because you consume me

Dr. Jack Abbot. Night shift attending in the ED. He had interrupted one of your evening meals, and seemed put out when he found his spot already taken. His annoyance seemed to fade when you offered him a home made cookie. After that, you found yourself cooking for two. 

***

“You know, you can just tell me what you want to eat and I’ll make it” you said, handing him the Tupperware container full of pasta salad. 

“You’re not my personal chef, green beans. Besides, I like the surprise” Jack said, taking the plastic tub, his fingers brushing yours. 

“Suit yourself” you murmured, but couldn’t help the tiny smile that bloomed when you heard your newest nickname. Every night you saw him, you got a new one to add to your list. 

“Thanks, peanut”

“What you got tonight, tiramisu?”

“Not bad, apple pie”

You munched on your food quietly, looking out at the darkening Pittsburgh skyline. You and Jack worked different shifts; you were ending your day while he was starting his, but you never minded staying an extra hour or two if it meant you got to watch the sunset with him. 

“You never thought of culinary school?” Jack asked after a moment.

“At one point, I guess. But it’s so stressful. Like, ‘The Bear’ or something” you said, shrugging slightly. 

Jack looked over at you, the red glow of the evening dusting his salt and pepper hair with copper. His silence told you everything; he had no clue what you were talking about. 

“The Bear. You’ve never seen it? It’s a show about a restaurant and the main guy is like- super stressed and… just watch it, Jack. First season is good” you said, trying to keep your amusement off your face. 

“You say it like this isn’t super stressful” Jack said, motioning down to the hospital below them. 

“Well, I mean… it is. But, I know what I’m doing” you said, shrugging again.

“You’re one confident doctor” he smirked, enjoying your nonchalance. 

“Oh, like you’re not? I know what they call you down there, cowboy” you laughed quietly. 

“So you’d be a confident chef too” he said, nodding quickly. 

“The second someone sent back a plate, I’d lock myself in the freezer. At least if you don’t like something, you’ve never said it” you snorted, glancing down at his mostly finished container. 

“You’ve never made anything I don’t like. Your cooking is the best” Jack said quietly, his voice low and gruff as usual. 

“You’re sweet” you murmured, and looked back at the skyline, hoping that the slowly growing orange dusk disguised the flush rising to your face.. 

A silence fell over you both as you both finished up your meals. Jack always tucked everything back into your little reusable grocery bag neatly, and that night was no exception. Again, your fingers brushed as he took your container from you. 

“You gonna watch that with me then?” Jack asked after a long moment. 

You look over, a bit surprised. But he’s looking right back at you, his gaze steady. 

“You want to watch The Bear with me?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, green beans. And then we can go out for a dinner you don’t have to cook” he continued, still looking at you seriously. 

You paused, blinking quickly. Was Jack asking you out? For real? 

“Now, don’t think I’m being a creepy old man-” he began, huffing quietly, his eyebrows quirking up. 

“No, no I don’t think that at all- that sounds good. Sorry, I was just surprised-” you said quickly, feeling your heart rate spiking in your chest. 

Jack scoffed quietly and looked back at the skyline for a moment before looking back at you. 

“I’m not that old, I know what a Netflix and chill is, and this isn’t it-”

“What?” You laughed suddenly, taken aback.

“Yeah, I know. You put on a show and invite a girl over- but I’m a grown man, we can go out for dinner because I like you, green beans, and I’d like to do this properly-” he said. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a buoyancy fill you as you took in his words.

“I like you, green beans” 

Jack frowned at you, as if offended by your laughter. 

“I’d love to watch The Bear and go to dinner with you” you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. You turned back to the view, still feeling the warmth of your blush on your face. 

“Alright then, we’ll go. Figure out our schedules” Jack said, looking out at the view as well. 

“God, lookin’ at me like I spit out your food” he mumbles after a moment, shrugging slightly.

“I was just surprised, I told you” you said, a quiet chuckle leaving you.

“I don’t know how. I wasn’t climbing these stairs every night just for dinner, I like hanging out with you too, you know-” Jack continued, his eyebrows raising again.

“I know, I know, I like hanging out with you too” you said reassuringly. 

A brief silence fell over you again. Comfortable, like usual between the two of you. 

“You know, it’s not even on Netflix. It’s on Disney” you quipped. 

Trinity rolls her eyes, standing up from her seat as she starts tugging on your arm as well, while Victoria nervously glances around the bar, trying not to get kicked out because you’ve had too much to drink.

You stand up abruptly, faster than a drunk person should be able to move, which sends them tumbling into each other. Chugging down the rest of your drink, the dayshifters can only watch in horror as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand– a loopy grin forming on your face.

"Whadd’ya say this is called? Blue Lagoon? Get me anotha’ round of ‘em– for the ‘lot!” you exclaim, and Mel quickly shoots a glance at the bartender, shaking her head as she does a cutting motion with her hand.

“No, no– she- she doesn't mean that!”

“Yup, I defffinitely do– mmph!” A hand clamps over your mouth before you can continue bankrupting yourself at 10 PM on a Tuesday. Blinking, you’re met with Dennis’ sweaty face, a painful smile forced onto his face.

Of course, staying silent while a hand is physically blocking your mouth is only optional. 

Licking his palm, you sigh in content when he finally lets go.

Dennis jerks his hand back, eyes widening in horror at the slick trail of saliva now streaked across it.

“Oh what the fu–”

“I wanna’ dance,” you garble, stumbling on your feet as you shake off the hands gripping your frame.

“Absolutely not,” Trinity snaps immediately, already bracing herself as you attempt a very ambitious spin that ends in you nearly concussing yourself and her.

You pout, swaying awkwardly as you roll your eyes dramatically.

“But I feel the music!” you exclaim, and do a…shimmy?

“There’s literally no music playing,” Victoria mutters quietly, shrugging when Samira shoves her shoulder lightly. “What? It’s true, I mean– it’s a Tuesday– who gets blackout drunk on a–”

“Well…she did say she’s been having a rough week at work,” Mel softly interrupts, a gentle frown on her face as she watches Trinity wrestle yet another drink you’ve magically gotten, out of your hands.

Victoria grows silent, a slight regretful look on her face. 

Though whatever apology you might have gotten is long forgotten when you start doing the robot.

“There’s music in my bones– c’mon fruitcake, dance with me!” you holler, and Dennis sinks further into the wall, unable to watch anymore. 

He needed to look away if he wanted to be able to give you a semblance of respect tomorrow.

Samira sighs, giving you a pitiful smile.

“New plan– how about we head home, honey?” she speaks as gently as she can, slowly lowering your flailing arms, trying to preserve some of your dignity.

“No!” you gasp like she was suggesting something criminal, “We just got here–”

“No, we just got here– you’ve been here since 7 PM,” Trinity mutters, already reaching for your bag.

You can feel her irritation, despite the overflow of alcohol in your system right now.

Suddenly– you halt– slumping back in your chair as your lower lip wobbles, pathetic sniffles escaping you.

A collective, panicked rambling ensues, trying to prevent a drunken disaster.

“Oh no–”

“Hey, come on– you’re fine!”

“We– we were just joking–” Samira rushes, immediately crouching in front of you, hands cupping your face as your expression crumples further.

Your eyes glass over, lashes clumping together as your breathing hitches– dramatic and shaky, a complete overreaction.

“No you weren’t,” you mumble while shaking your head adamantly, voice thick. “You guys hate me!”

“We do not hate you,” Trinity says quickly, crouching beside you now too, her usual bite completely gone. “You’re just like, really drunk,”

“And kind of embarrassing,” Victoria adds quickly, before shrugging helplessly at the glares she receives “...But like, in a cute way!” she amends weakly.

That does not help.

A sob wracks through your body, and Mel looks about three seconds away from getting an Uber home and spending the entire ride looking at lava lamps. 

“I– I just–” you whimper, breath catching in your throat, “I’ve had a bad week–”

Dennis exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face before stepping closer. “Yeah, we know–”

You shake your head again, sniffing loudly.

“No– everyone keeps, like, leaving mid-conversation, or saying they’ll text and then not texting and– and I think this one guy blocked me before I even finished writing–” you babble, hiccuping in between words. 

“Honey, that’s not on you,” Samira quickly responds, her patient satisfaction skills working overtime. “They’re idiots– you’re a total catch!”

Despite your tear streaked face and bloodshot eyes– with mascara running down your face and your sorry attempt of reapplying your lipstick smudged way past the lines of your lips–  a soft, hopeful smile wobbles onto your face.

“Really?”

The four remaining dayshifters quickly perk up at the glare Samira, once again, sends them over her shoulder, a chorus of agreements suddenly being heard.

“Of course!”

“You’re, like, super smart too–”

“Y-yes, you’re a stunner!”

“Beautiful, honestly–”

You sniff, eyes darting between them like you’re trying to decide if they’re lying or telling the truth. Not that you would be able to tell anyways.

“…You’re not just saying that?” you ask, voice small, hesitant in a way that makes all of them soften instantly, despite the one man circus you’ve been running for the past few hours.

“Of course not!” Samira reassures, wiping the makeup smudging under your eyes. The rest of the group nods adamantly, Mel reaching for your bag, while Victoria grabbed your jacket, Trinity and Dennis already taking hold of each of your arms

You squirm out of their grip, stumbling on your feet.

“Okay…we can go, I just– I really need to pee…” you swallow thickly, wiping the snot from your nose.

Once they see the queasy look on your face and the drops of sweat forming on your forehead, they stop fussing– keeping you at arms length while they lead you towards the bathroom in the back.

“Are you sure you’re okay in there?”

You hear Mel call out, though slightly muffled from the door you slammed shut in your hunt to find the nearest toilet to spill your guts into.

“Mmph– m’fine–” you manage to force out, before another wave of nausea washes over you, forcing your head back into the toilet bowl.

You hear the footsteps retreating over the sound of your heart beating in your ears, and end up slumping against the cool tile wall, sitting on the disgusting bathroom floor.

Groaning, you weakly tug on your phone that's currently digging into your hip– making the position even more uncomfortable than it already is.

You sink back against the cold porcelain, gaze unfocused when they land back on your phone.

Rubbing your bleary eyes, you grab it staring at the apparatus in your hands.

“Piece of crap, stupid assholes…” you snivel, angrily tapping on your screen as you scroll through the endless amounts of names in your contact list. “You–you’re all jerks!”

Your thumb keeps sliding across the screen, vision blurring every few seconds as fresh tears gather.

“Don’t need any of you,” you mumble stubbornly, hiccuping as your head thunks back against the toilet seat. “I have plenty of options,”

Your phone nearly slips from your grip before you fumble it back, squinting at the glowing names that refuse to stay still.

One contact catches your eye.

Jake.

One of your recent failures that spent the entirety of the date rambling about his failed career as an professional athlete, because of an injury he got in high school. 

When you explained to him that a sprained finger doesn’t result in never being able to play soccer again, he– for some reason– got upset and stormed off, leaving you with the bill.

You suspect he did it on purpose.

“Tch…he had the nerve to tell me I’m boring? I- I’m a fucking doctor– I need to tell that piece of shit he’s the boring one, I’m not boring at all–” you mutter lowly, a sudden determination in your veins as you tap on the call button.

Bringing it to your ear, you listen to the ringback– and the call connects within seconds.

Oh. You didn’t think he’d actually pick up.

“Hello–”

“Pfft…don’t ‘hello’ me you…you boring asshole!” you slur, words sticking together as you try and sit up straighter against the wall.

“I think you have the wrong numb–”

“Oh yeah? Real mature Jake–  I have the wrong number? I can’t believe you left me with the bill after I went with a salad and you ordered the fucking steak–”

“I think you should take another look at who you’re speaking to right now,” a gruff voice interrupts, and you falter for a moment. 

Huh, you think to yourself, Jake’s voice managed to get a lot deeper in a week.

You scoff, struggling to keep yourself upright as you start sliding down the wall again. 

“Geez, that sooooo scary– “

“I’m not Jake,” the voice huffs out, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was laughing at you.

You groan as you pull the phone from your ear, only doing it so that you can prove your point, before looking down at the caller ID.

Jack Abbot.

“It literally says–” the words die on your tongue as you do a double take, bringing the phone back down from your ear and blinking at the screen

Jack Abbot–

You scramble to press the phone back to your ear, nearly dropping it in the process.

“I– Doctor Abbot?”

The line goes quiet for a few seconds, and in your drunken state of mind, you almost think he’s hung up on you. But then, you hear the sounds of sheets rustling on the other end, and a soft grunt as he speaks into the phone again.

“So, this Jake guy, huh? Seems like a real jerk,” 

You sniffle softly slowly letting yourself sink down against the wall again.

“Yeah…he was,”

“You okay, kid?”

“M’fine, my head’s just pounding” you mutter slowly, before sighing– immediately bouncing to the next subject. “You know, you have it so much easier, Doctor Abbot–”

“Jack,” he reprimands softly, and you adjust promptly, scoffing into the speaker.

“Whatever, Jack– you– you have, like, women throwing themselves at you from every corner!”

“Where did you get that idea from?” Jack replies, voice low, rough with sleep but unmistakably amused.

“Uhm, hello– do we not work at the same hospital? I’ve seen the way people go– Oh yes handsome doctor man– please save me–“ you say, voice pitching up as you reenact an overdramatized interaction that Jack can’t recall ever having. 

“And you’ve witnessed this happening?” his raspy voice crackles through the speaker and you subconsciously find yourself pressing yourself closer to the device, blinking sluggishly where you’re draped across the floor.

“I’m a victim of it, baby–” your voice comes through in a horrible southern accent, and Jack lets out a surprised laugh, which in turn makes you giggle as well, the sound echoing around the empty bathroom.

Jack Abbot is a fifty-year-old war veteran and amputee, currently laughing into his phone like some love struck teenager.

He’s been married once, then widowed. He’s been on the ledges of buildings, and pulled himself away from them– he’s lived an entire life keeping his guard up– only to have every wall he’s ever built torn down by his twenty-something-year-old, resident, currently in a drunken fit of giggles on the other end of his phone. 

At the realisation of how fucking stupid he should feel, his chuckles falter, eventually reaching an end, and the sound of your uneven breathing is all thats heard from the speaker of his phone, currently echoing in his otherwise silent room.

Jack knows better.

He knows he should probably hang up, to let you get home and forget all about this– to see you at work tomorrow and pretend like you didn’t shake his whole world view from just one phone call.

“Christ– how much have you had tonight?” he finds himself asking instead, ignoring the way his stomach stirs at the sound of your heavy breaths.

There’s a small pause on the other end, before another one of your soft giggles breaks it.

“That's not important,” you mumble, words slow and syrupy, like they’re melting together.

Jack huffs quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

“Somehow, I doubt that,”

“Mmm,” you hum, shifting slightly. There's the faint sound of fabric dragging against tile, a soft thud like your shoulder bumps the wall again before you sigh loudly. “This is so not helping my crush on you,”

Jack freezes where he’s sitting against his headboard– heart thudding so loudly in his chest he’s thankful you’re drunk– convinced you might have heard it otherwise. 

“Alright, I think it’s time we–” he begins, only to be cut off by you.

“What, like you didn’t know? You’re like, the hottest man I’ve ever seen, I can barely even speak to you at work–”

Jack should not be feeling as smug as he is right now, sitting up straighter in bed at your words.

He needs to hear more.

“Yeah? I— is that why you keep avoiding me? You think I’m hot?” he finds himself asking, the words foreign on his tongue. He’s swallowing thickly in suspense as he awaits your answer.

It’s sick, honestly— the way he’s using your drunkenness to satiate his own greed, but Jack never claimed to be a righteous man.

If anything, he’d happily throw all his years of discipline and restraint away if it meant having you.

You snort, rolling your eyes at his words. In your intoxicated state of mind, his words don’t register as amused or particularly curious— just disbelieving, which you can not have.

“Pfft, seriously? You’re acting like you don’t walk around practically beggin’ for it in that SWAT-uniform,”

Jack laughs again, the sound crackling from your speaker.

“You’ve been thinking of me in my SWAT-gear?”

“Are you kidding? I love that stupid thing–”

A loud knock on the bathroom door interrupts your rambling, and you turn towards the noise sluggishly. Your phone drops to the floor just as the door opens, and Samira Mohan is the first to rush over at the sight of you sprawled over the bathroom floor.

“Holy shit– are you okay? Did you fall–”

“Wha– no, I just got tired…” you mumble, wriggling out of her hold on your shoulders. You let out a grunt, trying to reach your phone, but the dayshifters seem to have a different idea.

“Yeah, okay, time to go Frank Gallagher!” Trinity huffs, grabbing your arm as she and Victoria pull you to your feet. You lean your weight on them, motioning weakly towards your phone on the floor.

“Need…need my phone–” you mumble, arm flopping uselessly in its direction. “Wait– hold on, he’s still–”

“What?” Trinity frowns, following your half-hearted gesture before spotting it on the tile. “Oh, for fuck’s sake– huckleberry, grab her phone so we can go already!”

Dennis narrowly avoids your swaying figure, before he bends down and  picks your phone up off the ground. As soon as he grabs it, the screen flickers on, revealing an ongoing call.

Dennis reads the name on the screen, before his face drops, a panicked look forming on it as his head snaps up towards the rest of the group.

Samira is the first to notice, pausing in her action of wiping the dried vomit from your chin.

“What?”

“I– uh–” he stutters, looking between the phone and you, who’s currently wrapping yourself around Trinity, koala style.

“Don’t – uh– fuckleberry, move!” Trinity snaps, trying to keep you upright as you sag further into her shoulder.

“No, I,” Dennis continues to look between the phone and you, then back again, his expression twisting into something between horror and disbelief. “She’s…on a call,”

“So?” Victoria mutters. “Hang it up!”

“I don’t think I can!” he half whispers- half yells back at them, before turning the screen so that they can read.

Trinity lets out a disbelieving laugh looking down at you with an impressed look on her face as she holds you firmer against her.

“Holy shit– you’ve got balls!”

Dennis pales even further, clearly the only one worried about his future career as a doctor, now that his friend, and he says that very lightly after tonight, has drunk dialed their boss.

As in, the night shift attending they so frequently bump into at work.

Snatching the phone, Samira promptly presses the mute button, before looking around the room.

“Fuck– what do we do? Do we hang up?”

“We can’t just hang up!” Victoria exclaims, eyes wide. “...Can we?”

“I don’t think that's a good idea– hasn’t he already heard us on the phone?” Mel chimes in, only to frantically wave her hands around at the way everyone seems to further panic. “Or maybe he hasn’t! I just– I mean, since he hasn’t hung up, maybe he’s just…waiting for confirmation that she’s okay?”

The room seems to still at that, the rest of the group letting out a collective exhale.

Samira nods, still holding the phone as far away from her as possible, like it's an explosive.

“Okay– yeah, I mean– that makes sense. We can do that. Just…go ahead!” she waves the phone, motioning for someone to grab it.

No one steps forwards.

“Come on guys, we need to say something,” she laughs awkwardly, smile faltering when nobody moves again. “...Guys?”

“Jesus fucking Christ– give it to me!” Trinity sneers, snatching the phone out of Samira’s grip, dumping you onto Dennis, who scrambles to catch you before you face plant onto the floor.

She takes a deep breath, glancing across the room before pressing the unmute button, clearing her throat.

“Doctor Abbot?”

You wake up in cold sweats, neck cramping from where it’s bent uncomfortably on the armrest of the couch.

The feeling of your head spinning as you try and sit up, causes you to clutch it– your stomach grumbling loudly. Your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, and you quickly realize you're in Trinity and Dennis’ apartment. Below you, Samira is passed out on the floor, Victoria on the armchair next to the couch. Mel must have taken the first chance she could to go home.

Good for her, your mind echoes.

Blindly reaching beside you, you feel for your phone, wincing when the screen lights up and the time flashes.

05:36 AM

Great, at least now you could try and cure this hangover before work.

Pushing yourself off the couch, you almost fall flat on your face as you try and avoid stepping on your friend whose long limbs are stretched across the space between the coffee table and couch.

Finally, you manage to make it past without waking anyone, pressing on your temples as you feel your way towards the bathroom, blinking blearily when you turn the light on.

What greets you in the mirror is a horrid sight– you, but after a night out. 

“Fuck me,” you mutter in disbelief, reaching up to touch your face. 

Your hair was a tangled mess, looking more like a bird's nest than something you have on your head, your makeup– what was left of it– had been smudged across your face, like you’d taken your makeup bag and just shoved your face in there.

At least you didn’t feel nauseous, but the thought leads you to wonder over just how hard your friends had to work to get you home last night.

Tip-toeing into the kitchen, you take the first of many aspirins that day.

The five of you walk into the ER, each one clutching a bottle of gatorade in one hand, and an iced coffee in the other.

You’re sporting a pair of sunglasses, and Dennis’ eyes somehow look even more sunken in than usual.

Victoria’s hair is sticking out of the ponytail she lamely attempted to throw together, and Samira just looks unfairly put together– ready as ever to work.

Trinity is the last to walk in, shivering into the collar of her jacket she’s pulled up over her lower face.

Robby stands by the patient board, eyes quickly moving over his residents– before stopping as he realizes the state you’re all in.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” he says, a wry cackle escaping him as his hands land on his hips, looking like a disappointed father.

You groan, shielding your already covered eyes from his glare.

“Please, Robby– I’ve already been verbally berated today,” you utter quietly, not trying to send Trinity into another fit of rage.

“Yeah, because you–” Trinity starts up again, only to be led towards the lockers by Dennis, her spew of insults fading away.

You dump your backpack under the desk, then slump over the counter, pressing the space between your eyebrows.

“Alright– is there anyone except Doctor Mohan that’s ready to work today?” Robby sighs, rubbing his forehead.

You glare weakly at him, straightening up.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” you say firmly, though the slight tremble in your chin makes him sigh again.

“You’re on triage,” he points directly at you, and you splutter, trying to plead your case.

“But–”

“No buts!” his tone sharpens, “When you walk in like some kind of hungover “Breakfast Club”, you don’t get to choose your cases, and since I have a pretty good idea of who the bad influence was– you’re in triage!” Robby interjects, before grabbing your bag and then your shoulder, steering you towards the lockers. 

“Change your clothes, and if I hear that you’ve gone to the bathroom more than twice in an hour, you’re done for today, got it?” he gives you a menacing smile— then drops it immediately, walking back to start handoffs.

“I’m Michael Robinovitch– I’m the boss—” you mock, shoving your bag into the locker and slamming it shut with way more force than necessary. 

When you turn back towards the entrance, a yelp escapes you at the sight of the nightshift attending, standing by the doorway.

“Shit— you scared me Doctor Abbot!” you say through nervous laughter, hoping he didn’t just hear you make fun of his oldest friend. 

Instead, Jack leans against the entrance, toned arms crossing over his chest as his eyes roam your frame, studying your slow blinking and sluggish movements.

“How are you? Is your head feeling alright?” 

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion– did you look that hungover?

“Uh, fine, thanks. How’s yours…?” you ask awkwardly, 

“My head?” he repeats, a breathy laugh rumbling in his chest, “My head is fine,”

“Oh,” you blink, lips stretching into a thin-lipped smile as you nod. “That’s good,”

There's a beat of silence, before you shift on your feet, grabbing your zip up hoodie from the locker and clearing your throat.

“Well, I should probably…ya’ know…” you motion with your thumb vaguely towards the door. Then, just as you start to step past him, his hand shoots out, grabbing your arm and holding you in place.

His gaze lands on your forehead, more specifically, the redness above your eyebrow. In an instant, he’s sandwiching you against the locker, eyebrows furrowed as he runs his thumb over the scar.

“What’s that?”

Your breath catches at the sudden closeness, your back pressing flat against the cool metal of the lockers. Wincing at the reminder, you watch as his jaw clenches at the sound, giving you a slight nudge on the chin as he forces you to hold his gaze. 

“It’s nothing, Doctor Abbot—”

“That’s not nothing,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the tender spot again, slower this time, like he’s testing how much it hurts. His brows knit tighter, jaw flexing. “Did someone do this to you?”

“What? No—”

“Are you sure?” he presses, gripping your chin as you try and avoid his gaze once again. “Hey– eyes on me. I need you to give me an answer,” 

You pause, overwhelmed by his sudden overflow of concern, and Jack looks about ready to drag you out of the ER and home, if you don’t give him an answer within the next minute.

“Yeah!” you say quickly, then correct yourself. “ I mean, yes— we all just had a little too much to drink last night, I must have just banged my head or something," 

 He watches for a second longer than necessary, and you can feel the doubt in his eyes. 

“I swear,” you say, softer this time as you try to reassure him, though you don’t know why he suddenly cares this much.

Jack lets out a controlled sigh, biting his lip to keep himself from saying something he might regret— then let’s go, stepping just far enough so you still have to squirm to get past him.

“Alright, then. Go ahead,”

You nod, a little dazed and lingering for a moment, before walking into the ER.

Jack watches as the crowd of people working swallows you up, only slumping against the lockers when you’re out of sight.

Pressing a hand to his chest, he rubs gently— the pounding in his chest rivaling the one he usually only gets when working under active fire.

“Have you talked to Abbot yet?”

Victoria Javadi walks into the break room around noon, just as you’re downing your second aspirin of the day.

The memory of him pressing you against the locker flashes in your mind. His warm touch, his concerned gaze– the way his voice grumbled so low you were sure you could somehow feel it in your chest–

Grimacing as you down the painkiller, you shake your head.

“Doctor Abbot? Why would I do that?”

Victoria pauses halfway through opening the fridge, slowly turning to look at you with a perturbed look.

“…Okay,” she says carefully.

“What?” you frown, giving her a suspicious look before you take another sip. 

“Last night?” she asks, “You don’t remember what happened?”

Your face pales, heart dropping from your chest at her words– only the worst words to ever be uttered after a night out. 

“What are you talking about?” you ask slowly, water bottle lowering from your face.

Before she can reply, Perlah peeks her head in through the doorway, glancing between the two of you with a regretful smile.

“Incoming traumas from the SWAT-team– we need all hands on board,”

The two of you nod, and she leaves just as fast as she arrived.

“You’re telling me everything after we’ve dealt with this,” you whisper as the two of you head out of the room and back into the chaos of the ER.

“Somebody get me a clear view of this thing!” You call out, eyes narrowing as you try and see through the blood currently obscuring the wound.

A nurse moves in immediately, pressing down with fresh pads that immediately turn crimson. You lean in, jaw tightening as you finally catch a glimpse beneath the mess.

“Okay– gunshot wound, lower abdomen and looking…” you wait until they’ve flipped the patient slightly, before nodding “Penetrative– the bullet is still inside,” you confirm, glancing up at the loudly beeping screens.

“Vitals dropping!” someone calls out from behind you, a sigh escaping you.

“Someone get me Robby–” you say, hands moving fast as muscle memory takes over, despite the lingering headache from earlier.

“I’ll do you one better,” a gruff voice speaks up, and before you know it, Jack Abbot is by your side, dressed in his military green SWAT-uniform.

Tearing your gaze away, you gulp, focusing on the person in front of you instead.

“Talk to me,” Jack says, already gloved up, stepping in without hesitation.

“Penetrative gunshot wound to the lower abdomen,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “Vitals are unstable, possible internal bleeding,” 

“Alright,” he nods, hands moving alongside yours, “We’ll assume the worst then, that he’s hemorrhaging internally– what’s your next step Doctor?"

“Uh,” you sigh, before shaking your head– realizing there’s no time to doubt yourself. “Somebody page surgery, and I want blood ready!”

“Good,” Jack nods, before his gloved hand lands on yours, readjusting your hold. “Pressure here,” he corrects softly, watching the way your eyes flicker across the area, assessing every possible outcome.

Your eyes land on the patient, gaze softening at the sight of his frightened look.

“Stay with me,” you mutter, giving him a weak smile as his vitals turn steady, “You’re going to be alright, you hear me?”

He gives you a long, acknowledging blink in return.

“OR’s ready,” Perlah informs, phone clutched to her ear. 

You nod immediately, watching as they take over where you’re standing, moving the bed out of the trauma room and towards the elevators.

After taking a moment to decompress, you finally let out a quiet sigh, striping off your gown and gloves, and wiping the sweat off your temple.

“Good work with that patient,” Jack speaks up as you turn around to face him.

Without the adrenaline and distraction of trying to save a life, you can take in the full sight of him, dressed in that damn uniform.

“Thanks,” you say, the reply coming out a beat too late, than your usual quick remarks.

You keep your eyes on your hands, roughly rubbing hand sanitizer into them.

Jack steps closer, head dipping down to try and catch your averted gaze.

“I thought you said you liked seeing me in this uniform?”

You freeze at his words, brows knitting together as you search his face, trying to figure out how in the hell he could have known about that.

“You don’t remember?” His words cause a wave déjà vu, and before you know it, Victoria's words from earlier in the breakroom echo in your head.

Did you talk to Abbot?

Jack smirks at your panicked look, then takes a step back, moving towards the door.

“Alright then,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he walks backwards towards the exit, "Come find me when you do,"

With that, he leaves you alone to think about what the hell it was just happened.

“What the fuck happened last night?”

Your voice is sharp in the otherwise, finally calm, central station.

Samira pretends not to hear you, Victoria just laughs weakly– mumbling something about needing to run something past Robby.

Mel squirms uncomfortably, and you honestly don’t have the heart to interrogate her.

Dennis keeps his gaze on the computer at all costs, not even blinking.

Like a shark smelling blood, your eyes land on him.

“Whittaker,” you press, glare narrowing into slits. 

“Dennis, you keep your mouth shut–” Trinity points her index finger at him, but you grab the back of his chair, turning it so that he’s facing you.

“Spill!”

“Don’t you dare–”

“You drunk dialed Abbot last night, and he told us that if we keep quiet about it he’d buy us breakfast for a month!”

Dennis finally bursts out, as a collective groan spreads around the area you’re all occupying.

“You had one job, fuckleberry!” Trinity grumbles, head falling into her hands.

Samira massages the bridge of her nose, not even bothering to look at him.

“Pathetic,” she mutters quietly, and Dennis physically recoils into himself.

You find Jack Abbot– thankfully in his scrubs this time– standing in the ambulance bay, squinting at his phone screen.

Clearing your throat, you watch as he glances over his shoulder, only to turn fully when he sees that it’s you.

“Doctor Abbot,” you begin, a shameful look on your face.

“Doctor,” he counters, a half smile on his face as his hands lock behind his back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Your smile tightens, and you try not to react to his smug, frankly provocative, expression.

“I’m here to talk about last night,” you exhale, trying to relax your stiff shoulders.

“Last night?” He repeats it like he’s testing the phrase on his tongue, brow lifting just slightly, “You’re going to have to be more specific.

“Doctor Abbot–” you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to look at him.

“Jack,” he reminds you and you’re about two seconds away from running in front of the next ambulance that pulls in. 

“Jack,” you hiss, taking a deep breath, “If you’re going to hold this over my head, please just get it over with so I can get some peace of mind!”

“Why would I do that?” he asks, switching the weight between his feet as he looks down on you.

“What?” You blink, looking up at him. “Because, it’s the nice thing to do–”

“No, why would I hold it over your head?” 

You physically bite your lip to stop yourself from crashing out on your boss.

“Because you’re like– angry with me or something? Isn’t that why you told my friends to not tell me what I did? Because you’re going to take me to HR or, probably even straight to Gloria herself–”

You can feel yourself spiraling anyways, words coming faster now, defensive and messy– like if you keep talking you can outrun the embarrassment doing its best to chase you down.

“And I get it,” you add quickly, “I mean, obviously I crossed a line, I was drunk, I was being unprofessional, and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I just– I don’t even remember what I said exactly but I’m assuming it was bad enough, and really can’t lose my job over–”

Jack chuckles, and the sound stops you mid sentence.

Did he just laugh in your fucking face?

Thankfully, he speaks up before you can open your mouth and jump to any conclusions.

“I’m not going to HR,” he begins, taking a step closer, “Or Gloria,” another step, “And I didn’t stay quiet because I was planning on using it against you either,” 

He stops just an inch away from you, so close you can feel his warm breath fanning over your cheek.

Your eyes flicker across his face– from his hazel eyes, to the bridge of his nose, down to his moving lips and finally, back to his eyes again.

“I didn’t say anything, because I wanted you to know that when I finally asked you out,” his hand lands on your jaw, tilting your face up, “It wouldn’t be because of something you regret,”

You can’t find the words to respond, not after what he’s just revealed.

Your boss, the same one you've been crushing on since starting your residency six months ago, is telling you he liked you?

Jack takes your silence as rejection, and you can see the way his face crumbles as his hand drops from your face.

You panic at the defeated look on his face, spluttering as you try and come up with something, anything, to try and say to him. But your mind is blank, the shock of his sudden confession leaving you speechless.

Impulsively, in the only way you know how to convey your feeling for him right now– you press yourself into his arms, crashing your lips onto his.

Jack freezes at the action.

Then, almost instinctively, his hands grip at your waist, steadying you.

You can feel it in the way he squeezes you, like he's trying to hold back, to keep it contained. Something he can play off later, incase things somehow manage to go south– not for his own sake, but for yours.

That's not what you want.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him closer, lips moving with frenzy as you tug on his shoulders, let your hands grasp freely at the arms you've spent more time than you'd like to admit daydreaming about.

Jack slowly finds his restraint slipping, unable to resist with you, finally in his arms, in a way he'd thought he'd only get in his sleep. His hands glide along the expanse of your curves, grasping at whatever you’re willing to give him while you’re pressed against him.

His greed sickens him.

The world fades away around you, and all his senses are tuned into your every touch and sound, desperately wanting– no– craving more. 

Eventually though, the need for air burns at your lungs, and only when it becomes unbearable, do you pull away– Jack still holding you close enough to press his forehead against yours, heavy breaths mingling.

Your mind wanders as you collect yourself, remembering why you had hunted him down in the first place. 

Watching the way his eyes slowly flicker open, his disoriented gaze meeting yours, a soft smile twitching on the edge of your mouth. Leaning in again, you paus, just a breath away from his own waiting lips.

“...Did you really try to bribe my friends?”

☆END NOTE: Is it really one of my fics if it doesn't end on a fuckass question? I am also extremely sleep deprived, so excuse any typos, I'll come back and edit in a few<33

“It’s a gift and a curse, alcohol’s gotten real expensive,” you said while reaching over to grab the water bottle and tylenol, thanking him in the process. 

His thumb rubbed circles along your side, “You hungry?” 

“You on the menu?” You quipped back.

He took the opportunity to set down his mug, leaning over you, arms bracketing your form. “I can be if you want.” 

“Jack Abbot special?” You questioned, giddy at the way his smile took over his face. 

“No,” he spoke through his kisses. “Figured I had to redeem myself, promised you breakfast last time.”

Your cheeks felt a touch flushed at the memory. “Oh, what you gave was infinitely better than Pams”

He pressed a kiss to the center of your chest, “Hmm, think my memory might be fuzzy, remind me what I gave exactly?”

“Going senile already?” He shook his head at you biting at your breast through the fabric of your sleep shirt, before attacking the other one in a silly frenzy. It had your laughter echoing through the room, and it was a sound that Jack wanted imprinted into the walls. His mouth started moving downward, aware of his destination, you stopped him in his tracks.

“Hmm, nope, nope face stays up here. I need to take a shower.” He opened his mouth, but you kissed him before he could say anything. You gave him three more for good measure before maneuvering out from underneath him. He fell back onto the bed, arm behind his head, mesmerized by the way your shirt fell down to your thighs after you stood up. 

You reached for the coffee he brought you, slightly cooled, but perfect. 

“Want some company?” You froze, mug perched on your lips.   

Placing the mug back down, you turned around to face him. “I actually really want breakfast, Jack Abbot special doesn’t come with bacon.” 

He chuckled, looking up at you as you were the one now leaning over him. You almost melted at the way his eyes softened. “Fair enough sweetheart.” I really like when you call me that, you wanted to tell him, but it felt trapped in the moment. Instead, you kissed him, his hand cradling the back of your head to pull you in closer, deeper. His tongue flicked at your bottom lip before letting you go.

His kisses gave you something to focus on, making everything else a distant thought, except for the shower, that you still needed. 

ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ 

You two were later settled at his dining table, with nearly polished plates on the blue place mats. “So, where are you taking me? I vaguely remember you mentioning plans last night.” You asked while munching on a piece of toast. 

He finished off his last bite of eggs. “Not telling, it’s gonna remain a surprise for as long as possible.” 

“Last time someone tried to plan a surprise for me, I ended up with food poisoning.” There’s a reason Trinity isn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore unless she’s making eggs or ramen. To be fair, she did try to learn, but a hot stove was her natural enemy, and you’d lost one too many good dishes to her endeavors. 

His foot knocked against yours. “Have a little faith, promise it’ll at least be better than that.” You told him that ‘you’d hold him to that.’ He mentioned a bit of a lengthy car ride and made sure you were okay with that. You remarked that you were fine with road trips as long as you weren't the one driving. 

After the table was cleared, he went out into the garage while you put your shoes on. He claimed he had to put something in the truck; there was such a mischievous air about him today. Maybe he was excited to be the one creating surprises for once. Jack had made sure that you packed warm clothes the night before. The November days in Pittsburgh were steadily getting colder, something you and Trinity had to get used to since moving here. You both have lived farther south practically your entire life, where you could still wear shorts at Thanksgiving some years. 

You wouldn’t do Jack the disservice of trying to sneak a peek at what he packed away. But you would tease him about his terrible hiding skills, having only covered what rested on the floorboard with a couple of blankets he kept in the back. He had to fill up the tank before getting on the road and stopped at a gas station down the street. 

“Here,” he said after tapping his card at the pump, handing it to you through the door. “Why don’t you grab us some stuff for the road?”

“Any preferences?” you asked, unbuckling your seat belt. 

“Surprise me,” his eyes didn’t leave you for a second as you walked inside the gas station.

The drinks were easy, since both of you already had coffee this morning. Jack was an Arizona green tea type of man, where you leaned more towards the half and half. The amount of snacks you got would definitely be considered excessive, but you had no idea what he was in the mood for. Once your arms were fully stocked, you went up to the self-checkout register. When it came time to pay, it was almost like his card pinged in your pocket, but you still ended up reaching for your own wallet.

When you walked out, bag in hand, Jack was waiting in front of the truck, which he had moved to a parking spot closer to the entrance. “I decided that you looked like a secret Slim Jim and bugles lover,” you called out as he went around to open your door. 

He hopped into the driver's side, and you handed him the snack. “Can’t even remember the last time I had one of these,” he said while ripping apart the wrapper and taking a bite. It was funny watching him seem to chew on the bite for ages before he remembered that he wasn’t a big fan of them. 

“That a no?” You asked, taking back the other half from him so he could get ready to pull out of the parking lot. 

The key turned in the ignition, “I guess the man I was before chronic heartburn loved them.”

“Only healthy option was trail mix, which I did get a bag of but it does have chocolate in it so…” You trailed off while setting the drinks into their designated spots. The driver always gets the front one. 

He got you two on the road before asking, “There a reason you didn’t use my card?” 

“How’d you know I didn’t use it?” He pointed towards his phone, remarking that he had notifications set. “I had already reached for mine, plus you’re driving us.”

There was disappointment in the way he shook his head. “Sweetheart, I invited you out today, that means I’m paying.” 

You cracked open both Arizonas, “So by that logic, I invite you out next time and you let me spoil you?”

He got a bit huffy at that, “Not sure I like my own logic now,” he remarked to himself. 

“I promise I’ll treat you real nice handsome.” You adored that he blushed every time you called him that. It didn’t always reach his cheeks, but his ears hid nothing. 

Jack reached for his phone, unlocking it before handing it over to you. “Put on some music for us.”

Of course, he would have the worst streaming app for music, he couldn’t be a hundred percent perfect. “Is Tracy Chapman alright with you?”

He took a turn before briefly looking over at you. “It’s not The Killers, but she’ll do.” He teased

“I’m deleting that video off your phone right now.” You couldn’t fathom the idea that Trinity had willingly sent that video to him, or that she even could with how wasted she was. Trinity was an odd drunk–fun–but odd. She could be completely helpless one moment and then another, it would be like she got Frankenstein bolted back alive and could conquer the world. 

“Wouldn’t matter, it’s backed up onto the cloud.” His tone was so nonchalant, like he knew exactly what he was talking about. 

The look you gave him was incredulous, but it did halt your process in finding that video. “You know how to work the cloud?

“There was a seminar.”

His phone had locked itself again, so you couldn’t delete it now, which in hindsight might have been his plan all along. Still, it made you laugh, “You’re so full of shit.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ 

You were looking out the window, body still angled toward Jack, his hand only leaving your thigh to trace down your knee or to take a turn. “It’s nice getting out of the city, haven’t really had a chance to since Trinity and I moved here.” 

“Anytime you wanna get out, just let me know,” Jack told you about the road trips his family had taken. He told you about how car rides would be better than being at home most of the time. That when everything got to be too much, he liked to drive. He still likes to drive. 

It was about an hour into the trip now, it had been a comfortable silence between you two for the past couple of minutes. Soft acoustics were playing through his speakers. You could hear the vibration of your phone where it rested in the pocket on the door, and looked down at the screen to see who it was. 

😈Sissy😈 Calling

Looking over at Jack you asked, “You mind if I take this?” He nodded in response, hand briefly leaving your thigh to turn the volume of the music down. “Hey sissy, what’s up?”

“Stop yelling at me.” Her voice sounded like she had smoked at least three packs the night before. 

Jack was holding in his laughter beside you, “I’m not yelling at you, you’re just hungover.”

There was a decent pause where you could hear her pulling open the cabinets in the kitchen and rifling through them. “Why the fuck are we out of coffee?”

It made sense for you to do the grocery shopping since your schedule was easier. However, it didn’t excuse the fact that she knew exactly where the coffee was kept. “We’re not, the new bag is behind the flour.” She must be really hungover. 

There was the sound of something falling onto the counter as she snatched the bag from the pantry. “Oh thank fuck. Where are you?”

“I’m spending the day with Jack, remember.” 

You could hear her prepping the coffee maker. “Oh–gross–yeah, I remember now.” 

“Did you need anything else or just the coffee?”

“Just coffee, okay bye.” The bye was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t get it out before she hung up the phone. 

“Love you too.” You said into the void, but at least Jack was there to catch it. 

He was finally able to let out the laugh that had been trapped during the phone call. Chancing a brief look at you so he could see your face when he said, “You’re a good sister.” 

You wanted to tell him that he didn’t know you way back when. That there were a lot of moments where you failed. Moments that she needed you, but you couldn’t see past the stress of your situation. Moments where–looking back on it–she was screaming at you for help, and you just couldn’t find the time, find the will to keep things afloat. Maybe you didn’t want to. Maybe seeing it was acknowledging that you were failing. That you were a horrible, horrible person, and an even worse sister. But you can’t say all of that, so you just say, “Make sure you tell her that the next time you see her.” 

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Jack was remarkably adept at keeping his plans a secret. None of his coworkers ever knew about what he got up to anyway. He likes to keep it that way, man of mystery he was. 

You were certain of the destination when you passed by a sign marking an exit for Lake Erie. Thankfully, he didn’t seem upset that the jig was up. You told him you’d never been, and he seemed pleased with himself for being the first to bring you. When you asked him if he went often, he said that he used to. He didn’t have to elaborate; you knew exactly what it meant. 

He backed the car up as close as possible to the railing encompassing the bluff overlooking the lake. It felt like you were back on a field trip in school, quickly unbuckling your seatbelt and practically running out of the truck to see the view. Jack had chosen the perfect day; while it may have been chilly, the way the sun reflected on the water and the peacefulness more than made up for it. 

“Oh wow…wow…” You could hear Jack chuckling behind you as he came to stand by your side, arm wrapping around your shoulder.

“You alright over there Owen Wilson?” You playfully shoved him a soft ‘shush’ leaving your lips.

“It’s so beautiful here.” You wished the water weren’t freezing so you could dip your feet into it, maybe sink your toes into the cold sand. 

“Good surprise?”

“Very good surprise. When I was younger, I used to think this place was called Erie cause it was supposed to be scary, like Camp Crystal Lake or something.” 

He cracked a smile at that before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be on the lookout for hockey masks then.” He dropped his arm from around you and walked back over to the truck, lowering the bed before opening the back door. 

His arms were full of blankets and pillows that he tossed onto the truck. Taking his time, he arranged the pillows to rest all the way in the back, one blanket to sit underneath you two, and the others to keep you both warm. 

“So this is what you were hiding?”

“I also packed some sandwiches to go along with the snacks you picked out.” It was sweet, it was just too damn sweet.

He helped you up onto the truck, and since you were taller than him for a moment, you leaned down to give him a kiss in thanks. Jack waited until you were situated before hopping up himself and settling in beside you, hand finding your thigh like it was second nature to him now. You took out your phone, snapping a quick picture of the view and sending it to Trinity. 

“You one of those guys that hate having their picture taken?” You asked, even though your phone was already facing the two of you. 

“Yup, but I’ll always pose for you if it makes you happy.” 

“Promise you’ll smile?”

“I’m always smiling,” he deadpanned. You shook your head at him before resting it on his shoulder and lifting your arms to take the picture. Since your hands were shaking a bit, he reached up to steady them, making him lean into you even more. It wasn’t his full smile, more like the one he has when he thinks he’s said something clever. It was a good picture, and he asked you to send it to him, which had you beaming. 

The fact that someone could hold you, sit in silence with you, and it could be enough. It was everything. And for someone like Jack, this was new, enjoying silence. Silence for him usually meant just waiting for the next worst thing to happen. He didn’t dread it in the moments with you. 

Time passed peacefully between you two, the only exception being the soft waves and sighs of contentment from each other. Eventually, you broke it by saying, “You know something? I used to think I would never date someone who was in the army.” 

There was a confused look in his eyes, but he was intrigued. “Hmm, technically not in the army anymore, but why was that?”

“Probably cause every army man I’d grown up meeting was a raging asshole. Guess there was a bias, till I started working with the older crowd more,” you nudged him, and he responded with a soft pinch to your thigh. 

He laughed because he knew it was true; he knew the kind of men he was surrounded by in those days. He was also well aware of the type of men the career attracts. “Must have met a lot of assholes then.”

“Sitting right next to one,” you teased. He playfully pinched your side this time, which caused you to lean into him even more, almost falling over his lap. “Why’d you end up joining?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Thought it was the only thing I’d be good for when I was younger. I was a little shit back then, didn’t really try in school, thought I’d end up figuring it out when the time came. Then graduation happened, recruiters showed up, got bought and paid for by Uncle Sam. I would have laughed my ass off back then if someone told me I’d be doing emergency medicine out of everything. At least it ended up being free at the end of it all.” 

“They cut you a deal at least; usually, it costs an arm and a leg for your degree.” He looked at you for a second like he couldn’t believe you had actually made the joke before both of you curled in on each other in laughter. 

You could hear him mutter under his breath, “Fuck, I needed that.” You liked being able to make him laugh. 

“I was really debating on telling that joke.”

He pulled you in closer, “It was a good one.” You let out a small shiver as a breeze blew by, and he tucked the blanket tighter around you. “It’s nice, being able to laugh about it, always better than the alternative.” His thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder, “Was your dad in the army?” Jack’s powers of deduction, ladies and gentlemen.

“Yeah, which meant a lot of his buddies were around when I was growing up. Which also meant a lot of drinking, so yeah, not a big fan.” You kept your tone nonchalant. It wasn’t a thing, and you didn’t want it to be.

He hummed in understanding, “Can I ask what happened with him?”

The words didn’t seem so difficult to get out when he was next to you. “He cheated on my mom…she probably would’ve stayed with him too if he hadn’t gotten the other woman pregnant.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, she definitely knew how to pick ‘em, told him to leave one day, and I didn’t find out the real reason why till I got older. Didn’t even know I had a half-sibling till I was ten.” You’ve forgiven her for a lot of things over the years. It felt like there was even more you had yet to forgive her for still. 

“He didn’t try to make an effort?” 

You shook your head, “I wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t think he had to.” 

“I’m sorry sweetheart.”

The relationship, or lack thereof, with your family was nothing special and nowhere near as bad as it could have been. “It’s alright, he was never–I had my mama and lola, and then I had Trinity. It’s good that he wasn’t around.” 

Jack looked like he had a lot of things he wanted to say. He ended up settling on, “He missed out on knowing you.” No one had ever said that to you before. 

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You readily agreed when Jack suggested one of the trails, after sitting in the bed of the truck for too long, both of your asses were starting to get numb. He had put everything in the backseat, locking up before leading you down to the path. There was a large step that Jack went over before offering you his hand to help you up. He had no intention of letting it go after that though, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that had been his intention. 

It amused you the way your entwined hands would lightly swing as you walked. “Have you ever thought about going back to school?” Jack asked. 

“It’s actually been on my mind a lot more lately. Even just to say that I did it. For so long, it was just get Trinity through high school, then college, then her residency, and now that’s almost over so…I don’t know. Plus, budget cuts keep happening to Meals, so who knows how much longer I’ll have a job with them.” They’ve already mentioned reducing the staff size again in the coming months, but you didn’t want to bring that up as well. 

“Didn’t mean to make you stressed.”

You almost laughed at that, “Oh no, you’re fine, I’ve been stressed my whole life, don’t think that’s changing anytime soon.” You looked up at him, nudging his shoulder with your own. “But I’m calm right now at least.”

He gave your hand a squeeze. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

“Is it bad if I say nothing? I just–I feel like I’ve been going nonstop my whole life, so maybe a break?” You laughed at it like you weren’t actually exhausted deep down. This is a man who saves lives for a living. Are you really trying to complain? “I’d like to cook more outside of Meals, family stuff, things that remind me of home. Maybe even work from home, so I become an actual hermit,” another laugh, Jack’s smile felt like it reflected pity. “That’s really just me moaning about it though, my job isn’t that bad, it’s good work.” 

“I know how hard it can be to work in a place that only wants to think about numbers at the end of the day. Makes it seem pointless sometimes.” Maybe it wasn’t pity, just understanding. 

You nodded your head, “Yeah, it does…What about you Jack? What would you do, where would you go?”

He heaved out a sigh like he’s thought about that question a million times. “If I knew I could stand still for the time. I’d be at a lake like this, just in a cabin instead of the truck for a week.”

“That sounds pretty doable for you. When’s the last time you took a vacation Dr. Abbot?”

His hand squeezed yours again, “Too damn long.” Guess the two of you had that in common.

“I’ve heard that outings are good for the elderly, you should prescribe yourself some–” You weren’t able to get the sentence out before he had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his chest. 

“Is this my life now, never-ending old man jokes from you and Santos?” Your heart felt like it was fluttering in your chest. Does he see you in his life? At least past a few months please. Words were frozen in your throat, you felt chilled, you wanted warmth, you wanted Jack in your life. Your hands reached up to bring him down for a kiss, not grand or heavy, simple and sappy. 

There was no hesitation, so used to split-second decisions, there was no time for it, not when he needed you closer. When you were kissing him so sweetly. 

When you pulled away, you whispered against his lips. “You just make it too easy.”

His smirk kissed the corner of your mouth, “Don’t wanna talk about age when I see a few grays on you sweetheart.”

“Well, that’s just rude.” You didn’t mind the tease in all honesty; if you wanted them gone, you would have plucked them or dyed them. It was just age. 

“I say it’s fair.”  

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Sissy: Word is Abbot called out for the first time in ages…weird.

“I called out,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal that workaholic Jack took a day off when you asked him about the text Trinity sent. 

“You willingly called out of work? You’re not even sick.” You jokingly placed the back of your hand against his forehead, just to check.

He grabbed your wrist, quickly placing a kiss against the back of your hand before putting it back down by your side. “I wanted the whole day with you. Not like I don’t have enough PTO to make up for it.”

“Uh-huh, and what excuse did you give them?”

“Told them I had a hot date.” Yeah, sure he did.

So you two ended up sticking around to watch the sunset and you understood why Jack had chosen this spot. This had to be the calmest you’ve felt all week, maybe all month. It was perfect, and having his hand intertwined with yours, you never wanted to leave. 

Jack was happy to kiss you until the disappointment at having to head back faded. When you relaxed in his truck, you realized you were at a great risk of falling asleep on him. 

He teased that you had to stay up to keep him company, but quickly walked it back and told you to take a nap if you wanted to. Lord knows he sneaks in a quick nap whenever he can. Sadly, you weren’t like your sister, who could sleep anywhere at the drop of a hat, but after about fifteen minutes, the day finally caught up to you. 

The next time you opened your eyes, it was to the sight of his garage door opening. You stretched while looking over at Jack, who simply said, “Good nap?” You gave him a small nod, still mid-stretch. “You know you talk in your sleep?”

Your gaze snapped towards his, “I do not!”

He had the most shit-eating grin on his face, “It was nothing to be embarrassed about, mostly just my name,” and he had the audacity to wink at you.

“You’re horrible,” you replied, though there was no animosity behind it. 

You did try to help him bring some of the stuff in, but you were vetoed on account of him being a strong man, you suppose. Now you weren’t sure what to do with yourself while you waited for him to be done.

He called out from the garage, “Chinese sound good for dinner? There’s a menu on the fridge.”

“Yeah, what do you get from them?” You asked while sliding the menu from underneath the magnet holding it up. It was a fuzzy cartoon moose with dangling legs and googly eyes. You wondered how you didn’t notice it before. He responded with moo shu pork and scallion pancakes. When he walked into the kitchen, you asked if he had ever had their version of honey chicken. Since he hadn’t, you both decided to share a few plates

“Is it okay if I hop in the shower in the meantime?” You might have overdone it with the layers today. 

“Of course,” he pulled you in closer, “Need some help in there?” He didn’t say it in a sleazy way like the way you’ve been propositioned in the past. It was warm, soft, slightly seductive; it let you know that he didn’t expect anything, that everything was still at your pace. 

You reached up to peck his cheek, “Pretty sure the food would get ignored if you did. I’ll be super quick. Pick out a good movie though, I want to see what Dr Abbot considers cinema.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, ask more, but all he said was, “Tall order.” 

You gave him another quick kiss before heading towards his bathroom. It felt like deja vu from this morning all over again. “It better not be a war movie.” You called out halfway down the hallway. 

Some time later found you two sitting on his couch, takeout containers spread across the table. In Jack's defense, he tried to keep the burning question in his mind to himself for as long as he could. “Can I ask you something? You can tell me to fuck off if I’m overstepping.” Now it really felt like deja vu.

“You know I wouldn’t say that,” you said while spearing a piece of broccoli since it just refused to be picked up by your chopsticks.

“Earlier and this morning, the shower…do you not want me to see you sweetheart?” Oh fuck off, your brain groaned, maybe you should have actually told him that instead. “Or is that you don’t want to see me?” Your brain stuttered at his words, you’d never heard his voice sound like that before. He’d never seemed so unsure of himself.

“Jack, your leg has never been a problem for me. I promise you it’s not that.” He nodded, believing you, honestly never doubting you in the first place. 

“What is it then?” You liked that he didn’t ask as though you had denied him something; he asked to understand. 

There was a moment of stupid humming to yourself, trying to find the right words to say. “I hate to answer your question with a question, but have you ever dated someone who was my size before?” He shook his head no. “Okay…so, it’s not a matter of not wanting you to see me–I do– I really, really do. I just–when you’re constantly told in one way or another that your body is wrong. It’s so fucking hard to believe that anyone could think differently about it. Especially when I’m still trying to think differently about it some days.” He reached for your hand, gentle, steady pressure.  

He waited until you met his eyes again. “All I ever want is for you to feel safe and comfortable around me.”

“You know I’ve never taken my shirt off during sex, not before you.” You felt the hot rush of embarrassment at your confession. “No one–” your voice caught on the emotion rising up in your throat. “No one’s ever made me feel safe enough to.”

He didn’t speak, he pulled you close, arms tight like you were the one grounding him instead of it being the other way around. He didn’t say ‘you’re beautiful’ or ‘your body is perfect.’ Instead, he just held you, not with the expectation that it would make anything better, but so you knew that he was there. It meant more to you than words that your brain wouldn’t accept right now. 

“Thank you for today,” he let out something between a huff of laughter and a scoff against the top of your head. You didn’t have to thank him for today.

You wouldn’t cry, not right now, but you would enjoy this hug, and he wasn’t pulling away until you did. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

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You two eventually separated, but separated had you as close as possible while still being able to enjoy dinner. Your leg was thrown over his, one hand resting on your thigh while you two ate, and once it was finished, it left his hand free to engulf bare skin beneath. He had apparently been too distracted to pick out a movie, so you two settled on Jurassic Park. Turns out he had a thing for dinosaurs growing up, and while you could’ve made a fossil joke, you refrained yourself. 

Neither of you made it past the first Brachiosaurus sighting. Jack had given you a glance out of the corner of your eye, a glance that said ‘turn and look my way so I can kiss you.’ While you tried to keep a straight face, staring dead ahead at the screen, your lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. 

He tilted your chin towards him, capturing your smile. After that, it was all grasping hands between you two. Jack had a habit of wanting his arms wrapped around you; palms weren’t enough, fingers held too little. Maybe if he could get you in his arms, he’d finally feel all of you like he wanted.

His hand had run down the side of your thigh, grabbing the back of your knee to bring your leg to rest over his lap. The action allowing you to decide if you wanted to move further, and you did, you really did. You moved to straddle his lap, a slight burn in the rarely used muscles of your thighs as you made room for him. It was difficult, being cautious of your own weight, of his leg that still gives him pain, you don’t want to be the one to hurt him. 

You nearly leaped off of him at the groan he let out, so sure that it was from discomfort, but he held onto you. “Sorry,” you said while trying to scramble back, but he was having none of it.

“You’re fine baby, I promise,” he had you look at him. “I’m more than capable of moving you off of me, but I’ve got no intention of doing that, understand?”

“I’m just worried about hurting you,” you confessed.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss against your jaw, “Let me worry about that.” He pressed another one along the curve, closer to your ear, “I’m almost offended, you’re acting like I can’t handle you.” 

You felt his arms tighten around you, muscles flexing to get his point across. “There’s a lot of me to handle.” It’s like it slipped out involuntarily, even though your voice stayed light and airy. 

He groaned again, but you knew this one; it was wanting, desperate. “Oh I know…” 

The surprised look on your face was kissed away, and then a few extra ones against your cheek, just in case. He was letting you sink into him on your own time. You held one hand underneath his jaw, meeting his lips again, letting out a soft moan between you two. His touch felt like it left scorch marks up and down your back as he traced figure eights along the expanse of it.

When you finally rolled your hips down onto him, he let out a low groan, jaw dropping, breath fanning against your chin. “Do that again,” you gripped the back of his neck, another, more deliberate roll. His hand helped your movements, tightening the hold he had on your waist.  

You could spend hours kissing him; it felt like you had been before he asked, “Do you wanna go to bed and let me take care of you?” Fuck, there it is again, deja vu. 

But this time, you see the meaning behind the words, a meaning you refused to see the last time he said it. ‘Let me take care of you.’ Not just in bed, not just in this moment. ‘Let me take care of you.’ 

A quick nod had him helping you off of his lap, leading you down the hall to a bedroom that was becoming very familiar to you. 

“I want you out of these pants, now.” You told him, tugging on his belt. He let out a short laugh but reached down, taking over for you. 

“Are you getting impatient with me?”

Fingers reached out to brush against his stomach; he was so warm. “You’re standing there without a shirt on, course I’m getting impatient.” You had pushed him against the wall somewhere down the hall, and it had ended up getting left behind there. 

“Better take off those shorts then too. If they can even be called that,” he said, pinching the elastic material between his fingers before cupping the flesh right below your ass where the shorts cut off. 

“They’re sleep shorts! Big thighs mean shorts ride up.” 

“Hmm, one of my favorite parts of you to hold,” he said it so honestly too. Turning you around so that he was now beside the bed. He sat down on the edge, pushing his jeans down fully so that he was left in his boxers. He reached down and removed his prosthetic, setting it against the nightstand before looking up at you again.

“Shorts are still on sweetheart.” His words sounded muffled in your ear. He looked so good like this. You had seen him in this state that morning, just as excited for you, straining against fabric. 

He brought you out of your daze, pulling you closer and began to tug the material down, making you laugh. “Now look who’s impatient.” You said while bending over to push them off the rest of the way. Jack placed a kiss against your thigh before you stood back up. “You can’t expect me to not take a moment and appreciate what’s in front of me.”

That got another laugh out of him as he started to slowly push your shirt up, but you paused the motion. “I wanna see you first, I haven’t gotten to yet.” You technically caught a peek of his bare ass that morning, but right now it didn’t count, and you wanted to see more.

There was a small disbelieving shake of his head before he let your shirt drop back down, reaching for his boxers. He was fucking gorgeous, and you thought you couldn’t want him any more than you already did. Your hands were gripping onto his biceps, watching as he revealed himself inch by inch. 

It was interesting to see him grow shy under your gaze as you simply looked at him.

“Touch yourself for me Jack.”

He seemed stunned, but his hand still reached for cock like you told him to. “Fuck, that what you want sweetheart? You wanna watch me stroke my cock?” 

“Hmm, don’t act so surprised.” He had to know how handsome he was to you. Especially when he touched himself like this. The pace he set was so slow, an instinctive show just for you. You wanted to push his hand away when he ran his thumb over the tip, replace it with your own. But the way the muscles in his arm flexed as he stroked himself was too good to look away from. 

He raised a brow, seeing a very different side of you. “You like being in control don’t you?”

Your lips curled into a smile at being read by him. “Sometimes…I like knowing that you’d let me, that you’re not afraid to be loud for me.” You tugged at his curls again, eliciting a filthy, low groan from his lips. You could get drunk off the way he was looking up at you right now. 

 “You’re dangerous for me,” he didn’t sound like he minded one bit. 

You halted his movement, a grieved sound leaving him as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist. “Give me your hand,” he held it up to you, and you let a trail of spit fall from your mouth to his palm. He groaned at the sight, and you pushed his wrist back down, and he was well aware of what you wanted him to continue doing. 

“You’re trying to kill me.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a very good doctor on speed dial if you start feeling faint.”

He dropped his forehead to rest against your sternum, mumbling, “Fuckin’ smartass,” before placing an almost barely there kiss in his wake. 

You wanted this to last, but you wanted to make him crumble at the same time. “I didn’t say you could kiss me. Maybe I should make you come like this.” He’d probably like that with the way he was looking at you.

“M’not young like I was baby, think the fun would be over too quickly.”

Leaning down, you nuzzled into his cheek. The soft stubble underneath tickled, but it was nothing compared to the lingering aftershave or the cologne that had faded throughout the day. “Not true old man, obviously your mouth still works.” You retreated an inch to see his expression and saw the disbelief and pure hunger that darkened his eyes. 

No way of knowing if the nod he gave was intentional or not, you couldn’t help but laugh. “You gonna let me put my mouth to work?” He was ready for whatever you wanted from him.  “Fuck baby I can see you dripping down your thighs, let me clean it up for you.”

There was a beat where you debated if you were bold enough to put your foot on the bed next to him, let him have the taste he craved. “Only if you say please.”

“Hmm, please baby, please, please…” his smirk grew with each plea, seeing exactly what it did to you. “I’ve been thinking about the taste of you all week. Promise I’ll make you feel so good.”

“I’ll let you…” He was so eager, excited, hand groping at your thigh. “After I make you feel good first,” you watched him crumble in real time. He knew that it would be good, that you would be so good. But he also knew that you would torture him the entire time.

You lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. “Jesus baby…” he hissed out as your nails scratched up his thigh, red lines appearing in their wake. His hand had stopped moving, and you pushed it aside since it was just in your way now. Your hand took his place, and you looked up, watching the hitch in his breathing when your fingers fully wrapped around him. He was in no way anticipating the sudden movement of your tongue licking him from base to tip. 

“Fuuuck,” he hissed out. Your lips wrapped around him, and he let out a shuddering moan, one hand finding the side of your head, waiting for permission to hold onto your hair. “You’re gonna make me come sweetheart, you gotta–fuck–please,”

You could tell he was getting closer by the way his moans and occasional whimper would rise slightly in pitch. You don’t even think he noticed it, but it was enough to have you pulling back after you took him to the back of your throat one last time. 

He fell back onto the bed, a desperate groan rattling in his chest. “Christ, you’re gonna kill me,” his arm was covering his eyes, like just the sight of you would be enough to send him over the edge.

Placing a kiss to each of his thighs, you stood over him asking, “Gonna be able to keep up?”

The thumbs up he gave made you laugh, “Yeah, least I thought so…fuck, had no idea what I was getting into with you.”

“I think you’ll live,” you said, pressing a kiss against his stomach. “Where are your condoms at?” He pointed to the nightstand closest to the door, the side he normally sleeps on. You spread out on your stomach next to him, reaching for the drawer and pulling out the surprisingly unopened box. “Oh, you weren’t kidding, you do have better ones.”

He pinched your ass, a kiss and bite following after, before halting your hip when you tried to scramble away. “Don’t ever bring hospital condoms into this house again,” his voice was filled with mock seriousness. Your laugh at his comment faded into a breathy moan as he shoved his face between your thighs. You almost dropped the box to the ground. A hand weakly tried to shove at his head, not entirely prepared for him to do it so suddenly. That hand ended up curling into his hair when he moved you exactly where he wanted. 

Your thighs were spread open enough to where he could finally lick up the arousal that had smeared across them before moving back to your pussy. “Oh fuck Jack…”

“Couldn’t wait anymore,” his voice was muffled against you. “Gotta let me lick this pretty cunt clean baby.” The filthy tone had you trying to squirm away from him, thighs tensing. There was a heavy crack in the air as his palm came down onto the flesh of your ass, the exact spot he had kissed a moment earlier. His palms stayed connected to you, moving up to hold open the thigh you’d unconsciously moved. 

Once he had you settled, he lifted his head, tongue flicking out to trace a line through your lips. “If you ever need to stop, I want you to tell me alright?” The words were spoken like a starving man, waiting for the moment he could eat again. He just needed your permission, grace maybe. 

Jack, unbeknownst to you, had been studying ever since you let him have a taste of you. He cataloged bullet points of your pleasure. What made you tug at his hair harder, or grasp at his hand? What made you unable to look away from him, and what made you throw your head back? Above all, what made you scream for him? 

The only satisfaction score he would ever be worried about.  

“You sound so pretty.” It nearly did you in, seeing the way he was practically drooling over your pussy when he would dare take a moment to look up at you.

Hands fruitlessly grasped at him, “I need you…”

“Say it again,” he whispered, dipping his tongue down to lap up the cream that had started to drip from you. 

“Jack, n-need you, please.” You’ve never begged for someone before and actually meant it. 

He chuckled, not in a mocking way, but more desperate, like he was finally getting you to the same place he’s been all week. Pure need. “M’right here, you’ve got me baby.” 

You slightly lifted yourself onto an elbow to look down at him. His hips would occasionally grind down into the mattress as he sucked on your clit. Hooded gaze finding yours all while gorging himself on your pussy. Your moans went near silent, thighs spasming by his ears as you pulled him towards you, and he sighed into you.

Your breathing was shaky until sensation started coming back. Finally able to feel the kisses he was placing along your stomach and thighs, moving along the arm he rested his cheek against. “Easy, easy, I’ve got you.” 

A few moments, a few deep breaths, and a few gentle grounding touches. “I’ve never come that fast before.” You never had, you didn’t even know you could, so sure your body wasn’t wired that way. 

“Don’t go setting challenges for me, not sure you could handle it,” he teased. His body moved along your to meet your lips.

“Not sure I like how cocky you get after making me come.” 

He laughed, and you weren’t entirely sure he meant to, “What? You’d rather I be an asshole after?” You grabbed the box of condoms from where they had ended up beside you and shoved it into his chest. He laughed again before kissing the furrow of your brow, “Can’t even let me revel in the fact I had your thighs shaking around me.”

You patted his cheek, “Ego’s at max capacity sweetie.” He kissed away your palm before tearing open the top of the box, taking out one of the foil packets. It was almost mesmerizing in a way, watching him dexterously tear the packaging and roll the condom down the length of his cock. You knew exactly what those fingers could do, how they felt. Fuck, you couldn’t wait to have him inside you. 

“You sure?” He asked. 

“What do you not fuck on the second date either?” You teased him, but it was mostly to hide your nerves. It’s definitely been a while.

He shook his head at you and gave you a look that said ‘serious answer please.’ Your head bobbed up and down, but the look didn’t leave his face, telling you he wanted words. “I’m sure Jack, just take it a bit slow for me, alright.”

There was determination in his eyes as he brought both of your arms to wrap around his neck. His hand reached down to guide himself, the head of his cock brushing against your clit.

“You know you gotta relax,” he gruffly remarked while his thumb moved in small circles, hoping to get you to loosen the vice-like grip you had around him from where he had started to push in.

“You’re not exactly small,” you snarked back. His ego was being fed well tonight. 

He smirked at you, pushing in a bit more, “But you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you?” He was almost all the way in now. 

“Fuck me,” You groaned out the phrase, it was being said mostly to yourself, but it still echoed in the room. 

“Look at me baby,” he groaned back, and your eyes snapped open; you didn’t even remember closing them. He couldn’t move any farther, and you could feel how tense he was now, aching to move, “Alright?” He asked you, voice slightly out of breath and heady. You’re sure your nails were digging deep marks into the muscles of his back, and you tried to relax the grip, nodding at him all the while. 

“Fuck sweetheart, you feel so good.” His name escaped your mouth under your breath as you clenched down around him, a moan catching in his throat at the sensation. “Shit, you gotta give me a second.”

You’d give him that second, but you were sure as hell going to tease him about it. “What was that about being able to handle it?”

“Fucking smartass,” he said through gritted teeth as you shivered, the soft growl of his voice travelling through every nerve. His thrusts were languid at first, making sure you were still okay, and once he heard the moan you let out, he gave a deeper thrust keeping up the motion.

At some point, the movement and angle became too much for his leg, and you could tell there was a frustration building in him. You pulled him down to you, cupping his face in your hands, lips meeting softly despite the force of his previous thrusts. Thighs clamped down around his hips, halting him, he lifted away from you, a questioning look in his eyes. You slowly turned both of you onto your sides, alleviating the pressure, bringing the two of you even closer. 

His nose brushed against yours, “This alright?” He was thankful for you noticing; he wanted to be sure he could still make you feel good like this. 

You nodded your head as his hand came to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing along the column of your neck and jaw. His hips rolled up into yours, a soft gasp parting your lips; it was more than alright. 

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? So sweet for me.” How could you look at him when he said things like that? But your eyes weren’t allowed to stray from his for long, not when his grip would bring you back. The pulsing around his cock told him exactly how you felt about the words he spoke to you. It had him smirking against your cheek, “so good.”

Hands were clawing at his shoulders, his palm had lifted your leg up, giving him a new angle, letting him in deeper. “Don’t–fuck–please don’t stop,” you think you might actually cry if he does. 

“Let me feel you come for me, let me feel it.” 

Was your heart beating out of your chest? “It’s too much…”

“No it’s not, you’re right there, right there,” he hiked your leg up even higher, holding it in the crook of his arm. His hand reached around your thigh to play with your clit. “This is what you needed, huh?”

“Fuck Jack, Jack…” your voice cracked on his name as you came around his cock. The grip on the back of your neck reminding you to keep your eyes on him. 

He moaned your name as he followed after you, and it was the most intoxicating sound, somehow reaching you through the haze of your own pleasure. His pet names always left you reeling, but your name coming from him cut you straight to the core. The thigh he held up was moved to wrap around his waist as you clung to him; he held on just as tightly, if not more.

It didn’t matter that you both were drenched in sweat; neither of you wanted to let the other go. His thumb came up to brush against the apple of your cheek, kissing your soft smile before pulling back again, still catching his breath. 

Your own laughter sounded like air, “I’m gonna need another shower,” you mumbled from where your head had fallen to rest on his arm. 

He chuckled against your temple, “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me this time.” He smiled against your skin, “Think it would give me enough time to get you worked up again?” You asked, playfully reaching down to where his cock had slipped out of you.

He almost jumped away from you, no doubt sensitive, “Should’ve warned me you were gonna be insatiable.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Sorry, you go your whole life without good sex, and suddenly it’s all you can think about.” You moved around like you were about to leave the bed, but he pulled you back.

“Oh, now don’t apologize for that.” 

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She looked at you wide-eyed, “Jesus, why did you make so much?” 

You had gotten into a groove, and it felt nice to make familiar recipes. “Figured I’d make enough for you and your coworkers since I had access to the big kitchen at work. That’s if you choose not to be greedy, of course, if nothing else, leftovers.”

“None of them deserve your cooking,” she remarked as the sliding doors opened up to the emergency department. 

“Except you?”

“Except me.”

An older blonde woman called from behind the desk. “Trinity, you’re needed in room two now.”

Your sister held up the tray like it would cover for her. “But Dana food…”

Dana just shrugged with a small laugh, “Sorry kid.”

Trinity was already rushing towards room two. “Alright, fine, can my sister stay with you for a minute?”

“Sure, your sister can stay. Nice to meet you sweetie.”

“Nice to meet–” the tray of food was dropped back into your arms without warning. “Nice to meet you too.” 

She grabbed a stack of papers and knocked them against the desk to straighten them out. “Hate to say it but it’s the first time I’m hearing about you.”

You gave her a ‘what can you do about it look.’ It was normal at this point. “If you look up mystery in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of her underneath.” Sometimes it hurt that your sister never talked about you. Especially when you would mention her and her accomplishments to anyone who would listen. But you also couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep her private life separate in a workplace like this. 

There was a huff of laughter behind you, and suddenly, a warm body was leaning against the counter next to you.

“That has to be the most accurate description I’ve heard of her.” Holy shit, you thought hot doctors only existed in medical dramas, either that or you’ve just never had the pleasure of meeting one like this. Silver fox personified, god he’s gorgeous. “So Santos’ sister, huh?”

You had to shake yourself back to life. “Y-yeah, you know I feel like I should be offended, but I would have been more surprised if she had mentioned me before.” You finally introduced yourself, balancing the tray so that one hand was free.

His hand was strong, steady, calloused, gosh, he has really, really nice hands. “Dr. Abbot.”

He fits the bill, and right into your fantasies, woah, down girl. “Ahhh, the famous Dr. Abbot, don’t tell her I said this, but Trinity thinks you’re pretty cool, and that is high praise right there.”

He did a small playful fist pump, “I knew I could still relate to the kids.”

Someone likes to use old-man humour, don’t they? “Probably better than I can at this point.”

He looked out towards his younger residents, “comes with experience…” his remark trailed off, staring again at you like there’s a question unanswered. 

God, I probably look like a mess, you thought. Leggings that had a hole in both knees and an oversized volunteer shirt with about a dozen bleach stains screamed put together. You can hear your mother ‘you should always have makeup on, never know who you’re gonna meet.’ Damn, maybe she was right about some things. He’s staring. Why is he still staring? “Do I have something on my face?”

A short cough from him, clearing his throat and breaking his gaze. “Uh, n-no, sorry, you just look really familiar. Don’t tell me I’ve treated you here before.” Oh, if only you were so lucky. 

Thankfully, nothing had landed you in the hospital since moving to Pittsburgh with Trinity. Though now you feel like you should probably knock on some wood to keep up that winning streak. “Definitely not, but now that I’m thinking about it, so do you…oh wait, I know, the uh, the Veterans Center!”

He smiled and snapped his fingers, “That’s it, you’re with the Meals on Wheels crew, right?”  

“That’s me, we try to help get them set up with different plans.”

“It’s good work you’re doing there.” Lord is everything he says laced with such sincerity? He seemed like the type of person to choose every word carefully, to make sure it means something. 

You threw the compliment back, “It’s good work you’re doing here.” As if what you were doing could compare to his work, to your sister's work. 

“Just doing the best we can.” Something tells you his best goes above and beyond the normal. Something also tells you that you could become addicted to the small uptick at the corner of his mouth. So subtle, a blink and you’ll miss it moment. 

“That’s about all you can do some days.”

The silence shared between the two of you was charged, the background noise of the ED fading in and out the more seconds passed. Neither of you was aware of the small crowd that formed behind the desk. 

Trinity popped up behind Abbot, hand sanitizer being generously applied to her hands, before she scootched between you two. It cut the moment completely like a faint record scratch, well, if there had actually been a moment and you weren’t imagining things. The cover of the tray was lifted and nearly smacked you in the face. “God, that was ridiculous. I’m starving.” She had already picked up two chicken skewers and an okoy fritter before glaring at the vultures surrounding them. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you have a sister?” A woman with glasses and a very put-together braid asked. No doubt this was Mel.

“I have a sister, there, now you know.” She responded mid-bite, determined to end the conversation there. Something she’d once said to you had always stuck. ‘The less people know, the better,’ it’s a motto she seemed determined to live by. 

Your arms were starting to get tired from carrying this tray. “She talks about you all so much, I feel like introductions aren’t even needed at this point.” Based off descriptions you were sure you could match up the names to the faces, but one you hoped to run into was the infamous Garcia, but you knew that would be unlikely, life of a surgeon and all that. 

“Shut the fuuuck up.” She said through clenched teeth and a mouthful of chicken. 

You gently nudged her, and she subtly did it back like it was muscle memory. “Aww come on, it’s been forever since I’ve gotten to embarrass you in front of your friends.” 

“Were you adopted?” Tired eyes, curls, ahh, Huckleberry.

“Was she?” Small, youthful, definitely Javadi. 

There was murder in your sister's eyes. “Don’t both of you have patients?”

The mythical Dr. Robby seemed to appear out of thin air. “Don’t you Santos? And I think foods supposed to be eaten in the lounge.”

She took another bite of chicken, almost mocking, like she was saying, ‘you’re just jealous cause I actually have decent food.’ “Thought you said eat when you can?”

You opened the lid again, the smell hitting every nose in the vicinity, setting off a few stomach growls. “You’re welcome to have one, please don’t let her hog it all.” You felt a short warning smack to your side.

Robby picked up one of the lumpia before taking the tray out of your hands. “Hmm, you can stay.” He gave Dr. Abbot a look as he passed by, taking a bite out of the roll. Prompting Abbot to take one for himself before the tray was carted off to the lounge for Santos to take care of later.  

Your sister looked over your shoulder, “shit I gotta go take care of this, find me before you leave.” She was already running down the hall, shovelling down the rest of her food, your soft ‘okay’ following after.

“I’m still not convinced you two are siblings.” Dr. Abbot said, taking a bite of the food he was able to snag. 

“Wanna see my driver's license?”

He groaned from the taste, eyes closed, head back, and he even did that small bend that people do when something is just that good. “Hmm, no, there it is, same snark.”

“Nobody ever believes we’re siblings, we’ve got different dads, not to mention the twelve years between us.” There are a couple of other reasons that run through your mind, but those are best kept to yourself.

“Well, the more I stand here, the more I start to see it.” Interesting.

“In a good or a bad way?”

He took the last bite. “All the good parts, I promise, you both have a very caring heart.”

Very interesting. “Huh, caring heart typically isn’t used to describe my sister.”

“I like to think we’ve worked together enough that I can see it, even when it’s hidden under all her spikes.” It surprised you to hear this kind of praise from someone above your sister; she had always had issues with authority. Constantly complained about the teachers and professors that she’d had over the years. Except for Dr. Abbot, he must be one hell of a teacher. 

“She really does care about her job. It’s nice to see that she’s got a good group of people behind her.”

“That’s the Pitt crew for you.” There it was again, that small movement, and there goes the silence again. Sometimes it’s better not to scramble to fill it.  “Hey, I uh, I think we used to work with Meals on Wheels before Covid happened, but I think it would be worth starting up again for the patients. I know it would help out a lot of the people we see.” 

Work, thank god, something you can confidently talk about. “Yeah, definitely, I’ll talk to my supervisor and see if I could maybe work as a representative for the hospital.” It would be a good chance to see Trinity more…and Dr. Abbot…no bad, bad brain. 

“Oh, I’d hate to add more to your plate.” Where does he hold all that sincerity?

“Nah, it wouldn’t be a problem at all, most likely they’d have me swing by a couple of days a week to review forms for anyone who was interested.” 

He crossed his arms, fully leaning into you, or is he leaning into the counter? And why is it getting harder to breathe right now? “Well, I know for a fact we’d be lucky to have you.” 

Once again, Trinity snuck up on you. “Alright, all done, thanks for bringing dinner by.” She gave you a quick one-armed hug before practically pushing you away like the hug wasn’t her idea in the first place.

“Okayyy…well, I’ll get out of your hair, really nice meeting you all, and I’ll see you at home Trinity.” You gave a wave to the few residents and nurses that had stuck around the desk. 

“Bye Sissy,” the term of endearment seemed to slip out of her sleep-deprived mouth before her brain could catch it. You could see the way she braced herself for war as her coworkers slowly turned their heads towards her. Shit-eating grins on all of their faces. 

“Bye Sissy,” you echoed back, adding fuel to the fire. 

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The month passed by, and like clockwork, you would bring Trinity and the Pitt crew whatever  you could to help feed them. After the first visit if Jack was available it meant that the tray you were carrying would be out of your hands the moment he saw you. It made your heart flutter, his fingers always brushed against yours. He had to know what he was doing.  

Honestly, it just felt nice to have other people outside of your work to talk to, and you wondered why you hadn’t been doing this before. 

Until one day, something snapped the fragile routine.

You were speaking with Jack, and he insisted on a first-name basis the next time you stopped by to bring Trinity dinner. The two of you were discussing the positives, among other things, patient satisfaction with the program inclusion, and what you were planning for the rest of the night, while he’s happily trapped here.   

Suddenly, your arm was yanked backwards, “Dr. Abbot, I need to borrow her for a second.”

Trinity was a lot stronger than she looked, not a lot of people knew that until she decided to reveal it. Like she was now, by dragging you towards the staff lounge. “Hey, hey, are you trying to dislocate my arm?”

“Oh, trust me, you’d know if I was.” Oh, she’s pissed, but why, you have no idea. 

You crossed your arms across your chest once she finally dropped the death grip that she had. “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

“This has to stop.” 

“You just gestured to all of me. What does that even mean?”

She poked her finger against your chest, dangerously close to your tit, which she knows is sensitive. “You, you coming here, bringing food for everybody, and whatever this thing is that you have going on with Abbot, it has to stop.”

That stopped you in your tracks because nothing inappropriate was going on with Abbott, not that you wouldn’t mind if something inappropriate were happening. “Trinity, there’s nothing–”

She poked you again, “Don’t bullshit me alright. This is my job, and you cannot come in here and fuck it up.” 

You were brought back to a party that you didn’t know about and killed when you walked in the door. Back when she was being reckless and angry. “I wasn’t trying to–” 

Trinity was on a rampage right now, and you were the target. “And I don’t care if you’re desperate, pick someone else besides one of my fucking attendings.” This was humiliation at its finest, she wasn’t trying to be quiet or private, she wanted people to hear.

You took a deep breath in, trying to ground yourself. “I’ve only ever come here to bring you food Trin, and for work,  I see that you’re working doubles on the calendar, and I know you don’t eat like you should–”

She threw her hands up. “You’re not fucking mom okay! I’m not your problem, and you need to leave so I can do my fucking job!” She stormed out of the break room, a “what” thrown out to anyone who was looking her way.

You waited a second before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and walking out as well, head down, the refusal to make eye contact with anyone evident. A tear didn’t fall until the sliding doors closed behind you. 

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Trinity never thought that she would feel this hesitancy to enter her home again. But the weight of an apology was on her shoulders. Robby had chewed her out after her spectacle in the break room, told her to keep the family drama out of the ED, or her sister wouldn’t be allowed back. She didn’t want that, she never wanted that. The place somehow felt lighter when you showed up, helped make everything not feel so suffocating. 

But the look that Abbot gave her today just pissed her off, fuck that man and his obvious crush on you. If he wasn’t going to ask you out then he needed to knock off the goo-goo eyes at work. And they wanted to say that she was being unprofessional. 

Every movement was slow as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She didn’t expect you to be sitting on the couch, an episode of Rick and Morty playing on the TV. She remembered you letting her watch an episode when she was way too young. “Hey…I brought home takeout.” 

You didn’t say anything as she set the bag down, but you could hear a soft, annoyed sigh behind you. “What episode are you watching?” She knew exactly what episode it was. “Are you not gonna say anything?” No, you were not. “Alright, fuck, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have snapped at you today. That was really shitty of me.” Trinity Santos, the master of apologies, ladies and gentlemen. 

“So you still meant everything you said?” There was no move to look away from the screen. 

“I shouldn’t have brought mom up, that wasn’t fair to you–”

Your head shook in disbelief. “You have said that to me before so many times Trin, it really doesn’t phase me at this point. I know it’s your go-to when I’m ‘smothering’ you I just–I care. You know I care right? I’m not trying to be…”

It was obvious that she was reaching for the right words. “I know you’re not, it’s just–it’s hard sometimes…you’ve always been more of a mom to me, and now that I’m older. It feels like I’m having to relearn how to be your sister.”

It made a lot of sense. Part of you hated that you had to be an adult at such a young age, but you wouldn’t give up your sister for the world. “I think I’m having to learn that too. I didn’t mean to encroach on your space or your work, I actively tried not to be in your way–”

She cut you off,  “You were never in the way, it’s actually been nice having you there, and you genuinely seem to enjoy that place, which is crazy to me since I’m itching to get out of there.”

You nudged her, and thankfully, she nudged back. “You enjoy it too.”

“Yeah, I think, I think I just got so used to it being you and me that I didn’t really bother to have friends at work in the beginning. And then you started being all buddy-buddy with everyone, and I thought that’s it, she’s gonna be everybody’s best friend, and I’m gonna be alone again.” You always thought that was just the way she liked it, on her own. ‘Nobody to disappoint her that way,’ she would say.

You paused the TV, sensing the shift. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She scoffed, “How could I talk to you about feeling lonely?” 

Now you were the one scrambling, “Trinity…I’ve been alone a really long time–”

“Yeah cause you choose to be.” Maybe your sister does need a psych evaluation.

“Choose to be, I’m sorry, you think I choose to be alone?” She nodded her head like it was obvious, “No…no, that’s you, I don’t choose this.”

She looked like she was ready to ditch this conversation now. “Okay fuck you. If you’re so alone, go out and find someone.” It’s almost like you could hear your mom's voice in your ear, ‘you have such a pretty face, if you just had form like your sisters, you’d be a knockout.’ ‘Of course you’re gonna be alone if you never put yourself out there.’ How were you supposed to put yourself out there when she had been putting you down for so much of your life? 

Now your words had bite and sharpness to them. “You say that like it’s so easy. It is for you, it’s not for me, and it never has been.”

“What are you talking about? You never had a problem with making friends.” Friends that never stayed in contact, not one from high school or college, and it sure as hell wasn’t from a lack of trying on your part. 

“Yeah, and you never had a problem finding someone that wanted to be with you. There are different kinds of loneliness Trin.”

It took a second for her to fully understand what you meant. “Oh, oh, I didn’t realize you…missed that.” Honestly your last relationship was so long ago that you felt like a born again virgin somedays.

“Yeah, I’m not a nun. I just don’t talk to you about it cause you’ve never had that problem before.”

Trinity was tired of standing, so she reached into the fridge to grab some beer to go alongside the takeout. She handed one to you before placing the bag on the coffee table and sitting beside you. “Yeah, just a problem with people staying.”

You cracked open both bottles while she started to unbox the food. “To be fair, you’ve never asked anyone to stay before.”

Her shoulders shrugged. “True, probably something I need to be in therapy for.”

“You and me both Sissy.”

“I hope you know, I don’t actually care about you and Abbot, I mean, I do I–I want you to be happy. You deserve it, you’ve taken care of me my whole life and you–you deserve someone who wants to take care of you too. And if that’s Abbot, then good for you, I guess.” What a world it would be if Jack Abbot wanted to take care of you. Maybe for a brief moment you thought he might have been interested, but after spending some time with him, you’re sure that subtle flirting is just his default mode. Nothing else has really hinted at interest or even desire, which you wouldn’t be able to spot in a person anyway. 

Even though you wish it wasn’t true, “Trinity Jack’s not interested in me like that.” He probably wants someone in the same field anyway; it’s not like you’d understand half of what he talks about at work, you barely understand Trinity some days.

She took off the lid to her curry. “Uh, yes, he is.”

Accepting the takeout container from her, you pressed yourself against the back of the couch. “You sound awfully sure about that.”

She looked at you like she couldn’t believe someone could be so oblivious. “Okay, I’m starting to think that you’ve been alone because you’re just blind to when people like you, honestly, I should’ve caught on to that sooner.”

As sad as it was, it still made you laugh. “Well, can you blame me? I could never tell if it was a joke or not.” Boys had always been unnecessarily cruel to you growing up. 

“Just…take my word for it…he likes you.”

You wanted to believe her so badly. It would be so easy to. But even if you did believe her, what would you do with the information? It’s not like you’d make a move, no, you’ve done it before, and it never works. That’s why you decided that if someone actually liked you, then it would have to be on them. At least nothing gets lost in translation that way. “I wouldn’t want to make things weird at work for you.”

She finished about a third of her beer. “Things are already weird, trust me, you’re fine. Listen, if he asks you out, just promise me you’ll say yes, at least give it a shot.” 

Who would have thought your baby sister would try to set you up with her attending? Just what was the world coming to? “Yeah, that’s if he asks me out, which is a big if.”

A slow, smug smile crept onto her face. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that he asks you out tomorrow when you bring me lunch.”

“You and I both know you don’t have that money.” One would think being a doctor would pay better, but the world’s becoming too expensive even for them. 

“That’s how confident I am.”

“I’m thinking you just want an excuse for me to bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“That too. Now put on the next episode.”

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The next day, you just ended up bringing the damn chicken soup in a crockpot since containers were a hassle. It seemed to be the right call, since the cold had brought in a wave of sickness throughout the ED. 

Hands came up from your left and took the crockpot from you, both of you on a familiar path to the break room. You sure would know those biceps anywhere. Not that you were objectifying him in that way, of course not, you would never. “She returns…you know, we had a bet going on whether you’d be back around.”

You thanked him per usual and asked, “Oh yeah? Who won?”

He had a sort of playful scowl on his face. “Whitaker, he bet that Santos would apologize after work and you’d be back the next day. Kinda scary how well that kid knows her.”

“She’d never admit it, but she has a soft spot for him.” They reached the breakroom and Jack set soup down on the counter close to the outlet. You reached out to plug it in expecting him to take a step back. Only he didn’t, he just stood there without a care in the world.

Now the bastard was smirking at you, “Want me to get that for you?”

Come on, pull up your big girl panties and fucking flirt with this man. You have the approval of your sister of all people. A leap of faith had you leaning in, “That’s okay I got it.” Your arm brushed against his chest, and lord, that is one sturdy man, of course you could tell that just by looking at him, but to actually feel it. “Can I ask what you ended up betting?” 

He leaned in even closer, “I was not a betting man this time around.”

“How come?”

His hand reached out, an inch away from your hip, a question, ‘am I allowed to?' So you leaned into the touch. “Didn’t want to take the chance that the outcome would be longer than I wanted.” That struck you, the way he said it, so simple, just a fact trapped in the room.

“You got lucky then, Trinity and I didn’t speak for three months straight one time.”

The smallest tug had you jolting forward, quickly trying to catch yourself. Jack had you right where he wanted you. “Oh, now I would’ve missed you way too much.”

“You mean my cooking.”

“That too but mostly you.”

“Good to know,” now’s when you say ‘I would have missed you too,’ go ahead. “Make sure you get some of the soup then, who knows when Trinity might decide to banish me again.” What the fuck is wrong with you?

He gave you a full smile, one of his rare ones, as his hand squeezed your side. You used to shrink away from touches like that, but from him, every part of you just softly pleaded more, more. “Perish the thought,” he looked over at the pot, “I can’t remember the last time I had homemade chicken soup.”

“Hope it lives up to the memory if you remember it.”

Jack has a silent intensity about him, and it keeps dragging you in. He’s just staring, a million questions he could be asking, and somehow he’s asking each one simultaneously. “Hmm,” even his ‘hmms’ have a vocabulary of their own. “You know, if you ever get tired of cooking, I’d be happy to do it for you.”

Is this–is this him asking you out? “Oh, you’d cook for me, huh?” Friends have dinner together, hell you’ve been doing it a lot this past month. But friends don’t hold onto someone like this and they definitely don’t keep glancing down at your lips like they’re seconds away from kissing you. Fuck, you wish he would.

The hand on your waist glides to your spine and his hands have a way of making you feel small, and incredibly weak in the knees. “You sound surprised.”

“Just thought you lived off of adrenaline and protein shakes at this point.”

“I’ve been known to make a mean steak.” The mental image of Jack standing over a grill just about does you in. It’s almost sad. When’s the last time someone cooked for you?

“Hmm, I’m very picky about my steak.”

That smirk makes you want to reach up and kiss it away. “As am I, you have to be. You free tomorrow?”

What the hell is happening right now? “Uh, yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Great, so I’ll pick you up at six.”

“I’ll bring dessert.” It was unmistakable, the heat, the way his eyes wandered slowly across you. You hadn’t meant it that way, or maybe deep down you did, maybe this is what it was to actually flirt. Maybe you were even good at it.

“Can’t wait.” He took a step closer, christ, he wanted to kiss you. Just a quick one, something to tide him over during his shift, but he knew it wouldn’t be quick, it wouldn’t be enough, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for the workplace. 

Thankfully and annoyingly at the same time, one of the nurses came through the door asking for him before he could give in. “Sorry sweetheart.” He felt like he had to pry himself away from you, and you were just as desperate to hold on, but you knew better. 

“Jeez, do your job Dr. Abbot,” you playfully teased. Secretly, it was a way to also catch your breath. But little did you know what that did to him. Eyes followed his back as he walked towards the door, his hand gripped the frame, and he looked so close to turning back around, but he knew better. His head shook with a small laugh, and then he was off. 

It was just you and the soup now, you checked the heat once more and made your way towards the exit. There was an overwhelming need to get some fresh air and run the last ten minutes over and over in your mind. 

Behind you, the almost evil voice of your sister whispered, “If you could send me that hundred bucks now, that would be great.”

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a/n: hope you liked it, please let me know if you want to see more of this pairning! also i think I might start strictly writing plus-size characters from now on cause why the hell not, there's never enough of them! ⚕♡

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You could feel your pulse in your ears as you bit your tongue. Jack was going out again for another SWAT shift. Every time he picked up, an argument ensued. He always came up with excuses. The team needed him. He had years of combat medic experience. He was rarely in the thick of it. The job wasn’t even that dangerous.

You always rebutted. The team did just fine without him every other day. His previous experience didn’t mean he was required to continue working in that environment now. If he wasn’t in danger, why did he have to have full combat protective gear on? And of course, the job was dangerous—that’s what drew him in!

You thought after your engagement that maybe Jack could be convinced. Not to settle down necessarily, just to re-evaluate the undue stress he caused every time he locked the door behind him and walked into the flames of chaos.

“Whatever, I’m going to be late. Don’t bother staying up for me, I have a shift tonight, so I won’t be coming back home.” He snaps.

“Jack! You can’t keep doing this! What are you avoiding by just jumping headfirst into a pit of lions every week? Why can’t you just spend the holiday with your fiancée before working tonight?” You counter.

You hate it when you and Jack fight. You hate that he has the ability to get you so riled up. And you hate even more that he seems to be so obtuse to the fact that watching him leave eats you alive. Every. Single. Time.

“I’m done having this conversation! We argue every single time! I’m going!” He yells.

You stiffen and swallow, refusing to let yourself cry in front of him. You stay quiet, knowing that your voice will betray you.

Jack huffs and shakes his head, grabbing his backpack and closing the door with careful precision. Even in moments of anger, you’re always amazed at how immense his restraint can be.

You immediately head for the shower, needing a physical reset from the fight. And like always, you end up feeling better. There’s something like a remedy hidden in the tendrils of steam that encase you. And along with feeling better, you start to feel guilty. You understand where Jack is coming from, and that’s almost worse than full-heartedly being blinded by your own thoughts and opinions. Understanding him means there’s always an opportunity for forgiveness and compromise, despite wanting absolutely no compromise in this situation.

You change into your pajamas and decide to take a nap. You picked up a call shift this evening, even though it wasn’t your holiday to work. Nothing beats call, holiday, and shift differential all lining up like the perfect eclipse. Your sleep is restless; however, you can’t stop worrying about Jack. Wondering if he’s alright, worrying that if something bad did happen, the last memory you would have of each other is a stupid fight about stupid anxieties.

At first, you aren’t sure of how long you’ve slept, but your pager starts to alarm. You sit up and grab the small device from the bedside table, and look at it with bleary eyes.

INCOMING TRAUMA: LEVEL 1, UNIDENTIFIED 48Y/O MALE, MVC HEAD ON COLLISION, GCS 7, HYPOTENSIVE, TACHYCARDIC, INTUBATED ON SCENE, ARRIVAL BY AMBULANCE, ETA 15 MINUTES

Immediately, you’re rolling out of bed to pull scrubs on and rush to the hospital. It’s already 10 PM, which means Jack should be at work and done with his SWAT shift. But with your luck, there will be no time to see him before prepping the OR and starting to work on the incoming trauma patient. You sigh and grab your keys, making your way toward the chaos.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You are currently trying to work with the doctor on call tonight to repair the trauma patient’s liver. The laceration is substantial, but you know it’s treatable. You’ve assisted on cases like these a hundred times before since you graduated from PA school, and you know you’ll get to do a hundred more like it in years to come.

“So, how’s wedding planning coming along?” Dr. Murphy asks as she works.

You hum with a small smile, “You know, things get pushed to the back burner when you both work the strangest shifts. I feel like Jack and I have barely any time together, and usually he ends up picking up a shift to help with the SWAT unit when he’s free anyway.”

Dr. Murphy laughs. You’ve always loved to witness just how much she loves her job; it reminds you of yourself, it reminds you of Jack. The sheer passion to excel at saving people.

“Oh, trust me, everything will settle into place. You both need to take each other’s advice sometimes. Slow down. Breathe.”

A chuckle escapes your lips as the door to the OR opens. Maybe it’s because the skeleton crew are the only staff here at this hour. Or perhaps it’s because everyone on this side of the wing wears the light blue surgical scrubs. Or maybe it’s just instinct that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, but you turn around and see him.

He’s middle-aged, handsome, with green eyes that are bloodshot, and dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck. For a moment, all he does is stare at your patient. The nurse anesthetist looks up with confusion. She stands up and starts walking toward him.

“Sir, this is a sterile-“

A shot rings out and silences everyone. The only noise is from the monitors that are keeping track of the patient’s vitals, and the ventilator that is helping him breathe. You falter for a moment, but you know that stopping the procedure now would result in your patient dying, so you continue operating.

You can’t see the nurse, Janie. The equipment she uses typically blocks her from view anyway, but you start to see the pool of blood on the floor near the suction cart. There’s a lump in your throat that can’t seem to be swallowed.

You glance up at the scrub tech. She’s new, it’s her first week. You think her name is Lorelei, but you’re having trouble remembering right now. She looks terrified. You see her hands shake as she preps the table with all of the tools needed for the procedure, stealing glances at the man with the gun. You try to do a head count of everyone who would’ve been in the OR. All you can come up with are you, Dr. Murphy, Janie, and Lorelei. Everyone else helped to get the patient stable and left to help elsewhere. Just the four of you.

“This is him?” The man grunts, “The drunk driver?”

Dr. Murphy is cool as she responds, “Sir, what do you want?”

The man lets out a guttural wail, “I want my daughter! He killed my daughter!”

Your heart skips a beat, and despite the rules and codes of ethics you’ve spent years studying and following, you understand and empathize with the father. You see the hopelessness in his face and hear the grief in his voice. And you know that you disagree entirely with his actions, but you still understand how he got here.

“Sir, my name is Dr. Abigail Murphy. I am a trauma surgeon at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. My patient is currently being operated on. Hurting our staff or our patients will do nothing to bring your daughter back. We can call for someone who can come in and help you; you just have to drop the gun.”

His quiet sobs are silenced, and he looks straight at Dr. Murphy, “You just want them to take me? You want them to take me as I die while that…that monster lives?”

You don’t realize what’s happening even after Dr. Murphy disappears from your line of sight. The tinnitus swells, and all you can hear aside from the ringing in your ears is the blood that’s rushing through your veins. And finally, your hands begin to shake when you notice you’re the only one keeping your patient above ground.

Lorelei crouches on the ground, covering her head with her hands, and guiltily, you wish you didn’t have the responsibility, so you could do the same.

“Hey!” The father yells, and his voice finally breaks through your stupor, “I said stop saving him!”

You look up with tears in your eyes and hope it doesn’t show on your face when you see the campus police looking in the window of the door behind the father, assessing the situation, and wondering when they’ll enter.

“What’s your name?” You blurt out, not knowing what to say that will stall him.

He falters, “W-what?”

“Your name, I want to know your name.” You say before telling him your own.

“Jacob Haas,” He says.

“Hi Jacob,” You whimper, “I went to school for six years to get here. Got my master’s and everything. And one of the first things you learn is the Hippocratic Oath. It’s about like…confidentiality and non-maleficence and shit. Basically just: do no harm. So I understand where you’re coming from, and I am really, really sorry about your daughter. I’m sure she was…I’m sure she was amazing. But how is hurting hospital staff going to help her? We can’t judge our patients by their acts or their morals. We’re not God. But we do have a code, and I promised to do no harm, but you’re asking me to go against that, and I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

You know you’ve lost his attention before you feel the pain. You can see the moment he decides as you glance up from your patient to look at him. It’s something you learned in a de-escalation class once; humanize them, empathy is your friend. It always seemed silly in books or movies when a traumatic moment would happen in slow motion. You realize now just how silly it is because the pain is instantaneous. Everything is loud and overwhelming, and you may not know what is happening, but you know the police are involved now because there’s yelling. There’s so much yelling.

For a moment, you think you can close your eyes to escape from this frame of time, but that is rudely interrupted when someone puts pressure on your shoulder, where you now realize you’ve been shot. You don’t know if it’s you who screams or someone else.

Lots of people come into view, most of them look like they’re saying something. You know you should recognize them. These are your coworkers, but nothing seems to stick. You see someone draw medication in a syringe, is there a prick when it enters? All of the pain you’ve ever felt has been bottled up just so you could relive it in this moment. And then, just as suddenly as the chaos began, it fades away as you fall asleep.

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Jack had just finished stabilizing a patient with an anastomotic leak and sent him up to the OR when he heard it. He knew immediately that it wasn’t just something that had fallen or crashed. He remembered the sound of gunfire like a song you always know the words to, even years after not hearing it. Then there were three more shots.

It was an agonizing six minutes until the intercom confirmed what he already knew, “Code Silver OR 4, Code Silver OR 4, Code Silver OR 4.”

He felt the flood of hormones rush through his system like a tsunami. It’s the same feeling he gets whenever someone on his SWAT team gets critically injured, or any time there’s a code blue in the Pitt. The same feeling he gets every time he leaves you after a fight, he always ends up starting before he realizes it.

His shoulders drop once he realizes the threat isn’t anywhere in the vicinity of the ER. Instinctively, he turns to see where you are and realizes you’re not supposed to be at work tonight. Then, Jack stiffens when he remembers the conversation you had a week ago. You told him you were going to pick up a call shift for the OR since he was already on schedule.

His hands move before he has the time to tell them what to do. Jack pulls out his phone and opens the app to see the locations you shared. For a moment, his brain tries to convince itself that you’re at home. Home, where you should be, fast asleep, or at least relaxing with a book or a movie. But his vision tunnels when he sees the icon with the photo of you, you’re at the hospital.

Jack’s mind goes into overdrive. He recalls the MVC that came in earlier, how the trauma team had called in OR staff to prep for surgery. He curses himself for not immediately remembering that you were on call tonight.

It’s procedural the way he begins moving. Telling Shen to hold down the fort while he checks in with the campus police to see if they need help. His steps up the stairs are calculated. They’ve always had to be since he lost his leg. He sees a sheet draped over someone in the hallway near the entrance to the operating wing. There’s commotion happening deeper in the hallway as he makes his way toward OR 4.

Campus PD has a man in custody. He is sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Someone yells for supplies deeper in the room, something about needing to stop the bleeding. He hears a monitor start to flatline.

Jack doesn’t care. He runs.

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Your shoulder doesn’t feel right. The pain you felt earlier lingers. And there’s an incessant beeping noise that threatens to drive you crazy. But then you feel it, the weight. The warmth. Someone’s hand tethered to your own.

You whimper and try to shift in the bed to get comfortable, and the hand is suddenly gone. Replaced by the sound of someone calling your name. The voice is familiar, and through the sedation, it takes a minute to catch up with what your heart has already discovered. Jack.

“Jack?” You whisper, squinting.

You watch him sigh. His shoulders drop, and with it, the tightness in your chest eases. Even if you’re still dazed and confused, your body knows that if Jack feels safe, so do you.

“Oh, baby,” He whispers, bringing a hand to your jaw.

You cough, suddenly acutely aware of the dryness in your throat. Instantly, straw is at your lips, ready to deliver the remedy of water. You take a few small sips and lick your lips, head falling back on the pillow. Exhausted.

“Is he okay?” You ask, each moment feels more aware than the one before it.

The room is silent, aside from the monitors keeping track of your vitals. Jack glances down at the floor and gently takes your hand again.

“There was a code silver.” He starts, clearing his throat.

You interrupt, “I know there was. I was there. Did my patient die?”

You see him swallow and look at you. Jack was never one to shy away from the truth. He was always there to tell families the worst news they had to receive, with empathy and a deeper understanding. But for some reason, when it comes to you, he’s stuck. It’s different seeing you in pain. It was his job to try to mitigate that every single time. And here, there was no avoiding it. The damage has already been done.

“Yes,” He says hoarsely, “He died. But you were- “

“What about Janie? Dr. Murphy? Lorelei?” You urge.

A pained look takes over. You’ve seen Jack cry before. Despite everything he’s been through and all of the things he might need to work on, overall, he’s more emotionally regulated than one might expect. He runs a hand down his face, “Janie didn’t make it, Dr. Murphy…has a long road of recovery ahead of her, Lorelei’s just shaken up, but- “

“Fuck.” You whisper, pulling your hand away. You look down at both of them and are acutely aware of the brace that your right arm is in. It completely immobilizes your entire upper arm, but doesn’t stop the throbbing that threatens to overstimulate you.

“You had to have surgery,” Jack starts, “The bullet completely shattered your humeral head, they couldn’t save it. They decided to do a reverse arthroplasty. There was a lot of vascular and nerve damage. It’ll take a lot of rehab...”

You look away from him and bite your lip, trying to will yourself not to cry. Jack’s hand reaches out again, and as much as you want to pull away, you let him.

“Honey, you’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this.” He whispers. And you almost believe it.

A knock at the door draws your attention. You see a doctor at the door. He’s not in scrubs, though, which tells you he must not be so clinical that he deals with patients who are physically ill. It finally clicks that he must be a psychologist or psychiatrist.

Jack sits a little straighter in his chair, but his hand doesn’t leave yours, and you don’t try to pull away again. The doctor introduces himself, and sure enough, he is from the psychiatric department and came to offer support and condolences.

“The hospital is going to require that you complete six weeks of therapy before returning to work. I know your rehab will take longer than that, and I urge you to continue after the minimum, but I wanted to introduce myself so you could start. Whenever you’re ready.” He says kindly.

You agree, hesitantly, and Jack helps you set up an initial appointment. The rest of the day goes similarly. Jack helps you try to piece together everything that happened. Different people from your care team come in to introduce themselves and set up a plan of care for you once you’re discharged. By lunch, you’re practically unwilling to talk to anyone else but Jack.

“I want to go home,” You say finally.

Jack’s brow furrows in concern and quiet recognition, “Baby, they just wanna stay on top of your pain and make sure everything is healing properly.”

“I know that,” You whine, “Can’t they make an exception? I’m a PA. I know how to take care of myself. I even have my own doctor to check in on me at home.”

He chuckles and brushes a strand of hair away from your face, “Get through tonight, and we’ll see about going home in the morning? Okay?”

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Jack was right. You do get to go home in the morning, and it was good to stay overnight to keep on top of your pain. You hate that he’s right.

The drive back to your house is filled with jazz music and soft morning light. It’s the playlist Jack likes to put on whenever you’re stressed or overstimulated. You can tell he’s nervous because he keeps trying to subtly steal glances at you the entire fifteen minutes.

“Can I take a shower? Please?” You ask once you get parked.

He gives you a knowing smile, “That’s why I made them put on the waterproof bandage before we left.”

You make your way in and go straight to the bathroom. Jack helps you undress and remove your brace. You’re always shocked when you visit the ER and hear the way people talk about him. They rarely say anything bad, but it’s always about the cold, clinical precision he carries. You never feel that at home. It’s all warm and tender.

The water feels like relief as it rolls down your back. You gently try to wash yourself, and Jack lets you. He understands how important reclaiming your independence is after such a traumatic experience. But he’s never far, always ready to step in when you need it.

And you hate to admit that you do. But he sees it, the small huff of frustration as you try to open the bottle of shampoo you’re holding between your knees with your left hand. The accessible shower is something you’re grateful for now. You silently thank the accessibility it provides you to do more than you otherwise could right now. But when Jack sees the look of helplessness on your face as you try to process how to wash your hair single-handedly, he quietly steps in.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” He asks, still leaving the ball in your court.

You huff, “I can’t open this stupid bottle, and even if I could, I don’t know how I am supposed to wash my hair like this.”

“Okay,” He says, thinking, “I could open the bottle and put the shampoo on your hair, if you still want to try to wash it yourself, or I can do it all for you, baby. You did so good with everything else.”

You let out a restrained sob, “Can you please do it?”

He had gotten prepared as you were washing the rest of your body, removing his prosthetic, and getting his crutches nearby. He got towels ready for both of you, made sure the no-slip mat was secure, and grabbed a change of clothes for when you were done. He opens the shower door more than it had been and turns the showerhead so the water is spraying away from you both.

Once he steps in, leaving his crutches at the door, and taking a seat next to you on the bench, he grabs the showerhead and hands it to you.

“Here, hold on to this,” He mumbles, grabbing the shampoo, balancing between your knees. His hands work the shampoo into your scalp like they have hundreds of times before in moments of a different sort of intimacy. You sigh in relief. The feeling is almost better than the pain medication they discharged you with. Medication can’t bring the closeness you feel with Jack.

Once you are both clean, Jack turns the water off and grabs a towel for you. You start to pat yourself dry as he dries himself off and starts getting your clothes. You see his exhaustion too, the way he leans into his crutches more than usual.

“Jack, baby,” You interrupt.

He pauses, looking at you with worry, “Everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Sit down.” You say.

He looks confused, “You’re in pain, and tired. Sit down. I can hand you your clothes. I’ll need help with my shirt and brace, but we can do that sitting.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression, but he gives in, sitting back down on the bench with his towel around his waist. You stand up, slowly, still feeling a little weak. You fully open the shower doors and grab Jack’s boxers and shorts and hand them to him. You see, he’s laid out a pair of underwear and one of his sweats for you with a button-up pajama top. Always thoughtful, like he knew a regular shirt would be more trouble than it’s worth, trying to manipulate your arm through a sleeve.

Once Jack has his pants on, he turns to you, helping you get each foot through your underwear, and then the pants’ legs. You’re happy to forget about the option to wear a bra right now. You whimper when Jack helps you extend your arm through the sleeve of your shirt, but he quietly shushes you and places a kiss on your temple when you’re finished. You both sit and breathe for a moment. Taking in the feeling of being clean. The exhaustion it cost to get there.

He takes in a deep breath and blows it out through his mouth, grounding, “Ready for your brace?” He asks.

You nod your head and grab it from the toilet seat, turning your torso so he can help you put it back on. It feels unnatural, the position your arm has to be in, but you know wearing the brace will help you recover with the best possible outcome, so you tolerate it.

When you’re both finished, you get set up in the living room. Jack told HR he needed to take FMLA while you were home recovering. Gloria tried to put up a fight, arguing that leaving Shen to fend for himself would leave the night shift in shambles. He told her to find another attending to cover for him.

Even though PT won’t start for another week or so, you were given instructions for small movements that would help to preserve your range of motion. Jack talks you through them, even when you yell at him to shut up or leave you alone. He stays. He knows how important it was to have someone push him after his amputation. So, even though his heart breaks every time he sees you so hopeless, he pushes you farther.

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Recovery is far from linear. There are weeks you are proud of your improvements, and others where everything seems insurmountable. Jack is there every step of the way. A steady assurance that you’re here. You’re trying.

“Ugh! I can’t keep fucking doing this!” You yell after your sixth time trying to hold a spoon.

Jack looks up from across the room. He sees you stand up from your chair by the occupational therapist and start to walk out the door as they call after you. He’s immediately up and following you outside.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He says, carefully placing a hand on your waist to stop you, “Where are you at? What do you need?”

You can feel the tears in your eyes, and you wipe them away as they fall, but it’s no use.

“I can’t do this, Jack! This is impossible! I’m never going to be able to do my job again, that’s like the one thing that matters to me.” You cry.

Jack stays calm. And you hate it. After months of healing and crying and helplessness, he still stays supportive and understanding, and part of you just wishes he could show an ounce of anger because maybe that would give you a wake up call to just move forward.

But if there’s one thing Jack is, it’s honest. Not once throughout this process has he pitied you or lied to you. He’s never given you false promises about your recovery or the future.

“You might not be able to go to surgery.” He admits, “But that doesn’t mean you’re worthless or not competent! At least you’re alive!” He finally raises his voice.

You inhale sharply and purse your lips to keep them from wobbling. And you let yourself grieve. You grieve the person you were before all of this, and the person you’ll never become because of it. You grieve your career, and a life without pain, and a life without anxiety at every sudden sound.

You sob and hide into Jacks chest. He wraps his arms around you as you hang onto him like a lifeline.

“I’m so tired of feeling like I can’t do anything, and like I’m burdening you, Jack I don’t know how you learned to adapt; this is so hard.” You cry.

He puts hand at the nape of your neck and shushes you. You stay like that until you feel like air is something real again. It’s not until Jack feels you physically calm down that he speaks again.

With both hands on either side of your face he makes sure you’re looking at him fully before continuing, “Baby, you have never been a burden. Ever.”

He wipes a few tears from your cheek, “I have been trying so hard to be the person I wish I had in my life after I lost my leg. And I know even that will never be enough to make things better. You’re allowed to be angry because you’re right. You might never get enough strength or dexterity back to work in the OR again. You deserve to grieve that.”

Jack swallows hard like he’s bargaining with someone, and he’s not confident they’ll agree with him, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t transition into a different position. We could use another PA in the ER, you could go into any specialty. Hell, you could start teaching if you wanted. None of this makes you less competent or brilliant.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “I am so sorry you are experiencing this. I love you so much.”

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Recovery wasn’t just something you went through. Everything that happened changed Jack too. After an argument one night he decided to quit volunteering for the SWAT team.

You never realized how much guilt Jack carried over the past eight months about the argument that day. But he admitted it to you one night while you both laid in bed after a long day.

“I feel like it’s my fault,” He whispered, “You getting hurt.”

Your heart skipped a beat, “What? Why would any of that be your fault?”

“You picked up that call shift because you knew I was working with the SWAT team that day. There was no reason for you to be there. If I had just listened to you and pulled my head out of my ass….”

He exhaled shakily, “Maybe you’d still be in the OR and not cardiology.”

You turned to look at him, like what he’s said was so absurd that you couldn’t understand why he would say such a thing, “Jack. None of this was your fault. I never blamed you.”

A pause, “And I actually really like cardiology.”

Jack doesn’t smile, you see the maelstrom of emotion behind his eyes. A tear falls down the side of his face.

His resolve cracks, “I couldn’t protect you.”

You frown and curl into his side, wincing as your shoulder catches and tingles with pain, “Baby,” you start, softer this time, “You can’t keep replaying that night in your head trying to search for a different outcome.”

He clenches his jaw and stares at the ceiling, but you feel the trail of his thumb at your waistband.

“I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did,” you say instantly, “You stayed.”

He lets out a choked sound.

“I love you,” he says, voice wrecked.

Your hand twirls one of the curls at the nape of his neck and you press a kiss to his collarbone. And for the first time since that night, Jack closes his eyes. And lets himself grieve instead of feeling guilty.

“He clearly doesn’t like me, Michael.” You huffed, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck.

Michael Robinavitch was your mentor and also a best friend. You worked together for almost five years after you moved to Pittsburgh. And you were one of the few people who actually called him by his first name.

Robby looked through some papers on the chart, humming underneath his breath, his reading glasses hanging low. 

“You are not listening.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the nurse station, looking through a chart. 

Dana glared up at you, shaking her head with a little smile. 

“Arguing with Robby again?”

You straightened your back a little and huffed. “I would call it an exchange of opinions.” 

Day and night shifts met for a quick briefing, Robby standing tall and serious. You were beside Mel, who looked anxious as always, stealing occasional looks at Langdon who were unusually smiley. 

Then your eyes flicked to the opposite, to who dared to stand beside your partner in crime. Jack Abbot with his arrogant and cocky energy. 

You scrunched your nose and he caught your stare, giving you a lopsided smile. He always enjoyed teasing you and you never held back. 

“So, the thing is there’s this medical conference next week and I have to pick two of us who will represent the PTMC there.” Robby started, he wasn’t a fan of those events so you knew exactly he won’t be attending. You crossed your arms over your chest, curiosity took over your brain and you thought about who he should pick.

Frank raised his hand. “I’ll go. I think I’m pretty capable of doing so.” 

Robby shook his head no. “No. I already made my choice.” And his gaze ended up on you. Oh no. Oh no. You knew where this was going.

Inhaling sharply, you were about to speak when he pointed at your figure adding: “You and Abbot.” 

Jack raised his brows in surprise, but then his expression changed into an amused one, flashing a smirk at you. “Oh, funny.”

“You can’t be serious, Michael.” You growled, anger fuelling your body.

“That’s my final decision. I expect you two to behave like the professionals you are.” Robby dismissed the meeting, others already whispering and giggling. 

You stomped on your feet, walking towards him all the while Jack still stood beside him. 

“I won’t go.” 

Robby scribbled something onto a paper, clipping it onto a chart not caring about your words.

“Come on. Don’t be silly.” Jack chuckled.

“I’m not talking to you.” You shot him a death glare and he just shook his head. 

Michael lifted his gaze to look at you, being all so serious. You know it's just a bullshit facade.

“I’m giving you a chance to solve this— this something, which I don’t understand what is, between you two. Talk it out, spend some time together, I don’t know, but don’t come back from that conference with unresolved issues you have with yourselves.” And he was gone for a patient that just came through. 

The way you were pissed off was unbelievably bad. Jack crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well, I won’t be easy on you, so you better get ready.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” You scoffed, trying to find yourself a useful thing to do, you decided to go triage.

Arriving into the hotel you were staying in Washington was another kind of shock.

After neverending bickering through the flight, you were excited to get some peace in your hotel room.

Only to find out there was a mistake with your booking and you ended up in the same room as your rival. 

One bed

Your worst nightmare, sharing the most intimate space with this unbelievable man. 

Jack shook his head when he put his suitcase against the wall, taking another glance at the bed as if he was able to divide it into two.

“Robby, you piece of shit…” he muttered, but you heard it, shooting him an annoyed look.

“I will kill that man, with my bare HANDS.” You were livid, pacing at the window.

“Calm down, it’s okay. This bed is fucking huge, so there’s plenty space for us both.” He was amused. 

“I don’t care what you think, Abbot. I’m getting my own room.” You were determined.

Casually, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You heard the receptionist. There’s no other room, because they’re overbooked. Everybody is here for the medical conference. So be a professional and suck it up.” 

You hated how he was right. 

Jack was unbelievably gentle, standing tall beside you, chest puffed with pride when you spoke with other people representing the medical field. He took in how you were glowing while talking about things you loved.

When sitting at the table, you circled the leg of the champagne flute, watching it with an empty look.

“You don’t fancy alcohol?” His voice got you out of your mind.

“Not much.” You murmured, taking a glance at the speaker on the podium.

Jack was listening to everything that was said, massaging his thigh above the prosthesis, it was one of those days he felt utterly exhausted by that damn thing. 

You didn’t care, trying to mind your own business, making some notes.

But Jack couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at your figure, the dress you were wearing was really enhancing you, as if you were born to wear that fabric. Clearing his throat, he shook his head to get back to his line of thinking.

You noticed he was staring, but said nothing, because you were already exhausted from dealing with him before, so there wasn’t a point in losing any more time with him. But you had to admit that he looked damn good in that suit, that white shirt under his blazer was really something, with those two buttons undone from the top revealing a little of his greyish chest hair. Swallowing hard, you felt your throat becoming dry, so this was the time you gulped the champagne.

Staying for the dinner and some evening chat with other doctors, one of them flirting with you, Jack decided he had enough and he excused himself to go back to the hotel room. His leg was bothering him to the limits the same as that damn young doctor trying to impress you with his successes through internships. 

“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” You huffed when you arrived at the hotel room, a little tipsy, spotting a prosthetic leg casually resting against the wall near the bedside table.

Jack lifted his gaze lazily from the tv show he was watching, already tucked in the spacious bed. 

“Scared by an innocent part of a leg? Get a grip.” He scoffed, but there was that sarcastic undertone you couldn’t unhear. 

“Pff… I don’t have limbs scattered across my flat, so…” you rolled your eyes, trying to take off your heels, but it was already a struggle given to your tired state.

He noticed your fight with the tiny straps and he sat up on the bed. “Come here, you clumsy thing.” 

And you did, landing on your ass on the edge of the bed and he gestured for you to lift your leg up so he could reach for it. Once his large hands wrapped around your ankle, your guts did a flip, the one you didn’t expect. 

Jack was focused on the small fastening that was stuck. With the surgical precision he undid it and relieved your foot from the tight grip of the heel. 

Then you lifted your other leg and he did the same. Now you had your legs on his lap and he ran his fingers over the curves of your insteps, pressing a little into the marks from the straps.

“You should consider stopping wearing those damn heels. Not good for your feet and back.” His voice soothed something in the depths of your soul, you started to melt under his skilled touch. 

“Keep it to yourself, doctor Abbot.” You muttered and moved down to rest on your elbows, the dress hanging on your figure, your skin growing annoyed of the fabric.

Jack let out a soft chuckle, pressing his thumb to your sole causing you to groan in utter satisfaction. 

“Fucking hell…” a soft mutter escaped your lips, your head falling back with a deep sigh.

“I know what I’m doing.” 

The way he massaged your feet was astounding and embarrassingly great. You thought that you could never admit this to Robby. Ever.

“Sure you do…” 

Jack hummed, tracing your ankle with his thumb. “I have an idea. Go take a shower and I’ll massage your feet even more, you can fall asleep comfortably. Hm?” 

You turned your head back to stare at him in disbelief, awaiting something mischievous behind it but his face was soft and full of honesty.

“Okay.” You whispered softly, getting off the bed, already missing his warm touch. Collecting your toiletry bag and pajamas, you disappeared into the bathroom.

After a while you were out, fresh as a daisy, a tired expression written all over your face. A scent of your shampoo hit his nose and he cleared his throat. 

Climbing into the bed under the sheets, you lay your head on the pillow, looking up at how he was seated against the headboard. 

“Were you serious or you were making fun of me?” 

Jack patted his lap again, your legs moving instinctively towards him and he moved a little closer to you for you to be more comfortable. You could smell him, feel the heat radiating from his body, but you didn’t feel nervous or scared. It brought you peace and comfort. 

“Is this okay?” He asked for your permission in a low tone, giving you a concerned look.

You nodded, eyes closing as he massaged your feet gently. 

For you it was a very intimate act. And with your sworn enemy? 

“Thank you.” Your murmur was barely heard, but he caught it, smiling to himself, working on your toes.

“I would take care of you every day if you were mine.” Jack sighed into the silence of the room, while you were already out, deeply asleep.

The first sunrays peeked through the curtains of the hotel room, having you stirring in the bed. Something heavy was draped over your upper body, heat radiating at your back. A soft hum of approval escaped your mouth, but then you opened your eyes slowly, confused a little. 

Jack had his arm draped over you, holding you close to his chest while his breath trickled your hair on your neck as he was still asleep. 

Your mind yelled at you to jump out of the bed immediately, but you decided to shift a little, your stare taking in his skin. 

Counting the freckles on his forearm, you actually felt good, safe even. 

Until you felt another thing poking into your back, blush was creeping up your cheeks. 

“Jack. Hey. We have to get up.” You tried to gently nudge him but all he did was wrap his arms around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, exhaling heavily. 

“A few more minutes, baby…” he hummed, grinding his hips into you. 

Eyes wide you jumped out of the bed, heart thumping in your chest. “Abbot. Wake up, you dang idiot!” Your voice surely caused him to open his eyes lazily, looking at you and then he shifted to lay on his back. 

“What’s the rush, huh?” His voice was hoarse and now you could see clearly the tent formed between his legs. 

“Jesus Christ, you have no decency.” You huffed, grabbing your clothes to disappear into the bathroom. 

Jack peeked under the cover to seek his morning wood only to grin. “That’s a sign my body is working well.” 

Doing your skincare, you still felt the ache in your lower belly, the one that you desperately tried to keep at bay with your own skilled hands. There’s no way you would want to have sex with your enemy. No. 

Maybe… a little. Yeah. No. 

You shook your head and once being ready, you fled out of the bathroom, taking a glance at him with the corner of your eye. 

Jack struggled to put on his leg, grunting and cursing under his breath. 

“Need a hand?” You were all sarcastic but in your mind you pitied this man. 

“Actually, yeah.” He ran a hand through his messy grey curls and you put down your phone, walking to him. Jack noticed you’re wearing a dress, again, but this time it was a nice summer one with flowers on it.

“You look good.” He hummed out and you just got onto your knees completely ignoring him as you focused on the task and that was clasping his leg on where it has to be. 

“Tell me what to do?” You lifted your gaze and you caught his expression. Sucking in a breath he got out of the trance, showing you exactly what he needed help with.

You nodded, trying your best, your dainty fingers helping but that prosthetic bitch had its own mind. 

“Shit…” you cursed and Jack propped himself back on his hands. 

“Fuck. I hate this.” 

You sat back on your heels, taking in his frustrated expression and your eyes wandered down south. 

“Abbot, are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out at the sight of his erection again.

His gaze fell down and he smirked a little. 

“Well, you're on your knees…” 

Your eyes went wide, mouth open agape when you wanted to insult him but your brain was numb. You could use some relief, a man hasn’t touched you in ages. 

“You're an unbelievable asshole.” 

“Really? Then why are you blushing? Why are you so flushed, princess?” He mocked you and you noticed his dick twitching in his shorts. 

Acting more on instinct, you managed to rip your panties off you and throwing them at him with annoyed grunt. Catching them swiftly, he brought them to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Guess we’re gonna need to prolong our stay.” His voice was suddenly so deep.

Your hands grabbed his thighs, a longing sigh escaping your mouth. “How do we play this out?” 

Jack was still mesmerised by the piece of fabric that used to hug your pussy, but he gave you a look full of lust. 

“Robby wants us to get our frustrations out. So, use me. Ride me. Whatever you like. Because I know you’re secretly thinking about all the things you’d do to me.” His body leaned closer to where you kneeled, whispering against your lips as his fingers tipped your chin. You were like a moth caught by the flame, your lips parted slightly, trembling, you were needy as hell.

Not giving you time to speak, he captured your lips in some kinda soft kiss, like testing the waters if you’re gonna kiss him back. And you waited no more. Literally jumping onto him, you wrapped your legs around his hips, his one hand keeping you steady in place while the other was a little behind him to not fall on his back.

“Eager girl.” He muttered in between kisses, gasping when he felt you grinding against his groin. 

“Can you shut up for a moment?” You breathed out heavily, arms around his neck, staring into his eyes.

“Never.” 

That goddamn smirk that was driving you crazy. 

“I hate you.” You gritted through your teeth, your hand traveling down between your bodies, into his shorts to finally take a hold of his girth. And holy shit, girl, your hand suddenly felt very small.

Jack could see it in your eyes, the surprise and warmth of your arousal when you found out how blessed he actually was.

“So, what are we saying?” His hand casually fell down to the curve of your ass, underneath the soft fabric of your dress. 

“I’m not gonna praise your cock.” You huffed, palming him, trying not to salivate at how much you wanted to have your mouth stuffed with him. But you won’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet.

Being so focused on that, you almost didn’t notice his hand on your ass moving towards your pussy, his fingers smearing in your wetness. 

“Oh, ohhh…” you jolted forward into his chest, whining in process. 

“Jesus, love, I think we both need me to be inside you soon as possible, hm?” Jack was starting to get frustrated, expecting you to be more denying as usual but you nodded fast and shifted your hips to navigate his tip to your aching folds. All that while you were holding his gaze, you were shaking at the anticipation and he helped you with both his hands to guide you down.

Once his cock started to stretch through your velvet walls, your eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth letting out a loud gasp, your consciousness faltering slowly.

“Easy, baby, easy… fuck, you’re so tight.” He got you, slowly getting you lower and lower on his length, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic moan at how you clenched around him heavenly.

After a while, you were sitting fully on him, his shaft being swallowed whole by your hungry pussy and you held onto him tight, like you didn’t want to fall off. You didn’t even have a single thought to talk.

“So this is what it gets for you to finally be quiet, huh?” His arm holding you close on his lap, while his other hand reached out to brush a strand of your hair from your face to look at you, to note how you were out of your mind, so pliant and soft. 

Then it struck him that you were still wearing that dress and he pushed the straps down your shoulders to reveal your breasts. Licking his lips, he then took your right nipple into his mouth, giving it a proper care, sucking it as if there was no tomorrow. 

“J-Jack…” you whimpered, losing your mind through being full by him. 

Trailing his way up your neck to your ear, he chuckled smugly. “Come on, baby girl, ride me.” 

Lifting your hips, you slammed back, over and over, his hands gripping your hips to help you with your moves. 

Face flushed, eyes rolled back, you couldn’t breathe from how much you loved the moment. He was absolutely perfect for you, matching your desire, holding you exactly how you expected from a man. 

Sweat formed on your forehead, hair sticking to it, you were riding this man with all your might. And he was there, for you, watching you, without any biting remark, he was enjoying himself too. 

Suddenly he stopped you, halting you fully onto his cock. You inhaled sharply, mind dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but you noticed his trembling lower lip, his features tight. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, and–” you interrupted him.

“Don’t care. Gonna take a plan b. Just fucking fill me, Abbot.” ah, there it was, the fire in your eyes was back. 

Something dark flashed across his gaze and he nodded. Quickly, he moved you on the bed, flat on stomach, and he did his best to climb on you, slapping your ass gently. 

Settling between your ass cheeks, he rubbed his dick through your folds, only to fill you again. It was really hard for him to keep his balance, so he leaned forwards onto his hands.

Your hands gripped the sheets, drooling into the fabric, muffling your moans as he pounded into your relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh baby, oh…” he whimpered, it was like music to your ears and finally you felt his dick twitching with release, his thick cum coating your inner walls.

Breathing heavily, you buried your face into the mattress when Jack collapsed onto your back, peppering your bare shoulder in kisses.

“So good for me…” whispering, it gave you shivers.

“Fuck you…” you mumbled and he chuckled.

Jack carefully slid out of you, body still thrumming with post orgasmic flow, and his strong hand flipped you onto your back.

Gasping in surprise, you stared at him when he moved between your legs, laying on his stomach, one of his hands settled on your hip and the other cupped your ruined pussy. He was mesmerised by the way his precious frosting dripped out of you. Carefully, he scooped a little by his fingers, only to push it back into you, causing you to whine in overstimulation. 

“Shhh… I almost forgot about you, how wrong of me…” he darted out his tongue and licked a long stripe to your clit, all the while his fingers were curling in your clenching cunt.

“Jack… please—“ you moaned, face frowned and eyes full of tears. 

“What is it, baby?” He held you in place, noticing how your hips tried to escape from him even though you ached to come.

“T-too much—“ you gasped when he latched onto your clit with his lips, suckling sounds filling the room and your eyes went wide.

“Fuck— gonna kill you—“ it was all you had to say when your hands flew to his hair, to tug it rough, making him grunt into your core.

“Of course.” His voice vibrated your folds to the point you were going crazy, your pussy making all those lewd sounds of arousal. 

Then he let go of you, blowing a little air onto your petal, chuckling at your squirming figure. Pulling out his fingers, having them coated with a mix of your juices and his cum, he propped himself onto his hand to bring them to your lips. 

You shook your head no, brows furrowing in annoyance.

“Open your mouth. I want you to taste us.” His voice was commanding and you let out a shuddered breath. You were a mess, you wanted to come already, to be over with it, but you had to play his game.

Holding his gaze, you obeyed, parting your lips and he waited no more, pushing his fingers onto your tongue. Inhaling sharply, your tongue swirled eagerly, moaning quietly at how intoxicating taste it was. 

Jack grinned victoriously, getting back to your painfully edged cunt, delving his fingers back into your depths.

“Look at you, taking me so well, who would have thought that you’re such a good girl. So fucking good. Mhm… come on… give it to me, all you have is mine, princess…” 

The way he talked, you couldn’t take it, your body screaming in utmost pleasure and pain from the overwhelming sensations.

“You’d be so hot being round and soft with my baby. You were made to be filled by me…” he continued and you were bewildered by this and you shot him a shocked glare.

“Stop— don’t say— holy— Jack!” 

But it was all you needed to actually reach your highest of the high, coming around his fingers, sucking him tight with your velvet walls.

Jack laughed softly, feeling so proud that his little talk made you come hard. 

Giving your pussy a soft tap, he moved to lay beside you, enjoying your panting breaths, grinning how ruined you looked, sweaty and done.

Fingers grazed their way between your breasts to your neck, ending up on your jaw. 

“You’re beautiful like this.” 

Turning your head to look at him, you let out a sigh. 

“Don’t start with this…” 

“I’m just saying what’s true.” His features softened while caressing your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. You wanted to savour every possible second of it.

“Robby can’t know about this.” You shot your eyes open with an amused expression.

Jack was smug, running his hand through the strands of your damp hair. 

“He’s gonna be so nosy. Prepare for it.” 

A soft laugh slipped past your lips, you were staring into the ceiling. 

“Thank you.”

He cocked his brow. “For what?” 

“Good fuck?” You looked at him again.

“Anytime.” He shrugged and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his leg. This time he put it on the right way. 

“Motherfucker.” He cursed under his breath and then he turned to see you over his shoulder. 

“You have to get yourself cleaned up. I can help.” He offered you his hand and you took it without any hesitation. Still having your dress scrunched up around your waist you took it off and walked to the bathroom with him. 

Jack grabbed a towel to clean himself quickly, not bothering about anything else and then he gestured for you to step under the spray of hot water. 

While you were cleaning your skin he watched you intently, leaning against the vanity counter until he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. 

After you stepped out, wrapped into a fluffy towel, you let out a sigh of relief. His hand suddenly reached out for yours, bringing you to stand between his open legs. 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I’m not a man like this.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

That took you aback. “I… Jack…” 

“Sorry, I… I just want you to know that I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. You captivated me from the moment you entered that damn hospital in Pittsburgh. You and your attitude just didn’t give me much choice.” He chuckled and his words tugged on your chest.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes.

“I was so irritated by your cocky behaviour, I knew men like you. But… it appears that I didn’t know you at all.” Your hand moved to his cheek, cupping it.

A shaky breath went through his mouth. “You’re so insufferable, you can’t imagine.” 

Rolling your eyes, you squeezed his hand instinctively. “Oh believe me. I can.”

“So, I suggest we come back and take it easy. No rush. We have to be careful around others on our shifts. What do you think?” Jack stood up, flinching a little, shifting his leg, but still holding your hand.

“Sounds good to me.” You nodded with a smile, while he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead.

“Let’s get you that morning after pill.” 

A day shift was in full swing when about three in the afternoon Jack clocked in and his eyes were searching for you through the space.

You were on a case with Robby, finished with the patient to be sent to the OR.

Taking off your bloodied gloves, you huffed at something Robby was talking about behind you. 

“Yeah, clearly I’m not in the best shape, okay?” 

Robby noticed Jack standing at the computer at the nurse station, already watching you both. “Well, maybe you should think about switching for the night since you warmed up with our daddy one leg.” The last three words he whispered near you to tease you and you smacked his arm.

“Fuck you, Michael.” 

“Ah, so, I’m not wrong with my assumption, huh?” He followed after you, when you hurried towards the charts.

“What’s the hush?” Jack smirked, taking a slow step forward Robby, who was eyeing him with amusement.

“Michael here just called you the daddy one leg.” You wiggled your brows in amusement, sipping coffee from your cup.

Jack feigned a little gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “You just hurt me, a war veteran, an amputee, Robby.” 

Robby just scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m just trying to find what’s behind this little alliance you two made all of sudden. What the fuck happened at that conference, hm?” 

Both you and Jack met with your gazes, but he decided to speak. “Well, you said we have to discuss the shit between us, and we sorted it out, case closed. What’s the matter with that?” 

“That you both almost bit your head off and all of sudden you’re cooperating without a fuss. It’s weirdly hard to believe that you just discussed it out.” Robby bounced on his feet, irritation evident from his voice as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

“Get out of your head, Michael. You’re spending too much time there.” You chuckled at your own joke, Jack trying so hard to not laugh. 

Later that day, when you were about to clock out of your shift, you stood beside Dana, who was scribbling something down, staring through her readers. Robby was discussing a case with Ellis and Shen who arrived just in time to relieve the day’s, while Jack stood close to them, somehow watching you again. 

“So, what’s he like in bed, huh?” Dana nudged your arm, looking in the direction where Jack stood. 

You bit the inside of your cheek with a little sigh. “Unbelievable, Dana. Fucking unbelievable…” 

And with that you both laughed your asses off.

“Your family’s in town?”

You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries. 

You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone. 

“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”

“Dinner circuit?”

You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”

“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”

You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”

The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.” 

“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”

“So your fucked, basically.”

Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”

Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.” 

“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”

“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”

You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”

He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”

“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”

“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”

“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”

The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”

“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”

“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”

“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand. 

Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”

Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”

“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”

Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?

You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby. 

“Mom?” 

“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”

“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“

She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.” 

“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“

“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”

You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”

“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“

“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”

“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice. 

“Can I help you, ma’am?” 

Jack. 

Jack fucking Abbot. 

Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.

Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him. 

“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”

You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures. 

Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks. 

“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”

And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway. 

“You work with my daughter?”

“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”

Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke. 

She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles. 

“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”

Proud of the money I send home, maybe. 

“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“

You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better. 

Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. 

“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”

Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely. 

“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”

Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside. 

The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale. 

“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“

“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”

“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”

He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”

You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”

“Are those desired outcomes?”

“Mostly.”

He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”

It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack. 

So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.

“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”

“You could.”

“Wipe out my entire family?”

“Take me to dinner with you.”

Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious. 

“Are you joking?”

He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—

“No.”

You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“

“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”

What. The. Fuck. 

“No.” You gape, incredulous. 

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“

“Jack.” 

You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“

“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”

“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”

“In the ED, obviously.”

“How long have we been together?”

“Month and a half.”

“Why are we even dating?”

“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”

Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine. 

“Have you… thought about this?” 

He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”

“Are you rich?” 

There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile. 

“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”

“But you do?”

“They’re my family.” 

Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere. 

You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?” 

“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”

“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”

“Beats drinking beer in the park.”

You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life. 

On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win. 

“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”

Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”

“Flowers?”

“Naturally.”

“You pay?” 

“For every meal.”

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Navy blue. Mine?” 

You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”

Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients. 

“Will she really be that upset about it?”

“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”

Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”

“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”

“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”

Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind. 

“Deal.”

—

Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend. 

Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.

In a way. 

You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.

Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go. 

Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door. 

You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.

Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—

“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”

You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape. 

“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”

Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked. 

Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“

Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?

“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”

Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing? 

He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain. 

“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”

You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”

“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.” 

You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”

“You could swap me with someone else?”

“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”

“Touché.” 

The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”

“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”

Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom. 

“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”

“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”

Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go. 

He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly. 

Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.

Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”

“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”

Right. That's probably an unhinged question.

“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”

He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“

“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.

“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”

He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly. 

“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”

“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”

Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”

He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply. 

“You smell good.” 

Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold. 

“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”

“It’s nice. Suits you.” 

You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain. 

The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask. 

(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”

“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”

“Fair point.”)

By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them. 

At least, that’s what he says. 

“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”

You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”

“Singing your praises, of course.”

Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable. 

The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying. 

As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body. 

The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you. 

You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers: 

“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”

Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you. 

When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves. 

Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“

You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness. 

Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well. 

If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place. 

He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby. 

“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”

Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place. 

“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”

Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”

Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack. 

“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“

“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”

Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”

Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”

You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending. 

“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.” 

Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”

Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you. 

“How’d I do?”

You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”

“Looking forward to it.” 

The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can. 

To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking: 

“Do you really wanna do this right now?”

Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs. 

Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for. 

“So. Dr. Abbot—”

“Just Jack is fine.”

“—How long have the two of you been dating?”

“A month and a half.”

“Why’d you start dating?”

You take a generous gulp of your wine. 

“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in. 

Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”

You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes. 

That’s going in the mental folder. 

“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”

“Why’d you leave?” 

“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”

You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine. 

The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.

Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear. 

“Mr. Abbot—“

“Either Doctor or Jack works.” 

Ooo. There was some bite in that one. 

Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better. 

But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions. 

This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward. 

“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?” 

Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot. 

Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe. 

“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.” 

For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on. 

But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way. 

He’s perfect. 

Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look. 

Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide. 

Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car. 

“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”

Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead. 

“Jack?” 

“They didn’t even talk to you.”

You blink. 

“What?”

“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”

You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”

He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?

“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips. 

“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“

“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”

Oh. 

“How do you know that?”

“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”

Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”

“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”

“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”

Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed. 

Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.

“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?” 

He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.

(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)

“Of course I remember.” 

There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present. 

The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)

But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone. 

Jack just keeps looking at you. 

He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact. 

He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking. 

“You’re so much more than them.” 

Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold. 

“What?”

“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.” 

You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat. 

“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“

“No.”

Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly. 

An old habit. 

Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.  

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.” 

Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“

“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.” 

“Jack—“

“Please.”

You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain. 

He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”

You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?” 

Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability. 

“I’ll walk you to your door.” 

The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress. 

At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.

Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him. 

(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.  

You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)

You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better? 

“You have that look on your face.”

You frown. “What look?” 

“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.” 

“It’s freaky when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“You always know what I’m thinking.”

Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets. 

Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?” 

“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.” 

“Oh.” 

It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad. 

He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you. 

Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”

Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense. 

Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger. 

“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?” 

The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it. 

He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.” 

“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”

“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”

“Maybe I‘ll—“

“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.” 

You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out. 

Sometimes it feels like he balances you out. 

“Goodnight.”

He gives you a little smile of his own. 

“Goodnight.”

—

Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you. 

So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list. 

“This really isn’t a good time—“

“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.” 

“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”

“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“

The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room. 

“She fight back at all?”

“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.” 

“Christ.”

“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”

“Fuck. Do you think—“

“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.” 

Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.” 

“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?” 

“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”

Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”

“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.” 

“That bad?” 

“Yeah.” 

The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand. 

“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”

“It’s different.” 

“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”

“You lost me on that last one.” 

“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.” 

“Is there a difference?”

“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved?”

“Bit late for that.”

“You could pull back.”

“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”

“She is a grown woman.”

“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone. 

“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”

The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.” 

He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up. 

“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”

“Worse than you expected?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”

“Fuck no.”

“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.” 

“I save lives too.”

“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”

“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”

“That’s what they all say.” 

Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed. 

But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.

—

The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help. 

It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest. 

But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions: 

“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?” 

And: 

“What’s Jack like on a date?” 

The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.

You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him. 

Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume. 

(“…I like layering scents.”

“It’s nice. Suits you.”)

It’s all too much.

Hence the avoiding.

You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner. 

But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack. 

All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack. 

You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else. 

It’s how they treat you. 

You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too. 

But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different. 

It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal. 

“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?” 

You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.

“I’m not hiding from you.”

Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”

“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.” 

“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”

You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Normal how?”

“You seemed pretty upset yesterday. You’re acting like nothing’s changed, but–”

“Nothing has changed.”

Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it. 

You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing. 

It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen. 

“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?” 

“Nothing.”

He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”

He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give. 

“I’m just worried.” 

“You? Worried? No.” 

You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”

“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face. 

“Why do you care?” 

The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place. 

You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do. 

You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense. 

Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense. 

“Why do I care about what?”

“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.” 

It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for. 

He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight. 

“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”

“But why?” 

“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?” 

You snort. “Guilty as charged.” 

Now it’s his turn to sigh. 

“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”

You frown. “It is.” 

“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.” 

You scoff. “So this is about my family.” 

He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“They are.” 

“Other people have it worse.”

“It’s not a competition.” 

You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?” 

“Because it’s a big deal to you.” 

The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you. 

It’s Jack who speaks first though. 

“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.” 

A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.

“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.

Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.” 

“We will?” 

“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”

You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out. 

The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him. 

Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.

You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head. 

“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.” 

He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself. 

That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.” 

He would. He totally would. 

The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring. 

(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)

–

The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years. 

The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before. 

The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own. 

It’s as frustrating as it is hot. 

But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment. 

It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out. 

You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below. 

At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like. 

“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.” 

You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever. 

Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads  to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed. 

You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood. 

“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”

Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule." 

“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.” 

Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three. 

Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over. 

“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.” 

He smiles thinly. “None taken.” 

Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure. 

So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary. 

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?” 

That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man. 

“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.” 

Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”

It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough. 

“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”

“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning. 

Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”

Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t. 

“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”

Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.” 

Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”

Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch. 

“He cheated on me with my best friend.” 

At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.” 

“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.” 

Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”

Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.” 

“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.” 

Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober. 

Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service. 

By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment. 

“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?” 

“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.” 

“Oh. That was nice of you.” 

He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”

You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.” 

“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.” 

“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.” 

You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” 

You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.” 

“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.” 

You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”

Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.” 

Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.

Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same. 

“And what about me?” 

Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.

The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Mmm. Nope.” 

“How come?” 

"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.” 

“You think you’re wrong?”

“Still can’t figure you out.” 

“And how can I show you that I mean it?” 

That’s. Hmm.

“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.” 

His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?” 

“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”

“Competent?” 

“That’s the word.”

If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it. 

“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.” 

“Are you like Bob the Builder?”

“I’m a doctor, so no.” 

“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.” 

“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”

“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?” 

“No.” 

‘Then yes.” 

“You sure? I wasn’t lying.” 

“I know. But I like your cooking.”

You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.” 

It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation. 

When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment. 

His gigantic apartment. 

“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.” 

“Its not that big.” 

“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.” 

You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.

You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober. 

“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”

“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.” 

He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”

You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?

“Only if you don’t mind.” 

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.” 

Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.

He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.” 

Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.) 

Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with  tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so. 

“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that. 

“Looking at the sparkles.” 

“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”

“You made vodka pasta?” 

He shrugs. “You said you liked it.” 

You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.” 

Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not. 

“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.” 

“M’ not fallin’ asleep.” 

“Mhm. Sure.” 

With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?

“What’re’you’ making?”

“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.” 

“Oh. How come?” 

“Because I don’t want you to throw up.” 

“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.” 

“You drink often?” 

“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.” 

“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?” 

“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.” 

“I see.” 

“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being. 

“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.” 

“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.” 

“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit. 

Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”

“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”

“It won’t be when you wake up.”

You whine, curling away from him. 

He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”

“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”

“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”

“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”

“I like sleeping on couches.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.” 

You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”

Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”

“It’d be weird to wake up here.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my boss.”

“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.” 

“What would we even do in the morning?” 

“Sleep.”

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“You’re my guest–” 

“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?” 

Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs. 

“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.” 

Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.” 

The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–

“You okay there?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.” 

He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest. 

“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.” 

Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him. 

Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline. 

You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.

“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”

His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him. 

“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment. 

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Good. Like man.” 

He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.” 

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” 

“Because you’re a sweetheart.” 

“I am?” 

“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.” 

You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.” 

“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.

You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place. 

It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating

And you love it. 

Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn. 

“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.” 

Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it. 

The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together. 

He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say. 

You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other. 

Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can. 

–

Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit. 

You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again. 

You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place. 

“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.” 

“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”

“Okay. No need to rub it in.” 

He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.” 

“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.” 

Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?” 

“...Yes?” 

“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?” 

You’d nodded. 

He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.” 

Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish. 

The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with. 

He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?

The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety. 

“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.” 

You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle. 

“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”

Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.” 

“True. But what if?”

“I’m not going to help you spiral.” 

“Why not?” You whine. 

He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.” 

You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt. 

When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention. 

But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables. 

The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times. 

Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that. 

There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.

You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.

You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.

You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.  

“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”

Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.” 

“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”

“But–”

“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.” 

Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face. 

He looks up when the door opens. “Better?” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation. 

Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food. 

It can’t just be over like this. It can't.

When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.

“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.” 

“So it is.” 

“Guess I owe you big time, huh?” 

“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.” 

“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.” 

You lapse into silence. 

Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”

“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”

It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending. 

It felt real.

It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.

Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.

When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning. 

“What do you think?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.” 

Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight. 

“What if I’m wrong?” 

“You won’t be.”

A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.” 

He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm. 

“You do.” 

Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you. 

“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.” 

“You think,” He drawls, “I might.” 

“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry. 

Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh. 

“Come here.” 

You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you. 

Jack does love to prove you wrong.

“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.” 

Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”

“More than a little?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.” 

“Use your words.” 

“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning. 

“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.” 

You frown. “And how would you have put it?” 

“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.” 

You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work. 

You frown. 

Wait. 

“Have you known I liked you this whole time?” 

Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”

He’s known since the second week?

“Oh my god.” 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”

“Oh my god.”

“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.” 

You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place. 

“Can you take a compliment?” 

“No.” 

He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.” 

“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?” 

“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.” 

“How kind of you to share my bed with me.” 

“I have been told I’m kind.” 

You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips. 

It’s just like your dream. 

Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back. 

You let out a breath, pulling the perfect quenelle and laying it on the plate. “I’m a little busy at the moment. Service,” you set the plate up on the pass before grabbing another.

“And I did tell him that. But he says he knows you and that you invited him here.” Trina says, the edges of her words lifting. “Very hot, intense eyes.”

This is what makes you finally stop. There’s only one person you invited to the restaurant at all recently. And it was a joke, almost. In the way that if he didn’t want to come, you wouldn’t take it personally. But you would really want him to come. And now he’s here.

You take stock of the tickets on the board, dwindling after a slight rush, and recalibrates. “Just, uhm, give me a minute. Tell him he’ll have to wait.”

Trina’s eyes widen. “Holy shit you do know him.”

“Trina, please,” you bristle.

Trina backs away, her eyes not leaving you reddening cheeks. “Oh, we are totally talking about this after.”

“Bye Trina.”

The young server bounces away, an extra swing in her ponytail after learning something that you didn’t want to share.

It takes a second, but you regain your composure. The heat coming up your neck is surely due to the heat of the kitchen. It takes just a few minutes for you to knock out the next few tickets before starting on the last one. The dish you will deliver yourself. You take stock of your prep, what you have left over and what you can put together. You barely know the man, and now your trying to put a dish together that you think he may possibly like. But after a deep breath, you're in it again. This is your world. And you're good at your job.

A slice of vanilla bean Basque Cheesecake, plated with cherry compote and crushed salted almond brittle. Simple, but elegant. Something he could dig his fork into.

“Taking fifteen,” you nod to the Garde-Manger chef. He’ll watch your station while you step away. You remove your spare towel and apron, smoothing down the flyaways that have surely formed. On your way out, you catch your reflection in the metal door. You wipe under your eyes, trying not to look totally exhausted, and step out into the dining room.

There are eyes on you immediately. Hard not to notice the whites, pristine and folded at your elbow, and sticking out in the dim lighting and lively chatter. You make your way to the bar, and it takes all of about three seconds to see him. Broad shoulders, cinnamon sugar curls. He’s chatting with the bartender, who is completely enamored in their discussion.

You slip the plate in front of him and take the stool next to him. “I hope you didn’t already order dessert. This seat taken?” you ask.

Jack Abbott’s eyes drop to the dessert in front of him, but quickly find your face. His eyes find yours immediately, and his smile softens, “All yours.” You can feel your ears redden. Thank God for the dim dining room lighting.

“Thank you, Louis,” you nod at the bartender, “I hope this gentleman didn’t take up too much of your time.”

“Nah,” Louis shakes his head, “this guy has some crazy stories.”

“I’m sure he does,” you reply, but your eyes don’t leave Jack’s.

You wait for Louis to step away, taking care of someone else down the bar. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” you lean back in the stool.

“I think I should be asking that,” Jack nods down at the plate. “What do I have here?”

You tell him about the dessert. “Not on the menu, by the way. Chef special.”

A smile pulls at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “I’m honored.”

“I’m surprised to see you here, what with you working nights and all.” you shrug.

“I do get days off, you know,” Jack raises an eyebrow. “And I’m not one to turn down an offer for a great meal.”

“Well, it is because of you that I can even still make any desserts,” you wiggle your fingers at Jack.

On your left hand are two scars that make a perfect line across your middle and ring fingers. A late night and an intense argument in the kitchen, because when are they ever not intense, and a careless mistake with your best knife landed you in the ER in the middle of service. It wasn’t deep enough to nick the bone, but enough for you to have to sit out of service for almost a week, saddled with limited prep, and your Executive chef still won’t let you live it down.

“How are you holding up?” Jack asks, reaching for you. “No lingering pain, I hope.”

You let him take your hand and turn it over in his, inspecting his handywork. His hands are warm and calloused, and his grip is gentle, as if the already healed scars will burst open again at any moment.

“No pain,” you muse, watching him, “thank you.” Jack releases his grip, much to your dismay. You prop your head up with your other hand.

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a hand at your back before you can start. “Chef, I’m sorry to interrupt.” It’s Casey, a long-standing server. He nods at Jack and gives a strained smile. “There’s a really big table with a birthday, and no one in the kitchen will write on the desserts.”

You deflate a little, your head sagging in your hand. You groan. It took less than 5 minutes for your 15 minute break to be cut short for something that you know the guys in the back are capable of. Writing “Happy birthday” with melted chocolate in a squeeze bottle is not rocket science, they just don’t want to do it. So they sent Casey- sweet, kind Casey, who would never be on the receiving end of your ire- to fetch you.

“Okay, Case, I’ll be right there,” you nod and the server is gone as quickly as he appeared, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as he leaves.

“Duty calls?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you groan, sliding off the stool.

“No, don’t be,” Jack assures you. “You’re working. I have no doubt if you came to visit me during a shift at the hospital, it wouldn’t look much different.”

You chew on your bottom lip, contemplating. It’s not terribly late, and he did come all the way out to see you. “Tell you what,” you start, leaning against the bar, “service is going to end in like an hour. It’ll take me a little bit to clean up my station after that. If you want to wait, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. If you don’t want to, no harm. Leave your number with Louis and I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

“Deal,” Jack smiles, and you notice a dimple on one of his cheeks. Your stomach flips. “Besides, I’ll be busy here for a minute, dessert’s just been served.” He pulls the plate closer to him.

“Right, I’ll make sure to get your feedback after.” you smirk. You flag down the bartender, “Louis! Make sure Dr. Abbot is taken care of over here, as long as he’d like. On me.”

“Heard,” Louis gives you a knowing grin, that you promptly ignore.

With one last look, you push away from the bar and head back into the kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly busy night, even for a Wednesday. You continue to push out the last few tickets, while half of them don’t even have dessert, motivated by just the possibility of ending the night with Jack.

Thirty minutes later, Trina comes bouncing back to your station, a grin plastered on her face. “The hottie at the bar would like to send his compliments on the dessert.”

Without looking up from your plate, you nod, “Thank you, Trina.”

“So, like, who is he?” Trina leans in.

“Thank you, Trina,” you say, firmer.

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Trina pouts and turns away.

But the compliment sends heat up your neck, and you fight back a smile, instead chewing on the inside of your cheek. You hope you don't have to explain yourself to the guys who definitely all heard that exchange.

It doesn’t take you long to clear the tickets, and you start cleaning your station immediately, cater-wrapping leftovers and storing sauces and garnishes. You wipe down the stainless steel surfaces, trying not to think about Jack, and if he stayed, which ultimately ends with you thinking about him anyway.

“Damn,” the Sous Chef stops by your station with a sanitation bucket, not caring how it sloshes everywhere, “you got some place to be?”

“Get lost, Miller,” you deadpan.

Scottie leans his hip on your station, crossing his arms. “I’m just wondering if your incredible speed and attention to detail tonight has anything to do with the guy waiting around at the bar for you.”

You try not to give anything away, but you stiffen, just slightly. Jack waited. He stayed at the bar for over an hour, just waiting for you.

Scottie notices. “Gentlemen!” He hollers to the rest of the kitchen, “We've got a hot date over here tonight!” The kitchen erupts in hoots and laughter, and completely inappropriate questions ranging from who is he to have you fucked yet.

You remove your spare towel and apron, throwing them in Scottie’s face. “Just because you are in a bout of involuntary celibacy, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

Scottie tosses the linens on the floor. “Hey, if you’d bother to bring any of your lady friends around-”

“Sorry, my friends like to orgasm when they have sex,” you scrunch your nose and push passed him, and the rest of the kitchen lets out a string of ‘ooohs,’ laughing and shoving Scottie back to his station.

It’s jokes, mostly. You have grown accustomed to the inappropriate and invasive atmosphere of the kitchens you've worked in. There’s another woman on the crew, Rose, but your shifts hardly ever line up, with one of you on prep during the day and the other on service at night. So you try to blend in in the ways you can, and be better in every other way. Wittier, smarter, faster. Don’t give them a reason to think you're the weak link.

“I’m out,” you call, walking towards the locker room. “See you losers tomorrow!”

In the locker room, you hang up your whites, and slip a crewneck on over your tank top. It’s not sexy, but it beats the dingy, worn straps of the camisole. You slide off your bandana and try to tame the flyaways it produces.

There’s a fine line between looking like a complete slob, and looking like you're trying way too hard, and you aren't sure how to stay on it. After fiddling with your appearance for way too long, you grab your bag and push yourself out into the dining room.

Sure enough, Jack Abbot is still waiting for you. He’s scrolling through something on his phone when you approach. Louis is nowhere to be found, probably refilling syrups.

“You waited,” you smile, coming up next to him.

Jack’s gaze immediately snaps to you, and his shoulders drop, like he’d been nervous about something. “Hey, yeah,” he smiles. “I’m a night owl, obviously. Had I gone home, I probably wouldn’t have gone to sleep, anyway.”

“Well, this place is just about closed,” you nod to the lingering guests, the servers gathered around a table, rolling silverware for the next day. “Would you want to head to a bar and grab a drink?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Jack slides off the stool.

The cool breeze is a balm to your flushed cheeks and nervous energy. It’s late August, so the nights are finally becoming cooler in Pittsburgh. The two of you walk to a bar that’s less than a block away. Your arms bump together as they walk, but neither of you overcorrects to stop it from happening again.

It’s not a bar that you have been to often, but whenever you need a drink without the watchful eye of your own staff, you head here. The bartenders are to the point, not bothering you with stories and questions when you clearly just want to zone out, and you tip well, so it’s mutually beneficial. You and Jack slip into an empty booth, each with a cold beer.

“So, Dr. Abbot, if I may call you that-” you settle into the booth, dropping your bag on the worn vinyl.

“Jack, please,” he interrupts, with a grin on his face.

“Jack,” you roll his name around in your mouth. “Have you been a doctor long? And always in the ER?”

Jack takes a long sip of his beer before answering. “I’ve been an attending for about 20 years, give or take.”

“Wow,” you raise your eyebrows slightly, “20 years. Long time.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack laughs, raises his palms towards you in surrender, “get the age jokes out now.”

Even though you are doing the mental math to try to figure out his age, you shake your head. “No, not in like, an age way. I just can’t imagine having the same job for that long. I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than 3 or 4 years. I was starting to think I was cursed.”

“What’s the matter? Commitment issues?” Jack eyes you, teasing.

“Ha, no.” you deadpan. After a moment, you shrug, “I don’t know, it’s the nature of the industry, I guess. There’s not a high overhead in restaurants, and a pastry chef is often let go first when things start to go south. They decide that they’ll just start getting shitty cakes from the restaurant service groups instead. And then there’s the egos, the tempers…”

You hate explaining this part, it always comes out wrong. You try to find the right way to explain that it’s not a lack of loyalty, but the never ending search for something better. “I’ve learned something in every kitchen I’ve ever worked. But when I feel like I’ve absorbed all I can, I move on.”

“All in Pittsburgh?” Jack asks.

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not from here. I’ve, uh, moved around a lot. Been that way since I was a kid, so I guess it carried into adulthood.”

“Military brat?”

You purse your lips, “Yeah.”

Jack nods, considering. “I was a combat medic. Before. I understand the lifestyle.”

“But,” you try to save yourself, “I’ve been here for like 8 months, and I really like Pittsburgh. I like working at Brindle Bay. I’m hoping this is it, at least for a while.”

“Me too,” Jack smiles. “Otherwise, Pittsburgh would be woefully deprived of your creations. And that is a crime.”

“You’ve tried one of my desserts, Jack. I don’t know that you have a good frame of reference. Besides, it’s not like I’m saving lives, if anything I’m sending people to an early, sugary grave,” you let out a chuckle.

“Oh, I beg to differ. The cheesecake had me seeing God. In a good way. That is life saving,” Jack shoots back.

“You liked it?” you scrunch your nose. You can’t help yourself.

“Loved it. I sent compliments back, didn’t I?” Jack replies. He’s having fun watching you squirm, clearly.

“You did, but- ugh. You’d think I’d be better at hearing people talk about my food by now, but it’s still hard to do face-to-face.” You could go on about how a cheesecake is totally not hard to make, especially a Basque cheesecake, or how a child could make a cherry compote. But fighting that self-deprecating urge is what got you here in the first place. Owning your talent is how you made it this far.

“I’m usually a very downhome guy,” Jack presses his palm to his chest. “Give me a slice of chocolate cake, I’m good. But that cheesecake was incredible. You clearly love what you do, and you’re very talented.”

“What about you?” you ask, looking at him from down the beer bottle as you take a sip. “You still enjoy being in a doctor after 20 years?”

Jack sighs. He has this look in his eyes, and for just a brief moment, you can tell that he’s a million miles away. “You know, it has its moments. There are times when I think I want to leave it behind, but I just can’t stay away. It calls me back.”

“I think I know what you mean,” you nod. “I’d probably go nuts if I slowed down enough to leave the restaurant. I already need a million hobbies to keep my mind busy.”

“I volunteer as a SWAT medic in my off hours, keeps me busy."

Your jaw drops. Literally. “Seriously? Fuck, you are a glutton for adrenaline.”

“I’m good at it,” Jack shrugs. But he’s grinning, because he knows exactly what it sounds like.

“No,” you shake your head. “People are good at knitting. People are good at gardening. You pick a hobby that could get you killed. Like a crazy person.”

“You and my therapist would get along very well,” Jack retorts, not unkindly. It’s your turn to watch him squirm.

The conversation continues, and when the beers run out, you order another round. You tell Jack about all the places you've lived in your life, and Jack shares some of his most interesting medical cases. His eyes light up when he talks about near misses and good saves, and you can see why Jack just can’t walk away. There’s a passion in him that could never be satisfied doing anything else. It’s really hot.

Eventually, you come back to yourself long enough to notice that the already sparse crowd in the bar has all but disappeared, leaving the two of them and the closing bartender. You check your phone, 12:30 am. You’ve been sitting, lost in conversation for two hours.

“Shit,” Jack mutters, noticing your phone and checking his watch. “It is late. You’re probably exhausted.”

Even after all of these years working in the kitchen, the shitty floor mats still do nothing for your feet, which feel like rocks at the end of your legs. The weight of the day catches up to you all at once, and as much as you want to keep the night going, you're not sure how much fun you'll be in another 20 minutes.

“Yeah, I should probably head home. Take a long shower, you know.” you grab your bag, slipping out of the booth.

Jack leaves some cash on the table, and the two of you receive an appreciative nod from the bartender. Jack’s hand hovers over your back, just at your waist, and they slip out into the crisp night air. Even though it’s barely a touch, you can feel the warmth of his hands through your crewneck, and you start to think about all the other places you'd like Jack to put his hands.

“Where’s your car?” Jack looks down the street, and you snap right back out of your head.

“Oh, it’s fine-”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack furrows his brow slightly, teasing. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk back alone in the middle of the night.”

You don’t argue, just lead the way. “Thank you again. For tonight. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure if you would take me up on it. Coming to the restaurant, I mean.”

“I told you,” Jack nudges your shoulder with his own. “I am not one to turn down a good meal from a beautiful woman.”

“Uh, no,” you smile. “You conveniently left out that last part.”

“Thought it was implied,” Jack shrugs, that stupid grin on his face. His eyes seek out your, and you tug your bag closer.

When you reach your car, you round to face him full on. “This is me,” you nod back.

“I can see that,” Jack shoves his hand in his pocket. He fishes his phone out and hands it to you. “Maybe we can see each other on a day that neither of us has to work.”

“I think that sounds great.” you enter your number in and when you hand his phone back, your fingers brush for longer than could be considered a coincidence.

You are not one to deny yourself. You indulge in your pleasures, and go for what you want. Which leads you to step just a hair closer to Jack. Almost too close for normal conversation. “I’m going to say something.”

Jack follows suit, stepping closer. Definitely too close for normal conversation. “I’m sure I’d love to hear it.”

You hesitate for a moment, giving yourself an out, and promptly deciding that you don't want it.

“I really want to kiss you, Jack,” you are a breath away, your gaze dropping down to Jack’s mouth, and back up to his hazel eyes.

“Thank God,” Jack smiles. His voice is low and thick. “I thought it was just me.”

Jack’s hands settle in a firm grip on your hips. When you kiss, you bring your hands up to his jaw, brushing your thumb over his cheek and stubble. It’s a grounding, full kiss, that spreads heat through your entire body. Jack’s hands move over your back, pressing you fully against him. When you pull back, he still doesn’t let go.

“You say goodnight to all of your patients like that?” you bite your bottom lip.

“Just the ones that make really good cheesecake,” Jack teases, brushing his nose against yours.

“Right, cheesecake.” you wink and step out of his grasp. You step off the curb and slide into your car. Jack watches you, his hands flexing at his sides. “Goodnight, Doctor.” you call.

“Goodnight, Chef,” Jack nods. He steps away from the curb just as you pull away.

Trust Craig and Deran to act like two teenagers and throw a party when Smurf was away on one of her trips. There were people everywhere, in the pool, on the patio, even on the other side of the couch. While everyone else seemed to actively seek out the chaos, you were more than content with being glued to Pope's side. Hiding in plain sight inside your own bubble was more exciting than playing stupid drinking games in front of everyone. His attention was the only one that mattered.

“Do you want another drink?” You asked as you sat with your legs nonchalantly across Pope's lap.

Pope tapped your leg, his way of asking you to move. “I’ll get them.” You shook your head as you pushed Pope back down and stood beside him. You ran your hand through his hair, tightening your grip as you made your way towards the nape of his neck. You pulled on his hair, forcing his head backwards and a growl to sound in his throat. “I’ll be right back, pretty boy.”

You placed your lips within touching distance of his, but kept enough space between you that the only contact was a fleeting brush as you walked away. He groaned in disappointment, always desperate for your affection.

He was extra clingy lately, and you couldn’t figure out why. Nothing had gone wrong with a job, at least not with your knowledge. Everything seemed perfect. The only thing that sprang to mind was the approaching one year anniversary of his release from prison.

The whole time Pope was locked up, you never missed a visit. Every time the phone rang, you jumped to answer it just in case he somehow earned extra phone privileges. The postman knew you by name due to the infinite letters you sent back and forth. He even somehow managed to send you origami flowers for special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries. He never forgot a single one. You kept everything. Every letter, every flower, every card.

For one visit, you decided to make it special by buying an expensive perfume you thought he would like. You made sure to spray it all over you, but one look at him and you knew something was wrong. He appreciated the gesture, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings, especially when you did it all for him, but it wasn’t the same. He missed the smell of your old perfume. He missed the smell of you and the way it lingered on his skin after your visits. It was the same smell you made sure to spray all his letters with, the one that reminded him of home and what was waiting for him when he got out.  

When he was released, he became extra possessive, if that was even possible. In his mind, he was trying to make up for lost time, the time that was stolen from both of you. Neither one of you could keep your hands off the other. Whoever said the honeymoon phase didn’t last was a liar. Here you were, many years later and still insanely in love.

The search for more drinks had you gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already missed him. You tried to get back to him as fast as possible, dodging drunk couples dry humping in the kitchen to whatever music was playing from a speaker.

When you returned, the sight in front of you stopped you in your tracks. Pope had tensed up, his shoulders square and ridged. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to the girl in front of him, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the way she placed her claw like hand on his knee. She had her back to you, so she couldn’t see your slow approach, like a lion hunting prey.

Pope was intrigued to see what you would do. The anticipation of your next actions excited him, causing his jeans to grow tighter. The way you didn’t take lightly to someone else flirting with him, or showing him any romantic interest, always led to you being jealous.

Knowing your natural instinct to be territorial over him was one of the things he loved most about you. You always need to be within touching distance, and the way your hands ran all over him in search of bare skin set his body on fire. He played into your primal need for his attention and your obsession with reminding everyone he was yours. You wouldn’t let anyone, and especially not Pope, forget who he went home to every night.

“You're in my seat.” The tone in your voice was blunt and impolite. You didn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation. She was in your way, and you made light work of letting her know.

The girl barely turned her head as she looked you up and down with a scowl etched on her face. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused.” When she still didn’t move, to either stand up or remove he hand from touching up on your man, whatever restraint you had left exited your body. “Move.”

The only moment she made was to shift closer towards Pope. The sickly sarcastic smirk on her face was giving you another reason to smack her and put her back in her place, but the lustful look on Pope's face stopped you. The fucker was enjoying this. You knew he loved you when you would stake your claim on him, but you really weren’t in the mood. This bitch was pissing you off beyond any desire to kiss Pope desperate and silly in front of everyone.

The grip you had on the two glass beer bottles was dangerous. Any harder and you were sure they would shatter. You placed both bottles down on the coffee table, but your eyes never left where her hand lingered. It was either that or you would smash one over this girls head. “I’d move if I were you. This is not a fight you will win.”

Before the girl could reply, Craig appeared. He could sense the tension from the far side of the pool, and being the good friend he is, he knew you were one more second from jumping on her and pushing her into the pool. That, and the fact he didn’t want anyone to call the cops. “Just a warning, she doesn't play about her man.”

The girl wrapped her fingers further around Pope's knee and pushed herself up from the couch. When she reached her full height, she made sure she was way too close to you. To Craig's credit, he got it spot on. You didn’t mess around when it came to Pope, and you didn’t take lightly to some random bitch trying to glare you down.

With a tilt of your head, you dared her to make a move. You knew she wouldn’t actually do anything, but you half hoped she was more stupid than she looked. Just as you thought, she backed off. She scoffed and mumbled something under her breath about you being a psycho. You blew a kiss at her to send her on her way as she walked towards the patio.

When he was certain you weren’t going to follow her, Pope pulled you back down to sit beside him by the wrist. “You need to relax, sweetheart. I'm all yours.” Once he was content with you snuggled back into his side, he kissed the palm of your hand in an attempt to calm you down. The reassuring gesture wasn’t meant to be sexual, but you would be lying if it didn’t turn you on.

You pouted at him. “I mean, I can't really blame her. You're so handsome.”

Pope shrugged his shoulders at your comment as if he thought you were lying. He looked away from you, suddenly finding something over your shoulder very interesting. You had to force him to look at you, taking his chin in between your fingers, demanding his full attention. You knew he had issues with his self-worth and made a point to remind him of how much he meant to you. “I'm serious, Andrew. You're beautiful.”

He wasn’t expecting you to straddle him, a thigh on either side of him. You trapped him beneath you as your hands returned to his hair. He stared at the delicate chain that lay against your dainty neck. The ‘A’ you so proudly wore every day, marking you as his. It let everyone who dared to look know that you were taken. It let them know that you were owned by someone else. They couldn’t have you.

You were Popes girl. Your heart, mind, body, and soul belonged to him. Every time he looked at it, it made him feel warm. You were willingly his. The person he loved willingly loved him back. You had given every inch of yourself to him. He had never been loved this good before, and certainly not unconditionally. No matter what he did or what he had done, there were no strings attached. Your devotion to him was something he never thought he would find, much less deserve.

Pope was just as equally devoted to you, if not more so. He worshipped the ground you walked on. In his eyes, you were a goddess, someone who deserved to be taken care of and adored beyond all human comprehension. Popes world didn’t just revolve around you, you were it. Your being was his reason for living. You were the reason he kept breathing.

If he anticipated that something would be an issue, it was sorted before it even popped into your pretty little head. He believed it was his mission to keep you safe and happy.

He tucked his pointer finger beneath the chain and tugged you closer to him. The sound of your voice catching in your throat sent sparks straight to his dick. He loved that he could coax sweet sounds from you. “You're the pretty one, angel.”

Once he said that name, you knew it was game on. Every time he called you that, it always ended the same way, with you on all fours and begging. He would do the dirtiest of things to you and have you say the most depraved things ever whispered, but to him, you always looked so innocent and sweet.

You crashed your mouth onto his while you grinded into him. Your hunger was evident in the way the tip of your tongue flicked at his top lip, demanding he open up. He gave you what you wanted, allowing your tongue to slide over his.

You might have orchestrated this, but Pope controlled it. Every one of your movements was sanctioned by him. Even when you thought something was your idea, it originated from Pope. He was always three steps ahead. He knew everything about you and your body. He knew how you would react if he touched you a certain way. He knew how to rile you up, how to push your buttons. The worst part was that he knew you knew. You were a puppet on a string, and he was the most masterful puppeteer to ever exist.

“Maybe you should remind me whose name I scream every night.” His hands controlled your movement in his lap, only allowing you to move the way he wanted. You fought back. You gripped the front of his shirt, attempting to pull him even closer to you.

Your words woke something within him. The reminder that he was needed, and that he was the only one who could give you what you wanted always twisted something inside him. It made him feel important, desired even. And if there was one thing you were sure of in this life, it was that you desired Pope above everything and anything else.

If you were being honest with yourself, your favourite part was when you caught him off guard. The groan he held in his throat or the breath that caught in his lungs were the most delicious of sounds. Yes, you followed the script he gave you, but you loved throwing in a plot twist every now and again. You couldn’t let him have all the fun all the time.

He slid his hands over your ass to the back of your thighs and stood up from the couch. You automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and giggled at the feeling of his hands squeezing at your soft skin. You giggled into his neck, nipping at the exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt.

He walked towards his room, taking the floor in long strides. He wanted to get there as quick as possible. Once inside, Pope took full advantage of the privacy the room provided and released his grip on your thighs to place you on the ground. It took a second for you to remind your brain how to stand and support yourself. You used Pope as something solid to ground yourself on, and once the memory returned, you could feel his rough hands tearing your clothes off.

He left you in your underwear before removing his hands. You knew he had a thing about seeing you like that. Not undressed in the sense you still had something covering you, but also not leaving much to the imagination.

As he took one step forward, you took one back. His eyes raked over your body, taking it all in as you increased the distance between you. You continued stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. There was nowhere for you to go, and Pope stood there on the other side of the room, just watching.

You slowly reached around your back to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your shoulders with the opposite hand. He groaned at all your teasing, palming himself through his jeans. When you finally removed your bra, freeing your tits, the sight made him want to wrap his mouth around each nipple and suck.

You next went to take off your panties, but before you could, he grabbed you by the throat. The quick movement of his hand caused whatever noise you had wanted to let out to get trapped and die in place. Pope loved being the one to take your panties off, and the idea of anyone else doing it, even you, killed him.

Pope pulled you towards him more gently and slowly than you had ever experienced. You were helpless as he controlled your every breath. He could end you right there and then if he wanted to, but you knew he wouldn’t. The way you gave him full authority over your entire being made Pope feel vulnerable. You were the only person on the planet who wasn’t afraid of him, not even when he held you with such roughness.

He squeezed the sides of your neck, restricting your ability to breathe. The mixture of possession and obsession displayed on his face as he stood over you at the foot of the bed should have scared you, but his actions had the opposite effect. You were turned on beyond comprehension. You squeezed your thighs together, noting the wetness pooled between them. You were almost sure Pope could hear the squelching sound they made as you desperately looked for friction to release the ache between your legs.

Your hands automatically went to his waist. The neediness in your trembling hands was something you couldn’t deny. You thought that if you undressed him quickly, he would stop teasing you and give you what you desired. You had only managed to pop the button of his jeans open before Pope turned you around, crashing your back to his chest so he could kiss the side of your cheek.

“Need something, Angel?” He didn’t expect an answer, he didn’t need one.

With his free hand, he pushed the flimsy fabric of your panties over your hips and down your legs agonisingly slow. You stepped out of them and, with one last squeeze, he released your neck, pushing you onto the bed face first.

Pope crawled over your limp body, trapping you beneath him on the mattress with his full weight. He used your positions to his advantage, pushing his ever growing bulge into your ass as he grinded against you. The roughness of his jeans against the back of the soft skin of your legs contrasted beautifully with the clean sheets under you.

Pope weaved his hand through the stands of your hair and tugged, forcing your head to fall back against his shoulder. The angle gave him full access to kiss up the side of your neck, grazing his teeth against your jaw. “On your knees.”

There was no pet name, nothing to suggest it was a suggestion. No, it was a raw demand. He was telling you, not asking. The speed at which you complied should have been embarrassing, but you knew what was waiting for you. If you weren’t so desperate for him to fuck you sore, you would have fought back. Any idea of teasing him and drawing this out wasn’t on the table.

You heard Pope make light work of undressing himself. The buttons of his shirt hitting the floor excited you. You needed him now. You needed him inside you.

The sound of him undoing his zipper made your hips buck against nothing but air. He noticed, of course he did. Pope knew every micromovement you made, and he was especially aware when it came to sex. He was always eager to pleasure you, even if he teased you first. “Look at you, begging to be filled.”

An audible sigh left your lips as you felt the bed dip under Pope's weight. He was right there, but so far away at the same time. You wished he would hurry up, but you knew this would all happen when he was right and ready to give it to you.

The feeling of his hands running over the back of your thighs and up your back made you shiver. Pope let his hand rest against your shoulder as he ran the head of his swollen dick through your folds, gathering your wetness. Once he was satisfied with how wet you were, making sure he would slide in with ease, he lined himself up with you.

You were more than enthusiastic, desperately pushing back against him, wanting to hurry him up. Pope pulled back and used his free hand to slap the full cheek of your ass. The sound of your scream echoed against all four walls of the room.

“Behave, sweet girl.” He tutted at you as he ran his rough hand over the hot mark he just made. Your skin felt tender, but the sweet sting made you wetter than you wanted to ever admit out loud. He had marked you, and the reminder would stay with you for days on end.

He stayed still, only moving his hand in soothing circles against the forming welt. His hips were hauntingly still. It took everything in you not to repeat your mistake and push yourself closer to him.

You were unsure what he wanted. You didn’t want to give him cause to drag out his teasing, but you didn’t know how to get him to hurry up either. Settling on seeking forgiveness as a way to placate him, you muttered an apology. “I'm sorry, Andrew.”

Your plan seemed to work. You turned your head back to look at him over your shoulder to find him already looking at you. The image of him touching you delicately contrasted beautifully with the primal look in his eye. He held you there in his stare, listening to your breathy whines. “Eyes on me.”

You nodded weakly, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and focused on him. He gathered saliva in his mouth and spat it on you. It wasn’t like he needed the extra wetness; you had never been wetter in your life. He did it just because he could, because he knew you would take it and thank him for it later. He did it as a warning that you and your pussy were his. The feeling of it dripping down your ass and across your lips to where you wanted him was a symbol of possession.

He lined up again, and this time you didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to think about what he would do if you misbehaved again. He pushed just the tip in and stilled his hips. “Who is the one who screams my name?’

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you didn’t answer. You were too focused on the feeling of his wedging his cock into you. He pulled out slightly, a form of punishment you loved to hate. You were now further away from having him fully inside you, but it also meant you got to feel him push back in.

“I, fuck, I do.” You stuttered.

Happy with your breathless reply, he fully bottomed out inside you. You weren’t expecting him to push in all in one go, he normally went slow and gentle. This was something new for both of you. Pope grunted as the wide o expression on your face let the mewl you held escape you easily.

He didn’t still his hips for too long, but he still gave you a brief second to adjust to him. No matter how many times he fucked you, you always needed a moment to stretch yourself out on him. Before you fully realised he had moved, Pope pulled out of you and thrusted himself back in just as quick.

The rapid thrust of Pope's hips against yours was something you wished you would never have to go without again. That feeling alone was enough to satiate you for the rest of your life. Nothing could ever compare.

Pope knew you were lost in the feeling, and as much as he loved the fact you were cock drunk on him, you were enjoying it a little too much for his liking. He wanted your complete attention. He slapped your ass again, this time on the other cheek, causing you to moan his name.

“Who owns me?” The grin on his face was one that didn’t come naturally to him, but the image of you desperate to take his thick cock stirred something within him. He always knew you were the only one for him, but seeing you like this, bent over in front of him at his mercy, ready to give him everything, made him want to give you his whole being in return. “Who do I belong to?”

Normally, he would be asking you who you belonged to, but seeing you get jealous over some girl made him want to remind you that he was yours. He needed to remind you that you were the only one who could take him like this, that you were the only one who could give him everything he needed.

“Me.” Your voice was weak, not that he could hear you, even if your head wasn’t buried into a pillow.

He pulled on your hair again, making you let go of the pillow. He wanted to hear you, loud and clear. He hated it when you tried to hide yourself from him. Every sound you made belonged to him. He earned every single one of them, and he was determined to make sure you gave them to him. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your pornographic moans was his favourite thing in the world. “Sorry, I can't hear you, Angel.”

“You- you're m-mine.” You muttered in between thrusts, voice drawn out and scratching at the air for breath.

“That’s right. I'm yours.” Another tug to your hair caused you to arch your back. The new angle gave him more room to ruin you, if that was even possible. You could feel him deep in your lower abdomen. “And you will never forget it, will you?”

You hummed a response. Even if you wanted to, you never could, nor would, forget that Pope was wholly and completely yours. The feeling of him pulling fully out only to snap his hip back against you was hypnotising. How he hasn’t broken you in half, you will never know.

You reached a hand around to rub your clit. The lazy and rough circles you made, mixed with the feeling of his swollen tip opening you up each and every time, were slowly bringing you to the edge. Just as you were getting lost in the unavoidable wave of your impending orgasm, the sound of Pope howling a question in your ear brought you back to reality.

“You gonna let me cum in you? Give you my baby so I can never leave?”

Your knuckles were white under the grip you had on the sheets beneath you. You hadn’t expected him to say that. Pope wasn’t the most verbal in bed. He normally communicated through grunts and harsh whispers when you were being good for him or did something he liked. And yet, here he was asking to have his baby.

You had talked about it briefly, on and off, over the years, and you thought the right time would present itself whenever the universe thought it was right. Other things kept getting in the way. The jobs, his family, everything, but in that moment, there was only one answer you could give him. You weren’t even sure you had let him finish his question before you screamed your answer back at him. “Yes, Andrew. Fuck, cum in me, please.”

“You sure, Angel? There's no going back once I make you full with my kid.” In between filling you with his dick and giving you some of the best sex you have ever had, he was still giving you an out. He didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t fully committed to. If anything, it made you even more sure in your decision.

You wanted to scream out yes. Yes, yes, yes. The words wouldn’t come, caught in the bottom of your lungs. The idea of Pope being your baby daddy was the sexiest thing you could imagine.

“Better hurry up and decide, shit - ” His rhythm faltered slightly, as if he was holding himself back. He was close, so close that you knew it was now or never. You had to make sure he knew how serious you were. “I'm so close, sweetheart”

“Please, Andrew. Let me make you a daddy, please.”

That was all he needed to hear. The sound of your fucked out voice begging him to get you pregnant, to permanently tether your lives together, caused him to roll his eyes back with pleasure. Pope let the little restraint he had left go, and with whatever energy he had left, he went all out.

You had never been fucked so hard or so fast before. If it wasn’t for the grip of his hands on your hips, you were sure you would have fallen flat against the bed. You had no confidence in your legs or arms to hold you up.

The feeling of him rutting into you as he came was something you would never forget as long as you lived. His hot cum spurted into you, painting you white as he spasmed like a man possessed. His hands clawed at you with a bruising grip as he tried to keep you in place, making sure you took everything he had.

Pope opened his tightly shut eyes and released his grip on you, gently placing you down onto the bed, all while keeping himself inside you. He didn’t want to waste a single drop. You were caged beneath his warm body as you felt him soften inside you.

Pope rolled off of you with care, aware of how sensitive both of you were after what had just happened. He hissed, feeling your walls trapping him, not wanting him to pull out. The feeling of his cum dripping out of you made you giggle. Your legs trembled with pleasure. In that moment, you had fully accepted that there was no possibility of you leaving your bed anytime soon. You bit your lip, turning to look at him lying beside you, staring at the ceiling. He was still trying to regain a normal breathing rhythm as his heart audibly thumped against his chest.

Once he snapped back to reality and his breathing began to slow, he shifted onto his side. He was so proud of himself. Never did he think he would be able to make someone as happy as he made you. His hazel stared back at you with all the love he couldn’t verbally say to you out loud. And in that single look, there was no doubt for either of you. You had just been knocked up.

As Pope brushed his fingers against your smiling face, the ‘A’ of your necklace caught his attention. He brought his fingers down towards it, wiping the sweat of your neck away in the process. He placed the delicate letter in between his fingers, running his thumb over it.

While preparing the food, you’re dancing along to some music that’s playing through your phone. It’s become this little ritual of yours, making breakfast while dancing throughout the kitchen. A great way to start your day, it’s like a serotonin boost.

Jack Abbot arrives home after fourteen hours on the job, he’s exhausted and absolutely worn out. However, when he walks inside the apartment and catches you dancing around the kitchen.. a smile grows onto his lips. He quietly places his bag down at the front door, taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes while his eyes never leave you.

It’s not the first time he has caught you like this when he got home from work, yet.. the sight still makes his heart melt.

Never in his wildest dreams he imagined he would have this again. Something so domestic.. a partner waiting for him to get home, cooking him a meal. After the passing of his wife, he thought he’d never find happiness again. It took him a few years but then he found it, in the shape of you.

“You should’ve become a dancer instead of a social worker.” Jack speaks up, making you jump a little as you turn around to face him.

“Damn it,” you give him a playful glare. “You always do this.. sneak up on me.”

“It’s fun,” Jack smirks softly as he walks closer towards you. “I like watching you when you think nobody’s watching.” he says.

“Creep,” you throw the kitchen towel his way.

A chuckle escapes Jack’s lips as he catches the towel with ease, eyes glimmering with affection as he approaches you. Before you know it, he has made a loop with the towel so he could throw it over your shoulders and pull you closer to him that way.

“Who you callin’ a creep, huh?” he teases, face hovering over yours.

A smile grows on your lips as you look up into his eyes, arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him close. “Hi baby,” you mumble before moving up on your tip toes so you could press a quick kiss to his lips.

Abbot’s quick to chase your lips for another kiss, eyes closing as he takes his time with it. A soft hum escapes you as you move your arms up to wrap around his neck, head tilting to deepen the kiss some more.

“Careful,” he mumbles against your lips. “You’re gonna make a man want to forget all about the food you made him and take you back to the room.” he says.

“Hey.. no way,” you say as you pull back and look into his eyes. “I worked hard on that breakfast.”

“Hmm..” Jack takes a look at what you made and he can feel his stomach grumble, he hasn’t eaten in a while and is awfully hungry. “Looks good.”

“Sit,” you instruct him before walking over to the stove to retreat the pan you made your scrambled eggs in.

Abbot gives your ass a quick pat before he moves to sit himself down at the kitchen island, facing you. His eyes roam over the way you’re moving through the kitchen, one of his shirts hanging on your body and your hair up in a messy bun. He loves you in the mornings before you get yourself ready for the day, something about your face without make-up makes him all warm inside.

“Here you go,” you say as you place a plate in front of Jack. Some eggs, bacon and a few slices of an orange lay on it.

A soft smile tugs on Abbot’s lips as he turns his head to look at you. “Thank you..” he leans in to press a kiss against your lips. “You’re the best, y’know that?”

“Tell me something I don’t know, handsome.” you playfully send him a wink which makes him chuckle as he watches you move back into the kitchen.

After pouring Jack and yourself a glass of orange juice, you take your plate and move to sit down beside him. You feel how he moves his hand and lays it to rest on your thigh as you have a piece of bacon.

“So.. how was your shift?” you ask Jack after swallowing your bite.

“Draining.. long, some awfully weird cases again to prove how chaotic the night shift truly is.” he tells you between eating some of his eggs.

“But that’s what you like about it.” you say after having a sip of your orange juice. “The day shift would just bore you now.”

Jack turns his head to look into your eyes as he hums in agreement. “Yeah.. you’re right.” he nods, squeezing your thigh before pulling back his hand so he could pick up his glass of orange juice. “How about you? Busy day today?” he asks.

“I need to be in at nine,” you tell him. “I have a few cases I need to follow up on and that meeting with management about those free health classes I want to provide for our street program.”

“Hmm.. busy woman,” Abbot says after having a sip. “If they don’t want to go on board with your idea that’s just because they’re idiots. Don’t let them make you think your ideas are not good enough.” he tells you, making a chuckle leave your lips before nodding. He truly is your biggest supporter.

“I’ll catch some sleep and then I’ll go get groceries. I’m gonna make dinner so you’ll have something to eat when you come back home.” he tells you, a smile growing on his lips as he catches your eyes.

“Sounds good.” you give him a smile back before leaning in and resting your head against his shoulder.

Jack’s heart flutters as he leans down and presses a kiss onto your head. He really likes the life he has going on with you.. which is something he used to dream of having but would’ve never admitted to anyone. Not until now. He’s not ashamed, he’s proud to have this, to have you. Which is something his co-workers can attest to as he isn’t able to shut up about you at work.

“Why are you smiling like that?” you ask as you catch the look on his face.

Abbot wakes up out of his day dreaming and looks down at you, noticing that he was indeed smiling while sunken into thought. He shrugs softly but then catches sight of your curious eyes and knows you won’t let this go.

“Just.. I really like the life we have.” he admits, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Never thought I’d have this again.” he says as he looks into your eyes, heart overflowing with love for you. “You make me excited to live again.” Jack says. “I can never thank you enough for that.”

A soft smile tugs on your lips as you hear his words, they make you emotional so you bury your face into his chest some more so he wouldn’t see the tears burn in your eyes. It pains you to know how much he’s struggled in the past.

“Can’t help but think.. you know, that she had something to do with it.” Jack tells you which makes you look back up into his eyes. "At least that’s what I like to think.” he chuckles softly. “Comforts me in some way.”

“M’sure she’d be extremely proud of you.” you tell him, referring to his late wife. “It hasn’t been easy for you, you’ve found joy in living again and that’s hard work. You can’t give me all the praise.”

A smile tugs on Jack’s lips as his eyes turn glossy, your words tugging on his heart strings. “For a long time.. I thought that if she was looking down at me, she’d hate what she’d see.” he says, the expression on his face falling as he tries to hold back tears. “I was so lost in myself.. in hatred for the world, drinking or working was all I did.” he explains.

“No.. she’s wouldn’t-”

“She would though.” Jack cuts you off. “Told me so herself when she was still alive.” he says before a smile grows on his lips as the memory replays in his head. “Told me that she loathed those types of men.. ones that hate the world and therefore destroy themselves with booze and everyone around them with how they act.”

A sympathetic smile tugs on your lips as you listen to his words, allowing him to speak. You’ve always given him the space to talk about his late wife, you realize it’s how he keeps the memory of her alive and that’s something you don’t want to take away from him.

“One night.. I was so lost and I just-” he chokes up for a moment, tears pooling in his eyes. “I didn’t see a way out anymore.” he admits softly. “I had made my way up to the roof of my apartment building.. self-determined that the only way I was going down was by jumping."

Hearing his words is like a blow to the chest. It hurts you to know that this man who you love so dearly, almost killed himself because he was in so much pain.

While his tear filled eyes and heavy words make you want to sob, you stay strong. Because you want to be there for Jack. You want him to know that he can share his darkest moments with you, that they don’t scare you off.

“Before I could jump-” Jack’s voice fills up the space between you again. “My phone made a noise as a text came in.” he says, eyes tracing over the features of your face. “It was you.” he smiles as tears pool in his eyes. “Explaining how you got my number from Dana and wanted to thank me for the great job I did on that foster kid case with you.”

You nod at his words, still able to recollect how nervous you were to send him that text. You had not had many chances to work with Abbot at the time, considering he’s on the night shift and you’re there during the day, but.. that didn’t mean you didn’t know who he was.

After you had the chance to work together with him on the case of the foster kid that was his patient and showed signs of abuse, something shifted within you. He was no longer just the handsome attending, he was the guy you wanted.

“I was actually pacing in my living room, like a teenager who just sent her crush a text and was awaiting an answer.” you chuckle which makes Abbot laugh through his tears as well. “You made me even more nervous by not replying instantly.”

“I was rereading your text like a hundred times. I couldn’t believe you thanked me for something that in my mind was just my job.” Jack tells you.

“Trust me.. after working with many doctors on cases, I can tell you that it’s not just because it’s your job that you actually care.” you say. “I remembered being really impressed on how you handled the situation with so much care, even before I got called to it.”

Jack smiles softly at your words, hearing your praise does something to him. He values you so much as a person, that the thought of you thinking about him like that is enough to make his heart melt.

“That night.. I like to believe that it was her who saved me by sending you into my life.” Jack explains, that smile resting on his lips.

“I like that theory.” you smile back at him.

Jack leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead, eyes closing as he silently thanks his late wife once more. He knows that there will never be real evidence about his theory, but believing in it is enough for him.

“I appreciate how you allow me to talk about her. Means a lot.” he tells you, chin resting on your head.

“Ofcourse..” you answer and lean in some more as you hold onto him. “She was a big part of your life, that’s not changing just because she’s gone.”

“Yeah.. s’just,” he mumbles. “I was somehow afraid that a new partner would be jealous or not keen on me talking about her.” Jack admits.

“Hmm.. I get it.” you nod softly.

“M’happy you’re not like that,” Jack tells you, pressing another kiss on the top of your head.

His words make a smile grow onto your lips, you lean back a bit so you could look at him and let your eyes trace over his face. The story he told you earlier comes back to mind and you find it weird how you never heard it before, the two of you have been together for some time now.

“Why have you never told me that story of the roof before?” you ask him, breaking the silence.

“It’s not something m’really proud of.” he mumbles back at you, looking down to avoid eye contact.

“Hey,” you move a hand to cup his cheek and make him look back into your eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” you tell him. “You fought for a long time and you were tired, it’s normal that the thought of giving up crossed your mind.” your thumb brushes against his skin and you feel him leaning into your touch some more. “But I’m so fucking proud off you that you didn’t give up.”

A bashful smile covers his lips as he hears your words, they make tears burn back into his eyes. Being this open and vulnerable with you isn’t easy, if it wasn’t for all that therapy.. he probably never would’ve been able to open up to you like this.

“I love you,” Jack says before he leans in to press a kiss against your lips. “So.. so.. much.” he mumbles between kisses.

“I love you too.” you smile against his lips.

Once he pulls back, a pleasant silence falls over the two of you as you get back to having breakfast. The scraping of forks against plates, food being swallowed and the music that is still leaving your phone is all that is able to be heard.

“That was a heavy ass conversation for this early in the morning.” you are the first to break the silence.

A chuckle leaves Abbot’s mouth as he nods at your words. “Sorry ‘bout that.” he tells you.

“No need to be sorry,” you say as you stand up to put your empty plate in the sink. “Susan is going to be so proud of you.” you tell him, referring to his therapist.

“She will,” Jack chuckles as you mention the middle aged woman who has been his therapist for more than four years now.

You check the time on your phone and realize you’re gonna need to get yourself ready or you’ll be late to work. After picking up your phone, you rush past Jack but he’s quick to snatch you by wrapping an arm around your waist.

“No..” you pout as you realize what’s about to happen, it’s something he always does.. it’s the reason why you’ve stopped telling him you’re going to get yourself ready.

“Haven’t even said anything yet,” Jack chuckles as he pulls you closer to him.

“But I know what you’re about to do,” you tell him while looking into his eyes. “You’re going to seduce me because you want to get laid before I go.”

“Hey,” a smirk tugs on his lips. “I’d never force you, m’just suggesting a little get together in the bedroom before you head off to work.”

“Yeah.. exactly,” you frown. “I can never say no when you look at me like that.” you say as you watch him stare at you through hooded eyes, clearly giving you ‘the look’. He knows it makes you weak. “Your little get togethers makes me late to work every damn time.”

“I mean.. is that a no?” he arches a brow as the smirk stays present on his lips.

“Oh.. you know it’s a yes.” you give him another glare before moving over towards the bedroom.

Jack can only smirk wider as he moves up from the stool he was sitting on, he puts some pep in his step and quickly catches up to you. A soft shriek leaves you as you feel him pick you up with ease, a giggle following as he lays you over his shoulder.

“I hate you..” you tell him with a smirk on your face.

“Sure you do,” Jack gives your ass a smack as he moves further into the bedroom. “But you won’t after I make you come twice before nine a.m.” he says before slamming the door shut behind him.

Another giggle leaves you as Jack lays you down on the bed, quick to take off his own shirt which gives you a view of his broad chest and shoulders.

“Hmm.. sexy,” you say as your eyes travel over his torso.

Jack chuckles at that before motioning towards the shirt you’re wearing. “Don’t be shy now, take it off.”

You sit up so you can take off the shirt that was on your body, the cool air makes goosebumps grow on your skin as your nipples harden. Jack takes in your bare chest, the sight going straight to his cock that is already getting hard.

“Fuck me..” he mutters under his breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

A blush forms on your cheeks at his compliment, no matter how many times you heard him tell you that.. it still makes you all giddy inside. You watch as Jack proceeds by sitting on the side of the bed, that way he can take off his prosthetic before going any further.

You wait patiently, crawling up behind him and placing some kisses on the back of his neck and down to his shoulder. Your sweet touches make Jack shiver, he loves how gentle you are with him, even more how you give him time to handle his prosthetic.

You know he’s uncomfortable being intimate with it on, he told you once and ever since then.. you never rush him, you always give him the space to take it off before you get on with being intimate.

Jack turns a bit, after removing his prosthetic, capturing your lips in a kiss. You let out a soft hum against his mouth as your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close to you.

You let him push you back onto the bed, watching as he moves to place kisses up your legs and on your thighs. His fingers slowly travel towards your hips and curl around the lining of your panties. Every touch of him wakes even more desire for him in your body.

“My pretty girl,” Jack tells you as he watches how your back arches into his touch.

Once your underwear is off and discarded on the floor, he presses a few kisses onto your lower stomach and hip bones. You bite down on your lip, looking down and watching how close he is to where you want him most.

“You gonna be good for me?” Jack asks, mouth hovering over your core, the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you shiver.

“Yes-” you answer him, looking at him with nothing other than need for his touch.

“You always are..” Jack smiles softly before leaning down and pressing a kiss against your pussy. “Such a good girl for me, huh?”

The only answer you can give him is a nod because once you want to open your mouth to say something, he dives in with his tongue and makes a whimper escape you.

Jack holds onto your hips, keeping you close and right where he wants you. He’s sucking down on your clit, sometimes his tongue comes into play as well which makes you moan out. He’s feasting on you like a starving man.

“Fuck-” you moan out, moving a hand down into his curls.

One thing about Jack is that he knows how to please. Whenever he goes down on you, he gives it his all. In your past relationships you sometimes had to beg your partner to eat you out, but not with Jack.. no, the man loves nothing more than pleasuring you.

“Oh god-” you moan out, squirming beneath his touch but he’s quick to take better hold of you so you can’t move your hips anymore.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Jack asks, taking a breather to look up at you.

“Yes,” you give him a nod.

“Want my fingers as well?" he questions, already knowing the answer he’s going to get.

“Please-” you beg, which goes straight to his cock.

Jack moves back in, sucking down on your clit while two fingers curl up inside of you. A moan leaves you as your back arches into his touch, head thrown back on the pillow.

It doesn’t take that long for you to feel that bubble of pleasure building up inside of your gut, his fingers keep hitting that sweet spot as he’s sucking down on your clit. You let out a soft whine, tugging on his curls as you feel yourself getting close to tipping over the edge.

“M’gonna-”

“I know, baby..” Jack mumbles against you, eyes looking up at the expression on your face. “Come for me.”

It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers before you reach your high. Your body tightens up and once that bubble bursts inside of you, soft cries leave your lips as your body trembles.

“Atta girl,” Jack keeps his fingers moving, guiding you through it.

“Ugh,” you let your body relax on the mattress again as you feel the waves of pleasure slowly washing away. “Fuck.. that was good,”

Jack smiles at your words, he loves whenever he’s able to pleasure you. He takes pride in it. He moves up so he could press his lips against yours, you are quick to kiss him back as you hold him close to your body.

“I need to thank the universe more for sending me an eater like you,” you mumble against his lips which makes Jack laugh.

“All real men are eaters,” he tells you, brushing some strands of hair out of your face. “But out of all those men, I sure am the best.” Jack says, which makes it your turn to chuckle now before nodding your head.

“You sure are..” you say before pressing your lips back against his.

The two of you share a passionate kiss which doesn’t help Jack with wanting you any less. You can feel his erection straining against his boxers as his hips brush into yours.

“Is there enough time left for me to fuck you..” Jack mutters against your lips, making you turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your nightstand.

“If you can get me to come in ten minutes, yeah.” you answer him.

“Pfft.. easy,” Jack scoffs as he moves his boxers down his hips. “I only need five max.”

You chuckle at that before feeling him kiss you again, it makes you wrap your arms around his neck to hold him close. Jack hums against your mouth, enjoying the feeling of your body against his.

After you helped him with removing his boxers completely, he settled back between your thighs. Jack takes hold of himself and traces his tip against your entrance, his eyes lock with yours before he slowly makes his way inside of you.

Your lips part in a silent gasp as you feel his cock spreading you open. “God.. you feel good-” Jack grunts out as he feels how wet you are.

“Mhmm..” your hands travel over the muscles on his back as your legs hook around his waist.

Jack presses another kiss on your lips before resting his head in the crook of your neck. He’s moving inside of you with controlled strokes, balls deep each time.

“Hmm yes,” you moan out, nails digging in his shoulders where you’re holding onto him.

“Yeah.. use your nails on me,” Jack whispers, he loves whenever you do that.

You drag your nails down his back, the feeling of you leaving soft scratches on his skin is enough to make him come. However, he holds back. Jack’s determined to get you there first.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper out as you feel him move his hips, changing the angle in a way he hits that sweet spot inside of you. “Right there.”

“Yeah?” Jack loves seeing the pleasure in your expression as he finds the right spot, knowing it’s usually a done job whenever he’s found it.. only a few more strokes before he has you coming.

Your moaning is echoing through the room as Jack lets out a groan from time to time. He has pushed your legs up to your chest, allowing him to move even deeper inside of you. That pit in your gut forms again and you know you’re close to tipping over the edge.

“M’so close..” you whine out, making Jack even more determined.

“Come on my cock, baby.” he tells you, while his hips keep moving inside of you with the same intensity.

Your body tightens up, back arching of the bed as you grip onto his arms. “Yes.. oh god, Jack..” you cry out before you come, feeling pleasure burst inside of your gut and traveling all throughout your body.

As soon as you reach your orgasm and Jack feels you clench your walls around his cock, he’s done for. Grunts escape him as he comes, coating your insides before his body goes limp and falls down onto yours.

“Mhmm that was fucking good..” you tell him, enjoying the bliss of your orgasm that’s still washing over you.

“It really was,” Jack says with trembling breath, moving up so he could look you into your eyes as a lazy smile tugs on his lips.

You smile at him and plant a soft kiss on his mouth before turning your head and catching a glimpse of your alarm clock. Those ten minutes are more than past by now.

“Shit!” you curse out before pushing against Jack’s chest so he’d roll off of you. “M’gonna be fucking late again.” you say as you realize that you still need to get yourself ready and drive over to the hospital.

Jack can only chuckle as he watches you nearly trip over a pair of shoes on your way towards the bathroom. He won’t ever tell you, because he knows you’ll get mad, but Jack thinks you’re adorable whenever you’re pissed off and in a hurry because he made you late for work.

“Ugh, damn you Abbot!” you call out, hearing the soft sounds of his laughter. “Asshole!”

Now a second-year resident at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre, you are very comfortable with being around your coworkers and their different personalities. And quite comfortable navigating patients, both happy and aggressive. The latter unfortunately coming to fruition tonight.

It was hour 6 into your shift, the full moon seeming to bring in all the crazies. Within the last hour you had an unhoused man brought in with lacerations all over his body from “releasing the werewolf out of him”, and another woman named Heather, who claimed she could speak with the dead. The poor lady breaking her arm from falling off her roof because the spirits told her she needed to bathe in the moonlight. Why that had to be completed from her roof? You have no idea.

Walking up to the nurses station, your hands press into your hips as you stare up at the board to see if there are any new cases. Your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, but exhaustion is clear on your face. It’s been a big night.

“I can see your brain overheating from all the way over here”.

Looking away from the board you spot an incredibly nonchalant Abbot leaning against the outside of the desk, the smallest of smirks on his face as he looks at you, rubbing the palms of his hands together as he talks. God why is he so hot?

You slide your hands over your face with a soft laugh, trying to shake the inappropriate thoughts about your attending from your mind.

“Did you know that I have psychic powers Dr. Abbot?” You laugh, your conversation with your earlier patient Heather finally being spoken into the universe. “Apparently I’m wasting my time here, I need to be working with my spirit guides to find my soulmate”. You smirk, your hands now in line with your eyesight, wriggling your fingers at the man before you with a silent ‘woo!’ out your mouth.

Abbot stares for a moment, your heart beating louder than normal when you realise what you have exactly said and done to your attending. Maybe you should take Doctor-patient confidentiality more seriously? It’s not long however, before he lets out a soft ‘HA!’, sounding more like a cough than any actual word. He takes a quick breath in and looks around briefly, before leaning over the desk to speak to you in a hushed voice.

“As much as I would love to see that career opportunity happen for you Y/N, I would miss seeing your pretty face as you parade around the ER like it’s your own personal practice”.

Without another sound, the man swings his stethoscope back around his neck with a smirk and walks away as a sepsis patient is wheeled through the doors by paramedics. The ER picks up as people rush around to prepare a vacant bay for the patient, but you are just standing there dumbfounded by what you have heard.

Was he flirting with you?

Sure, you were a flirty person by nature, god-awfully awkward too, but Jack Abbot is certainly not. Or at-least not toward anyone that wasn’t you, you begin to piece together. You both seemed to be having these unannounced flirting competitions back and forth for months. And sure, you had to squint hard to read between the lines, and guess whether he was being just sarcastic or teasing. But with this? Oh yeah. Jack Abbot was flirting.

God, you were gonna need a stiff drink after this shift to deal with your emotions tonight.

Lena sits at the desk in front of you, the night shift’s very own mother hen sending you a small wink at what she has overheard. “He’s down bad for you, sugar” she smirks, pen tapping the desk as she speaks.

Warmth flows throughout your body at her words, trying hard to bite back the smile that is itching to appear on your face.

“No he’s not Lena, he’s just being nice. He’s like that with everyone” you say, rolling your eyes. The charge nurse in front of you snickering at your attempt to down play the situation.

“Honey, he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you. I don’t see him looking at Shen like that”.

You open your mouth to try and counter her statement, eyes darting over to where Abbot is with his patient to see whether or not she is telling the truth. And by god she is. You make eye contact with Abbot as he speaks to his latest patient, the man offering a small smile when your eyes meet. He looks you up and down once more before turning away, purely so he can stop getting distracted. Not that you’re aware of any of that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Lena” you deny, attempting to diminish any hope that you have a chance with your middle-aged boss. “I’ve definitely seen him look at Shen like that”.

“Whatever you say sugar” Lena laughs as she rolls her eyes, standing when she is called over to the other side of the hub by another RN. She looks at you as she leaves with a look of ‘we’ll talk about this later’, and you know that will be the case. You will definitely be hearing more about this later.

Looking back to the board you see that there’s a patient in room 2 who’s still waiting to see a doctor. Grabbing an iPad you head over that way, spotting a yawning Mateo as you move.

“How’s night shift treating you? You regret picking up that extra shift now, Romeo?” You laugh, the young nurse shoving you softly at the nickname as he follows. You’ve always liked Mateo.

“Oh yeah. Definitely. Wish I was getting paid overtime for this one though. I think I’ve seen more naked patients tonight than I have in my whole career” he laughs. “This full moon really brings out the worst in people”.

“You’re telling me” you sigh as you pull back the curtain, your patient twitching restlessly on the bed as you and Mateo walk through.

Upon first glance, the poor man looks like he’s been through hell. He’s covered in bruises and tiny lacerations, his whole body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his shirt is ripped at the collar. And as you take a closer look, you see that his eyes are erratic and he is mumbling things under his breath, his hands grabbing the sheets of the bed as he goes.

“Hello sir, my name is Dr. Y/N and this here is Mateo what seems to be the reason for your visit with us tonight?” You begin, cautious to not be too loud and threatening as you assess your patient, briefly reading his intake report. Although you are aware of the basics why he was brought in, you always prefer for your patient to tell you themselves. You begin checking for any signs of injury other than the most obvious ones, making sure to keep an eye on the man before you. His incoherent mumbling beginning to concern you, if there are no drugs involved this could well be a case for psychology.

After receiving no response and seeing no other signs on injury on the man, you subtly tell Mateo that this might be a good one for psych to take a quick look at. Knowing that there was a psych doctor already down in the ER consulting with a different patient, you tell him to pop over and see if they’d be willing to take on another while you grab some vitals and a blood draw to rule out narcotic use. Once Mateo leaves the room you prep for a blood pressure test and set up the different equipment on a tray for a simple blood withdrawal.

“Sir can you tell me what your name is? Do you know your name?” You smile softly as you take a seat on a small rolling chair in the corner, pulling it over to be beside your patient as you talk. “Is it alright if I put that band around your arm? Test your blood pressure sir?”

You pause, hand resting on the rail of the bed as you ask, waiting for any sign of agreement or hesitation from your patient. But you’re met with no change, he is presenting the exact same symptoms and lack of acknowledgement as before. You deciding to proceed with the tests, but stop if you are met with any protest from him.

As you stand to grab the blood pressure band from behind you, the metal wheel of the your chair bangs into the metal leg of the drawers behind you creating a sudden and loud noise. This mixed with your quick movement seems to set your patient into a panic, the man’s eyes locking onto the back of your head in a craze.

As you turn back to face your patient and apologise for the noise, he lunges. His hands come to grab at your throat as he pushes you onto the ground from where he is seated on the bed. The wind being knocked out of you almost instantly, the back of your head meets the cold floor of the ER with a loud crack, your vision splintering between black and white spots. The tray full of vials and a syringe smashes onto the floor as you both go down, creating thankfully more noise for other people in the ER to take notice of.

Fear sets in as you see nothing but panic and rage in the eyes of the man on top of you. His fingers digging into your neck as you choke. Clawing at his hands you manage to pull them away for a second and let out a strangled, “Help!”. But that is short lived as he pushes into your neck with even more pressure than before, eyes so big you swear you can see only the whites. While it feels like minutes of you being attacked by this patient, it is in reality a mere matter of seconds.

Just as you are about to pass out from the lack of oxygen, Mateo returns, mumbling something about psych being a little too busy for you right now. The nurse freezing for a second, taking in the scene before him.

He was only gone for a second.

“Fuck..” he mumbles, “ABBOT!! AHMED!!”

Mateo dives toward the man on top of you, using all his strength to separate you two. As soon as the patients hands are away from your throat you manage to let in a strangled gasp, immediately rolling to the side in the fetal position in a way to try and protect yourself. You hear multiple footsteps running toward the room, your hands clutching at your throat desperately to try and take some of the pain away.

It hurt so bad, why did it hurt so bad?

You feel his hands on your shoulders before you see him, the ringing in your ears from shock taking a while to go away. It’s only then that you lock eyes with Abbot and begin to realise what has just happened and where exactly you are.

“Sweetheart, you need to breathe for me”

Still on your side you see Abbot yelling at your co-workers in the room who have come to your aid. You however, are too distracted by how disgustingly hot Abbot looks barking orders to even notice which friends are present. You think that amongst the chaos you might have seen Parker and Shen.

Even half dead you still mange to admire the man.

“Jac-“ you try to speak but your voice gives out halfway through from the trauma. The pressure in your head making you dizzy and causing the room to sway slightly. You want nothing more than to have a quick nap to get rid of this feeling.

“Yeah I’m here honey, keep your eyes open okay?” Abbot orders softly, his eyebrows furrowed tightly as he bends his neck down to look you in the eyes.

You love it when he does that.

You can feel the stress radiating off him as he snatches gauze from someone’s hand and leans over your frame on the floor to press it against your bleeding scalp, a small laceration apparently happening when you fell. A whiff of his cologne makes your hands tingle from attraction as you watch him work- or maybe it’s the trauma?. Quick, efficient and gentle. You’ve never seen him like this before, never this worried for a patient.

Wait- did he just call you sweetheart?

“I’m fine” you choke out, trying to swipe his hands away, managing to miss miserably as a result of your current double vision. “I swear, I’m- I’m fine Jack”.

Abbot pauses for a moment, staring into what feels like your soul. He lets out a shaky breath before squeezing his eyes shut and sighing. “You’re not fine. You never call me Jack”.

Well he’s got you there. Now that you come to think of it, you’ve always been just that little too scared to call him Jack. He’s technically your boss for Christ’s sake. Thank you head trauma for seeming to rip all of your feelings of hesitation and embarrassment away from you. God, you need a nap.

You push off the floor to sit up, much to the audible disapproval from Abbot. The room swaying for a moment at the change, the movement making you squeeze your eyes shut to adjust and reach your hand out to grab Abbot’s bicep to stabilise yourself. When they open again you meet the soft eyes of your attending, his hand placed gently but tense on your knee.

“What happened Y/N?” He stares, concern smacked thick across his face. Effortlessly swapping out the now bloody gauze with a new piece on the back of your head. “I heard yelling and when I come in you were hurt, and just laying lifeless on the ground”.

Smiling sloppily at the man before you in an attempt to relieve some of his worry, a small laugh escapes your lips. “I’m not even sure! My chair made a loud noise? Must have stressed my patient. One minute I was grabbing something from behind me and the next, I’m being strangled”.

Your mind is a daze and Abbot just looks so damn fine with his stupid forearm muscles twitching with every movement of his hand on your knee. His bicep his hot under the palm of your hand, and is seemingly the only thing you can seem to focus on. This taken into consideration, it’s probably the reason why your brain short circuits and decides to add on laughing, “like, if I’m gonna be strangled the guy should’ve changed his name to Abbot. Am I right?!”

The silence you hear in response is deafening.

Your loud laughter slowly dies down to a chuckle, then to a giggle, then to nothing. The whole time your attending is staring at you with concern and something else you can’t quite place. Your smile is wiped off your face when you realise what you’ve said, opening your mouth to try and take it all back and apologise.

“I’m sending you for a head CT” he says gruffly, retreating away from you on the floor, refusing to make eye contact. “You hit your head pretty hard. And you’re obviously not thinking clearly”.

“Wait Ja- Dr. Abbot wait!” You try, hand slipping from his bicep as he stands up and steps back, the fog in your head beginning to clear as a result of your panic.

What have you done?

“I’ll get one of the nurses to take you up” he calls over his shoulder, throwing out the gauze he had previously pressed against your head in the bin.

You reach for him as he turns and walks out the room, smacking the hand sanitiser on the wall in frustration as he goes, rubbing it into his hands. The panic you’re feeling makes your head throb and your throat ache. You can’t believe what has happened in the past 10 minutes.

You’ve just ruined it all.

1.

“Jack, baby, sit down”, Your soft voice lilted through the apartment.

Jack had just gotten home from a 24 hour shift, and you could tell just by his gait alone from the second he walked through the front door; that his leg was bothering him. The way he shifted his weight—he always does that, more so for balance—but now it was more intentional. More focused on getting all the weight he could off his prosthetic.

He was already limping towards the kitchen—wobble in his step—when you called out to him.

You hear him sigh loudly; “I’m fine”, but his white knuckles gripping tightly against the kitchen counter say otherwise.

He stands there for longer than he should, taking a step towards the fridge when his step falters—almost like he’s going to fall—before leaning forward and grabbing the kitchen island with just as much force.

You’re on your feet before he can finish mumbling under his breath, soft and steady hands gently settling on his waist, one rubbing soothingly across his shoulders.

“Don’t”, He says it quietly, not looking at you, like something might break if he’s too loud—like it would make everything real.

You use your hands to turn him towards you, watching his tired face fall even further.

“Baby, you just worked for 24 hours. You’re sore, I know your leg hurts-“ you stop when he looks up at you, letting your hands cup his cheeks; “Let me help you.”

His eyes flit across your face, heavy purple bags underneath them—before he sighs again—giving you a small nod.

“Ok.”

You smile softly, following his gaze; “Yeah?”

He nods again, face still tired, but his shoulders relax just a bit. You stand on your tiptoes, pressing a small kiss to both corners of his mouth—slightly teasing—and then one softly against them in full, chuckling when he chases your lips after the second one.

You guide him to the couch by lacing your fingers together, helping him lower himself to the couch when he winces. You rub his knee soothingly, only standing when you’re sure he’s settled in.

You pour him a mug of tea from where it’s been brewing on the stove, hearing him sigh as the warm liquid hits his lips. You feel his hand on your waist again, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Thank you.”

You only smile back, running your fingers through his messy curls.

“Stay here and relax. I’ll be back in a few minutes”, You tell him, disappearing down the hallway before he can ask more questions.

You found yourself in the bathroom, turning the bath tap on and turning up the temperature. Letting the steam fill the room with warmth you add a little bit of bubbles, some bath salts. You light some candles, pull out your bottle of lotion and dim the lights. You grab Jack’s crutches as you make your way back to the living room.

Sitting down next to Jack, you pat your knee, signaling for him to extend his leg. He hesitates for a moment, eyes wide like he’s asking if you’re sure.

“Cmon, give me your leg.”

Eventually, he does, setting the end of his prosthetic over your legs.

“What are you doing?” He asks as you start undoing the straps.

“Taking care of you.”

You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. For a moment, he falters.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to.”

That makes his mouth fall shut.

He watches as you slip the prosthetic off, then the slip and the sleeve, movements easy like you’d done a million times. You grab one of his wipes, running it gently over his stump after you’ve pulled everything off. He hisses when the cool air hits his sore skin.

The second the wipe touches his skin, you feel him tense.

“You ok?”

He nods; “Yeah”, then chuckles, “Just cold.”

The smile doesn’t leave your lips as you finish cleaning up his leg, before standing and holding his crutches out to him. He stands without question, following you back to the bedroom, only protesting with a soft grumble when you force him to sit on the edge of the bed.

You dig through the dresser drawers, pulling out a different pair of underwear in each hand, presenting them to him like he’s choosing between coffee or water.

“Boxers or briefs?”

He almost laughs, huffing with a hand running down his face before he answers.

“Boxers”, He finally says.

You put the briefs back before offering him your hand again, helping him to his feet and leading him to the bathroom. He stops when he enters, his eyes flicking around the room.

“What’s all this?”, His voice is soft and breathy as he leans up against the counter.

You shrug, pulling out a fluffy towel to set out for him.

“For you to relax”, You say it like it’s nothing again, shrugging; “Cmon, clothes off, Abbot.”

Something in his chest twists. He forces whatever emotion is in his throat back. Just wanting to be present with you.

“Baby…”, His eyes are soft.

You shake your head; “I’m taking care of you tonight, Jack.”

He smirks at you, pausing for a second before he pulls his shirt over his head, broad freckled shoulders on display. You help him slip out of his scrub pants and underwear, throwing them all along with his socks in the hamper. Then you’re helping him step into the tub—he hisses when the water covers his stump—letting the water encompass him fully.

He lets his head fall back, arms on either side of the tub as his eyes fall clothes, air leaving his nose in a soft breath.

“Feel nice?”, You asks softly, already crouching down to sit on the floor next to him.

He nods.

“Like heaven…thank you, baby.”

You intertwine your fingers with his; “You deserve to be taken care of too.”

He doesn’t answer this time, just looks at you, really looks at you—like he’s studying you—and maybe he is. His face has softened, he looks a little more awake now. He slowly brings your hand up to his lips, and presses a long kiss there; his eyes closed, like he’s savoring it.

“Do you need anything?”, You asks softly him softly.

“No”, He shakes his head; “Just you being here.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the warmth steam settled between you before he speaks up again.

“Actually…can you come in with me?”

He asks with wide eyes, hazel dark in the dim bathroom, looking almost unfairly like a baby dear.

“Of course.”

Then you’re removing your own clothes, settling down into the warm water, letting Jack pull your back up against his strong chest. You hear him sigh the second your skin makes contact with his.

“This is just what I needed”, He says softly, lips ghosting your hair before letting his head fall back again.

You sit there until the water starts getting cold, helping him out and into his boxers. You slide on an old t-shirt of his. When he’s lying ontop of the blankets in bed you rub lotion onto his stump, massaging the tense muscles and nerves that were no doubt on fire. You climb into bed afterwards, letting him rest his head on your stomach. Your fingers find his curls immediately—almost on instinct—and whatever tension was left in his shoulders disappears.

He doesn’t verbally say thank you for big gestures like this, it’s hard for him. He’ll show you in a million different ways how much tonight meant to him each time he gets the chance.

He pressed a soft kiss to your skin, situating his head better, stubble tickling your skin. His hand pulls you closer by the hips, eyes fluttering close as you massage his scalp and gently play with his salt and pepper curls. Just before he’s fully drifted off, in the quiet of the bedroom—just between you two—he speaks.

“I love you.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

2.

Jack’s in the ED, in one of the trauma rooms during a shift you both have. It’s been busy, a steady stream of patients. He’s half hovered over a patient on a gurney, half looking around the room before crossing it in a few strides to grab some gloves.

You’re outside at the hub, charting and going over patients with Dana; trying your best to free up beds when it happens.

At first it’s quiet, then a loud bang echoes through the ED, followed by a very loud and very grumpy; “Damnit Ogilvie!”

Your eyes widen. You know that voice. Everyone does. It rarely ever gets raised. You’re following Dana towards the trauma room, bracing yourself for the worst when you turn the corner.

Jack’s standing in the corner with nurses around him, hand placed over his forehead above his left eyebrow, pointing his finger at James Ogilvie like he personally insulted him. Which, he might have.

“I told you to move that light up higher. Maybe if you weren’t too busy assessing our patients like medical books and insulting them you would’ve done what I asked.”

Jack’s voice is gruff, you can see his chest heave as he talks, neck red with anger that he rarely lets out.

“Jack”

His eyes flicking towards you, then back to Ogilvie—who looks like he’s been kicked—and then back to you.

Jack sighs; “Just, help Robby finish up sutures. Try to listen to what he tells you this time.”

Then Jack’s moving past him, past you and Dana, straight through the doors of the trauma room.

Dana shoots you a look of worry, with anger undertone of ‘oh shit, he’s pissed.’

You almost laugh.

Instead you follow Jack out, grabbing a suture kit from the nurses station and pulling him into a room by his elbow before he can protest.

He still has his hand on his forehead, but you can see small tinges of red starting to peek through.

“Sit”, You tell him.

“Sweetheart, I’m fine. Just need to wash it out.”

You shake your head; “Jack, you hit your head. You’re bleeding, you need to be checked for a concussion now please-“, you take a deep breath; “Sit down.”

He falters for a minute, pausing before lowering himself down on the exam bed, watching as you pull a pair of gloves on. You can see the frustration slowly leaving his body as his shoulders relax.

“Don’t laugh”, He says, eyeing the look on your face.

“Why would I laugh?”

“I hit my head on a light-“

You try to hold back a laugh

“It’s not funny!”

You fail the second time; “…It’s a little funny.”

You can see how hard he’s trying to stay mad, but the quirk in his lips gives him away.

Shaking your head, your hands reach for the one pressed against his forehead.

“I’m gonna take your hand off now, ok?”, You say it softly, like he doesn’t know the routine.

He finds himself nodding anyways, thankful for telling him what you’re doing, it calms his nerves in a weird way.

You carefully pull his hand back, a soft gasp escaping your lips at the sight as you scramble to press gauze to the wound, putting Jacks hand back in place to keep pressure on it. All the humor drains out of you instantly.

“Jesus, Jack!”

He chuckles, “That bad huh?”

“It’s like three inches! Any deeper and i’d be able to see your skull. What is your head made of??”

He just shrugs; “Apparently not anything invincible.”

You can’t help but quirk your lip up at the corner.

You sigh, closing your eyes to ground yourself and the slight panic in your chest.

“Sorry, I’m just—I’m worried, Jack. That’s not just a superficial laceration.”

He doesn’t say anything as you start cleaning him up, careful to wait until the bleeding slows enough to stitch it up.

“You know you’re gonna have to fix things with Ogilvie”, You speak after a few minutes of silence.

He sighs; “I know. He’s just a kid, but shit he gets on my nerves sometimes. I don’t know how Robby doesn’t absolutely lose it on him.”

You laugh; “He’d probably say the same about you.”

Jack fakes a shocked face before wincing.

“Kinda hard to stitch when you keep moving.”

You smirk at him, watching him pout in the fake way only Jack could pout. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t still pull at your heart strings.

When you finish stitching you make sure the wound is clean before putting the bandage on.

“It’s probably gonna leave a little scar, but I did my best.”

Jack’s kissing your now gloveless hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles.

“M’That’s ok, baby.”

You settle back on the stool in front of him, checking over his face; “Anything else hurt? Your head? You feel dizzy or anything?”

He shakes his head; “I’m all good, doctor.”

You shake your head at him; “God you’re ridiculous sometimes.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately I do.”

He’s leaning forward to kiss you softly then, not usually one for PDA in the workplace, but given it’s just the two of you nestled in an exam room he doesn’t mind. He lingers for a moment, letting your breathing mix together.

“If your CT comes back ok you can get back to work in a half an hour, cowboy”, You tell him.

“Ok”, He answers softly, looking at you with a glossy love-filled gaze.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head harder?”, You tease, biting your bottom lip.

“Positive. Just love you, that’s all.”

Then he’s kissing you again, pulling you into his lap without a second thought, laughing when you squeal.

“Keep squealing like that someone’s gonna come checking on us, sweetheart”, He warns, but there’s no heat behind it.

“Let them.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss by the curls at his nape, smiling into it when he groans in content. When you finally pull back, you hop off his lap, squeezing his shoulder and heading for the door.

“I’ll be back to check on you soon”, you tell him, pausing with a smirk before you continue; “and Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Try not to run into any more lights today.”

You squeal when he throws a roll of gauze at you, letting it bounce off the door as you barely close it in time.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

3.

You’re sitting outback at Robby’s house, grill sizzling distantly, a drink in your hand. The warmth of summer finally starting to seep in. Not a cloud in the sky, sun shining bright. You sigh, thinking how used to the weather you could get.

Most of the pitt-crew is scattered around the yard; Santos, Whitaker, and Mel all sitting around Robby’s bar. Mckay and Dana next to the fire pit telling stories about who knows what. Langdon’s sitting with Robby and Jack, finally on the mend and enjoying each other’s company again. Robby at the grill as they talk. You’re relaxing in a lounge chair, sunglasses on and one of Jack’s old baseball caps. Some of Robby’s neighbors are over, a few kids scattered around, playing with Robby’s dog.

Somehow, Jack ends up with one of the babies in his lap, cooing away at everything around him as he sucks on his fist. One hand pulling at the fabric of Jack’s shirt. He’s maybe between 9 months to a year old, chubby and still a little small, wisps of his blonde hair sticking up in every direction.

Your heart clenches. You try not to look. Not here, your biological clock would start ticking. Unfortunately for you, Dana notices too.

“He looks good with a baby in his lap, doesn’t he?”, Dana quips, scooting up beside you.

You don’t even look at her.

“Don’t start, Dana.”

She laughs; “What? You can’t tell me seeing him like that doesn’t make you want one.”

“It does”, You say, pausing a second; “That’s why i’m not looking.”

Mckay is laughing next to you; “You’re stronger than i’d ever be.”

You finally give, pushing your sunglasses up on your hat as you look over at your husband—who to your surprise, is already looking at you.

You feel your heart flutter in your chest as he smiles his lazy, lopsided smile at you, before returning his attention to Robby and the baby in his lap. He’s cooing something you can’t hear, eyes wide as he bounces the little boy on his knee. Big hand supporting the baby’s back.

You don’t let your eyes linger on the way his biceps flex with each movement, or how relaxed he looks. Like he could do this forever.

“Well, shit”, You mutter.

Dana scoffs behind you, shaking her head; “Don’t come to me next month when your period’s late.”

You resist the urge to smack her. “Fine, I’ll go to Dennis.”

“Please don’t, you’ll give that boy a heart attack.”

A half an hour later, you’re sitting next to Jack, already rising to your feet to grab him a plate as Robby serves them up. His free hand goes to your wrist.

“I can get it, baby.”

“You’ve got him, I got it”, You point towards the tot in his arms, half asleep and on the cusp of drooling down Jack’s shirt.

Jack doesn’t argue, just lets your wrist go and watches you fondly.

Standing in front of Robby you already know the ribbing is coming, just by the look on his face.

“So should we be expecting a baby Abbot in the next ten months?”, He smirks.

You roll your eyes; “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Robby laughs; “Maybe because you keep watching Jack like you’re gonna eat him and then force yourself to try and not look at him.”

You cross your arms.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Robinavitch.”

“Oh wow, my full last name? Must’ve struck a nerve.”

You banter a few minutes longer before he finally sets a burger on each of your plates. You’re handing Jack his plate a few moments later, fishing him a new beer out of the cooler and a lemonade for yourself. He doesn’t even have to ask, you just know what he needs. When you plop back down into the chair next to him, holding the beer out to him, he’s looking at you with nothing but fondness in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do all that, baby”, He says softly, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“I know but, you’re always taking care of me. Just wanted you to be able to relax today.”

He squeezes your hand softly before turning back to his food, balancing his plate on the arm of the chair while the baby in his lap snores softly against him. At least he wasn’t trying to steal his food again.

You take Jack’s plate when he’s done, grab him a bottle of water to make sure he’s hydrated. You get his medication when you notice him checking his watch, help him pull off his prosthetic when you can tell it’s bothering him. All without him saying a word.

On the way home, when it’s just the two of you in his truck, he squeezes your knee softly.

“Thank you”, He says, out of the blue.

You tilt your head.

“For taking care of me today. Didn’t even have to ask, you just know what I need”, He says, smiling softly at you; “Don’t deserve you.”

You put your hand ontop of his; “Yes you do.”

He lets you have the last word, for now, leaning over to kiss you.

A moment later he’s smirking;

“So, should we get started on that baby?”

The smack to his arm echoes through the truck along with his laughter.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

4.

Shifts like this one are the worst. They never should’ve happened in the first place. Three MVC’s—one after another—two different hospice patients that coded within an hour of arriving, a patient you long had grown attached to suddenly going into cardiac arrest. You couldn’t save her. Jack couldn’t save her. TOD was being called before you could catch your breath. Then there was the little girl with leukemia, mother and father dirt poor and barely able to afford healthcare. She didn’t make it through the night.

The ED felt too cold after that. Too strained, like a live wire could break or go off at any second. Nobody hardly joked, no banter at the hub or in the ambulance bay. Shen sipped on his third iced coffee of the night quietly. Ellis didn’t poke at Jack for being old school. Even Lena’s smile seemed wary now.

As the end of the shift neared you realized you hadn’t heard from Jack in a while. Last time you saw him he was gripping his stethoscope way too hard and his jaw was clenched too tight.

You fished out your phone and Door-dashed your regular without thinking about it. Robby was carrying it in ten minutes later.

“This all for me?”, He asks.

“You wish, Robinavitch.”

His smile falters a little at your tone.

You sigh; “Sorry, just, long night.”

He nods; “I heard.”

You don’t say anything when he places the bag down on the hub counter. Silently finishing a chart.

“Go find him. I’ve got it down here”, Robby finally speaks, eyebrows raised to show he meant it.

“Thank you”, You say, stepping out from behind the hub to head towards the staff room before calling out to him; “Your favorite’s in the little brown bag!”

He salutes two fingers back at you with a smile, already pulling his bag out before handing you yours again as you race by.

You climb the stairs to the roof quickly, heavy bag in hand as you push the even heavier metal door to the roof open. When you spot Jack, your breath catches. You swallow the lump in your throat.

He looks so small from this distance, standing by the railing with his back to you, hands in his pockets like that would fix everything. You walk up slowly behind him, setting the bag down and looping your arm through his, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

He doesn’t move.

“I’m here”, Is all you say.

You don’t ask if he’s ok, or if he wants to talk about it. You know he isn’t, and you know he’ll talk when he’s ready. So you just offer yourself.

You feel him sigh more than you hear it, his head turning towards you to rest his own cheek ontop of your hair. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just listens to the city noise and watches the sun rising above you.

“I really didn’t expect tonight to be so shitty”, He finally says.

A few years ago, before you arrived, he would’ve said the opposite. He expected it then, barely hoped for the good. Toyed with the line between the railing and the edge of the roof way too close some days. But now? Now he had you.

“I know”, You say softly, “It was fucked up.”

He scoffs a breath through his nose; “Yeah, you could say that.”

You let the silence linger for a beat, and then;

“It’s not your fault, Jack. None of it was.”

He turns to you fully now, cupping your cheeks and pulling you forward, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. Then he sighs, like it helped. It didn’t fix everything, but the weight hanging over him was lighter now.

You lean down and grab the bag of food next to you; “I got us food.”

He cracks a smile at that; “Milkshake too?”

You nod; “Milkshake too.”

He’s kissing you again before happily taking his cup, finding a spot for you both to settle down and eat. You share fries in silence as you watch the sun come up, decompressing from the shift behind you. You rub his back, play with the curls at his nape, wipe sauce off the corner of his mouth. Press kisses to a few of the freckles sticking out from underneath his scrub sleeves.

When he looks at you, he silently says a thank you to whatever out there in the universe sent you to him. Cause god, here you are taking care of him again, and he’s lucky to have you.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

5.

Your bag hit the floor with a soft thud, entering the quiet apartment with your key. It was mostly dark, sun shining through slits in the blackout curtains. You slipped your shoes off, padding your way deeper into the apartment and back the hallway. You stopped at the bedroom door, it was open just a crack, letting you lay your eyes on your husband.

He was fast asleep on his stomach, one arm hanging slightly off the bed, the other sprawled out on the other side of him. His legs were the same, one foot almost hanging off the corner of the bed, his prosthetic was thankfully off. He was lying at an angle, like he’d flopped down and just stayed there. The blankets were tangled around him, soft snores escaping his lips as his chest rose and fell. A few curls hanging against his forehead.

You smiled. He looked so content and domestic like this.

He’d had a rough shift before hand, and with you being on days lately, you barely saw him. Just a quick peck in the staff room before he was rushing to meet up with Robby for handoffs. You wondered the last time he properly ate. It was going on 8:30 now, and as much as you longed to climb in bed with him, you found yourself in the kitchen instead.

You put the coffee pot on, a kettle of tea in case he wanted that instead. Bacon sizzled in one pan, pancakes in another. The smell of butter melting and syrup filled the air. The coffee machine finished, and you filled his mug. One with coffee—the other with tea—both how he liked it. You plated some pancakes and bacon, before moving everything onto the wooden tray you had gotten out.

You walked quietly back into your shared bedroom, Jack was in the same spot, still snoring away. You flicked the lamp on the bedside table on, watching Jack stir at the invasion to his darkness.

He hummed softly as he woke, voice gruff and deep with sleep; “Mm..baby?”

“I’m here, you hungry?”

He peeled his eyes open, gazing sleepily up at you with a soft smile; “M’starvin.”

“I made pancakes.”

He’s sitting up at that, almost giddy like a child. Still smiling sleepily with messy bed head. His grey curls tousled and cheeks rosy from where he’d been lying against the pillow.

You set the tray down on his lap, adjusting the cups to make sure they don’t spill.

“All this for me?”, He asks, already devouring the food with his eyes.

You nod; “I know you haven’t eaten a proper meal all week being here by yourself…just wanted to give you something besides takeout and protein bars.”

He smiles up at you, mouth full of pancakes; “Well thank you, baby.”

He’s leaning forward for a kiss when he swallows, making you giggle when you pull back.

“What?”, He raises an eyebrow.

“You taste like syrup.”

He scoffs a laugh, already cutting another piece of pancake off; “Cmon, come share this with me. You need to eat too.”

You don’t argue, crawling in the other side of the bed and leaning into his warmth, letting him spoon a forkful of pancake into your mouth.

“Damn i’m a good cook”, You mutter.

“And so modest too.”

He’s laughing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You thirsty? I didn’t know if you’d want coffee or tea so I made both”, You say, grabbing your own cup of tea and letting the warmth soak into your hands.

“You’re spoiling me, baby”, He says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before opting to go with coffee and bringing the mug to his lips.

“You deserve it. Need to take care of my baby too.”

He snuggles into you, chewing on a piece of bacon; “Ok, but next time it’s my turn to spoil you.”

“Whatever you say, Abbot.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

+1.

Jack was quiet when he got home, too quiet. His prosthetic already off, scrubs discarded and already showered. He hadn’t talked much during dinner, and as soon as he walked through the front door he’d clung to you like a koala. You didn’t pry, just let him talk as much as he wanted, but when he turned his to look at you after dinner, almost wincing as he did so, eyes looking sadder than you’d ever seen them, you started to worry.

He hesitated for a moment, before walking over and lying down next to you, legs and arms wrapped around you and his head on your stomach.

“Jack, what’s wrong?”

You went to turn on the table lamp when he stopped you.

“Don’t”, He said quietly, “It’s too bright.”

Oh.

“Baby does your head hurt?”

He shook his head slowly, eyebrows drawn together, a pout almost on his lips.

“My back’s killin me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you.”

You sigh.

“Jack, you’re my husband, you’re not bothering me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, letting you gently run your fingers through his curls before he speaks;

“Can you make it go away?”

You falter, knowing it was bad if he was asking for help himself.

You gently push him up. He groans in protest as you push yourself off the couch, but he doesn’t see where you go, just closes his eyes as he listens to you rustle around the apartment.

A few minutes later you return, pulling him towards his feet and to the bedroom, curtains pulled shut and the fan running. You ease him down into bed before putting a heat pack on the back of his neck—setting his crutches by the bed—and rub stuff on his back. He sighs immediately at the coolness of it.

You hold your hand out to him, and a glass of water in the other; “Here, these’ll help.”

He takes the medicine without complaint, pulling you down by the wrist to lay with him. He tucks his head into your shirt, resting on your stomach again, legs tangled with yours.

Your free hand rubs the tops of his shoulders and base of his neck, kneading at the knots a little more thoroughly when you find them.

He lets out a deep sigh.

“Better?”

He nods softly; “A little…just need to lay with you.”

You nod, even if he doesn’t see it. Letting your fingers rake through his curls softly, smiling when he groans in content.

“This ok?”, You ask quietly.

He hums in response; “Mhm.”

Then it’s quiet, darkness and the cool from the ceiling fan surrounding you. Jack relaxing under your fingers in his hair, body warmth radiating off of him.

“Thank you for taking care of me”, He mumbles softly, it’s quiet, almost childlike.

“Of course baby”, You tell him, kissing his head, “I’m always gonna be here to take care of you.”

Then he’s falling asleep—soft snores mixing with the noise of the ceiling fan—and yeah, maybe Jack Abbot had problems accepting or asking for help. But maybe, just maybe, he was getting batter at it.

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The chairs had always felt vaguely cursed to you, even on good days. 

On bad days—days where the waiting room smelled too strongly of antiseptic and drying blood, where somebody’s kid was crying near the vending machines, where a grown man was acting like a child as he yelled about missing insurance—it felt like corporal punishment in its purest form. You’d been down there for nearly two hours already, bouncing between triage and lacerations and flu symptoms and a man who had somehow managed to staple his own thumb at work only fifteen minutes into his shift. 

By the third anti-vax mom, your patience had worn thin. And being exiled to chairs now felt less like staffing necessity and more like karmic retaliation. How were you supposed to know Robby was right behind you, listening in on very important Pitt gossip, and that he believed in the whole “if you had time to talk, you had time to work.” 

Thus, you’d been sent off to chairs until Robby deemed you cleansed of your sins. 

Because, unfortunately, chairs happened to be the closest thing the Pitt had to purgatory: the perfect place for hellfire and fractures and a waiting room from hell. People were packed shoulder to shoulder while irritated family members grumbled and complained about the temperature. The television in the corner played daytime reruns at an offensively loud volume, and every few minutes somebody new approached the desk asking how much longer the wait would be for something as simple (or ridiculous) as a cut hangnail. Their questions made you believe they thought you personally controlled time itself. 

Which, if you did, you would have made your shift go by a lot faster. 

But no. You did not control time. Time and a chief attending named Michael Robinavitch controlled you, and you hated every second of it. 

By the time you pushed back through the waiting room doors with another chart in your hand, a mechanical smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes plastered across your face. Your eyes glued to the tablet in front of you with the name Mrs. Hill stuck between your teeth. 

However, the name died in your throat after you glanced up. 

There, in the corner, near the far wall, sat Jack Abbot, all hunched over in one of the molded plastic chairs with his elbows on his knees, body stiff as a board almost as to not touch the chair at all, and hood pulled over his head despite the warmth of the waiting room. Your brows pinched, confusion plastered all over your face. For a second, Jack sitting there genuinely made no fucking sense. 

He was the night shift attending. He could walk through the ambulance bays whenever he needed. He’d be prioritized because the Pitt didn’t just look over one of their own and ban him to the chairs off all places to sit and wait with the rest of the common people. 

Jack also never sat still enough to like a garden statue. Even through exhaustion, even post-shift, you noticed that he carried this restless energy about him, like if he stopped moving for too long, he might actually wither away. 

You stared at him for another beat before walking over, Mrs. Hill be damned. 

“What the fuck, Dr. Abbot,” you hissed, stopping in front of him. “What happened to you, and why didn’t you walk through the back?” 

Jack slowly lifted his head, and a small something snagged uncomfortably in your chest. The feeling wasn’t alarming, and it wasn’t that guy from TikTok running back and forth across a field with an overly large flag yelling Red Flag! Red Flag! either. The cause of this feeling was the small curls peaking below the hood. 

Jack’s hair had always been salt-and-pepper for as long as you’d known him in the Pitt, causing the very serious nickname of a true “silver fox” to be tossed around when he wasn’t listening. But right now, Jack’s hair was dark, richer, and auburn almost. Near his temples, the deep, reddish-brown curls were flat under the fabric. 

But even with the recent hair dye, his face was Jack’s, your brain filling in the gaps automatically to the point you didn’t notice the way he was missing his sun spots and wrinkles that Jack normally dawned in the sexiest ways. 

“Hit my head,” he finally replied quietly. 

Even his voice sounded the tiniest bit off, however, your concern for him outweighed the missing features your Jack normally had. 

You frowned, couching slightly so you could get a better look at him, Robby’s “words of wisdom” about getting on the patient’s level ringing in your head. 

“Okay, that explains why you look like you got dragged behind an ambulance,” you said before reaching up to gently cup his face. 

This time, you didn’t miss the way he flinched under your palms before settling as you tilted his head to find the injury. 

“Did you pass out? Throw up? How long ago did it happen” You didn’t really wait for his answers before continuing, already slipping deep into assessment mode. “Actually, hold on, no, don’t answer all that because your pupils are clearly telling me you’re very concussed, and if you start slurring your words, you and I won’t get anywhere with delayed responses.” 

Jack’s eyes fluttered shut as you talked to him, and the weird feeling bloomed under your skin again. When his hazel met yours again, you let his face go and stood to full height. 

“C’mon, Dr. Abbot,” you sighed, motioning for him to stand. “You’re not sitting out here looking like a murder suspect all afternoon. Let me get you into a room before Robby sees you and starts berating me as to why you’re still out here.” 

His eyes lifted to yours fully, and the intensity almost stopped you cold. Jack looked at people all the time—quick glances, assessing looks, sharp little observations hidden behind sarcasm—but the way he was looking at you now was different. This Jack, looking at least fifteen years younger, looked directly as you with a heavy kind of focus that should’ve felt unsettling, like he was trying to learn your family’s history with once glance. Unlike your Jack (which you were still convinced was sitting right in front of you), he felt almost dangerous in how still he was and how carefully he watched. 

When he didn’t stand up to follow, you asked, “You gonna pass out if I make you walk? 

“No.” 

“Is your leg bothering you? I can get you a wheelchair if you need.” 

“I can walk.” 

“Great. Love your confidence.” 

He stood slowly, hands never touching the handles, body towering over you once he straightened fully. Again, another disjointed feeling washed over you. Jack was tall, yes, but he was now carrying himself so opposite of how he normally did. Here, he seemed disconnected from the room, like feeling the air was inconveniencing him. Now standing, you caught another glimpse of bruising near the edge of his jaw as you guided him through toward an empty room down the hall.

His silence was starting to get uncomfortable, so you found yourself talking just to fill the unusual quiet between you, even if talking had gotten you banished to chairs in the first place. 

“You know, Dr. Abbot, most people with concussions demand to be sent through immediately even if they aren’t an attending. Please tell me this isn’t you trying to not look weak in front of everyone? I bet they would rather you come through walking and talking than someone giving you a wellness check and finding you dead because you didn’t follow concussion protocol.” 

Behind you, he stayed silent. 

You busied yourself by pulling gloves on, still talking as he sat on the very edge of the exam bed, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists on his thighs. 

“Seriously though, Dr. Abbot, you scared me for a second out there. You looked half-dead sitting in that chair, which, honestly, kind of impressive for you because you usually can’t keep still. I guess that’s why you do SWAT and stuff, huh? One of these days you’re going to find out you’re not actually immortal even though people talk like you are. But what would I know, I’m just a nurse while you spend your free time getting shot at.” 

Finally, like broken pottery, the smallest smile cracked through his face. You blinked at him while his eyes refused to move anywhere but your face. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “You are being deeply weird today. Are you okay?” 

His gaze dropped briefly before returning to your face. “Head hurts.” 

“That would be your concussion talking.” 

You stepped closer, gently tilting his head toward the light to examine the molted bruise near his temple. Unlike in the chairs, he didn’t flinch under your fingers this time. Up close like this, Jack’s differences stood out more. The lighting in the waiting room made everything seem worse under shadows, but the direct light washed away the wrinkles and lines around his eyes. 

And still, he kept staring at you with an unwavering intensity that made your knees go weak and made a warmth creep up your neck. 

“You’re very stare-y today,” you murmured distractedly while checking his pupils. 

“Sorry.” 

Your hands paused for a half a second at his promptness for an apology. 

As far as you knew, Jack never apologized that fast. 

However, the though slipped through your mind before you could stop it, but again, the concussion explained enough that you ignored every strange feeling creeping higher in your chest. Head injuries changed behavior sometimes. Personalities softened, reactions slowed, and people became emotional, subdued, clingy, and disoriented. You’d seen it first-hand countless times. 

Still. 

You moved back slightly to jot something onto the chart. “Any nausea?” 

“A little.” 

“Blurred vision?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Memory issues?” 

His eyes stayed on you. “Maybe?” 

“Can you tell me where you are?” 

“Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital.” 

You snorted softly. “Using the full government name. I see you Dr. Abbot. I’ll give you a gold star for incredible patient participation.” 

He didn’t laugh or smile at that this time. You continued to fill out his chart: name, birthdate, allergies. Thankfully, most of it was already in the system. Your eyes rose back to his when you finished up, chart getting tucked under your arm as you pulled the gloves off. 

“Okay, let me go get Robby since I highly doubt you’d want anyone else in here—” 

“Can you not tell anyone I’m here?” 

You cocked your head. “What?” 

His jaw tightened slightly, gaze flickering briefly toward the closed door before returning to you. “Don’t want people knowing.” 

Concern replaced every single weird feeling. Embarrassment after injuring wasn’t uncommon, especially with doctors, and even so more with attendings who weren’t used to being the ones under care. God knew Jack hated appearing vulnerable in front of his coworkers. 

“You do know they’re not going to make fun of you for getting a concussion. Robby might poke fun, but you are like his best friend.” Your eyes glanced toward the door. “Okay, maybe his only friend,” you added on with a mutter. 

He didn’t answer right away. 

You leaned against the counter, studying him for moment. The intensity was still there in the way he watched you, but his eyes held a sadness you’d never seen before. The hazel hues dripped with a scarcity that made your heart clench.

After a moment, you conceded. “Okay. Fine. Your secret is safe with me, Dr. Abbot.” You pointed at him with your pen. “But only because you’re looking at me like that. Special privileges are frowned upon here.” 

The faintly cracked almost-smile appeared again. 

And God help you, it looked surprisingly pretty on him, making you want more of it. 

_______________________

Purgatory had ended the moment you stepped out of the room and went diving head-first into the incoming trauma after Robby grabbed you by the shoulders and physically steered you into Trauma Room One. The entire department had gone from irritatingly busy to borderline catastrophic after a minor highway pileup flooded intake with a dozen patients and emergencies that clogged up the CT scan because their necks felt “a little weird.” 

Softened and concussed Jack Abbot fleed from your mind as you called out BP’s and administered correct dosages. You’d spent most of the last hour speed-walking between rooms with granola bar shoved into the pocket of your scrub jacket, half-finished notes beneath your arm, and a headache steadily building behind your eyes by the sterile light that never gave up buzzing for even a second. 

At one point, Dana moved you toward the break room and ordered you to eat something before you passed out in front of a patient. 

At another, Whitaker had nearly stepped into a pile of vomit while reading a chart, which honestly might have been the funniest thing you’d seen all week.  

Through it all though, you kept thinking about softened and concussed Jack. Every time you passed through the hallway leading toward his room, your eyes drifted toward the closed door, checking without meaning to whether he was still there. And honestly, you were surprised Robby hadn’t yelled at anyone—you—for taking up a room and not having a resident check in. 

When you finally nudged the exam room door open again with your shoulder, two awful vending machine coffees balanced carefully in your hands, the room was dimmer than before. He must have lowered the lights while you were gone, and you silently cured yourself for not doing that on your way out. 

To your surprise (or horror) he was sitting exactly where you’d left him on the exam bed, shoulders straight, back even straighter, hands still glued to his thighs like he didn’t know he was allowed to touch the bed beneath him. 

His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, hitting you with that look before you could even mentally prepare for it.