avid reader

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Christmas Eve was as nice as it could be. 

The enormous Christmas tree you had insisted on filled the room with warm light. A silly hallmark movie played in the background. You were cuddling with Jack, a cozy blanket draped over you while Lizzie was crawling all over you. She wore ridiculously fluffy Christmas pajamas, one sock mysteriously missing and she tried to do a somersault on your body. You had to physically stop her legs from smacking into your face.

Mugs of hot chocolate stood on the coffee table, half empty. You figured Lizzie’s hyperactivity was probably just the result of having the first sugar shock of her young life.

You should probably be annoyed by her still being up way past her bedtime, but god, you were just happy to see her like this again. 

Happy. Babbling. Breathing completely normally. 

Suddenly Jack cleared his throat. “Honey…”

“Hm?” You looked up, holding onto Lizzie’s pajamas so she wouldn’t fall off the sofa.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

You reached for the remote immediately, pausing the movie. Then you sat up straighter, still holding onto Lizzie. You looked at Jack’s face, searching for any clue what this serious tone was about.

“What do you need to tell me?”

Jack hesitated a little too long.

Your lips tightened. “If you tell me now you have to work tomorrow, I’m going to kill you.” You tried to sound like you were joking but a little part of you was dead serious.

A tiny smile appeared on his face. “No. It’s nothing like that.”

You couldn't help it but you felt relieved almost immediately. “Good.”

“But it has something to do with work.”

“Okay?” You shifted so you were fully facing him. Lizzie had climbed onto your lap, pulling on your sweater, giggling like a maniac.

“Remember when you were looking for a job…?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I knew about the ward clerk opening before Robby texted you.”

You frowned. “Okay?”

“And I… um… I asked him to tell you.” Jack swallowed hard. “So, you see I didn’t know how to bring it up to you without you thinking I’m pitying you and so I asked Robby to text you instead.”

Your mind went blank and you just stared at him. Then suddenly a thousand thoughts came crashing back and you felt dizzy for a moment. You blinked. “Can you hold her for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack’s voice was thin.

You lifted Lizzie onto his lap which made her protest immediately. “No, Mommy, no! Izzie stay!”

You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss on top of her head then stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Honey, I-”

You raised a hand. “Jack, I just need a minute, okay?”

He went silent and nodded once. You took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind you. You braced your hands on the kitchen counter, your eyes closed and took a deep breath.

Then another one.

“Jack Abbot, you absolute idiot” escaped your lips  louder than you intended.

Then you shook your head, straightening again.

You had so many questions about this - completely and utterly unnecessary - confession that you didn’t even know where to begin. You weren’t really angry yet but… it stung. It stung more than you wanted to admit.

You braced yourself. You didn’t want to yell - not in front of your daughter anyway - so you tried to calm yourself down. You ran cold water over your wrist and drank a sip of water.

Then you took another couple of breaths and opened the door again. You walked back into the living room where Jack still sat on the sofa, Lizzie cuddled against him, her eyes fixed on the screen - even when the frame was frozen. He looked up when he heard you coming - and his face was the image of devastation.

You sat down, crossed your legs and turned toward him. “Okay.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Lizzie grabbed after your arm but stayed cuddled against her dad. “Start from the beginning. Walk me through.”

“Um.” Jack scratched the back of his neck.

“When did you hear about the opening?”

“A couple of days before Robby sent you the text” Jack replied instantly.

“Who knew about this?”

“Robby and me.”

“So - no one else? I’m not the butt of some kind of insider joke of the entire Pitt staff?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “No. God, no!”

“Did you call anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you speak to HR?”

“No.”

“Did you interfere with my interview in any way?”

“No!”

“Did you send Robby to keep an eye on me?”

“No, I didn’t even know he came to sit in.”

“Did you know about the other opening?”

“No.” Jack looked miserable. “I swear to God I didn’t have a clue. I didn’t even know urban planners worked in hospitals.”

You watched him for another moment, looked him up and down to see if he was telling the truth. “So, you only meddled with the ward clerk position.”

Jack winced. “... yes. Kind of.”

“Okay.” You leaned back and closed your eyes briefly. “Jack…”

“Yeah?”

“Husband…”

“Yeah…?”

“You’re an absolute idiot.”

He nodded quickly. “I know.”

“No, you really don’t. You’re not even in the funny category of being an idiot. You’re in the tragic category.”

Jack swallowed hard.

“You created an unnecessarily complicated situation with absolutely no need. Zero need. And I don’t get why you’d even do something like that? Like… what was your motive? Why didn’t you just tell me about the opening? Why drag Robby into this?”

Jack looked down at his lap and Lizzie cuddling against him, completely mesmerized by the Christmas lights, her thumb in her mouth. “I thought you’d think I was saying that you weren’t good enough for your own profession anymore.”

“Jack…”

“I was trying to be considerate of how you’d feel” he replied with a desperate look on his face.

A small sigh escaped you. “Honestly, do I really come across as such a b-i-t-c-h that you can’t have a difficult conversation with me?”

His head immediately snapped up. “No!”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me? Why did you build this whole secret out of it?”

He shrugged half-heartedly. “I thought you’d hear… I don’t know… pity or something?”

“And then you went straight to Robby and told him ‘Hey bro, please let my wife know there is a position open because I don’t want to have that conversation with her’?”

Jack swallowed again. “I… um… kind of but it was more… it was… different.”

You shook your head with a tiny smile. “Okay, so two middle-aged tragic men sat around discussing whether the woman with the master’s degree would make a suitable secretary.”

Jack immediately opened his mouth. You shushed him with one look.

“I don’t particularly like that image, I have to say. It sounds incredibly misogynistic. And that’s not how I pictured you two.”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah…”

“Did Robby at least tell you this was a stupid idea?”

“Immediately” Jack said without hesitation. “He told me to tell you myself.”

“And yet here we are.” You paused and watched Jack squirm. “I mean - I knew you two idiots are sharing one brain cell but it’s good to see that Robby had it that day.”

Jack tried not to smile too much about this.

“You two are like two golden retrievers trying to rescue a duck from a pond.”

He looked up confused.

“You’re both very enthusiastic about solving problems that weren’t problems in the first place.”

He started to laugh and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m sorry but that’s… that’s just ridiculous.”

You nodded. “Yeah, exactly.” Another pause. “You know I’m not upset that you kind of tried to help me. I’m upset because you decided to pull the wool over my eyes. There was no need to make this complicated. There was no need to deceive me. But you chose to do it anyway. You didn’t think I would like to have an actual conversation with you. Instead you chose how I’d react and immediately tried to bypass my emotional reaction.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah…”

“I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are. It doesn’t make it right. But honestly… I think the fact that you chose to tell me is some kind of progress? I mean it’s either that or the bar is in hell.”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah…”

“So next time you try to protect my feelings maybe ask yourself if you’re not really trying to protect yourself from a difficult conversation.”

He swallowed. “Mhm.”

You reached over and took his hand. “You know, you have so many redeeming qualities about yourself. You’re caring and you almost always mean well. But you really need to put yourself in someone else’s shoes more. I mean - think about if the roles were reversed. I heard about a job position I think you could do and asked Mara to tell you about it because I didn’t want to have the conversation with you about it… how would you feel?”

Jack went silent for a while. His jaw worked and his eyes darted around the room. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’d feel blindsided.”

“Exactly.” You shrugged. “So maybe that’s something you could work on, hm?”

“... yeah.”

“Good. I really have no clue what it is about you and Christmas but you seem determined to turn it into some kind of drama. I don’t particular like this tradition and I don’t intend to keep it going.”

Jack swallowed hard and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“So, next year I’d really like a normal Christmas. I don’t even need a present. Just one year without fabricated drama for drama’s sake.” You grabbed the remote again. “And now I want to watch that stupid Hallmark movie. And please - no more weird undercover operation with your substitute wife.”

Jack nodded again. “Fair.” A pause, then - “Can we please not call him that? He already has a very parasocial idea that he somehow belongs in this relationship and I don’t want to feed that.”

You glanced over. “Well, then stop behaving like you two are the ones actually married.”

Jack blushed a little and mumbled something.

“Okay. Jack, I’ll be very clear because I know otherwise you’ll be not able to sleep tonight. I’m upset about your behavior but I’m not mad. It’ll be fine by morning. You didn’t destroy anything - you made a poor decision out of love - at least that’s how I see it. So, just earn it and move on.” You shrugged and reached for your mug of chocolate. “I’m not letting your poor judgment ruin our first Christmas as a family.”

Jack let out a long breath. “Okay.” He nodded quickly. “Okay. Thank you.”

You started laughing. “Oh my God, don’t thank me for that. I didn’t give you absolution. You don’t need that. You made a mistake, you stood by it, you apologized and that’s it. And in the end… without the ward-clerk interview I wouldn’t have known about the other position. So it worked out in the end. That’s what’s important to me.”

Another shrug. “Any more stupid confessions or can we watch the movie? I’d love to see if that American writer will fall in love with the groundskeeper of that castle or not.”

Jack huffed. “No, no more confessions. And of course she’s going to fall in love with the groundskeeper.”

“No, maybe she’ll fall in love with that handsome pub owner. I think he’s the one for her.”

“No way. My vote is the groundskeeper. A hundred percent.”

“Okay. So you say groundskeeper. I say pub owner. Loser makes pancakes tomorrow morning.” You held out your hand. Jack looked down at it for a moment then shook it.

“Deal. I hope you enjoy getting up extra early to make pancakes.”

You shook your head. “No need for that. I know my Hallmark movies.”

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Bonus Chapter: Faking your own death could be a little dramatic, right?

--- --- ---

If your life were to be a book, the first line would be: fuck my family.

You can only imagine the shocked and surprised faces of people who worship their families as they read your book. 

How dare you say such a thing about your family?

Because we have to respect our families, regardless, correct?

Fuck no. 

Using DNA just so it's a lame excuse for abusive behaviour?

Another fuck no.

Your older brothers were not kind people — they were messed up in the head, to no fault of anyone but themselves. And the reason for it? There simply isn’t one. 

It wasn’t until you grew older that you realised that what you had gone through was indeed abuse. Because a twelve-year-old getting hit by her brother was not ‘playing’ or ‘teasing’. An eight-year-old getting dragged by the hair across the floor was not because ‘your brother cannot control his anger’. It was simply abuse. 

And to make matters worse? They all work in health care. Care. They care for people when they cannot care for their own sibling. One of your brothers went through med school, pretending to care about patients when his own sister had a purple bruise around her beautiful, small eye.

You hid it well, the bruises and the burns, the heartache and the anxiety. You did so well. And you kept in touch with them, even after you all went your separate ways for a while, because you are their dolcezza, their sweetheart, the one that can never say no to them.

Until one day… you realised how fucked up they truly are. 

You sat at the table, surrounded by doctors, surgeons, nurses, pharmacists and hospital administrators. Today is a fundraising event, with hospitals from all over Pittsburgh attending to raise money for all sorts of charities. You wore a beautiful, sleeveless black satin dress, showing your beautiful skin. 

Now that you no longer have bruises to hide, you show as much skin as you want. 

Your brothers sat on the table, along with their dates. You came along as one of their plus ones — because, being the kind-hearted person you are, you wanted to support them.

Until your older brother took the stage and started his speech, talking about the charity he and his team will be fundraising for. 

It was for a charity, supporting children who had gone through abuse and neglect. 

Was this some sort of sick joke? Your stomach twists into a painful knot. 

And to make matters worse, he dedicated his speech to his dolcezza.

You.

The sweetheart of the family. 

Bile rises in your throat, and you can no longer hear the speech or see clearly. You lose all your senses, and you are convinced this is what death feels like. 

Slow. Painful. Nauseating. 

You kick your heels off, push off the chair and run out right in front of the entire hall that was now staring at the damsel in distress. 

Your brother, however, continues with his speech. Your other brothers, who sat at the table, are now planning revenge for why you did such an embarrassing thing. Their little perfect girl, running away like this?

You sprint down the empty hallway, looking for the bathroom. You needed to be sick. Needed to breathe. Wanted to die.

In a panic and a rush, you run straight into a man and knock him clean off his feet, and fall right on top of him. “I’m sorry” you cry out as you try to move off him, but the panic in your chest is making it impossible for you to stand straight “I’m so sorry!” You are convinced this man was going to drag you by your hair, slap you, even.

But instead he softly says, “Hey, that’s okay. It was an accident.”

You eventually manage to stand up, stumbling as if you are drunk. But you had nothing to drink. You don’t even offer to help him stand, but the man manages to get up on his own. “Do you need a hand?” He asks you.

You try and breathe but your lungs seem to have stopped working “Bathroom- I need - bathroom - i’ m gonna-“ you let out a gag and press a hand to your stomach. The man instantly grabs your arm gently to steady you and leads the way to the accessible bathroom.

Your mind convinces you that he is about to hurt you, hell even take advantage of you in the bathroom but he doesn’t do any of the sort. He pulls your hair back as you hug the toilet seat and vomit. One hand stays on your back, gently moving up and down your bare back, making soothing motions. “I’ll go get you some water, do you think you will be okay on your own for a while?”

“You don’t have to stay with me..” you say weakly, as you feel your the post adrenaline crash, “i’m really sorry about this.”

“You’re ill, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m drunk and a mess.” You lie. It was much better to say, instead of having to explain why you’re in this bathroom, with a strange man, vomiting your guts out over your brother’s speech. But the man doesn’t think you are drunk. He’s well aware you’re having a panic attack. He leaves the bathroom for a few minutes and returns to find you sitting against the wall, with tears streaming down your face. Your mascara had run down your face, leaving long black streaks. You looked broken, and he wonders who broke you. “Here’s some water” he says gently as he lowers himself to the floor, “Would you like me to take you home?”

You look up at the man and instantly recognise him — it was Dr Abbot, the one who was speaking with your brothers at the welcome drinks. “I can manage.”

“No worries, I won’t push it.” He says softly, offering you a hand to help you stand. “Do you have your purse and phone?”

“No… no it’s back at the table. I uh…” You simply cannot go back into that room without having another panic attack. You need to be away from them, as far as possible. 

“I’ll grab it for you. Is it the gold purse you were carrying? You are sitting at table five?” Jack recognised who you are, the moment he saw you running down the hallway. Because when someone as beautiful and elegant as you are is in the same room as him, he remembers. “I’ll grab your heels too.”

“Mr Abbot? Sorry Dr-“

“It’s Jack.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s what people do for each other, isn’t it?”

Kindness, such as this, was a stranger to you. 

He leaves you in the bathroom once again, and you manage to collect yourself, wash some of your makeup away and look somewhat presentable. He returns a few minutes later, helps you slip your heels back on, and hands you your things. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay getting home safely?”

“Actaully, can I take you up on that offer? If it’s not too much to ask?”

Jack instantly smiles, warm and kind. Growing up in an abusive household, you quickly learn people’s smiles, speech and body language. Because at any given moment, a punch can be thrown and you need to duck down. Some smiles can be deceptive and evil — but his smile isn’t. “Sure, but first, how do you feel about grabbing dinner with me? Pancake House is still open.”

“I would love that, Jack.”

Your quick dinner turned into a three-hour conversation with Jack. You learnt that he is an ER doctor who had met some of your brothers in passing, but was not close with them. “I’m not close with them, actually.” You lie, “We don’t speak. Tonight was a one-off.” 

Jack doesn’t question it further because families fall out and argue. Right?

He asks you some more questions about what you do and what you're interested in. He didn't want this to end; it was only when you rested your head on the booth and started to fall asleep that he suggested going home.

He wrapped his jacket around your bare shoulders and supported your sleepy body as he walked you out to his car. You fought sleep, not wanting to let go of this moment just yet.

“I really enjoyed tonight” You say quietly just as Jack pulls up outside your apartment. “Thank you for making me feel special.”

You don’t want this night to end, and neither does Jack. He hasn’t had this much fun in years, and the unfamiliar feeling of butterflies in his chest was a stranger. Until they appeared tonight, he was reminded of how much he missed this rush and excitement. “I would love to do it again sometime.” He murmurs softly, and you admire how good-looking he looks, sitting in the leather seat... his tux shirt is unbuttoned slightly... his curls slightly messy. 

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” You ask hesitatingly, leaning toward him slightly. 

“I do…” Jack murmurs, leaning toward you too, “I have a date with a hot girl.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere beautiful, but not as beautiful as her.” He leans in, hand gently tracing up your neck as he pulls you toward his lips. “I hope she says yes.”

You kiss him softly and slowly, and you feel safe and content. A feeling you never thought you’d ever, ever feel. “She says yes.”

“Good, that’s very good.” You feel him smile as he continues kissing you. “I can’t wait.”

The next morning, you woke up to hundreds of messages from your brothers asking where you were. They knew where you lived, and you feared that they would come knocking on your door. You texted back, apologising for your behaviour, and acted like the good girl they expect you to be. But little did they know that you handed in your tenancy notice that morning, asking to move out as soon as possible. 

That same day, Jack came over and took you on your first date. And since that day, you became inseparable and Jack never left your side.

It was like the universe had sent him your way.

You kept the peace with your brothers and came up with excuses for why you couldn’t see them.... until the day of your move-out. The day you collected keys to your brand new apartment, which is in Jack’s building, because he was the one who helped you find it and move. You changed your number, and so to them, you disappeared overnight without a trace.

That was the proudest moment of your life. 

Cutting off your fucked up family for good. 

They don’t deserve your love or attention. 

They don’t deserve to call you dolcezza. 

They deserve hell, today and every day for the rest of their earthly life and wherever they go after.

Jack on the other hand, was the only family you needed. It didn’t take long for the two of you to make your relationship official. His kindness and generosity were something you did not know existed. But every day, he surprised you further. You couldn’t help but fall in love with him, and he was the only one you saw in your future.

However… you were carrying a heavy secret that you didn’t know if you could ever share with him. You buried this secret 10 feet underground and never imagined it would ever resurface within seconds. 

All it took is a simple text message to send your world spiralling. 

A simple message, asking how you were, and inviting you over for a family dinner. 

Two years of no contact. Where the hell did they find your number?

Two years of disappearance. Do they know where you live?

Two years of peace and love. From Jack and only Jack. You live with Jack now, so surely they can’t hurt you?

It took two seconds for them to ruin the peaceful life you have carefully created for yourself. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

It was evening time, and Jack was expected to come back anytime. The text message had sent you spiralling all day, choking you slowly and painfully. You broke one wine glass and two dishes as you attempted to make dinner, and you cleaned up any evidence of what you had done.

Because the mindset you have worked so hard to forget and overcome has now taken over your mind overnight.

Broken dishes often meant broken fingers. Or broken noses. Or broken hearts. 

You don’t hear the door open or close as you stare at the water that is boiling and splattering all over the hob. You can hear yelling and awful cries — but was it coming from your apartment?

It was the gentle touch on your back that sent you into a panic. You spun around quickly, arms coming up instinctively to cover your face, anticipating five fingers. But your heart stopped your arms from shielding your face, because it was Jack who was standing in front of you. And there was no yelling or crying. 

“Baby, are you okay?” Jack frowns at your reaction; you are never this jumpy. There is a look of fear in your eyes that he has never seen before. 

“Yes sorry, all good!” you force a smile and hug him tightly, “it’s been a bad day.”

He embraces yor hug, pulling you against him tightly, “wanna talk about it?”

“Oh no it’s fine, it’s just one of them days.” You say quietly, feeling the panic ease, knowing that you are safe in his arms, “was work okay?”

“It was bad; all I wanted was to come home to you. So I’m better now.” He murmurs in your ear, “How about I continue dinner?”

“You’ve had a long shift — go freshen up i’ll do it.”

“If you’re sure baby” he pulls back, arms gently trace up your body, cupping your face, “I want to quit my job… and do nothing but be here with you… kiss you and love you all day. I hate work.”

“That would be the dream” you tilt your head playfully, “but you have an expensive lifestyle that you need to maintain”

He tips his head back and laughs, and you join him too. But you’re quickly reminded that this lifestyle you’ve curated might not be this peaceful forever. 

Every morning since you received the text message, you woke up after not having much sleep and you checked your phone, clicking on your brother’s number and text messages. It wasn’t the oldest brother who had messaged — it was actually another brother who ‘was not that bad’, when it came to abusing you. You haven’t replied and haven’t blocked his number either. You had so much you wanted to say to him, so much anger that needed to be let out.

But for now, you clicked the phone shut and turned over to Jack, who was still fast asleep. A few minutes later, his alarm goes off, and you quickly jump over him in an attempt to turn it off so he can have a lie-in. It was his day off, so why the hell does he need to be up at 7 a.m.?

As you move over, you knock his phone over along with a glass of water that tips over, splashing all over his phone, which now sits on the bedroom floor. Tangled in the sheets and full of panic, you try and move over but you end up falling to the floor too. You try not to let out a sound, but Jack hears a loud thud and jolts wide awake.

You broke your brother’s phone once when you were seventeen. No amount of ice packs brought down the swelling on your cheeks and you never made it to school that day. 

Your mind reminded you that you don’t have ice packs in this apartment.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out once you see Jack awake. “I’m so sorry; I’ll fix it!”

“Sweeth-“ Jack stops himself. You had asked him once not to call you sweetheart or honey, because the nickname made you cringe. Dolcezza meant sweetness, and you hated the nickname. But Jack didn’t know why you hated it. 

You pick up his phone and walk away from the bed, “i’m so sorry Jack I promise it was an aciddent and-“

“Baby, can you calm down, what even happened!” Jack flicks the sheets off him, but he can’t reach his crutches and can’t get to you. 

“It was an accident I knocked it over and then it fell and I fell and-“

“Baby slow down and come back here, you’re not making sense” he says softly. “Please, just- can you grab me my crutches?”

You shake your head, standing in the corner of the room, hot tears running down your cheeks, “Please don’t be angry”

“I would never be angry with you! Can you just tell me what happened?”

“I broke your phone, and then water fell on it.” 

“And you fell? Did you hurt yourself?”

A little voice in your head whispers, “Dolcezza, did you hurt yourself? The answer is always yes. You tell them you’re clumsy and the bruise is from playing football with your brothers.”

You shake your head, trying to shake the voice out, “i’m good! i’m good!”

“Okay, that’s good.” Jack forces a small nervous smile, “Can you come back to me…yeah? just a few steps toward me. I’m not gonna hurt you I promise.”

Liars. They’re all liars. The voice whispers again.

You take small steps toward him, and with shaky hands, you hand him his phone. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted my love. Now, can you sit next to me?”

You nod and hesitantly sit on the edge of the bed. He shifts over next to you, reaching out for your hand, “I don’t know what’s changed… but I will never be angry with you. Never. Okay?” Jack doesn’t want to question your behaviour any further. Not yet. He wants to study more of your behaviour and reactions before he starts questioning it. Because this… This isn’t a behaviour that’s been brought on overnight. “We’ll soak it in some rice — worst case I’ll buy a new one. It’s nothing really..”

“Mhmm”

“Now shall we go back to bed?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s my day off today, so I’m getting all the cuddles, if that’s okay?”

“I’d love nothing more.” This definitely wasn’t a lie. You wanted to feel safe again, and his arms were your only safe space. 

“You sleeping okay?” He asks as he shifts on the bed, lying down next to you. He felt you in the night, tossing and turning, and waking up at the early hours of the day. But you always came up with an excuse that he believed. Until now.

“I am, of course I am.” You lie as you turn over to face him, forcing yet another smile. Jack starts talking to you, but your mind shuts off, taking you back to when you were a teenager, reminding you of all the ugly things they did to you as you fall back to sleep. 

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

The invitation for Dana’s housewarming party has been sat on your fridge for weeks, but now that it’s actually time to get ready and leave, your body refuses to move. Your mind’s been foggy since the text message came through, and your anxiety has been slowly brewing, and you knew that the comedown will be ugly. You still haven’t replied, and you've decided that you won’t be replying. They don’t deserve you, so why the hell should you put yourself through this for them?

You have no excuse on why you won’t be able to attend Dana’s party, so you brave yourself and head out of the door, over to the cafe to pick up some pastries. Jack insisted he’d come over and meet you but you told him to meet you there. The last thing you truly wanted is for Jack to start questioning on why you’ve not slept, eaten, and cannot form a full sentence without slurring your words. 

“Order sixteen?” The waitress calls out. 

“That’s me! Thank you.” You approach the counter and pull your purse out to pay, “How much do I owe-“ 

Ugly eyes were staring back at you. 

You’d recognise these demonic eyes anywhere. 

The same eyes that stared into your soul when you got beaten up.

That malicious smile..

It stabbed you right in the chest. Suddenly your chest was starting to hurt, your body reminding you the many times your older brother punched you. 

“-ready when you are” the waitress says.

“Hmm?” You finally break away from his gaze and look back at the waitress, “uh… oh.. I uh..”

How long has he been sat there for?

Does he know where you live? 

Is he going to hurt you?

“I’m sorry I uh-“ you turn your back to him, abandoning your order on counter and sprint out of the cafe. You haven’t had a panic attack this bad since the dinner — the same night you met Jack. Except this time Jack isn’t here to calm you down. You’re alone and in danger.

“Well if it isn’t the favourite child” the ugly voice says. 

Your legs can’t move quick enough before he caught up with you. He always caught you, regardless of where you hid. 

“Let’s talk, sis” he smiles as he grabs hold of your arm and pulls you down a quiet alleyway. 

Your body wants to move, fight, scream but his evil stare paralyses you on the spot.

“I’m so happy I bumped into you…” he says slowly, grinning as he leans in. “It’s been a long two years, sis”

“What do you want?”

“The whole family’s upset with you… running away like this?” He clicks his teeth, then slowly pushes you against the wall. “I missed you.”

“Let me go”

“Oh you can run if you want to… but I know that you don’t. Because you miss me. Dolcezza.” His wink sends a wave of nausea through you. 

He is right — you do want to run but your legs stop moving. They’re a heavy and dead weight, and suddenly you’re sixteen again, cornered in your bedroom, while he yells at you, throwing punches around you until one lands on your body. 

“So are you coming to the family dinner? We miss our girl.”

“Fuck you” you spit out, knowing it will get you in a lot of trouble, but you’re done being sweet. You’re not as sweet as they think. “Fuck you!” You yell again and push him off, making a run for it, but you don’t make it very far as he holds onto your hair and pulls you back toward him . “Can’t leave now without saying goodbye? Hmm? I also have your pastries… they’re as sweet as you.”

He shoves you against the wall awfully hard, and your mind convinces you this is the moment you’re going to die. And Jack… oh Jack you never got to say goodbye. If only you told him the truth. 

“Give me a fucking hug, dolcezza. Don’t be a bitch and make me kill you.” He stands there with his arms wide open, with the same malicious grin on his face. 

It’s either this or dying. But you can’t die yet, not until you say goodbye to Jack. You step forward, embracing his hug, smelling his cologne. The same cologne he sprayed every morning, the same one that lingered in the air after he beat you up. 

“Good to see you sis, enjoy the pastries.” He pulls back slowly, leans in and giving your forehead a kiss before turning on his heels. 

The kiss burns your skin, and you instantly wipe it off, rubbing the back of your hand across your forehead. Over and over and over again. 

“Okay, okay” you gasp for a breath, “I’m okay, I’m okay.. okay.” You look at the box of pastries that is now crumpled, and you hold it tight against your chest so your shaky hands don’t drop it to the ground. Luckily you had some wipes on you, so you clean off the blood that now trickled down your face from your scalp. “It’s only a cut..” you whisper to yourself, “just a small cut. It’s just a cut…” 

You don’t remember making it over to Dana’s house, because that fog that took over your mind these last couple of weeks? Was now much much worse. Your legs were like jelly, and with every step you took approaching the door, you felt yourself get more dizzier and dizzier.

“Hi Dana!” Years of faking excitement so you’ve mastered the perfect reaction, “it’s so good to see you!”

“Hello Doll don’t you look lovely!” She embraces your hug, and your body reminds you that’s not ready to be hugged yet. 

“These are for you, I’m sorry the box is.. damaged. Someone bumped into me.”

“No stress sweet” she chuckles, and your stomach twists at the way she said sweet. “Come on in, Jack’s been antsy waiting for you.” 

She leads the way to the lounge where everyone is now gathered, and Jack’s face lights up the moment you approach him.

“Hi baby” he pulls you down toward him, sitting you closely next to him, “missed you.” He coos in your ear; you wish you could feel something, anything happy, but instead your stomach twists in anxiety again.

“Me too Jacky. Sorry I’m late.”

“You okay bub?” Maybe you could fool everyone, but not your boyfriend. Jack’s been monitoring your behaviour the last couple of days, and he’s convinced something has changed but he’s not too sure why. Little does he know, it started when you were just a kid. His hand wraps around you, strong fingers gripping into your forearm to ground you. But again, little does he know, his touch was making you feel sick and panicky. 

“All good.” You force another smile, turning your attention to Santos and Whitaker who sat next to you. 

You try your hardest to keep up with conversations, but ugly images of your brothers from over the years, including today, keep flashing in your vision. It became incredibly difficult to distinguish between reality and the past. Your throat has gone dry, and your lips now felt like sand paper. Reaching over for a glass of water, someone coughs and your shaky hands knock it over and it shatters; glass and water splattering at Whitaker and Robby’s feet.

“Dolcezza, what the fuck did you do that for?” Someone says.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” You cry out. 

“Pick it, bitch” 

You do as they say and lean forward to pick up the glass, trying your best to ignore the yelling. But a hand out of nowhere comes too close to your face, and it’s got to be one of your brothers who was about to hit you? Right? No. It was only Robby trying to help you clean up the glass, but you yelped in fear, falling off the sofa straight onto the glass. 

“I’m sorry” you spit out, looking around the room and your bothers are staring back at you. 

“Pick it up Dolcezza. Get on your fucking knees and pick up the mess you are.” 

“Okay, okay I will!” You scoop up the mess you made with bare hands, shrugging off the hands that now sat on your shoulder pulling you back. 

Someone was yelling at you, but you don’t recognise the voice. It wasn’t any of your brothers’ voices?

“I’m cleaning it up! Please don’t touch me!” You shrug the hands off again as you scoop up the glass into your hands.

You’re no familiar to the smell of blood, but this time there was ao much of it, now tricking down on the carpet. Tears, mixed with blood and glass sat on the floor in front of you. 

“C’mon pick it up quicker!” 

“I’m trying” you cry out, “I’m really really trying!” They were going to punish you, you are certain of it. 

The same hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back away from the mess. The glass you’ve now collected has fallen back to the floor and you cry out again. The voice behinds you calls you baby, but none of your family or friends ever called you that.

No one except one.

“I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here” the voice coos in your ear, “baby just breathe with me, hmm?”

“No, no- I’m sorry let me clean it up.”

“You’re here with me, with Jack. It’s just me bub and our friends” he manages to drag you away from the glass, taking you straight outside into the garden, “you’re with me and safe”

“I’m sorry I broke it! I- didn’t mean to- I promise I didn’t” you wipe the tears away, spreading glass shards and blood over your face. 

“I’ll get the med kit” Robby tells Jack as he runs back inside.

“Jack do you want us to do anything?”

“Bowl of warm water please so I can clean her up,” he rasps out, not taking his eyes form you for one second, “she’s having some sort of flashback, I’ve never see her like this.”

“I’ll get the water” Santos runs in, and Dana adds, “I’ll get everyone to move away, the last thing she wants are prying eyes.”

“I’m really sorry Dana” you have snapped out of your flashback, all thanks to Jack’s touch grounding you, “I really didn’t mean to”

“No stress sweet. It’s just an accident.”

“I’m sorry I know but-“

“Hey how about we buy Dana a new glass? Hmm?” Jack says softly as he holds onto your wrists so you don’t hurt yourself, “sound like a plan?”

“Okay”

“Okay baby, now can you sit down on the chair for me? So I can clean you up?”

“I-I can do it? It’s fine really you don’t have to” 

“But I want to, if you let me. After all I’m the doctor?” Jack forces a soft smile, because he has no other option but to smile. “Shall we go home after this? Yeah?”

“Yeah okay” you nod shakily.

“Wanna tell me what happened there?” He says taking the med kit from Robby, and starts cleaning up your hands gently. Robby pulls a chair next to you, and he notices the dried up blood that’s wrapped around your hair. 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry if I acted weird, I really didn’t meant to ruin anyone’s day! Please don’t be upset-“

“No one’s upset baby, I promise you that. Right Robby?”

“It was only a bit of water and some glass. It’s nothing really.” Robby forces a small smile, but it’s clear that you’ve been assaulted because why else would you have dried up blood in your hair? “Hey Jack how about I clean her up and you can sit next to her?”

Jack frowns but Robby subtly points at your hair, so they swap. Jack puts one arm around your shoulder, leaning in toward you. He sees the dried blood and his heart sinks. But he can’t risk asking you question, not wanting to send you into yet another flashback. 

He waits until Robby cleans you up and stitches your hands to take you home. Jack never letting go of you, murmuring supporting and loving words to help ground you, all the way home, until you’re back safe and sound in your apartment. 

“Do you feel like having a shower? “Clean off the blood?”

You answer him but Jack tilts his head and frowns, “say that again?”

“I said I’ll shower in the kitchen”

“Baby what are you trying to say?”

“I said-“ the nausea stops you from saying anything further, you gesture of him to wait, until the twisting and sickly feeling settles. You take a deep breath, and quickly mutter, “I’ll go shower”

“Can we talk? About what happened today?”

“There’s nnnnothing to say?” You shake your head in attempt to focus, “I um my head hurts I think from the blood?”

“Let’s sit you down, I’ll take off your jacket to cool you down” he helps you over to the couch, sitting you down slowly, slipping your jacket off, revealing your bare arms that had a bruise on it. A finger print bruise.

“What’s… this?” With shaky hands he grabs hold of your arm, examining the bruise, “baby who did this?”  

“It’s a longggg story…”

“I have time; I need to know what else they did?”

You shake your head and the movement sends stabbing pains down to your ears and neck, “no no no I promise I’m fine!”

“Okay you have a concussion, baby you gotta tell me everything. Please.” Jack can now see how obvious it is that you’ve got a concussion: the blood on your hair from blunt trauma, the slurring of speech and dizziness. Panic sets in and he can no longer act like he’s fine with whatever this is.

You shake your head again and burst into tears. 

“Okay, please don’t cry hmm? Let’s get you to bed. We can sit in bed and I promise we don’t have to talk. Not yet.” It kills him that you’re not saying what has happened to you.

You nod and do as he says, your brain far too foggy to make any decisions or argue.

Jack sticks to his promise, stays in bed with you, but he can’t look away from the bruise. How is it he can approach a conversation without sending you into a crash down?

“Where do you want to go for our next vacation?” Jack asks softly, his fingers gently trailing up and down your bruised up arm. 

“Anywhere you want”

“You don’t want to go anywhere specific? Anywhere in Europe?”

“I’ll go anywhere you go”

“Anywhere, anywhere?”

“You’re the only one I ever need Jack.”

“Same goes for you baby” he murmurs, “I’ll follow you to end of the earth if I have to.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I love you”

“I don’t know if I deserve that”

“Deserve my love? What makes you say that?”

“I’m scared Jack”

“Of me?”

“Of them.”

So you tell him. You tell him everything. From the moment they laid hands on, to the night at the gala where you first met Jack, and until today’s events. 

You don’t lie about a single thing. 

Because love is strong, love is honesty, and love wins above all.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

Do you know what’s more powerful than love? Revenge. 

And that’s what Jack Abbot set his mind to, the moment you told him everything your family has put you through. 

He woke up every morning, and planned his revenge. 

He went to sleep every night, and planned his revenge. 

He pulled up outside your brother’s house, and has already planned his revenge. 

Jack Abbot was never an angry man.

But now that’s in love, with someone as kind as you, he’d sell his soul to the devil if that means keeping you safe.

He gets out of the car first, then comes over to your side, slowly helping you get out of the car. 

“You can do this.” His voice is gentle but firm, grounding you to the ground that seems to shake underneath you with every step you take. “Say the word and we will leave. Okay?”

“Okay, yeah okay.”

Jack walks into the house and is greeted but what looks like a normal family. Everyone’s so happy and smiley, but also so fucking fake. He doesn’t let go of your waist once. Not even when your brothers take you in for a hug, one by one. 

Jack carries out with conversation as normal, but his revenge plan was calculated to perfection.

He may or may not have dropped a couple of hints about what they've done to you, but only when you weren’t around. Only when he was with the brothers.

He may or may not have said that you shared too much of your sweet…. Sweet childhood.

Was it dangerous to interrupt wasps while you’re in the middle of their hive? 

Yeah it was so fucking dangerous. But Jack would die for you, if he had to.

He mentions how highly you speak of them. How touchy feely they were growing up. How hands-on they were.

He gives them credit in his mind — for being such good actors. 

He waits until it was almost dinner time, when everyone has had a bit too much to drink. 

“Hey baby, shall we go home?”

“What? Why? Did they say something did they hurt-“

“No it’s just my leg. It’s aching. I think it’s best if we call it a night.”

“Okay sure, I’d love nothing more than to leave.” Jack watched you the entire evening — the person he fell in love with was completely different to the woman in front of him. You’re quiet, nervous, anxious, shaky and jumpy. Oh he could not wait any long for his plan to fall into place.

“Wait in the car, I’ll say my goodbyes.”

But Jack doesn’t say his goodbyes, no. 

Jack hangs around the kitchen, looking at all the pictures that hung on the fridge. Pictures of all of your brothers, and their kids, but none of you.

“Beautiful photos” Jack murmurs. “Shame she’s not in any of them.”

“She was never a fan of taking photos.”

“Huh I wonder why…”

He scoffs, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh it’s nothing” Jack waves his hand casually, “I’m just being silly.”

“Huh”

“Speaking of silly… how are your kids? Are they silly?”

“Kids are kids you know..”

Jack clicks his teeth, “wouldn’t know, don’t have them, don’t want them. They’re dirty and messy.. and they break things and then you have to resist the urge to smack them. Gotta learn their lesson.” He lies.

“Huh” 

“So anyway, we’re gonna be heading out. Sorry we’re not staying for dinner, but I got you this bottle of wine as an apology.” Jack hands him the bottle of wine, with a photo stuck on the front of it. A photo of your brother’s handprint on you. But just before Jack hands it over, he deliberately drops it to the floor. Red wine splashes against the white kitchen cabinets, along with shards of glass.

“Ooops” Jack says slowly, with a smirk on his face, “you better clean that up.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at.”

“Me? Literally nothing. It’s just a little birdie told me you sometimes get rough when kids break things. Right?”

“You’re lying”

“And you’re not denying it” Jack shrugs, “or are you? Because the CCTV footage of you shoving her against the wall in that alleyway is more than proof.”

“Get out of my house.” 

“Or what? You’re gonna hit me like you hit her?”  

Jack sees your brother’s nostril as they start to flare — his face is angry and red, his eyes — this stare is a devil’s stare. It cannot be described any other way. 

Bingo. The wasp is finally angry and about to sting.

“Don’t worry she told me everything. Like literally everything.”

Your brother takes a step forward toward Jack, stepping on the broken glass like it was nothing, “she’s a little bitch”

Jack clicks his teeth and shakes his head, “now that’s not very nice of you. Is it?”

“Dolcezza needs to learn how to keep her mouth shut.”

“Why? Is it like a family secret… like a secret tomato recipe like they do in Italy?”

“Get out of my house!” He yells, “before I-“

“Before… what?”

The wasp is angry. Very angry.

“I should’ve cut off her tongue when I had the chance. Maybe the bitch wouldn’t have over spoken.”

“That’s a bit harsh don’t you think? Cutting off her tongue? Maybe a little slap or a punch…” Jack teases, angering the wasp just a tiny bit more.

“The bitch had enough of those. She never learns.”

"Enough of your fingerprints on her? Enough punches?"

"I wish I hit her harder", he spits out.

“Perrrrfect.” Jack purrs. He puts his hand out, gesturing for your brother to stand still. He sticks out five fingers.

He lowers one. 

And another.

And another.

And one last one.

“Boom.” The entrance door swings wide open, and police swarm the house, coming straight into the kitchen.

That sweet look of betrayal on your brother’s face, and the sweet look of revenge on Jack’s face. 

Jack takes a step forward, careful of the glass, smiling from ear to ear, “the beauty of hidden cameras. Say hello” he points at his chest. “See… unlike you I’m a nice guy. And when you’re this nice, and have connections… then well, people start owing you favours. But… you don’t have to say anything because you’ve confessed to more than enough. Anyway…” Jack clicks his teeth, letting the officers handcuff him. “I heard that they’ll reduce your sentence if you tell them what your brothers did too.” 

Jack looks back at the family that is now watching a horror scene unfold. All of their secrets are now out in the open. Someone's crying, others are yelling, and one of his kids... is smiling.

“I’ll make sure you never practice medicine again. Enjoy prison; I’ll ask for all of you to be put together.”

And with that he leaves the house, closing a chapter of your life for good. 

“Shall we go home?” Jack asks calmly as he gets in his car.

“Uhhhhh Jack?” You look in disbelief over at him, “What happened…?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about.”

“Is that my brother in handcuffs?”

“Oh yeah” Jack chuckles as he watches him getting dragged outside, “he’s going to prison, by the way. Hope that’s okay with you?”

You burst into hysterical laughter, tears streaming down your face as the absurdity of it all finally catches up with you. As Jack pulls away, you roll down the window and stick your head out, shouting complete gibberish into the air.

Not as sweet as you think. 

That’s what you’d title your book.

⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆

A/n

I'd like to imagine that Jack proposed to her one day while they were in bed. It was simple, quiet, and just the two of them. I imagine that, straight after proposing, he takes her out on a car ride and drives over to a small cottage. Like the one Miss Honey lived in (from Matilda). They get married there too.

I also imagine that when the topic of kids was brought up, she said she doesn't want biological children. So when they start their adoption process, they are matched with a little boy who's four years old. The agency informs them that he has a sister who is also in foster care, who's no older than seven.

I imagine Jack comes home from work, she's outside in the garden, playing with her two beautiful children, surrounded by far too many animals that she's rescued.

--- --- ---

A week later Jack found himself back in the Pitt. Just another night shift, nothing special about it. Lizzie was feeling much better now, still on antibiotics and still on a tight leash - and refusing to sleep in her own bed again. Jack hadn’t complained about it because he was just too happy that his baby girl was recovering so nicely.

He just finished handover with Dr. Al-Hashimi when Dana glanced over to him. “MVC, ETA in 2 minutes.”

Baran looked over to Jack. “I can stay if you want to.”

“Nah.” He waved her off. “But it could be a good teaching case for a student or an intern if anyone is interested?”

A student stepped forward, already reaching for gloves. “I’d be happy to assist, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack looked up. It was student doctor Morrigan. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re observing today.”

“But Sir, I-”

“I don’t need a running commentary on this patient’s appearance tonight and I heard that’s where you shine. “He glanced toward the other people standing there, staring at him.”Nazely, Whitaker - you up for that?”

Dennis stared at him, then nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure. I’m happy to stay and help out.”

Nazely glanced at Morrigan then snapped on gloves. “Okay.”

“Kim, you free?” Jack called toward the nurse.

She nodded. “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

“Great. Good team.”

The trauma bay doors burst open and medics rolled the gurney in. As soon as they spotted Jack they started handover. “Twenty-two-year-old male, MVC, restrained driver, hypotensive en route.”

“Trauma One is open. Come on, let’s move, guys.” Jack was already moving, voice calm and sharp while he listened to the rest of the rapport. “Okay, transfer on my count. Nazely you’re on the head. One, two - three.”

The team shifted the patient onto the trauma bed and got to work. Clothes were cut off, blood pressure cuff, EKG leads, another peripheral line.

“BP?”

“Eighty over forty.”

“Pulse?”

“One hundred twenty-one.”

“Okay, let’s get blood ready - two units of uncrossmatched O-neg in here now, two more on standby. Two large-bore lines. FAST exam.”

Jack glanced around. The med student stood against the wall, gloves on despite only being there to observe, looking at Jack with hopeful eyes. Jack’s gaze drifted to Nazely.

“Nazely, you’re on the FAST exam.”

She nodded and stepped closer.

Kim was busy drawing blood but glanced up nevertheless. “Observation is also part of medical education, you know?” she said with a smile that looked friendly but wasn’t.

Morrigan blushed and pulled the gloves off slowly.

When the patient was stable and wheeled off to the OR the trauma bay emptied. Whitaker clocked off and the others scrambled into different rooms or went to finish their charting. Jack walked over to the nurses’ station to take a sip of his coffee when he noticed Morrigan lingering nearby, despite his shift having officially ended an hour ago.

Jack fought a moment with himself, then took a deep breath. “Hey, Morrigan.”

The med student looked up, getting pale. “Um - yes, Dr. Abbot?”

“Walk with me, would you?”

They moved a little down the hallway, away from the busy desk. Then Jack turned around to face him. Morrigan looked actually miserable. “Dr. Abbot, I-”

Jack raised a hand slightly. “Let me start.”

Silence stretched between them. The med student shifted uncomfortably but didn’t dare to speak again.

“Do you have any idea why I didn’t want you to assist me on that case?”

He swallowed hard. “Because… I acted unprofessional with your wife.” The answer came with no hesitation.

Jack nodded slowly. “Yeah. Well, that was the starting position.”

He blinked. “Um. Okay?”

“And then I started to ask people about you. People working here. I didn’t go and sniff around your personal life, no worry.” Jack let out a short laugh that should probably be comforting but only led to Morrigan to break out in cold sweat. “And everyone says the same about you.”

Jack paused very deliberately here. “You’re good in what you do. You know stuff. You learn fast. And that’s good.” A small nod. “But as a human being? Your colleagues seem to think you’re arrogant, dismissive and snarky. On top of that you’re incredibly unfunny as you demonstrated when you tried to joke about my wife.”

Morrigan looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “About that-”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “We’re way past apologizing. And I guess that’s what you wanted to do here. Just don’t, okay? Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, kid.” He watched him for a moment. “Don’t you think I’ve been twenty-three once? Being the world’s most arrogant, cocky asshole who thought being good at placing central lines makes him the king of the god damn hospital?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Of course I was. I was unbearable.”

The med student looked up, his eyebrow furrowed.

“But there’s one thing I never did - I never, ever humiliated another human being just for a laugh. Or put someone down to make myself feel better. Nope, never done that.”

Morrigan blushed again.

“If you can’t put yourself in someone else’s shoes… if you clearly don’t see what was so uncalled for about your comment… you’re going to have a very short career in this profession. And even a shorter one in this hospital. Because knowledge can be taught. I guess I could train a monkey to place a central line.” He shrugged. “But character is harder. And that’s where you should keep your focus for the foreseeable future.”

The med student nodded quickly. “Understood.”

Jack stared at him for another moment, then - “Good.” He nodded and looked back down the hallway. “And if I hear you talking about my wife one more time” he added with a smile. “I won’t be so forgiving. You know I’ve been in the military, yeah? Just as a friendly reminder to never ever fuck with my family.”

Jack kept smiling. “Now get out of here. You’ve had a long shift and I guess you need new underwear by now.”

The student moved immediately. Jack watched him go, then turned back toward the department.

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.

--- --- ---

--- --- ---

It was a quiet evening which alone felt weird. Jack had just left for nightshift and you were still sitting at the kitchen table, watching Lizzie eat dinner.

Or more - watching her push pieces of pasta around her plate before dropping her fork with a small sigh. Lizzie had inherited Jack’s appetite and normally treated every meal like she had been starving for several days so… that was suspicious.

You looked her over. “Do you want any more, Bean?”

She shook her head and rubbed both hands over her eyes. You looked at the clock. It was barely past seven.

“Are you already tired, baby?”

She nodded slowly and immediately stretched her arms toward you. “Mommy.”

You lifted her out of her chair and settled her against your hip. Her head dropped onto your shoulder almost immediately.

“Wow, baby huh?” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Someone really is tired.”

She felt warm. Not alarmingly hot but warmer than usual. And heavier somehow as if she wasn’t helping hold herself up against your shoulder.

You carried her into the bathroom, somehow managed to brush her teeth (despite her barely opening her mouth) and changed her diaper before putting her into pajamas. She didn’t protest once.

No attempts to run away without pants. No argument about brushing her teeth. No dramatic collapse onto the bathroom floor because you wouldn’t let her take her toothbrush to bed.

That was even more concerning than the warmth of her skin.

“Let’s check your temperature, hm, Lizzie Bear?” you murmered.

100.8°F.

Not too bad. She had probably just caught another daycare virus. Daycares were breeding ground for germs so… not surprising she had caught something.

You gave her some children’s Tylenol, made sure she drank a little water and lifted her onto her hip again. “You want to sleep in Mommy’s bed?”

For the past few weeks the answer had always been yes. Usually accompanied by tears, screaming and her clinging to your neck like she was made of velcro.

Tonight… she shook her head. “Izzie bed.”

You stopped, blinking. “You want to sleep in your own bed?”

She nodded sleepily.

That should have felt like progress. Instead something uncomfortable settled in your stomach.

You carefully placed her in her bed, expecting her to immediately sit up again and demand to come with you.

She didn’t.

She rolled onto her side, hugged her stuffed giraffe against her chest, put her thumb into her mouth and closed her eyes. Within a minute she was asleep.

You stood beside her bed, watching her. 

It felt… wrong.

You placed your hand against her forehead again - she was still warm but not too hot. She would feel better once the Tylenol kicked in.

“Sleep well, baby” you whispered and kissed her hair.

When you left the room you left the door open. Just in case.

Jack: Shift is crazy. Just sneaked to the bathroom to text you. How are my girls? You: Lizzie barely ate and went to sleep in her own bed. Jack: Maybe the peek-a-boo worked? You: She also feels a little warm. Jack: You can give her Tylenol if she’s running a fever. Probably just daycare germs. Keep an eye on her and make sure she drinks. You: Yes, Dr. Abbot. Jack: I’d love some sexting but need to run again. I love you. You: Love you too

You cleaned the kitchen, then the living room. When you glanced at the clock it was barely nine. You sat down, staring at nothing in particular. You had almost forgotten how it was when you didn’t have a clingy toddler stuck to your hip - you really got shit done.

And still… it felt wrong.

You took a shower and washed your hair. You didn’t bother to blow-dry it - you didn’t want to wake up Lizzie and you would take care of them in the morning anyway. After checking on Lizzie again you went to bed, shortly after ten.

You were exhausted. After the last few weeks you should have fallen asleep the second your head touched the pillow - but you couldn’t.

The bed suddenly was too… empty. Jack wasn’t there because he was working. And Lizzie wasn’t there either. It just felt… wrong. It was too quiet.

You turned onto your side and closed your eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. You tried breathing exercises - nothing. You tried counting sheep - nothing. You tried to remember what Jack had told you about that incredibly boring medical article - nothing.

At eleven thirty you went into Lizzie’s room again and placed your hand against her forehead. She was still warm. When you took her temperature it was 102.1°F.

You sat beside her for a while, watching her breathe. You frowned a little. Maybe you were imagining it but she was breathing a little faster than usual. But then… you were tired and probably saw ghosts.

You almost reached for your phone to record a video for Jack, then immediately felt ridiculous. He had told you what to do. Keep an eye on her. Make sure she drinks water. You had given her Tylenol. And in the end… she probably just needed to sleep it off.

You stayed in the rocking chair and closed your eyes.

At some point you must have drifted off because when you opened your eyes again and glanced at your watch it was 2:02 a.m.

You blinked confused then when you heard strange sounds coming from her bed. You reached over and switched on the small lamp, then stood.

“Lizzie?”

She didn't answer. She was lying on her back now, her head turned strangely to one side. And you could hear her breath - fast, shallow… just so terribly wrong.

“Baby?”

Her cheeks were bright red and damp curls stuck to her forehead. You touched her face and immediately pulled your hand back. “Fuck, you’re burning up.”

You lifted her carefully into your arms. “Hey baby. Wake up for Mommy, huh? Can you please wake up for Mommy?”

She opened her eyes but she didn’t seem to look at you. Her gaze was unfocused, glassy. “Mama” she mumbled.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

“No… daddy… Amber… cado…” Her words ran together.

You grabbed the thermometer.

104.2°F.

“Oh fuck.” Your heart started pounding. “Okay, okay. It’s okay. We’re taking care of that. Don’t worry, baby. Mommy’s taking care of you.”

Lizzie just whimpered. That’s when you noticed that her chest moved too quickly. The skin beneath her ribs pulled inward with every breath.

“Oh, fuck, what am I supposed to do?” You glanced down at your daughter, swallowing hard. Then you reached for your phone and called Jack.

It rang.

And rang.

No answer.

You called again.

Still nothing.

Lizzie started coughing against your shoulder. It was deep and wet and afterwards she started crying weakly. Your stomach tightened with fear.

You opened the chat with him - and noticed he didn’t even read the last message you sent him hours ago.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You called Robby - and it rang until his voicemail picked up.

“FUCK.”

You looked at the bottle of Tylenol on the table.

When had you given it to her? Seven? Half past seven? Could she have more? And if so - how much? Would it make it worse? Could it harm her?

You tried to read the label but suddenly none of the words made any sense.

Lizzie made another strange sound - something between a cough and a cry, too wet, too weak, too wrong.

You looked down. Her eyes were half closed.

“Bean?”

She didn’t answer.

“Lizzie?”

Still no answer.

“Fuck.”

That was enough.

You called 911.

The emergency department was busy. A little more chaotic than usual - nothing catastrophic, but enough to prevent anyone from taking a bathroom break and to keep Jack from catching his breath between cases.

Jack stood inside a trauma bay, watching one of the interns, Nazely, attempt to insert a central venous catheter in the internal jugular vein. 

“A little farther lateral” he said, nodding along.

She adjusted the probe, sweat building on her forehead. “Like that?”

“Yeah. There. Slow down now. You know the steps. Take a deep breath. What will make you stop?”

Her eyes returned to the ultrasound screen. “If I lose sight of the needle.”

“Exactly. You don’t advance blindly. If the anatomy stops making sense, stop and reassess. There’s no prize for being fast.”

She nodded.

“And don’t just stare at the screen. Pay attention to the patient, too.”

Across the department Lena answered the incoming ambulance call. “PTMC emergency.”

She listened, her eyes darting around the room. “Got it.” Then she looked up, finding John leaning in the doorway of the trauma bay Jack was in. “Hey John - seventeen month old female, high fever, altered mental status. Increased work of breathing, possible pneumonia. Mother accompanying.”

John looked up from the tablet in his hand, slurping another sip of his iced coffee. “Got it.”

“ETA four minutes.”

Jack glanced up. “Need help?”

“Nah” John replied. “Stay here. Just try and don’t terrify Nazely, hm?”

“I’m not terrifying anyone. You’re doing great” Jack added, giving her a smile.

John laughed and walked over to the nurses’ counter, placing his drink on the counter and grabbing a pair of gloves.

A few minutes later the ambulance door opened and paramedics entered, wheeling a gurney. “Seventeen-month-old female. Fever started this evening. Mom found her difficult to wake around two. Temperature one-oh-four point two at home. Increased respiratory effort. Oxygen saturation ninety-one on room air, improved to ninety-five on six liters via face mask.”

John looked up - and stopped dead when he saw you.

Your hair was tied into a messy bun and you were wearing an old jacket over mismatched pajamas. Your eyes were red and you looked exhausted and terrified.

Then he looked at the child on the gurney. “Oh, fuck.”

“John” you said, voice trembling, tears already filling your eyes again.

He moved immediately. “Okay, I’ve got her. Central seven is open.”

Mateo joined them. “Hey Lizzie.” 

John looked up at you. “You’re in the right place. We’ve got her.”

They wheeled her into the room. Lizzie barely reacted when they transferred her onto the hospital bed. They got to work with the effortless coordination of people who’d done this together countless times.

“Okay, Lizzie, let's get you feeling better” Mateo gave you a reassuring smile. 

You stood beside her, not exactly knowing what to do, feeling partly helpless and partly relieved that she was finally getting help.”Where’s Jack?”

John glanced toward the department, while already hovering with his stethoscope over Lizzie’s chest. “He’s somewhere around here.”

“I tried to call him” you whispered. “Twice. He didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit chaotic tonight.”

Lena put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’ll get him, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Focus on Lizzie.”

Jack was still with Nazely when Lena approached him, Parker in tow. “Jack.”

“Mhm?” He glanced up. “Give me a second. We just need to stitch it in now.”

“Jack.” Something in her voice let him look up properly.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to hand this over to Parker.”

“What? Why?”

“Your daughter’s here.”

He stared at her, stopping mid-movement. He looked like his brain needed a minute to process it - and failed spectacularly. Nazely looked up, her eyes widened, then glanced over to the attending.

“She came in by ambulance” Lena continued.

The color drained from his face. “Why?”

“High fever. Breathing problems. John has her. Central 7”

Jack wasn’t even listening anymore. He was already walking out, yanking off his gloves and tearing off his protective gown.

He entered the room only a couple of minutes later. “Okay, fill me in.” Then his gaze dropped down at Lizzie and he stopped completely. She looked tiny on the gurney. Her face was flushed and barely visible beneath the oxygen mask. EKG leads and the blood pressure cuff attached her to the monitor while Mateo was busy putting a line into her arm. She barely flinched when the needle punctured her skin.

John was listening to her lungs.

“Bean.” His voice cracked. He moved to the bed and touched her hair with shaking hands. “Hey, baby. Don’t worry. Daddy’s here.”

She opened her eyes for a moment, then closed them again.

Then he turned to you. “What happened?”

You took a shaky breath. “I… I told you. She barely ate. She was tired and had a little fever, so I gave her Tylenol. And then I checked on her and she was burning up and babbling and breathing weirdly and I called you, but you didn’t answer and then I called Robby, but he didn’t answer either and then I panicked and I called 911 and-”

“Hey.” He reached for you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe. Take a nice deep breath for me, okay?”

You hiccuped and pressed yourself closer to him. You tried to calm down - you really tried - but it was nearly impossible. “I didn’t know what the right thing was” you whispered.

“You called 911, honey. That was the right thing, okay?”

You barely nodded. He stroked your hair for another moment, then pressed a kiss to your forehead and turned around to John, who put the stethoscope around his neck again.

“What do her lungs sound like?”

John glanced over to him, then held out a finger. “Give me a second, Jack.” He turned to Mateo. “Let’s get a CBC and CMP while you’re in there. Blood cultures. Send a respiratory panel and give her another dose of Tylenol - Mom gave the last one around seven thirty. Start a ten-mil-per-kilo saline bolus. Keep her on six liters oxygen and continuous pulse ox. I’ll order a portable chest X-ray asap.”

Mateo nodded. “Got it, boss.”

John watched the monitor for a moment, then turned back to Jack. “I’m hearing crackles on the right and her right lower lung sounds diminished.”

“So-”

“I suspect pneumonia.” He thought about it for a moment, then turned back to Mateo. “Once you’ve drawn the cultures start five hundred milligrams of ampicillin IV. She doesn’t have any allergies, right?” he asked you.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Five hundred?” Jack raised his eyebrows.

“Mom said she’s around twenty-two pounds” John said, crossing his arms.

“Twenty-one point seven.”

“That’s practically twenty-two pounds, Jack. And five hundred is the appropriate dose.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Okay.” Then he scanned her vitals. “What do you need me to do?”

“Abbot” John interrupted gently. “I’ve got her medically. Right now, I need you to be her dad, okay?”

Jack looked down at Lizzie and nodded eventually. “Okay. But-”

“No buts. If you see me making a mistake, you tell me. A mistake” he repeated, emphasizing every word. “Not a suggestion. Not something you would’ve done differently. A mistake. You understand?”

Jack swallowed hard and looked sideways. Eventually he nodded.

“Good.” John nodded. “But I think I’ve got this. We’re waiting for the imaging and then we adjust the therapy, okay?”

You squeezed Jack’s hand. He let out a sigh. “Okay.”

Mateo crouched beside the gurney. “Hey Lizzie Bear” he said softly. “Remember me?”

She barely opened her eyes. “Teo” she mumbled, barely audible behind the oxygen mask.

Mateo smiled. “Yeah. It’s Teo. I’m gonna help making you feel better, okay?”

She had already closed her eyes again. 

He began working with quiet confidence - drawing blood, swabbing her for the respiratory panel (she barely flinched which alone was enough to nearly break your heart) and administering another dose of Tylenol via the IV and then starting the saline bolus.

John typed in the orders then gave the room another look around. “Okay, that’s it for the moment. Jack - you can stay here, okay? I’ll fetch you if things go south outside.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks, man.”

John waved his hand. “Sure.” Then he left.

Mateo took the blood samples and gave you a look. “Is there anything I can get for you, mom? Water? Coffee? A blanket?”

You shook your head. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay. Just tell me, if there’s anything I can get you, okay?” Mateo smiled at you again.

“Thanks.” Your voice was quiet.

“Sure thing.” He nodded and left the room, leaving you and Jack alone with Lizzie.

Jack glanced at the monitor. “It’s getting a little better” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded, then pulled you closer, pressing another kiss onto your hair. “Yeah.”

The chest X-ray showed pneumonia. It wasn’t John who delivered the news. Jack had checked Lizzie’s chart about an hour later and seen the chest X-ray himself.

You glanced at him from your place on the fold-out chair beside her bed. “Are you even supposed to do that?”

“Do what, honey?” Jack asked absent-mindedly while scrolling through her lab results.

“Check her chart.”

He turned his head. “Honey, you know, I’m a doctor here, right?”

“Yeah, but still - you’re her relative.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. It feels kind of wrong?”

“Not to me.” He kept scrolling, then glanced toward the door.

When he saw John approaching, his iced coffee a constant companion, he logged himself out quickly and sat down next to you.

Lizzie was still sleeping but looking better. Her cheeks weren’t as flushed as before and her breathing had become a little calmer.

John knocked and entered the room. “Everything’s okay in here?”

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah, thanks John.”

Jack deliberately didn’t look at him. “Are her results in?”

A brief silence followed. Then - “Jack. Don’t try to bullshit me.”

Jack blinked and turned his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You know I can see all the people accessing my patient’s charts when I’m accessing them at the same time, right? And I was not surprised to see the name abbotja come up when I was checking her results five minutes ago.”

Jack cleared his throat. His ears had turned pink and he was trying hard to look innocent. “Well, you know how often our IT system glitches” he said with a shrug. “Happens all the time.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever man.” John walked over, glancing at the monitor. “Her vitals are looking good. We’re switching to oxygen via nasal cannula and reducing supplementary oxygen to two liters to see if she can hold her oxygen levels with that. Her last temperature was-”

“101.1°F” Jack shot back without missing a beat. “I checked it like ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, boss.” John shook his head. “So, I’d like to keep her for a few more hours. Lets see how it’s going with the reduced oxygen and give her the next ampicillin dose at nine. If she’s doing well off oxygen by then I guess we can send her home.”

Jack nodded quickly. He reached over and squeezed your hand. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah. I’ll be surprised if you didn’t already put all these orders in” John said, rolling his eyes. “So, lets switch her to the nasal cannula and-”

Jack was already standing. “I’ll do it.”

“Whatever.” John glanced at you. “And well, we’ve got a MVC, a code stroke and a MI en route. I could really use another attending out there.”

Jack swallowed hard and glanced at you. You nodded. “Yeah, it’s your job. Go. I’ll watch her.”

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

John gave him a thumbs up. “Great. Thanks.” Then turned toward you. “Do you want anything? Coffee?”

You stifled a yawn. “No, thanks. I think I’ll actually try to get some sleep.”

John smiled. “Good plan. But I can almost guarantee you it won’t work. But never hurts to try.”

“That’s a great pep talk, thanks.”

John smiled, already at the door. “Always happy to help.”

By morning Lizzie’s fever had come down. Her breathing was still faster than normal but she no longer needed a lot of oxygen. Right now it was only one liter and John had decided to remove it completely after shift change. She was still sleeping, her hand wrapped around your finger.

You on the other hand hadn’t slept much exactly as John predicted. Your hair had mostly escaped your bun. Your eyes burned. You could smell yourself - and were painfully aware that you were still wearing the mismatched pajamas.

Jack came into the room after shift change - still in scrubs and looking almost as tired as you felt. “Okay, handover is done. I’m free.” He yawned then checked her monitor. “Robby should be in shortly to take her off the oxygen. If she’s fine without it at ten, then we can take her home.”

You smiled. “Sounds good.”

He then sat beside you and pressed a kiss to your temple. You made a face. “Don’t. I smell horrible and I didn’t even brush my teeth.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Trust me, that’s the last of my concerns.” He stroked Lizzie’s hand and she stirred, letting go of your finger and grabbing his wrist. She opened her eyes briefly. “Daddy.”

He swallowed hard. “Hey, Bean.”

She smiled a little, then closed her eyes again. You took the opportunity to free yourself and stood. “Okay, I need to pee.”

Jack chuckled. “Romantic.”

“I’ve been holding it for an hour because she wouldn’t let go of my hand and I didn’t want to wake her up.”

“I’m just teasing you.” He looked up at you and smiled. “Go, I’ve got her. You can also ask Dana if we have some toiletries. We usually keep some stuff like toothbrushes, brushes and deodorant here.”

You started to smile, then leaned down and kissed his cheek. “That’s the best idea you ever had, Dr. Abbot.” You stretched and yawned, scratching your side. “Okay, I just go freshen up and then I’ll be right back.”

You stepped into the hallway, passing the nurses’ station on your way to the restrooms. Robby saw you, then walked past a group of med students huddled near the nurses’ station, just a couple of feet away, and stepped into the room, leaving the door open.

“How is she?” he asked, glancing at the monitor.

“Better” Jack said. “Waiting for her repeat labs to come back. But I think we can take her home later.”

Robby stepped to the computer, held his badge to login and started scrolling through her chart. Jack glanced at Lizzie, who was still sleeping, then stood and joined Robby.

The room fell silent.

That’s when they could hear the med students talking outside.

“That’s Dr. Abbot’s wife by the way.”

“That’s her?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” There was a pause. “I thought an attending’s wife would be way hotter.”

Jack slowly lifted his head and went terribly quiet. Robby had gone still too. He immediately looked over at Jack. “No.”

Jack turned his head and stared toward the open door. Robby’s eyebrow raised and he logged off the computer, turning a little.

Jack’s jaw tightened and the look in his eyes was murderous. “Who was that?”

“One of the med students” Robby said in a low, calm voice.

Jack stared at him. “What’s his name?”

“No, absolutely not.”

Jack straightened, sticking out his chest in an attempt to look more intimidating. “Michael, I asked you what his name is.”

“And I’m not telling you” Robby replied, stepping between him and the door. “Sit down.”

“No fucking way. I’m going to talk to him.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I just want to have a conversation.” Jack was still terrifyingly calm.

“No.”

Jack’s jaw tightened even more and he narrowed his eyes, staring at Robby like he wanted to murder him instead. “What do you mean - no? Why not?”

“Because I’m not letting you go out there and create a Code Hula Hoop.”

“I’m not going to assault him.” Still that calm voice.

“Wonderful. An inspiringly low standard” Robby said with no hint of amusement.

“Michael.” Jack lifted his chin. His eyes were sparkling with rage. “He insulted my wife.”

“I heard what that little douche said.”

“He insulted my wife who just spent the entire night sitting beside our sick daughter. My wife who was terrified and sick with worry - and that little asshole thinks this is the right time to judge whether she’s hot enough for me?”

“He was completely out of line for that, I agree” Robby replied.

“Then get out of my way so I can deal with that little shit” Jack snapped.

“No.”

“Michael.”

“No.”

Jack took a step to the side - Robby followed him. He tried to take a step forward - Robby blocked him.

For several seconds, neither of them moved. They were just standing very close together, glaring at each other without blinking. Jack had to hold himself back not to just push Robby to the side.

“Are you seriously blocking the fucking door?” He swallowed hard, his hands curled into fists. His voice was no longer calm but angry.

“Yes.”

“Move.”

“No.”

“Michael, I’m a fucking attending here.”

“And I’m the fucking head of this fucking department. And as your boss I’m telling you to sit down and take care of your daughter.”

Jack instantly looked toward Lizzie. She was still asleep, still looking too tiny for the bed she was lying in. His face softened for a moment. When he looked back toward the hallway where he could still hear the med students talking his face went hard again. “That asshole doesn’t get to talk about her like that. And I’ll teach him that lesson.”

“You’re right. He’s not supposed to talk about her like that. For the matter he’s not supposed to talk about any woman like that.” Robby paused for a moment. “And I’m going to make sure of that.”

Jack stared at him, narrowing his eyes. “You’re going to deal with him?”

“Yeah.”

“Properly?”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Jack stared at him for another moment, then exhaled slowly and looked to the side. Robby used that moment to place a hand against his shoulder and gently pushed him backwards until he reached the chair. “Sit.”

Jack, this time, followed this order.

Robby nodded and straightened. “I’ve got this, brother. Trust me.”

Jack nodded slowly. “‘kay.”

Robby rolled his shoulders, then cracked the knuckles on both hands. After he took a deep breath he stepped into the hallway. He looked over to the counter, smiling pleasantly. “Student doctor Morrigan.”

The student looked over. “Yes, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“Come on.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“We’re going to walk a little.”

“Um… why?” The med student was clearly uncomfortable by that suggestion.

His other students exchanged a look.

Robby didn’t answer immediately, instead glanced back through the open door where Jack was staring directly at them. “Because initially Dr. Abbot wanted to speak to you. Alone. About what you just said about his wife.”

The student went pale and glanced toward Jack with wide eyes.

“And I convinced him that would be a terrible idea. For him and you.” He paused. “So… you get the pleasure of having a nice little chat with me instead.”

“Um…” The student swallowed hard.

“Just to be clear - that wasn’t a suggestion” Robby raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the hallway. “So, let’s go.”

“Um, yes.” The student glanced at his pals, clearly looking for someone to rescue him - and when no one intervened, he walked over to Robby, stiffly, horrified.

Robby placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “So, let’s have a conversation about your view of women, shall we?”

They disappeared down the hallway. 

Jack watched them leave, then turned his head and stared at the remaining students. They suddenly found excuses to leave. Within seconds the space where they had huddled was empty.

Jack exhaled loudly through his nose, then returned to Lizzie.

When you came back - your hair in an actual ponytail, your teeth brushed, smelling slightly better thanks to some body wash and a washcloth and wearing a pair of scrubs, carrying your pajamas in a plastic bag - Jack was already sitting beside Lizzie’s bed again.

He looked up. “Why are you wearing scrubs?”

“Dana gave them to me. You have to return them but she said she can’t have me run around in that outfit” you replied smiling.

Lizzie was awake, sitting upright in her bed and slowly drinking apple juice from a sippy cup. When she saw you, she began to smile. “Mommy!”

You swallowed hard, already teary-eyed again. You put the plastic bag down, then sat on her bed, pulling her close, kissing her head. “Hey baby. How are you?”

“Izzie dwink.”

“Yeah, baby, I can see you’re drinking. Juice, hm? Did Mateo bring this to you?”

“No, it was Daddy” Jack said with a huff. “And I honestly thought she tried to say twink and I was already wondering to whom she was referring to.”

You chuckled, pressing another kiss onto Lizzie's head.

Jack watched you for a moment. You watched his Adam’s apple bob while he tried to compose himself - and for the first time you realized that this had been very stressful for him too. Even when he had dealt with thousands of patients with pneumonia before… it was the first time with his daughter.

He looked up and gave a crooked smile. Then, with a groan, he climbed onto the bed as well, settling on Lizzie’s other side. He slung his arm around your shoulder, pulled you closer and kissed you gently.

“Oh, wow, what’s this for?” you asked with a smile, leaning your head onto his.

“Nothing. It’s just… I love you.” 

You smiled. “I love you too.”

“No.” He pulled back a little to look at you. “I mean - I really love you, okay?”

“Um. Okay.”

“And I’m proud of you. You handled this like a champ.”

You blushed a little and shrugged, your eyes starting to burn. “I was terrified.”

“And you did exactly the right thing. You tried to call me and when you couldn’t reach me you called 911. You’re nailing this motherhood shit, honey.”

You let out a teary laugh. “Thanks.”

“No, I really mean it. You’re such a tough and independent woman.” He smiled, cuddling against you again. “And you’re also beautiful and hot and incredibly competent.”

Lizzie tipped her head back to look at Jack’s face. “Daddy!”

He pulled her towards him with his free arm. She squealed delighted.

“Watch out, Lizzie” you mumbled, smiling happily. “Daddy talks so much stuff that I’m wondering if he’s the one with fever now.”

She let out another squeal.

“Jesus” Jack muttered. “I think her oxygen level is fine again.”

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.

--- --- ---

“Nice. And dirty.” You finished securing the strap of your high heeled shoe, standing up from the ottoman at the foot of the bed to walk closer. “Certainly nothing you’d have any complaints about,” you all but whispered, holding his gaze in the reflection as you pressed a slow kiss behind his ear. 

“But,” you added, back to your normal volume as you stepped back, guiding him to turn and face you, still giving you that self satisfied smile as your hands ran over his broad shoulders, smoothing wrinkles in his suit jacket that weren’t there, “if you try to bail on me and send me to this thing alone…” You clicked your tongue derisively. “Well, I might just never talk to you again.”

Jack laughed, a full chest laugh that made you smile, his hands resting on your hips like they belonged there.

“Never again?” he repeated, only grinning, eyes creased at the corner, when you gave him a solemn nod. “Three years just gone like that? You’d move out tonight if I don’t go drink warm punch with people you spent a few years with as a teenager?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Definitely. And I would miss you so so dearly, especially with how handsome you look right now. So pretty please come with me so I can still come home with you.” You batted your eyelashes at him dramatically, giving him a sweet smile while he chuckled. It was never a real question and you both knew it. Jack would fly with you to New Zealand that night if you truly asked him to. He would drop everything for you, and would never miss an opportunity to make you happy. Even if it meant wearing a suit and standing around with people almost 20 years his junior, pretending it didn’t make his skin crawl to see them look between the two of you and do the math.

“Well, when you put it like that…” he drawled, his smirk giving way to a fond smile as you tugged him down by his shirt collar to kiss him sweetly. He gave you a softer smile when you parted, lingering in each other's space.

“Why do you even want to go to this thing anyway?”

You exhaled something between a scoff and a laugh, taking a step back and turning from him to focus on putting on the earrings Jack had gifted you for your birthday a year before he’d finally asked you out. In hindsight, you could understand why Ahmad and Donnie had started betting on when one of you would buck up the nerve and make a move. They needed the levity after watching you inch closer and closer for so long, all the while starkly refusing to admit your feelings. You could still remember the looks your coworkers would give you when they got stuck in a room with you, ranging from intrigued to downright uncomfortable as you danced around the obvious truth.

“Want might be a strong word for it.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “That does nothing to answer my question.” You paused, still holding one earring in hand as you turned towards him. 

“Because,” you said, quieter than you’d been since you’d first told him about the invitation weeks before. “No one in high school ever thought I’d turn out to be much. They made my life hell, spreading rumours behind my back, pouring stuff on my lunch so I couldn’t eat it.” You waved your hand dismissingly, letting out a small sigh. “All sorts of stupid stuff. Apparently one of them even started telling people I died a few years back.”

Jack’s mouth dropped open into a small oh, dark eyebrows raising. It took a lot to surprise him between his time abroad and the hours he spent undoing some of the dumbest and most tragic accidents Pittsburgh could offer, but the pedantry of teenagers was something he never got used to. Even if the evening marked fifteen years since your graduation, it made him wonder what you might be walking into. Some people never grew up. He knew that better than most, spending his nights regularly tending to the wounds of so many people who swore they had a great idea in the moment, just to sober up in the ED full of regret.

You nodded, a tight lipped smile doing its best to hold back your frustration. 

“How did you die?” Jack asked it so carefully, like your fake death was a tender subject, that you couldn’t help but laugh. He looked so somber when you glanced up at him that your laughter only grew, until he was frowning at you and acting crosser than he was. 

“I have a right to know,” he chastised, still acting stern. “I think I’ve earned that after three years. To think you went and died and didn’t even do me the decency of telling me. It’s rude, that’s what it is.”

Your laughter quelled, leaving only a breathy smile full of love for the goofy man before you.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised cheekily. “Next time I’ll make sure you’re the first one to know.” Jack’s frown deepened at that, and he shook his head. “Next time? Oh no, you’re not dying again anytime soon.” He stepped closer, arm wrapping around your back and leaning down to press a firm kiss to the side of your head as you secured your second earring.

“What kind of doctor would I be if I lost you?” he murmured, speaking close enough to your ear to send goosebumps down your arms. 

You hummed, trying to stay focused and not get lost in his charm. 

“Still a pretty damn good one, baby.”

He made a discontent sound, ducking and pressing one more kiss to your cheek before retreating to a wall of your shared bedroom, leaning back against it with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. The sight just about drove you wild.

“C’mon, then,” he prompted, head tilted back so he was looking down the bridge of his nose. “How’d you die?” The corner of his mouth twitched, adding on “So I can be more prepared for next time.”

You twisted a ring on your finger. Your hands felt fidgety, and you knew he noticed, his calm, level gaze dropping to your hand for a moment before returning to your face. “They said I was in a car accident.” You rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath before trying to get the next words out. “They said I was drunk and hit a stop sign, or a building, or a school bus full of children, whatever. The story varies at that point from what I know.” 

“Jesus. How’d you find out about this?”

You smile wryly. That was the best part of the story. “Someone sent my mom a condolence message on Facebook.”

Jack barked out a laugh.

“Right?” you exclaimed, laughing despite yourself. It was all so ridiculous. “And they didn’t even know me! I think we just had biology together or something and tracked her down.”

Jack blew out a deep breath of air. His burly arms crossed over his chest, not sure how to file away this new information about your fake death. Despite his mixed feelings about the idiocy of youth, he gave you a crooked smile, almost looking impressed as he exhaled a soft laugh. “You sure know how to keep things interesting, sweetheart.” You grinned, struck just again by how much you loved him. Most people would be disturbed to hear about your teenage years, and you couldn’t exactly fault them. But to Jack, it was just another thing to take in stride, only mattering if it mattered to you. He would listen, and learn, making sure he knew how to support you without judgement. Nothing was ever too much for him, not even close. Not when it was you.

“Thank you, I try,” you joked, giving a small curtsy and almost tripping when the fabric of your dress clung to you. Jack’s hands were on your arms before you had a chance to fully stumble, stabilizing you and giving you a fond squeeze before letting one hand slide down to hold your own.

“Anyone tries any of that shit tonight, you tell me,” he said sincerely, all signs of teasing gone. “You’re not a teenager anymore. They can’t get you.”

You breathed out a short laugh. 

“Damn right they can’t.” You smiled up at him, a determined set to your jaw. Those people had taken enough from you, and you were done letting them. You took his hand in your own, raising it to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his calloused palm, your heart fluttering at the soft look in his beautiful hazel eyes as you pressed it to your cheek. His thumb ran over your cheekbone. 

“Besides,” you continued, giving him a teasing smirk, “anyone who tries anything next to my certified hunk of a boyfriend who could probably deadlift anyone we meet tonight is just asking for trouble.”

Jack laughed hard, his shoulders shaking and a few silvery curls slipping down to rest on his forehead. You brushed them back, returning the easy smile he gave you, full of love and joy. 

“Maybe ten years ago,” he conceded, cupping your cheek in his hand, his smile widening as you leaned into his touch. “But now your hunk of a boyfriend would rather just carry you around. Preferably home.”

You pouted, toying with the collar of his dress shirt. “But you look so handsome.”

His eyebrow raised. “And I’ll stop being handsome when we come home?” You scowled at him, almost breaking your fake annoyance when he looked so happy with himself, a small crooked smile pulling at the corner of his lips, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Unfortunately for me and my productivity, you’ll always be handsome, Jack.” He dragged a hand over his scruff, palming at his cheek where more and more hair grew in white instead of the dark gingery-brown it was when you first met him. He didn’t care usually about the change, and you went above and behind to make sure he never forgot how desirable he was, but public appearances still made him nervous sometimes.

“Stop fussing with it,” you chided softly, cupping your hand over his against his cheek. “It looks good, baby. Stop worrying, please.”

His eyes dropped from yours with a heavy sigh, shoulders deflating slightly.

“People might talk.” His voice came out softly, the same even tone he almost always had. Straight to the facts, even when they were inconvenient. You knew him well enough to hear what he was saying behind the words. People might see you together and make snap judgements on who he was, who you were. They might discredit your relationship before even knowing him, seeing just the creases on his face and the tinge of silver that crept into more and more of his dark curls by the year. 

You refused to give them the satisfaction of caring.

“So?” Jack’s eyebrow raised, chin tilting down so he could give you an odd look.

“So, people might think less of you,” he explained, calm enough that it hurt your heart. “Or they might go after you again. Why give them any more ammunition? Things were hard enough for you back then.”

You stepped closer, smoothing your hands over his shoulders.

“Because I’m happy now.” Jack blinked, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “I’m not scared of them anymore, Jack, and I want to do this for myself, to prove that I can face them. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to-” “I’m coming,” he cut in, certain and looking at you like you were crazy to even offer. “As long as you want me to, I’m there. You’re not alone this time.”

“I know,” you promised, holding his eye contact easily. “I’d never be alone, even if you weren’t there with me. And I do want you there, the same way I want you to go grocery shopping with me or to run to the post office with me. You make things more fun.” A small smile flickered onto your face, ducking your head slightly. “I might also have a small evil ulterior motive,” you confessed, slightly sheepish. 

Jack hummed inquisitively, the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. Usually when you referenced being evil it entailed him and a state of undress.

“And what would that be?” he asked smoothly, voice just a touch lower than usual. You could feel heat creep up your cheeks at the small difference, your body responding before your mind had the chance.

“Maybe I want to show off my sexy boyfriend.” He grinned, a faint pink creaking up to stain his ears and the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made your heart do somersaults. “My sexy doctor boyfriend,” you corrected, nuzzling into his neck and peppering his pink skin with kisses and the occasional nip of teeth. You pulled back just enough to kiss him once, firm and passionate, smiling breathlessly as he chased after you when you pulled away.

“That okay?” you checked, heart hammering at the sight of him so breathless and flustered, dark eyes hooded and hungry.

He nodded, grinning crookedly.

“No complaints here, sweetheart.” He held your chin, pressing one more slow kiss to your lips, only pulling back when your lungs screamed for air. “But we might want to get a move on,” he murmured, voice low and rough as he smirked against your lips. “‘Cause I can only see you dressed up for so long before I need to take this dress off, stunning as it is.”

Walking into the high school felt all too familiar. The harsh fluorescent lighting was the same as you’d left it, eerily similar poster boards lining the hallways painted in your school colors. It was as if no time had passed at all, the Spirit Board frozen in time, only the faces in the photographs changed. 

And yet everything was different. The halls felt wider, no teenagers shouldering past each other, clustering up along the walls or locking lips against the lockers to the chagrin of their neighbors. You could practically hear the idle chatter, the squeak of sneakers and distant sounds of metal lockers slamming shut.

You didn’t duck your head as you walked down the hall now, scurrying from class to class and stepping out of people’s way like you did as a teenager. You moved through the thin crowd of people easily, faces familiar but aged slowly recognizing each other as they found their names prepared on adhesive nametags on a table pushed along the wall. 

Jack followed you as you moved, trailing half a step behind you, his hand in yours anchoring him to you, as if you would get swept away if he didn’t watch you closely. He picked up your name tag for you, smoothing it over the material of your dress and joking that he wasn’t important enough to earn a nametag. You quipped back that he could have brought his hospital ID badge from home if he was really worried about it, and he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before following you as you led him through the school to find the gym, where the actual reunion was being held.

You were barely ten feet into the large room when a familiar voice stopped you, calling out your name from a few feet away. You turned, an apprehensive frown already on your lips as you pivoted to face the woman. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you took a steadying breath, reminding yourself that things were different now. Who knew? Maybe she was different now. Maybe she had grown a heart. Nothing was impossible.

“Oh my god,” the woman said, eyes dragging up and down your body with wide eyes, her jaw dropped open as she stared incredulously. “Look at you, all dressed up!” She giggled softly, a manicured hand coming up to tuck a shining lock of hair behind her ear. She was still bleaching her hair, you could see. Frustratingly, it looked amazing, flawless waves falling down around her shoulders. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in heels before,” she commented, head dropping to the side as she spoke in a chipper tone. She was overly enthusiastic in the way only people who wanted something were, her smile blown larger than life and movements overdone just slightly. 

Jack cleared his throat beside you, his warm steadying hand pressed against the small of your back, and you glanced up at him. His brows pinched for just a moment, the hard line of his mouth set as he silently asked you if you were alright. You gave a weak smile back, shifting slightly closer to him, and his jaw set, his focus shifting back to the woman before him. 

“Hannah!” you chirped, plastering on a fake smile. You glanced down at your dress, hands smoothing over the material, suddenly hyperaware of the cling of the fabric against your skin and how different it was from your jeans and hoodie you’d stuck to in high school. 

“Yeah, I’ve kind of branched out more since graduating,” you joked. “Guess my experimental era came a little later than most.”

Hannah chuckled, eyes sliding past you again to sweep over Jack. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to stay calm. You’d expected the way her eyes swept over him, her smile, while pretty, not quite reaching her eyes. Hannah had always had a sharp quality to her that was hard to place, hidden under sweet tones and veiled compliments.

“Wow. You are…not what I expected when I heard our little valedictorian was bringing a date.” Her head tipped slightly to the side as she appraised him, eyes continuing to slither over his sharp suit, one hand (with nails painted to match her shoes, of course) holding her plastic cup while the other folded across her chest, one hip popped out. She hummed, ignoring the way Jack shifted slightly under her gaze, his eyes flicking to meet yours though he refused to cede any ground to her. 

You could feel a familiar prickling under your skin, her gaze feeling like X-ray vision that could see right through you, just to poke and prod at the perfect spot to make you fall apart.

Jack shifted closer, an arm coming up to casually wrap around you, one warm hand resting on your hip as he pressed you against his side. He didn’t look away from Hannah, but the familiar weight of him provided a comforting feeling, keeping you grounded while unease churned in your stomach.

“Well, I’m as surprised as you are,” Jack joked, only the edge of his mouth tipped upward as he teased. “She could have anyone, but she keeps me around anyway.” He turned to look down at you, his smile coming easier when he saw the way your face warmed and you couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Still, if that’s her only lapse in judgement, I don’t think we can fault her too much.”

He turned back to Hannah, offering her a small nod instead of a handshake.

“Jack Abbot,” he said, offering a tightly-lipped smile. 

Hannah beamed, her nails tapping against the side of her plastic cup as she looked him over. “Hannah Sampson,” she replied, standing just a bit taller. Her gaze moved to you, barely turning her face towards you, staying firmly planted with her spotless heels facing Jack.

“And of course, you know me,” she added with a small chuckle. “Or at least you did. Who’s to say after all this time if that really counts anymore, right?”

You laughed weakly. You had the feeling you knew her better than you would ever want to.

“So how’ve you been?” Her voice was overly sweet, patronizing like she was talking to a small child who wouldn’t understand her if she used a normal tone. 

You glanced at Jack, your hesitant smile growing into something more sincere as you found his soft hazel eyes.

“Things have been good,” you said, still facing him. The corner of his mouth twitched, and your chest warmed. “Really good,” you added, fully grinning as you turned back to Hannah, ignoring the skeptical squint of her eyes. “I did what I said I would, went off to school and got my degree. Met this wonderful man and somehow got him to agree to a date-”

Jack looked offended. “I asked you out,” he corrected. You only smirked, shrugging as you leaned against him, your shoulder pressing back into his chest. 

“Excuse you, I clearly remember us hanging out on the roof talking until the sun came up.” 

He rolled his eyes, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“During our shift,” he drawled. “Don’t think an HR violation classifies as a date.”

You grinned, snaking an arm behind his back, between his dress shirt and blazer, relishing his warmth as you pressed more firmly against his side.

“You sure have a way of putting a damper on things,” you teased, leaning up to give his scruffy cheek a kiss. He bit his lip to keep from smiling, only humming in response, and you turned back to Hannah, giving her an apologetic smile. 

“Anyway,” you chuckled, satisfaction pooling low in your gut at the disbelieving look on her face, like she was sorting out a puzzle only she could see. “Yeah, things are going great. We’re even talking about getting a cat together.”

Jack chuckled, the warm sound vibrating through his chest and into you. 

“Oh, we’re going to,” he confirmed, as if the decision was already made. For him, it was, and who were you to deny your love another creature that would love him as much as you did.

“Aw, how cute,” Hannah chimed in, lip jutting out in a pout. “I’ve always been more a dog person myself, but I’m sure a kitty will love you.” Her gaze moved over you, one lazy pass that felt more like an appraisal than true sight. “Should have pegged you as a cat lady.”

Her words should have stung, and maybe on a different day, they would have. But not here, not now, with Jack’s steady hand on your hip and the idea of the two of you curled up in bed with a little furball purring on his lap. 

You shrugged. “Probably, yeah. But Jackie here is the true cat dad.” You looked up at him, already able to picture him fawning over a little kitten tumbling over itself, or a senior cat who curled up beside him as he read his novels, glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose and that adorable crease between his eyes as he got lost in the words.

“I’m a lover of all animals,” he countered, but you clicked your tongue. 

“You know you’re a cat person, baby. You can love lots of animals, but you know what you are at heart.” You tapped his chest with your palm, right over his heart, your grin widening at the way he squinted fondly down at you, smiling despite himself.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

His eyes were soft as he looked down at you, and your chest warmed. He always looked at you like that, and it took you a long time to learn to accept it, to accept him and the steady, gentle love he offered like second nature, correcting you softly when you even thought of brushing off the myriad of wonders he saw in you.

“Don’t I know it,” you teased back, pressing closer to him and giving his jaw a chaste kiss.

You managed to muddle through a couple more minutes of conversation with Hannah without tripping over your words too much. You were pleasantly surprised to find your confidence only grew the longer you talked. She asked about your career and how you were handling the high stress of emergency medicine, giving a tight smile and a clipped congratulations when Jack jumped in for you, insisting that you took to the chaos like a fish in water, always knowing where to be just in the knick of time. She asked if you still managed to see your family, managing to drag up your siblings’ past issues with anger management and substance abuse. You didn’t miss the fierce gleam in her eye, hiding behind her honeyed tone as she tutted about how sad it was to see them washed up so young, and how her heart had just broken for you in high school to come from such a background. Jack’s grip on your hip had tightened slightly, but he let you fight your own battle with your head held high. Her smug smile slowly curled into something closer to a snarl as you told her that, actually, you saw your family often. That one sibling had sought treatment for their mental illness that had gone undiscovered, and that while another still struggled, you’d learned to set healthy boundaries and only help when asked, no longer offering more than you had to give. 

You’d laced your fingers through Jack’s, never feeling more loved than you did when he looked at you with such pride.

“My parents are actually coming to visit us in a few months. They say they’re coming to see me, but I have half a mind to think they just want to see Jack.” You chuckled, not caring about the pinched expression Hannah wore when Jack laughed beside you. “Don’t even try to deny it,” you warned him playfully. “You’re their favorite in-law and we haven’t even made it official yet.”

Jack’s smile only grew, something in him softening at the promise of a forever together, of being an official family.

“Yeah, we’ve gotta get on that.”

He grinned as your face warmed, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide as your heart almost burst out of your chest just to get closer to him. You needed some air if you were going to make it through the night without dragging him off to a broom closet and kissing him stupid. 

You regretfully separated from him, hating every inch of air between you, even as your cheeks burned and your head swam with dizzyingly happy thoughts.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go grab some punch.” You flashed Jack a teasingly shy smile. “For some reason, it’s feeling warm over here.”

He hummed, looking very pleased with himself. He gave your hand one final squeeze before dropping it.

“Can you grab me some too?”

You grinned. “I was already going to.”

You weren’t gone for long before Hannah followed you. You could hear the quiet click of her heels on the linoleum flooring drawing nearer as she slid up next to you while you surveyed the small banquet someone had put together. Pre-packaged cheese spreads, hummus that was already room temperature, and cookies from the local bulk supply store. Not bad for whatever pittance of a budget the student council was working with.

“So, how old is Jack?” Hannah smiled sweetly when you glanced up at her, acting like she was just making polite conversation and not prodding at your relationship like she hoped to topple it like a house of cards.

You shrugged, head turned back down as you considered grabbing a snack while you were by the table. You eyed the brittle looking cookies on display before deciding against it. The fruity scent of the punch drifted through the air, and you were craving sugar to soothe your nerves, more than any number of mass-produced cookies could provide. You wanted to kiss whoever thought to bring an ice bowl to set the punch over. It was the only thing that stayed cool in the gym that always had a way of running humid. You grabbed two cups from a stack at one end of the table, having to tear through their plastic sleeve to free them when they caught. 

“Does it matter?”

Hannah shifted slightly on her heels, a small hum coming from the back of her throat.

“It’s just…Well…Isn’t he a little old for you?” The hair prickled at the base of your skull, a hot wave of anger flooding through you. There it was. The criticism hiding behind the guise of girlfriendly concern.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you muttered, head downturned as you ladled punch into your two red solo cups. 

Hannah let out a surprised laugh, a haughty high-pitched noise that got stuck in the back of her throat.

“Excuse me?”

You grimaced, collecting your cups and looking up to see her giving you a scandalized look.

“And what exactly does that mean?” she demanded, the obnoxious charms on her bracelet jingling as she put her hand on her hip. You wondered absently how much the whole thing cost. Five hundred dollars? A thousand? Two? Who even cared. It was all the same to her, just another jewel in her crown to flaunt around, a subtle flash of silver and diamonds to remind everyone who she was and what she had.

“It means,” you said, louder and sharper than you’d intended, “that I remember you getting awfully close to your piano teacher back in the day. Which was funny, given how much you bombed at Jennifer Chase’s birthday party. How old was he anyway? Thirty? And I know he was married, because my cousin was friends with his wife.” A slight pink rose to Hannah’s cheeks, matching the tone of her dress perfectly, though you’d never admit it. 

“I was drunk at that party,” she stammered out.

You nodded. “Oh yeah, you were plastered. But not before your boyfriend showed up with the keg, remember? Which was after you snuck off when you realized maybe your instructor exaggerated a bit when he told you how naturally gifted you were.”

Hannah shifted on her heels, tossing her head to the side to flick a stray strand of long hair out of her face. Her lips were pursed, eyes icy, her nice girl mask gone, just it had been all those years ago.

You could still remember her cheerily wishing you have a good weekend as you spilled out of class, just to corner you on the bleachers during lunch, her sweet smile gone as she sneered at you and your second hand backpack covered in pins and patches you’d sewn. 

She wore the same expression now, sneering at you from her three-inch heels, but this time, you looked back, refusing to flinch.

“I’m not the one who brought my sugar daddy.” 

You froze, everything stilling around you as a storm churned within you. 

She really just said that. And what’s worse, she said it with absolute, snide conviction, convinced she’d dealt the final blow, as if it was glaring obvious there would only be one reason you could be interested in Jack.

“You know what I think?” You weren’t sure where your calmness came from, but your voice came out cool and collected, only your blazing eyes showing your fury. You didn’t wait for an answer. “I think you’re miserable. I think you poke and prod at other people and try to tear them down because you feel small, and you think no one can hurt you if you’re the one doing all the hurting. But you couldn’t be more wrong about Jack. You could never hurt him, and you can’t hurt me either, because I have him on my side.” You stepped closer without realizing it, everything you’d held onto for all these years finally flowing out of you in one moment.

“Jack is a good person, better than me and damn better than you. He’s smart, and kind, and empathetic, and you know that he’s attractive. I don’t need to tell you that, you can see it yourself, and we both know you’ve been checking him out since we walked in.” You couldn’t stop, finally seeing her frozen in place for a change, her pretty eyes blown wide in shock. “You just can’t stand that someone like him loves me because you think that you’re better than me. But the truth is, you’re not. You never were. And Jack does love me, more than anyone ever has. So you’re going to shut your fucking trap about my man, because just because he took an oath to help people doesn’t mean that I won’t knock your teeth out if you say one more mean thing about him.” You scoffed, suddenly realizing she didn’t even know he was one of Pittsburgh's best doctors. 

“Oh, yeah, and he’s a doctor, by the way,” you added, just to rub salt in the wound. “So I’m gonna go join my hot, successful, wealthy, and kind as fuck boyfriend and tell him for the hundredth time today how much I love him. Feel free to feel bad for me as much as you want. I’ll see you in five years if I don’t let Jack convince me to stay home next time. And he can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”

You clicked your tongue as you picked up your two cups of punch, giving her a fake sympathetic look before striding across the room, head held high and heart hammering in your chest.

Jack’s eyes brightened when he saw you approaching, a small smile tugging at his lips without realizing it. He accepted the cup you held out to him, and had it raised halfway to his lips when you nudged his arm aside, stepping into his space and placing a needy, hungry kiss on his lips. He grunted in surprise, brow furrowing at the sudden act, but kissed you back, his free arm wrapping around you and supporting your lower back.

“What was that for?” he asked breathlessly when you pulled apart, lungs screaming for air. His voice was low and gentle, soft eyes probing you for answers. 

You only sighed, taking his free hand in yours and taking a small sip of your punch. It was overly sweet, enough to feel it in your teeth.

“More than I could ever say. You regret coming with me yet?”

He raised an eyebrow, expression staying level and flat. “Sweetheart, this is nothing. In fact, go ahead and RSVP me as a plus one for the 20th reunion.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “Ooh, you planning on sticking around for another five years?” you teased. You knew the answer, you could see it written on his face every time he looked at you, like you were the only thing worth truly seeing. 

“I’m not that old, sweetheart.”

You laughed. You took another sip of your punch before setting it on a nearby table. Your hands found his, and you gently tugged him, giving him just enough time to set down his own drink before you were dragging him with you towards the dance floor. The music played quietly over the speakers, a mix of music that was popular during your high school days mixed with whatever hits played on the radio.

“Come on, Jack, dance with me.”

Jack grimaced for a moment, stilling before you could fully pull him over.

“I’m not much of a dancer, honey.”

You quirked a brow at him. You stepped closer, settling against his chest with your arms slung around his neck while his hands settled on your hips. 

“You’ve done much more difficult things than awkwardly dancing with me.” 

Jack frowned, handsome features distorting as his brow furrowed. 

“You know you don’t have to,” you added, turning serious. “Talk to me, Jack. What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?” 

He looked away, jaw working once as he gathered his thoughts. 

“I’m not exactly graceful.” He said it quietly, voice coming out low and rough, like it pained him to say no to you. “Don’t want to step on your toes.” You laughed softly. Your hand found his cheek, gently turning him to meet the eyes you wanted to look into for the rest of your life. 

“You think I care about grace? Jack, this is a high school reunion, not Dancing with the Stars. And who cares, trample me if you want. I just want to dance with the man I love. God knows I’d probably step on your toes too.”

Jack hummed a small laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Less of a risk of it hurting me,” he supplied easily. “Less toes.”

Your head dropped to his shoulder when you laughed, resting against him like it was second nature. You barely even noticed when he started to gently sway from side to side, moving you along with him until you were dancing.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his neck, turning to press your cheek against his shoulder. “For everything tonight. And all of the last three years and however many we have together. I love you Jack, so much.”

He dipped his head until his nose grazed your hair. He pressed a soft kiss to your hairline, his warm breath tickling your scalp. 

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You raised your head just enough to catch him in a kiss, slow and sweet. 

“Will you dance with me again someday?” Jack hummed softly, eyes soft and steady as he looked down at you. 

“One day.” “It’ll be good practice,” you pointed out softly. “We’ll have to dance together again at some point, and as much as I’ll always love our clumsy kitchen dancing, we might want something else for the scrapbook.” You smiled sweetly, unable to help the happy chuckle that bubbled out of your chest.

Jack smirked down at you, hazel eyes glimmering with fondness. 

“You saying I can’t do the chicken dance at our wedding?” he drawled.

You laughed again. “You can do whatever you want at our wedding,” you retorted, “but I’d prefer if our first dance was a little more put together than that.” “So save it for the second dance then.” You grinned, nodding happily as his grin finally cracked. “Honestly, I can’t think of anything more fitting for us.”

Jack laughed through his nose, and the smile he gave you was so soft, so open and caring and him that it made you want to propose right there in your old high school gym, even without a ring to offer. 

“I’ll learn how to dance for you,” he said after a moment, voice low and rough, sincere to the point of not caring how he sounded, as long as you were in his arms, swaying with him to the bad pop song playing. “I’ll get a better suit.”

“But this tie,” you requested, toying with the knot he had tied at his throat. 

His smile only grew, breathing out a short laugh. “Of course, sweetheart. Your tie.”

He rested his forehead against yours, drawing you closer and letting out a soft sigh as your fingers carded through his hair. 

“I’ve been waiting to hear back from the jeweler,” he admitted softly. “Would have asked you by now if I could have. He had some family emergency, had to push back the date.” He frowned, big brown eyes looking so apologetic it broke your heart and made it beat faster all at the same time. “Wanted to ask you on our anniversary. Had a whole plan, but he wasn’t ready. Didn’t want to rush him when we have time, but…I wish it could have happened sooner,” he finished quietly.

You knew it was coming. You had known for a long time that Jack was your one and only, the man you wanted to grow old with, and he made his thoughts about you just as clear. When he’d started taking closer notice of your jewelry a few months before, noting if you preferred silver more than gold, or wore sleeker pieces rather than showier ones, you knew it was fast approaching. Even your anniversary plans had clued you in, and you were surprised when the night ended curled up together without new titles for each other. You hadn’t had it in you to feel disappointed though, not when he was still your Jack, and you would be able to wake up to him in the morning. He was always going to be your husband someday. Just on a different timeline.

“The ring isn’t the important thing,” you reminded him softly. “You are. Just us, working as a team. I’d marry you with sharpie drawn on my hand, and I’d still be the happiest woman alive.”

Jack hummed his laugh, giving you a slight nod and a crooked smile that was as teasing as it was adoring.

“Maybe we don’t wait then. Maybe…the end of the month.”

You could only smile up at him, giggling when ducked his head to press a kiss to your cheek, his stubble tickling your sensitive skin.

“You’ve gotta at least act surprised when I ask though,” he murmured against your skin, pressing kiss after kiss across your face until you were pulling away to get him to stop. He grinned easily, settling back against you like he belonged there, voice hushed so no one else could overhear him. “Can’t have your parents thinking I have no manners.”

You smiled softly, lost in the soft and steady love written on his face. Things always felt so easy with him, even during your darkest moments. Even when you were exhausted and stressed, one small annoyance away from losing your minds, you were able to calm each other down, to be a safe place to let yourselves break and know that you wouldn’t have to patch yourself together again alone.

“Believe me, Jack, I’ll be as surprised as I was three years ago when I first asked you out.”

“I asked you out,” he laughed.

--- --- ---

The diner was quite busy which wasn’t unusual for a Sunday morning. The usual crowd. Families, friends laughing over a couple of cheeky mimosas and couples either arguing over coffee or holding hands while looking deeply smug.

Jack sat in their usual booth by the window, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee while he stared at the stack of pancakes in front of him. Across from him Robby was eating scrambled eggs with the appetite of a man who saw his food as a challenge, not a suggestion.

For several minutes neither of them spoke, which also wasn’t unusual. After all they had known each other long enough that silence didn’t need to be filled. And they saw each other frequently enough - at work and outside of it - so there was no great need to catch up.

But today the silence felt heavier, loaded - different. Different enough that even Robby noticed. 

He glanced up suspiciously. “Okay. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm. Yeah, okay, sure.”

Robby waited. Jack stayed quiet.

“You know” Robby continued. “Most people come to brunch because they enjoy talking to each other. Or at least enjoy spending time together.”

“I enjoy spending time with you.”

“Well, okay, maybe I’d believe you if you didn’t look like your dog had just died when you said it.”

Jack rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee, still quiet.

“So.” Robby tilted his head. “Spill it. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Okay - what are you thinking about doing?”

Jack stared at him.

Robby smiled slowly. “Knew it.”

Jack exhaled and leaned back against the booth. 

For a moment he watched someone outside walk past the diner with a dog wearing blinking Christmas antlers. 

Then he looked back at Robby. “I haven’t told her.”

Robby frowned. “Told who what?”

“My wife. About the job.”

“What about the job?”

“I haven’t told her that that stupid text you sent her was my idea.”

Robby paused, then shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Robby looked visibly confused now.

“I don’t know. Something useful for a change?”

“Okay.” Robby took another bite of his eggs. “Congratulations on successfully keeping a very boring secret.”

Jack just stared at him.

“What?” Robby asked. “Seriously - it worked out.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, come on, you have to be kidding me.” Robby put the cutlery down and stared at him, stunned. “She got a job in her own field. She’s happy. She’s excited. Her new department is going to be very happy to have her. Everybody wins.”

Jack shook his head and crossed his arms. “She thinks you found the opening and thought of her.”

“I did think of her” Robby shot back.

“After I told you to send it to her.”

“That still counts.”

“No, Michael. It doesn’t.” Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “I feel like I’m lying to her.”

“But you’re not lying to her.” Robby stared at him.

“I’m kind of withholding information. That’s lying. In a way.” Jack swallowed hard.

Robby closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “You went to therapy again, right? That therapist is clearly messing with your head, man.” Robby shook his head. “You don’t have to be a hundred percent perfect all the time, you know that, right?”

Jack shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie to my wife.”

“My man, you’re seriously considering rocking the boat even though it all worked out in the end?”

“It’s not rocking the boat” Jack mumbled. “It’s just… I don’t feel comfortable right now. And no, I didn’t even talk about that in therapy. I came to that conclusion all by myself.”

“Boy, okay, that explains it. Maybe run this by your therapist first then, huh?” 

“You just said she’s messing with my head” Jack shot back.

“Yeah, but that was before I knew that this idea of yours was born in a very strange corner of your brain.”

Jack let out a sigh. “I’m gonna tell her.”

“And what do you expect to happen?” Robby rubbed his temple. “Honestly? What’s the outcome you’re hoping for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, yeah, how can I not be supportive of such an excellent, well-thought-out plan?” Robby replied, dryly.

Jack looked bewildered. “I’m not expecting anything. I just… want her to know.”

Robby watched him. “Why?”

“Because she thanked you.”

“What now?” 

“She kept saying how thoughtful you were. How nice it was that you remembered she was looking for work.” Jack rubbed his thumb over the edge of the table. “And I sat there knowing you only sent it because I asked you to.”

Robby paused. “Okay, so now you’re throwing me under the bus as well?”

Jack groaned. “No!”

“Doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“...I don’t know.”

“Well… okay, I’m making a cultural reference now and you’re not allowed to ask how I’d know about this, okay?” Robby looked at him seriously.

Jack tilted his head. “Um. Okay.”

“Okay, so… when Carrie cheated on Aidan with Big she didn’t keep quiet about it. No, she tells Aidan. And he says to her “I just wish I didn’t know about this.” And then they break up. So… what if telling your wife about this makes you the Carrie here? There’s no need to confess.”

Jack stared at Robby for a long time. “I… um… you know I didn’t cheat on her, right?”

Robby rolled his eyes. “I know. My point still stands.”

“Um.” Jack took a tiny sip of coffee. “I’m honestly a little thrown off track now with you quoting Sex and the City.”

He shrugged. “It was Janey’s favorite show. I watched a ton of it.”

“Mhm.” Jack stared into his mug. “I mean - I get what you’re saying but still… um… no, it’s not the same. I’m gonna tell her.”

“Fine.” Robby groaned. “You’re going to tell her. I’ve clearly got no chance of talking you out of it.”

Jack shook his head. “Nope.”

“Great” Robby muttered into his own mug. “Can’t wait.” He picked up his fork again. “But please, one condition.”

Jack groaned. “I think I’ve agreed to enough of your conditions lately.”

“Good thing I don’t care.” He glanced at Jack. “If you’re going to tell her, tell her before Christmas or after Christmas. I’m not sitting through another Abbot Family Christmas wondering whether you two are about to implode.”

“Since when you are sitting through our Christmas?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Um. You remember that you and your wife invited me over on Christmas Day to watch Lizzie open her presents, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jack nodded, pulling the plate with pancakes a little closer. “I mean I have to check with my wife again but yeah, I think that’s still on the table.”

Robby rolled his eyes. “You’re really getting off on that whole wife thing, right?”

“Yep.”

“Great.” Robby threw a napkin at him. “Here, you may need it to clean yourself up if you say wife a few more times.”

Jack caught the napkin, flipped him off, then started eating.

They both ate in silence for a minute.

Then Robby lifted his head. “So… Christmas is going to be completely different this year, huh?”

Jack looked up. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Last year you were one step away from blowing up your relationship because you made a unilateral decision without talking to your wife first.” He shrugged. “This year you’re actually taking time off. You chose to be there. That’s already a hell of an improvement.”

“The bar is on the floor” Jack muttered, then added a little louder: “I’m still keeping something from her.”

Robby sighed. “Yeah, a stupid little white lie that’s eating you alive because you actually give a damn. That’s not the same thing.”

Jack shrugged this time, still not fully convinced.

Robby picked his fork up again. “So this year it’ll only be presents, pancakes and peaceful family time.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You’re counting yourself as part of our family right?”

“Hell yes.” Robby smiled. “Lizzie is my goddaughter.”

“How could I forget?” Jack rolled his eyes. “And I know you’re making fun of me but joke all you want - I learned my lesson last year.”

“You’re currently asking me whether you should tell your wife about something you deliberately didn’t tell her.”

Jack stared at him. “That’s different.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m going to tell her beforehand.”

“Okay.”

Jack took a bite of his pancakes. “It’s gonna be the perfect Christmas this year.”

“Mhm.”

“Really” Jack added, a little quieter.

“Repeat it a couple of times more and you’ve got me convinced” Robby muttered into his mug.

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.

--- --- ---

You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.

Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.

For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.

Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.

You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.

After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.

For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved. I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear "Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.

At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."

You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"

Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"

Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."

Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."

Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."

A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."

You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.

"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"

There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."

You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.

His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"

She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."

Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.

"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.

Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."

Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."

"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."

Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.

"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.

"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."

He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.

Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.

Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"

You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.

At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"

You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."

The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.

"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."

You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.

Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.

During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.

"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."

You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.

When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.

You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."

Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.

"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.

"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."

You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.

But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.

Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.

The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.

You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.

On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.

"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."

You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."

Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."

"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.

His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."

"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."

Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."

"Got it."

He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."

Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.

"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."

Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her? I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist? As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.

Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.

What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.

You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.

But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.

You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.

"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."

You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.

"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.

As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.

Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.

You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."

"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"

Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."

He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."

You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"

A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."

The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.

"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.

Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."

You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.

Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.

With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.

"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."

You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.

"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."

His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.

Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.

You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.

You had missed something.

Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."

He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.

"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."

You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."

"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."

You jolted just a bit. Go home?

"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"

"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."

Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.

You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.

Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.

Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.

Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.

Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.

"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."

In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."

Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"

"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.

He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."

Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.

"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."

And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.

With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.

Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.

Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.

"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."

You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.

After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.

It was impossible. I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust. You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.

Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.

Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.

Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.

You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.

You were you, and you loathed it entirely.

You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.

You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.

And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.

They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.

Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.

A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.

Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.

Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.

"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"

You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.

"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"

Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.

You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."

He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.

"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.

Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.

He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.

Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.

After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"

Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."

His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."

You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"

Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."

"But not good," you scoffed.

"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."

"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."

"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"

Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.

"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.

"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"

"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."

You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.

By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.

"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."

You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."

He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."

You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."

Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"

"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."

Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"

You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."

In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.

"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."

A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"

"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."

He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.

"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."

You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."

A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.

"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.

"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."

Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.

"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.

"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."

He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"

Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."

"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.

"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."

Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty. You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.

Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.

He'd seen the small changes too late.

The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.

His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.

He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.

He was slightly correct, but not entirely.

You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.

It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.

Someone helped you see that along the way as well.

"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.

Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"

Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."

"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.

"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."

"Dr. [Name] could do it."

Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.

Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."

An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.

You were with someone?

He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.

Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.

Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.

"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."

"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."

You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"

He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."

"You know I always do."

Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.

The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.

"Okay, you gotta go save lives."

You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."

From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.

"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."

Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.

But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.

--- --- ---

You were sitting at the kitchen table, the remains of lunch with Lizzie lunch still scattered around you but you were actually too lazy to clean it up right now. You still had the whole afternoon - or at least another hour before Lizzie would wake up from her nap, demanding some fun activities. You had actually planned to go to the shopping center with her, so she could see the pretty Christmas decorations they had put up and maybe see the Santa Claus the store had hired. A picture of the two of them would be the cutest - and maybe a good Christmas gift for Jack.

You were nursing a cup of coffee and scrolling through your phone when it buzzed with an incoming email.

You could only read the subject line - and your stomach dropped:

Regarding Your Application - Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center

You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the rejection that was almost inevitable hiding behind that line. You already felt disappointment creeping in - you had thought you had done really, really well in the interview with the director of Facilities and Campus Planning. You had also learned that you went to the same university, just a couple of years later than him. It had felt less like an interview and more like a chat with a new friend.

It had been too good to be true.

You almost deleted it without reading it - but you knew you would regret it. Maybe they had included an explanation, something you could do better next time.

So you opened the email.

Dear Mrs. Abbot We’re pleased to offer you the position of Facilities and Campus Planning Coordinator, starting on January 1st…

Your hand flew to your mouth and you let out a scream. Not even a muffled one. A loud, surprised scream that was probably heard by your neighbors. You didn’t care one bit. You jumped off your chair and threw both arms into the air like some sort of victory pose. You probably looked ridiculous but it just felt so damn right.

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes!” You started giggling uncontrollably while you read the email again. “Fuck.”

You bit your lip, trying to compose yourself - and failed tremendously. You looked around - and nearly jumped when you saw Jack’s disheveled figure in the doorframe, holding on his crutches. A rare sight - he usually took the time to strap on his prosthetic leg before getting up. He leaned against the doorframe and ran a hand through his hair, trying to balance. “Babe, you alright?”

“YES!” Another giggle.

“I heard you scream” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I thought maybe something happened.”

“No.” You giggled again, then crossed the room and pulled your arms around him. “I got it!”

“You got what?” he replied, one arm slung around your waist while he kept the other hand on one of his crutches to help him balance.

“THE JOB!”

Jack blinked. His tiredness was instantly forgotten. “What?”

“I GOT THE JOB!”

His face changed immediately. A wide grin spread across his face. “You did?”

You nodded so hard your ponytail bounced. “Yes, I did.”

“Oh, baby.” He hugged you tightly. “That’s amazing! I knew you would.”

“I can’t believe it” you whispered against his shoulder, smiling so hard it almost hurt. 

“I can.” He kissed your temple. “Because you’re amazing and talented and you deserve this. And hey - now my wife is also working at the Pitt.”

You laughed. “Well, at least at the PTMC.”

“You’ll be in the department three mornings a week. We could have coffee together, catch up for a couple of minutes.” He smiled, pressing his cheek against your hair. “That’ll be a lovely end to my night shifts.”

“Um.” You pulled away slightly. “Not exactly.”

Jack blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I know I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to jinx anything but… they offered me a different position.”

“A clerk position in a different department?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“No.”

“Babe, help me out, I’m exhausted and confused and this doesn’t make any sense to me.” You could hear that he was trying to be patient.

“I’ll be the new Facilities and Campus Planning Coordinator” you replied giddily, already giggling again.

“You are what now?”

“The HR woman thought I wasn’t the perfect fit for the ward-clerk position and they happened to have that opening in Facilities and Campus Planning. So she forwarded my resume after the interview and well… I got it.”

Jack’s eyebrows slowly rose as his brain caught up. “Wait. That sounds a lot like some kind of urban planning job?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“In a hospital?” He paused briefly. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, they’re apparently planning a new outpatient building and several renovation projects.”

Jack stared at you. “Honey, that’s-” He paused again. “That’s your actual field.”

You nodded, lips pressed together to hide another excited giggle. Jack pulled you flush against him again. “Oh my God, honey, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You couldn’t hide it anymore. You snuggled yourself closer to him, giggling helplessly against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“When do you start?”

“January first” you whispered. There was no need to whisper - just the superstition that the happy little bubble was about to burst if you said it out loud.

You could feel Jack shift. “The hospital is making you work on New Year’s Day?”

“No, silly.” You huffed a laugh. “You really have no clue about working outside of the emergency department, huh? That’s just the official start date. The date on the contract. My first actual day is January second.”

He nodded slowly. “Good. I was already preparing a strongly worded email.”

“To whom exactly?” You looked up, amused.

“I don’t know? HR? Your boss? Whoever that is I’d have found out - I’ve got connections, you know?” He puffed his chest. “Your husband is very well connected within the PTMC.”

“Okay, good to know, Mr. Mafia Boss” you replied dryly. “But please don’t contact my new employer.”

You squealed giddily. You actually had a new employer. After more than two years of unemployment you finally had a job again.

“Our employer, babe” Jack replied, then pulled slightly back. “Can’t wait to show you off to everyone at the annual summer party.”

You blinked. “You never go to the PTMC’s summer parties. You told me just a couple of months ago that you thought they were stupid and that you’d rather lose another leg than let your employer make you spend time with coworkers in your spare time.”

Jack lifted his hand from your hip and ran it through his hair. “That was in the past. You know that there are no plus-ones allowed at these events.”

“Yeah…?”

“Now you’re an employee too, we can go together. And I can show you off to everyone. And then we can have a slightly inappropriate but very hot make out session in one of the elevators at two in the morning.”

You started laughing. “Okay, that escalated very quickly. Let me start my job first, huh, before I do something that could possibly get me fired.”

He huffed. “Well, okay.”

“And you’re going back to bed now. Go get some more sleep. Tonight… we’re going out. Celebrating.”

Jack pulled you closer again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “Deal.” Another kiss followed. “I’m so fucking proud of you, kiddo. So fucking proud.”

--- --- ---

You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.

--- --- ---

“Why?” You question slowly. Your eyes briefly fly to Ben who’s scribbling on the coffee table, he looks up curiously when he sees the familiar face.

“Uncle Scott,” he beams in greeting.

Scott matches that expression, the sweetest he’s ever looked, as he comes over and ruffles his hair. “Hey, big man, what’re you working on?”

“Me, mom, and dog.”

“Dog, huh?” he chuckles, “I’m sure we can arrange that.”

Ben brightens, hopeful eyes turning to you. You’re going to strangle this man. “Let’s talk about it after dinner, bud.” Your narrowed eyes switch over to Scott. “A word?”

He confidently strolls back over to you, disregarding your glare as he begins to pull out all sorts of things. Mushrooms, vegetables, packs and packs of meat. USDA Prime. Jesus Christ— “What are you doing?”

“Unpacking groceries.”

You pinch his side. He’s built like a brick wall, he doesn’t even flinch. “Scott.”

He says your name in response. A teasing lilt hanging to each letter.

“Why are you here? What is all this?”

“Groceries.”

“Don’t be an ass. Why did you extend your trip?”

“To spend time with you.” He begins to organize your fridge. Worst part? He knows exactly how you like your fridge arranged so he’s putting all the things in all the right places.

“I’m serious,” you hiss.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

You swallow, gaze flying to Ben again who’s back to drawing out his dream dog. It looks more like a deformed puppy but you get the gist of it. “We can’t—” you take a deep breath, “Listen, Ben is young. He’s going to latch onto you if you keep coming around.”

“Would that be so bad?”

The question infuriates you. You scowl, “Are you fucking kidding me? That would be a nightmare. What happens when you leave? He’s going to be asking around for Uncle Scott who will never come around again. There’s a reason why I don’t bring around just anyone to meet him.”

Scott’s eyes tighten almost imperceptibly, but you know him better than that. “You bring others around to meet him?”

“I— no, that’s not what I meant. Jenna’s really the only person who comes over other than my mom. The staff at the hospital know because he pops by time to time. I don’t— I’m careful about who I expose him to. I don’t want to have to answer questions about where someone went or pick up the pieces of a boy who shouldn’t have his heart broken because people disappear on him.”

He seems to mull over this for a moment. His next question sends a shock through your system.

“Who says I’m leaving again?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. Traitorous little thing is getting excited for nothing. “What’re you talking about?”

“Storm Par is set up and running. We have a good team down in Oklahoma always collecting data. I’ve been managing mostly strategy and investor relations.” He looks a little too pleased when he says, “I need to be closer to potential funders anyway, a lot of them are in the northeast.”

“You’re not—” Your breath hitches in your throat, “you’re not considering moving back, are you?”

A proud look settles on his face. “Just signed for a sublet for the next couple of months while I look for a more permanent apartment. How’s this neighborhood? I don’t remember it being particularly nice, but it seems good. How do you feel about moving?”

“Scott,” you snap. “That’s insane. You can’t just— that’s crazy. You were literally supposed to leave today. Suddenly, you’re deciding to stay here? On a whim? What’s wrong with you?”

“Not a whim, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve… just decided it’s the right move.”

“In one night?”

“I don’t need more time than that.”

You give him a look. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s efficient decision-making.”

“Scott.”

“What’s for dinner? Does he have any allergies?”

“Scott.”

He takes a deep breath, sapphire eyes dulled out as he looks up at the ceiling, praying for some lord almighty to save him. “We can spend all night arguing about this but it’s a done deal. I like Boston, I’ve decided to come back. Is that so hard to believe?” Before you can say yes, absolutely, Scott continues, “I’ve thought about this for a while. Trust me when I say I am not doing this impulsively and I’m not just going to change my mind.”

The two of you are locked in a stare-down, neither budging. Two stupidly stubborn fools.

Scott’s eyes are jagged when they first land on yours, sharp in a way that could cut. But the longer he looks at you, the more they thaw, like ice melting in the changing of seasons. It’s a soft transition that warms your frozen heart.

However, then his gaze trails to your mouth, the way they’re parted, teeth peeking out in aggravation, tongue pressing against your teeth as your jaw is clenched. His eyes go molten, scorching as they sear into your skin, tracing your bare shoulders, the length of your neck, exposed collarbones.

“Should put more on you,” he mutters.

“What?” You jerk back, confused.

“Nothing. Dinner? I don’t know how to cook.”

“Then get your own damn dinner, I’m not cooking for you.”

He challenges you with a raise of his eyebrow. “But I bought groceries.”

“That I didn’t ask for.”

“I fuckin’ forgot how bull-headed you are sometimes. Arguing for the sake of arguing.” He huffs a laugh through his nose, hip leaning against your counter, eyes sparkling. “If you wanted to fuck, just say so.”

His voice is low, low enough that you know Ben doesn’t catch it over the sound of the television, but it still puts you on high alert. “Can you not say insane things when my son is around?”

“Always picked a fight when you wanted a fuck,” he smirks.

Your lips part, ready to tell him off, but he turns to the sink instead, beginning to wash his hands.

“Now, what do you need help with?”

Scott’s reappearance has thrown your life for a loop, adding this new, uncontrolled variable that you’re not sure how to handle. He drops you off and picks you up from work. The moment he heard that you’ve been taking the train an hour each way to work, he made that call with no room for argument. He refuses to even drop you off a block away from the hospital so you end up with your coworkers’ curious eyes on you when you’re pulling up every morning in Scott’s stupidly shiny car.

“Have a good day at work, honey,” he would call out obnoxiously through the open window.

The furious glare you throw his way does nothing to deter this behavior. Now, you’re bombarded with questions about him every time you have a moment to yourself, which means you no longer have a shred of peace at work.

He comes by nearly every evening; you say nearly because you had to cut him off, tell him that he cannot show up every single day.

“Why not?”

“Scott. You can’t just come here everyday, he’s going to get confused. You are not family.”

“Yet.”

“What?”

“Fine. Every other day, but full weekends.”

It’s a compromise that you tried to negotiate down, but he refuses to budge on.

The worst part is that Scott is terrific with Ben.

He’s smart and answers all of Ben’s questions with tact. The moment your son learns that Scott works with tornadoes, chasing after them and being smack dab in the middle of the action, he’s absolutely enthralled. You have to emphasize to Scott that you will murder him if Ben ever tells him that he wants to be a tornado chaser.

“I’ll protect him, don’t worry,” is all he says.

You still worry.

Beyond that, Ben seems to enjoy his company, has started asking when Uncle Scott would be coming around again so he could show him the progress he’s made on the massive Superman LEGO set that Scott had gotten him.

“You can’t spoil him too much,” you frown when he pops by on his assigned day, a gift box in hand. It’s the fourth in two weeks.

“He’s a kid. He likes toys.”

“You can’t spoil him,” you mutter.

Your worry is partially rooted in the fact that you can’t just give Ben whatever he wants, whenever he wants, but it also stems from your guilt for not being able to provide all this. It’s not as if you’re not making money; you save enough from your salary, but Boston is an expensive city.

Scott seems to understand this. He dials it back, but you know that he’s itching every time Ben mentions something new he’s curious about. He just picks and prioritizes what he gets him.

Otherwise, he’s good. Too good even. That seems to be a pattern when it comes to him.

You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t know he’s the father. It’s less commitment, less pressure. He plays the role of a cool uncle who showers Ben with gifts and attention.

Scott has pressed again, of course — who’s the father, when did this happen, do I need to have a conversation, you could fight for child support — to which you answer no repeatedly. An easy denial to give him none of the answers he’s looking for. It never stops him from asking again; he thinks he’ll wear you down eventually.

Truth be told, you think that Scott will bore himself soon. He can’t possibly be serious about permanently moving back to Boston. You’re convinced that in the next couple of weeks, he’ll realize that this pretend domesticity isn’t the life he wants, and he’ll pack up his bags again and leave. When that day comes, you won’t be disappointed.

As long as he never finds out Ben is his son, you’ll be fine.

(Maybe if you repeat it enough times, you’ll actually believe your own words.)

However, you seem to have a knack for putting your foot in your mouth and speaking too soon, because your worst nightmare comes to fruition one day when you let your guard down. Usually, you do a pretty good job of keeping track of their conversations, making sure they stay on safe territory that gives away nothing. Ben has zero clue about his father anyway, so there’s nothing really to give away.

Or so you think.

You’re caught up trying to balance sending work emails and batting away your mother’s efforts to inquire more about Scott. She’s been badgering you nonstop to learn more about your history, prodding Scott whenever she’s here to share more, even going as far as to drop the most obvious hints.

“You know, she is very single. Incredibly single.”

“Mother!”

“I’m aware,” Scott smirks. “Refuses to let me change that.”

You don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at you now, how your body is tingling all over from the memories. The press of his fingers on your hip, how his mouth feels mapping out the curve of your breasts, the burn between your legs when he pushes himself in with a hungry groan.

Heat unfurls across your face and you’re quick to turn away, missing how your mother and Scott share knowing looks.

But now that she’s not here, she’s still torturing you with incessant, inane questions about him. The only thing you manage to catch in the midst of your stress is Scott saying, “Your birthday’s in Decem—”

You don’t think much of it. Not for a moment. Until it hits you.

By the time you look up, Scott’s already directing his eyes towards you. Your blood runs cold.

It’s not a question. He knows. He’s not a fool.

Born the December in the year that you graduated college, it’s not difficult to do the math on when Ben was conceived. If you retrace your steps, it’s not difficult to know who had done the conceiving.

The two of you don’t address it, not out loud. Not yet. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to configure an excuse or a lie that would work in this instance. You’re running on empty, especially when your heart is beating straight out of your chest. Everything feels hot, your body can’t seem to handle this stress very well.

You have maybe an hour left before Ben’s due for bed and you’re half tempted to keep him awake because that means keeping Scott’s anger at bay. You can feel it roll off him in waves, crackling energy that zaps you even from this distance.

The minutes tick down much too quickly and, before you know it, Ben is yawning on cue and you’re getting him ready for bed. You spend a little longer than necessary tucking him in, reading him his story, all the while Scott is standing in the doorway watching the two of you.

He’s being considerate of Ben, maintaining his distance before he probably rips you a new one. You appreciate it, but you press an extra kiss or two onto your son’s face before you exit the room — for good luck.

When the two of you are back in the living room, Ben completely out cold to the world, Scott doesn’t ask. He simply states the irrefutable truth.

“He’s mine.”

You clear your throat. “Technically, he’s mine.”

“Don’t fucking act cute with me right now,” he snarls, jabbing his finger in the direction of the hallway both of you just left. “That’s my kid in there. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Wincing, you take a step away from him. “Can we not do this?”

“Like hell I’m letting this slide. You’ve got to be shittin’ me. That’s my kid. Ben is mine.”

The pulsing in your head only worsens the harder he glares, the more he seethes. “You’re the father. Doesn’t make him yours.”

You hear the sharp intake of breath. The confirmation landing firm in his chest. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Why does it matter?” You snap, throwing his irritated look right back at him.

“You’ve got to be on another fucking level of insane to think it doesn’t matter.”

“I was going to,” you begin, “tell you, I mean, but the timing never felt right.”

Scott looks at you, completely aghast. “Timing never felt right? You knew. You knew before I left, before we graduated. All those times you didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to eat sushi, this was why. You had all the fucking time in the world to tell me.”

“Would it have changed anything?”

“It would’ve changed everything!”

Your lungs feel devoid of oxygen as you look at Scott, his frustration palpable. Fury is carved into the lines of his face, eyes blazing with the sort of anger you’ve never seen on him. However, in between the twist of his lips and the fire in his gaze, you see a flicker of something warmer. Softer.

Hurt.

The kind of hurt that comes with a betrayal that you cannot take back.

Scott breathes out. “I would’ve been here for you.”

“I never asked you to.”

“You never asked,” he spits out, “you never let me make that decision for myself. Instead, you let me believe that I had fucked up something between us. You cut me off and I didn’t even know why.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” you argue.

“It would’ve been fair,” he insists. “You should’ve trusted me to make my own judgment call.”

Your fingers wring together in front of you. Is this it then? The point of no return. You can’t seem to find the words to say to remedy the situation.

“I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you murmur. “Between me and your dream.” The unsaid words being I didn’t want to watch you choose your dream over me.

Scott has always been larger than life. He is meant for greater things, to innovate and create. He has gone so far since you first met him. He’s become an even bigger person than you could’ve imagined.

What right did you have to hold him back from all that?

“Again, that’s not for you to decide,” he sighs, “Have you ever considered they’re one and the same?” Your gaze flies up to meet his weary one. “You’re an idiot,” Scott mutters. “So fuckin’ stupid.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

“Does he know?”

With a shake of your head, you lean back. “No, he’s been… pretty good at not asking too many questions about who his dad is. It’s only a matter of time before that curiosity grows though, especially once he starts school and the other kids will undoubtedly ask him.”

“I can help you with all that, you know. I am his father after all.”

Wincing, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to, Scott. It was my decision to go through with the pregnancy. You don’t have to feel like you have to participate.”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?” He lets out an exasperated sound. You frown in question. “Like I don’t want to be here. For him. For you.”

“I— I just don’t want you to feel pressured to—”

“Sweetheart,” he begins and your heart feels like it’s been dipped in syrup, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I’ve been present, haven’t I? And that was before I even knew he was mine. What makes you think I’m going to change my mind?”

“It’s different! Being here to support me as a friend and being here as— as his dad! As a parent.”

Scott looks up to the ceiling again, inhaling deep through his nostrils. “Tell me how it’s different.”

“A fun uncle is not a co-parent.”

“So I want to co-parent.”

“You don’t know what that means.”

“It means being here for you, for him. It means having equal responsibility and stakes in raising him. It means you’re not doing this alone.”

A lump grows in your throat as you look at him. His determination is evident.

“So I’m going to need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to piss you off, you’re going to piss me off, but we’ll make it work.”

You laugh, tears pricking the corner of your eye. “Maybe if we don’t kill each other first.”

His lips curve into a smirk. “You can’t kill me. I’m your baby daddy after all. Fucked you so hard that your birth control didn’t work.”

You almost choke on your own spit. “You’re such a piece of shit.”

He laughs. “Don’t forget the father of your child.”

Your fingers are itching to make contact with his cheek. He really can be such an asshole sometimes. He knows exactly which buttons to push. Repeating the fact that he’s Ben’s father, reminding you again that he knows your big secret now. The worst part is you know that he’s doing it intentionally; the more irritated he gets you, the better the sex. He likes it when you fight back, when you push him.

He likes it when he can put you in your place.

“Some friend you are,” you grunt.

Scott’s rising to his feet, moving towards you. With every step he takes forward, he backs you up until your lower spine lands against the kitchen counter.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Scott says low, coming up to press you against the solid surface. With both hands planted on either side of you, he leans towards you. Your breath catches. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a while.”

“That’s… mean,” you whimper.

“The things I want to do with you — to you — they’re not things friends do.”

There’s a promise in his gaze that has your heart fluttering, your stomach curling with desire as heat builds between your legs.

It’s hard to breathe when he’s this close. Hard to even think. Your palm flattens against his firm, broad chest, applying pressure in a feeble attempt to put some distance. Except now you can’t help but feel the way his pecs feel underneath your fingers and you can picture yourself on top of him, sinking down on his cock while your hands are planted on his skin.

Heaven have mercy.

“Things are different now,” you gulp.

“You think I still can’t make you cum three times in a night?”

Your lips part. “That’s not—” Heat climbs up your throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Scott chuckles. “I hope you know that this only makes me want you even more. You’re stupid if you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again.”

“Just because you want to be here and be a father does not mean that it changes anything between us.”

His joy quickly morphs into irritation again. “Why not?”

“Because Ben will always come first and we can’t… just keep fucking.”

“Again, why not?”

Because I’m in love with you. Because I’m going to get my heart broken again.

“I want to maintain some boundaries. It’ll be better for us that way.”

Scott is quiet, thoughtful as he regards you, before he straightens. “Okay then. You do that. You maintain your boundaries.”

“Thank you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll be helpin’ you do that,” he laughs, bitter as he smiles at you. A threat laced into his expression. “Better prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m not here to protect your walls. I’m here to break them down.”

“We should go out.”

Your gaze lifts from your laptop, eyes instinctively wandering down the hall to Ben’s room where he’s safe and sound asleep, then back to Scott who’s on his own laptop on the dining table. “Like to get groceries?”

“No, for dinner.”

You look over your shoulder, to the take-out menus stuck to the fridge with a mismatched set of magnets. “There’s a pizza place Ben likes down the street. We could go tomorrow.”

“Finally letting me in two days in a row?” Scott cocks an eyebrow.

A glare is all he gets in return.

“I meant us. Just the two of us.”

Your fingers stop, hovering over the keyboard. “Why?”

“So I can take you out.”

“Why?”

“To spend some time together. You know, outside of parenting.”

Parenting still sounds foreign on his tongue, at least to you. Scott seems to have settled in comfortably with the title, taking on the mantle even without the official acknowledgment. The two of you agreed to ease Ben into it; he seems to have taken a liking towards Scott so at least telling him may be easier than you initially anticipated.

However, considering the situation at hand, you can only ask, “Why?”

“How old are you?” Scott snaps.

“I don’t think we need to do anything together outside of parenting.”

“Why not?”

It’s your turn to give him a look. “We are two people who happen to be raising a child together. Somewhat.”

“But we’re friends first.”

“I think co-parenting supersedes the friend label now, which means I can’t be doing that with you. Not alone.” 

He knows you’re being obstinate for the sake of it, pissing him off just because you can. However, he doesn’t take the bait. 

“You know what, you’re right, sweetheart. Let me rethink this.”

Scott was never one to give up easily. On the contrary, when presented with a challenge, he rises to the occasion. He goes above and beyond.

It starts off innocuous enough, subtle that you nearly think that all of it is accidental. When he’s trying to help around the kitchen and he reaches across you, arm brushing your breasts. Your nipples perk up on instinct, seeking the familiar warmth of his touch like you’ve been trained. He doesn’t say a thing so you brush it off as inconsequential. His hand on your hip when he’s excusing himself behind you. His eyes on you when he licks his thumb clean off the brownie batter you’re making.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. These tiny touches, interactions that shouldn’t mean anything. You shouldn’t be reacting this way. You tell yourself it’s because it’s been a while since you got laid last — unfortunately, by none other than the source of your frustrations.

But then the touches become firmer, intentional in a way that you can’t miss. He’s slipping an arm around your waist when he picks you up at the hospital, head ducking to press a kiss to the side of your head, all the while you’re mid-conversation with a coworker who then scurries away under Scott’s glare. In the car, he’s sliding a possessive hand over your thigh, squeezing when he asks you about your day. He has a hand pressed against your lower back at all times, practically manhandling you when you move around different spaces.

And god do you fucking love it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been deprived of physical touch for so long, you haven’t had anyone in your corner reminding you that they’re there. But you also know yourself better than that and the only reason all of this works is because it’s Scott and you were in love with Scott.

You tell yourself it’s all in the past. This is the remnants of your feelings long forgotten from your more youthful self.

But then it all disappears. The touches. The fleeting glances. The flirty smiles. The difference is jarring and you can’t help but notice the extra space he puts between the two of you when you’re walking with Ben, keeping him in between you two. Or how he moves away from the kitchen when you enter it, and again when you move into the living room. Or how his question actually sounds polite when he asks you how work went.

How he doesn’t even blink twice when you tell him a colleague — that same one that he had scared away — had asked you out to dinner.

The frustration builds inside of you, like he’s crafting a wall with the distance brick by brick. You find yourself leaning towards him only for him to shift in his seat and away from you. The inches between you on the couch feel like they stretch for miles, his arm extended on the other side instead of behind your back.

You feel like an addict seeking a fix, constantly chasing after him — subtly, not enough for it to be obvious, but certainly enough for him to notice.

So, by the time he suggests it again, he’s Pavlov’d you to seek his attention. Fucker.

“Do you want to spend the day together?”

You grit your teeth. Somehow, Scott has conspired with your mother that she whisked Ben away early this morning for a trip to the zoo and you end up with this asshole at your front door with a smirk on his face, shoulders squared, chin tilted up like he’s done something good.

“You did this on purpose.”

“What did I do?”

He knows exactly what he did. “All of it.”

“Come on. Get dressed.”

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” you snap.

“Nowhere you need anything fancy,” he says before steering you by the elbow out the door.

You allow yourself to be pushed into the car, he even straps your seatbelt in for you, before he’s driving. Destination still unknown. You try to ask and Scott tells you to just relax, tells you that you’re wrung up too tight.

Then he stops and you look quizzically out the window.

“I got you a massage appointment.”

You nearly break your neck at the speed you whip around to look at him. “What? Why?”

“Thought it would be a nice thing to do. You used to gather knots like you were starting a collection and I had to press all of that out for you. Figured, with all the years of build up and I highly doubt you’ve been smoothing those out, a professional could do a better job.”

At a loss, you find yourself only staring at him. He looks cocky, so damn proud that he’s done something right — that he knew exactly what you needed.

“Now get going, they’re not gonna find another timeslot for you.”

With your mind in a blur, you exit the vehicle. The spa is nice, a mix of lavender and eucalyptus in the air that has you relaxing almost instantly. The experience is… divine to say the least. For once, you have not a single thought in your mind and you find yourself melting into the table during your two-hour long session.

By the time you step back outside, after the people inside tell you that it’s been paid for, Scott is waiting out front. In a daze, you slip back into the car.

“Good?” is all he asks.

You nod slowly.

“Good,” he smiles, “now, let’s get you ready for dinner.”

Scott tells you that he’s taking you somewhere casual, but nice. Nice enough that you end up spending a bit of time washing your hair, doing your makeup, even fixing your hair a little bit. When you spritz on perfume, you tell yourself that it’s for your sake.

But you can’t deny that when you see Scott drink you in — how his blue eyes go ten shades darker, how his lips part when he gets a whiff of the florals clinging onto your skin — that it might’ve been for him too.

You would think a man like Scott would take you somewhere nice, somewhere you’re going to be gawking at the prices all night, wondering if you should even be in a place like that. But when he pulls up to a quiet corner in Cambridge, an Italian restaurant that seems all too familiar, you find yourself caught off guard.

“What? You would’ve preferred steak and fries at Del Frisco’s?” He’s chuckling quietly to himself, knowing full well what your answer would be.

Before you can reach for your door, Scott’s rounding the car and pulling it open, even going as far as to offer a hand.

He’s a perfect gentleman the entire night. When you hesitate on ordering because of the prices, Scott — the condescending prick that he is — orders for you, except he orders right. You’ve been eyeing that dish but you couldn’t do the math fast enough to figure out your budget for the month. He orders a bottle of red, your favorite — it’s nothing fancy, but it had been a step up when you felt like splurging in college. The food is delicious, reminiscent of the old days when he would treat you to a meal to make you feel better, right after he fucked you seven ways to Sunday.

You’re warm, body buzzing with your fill of food and wine. For the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter, like the world isn’t weighing down on your shoulders. Scott drives you back home and he stops right in front of your apartment building.

You know what’s coming. A proposition — as always. You’re going to say yes — as always. He’s always been a snake charmer, saying and doing all the right things to get one into bed with him. It worked on you for months. It used to work on all the ladies before he stopped using it on them.

It still works on you, considering you’re feeling that warmth between your legs. That anticipation humming in your veins. You can practically taste his mouth on you, the tartness from the wine mixed with the gelato you ordered for dessert. You take a breath in eager hopefulness.

However, when he walks you to the apartment entrance, he only kisses the back of your hand. “Have a good night, sweetheart.” Then he’s slowly making his way down the steps, leaving you completely gobsmacked.

You find yourself saying, “Wait,” before you can even think twice.

Scott halts, turns, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

You should have more self-restraint. But when he’s looking at you with those bright blue eyes and an expression that promises you a good time, you’re only human.

“What is it?”

You fidget with the handle of your purse. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” he drawls, tilting his head like he’s waiting to see your next move.

“You’re not gonna stay?”

Scott’s lips quirk up, shfiting into a look too cocky for your liking. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Doesn’t sound like you do,” he makes a face, raising his shoulders in a shrug as he pretends to slowly turn back around.

You should let him go. You hope he has fucking blue balls tonight. However, that also means you’ll be left alone with your thoughts in an empty apartment and your vibrator on a Saturday night, and that sounds a heck of a lot less fun than getting your brains scrambled by the one man who knows exactly how to do that.

“Do you want to come up?”

It’s comical how quickly he whirls around to say, “Don’t mind if I do.”

The ride up the elevator is weighed down by tense silence. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears in time with the numbers that climb, a beep in rhythm to each floor. Scott stands next to you, hands planted on the railing casually, but you hear the impatient tapping of his shoe. When the elevator finally dings, he lets you leave first and you feel the burn of his gaze on your back, trailing the length of you down to the curve of your ass where the silk of your dress rests.

Your fingers are barely functional as you clumsily dig through your purse to open the door. It’s one thing to have someone watching you, it’s another to have Scott staring at you. The hungry look in his eyes, the way you can practically feel the heat radiate off him.

You don’t even get a chance to properly set aside your bag before Scott is pressing you up against the wall. He drinks in your surprised little gasp, your instinct to move away from him only has him backing you up against your kitchen counter. With you half-seated on it, Scott’s hands slide around your neck, cupping your cheeks so he can lick into your mouth. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in between your little gasps, tasting that sugar on your tongue.

“Fuck, sweetheart, been waiting to do that all night,” he groans as his mouth travels towards your neck instead, sucking on the delicate skin until you feel the sting spark every nerve inside your body. He does it over again, like he’s zapping you with electricity every time he leaves a new mark on your body.

You’re no better, your hands immediately crawling up his chest to find his buttons and fumble with them, slipping them out one at a time until you can shove his shirt off his shoulders. God, how is it possible that he seems even broader than before? Your palms explore his biceps, feeling the way they flex beneath your fingertips, muscles tensing into a firm surface for you to hold onto.

“You got… bigger,” you note in a daze. It’s ridiculous how drunk you feel right now and it’s certainly not from the wine. It’s his scent — masculine and clean. Like rain on freshly mowed grass, earthy in a way that grounds you. You can’t help but breathe him in, making a mental note that he still uses the same shampoo.

“A lot of time lugging around equipment out there,” he mutters. As if to prove a point, he lifts you up to the counter and wraps your legs around his waist. “Always getting drenched in the storms.”

Fuck. Terrible visual. You imagine him in a white short-sleeve shirt, the fabric soaking up all that rain and clinging to every inch of his muscles and leaving nothing to the imagination. His dusky nipples poking through the fabric. Curly brunette hair with droplets, that one stray hair on his forehead whenever it gets too humid. You can practically see the light smattering of hair on his chest, a path leading down to his navel.

God forbid that the women in Oklahoma have seen him like that. That’s a visual you’d rather keep to yourself.

Scott distracts you again when he brings his face back to kiss you. He kisses like he’s inhaling you, stealing every hitched breath from your lungs. His mouth is ravenous as it moves against you, teeth grazing your bottom lip lightly in a tantalizing threat. He finally nips and you let out a little whine that he laughs lightly at as he kisses you harder. Firmer. Soft lips, only slightly chapped, as they relearn what it is exactly that makes you moan down his throat.

“Love kissing you,” he mutters, “missed doing this. I want to do this everyday.”

You’re about to tell him why that would be a bad idea but you sigh dreamily instead, tipping your head back when he begins trailing wet kisses along your jawline again.

His hands wander to your back, dragging the zipper down quietly until your dress pools on the floor. His thumb brushes over your nipples peaking through the lace. “Missed these pretty tits too. Couldn’t get enough of them last time.” He ducks his head and tugs one free from your bra, lips closing in around your nipple in a wet heat. His groan reverberates straight through you, tongue laving around your pert nipple like he’s trying to coax it out.

As he does so, his other hand reaches for the clasp of your bra until you hear the little sound before it slides down your shoulders.

“Hands on the counter.”

“Bossy,” you murmur, but do so anyway.

Scott looks mildly surprised at your obedience and you can’t even bring yourself to care. You lean back slightly and spread your legs wider to let him step in between them, his mouth warm and sweet on your tits. He mouths hungrily at your breasts, biting, squeezing, until you’re a moaning mess arching into his touch. One of his hand slides down to your lower spine to yank you closer to him, pressing your core against the thickness in his pants.

“I’ve been hard all night lookin’ at you in that pretty dress,” Scott growls, “knew exactly what you looked like underneath it, couldn’t wait to take it off you.”

You appear to have lost your entire vocabulary when he slips that hand from your back to the space between you, two fingers against the panties that’s quickly gathering moisture. The whine that is pulled from your lips is instinctual. Pure primal need.

“Imagining you stretched out on that massage bed, naked, slicked up in oil. Fuck, I had to drive around and keep myself busy for two hours so I didn’t go back and do the job myself,” he huffs a laugh as he begins rubbing your clit over the material, arousal easing the slick of his fingers even with one layer between the two of you.

A gasp is wrenched from your throat as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “That’s— that’s ridiculous.”

Scott hums, shaking his head, pressing harder, pulling out another needy sound. “Stop bein’ so tense. You’re undoing all of that woman’s hard work.” Your eyes light up briefly. “I wasn’t going to let some other man touch you. I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re such a possessive asshole,” you let out a breathless laugh, “it’s just a massage.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be the only one that gets to touch these pretty tits. Not to mention, this—” he slides his fingers under your panties, gathering up the arousal from you slick folds on his fingertips and listening to the lewd squelch as he dips his fingers in just a tad. “You’re so goddamn wet.”

Instead of clamping your legs shut, embarrassed like you always have been, you can’t help but let your thighs fall apart further, giving him room to give you the pleasure that you so badly needed.

“You’re so much easier when you’re not stressed.”

That snaps you awake. “Oh, fuck you.”

Scott pushes two fingers in, the slide is swift and wet. “Just like that,” he grins as he slowly drags his fingers out only to shove them back in. He’s rough and he’s messy, you can hear how wet you are as he watches you come undone, thumb against your clit like he has something to prove. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over the counter. You’re so messy, pretty girl.”

“S-Scott,” you moan, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I c-can’t, mmm, please.”

“I know, I know, still so tight, aren’t you? I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as he slowly sinks to his knees. You look down to find him with his starry eyes looking right up at you as he sticks his fingers in his mouth. You can see the moment his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you, tongue lecherously poking out to lick his fingers clean. “Better than dessert.”

“You’re so corny—” your words split off into a choked gasp when Scott dives in between your legs. His tongue drags all the way up to your clit until you’re bucking against his mouth. He licks and devours, the roughness of his tongue sliding up your slick folds, lips closing in around your core, your clit, to suck until you’re shuddering against him. “Fuck, Scott, wait, slow down.”

Scott leans away, giving you a brief moment of reprieve — except, when you look down at him, his bottom half is glistening in the moonlight that spills across your floors. His eyes return to your pussy, just beneath your stomach that’s rising and falling with your labored breaths.

His index and middle fingers rest on each of your lips as he slowly pries them apart, your pussy pulses and there’s no doubt that he catches that movement. The slight tensing, squeezing, inside of you. “Look at this pussy spreading so wet and easy for me. She’s droolin’, sweetheart.”

As if he can sense another argument on your lips, Scott leans forward again to press kisses onto your inner thigh, blooming warmth with every spot he touches. He kisses up and up until he’s back with his face between your legs, your thighs closing in around his head until he’s practically suffocating in your cunt.

It’s the way he likes it though. His hands on your ass to drag you forward so he can tongue-fuck you faster, knowing full well you’re enjoying it when you’re grinding against his face with tears leaking from your eyes and his name said in prayer.

That pleasure coils humiliatingly fast in your stomach. You can feel your climax, long abandoned, surfacing quickly. God, it feels so good, his mouth — it’s only gotten better. You hate to think if he fucked anyone else while he was away, because — of course he did, he was a hot young bachelor in bumfuck Oklahoma. He was probably the hottest shit down there.

Scott scowls up at you, “You’re tensing up again, what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, pressing your lips together.

He rises to his feet, fingers catching your chin. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you snap irritably. Great, now you’re thinking about some cute girl in a cowboy hat he’s probably fucked the same way he did you.

“You just stiffened up again. Either you tell me, or I won’t fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, “Holding sex hostage? Real mature.” Well, two can play that game. “If you won’t fuck me, I’m sure I’ve got a few people on my dating apps that have been begging to.”

Scott’s eyes flash, your heart palpitates a little too aggressively. “Yeah? You wanna try that again with me?” Your mouth dries. “Sweetheart, you’re cute if you think I’m letting anyone else near this pretty pussy of yours. You think anyone can get you off?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“You’re mine,” he breathes out, catching your lips again. You can taste yourself on him, his moan vibrating against your mouth.

But you can’t deny his words. Instead, you let him pick you up and carry you all the way to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop kissing you the entire way, stealing your breath every chance he gets. Your back lands on the mattress, Scott climbing over you and pressing your legs into your chest.

“Love fucking you just like this,” he murmurs, applying just a little more pressure. “Maybe I can put another baby in you.”

“Scott!” You gasp.

“Fuck, I wasn’t even around when you were pregnant. I’d do it right this time. Make sure you’re taken care of — however that may be. Heard the first trimester’s roughest, probably needed a cock to fill you up, hm? Fill you up and get you so stupidly cockdrunk you won’t have the mouth to talk back to me.”

Another protest sits on your tongue but then Scott’s unzipping his pants and his cock, thick and throbbing, is in his hands, tip sitting at your entrance. You can feel your pussy dripping onto him, a trail of slick that slides down the length of him.

“I could fuck you, cum in you as much as I want — not like I didn’t already,” he chuckles, “no more risk of getting you pregnant twice. God, I could do that to you, sweetheart. Want another kid with me?”

“You’re— fuck, you’re insane.”

Scott only grunts as he begins pushing into you. “So fuckin’ tight. I need to teach your pussy how to take me again. You were so sweet and loose for me back then, we fucked so much, your cunt was shaped to my cock. Can’t wait to do that again.”

The ache burns between your legs as Scott stretches you out, your pussy opening up painfully slowly for him. You hold your breath, tensing up as he whispers for you to relax, to just keep your legs open and let him take what he needs. Your eyes roll when he finally buries himself all the way, the head kissing the deepest parts of you.

“S-shit, fuck, that feels so good. You feel like heaven.”

“Please, please just move,” you whine.

“I know, baby, but I can’t fuck you too fast, gonna hurt you. My cock barely fits in this tight pussy of yours,” Scott coos, dragging back his hips and slowly coaxing you open with a push of his cock. “I gotta go easy on her. She’s not used to being filled up, is she?”

You call him an asshole in your head, because you don’t trust your voice not to break in the haze of your pleasure.

“Pretty girl hasn’t had anyone taking care of her in a while.”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” you defend with a snap.

“Yeah? What? Those vibrators I see you hiding? Doesn’t feel the same, does it? You needed someone to fuck you properly.” Scott smirks, “Maybe I should’ve given you a dildo shaped to my cock. That way you could fuck yourself on it whenever you missed me. I’d make you call me when you do that, wanna hear you beg for my cock while you push it inside you. Better yet, I want to see you while you ride it and realize it ain’t the same as the real thing.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” you hiss and, sure enough, it melts into a moan when Scott drives into you again, and again, and again.

“What does it say about you when I can feel you chokin’ out my cock at the thought of it?” He laughs, taunting. “You’re as fucked up as I am, sweetheart. How do you think we made a baby in the first place?”

Oh fuck, Scott feels you open up to him, mold around him. That pain dulls into a throb that only serves to weave desire between your legs. You clench around him, pussy pulsing with his every word, as he fucks deep inside of you. He pushes you back into this mating press, groaning when he feels himself reach deeper inside you.

“Shit, baby, this pussy is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I gave this up for years. Missed fucking this gorgeous cunt so bad,” he swallows. That vein on his neck goes taut as he tries to stop himself. “You still on the pill?”

You nod weakly, fingers digging into his biceps as he pounds into you, his hips jerking faster and harder.

Then he laughs and it sounds mean and your stomach twists. “Didn’t do us much good last time though, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. If you get knocked up again, I’ll be here. I’ll be here to fuck all that stress out of you, give you all the massages that’ll end with my head between your legs. Get you all your cravings so you can show your appreciation with your mouth on my cock.”

It’s disgusting, The thought of returning favors when he’s the one who gets you pregnant, but something about it has you tightening, punched in the stomach with a level of arousal that you can’t seem to contain.

“Don’t need to use this pretty brain of yours, baby. Just gonna have you barefooted waddling around and you can let me take real good care of you,” he pants, sweat beading his forehead as he fucks into you faster, holding himself back harder. “Make sure you and our baby are good. Don’t you worry.”

“F-fuck you,” you stutter as he drives back into you.

The bed creaks under the pressure of his thrusts, you’re getting fucked into the mattress that you can feel your body imprinting onto the bed. “That’s right. Good girl. Gonna make you a mommy again, sweetheart. Gonna put another baby into you. You’re already so cockdrunk, you won’t even know. I’m not letting you out of here until it takes.”

That knocks all the oxygen from your chest. “Shit, Scott— hold on.”

“Can’t do that,” he grunts, “pussy feels too good. Can’t get enough of this hole. I’m going to fill you up, baby. You’re gonna be leakin’ my cum for days. Maybe I’ll send you to get another massage and they’ll see you dripping my cream.”

Scott pounds into you, each word filthier than the next. He’s driving himself and you into a frenzy as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, squelching bouncing off your four walls.

“I’m gonna print my cock in your pussy so nobody else can touch you.”

“Breed this pussy so good, keep you plugged up with my cum for days.”

“This pussy was meant to be fucked, sweetheart. You don’t need princess treatment, just need to be fucked like you need another baby in you.”

It’s filthy. It’s demeaning. It’s a fucking turn-on.

“‘M gonna— shit, Scott, hnnng, please, gonna cum.”

“Yeah, you wanna cum, pretty girl? You wanna cum around my cock?”

You can only nod in your haze, desperate, eager.

“Cum around me, sweetheart. I wanna feel that cream coating my cock. I wanna feel that stickiness, feel what it’s like to have my girl feel so good because of me.”

Scott pounds into you faster, deeper as he fucks you harder into the mattress. He presses you further in this position, tilting your hips up until you’re climbing and climbing and falling apart around him with a loud whine. Your body trembles with the force of your orgasm, legs quaking around him as he drags out your climax with every thrust until he himself is spilling warmth inside you. You can feel the mess in your insides, feel it slosh around, feel it leak from where you two are joined.

“Fuck,” he groans, “cumming so much, sweetheart. Fillin’ her right up.”

Your heart slams against your chest as you feel exactly that.

Scott’s hips are still jerking with his cum spurting right into you. He refuses to budge, staying there until he’s sure everything’s out. Even then, he nudges his hips a little deeper, like he’s making sure his cum stays in there.

He eases out of you slowly, but he doesn’t let go of the pressure on your legs, keeping your hips up as he watches his cum ooze out of you. His brows pucker in annoyance as he uses two fingers to push it back into you.

You wince, pussy sensitive from the friction earlier. “Gross.”

“You like it.”

You do. It’s stupid but you do. Something about him staking his claim, leaving a part of him inside you, it’s just the kind of thing that has you squeezing around his fingers again.

Scott smirks. “Do you want me to clean you up?”

Your stupid, traitorous, dysfunctional brain says no. For some reason, you really like feeling his cum inside you. But you know that the correct answer is— “Yes.” It’s the only reason Scott asks – because he knows.

His eyes scan you for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then he sighs and lets your legs down gently as he disappears, coming back only when he has a damp cloth in hand. It’s so strange for him to be so familiar with your place to know where things are.

At the same time — so right.

He wipes you clean, murmuring to himself about how pretty you look with his cum inside you. You try not to let your lips stretch too wide with the heat rolling across your face.

When he’s done, Scott slides himself in next to you, pulling you close.

That’s when you freeze because — what is this? What are you? The panic sinks in fast and you feel fear claw at your chest. You have a son. You can’t be doing — whatever the fuck this is — with his dad, who he doesn’t even know is his dad.

“Scott—”

“Sleep.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “You can’t be here when Ben comes home tomorrow morning.”

Scott exhales long and hard, like he’s had enough of your shit. “Why not? I get full weekends, don’t I? That includes mornings. Now sleep.”

“Sleep in your own home! You can come back tomorrow.”

Before you know it, you’re back on your back and Scott’s on top of you, pinning you down with a glare. “Sweetheart, it seems like I didn’t fuck you hard enough. If I did, then you wouldn’t be thinkin’ whatever the fuck is going through that big head of yours right now. So, I’m going to fuck you again, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you stop treatin’ me like I’m some shameful one-night stand. I’m the father of your child — our child. So take your pick — do you want me to fuck you again until your head’s too full of cock to argue, or do you want to sleep?”

You open your mouth. Sleep is on the tip of your tongue, but then you feel him and his gaze warm on you and your legs press together on instinct.

He chuckles, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Good answer.”

Sure enough, he keeps his promise and you only find yourself falling asleep when he gives you your third orgasm of the night.

There is no monumental shift. Scott acts the same way he always has — at least around Ben.

He tries to maintain some level of distance but you can tell that he’s getting a little antsy about his own son not knowing who he is. Every time he asks you, you have to shoot it down, mainly for Ben’s sake.

But you also know that you raised a good, smart kid, which means it’s not surprising when Ben asks, “Who’s Uncle Scott really?”

“He is—” you pause, “—a friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

Fuck.

“No, he’s just a friend — like the kind you’ll meet in school.”

Ben looks at the television where there’s an interview of Scott playing, the one from a local station talking about his startup. “You love him?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. Warmth creeps up on you and Ben must notice it because he’s smiling softly, patting your hand.

“I like him,” Ben gives his nod of approval before turning back to the LEGOs in front of him.

A four-year-old just reassured you that he likes his dad. His dad that he still doesn’t know about. You know it isn’t fair and you will tell him at some point, you’re just not sure how to have that conversation yet — not when Scott’s time here is uncertain, despite what he says.

Still, while Scott keeps things steady with Ben, he switches tactics with you. His hand is always touching you — your hip, your back, your shoulders. Subtle touches like a reminder that he’s here. It’s oddly comforting and you find yourself seeking his touch more than before.

Around your son, he still maintains some distance, even when you can tell he’s itching to get closer. The two of you are at the grocery store, you’re driving the cart while Ben runs ahead, giggling and pointing at everything he wants — which is really anything with at least twenty grams of added sugar.

Scott has an amused smile on his lips as he watches him.

“Think he could be a runner someday. Has the makings of an athlete. Maybe football,” he says, almost proudly with his chest puffed up.

You roll your eyes, “I’d rather avoid my son getting his head knocked around.”

“Or entrepreneur, he has a way with making you do things, you know. Smart. Manipulative.”

“Where do you think he got that from?”

Scott only smirks.

You’re scanning through your list when you realize, “Shit, I forgot to grab butter and it’s up the aisle.”

“I’ll grab it,” he says, squeezing your hip, “just get what you need here.”

Ben insists on getting chocolate milk, mainly because he’s convinced the chocolate cow on the box is real. You tell him that you could get the smaller version and that you’ll take him to a farm one day and realize that there are no cows that produce chocolate milk.

“With Uncle Scott? In Oka— Okla—” He struggles, frowning when he can’t remember.

Oh. “Oklahoma,” you add, “maybe. I’m sure there are closer farms.”

His mouth opens in a bright grin.

When you finally cave and put both the chocolate milk and the regular milk in the cart, you look back down the aisle to see Scott standing there.

Talking to a woman.

A woman who was very much his type before he met you.

Your chest pinches with an unfamiliar feeling. It’s understandable that Scott has seen and is probably still seeing other women. The two of you don’t have a label on things, nothing you can tape to his forehead that says off limits.

She looks young, sweet, dressed like she has a life. She’s smiling up at him, giggling at something he’s saying in a way where you know it’s not because he’s funny. She reaches up to touch his arm and he takes a step back, a polite smile in place, then he’s saying something and looking at you. And then she’s looking at you too, face souring.

Alright then.

You turn away again, continuing to push the cart as Ben sets his mind on cereal next. He’s been on a Lucky Charms kick and you desperately need to move him off it. It’s all sugar and food coloring.

Scott appears next to you, a hand on your lower back as he puts the butter box in the cart. He peeks at your list. “Cereal next?”

“Um, yeah,” you say, eyes going over your shoulder to catch another glimpse of that woman. “She was cute.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Your lips immediately curl and Scott catches it before you can school your expression. “Didn’t get her number?”

“Told her I’m with my wife and kid,” he smirks.

Wife and kid— you’re not even sure how to respond to that, so you resort to clearing your throat with a deadpan look. “Glad to hear we can be used to avoid women you don’t like.”

“Well, I was only half lying, wasn’t I?” He huffs as the two of you turn the corner, finding Ben already with a box of Lucky Charms in hand. You sigh as Scott mutters under his breath, “Not too late to make it all completely true though.”

You try to convince Ben that cornflakes are much more fun, which is the least convincing argument you can make, until Scott steps in and says that cornflakes make him super strong like the rooster on the cover. So Ben swaps out his pick for a box of Froot Loops and declares that he wants to be strong like this bird instead.

It isn’t until the two of you are unloading groceries into his car that it hits you, and the bag nearly slips from his fingers.

Make it all completely true. Wife and kid.

“Took you long enough,” Scott chuckles smugly. “Give it some thought. Maybe we can stop by the jewelers on the way back.”

Scott is relentless to say the least. He has increased the frequency of touching, has made it all the more obvious in front of everyone. Your coworkers all know him by name, chatting with him when you wrap up work late. Sometimes, he’s the one who picks Ben up from your mom’s and brings him to meet you at the hospital.

Your mom, of course, is over the moon. She can’t stop gushing over him, telling you how he helped her fix her leaky faucet, how he’s always on time to pick up Ben even when he’s still in the middle of work, and “Did you know he was featured in Forbes?”

He finally invites you and Ben over for dinner in his new apartment. It’s much more spacious, a two-bedroom that’s twice the size of yours — one of which he has set up for Ben. So Ben is also over the moon when he sees how massive his bedroom is. He asks if the two of you can stay and you only manage a tight-lipped smile before you redirect your glare towards Scott.

“Your place too,” Scott says casually, handing you an extra set of keys. “In case you ever need some more space.”

Later, he also shows you that he’s left most of the closet empty in the master bedroom. “In case you need to stay over.”

It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful.

It’s too much.

You don’t even know where you stand with him. He takes you out again and then another time; you tell yourself that this is just friends hanging out, but you know it’s different when you end up in his bed at the end of the evening. The first time you slept with him at his and tried to leave after, you realize that your shoes are nowhere to be found.

“Where are my shoes?”

“I knew you were going to pull some stupid shit like this. So I hid them.”

“What the fuck? Are you four?”

“No, but our son is. Now get your ass back into bed.” You cross your arms over your chest, planting your foot down in protest. Scott regards you coolly. “You either come here on your own accord or I’m throwing you over my shoulder.”

He doesn’t make threats lightly, so you stomp all the way back to his bedroom where Scott proceeds to fuck you over again and makes sure that you have no energy left to move.

Things are… good.

For the first time in years, you feel almost at peace. Ben’s a good kid, raised right, adored by all around him. He’ll start school next year with a stronger support system, what with Scott vowing to attend every parent-teacher conference and other events that require his presence. The two of you agree to tell Ben in a month — a month to prepare for the conversation.

You can’t even imagine what it’s like — living four years of your life never seeing your father and then suddenly dropping one in his lap. Well, you suppose it isn’t very sudden considering Scott’s been around more often than not. Part of you hopes that Ben is hopeful about Scott, it’ll make the conversation easier.

That being said, your work schedule has been atrocious which means you haven’t had the chance to really sit down with him and have a conversation on how to broach the topic with your son. The one time you finally manage to get off work early, you decide to swing by Scott’s; he works from home and you figured all three of you could do dinner together at that pizza place.

The key rests between your fingers, pinched tight as you stare at it.

You should just ring the doorbell. Right? It isn’t your home. But Scott gave you a key and what if he’s still in the middle of something? What if he has someone else in there? No, you shouldn’t use the key. Then again, he shouldn’t have given you a key if he would be doing anything he wouldn’t want you to see.

The internal debate persists until you decide fuck it and push the key into the lock. You open the door slowly, quietly, nothing like your own creaky one. Scott’s nowhere to be found in his giant living room with his giant television. You look at that giant screen with envy, thinking about how wonderful movie nights would be with that setup. Scott has already insisted on doing movie nights at his instead, stocking up on popcorn and sugar, and you’re tempted to agree.

Muffled voices carry down the hall. He’s probably in the bedroom so you silently make your way over in case he’s on a call.

“Yeah, I’ll be back next week, alright,” Scott says, sounding agitated. You get a peek through the bedroom door and find him pacing.

An open suitcase in front of him.

Your heart drops. The scene is all too familiar. It’s like you’re twenty-two again, left behind in this town while he goes off to chase his dreams — only this time, he had promised you he would stay. Only this time, it won’t only be your heart he’ll break.

“I know it’s takin’ me a while,” he grunts, scrounging his hand through his hair, “no, I still need to pick up my shit.”

You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line but it’s clear that he doesn’t seem very pleased. A sigh heaves from his chest as he looks out the window, a mournful expression painted onto his face.

“I have to tie up some loose ends.”

Loose ends? You swallow thickly. That’s— is he talking about you? About Ben? He’s supposed to be back in Oklahoma next week. No doubt whoever is on the other side is someone at work. But he had promised you he would stay — right? He had said that he would be sticking around. Why else would he get an apartment? Why would he set the bedroom up for Ben otherwise?

But your mind has spiraled beyond the point of reason. Your survival instincts kick in again; you never want to be the person left behind. Not again. Not after that first time. So you should leave first. It’ll make it easier for the both of you.

Scott won’t have to break the news and you — you can let that hope quietly slip away.

All you can do now is… leave.

So you do. You take one step back then another and another until you’re in his kitchen. You open one of the drawers and tuck the extra set of keys he gave you inside; after all, you won’t be needing those anymore. Then you’re out the door.

You’re functioning numb as you get home. Ben greets you with a big smile and so does your mom. You force yourself to smile too and ask if the two of them want pizza for dinner. Your mom looks at you with a silent question asking where Scott is. You only shake your head.

When Scott calls you as you’re getting ready to leave for the restaurant, you don’t pick up.

Not feeling so hot.

His face appears on your screen as your phone vibrates with the incoming call. You curse yourself for texting so quickly.

“Hey,” you try to rasp.

“What is it? A cold? A fever? I can grab medicine and dinner on the way there. Maybe that wonton noodle soup from—”

“No, don’t,” you blurt out, “I, uh, don’t want to get you sick.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” You can practically imagine his annoyed scowl. He’s probably shrugging on his jacket, you can hear the jingle of his keys as he heads to the door. “What do you want to eat? You like that wonton soup right? It’s on the way to yours.”

“Scott, please.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, “just give me a few days to recover and I’ll text you, okay.”

Silence on the other end means that he’s giving it actual thought. Then you hear the long exhale. “Fine. Call or text me if you need anything. Seriously.” He clears his throat, “You know, your mom could also take Ben for a few days. I’ll come take care of you.”

You bite your tongue, blinking away the tears as you stare up at the ceiling. You can’t get used to this, can’t get used to someone checking in on you, putting you first. This isn’t the kind of thing that lasts.

“No, I promise I’ll be okay.”

You call in sick for work, which shocks your entire team because you’re the type to drag yourself out of your deathbed to make sure you don’t miss a day. You’re not sure you like this reputation.

Jenna calls your bullshit out immediately. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, picking on the lint on your pajama pants. You’re waiting for Ben to wake up so the two of you can spend the day together. He’s a little confused why you’re at home for a few days, but he certainly isn’t complaining.

“Does it have something to do with hottie Scottie?”

You wince, “That’s a gross nickname. Never say that again.”

“So it does, what did he do?”

It’s not what he did. It’s what he’s about to do. “It’s not a big deal. I just needed a break. Gonna spend some time with Ben.”

“Well, Ben loves her cool Aunt Jenna so I’ll swing by after with fried chicken?”

Your lips twitch. She always knows the right things to say. “Sounds good.”

On the other hand, you spend the rest of the week dodging Scott’s every attempt to come visit. You tell him that your cold has only gotten worse (you’re fresher than a spring chicken), that your mom is taking Ben for a few days (he’s sitting at the dining table), and that you are doing fine otherwise (your heart is splintering in your chest).

He sounds frustrated over the phone and, when he does visit, you pretend that you’re too sick to see him, refusing to let him through the door.

“This is fucking ridiculous. You have a cold. I’ll be fine,” he snaps through the front door. “Will you just let me in?”

Once again, you emphasize that that’s not good practice and colds are highly contagious. You can hear Scott’s feet shuffling outside, his annoyed grunts.

“Can you just let me in?” He breathes out deeply, “Please. I haven’t seen you in days and I really want to. I just want to make sure you’re good.”

Your forehead presses against the cool door. You tell yourself to stay strong. Don’t give in so easily. So again, you deny him entry and he finally leaves.

On Sunday, he calls and you at least pick that up. “I have to fly out to Oklahoma for a few days,” he mutters, “I’ll be back. Call me, text me, fucking email me if you need to — if you need anything at all, alright.”

“I’ll be fine,” you whisper.

You’re tying up those loose ends for him.

Scott goes radio silent for the first half of the week. You think this is finally it. He’s finally cutting you loose and maybe he’s simply going to fade into a distant memory. You’re back at work when he leaves Boston, your coworkers peppering you with questions about your absence. Jenna keeps the wolves at bay, telling all of them to give you some space.

“You need to talk to me at some point,” she gives you a look.

You lick your lips, mouth trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been too afraid to say. Because it’s one thing to think it, it’s another to admit it aloud. “Scott’s gone.”

“What?” She jerks back, “What do you mean he’s gone?”

Pushing around your peas, you sigh. “He’s in Oklahoma.”

“Temporarily right?”

You shrug. “Feel like it might be for good.”

“Did he tell you that?”

No, but you heard his conversation and it’s all about the words that are said behind your back that matter, right?

“Hon, listen to me. I’ve never seen a man more obsessed in my life. That guy’s in love with you.”

To that, you laugh, heart a little lighter for some odd reason. “He’s just being a good friend. He probably felt guilty after — you know — finding out that he knocked me up.”

She gives you a look. “If you seriously believe that, I’m going to have to take you up to neuro to get your head checked.”

On Thursday, you’re finally settling with the possibility that this really is it. You’ll be okay; you survived once without him, you can do it again. Instead, you focus strictly on work, drowning in the mountains of paperwork and unfinished studies. While you’re doing all that, your phone lights up with Scott’s name.

You don’t pick up. The last thing you need while you’re stressed out of your mind is to hear him apologize, hear him tell you that he’s changed in his mind. You can have your heart ripped out of your chest later.

Blissful ignorance is better than blatant rejection, that’s always been your motto.

You’re ready for a night of full decompression, which means you’re going to cuddle up with your baby and maybe fall asleep on the couch after a filling dinner of grease. “I’m home,” you call out.

The sight before you has you freezing. Scott’s on the couch — your couch — with Ben on his lap. They’re reading one of Ben’s favorite books and your son is giggling uncontrollably. Now, he is facing the front which means he can’t see Scott’s expression.

And that is a look that has your entire body stiffening in the doorway. You’re almost tempted to run again, but how could you abandon your son? So you try to ignore your buzzing nerves.

“Mom!”

“Hey, buddy,” you smile weakly, closing the door behind you. “Where’s, uh, my mom?”

“She left earlier, said I should spend some time with Ben and you,” he smiles. It’s sweet. It’s a sickeningly sweet smile, which means you know better than to trust it. “Ben here was just telling me about all the fun you had last week. All week in fact. Said you weren’t going to work so you two could spend all day together. Outside.”

Well.

“We watched a baseball game and then got ice cream!” Ben announces cheerily. Then he begins to list down everything you did last week — everything — and he is completely unaware that he’s digging a deeper grave for his own mother.

“That so?” Scott chuckles, patting his head. “Your mom’s a real miracle worker, isn’t she? Real healthy and spry to be doing all those things.”

The evening is tense, mostly for you. Your back is ramrod straight as Scott insists on cooking dinner and you have to keep a close eye to make sure he doesn’t add anything to your food. There are smarter ways to take you out, none of them ideal for you. Ben seems to sense the thickness of the air, eyes darting between the two of you.

Of course, neither of you show a thing but the anger that rolls off Scott is nothing short of obvious. So Ben then proceeds to declare that he wants to sleep early.

He never sleeps early. He’s just hit you with a second strike.

You busy yourself with getting him ready for bed, staying for as long as you can. You’re glued at the hip while he brushes his teeth, while he picks out his pajamas at an alarmingly fast speed. He doesn’t even want a bedtime story, telling you that he’s knackered from the long day.

And he goes straight to sleep. Traitor.

You were hoping Ben could buy you more time to come up with some sort of explanation for your behavior, or at least figure out a way to turn the conversation back to him because — what’s he doing back here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Oklahoma?

When you finally step out of Ben’s room, Scott looks noticeably ticked off.

His jaw is squared tight, dimples that are usually so endearing appearing more menacing in this light. “You wanna tell me why you lied about bein’ sick?”

You shift back on the heels of your feet. “I just needed some me time.”

“Bullshit,” he spits out, “you know I would’ve given you that if that’s what you wanted. Try again.”

While you’re usually better at thinking on your feet, the glare he’s pinned you with has your brain completely scrambled. You’re coming up with nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing even remotely close to being sufficient for your lie.

“Can’t think of anything, can you? Now that I’ve caught you.”

“Scott…”

“What was it?” He grunts, “What fucking spooked you?”

You press your lips together. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never been good at commitment, sweetheart. Been runnin’ since the day I met you. So tell me, what fucking scared you?”

A protest sits on the tip of your tongue, ready to fall from your lips. Defensive. But Scott’s looking at you wearily, a five o’clock shadow that’s rarely ever there dusted across his face.

“You were going to leave,” you murmur.

He frowns at that. “When the hell did I say I was gonna do that?”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” you sigh, “I heard you on the phone.”

His eyebrows jump, surprise coloring his expression. If that isn’t confirmation, you don’t know what is. “What’re you talking about?”

It’s your turn to look irritated. How is he going to play dumb when he’s been caught red-handed?

“I heard you — you were going to head back Oklahoma, that you needed to pack your stuff and—” the last part has your throat constricting, you’re blinking back tears as you look at him. “—that you needed to tie up loose ends.”

Scott looks far from appeased from your explanation. “Yeah, and?”

“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “If you were going to leave again, were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to disappear? Leave me here alone again.”

“That’s not fucking fair,” he snaps right back, “I reached out to you. Multiple times. I called and texted and you disappeared. So don’t turn this shit around on me like I intentionally left you.”

“How was I ever supposed to tell you, Scott? I’m pregnant, can you stay here with me instead?”

“Yes! Exactly like that,” he snarls, “it’s as simple as that. But instead, you stopped responding to me. You left me.” That shuts you up, your breath catching in your throat. “So don’t be a hypocrite.”

“It would’ve been selfish of me — to tell you,” you gulp, chest tight, “you would’ve stayed because that’s who you are. That stupid sense of responsibility despite you being irresponsible enough to go out there and chase goddamn tornadoes. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I know, because that’s who you are,” he mutters, “you think you gotta do everything on your own. You think I don’t hear things? Your mom and Jenna told me plenty about how tough things were for you. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m the asshole that left you.”

“You didn’t know,” you breathe in shakily.

“Doesn’t change the circumstances, does it?” He snips. His face softens then, melting slightly as he sees you curling into yourself. “But I really need you to get your head checked. Something ain’t right up there if you think for a second I could really ever leave you again.”

You look up at him and he’s already taken a step towards you. His hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, his warm blue eyes on you.

“I was wrapping things up in Oklahoma so I can move here for good. I needed to deal with some paperwork and all the transition for the fieldwork. We’re not short-handed but, you know how it is with leadership.” He pauses, searching your face for any reaction. “I couldn’t just leave my team hanging out to dry so I had to finalize everything before I officially moved here.”

Well. Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So you weren’t going back to Oklahoma for good?”

The aggravation returns to his face. “You’re shittin’ me right? Have I not been telling you for weeks that I’m here to stay?”

“I just thought you meant temporarily,” you sputter, “who picks up their entire life on a fucking whim?”

“It’s not a whim! I was planning to move back here, focus more on raising funds with investors. That was, if I managed to find you!” That has you jolting back in surprise. “I came here to look for you. Properly this time. Fuck, and I told myself that, if I found you, I wasn’t gonna get you walk away from me again.”

“You— really?”

He rolls his eyes, lips tugging up. “Yeah, really. Let go the love of my life once, ain’t doin’ that again.”

“Love of your life?” You squeak.

Scott looks up at the ceiling, praying to some almighty up there to lend him some patience. “Thought that was fuckin’ obvious,” he mutters, “for someone so fuckin’ smart, you can be real stupid.”

“That’s so rude,” you frown.

“Apparently, I have to be if I need you to get your head out of your ass.”

You lick your lips, face flushing with heat. “So, uh, love of your life? Can I get some clarity on that?”

“How can I be any clearer?” He snaps, “If you’re gonna ask me since when, you really think I’d keep fucking you back then if I wasn’t in love with you?” Your jaw practically drops. “You’re the idiot that didn’t want anything real.”

“You were fucking everything that moved!”

“Until I met you!” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you really— I don’t know how you got me wrapped around your finger all this time.”

You huff, “Are you gonna keep insulting me all night?”

“Are you not gonna tell me you love me?”

A laugh bubbles up your throat. “What makes you think I love you?”

“I don’t think, I know, sweetheart,” Scott grins, arm stretching to pull you towards him. He tucks you in close, your breasts against his chest as your palms land on his shoulders, fingers scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet little moan. “Come on, say it. I know you’ve been dyin’ to for years now.”

With a roll of your eyes, you puff out, “I love you.”

He grunts, leaning down to tease you. “Don’t think I heard you.”

“I love you, Scott Miller. Now will you shut up and kiss me?”

“Never could say no to you, sweetheart.” 

+ sam: thank you so much if you've made it this far!!! you've finally seen the inner workings of my mind when i'm truly hyperfixating. please know that i appreciate every single piece of engagement but i especially love to hear what you think of the story, your fave parts, etc.!!! <3

scott is yearning for (taglist): @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @eiaf4uwn @thebabykashmere @nbhrhn @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @pinksplace @stanmarvelous @coffinlolz @chloluvsdilfs @athenxt @xreader1989 @theonlyaphrodite @wowitsafemale @yagurlannastasia @lettucel0ver @velvetnightmoonsandbows @tushy4toot @hoodharlow @lichi-dunkera @mansaaay @yagurlannastasia @fruitypebsworld @solynoche @thedarkseidofthemoon @burrowedinmyheart @annabethboleyn @lil-mann @magicwithaknife @kissmekissme5 @moonlightspencie @shoutingcardinal @youotterbekiddingme @potter-solomons @victoriuhmm @effyssky

story taglist: @reepicheeps-blog @coolvoidfire @lmaolmaos @garfieldsladybird

--- --- ---

“Jack.”

It was one of Jack’s rare nights off. It was around 9 p.m and you were both so knackered you were already lying in bed. He was reading something on his tablet, readers on, looking very focused while you were scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Lizzie was lying between you two - her legs draped over Jack, her head resting on your thigh. She was making cute little noises in her sleep. Less cute was that she was kicking every now and then like she was training for a kickbox-championship. Jack had already joked that he needed to wear his college jockstrap to bed.

“Hm?” He didn’t look up from his article.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Yeah, honey? What is it?”

“Um.” You put your phone down. “Well.”

He could feel the hesitation radiating from you and finally looked up. He tilted his head when he saw you clutching your hands nervously. “Sweetheart, you okay?”

“Yeah” you replied quickly, nodding. “It’s just… what would you think if I applied for a job at your workplace?”

Jack stared at you for a moment, then set his tablet down very carefully and took off his reading glasses. “Baby, is that a theoretical question like ‘Would you still love me if I were a worm?’ Because you promised to warn me beforehand if you wanted to ask questions like that.”

You huffed out a laugh. “No, it’s kind of serious.”

He looked at you. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, you see - there’s this administrative position in the emergency department and Robby sent it to me.”

Jack blinked. “Robby sent you a job opening?”

“Yeah.”

“Like - he sent you a text?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t call to tell you about it? He just sent you a text?”

You tilted your head. “Um - yeah?”

“Huh.”

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“I’m not acting weird. I’m just surprised.” Jack scratched his head. 

“Well… he thinks I would be a good fit and…” You paused. “I know it’s not my field and I never pictured myself working in an emergency department… or as a clerk. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I think ward clerks do amazing and really important work” you added hastily.

Jack smiled gently. “So… what are you trying to say here, honey?”

You hesitated, then let out a deep sigh. “It’s not my dream job. It’s not even in my top ten. But… I think it could work? It’s only a temporary position anyway - I think it’s just to cover that colleague’s maternity leave - and it’s only like three shifts per week, half a day. I mean it would work out with Lizzie’s daycare schedule.”

Jack watched you closely for a moment. “Honey. You don’t have to work right now. You know that, right? You can apply for jobs in your field until you get something that really works for you.”

You scrunched up your nose. “But I want to work, Jack. And yeah, that’s really not what I pictured but…” You shrugged. “It’s not like I have to work in the mines or something.”

“Well, we get a little bit more daylight” Jack said with a small laugh. “But honey, really, you don’t have to apply just because Robby sent you a text.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but… I also don’t want to be rude.”

Jack’s facial expression was hard to read. “Okay, well - if this clerk position is something you want to do, then apply for it. If not, then don’t. And to answer your initial question - I don’t mind working with you. Not that this is really the point, right? The point is - what do you want?”

You shrugged, then looked down at your hands. “Um, yeah, I think I’d apply and see what happens. I mean - it’s kind of a good idea?”

Jack nodded slowly. “Mhm.”

“I mean - it’s actually kind of nice ofRobby to think about me, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Even if it’s not like… in my field. But I think it’s sweet that he wants to help me out. And he wouldn’t send me something like that if he wasn’t convinced I’d be good at it, right?”

“Mhm.”

“I know I often say he’s a jerk and a bastard, but… that’s really nice of him.”

“Mhm.”

“So, okay.” You smiled a little. “I’ll send the application first thing tomorrow morning after I drop Lizzie off at daycare.”

Jack reached for your hand. He took it and squeezed it gently. “No need to drop her off. That’s my duty tomorrow.”

Your eyebrow shot up instantly. “Um, but it’s your day off and-”

“And this is my daughter, so I should start contributing a bit more, right?” he interrupted you softly. “So, I’ve set my alarm and I’m the one dropping off this little anxiety monster tomorrow.”

You closed your mouth again and swallowed. “Okay.” Your voice came out quiet. “Yeah, that’s… yeah. Thank you.”

“Oh, no, please don’t thank me for that. That’s the baseline, right?” He leaned over carefully, trying not to wake Lizzie and kissed you. “And just for the record - I think you’d be the world’s best ward clerk.”

“Not a compliment I’ve ever expected to get, but I’ll take it.” You kissed him back and furrowed your brows. “How do you know it’s a clerk position?”

Jack’s eyes widened for a moment. “You mentioned that. It was one of the first things you said” he replied quickly, then glanced at the clock. “And since I have to take care of the little terror queen tomorrow, I really should try and get some sleep.” 

He kissed you again. “Good night, Mrs. Abbot.”

You were still watching him. He was acting weird, but hell, he honestly was just a weird person sometimes. So you decided to let it slide. “Anyway. Good night, Mr. Abbot.”

--- --- ---

Jack: Michael. You sent ONE text. ONE TEXT. That was it. I let you blackmail me for ONE FUCKING TEXT. Michael Robinavitch: Oh, wow, did you get up on your bitching foot first? What’s the problem? I did exactly what you asked me to do. And she just told me she’ll apply. So - it worked? Jack: You know exactly why I’m bitching. Michael Robinavitch: Yeah, I know. It’s the vasectomy, right? You lost your balls and now you’re trying to overcompensate with “typical manly behavior”. Jack: I didn’t lose my balls. They’re still there and still looking good. Michael Robinavitch: Mhm. Yeah. Sure. Textbook overcompensation, brother. Jack: Don’t even know if I want her to get the job. She wasn’t overly excited, you know? Michael Robinavitch: Working in the Pitt is not exactly winning the lottery and living on the Bahamas, you know that, right? It’s fine to just be okay with a job. Jack: Mhm. Dunno. Michael Robinavitch: Are these mood swings connected to your vasectomy? [Jack sent a picture] Michael Robinavitch: Can’t open that picture but I guess it was you laughing at my joke. Jack: Yeah sure, totally not me flipping you off. Michael Robinavitch: Love you too, brother.

--- --- ---

A week later, you were sitting in a small conference room at the PTMC, trying very hard to look professional and not too desperate for the job. You wore a nice blouse and dress pants, your hair pulled back into a ponytail and you hadn’t bothered with any jewellery except for your wedding ring.

The HR representative conducting  the interview was pleasant enough. You had already answered several questions - and you were beginning to feel confident. And then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Before the interviewer could answer, the door opened - and Robby stepped inside. He was wearing dark scrubs and carried a folder under his arm, while his stethoscope dangled around his neck.

He nodded toward the interviewer then crossed the room in two long strides and held out his hand to you.

“Good morning” he said with a smile. “Dr. Michael Robinavitch, but you can call me Dr. Robby. It’s easier. I’m the head of the department and while I’m not directly involved in the hiring process, I like to make sure that potential new colleagues are a good fit for the department. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit in for a while and maybe ask a question or two.”

You blinked, completely caught off guard and stared at him.

The woman from HR also stared at him. “Dr. Robinavitch, I’m not stupid.”

Robby, who had just sat down, blinked. “I didn’t imply that you were.”

“I know that you and Dr. Abbot have a personal relationship and that this is Dr. Abbot’s wife.” She gestured toward you. “So let’s drop the charade, okay?”

Robby was quiet for a moment. The corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a cheeky grin. “You’re Dr. Abbot’s wife? That explains why you looked familiar.”

The interviewer groaned. “Dr. Robinavitch, please.”

“Okay, okay.”

“You may sit in” she continued. “But you’re not conducting the interview, you’re not answering any questions on Mrs. Abbot’s behalf and you’re not telling me how wonderful she is every thirty seconds.”

“So, only every other minute. Got it.”

“Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Right.” He leaned back in his chair. “Completely impartial. You won’t even know I’m here.”

You blinked and cleared your throat. “Okay.”

The interviewer turned back to you. “As Dr. Robinavitch correctly stated he’s not directly involved in the hiring decision. Especially not in your case.”

“Yeah, apparently there’s a conflict of interest here because your offspring is my goddaughter” Robby chimed in, still smiling.

You let out a startled laugh. “That’s a fair point.”

“So, let’s move on with the interview.” She shot Robby another look, then glanced down at her notes. “Why are you looking outside your original field?”

You swallowed hard, then smiled. “The current job market in my field is difficult, especially for part-time positions. I’m still interested in urban planning but I also don’t want to put my life on hold while waiting for the perfect opportunity. And it’s never a bad thing to step outside your comfort zone, right?”

You deliberately avoided looking toward Robby and focused on the interviewer. “Good answer.” She smiled. “What administrative experience do you have?”

“Um, I haven’t worked in administration specifically, but I’d say my previous work experience has a lot of transferable skills. I’m used to coordinating multiple stakeholders, working with databases and various documentation systems, meeting deadlines and handling sensitive information.” You blinked and gave a small shrug. “Yeah, so that’s my experience in administration.”

The interviewer made a couple of notes, then looked up again. “How comfortable are you with learning new software? Working as a ward clerk you would need to learn how to use our EMS, which can be challenging for some people.”

Robby nearly choked while stifling a laugh.

“I’m pretty confident that this wouldn’t be an issue. And I’m willing to put in the extra work to make sure I’ll handle the system well.”

Another smile, another note. “The position you’re applying for involves frequent interruptions and changing priorities. How do you organize your work?”

“I’m used to managing several projects, deadlines and requests at once, so hopefully I’ll be able to juggle the various demands of this position in the same way. Also, I’m raising a child right now - being interrupted during tasks is my day-to-day business. And if you have ever spent a day with a toddler you know that adapting to changing priorities is something every mother does” you added with a smile.

This time you glanced over at Robby. He was smiling and winked at you, giving you a small nod. The interviewer leaned toward him.

“Dr. Robinavitch, since you insisted on joining us, do you have a question?”

Robby immediately sat a little straighter. “Actually, yeah.” He looked at you. “The emergency department can be loud, unpredictable and emotionally difficult. Why do you want to work in an environment like that?”

You tilted your head and thought about it for a moment. “Because I miss being part of a team” you said eventually. “And because I think doing something useful - even if it isn’t what I originally planned for my career - could be good for me.”

Robby nodded slowly. “Good answer, Mrs. Abbot.”

A small smile crept onto your lips. “Thanks.”

Before Robby could say anything else his beeper went off. He pulled it from his waistband and glanced at the display. “Okay I need to go. It was good talking to you, Mrs. Abbot.”

He stood, gave you a small nod and left the room.

The door closed behind him and for a moment the room was quiet. The interviewer was obviously trying very hard not to roll her eyes.

Then she looked down at her notes and your resume. “Mrs. Abbot, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.” Suddenly your palms were sweaty again. Something in her tone made you nervous.

“You have a Master’s degree in urban planning.”

You nodded, throat tight.

“And several years of experience in project coordination, stakeholder management and public-sector planning.”

“Um, yes?”

She leaned back slightly. “I appreciate your enthusiasm for the ward-clerk position. And based on this interview I have no doubt you could do the job.”

You tried a smile. “Thanks?”

“But I’m not going to recommend you for that position.”

Your face fell. “Um, why not? Is it because of Rob- Dr. Robinavitch? I swear I had no clue he’d show up. I didn’t set this up. This was-”

She held up a hand and you stopped instantly.

You could feel the disappointment crashing over you - you couldn’t even get a job when you apparently aced the interview. There had to be something seriously wrong with you.

You swallowed hard and reached for your purse. “Um, yeah, thanks for letting me know before I get my hopes up. I really appreciate that and-”

“Mrs. Abbot.” She was still smiling. “I’m not going to recommend you for that position. But not for the reason you think. Are you aware that we currently have an opening in Facilities and Campus Planning?”

You blinked and stopped, your arm still stretched out toward your purse. “Um… no?”

“It’s fairly new. The position was only approved a few days ago, so I’m not surprised you haven’t seen it.” She turned her laptop slightly and clicked through a few windows. “The role involves space utilization, accessibility, wayfinding and coordination between clinical departments. We’re also planning to build a new outpatient center.”

You stared at her. “That sounds…” You cleared your throat. “That sounds just like urban planning.”

She smiled. “That’s because it is.”

“I didn’t know hospitals hired urban planners” you said with a high-pitched voice, your heart suddenly beating very fast.

“Well, let’s look at it this way - large hospitals are essentially small cities. We have thousands of employees, patients and visitors moving through this campus every day. We deal with traffic, public transportation, pedestrian access, construction, zoning, accessibility and long-term development.” She glanced down at your resume again. “Your background is considerably closer to what we’re looking for there.”

You stared at her.

“So, would you be interested?”

“Yes.” The answer came out so quickly that you both laughed. “Yes, definitely.”

“Good.”

“But… well… I applied for the ward-clerk position. Would I need to submit another application?”

“Eventually, yes. But with your permission I’d like to forward you resume and my interview notes to the director of Facilities and Campus Planning.”