Jack had always leaned more towards dogs, mostly because he was raised with dogs. Not that he ever had a disdain for cats. He just always got along best with dogs.

When he first started dating Y/N, he would see the way she lit up talking about her cat, Gizmo. She adopted him the year before and raved about him to Jack.

So yeah, Jack was a little nervous about meeting the cat, which seemed strange to him. He fought in a war and lost a leg, and yet impressing a cat stressed him out.

Hours before going to her place, he stopped at the local pet store to pick up some treats. After consulting with an employee on which treats to buy, he settled with some tuna flavored crunchy treats.

When he arrived at her place, Y/N opened the door and kissed him “hello.” After letting him in, he heard a jingling sound get louder and louder. He looked to see a grey cat padding toward him cautiously.

“This is the infamous Gizmo,” Y/N introduced.

Gizmo sat about a foot away from Jack, green eyes inspecting him. Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the treats, showing them to Y/N, who grinned ear-to-ear at the sweet gesture.

“Jack, you didn’t have to -.”

“I wanted to get on his good side. Is it ok if I give some to him?”

She nodded and watched as Jack opened the bag and grabbed a few crunchies out. He leaned down to show Gizmo the treats laid out in the palm of his hand.

Gizmo approached slowly, eyes trained on the treats. He sniffed Jack’s hand to inspect the crunchies before leaning down to eat them.

Jack smiled victoriously as he watched Gizmo inhaled the treats.

Once they were gone, Gizmo trotted back into Y/N’s bedroom, leaving Jack completely dumbfounded.

So much for those goddamn treats, he thought.

Y/N put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“For what it’s worth, I was really touched by what you did,” she said, giving him a smile.

“Yeah?” There was a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah. And don’t worry. He’ll get used to you.”

Jack chuckled. “I hope so.”

=================================

A week later, Jack was waiting in the living room while Y/N was finishing getting ready. He was going through some messages on his phone when he heard a jingling sound

He glanced over to see Gizmo walking toward him. He hadn’t seen the damn cat since it took off after his nice gesture. The cat stopped right beside him, looking at Jack with his inquisitive green eyes.

Jack held out his hand, letting the cat sniff his hand. The feline then laid down beside him and purred. Jack then stroked Gizmo’s back.

“I have to admit, you’re pretty cute,” Jack mumbled. “Don’t tell your mom I said that.”

“Oh, but I heard it.”

Jack looked up to see Y/N leaning on the doorframe, smirking.

===================================

It was a few months later when Jack woke up from a nightmare. He hated that it happened while spending a night at Y/N’s place.

He was doing so well. Y/N turned his life technicolor, helping to bring balance to a life that had grown accustomed to death, injuries, and trauma. Before her, he’d go to work and go home and deal with the shit from work there.

With her, he found an escape. He found comfort and joy in doing mundane activities with her like cooking or running errands. Whenever they spent the night together, he spent it at her place and she never argued against it.

Despite finding some peace, he still managed to worked up over a nightmare.

He sniffled and tried to focus on his breathing when he felt something on his leg. He glanced up to see Gizmo inspecting him, inching closer. Jack slowly laid back down as the feline made his way to Jack’s bare chest and loafed down, softly purring.

Jack reached out, scratching Gizmo behind his ear and the cat leaned into it. The tension in his body slowly softened and the thoughts that raced into his mind were silenced.

A small, grateful smile crept on Jack’s lips. “Thanks, buddy,” he whispered.

“How sweet.”

Jack looked over to see Y/N smiling sleepily. “Did I wake you, honey?”

She shook her head. “Everything ok?”

Jack sighed, almost embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just a nightmare.”

“You want to talk about it?” Her tone was gentle rather than cautious, which was a relief to him.

He waved his free hand. “It’s fine. Really. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Y/N sat up. “I’m not going to push it, but I also don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about it. You’ve been through a lot, more than most. I promise that while I won’t be able to fully understand certain things, I’m here to listen and to support you when you need it.” She motioned to Gizmo. “And if I can’t help you, he sure can. You may need to feed him a treat though.”

Jack chuckled as he looked at Gizmo, those green eyes melting his heart. “He deserves all the treats in the world,” he remarked. He then turned to Y/N. “It was my first PTSD nightmare in a long time. They only happen once in awhile, but when they do…it’s a lot. That’s all I can and will say about them right now.”

She nodded her head. “Do you want some space or-.”

“Stay. Please.” His hazel eyes softened. “I like having you here.”

She smiled at him. “Ok. I’ll stay.” She paused. “I do need to leave for a second to pee, but then I’ll come back.”

He laughed softly. “That’s fine.”

She threw the covers off and padded to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Jack looked down at Gizmo, who blinked slowly at him.

“I see why she loves you,” he told the cat. “You’re a sweet guy”

Gizmo continued to stare at him, softly purring.

“You know, when shit gets rough at the hospital, I used to go to the roof,” he continued. “I still go, but sometimes when I’m up there, I think of being here with you and your mom and…it gets me through.”

The cat said nothing and Jack scratched the side of Gizmo’s face before the door opened and the cat jumped off him.

Y/N watched as Gizmo trotted out into the living room and glanced back at Jack. “Sounds like he needs some space.”

“His job was done,” Jack shrugged. “Now, get your cute ass back to bed.”

Y/N giggled as she climbed back under the covers. He motioned for her to come closer and she snuggled against his side as his arm wrapped around her back

“This is perfect,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head.

“Are you gonna be ok to go back to sleep?”

“Oh yeah. I think we’re good for the rest of the night.”

“If it happens again, just wake me up, ok?”

“I promise.”

She snuggled into his chest when he said, “Hey.”

She looked up at him as he smiled softly at her, his eyes filled with admiration. “I love you.”

She smiled back at him. “I love you too, Jack.”

Jack watched as Y/N drifted back to sleep. Just as his eyes were closing, he heard a familiar jingling and soft chirp.

Gizmo returned once again, loafing on Jack’s stomach.

Jack smiled. “I love you too, Gizmo.”

=================================

One Year Later…

Jack was the first one to get home. He and Y/N moved into a new apartment a couple of months after getting engaged.

When he opened the door, Gizmo greeted him with a meow.

“Hey buddy,” Jack greeted softly, closing the door behind him. He set down his bag, and knelt down to pick him up.

Gizmo purred in Jack’s arms as they headed into the kitchen. Jack set the cat on the counter and opened the drawer designated for Gizmo’s food and treats. He pulled out some crunchies and poured some in hand and offered it to the cat.

“Don’t tell your mom I put you on the counter,” Jack whispered.

Gizmo said nothing, but continued to enjoy his treats. Jack checked out Gizmo’s water fountain to see if it needed a refill. Once he was done checking, he gave Gizmo a quick scratch behind the ear and headed up the stairs for the shower.

When he got out of the shower, he put on a shirt and some basketball shorts as well as his prosthetic leg. Looking at the clock, he realized Y/N would be home soon and decided to hold off sleeping until she arrived.

He settled on the couch when Gizmo laid on top of the pillow, looking at the door. Jack grinned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, taking a photo.

He keeps asking when you’re coming home.

A couple of moments later, his phone dinged.

Awww! Just leaving the station now. I’ll be home to cuddle with my two favorite guys soon!

He put his phone back in pocket when Gizmo decided that Jack’s company would be enough for now.

As Jack pet the feline, he felt his eyes grow heavy. He wanted to stay awake for her, but eventually he gave in.

You have a little garden that you tend to in the morning as the sun’s still rising right when you get off shift. It's cathartic, to take care of something that can't puke or bleed on you. Can’t punch you in the face. 

Both you and Jack had worked last night and it was a tough one. One of those nights where it felt like you lost more than you saved. You asked Jack to come back to your place after the shift ended, just wanting to be near him after your hell of a day. 

It was still early in your relationship, you had only spent the night at Jack’s place. This was his first time coming to stay at yours. 

You could tell he was so exhausted that you offered to drive home and he eventually accepted. He sat in the passenger seat of his Tacoma with his eyes closed as you drove, envisioning a shower, you looking soft in a ratty old t-shirt, and eating take out on the couch before going to sleep.

Instead, after you made two mugs of tea and set one before him on the coffee table, you headed to the backyard, slipping through the sliding glass door with a quiet “be right back, have to take care of some stuff real quick.”

After you’re gone more than 10 minutes and he almost dozed off twice, he started to wonder what this stuff was. He peeks out the glass door, seeing you knelt down at the edge of a garden bed peeling weeds out of the ground around your plants. The garden hose was on, filling up a big watering can to your left.

He comes to stand next to your kneeling form, placing a tender hand on the crown of your head and lightly running his fingers through your hair. “What are you doing, baby?”

“Checking on the plants. It helps me clear my mind from the day.” You smile softly up at him, see his free hand rub at his weary eyes. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, I’ll be right in," you promise. He nods, turns to head back inside. 

He couldn’t believe you wanted to be pulling weeds and lugging watering cans after a shift. But when you trailed in a few minutes later, joining him under the spray of the water, he could see the way your shoulders were looser. You were more peaceful, at ease. It made him feel more calm too, just knowing you felt a little bit better. 

He started lugging bags of soil for you the following mornings. Dug up trenches to lay a new irrigation system for the crops. This time of spring brought so many birds tweeting around in the morning air, the perfect sound track to your calming moments together in the garden.

It was a peaceful endeavor, one Jack never thought he would find himself doing but turns out he absolutely loves it. After you tell him about the benefits of pollinators he really wants to start keeping bees (Jack Abbot is beekeeping age). He does all this research about it to make sure he doesn’t fuck with the bees, wants to do it right. Gets the whole mesh suit which you can't stop laughing at the first time he puts it on. Names his hive Beetopia. He's serious about these bees and you find it so endearing. You love that he's meshing into your life like this, making his own niche in something you both do together.

Sometimes when there isn’t much to be done he’ll make breakfast while you tend to the garden. He will always try to utilize the fruits and vegetables you grow as well as his self-harvested honey whenever he can. You eat it out on the patio, admiring the work the two of you have done. Your own little paradise. ____

Out of all the self care tactics that you have brought into his life, the bubble bath is definitely one of his sleeper favorites. His house had a huge bathtub in it that he never once used. One of the first times you stayed over, you went to use the bathroom before going to bed. His eyes were already closed when he heard you squeal in the en suite attached to his room. 

“How did you not tell me about this!” you yelled out to him. 

“What, the bathroom?” he responded half asleep and confused. You came back into the room and jumped into the bed next to him, resting your chin on his chest. He peeked his eyes open as he rubbed up and down your back.

“No! That massive tub, genius!” He was surprised. Hadn’t thought once about that thing since he moved in. 

“You like it?”

“I don't like it, Jack. I love it. Baths are so soothing and rejuvenating. I always feel like a newborn baby when I get out of the bath. And I don't have a tub at my place.”

“You’re welcome to use it anytime you want, honey.” He shifted you to your side, cuddling into you and kissing your cheek. 

“You’re too good to me. And as a reward I’m making you get in there with me.” he lets out a breath of a laugh as he drifts off to sleep with you in his arms. ___

You both had the next day off, for once. So there was no time like the present to christen Jack’s bathtub. He was nervous about getting in, not being able to wear his prosthetic to keep him stable, but you got in first and held onto him tight as he stepped over the edge and eased himself down into the water. You settled in front of him, letting out a breath as you melted back into him. 

You thought you liked baths already, but this was pure bliss. His strong body against you, your breaths synching up. He washed your hair and you washed his. The warm water soothed his achy back and the overcompensating muscles in his leg. 

Safe to say, baths become a regular occurrence for you two.

You get him a matching fluffy robe with a hood because one time he said he was jealous of how cozy you looked in yours after a bath. Once, Shen stopped by to drop off the butterfly portable ultrasound that he had borrowed and Jack answered the door in said robe. 

Jack had his stoic work face on, the grumpiness only enhanced by the fact that Shen’s visit was interrupting his time with you.

“Ha, you look like a Sith, Abbot,” Shen teased him, butterfly in one hand and a half drank Dunkin’ in the other. “Robe’d up and about to cut my hand off.” He took a loud sip of his coffee as Jack just glared at him. 

“Get out of here before I actually consider it.” He tugged the Butterfly from Shen’s grasp, about to slam the door in his face. 

“Oh c'mon Jack, that’s not very nice.” You ran up to the door and opened it further to reveal yourself. 

“Sorry John, he didn’t mean that.” 

“Yeah right.” He takes in your appearance beside Jack, wearing the same exact fuzzy robe. “Like the matchy matchy, very cute you two.” Shen pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before either of you could even process it. “That’s totally going in the group chat, dude,” he laughed. 

“Not making a good case for yourself here,” Jack muttered. Shen couldnt stop laughing, and at that you moved your hand off the door jamb and let Jack slam it shut. 

He turned to you then and let out a little chuckle at the whole ordeal. “He’s a piece of work.”

“Thought he was your favorite resident?”

“No, you're my favorite resident.” ___

Besides stretching to start the day on a good note, taking soothing baths, and tending to your garden you also do yoga sometimes to turn your mind off and tune into your body after a hectic shift. He’s still reluctant to try that one, and likes to give you your space to do the things you enjoy on your own sometimes. So he doesn't join you for that, but he loves watching you as you get ready to head to the studio. 

You always wear these skin tight, colorful matching workout sets that drive him crazy. He doesn’t mean to keep you from getting to class, but sometimes he just can’t help the temptation.

“Baby,” he draws it out in a long groan. He crossed the room to you, grabbing your hips and ghosting his hands up and down, reverently. You were trying to gather your keys and yoga mat to head out the door. “You’re killing me here with the powder blue.” The leggings hugged your ass just right. God, he was about to start drooling.

You try to squirm out of his hold to put your shoes on, but he won't budge. “Get a good look, Jack, because I gotta go. Gonna be late if I don't leave right now.” 

“Oh no, you're gonna be late already? Maybe you should just stay here with me,” he pouts suggestively. 

“Already paid for the class. Actually you did, your card’s on the account.” With your resident salary, Jack liked to treat you to things like a membership to a fancy yoga studio with free green smoothies. He loved ‘providing’ for you, even though you both knew you could be just fine by yourself. 

“Even better. I don't care about losing 30 bucks right now. Because you look way too sexy in those leggings to leave me here all alone.” He pecks your lips, then down your neck, sucking the spot where he knows will draw out a moan from you. You grasp your hand into his hair, getting lost in his efforts to entice you. 

“Let me peel these off of you,” he begs, running his fingers under the waistband of the leggings. His hands travel lower, kneading at your ass and pulling you tighter against him. “Just let me worship your beautiful body, sweetheart.”

When he found room four, his assumptions were confirmed. Penny was in line with the rest of her kindergarten class, speaking animatedly with a boy beside her while firmly rooted on the numbers painted on the floor. She was excited, but Jack could tell she was putting considerable effort into staying right where she was supposed to be. He had to fight the smile that crept up on his face. 

“Your daddy’s a manager?” Penny asked, tugging on the straps of her backpack. “Wow! What does that mean?” 

The boy next to her raised a brow. “I don’t know. I think he tells people what to do. He has a computer.” 

“What does he tell them to do?” 

“Work more! He always says everyone is a lazy piece of—” 

The teacher in the hall clapped her hands, drawing the class's attention. “Let’s make sure we are using kind words while we wait to go home.” 

A long drone of “Yes, Miss Cindy” reset each conversation in the line, but Penny clearly wasn’t done. Jack took a few steps closer and nodded at Miss Cindy in greeting, content to wait until Penny turned and noticed the surprise. You hadn’t told her Jack was picking her up, and Jack loved how Penny got when she was surprised. 

“Well, want to know what my daddy does?” Penny posed, bouncing up on her toes. 

Jack paused. 

You never talked about Penny’s birth father. You’d offered a simple explanation the first time Jack skirted around the topic: he was there for the birth, and then he never was again. You never tried to fight for child support, not wanting to drag Penny through messy custody battles or inconsistent relationships. Penny knew she had a dad, just like everyone had a dad, but you tried hard to make that hole feel small. Jack thought you did a damn good job. 

And he hoped he played a role in that, as well. 

Jack held his breath as the boy nodded excitedly, and then he felt like he was free-falling as she answered. “He’s a doctor for emergencies! He works when everyone is asleep so he can help people during the nighttime.” 

“But how are there emergencies if everyone is asleep?”

Penny puckered her lips as she thought. “I don’t know. I guess if they wake up, maybe.” 

Jack tried and failed to settle the grin that had taken over his face. Penny had never called him anything but Jack. He hadn’t wanted to ask you for more when it came to your daughter, and he wanted Penny to be comfortable, but Jack felt like Penny’s dad. Penny was his girl. You’d been engaged for a few months, and he couldn’t ask for more than he had, even if he only had the feeling, not the title. He couldn’t be greedy. 

Hearing Penny call him dad made Jack feel greedy. 

He leaned over behind Penny and tugged on her sleeve, raising his brows as she spun and let out a gasp. It was only a tick of a second before she launched herself at him, exclaiming a loud “Jack!” that now held a different meaning for him. He wondered how many times she’d talked about him and called him something different. 

Jack grunted as he lifted her to his hip, trying to find her eyes with her arms clutched tight around his neck. “Hey, Penny girl. Is it alright if I take you home today?” 

Penny squealed and nodded against him, but then became serious as she leaned up. “Does mommy know? She told me to never go home with strangers.” 

Jack raised a brow, both of his girls overcautious and full of rules, as always. “Am I a stranger now?” 

Penny threw her head back in a giggle. “No! But no one else has ever picked me up from school before.” 

“First time for everything. It’s exciting. We can get something up for mommy on the way home.” 

“Like flowers?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“You always get mommy flowers.” 

“You want some too?

Penny blew a raspberry as they finally made it to his truck. “What am I gonna do with flowers? They just sit there. That’s so silly, Jack.” 

“How about a toy, then?” Jack offered, tapping Penny’s nose after buckling her in. He rested a hand on the door and shifted the car seat around to make sure it was locked in place. You were rubbing off on him, clearly. “What do you think?” 

Penny tapped her chin. “I’ll consider it.” 

~~

When you finally got home that night, looking frazzled and far too apologetic for Jack’s liking, Jack had a towel on his shoulder and a pot simmering on the stove. He’d stayed at your place despite you insisting that the neighbor could watch her for an hour, so he figured starting dinner was the next course of action. 

You hadn’t moved in together just yet. For Penny’s sake. 

You sighed when you spotted him, putting your bags down with a defeated sound. “You really didn’t have to stay,” you almost whined. Jack was already on you, hands on your hips and gaze locked on the furrow of your brow. “The lady next door loves Penny. She could have watched her.” 

“Yeah? Well, what if I love Penny?” Jack countered, pressing his lips to yours. He saw another argument brewing, so he squeezed your cheeks and kissed you again. “Seriously. I’m gonna be the one picking her up on my days off soon. Let me practice.” 

You shook your head. “You do not have to do that. You work all the time, Jack. I wouldn’t make you take care of Penny when you finally have time to rest.” 

“Make me take care of her?” 

“Yeah. You have enough on your plate and—”

“Hey,” Jack softly called, tugging you in closer. “When I asked you to marry me, I meant that I wanted both of you. You aren’t making me take care of her. I want to.” 

You looked up at him, hands resting on his chest, and Jack saw the conflict raging in you, the fear that this would be too much. You didn’t talk about Penny’s birth father, but Jack could pick apart the damage that was done by him. He could see it in every anxiety-fueled phone call about Penny and in all the things you tried to take on alone. You wouldn’t accept help, not fully, but Jack was ready to fight you on that. For the rest of his life, if he needed to. 

“Was she okay for you?” you asked, because Jack was pretty sure you knew he would fight you on that. 

“She was perfect,” he answered, his hands holding your head steady as he leaned down to look at you. “Like her mom.” 

You scoffed out a laugh. “Don’t try too hard, Dr. Abbot. The ladies like mystery.” 

“Yeah? Well ignore the flowers in the kitchen then. I want to be mysterious about them.” 

Your smile was soft and vulnerable as you leaned up to kiss him, and Jack backed away only because the noodles in the pot were going to stick together if he didn’t stir them, and Penny was entering a picky eating phase. He could handle a picky eating phase, along with everything that came after. 

And later in the night, when Penny fell asleep over Jack’s legs and Mulan played softly in the background, he thought to bring it up. Casually. More as a curious pondering than a request, because he didn’t want to ask for too much. You played with Penny’s hair as the Huns fought to invade China, and Jack threw his thoughts into the air. 

“Does Penny—” he paused. You lifted your head from his shoulder, and Jack caught your engagement ring glinting under the dim living room light. “Does she ever… call me anything when I’m not around? To other people?” 

You became still, gaze falling to Jack’s chest. “I’ve talked to her about that. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to… be anything you didn’t want to be. Like if you wanted things to be more separated. But sometimes—you know, she’s just a kid—so sometimes—” 

Jack gently shushed you, taking your hand in his because that was the closest thing he could read. “What’d I say earlier, huh? I was asking because I don’t want things to be separated. And she always just calls me Jack, so I was wondering—” 

“She calls you dad all the time,” you revealed, looking down at Penny’s face smushed against Jack’s thigh. “To her friends, her teachers, a random guy in the grocery store.” 

Jack huffed out a breathy laugh. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah. She loves talking about you.” You looked back up at him. “Are you okay with her calling you that?” 

And for some reason—Jack would blame it on the sentimental music in the movie—tears welled in his eyes at the question. At the gentle way you looked at him. Jack cleared his throat of the sticky emotion and nodded, his brow twitching. 

“Yeah,” he almost whispered, voice sounding hoarse. “Yeah, if she wants to.” 

“I think she was waiting for permission. To make sure it was okay.” 

“You two and your rule following,” Jack gruffed, tugging you closer and kissing your temple to hide his misty eyes. 

Jack had a talk with Penny a few days later, after she slipped up and the echo of the word dad bounced around in Jack’s truck. He’d had to pull over to ease the tension that wound up Penny’s expression, sitting her on the tailgate in some gas station parking lot as you stayed in the passenger seat. 

Jack watched as Penny wound her small fingers into a knot on her lap, and he covered them with one of his hands, tipping her chin up with the other. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Jack assured, paying attention to each grimace she tried to hide.

“But I’m really sorry,” Penny edged out. “Because I know my daddy isn’t here anymore, and my mommy says that’s okay, and that you are kind of like a daddy but that sometimes people—” 

“Penny girl,” Jack softly interrupted. “It’s okay, alright? You know how your mom and I are getting married?” 

Penny nodded. 

“Well that means that we’re family. You, me, and your mom. All of us. And I know your daddy isn’t around, and I know you’re too smart for your own good, but sometimes mommys and daddys can be new people.” 

“I was gonna say that next,” Penny mumbled.

“I know you were.” Jack smiled in the empty parking lot and brought Penny’s gaze back up to him. “I love you, kid. You can call me anything you want. And before you ask, yes, your mom is okay with it. I asked her myself.” 

“You asked mommy if it was okay to be my daddy?” 

“Of course I did. Gotta make sure I check all the boxes with you two.” 

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Although, the location seemed perfect. Pristine beaches, the clearest water you'd ever seen. The friendliest greeters when you arrived at the hotel placing leis around your neck. Everyone seemed to smile and absorb all those good feelings. There was literal laughter in the air. 

It was all that you planned it to be, except you weren't alone when you first talked about coming to Hawaii. All that vacation time you saved up together, and then your life went to shit. 

That was a month ago. You debated for weeks about cancelling everything, since your partner cancelled your life together - but then over time you felt like it was worse to be sitting around at home feeling sorry for yourself instead of being here anyway. 

You could grieve your old life here instead, where everything looked like a scene on a postcard.

You went to your hotel room, opened up your suitcase and fished out your first swimsuit. It was a low cut one-piece that hugged your body. You wrapped a sarong around your middle and swapped your sneakers for flip-flops and walked down to the beach with your towel and a book. 

You'd been doing the same thing at home, except instead of the ocean you'd had your messy apartment surrounding you. If this was all you did for the rest of the day, fine. 

You fell asleep in one of the sunbeds in the long line covered with umbrellas on the shore, only to be awoken by the shrieks of a young family whose children tore down to the beach with their gear. The father gave you a sheepish look as you stared after them, picking up your book from the spot it fell beside you.

Sand was already in it, great. And you managed to lose your spot. You couldn’t be upset at the kids, though. They were in literal paradise. You probably should have stayed home…

You trudged back to your room to shower. As you got out your key, elevator doors shutting behind you, you spotted a man whose back was to you opening the room opposite yours in the hallway. 

You ducked into your room without a word, not before having brief, awkward eye contact with him. He was older than you, but handsome all the more for it. His brows hiked ever so slightly as you disappeared, and you hoped he wasn’t offended. 

You weren’t in the mood to talk just yet. 

-

Hours later, you couldn’t sleep. You ordered room service instead of attending the lūʻau, hoping that by tomorrow you would have the courage to show your face to random strangers. 

Now, with the blankets twisting around you each time you moved, there was no way you were getting to sleep anytime soon. 

You took a deep breath and left your bed, throwing your cardigan over your sleep clothes. Heading downstairs, you could hear there were still a few people around, but it was nothing like earlier that evening. 

No-one was at the bar, save the guy behind it, and another figure nursing a beer. You recognized him immediately as your neighbor from across the hall, and sat nearby him, an empty stool between you.

As you waited, you scanned the wide dining area behind you. There was one other man at the far wall, staring into his phone with a large whiskey by his elbow. 

“What would you like, ma’am?” 

The bartender approached with a wide smile, unbothered by the hour. 

“Uh… vodka soda, please.”

“Of course,” he said, and departed. 

You felt watched and looked at your neighbor. 

“I’m not interrupting?” you asked, and he shook his head. 

“Stay.”

You told him your name and offered your hand. 

“I think we’re on the same floor,” you added, and he shook your hand. 

“Yeah. I’m Michael.”

You nodded, taking a short sip of your drink when it arrived a beat later. You remembered your clothes. Michael was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. 

“I… can’t sleep.”

“Sorry to hear it,” he said. “You’re here by yourself? Where’re you from?”

You nodded. “Pittsburgh.”

He burst into a real smile and you felt your face flush. He was very, very handsome. Never mind your first impression. He was cute as hell.

“Me, too.”

“Oh, no shit?” you said, and he laughed. “What are the odds?”

You talked a bit about the journey there, and Michael said he’d got there yesterday. He was on a long vacation, nothing fixed.

You snorted. “Jesus. Mine was nothing but planned. So much of it went to shit already-”

It was like you couldn’t help yourself, cringing. You hadn’t meant to already get into it, but it was bound to come up, why you were alone. 

“I mean, I had these big plans but the person I was supposed to come with decided not to in the end.”

“Sorry, again,” Michael said, taking a swig of beer. 

You shook your head. “Don’t be. Turns out he wasn’t the guy I thought he was.”

Michael went quiet for a second, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes. “Was this… a break-up?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. 

There was a pause and you added quickly:

“Not that I’m losing sleep over him! I’m way past that. I just… had these plans…”

You should have already been drinking long ago if you were going to bring this up with a complete stranger, but fuck it. You were on vacation, things were different. This wasn’t like being at your local dive, or telling people you work with.

“I had a laparoscopy,” you said. “It’s when-”

“Do you have endometriosis?” he asked.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said.

You looked away, suddenly very aware of him looking straight at you. You wondered what else he knew about you, even if it was just by looking at you. 

“I wanted to start IVF, after this trip,” you went on. “This was meant to be our last big one before - hopefully - a baby.”

It wasn’t like you, to disclose so much. You didn’t feel judged, though you could sense the cogs were turning when you looked back at him. 

“Must be something about you, for me to get so personal so fast,” you mumbled. “And I guess that happens a lot, when people find out you’re a doctor. But I’m guessing you’re not a psychiatrist?”

He shook his head, with an almost sad kind of smile. “Emergency.” 

“So you work in a hospital?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

The silence between you that followed felt less strange, somehow. You didn’t want to avoid him like you had before, at least. 

“I really am sorry if I gatecrashed your downtime,” you said, and he shook his head, draining his beer. 

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep, either.”

He got up and you considered doing the same, but left your glass instead of finishing it.

“You wanna go for a walk?” 

You thought about it, and then wondered why it mattered. It didn’t hurt. You nodded, rising from your seat. You gathered your cardigan around yourself and walked out, down the short footpath to the beach. 

Tiki torches still burned, lining the sand well enough to see his face in the halflight. The moonlight did the rest. The tide came and went in a steady rhythm, the night otherwise blissfully quiet. 

“It’s so… peaceful out here,” you murmured, and Michael nodded. 

It was romantic. It was supposed to be, that’s why you chose to take your ex here. If he hadn’t run away from you, you’d be rolling around in the sand together, trying to make a baby. The regret crested over you again and you sighed, moving on, not waiting. 

“Has the treatment been… effective?” he asked, and you glanced his way, for a moment too lost in your thoughts to understand.

Oftentimes, when someone learned you had endometriosis, their response was pitying, or worse, falsely trying to relate to your emotional and physical agonies. No, it wasn’t like ordinary period pain. Yes, it had derailed work and school, it had made life harder in a lot of ways. 

Yes, you hoped to have children. Past tense - hoped. You didn’t know anymore. It meant doing it alone, if you were doing it now. 

“I thought you were supposed to be on vacation,” you retorted, folding your arms. 

He copied you, and you could make out a smirk on his face. 

“I’ll send you the bill.”

Your welcomed laughter followed, before you rolled your eyes. “I guess it has been. Symptoms aren’t as bad. For now.”

There wasn’t a cure. You just had to wait it out, hope that each cycle didn’t render you bedridden like usual. 

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Sorry, that’s personal…”

“Hey, I’m the one who told you,” you said, shrugging. You glanced towards the water. “Jesus.”

You sidestepped the tide as it came rushing in, faster than you expected. Michael did the same, but he’d been paying attention, guiding you back with a hand that hovered the small of your back. He wasn’t quite touching, but you felt that spark of sudden proximity. 

You kept walking in silence, a little further away from the shore. 

“How long were you planning on staying here?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m undecided,” he said.

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” you asked. 

You may as well try more honesty with him. He knew what felt like too much already. You looked at one another. 

“It’s probably related.”

You smirked back at him, then suppressed a sudden yawn. It was probably time to head back. Michael nodded toward the hotel and you walked back together. The elevator ride was silent, too. You went to your door, and then glanced back his way, shoving the keycard in.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed softly. 

Something about that made you feel warm inside. 

-

You approached him the next afternoon, among a group of other tourists waiting on the pier. You couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses but he smiled back at you.

“Hey, I know you,” you said, face shielding your eyes. 

You hadn’t seen him all morning, though admittedly you’d hoped to. You slept okay once you got back to bed, and spent the beginning of the day looking for him at breakfast before you went back to your room to laze around. 

This afternoon trip was booked well in advance. It was supposed to be a late lunch on the ocean, with a tour guide included. A few families, couples and a bachelorette party gathered to board the yacht. 

You and Michael stood together like two kids pairing up on a field trip. 

“I can’t get over how clear the water is out here,” he said, and you beamed. 

“I know, right?”

You hadn’t expected him here. In fact, neither of you had said anything about what you planned to do while in Hawaii. You packed too much, as you were prone to, so you were glad to have brought at least a couple nice dresses and skirts. 

Today’s outfit was brand new, tags popped off that morning. Linen dress that cinched at the waist with a broad sun hat. 

Michael’s Birkenstocks looked well-worn, his shorts were the same from yesterday. He wore a navy polo shirt that hid little of his broad frame. His… bulk attracted you. You wanted to stare at his forearms but tried not to. He was fun to look at, but he was a person, too. 

Also, you’d just gone through a breakup. 

You put on your sunglasses and ascended with the others, Michael behind you. He stayed by your side as the tour guide from the hotel began his introduction, and then everyone took a seat as the yacht began to move away from the dock. 

“This is insane,” you murmured. 

For the next half an hour, you listened with Michael beside you as the tour went on. Describing  the flora and fauna of the islands, you wish you could see it for yourself, not have someone only describe it to you.

There was a loud gurgle and you looked at Michael. 

“Was that your stomach?”

“...yes,” he whispered. 

You covered your mouth with your hand, pressing your lips together for good measure. As the trip went on, you too felt hunger begin to pull your focus.

When they finally docked on the other side of the island, wait staff approached with heaping trays of fresh fruit and seafood. There were collective sighs of relief all around. 

“Get in there,” Michael encouraged, and you laughed openly, tucking in. 

-

“Did that feel… weird to you?” you asked, twirling your hat absently. 

You walked back up to the hotel with Michael, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, it felt… commercial,” he muttered. “Inauthentic.”

“Not a waste of money, though, surely?” 

“I’m not your accountant.”

“I’m just saying - I don’t totally regret it,” you retorted. “It wasn’t what I expected, though.”

His sunglasses were tucked into his neckline, his arms bearing a healthy glow from the sun. You looked at his skin when he kept the elevator door open for you, allowing you in beside him. 

He pressed the button for your floor. 

“It’s not gonna help my Yelp review, I’ll tell you that much...”

You smiled again, looking away. “Obviously.”

It felt so good to be on the same page. It was different to what you were used to. With your ex, it never felt like you were truly in sync. It was your downfall, in the end. All the time you were together it felt like you’d manage to get over that eventually. 

“Are you gonna grab some dinner downstairs later?” he asked, and you met his gaze.

He wasn’t saying that just to make conversation. You believed that with how he was looking at you now, although maybe you weren’t the best judge of character when it came to men.

“Yeah, maybe after a nap,” you said. 

“Sounds good,” he said. 

“Were you… were you hoping to see me?” you asked. 

“Sure.”

He made it sound so simple. Why wouldn’t he hope to see you? Your face flushed and you looked away. 

“Okay, cool,” you said. 

“Okay, I’ll see you after,” he said. 

He let you out first, and you felt butterflies in your stomach for the first time in years. You smiled shyly and walked away to your door, letting yourself in before you embarrassed yourself. 

-

Something shifted inside you and wanted to enjoy yourself for the sake of it. You showered, after you didn’t nap - your brain kept thinking about Michael and his warm eyes peering at you - and dressed in one of your sundresses.

You found him at the bar and he nodded towards the dining area, where the host led you to a table overlooking the beach outside. Handed a menu, you peruse, unsure of where to begin.

Michael ordered beer, looking your way. 

“I’ll get a cocktail,” you beamed. “Sex on the beach.”

If it landed anywhere, you tried not to read it too much on his face as you were left alone. He hadn’t said this was a date - but he hadn’t said it wasn’t either. 

Conversation came easily, like you’d never stopped talking earlier. 

“What’s it like being an ER doctor?” you asked, as you picked up some bread from the basket between you. 

You offered it to him and he took a piece, breaking it in half on his plate.

“Chaotic,” he said. “Sometimes heartbreaking.”

“I can’t imagine how challenging it is,” you said, chewing. “I would never stay calm.”

“It’s not easy.”

You felt like he was skirting around the reality he faced, and your brows furrowed. 

“I feel like you’re trying to not sound as impressive as you are.”

He laughed at that, passing a hand over his face wearily. 

“I mean…”

“You’d constantly have to be flexible, right? No day is the same, you deal with anything and everyone…”

“Yeah,” he said. “But someone has to.”

You swallowed. The waiter returned with your drinks, and you took yours with a brief smile of acknowledgment. You took a sip, and put the towering glass aside, picking out a piece of pineapple stuck to its rim. 

“So why you, then? Why not do something other than emergency healthcare?”

You shoved the fruit in your mouth, watching him. He drank from his glass of beer as you asked this. He sighed. 

“I don’t… want to. But I probably should.”

You appreciated his honesty. You sucked the juice from your thumb, nodding. The silence felt taut with more questions, from both sides of the table.

“Why’d you break up with your ex?” he asked. 

You smiled bitterly. “He didn’t want to have babies with me.”

The heaviness of your conversation only just hit you. You were both alone here, out of choice, but now you’d decided to create this bond, however fleeting it may be. 

“I’m sorry,” he added. 

“You didn’t upset me,” you said, because he hadn’t. “It’s the truth. He left me. I thought he wanted to have kids. We talked about it enough.”

You sighed, not unlike him. 

“We started dating just before lockdown, and then we moved in together pretty fast. I was already diagnosed with endo then - and whenever we talked about the future it felt like hypotheticals. I mean, the world had fallen apart, and we weren’t going anywhere. We were forced to know one another really well. And we did, I thought. I thought we were close.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself, at how wrong you were.

“I think maybe he thought I’d never be serious about it, because I knew it  would be hard to conceive, but then I started cutting back on drinking-”

You glanced at your drink briefly and gave a short laugh.

“I was trying to get my body healthy for trying, and I finally had my surgery…”

“And he flaked,” Michael said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” you said. “And I feel like an idiot that I spent all this time with him, and I never really knew him. I think he meant  more to me than I ever did to him.”

You picked up your drink again to stop talking, to stop yourself from becoming too sad again. You were only repeating the same thoughts you’d had for weeks.

“He’s an idiot,” Michael said, and you met his gaze. “He should have known sooner, anyway. Let you down better.”

You rolled your eyes again, trying not to notice how his eyes bore into you. Your skin began to feel hot.

Mercifully, the night’s entertainment began. Dancers twirling flames drew all attention away from your sad life, and with it your perspective. You were here, and not at home feeling sorry for yourself. 

The night was warm, beautiful. The scenery and culture was spectacular, and this man was sitting with you out of choice. Things could be a thousand times worse. You were lucky.

“Hey, if anyone gets hurt, at least I know where to find a doctor,” you said, clapping with the rest of the dinner crowd. 

Michael’s eyes were bright with mirth. 

Some time later, full of good food, carrying your purse under your arm, your shoes in one hand and a water glass in your other, you and Michael walked along the beach together once more.

“Do you have kids?” you asked, and Michael took a second to reply.

“I had a stepson, sort of,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

He didn’t explain, but added:

“Answer’s no.”

“Do you want them?” you asked. “I mean, did you ever?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Other times…”

Again, he didn’t elaborate, his words hanging there. You decided to fill the silence.

“I guess I always wanted to try, to… y’know, give it a shot. Try to fight my infertility.” 

He nodded, wincing. “I guess it would be hard if I was working like I do.”

“People make it work.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just naturally morbid from time to time,” he said. 

The sand was oddly comforting as you strolled, the sounds of life around you mere background noise. You drew in a breath, deciding to be your most direct.

“You weren’t just being nice, about my ex being a moron?” you asked.

His brows hiked. “No.”

“It can be hard for guys to be with-”

“With women with chronic illnesses?” he cut in. 

You glanced towards the sea, the darkness beyond. 

“Yeah, I guess that makes him sound like an asshole.” You sighed. “I’m going to stop mentioning him. I promise.”

Michael stopped, and you turned back, looking down at his hand he had poised beneath your nose.

“Pinky promise?”

You smirked, indulging him. You clasped his pinky with your own, shaking. For a beat too long, you noticed. He pulled away first, only to step closer to you, watching your face.

The heat between you was undeniable. He lifted his hand once again, thumb and forefinger catching your chin. 

“Walk you back?”

“Sure,” you said, heart hammering. 

-

It took a little while to fall asleep, since he was a gentleman and did as he said - walked you back to your room and then said goodnight. 

No kiss, not even a hug. You simply parted ways and then you throbbed for hours after, feeling like you should have just gone for it. Unless somehow you were misreading it. 

Those thoughts were pushed aside the second your landline rang beside you, around eight the next morning. You rolled over, confused, picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did I wake you?” 

Michael’s voice early in the morning made a thrill stir in your guts, a smile already playing on your lips. He was all soft and friendly, and you felt like you could hear him smiling on the other end of the line, across the hallway. 

“No. Who is this?”

“It’s the guy that’s gonna get you to see some real nature today, if you let him,” he replied.

You grinned, rolling onto your back. “What did you have in mind?”

“A hike, if you’re up for it.”

You knew you didn’t look your best when you were huffing and puffing up a hill. 

“I’ll take it easy on you,” he added.

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered.

When were you ever going to do this again?

“Alright, fuck it.”

You agreed to meet one another in the lobby in half an hour and you hung up, leaping out of bed and into the shower. 

You threw on some shorts and your new hat, tried to figure out a way to look both cute and not totally ridiculous, and then headed downstairs. You grabbed a banana from the breakfast buffet and a coffee and scoffed them down, before making your way to the lobby. 

He was waiting for you, backpack over one shoulder. 

“Don’t have one of those,” you said, gesturing. 

“I can carry everything.”

“Where’re we going?” you asked, following him out the door and into the street. 

“It’s a tourist trap, technically,” he said, and you punched the air. “But the biodiversity is up there, compared to yacht tours-”

“Man, that Yelp review just writes itself, huh?”

You suspected he could walk faster if he wanted to, but he was doing the nice thing and making sure you weren’t left behind. He offered you bottled water that you took, uncapping it as you climbed a footpath up a steep hill. 

“There’s a cliff view,” he explained. 

“That’s the reward?”

“No, the journey is the reward,” he said, and you snorted. “Yeah, I know how I sound.”

He sounded like someone who could call out his own bullshit, which you appreciated. It was refreshing, in a way. In this place with him, there was no room for a facade.

You made sure to walk beside him until the path was too narrow, and then you took the lead, in the hope of seeming up for anything. Also, you knew the shorts you wore did great things for your butt.

Nearly half an hour later, you reached the top, passing another couple that nodded and smiled at you. 

“Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” you called after them, as Michael let them pass. 

The view took your breath away. Rocks below as waves crashed into them. Lush greenery all around. Birdcalls echoing as Michael rested beside you against a tree. 

“You did it,” he murmured, taking out his water. 

You tapped his bottle with yours and drank. You felt a little out of breath, but otherwise good. There was a sense of achievement.

When you got back to the hotel, Michael jerked his thumb towards the concierge desk. 

“Gimme a sec.” 

“What are you up to?” 

He had a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he walked over, you hurrying after him. As he approached the desk, a worker smiled at you.

“Afternoon, Dr. Robinavich.” 

“I was wondering if anyone was available at short notice, we were out hiking…” 

The worker's uniform reminded you to buy a Hawaiian shirt while you were here in the next few days, the thought distracting you momentarily. 

“Unfortunately, we only have a couple's massage session available, it's a longer one. Our regular masseuse Amy is away, she does our shorter sessions…”

“Couple's massage?” you blurted, and Michael looked at you. 

“Would you mind?” 

Uh, fuck no. You shook your head. The worker smiled. 

“Alright. We'll see you in twenty minutes.” 

-

You quickly realized that you were in over your head. The massage rooms were low lit with the kind of ambient lighting you associated with softcore porn.

The tiny candles that dotted the room, along with the soothing New Age music coming from the small speaker in the corner only added to the highly sensual atmosphere.

“Uh…” you said, as you walked in with Michael. 

The masseuses stood by with towels in hand, two smiling young women with matching frangipani in their hairdos, their skin glowing, looking soft to the touch. You envied their calm, feeling your face burn.

“Good afternoon,” one of them said, beaming. “I’m Naomi, and this is Mia…”

Mia gave a little wave. 

“Afternoon,” Michael said, nodding.

He was also weirdly at ease. Then again, as a doctor, wouldn’t he deal with embarrassing situations all the time? You pressed your lips together, listening. 

“We will give you a few minutes to undress to your liking. Are there any concerns before we continue?”

You cleared your throat. “I - uh, I can have a tender abdomen sometimes, I have endometriosis…”

Naomi nodded, understanding. “Yes, of course. We can avoid certain areas. Anything you want us to focus on?”

“My neck and shoulders,” you said. “I think I probably look down at my phone too much.”

“My back,” Michael added. “I’m on my feet a lot, generally.”

“He’s a doctor,” you said, and he looked at the floor. 

“Oh, wonderful,” Mia said. “Thank you.”

They departed, Michael staring after them. 

“‘Thank you’? I’m not a veteran.”

“You worked through the height of the pandemic though, right?” you said, and he met your gaze, his face changing. 

Dread or something close to it flashed across his face and you immediately regretted your question, realizing far too late how invasive and awful it was.

“I’m sorry, that was crass,” you babbled, and he shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

He moved away, towards one of the massage tables, fingers going to his buttons. 

“Right,” you muttered. “Uh. I’ll just…”

You went to the other table, taking your shoes off, hands going to your shirt to remove it as fast as possible. 

“Don’t turn around,” you said.

“You good?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you lied. 

“Because we don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”

You thought about it for longer than a second and then slipped under the towel, the table firm and unyielding under your weight. You tried to ground yourself, your nipples hardening under your towel as you spared a glance at him. 

His back was to you, but he was under his own towel, no shirt. He had some scars, a couple moles you found endearing. Freckles and marks of age that only flattered him more. He was broad, too, of course. 

You thought of that strength hidden under his clothes. 

“Can I roll over?” he asked, and you whispered:

“Yeah.”

He turned, pulling in a breath. 

“You with me?” he asked. “Are you in any pain today?”

You shook your head, and you were touched by his concern. You buried yourself further under the towel, barely peeking out. 

He murmured your name a couple times and your eyes snapped to his. 

“My liver spots and wrinkles are really that hard to look at?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you retorted, laughing uncomfortably. “You’re cute and you know it.”

He began to laugh, rolling onto his back, hand passing over his face. You wanted him so badly then, wishing he was under the towel with you. Now you had ninety minutes of this a few feet away from you.

“This is supposed to be relaxing,” he said. “So try to relax.”

“A man telling me to relax,” you muttered. “My favorite.”

“Yes, and a male healthcare professional, too, no less,” he retorted. 

Your eyes met again and you shuffled up a little, until your arms were free, the towel still covering your naked torso. 

“After this, we should-”

Whatever bold thing you were about to propose was interrupted by a short knock on the door, Naomi’s voice floating in. 

“Are you ready?”

A beat, and Michael closed his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he called. “Thank you.”

The massage itself was divine. It felt far shorter than its ninety minutes, and after a while all you could do was melt into a pile of goo. You were surprised you didn’t nod off, and Michael admitted the same in the elevator back up to your floor. 

Whatever momentum you had earlier was lost, but you didn’t mind. You weren’t in any hurry to get back there, by how liquid you felt. You were rubbed all over with lavender oil and felt your clothes sticking to your skin. You craved a hot shower and a bed to nap on. 

You gave him a dreamy little wave as you went your separate ways.

-

You woke hours later, hearing a knocking at the front door drifting in as you fought off the remainder of your sleep. You lifted your head from your pillow and walked out to answer it.

Michael stood before you.

“I definitely woke you this time,” he said, looking at your bathrobe that matched his. 

He looked apologetic but cuddly in the fluffy white robe, his feet bare. He had nice toes, you noted vaguely.

“It’s fine,” you said, not bothering to lie. “It’s better I don’t sleep through dinner.”

“I’m actually wondering if you wanna…”

He gestured behind him, toward the elevator down the hall.

“I was gonna order room service,” you said. 

You were too lazy to dress in something nice, to walk all the way down. You were spoiled by the massage. All you wanted was creature comforts. 

“You can order it at mine.”

He really, really wanted to see you, that was clear. You softened, rubbing your eye. 

“Okay…”

You took your phone and your keys and followed him out. His TV set was on, his window was open with the curtains moving with the soft night breeze, and the moon was out. The sounds of the hotel floated up from below, but you liked it here best, in this little space of his.

His suitcase was open against the wall, its contents far more economical than yours. From your brief glance, you saw a small bottle of cologne resting on his bedside table. On the yacht you’d smelt a fresh, slightly sweet scent on him.

His room itself had his own scent, amplified. You could chase it if you wanted to. It was vaguely earthy, welcoming. You perched on the end of his bed beside him, your knees touching.

He was so close.

“Good day?” you asked, and he nodded. 

Then he took your hand like you were his and you stared down at him.

“Your hand is crazy soft,” you whispered, just to break the tension. 

“It’s probably from all the hand sanitizer at work,” he murmured, threading your fingers together. “Aloe in it.”

You looked up into his eyes, your stomach full of butterflies. 

“Michael…”

You took his free hand and slipped it into your robe, under your bra cup, his fingers finding your nipple. He stared down at your skin, thumb flicking over you as he rolled your breast, the moan tumbling out of you. 

He leaned in to kiss you, your noses brushing. Light teasing, lips passing over one another until he pushed into your mouth with his tongue, your breaths already turning to panting. You were  molten, wet without being touched anywhere near your pussy, and you knew it. 

Your hands went up to his hair and you pulled him towards you, the TV playing in the background as you kissed and kissed, both of his hands on your chest now. You pulled back once your lips began to numb, relishing in how soft his beard was, noting the grey hairs you could make out. 

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, nuzzling your skin as you nodded. 

He pushed down your robe and then the straps of your bra. Freed of them both, you threw a leg over him and straddled his lap, feeling how hard he was beneath you. You gave a grind of your hips against his and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you.

You slotted in together, rocking as you kissed, clumsy but not ever rushed. It was so thorough, and you throbbed for him, scratching his scalp. 

“Sex can hurt sometimes,” you warned. 

You were telling him what you knew he’d already know.

“I just don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. 

Michael promptly planted his foot and spun you around so you were pinned underneath him. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he said, and you kissed him hard for that alone, his cock rubbing against your thigh insistantly.

He broke away with a soft smack of your lips, and you gazed up at him with a shy smile.

“Can you get a condom?” you whispered.

He nodded, moving back quick enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm. You watched as he went to his suitcase, retrieving a box.

“Wow, how many is in there?” you teased, resting on your elbows. 

“I’m on sabbatical for three months,” he said, and you smirked again. “And I’m a doctor.”

“I’m not complaining,” you said. 

“Good.”

You took hold of your underwear and lifted your hips, pulling them off. You tossed them aside as he watched with a quiet awe. 

“I was hoping to do that,” he said, returning to the bed. 

The clear outline of his erection made your heart hammer with anticipation. A Pavlovian-like response, your mouth watered as he went to take off his own robe and pants underneath. 

When he stood naked by the bed, you crawled over for a closer look, and to touch, of course. You couldn’t help it. You reached for his cock, wrapping your hand around it, his hand finding your shoulder and squeezing. 

“Shit,” he whispered, as you jerked him slowly, tenderly. 

His eyes closed, distracted. He still held the unopened box, and you took the opportunity to dip down and take him into your mouth without warning. 

You went all the way down, until you were hitting your gag reflex, careful to not trigger it too hard, dragging your tongue along the underside. He tasted nice, that musky saltiness that was never quite enough. The precum that rewarded you made you moan around his cock, pulling back, swirling your tongue around the blunt tip.

He was so warm, and so hard. You bobbed your head, pushing yourself further, foregoing breathing to make him lose his own. He panted as you worked him over in hard sucks, his hand moving up to grab your hair. Just hard enough to be known, but not painful.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck…”

You missed this, feeling wanted. Feeling cherished, even if this was fleeting. You could believe it just enough. You pulled back, eyes watering from the effort. 

“You…”

He pushed you back, until he lay on top of you, caging you in with his arms. His wet cock slipped between you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your nails digging into his back. 

“You’re a menace,” he murmured, peppering your face with kisses. 

You made out again, until you were certain you were dripping onto the sheets, your naked chests and stomachs pressed together. You panted, sweat already beading on your forehead and his. 

“Condom,” he said, and you nodded. 

He broke open the box, took out the sleeve of them and tore one off. You watched as he pulled it on efficiently, expertly.

“When’s the last time you fucked someone?” you panted.

“Feels like too long ago, now,” he said, his eyes blown with lust. 

He pulled you under him again and kissed you, lining you up.

“I’ll go slowly,” he whispered, and you nodded. “We can stop if…”

“No, don’t stop,” you whispered back. “Please don’t stop.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he sunk into you, your cunt gripping him already, a whimper falling from your lips as he filled every inch of you to the brim.

You gasped, adjusting. You felt all tingly, right down to your toes. He groaned as he shifted, not moving as you accommodated for him.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he breathed, and you moaned.

“Keep… going.”

“I can’t get too worked up or it’ll be over too soon,” he said, and you laughed breathily.

“You’re so sweet,” you whispered.

“I mean it…”

He finally began to move, his nose bumping yours with each thrust. Things quickly dissolved into sweat and moans, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He moved in for another swift kiss, teeth clacking, and you gripped him harder, digging into his flesh.

Your bodies slapped together, foreheads pressed to one another’s. He slowed, breathing heavily, kissing you deep as he tried to recalibrate.

You watched him pull back, to preserve himself a little longer. You squeezed him deep inside and he blinked down at you, narrowing his eyes. 

He shifted, moving your legs up to rest your ankles on his shoulders. The stretch was exquisite, his cock feeling impossibly deep inside you. His retaliation was rewarded with your shuddering moan.

As he pounded into you, it blurred between too much and just enough, your trembling hand slipping down between you, desperate to reach your clit. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he whispered, and you nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by it all.

Your pleasure crested and you came, crying out right by his ear, his face buried into your neck as he showed you no mercy. Bending you in half like this, your legs in the air, your wailing by his handsome face - it all would usually mortify you but it felt too fucking perfect to diminish. 

He kept going for several seconds after you crashed back to earth, huffing and nearing his own end. You clung to him as he spilled inside the condom, going rigid above you. You pressed a kiss to his arm, panting with him. 

In the gentle afterglow, he settled against you, a happy kind of hum in your hair. He held you against him, and it didn’t feel like he let go for a long, long time, but things were blurry at best by the end. 

It was a good fuck. Legendary, even. He peeled away reluctantly and flopped beside you with a sigh. You rested in the wet patch for all of one minute before you too decided you had to move away. 

-

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but you woke much later. You drew in a breath, surrounded by Michael’s heat and scent. You shared a pillow, you remembered, as you blinked and took in the surroundings in the early morning light. 

The TV was still on, though its volume was too low to make out the majority of the dialogue, you could see it was a black and white Italian movie. 

Michael’s arm was across your middle, as if he had flung it across you during the night. You watched the side of his face. His blissed out face filled your stomach with butterflies. 

You rolled over, and then he stirred at your movement. You waited until he was waking up to finally move again, slipping out of bed and walking to the bathroom. 

“Get back here,” you heard him call, and you smirked, glancing at the mirror. 

Once you flushed the toilet and washed your hands, you went back, seeing him waiting for you. 

You picked up your robe and threw it on. Michael's brows hiked. 

“I really don't want you doing that.” 

“I'm gonna go,” you said. You sat on the end of the bed. “Sorry to burst your bubble.” 

You moved to grab your slides but he stopped you, suddenly behind you and pulling you back into his arms.

“You want me to stay?”

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmured, lips already ghosting your neck. 

You hadn’t slept with someone new in literally years, so you were rusty, you figured. But he seemed serious about how much he wanted to repeat this. After all the buildup, he wanted more? You weren’t about to argue with him when his hand opened your robe again, exposing your skin once more.

And you certainly weren’t going to stop him when he lay you down, your head half off the bed, diving between your spread thighs with all eager lips and tongue.

He had a confidence with a woman’s body that you knew didn’t just come with age, though you suspected it helped immensely for some men. He had a greater understanding of experience, plus his regular ‘touching strangers’ thing. You could never. Michael seemed born for this.

Your hands found the back of his head as he ruined you, spearing his tongue inside you, fucking you relentlessly with it once you started to whine and shiver with pleasure. Your thighs quivered, fighting to keep themselves open as he stroked deep inside your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…”

You back bowed as you came, and he didn’t let up, working your clit with his thumb at a steady rhythm. He only stopped when you tried to pull away, his kisses landing on your inner thigh, wet and sticky. He kept kissing you, cherishing you. 

It was so intimate and intense you had to look away, your hand over your face. 

“You okay?” he panted, and you nodded. 

He pulled you up and rolled you over so your face was in his pillow, the spare under your hips a second later. In no time at all, he lined himself up, the blunt tip of him teasing your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and you believed him. The reverence was undeniable. 

When he pushed inside, bottoming out with a grunt, you gripped him in earnest. He bent down, kissing your neck, your shoulders. You were still recovering from before, still in that floaty stage, when he began to move. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered, never missing a stroke. 

He didn’t last long, and you didn’t mind. You honestly didn’t notice, with how full and wanted you felt. He was rougher than last night, taking from you, all the while whispering encouragement as you gave him all. 

He came with a groan, fingers biting into your ass as he went still. You sighed, content as he pulled away. 

Once you showered in your room and returned, he ate you out again after breakfast. It was a lot. But it felt like the closest thing to perfect. Too bad it wasn’t going to last longer than a few more days of your vacation.

“What are you doing after this?” you murmured, popping a grape into your mouth. 

“Well…”

He glanced down at you beside him, lifting the sheet, as if to examine your naked body. 

“I meant after vacation,” you said. 

He was engrossed in your lower half. You moved your free hand across your lower stomach where your scars were. As if detecting your self-consciousness, he switched back. 

“I’m still not sure.”

“Haven’t given it more thought?” you said. “You’ve got a passport, right?” 

He nodded. 

“You could always, y’know - disappear…”

He swallowed, looking away. The immediate shift in him had you wanting to take it back, like usual.

“I don’t have to know,” you added. “I’d just hope you enjoy it. You deserve it.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I dunno about that.”

He went quiet then and you finished eating, moving closer. He let you under his arm, pulling you into his side. Your legs tangled. 

“What have you ever done that was so awful, Michael?” you whispered. 

He gave a pained smile. You were starting to know it well.

“The stepson I had,” he began. “Jake.” 

“What happened?”

He closed his eyes. “Pittfest.”

Of course. The entire event had slipped your mind as something he’d be part of. You remember donating blood in the days that followed, and you were lucky to not know anyone who’d been there. The whole city had been affected though, for months after. 

“He was there, I gave him my ticket for his girlfriend,” he mumbled. He bit his lip. “Leah. She… she was shot, and I… I… couldn’t save her.”

You pulled him into a tight hug before he could resist it, kissing his head, clinging to him. Your chest squeezed when he hugged you back, and you heard him sniffle. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” he mumbled. 

You stayed like that for a while, and he began to relax against you, your lips still brushing his brow when you spoke.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t,” he said. 

“Michael, it’s not- it’s not your fault. Don’t do that to yourself. I know we’ve only known each other a few days but…”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. 

“I feel like I… fucking skipped time or something. I know you well enough that you tried everything you could to save her, and… I’m sorry. I’m just so fucking sorry you have to live with that-”

He broke you off with a crushing kiss. In seconds you were tussling again, rearranging yourselves for him to push inside you. It was rushed and desperate, like you hadn’t been fucking for hours. 

“We fucking skipped time,” he whispered, pounding into you like it was his mission to do so. “C’mon, I’ve got you…”

When he played with your clit, everything shrunk to a pinpoint and you tensed up, clenching around him. 

“Attagirl,” he whispered, watching you fall apart. 

He didn’t relent until he had his fill, your mind going blank.

-

Robby’s back and shoulders were beginning to ache, as they always did this late into the shift. He hadn’t sat down in over eight hours, except to tell a patient’s relative some bad news in the family room. 

That didn’t count. 

He hung his neck, tugging on his stethoscope with both hands, taking a deep breath through his nose. It wasn’t chaotic, but a steady hum of constant beeps, voices and movement around him. He was waiting for several beds to be available upstairs.

“Six still waiting on labs?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dana said without looking up. “And trauma two’s CT just came back.”

“Great,” Robby muttered.

Everything was normal, the tunnel-vision type of end to his day. Dana answered the phone, taking off her glasses as she stood up from her chair.

“Robby. Incoming severe vaginal bleeding.”

He nodded, looking around. Whittaker went into eight with a brave look set on his face. He watched as Mel walked with Mohan, deep in conversation. He knew Santos was trying to chart nearby. 

McKay came out to grab another computer, logging in. 

“Severe bleeding incoming,” he murmured. “Look alive.”

Not three minutes later, the paramedics burst in with the stretcher, a sheet thrown over the lower half of the woman whose eyes were closed, her face twisted in pain.

“Severe vaginal bleeding,” one of the paramedics rattled off. “History of endometriosis per patient. Syncope at home.”

Robby’s mind clicked into gear.

“How long?”

“Couple hours of heavy bleeding.”

“Any pregnancy—”

He stopped. The patient’s head rolled slightly to the side on the stretcher, just enough for the overhead light to fall across her face.

Robby’s brain registered it before the rest of him caught up.

The ER disappeared. The smell of the antiseptic, the fluorescent lights. All of it was replaced with sun, the ocean - Hawaii. 

You.

He stopped walking, McKay bumping into him. 

“Robby?”

“Trauma One,” he said, coming back to life. Years of practice kept his voice steady.

He stepped forward, grabbing the gurney to help steer it. 

“BP is eighty over fifty.”

“Jesus,” he hissed. 

“Heartrate is 130.”

Of all the places to see you again, his ER. 

Of all the hospitals in all of Pittsburgh, she rolls into mine.

Like something out of fucking Casablanca.

You were transferred to the hospital bed, Robby slipping gloves on as he approached your side, his voice calm:

“Let’s get two large-bore IVs. CBC, type and cross, CMP.”

Your head lolled to the side, your eyelids fluttering.

“...Michael?”

He ignored McKay’s eyes burning into the side of his face. He began to check your pupils. Your skin was cold.

“You’re in the ER at PTMC. You’ve lost some blood, but we’re taking care of you.”

You blinked, still hazy. But you managed to focus on his face, his gentle tone. You nodded, closing your eyes again. 

Monitors clipped into place with soft, rapid clicks. The familiar choreography of a patient circling instability.

“Fluids and a transfuse,” he said to the room. He glanced back at you, grabbing your hand.

“Pressure’s dropping,” Princess at your left said. “Seventy-eight systolic.” 

He adjusted your arm for the IV, the sting of it nothing compared to the pain you felt elsewhere. Someone hung a bag of fluids behind him. 

“Blood’s on the way, we’ll start a transfusion the second it gets here.”

“Excellent,” he said. 

You struggled, eyes fluttering shut. He leaned in closer to you. 

“Hey - stay with me.”

“Robby, should we page OB now or wait for labs?” McKay asked, and he shook his head.

“Given the history, I don’t want to wait.”

“The… history?” she asked, sharing a look with Princess.

Robby tried to not visibly react to the highly likely scenario that this incident would be circling in the days to come.

Robby ignored them, giving your wrist a small squeeze. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

“BP’s responding,” someone called. “Up to ninety-two systolic.”

“Good,” Robby said immediately. “Keep it going.”

Your breathing had steadied slightly, though your eyelids still fluttered with the effort of staying conscious. The first unit of blood arrived moments later.

“Type O negative.”

“Perfect,” Robby replied. “Let’s start it.”

The bag was spiked, the line flushed, the transfusion beginning in practiced, efficient movements.

Robby didn’t step away, nor did he hand you over or delegate. He lingered by your side, hand resting beside yours as he watched your vitals. 

-

On the last day of your vacation, you woke up in his arms. You could hear the crashing of the waves below the open windows, the sea breeze on your bare skin. 

You rolled over, facing him, your noses brushing. 

“I wish I could go with you,” you whispered for the first time. 

You meant it, but knew neither of you would actually follow through with it. 

“I should kidnap you,” he whispered back, and then he kissed you. 

-

“Robby.”

It was Santos, rushed but remaining calm. Practically fearless, but looking for help. Robby glanced over his shoulder, then back at you in the bed.

“Yeah,” he sighed. He took off his gloves, stood up and tossed them in the trash. 

He went by Dana at her desk and nodded over at your room. 

“Come and find me when she wakes up.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Dana stared him down but he refused to engage. He wasn’t in the right headspace. Seeing you like that, so vulnerable, had too great of an impact.

He pushed off the desk and left to follow Santos. 

-

You rest for an hour before you manage to open your eyes again. You glance around, seeing a nurse wearing a hijab checking your vitals.

Among the sea of pain is a shame so sudden you gasp, remembering Michael all over again. What were the chances you ended up here?

“I’ll go get Dr. Robby,” the nurse said. 

You sat up on your elbows, nodding. You hadn’t prepared yourself for this. You only had to wait another ten minutes before the resident with a ponytail from before came in with Michael in tow.

“How are you feeling?” the resident asked, and you glanced over at Michael, feeling scrutinised.

“Okay, uh-”

“I’m Dr. McKay, and this is- well, you seemed to know each other,” McKay said. 

Michael crossed his arms. “Yes, uh…”

“We’re friends,” you said, though that didn’t feel right. 

You hadn’t spoken in months. On that last day, no promises were made. You exchanged numbers, but you hadn’t wanted to ruin his time off, and you left him in Hawaii. 

Sure, you’d thought about him constantly since, but not all for good reasons.

Michael didn’t say anything about that, looking at your monitors.

“You’re definitely improving,” he murmured. “And the glow is back in your skin.”

“It might be sweat,” you muttered.

“How’s your pain?” McKay asked. “If you can give it a number-”

You always thought this was one of the more frustrating ways of dealing with endometriosis. Having to self report.

“Like a seven to eight,” you interjected. “I wouldn’t say it’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I can kind of sleep with it. Or pass out.”

That wasn’t funny, not even remotely, but you saw Michael smirk in the corner of your eye.

“You called the ambulance?” McKay asked, and you nodded.

“After I came to,” you said. “The bleeding was getting worse, and then I realized it wasn’t slowing down, and my towel was soaked through.”

“How was your last menstrual cycle?”

“Fine,” you said. “Not like this. Not exactly easy, but not like this…”

You pulled in a breath. You knew where this was going.

“Any surgeries?”

“I had a laparoscopy six months ago,” you murmured. You looked at your hands. 

“Any other complications?”

Your eyes stung. You picked at a cuticle. 

“I had an ectopic pregnancy a few months ago.”

-

Robby rubbed his eyes under his glasses, staring at his screen. He had left you and McKay, dragged away by another patient.

Santos came up to the charge desk, glancing up at the list of patients. 

“Ectopic?” 

He heard McKay beside her. 

“Left tube,” she said. “Treated with methotrexate. When detected early, we can avoid rupture and surgery.”

It was a teaching moment, but only then did it hit Robby squarely in the chest. He’d been distracted. 

Ectopic, a few months ago. 

Hawaii?

He looked at McKay, whose conversation with Santos changed to something about the weekend. 

“Hey, Santos?” he called. “Are you any closer to sending your guy home?”

“Sure,” she said, hands in her scrubs pockets. “Once I get back a clear drug test.”

McKay met his gaze. 

“I ordered an ultrasound for your friend,” she said. 

He nodded. He looked at his watch. 

“You think you’re leaving any time soon?” Dana snapped. 

He put away his glasses with a sigh. He felt several pairs of female eyes on him as he made his way back to your room. 

He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. You swallowed hard, a lump already there.

“Hey, so… you lied to me,” you said. 

“About what?” 

He came over to your bed and sat on the chair beside it, scooting closer. It was too close for a doctor-patient relationship, you felt. You didn’t mind.

You lifted your hand and reached over, tapping his name tag.

“It was easier to be Michael.”

“‘Robby’ does suit you,” you murmured. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated, leaning on one elbow. 

You stared at one another for what felt like an age, a story unravelling between the two of you. 

“Don’t be sorry you came here,” he whispered. 

“I’m not, it’s just - I didn’t want this to be the way I saw you for a second time,” you mumbled. “I mean, if I ever saw you a second time. I didn’t… I didn’t call.”

“Neither did I,” he said. He sighed. “I could’ve.”

“But I didn’t, like you’d hoped.”

“No,” he said. “You did not.”

Everything felt heavy. You sniffled.

“Jesus, sorry,” you said, with a roll of your eyes. You wiped your nose with your hand. “To be fair, I am on my period.”

“It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice so small you could barely hear it yourself.

He was the one to take your hand, your fingers twining. He squeezed.

“I didn’t get back with my ex,” you said, and he nodded. 

“Good.”

You snorted, but then instantly sobered by the look on his face. He stared intently at your fingers before looking back at you. 

“Was it mine?”

You nodded. You knew what he meant. The moment passed between you and you let out a shuddering breath.

“It wasn’t even a real pregnancy,” you said. “No possibility of it… happening. But I just had this feeling before - and I tested positive, so…”

You rolled your eyes again.

“For two days it was like…”

You couldn’t get the words out. He squeezed your hand again. 

“For two days it was like it was ours.”

-

Robby had been taking a lot of deep breaths in the last half an hour. On the rooftop, the air was fresh, the nighttime sharpness coming in. 

“So,” he heard someone say, and he turned, seeing Jack.

“So,” he echoed.

“Who’s the girl?”

He smirked, shaking his head. Unbelievable. He hadn’t even seen him yet and he knew about you. He could accuse Dana, but if he was honest, most everyone at the Pitt was a gossip.

“She’s the one I met in Hawaii,” he murmured.

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”

“Mm.”

“You’re up here because you’re trying to figure out a way to get out of this?” he teased.

He joined Robby, glancing down. 

“Not exactly,” Robby replied. He grit his jaw for a beat. “She was pregnant. Ectopic. Then today she came in after she couldn’t stop bleeding.”

“Endometriosis? What stage?”

“One.”

Jack shook his head. “Y’know, there are women whose biopsies confirm it, because surgeons can’t find it. They can be microscopic.”

“It’s brutal,” Robby muttered. “I can’t stand it, Jack. Seeing her like that. She might’ve…”

He didn’t dare say it. 

“What’re you doing up here, brother?” Jack murmured. 

“Thinking,” Robby muttered. “Thinking too much.”

As they began their walk back, he said:

“She’s waiting to be transferred to OB.”

He wasn’t going to let it go until he said it out loud, so he did it, feeling heavy.

“I got her pregnant. It was me.”

Jack didn’t seem surprised, giving him an understanding, soft sort of look.

“It’s okay, it happens. Is she okay?”

“I guess. No?”

He needed to focus back to work, to finally finish his shift. He started to make the rounds. 

-

He came back to your room. You put down your magazine Dana got you. 

“Hey,” you said. “You’re gonna leave?”

He nodded, going to the computer, swiping his card. He typed, glasses on. You remembered the first time you saw him use them, when he read the menu on your first not-date on vacation.

“I can feel you watching me,” he said, not looking up.

“What’re you doing, then?” you asked.

He typed, then scratched his head. Typed some more.

“Recommending you have an iron transfusion after your follow-up blood test. Your gynecologist will get a letter from the hospital. And then… it’s on me.”

“Robby,” you said, a little alarmed. You knew the cost of those. “That’s too much. What the fuck?”

He smirked, giving a definitive tap.

“Because, baby, you are anemic.”

You felt a burst of something - a warm affection that made your eyes water. You watched as he came over, sitting on the edge of your bed. He held your hands.

“A girl walks into a hotel bar, and she happens to be from Pittsburgh, and I pass that up? What a fucking…”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“...moron.”

You gave a tearful little laugh, and leaned toward him, kissing him. It was rushed and clumsy, but the mixture of trust and danger - it was everything to you. 

He was everything. You pressed your foreheads together. 

He exhaled against your skin. 

“Robby,” you said. 

“Hmm.”

“Don’t disappear again.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly.

“I promise.”

tagging: @that-wimpy-cowboy-doll @thesandbeneathmytoes

It's been three days since Olivia left. Three days since you moved into the guest room.

Three days since Jack has slept more than an hour at a time.

He'd expected that he'd miss you, but he hadn't expected his body to react so viscerally to your lack of presence. Hadn’t expected it to feel like something essential had been pulled out of him—like his body didn’t know how to settle without you.

It's familiar in a way he hates. The restless energy buzzing under his skin, the sharp edge of awareness, the way his mind keeps searching for something to do—something urgent, something loud enough to drown everything else out.

He'd caught himself earlier, halfway to the drawer where he'd hidden the police scanner, until his mind caught up to his body. He wanted to reach in, grab it, but he didn't. Because if he did, he’d go. And as long as you were here—even in another room—he wouldn’t.

He'll reach for it when you're gone. Not a second before.

You've left for the guest room half an hour ago—your room now—after getting ready for bed. He'd convinced you to keep your things in his bathroom, arguing that it made more sense than to move them—a weak excuse that somehow worked.

It meant that he could sit against the headboard, listen to you potter around in there and get a sweet smile from you before you eventually leave.

After that, he could creep under the covers, drag your pillow into his arms, and bury his nose deep into the fabric where your scent still lingers. Pretend for a moment that you haven't left—that you're still in the bathroom.

But this time the familiar scent is not there. He'd turned the pillow around, rather desperately, hoping—praying—to find it.

He didn't.

You'd changed the sheets. Washed off the last bit of evidence he had that you'd been there. He lay back down with a thud, pillow still hugged tightly to his chest, and resigned himself to a night of no sleep.

He was wrong. It isn't a night of no sleep—it's much worse. Because when his eyes close, he's right back there.

Dry, suffocating heat sticks to his skin. Lungs burning with each breath. Sand grinds between his teeth. There's a sharp, metallic stink of fuel and blood.

Someone's bleeding.

He's pressing down, his hands slick, trying to keep it in—begging stay with me, stay with me—but it won't stop.

It never stops. It's one after the other. Faces blur. Voices overlap. Orders shouted over choking breaths.

He's too slow. He's always too slow.

A broken sound tears out of him. His hands twist into the sheets, knuckles straining white, fabric biting into his palms. He doesn't feel it until something pulls him up, drags him out—

His eyes snap open to another nightmare—one that hurts in an entirely different way.

You're sitting beside him, watching him with worried but sympathetic eyes. Close but not touching him like he wishes you would—he wants nothing more than to feel your warmth, even if it's just a mind's trick. His chest is still heaving, lungs refusing to settle, heart slamming hard enough it hurts. Adrenaline courses through him. He doesn't move—couldn't if he wanted to—so he just stares at you, waiting for the inevitable moment when you fade away again.

"You're okay," you whisper, shifting closer on the bed.

He doesn't believe it. Not when he can still feel it—the heat, the blood, the weight of it all sitting heavy in his chest like it never left.

"You're okay," you murmur again, glancing from his face down to his hands still clutching the covers. You reach out, but stop halfway, hesitating. "Can I touch you?"

"Please," he manages, his voice cracking. He can barely breathe.

You move slowly, carefully easing the fabric out of his grip and replacing it with your hand. Your other hand comes up to his face, swiping at the tears that he hadn't even realised had fallen.

"Breathe with me," you say. You bring your intertwined hands up to your chest, resting them gently on your sternum, so he can feel the slow and steady rise of it.

He tries matching you, but it feels impossible.

You keep murmuring assurances, gentle words that he doesn't believe, but he keeps trying. His breaths come uneven at first, catching, stuttering—but you keep at it.

He knows it’s a panic attack. Rationally, he does. But his body takes its own time to realise it. Eventually, the edges dull. The noise fades. His lungs stop fighting him.

And once he's finally able to take a full, deep breath, he realises, it isn't a dream. Your hand is warm—real.

"Hey," you whisper, giving him a small smile.

"Hi," he says back.

You don't say more. You don’t ask anything. You don’t push. You just look at him, something soft in your expression, and then—

you pull your hand away.

The loss is immediate. He swallows, disappointment filling his aching chest. Of course. He should've known you wouldn’t stay. You just came to make sure he was okay. That’s what good people do. People like you.

He should’ve known better. Should’ve known not to expect more. Men like him don’t get to have things like this. Not with everything he carries. Not with everything he’s failed to carry. Not with—

The mattress dips beside him. You don’t say anything as you slip under the covers beside him. Your face tucks into the space between his shoulder and chest, your arm draping over his stomach.

He doesn’t move at first, then his arm comes up. Careful. Hesitant. It wraps around your shoulder, pressing you closer into him. His nose dips into your hair, and he takes another deep breath. Finally breathing you in. His eyes close again, his grip tightening just slightly around you, afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens it.

And for the first time in three nights, he sleeps properly.

Jack wakes slowly. His shoulders loosened, breathing calm, and his head not aching for once. He breathes in quietly, searching for your soft breath in the room. It's quiet.

Too quiet.

Heart slowly sinking, he keeps his eyes closed as he reaches across the mattress, searching for your body. Not wanting to see just yet. Not wanting to confirm it.

His fingers only brush against cold sheets.

Jack sighs, cold realisation hitting him. He keeps his eyes closed for another second before he reluctantly opens them to face the truth.

You've left. Of course you have.

And judging by the coldness, it must have been sooner rather than later. Probably right after he fell asleep.

With another harsh exhale, he pushes himself up to sit at the edge of the bed. Building up the nerve to go act like it doesn't mean anything, that his heart isn't fracturing, trying to keep up this pretence.

Then the door creaks open, your foot nudging it as your elbow releases the handle. In your hands, you hold a tray with plates and mugs clinking as you step inside.

"Nooo," you pout when you see he's awake. "I was supposed to wake you up with breakfast in bed." You lift the tray, staring at it dejectedly. "I even made you coffee," you add.

Jack blinks at you, trying to make sense of the situation. Had you slept there the whole night, after all?

"Lay back down," you demand, cutting through his thought process.

"Really?" His voice is hoarse from surprise and sleep, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Amusement flickers through the haze of disappointment.

"Yes!"

And because he can't resist you, he does as he's told, his eyes closing again. He hears the tray set down next to him, his book hitting the floor—he bites back a comment.

"Okay, you can wake up now," you say.

Jack doesn't move.

"Ja-ack," you exaggerate, poking his arm. He doesn't budge. "Come on," you push at his arm, your voice growing closer as your face nears his.

"I'm sleeping," he murmurs, his mouth curling despite his attempt to control his grin.

"Funny," you deadpan. " Come on, wake up. Wake up. Wake up." You poke, push and prod with each word. "Wake u—" he cuts you off this time, his hands wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into the bed. In a smooth roll, he pins you lightly beneath him, leaning on one arm to avoid crushing you, the other draped across your frame to hold you in place.

Your mouth stays open, but no words leave this time.

"I thought you were taught bedside manners in med school," he says. "Looks like I was expecting too much."

He can see your eyes widening, how your breathing turns shaky. He has to stop himself from leaning down and pressing his mouth to yours. He drags in a breath and forces himself to keep still.

He doesn't have the chance to act, even if he wanted to, because your head turns, soft lips brushing his ear seconds later.

"What? Something more like—" your voice turns breathy, sweet, and downright sultry. "Good morning, Jack. Your sweet, sweet wife made you breakfast."

He knows you're teasing him, but that is actually what he wants. What he wishes for every day.

But he can't show you that, so he rolls back, shrugging. "Something like that, yeah."

You grin, pushing yourself up to lean against the headboard. "I'll remember that. Now," you gesture to the tray, "eat before it gets cold."

"Yes, ma'am." Jack reaches over, giving you one of the mugs and taking the other himself. He takes a small sip of the dark liquid.

You've been watching him carefully, your brows knitting as he swallows. "It's not good, is it?"

He tries his best to hide the instinctive grimace that comes from drinking watery coffee, murmuring, "No, it's… It's good."

The lie flops immediately. Especially when you take a sip yourself. "It's horrible." You pout again, something Jack really wishes you would stop doing. It keeps drawing his attention to your lips.

"It's the effort that counts," he says.

"I don't want your pity," you say.

"Hey—the offer to teach you still stands."

"Hmm, nah," you say, shaking your head, a slight smile on your lips. "I'll just let that be your thing."

Jack tilts his head, thinking. "Did you make it bad on purpose?"

"What?" He can see you considering how to answer, knowing that he'd placed a trap—that either answer is bad.

You settle on, "Shut up and eat," instead.

Jack grins, watching you over the rim of his mug.

You'd seen the worst of him, and still you'd come back. He wants to believe that means something.

The shift is progressing much better than the last few ones, despite the cases being nearly the same. The difference is in you—yawning less, not fighting so hard to stay awake.

Just one night of sleeping with Jack again apparently makes up for days of fractured sleep. The bed in the guest room isn't as nice—it's what you tried to convince yourself at first—but deep inside, you know it's really about not sleeping with Jack. It’s unsettling how quickly your body has gotten used to it—how much worse everything feels without it.

Tonight you're still tired, but significantly less so.

"Here." A cup lands on the desk next to you as Lily leans against the counter. "I finally give in—come to the 'dark side' or whatever you call it—" she grins, "and then you're too tired to even notice."

"No, ugh—I'm the worst," you groan. "I'm so happy you're here. You're one of the few nurses I've managed to convince."

"Don’t you mean the only one?" Lily tilts her head, red ponytail slipping over her shoulder as her eyes narrow playfully. There’s a grin tugging at her lips, the kind that says she already knows the answer.

"Give it time. My charm is a slow burn."

"Mm-hmm. Or a complete myth," she says, nudging your shoulder lightly.

Lily’s been here as long as you have—long enough that you can’t quite remember any shifts without her. She’s the kind of person who somehow looks put together even after twelve-hour shifts, her scrubs never wrinkled, her smile never fully fading. When everything feels dark, she’s the one who brightens it.

And somehow—miraculously—she’s also figured out how to make the break room coffee taste like something other than regret.

"Seriously though," she adds, softer now, studying your face. "You look exhausted. Like… more than usual exhausted."

"I’ve just slept like shit the last few days," you admit, shrugging one shoulder.

"Uh-huh," someone mutters in passing. You don’t even have to look to know it’s Parker, but you do anyway. She’s halfway past the nurses’ station, tablet in hand, already moving like she’s got somewhere better to be.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" you call after her, because you absolutely cannot let it go—even though experience tells you that’s a mistake.

Parker stops, glancing at you, unimpressed. "You've slept 'shitty'," she repeats flatly.

"Yes?"

She hums, glancing between you and Lily, something calculating flickering behind her eyes. "That’s just funny."

You sigh, regretting this conversation even more. "Why?"

"So has Abbot."

"So what?"

Parker’s mouth curves, just barely. "It’s just funny that two newlyweds both show up to work tired." There’s just enough pause after it for the implication to settle.

"Oh my—" Lily’s eyes go wide, and she physically leans closer to you, her voice dropping into a whisper that is not quiet at all. "Are you trying?"

"What? No!" you choke, nearly spilling your coffee as you whip toward Parker. "Stop making up rumours!"

But Parker’s already turned back to Lily, completely ignoring your protest. "I’ve got twenty on it happening this year," she says, like she’s placing a perfectly reasonable bet. "You in?"

"Oh, I’m absolutely in," Lily replies instantly, all delight and zero hesitation. "Thirty on it happening in three months—and them pretending it didn’t until it’s too obvious to hide."

"Guys," you groan, dragging both hands down your face this time. "Guys, please—"

They’re already walking away, laughing like this is the best thing that’s happened all shift.

You stare after them, equal parts horrified and exhausted. "…I hate both of you," you mutter, even though they’re long gone.

But you know the night shift's noticed. The way you lean in more, flirt a little easier—just trying to take Olivia’s advice, even if you’re doing it far more subtly than she'd like you to.

Still, you didn’t think that, combined with a few bad nights of sleep, would be enough to start a bet.

At around four in the morning, there's a lull in patients, the waiting room empty for once. Unlike others, who are taking the time to catch some Z's, you’re using it to catch up on your charts.

You’re mid-sentence when a body drops heavily into the chair beside you. "Ugh."

"Hmm?" You barely glance over, fingers still moving across the keyboard, though slower now.

"I’m gonna have to file a harassment claim by the end of the night if this keeps going," Shen says, dragging a hand down his face.

That gets your attention. "A patient?"

"No." He shakes his head immediately, expression souring. "Worse."

You already have a feeling. Your eyes flick instinctively down the hall—and just in time to see Smith slip through the doors of one of the rooms. "Don't tell me it's—"

He grimaces, nodding. "Uh-huh."

You lean back with a quiet exhale, rubbing your temple. "Damn. I told her to drop that."

"Who?" a new voice cuts in. Jack's shadow falls across the counter a second before he leans over it, his eyes moving between you and Shen.

"Smith," Shen mutters. "She hasn’t crossed a line yet, but she’s right on the edge."

Jack’s expression tightens slightly, his easy demeanour sharpening into something more focused. "Has she done it to anyone else?"

"Not that I know of," Shen says, shaking his head. "Just me."

Jack nods once, adding almost like an afterthought, "So you and me."

Your spine straightens instantly. Shen’s head snaps toward Jack, eyes wide, then flicks to you like he’s suddenly very aware he’s in the blast radius of something.

You turn fully in your chair, staring up at Jack. "She hit on you?"

Jack blinks, like he hadn’t quite anticipated the reaction. "Yes."

"When?"

"When you were—" he gestures vaguely toward your midsection, searching for the least awkward phrasing, "…I turned her down."

Your brows knit tighter. "Why didn’t you tell me?" It comes out sharper than you mean it to.

"Uh oh," Shen mutters under his breath, already pushing himself upright. "I have a patient in South 19—I gotta go."

Neither of you stops him. He disappears fast.

Jack exhales quietly and moves around the counter, stepping into your space instead of staying on the other side. He leans back against the edge beside you, closer now, his voice softer.

"Hey," he says. "I’m sorry. I didn’t really think about it at the time. I was more worried about you that day, and then it just… slipped my mind."

You worry your bottom lip, gaze dropping briefly to the desk as you turn that over.

"Still," he adds quickly, watching your face, "I should’ve told you. I’m sorry." He pauses, then asks, "Are you mad?"

You look up at him then—taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it but clearly cares about the answer.

After a second, you shake your head. "No. Not at you."

Some of the tightness leaves him immediately, subtle but still noticeable.

"I’m mad at her," you continue, turning back toward your screen, though you’re not really reading it anymore.

Jack shifts beside you, thinking. "I’m going to write her up."

You glance at him again, surprised. "You are?"

"That’s two attendings now," he says evenly. "And there’s also the shit she pulled with you." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Hopefully it’s a reality check."

"And if it’s not?" you ask.

A hint of something dry creeps back into his expression. "Then I’ll have her moved back to days."

You raise a brow.

"Make her Robby’s problem," he finishes.

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, cutting through the lingering irritation. "Wow. Harsh."

"He’ll survive," Jack says lightly, completely unapologetic.

You study him for a moment, something softer settling in your chest now. "…Thanks," you say.

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, pushing off the counter slightly. "It’s my job as your attending to take care of you."

He says it lightly. It doesn’t feel light. Doesn't quite match the way he’s looking at you.

"Hey," you say, catching Parker just as she’s finishing up, the early signs of shift change rippling through the department. "Wanna go out soon?"

Her head snaps up so fast it’s almost comical. "Uh, yes?" she says immediately, eyebrows shooting up. "I’ve been waiting for you to ask."

A small, tired smile tugs at your mouth. "Good."

You mean it more than she realises. You need it—something loud, something distracting, something that isn’t this constant low simmer in your chest. Every time you catch a glimpse of Smith moving through the department, laughing too easily, standing a little too close to people, it tightens again.

It’s not about Jack. Not really. You trust him. It’s the audacity of it that gets under your skin. The fact that she knew. That she looked at him, at the ring, at you—and still decided to try anyway. Fake marriage or not, it irks you.

"Can I come too?" Lily calls as she passes behind you, halfway to the supply room, but clearly listening in.

"Of course," you say easily.

"Yay!" she grins, then, without missing a beat, she turns slightly. "Hey… you coming?" You follow her line of sight—and your stomach sinks.

Smith.

She’s just stepped up to the board, pausing mid-motion as she blinks at Lily, clearly caught off guard. "Uh… me?" she asks, pointing lightly to herself.

"Yeah!" Lily grins, completely oblivious to the undercurrent running through the rest of you. "Come hang out with us."

There’s a split second where Smith hesitates. "Uh… sure," she says finally.

"Great," you reply, the word coming out smoother than it feels. You glance at Parker, and the look you share says enough.

Great. Just great.

"Uh—let’s invite day shift too," you add quickly, already stepping back, reaching for a pen you don’t need. "Make it a whole thing."

Bigger group. More noise. Less chance of being forced to interact.

"Yeah, yeah, good idea," Parker murmurs, catching on instantly.

As you start to move away, Parker falls into step beside you just long enough to mutter under her breath, "I’ll tell Lily what’s going on."

You let out a quiet breath, tension easing just slightly. "Thanks," you murmur back.

"Hi!" Lily beams the second she steps through the door, her voice already carrying that bright, slightly-too-loud energy of someone ready for a night out.

Warm light spills from the living room into the hallway, soft music humming in the background. The place already feels lived-in for the night: shoes kicked off near the entry, jackets draped over chairs, laughter drifting in from deeper inside.

"Come in, come in," you say, stepping back to let her through, one hand gesturing her inside while the other tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Jack’s just leaving."

Right on cue, he appears from the hallway, shrugging into his jacket, keys already in hand. He looks relaxed in a way he rarely does at work—sleeves rolled, hair slightly mussed. He nods at her.

"Hey," Lily says, her eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate interest.

"Call me if there’s anything," Jack says to you, like he hasn’t already said it twice. He'd offered the house for you guys to get ready together, something the other girls had squealed at—more than just a little excited to see "your" place. It's just a few of you pregaming, the rest meeting you later. "And take an Uber to the bar."

"It’s a ten-minute walk," you shoot back instantly, crossing your arms. "I’m not wasting my money on that."

Jack exhales, slow and long, like he saw that coming. "Hand me your phone."

You don’t even hesitate, though your eyes narrow as you pass it over. "What are you doing?"

"Saving you from yourself," he mutters, already unlocking it, password memorised. His thumbs move quickly, tapping through screens easily.

You lean slightly, trying to peek. "Jack—"

"Relax," he says, not even looking up. "I’m not reading your messages."

"Wow, thank you for that bare minimum reassurance."

He huffs a quiet laugh, then hands the phone back. "My card’s on there. Take an Uber."

You glance at the screen, then back at him, sighing. "…Alright."

He studies you for a second, like he’s deciding whether to argue further, then seems to accept the win. His hand comes up, settling briefly at your waist as he pulls you a step closer. He presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, lingering just a second longer than necessary. "I’ll see you later, honey."

The door clicks shut behind him, and there is exactly one second of silence. Then—

A high-pitched squeal cuts through the hallway. "Oh my god, you two are disgusting," Lily breathes, clutching her chest.

You roll your eyes, but you’re already laughing, shaking your head as you take Lily by the arm and guide her further inside. "You're just jealous."

"Am not," Lily says immediately, though her grin says otherwise. Her eyes are already darting around, taking everything in. "Also—wow."

She steps fully into the living room, turning slowly like she’s trying to catalogue the entire place at once. "Okay," Lily says, wandering a few steps farther in. "This is so nice."

"Right?" Trinity chimes in from near the hallway, already halfway through opening a door before you even notice. "I’m just gonna—"

"Trin—" you start.

Too late. She peeks inside anyway. "Bathroom. Boring," she announces, closing it and immediately moving to the next.

"You guys are unbelievable," you mutter, though there’s no real heat behind it.

"Wait, is this your room?" Trinity asks.

"No," you say quickly. "Trinity—"

"I’m just looking!" she insists, disappearing down the hall anyway.

Lily drifts toward a bookshelf, tilting her head as she scans the spines. Mel perches carefully on the very edge of the couch, like she’s still not entirely sure she’s allowed to take up space there—but she’s trying. There’s a small smile on her face as she watches the rest of you bicker and move around each other, something soft and a little uncertain, like she’s easing into the rhythm of it. You're not sure how Trinity managed to convince her to come out with you—but you're so happy she did. You like Mel.

From the kitchen, ice clinks against glass. "Come get your drinks," Parker calls.

You make your way over, leaning against the counter as she hands you a glass. Behind you, Trinity’s voice echoes from down the hall, "Oh my god, your closet is so organised, it’s actually stressful."

"Don’t touch anything!" you call back.

"I’m not touching—I’m just looking!"

"Same thing!"

Lily appears beside you again, still grinning. "No, really, you guys are so cute," she says, nudging your arm. "I’ve seen you two at shift change, but never like that."

"Like what?" you ask, taking a sip.

"Domestic," she says immediately. "It’s weird. In a good way. But also—" she scrunches her nose, "—barf."

"They’re barf material," Trinity yells from the hallway, doubling down. Mel grins over the rim of her glass.

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself, the earlier tension finally loosening its grip.

"Oh—wait," Lily suddenly says, her whole expression shifting as something clicks. She turns to you, eyes wide. "I’m so sorry about inviting Smith, I didn’t know—"

"It’s fine," you cut in easily, waving a hand like it’s nothing. And you mean it. She couldn't have known. "Seriously. Don’t worry about it."

Parker snorts, not even looking up as she pours another drink. "Yeah, we’ll just make sure she sees exactly who she’s dealing with tonight."

"Ooh yes. Here's to dressing slutty," Trinity adds, sliding up to the table and grabbing a drink.

Lily raises her glass, grinning. "And to making Abbot incapable of coherent thought."

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch anyway as glasses clink together around you.

Olivia’s words echo in your mind: Flirt more. Try harder. See what happens. You have… kind of. But nothing bold. Nothing risky.

Tonight? Tonight you’re going to push it. And if it blows up—there’s alcohol, witnesses, plausible deniability.

The house descends into chaos, music playing just loud enough to keep the energy up without drowning conversation. Empty glasses and half-finished drinks cluttered the coffee table.

Trinity has taken over the couch like she owns it, legs tucked under her, talking fast and loud about something that had happened earlier as she draws a sharp cat eye. Lily sits cross-legged on the floor, halfway through curling her hair, pausing every few seconds to laugh. Parker hovers near the kitchen, topping up everyone’s drinks whether they ask or not. Mel lingers just at the edge of everything, but she’s smiling more now, shoulders less tense. Every now and then, someone pulls her into the conversation, and her laughter blends softly with the rest.

"Can I do your makeup?" you ask once you're finished with your own.

She blinks, caught off guard. "Who—who, me?"

You nod, already shifting closer. "We can do something simple… or we can go all out. Your choice."

"Um… well," she glances back at Trinity. "Could we do that?"

"A cat eye?" you light up. "Yes. Absolutely."

You're sitting in front of her now, steadying her chin, carefully dragging eyeliner across her lid.

Behind you, Trinity leans back into the couch cushions, watching. "I’m doing her hair next," she declares.

You finish Mel’s eyeliner, leaning back to assess your work. "Okay. Now don’t touch it."

Mel turns toward the mirror, and her expression shifts. "Oh… wow."

"Okay," Trinity cuts in, pointing at you as she grabs the curling iron. "Your turn. Go change. We need to see the look."

You grab your drink off the table, taking a quick sip before heading toward the bedroom.

"I'll come with you," Parker says. "Make sure you don't choose something boring."

The bedroom is quieter, the living room muffled behind the door. Parker perches on the bed, watching as you pull options from the closet. "No." You hold up another. "No." Another. "Absolutely not. What is that?"

"You’re so picky," you mutter.

"Sit," she orders, pointing at the spot she just left.

You roll your eyes—but sit. Parker is already on her feet, rifling through your closet, pushing hangers aside. She pauses, then slowly pulls a dress out.

Black. Fitted in all the right places, but still soft. Short. "This one," she says, turning to you—and the look she gives you makes it very clear this is not a discussion. "Abbot will have a heart attack."

You raise a brow—but you’re already reaching for it. You don’t bother turning away as you change. Parker doesn’t even blink, just leans back on her hands, completely unfazed. Your first year of residency together killed any sense of modesty between you.

"Girl, if you weren't married, I'd tap that," Parker says with a smirk. "If Abbot ever fucks things up, you'll always have me."

You laugh, loud and unfiltered. "I'll keep that in mind." You grab your drink again, finishing what’s left in one go, the warmth settling low in your chest.

"Alright," you say, turning toward the door, a spark of something sharper and bolder settling in as the fabric shifts against your body. "Let’s do shots before we leave."

Parker grins, already pushing off the bed. "Now you’re talking."

You spill out of the Uber in a tangle of laughter, Lily gripping your arm as she nearly misses the curb entirely. The air hits cool against your skin, grounding but not nearly enough to dull the soft buzz humming through you. Even Mel looks a little looser around the edges now.

Inside, the bar is already alive. Trinity pushes ahead, dragging Parker with her toward the bar. Lily stays close to you, fingers hooked loosely in your arm so you don’t get separated, while Mel lingers just behind, taking it all in.

Your eyes are searching the crowd, but it doesn't take long to find him. Jack's at the bar with other night shift people, leaning back against the counter. He looks relaxed, posture loosened by alcohol, but his eyes keep flicking toward the door.

Even half-hidden behind the others, he sees you. His mouth curves immediately in response. The group converges, greetings overlapping, orders being shouted toward the bartender—but it all blurs a little as you step closer to him.

"Hi," you say. You don’t overthink it—you just lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His reaction is immediate, his hand finding your waist, steady and warm. "Oops," you murmur, swiping your thumb lightly over his cheek. "Lipstick."

Jack doesn't seem to mind. He's watching you. You can see his eyes move, taking you in properly. From your face, down the line of your neck, over the dress… lingering just a second too long at the hem.

The reaction hits you instantly—a warm, electric rush settling low. You grin, leaning back to give him more space to look. "Do you like it?"

He hums, head tilting. "Can't really see it, sweetheart."

Your smile sharpens. "Oh?" you murmur, sliding your fingers into his. You lift his hand, spinning beneath it. The dress shifts against your thighs. "How about now?"

His grip tightens slightly when you come back to him. His gaze burns dark. "You look…" he starts, then pauses, swallowing once. "You look gorgeous."

There’s something in the way he says it—something quieter and more real than you'd imagined. For a second, you just hold his gaze, letting that settle between you, then your smile softens, something genuine slipping through the teasing. "Thank you."

You close the space again without thinking, your body angling naturally into his. His hand adjusts at your waist, pulling you in just a little closer.

Before you can say anything else, the music shifts. Trinity lights up instantly. "Oh, this is my song," she announces, already grabbing Lily.

"Wait—no—" Lily protests, laughing as she’s dragged away anyway.

Parker doesn’t even hesitate. "We’re going," she says, pointing at you and Mel like there’s no alternative.

Mel hesitates, clearly unsure. "I don’t—"

"You do now," Parker calls, already moving. Mel looks at you like she’s not entirely convinced, but she turns anyway.

You glance back at Jack, one brow lifting slightly. "Wanna come dance?"

"I don't dance, sweetheart," he answers.

You hum, leaning in just a little closer, your fingers brushing lightly along the front of his shirt. "That’s a shame," you murmur. Your gaze flicks up to his. "I think you’d be good at it."

His hand tightens at your waist. "Yeah?" he says, his voice lower now.

"Mm," you hum, lips curving slightly, a little more confident now, alcohol heightening the feeling that it might not be just you feeling this way. You might’ve said more—leaned in just a little further, pushed it one step further past safe—

—but Parker’s hand closes around your arm, pulling you with her before you can. And just like that, you’re gone into the crowd—though you can still feel the imprint of his hand where it was, and the weight of his gaze lingering long after.

The dance floor is packed, bodies moving close, lights flashing in uneven bursts. Trinity is fully in her element—hands in the air, singing along to every word, whether she knows them or not. Parker’s matching her energy, spinning Lily into her until they’re both laughing too hard to keep rhythm.

Mel hovers at first, then slowly loosens, shoulders relaxing, a small smile turning into something more real as she lets herself move. You fall into it easily enough—the music, the drinks, the way the night feels like it’s building toward something. Every now and then, you catch glimpses of the bar, half-looking for him without meaning to.

Time blurs a little after that—songs bleeding into each other, drinks appearing and disappearing, the group shifting and reforming as people wander and come back.

Eventually, the heat of the dance floor gets to be too much, so you slip away, weaving through the crowd toward the bar. "Water, please," you say, sliding onto one of the high chairs. The bartender nods, and a second later, you’ve got a cold glass in your hand. You take a long sip, closing your eyes for just a second.

God, that’s better.

You’re just starting to settle, letting the room sway lightly around you, when a voice cuts in beside you. "Hey—"

You don’t turn right away. A man leans against the bar next to you anyway, shaggy-haired, smirking. "I saw you out there," he says, nodding toward the dance floor. "You looked good."

"Thanks," you answer, your voice cool, eyes forward, sipping again. Letting him know you’re not interested.

He doesn’t take the hint. "I’m Trent," he goes on, shifting closer like that alone will make this work. "You’ve got some moves, but I think we could make some great moves together—if you know what I mean."

You let out a soft, unimpressed breath. "I’m married," you say, lifting your hand just enough for the ring to catch the light.

He hesitates for only a heartbeat before smirking like he thinks he can charm it away. "He doesn’t have to know."

Your expression shifts, irritation flickering sharper now. You finally turn your head fully, meeting his gaze.

He mistakes it instantly for interest and leans in just a little more.

"I'm not interested," you say flatly.

"Come on," he presses, his voice dropping like that’s supposed to help. "Your husband can’t please you like I—"

"You sure about that?" Jack’s voice cuts through like a blade. You feel him before you see him—solid at your back, close enough that your shoulder brushes his chest. The shift is immediate.

Trent straightens, the confidence cracking just slightly as he looks past you. Gone is the easy, relaxed lean from earlier. Now he’s all sharp lines and tension—shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes locked on Trent.

"Fuck off," Jack says, voice quiet but edged. "And leave my wife alone."

Trent looks like he might argue for half a second—ego flaring—but then he really looks at Jack. At the way he’s standing. The way his gaze doesn’t waver. The kind of anger that doesn’t need volume to be threatening. It drains out of him just as fast. "Yeah—yeah, man, whatever," he mutters, backing off, hands half-raised like he wants no part of it anymore. He disappears into the crowd.

Jack doesn’t move until he’s gone. "Asshole," he murmurs, then he turns to you. His hands land on your hips, spinning your chair so you’re facing him fully. "You okay?" he asks. His voice is still low—but different now. Still tight, but threaded with something protective.

You look up at him. At the tension still lingering in his jaw. The way his eyes flick over you like he’s making sure you’re actually fine. Your breath stutters just slightly as heat curls low in your stomach. Your thighs press together instinctively, a reflex you can’t fully control. You feel it everywhere—warm, electric, pooling low, your pulse throbbing in places it shouldn't.

You’re hyper-aware of him: the brush of his hands on your hips, the nearness of his chest, the tension still coiled in his body, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Your eyes betray you—you know it. They darken, deepen, and when your gaze meets his, you see it reflected back.

"Mm," you hum softly.

Jack watches you for a second longer, like he's clocking the shift in you, before he exhales lightly. "Come join us at the pool table."

He doesn’t pause for your answer. His hand finds yours, fingers sliding between yours with a possessiveness that makes your stomach flutter. He keeps you close as he guides you through the crowd, and the heat in your chest only grows.

The pool area is quieter. Enough space to breathe, enough light to actually see what you’re doing. Shen’s already there, lining up a shot with calm precision, like the chaos of the bar doesn’t touch him at all.

"You play?" he asks without looking up.

"Define play," you reply, grabbing a cue from the rack. Truthfully, you don’t care about the game—not with Jack this close.

You lean over the table, more focused on the way your dress shifts against your thighs than the shot.

You hit. The cue ball goes entirely the wrong direction. "Damn," you say, pretending to be disappointed.

"Sweetheart." Jack’s voice comes from behind you, closer than before, threaded with amusement. "What was that?"

You glance over your shoulder, lips already pulling into a small pout. "I don’t know how to do it."

His eyes flick to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Shen sinks his shot cleanly in the background.

You step forward again when it’s your turn, deliberately setting up another questionable shot. There’s a small pause, then—

"Here," Jack says, a little quieter now. "Let me help you." He steps in behind you before you can move. Close enough that you feel the heat of him before anything else—his presence slotting in naturally. His hand slides over yours on the cue, the other settling at your waist.

"Not like that," he murmurs, his voice lower now. "You’re fighting it."

You inhale a little sharper than you mean to.

"Loosen this," he adds, thumb pressing lightly against your fingers. His mouth is near your ear now, close enough that you feel the shape of the words more than hear them. "Yeah," he says softly. "Like that."

For a second, the rest of the room fades—the noise, the game, Shen waiting patiently at the edge of it.

"Take it," he murmurs. You do. The ball sinks cleanly this time.

He steps back again. You straighten, turning toward him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something hotter there now. Something that matches exactly what’s been burning under your skin all night.

It hits you all at once, sharp and unmistakable. Oh.

This isn’t one-sided. This isn’t you imagining things or pushing boundaries just to see what happens.

He’s… there with you. Meeting it. Responding. Wanting it.

You don't win the game, but it doesn't really matter. You barely register the score. Because every time you step up to the table after that, you can feel his eyes on you—and every time he steps in again, a little closer, a little bolder—it has nothing to do with pool anymore.

It actually feels possible now—and that changes everything.

Shen’s convinced Bridget to play him after absolutely destroying you. You linger off to the side with Lily and Jack, half-listening as they laugh about something, half-watching the game. You're mostly focused on how his thumb keeps stroking softly against your hip bone.

"I’m gonna go pee," you murmur into Jack's ear, your lips brushing just enough to feel the warmth of his skin before you slip away. He lets you go, but his hand lingers for half a second at your waist.

"I'll be at the bar," he responds, smiling at you with half-lidded eyes.

The second you’re in the bathroom, door locked behind you, you exhale hard—then immediately press a hand to your mouth, a breathy, disbelieving laugh slipping out anyway.

"Okay—okay," you whisper to yourself, pacing once in the tiny stall. Your head is light—spinning, but not in a bad way. The alcohol sitting just right in your system, softening your edges, quieting the part of you that usually overthinks everything. You press your lips together, trying to steady yourself, but the grin keeps pulling back. "Jesus," you breathe, shaking your head.

You’re just about to step out when you hear it. A voice, sweet and slightly high-pitched, carrying just loud enough for you to catch the words over the music. "Has Abbot done this before? Been with other residents? Do you think I still have a chance?"

Your body stills instantly. Smith. You'd completely forgotten that she was here. The other girl answers, uncertain, but it barely registers over the rush in your ears.

"I just don’t really see how they fit," Smith continues, giggling softly. "I mean, I’ve never seen them kiss or be really affectionate with each other."

Something in you snaps. A sharp, sudden possessiveness that cuts clean through the haze of alcohol and lands hard in your chest.

By the time the door swings shut behind them, you’re already walking. You don’t even fully think it through. You just move.

You find him easily, leaning against the bar, talking to Jesse and Donnie. Stepping close, your hand finds his arm, fingers curling into him. "Hey," you murmur.

He glances at you, turning his attention fully to you as he senses the shift in your energy.

You don't give him time to ask. You just lean in. This time it isn’t a quick, calculated peck. It’s not something you can pass off or laugh away.

It’s immediate—sharp and demanding. Your lips press to his with a purpose you can’t deny. Your other hand comes up to his shoulder, to his neck, pulling him closer, claiming him.

His reaction is just as instinctive. He cups your waist, tilts you slightly, deepening the kiss without hesitation. He exhales softly against your mouth before his tongue skims your lower lip. The world around you drops away until there’s only this. Only the two of you, lost in the heat and closeness that’s been simmering all night. The alcohol doesn’t dull it—it amplifies it. Makes you bolder, less restrained, and less willing to pull back.

As you break apart just slightly, your forehead resting against his, you whisper, barely audible over the pulse of the bar, "Sorry," you breathe. "Needed to… shut something down."

Jack doesn’t answer right away. His hand is still firm at your waist, thumb resting just where the fabric meets your skin. Not pulling away. Not loosening.

You expect a smirk. A joke. Something that minimises the heat. Instead, when you finally lift your eyes to his— he’s looking at you. Focused. Pupils blown.

His gaze drops to your mouth, like he’s replaying it, then back to your eyes.

"Yeah?" he says quietly, but he doesn’t move back. He doesn’t create distance like it was just a moment, just another cover-up. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, like he's keeping you right where you are. There’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth when you don't answer.

"Right," he murmurs, softer this time. But the way he says it—the look he gives you—doesn’t suggest he buys it. Not entirely. He looks at you like he's considering doing it again.

You wake up before the alarm goes off.

For a moment, you lie there, blinking up at the dark ceiling, trying to figure out why your body dragged you out of sleep. Then you feel it as you shift—that awful, unmistakable sticky warmth beneath you. The sensation only gets worse as you shift again, growing cold now where air hits it.

Fuck.

You push yourself upright slowly, trying not to move too much, but the damage is already done. You don't even have to look to know what you'll see.

You glance over at Jack, who is, thankfully, still asleep beside you. He has one arm tucked under his pillow, the other nestled on your hip. It slowly falls to the bed as you get up. He makes a sound at the loss of your warmth, but his breathing stays slow and even.

You slowly stand, mind racing as you stare at the bed. Maybe it's not that bad—but the second you lift the blanket, the dark stain laughs you right in the face. It's not huge, but it's still very noticeable.

It's fucking embarrassing. Your throat tightens. "God, I'm so stupid," you mutter under your breath, voice shaky. "I should've set an alarm… Should've—Fuck!" You should've known better. Should've never fallen asleep on his chest yesterday, only to be awoken gently, so you could brush your teeth. And in that soft space, with eyes blearily blinking, you'd forgotten that the second day always hit you with a vengeance.

And here's the evidence of your stupidity.

Panic buzzes through your body as you start pulling at the sheets. You need to get them off before Jack wakes up. You pull at the corner in an anxious haze, not once stopping to consider how you'll succeed with him still sleeping on them.

You just know you need to throw them in the wash before he sees how disgusting you are.

The mattress shifts, and Jack inhales sharply. His eyes blink open, and before you can even react, he's pushing himself up. He takes a glance at your panic-stricken face and immediately jumps into action, hand reaching for his prosthetic. He grabs it with practised ease, movements quick even while half-awake.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice still tinged rough with sleep. He stands up, crossing the space between you.

You step back, hands still tugging at the sheets. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to," you blurt immediately, tugging harder. "I should've known better—" The fitted corner flies free.

"Hey—hey, slow down," Jack says, reaching out to try and grab the bedding from your hands. You jerk away instinctively, avoiding his gaze. The sheets slide across the mattress, and for a split second, the stain is completely visible. There's no question whether Jack saw. You know he did.

"I'll clean it," you rush out, voice cracking in humiliation. "Or buy new sheets. I know it's disgusting—I'll just get you new ones." You keep pulling at it like if you move fast enough, the moment will disappear, and you can forget it ever happened.

Jack doesn't say anything, he just… stops. He watches you for a second, brows knitting together. He approaches you slowly, trying to make sure you won't move away again.

"I don't care about the sheets, sweetheart," he says gently. "I care about you crying over it."

Jack steps closer, his hands catch the edge of the sheet, trying to ease it out of your hands. You grip it tighter, and he lets it fall again. His hands reach for your wrists instead, fingers wrapping around them softly.

"Hey," he murmurs, head tilting towards yours.

You finally stop and look up at him. Your face is crumpled, eyes glassy, embarrassment written all over you.

Jack locks his gaze with yours. "Sweetheart," he says quietly, thumbs brushing lightly over your wrists. "I'm not mad. I couldn't care less about it, in fact. You're not disgusting. This shit happens."

You mull over his words, lip caught in between your teeth. "I'm sorry," you whisper anyway. "I'll get the stain out, I swear!"

Jack exhales softly. "I'll take care of it."

You immediately shake your head. "No—"

"You," he interrupts, nodding towards the bathroom, "are going to take a long, hot shower." He moves his hands from your wrists, carefully extracting the sheets from your grip. "We'll throw your clothes in another load after."

Your hands keep hovering in the air. "But what about the stain?" you protest, though more weakly now than you did at first.

Jack pauses and looks back at you like this might be the most ridiculous concern in the world. "Did you forget I'm an ER doctor?" He lifts the bundle of sheets lightly. "I know how to get blood out of fabric."

Your shoulders finally sag. He's not mad. He doesn't think you're disgusting.

Had you been thinking rationally, you might have told yourself this. That Jack isn't like the men you'd known before.

Jack nods toward the bathroom again, his voice softening. "Go on," he says. "I've got this."

The shower helps, the hot water loosening the tight knot that's been sitting in your chest since you woke up. Steam fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror and curling around your shoulders while you stand under the spray longer than you probably need to.

When you step out, wrapped in a towel, you can hear Jack moving around quietly. Cabinets opening, dishes clinking against the counter, and the low hum of the coffee machine. Your chest tightens again, embarrassment creeping back in as you get dressed.

By the time you make your way into the kitchen, hair still damp and sweater sleeves pulled halfway over your hands, Jack's already sitting at the table with a cup. He looks up immediately at the sound of your footsteps.

There's a plate in front of your usual chair and a steaming mug beside it. He nudges the plate a little closer as you sit.

"Eat," he says simply, no hint of teasing in his voice about earlier. "It's full of iron." His gaze flicks to your face like he wants to say something else, then he thinks better of it.

Your fingers curl around the warm mug automatically. "Thank you," you mutter, staring down at the plate. You still don't understand why he's being so nice to you when you'd just ruined his morning.

The shame is still there, pulsing hot and stubborn under your skin. "I'm—"

Jack points at you immediately with the fork he’s holding. "Don’t say it."

You blink, brows furrowing.

He continues, "You have nothing to be sorry about."

Your mouth opens, anyway. "I—"

"Ah," he chides softly, eyebrows lifting in warning.

You make a small, frustrated hmph in the back of your throat, but shut your mouth. He watches for another second like he's making sure you'll behave, then takes a slurp of his coffee.

The silence that follows isn't awkward like you thought it would be—it's comfortable, the slight crinkle of the newspaper as he turns a page, the clink of a fork against a plate, and the soft slurp of coffee. It's normal.

You're halfway through the plate of food, shame almost dwindled to nothing, when there's a knock at the door.

Jack glances up, like he's been expecting it. "I'll get it."

You hear the door open, muffled voices in the hallway, then the rustle of cardboard. When he comes back into the kitchen, he's carrying two packages, one larger than the other.

"What's that?"

Jack sets them down on the table with a small thump. "Well," he says casually, gesturing toward them, "why don't you open them and see for yourself?"

You eye the boxes suspiciously before reaching for the smaller one first. You stick your knife in, slicing the tape open. Inside is a soft grey heating pad, neatly folded in plastic.

You blink at it, warmth swelling in your chest. "Jack… You shouldn't have."

Jack just shrugs like it was nothing.

You don’t even think about it before you stand up and wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffens for a second, like the contact surprises him, then his arms come up around you automatically, tightening just a little more than necessary. You press your face into his shoulder, murmuring softly, "Thank you."

The hug lingers longer than it probably needs to, but you're not particularly eager to be the first one to pull away. Jack doesn't seem to mind, his chin resting on the top of your head, as his arms squeeze you tightly. Eventually, you loosen your arms and step back, clearing your throat a little; his hands fall away a bit slower.

"Okay," you say, glancing at the second package, trying to appear calm. "What’s in the other one?"

Jack picks it up, turning it over in his hands. "No idea. That one’s not from me." He sets it down and picks up his mug again.

You rip the tape open again. Inside are several metal pieces and a small bag of bolts. It takes you about three seconds to realise what they are.

Your face lights up. "It's the bed legs!" You pull one of the metal pieces out and hold it up triumphantly. "Finally."

Jack’s fingers stiffen around the mug, his smile fading. He leans his hip against the table instead, crossing his arms loosely. His eyes flick from the metal leg in your hand and then back to you.

"That eager to get away from me already?" he asks lightly. He lifts his coffee and takes a sip like the comment means nothing, gaze settling somewhere near your shoulder instead of your face.

You blink at him, confused, "What, no? That's not—" then realisation hits you, and you grimace. "Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you."

Jack raises an eyebrow.

"Um," you start, words spilling out a little too quickly, "so… Olivia’s coming to town, and I told her she could stay here, but then I realised we don’t actually have a guest bed—" You lift the metal leg slightly, as if it explains everything. "—which we do now. Or… we will. Once this is a bed and not just… parts of a bed."

You glance up at him, hopeful and a little nervous, searching his face. "So, this is good because now she has somewhere to sleep... Right?" You pause. "I mean, if it’s weird, I can tell her to get a hotel. That's totally fine. I just— I already told her she could stay here, so..."

Jack blinks once, then twice, his shoulders relaxing as he processes your spiel. His mouth lifts slightly at the corner. "No, it's fine. She can stay here," he says.

You relax instantly. "Good!" you grin. "Hey," you add, quieter, bumping your shoulder lightly into his arm. "I’m not trying to escape you… Well, maybe besides your snoring."

Jack snorts softly. "I still don't snore. You're such a liar." He leans forward, grabbing your mugs to make more coffee, hip bumping gently into yours as he moves past.

You pull the rest of the pieces out of the box, grinning even wider. "You’ll help me build it, right?"

The days leading up to Olivia's arrival made Jack increasingly nervous. So nervous that Robby caught on and had been teasing him ever since.

Jack doesn't really care. She's your best friend, the most important person in your life, and he has exactly one shot to get on her good side. To show her he's serious about this—that he understands the damage this secret could do to your life if it ever comes out. That he's in this until the bitter end.

He also can't quite kill the small, stubborn hope that she might convince you to start looking at him the way he already looks at you.

Olivia arrives on a Tuesday afternoon after a full day at the conference. She settles in easily, kicking her shoes off, claiming the guest room like she's lived there for months, and is now curled up on the couch beside you like the two of you never spent a day apart.

Introductions had gone smoothly, though he could tell you were nervous for some reason, even if he should be the one sweating over it, not you. But Olivia seemed to like him, and your shoulders had dropped again, especially when she had grinned appreciatively at him when he offered to make dinner as you caught up.

Olivia's conference runs for the next two days, and because you haven't been able to swap shifts with anyone, dinner is the only time the three of you have that overlaps. To your (and Jack's) relief, she's staying until the weekend, in which your days will line up.

Jack knows how much this visit means to you, and he'd checked the schedule to try and figure out something for you, thinking he might be able to move a shift or two around—until two residents called in sick, and there was no one left to spare.

Now, he stands in the kitchen, stirring a pan and trying not to be obvious about staring at you. You’re both laughing at something on your phone—shoulders bumping, heads leaning together, your voices bright and overlapping in that effortless way people only have with old friends.

Olivia is a lot like you. Same easy smile. Same animated way of talking with her hands. Same carefree energy that fills a room without trying. As much as he believes you to be trouble, he can tell she is, too. If not as much, then just in a way that encourages you.

But where you’re open like a book, Olivia feels… sharper.

Jack prides himself on reading people. It’s part of the job. Years in the ER teach you to catch the smallest cues—tension in a jaw, the shift of someone’s breathing, the flicker of pain someone’s trying to hide.

With you, it’s second nature. With Olivia? He’s getting nothing. Or worse, he's getting the uncomfortable sense that she’s the one reading him.

He feels it now as he cooks. Standing at the stove, stirring the pasta sauce, he glances toward the couch again, out of habit—just to check on you. The sound of your laughter pulls a smile onto his face before he even realises it.

But Olivia… Olivia isn't laughing. She's watching him, sharp eyes over the corner of her phone. The kind of look people give when they’ve already figured something out. The moment he notices, she smiles like nothing's happened and turns back to you.

Dinner passes quickly—just casual small talk and getting to know each other. It goes better than he'd hoped for.

As the clock ticks closer to seven, he begins to clear the table. You leave to change, something he'd done earlier, and now he's left alone with Olivia. She grabs the plates and starts rinsing them, ignoring his gesture for her to leave them to him.

"It’s a noble thing you’re doing," she says casually, but Jack feels her gaze on him. "For her," she adds.

He shrugs as he gathers the glasses.

Olivia tilts her head. "No, really," she continues. "Not everyone would agree to something like this."

"Something like what?" He tries to buy himself time, to keep his face from revealing more than it already has.

Olivia gestures lightly as she places a plate into the dishwasher. "This whole arrangement. Pretending to be married. Opening up your house. Letting someone move in just because." Her voice stays light, but Jack knows what she's fishing for. "Most people would’ve run the other direction."

"It was the right thing to do," he says simply, because it's the truth.

Olivia studies him for a moment longer than comfortable, then one eyebrow lifts slightly. "That’s it?"

"That’s it."

She hums softly, like she’s filing the answer away for later, then she washes her hands. "You look at her a lot, you know."

Jack freezes for half a second before recovering. "Do I?"

"Mm." She dries her hands with a dish towel. "You did it like… five times while cooking."

Jack huffs quietly, leaning against the counter. "Habit. Making sure she doesn’t get into trouble. Or something worse."

Olivia grins, her smile is warm now—more playful than investigative. "I’ve known her since middle school. It can’t get worse than when she once microwaved ramen without water."

Jack’s eyebrows lift, the corner of his mouth curling. "That explains a lot."

Olivia laughs softly. "Right?" She sets the towel down, studying him again, but this time it feels less like scrutiny and more like curiosity. "You’re good for her," she says after a moment.

Jack blinks at that. He hadn't expected that.

Olivia shrugs lightly. "She trusts you."

Jack shifts slightly, glancing toward the hallway where you disappeared down minutes ago. "I hope so."

"Oh, she does," Olivia says easily. "Otherwise she wouldn’t be here." She taps the counter behind her thoughtfully. "Still though… fake marriage. That's a big commitment."

Jack sighs quietly. "It's just temporary." He hates being reminded of it.

"Sure." Olivia’s mouth curves slightly.

Footsteps echo down the hallway. Olivia hears it too, straightening. As she passes Jack, she pauses just long enough to pat his shoulder. Leaning down slightly, she murmurs under her breath, "I know what you’re hiding."

Jack stiffens.

She straightens again, smiling brightly. "But don’t worry," she adds lightly. "I’m fun, not cruel. I'll keep it to myself." She glances into his eyes, shrugging. "…For now."

Your voice calls out from the hallway as you appear in the doorway again in scrubs. "Did I miss anything fun?" You glance from Olivia to Jack, trying to ascertain the atmosphere.

Olivia turns toward you immediately, grin widening. "Just telling your husband he passed my friend inspection." She hooks an arm around your shoulders as you walk into the room. You roll your eyes immediately, finding Jack's eyes and sending him a small smile.

His eyes flick briefly to Olivia, but she’s smiling at you like nothing happened. Like she hadn’t just read his deepest secret within a few hours of meeting him.

The for now feels like a ticking bomb he isn't sure how to disable.

Jack takes your things to the locker once you arrive, leaving you at the hub to get ready for the night. You're scanning the board when a shadow falls over you.

Robby smirks as he leans against the counter. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," you reply, eyes narrowing at him. He's looking way too pleased with himself, and you can practically smell the mischief on him.

"So…" he begins. "Didn't peg you for the scandalous type." He grins at you, watching gleefully as you try to school your features into something resembling neutral.

You don't say anything, just stare at him.

"I mean, living together? Sleeping in the same bed? Careful or this—" he leans in, voice lowering to a whisper, "fake marriage might turn into a real one." His grin widens as he watches you struggle to keep a straight face. "Do you have enough condoms, or do you need me to pick some up?"

"Robby," you warn, cheeks flushing. Your hand swats his shoulder, trying to make him stop, but Robby just chuckles loudly.

"Hey, brother," Jack greets as he steps up beside you. He glances from you to Robby, noting his smirk and your stiff jaw and sighs, "Be nice."

"Or what?" Robby counters.

"Or I'll tell that nurse your text last week was meant for someone else," Jack says in response.

Robby freezes. "…Low blow."

"Effective, though."

"…Fine. You two are no fun," Robby says, jerking his chin toward you. "I'll leave your girl alone." He steps back, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. "See you later, love birds."

"Bye, Robert," you call after him.

He flips you off without turning around.

Jack nudges your shoulder. You glance at him, and the look you share is quick but familiar—checking in, making sure you’re good, before the night swallows you both whole.

Friday doesn't come fast enough. You've trudged through night shifts, waiting for the day that yours and Olivia's schedules finally align. And with Jack out of the house—he'd offered himself—wine night is finally on.

The TV plays some movie you've seen before as you giggle away on the couch, neither of you paying much attention to it. There's a half-empty pizza box sitting on the coffee table, and in your hands are two wine glasses. One bottle is already gone, and the second one is nearly empty.

Conversation flows easily as you jump between topics, the way you can only do with someone who already knows your entire life history.

"No, wait," you say, grinning as you lean forward, wine glass dangling from your fingers. "What about that guy who opened with 'hey beautiful, you look like you have fertile hips'—that has to be the worst one."

Olivia groans loudly, dragging her hands over her face. "Ugh. I forgot about that one..."

You collapse backwards into the couch, laughing. "Oh, or maybe that one you still went on three dates with… uh—what's his name—Matt? Miles?"

"Martin," she supplies. "And he seemed normal!"

"You told me he brought his mother to the restaurant."

She sits up straight. "I didn’t know she was going to be there! And she was nice."

You're nearly wheezing with laughter now.

"Anyway," she says after a moment, wiping under her eye. "Enough about my romantic disasters. I want updates."

"On what?" you say, leaning back.

She gestures broadly around the house, like it's obvious. "This."

You frown. "This what?"

She stares at you like you're dumb. "Jack? The man you're married to? Living here? Sleeping in the same bed? The kiss? I mean, have you kissed him again?"

You immediately shake your head. "No." You take another sip like that, somehow proves your point. "There’s nothing to say. Nothing's happened."

Olivia slowly lowers her wine glass. "…Girl."

You groan. "No, seriously," you say, shaking your head. "He doesn’t see me like that."

"Girl."

"I’m serious!"

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

She stares at you for a full five seconds before setting her wine glass down dramatically. "You are living in a completely different reality than the rest of us."

You point at yourself. "Me?"

"Yes, you!" She leans forward now. "I can’t count how many times I caught him staring at you these last few days."

You blink. "What?"

"Kitchen, hallway, living room—it doesn't matter where. There was also that time when you were taking off your sweatshirt and he just—" she mimics someone freezing mid-motion "—completely forgot what he was doing."

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. "He did not."

"He absolutely did."

You laugh nervously and take another sip. "He’s just… Jack."

Olivia stares, then bursts out laughing again. "He's just Jack? Wow, that defence's gonna hold up well in court."

"He is!" you repeat, "and we're not in court, so who cares?"

"Girl, you two flirt constantly."

"We do not."

"You absolutely do." She starts counting on her fingers. "The shoulder touches. The little jokes. The way you smile at each other.

Your stomach twists slightly. "Liv, you’re reading into it."

"Am I?"

"Yes!"

"You two are more married than half the couples I work with," she states.

You snort, "Please."

"I’m serious." Olivia scoots closer across the couch, grabbing your hand. Her voice softens just slightly, "I’m not shitting you."

You swallow, bringing the glass up for a sip.

She continues, "That man is so in love with you."

Your heart jumps painfully in your chest, and you choke on the wine. You pull your hand back slowly. "But what if he isn’t?" you say quietly. The room feels a little smaller, walls closing in. "What if I’m just… seeing things because I want to?"

Olivia doesn’t interrupt this time.

"What if I’m just setting myself up for heartbreak?" you add.

She studies you for a moment, then she tilts her head. "Aren’t you already doing that?"

"…What?"

"You’re already in love with him," she says.

You open your mouth. Close it again. You can't argue with that.

She shrugs gently. "So either way, you’re risking it."

The truth of it sits heavily between you. You stare down into your wine glass. She leans back again after a moment, stretching her legs across the couch. "Look," she says casually. "You don’t have to confess your undying love tomorrow."

You swallow, the warmth of the wine doing nothing to calm the sudden flutter in your chest.

"Just… flirt more," she offers.

You make a face. "You just said I already flirt."

"Barely," she grins. "Just lean into it a little more. See what happens."

"And if it goes badly?"

She lifts her glass. "Then we open another bottle of wine, and I help you plan your dramatic move to Spain."

You laugh despite yourself.

"It can’t hurt," she adds with a small shrug.

Your stomach flips. "…Yeah," you murmur. "Maybe not."

You’re still thinking about what Olivia said as you pretend to watch the last of the movie. Unfortunately, your brain keeps replaying the words that man is so in love with you, like it’s trying to decide whether to believe them or not. You swirl the wine in your glass, watching the deep red circle the bowl.

Olivia, meanwhile, has clearly moved on from the emotional portion of the evening. She stretches across the couch, phone in hand. Every few seconds, she snorts.

"What now?" you ask.

She turns the screen toward you. "Look at this man." You squint at the profile. Looking for someone chill who doesn’t take things too seriously and will laugh at my dark humour.

You shrug. "That’s not that bad."

She scrolls down. "His first prompt answer is ‘my most controversial opinion: women shouldn’t vote.’"

You nearly choke on your wine. "Oh my god. I take it back."

"I’m telling you," she says, tossing the phone onto her stomach. "Dating apps are the worst. You should be glad you're off the market."

You laugh, shaking your head, ignoring the latter part of her sentence. Because you're not—not truly. "Well, at least you’re getting anecdotes out of it."

Olivia sighs dramatically and reaches for her purse on the coffee table, rummaging through it for her lip balm. "Oh—wait."

You glance over. "What?"

"I forgot." She pulls a small envelope out from under the pile and waves it. "I won these in a raffle earlier." She opens the envelope and pulls out four glossy tickets. "It’s for that game on Saturday. Baseball or whatever."

"Really?"

"Yep." She fans them out like playing cards.

You think for a second. "I think Jack was talking about watching it."

Olivia’s face lights up immediately. "Well," she says, grinning as she taps the stack of tickets against her palm, "we have just one problem then."

You tilt your head. "What?"

She holds up four fingers. "I have four tickets."

Jack’s key clicks in the lock, and the sound of laughter hits him before he even steps inside. He pauses in the hallway, leaning slightly against the doorframe, just listening for a moment.

Once he moves, he sees you draped across the couch with Olivia, blankets tangled around your legs, empty glasses and bottles on the table. You’re mid-giggle at something Olivia said, your head thrown back, and Jack can’t help the small, involuntary smile tugging at his lips.

He clears his throat softly. You glance up, still smiling, but your gaze is lazy, soft, and somehow magnetic even in your tipsy state. He wants you to look that happy to see him every time he comes home.

"Jack," you sit up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and Jack feels that familiar pull in his chest. He wants to step closer, to be part of this warmth, but he doesn’t. He just watches.

"Looks like you girls have had a good night," he says, nodding at the table.

"The best," you reply, smiling. "Come sit," you pat the cushion next to you, and Jack obliges quicker than he should. He can see Olivia grinning out of the corner of his eye. Sinking into the couch, your thigh brushes his as you lean back against the cushion. You don’t move your leg away. Neither does he.

"How was your night? 'Robby treat you well?" you ask.

"Plenty of beers and burgers. I can't complain."

"Good," you say, leaning onto his shoulder without thinking. Your cheek presses against him as you tell him about your evening—how you'd ended up watching some terrible horror movie. You try to tell him the plot, but you and Olivia are barely comprehensible through your giggles. Jack doesn't really care about the story; he’s too busy memorising the weight of your head on his shoulder, content with watching you being happy. It's what you deserve after these past weeks of trials—hell, after being doomed to stay in this marriage.

Your giggles eventually die down, and Olivia yawns loudly. "I’m going to bed," she announces, sliding off the couch and glancing at you, something incomprehensible glinting in her eyes. You seem to understand it, though, as you sit up straight again.

"Bedtime?" Jack asks, glancing over at you. He reaches over to brush a strand of hair off your shoulder before he seems to realise he did it.

You sigh, eyes closing briefly. "Yeah, I should probably go to bed, too. Can I use the bathroom first?"

Jack nods and watches as you disappear off into the hallway, listening for the bedroom door opening. The sound of running water reaches him shortly after, the faint clatter of bottles and brushes, and he leans back, trying not to overthink the way his heart is drumming. He follows you into the bedroom a moment later.

He's on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, though nothing's really exciting on it, as he waits for you. You emerge a few minutes later, wrapped in a soft, oversized t-shirt, bare legs peeking out. You saunter back toward him, but instead of getting into bed with him like usual, you head for the door again.

"I'm gonna sleep with Liv," you murmur. "Feel free to do your best Patrick impression."

"Patrick?"

"Starfish," you say like it's obvious, giggling.

Jack swallows, forcing a smile and nod. "Oh… yeah," he says, voice steady, though a flicker of disappointment flits across his features for a brief second. He tells himself it’s fine—he’s fine.

He always knew this part wouldn’t last forever. He just wasn't expecting it to hurt like this. He stays on the bed, staring at the door as if it might open again.

Seconds later, the door does creak open again, and there you are, sheepish and hesitant this time, eyes darting toward him. "Okay…" you say quietly, voice small. "…Olivia won’t let me in."

Jack can’t help the smile that curls at the corner of his lips. Relief and amusement swirl together. He watches you step in, shrugging helplessly, and internally, he blesses Olivia for intervening.

He gets up, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, arms crossed loosely, letting himself enjoy the moment. "Didn't take you long to come crawling back."

"Careful. I can still sleep on the couch," you counter, smiling at him, and you both know it's an empty threat. Especially, as you slide into bed, on your side, ducking under the covers.

"Uh-huh," Jack grins back.

Robby ends up being the lucky recipient of the fourth ticket. He’s practically vibrating with excitement when the four of you arrive at the stadium, weaving through the thick crowd of fans in jerseys and caps.

"Man, I can’t believe you actually won these," he says for what must be the fifth time, looking around like the place might vanish if he blinks too long. Olivia beams at him.

You climb the stairs toward your section, the roar of the stadium swelling louder with every step. The sun is warm, the sky perfectly clear, and the air smells like popcorn, hot dogs, and grass. Jack keeps glancing back over his shoulder as you climb, slowing just enough each time to make sure you’re still right behind him. Eventually, you press your fingers lightly against the back of his shirt so he’ll stop worrying and just keep walking.

When you reach your row, Robby slides in first, squeezing past the seats with practised ease. Jack follows, pausing long enough to hold the seat backs out of your way as you slip in behind him. Olivia brings up the rear, grinning at you when Jack looks back once more to make sure you made it through.

She’s decked out head to toe in baseball gear—team cap, oversized jersey, even eye black smudged under her eyes. She has absolutely no idea what’s going on, but she's more than happy to play the part.

You, on the other hand, are wearing one of Jack’s old baseball shirts. It’s a little big on you, the sleeves falling just past your elbows, the faded team logo soft from years of washing. Jack had dug it out that morning. "For luck," he said.

It smells faintly like his laundry detergent. It makes you feel things you really shouldn't.

Jack settles back in his seat beside you. A moment later, his arm lifts casually and rests along the back of your seat. Not quite around you. But close enough that if you leaned back even a little—

Olivia notices immediately. She glances from his arm to your face, then sends you a slow, knowing smile. You pointedly ignore her.

Jack leans slightly closer instead, voice lowering near your ear so he doesn’t have to shout over the crowd. "Okay," he says quietly. "So basically—" He gestures toward the field. "That guy’s the starting pitcher. If he does well tonight, it probably decides the series."

You nod like you understand. "What’s the series?"

Jack chuckles softly. "Long story." He starts explaining anyway, pointing out players, rules, and little moments happening on the field. His voice is calm and patient, the kind of tone someone uses when they’re excited to share something they love with someone they lo—

You find yourself listening more to him than the game. Heart fluttering when he reaches over to tuck the edge of your jacket closer around you when the wind picks up.

At the end of an inning, as Jack tells you, you get up. "I’m gonna go to the bathroom," you say.

Jack straightens beside you immediately. "I’ll come with you," he says, already pushing himself to his feet. "I could use something to drink anyway."

He leans forward, glancing past you toward Olivia and Robby. "You guys want anything?"

They don’t even hesitate. "A beer, please," they say in perfect chorus.

Jack chuckles, "Of course."

You step into the crowded concourse, the noise swelling again as people stream past. Someone brushes past you, and Jack’s hand briefly finds the small of your back, guiding you out of the way.

"How much money do you think it’d cost to bat once?" you ask as you walk.

"More than it’s worth," Jack says, falling into step beside you. "You actually have to hit the ball."

You lean toward him, nudging his shoulder. "Hey! You don’t know if I’m good."

He just levels you with a look, brow raised, "I had to explain the rules. That’s enough to know you’ll probably… miss."

You huff, "That proves nothing."

His hand lingers on your back for a second longer than necessary before he lets it fall away.

"Okay... Just so you know," you say quietly after a moment, tugging the edge of your jacket closer around you. "I still have absolutely no idea what’s happening in that game."

Jack grins. "I figured." A group of fans pushes past, and he shifts slightly closer again so they don’t bump into you.

"You did not," you say.

He laughs, "You clapped when someone stretched."

"It was a... a good stretch," you grin back.

Olivia and Robby are quiet for a moment after you and Jack head off, the crowd singing loudly around them. Then Olivia leans forward slightly in her seat, elbows on her knees, as she tilts her head toward Robby. "Do you see what I see?"

Robby doesn’t look confused, and a slow grin spreads across his face. "Two lovesick fools?"

Olivia points at him approvingly. "Good." She settles back into her seat again, crossing one leg over the other. "I’m doing my part," she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You better be doing yours."

Robby snorts softly. "Oh, trust me, I am trying." He drags a hand through his hair. "It’s not easy."

Olivia glances sideways at him. "Tell me about it."

"We’re in the same boat then," Robby says. "You’d think two supposedly intelligent adults could figure this out."

Olivia gestures dramatically toward the empty seats beside them. "It’s so obvious."

"Love really makes you blind," he says with a small shrug.

"What makes who blind?"

Both of them jump slightly. You and Jack are suddenly standing beside the row again, squeezing past people to get back to your seat.

Olivia’s expression resets instantly. "Oh!" She waves a hand vaguely. "Robby was just telling me a work story."

Robby nods immediately, jumping in. "Yeah—uh, just a case we had the other day."

You settle halfway down, pausing to look at him past Jack. "What kind of case?"

Robby grimaces dramatically. "Someone thought rinsing their eyes with… cleaning solution… was a good idea."

Your face contorts in horror. "Oh—yikes."

"Yeah," Robby says quickly. "Not recommended."

Jack hands the beers over to them. "Two for the peanut gallery."

"Bless you," Robby says, taking the out that Jack probably doesn't know he's given him.

Olivia takes hers with a grin. "Your service is appreciated."

Jack places a drink in your cup holder before setting his own drink down. Without really thinking about it, his arm drapes back along the seat behind you again.

Olivia watches the motion with quiet satisfaction, then she takes a slow sip of her beer and turns back toward the field. Robby grins into his cup. The game resumes, and the two of them share a very small, very smug look over your heads.

You enjoy baseball much more than you'd imagined, though you probably have Jack to thank for that. His commentary plays a huge part in your enjoyment, though you're not sure you could explain anything about the game after—you're more focused on the way his breath brushes against your ear, how his gravelly voice somehow turns gruffer as the game goes on, and how it all pools in a low heat in your belly.

"Kiss cam’s coming up," Olivia whispers suddenly, leaning toward your other ear while Jack and Robby are deep in some very serious baseball discussion beside you.

"And why," you murmur back, not looking away from the field, "are you telling me this?"

Olivia’s grin is audible in her voice. "Just so you’re prepared."

You snort quietly. "There are thousands of people here. We’re not gonna get picked."

The giant screen above the stadium lights up as the music changes. The camera sweeps across the crowd as cheers ripple through the stands.

An older couple appears on the screen first—grey-haired and giggling as they lean in for a quick peck. The crowd applauds. Next, a younger pair who dramatically overdo it, laughing halfway through their kiss while the stadium roars. Then a pair of teenagers who look mortified as the camera lands on them. The boy kisses the girl’s cheek, and she hides her face while the crowd awws.

You’re smiling as you watch. The camera keeps moving and suddenly—it stops.

Your face appears on the massive screen. Right next to Jack’s. For a full second, you just stare. Your brain refuses to process what you’re seeing. The stadium erupts in cheers, egging you on.

"Oh my god," Olivia breathes beside you.

You’re still staring up at the screen in disbelief when Olivia nudges your shoulder sharply. Instinct kicks in. You turn toward Jack. He’s already looking at you.

For a split second, neither of you moves. The noise of the stadium fades behind the awareness of how close you’re sitting—his knee pressed lightly against yours, the familiar warmth of his shoulder against your arm, how he's close enough that you can feel his breath when he exhales. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

What if someone from the hospital is here? What if someone sees? You have to do it.

His eyes flick briefly to the giant screen and back to you. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s about to laugh. He gives you a quick shrug.

So you lean in, intending for the kiss to be swift and chaste. Just enough to satisfy the camera and keep your covers. But the moment you get close, Jack’s hand comes up. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, cradling the side of your face, and your plan evaporates into thin air.

The kiss lands soft, warmer than you expected, and suddenly you’re leaning into it instead of pulling away, a quiet sigh escaping you before you can stop it. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer without thinking.

Jack’s lips are warm, tasting faintly of beer, slightly chapped from the sun and the dry stadium air, but still soft. He shifts closer, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd feels miles away. All you can feel is him.

For a full second, it feels like you’re the only two people in the stadium, then the cheers hit. Loud. Whistles, shouting, the crowd going wild around you.

You blink, remembering where you are, and pull back quickly. Your chest rises in a quick, shaky breath you hope he doesn’t notice, face flushing as embarrassment creeps up your neck.

"Whooo!" Olivia leaps up, nearly tipping her cup, arms flailing in celebration. "Way to go!"

Robby is absolutely no help either. He lets out a long, piercing whistle from the other side.

"Fuck off," your voice comes out softer than you meant to, still a little breathless, shoving Olivia lightly. Jack huffs out a quiet laugh beside you.

You glance at him. He’s already looking at you again, a little flushed, his hand still half-raised like he forgot to put it down. Neither of you says anything, but for a moment it looks like he’s about to.

He doesn’t.

A horn split the air from behind you and you jerked your head back to the front and saw the green light, "Fuck—Alright, alright!"

Your knee shook the entire rest of the way to the hospital and once you were parked, your hands were so shaky as you tried to open the envelope you immediately received a paper cut. But the pain was nothing compared to the agony that you felt ripple through your chest as your eyes traveled over the invitation, gold and pink glitter floating around the car onto your scrubs.

After staring at the piece of cardstock in your hand for too long, you felt your phone vibrate. Blinking rapidly you pulled it out to see a text from Jack Abbot: You good?

Your eyes traveled to the time at the top of your screen to see you were nearly five minutes late to the start of shift. Normally you walked through those doors at least fifteen minutes early. He was clearly showing heroic levels of restraint by waiting until you were several minutes late to contact you.

Sorry, running late. Be there in 5. You texted back hurriedly and were rewarded five seconds later with a thumbs up reaction.

Taking in a shaky breath, you closed out of your messages app to dial your mom.

She picked up after the second ring, "Hey, honey, everything okay? Thought you worked tonight."

"Has Maya lost her fucking mind?"

Your mom was quiet for a few moments, "…So you got the wedding invitation then?"

"I'm not going," You said, angry tears already burning the backs of your eyes, "and to top it all off, she's getting married at the exact fucking venue I wanted to get married at but David and I couldn't afford it at the time. She knew that, she fucking knew it was my dream wedding—"

"I know, baby," your mom said sympathetically, "I don't expect you to come."

"Why would she do this?" You asked, and finally, the anger evaporated from your voice, replaced with the pure devastation, "I mean, she already fucking won, what else does she want? Having my husband and my dream wedding isn't enough for her? She needs to humiliate me in front of everyone we know as well?"

"I don't think she's doing it to hurt you," your mom said quietly, "believe it or not, I think she just wants her big sister at her wedding. She misses you."

You laughed humorlessly, straightening your shoulders in an attempt to rid your body of the despair that now saturated it, "She should have thought about that before she fucked my husband."

Your mother sighed on the other line, "I told her that you'd react like this, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"You think I'm being unreasonable?" You snapped.

"Of course I don't," She said firmly, "and you know that. You know exactly how I feel about this whole thing and so does she. It's a goddamn shame. And if she ever wants to fix things with you she'll probably have to wait until she's divorced or that son of a bitch is dead."

You snorted at that and your mother, normally a perfectly poised saint, rushed in to damage control, "Sorry, I didn't mean that, I actually think his mother's a sweet lady."

You swiped at a tear and sniffled, "Yeah, she is. Thank you for listening to me scream and cry again, but I have to go to work now, I'm late."

"Anytime, kiddo. I love you."

As you hung up, you saw another text from Abbot come in: Come find me when you get here.

You sighed, "shit."

As senior resident, you had a pretty close relationship with your attending. Professionally, anyway. But you being late was out of character for you and Jack Abbot was perceptive. He'd want to get to the bottom of whatever was wrong and no matter how you tried to deflect, you knew he'd persist.

But that wouldn't stop you from trying.

"Hey hun," Lena peered at you over the rim of her glasses as you approached the hub, "you alright?"

"Yeah, just overslept." You forced a smile, "You know where I can find Abbot?"

She directed you over towards the beds in north where you found Abbot discussing a treatment plan with Ellis outside a patient's room. When he saw you, he gestured for you wait a second while he finished up with Ellis. Once she walked off, he gestured for you to follow him.

You fell into step beside him as you walked around the ER, "Everything okay with you?" he asked.

"Yes."

You'd arrived back at the hub and Jack turned fully to you, hazel eyes laser focused on you. You hated this about him, how he demanded your eyes on his at all times so he could properly assess you, as if you were a patient in need of fixing.

"That's it?"

You shrugged, "Yes."

He tilted his head slightly, "In the entire time you've been on my shift, you've never been late. Not even once."

"Yeah," You said, annoyance coating your tone, "which is why you should cut me some slack."

"You're not in trouble," he said mildly, "I'm just checking in. You sure everything's fine?"

You sighed, "Yes."

He stared at you a moment longer before taking an iPad from the docking station, "Okay, fine. Grab a med student and handle chairs."

"Chairs?" Your eyebrows shot up your forehead, "You are pissed at me."

"No," Abbot said shaking his head, eyebrows raised as he looked up from his iPad into your face, "You were late and I need someone to triage and who better than my senior resident?"

You scoffed, and pivoted on your foot, "Unbelievable."

"Call me if you need me," he shouted after you.

"I won't," you called back.

Jack watched you go, wrangling a student by the arm as you went, and then turned back to Lena, "She tell you what her problem is?"

Lena shook her head, "No, she even fake smiled at me when she got here."

He shook his head, "There's definitely a problem though, right? I'm not imagining things?"

"She's been off for weeks now," Lena looked over her glasses at him conspiratorially, "I know you hate the rumor mill, but there is one going around that she got divorced recently. And it wasn't mutual."

He looked up at Lena, incredulous look on his face, "That's ridiculous. She would've told me."

Lena shrugged, "Look, I'm just telling you what I've heard."

Jack turned towards the door to chairs where you had disappeared and frowned. You would have told him, right? The two of you had always been professional, but he did consider you something like a friend after you had been here for nearly four years. When there were social events after work or on days off, you had always gravitated towards him and Robby. A bit older than most of the other residents and students, it was easier to find common ground with them. Things had never gotten overtly personal, but there had always been some level of sharing about personal lives. And he really thought the two of you were close enough that you would have told him. Especially if you were struggling.

"When did that start swirling around?" He asked, turning back to Lena.

"Few months ago, I think," she said, "Jesse said he overheard her take a call with a divorce attorney when he was heading out one day."

Jack ran a hand through his curls and sighed. Jesse wasn't the gossiping type and if he did, that usually meant it was true.

"Okay," he said finally, "you'll come find me if things go to shit?"

"You got it."

***

You could feel yourself slipping as the shift went on, beginning to snap at patients and beginning to snap at the med student you'd pulled, Whitaker, who wasn't even really supposed to be here. He was usually on the day shift, but the usual single med student allotted to the night shift was out on bereavement and Whitaker had volunteered to fill the gap. You liked him, honestly, even if he was a bit spacey at times, he was earnest and never made the same mistake twice.

Except today, when he got you the wrong antibiotics, not once, but twice.

"Whitaker," You said slowly, "am I not speaking clearly?"

"Wha—? I—No—I mean, yes. You are."

"Then why are these still the wrong meds?"

Whitaker was starting to get flustered and you were getting more and more annoyed— "Because I changed the order."

It was Abbot's voice that came behind you and you turned to see him standing there, arms crossed with that disappointed look on his face you had had the displeasure of encountering just one other time while working on his shift. When you had tried handling an aggressive patient on your own without calling him or security and ended up with a black eye.

"Whitaker, you can finish up here?" Abbot asked, eyes never leaving yours. When Whitaker agreed, Abbot steered you out of the waiting room by your arm back into central.

You wrenched your arm away from him, "You don't need to drag me, I can walk."

"What is going on with you?"

"Nothing," You threw your hands up in exasperation, "I'm irritated that I'm out in triage—"

"You're too good for triage?"

"I know you're doing it to punish me—"

"When have you ever known me to punish anyone?"

"You changed my order, why? You don't even trust me to prescribe simple antibiotics?"

He sighed, "We didn't have the dosage you were looking for up here, it would've taken longer to call the pharmacy and Whitaker was too scared to come back to you empty handed, so I told him to get something else. It had nothing to do with your decision making, though the way you've been treating Whitaker all shift is absolutely unacceptable for a senior resident and you know that."

You never cried at work. It was your one rule. Even crying in the parking lot felt like sacrilege. No matter how fucked up things got, and they'd gotten well and truly fucked, you tucked it away until you got home.

But with Abbot looking at you like this, his judgment heavy as stone, on top of the invitation… It was too much. PTMC had always been your one safe haven from everything, but you had managed to ruin that, too.

Abbot looked at you with alarm when he saw your eyes water and your chin wobble, "Hey, what the hell?" he said softly and then quickly ushered you out to the ambulance bay, shielding you from anyone else's prying eyes.

"I'm sorry," you blubbered after you'd gone through the double doors, "I have to apologize to Whitaker."

"Not now, later."

You leaned against the wall of the hospital and scrubbed your hands over your face, "I was so mean to him all shift."

"I know, he told me," At the look you gave him through your hands Abbot shook his head, "Not to get you in trouble, he was worried about you. Said you weren't acting like yourself. And I have to agree, you're normally a very kind and patient teacher."

His praise—which you felt was undeserved—made you want to cry all over again, but you managed to swallow past the lump in your throat. Abbot leaned up against the wall next to you and pushed his hands into his pants pockets, "So, I'll ask you again: What is going on with you?"

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, fought the urge to self soothe by wrapping your arms entirely around yourself, "You won't let it go unless I tell you, right?"

"Damn straight," He said immediately, "We can keep it between us, but it's starting to effect your work now, so I'd like to know what's going on. And maybe I can help."

You scoffed and looked down at your feet, "No one knows besides my family and that's only because I had no choice," You swallowed, "It's humiliating. You might look at me differently."

He narrowed his eyes at you, "If you really don't want to tell me I won't force you. But I promise there's very little you could say that would make me think less of you."

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall. You weren't sure why it even mattered to you what your attending thought of your personal life. Despite your borderline friendly relationship with Abbot, there had still always been the irrepressible urge to impress him, to make sure he both liked and respected you. Probably had something to do with your absent father, but that was something to unpack in therapy.

"I got my baby sister's wedding invitation in the mail today," You said slowly, could already feel the heat bubbling beneath your skin, "And the man she's marrying is my… ex husband."

You felt the double take that came from his direction, but you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his eyes.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat, "I—I didn't know you got divorced."

You nodded, "Finding out they were having a year long affair was a hell of a motivator to get it done quickly and quietly."

"Fuck," he murmured under his breath, "When did all this happen?"

You chewed the inside of your cheek, "They started sleeping together while I was recovering from the miscarriage."

You thought you heard his sharp intake of breath at that, but you still couldn't look over at him. The miscarriage had happened almost two years ago now and marked the beginning of your life turning upside down.

You had lost a pregnancy you didn't even know had been in your womb. Fighting with David as he drove you home in stony silence while you cried about how you couldn't understand why he was acting this way, you'd always said you didn't want kids.

How when the bleeding didn't stop, didn't slow the way it was supposed to, and you told David you needed to go back to the hospital he—the lawyer—somehow convinced you—the doctor—that you weren't bleeding that much. You thought about this moment almost daily, now. You felt so stupid for letting him debate his way out of taking you to PTMC. It had taken you hours to finally text Abbot, feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, if he thought you should come in.

He had left the hospital to come get you and you remembered his quiet anger as he condescended to David while carrying you to his truck.

In the end, surgical intervention had been required to stop the bleeding and when you woke up to David beside himself with remorse beside you, you'd forgiven him.

And yet, you'd find out much later that while you recovered from surgery, he began sleeping with Maya.

"Well," Abbot said after a few moments of shocked silence, "Knowing that you've been holding all that in for… months now, I'd say you've actually shown remarkable restraint."

You huffed a laugh through your nose, "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. If I were you they'd probably both be six feet under by now."

You hummed, "I considered it when I opened the invitation today."

"Why don't you go home?" He said quietly and you finally turned to look at him, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight, "We can handle the rest of the shift without you."

You shook your head, "I feel worse when I'm not working. I'm still not used to going home to an empty apartment."

At that moment Lena poked her head out into the ambulance bay, charge phone pressed to her ear, "Incoming MVA, five minutes out."

You both pushed yourselves off the wall to head back inside, "Hey," he said, fingertips ghosting over your wrist as you walked ahead of him, "if you won't go home, will you get breakfast with me after shift?"

You bit your lip as you looked back at him, "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to babysit me."

He shook his head, "No, I'm asking for me. You wouldn't make an old man eat by himself, would you?"

He had that easy smirk on his face as he followed you inside, helped tie your trauma gown at the base of your neck. Your stomach flipped the way it sometimes did when he showed you too much attention. You had always dismissed it as a silly crush, the cliche daddy issues you couldn't quite shake even in adulthood.

"Okay," you said finally, turning back to face him as sirens called in the distance, "fine, I'll get breakfast with you."

His grin widened, "Atta girl."

And then he was darting back outside to meet the ambulance, oblivious to the way your cheeks heated and your heart fluttered in response.

***

The only thought in your head as you sat across the diner table from Jack Abbot and the waitress poured you a cup of coffee was that your lips were chapped and you'd been picking at them all shift.

After the waitress took your order and walked off, Jack's eyes traced your face and watched as you chewed on your lower lip, "Stop that," he said softly, "You've been tearing your lips up all day."

Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together and clasped your hands in your lap, "Sorry."

He frowned, "What was that?"

"What?"

"Did you just apologize to me?"

The corner of your mouth tugged up just slightly, "Don't act like you've never heard an apology before."

"I have," he smirked, "just not from you. Now I've heard you say it twice in one day."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, that is not true."

The waitress returned with your food and after thanking her, Jack speared a homefry into his mouth before turning his attention back to you, "So," he said, "What're you gonna do?"

You frowned, swallowing the eggs you'd spooned into your mouth, "About what?"

"Your sister's wedding."

You shrugged, "Nothing. She knows how I feel, it was fucked up of her to even invite me. I'm not even gonna RSVP."

His eyebrows knitted together, "What d'you mean? You're not gonna go?"

You snorted, "A weekend full of watching my baby sister and ex husband celebrate their love and solidify their union in the place I dreamed and gushed about getting married at myself to my sister for years?" You shook your head, "No thank you. I'm not a masochist. I'll probably spend the weekend with several bottles of wine on my couch watching Vanderpump Rules."

Jack balked, his head pulling back in that way it did sometimes when he was passing judgment on someone. You'd seen him direct it at patients, other students, occasionally Robby, but never you.

"If you don't go, they win."

You sighed, "Oh, come on, Abbot. They already won."

He shook his head, "No. They're shackling themselves in a relationship built on lies and betrayal. They've lost. And seeing you happier than ever at their wedding would be great revenge."

"Yeah, well there's only one problem with that," You stole a homefry from his plate and stuffed it in your mouth, "I'm miserable."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes assessing you, "Do you have a plus one on your invitation?"

You blinked, "Why are you asking me that?"

He cleared his throat and rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward you conspiratorially, "I just think that even if you don't feel it, think about how much it would bother them to see you show up with someone else. Happy."

Was he delusional? You narrowed your eyes at him, and in turn leaned forward towards him, "My dating life is abysmal right now. So, pray tell, who is this imaginary knight in shining armor who's going to accompany me?"

Still smirking, he leaned back in his seat and shrugged, "I'd do it."

You nearly choked on your coffee. Once you'd caught your breath, you felt your eyes nearly bulging out of your head, "What, pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend? Make them think we're in love? Why would you agree to that?"

He shrugged, "You're my best resident and I'm tired of seeing you off your game. And I already told you, I want to help."

You hummed, "By forcing me into my worst nightmare?" You nodded, "Yeah, solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?"

He sighed, "Look, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but I think you should consider that this might… Give you closure. And it won't hurt to get in a few shots yourself by bringing me along."

You narrowed your eyes at him for a few moments before laughing quietly, "This is insane."

"Well just…Just think about it before you say no, okay?"

You raised your eyebrows at him skeptically, but he was still smirking, "Okay. But don't hold your breath."

After you'd both finished your food, Jack paid despite your insistent attempts to slip your card to the waitress and drove you home.

"I left my car at the hospital."

He shrugged, "I can give you a ride in tonight."

As he pulled up to your house and put his car in park, he leaned over and squeezed your knee lightly, prompting you to look at him, "You'll get some sleep, right?"

Doubtful, you thought, but you nodded, "Yeah, of course."

His eyes narrowed and he held out a clenched hand, pinky outstretched towards you, "Promise?"

You snorted, "Seriously?"

He raised his eyebrows, pinky still held out insistently. So, sighing, you wrapped your pinky around his, "Promise."

Jack smiled and released your finger, "Get out of here then. I'll be back here at 6:30."

"Yes sir," You mocked, and jumped out of the car before he could give a snarky reply.

You wouldn't tell him, but spending time with him had done wonders for your mood. You were even considering taking him up on his offer to come with you to the wedding.

But surely, that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"I think that's a great idea!" Your mom said enthusiastically over the phone an hour later.

Your black out curtains were pulled down tight over the windows, shuttering your bedroom in darkness. You likely wouldn't sleep much, but you would still try. The only light a dim glow from your phone.

You scoffed, "You think it's a great idea to pretend to be in love with my boss at my ex's wedding?"

"I've been saying for months that you let them off too easy. And David's always asking me if you're seeing anyone. Possessive little fuck."

"Mom—"

"—Sorry, sorry. He really gets under my skin. I met Dr. Abbot, didn't I?"

"Yeah," You said, rubbing a hand over your eyes, "When I miscarried."

"He seemed nice. Handsome."

You sighed, "He's just being nice. And also, I've apparently been doing a really shitty job at work and he thinks this'll help."

Your mom hummed, "Sure, sweetie."

Already once before at your bedside after your miscarriage, your mom had implied that she believed Dr. Abbot looked at you as more than just a resident, "I'm not saying it's romantic," She had said at the time, when you had still been married to David, "I just think… He sees you as a person outside of all this." She had gestured around the emergency room.

Now, it seemed, she had changed her tune.

You looked at the watch on your wrist, illuminated in the dark to see that it was nearly noon. If you had any hope of sleep, you'd have to try soon. You said your goodbyes to your mom, and to your surprise, sleep came easy… along with dreams of freckled arms and a face with gray stubble, smirking at you slow and sweet like molasses.

***

You climbed into Jack's truck that evening, immediately engulfed by the hum of his heater, the warmth cocooning you away from the harsh winter air. You let him drive in silence, his radio quietly playing, tuned to the classic rock station.

When you pulled up to the hospital, the two of you walking side by side inside and then by the lockers, "Steak, chicken, or fish?"

You felt it when his head slowly turned towards you, eyes assessing as he draped his stethoscope over his neck, "Steak," he said finally and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you closed the locker and turned to face him, "You understand that this is a whole weekend affair, right? It's in upstate New York. If you come you have to stick it out the whole weekend. We'll have to share a room—maybe even a bed—"

"You think I didn't already think of all this?"

He was so…unbothered. It didn't make any sense to you. That he would do all of this for you.

You ignored his question—Of course you knew he had, you knew how over prepared Abbot was for every scenario no matter how unlikely—But you thought at the very least you'd detect some discomfort, some acknowledgement that it might not be so easy. "What about the fact that I'm your resident? You're not worried about how this could effect our professional relationship?"

He shrugged, "You only have a few months left and it's not like we've ever had a normal working relationship."

You were reminded of your miscarriage. You couldn't remember everything, the blood loss had muddled some things, but you did recall the way his voice rose when speaking to David, insisting he wouldn't leave until he saw you. The way he'd so easily slipped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then last year when you had noticed Abbot limping around the ED and trying to hide grimaces a bit too much, you were the only one he'd admit to that he was in pain. The only one he'd listen to when you demanded to take a look at his prothestic. You didn't scold him when you saw the blood and pressure sores. Just gently cleaned and bandaged them, asked him if he'd been fitted for a new socket yet since this one was obviously causing problems. It was you who gently followed up with him day after day until it healed. You were the only one he allowed that close.

He was your teacher, your boss, but the two of you had always had something a bit deeper, a bit more intimate, that you each always tried to brush off. But now, here Jack was, declaring it openly.

You swallowed and broke eye contact, "You should know that after I found out he was having an affair and with who… He tried to deflect. He brought you up, accused me of sleeping with you—"

"That's ridiculous," Jack said, sounding irritated.

"I know," You said quickly, "I'm just telling you because… If you show up to this wedding as my date, if we're pretending that we're in love, he'll probably see it as vindication that he was right. He'll probably act like it absolves him of any wrong doing."

He nodded, "Will that be a problem for you?"

You raised your eyebrows, "For me? No. Personally, I hope it eats him alive thinking I cheated on him." You shook your head, "No, I just want you to understand what it is you're signing up for. It might… put a target on your back."

The two of you were at the hub now and Jack chuckled as he picked up an iPad, "I'm not afraid of David. He's a fucking coward and he's always punched down," He raised his eyes to you and added quickly, "no offense."

You dismissed him with a shake of your head, "None taken. So it's settled then. We're going."

He nodded, a smile on his face, and reached out his pinky towards you again, "It's a date."

You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped and your heart rate likely doubled when you wrapped your pinky around his, hazel eyes soft and gentle on yours. The moment passed quickly and then he released you, off to find Robby to start hand offs.

***

As the weeks passed and the snow thawed you were beginning to wonder what you had gotten yourself into. Your sister had texted you when you RSVP'd as if everything was fine now, saying she was so excited to see you and who were you bringing she wanted to see pics was he hot how long had you been seeing each other? She wanted to gossip with you as if nothing had transpired since the last time you talked to her, probably a year ago now. As if the last time you saw her you hadn't told her that she was no longer your sister as far as you were concerned.

You had ignored each text, telling your mom everytime you spoke to her to ask Maya to stop texting you. That just because you were coming to the wedding didn't mean all was forgiven.

"It doesn't matter what I say to her baby, she has her heart set on the fact that you coming means you're ready to be her big sister again. She won't stop talking about it."

It made you both angry and incredibly sad that Maya was naive enough to believe that you could just forgive and forget like that. You had meant what you said about her no longer being your sister. Truthfully, you still felt like you never wanted to speak to her ever again.

"And what does your husband think?" You asked as carefully as you could. It was something you had wanted to ask for a long while, what your stepfather thought of the whole thing. He had been the only father you'd ever really known after your biological father cheated on your mother and skipped town. He was Maya's biological father, but he had always treated you as his own—granted, you knew your mother wouldn't have accepted anything else. But when all this happened, you had assumed you'd lose him. After all, Maya was his real daughter.

"He understands why you need your distance, even though he hates seeing you girls fight. I've caught him more than once digging up old home videos of the two of you playing dress up or putting on plays. He misses you."

Your eyes had watered and you made a mental note to text him after, "I wish it didn't have to be like this." You'd said softly, and meant it.

But you didn't know how to be in the same room with Maya and David and not have a world ending meltdown. And you were realizing as the wedding drew closer and closer that maybe you were making a colossal mistake.

Which was how you ended up paralyzed staring at your half packed suitcase the day you were set to leave while Abbot repeatedly beeped from his truck outside.

You had left the door unlocked, so eventually after you ignored phone call after phone call and didn't come to the door, he made his way inside, calling your name.

When he walked in your bedroom and saw you, he breathed a sigh of relief, "Christ, I thought I was gonna walk in here to see you fuckin' passed out or something. What's going on?"

You chewed on your thumbnail and then shook your head frantically, "I—I can't do this. I'm not going."

"Yes you can and yes you are."

"Abbot—"

"I think it's time you start calling me Jack if you want to convince people we're dating."

You sighed and looked up at him, panic fluttering around in your chest like a trapped bird, "This is a bad idea," You whispered.

He shook his head, "If nothing else you and I are gonna have a really fun weekend away from the ER, alright? When was the last time you skipped town?"

You rolled your eyes, "This isn't exactly my idea of a vacation."

He feigned offense with a hand to his chest, "You're not excited to spend a whole weekend with me upstate?"

Despite the impending panic attack you felt brewing, you tried to banter back, "Bringing you to my ex husband's wedding wasn't exactly how I envisioned our first date, no."

You were pleased to see his grin widen, "So you've been dreaming about our first date, then?"

You rolled your eyes again and started throwing more clothes haphazardly into your suitcase, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. Ignoring how easy it was to play with him, how quickly it soothed you. With his voice in your ear, you thought maybe it'd be almost tolerable getting through this weekend. Almost.

"Shut up and help me close my suitcase."

***

As Jack pulled away from your apartment, you turned around to look in the back seat. It was filled nearly to the brim with duffel bags, first aid kits, bandages, emergency food kits, warming blankets—

"Do you know something about this weekend that I don't?" You asked as you took in all the supplies.

He shrugged, "It's always good to be prepared. Besides, do you know how many weddings I've been to where at least one drunk idiot injured themselves or someone else and needed a doctor?"

You would not admit to him how endearing—or sexy—you found it that he had overprepared like this. You turned back towards the front, "Fair enough."

After a few minutes of riding in silence, he cleared his throat, "So, what should I know? About fake dating you?"

You fought a smirk, "I don't think there's much to know. You know me already. Besides, I doubt we'll be spending much time with anyone who'd be able to spot it since I'll be avoiding Maya and David like the plague."

He frowned, "What about your parents?"

"Oh, my mom and step dad know we're not actually dating."

His head turned towards you, "So they know this is actually just a revenge tour?"

You nodded, "Yep."

"And they're… Fine with that?"

You chewed the inside of your cheek, "I think secretly they're hoping being in the same room with Maya will… help repair our relationship. Or something."

Jack scoffed, "They don't honestly expect you to forgive her, do they?"

"I don't think my mom does, no. My father cheated on her when I was really little and left us. So she… Knows how I'm feeling."

He paused, "I'm sorry, that must've been really hard on you as a kid."

You stared out the window, chewed on your thumbnail as trees blurred past your window, "I used to think, when I was a kid, that I'd never be like my mom. I saw how… hurt she was and I promised myself I'd never pick a man like my father. And David wasn't anything like my father. He was ambitious, kind, funny, romantic…" Your eyes watered, "He took care of me until he didn't. So maybe it's me, maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I was just doomed to repeat generational patterns by virtue of being my mother's daughter."

After a moment, Jack gave what sounded like an almost pained groan, "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Let him off the hook like that and put the blame back on yourself. He fucked up. Not you."

You knew there was no sense in arguing with him, convincing him that you must've done something to cause him to stray. To look to someone who was so much like you, but younger and less damaged. He could've picked anyone to cheat with, but he fell in love with your baby sister. The same sister you had cared for so vigilantly to make sure she avoided the missteps you took. So that she wouldn't have twin scars to match yours. Practically made in your image, except she was less damaged. How could you get Jack to understand what that felt like? How could you not blame yourself?

So you didn't say anything. You let the silence fall instead and tried your best to keep your sniffling to a minimum. After a few minutes Jack reached across the cabin and gently took your hand in his own.

***

A few hours and many gas station stops later, Jack pulled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at. You hopped out of the car first and he watched you from the rearview mirror for a few minutes before following suit.

You were so sad and quiet on the ride up he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake, convincing you to come here. But he couldn't stand the thought of you moping at home, building this wedding up in your head to be more than it was. Obviously, you had every right to be upset. Frankly, if you came to him and said you wanted to burn the whole place to the ground, he'd start googling where he could find kerosene nearby.

What he didn't want was you deciding that this wedding marked the end of your life when really, he thought it was probably liberating you. He wished he had known when you were getting divorced because he would've thrown you a party. He would never suggest that you were lucky for the way things had played out, but he was relieved on your behalf that it had all happened so early in your marriage, in your life. You had so much left of it. He wanted you to see that, that it was possible to be happy again even after your whole world had imploded as violently as it did.

He hated that you had so much shame wrapped up in the dissolution of your marriage when that fucker was the one the blame. It was horrible enough he had chosen your little sister, but the timing of it, right after your miscarriage, made his fucking blood boil. When you needed him the most he was busy warming your sister's bed. It made him sick with rage. And then to hear you blame yourself on top of it all? It was too much. Jack thought it would be a miracle if he made it through this weekend without punching the coward's lights out.

And then, to top it all off, he wondered if he had an ulterior motive for all this. That maybe he was so eager to play the part of your boyfriend because he really did want to be your boyfriend. It wasn't a novel thought, he had wondered to himself many times before if the reason he allowed you to get so close when he had historically pushed everyone else away, especially after his wife, was because he was harboring feelings for you. He had never been able to answer the question. Or maybe he was just too afraid to be honest with himself about it. For a while he had told himself it didn't matter how he felt about it because you were married. But now…Well, things had changed.

He settled his hands on your hips when he came up behind you as you were beginning to unpack the bags from the back seat, "We should probably set some ground rules before this goes any further."

You spun around, his hands still on your hips. You didn't seem bothered by his closeness, "What d'you mean?"

"Well," Jack started, feeling the heat begin to crawl up his neck at having this conversation while standing this close to you. His leg was beginning to ache from driving with the prosthetic all day and he leaned into the pain in an attempt to ground himself, "I'm a very physically affectionate man when I'm in a relationship. So, if you're uncomfortable with that, we should talk about it."

He watched the bob of your throat as you swallowed, "That's fine."

Jack hummed and looped his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and gently pulled until your hips were pushed up against his, "Maybe we should have a safe word."

"A safe word?" Was it his imagination that you sounded a bit breathless? You had only been here a few minutes and he was already in danger of crossing the line.

He nodded and bit his lip, "Yeah, so I know if I need to back off."

"That sounds… Like a good idea. Very mature."

"You pick, what's our safe word?" While walking around to you at the side of the truck, he had noticed what looked like a couple standing by the entrance of the hotel, watching. It could have been Maya and David, it could have been anyone. But on the off chance it was someone you knew, he wanted to make sure he was playing his part well. At least, that's what he told himself he was doing when he nudged his nose gently against yours.

He thought he felt you gasp against his mouth and it was taking almost everything he had not to kiss you.

"Troponin." You said, and he blinked. Confusion clouding his features.

"Troponin?" He repeated, eyebrows knitting together. He wondered if he had heard you correctly. He was this close to you, close enough to devour you, and you were thinking about a STEMI?

"Our safe word," You said and licked your lips. His eyes trailed the path of your tongue hungrily.

"You want our safe word to be troponin?" When you nodded he smiled, "Okay, troponin it is," he pressed a kiss to the bridge of your nose and then backed away slightly, "In the spirit of total transparency, I do think we have an audience."

He almost wished he hadn't told you. You had relaxed so much under his touch and he watched the tension return to your shoulders as you peered around, trying to locate the possible enemy.

But then when you saw them, beginning to walk towards you, your shoulders drooped, "It's just my mom and stepdad."

Jack watched a few steps away as your mother pulled you into a tight hug, your step dad watching with a bemused smile on his face and hands in his pockets. You looked so much like your mother. He remembered thinking it the first time he'd met her after your miscarriage and it still held true. She talked like you too, or rather, you talked like her. The same mannerisms and same lilt to your voices, the same warm laugh. If he closed his eyes, he might have a hard time telling you apart.

"Mom, you remember Jack."

He shook your mother's hand in both of his, murmured that it was good to see her again.

"And you, Dr. Abbot. Thank you for looking out for her, even outside of the emergency room."

"My pleasure, but call me Jack, please."

You introduced him to your step dad who seemed to be a reserved man of few words, but friendly enough.

"Well the two of you must've had a long drive so I'll let you get settled, but—" Your mom turned to look at you pointedly, "—We knew you were here because Maya knew you were here so I wouldn't be surprised if she shows up at your hotel room unannounced."

You frowned, "How did she know I was here?"

"Well," Your mom sighed, "It would seem that you never stopped sharing your location with her on your phone."

You groaned and clawed your phone from your pocket, "Oh, Jesus fuck—"

Your stepdad winced, "Language, please."

"I don't want to see her." You said, hands shaking as you unlocked your phone, undoubtedly trying to quickly stop sharing your location, "Can you please tell her I don't want to see her right now? I'm not—" Your voice sounded close to breaking, "Please, I'm not ready to see her."

Jack's hands itched to reach for you, but he clasped them behind his back instead. As far as your parents were concerned the two of you were not really dating, he was just here as a friend. He didn't want to make anything more complicated for you. But still, he felt like you were still in the ED, and thus his responsibility. He wanted to fix it.

"We'll tell her," your stepdad said softly, "But it's her wedding, you'll have to talk to her eventually—"

"I know that," you snapped, then immediately softened, "Sorry, I—It's been a long day. I'll talk to her, I promise. Just not today."

The three of them began hushed conversations that were becoming more and more strained. You had downplayed to him what your stepdad was hoping for, he thought now. You had been here only a few minutes and he was already laying into you about how "that's your sister" and "you're her big sister you should be the bigger person" and "you can't ignore her forever."

You absolutely could, if that was what you wanted. And Jack understood the man's stake in it. It had to hurt watching the girls you raised become estranged. But had he sat his other daughter down and explained to her the consequences of breaking your trust like that? Of betraying you like that? It sounded like the two of you had been close, best friends. Not only did she sleep with your husband, but her actions had resulted in you losing your best friend. You had a traumatic surgery and you ended up cheated on and divorced within a year and you hadn't been able to talk to your best friend about it. It was cruel to now ask you to be the bigger person.

Jack began walking back towards the back of the truck so he could continue unloading your baggage, heavily favoring his right leg. He was in a decent amount of pain, but he may have been playing it up so—

"Jack, is your leg bothering you?"

You were by his side in a moment, taking bags he had unloaded and carrying them on your shoulder.

"I'm fine," he said, "Just a little sore from driving all day." You started rummaging through his back seat, "What're you looking for?"

"Your cane or crutches or something—"

He scoffed and gently pulled you from the car, "They're in my duffel, I don't need them right now."

"But—"

"Sweetheart—" Your mother interrupted, "Your dad and I are gonna go, we'll see you at breakfast?"

You nodded and quickly hugged them goodbye and Jack felt immediate relief at their absence. They were nice enough people, especially your mother who he could tell was more on your side about the whole thing, but they were still being too hard on you in his opinion.

Once inside the room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic with a soft groan. He didn't look up, but he felt you watching him, knew you were trying to think of some way to help.

"Can I get you anything?" You asked finally.

He shook his head, massaging his limb gently, "No, I'll be fine after a hot shower and working some lotion into my leg."

"Oh, that reminds me—" You walked off towards the bathroom and then returned a few seconds later, "—Good, they remembered. I called a few days ago to ask them to put a shower chair in here. Just wanted to check so I could call down if they forgot."

Jack blinked, "Well, that was… Very thoughtful of you, thank you."

"Least I can do," You sighed, "After the ledges you're sure to talk me down from this weekend."

Digging into your pocket, you pulled out an unopened pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.

"What the fuck?" Jack laughed, "You don't smoke."

"I know, I thought it was a great weekend to start—Hey!"

Jack had snatched them from you before you had the chance to unwrap them, "Do you know how fuckin' hard it is to kick a nicotine addiction? Do you?"

You sighed, "You're really gonna lecture me about this?"

"Yeah, I absolutely am. I'm not gonna watch you be self destructive all weekend. That's not why we're here. It's so you can see how better off you are."

You pushed your lower lip out into a pout, "You don't think I deserve a cigarette in this situation?"

Fuck, why'd you have to go and do that? It was unfair. Now all he could think about was your lower lip between his teeth— He could not let you know how easily you could wrap him around your finger. Clearing his throat, he pushed the packet of cigarettes into his pocket, "You take the shower first, you'll feel better after. I'm going to hide these while you're in the bathroom."

You looked for a moment like you might argue, but then your eye caught on what looked like a welcome basket on the dresser, filled with snacks and—wine, "Fine. Have the cigarettes. But I will be opening the wine after I get out of the shower."

Jack fought a smirk, "Only if you let me order us some room service. You've eaten nothing but jerky and Red Bull all day."

You glared at him from where you stood, arms crossed over your chest before turning on your heel towards the bathroom, "Fine, fine. Whatever. But only because I'm starving, not because I think you're right."

He watched as you sauntered into the bathroom, holding your bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. Then, with a sigh, he laid down flat on the bed.

"Abbot, you are so fucked," he murmured to himself. Then he propped himself up and reached for the phone on the nightstand.

***

Troponin. Troponin. It was so stupid, that that had been the only word you could think of.

A safe word. The very implication meaning that there could be a scenario where Jack Abbot could touch you and you wouldn't like it. Absolutely absurd.

No, the only real, looming danger of this weekend was that Jack Abbot would touch you and you would like it too much. You didn't think he knew it yet, but Jack had the power to break your heart even more than it already had been. You were afraid of him, but not for reasons he'd understand.

Jack was sound asleep next to you, snoring softly. The moonlight that spilled through the balcony doors lit up his watch enough that you could see it was a bit past 3:20 AM.

There hadn't been much back and forth about sharing the bed. Jack had said when you got out of the shower that he didn't mind calling and asking for a cot, but you had waved him off. Besides which, if you were going to be convincing that you were actually a couple, on the chance that your sister stopped by unnanounced you didn't want her seeing you were sleeping separately.

So you had each climbed into opposite sides of the bed, bid each other goodnight, and that was that.

Between being a night owl by default and the number of Red Bulls you'd had that day, sleep wasn't an option for you. You would've been surprised that Jack was able to sleep at all, both of you accustomed to working through the night, if you didn't also know he had a prescription for his insomnia.

So it was just you wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about troponin. A protein used to detect heart damage. Faced with the impossibility of the weekend, seeing both your ex and your little sister for the first time since you found out about their affair, all with your attending by your side, pretending to be in love with you, you thought it likely you might end this weekend with an abnormal troponin reading.

That's ridiculous, he had said when you told him David had accused you of sleeping with him. And while it may have seemed ridiculous to him, you understood why David had thought it. The hero worship was likely blatant in your voice and on your face whenever you talked about him.

You turned your head to the side and looked at Jack's sleeping face. Peaceful, wrinkles smoothed out. His silver stubble glinted in the moonlight. You liked when he grew it out like this, just a little bit.

You would never admit you were in love with him, but weren't you, just a little bit?

You blew out a long breath and turned your face back towards the ceiling. It was going to be a long weekend.

***

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

Jack turned to look at you as you said it. You were walking to the welcome breakfast, which was being held at the venue. It was a winery draped in greenery and curtained by trees. The couple would be married in the garden that overlooked the pond outside.

"Do you need to sit down?"

You shook your head and stopped walking, "I feel like there's a boulder on my chest," your breathing quickened and you brought your fist to your sternum, rubbing clockwise, as if it would free the pressure.

Jack stepped in fromt of you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, left hand sliding below your jaw to your neck so he could feel your carotid. Your pulse jackhammered against his fingers and sweat glistened on your forehead and upper lip.

"Panic attack?" He asked softly and you nodded, "We don't have to go in right away, we can be late. Take a lap around the pond."

You shook your head, "No, no Maya's in the door she's watching us. I don't want—Ah, fuck David's there too."

"Hey, look at me," Your eyes darted to his and he shook his head, "Don't look at him. What d'you wanna do?"

"Well I want to go home, but that's not happening."

Jack smiled, "Okay, let me rephrase that, what do you need to get yourself in there?"

Your chin was wobbling as you looked at him and you shook your head slightly, "I don't know, I don't—" Your eyes trailed over his shoulder.

Jack angled himself in order to block your view, "Hey—" Your eyes met his again, wet and frantic, "It's just you and me right now. They're not as scary as you think they are. You've built them up to be these scary monsters in your head and what they did to you was monstrous, but they're still just people. They should be afraid of you. Do you want to piss them off?"

Finally, your lip curled up the tiniest bit, "Yeah."

"Great. What should we do then? What would piss them off?"

You bit down on your lip gently and tilted your head. You seemed a bit shy, a feeling he wasn't used to seeing on you.

"Could you kiss me, you think?"

Immediately, Jack felt heat spread through his chest. He smirked, hoping he looked more nonchalant than he felt, "Are they watching still?"

Your eyes darted over his shoulder and then you nodded.

Hands still on your cheeks, he moved one hand to cup the back of your neck and gently pull you to him. His heart raced as he tasted you, slowly explored your mouth, relished in the way it felt for your lips to move against his.

It took enormous effort for him to pull away from you, but he managed it. Your pupils were blown out and you seemed a bit breathless, but he wasn't sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see. You had only asked him to kiss you to make your ex jealous, he reminded himself.

"What do you think? Did it work?"

You peered over Jack's shoulder and nodded, "David stormed off. Maya's still there."

Jack hummed, running his fingers over your cheeks one last time before dropping them, "She probably wants to talk to you. Are you ready?"

You inhaled, slow and deep, "Will you hold my hand?"

Jack felt himself melt. He thought there was little he wouldn't do for you, "Of course," he slipped his hand into yours, ran his thumb over the soft skin on the back of your hand, "Remember, you've done nothing wrong. They should be afraid of you."

You kept pace with him, the venue looming ever closer in front of you, "Right."

Jack squeezed your hand reassuringly as you approached your sister, and shit, did your mother have strong genes. Even only being half sisters, the two of you were nearly identical, though there were obvious differences to Jack. Your sister was perfectly manicured, nails done, lips glossed. She obviously had some sort of workout regimen if her toned arms and legs were any indication. Likely pilates, he thought.

Obviously, Jack found you gorgeous. He knew your bitten down nails and often chapped lips were a symptom of the job—Long, manicured nails often led to broken gloves and who had time to constantly reapply chapstick in the ER?—But there was something to the two sisters standing side by side. He could see the stress and heartbreak of the last year on you whereas your sister looked nonplussed. Whether that was just an image she wished to project on her wedding weekend or if she really felt no remorse, he wasn't sure.

But he wasn't in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. He disliked her instantly on principal.

Her throat bobbed as you approached. You came to a stop, a roughly three foot buffer between you. The two of you seemed unsure what to do next, staring at each other, both of you glassy eyed.

And then, without warning, Maya threw her arms around your neck. For a moment, you froze, and then you released Jack's hand, slowly easing your arms around her. He watched your face crumple just slightly, half hidden by Maya's shoulder.

"I'm so happy you came," Maya said, and Jack had to strain to hear it, her voice muffled by your shoulder, "I couldn't imagine getting married without you here."

You didn't say anything at all, but you kept holding her, that bereft look in your eyes.

Maya pulled away, a smile on her face, though tears began to cascade over her lash line. Then she turned to Jack, "And Dr. Abbot, I'm glad you're here too. You know, I always said there was something more between the two of you, the way she always talked about you."

You were despondent, eyes aimless as you stared at nothing. Jack turned his attention to Maya and he didn't smile, "It wasn't like that."

Her mouth fell open, maybe realizing her mistake, the implication, "Oh—Oh n—no, of course not—"

"Jack," you said softly, "save me a seat inside?"

He knew he had just got done telling you they weren't monsters, but he was ready to take it back. He didn't want to leave you alone with her. He had encouraged you to come here and now he thought maybe he'd been wrong.

But he nodded anyway, walked into the venue with his hands clasped behind his back. You weren't his. He kept forgetting that. He was acting like a fucking guard dog and you weren't even his to defend.

It was barely 10 AM and Jack strode over to the bar.

***

"I really am so happy you're here. Mom said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would— And this place! Isn't it gorgeous?"

Maya babbled on and on while you felt… Empty. She was discussing wedding planning with you as if nothing had changed. You remembered sitting with her on your living room floor after you'd gotten engaged, scrap booking your dream wedding.

You wished you could dig up that scrap book now because while you had had to settle and compromise on most things, it seemed that she had gotten everything.

The venue, the welcome breakfast in the tearoom, the open bar— You bet from the floral centerpieces on each table that she'd even gotten the same florist.

You had ended up getting married in a courthouse with a small dinner party afterwards. It was all you'd been able to afford between law school and med school.

Still, it had been the happiest day of your life because you loved him. You would have done anything for him.

And now you saw that same pure giddiness on your sister's face.

"Look, Maya, I don't—The last time we talked, I'm sorry I was so harsh, but I meant what I said. I'm not here to make amends."

She stared at you, almost disbelieving as the happiness began the melt off her face. You almost felt guilty, "Then why are you here?" She asked, bitterness slipping into her voice.

"I don't know. To get closure." You shook your head, "Maybe there's also a small part of me that thinks I can convince you not to go through with it."

Without hesitation, Maya stepped away from you, "I've had this conversation with mom already several times. Just because he wasn't good for you doesn't mean he's not good for me."

You tilted your head slightly and felt the tears burn the backs of your eyes, "You think you're the exception to how he treated me? Did you know you weren't the first woman he stepped out on me with? You were just the final straw."

She was shaking her head rapidly, "No, no, that's not true. He left you. He said—He said you wanted to make things work after… After you found out, but he wanted to be with me."

Your breath shook, "Well he lied to you. I told him that same day I found out that I was calling an attorney and he got down on hands and knees and begged me to stay—"

"You're lying!"

"—Ask mom! I stayed with her and dad that night, she sat next to me when I called the lawyer."

Maya shook her head, "Mom has not been subtle about how she feels about everything. She's just as bad as you, trying to convince me to leave him—"

"That's because we both know how it feels to love a man like David and we're trying to spare you from that—"

"I'm not a fucking child!" Her voice came out shrill and startled the couple that happened to be walking by at the time. But Maya, always perfect, flashed a perfect smile at them and recomposed herself before turning back to you, "I know it's difficult for both you and Mom to believe but I'm happy. And I'm sorry for how things played out, really and truly, I can't apologize enough and I feel sick about how I hurt you, but I don't regret it. He's the love of my life."

There was a pit in your stomach, but you knew when a battle was a lost cause. She really and truly believed he was it for her. And maybe he was, maybe she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. But you had a difficult time believing that your sister was capable of reforming a man so quickly. Once a cheater, always a cheater. There was a reason that was the saying.

You swallowed and looked down at your feet, "Did you at least get a good lawyer for the prenup?"

"The… prenup?" The uncertainty in her voice made you look up. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she shook her head, "What're you talking about?"

You blinked for a moment, sure you must've misheard, or maybe she had misheard you, "The prenup. He made us do a prenup before we got married, said it was only practical. It was why the divorce was finalized so quickly."

You watched as her face transformed, defensiveness replaced with something that looked a lot like pity, "We don't have one," she said softly.

Confused and a bit nauseous now, you shook your head, "That… That doesn't make any sense. He was so insistent on it when we—Are you sure?"

She nodded slowly, "I'm sorry. But it really is different between us. I'm sure of it."

The room was spinning and you felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you. You were freefalling.

"That makes sense, actually," you said eventually, beginning to step away from her to go inside, "I've always been the person people use for a trial run. Just didn't realize my husband was rehearsing marriage on me."

Maya called after you, but you had heard enough. You needed to get away from her. To get away from David. You didn't hear Jack when he called after you and you didn't notice him trailing behind you while you looked for somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe to fall apart.

But when you found an empty room, likely the bridal suite that Maya would get ready in tomorrow, you moved to close the door— But found Jack's foot shoved between the door and the frame.

"Hey—what's going on? Can I come in?"

Immediately, you felt yourself soften at his voice. You felt nearly conditioned at this point to feel relief and comfort at his presence. There were many times during your residency where that voice had calmly talked you through a very scary case or his warm hand had guided you through an intense procedure. He was like a balm to your nervous system.

So after just a moment, you pulled the door back and let him in.

"What happened?" He asked as he closed the door behind you.

You shrugged helplessly and felt the tears begin to fall, an unstoppable wave behind your eyes, "They—they didn't get a prenup."

Jack frowned, "Okay…I don't understand."

You looked up at the ceiling, a halfhearted attempt to stem the flow of tears. All of this had been a terrible, awful idea, only spurned on by your schoolgirl crush on your attending. And now he was seeing you like this, humiliated. It seemed every time you thought you'd hit rock bottom, the ledge would collapse beneath you, revealing several more stories to go.

"Before we got married he insisted on a prenup. I didn't really mind it, I thought it was pragmatic at the time. Very modern," You sniffed, "and in the end it made the divorce a lot easier. But he didn't make Maya sign one." You scrunched your mouth to the side in an attempt to stop your lip from wobbling, "I don't know why it hurts so much. Of all the things he's done to me, I don't know why it bothers me so much that he didn't have her sign one—That he must think she's it for him and he didn't think that when he married me.

"And if that wasn't bad enough," You continued after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes, "He lied to her. Told her he was the one who ended it between us because he wanted to be with her." The memories flashed behind your eyes as you spoke, finding them in bed together, David chasing after you when you fled, tears streaming down his face as he got down on his knees and swore it was a mistake, "He begged me to take him back. Not even just that once, but for a while afterwards. He stalled on signing the papers for weeks. But he somehow convinced her that it was him who asked for the divorce so he could be with her."

When you were brave enough to look up at Jack, he was just watching you quietly, arms crossed, "It just feels like…" You said slowly, "It would be so much easier if she was just the other woman, but he did give her the wedding I always wanted and he didn't make her sign the prenup and it feels like maybe he did just upgrade to a newer model—"

"That's not true—"

"—And then I feel awful for not wanting that because that means in a few years he'll probably hurt my sister the way he hurt me. But the alternative is that I just wasn't enough for him, I wasn't a good enough wife and she is. And either way I'm still the one alone and heartbroken and miserable."

The more you spoke, the more frantic and rushed your speech became and you couldn't catch your breath.

"Okay—Can I—? Is it okay if I hold you for a minute?" Jack asked, arms already outstretched.

In the back of your head, you knew it was dangerous to keep seeking out his touch for comfort. But here he was offering and you were at risk of falling apart. So you nodded, let yourself fall into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around his waist in turn, further closing any distance between you.

"We knew this was going to be difficult no matter what," He said softly, running a soothing hand from your neck down your back, "But you need to remember that the decisions they made don't reflect back on you."

You scoffed, "Oh, they don't?"

"No!" Keeping his arms around you, he pulled back from you so he could see your face, "Fuck them. I don't care if they're fucking soulmates, it doesn't justify what they did to you."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head and Jack gently grasped your chin, pulling your face just slightly down so your eyes met his. His eyebrows were raised and the way he was looking at you so intently, his face so close to yours had your heart in your throat, "Maybe you don't believe me right now, but I'm gonna do my damnedest to get it through that pretty head of yours this weekend that you deserved better. You deserve the world. Nobody deserves what they did, but especially not you."

His closeness was so soothing to you, you rested your forehead against his, "Why're you so nice to me?"

He hummed, "Because you're one of my favorite people in the world and it makes me… fucking irate to think that you don't know how incredible you are."

Suddenly embarrassed by the way his words made your stomach flip, you buried your face in the crook of his neck instead, "You're one of my favorite people, too."

His arms tightened around you and he kissed your head, "You ready to go get a drink?"

You sighed and pulled away from him, "God knows I need one."

With that smirk on his face that made your knees weak, he led you back out by the hand, turning his head back over his shoulder to give you a quick wink. With him by your side, real date or fake date, you thought maybe people would see you as worthy. If someone like Jack Abbot could love you then maybe you weren't the pathetic mess that they all thought you were.

***

"You doing okay, baby?" Your mom asked immediately as Jack led you over to her table, "I saw you rush by after talking to Maya, you seemed upset."

Jack pulled your chair out for you and as you sat down he gently squeezed your shoulders, "Better now," you said honestly as Jack sat down next to you.

"You wanna talk about it?" Your mom reached to squeeze your hand.

You shook your head, "No, I'm good. I promise."

Jack leaned over to you, lips brushing against your ear in a way that sent chills down your spine, "David just walked back in the room. He can't keep his eyes off you."

You turned your head so you were nose to nose with Jack. You expected him to put space between you, but he remained there. You were both surprised and pleased to see his pupils dilate in front of you.

"Well," You reached out and ran your fingers through his silver curls, "We should make sure we give him a show then, yeah?"

A wolfish grin spread across his face and he took your hand, pressing your fingers to his mouth before curling his pinky around yours, "Let's make it one to remember."

For the rest of the breakfast, Jack hand fed you cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, kissed on your shoulders and neck, and kept a firm hand on your thigh, a hand that steadily wandered higher as the morning waned into afternoon.

"I'm gonna go get us another round of drinks," You said quietly in his ear.

"Okay," His eyes trailed down your face until they landed on your mouth. You watched, arousal spreading like fire through your veins as he bit his lower lip, "Gimme a kiss first?"

You were pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk enough to not feel the fear of your own desire. Things were getting precarious. You wanted him too much. You had had just a taste of him earlier and you were greedy for more.

But you knew, somewhere, David was watching. Maya was watching. You could worry about your feelings for Jack later. When you kissed him this time it felt full to the brim with tension, Jack moving his hand to the back of your neck so you couldn't move. It sent all your neurons firing, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of wine on his breath.

You felt almost dizzy by the time you pulled away from him and headed to the bar.

***

Jack was in his own head as he watched you walk off to the bar. It was a good thing you weren't looking at him because he was sure there were hearts in his eyes right now after getting to kiss you twice this morning. He was aware that he was toeing a line with you, that you were likely only humoring him to make your ex husband jealous.

But he couldn't help it. Especially after you'd been crying to him just a bit before. He wanted to make you feel loved and wanted, it was the least he could do for you this weekend.

"So, when're you gonna tell her?"

Jack turned to look at your mother who was now leaning across your empty seat to talk to him, a knowing smile on her face.

"Sorry?"

"When are you gonna tell her that you're not pretending?"

Well, shit. He thought maybe he was just coming across as a very convincing actor, but your mother had seen right through him already. Jack laughed nervously and shook his head, "I just… I just want her to feel good, that's all. She deserves better."

Your mother hummed, "No, I think you're exactly what she deserves. Handsome, intelligent, and most importantly, you've always looked out for her. I think you'd find she feels the same."

Jack shook his head as his eyes wandered back to you, "She's still in love with David."

"She's in love with the future she almost had with him. But I think a future with you would be even brighter."

He ran a hand along his jaw, "She doesn't need me or anyone else for that, she's created a bright future for herself all on her own."

Your mom's grin widened, "The fact that you know that just reinforces how good for her you'd be."

Jack was smiling, but he sighed. Your mother meant well and he knew the two of you were very close, but nothing was going to happen between you beyond the show you were putting on this weekend.

He was old, sad, widowed, an amputee. He wasn't even close to the man you deserved.

He wouldn't sit and explain all that to your mother. Besides, you were on your way back to the table now. He surprised himself with the force of his own grin when he met your eyes as you walked back over.

You were too good for him, but that wouldn't stop him from savoring every second pretending you were his.

***

After breakfast had morphed into lunch, everyone broke off to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

Still buzzing, you and Jack stumbled arm and arm back to your hotel room. Immediately, Jack sat at the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic and liner, groaning with relief as he did.

You bit your lip, "Can I help?"

He looked up at you and shook his head, "You don't have to—"

"I want to. Please."

He must have been more innebriated than he thought because eventually, he gave in, watching you intently as you wiped down his leg and then his prosthetic. All he could think as he watched you was that no one had taken care of him like this since his wife.

You warmed lotion in your hands before gently massaging it into his leg and he couldn't hold in the groan that clawed up his throat.

He heard a chuckle from you and finally had the good sense to be embarrassed, "Sorry," he said quickly, "I'm just—I'm not used to anyone else—"

"It's okay, Jack. You don't have to explain." You finished massaging the rest of lotion into his skin and then leaned back on your heels, "Is that better?"

He nodded, "Much."

You sat on the bed next to him and without thinking much about it he slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you back until you were both laying flat against the mattress.

You burrowed closer to him, head on his chest, "Thank you for everything this morning. I don't know how I would've gotten through any of it without you."

He pressed his cheek into your forehead, "It's me and you this weekend. I'm here for whatever you need."

You propped yourself up to see his face, "I don't know of anyone else in my life who would've volunteered to come do this with me."

"Why not?" He smirked, "It's a pretty good gig. Paid for hotel and food and drink. I get to kiss a girl way out of my league all weekend long."

You tilted your head a bit to the side, a look on your face he usually associated with when you ran a list of differential diagnoses in your head. You were focused, assessing—On him, it seemed.

"I won't forget it," You said finally, "What you've done, what you're trying to do for me."

"Sweetheart, I'd do a hell of a lot more to make you see how wonderful you are. And I mean that."

He watched your eyes grow wet and then you sniffed and looked away from him, "Um, I'm gonna jump in the shower now, if that's alright with you?"

He nodded slowly, "'Course."

As soon as you removed yourself from his arms, he missed you. If things were different, if you were actually a couple, he likely would have followed you into the shower. As he listened to the spray of the shower against the walls and your soft humming, he closed his eyes and imagined himself in his shower chair, you stradling his lap.

When you walked back into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around your still wet body, Jack had to wave you off when you rushed to help with his crutches so that you wouldn't notice the tent in his pants.

He felt ashamed of himself when he finally did get in the shower and continued with the fantasy, grunting softly as he came down the drain, wondering what it would have felt like to spill inside you instead.

***

Your breathing was still erratic as you arrived to the rehearsal dinner, but knowing Jack would be next to you the whole time was a relief.

When your knee began jumping under the table as speeches were beginning to start, a warm hand engulfed your leg and squeezed gently.

"I think maybe I should step out," You whispered when your ex father in law began to stand, headed for the microphone. You felt nauseous. You hadn't prepared for the fact that people who used to be your family and friends, who had made speeches at your wedding would now be making speeches about your sister.

Before you could high tail it out of there, your ex father in law was speaking and though Jack was in your ear asking if you needed some air, you were transfixed. Unable to stop listening. He talked of the last year as if it was a revelation for his son. There was no direct mention of you, but instead a "black spot" in David's life for more than a decade. His father watched him wither under your love like a neglected house plant. It was only when your sister entered his life—conveniently no mention of how they had met—that he began to really flourish. That David grew to be a man his father was proud of.

You were gonna be sick. You were hurt, but mostly angry. You had thought your relationship with David's family had been good. But clearly, they had fallen in love with Maya and become disillusioned with you. Just like David.

In your cloud of rage, you pushed back from the table, chair scraping loudly against the wood floor and stood. You realized heads had turned to you at this point, but you didn't care about that much right now. You needed to get out.

As you spun on your heel to flee, you heard your father in law make a stupid joke to redirect everyone's attention away from you. You thought maybe you heard Jack call after you, but you kept walking, blood pounding in your ears.

The late spring evening air had a chill to it now that the sun had set. You walked some distance away from the building, still shaking, before reaching into the pocket of your dress and pulling out your pack of cigarettes and lighter. Jack hadn't put much effort into hiding them and you'd found them earlier in his nightstand while he was in the shower.

You weren't a smoker, but during med school you had been known to smoke the occasional cigarette while drunk. You thought as you went to take a pull that your lungs might forget the habit, force you to choke the smoke back up, but it went down smooth. Like riding a bike.

"I thought you'd quit those once you started your residency," The sound of David's voice behind you had your shoulders tensing.

"I'm having a mid life crisis," you managed to deadpan and brought the cigarette back to your lips.

"Well," He stepped next to you, but you avoided looking at him. It would be the first time you saw him up close like this in a little more than a year, "Maybe with it you'll finally grow out of making everything about you."

He wanted a fight. You wouldn't rise to the occasion. It was amazing, really, that after everything he had come out here to fight. You wouldn't give it to him.

"You've really upset Maya today. I thought you were here to support your sister, but it seems like you're just hell bent on ruining her day."

"Yeah, well, she ruined my life so the least she can do is give me a day."

He scoffed, "You love to make yourself the victim, but you cheated too. And you had the audacity to fucking bring him here to rub it in my face."

You hummed, "We only started seeing each other six months ago. I never cheated on you," Finally, you turned to look at him and it hurt as spectacularly as you thought it would. It felt like fireworks erupted in your chest. There was the tiny mole on his jaw that you used to kiss every morning. There was the curl on his forehead you used to brush out of his eyes when he went too long without a haircut. "But if I had cheated on you, would it really bother you? Or would it just be a weight off your conscience to think maybe you didn't hurt me as badly as you did?"

He shook his head, "I'm not blind, the way he came in our house that day—That wasn't the way a leader treats their subordinate. Not unless they're fucking."

"He was trying to save my life," You ground out, and with it, your cigarette, "something you should have been just as concerned about, you know, as my husband."

As you turned to leave, you felt his hand circle your wrist and you snapped back towards him like a rubber band. You were briefly shocked at his touch, not afraid necessarily, just surprised that he was trying to prevent you from leaving.

"You had a miscarriage," he said, and you felt his hot breath fan your face, the sickly sweet smell of bourbon flooding your nostrils, "you weren't fucking stabbed."

For a moment, his words took you back two years ago, to texting Jack, alone in your bed. How even to him you tried to sound dismissive. It's probably nothing but… Tell me if I'm overreacting… I feel a little lightheaded, but I can probably sleep it off. How much of a burden David had made you feel like, that you felt you should downplay everything to Jack. The pain you were in, both physically and emotionally. How excruciating the loneliness was, how clearly repulsive David had found you.

You thought maybe you would've preferred being stabbed. Maybe it would have come with less complicated emotions. Maybe your husband would have taken your pain seriously. Maybe he would have laid in bed with you and comforted you instead of sexting your sister.

"Hey sweetheart," Jack's voice floats through the air before you can say anything else to David and he drops your wrist, "Everything okay?"

You took a step back from David, into the warmth of Jack's chest, "Fine, I was just taking a smoke break."

That earned you a double take, but he must have decided it wasn't worth scolding you over in front of David because he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, "Your mother's looking for you, why don't you head back inside? I'll be right behind you."

You frowned and turned back to him, but he just winked at you in the moonlight and then nodded his head back towards the building.

***

Jack had been watching you and David from a distance as soon as you'd left. Frankly, he hadn't wanted David to speak to you alone at all, especially after the speech his father had made, but you didn't run away when David approached you. And he knew you could handle yourself, had watched you do it with difficult patients. You would even hold your own around him on the rare occasion the two of you butted heads in the ER.

But there was something about the way your body language shifted when he was around. You tensed and then seemed to curl inward on yourself. Like you were afraid of taking up too much space around him. He'd never seen you like that around anyone. It was what made him stay, watching you both carefully, just in case.

He waited patiently. Until you turned to leave and David stopped you.

You weren't helpless. Jack knew you knew how to get out of a hold like that. You had told him once before you took self defense classes pretty regularly and you tried to convince the nurses to go with you when you could. You could've thrown David on his ass easily.

But you didn't, you just wilted further. It infuriated him, just like it infuriated him when you had the miscarriage. There was something about David that turned you into someone he didn't recognize. He wondered if David knew it, if he realized how vibrant you became when you pushed yourself out from underneath his thumb.

When you let him keep you there, keep you from leaving, Jack couldn't watch it anymore. He knew you didnt need rescuing, but the blood was roaring in his ears and suddenly his legs were moving of their own volition and then— Hey sweetheart.

You seemed relieved by his intervention, and that bothered him even more. Because you could have left at any time, but David made you feel trapped.

He watched you walk away after he'd told you your mom was looking for you—a lie—and then turned back to David, "You touch her again," he said quietly, "and I'll break your fucking neck."

David laughed and ran a hand along his jaw, "Threatening a man on his wedding weekend. Very classy, Dr. Abbot. And bold considering you had an affair with my first wife."

Jack shook his head, "I never touched your wife inappropriately while you were still together. Unlike you, I greatly respect the sanctity of marriage."

For the first time, David's projected mask of casual indifference slipped. It bothered him immensely to be accused of anything immoral and it seemed no one in his life, except you, had pointed out to his face that he had. It didn't bother him that he had hurt you, Jack realized, it bothered him that anyone else thought less of his values. Or worse, thought he had none at all.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jack smirked as he backed away, "That was your one and only warning. Congratulations, man. I hope the second marriage sticks better than the first."

When he found you back inside, you were sitting with your mother, heads huddled together as you drank a dirty martini. He sat in the empty seat next to you and reached for the pack of cigarettes you'd left on the table.

"Hey—" You said indignantly, but Jack pocketed them before you could reach for them.

"You weren't supposed to have those." He said, eyebrows raised.

You pushed your lip out in an exaggerated pout, "But they made me feel so much better."

"Hm," Unable to resist, Jack ran a thumb over your lower lip, "so much better that you forgot your self defense training when he grabbed you?"

He had said it softly enough that only you could have heard, but you still found yourself glancing around, "He wouldn't have hurt me."

"That's not really the point though, is it? Why do you still let him make you feel small?"

Your eyebrows knit together and you shook your head, "I—I don't do that."

He nodded, "Yes, you do. I don't see you behave like this around anyone else—you shrink."

You pulled back in surprise and scoffed, "He was my husband." You said simply. As if it explained everything.

"So you just roll over and submit to him because he was your husband?"

Too far. He had pushed too far. He watched the wall go up behind your eyes, your features turned stony, "I need another drink." You said coldly and jumped up before he could say anything else.

"Fuck," Jack murmured, hesitating for only a second before jumping up to follow after you, "I'm sorry," he said sidling up next to you, "I didn't mean to upset you."

You were eating the olives from your empty martini glass as you waited for another, "Everyone is watching me today and will be watching me tomorrow. Picking apart my every move, foaming at the mouth hoping that I implode."

Jack glanced around and for the first time saw what you saw. At any given time there were at least four sets of eyes on you, whispers behind hands.

"I don't need you picking me apart as well."

He turned back towards you, "I didn't mean it like that. I just… feel very protective of you and I don't like the idea of anyone making you feel less than. Even if they were your husband."

You nodded and then thanked the bartender when he handed you another martini. With your free hand, you held out your pinky to Jack, "It's me and you, right?"

Jack smiled and nodded, wrapping his pinky around yours, "You and me."

There was a vulnerability in your eyes as you looked at him, a fragility you hadn't yet shown him until now. He was just now realizing how much of a show you must be putting on for everyone—for him. He didn't want you to hide from him.

Maybe you initiated it because you were drunk, but Jack didn't stop you when you slowly inched your face close to his. Mouths centimeters apart, he cupped your cheek with his hand, felt it when you leaned into his palm.

"Jack?"

"Hm?"

"I really like kissing you," you said softly, "probably more than I should."

His stomach flipped and he wet his lips with his tongue, "I really like kissing you, too. Definitely more than I should."

He felt it when your breath stuttered against his mouth, "Good."

It felt like a relief, admitting that. He had his suspicions you weren't kissing him back just for show, but to hear you say it outright electrified him. With your mouth on his, warm and tasting of olives and vodka, he didn't notice the likely dozens of eyes that must've been on you.

Jack hadn't dated since he lost his wife. He'd maybe shared a drunken kiss with a couple of women at a bar, but nothing beyond that. He hadn't wanted to. There had never been anyone else that he wanted to get lost in like that.

But kissing you now, his longing burst from him. Tongue sliding into your mouth, his heart felt like an open wound. Would you help him suture it closed? Or would you rip him open and dig deeper?

Tearing himself from you, he pulled back enough to look into your face, "Do you want to… Go somewhere else? Alone?"

Your fingers raised to your swollen lips, you looked around at all the people who were now acting like they hadn't been watching. Your eyes stopped on David for a moment as he brushed Maya's hair off her shoulder and kissed her bare skin.

You cleared your throat and turned back to Jack, "Yes."

***

Your heart was racing as Jack led you by the hand down the hall until you were in the bridal suite again, Jack pushing you against the door to close it.

His mouth was hot and insistent on yours, low groans deep in his throat stirring the fire in your belly.

It felt euphoric, being able to touch him and taste him like this. Though, every second, was the gnawing thought in the back of your head that this was only situational.

He didn't want you, not really, not fully. He just was caught up in the moment. You knew you weren't a bad kisser and you suspected Jack's private life was fairly nonexistent since his wife passed. He had only taken off his wedding band a couple months ago. Taking all that into consideration, he was just having some fun.

The problem, of course, being that you wanted more than that. Being newly divorced you guessed you should have wanted something uncomplicated, but you knew if it was Jack who was involved, you'd only want unfettered devotion. You cared for him far too much, there was no world where your heart was capable of being casual about him.

But fuck, you wished you could turn your brain off and just focus on the way it felt to kiss him, the way his hands on your body felt like heaven. He hitched your hip up to meet his, one hand roaming up your dress, your head falling back while he kissed your neck.

When he pulled back from you, you chased his mouth and he smirked. Repeating the movement, he leaned back into you before pulling away while you chased him.

You couldn't help the whine that slipped from you, "Fucking tease." You grumbled.

Jack brought his fingers up to his mouth and you watched, jaw going slack as he sucked two fingers in his mouth.

When he brought them back out, they glistened with saliva and you swallowed, eyes following as they went down—

"Eyes on me, sweetheart." Jack said softly and your eyes snapped back to his, even as you felt his hand beneath your dress. His deft fingers shifted your panties to the side and your eyes stayed locked on his as he gently slipped a finger inside you.

Your eyelids fluttered at the pleasure and Jack's sigh fanned your face, "That feel good, baby?"

You nodded, barely able to keep your head on straight. He was so close to you, you could smell the liquor on his breath, heady and intoxicating. You wanted him so badly, you ached, it wasn't enough with his fingers inside you. You felt greedy, you wanted to feel him wholly.

Your hands twitched, wanting to unbuckle his belt, see how hard you had made him. But along with the desire, panic was brewing. Through your haze as his fingers slowly thrust in and out of you, a thumb lazily circling your clit, you were panicking.

There had only been one serious relationship in your life and it had been David. Before David, you had done the hooking up while in college, the one night stands and friends with benefits. But it had never been enjoyable, you had never been able to come. For a while you thought maybe there was something wrong with you. Maybe you just didn't like sex.

But as you began dating David and then sleeping with him, you realized that wasn't it at all. It was just that you needed an emotional connection to get off. You needed to be attracted to someone's heart, you needed to trust them to get there.

And now with Jack's fingers inside you, it fucking terrified you how quickly your peak was approaching.

He was more than likely just trying to get his rocks off and you were falling in love with him, you could feel it. You were in danger of getting broken if you didn't find an escape hatch soon.

"Fuck—" Your walls were beginning to flutter around his fingers—It was becoming hard to breathe—

"There you go, sweetheart, I can feel you, go on—"

Swallowing, you put a hand on his wrist and pushed lightly, "Troponin," you gasped.

Immediately, Jack froze. Embarrassed, you avoided looking at him as he pulled his fingers from you and stepped back. You mourned the loss of his touch immediately.

"Sorry, did I—Did I hurt you?"

"No," you shook your head quickly, "No, you did nothing wrong. I just, um—" You grasped at nothing for the words, for what to say, heat spreading up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain," He said quickly, but you heard the disappointment in his voice, "I'm gonna step outside so you can straighten yourself out."

He was gone before you could say anything else and you were alone. Straighten myself out, you thought as you pulled at your panties and dress, putting everything back the way it should be. If only it were that simple to straighten out your head, your heart.

This whole thing, coming to the wedding, bringing Jack here, had been stupid. Reckless.

At this point, there was no way you left this wedding better off than when you came. Your eyes burned as you braced yourself to go back out there.

Jack had said you didn't have to explain, but didn't you? Didn't you have to give him some excuse after the confusion you'd certainly just caused?

But when you came back out, he was waiting with a smile. The only way to tell something had changed was just his subtle check in with you to see if he could put a hand on your back or hold your hand.

After another couple of hours of socializing and another drink or two, you were leaning your back against his chest. He kissed the side of your face and then leaned into your ear, "Time to get you to bed?"

When you nodded, he gently led you around to your parents so you could say goodnight before beginning to walk you towards your hotel.

"Jack, I'm really sorry about earlier—" You started when you were outside, the only sound was of the cicadas chirping and the muffled music and talking from the rehearsal dinner behind you.

"You have nothing to apologize for, I moved too quickly. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

You bit your lip. You wanted to tell him that he hadn't moved too quickly, that actually you wanted him so badly he hadn't moved quickly enough.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," You said slowly, "What you said earlier, when you said you didn't understand why I let David make me feel small—"

He sighed, "That was out of line—"

You moved in front of him and shook your head, "It wasn't. You were right, that's how our relationship always was. I let him… Tell me what to do, when to do it, I let him talk down to me, I let him do anything. He was the only relationship I ever knew," You blinked, tears blurring your vision, "I thought that was being loved. I still think that, sometimes. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and I know it's fucked up, but I thought to myself 'He still cares. He still loves me.' Sometimes I think maybe I should have forgiven him when he cheated on me. At least then I'd still have just that little bit of love." Your face crumpled, the emotion swelling even as you tried to stop it, "I'm just so fucking lonely. But I don't know how to be with anyone who's not him."

Jack's face softened and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest, "It's okay, baby, I've got you," As you cried into him, he kissed the top of your head, "It's gonna be okay."

When you got back to the hotel room, it was Jack who sat you at the edge of the bed and took a facecloth and your micellar water and gently removed your makeup while you cried, the most tender look on his face. He got your toothbrush for you, a cup to rinse and spit in after. And then with the softest voice, asked you if it was okay if he helped you out of your dress.

He tucked you in, following on his side a few minutes later.

You were still crying silently when you felt him next to you, careful to keep his distance. After the gentleness he'd shown you all night, even after your blatant rejection, your restraint was frayed.

"Jack?" You said after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think…Could you hold me?"

Without hesitation, you already felt him shifting on the bed, "Of course," He slung an arm around your middle and tugged you to his chest.

You closed your eyes and focused on the warmth of his body behind yours. Without meaning to, your hand grabbed ahold of his and you tucked his arm even tighter around you. You brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his calloused palm.

He sighed in what sounded like contentment into your neck and pressed a kiss just below your ear.

When you were about to drift off to sleep, comforted by the warmth and solidness of Jack behind you, his scent enveloping you, you thought you heard a muffled, rough "love you."

He was likely already half asleep, maybe thinking of his wife. But for just a moment, as you slipped further into sleep, you allowed yourself to believe he was talking to you. That you got to fall asleep like this every night, wrapped in his arms, safe and loved.

***

Jack wasn't sure what he should be feeling when he woke up the next morning, still wrapped around you. You were still sleeping when he woke, the sun streaming in from the windows haloing around your head.

As his eyes carved paths down your face, the curve of your neck and shoulders, he felt overwhelmed with adoration. He wanted to stay like this forever, transfixed by the peaceful expression on your face. Unable to resist, he gently stroked a knuckle against your cheek. You didn't wake, but you hummed softly at his touch.

Man, was he in love with you. He knew especially after last night that you'd likely never return those feelings. You were still hung up on David and even if you weren't, you deserved something that was uncomplicated. Not a traumatized, widowed, amputee, vet who was pushing fifty. He was grateful just to be your friend and to have this weekend with you to play pretend. He'd lock the memories carefully away when you returned to Pittsburgh, only to revisit when he was alone and wistful.

You interrupted his thoughts with a heavy sigh, blinking slowly until you woke fully. You shifted in his arms until you saw him, awake next to you, and smiled.

"Good morning," you murmured, voice raspy from sleep. He wished it didn't, but the sound of your voice the first thing in the morning had him wanting to do unspeakable things with you in this bed.

"Morning," he said softly, smothering his desire as he pulled his arm away from you, "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," You said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and then stretching your arms over your head. He pretended not to notice the way your nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton of your shirt, "You?"

He nodded, "Good. How're you feeling about today?"

You inhaled and exhaled slowly and then shook your head, "I don't know. I'm not looking forward to it."

He nodded, "Do you wanna go home?"

You frowned, "After all this, you would drive me home right now?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, "I think maybe I was wrong about this whole thing. You've been hurting the entire time."

You shook your head, "Not the entire time," you said softly and squeezed his hand, "Anyway, I spent a fortune on a dress and I look hot as fuck in it so I can't let it go to waste."

Jack smiled slowly, "You're sure?"

You nodded, "I don't want to give them the satisfaction of leaving early."

He nodded, "Alright, let's get ready then."

You weren't kidding about looking hot in the dress. It was black and clung to your every curve, flowing out just below your knees.

"What do you think?" You asked, moving to bend down to put your shoes on.

Jack was faster though, sinking to a knee at your feet with a heel in his hand and gesturing for you to lift your foot into it, "I think," He said, buckling the strap around your ankle, "You look breathtaking."

Having helped you into your shoes, he straightened to standing, letting his fingers trail against your calf as he did. Face to face with you, you reached out to straighten his tie, which he thought was mostly just an excuse to step closer to him. His tie was already straight.

"You look good in a suit, Abbot." You said, smoothing your hands across his shoulders before meeting his eyes.

Pleased, he smiled and ran a hand along his jaw, "I was thinking about shaving—"

"No, don't—" You said quickly, causing him to meet your eyes in question. You bit your lip and looked away, "I just, um, I like the… scruff."

You were a tough puzzle to crack. Clearly, you were into him, physically anyway. Yet you had cut it off when you got too close to the edge. He knew he hadn't imagined your moans and the contracting of your walls around his fingers. You had been close and something about that had spooked you. Your explanation had been David, and he believed that for the most part, but he couldn't stop noticing the way you reached for him when you were scared or uncomfortable. How you had asked him to hold you the previous night. The physical intimacy between the two of you that had grown over the last two days seemed to soothe you.

And maybe that was all there was to it. That you were lonely and you trusted him and his touch made you feel safe. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see when he thought there was a bit more to the way you looked at him.

His mouth twitched, "Alright, no shaving, then."

***

The ceremony was difficult to sit through. You and Jack had done a shot of tequila before walking over, which had been helpful in loosening you up, but still. You looked almost anywhere else the entire time. Tried to ignore the nearby gushing of guests of how beautiful Maya was and how great they looked together and David tearing up when she walked down the aisle.

The vows were the most difficult to sit through and thankfully, you couldn't recall what had been said. The entire time, Jack's hand had been on your knee. But when that hadn't proved to be enough of a distraction, he had taken your hand and started thumb wrestling you. By the end of the ceremony you were having such a difficult time not laughing, people's heads were beginning to turn towards the two of you.

Once you'd made it to the reception, Jack had immediately tugged you to the bar— and was promptly disappointed when the bartender refused to serve you shots.

"Really, man? This is the bride's sister—"

"Jack—"

"I'll tell you what," Jack fished out his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, sliding it across the bartop, "Can we have those shots now?"

Your head swiveled as you watched the bartender pocket the hundred to see if anyone else was watching. Jack turned back to you, "What kind of bar doesn't serve shots at a wedding?"

You scoffed, "Have you been to a wedding in the last ten years?"

He turned to you, frowning, "Are you implying that I'm old?"

You smirked, "I didn't say that. Every wedding I've been to in the last decade that had an open bar refused to serve shots."

He narrowed his eyes, "That's insanity."

You shrugged, "As an emergency physician I would think you could understand why that may be the case."

"Eh," he shrugged, "Weddings should be a little messy. What's a wedding if your uncle doesn't get a little too drunk and start a fist fight with your third cousin?"

You laughed as the bartender slid you each a tequila shot, lime wedges on the rims. You took the lime off and turned to Jack, "Cheers," you said, clinking your shot glass against his.

After you both had slammed empty shot glasses back on the bartop, you were wincing as the tequila burned a path down your throat.

Jack winced too and then gestured yuou over with his hands, "C'mere."

You frowned, but stepped to him nonetheless, "What—?"

His hand cupped the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a bruising kiss. At first, the surprise of it had you tensing, but then you went molten in his arms, his tongue licking languid strokes in your mouth.

As quickly as it started it was over and you felt dizzy as you pulled away, clearing your throat, "What was that for?" You asked, conscious of the heat in your cheeks.

"Needed a stronger chaser," He said and winked at you, "lime wasn't enough."

Smirking, you let him lead you away from the bar and to your table. What the fuck were the two of you doing?

***

You probably should have been more careful about your drinking. Drinking when feeling vulnerable and sad and also wistful had never ended well for you. You were staring at Jack for too long, which for his part, he seemed to find amusing.

"I look that good, huh?" He leaned in and joked, nudging his nose against yours.

You had nodded, biting down on your lip, "You look sinful."

And it was true. As the night progressed, he had removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoned a couple of buttons at the top of his shirt and you could see some of his chest hair peeking out. You had an idea of what he was working with, broad chest and muscled arms that you had long admired in t-shirts and scrub tops, but tonight you felt like ripping his shirt off entirely. You wanted the buttons to pop and you wanted to ravage him.

You were drunk enough that the fear had seemed to leave you and Jack was a welcome distraction from everything else. But when the home videos started playing after they had cut the cake it was difficult to keep a smile on your face.

"You were adorable," He whispered in your ear, arm resting on the back of your seat. A video was playing of you helping your dad teach Maya how to ride a bike, "And a great big sister," You were about seven years older than Maya and had taken a lot of pride in being a big sister.

You inhaled slowly through your nose and pushed the ice in your glass around with your straw, "Yeah, and look where that got me."

Jack tilted his head, "Come on, don't do that."

You shrugged, "It's the truth." You felt the tears pinpricking the back of your eyes. This was what the alcohol did to you, brought everything you tried to bury to the surface. "I did everything for her and she stabbed me in the back. Sorry," You said immediately shaking your head, "I just need a second."

You pushed away from the table and went to collect yourself outside. Your hands shook and you cursed lowly under your breath. When you heard heels clicking behind you, you expected to see your mother, but when you turned it was your sister following you outside, white dress billowing behind her like an angel.

"Hey, are you okay? I saw you run out—Oh, you're crying."

You knew immediately that Maya had no idea how to comfort you. It was always you comforting Maya. And even after everything had imploded with you and David, you had never cried in front of her.

Awkward and stilted, she tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shrugged her off, "Please don't touch me."

"I'm just trying to help—"

"Don't you think you've done enough?" You snapped.

She scoffed and took a step back, "God, can't you just for one fucking day get over yourself? Today is supposed to be about me."

You laughed and shook your head, "Every day of my fucking life from the day you were born has been about you!"

"Oh, God, I'm so fucking sorry for the crime of being born—"

"That's not what this is about and you know it. Even my marriage ended up being about you—"

"I'm sorry he wanted me and not you! But that's not my fucking fault! Get over it!"

You scoffed, "Me? You want me to get over it? You stole my fucking husband—"

"You can't steal someone who doesn't want to be stolen!"

"Oh my fucking God," Your rage felt like a living thing in your chest. For a moment, you forgot where you were and it was just you and Maya. "Are you ever going to take accountability for what you did to me? Don't you think it's time you finally grow the fuck up?!"

"That's enough!" David swept in and placed himself between the two of you, Maya behind you, and lowered his voice to a hiss, "People are fucking staring, could you shut the fuck up?"

It was the alcohol, it had to have been. You never would have been behaving this way if you hadn't been innebriated to the level you were. But the rage you had suppressed for months and months was finally bubbling to the surface and the alcohol was like gasoline on the fire.

"Go fuck yourself," You said to David before you spat on his shoes.

Turning, you intended to leave and go back inside, but then your arm was being grabbed and pulled so aggressively, you thought your shoulder might pop out of your socket.

"Did you just fucking spit on me?" You were face to face with David again, his hand still gripping your arm no matter how you tugged.

"You're hurting me." You said calmly. If you were less drunk you might've been able to use those self defense classes Jack had mentioned last night to get out of his hold. But your brain was muddled and all you could focus on was your anger.

"Dave, let her go." Maya was saying in the background, but David wasn't listening.

"Hey!" That voice, you would recognize anywhere. But you were only used to hearing it that angry in the emergency department. With an unruly patient or fighting with admin. But Jack was pissed now as he stormed outside, laser focused on David and where his hand gripped you tight enough to bruise.

Upon seeing Jack, for his part, David immediately dropped you. But that did nothing to deter Jack, who although a couple of inches shorter than David, had no problem getting right in his face, "What did I fucking say to you last night, huh? You think this is a game?"

"Jack—" You said gently in warning, but he was lost to you.

David smirked down at Jack, "You gonna throw fists at my wedding, old man?"

You hadn't ever seen Jack this angry before and you were worried that he would start throwing punches. He fisted the lapels of David's suit in his hands and spun until he slammed David's back into a wall.

"Jack—" You said more insistently, a little more desperate since you heard Maya getting hysterical behind you, "It's fine he didn't hurt me—"

"You are so fucking lucky she's here—" He jerked his head in your direction, "—And I don't wanna embarrass her because I would take such fucking pleasure from ramming my knee into your groin if we were anywhere else. I may be an old man, but all that means is I've won way more bar fights than you have. And you're a fucking coward if your baby soft hands are any indication."

David set his jaw and looked around Jack to you, "Could you get your fucking meathead boyfriend off of me?"

Jack rammed David against the wall one more time for good measure before dropping him. Grabbing your hand, scowl still on his face, he dragged you back inside, "Jack—"

"I know, I'm sorry," He said finally, dropping your hand and running it over his face, "I know you can handle it yourself, but he just makes me wanna fuckin'—"

"Hey, it's fine," You said quickly, ignoring everyone else who was whispering about the scene you'd just made, "It was my fault anyway, I—" You bit your lip and looked down at the floor, embarrassed, "I spit on his shoes."

"I know, I saw," Jack said, sounding amused. And then his finger curled under your chin, pullng your face up gently so you could see the shit eating grin on his face, "It was kinda hot."

You snorted and rolled your eyes, "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious. It was nice to see you stand up for yourself with him for once. And your sister too. Did it feel good?"

Shyly, you nodded, "It feels awful to admit it, but yeah it did feel kinda good."

"'Atta girl," He said softly and your stomach did a somersault. You weren't sure what was going on between the two of you anymore. The line had blurred so much between what was being done for show and what was real that it was impossible to find anymore.

You weren't blind, you knew he wanted you physically and clearly he cared about you, but neither of those things necessarily combined to I'm in love with you.

And even if he were in love with you, that didn't mean he wanted to be with you. Love wasn't always enough, you knew that more than anybody. There was work to be done in a relationship and not everybody was willing to put in the work.

You were drunk enough that you were thinking of articulating all this to Jack, though a small part of you knew that was a mistake, but the second you opened your mouth someone was tapping you on the shoulder.

You turned to see Brandon, David's best man, glaring at you with a beer in hand, "Can I talk to you alone for a second?"

Brandon was known to be an explosive drunk. There were several times when out with a group of friends at the bar that David had had to carefully remove him from situations that would have gotten him arrested for assault. In fact, when David wasn't there, it wasn't unheard of for him to get a call in the middle of the night from Brandon saying that he needed to be bailed out of jail.

You didn't like Brandon, never had, and you certainly did not want to be alone with him when he'd been drinking.

"You can talk to me right here."

Brandon shook his head, then shrugged, "Fine. I think it was disrespectful of you to show up here with him and now you've made your own sister cry, saying her wedding's ruined—"

"Oh, give me a break, no one's gonna remember our little spat by the end of the night," You said rolling your eyes, "And if David and Maya wanted a perfect wedding they probably should have married different people. I'm so sick of everyone acting like what they did to me was fucking normal!"

"Stop acting like the victim when you cheated with him first!"

You blinked, "I never cheated and frankly I'm tired of everyone saying I did. I was recovering from surgery after miscarrying his fucking baby and he was busy sleeping with my sister! It's sociopathic behavior and I'm so tired of all of you making excuses for him!" You were shouting again, angry tears streaming down your cheeks, all the people around you were quiet and staring.

Brandon stepped closer to you and you stepped back—into Jack's broad chest behind you. Immediately comforted, you softened, until Brandon was wagging a finger in your face, "If you had any fuckin' decency you wouldn't have come here."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, go kick rocks, Brandon. You're a drunk loser who's been riding David's coattails for the last decade. You don't know anything about decency."

You turned on your heel and grabbed Jack's hand as you tried to lead him away from the growing wildfire—When there was a sound like shattering glass and then a scream.

You and Jack both turned towards the commotion on instinct—And found that Brandon had gotten so angry, he'd thrown his beer bottle in your direction, but his piss poor aim meant it had shattered about three feet to your right—Right where Maya was standing with David—And there was blood on the floor.

It wasn't immediately clear where the blood was coming from because of Maya's billowing wedding gown, but judging by her tears it was definitely her who was injured.

Without thinking about it all that much, you and Jack both began walking towards her—

"Both of you, get away from her," David said, "I think you've done enough."

Jack's hands were raised in surrender, "We're probably the only doctors here, I just wanna make sure she doesn't need stitches, that's all." You noted his immediate shift in tone and posture: this was emergency medicine physician Dr. Abbot in front of you. All traces of Jack were gone.

"It's okay, David," Maya said softly, "Let them take a look."

Reulctantly and with his jaw set, David stepped aside. As you both moved to Maya, turned and pressed his car keys into your palm, "Why don't you go grab some supplies from my truck? And a suture kit just in case?"

You frowned, "But I—"

"Don't take this personally, but I think Maya's still upset with you and would be more comfortable with… someone else assessing her injuries."

You looked from Maya, who was carefully avoiding eye contact with you, back to Jack. He really had shifted into supervising attending mode. You were his senior resident again and he had just given you an order. You were annoyed, but shrugged and backed away, "Fine."

***

Jack trailed behind as David carried Maya off into another room. As he did, he couldn't help but think how David had downplayed you almost bleeding out from a miscarriage, but was now babying his new wife over a cut on the foot. He wasn't sure what that said about the man. If maybe he was truly better off with Maya or that maybe he was like this with you in the beginning as well. Maybe that was why you seemed to have such a hard time letting him go.

When David set Maya down on a chair in the bridal suite, Jack took a step toward Maya, but she stopped him with a raised hand and turned to David, "Davey baby, why don't you go check in with my parents? I'm sure they're wondering what all the commotion was about, they'll be looking for me."

David frowned, "No, I—" He glanced at Jack, "I don't want to leave you alone with him."

Maya gave him a skeptical look, "Whatever beef you guys have, I don't think Dr. Abbot would do anything to hurt me," she turned to look at Jack, "Right?"

Jack shook his head, "I just wanna check on that laceration."

Maya turned back to David as if to say see? And eventually, he folded, sighing, "Fine. I'll be right back."

With David gone, Jack lowered himself to the floor to get a look at Maya's ankle. She had pulled the skirts of her dress up so he could access it more easily. His limb was beginning to ache where it sat in his socket, and the lowering of himself to the ground wasn't helping, but the alcohol was doing a pretty good job at masking the discomfort.

There was one lac, about three inches long on her ankle and it seemed to already be clotting. He turned her ankle this way and that to see if there was anything else, but it seemed to be just the one. He'd have to flush it out with saline to make sure there was no glass in the wound, but she'd just need a bandage. He told her as much and she sighed in relief.

"Look, um—" She sighed, "You seem like a loyal man who really cares about my sister so I understand if you probably don't like me, but I just wanted to say that I am really happy for you both. You seem really good together." At the look on Jack's face she added quickly, "And I'm not just saying that to relieve my own conscience, I—" She sighed, "I know what I did, what I allowed to happen, I know why she can't forgive me, I just—" She blinked, eyes going glassy, "I just really miss her, you know?"

She looked a lot like you when she cried and it softened Jack to her immediately, "I think that in your rush to be forgiven and not lose her, she feels like you keep trying to dismiss why she feels so hurt."

Maya sniffed and nodded, "Is she really still that devastated? Now that she has you?"

God, she was so young. You and Jack weren't together, but he thought even if you were this would still be a sore spot for you. Did she really not get it? "Two of the people she loved and trusted most in her life lied to her and snuck around behind her back for almost a year. That's not something that heals that easily, and not without a scar."

Maya was silent for a moment and then her voice came out small, almost childish, "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

Jack sighed and shrugged, "I can't answer that, kid. I know she really misses you, but I think she's just as angry."

She nodded, fingers knotted in her lap, "Can you at least promise me," She said, reaching out her pinky to him, "That you'll take care of her? She's always taking care of everyone else and I think she really just… Needs someone else to. At least for a while."

Well, that was easy. He'd never stop looking out for you. "Sure," he said and wrapped his pinky around Maya's, "I promise."

***

You don't think they heard you when you stepped into the bridal suite, but what a sight it was. Jack on his knees in front of your sister, smiling up at her, his pinky wrapped around hers.

You wished you could say the way you reacted had nothing to do with jealousy or trust issues. That it had nothing to do with how the last person you had been in love with had turned you in for the newer, fitter model in front of you.

It wasn't even the way he was looking at her. You'd worked with Jack for years, you knew he smiled at everyone like that. You knew he was a habitual flirt.

It was the pinky promise that really gutted you, combined with everything else. You felt like you were being slapped in the face with the fact that you weren't special, not to anybody, and certainly not to Jack. Something that had felt almost like a secret handshake over the course of the weekend now trespassed upon by your sister.

And of course, the alcohol in your system just fed on these insecurities, nurtured them until they were all you could see.

So, heart aching in your chest, you walked towards them and set the supplies you'd brought down next to Jack.

For your sister's part, she jumped away from him when she realized you were there, but Jack seemed unbothered, "Hey, could you start a saline flush? She just needs a bandage—"

"I need another drink, actually, so do it yourself."

You saw Jack stiffen at your curtness, but you turned and started walking before he could say anything else. He barely got out your name before you had left the room.

It wasn't long, though, before he caught up with you, "Did I do something wrong?" He asked quietly.

"Nope." You tried to feign cool and casual, but the truth was it felt the walls were closing in on you. You had nothing and nobody. You were so goddamn lonely it had started feeling like karmic punishment, for what you didn't know.

"Really," he said, "so there's no reason for the way you spoke to me back there? In front of your sister?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I need a drink—"

He grabbed your arm, not unkindly, and turned you so that you were facing him, "I think you've had enough to drink today—"

You pulled away from him, stumbling a bit so that he reached out for you, but you regained your balance without his help, "We are not in the ED so you don't get to tell me what to do."

His brows knitted together and he shook his head, "I don't understand, we were just good like five minutes ago, why are you acting like this?"

"What does it matter? You're not my boyfriend, it's not your responsibility to figure it out." You turned and started walking again, "I'm actually just gonna leave, I think, I don't wanna be here anymore."

"Okay," Jack said slowly, "That's fine, let's go then—"

"No," you said, "Not we, me. I'm going. Alone."

Jack threw up his hands, exasperated, "Are we not friends, at least? Can you tell me where you're going? You're drunk, you shouldn't be wandering by yourself—"

"I'm going back to our room, getting my things, and then I'm calling an Uber to take me home."

You started walking again and Jack had to jog to catch up. You felt a pang of guilt when you noticed his slight limp. He'd been on his feet most of the day.

"You're gonna call an Uber to take you back to Pittsburgh? Right now?"

"Yes."

He sighed heavily, "Sweetheart, please, throw me a rope, anything: Why are you so upset with me?"

You felt childish when your vision swam in front of you, "What did you promise her?"

He frowned and shook his head, "What? Who?"

"My sister," You said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, "You pinky promised her something, I thought that was our thing."

His face fell and you could almost see his brain doing calculus behind his eyes as he shook his head, "That is our thing, we were just talking," You were shaking your head, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, "Come on, baby, it's you and me, remember?"

He was holding his pinky out to you and you hated the way you instantly softened at his term of endearment. Anytime he called you baby or sweetheart you melted. But that was how you'd been for David, too, and look how that had turned out. Jack himself said you gave into him too easily and you used to think that's what love was. You wouldn't fold like that anymore, not for anybody.

"I'm going home," You said again and then began walking outside.

Jack chased you the whole way, going on and on about how he knew you were hurting but he thought you were misdirecting your anger at him. When you got to the room he kept talking, begging you to stay and just get in bed with him and you could talk when you were sober. Please, I'll drive you home first thing in the morning, I promise. He was growing increasingly more desperate the longer you ignored him and when you went downstairs to meet your Uber, he carried your bag, but still repeatedly asked you to stay with him.

"Please don't get in the car," He said quietly, even as he put your bag in the trunk for you, "Please come back upstairs with me, I'm sorry. I was talking about you the entire time I was talking to your sister, I didn't mean anything by it."

Looking back on it later, you knew you should've stayed. Somewhere deep behind the anxiety and the pain you knew you were being unreasonable. Punishing Jack for crimes he hadn't committed.

You were looking for problems to make it easier for you to leave so he couldn't leave you first.

The truth was, in all the time you'd been with David, he had never once chanced after you when you were upset with him. He'd never made the effort to try to understand why you were upset. Not even when things were good between you.

Jack was nothing like him, but you were punishing him anyway because you were afraid of how much you cared about him. It was easier to think it wouldn't work out between the two of you because he had fucked up instead of the truth that he more than likely didn't want you like that.

So you got in the car, stared at your phone instead of Jack's receding form as your driver pulled off the curb.

***

Jack Abbot thought himself a patient man. After you left that night, he'd stared off after the Uber feeling sorry for himself and only sent you a single text: Please just let me know when you get home.

On the way back upstairs to the hotel room, he ran into your mother who he apologized profusely to as he explained you had left.

"It's not your fault," She said quickly, "Honestly, I'm impressed she'd made it this far. I expected her to cuss them out as soon as she set foot on the property."

Jack frowned, "Why'd you encourage her to come then?"

"Oh, well, that was the outcome I wanted," She smiled, "I know it seems crazy, what mother wants their daughters to have it out in front of everyone they love? But I've watched her bury it over the last two years. It was eating away at her. And I know that because I did the same thing."

Jack nodded slowly, "She mentioned. That you'd been in a similar situation with her father. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, "The only thing I regret now was not letting myself get angry." She sighed, "I'm sorry you were in the cross fire though, that I didn't want. I was actually hoping that you being here would remind her that her life wasn't over, but I underestimated how much she likes you."

Jack frowned, "I don't follow."

Your mother looked at him with a sad smile on her face, "She's scared of you. Of how you make her feel. That's why she left."

She had left him with that and he'd mulled it over in his head for a while, but decided he couldn't confront that and what it might imply right then. He was still drunk and now he was sad. He had only shared a bed with you for two nights, but he thought he'd probably sleep like shit without you.

He woke up the next morning in the empty hotel bed and saw you'd texted him just before dawn: home.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to call you, he wanted to hear your voice, make sure you were actually alright. But he didn't do any of that. He packed up his truck and headed out without saying goodbye to anyone and drowned out his thoughts with the radio.

Jack was patient when he arrived at his first shift back since the wedding, eager to see you, only to have Lena tell him you had called out. Fine. You had never done that before, but fine. If you still wanted space he could do that.

The second night you called out, he was irritated and finding it difficult to think about anything else. But still, he remained steadfast. He would not push you when you clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

The third night, he snapped.

"What the fuck?" He hissed to Lena, "She can't keep calling out like this, have you—I mean, have you actually spoken to her?"

"No, just texts," she leaned closer to Jack, "What happened while you guys were upstate?"

Jack scrubbed at his face, "Doesn't matter. Could you please call Shen and see if he'll come in tonight? I need to go check on her."

He tried calling you while he waited for Shen to get there, knowing you wouldn't pick up, but at least you didn't deny his call. You had enough decency to let it ring until it went to voicemail instead.

As he headed to your place, his fingers drummed anxiously against the steering wheel. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say to you when—if you opened the door. Regardless, he was eager to see you. Even if you just screamed at him to fuck off.

He paced outside your door after ringing the doorbell, fists clenching and unclenching—he felt like a fucking teenager.

When the door cracked open, he stopped and turned, taking you in.

You were barefoot in sweats and a hoodie, eyes swollen and puffy. It was clear to him immediately that you hadn't been sleeping and you hadn't been taking care of yourself.

"Hey," he said softly, feeling like he was trying to coax a stray dog into his car, "How are you?"

Stupid. Dumb question. Especially when the answer was written all over you.

You crossed your arms, "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Shouldn't you?"

"I'm sick."

Jack hummed, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe I can take a look at you since I'm here."

You sighed and shook your head, "I don't understand why you're here."

He tilted his head, "You don't?"

Your eyes grew wet and you sniffled, "Are you here to fire me? Is that it?"

"No," He said softly, "Of course not. I'm here because I'm worried about you. Why're you calling out? Is it me? You don't wanna see me? Because I can—I can talk to Robby and see if we can move you to his shift, but I don't want you throwing your career away—"

"I don't want to work on Robby's shift, but I—I have a hard time even looking at you right now," You looked up and screwed your mouth to the side, the way you sometimes did when you were trying to stifle an emotion. He waited, though he was hanging on your every word, "I'm… mortified by how I acted when I left. I—I shut down I was too drunk and I got scared—"

"Scared of what, honey?"

Your lip wobbled, "Scared of loving someone again, of giving someone else the chance to hurt me."

Oh. Jack's heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Your mother had said something similar to him just a few days ago, but after sobering up and the repeated call outs, he assumed she'd gotten it wrong.

"It's stupid and you probably don't even feel like that about me—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," He said and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up to stroke your cheek, thumb swiping at the tears just below your eyes, "I am madly in love with you."

You hiccuped, bringing up your hand to rest on Jack's wrist, anchoring him to you, "Really?"

He nodded, "And I—I can't promise you that it'll never hurt, I'm…not the easiest to love. I'm old and sad and stubborn and probably have more PTSD triggers than the number of years you've been alive. But I won't ever treat you the way he treated you," He reached his pinky up between you, "That I can promise."

You wrapped your pinky around his and then used your intertwined hands to pull him closer and rested your forehead against his, "I don't think you're hard to love at all. I think I'd be very lucky to love and be loved by you, Jack Abbot."

He sighed shakily against your mouth before kissing you. You'd kissed before, but this felt transformative. As his mouth moved against yours, warm and soft and pliant, he felt overcome by how much he loved you—Something he didn't think he'd get to feel again after his wife passed. But when he was with you, it felt like he was starting over. Like maybe he could step in the light of the sun again and not get burned.

With a groan, he pulled away from you, breathless and euphoric, "I don't want to be presumptuous, but… may I come inside?"

You smiled and looked away shyly, "I… was not prepared for guests I know how neurotic you are."

He gaped at you, eyebrows raised, "I am not neurotic."

You laughed and stepped aside, allowing him a path inside, "I give you thirty seconds before you hightail it out of here."

Jack barely made it past the entryway. There was clutter everywhere, the kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, towels and clothes in varying states of clean and dirty littered the floors and hung over the doors.

He could tolerate mess, really, he could. But this level of mess reminded him of living with three other men in college, something he promised himself once he had the money he'd never live with again. He could not fathom wooing you and taking you to bed in this pit of entropy.

"You still love me?" You asked, voice small.

He gave a surprised laugh and ran a hand through his hair, resting at the back of his neck, "Yes, but we're leaving. Pack a bag."

"Where are we going?"

"You're staying with me tonight," He eyed your overflowing trashcan, a takeout container perched precariously on top of it, "Maybe forever," he added softly.

He helped you pack, dismissing every embarrassed apology you threw his way about the state of your apartment. He had been to your place before when you lived with David, once, after your miscarriage when you ended up needing surgery. He remembered the place had been neat and tidy—not sterile, but cozy. The state of your apartment didn't worry him, it was simply a manifestation of your mental health as of late. Something that was fixable. And fix it he would—later.

Once at back at his place, Jack immediately started running you a bath. He had copious amounts of epsom salts to ease his muscles, especially his leg, and he poured these in while the hot water ran. You stood in the threshold of the door alternating between watching him and taking in his house.

"When was the last time you ate anything other than Doordash?" He asked, gently tugging you by the hands fully into the bathroom.

"Um, I don't—" You sighed, "I don't remember."

"I'm gonna make you dinner," he said softly, thumb running over your lower lip, "Do you like bolognese?"

You bit your lip as you looked up into his face, "You don't have to do that."

He shrugged, "I want to. If it makes you feel better I was gonna make it for myself anyway when I got off shift." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth, "Do you want a glass of wine while you're in the bath?"

"Sure," You smiled, and when he went to step around you, you squeezed his hand, "Jack?" He turned back to you, question in his eyes, "Could you stay with me while I'm in the bath?"

He smiled softly and walked back over to you, kissing you a bit deeper, worrying your lower lip between his teeth before pulling away, "Of course."

***

It felt a bit surreal, sitting in Jack's bath with a glass of red wine in your hand and the man himself staring at you with adoration as you soaked. This morning when you'd woken up you'd contemplated moving across the country so you'd never have to see him again. Now you were in his home and he'd told you he was in love with you.

You were still afraid, terrified really, of giving him the power to hurt you. It wasn't something that could be turned off so easily—but still, you trusted him. There was a persistent voice at the back of your head that reminded you you had trusted David at one point as well. But with Jack, it felt different. With David, even when you trusted him, there was an anxiety, a resentment, quietly brewing in the background. With Jack you felt only peace.

Your legs were thrown over the lip of the tub and the hungry look in Jack's eyes as he eyed them was not lost on you.

"You can touch, if you want," You said quietly.

His eyes dragged up to yours and then he smirked, "Is that why you asked me to stay?"

You sank lower beneath the water and shrugged, "Maybe."

His fingers tread carefully along your skin, at first kneading gently at your feet. You couldn't help the groan of contentment that escaped you almost immediately at his touch. It had been a long time since someone had touched you so lovingly.

Soon, you felt his lips at your ankle, pressing featherlight kisses along your leg as his hands traveled further up—Until they dipped beneath the water.

Your eyes stayed locked on his as his calloused fingers ran slowly up your thigh, your breaths quickening.

Slowly, he ran his tongue along his lips as his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, "You sure?" He asked, and his voice was rough and husky.

When you nodded, you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and beneath the water his fingers parted your lips. He began slowly, gently circling your clit as you sighed and arched your back. When you began whining beneath his touch, he pushed a finger inside you and you moaned in earnest as he slowly and gently curled it upward, thrusting in and out of you.

His fingers felt so good, warming you up and stretching you out, but you needed more. Your hands wandered up your torso until the cupped your breasts and you began pulling and pinching at your nipples.

"Fuck," Jack cursed and you watched as he palmed the bulge in his pants with his free hand, "You're gonna fuckin' kill me, kid."

Already, with Jack's fingers inside you, you were embarassingly close to the edge. You hadn't slept with David since before the miscarriage, so it had been something like two years since you'd been with someone. Since anyone had touched you with desire.

"You close, sweetheart?" Jack cooed, "You wanna come on my fingers?"

"Mmm," You whined, "Please, Jack."

There would be time for slow, for teasing, for edging later, you thought. Much later. Now you were ravenous for him. Altogether you thought it had only taken him about two minutes to get you to unravel on his fingers, and when you did, crying out, he hummed appreciatively, "You're so gorgeous when you come for me, baby."

As soon as Jack pulled his hand away from you, you were standing up. Jack laughed in surprise, "Where are you going?"

"Need you to fuck me," You said shortly, "Can't do that in here."

"Oh," Jack said, seeming surprised, and you watched as a flush worked its way into his cheeks, "You want to—Now?"

Getting cold now, you lowered yourself back down into the water, "Do you not want to?"

"No—No, of course I do. I'm just, um—" He shook his head quickly, "—It's been a—long time for me."

You nodded, "Me too."

He sighed and hung his head, "No, I mean, I haven't slept with anyone. The last person I slept with was my wife."

Ah. Well, that was quite a bit longer than you. Still, it didn't bother you, "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," You said slowly, "I hope that goes without saying. But I'm not going to be judging you on performance, Jack. I just want to be close to you right now."

He looked back up at you, a hesitant smile on his face, "I wanna be close to you, too."

Jack held your hand as you climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around you, kissing you tenderly as he helped you dry off. But his kisses became hungry, sloppy as the two of you maneuvered to the bedroom, his hands wandering to your hips and ass.

"God, you're so sexy," he murmured into your mouth. You licked into his in response, making every kiss impossibly deeper and hungrier, like you wanted to consume him.

When the back of his legs hit the bed, you dropped to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes as you began unbuckling his belt. From this angle, from any angle, he was gorgeous to you, but he bit his lip now as he watched you free his cock and you felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sight of it.

He hissed when his cock sprung free and you wordlessly tugged him down to sitting on the edge of the bed as you admired him. He was thick and leaking, a patch of graying curls at the base, beautiful. You were practically salivating at the sight of it. Taking him in your hand, you lapped at his tip, taking his precum onto your tongue. Immediately, he was groaning and you watched him fist the sheets.

Looking up at him, you took one of his hands, watched it uncurl from the bed and placed it on the back of your head, "I want to feel how desperate you are for me," You said, looking up at him. He looked a bit helpless, almost stunned, and you nodded at him, eyebrows raised, "Okay?"

Finally, he nodded. This time, when you took him in your mouth, his hand gripped you. As you found a rhythm, bottoming out with him hitting the back of your throat, you were pleased when his hips began bucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head on and off his cock.

After a couple of minutes of this, Jack groaned and gently pushed you off him, "Come up here," he said softly and watched carefully as you wiped the spit from your mouth with your arm and rose to standing.

He kissed you greedily and began to pull you into his lap, but you pulled away slightly, "Can we take all this off, please?" You tugged lightly at the shirt he was still wearing and his half off pants, "Want to see all of you."

Already nodding, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. You knelt back down to the floor to help him take his prosthetic off so the pants could come off too.

With everything off, Jack pushed himself backwards towards the pillows and you admired him from the foot of the bed for a moment. He was as broad chested as you imagined, covered in freckles you wished to connect like constellations. He was muscled, but soft around the middle, a generous happy trail that you longed to lick in its entirety.

You shook your head, almost at a loss for words, "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Jack blushed, but rolled his eyes and shook his head immediately, "Stop that, my body's—It's not what it used to be."

You shook your head, "I'm sure you were gorgeous then, too, but you're—" You bit your lip, "I wanna lick every inch of you."

You crawled over to him and straddled his hips, hands wandering eagerly across the planes of his chest while you ground your slick folds over his cock. Jack groaned appreciatively, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, "Fuck, you're so wet," You dragged your folds along the length of him again and he sighed, "That all for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded, eyelids fluttering as you rubbed your clit against him, over and over.

"You wanna come again, baby? Rubbing your clit on my cock like that?" He lightly slapped your ass and you moaned, quickening your pass to chase the friction.

You were close again, could feel your impending orgasm just on the cusp and Jack saw it all over your face, "Go on, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock."

His praise easily pushed you over the edge, Jack continuing to forcefully move your hips along his length as you came down.

With a hand on the back of your neck, Jack pulled you down to kiss him again, "So good," he mumbled, "feel so good."

Gently, he maneuvered you off of him and positioned you so you were on your side, you back to him, as if you were spooning. Flexing his left leg over your hips for purchase, he pushed inside you slowly from behind, the stretch of him making your eyes roll back into your head.

He kissed the back of your neck, "I'm—I'm not gonna last long like this, fuck—"

"That's okay," You ran a hand down his thigh and rocked your hips back into him, "We can go again later."

He chuckled and then started rocking into you fully, cursing occasionally or biting down on your shoulder hard enough that you were sure it would bruise later. Jack was overwhelming every one of your senses as he thrust in and out of you and you were being very vocal about. So loud, in fact, that Jack reached around and stuffed his fingers in your mouth and ordered you to suck on them as if they were his cock. This quieted you, but only just.

As you moaned around his fingers, he began slamming into you with more force, the sound of his hips snapping into yours filling the air until he stuttered and you felt him fill into you, warm and wet.

The two of you were panting as he finished, hips slowing until they stopped completely. After a moment of recovery, Jack tightened his arms around you and kissed up the side of your neck, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"

You almost laughed, "'Okay'? It was incredible. How was it for you?"

"Yeah," He said, kissing your shoulders, "About the same."

For a long while, the two of you laid there in the quiet, just holding one another—Until your stomach rumbled.

Chuckling, Jack ran a hand over your stomach, "Let's go make you dinner, sweetheart."

***

With the dishes cleared and your stomachs full, you had gotten ready for bed in Jack's en suite bathroom. When you walked back into the bedroom, he was under the covers, his face lit up with the blue light from the TV. When you climbed into bed next to him, you looked to see a baseball game on.

"Do you mind this? I can change the channel—"

You yawned and shook your head as you snuggled up next to him, throwing an arm over is chest, "I'm gonna pass out probably in the next five minutes, so, no need."

He hummed and ran a hand over your back, "Well I was planning on working tonight so I might be awake for a while longer."

"That's okay," You burrowed your nose into his neck, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, "As long as you stay here with me."

He kissed the top of your head, "No place else I'd rather be."

As you fell asleep, Jack kept looking back down at you, as if to check if you were still there. Every so often, he'd touch your face or kiss your head and you'd hum in contentment.

With you sleeping in his arms like this, he began to fantasize of another wedding, a couple of years from now. The dream wedding you'd always wanted, but didn't get the first time. He could practically see it, you in a white dress, him watching you walk down the aisle to him.

Both of you beginning a new chapter together, starting over. He didn't think he'd ever get to be a husband again. But with you warm and safe in his bed, he thought he'd very much like to be yours.

Leaning over you, Jack kissed your cheek and then whispered in your ear, "I love you."

Still half asleep, you murmured back, "Love you."

The first thing you notice when you wake is warmth.

Not the thin, half-hearted warmth you chase after in your apartment, but real, steady heat that envelops you completely. There’s no icy draft sneaking in under the door, no biting chill nipping at your nose or fingers. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if the landlord has finally fixed the windows or if, perhaps, spring has decided to bless you with an early taste of summer.

Then you breathe in. The air smells different—clean, familiar, and warm in a way that has nothing to do with the thermostat.

It smells like Jack.

The realisation settles slowly, gently, as you hover in that delicate space between dreaming and waking. You're not in your apartment, you're in Jack's house, which has solid walls, proper insulation—the kind of place that doesn't rattle when the wind picks up. Jack is the type to notice small problems before they become big ones; he wouldn’t stand for something as simple as a leaky window.

Your body shifts before your brain can catch up, and you burrow closer to the heat without thinking, letting out a quiet, contented sigh as you press into the warmth. Jack's chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, slow and even, and one of his arms is slung around you, a heavy and secure weight. His hand rests at your side, fingers relaxed, thumb hooked loosely under the fabric of your t-shirt.

His scent surrounds you—soap and something distinctly him, warm, soft and grounding. His nose brushes your hair when he exhales, a faint tickle that makes your shoulders loosen further.

You know you should move. You'd agreed to share the bed, yes, but not like this. Not tangled together, not tucked into his chest like you belong there. This was supposed to be purely practical, a temporary solution, until your new bed arrives.

But the bed is warm. He's warm. And for once, you don’t have to brace against the cold.

Just a minute, you tell yourself—just one more.

You stay still, eyes closed, memorising the weight of his arm, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his body seems to curve around yours even in sleep. It feels indulgent. Dangerous. Comforting in a way you don't let yourself have very often.

Eventually, reality taps you on the shoulder. You shift reluctantly, careful at first, but the moment you try to pull away, his arm tightens. A quiet sound leaves him, a half hum, half sigh, and his grip around your waist draws you back just a little closer. Your breath catches. In that moment, you’re frozen, acutely aware of just how close he is, how you could count the freckles on his face, and how with just a slight movement, you could press your lips to his—

"Jack," you murmur, pushing lightly against his forearm. "Hey."

He grumbles something unintelligible, face tilting down until his nose reburies itself in your hair. His arm tightens again, and you feel an unexpected rush of warmth in your chest that has no right to be there, given the mindless nature of his actions. It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn't mean anything by it.

After a few careful, coaxing movements, he finally loosens his hold. His arm slips away, and you take the opportunity to roll toward the edge of the bed. The moment you're free, he turns instinctively, stealing your pillow and hugging it to his chest instead, a soft snore escaping him as if nothing happened.

You sit there for a moment, your feet on the floor and your heart racing just a touch faster than usual.

Behind you, Jack sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the damage he's done in his sleep. You glance back once—at the rumpled sheets, at the shape of him, at the warmth you've just abandoned—and then you stand, already missing it as you pad out of the room.

When Jack wakes, it's with a feeling so unfamiliar it takes him a moment to recognise it.

Contentment. Pure, uncut, with no sharp edges at all. His eyes stay closed longer than necessary, not because he's tired—God, no—but because he isn't. His body feels heavy in the good way, like gravity's finally decided to be kind. The knot that usually lives between his shoulders is gone, and his jaw doesn’t ache from clenching through half-remembered nightmares. No headache. No frantic inventory of injuries. No spike of adrenaline convinces him he’s late for something terrible.

He breathes in. The room smells faintly like detergent and something warmer beneath it—your shampoo lingering on the pillowcase he's hugging tightly. He dips his nose down to the fabric without thought and breathes in deeply, realising distantly that he slept through the night.

The whole night.

Jack finally opens his eyes. Morning light slants through the curtains in soft gold stripes, catching dust in the air and turning it almost peaceful. He blinks a few times, recalibrating. He drags a hand down his face, half-expecting the feeling to evaporate the second he acknowledges it. It doesn’t.

“Well,” he mutters to the ceiling, voice rough with disuse, “that’s new.”

Eventually, he swings his legs out of bed, finds his crutches and follows the smell that’s been growing more insistent by the second. The floor is cool under his foot as he pads down the hall, and when he reaches the kitchen, the sight stops him short.

You’re there. He knew you would be, but he didn’t expect it to feel this way.  

You’re standing by the stove in a t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, barefoot, your hair still slightly tousled from sleep. You're humming something under your breath, a melody he can't quite hear from the doorway. You look like you belong in this space, as if you’ve always lived here.

The pan on the stove hisses softly as you stir something—eggs, by the look of it. Toast sits on a plate beside the stove, already buttered. Two mugs wait on the counter. Two.

Jack’s chest tightens, not unpleasantly, but enough to make him pause.

You glance over your shoulder, catching him frozen in the doorway. “Morning,” you say casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to find you making breakfast for the two of you in his kitchen. "Perfect timing. I just need to finish the coffee," you grin at him with a mischievous tilt of your head.

He moves toward the counter, slower than he’d like, still trying to make sense of what he's seeing, and not let it consume him. As he nears you, you’re already adjusting your stance to give him room without making a thing of it.

“Perfect timing, huh,” he says, arching a brow as he reaches for the mugs, just as you do the same. There’s a beat where his hand brushes yours, accidental but not quite. The contact lingers longer than necessary, and he pretends not to feel the warmth crawl up his arm.

“Mmm,” you hum, moving to plate the food with exaggerated focus, not admitting to the fact that you still don't know how to use his coffee machine. There’s a playful spark in your eyes when you glance up at him—teasing, and familiar. He was afraid that you moving in would make things weird between you, but now he knows it hasn't. You're still the same. Still teasing him, still laughing with him, only you're now also living in his home.

You sit next to each other at the kitchen island, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from your leg. He tries not to think about how readily his body begins to catalogue sensations like that.

“You’re up early,” he says, mostly because silence feels louder than it should.

“You snore," you say immediately with a teasing tug of your lips.

He scoffs as he takes another bite of food. “I do not snore.”

“You absolutely do.” You don’t even look sorry, just sip your coffee like you’ve just stated a universally accepted fact.

He studies you over the rim of his mug, holding your gaze a second longer than necessary. “Well,” he says lightly, “you talk in your sleep.”

“I know,” you mumble, coffee cup hiding half your face as you take a sip. “Olivia once filmed me singing—well, attempting to sing—the entire chorus of Believe by Cher.”

He laughs, real and warm, before he can stop himself. “I look forward to hearing that.”

You glance at him, a grin already forming. “That’ll cost you. Ten bucks a night.”

“Ten?” He scoffs, shaking his head, pretending to be outraged. “I don’t think I can afford that.” He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Discount for friends and family?”

“For my husband,” you say sweetly, eyes glinting at him, “I’d consider knocking a dollar or two off.”

Something tightens in his chest at the word husband. Not unpleasant. Just… complicated. Complicated in that he likes hearing it way too much, even if he knows you're just using it in jest.

“That’s awfully kind,” he deadpans, nudging your shoulder with his own. “Really generous of you.”

You laugh, bright and unguarded, and it fills the kitchen.

He takes another sip of coffee, watches the sunlight catch in your hair, and thinks to himself that maybe this is what a good morning is supposed to feel like.

And that he needs to savour them all before you leave again.

After breakfast, the house settles into a quieter rhythm. Jack disappears into the bedroom to change, the soft thud of drawers opening and closing carrying down the hall. You linger at the table a moment longer, absentmindedly tracing the rim of your mug while the last of your coffee cools. It feels strange to be done with a meal and not immediately rush out the door to work or back to your apartment.

Jack emerges a few minutes later in running gear, hairline still damp from a quick splash of water on his face. He pauses when he sees you gathering the plates. “I’ll get those later,” he says.

“I’m capable,” you reply dryly. “Despite what your tone suggests.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Didn’t say you weren’t. Just saying you don't have to."

You glance around the space—your mug in the sink, your books on the shelf, that picture of you and Parker on the windowsill. "Well, I live here now, too. And if you're not gonna let me pay rent, then this is the least I can do." You’d tried to insist on paying rent, but Jack was uncompromising, not willing to change his mind at all, so this was the least you could do.

Jack doesn’t argue, just stares at you for a second and then nods. He grabs his keys and adjusts his watch. “I’m going for a run. Don’t—” He gestures vaguely at the house. “—burn it down.”

“No promises,” you say. “If it goes up in flames, I’ll blame faulty insulation.”

He snorts, then hesitates, like he wants to say something else. Instead, he says, “Back in a bit.”

The door closes behind him, and the quiet deepens. You set yourself up at the dining table with your laptop and a stack of notes, spreading them out with careful precision. Studying feels familiar. Safe. Something you can control. Still, there’s an odd sense of displacement, like you’re borrowing someone else’s life along with their furniture. The chair is more comfortable than the one at your apartment. The light is better. Everything here works the way it’s supposed to.

Every so often, you catch yourself listening for him. The soft thud of footsteps outside eventually returns, followed by the jingle of keys and the door opening again. You look up as Jack comes in, flushed from the run, grocery bags looped over his forearms. You have to tear your eyes away from him, trying not to stare at the sweat beading on his hairline, the flex of his arms as he carries the bags to the kitchen.

“You went running and grocery shopping?” you ask, eyebrows raised. “You always this efficient?” You barely even have the energy to go running, let alone that and shopping at the same time.

“Multitasking,” he says with a shrug. “It’s a skill.”

He sets the bags on the counter. You watch him unpack, this time gawking more freely as his back is turned towards you, feeling like you’ve stumbled into a version of life that runs suspiciously smoothly.

“You studying?” he asks, glancing at your notes.

Your eyes snap back down. “Unfortunately.”

He hums, washing his hands. “Boards coming up.”

You grimace. “Don’t remind me.”

He starts assembling lunch with the kind of effectiveness that comes from long shifts and limited patience. You try to refocus on your notes, but his presence pulls at your attention—close enough to feel, distant enough to pretend it’s nothing. But you can see his arms flexing in the corner of your eye as he cuts tomatoes, smell the scent of his sweat, which you should find disgusting, but don't, and it's all very distracting.

He glances over suddenly. “Okay. Hypotension, tachycardia, abdominal pain post-MVC. First step.”

You don’t even look up, trying not to let him see how flustered you are. “Primary survey.”

“Good. Elderly patient, on warfarin, ground-level fall, altered mental status.”

“CT head. Immediately.”

He arches a brow, faintly impressed. “You’re not even pretending to struggle.”

You shrug as you turn to the next page. You can hear him rummage around in the kitchen, and seconds later, he slides a plate with a sandwich in front of you casually, like this is normal. Like making you lunch is just another task on his list.

“Anion gap metabolic acidosis,” he continues. “Most common causes.”

You finally look up, smiling despite yourself. “You’re quizzing me over lunch now?”

“Gotta make sure you know your things. You're gonna be working with me after, I'd prefer not to have to watch your every move," he says with a completely flat voice, but you can see the teasing flicker in his eye.

You humph at him, eyes narrowing, and rattle off the answer anyway.

Jack watches you with something quiet and unreadable in his expression—pride, maybe (you hope), carefully masked behind his usual dryness. “Good,” he says simply. The word lands more heavily than it should.

You eat together, knees not quite touching, conversation skirting everything that matters. Medicine, work, and your new bed arriving later this evening. It’s easy, the way you move around each other—passing plates, sharing space, orbiting without colliding.

From the outside, it would look convincing. A couple in sync, living together, comfortable in the quiet.

Only you know how much effort it takes not to reach for him.

By late afternoon, the rhythm of the house has settled around you like a soft, steady hum, and you're slowly starting to feel more at ease being in his house.

Jack is in the other room, preparing for his night shift. You sit in the living room, books and notes abandoned for the moment, half-watching an episode of Stranger Things on the TV, while drafting an email to HR. The sun has started its slow dip, painting the room in pale amber, and the living room smells faintly of your shampoo from the shower you took earlier. You’re scrolling through the photos Olivia sent you, selecting which ones to attach. They look amazing and incredibly real—so real that it has your heart pounding even now. The cut of the kiss and Olivia's freakout over it both fluster you and make heat pool in your lower stomach.

You attach the photos, the emails, the text messages, just about to send it when there’s a ping from your phone.

1 new message from Parker. 50 photos attached.

PARKER: Hey, we heard you were sad you didn’t have any photos from the beginning of your relationship, so here you go. Photos from all of us at the Pitt :D

Fifty photos.

The first is in the hub—you half-turned toward Jack, shoulders nearly touching. The next is a hallway shot, where you’re walking side by side, arms brushing, your head tilted toward him mid-sentence. Jack is looking at you, not at the floor, not ahead, not distracted. At you. Fully. Like nothing else exists.

You keep scrolling.

A bench outside, knees angled inward, his shoulder dipped toward yours. Another in the breakroom doorway, you laughing at something he said, his mouth curved into a smile that looks… soft. Fond.

Your chest tightens. It isn’t just proximity. It’s the way he looks at you in every single one. Like he’s memorising you. Like he’s already chosen you.

You shake your head, thumb hovering as if you can physically swipe the thought away.

No. That’s not what that is. It's just Jack being Jack.

You scroll faster, heart thudding harder with each photo. Months’ worth of moments you hadn’t known were being documented. Stolen glances. Lingering smiles.

You feel exposed. Caught in something you didn’t consent to, and realising that the crush you thought you'd hidden so well had been in plain view for everyone else. You just hope that doesn't include Jack.

“Jack,” you call, voice sharper than you intend as you reach the end of the thread, a shot of embarrassment rushing through your body.

“Yeah?” he calls back, cracking the bedroom door open.

“Do you know anything about these photos I’ve just received?”

There’s a pause, then footsteps. Jack emerges from the bedroom, already changed into scrubs, a long-sleeved shirt under it.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says. “I asked Robby if he could find any photos of us for HR, and I'm guessing he managed to.”

“Well,” you say, lifting your phone, “I just got a message from Parker, who apparently crowdsourced the entire Pitt for photos of us. Did you tell Robby what to tell the others, or did he make that up himself?”

Jack shakes his head. “I told him to make up a cover story. What did he say?"

"That I was sad we didn't have any photos of us from the beginning," you say with a slight huff.

"Could've been worse," he shrugs. "He could’ve told the truth."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, why weren't you the sad one?"

Jack huffs a breath, shrugging slightly, as he moves through the living room to grab his jacket. “How many did you get?”

You glance down at the screen again. “Fifty.”

“Shit,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How do they even have that many of us without us noticing?”

You hum thoughtfully, locking your phone and setting it face down on the couch. “Guess we work with stalkers.”

Jack snorts despite himself. “Apparently.”

The embarrassment is still there—warm and buzzing under your skin—but you step neatly around it, choosing humour instead. It's easier to joke. Easier to pretend it’s all a harmless coincidence instead of evidence. Just photos taken at the right times to suggest a connection which isn't there.

"Guess we didn't have to do that photoshoot session," you say absentmindedly as you attach some of the best photos from Parker to the email, too.

"Yeah," he says after a pause. You can feel his gaze on you. "Well... I'm heading out,” he announces.

“Yeah,” you say, from your seat on the couch, sending him a smile. “I’ve got this covered.”

He pauses at the door, leaning casually against the frame. “Make yourself at home,” he says. “TV, books, snacks—whatever you need. Eat something real for dinner. Don’t go dying on me before I get back."

You smile faintly, shaking your head. “I’ll do my best.”

He offers you a brief, crooked smile, and then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the house quiet again.

You linger in the sudden emptiness, feeling both adrift and strangely at home. There’s a strange tension in moving around the space, as if every corner is unfamiliar yet already starting to feel like it belongs to you. You spend the next hour unpacking the rest of your things, which you'd put off the entire day—books, clothes, little touches Jack insisted on you pulling out despite knowing you’d be leaving in a few months. You arrange your things on the shelves, shift a stack of his books to make more room for yours, and carefully place small magnets on the fridge—funny ones you collected over the years, a few that spell out inside jokes you know he’ll groan at.

Even as you settle in, there’s the faint, weird ache of temporality. This isn’t your home. You won’t be here long. But Jack insisted, and you obliged, letting yourself create a small orbit inside his space. His kitchen counters are still his, but now there are a few little signs of you: your mug, your favourite tea tin, the cookbook with a recipe you've planned to try for months now but didn't have the energy to deal with when Talia was around.

You’re determined to reclaim some of your rhythm, to get ready for night shift again, so you stay up long past dinner, keeping the laptop open, reading, making notes, until you relent and turn on Stranger Things again. The quiet of the evening amplifies the small domestic sounds: the hum of the fridge, the soft tick of the wall clock, and the low voices coming from the TV. When your stomach grumbles, you pull together a simple meal—half for you, half plated for him. You leave it carefully in the fridge with a note saying: Eat me :)

The bed you've been waiting for all day keeps getting delayed, until they finally send an email that it won't come today. So the couch becomes your bed for the night, having already taken advantage of Jack's kindness one too many times. You're sure he wants his bed back.

You curl up under a soft throw, blanket pulled up to your chin, and for a while, you just stare at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around you. You fall asleep easily.

The ER never really slows down at three in the morning—it just shifts gears, a different sort of patients arriving.

Jack sits at the hub, a chart half-finished on the screen in front of him. He's reread the same line three times and still hasn't processed it. It's straightforward—vitals stable, labs pending—and yet he can’t seem to get it. He should be focused; instead, his brain is being profoundly unhelpful.

Pale pink. Satin. Lace.

It's all he can think about, and it’s distracting and completely inappropriate. It occupies crucial space in his head while he's trying to manage traumas and examinations.

"Jack," Lena leans on the counter across from him, her eyebrows raised. "You good? You've been staring at that screen for five minutes now."

"I'm fine," he replies automatically, glancing up at her.

“You’re not fine," Ellis chimes in as she spins around in her chair further back to look at them. "You’ve been off your game since you walked in.”

Of course, Ellis had to be here, too, putting her two cents in. He exhales through his nose. “Long night.”

Lena tilts her head, weighing his words, knowing it hasn't been that bad a night. "Missing the wife?"

Jack stiffens just enough to be noticeable.

"Aha," Lena says, sharing a look with Ellis. "Did you have your first fight?

Jack’s jaw tightens. “We didn’t. That's not—we're fine.”

Ellis grins, picking up the subtext. “But you are thinking about her.”

He gives them a flat look. “I’m working.”

“Mmm,” Lena hums. “That’s not a denial.”

She exchanges another look with Ellis—wordless and conspiratorial.

Ellis leans closer. “Is this one of those married-people things? You spend too much time together and then suddenly one of you isn’t around, and your brain short-circuits?”

Jack turns back to the screen, determined to escape the conversation before they figure out what's really going on inside his mind. “Can we please focus?”

Lena laughs softly. “Adorable.”

He ignores them. Tries to, anyway.

But the distraction lingers—not just the stupid flash of pink satin, but everything that came with it. You moving through his space. Your books on his shelf. Your clothes in his closet. The way you’d looked at ease in his home in a way that unsettled him more than chaos ever could.

When his shift finally ends, and the sky outside starts to brighten, Jack grabs his bag and heads for the door, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. Though for once, he doesn’t dread the quiet waiting for him on the other side.

Not when he knows you're waiting for him at home.

Jack’s keys jingle against the counter as he lets himself in, the soft thud of the door closing behind him echoing in the quiet house. He moves quietly, trying to soften his steps as best he can. He knows you wouldn’t be able build the bed yourself, so he had been certain you would still be up when he came home, the living room swimming in boxes and half-finished pieces, but the house is way too quiet for that. As he steps into the living room, he doesn't find any boxes, just you on the couch. Curled up, eyes closed, and a blanket pulled up to your chin.

He exhales—a long, low sigh—and the tension in his shoulders softens when he sees you. Of course. The bed hadn’t arrived, and you didn’t complain. Just chose to sleep here because you'd told him the night before you would only sleep in his bed for one night. Silly girl, he thinks fondly. Always worried about the wrong things, as if he’d ever mind you sleeping in his bed.

Without a word, he kneels beside you, carefully untucking the blanket before scooping you up in his arms. Your eyes flutter open, surprised, but half-asleep and trusting, you make no move to protest. He carries you down the hall, muscles steady despite the soreness in his leg, and lays you gently on the mattress of the bed that now feels impossibly large without you already in it.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his voice soft and uncharacteristically tender as tiredness lowers his defences.

You nod, mumbling a sleepy, “Thanks.”

He slips into the bathroom for a quick shower, letting the warm water wash away the exhaustion of the night. The scent of soap and heat clings to him, and he emerges minutes later feeling just a little lighter and more like himself, though the fatigue still lingers in his limbs.

In the kitchen, he moves with intent—find something quick to eat so he can go to sleep. His eyes drift to the fridge, and he pauses. Magnets—colourful, mismatched, some ridiculous little sayings you love placed on the steel. He feels something warm unfurl in his chest, a pang of affection he doesn’t quite let himself name.

When he opens the fridge, he notices the plate of food, carefully wrapped, with a note in your handwriting. The gesture, small as it is, hits him with an almost embarrassing intensity. He sets the plate on the counter and enjoys both the meal and the thought behind it, savouring its simplicity and the intimacy it carries.

Finally, he drags himself to the bedroom, the soft squeak of his crutches against the hardwood temporarily breaking the silence. He stops at the door, hesitating. You’re asleep, curled neatly under the covers, your breathing steady and slow. He watches you, the weight of longing pressing against his chest. He wants to hold you, wants to let himself be with you in a way that’s more than accidental moments and quiet touches.

He slides in beside you, careful not to disturb your sleep, and for a moment, he just lies there, breathing, letting the warmth of the mattress settle him. Then, ever so gently, you shift, instinctively curling up against him, pressing into his side like you belong there, face nestled in the crook of his shoulder.

Jack freezes for a heartbeat, letting the reality settle in—the soft press of your body, the warmth radiating into him, the quiet puffs of your breath against his neck. And then he lets himself relax, letting you hold him as much as he holds you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders fully, rests his cheek lightly against your hair, and inhales the faint scent of you.

After brutal shifts – the kind that left your hands trembling when you finally stopped moving – he’d follow you home. No promises. No expectations. Just heat and quiet and sleep before noon swallowed the city whole.

You were the steady one on nights. The RN everyone trusted. You anticipated orders before they were spoken. You grounded the room when it tipped toward chaos. You came in early. You stayed late. You knew when to lead and when to defer… Robby noticed because, of course, he did.

“Abbot’s alive tonight because of you,” Robby said one evening, leaning in your doorway while you charted. “You keep him from spiraling.”

You didn’t look up. “That’s the job.”

“Mmm.” His eyes dragged, not subtle. “You’re very good at your job.”

Jack, across the nurses’ station, went still.

He knows Robby has a thing for you. Hell, he knows Robby’s got a thing for almost everyone. Still, it doesn’t change that Robby’s his best friend – one who doesn’t know how he’s already claimed you.

You felt it before you saw it – that shift in him. The way his jaw tightened. The way he suddenly found something extremely urgent in the chart he’d been holding for ten minutes.

You kept your tone neutral. “Anything else you need, Dr. Robby?”

He grinned. “Careful. You say it like that, and I might start thinking you’re flirting.”

You arched a brow. “I don’t flirt at work.”

Robby laughed. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

Jack’s pen snapped.

Not loudly. Just enough.

You glanced over. His expression was blank – professionally blank – but his ears were red.

-

It didn’t stop.

It was small things.

Robby leaning a little too close when you reviewed labs together.

Robby brushing your shoulder when he squeezed past you in trauma two.

Robby saying, “If Abbot ever gets tired of you saving him, I’ve got openings,” with a wink that made Lena choke on her coffee and Ellis glance over during the hand-off.

You handled it the way you handled everything: steady, calm, unaffected.

Jack did not.

He started hovering when Robby was near you. Appearing at your elbow. Interjecting into conversations that didn’t involve him.

“You don’t need to walk her to radiology,” Jack muttered one night when Robby offered.

Robby raised a brow. “Didn’t realize she was assigned a bodyguard.”

You ignored both of them. “I can walk myself.”

Robby’s grin lingered.

Jack’s did not.

-

That morning, after a shift where Robby had called you “dangerous in the best way” in front of half the department, Jack was quiet on the drive to his place.

You could feel the tension radiating off him.

In his apartment, he kissed you harder than usual. Hungrier. Possessive.

You let him.

But when he rolled you beneath him and searched your face, something flickered there.

Insecurity.

You softened immediately. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Jack.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Does he make you nervous?”

You sighed, knowing this was coming, but not wanting to validate his insecurities with a response.

“Don’t do that.”

“Robby?” You almost laughed. “No.”

“He flirts with you.”

“He flirts with everyone.”

“Not like that.”

You tilted your head. “Are you jealous?”

His jaw tightened. “No.”

You smiled faintly. “You are.”

He kissed you again instead of answering.

But something shifted after that.

-

Later that week, Robby cornered you at the coffee machine just before hand-off.

“You ever think about switching shifts?” he asked lightly. “Day shift could use someone like you.”

“I like where I am.”

“Loyal,” he mused. “That’s rare.”

Jack was down the hall. Watching.

You didn’t notice him this time.

You just gave Robby a polite smile. “I’m not up for poaching, Doctor Robinavitch.”

Robby leaned closer. “Shame.”

Jack walked away before he heard the rest.

-

It was that same night, Robby asked him outright.

“What’s going on with you and…” and Robby said your name a little too familiarly for Jack’s liking.

Jack didn’t hesitate.

“It’s nothing serious. It's a temporary thing.”

You weren’t supposed to hear that part.

You were stepping out of the supply closet when the word landed.

Temporary.

The hallway felt colder.

-

That morning, in his bed, you were… different.

Still warm. Still responsive. Still physically there.

But distant.

When he tried to catch your eyes, you turned your face away. When he shifted to see you, you pressed your cheek into the pillow. You had insisted he fuck you from the back… okay, not his favorite, but if it’s what you wanted, he could deal with it…

Once, a coincidence.

Twice, something sharper built within him.

By the third time, he stopped.

“Are you thinking about him?”

The words were out before he could stop them.

You froze beneath him.

“What?”

He pulled out, breath uneven. “Robby. Is that why you won’t look at me?”

You stared at the wall. Dragged a hand down your forehead.

“Jack,” you sigh.

“He flirts with you constantly. You laugh. You–” He cut himself off. “And now you won’t look at me.”

You sat up abruptly, sheet clutched tight.

“I can’t look at you,” you start, “because you told him I’m temporary.”

Silence detonated.

His face drained. “You heard that?”

“Yes.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “That’s not–”

“You said it like it was easy.”

“It was easier than saying the truth.”

You laughed shakily. “Which is?”

“That I care about you,” he snapped. “That when Robby looks at you like that, I want to scream. That I hate how much it bothers me.”

Your breath caught.

“I said temporary,” he went on, voice lower now, “because if I admit it’s more, then you get to hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because I was trying to match you,” you whispered. “You said temporary. So I tried to be temporary.”

That landed harder than anything else.

He stepped closer, hands hovering before finally settling on your hips.

“I don’t want temporary,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to say I wanted more without sounding pathetic.”

“You think wanting me makes you pathetic?”

“No. But needing you might.”

The honesty knocked the air from you.

You finally lifted your gaze to his.

There it was: the fear. The jealousy. The insecurity he hid so well at work.

“I don’t care about Robby,” you said firmly. “He flirts because he likes reactions. I don’t give him one.”

“You smile.”

“I’m polite.”

“He touches you.”

“And I move.”

Jack swallowed.

“I don’t want you looking at anyone else like that,” he admitted.

“I’m not.”

“Then look at me.”

Soft. Not demanding now. Almost pleading.

You did.

And something in him steadied instantly.

“I told him temporary because I was scared,” he said. “Not because that’s what you are.”

“And what am I?”

He stepped into you, forehead brushing yours.

“You’re the first thing in a long time that doesn’t feel like chaos,” he murmured. “You’re not temporary. You’re safe.”

Your eyes burned.

“Say it to him,” you said. “Next time he asks.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I will.”

“And mean it.”

“I do.”

You studied him for a moment longer – then leaned up and kissed him, slow and deliberate.

When he pulled you back onto the bed this time, there was no urgency. No competition. No ghosts in the room.

And when he searched your face, you didn’t turn away.

Because you weren’t temporary.

Jack Abbot who reads at the table by the window, one leg stretched out, and you, who start reading the same books, curl up in bed and rehearse conversations in your head, words you never say aloud because you don’t want to look foolish in front of a guy who’s probably twenty years your senior, and that you absolutely don’t think about how his hands would feel like on you.

Jack Abbot who, seven days before Christmas, gets his coffee before hurriedly heading out for work, leaving his book on the table and you running after him with it, only to see him get hit by a car and immediately calling for an ambulance while clutching his hand and murmuring his name.

Jack Abbot who gets wheeled into the emergency room while you follow, trying to explain the accident to the doctor who immediately blanches at Jack’s unresponsive body, repeating in a broken voice “Brother, you hear me? Jack?” and you, who keeps walking behind until the doors of the CT Scan room swing shut, whispering to yourself “Fuck. I was going to marry that man.” and the charge nurse who hears and walks you to the room for the families with a gentle “Oh, sweetheart, Jack is strong.”

Jack Abbot who wakes up days later to lights he knows by heart and the slow beep of machines, a girl sitting in a chair nearby, chin tucked to her chest, a book in her lap, while she snores softly, wondering if the voice he heard in the darkness was hers.

Jack Abbot who listens to Robby murmuring “You gave her a scare brother. You should have told me about her, I wouldn’t have judged you.” while Dana informs him “Your girl hasn’t left since you came in. Had to force her to eat and shower.” and he feels his stomach drop, because he remembers her - you, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, at least two decades younger, the one he never had the nerve to ask out – but doesn’t remember the part where you became his.

Jack Abbot who assumes that he doesn’t remember you and him dating because he had a traumatic brain injury, which could have led to post-traumatic amnesia, so he apologizes to you before he even asks questions, voice hoarse and raw, telling you how sorry he is that he has forgotten it “I will remember kid, I swear I will.” and who watches your face crumble a little and mistakes it for sadness instead of guilt.

Jack Abbot who has to deal with Shen sipping on his Dunkin’ with a smirk when he decides to pay him a visit to tell him that he “never thought you still had game, old man.” and endures it because each time it makes you blush and he wants nothing more than to see it happening again.

Jack Abbot who doesn’t remember your first date - if he held your hand or kissed you when he walked you home - so he improvises one on the rooftop with the help of Robby and his ducklings even if he has to drag his IV with him and walking is a fucking nightmare that reminds him of the time he had to relearn to walk with a prosthetic quickly forgotten by the look in your eyes when you see the table, all stunned and teary-eyed, and that you let him kiss you on the same spot he used to stand after the bad shifts.

Jack Abbot who has so many questions, gets cheeky and can’t let it go “So we don’t live together?” “Um…no.” “Why not?” “I’m…old-fashioned.” “Do we have sex then?” and he loves it because you don’t let him mess with you, nudging him bright red “Not that old-fashioned!” “Oh so…missionary with the lights off? Is that how I treat my girl?” “Jack!”.

Jack Abbot who gets discharged mid-January and who tries to convince you that he is perfectly capable of having sex even with a healing head injury “You can get on top.” “Jack!” “That would help me heal, doctor’s advice.” “That’s not how it works!”.

Jack Abbot who doesn’t understand why he didn’t get you a proper ring, why you don’t live together and why he didn’t introduce you to his friends while you are just so full of guilt and want nothing more than to confess but you meet Robby properly, Dana, and her husband Benji and suddenly you are part of something and that makes you hesitate about telling him the truth and blowing it all apart.

Jack Abbot who remembers the accident one ordinary evening when February ends, and remembers that you were never his in the first place, who comes back to his place where you’re eating his favorite ice-cream, curled on the couch wearing his shirt and watching some trashy tv show you love and sits next to you, arm sliding around your shoulders and whispers, “I’m not angry kid, okay?”.

Jack Abbot who holds you while you are sobbing and trying to explain to him the whole situation and the worst part is…he gets it, he understands how the situation became impossible to get out of, and how at some point you felt you couldn’t confess and he really is not angry because he thinks that he might have done the same.

Jack Abbot who decided that from now on the rooftop was your first date, your first kiss, your first everything, who kisses your forehead before murmuring “We’ll be okay.” and you who believe him.

At first, everything felt temporary. Like you were borrowing a life that would eventually be handed back to someone else. You counted the days in feedings and naps, told yourself not to memorize the way Liam’s fingers curled around yours or how his breathing evened out when he was laid agaisnt your chest. But nights have a way of fidning unraveling intentions.

The house was quiet in those early hours, the kind of quiet that made every creak sound louder than it should. You learned the floorboards by heart, memorized the soft glow of the kitchen light at two a.m, the rhythm of rocking that finally coaxed Liam back to sleep. Robby would come home smelling like antiseptic and coffee mixed with a hint of his cologne—exhaustion etched into his face, and still reach for the baby like it was instinct.

“Hey buddy,”, he’d whisper, voice barely there, as if afraid to break whatever fragile peace you’d built. 

You’d watch him then—this man who spent his days holding other people together—cradle something so small and fragile with a reverance that made your chest ache. Sometimes he’d catch you looking and give you that tired half-smile, the one that said we’re okay, even when either of you were sure. 

Some nights, Liam didn’t settle well at all. Robby would sit on the couch with him tucked against his chest, eyes closed, swaying slightly. You’d curl up beside them, resting your head against Robby’s arm, listening to the soft rise and fall of both their breathing. No one said it out loud, but those moments felt dangerously close to belonging. The paperwork was still pending. The future was still uncertain. But for now, there was warmth, quiet, and the steady reasurance that none of you were alone in this.

And somehow, that was enough to keep going. 

Sleep stopped being something you did and became something you drifted into by accident. Most nights, you ended up in the same bed without ever really deciding to. Liam’s bassinet sat on Robby’s side, close enough that he could reach out wihtout fully waking. The room stayed dim, washed in the soft amber glow of a night-light Robby insisted on keeping on “just in case”. You lay on your side facing him, knees drawn up, listening to the quiet orchestra of the night—Robby’s steady breathing and the tiny, uneven sounds Liam made in his sleep.

When Liam stirred, Robby was already moving. He never rushed. Even half-asleep, he handled the baby with a careful patience that made your chest tighten every time you watched. He’d sit up slowly, one hand braced on the mattress, the other already reaching into the bassinet. Liam would fuss softly, a thin—reedy sound, and Robby would murmur to him under his breath—nonsense words, reassurance, promises he didn’t evedn realize he was making.

“I’ve got you,”, he’d whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Sometime’s he’d lift Liam into bed instead of leaving the room with him. He’d prop himself against the headboard, tuck the baby against his chest, and let the warmth do the work. You’d inch closer without thinking, drawn in by the quiet gravity of them. Robby’s arm would come around you automatically, palm resting warm and heavy against your back like he was anchoring you there.

In those moments, the three of you fit together too easily. Robby took the harder shifts without annoucning it. Diapers, bottles, pacing the hall at 3 a.m when Liam refused to be soothed—he did it all the same calm focus he brought to his job, except this time it was threaded with something more raw. You’d hear him in the living room, murmuring softly, rocking back and forth, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. When you offered to take over, sometimes he’d let you but oftne he would shake his head gently. 

“Go back to sleep,”, he’d say. “You need it.”

So did he. But he never admitted that. After Liam settled, Robby would crawl back into bed and just lie there, staring at the ceiling. You could feel the tension in him then—the weight of unaswered questions—of futures not yet decided. You’d instinctively place your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under your palm. He’d turn his head toward you, brown eyes dark in the low light, and for a moment it felt like he might say something that would change everything. 

Instead, he’d exhale and press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Thank you,”, he’d whisper. Not for anything specific. For staying. For holding on. For not aksing him to be certain when he wasn’t. 

You held Liam during the day, memorized his expressions, learned the subtle differences between his cries. Robby watched you do it on his days off like it mattered more than anyhting else. Like he was afraid that if he blinked, the picture would would disappear. Neither of you talked about what would happen if someone came knocking. Neither of you talked about what it would mean to give this up. But at night, tangled together in sleep with Liam breathing softly between you, the unspoken truth pressed closed and heavy: you were already a family.

Social services didn’t call ahead. They never did. Robby was halfway through charting when his pager went off, the vibration sharp and insistent. He glanced down, expecting another patient crashing or an intern fucking something up. But it was an administrative request—Social Services requesting attending physician. Safe Haven case. His stomach dropped. He texted you quickly, asking if you could meet him at the hospital. 

Quickly, you packed the diaper bag with more than necessary—extra oneise, extra bottle, the soft blue blanket Robby always reached for first. PTMC smelled the same as always—clean, sharp, familiar—but everything felt different with Liam tucked in your arms. People smiled at you as you passed. Dana, was working at the nurses desk, smiled before coming out from behind it. 

“Hey stranger.”, she smirked, pulling you into a light hug. “How’s my girl and Baby John Doe?’

“Good.”, you responded, sighing into her hug. 

It felt good to see Dana again. She was like a mother. She was more than just a co-worker, she was family. 

“Oh my goodness he’s grown.”, she pulled back lightly to view the baby. “Liam, is that what you and Robby landed on for the time being?”

You nodded. 

“How’s it been going with Robby?”, she half-smiled.

She knew the history between you two. 

You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t quite make it all the way up.

“Good,”, you said again, softer this time, like if you said anything else it might crack. “Really good. And…that’s terrifying.”

Dana’s expression shifted immediately—nurse face gone, mom face fully on. She didn’t push. Just reached out and brushed a knuckle over Liam’s cheek, watching him stir and then settle again. 

“I figured.”, she said gently. “You don’t look like someone playing house.”

Before you could answer, Robby appeared in his black scrub top, Carhartt bottoms, and green undershirt. The moment he laid eyes on you, relief washed over his face—unguarded, imemdiate. His eyes went straight to Liam. 

“Hey.”, he said, voice low as he came over, brushing his fingers on your arms before kissing you. 

“Hey.”, you echoed. 

Dana glanced between you, then nodded toward the hall. “They’re in consult room c. This one’s about longer-term placement.”

Robby swallowed and nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be around if you need anything.”, Dana touched your shoulder before walking away. Robby stepped closer. He didn’t take Liam—just rested his hand on the blanket, thumb rubbing the edge like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

“They’re talking more permanent,”, he began quietly. “But nothing’s guaranteed. If she shows up—”

“I know.”, you said.

You didn’t say we’ll survive it or it’ll be okay. Neither of you believed that lie.  

Outside the consult room, Robby stopped. “If this ends badly,”, he said voice low as his hand rested on the small of your back. “I need you to know this wasn’t pretend. Not for me.”

Your chest ached. You nodded, leaning into him for half a secodn before the door opened. Inside, the same social worker who had called waited—calm smile, thick folder. She asked about routines, medical follow-ups, night wakings. You answered together without thinking, seamless. When Liam began to fuss, Robby automatically fixed his bottle quickly before handing it to you, allowing you to begin feeding him and settling him with quiet murmurs.

The woman watched, made notes “You’ve both been acting as parents, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby didn’t hesitate, putting his hand on your shoulder. “We are.”

The world landed heavy in the room. 

“There will be another home visit,”, she said finally. “And yes—the birth mother still has the right to come forward. She hasn’t. That matters and so does this.”

She gestured gently toward you holding Liam. When she left, Robby stayed seated, hands shaking just slightly, You leaned into him. He rested his head on your shoulder, breath unsteady. He stayed still for a long moment after she left, like if he moved too fast the air would change and undo whatever fragile progress had just been made. The hum of the hospital crept bac in—overhead pages, a cart rattling down the hall, someone laughing too loudly somewhere far away.

Liam finished the bottle and went slack with sleep, mouth parted, lashes dark against his cheeks.

“They wrote everything down.”, Robby said quietly, staring at the closed door. “Every detail. Like love can be quantified.”

You looked up at him gently. “Maybe it can,”, you said. “At least enough to count for something.”

He finally looked at you then. There was fear there, yes—but also something steadier, more dangerous. Resolve. 

“She could still come back,”, he said. “Tomorrow. Six months from now. And we’d have to hand him over like—like none of this mattered.”

Your arms tightened instinctively around Liam. “I think that’s what scares me the most,”, you admitted. “Not that she might come back. But that he’d go to someone who doesn’t know that he hates being put down when he’s half-asleep. Or that he needs his back rubbed like this.”

Robby watched your hand move, the slow, familiar pattern. “You do that without thinking.”

“So do you,”, you said. “You hum when you’re nervous. Same tune every time.”

He huffed out something like a laugh then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not built for this kind of waiting.”

“No,”, you agreed gently. “You’re built for fixing. For intervening.”

“And there’s nothing to intervene on,”, he snapped, then immediately softened. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,”, you soothed, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re both scared.”

A knock sounded directly on the doorframe. Dana again, peeking in like she didn’t want to spook you.

“Done already?”, she asked.

Robby nodded, his hands squeezed together. “For now.”

She stepped inside, eyes going straight to Liam. “Home visit means they’re serious,”, she said. “They don’t waste time otherwise.”

“Doesn’t mean she won’t come back.”, Robby sighed.

Dana knew exactly who he was referring to. “No,”, she agreed. “But it means if she doesnt….he won’t be going anywhere else.”

Silence settled again, thicker this time. 

Dana wedged lightly inbetween you both, touching your arms. “I’ve seen a lot of these cases,”,she said. “And this one feels different.”

After she left, Robby finally stood. He adjusted his stethoscope, muscle memory kicking in, but he didn’t look like a doctor anymore. He looked like a man walking out of a place that might decide the rest of his life. Robby give you a soft kiss ans told you he’d see you and the baby at home later.

At home that night, nothing looked different. The same lamp glowing soft in the corner. The same bassinet tucked beside the bed. But the wight of the day clung to everything. 

You laid Liam down carefully, thinking he was ready for bed. He stirred, fussed. 

Robby was there instantly, hand on chest. “Hey, hey little man,”, he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The baby settled. 

Later, in bed, Robby lay on his side facing you, arm draped lazily around your waist.

“What if she comes back?”, he asked quietly into the dark. 

You thought about the unknown woman. About desperation and regret and choices made too late. About how love could exist in more than one place at once and still break everyone involved. 

“Then we’ll grieve,”, you said honestly. “But until then—we love him like he’s staying.”

Robby closed his eyes, jaw tight. “I don’t know how to love halfway.”

You reached for his hand. “Neither do I.”

You weren’t sure if you and Robby could handle another loss. 

Between you, Liam breathed on, unaware of the fragile, ferocious hope holding him in place. Sleep didn’t come easily. The room was dark except for the soft glow of the night-light, the bassinet close enough that Robby could reach it without sitting up. Liam breathed evenly, small chest rising and falling like a promise Robby didn’t trust himself to make. 

He stared up at the ceiling, mind betraying him. 

He saw Liam unsteady on his feet, arms outstretched, taking those first wobbly steps across the living room while you both hovered uselessly nearby, terrified and thrilled. He saw you sitting in the living room floor, laughing, saying come on, you’ve got it while Robby cheered him on from afar, filming the moment even though he knew he’d never watch it without his chest hurting. 

Kindergarten came next—too fast, too sharp. A backpack that looked ridiculous on such a small body. Shoes with laces Liam would insist on tying himself. Robby imagined standing at the edge of the playground, pretending he wasn’t hovoering, pretending it didn’t feel like handing over part of his heart to strangers. He swallowed. 

He wasn’t supposed to think like this. Futures were dangerous. Futures were how you got broken. 

Beside him, you shift in bed. “You’re doing that thing,”, you murmured sleepily. 

He took you in his arms before exhaling, placing a kiss on your head before he felt you settle in his arms.  “What thing?”

“The quiet spiraling,”, you said, kissing him back on the lips softly without opening your eyes. 

He sighed, knowing he was guilty as charged. He took your hand, body still wrapped against him. He held it like an achor.

“I was just thinking,”, he admitted. 

You waited. You always did.

“I don’t want to be the kind of person who only loves him for now,”, he said. “I don’t want to look back and realize I kept myself distant because I was afraid of losing him.”

You blinked your eyes open thenm, eyes dark but steady. “You won’t.”

“I already am.”, he said. “I think about who he might be. What he’ll love. If he’ll hate school like I did or he’ll run toward it like you did.”

Your throat tightened. “Robby.”

“I know,”, he cut in gently. “I know it’s not promised. I know she could come back and take all of that with her. But when I look at him, all I can think is—someone has to imagine his future. Someone has to hold it steady until it’s real.”

You smiled up at him, free hand brushing in his dark hair. “Maybe,”, you began softly. “imagining it doesn’t mean you’re stealing it. Maybe it just means he has someone rooting for him.”

Robby closed his eyes, breath shaky. 

“I want us to be there when he takes his first steps,”, he whispered. “I want to complain about school drop-off traffic and science fairs and scraped knees. I want him to roll his eyes at me one day and still come to me.”

You leaned in, forehead to his. “Then we be there. As much as we’re allowed.”

He nodded once, like he was agreeing to something sacred and terrifying. Liam sighed in his sleep, reminding you both that you were doing this.