Perpetual Uncertainty

Another tear lands on your phone's screen as your thumb hovers just above his name on your favorites. You hate doing this to him and it's so childish. You should be able to get it together, to just pull yourself together long enough to make the short drive home. But you've been trying to do that for ten minutes now and you just want to be with Jack and home and not here crying in your car alone.

You sniffle hard and pull yourself together enough so you're not actively sobbing when he answers the phone. Jack smiles when he sees your face light up his phone. You must be calling to let him know you're on your way home. He picks up on the first ring. "Hi Beautiful, you on your way home?"

"Jack." You don't have to say anything else. Jack already knows, is already sitting up on the couch and reaching for his prosthetic where it's resting by the side of the couch.

He needs to get to you. Now. Your pain is so clear in your voice, he can picture the tears he knows are streaming down your face silently for now.

His tone changes immediately, still soft but so concerned, so knowing. "What's wrong, Baby? Where are you?"

You can hear shuffling and you know he's getting his prosthetic on as he holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder. It's what makes you crack again because why are you doing this to him? Why can't you just be fucking normal?

"In my, my car," your voice gets a little higher pitched with every word as you lose your ability to regulate again, "at, at work. I can't stop, Jack, I can't stop crying enough to drive safely. I've been try, trying and I just can't."

"Okay, that's okay Sweetheart, I'm on my way." Jack shoves the key into the lock the second the door is closed and turns it to lock your place up, takes off at a fast walk towards his car. "Did something happen?" He's turned his voice into something lower now, something soothing that makes you feel not so alone.

"No," you sniffle, take in a slightly wracked breath, "just the w-week and, and…" You trail off into sobs you muffle with your hand, sobs Jack knows you're muffling.

He knows the kind of week it's been for you. A week where everything that could and should be relatively straightforward and smooth was a totally unnecessarily difficult clusterfuck deluxe. A week where anyone and everyone who could possibly try you did, that any issue or minor emergency that could happen, happened. A week where you stayed stupidly late and came home to sleep for a couple of hours just to turn around and go back in early.

You'd been so drained by the time you got home each night you just wanted to get straight into bed with him. He was more than happy to oblige after he coaxed you to eat a little dinner for him. You were both glad that Tuesday was his last shift for the rest of the week because with how late you stayed and how early you had to go in, you didn't see him Monday or Tuesday.

"I'm so-so-sorry." Getting out the last word is a struggle and your voice is so high-pitched it's almost inaudible.

"Don't be," Jack soothes you through the phone. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Baby. You can call me even earlier next time, okay? I'm going to stay on the phone but it's going to cut out for a second once I start the car while my phone connects."

"Okay." You choke on the word, end up coughing through full body sobs and god if you don't feel completely fucking ridiculous. There is absolutely no fucking reason for this.

Jack cringes at the sound because he hates hearing you this sad. Hates that he isn't already there with you, that he didn't think to drive you in and pick you up the last couple of days. "Alright, Sweetheart, I'm back and on my way."

"You have to drive safe," you whimper. "Don't wreck trying to, to get here fast because, because I won't survive you getting hurt or losing you, I sw-swear to god Jack," you choke on a sob, "I'm barely holding, holding on. I need you."

Jack's heart breaks even further at your love for him and at the palpable and encompassing sadness in your voice. "I won't, I promise. I'll be safe. You have your car doors locked?"

"Yeah," you whisper. And you genuinely do. A part of you wants to unlock them, hopes that someone will come and carjack you and kill you because then you won't have to go through this yourself or put Jack through it anymore.

You know that's not true, know that anything happening to you would devastate Jack the way something happening to him would devastate you, even if that's hard for you to believe at times because you can't wrap your mind around why he loves you. Why he put himself through this type of shit that you pull.

"Hey," he says softly. "I know it probably doesn't feel like it right now, but everything will be okay and you'll get through this. I'll make sure of it. That doesn't mean it won't suck and you won't feel like shit, I know, I just want you to know. We'll get you through this."

The sob you let out is muffled and Jack knows you probably moved your phone away from you and covered your mouth. "I," you try to start after a couple of seconds. You have to pause so that you can muffle another sob and try to pull yourself together so that you can actually talk. "I hate that you have to."

"I don't have to do anything, Baby. I choose to because I love you and choose to love you even with as natural and fated by the universe as loving you is. I don't feel forced and I'm not forced." Jack knows that your brain is manifesting your week through this and shifting to spiral over this because it's easier in a sense to deal with than everything that happened at work this week that you're trying to process through. This is something it's easy to get reassurance for and process through and is much, much more controllable. It doesn't hurt any less or make you any less sad or anxious or burnt out, and it's not any easier to go through, it's just more tangible almost.

He's never been more glad that you don't work too far away, that it's not like he has to drive an hour to get you. And he thanks whatever and whoever is out there that he's hitting every green light and that somehow traffic this Friday evening isn't bad.

There's silence on your end of the line for a moment and it would be eerie and unsettling if Jack wasn't sure you'd just muted yourself so that you could get out whatever sob and tears you needed to without him hearing. Jack clenches his jaw and rolls it. He hates whoever made you feel like you have to apologize for feeling your feelings and expressing them and for crying. He'd love to just have thirty seconds alone with them.

You want to tell Jack never mind. That he can turn around, you're fine and you'll see him at home soon, you were just being dramatic and having a moment and you're fine and everything is fine. But you can't bring yourself to say the words because as much as it's not a lie in a sense because you know he'll know it's not true, it's still not the truth. You're not fine and everything isn't fine. It doesn't feel like anything is fine.

It feels like you're going to lose Jack because you're so much fucking work and ridiculous and dramatic and why would he continue to put up with you? What do you really bring to the table and offer him? What do you do for him other than create more work?

Your engagement ring feels so heavy on your finger, not because it's perfect and sparkly and everything you ever wanted, though it absolutely is. It feels so heavy because you feel so undeserving of it, of Jack and his love and the way he knows you so well, better than you know yourself.

It doesn't occur to you that you know him just as well and that he feels this exact same way at times.

The sound of your ragged breathing becomes audible again and a few seconds later you're able to talk.

"I just can't Jack," you whisper through a sniffle.

You hate everything right now. Everything except Jack.

And you hate yourself the most.

Jack can tell. He can hear it in your voice, how much you're beating yourself up inside right now, how much you're beating yourself up, how hard you're trying not to tell him that you're fine and he can turn around. He can hear how much you hate yourself and it's like a knife slowly carving away at his heart.

"I know Baby," he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear as he pulls into the parking lot. "And it's okay that you can't." Jack pulls up beside you so that his passenger side door is next to your driver's side door, looks over at you and smiles as he puts it into park. "I'm hanging up now Baby, I'll see you in just a second."

Jack hangs up and leaves his car on so the AC stays running and gets out and over to your door. Some scared piece of you almost wants to fight it and not unlock your door, and tell him it's okay, you'll figure it out and pull yourself together and get home and you're sorry he drove here. But a bigger piece of you, the overwhelming majority of you, wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in and as close as physically possible to Jack as you can be, so when he gets close you unlock your doors for him.

"Hi Beautiful," Jack greets you once he has the door open. As much as he hates hearing you sad and being away from you when you are, he hates hearing you sad and being right next to you and seeing how sad you are just as much. Tears stain your face, your eyes bloodshot and swollen, your lips and nose swollen too. He means it as more than a pet name though. You're still nothing short of beautiful to him right now, even if there's an aching sadness with it.

You shake your head at him because he's so wrong. You're not remotely beautiful right now, inside or out. You shouldn't be like this, shouldn't be complaining about your job and your week to him of all people. You know Jack doesn't think about it like that and would hate to find out that you do, but you can't help it. You should be better. You shouldn't have needed him to put his prosthetic back on when he was having a nice day at home chilling without it and drive down here just to hold you while you cry.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic.

Somewhere deep down you know Jack would hate to find out that you think it and you are pathetic.

"Yes, Baby," Jack murmurs in response to you shaking your head. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, doesn't force too much of his affection on you when you're crying and struggling and he can tell you feel like you don't deserve it, just enough for you to know he wants to kiss you and that he means it and that he loves you.

As Jack leans back you follow him, let your feet hit the ground and push you up into his arms that automatically open to catch you. You need just need to be close to him. Now that you've had him close, any distance between you feels unbearable.

You all but collapse into his arms, your tears starting up again just as hard as they were before you call him. They're for everything. For the way Jack calls you beautiful like it's your name and means it. For the way you feel anything but beautiful right now. For this man who keeps you standing literally and metaphorically. For this week that's done it's best to level you. For how perfectly Jack treats you and takes care of you, and how much he loves you. For how pathetic and unworthy of that treatment you feel, and how you don't understand why he loves you when you're so difficult and so much work.

"Alright, Sweetheart, I've got you," Jack whispers. He wraps his arms around you tightly and helps hold you up as you melt into him. He kisses the top of your head as you bury your face in his chest and lose it.

Jack holds you like that for a minute before he starts to rock you and slowly shuffle the two of you so that you change spots and he can reach into the car and grab your purse. Once he has it he walks you backwards slowly and shuts your door and locks your car.

He walks you both a little further so that he can open the back door to his Range Rover. "Come on, Baby," he presses a kiss to the top of your head again and rubs your back, "get in the back for me, yeah?"

You cling to him as he tries to pull away, terrified of there being more than an inch between the two of you right now. "Why?" you sniffle, momentarily not completely sobbing.

Jack brings a hand down and hooks his index finger under your chin and gently tilts your face up to look at him. He gives you a reassuring smile. "Because I can hold you better back there and it's private."

You look at him for a moment and your bottom lip and chin tremble so hard as tears line your eyes that it makes his heart ache. You look so terribly and sadly adorable and it just makes how much he loves you hit him even harder and makes him more determined to get you feeling better and make you happy. He doesn't realize that even though you're crying, he's already made you feel better and happier just by being here and coming to you without you having to ask and giving you a safe space to let yourself give into how shitty you feel in every sense.

Jack's sweetness and thoughtfulness make you start to cry even harder as you climb in the back like he asked. You sit awkwardly in the middle seat as he gets in and shuts the door, sets your purse down and gets himself comfortable.

"Alright, you, come here." He reaches out and hooks an arm around your waist and starts to pull you closer to him.

You don't need asked twice, move over to him and crawl onto his lap so quickly his arm barely touches you and he smiles to himself. As Jack reclines the seat so that you can fall into him a bit more you spread your legs out across the seats and snuggle into him as close as you can, your sobs getting harder when he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, helps you settle in perfectly to your favorite place in the whole world where you feel safe in every sense of the word and loved and like you could probably survive just about anything as long as you had Jack and his arms and neck and chest and lap to hide from the world in.

"Okay Baby," Jack murmurs once you're settled in his lap and clinging to his shirt as you sob into his neck with your head tucked under the corner of his jaw. "I'm here. It's okay, it's all going to be okay, I promise."

You shake your head against him because as much as you know Jack would never lie to you, it doesn't feel like it in this moment, it doesn't feel like anything will ever be okay again. And Jack knows. He knows it doesn't feel like it. So he doesn't push it, doesn't try to talk you into believing him. He just lets you be. Lets you exist just as you are. Lets you feel what you're feeling without any pushback.

Even though you've been together years, it still always surprises you, the way he lets you just feel and holds you close as you do.

You let yourself give in for thirty seconds or so and then you start to fight your sobs so that you can explain yourself to him even though you know you don't have to, that you never have to explain yourself to Jack.

"I," you hiccup out, trying so hard to get yourself together so you can explain and stop crying and stop making Jack deal with you. "I, I'm, I…" You choke over the simple words, coughing and struggling to breathe

"Shh," Jack soothes you, moves one of his hands so it can rub up and down your back. "You don't have to talk about it right now, okay? We can talk later if and when you're ready and doing a little better. Just let it all out, I've got you. I've got you."

You want to fight it, want to keep pushing yourself to talk and explain and apologize because even though Jack has never asked you to, never told you that you needed to or made you feel like you needed to, even though he's never gotten mad or upset at you when you get like this, you still feel the urge to. The scars left by those who came before him are still there. It's a testament to just how much Jack has healed you that you cry in front of him, that you let yourself get like this in front of him, that you call him when you're like this and let yourself seek out his comfort and trust and know that he won't turn you away or yell at you or make fun of you or use it against you down the road.

Eventually your tears stop. You're pretty sure it's less that you've cried yourself out and are in a better headspace and more that you just physically ran out of tears and exhausted out. Jack's pretty sure that's the case too because your tears don't trail off how they usually do when you've had the cry you needed. This is far more abrupt, closer to a flip of a switch.

Jack doesn't rush you to be ready to talk or get out of his lap so he can drive you guys home or to do anything. He just keeps holding you and continues to rub your back while you sniffle and try to compose yourself. And even once your sniffling has stopped and you're just resting in his arms against him he doesn't rush you. He never would. If he had it his way you'd never have to leave his arms.

After a few moments of sitting in Jack's lap quietly you find it within you to pull your head back and look at him sheepishly.

Jack melts even more somehow, smiles at you softly and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You can't bring yourself to even shake your head to argue with him. You don't want to put him through more than you already have tonight and don't want it to seem like you're doing this deliberately for attention or compliments.

"Hi handsome," you whisper back. It takes everything in you to keep yourself looking at him and not immediately nuzzle your face back into his neck to hide.

"Can I have a kiss?"

You swallow hard and give him a short nod, not because you want to say no, it's the exact opposite, you want to scream yes and let the man kiss you until everything makes sense and feels okay again. You just don't feel like you deserve it. "If you want."

"I always want kisses from you and to kiss you." Jack gives you a lopsided smile. He doesn't ask if you want kisses because he knows that you do, knows that what could be perceived as a lack of enthusiasm is actually just you feeling like you don't deserve him or his love or affection.

Jack slides his hand up to the back of your neck and gently pulls your face to his, kisses you so softly to start to help you ease into accepting his affection right now that if you had any tears left you know you'd be crying again. The more you relax into him and let yourself accept Jack's affection as you pour it back into him, the deeper Jack kisses you.

He nuzzles his nose into yours for a second when you break apart and rubs his thumb just below your ear as you pull your face back to look at him, cheeks tear stained and eyes and nose and lips still so adorably swollen. "Thank you for calling me and not trying to drive while crying like that." He raises his eyebrows at you gently, his other hand giving your hip an affectionate and reassuring squeeze before he reference what you said earlier while he was driving here. "I need you too."

You shrug shallowly because you weren't even thinking about it like that when you called.

"I do," he whispers, nodding at you. "More than you'll ever know and just as much as you need me. Promise." Jack leans up and gives you a quick kiss. "How about we head home? We'll come back and get it tomorrow, okay? It won't get towed with your permit."

"Okay," you whisper back, nodding.

Jack puts the seat back up and you shift off his lap so that he can get out of the car. Once he's out He holds his hand out for you even though you don't really need it or his help getting out of the car. You take it anyway, let him help you out and close the door behind you before you both take a few steps up and Jack opens the passenger side door for you like he always does.

Even though there's silence as Jack holds your hand and helps you into the passenger seat it's still meaningful, he still has this way of silently almost speaking with his body and how he looks at you that makes you feel wrapped in his love the way you would if he was verbally professing it to you over and over. Before he shuts the door he leans in and presses the sweetest kiss to your forehead, gives you a small smile that reassures you everything will be okay, that you'll be able to undo the knots your mind has gotten itself into.

Jack carefully shuts the door and you pull your seatbelt on as he walks around to the driver's side. Before he buckles himself in he reaches back and grabs your purse, pulls out a couple of tissues and hands you them. He sets your purse down, buckles his seatbelt and then puts it in reverse and starts the drive home.

He doesn't make you talk about it as he drives, knows it's not the time or the place. It's one of those small things that means the world to you and it reminds you how well he knows you and how much he loves you. Instead of making you talk about it, Jack chatters to you like he normally will when you guys are driving, but this time he doesn't expect you to chat back. His hand stays on your thigh or holding your hand and bringing it up to his lips to presses kisses to the entire drive home.

The entire thing is so normal and it helps more than you think Jack could ever truly understand. Nothing feels forced or like he's making these huge gestures or going out of his way which is exactly what you need. Because you don't feel like you deserve any of that and so him doing those kinds of things would almost make things harder for you in a way. You don't really even feel like you deserve normalcy, but you're at least able to accept it without panicking.

Once Jack's parket he walks around and opens your door for you, grabs your purse and helps you out of the car. You feel a little zombie-like walking into your shared apartment. You're not sure what you want or need and are too tired and fuzzy brained from all the crying to even try to figure it out.

But Jack, Jack knows exactly what you want and what you need.

He could just give it to you. You wouldn't necessarily mind if he did. But Jack knows that part of what you need right now is control without having to really make any decisions. So he makes the decisions and offers them to you so that you feel like you're in control without the agony of having to make any choices or real decisions that will just make you feel worse and exacerbate the decision fatigue already plaguing you after this week.

"You wanna chill on the couch for a bit?" Jack asks as you both finish getting your shoes off.

You take a couple of steps into the living room and stop to look at the couch. You want to be close to Jack as selfish as it feels, as undeserving as you feel. "Yeah, I guess," you murmur.

Jack walks up behind you and snakes his arms around your tummy, pulls you back into him and hunches and rests his chin on your shoulder. He presses a few kisses to the side of your neck, lets his lips linger on the last one almost like he's feeling your pulse under his lips. "I'm going to go get you some water first." He presses a kiss to your cheek as he squeezes you a little in a tight hug. "I love you so much Baby, no matter how you're feeling and whether you feel like you deserve it. I love you."

Your chin trembles a little and you take in a deep shaky breath. You bring your hand up and cup the side of Jack's face. "I love you so much too. Thank you."

"Of course," he murmurs. Jack presses another kiss to your cheek and then turns his head to press one into the palm of your hand. He's quick to make his way to your kitchen and grab you a glass of water.

You try to get yourself to go sit on the couch but you can't seem to for some reason, end up just standing there almost awkwardly in your own space as you wait for Jack to return. When he returns you take a few sips for him, always surprised at how much better those few sips make you feel. You set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table once you've had enough.

Jack is waiting for you with a smile when you turn back to face him. His hands find the hem of your shirt and start to pull it off you and you raise your arms to help, trusting whatever his plan is. Once he has your shirt off he sits down on the edge of the couch and you watch as he takes his prosthetic off before beckoning you to him with a finger.

You step between his legs and like with your shirt, you trust him when he pulls your pants down and step out of them and kick them to side where he tossed your shirt. Jack grabs a blanket and holds it open for you and your chin trembles again because he knows just what you need and gives it to you so freely and without you having to ask.

Neither you nor Jack say a word as you help him get you wrapped up in a blanket burrito and gets you situated to that you're on your side on the couch, your back to the cushions. He lays on his side next to you and pulls your bundled form against him, holds you tight. You wiggle to get comfortable and bury your face into his chest breathing getting heavier as you feel the tears coming again.

Jack knows it. He's known this is what would happen the entire time and as much as he doesn't want you to cry and be upset, it's what he wants to happen. He wants you to cry again, let yourself come all the way apart in his arms so that he can help put you back together again. He knows you won't be able to move past it all and start to heal and recover from the week until you get it all out of your system.

"I'm here, Baby. Let yourself cry, try not to fight it," he murmurs. "It's okay, I promise it's okay." He brings his chin to his neck so that he can nuzzle his nose into your hair and give you kisses there.

It works. By the third or so kiss you're fully sobbing into him again and it drives you insane because as much as you know why in a sense, you also feel like you have no idea why you're like this and needing to cry so much.

After a couple of minutes you have to just say it, acknowledge the truth, or at least what feels like the truth. "This is, this is so dumb, Jack," you choke out between sobs. "It's so dumb, and, and stupid," you take in a huge breath of air that makes you cough on top of the sobs, "and, and ridiculous and I know it, know it and still can't stop."

"I know it feels like that's true and that's valid, but it's not any of those things, Baby, I promise," he soothes you, runs a hand up and down your back over the blanket while the other keeps you held tightly to him. "It's human."

You shake your head against him but don't verbally argue with him, just go back to the tears you can't seem to stop, the tears that feel so incredibly unfair to Jack. He should be relaxing while he's off, and you guys should be starting your weekend together doing something fun, go on a date or something like you talked about last week. But instead he's having to work essentially, having to take care of you, and the two of you aren't going out and you're making your weekend off together start in one of the shittiest ways.

Your tears do eventually start to trail off. Neither you nor Jack know how long it's taken to get here and it doesn't really matter in the end. It took as long as it did and you're here now, your body and mind working to regulate as opposed to a fairly abrupt stop like in the car where your body just gave out. Jack knows it means you've finally gotten it all out, have shed all the tears you need to right now.

He knows it means you're feeling broken right now and that you're not sure how to even start picking up the pieces. But the thing is you do know how to start. Before Jack you had to do this alone, had to sob on your couch alone and then figure out how to make yourself better. The difference is that now you don't need to know. You don't need to figure it out. Because Jack knows and he'll help you, take care of you and give you what you want and what you need and help put you back together again and get back to feeling normal.

The two of you sit lay in silence for a bit once you've gotten your breathing under control, the only sounds the occasional sniffle from you or soft popping of Jack's lips as he presses more kisses to the top of your head. You take in and let out a deep breath before pulling your head back so that you can see him.

"Hi again, Beautiful," Jack smiles at you.

You want to argue but don't have the energy to. "Hi," you whisper, voice raw and nasally.

Jack doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks at you and strokes your hair. The look he gives you speaks volumes though, is so clearly him telling you that if and when you're ready to talk, he's hear to listen.

You give him one of the smallest, saddest smiles Jack's ever seen from you. "I love you," you murmur to him, lean your head up and push your lips out.

"I love you too." Jack smiles even brighter as he moves his head down to give you the kisses you seek.

"How about we order some food and then go shower the week off you? We can eat dinner in bed once it's here and then cuddle and watch something or talk if you want, get you off to dreamland to help you catch up on some sleep," Jack suggests once you've had your fill of kisses.

"Okay," you murmur with a small nod, still sounding so achingly forlorn and sad that it kills him. You're not sure you agree with that last part of his suggestion. You don't want to sleep any time soon. You want to be awake with him, spending time with him and enjoying him. You've missed him.

Jack grabs his phone out of his pocket and rests his hand on your side as he orders. After he finishes ordering he slips his phone back in his pocket and gives you one last lingering kiss. He pulls his one arm from under you and sits up, helps get you out of the blanket burrito he put you in.

The two of you head into your room and Jack crutches into the bathroom to turn the shower on. You pad into the bathroom behind him, don't want to be away from him really. You cringe internally at how clingy that is, wonder if that's what will push it over and make it all too much for him. Make you too much for him.

But all that happens when Jack turns around and sees you is a smile breaking over his face. You can't help but smile a little at it because he just looks so god damned happy to see you. Even when you're like this, being like this for him.

You walk closer to him and let your fingers play with the hem of his shirt. "Can I?"

"I'd love that," he nods, gives you a little, playful smirk.

You take your time stripping him, take such care like you always do when you strip him while he's standing with his crutches. Once you've got him fully stripped Jack takes your bra off, dips his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and starts pushing them down, your clothes a heap off to the side of the bathroom where they won't get wet.

There's something about the way you look when your eyes roam his body that makes Jack frown to himself. There's an air of unworthiness about it, something that couldn't be further from the truth in his mind.

"You okay, Baby?" he asks quietly.

You press your lips together and out to one side and nod. "I just wish I wasn't like this for you," you whisper, stepping closer to him and resting your head against his chest as you stand outside the shower.

"You're not like anything," he murmurs. "You're just you. My girl. All I need to live."

You let out a shaky breath and then turn and press a kiss to his chest. His words are so very hard to accept but you know he truly means them the same way you mean them when you tell him the same.

You both get in the shower and Jack holds you on his lap while you soak in near scalding water for a bit. Eventually he washes you, takes his time with your hair and then your body, lets you do the same to him because he knows you need it and want it.

It doesn't take too long for the food Jack had ordered to arrive once you're out of the shower and in bed, dressed in one of Jack's old shirts and nothing else. Jack's in just a pair of sweatpants but throws a shirt on when the knock on the door signals the food has arrived. He crutches out and grabs the bag while you grab an old towel and spread it out on the bed.

You almost start crying again when you see what Jack ordered. Your favorite comfort meal. And you know the smaller box he sets off to the side is your favorite dessert.

"Jack…." you whisper, looking at him almost helplessly but with the same love in your eyes that he recognizes as the love in his when he looks at you.

He just smiles at you, leans over and gives you a kiss. "I love you."

"I know." You reach out and squeeze his thigh. "You make sure I know. And I love you too."

Jack grins at you and winks. "I know."

You watch TV and chat about whatever happens to come up as you eat, make Jack let you help clean up once you've both finished. You both strip again once you're back in your room and crawl into bed under the covers together on your sides.

Your legs tangle together and torsos press together as you settle, TV off because Jack can feel that you want to talk now and he's hoping after you do he can get you to sleep early to help you recover.

There's silence for a few minutes as you just look at each other, Jack's hand running up and down your side and yours playing with the fingers of his bottom hand.

"I don't know Jack," you finally whisper, trying to sort through your mind and figure out where to even start. "It was just a long week and I've been walling it off the whole time because I had to keep it together. But then today, when it was finally over at least somewhat, I got in the car and just…. fell apart. It's just so much, work, this job is just so much. It's so fucking much sometimes. And I know yours is too, I know that, I do. I know yours can be so so fucking much sometimes."

Jack knows you're about so start comparing your jobs, about to start writing yours off as not as bad and easier and less to deal with and less traumatic. And that's just not true. Your job can be just like his. You see different things most of the time, sure, but that's exactly why it's impossible to compare the two.

Honestly sometimes Jack thinks your job is more than his, is worse and harder and far more to deal with and more traumatic. Most of the time he's not sure how you deal with it which is kind of ironic because him and his love are the vast majority of how you're able to deal with it and cope and keep going.

In any event, he's not going to let you compare and minimize your job and its stressors and trauma and how fucking hard and how fucking much it can be. It deserves to be recognized. You deserve to be recognized for surviving it. You deserve to let out the bad week however you need to. He's not going to let you try to wipe it away and apologize for being affected by it.

"Yeah," he nods. "And that's why you take care of me and hold me like I held you in the car and am holding you now when it's too much for me and I need to let some of it out. Your job is just as much, it's just a different kind of much. My job can be a lot and so much and so can yours. I can need to have a breakdown sometimes and so can you. My job being a lot sometimes doesn't means yours isn't or can't be. My job isn't worse or harder than yours. They both have their moments and weeks and times when we don't know why we're doing them and times where it just all makes so much fucking sense. They're both jobs of high highs and low lows."

"Yeah…." You chew on the inside of your cheek and look at his chest. You know he's right but in the moment it's hard to accept. It makes sense why Jack's work gets to him like this sometimes. It doesn't feel like it makes sense why yours gets to you like this. Objectively and logically you can see it, you understand why it does, and if Jack had your job you'd say it makes sense why it gets to him like this sometimes. But emotionally your brain doesn't let you accept it. It's different. You should be able to handle it, especially in the shadow of Jack's job. You know he'd hate hearing that if you ever said it out loud, and would disagree vehemently. It's just hard to think otherwise. "I don't know," you sigh. "I'm being dramatic and I hate it."

Jack pushes his bottom lip out slightly and shakes his head. "No you're not. You're feeling your feelings. Please don't self-invalidate, Baby. You're allowed to feel what you feel at the intensity you're feeling it at. I want you to, especially right here with me so I can take care of you and keep you safe and help keep you as grounded as possible and as comforted as possible."

You shrug. "It's still being dramatic. It's dramatic and it's unfair to you. When I was in the car and you asked if I had the doors locked, I did, I promise I did, I just thought about how I'd like to unlock them and hope…" You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You know how much this will hurt him. "And hope someone came along and car jacked me and killed me because then I wouldn't have to put either of us through this ever again, and that's dramatic, Jack. That's dramatic. Because I know what that would do to you. I know. I know because I think about the reverse with you dying and I, I can't Jack, I can't, and so yes. Yes, I'm being dramatic."

"You're not, Sweetheart." Jack swallows hard as your words sink in and his mind goes there. It's hard to hear of course, harder to think about really happening. He can't imagine getting that phone call or driving up to that scene and having to try to save you, having to get covered in your blood. Well. Maybe it's not that he can't imagine but that he can and it's unspeakably awful and horrific and makes him nauseous. "You're just feeling what you feel. That's valid. You're allowed to feel it all.

"It's dumb Jack," you huff a laugh at yourself and shake your head. "There's no reason for me to feel like this.

"Sweetheart," Jack runs his hand up your side to cup your face. "Yes there is. And even if there wasn't, that's okay too. You're allowed to feel like this or however you feel for any reason or no reason." He looks away from you for a second as he gathers his thoughts, in one of those ways that tells you he's thinking of how to phrase something incredibly serious to him. He looks back at you. "You deal with a lot at work, you see a lot. You do so much. You take on so much and you do things for other people even when you're slammed yourself. You're incredibly empathetic and an emotional sponge and so giving and I love that about you, I love that about you so much. But that's hard at the best of times, and with your job it's…." he trails off, unable to find the word he wants that conveys the right gravity. "You give so much, so so much of yourself to everyone and everything you do because it matters to you and you care and you'd rather run yourself into the ground than watch someone else struggle or have to work hard enough to run themselves into the ground."

You shrug again. You're trying to take his words to heart and you know you are, even if your brain can't consciously process it right now. You want to say something in response but you're not sure what. What do you say to that? To all those compliments it feels like you don't deserve, to the way this man loves you so fucking much at your worst.

Jack gives you a moment to respond and then continues when you don't, doesn't want you to feel pressured to come up with something to say. "Part of it is that you're exhausted, Sweetheart. You're running on empty, in every way, physically and emotionally and spiritually. You haven't gotten much sleep this week and I'm sure what you have gotten hasn't been the best quality with all the stress."

"I mean I let myself give into it, Jack," you admit. "I let myself give into the feelings and lean into them and let myself cry and be miserable and do all this shit because I know you're here and will take care of me and that's unfair. It's totally unfair and it's, it's… gross of me."

"Baby," Jack gives you a small, knowing smile, "that's the whole point. That's what I want you to do, my silly, silly girl."

"It's unfair to you!"

"No, Baby, it's not. Just like it isn't unfair when I give into my feelings and lean into them because I know you're here to take care of me. I do the same." Jack squeezes the side of your face softly and starts running his hand up and down your side again. "That's what you should do. That's part of what a relationship is, being able to just give into it all and have those feelings because you know your partner's got you. I think that's healthy."

"How much longer can you keep doing this, Jack? Just like realistically. How many times can I ask you to do this before it's too much." You look away from him and down at your hand that you pull from his. "Before I'm too much."

"I don't feel like I'm doing anything, Sweetheart. But I guess to the extent I am, I can keep doing it for you until I die. You're never going to become too much for me." Jack desperately wants to ask you to look at him but he knows it's not what you need right now as much as he's itching for eye contact. "You haven't asked me to do anything. You didn't even ask me to come get you. I just did. I could've tried to talk you down over the phone. I wanted to come. I chose to. You didn't ask. And even if you had asked, that would be more than okay."

You look back up at him and some part of Jack melts in relief. "I mean I knew you would come, so it was kind of me asking even if not explicitly."

"I know it's upsetting to you, Beautiful, and I'm not making light of it or trying to wipe your feelings away but to me, it's like… good. I'm glad you knew. I'm so fucking glad you knew. You genuinely have no fucking idea how happy that makes me." Jack seems to grow almost teary as he speaks, his voice wet with emotion that matches the glass to his eyes. You bring your hand up and rest it on the side of his neck, brush your thumb along his jawline comfortingly.

"I know your past has taught you differently but you're allowed to feel and you're allowed to need me and to need to fall into me and need all the help in the world. It doesn't make you too much and it never will. Obviously I don't like you feeling like this, I hate it and I wish I could take it away and feel it for you, god knows I would in a second if I could. But you picking up the phone and calling me, you crying into me and letting yourself come completely apart in my arms and turning to me for comfort, it makes me so incredibly happy and content to know that you feel safe enough and loved enough to do that." Jack smiles at you, looks at you like he can't believe you're real and his. "And everything that you're worried makes or will make you too much and will make me get tired and be done with you and leave one day, it's the opposite for me. Your vulnerability and your humanness and your trust, and you giving me the privilege of getting to love you and hold you through your worst moments and days, that just makes me love you all the more, even when it feels like there's no possible way I could love you more. You always surprise me."

"Jack," you swallow down his name in a whisper. You struggle to come up with something to say to that because it's so beautiful and he loves you so much and your brain is processing so much under the surface and he's right. You're exhausted and feeling it far more acutely.

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers back with a nod. "Just know that this is all okay and we're okay and I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You give him a flash of a genuine smile, about all you can manage at this point. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too." Jack leans forward and seals his words with a lingering kiss.

"Hey Jack?" It seems silly to start that way as you break apart given that you're both looking at each other and have been talking and to say this all again like you haven't before given how long you've been together. But then you suppose Jack has said everything he's said to you today multiple times over the years.

He raises his eyebrows at you in acknowledgment. "Thank you for… just taking care of me the best you could during the week. I really appreciate you not trying to like interfere with work or tell me I can't do this or go on about how unhealthy it is because that just makes me feel worse. And thank you for not accusing me of cheating or something because I had to stay late at work. You were just supportive and made sure I ate and got as much sleep as I could and did whatever you could for me and you have no idea how much I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I never want you to feel worse. I know it's not something you're doing out of choice and that it's just reality and what has to happen. Even if I hate it like you do too." He leans in for another kiss. He can tell it's time to move the conversation along a bit, that your brain has more or less reached its maximum capacity for this kind of talk tonight. "You should get some sleep. I can see you're sleepy," he smirks playfully.

You grumble a little as you pout, giving into the sleepiness and the relative relaxation that's taken over you since your talk. "I don't wanna sleep. I miss you and I've missed you all week. I'm sorry I was away so much."

"Don't apologize, Baby, it's not your fault. You didn't do it deliberately." Jack's hand that's been running up and down your side continues too but moves a little toward the center of you so that his fingers trail along the edge of your breast and brush teasingly at the crease of your hip. "We have all weekend together. You'll enjoy our time together so much more when you're not exhausted. And I'll still be here. You can sleep in my arms and I'm sure I'll fall asleep soon too. That's still spending time together to me."

"Yeah," you draw the word out. "But it's not the same."

Jack nods slowly, a mischievous and playful smirk pulling onto his face. He leans back in and kisses you again, rolls you onto your back slowly as his tongue dips into your mouth and he groans, continues to make out with you, relishing in the way your hands feel roaming his body. "Well," he pants softly when you break apart for air, "what if we spent some more time together while I put us both to sleep?"

You bite your lip and smile. "And what would that look like?"

"Oh," he laughs under his breath, "I have an idea or two."

"Yeah?" Your chest heaves a little and Jack ducks his head down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and teases it as you moan softly for him before kissing up your chest and neck to your lips where he makes out with you again.

"Yeah," he mumbles against your lips, rolls his hips into yours so you can feel how hard he is for you. "Could look like this." He adjusts his hips and runs his cock through you, lets his head bump against your clit and pull sounds of pleasure from both of you.

"Or," he stills his hips, "like this."

Jack dives backward under the comforter, large hands holding onto your thighs and keeping them spread for him as he kisses you cunt to clit. "Yeah," his voice is muffled by the comforter that's over him, "I think I'd like it to look like this. I really think," he presses another kiss to your clit, "I'd like it to look like this."

"Jack!" you giggle, the speed and suddenness of the movement almost meerkat like in the most adorable, Jack way. Only he could make you laugh coming off of feeling how you were at the same time he's winding you toward an orgasm you know is likely to hit you so hard you'll be half asleep by the time he gets to fucking you, something you're more than okay with. "Part of being together is seeing you!"

You push the comforter back until silver curls come into view and Jack looks up at you. That giggle is everything to him. He got you to laugh.

"Seeing me or seeing my curls between your legs?" he smirks up at you.

"Same thing, isn't it? Your curls are you." Your breathing picks up as Jack lowers his mouth back down, the stubble on his jaw brushing over your clit and sending sparks of pleasure shivering up your spine.

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, knows exactly what he's doing to you. "I think me suggests my eyes."

"Then look at me while you start putting us to sleep," you breathe.

Jack's eyes darken. "Kinky," he murmurs. "I like it. Just remember," he finally gives your clit a proper suck and swirl of his tongue, making you moan so beautifully for him, "you suggested it. And since you did I expect you to keep your eyes open and on mine the entire time, pretty girl."

I need him desperately. Jack Abbot where are you?! 😩😭 I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! And we all deserve this kind of love. Thank you again for all of your support and for reading, I truly appreciate it and your notes!! ♥️

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Another tear lands on your phone's screen as your thumb hovers just above his name on your favorites. You hate doing this to him and it's so childish. You should be able to get it together, to just pull yourself together long enough to make the short drive home. But you've been trying to do that for ten minutes now and you just want to be with Jack and home and not here crying in your car alone.

You sniffle hard and pull yourself together enough so you're not actively sobbing when he answers the phone. Jack smiles when he sees your face light up his phone. You must be calling to let him know you're on your way home. He picks up on the first ring. "Hi Beautiful, you on your way home?"

"Jack." You don't have to say anything else. Jack already knows, is already sitting up on the couch and reaching for his prosthetic where it's resting by the side of the couch.

He needs to get to you. Now. Your pain is so clear in your voice, he can picture the tears he knows are streaming down your face silently for now.

His tone changes immediately, still soft but so concerned, so knowing. "What's wrong, Baby? Where are you?"

You can hear shuffling and you know he's getting his prosthetic on as he holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder. It's what makes you crack again because why are you doing this to him? Why can't you just be fucking normal?

"In my, my car," your voice gets a little higher pitched with every word as you lose your ability to regulate again, "at, at work. I can't stop, Jack, I can't stop crying enough to drive safely. I've been try, trying and I just can't."

"Okay, that's okay Sweetheart, I'm on my way." Jack shoves the key into the lock the second the door is closed and turns it to lock your place up, takes off at a fast walk towards his car. "Did something happen?" He's turned his voice into something lower now, something soothing that makes you feel not so alone.

"No," you sniffle, take in a slightly wracked breath, "just the w-week and, and…" You trail off into sobs you muffle with your hand, sobs Jack knows you're muffling.

He knows the kind of week it's been for you. A week where everything that could and should be relatively straightforward and smooth was a totally unnecessarily difficult clusterfuck deluxe. A week where anyone and everyone who could possibly try you did, that any issue or minor emergency that could happen, happened. A week where you stayed stupidly late and came home to sleep for a couple of hours just to turn around and go back in early.

You'd been so drained by the time you got home each night you just wanted to get straight into bed with him. He was more than happy to oblige after he coaxed you to eat a little dinner for him. You were both glad that Tuesday was his last shift for the rest of the week because with how late you stayed and how early you had to go in, you didn't see him Monday or Tuesday.

"I'm so-so-sorry." Getting out the last word is a struggle and your voice is so high-pitched it's almost inaudible.

"Don't be," Jack soothes you through the phone. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Baby. You can call me even earlier next time, okay? I'm going to stay on the phone but it's going to cut out for a second once I start the car while my phone connects."

"Okay." You choke on the word, end up coughing through full body sobs and god if you don't feel completely fucking ridiculous. There is absolutely no fucking reason for this.

Jack cringes at the sound because he hates hearing you this sad. Hates that he isn't already there with you, that he didn't think to drive you in and pick you up the last couple of days. "Alright, Sweetheart, I'm back and on my way."

"You have to drive safe," you whimper. "Don't wreck trying to, to get here fast because, because I won't survive you getting hurt or losing you, I sw-swear to god Jack," you choke on a sob, "I'm barely holding, holding on. I need you."

Jack's heart breaks even further at your love for him and at the palpable and encompassing sadness in your voice. "I won't, I promise. I'll be safe. You have your car doors locked?"

"Yeah," you whisper. And you genuinely do. A part of you wants to unlock them, hopes that someone will come and carjack you and kill you because then you won't have to go through this yourself or put Jack through it anymore.

You know that's not true, know that anything happening to you would devastate Jack the way something happening to him would devastate you, even if that's hard for you to believe at times because you can't wrap your mind around why he loves you. Why he put himself through this type of shit that you pull.

"Hey," he says softly. "I know it probably doesn't feel like it right now, but everything will be okay and you'll get through this. I'll make sure of it. That doesn't mean it won't suck and you won't feel like shit, I know, I just want you to know. We'll get you through this."

The sob you let out is muffled and Jack knows you probably moved your phone away from you and covered your mouth. "I," you try to start after a couple of seconds. You have to pause so that you can muffle another sob and try to pull yourself together so that you can actually talk. "I hate that you have to."

"I don't have to do anything, Baby. I choose to because I love you and choose to love you even with as natural and fated by the universe as loving you is. I don't feel forced and I'm not forced." Jack knows that your brain is manifesting your week through this and shifting to spiral over this because it's easier in a sense to deal with than everything that happened at work this week that you're trying to process through. This is something it's easy to get reassurance for and process through and is much, much more controllable. It doesn't hurt any less or make you any less sad or anxious or burnt out, and it's not any easier to go through, it's just more tangible almost.

He's never been more glad that you don't work too far away, that it's not like he has to drive an hour to get you. And he thanks whatever and whoever is out there that he's hitting every green light and that somehow traffic this Friday evening isn't bad.

There's silence on your end of the line for a moment and it would be eerie and unsettling if Jack wasn't sure you'd just muted yourself so that you could get out whatever sob and tears you needed to without him hearing. Jack clenches his jaw and rolls it. He hates whoever made you feel like you have to apologize for feeling your feelings and expressing them and for crying. He'd love to just have thirty seconds alone with them.

You want to tell Jack never mind. That he can turn around, you're fine and you'll see him at home soon, you were just being dramatic and having a moment and you're fine and everything is fine. But you can't bring yourself to say the words because as much as it's not a lie in a sense because you know he'll know it's not true, it's still not the truth. You're not fine and everything isn't fine. It doesn't feel like anything is fine.

It feels like you're going to lose Jack because you're so much fucking work and ridiculous and dramatic and why would he continue to put up with you? What do you really bring to the table and offer him? What do you do for him other than create more work?

Your engagement ring feels so heavy on your finger, not because it's perfect and sparkly and everything you ever wanted, though it absolutely is. It feels so heavy because you feel so undeserving of it, of Jack and his love and the way he knows you so well, better than you know yourself.

It doesn't occur to you that you know him just as well and that he feels this exact same way at times.

The sound of your ragged breathing becomes audible again and a few seconds later you're able to talk.

"I just can't Jack," you whisper through a sniffle.

You hate everything right now. Everything except Jack.

And you hate yourself the most.

Jack can tell. He can hear it in your voice, how much you're beating yourself up inside right now, how much you're beating yourself up, how hard you're trying not to tell him that you're fine and he can turn around. He can hear how much you hate yourself and it's like a knife slowly carving away at his heart.

"I know Baby," he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear as he pulls into the parking lot. "And it's okay that you can't." Jack pulls up beside you so that his passenger side door is next to your driver's side door, looks over at you and smiles as he puts it into park. "I'm hanging up now Baby, I'll see you in just a second."

Jack hangs up and leaves his car on so the AC stays running and gets out and over to your door. Some scared piece of you almost wants to fight it and not unlock your door, and tell him it's okay, you'll figure it out and pull yourself together and get home and you're sorry he drove here. But a bigger piece of you, the overwhelming majority of you, wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in and as close as physically possible to Jack as you can be, so when he gets close you unlock your doors for him.

"Hi Beautiful," Jack greets you once he has the door open. As much as he hates hearing you sad and being away from you when you are, he hates hearing you sad and being right next to you and seeing how sad you are just as much. Tears stain your face, your eyes bloodshot and swollen, your lips and nose swollen too. He means it as more than a pet name though. You're still nothing short of beautiful to him right now, even if there's an aching sadness with it.

You shake your head at him because he's so wrong. You're not remotely beautiful right now, inside or out. You shouldn't be like this, shouldn't be complaining about your job and your week to him of all people. You know Jack doesn't think about it like that and would hate to find out that you do, but you can't help it. You should be better. You shouldn't have needed him to put his prosthetic back on when he was having a nice day at home chilling without it and drive down here just to hold you while you cry.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic.

Somewhere deep down you know Jack would hate to find out that you think it and you are pathetic.

"Yes, Baby," Jack murmurs in response to you shaking your head. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, doesn't force too much of his affection on you when you're crying and struggling and he can tell you feel like you don't deserve it, just enough for you to know he wants to kiss you and that he means it and that he loves you.

As Jack leans back you follow him, let your feet hit the ground and push you up into his arms that automatically open to catch you. You need just need to be close to him. Now that you've had him close, any distance between you feels unbearable.

You all but collapse into his arms, your tears starting up again just as hard as they were before you call him. They're for everything. For the way Jack calls you beautiful like it's your name and means it. For the way you feel anything but beautiful right now. For this man who keeps you standing literally and metaphorically. For this week that's done it's best to level you. For how perfectly Jack treats you and takes care of you, and how much he loves you. For how pathetic and unworthy of that treatment you feel, and how you don't understand why he loves you when you're so difficult and so much work.

"Alright, Sweetheart, I've got you," Jack whispers. He wraps his arms around you tightly and helps hold you up as you melt into him. He kisses the top of your head as you bury your face in his chest and lose it.

Jack holds you like that for a minute before he starts to rock you and slowly shuffle the two of you so that you change spots and he can reach into the car and grab your purse. Once he has it he walks you backwards slowly and shuts your door and locks your car.

He walks you both a little further so that he can open the back door to his Range Rover. "Come on, Baby," he presses a kiss to the top of your head again and rubs your back, "get in the back for me, yeah?"

You cling to him as he tries to pull away, terrified of there being more than an inch between the two of you right now. "Why?" you sniffle, momentarily not completely sobbing.

Jack brings a hand down and hooks his index finger under your chin and gently tilts your face up to look at him. He gives you a reassuring smile. "Because I can hold you better back there and it's private."

You look at him for a moment and your bottom lip and chin tremble so hard as tears line your eyes that it makes his heart ache. You look so terribly and sadly adorable and it just makes how much he loves you hit him even harder and makes him more determined to get you feeling better and make you happy. He doesn't realize that even though you're crying, he's already made you feel better and happier just by being here and coming to you without you having to ask and giving you a safe space to let yourself give into how shitty you feel in every sense.

Jack's sweetness and thoughtfulness make you start to cry even harder as you climb in the back like he asked. You sit awkwardly in the middle seat as he gets in and shuts the door, sets your purse down and gets himself comfortable.

"Alright, you, come here." He reaches out and hooks an arm around your waist and starts to pull you closer to him.

You don't need asked twice, move over to him and crawl onto his lap so quickly his arm barely touches you and he smiles to himself. As Jack reclines the seat so that you can fall into him a bit more you spread your legs out across the seats and snuggle into him as close as you can, your sobs getting harder when he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, helps you settle in perfectly to your favorite place in the whole world where you feel safe in every sense of the word and loved and like you could probably survive just about anything as long as you had Jack and his arms and neck and chest and lap to hide from the world in.

"Okay Baby," Jack murmurs once you're settled in his lap and clinging to his shirt as you sob into his neck with your head tucked under the corner of his jaw. "I'm here. It's okay, it's all going to be okay, I promise."

You shake your head against him because as much as you know Jack would never lie to you, it doesn't feel like it in this moment, it doesn't feel like anything will ever be okay again. And Jack knows. He knows it doesn't feel like it. So he doesn't push it, doesn't try to talk you into believing him. He just lets you be. Lets you exist just as you are. Lets you feel what you're feeling without any pushback.

Even though you've been together years, it still always surprises you, the way he lets you just feel and holds you close as you do.

You let yourself give in for thirty seconds or so and then you start to fight your sobs so that you can explain yourself to him even though you know you don't have to, that you never have to explain yourself to Jack.

"I," you hiccup out, trying so hard to get yourself together so you can explain and stop crying and stop making Jack deal with you. "I, I'm, I…" You choke over the simple words, coughing and struggling to breathe

"Shh," Jack soothes you, moves one of his hands so it can rub up and down your back. "You don't have to talk about it right now, okay? We can talk later if and when you're ready and doing a little better. Just let it all out, I've got you. I've got you."

You want to fight it, want to keep pushing yourself to talk and explain and apologize because even though Jack has never asked you to, never told you that you needed to or made you feel like you needed to, even though he's never gotten mad or upset at you when you get like this, you still feel the urge to. The scars left by those who came before him are still there. It's a testament to just how much Jack has healed you that you cry in front of him, that you let yourself get like this in front of him, that you call him when you're like this and let yourself seek out his comfort and trust and know that he won't turn you away or yell at you or make fun of you or use it against you down the road.

Eventually your tears stop. You're pretty sure it's less that you've cried yourself out and are in a better headspace and more that you just physically ran out of tears and exhausted out. Jack's pretty sure that's the case too because your tears don't trail off how they usually do when you've had the cry you needed. This is far more abrupt, closer to a flip of a switch.

Jack doesn't rush you to be ready to talk or get out of his lap so he can drive you guys home or to do anything. He just keeps holding you and continues to rub your back while you sniffle and try to compose yourself. And even once your sniffling has stopped and you're just resting in his arms against him he doesn't rush you. He never would. If he had it his way you'd never have to leave his arms.

After a few moments of sitting in Jack's lap quietly you find it within you to pull your head back and look at him sheepishly.

Jack melts even more somehow, smiles at you softly and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You can't bring yourself to even shake your head to argue with him. You don't want to put him through more than you already have tonight and don't want it to seem like you're doing this deliberately for attention or compliments.

"Hi handsome," you whisper back. It takes everything in you to keep yourself looking at him and not immediately nuzzle your face back into his neck to hide.

"Can I have a kiss?"

You swallow hard and give him a short nod, not because you want to say no, it's the exact opposite, you want to scream yes and let the man kiss you until everything makes sense and feels okay again. You just don't feel like you deserve it. "If you want."

"I always want kisses from you and to kiss you." Jack gives you a lopsided smile. He doesn't ask if you want kisses because he knows that you do, knows that what could be perceived as a lack of enthusiasm is actually just you feeling like you don't deserve him or his love or affection.

Jack slides his hand up to the back of your neck and gently pulls your face to his, kisses you so softly to start to help you ease into accepting his affection right now that if you had any tears left you know you'd be crying again. The more you relax into him and let yourself accept Jack's affection as you pour it back into him, the deeper Jack kisses you.

He nuzzles his nose into yours for a second when you break apart and rubs his thumb just below your ear as you pull your face back to look at him, cheeks tear stained and eyes and nose and lips still so adorably swollen. "Thank you for calling me and not trying to drive while crying like that." He raises his eyebrows at you gently, his other hand giving your hip an affectionate and reassuring squeeze before he reference what you said earlier while he was driving here. "I need you too."

You shrug shallowly because you weren't even thinking about it like that when you called.

"I do," he whispers, nodding at you. "More than you'll ever know and just as much as you need me. Promise." Jack leans up and gives you a quick kiss. "How about we head home? We'll come back and get it tomorrow, okay? It won't get towed with your permit."

"Okay," you whisper back, nodding.

Jack puts the seat back up and you shift off his lap so that he can get out of the car. Once he's out He holds his hand out for you even though you don't really need it or his help getting out of the car. You take it anyway, let him help you out and close the door behind you before you both take a few steps up and Jack opens the passenger side door for you like he always does.

Even though there's silence as Jack holds your hand and helps you into the passenger seat it's still meaningful, he still has this way of silently almost speaking with his body and how he looks at you that makes you feel wrapped in his love the way you would if he was verbally professing it to you over and over. Before he shuts the door he leans in and presses the sweetest kiss to your forehead, gives you a small smile that reassures you everything will be okay, that you'll be able to undo the knots your mind has gotten itself into.

Jack carefully shuts the door and you pull your seatbelt on as he walks around to the driver's side. Before he buckles himself in he reaches back and grabs your purse, pulls out a couple of tissues and hands you them. He sets your purse down, buckles his seatbelt and then puts it in reverse and starts the drive home.

He doesn't make you talk about it as he drives, knows it's not the time or the place. It's one of those small things that means the world to you and it reminds you how well he knows you and how much he loves you. Instead of making you talk about it, Jack chatters to you like he normally will when you guys are driving, but this time he doesn't expect you to chat back. His hand stays on your thigh or holding your hand and bringing it up to his lips to presses kisses to the entire drive home.

The entire thing is so normal and it helps more than you think Jack could ever truly understand. Nothing feels forced or like he's making these huge gestures or going out of his way which is exactly what you need. Because you don't feel like you deserve any of that and so him doing those kinds of things would almost make things harder for you in a way. You don't really even feel like you deserve normalcy, but you're at least able to accept it without panicking.

Once Jack's parket he walks around and opens your door for you, grabs your purse and helps you out of the car. You feel a little zombie-like walking into your shared apartment. You're not sure what you want or need and are too tired and fuzzy brained from all the crying to even try to figure it out.

But Jack, Jack knows exactly what you want and what you need.

He could just give it to you. You wouldn't necessarily mind if he did. But Jack knows that part of what you need right now is control without having to really make any decisions. So he makes the decisions and offers them to you so that you feel like you're in control without the agony of having to make any choices or real decisions that will just make you feel worse and exacerbate the decision fatigue already plaguing you after this week.

"You wanna chill on the couch for a bit?" Jack asks as you both finish getting your shoes off.

You take a couple of steps into the living room and stop to look at the couch. You want to be close to Jack as selfish as it feels, as undeserving as you feel. "Yeah, I guess," you murmur.

Jack walks up behind you and snakes his arms around your tummy, pulls you back into him and hunches and rests his chin on your shoulder. He presses a few kisses to the side of your neck, lets his lips linger on the last one almost like he's feeling your pulse under his lips. "I'm going to go get you some water first." He presses a kiss to your cheek as he squeezes you a little in a tight hug. "I love you so much Baby, no matter how you're feeling and whether you feel like you deserve it. I love you."

Your chin trembles a little and you take in a deep shaky breath. You bring your hand up and cup the side of Jack's face. "I love you so much too. Thank you."

"Of course," he murmurs. Jack presses another kiss to your cheek and then turns his head to press one into the palm of your hand. He's quick to make his way to your kitchen and grab you a glass of water.

You try to get yourself to go sit on the couch but you can't seem to for some reason, end up just standing there almost awkwardly in your own space as you wait for Jack to return. When he returns you take a few sips for him, always surprised at how much better those few sips make you feel. You set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table once you've had enough.

Jack is waiting for you with a smile when you turn back to face him. His hands find the hem of your shirt and start to pull it off you and you raise your arms to help, trusting whatever his plan is. Once he has your shirt off he sits down on the edge of the couch and you watch as he takes his prosthetic off before beckoning you to him with a finger.

You step between his legs and like with your shirt, you trust him when he pulls your pants down and step out of them and kick them to side where he tossed your shirt. Jack grabs a blanket and holds it open for you and your chin trembles again because he knows just what you need and gives it to you so freely and without you having to ask.

Neither you nor Jack say a word as you help him get you wrapped up in a blanket burrito and gets you situated to that you're on your side on the couch, your back to the cushions. He lays on his side next to you and pulls your bundled form against him, holds you tight. You wiggle to get comfortable and bury your face into his chest breathing getting heavier as you feel the tears coming again.

Jack knows it. He's known this is what would happen the entire time and as much as he doesn't want you to cry and be upset, it's what he wants to happen. He wants you to cry again, let yourself come all the way apart in his arms so that he can help put you back together again. He knows you won't be able to move past it all and start to heal and recover from the week until you get it all out of your system.

"I'm here, Baby. Let yourself cry, try not to fight it," he murmurs. "It's okay, I promise it's okay." He brings his chin to his neck so that he can nuzzle his nose into your hair and give you kisses there.

It works. By the third or so kiss you're fully sobbing into him again and it drives you insane because as much as you know why in a sense, you also feel like you have no idea why you're like this and needing to cry so much.

After a couple of minutes you have to just say it, acknowledge the truth, or at least what feels like the truth. "This is, this is so dumb, Jack," you choke out between sobs. "It's so dumb, and, and stupid," you take in a huge breath of air that makes you cough on top of the sobs, "and, and ridiculous and I know it, know it and still can't stop."

"I know it feels like that's true and that's valid, but it's not any of those things, Baby, I promise," he soothes you, runs a hand up and down your back over the blanket while the other keeps you held tightly to him. "It's human."

You shake your head against him but don't verbally argue with him, just go back to the tears you can't seem to stop, the tears that feel so incredibly unfair to Jack. He should be relaxing while he's off, and you guys should be starting your weekend together doing something fun, go on a date or something like you talked about last week. But instead he's having to work essentially, having to take care of you, and the two of you aren't going out and you're making your weekend off together start in one of the shittiest ways.

Your tears do eventually start to trail off. Neither you nor Jack know how long it's taken to get here and it doesn't really matter in the end. It took as long as it did and you're here now, your body and mind working to regulate as opposed to a fairly abrupt stop like in the car where your body just gave out. Jack knows it means you've finally gotten it all out, have shed all the tears you need to right now.

He knows it means you're feeling broken right now and that you're not sure how to even start picking up the pieces. But the thing is you do know how to start. Before Jack you had to do this alone, had to sob on your couch alone and then figure out how to make yourself better. The difference is that now you don't need to know. You don't need to figure it out. Because Jack knows and he'll help you, take care of you and give you what you want and what you need and help put you back together again and get back to feeling normal.

The two of you sit lay in silence for a bit once you've gotten your breathing under control, the only sounds the occasional sniffle from you or soft popping of Jack's lips as he presses more kisses to the top of your head. You take in and let out a deep breath before pulling your head back so that you can see him.

"Hi again, Beautiful," Jack smiles at you.

You want to argue but don't have the energy to. "Hi," you whisper, voice raw and nasally.

Jack doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks at you and strokes your hair. The look he gives you speaks volumes though, is so clearly him telling you that if and when you're ready to talk, he's hear to listen.

You give him one of the smallest, saddest smiles Jack's ever seen from you. "I love you," you murmur to him, lean your head up and push your lips out.

"I love you too." Jack smiles even brighter as he moves his head down to give you the kisses you seek.

"How about we order some food and then go shower the week off you? We can eat dinner in bed once it's here and then cuddle and watch something or talk if you want, get you off to dreamland to help you catch up on some sleep," Jack suggests once you've had your fill of kisses.

"Okay," you murmur with a small nod, still sounding so achingly forlorn and sad that it kills him. You're not sure you agree with that last part of his suggestion. You don't want to sleep any time soon. You want to be awake with him, spending time with him and enjoying him. You've missed him.

Jack grabs his phone out of his pocket and rests his hand on your side as he orders. After he finishes ordering he slips his phone back in his pocket and gives you one last lingering kiss. He pulls his one arm from under you and sits up, helps get you out of the blanket burrito he put you in.

The two of you head into your room and Jack crutches into the bathroom to turn the shower on. You pad into the bathroom behind him, don't want to be away from him really. You cringe internally at how clingy that is, wonder if that's what will push it over and make it all too much for him. Make you too much for him.

But all that happens when Jack turns around and sees you is a smile breaking over his face. You can't help but smile a little at it because he just looks so god damned happy to see you. Even when you're like this, being like this for him.

You walk closer to him and let your fingers play with the hem of his shirt. "Can I?"

"I'd love that," he nods, gives you a little, playful smirk.

You take your time stripping him, take such care like you always do when you strip him while he's standing with his crutches. Once you've got him fully stripped Jack takes your bra off, dips his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and starts pushing them down, your clothes a heap off to the side of the bathroom where they won't get wet.

There's something about the way you look when your eyes roam his body that makes Jack frown to himself. There's an air of unworthiness about it, something that couldn't be further from the truth in his mind.

"You okay, Baby?" he asks quietly.

You press your lips together and out to one side and nod. "I just wish I wasn't like this for you," you whisper, stepping closer to him and resting your head against his chest as you stand outside the shower.

"You're not like anything," he murmurs. "You're just you. My girl. All I need to live."

You let out a shaky breath and then turn and press a kiss to his chest. His words are so very hard to accept but you know he truly means them the same way you mean them when you tell him the same.

You both get in the shower and Jack holds you on his lap while you soak in near scalding water for a bit. Eventually he washes you, takes his time with your hair and then your body, lets you do the same to him because he knows you need it and want it.

It doesn't take too long for the food Jack had ordered to arrive once you're out of the shower and in bed, dressed in one of Jack's old shirts and nothing else. Jack's in just a pair of sweatpants but throws a shirt on when the knock on the door signals the food has arrived. He crutches out and grabs the bag while you grab an old towel and spread it out on the bed.

You almost start crying again when you see what Jack ordered. Your favorite comfort meal. And you know the smaller box he sets off to the side is your favorite dessert.

"Jack…." you whisper, looking at him almost helplessly but with the same love in your eyes that he recognizes as the love in his when he looks at you.

He just smiles at you, leans over and gives you a kiss. "I love you."

"I know." You reach out and squeeze his thigh. "You make sure I know. And I love you too."

Jack grins at you and winks. "I know."

You watch TV and chat about whatever happens to come up as you eat, make Jack let you help clean up once you've both finished. You both strip again once you're back in your room and crawl into bed under the covers together on your sides.

Your legs tangle together and torsos press together as you settle, TV off because Jack can feel that you want to talk now and he's hoping after you do he can get you to sleep early to help you recover.

There's silence for a few minutes as you just look at each other, Jack's hand running up and down your side and yours playing with the fingers of his bottom hand.

"I don't know Jack," you finally whisper, trying to sort through your mind and figure out where to even start. "It was just a long week and I've been walling it off the whole time because I had to keep it together. But then today, when it was finally over at least somewhat, I got in the car and just…. fell apart. It's just so much, work, this job is just so much. It's so fucking much sometimes. And I know yours is too, I know that, I do. I know yours can be so so fucking much sometimes."

Jack knows you're about so start comparing your jobs, about to start writing yours off as not as bad and easier and less to deal with and less traumatic. And that's just not true. Your job can be just like his. You see different things most of the time, sure, but that's exactly why it's impossible to compare the two.

Honestly sometimes Jack thinks your job is more than his, is worse and harder and far more to deal with and more traumatic. Most of the time he's not sure how you deal with it which is kind of ironic because him and his love are the vast majority of how you're able to deal with it and cope and keep going.

In any event, he's not going to let you compare and minimize your job and its stressors and trauma and how fucking hard and how fucking much it can be. It deserves to be recognized. You deserve to be recognized for surviving it. You deserve to let out the bad week however you need to. He's not going to let you try to wipe it away and apologize for being affected by it.

"Yeah," he nods. "And that's why you take care of me and hold me like I held you in the car and am holding you now when it's too much for me and I need to let some of it out. Your job is just as much, it's just a different kind of much. My job can be a lot and so much and so can yours. I can need to have a breakdown sometimes and so can you. My job being a lot sometimes doesn't means yours isn't or can't be. My job isn't worse or harder than yours. They both have their moments and weeks and times when we don't know why we're doing them and times where it just all makes so much fucking sense. They're both jobs of high highs and low lows."

"Yeah…." You chew on the inside of your cheek and look at his chest. You know he's right but in the moment it's hard to accept. It makes sense why Jack's work gets to him like this sometimes. It doesn't feel like it makes sense why yours gets to you like this. Objectively and logically you can see it, you understand why it does, and if Jack had your job you'd say it makes sense why it gets to him like this sometimes. But emotionally your brain doesn't let you accept it. It's different. You should be able to handle it, especially in the shadow of Jack's job. You know he'd hate hearing that if you ever said it out loud, and would disagree vehemently. It's just hard to think otherwise. "I don't know," you sigh. "I'm being dramatic and I hate it."

Jack pushes his bottom lip out slightly and shakes his head. "No you're not. You're feeling your feelings. Please don't self-invalidate, Baby. You're allowed to feel what you feel at the intensity you're feeling it at. I want you to, especially right here with me so I can take care of you and keep you safe and help keep you as grounded as possible and as comforted as possible."

You shrug. "It's still being dramatic. It's dramatic and it's unfair to you. When I was in the car and you asked if I had the doors locked, I did, I promise I did, I just thought about how I'd like to unlock them and hope…" You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You know how much this will hurt him. "And hope someone came along and car jacked me and killed me because then I wouldn't have to put either of us through this ever again, and that's dramatic, Jack. That's dramatic. Because I know what that would do to you. I know. I know because I think about the reverse with you dying and I, I can't Jack, I can't, and so yes. Yes, I'm being dramatic."

"You're not, Sweetheart." Jack swallows hard as your words sink in and his mind goes there. It's hard to hear of course, harder to think about really happening. He can't imagine getting that phone call or driving up to that scene and having to try to save you, having to get covered in your blood. Well. Maybe it's not that he can't imagine but that he can and it's unspeakably awful and horrific and makes him nauseous. "You're just feeling what you feel. That's valid. You're allowed to feel it all.

"It's dumb Jack," you huff a laugh at yourself and shake your head. "There's no reason for me to feel like this.

"Sweetheart," Jack runs his hand up your side to cup your face. "Yes there is. And even if there wasn't, that's okay too. You're allowed to feel like this or however you feel for any reason or no reason." He looks away from you for a second as he gathers his thoughts, in one of those ways that tells you he's thinking of how to phrase something incredibly serious to him. He looks back at you. "You deal with a lot at work, you see a lot. You do so much. You take on so much and you do things for other people even when you're slammed yourself. You're incredibly empathetic and an emotional sponge and so giving and I love that about you, I love that about you so much. But that's hard at the best of times, and with your job it's…." he trails off, unable to find the word he wants that conveys the right gravity. "You give so much, so so much of yourself to everyone and everything you do because it matters to you and you care and you'd rather run yourself into the ground than watch someone else struggle or have to work hard enough to run themselves into the ground."

You shrug again. You're trying to take his words to heart and you know you are, even if your brain can't consciously process it right now. You want to say something in response but you're not sure what. What do you say to that? To all those compliments it feels like you don't deserve, to the way this man loves you so fucking much at your worst.

Jack gives you a moment to respond and then continues when you don't, doesn't want you to feel pressured to come up with something to say. "Part of it is that you're exhausted, Sweetheart. You're running on empty, in every way, physically and emotionally and spiritually. You haven't gotten much sleep this week and I'm sure what you have gotten hasn't been the best quality with all the stress."

"I mean I let myself give into it, Jack," you admit. "I let myself give into the feelings and lean into them and let myself cry and be miserable and do all this shit because I know you're here and will take care of me and that's unfair. It's totally unfair and it's, it's… gross of me."

"Baby," Jack gives you a small, knowing smile, "that's the whole point. That's what I want you to do, my silly, silly girl."

"It's unfair to you!"

"No, Baby, it's not. Just like it isn't unfair when I give into my feelings and lean into them because I know you're here to take care of me. I do the same." Jack squeezes the side of your face softly and starts running his hand up and down your side again. "That's what you should do. That's part of what a relationship is, being able to just give into it all and have those feelings because you know your partner's got you. I think that's healthy."

"How much longer can you keep doing this, Jack? Just like realistically. How many times can I ask you to do this before it's too much." You look away from him and down at your hand that you pull from his. "Before I'm too much."

"I don't feel like I'm doing anything, Sweetheart. But I guess to the extent I am, I can keep doing it for you until I die. You're never going to become too much for me." Jack desperately wants to ask you to look at him but he knows it's not what you need right now as much as he's itching for eye contact. "You haven't asked me to do anything. You didn't even ask me to come get you. I just did. I could've tried to talk you down over the phone. I wanted to come. I chose to. You didn't ask. And even if you had asked, that would be more than okay."

You look back up at him and some part of Jack melts in relief. "I mean I knew you would come, so it was kind of me asking even if not explicitly."

"I know it's upsetting to you, Beautiful, and I'm not making light of it or trying to wipe your feelings away but to me, it's like… good. I'm glad you knew. I'm so fucking glad you knew. You genuinely have no fucking idea how happy that makes me." Jack seems to grow almost teary as he speaks, his voice wet with emotion that matches the glass to his eyes. You bring your hand up and rest it on the side of his neck, brush your thumb along his jawline comfortingly.

"I know your past has taught you differently but you're allowed to feel and you're allowed to need me and to need to fall into me and need all the help in the world. It doesn't make you too much and it never will. Obviously I don't like you feeling like this, I hate it and I wish I could take it away and feel it for you, god knows I would in a second if I could. But you picking up the phone and calling me, you crying into me and letting yourself come completely apart in my arms and turning to me for comfort, it makes me so incredibly happy and content to know that you feel safe enough and loved enough to do that." Jack smiles at you, looks at you like he can't believe you're real and his. "And everything that you're worried makes or will make you too much and will make me get tired and be done with you and leave one day, it's the opposite for me. Your vulnerability and your humanness and your trust, and you giving me the privilege of getting to love you and hold you through your worst moments and days, that just makes me love you all the more, even when it feels like there's no possible way I could love you more. You always surprise me."

"Jack," you swallow down his name in a whisper. You struggle to come up with something to say to that because it's so beautiful and he loves you so much and your brain is processing so much under the surface and he's right. You're exhausted and feeling it far more acutely.

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers back with a nod. "Just know that this is all okay and we're okay and I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You give him a flash of a genuine smile, about all you can manage at this point. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too." Jack leans forward and seals his words with a lingering kiss.

"Hey Jack?" It seems silly to start that way as you break apart given that you're both looking at each other and have been talking and to say this all again like you haven't before given how long you've been together. But then you suppose Jack has said everything he's said to you today multiple times over the years.

He raises his eyebrows at you in acknowledgment. "Thank you for… just taking care of me the best you could during the week. I really appreciate you not trying to like interfere with work or tell me I can't do this or go on about how unhealthy it is because that just makes me feel worse. And thank you for not accusing me of cheating or something because I had to stay late at work. You were just supportive and made sure I ate and got as much sleep as I could and did whatever you could for me and you have no idea how much I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I never want you to feel worse. I know it's not something you're doing out of choice and that it's just reality and what has to happen. Even if I hate it like you do too." He leans in for another kiss. He can tell it's time to move the conversation along a bit, that your brain has more or less reached its maximum capacity for this kind of talk tonight. "You should get some sleep. I can see you're sleepy," he smirks playfully.

You grumble a little as you pout, giving into the sleepiness and the relative relaxation that's taken over you since your talk. "I don't wanna sleep. I miss you and I've missed you all week. I'm sorry I was away so much."

"Don't apologize, Baby, it's not your fault. You didn't do it deliberately." Jack's hand that's been running up and down your side continues too but moves a little toward the center of you so that his fingers trail along the edge of your breast and brush teasingly at the crease of your hip. "We have all weekend together. You'll enjoy our time together so much more when you're not exhausted. And I'll still be here. You can sleep in my arms and I'm sure I'll fall asleep soon too. That's still spending time together to me."

"Yeah," you draw the word out. "But it's not the same."

Jack nods slowly, a mischievous and playful smirk pulling onto his face. He leans back in and kisses you again, rolls you onto your back slowly as his tongue dips into your mouth and he groans, continues to make out with you, relishing in the way your hands feel roaming his body. "Well," he pants softly when you break apart for air, "what if we spent some more time together while I put us both to sleep?"

You bite your lip and smile. "And what would that look like?"

"Oh," he laughs under his breath, "I have an idea or two."

"Yeah?" Your chest heaves a little and Jack ducks his head down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and teases it as you moan softly for him before kissing up your chest and neck to your lips where he makes out with you again.

"Yeah," he mumbles against your lips, rolls his hips into yours so you can feel how hard he is for you. "Could look like this." He adjusts his hips and runs his cock through you, lets his head bump against your clit and pull sounds of pleasure from both of you.

"Or," he stills his hips, "like this."

Jack dives backward under the comforter, large hands holding onto your thighs and keeping them spread for him as he kisses you cunt to clit. "Yeah," his voice is muffled by the comforter that's over him, "I think I'd like it to look like this. I really think," he presses another kiss to your clit, "I'd like it to look like this."

"Jack!" you giggle, the speed and suddenness of the movement almost meerkat like in the most adorable, Jack way. Only he could make you laugh coming off of feeling how you were at the same time he's winding you toward an orgasm you know is likely to hit you so hard you'll be half asleep by the time he gets to fucking you, something you're more than okay with. "Part of being together is seeing you!"

You push the comforter back until silver curls come into view and Jack looks up at you. That giggle is everything to him. He got you to laugh.

"Seeing me or seeing my curls between your legs?" he smirks up at you.

"Same thing, isn't it? Your curls are you." Your breathing picks up as Jack lowers his mouth back down, the stubble on his jaw brushing over your clit and sending sparks of pleasure shivering up your spine.

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, knows exactly what he's doing to you. "I think me suggests my eyes."

"Then look at me while you start putting us to sleep," you breathe.

Jack's eyes darken. "Kinky," he murmurs. "I like it. Just remember," he finally gives your clit a proper suck and swirl of his tongue, making you moan so beautifully for him, "you suggested it. And since you did I expect you to keep your eyes open and on mine the entire time, pretty girl."

I need him desperately. Jack Abbot where are you?! 😩😭 I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! And we all deserve this kind of love. Thank you again for all of your support and for reading, I truly appreciate it and your notes!! ♥️

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Another tear lands on your phone's screen as your thumb hovers just above his name on your favorites. You hate doing this to him and it's so childish. You should be able to get it together, to just pull yourself together long enough to make the short drive home. But you've been trying to do that for ten minutes now and you just want to be with Jack and home and not here crying in your car alone.

You sniffle hard and pull yourself together enough so you're not actively sobbing when he answers the phone. Jack smiles when he sees your face light up his phone. You must be calling to let him know you're on your way home. He picks up on the first ring. "Hi Beautiful, you on your way home?"

"Jack." You don't have to say anything else. Jack already knows, is already sitting up on the couch and reaching for his prosthetic where it's resting by the side of the couch.

He needs to get to you. Now. Your pain is so clear in your voice, he can picture the tears he knows are streaming down your face silently for now.

His tone changes immediately, still soft but so concerned, so knowing. "What's wrong, Baby? Where are you?"

You can hear shuffling and you know he's getting his prosthetic on as he holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder. It's what makes you crack again because why are you doing this to him? Why can't you just be fucking normal?

"In my, my car," your voice gets a little higher pitched with every word as you lose your ability to regulate again, "at, at work. I can't stop, Jack, I can't stop crying enough to drive safely. I've been try, trying and I just can't."

"Okay, that's okay Sweetheart, I'm on my way." Jack shoves the key into the lock the second the door is closed and turns it to lock your place up, takes off at a fast walk towards his car. "Did something happen?" He's turned his voice into something lower now, something soothing that makes you feel not so alone.

"No," you sniffle, take in a slightly wracked breath, "just the w-week and, and…" You trail off into sobs you muffle with your hand, sobs Jack knows you're muffling.

He knows the kind of week it's been for you. A week where everything that could and should be relatively straightforward and smooth was a totally unnecessarily difficult clusterfuck deluxe. A week where anyone and everyone who could possibly try you did, that any issue or minor emergency that could happen, happened. A week where you stayed stupidly late and came home to sleep for a couple of hours just to turn around and go back in early.

You'd been so drained by the time you got home each night you just wanted to get straight into bed with him. He was more than happy to oblige after he coaxed you to eat a little dinner for him. You were both glad that Tuesday was his last shift for the rest of the week because with how late you stayed and how early you had to go in, you didn't see him Monday or Tuesday.

"I'm so-so-sorry." Getting out the last word is a struggle and your voice is so high-pitched it's almost inaudible.

"Don't be," Jack soothes you through the phone. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Baby. You can call me even earlier next time, okay? I'm going to stay on the phone but it's going to cut out for a second once I start the car while my phone connects."

"Okay." You choke on the word, end up coughing through full body sobs and god if you don't feel completely fucking ridiculous. There is absolutely no fucking reason for this.

Jack cringes at the sound because he hates hearing you this sad. Hates that he isn't already there with you, that he didn't think to drive you in and pick you up the last couple of days. "Alright, Sweetheart, I'm back and on my way."

"You have to drive safe," you whimper. "Don't wreck trying to, to get here fast because, because I won't survive you getting hurt or losing you, I sw-swear to god Jack," you choke on a sob, "I'm barely holding, holding on. I need you."

Jack's heart breaks even further at your love for him and at the palpable and encompassing sadness in your voice. "I won't, I promise. I'll be safe. You have your car doors locked?"

"Yeah," you whisper. And you genuinely do. A part of you wants to unlock them, hopes that someone will come and carjack you and kill you because then you won't have to go through this yourself or put Jack through it anymore.

You know that's not true, know that anything happening to you would devastate Jack the way something happening to him would devastate you, even if that's hard for you to believe at times because you can't wrap your mind around why he loves you. Why he put himself through this type of shit that you pull.

"Hey," he says softly. "I know it probably doesn't feel like it right now, but everything will be okay and you'll get through this. I'll make sure of it. That doesn't mean it won't suck and you won't feel like shit, I know, I just want you to know. We'll get you through this."

The sob you let out is muffled and Jack knows you probably moved your phone away from you and covered your mouth. "I," you try to start after a couple of seconds. You have to pause so that you can muffle another sob and try to pull yourself together so that you can actually talk. "I hate that you have to."

"I don't have to do anything, Baby. I choose to because I love you and choose to love you even with as natural and fated by the universe as loving you is. I don't feel forced and I'm not forced." Jack knows that your brain is manifesting your week through this and shifting to spiral over this because it's easier in a sense to deal with than everything that happened at work this week that you're trying to process through. This is something it's easy to get reassurance for and process through and is much, much more controllable. It doesn't hurt any less or make you any less sad or anxious or burnt out, and it's not any easier to go through, it's just more tangible almost.

He's never been more glad that you don't work too far away, that it's not like he has to drive an hour to get you. And he thanks whatever and whoever is out there that he's hitting every green light and that somehow traffic this Friday evening isn't bad.

There's silence on your end of the line for a moment and it would be eerie and unsettling if Jack wasn't sure you'd just muted yourself so that you could get out whatever sob and tears you needed to without him hearing. Jack clenches his jaw and rolls it. He hates whoever made you feel like you have to apologize for feeling your feelings and expressing them and for crying. He'd love to just have thirty seconds alone with them.

You want to tell Jack never mind. That he can turn around, you're fine and you'll see him at home soon, you were just being dramatic and having a moment and you're fine and everything is fine. But you can't bring yourself to say the words because as much as it's not a lie in a sense because you know he'll know it's not true, it's still not the truth. You're not fine and everything isn't fine. It doesn't feel like anything is fine.

It feels like you're going to lose Jack because you're so much fucking work and ridiculous and dramatic and why would he continue to put up with you? What do you really bring to the table and offer him? What do you do for him other than create more work?

Your engagement ring feels so heavy on your finger, not because it's perfect and sparkly and everything you ever wanted, though it absolutely is. It feels so heavy because you feel so undeserving of it, of Jack and his love and the way he knows you so well, better than you know yourself.

It doesn't occur to you that you know him just as well and that he feels this exact same way at times.

The sound of your ragged breathing becomes audible again and a few seconds later you're able to talk.

"I just can't Jack," you whisper through a sniffle.

You hate everything right now. Everything except Jack.

And you hate yourself the most.

Jack can tell. He can hear it in your voice, how much you're beating yourself up inside right now, how much you're beating yourself up, how hard you're trying not to tell him that you're fine and he can turn around. He can hear how much you hate yourself and it's like a knife slowly carving away at his heart.

"I know Baby," he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear as he pulls into the parking lot. "And it's okay that you can't." Jack pulls up beside you so that his passenger side door is next to your driver's side door, looks over at you and smiles as he puts it into park. "I'm hanging up now Baby, I'll see you in just a second."

Jack hangs up and leaves his car on so the AC stays running and gets out and over to your door. Some scared piece of you almost wants to fight it and not unlock your door, and tell him it's okay, you'll figure it out and pull yourself together and get home and you're sorry he drove here. But a bigger piece of you, the overwhelming majority of you, wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in and as close as physically possible to Jack as you can be, so when he gets close you unlock your doors for him.

"Hi Beautiful," Jack greets you once he has the door open. As much as he hates hearing you sad and being away from you when you are, he hates hearing you sad and being right next to you and seeing how sad you are just as much. Tears stain your face, your eyes bloodshot and swollen, your lips and nose swollen too. He means it as more than a pet name though. You're still nothing short of beautiful to him right now, even if there's an aching sadness with it.

You shake your head at him because he's so wrong. You're not remotely beautiful right now, inside or out. You shouldn't be like this, shouldn't be complaining about your job and your week to him of all people. You know Jack doesn't think about it like that and would hate to find out that you do, but you can't help it. You should be better. You shouldn't have needed him to put his prosthetic back on when he was having a nice day at home chilling without it and drive down here just to hold you while you cry.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic.

Somewhere deep down you know Jack would hate to find out that you think it and you are pathetic.

"Yes, Baby," Jack murmurs in response to you shaking your head. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, doesn't force too much of his affection on you when you're crying and struggling and he can tell you feel like you don't deserve it, just enough for you to know he wants to kiss you and that he means it and that he loves you.

As Jack leans back you follow him, let your feet hit the ground and push you up into his arms that automatically open to catch you. You need just need to be close to him. Now that you've had him close, any distance between you feels unbearable.

You all but collapse into his arms, your tears starting up again just as hard as they were before you call him. They're for everything. For the way Jack calls you beautiful like it's your name and means it. For the way you feel anything but beautiful right now. For this man who keeps you standing literally and metaphorically. For this week that's done it's best to level you. For how perfectly Jack treats you and takes care of you, and how much he loves you. For how pathetic and unworthy of that treatment you feel, and how you don't understand why he loves you when you're so difficult and so much work.

"Alright, Sweetheart, I've got you," Jack whispers. He wraps his arms around you tightly and helps hold you up as you melt into him. He kisses the top of your head as you bury your face in his chest and lose it.

Jack holds you like that for a minute before he starts to rock you and slowly shuffle the two of you so that you change spots and he can reach into the car and grab your purse. Once he has it he walks you backwards slowly and shuts your door and locks your car.

He walks you both a little further so that he can open the back door to his Range Rover. "Come on, Baby," he presses a kiss to the top of your head again and rubs your back, "get in the back for me, yeah?"

You cling to him as he tries to pull away, terrified of there being more than an inch between the two of you right now. "Why?" you sniffle, momentarily not completely sobbing.

Jack brings a hand down and hooks his index finger under your chin and gently tilts your face up to look at him. He gives you a reassuring smile. "Because I can hold you better back there and it's private."

You look at him for a moment and your bottom lip and chin tremble so hard as tears line your eyes that it makes his heart ache. You look so terribly and sadly adorable and it just makes how much he loves you hit him even harder and makes him more determined to get you feeling better and make you happy. He doesn't realize that even though you're crying, he's already made you feel better and happier just by being here and coming to you without you having to ask and giving you a safe space to let yourself give into how shitty you feel in every sense.

Jack's sweetness and thoughtfulness make you start to cry even harder as you climb in the back like he asked. You sit awkwardly in the middle seat as he gets in and shuts the door, sets your purse down and gets himself comfortable.

"Alright, you, come here." He reaches out and hooks an arm around your waist and starts to pull you closer to him.

You don't need asked twice, move over to him and crawl onto his lap so quickly his arm barely touches you and he smiles to himself. As Jack reclines the seat so that you can fall into him a bit more you spread your legs out across the seats and snuggle into him as close as you can, your sobs getting harder when he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, helps you settle in perfectly to your favorite place in the whole world where you feel safe in every sense of the word and loved and like you could probably survive just about anything as long as you had Jack and his arms and neck and chest and lap to hide from the world in.

"Okay Baby," Jack murmurs once you're settled in his lap and clinging to his shirt as you sob into his neck with your head tucked under the corner of his jaw. "I'm here. It's okay, it's all going to be okay, I promise."

You shake your head against him because as much as you know Jack would never lie to you, it doesn't feel like it in this moment, it doesn't feel like anything will ever be okay again. And Jack knows. He knows it doesn't feel like it. So he doesn't push it, doesn't try to talk you into believing him. He just lets you be. Lets you exist just as you are. Lets you feel what you're feeling without any pushback.

Even though you've been together years, it still always surprises you, the way he lets you just feel and holds you close as you do.

You let yourself give in for thirty seconds or so and then you start to fight your sobs so that you can explain yourself to him even though you know you don't have to, that you never have to explain yourself to Jack.

"I," you hiccup out, trying so hard to get yourself together so you can explain and stop crying and stop making Jack deal with you. "I, I'm, I…" You choke over the simple words, coughing and struggling to breathe

"Shh," Jack soothes you, moves one of his hands so it can rub up and down your back. "You don't have to talk about it right now, okay? We can talk later if and when you're ready and doing a little better. Just let it all out, I've got you. I've got you."

You want to fight it, want to keep pushing yourself to talk and explain and apologize because even though Jack has never asked you to, never told you that you needed to or made you feel like you needed to, even though he's never gotten mad or upset at you when you get like this, you still feel the urge to. The scars left by those who came before him are still there. It's a testament to just how much Jack has healed you that you cry in front of him, that you let yourself get like this in front of him, that you call him when you're like this and let yourself seek out his comfort and trust and know that he won't turn you away or yell at you or make fun of you or use it against you down the road.

Eventually your tears stop. You're pretty sure it's less that you've cried yourself out and are in a better headspace and more that you just physically ran out of tears and exhausted out. Jack's pretty sure that's the case too because your tears don't trail off how they usually do when you've had the cry you needed. This is far more abrupt, closer to a flip of a switch.

Jack doesn't rush you to be ready to talk or get out of his lap so he can drive you guys home or to do anything. He just keeps holding you and continues to rub your back while you sniffle and try to compose yourself. And even once your sniffling has stopped and you're just resting in his arms against him he doesn't rush you. He never would. If he had it his way you'd never have to leave his arms.

After a few moments of sitting in Jack's lap quietly you find it within you to pull your head back and look at him sheepishly.

Jack melts even more somehow, smiles at you softly and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You can't bring yourself to even shake your head to argue with him. You don't want to put him through more than you already have tonight and don't want it to seem like you're doing this deliberately for attention or compliments.

"Hi handsome," you whisper back. It takes everything in you to keep yourself looking at him and not immediately nuzzle your face back into his neck to hide.

"Can I have a kiss?"

You swallow hard and give him a short nod, not because you want to say no, it's the exact opposite, you want to scream yes and let the man kiss you until everything makes sense and feels okay again. You just don't feel like you deserve it. "If you want."

"I always want kisses from you and to kiss you." Jack gives you a lopsided smile. He doesn't ask if you want kisses because he knows that you do, knows that what could be perceived as a lack of enthusiasm is actually just you feeling like you don't deserve him or his love or affection.

Jack slides his hand up to the back of your neck and gently pulls your face to his, kisses you so softly to start to help you ease into accepting his affection right now that if you had any tears left you know you'd be crying again. The more you relax into him and let yourself accept Jack's affection as you pour it back into him, the deeper Jack kisses you.

He nuzzles his nose into yours for a second when you break apart and rubs his thumb just below your ear as you pull your face back to look at him, cheeks tear stained and eyes and nose and lips still so adorably swollen. "Thank you for calling me and not trying to drive while crying like that." He raises his eyebrows at you gently, his other hand giving your hip an affectionate and reassuring squeeze before he reference what you said earlier while he was driving here. "I need you too."

You shrug shallowly because you weren't even thinking about it like that when you called.

"I do," he whispers, nodding at you. "More than you'll ever know and just as much as you need me. Promise." Jack leans up and gives you a quick kiss. "How about we head home? We'll come back and get it tomorrow, okay? It won't get towed with your permit."

"Okay," you whisper back, nodding.

Jack puts the seat back up and you shift off his lap so that he can get out of the car. Once he's out He holds his hand out for you even though you don't really need it or his help getting out of the car. You take it anyway, let him help you out and close the door behind you before you both take a few steps up and Jack opens the passenger side door for you like he always does.

Even though there's silence as Jack holds your hand and helps you into the passenger seat it's still meaningful, he still has this way of silently almost speaking with his body and how he looks at you that makes you feel wrapped in his love the way you would if he was verbally professing it to you over and over. Before he shuts the door he leans in and presses the sweetest kiss to your forehead, gives you a small smile that reassures you everything will be okay, that you'll be able to undo the knots your mind has gotten itself into.

Jack carefully shuts the door and you pull your seatbelt on as he walks around to the driver's side. Before he buckles himself in he reaches back and grabs your purse, pulls out a couple of tissues and hands you them. He sets your purse down, buckles his seatbelt and then puts it in reverse and starts the drive home.

He doesn't make you talk about it as he drives, knows it's not the time or the place. It's one of those small things that means the world to you and it reminds you how well he knows you and how much he loves you. Instead of making you talk about it, Jack chatters to you like he normally will when you guys are driving, but this time he doesn't expect you to chat back. His hand stays on your thigh or holding your hand and bringing it up to his lips to presses kisses to the entire drive home.

The entire thing is so normal and it helps more than you think Jack could ever truly understand. Nothing feels forced or like he's making these huge gestures or going out of his way which is exactly what you need. Because you don't feel like you deserve any of that and so him doing those kinds of things would almost make things harder for you in a way. You don't really even feel like you deserve normalcy, but you're at least able to accept it without panicking.

Once Jack's parket he walks around and opens your door for you, grabs your purse and helps you out of the car. You feel a little zombie-like walking into your shared apartment. You're not sure what you want or need and are too tired and fuzzy brained from all the crying to even try to figure it out.

But Jack, Jack knows exactly what you want and what you need.

He could just give it to you. You wouldn't necessarily mind if he did. But Jack knows that part of what you need right now is control without having to really make any decisions. So he makes the decisions and offers them to you so that you feel like you're in control without the agony of having to make any choices or real decisions that will just make you feel worse and exacerbate the decision fatigue already plaguing you after this week.

"You wanna chill on the couch for a bit?" Jack asks as you both finish getting your shoes off.

You take a couple of steps into the living room and stop to look at the couch. You want to be close to Jack as selfish as it feels, as undeserving as you feel. "Yeah, I guess," you murmur.

Jack walks up behind you and snakes his arms around your tummy, pulls you back into him and hunches and rests his chin on your shoulder. He presses a few kisses to the side of your neck, lets his lips linger on the last one almost like he's feeling your pulse under his lips. "I'm going to go get you some water first." He presses a kiss to your cheek as he squeezes you a little in a tight hug. "I love you so much Baby, no matter how you're feeling and whether you feel like you deserve it. I love you."

Your chin trembles a little and you take in a deep shaky breath. You bring your hand up and cup the side of Jack's face. "I love you so much too. Thank you."

"Of course," he murmurs. Jack presses another kiss to your cheek and then turns his head to press one into the palm of your hand. He's quick to make his way to your kitchen and grab you a glass of water.

You try to get yourself to go sit on the couch but you can't seem to for some reason, end up just standing there almost awkwardly in your own space as you wait for Jack to return. When he returns you take a few sips for him, always surprised at how much better those few sips make you feel. You set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table once you've had enough.

Jack is waiting for you with a smile when you turn back to face him. His hands find the hem of your shirt and start to pull it off you and you raise your arms to help, trusting whatever his plan is. Once he has your shirt off he sits down on the edge of the couch and you watch as he takes his prosthetic off before beckoning you to him with a finger.

You step between his legs and like with your shirt, you trust him when he pulls your pants down and step out of them and kick them to side where he tossed your shirt. Jack grabs a blanket and holds it open for you and your chin trembles again because he knows just what you need and gives it to you so freely and without you having to ask.

Neither you nor Jack say a word as you help him get you wrapped up in a blanket burrito and gets you situated to that you're on your side on the couch, your back to the cushions. He lays on his side next to you and pulls your bundled form against him, holds you tight. You wiggle to get comfortable and bury your face into his chest breathing getting heavier as you feel the tears coming again.

Jack knows it. He's known this is what would happen the entire time and as much as he doesn't want you to cry and be upset, it's what he wants to happen. He wants you to cry again, let yourself come all the way apart in his arms so that he can help put you back together again. He knows you won't be able to move past it all and start to heal and recover from the week until you get it all out of your system.

"I'm here, Baby. Let yourself cry, try not to fight it," he murmurs. "It's okay, I promise it's okay." He brings his chin to his neck so that he can nuzzle his nose into your hair and give you kisses there.

It works. By the third or so kiss you're fully sobbing into him again and it drives you insane because as much as you know why in a sense, you also feel like you have no idea why you're like this and needing to cry so much.

After a couple of minutes you have to just say it, acknowledge the truth, or at least what feels like the truth. "This is, this is so dumb, Jack," you choke out between sobs. "It's so dumb, and, and stupid," you take in a huge breath of air that makes you cough on top of the sobs, "and, and ridiculous and I know it, know it and still can't stop."

"I know it feels like that's true and that's valid, but it's not any of those things, Baby, I promise," he soothes you, runs a hand up and down your back over the blanket while the other keeps you held tightly to him. "It's human."

You shake your head against him but don't verbally argue with him, just go back to the tears you can't seem to stop, the tears that feel so incredibly unfair to Jack. He should be relaxing while he's off, and you guys should be starting your weekend together doing something fun, go on a date or something like you talked about last week. But instead he's having to work essentially, having to take care of you, and the two of you aren't going out and you're making your weekend off together start in one of the shittiest ways.

Your tears do eventually start to trail off. Neither you nor Jack know how long it's taken to get here and it doesn't really matter in the end. It took as long as it did and you're here now, your body and mind working to regulate as opposed to a fairly abrupt stop like in the car where your body just gave out. Jack knows it means you've finally gotten it all out, have shed all the tears you need to right now.

He knows it means you're feeling broken right now and that you're not sure how to even start picking up the pieces. But the thing is you do know how to start. Before Jack you had to do this alone, had to sob on your couch alone and then figure out how to make yourself better. The difference is that now you don't need to know. You don't need to figure it out. Because Jack knows and he'll help you, take care of you and give you what you want and what you need and help put you back together again and get back to feeling normal.

The two of you sit lay in silence for a bit once you've gotten your breathing under control, the only sounds the occasional sniffle from you or soft popping of Jack's lips as he presses more kisses to the top of your head. You take in and let out a deep breath before pulling your head back so that you can see him.

"Hi again, Beautiful," Jack smiles at you.

You want to argue but don't have the energy to. "Hi," you whisper, voice raw and nasally.

Jack doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks at you and strokes your hair. The look he gives you speaks volumes though, is so clearly him telling you that if and when you're ready to talk, he's hear to listen.

You give him one of the smallest, saddest smiles Jack's ever seen from you. "I love you," you murmur to him, lean your head up and push your lips out.

"I love you too." Jack smiles even brighter as he moves his head down to give you the kisses you seek.

"How about we order some food and then go shower the week off you? We can eat dinner in bed once it's here and then cuddle and watch something or talk if you want, get you off to dreamland to help you catch up on some sleep," Jack suggests once you've had your fill of kisses.

"Okay," you murmur with a small nod, still sounding so achingly forlorn and sad that it kills him. You're not sure you agree with that last part of his suggestion. You don't want to sleep any time soon. You want to be awake with him, spending time with him and enjoying him. You've missed him.

Jack grabs his phone out of his pocket and rests his hand on your side as he orders. After he finishes ordering he slips his phone back in his pocket and gives you one last lingering kiss. He pulls his one arm from under you and sits up, helps get you out of the blanket burrito he put you in.

The two of you head into your room and Jack crutches into the bathroom to turn the shower on. You pad into the bathroom behind him, don't want to be away from him really. You cringe internally at how clingy that is, wonder if that's what will push it over and make it all too much for him. Make you too much for him.

But all that happens when Jack turns around and sees you is a smile breaking over his face. You can't help but smile a little at it because he just looks so god damned happy to see you. Even when you're like this, being like this for him.

You walk closer to him and let your fingers play with the hem of his shirt. "Can I?"

"I'd love that," he nods, gives you a little, playful smirk.

You take your time stripping him, take such care like you always do when you strip him while he's standing with his crutches. Once you've got him fully stripped Jack takes your bra off, dips his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and starts pushing them down, your clothes a heap off to the side of the bathroom where they won't get wet.

There's something about the way you look when your eyes roam his body that makes Jack frown to himself. There's an air of unworthiness about it, something that couldn't be further from the truth in his mind.

"You okay, Baby?" he asks quietly.

You press your lips together and out to one side and nod. "I just wish I wasn't like this for you," you whisper, stepping closer to him and resting your head against his chest as you stand outside the shower.

"You're not like anything," he murmurs. "You're just you. My girl. All I need to live."

You let out a shaky breath and then turn and press a kiss to his chest. His words are so very hard to accept but you know he truly means them the same way you mean them when you tell him the same.

You both get in the shower and Jack holds you on his lap while you soak in near scalding water for a bit. Eventually he washes you, takes his time with your hair and then your body, lets you do the same to him because he knows you need it and want it.

It doesn't take too long for the food Jack had ordered to arrive once you're out of the shower and in bed, dressed in one of Jack's old shirts and nothing else. Jack's in just a pair of sweatpants but throws a shirt on when the knock on the door signals the food has arrived. He crutches out and grabs the bag while you grab an old towel and spread it out on the bed.

You almost start crying again when you see what Jack ordered. Your favorite comfort meal. And you know the smaller box he sets off to the side is your favorite dessert.

"Jack…." you whisper, looking at him almost helplessly but with the same love in your eyes that he recognizes as the love in his when he looks at you.

He just smiles at you, leans over and gives you a kiss. "I love you."

"I know." You reach out and squeeze his thigh. "You make sure I know. And I love you too."

Jack grins at you and winks. "I know."

You watch TV and chat about whatever happens to come up as you eat, make Jack let you help clean up once you've both finished. You both strip again once you're back in your room and crawl into bed under the covers together on your sides.

Your legs tangle together and torsos press together as you settle, TV off because Jack can feel that you want to talk now and he's hoping after you do he can get you to sleep early to help you recover.

There's silence for a few minutes as you just look at each other, Jack's hand running up and down your side and yours playing with the fingers of his bottom hand.

"I don't know Jack," you finally whisper, trying to sort through your mind and figure out where to even start. "It was just a long week and I've been walling it off the whole time because I had to keep it together. But then today, when it was finally over at least somewhat, I got in the car and just…. fell apart. It's just so much, work, this job is just so much. It's so fucking much sometimes. And I know yours is too, I know that, I do. I know yours can be so so fucking much sometimes."

Jack knows you're about so start comparing your jobs, about to start writing yours off as not as bad and easier and less to deal with and less traumatic. And that's just not true. Your job can be just like his. You see different things most of the time, sure, but that's exactly why it's impossible to compare the two.

Honestly sometimes Jack thinks your job is more than his, is worse and harder and far more to deal with and more traumatic. Most of the time he's not sure how you deal with it which is kind of ironic because him and his love are the vast majority of how you're able to deal with it and cope and keep going.

In any event, he's not going to let you compare and minimize your job and its stressors and trauma and how fucking hard and how fucking much it can be. It deserves to be recognized. You deserve to be recognized for surviving it. You deserve to let out the bad week however you need to. He's not going to let you try to wipe it away and apologize for being affected by it.

"Yeah," he nods. "And that's why you take care of me and hold me like I held you in the car and am holding you now when it's too much for me and I need to let some of it out. Your job is just as much, it's just a different kind of much. My job can be a lot and so much and so can yours. I can need to have a breakdown sometimes and so can you. My job being a lot sometimes doesn't means yours isn't or can't be. My job isn't worse or harder than yours. They both have their moments and weeks and times when we don't know why we're doing them and times where it just all makes so much fucking sense. They're both jobs of high highs and low lows."

"Yeah…." You chew on the inside of your cheek and look at his chest. You know he's right but in the moment it's hard to accept. It makes sense why Jack's work gets to him like this sometimes. It doesn't feel like it makes sense why yours gets to you like this. Objectively and logically you can see it, you understand why it does, and if Jack had your job you'd say it makes sense why it gets to him like this sometimes. But emotionally your brain doesn't let you accept it. It's different. You should be able to handle it, especially in the shadow of Jack's job. You know he'd hate hearing that if you ever said it out loud, and would disagree vehemently. It's just hard to think otherwise. "I don't know," you sigh. "I'm being dramatic and I hate it."

Jack pushes his bottom lip out slightly and shakes his head. "No you're not. You're feeling your feelings. Please don't self-invalidate, Baby. You're allowed to feel what you feel at the intensity you're feeling it at. I want you to, especially right here with me so I can take care of you and keep you safe and help keep you as grounded as possible and as comforted as possible."

You shrug. "It's still being dramatic. It's dramatic and it's unfair to you. When I was in the car and you asked if I had the doors locked, I did, I promise I did, I just thought about how I'd like to unlock them and hope…" You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You know how much this will hurt him. "And hope someone came along and car jacked me and killed me because then I wouldn't have to put either of us through this ever again, and that's dramatic, Jack. That's dramatic. Because I know what that would do to you. I know. I know because I think about the reverse with you dying and I, I can't Jack, I can't, and so yes. Yes, I'm being dramatic."

"You're not, Sweetheart." Jack swallows hard as your words sink in and his mind goes there. It's hard to hear of course, harder to think about really happening. He can't imagine getting that phone call or driving up to that scene and having to try to save you, having to get covered in your blood. Well. Maybe it's not that he can't imagine but that he can and it's unspeakably awful and horrific and makes him nauseous. "You're just feeling what you feel. That's valid. You're allowed to feel it all.

"It's dumb Jack," you huff a laugh at yourself and shake your head. "There's no reason for me to feel like this.

"Sweetheart," Jack runs his hand up your side to cup your face. "Yes there is. And even if there wasn't, that's okay too. You're allowed to feel like this or however you feel for any reason or no reason." He looks away from you for a second as he gathers his thoughts, in one of those ways that tells you he's thinking of how to phrase something incredibly serious to him. He looks back at you. "You deal with a lot at work, you see a lot. You do so much. You take on so much and you do things for other people even when you're slammed yourself. You're incredibly empathetic and an emotional sponge and so giving and I love that about you, I love that about you so much. But that's hard at the best of times, and with your job it's…." he trails off, unable to find the word he wants that conveys the right gravity. "You give so much, so so much of yourself to everyone and everything you do because it matters to you and you care and you'd rather run yourself into the ground than watch someone else struggle or have to work hard enough to run themselves into the ground."

You shrug again. You're trying to take his words to heart and you know you are, even if your brain can't consciously process it right now. You want to say something in response but you're not sure what. What do you say to that? To all those compliments it feels like you don't deserve, to the way this man loves you so fucking much at your worst.

Jack gives you a moment to respond and then continues when you don't, doesn't want you to feel pressured to come up with something to say. "Part of it is that you're exhausted, Sweetheart. You're running on empty, in every way, physically and emotionally and spiritually. You haven't gotten much sleep this week and I'm sure what you have gotten hasn't been the best quality with all the stress."

"I mean I let myself give into it, Jack," you admit. "I let myself give into the feelings and lean into them and let myself cry and be miserable and do all this shit because I know you're here and will take care of me and that's unfair. It's totally unfair and it's, it's… gross of me."

"Baby," Jack gives you a small, knowing smile, "that's the whole point. That's what I want you to do, my silly, silly girl."

"It's unfair to you!"

"No, Baby, it's not. Just like it isn't unfair when I give into my feelings and lean into them because I know you're here to take care of me. I do the same." Jack squeezes the side of your face softly and starts running his hand up and down your side again. "That's what you should do. That's part of what a relationship is, being able to just give into it all and have those feelings because you know your partner's got you. I think that's healthy."

"How much longer can you keep doing this, Jack? Just like realistically. How many times can I ask you to do this before it's too much." You look away from him and down at your hand that you pull from his. "Before I'm too much."

"I don't feel like I'm doing anything, Sweetheart. But I guess to the extent I am, I can keep doing it for you until I die. You're never going to become too much for me." Jack desperately wants to ask you to look at him but he knows it's not what you need right now as much as he's itching for eye contact. "You haven't asked me to do anything. You didn't even ask me to come get you. I just did. I could've tried to talk you down over the phone. I wanted to come. I chose to. You didn't ask. And even if you had asked, that would be more than okay."

You look back up at him and some part of Jack melts in relief. "I mean I knew you would come, so it was kind of me asking even if not explicitly."

"I know it's upsetting to you, Beautiful, and I'm not making light of it or trying to wipe your feelings away but to me, it's like… good. I'm glad you knew. I'm so fucking glad you knew. You genuinely have no fucking idea how happy that makes me." Jack seems to grow almost teary as he speaks, his voice wet with emotion that matches the glass to his eyes. You bring your hand up and rest it on the side of his neck, brush your thumb along his jawline comfortingly.

"I know your past has taught you differently but you're allowed to feel and you're allowed to need me and to need to fall into me and need all the help in the world. It doesn't make you too much and it never will. Obviously I don't like you feeling like this, I hate it and I wish I could take it away and feel it for you, god knows I would in a second if I could. But you picking up the phone and calling me, you crying into me and letting yourself come completely apart in my arms and turning to me for comfort, it makes me so incredibly happy and content to know that you feel safe enough and loved enough to do that." Jack smiles at you, looks at you like he can't believe you're real and his. "And everything that you're worried makes or will make you too much and will make me get tired and be done with you and leave one day, it's the opposite for me. Your vulnerability and your humanness and your trust, and you giving me the privilege of getting to love you and hold you through your worst moments and days, that just makes me love you all the more, even when it feels like there's no possible way I could love you more. You always surprise me."

"Jack," you swallow down his name in a whisper. You struggle to come up with something to say to that because it's so beautiful and he loves you so much and your brain is processing so much under the surface and he's right. You're exhausted and feeling it far more acutely.

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers back with a nod. "Just know that this is all okay and we're okay and I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You give him a flash of a genuine smile, about all you can manage at this point. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too." Jack leans forward and seals his words with a lingering kiss.

"Hey Jack?" It seems silly to start that way as you break apart given that you're both looking at each other and have been talking and to say this all again like you haven't before given how long you've been together. But then you suppose Jack has said everything he's said to you today multiple times over the years.

He raises his eyebrows at you in acknowledgment. "Thank you for… just taking care of me the best you could during the week. I really appreciate you not trying to like interfere with work or tell me I can't do this or go on about how unhealthy it is because that just makes me feel worse. And thank you for not accusing me of cheating or something because I had to stay late at work. You were just supportive and made sure I ate and got as much sleep as I could and did whatever you could for me and you have no idea how much I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I never want you to feel worse. I know it's not something you're doing out of choice and that it's just reality and what has to happen. Even if I hate it like you do too." He leans in for another kiss. He can tell it's time to move the conversation along a bit, that your brain has more or less reached its maximum capacity for this kind of talk tonight. "You should get some sleep. I can see you're sleepy," he smirks playfully.

You grumble a little as you pout, giving into the sleepiness and the relative relaxation that's taken over you since your talk. "I don't wanna sleep. I miss you and I've missed you all week. I'm sorry I was away so much."

"Don't apologize, Baby, it's not your fault. You didn't do it deliberately." Jack's hand that's been running up and down your side continues too but moves a little toward the center of you so that his fingers trail along the edge of your breast and brush teasingly at the crease of your hip. "We have all weekend together. You'll enjoy our time together so much more when you're not exhausted. And I'll still be here. You can sleep in my arms and I'm sure I'll fall asleep soon too. That's still spending time together to me."

"Yeah," you draw the word out. "But it's not the same."

Jack nods slowly, a mischievous and playful smirk pulling onto his face. He leans back in and kisses you again, rolls you onto your back slowly as his tongue dips into your mouth and he groans, continues to make out with you, relishing in the way your hands feel roaming his body. "Well," he pants softly when you break apart for air, "what if we spent some more time together while I put us both to sleep?"

You bite your lip and smile. "And what would that look like?"

"Oh," he laughs under his breath, "I have an idea or two."

"Yeah?" Your chest heaves a little and Jack ducks his head down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and teases it as you moan softly for him before kissing up your chest and neck to your lips where he makes out with you again.

"Yeah," he mumbles against your lips, rolls his hips into yours so you can feel how hard he is for you. "Could look like this." He adjusts his hips and runs his cock through you, lets his head bump against your clit and pull sounds of pleasure from both of you.

"Or," he stills his hips, "like this."

Jack dives backward under the comforter, large hands holding onto your thighs and keeping them spread for him as he kisses you cunt to clit. "Yeah," his voice is muffled by the comforter that's over him, "I think I'd like it to look like this. I really think," he presses another kiss to your clit, "I'd like it to look like this."

"Jack!" you giggle, the speed and suddenness of the movement almost meerkat like in the most adorable, Jack way. Only he could make you laugh coming off of feeling how you were at the same time he's winding you toward an orgasm you know is likely to hit you so hard you'll be half asleep by the time he gets to fucking you, something you're more than okay with. "Part of being together is seeing you!"

You push the comforter back until silver curls come into view and Jack looks up at you. That giggle is everything to him. He got you to laugh.

"Seeing me or seeing my curls between your legs?" he smirks up at you.

"Same thing, isn't it? Your curls are you." Your breathing picks up as Jack lowers his mouth back down, the stubble on his jaw brushing over your clit and sending sparks of pleasure shivering up your spine.

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, knows exactly what he's doing to you. "I think me suggests my eyes."

"Then look at me while you start putting us to sleep," you breathe.

Jack's eyes darken. "Kinky," he murmurs. "I like it. Just remember," he finally gives your clit a proper suck and swirl of his tongue, making you moan so beautifully for him, "you suggested it. And since you did I expect you to keep your eyes open and on mine the entire time, pretty girl."

I need him desperately. Jack Abbot where are you?! 😩😭 I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! And we all deserve this kind of love. Thank you again for all of your support and for reading, I truly appreciate it and your notes!! ♥️

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Another tear lands on your phone's screen as your thumb hovers just above his name on your favorites. You hate doing this to him and it's so childish. You should be able to get it together, to just pull yourself together long enough to make the short drive home. But you've been trying to do that for ten minutes now and you just want to be with Jack and home and not here crying in your car alone.

You sniffle hard and pull yourself together enough so you're not actively sobbing when he answers the phone. Jack smiles when he sees your face light up his phone. You must be calling to let him know you're on your way home. He picks up on the first ring. "Hi Beautiful, you on your way home?"

"Jack." You don't have to say anything else. Jack already knows, is already sitting up on the couch and reaching for his prosthetic where it's resting by the side of the couch.

He needs to get to you. Now. Your pain is so clear in your voice, he can picture the tears he knows are streaming down your face silently for now.

His tone changes immediately, still soft but so concerned, so knowing. "What's wrong, Baby? Where are you?"

You can hear shuffling and you know he's getting his prosthetic on as he holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder. It's what makes you crack again because why are you doing this to him? Why can't you just be fucking normal?

"In my, my car," your voice gets a little higher pitched with every word as you lose your ability to regulate again, "at, at work. I can't stop, Jack, I can't stop crying enough to drive safely. I've been try, trying and I just can't."

"Okay, that's okay Sweetheart, I'm on my way." Jack shoves the key into the lock the second the door is closed and turns it to lock your place up, takes off at a fast walk towards his car. "Did something happen?" He's turned his voice into something lower now, something soothing that makes you feel not so alone.

"No," you sniffle, take in a slightly wracked breath, "just the w-week and, and…" You trail off into sobs you muffle with your hand, sobs Jack knows you're muffling.

He knows the kind of week it's been for you. A week where everything that could and should be relatively straightforward and smooth was a totally unnecessarily difficult clusterfuck deluxe. A week where anyone and everyone who could possibly try you did, that any issue or minor emergency that could happen, happened. A week where you stayed stupidly late and came home to sleep for a couple of hours just to turn around and go back in early.

You'd been so drained by the time you got home each night you just wanted to get straight into bed with him. He was more than happy to oblige after he coaxed you to eat a little dinner for him. You were both glad that Tuesday was his last shift for the rest of the week because with how late you stayed and how early you had to go in, you didn't see him Monday or Tuesday.

"I'm so-so-sorry." Getting out the last word is a struggle and your voice is so high-pitched it's almost inaudible.

"Don't be," Jack soothes you through the phone. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Baby. You can call me even earlier next time, okay? I'm going to stay on the phone but it's going to cut out for a second once I start the car while my phone connects."

"Okay." You choke on the word, end up coughing through full body sobs and god if you don't feel completely fucking ridiculous. There is absolutely no fucking reason for this.

Jack cringes at the sound because he hates hearing you this sad. Hates that he isn't already there with you, that he didn't think to drive you in and pick you up the last couple of days. "Alright, Sweetheart, I'm back and on my way."

"You have to drive safe," you whimper. "Don't wreck trying to, to get here fast because, because I won't survive you getting hurt or losing you, I sw-swear to god Jack," you choke on a sob, "I'm barely holding, holding on. I need you."

Jack's heart breaks even further at your love for him and at the palpable and encompassing sadness in your voice. "I won't, I promise. I'll be safe. You have your car doors locked?"

"Yeah," you whisper. And you genuinely do. A part of you wants to unlock them, hopes that someone will come and carjack you and kill you because then you won't have to go through this yourself or put Jack through it anymore.

You know that's not true, know that anything happening to you would devastate Jack the way something happening to him would devastate you, even if that's hard for you to believe at times because you can't wrap your mind around why he loves you. Why he put himself through this type of shit that you pull.

"Hey," he says softly. "I know it probably doesn't feel like it right now, but everything will be okay and you'll get through this. I'll make sure of it. That doesn't mean it won't suck and you won't feel like shit, I know, I just want you to know. We'll get you through this."

The sob you let out is muffled and Jack knows you probably moved your phone away from you and covered your mouth. "I," you try to start after a couple of seconds. You have to pause so that you can muffle another sob and try to pull yourself together so that you can actually talk. "I hate that you have to."

"I don't have to do anything, Baby. I choose to because I love you and choose to love you even with as natural and fated by the universe as loving you is. I don't feel forced and I'm not forced." Jack knows that your brain is manifesting your week through this and shifting to spiral over this because it's easier in a sense to deal with than everything that happened at work this week that you're trying to process through. This is something it's easy to get reassurance for and process through and is much, much more controllable. It doesn't hurt any less or make you any less sad or anxious or burnt out, and it's not any easier to go through, it's just more tangible almost.

He's never been more glad that you don't work too far away, that it's not like he has to drive an hour to get you. And he thanks whatever and whoever is out there that he's hitting every green light and that somehow traffic this Friday evening isn't bad.

There's silence on your end of the line for a moment and it would be eerie and unsettling if Jack wasn't sure you'd just muted yourself so that you could get out whatever sob and tears you needed to without him hearing. Jack clenches his jaw and rolls it. He hates whoever made you feel like you have to apologize for feeling your feelings and expressing them and for crying. He'd love to just have thirty seconds alone with them.

You want to tell Jack never mind. That he can turn around, you're fine and you'll see him at home soon, you were just being dramatic and having a moment and you're fine and everything is fine. But you can't bring yourself to say the words because as much as it's not a lie in a sense because you know he'll know it's not true, it's still not the truth. You're not fine and everything isn't fine. It doesn't feel like anything is fine.

It feels like you're going to lose Jack because you're so much fucking work and ridiculous and dramatic and why would he continue to put up with you? What do you really bring to the table and offer him? What do you do for him other than create more work?

Your engagement ring feels so heavy on your finger, not because it's perfect and sparkly and everything you ever wanted, though it absolutely is. It feels so heavy because you feel so undeserving of it, of Jack and his love and the way he knows you so well, better than you know yourself.

It doesn't occur to you that you know him just as well and that he feels this exact same way at times.

The sound of your ragged breathing becomes audible again and a few seconds later you're able to talk.

"I just can't Jack," you whisper through a sniffle.

You hate everything right now. Everything except Jack.

And you hate yourself the most.

Jack can tell. He can hear it in your voice, how much you're beating yourself up inside right now, how much you're beating yourself up, how hard you're trying not to tell him that you're fine and he can turn around. He can hear how much you hate yourself and it's like a knife slowly carving away at his heart.

"I know Baby," he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear as he pulls into the parking lot. "And it's okay that you can't." Jack pulls up beside you so that his passenger side door is next to your driver's side door, looks over at you and smiles as he puts it into park. "I'm hanging up now Baby, I'll see you in just a second."

Jack hangs up and leaves his car on so the AC stays running and gets out and over to your door. Some scared piece of you almost wants to fight it and not unlock your door, and tell him it's okay, you'll figure it out and pull yourself together and get home and you're sorry he drove here. But a bigger piece of you, the overwhelming majority of you, wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in and as close as physically possible to Jack as you can be, so when he gets close you unlock your doors for him.

"Hi Beautiful," Jack greets you once he has the door open. As much as he hates hearing you sad and being away from you when you are, he hates hearing you sad and being right next to you and seeing how sad you are just as much. Tears stain your face, your eyes bloodshot and swollen, your lips and nose swollen too. He means it as more than a pet name though. You're still nothing short of beautiful to him right now, even if there's an aching sadness with it.

You shake your head at him because he's so wrong. You're not remotely beautiful right now, inside or out. You shouldn't be like this, shouldn't be complaining about your job and your week to him of all people. You know Jack doesn't think about it like that and would hate to find out that you do, but you can't help it. You should be better. You shouldn't have needed him to put his prosthetic back on when he was having a nice day at home chilling without it and drive down here just to hold you while you cry.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic.

Somewhere deep down you know Jack would hate to find out that you think it and you are pathetic.

"Yes, Baby," Jack murmurs in response to you shaking your head. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, doesn't force too much of his affection on you when you're crying and struggling and he can tell you feel like you don't deserve it, just enough for you to know he wants to kiss you and that he means it and that he loves you.

As Jack leans back you follow him, let your feet hit the ground and push you up into his arms that automatically open to catch you. You need just need to be close to him. Now that you've had him close, any distance between you feels unbearable.

You all but collapse into his arms, your tears starting up again just as hard as they were before you call him. They're for everything. For the way Jack calls you beautiful like it's your name and means it. For the way you feel anything but beautiful right now. For this man who keeps you standing literally and metaphorically. For this week that's done it's best to level you. For how perfectly Jack treats you and takes care of you, and how much he loves you. For how pathetic and unworthy of that treatment you feel, and how you don't understand why he loves you when you're so difficult and so much work.

"Alright, Sweetheart, I've got you," Jack whispers. He wraps his arms around you tightly and helps hold you up as you melt into him. He kisses the top of your head as you bury your face in his chest and lose it.

Jack holds you like that for a minute before he starts to rock you and slowly shuffle the two of you so that you change spots and he can reach into the car and grab your purse. Once he has it he walks you backwards slowly and shuts your door and locks your car.

He walks you both a little further so that he can open the back door to his Range Rover. "Come on, Baby," he presses a kiss to the top of your head again and rubs your back, "get in the back for me, yeah?"

You cling to him as he tries to pull away, terrified of there being more than an inch between the two of you right now. "Why?" you sniffle, momentarily not completely sobbing.

Jack brings a hand down and hooks his index finger under your chin and gently tilts your face up to look at him. He gives you a reassuring smile. "Because I can hold you better back there and it's private."

You look at him for a moment and your bottom lip and chin tremble so hard as tears line your eyes that it makes his heart ache. You look so terribly and sadly adorable and it just makes how much he loves you hit him even harder and makes him more determined to get you feeling better and make you happy. He doesn't realize that even though you're crying, he's already made you feel better and happier just by being here and coming to you without you having to ask and giving you a safe space to let yourself give into how shitty you feel in every sense.

Jack's sweetness and thoughtfulness make you start to cry even harder as you climb in the back like he asked. You sit awkwardly in the middle seat as he gets in and shuts the door, sets your purse down and gets himself comfortable.

"Alright, you, come here." He reaches out and hooks an arm around your waist and starts to pull you closer to him.

You don't need asked twice, move over to him and crawl onto his lap so quickly his arm barely touches you and he smiles to himself. As Jack reclines the seat so that you can fall into him a bit more you spread your legs out across the seats and snuggle into him as close as you can, your sobs getting harder when he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, helps you settle in perfectly to your favorite place in the whole world where you feel safe in every sense of the word and loved and like you could probably survive just about anything as long as you had Jack and his arms and neck and chest and lap to hide from the world in.

"Okay Baby," Jack murmurs once you're settled in his lap and clinging to his shirt as you sob into his neck with your head tucked under the corner of his jaw. "I'm here. It's okay, it's all going to be okay, I promise."

You shake your head against him because as much as you know Jack would never lie to you, it doesn't feel like it in this moment, it doesn't feel like anything will ever be okay again. And Jack knows. He knows it doesn't feel like it. So he doesn't push it, doesn't try to talk you into believing him. He just lets you be. Lets you exist just as you are. Lets you feel what you're feeling without any pushback.

Even though you've been together years, it still always surprises you, the way he lets you just feel and holds you close as you do.

You let yourself give in for thirty seconds or so and then you start to fight your sobs so that you can explain yourself to him even though you know you don't have to, that you never have to explain yourself to Jack.

"I," you hiccup out, trying so hard to get yourself together so you can explain and stop crying and stop making Jack deal with you. "I, I'm, I…" You choke over the simple words, coughing and struggling to breathe

"Shh," Jack soothes you, moves one of his hands so it can rub up and down your back. "You don't have to talk about it right now, okay? We can talk later if and when you're ready and doing a little better. Just let it all out, I've got you. I've got you."

You want to fight it, want to keep pushing yourself to talk and explain and apologize because even though Jack has never asked you to, never told you that you needed to or made you feel like you needed to, even though he's never gotten mad or upset at you when you get like this, you still feel the urge to. The scars left by those who came before him are still there. It's a testament to just how much Jack has healed you that you cry in front of him, that you let yourself get like this in front of him, that you call him when you're like this and let yourself seek out his comfort and trust and know that he won't turn you away or yell at you or make fun of you or use it against you down the road.

Eventually your tears stop. You're pretty sure it's less that you've cried yourself out and are in a better headspace and more that you just physically ran out of tears and exhausted out. Jack's pretty sure that's the case too because your tears don't trail off how they usually do when you've had the cry you needed. This is far more abrupt, closer to a flip of a switch.

Jack doesn't rush you to be ready to talk or get out of his lap so he can drive you guys home or to do anything. He just keeps holding you and continues to rub your back while you sniffle and try to compose yourself. And even once your sniffling has stopped and you're just resting in his arms against him he doesn't rush you. He never would. If he had it his way you'd never have to leave his arms.

After a few moments of sitting in Jack's lap quietly you find it within you to pull your head back and look at him sheepishly.

Jack melts even more somehow, smiles at you softly and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You can't bring yourself to even shake your head to argue with him. You don't want to put him through more than you already have tonight and don't want it to seem like you're doing this deliberately for attention or compliments.

"Hi handsome," you whisper back. It takes everything in you to keep yourself looking at him and not immediately nuzzle your face back into his neck to hide.

"Can I have a kiss?"

You swallow hard and give him a short nod, not because you want to say no, it's the exact opposite, you want to scream yes and let the man kiss you until everything makes sense and feels okay again. You just don't feel like you deserve it. "If you want."

"I always want kisses from you and to kiss you." Jack gives you a lopsided smile. He doesn't ask if you want kisses because he knows that you do, knows that what could be perceived as a lack of enthusiasm is actually just you feeling like you don't deserve him or his love or affection.

Jack slides his hand up to the back of your neck and gently pulls your face to his, kisses you so softly to start to help you ease into accepting his affection right now that if you had any tears left you know you'd be crying again. The more you relax into him and let yourself accept Jack's affection as you pour it back into him, the deeper Jack kisses you.

He nuzzles his nose into yours for a second when you break apart and rubs his thumb just below your ear as you pull your face back to look at him, cheeks tear stained and eyes and nose and lips still so adorably swollen. "Thank you for calling me and not trying to drive while crying like that." He raises his eyebrows at you gently, his other hand giving your hip an affectionate and reassuring squeeze before he reference what you said earlier while he was driving here. "I need you too."

You shrug shallowly because you weren't even thinking about it like that when you called.

"I do," he whispers, nodding at you. "More than you'll ever know and just as much as you need me. Promise." Jack leans up and gives you a quick kiss. "How about we head home? We'll come back and get it tomorrow, okay? It won't get towed with your permit."

"Okay," you whisper back, nodding.

Jack puts the seat back up and you shift off his lap so that he can get out of the car. Once he's out He holds his hand out for you even though you don't really need it or his help getting out of the car. You take it anyway, let him help you out and close the door behind you before you both take a few steps up and Jack opens the passenger side door for you like he always does.

Even though there's silence as Jack holds your hand and helps you into the passenger seat it's still meaningful, he still has this way of silently almost speaking with his body and how he looks at you that makes you feel wrapped in his love the way you would if he was verbally professing it to you over and over. Before he shuts the door he leans in and presses the sweetest kiss to your forehead, gives you a small smile that reassures you everything will be okay, that you'll be able to undo the knots your mind has gotten itself into.

Jack carefully shuts the door and you pull your seatbelt on as he walks around to the driver's side. Before he buckles himself in he reaches back and grabs your purse, pulls out a couple of tissues and hands you them. He sets your purse down, buckles his seatbelt and then puts it in reverse and starts the drive home.

He doesn't make you talk about it as he drives, knows it's not the time or the place. It's one of those small things that means the world to you and it reminds you how well he knows you and how much he loves you. Instead of making you talk about it, Jack chatters to you like he normally will when you guys are driving, but this time he doesn't expect you to chat back. His hand stays on your thigh or holding your hand and bringing it up to his lips to presses kisses to the entire drive home.

The entire thing is so normal and it helps more than you think Jack could ever truly understand. Nothing feels forced or like he's making these huge gestures or going out of his way which is exactly what you need. Because you don't feel like you deserve any of that and so him doing those kinds of things would almost make things harder for you in a way. You don't really even feel like you deserve normalcy, but you're at least able to accept it without panicking.

Once Jack's parket he walks around and opens your door for you, grabs your purse and helps you out of the car. You feel a little zombie-like walking into your shared apartment. You're not sure what you want or need and are too tired and fuzzy brained from all the crying to even try to figure it out.

But Jack, Jack knows exactly what you want and what you need.

He could just give it to you. You wouldn't necessarily mind if he did. But Jack knows that part of what you need right now is control without having to really make any decisions. So he makes the decisions and offers them to you so that you feel like you're in control without the agony of having to make any choices or real decisions that will just make you feel worse and exacerbate the decision fatigue already plaguing you after this week.

"You wanna chill on the couch for a bit?" Jack asks as you both finish getting your shoes off.

You take a couple of steps into the living room and stop to look at the couch. You want to be close to Jack as selfish as it feels, as undeserving as you feel. "Yeah, I guess," you murmur.

Jack walks up behind you and snakes his arms around your tummy, pulls you back into him and hunches and rests his chin on your shoulder. He presses a few kisses to the side of your neck, lets his lips linger on the last one almost like he's feeling your pulse under his lips. "I'm going to go get you some water first." He presses a kiss to your cheek as he squeezes you a little in a tight hug. "I love you so much Baby, no matter how you're feeling and whether you feel like you deserve it. I love you."

Your chin trembles a little and you take in a deep shaky breath. You bring your hand up and cup the side of Jack's face. "I love you so much too. Thank you."

"Of course," he murmurs. Jack presses another kiss to your cheek and then turns his head to press one into the palm of your hand. He's quick to make his way to your kitchen and grab you a glass of water.

You try to get yourself to go sit on the couch but you can't seem to for some reason, end up just standing there almost awkwardly in your own space as you wait for Jack to return. When he returns you take a few sips for him, always surprised at how much better those few sips make you feel. You set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table once you've had enough.

Jack is waiting for you with a smile when you turn back to face him. His hands find the hem of your shirt and start to pull it off you and you raise your arms to help, trusting whatever his plan is. Once he has your shirt off he sits down on the edge of the couch and you watch as he takes his prosthetic off before beckoning you to him with a finger.

You step between his legs and like with your shirt, you trust him when he pulls your pants down and step out of them and kick them to side where he tossed your shirt. Jack grabs a blanket and holds it open for you and your chin trembles again because he knows just what you need and gives it to you so freely and without you having to ask.

Neither you nor Jack say a word as you help him get you wrapped up in a blanket burrito and gets you situated to that you're on your side on the couch, your back to the cushions. He lays on his side next to you and pulls your bundled form against him, holds you tight. You wiggle to get comfortable and bury your face into his chest breathing getting heavier as you feel the tears coming again.

Jack knows it. He's known this is what would happen the entire time and as much as he doesn't want you to cry and be upset, it's what he wants to happen. He wants you to cry again, let yourself come all the way apart in his arms so that he can help put you back together again. He knows you won't be able to move past it all and start to heal and recover from the week until you get it all out of your system.

"I'm here, Baby. Let yourself cry, try not to fight it," he murmurs. "It's okay, I promise it's okay." He brings his chin to his neck so that he can nuzzle his nose into your hair and give you kisses there.

It works. By the third or so kiss you're fully sobbing into him again and it drives you insane because as much as you know why in a sense, you also feel like you have no idea why you're like this and needing to cry so much.

After a couple of minutes you have to just say it, acknowledge the truth, or at least what feels like the truth. "This is, this is so dumb, Jack," you choke out between sobs. "It's so dumb, and, and stupid," you take in a huge breath of air that makes you cough on top of the sobs, "and, and ridiculous and I know it, know it and still can't stop."

"I know it feels like that's true and that's valid, but it's not any of those things, Baby, I promise," he soothes you, runs a hand up and down your back over the blanket while the other keeps you held tightly to him. "It's human."

You shake your head against him but don't verbally argue with him, just go back to the tears you can't seem to stop, the tears that feel so incredibly unfair to Jack. He should be relaxing while he's off, and you guys should be starting your weekend together doing something fun, go on a date or something like you talked about last week. But instead he's having to work essentially, having to take care of you, and the two of you aren't going out and you're making your weekend off together start in one of the shittiest ways.

Your tears do eventually start to trail off. Neither you nor Jack know how long it's taken to get here and it doesn't really matter in the end. It took as long as it did and you're here now, your body and mind working to regulate as opposed to a fairly abrupt stop like in the car where your body just gave out. Jack knows it means you've finally gotten it all out, have shed all the tears you need to right now.

He knows it means you're feeling broken right now and that you're not sure how to even start picking up the pieces. But the thing is you do know how to start. Before Jack you had to do this alone, had to sob on your couch alone and then figure out how to make yourself better. The difference is that now you don't need to know. You don't need to figure it out. Because Jack knows and he'll help you, take care of you and give you what you want and what you need and help put you back together again and get back to feeling normal.

The two of you sit lay in silence for a bit once you've gotten your breathing under control, the only sounds the occasional sniffle from you or soft popping of Jack's lips as he presses more kisses to the top of your head. You take in and let out a deep breath before pulling your head back so that you can see him.

"Hi again, Beautiful," Jack smiles at you.

You want to argue but don't have the energy to. "Hi," you whisper, voice raw and nasally.

Jack doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks at you and strokes your hair. The look he gives you speaks volumes though, is so clearly him telling you that if and when you're ready to talk, he's hear to listen.

You give him one of the smallest, saddest smiles Jack's ever seen from you. "I love you," you murmur to him, lean your head up and push your lips out.

"I love you too." Jack smiles even brighter as he moves his head down to give you the kisses you seek.

"How about we order some food and then go shower the week off you? We can eat dinner in bed once it's here and then cuddle and watch something or talk if you want, get you off to dreamland to help you catch up on some sleep," Jack suggests once you've had your fill of kisses.

"Okay," you murmur with a small nod, still sounding so achingly forlorn and sad that it kills him. You're not sure you agree with that last part of his suggestion. You don't want to sleep any time soon. You want to be awake with him, spending time with him and enjoying him. You've missed him.

Jack grabs his phone out of his pocket and rests his hand on your side as he orders. After he finishes ordering he slips his phone back in his pocket and gives you one last lingering kiss. He pulls his one arm from under you and sits up, helps get you out of the blanket burrito he put you in.

The two of you head into your room and Jack crutches into the bathroom to turn the shower on. You pad into the bathroom behind him, don't want to be away from him really. You cringe internally at how clingy that is, wonder if that's what will push it over and make it all too much for him. Make you too much for him.

But all that happens when Jack turns around and sees you is a smile breaking over his face. You can't help but smile a little at it because he just looks so god damned happy to see you. Even when you're like this, being like this for him.

You walk closer to him and let your fingers play with the hem of his shirt. "Can I?"

"I'd love that," he nods, gives you a little, playful smirk.

You take your time stripping him, take such care like you always do when you strip him while he's standing with his crutches. Once you've got him fully stripped Jack takes your bra off, dips his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and starts pushing them down, your clothes a heap off to the side of the bathroom where they won't get wet.

There's something about the way you look when your eyes roam his body that makes Jack frown to himself. There's an air of unworthiness about it, something that couldn't be further from the truth in his mind.

"You okay, Baby?" he asks quietly.

You press your lips together and out to one side and nod. "I just wish I wasn't like this for you," you whisper, stepping closer to him and resting your head against his chest as you stand outside the shower.

"You're not like anything," he murmurs. "You're just you. My girl. All I need to live."

You let out a shaky breath and then turn and press a kiss to his chest. His words are so very hard to accept but you know he truly means them the same way you mean them when you tell him the same.

You both get in the shower and Jack holds you on his lap while you soak in near scalding water for a bit. Eventually he washes you, takes his time with your hair and then your body, lets you do the same to him because he knows you need it and want it.

It doesn't take too long for the food Jack had ordered to arrive once you're out of the shower and in bed, dressed in one of Jack's old shirts and nothing else. Jack's in just a pair of sweatpants but throws a shirt on when the knock on the door signals the food has arrived. He crutches out and grabs the bag while you grab an old towel and spread it out on the bed.

You almost start crying again when you see what Jack ordered. Your favorite comfort meal. And you know the smaller box he sets off to the side is your favorite dessert.

"Jack…." you whisper, looking at him almost helplessly but with the same love in your eyes that he recognizes as the love in his when he looks at you.

He just smiles at you, leans over and gives you a kiss. "I love you."

"I know." You reach out and squeeze his thigh. "You make sure I know. And I love you too."

Jack grins at you and winks. "I know."

You watch TV and chat about whatever happens to come up as you eat, make Jack let you help clean up once you've both finished. You both strip again once you're back in your room and crawl into bed under the covers together on your sides.

Your legs tangle together and torsos press together as you settle, TV off because Jack can feel that you want to talk now and he's hoping after you do he can get you to sleep early to help you recover.

There's silence for a few minutes as you just look at each other, Jack's hand running up and down your side and yours playing with the fingers of his bottom hand.

"I don't know Jack," you finally whisper, trying to sort through your mind and figure out where to even start. "It was just a long week and I've been walling it off the whole time because I had to keep it together. But then today, when it was finally over at least somewhat, I got in the car and just…. fell apart. It's just so much, work, this job is just so much. It's so fucking much sometimes. And I know yours is too, I know that, I do. I know yours can be so so fucking much sometimes."

Jack knows you're about so start comparing your jobs, about to start writing yours off as not as bad and easier and less to deal with and less traumatic. And that's just not true. Your job can be just like his. You see different things most of the time, sure, but that's exactly why it's impossible to compare the two.

Honestly sometimes Jack thinks your job is more than his, is worse and harder and far more to deal with and more traumatic. Most of the time he's not sure how you deal with it which is kind of ironic because him and his love are the vast majority of how you're able to deal with it and cope and keep going.

In any event, he's not going to let you compare and minimize your job and its stressors and trauma and how fucking hard and how fucking much it can be. It deserves to be recognized. You deserve to be recognized for surviving it. You deserve to let out the bad week however you need to. He's not going to let you try to wipe it away and apologize for being affected by it.

"Yeah," he nods. "And that's why you take care of me and hold me like I held you in the car and am holding you now when it's too much for me and I need to let some of it out. Your job is just as much, it's just a different kind of much. My job can be a lot and so much and so can yours. I can need to have a breakdown sometimes and so can you. My job being a lot sometimes doesn't means yours isn't or can't be. My job isn't worse or harder than yours. They both have their moments and weeks and times when we don't know why we're doing them and times where it just all makes so much fucking sense. They're both jobs of high highs and low lows."

"Yeah…." You chew on the inside of your cheek and look at his chest. You know he's right but in the moment it's hard to accept. It makes sense why Jack's work gets to him like this sometimes. It doesn't feel like it makes sense why yours gets to you like this. Objectively and logically you can see it, you understand why it does, and if Jack had your job you'd say it makes sense why it gets to him like this sometimes. But emotionally your brain doesn't let you accept it. It's different. You should be able to handle it, especially in the shadow of Jack's job. You know he'd hate hearing that if you ever said it out loud, and would disagree vehemently. It's just hard to think otherwise. "I don't know," you sigh. "I'm being dramatic and I hate it."

Jack pushes his bottom lip out slightly and shakes his head. "No you're not. You're feeling your feelings. Please don't self-invalidate, Baby. You're allowed to feel what you feel at the intensity you're feeling it at. I want you to, especially right here with me so I can take care of you and keep you safe and help keep you as grounded as possible and as comforted as possible."

You shrug. "It's still being dramatic. It's dramatic and it's unfair to you. When I was in the car and you asked if I had the doors locked, I did, I promise I did, I just thought about how I'd like to unlock them and hope…" You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You know how much this will hurt him. "And hope someone came along and car jacked me and killed me because then I wouldn't have to put either of us through this ever again, and that's dramatic, Jack. That's dramatic. Because I know what that would do to you. I know. I know because I think about the reverse with you dying and I, I can't Jack, I can't, and so yes. Yes, I'm being dramatic."

"You're not, Sweetheart." Jack swallows hard as your words sink in and his mind goes there. It's hard to hear of course, harder to think about really happening. He can't imagine getting that phone call or driving up to that scene and having to try to save you, having to get covered in your blood. Well. Maybe it's not that he can't imagine but that he can and it's unspeakably awful and horrific and makes him nauseous. "You're just feeling what you feel. That's valid. You're allowed to feel it all.

"It's dumb Jack," you huff a laugh at yourself and shake your head. "There's no reason for me to feel like this.

"Sweetheart," Jack runs his hand up your side to cup your face. "Yes there is. And even if there wasn't, that's okay too. You're allowed to feel like this or however you feel for any reason or no reason." He looks away from you for a second as he gathers his thoughts, in one of those ways that tells you he's thinking of how to phrase something incredibly serious to him. He looks back at you. "You deal with a lot at work, you see a lot. You do so much. You take on so much and you do things for other people even when you're slammed yourself. You're incredibly empathetic and an emotional sponge and so giving and I love that about you, I love that about you so much. But that's hard at the best of times, and with your job it's…." he trails off, unable to find the word he wants that conveys the right gravity. "You give so much, so so much of yourself to everyone and everything you do because it matters to you and you care and you'd rather run yourself into the ground than watch someone else struggle or have to work hard enough to run themselves into the ground."

You shrug again. You're trying to take his words to heart and you know you are, even if your brain can't consciously process it right now. You want to say something in response but you're not sure what. What do you say to that? To all those compliments it feels like you don't deserve, to the way this man loves you so fucking much at your worst.

Jack gives you a moment to respond and then continues when you don't, doesn't want you to feel pressured to come up with something to say. "Part of it is that you're exhausted, Sweetheart. You're running on empty, in every way, physically and emotionally and spiritually. You haven't gotten much sleep this week and I'm sure what you have gotten hasn't been the best quality with all the stress."

"I mean I let myself give into it, Jack," you admit. "I let myself give into the feelings and lean into them and let myself cry and be miserable and do all this shit because I know you're here and will take care of me and that's unfair. It's totally unfair and it's, it's… gross of me."

"Baby," Jack gives you a small, knowing smile, "that's the whole point. That's what I want you to do, my silly, silly girl."

"It's unfair to you!"

"No, Baby, it's not. Just like it isn't unfair when I give into my feelings and lean into them because I know you're here to take care of me. I do the same." Jack squeezes the side of your face softly and starts running his hand up and down your side again. "That's what you should do. That's part of what a relationship is, being able to just give into it all and have those feelings because you know your partner's got you. I think that's healthy."

"How much longer can you keep doing this, Jack? Just like realistically. How many times can I ask you to do this before it's too much." You look away from him and down at your hand that you pull from his. "Before I'm too much."

"I don't feel like I'm doing anything, Sweetheart. But I guess to the extent I am, I can keep doing it for you until I die. You're never going to become too much for me." Jack desperately wants to ask you to look at him but he knows it's not what you need right now as much as he's itching for eye contact. "You haven't asked me to do anything. You didn't even ask me to come get you. I just did. I could've tried to talk you down over the phone. I wanted to come. I chose to. You didn't ask. And even if you had asked, that would be more than okay."

You look back up at him and some part of Jack melts in relief. "I mean I knew you would come, so it was kind of me asking even if not explicitly."

"I know it's upsetting to you, Beautiful, and I'm not making light of it or trying to wipe your feelings away but to me, it's like… good. I'm glad you knew. I'm so fucking glad you knew. You genuinely have no fucking idea how happy that makes me." Jack seems to grow almost teary as he speaks, his voice wet with emotion that matches the glass to his eyes. You bring your hand up and rest it on the side of his neck, brush your thumb along his jawline comfortingly.

"I know your past has taught you differently but you're allowed to feel and you're allowed to need me and to need to fall into me and need all the help in the world. It doesn't make you too much and it never will. Obviously I don't like you feeling like this, I hate it and I wish I could take it away and feel it for you, god knows I would in a second if I could. But you picking up the phone and calling me, you crying into me and letting yourself come completely apart in my arms and turning to me for comfort, it makes me so incredibly happy and content to know that you feel safe enough and loved enough to do that." Jack smiles at you, looks at you like he can't believe you're real and his. "And everything that you're worried makes or will make you too much and will make me get tired and be done with you and leave one day, it's the opposite for me. Your vulnerability and your humanness and your trust, and you giving me the privilege of getting to love you and hold you through your worst moments and days, that just makes me love you all the more, even when it feels like there's no possible way I could love you more. You always surprise me."

"Jack," you swallow down his name in a whisper. You struggle to come up with something to say to that because it's so beautiful and he loves you so much and your brain is processing so much under the surface and he's right. You're exhausted and feeling it far more acutely.

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers back with a nod. "Just know that this is all okay and we're okay and I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You give him a flash of a genuine smile, about all you can manage at this point. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too." Jack leans forward and seals his words with a lingering kiss.

"Hey Jack?" It seems silly to start that way as you break apart given that you're both looking at each other and have been talking and to say this all again like you haven't before given how long you've been together. But then you suppose Jack has said everything he's said to you today multiple times over the years.

He raises his eyebrows at you in acknowledgment. "Thank you for… just taking care of me the best you could during the week. I really appreciate you not trying to like interfere with work or tell me I can't do this or go on about how unhealthy it is because that just makes me feel worse. And thank you for not accusing me of cheating or something because I had to stay late at work. You were just supportive and made sure I ate and got as much sleep as I could and did whatever you could for me and you have no idea how much I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I never want you to feel worse. I know it's not something you're doing out of choice and that it's just reality and what has to happen. Even if I hate it like you do too." He leans in for another kiss. He can tell it's time to move the conversation along a bit, that your brain has more or less reached its maximum capacity for this kind of talk tonight. "You should get some sleep. I can see you're sleepy," he smirks playfully.

You grumble a little as you pout, giving into the sleepiness and the relative relaxation that's taken over you since your talk. "I don't wanna sleep. I miss you and I've missed you all week. I'm sorry I was away so much."

"Don't apologize, Baby, it's not your fault. You didn't do it deliberately." Jack's hand that's been running up and down your side continues too but moves a little toward the center of you so that his fingers trail along the edge of your breast and brush teasingly at the crease of your hip. "We have all weekend together. You'll enjoy our time together so much more when you're not exhausted. And I'll still be here. You can sleep in my arms and I'm sure I'll fall asleep soon too. That's still spending time together to me."

"Yeah," you draw the word out. "But it's not the same."

Jack nods slowly, a mischievous and playful smirk pulling onto his face. He leans back in and kisses you again, rolls you onto your back slowly as his tongue dips into your mouth and he groans, continues to make out with you, relishing in the way your hands feel roaming his body. "Well," he pants softly when you break apart for air, "what if we spent some more time together while I put us both to sleep?"

You bite your lip and smile. "And what would that look like?"

"Oh," he laughs under his breath, "I have an idea or two."

"Yeah?" Your chest heaves a little and Jack ducks his head down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and teases it as you moan softly for him before kissing up your chest and neck to your lips where he makes out with you again.

"Yeah," he mumbles against your lips, rolls his hips into yours so you can feel how hard he is for you. "Could look like this." He adjusts his hips and runs his cock through you, lets his head bump against your clit and pull sounds of pleasure from both of you.

"Or," he stills his hips, "like this."

Jack dives backward under the comforter, large hands holding onto your thighs and keeping them spread for him as he kisses you cunt to clit. "Yeah," his voice is muffled by the comforter that's over him, "I think I'd like it to look like this. I really think," he presses another kiss to your clit, "I'd like it to look like this."

"Jack!" you giggle, the speed and suddenness of the movement almost meerkat like in the most adorable, Jack way. Only he could make you laugh coming off of feeling how you were at the same time he's winding you toward an orgasm you know is likely to hit you so hard you'll be half asleep by the time he gets to fucking you, something you're more than okay with. "Part of being together is seeing you!"

You push the comforter back until silver curls come into view and Jack looks up at you. That giggle is everything to him. He got you to laugh.

"Seeing me or seeing my curls between your legs?" he smirks up at you.

"Same thing, isn't it? Your curls are you." Your breathing picks up as Jack lowers his mouth back down, the stubble on his jaw brushing over your clit and sending sparks of pleasure shivering up your spine.

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, knows exactly what he's doing to you. "I think me suggests my eyes."

"Then look at me while you start putting us to sleep," you breathe.

Jack's eyes darken. "Kinky," he murmurs. "I like it. Just remember," he finally gives your clit a proper suck and swirl of his tongue, making you moan so beautifully for him, "you suggested it. And since you did I expect you to keep your eyes open and on mine the entire time, pretty girl."

I need him desperately. Jack Abbot where are you?! 😩😭 I hope it was okay and that you enjoyed! And we all deserve this kind of love. Thank you again for all of your support and for reading, I truly appreciate it and your notes!! ♥️

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