Perpetual Uncertainty

Even once you started dating, it wasn't something that occurred to him. Baz's words that one night had done too much damage.

Even after you'd brought it up while still dating, the possibility of kids one day, asked him if he'd ever want kids and said you would too but they weren't a deal breaker after he said yes, it still wasn't something that felt real or like it would ever happen. You'd realize eventually that he wasn't father material.

And even when you brought it up again when you were engaged, even after you were married, even after all the times it would randomly pop up in conversations or you'd make a passing comment or look at baby clothes, Andrew never thought it would really happen. That one day he'd really be sitting in the waiting room of an OBGYN with you waiting to go see the baby you made together.

But here he is. In the waiting room of your OBGYN with you. Waiting to go see the baby you made together for the first time.

It's been five days since you told Andrew you were pregnant. Your OB's office was able to fit you in for an appointment and dating ultrasound quickly between the gap from Christmas to New Year's Eve. As you thought might happen, you started to get more symptomatic with every passing day it seems. You're at the point where the first trimester exhaustion has hit full force, as has the morning sickness, though it doesn't stick to the morning for you. It kills Andrew to see you sick and be able to do nothing about it or to help other than be there for you and try every food possible to find what you can keep down.

You squeeze Andrew's hand tightly to try and help bring him down a little. His leg closest to you bounces with anxiety and his jaw is set as tensely as you've ever seen it, brows furrowed so that little wrinkle he gets between them is visible. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his jaw as you shift in your seat so that you can bring your other hand across your body and rest it on his leg to help soothe him, not necessarily to get him to stop bouncing it.

"Hey," you murmur, nuzzling your nose against his cheek. "Everything's going to be okay, no matter what and no matter how long it takes for it all to feel okay again."

He licks his lips and sighs, looks over at you, his leg stilling. "No, I know." Andrew lets out a long breath through his nose. "I just…" Know way too much and see it all happening to you and them.

After you told him you were pregnant that night on the beach, Andrew had read everything, probably way too much. Books were ordered and read, websites scoured for all the information he could possibly find. He knows everything he needs to, what your body is going through, how the baby is developing, how he can help best, what to look out for. But he also knows way too much about what could go wrong for you and baby, has realized just how dangerous pregnancy and labor and delivery are.

"I know, Handsome." You give him a soft kiss on the lips and are pulling away when your name is called.

Andrew stands at the head of the patient bed you're laying almost all the way back on and holds your hand tightly in his near your chest as your doctor adjusts the transvaginal wand inside of you a little. Because it's a dating scan your doctor decided to just do the ultrasound herself.

You know it's coming, know what you're about to see, but neither you nor Andrew are prepared when the tiny gummy bear looking image that's currently your baby finally comes into view on the screen.

Both of you are breathless, speechless and teary eyed as you try to process what you're seeing.

"Andrew," you whisper, unable to come up with more at the moment.

"I love you," he whispers back, overwhelmed by just how much he loves you and this baby. "Thank you." He leans in and kisses your cheek, kisses your lips when you turn your head to look at him. That kiss and seeing each other is what you both need for your tears to finally fall, both of you breathing laughs of disbelief with smiles that match the ones you wore when you got married. "Thank you for them, for doing this. I love you."

"I love you too," you sniffle, give Andrew a watery smile when he wipes away your tears with his free hand.

You and Andrew look back at the screen, watch in awe as your doctor takes various measurements of your baby. Your baby.

"Well, based on the date of your last period and baby's size, I'd say you're eight weeks and two days," your doctor tells you. You were a little off in your calculation then, but not by much. "That little flicker is their heart. It’s strong, right where it should be."

Andrew knows he would've picked up on your doctor's body language immediately and can read that it's nothing but happiness for the two of you but he has to ask anyway. "They're okay?"

She nods at him with a smile. "They're perfect. Seem pretty happy and cozy in there." Before Andrew can even ask she continues. "And everything appears to look good for mom too. I'm going to order some blood work just to check and get some baselines, but I have no reason to believe anything concerning will pop up."

You hear the small sigh of relief Andrew lets out at her words and it makes your entire body feel warm and your heart ache. He loves you so much, cares about you so fucking much you don't know what to do with yourself. 

Your doctor moves her hand over the keyboard of the ultrasound machine again. "There's one more thing."

Nothing on the screen moves leaving you and Andrew confused for a moment until the sound fills the room. The sound of your baby's heart, strong and rhythmic, as it beats away perfectly in your womb.

"Oh my god," you whisper in disbelief. You knew you were pregnant and that by now their heart was beating inside of you, but hearing it and seeing it is something else. Your brain almost melts in a way. How you got lucky enough to have this life, to have Andrew as your husband and the father to your child you'll never know or understand. You squeeze his hand, grasp onto it like your life depends on it, something that’ll ironically be repeated when you go into labor. "Andrew… Oh my god."

"That's our baby," Andrew whispers, tilting his head so that your temples are touching. Another wave of tears spills over his lash line. "And that's their heartbeat. You, you did that." His voice has never held so much awe for you.

"Yeah," you breathe, the happiest disbelief in your voice. It's so much more real now that you're seeing them, hearing their heart. "That's our baby. That's them, Andrew."

"That's our baby." Andrew sniffles hard, voice as unsteady and shaky as the hand he uses to wipe your tears again and then his own. "That's our baby."

A month and a half or so after your ultrasound you and Andrew find yourselves at one of those stores that seems to have everything.

You turn to your side to ask his opinion on something and are surprised when he isn't there. You're even more confused when you look around and don't see him standing at either end of the aisle.

But you aren't confused when you walk up to one end of the aisle, turn your head and find him at the edge of the baby section, still as ever while he looks at a hanging onesie. You bite your lip at the sight and let yourself take it in and let Andrew have the moment before you start walking slowly over to him.

You've seen him looking at baby stuff, clothes and strollers and car seats and cribs before while the two of you have been out. But this is the first time you've ever seen him go over and actually touch something, look at it up close.

You never asked him why he didn't go look at it closer or invite him to do so with you because, even though he never explicitly told you so, you know Andrew well enough to know that he was afraid to look at baby things or imagine them too hard in his head because he didn't want to jinx it, didn't want to somehow provoke the universe into taking this baby away from the two of you. And you're correct.

That's the exact reason Andrew wouldn't let himself. He's too used to things turning out badly, to being what feels like cursed, especially when he manages to slip back and convince himself that he's unworthy of you and everything good in his life, that he's a terrible person who deserves nothing but the crushing feelings of grief and despair and sadness that burrow into his bones. Sometimes if he thinks about it too hard he's shocked nothing has happened to you. And now, sometimes if he thinks about it too hard, he works himself up into a panic that he's going to lose you and the baby, or that he'll lose you and have to try to figure out how to raise a child all by himself.

Andrew's not sure what it is about this onesie that makes him walk over. The more he looks at the onesie trying to pinpoint the reason, the more he realizes he simply found it cute and walked over because he finally could. His brain finally let him.

You're fourteen weeks pregnant now. Out of the first trimester. The chance of losing the baby has plummeted, though he knows it's never zero. It feels safe now. Safe to tell people and dream and imagine and buy baby clothes and think of names and a color to paint the nursery.

He's struck by how soft the fabric is when he reaches out and touches the sleeve. The onesie is sage green and has small bears all over and comes with a matching solid tan beanie with small bear ears on top. It's the second onesie he's touched since finding out you're pregnant, the first being the onesie you used to tell him. He likes the softness, wants only the softest and best for his baby, nothing that might scratch their sensitive skin and make them itchy or give them a rash.

"It's adorable." Your words don't startle him. He knew you'd find him here eventually. There's a little piece of him that feels terrible and like the worst husband and father in the world for leaving you alone even for just ninety seconds, but the store is quiet and he was just drawn to the onesie he's still holding onto. "I love the little beanie."

"It's soft," Andrew tells you in that deep, raspy rumble that comes from his chest. He doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard right now. Maybe it's because he's finally letting himself really look at baby clothes. He's not sure. He guesses in the end it doesn't really matter. "We're having a baby," he whispers, voice thick with happiness and wonder and excitement, tears stinging at the back of his eyes. He turns his head, lets out a single laugh as he beams at you. "Our baby could wear this."

"Not could. Will. Our baby will wear this." You smile and nod almost eagerly at him, grab the hanger the onesie is on because you're buying it. Of course you're fucking buying it. You're probably going online while he drives you back home and ordering every fucking size it's available in so you can see them in it as long as possible. The first onesie their daddy picked out for them. You'll undoubtedly get misty eyed and probably cry as you place the order.

"Come on." You grab Andrew's hand and lace your fingers together before tugging gently and walking into the baby section fully. He realizes he's unleashed a monster in you, a baby-shopping monster. But that's okay. Because he knows he's released the same in him. He wants to buy all of it. Your next words are such bullshit, you both know you'll be asking him to go get a cart in about three minutes. "Let's just look around."

It catches you by surprise.

That first kick you can really feel and know is a kick catches you by complete surprise one afternoon as you shuffle around the kitchen with Andrew putting away groceries. You tilt your head down slightly and take in a breathless gasp, grab the edge of the counter with one hand as your other flies down to your now noticeable bump where the kick was.

Andrew's blood runs cold in a way he's only felt a few times and only ever about you. It's way too early. Way the fuck too early. Pre-viability early. You're not even halfway through your pregnancy. You're only 19 weeks. Nothing can be happening to you or the baby. What if this is the start of a placental abruption, or, or, or…. His mind finally shuts that shit down. He just needs to know what's wrong.

He takes a step back, away from you enough that he can look down at your legs and make sure there's no blood or amniotic fluid running out of your shorts and down your legs. Relieved to see there isn’t, he steps right back up to you, one hand covering yours on the edge of the counter, the other wrapping gently around your upper arm of the hand on your bump just in case he needs to quickly move it under your shoulder to keep catch you and keep you from falling. "What's wrong?

"Nothing," you rush out, the word breathy and full of disbelief. After a few seconds you let out a small laugh and then look up at Andrew with a wide smile. "I just felt them kick." You let out another laugh and press down on your bump slightly as you look into his eyes. "I thought I might've felt a few before and thought maybe I felt them wiggling around in there, but that one, that's the first one I know is a kick." Tears of happiness flood your eyes. It seems so silly to you but you can't help it. "And that, that feeling, that's them moving around, I just know it now."

The tension melts off him, his anxiety and fear dropping back to their usual level. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod, laughing as a couple of tears escape and slide down your cheeks. "And they kicked back. When I, when I pressed down where they had kicked. They kicked there again."

Andrew smiles at you, nodding as his head spins with excitement and joy. He's speechless, lost for words. You're feeling them move. They're strong and growing and big enough now that you can feel them move. Somewhere in his brain an anxiety he didn't even realize he was holding onto fades away at this milestone being hit.

"I can feel them!" You laugh in disbelief. "Andrew, I can feel our baby." You press up on the balls of your feet and give him a quick kiss before standing normally again. "Here." Before he can respond you're grabbing his hand and putting it on your bump where they kicked. You cover his hand with yours and then press down the way you had earlier. "Can you feel them? That was them kicking. Did you feel that? I bet they'll do it again."

Andrew closes his eyes and focuses hard on his hand after you press down again. He wants to feel them so badly, but you both know, even if it’s slipping your mind at the moment, that realistically he's unlikely to with this being your first time really feeling them. It'll probably be a bit yet before he's able to feel.

"There!" you giggle, looking down at your and Andrew's hands over your bump. "Did you feel them?"

No. He didn't. He knew he almost certainly wouldn't but he can't help the disappointment that floods him. Andrew knows he needs to try to hide it as much as he can from you, knows that this is likely to end up with your tears turning to those of sadness and guilt and that's the last thing he wants.

He's not sure how to break the news to you. Andrew flutters his eyes open and watches you as you smile down at your hands. Even though he hides his disappointment well enough that nobody else in the would be able to see it, you still can.

Your smile falls instantly and Andrew starts to shake his head, both of you opening your mouths to speak.

You win the race, get your words out first.

"I'm sorry." You suddenly look truly distressed in a way that kills Andrew and your tears turn to those of sadness and guilt on a dime, exactly the way he didn't want them to. "I’m so sorry, Andrew. I just, I got excited and I should've been chiller about it and thought about how you probably wouldn't be able to feel, and, and how it would make you feel to not be able to feel them yet." There's a whine to the end of your sentence that tells him you're close to totally bursting into tears and full sobs, and he cannot have that and you getting the migraine that crying like that seems to inevitably give you recently.

"No." He continues to shake his head at you as he brings his hands to cup your face, wipes away your tears with his thumbs. "No apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. Please try not to feel guilty. It's not your fault and I want you to be excited and react that way. I want that for you. And I want it for me too, because seeing you like that is so special to me."

"But you can't feel them and it's disappointing and you're sad and I don't like when you're disappointed and sad, Andrew." Your breaths become jerky, bordering on wracked as tears stream down your face faster. "And I hate it even more when I've disappointed you and made you sad."

"You haven't made me disappointed or sad. I'm not sad. I'm a little disappointed, yeah, I'll never lie to you. But not because of you. You haven't disappointed me in any way. I promise." He leans down and kisses your forehead, tries to think of what else to say or do to get you feeling better. He doesn't want this moment ruined for you.

"I just want you to be able to feel them," you sniffle, lips quivering in the small pout they're pulled into. You're trying to believe him and let it go and stop crying and feeling this way, and in some ways the logical part of your brain has, but with the hormones it's hard to get the emotional part of your brain there. "I just want you to be able to feel them with me, Andrew."

"I know. I know you do," he tells you in that low, gravelly murmur he has, nodding at you. "And I will. And it'll be great and I'll get my own special moment just like you're getting your own special moment right now. It'll be perfect." He gently squeezes your face in his hand and smiles down at you. "Until then you'll just have to tell me what it feels like, yeah?"

"Okay." You're still pouting a little, but your tears have stopped and he can tell you're starting to feel better, that the idea of him getting his own special moment is soothing you. After a minute or so you nod at him, eyes round and pleading, the idea of a smile on your lips. "Yeah, I, I can do that."

Twelve weeks after that first ultrasound Andrew finds himself sitting in the waiting room of your OBGYN with you waiting to go see the baby you made together again.

You're twenty weeks now. Halfway through your pregnancy. Neither of you can believe it.

You look over at Andrew just like you did for that first ultrasound. He's just as anxious but it's manifesting differently. This time he's sitting up straight and statue still thinking about all of the different things he read and what this anatomy scan could potentially reveal.

"Hey," you murmur, reaching over and squeezing his thigh. "Remember what I said the first time? Everything's going to be okay, no matter what and no matter how long it takes for it all to feel okay again."

He looks at you and gives you one of those Andrew nods that's really more of a single nod that finishes with his chin down. "I know," he whispers. "I do." He swallows hard, almost like it pains him to say his next words because it does in a way, a verbal acknowledgment of one of his greatest fears right now. "I just need you and them to be okay."

"I know." You grab his hand and bring it up to your lips and press a couple of kisses to the back and over his knuckles. "And I truly think and believe we are. Call it mother's intuition."

That gets him to give you a small smile and quiet laugh through his nose. Before he can say anything else your name is called and he's standing to help you out of your seat even though you really don't need it yet, his hand on your lower back protectively as he walks with you to follow the ultrasound tech.

The anatomy scan goes well. The tech doesn't appear to see anything concerning, doesn't pause or make any faces. And when you go to meet with your doctor after, she reviews the images and videos taken and says on first impression she doesn't see anything other than a perfectly healthy baby developing right on track, but they always review everything closer and the results will be on your portal in two or three days. You also learn your blood pressure is good, the dead center of the normal range they give, and your bump is measuring perfectly.

That afternoon you fall asleep on the couch with your head in Andrew's lap. He stays there quietly for at least an hour, no TV on, not reading anything or looking at his phone, simply watching you sleep and stroking your hair and rubbing the side of your bump. He wants to memorize this, remember it forever, you, pregnant and napping on him on the couch.

Andrew does take a couple of photos because how could he not. You look so beautiful and peaceful and even at twenty weeks there are a lot of nights where you struggle to find comfortable sleep like this. It's how he knows you're knocked out hard. You're tired. The last couple of days have seen you struggling with terrible heartburn and reflux that make it almost impossible for you to sleep. He hates it. He hates seeing you in pain and exhausted but unable to sleep. You try to soothe him and tell him it's okay, hopefully you're taking it all on for the baby so they won't have any reflux. Both of you know it doesn't really work like that but you can still dream.

He thinks you're just as beautiful and painfully adorable when a little drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth onto his jeans. Another sign you're out hard.

Eventually he carefully lifts your head and slips out from under you, replacing his lap with a pillow. You make a little face that tells him some part of you knows you're no longer touching him, but you remain fast asleep. Andrew lowers himself and sits back on his calves for a few seconds so that he can press a kiss to your forehead and then your bump and then a few more to your forehead.

You keep your eyes closed and stretch deeply when you wake up, letting out cute little breaths of air as you do. It's easy for Andrew to imagine your baby doing the same. A small pout and furrowed brows pull onto your face when you nuzzle your face into the pillow and realize it's not your husband’s lap.

"Where'd you go?" you mumble half into the pillow and in your sleepy slur that makes his heart want to burst in that way he didn't know was even possible until he met you.

"I'm right here, Beautiful," Andrew calls to you softly as you flutter your eyes open.

You smile at him as he gets up from the padded lounge chair you have perpendicular to the couch. "Hi, Handsome."

Andrew reaches you in time to help you sit up and greet you with a flurry of kisses to your lips that make you giggle exactly how he hoped they would. "You were out hard, I wanted to let you sleep with how bad the last couple of nights have been."

"I appreciate that." The last half of your sentence comes out through a yawn, that makes you huff a laugh at yourself.

Your eyes find the coffee table and drag over the papers precisely laid out on it, your husband’s neat print covering them in varying amounts. You can make out the slightly larger underlined titles on most of the pages even with them facing sideways. Car seats. Mattresses. Bottles. Pacifiers. Strollers. Bassinets. There are a few others you can't quite make out.

"What's all this?" You nod at the table before turning to look at him.

"They're…" A light flush hits Andrew's cheeks and you know it's something he can't help, that he's not truly embarrassed, not with you, but that even after all this time a part of his brain still defaults to he's about to get made fun of or eye rolls or a quip about how that's so Pope with a laugh.

He lets out a breath and leans forward, turns all the papers so that they're facing you and pulls the coffee table a bit closer, laptop off to the side. "They're lists. I was looking around online and decided to make lists of things we’re going to need and write down the ones that have the highest ratings and highest safety rankings when that applies."

You smile widely and bite your lip as he explains what they are. You adore him and the way he researched to find the best and safest of so many things your baby will need. "I love you." Your hands reach out and cup his face gently, pull it back up and to yours so that you can kiss him softly. "You're already the best daddy, you know that? And the best pregnancy partner and husband. Our baby is so lucky to have you as their father and I’m so lucky to have you as my husband." You kiss him again so that he doesn't have to struggle to come up with something to say because you know hearing things like that still fluster him, probably always will.

After a quick nuzzle of his nose with yours, you let go of his face and smile at him, turn your attention to the lists. "Anything in particular you're interested in?"

Andrew knows what he's about to say is probably at least a little crazy and overzealous and way too much, but he can't help it. It's something that's been itching in the back of his mind your entire pregnancy.

"I think we need to get new cars." He forces the words out. "Or at least one. With a higher safety rating, but also to make it easier to get them in and out and have more space."

"Okay," you nod, your face serious, bottom lip pushed out a little and eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity. The way you take him seriously and don't make fun of him or make him feel crazy or self-conscious will never cease to amaze Andrew. You reach forward and grab the drink and snacks he set up and had waiting for you from the coffee table and then push back into the couch, curl your legs up and get comfortable. "I'm all ears, Handsome."

A little under two weeks later you and Andrew are lounging on the couch together watching TV while you scroll your phone and he rereads the chapter on what to expect in week 22. You're both sprawled with your legs on the couch, your back resting against Andrew's chest. One of his hands absent-mindedly strokes your hair while the other holds his book.

You can tell the baby is waking up now that you're still. They haven't been kicking as such, but you can feel them moving around like they're doing gymnastics. It makes you smile.

Five or so minutes later they do finally give you a proper kick and from the second you feel it you know there's something different about it. It's just a feeling you have, an intuition.

Andrew will be able to feel it. You know he'll finally be able to feel the baby kicking.

You have to swallow down your beaming smile and the little laugh you want to let out so that you don't ruin the surprise. You must see his face when he feels it and realizes what it is so you lock your phone and set it to the side. When you start to sit up Andrew is quick to rest his book on the back of the couch and help you, slides himself up against the armrest a bit further so that he's still somewhat reclined but not as much.

"You okay?" There's a hint of worry to his voice that's there anytime you do something kind of abruptly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." You maneuver yourself so that you're sitting in his lap and watch his brows come together and furrow in the most adorable confusion.

You don't say anything as you grab his hand and put it on your bump where the baby just kicked. Your eyes stay glued to Andrew's face as you rest your hand over his and then push his fingers down with yours.

A few seconds later you're rewarded with another strong kick. But this time instead of just being against you or your hand, that kick is right against Andrew's hand.

You watch it process, the confusion slipping from his face as his eyes widen and his head tilts and bobs almost in a nod at you, eyebrows still furrowed but now in a kind of hopeful disbelief. It's all you need to see to know he felt them.

"Was that…?" Andrew whispers.

"Uh-huh," you nod, giggling and pressing his fingers down again. There's another kick, and then a longer press of a tiny foot against Andrew's hand. "That's them."

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly pushing himself to sit up straighter and pulling you closer to him as you sit perpendicular to him on his lap. "That's, that's…," he mumbles, head still spinning at the feeling and the knowledge of what that feeling is. He presses his own fingers down and when there's another kick in return tears fill his eyes as he looks up at you with a breathy laugh. "That's them."

Andrew has no idea how describe what he's feeling, a pure kind of joy similar to when you told him you were pregnant and when he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time with a flare of protectiveness that matches what he feels for you, and an awe for you because you're doing this, you created the little foot that made that kick, grew them from a union of two cells.

"Yeah," you laugh, "that's our baby, Andrew. I'm so fucking happy you can finally feel them." Neither of your hands move as you lean into each other and share a series of sweet kisses. "They're pretty active right now. Here," you grab his other hand, "let's see if you can feel. It's probably harder to, but maybe."

You adjust Andrew's hands on your bump and then cover them with your hands and press down fairly hard. He goes to ask if pressing down like that is hurting you, but there's no sign of pain on your face and the words dissolve on his tongue when he feels it.

It's not as strong as the kicks, but he's sure he can feel it, a kind of wiggle and fluttering he's sure must be what you describe to him. There's another flurry of kicks at his one hand and his chin and lips tremble as tears finally spill over and wet his cheeks. "That's our baby." He smiles up at you through his tears. 

Like when you agreed to be his girlfriend and the first time you told him you loved him and when you said yes and when you both said I do and when you told him you're pregnant, this is one of those moments that Andrew knows has changed him forever. That he'll never be the same in the best way. His voice cracks raw and beautiful as he repeats himself. "That's our baby."

Andrew steps into the nursery and looks around.

He can't believe this is a real room in his real house he shares with his real wife, you. He has no fucking idea how he got lucky enough to call you his and be called yours.

A month and a half have passed in the blink of an eye. He can't believe you're 28 weeks now, seven months pregnant and officially in your third trimester.

The golden late afternoon sun that sneaks in through the blinds provides more than enough light to see around the room. The nursery is coming together nicely now that it's painted. You've hung a few things on the wall and the standalone bassinet that will eventually move to live right next to your side of the bed is off to one side where the crib will go once Andrew's finished with it. All of it’s almost done, the crib and dresser changing table combo and rocking chair he's built. He just needs to finish sealing and painting them all.

He smiles to himself when his eyes land on the onesie you used to tell him you were pregnant. Daddy's future skating buddy. You put it on a hanger and hung it on the curtain rod, the curtains you picked out yet to be delivered. You also twisted the neck of the hanger so that the onesie hangs parallel to the wall like a sign, easily readable without having to step to the side.

Andrew walks closer to it, brings his hand up and touches one of the feet. It's so small. He should be used to it by now with how many onesies he's touched, but he's not. Not at all.

"I know it was kind of silly to hang it like that," you call to him softly from the doorway. "I just had a moment when I was in here earlier."

He glances over his shoulder at you and then looks back at the onesie, his thumb running over the fabric. Andrew can hear you padding across the carpet to him. "No, I think it's cute. I like it."

You hum in acknowledgment as you wiggle your hands under his free upper arm in opposite directions and wrap your arms around his. You take a step closer and lean into his side, rest your cheek against his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly and you can hear how hard he swallows. "It's so small. I can't… I don't know. Our baby will be this small." He pauses for a couple of seconds, lets go of the onesie and brings his hand back down. "I can't wrap my mind around how small they're going to be."

As you move your head and press a kiss to his shoulder over his shirt you hum again. "And they're going to look even smaller in their daddy's arms and against his chest."

It's a sight you've dreamed about, your tiny newborn in only a diaper against Andrew's bare chest as they do skin-to-skin, somehow looking even smaller against his broad frame with his large hand covering their entire back. You can't wait to see in person before the sight is lost to the blanket laid over the two for warmth. You’ll cry. 

Andrew lets out a shaky breath as he thinks about holding them when they're that small, when you're still in a hospital bed finally letting yourself rest. Tears nearly flood his eyes just thinking about it.

But it scares him a little. The thought slips off his tongue before he even realizes he's saying it out loud. "What if I accidentally hurt them? They'll be so fragile and I'm, I'm…."

"I know you don't believe it and that she made you believe it was the exact opposite, but you're capable of treating someone more delicately than I thought was humanly possible," you murmur. "Do you remember our wedding night?" It's a rhetorical question and you both know it. That entire day and night are permanently etched in your minds. "You treated me like I was made of the thinnest glass as you took me out of my wedding dress and lingerie and had me as your wife for the first time. And that's just one time I can think of. You’ve touched and held me in ways that are softer and more gentle and delicate and careful than I could’ve ever dreamed of."

"The fact that you even have that worry tells me that you're not going to accidentally hurt them. Not every father-to-be has that thought, especially before the baby is here and they're holding them. And besides." You let out a soft, adoring laugh through your nose under your breath. "I think you're going to be physically incapable of hurting them. I truly don't think your body and mind would even let you, Andrew. Your paternal and protective instincts will be far too strong."

Andrew drums his fingers in the air how he does frequently, lips pulling into that neutral little scowl he sometimes defaults to as he thinks about your words. There's a piece of him that knows you're right because he has those same kind of instincts for you. Instincts that are strong enough that when you want him to be a little rougher with you during sex, want to feel a little pain and be spanked or have your hair pulled or whatever else, he has to actively fight them. And it's not an easy battle. Those instincts aren't easy to overcome.

But still. The majority of him struggles to accept that you're right.

You can just about hear the gears grinding in his head as he thinks about your words and tries to get himself to believe them while continuing to worry about accidentally hurting them and being a good father generally and about you. He's starting to slip too far into his head and you both know it. And you know that trying to finish this conversation right now will be unproductive and send him further into his head and potentially spiraling. Right now he needs to be distracted.

"Hey." You nudge his now tensed shoulder with your nose. "Can I have a kiss?"

That snaps him right out of it how you hoped it would. He looks over and down at you, his shoulders relaxing and scowl smoothing out as his mind returns to the present and not the what ifs. He loves you. He knows what you just did and that it was deliberate.

Andrew nods, and both of you turn so that you're facing each other. He leans down and presses the sweetest kiss to your lips, tells you thank you and I love you and I appreciate you and I don't take you for granted without a single word through a single kiss. His lips quirk up into an amused smile when he pulls away and sees your adorable little pout that tells him you're about to ask for something.

You run your hands up his chest and wrap your arms around his neck, play with his curls and try to act nonchalant. One of his hands finds one of yours, his other hand resting low on the side of your bump near your other hip.

"Will you make me a special grilled cheese and chocolate chips pancakes please?" You let your pout pull up into a hopeful smile. "The baby reallyyyy wants them."

His amused smile deepens, becomes more of an amused, playful smirk. He runs his hands back until they find your ass, squeezes with just the right pressure as he flashes his eyebrows up at you. "The baby, hm?"

"Yes," you nod confidently, "the baby." You raise your eyebrows and bob your head a little, pull your lips down at the corners a little and shrug. "And, you know, maybe I happen to really want them as well. But only because the baby wanted them first."

Andrew laughs softly and shakes his head at you. He moves his hands from your ass and wraps his arms around you, hugs you as close as possible as he can with your bump. His hands rub your back and he rocks you a little, presses a kiss to your temple. "Of course I'll make them for you," he murmurs against your skin. He pulls away and smiles down at you, eyes extra crinkled at the corners because you're too fucking cute and precious and adorable for words and he loves you so god damned much. "I'll make them for you whenever you want."

The excited smile and shimmer in your eyes at the confirmation that he'll make you your current craving and favorite meal makes him somehow melt even further for you. Andrew will never look at a grilled cheese and chocolate chip pancakes the same way again. They'll always hold a special place in his heart.

"Thank you, Handsome," you sing. "And the baby says thank you daddy."

"You're welcome, Beautiful," he hums before giving you another kiss. "And you're welcome too," he tells the baby as he rubs your bump, smiling at you when he feels them kick at his hand. He presses down a little against your skin to acknowledge them and then pulls his hand away and offers it to you. "Come on, you two. You can sit on the counter in the kitchen with me while I cook."

I love him. I LOVE HIM AND WANT TO MAKE HIM THE HAPPIEST MAN ALIVE. He deserves everything!! EVERYTHING!! He's just so precious I can't. 🫠😭 Sometimes I really meltdown about him. 😭 Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! ♥️

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Even once you started dating, it wasn't something that occurred to him. Baz's words that one night had done too much damage.

Even after you'd brought it up while still dating, the possibility of kids one day, asked him if he'd ever want kids and said you would too but they weren't a deal breaker after he said yes, it still wasn't something that felt real or like it would ever happen. You'd realize eventually that he wasn't father material.

And even when you brought it up again when you were engaged, even after you were married, even after all the times it would randomly pop up in conversations or you'd make a passing comment or look at baby clothes, Andrew never thought it would really happen. That one day he'd really be sitting in the waiting room of an OBGYN with you waiting to go see the baby you made together.

But here he is. In the waiting room of your OBGYN with you. Waiting to go see the baby you made together for the first time.

It's been five days since you told Andrew you were pregnant. Your OB's office was able to fit you in for an appointment and dating ultrasound quickly between the gap from Christmas to New Year's Eve. As you thought might happen, you started to get more symptomatic with every passing day it seems. You're at the point where the first trimester exhaustion has hit full force, as has the morning sickness, though it doesn't stick to the morning for you. It kills Andrew to see you sick and be able to do nothing about it or to help other than be there for you and try every food possible to find what you can keep down.

You squeeze Andrew's hand tightly to try and help bring him down a little. His leg closest to you bounces with anxiety and his jaw is set as tensely as you've ever seen it, brows furrowed so that little wrinkle he gets between them is visible. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his jaw as you shift in your seat so that you can bring your other hand across your body and rest it on his leg to help soothe him, not necessarily to get him to stop bouncing it.

"Hey," you murmur, nuzzling your nose against his cheek. "Everything's going to be okay, no matter what and no matter how long it takes for it all to feel okay again."

He licks his lips and sighs, looks over at you, his leg stilling. "No, I know." Andrew lets out a long breath through his nose. "I just…" Know way too much and see it all happening to you and them.

After you told him you were pregnant that night on the beach, Andrew had read everything, probably way too much. Books were ordered and read, websites scoured for all the information he could possibly find. He knows everything he needs to, what your body is going through, how the baby is developing, how he can help best, what to look out for. But he also knows way too much about what could go wrong for you and baby, has realized just how dangerous pregnancy and labor and delivery are.

"I know, Handsome." You give him a soft kiss on the lips and are pulling away when your name is called.

Andrew stands at the head of the patient bed you're laying almost all the way back on and holds your hand tightly in his near your chest as your doctor adjusts the transvaginal wand inside of you a little. Because it's a dating scan your doctor decided to just do the ultrasound herself.

You know it's coming, know what you're about to see, but neither you nor Andrew are prepared when the tiny gummy bear looking image that's currently your baby finally comes into view on the screen.

Both of you are breathless, speechless and teary eyed as you try to process what you're seeing.

"Andrew," you whisper, unable to come up with more at the moment.

"I love you," he whispers back, overwhelmed by just how much he loves you and this baby. "Thank you." He leans in and kisses your cheek, kisses your lips when you turn your head to look at him. That kiss and seeing each other is what you both need for your tears to finally fall, both of you breathing laughs of disbelief with smiles that match the ones you wore when you got married. "Thank you for them, for doing this. I love you."

"I love you too," you sniffle, give Andrew a watery smile when he wipes away your tears with his free hand.

You and Andrew look back at the screen, watch in awe as your doctor takes various measurements of your baby. Your baby.

"Well, based on the date of your last period and baby's size, I'd say you're eight weeks and two days," your doctor tells you. You were a little off in your calculation then, but not by much. "That little flicker is their heart. It’s strong, right where it should be."

Andrew knows he would've picked up on your doctor's body language immediately and can read that it's nothing but happiness for the two of you but he has to ask anyway. "They're okay?"

She nods at him with a smile. "They're perfect. Seem pretty happy and cozy in there." Before Andrew can even ask she continues. "And everything appears to look good for mom too. I'm going to order some blood work just to check and get some baselines, but I have no reason to believe anything concerning will pop up."

You hear the small sigh of relief Andrew lets out at her words and it makes your entire body feel warm and your heart ache. He loves you so much, cares about you so fucking much you don't know what to do with yourself. 

Your doctor moves her hand over the keyboard of the ultrasound machine again. "There's one more thing."

Nothing on the screen moves leaving you and Andrew confused for a moment until the sound fills the room. The sound of your baby's heart, strong and rhythmic, as it beats away perfectly in your womb.

"Oh my god," you whisper in disbelief. You knew you were pregnant and that by now their heart was beating inside of you, but hearing it and seeing it is something else. Your brain almost melts in a way. How you got lucky enough to have this life, to have Andrew as your husband and the father to your child you'll never know or understand. You squeeze his hand, grasp onto it like your life depends on it, something that’ll ironically be repeated when you go into labor. "Andrew… Oh my god."

"That's our baby," Andrew whispers, tilting his head so that your temples are touching. Another wave of tears spills over his lash line. "And that's their heartbeat. You, you did that." His voice has never held so much awe for you.

"Yeah," you breathe, the happiest disbelief in your voice. It's so much more real now that you're seeing them, hearing their heart. "That's our baby. That's them, Andrew."

"That's our baby." Andrew sniffles hard, voice as unsteady and shaky as the hand he uses to wipe your tears again and then his own. "That's our baby."

A month and a half or so after your ultrasound you and Andrew find yourselves at one of those stores that seems to have everything.

You turn to your side to ask his opinion on something and are surprised when he isn't there. You're even more confused when you look around and don't see him standing at either end of the aisle.

But you aren't confused when you walk up to one end of the aisle, turn your head and find him at the edge of the baby section, still as ever while he looks at a hanging onesie. You bite your lip at the sight and let yourself take it in and let Andrew have the moment before you start walking slowly over to him.

You've seen him looking at baby stuff, clothes and strollers and car seats and cribs before while the two of you have been out. But this is the first time you've ever seen him go over and actually touch something, look at it up close.

You never asked him why he didn't go look at it closer or invite him to do so with you because, even though he never explicitly told you so, you know Andrew well enough to know that he was afraid to look at baby things or imagine them too hard in his head because he didn't want to jinx it, didn't want to somehow provoke the universe into taking this baby away from the two of you. And you're correct.

That's the exact reason Andrew wouldn't let himself. He's too used to things turning out badly, to being what feels like cursed, especially when he manages to slip back and convince himself that he's unworthy of you and everything good in his life, that he's a terrible person who deserves nothing but the crushing feelings of grief and despair and sadness that burrow into his bones. Sometimes if he thinks about it too hard he's shocked nothing has happened to you. And now, sometimes if he thinks about it too hard, he works himself up into a panic that he's going to lose you and the baby, or that he'll lose you and have to try to figure out how to raise a child all by himself.

Andrew's not sure what it is about this onesie that makes him walk over. The more he looks at the onesie trying to pinpoint the reason, the more he realizes he simply found it cute and walked over because he finally could. His brain finally let him.

You're fourteen weeks pregnant now. Out of the first trimester. The chance of losing the baby has plummeted, though he knows it's never zero. It feels safe now. Safe to tell people and dream and imagine and buy baby clothes and think of names and a color to paint the nursery.

He's struck by how soft the fabric is when he reaches out and touches the sleeve. The onesie is sage green and has small bears all over and comes with a matching solid tan beanie with small bear ears on top. It's the second onesie he's touched since finding out you're pregnant, the first being the onesie you used to tell him. He likes the softness, wants only the softest and best for his baby, nothing that might scratch their sensitive skin and make them itchy or give them a rash.

"It's adorable." Your words don't startle him. He knew you'd find him here eventually. There's a little piece of him that feels terrible and like the worst husband and father in the world for leaving you alone even for just ninety seconds, but the store is quiet and he was just drawn to the onesie he's still holding onto. "I love the little beanie."

"It's soft," Andrew tells you in that deep, raspy rumble that comes from his chest. He doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard right now. Maybe it's because he's finally letting himself really look at baby clothes. He's not sure. He guesses in the end it doesn't really matter. "We're having a baby," he whispers, voice thick with happiness and wonder and excitement, tears stinging at the back of his eyes. He turns his head, lets out a single laugh as he beams at you. "Our baby could wear this."

"Not could. Will. Our baby will wear this." You smile and nod almost eagerly at him, grab the hanger the onesie is on because you're buying it. Of course you're fucking buying it. You're probably going online while he drives you back home and ordering every fucking size it's available in so you can see them in it as long as possible. The first onesie their daddy picked out for them. You'll undoubtedly get misty eyed and probably cry as you place the order.

"Come on." You grab Andrew's hand and lace your fingers together before tugging gently and walking into the baby section fully. He realizes he's unleashed a monster in you, a baby-shopping monster. But that's okay. Because he knows he's released the same in him. He wants to buy all of it. Your next words are such bullshit, you both know you'll be asking him to go get a cart in about three minutes. "Let's just look around."

It catches you by surprise.

That first kick you can really feel and know is a kick catches you by complete surprise one afternoon as you shuffle around the kitchen with Andrew putting away groceries. You tilt your head down slightly and take in a breathless gasp, grab the edge of the counter with one hand as your other flies down to your now noticeable bump where the kick was.

Andrew's blood runs cold in a way he's only felt a few times and only ever about you. It's way too early. Way the fuck too early. Pre-viability early. You're not even halfway through your pregnancy. You're only 19 weeks. Nothing can be happening to you or the baby. What if this is the start of a placental abruption, or, or, or…. His mind finally shuts that shit down. He just needs to know what's wrong.

He takes a step back, away from you enough that he can look down at your legs and make sure there's no blood or amniotic fluid running out of your shorts and down your legs. Relieved to see there isn’t, he steps right back up to you, one hand covering yours on the edge of the counter, the other wrapping gently around your upper arm of the hand on your bump just in case he needs to quickly move it under your shoulder to keep catch you and keep you from falling. "What's wrong?

"Nothing," you rush out, the word breathy and full of disbelief. After a few seconds you let out a small laugh and then look up at Andrew with a wide smile. "I just felt them kick." You let out another laugh and press down on your bump slightly as you look into his eyes. "I thought I might've felt a few before and thought maybe I felt them wiggling around in there, but that one, that's the first one I know is a kick." Tears of happiness flood your eyes. It seems so silly to you but you can't help it. "And that, that feeling, that's them moving around, I just know it now."

The tension melts off him, his anxiety and fear dropping back to their usual level. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod, laughing as a couple of tears escape and slide down your cheeks. "And they kicked back. When I, when I pressed down where they had kicked. They kicked there again."

Andrew smiles at you, nodding as his head spins with excitement and joy. He's speechless, lost for words. You're feeling them move. They're strong and growing and big enough now that you can feel them move. Somewhere in his brain an anxiety he didn't even realize he was holding onto fades away at this milestone being hit.

"I can feel them!" You laugh in disbelief. "Andrew, I can feel our baby." You press up on the balls of your feet and give him a quick kiss before standing normally again. "Here." Before he can respond you're grabbing his hand and putting it on your bump where they kicked. You cover his hand with yours and then press down the way you had earlier. "Can you feel them? That was them kicking. Did you feel that? I bet they'll do it again."

Andrew closes his eyes and focuses hard on his hand after you press down again. He wants to feel them so badly, but you both know, even if it’s slipping your mind at the moment, that realistically he's unlikely to with this being your first time really feeling them. It'll probably be a bit yet before he's able to feel.

"There!" you giggle, looking down at your and Andrew's hands over your bump. "Did you feel them?"

No. He didn't. He knew he almost certainly wouldn't but he can't help the disappointment that floods him. Andrew knows he needs to try to hide it as much as he can from you, knows that this is likely to end up with your tears turning to those of sadness and guilt and that's the last thing he wants.

He's not sure how to break the news to you. Andrew flutters his eyes open and watches you as you smile down at your hands. Even though he hides his disappointment well enough that nobody else in the would be able to see it, you still can.

Your smile falls instantly and Andrew starts to shake his head, both of you opening your mouths to speak.

You win the race, get your words out first.

"I'm sorry." You suddenly look truly distressed in a way that kills Andrew and your tears turn to those of sadness and guilt on a dime, exactly the way he didn't want them to. "I’m so sorry, Andrew. I just, I got excited and I should've been chiller about it and thought about how you probably wouldn't be able to feel, and, and how it would make you feel to not be able to feel them yet." There's a whine to the end of your sentence that tells him you're close to totally bursting into tears and full sobs, and he cannot have that and you getting the migraine that crying like that seems to inevitably give you recently.

"No." He continues to shake his head at you as he brings his hands to cup your face, wipes away your tears with his thumbs. "No apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. Please try not to feel guilty. It's not your fault and I want you to be excited and react that way. I want that for you. And I want it for me too, because seeing you like that is so special to me."

"But you can't feel them and it's disappointing and you're sad and I don't like when you're disappointed and sad, Andrew." Your breaths become jerky, bordering on wracked as tears stream down your face faster. "And I hate it even more when I've disappointed you and made you sad."

"You haven't made me disappointed or sad. I'm not sad. I'm a little disappointed, yeah, I'll never lie to you. But not because of you. You haven't disappointed me in any way. I promise." He leans down and kisses your forehead, tries to think of what else to say or do to get you feeling better. He doesn't want this moment ruined for you.

"I just want you to be able to feel them," you sniffle, lips quivering in the small pout they're pulled into. You're trying to believe him and let it go and stop crying and feeling this way, and in some ways the logical part of your brain has, but with the hormones it's hard to get the emotional part of your brain there. "I just want you to be able to feel them with me, Andrew."

"I know. I know you do," he tells you in that low, gravelly murmur he has, nodding at you. "And I will. And it'll be great and I'll get my own special moment just like you're getting your own special moment right now. It'll be perfect." He gently squeezes your face in his hand and smiles down at you. "Until then you'll just have to tell me what it feels like, yeah?"

"Okay." You're still pouting a little, but your tears have stopped and he can tell you're starting to feel better, that the idea of him getting his own special moment is soothing you. After a minute or so you nod at him, eyes round and pleading, the idea of a smile on your lips. "Yeah, I, I can do that."

Twelve weeks after that first ultrasound Andrew finds himself sitting in the waiting room of your OBGYN with you waiting to go see the baby you made together again.

You're twenty weeks now. Halfway through your pregnancy. Neither of you can believe it.

You look over at Andrew just like you did for that first ultrasound. He's just as anxious but it's manifesting differently. This time he's sitting up straight and statue still thinking about all of the different things he read and what this anatomy scan could potentially reveal.

"Hey," you murmur, reaching over and squeezing his thigh. "Remember what I said the first time? Everything's going to be okay, no matter what and no matter how long it takes for it all to feel okay again."

He looks at you and gives you one of those Andrew nods that's really more of a single nod that finishes with his chin down. "I know," he whispers. "I do." He swallows hard, almost like it pains him to say his next words because it does in a way, a verbal acknowledgment of one of his greatest fears right now. "I just need you and them to be okay."

"I know." You grab his hand and bring it up to your lips and press a couple of kisses to the back and over his knuckles. "And I truly think and believe we are. Call it mother's intuition."

That gets him to give you a small smile and quiet laugh through his nose. Before he can say anything else your name is called and he's standing to help you out of your seat even though you really don't need it yet, his hand on your lower back protectively as he walks with you to follow the ultrasound tech.

The anatomy scan goes well. The tech doesn't appear to see anything concerning, doesn't pause or make any faces. And when you go to meet with your doctor after, she reviews the images and videos taken and says on first impression she doesn't see anything other than a perfectly healthy baby developing right on track, but they always review everything closer and the results will be on your portal in two or three days. You also learn your blood pressure is good, the dead center of the normal range they give, and your bump is measuring perfectly.

That afternoon you fall asleep on the couch with your head in Andrew's lap. He stays there quietly for at least an hour, no TV on, not reading anything or looking at his phone, simply watching you sleep and stroking your hair and rubbing the side of your bump. He wants to memorize this, remember it forever, you, pregnant and napping on him on the couch.

Andrew does take a couple of photos because how could he not. You look so beautiful and peaceful and even at twenty weeks there are a lot of nights where you struggle to find comfortable sleep like this. It's how he knows you're knocked out hard. You're tired. The last couple of days have seen you struggling with terrible heartburn and reflux that make it almost impossible for you to sleep. He hates it. He hates seeing you in pain and exhausted but unable to sleep. You try to soothe him and tell him it's okay, hopefully you're taking it all on for the baby so they won't have any reflux. Both of you know it doesn't really work like that but you can still dream.

He thinks you're just as beautiful and painfully adorable when a little drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth onto his jeans. Another sign you're out hard.

Eventually he carefully lifts your head and slips out from under you, replacing his lap with a pillow. You make a little face that tells him some part of you knows you're no longer touching him, but you remain fast asleep. Andrew lowers himself and sits back on his calves for a few seconds so that he can press a kiss to your forehead and then your bump and then a few more to your forehead.

You keep your eyes closed and stretch deeply when you wake up, letting out cute little breaths of air as you do. It's easy for Andrew to imagine your baby doing the same. A small pout and furrowed brows pull onto your face when you nuzzle your face into the pillow and realize it's not your husband’s lap.

"Where'd you go?" you mumble half into the pillow and in your sleepy slur that makes his heart want to burst in that way he didn't know was even possible until he met you.

"I'm right here, Beautiful," Andrew calls to you softly as you flutter your eyes open.

You smile at him as he gets up from the padded lounge chair you have perpendicular to the couch. "Hi, Handsome."

Andrew reaches you in time to help you sit up and greet you with a flurry of kisses to your lips that make you giggle exactly how he hoped they would. "You were out hard, I wanted to let you sleep with how bad the last couple of nights have been."

"I appreciate that." The last half of your sentence comes out through a yawn, that makes you huff a laugh at yourself.

Your eyes find the coffee table and drag over the papers precisely laid out on it, your husband’s neat print covering them in varying amounts. You can make out the slightly larger underlined titles on most of the pages even with them facing sideways. Car seats. Mattresses. Bottles. Pacifiers. Strollers. Bassinets. There are a few others you can't quite make out.

"What's all this?" You nod at the table before turning to look at him.

"They're…" A light flush hits Andrew's cheeks and you know it's something he can't help, that he's not truly embarrassed, not with you, but that even after all this time a part of his brain still defaults to he's about to get made fun of or eye rolls or a quip about how that's so Pope with a laugh.

He lets out a breath and leans forward, turns all the papers so that they're facing you and pulls the coffee table a bit closer, laptop off to the side. "They're lists. I was looking around online and decided to make lists of things we’re going to need and write down the ones that have the highest ratings and highest safety rankings when that applies."

You smile widely and bite your lip as he explains what they are. You adore him and the way he researched to find the best and safest of so many things your baby will need. "I love you." Your hands reach out and cup his face gently, pull it back up and to yours so that you can kiss him softly. "You're already the best daddy, you know that? And the best pregnancy partner and husband. Our baby is so lucky to have you as their father and I’m so lucky to have you as my husband." You kiss him again so that he doesn't have to struggle to come up with something to say because you know hearing things like that still fluster him, probably always will.

After a quick nuzzle of his nose with yours, you let go of his face and smile at him, turn your attention to the lists. "Anything in particular you're interested in?"

Andrew knows what he's about to say is probably at least a little crazy and overzealous and way too much, but he can't help it. It's something that's been itching in the back of his mind your entire pregnancy.

"I think we need to get new cars." He forces the words out. "Or at least one. With a higher safety rating, but also to make it easier to get them in and out and have more space."

"Okay," you nod, your face serious, bottom lip pushed out a little and eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity. The way you take him seriously and don't make fun of him or make him feel crazy or self-conscious will never cease to amaze Andrew. You reach forward and grab the drink and snacks he set up and had waiting for you from the coffee table and then push back into the couch, curl your legs up and get comfortable. "I'm all ears, Handsome."

A little under two weeks later you and Andrew are lounging on the couch together watching TV while you scroll your phone and he rereads the chapter on what to expect in week 22. You're both sprawled with your legs on the couch, your back resting against Andrew's chest. One of his hands absent-mindedly strokes your hair while the other holds his book.

You can tell the baby is waking up now that you're still. They haven't been kicking as such, but you can feel them moving around like they're doing gymnastics. It makes you smile.

Five or so minutes later they do finally give you a proper kick and from the second you feel it you know there's something different about it. It's just a feeling you have, an intuition.

Andrew will be able to feel it. You know he'll finally be able to feel the baby kicking.

You have to swallow down your beaming smile and the little laugh you want to let out so that you don't ruin the surprise. You must see his face when he feels it and realizes what it is so you lock your phone and set it to the side. When you start to sit up Andrew is quick to rest his book on the back of the couch and help you, slides himself up against the armrest a bit further so that he's still somewhat reclined but not as much.

"You okay?" There's a hint of worry to his voice that's there anytime you do something kind of abruptly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." You maneuver yourself so that you're sitting in his lap and watch his brows come together and furrow in the most adorable confusion.

You don't say anything as you grab his hand and put it on your bump where the baby just kicked. Your eyes stay glued to Andrew's face as you rest your hand over his and then push his fingers down with yours.

A few seconds later you're rewarded with another strong kick. But this time instead of just being against you or your hand, that kick is right against Andrew's hand.

You watch it process, the confusion slipping from his face as his eyes widen and his head tilts and bobs almost in a nod at you, eyebrows still furrowed but now in a kind of hopeful disbelief. It's all you need to see to know he felt them.

"Was that…?" Andrew whispers.

"Uh-huh," you nod, giggling and pressing his fingers down again. There's another kick, and then a longer press of a tiny foot against Andrew's hand. "That's them."

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly pushing himself to sit up straighter and pulling you closer to him as you sit perpendicular to him on his lap. "That's, that's…," he mumbles, head still spinning at the feeling and the knowledge of what that feeling is. He presses his own fingers down and when there's another kick in return tears fill his eyes as he looks up at you with a breathy laugh. "That's them."

Andrew has no idea how describe what he's feeling, a pure kind of joy similar to when you told him you were pregnant and when he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time with a flare of protectiveness that matches what he feels for you, and an awe for you because you're doing this, you created the little foot that made that kick, grew them from a union of two cells.

"Yeah," you laugh, "that's our baby, Andrew. I'm so fucking happy you can finally feel them." Neither of your hands move as you lean into each other and share a series of sweet kisses. "They're pretty active right now. Here," you grab his other hand, "let's see if you can feel. It's probably harder to, but maybe."

You adjust Andrew's hands on your bump and then cover them with your hands and press down fairly hard. He goes to ask if pressing down like that is hurting you, but there's no sign of pain on your face and the words dissolve on his tongue when he feels it.

It's not as strong as the kicks, but he's sure he can feel it, a kind of wiggle and fluttering he's sure must be what you describe to him. There's another flurry of kicks at his one hand and his chin and lips tremble as tears finally spill over and wet his cheeks. "That's our baby." He smiles up at you through his tears. 

Like when you agreed to be his girlfriend and the first time you told him you loved him and when you said yes and when you both said I do and when you told him you're pregnant, this is one of those moments that Andrew knows has changed him forever. That he'll never be the same in the best way. His voice cracks raw and beautiful as he repeats himself. "That's our baby."

Andrew steps into the nursery and looks around.

He can't believe this is a real room in his real house he shares with his real wife, you. He has no fucking idea how he got lucky enough to call you his and be called yours.

A month and a half have passed in the blink of an eye. He can't believe you're 28 weeks now, seven months pregnant and officially in your third trimester.

The golden late afternoon sun that sneaks in through the blinds provides more than enough light to see around the room. The nursery is coming together nicely now that it's painted. You've hung a few things on the wall and the standalone bassinet that will eventually move to live right next to your side of the bed is off to one side where the crib will go once Andrew's finished with it. All of it’s almost done, the crib and dresser changing table combo and rocking chair he's built. He just needs to finish sealing and painting them all.

He smiles to himself when his eyes land on the onesie you used to tell him you were pregnant. Daddy's future skating buddy. You put it on a hanger and hung it on the curtain rod, the curtains you picked out yet to be delivered. You also twisted the neck of the hanger so that the onesie hangs parallel to the wall like a sign, easily readable without having to step to the side.

Andrew walks closer to it, brings his hand up and touches one of the feet. It's so small. He should be used to it by now with how many onesies he's touched, but he's not. Not at all.

"I know it was kind of silly to hang it like that," you call to him softly from the doorway. "I just had a moment when I was in here earlier."

He glances over his shoulder at you and then looks back at the onesie, his thumb running over the fabric. Andrew can hear you padding across the carpet to him. "No, I think it's cute. I like it."

You hum in acknowledgment as you wiggle your hands under his free upper arm in opposite directions and wrap your arms around his. You take a step closer and lean into his side, rest your cheek against his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly and you can hear how hard he swallows. "It's so small. I can't… I don't know. Our baby will be this small." He pauses for a couple of seconds, lets go of the onesie and brings his hand back down. "I can't wrap my mind around how small they're going to be."

As you move your head and press a kiss to his shoulder over his shirt you hum again. "And they're going to look even smaller in their daddy's arms and against his chest."

It's a sight you've dreamed about, your tiny newborn in only a diaper against Andrew's bare chest as they do skin-to-skin, somehow looking even smaller against his broad frame with his large hand covering their entire back. You can't wait to see in person before the sight is lost to the blanket laid over the two for warmth. You’ll cry. 

Andrew lets out a shaky breath as he thinks about holding them when they're that small, when you're still in a hospital bed finally letting yourself rest. Tears nearly flood his eyes just thinking about it.

But it scares him a little. The thought slips off his tongue before he even realizes he's saying it out loud. "What if I accidentally hurt them? They'll be so fragile and I'm, I'm…."

"I know you don't believe it and that she made you believe it was the exact opposite, but you're capable of treating someone more delicately than I thought was humanly possible," you murmur. "Do you remember our wedding night?" It's a rhetorical question and you both know it. That entire day and night are permanently etched in your minds. "You treated me like I was made of the thinnest glass as you took me out of my wedding dress and lingerie and had me as your wife for the first time. And that's just one time I can think of. You’ve touched and held me in ways that are softer and more gentle and delicate and careful than I could’ve ever dreamed of."

"The fact that you even have that worry tells me that you're not going to accidentally hurt them. Not every father-to-be has that thought, especially before the baby is here and they're holding them. And besides." You let out a soft, adoring laugh through your nose under your breath. "I think you're going to be physically incapable of hurting them. I truly don't think your body and mind would even let you, Andrew. Your paternal and protective instincts will be far too strong."

Andrew drums his fingers in the air how he does frequently, lips pulling into that neutral little scowl he sometimes defaults to as he thinks about your words. There's a piece of him that knows you're right because he has those same kind of instincts for you. Instincts that are strong enough that when you want him to be a little rougher with you during sex, want to feel a little pain and be spanked or have your hair pulled or whatever else, he has to actively fight them. And it's not an easy battle. Those instincts aren't easy to overcome.

But still. The majority of him struggles to accept that you're right.

You can just about hear the gears grinding in his head as he thinks about your words and tries to get himself to believe them while continuing to worry about accidentally hurting them and being a good father generally and about you. He's starting to slip too far into his head and you both know it. And you know that trying to finish this conversation right now will be unproductive and send him further into his head and potentially spiraling. Right now he needs to be distracted.

"Hey." You nudge his now tensed shoulder with your nose. "Can I have a kiss?"

That snaps him right out of it how you hoped it would. He looks over and down at you, his shoulders relaxing and scowl smoothing out as his mind returns to the present and not the what ifs. He loves you. He knows what you just did and that it was deliberate.

Andrew nods, and both of you turn so that you're facing each other. He leans down and presses the sweetest kiss to your lips, tells you thank you and I love you and I appreciate you and I don't take you for granted without a single word through a single kiss. His lips quirk up into an amused smile when he pulls away and sees your adorable little pout that tells him you're about to ask for something.

You run your hands up his chest and wrap your arms around his neck, play with his curls and try to act nonchalant. One of his hands finds one of yours, his other hand resting low on the side of your bump near your other hip.

"Will you make me a special grilled cheese and chocolate chips pancakes please?" You let your pout pull up into a hopeful smile. "The baby reallyyyy wants them."

His amused smile deepens, becomes more of an amused, playful smirk. He runs his hands back until they find your ass, squeezes with just the right pressure as he flashes his eyebrows up at you. "The baby, hm?"

"Yes," you nod confidently, "the baby." You raise your eyebrows and bob your head a little, pull your lips down at the corners a little and shrug. "And, you know, maybe I happen to really want them as well. But only because the baby wanted them first."

Andrew laughs softly and shakes his head at you. He moves his hands from your ass and wraps his arms around you, hugs you as close as possible as he can with your bump. His hands rub your back and he rocks you a little, presses a kiss to your temple. "Of course I'll make them for you," he murmurs against your skin. He pulls away and smiles down at you, eyes extra crinkled at the corners because you're too fucking cute and precious and adorable for words and he loves you so god damned much. "I'll make them for you whenever you want."

The excited smile and shimmer in your eyes at the confirmation that he'll make you your current craving and favorite meal makes him somehow melt even further for you. Andrew will never look at a grilled cheese and chocolate chip pancakes the same way again. They'll always hold a special place in his heart.

"Thank you, Handsome," you sing. "And the baby says thank you daddy."

"You're welcome, Beautiful," he hums before giving you another kiss. "And you're welcome too," he tells the baby as he rubs your bump, smiling at you when he feels them kick at his hand. He presses down a little against your skin to acknowledge them and then pulls his hand away and offers it to you. "Come on, you two. You can sit on the counter in the kitchen with me while I cook."

I love him. I LOVE HIM AND WANT TO MAKE HIM THE HAPPIEST MAN ALIVE. He deserves everything!! EVERYTHING!! He's just so precious I can't. 🫠😭 Sometimes I really meltdown about him. 😭 Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! ♥️

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Even once you started dating, it wasn't something that occurred to him. Baz's words that one night had done too much damage.

Even after you'd brought it up while still dating, the possibility of kids one day, asked him if he'd ever want kids and said you would too but they weren't a deal breaker after he said yes, it still wasn't something that felt real or like it would ever happen. You'd realize eventually that he wasn't father material.

And even when you brought it up again when you were engaged, even after you were married, even after all the times it would randomly pop up in conversations or you'd make a passing comment or look at baby clothes, Andrew never thought it would really happen. That one day he'd really be sitting in the waiting room of an OBGYN with you waiting to go see the baby you made together.

But here he is. In the waiting room of your OBGYN with you. Waiting to go see the baby you made together for the first time.

It's been five days since you told Andrew you were pregnant. Your OB's office was able to fit you in for an appointment and dating ultrasound quickly between the gap from Christmas to New Year's Eve. As you thought might happen, you started to get more symptomatic with every passing day it seems. You're at the point where the first trimester exhaustion has hit full force, as has the morning sickness, though it doesn't stick to the morning for you. It kills Andrew to see you sick and be able to do nothing about it or to help other than be there for you and try every food possible to find what you can keep down.

You squeeze Andrew's hand tightly to try and help bring him down a little. His leg closest to you bounces with anxiety and his jaw is set as tensely as you've ever seen it, brows furrowed so that little wrinkle he gets between them is visible. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his jaw as you shift in your seat so that you can bring your other hand across your body and rest it on his leg to help soothe him, not necessarily to get him to stop bouncing it.

"Hey," you murmur, nuzzling your nose against his cheek. "Everything's going to be okay, no matter what and no matter how long it takes for it all to feel okay again."

He licks his lips and sighs, looks over at you, his leg stilling. "No, I know." Andrew lets out a long breath through his nose. "I just…" Know way too much and see it all happening to you and them.

After you told him you were pregnant that night on the beach, Andrew had read everything, probably way too much. Books were ordered and read, websites scoured for all the information he could possibly find. He knows everything he needs to, what your body is going through, how the baby is developing, how he can help best, what to look out for. But he also knows way too much about what could go wrong for you and baby, has realized just how dangerous pregnancy and labor and delivery are.

"I know, Handsome." You give him a soft kiss on the lips and are pulling away when your name is called.

Andrew stands at the head of the patient bed you're laying almost all the way back on and holds your hand tightly in his near your chest as your doctor adjusts the transvaginal wand inside of you a little. Because it's a dating scan your doctor decided to just do the ultrasound herself.

You know it's coming, know what you're about to see, but neither you nor Andrew are prepared when the tiny gummy bear looking image that's currently your baby finally comes into view on the screen.

Both of you are breathless, speechless and teary eyed as you try to process what you're seeing.

"Andrew," you whisper, unable to come up with more at the moment.

"I love you," he whispers back, overwhelmed by just how much he loves you and this baby. "Thank you." He leans in and kisses your cheek, kisses your lips when you turn your head to look at him. That kiss and seeing each other is what you both need for your tears to finally fall, both of you breathing laughs of disbelief with smiles that match the ones you wore when you got married. "Thank you for them, for doing this. I love you."

"I love you too," you sniffle, give Andrew a watery smile when he wipes away your tears with his free hand.

You and Andrew look back at the screen, watch in awe as your doctor takes various measurements of your baby. Your baby.

"Well, based on the date of your last period and baby's size, I'd say you're eight weeks and two days," your doctor tells you. You were a little off in your calculation then, but not by much. "That little flicker is their heart. It’s strong, right where it should be."

Andrew knows he would've picked up on your doctor's body language immediately and can read that it's nothing but happiness for the two of you but he has to ask anyway. "They're okay?"

She nods at him with a smile. "They're perfect. Seem pretty happy and cozy in there." Before Andrew can even ask she continues. "And everything appears to look good for mom too. I'm going to order some blood work just to check and get some baselines, but I have no reason to believe anything concerning will pop up."

You hear the small sigh of relief Andrew lets out at her words and it makes your entire body feel warm and your heart ache. He loves you so much, cares about you so fucking much you don't know what to do with yourself. 

Your doctor moves her hand over the keyboard of the ultrasound machine again. "There's one more thing."

Nothing on the screen moves leaving you and Andrew confused for a moment until the sound fills the room. The sound of your baby's heart, strong and rhythmic, as it beats away perfectly in your womb.

"Oh my god," you whisper in disbelief. You knew you were pregnant and that by now their heart was beating inside of you, but hearing it and seeing it is something else. Your brain almost melts in a way. How you got lucky enough to have this life, to have Andrew as your husband and the father to your child you'll never know or understand. You squeeze his hand, grasp onto it like your life depends on it, something that’ll ironically be repeated when you go into labor. "Andrew… Oh my god."

"That's our baby," Andrew whispers, tilting his head so that your temples are touching. Another wave of tears spills over his lash line. "And that's their heartbeat. You, you did that." His voice has never held so much awe for you.

"Yeah," you breathe, the happiest disbelief in your voice. It's so much more real now that you're seeing them, hearing their heart. "That's our baby. That's them, Andrew."

"That's our baby." Andrew sniffles hard, voice as unsteady and shaky as the hand he uses to wipe your tears again and then his own. "That's our baby."

A month and a half or so after your ultrasound you and Andrew find yourselves at one of those stores that seems to have everything.

You turn to your side to ask his opinion on something and are surprised when he isn't there. You're even more confused when you look around and don't see him standing at either end of the aisle.

But you aren't confused when you walk up to one end of the aisle, turn your head and find him at the edge of the baby section, still as ever while he looks at a hanging onesie. You bite your lip at the sight and let yourself take it in and let Andrew have the moment before you start walking slowly over to him.

You've seen him looking at baby stuff, clothes and strollers and car seats and cribs before while the two of you have been out. But this is the first time you've ever seen him go over and actually touch something, look at it up close.

You never asked him why he didn't go look at it closer or invite him to do so with you because, even though he never explicitly told you so, you know Andrew well enough to know that he was afraid to look at baby things or imagine them too hard in his head because he didn't want to jinx it, didn't want to somehow provoke the universe into taking this baby away from the two of you. And you're correct.

That's the exact reason Andrew wouldn't let himself. He's too used to things turning out badly, to being what feels like cursed, especially when he manages to slip back and convince himself that he's unworthy of you and everything good in his life, that he's a terrible person who deserves nothing but the crushing feelings of grief and despair and sadness that burrow into his bones. Sometimes if he thinks about it too hard he's shocked nothing has happened to you. And now, sometimes if he thinks about it too hard, he works himself up into a panic that he's going to lose you and the baby, or that he'll lose you and have to try to figure out how to raise a child all by himself.

Andrew's not sure what it is about this onesie that makes him walk over. The more he looks at the onesie trying to pinpoint the reason, the more he realizes he simply found it cute and walked over because he finally could. His brain finally let him.

You're fourteen weeks pregnant now. Out of the first trimester. The chance of losing the baby has plummeted, though he knows it's never zero. It feels safe now. Safe to tell people and dream and imagine and buy baby clothes and think of names and a color to paint the nursery.

He's struck by how soft the fabric is when he reaches out and touches the sleeve. The onesie is sage green and has small bears all over and comes with a matching solid tan beanie with small bear ears on top. It's the second onesie he's touched since finding out you're pregnant, the first being the onesie you used to tell him. He likes the softness, wants only the softest and best for his baby, nothing that might scratch their sensitive skin and make them itchy or give them a rash.

"It's adorable." Your words don't startle him. He knew you'd find him here eventually. There's a little piece of him that feels terrible and like the worst husband and father in the world for leaving you alone even for just ninety seconds, but the store is quiet and he was just drawn to the onesie he's still holding onto. "I love the little beanie."

"It's soft," Andrew tells you in that deep, raspy rumble that comes from his chest. He doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard right now. Maybe it's because he's finally letting himself really look at baby clothes. He's not sure. He guesses in the end it doesn't really matter. "We're having a baby," he whispers, voice thick with happiness and wonder and excitement, tears stinging at the back of his eyes. He turns his head, lets out a single laugh as he beams at you. "Our baby could wear this."

"Not could. Will. Our baby will wear this." You smile and nod almost eagerly at him, grab the hanger the onesie is on because you're buying it. Of course you're fucking buying it. You're probably going online while he drives you back home and ordering every fucking size it's available in so you can see them in it as long as possible. The first onesie their daddy picked out for them. You'll undoubtedly get misty eyed and probably cry as you place the order.

"Come on." You grab Andrew's hand and lace your fingers together before tugging gently and walking into the baby section fully. He realizes he's unleashed a monster in you, a baby-shopping monster. But that's okay. Because he knows he's released the same in him. He wants to buy all of it. Your next words are such bullshit, you both know you'll be asking him to go get a cart in about three minutes. "Let's just look around."

It catches you by surprise.

That first kick you can really feel and know is a kick catches you by complete surprise one afternoon as you shuffle around the kitchen with Andrew putting away groceries. You tilt your head down slightly and take in a breathless gasp, grab the edge of the counter with one hand as your other flies down to your now noticeable bump where the kick was.

Andrew's blood runs cold in a way he's only felt a few times and only ever about you. It's way too early. Way the fuck too early. Pre-viability early. You're not even halfway through your pregnancy. You're only 19 weeks. Nothing can be happening to you or the baby. What if this is the start of a placental abruption, or, or, or…. His mind finally shuts that shit down. He just needs to know what's wrong.

He takes a step back, away from you enough that he can look down at your legs and make sure there's no blood or amniotic fluid running out of your shorts and down your legs. Relieved to see there isn’t, he steps right back up to you, one hand covering yours on the edge of the counter, the other wrapping gently around your upper arm of the hand on your bump just in case he needs to quickly move it under your shoulder to keep catch you and keep you from falling. "What's wrong?

"Nothing," you rush out, the word breathy and full of disbelief. After a few seconds you let out a small laugh and then look up at Andrew with a wide smile. "I just felt them kick." You let out another laugh and press down on your bump slightly as you look into his eyes. "I thought I might've felt a few before and thought maybe I felt them wiggling around in there, but that one, that's the first one I know is a kick." Tears of happiness flood your eyes. It seems so silly to you but you can't help it. "And that, that feeling, that's them moving around, I just know it now."

The tension melts off him, his anxiety and fear dropping back to their usual level. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod, laughing as a couple of tears escape and slide down your cheeks. "And they kicked back. When I, when I pressed down where they had kicked. They kicked there again."

Andrew smiles at you, nodding as his head spins with excitement and joy. He's speechless, lost for words. You're feeling them move. They're strong and growing and big enough now that you can feel them move. Somewhere in his brain an anxiety he didn't even realize he was holding onto fades away at this milestone being hit.

"I can feel them!" You laugh in disbelief. "Andrew, I can feel our baby." You press up on the balls of your feet and give him a quick kiss before standing normally again. "Here." Before he can respond you're grabbing his hand and putting it on your bump where they kicked. You cover his hand with yours and then press down the way you had earlier. "Can you feel them? That was them kicking. Did you feel that? I bet they'll do it again."

Andrew closes his eyes and focuses hard on his hand after you press down again. He wants to feel them so badly, but you both know, even if it’s slipping your mind at the moment, that realistically he's unlikely to with this being your first time really feeling them. It'll probably be a bit yet before he's able to feel.

"There!" you giggle, looking down at your and Andrew's hands over your bump. "Did you feel them?"

No. He didn't. He knew he almost certainly wouldn't but he can't help the disappointment that floods him. Andrew knows he needs to try to hide it as much as he can from you, knows that this is likely to end up with your tears turning to those of sadness and guilt and that's the last thing he wants.

He's not sure how to break the news to you. Andrew flutters his eyes open and watches you as you smile down at your hands. Even though he hides his disappointment well enough that nobody else in the would be able to see it, you still can.

Your smile falls instantly and Andrew starts to shake his head, both of you opening your mouths to speak.

You win the race, get your words out first.

"I'm sorry." You suddenly look truly distressed in a way that kills Andrew and your tears turn to those of sadness and guilt on a dime, exactly the way he didn't want them to. "I’m so sorry, Andrew. I just, I got excited and I should've been chiller about it and thought about how you probably wouldn't be able to feel, and, and how it would make you feel to not be able to feel them yet." There's a whine to the end of your sentence that tells him you're close to totally bursting into tears and full sobs, and he cannot have that and you getting the migraine that crying like that seems to inevitably give you recently.

"No." He continues to shake his head at you as he brings his hands to cup your face, wipes away your tears with his thumbs. "No apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. Please try not to feel guilty. It's not your fault and I want you to be excited and react that way. I want that for you. And I want it for me too, because seeing you like that is so special to me."

"But you can't feel them and it's disappointing and you're sad and I don't like when you're disappointed and sad, Andrew." Your breaths become jerky, bordering on wracked as tears stream down your face faster. "And I hate it even more when I've disappointed you and made you sad."

"You haven't made me disappointed or sad. I'm not sad. I'm a little disappointed, yeah, I'll never lie to you. But not because of you. You haven't disappointed me in any way. I promise." He leans down and kisses your forehead, tries to think of what else to say or do to get you feeling better. He doesn't want this moment ruined for you.

"I just want you to be able to feel them," you sniffle, lips quivering in the small pout they're pulled into. You're trying to believe him and let it go and stop crying and feeling this way, and in some ways the logical part of your brain has, but with the hormones it's hard to get the emotional part of your brain there. "I just want you to be able to feel them with me, Andrew."

"I know. I know you do," he tells you in that low, gravelly murmur he has, nodding at you. "And I will. And it'll be great and I'll get my own special moment just like you're getting your own special moment right now. It'll be perfect." He gently squeezes your face in his hand and smiles down at you. "Until then you'll just have to tell me what it feels like, yeah?"

"Okay." You're still pouting a little, but your tears have stopped and he can tell you're starting to feel better, that the idea of him getting his own special moment is soothing you. After a minute or so you nod at him, eyes round and pleading, the idea of a smile on your lips. "Yeah, I, I can do that."

Twelve weeks after that first ultrasound Andrew finds himself sitting in the waiting room of your OBGYN with you waiting to go see the baby you made together again.

You're twenty weeks now. Halfway through your pregnancy. Neither of you can believe it.

You look over at Andrew just like you did for that first ultrasound. He's just as anxious but it's manifesting differently. This time he's sitting up straight and statue still thinking about all of the different things he read and what this anatomy scan could potentially reveal.

"Hey," you murmur, reaching over and squeezing his thigh. "Remember what I said the first time? Everything's going to be okay, no matter what and no matter how long it takes for it all to feel okay again."

He looks at you and gives you one of those Andrew nods that's really more of a single nod that finishes with his chin down. "I know," he whispers. "I do." He swallows hard, almost like it pains him to say his next words because it does in a way, a verbal acknowledgment of one of his greatest fears right now. "I just need you and them to be okay."

"I know." You grab his hand and bring it up to your lips and press a couple of kisses to the back and over his knuckles. "And I truly think and believe we are. Call it mother's intuition."

That gets him to give you a small smile and quiet laugh through his nose. Before he can say anything else your name is called and he's standing to help you out of your seat even though you really don't need it yet, his hand on your lower back protectively as he walks with you to follow the ultrasound tech.

The anatomy scan goes well. The tech doesn't appear to see anything concerning, doesn't pause or make any faces. And when you go to meet with your doctor after, she reviews the images and videos taken and says on first impression she doesn't see anything other than a perfectly healthy baby developing right on track, but they always review everything closer and the results will be on your portal in two or three days. You also learn your blood pressure is good, the dead center of the normal range they give, and your bump is measuring perfectly.

That afternoon you fall asleep on the couch with your head in Andrew's lap. He stays there quietly for at least an hour, no TV on, not reading anything or looking at his phone, simply watching you sleep and stroking your hair and rubbing the side of your bump. He wants to memorize this, remember it forever, you, pregnant and napping on him on the couch.

Andrew does take a couple of photos because how could he not. You look so beautiful and peaceful and even at twenty weeks there are a lot of nights where you struggle to find comfortable sleep like this. It's how he knows you're knocked out hard. You're tired. The last couple of days have seen you struggling with terrible heartburn and reflux that make it almost impossible for you to sleep. He hates it. He hates seeing you in pain and exhausted but unable to sleep. You try to soothe him and tell him it's okay, hopefully you're taking it all on for the baby so they won't have any reflux. Both of you know it doesn't really work like that but you can still dream.

He thinks you're just as beautiful and painfully adorable when a little drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth onto his jeans. Another sign you're out hard.

Eventually he carefully lifts your head and slips out from under you, replacing his lap with a pillow. You make a little face that tells him some part of you knows you're no longer touching him, but you remain fast asleep. Andrew lowers himself and sits back on his calves for a few seconds so that he can press a kiss to your forehead and then your bump and then a few more to your forehead.

You keep your eyes closed and stretch deeply when you wake up, letting out cute little breaths of air as you do. It's easy for Andrew to imagine your baby doing the same. A small pout and furrowed brows pull onto your face when you nuzzle your face into the pillow and realize it's not your husband’s lap.

"Where'd you go?" you mumble half into the pillow and in your sleepy slur that makes his heart want to burst in that way he didn't know was even possible until he met you.

"I'm right here, Beautiful," Andrew calls to you softly as you flutter your eyes open.

You smile at him as he gets up from the padded lounge chair you have perpendicular to the couch. "Hi, Handsome."

Andrew reaches you in time to help you sit up and greet you with a flurry of kisses to your lips that make you giggle exactly how he hoped they would. "You were out hard, I wanted to let you sleep with how bad the last couple of nights have been."

"I appreciate that." The last half of your sentence comes out through a yawn, that makes you huff a laugh at yourself.

Your eyes find the coffee table and drag over the papers precisely laid out on it, your husband’s neat print covering them in varying amounts. You can make out the slightly larger underlined titles on most of the pages even with them facing sideways. Car seats. Mattresses. Bottles. Pacifiers. Strollers. Bassinets. There are a few others you can't quite make out.

"What's all this?" You nod at the table before turning to look at him.

"They're…" A light flush hits Andrew's cheeks and you know it's something he can't help, that he's not truly embarrassed, not with you, but that even after all this time a part of his brain still defaults to he's about to get made fun of or eye rolls or a quip about how that's so Pope with a laugh.

He lets out a breath and leans forward, turns all the papers so that they're facing you and pulls the coffee table a bit closer, laptop off to the side. "They're lists. I was looking around online and decided to make lists of things we’re going to need and write down the ones that have the highest ratings and highest safety rankings when that applies."

You smile widely and bite your lip as he explains what they are. You adore him and the way he researched to find the best and safest of so many things your baby will need. "I love you." Your hands reach out and cup his face gently, pull it back up and to yours so that you can kiss him softly. "You're already the best daddy, you know that? And the best pregnancy partner and husband. Our baby is so lucky to have you as their father and I’m so lucky to have you as my husband." You kiss him again so that he doesn't have to struggle to come up with something to say because you know hearing things like that still fluster him, probably always will.

After a quick nuzzle of his nose with yours, you let go of his face and smile at him, turn your attention to the lists. "Anything in particular you're interested in?"

Andrew knows what he's about to say is probably at least a little crazy and overzealous and way too much, but he can't help it. It's something that's been itching in the back of his mind your entire pregnancy.

"I think we need to get new cars." He forces the words out. "Or at least one. With a higher safety rating, but also to make it easier to get them in and out and have more space."

"Okay," you nod, your face serious, bottom lip pushed out a little and eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity. The way you take him seriously and don't make fun of him or make him feel crazy or self-conscious will never cease to amaze Andrew. You reach forward and grab the drink and snacks he set up and had waiting for you from the coffee table and then push back into the couch, curl your legs up and get comfortable. "I'm all ears, Handsome."

A little under two weeks later you and Andrew are lounging on the couch together watching TV while you scroll your phone and he rereads the chapter on what to expect in week 22. You're both sprawled with your legs on the couch, your back resting against Andrew's chest. One of his hands absent-mindedly strokes your hair while the other holds his book.

You can tell the baby is waking up now that you're still. They haven't been kicking as such, but you can feel them moving around like they're doing gymnastics. It makes you smile.

Five or so minutes later they do finally give you a proper kick and from the second you feel it you know there's something different about it. It's just a feeling you have, an intuition.

Andrew will be able to feel it. You know he'll finally be able to feel the baby kicking.

You have to swallow down your beaming smile and the little laugh you want to let out so that you don't ruin the surprise. You must see his face when he feels it and realizes what it is so you lock your phone and set it to the side. When you start to sit up Andrew is quick to rest his book on the back of the couch and help you, slides himself up against the armrest a bit further so that he's still somewhat reclined but not as much.

"You okay?" There's a hint of worry to his voice that's there anytime you do something kind of abruptly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." You maneuver yourself so that you're sitting in his lap and watch his brows come together and furrow in the most adorable confusion.

You don't say anything as you grab his hand and put it on your bump where the baby just kicked. Your eyes stay glued to Andrew's face as you rest your hand over his and then push his fingers down with yours.

A few seconds later you're rewarded with another strong kick. But this time instead of just being against you or your hand, that kick is right against Andrew's hand.

You watch it process, the confusion slipping from his face as his eyes widen and his head tilts and bobs almost in a nod at you, eyebrows still furrowed but now in a kind of hopeful disbelief. It's all you need to see to know he felt them.

"Was that…?" Andrew whispers.

"Uh-huh," you nod, giggling and pressing his fingers down again. There's another kick, and then a longer press of a tiny foot against Andrew's hand. "That's them."

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly pushing himself to sit up straighter and pulling you closer to him as you sit perpendicular to him on his lap. "That's, that's…," he mumbles, head still spinning at the feeling and the knowledge of what that feeling is. He presses his own fingers down and when there's another kick in return tears fill his eyes as he looks up at you with a breathy laugh. "That's them."

Andrew has no idea how describe what he's feeling, a pure kind of joy similar to when you told him you were pregnant and when he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time with a flare of protectiveness that matches what he feels for you, and an awe for you because you're doing this, you created the little foot that made that kick, grew them from a union of two cells.

"Yeah," you laugh, "that's our baby, Andrew. I'm so fucking happy you can finally feel them." Neither of your hands move as you lean into each other and share a series of sweet kisses. "They're pretty active right now. Here," you grab his other hand, "let's see if you can feel. It's probably harder to, but maybe."

You adjust Andrew's hands on your bump and then cover them with your hands and press down fairly hard. He goes to ask if pressing down like that is hurting you, but there's no sign of pain on your face and the words dissolve on his tongue when he feels it.

It's not as strong as the kicks, but he's sure he can feel it, a kind of wiggle and fluttering he's sure must be what you describe to him. There's another flurry of kicks at his one hand and his chin and lips tremble as tears finally spill over and wet his cheeks. "That's our baby." He smiles up at you through his tears. 

Like when you agreed to be his girlfriend and the first time you told him you loved him and when you said yes and when you both said I do and when you told him you're pregnant, this is one of those moments that Andrew knows has changed him forever. That he'll never be the same in the best way. His voice cracks raw and beautiful as he repeats himself. "That's our baby."

Andrew steps into the nursery and looks around.

He can't believe this is a real room in his real house he shares with his real wife, you. He has no fucking idea how he got lucky enough to call you his and be called yours.

A month and a half have passed in the blink of an eye. He can't believe you're 28 weeks now, seven months pregnant and officially in your third trimester.

The golden late afternoon sun that sneaks in through the blinds provides more than enough light to see around the room. The nursery is coming together nicely now that it's painted. You've hung a few things on the wall and the standalone bassinet that will eventually move to live right next to your side of the bed is off to one side where the crib will go once Andrew's finished with it. All of it’s almost done, the crib and dresser changing table combo and rocking chair he's built. He just needs to finish sealing and painting them all.

He smiles to himself when his eyes land on the onesie you used to tell him you were pregnant. Daddy's future skating buddy. You put it on a hanger and hung it on the curtain rod, the curtains you picked out yet to be delivered. You also twisted the neck of the hanger so that the onesie hangs parallel to the wall like a sign, easily readable without having to step to the side.

Andrew walks closer to it, brings his hand up and touches one of the feet. It's so small. He should be used to it by now with how many onesies he's touched, but he's not. Not at all.

"I know it was kind of silly to hang it like that," you call to him softly from the doorway. "I just had a moment when I was in here earlier."

He glances over his shoulder at you and then looks back at the onesie, his thumb running over the fabric. Andrew can hear you padding across the carpet to him. "No, I think it's cute. I like it."

You hum in acknowledgment as you wiggle your hands under his free upper arm in opposite directions and wrap your arms around his. You take a step closer and lean into his side, rest your cheek against his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly and you can hear how hard he swallows. "It's so small. I can't… I don't know. Our baby will be this small." He pauses for a couple of seconds, lets go of the onesie and brings his hand back down. "I can't wrap my mind around how small they're going to be."

As you move your head and press a kiss to his shoulder over his shirt you hum again. "And they're going to look even smaller in their daddy's arms and against his chest."

It's a sight you've dreamed about, your tiny newborn in only a diaper against Andrew's bare chest as they do skin-to-skin, somehow looking even smaller against his broad frame with his large hand covering their entire back. You can't wait to see in person before the sight is lost to the blanket laid over the two for warmth. You’ll cry. 

Andrew lets out a shaky breath as he thinks about holding them when they're that small, when you're still in a hospital bed finally letting yourself rest. Tears nearly flood his eyes just thinking about it.

But it scares him a little. The thought slips off his tongue before he even realizes he's saying it out loud. "What if I accidentally hurt them? They'll be so fragile and I'm, I'm…."

"I know you don't believe it and that she made you believe it was the exact opposite, but you're capable of treating someone more delicately than I thought was humanly possible," you murmur. "Do you remember our wedding night?" It's a rhetorical question and you both know it. That entire day and night are permanently etched in your minds. "You treated me like I was made of the thinnest glass as you took me out of my wedding dress and lingerie and had me as your wife for the first time. And that's just one time I can think of. You’ve touched and held me in ways that are softer and more gentle and delicate and careful than I could’ve ever dreamed of."

"The fact that you even have that worry tells me that you're not going to accidentally hurt them. Not every father-to-be has that thought, especially before the baby is here and they're holding them. And besides." You let out a soft, adoring laugh through your nose under your breath. "I think you're going to be physically incapable of hurting them. I truly don't think your body and mind would even let you, Andrew. Your paternal and protective instincts will be far too strong."

Andrew drums his fingers in the air how he does frequently, lips pulling into that neutral little scowl he sometimes defaults to as he thinks about your words. There's a piece of him that knows you're right because he has those same kind of instincts for you. Instincts that are strong enough that when you want him to be a little rougher with you during sex, want to feel a little pain and be spanked or have your hair pulled or whatever else, he has to actively fight them. And it's not an easy battle. Those instincts aren't easy to overcome.

But still. The majority of him struggles to accept that you're right.

You can just about hear the gears grinding in his head as he thinks about your words and tries to get himself to believe them while continuing to worry about accidentally hurting them and being a good father generally and about you. He's starting to slip too far into his head and you both know it. And you know that trying to finish this conversation right now will be unproductive and send him further into his head and potentially spiraling. Right now he needs to be distracted.

"Hey." You nudge his now tensed shoulder with your nose. "Can I have a kiss?"

That snaps him right out of it how you hoped it would. He looks over and down at you, his shoulders relaxing and scowl smoothing out as his mind returns to the present and not the what ifs. He loves you. He knows what you just did and that it was deliberate.

Andrew nods, and both of you turn so that you're facing each other. He leans down and presses the sweetest kiss to your lips, tells you thank you and I love you and I appreciate you and I don't take you for granted without a single word through a single kiss. His lips quirk up into an amused smile when he pulls away and sees your adorable little pout that tells him you're about to ask for something.

You run your hands up his chest and wrap your arms around his neck, play with his curls and try to act nonchalant. One of his hands finds one of yours, his other hand resting low on the side of your bump near your other hip.

"Will you make me a special grilled cheese and chocolate chips pancakes please?" You let your pout pull up into a hopeful smile. "The baby reallyyyy wants them."

His amused smile deepens, becomes more of an amused, playful smirk. He runs his hands back until they find your ass, squeezes with just the right pressure as he flashes his eyebrows up at you. "The baby, hm?"

"Yes," you nod confidently, "the baby." You raise your eyebrows and bob your head a little, pull your lips down at the corners a little and shrug. "And, you know, maybe I happen to really want them as well. But only because the baby wanted them first."

Andrew laughs softly and shakes his head at you. He moves his hands from your ass and wraps his arms around you, hugs you as close as possible as he can with your bump. His hands rub your back and he rocks you a little, presses a kiss to your temple. "Of course I'll make them for you," he murmurs against your skin. He pulls away and smiles down at you, eyes extra crinkled at the corners because you're too fucking cute and precious and adorable for words and he loves you so god damned much. "I'll make them for you whenever you want."

The excited smile and shimmer in your eyes at the confirmation that he'll make you your current craving and favorite meal makes him somehow melt even further for you. Andrew will never look at a grilled cheese and chocolate chip pancakes the same way again. They'll always hold a special place in his heart.

"Thank you, Handsome," you sing. "And the baby says thank you daddy."

"You're welcome, Beautiful," he hums before giving you another kiss. "And you're welcome too," he tells the baby as he rubs your bump, smiling at you when he feels them kick at his hand. He presses down a little against your skin to acknowledge them and then pulls his hand away and offers it to you. "Come on, you two. You can sit on the counter in the kitchen with me while I cook."

I love him. I LOVE HIM AND WANT TO MAKE HIM THE HAPPIEST MAN ALIVE. He deserves everything!! EVERYTHING!! He's just so precious I can't. 🫠😭 Sometimes I really meltdown about him. 😭 Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! ♥️

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Maybe that's dramatic and maybe even somewhat horrible to say given that Smurf at least ostensibly gave him Christmases as a kid. But that's what it feels like, both to him and to you. It's how his siblings and J feel too.

It's his first Christmas without his mother around to use it as another tool to manipulate and hurt him with. He's never liked the holiday, but then he's never liked any holidays. He couldn't stay away from the house and his mother on holidays, he always had to be home.

All of them did.

And when you and Andrew started dating you were expected to be there too. Not because Smurf really wanted you there, she hated you and the way you took Andrew away from her, but because she'd never turn down an opportunity to be as subtly nasty to you as possible in an effort to get you to leave her son.

It didn't work out well for her. You and Andrew celebrated six years together earlier this year, bought a house and there's been two beautiful rings on your finger and one on his for over two years now.

The two of you had considered waiting to get married until she wasn't around to taint a wedding. But one day Andrew decided no, the two of you were going to get married whenever the hell you wanted to, however the hell you wanted to.

If you wanted to wait until Smurf was gone, then that was okay with him, he'd happily wait. If you wanted to get married while she was still around then he'd make it happen. If you wanted a big wedding, he'd make sure you had the big wedding of your dreams. If you wanted a small wedding then he'd make sure you had the small wedding of your dreams.

In the end you'd eloped, driven up the coast to Big Sur and exchanged vows on a quiet, hidden beach. It was just you, Andrew, the officiant and his wife, the one witness you needed for the marriage certificate.

Smurf was pissed when she found out. And when you said you didn't want a party or anything at the house that pissed her off even more because she couldn't find a way to make it about herself.

You'd spoken to Andrew a lot about what he wanted to do this Christmas since it's the first where he's truly been able to decide for himself and without Smurf around and without any expectations. You were happy to have it be a cozy day with just the two of you in your recently purchased beach front house, but you were also happy to host his brothers and J because you recognize it's their first real Christmas too and know that despite Smurf, family means a lot to Andrew. He's grown particularly close with Deran. Andrew is your priority though, always, so if he wanted it to just be the two of you then that's what you'd do.

He didn't really have any preference with the holiday not really meaning anything to him. In the end you guys decided to have the morning together and then invite his brothers and J over around noon or so for Christmas dinner, or Christmas lunch, really, you guess. That way Craig, Ren and Nick could go to her family, Deran and Adrian could make it to Adrian's family, and J and his new girlfriend could make it to her family.

Normally you wake up to Andrew's eyes on you if he's up before you, and he almost always is. But today when you finally flutter your eyes open he's propped himself up with some pillows and is staring at the ceiling, lost in thought while his thumb absentmindedly brushes over the back of your hand that he's holding. He always has to be touching you, your Andrew.

You stay still as you lay on your side next to him, smile to yourself as you admire the man you love desperately. You trace his profile with your eyes, his strong nose and plush lips, continue down and take in his neck, the slightest bit of stubble there from not having shaved yet today, move down to his broad chest that you love to rest your head on and that houses a heart that you know beats only for you.

After a couple of moments you let him know you're awake. "Thinking awfully hard over there, Mr. Cody." Andrew's head snaps over to look down at you. "Morning, Handsome," you smile at him. "And Merry Christmas."

"Morning, Beautiful." His voice is still thick with sleep so he hasn't been up too long, cheeks flushing just a touch at you calling him handsome even after all this time. "Merry Christmas."

His hand tugs on yours gently and you do as he wordlessly asks, bring your lips to his for what's always the sweetest good morning kiss.

"You wanna talk about it?" you ask him as the two of you settle in bed, Andrew sliding down a bit and you curling into his side, resting your head on his chest. You run your hand up and down his chest and tummy, the perfect level of definition and softness, and warm, so very, very warm just like the rest of him.

He shrugs, arm wrapping around you and running up and down your back in time with your hand on him. "I was thinking about how nice it is… Getting to lay here with you Christmas morning and enjoy it, not have to worry about going over to the house later and what Smurf will do this time."

"It is pretty nice," you murmur, roll your head into him a little further and kiss his chest where your lips happen to reach. "You know, I was thinking. Maybe tonight we could go on a walk along the beach. We could make it our own little tradition."

Andrew takes in a deep breath and lets it out through his nose slowly. "I'd like that." He shifts slightly so that he's a bit further down and on his side a little, his arm still under you almost like he's cradling you a little. Hazel eyes that look almost golden in the morning light trickling in through the curtains search yours. "I love you."

You smile at him and you're so beautiful he can't believe you're real and you're here and you're his. Before you can even say it back Andrew has rolled the two of you a little more, one of his legs slotted between yours and half of his body pressed against yours with half of your back pressed against the mattress. He kisses you, slow, but deep, licking into your mouth and sighing happily into the kiss when he pulls a breathy moan from you. 

Your eyes stay closed for a few seconds after he pulls away, a smaller version of that same smile that made him kiss you lighting up your face. You open your eyes and reach up to cup your husband's face. "I love you too."

You bite your lip and giggle a little because Andrew is your husband. He's been your husband for over two years now but it's still surreal in some ways, almost unbelievable. You can’t believe he’s yours, not just because of how attractive he is, but because of what a good man he is despite the reputation his mother forced upon him. He’s treated you better than any of the supposedly stand up guys from your past.  

Your giggle and lip bite earn you a slight raise of his brows and amused quirk of his lips. You shrug. "I just can't believe you're my husband. You're the best, Andrew. You treat me better than anyone ever has, you care so deeply for those you love and you show it in all of the things you do for everyone. You’re such a good man. Sometimes I just can’t believe I got so lucky." 

You move your hands down to rub at his chest, drop your voice. "Not to mention how handsome and hot and sexy you are." You press your fingertips into his chest a little more firmly, tilt them slightly so that your nails drag lightly over his skin and move them down his chest and abdomen. "You know, there's still some time before I need to get up and get the roast in the oven and start cooking."

He smirks at you, but you can feel him growing hard against your leg. "You don't even know what time it is."

"I can tell by the brightness of the sun,” you quip.  

He huffs a laugh. "Bullshit,” he whispers against your lips as he kisses you again. 

You hum at him. "Well, I really don't care if we eat later than planned. I wanna have sex with my husband."

"That sounds more like my girl," he smirks at you, head spinning at the prospect of getting to have you. He gets those same overwhelming moments of disbelief that you do, ones where he can’t seem to process how you’re truly his wife. But you are. You’re his wife, who wants to have sex with him and who bought a house with him and who took his last name. He rolls you further, adjusts the pillows so that you’re laying flat against the mattress for him. 

"Yeah?" you breathe, run your hands up his arms and thread your fingers into his curls. 

"Yeah,” Andrew breathes back at you before kissing you again, harder this time, devouring you as he drops his hips against yours and starts to grind. His lips leave yours only to find your jawline, kiss along it until he reaches your neck, lips moving down and taking turns pressing the softest teasing kisses to your skin and sucking at all the most sensitive spots he has memorized. 

"Say it again," you pant softly, moaning when he nibbles at your collarbone. “Please.”

"Say what?" He nuzzles his nose into the top of one of your breasts before kissing down and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. 

You whine at how good his mouth feels, at how he always seems to know the perfect movements and perfect pressure and exactly what you need to have you desperate for him in seconds. "That I'm your girl, Andrew, fuck.”

He releases your nipple and kisses across your chest to the other. "You're my girl," he murmurs before taking your other nipple in his mouth, laving at it briefly and sucking hard when he pulls away. "My woman." Andrew kisses down your abdomen, presses kisses to each of your hips before trailing his lips inward. "My wife."

You swallow hard, almost ruin your own surprise and blurt out everything right then and there. But you manage to keep yourself from saying anything, only moan in response as his lips grow closer to where you're now desperate for them to be.

"Oh, Andrew," you sigh, breathy and low, as he kisses just above your clit and puts one arm over your hips to help hold you down. His other hand takes yours, laces your fingers together so you're palm to palm, and you tangle the fingers of your other hand in his auburn curls.

Andrew doesn't say anything in response, just gives your hand a soft squeeze and licks you cunt to clit.

As the sun sets on the day you and Andrew walk along the path at the edge of the beach, the sounds of the waves crashing and lapping at the shore and seagulls cawing a familiar soundtrack to some of your most important moments together. You think it's fitting that it'll become the soundtrack to this one.

You squeeze his hand when your bench comes into view. He looks down and over at you with slightly raised brows. Andrew's eyes are golden again in the light of the setting sun just like they were this morning in the light of the rising sun. You give him a soft smile, glance over at your bench and flick your chin at it. "Wanna sit for a little?"

There's something to the tone of your voice that gives him a second of pause. You sound almost… nervous. It's strange. But the smile you're wearing is so warm and genuine he tries not to overthink it too much. "I'd like that," he nods.

You squeeze his hand and the two of you continue walking, sit on the bench with the sides of your thighs pressed together. This bench has seen a lot. It's seen almost everything. You sat on this bench when Andrew asked you out for the first time. You shared your first kiss here, said I love you for the first time sitting on this bench. Andrew got down on one knee as you sat on this bench and asked you to marry him. It's truly your bench.

So it's the perfect place for this.

Andrew wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. You rest your head against his shoulder and chest for a minute as he kisses the top of your head, let him have these last few seconds before everything changes.

Once you're ready you pull a small, flat box from the pouch of his sweatshirt that you're wearing. You'd worn it not just for the usual reasons, it's comfy and warm, and is too big and smells like him and makes you feel wrapped up in him even as you walk, but also because it's oversized enough to make the box less obvious.

"Andrew?" He hums at you in response and you lick your lips. "I um, I have one last thing for you." You offer him the box and shift so that you're looking up at him. "Merry Christmas, my love."

Andrew looks down at the small box with slightly furrowed brows and a confused expression as he takes it from you. It's adorable. He's adorable. You guys did presents with his brothers and their respective partners and family so you understand his confusion. "I thought we already did presents?"

"We did," you laugh softly. "I just…" You trail off, look out over the ocean for a second and try to get your heart rate to come down, your nervous energy just growing and growing. This is a surprise. It was a big fucking surprise for you and it'll be just as big of one for him. Bigger, probably.

You worry about his reaction, whether he'll be happy, or not want this right now or ever. Deep down, you know he'll be fucking thrilled, that Andrew wants this, has always wanted this even if he hasn't let himself fully express it. It's just hard for you in the moment with how unexpected this is, your brain all over the place, the hormones swamping your system pulling your thoughts in every direction.

You take in a deep breath and let it out as you turn back to him with a small smile on your face. "I don't know. I wanted this one to be by itself… and out here on our bench."

Andrew picks up on your anxiety easily, has to work hard to not let it trigger his own. The furrow to his brows deepens, corners of his mouth pulling down slightly. He's far more concerned about you than he is the gift. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." You give him a small, genuine smile that meets your eyes and nod. "Open it," you whisper.

He studies you for another moment but then does as you ask, pulling the top of the small box off. Andrew has no idea what he expected to be in the box but what looks almost like a neatly folded pair of boxer briefs wasn't far up his list of possibilities. His eyes glance up to you, uncertainty present in all his features.

You nod encouragingly for him to take it out, chew the inside of your cheek as he returns his focus to the box to do so. Andrew pulls whatever it is out of the box and then holds it out in front of him, lets it unfold.

As he takes in what he's holding and what it says, Andrew stops breathing.

It's a newborn sized onesie that reads 'Daddy's future skating buddy' with skateboards all over it.

Andrew knows what it means, he knows what you're telling him, what you have to be telling him, but his brain can't process it because there's no fucking way. You're on birth control.

You knew he'd have a reaction like this, something quiet and almost slightly delayed as his brain wraps itself around the news and the idea of himself as a father. You just didn't realize how anxious it would make you feel. 

"I know it's a surprise, it was for me too. I'm not perfect with my pill, I don't take it exactly at the same time every day and stuff, but it's worked this far, and I, I…" You laugh softly. "I never thought for a second I'd be a part of the 7 to 9 percent that would get pregnant."

Andrew's eyes tear from the onesie over to you as he brings his arms back in, gripping onto the onesie like a lifeline and subconsciously holding it over his heart. "That you'd what?" he whispers, voice strained, but not in a bad way. His eyes are glassy like he's about to cry. He can't believe he isn't crying already.

You realize he needs to hear it from you to truly process it. "That would get pregnant." You smile at him, eyes just as glassy as his. "I'm pregnant, Andrew. You're going to be a daddy."

Hearing you say it rocks him to his core, sends pure happiness and joy coursing through him in a way he's only ever experienced in relation to you. But his mind tears it apart in a second and his eyes fall from yours down to stare at the sandy sidewalk.

Baz's words ring loudly through his head.

No one is ever going to have a kid with you. Ever. 

You can't possibly actually want this with him.

You can't possibly actually want this with him, especially with it being unplanned. You said it yourself, it was a surprise. You must be upset by this, maybe you don't want to go through with it. Yes, you look happy, you sound happy, you seem genuinely happy, but maybe he's making that all up because he wants this so badly.

Or maybe you are happy. The two of you have talked about kids before, of course, both of you open to them but not necessarily dead set on having them. It was always something you guys said you'd talk about when the time felt like it might be right. So maybe you're happy now, but maybe as it all settles in your mind you'll change it, decide that no, you don't want kids with him, how could you be so stupid for even a second to think that might be a good idea.

Maybe you'll decide not to move forward with the pregnancy. Maybe the idea is slowly going to freak you out so much that you realize even the potential of getting pregnant again is too much for you and so you'll leave him.

And regardless, he doesn't deserve this. He can't have this. He'll be a terrible father. He lost Lena. Sure, a lot of that was circumstance and him not wanting to subject her to Smurf, and yes it was before he even knew you, but still. Baz said what he did for a reason. Every child deserves so much better than him for a father. It's bad enough he's selfish and subjects you to himself, he can't do that to a child, especially his own.

His own baby. A little piece of you and him, a little piece of your love physically manifested in the world. God he wants that. He wants this. He wants this baby with you.

Andrew's thoughts are all but written on his face and he's all but saying them out loud for you to hear with how easily you read him. You can tell how excited he is and how his brain is destroying this for him. You know he's telling himself he doesn't deserve this and that you probably don't truly want this and that you shouldn't want this. You know he's telling himself how bad of a father he'll be, that he shouldn't subject a child to himself.

"Andrew," you murmur. You slide yourself onto his lap as he continues to clutch the onesie to his chest. You take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead gently. When his gaze comes back up to you, you hold it, smile widely at him.

"You're not upset?" he whispers.

"No, Sweetheart," you shake your head gently. "I'm the opposite of upset. I'm excited and happy and so fucking in love with them and with you, and thanking everything out there that I'm getting to do this with you and have you and have you by my side for all of this. I'm nervous, yeah, but in that way most people are when they find out they're going to be a parent for the first time."

It hits you then. You're making a whole lot of assumptions right now. You're assuming Andrew wants this. That he isn't upset. That he wants to go through with this.

You're suddenly whispering like he has been and Andrew can feel the change in your mood, a worried nervousness of a different kind. "Are you upset? Because we don't have to… go through with the pregnancy if you don't want to. We can talk about it, I didn't mean for there to be any pressure and I shouldn't have assumed."

"No," he shakes his head quickly, brows furrowing. "I'm not upset. I'm, I'm…"

That's all the confirmation you need that what you thought was correct. He's deep in his head and struggling to get out despite wanting to be happy and excited with you. "Andrew, this is a good thing. This is the best thing. Let yourself have this my love. Let yourself have this moment with me. Be here with me, yeah? Just be here with me."

He nods slowly, that part of his mind destroying this for him shutting off. It'll never cease to amaze him how you can do that, how you've always had the ability to get his mind to quiet so that he can focus on the present with you and just existing in the moment.

Your thumbs brush over his cheekbones as he lets go of the onesie with one hand so he can wrap an arm around you but keeps it clutched against his heart with his other hand. "I'm pregnant," you tell him again once you can see he's back in the moment with you. "You're going to be a daddy. And you're not going to be anything like her Andrew. I know you're worried about that and I promise you I know you're going to be nothing like her. You're going to be the best fucking father in the whole world and this baby is already so, so fucking lucky in life because they have you as their father, even if you can't believe that yet. I know it."

You lean in and give him a kiss, soft and loving and trying to pour how much you mean your words into him. "This baby is going to want for nothing and know nothing but love. They'll always feel safe and protected and know that they are, and they'll always feel so, so special to their father, feel so incredibly loved by him, because they will be. They already are." You swallow thickly, a few tears finally escaping and slipping quickly down your face. "This baby couldn't have a better father. I couldn't have picked or, or created a better man to have a baby with, a better father for my child."

Andrew isn't sure he agrees with everything you just said but he finally lets all of the happiness and excitement and joy and shock out. He finally lets himself truly have this. 

"I'm going to be a father," he breathes out, words wet with the tears that finally start to fall. "We're having a baby. You're giving me a baby."

"Yeah," you whisper, laughing through happy tears. "You are and we are. We're having a baby. You're going to be the best daddy ever and I can't wait to get to watch you love them." The two of you lean in for the kiss you share naturally, let it linger and deepen as you both continue to have tears stream down your face, the whole thing so reminiscent of the way you kissed after you said yes to Andrew's proposal. You sniffle when the kiss breaks, use your thumbs to try to wipe away some of the tears on his face. "You know when we take our Christmas walk next year they'll be with us."

"They'll be here. Our baby will be here," he whispers. Another wave of tears flood his eyes and spill down his cheeks onto your thumbs. He smiles at you, something small and genuine, disbelief and a happiness you can feel written in it. His chin trembles hard, harder than you've ever seen before. "You're pregnant. You're really pregnant?"

"I'm pregnant," you nod, smiling at him through your own tears.

Andrew lets out a wet laugh and accepts the kiss you give him. "Thank you. Thank you so much. You're giving me a baby, thank you. I love you, I love you so much more than I know what to do with. Thank you."

He lets the onesie fall between the two of you as you shift on his lap so that you're chest to chest, your legs wrapped around him through the gap in the bench. "I love you too," you murmur. "I love you so much."

You wrap your arms around each other tightly, hold each other close as you bask in the news and this moment together. One of Andrew's hands holds the back of your head to keep you close as he nearly sobs into your neck, the reality that he's going to be a father and that you think he's going to be a good father and that he's going to have the opportunity to give his baby the childhood and life and support he never had sinking in and healing a piece of him.

"I'm sorry," he sniffles against you. "They're good, I promise. I'm just so happy." His voice breaks over the last word as more tears wet your neck.

You hold him tighter, rub his back with one hand and gently lean the side of your head against his. "Don't apologize," you murmur, voice watery with your own tears. "I know they are. I know, Handsome."

At some point both of you pull it together enough to look at each other and laugh through the rest of your tears before sharing kiss after kiss. You let the sleeve of Andrew's hoodie slip over your hand and use it to clean his face, let him use it to clean yours and your neck.

You stay sitting as you are, keep your arms wrapped loosely around his waist. You smile to yourself as you watch Andrew grab the onesie and hold it up again. He stares at it for a moment and you follow his eyes as they trace the edges and read the words over and over. "It's so small," he whispers, voice full of awe, his brain still somewhat trying to catch up with the idea.

"They're going to be that small upon arrival," you laugh softly, bring your lips to his forehead and press a lingering kiss there.

He shakes his head slightly and looks up at you. "How do you keep something this small safe?"

You know it's not literal and somewhat of a rhetorical question, but that there's also some genuineness there, that he's voicing his fear about being a good dad who's able to keep his child safe. You shrug. It's one of those things that's hard to articulate. "The same way you keep me safe, Sweetheart."

Andrew nods, his mind racing and flitting from thought to thought so fast he struggles to hold onto one long enough to voice it. But once he gets one thought out they all seem to pour out of him at once. You bite your lip at how adorable he's being, at how much he cares and loves them and you. 

"When can we go see them? How far along are you? How are you feeling? Have you, have you been getting sick in the mornings?" He'll hate himself if you've been throwing up in the mornings and he hasn't even noticed. "How long have you known? Sex, we, we had sex this morning. Are we allowed to? Is that okay? Could it hurt the baby?"

You giggle slightly and rest your forearms on his shoulders, hands coming back to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. "I've known since yesterday morning. I realized I missed my period last month and was late this month and was like it's probably just stress, it's not like I'm the most regular with how I skip my periods sometimes with the birth control. But I figured I'd take a test and it would be negative and I’d be like ha ha what was I thinking and then that test lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. I think I'm about eight weeks."

"I don't have an appointment scheduled yet. My doctor was closed yesterday, but I'm planning to call as soon as they're open again. I'm not sure if that first appointment will include an ultrasound so we can see them, but I can ask." As you stare into Andrew's eyes you find yourself trying to imagine what your baby will look like. You hope they're a mini-him, or as much of one as they can be.

"I haven't been sick, though I have been a little nauseous and looking back it does feel like it's been getting worse slowly, so it wouldn't surprise me if some morning sickness started soon." Andrew frowns at that and you lean in and kiss his down-turned lips. "It's okay, it'll be okay. It'll be so much more than worth it."

"I know," he says quietly. "I just hate the thought of you not feeling well and being sick."

"I know Sweetheart. But maybe it'll never happen and I'll just have a little nausea. And exhaustion. I've been feeling so exhausted lately. That's normal, from the brief look online I did. It has to do with hormones sustaining the pregnancy right now." You give him another kiss and smirk a little when you look at him again. "And sex is perfectly safe."

The corners of his lips quirk up for just a second and you giggle again, fall into him and bury your face in his neck. Andrew huffs a small laugh, can't help it with how infectious your giggles are. He hopes they get your laugh. 

He turns his head and pushes his lips to the side, kisses your temple as much as he can in this position. "Will you stand for me? Just for a minute."

"Of course." You pull your head from his neck and steal a quick kiss from him before maneuvering off his lap and standing between his legs when he opens them for you.

You already know what he wants, what he probably needs. And you know that with the slight December chill in the air he won't ask for it. So you do it for him, pull the waistband of your sweatpants down a little so they're low on your hips and then lift his sweatshirt and the t-shirt you're wearing under it up enough so that your lower abdomen is revealed to him.

Andrew lets out an audible breath when your skin comes into view. He feels a little ridiculous for it, there's been no change yet. You aren't showing. Nobody would know just by looking at you that you're pregnant.

But you are.

He looks at you there with a kind of wonder you don't think you've ever seen from him before. It makes you smile to yourself. He's already the best father, has already shown your baby more true parental love than his mother showed him over the span of his entire life. And you know Andrew doesn't even realize it because loving them and showing them love isn't something he has to think about. It's natural. Despite everything he's been through, the childhood he didn't have and the love he was never truly shown, loving his child and showing them how much he loves them even before they're born is instinctual because of how good of a man and person he is, regardless of what he might think and what the world may try to tell him.

Andrew brings his hands to your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against you as he moves his head closer to you until his lips brush against the skin over your womb. "Hi," he whispers, "I'm your dad." He thinks it should feel weird, almost vaguely embarrassing maybe, talking to them like this, like they can hear him. But it doesn't and it isn't. It feels right. It feels like a dream coming true, like another dream you're making come true for him.

You feel something wet against your skin and realize Andrew's crying again, his chin wobbling as he lets out a little laugh of disbelief and smiles before pressing his lips to your skin in the gentlest kiss. You shift your hands so you can keep your tops pulled up and out of the way for him with one hand, run the other through perfect curls you'll never get enough of.

Andrew presses kiss after kiss after kiss to your skin. When he finally pulls back he blinks away the last of his tears and looks at you there again for a moment before he moves one of his hands and rests it there over your womb.

And then his eyes find yours, that same wonder still there. "My baby's in there. Our baby. You're carrying our baby." He squeezes your hip gently, presses the pads of his fingers against your skin where his hand rests. "I love you so much. Both of you."

You smile down at him as a few tears fall down your cheeks. The hand holding your tops slides to rest on top of Andrew's, the fabric falling over them, not that either of you notice. You move your other hand to cup half of his face and lean down and kiss him, whisper against his lips. "We love you so much too."

I want to give him allllllllllll the babies he desires and love him and make him the happiest man in the world who knows how amazing and loved he is!!🥹😫🫠😮‍💨 I adore him. He would be the best dad. I need it. Thank you so much for reading and I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! ♥️ I love hearing your thoughts and comments so much!

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Jack Abbot tag list! Rabbot/Rabbot x Reader tag list! Brett Richards tag list! Titus Danforth tag list! Grant Reilly tag list! Charlie Reid tag list! Robby Robinavitch tag list!

Everyone in the room knows what that was the sound of - your skull cracking.

“Fuck me!” “Fucking shit!” “Holy fuck!” “Oh god!” “Was that her fucking skull?” Verbalized reactions fill the air from Robby, Dana, Heather, Mel and Santos, respectively. Jack is silent. He’s not even sure he’s breathing. He’s frozen as he looks at you, both struggling to process what has happened and already understanding what has happened at once, hearing dulled as he focuses on you. 

Things have now gone from really fucking bad to somehow a lot fucking worse in a matter of seconds.

A head injury was the last thing you needed. And it was preventable. He should have prevented it. He should have stayed with you, told Robby to handle the code on his own, kept holding you, actually looked you over before letting you go but he didn’t. 

“Somebody get a fucking gurney in here!” Dana yells out the door. 

“Collins, you handle this. Mohan, you’re with me!” Robby orders. Once your neck is secured in a c-collar and you’re on a gurney you’re rushed into trauma two, the team swarming you just like they do any other unfortunate soul who ends up here. 

Jack suddenly finds himself again, hearing no longer dampened and follows your gurney into trauma two. “Mannitol-”

“Get out Jack!” Robby shouts at him amid the chaos of getting you hooked up to monitors and IVs going. “You can’t be in here!”

“And yet here I fucking am.” Jack almost snarls back at him as he takes a place on the other side of you. 

“Dana.” Robby shoots her a look and she steps back and away from you, peeling her gloves off and tossing them to the floor. 

“Jack,” she says softly to him, rests a hand on his bicep and squeezes gently. “Let’s step out.”

He shrugs her hand off. “No. No fucking way. Somebody…” He trails off as he looks down at you, freezing again. More blood pours from your mouth, and now your nose. He looks down and sure enough, it’s dripping out of your ear too, not unsurprising given the head trauma, but still. The image is seared in his brain.  

“Fuck!” Robby yells. “She’s in DIC.” He takes a look at your vitals. To say they’re abysmal would be a gross understatement. “Okay, massive transfusion protocol now, people! I wanna do two to one to one with how much blood she’s lost. Set up for a central line.” 

“Push etomidate and roc!” Mohan yells into the chaos. “7.0 ET please.”

“Jack, you have to move, okay? They need access to her.” Dana grabs Jack’s arm again and is able to pull him to the side. “Once she’s intubated you can sit by her, okay?” 

He gives a single nod in response, sits automatically when Dana pushes the stool into the back of his knees. It doesn’t take the team long to get you intubated and Dana helps him move so that he sits at the top of your head. 

Everything and everyone else fades away as he looks down at your face, your beautiful blood smeared face. He leans in towards you a little. He has so much he wants to say and yet he can’t get a word out. 

“We’re taking her up to surgery, Jack.” Robby is suddenly leaning down next to him. “We have to stop the internal bleeding before we can image her head.” 

“She’s in DIC. She has a subdural from the fall, I’m sure. Fractured skull. We have to address it.” Jack almost mumbles it as he watches them put the bed rails up and start to move you. 

“I know,” Robby tells him gently, “but if the major source of bleeding isn’t stopped, you and I both know that the skull fracture and subdural aren’t going to matter.”

Jack just nods and stands, follows your gurney in silence up to the OR floor. He hates it but he has to take one last look at you before turning to go into a locker room to grab a fresh pair of scrubs. He changes fast, finds Garcia and Shamsi in the scrub room. 

“What are you doing Jack?” Garcia asks him, sharing a look with Shamsi. “You’re not coming in the OR.”

“Yes I am.” He ignores her, grabs a pack and starts to scrub. The door opens again and Jack doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Robby. 

“You guys go.” Robby nods at Garcia and Shamsi. “Jack, come on. Let’s go to the gallery or waiting room.”

“Fuck that!” Jack yells as they walk in. He’s still scrubbing furiously. “I’m not going to watch them hack her-”

“You and I both know they’re not going to ‘hack her’ and that there’s nobody else you’d rather have operating on her. You need to let them do their work.” Robby stops next to the sink Jack is scrubbing at. “That is the best thing you can do for her right now. Let them work.”

Jack keeps scrubbing for a minute, jaw clenched tight. But then he stops. He knows Robby is right. Knows that scrubbing in and being in the OR isn’t going to fix you. It isn’t going to let him make up for not noticing you were shot earlier, before you were already half dead on the floor with a broken fucking skull he could have prevented. 

The combination of emotions is crushing. He throws the soap at one of the doors in the scrub room and yells a “fuck!” There’s a moment of silence and then a whispered “fuck,” that his voice crack on half way through. 

“Come on.” Robby picks up the soap and throws it away, throws a towel at Jack for his hands. “Let’s get some air.” 

“I’m going to obs.” Jack tells him. Robby tries to speak. “No. If I don’t get to be in the OR with her I at least get to fucking watch over her from obs.”

“No, Jack! I’m not letting you fucking torture yourself by watching this. She wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t want you seeing her like this-”

“You don’t fucking know her!” Jack seethes, getting up in Robby’s face, chests touching. “So stop fucking acting like you do.”

A tense silence passes, a staring match before Robby holds his hands up in defeat and looks away. “Alright. I’m sorry.” 

“I have to watch her die, Robby. I have to have been there for her. Been there with her. I am not letting her go alone.” Jack shakes his head, eyes red rimmed and glassy but more serious than Robby has ever seen him before. 

“I know.” Robby opens the door of the observation suite for him. “If something happens and they get close to calling it you can go be with your girl, okay?”

“No.” Jack huffs, treading water more and more to try and stay above the flood of emotions. “No it’s not fucking okay! None of this is fucking okay! She’s not okay! I’m not okay!” Jack takes in a shuddery breath and turns his back on Robby. “None of this is okay,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion and tears that can no longer be held back. 

Robby lets Jack have a minute to try and pull himself together. He knows that right now is not the time to have some sort of heart to heart with Jack. Instead he puts the intercom on so that they can hear what’s happening in the OR but the OR can’t hear them. 

It’s not good but it’s not bad, you’re not dead. There’s no conversation between the two men, just Jack up almost pressed into the glass to watch while Robby observes him more than the surgery.

“So,” Robby says casually after a couple of minutes. “Peter?”

Jack huffs, shaking his head and coming to sit next to Robby. “Don’t ask.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I really like this little routine, you know?” You smile at Jack as he peruses the shelves, coffee in one hand and your hand in the other. You’re back at the bookstore where you met, off in the back shelves where it’s quieter, fewer people. You’re alone in the aisle. 

“Coming here?”

“Mhmm.” You nod at him. “It was a really good idea.” 

Somewhere between dates number three and four Jack had suggested you guys go back to the bookstore once a week. Make it a thing. Get coffee, pick out books together. Just walk around. How could you ever say no?

“I have one every now and then.” He smiles at you. 

You point to a book, say the title. “That looks interesting.” 

Jack looks at the book. It’s on the bottom shelf. You didn’t ask for him to bend down and get it for you but he will anyway. And you knew when you said it that he would. He’s just a gentleman like that. And so he does. Sets his coffee on the shelf and bends down to get it for you. 

“Why is it that every book you want is always on the bottom shelf?” He feigns a huff.

“Because I like making you bend down so that I can check out your ass.”

He freezes for a second. It was so not the answer he was expecting. He’s not sure he was expecting an answer. But then you come out with that. Always keeping him on his toes. 

He grabs the book and stands back up, smirking as he hands it to you. His fingers find the belt loops of your jeans and pull you close to him, lips brushing against yours. “You like my ass?” 

You giggle against his lips and kiss him. “I do.” 

“You’re terrible, woman.” He gives you another kiss. 

“More like your terrible woman.” You can feel his jaw clench at that and he holds you a little tighter. Oh he liked that. A lot. It makes you smirk. 

“Damn right you are.” One last kiss and then you break apart.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Peter.”

He cocks his head at the name. “Peter? Should I be concerned you can’t keep your men straight?” He doesn’t mean it, nor does any anxiety roll through him. He knows you, knows it was deliberate, and knows you’re about to give him some ridiculous explanation. 

“Rabbit,” you grin. “Peter Rabbit. Abbot. Jack Abbot always makes me want to call you Jack rabbit. Ergo, Peter.” You run the back of your second knuckle on your index finger over his shirt. “Inspired by the book.” You nod and look to the side. He follows your eyes to the display you look over at where, sure enough, a copy of Peter Rabbit sits.

He groans and makes a face. “Really?” He grimaces. But you both know it’s fake. His eyes are too sparkly and the ghost of a smile is too present on his face. It’s so ridiculous. If anyone else dared to call him that he would hate it and they would know it.  

“Really, Peter. Better get used to it.” You wink and start walking down another aisle. 

“I think I’ve already fallen in love with you, Doll.” Jack whispers to himself. “You’re not allowed to go anywhere on me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake with a start, your body jerking for a second before pain rips through your stomach and head. It’s bright. So so bright. Your eyes instinctively close and you pull your head back, trying to get away from the tube that feels like it’s down your throat but it follows. You start panicking. 

It filters back in. What happened. Passing out in the trauma room. Jack’s face. The pain. The bullet hole you’d felt on your skin.

“Honey?” A voice you can’t place calls out your name. A woman’s voice. “It’s okay.” You know she’s trying to be reassuring but at the moment it’s not. There’s only one voice you want to hear and it’s not hers and you panic more when you don’t hear his because where is he? Did something happen to him? Maybe he’s here and you just can’t hear him. One way to find out. 

Your eyes blink back open to an unfamiliar face above you. After you adjust to the light you quickly look around as much as you can without moving too much. 

Jack isn’t here. 

The woman above you smiles down at you. “I’m Dana. Jack just stepped out to shower and I said I’d stay with you. He’s going to kill me for convincing him to go and you waking up while he wasn’t here. It was his nightmare. He’s on his way. Knowing him he’s liable to just have a towel wrapped around him and soap in his hair because god knows if he wasn’t finished showering he wasn’t going to finish when he heard you’re awake.” 

You blink a few times, start to calm. Dana. She has a calming presence. Jack told you about her. You trust her. “Good, that’s good. He’s going to be here any second. And I’m going to get your doctor and see what we can do about getting this tube out of your throat, yeah?” 

You can hear Jack before you see him. Hear him running down the hall towards you. He’s panting when he runs into your room, looks at you, your vitals, Dana and then back to you. “You’re awake.”

All you can really do is look at him with wide eyes. He’s over by you in a second, taking Dana’s place as she goes to find your doctor. One of his hands finds yours, squeezes reassuringly. “I’m here. God I’m so sorry I wasn’t when you woke up, I didn’t want to go but they convinced me and-”

You squeeze his hand and then let go, make a motion like writing. “You want to write? Hopefully you can be extubated soon, you might be breathing over the vent already, I can look.”

You squeeze his hand again and it focuses him back on you. “Shit. Yes, um…” He feels all the pockets on his scrub pants until he finds the little notebook and pen. He gives you the pen and holds the book for you. 

Scared.

A piece of his heart shatters when he reads the word. 

“I know Doll, I know. It’s okay.” He strokes your hair gently. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I love you.” Jack’s eyes bore into yours and in the moment you’re so grateful for his need for direct eye contact. It’s reassuring in a way you can’t describe. Even if he hadn’t said anything. If he had just looked at you like he is now it would have been enough to calm your fears. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”

“I heard she’s awake?” Your eyes leave Jack’s and look over at the man who entered, but Jack’s eyes never leave you. 

“Yeah, she is. This is Robby, sweetheart.” You blink slowly. 

It’s a lot. Everything is a lot and there’s a tube in your throat and more people walk in, Dana again and your doctor, a nurse. You’re overwhelmed. You just want it to be you and Jack and you want to be at home cuddled in bed together, both of you perfectly fine. You don’t want this. It makes you kind of dizzy. And your inability to express yourself makes it all that much more difficult.

You focus on Jack’s eyes, try to block everything else out. Focus on his touch. His hand holding yours, the other stroking your hair. There’s a faint buzz of the others talking together and you know it’s about you but you remain centered on Jack. “That’s right, Doll,” he murmurs, voice low, just between the two of you. “Just focus on me. I’m right here. You’re okay. We’re okay.” 

“She’s breathing over.” Robby says quietly. “We can pull it.”

Jack raises his eyebrows at you and nods his head a little. “That’s good. We’re going to get the tube out, okay? Then you’ll be able to talk.” 

Your eyes widen a bit and you move your hand towards the notebook again, point at the word. 

Scared. 

“I know. I know it’s all scary, and I know thinking about having the tube out is scary. But you’re safe, okay? If you need it back in then we will put it back in okay?” He squeezes your hand. You give the smallest nod. 

Jack explains what will happen to you and then they do it. It hurts and is uncomfortable and you panic for a minute after it’s out because you’re coughing and it feels like you can’t breathe. Jack puts an oxygen mask to your face. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe. You’re just coughing, it’s okay. It’ll be better in a minute. I promise.” 

And just like he promises it does get better. “How about we switch this,” he takes the oxygen mask from your face and hands it to Dana while taking the nasal cannula from her, “with this.” He gets the cannula adjusted under your nose and over your ears and then smiles at you. 

You still haven’t spoken. You can’t find words. You don’t know what to say. 

Robby hands Jack a cup of water with a straw silently before he, Dana, your doctor and the other nurse slip out. 

“Here, I’m sure your throat is dry.” Jack holds the straw for you. “Small sips.”

You take a few before pulling back a little. “Thank you.” You’re quite hoarse and make a face at the sound of your voice but Jack. Jack beams. It makes you smile, makes everything start to melt away. You’re here and awake and Jack is here and everything is okay. “I love you too.” 

You press your lips out a little and it hits him. He can kiss you now and he does, soft but lingering. He never wants to pull away. 

“How long was I out?’’

“Since surgery?” Jack glances down at his watch. “Sixteen hours and thirty seven minutes. Give or take ten seconds.”

You smile. It’s a little weak which shoots a bit of a pang through him, but it’s okay because you’re smiling at him. “Not that you were counting.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes at you, eyes watery. “I’m really fucking glad you’re okay.” 

You get a little teary. “I’m really glad you’re here. I was really fucking scared Jack.” You let out a breath and a few tears. 

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side.” He leans back in, kisses you again, kisses all the tears away. “There is nowhere else I will be, okay?” 

You nod a little. You want to ask him what happened, what your injuries are but you can’t bring yourself to. You don’t want to know. Not now. 

Jack doesn’t volunteer anything. He figures that you’ll ask when you’re ready. He knows what it’s like to have it shoved in your face when you’re scared and drugged out on morphine and other medications and overwhelmed and not in a mental place to process it. 

You can’t have been awake for more than thirty or forty minutes but you’re already so tired again. Jack can tell.

“Sleepy?” 

“A little.” You pause. Then, a whispered admission. “Kind of scared to go back to sleep.”

Jack’s heart squeezes. “That’s understandable,” he nods. He knows the answer is no but he asks anyway. “Can I do anything?”

“Hold me.” Your words are out before he finishes his questions. His eyebrows raise. He wasn’t expecting that. 

You can see him thinking. Thinking about how to say no. His face is pained and he tilts it. You know he’s afraid to hurt you. “Please.” He bites his bottom lip. “I need this Jack,” you whisper. “You need this.” 

“If I hurt you at all you have to tell me, okay? If anything feels like it’s tearing or pulling or ripping, you have to tell me immediately.” He gives you a serious look, fear blazing in his eyes.

“I promise.”

He nods. “Okay.” It takes a while for him to help shift you over a bit and move all the wires and lines but eventually he’s in bed with you, holding you. 

“Thanks Peter.” It’s completely sleep garbled but so precious and he has to laugh because even with all that’s happened you’re still calling him that name.  

“You’re welcome, Doll.”

Once he’s sure you’re asleep Jack sobs as quietly as he can as he holds you. Lets himself process the emotions that he has tried to keep himself walled off from since you went down in the trauma room. He doesn’t want you to see, doesn’t want you to have to deal with him right now when you need to focus on yourself and recovering. He doesn’t want you to feel guilty, because he knows you and he knows you already feel bad about all of this. Like it’s your fault. 

Jack doesn’t know it but you wake when you feel him start to tremble. You hear and feel every sob. A little piece of you dies inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack leans against one of the windows in his apartment, stares out into the dark city and alternates watching the rain fall under the light of the street lamps and tracking drops that slide down the window. The bedroom is dark, only illuminated by the light of the city that pours in. He’s half dressed, shirtless, a pair of flannel pajama pants. The window is cold against his arm but he likes it. It reminds him in the moment that he can still feel. 

You watch him from the bathroom doorway. You’ve been together seven and a bit months now.

You’re struck by how beautiful he looks in the backlighting. Struck by how sad and conflicted he looks. 

You walk over to him quietly, but making your footsteps just heavy enough so that you don’t startle him when you wrap your arms around him from behind, rest the side of your head on the smooth skin of his back. Always so warm, your Jack, even now in the chill of the rainy night. 

He leans back into you for just a second, just long enough to acknowledge that he knows you’re there, appreciates it. 

Neither of you say anything for a few minutes before his voice interrupts the patter of the raindrops hitting the window.

“I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrow. “For what?”

“Being like this,” he shrugs. “It’s been so long. It shouldn’t still affect me like this.”

“Well first, should is a stupid word. Nothing should or shouldn’t be. Things just are. And it’s okay for them to be as they are. It’s okay for this to be as it is.” You lift your head from his back and gently pull at his torso a bit to get him to turn and look at you. He tries to avoid that eye contact he normally needs but you don’t let him. “Second, you have nothing to apologize for. And third, I don’t know Jack, I’d almost be more concerned if the anniversary of the day you lost a piece of yourself, literally, and woke up alone and terrified in a hospital bed ever stopped affecting you.”

As difficult as it is to hear, he likes that you just say it, say what happened. You don’t shy away from it, don’t avoid talking about it or speak about it without actually saying it. You never have. You’ve always just accepted it as part of him. He takes in a deep breath and then grabs your hand, leads you over to bed with him and waits for you to get in. 

But you give him a look, a slight raise of your eyebrows and nod. He sits on the edge like you wordlessly asked. You kneel before him and it makes his heart pound, blood rush towards his groin even though he knows this isn’t going there. It’s just instinctual. 

Jack watches you with glassy eyes as you push his pant leg up and remove his prosthetic for him, set it aside. You don’t have to ask if it’s hurting, of course it is. It’s the anniversary of losing his foot. Even when there’s no real reason for it to be causing him pain it is anyway. You know it. He knows you know it. 

You open the drawer of his nightstand and pull out the balm he has, get a little bit and warm it between your hands before placing them there. You glance up at him. You always do. Always make sure it’s okay. You know how hard it can be for him to have you touching there sometimes if he’s too in his head. He just barely narrows his eyes before letting them go back to being wide and round as he watches. An unspoken please. 

You start massaging gently and he takes another big breath in and holds it for a moment before letting it out and leaning into your hands slightly. “Mirror?”

He knows you’re asking if the pain is bad enough for him to want to do mirror therapy. He shakes his head. “No. It’s not that bad.” He gives you a small smile, cups your face with a hand. “Especially not now. You make it better. You always make it better, make everything better.” 

A slow smile spreads over your face. You work on him a little more before his hands are on yours and pulling you towards him a little. He slides into bed and you follow. 

You lay on your sides looking at each other. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not right now, no.” He swallows hard, looks like he’s waiting for you to be upset. “Is that okay?”

“Course it is. I’m never going to force you to talk about it with me.” You already have talked about it. You know everything, every detail he can remember and was told about what happened. About his hospital stay at Landstuhl, transfer to Walter-Reed. How depressed he got, the survivor’s guilt, the wishing he had just died instead.

But he knows what you mean. You don’t have to talk about it now, about his feelings, what he’s carrying in his chest and mind at the moment. You lean in and kiss him. “We can whenever. If and when you’re ready. Or you can talk to your therapist. It doesn’t have to be me.”

The way he looks at you makes your stomach flip. Like you’re the most important thing in his world, like you hung the moon and stars for him, like he’s amazed by you. Like you’re helping to heal him.

He reaches out to cup your face again, runs a thumb over your cheek. “I want you.”

You smile at him, soft and small, befitting of the moment. “You have me. You’ll always have me. No matter what.”

He gives you a look that acknowledges your words. “You know what I mean.” His hand starts to wander down to the hem of his shirt you wear. “I need to turn that part of my brain off. Get lost in you.”

“God, what a tough ask,” you click your tongue, voice teasing and full of feigned exasperation. “Such a real hardship for me.”

He laughs a little. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Oh no Dr. Abbot,” you move closer to him and push at his chest so he rolls on his back, straddle his hips and bring your chest to his, lean in to kiss him but stop short, just let your lips move against his, “this is all about you.”

Jack groans from somewhere deep in his chest. “You know what doctor does to me,” he murmurs before he kisses you hard, possessively, holding the back of your head with one hand so you can’t move away, not that you’d ever want to. 

“Indeed I do, sir.” Another groan from him and a smirk from you as you sit up and push the covers back, pull his pajama pants and boxer briefs down all at once. 

Jack swears you spend hours lavishing him in attention, kissing every inch of him, every scar. Even that one. 

By the time you guide him inside of you you’re the only thing on his mind. You ride him slow, just fast enough to not be teasing, at the rhythm and pace you’ve learned he loves, let him watch as he slides in and out of you because you know how much he loves it. 

You lean back at one point, rest your hands on both his thighs and something about the move and the way you’re not afraid to get close to the missing part of him heals him and makes him lose it. 

After, you lay on his chest, absentmindedly draw random shapes on his skin while he runs a hand up and down your back. “This part always feels just as good but in a different way,” you murmur. 

“Cuddling releases oxytocin. Oxytocin makes you feel happy, helps you heal, reduces stress, bonds you to the one you’re snuggling with. It’s called the love hormone.” Jack always makes you laugh when he does that, explains something medically, biologically. You like him sharing his knowledge, little pieces of his job with you, and you like that he’s not condescending about it, just tells you it like you’re a student.

You laugh a little. “That tracks then.”

You sit in a comfortable silence for a bit. Jack thinks about everything you’ve done for him tonight, over the past seven months, how you feel laying here on his chest. A surge of oxytocin hits him and he’s overwhelmed by it, how much he loves you, how much you do for him, care for him.

“I don’t deserve you.” He says it quietly, almost like he doesn’t mean to speak the thought out loud.

You stop tracing shapes, furrow your brows and lift yourself up to look down at him sternly, eyes burning with love. “I’m not even gracing that absolute bullshit with a reply tonight Peter.” You kiss him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four days pass. Things are simultaneously getting better and increasingly harder. 

You meet everyone, the entire ED, you swear, everyone Jack has ever talked about. They’re all lovely and genuine. You hit it off with them all despite the circumstances. Part of you worries though, that they only like you because they pity you and because you’re in the hospital and what else can they do. Jack reassures you that you’re one of them now, you’re Pitt family, that even when they didn’t know you or about you and had never met you, you already were.

Jack helps you shower. Really Jack showers you. Does it all for you. It’s one of those most intimate things you’ve experienced with him. Him taking care of you like this, when you can’t take care of yourself. He takes his time washing your hair and body gently, like you’ll break if he touches you just a little too hard. He makes sure your stitches and central line stay dry. Makes sure you don’t lean your head back too far and aggravate your skull fracture. 

Physically you’re doing okay. Improving. Maybe not as fast as everyone, Jack especially, would like. But you’re not getting worse. 

Mentally, however, things are devolving. Rapidly. 

Once the initial shock and happiness at being alive wore off you’re left with reality. 

A nurse from the floor comes in to take vitals like they do a couple of times a day. Jack steps out to go grab a drink from the vending machine while you and the nurse chat a little. You ask her if you can move into the chair, go sit by the window. She says of course, unhooks you from some monitors and helps you move over. She takes your dinner and sets it on the table in front of you. You thank her and wait for Jack to come back.

Dusk is falling over the city. It’s easier to sit and look outside when it’s not so bright. You keep the lighting in your room low to help with the headaches you’re still fighting. You suppose a broken skull will do that to you.

You haven’t felt well all day, have slept more than usual. You’re sure it’s just depression from being here and all the changes and mostly, probably, seeing what all of this already has done and continues to do to Jack, physically and mentally. Your stomach turns at the thought and you shiver despite your cheeks burning. You’re so uncomfortable and there’s no end in sight and you don’t want to keep doing this to Jack, keep asking him to be here and sleep here. The logical and rational part of your brain knows that you’re not asking him to do anything. He’s doing it because he wants to, because he loves you. 

“You need to eat,” Jack reminds you as he walks back in the room. 

“I’m not hungry,” you murmur, continue to look out the window. 

“I know, Doll, but you’ve gotta eat to keep your strength up.” Jack says softly as he pulls up a chair to sit across from you. You nod a little at him but don’t move to start eating. “What’s wrong?” he finally whispers. 

It takes a moment but eventually you shrug. You don’t want to burden him with it. 

“Talk to me. Please. Even if just a little.” 

“I don’t know… I’m just tired, I think.” 

He tilts his head at you, eyes appraising and clinically evaluating you. Something is off, something has been off, he’s just struggling to figure out what. 

“Don’t look at me like that, please,” you whisper. 

He furrows his brows. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a patient who needs to be evaluated.” 

“I can’t help it. It helps reassure me that you’re okay.” He lets out a bit of a breath. “I’m worried about you right now. Is everything okay? Do you feel okay?”

You take in a big breath of air and fight back the wince before letting it out. “I’m just… I don’t know Jack. I’m sad. I’m fucking sad. All the time.”

Ah. Depression. 

He knows it intimately and chastises himself mentally a bit for not realizing it sooner, not recognizing it. Not anticipating it from minute one. He gives you a moment to see if you want to say more. 

“I… I feel sorry for myself, yes, but it’s more than that. I see what it’s doing to you, the pain it’s causing, I’m causing you. Physically, having to sleep here. I can practically see your back and hip hurting, Jack. I can see the overcompensation when you walk. I know you cried. I was awake. And I didn’t want to make it a thing and pressure you into talking to me. But I see how scared and on edge you are, all the time. Because of me-”

“No.” He doesn’t mean to interrupt but he has to right there. “Not because of you. This is not your fault. None of this is. This isn’t because of you, it’s because of what happened to you.”

You shake your head. “No, Jack, it’s me. It is me. I feel like I’m sucking the fucking life out of you. Dealing with me is exhausting. I can’t keep asking you to do this, be here and take care of me. It’s not fair.” You sniffle and wipe some tears you didn’t know fell with the back of your hand. “I mean, Jesus, Jack, I’m exhausted and all I have to do is sit in bed all day. I hate it.” The tears fall a little faster and he gives you space to let it all out. Your emotional brain takes his silence as some sort of tacit and silent agreement. That you are hurting him, that it is exhausting him, that you are sucking the life out of him. 

The rational part of your brain is right there but you’re too exhausted to listen to it, to fight your emotional brain on it. So it all consumes you. 

“I sit here and sometimes I just wish it would stop, wish it would be over, for both of us. Wish I had never even made it out of the OR, fuck out of the courthouse. You could be properly grieving already and working towards mo-”

“What the fuck?” It falls out of his mouth before he can even stop it. “Are you for fucking real?” He knows this reaction is wrong, that he should be validating your feelings. He knows far too well what it’s like to be depressed in a hospital bed wishing that you had died instead. But it’s too much for him because he already lived so intimately with the possibility of that reality. Of you dying. And so to have it brought up and brought up by you. All rational thought and ability to control himself disappears. “Properly grieving? You think I’d be properly grieving? Jesus fucking Christ, Robby would have had to beat me to the fucking roof or they’d be burying us together!”

You shake your head, tears falling harder. “I don’t want that, I would never want you to do that. I’d want you to take care of yourself! I’d want you to live for me. For us. Find-”

“No.” He shakes his head, runs both of his hands over his face, heel of his palms pressing into his eyes for a moment. “No. I can’t fucking-” He has to swallow hard through the intense nausea that threatens to make him dry heave. Just thinking about this, let alone living it. He knows this is not his finest moment, not a good reaction, that it’s a really really fucking bad one, but he can’t think about it right now, about an alternate reality where you died, where he was anywhere other than right next to your side in this moment. It’s too much. And so he reverts back a bit, starts to completely emotionally shut down. You’ve never seen him like this before. “I can’t fucking talk about this right now.” 

A knock on the door interrupts you and you both look up and over at a smiling Robby. “Hey! Look who’s awake! How are you feeling sleepy? You’ve been asleep every time I’ve come to visit today.” He starts making his way closer. 

“We can talk about this more later,” Jack mutters at you under his breath. His tone is a little sharper and more brusque than he means or even realizes. 

But with your emotions where they are already it feels a little like he’s pulled a piece of your heart away. You wonder if this is it. If he’s finally had enough of all of this. Of you. 

He didn’t sign up for this. There haven’t been any vows of sickness and health. 

The adrenaline runs icy through your fingers and toes and sits like a rock in the back of your throat, hugging tightly around your stomach so much that your incision burns and itches. It gets hard to breathe. It’s panic, you tell yourself. You nod silently, fidget with your fingers and whisper the smallest “okay.”

You’re thankful for the low lighting and the cover it gives you and your tears. “Sorry about that,” you force a small laugh at Robby. “Just one of those days I guess.” You force a yawn this time. “Honestly I’m actually a little sleepy again,” you admit sheepishly. “I think I might get back in bed.” 

There’s a pause as Robby waits for Jack to react. But Jack says nothing, and the look on his face tells Robby he’s a million miles away. You getting up is what brings Jack back to himself somewhat and he’s up and hovering behind you to make sure you don’t fall in an instant. 

“Um, well.” Robby runs a hand through his hair and over his beard. “Jack, if you wanted we’re pretty backlogged down there, we could use someone for even just a few hours to help out. I just wanted to offer. We’ll be fine if you don’t.” Robby’s eyes flick between the two of you. “Thought it might be a good way to help transition back to full shifts eventually.” He coughs awkwardly. 

Jack looks at you with his eyebrows slightly raised, like he’ll do whatever you say as opposed to what he actually wants. Despite looking at you it’s like he doesn’t consciously take in your face at the moment, how hurt you look, how small, the tears lining your eyes, how scared you look, how anxious, how questioning. 

“Up to you.” You give him a strained smile. “I’m just going to sleep, so it’s not like you’re going to miss much here. Robby is right, might be a good way to help transition.”

Jack nods. “Okay. Okay, yeah.”

“Fuck, thank you so much,” Robby sighs in relief. “It’s pretty bad honestly.” He looks at you with a soft smile. “Sleep well and I’ll keep an eye on him for you.” 

You give him a forced smile back and nod, waiting for Jack to come say goodbye before following Robby out the door. But Jack is so shut down and on autopilot he doesn’t even give you a kiss or say anything other than an absent, “sleep well,” before he follows Robby out of the room. The sound of the door closing behind him may as well be the sound of your heart shattering.

Hours pass. 

Hours you do not in fact spend sleeping but instead wide awake feeling like you’ve got the flu. Everything hurts, you shake, you’re sweaty because you’re so hot but you feel so cold. You just feel so weak. You’re so miserable you’re not even aware of the way breathing takes more effort and seems less effective, how much it hurts. Hours enough for you to miss Jack and wish he was here and want to call down and beg him to please come back up. But not quite enough hours for the next vitals check.

The hours are quick for Jack. Work helps him. It keeps his mind busy. The more and more he comes back to himself fully and opens back up with clear eyes the more desperate he is to get up to you and apologize. He feels awful about actually deciding to come down here. How could he leave you? He knows he didn’t react well. It just caught him so off guard and he reverted back to a previous version of himself. All he can do is hope you’ll forgive him, but he knows you well enough to know that you’ll understand and be able to put yourself in his shoes and forgive him and you guys can talk. 

He volunteers to take one last ambulance coming in. He goes outside to wait for it, to get some fresh air. To be out of the hospital if only for a moment.

Mel runs through the automatic door, head on a swivel to find him. She starts running to him when she sees him. “Dr. Abbot!” 

Jack turns his head, thinks Mel’s voice is off, but he guesses it’s been a bit since he’s heard it down here. But when he sees her face, the way she’s running towards him, his heart speeds up and he shakes his head a little as she approaches him. Mel’s eyes are wide, just the slightest bit wet.  

“Dr. Abbot,” Mel breathes. “She’s crashing. Robby went up to see her and she crashed.”

“What?” It’s whispered. Jack’s whole world stops again. He doesn’t even wait for an answer, is sprinting inside and screaming to hold the elevator because he knows it’ll be faster than he can take all the flights up to your room. He tries to hold onto hope. Mel had said crashing not coding.

This would fucking happen. This would fucking happen. He leaves you and then you crash. The realizations hit him when he gets in the elevator and presses the door closed button over and over. That the last thing you said to him was that small, barely audible “okay.” That your last interaction was an almost fight in a way, was him upset when you were telling him what was on your mind when that’s what he has been begging you to do. That he walked out of your room without saying goodbye, without giving you a kiss, without telling you he loved you.

Sleep well.

That could be the last fucking thing he ever said to you. Sleep well. He pictures your face when he looked at you that last time, near tears, scared, small, anxious, questioning. Probably questioning whether he was going to come back or whether he loved you or whether he still wanted to be with you after so clearly hitting a nerve with him. Especially on top of all the guilt you were already feeling before that conversation. The guilt you were telling him about when he shut down. 

The world already gave him a second chance with you and he fucked it all up in a minute. Somewhere deep in his bones he knows “sleep well” will be the last thing he ever said to you, that your last interaction together will be a quasi-argument. Because if you’re crashing at this point, this far out from surgery, something bad is happening. Differential diagnoses flip through his mind. Pulmonary embolism, having somehow reopened one of your internal wounds and bleeding out, sepsis, delayed collapsed lung, drug reaction, the list goes on and on. None of them are good. All of them would require you to fight hard to pull through. 

And with fucking “sleep well” as the last thing he said to you after he practically jumped in your shit you probably think you have nothing left to fight for. 

You’re vaguely aware of Robby coming into your room and talking to you even though you can’t make out any words at first. But then you become acutely aware of him screaming about you crashing and somebody call Jack. 

Jack. 

Robby says something about intubation but you get a hand up, cling to the fabric on the arm of that blue sweatshirt he always wears. “Wait,” you choke out, wondering when it got so hard to breathe and how you’re just noticing. “Jack,” you force out in a wheeze, “want to talk,” you look up at Robby with terrified eyes he’s seen hundreds of times in patients who think they’re about to die, only yours have a slight look of determination. “Please.” 

He hesitates for just a second. “Okay,” he nods, looking down at you. “Okay. But only if he’s here within the next two minutes. I’m counting.” He grabs an oxygen mask and holds it over your mouth and nose. Your eyes say ‘thank you’ in the most heartbreaking of ways. You both know he’ll be there with one minute and fifty six or seven seconds to spare. 

The elevator door opens on your floor and Jack’s sprinting out of it to your room, praying that maybe you’ll still be alive when he gets there. He could talk to you, tell you he’s sorry and he loves you and please fight. He’s panting when he runs into your room, looks at you, your vitals, and then Robby. “Why the fuck isn’t she intubated yet?!”

“She wanted to be able to say something to you,” Robby tells him as he pushes drugs, barks out orders and gets ready to intubate you. “She’s totally fucking septic Jack, out of fucking nowhere,” he calls back over his shoulder. “She must have thrown a septic PE.” Robby pulls the oxygen mask away from your face.

Jack looks back at you as he moves closer. You lick your lips and rub them together a little, trying to get them wet and unstuck from each other. You look terrified but try to offer him a brave smile anyway. “I love you,” you manage to mouth before everything is consumed by black and quiet.

Where everything goes black and quiet for you, Jack’s senses are overwhelmed by the look on your face, the way your eyes shut, the way Robby’s hands so gently turn your head back so he can intubate you and seconds later by the high pitched whine coming from your patient monitor announcing you’ve flatlined and Robby yelling for someone to start compressions. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s not exactly looking for it when he spots it as he walks down a street to pick up the take out you ordered on his way home. But it’s there and it makes him think of you. It’s almost perfect. Almost. 

He slips inside, gets in a conversation with the store owner. They can customize it for him. He thinks you’ll love that, the idea that nobody has the same engagement ring as you. The owner says he’ll get him some sketches. Jack puts down a deposit. You text asking if he’s okay. 

He says a quick goodbye to the owner and that he’ll be back and runs to get the food and back to you. He’s known for a while now that he wants to ask, wants to marry you. You just get him in a way he can’t describe and knows he’ll never find again. 

That night in bed he lays awake spooning you and thinking about how to propose. You wouldn’t want something too big and flashy. But he doesn’t think you’d hate it being in public necessarily. God, what if you say no? What if you’re not ready or it’s too fast or he’s too old, too broken? 

No. He knows you don’t think he’s too old or broken at all. He knows you’ll say yes, knows you’ll cry. But how to do it. Where to do it. 

The bookstore with the ring in the book feels like too much, a little too on the nose. You wouldn’t hate it by any means but it doesn’t feel right. 

He thinks about a conversation you had in the travel section at the bookstore. 

“I love travelling.” You say it as you look over the shelves. “Especially internationally.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm,” you hum. “We should go somewhere.” You hand him a book on Paris. “I love Paris. Have you been?”

Jack shakes his head, starts thumbing through the book. “Can’t say that I have.”

“I would love to show you around. It’s just so pretty. The Eiffel Tower sparkles and they light up all the buildings at night and I swear almost every building looks so beautifully historic. And the Louvre. I love the Louvre. I don’t even really know why, I just do. I like the inverted pyramids by the entrance and I like how you just get lost in there.” You’re flipping through your own book, this one about France in general. “We could do a France tour. Start in Nice or somewhere and work our way up.” You look up at him, and when he looks up from his book at you he’s surprised to see nerves. “If you would want to, of course. Obviously. There’s no pressure. I know you’d have to take time off from work and you love work and it would waste a lot of time off, probably depending on how long we went for. If we did. So it’s okay. I could go by myself or with a friend if I got desperate enough.” You give a breathy, anxious laugh and fiddle with the book. 

Jack gives you a little smile and puts the book back where it belongs. “It might shock you to hear this but I have maxed out the amount of annual leave time off I can accrue. I donate everything I have leftover at the end of the year. I’ve donated all of it for a couple of years now because I can’t accrue it anymore.”

“Oh, well,” you clear your throat and it would almost be funny and adorable if he didn’t hate seeing you in distress. “That’s very nice of you. You’re a very good man Peter.”

“I want to go with you.” Your lips twitch up and eyebrows raise. “I want us to do that.”

“Yeah?” You beam at him and it’s straight sunshine. You’re too good for him, he swears. 

“Yeah,” he nods, returns your smile, kisses you quickly. “Robby might try to kiss you like that for getting me to go. He’s always on me about taking a vacation.” 

Yes. In Paris. That would be perfect. You haven’t started planning the trip because life has gotten busy for both of you, but he mentions it enough to make sure you know he hasn’t forgotten, you talk about when you’ll start planning it some nights but often fall asleep mid conversation, exhausted from your day. 

In front of the inverted pyramids at the Louvre. He can hire a photographer and they won’t even look suspicious. Just like someone taking photos of the Louvre. 

He starts planning it, the France trip. Doesn’t tell you. Reaches out to your boss who he has met to make sure you can get the time off. He’ll surprise you with it soon, he tells himself. He’ll tell you soon now that he has the ring hidden away in a box in a closet that you can’t reach easily. 

Soon. He knows he can’t keep putting it off, can just hear Dana and Robby in his ear if they knew, telling him to grow a pair and do it, that tomorrow isn’t promised, that he should do it here at the hospital so they can finally fucking meet you. That, while they don’t know you, Dana would give him a sharp look then, they know you’ll love it. 

You’ll be at the courthouse tomorrow. It’s not too far from his place. He could surprise you and pick you up, take you out somewhere nice. He has the day off too so he could go get the book you handed him, put the tickets and copy of the itinerary he’s planned so far in it. 

He smiles to himself as he imagines the shock on your face, the way you’ll struggle for words and repeat a bunch of one syllable ones for thirty seconds before the ability to form real sentences comes back to you. Yeah, that’ll work. 

Tomorrow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a perfect day. Not too hot and not too cold. Like that Miss Congeniality bullshit that you made him watch and he secretly and surprisingly enjoyed.

It’s your perfect day. 

Jack thinks that’s real fucking ironic. 

Sleep well. 

Jack was right.

Those were in fact the last words he ever spoke to you. 

While you were conscious anyway. It’s all he can think about as he sits here in his dress blues at your fucking funeral. He couldn’t bring himself to buy a plain navy suit for the occasion. 

No, that day he had said a lot more words to your unconscious self up by your head as Robby and the team tried and succeeded at stabilizing you enough to get you to the OR. And he had said a lot more words when they let him in the OR so that he could hold your hand and talk to you for just a bit longer before they called it. Somehow in the moment he had managed to block out Garcia standing on the other side across from him with her hand in your chest, manually beating your heart to give him more time with you. 

And then he had said a lot more words to your dead body.

He must have sat in that stupid operating room with you for hours just holding you once they had closed your chest and sat the OR bed up a bit for him. He thinks he must have cycled through every stage of grief with you in his arms. 

Denial. All he could do for a while was mumble to himself that this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. You weren’t really dead. This is some twisted fucking joke you’re trying to play. To see if you could get him to cry. You can stop playing now, Doll, you got me to cry. Okay so not an elaborate joke. Well, you’d wake up in his arms any second now, shock everyone, the whole medical community with your recovery. Because this simply could not be fucking happening.  

Anger. He yelled at you to wake up and not do this to him, to think about how unfair and selfish you were being, how fucking dare you. How dare you leave him here alone. How dare you for talking about him properly grieving. Does it look like he’s properly fucking grieving to you? And he knew, he fucking knew you were about to say moving on, that he could be working towards moving on as if he’s ever going to fucking move on, fuck you for that. He was supposed to propose and you ruined it. You left him How. Fucking. Dare. You.

Bargaining. He negotiated with himself. He should have looked you over before stepping away from you, should have taken you right into an exam room and checked every inch of you for injury before leaving you. If he could go back he would. He would do it all differently. He wouldn’t let you out of the house, would have insisted you skip work that day. He’s not a particularly religious man but he’s praying, bargaining with a God he’s not sure he believes in to bring you back to him. Take his other foot, take his hands, take his ability to be a doctor, take anything and everything that’s enough to bring you back. 

Depression. Crushing and all consuming. The reality that this was happening. A sadness so deep in his soul and causing so much physical pain in his heart that for one glimmer of a second he thought maybe he was suffering from broken heart syndrome, that maybe if he could keep himself worked up and sobbing it would kill him. A sadness so consuming he’d never pull himself out of it. There would never be enough tears shed or enough therapy or enough anything to make any of it better. 

Acceptance. Eventually it washed over him. You were dead in his arms. He was holding your lifeless body. This was his new reality. One without you in it.

But mostly he just sat there and cried over you. Cried for you. Buried his face in your neck at times to muffle the screaming sobs that made him shake. Rocked you and held the side of your face against his when his sobs became so deep they were soundless.

For a while he thought Robby and Dana were going to have to drag him out of there, drag you out of his arms. But at some point he just broke in a different way. Became some sort of numb. Resigned. So he forced himself to leave.

The only thing he could think to do at the end as he laid you back down was to try and make them better. Those two words. 

Brushing some hair back from your face and running his thumb over your jaw he had told you that he loves you and that he always will. He whispered for you to rest now, gave you one last unreciprocated kiss, and then murmured “sleep well.”

He had to damn near drag himself out of the OR after that. Robby knew it. Dana knew it. They were both right there waiting for him. He had needed to get the fuck out of the hospital and to somewhere he could just send himself into oblivion because he had no fucking idea how to deal with the pain, with the loss of you. 

Dana’s hand on his arm grounded him a little. Enough that he heard Robby say quietly, “let’s get you home.” 

Home. 

Jack had realized in that moment that he didn’t have a home. You were his home. Your heartbeat. The one that was now gone. That simply no longer existed. That had been thrown away by the universe like it meant nothing when it meant everything to him. 

Yes, he realized he had an apartment, he had somewhere to go. But that was the apartment that he was supposed to have shared with you. The apartment with all of his things, all of your things, still in boxes. You had been planning on spending the weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You had been planning on making it your home. Together. And then you got shot.

And now, Jack had realized, there was no more together. There was simply an apartment full of boxes of shit and furniture haphazardly placed just to get it in. 

He had had to laugh about it, it was so fucked up. He had barely even realized that he, Dana, and Robby had made it outside somehow, through a side door so that he didn’t have to walk through the entire Pitt. And so out there on the sidewalk in the sun - because of course it couldn’t have been night, he couldn’t have had one thing to give him comfort - he’d broken down in a fit of laughter for a moment that quickly devolved into sobs. 

Big wracking ones that required Robby to hold him up until he had let Jack slide down the side wall onto the ground where the sobs came so hard they were silent. It hadn’t been just you he was weeping for at that point. It had been for you and for himself and for the future you should have had together. For the apartment whose lease would be broken and the trip to Paris he had planned to surprise you with that would never be gone on. For the engagement ring that would never grace your finger. For everything that could have been. For everything that already was.

He’d stopped crying at some point. Dana had gotten her car and driven him and Robby to Robby’s place. Everything since then had more or less blurred together. 

Schedules had been changed so that Dana and Robby worked opposite shifts so that one of them could always be with him. Always watching him. Acutely aware what was likely to happen if they didn’t.

You had no family so everything had been left to Jack, which meant it really had been left to Dana because Jack was barely functioning. Funeral planning. Burial or cremation. Dealing with all of your things.

Unsure of your preferences Dana had picked burial, found a cemetery, bought a plot, gotten it all arranged. Unbeknownst to Dana the one thing Jack had managed to do during all of this was purchase the burial plot next to yours. Only time would tell how long that space next to you would remain empty. Not long if Jack had it his way.

And so here they all were. At the cemetery. On your perfect day.

The funeral was to be held graveside and then back to somewhere for the celebration of life, Dana told him where at one point but he doesn’t remember. Somewhere in his mind he notes that it feels like the entire damn department is here and he can’t help but wonder who the fuck is staffing it right now. As if it matters. As if he’ll ever bring himself back to that hospital. 

Jack’s completely zoned out, unaware of what’s being said, if anything is being said. Your casket is right there. With you in it. He wants to climb inside with you and let them bury you both with him alive. He wants to let your grave smother him to death. He realizes it already is in its own way. So then he might as well be with you, right? No. You’d specifically told him you wouldn’t want that. You said you’d want him to take care of himself and live for you, for the two of you.  But he doesn’t fucking want to. He just wants to be with you.

He tracks your casket as it lowers six feet down. He wants to dive in after you. After a moment Dana nudges him. Right. It’s time. Time for him to throw a flower and some dirt on the top of your grave. 

He forces himself to stand, takes the two daffodils from Dana and approaches your grave. One for him and one for you. They’re your favorite. He stops for a second and just stares down at the wooden box that houses you. Some sort of broken and raw moan slips out before he can stop it, a whimper just a second long, just enough to prove to himself that he’s alive and you’re not standing next to him and there to comfort him and make it all better. He can’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all of these people. 

He brings a shaky hand up and reaches under his overly pressed shirt until he finds the chain, pulls his dog tags up and over his head, wraps them around the stems of the two daffodils. His chin trembles as he tosses them on top of your casket before following with a little dirt. He thought about tossing the ring he bought you in too, but instead he wears it on a different chain around his neck for now. 

The symbolic burial of himself with you through his dog tags doesn’t escape anyone’s notice and if anyone present wasn’t crying already they were now. Robby and Dana share a heavy tear blurred look with each other. He still can’t be alone. 

Jack just stares down. Can’t bring himself to move. To go sit back down. So the funeral ends with him standing there, looking down at you. 

Robby and Dana give him a few minutes. As he senses people leave he lets the tears slide down his face silently but copiously. His shirt is darkened by his tears quickly. Eventually Robby clears his throat and steps up behind him. 

“Jack?” Robby says his name softly at first. Jack doesn’t respond. “Jack, come on.” It’s a bit louder this time, but still nothing. Robby grabs his shoulder and gives it a little squeeze, is much louder now. “Jack!” 

“What? What happened?” Jack’s head snaps up, the rest of his body following and pushing him out of the chair in seconds. His neck twinges from the awkward angle as his two fingers curl over your wrist automatically, finding your pulse as his vision clears and the patient monitor showing your vitals becomes readable.

All your vitals are normal. Stable.

Your eyes remain closed. Comatose. 

“Nothing,” Robby says quietly, squeezing his shoulder again. “You fell asleep. It didn’t look comfortable. You’re going to fuck your neck if you’re not careful.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Jack pants, the sheer amount of adrenaline spreading through his system so fast making him shake. He closes his eyes as he tries to bring his heart rate and breathing back to normal. He takes a second to focus and it’s there, under his two fingers thumping along in time with the reading on the patient monitor. Your heartbeat. 

“Fuck.” Jack brings his free hand up and uses it to wipe away the tears itching his face. His chest is wet, shirt undoubtedly darkened by his tears. 

“Another one?” Robby gives him a knowing look. “Funeral again?” 

Jack just nods. It’s not the first nightmare Robby has woken him from in the last three days. It’s not the first time Robby has woken him up from that nightmare. 

“You talked to your therapist recently?” Robby asks as he sits in the other chair near your bed. 

“I don’t have fucking time for the psych-bullshit right now, Robby.” Jack huffs as he sits back in his chair, stretching out his neck. “And I don’t need therapy. I need her to wake the fuck up and come back to me.” He leans forward to kiss your hand, gives it a squeeze and holds his breath that you’ll squeeze back. You don’t. “It’s been five days Robby. Five fucking days.”

Robby nods slowly. “I know. Her body has been through a lot. Sepsis on top of a gunshot and skull fracture is a lot and brain bleed is a lot. And she had a PE, and they had to crack her chest, Jack.” You got lucky and didn’t need surgery to fix the brain bleed. And nobody had wanted to do a thoracotomy on you, not while you were septic, but with your other injuries they had to be careful with blood thinners and the thoracotomy quickly became the only real option. The last ditch option. “All of that is a lot. She needs time. And it’s not bad news. She’s been extubated. That’s a big thing, you know that.” 

“I know,” Jack sighs. It’s small and as exhausted as he sounds and makes him deflate into the chair. “I just… can’t Robby. I can’t keep having that nightmare. I need to hear her voice. I need to know she heard something from me other than fucking ‘sleep well.’ I need this to have never fucking happened!”

Robby doesn’t reply immediately, gives Jack a few minutes to come back down. “She knows you love her, Jack. She knows that you guys would have worked through whatever it was. Deep down she knows that, even if in the moment she was having anxiety.” 

“You don’t even fucking know her. You can’t say that.” Jack shakes his head at Robby “You have no fucking idea.” 

Robby just raises his eyebrows and gives him a resigned look, lets the silence take back over. 

“I need to get back down there, but Dana is going to come up in a bit,” Robby tells him as he stands up. 

“I don’t need babysat.” Jack huffs. 

Robby walks by and squeezes Jack’s shoulder again. “There’s a difference between being babysat and your friends wanting to sit with you to be with you through a difficult time, Jack. We just want to help and right now all we can really do is be here. It’s not babysitting. It’s being a friend. It’s loving a friend. Let us do it, okay?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before walking out. 

And so here you are again. Just the two of you. Only one of you conscious. Jack runs a hand through his hair, moves his chair back closer to your bed and holds your hand. He’s exhausted but terrified to sleep. It always ends the same. 

He’s hardly aware of time passing but knows it must because Dana walks in, hands him a cup of tea. “How’re you?” Jack shrugs. Dana lets him. “Drink the tea.”

He takes a sip, if for nothing more than to get her off his back about it. They sit mostly in silence. Sometimes Dana volunteers a funny story or tells him about some ridiculous patient they had, keeps him up to date on the Pitt gossip. 

“You should shower,” she suggests to him. She’d gone over to your guy’s place at some point and brought in toiletries, fresh clothes for you both. “I’ll sit with her.”

“I’m fine. It’s not like I do anything other than sit here.” 

“Still, it’s a good place to take a minute to yourself. Clear your head.” Dana tilts her head at him. “Look at me.” 

After a second he does, tears his eyes from you to look at her. “She’d want you to take care of yourself.” 

Her words are a little too close to what you had said to him and he bristles, looks back at you. “Nerve there,” Dana observes, always perceptive. “I know I’m right. I know she must have told you that at some point or it wouldn’t have pulled whatever that reaction was.” 

“I’m not leaving her. I don’t care if I can use the shower in her room.” All he can think about is showering you there, watching the pink water go down the drain as he got all of the blood out of your hair and off the rest of your body, the way you melted into his touch and thanked him. How intimate it was. Potentially one of your last moments of intimacy. 

“And the last time I gave into you and showered she fucking woke up without me.” The words hit him and he looks at Dana. “The last time I showered she woke up,” he whispers. He’s not really one to normally believe in such a thing but right now he’s clinging to anything. “I should shower.”

Dana gives him a long nod with a small smile. “Yeah.”

So he does. Tries to split the difference between quickly so that he doesn’t have to spend too much time alone thinking but slow enough to give you time to wake up. But when he turns the water off and doesn’t hear Dana talking he already knows. 

You haven’t woken up. 

“I’m sorry, hon. I was hoping it would work.” Dana looks at him apologetically. 

He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Dana nods a bit and walks out. 

Jack finds it hard to talk to you like this. He doesn’t really know why. Maybe it’s just too hard for him to stand the silence he gets in return. 

Sometimes he’ll read to you. That feels nice. You go on and on sometimes about how much you love his voice. You guys met at a bookstore, both love reading. So it just feels right. And he doesn’t have to stop talking and forget and be waiting for a reply that you won’t give him. He can just read. 

He picks up whatever he had been reading to you and starts back up. He doesn’t make it through much though because he just can’t. The sun is setting outside again, another whole day of you in a coma almost finished and he can’t stand it. 

It burns him from the inside, makes him feel like he needs to crawl out of his skin. He needs you to wake up. He needs to fix you. He’s a doctor. Fixing is what he does. He’s fixed countless people. 

But he simply cannot fix you. The only one that matters.

“You know,” he starts, leans back in his chair and looks at you. He scoffs. “God I don’t even know. I don’t know how to do this. What to say to you.” He shakes his head. “And I hate that,” he whispers. 

He sets the book down and the author’s name catches his eye. He moves in closer to you, gets up and sits on the edge of your bed, leans his head in a bit towards you as he holds one of your hands. He needs you to hear this. “I’ve decided that if you don’t wake the fuck up soon I’m going to have no choice but to have someone bring me that book and start reading it to you.” He squeezes your hand and shrugs. “So there. That’s my motivating wake up talk.” Tears hit his eyes and his lips wobble a little. “Wake the fuck up or I’m reading you the god damn book.” 

Jack watches you for a moment and sighs. He leans in and gives your cheek the lightest kiss. He can’t bring himself to kiss your lips again and not feel yours move back against his. He settles back in his chair and picks up the book he was reading. Instead of opening though he just vaguely hits himself straight in the face with it a few times. He doesn’t even know why. He just has the impulse. It’s not hard, it doesn’t do anything. It’s just tapping, just something to ground him maybe. He rests it on his face, closes his eyes and leans his forehead into the cover just to feel the resistance when he pushes the back against him a bit. Maybe he tries to pretend it’s your forehead and the way you lean into each other with your foreheads together sometimes. 

“Should I be jealous of the book Peter?” Your voice is barely audible with how cracked and dry your throat is. 

It takes a second for the book to drop out of Jack’s hands and hit the floor. “Holy fucking shit,” he breathes. “You’re awake.” 

He’s frozen for a minute, shaking hard as adrenaline pours into his system and he feels every emotion he can think of at once. 

“Fuck me,” he huffs. “Really? All I had to do was threaten to read that stupid book to get you to wake up?”

You give him a pained smile and small laugh. It sends him into action. 

“What can I say? I really hate that book. Couldn’t have you torture both of us. I think I’m doing that enough to the both of us right now.” You lick your lips and try to swallow. “Water?” You whisper at him. 

He brings you a cup quickly, holds the straw for you. “Sips,” he says softly. “Little sips right now, okay?” You do as he says, eventually nodding for him to take it away. “Pain? Are you in pain?” He looks on your bed and finds the remote. “Here.” He puts it in your hand, your thumb on top of the red button. “If you need a booster of morphine press the button.” 

You’re immediately pressing it over and over. “What happened?” You groan slightly. “My chest, Jack. It’s so bad. It hurts to breathe, like a weight’s on it.” Your words are a little slurred as the boost of morphine hits. It takes him back to the way you slurred in the trauma room and he has to fight not to go right back there in his mind. You need him. 

“I know.” He strokes your hair. “I know, I’m so sorry.” He looks over at one of your IV pumps. “I can ask them about upping your dose now that you’re awake, okay?”

You nod, blink at him. Your hand drops the button and finds one of his and gives it a little squeeze. “What happened?”

He searches your eyes with his, lets them flit about your face. His lip trembles. It breaks your heart. Whatever it was destroyed him. 

He sits back in his chair, moves it as close to you as he can get it. You reach up to cup his face with your hand and he leans into it immediately, puts both of his hands over yours. “You went septic. Threw a clot. It was bad. It was really bad. You coded. They had to crack your chest to get you back. So that’s why your chest hurts so bad. You’ve been in a coma for five days. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“Hey, hey,” you whisper back to him. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything, didn’t cause this.” 

“No,” he sniffles, “I know, but I just… I…” Tears start to stream down his face as he looks at you helplessly and shrugs. “I couldn’t…”

“Jack.” The way you say his name shatters him and he folds, buries his head in your lap, wary of hurting you, and sobs as he keeps squeezing your hand. “It’s okay,” you whisper, run your free hand through his hair. You both know its a lie. Nothing is okay right now. 

But you’re awake. 

He doesn’t cry for long, too conscious of how exhausted you must be, how he doesn’t want this to be how he spends the time he just got back with you. Not right now anyway. There will be time for tears and emotions and processing later. 

He rubs his face in your lap a bit to wipe his eyes and then lifts his head before resting it on its side against your legs. “I’m just so happy you’re awake.” 

“Me too.” You give him a sleepy smile. “Was always going to wake up, couldn’t leave you here alone could I?”

He gives a little half laugh, half sob. “Good. Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You want to tell him he’d figure it out but you don’t. 

“You gonna give me a kiss now Jack Abbot? I know I haven’t brushed-”

He’s moving the second you say kiss. He feels bad it didn’t occur to him immediately but he was just so overwhelmed with you being awake. His lips against yours cut you off. It’s not just one kiss, it’s two and three and you lose count. 

Soft ones, small, just long enough. They say more than he could figure out how to say with his words right now. Each one is perfect in its simplicity.

“You should rest,” he murmurs against your lips. You hum at him in response, eyes already fluttering closed. “You know I love you right? More than anything. More than I deserve.” 

You open your eyes back up and look at him. “Course I know that,” you murmur. “You know I love you right?”

He smiles at you. It’s a little watery, a little trembly. “Course I know that.” 

You swallow hard, just from all the meds and fighting the exhaustion. “Get in bed.” Your tone doesn’t leave much room to argue but he does anyway. 

“No. It’s not safe. I could hurt you. You need to heal a bit more.” He squeezes your hand. “But believe me, I want to, more than anything.”

“You won’t hurt me. Didn’t last time.” You look at him with big sleepy eyes that kill him. “Heal better with you in bed with me.” He bites his lip, torn, so scared of causing you any pain and so desperate to give you what you want. To give himself what he wants. “You’re the one that said oxytocin helps healing…” Your eyes flutter closed again. 

He has to laugh through some tears. “God, you really do listen and learn don’t you?”

You hum at him. “Someone has to be your best student. And it better always be me Dr. Abbot.” 

He laughs at that. It’s so you, such a you thing to say. For the first time in days he really laughs even with as short as it is. For the first time in days he feels hope. Hope that everything is going to be okay and you’re going to go home together and unpack and set up your place and paint and just be together.  

“You’re my best everything,” he murmurs as he gently shifts you and all your wires and climbs carefully into bed next to you. He needs it. And you need it. And so he lets you both have it. He lets himself hold you as best he can while keeping you in a neutral position that won’t hurt you. Your head falls to rest on his shoulder and you sigh softly as you fall asleep. Jack kisses the top of your head, lets his lips linger. 

“Sleep well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Doll, I am not a dancer. I promise you. Nobody wants to see it.” 

“I don’t believe you,” you pout at him. “And I’ve seen those hips in action Peter. I know how much control you have over them. How you can isolate all the little muscles in them.”

“None of the muscles in your hips are particularly little-”

“You’re not changing the subject,” you cut him off. “It’s a wedding. We’re going to have to dance. At least to the slow songs.” 

“Are you sure you really want to take me?” He doesn’t even really mean to ask it, it just comes out. 

You look up at him and pause, drop his comforter that you were pulling back to get into his bed. “I… Is it too soon? Too serious too soon? I guess going to a wedding together is kind of…” you trail off looking for the word. “I don’t know a thing.”

“No!” He’s quick to reassure you. He leans up and pulls the comforter back for you. “Get in bed.” 

You do as he says. “It’s not too soon, and I want to go with you, trust me. Even under threat of dancing. I just wanted to make sure you don’t feel like you have to take me. I know a lot of your friends will be there and if you’re not ready to make those introductions, that’s okay,” he explains as he pulls you to him, arms wrapping around you but loose enough so that you can see each other. 

“I don’t feel like I have to take you. I want to. I want people to meet you. I want to show you off.” One of your hands slips into the back of his hair and plays with it, ruffles the curls and scratches at his scalp on and off as you look at each other. 

“Show me off?” He smirks at you. “You wanna show me off?”

“My intelligent, thoughtful, hot as all fuck doctor of a boyfriend? Yeah. I wanna show you off.” You grab at the old shirt he’s wearing to sleep in and give it and him a look of mock offense at it being on but pull him to you by it anyway. “Wanna see you in a partial suit. Nice slim fit pants, collared shirt, a tie, one or two buttons open at the reception and the tie shoved in your pocket to use on me later.” 

Jack sucks in a sharp breath of air and you just give him a little raise of your eyebrow, start to roll onto your back. He’s on top of you and kissing you and has his hands roaming all over you the second your head hits the pillow. 

He always pauses for a moment and makes eye contact with you before letting himself collapse on top of you after he’s done fucking you like this. The intimacy of that quick moment always makes your heart metaphorically skip a beat. This time is no exception. 

Jack snuggles into your chest, kissing at the top of your breasts as he does before he settles. You run your hands through his hair, are always running them through his hair or up and down his back or both. He loves it. 

“Hey Jack?” He’ll never get used to hearing his name come off your tongue.

He makes a little hum of acknowledgment, still blissed out and coming down. 

“We’re dancing at the wedding.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days blur together. 

Your Pitt family rallies around both of you. 

You start seeing a therapist and it helps, you improve some, mentally. Jack finally makes an appointment with his therapist and it helps him. 

Everyone helps distract you, but it’s not just sitting in your room with you. One night Samira, Javadi, McKay, Mel and Heather show up in your room with painting supplies, easels, foldable stools, and a woman you’ve never met before. 

Paint and sip, they explain. You’re doing a paint and sip right here in your room, minus the sipping, unfortunately, because of your meds. It’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes you teary. Jack will never admit it but it may or may not have made him a little teary as he gave you a kiss and walked out to be with Robby for a bit as you guys did your painting. 

There are more things. There are a lot more things that they all do for you, and for Jack. Robby forces Jack to leave the hospital, just to go home, get more things for you, pick up food you like, small things. The first time is rough for both of you. But it gets better.

Of course, the most special though, the one that helps your mental health the most, is what Jack does for you. 

One night a good two and a half weeks into your hospital stay, Jack goes out to pick up dinner and Dana, Samira and Heather show up in your room again, but this time they have clothes for you. Nice clothes. A nice dress, the one you were going to wear to the wedding. Nice shoes. Make-up. Perfume. 

The Pitt is having a little get together on the roof and you should come, they explain. You worry that Jack is not going to be happy with you out of your room and on the roof, that it’ll scare him and you don’t want to scare him any more than you already have. They convince you that it’s okay, that Robby called Jack already and told him and so he knows to meet you up there. You’re confused by it all but don’t feel you’re in a position to really question anything and also very excited about the prospect of getting to be out on the roof in fresh air and city noise. 

The girls help you get dressed and your makeup and hair done nicely. Dana sprays some perfume on you. It makes you smile. 

“What?” She asks, but it’s a little too knowing. 

“I wore this perfume on Jack and I’s first date.” 

She hums. “Well isn’t that special? You’ll have to see if he remembers.” 

Heather and Samira disappear, say they’ll meet you up there, they’re going to go change. Dana brings you up, opens the roof door and tells you to go, she’s gotta go change. You look at her confused and shaking your head and now you know something is up. But she’s off before you can question her.

You turn around and walk out onto the roof a little, around a little corner and there’s Jack. 

There’s Jack standing next to a dinner table with a white linen tablecloth with candles on it, fairy lights strung up on the guard rail. There’s Jack holding a bouquet of daffodils for you and looking at you like you’re a vision. There’s Jack standing in front of you in nice slim fit pants, a collared shirt with two buttons undone. 

You look shocked because you are so far fucking beyond shocked you didn’t even know it was possible. He did this for you. 

“We didn’t get to go to the wedding,” he calls to you as he walks over while you walk to him. “You look gorgeous.”

You’re speechless. Beyond. You’re thoughtless, struggling to process this, all this work that he did for you.

“I promise to give you a raincheck on the tie,” he smirks as he reaches you, leans in and kisses you. He pulls back, brows furrowed like he’s confused and it makes you laugh a little because how the hell is he the confused one now. “You smell like our first date.”

“I…Jack, this is… Yeah, it’s the same perfume. Dana brought it.” You pause, think back on your conversations with Dana. She dragged it out of you so casually one day you thought nothing of it. You shake your head and laugh a little. “She asked me about it one day and I didn’t even think about it.

“She’s pretty good, isn’t she?” Jack laughs. You nod. 

“Jack, I’m,” you look around, hold onto his forearms to ground you. You’re teary. Of course. “You did all this? For me?”

“Well I certainly had many co-conspirators who helped me get it all set up, but yeah. It was my idea. You needed it. I needed it. We needed it. A date night. And this was the only place we could get in.” He hands you the daffodils, grabs your hand and leads you over to the table where you stop.

“I…” You look around again. “It’s safe? For me?” You look back at him and he knows from the look in your eye that you’re not asking because you’re worried about yourself. You’re asking because you’re worried about him, worried about putting him through more trauma and more pain if something were to happen to you up here. 

“Yes.” He helps you into the chair. “You’re probably the safest diner in all of Pittsburgh tonight. You’ve got a physician’s supervision.” He smirks at you. His eyes flick to the ground on the side. His go-bag. He’s prepared, just in case. That brings you back to reality, brings you back to yourself, makes you smile and give a soft laugh. 

He sits down opposite you, starts to take a drink of water. “Have I ever told you how hot I find it that you’re a doctor?”

Jack chokes, starts coughing and it makes you giggle.

“What?” You draw the word out with a bit of that shit-eating grin he loves. “What did you expect me to say?” 

“I don’t fucking know but not that! You were so speechless a minute ago!” He’s laughing a bit now, looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders of the world. 

“It’s just the truth!” you say through a laugh. He reveals dinner to you. Your favorite dish from your favorite place. You thank him for this, all of it, you keep saying it because you’re so blown away. 

You eat dinner. You eat all of yours for the first time in two weeks and it makes Jack so incredibly happy and relieved. After you’re done with dinner you sit for a bit, chat a little before Jack stands up and holds out his hand to you. You raise an eyebrow at him. 

He takes his phone out and thirty seconds later your guy's song, soft and slow, starts playing from a speaker he had hidden under the table. He offers you his hand again. 

“Oh Jack.” You pull the words out a little bit as you start to cry.

Through tears you take it and let him pull you close into a dancing hold. “I hope they’re good tears,” Jack murmurs as he holds you close.

“They’re the best,” you sniffle. “I love you so much.”

Jack kisses your temple at the side of your eyebrow. “I love you more.”

The song plays on a loop. Jack dances with you until you admit you’re tired and need to rest. It’s not even really dancing more than just swaying together, him holding you close, murmured conversation. But it’s everything. He’s everything. 

You’re there for weeks. Weeks that are beautifully uneventful, the only exception being when you hit some milestones in your recovery. 

And then one day is eventful again because a word starts being used. The word you’ve both been desperate to hear. 

Home. 

You’re desperate to get out of the hospital and home. Jack is just as desperate to get you there. He never wants to let you out of it again, but that’s a conversation for a later day. He’s dreading when you have to go back to work, back to that courthouse. Rationally he knows with the increased security since the shooting it’s probably one of the safest places for you to be but his emotional brain doesn’t give a single fuck about that. 

You laugh about it with Jack one day, how you’re going to go home to your apartment that’s still in boxes with furniture pushed to the center of rooms so you could paint. “It’s okay, we can wait to paint or I can make Robby help. And then you can just boss me around and tell me where to put things as I unpack while you rest on the couch.”

He gives you a very pointed look. 

“I think I’ll be okay to help you unpack. At least some things and at least for a while. If I get tired I’ll rest and I won’t go lifting a box of books, okay?” You give him a reassuring smile. 

“No.” 

You let out a deep sigh. “Jack, we’ve talked about this. You can’t treat me like I’m glass forever. Especially once we’re home.” 

“Why not? And it’s not even treating you like glass, it’s making sure you take it easy and recover.” His face is set, but not quite as hard as it has been when you’ve had this conversation in the past. 

“I will take it easy. And I will recover. And you will be there to make sure I do both of those things. But being active, to an extent, I know, is important. Robby has said it. Dana. Heather, Mel, Santos, Shen, Parker, Perlah, Princess, Shamsi, Whitaker, Garcia, Javadi, Mohan, Mateo, everyone who has ever stepped in this room. Even you told me that, back when I didn’t want to get out of bed.” You run your hands over his chest, try to be soothing. You don’t want to upset him. “I know you have been through a lot with this. I know I have been. I know we have a lot to process and work through together and individually. I don’t want to argue. And I know that if our positions were reversed I would be the exact same way towards you, and that if anything you have it worse because you’re a doctor and so you know way too much about the things that could go wrong. But I’m okay. I will be okay. You tell me everyday how I’m getting stronger.”

Jack settles his hands on your hips, rests his forehead against yours. “I know. I just… struggle. Because you were better and then you weren’t. And I am terrified that’s going to happen again even though I know the chances at this point are so low.” His hands squeeze your hips. “I think maybe seeing you out of here will help. Seeing you at home. It’ll make it more real. That you’re really okay.” He pulls his head from yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” you cup his face with both of your hands. “I don’t want you to be sorry, Jack. Not for caring so much, for loving so much. Because that’s what this is and I know it. It’s not micromanaging or not trusting me or wanting to control me. I know that. I promise. I know this is motivated by fear and by love. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

He nods because he knows it’s true. 

And then there’s another eventful day, with a phrase you’ve both been itching to hear. 

Discharge instructions. 

They let Robby give you them even though he’s not technically your doctor. He gives them to you even though he doesn’t need to because you have Jack who’s going to be all over you and enforce stricter ones. But you still appreciate hearing them so that you have some idea of what’s okay and what isn’t and what appointments you have scheduled for follow ups and the meds they’re sending you home with. 

You ask about sex. 

Jack almost drops the bottle he’s packing away for you. “Why, please tell me why on earth,” he draws the word out, “you’re thinking about sex? And not recovering.”

You look at him, hold a finger up and then riffle through the bag next to you on the bed. You take out the small stand mirror Dana had brought you so that you could do your makeup that one night. You open it and hand it to Jack. “Take a look in the mirror Dr. Abbot.”

You’re so nonchalant with how you say it, like it’s obvious and just a fact and nothing you should really have to be explaining. 

“Oh my god,” he mutters. 

Robby ends up totally snorting his laugh because he tried to stifle it for Jack for a minute but it’s too good, it’s too funny. Robby smiles at you as he pulls it together, thinks how good you are for Jack. How you’re what he needed.

“You could have just asked me, you know! I’m a doctor! I know you know that, you tell me how hot it is all the time! We didn’t have to fucking drag Michael into this,” he huffs. But all of you know it’s not serious. He’s not really mad. He’s just worried and scared and wants to protect you and doesn’t want anything to happen to you and more than anything he doesn’t want to hurt you. But there’s the subtlest tinge to his voice that reflects his lust, his want, his desire to have you like that again. 

“Yes, but I don’t trust you to give me a straight answer right now,” he goes to interrupt you but you shake your head and continue, speaking over him, and Jack pouts. Truly pouts. “And you know that’s valid and you would have given me the most conservative answer possible. And it’s Robby,” you shrug, “he’s a doctor and your best friend and obviously knows we’re having sex, or were before all of this. Plus he saw my tits when he coded me, I think we lost some boundaries when that happened.”

“They’re very nice b-”

Jack shoots him a glare, one that would have Robby dead on the floor if looks could kill.

Robby stops talking and clears his throat. “Right, well, uh,” Robby hugs his tablet to him and rocks back and forth a bit. “I mean as soon as you’re ready and feel up to it.” You look over at Jack and flash a pleased smile, raise your eyebrows. “But nothing too rough or overly strenuous. Keep it soft, slow. You know real love-making-”

“I’m going to fucking quit if you keep talking.” Jack interrupts Robby who wears the biggest self-satisfied shit eating grin. 

You snort a laugh because the whole situation is so fucking absurd. “Thank you, Robby.”  

“Of course.” He opens his arms and you hug. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I am really fucking glad I won’t see either of you tomorrow.” 

The three of you share a laugh. “Ready?” Jack asks you. It’s funny how in the moment you’ve been dying for you’re suddenly terrified and unsure. The hospital is safe. There are doctors and medications. 

You remind yourself that there’s a doctor and medications at home too and the thought lets you smile at Jack and nod.

He flicks his chin to the wheelchair. “Oh you cannot be serious. That is so unnecessary.”

“Hospital policy.” Jack shrugs. 

“Hospital policy or Jack policy?”

“That one actually is hospital policy.” Robby confirms. 

Jack gives you a triumphant smirk and you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. He does it back. 

And then he wheels you out.

Being home is strange. It’s a whole new normal to get used to again. There are lots of emotions. You’re all over the place, somehow more emotional labile the first two days at home than you ever were in the hospital. 

Despite his own emotions Jack is your rock through it and things start to get better. He paints with Robby’s help. You talk him into letting you paint. You direct Jack and Robby on where furniture should go, with Jack’s input of course. You and Jack unpack boxes together. 

Six or seven days after you came home you’re down to just two boxes left. All books. You and Jack are unpacking them together, him bending to get them out of the box and you alphabetizing as you put them on the shelves. 

Jack picks up a book. The book. The one that started it all. The one ‘Move in with me?’ is written in. He stares down at it. 

Earlier today he’d unpacked the box where he’d hidden the ring. The ring box is in his pocket, pants loose enough to hide it. 

“Peter?” You hold a hand out behind you to get the next book from him but Jack doesn’t put one in your hand or say anything. “Jack?” you repeat as you turn around to him staring at the book. He has a weird look that you can’t really place. Your brows furrow in concern. “Are you okay?”

He sets the book back in the box and looks up at you for a second. And then he’s sliding down to one knee and your eyes widen. “Jack,” you whisper, already teary. 

“We’re going on the France trip,” he starts. “It’s all planned. You should be well enough to travel by then and we can adjust to take it easier if we need.” Your mouth drops open a little. “I had this all planned too. Proposing. I was going to take you to the Louvre, propose in front of the inverted pyramids, have a photographer. I had planned to tell you about the trip the night of the day you got shot. And then the entire time you were in the hospital I wanted to ask but I didn’t want it to feel like I was asking because you were in the hospital and things were scary.” 

You bring a trembling hand to your mouth. “But I can’t wait anymore. I can’t wait for Paris. You know this has nothing to do with what happened. I had planned this before what happened. I knew I wanted to marry you within a month. That time you met me outside of the hospital after I coded that vet at the very end of my shift. We had spoken on the phone for less than a minute, I didn’t tell you about it or say anything was wrong and yet you just showed up. In your work clothes. When I asked why you were there you said you could hear it in my voice, that I needed someone, needed to not be alone and so you took the day off, and it’s funny because up until you said it I had been telling myself that I needed to be alone. But you were right. When I started to argue you just put a hand to my chest and kissed me, told me that it was already done, you’d already let your boss know, grabbed my hand and started walking to my place. And that’s when I realized you knew me better than I knew myself and that you weren’t afraid to just do things for me, that you weren’t going to make me ask, ever, for anything, when you knew I wouldn’t be able to. You weren’t going to make me struggle, force me to either open up or not get what I need from you. That’s when I knew I wanted to marry you.” He pauses and swallows, trying to clear the tears that line his eyes from his voice. “There’s so much I wanted to say in this moment, so much you deserve to hear” he laughs a little, the sound wet with tears, “but everything has fallen out of my mind. I promise though that, if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of our lives making sure you hear them and know how important and necessary you are to me, how much I love you.” 

Tears stream down your face. They have been for a while now. Your mouth and chin tremble under your hand. 

Jack gets the box from his pocket and opens it.

The way Jack says your name is etched into your memory. Then. “Will you marry me?”

You move your hand from your mouth, give him a look and move your shoulders in a way that says he didn’t even have to ask. 

“Yes.” 

It’s not exactly whispered, your voice is just so choked with tears it makes it sound like it. Jack’s face breaks out into the biggest teary smile and yours matches. Shaking hands get the ring on your finger and then Jack is standing up, arms going straight to hold your face and he kisses you like he never has before. It’s indescribable. It’s perfect. 

You hug him tightly for a minute before you both pull away. “Is it okay? The ring?”

“Oh,” you sniffle, try and wipe at your eyes with your hands. “You’re going to laugh,” your voice gets a little more high pitched as another wave of emotion hits you. “The tears, there’s too many, I haven’t been able to see it.” You cover your mouth with your hand. 

And Jack, Jack starts laughing. Because it’s so you, from being too teary to see it to the way you got even more emotional when you told him. You laugh-cry with him. 

The entirety of the proposal is perfect. 

As is what follows once you’ve seen the ring, almost screamed about it and how perfect it is, and gushed about it for several minutes to him. 

Jack takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom. Your shared bedroom. He lays you down on soft sheets. It’s your first time after what happened. 

He takes his time with you. Kisses every inch of you, every scar, new and old, lingers on the new ones. He worships you. Takes you apart and puts you back together again. Lets you do the same to him. 

The groan of relief that comes from his chest when he finally pushes inside of you is unholy. He holds you tight to him. He adjusts so that he’s on top of you, arms under your shoulders with his elbows supporting him, holding your face in his hands. It’s all panting and breathy and sloppy kisses and uncontrollable groans and moans and warm sweaty skin and eye contact and Jack slowly losing it and groaning nonstop as he fucks you and chases your hips harder and harder, moving you both up the bed a bit as he tries to get deeper and closer to you. 

You take a bath after to clean the sweat off of you both and just to feel each other. He pours in so much epsom salts to help you heal that you tease him you’re going to float in the water. It’s so warm and his touch is so relaxing that you actually fall asleep leaning back against him for a few minutes. He lets you sleep. Tries to commit the moment to memory. 

You decide to have a housewarming party. You invite everyone from the Pitt, time it so that the night shifters can drop by for a little bit before their shift starts if they want. You invite some of your friends too. 

You use it to announce your engagement. Every time someone knocks you and Jack go get them and you hold your left hand up. Everyone is happy for you. Some cry which makes you get teary. Jack hears you discussing the ring with Dana, Samira, McKay, and Javadi, you holding your hand out and all of them looking closely at it. He can’t hear the conversation but he catches, “he custom designed it,” and “it’s so perfect, just like him.”

He stands alone for a minute watching you and the party. He smiles as you walk up to him, arms automatically opening for you to step into. “And how is my beautiful fiancée doing?” You giggle at the word. Fianceé. It makes it so real. “Tired?” He’s checking in on you and you know he’d have all of these people out in a literal minute if you said you were tired and needed to rest. 

“No, I’m okay, I promise.” You lean up and give him a kiss. “How’s my handsome fiancé?” 

“I’m pretty perfect, Doll.” He gives your hip a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You cock your head at him a little and he melts even more for you somehow. 

“For everything.” Jack kisses you. “For saying yes.” Another kiss. “For waking up.” Another kiss. “And for telling me that book wasn’t worth it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wanted both without having to destroy Jack because he deserves everything so here we are. I hope it was okay! Please let me know your thoughts and comments!! Liking, replies and reblogging are so so appreciated! My inbox and requests are open (see masterlist for more)! Thank you for reading all of this, I know it was long!

Part 3 is up!

And let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! Wedding, more before reader is shot, just little domestic moments between the two? I'm hoping to do a follow up to Perfumer and maybe a few more shorter things, maybe some Robby? Who knows, certainly not I.

"Not to my knowledge," you answer Jack, equally as confused by the four unfamiliar white coated doctors standing at the hub. One feels vaguely familiar but you can't place him in the cursory glance you give the four as you walk with Jack.

"Okay." He draws the word out as the two of you make it to your lockers and start opening them. "Can't wait to find out what that's about."

"Residents from Cleveland Fairview are shadowing and observing today," Dana explains as she walks up.

Your brows just furrow further as you glance at her while putting your stuff in your locker. "Why?"

"No fucking clue, Gloria just showed up shortly after I got here and told me. I'm guessing it has to do with PittFest and wanting to see how we run to bring things back to their program," she shrugs.

"Michael probably knew about it and it's just another one of those little things he forgot to tell me about," Jack mutters, shutting his locker door and putting his stethoscope around his shoulders.

It's been a bit over eight months since PittFest and Jack and Dana were finally able to convince Robby to take some serious time off to focus on himself, which required him to get some distance from the Pitt. Part of the convincing was Jack agreeing to shift to days and take on some of Robby's admin stuff for the two months he'd be gone. You were able to shift to days with him because, with perfect timing, Collins wanted more night experience and asked if you'd switch with her for a bit.

You try to stay somewhat positive. Or maybe it's cynicism with a positive edge. "Maybe it'll provide us with some good entertainment today?"

"We'll see," Dana hums, exchanging glances with you and Jack before walking back to the hub.

"I'll settle for it just being like a normal day with extra bodies." Jack takes a quick look around and then steps closer to you and gives you a quick kiss. "Love you. I'll see you out there."

"Love you too." You smile at him and watch him walk over towards the hub before returning your attention to your locker. You grab your stethoscope, hang it around your shoulders, shut your locker door and use the restroom before walking to the hub.

You and Jack have been together two weeks shy of a year now. You'd both felt something towards each other the day you guys met when you were an intern. But you worked days and Jack worked nights, so it was rare you got to see each other that much.

Half way through your r3 year you switched to nights and after doing the will-they-won't-they thing for five months you and Jack finally decided you would, unable and unwilling to wait any longer. You started dating about a month before you became an r4. It had required HR and paperwork and an agreement between you and Jack that work was strictly professional, absolutely no pet names or kissing or hugging or touching outside of how any other resident and attending might incidentally touch at times, no name dropping each other at work when saying you have a partner, and Jack was obviously going to be just as hard on you and not give you any special treatment.

The only built-in exception was a kiss at the lockers as you started shift, so long as nobody was around. There had been a couple of other exceptions on the roof after particularly shitty days or hard losses. You try to keep personal talk to a minimum at work but sometimes it's inevitable, and on some very very rare days, it's almost required. Overall though, you guys are impressively good at maintaining the professional-personal divide, and observers not in the know who see you and Jack interact at work generally don't clock your relationship.

Being together also meant that when you put in for the open attending position, Jack wasn't involved in the hiring process for that position like he normally would be. Nobody was surprised when you were given the job, everyone had seen it coming since you were an intern, frankly, with how good you were at seemingly every aspect of the job.

Jack is chatting with Dana as you walk up to the other side of the hub. Before you can take a look at the board and evaluate what you're walking into, a vaguely familiar male voice calls your name. Though you can't place the voice, you recognize the man walking towards you the second you see him and immediately want to pretend you're sick and go home. This is going to be a fucking nightmare, you already know it.

The man approaching you is your med school ex, if you stretch and consider what the two of you had as a relationship, which you do not. You look back and cringe at the entire situation. He's one of those types who completely ignores you when you say you have a boyfriend, thinks he can make you cheat or leave them for him. If you ask him to stop flirting he just flirts harder. You know all too well because it was a problem before you got involved with him. But it was med school and he was hot and you were pent up and sex was good stress relief, even if you had to do most of the work for yourself.

"Dale?" You force a small smile and laugh. You can feel Jack's eyes on you already. "Hi, um, wow, I forgot you were at Fairview. How have you been?"

"Hey you!" Dale beams at you. Jack bristles when Dale wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, jealousy already starting to course through him. You barely return it, lightly draping your arms around him in return and awkwardly patting his back. "I've been alright, how about you? What's new? I'm excited to see what life is like at PTMC!"

Jack's eyes scan over Dale when he finally releases you. He's objectively a very attractive man, Jack will admit that. He's close to your age, too, and Jack has always been at least somewhat insecure about how old he is and the age gap between you. His left ring finger is empty so he's not married, and the way he hugged you and is looking at you tells Jack the two of you have a history that's more than just meeting at a conference lunch or something.

"I've been really great, actually. I love working here and have made some really great friends and found the most amazing boyfriend who I love and can't get enough of. And you know, residency is almost over and I have an attending position here so I really can't complain at all." You have to force yourself to not let your eyes find Jack when you start talking about your boyfriend. Jack can't help but smile to himself a little when you say it, looking back at Dana. "And uh, yeah, yeah, we're excited to have you here today."

"Would you be just as excited to have me here tonight? I got a hotel room, didn't want to have to drive back the same day. We could go out and catch up? Maybe have some fun after." Dale leans into your space, trying and failing to ooze sex appeal as he flirts.

Jack goes rigid, his eyes snapping back to you. In his peripheral he sees Dana raise her eyebrows, a look of shock coloring her face. You literally just said you had a boyfriend you love and can't get enough of and this asshole is brazenly inviting you back to his hotel room.

"I was having him shadow her because they're both r4s but you want me to switch it?" Dana asks, her eyebrows still raised.

Jack rolls his jaw, actually considering Dana's offer. He sighs. "No. That makes the most sense." He looks down at the tablet in front of him. "Professionally, anyway," he mutters under his breath as he waits to hear your reply. Dana chuckles and gives him a sympathetic smile, squeezing his forearm.

"That would be great!" you nod. Jack's stomach starts to sink, even with as much as he trusts you. "Getting the whole group together will be lovely, everyone's usually up for a post-shift drink or two! And then if you guys have any follow up questions or want to talk about things you saw we can do that! I'll spread the word about tonight. I've gotta run though, I need to go find Dr. Mohan before we run the board, I'll see you around." You turn and nearly run away, leaving Dale no chance to argue or say anything else.

Jack lets out a relieved breath. He feels kind of bad for doubting you for even a second. He knows you better than that. But it's really not you as much as it's his own insecurities and doubts about himself. Because Jack would understand if you left him, especially for someone younger and more attractive and who almost assuredly has far less baggage than him, all boxes Dale appears to tick.

"Ready to run the board?" Shen's voice pulls Jack from his thoughts.

"Yeah," Jack nods as he looks over at Shen, still clearing the distraction from his voice. "Yeah, let's do it."

Running the board doesn't take long, all things considered. Once everyone is gathered for shift change Jack has the doctors from Fairview introduce themselves and then has Dana announce which PTMC doctor each Fairview doctor is paired with. You shoot her a please help look when she finishes reading them out as Dale walks over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, excitedly rambling about how it'll be just like old times. He whispers things could be even more like old times tonight, trying and failing to be seductive. You almost slam your head into the counter of the hub just to get out of work.

Jack clenches his jaw as he watches Dale throw his arm around you and then whisper to you. He doesn't even need to know what exactly it is Dale said, with how the guy has acted so far Jack knows it was something suggestive and flirtatious. The fact that you look at Dana even harder and start to beg her with your eyes all but confirms it.

You step out from under Dale's arm as Jack gives out patient assignments and pairs the med students, interns and r2s with r3s and r4s. You're floating today, not really assigned to any one of them, just available as needed, so you don't have the benefit of another person being with you to help buffer Dale.

"Okay," you sigh as you look over the patients Jack assigned you, scoffing to yourself quietly as you realize none of them require an r4, much less exclusively an r4. You look up at Dale. "Can you go introduce yourself and get set up for the sutures in room 9? I'll be right there."

He nods, shocks you by walking off without some pitiful attempt at flirting. Once Dale is far enough away and the hub has cleared out some you walk over to Jack where he's still standing at the counter.

"Is there a reason you're giving me all intern or r2 cases to start?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"You'll get them out quickly and we need the space." That's a fair enough answer. He should stop there, he knows it. And yet he doesn't. Jack looks over at you, face stoic, if not just a touch icy in a way that makes you furrow your brows and frown a little. "And I thought you might like some time to catch up with your friend. He sure seems really interested in you."

You gape and shrink back a little. You narrow your eyes at him as you recognize the jealousy etched into his features. “Are you jealous?” You know that like everyone, Jack has his own insecurities and isn't immune to jealousy. It's still kind of unexpected, though, especially the idea of your Jack, your soulmate who's the perfect imperfect man for you and whom you're never letting go, being jealous of Dale. Jack has nothing to worry about or be jealous over in general with you, but especially not in relation to Dale.

Jack looks at you sharply, tries and fails to look offended. He hates how easily you saw his jealousy, because of fucking course he's jealous. All he can think about is how Dale is everything he's not and how being with Dale would be so much easier for you on what feels like every level. Maybe even better for you. “No. I’m not.” He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows at you. "Should I be?"

Despite his protest otherwise, it's obvious Jack is jealous. If anything him saying he's not underscores how much he is. You scoff a soft laugh, shaking your head at him. “Oh, you really are jealous." Jack clenches his jaw and stares at you for a second, anger or maybe annoyance radiating off him. He shakes his head at you once and turns, starting to walk away. "Wait, Jack," you're able to jump in front of him as he grabs a tablet, "why would you be jealous? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs, trying to sound irritated even though he knows that's not really what he's feeling. Jack knows he's insecure and vaguely sad and anxious that you're going to work with this guy all day and remember how great it was and leave him. And Jack doesn't know what he'll do without you. Just thinking about losing you makes it hard to breathe.

"I wouldn't be and I'm not unless you're telling me there's some reason I should be." Your eyebrows draw together as you frown, like you're trying to decide if he really thinks there's a reason to be jealous or if he's just feeling jealous. Both of you hate the way his voice grows a little cold. "Get to work, Doctor."

You let out a dejected sigh. Before you can say anything to try and reassure him that he has nothing to be jealous of, Jack walks away. "Jack," you whisper, a less than even half-hearted attempt to get him to stay and talk to you since you know it's a futile effort.

"You okay, Hon?" Dana looks at you from across the hub over the top of her glasses.

You take a deep breath. "If you can't find me at any point today I'm on the roof." You're only half joking. She nods and gives you a sympathetic smile before you're off in search of fucking Dale.

Like Jack said you would, you quickly get all your assigned patients treated and discharged, freeing up multiple rooms and giving you the ability to pick up more complex and challenging cases. Unfortunately for you Dale won't shut the fuck up about med school or stop flirting with you no matter how many times you bring up your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who you've felt staring at you multiple times over the last three and a half hours.

You jump on the next trauma to come in, a stabbing victim with multiple wounds to the chest and neck. Jack joins you but lets you take the lead, the two of you working together flawlessly, anticipating the other's next move and seamlessly handing off instruments as necessary. Dale is there and does help to some extent but he's very obviously thrown by Jack's presence, hesitating and almost stumbling his way through things at times. Garcia doesn't hesitate to tell him to move and push him out of her way when she's finally able to get down from the OR and you make a mental note to buy her a drink tonight as you stifle your laugh.

Jack already has his gown off and is removing his gloves as your patient gets wheeled out of the trauma room to go up to surgery. You're unsurprised that he's in a rush to get out of being in a room with you and Dale given his attitude the last time you spoke. It makes sense that he has no interest in having to watch you and Dale interact any further.

You really think he's going to walk out without acknowledging you at all and the thought stings. It's not like you spoke a little before the trauma, Jack came and jumped in shortly after you got the patient transferred off the EMTs' gurney. You don't need praise, don't need Jack to tell you good job or anything like that. Just a look or something small from him to acknowledge he was in your presence and it meant something to him.

Keeping the longing and sadness you feel from being totally obvious on your face and in your eyes as you stare at Jack's back is difficult, but the last thing you need is Dale thinking you're upset about not getting praised and teasing you about it, inevitably making a praise kink joke to flirt with you more.

Jack turns as he gets to the trauma room doors, happy to see your eyes on him and not Dale. He knows he shouldn't be worried about that but he can't seem to help it right now. Jack reads you easily, and while your sadness is imperceptible to anyone else, he's able to see it on your face and in your eyes easily and he hates it. He hates knowing he's responsible for it, at the very least in part. He knows he needs to try and catch you alone so that the two of you can talk. Jack gives you a small smile and nods at you. "Nice work, Doc."

"Thanks," you nod at him with your own small smile, "learned from the best." That earns you a bigger smile as Jack laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head at you before turning and walking out the door.

You watch him walk away through the window for a couple of seconds before Dale ruins the moment.

"Holy shit, that was incredible!" Dale laughs. "He's just as amazing as everyone says, damn!"

"He's pretty great," you nod, tossing your gloves and gown in the biohazard bin and walking out of the trauma room to get back to your other patients.

"He's more than great!" Dale says as he catches up to you. "He's truly amazing. And the two of you together were awesome too. You guys were so smooth and in tune."

You want to make some ridiculous comment like, yeah, you should see us in bed together, but that would go against everything you and Jack agreed to and would probably just give Dale ideas if anything. "We've worked together a lot," you shrug. "Come on, we have patients to see." You walk off toward a patient room before Dale can bring Jack up again.

Dale, however, doesn't stop talking about Jack in between patients for the next hour. You can't decide if it's worse or better than him bringing up med school moments between the two of you that you'd rather forget. And it does nothing to stop him flirting with you and making passes at every opportunity he sees.

"I was so pumped when I heard Abbot was working days. I thought he worked nights and was about to try to get them to let us shadow night shift," Dale chuckles.

"Dr. Abbot," you remind him. "He does normally work nights and so do I. But we've all had to shift around a bit temporarily, so you got lucky."

"It's gotta be a fucking sign, right?" Dale bumps your shoulder with his and you stiffen, praying that Jack isn't around and about to hear whatever trash Dale is about to spew. "The universe bringing us back together at just the right time and leaving the night open for us to do whatever we want."

It's so pathetic you cringe. "I want to have a drink or two and go home, grab a shower, have sex with my boyfriend and go to sleep."

"You think your boyfriend will come out with us?" It's the first time Dale has acknowledged you have a boyfriend and you're a bit surprised he actually did.

You laugh to yourself. "Oh, I imagine he will."

"Hey, you think Dr. Abbot will come out with us? I'd love to have a drink with him," Dale glosses right over your answer about your boyfriend.

You smirk to yourself at the way Dale just unknowingly asked the same question twice. "Yeah, I bet he will."

Whitaker walks up to you with a question and requests you come look at a patient with him and you could kiss him on the forehead for saving you from more of Dale's bullshit. You quickly agree and start asking him questions as the two of you walk towards the room, Dale following along behind you.

The second you're out of the patient's room and Whitaker is gone, Dale brings up Jack again and manages to turn it into flirting. "So I heard there's another open attending position and I'm gonna apply. How cool would it be if I ended up getting to work with Dr. Abbot?"

Your stomach drops at the thought of Dale being an attending here. You'll find Robby and threaten to quit and do your best to take Jack with you if you find out his name is seriously in the mix for the position. It doesn't matter that Dale would know you and Jack were together. You don't want to see him, even just for handoff at shift change.

"I mean you wouldn't. Not really," you shrug at Dale like it's obvious. "It's a day shift position. Dr. Abbot will be back on nights by the time whoever fills that spot starts. So will I. I got the open night shift attending spot."

"Well maybe I could convince someone to swap with me so I could work nights. Or maybe I could convince you to stay on days with me," Dale drawls with a slimy smirk, "could help you decompress at night like I used to."

Your face curls into an expression of vague disgust and you can see the confusion in Dale's eyes as he tries to figure out which part of what he said disgusted you, like it isn't patently obvious. "I thought you wanted to work with Dr. Abbot?" You look down at your tablet and flick through some test results to show how uninterested you are in Dale's offer and how it has no significance to you. "And there's no way I'll move to days. Night shift works perfectly with my boyfriend's schedule and he's the only one I'll be decompressing or doing anything else with. Can you do me a favor and go walk Whitaker through those stitches? Thanks."

There's a pause, and you know Dale is trying to bait you into looking at him or saying something else to fill the silence. But you don't do either, instead thinking about what would happen if you just stopped talking to him or answering him.

Dale is forced to break his own silence as you continue to look at test results and consider fully ignoring him. "Anything for you," Dale hums at you before walking off. You can just about hear the wink you're sure he gave you in his voice.

With Dale now occupied you're quick to take the opportunity to speak to Jack when you spot him sitting alone at the north nurses station.

You slip into the free chair and push yourself closer to Jack, but still a respectable distance apart, keep your tablet in your lap. "Just wanted to let you know that you're all I've heard about for the last hour, so it appears my friend is in fact really interested in you."

Jack looks up at you, eyes softening reflexively because it's you. The corners of his lips twitch up into the ghost of a smile and you give him a small one back. He's happy you saw him and came over, especially without your friend whose name he tells himself he can't remember. He may or may not have seen that your patients were more or less clumped in north rooms and deliberately chosen to sit here and chart in the hopes this might happen.

"And I care because…?" he trails off, eyebrows slightly raised as he continues to try to pretend he doesn't care and isn't jealous. He's vaguely proud of himself for not asking how you know Dale and who he is to you.

"Just thought you might like to hear you're the topic of conversation," you shrug. You scoff a laugh through your nose and shake your head. "He hears there's an open attending position and is hoping to talk to you tonight and get you to put in a good word for him."

"Ha!" Jack laughs loud enough to draw a little attention for a few seconds, him pretending to be more involved in charting than he is and you looking down at your tablet. "He fucking wishes."

"Because he's not the right doctor for the job or for some other reason?" You give him a knowing look.

"Both," Jack mutters. You click your tongue at him and change the look you're giving him to ask really? "I'm kidding," Jack sighs. "He's not the right doctor. I've observed him working with you and during that trauma. He isn't a bad doctor, at all, he's good enough, but not here good, you know what I mean? He doesn't have it, that special thing that you need to work at a level 1 trauma center."

"That special thing?" you ask with an amused smile and raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, ask Robby one day. He'll agree there's a thing. Like a, a je ne sais quoi." It's really not that funny but for some reason it hits in the moment and you crack up when Jack says je ne sais quoi. He ignores your laughter for now. "It's like a certain drive and temperament and finesse with patients and their families so you can get the info you need efficiently, and the ability to think on your feet and be textbook but also flexible and creative and able to tell when's the time for each. And you're being very mean still laughing at me about the French."

"I'm not laughing at you about the French," you giggle as you try to get your laughter under control.

Jack looks at you and nods slowly, eyes narrowed in humorous disbelief. "Right, right." He's not really mad or hurt of course. The opposite in fact because he loves hearing you laugh, especially when he's the one who makes you.

"I'm not. You saying it just struck me as very funny in the moment, yes, but that's not why I continued." Your laughter trails off as you tilt your head at Jack. "Do you remember our third date?" You raise your eyebrows slightly to let him know you'll explain later and won't be offended if he doesn't want to have a personal conversation at work even though you're alone.

"The Frick Art Museum." He barely has to think about it.

Dale is completely lost to both of you now, neither of you thinking about him, only focusing on each other. Jack's jealousy sinks to the back of his mind as he relaxes some.

You pull your head back just slightly as you smile at him, both surprised and not surprised. "You knew that so fast."

"Yeah, because one," Jack drops his voice and leans in closer, completely comfortable having this personal of a conversation when it's just the two of you, especially today, "you came back to my place and we had sex for the first time and I'm never gonna forget what it felt like to be inside you for the first time, so the whole night was memorable, and two, after we decided to go there I was looking at their website and very clearly remember shaking my head to myself and rolling my eyes because it said something like it was designed to exhibit its collection in an atmosphere of intimacy, so then the next morning when I woke up to you snuggled against me I kind of laughed to myself about it while I watched you sleep because we left the atmosphere of intimacy to go be intimate for the first time."

You shiver a little as Jack explains one because yeah, you couldn't forget your first time either. As hot as it is there's also something so achingly sweet about it. Your heart aches more as he explains two, even with as amusing as it also is, because you didn't know he watched you sleep that morning.

"That's all so sweet. My little romantic." You smile at him, all lovesick and melting. You wish you could kiss him so badly. Jack gives you a single nod and raises his eyebrows to remind you he has no idea why you brought this up. "When we were there we were looking at some painting and I said I liked it but couldn't put my finger on why and you said yeah, there's a kind of je ne sais quoi to it and I could not fucking tell if you were being serious or trying to impress me with the French or trying to be funny. But now almost a year later, the mystery has been solved and I know you were saying it seriously." Your hand moves towards him to run through his curls and push them off his face but you catch yourself. "I find it cute. I like it."

Jack chuckles and shakes his head at you. You're thrilled he seems to be relaxing and letting go of at least some of his unnecessary jealousy. "I can't believe I don't remember your reaction if you were that uncertain."

You laugh softly and shrug. "I didn't know how to react, so I panicked and kissed you."

Jack lets out a fake gasp, dropping his jaw dramatically. "So you didn't even want to kiss me in front of the painting? Good job it wasn't our first kiss." He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

You playfully roll your eyes at him again. "Of course I wanted to kiss you! I was always wanting to kiss you. I'm still always wanting to kiss you! And I think you were always wanting to kiss me too, back then. It's why our first kiss was on the roof, you couldn't even wait to take me on a real date first!" You look down at your tablet and check on a couple of lab results you were waiting on.

"Hey." Jack nudges your foot under the counter. "I'm still always wanting to kiss you. If you don't know that we have a serious problem, genuinely."

You look back up at him and shake your head. "No I know, I didn't mean it like that."

Jack's eyes flick about your face to make sure there's no uncertainty. "Good. If we had an open room I'd break the rule this once and take you in there and kiss you just to make sure you know."

"Family room," you suggest quickly.

He shakes his head and laughs. "We are not making out in the family room."

"Why not?" you pout at him.

He laughs to himself at your pout and shakes his head. "Because there's people in there right now and because I can't be in there in the future with a family telling them I'm so sorry your family member died while the back of my mind is thinking about the time I made out with my girlfriend and got half hard in this room."

You smirk at him. "Half hard?"

Jack shoots you an incredulous look. "What do you think kissing you how I'd kiss you right now would do to me? Just fucking seeing you is enough sometimes, especially in the scrub bottoms you're wearing today. And the fucking competency kink when you do something well or make a diagnosis or come up with a solution, which is like all the fucking time. It is frankly a testament to my incredible control that I'm not almost always half hard the entire shift when we work together. You just… do things to me."

You can't help yourself, smirk widening and eyes narrowing at Jack. "One might say I have a je ne sais quoi about me that you love?"

Jack huffs. "Yeah, you have a je ne sais quoi alright," he says under his breath just loud enough for you to hear, the sexual undertone in his voice matching your sexual innuendo.

"I'm being serious!" you protest, feigning innocence. "I meant the ED physician je ne sais quoi you were talking about!"

"I am too! You do. You have that drive and temperament, the finesse with patients and family, you think on your feet, know when to be textbook and when to be flexible or creative." Jack grows serious, earnest. He really wants you to hear him and internalize what he's saying because he knows how much you struggle with confidence and doubt yourself at times. "I knew that within an hour of working with you your intern year. You just had it. That's rare. Some people just don't have it, don't have any of it. Most people have parts of it and you have to really drill the other parts into them so that they have the whole thing. You just had it. I didn't have to drill any of it into you."

You give him a soft smile, making your next question catch him even more off-guard. "Is that why you decided to drill yourself into me?" Jack lets out a breath and closes his eyes as he looks away from you, hanging his head while he tries to maintain his composure and not laugh like he wants to. His reaction makes you start laughing. You clamp your hand over your mouth for a second and then move it. "I have to walk away now," you say lowly, trying not to let your laughter overtake the words. If you stay here with him you will end up crying from how hard you'll laugh and make a total scene.

Jack looks back at you and shakes his head as he watches you rise from your seat and start to walk away. "Yeah, get the fuck out of here you fucking goose." He says it just loud enough for you to hear before he laughs to himself. He's so glad that you managed to escape Dale and that you guys got this time together because it has soothed his jealousy and relaxed him tremendously.

You spin on your heels and look back at him. "Ha! Goose?" Jack shrugs. He has no fucking clue where that came from either. "Well, okay, roger that Maverick."

Jack's jaw drops and he gapes at you in mock offense. "Did you just call me, an army veteran, a naval aviator?"

You shrug at him. "Pas exactement," you smirk. You spin back around, already taking a step as you do and walk straight into Dale.

One of Dale's hands finds your waist and the other finds your hip, hand a little too low for Jack's liking as he watches the scene play out.

"Woah, careful there," Dale laughs, a haughty smile curling up on his lips. "If you wanted to be close all you had to do was ask," he winks at you as you take a large step back from him, his hands lingering on you until they can't reach anymore. It makes you feel gross. "And I didn't know you spoke French. The language of love." He leans in close to you and stage whispers loud enough for Jack to hear. "It sounds so beautiful in bed. I speak it too, could show you just how beautiful it sounds in bed later."

You look at Dale as expressionless as you can get your face. "Good to know, I'll have to try it with my boyfriend tonight. Tests are back on Mr. Smith, let's go talk to him." You start to walk towards Mr. Smith's room but glance over your shoulder at Jack.

He's sitting straight up in his chair, his entire body stiff as he clenches and unclenches his jaw, his eyes burning with jealousy as he glares in the direction of you and Dale. The work your conversation just did to relax Jack and calm his jealousy is gone. You know it and Jack feels it. It's like you never spoke and he's just been stewing this entire time.

As the day continues to eke along Dale continues to flirt with you and Jack continues to observe it himself or hear about it through gossip because Dale is completely shameless and will flirt with you in front of anyone. The gossip is truly people more or less laughing at Dale because they know you're so committed to Jack and it's funny how you keep shutting Dale down and he keeps trying.

"Hey, you wanna go grab some lunch?" Dale asks as you sit at the hub charting.

"Good one," you laugh. You glance up when Dale is silent, looking at you confusedly. "Oh. Oh you're serious." He nods slowly. "Um yeah, go ahead, sure. Yeah, that would be great actually." You'd love to get some time away from him.

Dale smirks at you. "Don't wanna come with me?"

You look back down the computer and log off. "Not particularly, no. Plus I'm not hungry and have patients to see. But you go eat." You push out of your chair and take off for the women's restroom so that Dale can't follow you and will hopefully just slink off to lunch.

When you slip out of the restroom you're relieved that Dale isn't waiting around for you. You let out a long breath as you walk back onto the floor. With your time free of Dale you check on a few patients, take some ibuprofen, help Mel with a patient and decide to head to the roof just to feel the sun on your face and get some air. You don't want to come back down but you know you have to.

Jack has been looking for you when he spots you getting off the elevator. He walks over to you. "Where were you?"

You smile at him, resist the urge to walk straight into his chest and wrap your arms around him. "Just getting some air." Jack's eyebrows raise slightly. He knows what that means and is just trying to ask if you're okay, but the way Jack glared at you and Dale after your last conversation colors your vision. "I was alone," you mutter at him, a little hurt. You try to step around him to keep walking but Jack moves with you, grabs you gently by your arm and moves the two of you off to the side.

"That's not why I asked. At all." He realizes he's still holding onto you and drops his hand. "I asked out of concern. Getting air is usually not the best sign. Did something happen? Do you need to talk?"

Jack's concern warms you and you give him a soft smile as you shake your head. "No. He just asked to take lunch," Jack snorts and the two of you exchange amused looks, "I know. But it meant I had some time to myself and I just wanted some air."

He nods at you. "What side were you on?" he asks gently.

"The right side."

Like you knew what Jack's question meant, he knows what your answer means. You were on the safe side of the guard rails, away from the edge. "Good." He drops his voice and glances around, changing his stance a little to make it seem more like you're just two doctors chatting about something. "I need you, you know?"

Jack's question and the look in his eyes tell you he's trying to use his words to explain how he's been feeling all day, that the jealousy he still won't verbally admit he has stems from how much he needs you and how he feels a bit threatened, like he could lose you. The two of you truly have become masters of unspoken communication.

You nod with a reassuring smile. "I know. And you have me. Forever. I promise," you tell Jack, saying that you're his and his alone and that he has nothing to worry about without saying it.

Jack holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "You eaten anything since we started?" Another little silent expression of love.

You shake your head at him. "No. Have you?"

"No."

Both of you reach into one of your pockets and pull out a protein bar to give each other at the same time, laughing as you realize. The laughter trails off into a warm, almost sappy silence as the two of you realize you're each offering the other their favorite brand and flavor protein bar, keeping them in your pockets so you have them to hand to the other to make sure they eat.

You break the silence as you take the protein bar Jack offers you, tapping the one you're offering him on his hand so he'll take it. "Eat it, yeah? For me."

Jack drops his voice to a hushed whisper, a smirk ghosting his face. "Oh, I'll happily eat it for you." He sounds even more suggestive with his voice this low, emphasizing the natural gravel he has to it.

You gasp breathlessly to keep from attracting attention, match Jack's hushed whisper. "Jack Abbot, are you flirting with me at work?"

He takes the protein bar from you and starts to open it, shrugging shallowly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmurs before taking a bite.

Three hours later you slip out of the room while Dale spars with Garcia about whether a patient needs emergency surgery. Part of you wants to stay and watch her wipe the floor with him but a bigger part of you wants a break from him, especially with how hard he's been flirting with you since he came back from lunch. You've stopped replying to it and are pretty sure that's why he's trying harder and more frequently.

You're relieved when the hub is completely empty and nearly fall into one of the chairs. You really should log on and do some charting but you want to save it for when you're with Dale so that you have a reason to focus and not talk to him.

"Hey," Jack greets you just a little gruffly as he stands at the counter beside your computer. He's overheard much of what Dale's said to you recently and it disgusts him and pisses him off and still makes his jealousy grow even though he trusts you and knows you're just as put off by it as he is.

You smile at him warmly despite his seemingly better mood from the last time you spoke having worn off. You're always happy to see him and get a few minutes with him even if he's grumpy or annoyed. "Hi, Ba-" you start to tack on a pet name but catch yourself, "how's it going?"

"Who is he?" Jack finally breaks and asks the question he's spent the last eight hours ruminating on, trying to tell himself it doesn't matter who this guy is or how you know each other or if he's an ex.

"Dale?" You laugh softly to yourself which is clearly the wrong move because it just pisses Jack off even more. "Honestly impressed you made it eight hours without asking and speaking with me about it."

None of this is funny to Jack so your laughter, as good natured as it is, unknowingly feels like a bit of a slap in the face. Jack hates the way he can't let it go and not worry about it or control his jealousy better, but he just can't. It's you. You're the best thing to ever happen to him and it feels like there's a threat to that.

"Yeah, Dale, if that's his name," he almost spits out Dale's name as he acts like he doesn't know it, like it isn't a name he'll never forget. Jack leans on the counter a bit so that he's closer to you and can drop his voice. "The one shadowing you who can barely look at your face without first running his eyes up and down your entire body and who's staring at your ass whenever he's behind you and who's fucking incapable of talking to you without somehow flirting. It's a good thing I was with a patient when you bent over to pick up that kid's teddy bear because if I'd been free while watching the way he fucking ogled your ass I'd have come over and fucking hit him."

"Okay, one, he's not a kid, Jack, he's my age-"

"God, please don't fucking remind me!" Jack groans, shutting his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face.

You sigh. "We went to med school together. So I guess if you want to be extremely generous with the term, we were together during med school. We very very occasionally went on dates. It was mostly just sex to relieve med school stress, you know?"

Jack shrinks back, his blood starting to feel icy. "He's your med school ex? You were in a fucking relationship with him? For four fucking years? And now he's back trying to flirt with you and get you back?" That's far worse than he thought, his anger flaring even more, a total cover for his equally flaring insecurity and worry that he's going to lose you.

"What? No!" You roll your chair to be a little closer to him. "We didn't start until like third year. And he's not trying to get me back, he's trying to get casual sex! Which doesn't even fucking matter because he can try all he wants, he's not getting anything from me. I want nothing to do with him."

"Oh so only two years, that's so much better." He rolls his eyes.

"Jack, you're putting too much stock in it," you tell him softly. You wish you could take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze or give him a kiss. "I don't even really consider it a relationship. We had a few dinners and went to a couple movies. The rest was just casual sex. That's all it was. It was never anything remotely serious for me. I never had feelings for him or saw us settling down together or some shit. I wasn't heartbroken when med school ended and I no longer saw him. I've made zero effort to keep in any sort of contact with him."

Jack scoffs. "Just casual sex," he mutters. "Doesn't look like ER Ken can say the same."

You blurt out a laugh because it catches you so off guard. "ER Ken!" You stop laughing and shake your head at him a little. "Fuck that. And who the fuck cares what Dale can say? I sure fucking don't. He's flirting with a brick wall, Jack. I found the love of my life. And it's you before you get any ridiculous ideas." Jack clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at you, clearly annoyed by your words. You close your eyes and rub at your temple, the headache you've been fighting all day coming back. You pop a few more ibuprofen from the drawer since you have your iced coffee with you. "I cannot believe you're jealous over fucking Dale," you say through a scoffed laugh that Jack hates. "You know he like, worships the ground you walk on?"

"Sincerely doubt that," Jack deadpans.

"I'm serious. You are the subject we've actually discussed the most today. You and how excited he was that you were here and working day shift because he heard you normally worked nights and that he's dying to get some time to shadow you or at least work with you and do I think Dr. Abbot will come out with us all tonight and every hour he's bringing up a different publication if it's remotely related to the patient." You tilt your head at Jack and bob it forward to emphasize your words. "In med school when we were ranking for the match PTMC was his first choice because of you. Because he'd read all of Dr. Jack Abbot's publications and he'd heard about Dr. Abbot at conferences and saw you speak at one and it was life-changing, you're the best out there, so he just had to train under Dr. Abbot at PTMC. He didn't match here, obviously. But he still wants to be you so badly. "

Jack raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together in a line, nodding. "Right down to taking and having my woman I see."

You sigh and look at him pointedly. "Jack." He pulls his lips down and shrugs at you. "He's not taking your woman. He doesn't even know I'm yours. I'm not flirting back, I'm reminding him I have a boyfriend at every opportunity and most importantly, I don't want him. I only want you." You lick your lips and blow out a breath that has the lightest touch of a laugh. "He'd probably shit himself if he knew that you are my boyfriend. He's your biggest fan, even if you don't believe me. When I went to that conference as a baby r2 he was there and boy was he so fucking disappointed it was Robby who was with me and not you-"

"Did you sleep with him?" Jack cuts you off, suddenly standing army straight with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes that burn into you.

You gape at him. "What the fuck does it matter if I did, Jack? We weren't together. We weren't on the precipice of being together. I wasn't on your fucking radar. I didn't think my crush on you was ever going to be anything more than a one-sided crush."

"So you did." You make an and? face at him and Jack scoffs, shaking his head. "And you were, actually. You were on my fucking radar from the first time I saw you your intern year. You became the entire fucking radar, the only thing on it." He throws you a look and then walks away with nothing more.

There's something incredibly vulnerable and loving about his words even with the anger and frustration and veiled hurt Jack infuses them with. You push out of your seat and speed walk after him until you catch up and are able to step in front of him and stop him. "How was I supposed to know that, Jack?"

Jack knows that's a fair question. He was good at hiding it because he had to be, for multiple reasons. And at that point you weren't working a ton of nights so you guys didn't see each other that much.

"Fair," he admits with a nod. He looks at you for a second and then sighs while looking away, his shoulders relaxing. He looks back at you with softer eyes and shrugs. "You're not flirting back but you're not stopping it. His flirting."

You give him an apologetic smile. You know how much feeling jealous sucks and hate that you're making him feel that way. "I know, I'm sorry, I can imagine what that must look and feel like and I should've talked to you earlier. And I know you're not going to believe me but he is one of those men where if you ask him to stop or try to get him to stop he just flirts harder. So the best thing for me to do is ignore it when I can and just say I have a boyfriend even though he clearly doesn't fucking care."

Jack grunts noncommittally. "Why haven't you introduced us if he's so obsessed with me?"

"Are you serious?" you huff. "I would but you've been conveniently busy all day and do your best to avoid being within a ten foot radius of him. I can't believe you don't want to assert your dominance or some shit, get him away from me. He's fucking desperate to spend time with you, especially in a trauma. He wants your praise so badly."

Jack pulls his lips down and raises his eyebrows a little as he considers your words. "Maybe I should give him what he wants and let him shadow me for a bit. Take him under my wing."

"Don't be a total dick if you do." You give him a knowing look. "Just be normal, show him how amazing you are and make him wish even more he did his residency here. Then when we're out tonight you can kiss me or be all over me or whatever you want and he'll be put in his place so hard."

Jack's lips pull up into a sly smirk. "Define being a total dick."

"Dr. Abbot! Can I get your opinion?" Santos calls to Jack from the doorway a couple rooms down. Jack nods at her.

"Saved by the bell," you mumble.

Jack snorts. "Hardly." He turns and starts walking away but stops. He hears your resigned sigh as he walks away and he knows you're trying and that he might be putting a little too much of this on you when it's really on Dale and himself. The last thing he wants is for you to think he doesn't trust you, because he truly does even though he knows it must not seem like it.

You know why Jack is reacting how he is and you get it, you know how illogical jealousy can be. You know he's not mad at you and isn't questioning your commitment to him but is just feeling insecure and threatened and is worried he might lose you in addition to being genuinely pissed off by the way Dale talks to you, and that he's even more mad he has to stay professional and can't just haul Dale aside and tell Dale to back the fuck off of his girlfriend.

Jack turns back and finds you still standing where you were and watching him walk away from you. He knows he's been a dick to you most of the day and is already kicking himself for it, knows he needs to apologize. Jack meets your eyes. "I believe you. And I trust you and your judgment." The smile he gives you is small and soft, and to anyone else it just looks like an attending encouraging a resident. But you know the way his eyes crinkle extra at the edges is Jack's silent way of saying he loves you.

You have to control your smile so that you don't beam at him completely inappropriately, but you're still able to have a little fun with him. "Thanks, Dr. Abbot."

Jack rolls his eyes at you affectionately at the title and your deliberate use of it, knowing what it does to him. But as he turns around and walks off again all he can think about is how he can't wait for the day he can call you Dr. Abbot back.

You turn to walk back to the hub, sighing heavily when you see Dale walking toward you. "Damn! Did I miss Dr. Abbot again?"

"Evidently," you deadpan at Dale, hoping he'll take the hint and talk about anything other than Jack.

He doesn't of course, and starts asking about Jack as you walk back to the hub to check the board. "God is it just totally fucking amazing getting to train under him and work with him on a daily basis?"

If you were anywhere other than work you'd actually make the suggestive comment about being under Jack that immediately popped into your mind. But since you sadly are at work you grab a tablet at the hub and look at the board as you think about how to answer.

"It is, yeah. I feel very lucky every time I get to work with him. I mean I know I'm lucky to be taught and mentored by him. He's one of the best in the field. He really needs to accept the offers and help write the textbook on emergency medicine. It's still bewildering almost to think about how much I learn from him every time we work together. It feels like at some point there shouldn't be anything left to teach and learn, but there always is, he always finds things, even though I don't think he realizes it half the time. And I know it'll be like that always, even when I'm an attending." Unbeknownst to you Jack has been back in earshot of you and Dale since you began answering Dale's question.

"He's an incredible teacher and just a really good guy. He has confidence in all of us, sometimes unwarranted confidence I think," you laugh to yourself, "but that rubs off on you after a while, you know? His confidence in me has given me more confidence in myself. He's made me a better doctor, the doctor that I am today, and a better person, honestly. Every doctor who has the opportunity to be taught by him is better off for it and so are all of their patients. It's honestly hard to imagine the kind of doctor I'd be today without his influence and mentorship, but I know I'd be a worse one."

Jack's heart melts and he wants to beam and cry and kiss you and propose and never let you out of his arms as he listens, hears what you really think about him and what you tell people about him when you don't think he's listening. He didn't think you'd ever say anything bad, he knew you wouldn't, but you didn't have to say everything you said, you could have just said yeah it's amazing and Dr. Abbot is great. You said so, so much more, gave Jack praise he's not sure he deserves.

You look over at Dale. "So yeah, Dale, it is totally fucking amazing getting to train under him and work with him on a daily basis." You click your tongue at him, your next words dripping with sarcasm. "It's really too bad you didn't match here." You roll your eyes as you look back to the board.

The sarcasm is lost on Dale who apparently believes you're being serious. "It is yeah. We could still be together. Residency would have been a lot more fun with you around. Especially in the downtime," he sighs almost longingly. You swear you gag a little at it, and for the second time today you consider slamming your head against the counter of the hub.

Jack clenches his free hand into a fist, Dale ruining his mood and spiking his jealousy again. Any comfort and reassurance Jack took from your words about him are dissolved so easily by Dale's suggestion that the two of you could still be together and you could still be fucking Dale.

"I bet working that MCI with him was insane, especially with his army background," Dale chuckles. "He must have some wild stories to tell. He told you any good ones? I wonder how much real action he saw over there. He was a medic, right? I wonder if he had to try and help people while under fire or after an explosion or-"

You shift on your feet at the mention of PittFest, but you freeze when Dale starts talking about Jack's service, because absolutely fucking not. "Talking about PittFest is still under a moratorium and it's not really something we laugh about. And talking about Ja-, Dr. Abbot's past is always a no unless he brings it up and wants to talk to you about it. Okay?" You don't give Dale a chance to answer or talk back. "Great. I appreciate your understanding. Let's go check out the fractured hip in 12."

Thirty minutes later Jack finds you and Dale as you're walking out of a patient's room. "Fairly nasty MVC patient coming in. You mind if I take him? He can shadow me for a bit after." Jack glances at Dale, who might actually be vibrating with excitement.

You bite your tongue and manage not to shout yes, please save me. "You're the boss, you don't have to ask," you shrug at Jack, looking back down to your computer screen. You could throw Jack a look reminding him not to be a total dick to Dale, but these last thirty minutes with Dale pushed you to the point where you really don't fucking care.

Jack finally looks over at Dale for more than a cursory glance. "You up for it?"

"Absolutely, Dr. Abbot!" Dale chirps, walking to Jack and nearly gluing himself to Jack's side. "This is so great, thank you so much for this opportunity, I've wanted to get to work with you and talk to you all day." Jack starts walking off towards the ambulance bay, Dale continuing to talk. Or ass kiss, really. "I've read all of your publications, once we have this patient stable I'd love to discuss-"

Jack laughs. "I don't remember any of them super well off the top of my head, so there's probably not going to be much to discuss." He grabs a pair of gloves from one of the pockets of his pants and puts them on as the ambulance rolls up. "You gonna put on some gloves or what?" Dale looks around for a box, clearly half panicked about looking like an idiot in front of Jack. Wordlessly, Jack pulls another pair out of his pocket and holds them out for Dale.

Dale titters as he takes the gloves. "Thank you so much, Dr. Abbot, I'm just so used to us having gloves-"

"You should always keep a couple of pairs on you," Jack interrupts Dale. There's a pause, Dale just staring at Jack and nodding. "You need to put them on," he reminds Dale, shaking his head to himself and walking to meet the EMTs.

"Right, of course! I'm sorry I'm not usually like this, it's just you're you and-"

"Not the time for apologies, nor do I want them," Jack says pointedly to Dale. "Listen to the bullet."

Jack keeps Dale with him the last three hours of the shift because if Dale is with him, Dale isn't with you. It's painful though, to put it lightly. They run another trauma together and work on other patients, listen to some of the other residents present and Dale watches Jack walk the med students and residents through different procedures.

With thirty minutes left on the shift, Jack catches Dale staring out the window at you again, and combined with the fact that the patient they're working on is unconscious, it breaks him. He has to know what Dale has to say about you. "How do you guys know each other?"

Dale snaps his head back to Jack. "Me and..?" He trails off glancing at you. Jack nods. "Ah," Dale laughs. "Med school girlfriend. She's my one that got away," he sighs, a distinct tone of longing and almost lewdness in his voice that matches the way he's looking at you.

Jack clenches his jaw, his heart rate ticking up when Dale calls you his one that got away. Based on that he knows that you're wrong and Dale isn't looking for casual sex but to get you back.

"She's great, an amazing girl." Jack rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw harder with the way Dale refers to you as a girl and not a woman. "Smart, good at her job, both the medicine and the patients." His jaw relaxes a bit with as floored as he is that Dale said anything substantive about you, as understated as it was.

"Plus, she's hot as hell, just look at her. Between you and I," Dale lowers his voice slightly despite the two of them being the only people in the room, "she's fucking incredible in bed."

Jack goes still, his breathing now picking up as Dale unwittingly crosses a line. He tells himself he has to remain professional and calm and collected no matter how badly he wants to come unglued. He can take Dale to task at the bar tonight with you curled into his side. Jack tries to convince himself that he doesn't care and it doesn't matter that Dale knows how incredible you are in bed, but he does care and it does matter to him.

"She keeps saying she has a boyfriend, but I think I can still win her back. She'd make a great wife and mom and honestly, I'd love to have her back in my bed," Dale sighs. "She's the full package and that's what I'm looking to get."

Jack knows he has to get out of here before he does or says something he'll regret. He walks to the door and puts his hand on the handle, glares at Dale as Dale continues staring out the window at you. He doesn't try to hide the malice or disgust or rage in his voice. "You talk about all women like they're packages for you to own, or is she just special?"

Dale's eyes finally leave you as his head whips over so he can look at Jack, horrified with wide eyes and his mouth rounded out. "No, no, I don't think, she's not," Dale trips over his words. It's comical to Jack, enough so that he laughs through his nose. "I don't, women aren't-"

He shakes his head and cuts Dale off, cold and almost sneering. "Finish the sutures in here and then you can be done for the day." Jack doesn't stay to listen to Dale's protests about how these sutures won't take him thirty minutes so he could do something else before the shift is over or his requests to explain what he meant.

Jack heads to the bathroom, holding onto each side of the sink and leaning into it as he tries to calm down and let it all go. He takes in a couple of deep breaths and stares at himself in the mirror, quickly realizing that was not the right move as his mind starts comparing himself to Dale, increasing his insecurity tenfold. He leans on the counter and splashes some cold water on his face, drying it and heading out to find you.

You're standing at the hub now finishing some charting. Dana is there too, but on the opposite side getting things ready for handoff. Jack walks up and stands next to you, your upper arms brushing just slightly before he takes a little step to the side to keep things professional.

You glance up at him and smile before turning back to your computer. "How'd that go?" You keep your voice low because Dale is still here and Dana's at the hub, not that either you or Jack really cares if she hears anything.

Jack shakes his head and lets out an incredulous breath. "Please explain to me how in the fuck you were ever with him? Because I don't know how you even survived eight and a half fucking hours with him. I barely survived three. I… I don't even know where to fucking begin. I'm speechless."

You smirk and nod your head. "Wow. It takes a lot to render our Dr. Abbot speechless." You glance at Jack again. "And yeah I know, trust me, I've been asking myself that same question all fucking day because I cannot fucking stand him and he wasn't much better back then. Clearly not my proudest or finest moment."

"I've been doing this a while now and have seen a lot of residents, and I have never been so put off by one." Jack huffs. "It's like impressive in its own fucked up way."

"Yeah," you draw the word out, "I have no idea what I was thinking. I'd go back and shake ms3 me but if I hadn't made the colossal mistake of even associating with him, I don't think I'd be here, which means I wouldn't have you. So it was so much more than worth putting myself through him." Jack raises his eyebrows at you a little, silently asking you to explain further. "I knew I wanted to match into an emergency medicine program ideally, but PTMC wasn't initially somewhere I planned to interview and rank. Then he wouldn't shut the fuck up about you and how great of a program it was in general and I did more research and decided I should interview if I could. After the interview it was my number one. And yes, some little part of me was motivated by matching here as a fuck you to him when he didn't match here because I was quite confident he wasn't going to. But it really was about the program and opportunities."

Jack fights back a laugh. "I hope you rubbed it in his face."

"Of course I did." You grin up at him. "It was easy and watching him pretend not to care was incredibly amusing."

"I bet it was," Jack snickers. After a pause he takes in a breath through his nose, contemplating almost. "You know according to you I'm basically the reason you even gave PTMC a look and now you're here and we're together. How poetic."

You hum and give him a teasing smile, the charting you're supposed to be doing completely forgotten. "Isn't it just?"

Jack fights off the urge to lean in and kiss you. "I'll admit you're right about the biggest fan thing. He was such a fucking suck up. He asked questions about my papers and kept suggesting ridiculous and unnecessary procedures and treatment. For the most part his suggested diagnoses were all zebras and no horses just to show he knew the zebras. I swear to christ someone could have come in with three gunshots straight to their brain stem and he'd have been throwing out all sorts of fucking explanations about the cause of the patient's brain death and forget to consider the three fucking gunshots to the brain stem."

"Aw," you drawl, "you weren't impressed by his zebras?"

"No!" Jack scoffs. "I had to talk the mom and dad of a five year old down from wanting us to run probably several thousand dollars worth of tests on their kid because he's in there bringing up a bunch of different zebras in front of mom and dad just based on reported symptoms, before we even began examining the kid."

You chuckle. "You know he probably studied in every spare moment he had in the week leading up to today just so that he could impress you with his zebra knowledge."

"Yeah, well fuck him and his zebras," Jack huffs, shaking his head.

You have to cover your mouth and bite your tongue to keep from laughing too loudly and drawing attention to you and Jack. "I'm so getting you a shirt that says that."

"And I'll fucking wear it proudly," Jack says without hesitation. "I mean you knew not to bring up the zebras in front of patients or their parents or family members as a fucking intern!"

You click your tongue and cock your head at him. "I guess zebra handling is part of the ED physician je ne sais quoi."

Jack laughs through his nose and shakes his head at you, his eyes so full of love it makes your head spin. "I'm never going to live that down am I?"

"No," you giggle, shaking your head at him. "You're not going to live the painting je ne sais quoi down either now that I know you were being serious."

"Oh great," he mutters, his eyes and playful smile belying his attempt to seem tired of it already.

"It is great, yeah," you nod at him. "We're going to go see Starry Night Over the Rhône one day and as we stand there looking at it I'm going to nudge you and say there's kind of a je ne sais quoi about it and you're going to roll your eyes at me and pinch my ass."

Jack flicks his eyebrows up at you with a small smirk. "We're going to Paris?"

Your head tilts and shrinks back just a little, a surprised smile pulling onto your face. "Okay I am actually so impressed you know where it is."

Jack nods in agreement for a couple of seconds and then shakes his head and grimaces. "You should only be impressed by my guessing skills," he admits.

You laugh softly and shake your head. "It's at the Musée d'Orsay." You smirk at him. "I'll check and see if they have any zebra paintings for you."

Jack rolls his eyes affectionately and nudges you with his elbow. "Maybe I won't take you to Paris and risk any zebra paintings," he teases. You flash him the quickest pout and he chuckles. "You know I'd take you to Paris tomorrow if it was feasible with work and would make you happy."

"I do know, yeah," you murmur. You start to look back at your computer but your eyes snag on Dale, who's staring at you through a window in a patient's room, having apparently followed Samira in on an interesting case. You pull your eyes away fast and sigh, shake your head a little.

Jack sees, and doesn't need to follow your line of sight to know you just caught Dale staring at you. "He did that the entire time he was with me." You glance at him and give him a look. "No, I'm serious. If he wasn't looking at me or looking at the patient because I was looking at the patient, he was looking out of whatever window was available to him so he could try and find and stare at you. I almost fucking broke and told him I was your boyfriend like fifty fucking times."

"Why didn't you? You could've, I wouldn't have minded. You can now for all I care." You shrug.

"We agreed to be professional at work, and to specifically not do that. That was one of my big things when we got together. I couldn't break it just because I got…" He still doesn't want to say the word jealous. It feels shameful even though he knows it's just a human emotion. Jack sighs heavily. "It wouldn't be fair to you, for me to just decide when an exception exists or ask for one because I can't handle my emotions well enough. And you could've told him all day but you respected our agreement and didn't. So it's only fair I do the same."

You nod. "You know that's the only reason I haven't told him it's you, right?"

"I know and I appreciate you respecting our agreement." Jack runs a hand through his hair absent-mindedly. "I really don't want to ever have to talk to him again, so my plan is to do my best to avoid him the rest of the evening."

You smile and laugh under your breath. "Seems like a good plan." You've relaxed over the course of this conversation. Jack seems lighter and more relaxed too and you're sure it has to be because spending time with Dale made him realize how there is absolutely nothing to be jealous over. "Hopefully I can get him to leave me alone at the bar. But has working with him greatly reassured you that there's nothing to be jealous-"

"You won't," Jack cuts you off, a far away look in his eyes as your words take him back to everything Dale said. You watch as Jack's jealousy and worry and insecurity and anger all claw their way back to the forefront of his mind, shoving logic and rationality down behind them. Jack drops his voice further and looks back at you. "You won't get him to leave you alone at the bar because you're wrong. He doesn't just want casual sex from you. He wants you back. He thinks you're the one that got away. He told me that. So maybe you don't think whatever you had in med school was a relationship, but he sure the fuck does."

"It doesn't matter-"

Jack interrupts you again. "Oh, and I almost forgot. He told me you're 'incredible in bed.' So that was really fucking great, hearing another guy talk about how incredible you are in bed and knowing he was actively imagining fucking you and that he could imagine it very, very well because he's done it before."

There's a pause as the two of you look at each other. You're trying to figure out what it is Jack wants you to say or do in this situation. You want to know what you have to do to make this better, but you don't know if there's anything you truly can do. Because you can't control Dale and what he says and you can't erase your past.

You break the silence after a minute. "I don't know what you want me to say Jack. I can't change the past or control what he says."

Jack pushes his bottom lip out and shakes his head. "I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to know you were wrong and he wants you back. For good. He wants to marry you and have kids with you. So you're not going to get him to leave you alone at the bar. He's going to be focused on winning you back." Jack shrugs at you, his insecurity and worry and anger at Dale boiling over. He makes one last icy comment to you before he turns and strides away. "Here's hoping you don't let him, I guess."

I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! Part 2 should hopefully be out soon! Part 2 is available to read here! I really love hearing your thoughts and comments and your interactions truly mean the world to me! Thank you so much for taking the time to read! ♥️

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"It's nice to see you too, Parker," you smirk at her as the wheeled stretcher you're on slides out of the ambulance all the way.

Parker turns to who you're guessing is one of the new interns or med students Jack's told you about. "Go find Abbot and tell him he's needed in trauma one immediately. I don't care what he's doing, he needs to drop it and get to trauma one."

She looks quite confused about why Parker, an attending more than qualified and able to take care of this alone, needs Jack for a syncopal episode and scalp laceration, but doesn't question it at this point and breaks away from the stretcher once you're inside.

"He is not needed, and neither is trauma one," you huff at Parker playfully, shift the gauze you're holding against your hairline when you start to feel the blood saturating it. "You can more than handle this Dr. Ellis."

Parker gives you a look and then turns to the paramedics to get the bullet. You can't help but think about the first time you came into the Pitt on a stretcher and heard Jack give Robby and Mateo the bullet on you and how you flirted over it. You still have moments where you think you're going to wake up and realize your life with Jack has been a dream because the way you met feels cinematic, perfect for a rom com.

But it's not a dream even if your meeting was cinematic. And while the way you met might be perfect for a rom com, it's also the perfect encapsulation of you and Jack, of your relationship and your love for each other. All these years and a shared last name later and you still flirt with each other like you did that first day.

You think this whole thing is a little much but you didn't want to cause a further scene at the café. Plus, you couldn't really uber to the hospital with blood streaming down your face, and you could admit that given that you had just passed out, walking here probably wasn't a great idea either.

But still. You know that with how you've been feeling and how protective Jack is he's going to lose it a little bit, and you hate worrying him.

"Dr. Abbot?"

Jack looks up from the computer he's been charting on at the north nurses' station and raises his eyebrows at Nazely. "Hey," he greets her. He gives the slightest little upward flick of his chin. "What's up?"

Nazely almost looks confused and Jack stands up preemptively. He can just tell she needs some assistance. "Dr. Ellis asked me to come find you. She said you're needed in trauma one immediately."

It's been a long and trying shift. Jack just wants to get home and crawl into bed and sleep and wake up to you kissing his face when you're home from work. He's off this weekend, is looking forward to spending it with you so much he can't even begin to describe it. So of course they'd get some difficult trauma at 6:47 a.m. when it was looking like he'd actually get out pretty close to on time. How could he expect anything else?

Jack sighs to himself as they take off. He guesses he should prepare himself for whatever he's about to walk into. "What is it?"

Nazely shrugs shallowly as she pulls a pair of gloves from her pocket and starts putting them on. "I didn't get to hear everything but the call came in as a syncopal episode that caused a bad forehead lac. Patient is conscious, recognized Dr. Ellis. Dr. Ellis recognized her too."

Jack's eyebrows furrow. What the fuck? Why does Parker need him for that? There must be something more going on that Parker saw with the patient. Or maybe it's someone she knows and feels she can't treat.

He glances down at his watch as they approach the trauma room from the side, Nazely pushing the door open and walking in before Jack. It's kind of weird he hasn't gotten a text from you that you're at work yet, you'd texted him when you got up. Normally you always text him when you get there.

Jack is completely unprepared for what he sees when he looks up and steps into trauma one. 

It's you. 

It's you in trauma fucking one on a gurney, one side of your face and part of your shirt covered in your own blood. He freezes without thinking about it, stops mid-stride and stares at you from the end of the bed. He can’t breathe, his entire body turning to ice in a way he’s never experienced before. This can’t be real. 

Jack wasn't thinking of you at all when Nazely told him Parker and the patient recognized each other. He didn't expect to see you, much less you, bloody, with an IV and holding blood soaked gauze to your forehead.

Jack's stricken, his internal panic starting to rise so high he's sure he'll struggle to keep his hands steady right now. He’s holding himself back from a total panic attack as he looks at you, his girl, his wife, his whole entire world and reason for being, laying bloody on a trauma gurney in his ED.

Never in his entire life with you has he ever been more glad to see your beautiful eyes open and staring at him. You're conscious, breathing on your own, your heart beating on its own. The sting of tears at the back of his eyes brings him back to a little, enough so that he can shove aside his panic and shift back into doctor mode.

Or at least try to.

As he pulls out a pair of gloves and puts them on, he walks toward you and you smile at him, bright and teasing, with a reassuring edge to it that only he can see and that he appreciates but so isn't enough right now. "Good morning, Dr. Abbot."

Once he's by your side Jack takes one of your hands in his without even fully realizing he's doing it, eyes glancing up to check your vitals. They're all fine. Your blood pressure is edging toward low, but he knows it kind of always does. 

"What the fuck happened?" he asks as he focuses back on you.

You know the fuck isn't bad, isn't said out of anger or meant to make you feel like he's angry at you or blames you or is irritated you're here. You know it's because he's scared and likes to say fuck and his brain is so otherwise occupied he's not really filtering.

"Good morning to you too, my incredible, amazing, delightful, intelligent, thoughtful wife. I missed you and I love you so much and I'm so very glad to see you." Despite your teasing you squeeze his hand gently hoping it'll help ground him. "What on earth happened that made you need to come see me, my silly woman?"

Jack lets out half of a laugh through his nose and flashes you a closed lip, concerned smile. "Yes, you are all those things and gorgeous and the cutest and the funniest, and I did miss you and I do love you so much and I am so very glad to see you, but I wish it was under much different circumstances."

You bite your lip when he calls you the cutest and the funniest, what you know must be the most love sick smile pulling onto your face. "You're the sweetest, Dr. Abbot, you know that?" You always find it romantic and sweet and adorable but there's something even more heart-achingly sweet about him saying it here at the Pitt where it was said for the first time and where you first started to get to know and fall for each other.

You push your lips out for a kiss, glad you managed to avoid getting blood on them, and Jack is quick to lean in and give you one. He doesn't give a fuck that he's at work or that there are at least four other people in the room. You're in his trauma room but you're mercifully awake and stable and smiling and teasing him and being your perfect self, and a lot of people don't have that. The majority of couples who are in this room together don't have that.

Jack gives you a last quick series of kisses before he pulls back so he can take a look with Parker.

"Seriously though, Sweetheart. What happened?" Jack pulls away the fresh gauze you've been holding and silently winces to himself, exchanges a look with Parker as she examines you with him. "Scalp wounds bleed a lot, but this is pretty bad."

You grow a little more serious as you shrug. "I, um, I passed out at the coffee place while waiting for my drink and I think I caught my forehead on something as I went down."

You think. Jack doesn't like that. At all. Is that kind of amnesia common enough in syncopal episodes? Yes. But it doesn't matter. This is you. "You think Sweetheart?" he asks softly.

"I don't really remember. That's what I've heard." The last of your smile drops as you suddenly feel overwhelmingly guilty and like you could burst into tears, the mood swing catching you and Jack and everyone in the room off guard. "I'm sorry," you whisper as tears pool at your lash line.

Jack's heart shatters.

He's not sure if he's ever seen you look as sad and guilty as you do right now. The husband and partner in him is devastated by it and by the thought of contributing or causing you to feel that sad and guilty.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jack murmurs, brows furrowing together and eyes widening a little in concern as he lets Parker take over examining your laceration so he can focus on you. "You have nothing to apologize for Baby, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm not mad or upset and especially not at you. I'm so sorry if I made you feel like I was. I'm just worried about you Baby and want to know what's going on and make sure you're okay and there's nothing serious."

"No, no," you shake your head, "you didn't, I promise, you didn't make me feel like this. You've been nothing but the best Jack. It's me. Even if I didn't do it on purpose I'm still making you worry." Your chin wobbles and it's a knife to the shattered pieces of Jack's heart.

"It's not you making me worry, Baby, it's the situation. It's what happened to you." He squeezes your hand and half sits on the edge of the bed so he can lean in closer to you. "Nothing that's happened has been in your control. You didn't make yourself pass out and cut your scalp. You're not making your memories around what happened fuzzy."

"I made sure they took me here." Your eyes are so wide and almost apologetic and pleading, screaming your desperation for him to believe what you're saying. "I know I was joking and teasing like I do, and, and said you didn't need to come be in the room, but that's partially because I didn't want to worry you until we knew what was wrong even though I knew you'd come. I wanted to be here because I trust everyone and because you're here, but I'm sorry Jack, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry or upset," you sniffle, voice higher pitched as a couple of tears escape.

You're well aware you're probably barely making sense, something incredibly unfortunate with the way your brain has suddenly decided explaining your feelings and reconciling your dry teasing humor upon arrival with your asking to come here is the most important thing you could ever do in life. You just can't seem to find the words no matter how hard you try. You knew it would be better for Jack, and for you honestly, if you came to the Pitt and could see him right away, even if you then tried to downplay it when you got here so that he wouldn't worry as much.

"You didn't Baby, I promise," Jack whispers, looking at you with wide, earnest eyes. "I promise you that you haven't made me worry or upset."

"Okay," you nod, trying to get yourself to believe him. "Thank you," you murmur to Nazely when she offers you a box of tissues, taking a couple and blotting at your eyes with your hand that Jack isn't holding. Something about really seeing the IV in your hand up close as you do starts to make Jack spiral even faster. He forces himself to look away from it and shoots Nazely an appreciative smile because whether she thought it might and did it deliberately or it's just a perfect side effect of her kind offer, Jack can tell she's helped distract you which is helping you start to regulate. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

Jack loves you. He loves you so god damn much he doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself. You just passed out and sliced your scalp and emotionally tanked and still you want to know who you're talking to and thanking. 

It reminds him so much of the first day you met, how you said hi to Robby and Mateo and Bridget, how you thanked him and Bridget for every little thing they did for you, how you asked him how his shift was going. It's so incredibly fucking you, his sweet, generous, kindhearted girl. He fucking adores you, loves you more than should be possible.

And that's exactly what makes this all the more scary.

He can't lose you.

"Nazely Toomarian," she tells you as she passes the box of tissues off to be set back on the counter. "I'm an intern, have only been here for a couple of weeks."

"Ah, okay, I'm sure we would've met soon, probably under better circumstances, and without me being a fucking mess, but it's good to put a face to the name. Jack talks about you. He thinks you're a great doctor and very much cut out for emergency medicine." Another round of tears escapes as you think about how Jack talks about his residents and students, how proud he can be of them at times. It’s so fucking sweet. 

"Oh my god," you almost squeak out as you quickly wipe the tears away. "I am so sorry, I don't know why I'm so fucking weepy all of the sudden. I'm not normally like this, I promise."

"It's okay." Nazely gives you a small smile. "It happens."

"Thanks Nazely," you nod at her before you turn your attention back to Jack, whose concerned hazel eyes are already on you and ready to lock with yours again. "They wanted to take me to UPMC Mercy, but I thought coming here would be better, that you'd like that better, especially with how I've been feeling, and I just wanted you. I hope that was okay."

Jack lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head at you. "Sweetheart, you have no fucking idea how much more I like that you came here. I honestly don't think you can fathom how much more. I'd have lost my fucking mind getting that call from Mercy." 

He's pretty sure he lost his mind for a moment there when he first saw you here, but at least he was able to be with you and touching you and checking you over with his own eyes within seconds and not having to deal with getting across a bridge and to a hospital he knows would've given him minimal information at best.

"So, see?" He nods and smiles at you reassuringly. "The one thing that's happened and been in your control you used to help me." Jack brings your hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it a couple of times, a simple move he's learned helps you come down and reassures and grounds and relaxes you tremendously for some reason. You laugh together sometimes at the way you have absolutely no explanation for why it does. "You're okay and we're okay, I promise."

"Okay," you sniffle, "I love you." You start pulling yourself together as the intense sadness and guilt that had complete control of you starts to melt away, seeming to go as fast as they came. You blot away the last of your tears with your tissue and take some deep breaths.

"I love you too, Baby," Jack murmurs.

"God," you sigh at yourself and sniffle, huff an embarrassed laugh. "I don't even know where that came from, it just took over. Sorry, everyone. Carry on."

"That's okay, Sweetheart, all that matters is you're feeling at least a bit better." Jack does his best to hide just how much that rapid of a mood swing and recovery concerns him. He doesn't like this, doesn't like any of it, the way you've been having such abrupt mood swings like that recently and have had this general feeling of malaise. You haven't been completely yourself lately because you've been feeling so run down. He should've pushed more for you to go see your PCP. What if you're worse now all because he didn't push you to get looked at? He'll never forgive himself. What if he loses you-

No. He has to stop. He has to force that part of his brain to turn off right now so he can take care of you. Jack can't afford to slip into a complete fucking panic attack right now and that's exactly where those thoughts will take him if he's not careful.

Jack licks his lips and you can see it in his eyes and the way he takes a breath in before asking his next question, how the situation is starting to weigh on him more. "Did you hit your head?"

"No." You pause for a second. "Or at least I don't think so. But I guess I don't really remember," you frown at him. There's at least some level of relief that runs through you when your mood doesn't immediately swing again.

"That's okay, Baby." He looks up at Parker hoping the paramedics will have gotten more info and passed it on.

He doesn't even have to ask. Parker already knows the question. "Paramedics said they were told she was waiting by the bar to grab her coffee when she started to sway and lost consciousness, caught the corner of the upper part of the counter at the perfect angle to get a laceration and hit her head on it a little bit, but not super hard." Parker checks the bleeding of your cut and grabs a new piece of gauze. Jack can tell it's slowing at least. "She didn't hit her head on the floor though, someone was able to catch her. She was out for two-ish minutes according to bystanders. Only lost consciousness once."

"Good," Jack breathes out heavily. He doesn't love and is still quite concerned about you hitting your head on the counter, but he's incredibly relieved to hear that you didn't crack your head on the tile floor. Parker finishes giving him the rest of the bullet from the paramedics including your vitals en route and their neuro findings followed by her exam so far.

"Look straight ahead for me, please, Sweetheart," Jack asks you softly as he pulls out his pen light. He knows she just told him your pupillary response is normal but he needs to see for himself.

You can't help but find there to be something hot about the way Jack pulls out his pen light. It's in the way he moves, something about watching him really practicing medicine and being a doctor right in front of you. Sure, you see him with patients occasionally if you stop by but not up close like this. It's hot and sexy and attractive and it helps distract you.

When Jack finishes assessing your pupils you can't help but give him a playful, flirty smile. "Did I pass Dr. Abbot?"

Jack purses his lips in an amused smile and half rolls his eyes at you playfully. His reaction is sweet and of course more than enough, but it's subdued, quite subdued, and both of you know it. He's slipping further into worry and panic and his head with every passing second. "Pupils are equal, round and reactive." He knows he doesn't need to say more, that you understand he's, he hopes somewhat playfully, telling you that you passed.

A million explanations for why you passed out ranging from pretty much innocuous to easily treatable to devastating to terminal start to filter through Jack's head, especially as he adds in how off you've been feeling. He knows that realistically he should stay at the innocuous and easily treatable, but it's you and he's scared and so his brain catastrophizes and focuses on the devastating to terminal. Jack tries to keep his head above water and fight the crushing force of his thoughts trying to push and hold him under but it's getting harder and harder to do so with each second and he can feel himself starting to drown.

You can see it in the way his eyes glaze over a little. You know Jack's trying to split his mind and compartmentalize how he's feeling and how deeply this is affecting him so that he can focus on you. You tilt your head at him and give him a warm, understanding smile that reassures him but also makes him more panicky because your smile, all of your smiles, are everything to him and he can't imagine living without them. "Jack," you murmur. "I'm okay. I…"

You go to say more but stop when your mouth salivates as a heavy wave of nausea rips through you so intensely you think you might actually be sick. Jack clocks it immediately.

"What was that?" he asks as you take a couple of steadying breaths trying to get it to pass.

You swallow hard, still feel like you could be sick at any second but know yourself well enough to know you won't actually be. "I'm okay," you try to reassure him again.

Jack's eyes narrow slightly. It's not accusatory or mean or condescending or anything like that. It's truly a subconscious movement as he studies you further to try to figure out what's wrong so he can help you. It only takes him a few seconds to place the very specific way you're breathing. He's seen it before when you've been sick or feeling sick. And combined with how hard you swallowed and the way you trailed off he knows. "You're nauseous."

You look at him for a moment before replying. You're not considering whether to lie to him, you know it's pointless, he absolutely knows and would see through you. You're thinking about how much you want to downplay it even though you know he wouldn't want you to. You settle on not really downplaying it but not going into detail about how incredibly nauseous you were there for a few seconds. You still are nauseous, just not as much. "I just got hit with a wave of it, yeah."

Before Jack even has to ask Bridget, who slipped in the room the second she heard you were here, has an emesis bag in your lap just in case and Parker is catching your eye, "You want something for it?"

"No, I'm okay," you tell her with a small smile. "I feel like zofran or whatever always ends up just kind of making it worse for me, and it's not as bad as it was for a couple of seconds there. I'm sure it'll pass here quickly, it has been for the most part recently. But thank you, I appreciate you asking."

Your nausea sends Jack's brain and anxiety and panic into deeper overdrive and he needs to figure out what's going on with you now. He needs to know how bad it is and how much he fucked up by not getting you to go see your doctor and how long he has left with you and how bad the end is going to be. It doesn't matter how much the more rational and logical and controlled part of his brain tries to scream at him that it's far more likely going to be something simple and treatable and he's going to get decades more with you, the panicked and irrational and spiraling and terrified part of his brain wins.

"Do you have any other symptoms right now? Any at all?" Jack's eyes dart around your face searching for any discomfort or visual symptom or sign something is wrong before dropping down and doing a quick scan of the rest of your body. "Every little thing is important for us to know right now, Baby. Did you feel lightheaded before you passed out? Do you still feel lightheaded right now?"

"I don't feel lightheaded right now, no. Well, I guess maybe a little when I got that wave of nausea," you admit. "But I do remember feeling lightheaded before I passed out. It was quick though, I don't remember having time to really react or even try to sit down. I had the realization I was lightheaded and felt like I was going to pass out and the quick thought I needed to sit, and then I think I either went down a second later or I just don't remember the seconds leading up."

You think about what else to say for a second, the guilt you were feeling earlier creeping up on you, though not at the same intensity as during that mood swing, because you can see Jack falling apart in his head while keeping it together outwardly and you feel responsible for him struggling and suffering and panicking right now. But you know you have to be honest. "And yeah, I guess I was feeling a bit, I don't know, more off than I have been lately since I got out of bed. Just very kind of blah and gross and it's like I'm not feeling well but I couldn't even really begin to explain what feels wrong, you know?"

"Okay," Jack nods, turning over how you haven't been feeling well for a while now and how he didn't and should've pressed for you to go to the doctor harder than he did. This is his fault. The fact that it got this bad, bad enough for you to end up in his emergency room.

You watch him closely, waiting for the moment it's going to become too much and he's going to start to crack, whatever that might end up looking like. Jack is watching you closely too, studying you, looking at you like you're a patient and not his wife and lover. It's something you generally hate and will call him on, but you know he needs it right now so you let it go, let him do whatever he needs to do to reassure himself and feel better, as much as that's really possible right now.

"You haven't been feeling well?" Parker interrupts your near complete focus on Jack. "What's been going on?"

"It's been a thing where it's like come and gone and come back on repeat for I guess like… two-ish months now maybe. Some days I'm totally fine, some days it's mild, some days I really, really feel it. And I don't know, it's hard to describe." You shrug. "It's just… malaise in the purest sense I guess. It's so nondescript and I'm not even sure sometimes if I don't feel well or if I'm almost just feeling like I'm not feeling well. I know that probably doesn't make any sense. It's just kind of like a run-down feeling, I guess, maybe. I've been so fucking exhausted and a bit achey and sometimes my heart feels like it's racing. I just feel meh, and blah and gross like I said earlier. I really think I'm just stressed and a bit burnt out and need a break from work and a vacation with my husband."

You squeeze Jack's hand and give him a quick wink. "For like a year or ten, ideally, but I will more than happily take the two week vacation we have coming up in a couple of months. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just looking so forward to it that my body can't handle the waiting."

Parker chuckles at you and even Jack is able to give you the smallest amused smile and huff of a laugh as he shakes his head slightly, his eyes holding yours. You can tell he's trying to absorb as much reassurance as possible from them and the fact that they're open.

His eyes scan your face one more time before he looks up at Parker. "She needs a CT and someone needs to page neuro to come examine her. Probably independent x-rays of her skull too. I don't want to take any chances or risk delays in treatment because we took longer to order something."

"I think what we should do is start off with a full neuro exam and some labs." Parker removes the gauze from your hairline again and replaces it. "She's completely stable, has been the entire time. We only brought her to trauma one because this was the only room open when she arrived."

Jack shakes his head at her before she even finishes talking. It's not dismissive. Everyone in the room knows it, knows that it's fear. "Something might've happened when she hit the counter, even if it wasn't that hard."

"I know," Parker nods. "And if anything changes or her neuro exam even hints at something then I'll order the CT and take her there myself. We'll have neuro come down and do the exam, okay?"

You watch as Jack looks away from her and stares down where your hand is in his. He can't do this. He just can't. Seeing you here, in his ED in general, but especially in one of the trauma rooms, it's rapidly becoming far too much for him to handle. It feels like the walls are starting to close in on him as his brain cycles through every devastating thing that could be going on with you. Jack is screaming at himself to get it together and stop being dramatic and catastrophizing because compared to what he's seen in this room, he's lucky. You're awake and lucid and recognize him and haven't suffered a massive, life-threatening trauma.

"Jack," you call his name gently to get him looking at you again, something so soft and understanding and loving to the way you say it that it brings tears to his eyes that he quickly blinks away as he thinks about never hearing you say his name that way or any way ever again. You squeeze his hand that hasn't stopped holding yours this entire time even as he's evaluated your cut and checked your pupils, something painfully adorable and so incredibly Jack. 

When he looks at you again, you continue. "Let Parker do her job. She was trained by the best." You give him a small smiled smirk. "And you always talk about how smart and incredible of a doctor she is. She's more than got this."

"Oh does he now?" Neither of you have to be looking at Parker to know she's wearing a playful smirk, it's clear in her voice.

"I know," Jack whispers to you. "I know, I do, I'm just worried." He looks up at Parker and lets out a breath. "I'm sorry. I do trust you. It's just… hard."

"I know, boss, don't worry. If it was my girl I'd feel the same way even with her in your hands, and there's nobody else's hands I'd rather have her be in. I get it, I promise I do," Parker nods. "So we're all good with that plan?"

Jack nods, albeit shallowly, and looks back to you. "You good with that Baby?" he almost murmurs. "It's your body and your choice, whatever you want to do is what we'll do and I'll support you."

"I know," you nod at him. "I never doubted that for a second. But still, I want your opinion and thoughts both as a doctor and as my husband."

Jack pauses for a second, nodding slowly. "I think, I think…" He takes in a deep breath through his nose and sighs it back out at himself. "I think, well, it's not that I think. I know Parker is right. That's what I'd do for any other patient. But you're not any other patient, you know?" he shrugs. You nod, squeeze his hand again. "We should trust her." Jack finds it in himself to relax just a little. Enough to banter with you a little. "You're right afterall," he concedes, leaning in to give you a chaste kiss. "She did learn from the best."

You giggle into the kiss and for a moment everything is right and okay and good in Jack's world.

When Jack pulls away you look at Parker and nod. As Parker starts to dictate her orders to everyone Jack takes over holding the gauze to your hairline just to be safe. He slowly drags his eyes up and down your body again. He has this nagging feeling he can't get to pass.

Jack knows he's grasping at straws at least a little bit, trying to think of quick tests that could rule things out or in or give answers so that at least you guys would have something. "Let's do a hemocue." Jack's request earns him some raised eyebrows, not questioning in a bad way, just curious about why. "I just have a feeling and don't want to wait for labs."

"Okay," Parker nods. She grabs the unit since she's closest to it and stands by the other side of your bed.

Jack isn't happy about it but he releases your hand so that she can prick a finger on your IV-less hand. The second she's done he has your hand back in his, brings it up to his lips for a kiss as he gives you a small smile. You can tell he's trying to bury down his feelings to at least some degree. You smile back at him and give his hand a little squeeze and him a reassuring nod.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Parker raise her eyebrows and tilt her head, pushing her lips out as she takes in the number. "Well, at least we probably know why you passed out now. Good call boss." She starts to offer the unit to Jack. "Hemocue's 8.5."

Jack's head snaps to Parker. There's not quite panic in Jack's voice or expression, but something edging close to it. "It's what?"

"Thank you Bridget." You smile at her as she tosses away the last few things and goes to start toward the door.

Shortly after finding out your hemocue was so low they were able to move you into a room. Labs were sent off and the results are still pending. Neuro came down and did a neuro exam and everything was perfectly normal. Once the decision that there would be no CT was made Parker numbed you and then stapled your wound closed with Bridget assisting, less because Parker necessarily needed assisting and more because Bridget has had a soft spot for you since your first visit to the Pitt.

"Yeah, thanks Bridget." It's not quite mumbled but it's far quieter than normal for Jack, a hint of distraction to it.

"You guys are welcome, just call if you need anything," Bridget smiles at you both before pulling the curtain, walking out and closing the door behind her.

Jack releases your hand and is up and pacing the room the second the door closes behind her. He hates it, hates not touching you, hates that he just let go of your hand so abruptly and somewhat walked away from you, hates himself for it. But he's desperate to burn off some of his anxiety and adrenaline, and he knows you understand because you have to do the same thing too sometimes.

He's not even sure why this is getting to him so badly. In the context of where you guys are, you're exceedingly well. He's just managed to convince himself that there is something seriously wrong with you. That his entire world is about to come crashing down around him because you do seem fine. And so something being seriously wrong would be unexpected and that's what the world wants. To make it hit him even harder.

He needs to get it the fuck together. He's being fucking absurd, he tells himself.

Jack can't pull his thoughts off all of the possibilities, though. He's trying so hard but he can't. Yes, your neuro exam was fine, but still. You passed out. You hit your head. It could still be neurological, if only in part. Your fucking hemoglobin concerns him even more. Sure, 8.5 isn't blood transfusion threshold low, but it's pretty fucking close. And some of the causes of anemia can be fucking nasty, and devastating. All of them cycle through his mind on repeat.

He can't get it to turn off.

You know how restless Jack is, it was easy for you to see as he held your hand and you and Parker chatted while she closed your wound. So you give him a little time to pace some of his adrenaline and anxiety and panic out and to try to sort things out in his head. But you don't leave him alone with his thoughts for too long. You don't want him to get past the point of return in his head and for him to have a full blown panic attack, don't want him to have to suffer through that.

"Hey," you call to Jack softly as he paces. "Jack." You wait to say anything more until he looks over at you. When he does, you give him a small smile. "Come here? Please?" You scoot over a bit and pat the edge of your hospital bed asking him to sit on the bed next to you.

When he does, the smile you give him is just as soft as your words, and it and the little teasing, pleading pout you turn it into when he doesn't react immediately make his heart ache and tears sting at his eyes and his lungs seize up like he can't breathe because he loves you so god damn much and what if he fucking lost this? What if he never saw that smile or pout again? What if he lost you?

Jack swallows thickly and nods, walks over to your bed and drops the railing. He sits on the edge of your bed facing you, his eyes dragging over your face like maybe it'll give him the answer to what's wrong and how to make you better.

"Hi," you murmur, tilt your head at him.

"Hi, Baby." Please don't go anywhere. Please don't leave me. Jack's voice shakes a little. He lets out a breath that doesn't really calm him any. "I love you." I need you. I can't face the world without you, can't survive a world you're not in.

You smile brightly at him, reach out with one hand and cup his face, brush your thumb over his slightly grown out stubble. "My scruffy man. I love you too." You push your lips out and Jack is quick to lean in and give you the kiss you're looking for. He finally lets his arms wrap around you and slip between your back and the hospital bed, holding you close.

Jack nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck on the opposite side of your laceration and breathes you in deeply, the scent of your perfume mixed with you giving him some solace. You hold him back just as tightly, free to now that your IV isn't connected to anything since Bridget unhooked you when the saline the paramedics started had finished. Your fingers of the hand you had holding Jack's face move back and scratch slowly at the nape of his neck and play in his curls there.

When you finally break apart you slide your hands down Jack's chest and hold one of his in one of yours, give it a little squeeze as you give him a cheeky smile. "You know, this is the same room."

You don't need to elaborate any further. Jack knows exactly what you mean. Just like you, he realized it as soon as he stepped in the room.

Jack gives you a small smile and a soft laugh through his nose, barely audible. He brings your left hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it, then all around your engagement and wedding rings before he ends with a lingering kiss to your palm before lowering it back into your lap and continuing to hold it. "I know. I think about you every time I come in here. It's my favorite room in the whole building."

For now.

It's sweet, and meaningful, and he loves that you remember and recognize the room. But Jack's anxiety is winning right now. All he can think is that this room where he met and started to get to know and fall for you, his soulmate and the love of his life, is about to become the room where he finds out the world is taking you back and ripping you away from him, where he finds out you're dying or that something is seriously, seriously wrong and you're incredibly sick. And so the familiarity of the scene, you on a gurney in this room and him in scrubs next to your bed, it's acrid on his tongue as much as he doesn't want it to be.

No matter how hard Jack tries to hide it all, he can't. You see it all in his eyes, every emotion, every new thought that threatens to pull him under. You hear everything he doesn't say. Especially that unspoken, completely panicked for now.

You know he's not hiding how he feels and how he's struggling because he's trying to lie to you or even really necessarily keep it from you. You know that Jack knows he can't hide it from you. Deceiving you isn't his goal. Protecting you is. He's trying to protect you from his emotions right now, from the burden he thinks his emotions and feelings and thoughts and struggles are.

"Jack, Sweetheart." You pull your hand from his but he doesn't have time to even start to pout because you take his left hand in both of yours and start to play with his fingers and wedding ring, a habit you've picked up, one you know comforts him. Your eyes look back up and find his again and you give him that deep eye contact that he loves and you know is reassuring him more than ever right now. "You don't have to be so brave when you're with me." You pause for a few seconds to let your words settle, give him time to process. "You know that, right? You can be scared and you can show it and talk about it, and you can tell me all of the things you're thinking about and worrying about and half-panicking or trying not to panic about."

"I know. I promise I know." He looks so torn and upset and distraught as he glances away for a second that your heart hurts, the urge to pull him into your lap and arms and never let him go washing over you so hard you almost tug on his hand a little. "I just…" Jack lets out a long breath and looks back at you. "I don't know. You passed out and hit your head and your hemoglobin is 8.5 and you've been so exhausted lately and feeling run down and shitty and you're not feeling well right now and you need me. And, yeah, I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared because it's you, this is you. But it's also my job. I should be able to deal with it, and I'm, I'm struggling to when you need me to be strong and not let it get to me."

"Baby, I don't need you to do your job or be strong or not let it get to you. I don't need any of that," you shake your head softly. You smile at him and bring his hand to your lips like he just did yours, kiss over his wedding ring and then hold his hand to your heart. "All I need and all I ever have needed and will ever need is you to be here with me. Just you here to take on whatever it is with me and love me through it and let me love you through it. Since we've been together you've always done that and I know and trust that you always will. But that's all I need Jack. You." You squeeze his hand and press it to your chest. "You're all I need, Jack."

Jack squeezes your hand back and nods, the smile he gives you smaller than normal and closed lipped but full of just as much love in his eyes. You're all I need, too.

"And, Baby…" You settle your and Jack's hands back in your lap, fingers starting to play with his again as you think of how to phrase what you want to say. "Being scared doesn't mean you're not strong and it doesn't mean you're not there for me. And if you need time to panic or be upset and vent and just process by talking and getting it all out, I'm not so sick or injured that you can't do that in front of or with me. I don't know that I'd ever be so sick or injured that I couldn't be there for you like that."

"You might be. Or you might be soon." The sentences fall out of his mouth before Jack can even try to filter them, perfect representations of the worry consuming him.

You nod slowly. You want him to know that you're taking him seriously and not just writing off his thoughts and feelings as overdramatic. "I know in some ways it probably feels like that's the most likely thing to happen, but I think that's pretty unlikely Baby."

"No, I know. I know, I do." He lets out a sad laugh and hangs his head for a second. "God," he groans, the distressed laugh he tries to infuse it with quickly dissolving into a terrified anxiousness. There's a kind of restless discomfort to it that you recognize all too well and has your heart aching for this man who loves you so much he's this terrified. Jack bites his lip as he brings his head back up and looks at you. He shrugs, finally just lets himself lean into how helpless and distraught he feels. "It's you though, you know? It's you."

"I know, Baby. I know it's different and that's okay." You study Jack for a minute, try to figure out what he needs and how you can give it to him most effectively. At this point in your relationship it's easy for you to spot. "I'm all ears for you."

Jack knows what that last sentence is. It's an invitation to let it all out, not, he knows, that he truly needs one. He knows you're extending it to help his brain loosen up and let him. It's you letting him know you see what he needs, that you're not going to try and solve it and make him talk about it or try to explore it more here the way you guys might at other times, in other places. It's letting him know that you know he needs you to just listen.

You had to work on it when you first got together, your instinct to immediately jump to trying to solve and fix things. He knew you were always listening, that wasn't the problem. And it didn't bother him per se, but there were times when he just needed you to listen and then let you guys move on.

Your reaction to him bringing it up and your immediate genuine effort to get better about it and to catch yourself when you slipped was one of the things that made Jack know he would ask you to marry him one day. There wasn't perfection, still isn't. But that's not what he needed. He just needed you to try and you have every day since.

He nods at you, is quiet for a moment as he watches your fingers play with his. Once he's ready he finds your eyes with his again.

"You're a patient in my ED. And you passed out and hit your head and you're anemic and haven't been feeling well and all of that together just makes my mind go places and I think about, about…" Jack shakes his head, can't even bring himself to say it even with as cowardly as that feels. Just trying to form the words makes him nauseous. "I…" his voice drops to a whisper and shakes harder than it has this entire time, "I just don’t trust the world to not take you away from me."

He takes another second and clears his throat, manages to regain enough control to steady his voice. "I see it happen to couples too often, one of them dying while the other watches and eventually gets told by one of us that it's really the end. And every time I see it I have that brief thought, what if that was you, what if I was having to watch, what if Robby or Baran or Parker or John or whoever had to have that conversation with me, tell me it's really the end." The last four words are strained, clearly forced out.

"And sometimes the thought stays longer than others and, yeah, I've gotten good at pushing it away after only seconds, not because it doesn't scare me anymore or it's easier to deal with, but because you can't live life thinking like that. But then today here you are. I walked into you on a gurney in trauma one and it made the thought so real. It's so fucking real." He presses his lips together and shakes his head once. "And no matter how hard I try I can't push it away right now."

"I know I'm, we're lucky that you're okay and awake and lucid, but I don't know. It's like that makes it almost more scary in a way right now. If you weren't and you'd been in a terrible accident or something, god forbid, there's… I don't know," he sighs, pausing to try and come up with the right string of words. "With something like that there's more of an aspect of expectation, I guess. Or, or it's easier to foresee something bad happening, the worst happening. You're almost more prepared for it because it's more in your face. You're bracing for it. It wouldn't really be a surprise."

"This isn't like that, you know? It doesn't seem so bad so it's not as in your face and something happening or getting bad news, that wouldn't be expected. It lulls you into a false sense of security almost." Jack runs his right hand through his curls. "But then I'm so aware of that lulling and how everything can turn on a dime in a split second here, and I'm thinking of everything that could be or go wrong."

"I don't know…" He's teary now, eyes glassy and mouth set in that way that tells you he's fighting back more tears and not letting them fall. "You were already here once and we got lucky it was just a broken wrist after being hit by a fucking car, and, and…. And so how many times is the universe going to let you wind up here in an ambulance and leave with me? How many times before I have to walk out of here without you? That's all I can think about. Because some people don't even get one time, much less two."

"I know that's dramatic and that I'm being dramatic, I'm just having a… hard time with this. I love you so much and you're my entire world in a way I know you think you understand, but you don't because I could never find the words to tell you as fucking cliché and cheesy is that is," he tries to laugh but the sound is half-hearted and coated in pain while still weighted with his love for you. "I can't lose you. I can't lose you and you passed out and have been feeling shitty and I didn't push for you to go see your doctor and your hemocue was a fucking 8.5 and there are so many bad, bad fucking things that could cause all of that."

"And no matter how bad or not bad the cause is I can't take it on for you, I can't take your sickness for myself so that you don't have to suffer. I can't feel shitty in your place and I can't be nauseous in your place, or pass out in your place, or go through treatment for you or feel the pain for you or whatever else, deal with side effects. I can't just make you better." He shakes his head, lips and chin trembling.

His voice drops to a whisper. "All I can do is sit and watch you go through it and hold your hand and love you through it and I'd do it all a million times over for you, but the thought of having to sit and watch you slowly die right in front of my eyes, it just….you know?"

Jack's quiet for a second before he shrugs unconvincingly, trying to play all his feelings off. "I don't know. I know I'm totally spinning out and so far ahead of the game and reality. You could just need an iron supplement or something, it could be that simple and I'm here spiraling about you dying and putting all this bullshit on you when you already feel like shit and… I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry," he sniffles hard, almost verging on a sob, last words choked on tears he’s determined not to let fall.

"Oh Jack, Baby," you murmur, brows furrowed and eyes round with compassion and empathy, a certain glint to them that tells him you see him, that you get it and understand and feel for him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. I wish you didn't feel this way because I know how hard it is for me to think about losing you and you've never been in a hospital bed in front of me. I know how fucking miserable and uncomfortable it is and I never want you to feel this way, but I can feel the love that's behind it. I know this is love. So the only thing you're putting on me right now, Jack, is your love. That's what I feel. Loved. "

"Really?" he whispers, his voice as longing as the look in his eyes.

"Really," you smile softly and nod at him. "That doesn't mean that you have to feel this way and express it in order for me to feel loved, of course. You make me feel loved in so many other ways, I promise. I just want you to know that you're not burdening me by talking to me because I know how easy it is to think that. You could never burden me by talking to me and sharing your thoughts and feelings and struggles with me."

You bring one of your hands up and run your fingers through his curls, smile to yourself at how fluffy they are from him running his hands through them all shift. "You're not being dramatic Jack, your feelings are so valid and so understandable. Thank you for telling me. I know how hard it is to share and to have to verbalize some of those thoughts and words, so thank you for telling me and letting me in."

"You're getting a bit ahead of everything, yeah, we both know that, but that's okay. You're worried and you love me and you see way the fuck too much like you said, so it makes complete sense." You huff a laugh and Jack can tell it's at yourself and whatever you're going to say next. "I don't even see any of the shit you see and you're doing about eighty thousand times better than I’d be doing if our positions were reversed. I'd probably be a mess, sobbing and panicking and unable to keep it together for long."

Jack thinks about it for a second as you pause, his eyes drifting to look over your shoulder at the wall. He speaks before you can say anything else, words airy, almost distracted in a sense but in that way that reflects their recent discovery. "And I'd feel loved." Jack looks back at you, fully present again. "I'd feel loved."

"Exactly, Baby," you murmur, squeezing his hand.

You don't say anything else, wait to see if Jack has more he needs or wants to say or if he just wants to keep talking about it all or if he just wants to move on for now. You're happy with whatever he needs. All you need is him here with you.

Jack takes your face in his hands, brushes his thumbs over your cheekbones for a few seconds. And then he leans in and kisses you. Again, and again, and again. He keeps them short and sweet, doesn't want to risk making you breathless and dizzy and have you pass out again. But he lets a few linger, lets his tongue slip into your mouth and yours into his even if only for the quickest second before he's making sure you get air.

You're biting your lip and grinning like the lovesick idiot you still are for him even after all these years once Jack pulls his lips from yours. He smiles and laughs almost silently through his nose to himself at the sight. He loves you so god damn much. Nothing can happen to you.

Jack keeps your face in his hands and presses a lingering kiss to your temple on the uninjured side. "Thank you for listening," he murmurs against your skin.

"You're welcome and I always will, Baby," you hum contentedly as Jack presses another couple of kisses there.

Jack appraises the staples Parker gave you again as he sits back how he was. "I'm going to have to help you wash your hair to keep your staples dry until they come out."

"Fuck," you sigh dramatically, infuse a fake, preemptive exhaustion into it. "I medically have to shower with my fucking incredibly hot husband. Shittiest fucking aftercare instructions I've ever heard." You click your tongue behind your teeth and grimace teasingly for a second. "I don't know if I'll be able to follow them. We might have to institute a reward system to incentivize me."

"Yeah, I'll incentivize you all right," Jack rolls his eyes at you affectionately, laughing under his breath. He smiles at you, that one that makes you feel like you're the only thing that exists for him in the moment, and shakes his head a little. "You're so ridiculous sometimes."

"Guilty as charged, Your Honor," you quip with a smile of your own, one that for some reason lets Jack finally start to really believe everything will be okay no matter what your test results show.

You take in a breath to continue but Jack beats you to it. "I do love it." He rests a hand on your far thigh and squeezes. "And you're always the cutest and the funniest."

You absolutely fucking melt. He's so good at that, bringing up your past moments together at the perfect times. "Baby," you whisper, lip pulling down in a small pout as you smile at him, eyes sparkling with your love for him and how loved he's making you feel.

"It won't be a huge routine change at least," you return to your discussion of the greatest aftercare instructions known to mankind. "Or did you forget we already shower together a lot?"

Jack gives you an oh please look. "I just had the thought, and I never said we have to shower together, just that I have to help you wash your hair. And do you seriously think that I could ever forget how frequently I have the fucking privilege of seeing you naked and wet and getting to run my hands all over your gorgeous, soapy body?" He flicks his eyebrows up at you as he asks. "Because please, please, believe me when I tell you I could never forget." Your smile turns a little bashful and Jack thinks it's pretty fucking adorable how after all these years he can still get you flustered. "I love you so much."

You beckon Jack to you by sticking your lips out to ask for a kiss. "I love you so much too." You and Jack share a few short, but languid kisses you both smile into at times before you separate.

"You know speaking of my fucking incredibly hot and handsome and sexy husband," you smirk at him, drag your eyes up and down his body, and then smooth your hands over his chest as he remains fairly close, just far enough away for you to see each other easily. "There was something about the way that you pulled your pen light out of your pocket and held it up and watching you really be a doctor and practice medicine that was really fucking doing it form me."

"Yeah, I could tell," Jack laughs. You're making him feel so much better without even trying and Jack isn't sure if you truly know it. You being your usual feisty, flirty, occasionally perfectly ridiculous and silly self and your guys' usual rapport being fully intact reassures him more than he could ever hope to explain. Especially here, in this room, where you first developed your rapport and he got his first taste of you and your personality and the light you bring to everything without trying.

Jack leans back in closer. "I adore you," he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

Despite you and Jack both telling Parker after she finished your staples that she could go home, and even encouraging her to do so and go get some sleep, she stays, shrugs at you both and says she'd be at home unable to sleep waiting for Jack to text her updates on your test results anyway. You stay for family, she says simply, tells you Jack would do the same for her and depending on when it was you'd be here too.

Robby and Dana come by to see you once they arrive for their shifts and learn you're here as a patient. The rest of day shift knows you're here too, obviously, but they also know better than to ask or try to snoop, just ask Robby or Dana to relay their hellos and various well wishes.

Not long after you and Jack finish talking and only an hour and a half or so since she finished your staples, Parker walks into the room, rolling a machine along with her. "Hey," she greets you. "Where's Jack?"

"Hey. He literally just stepped out to go to the bathroom. He's going to be so annoyed." You try to laugh your last sentence but it comes out hollow as anxiety spikes through you. "What's going on?"

"Iron deficiency anemia. Common and easily treatable." Despite her words Parker positions the machine next to your bed on the opposite side of where Jack was earlier. "I just want to do a quick ultrasound to check some things out, be extra safe since it's you." Your heart rate picks up. You know Parker. She doesn't just do things. "I'm going to lay you back, okay?"

"Okay," you mumble as she reclines your gurney some. You're quiet for the minute or two Jack's gone, eyes tracking Parker as she sits on the stool in front of the machine and gets it set up. You do as she asks when she requests you pull your shirt up as high as you can and move the waistband of your pants as low as possible without taking them off. They hadn't made you change into a gown, were only going to if you needed a CT.

Parker gives you what you know is meant to be a reassuring smile as she picks up the bottle of ultrasound jelly. "I won't start until Jack…" she trails off as he walks in and steps behind the curtain providing privacy from the window of the door. "Perfect timing."

Jack stops walking the second the scene comes into view for him and you can see his chest start to rise and fall more noticeably and the change in his stance, tension suddenly everywhere in his body. "Dr. Ellis," Jack starts, the faintest edge to his voice.

"It's iron deficiency anemia, Jack," Parker explains to him as she opens the bottle of jelly and holds it over your stomach. "It'll be a little cold," she nods at you. "Other than that all labs were well within normal."

"Then why are you doing an ultrasound?" Jack asks, tone carefully controlled and revealing to you just how hard he's having to work at keeping it together.

"Just to be safe." She presses the wand against your stomach and runs it over about half the gel.

Jack steps up behind her, peering at the screen over her. He's watching. He's watching this whole thing, he decides. If Parker thinks he isn't, she's sincerely mistaken. "What is it Dr. Ellis? What's wrong?" He can tell she's taking her time and running the wand over your skin rapidly so that nothing is in focus. She doesn't want him to see whatever it is. It terrifies him.

"Parker," Jack whispers, voice absolutely fraught with his fear. "Please. I’m sorry for being short with you, just please."

"Jack." The way you say his name is soft but there's an urgency to it that's enough to make him snap out of it a little and pull his eyes to yours. You sound so small and it kills him. He needs to be touching and soothing you, now. "Please come here."

He's already moving back to where he was earlier and half sitting on the bed next to you again as you ask. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You take his left hand in both of yours again, some of your worry fading just a little simply because he's closer and you can feel him and his body heat. "Just, I want, I need you close for whatever this is. I need you up here with me and holding my hand, please."

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah, okay, I'm sorry, I just…"

"I know, and you don't need to apologize, there's nothing to apologize for, I understand and it's okay." You squeeze his hand. "You're here," you whisper, "That's all I need."

Jack nods again and is quiet for a second, before he tilts his head at you. "I'm scared," he admits in a whisper, barely audible. "You need more imaging." No tears fall down his face but you can see the telltale glassiness start to glaze his eyes, and you can hear and feel the tears in his voice and the way he squeezes your hand back.

"I'm scared too, Sweetheart. But no matter what we have each other and we'll figure it out together even if only for a minute at a time, okay?" you whisper just as quietly. You want to promise him it'll all be okay and everything will be fine but you can't. It's so obvious to you in this moment that you can't. "I love you."

"I love you more." Jack leans in and kisses you a few times, quick kisses that both of you eagerly consume as another small bit of reassurance available to you right now.

Once you break apart Jack takes a breath and goes to say something else, but then there's the click of Parker hitting a button, a familiar and unmistakable sound filling the room and making you suddenly hyper-aware of where Parker has the transducer on you.

You and Jack look at each other, both wide eyed and holding your breaths in disbelief. Matching tears are quick to pool in your and Jack's eyes.

"Jack," you whisper after five or so seconds, voice catching in your throat. "Is that…?"

He nods slowly, tears finally spilling over and sliding down his cheeks. "That's a heartbeat," he breathes, confirming what you already knew.

Jack furrows his brows a little deeper and you read him like always, know exactly what he's asking. You nod, still almost a little dazed at the news.

He moves then, stands and turns so that he's facing across the bed giving you both a clear view of Parker. Jack hunches a little and leans on the bed a bit, one hand holding one of yours up near your chest, his other arm arced over your head with his hand on the uninjured side, gently stroking your hair every now and again, his face a few inches to the side of yours as you both stare at Parker.

She turns the screen so that all of you can see, and even though you and Jack knew what you were going to see, it still takes your breaths away all over again, shocks you both in the best way possible.

"Oh my god, Jack," you whisper through your tears that have started to fall, the words so airy they're almost not audible. But Jack hears them.

"Yeah," he sniffles, voice just as breathy as yours still as the shock continues to wash over him. He squeezes your hand tightly to let you know he's here, he promises, and he's sorry he truly cannot think of anything else to say right now.

Jack has no fucking idea how his mind went close to quite literally everywhere else and not one of the most obvious places, especially when he walked in and saw the ultrasound. You guys have been trying to get pregnant. You might be pregnant should've been one of his first thoughts but it wasn't even on his fucking radar.

"I lied. I knew who I was looking for the whole time. I'm sorry for scaring you for a minute there," Parker apologizes, her true excitement and joy for you clear in her voice. "Congratulations, mom and dad," she whispers, letting you guys have the moment.

"You're pregnant," Jack finally whispers, the words shaking and wet with his tears, voice resounding with pure and true happiness and love. You've only heard his voice sound like that on a couple of occasions, when he asked you to marry him, when he said his vows and I do, and when he called you his wife for the first time when you were finally alone together at the end of the ceremony.

"I'm pregnant." Your voice quivers just like your lips and chin as another rush of tears slips down your cheeks. "That's their heartbeat. That's our baby's heartbeat. And that's them. That's our baby. That's our baby, Jack."

"Yeah," he nods. You look at each other and feel more tears flood your eyes at the other's reaction to the news. "Yeah, it is."

You share half-sobbed laughs and then Jack leans in and you kiss again, exchange murmurs of "I love you" and nuzzle your noses together between kisses while your tears mix and the news that has so beautifully changed and expanded your life together sinks in as you listen to your baby's heartbeat.

When you both look back at the screen you bring your freehand to your mouth, covering it with a couple of your fingers as you stare at the screen with Jack and watch a tiny heart that's half you and half Jack flicker away in time with the sound. Tears stream down your and Jack's face, but you’re both hardly aware of them with all of the emotions flooding you and how fast your heads are spinning.

"They a surprise?" Parker asks, moving the wand to get a different view of the baby.

"We've been trying for a few months shy of a year," Jack tells her, his voice still enveloped in awe and thrilled disbelief.

"So kind of," you murmur. "But not really, but also very clearly yes." The three of you share a laugh, all of your eyes transfixed on the screen as Parker continues to move through different views.

She slows a bit, starts to take different measurements. "When was your last period?"

"I um, I… Fuck, I don't, I don't know…" you breathe a laugh. Jack turns his head and carefully kisses your temple and you can feel how overwhelmed with love for you he is. "I, I was getting worried it wasn't going to happen so I've kind of deliberately been trying not to pay attention or note it." You click your tongue and flash your eyebrows up, give a watery huff. "Guess I was good at that."

"That's okay. I kind of took a guess based on your hCG that we'd be able to see them on external ultrasound." She takes another couple of measurements and then goes back to that classic, perfect view of them. "With what baby's measuring at here I'd put you somewhere right around ten weeks. You agree, boss?"

Parker calls out a few measurements you don't really understand and Jack nods. "Yeah. Around ten weeks." He looks down at you and, god, he loves you so fucking much it feels like he might explode and he has no fucking idea what to do with himself. "You're ten weeks pregnant," he laughs through a sob. "Thank you. Thank you for doing this for me, for us. Carrying our baby."

"I couldn't do it with anyone else, Jack." You smile up at him, cheeks shiny from your tears. "I wouldn't want to."

"Same, Baby," he murmurs. "Same." You share another kiss before Jack touches the tip of his nose to yours. The realization that he's doing so as a stand-in for resting his forehead against yours since he can't right now almost has you finally totally losing it and properly sobbing. But Parker starting to tell you more information saves you all from that.

“Given that the rest of your labs are perfectly normal and that you're iron deficient I think it's pretty safe to say that your anemia is pregnancy related. It's very common. I'm sure your husband will be happy to explain more. Eventually. Once the news settles and he regains coherent thought and the rest of his medical knowledge," Parker looks up and smirks at you. You nod, give her a teary smile and laugh.

"This explains everything. I don't understand, I don't know how I didn't think of it, how you might be pregnant wasn't one of my first thoughts. We were trying to get pregnant and it didn't even register." He shakes his head and laughs at himself. "Not even when I saw the fucking ultrasound."

"Because she’s your wife and you were understandably at zebras and not horses," Parker says simply with a shrug. "That’s part of why we don’t treat our partners."

Jack nods at her, humming in agreement.

"Are they, are they okay?" You pose the question to whichever doctor in the room wants to answer.

"They're perfect," Jack whispers, looking at them on the screen again. He's so truly fucking awe-struck he almost feels lightheaded now. He just can't believe this. He can't believe this thing that you guys have wanted and been trying for and dreamed about has finally happened. "Absolutely perfect."

"I'm not an OB but I agree with Dr. Abbot. My niece or nephew looks pretty damn perfect." Parker moves the view again. "They're in your uterus right where they should be and have good measurements, a strong heart rate."

"They're perfect," Jack reassures you. He turns his attention back to you. "Just like their mom," he sniffles to avoid completely sobbing the words. "Thank you, Baby. Thank you so much, thank you for doing this. I love you. I love you so god damn much. I love both of you."

"Thank you, Jack." You click your tongue behind your teeth quietly as you look up at him and press your lips together hard, tilt your head to the side for a second. "I love you too." You have to pause to swallow down another sob of happiness and joy and love. "I love both of you so much, I love you so much."

Parker gives you and Jack another thirty seconds or so to look at the baby while she prints off the stills she captured for you guys. "I don't see anything that makes me feel like we need to call OB down or that you need to try and get into your OBGYN tomorrow. Just get in when you can to get established on the OB side of things and discuss the anemia."

She takes the transducer off you and Jack's quick to grab the towel she has laid out, wipes the ultrasound jelly off your skin with all the reverence and care in the world, his hand lingering over your womb. "In the meantime Dr. Abbot knows what to do for the anemia but I'll put it in your discharge instructions and talk to you about it when I come back with them, okay?" She offers you the printed strip of sonograms.

"Okay," you nod, sniffling and wiping a couple of tears away before you take the strip from her. You smile at her. There's so much you want to tell her but your brain can't find all of the right words. "Thank you Aunt Parker. I'm really glad it was you."

"Yeah, I'm really glad it was you too," Jack nods. "Thank you Aunt Parker." The two share a look between them, teacher to student, mentor to mentee, a unique blend of respect and pride and care that you know Jack takes the time to develop with all of his students. "Thank you Parker. I'm sorry for being an asshole a couple of times there."

"It's all good boss." She gives him an easy smile and nod of her head to emphasize that it's really all good and she understands. "You're both very welcome. I'll go get all the discharge bullshit done and be back as soon as I can to get you guys out of here, okay?"

You and Jack nod and Parker stands, moves the machine off to the side and leaves it in the room for now. As he moves the head of your gurney back up so you're not as reclined Jack's already creating a mental list, his mind thinking of everything you need and that the two of you can do on top of the prenatals you've been taking for the last year to help with your iron deficiency, iron supplements, good iron rich foods for you to eat and recipes that include them that he knows you like and can make for you and which of your favorite dishes from your favorite restaurants have them.

He's thinking about everything else too, of course. Books you guys need to get, how he's sure there has to be fifty thousand pregnancy related apps you could download, all of the baby things you're going need, all of the things you're going to need to make this pregnancy as comfortable as possible, how you're going to look with one of his shirts stretched over your bump, how he needs to focus more on his arms when he works out so he can hold your bump up as long as he possibly can to take some pressure off your back, how he needs to go get all of his wood working shit out of the shed in your backyard so he can start building nursery furniture, including the beautiful and comfortable rocking chair he's pictured in his mind since the day you guys started seriously talking about having a baby, how he needs to put together then nice porch swing you bought so you guys can relax on it when it’s nice outside while you’re pregnant and then when the baby is here.

Then, out of what feels like nowhere, it all flips. And now Jack's thinking about how dangerous pregnancy is, about all of the things that could go wrong and happen to you, about how he could lose you.

No.

Nope. Jack refuses to dwell there and feed into it and let it consume any more of his thoughts than it already has. He refuses to let his worries ruin these moments for him.

As soon as you hear the door close behind Parker you start to sit up and move to get out of bed.

"Hey, hey, hey." Jack's quick to get his hands on you, gently holding your upper arms to make sure you don't sway or unceremoniously crash back onto the gurney. "Where are you going? You should stay laying down for now, Sweetheart."

You look at him with the most unserious sternness he's ever seen and raise your eyebrows. "Jack Abbot I am standing up and hugging my husband properly after just learning that I'm carrying his child. That we're having a baby."

A slow smile pulls onto Jack’s face and he laughs, nods at you while you beam back at him. "Guess I can't argue with that."

You giggle at him and Jack helps you stand. You feel okay now, don't really feel particularly lightheaded but you know it makes Jack feel better and you're never going to turn down your husband's touch or his help getting you out of bed.

Once you're out of bed and standing you wrap your arms around each other as tight as you ever have, exchange teary I love yous and hold each other as you revel in the news that you're having a baby, bringing a little piece of your love into the world. You must stand there and hold each other for at least a solid three minutes, if not longer. Neither of you could even begin to guess. Time doesn't feel real right now, doesn't feel like something that even matters. The only things that matter are you, Jack, your love, and your baby.

You nuzzle your nose against Jack's neck, keep the injured side on the outside so you don't bump it. "You'd never let me fall anyway," you murmur against his skin before nibbling at him just because you can.

Jack hums contentedly in agreement, slides a hand down and squeezes your ass in playful retaliation for your nibble. "True. And I'm glad you know it."

You giggle again and pull away from him a little, earning you a noise of discontent until you push your lips out for a kiss. He's quick to lean in and give you one and then a second and a third and you lose count as you alternate kissing and nuzzling your noses carefully and kissing each other's faces.

"Come on." You turn and lower the head of the gurney a little again and then sit on it and scoot to the other edge of it laying on your side, the uninjured side of your head against the pillow. Once you're comfortable you pat the open space. "Get in."

"Baby," Jack starts to drawl in his I don't know about this voice.

"You know you want to." You flick your eyebrows up at him and smirk at him. Really there's a bit too much of an elated smile under it to truly be a smirk, but it doesn't really matter. "It's kind of perfect even if admittedly not ideal. Snuggling in a bed in this room together celebrating our baby and loving on each other… Could you ever have imagined this that day? That this is where we'd be years later?"

"No," Jack shakes his head, walks up to the edge of the bed. "You're right though, I suppose. It is pretty perfect to cuddle and celebrate our baby here where we started."

"I mean if you want to be technical it started in the middle of a crosswalk at Lockhart and Cedar," your smirk grows a little stronger, though just as affectionate.

Jack rolls his eyes at you playfully as he carefully climbs into bed and intertwines your legs as much as possible, wraps his top arm around you and pulls you close against him. "I love you. More than you will ever know and than I will ever know what to do with."

"Good job, really, isn't it?" you wink at him. "I love you that much too Jack. I really fucking do and I thank the universe every day for bringing us together and I am so, so excited to be having your baby and doing this with you."

Jack's eyes grow glassy again, but the tears you can see line his eyes don't fall. "I'm so excited too, Baby, and believe me when I tell you I thank the universe for you constantly. That's why I was so fucked up about you being here earlier.”

"I know," you murmur, rubbing your hand up and down his back before settling it in the middle of his back and scratching gently, opening and closing your hand to run your nails over his shirt.

You and Jack lay in your hospital gurney like that while you wait for Parker to bring in your discharge papers so you can leave. You hold each other and talk about the baby, wonder together about whether they'll be a boy or a girl and discuss whether you want to find out and if so how, propose baby names to each other, discuss how to tell everyone and dream out loud about them and who they'll be and what their personality will be like and who they'll look like the most. You hope it's Jack. Jack hopes it’s you.

After a brief, comfortable silence you smile at Jack a little wider. "You know, I think your favorite room just became even better."

"It sure fucking did, Baby," Jack smiles boyishly at you, nodding.

You share a few more kisses, Jack's hand running up and down your back as you bask in each other's presence and the news and your love for each other. 

You do some mental math and think back and realize that just around the time of conception, Jack switched shifts with Shen to cover for him. When you realized that meant you had the weekend off together, you and Jack spur of the moment decided Friday right after you got off work that if you could find an available lakeside cabin in Erie for Friday and Saturday nights it was meant to be, and you’d go on a quick little relaxing trip. You’d found a beautiful cabin, one that shouldn’t have been available, a last minute cancellation freeing it up for you. One that both you and Jack dreamed of taking your kid or kids to and maybe even owning one day. 

You grin at Jack, flick your eyebrows up at him. "I guess that lakeside cabin in Erie really was meant to be."

Jack puts it together immediately and laughs before leaning in to kiss you. "Yeah, I guess it was."

I hope it was okay and you enjoyed! I adore him and his worrying ways and imperfections. 😭 Thank you for all of your support and for reading, it means so much to me and I truly appreciate it and you! ♥️

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Andrew Pope Cody tag list! Brett Richards tag list! Charlie Reid tag list! Titus Danforth tag list! Grant Reilly tag list! Rabbot/Rabbot x Reader tag list! Robby Robinavitch tag list!