I just don't know

Like every Sunday, Jack sits and listens. Echoes of loud giggles and shouts of singing from two sets of healthy lungs. Watches from a distance; ungraceful twirls, obnoxiously playful dancing, until a small body is standing on the counter and dancing too. 

The girls in apartment seventeen have wiggled beneath his ribcage and into a secret crevice of his heart. The place that warms every time he hears the laughter, every time he watches the most wholesome mommy-daughter time. 

He doesn’t know your name, nor your daughters. But he knows you love music, that it’s bled into your child in the most copy and paste way. She dances like you, uses wooden spoons for microphones, chopsticks for drum sticks, and her imagination for an electric guitar. 

It makes Jack’s heart swell and sting at the same time. 

His wife didn’t want children, a decision that he always told himself he was okay with. They were both slight workaholics, both too selfish to give up the idea of financial freedom. She didn’t think she’d be a good mom, no matter how much Jack disagreed. And then she died. 

Left Jack with nothing but fading memories and a big house that felt too suffocating until he sold it five years ago. He keeps her photo in his wallet, a frame on his nightstand, his wedding band around his finger. Six months married and then she was gone. They didn’t even make it on their honeymoon. 

Perhaps that’s why he relishes these Sunday mornings. He knew he’d never have that life with his wife, he knows he most probably won’t ever…but it’s a secret desire he wishes for. So he tucks it deep away, close to his chest, close to his wife. 

The bitter coffee doesn’t chase the ache away. It still festers beneath his ribs, an itch that he can’t rid himself from. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time just allows you to grow around it.

Jack allows himself five more minutes in the captivity of apartment seventeen before retreating back inside in search of sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Phoebe, Grandma's on the phone!”

You hear the tornado of flat feet smacking against the floor before you even finish your sentence. Your mom laughs on the screen, a screech of excitement tearing through the three-year-olds throat as she barrels onto the couch and snatches the phone from your grasp. 

“Hi, Diva.” She beams wide, panting for breath and attempting to swat the sweaty hair from her face. “Are you coming to my house to play today?”

You bark out a laugh at that, her unashamed favoritism when it came to your mom. 

“Not today, pickle. Grandma is on vacation with Grandpa, remember?” 

Phoebe huffs and nods. “Can you bring me back a fridge magnet?” She asks instead, a question both you and your mom saw coming. 

Your eyes dart over to the refrigerator. Covered in magnets and drawings and post cards… you’ll have to do some reorganising if she wants to fit another one on there. 

“Absolutely, I’ll even bring you back some new shoes.” 

Your eyes roll fondly when Phoebe’s lights up, an excited squeal falling from her lips as she nods her head vigorously. You press a kiss to her head before leaving her on the couch, pulling the phone closer to her face to speak. 

Their conversation is a muffled background noise as you start to clean up the mess of her toys, the thirty-something articles of clothing strewn across the floor from her fashion show this afternoon. Plastic princess heels, a tiara, fairy wings…you’re sure she has a pirate’s outfit somewhere in the mess, too. 

Your eyes flick to the time flashing on the microwave. 16:30. 

Your shoulders drop, heart sinking. Thirty minutes late, you can try to hold out hope. But when it gets to the hour mark, you know it’s yet another no-show. Another night of tears with Pheebs and fast thinking on your part to distract her. 

You learnt your lessons months ago. You know better than to tell her when she’s supposed to be seeing him. It only sets her up for disappointment and resentment. Let her come to the decision about him when she’s old enough to understand. Not when she’s three, upset and feeling like he doesn’t want to spend time with her. 

You’ll shelter her from the truth of him for as long as you possibly can. 

Throwing her outfits into her dress-up box in the corner of the lounge, you turn to your daughter with a heavy heart and the brightest smile you can muster. 

“Alright, Diva. Go put your shoes on, let's go out for pizza.” 

Phoebe doesn’t even offer your mom a goodbye. She throws the phone to the side of the couch and leaps to her feet, little legs scurrying toward her bedroom to no doubt retrieve the bright pink Crocs she’s recently become obsessed with. 

You reach for your phone, sharing an exasperated laugh with your mom before she settles and tilts her head at you through the screen. 

“What’s the excuse this time?” she asks. 

You sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine. No calls or texts, just a no-show.” 

Your mom’s lips form into a thin line, a look of disapproval that only ever seems to be reserved for him. “I take it Pheebs doesn't know?” 

You shake your head, toeing your own shoes on as you wait for her. “No, I stopped telling her when she’s supposed to be seeing him months ago. Unnecessary upset, you know?” 

Your mom hums, a contemplative look crossing her features. When she notices the disappointment in your eyes, she softens. “You are all that she needs, baby.” She reassures you. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing by her, and you are. But when she’s older, she’ll realize it for herself.”

Shoulders sagging and heart aching, you sigh again. “I know, it’s just not fair on her. Wish I could shield her from it forever, you know?” 

“I know, but you are doing fantastic. Me and Dad are so proud of you.” 

It’s a struggle to blink back the tears. In truth, you likely wouldn't have coped at all if it weren't for your parents. You were young when you fell pregnant, just shy of turning twenty-three. No real job, no real qualifications. Still living at home and accidentally knocked up by a douche of a boyfriend you were trying to figure out how to break up with. 

But your parents…they were a rock for you. They supported whatever decision you wanted to make. They let you stay at home until you had the money to move out, took you to every appointment, helped you turn your dad’s office into a nursery without a hint of annoyance. 

Your mom held your hand when you were rushed into hospital to deliver Phoebe, and she sang to you softly when you had to go in for emergency surgery. 

Your parents were the ones to encourage you to go back to college. They were the ones to babysit while you worked for your degree, when you had last minute interviews and meetings. And they were the ones you thanked and celebrated with when you finally made it. 

When your first book got published and made its way to a New York Times Bestseller within the first week of its release, they were the ones you celebrated with. It was their mortgage you paid off with your very first cheque. 

It was only at that point that Tom decided he wanted to be in Phoebe’s life again. That he had apparently made a terrible mistake and wanted to be a ‘family’. You’d allowed him access to his daughter but denied him ever having any access to you. 

“Get out of that brilliant head of yours.” 

You blink as your mom’s voice drifts you back to the present and you smile, slightly wonky. “Have a cocktail for me and keep Dad away from the dirty martinis. I doubt half of Cabo wants to hear his Elvis impression.” 

She barks out a laugh at that, blowing kisses to the phone and promising to call back tomorrow before hanging up. 

“Mommy!?” Phoebe calls out to you from her bedroom. 

“Coming!” You call back, feet slowly moving you down the hall toward her bedroom. Stopping short with a sigh when her next words echo from her room. 

“I pooped my pants again.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Phoebe’s tummy is filled quite comfortably with a veggie pizza and three scoops of chocolate ice cream. A dinner of champions, in her humble opinion, and a day well spent with you. 

Her legs bounce her along the marble floors of the complex entrance, a skip in her step which is slightly making you regret that third scoop of ice cream. A sugar rush right before bed is not something you have the energy for. 

“Hold up for a moment, baby. Mommy needs to check the mailbox.” 

Her sassy huff is the only response you get, but she listens. Trudges back to your side with less enthusiasm than before. You can hear her clicking her tongue and jumping on the spot when you unlock your designated box, rifling through some letters and the package you’ve been eager to receive. 

The first print of your newest novel. 

It’s not until you’re locking the box back up that you notice Phoebe isn’t to the left of you anymore. Instead, she’s to your far right with her hands behind her back and her small neck craned up to meet the gaze of a middle-aged man walking toward the main front doors.

“Hi, my name is Phoebe." Her small voice speaks at his legs and the man stops short at the sound of it. 

His neck whips down to her, a small kiss of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth before it morphs into a friendly smile. Jesus Christ. 

He blinks at her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Phoebe. I’m Jack.” 

His voice is like slowly crystalizing honey. Soft and smooth yet a slightly raw register as he lowers his tone to address the toddler. You swallow as you watch, a little taken back by the sight of him. 

Salt and pepper curls with a mostly salt stubble, slightly tanned skin and bulging biceps that threatened to tear through his––is that a scrub vest—

“Are you a doctor?” Phoebe asks the question aloud that you silently ask in your head.

Jack smiles, nods his head and reaches to pinch the ID badge clipped to the pocket of his pants. “I am.” 

You realize yourself then, tucking the mail under an arm and moving to approach the two. Your hand comes to rest on Phoebe’s shoulder and Jack’s eyes lift up your body before settling on your face. 

“Sorry, she’s a bit of a social butterfly. She’ll chat your ear off all day if you let her.” It’s a slightly nervously laugh that bubbles from your throat and you’re completely unsure why. 

You don’t get nervous. Not usually. But it’s also not every day that your daughter is introducing herself to a hot older man who happens to be a fucking doctor. More than that, and maybe it’s just his age, but it’s also not every day that you meet a man with such intense eye contact. 

The moment his gaze meets yours, it doesn’t look away. 

Jack laughs breathily, offering an open palm just above Phoebe’s head. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m Jack.”

His tone holds a flirty lilt—light and airy and far too comfortable for someone you’ve just met. Your palm meets his in a gentle greeting, skin rougher than yours, palm bigger than yours. You shake his hand with as much mirth as he does to yours.

“Y/N, this is my daughter, Phoebe.” You say softly, retrieving from his hold and resting your hand back on her shoulder again. “I think you’re the first normal neighbor we’ve met. We only moved in like six weeks ago.”

Jack’s smile widens just an inch as his hand moves to the strap on his backpack, his laugh something understanding, like you already have an inside joke. “Seventeen right?” 

Your brows pinch slightly, head tilting. “Yeah… how—”

He points a finger to the ceiling. “I’m fourteen. Your balcony is opposite mine,” he turns his attention to Phoebe with a playful smile. “I’m pretty jealous of yours and mommy’s Sunday morning parties. They sound like a lot of fun.”

Color stains your cheeks but Phoebe grins at that. “We call it Sunday Funk Day. Music, chores, and pancakes for breakfast,” she counts them off on her chubby fingers, her tone slightly bordering authoritative, but Jack only seems more entertained. 

“I didn’t realize we had the music on so loud… I’ll keep it down next time.” You apologize quickly. Another thing out of the norm for you. But you’ve been trying to teach Phoebe to be a bit more considerate of other people the older she gets. 

Jack waves you off with a scoff. “No way, it’s nice to have a neighbor with good music taste. Not like apartment twelve.” He says the last part a bit quieter, like he too doesn’t want to influence your daughter with his less than kind opinions. 

Your eyes widen, the sound of a scoffed laugh scratching the back of your throat. “Is that the crazy bird lady?” You mirror his pitch.

Jack’s lips part. “So that’s what that noise is. I’ve been calling her Chirpy in my head for the last six months.”

You laugh louder at that, stopping yourself just short of snorting. The way he speaks makes you feel strangely warm. His words and voice are relaxed, lazily drawled together with a slight accent that you can’t quite place.

Phoebe scrunches up her nose. “Mommy says people can listen to what they like, but I don’t like screaming music.” She shakes her head. 

Jack has to stifle a laugh, expression mirroring yours as you close your eyes and take an exasperated but fond breath. “While I agree with your mommy, I have to say that I agree with you too, kid.” 

An insistent buzzing echoes through the silence between you. You notice the brief movement of his hand cupping his pocket, realize that he’s being paged or called but too polite to check or excuse himself. 

You squeeze gently on Phoebe’s shoulders. “Okay, we need to get you bathed and ready for bed and I think Jack needs to go to work.”

He offers a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes but doesn’t feel forced. His eyes flick between you and Phoebe, a soft look of fondness relaxing his features for a moment. “It was nice to finally put names and faces to the lovely singing voices I get to hear.” 

You smile warmly, albeit a little bashfully, before guiding Phoebe to your side to hold her hand. Jack lets his gaze fall on you again, warmth in his smile as he offers a slight nod. 

“Have a good night.” His voice is tender and soft, heavy with security and you don’t understand how it feels so foreign and familiar at the same time. 

“You too,” you say softly, turning at the same time he does to go your respective ways. 

Phoebe turns her full body to look at him, hand waving frantically in the air. “Bye Doctor Jack!” She shouts at him, despite there being only a ten-foot distance between them. 

You turn just in time to see Jack do the same, a small wave of fingers over his shoulder as he shouts back softly, “Bye Phoebe.”

Then he’s gone out of the complex doors and you’re ushering Phoebe into the elevator, unaware of the small smile that curls at the corners of your mouth. 

“I like Doctor Jack.” Phoebe hums, pressing the button she has learnt for your floor. You smile down at her as the doors close and the elevator begins to hum and shift. 

“Yeah? What do you like about him?” 

She shrugs a shoulder, uncommittingly and swipes hair from her face. “He has kind eyes.” 

Blinking slowly at her, your heart seizes. You find yourself wondering how your daughter comes up with some of the things that she does, how attuned she is to the people around her and the way her judgement of character grows every day. 

You barely know the man, yet you can’t help but agree. 

“Yeah, baby. I guess he does.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

NEXT PART

Cute little meet cute for our single mom, Phoebe, and Jack!! I am almost busting at the seams with excitement for what I have planned for these guys; little moments and big!! There will lots of tiny hidden references in this series that I would love to know if you guys pick up on, and I also have a very comical and painful scene that I've already written for later on in this series hehe.

Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!

"Hey, brightness," Jack’s voice drifted in. He dropped his bag and walked over, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before his eyes landed on the table. "What’s all this?"

"Nothing," you murmured, your fingers twisting together. "I just... I wanted to see if I could sell some of these. I found a platform for it. I thought maybe I could cover the cost of those new boots I wanted, or at least help with the groceries this week."

Jack pulled out the chair next to you, turning it so he could face you fully. He looked... concerned. "You’ve been at this for hours, haven't you? Your neck is all tense."

"I just feel like I should be doing something, Jack," you said, the words tumbling out with a sting of tears. "You’re out there saving lives and dealing with the chaos of the ER, and I’m here... failing at basic adult functions because my brain won't let me leave the house some days."

Jack reached out, taking your hands in his. His palms were warm, a contrast to your cold ones.

"Look at me," he commanded gently, waiting until your eyes met his. "I don’t provide for you because I have to. I do it because I love knowing you’re safe. The world out there? It’s messy, and it’s a lot, even for me. If this home can be a safe place for you where you don't have to fight those battles, then I’m doing my job right."

"But I want to contribute," you whispered.

He watched you for a moment, seeing the way your eyes lingered on the silver charms, and he realized that while he wanted to take the pressure off, he didn't want to extinguish the spark of pride he saw when you finished a piece.

He reached over and picked up a delicate necklace you’d just finished, holding it up to the light.

"Okay, you know, this is actually incredible," he said, his voice turning in genuine awe. "The detail on the clasp alone... you did this by hand?"

You nodded shyly. "It helps me focus. It makes the noice in my head go away for a while."

"Then we’re keeping the business," Jack decided, a supportive smile playing on his lips. He pulled his phone out. "But we’re changing the mission statement. This isn't for groceries, and it’s not for bills. This is the Whatever You Want fund. You make it because you enjoy it, and whatever you earn goes straight to those boots, or a new game, or whatever makes you smile."

He leaned over the table, pointing to a particularly intricate bracelet. "In fact, Dr. Langdon’s niece has a birthday coming up. She loves this vintage style. If you’re open to a commission, I’d love to be your first official customer."

The guilt that usually felt like a lead weight began to shift a calm sense of purpose.

"You don't have to just buy things to be nice, Jack."

"I'm not," he insisted, squeezing your hand. "I’m buying it because it’s beautiful and you’re talented. I’ll handle the heavy lifting out there, okay? You just focus on creating. I’m your biggest fan."

He stood up to unpack his bag, the heavy knot in your chest loosened just a little. "Seriously, sunshine, send me the link to that shop. I'm telling everyone in the breakroom that I know a world class designer."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Jack didn't look at you. "My psychiatrist said I needed a way to channel the adrenaline. To feel useful outside the ER. I’m a veteran, doll. I’m trained for this."

"You were in a war zone because you had to be!" You finally snapped, the volume of your voice cracking the silence. "You spent years trying to crawl out of that hole, and now you’re jumping back into another one for fun? I spent six hours wondering if the man down on the news was you."

Jack stood up then, his movements stiff. The coldness in his eyes was worse than bruises. He wasn't the man who kissed you awake this morning.

"I don't need a keeper," he said, his voice flat. "I spent my entire life being told where to go and who to save. This is the first time out of ER that I’ve felt like I’m in control of the chaos. If you can’t handle that, that’s on you. Not me."

"Are you kidding me right now?" You let out a laugh. "You’re bleeding through your shirt, Jack! That isn't control, it's a death wish. You’re choosing the rush over us. You’re choosing the possibility of a funeral."

Jack grabbed his bag from the closet.

"Where are you going?" The panic finally broke through your anger, your heart hammering against your ribs. He still had three hours before his shift started.

"I can't do this," he muttered, swinging the bag over his shoulder. He winced as the strap hit the fresh wound on his shoulder, but he didn't slow down. "I can't come home to a trial every time I have a rough shift. I thought you, of all people, would understand wanting to mean something."

"You mean everything to me!" you screamed at his back as he moved toward the front door. "Is that not enough? Being loved isn't enough for you?"

"Apparently not," he said quietly. "I'm probably going to do a doble shift. Don't wait up for me."

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him was small, but it echoed through the empty hallway like a gunshot. You stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the lingering scent of his cologne and the discarded medical wrappers on the nightstand, waiting for the sound of him coming back.

-

"Abbot, take five," Dr. Shen muttered, catching him by the scrub sink. "You’re vibrating. And not in a good way. How's the bandage?"

Jack didn't look up from his hands, scrubbing until the skin was raw. "I’m fine. It’s just a long shift."

But he wasn't fine. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the way you had looked in the bedroom, the betrayal in your eyes, the way your voice had shattered when he walked out. He had chosen the rush and now the adrenaline had soured into a cold weight in his gut.

"Incoming trauma, Category Red. Single-vehicle MVA. Unresponsive female, massive hemorrhage, suspected femoral artery transection. ETA two minutes."

Jack was already moving toward the bay. When the paramedics burst through the doors, the sound of the gurney’s wheels was deafening.

"Vitals are crashing! We've got a tourniquet on the right thigh, but she’s lost too much. Pressure is 60 over palp—"

The paramedic stepped aside and his world stopped spinning.

It was your face. But it wasn't the face that had yelled at him hours ago. It was pale, waxen, framed by hair matted with blood. Your sweater, the one he’d complained about being too oversized, was shredded and soaked a deep crimson.

"Jack?" Parker's voice sounded like it was underwater. "Jack, step back. I’ve got this. Jack!"

"No," Jack whispered, then louder, his voice cracking with a desperate edge. "No! Get the O-neg! Now! I need a vascular kit!"

"Jack, you can't—"

"I said get the kit!" he roared, his hands hovering over your leg. He was a man watching his entire world leak out onto the floor.

The next hour was pure trauma and terror. He felt the hot spray of your blood on his face as he fought to clamp the artery. He was barking orders, his voice raw, refusing to let anyone else give up on you. When your heart monitor flatlined, his breath stopped.

"Starting compressions," he gasped, his palms over your sternum. One, two, three. "Don't you dare. Fuck, baby, don't you fucking dare."

"Jack, we have a pulse," a nurse called out after a minute, her voice trembling. "We have a rhythm. We need to go to the OR. Now."

He didn't leave your side. He had told you your love wasn't enough, and then he had walked out.

Hours later, you were a haunting sight on ICU. The rhythmic sound of the machines were the only thing keeping the silence at bay. Your leg was heavily bandaged, saved by a fraction of an inch and his own desperate hands.

Jack sat in the hard plastic chair by the bed. He reached out, his fingers hovering inches from your hand, afraid that if he touched you, you’d feel the coldness of the man who had abandoned you.

He thought about the fight, about the SWAT missions, about how he could be so selfish and dumb. It all felt like ash in his mouth. He had sought out danger for the sake of feeling alive, only to realize that life was sitting right here because she had been out looking for him or simply driving with a mind clouded by the grief he caused.

He leaned his forehead against the metal railing of the bed, a broken sob finally escaping his throat. "Please wake up, doll, I'm so sorry."

He stayed there in the dark, waiting for eyes that might never forgive him to open, realizing that he had saved your life but he had already destroyed your heart.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, you were confused. You weren't on your bedroom. This wasn't your bed. You tried to shift but your right leg felt like it was encased in lead. A hand, warm but trembling, immediately folded over yours.

"Hey, try not to move. You're going to rip out your stitches."

"Jack?" Your voice was raspy. The memories started to bleed back in: the argument, the slamming door, the rain slicked road, his keys. "The... the keys. You left the house keys. I was coming to..."

Jack let out a broken sob, half-laugh. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand. "The keys? Doll, you shouldn't have driven in the middle of the storm, you could have sent me a message."

"I didn't want you to be locked out, you know I'm a deep sleeper," you whispered, the anger from earlier completely drained. "I was mad, Jack. But I wanted to make sure you came back home."

He looked up then and the sight of him broke your heart. His eyes were bloodshot. "I’m the one who shouldn't have left. I was chasing a feeling because I was too arrogant to realize I already had everything I needed at home. I was wrong." He squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing your knuckles. "I've thinking about it all night. I’m done with SWAT."

"You finally realized being loved is enough?" you asked softly.

"That's one reason," Jack said, a strange light appearing in his eyes. "But there’s another. We found something during the scans. I- I think you didn't know. You're pregnant, doll."

---------------------------------

The trauma bay was a battlefield. Jack had just finished the primary repair on your femoral artery, his hands slick with the blood of the woman he loved. He was panting as the nurses began to stabilize your vitals for the move to the OR.

"Abbot," Shen said, his voice sharp but confused as he stared at the ultrasound monitor they’d used for a quick abdominal check. "Why the hell didn't you tell us?"

Jack whirled around, his heart in his throat, expecting to hear that your lungs were collapsing or your spleen had ruptured. "Tell you what? Is there internal bleeding?"

Shen pointed to the screen, to a tiny pulse that had absolutely nothing to do with your own heartbeat. "The pregnancy, Abbot. She may be seven weeks along. We need to adjust the meds for the OR."

Jack felt the floor tilt. The world narrowed down to that one rhythmic flicker on the screen. A baby. He had walked out on a family he didn't even know he had started. And suddenly, his hobby felt like a childish whim.

---------------------------------

You stared at him, your breath hitching as the realization settled in. Your hand instinctively moved toward your stomach, though it was blocked by the hospital gown and blankets.

"W-What? I’m... we're...?"

"Yeah," Jack whispered, his voice thick with emotions. "Seven weeks, according to the scans. A little heartbeat. Strong as anything."

"Oh..." was all you could manage. It was a soft sound of pure shock. Your hand, still shaky, instinctively drifted downward, coming to rest over the flat expanse of your stomach beneath the hospital blankets. You tried to process the miracle that a tiny life inside had survived the chaos of the last few hours.

Seeing your hand tremble, Jack reached out. He cupped his palm directly over yours, shielding it, pressing the weight of his love through the layers of fabric.

It was the first time since he’d walked out of the apartment that the tension truly left his frame.

He leaned down, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, right over the spot where a new life was forming.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and steady. "No more SWAT, no more looking for trouble. I've got everything I need to protect right here in this room."

You looked down at his dark hair, then at your joined hands over your middle and emotional happy tears appeared in your eyes.

"You're going to have to learn how to bake bread after all, baby," you whispered with a tiny smile.

"I will, huh?" He let out a laugh, his hand refusing to let go. "I’ll learn whatever it needs. Just as long as I’m doing it with you. Well, the two of you."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Jack threw the covers off in an instant. He didn't need to check the app twice to know how fast a six year old’s blood sugar could plummet when it was crashing in the middle of the night.

He grabbed a juice box from the bottom shelf of the fridge, tearing the plastic wrap off the straw as he hurried down the hallway to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Under a pile of cartoon blankets, a tiny mess of brown curly hair was sleeping.

"Hey, sweet girl," Jack murmured. He knelt by the side of the bed and set the juice on the nightstand, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Wake up for Daddy, please?"

She let out a tiny groan, pulling the blanket higher. When he gently pulled it back, he could feel the faint dampness on her forehead. She was clammy, her skin pale, and her little breaths were coming a bit too fast.

"Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me," Jack coaxed, slipping his arm under her back to help her sit up.

She felt like a ragdoll, her head rolling heavily against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with heavy sleep and low-sugar fog. "Daddy..." she mumbled. "'leepy."

"I know you are, baby. I know " Jack said. He grabbed the juice box, guiding the straw to her lips. "I need you to take some big sips of this, okay? Just a few big sips, and then you can go right back to sleep."

She shook her head weakly, whining and trying to turn her face into his chest to hide from the straw. "No. 'leepy."

"I know, I know, but you have to," Jack insisted gently but firmly. He kept his arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her upright against him while his other hand held the juice. "Just a little bit, sweetheart. For Daddy. Right now."

He nudged the straw against her lips again. Feeling the urgency in his voice, she finally relented, taking a few small sips.

But the fog of hypoglycemia combined with the sheer exhaustion of being woken up at one in the morning was too much for a six year old to handle.

As she swallowed the third sip, a huge tear spilled over her lashes, followed by a quiet sob.

"Don't want to," she cried softly, her little shoulders shaking as she buried her face into his neck, her hands clutching at his t-shirt.

The sound of her crying always tore him. Hearing his own daughter sob because her body was failing her in the middle of the night broke through every piece of armor he had.

He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest, rocking her back and forth in the quiet room. He pressed a warm kiss into her hair, his hand smoothing down her back.

"I've got you," he whispered. "I know it's hard, baby. I know you're tired but you're being so brave. I need you to be strong for just one more minute, okay? Just finish the juice so your tummy feels better."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He offered the straw again.

Sniffling and hiccuping, she looked at him with watery eyes. She nodded miserably, wrapped her small hands over his big ones around the juice box, and sucked down the rest of it until the straw rattled against the bottom.

"Good girl," Jack breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. "That's it. All done."

Instead of laying her back down against the pillows, Jack couldn't bring himself to let go just yet. Hearing her cry had left his own chest feeling thight.

He shifted his weight on the edge of the mattress and gently pulled her completely into his chest.

She didn't protest, too exhausted to do anything but collapse against him. She tucked her head right beneath his chin, her small face burying into the crook of his neck, while her little arms wrapped weakly around his torso. Jack bundled the cartoon blanket tightly around her small frame, sealing out the chill of the night, and held her close against his chest.

"I've got you," he murmured again against her hair. "Daddy’s got you."

He could feel the slight tremor in her small body from the low sugar, but as the juice began to hit her system, her breathing gradually started to slow down, losing its frantic edge.

Every few minutes, Jack glanced down at his phone screen resting on the nightstand. The app glowed in the dark, showing the red line finally starting to curve upward.

72 mg/dL.

He let out a long breath he felt like he’d been holding since the alarm first woke him.

She was fast asleep now, the tears entirely forgotten. Jack closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of her head. He knew he’d be exhausted when his day shift started in a few hours, but right now, there was nowhere else in the world he was going to be.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

She had been dating Jack Abbot for 6 months, and she truly didn’t mind the baggage that came with it. Let's be honest here. While Jack was cool and calm under pressure and charismatic as all hell… he had incredible amounts of trauma. His thoughts and memories beat the hell out of him every day, and he coped by working all the time, weekly therapy, and spending time with his girlfriend. He spoiled her to the moon and back to make his mind clearer. And she’d listen to him, surprise him with ‘lunch’ mid late-night shift, and overall just distract him from everything horrible in the world. She reminded him that there were still good things left to stick around for. 

Even through the nights when he accidentally kept her up, tossing and turning. Pacing around the kitchen. Waking up startled from nightmares. He was worth every second. She’d sleepily try to ground him by gently rubbing his freckled back. When he felt too embarrassed to look at her, she’d kiss his shoulder blade and press her cheek against it, a constant reminder that he was okay. 

But what Jack didn’t know… was that she had horrible anxiety as well. She just didn’t tell him about it. How could she? He had so many more critical reasons to be anxious and depressed. She just woke up every day at 4 am with unexplainable chest pain. When she spent nights alone, she’d lie in bed in the dark, feeling this dread take over her entire body. Her chest would tighten, and every shadow felt like it could suddenly turn and stare at her. 

She had her reasons, too. Burnout, poor eating habits, stress. But they never felt as real as Jack’s. So she swore to herself that she wouldn’t be a burden to him. Only her closest friends knew. She tried to work on it silently, scheduling her therapy appointments for days Jack wouldn’t come over. Or making excuses to be busy on specific days. 

Lately, her anxiety had been skyrocketing. She couldn’t pinpoint an exact reason within the list of things currently bugging her. But she hadn’t been on top of her eating and water, so that was a factor. And her period was coming up in a week, so there was another. She just felt off. On edge. Every breath she took was unsatisfying as she’d get random chest pain throughout the day. She was crying more often, which she was sure was also due to her cycle, but it didn’t make it suck any less. 

One night, she sat on the couch, trying to relax. It was late. She was supposed to be fast asleep by now, but the gnawing foreboding weight on her chest made her dark bedroom too stressful. She felt like she couldn’t breathe in the confines of her bedroom.

Part of her wanted to call Jack. He wasn’t on shift, and she just wanted to cry into him. But the idea of that was actually more anxiety-inducing. What if he was also having an anxious night and needed her to be strong? Plus, she feared that he’d think she was crazy. Silly, girlfriend, nothing is going to get you in the middle of the night. 

But she also… needed her boyfriend. She pulled out her phone, settling on the idea of just using him as a distraction. 

Y: you still awake, old man?

He replied almost instantly.

J: I always am, sweetheart. What are you doing up? 

Y: Nothing. Can’t sleep. Just bored.

Not a total lie. After a moment, he texted again 

J: I can come over. Or you can come over here. Whichever you prefer.

Y: what. why?

J: You like laying on me. You knock out pretty fast.

She didn’t know what to say to that. It was true. Sleeping on Jack was like sleeping on a big, warm bear. His chest and stomach were so pillowy. It’d be perfect. 

But she worried that if he saw her in person, she wouldn’t be able to keep her anxiety at bay. It was at a level where she couldn’t ignore the tremble in her hands.

Y: I look like a hot mess. 

J: Don’t give me that. 

Y: I’m fine. 

INCOMING CALL FROM JACK <3 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit. She didn’t answer it. She pressed the big red hang-up button.

J: ??? Everything okay.

Y: I just told you I’m fine. 

J: Sweetheart, I’m gonna call you again. And if you don’t answer this time, I’ll take that as a sign to leave you be. But I’m worried.

Oh god. She was worrying him. How could she be so stupid?! She hiccuped as she watched the phone start to vibrate in her hands.

INCOMING CALL FROM JACK <3

This time, she felt compelled to answer it.

“Hi. Hi. I’m fine.” She said a little too quickly 

There was a suspecting noise on the other end of the line.

“Well, sweetheart, I know that before you, I hadn’t dated in quite some time… but I do know that when someone says ‘I’m fine’ they usually are not.”

She leaned back against the couch as she held the phone to her ear. “It’s stupid. Just some before-bed jitters.”

There was a bit of quietness on the phone before he said,

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m telling you it’s nothing.”

“And I’m telling you that I want to come over and listen to you talk allllll about nothing.”

That got her to giggle a little. Oh god, he was breaking her down. She looked down at her shorts, which she was picking at with her fingers. Though doing so sent shocks through her fingertips since she had bitten or picked off all her nails to short stubs. 

This was a battle. Desire to be comforted versus sheer will. When her breath started to catch, she closed her eyes. Strong desire won over.

“Can you come over, Jackie?” Her voice wavered

“I’ll be there in ten.” 

Even though she had been expecting him, she still yelped startled when he knocked. She scurried over and opened the door. 

“Hi.” She said, smiling, still trying to keep her front strong.

He stood in a black T-shirt and grey joggers. A duffel bag was slung over his beefy shoulder with sleepover materials. Their familiar routine. He looked her over in her disheveled state. In one of his shirts and pajama shorts, her hair was a little frazzled from tossing and turning. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” He murmured, walking forward and setting his duffel bag down so he could cup her face. His thumbs brushed back and forth, and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. Her breath started to pick up again as she felt like she could cry any minute. 

It seemed like he could tell. She wasn’t strong enough to keep her face content. Instead, her lips formed a small pout, and her jaw clenched.

“Hey. Talk to me.” He quickly turned and shut the door behind him.

He guided her back towards the couch.

“I promise I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” He joked affectionately.

They sat down, and she sat up straight. Almost too straight. 

“It’s nothing. I’m just really tired.” 

“Yeah?” He pulled her in so she was lying her head on his chest. “I’m sorry you can’t sleep. Here-“ he gently grabbed her calf and pulled up her legs to be folded on his lap. He scratched the back of her scalp, untangling the parts of her hair he made contact with. “How’s that?”

She nodded. This was nice. Her heart was still pattering like a hummingbird, but Jack was a source of warmth. 

He kissed her forehead, “You’re quiet tonight. Must be real tired.”

He looked down and noticed her hands were together. She was unconsciously picking at her left thumb, but there was no more nail left to possibly pick. So instead, she scraped against the red tips and little skin tags. 

“Mm, what’s this about?” He gently pried her hands apart and took a good look at her hand. 

She hated that. She quickly took it back, self-conscious. Her nails were ugly. They weren’t like other girls’s, where they looked all pretty and done up. Hers were at the point where they were too short to get acrylics. There was too little to glue onto. 

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, “I should’ve asked. Baby, can I please see your hand?”

And how was she supposed to deny him when he was so sweet? 

She shakily gave him her left hand and looked away. His rough, calloused hand held hers like it were the most fragile piece of china. As if he were in the ED, he twisted and turned it to get a good look. Though there was something about his demeanor that put her slightly at ease. He was so delicate and focused that she didn’t feel as scared to show him. 

“Mm, how come I never realized you were a nail-biter?” His thumb rubbed over the top of hers, and she winced, “Sorry, I bet it hurts. You picked it so short that your hyponichium underneath is out. That’s a sensitive area.” He kissed the pad of her thumb. 

For some reason him explaining the science behind the pain felt nice. She felt better being given context as to why it felt like electric shocks every time her nails touched anything.

He let her hand go and just gently rubbed his hand up and down her thigh. 

“We have a few options here. We can… turn on a movie. We can just lay here for a bit. Or we can… go to bed.”

She shook her head. “I can’t go to bed.”

His brows furrowed, “Why not?”

She closed her eyes. There was no option here to deflect. No excuse. No lie that she could come up with that sounded semi-reasonable. 

“I can’t breathe in there. It’s too dark, and I have this feeling that something is going to get me. And I know that sounds so totally stupid and crazy because I’m not five years old, scared of the monster in my closet. My chest has been tight for days, and I can’t sleep in there-”

Her voice started to crack, and a wave of humiliation flooded through her. He rubbed her back and put his lips to her hair. There was a look of intense focus in his eyes, as if he were trying to figure out a Rubik's Cube. His brows furrowed, but he just placed kisses on her scalp.

“And- And- I just feel like something bad’s going to happen. But I don’t know what the bad is. Usually I just take melatonin to knock myself out, but it makes me so drowsy the next day-”

“Yeah, baby, don’t do that. Don’t do that.” He whispered gruffly. After that, he pulled back to look down at her gently. “It sounds like you’re having some anxiety.”

She looked at him with a sad look in her eyes. She needed to tell him.

“I know…” She admitted, “My… my therapist gives me tips, but there are things that I don’t want to do. I don’t wanna put my face in cold water or hold an ice cube. I just wanna sleep.” 

The tears started to flow now. She covered her face with her hands, not wanting to look at him. Especially when he said-

“I didn’t know you were in therapy.” 

She had lied to him. She had kept this from him. And her heart felt like it was gonna explode out of her chest from guilt and anxiety building up. 

She nodded, “I’ve done it on and off for a while.” She hiccuped, “I- I didn’t use to have as bad of anxiety, but it’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older.”

He reached out and gently pulled her hands down from her face. Cupping her cheeks, he used his thumbs to brush her tears away. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this…” His gaze fell over her reddened, puffy face, “You know you can always talk to me? Yeah? It doesn’t sound ‘stupid’ or ‘crazy’ like you think. I promise.”

She shook her head, “You have enough things to deal with, Jack. I don’t wanna be another burden for you to deal with-”

“Whoa whoa whoa.” His brows raised in surprise, “You are never a burden to me. Yeah, sure, I’ve got my issues and all my shit. But that doesn’t mean yours don’t exist.”

“You have- you have the ER and SWAT and your leg-”

“And it doesn’t matter.” He brushed her hair out of her face, “At least when it comes to you. I don’t want you to play this comparison game. I have my issues, and you have yours. We can deal with them together.”

With a slow nod of her head, she did her best to understand, even though her hyperventilating had made her hands start to go a little numb. A small supportive smile crested his lips. He lightly pinched her chin. 

“Plus, I wanna take care of my girl. Always so strong for me. Let me help.” 

“Okay.” She gave in.

“There we go. I’m gonna get you some water, and we can stay out here with the lights on for as long as you need. We can turn on a movie or just talk for a bit until you’re ready to sleep in bed. Does that sound okay?”

It sounded perfect. She nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

He kissed the top of her head and slowly got up. But in his place, he took one of the folded blankets on the side of the couch and draped it over her shoulders. 

As he rustled in the kitchen, she felt better enough to grab the remote and at least scroll through the options. She muted the TV so the noise of hovering over different shows didn’t blast through the speakers. Heading over to the Disney icon, she scrolled through the cartoon movies.

Jack came back a few minutes later with a glass of water and a sandwich on a plate with chips on the side. 

“Didn’t know if you had eaten dinner, but knowing you, your anxiety could also be from a drop in blood sugar, so.” 

For the first time, a real, genuine smile grew on her face. She chuckled and took the plate from him so he could sit down next to her again.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” She teased 

He looked up at the TV, “What do we got here? Tangled? … I don’t remember this one.”

“What?! You’ve never seen Tangled?” 

He put his hands up. “I don’t know if I’m the target audience here, sweetheart.”

She immediately pressed play and drew her knees up, getting comfy as she took bites of the amazing sandwich. 

“It’s really good.” She murmured, covering her mouth. 

He smiled and put his hand on her knee, giving it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Towards the end of the movie, when the gang of tough guys was saving Flynn Rider, Jack found her falling fast asleep on his lap. His hands had been running through her hair for most of the movie. He actually found himself invested and immediately saw himself and her as Flynn and Rapunzel. But as she started to drool on his pant leg, he realized he’d have to finish the movie another day. 

He gently squeezed her shoulder, “Hey… Let’s get you to bed.”

Half asleep, she nodded in agreement. 

She was dead tired by the time she crawled into bed. The adrenaline from the anxiety knocked her out really well. Jack quietly slipped into bed next to her, and she instinctively reached to hold him. She rested her cheek against his chest and sprawled her leg over his waist, letting his hand run up and down her thigh. 

“Feeling better?” He murmured, sleepy himself.

“So much better. Thank you, Jack. So much…” 

He’d sign his name on the volunteer sheet, grab a bucket and cleaning supplies, and disappear into the kennel rows. No small talk. No introductions. No standing around the coffee station discussing weekend plans like the other volunteers.

Just work.

At first, you barely paid attention to him.

The shelter always had volunteers coming and going. College students looking for hours. Retirees looking for purpose. People who stayed a month and disappeared. You assumed Andrew would be the same. Then one afternoon, a German shepherd named Tank proved you wrong.

Tank had been returned three times. The first family said he was too anxious. The second said he was destructive. The third brought him back after he snapped at their teenage son. By the time Tank arrived at your shelter, he had a bright red warning sticker on his kennel file and a reputation that followed him into every room.

Nobody liked walking him. Nobody volunteered for his kennel. Nobody expected much from him. Including Tank.

You were carrying fresh water bowls down the kennel row when barking erupted from the far end. Loud. Aggressive. The kind that made visitors jump. Tank. Again.

A new volunteer, a teenager completing community service hours, stood frozen outside the kennel door.

“He’s gonna bite me,” the kid said.

“You don’t have to take him,” you replied.

The teenager looked relieved. 

Tank kept barking. Throwing himself against the chain-link door. You were already reaching for the clipboard to mark him as skipped when another voice spoke.

“I’ll take him.”

You looked up. Andrew stood a few feet away, holding a leash.

The teenager handed it over immediately.

“You sure?” you asked.

Andrew nodded once. That was it. No bravado. No speech. Just a nod.

You expected a struggle. Expected barking. Expected chaos. Instead, Andrew crouched outside the kennel. Not opening the door. Not reaching inside. Just sitting.

Tank barked himself hoarse for nearly five minutes. Andrew waited. The dog barked. Andrew waited. The dog paced. Andrew waited. Finally, Tank stopped. Not because he’d calmed down. Because he got tired. For the first time, silence settled between them. 

Andrew looked at him. Tank looked back.

And then Andrew said, “Yeah.”

Nothing else. Just that. Yeah.

Like Tank had told him something. Like he’d understood it. You frowned. The dog blinked. Andrew held out the leash. Another minute passed. Then another. Eventually, Tank stepped forward. Not much. Just enough.

Andrew clipped the leash on. No struggle. No drama. No barking. Then he stood and walked away with eighty pounds of formerly impossible German shepherd trotting quietly beside him.

You stared after them.

“What the hell?” muttered another volunteer.

You didn’t have an answer. Neither did Tank. But after that day, Andrew became harder to ignore.

You started noticing things. The way he always arrived early. The way broken things somehow stopped being broken after he touched them. The way he remembered every dog’s name after hearing it once. The way frightened animals followed him around the yard like he carried some invisible signal only they could hear.

Mostly, though, you noticed the patience. 

Everybody talked about patience like it was kindness. With Andrew, it felt different. It felt like recognition. Like he understood fear because he’d lived with it long enough to recognize it in someone else. Or something else.

One Thursday afternoon, that understanding got him bitten. Hard.

You were restocking food bins when shouting erupted near the intake kennels. Not panicked shouting. Surprised shouting. You rounded the corner to find three volunteers standing around Daisy’s kennel. Daisy had arrived that morning. Three-legged pit bull. Recently rescued. Terrified of everyone. Especially men.

Andrew stood outside the kennel holding a leash. Blood ran down the back of his hand. A bite. Not severe. But enough.

“Oh my God,” one volunteer said.

“Jesus—”

“Get the first-aid kit.”

The room filled with voices. Questions. Concern. Noise. Andrew ignored all of it. His eyes remained fixed on Daisy.

The dog had retreated to the far corner of the kennel. Trembling. Ears pinned back. Terrified. Not of what she’d done. Of what might happen next.

Andrew noticed immediately. “Don’t.”

The word cut through the room. Everyone stopped.

“Don’t what?” asked a volunteer.

Andrew nodded toward Daisy. “Don’t yell at her.”

Nobody had been. But somehow the entire room understood what he meant. Don’t be angry. Don’t punish her. Don’t make this worse.

Blood dripped from his hand onto the concrete. Andrew barely looked at it.

“She’s scared.” His voice softened. Directed entirely at the dog. “That’s all.”

The kennel fell quiet.

You looked at Daisy. Then at Andrew. Then back again. For a strange moment, neither of them seemed dangerous. Just frightened. And somehow that realization stayed with you long after the bite healed.

—

The bite should have healed quickly. It probably did. The mark disappeared from the back of Andrew’s hand within a couple of weeks. The impression it left behind lasted much longer.

After that day, you started paying attention. Not intentionally. At least that’s what you told yourself. You weren’t watching for him when you arrived each morning. You weren’t checking the volunteer sheet to see if his name was signed in. You weren’t noticing when the parking space near the maintenance shed was empty.

Except you were. A little. Enough that on Tuesdays and Thursdays, your eyes automatically drifted toward the front desk around two o’clock. Enough that you noticed if he was late. Enough that you knew he was never late.

The shelter ran on routines. Feeding schedules. Medication charts. Walking rotations. People were harder. Volunteers came and went. Staff burned out. Life happened.

Andrew stayed. 

Every Tuesday. Every Thursday. Two o’clock sharp. Like clockwork. And somehow, things worked better when he was there.

You’d spend twenty minutes fighting with a jammed kennel latch. Turn around to grab a tool. Turn back. And it would be fixed. A leaking faucet that maintenance hadn’t gotten to yet would suddenly stop dripping. A broken gate would swing smoothly again. A stubborn printer would start working after Andrew wandered past it.

Half the time you never even saw him do it. You’d just notice the problem had disappeared. He never mentioned it. Never waited for thanks. He just noticed things and fixed them, like it was as natural as breathing.

One afternoon, nearly two months after the bite incident, you found him sitting on the floor in the storage room. At first, you thought he was hurt. The sight was strange enough to stop you in the doorway. Andrew sat cross-legged beside a stack of donated blankets, staring at something in his lap.

You stepped closer. Then laughed. A tiny gray kitten glared back at you. The kitten couldn’t have been more than six weeks old. One ear flopped sideways. Its eyes were too big for its face. Its entire body fit comfortably in Andrew’s hands. And it looked furious about it.

“What are you doing?”

Andrew looked up. Then down at the kitten. Then back at you.

“He doesn’t like anybody.”

The kitten immediately hissed.

You snorted. “Clearly.”

Andrew nodded.

The kitten hissed again.

“He’s been doing that for twenty minutes.”

“Why are you sitting here with him?”

Another shrug. Like the answer was obvious.

“Nobody else would.”

The kitten attempted to climb onto his shoulder. Failed spectacularly. Slid into his lap. Andrew steadied him with one careful hand. You felt something strange settle in your chest. Not romance. Just curiosity. Because most people would have laughed. Most people would have walked away. Andrew had apparently devoted half an hour of his afternoon to keeping an angry kitten company.

“You know he hates you, right?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

The kitten hissed again.

Andrew nodded toward him. “See?”

You laughed.

This time Andrew actually smiled. Small. Brief. Gone almost immediately. But real. It was the first genuine smile you’d seen from him. For some reason, it felt like discovering a secret.

—

The first real conversation happened because of rain.

Southern California rarely got enough of it to cause problems. When it did, everything stopped functioning properly. The shelter parking lot flooded. The roof leaked near the laundry room. Half the volunteers called out. By six o’clock, only three people remained. You. Andrew. And Ruth. Ruth left at six-thirty.

The storm got worse. You were balancing paperwork, medication records, and tomorrow’s intake forms when the lights flickered.

“Don’t,” you said.

Andrew stood on a ladder near the electrical panel. 

“What?”

“The lights.”

The lights flickered again. You pointed your pen at the ceiling. 

“If the power goes out, that’s fate telling me the paperwork can wait until tomorrow.”

Andrew looked down from the ladder. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No chance.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He went back to the electrical panel. “You’d stay.”

“I absolutely would not.”

“You would.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You always finish the paperwork.”

“I could leave it.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Andrew glanced down at the clipboard in your arms. “You brought two pens.”

You looked at the pens clipped to the top of the clipboard. Then back at him. “One could die.”

His mouth twitched. “There’s another one behind your ear.”

You froze. Then slowly reached up. Your fingers brushed the pen tucked there.

Andrew turned back to the panel like knowing you that well meant nothing.

You laughed hard enough to nearly drop your clipboard. The sound surprised both of you. Because Andrew immediately looked away. Not uncomfortable. Just… startled. Like he wasn’t used to being the reason someone laughed.

The realization made your chest ache unexpectedly.

—

The friendship happened so slowly neither of you noticed it.

One day he was a volunteer. Then he was Andrew. Then he was somehow part of your routine.

You started saving him coffee if you stopped before work. He always pretended he didn’t expect it. The lie got less convincing every week.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

“You drank half of it before I sat down.”

He paused. “That’s unrelated.”

You laughed.

Andrew looked pleased with himself. Not enough to smile. But close. Very close.

The more time you spent around him, the more you noticed other things too. Not just what he fixed. What he remembered.

Andrew remembered everything.

Which dogs hated thunder. Which ones needed their bowls lifted higher. Which volunteers forgot to latch the side gate. Which brand of creamer you pretended not to care about.

Andrew collected details quietly. And somehow, without meaning to, you started wanting to be one of them.

—

The first time he walked you to your car, you didn’t think much of it.

The shelter closed late. You grabbed your keys. Andrew happened to be heading outside too. The parking lot was mostly empty.

You chatted about a dog adoption event scheduled for the weekend. Normal conversation. Nothing special.

At your car, you unlocked the door. Andrew stopped behind you, hands in his pockets.

“You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.”

“You’re waiting.”

“Yeah.”

You turned, confused. “For what?”

His gaze moved to the empty parking lot, then back to you. “For you to be okay.”

You blinked.

Andrew nodded. Then turned and walked toward his truck.

You stood there staring after him. Nobody had ever made your safety sound so matter-of-fact.

The next week, it happened again. And the week after that. Eventually you realized he wasn’t walking himself to the parking lot. He was walking you.

Not making a big deal out of it. Not asking permission. Not expecting thanks. Just making sure you got there safely. Like he’d decided you mattered.

And once Andrew Cody decided something mattered, he tended to stick with it.

—

The first time you saw him angry, it wasn’t directed at you.

A woman stormed into the shelter carrying a small terrier mix. She was already yelling before she reached the desk. Complaining about the dog. Complaining about the shelter. Complaining about how nobody wanted to help her.

Every answer you gave seemed to make her louder.

You tried to explain the surrender process. Tried to stay polite. Tried to de-escalate. Nothing worked.

The woman leaned across the counter. Voice rising. Finger pointed directly at your face. For a moment you weren’t sure what to do.

Then the room went quiet.

Not because she stopped. Because Andrew had appeared beside you. You hadn’t even seen him walk over. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t threaten her. Didn’t posture.

He simply looked at her. And said, very calmly, “You’re done yelling at her.”

The woman froze. The entire room froze. Andrew wasn’t loud. That somehow made it worse.

There was something in his expression. Something absolute. The kind of certainty that made people rethink their decisions.

The woman sputtered another complaint.

Andrew didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Either surrender the dog respectfully or leave.”

Silence. A long silence. Then the woman sat down. Just like that. The fight drained out of her.

You stared.

Andrew turned back toward you. Asked if you were okay. Then immediately started helping with paperwork as though nothing unusual had happened.

No victory lap. No smugness. No acknowledgment that he’d just shut down a situation everyone else had been struggling with for ten minutes.

That was the first time you started understanding the rumors.

Because there were rumors. You’d heard them in pieces. Whispers from longtime volunteers. Comments that stopped when you walked into a room.

You hadn’t grown up here. Hadn’t lived in the area long enough to know the history everyone else seemed to share. All you knew was that Andrew Cody had a past. People talked about his family in lowered voices. There were stories. Some true. Some exaggerated. Most of them impossible to piece together.

But standing beside him that day, watching an angry stranger back down without another word, you understood why those stories survived.

Not because he was cruel. Not because he was violent. Because there was something undeniably dangerous beneath the surface. Something controlled. Something restrained. Something that chose, every single day, not to be what people expected.

Later that same week, a man arrived looking to surrender a dog.

An elderly lab mix. Gray around the muzzle. Arthritis in both hips.

The owner complained about vet bills the entire intake process. Complained about medication costs. Complained about the dog’s accidents. Complained about how much work he was.

The dog sat quietly beside him. Tail wagging. Still trying to be good.

You saw Andrew standing across the room. Silent. Still. Listening.

The owner finally left. The dog watched the door close behind him. Waited. Waited some more. Then slowly sat down. The room fell quiet. Andrew walked over. Knelt beside the dog. Rested one hand against his neck.

The dog leaned immediately into the contact. Trusting. Hopeful. Heartbroken.

Andrew’s jaw tightened. You saw it. Not the sharp, controlled anger from earlier. Something quieter this time. Older. Grief, maybe. Or recognition.

Then the old lab rested his head in Andrew’s lap. And just like that, the anger disappeared. Gone beneath grief. Beneath tenderness. Beneath something so heartbreakingly gentle it made your throat tighten.

That was the day you started wondering if the world had ever bothered to learn the difference. Between what Andrew was capable of and who he chose to be.

—

The first text arrived on a Sunday.

Your phone buzzed while you were grocery shopping. A picture message. No words. Just an image.

Daisy. Covered in mud. Holding a tennis ball twice the size of her head.

You laughed immediately.

A second message appeared.

Andrew: Found contraband.

You stared at the screen. Then at the grocery store aisle. Then back at the screen.

Before you could stop yourself, you smiled.

You typed back before you could think better of it.

You: Armed and dangerous.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then Andrew replied:

Andrew: Very.

You laughed alone in the grocery aisle.

And somehow, without either of you noticing when it happened, Andrew Cody had become someone you were always willing to answer.

—

The texts did not become constant.

They became familiar. That was different. A photo from Andrew every now and then. Daisy muddy. Tank asleep against the fence. The old lab stealing treats with no remorse.

A reply from you. A dry answer from him. Sometimes nothing for hours. Sometimes nothing until the next day, when he’d walk into the shelter and continue the conversation like time had simply paused between you.

It should have been awkward. It wasn’t. By then, you had learned that Andrew did not move through closeness the way other people did.

He did not rush toward it. He circled it. Tested it. Stepped close enough to feel the warmth, then back again before it could burn him.

So you let him. You didn’t chase. You didn’t push. You only stayed steady enough that, eventually, he started trusting the space beside you.

The first time he touched you on purpose, it was barely anything.

You were both in the yard after closing, trying to convince Daisy to come inside. She had decided the patch of dirt beneath the eucalyptus tree belonged to her now and no amount of calling, bribing, or dignity seemed likely to change her mind.

“She’s ignoring us,” you said.

Andrew stood beside you, leash in hand. “She’s ignoring you.”

You looked at him. “She’s ignoring both of us.”

“No.”

“Andrew.”

“She looked at me.”

“She looked at you because you have turkey in your pocket.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “That counts.”

You laughed.

Daisy, unimpressed by your laughter, rolled onto her side in the dirt.

You sighed and stepped forward. “Fine. I’ll get her.”

“She’ll run.”

“She has three legs.”

“She’s fast.”

“She is not faster than me.”

Andrew looked at you for a long second.

Then, dryly, “She might be.”

You turned to glare at him, and your foot slipped in the damp grass. Not badly. Not enough to fall. But enough that his hand closed around your elbow before you could catch yourself.

Quick.

Firm.

Warm.

You froze.

So did he.

His fingers stayed there for one second longer than necessary. Then two.

Daisy barked once from under the tree, like she had opinions about the tension.

Andrew let go first. “Careful,” he said. His voice had gone low.

You looked at the place his hand had been. Then at him.

“I thought I was slower than the dog.”

His mouth twitched. “You are.”

But he didn’t move away. Neither did you. And for the first time, the silence between you felt less like comfort and more like something waiting to happen.

—

After that, touching became dangerous.

Not because either of you did much of it. Because you didn’t. Because every small contact started to matter more than it should.

His shoulder brushing yours in the storage room. Your fingers grazing when you passed him a leash.

His hand at the small of your back once, guiding you around a puddle near the intake gate before he seemed to realize what he’d done and dropped it immediately.

You never called attention to it. Neither did he. But something changed.

Andrew started standing closer. You started letting him.

On slow evenings, after the dogs were fed and the last volunteers had gone home, the two of you sat outside on the bench near the exercise yard.

Not every night. Never planned. It happened naturally, which somehow made it more intimate.

You’d finish locking up. Andrew would still be there, wiping down tools or checking the back gate. You’d sit for a minute because the night air felt good after hours of kennel noise. He’d sit too.

At first with a careful distance between you. Then less. Then none at all.

One night, your knees touched. Neither of you moved. The yard was quiet except for Tank pacing along the fence, ears perked toward the street.

Andrew sat with his elbows on his thighs, hands loose between his knees.

“You okay?” you asked.

He glanced over. “Yeah.”

“You got quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Quieter.”

He considered that. Then looked back toward the yard.

“Didn’t know if I should move.”

Your heart gave a soft, painful twist. You looked down. Your knee was still pressed against his.

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

The answer came immediately. Too honest to be casual.

Andrew’s jaw tightened after he said it, like he wished he could drag the word back and inspect it before handing it to you.

You kept your voice gentle. “Then don’t.”

He didn’t. 

Andrew looked back toward the yard. Tank had finally settled near the fence. For a long moment neither of you spoke. But the tension didn’t leave.

The two of you sat like that for twenty minutes. Knees touching. Hands separate. Neither of you brave enough to reach further. Neither of you wanting to leave.

—

The first time you went somewhere together that had nothing to do with the shelter, Andrew looked like he expected to be caught doing something wrong.

It was your idea. Technically. The shelter had closed early for fumigation, and you’d both ended up standing beside your cars in broad daylight with nowhere you were required to be.

It felt strange. Seeing him outside the routine. No kennels. No barking. No clipboard. Just Andrew in the parking lot with his keys in his hand and uncertainty written all over him.

You could have said goodnight. He probably expected you to.

Instead you said, “Have you eaten?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “No.”

“Do you want to?”

“With you?”

The question came out so bluntly that you almost smiled.

You didn’t, because he looked like the answer mattered more than he wanted it to.

“Yes,” you said. “With me.”

Andrew looked toward the road. Then back at you.

“Okay.”

You picked a diner ten minutes away because it was quiet and familiar and unlikely to ask anything from either of you.

Andrew sat across from you in the booth, shoulders tight, hands wrapped around a glass of water he hadn’t touched.

“You don’t have to look so suspicious,” you said.

“I don’t.”

You smiled.

He looked at you then. Really looked. And something in his face shifted. Not a smile. Something softer. Like he was pleased he’d made you do that.

The waitress came by. You ordered first. Andrew ordered second, short and simple.

When she left, he looked relieved.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded. Then, after a moment, shook his head.

“I don’t do this much.”

“Eat?”

His mouth twitched. “Go places.”

“With people?”

“Yeah.”

You leaned your arms on the table. “That’s okay.”

He studied you for a long second. “Is it?”

The question had weight under it. Too much weight for pancakes and bad diner coffee.

You answered carefully. “Yes.”

His thumb moved once against the side of the glass.

“I don’t always know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You don’t have to perform dinner correctly, Andrew.”

He looked down. “People notice.”

“People notice a lot of things.”

“I notice when they notice.”

That hurt. Quietly. You imagined him moving through the world collecting every glance, every pause, every shift in tone. Filing them away as proof.

You softened your voice. “I’ll tell you if something matters.”

His eyes lifted. “What?”

“If you say something that hurts me, I’ll tell you. If I need something, I’ll tell you. If I’m uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.”

He stared at you.

You shrugged. “I’m not going to make you guess.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then his shoulders lowered by maybe half an inch. Not much. Enough.

“Okay,” he said.

And this time, okay sounded like relief.

—

Dinner became another thing neither of you named.

Not dating. Not officially. Just sometimes, after late shifts or early closings, you ended up somewhere together. A diner. A taco stand. The beach parking lot with takeout balanced between you on the hood of his truck.

You learned that Andrew ate slowly unless he was nervous. That he hated cilantro but would forget to ask for no cilantro unless you reminded him. That he always sat facing the door. That he noticed exits without seeming to. That he didn’t like crowded places, but tolerated them longer when you sat beside him instead of across from him.

He learned things about you too. How you picked onions off everything but pretended you weren’t picky. How you got quiet when you were tired. How you always said “I’m fine” too quickly when you weren’t. How you hated asking for help but accepted it better if he didn’t make a production out of offering.

The first time his hand found yours, you were sitting in his truck after dinner, watching the ocean move black and silver under the moon.

Neither of you had meant to stay that long. The food was gone. The windows were fogged slightly at the edges. The radio was on low, more static than song. Your hand rested on the seat between you. So did his.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. For a long time, neither of you moved. Then his pinky brushed yours. Accidentally. Maybe.

You turned your hand over. Open. Waiting.

Andrew stared at it.

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“I know.” His voice was rough. 

A moment passed. Then his hand slid into yours. Slowly. Carefully. Like there were rules he didn’t know and he was terrified of breaking them.

His palm was warm. Calloused. His grip loose at first. Testing. When your fingers curled around his, he inhaled quietly. Not sharply. Just enough for you to hear.

You looked over.

His eyes stayed fixed on the windshield.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

Then, after a second, “Yeah.”

You believed him. 

So you looked back at the ocean and let him hold your hand until his grip finally stopped feeling like a question.

—

The first kiss almost happened three weeks before it actually did.

Rain again. Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor.

You had both gotten caught in it while bringing dogs in from the yard, and by the time the last kennel was latched, your shirt clung damply to your skin and Andrew’s hair was wet enough to drip onto the concrete.

You were laughing. He wasn’t. Not exactly. But he was watching you laugh. That had become its own kind of tenderness.

Andrew watched joy like it was something he did not fully understand but wanted to learn.

“You’re soaked,” he said.

“So are you.”

“You should change.”

“I don’t keep spare clothes here.”

He looked away. Then back.

“I have a hoodie in my truck.”

Something about the offer made the air shift. Maybe it was the way he said it. Quiet. Careful. Like he knew a hoodie was not just a hoodie if it came from him.

“Okay,” you said.

He brought it to you without meeting your eyes. Dark gray. Worn soft. Too big. Still warm from the cab of his truck.

You slipped it on in the staff bathroom, then came back out with the sleeves covering half your hands.

Andrew looked at you. Stopped. The expression on his face made your breath catch. Not hunger. Not exactly. Something more vulnerable. Like seeing you in something of his had touched a place in him he had not expected anyone to reach.

“What?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Andrew.”

His eyes moved to the sleeves. Then to your face.

“It looks…” He stopped.

You waited.

He swallowed. “Good.”

That one word landed harder than it should have. You stepped closer. Not much. Just enough.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then lifted quickly, almost guilty.

You could have kissed him then. You wanted to. God, you wanted to. Instead, you touched his wrist. A small mercy. A smaller promise.

“Thank you.”

His fingers flexed once under yours.

“Yeah.”

The kiss waited. Neither of you was ready. Not yet.

—

After the hoodie, something shifted.

Not between you. Inside Andrew.

At first, it was subtle. The sort of thing you could explain away if you wanted to. He left a little sooner after closing. Stopped lingering outside your car. Answered questions with less than before.

Not cold. Never cold. Just measured. And somehow that felt worse.

You spent nearly two weeks convincing yourself it meant nothing. Then one Thursday you found him sitting alone behind the shelter. The sun had already gone down. The exercise yard sat empty. Most of the dogs were asleep.

Andrew sat on an overturned bucket near the fence, staring into the darkness beyond the lot. Not occupied with anything. Just sitting. And that, more than anything, felt wrong.

You approached quietly. “Hey.”

His shoulders tightened before he looked up. “Hey.”

You leaned against the fence beside him. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and fell quiet.

Andrew rubbed a thumb along the rim of the bucket.

You watched the motion repeat. “Did I do something?”

His hand stilled. “No.”

“Then what’s going on?”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. He turned toward the field.

You waited.

He let the silence stand. “You should probably stop.”

You blinked. “What?”

He bent forward, forearms resting on his knees. “This.”

Your fingers tightened around the fence wire. “Andrew—”

“You should.” He exhaled through his nose and shook his head once. “You should stop before it gets worse.”

For a moment, the words didn’t land. Then they did. You stared at him. Andrew kept his gaze fixed ahead, jaw locked hard enough to show in the fading light.

“Before what gets worse?”

His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek. The answer took its time. When it came, it was barely audible.

“Before you start wanting things I can’t give you.”

The fence creaked softly under your grip.

Andrew looked down at the dirt between his boots and dragged the toe of one shoe through it.

Neither of you spoke.

Then he stood. The bucket scraped hard against the ground.

“You don’t know me.”

You looked up at him. “I know you here.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something worse.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the shelter. “That’s the problem.”

You frowned. “Why?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. He looked away, toward the kennels, toward the rows of chain-link fencing and concrete runs. Anywhere but at you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“Because this place is easy.”

You waited.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “The dogs make sense.” A moment passed. “They need something. You give it to them.” His gaze dropped to the bucket at his feet. “Food. Water. A clean kennel.”

You watched him carefully. “And people?”

A humorless smile touched his mouth. “People aren’t like that.”

The silence stretched between you. You let it. Andrew shifted his weight. Like he was deciding whether to keep talking. Like every word cost him something.

“You see me here,” he said at last. “You see me doing this.” His hand gestured vaguely toward the shelter. “The work. The routine.” His eyes lifted to yours. “You see the version of me that knows what he’s supposed to do.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head. Not angry. Just asking you to let him finish. So you did.

“You know what time I show up. You know I bring coffee.” His jaw tightened. “You know I remember things.” He paused. “You know the parts that fit.”

The words hung there. 

You took a slow breath. “And the parts that don’t?”

His expression hardened. “There you go.”

“What?”

“That.” He looked away again. “You hear something bad and immediately start trying to understand it.”

“I am trying to understand it.”

“I know.”

The answer came tired rather than sharp. For the first time, he sounded exhausted. Not angry. Just worn down.

Andrew stared at the ground for a long moment before speaking again.

“You ever meet someone and know exactly what they think you are?”

You blinked. “Sometimes.”

He nodded once. “Most people look at me and decide pretty fast.” His fingers tightened around the bucket handle. “Quiet. Weird. Difficult.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“Sometimes useful.” A bitter edge slipped into his voice. “People like useful.” His gaze dropped. “Useful’s easy.”

You took a step closer. Only one.

“Andrew.”

This time he looked at you. Really looked. And for a second he seemed surprised that you were still standing there listening. A bitter laugh escaped him.

“You know this version. The guy who shows up, does the work, remembers your coffee order.” His eyes met yours. “But you don’t know me.”

“Andrew—”

“No.” His voice sharpened. “You keep acting like if you care enough, you’ll find something worth saving.” He hit a hand against his chest. “What if there isn’t?”

Silence stretched.

“I’ve hurt people.”

Silence.

“Bad.”

His jaw worked.

“Not by accident.”

Another pause.

“Sometimes by accident.”

His eyes squeezed shut.

“I don’t know.”

Your grip tightened on the fence.

“Still looking for the good?” he asked.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to make me afraid of you.”

His eyes flashed. “You should be.” He turned away, then back again. Restless. “You think feeding dogs and fixing things makes me safe?”

“No.”

“You think because I haven’t hurt you yet, I won’t?”

The word hung between you. Ugly. Intentional. A flicker of regret crossed his face before he buried it.

“You should go.”

“No.”

His hands curled at his sides. “Why?”

“Because you’re trying to scare me.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re telling me part of it.”

His laugh was harsh. “You don’t want the rest.”

“Then don’t give me the rest. But don’t stand here and pretend cruelty is honesty.”

That stopped him. Briefly.

“I’m not cruel?”

“I said you’re choosing it right now.”

His jaw worked.

You stepped closer. “I think you’re choosing it because it’s easier than letting me choose you.”

Andrew stared at you. His breathing changed. A dog barked inside the shelter.

Then, low and rough he spoke again, “I don’t want you to love me.”

Your heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because I’ll ruin it.” The answer came too fast. “I ruin everything I care about.” He dragged both hands over his neck. Frustrated.

“Take your time,” you said.

“I don’t know how.” The words cracked out of him. He looked at you helplessly. “You. Me. All of it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

He shook his head. “You keep making it not bad.”

“What’s bad?”

“All of it.”

You held his gaze. He wanted fear. Disgust. Something simple. You gave him none of it.

“I’m trying to tell you something,” he said.

“You are.”

“No. That’s the problem.”

His hand pressed against his forehead.

“The thing in my head—it doesn’t come out right.”

“I’m listening.”

His eyes dropped. “I’m not good.” The words were quiet. Simple. “I mean it. There’s something wrong.”

“Andrew—”

“Don’t make it soft.” His voice cracked. “You take everything and make it into something I can live with.”

The anger slipped for a moment. Underneath it was fear. Raw and exposed.

“I don’t know what to do with that.”

You swallowed.

He looked away. “I did everything they wanted. I tried.” His hands opened helplessly. “Useful,” he said finally. “That was the good one.”

Your heart ached.

“I wasn’t easy.”

“You don’t have to be.”

His face tightened. “You say that because you don’t know what it means.”

“Then tell me.”

He hesitated. 

“I get stuck.”

He looked away.

“I miss things. I watch people, try to figure them out, and sometimes I still get it wrong.” His jaw tightened. “That’s not okay.”

“It is with me.”

“You say that now.”

“I mean it now.”

“You’ll get tired.”

“Maybe.”

He froze.

So you kept your voice steady. 

“Maybe some days. People get tired, Andrew. That doesn’t mean they leave.”

His mouth parted slightly. “You don’t know that.”

“I know I’m still here.”

For a second he looked almost young. Lost. Then he stepped back.

“That’s not enough.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know why you’re still here.”

The words escaped him before he could stop them. You didn’t move.

His face twisted. “I don’t know why.”

“Because I want to be.”

He shook his head. “There are people who don’t do this.”

“What?”

He gestured helplessly between you. “All of it.”

You understood. The anger. The confusion. The sharp edges he couldn’t smooth down.

“There are people who can just be,” he said bitterly. “People who can be loved and not turn it into—” The sentence broke apart. “You should’ve picked somebody else.”

“I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want somebody else.”

His eyes snapped to yours. Hope flashed there. Small and terrifying.

“You don’t know.”

“I do.”

His voice cracked. “You like the coffee. The dogs. The hoodie.”

A faint smile touched your mouth. “Yes.”

“That’s not me.”

“It is.”

“It’s not enough.”

“I didn’t say it was everything.”

His eyes were wet now. “You keep finding pieces. Like that makes a whole person.”

“It can.”

He shook his head. “There are other pieces.”

“I know.”

“Bad ones.”

“I know enough to know they’re there.”

For once, he had no answer. You stepped closer. He didn’t move away.

“I’m not asking for every bad thing you’ve ever done. I’m not asking you to explain your whole life so I can decide if you’re worth loving.”

He flinched.

“I already decided.”

Andrew stared at you. His breath shook.

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Love isn’t a prize for people who make it through life untouched.”

His brow furrowed.

You swallowed. “You’ve done terrible things.”

Pain crossed his face. You let the truth stand.

“But monsters don’t worry about the damage they leave behind.”

His breathing caught.

“Monsters don’t sit outside kennels because a dog is scared.”

His eyes closed.

“Monsters don’t bring coffee and pretend they didn’t.”

His mouth trembled.

“Monsters don’t stand in front of someone they want and try to protect them from the worst parts of themselves.”

Andrew opened his eyes. They were wet. “I’m not good.”

“I’m not asking you to be perfect.”

“I’m not peaceful.”

“I’m not asking for a life without pain.”

He shook his head, searching for words. Finally, barely above a whisper:

“Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

There it was. The real question.

You lifted your hand but stopped short of touching him.

“I think peace is something people build,” you said softly. “Not something one person hands over finished.”

He stared at you.

“I think it’s telling the truth when it’s ugly. Staying when leaving would be easier.”

His throat worked.

“I think it’s this.”

“This isn’t peace.”

“No,” you said. “But it could be the beginning of it.”

For a long moment he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he leaned into your palm. His eyes closed. The breath that left him was unsteady. You stepped closer. His hand caught your wrist. Not to pull you away. To keep you there.

“You’re still scared,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

His eyes opened.

“But I’m not leaving because you’re scared too.”

Something in his face folded. Not dramatically. Just enough to reveal the wound underneath.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Then don’t do anything yet.”

He swallowed.

“Just stay.”

His fingers tightened around your wrist. Not hard. Enough.

“I can do that.”

The words were rough. Fragile. A promise small enough to carry.

You smiled through the ache in your chest. “Okay.”

The shelter was quiet behind you. Dogs sleeping. The world holding still. Then Andrew glanced at your mouth. Back to your eyes. The question was there. Terrified. Hopeful.

You answered by moving closer. Slowly enough that he could stop you. He didn’t.

The kiss was barely a kiss at first. A brush of mouths. A question. His lips trembled against yours, and your heart broke all over again because even this felt like something he was afraid to want.

You kissed him back. Softly. Clearly. Your hand stayed against his cheek. His hand stayed around your wrist. Then his other hand rose, hesitant, settling at your waist like he was asking permission.

You leaned into him. He made a small, wrecked sound. The sound seemed to surprise him. Like he hadn’t meant to let you hear it. His fingers tightened at your waist. Not possessive. Just desperate. Just real.

The kiss deepened by a fraction. Enough to stop feeling like a question. Enough to feel like an answer.

Andrew’s forehead furrowed as if he was fighting something even now, the instinct to pull away, to apologize, to ruin the moment before it could matter. Instead he stayed. And when your thumb brushed his cheek, he broke. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a soft exhale against your mouth that sounded painfully close to relief.

His hand left your wrist. For one terrifying second you thought he was retreating. Then he cupped the back of your neck. Careful. Reverent. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were there. The gesture stole your breath. Because Andrew never reached for things he wanted.

He held himself back. Made himself smaller. But not now. Not this time. When he kissed you again, it was still gentle, still uncertain, but there was want in it now. Trust. The beginning of belief. And that felt bigger than passion ever could.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes stayed closed. His breath shook. A faint, disbelieving laugh escaped him. Not happy. Not sad. Just overwhelmed.

“You’re still here,” he whispered.

Like he was testing the fact. Like he needed to hear it out loud.

You brushed your nose against his.

“Yeah.”

His eyes opened. Red-rimmed. Vulnerable. And for the first time since you’d met him, he didn’t look away.

You stayed there with him. Not fixing. Not saving. Just holding the moment steady until he could breathe inside it. Nothing was solved. Nothing was erased.

But Andrew Cody, who had spent his whole life being told he was too much and never enough, stood beneath the dim shelter light with your hand against his face and let himself believe, for one impossible second, that maybe love did not have to be earned by becoming someone else.

Maybe it could begin here.

Messy.

Frightened.

Imperfect.

Still chosen.

across the room, jack adjusts his watch at the dresser mirror. his eyes catch hers in the reflection immediately.

“you keep doing that,” he says, raising his brows.

her hands stop. “it keeps wrinkling.”

“it doesn’t, honey.” he says as his eyes drift over her slowly.

she’s nervous but she’s trying to hide it— she’s giving him that small smile. his jaw tightens.

“sweetheart,” he says quietly, “is that little number new?”

her cheeks warm instantly.

she looks away, embarrassed by how easily he does that to her.

after fastening his watch, he stalks toward her slowly, sleeves rolled neatly at his forearms. tie still undone around his neck. the closer he gets, the more she can feel her chest rise and fall.

his hands settle absentmindedly on her curved waist when he reaches her.

“mm— hi,” he murmurs.

she lets out a small breath. “hi.” she quips. “would you be shocked if i told you that i’m nervous?”

his brows pull together. “about tonight?”

she nods, looking up at him through her lashes.

jack’s thumbs stroke lightly against the silk at her waist. “talk to me.”

her gaze drops to his tie and starts to tie it. “everyone there knows you… and all those surgeons and department heads and board people…”

he waits patiently.

“…and then there’s me.”

his hand slides higher along her side before gently tipping her chin upward.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “there’s you.”

her chest tightens at the warmth of his hands.. and the rasp of his voice.

“they’re gonna stare,” she whispers.

jack blinks, “let them.”

“jack.”

“what?” his voice is calm. “you think i care what anybody at that damn charity gala thinks about who i bring?”

she doesn’t answer.

because maybe he doesn’t care.

but she certainly does.

she notices the looks. the assumptions. the way people glance between them when they’re running errands, or getting dinner. they immediately decide what they think this relationship is!

heck, before she met him she’d give those couples the look.

jack studies her face for a long second before sighing through his nose.

then he steps closer.

close enough that her back lightly brushes the dresser behind her.

“look at me,” he says gently.

she obeys and her eyes widen at that big mistake.

because the second their eyes meet, his expression changes into something hungrier.

his gaze drifts slowly over her again.

her breath catches.

“jack…”

“do you have any idea,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “how hard it is to focus on this fucking dinner when you’re standing here looking like this?”

she tries to hold in her surprised giggle but fails.

his hands slide around her, his fingertips reaching the area of her exposed back.

“you’re beautiful,” he says simply. “that’s all anybody’s going notice. understand?”

“yes.”

she shakes her head a little, shy under the intensity of his attention.

“stop looking at me like that.”

he gives her his sideways smirk. “can’t.” he tuts.

and then, because he’s impossible, he leans down and kisses just beneath her ear.

his hands tightening briefly when she melts against him almost instantly.

“jack,” she giggles, trying free herself from his grasp.

he hums softly against her skin, entirely too pleased with himself.

“mm?”

“we’re gonna be late.” she tries to fight.

“tempting argument.” his lips brush her jaw before pulling back to look at her again. “but i think i can spare another minute.”

the look he gives her then nearly makes her forget the gala entirely.

—

at the gala, jack has his fingers at her back, then her wrist, then intertwined with her fingers as they walk through the mingling crowd.

and somehow, she thinks that it’s okay.

it’s actually better than okay. she’s having fun.

everyone she’s met is kind, they’re a little curious— but in a way that doesn’t feel like judgment. robby jokes with her like she’s always been around, and dana smiles at her like she’s a good friend.

for a while, she even forgets why she was nervous.

and jack— he’s quietly relieved every time she laughs.

eventually, she drifts toward the bar alone to get a drink while jack is engaged in a conversation a few feet away.

she’s standing at the bar, rolling her ankles as she feels her heels pinch at her skin. when she suddenly feels someone step in beside her.

“this thing is dragging.”

she turns to see brendon park looking down at his phone, unimpressed. she vaguely remembers jack calling him shark.

“oh—um, it’s not too bad. i’m hoping the food will be good though.” she lets out. clearly taken aback at that conversation starter.

he nods and lets his eyes drift over her. like he’s trying to figure out where she fits into the room.

“you with someone tonight?”

her grip tightens slightly on the glass of champagne that the bartender just handed her.

“yeah,” she says simply. she doesn’t know if she should say ‘dr. abbot,’ or ‘my boyfriend,.’

so she just says, “jack.”

that gets a faint reaction.

“abbot?” shark says. “huh, i didn’t realize he was bringing residents to this thing.”

the words land wrong immediately.

her stomach dips.

“oh—no, i’m not—” she starts quickly, shaking her head a little. “i’m not a resident.”

shark’s brows lift slightly. “medical student?”

“no,” she says again, softer now. “i’m not— i’m not in medicine.”

his gaze lingers as realization hits.

“huh,” he murmurs. “just didn’t peg you for his type.”

her smile falters before she can stop it and she looks down at her sore feet.. wishing she hadn’t even entertained a conversation with this asshole.

she’s suddenly hyper ware of everything—her age, her dress, the way she probably looks exactly like what people assume she is when they see her next to jack.

“what does that mean?” she quivers, trying to keep her voice steady as anger starts to boil through her veins.

shark shrugs slightly. “nothing. just that he’s a serious guy.”

she gapes at him. and it feels like someone had just punched her in the gut.

“you’re, you know…”

he can’t be serious?

her throat tightens and she opens her mouth to respond but before she can even let out a sound she hears a voice.

“dr. park” the voice cuts in calmly. “problem?”

jack.

he’s there now, one hand snaking to find her waist. like he’s been tracking this conversation from across the room without even needing to hear it clearly.

she doesn’t realize how much she relaxes until he touches her.

shark straightens slightly. “no problem. just talking.”

jack’s eyes don’t move off him.

“about what?”

shark hesitates. “I just didn’t realize residents were invited to this thing.” he says, clearly trying to gage a reaction.

her mouth falls agape in disbelief as she watches shark smirk.

jack’s hand tightens at her waist to anchor her. to anchor himself.

then he speaks. his voice cold but deathly controlled.

“she’s not a resident.”

shark gives him a mock expression.

“she’s my girlfriend.”

shark blinks once. shrinking under jacks gaze that she can’t see. it’s like he’s recalibrating the entire situation. “oh. I didn’t know it was like that—”

“you do now,” jack says simply.

jack doesn’t even look at him again after that.

instead, his attention drops immediately to her as he pulls her away from the bar. her dress flows as they walk towards their table.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, draining his neck down to look into her eyes.

she nods, a little breathless, “well.. he’s an absolute asshole.”

jack’s thumb brushes the crane of her back and lets out a bemused chuckle. “yeah. i hate that guy.”

he watches her as she looks at him though her lashes, pouting her lips softly before looking down at the table setting.

“don’t do that,” he murmurs.

“do what?”

his eyes soften slightly.

when she walked back into his dimly lit place, she found him standing in the kitchen. he was putting the cake they ordered at dinner into the fridge for later because suddenly all they wanted was ice cream.

“baby,” he murmured from where he leaned against the counter, amused eyes dragging over her. “you good?”

her cheeks burned. “yeah, why?” she scoffed.

“yeah?” he teased at her a little. “your eye’s twitching.”

she groaned softly and covered her face. “please stop looking at me.”

his laugh rumbled low in his chest. the kind of laugh that alone could make her knees buckle if she wasn’t holding on to the counter next to him for support.

-

things between them had changed slowly over the last month. breathless kisses while jack would pull her into his lap whenever they watched movies, and dangerous traveling hands before he had to run for work.

he was patient with her. almost painfully patient.

he always would be. but sometimes he wondered if she realized how badly he wanted her.

“c’mere,” he murmured as he sat on a plush bar stool.

she peeked at him through her fingers as he held a hand out toward her.

she walked over slowly and he quickly pulled her between his thick thighs, calloused hands settling on her hips effortlessly. he squeezed making her swat at his hands playfully.

“hi,” he said quietly.

“…hi.”

his thumbs rubbed against her sides through the sweater. “you okay?”

she nodded too fast making his eyebrow twitch. she sighed, tilting her head at him as she grazed her fingers against his jawline.

“sweetheart.”

he always sounded so unfairly gentle when he called her that.

“you know we don’t have do anything tonight, right?”

that made her gasp, “i want to.”

and before she could take another breath, he pulled her flush against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. she melted embarrassingly fast as his mouth brushed against her temple.

“you know how long i’ve wanted you?” he questioned, leaning back enough to look at her. “seriously. you have any idea what you do to me?”

she couldn’t even hold eye contact anymore as the heat at her center started to intensify, pressing her thighs together for some relief.

he noticed. of course he did. he smiled softly, thumb brushing beneath her chin until she looked at up at him again.

“you’re so goddamn pretty when you get shy.”

her entire body flushed as he started trailing wet kisses against her check, moving towards her earlobe. earning a hum in response for him to keep going.

she clutched his shoulders, letting out a small whimper as he rubbed his scruff against her skin teasingly slow before finding her sweet spot. right below her ear and nibbled playfully before pressing a tender kiss.

“jack…”

“what?” his grin turned crooked. “am i wrong?”

she buried her face against his in the crook of his neck

his laugh vibrated against her chest.

“baby,” he said warmly, caressing her arms. “stop hiding from me.”

she nodded in return, wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips against his making him groan.

his kisses deepened slowly, carefully. like he was still checking every few seconds to make sure she was okay.

but then her fingers slid into his hair and she kissed him back harder like a fire that wouldn’t relent and jack lost it a little.

“fuck,” he breathed against her mouth.

the sound shot straight through her making her whimper as she felt his palms grasp her bum. she kissed him again, opening her mouth for him as he squeezed her skin.

they heaved as he pulled away, his forehead pressing against hers briefly, his chest fast against hers. her nipples going hard at the friction.

“look at what you do to me.” he said roughly. he took her hand in his and moved it down towards his erection. hard. needy.

she palmed him through his jeans as their lips glued together again, causing her to sigh as he slid his hands under her sweatshirt, groping at her breasts beneath the fabric.

“no bra—” he moaned as he felt her runt against her wrist as she palmed his cock through his jeans. “f-uck baby. look at you.”

she sighed into him as she continued her exploration. the hand resting in his hair trembling as he pinched her nipple harder.

“please.” she cried out— breaking the kiss as she rocked her hips against her wrist again. biting her lip painfully hard. her cheeks flushing as he gaped at her in awe.

he was quick to grab her wrist and hover his palms against her heat, “can i?” he asked drunkenly as he trailed his hands to the hem of her pajama pants.

“y-yes” she quivered.

jack swiftly pushed them down her ankles. she kicked the useless pair of cotton behind her as his eyes stayed glued into here, moving his hand back towards her throbbing center.

when his fingers grazed the thin fabric of her panties— already wet for him, they hissed shapely, her head falling onto his shoulder.

“what do you want baby?”

she wiggled her hips, gasping at the contact of his thick fingers. jack pushed up for her to feel the friction as she let out a string of soft moans— before he removed his hand.

she nipped at his skin in protest, lifting her pretty head to look at him in. “use your words.” he told her, “i want to hear your pretty voice.”

she pouted, gripping at his shirt to pull his body closer to her. a blush traveling down her neck. jack chased it with his lips as he pressed open mouthed pecks against it as her head fell back.

her body shook. letting out a, “p-please.”

“please what?”

she groaned and he chuckled in astonishment. he loved this. every single second of it.

“touch me.”

“where?”

she nearly screamed. frustrated at him and embarrassed at how needy she was. she liked to think she held herself well when it came to this. she snatched his wrist and pulled it down between her legs again.

gritting her teeth she whispered, “here. touch me here.”

“yeah?” he murmured.

“mhm.”

“need words, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

that nearly killed him. she saw it happen in real time as she watched jack’s eyes darken immediately, his grip flexing against her waist to hold her steady before he kissed her again deeper this time. rougher. the patience finally cracking around the edges of his teasing demeanor.

he moved her panties to the side before exploring her slick with his middle and index finger causing her whole body to jolt. she gasped loudly into the kiss.

hearing the wet sound of herself echo through the room around them. she bucked her hips into his hand as he moved dangerously slow. he smirked against her mouth as he slowly moved his finger to press onto her clit.

she saw white, “oh, fuck!” she sobbed into his mouth and his head dropped instantly to her shoulder.

“jesus christ,” he muttered against her skin. “you like that baby?” he pressed. moving his finger in the most sinful motion— her legs trembling beneath her.

“oh god— yesyes!”

her hands clutched his shoulders. hard. to keep herself from crumbling as his mouth moved lower. more slow open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive spot beneath her ear and moving to the base of her neck as she arched.

everything felt dizzy.

hot.

“i got you.” he said, pulling her flush against his body as his fingers worked. his jaw going slack as he looked down at her with hooded eyes. “i got you, do you understand?”

“uh—huh” she moaned, nodding her head quickly.

his pace started to quicken making her wrap her fingers around his wrist, the feeling becoming too much— her mind turning into s mess of static mush. her wetness dripping down her thighs as she strung out curses under her breath.

“oh god— ah!” she let out a voiceless scream as she felt herself come close.

he smiled at that.

his little lady. on his fingers.

looking all flushed. all pretty and sweet.

“jack!” she cried out.

he didn’t relent his pace.

“baby” she said louder.

she didn’t even know what she wanted to say. or how to say it.

“yeah, baby?”

“i’m going to come.” she said panicked. like she was coming undone too fast for his liking.

he looked up at her, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from kissing her.

completely wrecked already and they’d just gotten started.

“mh- yeah okay baby.” he said her name.

“b-but i’m barley lasting.” she babbled.

jack growled. hating how self conscious she was even now.

“sweetheart, we have all night.” he said, pushing his fingers into her hole making her clench her things together in response at the overwhelming feeling of them.

“bu—“

“come.” he demanded.

and with that. she came. hard. shockwaves making her body convulse as he held her. she moaned his name over and over as he moved. kissing her hair.

he finally stilled his hand as her body fell limp on his lap. he was quick to scoop her up into his arms.

her eyelashes fluttering as he made his way to the bedroom. he kissed her forehead as he kicked the door behind them and walked them towards the bed.

his expression was soft and he kissed her again— slower this time and she could feel how carefully he was holding himself back for her.

“don’t ever feel like you need to hold yourself back.” he cooed as he moved her onto the bed.

“i’m sorry.” she said.

she moved back towards the headboard. watching him as he staked towards her, pulling his shirt over his head.

“you’re apologizing because i made you feel good?”

her face burned instantly.

“when you say it like that—”

“because that’s exactly what you just said.”

jack laughed softly under his breath and sat on the bed next to her.

“hey.” his fingers brushed hair away from her cheek gently. “why are you embarrassed?”

“i don’t know.” she smiled shyly despite herself. “i just felt dramatic.”

“dramatic?” jack repeated. “sweetheart, i was trying very hard not to lose my mind watching you.”

she made a mortified noise immediately.

he grinned. “there she is.”

“jack, seriously.”

“no, seriously.” his voice softened then. “you have nothing to be self conscious about. nothing.”

his thumb stroked slowly across her knee while he looked at her with that same overwhelming tenderness that always made her chest ache.

“if anything,” he murmured, “all i could think was thank god she feels safe with me.”

that hit her right in the heart.

jack leaned down, kissing her forehead softly.

“you never have to apologize for letting go with me,” he whispered. “ever.”

she nodded as his hands caressed her legs. smiling at her with his eyebrow raised before pushing her legs open to look at what he had just done.

she pressed her lips together while he brought a finger close to her folds again. a sharp inhale filling the room.

“how many times can i make you come tonight?”

she reached for him and pulled his forearm so body was fully on the bed.

“i- i don’t know.” her voice faltered.

her head falling back against the headboard while jack rested on his knees, hovering over her so dangerously she thought she’d combust right then and there.

and when another hour passed she just couldn’t focus anymore. her book long forgotten.

because every time a nurse appeared through the doors, her head lifted hopefully before sinking again.

the fever hadn't broken and if anything… it felt worse.

her body ached. her throat burned from the constant coughing, and the room was too bright and too loud.

twice she'd considered walking up to the desk and asking how much longer it would be.

twice she'd lost her nerve.

everyone else looked like they needed help more than she did anyway.

so she waited… and waited… and waited.

by the time someone finally called her name, she nearly missed it.

"miss?"

her head snapped up.

a nurse smiled.

"we've got a room for you."

relief hit her so hard she almost cried.

the exam room wasn't much quieter than the waiting room. voices carried through the hallway. monitors beeped somewhere nearby, and stretchers rolled past every few minutes.

she sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, trying not to feel overwhelmed.

was she sitting weird?

what should she say when the doctor arrives?

she sighed, closing her eyes to calm her nerves before the door opened.

a young nurse stepped inside.

"hey, i'm mateo." he offered a friendly smile while pulling up her chart and read her name aloud.

his brows furrowed, recognizing her name but he pushed it to the side as she coughed into her elbow.

“sorry.” she sniffled.

some of her tension started to ease though, because mateo was easy to talk to. he was kind and he was nice to look at.

"so..” he gave her a smile. “what brings you in tonight?"

she explained her symptoms softly.

the fever that just won’t break.

the cough.

the exhaustion.

and the fact that she had barely eaten all day— her stomach would churn and turn whenever she tried to take a bite of anything.

mateo's expression became more serious as he listened.

"how long has the fever been running?"

"um.. about three days, i’d say.”

his head lifted from the notes he took. "hmm, three days?"

she nodded, coughing in the process making her gasp for air.

“sorry.”

"have you seen anyone before tonight?" he wanted to know.

"uh no."

mateo stared. "you waited three days?"

she looked down immediately, clutching her hands tighter together.

“i thought it'd go away." she let out a nervous chuckle.

a cough following suit. she apologized again, mateo smiled, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.

but before he could say anything else, movement outside the room caught his eye.

someone was passing by.

dark scrubs.

broad shoulders.

a coffee in one hand and a chart in the other.

jack abbot. his attending.

mateo looked up.

jack looked in and halted.

for a second, neither man moved.

mateo frowned in confusion.

"what?" he said to jack.

jack didn't answer.

his eyes were fixed entirely on the patient sitting on the bed. a knowing and surprised look plastered onto his tired features.

she was deathly pale.

flushed with the fever.

and suddenly mateo understood.

"oh."

the single word carried far more meaning than it should have.

because mateo knew.

he pulled it out of jack one night, after he came in for a shift with one of those schoolboy smiles— and jack never did that.

jack abbot wasn't dating her.

but mateo kept telling jack that he could if he grew some balls.

jack stepped into the room, opening the door slowly.

"what are you doing here?" his question wasn't harsh.

it was concerned.. deeply concerned.

she blinked up at him.

clearly startled to see him.

"oh! uh.. hi."

mateo physically had to stop himself from smiling.

“he’s my neighbor.” she said to explain.

mateo nodded. he already knew but he’d never tell her that.

jack crossed his arms.

"you're sick."

she looked down at her hands.

"yeah?"

"how’s the fever?"

she hesitated and gaped at mateo.

mateo answered for her.

"well, she’s had it for three days."

jack's jaw tightened.

"three days?"

she shrank visibly beneath the attention.

"i thought it would get better!”

neither of the men in front of her looked impressed.

jack rubbed a hand over his face.

for a moment he looked less like a trauma attending and more like a man trying very hard not to be worried about someone.

yet unfortunately for him, he was failing miserably.

like, really badly.

"have you eaten?"

a pause between her and mateo. jack winced.

"n-no.” she finally let out.

jack closed his eyes.

mateo immediately looked away towards the ceiling, fiddling his thumbs awkwardly because now he was witnessing something deeply personal.

when jack opened his eyes again, he looked directly at him.

"did we order labs?"

"already done."

"fluids?"

"i was about to hang them before you came in." he pointed.

jack nodded at that.

then he looked back at her.

his expression softened immediately.

"so you're gonna sit here," he said calmly, walking towards her bed.

he stoped so close that he felt her knees against his thigh and spoke again, “and you're gonna let us take care of you. and your going to stop apologizing for coughing."

her cheeks turned pink despite the fever.

because she had been apologizing.

constantly.

and of course jack had noticed.

his voice lowered.

"you understand?"

she gave him small nod.

"good."

-

on this rare occasion he was off on a friday evening and she was crouched in front of her apartment door struggling to find her keys in her tote bag as she placed her shopping bags on the floor beside her.

so when jack came up the stairs after working out in the gym in their apartment complex, his eyes immediately landed on her.

he called her name as he came up behind her, “what do we have here.” he clapped, “how much stuff did you buy?”

she jumped out of her skin so badly she wanted to just roll away. “oh my god!” she yelped. jack was quick to bend and balance her before she fell over “woe easy, there.”

“sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment.

“why are you apologizing? i’m the one who startled you outta your shoes ” he chuckled.

“…i don’t know.”

“sorry.” he said earnestly making her smile up at him in response.

he bent down beside her before she could protest, grabbing two of the heavier bags like it was nothing. his forearm flexed under the sleeve of his black compression shirt and her brain basically did a short-circuit turning into mush as she noticed freckles painted against his perfect skin.

“i got it.”

“oh, wait! you don’t have to—”

“i know.”

they played this game before.

jack looked down at her then, his eyes narrowing “i’m happy to.” he shrugged.

her mind went blank. she thought she might actually pass out. jack definitely noticed. because a tiny smirk pulled at his mouth. not mean or anything… just pleased and maybe a little cocky.

-

once they arrived inside her apartment, she rushed around clearing space on the counter while he set everything down.

“thanks,” she said softly. “again… we’re always meeting like this” she let out an awkward chuckle.

jacks heart tightened at that. he hadn’t felt this way about someone like this since his wife. he knew he was walking into murky water, but he felt that it was time. it was right. “you always this nervous around me?”

his low teasing voice made her feel hot all over. she pressed her hand against her check as she glanced around her tidy apartment to play off her feverish blush.

“no. i don’t know what your talking about” she scoffed.

“sweetheart.” he laughed under his breath. “you can’t even look at me… it’s cute.” he mused, trying the waters.

her face went molten. she pinched her arm to confirm that this was actually happening.

oh god, this is actually happening.

jack leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching her carefully because he wasn’t teasing her anymore. suddenly he looked almost curious. cautious as he thought of what he was going to do next.

is this okay? he thought.

“has nobody told you you’re cute before?”

her mouth fell open. then closed. then open again before she finally let out a strangled sound, “not like that.”

jack’s entire expression changed. he looked at her like she’d said something completely unbelievable because how could men her age not understand the gravity of her being.

“are you serious?”

she shrugged awkwardly, looking everywhere but at him “i mean… not really.”

jack stared at her for a long beat before pushing himself off the counter, walking closer as he body twisted over hers. she wanted to shrink away and hide but the excitement in her stomach kept her feet grounded to the hardwood floor.

“c’mere.” he said causing her heartbeat to quicken so fast she was scared he might hear it.

she moved slowly so she was right in front of him, close enough that she could smell his cologne and the undertone of sweat that stuck to his clothes.

one of his fingers hooked gently under her chin. “can you look at me?”

she did as he asked, biting the inside of her cheek as jack’s gaze softened so much it almost hurt to look at him. the was floor disappearing from right under her feet as his touch electrified against her skin.

“pretty girl,” he said quietly like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you really have no idea, huh?”

-

one month later..

it happened on a thursday night.

the elevator opened on their floor just as she was coming back from taking out the trash, and there he was waiting to down and meet his friend robby for a pep talk.

jack was in dark sweatpants and a hoodie. he looked impossibly cozy and she couldn’t help but let her eyes travel down his body.

his eyes landed on her instantly. shock glittering his features. “oh hey, sweetheart.”

there went her ability on being a human being.

“hi, jack.” she smiled.

she stepped out of the elevator, his gaze lingering on her face as she crossed her arms for support while he looked like he was thinking for something.

jack sighed quietly to himself. he contemplated this for weeks, battling with the idea of going through with this. he wasn’t trying to replace his late wife. never. but he wanted to find connection again, and he just had a feeling about y/n.

trust your gut he said to himself.

“okay.”

she blinked. “okay?”

“i can’t keep doing this,” arms flying out beside him as he spoke.

panic. terror, earth shattering anxiety stampeding toward her at full speed.

“doing what?” she asked blabbed.

jack looked at her for a long moment before laughing softly under his breath. he couldn’t believe how sweet she was. how kind. how innocent. he wanted more. he needed to explore her in every way possible.

“you keep getting nervous every time we see each other,” he said.

her face burned hot enough to melt through concrete. “i’m sorry!” she said quickly, her hand flying onto grasp at his arm. her way of motioning that she felt horrible for making him even bring it up.

he took a step closer, allowing her hand to take grip of his hoodie as he shook his head at her, “don’t be sorry.” he cooed.

“i keep trying to get your attention and subtly dropping hints. but i don’t think you’re fully grasping my intentions here.”

she gulped. eyes zoning onto his while he craned his neck down, creating their own little bubble. as if he didn’t want to scare her off or loose his nerve.

“so i’m trying something else.” he finished.

she could hear her own heartbeat.

jack shoved one hand into his pocket, watching her carefully now. way less cocky than usual.

making the air even more serious. more charged.

“there’s this little deli a few blocks over,” he said.

“it’s been there for longer than you’ve been alive.. probably.” he said with a smile, “it’s open all night. shitty coffee. decent sandwichs.”

she stared at him and he stared back intently.

“carson’s deli?” she questioned, eyebrows raising

jack scoffed in surprise, “yeah, but—”

“they have good parm—” jack gaped at her. she was something else.

he laughed deeply making her stop and chuckle out a “what?”

“go with me on sunday afternoon.”

“jesus,” a rough voice muttered. “you got jumped by a whole foods?”

she looked up too fast. her eyes widening, mouth going dry at the sight of him.

the man standing there was devastatingly handsome. large broad shoulders under a dark tee shirt, a hospital badge still clipped onto it. his face was worn like he was exhausted but in a way that made him even more gorgeous.

his eyes landed on her like she was something that caused her heart to skip a beat. he was looking at her like he actually saw her.

heat crawled up her neck as she spoke timidly, “the bag broke.”

stupid. obviously he can see that.

“yeah..” he hummed. hands on his hips as he peered down at her.

suddenly he crouched beside her without hesitation, large calloused hands collecting apples before they rolled away. his elbow brushing hers once as she nearly stopped breathing.

“new neighbor?” he asked.

she nodded. “mhm.. i’m actually across from you.”

“that explains it.” he hummed, bringing his lips into a sideways smile.

“what does?” her curiosity getting the better of her.

“i haven’t seen you before.” his gaze flicked toward her, steady and unreadable. “would’ve remembered.” he shrugged.

her stomach flipped so hard it almost hurt. men never say things like that. not to her.

growing up, she had always felt slightly out of frame beside other girls. too quiet. too nervous. too soft in the wrong ways. boys liked her friends, of course, they were the confident ones, the loud ones, the girls who knew how to flirt without blushing.

meanwhile she spent most of her life shrinking herself before anyone else could do it first.

but jack looked at her like none of that existed. like she was actually worth noticing.

“what’s your name?” he asked, struggling slightly with the weight of his body resting on his prosthetic.

she told him her name, earning a hum in response as he handed her the last can from the floor, fingers lingering for half a second. “i’m jack.”

she swallowed. “uh.. i know.”

his eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “oh yeah?”

breathlessly, she let out, “the walls are thin.”

that made him laugh, deep and low and surprised. and for some reason, that manly sound settled something nervous inside her chest causing her to smile bashfully.

oh my god?! why would you say that?!

jack stood, taking two grocery bags from her hands before she could protest. “come, i’ll walk you in.”

panic dripped into her veins, what was he doing?? he can’t do this! “you don’t have to—”

“already doing it.”

-

inside her apartment, she rushed to clear a couple of unopened boxes off the counter while he set the groceries down. her place was a homey delight, the caramel heugh coming from her sunset lamp creating a warmth that engulfed them as they stood in her kitchen in silence.

she braced for embarrassment.

instead, jack slowly looked around the apartment, then at her. “it suits you.”

her heart stuttered as she let out a chuckle, “you don’t even know me.” she said, a small smile plastered across her face as she gripped onto the island counter.

“don’t gotta know everything.” his eyes held hers again. they were intense enough to make her butterflies flutter. “can tell plenty already.”

no one had ever looked at her like that before. like she was soft in a way worth protecting. like her quietness wasn’t something to apologize for.

she looked down quickly, suddenly shy beneath the weight of his undivided attention. jack noticed, of course he did.

his voice softened. “you always avoid eye contact like that?”

a nervous laugh escaped her. “how- i… yes.”

“why?” he wanted to know.

because people don’t usually like what they see she wants to say.

because no one had ever made her feel beautiful before.

because wanting to feel desired felt embarrassing when you spent your whole life feeling forgettable.

but of course she didn’t say any of that.

jack stepped closer anyway, not crowding her but still enough for his presence to wrap around her.

“well,” he said quietly, “you should stop.”

she finally looked up and there it was again…that devastating look.

the one that made her feel warm, feminine and wanted, like every hidden ache she carried in her head had suddenly been placed in someone else’s careful hands.

jack’s jaw tightened slightly as he looked at her. “pretty little ladies shouldn’t hide.”

her breath caught at that. her heeks going pink and her head all fuzzy as she looked up at him.

You’ve been working in a hospital long enough that interns or med students don't faze you. Bright-eyed, sleep-deprived, coffee-shaking—they all come through eventually. You’d see variations of every kind of nerves and overconfidence that came with them. You were good at meeting them and showing them the way into your department.

However, they weren't always yours.

And when they weren't, you still had to deal with them.

You had been called in to work a double shift today, covering both the day and night shifts back-to-back. It was supposed to be your morning off. Now, there would be no sleeping in with Jack, no limbs tangled in his warmth, no time to just be together.

The hospital, of course, had other plans.

One of the doctors in your department had called out with food poisoning, and you were the only one available. It was quite a kiss goodbye to Jack. He let out a little sigh. He understood, but he still wished it wasn’t you, just disappointed that your morning together had been spoiled, though he promised he’d bring you a coffee later during his shift.

Now, here you were, being paged down to the ER to check on an abandoned baby.

You stepped into the ER and noticed a med student waiting near the entrance. He straightened upon seeing you.

“Doctor, I’m Ogilvie," he said, quick but friendly. “Dr. Robby sent me to guide you.”

You gave a small nod. “Lead the way.”

As you fell into step beside him, he let his eyes drift over your scrubs, bright and covered in cartoon stickers. “Gotta say,” he added, a small grin tugging at his lips, “your scrubs are… really bright. Fun to look at.”

You kept your focus forward, ignoring the comment, and walked straight toward the pediatric room.

You pushed open the door to the pediatrics room, and your eyes immediately landed on Robby. He looked up from the baby with a grin. “Well, if it isn't my favourite pediatrician," he said, with a teasing edge in his voice. “Look at you, finally getting to see the light of day.”

You chuckled, adjusting your gloves. “What do we have?”

Before Robby could answer, the med student stepped forward, voice quick and efficient. “Roughly three-month-old baby, found in the ED bathroom, abandoned. Vitals stable, temperature slightly elevated.”

You shot Robby a look; you couldn't believe the audacity of the med student to cut off the chief attending without being asked.

“-No identity features,” Ogilvie continued, completely unfazed by the look you gave. “No information from the finder besides that they were in the ladies' bathroom.”

You nodded as he finished the briefing, letting him lead you over to the baby.

You leaned over the baby, checking vital signs, temperature, and overall condition. As you worked, the chain with your wedding ring rested on your neck, dangling over your scrub top. Every time you bent forward to adjust the baby’s blanket or recheck their position, the ring shifted and caught the light. It was a subtle, unmistakable sign that you were married.

The med student's eyes flicked to it more than once, but you didn't acknowledge him. Your focus stayed entirely on the baby, allowing your professionalism to speak louder than anything else in the room.

You’d just settled back into your rounds upstairs when the pager buzzed again. Another patient needed attention, and it was soon time for you to check on the baby's vitals again.

Sighing, you grabbed your coffee and headed back down. Waiting at the ER entrance once again was Ogilvie, notebook in hand, looking like he was trying to keep up with the chaos.

“Welcome back, Doc,” he said, stepping aside to let you pass. “I’m so glad I was picked to shadow you again.”

You said nothing, moving toward the first patient: a five-year-old with a high fever and rash for whom you had been paged.

As you entered the room, Ogilvie fell into step right next to you. “His temperature is 104, rapid heart rate, difficulty breathing,” he read off. “Concerns about sepsis or some serious infection.”

You nodded, assessing the child from head to toe quickly. “Okay, let’s get repeat vitals and start an oxygen line for monitoring,” you ordered, instructing the nurse as you examined the child.

Ogilvie hovered attentively, staying just a step behind you, careful not to get in the way. “You make this look easy,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn't reply, focusing entirely on the child as you checked lungs and heart.

“Should we run a blood panel next?” he asked, already moving on to the next step.

“Yes, great work noticing that,” you said, glancing at him. “Help the nurse get the blood drawn, then meet me in the next room to check on the baby.”

You straightened and left the room, confident the nurse would guide him through the steps. A few moments later, Ogilvie finished assisting and followed after you, hurrying slightly to keep pace as you entered the next pediatrics room.

You entered, Ogilvie trailing a couple of steps behind. Robby looked up from the baby with his usual grin.

“Came back for round two, huh?” he said, teasing.

“Bet you’d rather be with Jack than down here dealing with this chaos.”

You let out a small laugh. “Maybe,” you admitted, bending over to check the baby's vitals.

Ogilvie fell silently into step beside you, eyes flicking over the baby and then to you. “I have to say,” he murmured, voice low, “you really know how to handle babies… It’s kind of mesmerizing watching you work.”

Robby cleared his throat. “Ogilvie,” he said, voice firm but calm, “make sure you keep your focus on assisting the patient. You can watch, but be ready to help if needed.”

Ogilvie’s gaze returned fully to the baby, nodding quickly. He stayed close enough to learn, quietly impressed, while you continued your examination entirely professionally.

You finished the last line in the baby’s chart, setting your fingers aside as you finally allowed yourself to breathe. This day shift had been exhausting, and you couldn't wait for the slowdown of the night.

“Long day?” Jack asked as he leaned against the counter, placing a fresh coffee right in front of you. He’d kept his promise.

You shrugged, accepting the drink and taking a sip. “Very long. As you can tell, I’ve basically lived down here today, and while I love your department, I’d much rather be in mine.”

Jack chuckled, brushing your shoulder. Moments like these were rare in the ED, tiny pockets of calm stolen between the chaos. “So,” he asked softly, “what's been keeping you down here all day?”

You let out a slow breath, tension in your shoulders easing. “Someone abandoned a baby in the bathroom down here. There was also a child with a high fever; the day just wouldn't slow down.”

His expression softened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That seems to track.”

Jack leaned in slightly, voice low. “I know you’d rather be upstairs. I’m sorry our day didn’t go as planned.”

You shrugged; his presence alone made it better.

He glanced at the clock, then back to you, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Good news though, you’re already down here… and I’m about to clock in.”

You snorted quietly. “Is that supposed to make it better?”

“A little,” he said, teasing. “It means I get to keep an eye on you during my shift.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Pretty sure I’m the one who should be supervising you.”

Jack laughed softly. “Maybe. But for now, just drink your coffee.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Ogilvie lingering near the desk, his gaze flicking between you and Jack a second too long to be accidental.

Jack squeezed your hand once more before stepping away to clock in, leaving you steadier than you’d been moments before.

You turned back to the chart, your shoulders finally relaxing now that Jack had stepped away. The nurses’ station hummed quietly around you.

Ogilvie lingered. He leaned one hip against the counter, closer than necessary. “Can I ask you something?” he said, tone light.

You kept typing. “Make it quick.”

He smiled. “Does it ever get tiring… You know, being the smartest person in every room?” Then, softer, “Or is that just part of the appeal?”

That got your attention. You looked up slowly, unimpressed but fully present now.

“I’ve been with you all day,” he continued, clearly encouraged by your silence. “You’re calm, confident, intimidating… and I like that in women.”

You set your pen down. “You do realize I’m Jack’s partner, right?”

He didn’t even flinch. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Your expression hardened, voice sharp and controlled. “Then act like it.”

The air between you went tight.

Ogilvie straightened immediately, colour rising in his neck. “Right. Sorry, that was—”

“Unnecessary,” you cut him off. “Now, if you’re done gawking, I need to head back upstairs and actually do my job.”

He nodded, chastened, stepping back at last.

You took another sip of your coffee, unbothered, unashamed, and very clear.

A few hours later, just as you took a seat upstairs, the pager buzzed again. You groaned, ready to head back down to the ED.

As you stepped through the doors, a familiar hand caught yours and pulled you into the nearest supply room.

“Not this time,” Jack said, his voice low and teasing. He quickly closed the door behind you.

“Jack—I have a—”

“Nope,” he interrupted with a grin. “That page, sweetheart? All of me. Been thinking about you for hours.”

You froze, blinking at him. “Jack, you did what?”

He shrugged, unapologetically smug. “I watched you handle Ogilvie earlier, and honestly… I’ve been waiting to see you again.”

You blinked again, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You are unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he said, stepping closer, voice husky. “But seriously. Watching you set him straight… respecting our marriage like that? It was… hot.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, but your chest was already racing. “I can’t believe you paged me just for this.”

Jack smirked. “Worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, but a soft smile tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “But I’m yours.”

You let out a small laugh, resting your forehead briefly against his shoulder. “I know,” you murmured.

The pager buzzed again; this time it was Jack’s. He glanced down, a mock groan escaping him. “Guess the universe wants us back to work.”

You nudged him playfully. “Looks like it. Go save the day, Doc.”

After being with Jack for years, you two had fallen into a rhythm together. One constant: every two weeks, a day was set aside for a date. Sometimes brunch, sometimes running errands together, sometimes just dinner out. Tonight was supposed to be date night, at some new, upscale restaurant on the far end of town that a fellow doctor had recommended to Jack.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror one last time, ensuring that everything was perfect. Heels on, Jack’s favourite dress hugging you in all of the right places and lipstick with no smudge in the slightest.

However, one thing was missing.

Jack.

Your phone sat on the counter, silent. No call. No text. Nothing. You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged on your lips. Of course, he was late. Trauma cases didn't exactly respect your dinner plans.

“Jack,” you muttered under your breath, tapping your fingers on the counter as you waited. “You’re something else.”

Still, you knew where he was. Probably elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity, saving their life. He probably forgot the world outside of work. And yet… You couldn't help but feel a little pang of annoyance that made your arms cross over your chest.

You stalked around your apartment, heel clicking against the floor as you filled a bag. If Jack wasn’t coming home, you were going to him. 

And with that, you sling your bag over your shoulder, grab your coat, and leave for the hospital. 

– 

The sliding doors of the hospital opened with a soft hiss, and your heels clicked against the polished floor. The familiar hum of the hospital filled you, the beeping monitors, soft chatter and distant calls over the intercom. Your eyes scanned the room as you made your way to the nurses' station, searching for him. 

“Hey, honey!”

You looked up to see Dana, the Charge Nurse for the daytime shift, waving with a warm smile. “Looking gorgeous as always,” she added, giving you a quick hug.

“Thanks,” you replied with a shrug, trying to hide the edge of your annoyance. “The things we do for our husbands.”

From behind, a sharp, mischievous voice chimed in. “Ohhh, look at you!”

Dr. Ellis leaned against the desk, hoodie half-zipped, and sneakers scuffed from a long shift, grinning as she looked you up and down. 

“I don’t know if I should be jealous or terrified, honestly. Jack’s gonna melt into a puddle when he sees you.”

“That’s the plan,” you said with a shrug, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Or at least… it was.”

Ellis leaned on the counter, grinning. “Ooooh, he must be in trouble. I can see the smoke already.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Careful, Ellis… keep it up and you’re gonna see way more than just smoke.”

Ellis threw her hands up, eyes wide in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! I wasn’t planning to get burned today, unlike someone.”

You smirked, still chuckling. “You’re fine; the only person facing my wrath will be Jack.”

“Now that I need to see,” Dana said, raising her eyebrows.

You leaned on the counter. “Where the hell is my husband anyway?”

Dana gave a sympathetic smile. “Oh, he’s in Trauma Room 3. Got called into a case. Multiple car pile-ups, he's probably elbow-deep in it right now.”

Dana’s words barely left the air before you let out a quiet sigh, though it carried more amusement than frustration.

“Of course he is,” you murmured. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“They brought the worst one straight to him,” Dana added as she took a seat at her computer.

That didn't surprise you in the slightest. Jack was good, damn good. Years of experience meant he was the one they trusted the most with the worst cases. It was one of the things you loved the most about him, his ability to lead, even if it meant waiting sometimes.

Ellis tilted her head at you. “You’re taking this suspiciously well for someone all dressed up.”

You shrugged lightly. “I married a trauma doctor who loves his job. Expecting him to always be on time would’ve been my first mistake.”

Dana laughed softly. “Fair point.”

You leaned in closer to the women, speaking quietly enough for only them to hear. “Besides,” you added with a sly smile, “now I get to make sure Jack works for what he wants.”

Ellis barked out a laugh. “You cheeky little thing,” She had a feeling her coworker was going to be in for a very long night once he finished that trauma case.

Dana shook her head, smiling as she glanced down the hall towards the trauma rooms. “Poor Abbot,” she said with a small chuckle. “Man just finished wrestling a major trauma to have to come out and fight with his wife looking like that.”

You just smiled sweetly, smoothing a hand over your dress to avoid wrinkles as you turned your gaze towards the rooms at the end of the hall.

As if on cue, the double doors swung open.

A couple of nurses stepped out first, pulling off their gloves and chatting about labs and scans. Perlah was the first one you recognized. She spotted you and immediately slowed, eyes widening as she nudged the other nurse, whom you thought was Princess.

They both glanced back towards the trauma room with barely contained grins, whispering among themselves. Even the nurses knew Jack was in for it.

A moment later, Jack stepped out.

His shoulders looked heavier than usual, and the exhaustion from the case was settling on his face as he tugged his gloves off. He reached up to rub the back of his neck in relief when he looked up.

And froze.

His eyes found you instantly. 

He took in the heels.

The dress.

The makeup.

Standing there in the middle of the ED, as if you had stepped straight out of date night.

For a split second, the trauma attending who had just run an entire emergency team looked like his brain had completely shut down.

Then the realization hit him.

His eyes widened.

“…Oh shit.”

Behind you, Ellis clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Dana just leaned back in her chair, watching the scene unfold with open amusement.

And Jack stood there, staring at his wife like a man who had suddenly remembered something very, very important.

Because he knew.

He had forgotten date night.

Jack quickly made his way towards you, running a hand through his hair.

When he got close, you could see the tiredness that clung to his eyes, but also the look of regret written all over his face.

“Hey,” he said softly, stopping in front of you.

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms.

“Hey?”

He winced immediately. “Right— no,”  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry. The pile-up came in and I just—”

“You forgot,” you finished for him.

Jack nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I forgot.”

Behind you, Ellis and Dana were very clearly pretending to type on their computers while they watched the interaction like it was prime television. Perlah and Princess stood near a code cart nearby, suddenly looking very interested in the equipment they definitely knew how to use.

You stepped a little closer, invading Jack’s space just enough that he instinctively leaned down towards you.

Then you reached up and gently straightened the collar of his scrubs.

Jack blinked in surprise.

“You’re lucky,” you murmured, “that you're hot and pretty good at saving lives.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, relief flickering across his face.

“You’re not mad?” he asked cautiously.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. Looking at him, tired, apologetic, still coming down from the high of saving someone’s life. It was hard to stay mad for long.

“Oh, I’m still making you work for it,” you said sweetly.

Behind you, Ellis snorted.

Jack’s ears turned slightly red.

You smoothed a hand down the front of his scrubs before stepping back. “Now go change,” you added casually. “So we can go home.”

He blinked. “Home?”

“I already called the restaurant,” you said, picking up your bag from the counter and handing it towards him. “Told them we’re doing pickup instead.”

Jack stared at you for a second, clearly processing that. “You… did?”

“Mhm.” You nodded toward the hallway. “Now go change.”

Jack looked back at you, something soft settling into his expression, something warm and a little overwhelmed. For a moment, the tough trauma doctor disappeared, replaced by the man who loved you.

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

Then he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading down the hall. 

The moment he disappeared around the corner, Ellis spun in her chair.

“Oh, my god.”

Dana shook her head with a laugh. “That man is so whipped.”

Perlah grinned. “Completely.”

Princess nodded. “I’ve never seen a trauma attending run that fast.”

You glanced down the hallway where Jack had disappeared, a small warmth settling in your chest. Maybe he was.

Trinity and Mel stare at you.

“Abbot,” you add.

“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”

“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.

“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.

You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”

And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.

You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.

You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.

And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.

“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”

Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”

“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”

“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.

“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.

He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.

You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.

Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.

You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.

“Thank you,” you say.

And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.

He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.

“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.

Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”

You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.

She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.

“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”

“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”

Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.

“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.

And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.

You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.

He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.

It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”

And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.

He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.

It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.

Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.

When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.

Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.

So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.

“You should get some rest,” he tells you.

You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”

“Sweetheart.”

“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”

“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.

You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.

Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.

How he’s taking care of you tonight.

To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.

Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.

Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.

“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”

“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.

And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.

the music blasted through the speakers and santos was already on her third tequila of the night. (out of many more to come)

javadi somehow convinced three strangers she was celebrating her twenty first birthday (again) and robby was laughing harder than jack had seen him laugh in months.

it was nice. it normal and something none of them got enough of.

jack was sitting at one of the high-top tables with dana, nursing the same beer he'd been holding for almost forty minutes.

mostly because he wasn't paying attention to it.

his attention was somewhere else.

his eyes kept traveling across the room.. to the dance floor.

because she was there.

in her little black dress and black kitten heels. she was laughing— her head tipped back making her hair fall over her now relaxed shoulders.

she giggling uncontrollably as whitaker twirled her around dramatically. trinity was hunched over, laughing while leaning against mateo as he held her up.

jack just couldn't stop watching. he thought he was keeping it under control. but dana noticed.

of course she did.

dana followed his line of sight and smiled into her long island iced tea. cigarette dangling from her thimble fingers.

"you know she's pretty." dana said bluntly.

jack nearly choked.

"dana.” her said sternly. taking a swing from his beer.

her brow furrowed, “what?" she wanted to know.

he shot her a look but she ignored it.

they both looked back towards the dance floor— her laugh catching their attention. she was laughing at something mateo said to javadi causing her cheeks to burn a firey red and duck her face into her margarita.

jack felt himself smile before he could stop it.

dana caught that too.

"oh, wow." she scoffed playfully.

jack sighed, shaking his head as he plucked a peanut from the little basket in the middle of the table.

"leave it alone." he pleaded.

dana leaned back into her chair, crossing her leg as she said, “you've got it bad."

"i don't."

"jack." she pressed. slightly irritated at how her old friend was trying to shut her down.

he didn't answer.

because there wasn't much point. they'd worked together too long and dana knew him too well.

she leaned her elbow on the table. "how long?"

he frowned at that, "how long what?"

"how long have you been looking at her like that?"

jack looked away.. which was an answer enough. dana couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

"that's what i thought."

across the room, he watched as she stumbled slightly when santos attempted some kind of dance move that absolutely should not have been attempted.

whitaker caught her before she could fall and the three dissolved into laughter.

jack found himself smiling again.

god.

dana watched him carefully, she could see the way he looked at her. the yearning in his eyes that she read about in books and watched in the movies.

"does she know?" she sighed.

that finally wiped the smile from his face.

he cleared his throat still trying to brush her off, his fingers tightened slightly around his glass.

"it doesn't matter."

"c’mon jack."

he already knew where this conversation was heading and he hated that she was probably right.

"it. does. matter." she pressed. her voice came out quieter than she intended and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

the music thumped around them. people laughed. glasses clinked, and across the room, she was still dancing and completely unaware of the conversation between her attending and charge nurse.

dana rested her forearms on the table. "you know she looks at you too, right?"

jack's eyes lifted immediately. his throat felt dry and his good knee started to bounce.

"dana." he warned.

"what? she does."

he shook his head once. as if to turn away any ounce of hope he had.

"don't."

"jack, i'm serious." she wasn't teasing anymore, and wasn't smiling. she just telling the truth. "i've seen it."

jack looked away first because that was easier. because in all honesty he couldn't bring himself to think about that.

he just couldn't let himself.. not after everything.

not after years of building a life with someone else.

years of loving someone else.

years of losing someone else.

dana's voice softened. "you loved her." she nodded, squeezing his arm once, causing him to swallow hard.

she didn't have to say who.

they both knew.

his wife.

the grief never really left.

it just learned how to sit quietly.

"i know." she cooed. "i know you did."

and for a second, jack thought that would be the end of it.

then, after a minute she started again.

"but she's gone."

the words hung between them.

heavy and honest.

jack stared at the label on his beer. unable to say anything else but, "dana..."

"and you're still here." she said, her eyes glossy.

he closed his eyes briefly because that one hurt. and some days it still felt wrong.

the whole moving forward thing.

the laughing.

the wanting things.

and especially the wanting someone.

when he opened his eyes again, he looked back at the dance floor— he watched as she walked back from the dance floor.

flushed cheeks and a bright smile plastered across her pretty face as santos and whitaker trailed behind her.

they were happy.

they were alive.

they were young.

and she was beautiful.

dana followed his gaze, smiling softly.

"i think it's time you let yourself try again." she said lightly.

jack didn't say anything, he wasn't sure he could.

she looked over then— completely by accident. her eyes found his from across the crowded bar and just like always, her smile changed.

it became softer, shy almost as she blushed.

just for him.

jack felt something in his chest tighten as he smiled back at her.

across the table, dana saw it happen. dana saw her expression and she sure as hell saw jack's. she smiled up at the ceiling fans as if she was pleading the gods for some kind of miracle.

You were the quintessential of the pop-rock star.  You had a lot of problems with the press, both concerning your love life and the setbacks of your ex-band.

The first problem was that you were often seen leaving hotels with different partners : the press loved that you didn't settle down and always made a big deal out of it. You didn't really care, you knew the tabloids always twisted the truth just to sell more garbage. What bothered you was that your mom kept calling you about it, wondering why you couldn't be discreet and serious, have a normal job like your twin; the perfect little Robby, pride and joy of the family. He was in the navy, serving the country, and your father liked to remind you that Robert was doing something useful, something great. Yet, you didn't care what the public and your family thought of you. You just wanted to play your songs, have fun on stage and in the studio. It was your cop-out after some traumatic experiences you went through in high school.

As for your problems with the band, it was a different kettle of fish. 

You were the lead vocalist and guitarist. You loved being on stage, it made you feel powerful, in control. You were backed by three talented but lazy guys about your age. It was your agent's idea to put you in charge of them. And what a great idea. At first it was fun, you had a good time. But as time went by, their excesses slowed down your rise in the charts. And they wasted all their time, energy and money on the wrong things. Every day, the press had a scoop about them doing something illegal or immoral. The last one on their list was being seen exiting a bar with underage fans.

Those recent events forced your label to give you a choice; either the whole group was fired or you could continue as a solo artist; your producer and staff knew that you weren't really a troublemaker, so it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for you.  You didn't even hesitate to sign your new contract ; and that led to a new scandal in the press, creating false drama between you and your ex mates. But as much as you were determined to make a name for yourself, you also needed a break from all the “scandal” that was going on. You made a deal with your producer and new agent: you had one month to come up with at least two singles, while you could go anywhere you wanted to find inspiration and relax.

And what could be more relaxing than the seaside ? The beach, the sun, the salty air, the feeling of being in an eternal summer ? It was perfect. You booked your flight to San Diego and rented a small beach house on Airbnb.  What could possibly go wrong? 

Well, maybe running into your twin brother at the local bar.

The Hard Deck seemed like a pretty chill place and the owner, Penny, was really nice. You spent some evenings there, trying to come up with some lyrics over a Coke.  She was curious and you were happy to share what you were working on, even though you hadn't made any progress. She had that reassuring aura, and talking with her was like talking to an old friend that you knew all your life. She was genuinely interested in what you had to share, and gave you some advice when she could. She also was curious to hear your voice and tried a few times to get you at the piano. You refused politely each time, feeling strangely shy.

It took you a week and a half to work up the courage to go to that piano.

The bar was rather empty, which was unusual for a Saturday night but made it easier for you to convince yourself that it was okay. You discreetly started to warm up your voice and started a version of Your Song - Penny confessed to you it was one of her favorite songs.

In a corner of the bar, by the pool table, a group of pilots were surprised to hear the piano playing at this hour. "Looks like someone stole your seat, Bradshaw," a tall blond man sneered.  "Looks like it, Seresin." Bradley raised an eyebrow and leaned over to see who had taken his place at the piano. The others gently urged him to join them; after all, he was the musician among the squad. He pretended to be annoyed by their request and joined you for the last chorus.  You were surprised, but smiled quietly and finished your "performance" with him. You made room for him on the little bench, and with a look of approval, you moved on to another song of his choice: Ain't no mountain higher .  The patrons of the bar, who had become more numerous, were delighted to have a private mini-concert. Some of them started to dance, others joined in singing. It was a fun experience.

After the end of the song, you smiled and shook the hand of your partner of a moment and let him enjoy the piano by himself. You made your way back to your stool and asked Penny for a glass of water. You felt a presence next to you and turned a little to see who was there. You easily guessed it was a navy man ; the uniform - talk about obvious -, the perfectly styled hair. You grinned at the tall blond man in front of you.

“So, does that pretty voice have a name ?” asked Jake with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and his pushed Texan accent.  “Well yes actually, I’m-” “Y/N ?” You frowned, immediately recognizing the voice that had spoken your name. You easily spotted his surprised face among the other navy people that were close to you and Jake. "Robert?" "Don't tell me you're his girlfriend..." "What? No!" you shouted at the same time, making a few of the others giggle. "Gross!" you pretended to vomit. "She's my sister, Hangman," Bob sighed. "Twin sister, to be exact," you precised.

You couldn't help but giggle at the shocked looks on the faces of who you assumed were his colleagues. He was suddenly flooded with questions, and you enjoyed watching him turn redder and redder. Then they focused on you. "You two don't look alike at all," Reuben said, scanning you in detail. You rolled your eyes and smiled, leaning against your brother as you poked his side. "Robert took the height and brains, I took the charm and talent." 

Your brother sighed and ran his hand over his neck, slightly embarrassed. His teammates were happy to meet you, especially happy to annoy Bob, and Natasha seemed to realize something. "Your voice sounds familiar... I've heard it somewhere before... in a band, right?" " Nemesis ," you smiled and nodded, mentioning your old band, "but I'm solo now. Kept the stage name though." "Quite a few scandals with that band..." your twin mumbled.  You decided not to pay attention to him. Like your parents, Robert had never understood your career choice, arguing that you were brilliant at school and could have done anything else. Of course you were pretty intelligent but you had fallen in love with music as an outlet for your pain. But your family didn’t seem to accept your way of coping with your traumas.

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. You got to know your brother's second family. They all had their own personalities, but that's what made them so endearing. Jake invited you to join them the next day, since it was their day off and they wanted to relax at the beach. You gladly accepted.

Robert didn't say much to you, the atmosphere between you was cold and tense. Natasha noticed it, so she joined her WSO to chat. "What's wrong, Bob? Your sister seems nice and yet you're here, not saying anything to her." He sighed a little as he watched you chatting and having fun with the others. "I'm worried about her," he confessed, "she… she hides herself in that personna… that Nemesis …” “Aren't all artists ? I mean, they wouldn't take a stage name otherwise.” “I guess… but I’m scared she’s losing herself…” he said softly, glancing at you. He grumbled when he noticed that Jake was flirting with you; and you didn't seem to refuse his advances either. Natasha let out a soft “damn” when Jake slid his arm around you and Bob almost jumped off his seat, mumbling an irritated “that’s it”. 

You felt a strong hand gripping your wrist and you were drawn out of Jake’s embrace and out the bar. “The hell Robby ?” you scoffed once outside, “I was in the middle of a conversation !” “No you weren’t, you were flirting ! With one of my teammates !” “First off, he initiated it ! And second, in what world is that your business ? We’re grown ups, I can handle some flirting !” “Well, first off , you’re my sister and second , Hangman is… he’s not the type to settle down !” he tried to explain himself but you just rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you sound just like dad ! Why should I settle down ? I’m having fun, I’m happy that way !” You pinched the bridge of your nose, annoyed. “Stop trying to father me, I’m doing fine since I left !” “Yeah, you seem real good in the local news,” he mumbles, putting his hands in his pockets. He didn't even look at you as he said those words. You hated it when he did that, always half-assing his thoughts. You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, tilting your head back.  “And now you sound like mom. I can handle my life just fine Robert. I don’t need your concern, let alone your judgment ! I’ve never been better, ok ? Leave me the fuck alone !”

You were lying. You both knew that. He could read into you so easily, it made you sick. Call it ‘twin magic’ or ‘sibling intuition’, you still hated the way his blue eyes looked at you with worry and questions in them, knowing all too well that you were not fine. 

You passed him, going back to the bar to get your stuff and pay Penny. Out of spit - and mostly because you wanted to - you handed your number to Jake and left with a smirk. You could hear the squad gently hassle Hangman who proudly showed off the piece of paper you gave him. 

A little fun won’t kill you, would it ?

The next day, you joined the Dagger squad on the beach, near the Hard Deck. 

They were playing a strange football game ; dogfight football , attack and defense at the same time, Natasha explained to you.  You watched their first round and second, it seemed fun. At least, Bob seemed to have fun. You remembered he was not a teamsport guy younger. He actually hated the fact that your dad made him go to the tryouts for the football team in high school. To his misfortune, he got in. You smiled and sighed remembering those days.  Sometimes, you missed the time you were close to your twin, when you could tell him everything, before it all fell apart in junior year. A cold shiver ran down your spine while you thought back about it. Your life changed so much at that time, you didn’t like to remember it.

Crouching in front of you, Jake snapped you out of your reverie. “Hey there darlin, care to join us ? We’ll be gentle, promise.” he said with a playful grin. You arched an eyebrow and sneered. “Oh please, don’t be, I can handle it.” He laughed and helped you up. You were put in his team against Natasha, Bob, Bradley and Reuben. You were - to your own surprise - pretty fast and efficient. Javy and Jake joked around saying that being stealth had to be running in the family. 

You really had fun, even laughing with your brother. You didn’t know who won but you scored the last point of the game, and Jake put you on his shoulders to celebrate before tossing you in the water. “You’re a dead man, Seresin !” you shouted, before laughing. Robert helped you out the water and gave you a towel without a word. You silently thanked him and you all took a water break while deciding what to eat.

Reuben and Mickey volunteered to go get the pizzas and while they did, Natasha proposed a volleyball match. She decided that Bob and you would be in her team and you smiled. Bob couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle ; the two of you loved that sport when you were kids. When you went to your grandma's house for the holidays, you used to play against your cousins. Of course, you kicked their ass. They called you the Evil Twins. Once your heads were in the game, you were unstoppable. And Bradley, Jake and Javy would soon understand why you and Bob were so happy to be on the same team. 

The two of you didn’t even need to talk to understand the next move of the other. Even Natasha didn’t really understand what was happening. You won the first, then second, then third match. You laughed at the exasperation of Jake and Javy, Bradley on the other hand was just tired of running around. He quit with Natasha, leaving Jake and Javy to find a strategy to strike Bob and you down. “Like the old times huh ?” your twin smiled, giving you a bottle of water. You returned the smile and nodded. “Let’s show them. Evil Twins ?” “Evil Twins.” He clapped his hands with yours with a grin. Oh, the other two weren't ready for the beating they were about to get.

Javy called it quits after the third set. They lost them all and he was getting tired. Jake was pouting while you jumped on your brother’s back. “Evil Twins for the win !” Natasha laughed. You giggled, while Robert ran around like a doofus, you on his back, taunting Jake.  "Don't tease him too much, you know he's a sore loser!" sneered Bradley. "Nonsense!" sulked Jake, "I always accept my defeats, except they never happen.” The rest of the team rolled their eyes, both annoyed and amused.

Reuben and Mickey returned with the pizzas, and the rest of the afternoon was less athletic. Some went for a swim, others played cards in the shade of an umbrella. You chatted peacefully with Natasha and Jake, Robert never too far away. Strangely enough, you were glad he stayed close. Sometimes he would join in the conversation, but he remained Bob, preferring to watch and listen rather than talk.  It was a nice afternoon, you felt like a teenager on holiday with a bunch of friends. Bradley and Javy started a water fight by grabbing Bob and throwing him in the water. You and Natasha ran at the boys to avenge him and one thing led to another and you all ended up in the water, friendly fighting each other.

The sun slowly got low, the afternoon ending peacefully. You stayed at the bar with the squad, learning more about each one, more about your brother’s ‘new’ life. They told you about their life on base and about the bird strike that Natasha and Bob had suffered from. You scolded your twin because he never told you about it. He defended himself by saying that it was not that big of a deal, but by the looks on the others' faces, you knew he lied.

Part of you was jealous of him. You both left home around the same time, and he seemed so happy now, away from your parents and their intrusive presence, away from your father's demoralizing, degrading and demotivating comments. You couldn't understand how he could be doing so well when you were struggling to find yourself, to be happy. This question echoed in your head and made you feel too much in the room. You excused yourself and went outside for some fresh air. You were pale and shaking, and anxiety was getting the better of you. You tried to ease your breathing and closed your eyes to focus on the sound of the waves in front of you. You could hear the laughter and indescribable conversations in the distance, mingled with the music and singing. It was somewhat peaceful and yet you couldn't calm the flood of painful memories that invaded your mind. Every laugh reminded you of your ex's, every burst of voice a little too loud made you cower. You didn't want to think about it anymore. You wanted to forget everything. You just wanted it to stop. It had to stop. You had to get away from it all. You had to-

“Y/N ? Are you ok ?”

Your brother's gentle voice made everything disappear. You felt yourself breathe again. But you knew it would only be temporary ; because seeing him worried would make you weak and anxious again.  You took a deep, shaky breath before turning to him. You tried to hide the tremble of your voice, and put on a fake smile. "It's okay... I... I have to go home. Thanks for today, it was fun!" You passed him in a hurry, still pale and scrapie.  

He sighed and bit his lip before summoning his courage. "What are you running from? You... you looked like you were fine, and then all of a sudden you're running away. " "Robby, please-" "What happened?" "Nothing, I-" "Did someone say something?" "No! I just-" "Did I say or do something wrong? Tell me!" "Then let me talk for god’s sake !" you clenched your fists then sighed. "You didn't do anything wrong, Robby. It's just that... I can't..." your voice cracked a little and you leaned your head back to hold back your tears. Bob's head tilted in concern and he stepped towards you. "Can't what? You can't do what?"

You didn't answer, shaking your head. You couldn't put into words the confusion you felt. You searched for words and began to pace back and forth. "Can't do what Y/N?" Robert insisted gently. "I... fuck... fuck." 

Your voice and your whole body were shaking. It was getting harder and harder to hold back the tears. How could you tell your brother that you envied him and hated that feeling ? How could you envy him for building his life, a life filled with healthy loved ones that were there for him? How could you hold a grudge when he was the one who got you out of your abusive relationship at the risk of his acceptance into the naval academy ?

He took another step towards you, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back. "Hey, come on, tell me-" "I can't get over it, okay?! I-I can't figure out how and why you managed to grow up and I'm stuck at 17! Why do I always feel like I'm in pieces, alone, like he 's still running my life, like he 's always there, over my shoulder, no matter what I do?" "Y/N... it wasn't your fault-"  "I know!!! I fucking know it wasn't my fault!!” you cut him, almost screaming, “I know he 's the one who did this to me, who pretended to love me, who beat the shit out of me and abused me every single day for months! I know all of that ! Then why am I still stuck there ? Why am I the one still struggling?! Why am I the one who feels like a complete failure ? Why can't I let it go?!" your bottom lip was trembling as tears rolled down your face. “Why can’t I just move on ? Why do I always hear dad saying ‘told you so’ or mom sighing every time I mess up ? Why don’t they ever want to talk about what happened but they urge me to just forget about it ?! Why don't they support me ? Why don’t you ?!” 

You gasped, trying to catch your breath, before you whimpered and cried like a baby. Bob stood still for a moment before pulling you into his arms and hugging you. He suspected that the events of your past were still haunting you, but not to this extent. And you felt that he didn't support you... he felt like shit. How could he neglect your feelings so much, how could he act the way he blamed your parents? He let you cry against him for a long moment, swallowing his discomfort. He was the one to blame, and he had to focus on you. "I... I'm sorry, Y/N. I... I didn't realize that my behavior was hurting you… I'm just worried, and I didn't show it the right way. I'm an idiot." "A big idiot," you mumbled, sniffling. "Yes, a big idiot. And I'd really like you to let me help you. We... We have contacts with some really good therapists for post-traumatic stress and stuff... I could give you their numbers?" You just nodded, your tears finally stopping.  "I'm sorry I yelled at you..." you mumbled. Bob smiled and pinched your side.  "Don't be, I deserved it. I’m sorry I tried to interfere between you and Hangman…" “He’s actually a sweet guy behind his smug facade, y'know ?” you smiled and chuckled to his falsely doubtful face and the little 'meh' he let out.

As promised, Bob put you in touch with the therapists he'd told you about, and negotiated a longer return period with your agency. You had a full month and a half more. You started to really work on the singles, and your sessions with the therapist were helping. You knew you'd have to keep seeing one when you got home.  But going wasn’t something you wanted to think about. As the days went by, you didn't want to leave San Diego. Your brother and the Dagger Squad were stationed here permanently, and you needed him in your life.

Him and Jake.

You always thought that the two of you were just a fling, that you or he would get tired of it and move on. But neither of you did. You spent more and more time with him, he'd crash at your Airbnb - uninvited - every now and then with a movie or dinner.  The more time you spent with him, the more you fell for him and you didn't want it to end as a one-night stand, you knew that much. 

As you got to dig beneath his proud, cocky, arrogant facade, you discovered a gentle man full of insecurities. He talked about his father, who was not exactly the ideal role model and the fact that he didn’t have the best of relations with him. He talked about his mama, and with the look he had in his eyes, you knew he worshiped the woman ; based on what he shared, you figured Mrs Seresin was more than strong and dedicated to her children. He told you about his sisters, both of them a couple of years older than him, and his nieces and nephews. He loved the munchkins - his terms, not yours - and you saw in his eyes how much he meant it. They were his whole world, but he’d never admit it.

You tried to take your time with him but he had a strange effect on you ; you found yourself opening up to him, faster than you thought.  You'd never told anyone about your abusive relationship - except Robert. And Jake had listened to you without judgment or interruption. He sat there, ready to absorb any information you wanted and were able to share.

So you were torn between your desire to get back to the recording studio in New York, to get back to work, and your desire to stay in the peaceful everyday life you'd created in just a few weeks. You had to go back. You had obligations to keep. Maybe after you fulfilled your part of the contract, you could negotiate and come back to San Diego? This thought was the only thing that kept you working hard. You succeeded in writing three more singles than the agreed two. You were quite pleased with yourself.

And sooner than you realized, you had to go back to New York.

Natasha, with the help of the rest of the team, had organized a little surprise going-away party at the Hard Deck. Penny was in on the secret and had given them the bar to themselves. You loved the surprise and the evening was unforgettable. Bradley had insisted on karaoke, and you dragged your twin along. Robert rolled his eyes, but played along. You had the time of your life and enjoyed every second of this last night with your new friends. They made you promise to call them whenever you could, to think of them and to come back as soon as possible. They took you home and spent a few more hours with you before letting you rest. But just when you thought everyone was gone, you found Jake on the couch, waiting for you. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you saw him there, his eyes anchored in yours. You detailed his face, as if to remember it after you'd left; his slightly wavy blond hair, those beautiful green eyes, his perfect jawline, his cocky smile. That damn smile that made you weak in the knees like a teenager. God, you hated that smile as much as you loved it.

"Enjoying the view?"

You didn't realize that he had stood up and was now so close to you. A deep blush spread across your cheeks and yet you couldn't take your eyes off him, your gaze locked with his. You bit your lip and grinned. "So what if I am, big boy?" you teased. He huffed, amused, and his hand slowly reached for yours, your knuckles brushing. His other hand reached for your cheek, his thumb stroking it tenderly. You leaned into his touch, feeling yourself melt under his gaze. He said nothing, his eyes never leaving you. "What?" you whispered, your heart beating a little faster. "That's how I want to remember you." "Like what? Tipsy and tired?" you laughed a little. "Na. Happy... relaxed... you look beautiful." Jake whispered back, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. Your stomach fluttered and you found the courage to interlock his fingers with yours. "Sounds like I have you under my siren's spell, Lieutenant..." you teased, biting your lip. "You certainly do, ma'am," he whispered again, the gap between the two of you only a few inches. You felt your confidence slip from your fingers, your eyes on his lips.

"Kiss me..."

It's an almost inaudible beg that escaped you, and you didn't even have time to be embarrassed that you felt him on your lips. The kiss was sweet, tender. You squeezed his hand into yours, and his free one slid around your waist, holding you close. You wanted the kiss to last forever. With amazing ease, Jake lifted you against him, his hands going under your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He carried you into the bedroom, his lips exploring yours, your jaw, your neck and your collarbone. Your fingers brushed through his soft hair and soon you felt your back against the mattress.  Your clothes ended up chaotically thrown around the room as you undressed and kissed each other. The moon gave you just enough light to never lose sight of him. His eyes devoured you before his hands discovered your body. He asked you if you were okay every step of the way, and you never thought being asked for consent could be so arousing.

That night was the best sex you've ever had. It was slow and tender at first, and when you were both comfortable enough, it got rougher, in a good way.  You fell asleep curled up against him, rocked by his heartbeat.

The next morning you woke up alone in bed. Jake left a note on the nightstand, saying he had to go to work early. "Call me when you can, have a safe flight. PS: Gonna miss you. PPS: If anything happens to you on the flight, I'll hunt the pilot." You chuckled and tucked the post-it into your notebook. You quickly got ready and Robert took you to the airport.

The ride was rather quiet, neither of you wanting to be separated again. He helped you with your luggage and waited with you until you finally had to go. You hugged him tightly and thanked him for the past weeks. "Call me when you get there, okay? And don't forget to hydrate. And eat. And..." "Ok Dad," you joked with a smile, "I'll call you, don't worry. Love you, Robby." "I love you too. Be safe."

8 months.

You have been stuck in New York for 8 long months. You did a lot though. A new album, some concerts, some interviews and photo shoots. The 'scandals' in the press disappeared and the journalists finally focused more on your songs. You video called the Daggers as much as you could - almost every day - and texted a lot with your brother, reassuring him that you continued to see a therapist and that you were doing well under the stress. But the one you called and texted the most was Jake. Every day you had a sweet good morning text, and every night you had an equally sweet good night text.

You missed him.

You missed them all, of course. But Jake Seresin was under your skin. And as hard as it was to admit, you loved him. You couldn't wait to see him again. Of course, no one knew you were together. Natasha seemed to have doubts, and sometimes Bob was somewhat suspicious too but as long as they didn’t ask you didn’t say anything.

8 months of hard work and your agent agreed to let you go to San Diego as he made an arrangement between a recording studio and your label.  You told no one but Penny. You wanted to surprise the team. You had one last show to do in New York and then you would catch your flight to California. 

Before the concert, you called your brother, knowing that he would probably be at the Hard Deck with the others, since it was almost 7:00 p.m there. As soon as he answered, you could hear the team around him. "Wow, look at you Nemesis! You look great!" Natasha said, smiling broadly. You laughed and thanked her when you heard the other whistle and complimented you. "Not too stressed?" Bob asked as the others calmed down. "Well, it's the last show for at least six weeks. I’ll try to make it fun!" "Of course you will," said a voice you recognized immediately. "Hangman, you look good," you teased as you saw him appear on the screen. You noticed the slight blush on his cheeks as he spotted you in your dress and makeup. He didn't have time to reply that you had to go on stage.  "Ok bye guys, gotta go, love you!" you hung up and had time to see a text message on your phone : 'You better keep that dress'. You smiled. You may have fallen in love with Jake, but you also knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

The show went smoothly, and after a celebratory dinner with your team, you went back to your soon-to-be-outdated apartment. All your things were packed and ready to go. You couldn't wait to move to San Diego. Your flight was at 3 pm in New York and you were scheduled to land in California at 6 pm. Bless the time zone difference, if you were lucky, you could get to the Hard Deck before the team and wait for them.

But since nothing ever goes exactly according to plan, your flight was an hour late. That wasn't too bad, you could still surprise them, you just had to change the way. You contacted Penny and asked her if she could manage to distract them. She agreed and gave you permission to use the back door to be more discreet when you entered. Your excitement was through the roof, you felt like a child on Christmas Day.  By the time your cab reached the bar, your heart was pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe you were finally there, finally where you felt at home. But you had to be reunited with those you considered family to feel completely at home. You almost ran to the back door of the bar, re-reading the instructions Penny had sent you: she'd distract the Daggers by asking them to bring back some heavy beer packs and other beverages, and you could hide discreetly by the pool table.

The perfect plan.

You did as she said, a smile forming on your lips as you heard your friends in the distance. You were stressed, but not in an anxious way, you just couldn't wait. You picked up a pool cue to keep your hands busy. When you finally heard them coming, you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming ‘surprise!’. The first person to spot you was Mickey. His eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks, almost tripping Reuben, Natasha and Javy. They didn't have time to grumble before Mickey pointed at you, speechless. A small laugh escaped you as they froze in front of you, one after the other. Only Jake, Bradley and Robert were missing. Bradley and your twin were chatting, a little bit behind, and you soon heard Robert's voice.

"Are you guys okay? You look like you've seen a ghost..." His voice became almost inaudible at the end of his sentence, as he realized they were all staring at you. You smiled at them and tilted your head. "Are we playing, or are you afraid of losing?" you asked with a bit of a laugh. Natasha couldn't hold back her laughter and almost ran to hug you. "It's good to see you again, Mini Floyd."

The others came right after to greet you, hugging you and sometimes lifting you off the ground. You laughed, happy to see them again. Your twin was still frozen, not believing his eyes. You scooted up to him and pinched his cheeks. "Good evening Robby, did you-" You didn't even have time to finish your sentence before he pulled you into his arms. You smiled and hugged him as tightly as you could, small tears of joy escaping from both of you.  "It's good to see you," he finally said, "Missed your stupid face.” "Oh I know you did, you can't live without me dearest brother !" you chuckled. You caught up with everyone, admitting that you were on a break, but not telling them that you were here for good. You wanted everyone to be here to make that announcement but someone was missing.

You paid for your round of beers - and sparkling water for Bob - and went looking for Jake. Why wasn't he here?  Penny grinned as she noticed the look on your face. "Don't worry Y/N, he's just on the phone with his sister. One of his nephews' birthdays, I think." "Thanks Pen- Wait, what are you-" "I know everything dear, he talks too much for his own good if you ask the good questions." "How did you find out?" you whispered, making sure no one was listening. "Well, it wasn't really hard. Some of your interviews or shows have been aired," she pointed at the old TV, "and the calls you made ; he just had that look in his eyes. I can tell when a man is head over heels. He certainly is."

You blinked and shook your head in disbelief. Of course she'd guessed; Penny knew the squadron like her own children. She chuckled and handed you another beer. “Go surprise him.” You smiled and nodded, heading to the front door. Your heart fluttered when you finally heard Jake’s voice. It was hushed but you could feel his smile through his soft laughter. You waited for him to end his call, still hidden by the door. You bit back a chuckle when you heard him saying goodbye to the kids with a baby voice. It was ridiculously adorable.

“Hello stranger, does that pretty voice have a name ? ” 

He was a bit startled and turned to you hastily, not believing his ears. A surprised expression appeared on his face, but a flirtatious smile quickly took its place. "That's my line, baby." "Oh really? Supposed I forgot," You grinned proudly and took a step towards him, "Did ya miss me, big boy?" He grinned and grabbed your waist, sending a sweet shiver down your spine. "Not as much as you missed me." You rolled your eyes in amusement and set the beer you had brought him aside. You took a moment to just drown in his green eyes, the light of the sunset making them look surreal. How could he be so handsome ? 

He was quite speechless to have you here, it made you smile. Jake was always so talkative, it was strange to have him so quiet around you. "Cat got your tongue, Seresin?" He chuckled and stroked your cheek. "Why don't you check?" You smiled and finally kissed him. You had waited 8 months for this feeling and it was just so good. His soft lips against yours, his strong hands on your waist, fingers digging lightly into your flesh. You put your hands on his neck, parted your lips to let his tongue reach for yours. One of his hands slid up to cup your cheek and you leaned into his touch as the kiss ended.  "I have to admit, I missed that," he whispered with a grin, his forehead pressed gently against yours. You huffed and rolled your eyes, "Told you I had you under my spell." He laughed and kissed the nape of your neck, holding you close. You smiled and stroked his hair before stepping back.  "Let's join the team before ‘Tasha gets suspicious."

You took his hand and headed inside, eager to tell your friends the big news.

You missed the atmosphere of the Hard Deck. The soft songs from the jukebox, the always nice patrons, your favorite people at the pool table or playing darts... everything was so comforting. Your smile widened when you reached the Daggers, dragging Jake with you. "Look who I found outside," you teased, "good old Hangman.” "Ah, you should have let him out," Bradley sneered, sipping his beer. “Real funny Bradshaw, I know you already missed me.”

You let the two men fight like two children and when you noticed Natasha's eyes on your hand in Jake's, you blushed a little. She grinned and whispered something to Reuben. You could read a little 'damn it !' on his lips as he frowned. "Okay guys, Javy and I won! The bet is over!" "What? No!" Bradley was outraged. He grumbled and handed Natasha a bill.  "Wait a minute, what bet?" your twin asked. "Well, my dear Bob, it seems that our little Jake and your sister... are together." You blushed and wanted to hide, not knowing how your brother would react. Jake was already arguing with Javy, telling him he was a traitor for betting on it, since he had confided in him on the subject.

"Oh, I've known for a while," Robert said simply with a smile. "What?!" you huffed, letting go of your boyfriend's hand to face your twin. "What do you mean you knew?" "Well, for starters, Jake stayed with you the night before you went back to New York. And you hid the hickey he left on your neck badly. Then I got suspicious when every time we ended our video calls, he got one in the next two minutes; and he's not the most discreet when he's on the phone. But I knew it when he bought that really nice necklace and asked me, of all people, for advice. A week later you were wearing it. So yeah, I knew," he shrugged with a smile, laughing a little at your expression. "What? I just thought that neither of you were ready to tell anyone? But you seem happy so it's okay."

You were surprised. You didn't think he'd take it so well, but you weren't going to complain.

So the evening began with a secret revealed. You didn't hesitate to stay close to Jake, even ending up on his lap when the bar was full. You listened to their adventures from the last few months - at least what they were allowed to share.  It was good to be with them again, to find that comfort.  After Mickey bought his round, he turned to you. "Well, let's ask the burning question: how long are you staying?" "To tell you the truth... I'm not leaving. I'm moving into my little house 10 minutes from here tomorrow," you smiled. "And you didn't tell me?!" said Jake and Bob at the same time, making them blush under the laughter of the others. "I wanted to surprise you! I've got a new deal with my label, so I can stay here." "Cheers to that! To the definitive return of Y/N Nemesis Floyd," Bradley decreed, raising his beer.

You all laughed and toasted each other, happy with the news.

All was finally well.

You had finally found your place, and you wouldn't change it for the world.