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Maybe it’s selfish to say that it shattered him when you told him.

This wasn’t about him, this was about you. The past that shattered you. But that was a fact. His heart fell apart inside him when the words tumbled out of your pretty little quivering lips.

He wasn’t all too sure how the night got there. You were in his house, laughing, teasing, fooling around while you watched tv together. He liked how comfortable you were around him. Not as scared of him as other people were- as you should be.

And then he made a mistake. A total mistake. A total accident. He didn’t mean to hit a trigger, didn’t even know it was there. But he touched you wrong and he heard your breath stop, and felt your weight go solid in his lap like a trembling rock.

“Baby? What’s wrong? What did I do?” He panicked, cupping your cheeks, eyes full of pain.

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault, it’s not. I promise.”

“But something happened, somethings wrong” he frowned. “You um, you just- hit a nerve. Not a literal one. Figurative. I thought I was over it. It’s not your fault-“

“I don’t care whose fault it it. I want to know why you’re so scared.” He pleaded. “Can I hold you? Or would that make it worse?”

wet faced you nodded, and he slung his arms around you, waiting patiently. With bated breath. Fear of the worst.

“I- some stuff happened to me when I was a kid.” You began. And his stomach began to churn. “What kinda stuff?”

You sniffled. “I uh. There was this like kids group I was in. Nature stuff. Marine science and shit. I was… 10? 11? I kinda pushed it down for a while after it happened I can never get what year straight. Shit that probably sounds like I’m lying-“

“No it doesn’t” Pope swore firmly. “People don’t break down like this for nothing. Whatever happened I believe you, I believe it happened. And if you don’t want to tell me-“

“I do. I do. It’s just. Hard. I don’t normally give people details. I just tell people something happened. There was this boy in the program- he had this cousin too, she always picked on me. Anyway. He was older. And like, on the verge of being too old to stay in the group but they let him. Made an exception. The only boy. And he was 15. And um. We were on this beach trip.”

Your eyes watered further looking at Pope, who just rubbed your back, if you wanted to tell him, he wanted to be supportive. He wanted to be firm and steady and there for you.

“And we were in the water and no one was around and he-“

He waited as your voice cracked, eyes watering further. “He touched me.”

It was barely a whisper but it broke the dam, you falling into Popes shoulder in tears.

“Oh, baby. I had no idea. I’m so sorry” he whispered, holding you close. Waiting it out. Just holding you, rubbing your back, waiting for you.

Whatever you needed, whatever you wanted, he would give.

“When I told people. I was the one who got in trouble. I was the one who made it a big deal, everyone said it wasn’t that bad.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“He didn’t get kicked out or anything, and he. He did it to so many other girls too. And nothing ever happened to him. But everyone was so mad at me-“

“That’s not your fault baby. You know that, right? That’s not your fault.” Pope repeated, thumbs feather light as he brushed your tears.

“There’s no excuse for that. None at all. No one should have been mad at you. Bad things should have happened to him” Pope swore.

You just sniffled.

“And then when I was In highschool I just heard all about how it happened to all these other girls when he went there, too. And then after graduation, he would hit me up on social media, love me on dating apps. and I’m not sure if he knew, but I’m pretty sure he knew.” You explained. “He just- he always popped back up. I could never get past it because he was always reappearing.”

“That’s sick” Pope agreed. “He’s a sick disgusting fuck, and that’s not on you. It’s not your fault.” He repeated.

“Look at me, sweetie.”

You did.

“I want you to tell me his name.”

“W-why?”

“I want to know it. So if I ever hear it, I know what to do with it.” Pope lied. Just a little white lie that wouldn’t hurt you.

You said it like a poison and he nodded, encoding it.

He wouldn’t forget that.

“Come on, why don’t we get you to bed, hm? We’ll cuddle for as long as your like” he promised, urging.

After you fell asleep a few hours later, cried out on his chest, Pope went out.

He wrapped the blankets snug around you and set out a hour north back to where you came from.

He wast hard to find. Nah. Unique enough last name, no others from that town with that combination.

People ought to be more careful with their locations on social media. He was way too easy to find. He’d gotta make sure you have all that silly shit turned off when he gets home, just incase.

Found him easy, outside a bar that he was pretty sure didn’t have cameras.

“Hey there. Heard you like hurting little girls.”

Pope watched in patient amusement as the man infront of him turned around slowly, an angry expression on his face.

“The fuck you say to me?”

“What? That a secret? Seems like everyone knows about it, Timmy.”

Pope cracked a smile.

He watched him get angry, come close, and he watched the fear on his face when the desert eagle came out of his waist band and aimed at his face.

Not a bad face either. If he wasn’t a degenerate fuck he’d probably have no trouble with girls. But he had to go the hard way.

“Get in the truck”.

Pope wasn’t asking.

Drove him out to the desert, not too far. Knew the area well enough, knew he’d be leaving this fucker in good company. Plenty of bodies out here.

“Where the fuck are you taking me?”

“Don’t you worry about that. That’s my business not yours.”

A few good hits and zip ties around the wrists, and Pope had him on the sand.

“What do you want man? I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Oh. There’s nothing you can give me I want, trust me.”

Confusion was clear, as was increasing desperation. “I- I’ve got alot of cash at home.”

“Don’t care man. Dont want cash. I want you dead. I could shoot you. But that you be easy, and I don’t want easy. I don’t want it to be quick. I want you to suffer. Because you made her suffer for the last 10 years.”

“What the hell man who sent you? Who’s her?”

“Oh she didn’t send me. She’s cozy in bed right now. That sweet girl couldn’t hurt a fly. Couldn’t ask me to. She’s got no idea I’m here.”

“What’s your deal man?”

“About… 12, 13 years ago, you put your hands on a girl you shouldn’t have. Don’t know if you remember her, I know there were a lot of em. But that little girl grew up into the woman I loved, who cried in my arms about how sometimes she can still feel your dirty disgusting fucking hands on her. So. I took a drive. And here we are. You know, I got a niece, man. I worry about sick fucks like you all the time. And I can’t do much about it, but I can make sure you never hurt anyone again. And I’m gonna take my time, and I’m gonna make it hurt, so you can never hurt anyone again.”

Pope slipped back into bed 3 hours later, after he’d showered away any trace of the man, and wraped his arms around you once again. So you would wake none the wiser.

“Andrew?”.

Pope looked up, barely turning his head as you stepped out of the bedroom.

“Hey, you’re up.” He smiled softly.

“Lena still here?”

Pope shook his head. “Smurf and J took her early. She’s hangin with them today, making J be a good cousin.” Pope smiled softly to himself.

It had been a few weeks now. A good bit. The two of you had watched Lena last night. It was fun, playing house. Watching you with her. It was nice. You were happy.

“Why, what’s up? Everything okay?”

“I… I woke up to a bunch of texts. Girls from middle school and stuff.”

“Bout what?”

“Bout Tim.”

Pope tilted his head, almost like a dog trying to figure something out. Trying to understand the sound coming from a phone.

“What about him? He hurt someone else?”

“No… his cousin-“

“The bitch?”

You chuckled softly. “Her. Apparently she posted all over Facebook- he went missing.”

You studied Pope’s face, waiting for a reaction.

Pope rolled his eyes, Patting the couch. “C’mon, sit down, don’t just stand there. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”

He avoided the topic entirely.

“Pope-“

“Y/N.”

He didn’t say another word, walking to the kitchen to pour you a cup of coffee as promised.

He returned, with a steaming cup light and sweet. He was always too heavy handed with your creamer. Kinder to you than you were yourself.

“Pope-“

“Drink your coffee.” He smiled. “Celebrate.” He teased.

“The night I told you. I woke up at some point. You weren’t in bed. And then you were the next morning.”

Pope shrugged. “I wasn’t? Musta had to pee.”

“Pretty long pee.”

“Oh, you waited?”.

“No” you blushed. “I tired to. But I was too tired.”

“Of corse. You had a had night. You were exhausted. You don’t know what you remember, huh?” Pope mused, like a suggestion.

“…guess I don’t.”

Pope nodded, sipping his own coffee. “Guess you don’t. Real shame huh. When bad things happen to bad people.”

You didn’t say another word, either of you, both in understanding and agreement.

After your coffee, though, you kissed his cheek softly.

Being married to someone who looks as imposing as Brendon, whose as protective and Brendon, whose as fiercely loyal and defensive as Brendon, usually made you feel a kind of safe that was hard to put into words.

You were always relaxed around him. Your acupuncturist had once noted, many years ago, that your at the time new boyfriend had seemed to soothe your nervous system. The surgeon had snorted when you told him that, but mostly said sure, what the hell why not. You definitely felt like your nervous system was settled around him. He was a Mr take care of it, Mr does all the planning, pays the bills, does the literal heavy lifting. Keeps an eye on the clock so you’re never late. Checks the locks before bed. You always feel so safe. So relaxed and safe.

When you laid in bed at night with your sweet hubby, curled against his chest, it felt like there was nothing that could ever hurt you. Nothing would ever get past him and his love for you.

But.

Brendon can’t be with you all the time.

Today was a brutal reminder of that. When your husband wasn’t around to keep you safe… you weren’t.

You were “lucky” to be in PTMC’s catch when it happened. If that’s a thing. You didn’t have to beg the paramedics or make any scary calls.

“She said her husband works here.” The paramedic told a nurse when you were brought in. His tone was a bit dismissive, making you feel smaller and worse than you already did.

The nurse was a middle aged woman, pretty but tough looking. And spoke softly with a thick accent. The kind of old school Pittsburgh that reminded you of friends moms and aunties.

“Yeah? Who would that be, honey? We can call him for you if that’s what you want” She offered.

You gnawed on the uncut side of your lip.

“He’s in surgery we shouldn’t interrupt him.”

“He’s gonna want to know, I’m sure. Someone can take over. Same last name? Is your husband Brendon Park?” She deduced quickly.

You nodded. Accepting defeat. “Ok honey. We’ll get you settled in and I’ll make the call, alright?”

You got settled in. Answered a long line of questions. Had a few dozen photos of every wound taken. It was invasive, sure. But what hasn’t been invasive and violating today?

Then you heard him.

You heard Brendon long before you saw him. Maybe not exact words, but the volume and hostile tone and the way air stills around him is explicit.

“Where’s Y/N?” You heard him grit.

Your stomach was unsteady like the sea as you worried about who was on the receiving end of that.

“Hey, hey- Park. Stop. Right now she’s with Dana in a room. You can’t- Park. You can’t go there because Dana’s currently doing the forensic intake. No one in no one out. You know how it works. Just breathe okay? She’s here, she’s being taken care of, she’s safe now.”

Dana stoped momentarily.

“Hey, you alright? Want me to go yell at them to can it?”

You shake your head swallowing.

“Who’s he talking to?”

“Dr Abbot. Real good guy. Best case scenario, I think. He can take it.” She explained.

You nodded nervously.

“You need a break?”

You shook your head. You wanted it over with.

She nodded. “Okay honey. You say at any time, and we can take a minute. You’ve got this.”

When Dana finished the exam, a doctor came in- not Dr Abbot, she was a woman, luckily. She introduced herself as Dr Al Hashimi. An attending on shift.

She assessed you and your wounds, making notes and orders for your corse of treatment.

She did explain things, but all of it felt like water rushing in your ears.

You just nodded along dumbly, until she left, leaving just you and Dana.

And then you heard him again.

This time he was louder, but not much more clear. Some expletives. A final “fuck you, take it up with my fucking lawyer,” and there was a hand on the door to your room.

And there he was, in the door way, squeezing the knob hard enough his knuckles went white.

“Give us the room” he demanded, didn’t ask. Ordered. Which was pretty rude considering how nice this Dana woman had been to you.

Dana looked at you for permission, waiting for you to nod.

And then she did. She reminded you where the call button was and left.

And then it was just you and Brendon.

And it was deafeningly quiet.

You could feel his eyes on you as he assessed you like a patient, eyes raking down and across and evaluating you. Sizing you up. He held a sweatshirt- his- in his hands, his knuckles probably white.

And then he stopped looking at you like a patient

You saw the shift in his eyes. He started looking at you like his wife. Eyes soft and tragic, face lost and empty. And you almost preferred the before to this… devastation.

“I told them not to pull you out of surgery” you mumbled, cringing before your eyes filled with tears, IV attached hand coming up to cover your face.

Brendon softened, positively wilting inside. You hadn’t hid a damn thing from him since long before there was a ring on your finger. Especially not tears.

“Of corse they pulled me out of surgery, you kidding me?”

Not that you saw it with your covered face, but you heard as Brendon crossed the room, sitting at the stupid little stool beside you, scooting close.

You flinched when his hand covered yours. A full body jump.

“Just me” he reminded you, jaw tight.

“Just me. Just us.” He repeated, taking your hands down from your face.

He had zero clue what happened to you. But he did know some fucker hurt you bad enough you were scared of your own fucking husband touching you now. And he felt a familiar tingle in his knuckles, a familiar urge.

He reflectively brushed his thumb over the cuts on your face once it was revealed to him, biting his tongue to ask if they called plastics for you yet. He wasn’t having some hack job done here.

He’d handle that later.

When Brendon brought your hands to your lap, he closed his over one of yours. Large and encompassing but so gentle.

Looking down, his wedding band gleamed on his hand. Most people would expect him to have some plain and simple band. But he didn’t. No. He stood in the jewelry store infront of the men’s bands with you and told you to pick him something real pretty, so he could always think about you when he looked at it. So it was gleaming gold and engraved intricately. Art deco, you called it. He loved it. He loved you.

Looking at your ring, too, he thought about how it had failed to do its job. To keep other men away, to scream my heart belongs to someone, someone loves me.

Anyway. His hand was also bruised and cut.

“What happened?” You worried, thumbing over his knuckles.

It was so like you, to be in a hospital bed and worry about him. And his dumb split knuckles.

“I didn’t take the news well.” He grumbled.

You frowned.

“You hit someone?”

“I hit a wall. They made Yolanda tell me they knew I wouldn’t hit her” Brendon shrugged nonchalantly.

“Are you gonna get in trouble?” You worried. Once again. So fucking you. He shook his head. “Nah. If they want I can pay for the damage. It’s nothing, it’s just some drywall.” He promised.

“You are so much more important than some stupid fucking drywall” he repeated, bringing your hand up to his lips to gently kiss. He kissed your hand over and over again, gentle pepperings.

“Has everyone been kind to you since you got here?” He asked, desperate for something to fill the air. Wording careful.

You nodded. He nodded. “Good. They better be. The um. The… kit went okay?” He worried. An odd mix of awkward and blunt.

Water filled your eyes as you nodded.

“Dana said she’s get my pills for me. It’s uh- I take some-“ you whispered.

“Some now, some later, some for the next month” he confirmed. You affirmed.

“Where are you hurt?” He asked. “I see some cuts, where else are you hurt?” He questioned, throat tight.

“There’s some more cuts under the gown. I have some uh. Rug burn, I guess. On my knees. And, palms.” You turned over your hand in his proving your point. “And my face kinda hurts in the side that was on the floor but Dr Al Hashimi doesn’t think anything’s broken. And um. She said she saw no reason to call gynecology. So I guess like, that’s good. You know.”

Brendon swallowed. The floor.

He had so many more questions now. He pushed them down. “Mind if I feel around your face about the breaks? Peace of mind.”

You nodded. He thanked you.

His hands were warm and gentle as he moved your head in various ways, asking little questions. He hummed in satisfaction. “Yeah. No breaks.” He agreed. “That’s good.” You whispered.

Another stiff nod.

“Did you notice if they said they were gonna page plastics for your cuts?”

You smiled brokenly. “Dana suggested Dr Al Hashimi should because she had a feeling you’d want that. I think she was surprised when Dana like, tried to casually warn her I was your wife. It was kinda funny. Dana’s nice.”

Brendon agreed. “Yeah. She’s a man good nurse I’ll give her that. And she’s a smart woman. But yeah. Obviously I do. You don’t need to see scars of this for the rest of your life.” He agreed. “Only the best for my wife.” He swore.

His questions continued so, so stiff and formal. His voice is soft and careful. Voice low and quiet. Tone careful. What did they give you for the pain? Have you called the police? Are your feet cold? I can get you socks. They took your clothes for the kit right? That’s okay. I’m gonna door dash you some clothes from target.

“I stopped at my locker, I didn’t know what you’d have and I know this place can be cold.” He explained, holding up his sweatshirt for you. It was a faded navy blue, a cheap Colombia zip up he kept around for those rare days he can’t shake a chill- usually, you say it because he’s about to get sick. He doesn’t listen, a typical boy, until he’d bedridden with the flu.

He offered it and you took it gratefully, slipping it around your back and on.

It smelt like Brendon, beautifully, wonderfully, and safely. His skin and cologne clung to it. And after that half hour under stale coffee breath and the wrong man’s skin and the wrong bitter cologne, it was a tether to reality.

“Thank you” you muttered, wrapping yourself in it. The hospital gown did little for modesty, too. So you relished a little more coverage.

And then finally, a crack in the facade when he asked “what can I do for you?”

Asking as your husband. As a man. Not a doctor. Vulnerable and human.

His eyes locked on yours, vulnerable and desperate.

“I don’t know.” You admitted.

He nodded, sitting back and breathing. “I was afraid of that.”

He looks… pained. Like he… failed. Like he meant it. He was genuinely afraid of being unable to help.

He hated it. You were hurt. Violated. And he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.

“Can I take care of your rug burn?” He offered. Like he needed it more than you did.

“Just a little soap and water, and bandages.” He explained. “Nothing we need dermatology for. Just a little Neosporin.”

You nodded unsurely.

He moved around he room with an expert familiarity, producing a cloth with soap, some bandages, some medicated cream.

“They haven’t changed anything around here since I was a med student” he muttered to himself. Secretly relived to know where everything was.

He moved in silence, dampening a cloth, soaping it, setting out bandages. Pulling on gloves.

“Can I take this off?” He whispered, gesturing to the blanket on your lap which covered your knees.

You nodded awkwardly, letting him do so.

Letting him clean off each knee and your palms slowly and cautiously, work precise as he laid the bandages perfectly.

When he was done he looked at the other cuts on your legs.

“I see what you mean.” He acknowledged neutrally. Clinically.

Once he was done with his job, though, he felt completely fucking useless again.

He hated feeling useless.

“Brendon.” You called.

His head snapped toward you.

“Yes honey?”

“You’re being weird.”

He took a deep breath,

“Yeah. You’re right.” He agreed easily.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this.” He admitted.

For some reason, you felt relieved at that, breathing out finally.

“Bren. You think I know how to do this?”

An involuntary tear slid down your face. “Because really don’t know how to do this.”

You hiccuped.

“Fuck. I’m sorry honey I didn’t mean to make this about me-“ Brendon worried.

“You didn’t!” You jumped to insist. “You didn’t. I promise. I’m sorry. I-just- look. You don’t know how to handle this and I don’t either so. Equal ground.”

He nodded.

Equal ground. Okay.

“Let’s um. Let’s set some rules?”

Brendon nodded. “Perfect.”

“So. Let’s make the first rule that- um- I trust you and I love you so if you want to ask or do or say something, you shouldn’t hold it in and I want you to atleast ask, because I know you’re not trying to hurt me.”

Brendon nodded in fierce agreement, water in his eyes.

“Okay. Then number two is that I want you to tell me exactly how you feel and what you’re thinking. Even if you think it’ll hurt me.” Brendon requested.

You nodded to that, too. He knew you well. That you’d try to stomach it all to protect him. But you could do this for him. He could take it.

“Number three- this isn’t a rule. Brendon. I love you. I love you and I trust you, okay? I need you to know that because it looks like you’re scared I don’t anymore.”

Some of that water silently fell from Brendon’s eyes as you read him like a book.

He believed you.

“Okay. Thank you.” He whispered.

“This. Um. Im sure it- of corse it will affect us. But it would get between us. I promise I won’t let that happen.” Brendon swore, with an intensity that you weren’t sure was warranted. Was that really up to him? “We’re a married couple. We’re a family. We handle things together. We work through things together.” He affirmed. To himself mostly.

Well. You knew Brendon Park. So you were sure he wouldn’t give up on you no matter what.

You nodded in agreement. You squeezed his hand back.

“Okay. No more rules baby. Right?”

He agreed.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked quietly. He’d never asked before. Not since your second date.

You nodded.

He didn’t come for your lips, but your forehead, taking his sweet time to press his lips to your face.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you honey. I love you so much.” He insisted.

“Can you please actually kiss me?” You requested embarrassingly.

He nodded fiercely.

“Of corse I can. I just didn’t want to push you.”

His lips were feather light against yours, gently stroking your lips. Pulled away and then he kissed your cheek. You fought a stupid urge to thank him. Him. Your husband. For a kiss.

He settled back down in the chair beside you, clearly more at ease. He kept one hand of yours in his, quiet again but less tense as you waited for… the plastic surgeon, you guessed? Who knew. Not you. Maybe Brendon did. You didn’t want to ask. You just wanted some peace and quiet.

“Are you in pain?” He asked. Not for the first time. Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe he was checking in.

You shook your head. “Not physically.” You confirmed.

He nodded.

He took out his phone, making a cart of clothing for you. Sizes pulled from memory, handing you his phone for you to add whatever underwear choice you thought would be the most comfortable.

“This was a good idea. Thanks for being so smart” you complimented.

He nodded.

You scrolled though his choices. Marching grey sweats. A tee shirt- a graphic tee with a stupid vintage cartoon graphic.

“Really?”

He smiled. An actual smile.

“You weren’t supposed to see that. It was supposed to make you smile when it got here.” He explained.

You smiled at his thoughtfulness.

“You’re such a sweet man. I love you.” You insisted. He replied in kind.

The room fell quiet again.

“What. Um. I didn’t ask. What am I waiting for?” You managed to spit out.

“Do you want me to look at your chart?” He asked. For consent. You nodded.

Normally Brendon would assume he had it. Not anymore, huh.

He got up, keying into the station.

“Bloodwork just came back, I’ll be honest it’s kinda Greek to me you want someone from down here to tell you what it says. And plastics. For your stitches.”

Right.

You nodded, quieting again.

Until Brendon spoke up.

“Do you… want me to know what happened? Or would you rather I didn’t know” he asked carefully.

Question heavy. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Do you want to know?”

“I want to be what you need. This is your choice.”

Okay.

You braced yourself.

You don’t think you could look at Brendon for this.

You looked at the ceiling.

“You um. Remember that new manager we got at work that I didn’t like?”

Brendon felt his jaw clench.

“Yes.”

He’d been uneasy about the guy for months. He usually liked being right. He didn’t, now.

You nodded.

“I um- I had my annual review today.”

Right. He knew that. He forgot.

His stomach started churning. It was like watching a train accident in slow motion. Know this story was going to end. But not knowing the details.

“He um- it went south pretty fast. And he tried to like. You know. Quid pro quo me. And when I said no, I guess he thought I’d say yes. And I was gonna report him to HR, and i got a little nasty, and then he attacked me. And um. He got me on the floor and he-“

You stoped. You’d didn’t want to say any more, actually. And you knew Brendon wouldn’t make you.

Some tears pooled in your eyes as you finally got the nerve to look at Brendon.

Oh, Brendon.

Brendon looked like a mix of anger, devastation, and heartbreak.

Brendon was, minutely, shaking. He was shaking where he sat, hands clasped together against his forehead, tears down his face.

“That guys married.” Brendon muttered, focused on that of all things. Because it was just so much to take in.

He couldn’t tell if the images his mind was conjuring of you were worse than what had happened, or less brutal. He had no way of knowing. And focusing on something so… stupid helped get it off his mind. A luxury you didn’t have.

You nodded.

“Yeah.” You confirmed.

“He got taken out in a cop car.” You supplied. “I think he’s under arrest.”

Brendon grunted.

“He should be fucking executed by firing squad.”

You didn’t argue.

“Cops are gonna call you, probably. Not tomorrow but soon.” He reminded you. Which was correct.

You nodded.

“You know that it doesn’t matter how nasty you got. That it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. He shouldn’t have even tried anything with you in the first place.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I don’t want you to go back to that job.”

That stopped you.

“Bren-“

“Y/N. I don’t want you to ever set foot in the place where that happens again. I’ll collect your things for you eventually. And I want us to sue the ever living fuck out of that company for letting this happen. But I don’t want you back there ever again. Well get by fine. Let me take care of you for a while until you’re ready to look for something else. But I don’t want you back there.”

Brendon didn’t really leave room to argue.

You didn’t have the energy. Didn’t want to.

You just agreed easily.

Which was so unlike you.

But he was right.

The wait for plastics was… annoying but not necessary.

The doctor who came down seemed surprised to see Brendon, like he wasn’t warned.

They seemed to know eachother, by the way he greeted in surprise. “Park?”

“Hey Won.”

He looked at you both in confusion. “My wife” he explained.

“Oh. I didn’t know. Nice to meet you, Y/N. Sorry it’s under such circumstances but I’ll take good care of you.” He assured.

You believed him. Especially if he was Brendon approved.

When you asked Brendon to hold you hand during the stitches he did diligently, insisting you were so strong, so brave. It was stupid, but you needed it. Really needed it.

Eventually, the things Brendon ordered were delivered by a med student who looked like he was going to shoot himself.

Brendon dismissed him blankly.

“Do you need help changing, or do you want me to step out?” Brendon checked.

“I’m okay. I’m not injured.” You insisted. “You don’t have to go.”

Brendon nodded.

He locked the door, standing infront of it.

It almost hurt for Brendon to look away while you changed, something he hadn’t done in years and years.

But he did.

Maybe it was a relief.

“Can we go home yet?” You asked, finally sitting.

Brendon wasn’t sure.

“I will go check.” He promised, kissing your forehead.

Brendon noticed, at the hub, how the air went still and icy round him. The world freezing.

Dana was the brave soul to look up.

“What can I do for you Dr Park?”

“Y/N wanted to know if she’s ready to be discharged. My wife would like to go home.” He said carefully. Politely.

Dana nodded. “Let me check, but I think we’re ready to send her home. Anything else I can do for her?”

Brendon’s harsh exterior softened.

“I don’t think so. But if you can check-“

“I can, absolutely.”

“Thank you.”

Brendon stuttered as he moved to walk away.

“I’m sorry for my tone earlier. I should have been more respectful.”

An apology? From Dr Park?

Cold day in hell.

“Thank you, Dr Park.”

“It’s the least I can say.”

Dr AlHashimi and Dana discharged you not soon after. Bag full of drugs and instructions, copies of paper work and kind words, referrals to therapists and the like.

Brendon was very relieved that people were too fucking afraid of him to even look in your direction as you walked out.

And then, into the silence of his car.

Where the fuck did things go from here? This was the hard part, wasn’t it? Moving on.

“Is there anything you need that’s at your office?”

You shook your head. Your laptop was in your bag, phone in your pocket. Everything else… could wait until Brendon got it.

Brendon nodded.

“You gotta eat something, so let’s figure that out now.”

He didn’t leave you room to refuse.

You had no appetite. Not that he especially cared to be frank.

“I’m not sure.” You admitted.

“Want Chinese?”

You understood that he was reverting to what you wanted when you were sick.

That would work.

He nodded. “Usual?”

“Usual” you confirmed.

5 minutes from your house he stopped, to retrieve your chicken and eggplant (extra spicy) with plain lomein, and his beef and broccoli, extra beef brown rice. Extra soy sauce, you both liked to drown in it. Too many egg rolls.

“Thanks.” You whispered.

He nodded. It was nothing.

“Felt like the safest bet.”

You didn’t put the TV on for dinner. Which was odd for a takeout night between you. You sat on the couch in silence, eating slowly with your weak stomach.

Threatening to lurch every minute.

“You’re doing good.” He reminded you. “You gotta eat though. Need your strength to recover.”

Recover.

How does someone recover from this anyway?

Hell if you had a clue.

But you listened.

It was easy to shut everything off and just listen to Brendon.

“I need to take a shower.” You insisted, halfway through dinner.

Brendon nodded in understanding. “Of corse.” He didn’t protest.

“Do you need any help? Want me to cover your stitches for you or can you do it yourself?”

You hesitated.

“I can do it myself.”

He nodded in acceptance.

“Okay. Just be careful, and if you need me call.”

You agreed easily, kissing your husband softly on your way out of the room.

“Take my clothes if you want.” He insisted. As if you wouldn’t anyway.

At first, you thought you were fine.

Really.

Took the plastic sheets from the box, put them on your stitches easily, started the shower.

It was fine.

Scrubbed your hair. Moved on to your body.

Then you got… stuck.

You washed your face, and then you started to clean your body.

And you just kept… going.

Like you weren’t clean enough.

Like you needed to keep scrubbing.

The water was hot. And you couldn’t stop.

You weren’t clean. It wasn’t enough.

Would you ever be clean again?

You had no clue how long you were in there.

Not until there was a knock on the door.

“Honey? Everything okay in there?”

“I’m fine.”

You didn’t sound remotely fine.

“I’m gonna come in.” Brendon decided. Atleast he warned you.

When Brendon came in, something in you snapped.

He looked devastated.

“Sweetheart… you’ve rubbed your skin raw, baby. You gotta stop.”

He could see the way your skin had been abused by your loofa. He should have seen this coming. He frowned looking at you.

He crossed the room slowly, opening the door to take it from your hands and place it on the hook.

“You’re done with that, honey.” He whispered in his husky voice.

He turned off the shower head a second later.

Leaving you wet and cold.

“Still feel dirty.” You admitted.

He pulled your towel off the hook, wrapping it around you.

He nodded.

“I know. But you’re not. You’re squeaky clean, and you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He assured.

He raked his fingers through your hair, detangling the mess.

For some reason, this was when you let yourself finally break.

You leaned into Brendon, soaking his chest- now in his own pajamas, he must have changed and used the guest bath to shower while you were in here-, letting him dry you.

“That’s it.” He encouraged. “Lemme take care of you.” He urged. “We’re a unit. We’re a family. I take care of you” he insisted, not for the first time that day.

You accepted it.

Let him dress you this time. Let him cover you in soft lotion, and pull his tee shirt over your head.

“So cute.” He cooed, despite your cuts and bruises.

You let him set you up in bed, let him turn on your electric blanket for the aching in your knees, let him sort out your medicine and give you your pills with water. Didn’t question him as you swallowed, to his praise.

When you asked to leave a light on, he didn’t argue. Turned on your en suites dome light, and left the door open.

“That enough?”

It was.

When Brendon settled into bed, he gave you space.

Which you didn’t want.

“Please hold me?”

What the fuck were you doing in Jacks waiting room?

1 am Sunday night- morning? They all liked to debate the semantics of it when they were a little bored-. But at this hour, there was usually a steady stream of high heel accident broken ankles, accidental club ODs, drink spikings, and drunk driving accidents.

Of all things Jack expected on a night like tonight, he wasn’t expecting his cozy little nocturnal neighbor.

1 am, Sunday night, he knows that’s you. He may not know everything about you, but he knows your face, knows your hair, knows your body language, and he sure as hell knows your sweatshirt.

He knows it becuase it’s his. He lent you it weeks ago. And he didn’t give a shit that you still had it. Fire alarm rang, and you were shivering on the sidewalk and he couldn’t bear it. A cold little bunny he’d thought. You were always so bundled up when he saw you, even in the summer. And at the alarm, like the good little bunny you were, you ran right outside. In a tank top, in October.

It was mindless, really. It was the kind of thing people said about people, how they’d give you the shirt off their back. Well, he just pulled the literal shirt off his back for you, rolling his eyes that you’d give it back when you got to it, that he wasn’t worried.

You chatted for the hour it took for the fire department to come, not too different than your usual encounters. You made him laugh, he made you smile, you made your theories about who in the building was doing who, and weather it would last. You always made time fly, wherever and however he saw you. Always made him smile a little bit, made the world a little lighter.

And now you were in his ER, in his hoodie, on his shift.

He didn’t think you had half a clue he worked there. You had to know he was a doctor- it had to have come up. At the very least, you must have seen him come home and leave in scrubs in the time you’d lived down the hall from him.

And it had been quite some time. The house was just too big to be in all alone. He didn’t need the space- couldn’t stand it.

He downsized and relocated, and at some point he met you. The glittering little thing who was always stinking up the halls with her baking, or playing her music way too loud, or rattling around the halls way too late.

He should probably be annoyed by it. But the signs of someone so alive could never annoy Jack. Not when they were so pretty and chatty and always offered him lemon bars, atleast. It didn’t help that you were almost somehow on the same fuckass schedule, passing in the halls, telling jokes in the elevator, winking at the mail boxes. He knew the jingle of your keys and the pitch of your laughs.

And you were in his chairs, curled into a nervous ball, at 1 am.

Jack stopped Matteo the second he came back from chairs, triaging.

“Hey. What’s with A&M hoodie?” Jack asked Matteo, trying to hide his concern. Trying to get a glimpse of her through the window and the crowd. “A&M hoodie? Y/N L/N. Deep laceration to the thigh, totally needs stitches. Pretty rough. Hey- didn’t you go to A&M?” “I did. And that’s my hoodie. Bring her back.-“

Jack saw the wide eyes Matteo was trying to hide.

“It’s not like that. We know eachother, it’s a long story but it’s not like that.” Jack defended, mostly to himself.

Matteo nodded. “Yeah, yeah of corse. I’ll grab her- so she’s a friend or something?” “Shes a neighbor- something like that. Why?”

Matteo fidgeted with his nail beds for a second. “Just want to warn you before I get her, I’m pretty sure it’s self inflicted. So if she’s someone you care about, just like, prepare yourself for that.”

Jack paused, letting the heavy realization settle on him.

If could happen to anyone, it could be anyone. But for some reason, he would have never guessed the person who filled the 5th floor with so much life could hurt that much.

“Oh” he breathed.

“Okay. Well let’s get her back here and get her comfortable. Matteo- be- be gentle with her, okay? She’s a nice girl. Be kind.”

“Hey, man, of corse. Same way I’d treat anyone.” Matteo assured him.

“Hey Y/N. You can come on back” a young nurse smiled, holding the door open for you.

You gave a soft thank you, apologizing for nothing as you fallowed him.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” The nice nurse smiled as he led you down the hall. “You’re a friend of Abbots?” He asked casually.

“Sorry? I- I don’t think so, I think you have me confused.” You apologized.

“Jack Abbot? Said you were a friend.” He asked again.

You only knew one Jack.

It couldn’t be you thought as the nurse- Matteo, his badge read, asked you to take a seat.

“Hey, look what the tide dragged in” came a familiar voice suddenly, and when you looked up, there he was.

Mr 5C himself, Jack. Doctor Jack Abbot, apparently.

At first you floundered as he thanked Matteo, asking him to stick close. Finally, when you spoke again, it was involuntary and expected. “I’m sorry-“

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. People get hurt, it’s my job to fix em.” He assured kindly.

“I mean for coming here-“

“Trust me, you’d really be sorry if you went to Presby. It’s not a big deal, really. Our buildings squat in our catch, it was smart of you to come here. Closest and fastest.”

“I didn’t know you worked here” you admitted. “Surprise surprise. What, you thought I was private practice?”

“Suppose this does suit you” you admitted. “Couldn’t agree more.” He hummed. “I like my Pitt, and I like my night crowd. My therapist thinks I find comfort in the dark, and in chaos. I think he thinks I’m Batman.” Jack winked. “It’s flattering, really, but he’s too kind. I think I just never adjusted back to the time zone after spending so long in the Middle East. Even if I’ve been home longer than I was deployed, now.” Jack rambled on. He did that with patients sometimes when they seemed like they needed to be distracted. Rattled on about something absurd to keep them confused and attentive, and not thinking about their pain.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s see the damage here” Jack asked as you slipped off your sweat pants, leaving you in athletic shorts, and a haphazard tourniquet of gauze and an ace bandage.

“Well this was crafty” he murmured encouragingly. “I am gonna have to take it off though, okay?”.

As you nodded, he took stock of the rest of the damage.

Shit.

No other thoughts came to mind, but shit.

There was certainly a lot here. Thankfully, nothing looked infected. Mostly looked normally healed.

And then he removed the bandage, to fresh, deep blood.

“Jeez sweetheart, you really did a number here. I’m really glad you came in.” He said softly.

You couldn’t bare to look at him, eyes half blinded by the ceiling lights since the second he’d started with the bandage.

“I- I didn’t mean to go that deep I swear it was an accident I wasn’t trying to-“

He put a soft hand on your opposite thigh. Touch warm and soft.

God. It was so long since another human being touched you at all, let alone so softly. Years since a hug, a pat on the back. And now his hand was on your thigh.

“Hey, look at me.”

When your eyes met his, yours full of panic, his so calm, your tongue felt too heavy to move.

“I believe you” he said gently. Face calm, expressionless. Eyed locked on yours.

He didn’t make you finish the sentance. He knew what you were going to say. And maybe he shouldn’t, but he believed you.

“Accidents happen. I’m just glad you made it here safe” he assured.

You nodded choppily.

“Can I asked what did this? I need to know if I’m looking for any foreign objects to remove, or if you’re going to need certain medications, risk of conditions like tetanus.” Jack explained.

You gnawed at your lip as you told him.

“Huh. Well I guess I always knew you were creative. You know if you have a tetanus shot?”

You shook your head. “Okay. Well that’s an easy one so we’ll have that taken care of too. No sweat.” He smiled.

“Have you ever had stitches before?”

You nodded. “I ran into the wall once and I was a kid. That’s where this came from” you said, pointing to the scar on your forehead. Jack just chuckled. “Bet there’s a good story there. I take it it’s been a while, so I’m going to explain everything as we go. I’ll numb the area so you won’t feel a thing but the pressure, and I’ll have you back in bed and cozy in no time.” He smiled kindly.

All you could do was nod.

Jack did as he promised. He was calm, soft spoken, and kind the entire time he stitched you up.

He also took the shameless liberty to look around, see if anything else needed a stitch. Somewhat humiliatingly. “Okey dokes. Stitches out in a week back here, but if anything feels off come back sooner, or, you know, walk down the hall and just ask” he smiled. “I’m gonna pull some goodies together for you, and then we’ll get a move on your discharge paperwork” he explained, pulling off his gloves. “They gotta stay dry for 2 days, so I’m going to get you these big plastic sheets- kinda like waterproof bandaids- we have so you can cover it to shower. Of corse it won’t hurt to use them after those 2 days either, but after that it’s okay if it gets wet” Jack continued to rattle off. “I also want to give you some collagen scar sheets. You don’t have to use them, but, if you ever want to, they help reduce the appearance of scaring. They don’t expire for a long time but, I wanna give you them anyway. If you ever want them you’ll have them. I also have some pamphlets… read em, maybe call the number’s, maybe don’t. And Matteo should be bringing me a list of mental health professionals in your insurance network nearby.- don’t worry about me working him too hard we have the lists on hand for all the major companies it takes two seconds to print up. Just so you have a starting point, I know it’s a bitch to try to find someone taking new patients near you who will take your insurance. Took me ages.”

You just blinked in shock, finally asking what you were thinking. “I’m allowed to leave?”.

Jack stopped puttering around at the question.

He knew what you meant by that. And yeah. Part of him was really avoiding talking about it. To be honest, that was probably half the problem, wasn’t it? People like him just choosing to ignore it. There were probably many.

“Believe it or not, that’s not protocol here. Not in this state atleast. A psych hold, right? That’s what you’re worried about? You’re not a minor. You haven’t expressed suicidal thoughts- in-fact you’ve unprompted asserted the opposite. And if I’m being honest, I think this scared the shit out of you enough that you’ll lay off for atleast a couple days.” He said bluntly to your surprised blinking. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.” You muttered in surprise. He hummed.

“I get it. I know that a lot of the psychological health system does more harm that good. I really applaud you coming in anyway, even if that’s what you were scared of. I’m glad that you took your health seriously enough to come in anyway.” He praised carefully.

“T-thank you. And I’m sorry. Really. For the trouble.”

Jack frowned, finally deciding he needed to sit back down infront of you.

“Hey. What did I tell you kiddo? You never have to apologize for needing help. That’s my job. And fuck, let me say. I really wish you’d have asked for help before this happened. So. How’d we get here?”

“It was an accident I just- there was a car alarm and I jumped and my hand slipped and it went too deep.”

Jack nodded. “Okay. But I meant in general. How’d this start?”

“A couple years ago, end of college. I just- the stress was killing me and I couldn’t survive the day without busting into sobs in class. It was so embarrassing I was in political philosophy one day and- that doesn’t matter” you flushed at your own rambling.

“It matters to me” he whispered. You believed him. “What happened in political philosophy?” “It was pretty soon after Covid so you couldn’t really see my face in my mask and my glasses and- I guess I was bored and my mind started wandering to how I was just so alone and I just started sobbing right there in the third row. I thought no one noticed but the professor was so nice- Anyway, I guess the point is I was feeling so bad I would just start sobbing in the middle of classes.”

“That sounds really bad. What was going on, the grade stress?”

“Yeah. Other things. The- the isolation. It was intense. I don’t know why it’s stupid-“

“That’s not stupid. Isolation fucked you up hard. When I came back from the army? I was a mess.” He sympathized. “What started this? Was there a big moment or?”

“Eventually it just kinda, started I guess. I was having a bad night and the idea hit me so I just. Did it. And I kinda just kept going whenever I needed to.” You admitted. “It was the only way to make it all stop. Only way to make it through the day sometimes, telling myself I could do it later.”

“Why’d you need to tonight?” He almost whispered.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” He shrugged.

“You do?”

“For you, absolutely.” He swore.

Tears welled up rapidly.

With the last 10 minutes you’d spent talking, clearly he meant it.

“Just- Holliday stuff I guess. Family drama.”

He hummed. “I know the feeling. It’s nice to work a job like this, gets me off easily.”

You chuckled wetly. “The gift thing just- it kills me every year. I can’t afford it and if I don’t give enough I feel like shit.”

He frowned. “You’re a baby. You live alone, away from home, I don’t know what you do but at your age- kiddo. No one should be expecting the world from you. You should still be getting fat checks from grandma at your age.”

You laughed wetly. “I mean it. Really. It’s fucked up if people are guilting you about fucking Holliday gifts. No offense- if they don’t pay enough attention to you to know you’re in a bad place, they don’t deserve a fucking thing.”

A moment of silence hung heavy in the room after that.

He was right. God. Painfully right.

“You know, I’ve had to be talked off the roof here before.”

You stared at him in shock. “I don’t know how much I meant it, stayed on the safe side of the railing usually, but fuck I was thinking about it. My best friend, ED chief? Oh man. I have absolutely had to talk him down. Worse than me. Day shift has two brilliant residents who are addicts in recovery. And I’ve got one med student who I’m pretty sure I’ll never see without long sleeves on. Another I’m pretty sure attempted herself, lost a friend to her own hand atleast.” Jack rattled off. “Im missing half my leg. Bet you’re too sweet to have noticed but I am. Army, Afghanistan. 07. Came back hurting and angry and had some fucked up thoughts, and had to be dragged out of them kicking and screaming.“

You were too sweet to ask why he was telling you that.

He didn’t mind coloring it in.

“Look around you, sweetheart. You are far from alone” Jack explained. “Even here. Because it’s everywhere. Everyone’s lonely, everyone’s hurting. You’re not alone. There are people who would rather you call them up and scream and cry than hurt yourself- and if there aren’t, there’s me, I’m happy to be your someone.”

He couldn’t mean that. Surely.

“I mean it.” The mindreader answered. “I’m dead serious. I mean it. Look. I could use a friend too, you know? I don’t got a lot of people. I don’t have really anyone outside this place. Lost my wife a few years back, never figured out how to be a person again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You are very sweet. But I’m talking about you here. Maybe I was talking about me- whatever. Look. I want to be your friend. I want to be someone you can talk to- about fucking anything. The dark shit and the dumb shit. Family and holidays and the asshole in 509 who won’t stop stinking up the hallway with his fish-“

Your giggle at the last part made it feel a lot more worthwhile.

“It’s 509 isn’t it? Fucking asshat. Anyway. That’s my proposal. You, me, friends. I’ve got an borderline geriatric box turtle you’re more than welcome to come stare at if that’s your speed, plenty of old hoodies where that came from, a decent ear, and a pretty strong shoulder to cry on. And I’m right across the hall.”

“Jack”

“Hey, hey, no more tears honey, it’s okay” he soothed, pulling you into his arms.

He was a good hugger.

Warm, firm, soft hands on your back, soft coos in your ear. And he smelt pretty nice for a guy in a hospital.

Panicking, you take a small step back. "Sir, p-please get back into bed. If you go home AMA, you...you may not make it back if things get worse, or—"

The world sways. One moment, you're facing your patient. The next, the back of your head has slammed off the tile floor, leaving you staring up at the ceiling. You blink dumbly, and then a searing pain begins to build at the back of your skull until it develops into a blazing inferno.

Oh God. Are... Are you paralyzed?

You curl your fingers inward, taking stock of what still functions. Just when you go to wiggle your toes, he climbs atop you and straddles your waist. "Please," you rasp as tears gather in your eyes, causing them to sting. "Pl—"

He wraps his hands tightly around your throat which you begin to claw uselessly at as your eyes bulge from your head. He presses his thumbs into your larynx next in an attempt to crush it.

His face will be the last thing you see—this red, ugly, pockmarked thing, and breath that reeks of alcohol and peppermint chewing gum which fans across your face.

You're going to die here.

If you're fortunate, his heart will give out before the job is through.

You kick your legs and flail your arms, completely helpless to stop what's happening to you.

"You stupid fuckin' cunt! I told you I wasn't gonna let you do it! Shoulda fuckin' listened!"

Your vision grows blurry, and then dim—the harsh lighting overhead bleeding, instead, into inky darkness.

"Hula hoop! We've got a code hula hoop!" Someone shouts from far away.

You'd had one of those as a child. Aggravating things. Never could get it to stay circling your waist for very long. You suppose that's of little concern to you now, however.

"It's Y/N!" They screech panickedly.

Just as your eyes have begun to flutter closed, a fast-moving, towering form rushes into the room, knocking the monster from atop you, sending him skidding across the floor.

Your body, acting on reflex, doubles over while your hand comes to circle your throat, desperate for air to fill it. You cough hoarsely—a good sign—then draw in a harsh sounding, ragged breath.

People circle you from all angles, fussing over you and speaking all at once. So quickly that you can hardly discern a single question or comment. Too much. It's all too much!

And then the screaming starts again. "Abbot's gonna kill 'em!" Yowls a feminine voice.

Your head rolls to the side, and like a horrific car crash, you find yourself unable to look away as a fist is drawn back before making impact with an impossibly swollen face, sending blood splattering against a stark white wall.

You shudder at the sight, but remain impossibly still, praying you won't be next.

Until a strong pair of arms slide beneath you and hoist you up, holding you against a sturdy chest. "I've got you, sweetheart. Stay with me."

You watch as the floor falls away from beneath you, creating a sense of vertigo. It makes your head swim.

A head full of silver curls turns back to you, and when your eyes lock, his fist stops in its downward descent toward what looks to now be a dead man.

He huffs, then shoves the man aside, leaving him slumped over against the wall and quickly forgotten as he rises.

Bending your head back, you gaze up at a familiar face. One you've admired so many times before from afar. And now you're in his arms. Oh, how lovely it is to be held by him.

"Robby," calls a thickly accented voice at your side. "Put her in here. I've got the room all cleared out."

Dana. Yes, it's Dana directing him as to what to do with your injured form. You like her very much.

With impossible gentility from a man of his stature, he settles you on a gurney and cups the top of your head in his palm before turning toward the doorway from which you just entered. "Whitaker, get me a portable ultrasound machine. Now."

You hear the sputtering of a young man grasping at metaphorical straws, and then Robby sneers. "I said now!" He barks, causing you to flinch in fear.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished floors fades away.

Robby turns back to you, and his fingertips gently massage your scalp. "You're gonna be alright, sweetheart. I promise."

He glances to the side. "Security needs to get down here—"

"Already here," Dana says, following his train-of-thought. "Fuck 'im. I hope he codes before they get 'im off the floor."

Leaning down, Robby presses a tender kiss to your forehead, and despite the circumstances, a hot rush of blood rises to your cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should've had a better eye on things. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again in my ER. Never."

You open your mouth to attempt a reply, until he shakes his head and shooshes you.

"Don't talk. You've got a lot of swelling," he states while tenderly probing at your throat with his fingertips. An action that causes hot tears to prick your eyes.

"Don't you worry, doll," Dana croons.

You turn to look at her, wanting to brush away the blonde strand that's fallen before her twinkling eyes.

"Dr. Robby's on the job, and he's got ya real well looked after."

You're put on leave for the next couple of weeks as you heal. Being unable to speak—not to mention the apparent bruising around your throat—would only serve to make your occupation that much more difficult.

And when patients would inevitably get to asking questions you in no way felt comfortable answering... It's safe to say you enjoy the short vacation you've been alloted as best you can.

Your return to the Pitt is just as hectic as always. A feeling quickly instilled itself within you like you'd never left as residents rushed a patient past who was coughing up mouthfuls of blood into a small plastic tub, an elderly woman hollered from her bed about wanting vodka, and an ambulance screeched outside, signaling another was incoming.

So much for trying to take things easy your first day back.

You do spend your day taking easier cases in the end, though—as easy as they can get in the ED, anyway—per Robby. He assigns you a child having an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie, a young woman who'd just returned from a cruise in the tropical islands and came back with the souvenir of an odd fungal infection as a reminder of her time away, and a middle-aged man with a dog bite on his rear.

The rest of the time you spend before a computer at the nurse's station, charting.

You're grateful to those who treat you the same as before the attack. Their looks don't linger, their touches aren't ginger, like you might shatter if your shoulder is squeezed too hard in a simple gesture of reassurance—no matter that you wouldn't entirely mind a hug—and their words are straight to the point of how they require your aid.

Abbot is a different story.

The first thing you'd made note of was the splint around the middle finger of his dominant hand, as well as faded yellow bruises and scabs along his knuckles. You had wanted to thank him, but when you opened your mouth to do so, the words got stuck in your throat. It's a bizarre thing to be appreciative that he assaulted a patient on your behalf, is it not?

When he looked at you with utter alertness, however—ready to hear whatever it was you had to say—you froze up, then scurried away in search of Robby.

He's been a sort of security blanket for you ever since you came walking back through the ED's sliding glass doors. The comforting feeling of being in his arms while he whispered sweet nothings to you made a lasting impression, like an imprint in wet concrete before it dried—forever memorializing the mark left upon its surface.

You've done your utmost to remain out of his way, so as not to hinder his ability to properly do his job, but when either of you have a spare moment, you seem to just appear randomly at his side. Apparently your feet have a mind of their own now, always in search of him they are.

When you're not, though, is when Abbot comes into play.

He'd started out by putting a gentle hand against the small of your back—desiring a talk with you the first morning you returned—but when you squeaked in fear from the unexpected contact, he promptly dropped it. Then watched as you wandered away in search of his fellow attending.

Now, he loves Robby like a brother. He's one of his closest friends. His closest one at PTMC, to be certain. But watching you at his side—gazing up at him with doe eyes, all soft and adoring like—has left a feeling of heated jealousy burning deep within his chest.

Not because he feels like he's owed something for having defended you—he would've done it for anybody here (perhaps he wouldn't have gone quite so far in another's case as he did for yours)—but rather because he wants to gain whatever it is that Robby seems to have; whatever spell he's cast over you.

He doesn't know why it means so damn much to him: ensuring that you understand he's just as much of a safe place for you as Robinavitch—but it does. So, he goes about it by a different approach. Such as buying you lunch.

Until you take the pricey sandwich from him with a quiet 'thank you' before wandering off to eat it in solitude one afternoon.

It makes him feel just the least bit pathetic, practically courting you like a damn school boy with a juvenile crush, but he simply wishes for you to talk to him. Have one decent conversation so he can get...whatever this is out of his system and he can get his head screwed on right once more.

Because if your reason for avoidance is fear? He can't let that go. You should never have a reason to fear a fellow coworker here, particularly an attending. It'll only serve to make the possibility of dire mistakes all the more likely on the job if you hesitate to ask for his expertise when it's required.

So he gives you space; deigns that you'll come to him when you're ready.

He hopes so, anyway.

"I care about her, too, y'know?"

Glancing from the iPad he holds, to Jack over his glasses, Robby raises a brow in confusion. "What?"

Jack folds his arms, then rolls his head to the side from atop his shoulder. He should've kept his damn mouth shut.

"You know who."

Robby merely stares at him for a moment before he snorts quietly with mirth—an action that sends his shoulders slightly shaking from a sense of amusement. "Y/N?" He asks.

That damn obvious, then, Jack muses. "Mhm."

"Alright."

Jack rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. This is the stupidest fucking conversation he's ever had in his life, hand to God. "She just won't..." He sighs from frustration. "She won't fucking talk to me," he hisses while turning toward him. "Every time I try, she runs in the other direction. To you."

Unexpectedly, Robby barks a laugh, then waves his hand before him. "I'm sorry," he begins before crossing one arm over the other, leaving the tablet to hang loosely at his side. "Are you actually saying that you're jealous? About what, Jack?"

Jack silently steams. If this were the damn cartoon with the coyote, there'd be smoke coming out of his ears. "Forget it," he clips before stomping off.

"Oh, come on!" Robby hollers from behind him. "Come back so that we can talk about—"

A raised middle finger cuts him short.

You can't stop shaking. Violently. You're all alone, trapped in that room again, with a hefty man atop you, trying to choke the life from your throat.

You hadn't even done anything wrong—all you wanted was to help him; make him better. Send him home to his family.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. Last you heard, he was in jail. Now what will happen to him? And there've been whispers. That Jack's professionalism has been called into question—if not his medical license as well. How many lives have you ruined all because you were too weak to act? To take care of the problem you caused?

You want to tell someone. Want the truth of everything you've been bottling up and pushing down to come spilling out like an endless river until its bed has gone dry and nothing is left but sand.

But you can't burden anyone else. Can't put them on the line as well for the sake of your own sanity.

Cradling your head in your heads, you rock back and forth while sobbing, doing your utmost to self-soothe and come back to yourself before your break is over.

It's been like this every day since you got back: scheduled meltdowns. You worry you're conditioning yourself for them, because once the clock hits a particular time, here comes a downpour.

"You're fine, you're fine, you're fine," you repeat over and over again.

Problem is, they feel like empty words at this point because you've said them so many times.

A metal door swings open, and you huddle further into the corner you occupy beneath the stairwell, quietly sniffling, hoping they'll soon be on their way.

Even footfalls descend the stairs, your eyes drifting to each one as an unknown foot makes contact with the other side of the stairs that loom above you.

Then they stop at the bottom, round a corner, and—

Oh no.

"You've got people looking for you," Abbot states with his hands on his hips.

Your chin wobbles, then you break into a fit of sobs again.

Taken aback, he stalls for a moment before morphing into a soldier ready to jump into action. His black tennis shoes scuff against the floor as he walks over to you. Pressing his back against the wall, he slides downward, finishing with a quiet 'oomph' when his butt hits the floor.

"Alright," he begins, dragging himself closer until he's pressed against your side. "This about what happened, or somethin' new?"

"H-happened," you choke out inbetween sobs.

For once, Robinavitch fails to be the hero coming to your rescue this time, Abbot muses, despite knowing that he's too damn old to be thinking so immaturely.

And yet.

Outstretching his arm, he makes to wrap it around your shoulder, until you go spastic, nearly pushing him over onto his side. "No! No, I can do it! I have to! I can do it this time! No one has—has to—"

Resituating, his brows furrow. "Sweetheart, what the hell are you talking about?"

Burying your racing head in your hands, you claw at your scalp. "It's all my fault," you mutter between ragged breaths. "That man. He's in jail. And—And you. Your job and—and license. Oh, God, what've I done?"

His mouth falls slightly open as he attempts to formulate a reply. You blame yourself? Just how long have you spent beating the shit out of yourself for things you had no control over, exactly?

Grabbing your face between his hands—refusing to let you slip from his grasp this time—Abbot levels you with a steely look. "I gave that piece of shit what he deserved. Had we been outside the hospital, I can promise you that I would've done a lot worse. I only stopped because you were watching. As for my license, yes, there was an inquiry, but the case is now closed. I'm fine. HR deemed in the end that ultimately I did what I had to to protect my staff."

Sliding his hands beneath your legs, he drapes them over his lap before enveloping the rest of you in his arms.

Almost immediately does the tension within you loosen from the unexpected embrace.

He cups your cheek and brushes a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Everything is fine. That...patient," he spits. "Is fine. Recovering. In jail. Where he fucking belongs. Whatever happens to him next is strictly due to his own actions. Understand?"

Slowly, you nod. "I'm sorry. That I've been avoiding you."

He shakes his head. "I understand why now: you felt guilty when you had no reason to. I thought..." He trails off. "Doesn't matter now. Everything is alright. That's what matters."

"W-what? You thought—"

He sighs, and runs a tired hand down his face before leaning his head back against the wall behind him. "I lost myself in the moment." He wiggles his splinted finger. "When I saw him on top of you, something just...snapped. Everything went red. I was out for blood; felt like I was back overseas again. The shouting turned into gunfire, and all I saw was a faceless man trying to hurt someone that I—"

No. He can't go that far. Not when you're in such a delicate state of mind.

"That you...what?" You question innocently.

"Care about." Deeply, he supplies, but leaves unspoken.

Jack knows it's more than that.

Your sobs having turned instead to the occasional quiet sniffle, you let your eyes flutter closed. Now having exhausted yourself from a nervous breakdown, you'd really like to take a nap.

But there's still four hours left of your shift.

Jack's lips tug into a soft smile at the sight of you so peaceful. And in his arms, at that. "You okay now?"

You nod, then yawn. "Sleepy, but yes."

Granting a kiss to the crown of your head, he breathes deeply. "I knew you were going through it. It's why I hovered," he murmurs against your forehead. "Then I gave you space since suffocating you wasn't getting me anywhere. Maybe I should've done things differently—"

You shake your head, then settle it atop his shoulder. "It wasn't you. It was just...me."

He chews his lip for a moment. Fuck it. "You went to Robby."

Your brows furrow. "Yes...?"

Jack rolls his eyes, then squeezes them shut. He is truly too old for this schoolyard crush bullshit. Damn his heart. "Maybe I got a little jealous."

Your head shoots up—nearly clipping his chin in the process. "Wha—" Your mouth quirks to the side, so as to prevent yourself from smirking. There's just something so deeply hilarious about that statement to you. Coming from someone such as himself, especially. He served overseas—bearing witness to God knows what, then came home only to continue watching people die in the ED, and you giving Robby attention is what does him in?

At a loss for words, you merely look at him with wide eyes.

Shaking his head with a smirk now plastered on his face, he half turns his head toward you. "You don't have to say anything. Please don't, actually. I've already given him shit about it and don't need to feel like any more of an ass than I already do."

You lean forward, and he slides a palm up your thigh. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you nuzzle against his neck. "I'm just glad to hear that everything is okay with you."

Jack is tossing scent beads into one himself. “Maybe next time we shouldn’t wait until we are out of clean clothes to make a trip.”

“Maybe next time, the in-unit washer and dryer, that we pay for, gets fixed!” You huff. Slamming the washer door shut. “Cops wanna spend all this time on low-level crimes, don’t wanna pay attention to landlords who fuck shit up in their shitty fucking apartments and-”

“Baby…” Jack put his hands on your shoulders. Steading you. He gives a look, and you do what you know the look is telling you. Breathe. “It’s gonna be okay. We will harass them until they get it fixed. I promise.”

Feeling better, you pull your book out of your bag and Jack gets his Nintendo Switch, and the two of you sit on the chairs to pass the time while your laundry is washed. Roaring, rumbling, the units tumbled your clothes and tossed them around with suds building around the edges. As you watch, your new Fae smut book long forgotten on your lap, the memory brings you back somewhere distant, somewhere so far away you had forgotten about it. Not about him, not about what he did. No, that showed up a lot in little ways in your life even all these years later. This was a side memory, memories of after, how you weren’t even given the dignity of leaving to go cry in your dorm after, how you were stuck with him pretending it was a date for hours after.

“Are your fairies fucking yet?” Jack asks, nudging you leg. It was a gentle touch, but made you gasp and jolt. It had been a long time since touch like that had scared you, but the memories in your head took you back to the place of such vulnerability, you felt like it was fresh.

“Huh?”

Creases form on his forehead, those lines between his eyebrows you liked to kiss now a sign he noticed something is wrong. “You alright, baby?” He asks with genuine concern. You never told Jack what happened to you- didn’t see the need. It wasn’t like you cried during sex or had nightmares anymore. Those days were long gone. By the time Jack came along, you’d gone through the motions of healing from… whatever you would call it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just an emotional part in the book is all.”

He didn’t believe you. He tried to ask what happened, familiar enough with characters from your ramblings, but you dodged the questions going back to your book.

*

Jack knew something was wrong. You weren’t yourself all day- he watched you. It started at the Laundromat. The way you kept staring off into the washers like you remembered you left your phone in the pocket and had accepted your fate. At home it wasn't much better. You were quiet, not talking to him like usual as he cooked dinner. 

When you initiated sex, he checked in, making sure you were feeling okay. When you reassured him, he thought maybe you wanted to feel the closeness, the intimacy. Maybe having him would rest wherever was on your mind. He made sure it was romantic as fuck.

Now, you lay on his chest with the warm comforter pulled up and over you, tucked in under your chin. 

“You’ve never told me about your first time.”

Jack burst out in laughter. “Ha! No, no I have not. Why would I want to tell my wife about the most awkward 2 minutes of my life.” his little joke was met with silence, and he knew he fucked up. “Shit.” He rubbed your shoulder. “That was a serious question. Sorry baby. Is that something you’d like to know? I can tell you. It’s not a secret or anything, just typical teenage fumbling around. I can tell you though, if that's bothering you?.”

You shake your head against his chest. “Not really, I was just thinking about my first time.”

Ah, there it is. Jack wasn’t stupid. He knew for women, the pressure is a lot more. Your first time is built up to need to be something special- sometimes waiting until marriage, sometimes just meant to be romantic. Most young men did not live up to that. 

“You wanna talk about that?”

“Is that weird? You probably don’t wanna hear about me having sex with another man.” You laugh a little, but he feels the tension in your body. 

“If you want to talk about it, I want to hear.”

“It’s stupid…”

“It’s not. And even if you just wanna tell me so it’s on the table, that’s okay. We don’t have to discuss it, but we can. Whatever you want.” Jack tries to sound nonchalant, but he’s anxious. He wants to know what’s wrong, and wants to fix it like he wants to fix everything that makes you so much as a frown. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Talk to me…”

The bed rustles, shitty sheets rubbing against your naked body. When you’re nervous, you fidget. “It was just awkward… and weird… and… I dunno it’s kinda traumatic but not really. It wasn’t rape or nothing just… yeah.”

 Jack traces patterns on your back, rubbing down the spots he knows hurt you. “You can tell me. Won’t make fun of yuh. Promise.”

“Well it was just… weird… he didn’t seem to know what he was doing. Couldn’t take off my bra, show me his divorce certificate for some reason? I dunno.” Jack almost laughed, almost asked ‘what the fuck?’ but it wasn’t the time. “Yeah. And he was older than me and I was just really confused. I though an older guy know what to do, make it romantic, make it feel good, but instead he had Everybody Loves Raymond on the background…”

“How old was he?”

“25”

“And… how old were you?” He was scared to find out, paying it wasn’t something insane.

“I turned 18 a month prior. I met him the first day of college.”

“Jesus baby…” His breath fanned over your face as he sighed. That was too young for Jack to think it’s right for a 25 year old to have his eye on you. He imagined you, wide eyes and excited to start a new life in college only for whatever to happen to happen so fast. You were innocent, he knew you’d been sheltered. Ripe for someone to take advantage of your naivete. 

“I know- I guess, I mean I knew what he wanted and I was seeking him out for that reason. I wasn’t being stupid, it was just sex but I thought it could be… better. I guess.”

His thumb rubbed at the spot, the place between two ribs that you always get knots. Your naked body clung to Jack’s, resting against him and clinging to him for comfort like he was your giant teddy keeping you safe from the storm. “And what happened? Did he hurt you?”

Your head tucks into his pecks. “He- well it hurt. But it always hurts the first time.”

He wanted to tell you it didn’t hurt every time. He wanted to tell you the one time he was with a virgin he took his time and she said it didn’t hurt. But Jack, as a professional, knew that for some people it hurt even if you were careful and took your time opening them up. This was not the time to split hairs. Instead, he just kissed the top of your head. 

What you said next made his breath catch. “I tried to uh… back out, I guess. His hand went for my pants and I grabbed his hand and stopped him. I said I was on my period. I said I wasn’t ready. He said ‘we’re not doing anything’ and next thing I know he’s got me on top of him trying to pull me down on him and its-” 

Just as you started shaking his hands are pressing you to him, Jack cradling you in his warmth. Jack Abbot was a furnace, something that sucked in the summer but a comfort in moments like this when your blood felt cold. The smell of his sweat grounds you. 

A deep breath. “It hurt… I don’t know why he wanted to do it like that instead of like. Missionary. But it hurt and it wouldn’t f-fucking work.” You appreciate that Jack didn’t interrupt you, let you just say what you wanted to. “Eventually we switched and he just. I guess he did his thing and I just laid there. I remember thinking I wanted to tell him to stop, I wanted to scream… but I was scared. I was scared to make a deal my first week of college i was scared he would hurt me… So I just watched the TV… Then it was over. And we had plans after.” The strange memories flooded in, the time after.

Jack sat up, pulling you and the blanket with him, keeping you covered in dignity as you poured yourself to him. Cradled in comfort, you were held.  “You had to spend time with him after that?”

 “He stripped his bed because I bled on his sheet and we went to the laundry room and put them in. I was just in shock, looking at my blood in the washer as it got started. I was with him for another 2 hours. He bought me a smoothie. I remember thinking I sold my virginity for a red velvet smoothie. It was good though…”

The silence settled over you like a blanket, cooling the sweat of sex on your bodies and enhancing the chill you felt at the memory. 

After a few moments, Jack spoke in a soft voice. “Baby, I am so, so sorry that happened to you… That should have never happened, you should’ve been safe, especially so young.”

You sniffle. “I don’t even know what ‘that’ was. It was just uncomfortable and scary and weird and awkward and he was so fucking awkward and… not at all how I was raised to think it would be.”

“Sweetheart… that was rape. That’s what it’s called. You tried to stop him, twice, and he didn’t.”

At that, you sit up, frowning and clutching the blanket to your chest. “No, no it wasn’t like that. When we did missionary, he asked if I was sure. I said yes. It wasn’t rape it was just like… I dunno. But I said yes. That wasn’t it. No. Not it.”

What you were going through, he’s seen 100 times before. The night shift tends to get more of the domestic violence and rape cases. Jack’s spoken to many, many men and women who don’t want to say the big R word, think it wasn’t that bad, that they think avoiding the label avoids the trauma.

He sits up with you, grabbing his t shirt that was discarded over the headboard. “Here. Sweetheart, listen to me, you said it was when it was missionary when you said yes, right? That was after he tried it the other way. That was after you tried to say no twice.”

“Jack… no…”

“You were shaking talking about it. You were dissociating at the laundromat. I’m not a psych but that sounds like PTSD to me.”

Again, you shake your head, arms clutched around Jack’s shirt hanging loose over your shoulders. “Jack… I said yes, I- I went there to lose my virginity, I knew…” Tears brimmed at your red rimmed eyes, breaking Jack’s heart. He wanted to reach inside and fix everything that coward hurt. He wanted you to understand what happened.

But he couldn’t push you. It wasn’t his place to label it.

Jack nods. “I won’t tell you what to call it. I won’t force you to put a name to it. But I just want you to think. If I went to a woman’s house to have sex, changed my mind and tried to tell her no twice and she kept doing things to me, what would you call it.”

You didn’t like that one bit. In a huff, you get up from the bed. “Forget I said anything.” And storm off towards the ensuite bathroom.

A pit falls in Jack’s stomach and starts to get up. “Baby, I’m sorry-”

“Leave me alone!”

The snap and shout shocked him. Jack and you didn’t usually fight and you certainly weren’t yellers but in that moment your face flashed such anger, fists clenched at your side he leaned back against the pillow. He could see the regret, but in a moment you went cold and fled to the bathroom.

Shower steam came out from below the door, light illuminating it into the dark room. Jack sat there, giving you the space you needed and wanted. You stayed in there until the water went cold and the steam stopped following out the draft between the floor and door.

*

Your skin burned but you didn’t move. 

His words created a scene in your mind, a coldness inside you the hot water couldn’t melt. If someone did what happened to you, you might kill her. You would never, ever want Jack to feel the way you felt, for his body to be violated the way yours were, his words and wants being ignored and desire turned into fear. Especially if he was a young boy who’d never even been kissed before. The thought mixed your own memories left you dry heaving in the tub.

When you finally got out, you stared at yourself in a fogged up mirror. Red rimmed puffy eyes and the exhaustion weighting heavy. Finally, you realize the word on your tongue naming what had happened.

Jack sits on his bed in his PJ’s, blue light blocking glasses slowly sliding down his nose as he plays his switch like he tends to before bed. You had told him he needed a hobby that didn’t involve blood, either from him or on him. Sure, you thought it might be wood working or crossword puzzles or even making his way through your fae smut books, but his little Tomodachi Life habit was cute and made him happy.

On the bed was a matching PJ set, fuzzy socks, and a glass of water on the bedside table. Jack looks up at you over his glasses, a face that tries to convey normalcy but betrays deep worry.

“How was the shower?” he asks, like that was a normal thing to ask someone.

You drop the towel and get dressed. “Fine, thanks. Are you ready for bed?”

“Yeah, yeah lets go to sleep.” Shutting off his game and the light, Jack opens his arms to you hopefully and you give him a tired smile, crawling up into him as the pair of you settle in for the night. You didn’t want to talk about it, and it seemed like Jack was going to drop it.

But then you thought of young Jack, of young you, a girl who deserved better.

*

Jack held you, because that was what you needed, because that was what he wanted. 10 minutes went by in silence and you were breathing so steady he’d thought you’d fallen asleep. He was so lost in his thoughts, his anger at what had happened to you keeping him awake. How could someone do that to someone so young? It was insidious, the way he did it; the coercion, the ‘we’re not doing anything’, the way he made you too confused to understand what was happening. So much so you couldn’t even name it.

When you finally spoke his name, breath fanning out in his chest again, it startled him just a little and he had to breath out his anger before responding. “Yeah, baby?”

There’s a pause again and Jack can feel you breath picking up, your heart rate being against his, your anxiety to his rage, and you cling to him like your buoy in the storm.

“I think I was raped…” Your voice begins to warble, and soon you dissolve into tears. Finally, as these years later, you name it and the weight falls heavy and all there’s left to do is cry. And Jack, ever steady, he is the rock your waves can crash against. He holds you tighter, allowing you to cry.

When it was all said and done, when the tears were shed and the memories imparted onto Jack to help carry, you finally felt lighter.

And Jack would always be there to help carry you and the pain when it got heavy again.

***

THANKS FOR READING!!!! if you wanna see that part 2 idea!

Bucky never asked for more than you were ready to give. He never pried. He never pushed. But he saw the little things. How you sat with your back to the wall in restaurants, how you flinched when someone walked too close behind you. The first time you told him, it wasn’t with words. It was in a look. A quiet panic behind your eyes one night when he reached for your wrist too quickly. He’d stopped immediately, palms up, and soft as rain.

“I’m here. I won’t ever hurt you.”

And you believed him. Most of the time. But trauma doesn’t follow a schedule. It doesn’t wait for safe spaces or daylight. And tonight, it came when you least expected it.

The movie was some harmless rom-com. You weren’t even paying attention to it. You were curled up on the couch beside Bucky, his arm around your shoulder, the other hand gently stroking your thigh through the blanket. You trusted that touch. You knew it. But something shifted when a scene came on. Some stupid, throwaway moment with a drunk character and a joke that hit too close to the bone.

You didn’t realize you were slipping until Bucky said your name.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart.”

You blinked, breath caught in your chest. The blanket suddenly felt too tight. His hand, warm and grounding, was on your thigh, but now it felt like a chain. You were underwater. Sinking. The room had changed, morphed, turned into something else. Somewhere else.

His voice called your name, his tone calm and steady. “Look at me. You’re safe.”

But your body didn’t believe him.

You flinched hard, pushing yourself away from him and curling into the corner of the couch, heart pounding like it would break through your ribs. The panic was everywhere, sinking underneath your skin. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop shaking.

Bucky didn’t come closer. He stayed exactly where he was. That was a first mercy.

“I’m not touching you,” He said softly, his voice barely more than a breath. “You’re okay. You’re here, with me. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The flashback had you caught like a snare around your throat. Your hands were clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms.

“Can you hear my voice?” He asked. “Can you nod for me?”

It took effort, like dragging yourself through quicksand, but you nodded once.

“That’s good. That’s so good, doll. You’re doing great.”

Tears ran hot down your cheeks, and you weren’t even sure when they’d started. Your throat hurt from how tightly you were holding everything in. But still, he didn’t come closer. He waited.

“You’re not there anymore,” Bucky said gently. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

He slowly shifted onto the floor closer to you, sitting cross-legged near the couch but not touching it. Not crowding you. Just… there.

“Can I tell you where you are?” He asked. “Just so you can hold onto it?”

You nodded again.

“You’re in our apartment. Brooklyn. Your favorite blanket’s on the couch. The one with the little blue stars. There’s a candle burning, lavender scented. You made me light it earlier ‘cause I forgot to do laundry.” He smiled softly. “You’re with me. Just me. I’ve got you.”

His voice was steady. Not too soft, not too firm. Just right like a tether in the dark.

You started breathing again. Taking shaky, shallow breaths at first, then a little deeper. Your fists unclenched as the room slowly came back into focus, one detail at a time. The glow of the TV. The warmth of the blanket. The safe weight of Bucky’s presence just a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean-“

“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

You looked at him then. His blue eyes were steady, kind. Yet fierce in the way someone could be when they cared too much and didn’t know how to fix what hurt.

“It’s not your fault,” He said. “None of it.”

You nodded again, even though your throat ached.

“Can I come closer?” He asked gently. “Only if you want me to.”

It took a long moment before you whispered, “Please.”

He moved slowly, carefully. Not reaching out until you did first. And when you did, your fingers brushing against his, he wrapped your hand in both of his like it was the most precious thing in the world. He kissed your knuckles, one by one, and rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m proud of you,” He murmured. “For staying. For letting me in.”

The flashback was over, but the ache lingered. It always did. But with Bucky there, his arms wrapped gently around you, his heartbeat steady against your back, it felt a little easier to bear.

And for now, that was enough.

Later that night, he stayed up with you. The TV was on but muted, casting a soft flicker over both of you. Your head rested against his chest, and his hand ran through your hair in slow, rhythmic motions, grounding you with every pass. Every time you closed your eyes, some phantom image tried to drag you back but his voice was there, low and constant, murmuring things like, “You’re here with me. You’re safe.”

At some point, you fell asleep against him, your fingers twisted in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go.

-

The morning came slow and strange.

You felt heavy. Not physically, but inwardly. In the way that made you feel like you were made of soaked cloth. But the room was filled with sunlight creating a warm atmosphere. Bucky was already in the kitchen, moving with that careful quiet of someone who knew what it meant to be haunted.

He didn’t look at you with pity. He looked at you like you were brave.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” He said gently, when you padded barefoot into the room. “Didn’t want to wake you, so I made you tea. It’s that kind you like, the fancy one with the rose petals you keep calling ‘expensive leaf water.’”

You almost smiled. He placed the mug on the counter without handing it to you. You’d told him, once, that sometimes you didn’t like being handed things first thing in the morning. And he remembered, like always.

You took the mug in both hands and stared at the steam.

“I had a flashback yesterday,” You murmured. Your voice was soft, but not shaking this time. “You probably figured that out.”

Bucky nodded once. “Yeah.”

You looked up. “Did I scare you?”

His eyes softened, brows pulling together like the question pained him. “No. You didn’t scare me. I was scared for you, but not of you. Never of you.”

You took a breath. “I hate that it still happens. It’s been… years.”

He came to lean beside you on the counter, keeping just a little distance between you in case you needed space. “I know. But it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Having flashblacks doesn’t mean you’re broken. They mean you survived something you weren’t supposed to. It’s just… your brain’s still learning how to feel safe again.”

His words hit something raw in you.

You looked down at the tea, at your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, and whispered, “Sometimes I think I’m too much. Too damaged. Like… I’m always going to be that scared girl again, no matter how much time passes.”

Bucky didn’t interrupt. He waited until the silence had run its course before saying, “You’re not too much. And you’re not that girl anymore. You’re someone who went through hell and still wakes up every day and tries to live. That’s not damage, that’s strength.”

He paused, watching your fingers twitch against the mug. Then added, softer, “You don’t have to carry it alone, not anymore.”

Your eyes burned again but this time, the tears weren’t panic. They weren’t terror clawing at the walls of your mind. They were grief, yes. But also relief. And maybe even hope. You set the mug down and stepped toward him, slow and steady, until you were close enough to bury your face in his chest. He didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around you instantly, secure and careful all at once.

“I’m right here,” He whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed. “Thank you… for being so patient.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed gently to yours. “There’s no clock on healing, doll. I’m in this with you. However long it takes.”

And you knew, right then, that maybe healing wasn’t about forgetting. Maybe it was about having someone who stayed when it was hard. Someone who didn’t try to fix you, but just loved you no matter what.

The familiar scent of leather seats and Dean’s sweat filled the cramped backseat of the Impala. Moonlight filtered through the dusty windows, illuminating the frantic movement of your bodies. His hips pistoned against yours, the rhythm desperate and hungry. Your fingers dug into the worn leather of the seat beneath you, arching to meet every powerful thrust. Moans, low and breathless, escaped both of you, lost in the heat and friction. His lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his breath ragged against your damp skin.

It was perfect. He was perfect. Dean Winchester, rough and tender, focused entirely on you. His hand slid down your side, possessive and claiming, fingers brushing the curve of your hip bone. A familiar jolt of pleasure shot through you, sharp and bright.

Then, it happened.

His thumb pressed firmly against that sensitive spot on your hipbone – exactly where he used to dig his fingers in, hard enough to bruise, a silent reminder of control during moments meant for surrender. A memory, sharp as shattered glass, ripped through the haze of pleasure.

Not Dean. Him. The cold eyes, the mocking laugh, the feeling of being trapped beneath a weight that wasn't just physical.

A choked gasp tore from your throat, instantly different from the moans of seconds before. The heat flooding your veins turned icy. The pleasure vanished, replaced by a terrifying wave of panic that crashed over you, stealing your breath. Your body went rigid beneath Dean’s.

"Hey? Wha—?" Dean froze mid-thrust, his head snapping up. His eyes, dark with desire moments ago, widened in alarm. He saw the tears welling, spilling over instantly, tracking hot paths down your temples into your hair. He saw the tremors starting in your shoulders, vibrating through your entire frame. Your whimpers weren't of pleasure anymore; they were raw, frightened sounds escaping a tight throat.

Panic flared in his own eyes, sharp and immediate. "Shit! Baby.. Did I hurt you? Did I—?" He scrambled backwards off you faster than you thought possible, pulling himself out with a slick sound that felt horribly loud in the sudden silence. He knelt beside you on the seat, hands hovering, afraid to touch. "Talk to me, sweetheart! What happened? Did I do something?"

You tried to shake your head, but the movement was jerky, uncontrolled. You were shaking violently now, trapped in the suffocating grip of the past. Tears streamed freely, your breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. "N-no," you managed to stammer, the word thick with tears. "N-not you... Dean... I-I'm sorry... I'm s-so sorry..." Shame washed over you, hot and sickening. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the panic away, to bury it back down where it belonged. "J-just... give me... a minute... I'll be okay... then... then you can..." You couldn't even finish the sentence, gesturing weakly towards him, implying he could finish what he'd started.

Dean stared at you. Utterly still. The frantic worry in his eyes hardened into something else. Disbelief. Then, a slow, dawning fury. Not at you. Never at you. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jump.

"No." The word was low, rough, absolute. It cut through your panicked whimpers.

You blinked, tears blurring your vision. Confusion pierced the fog of panic. He wasn't impatiently shifting his weight. He wasn't glancing down at his own obvious arousal with frustration. He was focused entirely on you, kneeling beside you in the cramped space, his expression fierce with protectiveness.

"Wh- what?" you whispered, sniffing, utterly bewildered by his reaction.

He leaned forward then, carefully, deliberately. One large, calloused hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear track. The other arm slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you firmly but infinitely gently against his bare chest. His skin was hot, his heartbeat a rapid drum against your ear. He tucked your head under his chin, his lips brushing your hairline.

"Why the hell," he growled, his voice thick with an emotion you couldn't name, "would you ever think I give a damn about finishing right now?" He pulled back just enough to look down into your tear-streaked face. His green eyes burned with intensity. "Look at me. Really look."

You did. You saw no anger directed at you. No impatience. Only fierce, unwavering concern and a simmering rage directed at ghosts.

"I don't know what kind of world-class, grade-A douchebags you've been tangled up with before," he continued, his voice dropping lower, rougher, vibrating with suppressed fury. "But listen to me, and listen good. That?" He gestured vaguely back towards the space where your bodies had been joined moments ago. "That ain't expected of you. Ever. Not finishing me off, not pretending you're okay when you're clearly not, not pushing through some goddamn panic attack just so I get mine." His hand tightened gently on your shoulder. "That ain't okay. That's never okay. Especially not with me."

He searched your eyes, his own softening slightly, though the protective fire still burned bright. "You think I could enjoy myself," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek again, "knowing you were hurting? Knowing you were scared? Knowing you were forcing yourself?" He shook his head slowly, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Hell no. Not happening."

The raw sincerity in his voice, the sheer disbelief that you'd even suggest he'd prioritize his own release over your distress, started to chip away at the icy panic gripping you.

The shaking began to lessen, the frantic gasps easing into deeper, shuddering breaths. You buried your face against his chest again, inhaling the familiar scent of him – gun oil, cheap soap, Dean – a grounding anchor in the storm.

"I... I didn't mean..." you mumbled into his skin, the shame still present but now mixed with a dawning sense of profound relief.

"Shhh," he soothed, his arms tightening around you, enveloping you completely. He rested his chin on top of your head. "Just breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe. We're done. We're done* with that. You're safe. I got you." His hand rubbed slow, comforting circles on your back. "Take all the time you need. All of it. We ain't movin' until you're ready."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was filled with the sound of your slowing breaths, his steady heartbeat, and the profound sense of being sheltered. The frantic heat of moments ago was replaced by a different kind of warmth – the deep, encompassing warmth of being utterly cherished and protected. Dean Winchester, the hardened hunter, held you with a tenderness that felt more intimate than anything that had come before, abandoning everything else without a second thought, simply because you needed him to. The tears still fell, but they were quieter now, washing away the panic, leaving behind a shaky exhaustion and the overwhelming, comfort of his unwavering presence.

The first night you were on nights, when you were talking with Dana as she was getting ready to leave for the night and she pulled over this handsome, old attending, you knew right away what he plan was. “Abbot, this is my niece, your new nurse prac for nights.” She said warmly as she gestured to you. You could feel your cheeks begin to flush as you smiled nervously. “She is a sweetheart, sharp as a tack. You are very lucky to have her.” 

Jack gave you a warm smile and a little nod. “I’m sure we are, though no one can replace you Dana.” He chuckled as he leaned against the counter of the nurse’s station. He was older than you, maybe ten years or so. Very handsome, in shape, and worst of all you could already tell he was dangerously charming. 

“Oh I am not trying to replace my Aunt, but she did help train me when I was still a nurse.” You start softly, wringing your hands nervously. “I just got my nurse prac license last year, was working over at Children’s ED part-time, but I needed a full-time position so Dana helped me get back in at PTMC.” You explain. In the back of your mind, you knew you were rambling out of nerves but that didn’t seem to faze Jack who was listening intently. 

He smiled, “Good, it will be good to have someone with some good Peds experience. We don’t get a ton of Peds cases, but I will admit we were lacking a little in that department.” The smile he gave you as he spoke cut deep. It was such a disarming smile that you knew was going to get you into trouble. 

You let out a low nervous laugh. “Yeah, I can definitely help in that department. Though I left peds because seeing all those kids close to my son’s age going through some horrible things just wrecked me.” You ramble. 

Jack just smiled and leaned forward. “You have a kid? How old?” 

“He just turned five last month, Ian. He starts kindergarten next week.” You can feel the blush on your cheeks get brighter. 

“Yeah, that’s great. You and his dad must be so proud.” 

At the mention of ‘his dad’, you stiffen, and Dana leans forward, “We do not speak of that piece of shit. The only good thing he has ever done is Ian.” Dana rubs your arm and looks up at Jack. “It was a bad situation, and we are so blessed this girl right here got out in one piece.” 

Jack obviously didn’t need to hear more. He just nodded as he started to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You laugh nervously, “How could you? We just met.” You reach down and pick up your cup of Iced Coffee. “Um, I should go get ready for my shift.” In that moment, all you wanted to do was disappear and not be acknowledged the rest of the night. 

Dana rubbed your arm one more time before she smiled over at you. “Have a good shift, kiddo. I will see you in the morning.” She whispered before you started to walk off. 

As you were walking away, you heard Jack ask sharply. “Why didn’t you warn me about the kid’s dad being a sore subject?” You tried to angle yourself behind a pillar to keep eavesdropping unnoticed. 

“I told you she had just gotten out of a bad situation. I thought you were smart enough to put two and two together.” Dana snapped softly. Jack shrugged and looked genuinely confused. “He beat her half to death a little over a year ago, got off on probation because his dad is a cop. It’s a messy situation, but if he ever shows up here, you do not let him get near her. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Jack said quickly as you watched him stand up and rest his hand on the counter. “I would have understood it before if you had just said something, Dana. I pulled strings for you to get her on the night shift as a favor to you. The least you could have done is warn me.” 

“Well, now you know,” Dana said as she brought her hand to the bridge of her nose. “She is smart, a hard worker, and just needs a fresh start without that asshole’s shadow following her everyplace she goes.” 

“I will do my best to give it to her,” Jack said firmly. “I kinda feel honored you trust me enough to have her work with me,” he added sheepishly. 

“I knew if she was on days, Robby would have made her cry the first day if he were in one of his moods, and I would have been forced to kill him.” Your Aunt said flatly. “I practically raised her. My sister was not always the most stable of women. She has gotten better but she is practically my kid. So treat her as such.” 

“Got it,” Jack said, throwing his hands up. “Princess treatment.” 

Dana took a step forward towards Jack and held her finger out. “Not princess treatment. Just treat her with respect, kindness, don’t make her fucking cry on her first day.” 

“Deal.” He said, quickly taking a step back. “Now I gotta go see patients, and you need to get home.” 

After what was a rocky start to your first night, things started to flow a little easier. You were given a warm welcome by the others on the night shift. Dr. Ellis made a point to team up with you and help you get acclimated to how things went. Something you were grateful for. When the action started to slow down around the predawn hours, you sat down at one of the work stations, working on your charting, when Jack walked over. You glanced up from your screen as he leaned on the counter. “Got a minute?” He asked softly. 

“Yeah, sure.” You said as you stopped typing and smiled up at him. 

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier, if I upset you or anything.” He started with a warm smile. “You are doing a great job, working well with the rest of the team. I’m really happy to have you here.” 

“We’re good, no worries, and thank you. It means a lot.” You smile as you look down at your hands, trying to hide the fact that you knew you were starting to blush again. 

“Awesome, good talk,” he said a little awkwardly as he gave you two thumbs up and started to back away. You watched him as he shook his head and muttered ‘What the fuck was that’ to himself as he walked away. 

++++++

Over the next month, you settled into the night shift. You actually grew to enjoy it.

Jack was a great attending, and you two had this awkward flirting back and forth on occasion, which you tried not to think much about, but couldn’t help to think too much about every time he smiled in your direction or leaned in to ask you to go check on a patient. On Thursdays, Shen would grab you an Iced Coffee from Dunkin's, and on Fridays, you would grab him one. You were iced coffee buddies, which amused you a lot. Ellis was easily your favorite on the night shift. You two worked together most often and were developing a solid friendship even outside of work. So much so she had managed to talk you into going out with her that weekend when you both had off on a Saturday night. When you mentioned it to Dana she told you to bring Ian into work, and she would be happy to babysit him for the weekend so you could go have a fun girls' night out.

So that Friday, extra coffee for Shen in hand as usual, your son followed beside you as you walked in. His little Bluey backpack all packed for his weekend with Auntie Dana on. You were too focused on making sure Ian didn’t run off to notice that Jack was walking up behind you. 

“Is that my new med student?” Jack teased as he settled beside you, his backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You glance to your side and smile. “No.” You laugh softly. “Say hello to Dr.Abbot, Ian.” 

Ian looked up at Jack and gave him a little smile, his missing front tooth making it all the more adorable. “Hi.” He said softly. “You work with my mommy?” 

“Hey little man,” Jack said with a warm smile as he nodded. “I do work with your mom, she is pretty cool.” Ian shrugged at Jack’s assertion that you were cool. “Promise she really is.” Jack then turned back to you. In a hushed tone, asked, “Is he okay? Sick?” 

“No, no.” You laugh nervously. “Dana is taking him for the weekend because Ellis wants to take me out to some bar tomorrow night, and my mom is out of town on this spiritual retreat or something. I don’t know, I think it’s just an excuse for her to go up to her friend's cabin in upstate New York and eat a ridiculous amount of pot gummies.” 

Jack stifles a laugh as he looks down for a moment. “The more I hear about your mom, the more I am convinced you are actually Dana’s kid.” he paused as he looked back up at you with a crooked grin that made your heart skip a beat. “Are you even sure they are biologically related?” 

“Oh they are, my mom is just the wildly irresponsible older sister who got pregnant with me at 19.” You chuckled softly. “Wait till I tell you about my mom’s latest get rich quick scheme.” 

He chuckled again as you neared the nurse's desk. “Oh, I gotta hear this.” 

“She thinks she is gonna be a social media influencer, at 63. Has somehow gotten like 12 thousand followers on TikTok. Our living room is filled with all these insane samples from the TikTok shop she keeps getting sent.” Jack tries to hold back as he laughs to himself. “Do you need a rotary slicer? Air purifier? An automatic litter box for the cat we don’t have?” 

“Jesus.” He muttered as he set his bag down under the desk. “Has she actually made any money, though?” 

“Like 20 bucks, thinks she is always just one video away from going viral.” As you and Jack smile at each other, Ian goes racing towards Dana, who is watching you both intently. 

“Oh, there is my favorite nephew.” She says warmly as she wraps her arms around him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You two look like you are getting on well,” Dana said with a self-satisfied smirk, watching as you and Jack stood next to each other, both with a slightly confused look on your faces. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” You ask with a shrug. “Jack is great.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Jack said, turning to you as he rested his hand on the counter for a moment. “I gotta go do handoffs with Robby.” He paused and leaned down for a moment to talk to Ian. “Good meeting you, little dude.” He said with a smile. “Have fun with your Aunt Dana this weekend.” 

“Thanks,” Ian said with a little smile before he turned back to Dana. “Do we get to have pizza and will Uncle Benji let me watch Captain America with me?” 

“Of course, baby. Whatever you want.” Dana said warmly. “So you and Abbot…” she started with a playful smirk. 

“Are friends.” You finish sounding way more defensive than you wanted to. 

“You two would make a cute couple, I am just saying,” Dana said as she looked down at Ian for a moment. Her gaze returned to you as she smiled an all to familiar smile that told you this was all part of her plan. “He is a good man, lost his wife a few years ago. Was in the Army like your dad was, a real solid guy.” You shift uncomfortably as you are about to deflect her statements. “He likes you.” 

“How do you know that?” You ask, a little shocked. 

Dana nodded to where Jack stood talking to Ellis and smiled. “I bet any money he is trying to find out which bar you and Ellis are going to tomorrow. I looked at his schedule. He’s off.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. “Stop it.” You whisper. “It was cute when you tried to set me up when I was in high school, but I am not in high school anymore.” You couldn’t deny you had a little thing developing for Jack. He was kind, attentive, and your flirty little back and forth came naturally. However, in your mind, it was nothing more than playful work banter. You wished it were more, but you had no expectations of anything developing between you and Jack. 

“I know potential when I see it, kiddo,” Dana said flatly. “You and Jack have it in spades.” She grabbed her purse and stood up, taking Ian’s hand. “Tell mommy to give the handsome doctor a chance.” 

“Don’t you dare use my son against me.” You grumbled as you walked around the desk and kissed your son on the cheek. “Be good for Aunt Dana and Uncle Benji, okay?” He nods as you stand back up. “And drop this stuff with Jack, it’s probably never going to happen, and you are reading too much into nothing.” 

You watched Dana walk off with your son, as you started to get ready for your shift, but your eyes fell on Jack, who was still talking with Ellis. Maybe Dana wasn’t reading too much into things? Maybe Jack did like you? 

Shaking your head, you push the thought from your mind and get ready for that night’s shift. 

+++++++

The next night. You met Ellis at the little dive bar near the hospital that you agreed on. You were dressed fairly casually. Your ‘good’ jeans that fit you like a glove and a cute top with the neckline that was just low enough to possibly get you a free drink or two. As you walked in, you spotted Ellis at the bar on her phone texting someone, a drink already in her hand. “Hey,” you greet as you walk towards her. 

“Girl, you look good.” She said with a warm smile as she set her phone on the bar and turned to give you a quick side hug. “So.” She started slowly. “Don’t be mad because I know in theory this was going to be a little girls’ night, but a few people from work might stop by.” 

You purse your lips as you cross your arms in front of your chest. Fuck, maybe Dana was right. You muse as you take a sharp breath in. “Who?” You ask slowly. 

“Shen said he might swing by but I doubt it, Santos and her little farmboy roommate mentioned they may come by after their shift.” She looks away as she reaches for her drink and mutters into it. “Abbot is probably coming.” 

“Jack!” You say sharply. “I swear, Parker…” Ellis was the one person at work who knew that your flirtation with Jack wasn’t fully just playful work banter. That you actually liked Jack. 

Ellis set her drink down on the bar and leaned in. “He asked me where we were going, and said you mentioned we were going out.” She started defending herself. “So I told him, sue me. I think you two would be great together. You both just need to get your heads out of your asses and see that all that ‘playful’ flirting you do isn’t playful. You both obviously like each other. Everyone sees it. The way you look at him with those little puppy dog eyes. The way he watches every single time you walk out of a room. It’s getting ridiculous.” 

You laugh nervously as you move to set your purse on the bar trying to look back over your interactions with Jack over the last few weeks. He was attentive with you, complementary. The playful, flirtatious banter happened naturally. “Oh shit.” You muttered as you realized slowly that maybe the feelings were mutual. “He really watches me when I walk out of a room?”

Ellis laughed softly to herself. “Oh his eyes are glued to your ass.” she said, highly amused that you hadn’t noticed it. “I thought he was going to have a stroke when you had to change into street clothes last week to go meet with Ian’s teacher.” She glances down at what you are wearing. “You were wearing those jeans. They do wonders for your figure, just saying. 10 out of 10 choice, no notes.” 

The color starts to drain from your face as you sit down on bar stool, “I need a drink,” you mutter as you hold your hand up waiting for the bartender. When he comes over you order a vodka and lemonade to give you some liquid courage as you process all the information you were just given. 

You and Ellis start to settle in at the bar, talking about anything else besides Jack Abbot as you sip on your drink. Soon, you are joined by Santos and Whitaker from the day shift, still in their scrubs after a long shift. They regale you with a story of the hectic trauma that came in around lunch that day. You were listening to the story intently, watching as Whitaker explained how things went from bad to worse. You didn’t notice that Jack had just walked in. He was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, looking more casual than you had ever seen him. 

He slowly made his way over to the bar where the four of you were gathered, “You started without me?” He greeted you with a smile as he took a seat on the barstool next to you. You looked over and gave him a warm smile. “Hey.” He greeted softly as the bartender started to make their way over. 

“Hey.” You whisper softly as you take a drink of your mostly empty drink. “Fancy seeing you here.” You smile softly as you look down at your hands but as you do, you catch Jack’s eyes, lowering to the small amount of cleavage that was peaking out of your shirt. It was just a quick glance, but it made your cheeks flush a little. 

Before things got too awkward, the bartender walked over. “What can I get ya?” He asked Jack. 

“I’ll have a Rolling Rock,” he paused and noticed your mostly empty drink. “You want another? My treat.” He asked, leaning closer to you. You give him a little nod, thinking, ‘what the hell’. “And one of whatever she had.” 

“One Rolling Rock and Vodka and Lemonaid coming up.” He said before walking off to get your drinks. 

“Thanks, you really didn’t have to.” You say with a coy smile. 

Jack shrugs, “It’s no big deal.” He cracks the totally disarming, crooked smile of his and you feel your heart flutter a little. As the bartender brings your drinks over you shift slightly so your thigh brushes against his. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Jack’s eyes are on your hands resting on the bar. He moves his hand a little closer so his pinky brushes against yours for a moment as he takes the first drink of his beer. 

You two begin talking softly among yourselves, while Ellis is still engaged with Santos and Whitiker, talking shop. You and Jack are all but ignoring that they are even there. “I am really glad to have you working with us, you bring such good energy to the night shift.” 

“Do I?” You whisper with a little laugh as you chew on your straw from your drink. “Even when I tripped in that Trauma the other day, and you had to catch me before I landed face-first into that poor woman’s chest wound.” You could almost still feel Jack’s arm around your waist from when he caught you, pulling you back against him as he whispered ‘I got you’ in your ear. It had sent shivers down your spine in the moment. Even just the flash of the memory that played in your mind sent another down your spine again. 

“Eh, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The room was crowded. It was a hectic trauma.” He leaned a little closer, his hand brushing yours again. “I didn’t mind having to grab you to save you from getting some horrible nickname, like ‘Crash’.” He smiled at you. 

You nudged your hand closer to his as you turned a little closer to him. “Oh, really?” You muse softly. 

He shifts on the barstool a little awkwardly as he finally rests his hand over yours, fully turns to you. “I like you.” He admits as his thumb strokes the top of your hand. “I thought when Dana first told me about you, showed me your picture, that she was full of shit when she said that I would like you. She has been trying to play matchmaker with me for the last six months. Each time she missed the mark.” He admitted, and in the back of your mind, you realized exactly why Dana had suggested you come back to PTMC and work nights. It wasn’t for the best schedule for Ian. It was for Jack. “But the more I have gotten to know, I don’t think she missed the mark this time.” 

“Of course, Dana was trying to play matchmaker.” You mused, and both you and Jack laughed. “But I like too. I see the way you are with patients, how you handle these stressful situations we deal with every single day. It’s hard not to.” His fingers curled around yours as you spoke, his eyes locked on yours as you spoke. 

He leaned in and whispered, “Do you wanna go get dinner?” 

“Yeah.” you answer back, his eyes watching your lips intently as you speak. 

You and Jack were lost in the moment, not even paying attention to the three sets of eyes locked on you as you had this exchange. Ellis leaned over and whispered to Santos. “About fucking time.” With a smirk. 

It was fairly easy to slip out of the bar without much fuss. Ellis hugged you as she whispered, “Have fun, I would say be good, but I am begging you not to be, for your sake, because you deserve to be a little naughty. Also, I don’t want the details. There are parts of Jack Abbot I never want to know about.” She said with a laugh before you turned back to Jack, who held your purse up for you. 

You slipped it over your shoulder as you took his hand, interlacing your fingers with his as you rested your cheek against his bicep. “What do you want to eat?” He asked softly as he pushed the door open. 

“I would kill for a cheeseburger, some cheese fries, like a big chocolate milkshake.” You smiled up at him as he opened his car door for you. 

“That actually sounds really good.” He thinks for a moment. “I know this little dinner that’s about 15 minutes from here. The SWAT guys I work with go there all the time.” 

“Sounds great.” You say as he helps you into the passenger seat. 

Your dinner was just what you had envisioned, greasy perfection to sop up the alcohol you had at the bar. The little bit of a buzz you had was all but gone by the time you returned to Jack’s car. Jack was funny, sweet, as flirty as ever, and you couldn’t have asked for a better ‘first date’ experience with him. You really got a clear picture of why Dana was trying to set you two up. The conversation came easily, even when the subject was a little more personal. 

You leaned against the passenger door you looked up at him. You couldn’t believe that you and Jack Abbot had just technically gone out on your first date. His hand rested on your waist as he looked down at you. “I really want to kiss you.” He whispered. You didn’t give him a chance to continue asking you. Your hands gripped his t-shirt and pulled him down to you as you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. His other hand snaked around the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, and it felt electric. His body pressed you into the door before he pulled back slightly. “You want me to take you home?” 

“No,” you whisper thoughtlessly. “Take me back to your place.” 

+++++++

Over the next two months, your relationship with Jack only continued to grow. You tried to match your days off the best you could. When they did line up, you would often spend them together. At first, you were worried about involving Jack in Ian’s life, but Jack had a good point. If it were a casual thing, he didn’t have to have a relationship with your son, but if it was serious, it was something that was going to have to happen, and he made it very clear he didn’t want just a casual relationship. So you started bringing Ian around a little more, first it was a park, then the Children’s museum, and slowly Ian bonded with Jack. He was good with your son, made him laugh. Didn’t mind playing rough with him. It made your heart flutter each time that Ian asked, “Are we going to see Jack?” because this was starting to become something real. 

Work also flowed well. You and Jack started developing shorthand in traumas. He trusted your judgment calls when you pushed back against the residents. You two were becoming a solid team both at work and outside of work. 

It was a rainy, early summer night when that bond was put to the test. It was still early in your shift, a little after 9, when Jack walked over. His hand rested on your hip as he leaned as he stood behind you. “Peds trauma in bound, I am gonna need you on this one.” 

You take in a sharp breath as you nod, “Alright, what do we know?” 

“Five, male, fell or jumped off the top bunk. Open fracture to the arm. That was all the EMTs said over the radio.” He explained as he stepped to the side to look at you as you nodded. “I know it’s gonna be rough for you, same age as Ian, but you are the one with the most peds experience.” 

“Yeah, and my mom just got him bunk beds, which you know I am not happy about for this exact reason.” You mutter, taking a deep breath as you bring your hands to your face. “This is my personal nightmare as a mother.” 

“I know, babe.” He whispered as he reached out and pulled your hands away from your face. “But you are strong, you can handle it, and remember it’s not Ian. He is safe at home with your mom. Probably watching some superhero movie, like he always wants to watch. Not to mention, I gave him the big ‘don’t jump off the top bunk’ lecture three days ago.” You nod along, trying to focus on the fact that the likelihood that it was Ian was slim to none. “Go check on your patients and then meet me in Trauma 2.” 

“Okay.” You whisper as you take a step away and go do what Jack asked you. 

The air in the ED shifted when the EMT’s came rushing in. Ellis and Jack were the ones to meet them at the door. They both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw who was on the stretcher. “Oh shit,” Ellis muttered softly.

Ian. 

He was screaming, tears running down his cheeks, as your mom tried her best to calm him but was failing. On pure instinct, Jack rushed over, “Hey, little man.” He said softly as he helped the EMTs push the stretcher. “What happened?” Jack asked your mother sharply, his own anger over the situation slipping through. 

“I want mommy,” Ian screamed 

“I know buddy, we are gonna go get mommy in a minute, but I gotta talk to grandma first.” Jack whispered as he smoothed down Ian’s wild hair, trying to not only calm your son but also to calm himself as he waited for your mother to answer. 

It took her longer than it should have for her to finally answer, “I thought he was asleep, then I heard a crash, and he was screaming,” your mom muttered, still in shock on some level. 

Jack glared at her, “You stoned?” He asked sharply, but your mom remained silent, which told Jack everything he needed to know. He turned to Ian and leaned down, running his hand over his head. “You remember your mommy’s friend Parker, right? She came out with us to the park a couple weeks ago.” He asked softly and Ian nodded through the tears. “She is gonna get you some pain meds, and we are gonna get some pictures of your arm and head. I will be right back. I am gonna go get your mom.” 

As he turned away from Ian, your mom reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm, stopping him. “I fucked up, Jack.” She whispered. “She wasn’t answering her phone. I knew he was going to need a parent to sign consent, and I didn’t know what hospital they were taking him to.” She was rambling, but Jack put the pieces together fast. 

His jaw clenched as he leaned in. “You called fucking Josh?” He said lowly. “You called him?” 

“He is on his way,” she whispered. 

Jack was livid. He didn’t know all the details. You wanted to spare him those, but he did know enough to know the last thing that he wanted was to have a run-in with your ex-husband Josh, in the middle of the ED. He opened his mouth to snap at your mother, but stopped himself as he held up a finger as he took breath. “She is gonna be pissed at you. You know that, right?” He asked in a low, gruff tone. “I am pissed at you.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” she stammered, her eyes darting back to Ian as Ellis was getting an IV in him to give him some pain meds.

“You could have called the main line. She could have been paged. Next time, use the last brain cell you have.” He snapped as he threw his hands up and stormed out of the room to find you. 

You were already making your way towards Trauma 2, knowing they were going to need you for the peds case, when you saw Jack standing outside of the trauma bay with his head in his hands, obviously trying to collect himself. You started racing towards him when he noticed you and caught you around the waist, spinning you so your back was facing the trauma bay. “Babe, I am gonna need you to just stay calm as I tell you this..” 

“Jack, that makes me not want to be calm.” You state as panic starts to rise in your chest. “Jack…” 

“It’s Ian, Ian is the trauma case…” He said his voice was shaking a little, but enough for you to notice, as you start to try to pull away from him to run to your son. He stops you. “Baby, listen… listen to me. Ellis is in there, she is giving him pain meds, we are already fast tracking him to X-ray and CT.” He tried to explain as you continued to try to pull away from him. “There is more.” You were barely holding it together as he pulled you into a tight hug before he whispered. “Your mom called Josh.” As soon as he said that, you broke. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you buried your face into his shoulder. All the years of hell with Josh started flashing in your mind as the panic began to consume every cell of your body. He held you tightly as you sobbed into his scrub top. He didn’t try to tell you it was going to be okay because he couldn’t promise you it would. He did the one thing he could, hold you.

“I want my baby.” You whisper, trying to pull yourself back together and failing as you lift your head. 

Jack drops his arms from around you, but you don’t move. He reaches up and wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Ian is gonna be fine, probably will need surgery, follow-ups with ortho, but he is okay.” You nod slowly. “Are you going to be able to handle Josh?” You don’t move. Not a shake or nod of your head. Your eyes go blank thinking about seeing him again. “I will be right there, he tries anything. He’s done.” 

“Jack, I need to see my baby.” Your voice is calmer, but you are still obviously rattled. 

“Alright, come on.” He whispered as he took your hand and started to walk you into the trauma bay, where Ellis and Shen were doing their best to keep Ian calm, while your mother stood in the corner just trying to stay out of the way. You couldn’t even look at your mother. You were so angry with her at that moment. All your focus was on Ian. Ellis was sitting on a stool by Ian’s head, talking to him softly as you and Jack walked in. He didn’t let go of your hand till you were at the side of the bed, and then he just stood one step back. “Told you I was getting mom.” He smiled softly at Ian. 

Ellis shifted to look at you. “Full disclosure, to make him promise to stop screaming while the pain meds kicked in. I may have promised him to take him to Kennywood. We can work out the details later. He drives a hard bargain for a five year old. He should be a lawyer when he grows.” You almost cracked a smile at that. It made perfect sense. Ian had been begging you to take him to the amusement park since he saw a commercial a few weeks ago. You and Jack had talked about it, but hadn’t made plans yet. 

Taking a deep breath, you lean down and kiss the top of Ian’s head. “You being brave?” You asked softly, and he nodded. He is a little out of it because of the meds, but he doesn’t seem like he is in pain from his heart rate. “So what happened?” 

“I wanted to be like Superman.” He admitted in a low voice, knowing he was going to be in trouble. “I watched the Superman movie with Grandma before bed, and I thought that if I tied my blanket around my neck and jumped off my bed, I could fly.” Solid kindergarten logic, by all standards. 

Jack leaned in, hearing the explanation, “What did I tell you about jumping off the top bunk, buddy?” His tone was soft, he wasn’t angry. He was more mystified that Ian thought it would work. 

“To not to if I didn’t want to come visit you and mommy at work.” Ian smirked as he looked up at Jack who was shaking his head. “But, I wanted to see you and mommy. I also wanted to fly like Superman.” 

“We were gonna go to the Zoo tomorrow, now you are gonna have to stay the night here because I am pretty sure from the bone sticking out of your arm, you are gonna need surgery and a cast.” Jack leaned forward and rested his hand on Ian’s good arm. “Now we don’t get to go to the Zoo.” 

“But Parker is gonna take me to Kennywood,” Ian said as if he had just won the biggest victory of his life. 

“Fair point,” Jack said with a laugh. “But you are forgetting about the part where you scared your mother half to death.” 

Ian shrugged as he lifted his good arm and tucked it behind his head. “Mommy is fine.” 

“I was not fine when I found out you got hurt.” You quickly, but gently correcting him. “I was crying.” 

“I’ll live, and I get a cast. When Brayden had a cast, everyone at school thought he was so cool. Now I get to be cool.” Ian quips as he closes his eyes with his one arm tucked behind his head. 

Shen is standing on the other side of the bed, cleaning Ian’s wound where the bone is sticking out, and looks up at you. “Are we positive he is not Abbot’s kid?” He said with a little laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 

You and Jack both give almost identical looks of pure disbelief at the same time. “My wife was still alive, and I did not know her when she got pregnant with him,” Jack muttered.

Shen just shrugged, “Minor details.” 

You roll your eyes and start shaking your head as you turn into Jack, who just wrapped an arm around your shoulder so you could hide the fact that you were trying not to laugh. “Remember when that woman at the burger place thought he was ‘your spitting image’ the other night at dinner,” you whispered to Jack as you peeked up at him. He had a stupid grin on his face. 

“Fuck, maybe Shen is right. He is my kid.” Jack whispered back. 

The sweet moment was interrupted when Mateo peeked his head into the trauma bay. “So, not to alarm anyone, but there is this guy out in the waiting room claiming to be Ian’s dad. He is getting really loud, demanding to come back and see him.”  

You let out a ragged sigh as you take a step away from Jack and towards the door. “Bring him back, Mateo. I’ll deal with him, make sure security is around. Josh can be a bit unpredictable at times, depending on his mood.” 

Your mom finally steps forward. “I can deal with..” 

“No mom, you should go home. You have obviously done more than enough.” You snap coldly as you start to move towards the door, following Mateo out. 

Ellis looks up at Jack and gives him a sharp look. “We really are going to let her go deal with her ex-husband, who broke four of her ribs and gave her a concussion. Who is still on probation for it if I remember correctly? I thought they had a PFA?” 

“It expired last month. They wouldn’t renew it.” Jack muttered as he glanced at Ellis out of the corner of his eye. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything in the middle of the ED.” 

“Are you sure?” Ellis asked pointedly. Jack shook his head. “Then maybe follow her, make sure he doesn’t, and if he does, I don’t know, call one of those SWAT buddies of yours.” 

“That’s the plan,” Jack whispered as he started to move towards the door. “Stay with Ian, radiology should be ready for him soon.” 

“Of course, I am not leaving my little buddy,” Ellis said as her attention turned back to Ian, who had fallen asleep. 

As Jack walked out of the trauma bay, he had a sinking feeling that things had the potential to get really explosive, really fast. 

++++++

You stood near the nurses' desk, wringing your hands, anticipating that whatever was about to happen was going to be as far from pleasant as possible. You had flashes of the very last confrontation you had with your ex. It was during the divorce proceedings that you were awarded full custody of Ian, and he was only allowed supervised visits. He screamed at the judge like a raving madman. Blaming the female judge, she only sided with you because she was a woman.  If it were a male judge, he would have let him see his son. Or at least that was Josh’s logic as he screamed at the judge that day and was almost held in contempt. He didn’t even want to see Ian, he never went to the visitations and only continued to break Ian’s heart. 

As you stood with your eyes closed, trying to force yourself out of your own memories, you heard him before you saw him. Josh’s voice carried. It could fill even the biggest of spaces, particularly when he was angry, which is was. “Bro, just show me, my kid. Where is his mother? Doesn’t she work here?” his voice made your stomach turn, and a panic rose in your chest. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, instinctively trying to comfort yourself as you took a step away from the nurse's desk. You finally forced your eyes open and saw him stomping towards the trauma bay where Ian was. 

You move quickly, but smoothly, towards him. “Joshua,” you say, simply trying to keep your voice as calm as possible. “Ian is resting, we are waiting to take him for some X-rays, and then we will know more, but it’s very likely he is going to have to have surgery to set the bone properly.” Mateo stayed back, but was close enough to watch as Josh took a step towards you. You flinched for just a second before taking a deep breath. “He really is going to be fine.” 

“What the fuck happened?” Josh snapped as he leaned down, trying to get in your face. You take a step back, but he presses. “I knew you living with your bitch of a mother was a horrible idea. She never watched him closely enough. She didn’t give a shit about you, and she certainly doesn’t give a shit about my son.” 

“Our son.” You correct sharply. “The one you haven’t seen in eight months, haven’t even called to talk to in six.” Your voice shakes as you try to calm yourself. “And don’t you dare speak about my mother like. She isn’t perfect, but she does love Ian.” You take another deep breath as you hold your arms tighter around your chest. “He was just being a reckless little boy, he jumped off the top of the bunk beds in his room because he thought he could be Superman. Broke his arm.” 

“Because she wasn’t paying close enough attention to him. Because you insist on working fucking nights and leave him with her all night when she is doing god knows what.” You let out a ragged breath as he speaks, watching as he moves closer. “You shouldn’t be working nights and leaving him with people who can’t be trusted.” 

“Don’t talk to me about leaving him with people who can’t be trusted, you used to leave him with your bother who is a fucking junkie, shooting up god knows what when Ian was napping three feet from him.” You clench your jaw as you suck in a sharp breath. “What would you rather have me do? Not work? Not be able to pay my bills. I already live at home with my mother because of my student loans, the debt that you saddled me with when we were married, and, not to mention the complete lack of child support you pay. I am left with next to fucking nothing.”

“I am between jobs.” He tried to defend himself. 

“You have been between jobs for three fucking years, Josh.” As you let out another ragged breath, you turn your head and see Jack leaning against the wall, watching the whole thing play out from a distance. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and there was a look in his eyes that you had never seen before. It was something beyond upset. His jaw was set tight, and he looked as if it was taking every single ounce of control he had to keep from running over and just knocking Josh’s front teeth in. He was waiting for a moment, the moment Josh went too far, and you were silently praying that it wasn’t going to happen. 

Josh shifted as he leaned forward, getting close to you as he whispered menacingly, “I want to see my son.” 

“No.” You respond sharply. “It’s just going to upset him more. He hasn’t seen you in months.” 

“Your mom called me because she couldn’t get through to you.” He snarled. “Because I am still legally his father.” 

“Trust me, I wish that was not the case.” You snap. “I am at work, my phone is on silent. She should have just called the main line, and they would have paged me, but we both know my mother is not the sharpest tool in the shed. So she called you, which is something she should have never done.” 

“I am here, I want to see him.” He said, inching closer to you. “Stop being a fucking bitch and let me see my son.” He snapped as he grabbed your arm roughly, squeezing it so tightly you knew he was going to leave a bruise, trying to intimidate you. 

That was the line. 

Jack didn’t run over. He didn’t shout. He walked with purpose over to where you two stood and simply stood behind you. “You can get your hand off her.” He said in a low, menacing tone. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Josh snapped, his fingers digging deeper into your arm as you tried to pull away. 

Jack reached over and pulled his hand off your arm and moved between you and Josh. “Who the fuck am I?” He asked with the look in his eyes, getting more menacing as he shook his head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” His voice was low. He wasn’t shouting, but it was the tone that made your breath catch in your throat as you gripped the back of his shirt. 

“Jack,” you whispered. You just wanted this to be over, you wanted to run back into the room with Ian and stay far away from all this. 

“You fucking him?” Josh asked as he craned his neck to try to look you in the eyes, but you were now fully hiding behind Jack, as there were more eyes on the three of you. Mateo was on the phone, you suspect, calling security. Shen was standing in the doorway of the trauma bay, putting himself between any way Josh had of getting to Ian.

“Of course you are fucking him.” Josh laughed as he shook his head. “You know she has daddy issues for fucking days cuz her old man ate his gun when she was a kid,” Josh said with a grin on his face as he looked Jack in the eyes. Josh knew talking about your father would upset you, and it did. You let out a little whimper against Jack’s back as you hold onto him tighter, trying anything you could to steady yourself. “Her dad was in the fucking Army or some shit and came back all fucked up in the head. Couldn’t hack it, blew his fucking brain out. Her mom found him, hence why she is the shit show she is.” You wanted to scream, but all you did was silently sob against Jack’s back. 

“I fucking know, man.” Jack finally yelled. All eyes were now on the three of you watching this mess play out. Jack didn’t care, he was furious, he wanted to make this guy feel what he was making you feel. “I know because we’re together, and she told me in tears. I know because I was in the Army, like her dad. I know how dark shit can get.” He snapped. Josh had pushed too far. “I know all about you, man. I know you are fucking tool, an idiot who got lucky that she even gave you the goddamn time of day when she was in high school and you were a grown ass man preying on a traumatized teenage girl. You should have been in jail 20 years ago when you were 25 and fucking a 16-year-old.”

Josh stood silent. It was the first time that someone had ever said this to him because Jack was the first person outside of your family you had ever told about the worst parts of your Josh’s relationship to. You barely peeked out from behind Jack as he spoke and saw Josh’s shoulders slump, his jaw clench because someone was standing up for you, not because someone was standing up to him. 

 Jack leaned in, and in a lower, even more menacing tone, he continued. “Then you got your claws into her, convinced her to marry you when she was 19. She put herself through nursing school so she could support your lazy ass, who wanted to sit around all day on your Xbox, smoke weed, and drink beers. Then you got her pregnant the first time she tried to leave. Fucking clever shit. Have a baby, make her stay.” He paused for a second and looked Josh dead in the eyes. “The irony that was probably the best thing you ever did because Ian is a great kid, I love that kid like he is my own. But he is a great kid because of her, not you.” 

For half a breath, you almost relaxed as you felt Jack’s hand reach back and briefly touch your arm, reminding you he was right there. 

“When she finally tried to leave with the baby, you beat her black and blue, you choked and slammed her head into the fucking wall. I saw the police reports.” You didn’t know this but this also didn’t surprise you. Jack had friends on the force from working as the SWAT team’s medic. So it was likely he had one of his friends pull the file so he could find out everything you hadn’t told him. “But, you had your crooked as fuck cop dad cover for you. You should be sitting in jail, everyone knows that, but you got lucky once. Never again.” You stayed behind Jack, your hands still clutching his shirt as you buried your face in his back with your eyes squeezed shut, terrified that things were going to get even worse. But it didn’t, because Jack wasn’t going to let it. 

“Now, why don’t you get the fuck out of my ED and leave her and Ian the fuck alone. Or the next time you show your ugly face anywhere near either of them, I am gonna call my buddies down at the PD, and they will haul your ass off to jail because people well above your daddy’s pay grade own me favors.” There was menace in the way Jack spoke, a tone you had never heard before, and if it had been directed at you would have crumbled. However, it was enough to rattle Josh. The first time you had ever seen that man truly rattled.

“The fuck you think..” Josh started, dumbfounded. 

“OUT!” Jack shouted. Standing his ground. “Now..” He growled 

Josh slowly started to back away as he saw all the eyes on him in the ED and the two security guards approaching. “I’m going…” he muttered. His eyes were darting around the ED where everyone was standing frozen, watching him. All of them having just heard every single word Jack had just said.

“Let’s go.” The security guard said, gesturing back towards the waiting room. “Don’t make me ask you again.” With that, the two security guards started ushering Josh away. 

As soon as Josh was out of sight, Jack let out a long, heavy breath. His whole demeanor shifty. Jack turned around and wrapped his arms around, “Hey, hey..” He whispered as you were shaking in his arms. “I told you, he is never gonna fuck with you again.” He whispered as your hands grabbed at his back, trying to find something to anchor you because you felt like your legs were going to give out. “Come on, let’s go sit down,” he whispered, trying to usher you towards one of the desk chairs where he got you settled. 

Shen walked up behind Jack and whispered. “You are pretty fucking scary there, boss.” 

“He was lucky I was at work if he pulled that shit outside the ED. I would have beat the shit out of him.” Jack muttered before turning all this attention back to you. 

“I’m DoorDashing you some Dunkins before they close,” Shen said with a warm smile down at you, pulling his phone out and starting to walk away, leaving you with Jack. 

“You good?” Jack asked, caressing your cheek before he reached over and pushed up the sleeve of your scrub top to see the bruises starting to form from how roughly Josh had grabbed your upper arm. 

“No.” You whispered. 

“I’m gonna call Robby to come back in cover for me since he is off tomorrow, and he fucking owes me. I am gonna sign out, gonna sign you out. Our focus is gonna be Ian. Period, end of story. Okay?” He asked softly, and you nodded slowly. “You are gonna stay here, I’m gonna get Mateo to come sit with you, and I will be right back.” You nodded, not really even listening, but all you knew was that you were beyond thankful that Jack was there. 

Sure enough, Mateo came over and sat next to you. He didn’t say a word, only sat next to you, rubbing your arm, trying to help you calm as you were still shaking. Jack was gone, maybe five minutes before he came back over and knelt down in front of you. “Alright, Robby is coming back. Ellis is up with Ian getting his X-ray, and he will be right back, and we are gonna move him into peds, and that's where we’re gonna go.” He whispered as he reached up and rested his hand on the back of your neck. “Take a deep breath.” 

You take in a deep breath as you look at him, it starts to dawn on you. You were in love with Jack. He was the first person in years who made you feel safe. He cared about Ian more than Josh ever had. You reached out and gripped his arms. “Jack.” You whispered, and he nodded, looking you in your eyes. “I think… no, I know, I am in love with you.” You whispered, still half in a daze and wrapped in your own thoughts. 

Bucky noticed first. He always did. Watching people wasn’t just habit—it was an instinct. A soldier’s reflex, sharpened by a lifetime of reading danger in the twitch of a hand or the flicker of a glance.

He noticed how your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear into yourself, or how your arms folded across your stomach, elbows tucked in tight as if they were armour.

You flinched when anyone passed too closely behind your chair. You stopped walking through the halls with your usual spring—started hugging the walls, choosing longer routes that avoided high-traffic zones.

When Yelena clapped a hand to your shoulder in greeting, a simple, affectionate gesture—your entire body jolted like you’d been hit. Not just startled. 

Terrified.

The room had gone quiet at that moment. Even Alexei paused, a half-eaten sandwich frozen in his hand. Ava had gone still beside the mission board, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You recovered too quickly. Smiled too fast. “Sorry, nerves,” you’d said, brushing it off, grabbing the nearest file and practically sprinting from the room. But Bucky had already seen too much.

And then the bruises.

They started subtly. Shadows beneath the cuff of your blouse that could be passed off as bad sleep, maybe a knock against a desk corner.

You were clumsy sometimes—everyone knew that. A walking hurricane in heels, Yelena liked to tease. You once tripped over your own shoelaces in front of Val, and no one had let you live it down for a week.

But these weren’t accidents.

There was a splotch of purple just visible beneath your collarbone, dark and irregular. Faint, yellowing fingerprints on your wrist that looked like they were trying to fade, but kept stubbornly coming back.

A raw, angry mark that peeked out from your hairline one morning, like someone had gripped your jaw too hard—someone tall enough, big enough to loom over you, strong enough to leave a handprint in their wake.

Bucky saw that one when you bent down to pick up a report you’d dropped. Your blouse’s collar dipped slightly, just enough to reveal a line of bruising that trailed from your neck toward your shoulder like a hand had wrapped around you and squeezed.

His hand clenched into a fist on instinct.

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew better. But he watched. Quietly, intensely. Not just because he cared, but because something inside him roared with the need to protect you, something deep and territorial and dangerous.

The same thing that made him stare holes into the security cameras when you left the compound for lunch, or that made him scan every incoming message with a new, sharpened edge.

He began checking your schedule.

Not overtly. Just… looking. Noting when you left the compound. Who signed you out. When you came back, and what your face looked like afterward.

You used to return from errands with little smiles and tiny stories—“The deli guy gave me an extra pickle today,” or “Some lady on the street said I had pretty earrings.” But lately, you came back quieter. Shoulders tighter. And you always avoided his eyes.

One afternoon, he asked you if you were okay.

You smiled—again, that damn smile. So polite, so practiced. 

“Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for asking Bucky”

But being tired didn’t leave marks on someone’s throat.

And when you walked away, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway and felt something cold curl in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew pain. He’d lived it. Breathed it. Worn it like a second skin. But there was something worse about watching you endure it.

Something far more dangerous.

And whoever had hurt you?

They’d just reminded him exactly what he was willing to protect.

Still, Bucky didn’t act rashly. He waited. Watched. Gathered more than just bruises and broken glances. He needed to be sure—of what you were dealing with, of who was doing this to you, of how to approach without sending you further into yourself.

The wrong move could make you shut down entirely. He knew trauma didn’t unravel with questions—it needed patience. 

Stillness. Safety.

So he waited until the Watchtower cleared out for the evening.

The others had trickled out one by one—Yelena dragging Alexei into a sparring match he didn’t ask for, Ava and John disappearing into the training room, Val locked in her office for a late-night debrief.

The corridors fell quiet, fluorescent lights humming low overhead. Bucky lingered near your office, watching the shadows stretch along the floor, the door slightly ajar with the warm glow of your desk lamp spilling out into the hall.

You were still there. Of course you were.

You always stay late now.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into your office once the others had gone.

You didn’t jump—but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. How your fingers paused on the keyboard, curling slightly as if preparing for something.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen for a moment too long, and when you did glance up, they were wide and glassy with that familiar, haunted look.

The one he recognised too well.

The one he used to see in the mirror.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice stayed quiet, gentle—like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. He stood just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, posture non-threatening but steady. He wouldn’t crowd you. He wouldn’t touch you. But the one thing he wouldn’t do is walk away.

You swallowed, throat tight, and gave a small nod.

“Sure.”

But the word was fragile. Like it had been stitched together with effort.

He crossed the room slowly, pulling the door shut behind him—not all the way, just enough to give the illusion of privacy without making you feel trapped. Then he moved to the chair across from your desk and sat, leaving space between you. Letting you decide what came next.

You glanced back at your screen, like you were searching for a reason to stay distracted. Like if you just kept typing, none of this would be real. But your hands didn’t move.

He waited a beat, then spoke, low and careful. “I’ve been noticing some things.”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… I’m worried about you doll”

Your shoulders tensed again. That flinch. That tell. He saw it before you could mask it. And when your arms folded across your stomach, hiding your bruised wrist, he knew.

You were protecting yourself from more than just a conversation.

“I know something’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t need the details if you’re not ready. But I need you to know that… you don’t have to do this alone.”

Still, silence. But your eyes were starting to shine, tears gathering at the corners as you stared down at your keyboard like it held all the answers.

“You’ve been flinching at every touch,” he went on, his voice nearly breaking. “You don’t smile anymore. You avoid everyone like they’re gonna hurt you. And those bruises—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked as the word came out, sharp and desperate.

Bucky’s breath caught. But he didn’t move. “Okay,” he said immediately. “I won’t push. I swear.”

The silence that followed was thick—trembling between confession and collapse.

And then your lip quivered. You shook your head once. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach him. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

Bucky leaned forward, slowly, carefully. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Your chin trembled. “I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone’s got their shit. Missions. Scars. Who wants to hear about the secretary who made the mistake of falling for the wrong guy?”

His jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might crack a molar. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer.

But your silence was answer enough.

His tone darkened, low and steady like steel cooled in ice. “Tell me who put their hands on you.”

You shook your head again, fast this time, panic blooming across your features. “Bucky—don’t. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He stood up, jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The chair scraped quietly behind him, but he didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there, vibrating with barely contained rage.

But it wasn’t at you.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough now, fighting to stay gentle. “But you have to let me help.”

Your eyes met his cerulean irises then. And something inside you cracked.

Because he didn’t look at you with pity.

He looked at you like you mattered. Like your pain mattered. Like he saw you—really saw you—and it didn’t make him walk away.

And something about the way he said it, like a lifeline broke you.

You told him everything.

From the first time it happened, when your ex shoved you against a wall during an argument over a text message. To the second time, when he slapped you so hard your lip split open. The cycle became normal. You had started covering up bruises like second nature, lying to your friends, flinching at shadows.

Two nights ago, he’d come home drunk, angry. He dragged you by your hair into the bedroom, wrapped a hand too tight around your neck, and left purple thumbprints beneath your jaw.

You had to call in sick the next day. Told Val it was the flu. She didn’t question it.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks, but Bucky never looked away. His face was tight with rage, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth. His metal hand had curled into a fist again, knuckles whitening where they met synthetic plating.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” you croaked, your hand reaching to grip his wrist. “Just… just get me out of there.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

He helped you out of the office, holding your arm with such care, like you might shatter if he used too much strength. He led you to his motorcycle, the matte black vehicle parked beside the Watchtower’s bay doors.

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

He handed you his helmet and said, “You’re safe with me.”

And you believed him.

The wind was sharp against your face, your arms clinging around his waist as he drove through the dusky streets toward your apartment. Your heart thundered the entire ride—not from fear of falling, but from the feeling of escape.

At your place, you let Bucky in and stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys shaking in your hands.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

You walked numbly toward your bedroom and began pulling a small duffel from the closet. Bucky followed, surveying the apartment with quiet calculation.

The broken picture frame on the floor. The hole punched in the hallway drywall. The cracked phone screen beside your bed.

You gathered clothes, toiletries, your journal, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bucky packed in silence, folding your shirts neatly, rolling your socks with care.

When you turned to get your toothbrush, your hands were trembling too badly to hold it.

“I can’t…” you whispered, finally falling apart.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not going back there. I won’t let you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, your body wracked with grief and relief all at once. For the first time in years, you believed it. 

You were leaving.

Bucky had decided to take you to his apartment, given how late it was—and how you didn’t want the rest of the team knowing about any of this. You couldn’t bear their questions or the way they might look at you differently if they knew the truth. What you needed right now wasn’t a spotlight—it was safety.

And Bucky, somehow, had understood that without you ever having to say a word.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, it felt like a sanctuary: minimalistic but lived-in, with dark wood furniture, shelves lined with old books, framed black-and-white photos, a few of them being Steve's, and soft lighting that bathed the space in warm, golden hues.

There were blankets folded over the back of his couch, plants that looked surprisingly healthy, and a record player in the corner with a small stack of vinyls beside it. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—warm, masculine, grounding.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky said gently, “and the guest room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve.

He handed you a folded pile of clothes—one of his blue Henley shirts and a pair of grey boxer briefs that would sit loosely on your frame.

“You can sleep in these,” he said. “I’ll set up fresh towels, and if you need anything—anything—you come get me.”

You changed in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. The bruises on your neck looked even more vibrant in the soft light. You touched them lightly, then pulled Bucky’s shirt over your head. It was warm from his hands, and it smelled like cedar and something unmistakably him.

You sank into the bed that night with clean sheets, the window cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air. Bucky’s home felt quiet in a way yours never had. Not silent from tension—but peaceful. The kind of quiet that comes with safety.

You curled into the soft mattress, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him, and for the first time in two years, you slept without fear.

Safe. Protected. Free.

You woke up with a gasp.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to you like cobwebs—suffocating and sticky. Flashes of fists in the dark. That voice slithering in your ear, venomous and cruel. The oppressive weight on your chest, the cold dread of being trapped with no way out.

Your heart thundered, breath tearing in and out of your lungs like you were still running, still being chased. Your skin was damp with sweat, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you pushed the covers away and bolted upright in bed.

The room swam around you—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp outside, walls painted in shadow. The silence rang too loud.

You couldn’t stay.

Before you even registered the movement, your bare feet found the cool hardwood floor, each step down the hallway echoing softly. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

Bucky’s door was cracked open.

He was awake. Sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, his metal hand cradling the back of his neck like it ached. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. The soft light from the city cast silver lines across the sharp angles of his face, tracing the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow.

Your voice trembled, more breath than sound. “I had a nightmare.”

His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto yours. The shift was instant—soldier to protector. In two strides, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

His hands came to your shoulders—not forceful, just present. Anchoring. His touch was warm and steady, and it sent a tremor through you that wasn’t from fear this time, but release. Like your body finally allowed itself to feel how shaken you were.

Your lip quivered. “Can I stay?”

He nodded before you even finished the question. “Always.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bed welcomed you like a long-lost memory—soft sheets, a comforting dip in the mattress, the faint scent of his soap clinging to the pillow.

You curled into the center of it, small and tentative, feeling like a ghost of yourself. Like you might disappear if the shadows swallowed you up again.

Bucky moved with care. He didn’t rush. He pulled the blanket up over your trembling frame, tucking it gently around your shoulders. Then he slid into the bed behind you, close but not suffocating, the heat of him already beginning to thaw something frozen inside you.

His arm hovered behind you for a moment. He didn’t assume. Didn’t take. Just waited.

When you shifted ever so slightly—just enough for your back to press lightly against his chest, his arm came around you. A quiet, protective barrier. His metal fingers splayed carefully against your stomach, grounding you in the here and now.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes slipping shut for the first time all night. The tension in your body began to unwind, thread by thread. His scent, clean and faintly earthy filled your nose, mingling with the sound of his heartbeat against your spine and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And then he whispered it, his voice barely brushing your ear, soft and sure and steady.

“I’ve got you.”

The words sank into your skin like warmth, like truth. No promises he couldn’t keep. No hollow reassurances. Just a vow, solid and unspoken, in the way he held you like you were something worth protecting.

You blinked slowly, a tear slipping free and soaking silently into the pillow.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you believed it.

You were safe.

Not because the nightmares were gone—but because Bucky was here when they came.

The morning sun filtered gently through the blinds of Bucky’s apartment, casting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floors.

For the first time in over a year, you hadn’t woken up with your heart pounding in fear. No yelling, no slamming doors. Just the subtle hum of city life beyond the window, and the distant sizzle of bacon in a skillet.

You padded out of the bedroom in Bucky’s oversized shirt and boxers, clutching the sleeves around your palms. The faint scent of him lingered in the fabric—cedar-wood, leather, and something warm, like late summer.

Bucky stood by the stove, his hair damp from a quick shower, grey T-shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders. When he heard your footsteps, he turned slightly and gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nodded, grateful, eyes stinging. It was in the little things—the way he slid a cup of coffee toward you without asking how you liked it, because he already remembered. 

Later that day, the team found out.

Yelena had noticed first. She cornered Bucky in the Watchtower’s armoury after morning briefings. “What’s going on with (y/n)?” she demanded, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She barely said five words. She jumped when Alexei dropped his water bottle. I know bruises when I see them.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw tightening. But when Yelena added, softer this time, “I care about her too,” he gave her the truth.

Word spread in a ripple. Quiet, but powerful. By the end of the day, the team was different.

It started with your phone. You were sorting through mission reports in the comms room when it buzzed beside you, and you flinched hard enough to drop a pen because without looking, you already knew who it was. Him.

John, usually, cocky caught the look on your face and immediately picked the phone up himself.

“Give me your passcode,” he said steadily.

You hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if this asshole’s still texting you, I’m blocking him. And if he’s tracking you, we’re disabling it right now.”

You blinked at him, lip trembling. John just held your gaze, patient. Protective.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Ten minutes later, your ex was blocked. His number, email—gone. John handed the phone back like it weighed nothing, but you knew it had been a thousand-pound chain.

Bob, quiet and sweet, began programming something on the side—a digital firewall. One you didn't even ask for, but he gave it to you anyway.

“If he tries anything online, you’ll be notified. But he won’t get through. I made sure of it.”

You could’ve cried.

Ava began walking with you more often. No words. Just always there—on your way to the labs, when you stopped by the kitchen, even when you headed out to grab lunch across the street.

“I know what it’s like,” she said one day while the two of you sat on a park bench eating sandwiches. “To feel hunted.”

You looked at her, stunned. Her face was unreadable, but her hand brushed yours for a moment, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then there was Alexei. Loud, boisterous, intimidating. He walked into the common area one afternoon with three grocery bags in hand and plopped them dramatically onto the table.

“You like those little orange cracker fish?” he boomed showing you the goldfish crackers he had gotten. “I bought five bags. And some juice. Juice is important.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t—”

“Shush little one,” he said, winking. “You part of us. Thunderbolts always feed Thunderbolts.”

Your laugh broke out before you could stop it. It felt foreign. Strange. 

But real.

Alexei beamed like he’d won a medal.

Slowly but surely, the team wrapped you in something new. Something stronger than fear. Stronger than pain.

When you needed to go to the mall for more clothes—things that weren’t tainted with memories—Yelena and Bob went with you.

Yelena stuck close to your side, pretending to be indifferent but always scanning the crowd. Bob carried all the bags with a goofy grin. He even helped pick out a new hoodie. It was soft and warm and maroon.

“You should feel safe in your skin,” Yelena said simply, handing you a matching beanie. “Even if you’re still growing into it.”

Back at the Watchtower, life began to feel... lighter.

You started laughing again. At Alexei's terrible jokes, at Yelena’s savage sarcasm, at Bob’s quiet mutterings when tech didn’t work. Even John, in all his arrogance, could make you smile.

There was a movie night every Friday now and Bucky always sat next to you, sometimes with a pillow between you both to give space, other times with his shoulder a solid warmth at your side. You’d found yourself leaning into him more. Not because you had to. But because it felt right.

And he never pushed. Never demanded. Just let you exist next to him. Sometimes he’d hand you a blanket without saying a word. Sometimes he’d offer half his popcorn. Sometimes, his fingers would brush yours, warm and careful, and linger just a second longer than necessary.

You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more.

One day, Ava caught you humming in the hallway, arms full of supplies. She stopped in her tracks.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re glowing,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I—I am?”

She gave a rare, small smile. “Like someone who remembers what sunlight feels like.”

One night, after Yelena dropped you off, you returned to the apartment Bucky always insisted was open to you. You let yourself in with the spare key. It was late, and he was half-asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. He stirred when you closed the door.

“You okay sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said.

He nodded, eyes drifting shut again.

You sat beside him, curling your legs up, and rested your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just reached for the blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it gently over you both.

It was the safest you’d ever felt.

It had started out as a good night.

One of those rare moments where the city lights felt warm rather than harsh, where laughter didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

The team had dragged you out—gently, persistently, lovingly.

“C’mon,” Yelena had said, slinging her arm over your shoulder. “Burgers, milkshakes, greasy fries. We deserve it. You deserve it.”

You hesitated. It had been a while since you went to any public diner. Too many memories. Too many shadows. Too much risk of seeing him.

But tonight? You nodded. Just once. Just enough.

The diner was loud with neon buzz and the clatter of plates, the kind of classic joint with red booths and checkered floors. Bucky slid into the booth beside you while Yelena and John sat across. Bob and Ava took the seats at the edge, Alexei immediately requesting the biggest burger they had.

Jokes flew easily. John was ranting about ketchup crimes. Yelena argued that mayonnaise was the superior condiment. Bob kept trying to order fries but the waitress only seemed to hear Alexei’s booming voice.

You were laughing. Honest, soft laughter that made your chest ache.

Then the door jingled. And just like that, the warmth bled from the room. Laughter dimmed. The sizzle of the grill and clatter of dishes became distant, muffled by the sudden roar of blood in your ears.

Bucky stilled beside you.

Your ex stood in the doorway, flanked by two men you didn’t recognise—thick-necked, sneering types with clenched fists and hooded eyes. But it was him you saw. Him, with that awful smirk, like nothing had changed.

Like he still owned the air you breathed.

Bucky noticed the way your body tensed, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Hey—”

Your ex’s eyes landed on you, and he stepped forward, raising his voice.

“Well, look who it is. Didn’t think you’d crawl this far downtown. Guess word spreads when you’re spreading your legs for every man in New York now, huh?”

The sound of the booth creaking was the only warning before Bucky stood.

Yelena’s fork clattered onto her plate.

John was on his feet in seconds, positioning himself directly between you and your ex.

“Take that back,” Bucky growled.

Your ex only sneered, moving closer. “What, you gonna fight me in front of your new playgroup? Cute. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier was into charity cases.”

You flinched.

Bucky didn’t.

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky said, low and lethal.

Your ex chuckled, but there was unease in his posture now. “What? You mean the bruises? Bitch liked it rough. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Yelena stood up behind John, her face carved in steel. “The next time you touch her,” she said flatly, “will be the last time you have hands.”

Your ex stepped forward as if to challenge, but John didn’t move an inch. “Try it,” he warned. “Give me a reason.”

You saw it—the twitch in your ex’s jaw, the way he coiled his fist. He swung at Bucky.

But Bucky didn’t just dodge. He caught the punch mid-air.

With his metal hand.

The crunch of bone was audible and a gasp ran through the diner.

Before anyone could react, Bucky gripped your ex by the front of his jacket, lifting him clean off the floor. The metal arm locked around his throat with frightening precision. The air stilled. Your ex's feet dangled.

“If you ever look at her again,” Bucky snarled, voice sharp and shaking with rage, “if you so much as breathe in her goddamn direction—I will rip your spine out and hang it from the Watchtower gates.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was full of restrained fury. Of violence barely held back. His eyes had darkened, steel-gray and burning.

Your ex gurgled, his hands clawing at Bucky’s grip.

“Do you understand me?”

A choked nod.

Bucky dropped him like trash.

Alexei stepped forward then, looming over the two henchmen. “You want to try luck?” he asked them casually. “I haven’t punch anything in weeks.”

The men looked at each other, then down at your ex, now coughing on the floor. They backed away.

“You’re not worth it,” one muttered, and the other practically dragged your ex toward the exit.

Your heart was thundering. Your breath short.

Bob slipped into the seat beside you. Ava stood near the door, eyes scanning the street for any lingering threat.

Bucky turned to you, jaw tight, shoulders still trembling with adrenaline. But when he looked at you, his expression softened immediately.

He crouched in front of you, hands open. “You okay?”

You nodded shakily, tears welling.

Yelena handed you a napkin. “He’s gone,” she said quietly. “He’s never coming near you again.”

John was still standing like a human shield, arms crossed.

And Bucky... Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand. It was warm, comforting, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped.

“He doesn’t get to touch you. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned into him, trembling.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, barely audible.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, even in the shattered remains of what should have been a peaceful night, you were wrapped in a shield stronger than steel.

You had them.

You had him.

You were safe.

You didn’t speak on the way home.

No one made you.

Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your thigh—anchoring, grounding. The rest of the team took a second vehicle, giving you space. After what happened, you needed it.

You stared out the window, watching the neon blur into streaks of yellow and red, feeling like you were floating somewhere outside yourself. Somewhere between fear and relief.

The silence between you and Bucky wasn’t heavy—it was steady. Like the calm after a storm. Like quiet waves still curling back from the shore.

When he parked outside the compound, he turned to you slowly.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t ask again. Just took your hand gently, led you through the compound, through the hallways, up the stairs. When you reached your room, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I stay?”

You nodded.

Inside, the room felt untouched by the chaos of earlier. Soft lamplight, a rumpled blanket on your bed. Familiar, safe.

You kicked your shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. Bucky crouched in front of you again, like at the diner, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

“But he’s never going to get to you again. I won’t let him. None of us will.”

You looked at him. The way his eyes held yours, soft but strong. The way his presence wrapped around you like armor. The way his touch was always careful, like you were something breakable but worth protecting.

And then you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Bucky leaned forward. Pressed his forehead gently to yours.

“You don’t have to. Not right away. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll fight it together.”

You closed your eyes.

And when he climbed into bed beside you, when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you against the steady thump of his heart, you believed him.

Not because the fear was gone.

But because for the first time in so long, you weren’t carrying it alone.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Whispered something you didn’t catch—but it didn’t matter.

It sounded like safety.

It felt like home.

a/n: this fic is one i hold close, because i have experienced abuse/dv in my previous relationship, and i had no idea how to leave, and writing this helped, a lot. i do hope that every person that is trapped in this cycle will find their bucky—someone who makes them feel safe and loved. i am grateful i found mine. if you're a victim or know someone who is struggling, please don't be afraid to seek for help. i promise it does get better once you leave. (google dv helpline, your country's hotline should appear)

As is typical of patient demographic in the Pitt, Mr. Weskon falls into the common category of admitted Dr. Google-patients rattling off into an uninformed tangent thinking they’re entitled the Universe for their competence. 

But nobody had considered he might cross the line into violence. (A grave oversight of: “Ah, he’s all bark, no bite!”)

Hindsight is 20/20, isn’t it? 

One moment you’re sparing a there-and-away glance over your shoulder to the cart with a screen pulled up on Mr. Weskon’s medical chart, and the next you’re gasping for breath as your windpipe crushes underneath your own stethoscope like a yoke thanks to his merciless, white-knuckle grip. 

Hula-hoop hardly escapes your mouth in time. Your clarion call is choked into nothingness. 

By the grace of whatever divine providence had been watching you, however, the ordeal is done within the minute. Robby, Jesse and Dana had been the three concerned faces you’d seen when the terrifying moment had finally passed, and the hypoxic vignette from your tunnel vision ebbed awa— 

You’ve insisted on tamping down the memory of everything else that happened on that day since.

Hell, forgetting is the way you’ve always tried to decompress once you’re done with any exhausting shift. Setting your mind aside to focus on anything else but patient care and death and suffering. Sometimes it’s a night-out; On most days, a night-in: relaxing in the arms of Robby to catch up on a movie over take-out, or spending the night sweaty in his sheets from where he’s burrowing himself into you.

And it’s play. He likes control as much as you like to willingly give it up. That’s the parity, isn’t it? Robby regains the dominant control he feels he lacks when it comes to the grisly, trauma-inducing nature of his work; You get to yield control and submit after a long day of running the show behind-the-scenes.

Equilibrium. A shared thrill. If the first thing Robby doesn’t look forward to when arriving home is a hot shower, it’d be muscling you face down towards the nearest available angle to fuck you until your legs give out.

Utilising his imposing height and broad size over you to his own unfair advantage, toeing your feet demandingly apart and rocking you into an edge when he buries himself into you until you’re on your tip-toes, desperately struggling to find a foothold between a rosy haze of bliss.

You whining? he’d growl, pressing the brutal hand splayed between your shoulder blades down further, until your chest aches and every breath is forced out in a panting series of ah, ah—mh, fuck, Robby—!

Shhh, will come the familiar, disapproving chide. Just— god, you’re so tight— Just shut the fuck up and take it.

It’s exhilarating. 

You suppose it’s easy to reason out the nature of it, of course. Figure that it’s a way to use the professional power imbalance the both of you have from the ED— what with him being and Attending and you a Nurse— into a perversion of authority; a corruption of his influence. 

No one knows the gentle, guiding hand everyone sees him use to sidle you from the path of a speeding gurney is the same one that fists your hair and shoves your face down between his thighs until you’re gagging; that the words of gratitude for buoying the Pitt in crises (“I don’t know how we could’ve got through that without you—”) turns into filth when the sun goes down and he’s leading you to the foot of his livingroom sofa (“Get on your knees. I’m gonna come down your throat tonight, you hear me?”).

Still, depravity is safe with Robby: When he bends you over the counter, his fingers are wrapped around where your hips will knock the marble edge, taking the brunt of his own brutal pace. When he roughs you onto your knees to suck him off, you’re kneeling on an offered pillow to curb bruises from blossoming your skin, after which you’ll eventually be carried off in his arms to bed, where he nuzzles his face into your cunt as polite repayment.

He goes on about breeding you full of him, but rolls a condom on anyway unless you explicitly tell him otherwise; will only ever cum inside you when you’re outwardly begging for it. If he isn’t manhandling you into obedience on his lazy days then his words take its place to do all the work— yet names he calls you are always tagged, still, with something sweet to soften the blow of his blunt degradation. My pretty little slut— Such a good whore for me, aren’t you?— Taking me like a perfect cocksleeve. 

Even now, with where he’s mouthing and suckling possessive marks of his claim over you across your breasts and collar— he doesn’t nip you further than a pinch between incisors, doesn’t bite or nick with canines to ever draw blood.

“Mh, Robby,” you whimper, nails scratching down the broad of his back as you cling helplessly to him. But all you get in return is his gruff grunts in return from where he’s bullying the head of his cock into you, stretching you full with each unforgiving thrust— hiking you up into the bed from the sheer force of himself rutting greedily into your cunt, palms pressing harshly at the back of your knees to fold you into taking every inch of him right to the hilt. 

“Too big, huh?” he croons amusingly, voice like roughstone and dripping with condescension. Faux-pity. Blatantly prides over himself that you’re struggling, consistently, to fit yourself around the splitting width of him. “Doesn’t matter how many times I fuck this pretty pussy, does it? Yeah. Always such a tight little slut for me.”

You can only whine in reply. Too blissed out with liquid pleasure beginning to knot in your navel from where you can feel him nudging deep at that gummy spot inside you. 

Another shove. Another rock of hips. Come on, give it to me, you hear, feeling the grope of his mean hands going from kneading your thighs to your clit to your stomach; palming at your breasts and tweaking your nipples; slithering his hands up your scratching arms to wrench it brutally back down flat onto the bed.

Squirming only entices him, after all. Encourages him into tightening his grip around your wrists and shackling them down the sides of your head so you can’t argue against the weight of him bearing down on you; can barely writhe from how full you feel with him notched between your thighs, can barely put up a fight when he breathes the heady scent of you in like you’re prey as he lays on you.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, he rasps, nosing a kiss onto your lips and then down your jaw again. All spread out for me, hm?

You preen at the compliment. A fawn willingly heeding to the maw of its predator, the flex of tendons in Robby’s biceps dangerously attractive— makes your back arch, chin turning up inadvertently and exposing your throat to the hulking beast above you. 

Robby groans as he eyes the slope of your neck bared to him, soft and supple and swallowing hard with anticipation. 

The pads of his fingers slide up to it. Another obscene game. Another familiar dance. Just enough to have you dizzy with pleasure and a high for oxygen, bullying a laving kiss on your mouth when you're gasping for air just because he can.

His digits curl. A ferric clutch over the hollow of your throat. There’s a spark of pleasure in you. Pretty girl, you can feel him smile, tone brassy, Gonna take it? Feel your tachy heartbeat pulsing against his thumb and—

—A stethoscope around your neck. A yoke. A tightening noose. The blind, animalistic rage of a man twice your size abusing his strength. Exploiting your give. 

BREATHE, comes the reflex, fingers failing to work a gap into the cord. You blindly kick out a foot to the medical cart as you’re practically yanked off-balance, and you can hear the corner of it clip harshly, wheels squeaking as it tumbles violently out of South-22. 

And the crashing scatter must have worked to turn heads, because one moment you’re craning to look at the blood-shot eyes of a savage monster, and then the next you’re collapsing onto the cold linoleum with Dana tugging you aside from the hectic chaos of Jesse and Robby snarling curses at the patient.

Robby.

You blink. Turn the set of your free hand on Robby’s slick collarbone into a swat instead. Your left hand is still in an iron-grip by your head, the right slithering down now from his chest to tap repeatedly at the back of his coiled hand as you writhe out of instinct. “Robby,” you whisper. “Baby—”

Hula-hoop has never explicitly been an agreed safe-word outside of the ED— Stop for him is natural enough— but some things didn’t need to be said between you and Robby, anyway. 

Stop, stop, comes your tiny murmur. A thready, weak rasp. If he hadn’t been nestling a wet, humid kiss below your ear he might not have heard it at all. But he knows you. Hula-hoop, Robby.

The leonine gaze in his eyes wink out. Unlatches his choke and softens it into a ghosting palm above your sternum as he unwinds from his position.

“Sweetheart,” he rears back instantly, voice softening into concern, “M’sorry, I’m sorry, did I— shit, did I hurt you—?”

“No, I…” You shake your head. Sit up from your supine position to scoot a little further back to the back of the bed for gasp of air. Robby looks scalded; sends a fraught pang into your soul. You’re safe, you tell yourself. Robby is safe.

“You didn’t,” you stumble. “It’s not you— I, I’m sorry. I think I just freaked out a little because—”

Your words catch. Robby gathers the memory in an instant: swiping the curtain aside and witnessing the harrowing scene in front him, the blistering rage in his veins when he’d snatched the patient’s grip from suffocating you; how he’d threatened to break Mr. Weskon’s hands clean in two.

Get your fucking hands off her—

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, that was on me, baby, not you,” he soothes, sweeping a thumb absently at your hip before you try to shuffle back underneath him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. How about we call it a night, yeah? No more, I promise. We’ll go to bed.”

Hearing him say No kickstarts a reflexive dread into your ribcage. Feels akin to a child being admonished; a creeping disappointment in your marrows. The tears slowly burning your eyes are a half-daze of fear and humiliation that had come from the memory, and a half-daze of shame and guilt for twisting the mood into something— filthy.

Do good, comes the carnal instinct neath the floatiness. Make Robby feel good. 

(A basal, distant part of you clinically rationales it’s the physiology: That you’re still reeling through the high and heady overload as you recover from the throes of submission. Unconsciously hanging onto the familiar thread of desire to anchor yourself while in the sudden drop; A muscle memory to oblige to his demand and try to appease him out of feverish habit.) 

You shake your head in earnest disagreement.

“We can keep going. I’m sorry, Robby, maybe…” you trail off, words slurring and tone pleading as you lean forward once more to offer yourself up on a silver platter. I’ll be good this time around. Pawing placatingly at the broad of his shoulder, gliding a palm as languidly as you can again all the way up to his nape. “Maybe we could— if I sit ontop, I, I won’t— We can—”

“Woah, hey, sweetheart, look at me. It’s okay, really.” His palm reaches up to gently slide your grasp off from his neck. Interlocks his hand with yours and presses a kiss to your fingertips; a low hum as he dips his head lightly to chase your half-lidded gaze. “S’alright, c’mere. Just wanna hold you, honey. Can I?”

His eyes are sincere. The little smile he’s giving you reaches them, wrinkling at the corners as he cocks his head at you patiently.

“But…” You shift your leg up an inch to point it out tenuously. You can feel the heavy weight of his wet cock, still, leaking by your knee. 

A small breath of laughter escapes him. It’s not directed at you at all— moreso fond of how you’re graciously still thinking of him despite everything.

“I’m okay,” he promises, gently, and moves to curl a secure arm around you when you unconsciously lean into his space once more. It doesn’t take long before you’re letting yourself be folded tenderly into a shielding embrace, head tucked under his neck and your hand set over the hypnotic steadiness of his heartbeat. “We’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’ve been so good.”

A good girl, he continues to rattle on endearingly. Accompanies every soft praise with a tender kiss on the crown of your head down to your hairline then your forehead; to eyebrows and eyelids and the slope of your nose down to the parted seam of your lips. Did amazing. My beautiful girl. You’re so good for me. Always such a good girl. I love you, hm? I love you.

Eventually, he’s tugging a shirt— his shirt— over you, the sheer size swallowing you whole and the suffused scent of Robby— home— working like another presence of his that smothers you. He cleans you up swiftly and sets the debris of clothing aside, then untangles your hair and smooths it over by running his fingers through them, surrounding you with his body and stroking at your cheek and jaw for the sake of comforting touch.

For a man built so intimidatingly masculine and rough-around-the-edges, Robby knows exactly how to even out the odd scales with that innate softness and tenderness in him: dotingly showering you with utter adoration and pressing kisses cloying with affection; sliding warm palms over your arms and shoulders in a bid of comfort as you settle.

“I don’t know what that was,” you sniff, behind a steaming mug of tea he’d brewed for you much later. “Didn’t… mean to ruin the moment. Or scare you.”

He lets out a low rumble. Mattress sinking by you where he ducks to nose an inhaled kiss onto the exposed slip of skin on your shoulder. “Mh. Nothing was ruined, baby,” he says, careful with his words: you’ve surfaced from your docile haze, but there’s still the shore to reach— still need to clear your head and reconcile with the dull ache across your body. 

“Startled me, honey, but it was only a little reaction,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down your back. He helps you set the mug aside with a quick sip when you pass it over to him. Clicks the lamp shut on the side of the bed as you both slide under the covers. “It’s good that we stopped.”

The liminal space in the air mellows out. Can feel his beard bristle across your forehead, let yourself get lost in the meditative rise and fall of his chest. 

“Tomorrow, then,” you suddenly decide, tracing lazy, mindless patterns over his smouldering skin. 

“Don’t have to,” is his airy response. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, honey.”

You let out a hum of assent. “Wanna be ontop,” you reply drowsily, threading cheek into your tune. “Think you can handle that, big man?”

“Gladly.” His chuckle vibrates into you. Something realigns in you again at the sound of it. Clarity. You’ve slowly come back to your usual self. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, this time ‘round.”

“Famous last words,” you tease. And upon recalling: "Speaking of, what was it you said to that guy again?”

An unimpressed snort. “You only heard the half of it,” he muses lazily, voice tinged with a lit kindling of protectiveness. “I told him I’ll break his hands. That if he touched you or anyone else again in the hospital unwarranted, I’ll make sure he’ll never be capable of holding a damn thing ever again.”

A beat passes. Long enough that, for a moment, Robby thinks you might’ve fallen asleep to his voice, but—

“…Oh,” you smile, basking in the sheepish swell in your heart. A flutter of sparrows in your chest. “That’s hot.”

He tries his absolute best to stifle his laugh from jostling you out your fog of sleep. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, too lazy to explain how his nonchalance only adds to the attractiveness of his protective nature. The ease of his brutish strength accompanied by confidence that never tips to arrogance. “I’ll let you fuck me raw, tomorrow—”

“Jesus,” he laughs, meeting you in a deep kiss to tide you over for the night. “Go to bed, woman.”