kyara

“But it is a date,” Trinity perks up, a cheshire like grin forming on her face while she spins the chair you're sitting in and charting to face her. “Tell me everything– who is he, how did you meet, what are you going to wear–”

“Okay, slow down!” A small laugh unfortunately manages to escape you, and you don’t know whether to be touched or offended over the fact that she was this invested in your love life. “There’s nothing to tell, I haven’t even met the man yet,”

“Oh, ew,” she immediately says, grimacing in disgust, “You met him on the apps? That’s low, even for you babe,”

You stare at her blankly, momentarily stunned. 

“Desperate times means desperate measures,” you finally say, officially finishing charting and logging out of the computer. Standing up, you start making your way towards the lockers, Trinity's excited voice following behind you.

“I mean, not that desperate. I know one man that would go out with you in a heartbeat,”

Opening your locker, you take out the little duffel bag you had to bring into work today. In order to make it to the date on time, you’d have to get ready at work, and as much as you hated drawing attention to yourself, you wouldn’t have time to make it back home. 

So you’d done your hair the night before, hoping for the best when you tied it up for work, shoved your makeup kit, as well as your dress and heels into a bag and made your way to work. 

This was also the exact reason you had asked to get out before handoffs. And Robby owed you just enough favors to let it slide, but not before giving you a suspicious look. You knew better than to tell your ex-husbands best friend– and by default spy– why you suddenly needed to cash in on those very handy, very hard earned favors.

“Yeah, and me and that man are broken up for a reason,” you snort, promptly shutting down any insinuations and blaming it on her sleep depravity.

Slipping off your scrubs, you falter when you hear Trinity snort at the action.

“Excuse me? What happened to privacy–”

“Alright, alright– sorry!” She amends, throwing her hands up in defeat and turning around.

But the sound of her laughter is already replaying in your mind and you huff at your own insecurity, crossing your arms.

“What is it, Santos?”

Immediately turning back around, Trinity gives you a sheepish smile, before her eyes dart to you, still standing in your underwear.

“Are we, like,  super committed to the granny panties?”

You gasp, throwing your scrub top at her face when she speaks.

“Rude! They’re not granny panties, they’re just, you know…” you defend yourself, digging through your duffel for your dress. “Comfortable. They’re comfortable, Trinity,”

“That’s kind of the problem, babe. You’re going for sexy and alluring– not comfort! Trust me, I’m the last person to tell someone to change for a man, but those–” she points an accusing finger at your matching set, “Are just one big turnoff, my friend,”

You groan, running a hand through your hair.

“You cannot be telling me this right now. I don’t have any spare underwear with me– are you sure you’re not just biased?”

Trinity gives you a sad look, then walks to the door, peeking her head around the corner.

“Mohan! Get in here–”

You gape, quickly tugging your work pants back on and crossing your arms over your chest.

“What the hell? Hello, I’m like naked in here–”

“Oh calm down, we’re doctors,” Trinity waves you off, and before you can say anything else, Samira Mohan walks into the tiny excuse of a locker room.

Her eyes dart between Trinity and you, before going down to your chest, where a very sturdy looking bra is in place.

“For the date tonight?” she says carefully, noting the agitation on your face and the amusement on Trinity’s.

“Does everyone know?” your answer confirms her words, and Samira gives you a gentle smile, officially dismantling the last irritation in you.

Slumping against the lockers, your head hits the metal with a small thump!

“Okay,” she finally says, adopting the same, comforting tone she uses when explaining treatment plans to patients, “I don't think they're bad,”

“You lie, sweet child of mine,” Trinity sighs dramatically, crossing her arms when she looks back at you.“Literally just go commando at this point,”

Shaking your head, you snap out of your haze, going back to your bag and digging your dress out.

It’s not like you’re going to sleep with the man.

You weren’t ready for that just yet, your mind echoes to you, but you quickly stop the spiral you feel forming. 

If you were still with Jack, you wouldn’t have to worry about first dates and underwear–

Okay, no.

“Zip me up please?” is what you say instead, looking between the two women helplessly.

Noticing your sudden quietness, Trinity obliges and does what you ask. The zipper slides up your back smoothly, and for once, she’s quiet.

“Hey, come on,” she says softly, giving your shoulder a squeeze once she's finished. “You look pretty,”

Samira nods, taking a hold of your other shoulder and leading you to the mirror, a small smile on her face as you watch her reflection watch you.

“You look good,” she says simply, in a way she knows does more of an impact on you than an overflow of compliments would. 

Your eyes linger on your reflection, smoothing down any crinkled pieces of fabric as an attempt to self soothe. But there was something deeply humiliating about standing in a hospital locker room, while two coworkers attempted to convince you that you weren't a complete disaster.

Admittedly, you do agree. You looked pretty wearing something other than scrubs and letting your hair down for once– hell, even applying new lipstick makes you feel reborn. 

Taking one final look, you straighten your shoulders before walking back to your bag and taking your heels out, putting them on and shoving your bag back into the locker and dumping your dirty scrubs into Trinity’s arms.

Payback for the panty comments.

“Wish me luck, ladies,” you say, the small purse you’d brought with now swinging on your shoulder.

“Knock him dead, babe!” Trinity grins, and Samira gives you a supportive thumbs up beside her.

Twenty more meters and you're out of here, on your way before anyone can properly see you.

You take a deep breath, trying not to cringe or look at people as your heels click against the linoleum floors. The doors to the ambulance bay hiss when you step through them, a small sigh of relief escaping you once the evening breeze washes over your face.

 Rounding the corner towards the parking lot, a yelp escapes you when you crash into someone.

“Shit!”

Strong hands grab your arms before you can stumble backwards and crack your skull open on the pavement and die in your granny panties.

“Christ, slow down,” a familiar voice mutters and your stomach instantly drops.

Fuck. 

The last person you wanted to see, the reason you were leaving work thirty minutes early and watching your back like a criminal, instead of a grown woman simply going on a date.

Jack Abbot, in all his fine glory, dressed in one of those tight, white shirts he loves and his usual cargos.

His hands are still wrapped around your arms, your own are still gripping his forearms, far too close for your already scrambled mind to be able to handle right now.

Pulling away, you quickly smooth down your dress once again, clearing your throat.

“Hi! Uh– nice catching up, I should probably–” you laugh awkwardly, motioning vaguely with your hands towards your car.

Jack doesn’t say anything, his eyes unabashedly travelling across your body. First your styled hair, then to your painted lips, then to the dress, gaze lingering on your exposed legs.

“You’re awfully dressed up for work,” He mutters dryly, head tilting once his eyes lock with yours once again. “But I suppose this wasn’t how you came in at seven am,”

“Wow, nothing gets past you, huh?” you can’t help but quip, ignoring the warm feeling in your belly at the sight of him fighting a smile at your words.

The evening breeze catches a loose strand of your hair and blows it across your face. Before you can move it away, you notice Jack's hand twitch, but ultimately stay rooted by his side.

"Clearly not. Are you going to answer or keep being a smartass?”

Against your will, a small smile forms on your face, and you shake your head and cross your arms.

“I should be on my way to a date,” You finally concede, gauging his reaction. 

Yeah, to see if he even cares anymore.

Unfortunately, as Jack glances toward the parking lot before looking back at you, he asks:

“Is he not picking you up?”

For some reason, his words send a wave of embarrassment through you. Like you have to prove to him that you’re not going out with a piece of shit, like you’re not downgrading, or settling, or desperately trying to get over Jack by going on shitty dates.

“It’s the first date, I’m not having him know where I work,” you mutter petulantly, shifting on your feet, the pain growing more intense the longer you stand there. “That’s just common sense,”

Jack hums thoughtfully, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, then. I haven’t been on a proper date in a while,”

Asshole.

You know he’s talking about your relationship, that petty bastard.

“And who’s fault is that?” the words come out sharper than intended, but you’re too deep into this to notice, or even care about it.

“You know, normal people would just let it go,” Jack muses, eyes narrowed in amusement as he takes a step closer to you.

“Normal people also don’t interrogate their ex in the parking lot,” you retort, chin raising defiantly as your irritation spikes at his indifference towards seeing you moving on.

You’d once heard a rumor of another attending on the surgical floor reportedly laying it on pretty thick at some gala.

It had you eating ice cream for dinner for a week, just the thought of him moving on from you that easily.

Your phone buzzing in your purse fills the silence, and you’re suddenly made aware of the entire reason you're standing here in a dress and heels instead of driving home to watch terrible reality television.

“I should go,” you say quieter than intended, clearing your throat afterwards.

The amusement fades from his face, replaced by something harder to read, and for a moment, Jack doesn't say anything, his eyes flickering to your purse and where your phone is buzzing.

A cruel reminder to him of the fact that you indeed are moving on, probably with some guy your age that wouldn’t have to worry about how you’d look walking down the street with him.

“Yeah, don’t let me keep you,” Jack mumbles, shifting on his feet as he follows you with his head when you walk past him slowly.

Your heels sound against the pavement, the loud clicks taunting in his ears, like a clock reminding him of the time he's running out of, both in life and with you.

“Fuck,” He mutters under his breath, scratching the scruff on his face harshly, before walking after you. “Hey, wait–”

“I really have to go, Jack,” you don’t stop walking, in fact speeding up a bit.

You couldn’t trust yourself around him.

“You don’t even know this guy!” Jack throws out in a desperate attempt to get you to stay, to make you argue with him, anything to make you stay– to choose him again, even if it only were for a moment.

You stop so abruptly your heel almost catches on a crack in the pavement, before you’re whirling back to glare at him.

“Are you serious right now?

Despite your anger, Jack can’t help but notice how pretty you look while glaring at him, and even though he'd be six feet under if looks could kill.

“I’m just looking out for you,” He has the nerve to say, shrugging slightly while he walks up to where you’ve come to a stop.

“I don’t want you to look out for me! You wouldn’t need to if you hadn’t–” you stop yourself from lashing out, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “...Why are you doing this?”

“I’m worried about you, I mean– leaving work early, dressing up, then running straight into me because you aren’t paying attention–” Jack lists, the lies falling from his lips unconvincingly.

You scoff, turning around and walking back towards your car.

“Goodbye, Jack,”

Panic fills his veins, and his hand shoots out and grabs your arm, pulling you towards him.

“Fuck, okay! Alright, just–” Jack sighs, running his free hand through his silver curls, “Just wait, okay? Don’t just…go,”

“Then tell me why you’re being like this,” you press him again, impatiently.

Jack takes it as a small victory when you don’t rip your arm out of his grip.

“I don’t want you to go out with him,”

“You don’t even know him–” you roll your eyes at his shitty explanation.

“I don’t want you to go out with anyone,” Jack interrupts, jaw clenching as he forces the words out. “I don’t want to see you laugh with anyone, or leave work early because you’re seeing someone, or see you get dolled up for another man,”

The words echo in the empty parking lot and land bitterly in your ears.

Your mind couldn’t help but betray you at this moment.

Why wait until now? Is it to make sure his words are devastating enough? To make you lose the progress you thought you had made after he broke your heart?

Was it really all his fault if you could let yourself be this affected by his words?

“You’re such an asshole,” you say shakily, eyes welling up with unshed tears.

Jack nods, a bitter smile forming on his face.

“Yeah, I know,”

He doesn’t argue with you, because he agrees.

He is an asshole. A selfish, greedy asshole who wants nothing more than to get on his knee and grovel at your feet, because the biggest mistake he’s made is thinking that letting you go is an act of love.

Over the fear of what others might think.

Over the fear that there will come a day where instead of him taking care of you, you’ll be taking care of him, while he takes advantage of your youth, all while knowing you’d be too sweet to leave him.

Jack stares at you, your teary eyes and trembling lips, he stands there and he stares at the woman he still loves.

“I’m fucked up, I know. But every morning I wake up and you're still the first thing I think about,” he begins, swallowing thickly when he feels a lump form in his throat. “I look for your car in the parking lot before I walk in. I mean fuck, even at handoffs, I look for the charts that have your signature,” 

The tears are definitely ruining your makeup now. You were late beyond belief for the date, and the buzzing in your purse had ceased ten minutes ago.

And yet you have no urge to go anywhere anymore.

“That’s kind of sad,” you sniffle, muttering weakly. 

Jack chuckles weakly, fingers tightening around your arm before he reluctantly lets go.

“It’s really fucking sad,” he agrees easily, resisting the urge to wipe the tear tracks off your face.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you meet his gaze at last, and Jack sees the confusion and fear in your eyes that comes with the possibility of forgiving him, or letting him make it up to you.

“I don’t know, I just…” he begins,“I couldn’t let you leave thinking I didn’t care. That I don’t care,”

“Do you think your age is secret or something?”

Jack blinks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“What? No–”

“Do you think I didn’t see the grey hair, and wrinkles, and the glaring at screens before we got together?” You continue, stepping closer to him, gaze landing on the evident smile lines, and signs of his life actually being lived.

“You’re making me sound worse than I am,” he grumbles quietly.

“And what really sucked is that you thought I hadn’t already thought of all that when we started this, that there would come a time when you needed me more than I needed you. You keep acting like you lured me into a relationship with you, and acting like I didn’t consider any of it,”

Your voice is steady when you speak, finally wiping the tears away as your feelings spill, the weight on your chest lightening up with each word you speak.

“I saw it. I saw it and I still chose to be with you, so I really don’t understand what favor you thought you did me when you ended things,”

Jack is silent, for once. No sarcastic quip, no flirty deflection– he just stands there and lets the words sink in, feeling incredibly stupid.

He knew you were bright, incredibly empathetic and intuitive. Of course you hadn’t just thrown yourself into this blindly. You’d chosen him on purpose, and Jack was too blinded by his own fears to let you love him the way you wanted to. In turn, he’d hurt himself, but most importantly, he’d hurt you.

“I may have overestimated my own charm,” he says, sounding almost embarrassed.

Despite the earlier tension, his words make you laugh softly, and Jack perks up like he’s been rewarded with something.

“For what it's worth, breaking up with you was the stupidest thing I've ever done,” Jack adds, lips stretching into a tight lipped smile, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, still stubbornly resisting the urge to just give in to him.

“You’re still not fully forgiven,”

“I know,” He nods solemnly.“I’d love it if you did, but I know you can’t, and that’s okay,”

“And you have a lot to make up for,” you continue, not letting up. You had, after all, been tortured for months.

“I do,” Jack says instantly, the answer coming so quickly it almost throws you off. 

After everything the two of you had been through, it felt like a step in the right direction. A moment of tense silence ensues, and you know it’s because Jack doesn’t want to immediately jump back into things and make it seem like he's brushing things under the rug.

You decide to throw him a bone.

“...You’re way too old to be playing with people's feelings,” You finally joke, and Jack bites his lip until he’s unable to hold the grin back any longer. 

“Hey, that’s still a sensitive topic,” He tuts, a faux hurt expression forming on his face. “And if I’m so old, I guess I won’t be able to drive us to that restaurant you like so much?”

Your eyebrows raise in suspicion.

“That’s real cute, but don't you have work?”

“Robby owes me one,” He shrugs, hand landing on your waist, “Besides, we can’t have this dress go to waste, right?”

You let him lead you towards his car, the smile on your face growing wider at his ridiculousness. 

“I suppose not,”

And for the first time in months, Jack didn’t feel that sharp, stinging in his chest whenever he took a breath.