Campfire Chronicles - Rec

“I am forever in your debt. I’ll pay it off with coffee,” she smiles and leans back on the wall, stretching her legs out — black scrubs pants, grey sneakers, a sigh of relief.

And you think — suddenly and stupidly, because that’s how your brain’s now wired — of that one time Jack brought you the same drink. Sat with you on this same spot. Looked at you with his eyes crinkled at the corners, his usual smirk turned into a softer smile. You don’t even remember what he talked about, but the feeling stayed: of just how calm his presence made you. How comforting it was.

For a good minute, your coffee loses taste.

You blink. Take another sip. Look up — and see him walking through the door. And then it feels like you’re losing it in general. You pinch yourself. He doesn’t disappear.

“Long time no see,” Jack says, very much real. Casual. He goes to look for something in the fridge, a crumb of time for you to get yourself together. Then he looks back at you. “Tough shift?”

Tough week. Or month. Actually, life’s been pretty tough since you stopped working by his side. But you remind yourself that it was your decision.

“Bearable,” you say, pretending to take interest in the thick swirls of syrup on the inside of your cup. Hoping he’d take a hint. And yet, despite him being good at many things, Jack is perpetually bad at leaving you alone.

You left him first. You thought he’d hate you.

Instead, you hear his voice tinged with warmth:

“Didn’t you just patch up the guy with a ruptured aorta? That was badass.”

His compliment feels like a glass of water, and you’ve been parched with thirst.

“Yeah,” you meet his gaze, because you’ve missed him terribly. He’s looking at you like he hoped you would. And you can’t help the smile. “I guess it was.”

He doesn’t stop there. He comes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest — unreasonably, sinfully buff arms — and stares straight at you:

“Remind me where’d you learned that clamping trick?”

He’s being smug now, and you have missed this too. Slowly, the room is narrowing to the small space he takes. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I might have more tricks up my sleeve. Can teach you somethin' else.”

He holds your gaze. Pins you to the spot with his. And just as always, he makes you feel like no one in the world exists except you two —

But you aren’t really alone.

You catch movement out of the corner of your eye. No doubt, it’s Javadi wishing she could blend in with the wall. And when you snap back to reality, Jack follows.

He clears his throat, taking a step back. “Teach you in the ER, I mean. If you want to or—or if you ever decide to come back, you know. But no pressure or anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Abbot,” you tell him, in the politest tone that you can master. Already grieving that small moment you knew could never last.

Javadi can barely wait for him to leave — before her face breaks into a smile. “Aw, he has a crush on you.”

“Which you have told me a dozen times, and I’ll continue to reply that no, he doesn’t,” although your own face treacherously heats up.

“He flirted with you just now.”

“He flirts with everyone. He’s like an energy vampire, that’s why he doesn’t look his age.”

Trinity groans somewhere behind you. She takes her earbuds out and sits up, stretching her shoulders. “To be fair, his flirting isn’t that impressive.”

“I think half of the ER would disagree,” Javadi eagerly retorts. If there’s one thing these two don’t ever get tired of, it’s bickering.

“Oh no, he is charming. With everyone but her,” Trinity turns to you with a shit-eating grin. “With you, he’s awkward. Which, don’t get me wrong, is hilarious to witness. But Crash does have a point — he’s totally into you.”

“Did you two just agree on something? I must be hallucinating.”

Javadi rolls her eyes. Santos just huffs a laugh. She grabs her backpack, smartphone and an already opened silvery-blue can.

“He’s also been very moody since you moved to the upper floor. Just saying,” she winks at you and walks out, loudly gulping her Red Bull.

Your mood hasn’t been good either. It gets a little worse once you realise you reached the bottom of your frothy drink. And somehow, your second wind didn’t kick in.

“Can you develop a high tolerance to coffee? I feel like I should be way more awake. This cup is literally the size of a newborn.”

“Babe, you know there’s barely any coffee in it,” Javadi says, no judgment, just a little bit of pity. “You just crave sugar because your body needs some fuel to continue functioning.”

“But what if coffee isn’t working anymore... What’s the next best option? Cocaine?”

“You can’t afford cocaine.”

“I’ll sell a kidney.”

“Can’t do that either, you need them both.”

“I didn’t say I would sell mine.”

The laugh she gives you sounds half-hearted. Her face looks serious when she notes. “I know that humour is your defensive mechanism, but sometimes it’s okay to actually talk about what’s bothering you.”

“I’m very bothered by the amount of unsolicited therapy you keep bringing into our friendship,” you quip. And your regret is instant. “Sorry, I genuinely don’t remember the last time I slept for more than five hours.”

“Has Park been riding you too much? You know you are allowed to take breaks, even if he doesn’t think so.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t have free time, I just— I can’t fall asleep. I drag my feet and doze off ten times a day, but the second my head hits the pillow — nothing. My body is not... bodying or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

And then you watch her worry bleed into a different expression. She looks at you, a little coy, a little bit excited.

“I might have an idea. But I need you not to laugh at me.”

“Vic, I am physically closer to a zombie than to a human being. If there’s any way to help me fall asleep faster, I’ll try it.”

“Okay, there’s this app... With a collection of audios. Recorded by men and women, you can pick. They sort of play out different imaginary scenarios, like meeting you for the first time and getting to know each other. And maybe, like, kissing or —”

“Just to clarify, you recommend that I listen to some porn?” you’re trying to drag out some of the whipped cream with a straw.

“It’s not porn!” she hisses, adorably ashamed. “I mean, not always. They aren’t all explicit. The ones I’ve listened to, they were... Really immersive. And it just feels nice. Helps to take your mind off things. I don’t know, I kinda thought you’d be into it.”

“Masturbation? I feel like I should be offended.”

“No, the whole... Talking thing.”

With your mouth full, you raise a brow at her, somewhat confused.

“I mean, isn’t that why you liked working with Abbot? He was explaining everything to you, always talked you through the procedures and stuff. And now you are super annoyed because Park barely speaks. Just glares at people.”

“I assure you, I’m not at all annoyed that my attending does not turn me on.”

Javadi giggles, leaning toward you. “So what you’re saying is that... Abbot turned you on?”

“You know what, now I actually want to kill myself.”

“No, you still have an hour of your shift left. And then,” she rubs your arm with small, comforting circles, back to her serious self. “You will come home, take a scalding shower, just as you like it, pop in a couple of melatonin gummies, and get some sleep.”

“Those gummies don’t do shit. I ate four last time and then stared at the ceiling for two hours.”

She playfully nudges your shoulder with hers. “Well, there’s always another option,” Javadi laughs at your grimace and gets up. “I need to go back to other unstable people. Text me when you get home. I’m serious.”

“Will do, mom.”

She flips you off on her way out.

Whatever little caffeine’s been in your drink, it helps you look less dead and more like a person who can be trusted with a scalpel. The OR floor is quiet and cool, and from afar, Park can be mistaken for a statue: a tall body made of sharp lines and muscles, staying completely still as he looks through a patient’s file.

He waits for you to reach the nursing station. Gives you one quick look, his eyes deep blue, cold like ice.

“Got enough coffee to keep you standing? Don’t want to scrape you off the floor.”

You give him a dry chuckle. “When have you ever scraped me off the floor?”

One corner of his mouth moves up, merely an inch. “Fair,” he says, his gaze back to the tablet. “I’d like for it to stay that way.”

“So who’s the last one for today? Anything exciting?”

“Male, 63, a proximal humerus fracture. It’s all in his file. I’ll see you in ten.”

Big fucking thanks for the detailed reply.

“They say that brevity is the soul of wit, but no one tells you it’s also such a mood killer,” you mutter, not bothering to keep your voice down.

Park makes a sound that’s more of a long hum than a real laugh. He throws the words over his shoulder: “I’ll let you do the CRPP.”

“Thanks, I’m smiling on the inside.”

He never really smiles. Or says more than he needs to. And sometimes you’re thankful that he doesn’t: it unironically makes him almost the perfect mentor for you.

Unlike the previous one.

You may never admit it out loud, but you’ve come to enjoy working with Park. He’s harsh at times, yes, but he is also quick and talented and not that bad at teaching. The problem isn’t that he doesn’t talk much. You don’t mind doing your own research, and you’re actually okay with him being closed off.

The real problem is Jack Abbot. Who has been driving you insane.

At first, there were no signs of trouble.

You picked the night shift for your rotation because you’ve always been more of a night owl, and you enjoyed the challenge that comes with the variety of traumas. You two clicked from day one — Jack carried just the right amount of confidence to seem trustworthy, but his male ego didn’t get offended by someone else’s talent. He smiled at you and made small talk and always offered answers to your questions. He also smiled and talked to literally everybody else, so you didn’t think much of it. At least, you tried not to. You told yourself that you came to the ER to learn, that you wouldn’t allow your feelings to interrupt your job.

Even when said feelings turned into a crush. That felt like an addiction.

It started with you waiting. Wanting. More of his words, his gaze, his flattering attention. Jack always knew exactly how to land a compliment — his words were short, sure. Accompanied by that hint of a smile. He’d stand close, just on the edge of inappropriately close, his steady voice providing guidance. He’d push you when he knew that you could handle it. He’d tell you all the necessary steps and walk you through them and somehow make you feel like you succeeded on your own. “Yes, that’s the move.” “Look at you taking risks, kid.” “Good” —

— “girl”, you wanted Jack to add.

So good for him, you wanted him to think.

You wanted him. God knows, you wanted him so badly.

It didn’t help that Shen soon started calling you “Jack’s favorite”. Sometimes in front of Abbot, who hasn’t denied it once. Ellis discreetly (so she thought) tried leaving you alone with him more often. And even Crus once told you that you were the only resident Jack paid so much attention to.

It could’ve been a picture-perfect start of a love story, if only not for one crucial piece missing: Jack never crossed the line.

Even after you’ve caught his gaze lingering, his hands reaching for you, his warmth grazing your shoulder or your spine. On more than one occasion. And still, it led nowhere. There were no accidental touches, no flirting outside of the ER, he didn’t even try to get your number.

Inevitably, it made you feel self-conscious. Stupid. Pathetic even. What’s worse, his presence was distracting, and losing focus was the one thing you absolutely couldn’t do.

So you looked for a way out that’d let you save your dignity and your career. Switching to surgery helped you with both. Despite the fact that you had to restart your year. Despite seeing the very obviously hurt expression on Jack’s face when you informed him. He didn’t try to stop you, though. You didn’t tell him why exactly you were leaving. Instead, you dived right into work: from dealing with small fractures and arthritis to sports injuries, torn muscles, spinal disorders and crushed bones. It was in no way easy, but it felt empowering — knowing that you could fix something so strong and weighty, the living tissues made of minerals and collagen, the bony structure that allows people to move.

And on the rare occasions your paths crossed, Abbot kept being friendly. But you kept your distance.

Even if deep down, you still missed him.

His gaze, his guidance. Most of all, his voice.

It takes you two more days to finally give up and ask Javadi about the app.

Hey, so that app that’s totally not audio porn... Can you please give me the name. And then forget I asked.

Actually, forgetting might not be enough. Next time you come over, I’ll need you to swear on the Bible.

There’s no way you have a Bible at home.

Well, another option is a blood oath.

I’m this 🤏 close to admitting you into our psych ward.

Just say you miss me and want to see me more often. There’s no shame in it!

Please, get fucked (literally 😛).

You click the App Store link she sent, then press on the newly downloaded icon on the screen.

The layout is pretty simple — pale colors, normal-sized fonts, a short video guide. You don’t waste time and tap on the male voices' section to look through their audio titles. They aren’t at all exhilarating. A Trip to the G-spot (thanks, been there), Hold on to my nuts! (yikes), Your Daddy’s Home (double yikes), The Song of Praise and Cum (this calls for a lobotomy). You spend another minute on it, already battling frustration — and you’re about to log off, when finally a title catches your attention:

A Helping Hand.

“Okay, a little on the nose,” you mumble to yourself.

It is a series of recordings, about half an hour each. It seems that he is relatively new, but he’s got great reviews. His nickname is Nightcrawler. He has no profile photo. His bio says: “I guess, this is my new hobby.”

You’re positive that it won’t work on you.

You take a shower, put on your pajamas and your noise-cancelling headphones. You sit in bed, your back against the pillows. With zero expectations (except maybe to find it all ridiculous and cringe).

You press play.

At first, there’s just silence.

And then he starts, his voice unhurried like a rustle of the wind:

“Hi, baby. You look so tired,” he murmurs. “You’ve had a hard day, I can tell.”

You pause immediately. But not because you hate it. It startles you — how much you like him from the get-go, how just a sentence of this stranger’s voice made heat flash in your stomach.

You try to sit a little straighter. Then press play again.

“All that tension in your body, that slight soreness of your muscles... We really need to do something about it, honey. I can’t have you going to sleep so tense.”

Yeah, you don’t want that either.

His every quiet word strikes home: your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, your mind is clouded with it. You let out a breath you didn’t realize that you were holding. And you don’t think that him saying all that is a hell of a coincidence. Instead, it actually feels nice: for someone else to talk about your struggles. For it to sound like understanding.

“Don’t worry, I can fix that. You just lie down and listen to my voice.”

So you slide lower in your bed, the pillows now behind your head and shoulders. And when he asks to close your eyes, you do.

You follow every single one of his instructions. His raspy, gently voiced commands: he’s telling you to take deep breaths, to slowly stretch out your arms and legs, to draw small circles over your temples, to put your hands lower and massage your neck. He’s telling you he wishes he was there to help you. That he would know exactly where to rub and press. And that his fingers would’ve felt much better.

Then he’s instructing you to put hands on your chest, to run them up and down your body to get your blood flowing. You do just that. And soon you feel your skin prickle with warmth.

“Need you to relax, to shut off that beautiful brain of yours,” he says, with a controlled and hushed insistence. “Don’t think about anything. It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”

Your thoughts are light; there’s nothing on your mind but him. Your muscles pliantly unravel as he continues speaking. About how warm your skin must feel, how pretty you are looking — laid out for him on your bedcovers. And there’s another feeling that feeds off his voice: a spark of fire that grows and spreads and makes you ache for more.

You hear him telling you to move your hands down to your stomach. He says he wishes he could touch you there, to slowly drag his fingers down to your navel —

“Wish I could feel how wet you are right now.”

Your eyelids flutter open.

You probably should’ve predicted this turn of events. And truthfully, you aren’t as opposed to it as you thought you would be. You’re just not sure it will work. But when you slide your hand beneath the waistband of your panties —

you find the fabric in between your legs already soaked.

All that from someone talking to you nicely?

There must be something in his voice.

That same voice whispers:

“Touch yourself.”

Barely a second passes before you do.

This isn’t your first time, but somehow, it feels very different. More satisfying. Way more intimate. Pads of your fingers move against your clit, exactly how he tells you:

“want you to go slow for me, baby. rub it in circles, ju-ust like that,”

“apply more pressure with your index finger — feels good, yeah? c’mon, don’t stop,”

“now move a little lower, feel what a mess you’re making. I know you must be dripping”.

He’s right, you are. And then your eyes fall shut again, a whimper tumbling from your lips.

“I bet you’d feel so tight around my fingers,” he says hoarsely, making you clench around nothing.

If he was here, in your room, you’d shamelessly beg for more. A long-forgotten pleasure starts coiling in your stomach.

“Want you to put a finger in,” he orders. “Imagine that it’s mine.”

You start with one. Just one, and yet, it’s getting difficult to focus on his words. And fleetingly, with your chest heaving, you wonder what his fingers would feel like. As if he reads — or guesses — where your thoughts are wandering, he tells you, a smirk heard in his voice:

“But mine would be a lot thicker, so I need you to add another one,” — you slip the second finger in, and he lets out a hum, like he can see you, — “There you go. Don’t rush it, we’ve got time. I’d never rush it with you, honey.”

Despite you trying to move slowly, you’re getting dangerously close to cumming. You want to drag it out, you do, but he is making it too hard. When he is whispering to spread your legs wider. To set a rhythm, to start moving your hips a little. When he is telling you that you’re doing so good.

When he wants you to use your free hand to touch your nipples. When he says, teasingly, how much he wishes he could put his lips on you.

When you can hear him sigh, like all this also turns him on.

“Want you to go faster,” his words come out in low grunts. “Yes, keep going, don’t stop. Keep fucking yourself. Need to get you loosened up and ready for me. Fuck, your cunt would feel so perfect wrapped around my cock —”

Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and shuddering.

You’re gasping, too loudly to hear what he is saying, your body floating in the waves of bliss. It takes a moment for you to catch your breath.

The audio ends abruptly on his own heavy breathing.

You are left stupefied and sweaty. And satisfied beyond description. Your headphones end up thrown across the bed, but you’re too tired to move an inch. It is a very pleasant kind of tired.

Before you know it, you are fast asleep.

What’s meant to be just a one-off soon turns into a habit. And you don’t really feel ashamed about it.

There is a certain thrill to it — having a secret you don’t want to share, the one thing you can’t wait to get home to. It does help you to take the edge off, yes: with just his words, he makes your tension melt away, makes all the worries disappear. Leaving you dazed and gasping at the thought of how good he’d fuck you.

But sometimes, as you come down from your high, your thighs wet and hands trembling, and he is soothing you back into consciousness — the stranger’s voice reminds you of Jack’s.

It can’t be him, of course.

You wish it was.

You also wish you could move on. Unstitch him from your memories that he’s been woven into, his face and arms and words seemingly always on your mind. They shouldn’t be, not when your feelings are so obviously one-sided.

So, since you’re able to wake up well-rested, you start to pile on more work.

You take your time to learn about non-invasive treatments: you get to know the PTMC’s physician and psychiatrist, you print out studies about injections and post-operative care, you spend your breaks leafing through the countless pages. You learn fast. You grab at every chance to practice. You ask to scrub in on some of Garcia’s cases, you’re lucky to assist Javadi’s mother a few times. And even though you feel that Park’s a little bit suspicious of your ardor, he asks no questions.

You don’t see Jack. He’s still on nights, and you are mostly up in the OR, and even when you do come down, you do your best to stay away. You hope that a tight schedule and your daily orgasms will be enough of a distraction. That at some point, your crush will quietly die down.

It’s no surprise that you’re working on the 4th.

And it’s predictably a shitshow: the waiting room is packed with patients, swamped with the summer heat, every new injury is worse — and way more gruesome — than the other. You deal with fractured, broken bones, you get to help with torn-off fingers, bashed-in skulls and penetrating wounds. You rush from one OR into the other. You barely get time to take a breath. And once you finally do, you get called down to the ER.

“Look who it is. Since when does surgery send its best residents to us poor mortals?” Robby puts on a smile to greet you.

“Garcia is still operating on Howard, Park’s dealing with your water slide case. I’m just happy to treat someone with intact bones for a change.”

“Can’t promise it will be a pretty sight.”

“Didn’t count on it.”

He cackles, his gloved hand pointing toward the sliding doors the gurneys come through. “Here’s the reason we called for a consult. Yours is the one with Old Glory jammed in his chest.”

And in the next second, your own chest tightens, anxiety bruising your ribcage like a seatbelt in a crash. Because the aforementioned patient is rolled in by Jack.

He doesn’t see you yet. You can’t help but notice — the tension roped around his back, the sheen of sweat around his forehead, faint sleepless shadows spilled under his eyes. Reflexively, you step out of the way so he can move down the hall without bumping into you. So you can stay unnoticed.

The injured man is in the middle of a screaming match with some guy whose cheek is slashed in half.

“I’m gonna take that thing out of my chest and shove it down your ass!”

“You hit me with a fucking Rolling Rock, man!”

“Because you are a cheater! And now my chest fucking hurts!”

“You’re the one who broke the rules! You know every detail must be —”

“Take yours into trauma 2 before I go deaf on one ear,” Abbot mumbles to Ellis, then tries to shush his patient. It isn’t working.

And you can tell that Jack is low on patience.

He grips the gurney with both hands and pushes it into the room, his voice coming out low and clipped:

“Sir, we are gonna get you more pain meds, but you need to shut your fucking mouth.”

It is a quick remark, maybe a little out of his character — too blunt, too rude; although acceptable under the current circumstances. And in the never-ending noise and busyness of the ER no one would ever waste their time on lecturing him. You aren’t even sure they heard.

But you freeze. As if a bomb just went off. The world around you is momentarily devoid of all the other sounds.

It isn’t the specific words, but the emotions you could hear behind them — intensity Jack usually reigns in, the punctuated heat of anger that slipped through his “shut” and “fucking”. You aren’t surprised he said those words. Or used that tone. Or lost his self-restraint for a few seconds.

You’re struck by the realization that you have heard him talk like that before.

“If his heart was damaged, he surely wouldn’t be yelling,” Robby comes up to you, eyeing the rowdy patient. “But the stabbing’s definitely within the cardiac box. What do you think?”

“Cardiac box it is. I’d bet on a pneumothorax,” you say, on some miraculous autopilot. But you aren’t looking at the patient.

Jack grabs the scissors to remove the man’s clothes, his hands working around the wooden stick he is impaled on; his gaze grazes you. On accident or maybe out of habit Jack hasn’t managed to unlearn. He turns to throw away the ruined, blood-stained fabric — then stops. And then his eyes come back to you, this time with purpose. He meets your gaze, his own confused a little, one of his brows crawling up. Because you’re staring at him, and he has no idea why.

It’s almost funny to imagine how you’d explain to him your stupor. Hey, Jack, is there a chance you like recording steamy audios? 'Cause I believe that I’ve been getting off to the sound of your voice.

But at the moment, you aren’t laughing.

You make an effort to drag your gaze away, your heartbeat loud in your ears. This can’t be happening. It cannot actually be him.

“Do an ultrasound to get a confirmation, I’ll go up to prep the OR,” you say to Robby flatly, eager to leave the room, to have a minute to yourself.

You take the stairwell, thoughts rushing as your feet are. And very quickly, your shock gives way to irritation. Surely, Jack is allowed to do whatever in his free time. But now that you suspect it’s him — his low voice that is so masterful at saying all those dirty things — you don’t think you’ll be able to relax. It would also be kinda inappropriate to continue listening to that.

But then you spend another seven hours on your feet. Three surgeries, two breaks (about ten minutes in total), a lot of blood and bones, a few of Park’s dry words. You miss the fireworks, the get-together with your former colleagues, the friendly chatter that maybe could’ve helped you to unwind. And by the time you cross the hall of your apartment, you find it hard to care about propriety.

You put the headphones on, fully aware that you’re about to hear Jack.

It doesn’t ruin things for you. It only turns you on instead.

Because it’s not some random guy — it’s Jack who puts you on all fours. Jack who tells you to put your fingers in your mouth. To suck them, to then take them deeper, to gag on them, just like he could’ve made you gag around his cock.

“Ass up for me, baby,” he instructs, his every word now carrying more weight — you cannot stop imagining him being here, whispering it all into your ear. “Bet your pussy is wet enough to take two fingers right away. C’mon, be a good girl. Show me.”

You never even think about reaching for your toys. You don’t need to: not when his voice alone makes waves of heat roll through your body, makes you pulsate with want, moan with longing.

“Want you to think of my cock slowly stretching you,” Jack rasps, “Because it’s all I think about,” and you’re imagining his chest pressed to your back, the sounds he would make while thrusting deep, deeper, relentless movement of his hips, his lips grazing your neck, “I know you’ll take my cock so well. Like it was made for fucking you.”

His big hands roaming over your body. His hot breath on your skin. Him, him, it has always been him.

“I’d make you feel so good. Until you drip all over my cock. Until you’re sobbing for me to fill you up,” he whispers heatedly. “I will. Just so I can fuck my cum back into you when we go for round two. I know my girl is always greedy for more.”

And he is right, you would be.

“Like you were made for it. For me.”

You cum as hard as always, breathless and shaking. And this time, with his name helplessly gasped against your pillow. A few long seconds after that, in your sweet postorgasmic haze, you get a very clear thought: you still want Jack, now more than ever.

And you two really need to talk.

You press Call before you can come up with yet another argument for why this is a bad idea. She picks up in four seconds, but you don’t let her say a word.

“Hey, so do remember when you guys went out last time, and I couldn’t go because of that leg amputation thing, and you told me you ended up in some new bar, with those big plants or whatever, and Abbot was there too?”

“Wow, are you already on cocaine?” Javadi laughs.

“No, I just had a good night of sleep, so please keep up. You’re coming to the same bar this Friday, right?”

“Yep, that’s the plan. You decided to join us?”

“I’m thinking about it. But I’m gonna be at least an hour late, cause I’d have to get home to change and then —”

“Or you can just come right after work. The place isn’t that fancy. You can do casual.”

“I don’t want casual. I wear jeans 360 days a year, it’d be nice to actually feel pretty for once.”

“Oh, cut the crap, I know you’d look great in anything!”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not calling to discuss my wardrobe. I was wondering if you can... If by any chance Jack shows up again —”

“O-ooh.”

“No, don’t oh at me. You don’t even know what I’m about to ask.”

“If Abbot shows up, I’m gonna tell him that you are coming too, so he’ll stay and wait for you.”

“Okay, you can add mind-reading to your resume, you witch.”

“You’re both kinda predictable,” Javadi notes with a chuckle. “When he came last time, he left immediately after he found out you weren’t there.”

“Or he just remembered he left the stove on and didn’t want his flat to burn down. It’s not like he explicitly told you why he was leaving.”

“He didn’t need to,” she argues. “He came in, went straight to the bar where we were hanging out, ordered a beer and managed the small talk for barely a minute before he flat-out asked if you were there. Looked like a kicked puppy when I told him you didn’t come. Wished us a good night and took off, didn’t even take his beer.”

That does sound like he came to see you. You find it cute. But only for a moment — until you get a stinging thought: if he wanted to see you outside of work, why has he never asked you out?

“I’ll text you when I’m done,” you say, trying to sound unconcerned, unruffled by the possibility of your months-long feelings being reciprocated. “The spinal fusion should take about three hours.”

“Ugh, it sounds so cool when you say it, but then I remember what that process actually is like.”

“It is pretty cool.”

“And I am very glad you think that,” she’s quick to reassure. “Go fuse some vertebrae, so we’ll have something to drink to!”

The surgery takes four hours.

It is a slow, meticulous procedure accompanied by Park’s curt advice and your own strategic guesses — and usually, something like that would leave you drained. Hardly in the mood for socializing. But this evening, you step out of the OR with a wide grin.

“Good call about rotating the metal plates,” Park says, his voice emotionless. Like he’s not sure himself that it’s a compliment.

Still, you take it.

“Thank you, I did some reading beforehand,” you tell him, throwing away your dirty gloves and gown. “Should help with healing, too. But knock on wood, we’ll see what his post-op scans show.”

And you’re already doing some non-work-related calculations in your head. 10 minutes on filling out the patient’s file, 10 more for ordering a cab and waiting for it, then if you’re lucky, you’ll be home in 20 —

“Abbot was right about you.”

That makes you stop. Makes an uncomfortable feeling settle in your stomach. You haven’t seen Brendon and Jack talk once. And you cannot imagine them talking about you.

You turn to Park, not smiling anymore:

“Care to explain?”

“He wrote you a recommendation letter. Didn’t he tell you?” he casually clarifies. “Not that I asked for it. But he delivered it himself, four pages in Times New Roman,” the straight line of his mouth curves a little. Almost a smirk, but not unkind. And he does seem sincere when he adds, “Abbot was right, you are great. Glad to have you on our team.”

“Hold on. I just want to get a few facts straight,” and your tone is astonishingly calm, despite it feeling like your blood is simmering. “So he came to you. With a printed-out letter. And then what, you guys talked?”

“Yes. About the letter.”

“About me, you mean.”

“The letter was about your competence and skills. What else was there to discuss,” he deadpans. “Is this interrogation over?”

“Oh, come on, that was only two questions. Don’t act like I am waterboarding you,” you huff, hands on your hips.

Park breathes out through his nose, then shakes his head. You’re half expecting him to grouse about it some more. But he does what you expect the least.

“He talks about you, you talk about him,” Park muses coolly. “You guys just need to fuck it out.”

He shoves his own gown in the trash, turns on his heels and leaves.

And under other circumstances, you would’ve been so glad to hear it. Jack talked about you! Jack seems to care!

Except, he had a perfect chance to actually show you that. But on your final day in the ER, he barely said a word. It stayed stuck in your memory, the last nail in the coffin where your hopes were buried: Jack’s weird avoidance, no jokes, no flirting, none of his usual penchant for eye contact. He spent the whole shift painfully indifferent to your departure. Only once you started saying your goodbyes, he came by to wish you luck. To say that he was sure you’d do great. Two sentences was all he managed.

And yet, he had no trouble talking about you with Park?!

You’d really like to get a fucking explanation.

You don’t go home to change. You come straight to the noisy bar, in your plain jeans and baggy shirt. And wrapped up in anger. You scan the crowd for familiar faces and spot Victoria from afar: some tipsy guy is cornering her, wildly gesticulating with his hands. She doesn’t really seem scared, mostly annoyed. But you are in no mood for being civil.

You unceremoniously walk up to them and grab the stranger by the shoulder to pull him back.

“Her face clearly suggests she’s not interested. Get lost.”

“Hello to you too,” he whistles, leering at you. “You wanna be our third, babygirl? I’m always down for... some new experiences.”

“I can help you with that. You ever heard about a comminuted fracture? It’s when a bone is broken in two or more places. Which you are about to experience if you don’t leave in 10 seconds.”

“You’re into human anatomy? That’s hot,” the man grins drunkenly, but his flirting sounds less sure.

“I’m an orthopedic surgeon. There are 3 long bones in your arm, 27 in your hand. Which one would hurt more when broken, how do you think? You’ve got seven seconds. Six —”

“Geez, fucking chill, girl,” he mutters and steps back to hastily retreat.

Javadi snorts a laugh. “Thank you, he was so annoying, I just didn’t want to make a scene. You’d think the "Let’s go, lesbians!" t-shirt would help him get a hint but —” and then she takes you in — your searching gaze and furrowed brows and pursed lips. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Abbot?”

“It depends. Am I gonna be an accomplice to murder if I tell you?”

“You may be a witness.”

“I don’t think that’s any better,” but luckily, she knows you well enough to figure out that there’s no point in questions. Javadi holds both hands up in surrender. “Okay-okay, last time I saw him, he was at the bar.”

You go for it, barrelling through the crowd like an icebreaker through the frozen water. You notice Trinity, Dennis, Mel, Frank and Jesse nearby. You only have eyes for one man in particular. But at the long table where the drinks are being poured and paid for, there is no sign of Jack. You stop and wait; one minute, two, three pass by. And just as quickly, your determination crumbles.

You wanted him to tell you that he needed you to stay, all these days back, in person. You wanted him to wait for you today. Both times, he didn’t.

It makes you feel self-conscious again. Stupid. Even more pathetic.

You turn around, suddenly too overwhelmed by your own feelings.

The music is too loud now, the smell of alcohol mixing with sweat and perfume, and making your head hurt. You faintly hear someone call out your name, but you don’t stop, too desperate to get back to the exit. Too tired of waiting for the one thing that clearly isn’t meant to be.

The street is quiet, and the air is cold; it doesn’t help to cool you down. You’re walking a thin line between infuriated and upset. It gnaws away at you — that you spent so much time delusionally sure that Jack felt something for you. Cared for you. You think about his watchful gaze on you, the tension hung between you two, his hands he kept a little bit too close, his words that guided you through surgeries and orgasms, his goddamn voice —

You are so deep in your frustrations, you miss the sound of the door opening, the footsteps rushing toward you.

“Hey,” he says it carefully, and yet, you flinch. You turn around to find Jack standing at arm’s length already. Black jeans, grey t-shirt and black denim jacket; he looks unfairly handsome. He also looks concerned. “Is everything alright? The way you left got me worried.”

“Yeah, everything’s just peachy.”

But Jack ignores your sarcasm — or rather looks right past it, reading the very clear displeasure on your face. “Is it Park? Did something happen?”

And his concern doesn’t sound feigned.

It all comes to your mind at once — the unsaid words, unresolved tension, the longing gazes thrown at each other, the shamefully short distance your bodies never crossed. It roars your emotions to a boil.

“Why does everyone assume— You know what? Park is actually perfect,” you snap at him. “He barely speaks to me in the OR, he hates small talk, he is allergic to long sentences and, I suspect, to any sign of real human emotion. So I just clock in every shift to spend 15 hours trying to help people with very little to no guidance. And turns out, I still rock! Even when my mentor is as emotionally evolved as a toothpick!”

“Ok-kay,” Jack draws, “I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing?”

“It’s freaking amazing. Especially compared to the alternative,” and then you step to him, your palms angrily pushing against his chest. “Because you made me feel like I couldn’t breathe!”

Your hands don’t hurt him. But your words do. His eyes go wide, he’s speechless for a moment. Then slowly, very quietly, Jack says:

“Wait, what?”

“You wrote me a recommendation letter, but you couldn’t say a word when I was leaving? After the months we worked together, all you could manage was good luck? The hell is wrong with you?!” and his shell-shocked expression only spurs you on. “You act all nicely, you’re glued to me in the ER, with your advice and your attention and your— your smirking! And what’s with the intense eye contact? How was I supposed to work with you looking at me like that? You know how hard it was for me to focus?! It’s not like I was holding scalpels half of the time!” you huff angrily.

Still, he isn’t moving.

“Sure, it didn’t mean anything to you, you don’t like me like that. And I love surgery, I’m glad I transferred, I wouldn’t want to waste my time on someone who is emotionally mute. But then I find out — oh, you’re actually very talkative! And it’s not like I wanted to find out, I just needed something to help me unwind, anything, because it’s been so damn exhausting — not just the job, but also you and your mood swings and your stupid voice and—” you cross your arms over your chest and add, with an unbridled boldness, “And honestly? After everything, I should be the one you lend a helping hand to.”

The dim streetlights can offer some discreteness — but not enough to cover the flush of color that spreads over Jack’s cheeks. You don’t back off — instead, you take your phone out and click the app’s icon to show it to him on the screen. His gaze flicks down to it. Then back to your face.

You stare at each other.

And then you think: he is about to tell you you’re an idiot. A sleep-deprived one, because it wasn’t really his voice. He has no clue what you just talked about, he obviously isn’t on any apps nor is he —

Jack breathes out a laugh.

He clasps his hands behind his back, the muscles of his chest pulling his t-shirt tight. His gaze is locked on yours. Then it falls lower — to your lips, then your neck, your chest and stomach, leaving a hot trail down your body.

“It got that bad, huh?” a corner of his mouth twitches up. Not condescending but amused. And then his voice drops — to that exact honeyed murmur that dragged so many orgasms out of you. “F’course, I can help you out. Should’ve asked me sooner, sweetheart.”

The sound knocks the anger out of you. The air, too.

You knew he sounded good on audio, when his words reached you through the headphones, when he so charitably helped you reach your high.

But in reality, he’s lethal.

When this same voice is paired with his gaze, with the intensity and confidence that you’re disarmed by. Entranced by. When Jack comes closer, you stay frozen.

“Mine or yours?” he asks calmly.

“W-what?”

“My place or yours?”

You catch small specks of golden light lost in his hazel eyes. You blink twice to stop staring. “Mine is about 40 minutes away.”

Emotion flashes across his face — surprise that’s borderline on worry. He lets it slide. He takes your hand in his, firmly, putting his fingers between yours.

“I live much closer. My car is parked around the corner,” Jack notes and leads the way, carefully pulling you along.

You let him.

You know it’s impolite to gawk, but you can’t help it — you’re pretty sure his hallway alone can fit half of your flat. It is a spacious, very minimalistic place: tall walls, a lot of lights and very little furniture. You guess that he hand-picked each piece — from wooden shelves and cupboards to small colourful pouffes. You also don’t think he spends too much time in here.

“So how many roommates do you have?” you ask cautiously as you get out of your shoes.

“None,” Jack chuckles. “It’s my apartment.”

“You live here by yourself? This place could fit a football team,” your own chuckle is nervous. As is your involuntary blabbing. “I’m serious, 11 full-grown men could stay here, and half of them won’t even see each other. Is there a bowling alley somewhere? A golf course? Ten jacuzzis? —”

He wraps his arm around your waist, pressing your back into his chest. Solid and warm, and rendering you silent.

“How about I do the talking,” his breath scatters against the side of your neck. Both of his hands find your hips, and very slowly, he turns you to face him. His eyes look a shade darker when he says, “I’ll walk you to the bedroom.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

There is no build-up and no hesitation — he kisses you so hungrily and deeply, like he’s been starving this whole time. Just like you were. Your shuddering breath turns into a moan. His lips move seamlessly, matching his insatiability to yours, in a deliberately slow pace that leaves you dizzy, heated, panting. Your memory is wiped clean of every other man you’ve kissed before him.

You can only crave more.

Jack starts walking without breaking the kiss. He gently pushes you forward, his hands maneuvering your body around the furniture and into doorways — you’re blindly following his lead. Until he stops you.

He tsks against your lips. “Careful, you almost ran into a wall.”

“Well, it’s not like I can really see —”

Jack silences your protests with another kiss, one of his palms laid flat over your spine to steady you. Not once do you take a peek at your surroundings, entirely too focused on the movement of his mouth, and with his every touch, your heart grows louder.

All of a sudden, your legs bump into something — and in a second, your back hits layers of bedcovers, the fabric silky to the touch. You exhale shakily, taking a couple of seconds to collect yourself. The task proved to be impossible under his heavy stare.

The room is dim, drowned in the colors of the sunset that sinks in through the big uncovered windows. He took the jacket off somewhere along the way, and you watch as the coppery light sneaks into his curls, contours the lines of veins and muscles of his arms, his body standing right next to the bed, legs almost touching yours.

You guess that he is stalling in case you want to stop.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me what to do?” you want your words to sound like a challenge — instead, they come out as a plea.

You don’t mind. There’s nothing on your mind but him.

Jack gives you just a ghost of a smile, a low hum coming from deep in his chest.

“Ask me nicely,” he says, in that gravelly voice that makes desire spark up in your bloodstream.

And he already knows that he won’t meet resistance — Jack leans over the bed, palms firmly gliding up your thighs until he finds the zipper of your jeans. He takes the slider between two fingers but doesn’t pull it down. And you’re glad that you aren’t standing, because the way he’s staring at you makes your whole body weak, your bones and muscles turning liquid.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you whisper.

You do not need to ask him twice.

Jack yanks the slider down and pulls your jeans — down to your knees, then fully off. He parts your thighs with his leg, his gaze drawn to your panties, to where the fabric is already dampened with your arousal. You watch him slowly wet his lips, your body shivering in anticipation of his touch. And then he’s climbing on the bed, his body propped up on his arms, his weight between your thighs. He doesn’t hover over you — because he’s equally impatient: instead, he leans down to eagerly capture your mouth with his.

His lips trap you in place — while his hands undress you: his fingers are unbuttoning your shirt to take it off, then sliding beneath your cotton tanktop, dragging it up over your ribcage —

then Jack sucks in a breath.

His words are muffled, his lips brushing yours:

“No bra?”

“I don’t— don’t like the feeling of it,” you explain bashfully.

That earns you a pleased smirk. He actually pulls back to take a look, to hastily pull your last piece of clothing off. Then Jack ducks his head.

“And how’d you like this?” he asks before catching your nipple into his mouth.

You cry out at the sensation, and Jack uses one hand to pin you to the bed. He pulls more sounds out of you, swirling his tongue around your nipples, biting and sucking at them, his hunger mixed with admiration. Your heartbeat’s pounding in your ears, the pleasure surging through you like a heat wave —

But unexpectedly, Jack pulls away.

He reaches out to click the lamp on the nightstand. The light is faint, warm, draping your shadows over the silk. Jack lies down on his side, keeping his face close to yours.

“Show me how you do it.”

“You— Um. You want me to show you how—”

“Touch yourself for me,” he orders.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. But you comply, too eager for his praise. For all of his recorded promises to finally come true.

Jack watches raptly as your hand moves lower, slowly, just like he taught you the first time — until your fingers dip under the fabric of your underwear. You bite your lower lip, stifling a whimper, feeling the arousal leaking out of you. You spread your legs wider, the thin cotton not leaving much to the imagination as you start toying with your clit.

Jack swallows noisily, his breath uneven. But his voice stays measured. “I want these off. Need to see you, baby.”

You hook your thumbs under your panties and tug them off, a bit too hastily, but Jack makes no attempts to slow you down. Although unvoiced, his own desire is so palpable, it sets your nerves on fire. And when the cool air grazes your wetness, you can’t help but moan.

You do not wait for his command — you spread your legs further apart, your fingers drawn to rub your aching clit. You feel Jack’s cheek pressed to your shoulder, his gaze glued to your hand.

“So what’s the preference? Do you like circling it or just the up-and-down motion?” he muses with a grin. “I see, I have some room for improvisation,” and then his breath skates up your throat, the words mouthed against your pulse point, “You’re doing so good for me. You can pick up the pace.”

You do immediately, your movements quick and frantic, and Jack’s not keeping his hands to himself. He cups your breast, pinching your nipple into a peak, rolling it expertly between his fingers, his lips wrapped tightly around the other one. Your back is arching into his touch, heat pooling in your lower belly, your fingers gliding faster up and down your slit — and then one slips inside.

Jack pulls his mouth off with a pop. “Would you look at that,” his voice is low, teasing, “Your pussy’s drooling all over the bed.” And then he smiles, hungrily baring his teeth, grazing your collarbone with them as his palm lies flat on the inside of your thigh. “Go ahead, make yourself cum.”

He is still clothed, and the material of his t-shirt rubs constantly against your naked skin as he continues his arousing, agonizing torture. You feel him everywhere — Jack’s warm breath on your neck, your cheek, his mouth placing kisses along your jaw. His hands are steadying your body as your two fingers plunge into your cunt, as you’re so diligently coaxing yourself into an orgasm. But something’s missing.

“What’s wrong? Your fingers aren’t enough?” Jack taunts. “Does my girl want me to help her?”

You nod desperately, rocking your hips into your hand, trying to get some extra friction, trying and failing to reach that sweet high on your own. He easily catches your wrist, forcing you to halt all movement, your moans reduced to needy cries.

“Tell me what you want,” Jack whispers, lips to your ear.

“I w-want your fingers. Need your fingers inside me, please —”

But just as you’re about to pull your hand away, he covers it with his.

His wide palm firmly cups your mound, pushing your fingers back into your clenching hole. Jack drags his index and middle fingers through your folds, collecting your creamy arousal. And then he eases his slicked digits into you.

He watches as your lips part in a silent moan, your thighs twitching involuntarily as you’re adjusting to the fullness. With two of your fingers already in, it is a very tight fit.

“Relax for me. I know you can take all four,” Jack coos, although his voice gets a bit strained as he feels your walls clamp down around him.

Your hand stays limp, so he pulls his thick fingers out — then ramms them back in, knuckles-deep. A choked cry leaves your mouth; but you don’t try to crawl away from the intrusion. He puts your fingers between his and starts moving them all together, unhurriedly, carefully stretching your wet cunt, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit, your juices trickling down on the bedcovers.

Before you even realize you’re doing it, you push your hips back against his palm.

“Yes, just like that,” Jack murmurs. “Feels good, doesn’t it? About to get even better.”

This time, only his hand is moving while he’s staying still, drinking you up — your body quivering, skin bathed in a sheen of perspiration, your pussy slurping around the unrelenting fingers. The sounds you’re making are downright obscene, loud moans mixed with incoherent pleas as you’re getting lost in the pleasure he gives you so freely.

Jack’s other hand comes up to turn your face to him:

“Eyes on me.”

And as you look at him through lidded eyes, he curls your own fingers inside you, pushing them up against your G-spot. The sudden pressure drags you into a climax, so powerful, you’re blinded for a second, your lungs emptied with a long-drawn exhale as you keep soundlessly mouthing his name.

Jack pulls out his fingers first, then yours. Your hand is drenched and numb, and you barely register as Abbot brings it to his mouth. He licks your fingers clean, one by one, and you are coming to your senses at the sight: his mouth sucking in your digits, your wetness smeared across his lips, his gaze piercing as he keeps eye contact. And just like that, it threads through your veins and bones: your craving for him you’re yet to satisfy.

Before you can even ask him for a kiss, he leans in to give it to you.

It’s hot, it’s messy, his tongue darting between your lips, your hands tugging at his t-shirt, then sneaking under it to feel him tense under your touch. One of his hands grips your hip, the other moving back between your legs, where you’re still sensitive, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Wanna get a proper taste,” he mumbles, his lips already trailing lower.

But you have something else in mind. You close your legs and clutch his t-shirt, your fingers roughly crumpling the fabric, making him meet your gaze again.

“Jack, I’m very grateful for the offer, but I need you to fuck me,” you don’t bother hiding your impatience. “And please, take your damn clothes off.”

He grins, and this is a command he is willing to follow. Jack brings a hand behind his neck to grab the collar of his t-shirt and pulls it up over his head in one swift motion. Your eyes rake over the broad planes of his chest, his toned arms, his freckled skin flushed pink. Before he can think of his next move, you straddle him, leaning to nibble at his neck, your fingers tracing his flexing muscles.

“Someone’s very eager,” he notes with a chuckle.

And yet, the gravel in his voice is thinned out by his own keenness. When your gaze drops down, you see his cock straining against the coarse fabric of his jeans.

“Makes two of us,” you note cheekily and palm him through the denim.

His chuckle turns into a low, long groan. Like he is breaking character, like it is not as easy for him to keep his feelings under control.

You hide your smile, taking his jeans off to throw them on the floor, barely half a minute before you’re climbing back onto his lap. The bulge is now even more prominent beneath his boxer briefs: he’s thick and big, way bigger than you thought, than you imagined, than you’ve ever had. Your mouth parts on the inhale; you are dazed just from the look of it. You feel yourself already getting wet again.

Your words are stumbling out, while your brain is still somewhat functioning:

“I have an IUD, I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone for a while.” 

“Me neither. For way longer than you probably,” Abbot admits in a half-whisper, watching you attentively. Getting as drunk on the anticipation as you are.

Your fingers go for the waistband at his hips when you catch faint light glinting off the metal. Your palm briefly lies under his scarred knee.

“This okay?”

Him leaving the prosthesis on, you mean. But it is getting harder to put words into coherent sentences.

Jack gets it. “Yeah, m’fine. You want me to...?”

Remove it, is what he wants to say.

For just a moment, it comes up to the surface: his lack of confidence, not necessarily in himself but maybe in how he can be perceived, in what he looks like in your eyes. Being so close, so open, naked.

But this has always been exactly what you wanted.

“I couldn’t care less,” you whisper and tug down his briefs to free his cock.

Then you look down, and your breath hitches.

He is thick, fully hard, the tip red and already weeping. And instantly, you wonder how he tastes. How warm, how heavy he’d feel in your hand. When you reach it impulsively to wrap around him, Jack stops you, his voice a low warning:

“We both know I don’t need that.”

You almost want to whine. But you smother your discontent and move your hands up to his shoulders, holding your hips up, hovering just above his girthy length. A sigh spills from your mouth when his cock brushes your slick entrance —

And right then, Jack’s hands clamp around your thighs. His grip not bruising, but it is firm enough that you can’t move. Can’t lower yourself on him.

“Now, where are your manners, sweetheart?” he asks, playfully cruel.

He knows you’re trapped. You know it too. To prove his point, he rubs his tip against your clit, more slickness gushing out of you at the mere contact. You do let out a miserable whine, your thighs are shaking. But he stays unmoving.

And so you beg. Just like you thought you would.

“I want you, please, I want you so fucking much,” your words pour out rushed and heated, all in one breath, “Want you to fuck me, Jack, please, been thinking about it for months. Before the app, when we were still working together, each time you— you stood next to me or leaned closer during surgeries or talked me through them or— fuck, it was anything, everything, I could barely focus, only kept thinking how much I wanted you to touch me, please-please-please—”

Jack hums. His hands relent. He repositions them so he can guide you instead of stopping you.

“Months, huh? I know the feeling,” he murmurs, with unexpectedly raw honesty.

It lingers. It almost sounds like a confession. But you do not get time to catch the meaning of his words before he starts pushing his cock into your throbbing warmth.

You gasp. He’s easing you down slowly. As your nails dig into his shoulders, his grip tightens; but he keeps composure. Jack’s watching you — your eyes screwed shut and brows pinched together, your body shifting, mouth gulping air as you’re allowing him to stretch you open. He moves one of his hands to draw light circles on your clit, to help you take him, all of him, until you’ve bottomed out.

Your body stills. He feels you clench around him, your pussy gripping him so tightly, he chokes back a groan. Your forehead dips forward, helplessly.

“You are— s’big, so-o —”

“Breathe for me,” Jack instructs, both palms secured at your hips, sounding a little out of breath himself. He watches as your chest rises and falls, the uneven cadence of inhales and exhales. He mercifully gives you a minute to adjust. “Need you to start moving, baby. Yeah?”

You scramble for an answer, all your words slurring out into whines, your body barely used to the stretch. But you want to be good for him. And so you lift your hips. Just a few inches. Then sink onto his cock again, trembling at the overwhelming ache of being stuffed so full.

The pause lasts for barely three seconds.

Then your hips start moving up and down on their own, because it feels too good to stop, because the ache is quickly dissipating into pleasure.

“There she is.”

He lets you find and set the rhythm, at first more grinding and slow, your pussy swallowing him whole each time. As you let the sensation build, as it spreads and turns searing. Euphoric. And your head tips back with a moan.

“Look how well you’re taking me,” Jack praises, his voice husky with lust. “Just like I knew you would.”

His hands grip harder at your hips, and without warning, he starts bouncing you on him. His pace is quicker, harsher, the fat head of his cock rubbing against the spot that makes your vision blur. Jack leans closer to rasp the words into your ear:

“Who do you think I thought about—” his fingers move down to open your legs wider, “While making all these audios—” and he plunges deeper, “For my favorite girl—” and your moans pitch louder, “After her tiresome shifts?”

You’re too cockdrunk to even think of a reply. You’re only capable of moving your hips in time with his, nails scraping at his sweat-covered skin, your slick oozing down to his balls.

“I’m— I’m close,” you mewl. “M’gonna cum, Ja-ack.”

“Think I should let you?” he says through gritted teeth, his own control already slipping.

“P-please,” you stutter out weakly as his hips snap up, “Wanna cum, wanna— want you— t-to make me cum, please.”

A grunt escapes him, and Jack adjusts his hold, his chest heaving against yours, skin rubbing against skin. His mouth latches onto your throat, each word punctuated with a trust:

“That’s a good — fucking — girl.”

His hands drop lower to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze — and then the world around you spins as he effortlessly flips you on your back.

Your legs fall open for him, and he manages to keep his cock nestled so perfectly in your fluttering hole. He doesn’t slow down for a second: Jack shifts his weight on his left leg, angling his hips a little to hit that spot inside you over and over, making your eyes roll back in your head. The room fills with your breathy moans, your cunt squelching around his thick length, your body caged under his weight. In stark contrast, his lips are weightless — against your chest, your collarbones, your arm, mouthing pet names or more praises — or just the letters of your name, you honestly can’t tell. The meaning of his words escapes you.

“Yeah, that’s right. Need your head empty,” Jack groans, breath ragged, his pace relentless. “Need you to only think about how good I’m fucking you.”

He surely is.

Your whole body tenses.

You are so close.

And then you feel his forehead against yours, a pressure of his fingers on your clit, a command given with the utmost softness:

“Let go, baby. I got you.”

The second orgasm tears through you, white-hot and all-consuming. You cum with a sob falling from your lips, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders as your pussy spasms wildly around his cock. He fucks you through it, he does try to last a little longer, but the combination of all this — the way you look, feel, finally his — pushes him over, his own pleasure so intense, he’s powerless against it. Jack’s hips jerk as he cums, filling you up, his broken groans pressed into your neck.

The room is still.

You wait for your breath and heart to calm. His hand brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face, and he whispers, still a little breathless:

“You good?”

You nod first. Then open your mouth:

“That was—” you have to swallow the slight hoarseness of your voice, “Literally the best sex I’ve ever had.” Three heartbeats later, you add with a tired laugh. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

You feel him smile against your cheek before he places a kiss there.

Jack pulls out carefully, leaving you empty — you have to stop yourself from reaching for him, from chasing his familiar warmth. You quietly watch him clamber off the bed and pull his briefs up, then close your eyes so he won’t catch you staring. You listen to him walk out of the room, and suddenly, a realization kicks in: his footsteps sound uneven.

Like he is limping.

Jack comes back with a wet towel and gently cleans you up, then helps you put your panties on and brings you a glass of water. And every time you look at him, your gaze catches on how he is obviously leaning on his healthy leg.

You slowly stretch your neck and shoulders, then tap on the spot next to you. “Come here.”

Jack sits down, a little bit unsure where this is going. And very much tense in the exact place you thought he would be. You move your hands to his right knee and feel his hamstrings flex involuntarily.

“You spend too much time on your feet,” you say, working your fingers over his muscles. “And you put too much pressure on it. Your leg feels like it’s made out of concrete.”

Without even looking, you can tell that now he’s tense all over.

You have seen Jack take the prosthesis off, short moments of reprieve that he allows himself too rarely for your liking, only after particularly long shifts. He isn’t shy about his disability, but he doesn’t like bringing attention to it, you’ve noticed. Like living with it isn’t hard, like it’s not that big of a deal. You also know that he’s got no one to take care of him.

You take your time massaging the scarred tissue, mostly applying pressure with your thumbs as they move from the socket up, then back down. And you know that it’s working when you hear him exhale, his breath a little ragged. Relieved.

“I try to take breaks, but you know how it is. We’re always busy,” Jack counters, with that same boyish stubbornness you can’t possibly be angry at.

“Shen’s an attending now, which is supposed to make your job easier. Don’t act like the ER’s gonna blow up if you sit down for 10 minutes,” you turn your head to look at him.

Jack doesn’t meet you with defiance — he’s sitting with his shoulders slumped and gaze mellow, way too relaxed to hide it. The sight is so endearing, your heart lurches behind your ribs. You fight the urge to kiss him. Instead, your fingers glide down to the edges of the prosthesis’s socket. You do not push it; you let him decide if he wants to be this vulnerable with you. Jack just gives you a nod. A small, barely noticeable movement. Also an immeasurable sign of trust. You carefully remove the artificial limb, then take the sock off to let his skin breathe. Your touch lingers: you lightly trace the white uneven scars, faded reminders of something horrible he managed to survive.

He lets you.

Silence fills up the space between you two, and you don’t know what to do next. Technically, you only needed sex, and Jack didn’t say that it would happen more than once. This would be the perfect moment for you to thank him and head out.

So you remove your hands —

Jack puts his arm around you, firmly. His lack of hesitation helping yours to fade away. He scoops you back, until you’re pressed to him, your back met with his bare chest. His chin is placed on your shoulder, his words warm:

“You really like it in surgery, don’t you?”

“I do,” you answer honestly. “Way more than I thought I would. I was afraid it’d be too challenging, too much pressure, too many new things to learn... But it’s not that hard. And I love learning.”

He laughs, a soft low sound you love just as much. “Even with an attending who’s as emotionally evolved as a toothpick?”

“I think us working together is mutually beneficial, actually. Park’s teaching me how to mend bones, I’m giving him lessons on how to hold a conversation for longer than a minute.”

Jack’s smile is tickling your neck as he pulls you back into bed, so effortlessly, like he has done it many times. You readily curl up against him, resting your palm over his chest. He tugs the blanket up to cover you, his fingers gently moving from your shoulder to your collarbone.

But then your eyes meet his, and it is a discovery you never thought you’d make: he looks self-conscious. He is the one searching for words to put his feelings into.

“You said I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” Jack recalls.

“I didn’t mean literally... I guess I was a little bit dramatic,” you avert your gaze. Okay, maybe you should’ve found a better way to tell him how you felt. Preferably without it looking like a crash-out.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” his hand cradles the side of your face, gentle and reassuring. “From the first day you came to the ER, with your humor and your curiosity and your quick thinking... To me, you were like a breath of fresh air,” he skims his thumb over your lower lip, his touch light, his words heavy with the emotions he’s been holding back for months. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was working up the courage.”

His heartbeat is hushed under your palm. Steady with certainty. It radiates from him like light, your insecurities melting away under his gaze like snow under the sun.

After a moment, you speak up: your voice is teasing. “Funny how you had just enough courage to record raunchy audios.”

“My therapist said I needed a hobby. Unfortunately, I suck at golf,” Jack leaves a kiss on your forehead. “But you were the one who gave me the idea.”

“Um, for all the great ideas I am famous for, that one definitely wasn’t mine.”

His chest vibrates with laughter. “You don’t remember it? Your third week in the ER, the nightcrawles on a night out. I walked you out to wait for your cab, and you said — and I quote — that I’ve got a very soothing voice. That I should narrate audiobooks or something.”

You cover your face with your palm, groaning. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that out loud. I had five shots of tequila. I hoped you would forget.”

“I didn’t,” Jack says and pulls your hand away. “Everything you do and say is very memorable to me,” he presses his lips to your wrist. Then puts your hand back on his chest and holds it there, his thumb brushing yours. And out of nowhere, very nonchalantly, he asks. “So, does it actually take you 40 minutes to get to work?”

“Yeah. Give or take,” you tell him vaguely.

He doesn’t buy it. “And if we’re being more specific?”

“Closer to an hour,” you admit reluctantly. “But the rent is pretty low, and most of my neighbours are nice, and I finally got my shower fixed last week so —”

“You can move in here.”

Your words die down in an instant as you stare at him, trying to discern a hint of humor, of pity, of anything to suggest he doesn’t mean it.

“You aren’t serious,” you mumble, but his unblinking gaze confirms that he is. “No, I really— I can’t.”

Jack props his head up on one hand. “Why not?”

“Because it’s your apartment. You’re living on your own, and I wouldn’t want to bother you or— or take up too much space.”

“Didn’t you say this place can fit a football team? So unless you’re gonna bring another 10 people with you...”

“No, it’s just me,” you say timidly and hesitate for a few seconds. But since you’re out of arguments, the only thing you’re left with is the truth. “I don’t want you to regret it later on.”

“I won’t regret it.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know you plenty. We worked together for half a year.”

“Yeah, but that was us in the hospital. Which isn’t exactly informative, because I can be a total mess in my everyday life. What if you come home to find my clothes lying around everywhere? What if I’ve got questionable coffee preferences or weird food habits?” you absentmindedly draw circles on his skin, stumbling over the excuses you are nervously coming up with. “And then we’ll start getting into fights because I was too tired to iron the bedsheets or I accidentally took your favorite t-shirt or ate your favorite ice cream because I got my period and acted bitchy or —”

Jack tilts your chin up, the small movement making you close your mouth. A smile pulls at his lips, soft just the rest of him — now, in this moment, with you: soft touch of his strong hands, soft grey curls, a little ruffled (totally your fault), soft gaze that is a vortex of green, amber and gold. His voice carries the same softness when he says:

“You usually take your coffee black with just a splash of soy milk. But when you’re tired, you go for these obnoxiously sugary drinks that barely have any caffeine in them,” his smile grows wider. “You do not throw things around, not when the inside of your locker is strategically organized by shelves. Your only weird food habit is thinking a protein bar can be considered a full meal. I don’t iron my bedsheets, you can wear any of my t-shirts, and I’ll make sure to stock up on ice cream. I’ve never seen you being bitchy, but you can get a little uncooperative when you’re upset or nervous. Which I can handle,” but there is no pressure behind his reasoning — instead, he adds with hope, his eyes not leaving yours, “I know enough, and I’d love to learn the rest. If you let me.”

The feeling rolls all over you, familiar and very long-awaited one: of calmness that his presence always brings you. Of just how comforting it is to be with him. Jack makes it sound too easy for you to harbour any doubts.

“Okay,” you manage quietly.

And when your hands cradle his face, he leans in first to close the distance.

You kiss him slowly, like you are trying to spell out your gratitude, your ever-growing fondness, your feelings you are still afraid to name. He holds you close like he can understand exactly what your lips are saying. You want to drag this moment out for longer; but then a yawn bubbles in your throat.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you get at least eight hours of sleep,” Jack notes, more caring than stern, his nose bumping into yours. And you can tell his eyelids are already drooping. “What time do you need to wake up?”

“M’not working tomorrow. Turned off my alarm already,” you mumble.

“Good,” he nods with his eyes closed, wrapping both arms around you — and then adds in a tender whisper, “Good girl.”

You smile into his chest, happily and drowsily, and you know you’re about to fall asleep. And just before you do, you think:

no, this definitely isn’t a one-time thing.

Robby took a deep breath and crossed his arms as he pursed his lips. “Okay. We’ve hired a new attending. She will be primarily on nights, filling in as needed on day shift.”

Jack blinked once. Twice. Three times. “You don’t love me anymore? Is that it? I’ve lost yoru trust, haven’t I? What did I do?”

And there it was. Robby huffed out a breath. “I think you’ll like her if you give her a chance.”

Jack tossed his hands up in the air. “Why would I like the woman you’re replacing me with?”

“She not replacing you, Jack. She’s meant to help you.”

Jack shook his head. “I can’t believe the love is gone, just like that.”

“You cheating on me, Robinavitch?” a voice came from behind them and both men turned to find you walking toward them.

Robby smiled wide at the sight of you. He’d known you for years and when Gloria had agreed to hire a new attending, he’d immediately put your name forward. He gave you a warm hug in greeting before turning to introduce you to Jack.

Jack snapped his gaping mouth shut once the attention was on him. His gaze moved between you and Robby. “You haven’t heard the end of this,” he announced before walking away.

Robby rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about him. He—”

“Don’t sweat it, Mike. I’ve got this.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly concerned by the look in your eye.

You spent your first few shifts learning how Jack worked, how he ran his team. You were halfway through the third night when you turned to him with a lifted brow. “Jack, do you even work on anything but traumas?”

He looked up from the chart he was perusing. “I’m delegating. You’re doing great,” he said in a chipper voice and gave you two thumbs up.

You hummed in acknowledgment and moved off, a plan already formulating in your brain.

An hour later you slid up to Jack’s side, chart in hand. “Hey, Jack,” you said, voice saccharine sweet.

Jack side eyed you. “Yes?”

“Could you look at the patient in Eight? I just know you could handle it so much better than me.”

He straightened his stance, his chest puffing out a little. “Yeah, I suppose I could.”

“Oh good,” you said and hurried off before he could change his mind.

Or perhaps Robby would have introduced you sooner.

By the end of the week, you had convinced Jack Abbot that no one could handle the various cases that came through the doors quite like him. You sat at the hub charting, Lena glanced at Jack then over at you. “Stomach pain in Four needs looking over.”

You nodded once. “Oh, Jack. There’s a patient in Four with abdominal pain. Could you look at them? You’re just so good with those.”

Abbot nodded and hurried off. You just watched him go with a smirk.

Lena pinned you with her gaze. “What are you doing to that man?”

You gave a little shake of your head. “Gotta train them early, Lena, or they think they can get away with anything.”

Her bright laughter filled the air and you grinned as you stood to grab a chart. “I’ll check in on the kids then take a look at the shortness of breath in sixteen. Her scans are back.”

At handoff the next morning, you were going through handoff with the residents and students. Jack and Robby stood on the far side of the hub watching.

“Got an interesting text from Lena early this morning,” Robby said.

“What did it say?”

“That the new attending is bullying you.” Robby couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice.

Jack huffed. “She’s not bullying.”

Robby said nothing, waiting for Jack to continue as he knew he would.

A smile curved Jack’s lips. “She’s just calling me out on my shit.”

Robby’s answering grin was wide and genuine. “Told you that you’d like her.” He continued to smile as he sipped his coffee.

Jack waved a hand through the air and shook his head man. “No, man. I don’t like her. I’m in love. She’s perfect.”

Robby nearly spat out his coffee. “Excuse me?” he finally managed.

“I’m gonna marry her.” Jack nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels.

“That is never going to happen,” Robby insisted.

“That’s rude,” Jack said with a frown. “You don’t think I can get her to marry me?”

Robby ran a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’ll have a ring on her finger by this time next year,” Jack said, sounding certain.

“Don’t you think you should start with asking her out on a date before you propose marriage?” Robby was getting a headache and it wasn’t even 07:30 yet.

“Already asked. We’re getting breakfast after shift.”

Robby arched a brow surprised Jack had actually asked. More surprised that you’d agreed. He gave you a one-armed hug when you stepped up beside them. Jack grinned goofily at you.

“Hey, ready to go?” you asked. “The others are waiting.”

Jack’s smile fell. “Others?”

“Yeah, I invited the rest of nightshift. Didn’t figure you’d mind since we’re just getting to know one another.”

His friend visibly deflated. “Yeah. Sure. Just let me get my stuff.”

The two of you watched him leave. “You knew he was asking you out on a date, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” you answered instantly. “Got to keep him on his toes, Robinavitch. As it turns out no one else was able to make it.”

Robby chuckled. “You are a cruel woman but you might just be perfect for him.”

You waved as you walked toward the doors, turning back to Robby before you got too far. “I promise I won’t torment him. Much.”

Cassie didn’t know what exactly she would do after her residency. She was considering a handful of fellowships, namely addiction and pain management. Different fellowships with the same outcomes—so to speak. Working with the street team had changed her even more than her own experiences changed her. Each person she treated had a story, a history, friends and family. They were owed dignity and respect. 

More than that, working with the community and other mutual aid groups kept her going on days when it felt like the world was no longer fighting for those that needed it. This country was big, vast, and unforgiving. It would eat you up and spit you out without a second thought. And yet, there were also people dedicated to caring, to pushing back on the jaws that tried to grind and destroy. Cassie hoped she was one of those. 

Every kind of person worked in mutual aid. While it was uncommon, there were handful of rich business people, more often than not though, it was young people who saw the changes in their community and wanted to push back. 

Cassie hadn’t been sure what to make of you, though. 

She first heard about you from Yasmin and Petunia, two older women who had probably been living on the streets longer than not. 

“The art and gift shop down the road, she lets us use her shower and her nice products,” Yasmin told Cassie conspiratorially. “And she helped re-bandage Jimmy’s foot.” 

“Really?” Cassie asked, her eyebrows raising. “Sounds generous.” 

“There are rules, but we all tend to abide by them.” 

“What rules?” Cassie asked. 

“Not to steal products, only take what you need, things like that. Sometimes, she cooks us dinner. It’s not very good, but she’s nice about it,” Petunia replied. 

“She lives above the shop, so when Carlos had his overdose, she is the one who called 911 and gave him narcan,” said Yasmin. 

There were a couple dozen or so homeless neighbors (Kiara preferred house-less, but Cassie didn’t mind either way. When she was homeless it wasn't just because she was lacking a house; she was lacking a home.) In the five block radius of the community clinic corner. Every week one of the street teams would deploy to this area and people would come by and seek out whatever services they needed. Cassie deployed a lot of methadone and gave away a lot of narcan. 

“She gives away sterile needles, too. She had a bin in her alleyway for people to get rid of them safely,” piped in Alexander. He was younger than the two women; they seemed to have adopted him. He had only been on the street for the last few months. Both women were trying to convince him to take advantage of more than just the medical services the street team provided. 

“That’s really kind of her,” Cassie replied. 

“She pays me to clean up the needles around the street. Gave me stick proof gloves and everything,” Alexander continued. He fished them out of his coat pocket and handed them to Cassie. 

Whoever this woman was, whoever you were, Cassie was determined to meet you before the day was up. 

After a long day walking along the homeless encampment under the bridge, Cassie trudged up to the high street and found the juxtaposition startling. The tree covered idyllic road was covered in pedestrians, cars, and young families taking advantage of the cool fall day. Each meandering person was so unaware that on the underside of the bridge were dozens of people who were never guaranteed food, water, or any kind of safety. 

But that’s often how people preferred it. 

Still, Cassie shouldered her backpack and made her way into the crowd eventually landing in front of your storefront. 

Uncommon Goods. 

The shop was the same orange-ish red brick as its neighbors, with an inset door and a wide window decorated with a display of goods. There were art pieces, herbs, jewelry and more based on the window. There was a hand painted sign that displayed: Local artisans. Local goods. Local prices.

Cassie thought it was a clever way of saying expensive, but she couldn’t begrudge. It was expensive just to exist now-a-days and if advertising unique hand-crafted goods with euphemistic pricing is how you stayed in business, well, so be it. 

Pushing through the door, there was a soft tinkle of bells above her. The smell was not as strong as Cassie had been expecting, not that Cassie could identify any of the scents. She had lost most of her sense of smell years ago. There were tall shelves full of beautiful artwork, decor, hand crafted items. There were also herbs and things that might suggest the store moonlighted as a witch’s coven. 

You were sitting at the counter, perched on a stool. It had been years since someone had taken her breath away. Frankly, Cassie had thought that she had been mostly desensitized to the visuals of a human body, considering how often she had seen it in so many different states. However, you were as close to a goddess as Cassie had ever seen in real life. Tattoos were covering your arms, jewelry stacked on your ears, fingers, and neck. 

Despite the eccentricities of the shop, you were wearing a simple shirt and jeans. Cassie suspected if she could peak behind your counter, heavy boots would adorn your feet. You looked exactly as she was expecting and also nothing at all. It was hard to pin an age on you and Cassie wasn’t too interested in trying. 

Instead, she moseyed around the shop, looking at hand crafted soaps, candles and even pottery. When the customer you had been helping finished, Cassie made her way over to you and said, 

“This is an impressive place.” 

You looked up from your computer and beamed at her. Briefly, Cassie wondered if this is what a heart attack felt like. She wanted all of your attention and none of it at the same time. It was like you had wrapped her in a magic spell, not that Cassie was in any hurry to leave. 

“Thank you,” you replied. Even your voice was magnetic. “First time in?” 

“Yeah, I got it on recommendation,” Cassie replied. 

“Oh? From whom?” 

Even your grammar was impeccable. 

“Petunia and Yasmin,” Cassie replied. 

“Really?” Your face was unreadable and Cassie realized you were waiting to see why Cassie was here. She wondered if the women below the bridge were still being harassed by the local PD after their protesting against demolishing the community center down the street. 

“I’m with PTMC’s street team. We come out to the bridge every week to check on the neighbors,” Cassie replied. 

Your smile relaxed and you said, “What’s your name?” 

“Cassie McKay.” 

“Oh! Yes! They’ve mentioned you.” 

“I wanted to meet the woman who is so kind to them,” Cassie replied. “I’ve grown to care about them a lot.” 

“They’re good people. They have a rotating schedule of who uses the showers so everyone gets water and a chance at being clean.” 

“Sounds like them, they run that place like the navy,” Cassie replied. “How long have you worked here?” 

“I opened the shop in 2022,” you replied. “Not very long, but long enough that I think we’re here for awhile.” 

“Everything is created by people in Pittsburgh?” 

“Definitely, the art, pottery, jewellery, everything.” 

“Do you make anything?” 

“I do the stained glass and some of the jewelry,” you replied. “Hold on a second.” 

You stood (Cassie was right about the boots) and disappeared through a beaded curtained off doorway. Shifting from foot to foot, Cassie found herself amused by the stickers and key chains waiting for an unsuspecting tourist on the counter. A cute cartoon bird that said “Support Your Local Murder” was emblazoned on a key chain and sticker. Cassie picked it up the sticker for Harrison and key chain for her name badge

When you returned, you had a small pair of earrings in your hand. They were a faded orange, like the last vestiges of a sunset. Neither were identical, instead, were a long oblong shape, maybe an inch long. Cassie thought they were beautiful. 

“For you,” you said, sliding them over to you. “For all the work you do for my neighbors.” 

“I can’t accept this,” Cassie said. “Let me pay for it.” 

“No way,” you leaned closer and whispered, “Between you and me I went viral on tiktok a while back. I’m not hurting for customers.” 

“At least let me pay for the sticker. It’s for my son,” Cassie said. She wasn’t sure why she mentioned Harrison. 

Your smile didn’t change, but you almost looked…disappointed? 

“Still, no. But if you tell me you want something for your husband and not wife, I might be inclined to charge you. We’re very pro women here, well, perhaps we’re anti-cis men,” you amended. 

Cassie felt her cheeks flush. “No husband or wife, or partner.” 

“Really?” You asked. “Shame.” 

“Shame?” 

“Well, not for us single women in Pittsburgh,” you said winking. 

“Are you flirting with me?” Cassie found herself spluttering. 

“I’m trying to.” 

“And what would you do if I flirted back?” 

“I’d ask the most beautiful doctor I’ve ever seen on a date and then brag about how I went on a date with a doctor. What else would I do?” 

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” 

“Even though I have a son?” 

“I’ve always had a thing for MILFs,” you said sitting back on your stool and crossing your legs. Cassie’s eyes couldn’t help follow the lines of your legs. 

“What if I’m a terrible person?” Cassie challenged. Why was she challenging this? A beautiful woman was kind of asking her out and she was fighting it?

“Then Petunia and Yasmin wouldn’t like you,” you said simply. “Do you have any other silly questions or can I get your phone number and pick you up the next time you’re free?” 

“I’m free tonight,” Cassie heard herself say. 

“You don’t say. Tell me, Cassie, do you like sushi?” 

“Yes.” 

“When do you get off your volunteering shift?” 

“In an hour.” 

“The shop closes at six.” 

“I could meet you back here. Maybe when I am not dressed in scrubs.” 

Your eyes clearly roved over her form. “They certainly do something for you.” 

“That is bullshit,” Cassie laughed. You just grinned at her and said, 

“Meet me here at six. I’ll wine you, dine you, and maybe if I’m lucky you’ll come upstairs with me.” 

“I don’t do that on the first date,” Cassie said, almost apologetic. 

“Well, I guess I should make sure I’m fun enough for a second date.” 

“I guess you should,” Cassie replied, still struck by how she walked in without a date and left with plans. “The earrings weren’t to bribe me on a date, were they?” 

You snorted but said, “No, they were thank you gifts for treating my friends with dignity. Anyone else from your team is welcome to stop in, too.” 

“I kind of want to keep you to myself,” Cassie muttered. She didn’t realize you could hear her until your wind chime laugh erupted. 

“Don’t worry, Dr. McKay. I think you’ve bewitched me too much for another to catch my eye so soon.” 

The heat that had been slowly building in Cassie's gut bloomed into butterflies. Not even Chad had spoken to her in such a blatantly flirty way. It wasn’t even true that she didn’t sleep with people on the first date—that’s almost exclusively what she did. But for some reason she didn’t want you to only be interested in sex. She wanted to keep you in her orbit for however long you were willing to stay. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Don’t worry, my actions will back me up, too,” you said. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Cassie.” 

“Yeah,” said Cassie. “You will.” 

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His brow furrowed, and he followed the sound of your voice. He caught you in front of the guestroom, fiddling with the knob. He couldn’t see around you to catch what you were up to.

“What are you doing, baby?” he asked, voice low.

You jumped and turned in surprise, eyes wide. “Me? Nothing. How was your shift?”

He pursed his lips and looked from you to the door behind you. “It was fine. You sure everything’s alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded, taking his arm in your hands and steering him toward the bedroom. “You take a shower and I’ll check on dinner.”

Before he could even attempt to get you in the shower with him, you were gone. He frowned after you for a moment then went about getting himself cleaned up. Once he was clean and in lounge clothes, he left the bedroom to head to the kitchen. The guestroom door beckoned and he hesitated. Finally giving into temptation, he reached for the knob only to find the door locked. He didn’t even know the door could be locked. What the hell?

He looked from the door toward the kitchen where he could hear you humming. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Jack. She’s up to something.

Robby filled Jack in on your behavior during handoff but Jack thought the other man was worrying over nothing. You were probably hiding presents or something. You always did start your shopping early.

When he arrived home, however, he was surprised to hear you in the kitchen. You were almost always still in bed if he got home on time. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said as he leaned in the doorway watching you put together the most random plate of food he’d ever seen in his life. Nuts, chicken, a whole egg and three different kinds of berries and a sliced banana.

You turned from the counter in surprise. “Jack! You’re home early.”

He shook his head once, eyes narrowing. “Right on time actually.”

You glanced at the clock. “Oh.”

He stepped closer. “What are you making?”

“Breakfast,” you said with a shrug.

Sucking in a breath, he thought for a minute then said, “Okay.” Robby was right, you were clearly hiding something. “I’m going to go shower.” He said the words slowly as if you might reveal something if he just delayed long enough.

You gave him a bright smile. “Great. I’ll make you some breakfast when you get out.”

The plate on the counter caught his attention again. “Why don’t I take care of breakfast this morning?”

When he’d finished his shower and headed back toward the kitchen on his crutches, he encountered you coming out of the guestroom, shutting the door quickly behind you. You kept one hand on the knob behind you as you gave him a smile he was sure you thought was innocent. You were wrong.

“Any reason you keep going in the guestroom when we’re not around? Something we should know?” he asked, eyes tracing your face looking for any hint of what you were up to.

“Nope. Just straightening up a bit.”

“Uh-huh.” As he followed you down the hall, he couldn’t help but glance back at the room.

Two days later, Robby was off. Normally, when that was the case, the three of you would go out to breakfast after Jack got home from his shift. You, however, claimed a headache but encouraged your boyfriends to go without you. Once you’d all but shoved them out the door, they sat in the car and stared at the house.

“How long should we give her before we come back?” Jack asked.

Robby shrugged one shoulder. “Five minutes?”

So, they drove around for a few minutes before returning. They entered the house as quietly as possible, your voice drifting from the direction of the guestroom. “No, you can’t do that. You can’t make a mess, they’ll get so mad. I told you that you needed to behave. You’ve been so good, just be a good boy for me.”

The men frowned and exchanged a look before moving as quietly as possible down the hall. The guestroom door was cracked open. Robby reached out with one hand and slowly pushed it open. Never in a million years could they have possibly guessed what they would see when he did.

You sat on the floor, a plate of food beside you as you cradled a bundle of fabric in one arm. They’d anticipated a pet of some sort. A cat. A dog. Maybe even a rabbit, you’d always liked rabbits. But it was none of those ordinary animals. No. You, their girlfriend who they were reminding themselves they loved very much right now, had smuggled a raccoon into their house.

A baby raccoon, sure. An adorable baby raccoon, they’d admit. But…

“Are you nuts?” Jack asked, raspy voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you looked between them and back to the raccoon in your arms. “It’s not what it looks like?”

Robby ran a hand down his face. “It’s not? Because it looks like you have one of the primary carriers of rabies wrapped in…Is that my Steelers hoodie?”

You winced. “I’ll get you a new one?”

“Jesus Christ, honey,” he groaned. “What the hell?”

“His mom got hit by a car. I couldn’t just leave him there. Look at him.” Your puppy eyes were giving the raccoon’s a run for their money.

“There are people you call for things like this,” Jack said. “They’re trained.”

“I looked up what he’s supposed to eat and everything. I’m a good mom for him.”

Both men went very still. “You can’t keep him,” Robby said.

“But—”

“No,” they said firmly and in unison.

You sighed. “Alright. Fine.”

“Why don’t you put him back wherever you’ve been keeping him and come out here so we can talk about all this?” Jack kept his tone level, controlled like he did with psych patients.

As soon as you put the kit back in the kennel you’d gotten from somewhere (Instacart you’d tell them later) they pulled you into the hall and shut the door. Jack immediately began looking you over while Robby pulled out his phone and started looking for a number to call. “Did it bite you? Scratch you?” Jack asked, frantic.

“Wilbur’s a good boy. He would never.”

“Not even a nibble?” Jack asked at the same time Robby said, “Wilbur?”

You huffed out a sigh. “I’m fine. Promise. You can inspect me thoroughly later. And yes, Wilbur.”

Robby shook his head as he arranged for someone to come get their houseguest. “They will be here in half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” you echoed, despondent.

Jack shook his head while Robby huffed in disbelief.

“Sweetheart, you are in so much trouble for this little stunt.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest as he glowered at you.

“This could have turned out very bad for you and your little friend in there. You understand that right? Even if he looks healthy, he could have rabies,” Robby added.

“I get it. I’m sorry.” You didn’t sound sorry. Robby was getting ready to chastise you again when your bottom lip started to tremble. “I’m just going to miss him so much.” Tears rolled down your cheeks.

Jack sighed and pulled you into a hug. “I’m sorry, honey. I know you have a big heart but this one we can’t give you. It’s not fair to him or to you.”

“I can do it, man. It’s no problem.”

Robby shook his head. “No, I don’t want to inconvenience you. They’ve already agreed, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

Jack kind of grumbled but pulled out his keys, removing Robby’s and handing it over.

“Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. He then turned immediately to you and handed you the key. “Thanks, sweetheart. See you in a week.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and turned to walk out of the hospital, Jack gaping after him.

“Hey,” Jack called just as Robby reached the door. Robby merely lifted his hand in a wave before disappearing outside.

Your husband turned to you and held out his hand. “Give me back that key.”

“Nope,” you said as you slipped it into your pocket and grabbed a tablet. “Get to work, Abbot.”

Caleb Jefferson was rarely in the emergency department past 7:00pm. Tonight, however, he’d agreed to cover a rare night shift for his counterpart that had a bad case of food poisoning, so here he was.

He was entering case notes when an exaggerated sigh pulled his attention. Caleb glanced up to find Jack Abbot with his head in his hands as he leaned on the hub. He didn’t want to ask. He really didn’t, but it was kind of his job.

He took a deep breath. “Everything okay, Jack?”

Jack lifted his head. “Oh, Caleb. I didn’t know you were there.”

That was a lie. He’d literally met Caleb’s eye across the department before he started his case notes.

Caleb braced himself as Jack opened his mouth to speak again. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”

“I mean, sure, but we are in the middle of the department. We can go to my—”

“No, I can’t wait any longer to say what I need to say,” Jack interrupted. “I’ve been betrayed, Caleb, in the most fundamental way possible.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need a bit more information than that,” Caleb said, his gaze darting briefly to you as you walked up behind your husband.

“My best friend and my wife, man. I watched him give her a key to his house and then…he kissed her.”

Caleb had to admit that Jack looked devastated, but you stood behind him rolling your eyes.

“Jack Jefferson Abbot, you tell the truth right now,” you snapped, making Jack jump.

Caleb turned to look at you slowly. “Don’t give him my name. Don’t do that.” The two of you were going to make him retire early.

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Jack agreed. “Besides my middle name is Gary.”

“No, it’s not.”

Caleb cleared his throat. “Mind telling me what actually happened? Either of you?”

When Jack just crossed his arms over his chest, you answered. “Michael took back the key he gave to Jack and gave it to me instead. Then he kissed me on my head as he has done for years before he left for his trip.”

“Jack,” Caleb said and pinched the bridge of his nose, “we’ve talked about this. Gloria made me talk to you about this.”

“This is serious. There was no reason for Robby to take that key and hand it to her like…like I didn’t matter.”

“Michael is tired of you terrorizing his neighbors with naked yoga,” you said as you grabbed a tablet and started scrolling through a chart.

Naked. Yoga.

Fantastic. Just the image Caleb wanted permanently ingrained in his psyche.

“I’m going to go back upstairs now. Once the social worker talks to the family in Nine, the patient can be moved upstairs,” Caleb said flatly, wheeling backward away from this conversation.

“But—” Jack started.

“No.”

“I just—”

“Nope. Absolutely not.” Caleb turned and maneuvered himself as quickly as possible to the elevator. As he waited for the car he glanced over just in time to see Jack turn to you.

“See what you did? I hope you’re happy.”

“Thrilled, baby. I need to go by Mike’s after shift and water his plants. Don’t wait up.”

✦ RATEMYATTENDING.COM ✦ The Only Anonymous Review Site For Medical Residents Who Are Suffering 

⭐ NEW REVIEW ⭐ Attending: Dr. J. Abbot Department: Emergency Medicine Shift: Night Hospital: PTMC Stars: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)

Review: Three stars because I respect competence and Dr. Abbot is, infuriatingly, very competent. He is also the human equivalent of a terms and conditions document. Technically says things but refuses to make it enjoyable. His feedback on my patient notes consists of two word replies sent at odd hours of the night that hit different when you are sleep deprived and emotionally fragile. I once saw him almost smile. I have not recovered. He takes his coffee black which tracks because he has abolished all joy from his palate. Would recommend if you like to be challenged, humbled on a molecular level, and occasionally wondering if you've made a terrible life choice. Four stars for the knowledge, minus one for the emotional damage.

…

You posted it, closed the tab and finished your tea, and forgot about it entirely. For about forty eight hours.

…

the goblins 🏥🌙

trinity [2:34 PM] Y/N

trinity [2:34 PM] Y/N WAKE UP

trinity [2:34 PM] Y/NNNNNNN

dennis [2:35 PM] she's sleeping trinity she worked last night

trinity [2:35 PM] DENNIS THIS IS URGENT

dennis [2:35 PM] is someone dying

trinity [2:35 PM] no but y/n might be when she sees this

trinity [2:35 PM] [link: ratemyattending.com — Dr. J. Abbot, PTMC ER]

trinity [2:36 PM] 33,000 VIEWS

dennis [2:36 PM] wait

trinity [2:36 PM] I KNOW

dennis [2:37 PM] who wrote this

trinity [2:37 PM] ……

trinity [2:37 PM] I'm gonna need you to read it and then ask me that question again

dennis [2:38 PM] oh no

trinity [2:38 PM] yeah

dennis [2:38 PM] oh NO

trinity [2:38 PM] YEAH

dennis [2:38 PM] "he once almost smiled and I have not recovered"

dennis [2:38 PM] trinity only one person talks like this

y/n [2:51 PM] why are you two yelling in my phone i'm trying to sleep

trinity [2:51 PM] GO CHECK RATEMYATTENDING.COM RIGHT NOW

y/n [2:52 PM] what why

dennis [2:52 PM] just do it please

y/n [2:54 PM] haha funny

trinity [2:54 PM] Y/N

y/n [2:54 PM] what

y/n [2:55 PM] okay so hypothetically

trinity [2:55 PM] HYPOTHETICALLY

y/n [2:55 PM] if someone made that at 3am and forgot about it

dennis [2:55 PM] 33,000 people have seen it and not forgotten about it

y/n [2:56 PM] okay but nobody knows it's me

trinity [2:56 PM] I knew it was you before I finished the second sentence

dennis [2:56 PM] y/n i have READ YOUR PERSONAL DIARY

y/n [2:57 PM] you were not supposed to bring that up ever

trinity [2:57 PM] LMAOOOO WAIT SHE HAS A DIARY

dennis [2:57 PM] it's not relevant. what's relevant is that you are going to get FIRED

y/n [2:58 PM] it's anonymous dennis calm down

y/n [2:58 PM] also. 33k?

trinity [2:58 PM] 33k and climbing bestie

…

You arrived for your shift the following night at 6:58 PM, travel mug in hand, completely unprepared for what was waiting for you.

Specifically, you heard Mateo's voice, carrying across the ER "...minus one for the emotional damage," he was reading, phone held aloft like he was doing a dramatic reading at a book club. Several nurses were gathered around the station. Two residents from the day shift who hadn't left yet were lurking near the doorway. 

John was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and an expression on his face that could only be described as delighted. "Whoever wrote this, deserves a raise."

"They deserve a medal." one of the nurses said.

You sat down at the nurses' station, opened your charting notes, and did not make eye contact with a single human being.

Mateo slid into the seat beside you. "Good morning," he said pleasantly.

"It's seven PM."

"It's always morning somewhere." He set his phone face up on the desk between you. The RateMyAttending page. 47,000 views now. "Wild thing about this post," he said conversationally, "is that whoever wrote it clearly works nights."

"Lots of people work nights."

"Mhm." He nodded slowly. "Also clearly has beef specifically with the feedback style of Dr. Abbot.”

"Mateo."

"Yeah?"

"I will put you on bedpan duty."

He smiled, picked up his phone, and stood to walk off. “Whoever it is, they write beautifully.” 

From the other end of the ER, you heard the emergency bay doors open. Jack stepped in, already scanning the board before he'd even fully arrived.  He paused at the nurses' station and looked at the remnants of the gathered crowd. "Is there something I'm missing?" he asked.

John from across the room called out, “Have you heard of RateMyAttending?”

"No," Jack said.

"You might want to." John smirked as he took a long sip from his coffee.

Jack looked at him for a long moment. Then he looked around the room slowly and his gaze landed on you for just a second before moving on. "I'll add it to my list." he said flatly, and picked up the first chart of the night.

…

Much later, around 2 AM when the department had quieted to its nighttime hum, you were charting at the far end of the nurses' station when Jack appeared beside you and set a coffee cup down next to your notes.

"You've been on since seven," he said, not looking up from his own chart. "You'll make errors if you're running on empty."

It was black coffee. His favorite. "I take mine with cream and two sugars," you said.

"The coffee machine on this floor is out of both," he said. "You're welcome."

He walked away and you looked at his retreating back. Then back at the disgusting liquid in the cup.  You picked up your phone under the desk and began to type. 

…

✦ RATEMYATTENDING.COM ✦ The Only Anonymous Review Site For Medical Residents Who Are Suffering

"Doesn't matter," he huffs, returning to the data pad in front of him. "I'll see you sooner rather than later."

You scoff. "Gee thanks, way to jinx me."

"I'm just being realistic."

"No, you're just being a buzzkill."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender before stepping away from the hub and starting his shift.

It's not your first time wearing these stilettos, you're gonna be fine. And yet, deep down in your gut, you know he's gonna be proven right.

It's 1:03 am when Santos wheels you into the ED.

You made it a point to come in through the ambulance bay, to flash your badges, to be as discrete and quiet as possible.

You'd already called Ellis, told her to be ready because you simply refused to see the smug look on Jack's face if he got to you first.

In your defense, the DJ put on Bad Bunny and you were pulled up onto a table to dance with Mateo and some bitch decided that she didn't like you getting an ounce of attention over her so she accidentally slammed into you.

Next thing you know, you're on the floor, ankle twisted and throbbing, head intact, thankfully, but both your wrists are killing you.

Santos, Javadi and Whitaker decide to come with you, even though you told them explicitly that they shouldn't.

Why?

Because they're the worst drunks you have ever met, except Javadi sweet summer child, and you're not even two steps into the ED when their obnoxious cackling gets you noticed by Shen.

He's crossing over to check on a patient in the north wing, mid sip on his iced coffee when he catches the three of you.

And instead of acting like everything's normal and fine, the dummies freeze, like actually freeze.

"You know I can still see you, right?" Shen narrows his gaze.

"Oh fuck, we didn't think this through," Santos jokes.

"Quick, run for it—"

"No running in my ED."

You groan, loudly, hiding your face in your palms as Javadi rubs your back soothingly.

Whitaker and Santos exchange a glance before they devolve into a fit of giggles at Jack's unamused expression.

"This is a hospital, you are both doctors, act like it."

"Yes boss."

The two salute him and you're sure you've died and this is your own personalized hell.

"Javadi," he says, closer to you this time. "Can you please get Whitaker and Santos home?"

You assume she nods behind you.

"Thank you," he crouches down in front of you. "I'll take care of this one."

You refuse to look at him as you sit in central seven.

Lena helped you out of your clothes and into a gown, even brought you some makeup wipes to clean up while Jack and Shen got to work.

Push fluids, get x-rays, CT scan just in case you hit your head, all the works.

You refuse to look at him, refuse to do anything other than hum and nod along as he gives you course of treatment.

Luckily, nothing's broken, just sprained. You need to rest and ice and rest and ice.

"You know—"

"If you say 'I told you' so I will scream so loud."

He chuckles, sitting down on the chair beside your bed.

"I was gonna say, before being so rudely interrupted," he chides and you roll your eyes. "That my shift is over in a couple of hours if you want to stick around and rest a little. I can take you home after."

You would really like that but...

You shake your head no. "You guys need the bed, I can just get a cab—"

"We honestly don't, it's been pretty—"

You reach out instinctively and squish his lips together like you usually do to Shen every time he dares even think about the C or Q words.

His eyes widen in surprise but he doesn't move to remove your touch.

Your own practically bulge out of your skull as you realize what you're doing.

"Shit, sorry," your face flushes instantly.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbles, too soft for your liking. "I'm actually offended you'd think I would pull a Shen and curse us all this late in the game."

"You never know when senility is gonna strike."

He sits back in shock, mouth hanging open in mock offense.

"Well at least I still have some common sense," he huffs. "Wearing six inch heels to the club? That's amateur hour."

"I've never had an ounce of common sense my entire life, can't get me with that."

"So that's why you refuse to bring a jacket anywhere you go."

"No, that's just because I like to steal yours."

He scoffs, amused.

"What? They're heavy and soft and I can keep so much candy in the pockets—"

HIs smile softens, absurdly so and you can start to see the same tinge of pink in his cheeks.

You instantly go quiet, fiddling with your fingers as he tries to get himself out of whatever you both just fell into.

He sighs deeply. "Two hours, okay?"

You manage a nod. "Whatever you say doc, I'll be here, waiting, not much I can do."

"Don't worry, you'll be a pro at getting around on one foot in no time," he wiggles his right leg in the air before pulling back the curtain and dimming the lights.

"Gee thanks Captain Hook." You hear it as soon as you say it, eyes shutting in painful annoyance.

He simply chuckles. "Yeah you're definitely tired."

"I'm high on pain meds, cut me some slack."

"Never."

a/n: oh I am putting off so many things but idc, here's another blurb

dividers by @/enchanthings

“oh- oh god, oh fuck. wow. wow-ah..” dennis gasped out softly, his voice raspy and hoarse, his cheek smushed against the pillow he was holding with a white knuckled grip. he was lying on his stomach, breath heavy.

this was only one of the many positions you have had him in already.

“tapping out yet?” you say breathlessly, your hands on his hips, just above his ass as you pulled your cock out, right before pushing it back in. dennis trembled and whined meekly, shaking his head as best as he could. “n—no, nuh uh..”

“...perfect, then.” you whisper, one hand sliding up his spine to grip the back of his neck. it was then that your pace sped up a little, thrusts more punctuated, brutal and sharp. “such a good boy. good boy, dennis.”

your quiet words earned another full body shiver with a high pitched keen, his back arching even if the action was stuttery. in all honesty, he was spent. tired. fucked out of his mind. sweaty to no end, muscles aching. but he couldn’t rid himself of the need to feel you, your cock, inside him.

pressing him harder into the mattress, you sit up to shift the angle, shoving your cock in deeper, coaxing even more throaty moans from the younger man underneath you.

dennis squirmed, turning his head to the side. his eyebrows were stitched together, eyes shut tight, lips parted. saliva was dribbling down his chin, onto the pillow as he kept making those pretty little whimpers and moans. “h-harder.. mmh!—” he managed, biting his lower lip when a more shrewd thrust made the tip of your cock brush against his prostate. not the first time that has happened tonight. but what a brat. he was asking for it harder when he had a puddle of drool on the pillow?

“no, dennis.” you respond, keeping your thrusts the same. it was difficult when his hole sucked you in and clenched around you like that. “you take what you get. you don’t ask for more. it’s disrespectful.” you say as you lean over his back, eyes boring into the back of his head.

“sorry.. sorry, i know. i just—ah—think you can do.. better. r-rougher.” he says innocently, looking at you from the corner of his half lidded eye. “..doctor robby cou—”

“don’t do that.” you cut him off flatly. “don’t bite the hand that feeds you. not gonna end well.” it pissed you off. the mention of doctor robby during your time. it made you just want to drill your cock so deep in him, to make him scream and cry. but that was exactly what he wanted. it was a trap and you very well knew it.

“Wow, she sounds amazing. Is she still a doctor here?” Parker asked.

“That was my wife,” Jack offered. Not a lie.

John flashed him a grin behind Parker as she turned.

“Was?” she asked.

Jack hummed in agreement. “She’s no longer with us.” He waited for the look of horror or pity that usually accompanied the revelation.

Instead, the med student’s brows went up and her mouth dropped open in surprise. Then she smiled as her gaze softened. “Really? I lost my spouse, too. It’s always comforting to meet someone in the same situation. Maybe we could get together and talk about them sometime?”

Oh.

Oh no.

A nurse called for Parker and she disappeared to the other side of the department while Jack blinked after her. Shen slipped into the open spot beside him. “Abort. Abort, Abbot,” his voice was low and panicked. “Your wife is going to kill us.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jack snapped. “Just…just don’t bring it up again. It’ll sort itself out. Go check on your patients.”

And Jack tried. He really did. But every time Parker was anywhere in the same vicinity as him, she had questions.

Questions about you.

His dead wife.

Jack was so fucked.

And then she’d tell him about her husband. How they met. Their wedding. Dates they went on. Jack processed none of it, brain spiraling through every conversation. He’d redirect her to another patient, another case. By the time shift change rolled around, he was practically praying for traumas to keep her distracted.

And Shen was no help. Every time he was in the area of a conversation, he’d make an excuse and disappear with a guilty look on his face. Traitor.

The moment you stepped into the Pitt the next morning hands full of coffee and a brown takeout bag, John made a beeline for you. Jack hurried after him. He needed to word this the right way if he was going to keep his ass intact.

“Jack and I fucked up,” John said the moment he reached you.

Fuck.

You looked between the men. “What did you do?”

“Listen, it’s not as bad as he makes it sound,” Jack said.

Your gaze moved from him to the resident. “John?”

“We implied Jack was a widow. Apparently, the new med student actually is one. She kept trying to reminisce with him all night. I feel horrible and it will never happen again.” The words tumbled out in a rush.

You frowned. “I’m very disappointed in you, John. You should be making her feel welcome. I expected better from you.”

Shen’s shoulders hunched as he dropped his head.

Jack huffed in irritation. “That is welcoming her. You know that, baby. This is what we do.”

You arched a brow. “This is what you do. I hope you’ve learned something.”

John nodded but Jack crossed his arms over his chest as he scowled at you. Yeah, he’d learned his resident was a snitch. This wasn’t as big of a deal as you were making it. He just had to figure out how to smooth things over. He could do that.

His eyes trailed you as you passed him, shaking your head as you went. His brows snapped together as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, why are you here?”

You didn’t even look at him as you continued to Robby and Parker standing at the hub. “I owe Parker breakfast.”

Parker.

Jack pursed his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth. “You know the new med student?”

“Met her a couple of days ago at her intake with Robby.” You passed a sandwich and a coffee to her and to Robby as you talked. The three of you leaned with your backs against the hub while you looked at him and Shen. “Told her I’d buy her breakfast if she helped teach you a lesson.”

Jack blinked once. Twice. “A lesson?”

Parker nodded as she took a bite of her breakfast. “A lesson.” She smiled wide. “I have to admit, it didn’t take much convincing from Mrs. Abbot. Breakfast can be expensive for a med student.”

“Dr. Abbot,” Jack corrected automatically before looking at you with narrowed eyes. “She’s not a widow?”

You shook your head with a smile. Robby leaned beside you with a grin as he sipped his coffee.

“And I suppose you were in on this too?” he asked his traitorous best friend.

“Her idea but I endorsed it a hundred percent.”

His gaze moved back to Parker. “No husband?”

Her nose crinkled. “No. More likely to be a wife anyway.”

Jack threw his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable. You lied to me. You all lied to me. Is there no loyalty anymore?”

You rolled your eyes. “How dare we?” Your voice was flat, emotionless. “You deserved it, Abbot. Now do handoff so we can go out for breakfast.”

“I’m not taking you out. You don’t deserve it.”

You shrugged and took Robby’s sandwich from his hand, taking a bite before handing it back. He looked from you to the food and back again before shrugging as well and taking another bite.

“Don’t do that,” Jack snapped.

You arched a brow. “What?”

“You know.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Abbot.”

“Don’t share food with him. That’s too intimate.”

You rolled your eyes again. “You’re an idiot.” You pushed yourself off the hub. “Hand. Off.” Your gaze moved to John. “And I expect that you will behave better than my husband from now on?”

“I’ll never be involved again. Promise,” the resident swore, crossing his chest over his heart.

Jack huffed in annoyance. “You’re a killjoy.”

“Breakfast, Abbot. I’m hungry,” you said and began to walk toward the bay doors. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Liars don’t get pancakes,” he called after you.

But spots filled fast, they always did. And as you were a grad student, you were at the bottom of the list for an undergrad course, even if it was 400 level.

Your advisor, however, did you a huge favor and got you assigned as their TA. Now, you would not only be able to go to the lectures, you’d get to work closely with them outside of the class as well.

The agents teaching the course, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan, had been on a case so you hadn’t gotten a chance to meet them prior to the first lecture. You’d managed a brief email exchange with Dr. Reid but that was all.

You sat in the front and took notes, avidly absorbing every word you could as they gave a brief introduction to the cases you would covering this term. You’d actually studied most of them already on your own, but nothing would beat hearing about them from the agents who had actually worked them.

When the class filed out, you stayed behind before going up to the two men. You couldn’t help but notice how attractive they both were. This was going to be a long semester. Reid gave you a tight smile, while Morgan’s was wide and welcoming. “And what can we do for you…” he trailed off, fishing for a name.

You introduced yourself with a smile and handshake. “I’m your TA.”

Reid’s smile turned softer and more genuine. “Oh, yes. It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I hope that you are aware we may need more assistance than usual due to us still being active agents with the BAU.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’m aware, Dr. Reid. It won’t be a problem. I am familiar with most of the cases you mentioned already.”

Morgan’s gaze sharpened. “How familiar?”

“Extensively.” You couldn’t stop the corner of your lips from curling up in a smile. “I intend to work for the BAU someday. I make a habit of tracking your cases, Agent Morgan.”

The men exchanged a glance, having a silent conversation. Finally, they turned back to you with a smile.

“You aren’t actually our student, are you?” Dr. Reid asked.

“No, sir. Just your assistant.”

Morgan put an arm around your shoulders. “In that case, I’m Derek and he’s Spencer.”

Your face heated. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Of course you can,” Spencer said with a small nod. “We’ll be working together extensively this term. We should be friendly with one another.”

“We’ll make sure we exchange numbers,” Derek added. “And we’ll introduce you to our team. They’d love to meet the future of the BAU.”

Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. And you had been around the block a few times. You had been off when she started on the Fourth, but you had heard she was serious and, perhaps, too professional. You knew her type from a mile away.

“Baran Al-Hashimi,” she said shaking your hand. “You can call me Dr. Al.”

“You can call me whatever you want, just don’t call me late for dinner,” you replied with a lazily smile on your face. You knew your accent was your best asset and worst enemy. But it was hard to drop the southern idioms no matter how far from home you’d ended up.

“I’d prefer your name,” Dr. Al said. Her voice was light but there was an unwillingness to joke in her affect. You suspected it was due to a combination of her position, newness, and her personality. Regardless, you looked forward to seeing her reaction to each of your bizarre sayings you’d adopted over the years.

Still, you gave her your name and a bright smile. Based on her expression, you suspected she thought you might be the dumbest brick outta the bunch—not uncommon with your heavy southern accent. It used to grate on you, the assumptions people made. During medical school and most of residency, you’d dropped your accent.

It wasn’t until you treated a patient who had been put at ease when your accent slipped out that you realized it was just as much of an asset as anything else. It took a while, but eventually you came to terms with your roots and how they served you. The south raised you. You mourned her and venerated her; you carried her with you in all the weird idioms you’d adapted from your grandmother.

So it was unsurprising that people in the Northeast were hesitant around you at first, especially those with names like Al-Hashimi.

“Do you mind if I shadow a couple of your cases to get a feel for how you work?” Dr. Al asked you.

“Please. I’m lookin’ forward to having you on board. Your resume was impressive. Not to mention, I’m happy to have another woman as an attending. Gettin’ a bit too testosterone heavy,” you told her. A corner of her lip quirked and you felt a thrill of victory. You could get this serious woman to laugh at something you said.

“I also found your history interesting,” she told you. “Residency in a Houston level one trauma center and a fellowship in disaster and wilderness medicine. Why did you end up in Pittsburgh?”

Your lazily smile tightened a bit. “Age old tale, followed a man and then realized I did not actually like men.”

“Ah,” she said. There was a look on her face you could not quite decipher.

“I think I always assumed I’d end up back in the middle of nowhere workin’ on farmers and rural folk. But God works in mysterious ways. Not to mention, I get plenty of use out of those fellowships—I am part of a FEMA response team for disasters.”

“Dr. Underwood mentioned you’re the MCI coordinator for the ER,” she said.

“Yes ma’am. Though, Dr. Abbot also assists quite often. He’s an odd duck, But he’s got plenty-a sense.”

“So it appears,” Dr. Al replied.

“Anyways, best get a move on. I’ve been slower than molasses in the wintertime. Eventually Dana will be on my ass,” you told her.

“Of course.”

Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi followed you through your first handful of patients for the day. She rarely commented or jumped in, instead opting to watch you interact with patients and make decisions. You had a disarming effect with difficult patients—it’s why Dana often saved them for you. Today was no different.

“Got a character for you in North 5,” Dana said as you finished discharging your stomach flu patient.

“Oooh, fun. What flavor, Miss Dana?” You asked.

“She’s a bitch,” Dana said flatly. You grinned.

“Think I’ll make it better or worse?”

“Dunno, but Jesse’s the nurse,” she told you.

You snorted. “That poor man hates me.”

“And why is that?”

“He dislikes my shenanigans and sayin’s.”

“Talk normally,” Jesse grumbled walking up behind you.

“Ya know, Jesse, opinions are like assholes—everyone’s got one!” You called after him. He flipped you off making you snicker.

“You enjoy bothering him,” Dana said shaking her head.

“Immensely.”

“Do you think that’s appropriate?” Dr. Al asked. You didn’t think she was making a statement, instead, you thought she was genuinely asking.

“It’s all in good fun. Jesse and I work well together even if he rolls his eyes so much I’m on ophthalmology’s ‘Most Wanted’ list.”

Once again, you caught a small quirk on her lips. It was one step closer to an actual laugh. Al-Hashimi had sharp features and carmel colored hair with insanely defined curls. Curls that must take hours to upkeep. Her upright posture and squared stance all suggested that she was no nonsense and unwilling to compromise. And yet, you had also heard through the grapevine about how she and Dana manipulated some readings on an incarcerated patient and how she had wanted to call an attorney for the ICE detainee. You suspected she was not as square as she seemed.

“I’ll go have a looksie at North 5, and let you know,” you said to both women. “Dr. Al, are you still planning on shadowin’ me? Happy to have ya along.”

“Sure. I would like to see how you work with difficult patients,” she replied.

Walking into the room with Dr. Al in tow, you immediately felt the shift in energy. The woman angrily waiting on the bed felt poised to attack the next person she spoke to. Despite being in clear pain, she seemed irate and venomous. Instead of letting her get the first word in, you said,

“Hiya, Miss Jenkins. Apologies for the wait, this heat makes the city crazier than a cat being baptized. I cannot thank you enough for your patience. Now, I know that you’ve explained yourself a million times over, but if you could do me a favor and do so one more time. I want to make sure I don’t lose nothin’ in a game of medical telephone. You deserve the best care we can offer ya.”

From behind you Baran watch silently, as the woman who seemed ready to spit and fight, wilted back into the bed and meekly began to explain her symptoms. It wasn’t something Baran herself could pull off, but you had such a strange way with words she couldn’t help but watch impressed as you de-escalated the tense woman.

“Dr. Al, we need you in Trauma One,” Joy announced.

“You go along,” you said. “Miss Jenkins and I are right as rain.”

“Thank you. Excuse me,” Baran said, taking her leave of the room.

You were an interesting character; one she wasn’t sure she had a clear read on yet.

-- -- --

For the rest of the summer, Baran worked with you seamlessly. For all the ribbing and joking you doled out on the others, you seemed to reserve a special kindness for her. She was not spared from your jokes and banter, but it was far softer than other who were more familiar with your antics. More than that, you seemed to be trying to make her laugh.

It took her awhile to figure out that’s what you were doing, but more often than not when you lobbed out a one-liner, you glanced in her direction to see what she did. If she let her composure slip, you built on the joke later. It was interesting. You never repeated anything but instead added to references and call-backs. Sometimes Baran felt like she was sitting at her own personal comedy show.

On a rainy September Tuesday, that indidcated Robby would be back in a few short weeks, Baran found herself up to her eyeballs in paperwork. Despite the morning hour, it was dark outside and thunder rumbled in the distance. The moral in the Pitt was low. The waiting room was overflowing, despite assurances from the C-suite, none of her ideas had even been entertained and without Robby to scapegoat, the blame was falling on her. It was a bad day mirrored by the bad weather.

“—Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, Miss Dana,” you grumbled.

“What does that even mean?” Trinity asked.

Baran had a hard time with Trinity. She was clearly a ferocious advocate for her patients but lacked some of the social niceties that had been bullied into Baran at a young age. Still, you seemed to connect with her in a way few people did. Under your tutelage, she watched at Trinity eased and relaxed, slowly coming to the realization that her coworkers were not her enemy.

“It means, that I hope it works out and nothing else goes awry,” you said. “A real roundabout way to say “hopefully”.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just say ‘hopefully’?”

“Sure, but I’m trying to confuse the universe into being kind to us. I can’t jinx us if no one understands what I’m sayin’.”

“No one does understand what you’re saying,” Dana commented.

You laughed. “Ain’t my fault y’all’s porch lights are on but no one’s home.”

“Oh my god,” Trinity moaned.

You snickered and Baran caught herself letting out a snort. Immediately, you zeroed in on her and exclaimed,

“I made Dr. Al-Hashimi laugh!”

“It was not a laugh,” Baran said quickly, neutralizing her expression.

Dana shook her head good naturedly. “Barely counted as a laugh.”

“Doesn’t matter. I got the most serious woman in the world to crack a smile,” you grinned. “I’m happier than a possum on the fence in the moonlight.”

“What the fuck,” moaned Trinity.

“Your way with words is disarming,” Baran said.

“I’ll tell my grandmother you said so. I got it all from her.”

“You didn’t come out of the womb speaking like a Matlock tribute act?” Santos inquired.

Baran snorted at that, too.

“I have been working to get this woman to laugh for months and I cannot believe you got it in a single one liner,” you complained, nudging Trinity’s rolling chair so she slid away from the desk slightly.

“It was not a laugh,” Trinity and Baran said at the same time. They barely spared a look at each other.

“Hmm, whatever y’all say,” you hummed. “Trinity, wanna help me with a cellulitis case in south something?”

“South Twenty,” Dana said without looking up at the board.

“Magical woman,” you replied in awe.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Dana said, though even Baran could see the sanctification on her face.

“But it will communicate the love and respect I have for the all powerful charge nurse Dana Evans,” you said bowing.

“You’re so odd,” Trinity state, standing with you.

You winked at Baran as you walked off. She felt a bit of heat flare along her chest and neck—well hidden by her undershirt. Although, the way Dana peered at her over the thin readers made her wonder if perhaps she was a bit more transparent than she feared.

“She’s a flirt, you know,” Dana said.

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve never seen her follow through.”

“Are you trying to protect me, Dana?”

“I’m just saying that she’s real friendly and not real vulnerable.”

-- -- --

“Can we carve out some time in the next week or so to go over my MCI report?” You asked Baran towards the end of your shift. The rain had not let up since the morning and it was still gloomy outside.

“Do you have time after shift today? My son is with his father this weekend.”

“Yeah, I do. Want to just meet at that bar the next block over? I’m starving.”

“That sounds like a smart idea.”

When Baran caught up with you after shift, you were in the locker room shucking off your scrub top. You had on a sports bra underneath she caught sight of before you slid on an oversized UT Longhorns t-shirt.

“Did you do medical school at Dell?” Baran heard herself asking.

“Nah, just undergrad. Did med school at UChicago. It was a unique place.”

“Unique place?” Baran parroted.

“Let’s just say I met some great people there and also the worst people I’ve ever met in my life.”

Baran nodded and gathered her bag from her locker. The next time she looked over you were pulling on a pair of jeans. She caught sight of your legs and found them covered in tattoos. You had a handful on your arms, but not super visible. It appeared that the way you were at work was not all there was to you.

“Ready?” You asked grabbing a ratty knapsack that seemed like it was hanging by a thread.

“Yes, lead the way.”

You wove out of the Pitt with Baran in tow. Baran couldn’t help but hear Dana’s comments in her head. She hadn’t really thought about you in any romantic way. You were a flirt, sure, but it wasn’t like you had expressed any true interest in her. Not that Baran thought you were unattractive. You were not. In fact, you were beautiful. She had been hesitant at first with your accent—no matter how kind they looked, the skin color they came with, people from the south tended to have a strong reaction to people like her.

You hadn’t mentioned it other than to ask where to emphasize the accent when saying her name—not something many other people had asked. As much as you were funny and irreverent at times, you were also brilliant and clever. More than once, Baran had watched you from the other side of the nurses’ station puzzle over test results until you could put together a differential diagnosis. Your bedside manner was enviable by most. More than that, you loved teaching. You loved working with students and the different patients you encountered every day.

A month or so ago Baran had over heard Joy ask you, “How do you keep yourself from getting burnt out. You care a lot…too much it seems.”

You had snorted and said, “I have really good friends and hobbies. I have a therapist. I have a really specific post-work routine that helps me leave as much as I can here and not take it home with me.”

“What’s that?”

“I pray for my patients.”

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Joy had said.

“I’m really not. But it makes me feel better that if a higher power that exists, it’s watching over people I finished treating and those I did not finish treating. It’s out of my hands at that point. Probably won’t work for everyone, but it works for me. Also helps me convince my grandma I’m still religious so she doesn’t keep harping on about how I’m going to hell all the time.”

So as much as Baran thought she had a good read of you on the first day: lackadaisical and slightly unprofessional. She discovered that you were passionate, clever, and cared very deeply for people. It was around that time Baran started to enjoy your flirting more than she should.

More and more over the past dozen shifts, she began to look forward to the silly things you would say to her, the way you would seek her out, the not-so-subtle winks and touches. She was beginning to mourn the ending of this job, but more than that, she was beginning to mourn not seeing you each shift. So she was more than happy to throw caution to her precarious work life balance and accompany you to a pub and talk about work for a few more minutes if it meant that maybe you would flirt with her one more time.

-- -- --

“How have you liked your time at the Pitt?” you asked her after the two of you sat down in a quiet booth near the bar.

“I really wish people wouldn’t call it that,” Baran sighed.

“You can pry the name out of my cold dead hands, Dr. Al,” you laughed, taking a sip of your water.

“Words are important,” she protested. “And you can call me Baran.”

“Well then, Baran. Good luck with that. I don’t disagree that words have power, but it’s tongue and cheek, ya know?”

“I think it hurt moral.”

“I think you need to lighten up, just a smidge.”

“Really?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said. “Look, you and I are the main two attendings on day shift. There’s no man we need to compensate for. Have a laugh, let loose.”

“I am…loose.”

“You are absolutely not,” you chuckled.

“Just because I’m professional at work?” She shot back.

“You know my New Year’s resolution is to make you laugh,” you told her.

“I started in July,” Baran commented.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t those normally occur in January?”

“I can change my mind.”

“You’re a smooth talker.”

“Honestly, I’m really not. You’re just easy to talk to,” you said.

“Well,” Baran said with far more confidence than she felt. “So are you.”

 More often than she cared to admit, Baran wondered why you flirted with her so much. She wondered why you cared about making her laugh so much. But as she watched you react to her words, it clicked. The bashful look on your face—even as quick as it was—was intoxicating. Baran found herself wanted to bottle it and save it forever.

“Now who is a smooth talker?” You asked clearing your throat. Baran couldn’t help but smirk just a little.

“Still you. But it was nice to try it on,” she replied. “I am glad you suggested we do this. Today was…a lot.”

“The rain really does make people crazy,” you told her.

“I think you described it once as a ‘cat getting baptized’, I believe?” Baran asked.

You laughed. “I sure did. That was the first day we met, too.”

“You have memorable sayings.”

“Thank ya kindly,” you laughed. “Did you hear about Whittaker’s influencer patient?”

“The one with a broken nose?”

“Hmm-mm,” you confirmed. “Her nose was so high, she would drown in the rain.”

Baran laughed quietly, not missing how your eyes lit up, and said, “My mother used to say, ‘Fekr mikone az damagh-e fil oftade.’ It roughly means they think they fell from an elephant’s nose. Persians also have a few of our own…unique phrases.”

“Are you fluent?” You asked. “I assume you might be with your employment history.”

“I am fluent in Arabic and Farsi. My family speaks Farsi but a lot of my friends spoke Arabic growing up.”

“I speak Spanish and a bit of ASL after a disastrous patient encounter during residency. Not well, but enough to communicate safely. Did you know Princess is learning Igbo?”

“Really? Why?”

“To prove she can to Ahmad. She’s scary good.”

“I’ve really enjoyed my time here,” Baran admitted. “I didn’t think I would…”

“Want to stay?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t think most of us expected that we would want you to. Clearly the board thought they could use you to push out Robby, but frankly, they’ve done such a bad job at it,” you told her shrugging. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I feel a bit naïve, I think,” Baran admitted.

“Isn’t Dr. Underwood your friend?” You asked.

There was a pause, before Baran said, “...Yes.”

“I think it’s fair that you’re feeling blindsided. If my friend suggested an interim position with opportunities to exhibit my MCI strategies—well, I would assume it was good faith.”

“You don’t think it was?”

“No idea,” you said honestly. “Understanding the board is like trying to talk to a catfish about knees.”

Baran stared at you for a moment and then couldn’t help but snort. The snort turned into a giggle which turned into a gut-wrenching laugh. You stared a little gob smacked as she seemingly lost all composure.  

“Sorry,” she giggled, wiping moisture from her eye. “Sorry. I think it all just released for me.”

“Apparently,” you replied grinning. “Good see I’ve accomplished my New Year’s Resolution, though. I thought I was going to have to follow you to wherever you ended up after this and keep pelting you with stupid one liners.”

“Very dedicated to this resolution of yours,” Baran commented, a happy smile still sitting on her face.

“I am. Especially one that concerns someone as…interesting as you.”

“Interesting?”

“I’m trying to remain professional here, Baran,” you said with a tighter smile on your face.

“And if we were not trying to remain professional? Hypothetically?”

You blinked at her, perhaps surprised at the boldness in her words. Tapping your fingers on the table you finally said,

“Hypothetically, if you were not my boss. Like you won’t be next week, for instance. I might say that I find you incredibly beautiful. And I might say, hypothetically—”

“Of course,” she whispered just loud enough for you to hear.

“—that I really want to know what it feels like to be the person to make you lose your composure. Also, you smell really nice, like all the time, and I’m jealous of that.”

The intensity of the hypothetical broken by the frankness of the compliment once again made Baran laugh. There was so much stress and darkness in her head. She was worried about her career, she was worried about her son, she was worried that her brain was never going to be screwed on straight again. But when you were sitting across from her the laughter seemed to flow more freely than it had in years. She hadn’t laughed this much in this century, she was pretty sure.

“How about this,” she said. “We spend the rest of tonight finishing the MCI updates, so it’s one less thing Dr. Robinavitch has to deal with when he gets back. And when he returns and I’m no longer your boss, you call me and maybe we can spend dinner talking about something else.”

“Could I ask you another hypothetical question then?”

“You may.”

“At this next dinner, do you think I might hypothetically be able to kiss you?”

“Hypothetically...I might be more than amenable to that.”

“Alrighty then,” you drawled, grinning at the maybe not-so serious woman in front of you.

-- -- --

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You knew about Robby’s seven week itch before you started fucking him, but it still hurt when he ended it. It was simple. A “I think we should see other people” from him. A “sure” from you, pretending that it didn’t bother you. Dana had warned you, trying to protect both you and Robby. And yet you still let him talk you into dates, dinners, sex. After it ended you knew it would be hard to work with him. To look at his hands working on a body and ignore the memory of them inside you. Of his skilled tongue and the way he always made sure you came at least twice before even entering you.

So you did what was smart for you and your heart. You asked Dana if you could be moved to the night shift, to work under Lena and with the chaos that shift brings. Luckily one of the night shift nurses wanted to move to day shift so the switch was easy. Working with your best friends John Shen and Parker Ellis was a plus. You had become friendly when you covered two shifts four months ago, and that turned into a close friendship.

Clocking in for your first night shift you’re met with John and Parker in the locker area.

“You’ve finally come to the dark side?” John asked, as he sipped his Dunkin.

“Needed the change of scenery,” you replied.

“Ah. Seven weeks hit, didn’t they?” Parker said, knowing look on her face.

“Right in one Parks. I knew it was coming. Didn’t realize it would hurt as much.”

“You should make him jealous. Everyone always pines after him as he moves to the next person. Jesse did, so did that nurse from Pedes. He’ll have someone new soon. You should too.” You looked at Parker with a small smile.

“I don’t think I can do another relationship right now. Or situationship. Or even fuck buddies.”

“So just fake it. Pretend you’ve moved on, let Princess or Perlah hear you talking about a new lover and it’ll spread.”

“Parker. Who am I supposed to ask to pretend to be my new fling?”

“No one. You just pretend that—” John cuts Parker off.

“I’ll do it. I can pretend. You’re one of my best friends.” You and Parker turn to John, shock on both your faces.

“Well that works,” Parker says.

“I’ll think about it. But we need to get out of there for shift change.” The three of you head out to central and look at the board. You give Dana a hug as she chats with Lena. John goes to talk with Robby while you and Parker find your day shift counterparts. Parker chats with Dr. Mohan, while you and Jesse talk about patients.

“You doing okay?” Of course Jesse knows how you feel. He went through it as well, and before Robby’s reputation preceded him. Jesse didn’t have the same warning you did.

“Yeah, thanks Jesse. I knew who he was when I first let him take me out. Still sucks though.”

“I hear you. Miss you on the day shift but you got to protect your peace.” You nod at him, finish hand off, give Jesse a hug, and make your way to where Lena is. Robby and John are still running the board.

“Hey you. Happy to have you on nights. When Abbot told me you were making the jump I almost danced for joy. You were definitely a huge help when you were here last.” You hugged Lena. Just then you noticed Nurse Noelle Hastings, the case manager from Gloria’s ivory tower. You raise an eyebrow at Lena, silently asking if you had a patient that needed Noelle. She shook her head no.

“You ready to head out? I can’t wait for dinner,” she asked Robby, hand on his shoulder. Lena raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. John looked from Robby to you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Uh, yeah. But we agreed to meet outside.” Robby began to turn red.

“I was just excited to see you. Sue me,” she smiled. Robby looked around and noticed you looking. You rolled your eyes and logged into a computer. You heard Robby tell Noelle he’ll meet her outside, and he walked over to you. Everyone in central could feel the tension, but no one dared say anything.

“Hey, you okay, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Doctor Robinavitch?” Robby grimaced at the use of his title. Before he could say anything else, you feel arms wrap around you in a hug, a Dunkin cup in one of them. John.

“Babe, we still on for breakfast?” he asked over your shoulder. You smiled and turned to him.

“Long as you take me to the place with the amazing French toast.” John told you he would as he walked away to check on a resident, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

“Shen huh?”

“Not your business Doctor Robinavitch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see.” You walked away and went to help with a patient.

It wasn’t until the end of the shift that you had time to corner John.

“Dude. What the fuck. I said I’d think about it.”

“He pissed me off. Him and Hastings. She knew he was with you before her and came down here to stake her claim. I’m sorry though, if I embarrassed you.”

“Well, we can let it spread. See what happens”

“I am sorry.” John did have the decency to look sorry.

“You can make it up to me over breakfast. You did promise me French toast.” John stuttered as you walked away, his usual calm demeanor nowhere near him. You joined Ellis in a room to check on a patient who was heavily sedated.

“So, heard what John did. Also saw Robby’s face when you walked away. He looked almost remorseful.”

“And for him that’s something. The man is allergic to feelings,” you replied.

“So how are you going to play things?”

“Don’t know. Did convince John to take me out for breakfast so that’s a win. Figured we’d talk it out over food. Want to come? We could use your ideas.” Ellis looked over your shoulder to central where John was standing.

“I can’t. But thank you. I’m sure the two of you can come up with something believable. And text me if you need me.” You nodded and finished checking on your patient.

Later, back at central, you began the morning handoff. John once again ran the board with Robby, while you updated Princess on your patients.

“You know gossip spreads fast here, right?”

“And you love to help it along Princess. It’s why I always come to you for the tea.” The two of you laughed.

“I heard Robby and Hastings are going out now. How are you doing?”

“I’m a big girl. I knew what I was getting with Robby. Besides, he’s not the only one moving on.” Princess raised her eyebrows at you, and followed your gaze to John.

“Not bad, not bad at all. I see why you wanted night shift.”

“Plus you know John. He doesn’t run away from feelings. Says what’s on his mind.”

“And no bullshit,” Princess adds.

“Who are we talking about?” Trinity Santos asks as she comes up to where you are standing.

“Shen. Our newest night shift nurse here has a date with him.”

“Good for you. Even I can admit he’s good looking, and I play for the other team.”

“Speaking of, how’s Garcia?” Princess asks as you walk towards the lockers. John met you there, grabbing his own stuff from his locker.

“Ready for breakfast?”

“So ready. Also, I told Princess. The entire Pitt should know by next handoff. Though we’re both off tonight.”

“Well that will spread fast.” You grab John’s hand, shocking him for a moment, and lead him out towards the parking lot.

“I am very excited for French toast.”

The diner the two of you ended up with had your favorite type of French toast — made with challah bread and served with whipped cream and berries. You got a side of eggs as well, trying to balance everything out.

“So, how are we playing this?” John asked you between sips of his iced coffee. Of course John would still order iced coffee after a shift.

“You’re the one who started it. Any ideas?” You take a bite of your French toast and moaned at how good it was. John’s eyes widened for a moment at the sound, but you didn’t notice.

“Since everyone knows how tight we are, we can go with me and Ellis coming over to cheer you up. She had to leave for work but I stayed. And as the night went out we realized we had feelings for each other.”

“That sounds plausible. But John, you’re one of my best friends. What happens when we fake break up? I don’t want to pretend to not like you, or lose you as a friend.” John smiles at you and grabs your hand.

“We tell them we realized we’re much better as friends than as partners. So even when we fake break up from fake dating, our friendship will still be there. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not losing you as a friend, ever.” You smile at John. The two of you continue to talk over your plans, and when the waiter asks if it’s one check or two, John hands him his card and says it’s all on him before you can even say anything. You glare at him.

“You’re helping me out, John. Next time it’s on me.”

“You can buy me Dunkin later, if you insist.”

“Oh I will. Next time we’re working together your extra cream, extra sugar iced monstrosity is on me.” John laughs as he leads you out of the diner.

The flirty touches at handoff, the pet names, the breakfasts after a shift all kept up for a few weeks. One day, after the last shift before you had three days off in a row and John five, he came up to you after handoff and gave you a peck on the lips. You were a little shocked, PDA wasn’t something you talked about, but you noticed Robby looking at you, red in the face. So you kept your cool and didn’t react oddly.

“Let me walk you home?” You agree, and the two of you start heading towards your apartment. Once of the things you loved about Pittsburgh was how you were able to find an apartment close by to the hospital. On the walk there, once out of the hospital, John began to apologize.

“John. Stop, you don’t have to say your sorry. We agreed to fake date and that was always going to involve kissing. But thank you for keeping it simple. I’m never going to be one for big PDA.” John sighed.

“I overheard Hastings tell another nurse that she was the one who finally was going to get Robby’s head out of his ass. So I had to do something.” You smile at him, and the two of you continue walking back to your place.

When you got to your building John opened the door for you.

“You want to come up? Watch trash reality shows until we crash on the couch?”

“Our old standby. Yes, please,” John replied as he followed you into the hallway. You took the elevator up to your fourth floor apartment. It didn’t have a good view but you also were able to afford it yourself and that’s what mattered the most.

Grabbing a couple of bottles of water from the fridge you join John in your living room. He’s already kicked off his shoes and is relaxing with his feet up on your ottoman. You toss him a water and curl up next to him, like usual, so you can share the ottoman. John put his arm around you as you scrolled through your streaming apps until you found a show neither of you had seen.

“We’re really going with Farmer Wants a Wife?”

“Can you think of anything trashier that we haven’t watched yet?”

“You have a point.” The two of you watched as various farmers had dates with women, some of whom definitely did not belong on a farm. John laughed as one woman complained about getting dirt under her nails.

“What did she expect? Farmers actually work with the dirt.”

“Let’s be real, John, she probably thought this was like some romcom where he would just be sexy with an eight pack, and that he never broke a sweat.”

“What romcoms are you watching?”

“Not those, I can tell you.”

“Do women really want an eight pack and someone who never breaks a sweat?”

“Not this woman. I’ll take muscles earned, not ones that come from dehydration and steroids. Strong muscles, not show muscles.”

“My muscles are earned.” You looked at John, confused as to why he decided to add that.

“Yes. Because you work out and you help lift patients all the time.” You place a hand on John’s stomach, on top of his shirt. “These muscles are definitely earned.”

“As are my biceps,” John added, making you laugh. For some reason it felt like he was flirting with you. But you weren’t sure, didn’t want to say anything in case you were wrong. You turned back to the tv, just as one of the women said she always wanted to hook up in a barn.

“Yeah, that chick has no idea what farm life is like. Hay is not very comfy.” John looks at you as you speak.

“You know from experience?”

“I worked at a haunted hayride when I was in high school. And so did my high school boyfriend. Hay pokes you in places people shouldn’t be poked.”

“So you do know from experience.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, John?” He takes a deep breath and you swear you hear him mumble fuck it under his breath.

“Not jealous of your high school boyfriend. But I can’t say I wasn’t jealous of Robby.” You look at John, confusion on your face. “I was working up the nerve…then he had to go and ask you out.”

“Wait. What?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave if you want me to. Figured I could fake date you and that would be enough. But it isn’t. And I realized if this works, and Robby wants you back, I would’ve been the one to help make that happen. But…I can’t let that happen without laying my cards on the table. I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t go. And don’t apologize.” John looked at you, and a small smile creeped on his face.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“John. Do you know the reason I got with Robby? Even though I knew how he was?”

“Why?”

“You. I needed to get you off my mind.”

“Me?” John’s brow furrows.

“Yes, you. I thought fucking someone I knew I couldn’t get attached to would allow me to get over my feelings for you. And then you volunteered to fake date me, it got spread that first day, and all these breakfast dates have been hurting in ways you can’t imagine. Or maybe you can.”

“I can. But me?”

“Yes, silly. You. With your iced coffee addiction. Your calmness in the eyes of a full ED. Your amazing teaching style that your residents flourish under. You. So shut up and kiss me already.” John does just that, crashing his lips to yours. You open your lips in invitation and he slips his tongue inside. Soon you’re straddling his lap, legs on either side of him. The two of you keep kissing, his hands in your hair and yours behind his neck. Making up for lost time. He tastes like coffee and the protein bars he’s always eating. You can feel him growing harder underneath you. He breaks away from the kiss and looks at you. You know your hair is a mess and your lips probably are as kiss swollen as his.

“Fuck. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

“No dream, John. Just me.” His hands go beneath your shirt, thumbs rubbing your back.

“We’re taking the fake out of fake dating, right?”

“Oh, now that I finally have you? I’m not letting you go John.” He pulls you in for another kiss, hands still under your shirt. You break away and lift your top off, showcasing a simple midnight blue bra.

“My favorite color,” John says, hands playing with the straps.

“You’ll like the underwear then too. Now your turn. Show me these hard earned muscles.” You push up his shirt, and he leans towards you so you can divest him of it. Running your fingers along his chest and stomach, you sigh.

“I’ve seen you with your shirt off before. When we went to the lake with Parker and her girlfriend. But this feels different. I can finally touch you all I want.” You kiss John’s lips, then his neck, and finally his pec. He moans as you suck, leaving a bruise.

“I’m nice. I’m not going to mark you up where anyone else can see. But I’ve been wanting to do that.” You continue to kiss down his stomach, licking a stripe across his abs. There’s still a softness around them, but you know he’s strong. You end up on your knees in front of him.

“Jesus babe. You look like a goddess right now.” You move your hands towards his pants, his erection straining the material. You look at him, and he nods so you pull his scrub bottoms down. His cock springs free, already leaking precum. Just by looking at him you know he’ll fit perfectly in you. Like you were made for each other. You dart your tongue out, licking his head. His saltiness coats your tongue, and you bring him into your mouth. Bobbing your head up and down you begin to work out a rhythm that has John moaning above you. Eventually he pulls you off him.

“You are amazing. But I’m only going to come once tonight. Please tell me you have condoms because I want to finish while I’m inside you.”

“Yeah, in my bedroom.” He helps you up and you walk towards your room. Along the way he loses his pants and underwear fully, and your pants end up in your hall.

“You were right. I do love those underwear. Framing your ass so perfectly.” You smile, glad you put on a matching set today.

You grab a condom from your nightstand, and fall back on your bed. Placing the condom next to you, you enjoy watching John as he makes his way over to you. He climbs on top of you, caging you in his arms as he kisses you. His deft hands make quick work of your bra, and he lavishes your tits with kisses and licks, occasionally blowing on your nipples after a lick. You moan and arch your back.

“Go on, feel what you do to me.” John raises an eyebrow as he snakes a hand under your thong, and feels your wetness.

“You’re soaked. All for me?” You nod, and moan as his fingers play with your clit. He pushes one finger inside you as his thumb keeps the pressure on your clit.

“Already too fucked out to talk, huh? I bet you taste delicious too.” John removed his hands from you and took off your underwear. The next thing you know is his mouth is on you, hands across your belly to keep you in place as he starts to make out with your folds. His tongue is as magical as his hands, and very soon you can feel the coil tighten in your stomach.

“Fuck, John I’m close. Please don’t fucking stop,” you cry as tears of ecstasy fall. Your legs try to close over his head on their own accord, but he uses one hand to keep you open for him, the other still on your stomach. He eventually brings one hand towards your center and pushes two fingers inside you while keeping his tongue on your clit. He makes a come here gesture inside you, and that makes you snap. You fall into ecstasy, the only thing in your mind is how fucking good you feel. John continues his ministrations through your orgasm, and then slowly kisses his way back up your body, until he’s looking at your face again.

“Good?”

“You know it was. I need to feel you inside me.” John goes to grab the condom but you beat him to it, tearing it open and rolling it on him with a smirk. He pushes you back down to the bed, and hitches one of your legs around his waist. The slide of his cock inside you stretches you in the most delicious way. You pull him in for a kiss as he bottoms out, and he stays that way for a moment. Looking into your eyes he asks if you’re ready and you nod. John begins to snap his hips back and forth, one arm braced by your head, the other holding your leg up. The position means he’s hitting all the right places with each thrust.

“Fuck, babe, I’m not going to last. You feel so fucking good around me. Pussy so perfect, like she was made for my cock.”

“Fuck John, we have all the time in the world for slow and sensual. Fuck me, use me, come for me.” With your words John groans and begins to snap his hips at a furious pace. Soon he’s crying out as he comes. The two of you collapse and just lay there as he softens inside you. He gets up to toss the condom out in your en suite bathroom, and then crawls back onto the bed, pulling you close to him. You lay your head on his shoulder, hand stroking his chest.

“I think we may need to actually file paperwork with HR if we’re making this official. Don’t want you getting in trouble.”

“Or you. You’re not my boss but technically my ex is yours,” you reply. John groans at the thought.

“Oh, and we have to tell Parker that it’s not fake anymore. She’ll be so proud of me. She’s known I had a thing for you for a while now.”

“Wait, what? You're serious John? She knew I had a crush on you too! And she was the one who suggested faking a relationship. Probably knew you’d volunteer.”

At first, Robby tried to ignore it. Who cares if you wanted to flirt with a Quantico suit who looks like he hasn’t smiled in years and has a decent hairlike for his age and doesn’t have crows feet etched around his eyes? Certainly not Robby. But the gossip flourished shortly after Santos overheard the pretty blonde FBI agent whispering to the lanky one with a boyband haircut, “I don’t know the last time I’ve seen Hotch smile.” To which the boyband-haircut FBI agent responded, “Or loosened his shoulders.”

You carefully padded the area around Agent Hotchner’s wound with fresh sterile gauze after tying your last suture, clearing any remnants of blood. “So what does SSA stand for? Super special agent? Secret special agent agent?” You continued light conversation, just for another minute to talk with your tall, dark, and handsome patient.

Hotch chuckled, his eyelids fluttering instinctively when the gauze got too close. Fuck, his eyelashes were pretty, too. “Supervisory special agent.” He replied.

You grinned and pulled out dressing for the stitches. “Oh, that sounds very important.” You hummed.

You knew the man in front of you was an FBI profiler, that if he really didn’t want to play along with your flirty conversation, then he would end it there. But to a man who sold his soul to his job, you were a comfortable break of sunshine through the clouds.

Hotch smiled, not enough for you to call it one, but enough that his nosy team outside had their jaws dropping. Amhad approached them innocently with a pen and notepad, like he was about to interrogate them. “So, what do you think the likelihood of them getting drinks would be?” He asked, like this was definitely not going to influence his wager.

The agent who had already introduced himself as Derek, after Princess conveniently needed something from the top shelf of the supply closet (Jesse was literally standing right next to her), leaned against the high counter of the desk hub. “Honestly? It might happen once we finish up this case.” He admitted.

Amhad scribbled something down on his notepad and nodded. “Does he usually do stuff like that?” He added, hoping to pull more info for his betting board.

Derek laughed, catching the attention of a few nurses and the rest of his team. “‘Stuff like that?’ You mean smiling? Talking?” He questioned, crossing his arms. “We have a pretty strict rule of not profiling each other. But right now…” He trailed off, looking back to the exam room. You were glowing while Hotch commended you for your suture work, holding the mirror just low enough to showcase a rare grin from the man. “I’d say he’s got himself a little crush.”

A little crush.

The words rattled in Robby’s ears as he gripped his iPad so tightly that his thumbs nearly shattered through the screen protector. Dana looked up from her computer monitor just in time to catch the vein threatening to burst across his forehead.

“What’s got ya down, boss?” She asked with feigned ignorance, leaning back in her rolling chair.

Robby peered over his glasses, cutting her an aggravated glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grumbled.

Dana smirked and threw her arms behind her to prop up her head. She was too pleased with the situation unraveling in front of her. “Oh yeah? You mean you’re not throwing a hissy fit because someone else is playing with your toys?” She baited.

Robby tossed the iPad on the desk next to her. “She’s not a toy.”

“No? Then why are you treating her like one?” Dana spat back.

That hit him square in the chest. He shook his head, like he was trying to convince himself. “I’m not treating her like-“

Dana took the iPad and stood, ready to walk away from this conversation. “Save your breath, Robby. If the girl wants to flirt with a hot detective and get drinks and, I don’t know, fuck around and move to Quantico, then let her. She’d give you the world, but you’re just using her as a stepping stone to your next seven week itch. Let her be with someone that deserves her.”

Robby stood frozen at the desk hub as Dana headed to the next patient’s room. He knew he didn’t deserve you. He knew this fuckass FBI agent would probably treat you like a princess. He knew that he should still let you down easy tonight.

You came out of the exam room, a giddy smile on your face, that quickly faded when you saw Robby staring at you. “What? What’s wrong?” You asked gently, approaching him slowly.

Robby just smiled, ignoring the ache he felt when your smile vanished just from looking at him, and shook his head. “Nothin’. Thanks for handling that.” He deflected, desperately hoping to see you smile again, but for him this time, not that agent with a sharp jaw that isn’t softening with age and-

“No problem, Doctor Robby.” You fake saluted with the tiniest smile before walking away.

Doctor Robby.

Not Michael.

That dagger sank deep and twisted in his lungs. You were pulling away from him. You were realizing exactly what Robby was trying to protect you from. That he’s no good for you. That he’s only going to drag you down deeper and drown you if he stays.

Robby should be grateful that Agent Hotchner has you checking your hair and straightening your scrub top in the bathroom before returning to his exam room. That would make his plan for tonight flow a lot smoother. But suddenly, the reality of losing you, of giving you up, of handing you to another man, had him sick to his stomach.

He didn’t know how, but Robby was going to win you back. He didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll take this one,” he told the nurse leading you back, ignoring the look he was getting. Lacerations were strictly resident and med student territory. Jack didn’t care. There was no universe where he would allow anyone else to treat you.

The cut had been deep, a clean slice across your palm where a broken glass had caught you while you were closing up your bar. Nothing out of the ordinary for the ED. Jack found himself moving with deliberate slowness, savoring every second in your presence. The scent of your blood wrapped around him, sinking into the very fiber of his being. He wanted to drown in it.

“You know it’s not the first time I’ve been here for a few stitches, but it is the first time it’s warranted the attention of an attending instead of a med student,” you said. You ran your gaze over him as if looking for answers. “So why the special attention, doc?”

Jack looked up then, hazel eyes meeting yours. He could lie to you. Tell you that he just wanted something easy to clear his head. That all the students were busy with other cases. But he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but honest with you. “You really want the answer to that question?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

He hesitated then tied off the thread as he finished your stitches. He leaned back and took a breath. “You’re my mate. So yes, you’re special. Very special.”

Your laugh was unexpected, a short, surprised sound. “Does that line actually work?”

“Not a line,” Jack said with a shake of his head. “Just the simple truth. It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, it’s still the truth.”

Your eyes ran over him as he wrapped your hand. He scribbled his number on your discharge papers before handing them over. “I would like to get to know you, but I’m not going to pressure you. Take your time and call if you want to learn what being a vampire’s mate actually means. Or don’t. Choice is yours.”

It killed him to utter those words and walk out of the room when all he wanted to do was fall at your feet and beg for a chance to worship you. To cherish you. To make you his.

You didn’t call. But three nights later, you appeared at the ED with coffee for the both of you. He parked you in the lounge, joining you a few minutes later after making sure he wouldn’t be disturbed unless absolutely necessary.

“I looked up vampire mates,” you said as he settled in the seat across from you. “They are incredibly rare, so either you’re delusional or I just happened to win some kind of supernatural lottery. I’m still deciding which.”

Jack took a sip of his coffee. “Take your time. I’ve got plenty of it. To be clear, mates aren’t as rare as they seem. Finding them, however, is another matter entirely.”

You were quiet for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright, Dr. Abbot, I’ll give you the chance to show me what it means to be your mate.”

What followed was the most relentless, determined courtship in modern vampire history, at least according to the night shift staff who watched it unfold with undisguised interest. Lena knew your name, favorite color and how you took your coffee by the third week. Bridget helped him decide what flowers to send. And their out of work gatherings had moved to your bar where you gave a discount to anyone from the Pitt.

Jack appeared at the bar every day, spending an hour or two drinking coffee you made only for him as he sat at the bar or in your office getting to know you. He sent flowers and bought you pretty trinkets, but the bulk of his courtship was practical. He’d replaced your glass chiller when it couldn’t be fixed, hired a contractor to fix your roof when it leaked, replaced the front window when it broke in a bar fight. Every time you protested, told him you’d been getting along just fine before he came along. That you didn’t need his charity.

Every time he assured you that he knew you were capable, but that you didn’t have to do it alone any more. That he would take care of everything if you just let him. That it would be his honor to do so. Your resistance crumbled by degrees. Coffee in the breakroom became breakfast after his shift. Then came dinner on his night off. Until he found himself in your presence whenever he wasn’t at work.

Three years later Jack still marveled at how thoroughly your lives had intertwined. All of your things now sat beside his, your toothbrush in the bathroom, your mugs in the kitchen cabinets. Your scent was embedded in his sheets, his clothes, his skin. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re staring again,” you said as you sat on the porch together enjoying the quiet of the early morning hours.

He made a sound of agreement and took your hand in his, fingers tracing the marks he’d left on your wrist mere hours ago. A sign that you were claimed. That you were his.

You opened your eyes, lips curving into that teasing smile that he loved. “Admiring your personal blood bag, Doctor?”

“Free-use blood bag,” he corrected with mock seriousness. “The free-use part is critical to the job description.”

Your head tipped back as you laughed. It used to bother him when you talked like this, but he’d grown to accept it as part of your twisted sense of humor. And you loved it when he joined in, so he did. He’d do anything to make you happy.

You lifted your wrist. “Breakfast?”

He hesitated, always conscious of taking too much. Asking too much. “I fed last night.”

“So? It’s not like you ever take much. A sip won’t hurt and it will keep you from being grumpy.”

“I don’t get grumpy,” he said in the tone of a man who absolutely got grumpy. He brought your wrist to his lips, inhaling deeply before allowing his fangs to extend. The first taste of you was always like coming home. Unlike the synthetic or donor blood that sustained most vampires, your blood satisfied something deeper than hunger. A few swallows from you could sustain him for days, when he’d need three times as much from anyone else.

He licked the punctures closed, watching with satisfaction as they immediately scarred over. They wouldn’t completely heal for days and by then, he would have bitten you again. “You’re extraordinary,” he whispered against your skin. He wondered, not for the first time, how he could survive for over a century and not truly live until you walked into his emergency room with a bleeding hand and a smart mouth that wouldn’t quit.

You’d spent the day doing inventory at your bar. You hated it but still forced yourself to do it at least once every six months. It had taken longer than you’d anticipated and you’d missed seeing Jack before his shift. Usually your schedules aligned perfectly, the advantage of owning your own business and having employees you trusted. You worked when he worked, with the occasional extra hours.

You decided to drop by the ED before heading home to see Jack and give him a chance to feed. He was always in a better mood when he fed before going to work. You slid through the waiting room, waving at the man at the intake desk who buzzed you through. Lena’s gaze found you as soon as you were in sight. Her face brightened as she waved you over while typing something on her computer.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. We were starting to think you were avoiding us,” she said.

You laughed as you leaned against the counter. “Never. Just busy. We were down a bartender until this week. Hopefully things will get back to normal.”

“As much as I love you, I would guess you are here to see Jack.”

“Yeah. Inventory day. Didn’t get the chance to see him today.”

“No wonder he’s grumpy,” Lena said with a smile. “Last I saw him, he was down the east hall with Samira. Said he needed to talk to her about something. If you can’t find him, come back and I’ll page him.”

“Thanks, Lena. I’ll track him down.” You pushed away from the counter with a wave.

You headed toward the east corridor and slowed your pace when you heard Jack’s voice. It carried that distinct tone he got when he was discussing something he considered significant. You didn’t want to interrupt what sounded like an important conversation so you stopped just around the corner to wait until he finished.

“It’s disrespectful, Samira.”

“I don’t see—” Samira began, voice quieter than Jack’s.

“I know you don’t. That’s why I’m telling you.” Jack cut her off, something he did often when he believed he was right. Which was nearly always. “Look. I haven’t met this new boyfriend of yours or whatever he is, but I am telling you that if he respected you, he wouldn’t be leaving visible fang marks where everyone could see them. He’s marking you as his food, not his partner.”

You sucked in a breath at his words, stomach churning, suddenly wishing you’d made your presence known so you wouldn’t have heard those words.

Jack’s voice dropped lower as he continued. “If he respected you, if he saw you as anything beyond a meal, he wouldn’t leave you marked up like that. It kills me to see you so disrespected.”

Your hands moved to your wrists, fingers tracing over the visible fang marks that adorned both wrists. Marks that you’d worn proudly for three years.

“But you leave marks on—”

“What I do with my mate is my business,” his tone was sharp, final.

Your lungs seemed to have forgotten how to function properly as your world tilted on its axis. You were suddenly questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship. You stared at the marks on your wrists, knowing there were matching sets on your inner thighs. And the permanent mating mark on your neck, darker and more prominent than the others. Jack had given it to you six months into your relationship during a night so intense your skin still heated at the thought of it. He’d explained it as a vampire’s ultimate commitment. The equivalent of a supernatural wedding band.

But according to what he’d just told Samira, these visible marks were symbols of disrespect. Of being viewed as nothing more than food. Free-use blood bag. The words filtered through your head unbidden and you shook them off. You were the one that started that joke, one Jack had hated in the beginning. Or was he just afraid you’d seen the truth? That you’d leave if you realized how he viewed you?

Your throat tightened and you swallowed hard. You needed to leave. Now. Before they finished their conversation and Jack found you standing there like a wounded animal. You backed away slowly, briefly wondering how Jack hadn’t already sensed your presence but thanking every deity you could think of that he hadn’t.

Turning, you walked quickly through the halls, your mind racing. How many times had Jack bitten you in places everyone could see? How often had he traced those marks with obvious pride afterward? All those moments you’d interpreted as affection, suddenly seemed suspect.

What I do with my mate is my business.

Why? Because he didn’t want to explain his hypocrisy? Because he couldn’t?

Lena looked up as you approached the hub, her expression shifting immediately from welcoming to concern. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine,” you managed. “I just remembered something I need to take care of.”

“Did you find Jack? Did you want me to page him?” she offered.

“No!” The word came out sharper than you’d intended. You took a breath to calm yourself. “I mean, no thanks. I’ll catch up with him later.”

Her brows drew together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Just busy. I’ll see you later.” You beelined for the exit, gulping in the crisp night air as you stepped outside. You fumbled with your keys as you walked toward your car. The marks on your skin seemed to burn now, a brand of ownership rather than the loving connection you’d always believed them to be.

The bar was fairly quiet when you returned, typical for a Tuesday evening. Your bartender Michelle frowned when she spotted you, knowing you hadn’t intended to return after you’d left. You waved her off and headed back to your office. There was always filing to be done, and if nothing else, you could work on the next few weeks’ schedules.

Your office wasn’t large. Just big enough for you to not become claustrophobic when you worked at your desk. You sank into your worn leather chair, fingers absently running over the marks on your wrists once more. Jack’s words echoed in your head on endless repeat. He’s marking you as his food, not his partner. Your chest tightened again, that uncomfortable pressure returning.

For three years you’d worn his marks with pride. You’d believed they represented commitment, love. One overheard conversation had crumbled that certainty. An hour into your mindless paperwork, your phone buzzed with a text from Jack.

Lena said you stopped by. Why didn’t you wait to see me? Everything okay?

Your fingers hovered over the screen briefly before you set the phone aside without responding. The walls suddenly seemed to close in on you as you realized you couldn’t go home. Not tonight. Not until you’d sorted through the tangle of emotions you were currently ensnared in.

You pulled up a grocery delivery app on your phone, placing a quick order of a few things along with some basic hygiene products. You selected the bar’s address for delivery, instructing them to leave the order at the bar. An hour later, Michelle knocked on the door and handed over the bags.

“Everything okay?” she asked, eyes scanning your face with obvious concern.

“Yeah. Just decided to stay upstairs tonight. Thanks.”

She nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m good, but thanks.”

Once she’d left, you shut down your computer and grabbed the bags. You headed down the hall where a narrow staircase led to the apartment above. The apartment you’d lived in for five years before you met Jack.

You unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal the small studio apartment. The space was sparse now, most of your belongings having migrated to Jack’s. But you had a bed and appliances in the kitchen and that’s really all you needed. Setting the groceries on the counter, you checked your phone again.

Three missed calls and another text. Are you okay? Call me.

You swiped the notifications away. Perhaps it was petty of you not to answer but you needed space. A moment to breathe. And it wasn’t as if you could hide from the man even if you wanted to. As his mate, he could find you anywhere at any time. You’d previously found the thought comforting. Knowing if you were ever in trouble, he’d be able to find you. Tonight, it felt more like an invasion.

You figured you had until roughly 8:00 in the morning before he showed up, provided he got off shift on time. The night passed in fragments of half-sleep and intrusive thoughts. You’d given up on rest entirely by the time the sun rose. Instead, you focused on making a quick breakfast of bacon and eggs with the groceries you’d had delivered the night before.

Exactly ten minutes after eight, there was a knock at the door. You paused briefly as you flipped the bacon. Right on time. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to.

As predicted, you heard a key in the lock a minute later. The door opened slowly and Jack’s presence filled the small space instantly. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft and concerned.

You kept your back to him as you plated the food. “There’s OJ in the fridge if you want some.” Your voice was steadier than you’d expected.

He didn’t move toward the refrigerator. Instead, he stood watching you, cataloging every detail of your appearance. You felt his gaze like a physical touch, searching for clues to explain your sudden distance.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asked, moving to sit at the table across from you.

You took your seat, eyes focused on your plate as you began to eat. After several minutes passed in silence, you sat your fork down and leaned back in your chair. You finally lifted your head to meet Jack’s gaze for the first time since he entered the apartment. His reaction was immediate. The skin around his eyes tightened as he leaned forward. He could easily read the evidence of your tears as clearly as if they were still streaming down your cheeks.

Alarm flashed across his features. “Hey. What happened? Is everything alright?”

The genuine concern in his voice only made everything more difficult somehow. It would be easier if he was cold or dismissive. Instead, he looked at you with the same warmth he always had.

“It’s fine,” you said, the words sounding hollow. “I just needed to confront the fact I had been wrong about some things, and I needed to decide if I was okay with that.”

Jack didn’t respond beyond leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table as he waited for you to continue. To explain.

“When I found out I was your mate, I kind of let myself assume that was something special. That it meant more than me being your perfect blood bag. I realize you never said that, not directly. I just assumed.”

His brow furrowed, his confusion evident. You pressed on before he could interrupt.

“I just…” Fresh tears threatened and you sucked in a deep breath as you bit them back. You would not let this man see you cry, damn it. “I thought this connection meant as much to you as it did to me, is all. But that’s on me, not you. I just need a few days to adjust, okay?”

When Jack finally spoke, his voice sounded broken. “Why would you ever think you don’t mean everything to me? If I did something to make you think that, to make you feel that way, I am so incredibly sorry.”

“Why would I believe that when you don’t respect me?” The question emerged sharper than you’d intended.

“Don’t respect—” Jack looked genuinely stunned. “Honey, where is this coming from?”

You sighed, suddenly exhausted. Your eyes fell on your wrists and you tugged down your sleeves to cover the marks, self-conscious about them in a way you’d never been before. “I heard your conversation with Samira. You were so adamant that her boyfriend didn’t give a shit about her because he left her marked up, so what am I supposed to think? You go out of your way to make sure to leave visible bites on me every day.”

Jack stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he laughed, a short sound that sucked the air from your lungs.

“Is that what this is about?” His dismissive tone sent a fresh wave of hurt crashing through you.

“I think you should go.” Your voice was quiet but firm.

The smile vanished from his face instantly. “No, no, baby. Listen to me for a minute.” He moved around the table, kneeling in front of you. His hand reached for your shoulder and you flinched, a small involuntary movement. Pain flashed across his features.

Slowly, with deliberate care, his hand settled on your shoulder. His thumb traced the outline of the mating mark on your neck. The familiar touch had some of the tension leaving your body.

“This mark changes everything. It means you’re mine,” he said in a low voice.

He grabbed one of your hands and pushed up the sleeve. His thumb ran over the fang marks on your wrist, his touch tender. “It means that when I leave these that I’m showing everyone that you are a good mate. That you take care of me and I take care of you. That I am actively in your life. It’s another layer of protection for you.”

You studied his face looking for any sign of deception. “So, because I’m your mate, it’s a good thing you mark me up, but for Samira, it’s not?”

Jack nodded. “Exactly.”

“That’s stupid.”

He laughed again, this time a genuine sound of amusement. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “I know it is, baby. When an unmated vampire leaves visible marks, they’re claiming someone as food. Sure, it will probably keep another vamp from biting her, but it’s disrespectful. Especially if he didn’t tell her why he was doing it. And that fact that she has so many…” He shook his head. “It makes her an object, not a person.”

“But I’m not?” the question came out broken and you hated it.

He shook his head emphatically. “Never. If you want me to quit leaving visible marks, I will.”

You watched him as he reached for your hand again. He traced circles on your palm with his thumb. “With mates, the marks are part of a mutual claim. They’re meant to be seen because they represent our bond. It’s like wearing a wedding ring versus having someone stamp ‘taken’ across your forehead without your consent.”

“You realize how arbitrary that distinction sounds, right?”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “What matters is what these marks mean to us. To me, they’re a sign of our bond, of how we sustain each other. But if they make you uncomfortable now, I’ll stop. Immediately.”

The sincerity in his voice was impossible to doubt. “I don’t want you to stop,” you admitted. “I just want to understand.”

Relief washed over his features. “They mean you’re my heart. My life. Not my food source, though your blood is exceptional. They mean we belong to each other in every way.”

You debated letting the conversation end there. Letting everything go back to the way it had been. But while one issue had been clarified, it had opened the door to a deeper question. One you’d avoided for too long.

“Why won’t you talk to me about turning?”

The change in his demeanor was instantaneous. His expression shuttered as he stood, moving back to his side of the table. “We don’t need to discuss that right now.”

You sighed and got up to start clearing the table, the half-eaten breakfast no longer appealing. “I can’t imagine why I didn’t have a problem believing I was being disrespected.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that anytime I bring up turning, you shut down.” You placed the dishes in the sink with more force than necessary. “I want forever with you, Jack. But I think forever means different things to us. For me, it’s for the rest of your life. For you, it’s for the rest of mine.”

You turned your back to him as you rinsed the dishes. You shrugged one shoulder. “I would give anything for an eternity with you. And you, well, I think you’re just biding time.”

Jack remained silent and you could feel his gaze on your back. The apartment suddenly felt too small and you needed room to breathe.

“I’d appreciate it if you left now,” you said finally as you turned to face him again. “I need sleep and so do you.”

 For a moment, he looked like he might argue. His eyes studied you, taking in every detail of your face as if memorizing it. The defeat in his posture was something you’d never seen before. His shoulders slumped as he moved toward the door without another word. At the threshold, he paused, hand on the knob, but he didn’t turn back. After a long moment, he stepped through, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jack’s world collapsed around him as he descended the stairs from your apartment. Each step felt like moving through concrete as he suddenly felt every year of his long existence. Nothing he had faced to this point could prepare him for the sorrow in your eyes when you accused him of merely ‘biding time’ until your inevitable human death.

He slid into his truck and sat motionless until he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. The gesture of defeat was so foreign to his nature it would have shocked anyone who knew him. Dr. Jack Abbot who had survived more than a century of humanity’s worst moments was coming apart at the seams.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the empty vehicle, the single syllable containing a universe of regret.

He sat there for an hour before he could muster the strength to drive away from your apartment. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d failed you. Or the fear of the terrifying possibility of a future without you in it.

By noon, he’d placed the first order with the florist. A simple arrangement of red roses with an apology scrawled on the small card followed by his name. In the hours following their delivery, he paced the floor, phone clutched in hand.

No response came.

The second day he sent a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. The sentiment on the card was longer this time. In all my long life I have never been more afraid of anything than I am of losing you. I am thinking of you every moment. He checked his phone constantly as if he might have somehow missed your reply.

Still nothing.

The third day he switched florists to one that specialized in wildflower arrangements. He sent texts throughout the day, careful to keep them undemanding.

I miss you.

I love you.

You don’t have to respond. I just need you to know how important you are to me.

On his fourth night without you, Lena frowned at him as he stepped up to the hub. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks. Always nice to get compliments from colleagues.” He grabbed a chart to scroll through so he wouldn’t have to meet her gaze. She had always been too perceptive when he had something he was trying to hide.

“Seriously, Jack. What is going on? Did something happen with your mate?”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “We had a…disagreement.”

Her brows arched. “Must have been some fight to have you looking like this.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t a fight. It was worse.” He walked away before she could press further.

When he got home from that shift, he sat at the kitchen for two hours composing a dinner invitation. Finally, he settled for I’d like to make you dinner tomorrow night. At home. 8 pm. There are things to say. Please come.

Your simple okay came three hours later.

Jack spent the next day cleaning the house from top to bottom, paying attention to areas that often got overlooked. He even changed the sheets on the bed, though he didn’t dare hope the night would end there. Then, he drove to two different markets to get the ingredients he needed for dinner.

He had cooked for you hundreds of times over your years together. Usually simple meals thrown together after shifts, or more elaborate fare on your days off. Tonight was different. Tonight had to be perfect. He made your favorite meal and picked up your favorite dessert from the bakery you loved.

As he chopped and prepped, he rehearsed what he would tell you. The words tangled in his mind, decades of trauma and fear twisting into complicated knots. How could he make you understand the horror of his turning while he’d spent over a hundred years trying not to think about it?

By 7:30 the room had transformed. He’d set the table with the good dishes and lit candles throughout the space. The wine was breathing next to two crystal glasses.

By 7:45, he’d changed his shirt three times before settling on the one you’d given him last Christmas claiming it brought out the green in his eyes. He checked his phone and paced the living room as he waited for you to arrive.

You rang the doorbell at precisely 8:00 and Jack froze. This was your home. You had a key. There was no reason for you to ring the bell unless you no longer considered this your home. The thought made him sick.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before he opened the door. His gaze ran over you, finding you beautiful as always. You wore simple clothes, jeans and one of your favorite tops and he thought you were stunning. Your eyes met his and he saw little of the warmth he’d grown accustomed to seeing in you. His heart cracked in his chest.

“Hi.” The single syllable was inadequate but he suddenly found himself lost for words.

“Hi,” you replied as you stepped inside. Your scent washed over him and he closed his eyes as he breathed it in. Gods, he’d missed you.

“Thank you for coming,” he managed, closing the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

You nodded as you shrugged off your jacket. Jack reached for it automatically and felt a surge of relief when you let him take it. It was the smallest allowance, but he’d take it.

“Smells good,” you said, following him to the table. Your voice was carefully neutral and he hated it.

“I made your favorite.” He pulled out your chair with a formality that felt foreign between you. As you sat, his fingers brushed your shoulder accidently, a whisper of contact that sent a jolt through his hand.

Jack moved to his own seat, trying to recover his composure. You were watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. He cleared his throat and poured the wine before serving the meal.

For several minutes you ate in silence, the only sound coming from the gentle clink of silverware. Jack barely tasted the food, too focused on what he needed to say. He’d practiced what he would say, but now that you were here, all his careful preparation seemed pointless.

“I was born on March 13, 1894,” he said suddenly, setting down his fork.

Your eyes snapped to his face, your surprise evident in your expression.

“Rochester, NY. My father was a doctor in a time where that meant everything from delivering babies to pulling teeth.” Jack forced himself to maintain eye contact despite the urge to look away. “I was in my second year of medical school when the United States entered the war.”

You leaned back in your seat giving him your full attention. This was more than he’d shared about his human life in your three years together.

“I was conscripted in June of 1917. I thought…God, I was naïve. I thought it would be some grand adventure. That I’d see Europe, save lives as a medic, come home a hero.” His laugh was short and bitter. “Reality hit the moment we landed in France. The odor was horrible. Death mixed with mud and human waste and gun powder. You could smell the front lines from miles away.”

Jack took a sip of wine. Your eyes never left his face and he drew strength from your steady gaze.

“They sent me to the front with minimal training. I was assigned to a field medical unit but we were chronically under trained and under supplied. The conditions in the trenches were…” He shook his head, searching for words to describe the indescribable. “Imagine standing in water and mud up to your knees. Imagine constant artillery fire, so loud you’d go temporarily deaf between barrages. Rats fat from feeding on corpses running over your boots while you tried to sleep.”

He swallowed as he saw it all again with perfect clarity. The mazelike network of trenches. The faces of young men who knew they were going to die but still hoped otherwise. The exhaustion that settled permanently into his bones.

“It was October when I noticed the first symptoms.” Jack clenched his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw before he sucked in a deep breath. “My feet were constantly wet. Everyone’s were. The trenches flooded with every rain, and it rained almost daily that fall. At first, it was just numbness, some pain. I ignored it. Focused on treating others. Complaining about my minor discomfort seemed ridiculous when men were dying all around me.”

He pushed away the plate of food, so he could lean on the table. “Within two weeks, my right foot had swollen so badly I could barely get my boot on. The skin turned gray, then bluish-black. The pain…” He closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the memory. “I’d never experienced anything like it. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. By the time I reported it to my medical officer, gangrene had set in. There was no choice but to amputate.”

You reached across the table again and his hand greedily grasped at yours to tangle your fingers together. He was grateful beyond words that you offered him this small comfort.

“There was always a shortage of medicine. They used what they had sparingly. I was only given enough morphine to dull the edges of the pain. I felt everything. The knife separating tissue. The saw cutting through bone.” His voice was rough with the remembered pain. “They held me down. Four men, one on each limb, while the surgeon worked. I screamed until my throat was raw, begging them to stop, to just let me die.”

Jack’s free hand rubbed absently at his right leg. Even after more than century, flashes of phantom pain sometimes still woke him from sleep.

“I was still in the field hospital, feverish and half-conscious when the Germans attacked. First artillery, then ground troops. They started evacuating patients, but they took the mobile ones first. The ones most likely to live. I heard explosions getting closer, saw medics running past without stopping. I knew they wouldn’t reach me in time.”

He swallowed hard. “I remember thinking that was how I was going to die. Alone and in pain thousands of miles from home.”

His eyes refocused on your face, anchoring himself in the present. There was so much more to say, but it was a story he had never told. One he’d tried his hardest to forget. Jack squeezed your hand once before releasing it, needing the freedom to move. He stood and walked to the window, staring into the darkness for a long moment before turning back to face you.

“I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you.” His voice was quiet and he drew in a deep breath, bracing himself. “I was lying on my cot, certain I was going to die when this man appeared beside me. Just standing there, staring. At first I thought he was a doctor I hadn’t seen before but he wore no uniform, just civilian clothes. I suppose I should have found it odder than I did, but I was delirious with pain and fever.”

He leaned against the windowsill, fingers gripping the edge. “Finally, after what seemed like hours, he tossed aside the blanket and stared at my bandaged stump, poking where the blood had seeped through. He laughed when I hissed in pain, asked me if I wanted to live.” His voice caught on the last word. “I told him no. I begged him to kill me. Twenty-three years old and I wanted nothing more than to die.”

Your eyes were glassy but they never left his face.

“He smiled at me then. Not friendly, not cruel, just…amused. He fingered the band on my sleeve that marked me as a medic. He said, ‘You’re a doctor, yes? Maybe you’ll find this educational.’ Then he—” Jack closed his eyes as if that could stave off the memories. “He bit into his own wrist and forced it against my mouth. I tried to fight him, but I was so weak. And his blood was like nothing I’d ever tasted. Like the first sip of water after being in the heat all day.”

He pushed away from the window, moving restlessly around the room. “The last thing I remember from my human life was his hands on either side of my head. He said, ‘Welcome to immortality, doctor’ and then he snapped my neck.”

Jack stopped moving, watching your reaction carefully. “When I woke, everything was different. The pain in my leg was gone, that was the first thing I noticed. For one blissful moment, I thought I’d dreamed it all, that my leg was whole. But then I reached down. The amputation site had healed completely. Clean, smooth skin over the stump, but the leg was still gone.”

His laugh was a haunted, hollow sound. “That was my introduction to vampirism, learning the transformation could heal wounds but not regenerate limbs. I was going to be this way forever.” He returned to the table but didn’t sit, instead standing with his hands braced on the back of the chair. “The hunger was maddening. Every cell in my body screamed for blood, but I couldn’t move. I discovered later he’d only given me enough blood to turn, but not to complete the process. He’d left me there as some cruel joke, some experiment maybe, and walked away. I never even knew his name.”

You made a small sound of distress and Jack’s eyes flicked to your face registering your horror.

“Three days. I lay there for three days, conscious but paralyzed while the battle raged around me. The artillery would get closer then fade away as the lines shifted. And all the while, I only grew hungrier. I could hear every heartbeat, smell blood from yards away. It was torture beyond anything I’d ever experienced.”

Jack raked a hand through his hair. “On the third night, Allied forced recaptured the area. Two soldiers came through checking for survivors. One of them recognized what I was, what had happened. They carried me out on a stretcher, got me to their camp, found me blood. They saved me.”

He sat again, his movements heavy with exhaustion. “I was shipped to England after that. There was a small vampire community in London that took me in, taught me the rules, the limitations. I was a difficult student.” He sighed. “I was angry at the world, at the cosmic joke that I’d lost my humanity but retained my disability. It seemed like the worst possible outcome.”

Jack looked down at his hands. “It took me decades to accept it. To stop hating what I’d become. To stop fantasizing about finding my sire and ripping him apart. The phantom pain was the worst. Feeling sensation in a limb that wasn’t there and never would be again.”

“Eventually, I learned to adapt.” He glanced up and met your gaze again. “Prosthetics improved, medicine advanced. I finished my medical training, specializing in trauma because I understood it intimately. But I never forgot those moments of being so completely, utterly alone as my entire world shifted. Of being horrified of what was to come.”

He cleared his throat. “The thought of turning you terrifies me down to my bones. My turning was trauma layered upon trauma and the idea of subjecting you to even a fraction of that experience…” Jack shook his head, unable to continue.

He searched your face for any sign of pity or revulsion. He’d laid his darkest memory at your feet, exposing the wound that had never fully healed. The silence stretched until he could barely breathe. Had he said too much? Not enough?

Your reached across the table, palm up and he placed his hand in yours. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine how difficult that was.”

“I should have told you years ago.”

“Maybe, but I understand why you didn’t.” You squeezed his hand gently and it made him ache for the easy intimacy you’d shared before.

“I’ve spent a century trying not to think about it,” he admitted. “Trying to forget as much as I was able. The thought of turning you, of risking you experiencing the smallest fraction of that, terrifies me.” He released your hand and leaned back in his seat as he raked his fingers through his hair.

“Jack, I need you to understand that there isn’t much I wouldn’t endure to spend forever with you.”

He sucked in a breath, stunned at the firm conviction in your voice.

“Do you really think that I haven’t thought about this? For three years, I’ve lived with the knowledge that someday I’d grow old and die while you remain exactly as you are. I’ve seen the shadow in your eyes when I mention plans too far ahead. I’ve made peace with what becoming a vampire would mean. The question was never whether I would only whether or not you wanted me to.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” Jack said, voice rough.

“You weren’t asking. You were deciding for me.”

He stared at you, struck by the simple truth in your words.

“My experience wouldn’t be anything like yours, Jack. I wouldn’t be alone, abandoned on a battlefield, already half mad with pain. I wouldn’t be turned by a stranger who walked away. I’d have you.” Your gaze held his, unwavering.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ve been a coward.”

You shook your head. “Not a coward. Just human.”

Jack moved around the table and pulled out the chair beside yours, sitting close enough that your knees touched. “I thought I’d lost you and that scared me more than anything else has in my entire long life. I don’t want to live without you, baby, not now and not sixty years from now.”

He reached into his pocket, fingers trembling as he withdrew a small velvet box. He placed it on the table between you, not opening it yet. “I bought this the day after you moved into the house. I knew then what I was too afraid to say. I want to spend the rest of my existence with you.”

His fingers brushed the box but he didn’t open it. “I want forever with you. Whether that is an eternity or the rest of your human life, I’ll take whatever you are willing to give me.”

He finally opened the box, revealing a ring that was perfectly you in every way. “I’m done being afraid. I’m done making decisions based on trauma that happened a century ago. If you want eternity, I’ll give it to you. If you want to remain human, I’ll cherish every day we have together. Whatever you choose, I want to be your husband, your partner. Your mate in every sense of the word.”

Jack held his breath as you reached for the ring. Seconds rarely seemed significant to one as old as him, but these particular seconds stretched into an eternity as he awaited your answer. When you slid the ring onto your finger with a wide smile, relief flooded through him.

You threw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance as his arms automatically wrapped around your waist. “Yes,” you whispered against his mouth. “Yes to everything. Marriage, eternity, all of it.”

Your lips parted beneath his and Jack tasted tears, yours or his, he couldn’t tell. His hands traced the familiar contours of your back, your shoulders, your face, relearning you through touch as the kiss deepened from tender reunion to something hungrier, more urgent.

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, clumsy in your haste. He caught your hands, pressing a kiss to each palm. “Slow down. We have all the time in the world.”

His own body betrayed his words as he pulled you closer, desire overriding patience. Nearly a week of separation, fear and uncertainty dissolved beneath the building heat. Your hands slid into his partially unbuttoned shirt, igniting his nerve endings.

“Bedroom,” you breathed against his neck and Jack didn’t hesitate. He lifted you into his arms in one smooth motion, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried down the hallway. He moved with a vampire’s inherent grace, never breaking the trail of kisses along your jaw, your neck, the sensitive spot behind your ear.

The bedroom was dark, but neither of you reached for the light. Jack laid you reverently on the bed, standing for a moment to take in the sight of you. God, he’d missed you.

He stripped his shirt and joined you on the bed. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed, reaching for him.

You helped him take the prosthesis off and place it beside the bed. Clothes followed until you were skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. His fingers traced paths he knew by heart, the curve of your breast, the dip of your waist. The soft, tender skin of your inner thigh. His mouth followed the path of his hands, worshipping every inch of you with his tongue and a gentle scrape of fangs.

He lingered at pulse points, inhaling the scent of your blood rushing just beneath the surface, sweeter to him than any other substance on Earth. “I want to memorize you like this,” he murmured against your stomach, voice rough with emotion. “Every beautiful human imperfection.” His hands slid beneath you, lifting your hips to his mouth. “The way you moan when I touch you here.” His tongue traced intimate patterns that made you arch and gasp. “The way your heart races when you’re close.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him upward and he complied, covering your body with his. The first sensation of him entering you drew moans from both of you. He moved slowly at first, savoring each sensation, each gasp and sigh that fell from your lips.

“Look at me,” he urged. When you complied, he felt stripped bare. All of his walls were down, all pretenses abandoned. You saw him completely, and still, you looked at him with love.

Your bodies found their rhythm, familiar yet new. Like coming home. His hands were everywhere, unable to get enough of you. Promises and endearments spilled between kisses. “I love you,” he breathed against your skin. “I’ll love you through time until the stars burn out.”

When you came apart beneath him, Jack followed immediately. The pleasure crashed through him, the mate bond singing with renewed strength. Afterward, you lay tangled together with your head on Jack’s chest. The ring on your finger catching the soft light in the room. Neither of you spoke for several minutes, content.

“I want eternity with you,” you finally said as you lifted your head to meet his eyes. “Not someday. Now.”

His hand stilled on your back. “Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve been of anything.” You sat up, the sheet pooling around your waist. “I don’t want to wait, to give either of us the chance to overthink. I want forever to start tonight.”

Jack searched your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt and found none. “Alright.” He sat up against the headboard and guided you to sit with your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. The position was intimate yet practical.

“This will be uncomfortable,” he warned, lips brushing your ear. “The blood will taste strange at first, but keep drinking until I tell you to stop.”

He bit into his wrist and brought it to your lips. “Drink.”

You did, hesitantly at first, then more deeply. Jack closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation, monitoring the flow carefully. “More,” he encouraged when you would have stopped. “Just a little more.”

When you had consumed enough for him to be certain you wouldn’t be stuck in the limbo he had been at his turning, he withdrew his wrist. His arms tightened around you, one hand tilting your head to expose your neck, the other spread across your abdomen.

“I love you.” His fangs sank into your neck, drinking deeply to replenish his own stores. In one swift motion, he broke your neck, ending your human life instantly and beginning the transformation. Your body went limp in his arms and he gathered you close, cradling you against his chest.

Jack hadn’t moved in hours. He sat against the headboard, your body cradled in his arms as he waited for you to awaken. The stillness of your body was unnerving. The complete absence of a heartbeat and breath a stark reminder of what he’d taken from you.

“Come back to me,” he whispered against your temple like a prayer. It had been just over five hours since he’d broken your neck and each passing minute stretched his nerves tighter.

The first sign was subtle, just the slight twitch of your fingers against the sheets. Your eyelids flickered next, the movement barely noticeable. Then, suddenly, your eyes flew open and you gasped.

“Easy.” Jack kept his arms around you but loosened his grip to allow you the room to move. “Take it slow. Everything is different now.”

Your eyes darted around the room, pupils dilating and contracting rapidly as they adjusted to vampire vision. He knew you were experiencing an overwhelming influx of sensory information, the world suddenly more vivid than a human could ever hope to perceive. He remained still, a steady presence amongst the chaos.

“Jack?”

“I’m here.” Relief washed through him at the recognition in your eyes, the awareness. Some turnings resulted in temporary memory loss or confusion, but you knew him immediately.

“Everything’s…”

“I know. Your brain is processing information it never could before. The adjustment takes time.”

You shifted in his arms to look at him. “You look different,” you said suddenly. “You’re…glowing.”

Jack nodded. “We see differently. The subtle luminescence of our skin is invisible to humans but clear to us.” He held out his hand beside yours, showing how you both shared the faint sheen. “You’ll see colors you never knew existed.”

You gazed at him in wonder, as if seeing him for the first time, and in a way you were. “You’re beautiful.”

Jack grasped your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. “How are you feeling?”

You pressed a hand to your throat. “It’s burns.”

“The thirst is always strongest when you first wake.” He bit his wrist and held it out to you. “Drink.” He traced the line of your cheek with his knuckle as you satisfied your hunger. “Even with both of us as vampires, our blood will do more for each other than any other source we could find.”

You pulled away after several long sips and licked your lips.

“Better?”

You nodded. “Yes. I feel strong. Light.” You looked over yourself, cataloging changes. “My scar is gone.” You touched your knee where a childhood injury had left a permanent mark.

“The turning heals most superficial damage.” He gestured at his leg. “Just not everything.”

You ran a hand through his curls and he closed his eyes as he leaned into the touch. “Is my hair silver now, too?”

His laughter was warm and rich. “No, baby. That was a side effect of the partial turning. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“I can’t imagine you with any other color. Maybe this was how you were always meant to be,” you offered.

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Maybe so.”

You examined your ring then laid your hand on his chest. “We’re going to live forever.”

“Do you want to?” Erin asked, waiting until you’d taken a sip and you nearly snorted coffee back out of your nose. You choked on the hot beverage and glared at her as she grinned “Oh yeah she does” you wiped a hand over your mouth “Of course I do! For fuck’s sake have you seen him? He’s gorgeous, those damn blue eyes and that smile…those damn hands and those shoulders and that damn chest and” 

“Ok!”  “We get it!” they laughed in unison and you shrugged “The point is, I’m not making the first move towards sex, I’m confident but not that damn confident now if he offered? Anytime, anywhere” 

“Deviant!” Kim laughed and you cut your eyes at her “Easy Burgess, I know yours and Ruzek’s track record as well as I know hers and Halstead’s” they both grinned and Erin nodded “Good point”

You were trying to pay attention to Voight, you honestly were but you were currently sitting on Kevin’s desk which put you in direct eye line of Mouse’s and he was running a track on the suspect’s phone and playing with a pencil, twirling it between his fingers and all you could think about was how damn long and nimble his fingers were which was so not what you should be thinking at work.

He cut his eyes up at you and winked then nodded towards Voight and mouthed “Pay attention” then turned his eyes back to his screen. You could feel your face warm even as you turned your full attention to your sergeant. Why were you embarrassed at getting caught checking your boyfriend out? You weren’t sure but you were.

___________________

Mouse glanced up at you when you turned your attention back to Voight. He hadn’t honestly meant to eavesdrop on you, Erin and Kim. Hell he’d just wanted coffee. He hadn’t expected to hear you gushing about him or about how gorgeous you found him or about how bad you wanted to sleep with him. Talk about a damn confidence boost if there ever was one.

The only question he had was why didn’t you feel like you could breach the subject? Not like he’d turn you down. Hell the day he asked you out you’d admitted you were on the verge of asking him out so why was sex suddenly off the table of trying for? Did you think he wouldn’t want you? God, the thought of that hurt his head and heart. You were gorgeous. From the moment he met you he’d thought that then he got to know you and he’d fallen for you before he ever realized it. He hadn’t approached the subject of sex yet for the simple reason he didn’t want you thinking that he was only interested in that but if you wanted him like he wanted you? Then what the hell was he waiting for?

Mouse watched all of you adjust your vests and his eyes tracked your every moment. He walked behind you and passed you the com then leaned down to adjust a strap on the back for you “There ya go sweetheart” you glanced over your shoulder at him and smiled “Thank you Greg” he loved that, you saying his real name and you chose to use it. He’d offered the nickname everyone else used but your reasoning had been you didn’t want to be like everyone else. “Make it back safe” he added and pressed a kiss to your lips before moving past you to keep handing out coms.

Once he was through with coms Voight gave out orders and everyone went their own way. You caught his eye on the way out and smiled before hurrying to catch up with Kevin. 

________________

“So, do you want to come over and watch a movie or something?” Mouse asked while you and him were putting up gear in roll up while everyone else was upstairs finishing up. You grinned “Depends, can I pick the movie?” he shook his head “Don’t you always?” you laughed and leaned over to catch his lips in a lingering kiss “I always want to spend time with you Gerwitz” he smiled against your mouth and replied “Ok baby”

You parked your car next to Mouse’s and got out to follow him up to his apartment. Once the two of you were in the elevator he cut his eyes at you “Can I ask you something baby?” you nodded “Of course” he smiled slightly “Why haven’t you told me you want to have sex?” your mouth fell open and you looked like such a mixture between embarrassed and offended it was nothing shy of adorable. “Who told you?”

He shrugged “Afraid I wanted coffee this morning” you groaned, covering your face with both hands “How much did you hear?” “My eyes, my smile..something about my hands?” you cut your eyes up at him and he grinned “Oh come on sweetheart, let me have this. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” 

You shook your head as the elevator opened to his floor. You stormed off and headed to his apartment despite not having a key. He caught you before you got to his door and slipped his arms around you, spinning you around to catch your lips in a kiss that you immediately melted into, a light moan escaping you when he pushed you back against the door, not caring who saw. “I have wanted you since the first time we kissed. I just didn’t want you thinking that was all I wanted” he admitted, lips still against yours. You cut your eyes up at him and smiled “Let’s go inside” he grinned and fished his keys out, unlocking the door then his hands went to your hips and yours went to his shoulders. You kissed him like you were trying to memorize how his mouth felt against yours and when you whimpered against his lips he groaned lightly maneuvering you both into the door and kicking it closed behind you before pushing you back against it.

You pushed him back from you with a hand on his chest and he froze, eyes going from your hand up to your face “What’s wrong?” you grinned “I can’t get your shirt off when you’re this close to me Greg” he grinned “That right?” you nodded and started working at the buttons of his shirt then pushed it off his shoulders and groaned “Take your damn undershirt off” he laughed “Impatient?” you narrowed your eyes and he smiled “I got you baby” and slipped his shirt over his head. Your fingers trailed up his chest, exploring the smooth skin freshly exposed to you “Good god you’re gorgeous” you whispered and saw a blush grace his cheeks “Oh don’t get shy on me now” you teased, cutting your eyes up at him.

He shook his head “Oh don’t worry about me sweetheart, we’re just getting started. I can take care of you” you reached for his hands and put them on the hem of your shirt “Take it off then. You have my permission to do pretty much anything. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop” he swallowed hard then nodded “Promise you’ll tell me?” you smiled “I promise” 

He pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it across the room “Look at you” he whispered, hands slipping behind you to free you of your bra before pulling you to him and walking you both over to the couch. He sat down first, pulling you down to straddle his lap. You grinned when he looked up at you “What are you gonna do with me now?” he leaned forward and rolled a nipple into his mouth, laughing against your flesh when your head fell back, his other hand came up to knead at the other breast. You moaned out his name, hips rolling down across his.

He pulled off your nipple with a wet pop “You make such pretty sounds” you smiled breathlessly “When you’re making me feel like that” he grinned “I’ve barely done anything baby” you laughed “Still feels fucking amazing” he shook his head “I need you on your back, I want every damn inch of you because if you’re saying that felt good. I want you falling apart under me”

________________________

You stumbled into Mouse’s bedroom, both of you kicking out of your jeans as you made it over the threshold. “Get on the bed baby” he cooed and you did as he said which earned you a broad grin.  He motioned once you were on the bed “Get up on the pillows” you crawled up to the pillows and he smiled.

He crawled up onto the bed with you, starting at your ankle and kissing his way up the entire left side of your body until he got to your lips then he rolled his tongue into your mouth and grinned against your lips when you moaned loudly and pulled him closer. He wrapped one hand loosely around your neck, holding you in place and just from feeling his hand on your throat you damn near quivered. You brought one hand up to push his, encouraging him to tighten his grip. He pulled away from your lips raised an eyebrow so you smiled “I trust you”

He groaned lightly “Keep your promise, ok?” and used his grip on your neck to bring you back into another kiss, “Just touch me Greg. I trust you with everything” you whispered and he smiled “You are everything baby” and crashed his lips against yours.

His lips moved from yours down to your jaw, licking and sucking the skin there.You rolled your hips up to meet his, a groan leaving his lips from the movement considering the only thing separating your bodies were his boxers and your panties. You whimpered when he grabbed both of your hands and moved to pin them against the pillow over your head, light blue eyes shades darker when he met yours “Baby, you’re gonna lay back and let me taste you. I’ve been thinking about this for too long. Please?” you nodded, a smile slipping across your face when he tsk tsked “Words pretty girl” “I’ll lay back” you whispered and he grinned “Good girl” then let your hands go.

You moved your hands up to his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, pulling away from his lips only to ask  “You’ve been thinking about me?” he grinned, eyes flickering down your body “If you can’t see why I’ve been thinking about you then I’ve got my work cut out for me” you felt one of his hands slip lower on your body and your thighs fell open “Good girl” he cooed and you whimpered slightly “Fuck Greg”

He slipped his long fingers under the waistband of your panties, one teasing through your folds and your back arched off the bed from the feeling. He chuckled lightly before letting that finger slip inside of you, quickly followed by a second. Your eyes rolled back at the stretch of him working your pussy open around his fingers. “Baby, how long has it been since you had sex?” he asked and you cut your eyes up at him, chest heaving “A while” you’d already felt him through his boxers, he wasn’t a small man by any means.

 He caught your lips in a gentle kiss, fingers working inside of you until they brushed across that spongy spot and you gasped into his mouth. “There it is” he laughed lightly, turning his wrist so that his thumb could trace over your clit while his fingers worked that spot deep inside of you. “Please please please don’t stop” you begged, feeling your orgasm build. 

“Wasn’t planning on it” he teased, using his other hand to wrap around your throat and apply just the right amount of pressure that it helped to push you over that edge and you came, a loud moan of his name falling from your lips as he continued to finger you, your walls clenching down hard around him. “Greg..fuck I can’t” he shook his head “Baby if you can’t take my fingers you damn sure can’t take my dick” you gasped as he pushed your legs open further, giving himself a whole new angle. Your hips started to move in rhythm with his hand, effectively fucking yourself on his fingers “Look at my girl, taking it so good” he praised and you felt another orgasm slam into you, this one was even harder than the last considering you were still so damn sensitive.

You shoved at his wrist and he pulled his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth and moaning around his fingers at the taste. He winked at you then moved further down the bed to position himself between your legs, shoulders keeping them apart as he pulled your panties off your legs and tossed them across the room.

You looked down at him and he was already looking at you “Fuck, you are gorgeous” you praised and he practically preened “Thank you sweetheart, so are you” then turned his attention to your pussy. He opened you with two fingers, leaning over so he could lick a tentative strip up your slit. When he rolled your clit into his mouth, tongue swirling around it you gasped out his name.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he flicked his tongue into you and you moaned “Fuck” you could feel him smile against you “You taste as pretty as you sound” then he slipped his tongue into you, adding a finger to tease at that spot inside of you. You could feel your legs start to shake and you weren’t even sure of some of the things coming out of your mouth. 

The entire world had narrowed down to Greg Gerwitz and whatever the hell he was doing with his tongue. You never felt the orgasm building; it just crashed into you, a scream of his name leaving your lips as you soaked the bed underneath you and him with your juices. He greedily cleaned you up, working at you with his tongue until you shoved at his shoulders, sobbing lightly “I can’t please”

He leaned back, kissing your inner thigh then cut his eyes up at you “Certain on how much I want you yet?” you managed to get a full breath into your lungs before shaking your head. He grinned and started to crawl up your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses on every inch of flesh he could along the way.

When he got to your lips he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, rolling his tongue against yours so you could taste yourself on him. You pulled back from his lips and tugged at his boxers “I want you” he grinned “I um don’t have any condoms sweetheart. I wasn’t planning on this”

“I’m on birth control” you whispered, eyes meeting his and he raised an eyebrow “Are you sure?” you nodded “Please” he groaned lightly “You begging is going to be what kills me” he leaned up to push his boxers down his legs then kicked them off.

You slipped a hand between your bodies and he cursed lightly when your hand wrapped around his hardened cock “Fuck baby” you cut your eyes up at him with a smile that was so sweet it made everything ache “Try not to hurt me?” he grinned, leaning down to catch your lips in a kiss as he helped you to line himself up with your opening “I’d never hurt you”

He pushed into you slowly, causing a low groan to leave you both. He watched your face as he buried himself inch by inch into you. He could feel your walls stretching around him, mixed with the little curses you were muttering under your breath “You ok?” he whispered after a moment and you smiled “I’m good. You’re just well” he grinned, knowing what you were trying to say.

Mouse kissed across your jaw and neck, giving you time for the pain of the stretch to give way to pleasure. After a few breaths you gripped his lower back “Move Greg” he grinned “Yes ma’am” and gave a tentative thrust of his hips. When your response was to spread your legs further he chuckled lightly and gripped one of your thighs, hooking it up around his side. 

You gasped when he rolled his hips and the head of his cock brushed across that spot deep inside of you “Fuck you feel so damn good” you moaned and he leaned down to catch your lips in a messy kiss “Can’t feel anywhere are good as you feel sweetheart” his forehead pressed over against yours and he groaned “Fuck this pussy was made for me” 

You were quickly learning your boyfriend was one hell of a dirty talker and that you fucking loved it. “You can fuck me harder, I won’t break” you told him and he met your eyes, searching for any uncertainty. “Are you sure?” you nodded and he raised an eyebrow,silently reminding you “I’m sure Greg, fuck me how you want to. I want it and I won’t break”

He shook his head “I think I may just marry you one day” and moved to shift your legs up closer to your chest, his hips rolling into yours as he hit a spot deep enough inside of you that you knew for certain no one else had ever hit.  You were practically sobbing his name underneath him, it felt amazing. Every damn snap of his hips shot pleasure through your entire body, the noises falling from him were heavenly. 

“I’m so damn close” you moaned and he nodded “Go ahead baby, let me feel it” one of his hands slipped down to tease at your clit and that was all it took, your orgasm slammed into you hard enough your back arched painfully off the bed. He wrapped one hand around your throat, his pace never faltering as his hips snapped into yours “Where at?” he asked between gritted teeth. “In me” you moaned and his head fell over against your chest, hips slamming into yours as he buried himself deep inside of you as you felt him cum, some of it being pushed back out of you. 

He nearly collapsed on top of you, kissing everywhere his lips could find “That was amazing sweetheart, fuck can I keep you?” he whispered and you grinned lazily “Pretty sure I’m not addicted even worse to you Gerwitz” he laughed lightly “Good to know” and pretty a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling out and moving to lay next to you “Need anything?” he asked as you curled on his chest “You? And maybe a shower when my legs start back working?” 

He laughed lightly “Rest for a minute beautiful then if need be I’ll just carry you in there” you shook your head “Greg Gerwitz, how the hell did I get lucky enough to have you” he raised an eyebrow and looked at you “I’m the lucky one here baby” and crashed his lips against yours, pulling you over on top of him.

“I’ve never seen a bigger smile” Erin muttered as she handed you a cup of coffee and you cut your eyes at her. She was looking at Mouse and you felt your heart flip at the smile on his face, especially when he looked up at you and winked before going back to work.