnât looked down on you for the the way you turned out.Â
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.Â
At least, two peach bellinis in, thatâs what it feels like.Â
âHonestly,â Your mother puffs, âI donât understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.âÂ
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.Â
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.Â
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.Â
âI have the next three days off, mom. Weâll be able to do dinners instead.â
Your mother, however, only scoffs. âThatâs no good to anyone now. Weâve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."Â
âIâm a doctor, mom. It doesnât get more respectable than that.âÂ
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.Â
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.Â
âYou work in the emergency department, dear. Thatâs hardly stable, and stable is respectable,â Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, âNo offense, Jack.âÂ
He smiles thinly. âNone taken.âÂ
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.Â
So you keep drinking your belliniâs and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.Â
âHave you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?âÂ
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. Thatâs a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.Â
âI have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. Iâve moved on.âÂ
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. âYou could teach her a thing or two about moving on.âÂ
Your blood runs cold.Â
Jack sets his glass down. âAnd what do you mean by that?â
Itâs your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasnât enough.Â
âIâm surprised she hasnât told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. Sheâs had exactly one boyfriend before youâ what was his name honey?â
âChristopher,â You answer hollowly, stomach churning.Â
Your dad snaps his fingers. âThatâs it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a partyâ finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!â
Your family laughs, but Jack doesnât.Â
âWhereâs the funny part, in all this?â
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. âWhen she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.âÂ
Your dad nods in agreement. âWe had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.â
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.Â
âHe cheated on me with my best friend.âÂ
At that, your mother frowns. âThatâs not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didnât know you were still together.âÂ
âI wasnât distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.âÂ
Your brother rolls his eyes. âMed school was all you talked about. Itâs not like you were putting out.â
Your mother snaps her fingers once. âThat is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.âÂ
âCome on, mom. Itâs true. Everyone knowsââ
âSorry to interrupt,â Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, âBut the hospital just texted. Thereâs an emergency, and weâre needed, so we have to go.âÂ
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.Â
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and youâre sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) youâre both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.Â
By the time you get to the car, you realize that youâre about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.Â
âJack,â You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, âI think Iâm too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?âÂ
âThere is no emergency,â He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, âI made it up. I figured youâd be okay with ducking out of there.âÂ
âOh. That was nice of you.âÂ
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. âTold you I would handle things.â
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. âI hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where itâs okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didnât even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didnât fuck up my score.âÂ
âThatâs my girl.âÂ
âChristopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. Iâm so glad I donât live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause theyâre my family, but everything is just so much easier when theyâre not around.âÂ
âYouâre allowed to hate them, you know.âÂ
âI know,â You say, fiddling with a hangnail. âI know I probably should.âÂ
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. âI always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day theyâll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know itâs stupid.â
âItâs not stupid.âÂ
You frown. âItâs not? It kinda seems stupid. Youâd think by now I would know better.âÂ
âNo,â Jack eases the car out of the parking space, âWeâre biologically wired to love our families. Itâs the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain canât compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just⌠donât. Not in any of the right ways.âÂ
You blow air through your lips. âI think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.â
Shit, that sounds so whiny. âBut it turns out it wasnât so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and Iâm pretty sure Iâm friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. Sheâs cool.âÂ
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light youâre currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his faceâ a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. Itâs the only evidence that heâs not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isnât illuminated the same.Â
âAnd what about me?âÂ
Oh. Well. Thatâs a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. âI donât know what to think about you.âÂ
âOh really?âÂ
âMmm. Nope.âÂ
âHow come?âÂ
"You're soââ You gesture vaguely, âConfusing. I canât figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think Iâm wrong.âÂ
âYou think youâre wrong?â
âStill canât figure you out.âÂ
âAnd how can I show you that I mean it?âÂ
Thatâs. Hmm.
âI donât know. I think what youâre doing is working,â You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding youâre too tired to care, âIt helps that youâre really hot.âÂ
His lips twitch. âOh, does it now?âÂ
âMhm. Youâve got this whole⌠capable thing about you. Itâs hot. Competency is in.â
âIf you say so.âÂ
âI do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. Youâre soâŚâ
âCompetent?âÂ
âThatâs the word.â
If heâs at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didnât show it.Â
âYou should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.âÂ
âAre you like Bob the Builder?â
âIâm a doctor, so no.âÂ
âYouâre kind of like Bob the Builder.âÂ
âWhatever you say,â He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, âBefore I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didnât even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.â
âAre you gonna be mad at me if I say no?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
âThen yes.âÂ
âYou sure? I wasnât lying.âÂ
âI know. But I like your cooking.â
You spend the drive to Jackâs continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. âFor any alcohol excursions.âÂ
Itâs freaky how prepared he is for every situation.Â
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when youâve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.Â
His gigantic apartment.Â
âWoah,â You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, âI didnât know they made apartments this size.âÂ
âIts not that big.âÂ
âI think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.âÂ
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and heâs immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when youâre sober.Â
âOne, itâs not that big, and two, thatâs what you get for renting a studio apartment.â
âLike you could afford better when you were an intern.âÂ
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. âIf you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.â
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
âOnly if you donât mind.âÂ
âI wouldn't have offered if I wasnât. Stay there.âÂ
Jackâs only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. âYou can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. Iâm gonna change too, and then Iâll heat up the food.âÂ
Jack shows you the bathroom (you donât bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, thatâs for when youâre significantly more drunk than you are now and when youâre not in his fancy-ass apartment.)Â
Because heâs a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, heâs already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and heâs a man. Theyâre an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.Â
âWhat are you doing?â Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.Â
âLooking at the sparkles.âÂ
âOookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?â
âYou made vodka pasta?âÂ
He shrugs. âYou said you liked it.âÂ
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. âThe pasta, please.âÂ
Suddenly exhausted now that youâre in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But youâre not going to fall asleep. Youâre not.Â
âDonât fall asleep. You need to eat something first.âÂ
âMâ not fallinâ asleep.âÂ
âMhm. Sure.âÂ
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
âWhatâreâyouâ making?â
âJust a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.âÂ
âOh. How come?âÂ
âBecause I donât want you to throw up.âÂ
âI promise I wonât throw up on your furniture. I donât usually throw up when Iâm hungover.âÂ
âYou drink often?âÂ
âNo,â Your head lulls to the side, âIâm too busy. Iâm actually not-so-secretly very boring. I donât really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.âÂ
âThought you went to that thing with King and Santos?âÂ
âYeah, but that was âcause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didnât want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.âÂ
âI see.âÂ
âYeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.â
âReally?âÂ
âYeah,â You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, âMakes me feel better when youâre around.âÂ
âIâll keep that in mind.âÂ
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.Â
âSorry I couldnât finish it,â You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, âI feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.âÂ
âIt wasnât that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. Iâll send it home with you.âÂ
âMhm.â You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.Â
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.Â
âCome on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, donât you?â
âNo,â You shake your head, âI wanna sleep right here. Itâs comfortable.â
âIt wonât be when you wake up.â
You whine, curling away from him.Â
He just puffs another little laugh. âYou can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You canât sleep on the kitchen island.â
âWhy not?â You finally lift your head, âAnd why is your bed an option?â
âOne,â He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, âBecause the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, Iâm not letting you sleep on the couch.â
âWhy? Is your couch uncomfortable?â
âNo,â He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, âItâs just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.â
âI like sleeping on couches.â
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, âIâm sure you do. But youâre still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.âÂ
You prop your head on your hand. âWho said Iâm even staying here tonight?â
Jack closes the fridge. âDo you want to? Because I donât care either way. We both have tomorrow off.â
âItâd be weird to wake up here.â
âWhy?â
âBecause youâre my boss.â
âAnd Iâm faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure weâre past coworkers.âÂ
âWhat would we even do in the morning?âÂ
âSleep.â
âI donât want to kick you out of your bed. Iâll sleep on the couch.âÂ
âYouâre my guestââÂ
âYouâre already doing so much for me,â You blurt, stomach clenching, âIâ You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?âÂ
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.Â
âOnly because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isnât uncomfortable. Iâll help you make it up.âÂ
Jackâs apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopherâs room at his parentâs house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucketâ âJust in case those belliniâs donât love you back.âÂ
The sight of it all is almost too much. Itâs just so much care. All of it. The fact that heâs helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasnât judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets andâ
âYou okay there?âÂ
âMhm,â You hum, âJust thinkinâ.âÂ
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jackâs middle and burying your face in his chest.Â
âThank you,â You say, voice muffled by the fabric, âFor doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.âÂ
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact âa line you were previously too scared to crossâ but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because youâre never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.Â
Jackâs hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.Â
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
âI will always,â He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, âLook out for you, baby. Iâm always gonna be right here.â
His arms tighten around you, drawing you inâ closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you canât help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.Â
âYou smell good.â You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.Â
âDo I?â
âYeah. Good. Like man.âÂ
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. âThank you sweetheart.âÂ
âWhy do you call me sweetheart?âÂ
âBecause youâre a sweetheart.âÂ
âI am?âÂ
âDonât play dumb now,â He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so youâre forced to look at him, âYou know you are.âÂ
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, âI donât know. I was just making sure.âÂ
âMhm.â He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jackâs eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.Â
Itâs possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.Â
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.Â
âOkay,â He huffs, taking a step back, âTime for bed. Get going.âÂ
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.Â
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.Â
He waits until youâve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to âWake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.â Itâs a very Jack thing to say.Â
Youâre out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.Â
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.Â
â
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you thatâs sheâs sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesnât want to unless youâre ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, itâs time for the next annual lunch circuit.Â
Youâre a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. âSo it can feel like a real family dinner.â While you know that there isnât any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way youâre cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.Â
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then heâd gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that youâre having dinner at his place.Â
âJack,â Youâd gaped at him, âItâs fine. My apartment isnât that small, and you donât have to help move the furniture if you donât want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really donât think you want to host my family.âÂ
âSweetheart, itâs just logic. Youâve seen my place.â
âOkay. No need to rub it in.âÂ
Heâd just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. âCome on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.âÂ
âDo you have a death wish?â You hiss, âThatâs asking for torture.âÂ
Jack had just shrugged. âWould having it at my place be easier for you?âÂ
â...Yes?âÂ
âThen weâll do it there. Youâre off in a bit, right?âÂ
Youâd nodded.Â
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. âThatâs my spare key. Iâll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. Iâll be home soon.âÂ
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.Â
The line between real and fake has become so blurred youâre not sure if it ever was there to begin with.Â
Heâs started calling you sweetheart more and more oftenâ sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie youâre selling. Is it still a lie if it doesnât feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you canât help but pace the length of Jackâs kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (âIâm not wearing slacks in my own home, and Iâm not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.â) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.Â
âTake your shoes off if youâre going to pace. Youâre gonna give yourself blisters.âÂ
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.Â
âThings have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think sheâs just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that sheâs upset about?â
Jack begins preparing the wine âyour mother only likes redâ for decanting. âI think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldnât be able to hide it.âÂ
âTrue. But what if?â
âIâm not going to help you spiral.âÂ
âWhy not?â You whine.Â
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. âShoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.âÂ
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.Â
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.Â
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.Â
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyoneâs flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.Â
Pretty soon itâs all just⌠over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesnât matter, and then itâs just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.Â
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
Youâve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom. Â
âWhy donât you go and change, huh?â
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. âBut I want to help you clean up.âÂ
âYou can,â He soothes, âAfter you change.â
âButââ
âHey,â He interrupts, âNo. Youâve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. Iâll wait for you.âÂ
Jack keeps his word. Heâs leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your ânow bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with youâ face.Â
He looks up when the door opens. âBetter?âÂ
âYeah. Thanks.âÂ
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesnât push for conversation.Â
Cleaning up doesnât take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesnât want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there arenât any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.Â
It canât just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
âSo,â You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, âThatâs it then.âÂ
âSo it is.âÂ
âGuess I owe you big time, huh?âÂ
âIâve already told you I donât care about that.âÂ
âRight,â You look down at your lap, âYeah. Sorry.âÂ
You lapse into silence.Â
Jack sighs. âSweetheartââ
âWas it fake to you?â You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, âWere youâ did you mean it?â
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.Â
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping thereâs answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, heâs grinning.Â
âWhat do you think?âÂ
âI donât know.âÂ
He dips his head once. âYes you do. Youâre a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.âÂ
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like youâre liable to somehow float away if you donât dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.Â
âWhat if Iâm wrong?âÂ
âYou wonât be.â
A scoff escapes your lips, âYou canât know for sure.âÂ
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.Â
âYou do.âÂ
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jackâs gaze on you.Â
âI thinkâŚâ You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, âI think you might like me.âÂ
âYou think,â He drawls, âI might.âÂ
âI donât want to be wrong!â You cry.Â
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.Â
âCome here.âÂ
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain youâd walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.Â
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
âSoo,â You start, still hesitant, âYou do like me.âÂ
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something youâre starting to recognize as fond. âYes.â
âMore than a little?âÂ
âYes.âÂ
âAnd you werenât faking anything. You were serious about theâ You know.âÂ
âUse your words.âÂ
âThe flirting.â You clarify, ears burning.Â
âAll correct,â He nods, âThough I would have said it differently.âÂ
You frown. âAnd how would you have put it?âÂ
âI would have said,â He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, âThat you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.âÂ
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.Â
You frown.Â
Wait.Â
âHave you known I liked you this whole time?âÂ
Jack snorts. âOverheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.â
Heâs known since the second week?
âOh my god.âÂ
âDonât worry, I didnât tell anyone. Except Robby. Heâs been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.â
âOh my god.â
âI thought it was cute,â He smoothes a hand over your hair, âYou were so much more nervous back then. Youâve come a long way.âÂ
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jackâs having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.Â
âCan you take a compliment?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. âWeâll try again later.âÂ
âAm Iâ Can I stay here tonight then?âÂ
âOf course,â he murmurs, âMy one condition is that youâre not sleeping on the couch.â
âFine,â You sigh, long and drawn out, âI suppose we can share.âÂ
âHow kind of you to share my bed with me.âÂ
âI have been told Iâm kind.âÂ
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.Â
Itâs just like your dream.Â
Only this time, itâs real. And Jack is kissing you back.Â
And youâre not alone anymore.Â

















