✨🌿Kitchen Fae🌿✨

He can almost time when you’re about to take a drink, too — the way your fingers fidget around the chilled aluminum, right before your tongue darts out to wet your mouth. You tip your head back with the can to take a quick sip, then lick your lips again when you bring the beer to your lap again.

It’s subtle and mostly unconscious, but Jack can’t help but notice all of it.

The same way he can’t help but notice how flustered you get when he asks, “Did you get that dress I bought you?” 

Your head snaps in his direction. Your eyes widen with a set of owlish blinks. The smile you had before softens slightly as your shoulders tuck in, going painfully shy in a flicker. 

It’s not so much the reminder that Jack scoured the internet for the butter-yellow dress Kate Hudson wore in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — after a passing comment you made about it during movie night some weeks back. It’s more so the reminder that you didn’t get it because you no longer had a real address to receive it at.

Because you’d rather die than tell him you’ve been sleeping in the PTMC for the past week.

“Uh… No. I-I don’t think so,” you stammer.

Jack’s brows lower. “Really? The e-mail said it was delivered yesterday.”

You glance away again — fingers fidgeting, tongue darting. “Maybe it went to the wrong place?” you shrug and bring the can up to your mouth again.

Jack notices how you shift awkwardly on the bench beside him; how you struggle suddenly to meet his gaze, and how you try and fail to tune back into Whitaker’s rambling. There’s something more going on inside your head, something more you’re not telling him, but he figures prying after a twelve-hour shift probably isn’t the best idea.

“Yeah…” he says slowly. “Maybe…”

There’s a long beat of silence between you thereafter, filled by members of the dayshift exchanging staggered goodbyes. Jack takes a quick sip of his beer. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and turns to you with the sheen of alcohol coating his lips.

“I should probably start heading out to,” he clears his throat. “Want me to walk you home?”

You fake a shy smile, instead of telling him that you have no real home to go to.

“I’m a big girl, Abbot. I think I can get there on my own,” you lilt drily. Jack’s stare hardens into an unwavering deadpan; not mean, just firm. You cave with a roll of your eyes. “You go ahead. I’ll walk with Trinity and Whitaker— They live closer to me, anyway.”

Jack hesitates for a lingering beat. 

He wants to tell you that it makes him feel better when he walks with you, that sometimes he thinks he lives and breathes only to protect you, but he’s self-aware enough to know how insane that sounds. So he just nods with a slow exhale.

“Okay… Just— Call me when you get home?”

You give him a soft smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Of course.”

Jack takes the long way out to give you enough time to pack up your things and head out in the opposite direction with Santos and Whitaker. 

He cuts around the block instead of heading straight out, positioning himself just far enough away from the entrance that he can still see it. When he turns the corner, he spots you brushing shoulders with Trinity and tipping your head back to laugh at something he can’t hear from here.

The sound of your giggling is carried on the summer’s evening breeze, along with your words as you veer suddenly towards the side of the hospital again. “Shit— I left my keys in my locker. You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”

You slip inside through the automatic doors.

Jack straightens his back and tightens his hold on the strap of the camo bag slung over his shoulder. He gets a strange feeling in his chest that he just can’t shake and decides to follow you back inside the PTMC. He figures it’s better to be safe than sorry — better to seem insane by following you like a creep instead of risking something bad happening to you, anyway.

He weaves through the noisy emergency department with strong shoulders and a sharp gaze. He checks for you in the locker room first, then the break room second, then doubles back for Shen at the workstation.

“Said she left something up in ortho,” the attending shrugs through a short sip of his iced coffee. Then he jokes,“What do you wanna bet she’s screwing around with Park the Shark?”

Jack's chest flares, but he tries not to let it faze him as he makes a beeline for the elevators. 

He knows you’re lying — you wouldn’t have said something different to Trinity otherwise — not unless you really were sneaking around with Dr. Park, that is. Jack has to shake the thought physically from his head, which Shen had unknowingly planted there, the entire ride up to the eighth floor.

No one goes up there anymore — no one other than you and Jack — and it’s the only other place he hasn’t yet looked to find you. The west wing of the upper floor has been nothing short of abandoned, and is eerily quiet compared to the E.D. below, save for the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights that are bound to die out any day now.

As he passes the old rooms, left clean and untouched, he hears a faint song playing from behind a shut door. One of those old 2000s pop songs you always play in the car when you’re together. He knocks first and, when he receives no answer, pushes it slowly open with a call of your name.

This room, unlike the others, is not abandoned. Not exactly. There are blankets folded neatly on the edge of the bed; a duffel bag tucked in the corner by the nightstand; and a pile of books stacked on the windowsill. A laptop sits open on the pillows, where music spills from its speakers.

“‘Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling; and every time we kiss, I swear I could fly—!”

It’s all so organized, so lived in. Jack feels his chest tighten accordingly. He wonders how long you’ve been staying here, how long you’ve been lying to him.

The drumming water faucet shuts off from behind the closed bathroom door. He hears your voice behind it, singing softly to the music, and freezes when the door clicks open a few moments later.

“Can’t you hear my heart beat so, I can’t let you go! Want you in my—” You cut yourself off with a scream when you find a figure standing in front of your bed. 

Your hand rises instinctively to your mouth to muffle the sound. Your chest deflates with a breath of relief when you realize it’s Jack, then tightens again when you realize that it’s Jack. 

“Fuck…” you huff. “You scared me…”

Your free hand readjusts the fluffy white towel wrapped around your body, still warm from the shower and glistening with droplets of water. As the steam rolls out from behind you, he gets a whiff of your sweet body wash — and, as you shift awkwardly on your feet, he notices that you’re wearing a fluffy pair of house slippers. All of which tells him you’ve been staying here for way, way longer than he initially thought.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack squints, a little harsher than he means to be.

“What are you doing here?” you retort. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I was worried about you,” the man shoots back, firm hands propped on his hips as he sways slightly on his aching prosthetic. “And obviously for good reason— What is this? Are you living here?”

Your mouth opens to argue, but you hesitate with a wavering breath in. You adjust the towel on your naked form and fight back a shiver as the humming AC cools the water on your skin.

“I’m… I’m just… I’m in between places right now. That’s all.”

Jack lets a short, disbelieving chuckle. His stern stare never wavers as you duck past him for the desk across the room, where your pajamas sit on the back of the chair.

“In between places?” he echoes. “What does the even mean?”

You sigh, gaze averted, and try to get dressed without dropping your towel.

“You remember when I told you about my creepy landlord? You know, the one who won’t stop calling me?” you ramble, sliding on a pair of underwear before reaching for your sweatpants. “Well, I was going to move to a new place, and I had already started the process of moving out, but I didn’t get approved for the apartment I wanted—”

The canvas of your bare back is revealed to him when you throw the towel to the side and reach for the sweatshirt laid out before you. Your voice goes slightly muffled as you shove it over your head.

“—And I can’t go back to my old place, obviously, so I just… Moved in here. You know. For the time being.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack presses. “I would’ve helped you.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes. “Because you’re always helping me. Because I can’t do anything for myself—”

“That’s not what I said—”

“You don’t have to say it,” you snap, flashing him a wide-eyed glare. “That’s just what it is. And I can’t keep going to you every single time I have a problem that needs fixing.”

Jack shrugs, oblivious. “Why not?”

Your face twists at his confusion. 

“Because I can’t just rely on you for the rest of my life, Jack! That’s not— sustainable,” you rant, gesturing wildly with your hands. “I mean, what if you get bored of me? What if this stops— being fun for you, and I become a burden? Then where does that leave me?”

The words hang in the quiet, still, sweet-smelling air between you for several long moments.

Jack’s stern expression melts into something softer as a white-hot feeling sears his chest from the inside out.

“You aren’t a burden to me, honey— You’ve never been a burden to me,” he tells you, closing the distance between you in a few short strides. 

You peek through your lashes to meet his gaze when he towers over you. The corner of his mouth flickers into a smile as he huffs a breathless laugh. 

“I mean, not to sound like a selfish asshole here, kid, but this is more for me than it is for you… I don’t buy you stuff just because you want me to; I do it because it makes me happy. I take care of you because it makes me feel good…” Jack trails off, going foreignly sheepish as he crosses his arms and bounces his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Us being in love with each other is just a… super cool bonus.”

You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And you know what would make me feel really good?”

You hesitate for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “…What?”

“If you stopped squatting in an abandoned hospital room, and come stay with me at my place,” Jack says. “And if not with me, then at least in my guest room. That way, I know you’re sleeping in an actual bed. And have access to a real kitchen— What have you been eating, anyway?”

You cower under his squinted stare.

“I don’t know... Uber Eats on a good day. And whatever’s in the vending machine on a bad day…” you answer shyly. “And cafeteria food on a really bad day…”

Jack nods slowly, smacking his lips against his teeth.

“Yep,” he deadpans. “You’re coming home with me.”

Home, as it turns out, wasn’t so bad.

You had been to Jack’s place before, to be sure, but never with the intention of staying long term. It makes the place feel a bit foreign to you as you try to find your footing within it, when you arrive with nothing but a bathroom bag and your haphazardly-packed duffel, ‘cause Jack assured you he’d get all the rest of it for you later.

You leave your things in his guest room while he orders you something for dinner. You eat together in his living room, like usual, and wind up inevitably in his bedroom before the night is over. 

Casino plays on the television, bathing the dark room in its flickering neon glow. You lie on your stomach with your legs kicked up behind you, while Jack slouches against the headboard, legs spread to accommodate your body between them. He holds your right foot against his chest with a pair of wide hands, massaging the ache in the ball of it with his fingers.

“God, I would die for that coat…” he hears you mumble to yourself, as Robert De Niro slides the white fur over Sharon Stone’s shoulders. (He makes a mental note to find that one for you, too, and send an email to recover the dress from yesterday.)

“Isn’t this so much better than a hospital bed?” Jack wonders aloud.

You scoff a faint laugh, lifting your heavy head from your fist to flash him a deadpan look. “I think the floor would be better than that hospital bed.”

Jack chuckles quietly to himself before realizing, “…That’s why you’ve been complaining about your back so much, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” You turn away, suddenly shy. “I guess so…”

You feel him shift behind you, bed frame creaking under his weight. Your foot falls to the mattress as he sits between your legs, careful to keep the weight off his amputated limb as he kneels on the mattress. 

His warm, calloused hands smooth under the fabric of your sweatshirt. His thumbs dig into the unrelenting ache between your shoulder blades. You exhale a slow sigh and drop your head between your arms, melting under his touch.

You don’t realize he’s leaning over you until his lips brush your neck. You fight back a shiver when his silver scruff brushes the delicate skin.

“From now on…” Jack mumbles against you, low and quiet and just shy of menacing. “I want you to come to me the next time you need or want anything, alright? Anything.”

Your breath catches. Something warm pools in the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t keep it from me… Don’t brush me off…” Jack continues with a voice like honey as his hands press firmly against your back. “Come to me— directly. That’s my job now. Understand?”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod in response. Jack can feel it with his lips still pressed against your skin. You can feel his mouth curling into a smile as his hands smooth down the length of your spine, with a tenderness that sends chills pebbling across your skin in his wake. 

You forget how to breathe when his fingers curl in the hem of your sweatpants. 

“Who takes care of you, honey?” he murmurs lowly in your ear.

“You do…” you hear yourself say, half-muffled with your head still bowed.

Jack grins. He pulls your bottoms and your underwear down the curve of your ass in one fell swoop.

“Can’t hear you, baby,” he says in gritty monotone before sitting back on his haunches. 

You lift your heavy head, blinking away the haze of desire clouding your vision when you glance at the man behind you. You find him kneeling there, with a hand shoved down his pajama bottoms, massaging himself the rest of the way hard.

Jack smiles wider when he catches you staring. He feels his cock twitching in his fist at your heavy-eyed and wanting gaze.

“Who takes care of you?” he echoes, more firmly this time, but with a teasing squint in his light eyes.

The corner of your mouth lifts in a mischievous half-smile. “You do,” you repeat, more eager this time.

Jack nods once, almost approvingly so, and sighs as he squeezes hard at his stiffening cock. “Hell yeah, I do…” he murmurs to himself, proud.