Dewdrop 🔭🪐🛰️🚀

Pittsburgh was not bad. That almost made it worse.

It was pretty in ways you had not expected. Green hills. Old brick. Rain-dark streets. Houses tucked into slopes like the whole city had been built by someone stubborn enough to make gravity negotiate.

There were good meals. Good walks. Good days, technically. But none of it was Vegas. None of it was home.

Vegas had been heat rising off pavement after midnight. Neon bleeding across sidewalks. Music spilling out of open doors. Tourists laughing too loud. Coworkers yelling over the bar noise. The constant pulse of people moving, spending, leaving, arriving.

Vegas never asked you to be still. Pittsburgh did.

And at first, stillness had felt like relief. Then it started to feel like punishment. You were in your thirties. You had worked too long, carried too much, rebuilt yourself too many times to suddenly become someone who filled her days with errands and walks and waiting for someone else’s work shift to end.

But that was what your life had become.

Groceries.

Laundry.

Reading.

Dinners.

Walks through neighborhoods that were beautiful and quiet and not yours.

You were grateful. That was the part that made you angry. Because Robby had given you safety. A bed. Financial breathing room. Insurance. A house where no one expected you to be anything but okay. And still, some ugly, restless part of you kept pressing against the walls.

Not because you wanted to leave him. Not exactly. Because you missed yourself. You missed your life. You missed working.

Not bartending specifically. Not the sticky floors or the men who thought tipping meant they had purchased your patience. Not the ache in your feet after a long shift or the smell of tequila clinging to your hair no matter how long you stood under the shower.

You missed having somewhere to be.

A reason to leave the house that was not an appointment or a grocery list. A schedule that belonged to you. A body tired from doing something other than waiting.

Some mornings, the thought of going back showed up before you had even finished your coffee.

Not as a plan. Not exactly. More like checking for an exit in a crowded room.

How much money did you have left? How long would the drive take? Could you get your old job back, or had someone already taken your shifts?

You never followed the thought all the way through. You always closed the app, folded another load of laundry, made another grocery list.

But the thought kept coming back anyway. 

You missed the noise.

Real noise. Human noise. The kind that filled the air before you had time to think too hard. Glasses hitting counters. Music too loud. Someone laughing from across the room. Someone yelling your name because they needed another bottle from the back. The low, constant movement of a place that did not care if you were lonely because it was too busy being alive.

Robby’s house was quiet. Not empty. Not anymore. But quiet in a way that made your thoughts louder. You knew the sounds of it too well now.

The dishwasher clicking into its dry cycle. The refrigerator humming. The heat kicking on. The distant rumble of Robby’s motorcycle when he came home late enough for the whole neighborhood to hear it before you did.

You knew which cabinet stuck. Which burner on the stove ran hotter than the others. How long the washing machine took to finish a cycle.

You knew all of it because there had been too much time to learn it.

At first, you told yourself it was useful. Robby worked long shifts. You were here. Cooking made sense. Cleaning made sense. Grocery shopping made sense. It was not like you were doing anything else. That thought started as a joke. Then it stopped being funny.

Some days, you woke up and made a list just to prove the day had shape.

Laundry.

Bank.

Walk.

Dinner.

Prenatal vitamin.

Call pharmacy.

You wrote things down even when you knew you would remember them, because crossing them off gave you a small, pathetic sense of accomplishment.

Other days, you did not make a list at all. Those were worse. Those were the days you stood in the kitchen with your hands braced against the counter, looking around for something that needed doing and feeling a little sick when you realized you had already done it.

The floors were clean.

The fridge was organized.

The dishes were put away.

The laundry was folded.

Dinner was planned.

There was nothing left to fix. Nothing left to manage. Nothing left to be useful for.

So you walked.

At first, walking helped.

You found different streets, different hills, different houses with porch swings and overgrown gardens and old stone steps slick from rain. You learned where the sidewalks cracked and where the trees arched low enough to brush your shoulder if you were not paying attention.

Then the walks started looping back on themselves.

Same streets.

Same houses.

Same quiet.

Same body moving through a place that still did not feel like yours.

And when you came home, Robby’s house waited exactly where you had left it.

Safe.

Warm.

Still.

You started getting quiet.

Not all at once. Not enough that anyone could point to a single moment and say, There. That was when it changed.

But Robby noticed anyway.

He noticed when you stopped leaving the television on in the afternoon. When your answers got shorter. When you started making dinner earlier and earlier, like getting it done sooner might make the evening arrive faster.

He noticed when you stopped telling him about the places you went.

At first, he tried asking.

“How was the museum?”

“Fine.”

“Coffee shop any good?”

“Fine.”

“Did you like the park?”

“It was fine.”

Fine became the word you used when you did not have the energy to explain that nothing was wrong enough to justify how wrong you felt.

Robby never called you on it.

That almost made it worse.

He would just nod once, careful and quiet, and let the answer sit there like he could tell it had teeth.

You wanted him to push. You wanted him to leave it alone. You wanted him to ask the exact right question that would crack you open without making you bleed.

You hated that no version of him could win.

You hated that too.

You hated how patient he was. How steady. How he gave you room without making you feel abandoned. How he came home exhausted and still checked the fridge to see if you had eaten. How he never asked you to explain feelings you had not figured out how to name.

You hated that he was doing everything right and you still felt like this.

Then the snippiness started.

Small things at first.

He asked if you had taken your prenatal vitamin, and you looked up from the sink with soap on your hands and said, “Yes, Michael. I managed to swallow one pill without supervision.”

The second it left your mouth, you wished you could take it back.

Robby only stood there for a beat, hand still on the refrigerator door. You watched the apology rise in your throat and die there.

Then he nodded once. “Okay.”

That was all.

No argument. No wounded look. No lecture about how he was only trying to help.

Just okay.

He grabbed a bottle of water, asked if dinner needed another twenty minutes, and moved around you like you had not just snapped at him hard enough to leave a mark.

Which somehow made the guilt sharper.

Another night, he came home and found you sitting at the kitchen table with a grocery receipt, circling prices you already knew were too high.

“You need me to pick anything up tomorrow?” he asked.

You did not look up. “No.”

“You sure?”

“I said no.”

The room went quiet.

Robby set his keys in the bowl by the door. Softer than usual.

“Okay.”

Something inside you twisted.

“Why do you keep asking me the same thing?” you snapped, finally looking at him. “I said no. I heard you the first time.”

His expression flickered before smoothing out.

“I was just checking.”

“I know what you were doing.”

For a second, he only looked at you.

Then his jaw shifted once.

“You know I’m just trying to help, right?”

The words were not sharp. Not exactly. But they were not as soft as okay either.

That made it worse.

You looked down at the receipt. “I know.”

“You don’t have to bite my head off for it.”

The silence that followed felt enormous.

Your eyes closed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” he said.

But this time, it sounded tired. Not angry. Just tired enough to make your chest ache.

Because he did know. And he was still standing there.

You did not even know what you meant half the time.

Only that everything inside you felt rubbed raw. Like your life had narrowed down to a house that was not yours, a body that kept changing, and a man who was kind enough to make your anger feel unfair.

Some nights, the pressure had nowhere to go, so you cried in the bathroom with the faucet running and hated yourself for needing even that.

You stared at yourself in the mirror and tried to pinpoint the exact place where gratitude had curdled into resentment, where rest had become stagnation, where being cared for had started to feel indistinguishable from disappearing.

The worst part was waking up each morning and doing it all again.

Coffee.

Laundry.

Walk.

Dinner.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

The worst day was the junk drawer.

It should not have been the junk drawer. That was what made it worse.

Robby came home to the contents of it spread across the kitchen counter.

Batteries. Pens. Loose screws. Tape. Rubber bands. Receipts. Three chargers that belonged to nothing useful. A takeout menu from a restaurant that had closed two years ago. A handful of keys with no labels and no obvious purpose.

You had sorted all of it into separate piles.

The drawer itself sat open and empty while you wiped down the inside with a paper towel, jaw tight, sleeves pushed up, one hand braced against the counter like this was a task with stakes.

Robby stopped in the kitchen doorway. For a second, he did not say anything.

Then, carefully, “What happened?”

You did not look up. “Your junk drawer was disgusting.”

“It’s a junk drawer.”

“That isn’t an excuse.”

“It’s kind of the point.”

“No, the point is that things go in it. Not that they rot there until future civilizations find them.”

The room went quiet. You kept wiping. The drawer was already clean. You knew that. Robby probably knew it too. Still, he did not say anything right away. He just stood there with his bag still over one shoulder, watching the counter.

Watching you. Not judgmental. That would have been easier. Careful. That was worse.

He set his bag down near the door.

“Did something happen today?”

“No.”

Too fast.

His eyes moved to your face. You hated that he heard it. The silence stretched. 

You dropped the paper towel into the trash and reached for a stack of pens you had already tested twice.

“You don’t have to do that.”

His brows drew together slightly. “Do what?”

“Handle me.”

“I’m not handling you.”

“Yes, you are.”

Robby stayed still.

You snapped a rubber band around the working pens a little harder than necessary.

“You do that thing where you get all calm and careful like I’m going to break if you speak normally.”

His expression shifted, small enough that you almost missed it.

“I’m trying not to make it worse.”

“Well,” you said, looking up at him finally, “that’s worse.”

The words landed badly. You knew it immediately.

Robby looked down for half a second, then back at you. His face did not harden. That would have been easier too.

“I’m not mad about the drawer,” he said.

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you standing there like that?”

“Because I came home and found you sorting rubber bands like your life depended on it.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “It needed to be done.”

“Did it?”

“Yes.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then, gently, “Did it need to be done today?”

Something in you went still.

You looked down at the counter.

The batteries.

The pens.

The small bowl full of screws.

All of it suddenly looked ridiculous.

Your hands curled against the edge of the counter.

“I needed something to do.”

The words came out flat.

Robby did not answer right away. That was worse than anything he could have said.

You swallowed once and kept staring at the mess.

“I already did the laundry. I already went to the store. I already took a walk. Dinner’s already made. The house is clean. The dishes are done.”

Your voice stayed level.

Too level.

“There was nothing else.”

The silence after that felt different.

Not sharp.

Not heavy.

Just bare.

Robby stepped farther into the kitchen, but not too close.

“You don’t have to keep finding things to fix.”

Your mouth tightened. “If I don’t, then I just sit here.”

He absorbed that quietly.

You hated how small your voice sounded when you added, “I’m tired of sitting here.”

Robby’s face softened.

Something in you recoiled from it. Not because it was pity. Because it wasn’t. Because he understood enough to make it dangerous.

“I’m not ungrateful,” you said quickly.

“I know.”

“No, I mean it.” You looked up, defensive before he had even accused you of anything. “I know what you’ve done. I know I’m safe here. I know I have a doctor because of you. I know I have insurance and food and a place to sleep, and I know all of that matters.”

“I know.”

“But I hate this.”

The words came out before you could make them kinder.

You stopped breathing for a second.

Robby did too, maybe.

You waited for the flinch. The hurt. The quiet proof that you had finally said too much. It did not come. His eyes stayed on yours.

“The house?” he asked.

“No.”

Immediate.

At least that part was true.

Your fingers tightened against the counter.

“No,” you said, softer. “Not the house.”

You searched for the right words and found nothing clean enough to hold it.

“This.”

You looked around, but there was nothing specific enough to blame.

The counter.

The drawer.

The piles.

Your own body.

Your whole life.

“This,” you repeated. “Whatever this is.”

Robby did not move.

You looked down before he could see too much.

“I feel like I’m waiting all the time.”

The confession scraped on the way out.

“Waiting for appointments. Waiting for test results. Waiting for you to come home. Waiting for the baby to be here. Waiting to know what happens after that. Waiting to feel like any of this is actually mine.”

Robby’s mouth tightened, but he still said nothing.

You hated that you were grateful for it.

“I had a life,” you said.

Your voice nearly broke on the last word. You shook your head once, quick and angry at yourself.

“I had a job. I had people who knew me. I had streets I could walk without looking at my phone. I had places I belonged even when they were terrible places.”

You looked back at the counter. “At least they were mine.”

The kitchen went completely still.

The refrigerator hummed behind you. Late afternoon sunlight pressed faintly against the windows. Somewhere outside, a car passed too slowly down the street.

You picked up one of the loose keys and turned it over in your fingers even though it told you nothing.

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

Robby went very still. You heard it more than saw it. The change in the room. The absence of movement.

Your eyes closed.

“That’s not—”

You stopped. Because you did not know what it was.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice thin. “Maybe you should just sign the papers.”

Silence.

The key bit into your palm.

“Maybe I should go back.”

Robby’s jaw shifted once. “Is that what you want?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because if the answer had been yes, maybe that would have been easier. If the answer had been no, maybe that would have been easier too.

Instead, you stared down at the piles on the counter and felt like every possible version of your life had become too large to look at directly.

“I don’t know.” The words were barely more than breath. “I don’t know what I want.”

Robby stayed quiet.

You hated that too. You hated that he did not rush in and tell you what to feel.

You hated that he did not make himself the villain so leaving would feel cleaner.

You hated that he stood there looking at you like he was trying to understand something that kept changing shape in your hands.

“I just know I can’t keep being this person,” you said.

Your voice cracked on person.

You looked around the kitchen.

At the drawer.

At the folded receipt.

At the house that had kept you safe and somehow made you feel smaller every day.

“I’m in your house. I’m using your insurance. Your money. Your space. And I’m snapping at you because you asked if I took a vitamin.” A short, humorless laugh left you. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here half the time except making both our lives harder.”

Robby’s jaw tightened. “You’re not making my life harder.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not.”

“Michael.” Your fingers curled against the counter. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for me. There was a reason you left Vegas.”

Robby went still.

“Because you didn’t want this life.”

His face changed then. Not anger. Not exactly. But something sharper than the patience he had been giving you all week.

“Don’t do that.”

You looked up. “What?”

“Decide what I want for me.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Yes,” he said, quiet but firm. “It is.”

The room held still around the words.

“You keep giving me an exit I didn’t ask for.”

You swallowed. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

“No,” he said.

Not loud. Not cruel. Just immediate enough to make you go still.

“You’re trying to make the decision easier.”

Something in your chest pulled tight.

“Because I don’t know how to make any decision anymore,” you snapped, and your voice broke before you could stop it. “I used to know what I was doing. I used to have answers. I used to have a life that made sense, even when it was messy, and now I can’t even tell if staying here is brave or stupid.”

Robby did not answer.

Your eyes stung.

“You don’t know what this feels like.”

That stopped him.

For the first time since he came home, Robby looked like the words had gotten through somewhere he had not expected.

A muscle shifted in his jaw.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”

The admission sat between you.

No argument.

No correction.

No pretending.

He took a slow breath.

“I don’t know what it feels like to leave everything behind. I don’t know what it feels like to be nineteen weeks pregnant and sitting in someone else’s kitchen feeling like your whole life got replaced by appointments and grocery lists.”

You looked away.

“But I know this isn’t just about Vegas,” he said.

Your eyes moved back to him.

He held your gaze.

“And I don’t think going back fixes the part that hurts.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You wanted to pick up every neatly sorted pile on the counter and scatter it just to prove none of it could stay organized anyway.

Instead, your mouth trembled once.

“I don’t know who I am here.”

There it was. The whole ugly center of it.

Not Vegas.

Not Pittsburgh.

Not the house.

Not Micheal.

You.

Robby’s expression shifted.

The sharpness did not disappear exactly. It softened into something quieter. Something worried. Something that looked too much like understanding.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then his eyes shifted toward the small table near the door.

Toward his keys.

Toward the spare helmet sitting on the lower shelf beneath his.

When he looked back at you, something in his expression had changed.

Not fixed.

Not certain.

Just decided.

“Come with me,” he said.

You stared at him.

“What?”

“Come with me.”

Your eyes flicked toward the small table by the door. Toward his keys. Toward the spare helmet sitting beneath them. Then back to him.

“For a ride?”

“Yes.”

You let out a short breath.

“Michael.”

He waited.

“You’ve spent the last month pointing out every mildly unsafe thing I’ve done.”

The corner of his mouth almost moved before settling again.

“You climbed onto the counter to reach a mixing bowl.”

“There was a chair right there.”

“You ignored the chair.”

“I was efficient.”

“You tried to move the bookshelf by yourself.”

“It was crooked.”

“It was heavy.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “And now you’re suggesting a motorcycle.”

“Yes.”

There was no defensiveness in it. No attempt to argue. Just the answer.

Your gaze drifted toward the window. Late afternoon light. Dry roads. The quiet neighborhood beyond the glass.

“You know this sounds insane.”

“I know.” The admission came easily. “I don’t think sitting in this kitchen is helping either.”

Something tightened painfully in your chest.

You looked back at the counter. At the sorted batteries. The bundled pens.

The keys you had been turning over in your hand like one of them might unlock a version of your life you recognized.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you admitted.

“I don’t either.”

Your head lifted.

Robby held your gaze. “But I know walking isn’t enough anymore.”

Silence settled between you. Not awkward. Not comfortable. Just honest.

His eyes moved briefly toward the helmets, then back to you.

“And I think you miss it.”

Your throat tightened.

You did not ask what he meant.

The bike.

The noise.

The movement.

The part of yourself that had surfaced for a few minutes at dinner when he’d mentioned the rattle.

Robby’s voice stayed quiet.

“You sounded more like yourself talking about motorcycles than you have talking about anything else lately.”

That hit harder than you expected. Because he was right. Because you had not realized he had noticed that too.

Your hand drifted unconsciously toward the curve of your stomach.

Fear.

Habit.

Uncertainty.

Robby noticed.

He always noticed.

“If anything feels wrong,” he said, “we turn around.”

You looked at him.

“No questions asked.”

Something in your throat tightened. Not because of the bike. Not because of the offer.

Because after everything you’d just thrown at him, your fear, your resentment, your uncertainty, he wasn’t trying to convince you to stay.

He wasn’t trying to convince you to go. He was just offering you a way to breathe.

“You really think this is going to help?” you asked.

“No,” he said honestly.

Then, after a beat, “But I think sitting here is hurting you.”

The truth of it settled heavily between you.

You looked around the kitchen one more time.

The junk drawer spread across the counter.

The clean house.

The safe house.

The house that had started to feel too small around your skin.

Then you looked back at him.

“…Okay.”

Robby did not smile. He did not look relieved. He just nodded once.

“Okay.”

And for the first time all afternoon, the word did not sound like surrender.

Robby reached for his keys. And for the first time all day, the house did not feel like it was closing in.

You had forgotten.

Not the mechanics of it. Not how to swing your leg over the bike or settle your feet onto the pegs. Not the way the helmet muffled the world into something smaller and clearer all at once.

You had forgotten what it felt like.

The engine vibrated beneath you as Robby pulled away from the curb, steady and smooth beneath your hands.

Fall had settled over Pittsburgh while you weren’t paying attention.

The air held that crisp edge that only came for a few weeks every year. Cool enough to slip beneath the cuffs of your sweatshirt. Warm enough in the afternoon sun that you did not shiver. The sharp scent of drying leaves mixed with exhaust and chimney smoke somewhere in the distance.

For the first few minutes, you were aware of everything. The way your hands wrapped around Robby’s middle. The solid line of his back beneath your palms. The steady rise and fall of him breathing under your arms. The careful way he accelerated. The fact that you were nineteen weeks pregnant on the back of a motorcycle.

You could practically hear the list of reasons this had been a bad idea. Then Robby settled into the road.

Not fast.

Not flashy.

Just steady.

His body shifted before every turn, subtle enough that you felt it before you understood it. A lean to the left. A correction. A pause at a stop sign long enough to make absolutely sure the cross street was clear. He rode the way he did most things when he cared too much to say so outright.

Carefully.

Completely.

Without asking you to notice.

So you stopped fighting the movement.

Your hands loosened against his jacket. Your body remembered the old rhythm. Follow the lean. Trust the balance. Breathe.

The city unfolded around you. 

And you remembered.

You remembered the wind. The way it slipped around your helmet and tugged at loose strands of hair. The vibration beneath your legs where they pressed against warm metal. The strange freedom of having nowhere to be except exactly where you already were.

You remembered riding behind your father while desert nights settled over Nevada, still warm long after the sun disappeared. You remembered the smell of hot asphalt cooling beneath streetlights. You remembered resting your helmet against his back and listening to him laugh with people your grandmother swore were perfectly respectable until they got together.

You remembered loving it.

Not the recklessness people assumed came with motorcycles. Not the danger. You had never cared much about that part. 

You loved the simplicity of it.

Road.

Balance.

Movement.

You couldn’t check your phone. Couldn’t make grocery lists. Couldn’t reorganize drawers. Couldn’t sit in the same quiet house trying to figure out who you had become.

There was only this.

The steady rhythm of the engine beneath you. The city moving around you. The warmth of another person in front of you.

Robby took the back roads exactly like he had promised.

Slow.

Careful.

He stopped completely at yellow lights most people would have pushed through. Checked mirrors with almost annoying consistency. Left more space between himself and every other car than strictly necessary.

You found yourself smiling inside your helmet. Of course he did. The ridiculous part was that it worked. Because every careful turn and measured acceleration loosened something in your chest. Because the steadiness did not feel like control. It felt like permission.

You did not have to brace for the next thing.

You did not have to explain why you had snapped.

You did not have to make your gratitude look prettier.

You only had to hold on.

Trees burned gold and orange above sidewalks you had walked a dozen times.

You rode past the bookstore in Squirrel Hill where you had spent an hour pretending to browse before leaving empty-handed. The coffee shop with the crooked chalkboard sign and pastries that had been worth the hype. The museum where you had wandered through exhibits reading the same paragraph three times without absorbing a word.

The bridge everyone insisted you had to see at least once. The park where you had walked until your feet hurt because you had not known what else to do with the day.

You had been to all of these places.

Taken pictures.

Ordered coffee.

Gone home.

But this felt different.

Not like visiting.

Not like trying.

Pittsburgh passed around you in flashes of old brick and turning leaves and sunlight caught on river water. And for the first time since arriving, you were not wondering whether you could learn to love it.

You were not comparing it to Vegas.

You were not measuring what it lacked.

You were just there.

Present enough to notice the cool air against your cheeks.

Present enough to feel Robby’s breathing beneath your hands.

Present enough to tighten your arms around him once, not because you were scared, but because your body had remembered how to move with someone else’s.

Present enough to realize the constant restless buzzing in your head had gone quiet.

Not fixed.

Not gone forever.

Just…

quiet.

At a stoplight, Robby glanced back at you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice carrying through the helmets.

You looked at him. At the familiar slope of his shoulders. At the concern tucked into the question.

Then you looked past him at the city stretching out beneath a sky washed pale blue. Leaves skittered across the pavement. Somewhere nearby, someone was raking a yard.

You realized you had stopped thinking.

Completely.

You squeezed him once around the middle.

“Yeah,” you said.

And for the first time in weeks, you meant it.

Robby looked at you for one second longer. Not long enough to make it strange. Just long enough that you knew he heard the difference.

Then the light changed.

He faced forward again, and the bike moved smoothly beneath you.

You kept your arms around him.

Looser now.

Not because you were paying less attention, but because your body had remembered what to do. The balance. The lean. The small shifts with the road. The trust required to follow someone else’s movement without fighting it.

He kept riding.

Past streets you recognized now.

Places you had already been.

Places that had felt like assignments when you visited them alone.

Now they blurred past in pieces of color and sound, less like places you were supposed to appreciate and more like proof that the world was still moving around you.

You did not have to decide what any of it meant. You only had to hold on.

At some point, the route changed.

Not enough for you to notice right away. Pittsburgh still felt like a city made of turns you did not know and hills you had not learned by instinct yet.

But you did not ask immediately. The ride had loosened something in you. Or maybe it had quieted something. Enough that not knowing, for once, did not feel like danger.

Then fifteen minutes became twenty. Twenty became longer. The houses thinned slightly. The streets widened. The storefronts changed from coffee shops and restaurants into older brick buildings, repair shops, warehouses with garage doors rolled halfway open.

Your arms tightened slightly around his middle.

“Michael?”

He turned his head just enough for you to see the edge of his helmet.

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

For a second, he did not answer.

Then, “One more stop.”

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. Then you settled back against the seat. The wind tugged at your sweatshirt. The engine hummed beneath you.

Whatever came next, you were still moving.

For now, that was enough.

A few minutes later, the bike began to slow. Robby eased off the street and into a small lot beside a low brick building. He pulled into a spot near the open bay and cut the engine.

The sudden silence rushed in around you. For a second, neither of you moved. Then Robby climbed off first. He pulled his helmet off and dragged a hand through flattened hair before turning back toward you.

Without a word, he reached for the strap beneath your chin. The clasp gave beneath his fingers. Cool fall air brushed against your face as he lifted the helmet away, taking the muffled quiet of the ride with it.

He hooked it over one arm before holding his hand out to you. You took it. The motion happened easily. Thoughtlessly. His grip steadied as you swung one leg over the bike and slid carefully down onto solid ground.

He let go once both of your feet were beneath you. Then he stepped back, tucking both helmets against his side like none of it was worth mentioning.

You adjusted the sleeves of your sweatshirt and looked up.

Auto & Cycle.

That was it. No name. No explanation. Just two words painted in faded block letters above the open garage bay.

The smell reached you next.

Oil.

Rubber.

Hot metal.

You turned toward him. “Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Duke’s,” he said.

You looked past him at the low brick building, the open bay, and the dark oil stains baked into the concrete.

Then back at him.

“This is Duke’s?”

“Yeah,” Robby said. “This is Duke’s.”

Then a man appeared in the bay, wiping his hands on a rag. Older. Broad through the shoulders. Grease on his shirt. His face unreadable enough to make most people rethink small talk.

He looked at Robby first.

“Thought you’d be back later,” he said.

Robby shifted the helmets against his side. “Plans changed.”

Duke’s gaze landed on you then. There was no obvious surprise there. Just assessment. The kind that came from years of looking at people and deciding whether they knew what they were doing.

Robby glanced between the two of you and introduced you.

Duke gave a short nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Duke wiped his hands on the rag again, then nodded toward the open bay.

“Come on in.”

It was casual. Not warm exactly. Just an invitation.

You glanced at Robby.

He did not say anything. Did not nudge you forward or explain why you were there. He only stood beside you with both helmets tucked against his side, letting the choice belong to you.

So you stepped inside.

Duke’s shop was cleaner than your dad’s had been. Not clean. No working shop was ever really clean. But there was a system here. A rough one. Enough order under the mess to tell you Duke knew where things belonged even when they were not there.

Duke nodded toward Robby’s bike.

“Robby says you diagnosed his bike from the couch.”

You glanced over at Robby. He looked mildly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t diagnose anything,” you said. “He told me when it rattled.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly, like that was exactly the point.

“Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that.”

You shrugged. “It’s just process of elimination.”

“Most people’s process of elimination starts and ends with ‘sounds expensive.’”

A corner of your mouth moved.

“They’re not wrong.”

“No,” Duke said. “They usually aren’t.”

He jerked his head toward the motorcycle sitting near one of the lifts.

“You want to take a look at this one?” he asked casually. “Could use a second opinion.”

You blinked.

“Me?”

“Unless there’s another motorcycle whisperer hiding in here.”

Your eyes shifted toward the bike.

It was older. Half-disassembled in a way that suggested someone had already thrown time and money at the obvious answers. The tank rested off to the side. Side covers leaned against the workbench. Parts had been arranged neatly enough to tell you Duke had a system, even if no one else could read it.

You found yourself stepping closer before you’d fully decided to. “What’s it doing?”

Duke leaned against the workbench. “Depends who you ask.”

You looked over at him.

“Owner says it started acting up out of nowhere.”

You made a face. “So the owner’s lying.”

“Almost definitely.”

That got the smallest huff of amusement out of him.

“The actual problem?” you asked.

“Rough idle on cold mornings. Hesitation under throttle. Intermittent misfires once it’s hot.”

You circled slowly around the bike. 

“Compression?”

“Good.”

“Fuel pressure?”

“Within spec.”

“Plugs?”

“Changed.”

“Coils?”

“Swapped.”

“No difference?”

“Nope.”

You hummed softly. “Annoying.”

“Exactly.”

Your gaze moved over the exposed engine. Not touching. Just looking.

“Any codes?”

Duke rattled them off.

You frowned. “Only when it’s hot?”

“Mostly.”

You glanced up at him. “‘Mostly’ is a dangerous word.”

“Yeah,” Duke said. “That’s where I keep getting stuck.”

You bent slightly to get a better angle.

“If compression’s good, fuel pressure’s good, and plugs and coils didn’t change anything…” You trailed off. “I’d start looking at things that change once everything heats up.”

“Like?”

“Vacuum leak. Sensor drift. Wiring issue that only shows itself once everything gets warm enough to expand or shift.”

Duke nodded slowly. “You troubleshoot for a living?”

You kept your eyes on the bike. “I just don’t like guessing.”

“Neither do I.”

For a second, the two of you stood there looking at the motorcycle.

Then Duke pushed away from the bench.

“Alright,” he said. “Show me where you’d start.”

You pointed toward the intake side of the engine. “Did you smoke test it hot?”

Duke paused. “No.”

“But you did cold.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d rule that out before chasing electrical ghosts.”

Duke looked at you for a beat. Then nodded. “Fair.”

The conversation settled after that.

Question.

Answer.

Theory.

Counterpoint.

Duke would ask what you’d check next. You’d answer. He’d throw out another possibility. You’d explain why you agreed or disagreed. Nothing formal. Nothing forced. Just two people working through a problem.

Somewhere behind you, Robby stayed quiet. When you glanced back once, he was leaning against the opposite workbench with both helmets tucked against his side.

Watching. The thoughtful line between his brows had disappeared. He looked relaxed. Like maybe this had been what he’d hoped for when he pulled into the lot without telling you where you were going.

You looked away before you could sit with that too long.

Duke tapped the side of the bike. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

And for the first time in weeks, you realized nearly an hour had passed without thinking about what came next.

By the time Duke stepped away from the bike, the sun had started slipping lower behind the buildings. None of you had noticed the hour slipping by.

The garage doors stayed open, letting cool fall air drift through the shop. Long shadows stretched across the concrete, cutting between toolboxes and crates and the half-disassembled bike still sitting near the lift.

At some point, Duke pulled beers from an old refrigerator near the back. One for himself. One for Robby. Then he looked at you, looked briefly toward your stomach, and handed you a bottle of water without comment.

You took it without making him say anything. That felt easier somehow.

A few minutes later, the three of you had settled near the open bay.

Duke sat on an overturned crate, beer balanced against one knee. Robby leaned back against the workbench with his ankles crossed, nursing his bottle slowly. You sat on another crate, one hand wrapped around your water, the other resting loosely against your thigh.

The shop had gone quiet in the way working places did after the day was mostly done. Not silent. Just lower.

The radio hummed somewhere behind you. Traffic passed outside. Metal ticked softly as the bike cooled near the lift.

Duke took a drink, then stared out through the open bay like the memory was somewhere past the street.

“Once rode through Arizona with no front brake.”

You blinked. “What?”

Robby looked over slowly. “You’ve never told me that.”

“Because you make that face.”

“I’m a doctor. This face is appropriate.”

Duke ignored him. “Line went bad outside Flagstaff. Responsible thing would’ve been to stop.”

You waited.

He took another drink. “I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I was twenty-five and stupid.”

Robby tipped his beer toward him. “Half that sentence is still true.”

Duke gave him a flat look.

You tried not to smile.

“How far did you ride?”

“Too far.”

“That’s not a distance.”

“It is when you’re the one learning from it.”

Robby shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Back brake worked,” Duke said.

“Oh, well,” you said. “Perfectly safe.”

“See? She gets it.”

“I absolutely do not.”

Robby’s mouth twitched despite himself.

“What happened?” you asked.

Duke looked back toward the open bay.

“Came down a mountain road too hot. Had to choose between laying it down or becoming part of the guardrail.”

You went still for half a second. “And?”

“Didn’t become part of the guardrail.”

Robby closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Duke shrugged. “Bike was mostly fine.”

“You were not mostly fine,” Robby said.

“I could walk.”

You stared at him. “That is a very low standard.”

“Worked for me.”

You laughed then, sharp and surprised.

Duke’s mouth twitched like he’d been waiting for it.

“So the lesson was fix your brakes?” you asked.

Duke considered it. “No.”

“No?”

“The lesson was don’t let twenty-five-year-old men vote on important decisions.”

Robby lifted his beer slightly. “Hard to argue with that.”

Duke ignored him again. “They were idiots.”

“You rode with them,” you pointed out.

“I was also an idiot.”

There was no shame in his voice. Just fact. That made you laugh harder.

The conversation moved from there without effort.

Duke told you about a ride to Tennessee where six grown men had gotten lost because none of them wanted to admit they could not read a paper map. Another time, he and two friends ended up sleeping behind a laundromat because someone had confidently declared they could “absolutely make it another hundred miles.”

“Who was someone?” you asked.

Duke took a drink. “Me.”

Robby shook his head faintly.

You told them about Vegas.

Not the painful parts. Not the lonely parts. Just the ones that came easier in a garage with the sun going down.

The bartender stories. The tourist who cried because she thought she had lost her hotel, only to realize she was standing inside it. The man who tried to convince you Canadian money counted as a tip because it was “basically the same.” The bachelorette party that lost a bridesmaid for three hours and found her playing blackjack with three retired firefighters from Ohio.

Duke listened with his beer resting against one knee, expression still mostly flat, but not unreadable anymore. Every so often, his mouth pulled slightly at the corner, or his eyes narrowed in that dry, entertained way that made it clear he was enjoying your stories.

Robby mostly stayed quiet. Every now and then, he added something dry enough to make you glance over. But mostly he watched. Not the way he had been watching at home lately. Not worried. Not measuring whether you were tired or hungry or quietly falling apart.

Just watching you talk. Watching you laugh. Watching you lean into a conversation that had nothing to do with appointments or bills or what came next. 

And for once, you did not mind being seen.

You took another drink of water and listened while Duke described a night ride through West Virginia that had apparently involved a wrong turn, a thunderstorm, and a man named Spider who refused to ride behind anyone because he believed it was “spiritually humiliating.”

“What happened to Spider?” you asked.

Duke looked at his beer.

“Married a librarian. Moved to Arizona.”

“Good for Spider.”

“He sends Christmas cards now.”

Robby’s mouth twitched.

You laughed again, softer this time.

The sound felt strange in your chest. Not because it hurt. Because it didn’t. For weeks, your days had been so quiet that even your own thoughts had started sounding too loud. Now you were sitting in a garage on a crate, listening to an old ex-biker tell stories like regrets were just facts with better lighting.

It was the first time in a long time you had been out of the house without feeling like you were trying to prove you were fine. You were not trying to be fine here. You were just there. And somehow that was easier.

The sun dropped lower. The light at the edge of the bay turned amber, then thin.

Eventually, Duke looked toward you.

“You get bored at the house,” he said, “come by.”

You blinked. “What?”

He took another drink of beer. “I could use company from someone who knows what they’re doing.”

For a second, you did not answer. The offer was so casual you almost missed the weight of it.

Not a job.

Not charity.

Not a favor.

Just an open door.

Your eyes moved automatically to Robby. He was already looking at you. Quiet. Unsurprised. Like maybe he had hoped Duke would say it, but he had not asked him to.

“It’s up to you,” Robby said.

You searched his face. “You’d be okay with that?”

His answer came easily. “You don’t need me to be okay with it.”

You had not realized you were waiting for permission until he refused to give it.

Duke glanced between the two of you.

“You can also say no,” he said. “I’m not adopting you.”

You looked back at him.

The corner of your mouth moved.

“That’s a relief. I’m terrible with curfews.”

“Figured.”

Robby glanced down, hiding a smile behind his beer.

Duke pointed the bottle toward the half-disassembled bike. “But you might be useful.”

The words settled somewhere warmer than they should have.

Useful.

Not fragile.

Not waiting.

Not someone being carefully kept safe inside a house.

Useful.

You looked around the shop again.

The crates.

The tools.

The open bay.

The old stories still lingering in the air.

Then you nodded once.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Maybe I will.”

Duke gave a short nod like that was all he needed. “Good.”

Robby looked down at his beer, but you caught the brief relief in his face before he hid it.

Outside, the last of the sun slipped behind the buildings.

And for the first time since you came to Pittsburgh, the thought of tomorrow did not feel quite so empty.

—

The ride back was quieter.

Not worse.

Just quieter.

The kind of quiet that came after a day had finally loosened its grip and left both of you careful with what remained.

You held onto Robby as he took the long way home, the city slipping past in darkening streets and porch lights and trees thinning into shadow. The air had cooled since earlier, sharper now against your cheeks, but the engine stayed warm beneath you.

This time, you did not count turns or wonder how far from home you were.

When the bike stopped at a light, you rested your forehead briefly between his shoulder blades. Robby did not look back. He only covered one of your hands with his for half a second before the light changed.

The touch was brief. Barely anything. Still, something in your chest ached.

Because earlier, you had stood in his kitchen and tried to hand him an exit. You had said papers. Vegas. Mistake. Words that still sat between your ribs like bruises.

And he was still here. Steady beneath your hands. Taking the long way home.

By the time Robby pulled into the driveway, the sky had gone deep blue at the edges.

He cut the engine.

The silence settled around you slowly.

No radio.

No tools.

No Duke telling stories like nearly dying in Arizona was a normal personality flaw.

Just the quiet street.

The house.

Michael.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Robby got off first, same as before. He pulled his helmet off and tucked it under one arm before turning back to you. His fingers found the strap beneath your chin. The clasp gave.

Cool evening air touched your face as he lifted the helmet away. Neither of you said anything.

He set both helmets against his side, then held out his hand. You took it without thinking.

His grip was steady as you climbed off the bike. He let go once your feet were beneath you, but only after making sure they were.

Inside, the house felt different.

Not changed.

Just less narrow.

You stood near the entryway while Robby set both helmets down by the door.

The hallway light was off. The kitchen was dim except for the glow over the stove. Somewhere deeper in the house, the refrigerator hummed.

The junk drawer was still spread across the counter.

Pens.

Batteries.

Loose screws.

The mess you had left behind.

For the first time all day, looking at it did not make your chest tighten.

Robby followed your gaze. He did not say anything about it. He only set his keys in the bowl and leaned one shoulder lightly against the wall, giving you room to decide what happened next.

You looked at the helmets by the door.

Then at him.

“Thank you, Michael.”

Robby glanced over. “For what?”

You swallowed once. “For not letting me disappear in here.”

His expression changed.

Small.

Quiet.

Enough.

Then you added, because that felt too bare, “And for introducing me to Duke.”

Robby looked down for half a second. 

When he looked back up, his face was softer.

“You liked him.”

You shrugged one shoulder. “He’s fine.”

“High praise.”

“He’s tolerable.”

“That’s basically friendship.”

A faint smile tugged at your mouth. It faded, but not completely.

“I mean it,” you said, quieter now. “Thank you.”

Robby rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do.”

You tucked your hands beneath your arms. “I know you were trying to help.”

He looked at you for a second.

Then nodded once.

“I was.”

The honesty settled between you. Not awkward. Just there.

You glanced toward the helmets again. “I just don’t want to invade your personal life.”

His brow pulled together. “My personal life?”

“Duke. Your friends. Your places.” You looked back at him. “I know I’m already in your house. I don’t want to start showing up in all the corners of your life, too.”

Robby’s gaze dropped briefly. When it came back to you, there was something steadier in it.

“You’re not invading anything.”

“You say that.”

“I mean that.”

You pressed your lips together.

He pushed away from the wall, but he did not come too close.

“You’re allowed to have people here,” he said.

The words were quiet. Careful, but not fragile.

“You’re allowed to make friends. You’re allowed to have places that aren’t this house or the doctor’s office or whatever grocery store has the least offensive produce.”

A small breath left you.

His thumb worried once at the edge of his sleeve.

“You don’t have to ask permission to take up space.”

The words settled somewhere low in your chest. For a second, all you could hear was the refrigerator. The soft settling of the house around you.

Robby’s voice stayed quiet. “I don’t want you watching the front window and wondering if that’s it.”

You looked down at the floorboards. The sentence hurt. Not because it was cruel. Because it was too close to something you had not said out loud.

You swallowed once before looking up again.

He glanced toward the living room, then back.

“If something isn’t working,” he said carefully, “tell me before you decide to just live with it.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

Your throat tightened. “You make that sound easy.”

“I don’t think it is.”

That somehow made it easier to hear.

Robby held your gaze. “But I’d rather know.”

For a second, the house felt too quiet again. But not like before. Not like walls pressing in. More like a room waiting for you to choose where to stand.

“Okay,” you said softly.

Robby nodded. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then his mouth twitched faintly.

“And if you ever need actual girl company, I know a few residents who would be thrilled to have someone new to complain about me with.”

A surprised breath left you.

“Residents?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re offering me your residents?”

“I’m offering you potential allies.”

“Against you?”

“Realistically, yes.”

Your mouth curved despite yourself. “They don’t like you?”

“They like me fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

A faint smirk pulled at his mouth.

“I’ve been called an asshole once or twice.”

You looked at him. “You?”

“Allegedly.”

Your mouth curved. “That tracks.”

“See?” His shoulders loosened at the sight of your smile. “You’ll have plenty in common.”

This time, the smile stayed a little longer. Robby saw it. He didn’t comment. You were grateful for that.

You glanced toward the door, toward the helmets resting side by side.

Then back at him. “I did like getting out.”

“I know.”

You looked at him.

He blinked, like he had answered too quickly.

“I mean…” His hand fell away from where it had half-lifted. “I’m glad.”

A small silence settled. This one felt easier.

You nodded once. “Me too.”

Then you turned toward the hook by the door and hung your jacket there. Not over the back of a chair. Not folded beside your bag like you might need it again at any second.

On the hook.

Beside his.

For the first time in weeks, you did it without looking over your shoulder first.

Robby noticed.

He didn’t say anything. He only reached past you, took the helmets from the floor, and set them side by side on the shelf.

Yours beside his.

The house was still the house.

Quiet.

Safe.

Waiting.

But it did not feel like the edge of your life anymore.

It felt like somewhere you could leave.

And somewhere you could come back to.

“John Digby. Look at you. Comin in for another haircut?” Dana asks pleasantly as the lanky man smiles shyly at the attention.

Night shift had fully taken over, but Dana couldn’t pass up the chance at catching up with one of her personal favorite ‘frequent flyers’..

“My friends need help..” Digby says, voice small as if he doesn’t wanna be a bother. Dana eyes the blanket bunched up in his arms.

“Yeah..” She says slowly. Benji would blow his lid at her being late. Tonight was their annual movie night, but.. She had to see what the hell this was all about..

Squirrels.

It was about squirrels.

Two to be exact. See, Digby had been enjoying his night at the local park when he saw the two squirrels. They’d gotten caught in a broken part of the fence. One had it’s tail take the worst of it, and the other its side…

Thinking fast, Digby had taken his blanket and caught the squirrels with it, knowing they’d easily attack if they didn’t have something to cover them. Then he wondered in here, claiming he couldn’t find his ‘usual girl’. When he’d unwrapped the blankets, both squirrels took that as their chance to run.

“We have had mice, we have had stray cats..” Ellis complains. “Hell, we have had pigeons!” She huffs as Lena makes quick work at checking the books on who to call while Jack rubs his face.

He should’ve taken the night off..

“I draw the line at squirrels!” Ellis continues simply.

“Relax!” Lena assures. “Go around and make sure no patient finds out. I’m calling animal control right now..” She says simply.

“No!” Digby says fast as Dana, who’s kind of glad she didn’t run off yet, moves to gently pat his shoulder. “They’ll just kill em!” He says to Dana. “Get Dr. Y/N. She can help.” He nods certainly as he pulls out a crumbled up card from his pocket.

Looks were exchanged and debated whispers were had, but eventually, Dana was the one to actually call the number.

It was 7:40pm when Y/N finally showed up.

Jack would never forget that time. It was the beginning of the best part of his life…

Y/N had worked fast. Efficiently. She had set up non-threatening traps to catch the two trouble markers, and when placed into a dark box, she spoke to them softly and warmly. As if they could understand her. As if they could trust her. Jack had let her do her work in peace, sure. He was never one to want to flirt with a woman while she was on the clock, but he did keep an eye on said clock.

She couldn’t be on it forever.

“That was a good catch, Digby. How much do I owe you?” Y/N asks gently as the older man shyly shrugs, wanting to reject the idea of money..

“No no. You’re my eyes and ears, remember? Keeping the small animals of Pittsburgh safe.” Y/N assures gently as she slips some cash into Digby’s hand. He gratefully accepts. Jack watches on from his place at the nurse’s station, pretending to actually be listening to Lena..

“I hope they get better..” Digby says gently as Y/N assures him that she’ll make sure they will. Thanks to him.

Jack knew at that moment that Y/N was the one.

So he helped her to her car with the boxes. And he listened to her talk about how she’d first met Digby after her first week here in Pittsburgh. How he is always bringing her injured animals that he finds and she pays him for being her ‘doctor on the move’.

He learns about her big move to a big city, and how deep her love for animals really is. He listens as she complains so passionately about that damn gate in the park. How poor animals are always getting caught in it and how the city does nothing. At a certain point, he respectfully interrupts.

“Would you wanna… Grab some coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks quietly. Y/N pauses, setting the boxes in her car as she sheepishly eyes Jack.

He was handsome.

But she had been told over and over again at her going away party to be weary of handsome city boys..

“I’ll… Think about it.” She says politely, voice soft and Jack hums gently. That’s all he needs. Numbers were swapped and long glances were shared, but the two had left it at that.

Until the next morning.

Because if you asked Jack Abbot about Y/N Y/L/N.. With his full chest he’d tell you that he knew he liked her that very night.

But if you asked Y/N… She’d tell you she knew the very next day.

Because that was the day she’d drop the squirrels off in the park, and find Jack Abbot fixing the gate..

*

*

*

Jack could barely find his footing.

It all felt off today. Everything felt wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. Walking into the ED, Robby is first to greet him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Jack stumbles a bit, making Robby eye him in concern.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah. Uh.. Yeah. I got the 911. What’s up?” Jack asks, trying to shake it off. But mentally he goes through this morning in his head.

Clocked out at 6am, went to Y/N’s house, crawled into bed with her without showering. Was.. That it? He didn’t shower?

“Needed all hands. This thunderstorm’s supposed to be real bad. St. Peter’s Mercy already said they’re gonna start downsizing..” Robby explains as Jack nods along, only half listening.

No. It wasn’t the shower. Jack continues going through the morning. He held Y/N and fell asleep. Then he woke up to his phone ringing. It was Robby. That was at.. 10:23am.

Yeah. That was it. The early phone call.

Jack comes back into the conversation now, assuring that he’ll shoot a text over to Shen while Dana tries getting a hold of Ellis. He bites his lower lip though as he slips back into his own head when Robby starts debating where to put Santos and Whitaker for the day..

It wasn’t the call. That’s not what woke him up. It was… Y/N! Y/N had woke him up!

His eyes widen slightly as it finally dawns on him. “The kiss!” He says, stopping Robby’s conversation with Dana completely. Both eye him oddly.

“The what?” Dana asks with slight humor in her tone and clear as day on her face..

“Y/N woke me up this morning. Something about making a house call to some farm.. Ranch.. Place.” He waves his hand. “But I couldn’t kiss her because you called!” He continues as he motions towards Robby.

“I called?!” Robby asks in amusement, acting offended by the accusations.

“You costed me a morning kiss. Now I’m gonna be all off my game!” Jack states, completely serious as Dana snickers while walking away from the two men.

“It’s my fault you can’t multitask?” Robby jokes as Jack sighs softly, pulling out his phone to see if there was a text from Y/N. She had woken him up to tell him she was leaving, but before they could kiss, his phone rang from the nightstand.

He’d been half asleep.

He hasn’t been thinking right.

If he had, he would’ve let the damn phone go to voicemail and gladly kissed his girl. She had slipped out of the room while he was talking on the phone to Robby.

“Not funny. We haven’t skipped on a goodbye kiss in the almost year we’ve been together..” Jack sighs as he starts to write a text to her.

“It’s life. It happens.” Robby shrugs like it’s not a big deal, pausing though as he sees Jack trying to start a text. “What are you doing?” He chuckles.

“Gotta apologize…” Jack says like it’s obvious. Robby shakes his head.

“As much as that would entertain me, I need you at the ambulance bay, man. We’re gonna get flooded..” Robby states. Jack sighs, pocketing his phone for the moment. He’d message when he had a chance..

*

*

*

A chance never came..

Any time Jack thought he’d have a minute to text his long winded apology, something else would happen that would need his full attention.

It was frustrating to say the least..

He doesn’t know what time it is when Dana shouts about an incoming patient, but he steps back out on the ambulance bay. Robby coming to stand next to him. The ambulance pulls up and paramedic comes out. The awning stops them from getting soaked by this damn rain.

“Snake bite. Copperhead from what the assistant could tell us. She wanted to come straight here. Passed out now, vitals growing unstable.” The paramedic says as Robby walks over first to the now open ambulance doors. He freezes as what he sees. He quickly moves in front of Jack to stop him.

“I got this one, brother.” He says fast as Jack eyes him in confusion.

“I can do it..” Jack assures as he tries to walk around Robby to see the stretcher the paramedics are now rolling out.

“Abbot..” Robby warns as Jack falters in his steps when he gets a glimpse of that hair. Hair he always loves running his fingers through.

“What happened?” Jack breathes out, moving fast to be by her side. She’s sweaty and clammy. Her lips are an off shade as she lays there, looking… Undisturbed.

“Apparently snake attack while on duty. Right to the ankle…” The second paramedic says slowly, eyeing Jack oddly as the physician shakes his head. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

“No. No, no, no..” He rushes out quietly under his breath as he takes charge. He had to make this right again..

Jack fully takes over, yanking the stretcher so he can roll it inside the ED, running it at this point. Robby chases after him. “Y/N? Baby? Hey. Open your eyes, baby…” He tries quietly as he rushes her inside the operating room.

“I need hands!” He screams roughly. Dana jumps at the sudden boom of his authoritative voice. Mel and Shen are quick to run into the room too.

Robby finally gets into the room, frowning softly as he watches his best friend, his brother, shakily work on the love of his life. “You can’t be working on her, man..” He tries as he walks closer so only Jack can hear him..

Jack doesn’t listen, doesn’t even look Robby’s way as he barks out orders. Orders for CroFab, for NSAIDs, for proper cleaning of the bite mark on Y/N’s right ankle.

“Abbot.” Robby tries again. “You aren’t thinking right. Your judgement is-“ Jack finally cuts Robby off, turning to stare him down with a hard warning sharp in his dark eyes.

“Get out of my way, Robby..” He whispers with all seriousness as Robby hesitates.

“Abbot-“ Jack cuts him off again.

“You either find something to do, or you get the fuck out of my way, man.” He snaps finally. Everyone in the room tries to ignore that, focusing solely on helping Y/N.

“I’m doing this..” Jack continues shortly. “You wanna stop me, you better call security.” He warns gruffly.

Robby sighs softly, slowly stepping aside to let Jack work on Y/N. He preps himself in order to help…

*

*

*

Y/N thinks she’s in her bed at first.

It’s a split second of normalcy where she believes everything she’s been through was just some bad dream.

But then the smell of sterilization and an unmistakable scent of disinfectant seeps into her nose. It almost burns.

Yup. It’s the hospital.

“I’m alive?” Are the first words out of her mouth, eyes struggling to open. It’s a joke, of course. To no one in particular, but.. She knows.

She knows he’s there.

As if to assure her of this, she’s blessed with his soft and breathy chuckle before a hand is on her cheek, lips being placed eagerly on her forehead and then her cheeks and then her nose. She can feel the slight dip of her hospital bed as he sits on the edge of it to fully hover above her, marking more territory that way.

She blushes as her eyes finally open. She relishes in his soft lips, his slight stubble, the way he can smell of sanitizer and Tom Ford..

She knew time had to be on her side the minute she felt the quick, sharp prick. It felt like being snapped by a heavy rubber band. She had used her phone to snap a picture of the snake as it slithered past.

Just in case it was needed for further medical planning.

Then she called 911 as her assistant helped get her to the farmhouse so she could wash the area with soap and water.

Sighing in contentment, Y/N touches Jack’s cheek when he stops his kisses to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry..” She whispers as she watches him. He shakes his head fast. Now his eyes are shut, taking in every detail of this moment.

“Just rest. Just.. Please, just rest..” He whispers as if that’s all he wants from her right now. The look of relief is clear on his face as he puts his hand on hers and kisses her wrist, keeping his lips against her pulse point.

“I should’ve known better..” She sighs anyways. The room is quiet besides the rain on her window and the beeps of distant machines.

“But I was so dead set on getting reception so I could text you, I.. Didn’t even think to look at where I was stepping..” Y/N continues to speak, really wanting to explain how the hell she ended up here..

Jack pauses. “Text me?” He asks.

“I wanted to say sorry for leaving without kissing you goodbye.” She says and he pauses before laughing quietly, moving back a bit to shake his head in amusement.

“What?” Y/N asks sheepishly.

Jack slips out his phone and unlocks it, showing her the unfinished text he’d been working on all morning and afternoon. She sits up with a slight wince, grabbing the phone to read it.

‘Hey, acorn. I’m so so sorry about this morning. Should’ve kissed you. I’m completely off my game now. Hope you’re having a better da…’

Y/N sheepishly smiles and then silently nods at her bag of belongs for Jack to go through. He tenderly gets up and gets it for her so she can hand him her phone. He unlocks it and goes straight to messages, seeing she’d been in the middle of writing him something too.

‘Hate that I didn’t get to kiss you this morning, bear! Has me feeling off. Gonna have to make up for it late..’

“See what happens when we don’t kiss goodbye?” Jack finally teases quietly as he sets her phone down. She nods in agreement, giggling.

“It’s bad luck.” She agrees playfully before grabbing Jack by his face with both hands, leaning in for a much needed kiss. It’s like a shot of espresso for him and a much needed breather for her..

“Mm.. That’s the good stuff..” Jack mutters quietly against her lips, eyes still closed. It makes Y/N giggles as she goes back in for more…

Being married to Jack Abbot was a dream come true. 

He was kind, empathetic, passionate, patient, fantastic in bed, and (this is just a theory) psychic. 

Or you might just be easy to read. Either way, he almost always seemed to know what you needed or wanted at any given moment. 

God forbid you wanted to surprise him with anything, either. He could sniff out any sort of deception, even if it was well intentioned, like some sort of emotional or mental bloodhound.

Jack was also always prepared for almost everything. He had supplies and a game plan for almost every situation and scenario that could possibly come up. Mass casualty incident? Camo duffel in the coat closet by the front door. You had a hard day? Bubble bath kit under his sink in the bathroom. 

 Combine all of that together and you’d never been able to surprise him. Ever. 

Things were changing ever so slowly, though. Now, the two of you had been together for 7 years now, married for 4, so the playing field was starting to level out. You found yourself able to sift through his facial expressions and body language, deciphering some of the thoughts that crossed his mind. Some of it was the familiarity of your everyday routine, any deviation clueing you into something festering on his mind. Some of it was just knowing your husband so intimately in a way that could only come with time.

And even though you were as close to an expert as one could be in Jack Abbot, you still missed some of the more subtle things. 

But there was nothing subtle about this. You’d have to have been blind to miss the longing in his eyes anytime the two of you were anywhere close to a baby. It was impossible not to notice how his usually stoic and analytical hazel eyes softened at the sight of their tiny waving hands, the corners of his lips curving up when they cooed, his gaze instinctively snapping towards a crying infant while his shoulders tensed. 

Those signs had given you a rather obvious hint, but the final nail in the coffin had been when your sister and her wife had visited from Philly a few months ago. They had some sort of business to take care of in Pittsburgh, so you’d offered to watch their 6 month old son. Jack had been out running errands when he’d been dropped off. When he walked through the door, grocery bags in hand, you’d watched him freeze out of the corner of your eye. There you were, in your shared kitchen, balancing the baby on your hip, talking to the child about nothing in particular while you stirred a pot on the stove. 

Jack had unfrozen quickly, but you’d noticed. You noticed everything for the rest of the day until your sister came to collect her child. How Jack swallowed hard anytime you held the baby, how he nearly melted when you cooed and played peek-a-boo, how his eyes stayed locked for just a moment too long on the teeny tiny pair of shoes in his hands before he passed them off to your sister.

Jack Abbot wanted a baby.

And you wanted to finally be able to catch your husband off guard. 

 And now his 50th birthday was coming up, and you had a great gift planned. And if everything went according to your carefully crafted plan, you’d be able to give him an even better gift next year. 

Step 1: remove the biggest obstacle.

Being a doctor married to a doctor made the biggest part of your plan both easier and harder. 

You started on Monday. His birthday fell on Friday, and the two of you very conveniently had the following 4 days off. But not before working opposite shifts every day the rest of the week.

That was part luck, part planning on your end. You’d gladly agreed to cover Al Hashimi’s shifts while the ED was down a day shift attending since she was going to a conference. Jack had not been thrilled, but your sacrifice meant the two of you could enjoy an extra-long weekend staycation. He’d grumbled about it for a solid 3 days before finally settling down.

It also gave you time to make a trip upstairs to gynecology while your husband was fast asleep at home and none the wiser.

All it took was a quick lie to Robby about a routine pap smear and a favor called in from a friend upstairs and you were seated with your legs hiked up in stirrups. 

“You know, I really did not ever need to see your vagina,” Joan, your gynecologist friend, was grumbling as she completed the procedure. 

“You’re the only one I could ask who wouldn’t spill the beans,” your eyes stayed glued on the ceiling. “Everyone else is either a resident and not willing to bend the rules, or older and more loyal to him.”

“This is a hospital,” her expression was unimpressed. “There are no sides, no one is more loyal to him.”

“Yes the fuck they are,” you lowered your legs as she gave you the all clear. “Why do you think I told Robby I was getting a pap smear?”

“Becuase telling your husband's best friend, who is your boss by the way, that you were going to get your contraception removed so that said husband can fuck you six ways to sunday for his birthday is inappropriate workplace conversation,” she turned her back to you, depositing the device in a specimen jar before beginning to clean every thing up.

“That is true,” you conceded, “and Robby’s a snitch.”

“I still can’t believe you’re actually going to give him your IUD for his birthday,” Joan shook her head. “Isn’t that a little gross?”

“I’m obviously going to clean it!” You tugged your black scrubs up, wincing a little at the dull ache in your lower stomach. “Plus, it’ll be romantic. And shouldn’t you be more sex-positive? You’re a fucking gynocologist.”

“Romantic,” her voice was deadpan. “And I am plenty sex-positive. Especially unprotected sex. Creates more patients for me. Kinda like a dentist who recommends nothing but sugar.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling as you watched her move back to the counter. “Glad to see you are faithfully committed to your oath.”

“Here,” she handed you a little cup with two white pills, choosing to ignore you. “Tylenol. You don’t get anything stronger since you insisted on doing this mid shift.”

“Thanks,” you swallowed them dry. “For the pills and for doing this for me. I can’t have him figuring this out before. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“I know I always wanted a used medical device for my biggest milestone birthdays,” she grumbled to herself as she wrote down her notes on a sheet of paper. “I’ll wait to put this in your chart until after your insemination.”

“Now you’re making it gross,” your face scrunched up. “Most normal people refer to that as ‘trying for a baby’ you know.”

“Yeah sure. Now, get out of my department and go back to your zoo,” she waved her hand dismissively, fighting a smile the whole time.

Step 2: stay strong.

Now with the most important part of your plan complete, you simply had to make it through the next week without Jack catching on. Even with your separate schedules, that was easier said than done.

Monday night at shift change you were desperately trying to hide the cramps wracking your abdomen as you walked the night shift through handovers alongside Robby.

Jack noticed immediately.

“You ok, baby?” He’d pulled you aside the second the handover was completed, his hand resting on your hip as he guided the two of you into a semi secluded corner.

“Yeah I’m ok,” you couldn’t fight the grimace as another wave washed over you. You really shouldn’t have skipped that second dose of acetaminophen during the 4pm rush. “Just cramping.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Jack frowned, his eyes sweeping over you more intently. His focus flicked between your lower stomach and your face.

“You’re not supposed to start your period for another 3 weeks.”

“It’s still a little odd that you track them so closely,” you tried to brush him off, shrugging.

“I’m a doctor and you’re my wife,” Jack cracked a grin as your eyes narrowed. “You’re my wife who is also a doctor. An amazing one.”

You gave him a kiss for that, quick and chaste and the most PDA you’d dare express in the ED.

 “My IUD is due for replacement in a few months,” you couldn’t beat back a rising smile, fueled by both his care and the knowledge of what you were planning. “It’s probably starting to go and make me irregular.”

“Get that checked out, ok?” His hands cupped your face. 

“I will, Jack, I promise.”

“Good we-” he swallowed hard, smile faltering ever so slightly. “We don’t want you to be… unprotected.”

The regret in his voice and the twinge of hope in his eyes as he said unprotected only reinforced what you already knew. He really wanted this. 

God, you couldn’t wait to tell him. You weren’t sure if you’d ever been more excited to give a gift before.

Warmth flooded through you at the thought of how he’d react. Would there be happy tears? Maybe he’d simply bend you over the nearest surface, eager to get started. He’d probably double and triple check that you were sure. Jack always did that, no matter how many times you reassured him that you wanted him, you needed him. Like he still couldn’t believe you were his just as much as he was yours.

Thankfully, his mind reading seemed to fail for a moment. Likely because of the cramp that gripped you midway through your rumination, hiding your true expression behind a grimace. 

“I’m ok, Jack,” with one more kiss, you were untangling yourself from him. “I’m going to go sleep for twelve hours. I love you.”

“Alright,” he followed you as you gathered your things and headed towards the ambulance bay. “Text me when you get home. If you forget again, I’m not making that pasta you like for a month.”

“Empty threats,” you pecked his cheek on your way past him. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“I love you,” the love written so plainly on his face as you walked away from him and out those doors made you almost want to run back and tell him everything.

Maybe that was why you were semi-convinced he was psychic. It was probably less about an alleged supernatural ability and more about your face being easy to read and your lips unable to keep a secret, combined with the fact that you had resigned yourself to your husband being all-knowing. 

In your defense, you’d seen Jack level patients and colleagues and even yourself with that look. Head titled, eyes narrowed, eyebrows lifted, that signature confidence combined with a small sigh of disapproval when he knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. It made everyone spill their guts eventually. No one held out very long.

But he hadn’t used that look on you since you’d been his resident years ago. You were all too aware that the bastard had long since learned that all he had to do was give you a soft smile and tell you he loved you and you melted immediately.

And normally, you didn’t have anything to keep from him. Normally, it was mildly irritating if he managed to figure out 

But you had to stay strong.

Step 3: final preparations.

Surprisingly, you did actually manage to hold out. All the way until Friday.

Jack had the overnight shift from Thursday to Friday, but you were done and clear. A full body shower and shave was followed by a few episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find until it was officially your bed time. You texted him a simple “Happy birthday baby” at 12:01 am before grabbing what little sleep you could before he inevitably came home just as the sun was rising. 

At just past 7:30 am, your husband was crawling into the sheets, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist as the heat of his bare chest warmed you from the inside out.

You were drifting in that blissfully in that half aware state between sleep and wakefulness as he pressed light kisses along the side of your neck available to him. A soft hum left your lips as you arched back into him, body already aching for him. 

But you couldn’t give in.

Not yet, at least. As much as it pained you to deny him the sleepy morning sex you’d grown to crave, especially on his birthday, you couldn’t let him fuck you until you’d given him your present. And you couldn’t give him your present until you had made him dinner and slipped on that beautiful white matching set you’d bought.

So you had to stall. Redirect. Get him to actually get a decent amount of rest for once in his life, so you could ride him off into the sunset.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” your hand reached back to run your fingers through his loose curls.

“Very happy birthday to me, indeed,” his grip on your waist tightened as his front pressed even more firmly against your back. You could just barely feel the faint beginnings of hardness through the thin material of his boxers.

“Uh-uh,” you twisted in his grip. Shifting until you were face to face, you pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. He sighed into your mouth, allowing you to take the lead as his tongue swiped against yours.

 “You need to sleep. You’re exhausted.”

He grumbled as you pulled away, his half lidded eyes flipping between the exhaustion of a week of 12 hour nights shifts and pure desire as he looked at you wrapped in his arms.

Jack had once told you that this was when you looked the most beautiful. Sleepy, wearing just his t-shirt and a pair of underwear with your hair a mess, snuggled in the sheets of your shared bed. He had called the domesticity of it addictive, had said he couldn’t get enough of the quiet moments like this, tangled together with the outside world locked away. The two of you just existing in that warm, heady feeling of safety and security, wrapped up in each other for hours.

You’d always thought you understood. You’d agreed that the soft moments surrounded by his love in the home two of you had built were the best, but you were starting to think you never really got it until now. The idea of your family, of it growing beyond just the small, two person unit the two of you had become over these years, was electrifying. 

God, you wanted that. You’d already given him your heart. You wanted to give him everything.

“I’m not too tired to make you feel good,” his hand slid from your hip down to dip beneath the hem of your underwear.

It took every ounce of self control to grab his wrist, stopping him. 

“No,” you gave him one more soft kiss before you were pushing him back to lie flat. Throwing one of your legs over his, you curled into his side. He let out a sigh of disappointment as your head rested on his chest, but he was still curling his freckled arms around you to hold you close. “We are going to sleep now. And then, tonight, I am going to make you dinner. Then you get to open your present, and then you can fuck me. However you want, as many times as you want.”

“You’re so cruel,” you couldn’t see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss to your hair. Already, you could tell he was starting to drift off. “But fine. As long as I get to have you for dessert.”

His voice, low and gravelly, vibrating through his chest had your panties growing increasingly uncomfortable. His sturdy thigh pressed between your legs certainly wasn’t helping, but you could do this. You were a grown woman, a doctor of emergency medicine. You had the willpower to make it 10 more hours without jumping your husband.

When you woke around 1pm, Jack was still dead to the world. His lips were parted, hair mussed, and his breaths deep and even. Despite the gray making his curls much more salt than pepper, he looked younger like this. 

You gave yourself a moment to take him in before slipping out of the bed and his grasp.

It was time to make the last few preparations.

Your movements were as quiet as you could make them as you got dressed. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you slipped out the front door.

Grocery shopping went smoothly, the bakery passed off the small bourbon chocolate cake you’d ordered with little fuss, and the jeweler down the road didn’t even charge you for the little black velvet box. They had a million of them, she’d said, no big deal.

You were back home by 3:30pm. Jack was up and awake by then, making himself a cup of coffee when you strolled in, arms laden with grocery bags. For just a second, you let your eyes trail over him. He was facing away, giving you a beautiful view of the freckles dusting his muscled back. The sweatpants riding low on his hips, the right leg tied in a knot to stop the hem from dragging, hid the strength and shape of his ass and legs from you, but your imagination filled in the gaps. 

“Done objectifying me yet?” Jack just barely looked over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the machine before him.

“Never,” you set the bags down, giving his ass a slap as you moved past.

He laughed, reaching for his crutches as he moved to follow you back out to the driveway. 

“Let me help you with the bags.”

“Not a chance,” you blocked the doorway. “Go sit down and enjoy your day off.”

He looked like he was going to argue for a moment, but then he acquiesced. With one, chaste kiss to your lips, he moved back to the counter. 

Jack was stubborn, though, so he started unloading the grocery bags, placing ingredients in their rightful places.

You watched him move through the space for just a moment before you returned to your car to grab the last few bags and the box with the cake. The jewelry box was tucked into the back pocket of your denim shorts, hidden by your oversized shirt as you deposited everything else onto the counter, next to the first batch of empty bags. Jack had disappeared from the kitchen, but he walked out of the bedroom just as you began to organize the ingredients you needed, his leg fastened on.

“What are you gonna make me?” Jack had settled back against the counter after you swatted his hands away from the cake box, trying to keep his fingers out of the frosting while he tried to steal a taste. He was lazily sipping his coffee, eyes watching as you fluttered about, retrieving some of the items that you needed.

“Steak,” you held up the meat wrapped in butcher paper as you pulled it from the bag. “Cabbage,” his nose wrinkled and your eyes rolled. For a brief moment, you really considered throwing the vegetable at him. “Relax, you big baby. Cabbage au gratin. Lots of cheese and that cream sauce you like.”

“Hmm, ok,” he was smirking over the rim of his mug. “What else?”

“What else? What, that’s not enough for you?” 

He set the coffee down, closing the small distance between the two of you so his hands could rest on your hips, chest pressing into your back. You panicked for a moment as his lips met your clothed shoulder, hoping and praying that he didn’t notice the box in your pocket. It was still empty, but you didn’t want to give him any hints about your plan.

“I’m gonna need a lot of energy tonight, baby,” his hands slid underneath your shirt to rest against your bare stomach as he nosed at your hair, his breath brushing over your ear. “I’m pretty sure I was promised however I want, as many times as I want.”

You were so close to breaking. Your resolve was hanging on by a thread. 

“And,” his hand slid farther up, cupping your breast through your bra. You could barely restrain a whine. “My dear wife decided to swap shifts. We haven’t had any… quality time in a week. I’ve got a lot of plans for you tonight, baby.”

“Jack,” your voice was weak.

“Not to mention,” his fingers squeezed your nipple through the mesh of your bra. “I wouldn’t be a very good husband if I didn’t help you get your sleep cycle back on track. Gotta get you used to working all night, baby.”

“You’ve gotta wait, Jackie,” you were arching back into him, offering no resistance as his broad hand slid to lay over the span of your stomach.

Fuck. 

The feeling of that steady, callous hand laying against the smooth skin of your lower abdomen jolted you back to reality.

You needed to wait. It wouldn’t be fair or right to fuck him before you had a conversation, plus you’d put so much thought into planning the perfect night. You couldn’t let your incubus of a husband seduce you into ruining it now.

“Jack,” your voice was stronger now. “Patience.”

He huffed a laugh against the shell of your ear, his hands tightening against you just once before letting you go and stepping back. You could very clearly see the hard length of him straining through the fabric of his pants as you turned to face him, back braced against the counter. His hands came up to land beside your hips on the stone as he caged you in.

“I don’t know what you have planned, but I might die if I don’t get my hands on you soon,” his lips laid a kiss on your cheek before he was stepping back. “I’m gonna go shower before you torture me anymore.”

Step 4: the proposition.

Jack behaved himself all throughout dinner, his hand settling at a tasteful spot on your bare thigh, exposed by the dress you’d pulled on over the lacy white set he hadn’t seen yet. Entirely appropriate compliments coming from him as you laid the cabbage, the steak, and the salad and rolls he hadn’t let you tell him about earlier before the two of you on the table.

But dinner was done, leftovers packed away, the rest of the cake returned to its box while two half-eaten slices laid before the two of you.

While he was in the shower, you’d managed to retrieve your IUD (very thoroughly sanitized, thank you very much) and place it in the jewelry box. It fit perfectly. You’d tied the box closed with a short length of red ribbon you’d acquired from the Christmas supplies stored in the spare room. 

That box had been sitting on the counter while you ate dinner and dessert, but now it sat between the two of you on the table. For the first time all week, your confidence in your plan was starting to falter.

Jack was a great man and an amazing husband. That was undeniable. He was great at so many different things. The one area he fell behind in, though, was communication.

He wasn’t necessarily bad at it, but he definitely wasn’t the best. It wasn’t that he couldn’t or didn’t communicate with you. No, it was more that he held certain things back. He didn’t let himself verbalize things when he thought he didn’t deserve them, or when he thought he was asking for too much.

He hadn’t asked you for a baby. Sure, the two of you had talked about it before getting married, as all couples should, but the conversation hadn’t resurfaced since then. That conversation had been the first time he had truly been completely open and laid bare before you. He had told you he wanted kids, more than anything, but he worried about being too old, too broken, too unavailable.

You’d assured him he was none of those things, that you wanted to start a family with him. You could see on his face that he only half believed you.

It hadn’t been a possibility right when you got married, with you just finishing your residency and settling into being an attending, along with the both of you wanting time to really settle into your relationship before broaching that topic again.

But it hadn’t been brought up again.

Suddenly, the box sitting between you felt like a bomb. What if you had overstepped? Sure, you had thought the look on his face when he saw you with a baby was longing, but what if it wasn’t? What if you were about to blow up your marriage and ruin his 50th birthday?

“Hey,” Jack’s hand came to cover yours, jerking you out of your spiral. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” your throat felt full as you looked up at him. “Just… just nervous to see if you like your present.”

He smiled at that. “I’m sure I’ll love it, baby.”

“I really hope you do.”

You could barely breathe as you watched his fingers undo the red bow keeping the box sealed. The few seconds it took for him to unwind the fabric felt like years, the soft sound of the ribbon sliding against the velvet felt like the loudest noise in the world.

The lid blocked your view of the interior of the box, but you knew exactly what it looked like. That thin plastic ‘T’ sticking up out of the slot where a ring would normally go. Stark white against the deep red interior of the little black box.

Jack’s brow scrunched up for a second as he gazed down at the object in his hands.

“Is this your-”

“Yes,” your voice was quiet when you cut him off, your eyes searching his face. He looked confused, eyes fixed on the IUD, before the expression melted into shock as he looked up at you. 

“You-” he floundered over his words, gaze rapidly flicking back and forth between you and the box. “This- you took it- what-”

For a moment, you were concerned he was having a stroke. But then he took a deep breath, set the box down, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Your nerves crept back in, unwelcome and self deprecating as the worst case scenarios ran through your mind.

“I need you to tell me exactly what this means, baby,” his hand was grabbing yours again, squeezing tight. He still looked a little shocked, but you could see his eyes lighting up with what you desperately hoped was happiness.

“I-” your throat locked down, the words stuck as your eyes locked on his.

“Words, baby,” he slipped out of his seat, settling on his knees before you.

“Jack, your leg-”

“I don’t care, I’m fine,” his hands settled on your thighs, just above your knees. His fingers dug in as he looked up at you. 

Hope. That’s what you were seeing written plain as day across his features. Hope and love and yearning.

“Baby, please,” he sounded desperate. “I need to know exactly what you meant when you gave me your IUD.”

“I -” your breath faltered for just a second as his hands squeezed tighter as the first syllable left your lips. “I want to have a baby, Jack. I want your baby.”

“Fuck,” his voice was raw and gutteral, like the curse ripped out of him involuntarily. “I want it. So badly, you have no idea.”

You couldn’t help your laugh. The sound was wet, emotion curling in your chest as the worry and anxiety fled. “Trust me, I know exactly how much you want it.”

The confusion crept back onto his face.

“You’re not subtle, Jack.”

“I’m so subtle. I’m an unreadable pillar of strength,” he was smiling, eyes still full of love and adoration.

“You were anything other than subtle with this.”

“Maybe because I want to come home to you and our child everyday,” his words silenced your laughter, tears threatening to spill as he kept speaking. “I want to watch them grow up, teach them how to ride a bike, be obnoxiously loud and embarrassing at sports games.”

Jack was getting to his feet now, pulling you up with him until his forehead was pressed to yours.

“I want to teach them how to drive, cry at their high school graduation, move them into college dorms,” his own voice was thick with emotion as tears dripped silently down your cheeks. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, swiping the stray droplets away with his thumbs. Your hands gripped his forearms as you listened. “I want it all with you. I want to be horribly, disgustingly domestic and in love, show our kid what love looks like. I want them to be safe and happy and healthy and so, so loved.”

“Jack,” your voice was shaky as you clung to him.

“I want it. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want it with you. I want it all with you.”

His lips connected with yours. The kiss was tender and slow, every emotion leaking out as your lips and tongues moved against each other in your dining room. He tasted like the chocolate cake and something so distinctly Jack. It was addictive.

When the two of you parted to gasp for breath, his hands settled on your waist, yours coming up to tangle one in his hair, the other flat against his sturdy chest.

“You know,” you leaned in, tracing feather light kisses over the curve of his throat. “I promised you you could have whatever you want after dinner.”

His head dropped back and he let out a groan. His hands tightened on your waist.

“But do you know what I want?”

“What do you want, baby?” His voice was breathy. One of his hands drifted down to grab a handful of your ass, his leg slipping between yours to apply pressure where you needed him the most.

Your teeth caught the lobe of his ear between your teeth.

“I want you to take me to our bedroom,” your hand in his hair yanked ever so slightly. “I want you to take one of those little pills you keep for emergencies,” your fingers trailed down his chest slowly as his breathing picked up in pace. “And I want you to fuck me until you physically cannot any more.”

Step 5: success.

So maybe you weren’t as good at reading your husband as you thought.

You were so sure as soon as he got you into the bedroom and got an eyeful of the see through lace covering your body, he’d be inside of you immediately, especially with the promise of your uterus open for business.

But he held back, eyes tracing your form, sprawled out on the bed and still covered, barely, by your lingerie. He was moving through the room like he had all the time in the world.

You watched with bated breath as he slowly undid his belt and the button of his pants, leaving both still on. The buttons on his shirt were next, the fabric hanging open and untucked as he approached his nightstand. All you could see of his torso was a thin strip, could just barely spot the light dusting of still auburn hair disappearing in the waist band of his slacks.

His hand dug into the drawer for a second before he was producing the little orange bottle. He held it delicately between his fingers, eyes meeting yours.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Everything in Jack’s eyes seemed to be begging you to agree, to not dangle this in front of him and then so cruelly rip it away.

“I want this,” you sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed to rest your hands on his hips, his legs between yours as he towered over you. “I want you to put a baby in me, Jack.”

He groaned, his hands fumbling to get the cap off the bottle and one pill in his mouth. 

He didn’t usually need those little blue pills, but between the anti depressants he regularly took and the stress of both your jobs, occasionally they came in handy. Today, however, the outline of his erection, right in front of your face, told you he definitely didn’t need it right now. But both of you knew that one round was not going to be even close to enough.

The temptation of that bulge in his pants was too much as you watched his throat bob while he swallowed the pill dry. Your hands drifted from his hips to the undone button of his slacks. Slowly, your fingers pulled the zipper down.

His hand caught yours before you could start sliding the fabric down his legs.

“Not now,” his fingers pressed into your pulse, your heartrate hammering as you looked up at him. “Take off your clothes and lie down.”

For a moment, you wanted to argue, wanted to insist that this was his birthday, you should be taking care of him. But the heat in his eyes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his eyes traced over your body had another idea popping into your head, wondering exactly how far you could push him tonight.

Your hands were a little shaky as you unclasped your bra, if the white scrap of barely there lace could even be called that. It fell from your body as you stood from the bed, crowding into Jack.

He took half a step back to give you some space as he watched. Your hands tossed your hair back over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to trail your fingers down your collarbones, loosely cupping and caressing your own breasts. Your lips parted on a gasp as your fingers tweaked your nipples. With half lidded eyes, you arched into him, almost touching as you continued to play with your breasts.

When you decided he’d had enough, you let your hands move on, dragging down your abdomen only to stop just above the waistband of your panties. You laid your hands over the smooth, bumpless skin. 

“Can’t wait for your baby to be right here,” you were laying it on thick. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth digging into your lower lip, breaths coming a little too deep to lift your breasts even more with every inhale.

Jack was getting impatient, you could tell. That fire burning in his eyes, his fingers flexing, all while you took your sweet time shimmying out of the underwear. 

By the time it hit the floor, he looked ready to pounce, but he was still keeping himself in check. You figured he probably wanted to take things nice and slow, make them tender. At least at first. He usually was attentive and giving, treating you gently especially when emotions were running high. Not like you would break if he didn’t, more like you deserved to be loved softly.

But there was time for soft later. Right now, the tension and knowledge of what he was about to do to you felt explosive. You wanted him to take you hard. To take out the sexual frustration of a week or so of abstinence on your body. To pin you down and have his way with you. Afterwards there’d be time for sweet and tender. And there definitely would be more than just one round tonight given the pill he’d just taken.

You were right about how close he was to snapping. The final straw seemed to be when you reached down, picking your underwear up from the floor. He watched the movement, a warning look on his face, but you didn’t stop. Instead, you took his hand, setting the soaking wet miniscule lace in his palm.

“Happy birthday,” with that, you turned around, crawling onto the bed on all fours, swaying your hips as you went.

You didn’t get very far before his hands were grabbing you by the waist, dragging you back to the edge. Your lower legs hung off the bed as he pressed his hips against your ass. He was burning hot, even through his clothes. You could feel the heat and weight of him as you ground back, smearing the wetness leaking from you onto his pants.

“I wanted to be nice,” behind you, you heard rustling as his shirt finally dropped off his shoulders. The clinking of his belt followed, thudding as it hit the floor next. “I wanted to make love to my sweet little wife, but I don’t think that’s what you want, huh?”

“I want you to fuck me, Jack,” you heard him drag his pants and boxers down, the thick length of his cock springing free to brush agaisnt you. Your hips pushed back, almost involuntarily, craving him inside of you. “Make love to me later, knock me up now.”

“Fuck,” his fingers found your clit, stroking through your folds and finding you oh so ready for him. He was making small, tight circles around the bud, sending small shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Stop wasting time,” your words were breathy, slowly losing their bite. “At this rate it’ll be another 30 years before I get pregnant.”

“Shut up,” you could feel him lining himself up. “Let me make you feel good.”

“I’ll feel good if you- oh fuck!” 

Jack interrupted your whining by slamming in all the way. Usually, he was slow, guiding himself inside, taking the time to let you adjust. Not now, though, now he barely gave you a second to get used to the feeling before he was pulling out and pushing back in.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice was strained, his hips working vigorously as he used his grip on your waist to drag you back onto him every time he thrust in. 

The sound was obscene. Wet slapping accompanied by your whines and gasps as he reached deep inside of you, bumping all the way up against your cervix with each push in. His own panting was nearly drowned out, but the groan that escaped him when you clamped down tight as he shifted angles was loud.

“Right there, huh?” Jack tilted his hips, angling towards that spot while one of his hands pushed down on your upper back. Your arms gave way, head meeting the sheets as he continued to pound away.

“Fuck, Jack, right there!” Your cries were high pitched and needy as he kept up the pace. His pounding was rhythmic, barely faltering even when his fingers found your clit again, and you tightened around him even more. The circles he was drawing were fast, matching the speed and timing of his thrusts.

Jack had long since learned to play your body like a fiddle and he was pulling no punches tonight. His hand not on your clit shifted, sliding down to press the heel of his palm right above your pubic bone. The added pressure had you crying out, walls pulsing as an orgasm washed over you unexpectedly.

It came in waves, your back arching and pushing your hips into his even more fervently as the pleasure grew and radiated out from between your legs. It was sudden, overwhelming, and seemingly never ending as he kept fucking you through it, his pace unchanging, his hands never moving from where they lay. 

“Fuck, baby,” he was panting, leaning halfway over you as you twitched. “God, fuck, I’m close.”

“C’mon, do it Jack,” you knew your voice was whiny and breathy, but you couldn’t care less as you begged him. “Please, do it. Cum inside me. I need it!”

This was far from the first time he’d fucked you raw. The two of you hadn’t used a condom since the early days of your relationship. After one broke and forced an incredibly awkward pharmacy run for Plan B, you’d gotten your IUD. Once it was effective, you had never had a barrier between you. Jack was well accustomed to coming inside of you.

But this was different. That protection was gone, sitting on the dining room table where he’d left it after dinner. And now you were begging him to cum inside you, not just because it felt good for both of you, but because you wanted to have his child. You wanted him leaking out of you, filling you up until you had no room left inside. You wanted the consequences of this action, the visible and physical manifestation of him left inside of you.

His hand on your stomach shot out, clutching the duvet beside your head as he leaned even farther over you. Jack’s rhythm grew erratic, faster than before as he folded over you. His fingers never stopped circling but they did hitch, that steady pressure faltering as he got closer.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good,” he was so close you could feel it. Feel him pulsing and twitching inside of you while his chest, damp with sweat pressed against your back. 

“Please,” the word was tangled with a moan as it left your lips. The orgasm that had seemed never ending was rising again, impossibly fast. “Please, Jack, want your baby, please.”

“Oh shit, fuck, fuck! Oh, I’m cumming, oh fuck!”

You felt the heat inside you, that warmth radiating out as he buried himself deep, hips rutting in grinding little thrusts as he came. It was overwhelming. Your own orgasm, much weaker than the previous one, jerked through your body as you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed quiet, no words exchanged while you rode out the pleasure coursing through both your veins. Jack stayed buried as deep as he could inside of you, his hand finally leaving your clit when you stopped pulsing around him, only for it to find the front of your thigh, keeping you tightly pressed against him.

“I love you,” he whispered against your shoulder blade while he caught his breath.

“I love you, too,” you couldn’t really reach back to touch him in this position. At least, not without the growing ache in your lower back worsening. “I’m getting sore, Jack.”

“If I tell you to lay down and get comfortable, will you actually listen this time?” The smirk on his face as you peaked over your shoulder made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. He slowly pushed himself up, lifting his weight off your body and pulling out.

“Yes, fine, I’ll listen,” you winced a little as his dick left your body, gasping a little when you realized he was still half hard.

“Shit, stop for a sec,” his hand palmed your ass cheek, stopping you from crawling forward to get comfortable. For a moment, you were confused. But then you felt it. His cum was dripping from you, spilling now that he’d finally pulled out. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

The low groan in his voice had you clenching around nothing, pushing even more out of you.

“Gotta keep it all in there, baby,” his fingers came up, pushing it back inside of you. They curled downwards, brushing against the sensitive skin just behind your clit, your legs shaking as he repeated the motion. “Fuck you’re so wet. So full of me.”

“Jack, please,” you weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for, all you knew was that you needed him. Over your own panting breaths you could just make out the wet sound of his own hand dragging over his length.

“Ok, ok,” his fingers pulled out of you. “Get comfortable, I need you again.”

Your legs were weak and it took you a second to focus again as you made your way to the center of the bed, falling onto your back, your head resting among the pillows. Your eyes found him like a magnet, snapping into focus as he finally pulled his pants all the way down.

He was fully hard again, and you watched with blatant hunger as he sat on the edge of the bed, hastily unfastening his prosthetic before he was climbing over to you.

“Left your hips for me,” you followed his instruction, allowing him to slide a pillow below your ass to keep you propped up for him. “Good girl.”

He settled, kneeling, between your legs, length still glistening from just having been inside you. Jack dragged the head of his cock over your folds, taking in the way your body twisted and undulated, silently begging for him to be back inside you.

“Are you ready?” 

How kind and totally unnecessary for him to check in on you. You were mere seconds away from flipping him over and riding him.

“Yes, please Jack,” your hands reached down for him, trying to guide him in yourself.

“Ah-ah,” he tangled your fingers in his, leaning over you to trap your hands above your head with one of his. “I fucked you how you wanted, now we do it how I want it.”

“Just get inside me, please! I want you so bad,” you had a sneaking suspicion he might have wanted to tease you for even longer, but your husband had never been able to resist you for very long. You could see how much he wanted it, and your begging seemed to have won out over his desire to tease.

“God, you’re still so tight,” Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck as he slid inside. “How the fuck are you always so tight?”

“Made for you!” Your voice came out high and squeaky as he began to move. 

“Fuck yes you were,” his lips landed on the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking and kissing and no doubt leaving countless marks you’d be struggling to cover when you went back to work.

The pace he set this time was much slower than before, but somehow filthier. The slow, insistent grind of him withdrawing and pushing back in had your clit grinding against the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock. The sounds this time were quieter but no less salacious. The unmistakable sound of how wet you were filled the room every time he pushed in as deep as he could get, mixed with the whimpers and gasps of his name you let out as you clung to him. He was rather quiet the first time until he got close, but he must have been more sensitive now as his groans and curses vibrated against your neck. 

Those noises only built in volume as the two of you fell into a cycle, pushing each other even higher.

Every time you clenched tightly around him as he hit just the right spot, his teeth would scrape the sensitive skin on your neck or shoulder. In return, your fingernails would dig in tighter against the muscles in his back and his hips would press as deep he could, brushing against the spot that made you clench tighter.

“You feel so good around me, baby,” his movements were beginning to stutter as the two of you got closer again. His hand tangled in your hair as he pulled his head away from your neck, keeping your eyes locked on his.

Jack looked wild. His pupils were blown wide, eyes full of tenderness even as his skin was flushed, his mouth open as he let loose sounds of pleasure. 

“You’re all mine.”

You tried to nod against his grip in your hair, eyes slipping shut as he ground even harder into you. Everything was hazy. The pleasurable feeling of every movement sent zaps tingling up your spine.

“No, no keep your eyes open,” you gasped as he broke his semi-steady rhythm to thrust hard into you. Your eyes opened, locking onto his. “Good girl, that’s good.”

He was getting louder now, getting closer and consequently pushing you there as well. 

“Say it, baby,” you were tightening around his length uncontrollably now, impossibly close. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m fuck!” You could barely get the first word out as his hand once again found its way between your bodies, rubbing against you as you squirmed. The pleasure was almost too much. “I’m your- fuck, fuck! I’m yours, Jack!”

“All mine,” his lips landed on yours while his fingers sped up. The kiss was sloppy, mostly tongues and teeth while you panted into each other's mouths. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again, ohhh fuck.”

His hips snapped once, twice and then stilled as deep as he could get. Jack never stopped rubbing your clit, though, pushing you through to cum around him for the 3rd time so far as came inside you again.

You could barely feel the extra fluid. The space between your legs was already messy and your orgasm pushed every last thought out of your head as your body shook. Your legs tightened around his hips as your body arched up into him. One of his arms slid beneath your lower back, his hips burying his cock even deeper inside.

As your body trembled and the pleasure slowly faded, you realised he was speaking to you, the bussing in your ears finally fading enough for you to hear him.

“-love you so much, baby,” his head had dropped back down to the crook of your neck, but his lips hadn’t resumed their attack. The words were quiet. You knew he was talking to you, but the words almost seemed too personal. Like Jack’s filter had been fucked out of him, and the words spilling against your skin were his inner monologue. “Can’t believe you want to make me a dad. I swear, I’ll do my best. I’ll be so good. I can’t wait to hold her and love her-”

“Her?” You finally felt coherent enough to interrupt.

Jack jumped like he had forgotten you were there, even with his length still buried inside of you.

He hesitated for a moment, before lifting his head to look you in the eye. “I want a daughter,” his hand came to rest over your lower stomach. “One of the residents told me I seem like a girl-dad a year or so ago and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And now, getting you pregnant… I hope it’s a girl.”

You were torn between laughing and crying. You remembered the off hand comment from one of the bolder first year students, along with the look of utter confusion on Jack’s face. He hadn’t understood the comment, simply telling them he didn’t have kids and to get back to work.

But the tenderness in his voice, the absolute love in his eyes as he looked down at you had a lump forming in your throat. 

“You know it’s not that quick,” your hand came up to cradle his jaw covered in that silver stubble you loved so much. “It might take a while for me to get pregnant. And there's no way to guarantee it’ll be a girl.”

His head turned slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m happy to keep trying.”

Your cheeks flushed at the insinuation, choosing to redirect. “And if it’s a boy?”

Jack lowered himself back over you, his nose brushing yours. “Then I’ll have a son. The only thing that matters is that the both of you are safe, happy, and healthy.”

“I love you,” the words were tight, barely getting out of your throat around the steadily growing lump of overwhelming emotion.

It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny. 

You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster. 

Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem. 

Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment. 

And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now. 

That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you. 

So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was. 

It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule. 

But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven. 

You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably. 

You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed. 

The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it. 

It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message. 

Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.

You settled on: 

you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;) 

You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out. 

What a mistake. 

Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen. 

Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them. 

Why? 

Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you. 

Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing. 

You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either. 

And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him. 

It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency. 

“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably). 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway. 

Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be. 

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.

You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress. 

It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun. 

What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot. 

Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo. 

Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually. 

Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened. 

There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up. 

Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare. 

Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo. 

Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with. 

You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off. 

You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you. 

You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it. 

You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that. 

You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios. 

In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation. 

But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…  

Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you? 

A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification. 

Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍 

It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance. 

You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days. 

You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.

You woke up two days later and ran through your options. 

Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)

Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble) 

Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?) 

Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible. 

That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay. 

You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started. 

“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask, 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing. 

Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis. 

Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done. 

“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.  

“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second. 

He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own. 

And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze. 

When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile. 

Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work. 

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.

Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either. 

His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more. 

But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore. 

And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former. 

As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling. 

Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.

The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse. 

To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom. 

Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night. 

You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through. 

“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient. 

The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15. 

“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.  

You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room. 

“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now. 

You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life. 

“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his. 

“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”

Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.” 

“BP is down to 60!” 

“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.

Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty. 

“Must be the belly,” Santos said.

“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?” 

You shook your head. 

“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.

Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin. 

“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. 

“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.  

Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked. 

“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway. 

Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked. 

“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.

Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student. 

Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there. 

“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.

You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot. 

“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact. 

You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder. 

“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them. 

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to. 

He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat. 

“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin. 

“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face. 

Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.

Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips. 

“Dr. Abbot–”

“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought. 

“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.” 

“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. 

He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. 

“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked. 

A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.  

“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there. 

You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence. 

“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin. 

You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.” 

He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending. 

You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.  

He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.

You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. 

“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top. 

His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly. 

You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face. 

You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top. 

He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you. 

You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.

The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency. 

It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you? 

He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy. 

“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.

His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.  

You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art. 

But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself. 

You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine. 

The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation. 

“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it. 

You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”  

You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale. 

“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face. 

“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile. 

He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs. 

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you. 

The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours. 

He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.

“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact. 

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?” 

You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said. 

“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop. 

“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?” 

You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight. 

He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign. 

“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it. 

“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone. 

A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits. 

Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him. 

“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now. 

He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.

His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face. 

He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway. 

Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing. 

“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?” 

No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there. 

He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden. 

He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.  

“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”

“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.  

And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much. 

He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve. 

“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument. 

“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb. 

“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger.  Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes. 

Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably. 

And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.

Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.  

You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve. 

“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.” 

You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome. 

“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit. 

You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out. 

“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning  your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout. 

“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore. 

He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him. 

Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.  

A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time. 

Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you. 

“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy. 

The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.

You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy. 

“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.  

Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm. 

It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him. 

Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could. 

Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought. 

Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath. 

Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up. 

He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated. 

“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.  

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together. 

“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you. 

“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice. 

“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.” 

You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s. 

“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.

Through every exhausting hour of the night, he'd carried the image of you with him—your sleepy smile, the way his t-shirt would hang off one shoulder when you shifted beneath the blankets to make room for him.

He could almost feel it already: the warmth of the bed, the familiar weight of your head settling into the space between his shoulder and neck as if it had been made for you. Even half-asleep, your hand would find its way to his chest, your fingers tracing absent, comforting patterns against his skin.

It's all he's thinking about when he leaves the Pitt. It's all he's thinking about when he takes the fast way home, weaving through familiar streets with a tiredness settled deep in his bones. By the time he finally reaches his door and turns the key in the lock, he can almost feel it already.

It takes him a second to realise something's different.

The house isn't quiet like usual.

Jack hangs up his jacket to the sound of blaring music echoing down the hallway as a sweet smell drifts towards him. He slows when a softer voice joins in as he makes his way into the house.

It's yours.

Jack rounds the corner and leans against the doorway. From there, he can see you standing at the stove. You flip a pancake, then lift the spatula to your lips like a microphone, belting along completely unabashed.

His lips spread into a wide smile. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stands there and watches.

You're swaying slightly to the music, completely unaware he's there. One of his old t-shirts hangs off one shoulder, and there's a faint dusting of flour across your cheek.

God, he loves you.

The song ends, and he finally starts clapping. "That was a nice performance," he grins. "Almost better than the nightly ones."

You let out a startled yelp, nearly launching the spatula across the kitchen. "Jesus. What the fuck, Jack?"

His laugh comes out tired but genuine as he pushes away from the doorway and crosses the room. "Sorry."

You glare at him over your shoulder. "No, you're not."

"No," he agrees.

Your glare lasts all of three seconds before he reaches you. His hands settle automatically on your waist, thumbs brushing back and forth over your shirt. The ache in his leg is still there. The headache, too. But being close to you makes both seem a little quieter.

He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You try to stay annoyed, but your mouth twitches. "You're home early," you mumble.

"Thank god, I was." He wraps both arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder. "Would've missed the concert."

You groan.

"Encore?" he asks.

"I'm charging you for that."

"No husband discount?"

"No husband discount."

"Hm." His nose brushes your cheek, then your jaw, before he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I don't mind paying full price."

You finally turn in his arms, one hand settling against his chest. Now that you're standing face-to-face, there's no hiding how exhausted he is.

Your expression softens immediately. "Long day?"

"The longest." His forehead drops against yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The music continues quietly in the background while you smooth a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, and he lets more of his weight settle against you, holding you a little closer. Your hips sway gently together.

He closes his eyes. Home. This is home.

Then you gasp. "Oh, no." You twist around. "My pancake."

Smoke curls up from the pan. He watches as you rescue what is now essentially a hockey puck. You stare at it. He stares at it.

"It's a little crispy," he offers.

"It's charcoal."

"I like charcoal."

You snort. "You are such a liar." Jack grins as you point the spatula at him. "Go shower. I need to focus."

"Bossy."

"Jack."

He steals one last kiss anyway, quick and warm, then another because you smile halfway through the first one.

"Go."

"Going." His hand slides across your hip as he passes, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Behind him, he hears you start singing again before he's even reached the hallway. His smile follows him all the way to the bathroom. It isn't what he'd spent the last twelve hours imagining.

Robby hadn’t meant to be away from his phone for very long, but between the chaos of July 4th and the preeminent doubts of if he’d actually be coming back after three months, the device had been farthest from his mind and even farther from his pocket. 

Even now as he towered over the bassinet, the only thing on Robby’s mind was how innocent the small creature was compared to the tons-heavy load he carried in his soul, and how both of them, two sides of the scale, had been left to face the world alone. His chest ached more than it ever did; each breath desperately pushing against his ribs like they were trying to break free. Each small sound the baby made had Robby freezing, waiting for her to cry out like she had earlier. But each time, she ended up contently sighing before stilling, wide eyes looking up at him and his sorrow ladened face. 

He couldn’t help but reach out, desperate for one more small grasp of her entire, tiny hand around the width of his finger. A small chuckle bubbled from his chest when she was quick to do what he was wishing for. 

“You have a good grip,” he muttered with a small smile. “That’s good; means you’re already so nice and strong.” His smile slowly dropped. “You’re going to be just fine.” He paused before adding, “That’s more than I can say about myself.” 

All day, he withered away under the sad stares of his colleagues. Dana had briefly mentioned that she was nervous for him, Jack tried to get him to understand that, if he gave life a chance, everything could be better, and hell, even Whitaker tried to laugh about his offering of his house—not home, because it was too sterile to be called that—if he actually never returned. But when he saw the hopelessness in Baran’s eyes after he chastised her and threatened her job, or when he saw the burning resentment build in Samira’s after he degraded her for something so normal as a panic attack, or when he saw humiliation in Frank’s after he’d pretend not to care about his once protégé who was able to get his act together far better than he would ever, Robby couldn’t help but think that, yes, they were all going to be so much better without him. 

Robby couldn’t survive without the Pitt, but the Pitt could thrive without Robby. 

Without even realizing, tears started dripping down his cheeks again. 

He tried to wipe them away with his unoccupied hand, but the streams kept coming and coming, years of stunted and repressed emotions finally coming out in waves against the sand of his skin. 

How pathetic he thought himself to be. You have friends, a job, a house, and you’re crying while this baby has no one, and she’s perfectly content to hold onto your touch-starved finger. 

It couldn’t have been a few more mere minutes of enjoying the small bit of company before the door burst open, Robby’s shoulders hunching and body tensing instinctively. But his finger stayed still in the baby girl’s finger, every ounce of his body not wanting to be the cause of more cries from her little lungs. 

His neck turned stiffly, allowing his eyes to meet Dana’s gray hues. He looked back down quickly almost to hide the state of his obvious tear-stained face. 

“Yeah, Dana?” he asked gruffly. 

If she was about to lay it on him again, then he might have to leave the room and get headed on the road before anyone could stop him from leaving. That’s where he was supposed to be. He should have left the moment his shift was over with his bike between his legs, engine rumbling as he sped down the interstate, letting his hair freely catch the wind. He shouldn’t still be in the room, letting this abandoned baby hold onto him like a lifeline, allowing her to touch his tainted hands. 

“Phone’s been ringing off the hook, Cap,” she stated, holding the device up in one hand. “Ya currently have ten missed calls and a handful of messages.” 

Robby’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know who would be calling him that much when everyone who seemed to care about him was currently within the Pitt’s walls. 

“Is there a caller ID?” he asked, spine straightening while his finger stayed still. 

“Just a number,” she responded before walking the device over to him. 

Once it was in Robby’s hand, the device fell silent under his gaze. He thumbed through the messages without unlocking the phone, but as he strolled, the generic Please call me and Please answer it’s an emergency did nothing to help his utter confusion. For a moment, he wondered if someone had the wrong number until the first message at the very bottom read Michael, please pick up.

He had barely been able to type a few words into the message bar—one handed mind you—when the phone buzzed again, the same number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate to swipe across for the call to go through. 

“This is Michael Robinavitch,” he said into the speaker. 

“Michael?” the shaky voice answered, and a small thank God followed in a whisper. 

Robby should have recognized the number, but the sound of your voice solidified his realization. However, his short-lived confusion quickly turned into deepened concern when your sob echoed in his ear and was trailed by a series of unintelligible words filled with harsh breathing and a few muffled whimpers. 

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Sweetheart, I need you to breathe.” 

Dana, who wasn’t privy to what you were saying, or at least trying to say, widened her eyes at the casual pet name that Robby said without much thought, almost like it was familiar between his teeth and tongue. 

Robby paid no mind to the charge nurse, suddenly more concerned with figuring out what the hell was going on. He couldn’t help but wince at the shuddering inhale and exhale that you took at his authority. 

“Okay, okay,” he said after a few more quiet moments. “What’s going on?” 

You whimpered again in response. “M-my ex w-was supp-supposed to—oh, fuck—” 

It hurt him to hear you so close to hyperventilating while he could only listen. “Hey,” he said a bit harder, trying to get you out of a panic. “You need to breathe before I can even try to help you with what’s going on, okay?” 

Dana got his attention with a wave of her hand. Robby looked up in time to see her mouth Do I need to call 911? to which he shook his head and mouthed back Not yet. 

When your breathing slowed a bit, you tried again. “He was supposed to be taker our—my baby to an app-appoint-appointment and now—” Another failed attempt at keeping another whimper in. “Now he doesn’t ha-have her and w-won’t tell me where sh-she is.” 

Robby’s grip on his phone tightened to the point of his knuckles going white, his eyes briefly falling to the baby who currently had fallen asleep holding onto him. 

“I-I know sometimes people take them to f-fire stations, but I called each one in the area, a-and they all said that no one’s dropped any b-babies off. Then I tried hospitals, and r-remembered you worked at one, and I just—” You inhale sounded watery this time. “Just hoped that you might h-have heard something,” you squeaked out the last bit, already biting back another sob. “I’m so-sorry for calling, but—” 

“How old is your baby, sweetheart?” he asked calmly. 

“Five weeks,” you sniveled out. “She’s five weeks today. And—oh gosh—how could this happen?” 

He could almost imagine you gripping your hair and tugging tightly at the roots as you spoke, something he knew you’d do under duress. He’d seen it happen too many times to count throughout college and well into adulthood.

“Do you know the last time he had her?” 

“He picked her up t-this morning. I’m so fucking stupid,” you hissed, voice sounding the steadiest since the call went through. “I had work, and my mom couldn’t take her so-so I thought—I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Robby leaned over the bassinet again, eyes quickly scanning the sleeping baby, finger released form her grip in order to pull her small onesie down just enough to see her shoulder. “Does she have any identifying marks?” 

The line went silent for a split second. “She has a small birthmark on her shoulder. I swear it looks like messed up puzzle piece.” 

A rush of air filled Robby’s lungs to the point he felt dizzy. Staring up at him was the exact, described mark on Baby Jane’s shoulder. The baby that he’d been spilling his woes to was your baby, belonging to the girl who’d truly had his heart for years. 

“Sweetheart—” he began before you interrupted him. 

“I’m so sorry for calling so much, but I thought that if anyone knew anything, it’d be you.” 

Robby held the phone silently to his ear. You could have called anyone: the police, the main line, other hospitals where they might not have taken you seriously. Instead, after calling the firehouses with the drop boxes, you called him.

“Earlier today,” he started, his voice now on the edge of also being shaky, “one of my nurses found a baby in the waiting room.” 

Robby kept the part about where exactly in the waiting room she was found in to himself. He closed his eyes at your sudden, hopeful gasp. 

“A heathy, happy, and unharmed baby we estimated to be around six weeks.” He paused. “She has the mark, sweetheart. I think we have your baby here.” 

_______________________

You knew you probably looked like an escaped insane asylum patient. 

Wide eyes, trembling hands, hair messed up from pulling on it one too many times: all the wonkiness of your appearance was just a physical manifestation of hours upon hours of stress beyond measure. You tried to reign it in, but ever since Robby confirmed that your spiteful ex, in attempts to push you over the edge, had abandoned your baby all while you were working, your emotions were close to bursting out of skin. 

Somehow though, you managed to wade through the crowd waiting to be seen and get to the plexiglass shielded clerk desk without startling anyone. The kind woman behind the shield smiled up at you. 

“What brings you in, honey?” 

Your fingers twirled the ring around your pointer. “I’m here to see Michael Robinavitch?” 

Robby hadn’t told you where to come in, and even if he had, your head spun so fast that most of the words he said after I think we have your baby here was everything but audible past the roar of blood in your ears. You’d jumped into your car and drove straight here. And even if he had reassured that your baby was unharmed, you couldn’t be convinced until she was back in your arms. 

The woman had barely opened her mouth to answer before the door to your right clicked opened with Robby’s hand splayed widely against the metal and his body standing in the space between the waiting room and the ER. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You wanna come with me?” he asked, eyes filled with a soft kindness that had your tummy flipping.

You could barely contain the bob of your head as you walked over. Without even thinking much, you took a handful of Robby’s green pull over. Robby either didn’t care or didn’t notice since he said nothing while he took deliberate steps toward the room that had been housing the baby since there hadn’t been any room in the pediatric ward. 

He held the door open, and you quickly slipped past him, stopping just a few feet inside when you noticed the room wasn’t completely empty. A blond woman was currently hovering over the medical bassinet, however, she looked up at the sound of the door opening, her mouth stretching into a small smile. 

Robby let the door shut behind him, placing his hand on the small of your back before introducing you to the woman. “Dana’s our dayshift charge nurse. She made sure that if your baby needed anything, she’d get it.” 

You nodded mutely, slightly taken back by how sure Robby said your baby like something inside him subconsciously knew that she belonged to you and you alone. 

“You have a fine baby here,” Dana said, voice twanged with an accent. “Spent all day being loved on by our staff and taking naps between.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off the squirming baby. “Can I?” 

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Robby murmured with a soft push. 

Your steps were ginger and quiet as you walked closer. The moment your eyes traced her familiar features, a quiet sob bubbled through your lips. At the sound, your baby turned her head, small eyes tracking your face, even if you knew all she could probably see was a large blob. It wasn’t long until your hands were gently sliding under her neck and bottom and lifting her close to your face. You couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief as you nuzzled into her soft cheek. 

Apparently, the feeling was familiar enough that it made the baby smile slightly. She grunted and cooed against you as your hold readjusted her onto your chest. Her small hands immediately clenched fistfuls of your shirt while her head stayed pressed to your front. 

Robby and Dana couldn’t help but smile when you began to sway and gently press kisses onto her small head. 

“Hi, Shelly,” you muttered, nose taking in so much of her baby scent. “My sweet baby.” Your eyes watered to the point even a few blinks didn’t clear up your eyesight. You kept her close as you spun to face the other two occupants of the room. “Thank you both so, so much.” 

Dana smiled warmly. “We’re just glad she has a home.” Her grey eyes subtly glanced at Robby. “Now, I’m going to find our social worker, and get you some paperwork before you can take your little one home.” 

Your grip tightened ever so slightly. “Social worker?” 

Robby was quick to answer. “Just part of the process of getting her home. How bout I stay with you while Dana here gets all that in order.” 

With another nod of your head, the blond slipped out the door, leaving you and Robby alone with your baby, whose eyes were currently looking right over in his direction, something you didn’t miss at all. 

“She’s looking at you,” you softly said, eyes downcast at the top of her head. “Must mean she likes you.” You looked up at him. “Michael, I just can’t begin to thank you—” 

You stopped when he held up a hand. 

“No need,” he interrupted. “It’s all part of my job, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, well, you stayed on the phone with me and talked me out of a panic. I count that as something.” 

Robby took a step closer, his right shoulder leaning a bit on your left as he looked down at her. “You made a very cute baby. Can’t believe how much time has passed since . . .” 

You glanced up over your shoulder and into his brown, sad eyes. “It has; hasn’t it? What are you up to? Other than running an emergency department, I mean. You used to talk about doing so all the time, but you must have a hobby or something.” 

He hesitated because, really, other than the ER he had nothing, meanwhile it seemed like you had done everything that he wanted: have a partner, get married, build a family. With a shake of his head, he rid himself of those thoughts. His hand rose and scratched at the back of his neck, blunt nails digging into his skin. 

“Other than my upcoming sabbatical, I don’t have very much going on,” he replied, voice tired and worn beyond anything you’d ever heard. 

“Oh.” You finally turned around fully, Shelly now the only thing between the two of you. “Well then, I must insist you come over for dinner. I know it’s late and that you have plans, Micheal, but please.” With all of Shelly’s weight in one arm, you gently rested your other hand on his bicep. “For us?” 

Now, truly, there was a lot that could make Micheal Robinavitch say no. Plans made between residents for drinks after shift were always politely declined, women who got the hots for the doctor title were horribly left on read after the second date, and urges to go to therapy by his closest friend were quickly shoved into his back pocket. 

However, one of the few things that could actually break his will power was the soft look you were giving him right now. The one that made it seem like the large gap of years hadn’t passed at all. The one he always thought was full of love before the two of you found different paths to take. 

He found himself agreeing before his brain even caught up. “Dinner sounds great.” 

And if he could keep that shining smile on your face for a bit longer, Robby decided that he’d stay for as long as possible just to see you look up at him like that.  

_______________________

Dinner, in his opinion, was the best meal he’d eaten in a long while. Between the sabbatical countdown and endless shifts that only gave him a few minutes to shove a bite of protein bar between his teeth, Robby was never one to make dinner or meal prep once he went back to his house. The walls were there only to shield him from the outside as he slept fitfully. 

But here in your home—home not house, because obviously you made the building into something warm—he found himself wishing he could stay forever. You had even let him hold onto Shelly while you cooked, letting your baby sleep against his heart like she’d known his feeling for ages. His big hands almost engulfed her entire, tiny body, and he caught you looking his way several more times than he thought necessary. 

Robby hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you put Shelly down to sleep, he was sunken into your couch with his glass from dinner, and you were tucked into the opposite corner. The sky outside held no indication that the sun was still visible, and he knew that his time with you was slowly winding down. 

“I should probably head out,” he mentioned with a sigh, like saying that was physically hurting him. 

He tried to ignore the small frown that tugged on your mouth. 

“But it’s so dark out already,” you replied. 

“Fine by me. There’ll probably be fewer cars out there on the road if I leave soon instead of waiting for the morning.” 

“Oh.” 

Robby hated the way that sounded in your mouth. You quickly looked around your house almost as if you were trying to find something that’d make him stay. For that, he made no action to actually move from his spot on in the cushions. 

You finally gave up and looked down into your glass. “You know, it’s okay to ask.” 

He knew what you meant. Throughout the night, he tried his best to not to bring up the man that all but threw your baby away while she had a perfectly good home waiting for her. The social worker had made sure to tell him that there were definitely no signs of abuse or neglect on your side, and a flood of relief and a knowing understanding had bloomed beneath his ribs. He knew you’d never put that baby girl in danger from the way you were so heartbroken about not knowing where she had been for the entire day. But a thorn of concern had buried itself into his side. 

“I didn’t want to overstep,” he replied after a moment of quiet. “But . . .” he trailed, giving you the space to fill in. 

“Me and Brandon met soon after we parted ways. Thought that he was the one for me; you knew I’ve always wanted a family.” Your arms wrapped around your middle. “We got married, had a nice few years without kids before we even began to start trying.”

In a split second, all Robby wanted to do was scoop you up into his arms 

Your pointer finger picked at your thumb. “We had some complications, had a few miscarriages, and I completely gave up.” 

This time, Robby did unfold his arms and gesture for you to scooch closer. You quickly pushed yourself out of the dip and into his chest, sighing softly when you rested against him. 

“I thought that I’d never get to be a mother until last year. I guessed that the pregnancy wouldn’t last and then the next thing I know she’s in my arms.” 

He felt the way you tensed before relaxing. “We finally had her.” You paused before adding. “And then I found out that he’d been cheating on me for months. I should’ve seen the signs when he missed pretty much all of my appointments.” 

You looked up at Robby, and he was already looking down at you as well. 

“You didn’t deserve any of that, sweetheart,” he muttered, chest rumbling in loathe and a dash of jealousy. “He’s a fucking son of a bitch for that.” 

If you were his, he would have been there for you at every moment, every scan, every fucking second by your side, his hand in yours. 

You hummed in agreement. “I’m just glad I didn’t pick the name he wanted.” 

Robby cocked his head, a smirk lacing his mouth. “Oh yeah? Was it going to be something stupid like Brandon Junior?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you giggled. “He wanted Brenda. There was no way he was going to win though; she’s my baby.” 

“Well, I think you picked the sweetest name. Shelly suits her.” 

You bit down on your lip, not knowing if you should say the next thing on your mind. But having Robby be your personal back rest, you couldn’t keep it in anymore. 

“Shelly’s just her nickname. Her full name is Michelle.” You looked up at Robby expectantly, but he just kept looking at you with that soft expression. You smiled at him, hand raising to gentle rest against his beard.  “Michael, her name’s Michelle.” 

It was almost as if all air was sucked out of his body. 

“Michelle?” he croaked. “Why-why?” 

“Because maybe I wanted to keep a piece of you, the man who believed in me and listened to all my dreams, even if I can’t have you.” 

Robby blinked slowly, lips loose from his drink. “You can have me.” 

“You’re about to go on your trip, Michael. I’m not going to keep you here, somewhere you don’t want to stay, just because I finally found you again.” You tore your eyes away from his. “I can’t be that selfish. Even I can see how much you’re hurting.”

You expected him to push you off. You expected him to slam out the door. You expected him to drive off and never turn back. 

What you didn’t expect him to do was take your hands in his and hold them and keep you against him. 

“I’ll come back,” he whispered into the small space between you two. “I’ll come back to you.” 

Your head shook. “I can’t ask that of you. I can’t—” The sentence died between your lips and Robby’s finger gently pressing against your mouth. 

“Listen to me, sweetheart. For years, I’ve been looking for a reason to stay, to live. I’ve tried to find that reason, and I had pretty much given up on finding something like that.” His eyes glossed over in blink. “But the moment you walked through the doors, the moment you held your baby, the moment you invited me to dinner, and the moment you let me hold you, I finally found my reason.” 

Words escaped your mind at his confession, and the only next logical thing to do was sit and mull over his words. However, when dealing with Robby, all logic flew out the window just as you pressed your lips against his in a desperate motion.

Robby was quick to reciprocate, his hands cradling your cheeks just as he’d cradled your daughter, who you chose to share his namesake in your darkest moments. His thumb brushed away the slight wetness growing under your lashes. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt and held strongly, and your torso twisted to press your front against his. 

You pulled back slightly, face staying within Robby’s hands. “Stay,” you breathed. “Stay.”

His nose brushed against yours as he nodded. “I’ll stay.” 

"It was Abbot, right?" she asks as she sips her vodka cranberry.

You open and close your mouth. You had told her you were seeing someone. Well, sleeping with someone. You had opened up about wanting more than just sex. And then you came home early from a promised weekend away and burst into tears as soon as you saw Trinity and Dennis in pyjamas playing Go Fish, they knew it was all over.

But you never said who the object of your affection and then ire was.

"How did you know?" you hiss, dragging her away from the rest of the group.

She cocks her head to the side and gives you a smirk.

"You think I'm dumb, huh? Literally, a few months, you thought he hated you. Then you two became all buddy-buddy," she reminds you.

"Well, we didn't...he just stopped avoiding me in the ED," you mumble.

"For the past few weeks you've literally refused to work doubles, even though you need the money. You won't work night shifts he's the attending. You barely stay for the night shift to come in," she says.

"Is it that obvious?" you whine, covering your face in your hands.

"Nah. I just know you," she responds and hooks your arms together to drag you up to perform a duet.

"What crawled up your ass?" Dana asks Abbot as he scans the ED.

He's clocked in for his shift, and he's pissed already. This is something the staff is used to with Robby, but Abbot is much more levelheaded. Well, he was.

Up until a few weeks ago when he suddenly became much more surly. He tried his best to not let what happened in the hotel room affect him. But fuck. He fucked up. He didn't mean to call you a mistake. You could never be a mistake. He was the mistake. You were so young, so new, so much ahead of you. Why would you hitch yourself to an old wagon like him? He needed to stop it all before it became too much. He was supposed to be your teacher, your mentor. He wouldn't take advantage of that.

But every time he walked into the Emergency Department and saw you laughing with someone, speaking to someone, being taught by someone who wasn't him, his stomach twisted. What was worse was when he didn't see you.

Like today. You weren't on the schedule. He knew that. He had noticed quickly that you had changed your days to make sure that you avoided him as much as possible.

Jack doesn't even respond to Dana, just walking off to round up the night staff. But Robby corners him.

"Do you have the intern evaluations done?" he asks easily.

He has no idea what he's just asked Jack. The shorter man closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'll give them to you in the morning?" he offers.

He's going to have to evaluate you. Of course, he has to. That's his job. That's why he should have never crossed that line. He shouldn't know how soft your skin is, how you taste or how you sound.

But he does and when he sits down to fill in your evaluation, it's all he can think of.

He manages to get through the night, not lashing out and trying to be the old Jack Abbot. He manages it until he hears your laugh. Your head is thrown back at something Whitaker has said. He shouldn't be jealous of the med student. But your hand is on his arm, and you're laughing for him.

He watches you until Robby walks through the doors. He wants to get these evaluations sent up to Gloria and out of the way.

"Jack!" he thrills with a smile. "Please tell me that you got your shit done last night?"

Abbot's eyes finally break from where you're making a face at Langdon as he explains something. Your brow is furrowed and you look so pissed off, but so beautiful.

"Huh? Oh yea. Yea," he said. "I emailed them to you. All good."

Robby nods, "Good. The interns are good this year. And they look like they'll stick around the Pitt."

"For now," Jack grumbles.

Robby sighs and looks at his friend.

"What is up with you recently? I know people have been talking about your sudden attitude shift," he says.

He's the chief of the Emergency Department, he has to manage everyone. Even one of his oldest friends.

"Are you asking me about my moods? Wow, okay!" Jack says with a roll of his eyes.

Robby's eyebrows shoot up, "Uh, yea. Like what that fuck was that?"

"Nothing," Jack says, pushing past him.

But Robby is like a dog with a bone. He follows the Night Shift Attending out to the ambulance bay.

"Jack?" he asks.

Jack turns to him, his mouth screwed up.

"I fucked up. Okay?" he hisses.

Robby scrubs his hand over his face.

"How, Jack?"

He closes his eyes.

"I slept with her."

"Who?" Robby asks. Jesus Christ, don't let it be a med student.

"The intern," Jack states, before clarifying with your name. "We were sleeping together for months."

"Months?" Robby hisses and turns in a circle.

"Yea. Months. And I just, I had to be the adult and end it. What we were doing was reckless. Stupid."

"Yes, yes it was!" Robby responds.

"Why would a girl like her want to be with an old guy like me? I have so much fuckin' baggage. PTSD. I don't even know if I know how to love anyone anymore. It's been so long. And my fuckin' leg. She doesn't even know about my leg... And she's so smart and funny and beautiful," he breathes.

"I really care about her, Robby. And I don't know what the fuck to do."

Robby groans and leans against the wall. He did not need this first thing in the morning.

"Look. There's no rules against an Attending and a Resident dating. It's frowned upon. But she's about to be a R2, not an intern," he reminds him. "So it's not as bad...And I mean if you want to give it a go...I guess you'd have to talk to Gloria."

Jack makes a face.

"It doesn't really matter what I want. I really hurt her," Jack confesses. "She won't want anything to do with me."

Robby puts his hands up.

"I can't help with romance and you know that all too well, brother," Robby tells him. "But if you want this, if you want her, you'll need to talk to her. And not hide behind whatever bullshit bravado you have been. Cos how have you two been sleeping together and she never saw your leg?"

He gives Michael Robinavitch a shit-eating grin, "Well-"

Robby throws his hands up, "Nope! I don't wanna know!"

He moves to go back inside and catches the glimpse of your favourite hoodie which is scampering off in the other direction. He gives himself a half smile and shakes his head. How did he end up in the middle of this?

"We have to celebrate!" you scream at Trinity.

You're no longer interns. Your second year of Residency is just around the corner.

"And Huckleberry is officially a doctor!" you say, jumping on the sofa. "We have so much to celebrate."

Dennis makes a face as he watches his two roommates bounce around the living room.

"I do have to work tomorrow," he says.

"We can do the bar across from the hospital?" you suggest, giving him big puppy dog eyes.

And that's how you end up in the bar, which is a regular haunt for the PTMC staff, on a stuffy June night.

"The three musketeers," Yolanda Garcia announces as she sees you, Trinity and Dennis.

You know immediately you've lost your best friend. But that's fine. Cassie McKay soon joins you. Her kid is with her ex. Even Mel and Samira arrive with Donny and Jesse in tow. You're surprised that Perlah and Princess don't make an appearance, honestly.

But soon your celebrations are loud and bigger than you expected. You're waiting for Trin to come back from the bar with your drink, when you see her freeze as the door opens. Oh God! Who could it be?

Your gaze follows hers and it's your turn to freeze when Jack Abbot walks in. He's with Robby. You're sure they're just blowing off some steam. They won't want to join your table. Oh how wrong you were. You watch as they siddle up. They grab spare chairs and soon they are shoved up at the table.

You move, going to get your drink from Trinity. You drag Mel to the dancefloor. You do everything to avoid sitting at the table with Jack. He is nursing his beer, watching you.

Sure you overheard his and Robby's conversation. But that was almost two weeks ago and he hadn't made a move. And honestly, it was even more awkward now.

Mel is the first to go. Then Whitaker gets a text from Amy.

"Whose Amy?" Robby asks, which causes both you and Trinity to sit at the table and spill all about the farm widow to your boss.

Jack is watching you, animatedly talking about farm benefits with a soft smile on his face. Fuck, he misses you.

Then Garcia convinces Trinity to go. The table continues to dwindle until it's you and Jack. How the fuck did that happen? Oh, well you see Robby is leading a few people out.

"I should-" you begin at the same time Jack asks, "Do you want me to get you a drink?"

A drink?

"Do you think that's a good idea?" you ask with a quirked brow.

You stopped drinking a while ago, too busy gossiping with people or dancing with your friends. But now you are eager for some liquid courage.

"When has anything we've done a good idea?" he responds with a smirk.

You laugh then and shake your head, "I really should go..."

"Let me call you a cab," he offers and you nod.

You fumble with your jacket before you feel his hands on your arms helping you into it. Fuck. You can't fall back into this. He was so horrible in the hotel room. He called you a mistake.

But your face-to-face with him now, and he smells so good. Your eyes flick from his hazel eyes to his lips.

"The cab?" you breathe, trying to break the spell he has you under.

"The cab," he responds, but he doesn't move.

His hands skim over your sides to grip your hips. He's pulling you close again. His lips are on yours before you can think and you just melt into him. Your hands go from your side to grip the front of his skin-tight black t-shirt. Does he get them tailored to fit him so well?

You kiss him desperately, all tongue and teeth. And it's really not appropriate for the middle of the bar.

"We should go," you whisper against his lips.

"We?" he responds.

And you nod, letting him lead you outside. He hails a cab with an arm around you. You practically drag him in to the backseat. He knows he is way too old to be making out in the back of a cab. But in the moment he doesn't really care. He groans as your tongue delves into his mouth, your hands tangle into his silver curls.

You only stop when the car jerks to a stop at a red light. You turn bright red and keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the journey. You don't even realise where you're going until you turn into a neighbourhood you're not familiar with. The cab pulls up in front of a townhouse and Abbot pays with a wad of cash, definitely too much. He takes your hand and leads you up the steps to the front door.

"This is your house?" you ask.

He nods, "It's not much. I've lived here for a really long time. And I just...I was embarrassed. I don't know."

He leads you inside, through a carefully maintained hallway, into a modern kitchen.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks and you shake your head.

"We should talk," you say instead.

He just sighs and nods, "I don't have a wife. I'm not hiding anything from you. I just...I guess I thought if I brought you home it would all be too real. You would come to your senses and realise I was an old man. You don't want to waste your youth on me."

"Well isn't that a decision I should make for myself, Jack? I don't need you to decide what I can and can't handle," you respond. "Is that why you won't show me your leg?"

"My leg?" he says in pure shock.

"I overheard you talking to Robby a few weeks ago," you admit, your cheeks flushing.

He laughs then and crosses the room to kiss you.

"You're such a fuckin' brat," he says with a laugh.

"Yea, but you love it," you respond which causes him to laugh once again.

He kisses you again, this time gathering you up in his arms and carrying you up the stairs to his room. The bedroom is a bit messier than the rest of the house but not by much. His bed is made immaculately. He was in the military. This you know.

When he lays you down on the bed, you look up at him, tracing his jaw with your finger.

"If we do this, we're doing this right this time," you tell him.

"Right?" he asks, sitting back on his heels.

"No more sneaking, no more sleazy hookups. I want to date."

He grins, "Oh my pretty girl. Do I gotta ask you to go steady with me?"

You groan, "Okay you really are old!"

He kisses all over your face and down your neck. Your eyes roll back in your head, as he nips at the exposed skin over your breasts.

"Baby girl, you wanna be mine?" he growls as he pulls down your top and your bra in one fell swoop.

You nod your head as he sucks at your already hardened nipples. He goes back and forth, kissing over the swell of your breasts. He groans as he takes his time making you squirm from tease your tits. You know how much he loves to play with them and fuck, you love it too.

He finally pulls your shirt and your bra off completely. He works on your skirt next. He groans when you sees the lacy slip of fabric you're wearing under the skirt.

"Were you hopin' t' get lucky, baby?" he growls, kissing over the band of your thong.

You nod your head.

"Fuck yea," you groan in response. "I knew that you couldn't stay away once you heard I was there."

He smirks against your mound. He rips the fabric from you. He pulls back to take his shirt off.

"I don't know if you deserve my tongue now. My naughty girl," he snarls.

Instead, he smacks your sopping cunt. You writhe under him. You know how to get him going. Yes, it's been almost two months, but you'll never forget how much Jack loves to be a brat tamer.

"Do naughty girls get rewarded?" he snaps, gripping your face in his hand.

"No, sir," you breathe.

"What happens to naughty girls?" he asks.

"They get punished."

He gives your pussy another hard smack, causing your eyes to roll back in your head. You hear him undoing his pants more than see them. And he does something he hasn't done before. He takes them off completely. And now you see why he and Robby were concerned about his leg. He is an amputee. But your eyes don't linger on the prosthetic for long because his boxers have come off with his jeans. His cock is standing to attention. And you know what he wants. You crawl across the bed and take him in your mouth.

You moan at the taste of him. You missed this. Missed all of this. You hollow out your cheeks as his hand fists in your hair and guides you back and forth.

Jack isn't an idiot. He knows that he can't last long with your hot mouth wrapped around him. So after just a few moments, he pushes you back onto the bed. Spit and pre-cum rolls down your chin and he thinks he's going to cum right there and then.

"Good girl. My good girl," he growls as he climbs onto the bed.

He doesn't give you second before the blunt head of his cock is pushing inside you.

"Tell me you're my good girl," he growls in your ear, leaning down so his chest is pressed against yours.

"Your...fuck...your good girl," you manage to moan out as he starts fucking you like a man possessed.

His headboard is whacking the wall behind you as he thrusts in and out. He pulls out of you almost entirely and before bottoming out, over and over again. One hand grips your hip as your legs hook high up his back giving him as much access as possible to you. His other hand roams your body before squeezing your neck for a few moments. He then moves up to press his thick thumb into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

"That's it baby. So good, baby. Your cunt feels so fuckin' good. You're so wet for me," he growls in your ear. "You just needed a good fuck. Get that bratty attitude out of you. I bet you were wishing I would fuck you every day in the ER. Huh? Wishing I would just bend you over the hub and fuck this slutty pussy."

"I woulda given it t' ya baby. You always have me so fuckin' hard. I was jerkin' myself off every fuckin' day when I didn't have you."

You just moan and whimper in response, his thumb stopping anything else. Suddenly, Jack is pulling you up onto his lap, fucking up into you. And he is hitting that sweet spot every time, making you go cross-eyed. His thumb falls out of your mouth so he can hold you tight to him.

His lips finally find yours, and he kisses you just as rough as his thrusts. Your moans are muffled but he knows you well enough now to know that you're close. He dips one hand between you to tease your clit.

"C'mon, baby girl. I know you wanna cum all over my cock. Huh? You wanna cum for me right? You wanna soak me," he growls, nipping at your neck and jaw. "You gonna cum, baby?"

You nod because you have no other choice.

"Then cum. Cum for me. Now," he hisses.

You throw your head back and if on command your reach your peak. Your hands grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his freckled skin. Now it's his turn to hiss.

"That's it, baby, mark me up," he groans.

He pulls you even closer to him, his biceps flexing against your heated skin as his thrusts begin to get more erratic. You mumbles out a string of swear words as he cums in you.

"Fuck, your pretty little cunt is milkin' my cock so good, baby," he groans as he presses his forehead against yours.

You both collapse back onto the bed. And you giggle.

"Wow!" you breathe. "I really needed that."

He laughs in return, lying beside you, his chest heaving.

"Oh, baby, you have no idea."

He needs you so much, he carries you to the shower a few minutes later. And he is on his knees, with your leg hooked over his shoulder, making you cum for the second time that night, within a handful of minutes.

He lets you wear one of his beloved black t-shirts to bed. You're nervous as he climbs into bed beside you. Yes, you've had sex...a lot. But you've never slept beside each other.

"Why did you hide your leg from me?" you finally ask.

Jack shakes his head.

"I don't know, honestly. I just thought...well firstly it was this fantasy. A girl like you falling for me. I didn't want to break the illusion. And then...I don't know...I didn't want you to see me as weak or frail...or old," he finally admits.

You reach out for him and pull him in for a kiss.

"I could never see you as any of those things, Jack. I really care about you," you breathe, bumping your nose against his. "Fuck. I think I love you..."

He beams at you and kisses you, pressing you back onto the mattress.

"I know I love you," he responds, kissing you again.

Your legs fall open for him. And when he presses inside this time, it's different from the other times. It's not desperate and fast and hard. It's sweet and soft, your hips roll together. Jack's usually filthy mouth is replaced with low moans that twin together with yours.

You both repeat "I love yous" until you reach your orgasm, just moments before Jack spills inside you. He kisses you, soft and slow. And you fall asleep tangled together, legs and arms entwined. You've never been happier.

When you wake up the next morning, you're alone and you panic. But you smell bacon from downstairs. You pull on the t-shirt he offered you last night which was discarded on the floor not long after you put it on. You make your way downstairs to where Jack is making breakfast. And you could get used to this.

He kisses you and smooths down your hair.

"Coffee?" he asks and you nod as he pours you a cup.

You eat in content silence.

"You like Italian right?" he asks and you nod in confusion. "I booked us a table at this place downtown tonight."

You giggle and pull him back for a kiss.

"So I guess I should change my schedule to the night shift, huh?"

a/n: thanks for reading!

taglist: @nosebeers @orangecheescakeleftover

But Robby's romance with Heather fizzled out in the way that all of Robby's romances did. And Jack really didn't have time to concern himself with how his best friend went through women. Sometimes he would think about it in the lull around 1am on the nightshift. Was Robby running away from something rather than towards something with these women? Sometimes he would mention it to his therapist who would peer at him over the frames of her glasses.

"Is that what you really want to talk about right now, Jack?" she would query, and he would simply shake his head.

All this to say, Jack Abbot never had an issue with being professional with his residents. He likes training them up, he had overseen John Shen and Parker Ellis, who chose to stick around on the PTMC night shift. He likes nights, has ever since his wife passed away a decade ago. He used to fight with Robby about who would work day shifts, and then, after he came back to work, he asked Adamson if he could swap to nights permanently. No one questioned it. How could they? Jack had lost his wife and his unborn child.

Romance was not the top of Dr Jack Abbot's list. He had experienced it. And he had no intention of getting on the apps or dating or any of that shit. Anyway, his work schedule wasn't really compatible with dating.

"Brother?"

The voice shakes him from his thoughts. He turns and sees Robby approaching him across the roof.

"Rough night?" his friend asks as he leans against the railing.

Jack just shakes his head. Honestly, it hasn't been. He has no excuse to be up here watching the city of Pittsburgh awaken.

"Just needed to clear my head," he confesses before letting Robby bring him back downstairs.

Robby doesn't question why his friend needs to clear his head. He's been there. They've all been there. This place can suffocate you if you let it. He knows that all too well.

Unfortunately, Robby has no idea that the reason why Jack's head has been spinning isn't some disaster, some rough night, some difficult case. No, the reason why Jack has needed to take walks, take deep soothing breaths and avoid spending time in the on-call room is because of a new intern.

You are currently speaking to Trinity Santos and Samira Mohan, catching up on what has happened. You're currently on your night shift rotation after joining PTMC in the summer. Straight out of med school. You hug Mel when she appears, a little later than the other two. She had to drop her sister at her care facility, and there was an issue. You nod sympathetically as she rambles, before you place a hand on her arm to remind her to take a breath.

Jack is very aware of how much younger you are than him. He is very aware that he is your Attending, your mentor, your teacher. He is someone you look up to...literally. And you look at him through your lashes when he explains something to you he can feel his cock stir in interest. And he feels like a dirty old man. He cannot be doing this.

He would get in so much trouble!

Anyway, a pretty, young thing would never be interested in an old guy like him. So he shakes off his thoughts. He tries not to dream about the way you would squirm under him. He tries not to fist his cock, thinking about you as soon as he gets home from the shifts he shares with you.

You always ask him to walk you through every new procedure. It's something he usually does with the residents, regardless. But he can think of a thing or two that he would rather talk you through instead. You always move so close to him when he has to guide you, he can smell the perfume you always wear to your shift. He can feel the heat radiating from your body and he wants to touch you desperately.

"Dr Abbot," you call, catching him in his thoughts. "Will we do rounds before we get caught helping these guys out again?"

You never mind staying a little bit longer if it got busy in the mornings. You want a good evaluation at the end of the year, of course, from both Dr Robinavitch and Dr Abbot.

Jack blinks as he watches your open and eager face, just waiting for him to give you a command. Instead, he simply nods his head and leads you, Santos, Mohan, and Mel around the beds.

You manage to clock out and change out of your scrubs just after 7:30am. Not bad! You are fumbling with the zipper of your jacket as you walk out of the changing rooms when you walk straight into your Attending, Jack Abbot.

You are counting down the weeks until you're back on days. Dr Jack Abbot seems to hate you. And you can't understand why. Samira and Victoria had both told you that Dr Abbot was so much nicer than Robby. He rarely ever yells and he talks you through procedures, every step. He has a very different teaching style than Robby. But while Robby is always there to help you go through your charts, Abbot avoids you like a plague. He never wants to be around you it would seem.

He is only there when he needs to be. And usually, he's handing you off to Shen when the other Attending is on. You really have no clue what you did to make Abbot hate you like this.

You've worked your ass off to get here. Top of your class in pre-med and med school. That's why you got your first pick of this specific Emergency Department. It's one of the best in the country! In fact, you attended lectures both Robby and Abbot held when you were in college. This was it for you! And Robby always sang your praises.

You refused to have all your hard work get thrown away because your Night Shift Attending hates your guts.

You look up at him through your lashes when you bump into him. He grips your biceps to stop you from stumbling backwards. He's looking down at you, unimpressed, with his chin jutting out. God he hates you.

"S-Sorry, Doctor Abbot," you breathe. "I'll see you tomorrow...or I guess tonight."

He just nods and releases you. You miss how he flexes his hands after touching you just for the briefest moment. And you certainly don't know that he'll fantasise about that interaction in his shower later that morning.

No, you're convinced he hates you and it couldn't be further from the truth.

You trudge back into PTMC that night, 7pm sharp and Matteo is quick to hand you a Red Bull.

"My angel," you say with a smile as you crack it open immediately. It's going to be a long one. Especially when you see Jack Abbot round the corner and crack his neck.

Oh God. Was he coming over to yell at you? Did you do something wrong last night? But no, he ignores you entirely. And somehow that is worse.

You actually don't interact with Dr Abbot until about 2am when you have to help with a trauma. It's stressful, and you feel like your legs are going to collapse from under you.

"That's it, kid," he praises you, walking you through the procedure that has you wrist deep in a man's chest. "That's it. Just like that. Almost there, kid."

It's a nickname that is reserved only for you. He never hears him call any of the other interns, well Santos, that.

"That's it," he breathes again, his hot breath tickling your neck as he watches your every manoeuvre. "That's it. Good girl."

Your eyes flick up to meet his gaze. He's watching you with his chin tilted up just so, making your breathing hitch for just a second. You shake your head and focus back on your patient.

When Dr Walsh finally comes down to bring the patient up to the OR, you are on the brink of tears.

"Good job, kid. You just saved that man's life," Abbot tells you, giving you a half smile.

Your body is trumming with adrenaline. That is the only reasonable explanation for why you do what you do.

You turn to your Attending and throw your arms around him in a tight hug.

Jack freezes. He never expected to be this close to you, having your smaller frame wrapped around him. And his heart is thumping. He is willing, no demanding, his cock to behave. It's not long before you realise what you've done and jump away.

"Sorry! Sorry!" you repeat before pulling off your gown and gloves and rushing off.

Jack calms his breathing, tells Lena he's taking fifteen and heads up to one of the abandoned wards. He should not but doing this as he locks the door to one of the rooms. But it's not even five minutes later that his cock is loose and he is stroking himself thinking of you. He can still smell you on his skin. Even that brief interaction drove him mad. He swears as he cums in his hand, catching his load so it doesn't spill onto his scrubs. He can't go back down like that.

He takes a walk up and down the hall before going back down and finishing off his shift. As soon as Robby walks in, Jack ambushes him.

"Can we talk?" he asks.

Robby looks at his friend with weary eyes. He hasn't even had a second to put his bag down. But he allows it, letting Abbot bring him into the breakroom.

"I was thinking of releasing the Kid back to days," Jack says simply, busying himself by making coffee.

This surprises Robby, who leans against the countertop.

"She hasn't finished her rotation. It's her intern year, it's important that she completes everything," he reminds Jack.

Jack sniffs, twisting his mouth to the side and nods.

"Yep, but we run a tight ship here. And I think you need more hands on Day Shift. Anyway, no need to fuck up a good cicidian rhythm for the sake of rules," he says with a hand wave.

Robby watches the way his friend moves. Jack is usually all about eye contact, to an unnerving degree but Robby cannot catch the shorter man's eye this morning. And finally the pieces click into place.

"She's very young, Jack," he crows, a triumphant smirk on his face.

Finally something, or someone, has penetrated Jack's walls.

"I am aware, Robby. That is why I am asking you to do me a solid and remove her from the rotation," he grits out, finally meeting his friend's smirk.

While Robby agrees, neither man realises you are outside. You had made your way over after Langdon showed you another video of Penny crawling to grab your lunchbox. But all you heard was how your Attending was asking the Chief of the ED to do him a "solid" and get you kicked off night shift.

You turn on your heel and leave before anyone can stop you, lunchbox be damned.

You're dreading your next shift. You change into your scrubs slowly, you tie your hair back and finally make your way onto the ward. You tug at the sleeves of your grey undershirt and frown when your gaze lands on Abbot.

He nods at you, motioning for you to follow him. And you do. He walks you into an empty room and pulls the curtain.

"I know, you want me off nights," you say before he can start. You don't need to hear the whole song and dance from your boss who clearly hates you.

"Kid," he begins, but you shake your head.

"Don't call me kid. I'm not...I'm a good doctor. I'm still learning, I work so hard. I've never had any issues with any of the Attendings. So I'm really sorry that I have offended you in whatever way I have," you snap.

Jack sighs, "You can finish your shift and start back with Robby on Monday."

You nod and storm off, tears thick on your lashes. You have to take a few minutes to cool down before you start working.

You manage to avoid Jack Abbot for almost six months. Even when you have a double shift scheduled, Jack is always off. You do your rounds with Shen. He chuckles and shakes his head as you actively avoid dealing with the older man.

"He's not that bad," Shen says one night with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Uh huh," you say as you take the decaf iced coffee Shen has started to bring in for you when you're doing handover. "Not like he got me kicked off night shift."

"You really didn't wanna be stuck with us," Shen responds with a smile.

You roll your eyes. It's true, you didn't plan on staying on night shift permanently. But it was part of the job! You're concerned that his cutting your rotation short will affect your progress in your intern year! You grumble about it to Santos at least once a week.

At one point, she suggests you just "kiss and make up," and you throw a chest tube at her.

But one evening, you get a call from a very desperate Shen, Parker called out sick and they are scrambling for someone.

"Can't someone work a double?" you grouse.

You really, really don't want to work with Abbot. Not tonight! You've just gotten home from a day out with friends. Your hair is carefully curled and you even have makeup on. Something that rarely happens when you go to work. So your grumbling as you walk into the Pitt.

"It better be a quiet night," you point at Shen as you walk in with your bag slung over your shoulder.

Jack Abbot's eyes flick up when he hears your voice. He wasn't expecting to see you. And you take his breath away. Moreso than you do when you're running around the hospital in your scrubs that fit just a little too well. You're not even wearing anything fancy, just jeans and a form fitting tank top. That is worse than the scrubs. He swallows thickly trying not to swallow his tongue.

"Jack?" Lena is saying, following his gaze, before smirking to herself.

The only person that is oblivious to how Jack really feels about you is, well, you.

He shakes his head and returns to his chart and lets Lena walk him through what he's missed. But it's not long before you're back out on the floor, changed into your scrubs with your hair tied back now. But Jack can't stop tracking your every movement.

You're sure you've jinxed yourself when you demand a quiet night, but all things considered, you're not run off your feet. Until 5am rolls around and a crash comes in. It's tough and you just can't manage to figure out how to stop the internal bleeding.

"Hey! Look at me," Jack all but growls at you. "You need to focus. Breathe and fuckin' focus, kid."

You try, you fucking try your best but none of it matters. Doctor Park comes in and take up to OR but they lose him on the table. And it's your fault. You should have been able to stop the bleeding!

You're worked up and the day shift is slowly starting to trickle in so you climb up to the abandoned ward on the eighth floor. You just need to breathe. To think. And not have Dr Abbot watching every move you make, waiting for you to fuck up. Again.

You're pacing back and forth, trying to stop the tears that are threatening to overtake you from flowing down your face. And then you spot his shadow in the doorway.

"Kid?" Jack Abbot's husky voice asks.

He didn't plan to run into you. Obviously, he would rather avoid it, but he had seen movement when he was on his way to the roof to take a breather. He didn't want some lawsuit on his ass because he had ignored a squatter. But worse it was the intern he has been successfully avoiding for the better part of six months.

You still hadn't left his thoughts, though. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of you if he came in early or when he came to meet Robby for lunch. He would sometimes find hints of your perfume around the ED and it made him stop dead in his tracks. And yes, he was still cumming into his hand, groaning out your name.

He really should speak to his therapist about it all. It was all so fucked up.

Your glassy eyes meet his gaze, and you just burst into tears. He's probably come up here to yell at you. Tell you that you can't just hide when something goes wrong.

Instead, he doesn't. Despite Jack Abbot's better judgement, he closes the door, crosses the room and bundles you up into a hug. He really shouldn't be doing that. But you're sobbing!

It takes you maybe 30 seconds before you realise what is going on and pull away from him. He steps back immediately, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I wasn't even supposed to be working tonight," you finally snap. "I cam in as a favour to Shen."

You say the other Attending's name pointedly.

"And if I need a second to compose myself after losing a patient, I'm going to take it. And I don't need you to come up here and tell me what a shitty doctor I am, I can do that on my own, thank you very much."

"I wasn't gonna-" Abbot begins but you're not finished on your tirade.

"I just don't understand why you hate me! I have worked so hard to be here!" you say finally looking at him, you face red with tears and from your yelling.

Jack had a half smirk on his face as you ranted, but it immediately fades at the idea of him hating you.

"You think I hate you?" he asks, cocking his head to the side in surprise.

You let out a small laugh.

"You asked Robby to move me off night shift," you remind him. "Because you run a tight ship."

His words still echo in your head all these months later. You wait for his response but there is none. He's still staring at you; the man loves nothing if not eye contact. But his mouth is screwed up in concern now.

"I don't hate you, kid," he finally breathes out, his voice soft and raspy. It makes you stomach twist in a way you didn't expect.

You open your mouth to argue back. How could he not hate you? But you don't get a chance because he has closed the space between you and pulled you into a searing kiss. A kiss that has your whole body feeling like you're static. You can't even think as his silver stubble rubs against your soft skin. Your tongue delves into his mouth and you let out a soft moan at his taste. You can't help yourself. You thought all this time he hated you. And yet his rough hands were grasping at your ass over your scrubs.

God, you were going to be a fucking cliché, but you pulled back just to pull your scrubs top and your undershirt off. And Jack's eyes look like they're going to bulge right out of his head. He didn't know what to expect when he kissed you, but this? Well, this was better than any fantasy he has come up with. Maybe he's sleeping...dreaming... Maybe he's actually taken a tumble off the roof, and this is heaven.

Your lips on his neck bring him back to this moment. You don't realise how hungry you are for him until he's presented in front of you. Your Attending, your Attending that you thought hated you is now groaning out for your kisses. You pull at his scrub top trying to see how far the freckles on his neck go. But he stops you.

Fuck. Have you gone too far?

But he's pulling you closer, kissing you again. He lifts you, easily and carries you to the unused bed in the corner.

"I don't hate you, kid," he growls as he lays you down.

Now its his turn to kiss down your silky neck, down to the swell of your breast. He laves at your hardened nipples over the fabric of the bra before he crawls over you and unhooks it. He lets out a groan as your breasts fall free and he dives between them, sucking and licking and biting. He focuses on the skin around your nipples before sucking and teasing each hardened peek. Your buzzing brain is wondering if you can cum by nipple play alone. And if Jack Abbot had more time, you were sure you could. By the time he's finished, you're covered in love marks.

He pulls away a smirk on his face as he kisses down your stomach down to the top of your scrub pants.

"You don't-" you begin which causes Jack to surge up and kiss you hard.

You take this chance to pull his scrub top off and let out your own appreciative groan at his freckle covered biceps and chest. He's spent a lot of time in the sun...without a shirt it would seem. You get dizzy thinking about him sweating as he chops wood in his back garden. As if the Adonious isn't in front of you right now.

"Like what you see, kid?" he asks with a cocky smirk.

Usually, you would roll your eyes, but all you can do is nod as he begins his journey back down your body once more. When he gets to your scrub bottoms, he pulls them and your soaking panties off in one swift move. He groans as he watches your wetness stick to you fabric of your underwear.

"All for me, baby?" he growls as he kisses over your mound. "You walkin' around the hospital like that every time we work together, huh? Cos I was hard enough to pound nails when I was working with you. Useda have t' come up here just to jerk off to the thought of you."

You whimper out at the filth coming out of his mouth.

"Been dreaming about what you would taste like," he breathes, blowing a warm stream of air over your cunt.

You writhe underneath him already and he hasn't even touched you. You whimper as he places a soft kiss over your weeping folds. You haven't been touched in so long. And Dr Jack Abbot knows what he's doing. He presses kisses over your pussy, peppering a few over your clit. And then he's pressing his tongue inside you, moving between that and lapping at your clit.

You can feel that familiar coil of pleaesure build and build and build. One rough hand comes up to tease your hardened nipple as he focuses his attention to your clit.

"Cum for me, baby," he demands as he spits onto your cunt. "Cum for me, now."

He focuses his efforts back down on your clit, moving his tongue in time with the fingers on your nipple and within seconds you're crying out his name as you absolutely soak his face.

Your release is sparkling over his lips, catching in his stubble. You go cross-eyed at the sight. He climbs up the bed to kiss you, claiming you desperately.

"Fuck, Jack, I need you," you beg him between kisses, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Baby, we don't need to do anymore," he breathes, just happy to have made you cum like that.

You shake your head. You need more. You demand more.

"Need you inside me, please? Need you to fuck me," you beg.

You've never begged before, but the way Jack Abbot is on top of you, still gripping onto one of your thighs...well, you can't help but beg.

"Ya want me to fuck you, baby?" he coos all sweet. Hell, he even pouts.

You just nod, rubbing your thighs together as you dream about getting a sight of him. He's already tented against his scrub pants, and your eyes flick between his hazel eyes and his crotch. He gives you a cocky smirk, and by God has he earned that cockiness, and simply flips you onto your stomach. He gives the rounded flesh of your ass a smack as he presses his chest right onto your back.

"Hands and knees, baby," he growls into your ear, his teeth grazing over your lobe.

You scramble to do exactly as he tells you. It's a struggle with him kissing down your neck and over your shoulder. But you do it.

"Good girl," he praises as he sits back on his heels and pushes his scrub pants down his thigh.

Not enough to let the pretty, young intern see his prosthetic. He's not ashamed of it. But he doesn't need you asking questions...especially not right now. Now, he needs to be balls deep inside you. He pumps his angry cock that's dripping with pre-cum, admiring the view in front of him. You've arched your back just right, your legs spread enough for him to see how wet you are for him. Your slick has coated your thighs.

He can't help but reach out and land a sharp smack to your cunt.

"Ready, baby?" he asks as he moves forward.

You simply nod but that doesn't satisfy Jack. He gives your pussy another slap, earning him a little mewl from you.

"Words, baby," he growls.

"Yes," you manage to whimper as you hands twist into the sheets of the hospital bed.

He plants a kiss between your shoulder blades before he presses the blunt head of his cock against your folds. He lets out a grunt as he settles into you, slowly, torturously slow until he bottoms out inside you.

"Atta girl," he praises as he kneads at your ass.

He takes a second to adjust to you before he rocks his hips forward. Then he slowly starts picking up the pace, his hand grips your hair and pushes your face into the pillow. You never imagined that Jack Abbot would be loud in bed, but he's grunting and groaning over you.

"Wanna hear you," he demands, tugging your hair so your cheek is pressed against the pillow and your moans are finally unmuffled.

Jack closes his eyes and drinks in the sweet cries you make as he slams in and out of you.

"That's it, baby. You can take more, can't you?" he growls as he pulls you apart with each thrust.

It's like when he walks you through a procedure, so thorough...but so much hotter.

"I can feel that pretty pussy already pulsing. Are you gonna cum for me again? On my cock, pretty girl?" he gruffs out.

Honestly, his own orgasm is on the horizon. But he's a gentleman, and he won't finish before you. He's just gotta coach you throw it.

"Baby, I wanna feel you cum for me. Cum on my cock, huh?" he gruffs as he pulls your hair up.

He uses this leverage to pull you flush against his chest. One hand wraps around your waist to keep you upright as his thrusts get more and more erratic. But he manages to snake the rough palm up your body to paw at your breast. His other hand slides down to your clit.

"You're close, baby," he tells you, right into your ear. He kisses over your neck. "Can feel ya...ya got another one for me. Huh?"

You nod before you cry out his name. You drop your head back against his shoulder.

"I'm right there with ya, baby. Right there," he grunts, kissing over your face as best he can at this angle. "Fuck...fuck...that's it, baby."

You can feel him fill you with white, hot spurts of his cum.

"Take me, baby, take me. Gonna fill that pussy. Fuck," he growls.

He captures your lips in a heady kiss as you both come down from your highs. You feel him grow soft and he slides out of you with a wet pop. He grabs the blanket and gives his cock a quick clean before pulling up his pants. You collapse back onto the bed completely spent. He grabs his scrub top and redresses. He dips into the adjoining bathroom of the room to wet a cloth. He cleans up the mess he made between your legs. Your vision is still spotty so you let him. And let him kiss you once more.

You finally become more aware of what you just did. Who you just did it with. And where you just did it.

You sit up looking for your clothes, but Dr Abbot is already at the door.

"Our little secret, kid," he practically purrs, throwing you a wink before he disappears back down to the ED, leaving you alone with a lot to process.

a/n: thanks for reading

part two

The sun sits high, warming the concrete outside PTMC, where the usual row of chairs lines the wall near the entrance.

You sit there comfortably, a paper bag of lunch resting beside you and two iced coffees sweating gently in your hands the exact order you and Michael always share. It’s quiet, calm… a rare slow moment in your day.

Aria is off at her friend’s house, happily choosing playtime over tagging along with you. You smiled when she left, but now… you kind of miss her.

Still, this... seeing Michael during his lunch break like this is your your favorite break time for lunch and from Aria little chaos.

You take a small sip of your drink, glancing toward the doors.

Then-

“Hi!”

You turn slightly.

A young woman in scrubs drops into the seat beside you, a little breathless, a little too energetic for someone clearly mid-shift. She smiles politely.

“Sorry, do you mind if I sit here?”

You shake your head softly. “Not at all.”

“Thanks,” she exhales, relaxing. “It’s chaos inside today.”

You chuckle lightly. “Busy?”

“Always,” she says, rolling her eyes, but there’s excitement there. “I’m new, so it’s like… ten times more intense.”

Ah.

That explains it.

She starts talking and she really doesn’t stop. About the patients, the pace, the pressure, the way PTMC works, the hierarchy, the cases, the late nights…

You nod along, humming here and there.

Because… well.

You already know all of it.

Your husband practically lives in that building.

“And the doctors here?” she continues, leaning a little closer like she’s about to share a secret. “Some of them are terrifying. Like, actually terrifying.”

You smile faintly. “I can imagine.”

“But...” she brightens instantly, “there’s one that’s not.”

Oh?

You already know where this is going.

“Dr. Robinavitch,” she says, and there it is that soft shift in her tone. Slightly shy. Slightly flustered. “He’s… really amazing.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much.

“Is he?” you ask casually.

She nods quickly. “Yeah! He’s kinda calm, even when things get really bad he can managed it. And he explains things without making you feel stupid, well sometimes.... depends with who he talked with... you know? Like, he actually teaches.”

You hum, pretending to consider. “That’s rare.”

“Right?” she laughs, then lowers her voice again. “And he’s really cool under pressure. There was this one time a patient crashed, and everything just went...” she gestures dramatically, “so crazy. I almost got hit trying to move around, and he just pulled me back so fast.”

Her cheeks flush a little.

“He basically saved me,” she adds, softer now.

You glance down at your coffee, hiding your smile.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Sounds like a good doctor.”

“He really is,” she says, then after a tiny pause “And, um… yeah. He’s kind of…”

She trails off, clearly embarrassed.

You decide to be nice.

“…kind of?” you prompt gently.

She groans, covering her face briefly. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have a tiny crush. But don’t tell anyone, oh my

God.”

You laugh softly. “Your secret’s safe.”

This is… entertaining, you have to admit.

Before you can say anything else,

The doors open.

You don’t even need to look immediately.

You feel it.

But the resident does.

Her entire posture straightens. “Oh my God! He’s here.”

You glance up just as she leans closer, whispering quickly, “He probably noticed I wasn’t inside. Maybe he came looking for me...”

You almost choke on your drink.

Because there he is.

Michael steps out, eyes scanning briefly until they land on you.

And just like that…

Everything else disappears.

His expression softens instantly, a quiet warmth replacing the clinical focus he carries inside. He walks straight toward you, not even glancing at the girl beside you.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, familiar.

Before you can even respond, he leans down and kisses you.

Soft. Natural. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Hi, baby.”

Silence.

You can feel the shock radiating from beside you.

You smile up at him. “Hi. I brought lunch.”

“I figured,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to the bag, then back to you.

Only then does he seem to register the presence next to you.

He turns slightly.

The resident looks like she’s just seen her entire reality collapse.

“Oh,” Michael says easily, one hand settling at your shoulder. “You’ve met my wife?”

The girl’s mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

“…your-your wife?”

You finally let yourself smile properly now, offering her a small, friendly nod.

“Hi.”

Her face goes completely red.

“I- oh my God- I didn’t... I mean... I was just-”

Michael raises a brow slightly, clearly amused now, but says nothing.

You gently rescue her.

“She was just telling me how great you are,” you say sweetly.

Michael hums. “Smart.”

You nudge him lightly. “Don’t start.”

The resident looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts out. “I didn’t know-”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Really.”

She nods rapidly, already halfway standing. “I should- I have to go back inside... ”

“Yeah,” Michael says casually. “Probably a good idea.”

She practically flees.

The moment she’s gone

You turn to him, raising a brow.

“Really popular, huh?”

He smirks faintly. “I don’t pay attention.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “She said you saved her.”

“I did my job.”

You tilt your head. “She also said you’re really cool.”

He leans closer, voice dropping. “You think so?”

You smile, just a little.

“I married you, didn’t I?”

You watch her go, then look back at Michael.

“…You’re someone’s workplace crush.”

He sighs, already opening the food container. “Tragic.”

You laugh. “She said you saved her.”

He shrugs. “Part of the job.”

You nudge him lightly. “Hero.”

He glances at you, something softer in his eyes now.

“Only for you.”

“Daddy!”

Your jaw clenches for a moment before a smile is plastered on your face for the sake of Phoebe. She crashes into Tom’s legs, wrapping herself around them like a koala. Tom reaches down for her, palms under her armpits to lift her to his chest, enveloping her in a squeeze.

The smile drops from your face the second her back is to you and you’re back to glaring at Tom, a look he’s more than happy to reciprocate. 

“Hey, sunshine. How you doing?” His hand rubs across her small back, her face tucked into his neck. 

Phoebe’s response is muffled into his skin, but whatever it is gets a chuckle out of the prick. You reach for her overnight bag, extend your arm for Tom to take it. It’s something that you still think is an absolute joke. You shouldn’t have to pack anything for her to go to his house. And yet, he still has nothing for her. No clothes, overnight diapers, toiletries… 

“Alright, give Mommy some love.” Phoebe unwraps herself from Tom to reach for you, squeezing you with all of her might as if it’s the only way she can convey how much she loves you. 

You squeeze back, gentler but just as much lovingly. “Be good for Dad and have fun, okay?”

Phoebe hums, wiggles out of your hold to stand on her feet. You watch with a chuckle as she smoothes down her outfit; a baby blue tutu and a long sleeved Bluey shirt. 

You gave up fighting her on outfit choices a long time ago. No one really warned you that parenting is about picking your battles. You prefer to save yourself a headache by letting her wear what she wants most days. 

You wanted her to grow up strong and independent. Instead you’ve created a stubborn little fashionista monster. 

Phoebe takes Tom’s hand, an act that hurts and warms you both the same and waves as they leave the threshold of the door. 

“Love you, Diva!” She calls out, skipping in a pair of battered booger-green Crocs that she refuses to part with. 

“Love you, bestie.” Your reply echoes down the hall until they’re both out of sight and you’re completely alone. 

It’s when the door closes that the silence envelops you. Quiet and eerie in a sense that you don’t really know what to do with yourself. The apartment feels off-kilter without her massive personality invading every wall and crevice. 

A pout forms on your lips when you look at the mess she’s left. Toys, books, arts and crafts… you consider leaving it out all afternoon and night so you have some semblance of her chaos with you. But the moment your barefoot steps on a piece of LEGO, you’re quick to change your mind. 

Only when you’re scooping the evil little pieces of plastic into the box do you realize your mistake. Eyes snagging on a bright pink purse by the front door, you scramble to your feet. 

The last time Phoebe forgot her purse, it ended up in a forty-five minute long meltdown. The fear of Tom having to bring her home or not knowing how to handle it is strong enough to make you ignore the pain in your foot when you stand on plastic again. 

Your feet move fast as you scoop up the diamante pouch and race down the hall. Phoebe usually forces Tom to take the stairs so she can race him, so if you’re lucky, you’ll catch her just before they make it to the car. 

You have a good shot at it, until you’re colliding with something solid and the purse is dropping to the floor at the same time a dark blue backpack does, both contents spilling across the carpet. 

“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry, are you okay?” 

The voice is rushed, a groan when they lower closer to the ground to rustle through the mix of lipsticks, hair ties and actual male belongings. You blink at the voice, looking up as you finally register it’s a who that you’ve collided with instead of a what. 

Jack squats a bit awkwardly in front of you, shoving a water bottle into the backpack unceremoniously. He’s dressed in scrubs again, brows slightly pinched and you finally notice that the green in his eyes is more prominent than the brown in the light of the hall. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, another groan as he returns to his full height. “I really have to go. There’s an emergency at the hospital. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You blink, rising back to your feet again and nodding. “Yeah. No, I’m fine. Go, I’m so sorry.” 

He nods once, offering you a very brief but effective once over, as if he’s double checking, before he’s rushing down the hall and straight for the stairs. 

A stab shoots up your foot when you move to walk, a groan slipping past your lips as you grip the purse from its dainty handle with eyes squeezed shut. 

“Fuck my life.” You groan. 

You know there’s no point in trying to catch up to Phoebe and Tom now. They’ll be long gone down the street and the sole of your foot is refusing anything but the idea of some slippers and a glass of wine. 

It’s begrudgingly that you return to your apartment, throw her purse on the kitchen counter and disappear for an hour to soak in the tub. You spend half of that time scrolling mindlessly through TikTok and Instagram reels and the other half scolding yourself for almost knocking a forty-something-year-old man over. 

A very fucking attractive forty-something-year-old man. 

It’s almost three in the afternoon when you finally decide to stop wallowing in your embarrassment and loneliness. With a bottle of wine—it’s five o’clock somewhere—and frozen chicken tenders for a late lunch, you’ve managed to set up somewhat of a work station on the kitchen island. 

The blank word doc mocks you, cursor blinking with every moment you don’t type a single letter. You let your gaze roll away from the screen, take a moment to admire the stacks of hardback books that litter the rest of the counters. 

You’re capable. You’re successful. You’re a talented writer and you have the creative capacity to start the final instalment of your trilogy. Yet when you look back on the screen, all you can do is groan. 

You have no motivation to write, your foot still feels sore from the LEGO assault and you miss Phoebe. Your eyes drift across the counter to her little pink purse, a pout forming on your lips. 

You could call her, just to check in. But you know it’s not worth the hassle of Tom trying to berate you for being a suffocating mother. Stupid prick. 

You settle for reaching for her bag instead, grinning at her little plastic lipsticks and fake keys. You dig deeper and still when you find a black wallet instead of a bright pink one. 

There’s no chance of it being Tom’s and you don’t have a wallet like that. Retrieving it with a bit more caution than curiosity, you flip it open and smack a hand over your mouth at the same time. The ID is the first thing you see. 

Dr. Jack Abbot.

Oh, fuck me. 

He’s staring at the camera with a blank expression, but his eyes are anything but emotionless; gleaming with something flirty and mysterious. He looks younger in it—perhaps a shot from five or so years ago—smaller traces of gray in his dark hair. You truly can’t help the way your heart rate picks up. He’s handsome in his ID photo but this man was made to be middle-aged. 

There’s no phone number on his ID, nor on any receipts or healthcare cards. You try your hardest to ignore the black card tucked between two debit cards when you finally find a business slip with a number on it. 

For the second time tonight, you’re left speechless. 

Tactical Emergency Medical Support. 

SWAT Physician, Dr. Jack Abbot. 

You blink at the flimsy piece of card. Once. Twice. What the fuck? 

There’s a number in blocky font on the back, an email address that he likely only uses for SWAT enquiries. Drafting a text to the number is fine until you realize how invasive you’ve just been to his privacy. 

Still, your finger only hovers over the send button for a moment before pressing it. 

Hey, Jack. It’s Y/N. I’m so sorry but I think I accidentally picked up your wallet instead of Phoebe’s when I bumped into you in the hall! I can come by the hospital and drop it off?

With a sigh, you drop your phone to the counter and slide his SWAT card back into the pocket of his wallet, only allowing yourself thirty seconds to imagine Jack in a full camo set-up. Your fingers brush over the fine leather fabric for a moment, and you don’t mean for it to happen, don’t mean to stumble across it. But your thumb slips against something tucked far behind the cards and a small, folded photo slips out.

It’s worn around the edges, frayed from what you can only assume is his tender touch. A woman. Middle aged and incredibly beautiful and staring something meaningful into the camera as she raises her hand to point at her finger. You realize quite quickly what you’re looking at.

A married woman. Jack’s married woman. His wife. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach for invading his privacy like this, for being so fucking nosy. Most importantly for secretly thirsting over a married fucking man. 

You try to remember ever seeing a ring on his finger, cipher through your memory for any hints and flickers of silver or gold in passing. You find none, though that doesn’t mean anything. Perhaps you just never noticed a ring. Or perhaps he wore it around his neck…

It doesn’t matter. Your findings are enough of a reality check to have you gently easing it back to its rightful place, but not strong enough to quell the question of why the photo is kept so discreetly hidden. Not your place to wonder. Perhaps he’s a private person. Perhaps he’s experienced the issue of an accidental wallet swap before and doesn’t want a photo of his precious wife to fall into the wrong kind of hands. 

You push the wallet to the far end of the kitchen island and struggle to focus on your original task at hand. Outlining the final book in your trilogy. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Jack enjoys chaos that can be controlled. Whether it’s infiltrating a scenario with SWAT or commanding a trauma room, he thrives on the need to be needed. A natural leader, yes. But also a very lonely man that tends to seek his validation in the form of a slight hero complex. 

Emma is still visibly shaken, even an hour after the altercation with an extremely uncooperative patient. Young, fresh, eager-eyed and extremely overwhelmed from the events of her rather unfortunate first day. 

Jack was the first one in the room when the code word was shouted breathlessly from Perlah’s lungs. Robby had shuffled close behind, restraining the patient while Jack had tended to the nurse, encouraging her to breathe and checking her over for injuries. 

She’s yet to fully snap out of the shock, which Jack promises is normal and perfectly okay to experience. Robby’s been watching her like a hawk, worried she may crumble under the events or freeze up on a patient at the most critical time. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asks her gently, quiet enough for the others around the nurses desk not to hear. 

Emma shakes her head, forcing a polite smile on her lips. But the way she wrings her hands out and picks at the skin around her thumbs suggests otherwise. “No, it’s okay. Sorry, I just—is it always like this?” 

Dana smiles, tipping her glasses to the bottom of her nose. “Not always. But, hey, at least you’re initiated, kid.” 

A smile cracks at the corners of Emma’s mouth at Dana’s words, a relationship similar to one of a mother and daughter. It reminds Jack briefly of you and Phoebe. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “How about a coffee run, then? A bit of fresh air, sunshine… My treat.” Jack reaches into his pocket for his wallet, keeps his tone casual enough that Emma would be doing him a favor by going on a beverage run. 

A win for everyone, really. She gets a break without feeling guilty for it and everyone gets a pick-me-up after a long half-shift. 

But when Jack retrieves his wallet, he’s met with more amusement than excitement. He frowns, following Santos’ tickled stare down to his wallet. No. Not his wallet. Because Jack’s wallet is sleek and black and leather. And the thing in his hands is bold, fabric and bright fucking pink. 

“What the fu—”

Bubbles of laughter surround him and the nurses station, something he’s not quite used to being on the receiving end of. It’s been at least two decades since he was teased so openly and broadly by colleagues. This is the first time it’s been by his subordinates. 

“Okay, Diva. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Santos’ words bubble out of her in bursts of breathless laughter, her face turning a pinky shade as she struggles to keep the amusement in check.

Jack turns the wallet in his hands, taking note of the large DIVA in stark white diamontes. He blinks, looks at his fellow doctors, then back down at the wallet again. “Well it’s obviously not mine.” Jack almost squeaks the words of defense, opening the wallet to find a twenty dollar bill and neat handwriting faded into the inside. 

PROPERTY OF DIVA PHOEBE Y/L/N. 

An exasperated laugh slips from him before he can stop it. It’s bad enough that he’s been unable to keep the two of you from infiltrating his mind over the past few weeks, now Phoebe was following him into work?

Too busy digging into his other pocket for his phone—which, yes, is his—Jack misses the curious glances at the fond expression that creeps its way onto his features. There’s a single text from an unknown number on his locked homescreen. A time stamp of three hours ago, no preview, but he doesn’t need to unlock it to know it's from you. 

Robby watches in amusement when Jack snaps the wallet closed and shoves it back into his pocket, swiping up on his screen to open his messages. Robby’s head cocks to the side slightly as he tries to hide his smirk. “So… Do you have another hobby that we’re not aware of?”

“Yeah, I also do Drag on the weekends.” Jack replies dryly, only offering him a brief and expressionless glance. 

“Alright, Abbot.” Dana chirps through a lopsided smirk.

Jack can’t help the laugh that he scoffs out. “It’s my neighbors—I mean her toddlers. Bumped into her on the way in, accidentally grabbed the wrong wallets. Guess coffee is on Robby.” He pats him on the back with a dead smile before walking away, fingers moving across the screen. 

Hey, we definitely picked up the wrong wallets. Don’t worry about dropping it in, I’ll pick it up. Should be done in a couple hours. 

Then another text. 

Tell Pheebs Doctor Jack said he’s sorry.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You have a slight tendency of getting lost in the creative process of writing. The moment images and words begin to flow into sentences and ooze from your fingertips to the screen, you zone out from the world around you quite quickly. 

So, it’s no surprise that you’re a little startled when the knocking on your front door sounds just after 8 in the evening. And it takes a moment for you to realize that you are expecting someone. 

Jack stands with a tired smile when you open the door with eyes wide and apology on the tip of your tongue. He looks better than you would’ve imagined after a shift in the hospital, still in scrubs and salt and pepper curls slightly mussed, but you suppose he’s the type of man that just never looks like shit. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” you rush out, opening the door wider for him to follow you inside, apologizing profusely for the mix up as you make your way toward the kitchen.

Jack follows slowly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He takes in your home, warmth and comfort consuming him at how cosy and loved and lived in your apartment is in just eight weeks of living here. 

He was right, it is a mirror layout of his. But you’ve decorated with rich colours and mix-match furniture that shouldn’t look right but somehow does. It’s a blend of cohesive chaos, relaxing and comforting and yet overwhelmingly different.

Jack follows to the kitchen, leg aching from rushing on his feet for far too long without a moment's reprieve. He retrieves Phoebe’s wallet from his pocket, fingers tracing the diamonte lettering before holding it out for you as you hold out his. 

“Nah, don't worry about it. But I do think I’m going to be called Diva by the Pitt for the next year at least.” He laughs.

You take Phoebe’s wallet from his grip with a laugh, no brush of fingers, no close proximity. It’s only then, because you’re looking for it, that you notice the silver band around his left ring finger.

“What’s the Pitt?” you asked instead.

“Oh, it's just what we call the E.D.” Jack explains, brief but his tone remains friendly. Borderline fond. 

You’re tapping Phoebe’s wallet against the palm of your hand. “I had to go through your wallet to try and find your number. I’m sorry. But I found it on your SWAT card?” There’s a lilt in your voice, a little teasing, a bit playful. Enough for it to be perceived, not enough to cross a boundary. 

Friendly. Like you’re trying to remind your brain to be when it randomly decides to think of Jack in the middle of the night. 

He has the audacity to look a bit bashful at your comment. A feigned nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, a quirk in the corner of his mouth. “My therapist said I needed a hobby.” 

“Ah, because the emergency department isn’t thrilling enough.”

Jack laughs at that, not loud but genuine. It’s as if he’s caught himself, eyes skimming across the open living space, noticing the quiet. 

“I hope Phoebe wasn’t too upset." 

You wave a hand. “She’s fine. She’s with her Dad for the night, so I’m sure she hasn’t even realized she doesn’t have it.”

Jack hums, like he’s taking note of the fact that you’re definitely single. No. No. Stop that. His gaze drifts behind you, lingering on the stuff all over your kitchen counter. Piles and piles of hardback books stacked up around a laptop, a notepad and a bottle of wine. 

“So… you read about 80 books when you get a night off?” 

You look at the books, back to him with your eyes closed and a pursed lip smile. “Um no, I sign them.” 

Jack cocks a brow, a silent question.

You huff a bit self-depricatingly through your nose. “I’m an author.” You say it carefully, like you’re expecting the reaction you usually get. 

That’s not a real occupation. 

Don’t quit your day job.

Writing silly romances doesn't make you a real author.

For some reason, he’s the last person you want thinking of you like that. 

So when a smile stretches across his face, your shoulders start to relax. “Oh yeah? That’s cool. Anything I would’ve read?” 

You laugh as you lead him toward the kitchen island. “Um, unless you read a lot of romance, probably not.” 

Jack shrugs, hands stuffed into his pockets as he peers at the copies. “I’m not opposed to trying new things. You any good?” 

You grow warm, shrug a shoulder. Despite not really giving a fuck what most people think, this part always makes you feel a little nervy. “I have a couple New York Times Bestsellers.” 

His head whips to you, impressed or shocked, you can’t really tell. But you watch as he picks up one of the hardbacks to examine it, and you don't miss how his eyes linger on the name at the bottom. “I go by a pseudonym.” You quickly add. “I don’t like the idea of my name and face out there. And I don’t want it to embarrass Pheebs when she’s older.”

“Why would it embarrass her?” Jack asks with pinched brows, flipping the book in his hand to skim over the blurb.

You shrug. “Kids can be assholes. I don’t want her being teased because her mom writes steamy romances.” 

Jack laughs at that. God, you’re starting to hate yourself for how much you love that sound.

“You’re a good mom.” He says it with mirth in his voice but the way his eyes bore into yours without an ounce of hesitation, you know he means it.

Your shoulders jab in another shrug, bashful and deeply moved by his comment. You know you’re a good mom, despite what anyone may try to say. But to hear it from him—someone older, successful someone who sees the worst and best in parenting every day… 

“I try.” 

His eyes remain on you as he smiles, softer now. Like he’s pleased with your response; that you know you’re nothing but the best you can be for Phoebe. 

“Well, I will let you get back to your signing. As a Doctor, though, I must advise you to take breaks so you don’t end up with cramps or carpal tunnel."

A laugh escapes you at that, and you find yourself nodding and holding your hands up in surrender. An ache is already forming in your wrists. “Whatever you say, Doctor Abbot.” 

He grins something playful, but before he can put the book down, you reach a hand out to stop him. 

“Keep it. If you want, I mean. As an apology for the wallet mix up.”

He raises a brow at the offer but makes no attempt to put it down again. “Has it even been released yet?”

“No, so don’t be writing any book reviews until after the end of next month.” You point a finger at him accusingly, to which it’s Jack’s turn to hold his hands out in surrender. 

After you see him out and say goodnight, you're left reeling with the realization of what you’ve done. You haven’t just given Jack a pre-release copy of your book. You’ve given him the book that is undoubtedly the most steamiest and unhinged novel you’ve written to date.

And he’s going to read it. He’s going to get an insight to your brain and the sex that your wild thoughts muster up. He’s going to have you in his mind when he gets to chapter 54 and the female main character is on her knees, choking on the first male main character's cock while the other is taking her from behind. 

Oh, fuck.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Jack can’t sleep. 

It’s midnight and his bed is calling his name, but he can’t sleep.

He escaped to the balcony an hour ago with a chamomile tea and the book you’d given him. In truth, he hasn’t been able to put it down since he opened it and read the dedication page. 

To the women that have only ever been told they’re too much or not enough, Niko and Az are my gift to you. Happy vibrations ;)

The dedication alone was enough to have his eyebrows and heart rate rising. But when he began the first chapter, he found himself entirely immersed. 

Jack can’t get enough of the way you write. The words flow together seamlessly on the pages, witty and flirty and playful in the most poetic and coherent way. Four chapters in, and he’s greedily skimming the pages to know more, to soak in the way your mind works, the way your heart beats for writing and creating.

Yet despite how descriptive and excellently you paint the scenes, all he can really think about is you. In the softness of your own home, the smile on your lips when he managed to make you laugh. Your teasing comments, and playful gaze.

Involuntarily, Jack’s eyes flit from the book up to the balcony across from his. Your curtains are still open, the door closed now but the kitchen light remains on. He watches the brief movements of you moving around inside; sitting at the island and typing, disappearing down the hall, sitting back at your makeshift workstation. 

The thought of texting you has crossed his mind more than Jack cares to admit. Now that he has your number, it’s easy and accessible to just… talk. 

He argues that he shouldn’t. It’s late and you’re working. But you are awake, and so is he. And he’s reading your book with so many thoughts and observations that he feels a need to be in some kind of contact with you. 

As if he’s getting to know your mind and soul through your work, your art. He watches you sit at the island again, rub a hand down your face.

Fuck it. 

Jack reaches for his phone and sends a text before he can really think twice about it. 

It’s not everyday I get sucked into a book after four chapters. I understand why you’re a bestseller. This rocks. 

He cringes at himself. This rocks? But the text is already sent and there’s not much he can do. By the time he puts the phone down, it’s already pinging with a reply. 

Just wait until you get to chapter seven. Never too old to learn something new LMAO

He grins at that. Can only imagine what he’s yet to experience if the dedication is anything to go by. The bubbles appear at the bottom of the screen again until it’s replaced with another text from you.

While I have you, Doctor… What's the best thing for constipation? 

Jack’s brows raise at the bluntness of your text. Another pings through quicker than he can blink.

For Phoebe, I mean. She’s been a bit uncomfortable so she came home earlier.

He considers the message with a frown. Jack knows it’s normal for children to have a preferred parent when they’re sick. But constipation is usually only discomfort. He can’t help but wonder why Phoebe wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to stay with her father. He supposes you’re her comfort, no matter the problem.

I can come over and check her out?

There's hesitation. A bubble of dots that appear and reappear. As if you're fighting yourself. 

I would actually really appreciate that, thank you!!

Do you have a callout rate? I can venmo you 💗 

Jack doesn’t dwell on the heart. You’re young, you’re bold. You only mean it in a friendly way. But he does make it clear in his final text that he has not and will never charge for doing what he is trained and qualified to do.

It’s fifteen minutes later that Jack’s got his leg back on, a first aid kit in his hand and knocking on your apartment front door. You answer in a similar manner as you did earlier; slightly wild eyes, messy hair and a tiredness that’s sitting deeper beneath your eyes as the night has gone on. 

You pull the door wide enough for him to enter, a flurry of, “Thank you. She’s in bed. She’s never been constipated before,” slipping from your lips as you guide Jack down the hall and toward Phoebe’s bedroom. 

He watches you tap on the doorframe, a gentle offer of privacy for the toddler. “Hey, baby. You have a special visitor.” 

Phoebe grumbles from her curled position in her toddler bed, but when she sees Jack peek his head into the doorway, she almost bursts out of bed. 

“Doctor Jack!” The shriek is loud enough to almost shatter an eardrum, but it only makes Jack grin wide at her. It’s been a while since anyone’s shown him that sort of excitement to be in his presence. 

“Hey, kid. Mommy said you’ve got a tummy ache?” He speaks softly as he slowly approaches her bed. 

Jack sits a bit awkwardly on the edge, knee protesting at the low angle but he manages and takes a split second to take in the decor of her room. 

It looks like Phoebe’s mind threw up. The walls are multicoloured; not pastel but not bright. She’s got her toddler bed against the wall by the door and opposite is a white teepee tent filled to the brim with stuffed animals. 

Her drawings are taped to the walls, a small kids vanity in one corner and a large toy box overspilling with dress-up outfits and two Nerf guns. There’s bookcases stuffed to the brim, pink dressers on either side of her closet and a One Direction poster above her bed.

Jack doesn’t quite know what to make of the girl's interior design choices. 

Phoebe nods with a pout. “I need to poop but it’s stuck. I think it’s a monster poop, Doctor Jack.”

Jack breathes out a laugh, keeps a fond smile on his face. He can feel you watching from the doorway that you lean against. 

“Hm, let’s see what we can do about this monster poop, then.”

Phoebe watches intently when he opens the first aid box and picks up a pair of blue gloves. She frowns, scrunching her little face up in what Jack can only assume is distaste. 

“I don’t have cooties, you know.” She states it like she’s offended. 

Jack stifles a laugh. “Oh, I know. But I have to wear gloves so I can check your tummy. Can you lift your shirt up a little bit for me, Diva?”

The frown morphs into a grin at the nickname and she nods, laying back against her pillow and tugging her shirt up to expose her tubby little belly. 

Jack feels around her abdomen softly, searching for anything abnormal. Her stomach is slightly harder than it should be, but it doesn’t seem to cause her anything but mild discomfort when he presses down on her skin. 

“What are her eating habits like, Mom?” 

You blink when you realize he’s speaking to you and push off the doorway to move closer, forcing yourself out of the daze you had found yourself in.

“Oh, you know. If she had it her way it would just be cake and pasta forever. I have to sneak veggies into her meals most of the time, homemade fruit smoothies…” Your voice drifts off into something quieter, like you don’t want Phoebe to know you’ve betrayed her. 

Jack hums, feeling at the toddler's sides. “Does she drink sodas or anything like that?” 

Phoebe shakes her head before you can answer. “They rot your teeth! I only like water, milk and sometimes mommy’s smoothies.” 

Jack grins, pleased with her answer and turns back to the first aid kit to dispose of the blue gloves. He reaches for the hem of Phoebe’s shirt and pulls it back down to cover her tummy again. 

“What did you eat and drink at your daddy’s?” 

She makes a sheepish look at you. “Daddy gave me candy…and those chocolate milkshakes that you don’t let me have.” 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Of course he did.” 

Jack notices the annoyance in your body language immediately. “If they’re not foods she usually has, it’s not uncommon for it to cause a little constipation. Do you have any prunes?” 

You blink, brows knitting. “Um, yes, actually.” 

“Try her with two prunes and a glass of water. Hopefully it’ll get things moving by morning.” 

You nod, loosing a breath and running a hand over your face. If you weren’t already pissed at Tom for constantly letting Phoebe down with visits, you most certainly are now that he’s fucked with her bowel movements. 

Jack waves you off as you excuse yourself to grab some water and prunes, and takes the moment to turn back to Phoebe with a playfully somber expression.

“I don’t know if your mom told you, but I bumped into her in the hall earlier and I accidentally took your wallet to work today instead of mine.” 

Her eyes widen, a giggle falling from her lips. “That’s silly.” 

He hums, stretching his prosthetic out. “Yeah, now all the doctors are calling me a diva!” 

She laughs at that, harder than he’s heard before. A giggle that’s made of pure happiness and sunshine and Jack finds himself realizing that he should’ve fought harder for a child of his own.

“Mommy says we’re all divas deep down.”

He grins, tries to mask the ache that’s beginning to wedge itself back in that crevice in his heart. “Yeah, guess your mom’s right about a few things, huh.” 

You re-enter the room with a grin of your own as you hand Phoebe a small plastic dish with two prunes and a cup of water. 

“See, Pheebs. Doctor Jack says Mommy is always right.”

She grimaces when she eats the fruit but doesn’t put up much of a fight under Jack's gaze. You have to stifle your own laugh at it. Like she's cursing her new favorite person with just a look. Phoebe animatedly juts her arm out for you to take the offensive dish from her and replace it with the water, which she guzzles down to try and rid herself the taste of the prunes. 

“It’s better now!” she declares and Jack has to look away to hide his laughter. 

You’re better than him, already mastered the art of suppressing your emotions for the sake of your child and when Jack stands with a grunt, you take his place on Phoebe’s bed to tuck her in. 

“Alright, Diva. Bed time for real now, okay?” Your tone isn’t stern but it doesn’t exactly hold any room for argument. 

Phoebe huffs as she gets comfortable, reaching for her whale stuffy as she blinks at you. “Can Jack stay for song time with Mr Grasshopper?”

He doesn’t question why the whale is named a grasshopper, something he’s starting to learn not to do when it comes to Phoebe. But he nods, remains just by the door as you pull the covers up to her chin and kiss her forehead. 

“What song would you like tonight?”

Phoebe hums, pretends that she’s thinking about it before ultimately deciding on one of her favorite bedtime songs. “The all night long one, mama.”

Jack thinks he’s unfamiliar with all kinds of lullabies. Until you begin to gently sing a familiar tune to her and he quickly realizes that it is in fact not a lullaby and is instead You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC.

It takes absolutely every ounce of self control that Jack possesses to not bark out an obnoxious laugh at the sight before him. Because despite how amusing he finds it, she's drifting into a state of sleep before you’re a minute in. 

“Night, bestie.” You whisper as you press a ghost of a kiss to her forehead and slowly stand from her bed. 

Phoebe makes a noise that’s a mix of a sigh and a snore, gripping Mr Grasshopper tighter to her chest as she mumbles a muffled “night night, divas,” when you’re sneaking out of her room. 

The moment the door closes and your eyes meet Jack’s, there’s a silent agreement that it’s acceptable to laugh at what Jack has just had the pleasure of experiencing. 

“I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve heard a three year old ask for AC/DC as a lullaby.” Jack chuckles as you lead him back down the hall. 

Heat licks at your cheeks. “What can I say, she’s got my music taste.” 

Jack dips his head as he grins. “Well, it could be worse. She could like screaming music.” 

You throw your head back at the joke, the opinion that Phoebe made very clear when she first met Jack two weeks ago. You’re shocked he even remembers that. 

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping but I get the vibe you don’t get along with her dad very much.” 

You laugh again but it dwindles into a groan. “Is it that obvious?” 

“Not to her.” He reassures. 

You sigh on a heavy breath, a look of annoyance and exasperation at the very mention of him. “He’s just a… douche. When we first got together I thought his cockiness was… I don’t know— attractive I guess? Then he got controlling and way too egotistical. He knocked me up when I was twenty-three. Told me he didn’t want a kid, disappeared. Came back when he realised I’d made something for myself, had a career.” 

Jack almost bristles at how casually you summarise it. Like it’s something you’ve just had to get on with and tolerate. It rubs him the wrong way.

“And now?” He knows it’s not his place but he can’t help the slip of the question. 

He watches you chew on the inside of your cheek, notices the way you roll out the tension in your shoulders like agitation is beginning to fester there. “He picks and chooses when it’s convenient for him to see Phoebe. There’s no fatherly bone in his body, not really. He treats her like an inconvenience. But when he does show up, he acts like the fun parent that gives her whatever she wants.”

Jack’s cheek twitches. He would’ve given anything to have been a father, to have had a child of his own with his wife. Men like that make Jack angry. 

“She’ll learn for herself when she gets older. Who was actually there for her, who wasn’t.” He offers the same statement your parents have done for years. You know it’s only meant to be comforting, but it does nothing to make anything better. 

“Yeah, but I don’t want that for her. You know? She’s an amazing kid. Just wish I could protect her from it forever.”

It’s something you’ve admitted out loud several times and the statement never feels any less loaded than the time before. Phoebe does deserve better. 

When you reach the kitchen and catch sight of the darkness outside, you remember just how late it is and how tired Jack must be and Tom is out of your mind as quickly as he was placed there. 

“Thank you, Jack. And I’m so sorry for this. Please apologize to your wife for me.” 

You don’t miss the way he falters for a brief moment, how something akin to pain flashes across his usually warm eyes. You watch in real time as his shoulders stiffen, when he instinctively reaches for his ring and blinks down at it. 

Jack swallows, finds himself realizing that you’ve noticed something he often forgets about. For a split second, he wonders if you might’ve seen the photo of his wife when you rummaged through his wallet for a way to contact him. 

“Oh,” He almost chokes on his word, twisting the silver band before he forces himself to stuff his hand into his pocket, the other gripping the first-aid kit. “No, that’s— she’s—she passed. Six years ago.” 

Horror slams into like a freight train. Your lips part, eyes widen and you’re suddenly cursing every God and deity for your stupidly big mouth and stupidity. “Jack…I am so sorry! I just—your ring— I assumed—“ 

“Hey, no.” He waves a hand to cut you off, stuffing it back into his pocket. “It’s fine. It’s okay. I still wear it, so… what’s anyone supposed to think.” 

You watch him softly, the stiffness that remains in his shoulders at the topic of conversation. It burns you a bit, that you’ve caused him such discomfort. You know the feeling all too well. When you’re caught out and have no choice but to explain something you’d rather keep close to your heart and bury away from the rest of the world.

Maybe it’s the understanding of the fact that has you reaching into the collar of your shirt to pinch at the silver chain you keep around your neck. Jack’s gaze follows the movement, and when the light catches on the small diamond ring that dangles from the silver, his lips part in a minute way. 

“I was engaged before I had Phoebe.” You explain gently, that heaviness that he likely feels now making its way into your own heart. “Not to her dad, but someone else. We were far too young for rings but he—he passed, hit by a drunk driver. I still wear mine too.” 

Jack’s shoulders sink as he hears the steady shakiness of your voice; how it holds firm but it’s your tone that wavers just slightly. He finds himself swallowing thickly, huffing out a sigh but selfishly relishing in the fact that you understand the pain of it. 

He doesn’t offer an apology. If he’s sick of hearing it, he can only assume that you are too. Because sorry doesn’t bring them back. Sorry doesn’t erase the pain. Sorry is just a way to express pity. And Jack doesn’t want pity. Neither do you, he knows that’s not why you told him. 

“It doesn’t get easier with time, does it.” 

It’s not a question, rather an observation. Jack can only guess you’ve experienced your loss for around the same amount of time that he has. And while your situations may be a bit different—one being a young engagement and the other being a solidified marriage—it’s pain all the same. 

When you offer a shrug, it’s not as unbothered as it might usually seem. It’s heavy and laden with grief that refuses to leave you. It doesn’t haunt, just lingers. In the crevices of your skin, in the hollow of your bones, in the shadows of your memories.

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time just lets you grow around them.” 

Jack festers on your words, something too deep and familiar within them. As he watches you tuck the ring back into your shirt, he lets your statement ricochet off the confinements of his mind. No part of his grief has healed, but he has grown. He’s learned to live life again without Moira, learned to find joy and love in the simplicities of life. 

Keeping her in his heart doesn’t make him stuck in the past. He’s honoring her and the life they had, just like you are with your lost love. Because despite the loss, you’re both still living. Growing and learning and loving in whatever capacity that you can. 

For the first time since he lost his wife, Jack doesn’t feel so alone in his grief anymore. 

Neither do you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART

Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!

OKAY, I am eager to hear your thoughts and what we think about Phoebe's very loud personality and her growing attachment to Jack!! I have the most fun writing her little scenes and I promise she will only get bolder and sassier!! Also I felt like the final conversation between reader and Jack is SUPER integral to their relationship. They've both experienced a profound loss and I think it's so important and healthy for them to acknowledge it both separately and together, even as early as now </3

Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!

tags part one: @gennywennypenny / @thefemininemystiquee / @mrsjgbuck / @linnyalou / @rathatosy

@averyhotchner / @blackirisesinthesunlight / @vicky066 / @amacphet / @gaypoetsblog 

@littlewolfbird / @woodxtock / @myescapefromthislife / @freakedtfout4 / @whatyagottado 

@kaitieskidmore97 / @what-the-jams / @ryannnleigh / @freshouttheslammmer / @theaskeeps

@whimsilverhand / @yiiiikesmish / @kacananda / @solastasims / @stardustdd 

@cestmoijola / @xh444 / @venus584 / @celestialceremonials / @jordz34

@milflover-72 / @melissa66orion / @peaches-and-sunshine / @profoundbelieverpeach / @maya-j0y

A few months after you had gotten married, you had gotten pregnant. While at work you weren't feeling well. One second you were walking down the hall then the next you were on the floor surrounded by your colleagues. You had fainted.

You spent the next hour in the ER. Jack stayed by your side as you listed off your symptoms to Ellis. She looks between the two of you and sighs, "Alright, before we do a CT and such." She sets a sample cup on the bed next to you, "We gotta rule out pregnancy."

You make faces as you seem to have a conversation in your head about it. Then you turn to Jack, "That could be the case."

And it very much was. 6 weeks marked on the day of your dizzy spell.

Now you were well into your 3rd trimester. You had learned, you were having a little boy and put Jack to work thinking of names. You had your own in mine of course but you wanted hear what ideas he had. Miracle was excited to have a younger brother. She helped Jack decorate the spare bedroom and picked out some plushies for the baby.

Your doctor assured you there were no signs of preeclampsia and you were fine to continue working. You were happy to do so as you knew the movement would help with labor later on. It was safe to say that this pregnancy was smooth sailing.

"What name has the missus come up with?" Lena asks

"Hers are way better than mine." He grumbles, "De Angelo is one…"

"Damn that is better yours." Ellis blurts out.

"And the other one was Zeno." He glares at her.

"She's got you beat." Ellis shakes her head, "And you said she asked you to come up with names?"

"So we could compare." He throws the pad on the desk.

"And all you got was David?"

"She shot down my other ones before I left for work."

"Then maybe we should just pick from hers." Lena suggests.

"I vote DeAngelo." Ellis stands up and goes to a patient.

"I like Zeno. Not many Z names out there." Lena grins then walks away.

Abbot picks up his tablet with a sigh and goes to work on a few more patients.

5:00AM

Jack stares at the notepad again when he hears, "Daddy!"

Young Miracle runs over to the desk holding a stuffed duffel bag.

"Hey, what are you doing here? How did you get here?" He looks to the ambulance bay doors.

"The ambulance. Mommy is having… contractions?"

As if on cue, you come in being pushed by a paramedic in a wheelchair. "Hi." You wince, "I would have called but I needed to get everything.

"That's okay. How are you feeling right now?" He helps you transfer from the ambulance chair to the hospital one.

"I'm okay. The contractions were just getting frequent. Oh god." You whimper.

"Okay, that's fine. Let's go up to L & D. Miracle, are you okay staying down in here?"

"Yes!" She hands the duffel bag to him and his kisses her forehead. She runs back to the desk.

"She's in good hands, Abbot. Congratulations you two." Lena smiles as the two of you continue to the elevator.

In the elevator, you ask, "Nervous?"

"Not much."

"I can tell you are white knuckling the chair right now." You look over your shoulder.

He loosens his grip, "Okay, I might be a little nervous."

"It's gonna be okay." You pat his hand, "He's okay, I'm okay. We are okay." You groan a little at the last comment.

"How's the pain?" He asks.

"Just uncomfortable right now." You take a few breaths like you were drinking through a straw.

You arrive to the Labor and Delivery floor and are greeted by one of the nurses. "Good morning! We've been expecting you, Nurse Abbot." She beams. "How are you doing?"

"Good. Contractions are just close together." You take a breath.

"Great, lets get you in a room and comfortable so we can check you out."

Downstairs, Miracle draws at the nurse's stations. "You excited to be a big sister, Miracle?" Lena asks.

"Yes!" She smiles.

"You're not going to get jealous, are you?" Ellis asks.

"No. Mommy told me babies need a lot of attention but that doesn't me they love me less." She recalls the conversation.

You weren't far along, only 3 months when you spoke to her about it. You sat with her on the couch watching TV as you played with her hair. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" You ask her.

"A girl!" She turns to rub your belly.

"But you're okay if it's not a girl too, right?"

"Mhm. As long as the baby is happy and healthy."

"Did Daddy speak to you about that?"

She nods.

"Well, I have something to say too." You scoot her closer so you're belly to belly. "Babies are hard work and need a lot of attention when they're small."

"Was I hard work?"

"Yes you were. You needed a lot of attention because you were so little. So, there will be times when Mommy and Daddy won't give you attention because the baby is crying. They can't tell us what's wrong like you and I can. When a baby is hungry they cry. When they're tired they cry. And when they poop they…"

"Cry!" She says. "I won't be a green monster."

"Good. Mommy needs a little helper instead. Could you do that for me?"

"Yes! I can."

"Such a good little girl." You kiss her forehead, "I want you to know that I love you so much and nothing will change that. You won't get less love from me, instead Mommy's heart gets bigger for more room."

"Like when you married Daddy. My heart grew bigger for him."

"That's right." You hug her.

"I love you . And you too little baby."

6:00AM

"I hate you." You swallow a breath, "I hate what you've done to me."

"I know, I'm sorry." Jack dabs the sweat from your forehead. Within the hour you started to sweat profusely and with every position you put yourself in you felt worse.

You were now in active labor and hating every minute of it. It wasn't like this for Miracle. One second you were round and laying on your back and the next you were in a different room and your baby was missing. You didn't feel a thing. This was new for you and you hated every minute of it.

"Can't they just like yank him out right now?" You whine.

"You're not there yet. You're cervix is only dilated a few centimeters. Doing that would hurt you and the baby."

"I know that." You whimper, "I need you to not be in doctor mode right now and comfort me."

"I know, I'm sorry." He caresses your face, "They're getting you drugs right now, if that makes you feel better."

"Drug?"

"Mhm, the epidural is on its way." He smiles

"Yay," You let out an exasperated sigh and clench your eyes shut, "I need them to hurry."

7:00AM

"Okay Ima say DeAngelo at 8:45" Donnie holds out $20 to Ahmad.

"Zeno at 8:45," Ahmad adds his own.

The day shift had now arrived to work and received word of your admission to L&D. The baby pool has started among them.

"Jesus, you two amateurs?" Dana walks up with $10, "Put me down for DeAngelo at 10:15."

"Zeno, 10:56." Robby holds $40.

"You're cheating, you were at there house almost everyday. You know the baby's name already."

"I do not. She has been very indecisive." He shrugs, "I know nothing."

The whiteboard fills up with colored sticky notes with the two names DeAngelo and Zeno. "Keep in mind, party people, half the pool goes to a baby gift for the couple on behalf of the emergency department." Dana announces.

"Can I guess too?" Miracle holds up a $5 bill.

"Sure, what name do you think they're going to pick?" Ahmad squats to her eye level.

"DeAngelo."

"And what time?"

"11:25." She smiles.

"Alright, now we'll just wait and see." He takes her bill and puts her note on the board.

She skips back to the nurse's station. "Hey Little Miss, just because your out of school doesn't mean it's your day off." Dana puts her hands on her hips, "Let's get to work, c'mon."

"Yes, Miss Dana." Miracle follows Dana to be put to work.

8:00AM

The epidural has kicked and you had calmed down. A lot. "Man, what was I complaining about? That wasn't so bad." You smile.

"Nothing has happened yet." Jack chuckles.

"Oh. I feel like he just fell out."

"Nope. Do you feel the urge to push?"

"Not yet. I don't feel anything."

"That is a completely normal reaction to the epidural. You'll feel slight discomfort when your contractions come but it shouldn't be like before."

"Okay, yeah this feels like when it first started." You take a breath, "Sorry for saying I hate you. I don't hate you."

"I know, just breathe, Baby."

"I love you." You hold his face.

"I love you too." He kisses you gently.

"I wonder what Miracle is doing." You munch on some ice chips.

"Not getting into trouble down there, I hope. The older she gets the more worried I feel with her down here." Jack shudders.

"She's not that big of a troublemaker now. She's smarter."

"Exactly."

9:00AM

Miracle sits in the cab of an ambulance as paramedics show her the ins and outs of the truck. "Wow!" She hits the lights and sirens startling a few of the medics outside. A paramedic cuts it off as they laugh and helps her out of the cab.

"Having fun, Miracle?" Whitaker and Langdon come jogging out in gloves, smocks and glasses.

"So much fun! I think I like day time more than night time here." She jumps around, "What are you wearing?"

"This is to keep up from getting dirty." Langdon explains, "Hey, I think Dana has breakfast for you in the break room. Why don't you head inside?"

"Okay." She skips inside but slows down once inside. A couple seconds later, they enter with a man on a gurney. They're saying things, Miracle can't quite understand. They enter the big window room. It reminds her of the first time she came during the day.

She wanted a closer look but she knew Dana was waiting for her in the break room. She turns back in the opposite direction and heads there where Dana sits with a small container of cereal for her.

"Are you excited for the new baby?" Dana asks.

"I can't wait to see him," Miracle starts to eat.

"You'll be a good big sister, I know it." Dana pinches her cheek.

"I hope so." She slows down her chewing and fiddles with her fingers.

"Nervous?"

"A happy scared. Last time my mommy was pregnant it was scary for her."

"That was with you, right?"

"Mhm, She was really scared." Miracle recalls the story in her mind, "It's how I got my name."

"Really? I don't think I've heard how you got your name. Could you tell me?

"I can! When my mommy was pregnant with me, she was very sick with preeclampsia…"

10:00AM

"Alright, hun, on your next contraction we need you to push." The nurse stands beside with Jack on the other side. When you feel the contraction come, you do your best to push.

"Is he out?" You pant.

"Not yet, you're doing good." Jack holds your hand.

You throw your head back in defeat.

"It's okay, Mama." The nurse assures you, "Just rest, try not to tire yourself out okay. Your contractions have slowed for these kinds of breaks but you're doing fine."

You sigh, "I just want it to be over already."

"Think positive." Jack kisses your forehead.

"Think positive…" You smile, "I want you to barbecue when I'm discharged."

"Oh." Jack chuckles,

"You grill, Dr. Abbot?" The nurse tilts her head.

"Just a little."

"He's the best! Everyone loves it."

"Mm, you'll have to send some our way for a taste."

"Absolutely, it's the best." You look at him, with tired eyes and a sheen of sweat on your face, "He's the best."

"Alright, Honey, That's positive enough." He wipes your face and neck, "You look so pretty."

"Liar." You turn away as you feel another contraction coming.

11:00AM

Miracle sits at the nurse's station practicing her writing when out from the Trauma Room, she sees the residents looking defeated. In her mind, She knew something was wrong but she didn't know what. As they all exit and are distracted, Miracle gets up and sneaks into the room.

Inside, is a person on a gurney under a white sheet. It must have been the man they brought in from before. She can see blood seeping through the sheet. She steps closer to the gurney and grabs the sheet to look underneath.

"Miracle!" Robby's harsh tone startles her away. She clasps her hands behind her back. "What are you doing in here?"

"Is he dead?" Her attention is still on the body.

Robby looks to the gurney then back at Miracle, "Uh, yes, he didn't make it." He turns her to face him, "We did everything we could."

"But doctors help people get better."

"We do but sometimes people are too sick to help. We try our hardest to make them better but sometimes they get too sick quickly and we can't do much to help."

Miracle looks to the gurney, "What happens now?"

"Well, we will check to see if he has any family and call them so they can come and see him." Robby takes her hand and leads her out of the room, "The nurses will clean him up and take him to a quiet room so his family can be with him in peace."

"Where will he go?"

"It's a small room just by the—"

"No, when we die, where do we go?"

Robby sucks in a breath, "I don't think we should think about that. Your little brother is being born today."

"Were me and Mommy like that when she was sick," Her mind still on the topic, "Could we have died?"

"Okay, Miracle." He picks her up and sits her on a chair then grabs another to sit. "Being sick like that was very scary for you and your mommy. But the doctors and nurses, your mommy and you fought really hard so you could live."

"Even me?"

"Especially you. It's how you got your name right. You're your mommy's Little Miracle."

She nods, "I am."

"I can't answer where we go when we die but I will say you won't be alone. You'll be with your mommy and your daddy, and now your little brother."

"And you?"

"And me?! You want me there too?" He kisses her cheek, "I'll be there if you want me and anybody else you want. We are beside you always, Miracle."

Just then, a L&D nurse comes to the station, "I'm looking for Dr. Robby and Miracle Abbot?"

"Right here," He smiles.

"Hello little one, your mommy has been asking for you. You want to see your little brother?" The nurse smiles at Miracle.

"How'd it go?" Dana comes over.

"A healthy baby boy, 7 pounds 8 ounces. The labor was just tiresome for mama."

"Can we get the name and time?" Ahmad comes over.

"Dr. Abbot said you guys might ask. Baby DeAngelo—" Half the room whoops in excitement "—was born at 11:25 on the dot."

"Who won?" Someone asks.

"Miracle did." Ahmad looks at the board. "She just won $500."

"Wow, Panda you won!" Robby looks at her impressed.

"I did?! I did!" She throws her hands up.

"Alright, let's go up to see Mommy and the new baby." Robby takes her to the elevator up to Labor and Delivery.

In your room, you hold baby DeAngelo swaddled tight. Jack looks at the two of you. You look up at him, "He's beautiful. He looks like Miracle when she was born." You graze a finger over the baby's lips.

Just then Miracle comes into the room, "Hi, Mommy." She whispers. "Hi Daddy." She runs over to Jack and hugs his side. He picks her up.

"Hi Princess, look who it is." He points to the baby.

"He's so little." She whispers.

"Just imagine, when you were born you were even smaller." You smile at her.

"I was?"

"Mhm, My Little Miracle." You boop her nose.

"Did you have a fun day in The Pitt?" Jack asks.

"Mhm." She lays on his shoulder, "It's a lot of hard work.

"It is. You must be tired, you've been up early." He sets her down on the couch.

"She basically worked an 8 hour shift." You laugh, "Do you want to hold DeAngelo?"

"Yes!"

Jack takes him from you and sits down beside Miracle. "Hold your hands out like you're holding a big pizza." She holds her hands like he says and he guides DeAngelo into her arms. He helps her hold him as the baby fusses. Her eyes widen as she watches him and a smile grows on her face.

"I love him, mommy."

"He love you too."

After a bit, there's a knock on the door. "Hey there, Beautiful." Robby comes in with a bouquet of flowers.

"Oh thank you, Robby," You smile at the flowers.

"Anything for you before the attention is on the baby." He kisses your cheek, "Now, where's the little guy?"

He looks over to find Jack holding him with Miracle asleep beside him. "Look at him. Never in my life would I imagine this. Hopefully he gets his looks from his mom, eh?"

"She begs to differ," Jack shoots back.

"Just a little." You say.

Robby chuckles, "Oh by the way your daughter won you guys $500 in the baby pool."

"What?" You blink.

"She guessed the name and time exactly." He explains, "The only person to do that."

"She's just special like that." You look at your little family as they sit. If it weren't for her sneaking away, you wouldn't have any of this. You would have never met Jack. You'd still be hiding away from the world out of fear. You had hoped to give her a happier life and she gave you one in return. A husband devoted to you, friends who love and care for you, and a family you were happy to come home to.

Jack looks at you and smiles. As if he knew what you were thinking he says, "I love you." You smile in return. As the earlier events catch up to you, you feel your lids grow heavy, "Just relax, we'll be here." He gets up and kisses your forehead, "We aren't going anywhere."

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

"And Chiara is looking for potential foster home." Yeah, there's no putting out that flame again. It's there and burning brightly. Especially when you can hear Jack's equally hopefully voice.

"You said yes, right?" You blurt out immediately.

"Wanted to check in with you first, angel. But I'm guessing you are okay with it?" Jack chuckles as you squeal out an eager 'yes'.

"Okay, okay, sweetheart. We can come get her tomorrow. She's gonna stay in pedes overnight just to be sure she is okay." Jack explains, and you nod to yourself, already thinking about how much stuff you need to go buy.

"I'll meet you after your shift, and we can go get her together?"

"Yes, sweetheart. That'll be perfect. I-I have a really good feeling about this. It feels like she might be our baby." Jack sounds choked up as he speaks, and your eyes instantly water, too.

"I really hope so, Jack. I don't think I'll be okay if it doesn't work out again." You mumble out quietly, you don't want to cry and make him worry over the phone.

"It will be great. I know it. Listen, angel, I gotta go. I love you and I'll see you in the morning." You hear people shouting in the background so you know that he's needed.

"I'll see you soon. I love you too, handsome. Don't forget to eat." You hang up the phone, and pull out the delivery app.

Your card hates to see you coming when it comes to shopping for baby stuff. Even if you just get to foster her, she deserves to be spoiled nevertheless.

-

Both of your faces are practically tear-streaked as you hold the babygirl in your arms. You would probably fully ugly cry if it wasn't for Chiara standing in the room with you.

"As I said. It's looking perfect for you guys. The person from child services said that you can foster for a few weeks just to see how you'll do. But they also said that there shouldn't be any problems with adopting. You guys look great, stable jobs, you are committed and good-hearted people,  we can all vouch for you two."

"Thank you, Chiara." Jack says for the both of you. She nods with a happy smile and leaves you to your new little family.

"Jack, she's so perfect." You whisper as you rock her in your arms. Jack has one arm around your middle, and the second one is cradling babygirl's head.

"She has your nose." Jack says just to earn a smile from you, he hates to see you cry even if they are happy tears.

"You're ridiculous." You shake your head at him, giving him the big smile he wanted to see. He feels so overwhelmed himself that the only thing he can do is lean in and give you a kiss.

"Ready to go home, angel?" His hand travels up from your back and settles on your cheek, wiping the wetness away.

"So ready." You say quietly, heart almost bursting from the amount of love that is racing through you.

You put the baby in car seat and head home together. Hands interlaced, smiles big and hearts full. Little baby Abbot is going to be the most spoiled baby ever.