“m’sorry, baby. not single, though,” he’d murmur, entirely unserious and sincere at the same time, hand finding the back of your skull to push your closer to his skin. “get to fixing me now.”

he used to think it was so uncouth when he saw men walking around with bite marks. he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d ever cared, not when your lips sweetly sucked on your chosen spot, drawing a deliberate bloom of color into his skin like you were signing your name on it. his breath would catch on the exhale, hand fisting tighter at the back of your head, and by the time you pulled back to admire your work, his chest was already rising too fast, staring up at you like you’d just done something sacred.

there was nothing uncouth about this, he thought.

“how come they come up so fast on you?” you’d ask later into his throat, thumb pressed flat over the one you’d just finished so you could feel the heat under it. and jack would smile at the ceiling because you’d asked him the same question every eight weeks like clockwork. “tell me,” you’d say, tapping the side of his torso lightly.

his hand would find the back of your thigh where you sat over his hips, and he’d say, into the top of your head, “‘cause i’m old, baby.” sighing, he’d add, “skin’s thin – ”

you’d cut him off by pressing a peck against his throat. “skin’s so pretty.”

he’d lose the thread of what he was saying entirely, a nonsensical sound that was meant to be a word leaving his mouth. “is that so?”

“mhm.” you’d press another peck, lower. “the prettiest.”

jack could definitely get used to this. he already had, if he was being honest.

jack had taken off his jacket when he got to your bar, robby sitting beside him. you were making their drinks in front of them when robby’s eyes snagged on jack’s neck, at the scatter of the marks, trailing in an almost intentional-looking line from his jaw down to where his collar cut off the view. some faded into soft, forgiving lilac, days old, while others sat dark and fresh, still tender-looking.

robby’s eyes had widened as he blew out a breath. “jesus, brother.” he’d shake his head slowly, fighting off a laugh. “everything okay?”

jack would just grin, tipping his glass toward you proudly. “never better.”

and you’d pause in the middle of pouring behind the bar, the ice in the shaker suddenly very loud in your ears. you’d never pegged yourself as insecure for how you and jack were, but even you were prone to the occasional intrusive thought – is this too much? are you too much? does everyone look at him and think the same thing robby just said out loud? – and it took embarrassingly little to knock the confidence out of you.

jack would find you a few days later, hunched over the coffee table, sleeves pushed up, a mess of embroidery floss and beads spread out in front of you. you’d startled when he came up behind you and your arms curled over your work like you were caught cheating on a test.

“whatcha doin’?”

“nothing.”

he’d sit behind you on the couch, legs bracketing your figure, and pull you in by the shoulders so you were leaning against the bottom of the couch. “can i help?”

“no.”

“i’m good with my hands. you know this.”

“this has nothing to do with you being a doctor,” you’d grumble fondly, leaning your head back against the couch to look up at him.

he’d smile instantly at the sight of your face, palms coming up to cup your cheeks as you looked at him upside down. “i wasn’t talking about being a doctor.”

“jack – ”

“let me help,” he’d say, words almost a plea. and you let him, to an extent. you’d handed him the spool to hold steady while you worked, let him cut the lengths of the floss when you measured them out, watched him take the task far more seriously than it required.

you’d finish the product two days later in bed (which was a whole mess now that you’d become one with the craft) with him lying beside you, watching. he’d propped himself up on his elbow, head resting in his palm, tracking the movement of your fingers, mesmerized. every so often he’d reach out with his hand to touch your calf, your back, your knee, because he found that he needed a point of contact even while doing nothing but watching.

“almost done,” you’d murmur, more to yourself then him.

“looks cute.”

you’d giggle conspiratorially to yourself as you reached over for the last piece – a tiny metal charm he couldn’t make out – threading it on and tying it off.

you’d reach over, tugging on his wrist – a little insistently – and he let out a small breath. “this for lil ol’ me?”

“what do you think?” you’d drawl sarcastically, tugging on the bracelet now on his wrist.

he’d let out a tiny huff, then turn his wrist over to examine it with a very unmistakeable glint of a smile. his eyes went to the little charm that caught under the lamplight, your initial, small and sitting right over his pulse.

“fuck,” he breathed out, heart seizing at your handiwork and the thought of you working yourself to the bone over him.

“i don’t care if you hate it,” you’d say immediately, crossing your arms over your chest as you thumped down against the mattress – all that hardwork of little beads had truly taken it out of you! “you’re never allowed to take it off.” you’d fix him with a pointed glare. “ever.”

he’d click his tongue, arm reaching out to gather you against him as you bashfully turned your face into his chest.

“i’m tired an’ my fingers hurt,” you’d murmur into his chest. “if you make fun of me i’ll actually cry.”

jack’d frown, briefly wondering what would’ve given you the impression that he’d ever find something so sickly sweet as this from you funny, when the truth was closer to the fact that you had, somehow, managed to undo something in him once again.

“not gonna make fun of you.” his hand would find the back of your head, slowly threading his fingers through your hair. he’d press his lips to the top of your skull, feeling himself smile at the idea.

“good. ‘cause there’s two.” you’d shove up off his chest and hold your wrist directly in front of his face, and his eyes caught on the same beads, floss, tied off on you. a little ‘J’ sat over your pulse. “obviously did mine first.”

“obviously.”

he’d take your hand and hold it up in the lamp, turning it a few degrees.

“no. do them together.” you’d grab his wrist, too, hauling it up beside yours, holding both of them very close to his face. “see?”

his hand would turn in yours until his palm was flat against your palm, the bracelets moving at an angle to sit by the bones of your wrists, both charms hanging side by side.

“that’s a good way to look at it,” he’d say, reverent. his fingers would slot through yours and close, and he’d bring the whole knot of it to his mouth, kissing your knuckle first, then the charm, then the inside of your wrist.

after the bracelet, you’d get more comfortable, especially after catching jack turning over his wrist randomly at red lights, before he went to bed. when you weren’t around, too. he’d look at it mid-conversation with one of the nurses like he’d forgotten they were talking, just tracing the little charm with his thumb. he’d pause mid-chart, tongue slightly sticking out, the corners of his eyes crinkled, as he looked at your initial on his wrist and waited out the hours before he could go home to you.

nobody’d noticed it until a patient’s mother pointed at it, aw’ing, as she asked, “your kid make that for you?”

ellis would look down at his wrist from beside him, brows shooting up. when jack didn’t respond, she did for him, saying, “he’s got a really committed girlfriend, actually. pretty sure that’s her handiwork.”

“it is,” jack’d say, puffing out his chest as he squared his shoulders. “she’s the best. i love her.”

ellis shared a look with the mother, shrugging, as though communicating that yeah, he’s like that all the time. he did – there’d be random moments in-between conversation where he’d just drop it in, entirely unrelated to the conversation. discussing someone’s discharge, he’d say you didn’t like the smell of scrubs after his doubles. while reviewing a resident’s chart, he’d casually mention you made the best grilled cheese he’d ever had, completely apropos of nothing, then go back to discussing whatever he was like he hadn’t just changed the topic.

jack wasn’t sure where you’d started getting the ideas from. but he’d never not loved seeing you committed. he’d act as if it was completely normal when you dressed him head-to-toe before he started his shift, eyes raking over him, then clicking your tongue as your eyes snagged on his wrist. jack would cock his head to the side, not bothering to hide the amusement at how he could practically see the lightbulb go off in your head.

you’d tug your hair out of your ponytail, then looped the scrunchie onto his instead, right above the bracelet.

he’d put his hand down by his side, doing a small motion of walking, watching his hand move with the pink silk, testing it out. then, he’d nod at you. “suits me.”

and you’d grin, all teeth showing, then wrap your arms around his neck as you pulled him down to press a peck against his lips. “obviously. it’s mine.”

jack felt, yet again, that heated rush. “the hair tie?”

you pressed a quick peck against his lips, patting his pecs twice as if to send him off. he immediately felt the loss of you, now wanting nothing more than to pull you back. he tried, arms coming up loosely at his sides, fingers curling to the memorized shape of your waist, but you’d walked away to grab his bag off the counter

“and the man wearing it.”

and god was he yours. he was sure that if you saw him throughout his days at work, even you’d reconsider him.

but maybe you wouldn’t, he supposed. you’d tucked a reusable coffee tumbler into the side of his work bag one morning (baristas being your biggest fear considering how good you knew he looked post-shift grabbing a coffee, all rumpled up in scrubs and bone-tired charm; read: the exact thing that had gotten a heart doodled on his cup and never would again if you had any say in it).

he hadn’t noticed it until he’d gotten to the cafe, taking it out absentmindedly thinking it was the same matte green thing he’d started using recently, and almost choked on air when he saw around a dozen of your kiss stains (from the lipstick that you loved to leave behind on the collars of one too many shirts already).

he smiled as he took the first sip of his coffee, snapping a selfie from a low angle to show the bottom that very clearly said whose property he was!

your reply came in under a minute. so cute! drink up.

he’d continue smiling like an idiot all the way to work, proudly holding his girl’s work in his hand all while robby assigned the leftover cases, eyes distracted by all the thorough kisses jack was gripping between his palm, the wrist above gleaming with your scrunchie and the bracelet.

“gonna start wearing scrubs with her name on ‘em next?” he’d say after walking him through everything.

jack shrugged, lips pursed in thought. then, he said, “if she wants.”

dana passed by, letting out a chuckle at the conversation. “jealousy’s showin’, robby.”

jack looked entirely too pleased with himself, and also eternally grateful, fully believing he got the better end of this deal and wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve you. he glanced down at the tumbler again, thumb finding one of the darker kiss marks near the base, and let himself sit in the unglamorous luck of being the one you spent your time on.

on a random wednesday night, jack would find himself digging through his wallet at the vending machine, hunting for exact change. shen and the new nurse behind him would be waiting, and shen would click his tongue behind jack impatiently.

“need your readers, old man?” shen would say.

“shut it,” jack would keep rifling through card slots.

the nurse leaned a shoulder against the machine, watching him work. “here, i can spot you, dr. abbot – ”

“nah. m’good for it,” jack would murmur, barely sparing a glance.

“you sure? i really don’t mind,” she’d say, leaning over in his direction slightly to peek down as his hands fumbled with the cash. “consider it a bribe. they told me at orientation to find the attending that answers questions. i think it’s you.”

shen made a sound from behind, clearly offended.

“don’t need bribing,” jack would say. “ask anyone whatever you want while you’re working. that’s the job.” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “teaching hospital, after all.”

“sure, but not everybody teaches the same.” she’d tilt her gaze, eyes lingering on his jaw. “i’m on every wednesday for the forseeable future. so if you ever wanna grab coffee later, outside the teaching hospital.” she shrugged.

jack felt something fire in his brain, this felt off. he shifted back, brows rising, and his hands went to his collar without thinking. his fingers searched for the heart-shaped locket that usually sat right at the dip between his collarbones.

he made a sound low in his throat when he only found the smoothness of his scrub’s fabric. he patted again, finding it under his collar, invisible.

he yanked it free in one motion, holding it up against his chest like evidence, and shot shen a look of pure, wounded confusion. he didn’t like this! he only felt slightly satisfied when the charm caught the light again. this was probably how people felt when they found their keys, he supposed.

but this still didn’t feel right. which was why he turned his wallet around, thumb grazing over the picture you’d taken of yourself in a little photobooth in a bookstore. he held it up, forcing an awkward smile on his face.

“isn’t she pretty?” he’d say, bottom lip catching between his teeth as he tilted his neck to the side to look at it, too. couldn’t help it. whenever it came to you, there was a completely helpless pull in his eyes every single time he laid eyes on you, photograph or otherwise. he’d click his tongue, smiling properly now. “she can show you all the good spots in pittsburgh.”

because for jack, every new person was just a new person to talk about you with! it felt like the correct use of his mouth in any given moment where you weren’t the topic. the nurse said something polite in response that jack didn’t catch, too busy noticing the little crease in the photo where he’d folded the wallet shut too many times, thinking he really ought to get it laminated, or maybe a second copy for the car. he cut himself off there, aware he was spiraling, and just tucked the wallet back into his pocket, forgetting he even needed something from the vending machine.

a few minutes later, when shen would find jack scrolling on his phone, lips pursed, he’d ask jack, “whatcha doing there?”

“gotta check in on her,” jack would say simply, still feeling unbelievably rattled.

shen would hum, and jack could sense the slight hesitation in the man. when he snapped a short, what is it, shen would say, “maybe don’t mention the nurse.”

“why?” jack would drawl.

“‘cause we’re short-staffed and could use some nurses.”

“the hell’s that supposed to mean?” jack’d grumble, rolling his eyes as he clicked on your contact.

“means i think she’d scare off the new hire if she knew that she may have flirted with you.”

“she’s not scaring anyone off. she’s just gonna have something to say about this.” jack tutted his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners at the thought – already picturing the exact face you’d make and how you’d make sure to let him know he was in big trouble. he felt like a kid before the night before a field trip, already rifling through what he’d wear, what he’d say, and how he’d let you fuss over him the entire time and (hopefully) come out with even more bits and bobs to show off on him tomorrow! “i can’t wait.”

it was the only way he could get through the shift, knowing that you’d be just as mad at him as he was at himself for being flirted with.

he’d tell you later during the afternoon about it. the hours after, the rest of the shift, may have made him a little nervous. the excitement had worn off and now he felt a little (actually, a lot) uneasy about the simple fact that someone may have thought of him as available.

you’d notice it as your head lay against his chest, catching his wrist to stop his fidgeting with the corner of the pillow.

“what’s wrong – ”

“i’m sorry,” he’d say before you could even finish asking.

you’d turn your neck slightly to look up at him, eyes narrowing as you gripped the bottom of his face with your fingers. he found himself leaning into the touch immediately, the tight anxiousness in his body loosening the second your hands made contact, despite said contact being closer to scruffing than a caress. it made no difference to him; jack had been rung like a bell too many times to have a say in the matter now.

“what’d you do?”

“nothing,” he’d immediately. “just – i think a new nurse flirted with me today – ”

“what?” you practically squeaked out. “you think?”

“asked me for coffee.” his jaw shifted under your fingers. “outside the hospital – yeah. that’s flirting.”

“no shit, jack.” your hand dropped from his face.

“i showed her your picture in my wallet and told her – ” he dared to take a peek down at you, watching the way your nose had scrunched up, and your lips had curved into a frown. his fingers found the corner of your mouth, brushing the pads over. he was sure he was mirroring the same expression as you.

you’d huff out a breath after looking at him for a long time in silence. you knew that jack would never do anything, obviously. but that possessive itch you simply couldn’t ever kick perked up at the thought of some stranger whose attention he’d caught. hadn’t you branded him enough?

“i hated it,” jack would say, tipping his head down slightly to get closer to your face.

you’d groan, bringing your palm up to cover his face. “well, i hate it, too!”

“then do somethin’ about it,” he’d say, words muffled against your palm.

your palm would slide over his face – you really couldn’t ever push it out of view, especially when it was right there in front of you – and settle against his cheek, giving it a light tap as you scowled. “what more can i do?”

he’d tut softly, eyes glinting with something mischievous. the gall on him! you could practically see his pupils get blown out in real time from this angle, all the pretty hazel being shadowed over, the darkness swallowing the color at the edges like ink bleeding through paper.

“i mean.” he’d tap his finger against your lip, listing them off. “we’ve got the bracelet. the tumbler. the scrunchie. the pen. the lighter – which, thank you for, by the way, because i quit – ”

“could light a candle for once,” you mumbled.

“yeah, used it to light up dana’s cigarette instead. you scandalized her.” his eyes would go up to the ceiling in faux-thought as he continued, “the keychain with our picture on it. my stethoscope.” he sounded so fond, and you felt the words rumble up through his ribs and into your cheek where it lay flat against his chest.

the pad of his finger dragged down your bottom lip a little on every name he counted, tacky and warm.

“and she still flirted,” you’d mumble around his finger, almost sadly. dramatic, you knew you were, but you couldn’t help it. jack was like your little diorama and sometimes you wished you could lock him up in a glass case. you hmf’ed, teeth impulsively catching at the top of his finger to bite it slightly.

he’d sigh, letting his index stay there, letting you have it. the rest of his fingers awkwardly maneuvered down to cradle your jaw, eyes raking over you. “fuck, you’re pretty,” he’d say, tapping his fingers slightly under your chin to punctuate it.

you breathed out against finger, letting it leave the grip of your teeth. “don’t try to get out of it,” you’d murmur, very obviously moved by him.

he tapped your chin once more, tipping your face up so he could keep looking. “i’m on your side. i’ve been on your side.” when you playfully rolled your eyes, he’d click his tongue, shaking his head. “i think it’s your fault, actually.”

you’d blink at him, thrown off. “excuse me?”

he tipped his chin up, free palm gliding across the expanse of his neck as he hummed.

“if i recall, my best girl would have said i’m lookin’ like a single man.” he’d let the words do their work on you, so very fishing and unashamed, while his palm kept moving over his throat, tracking the tendon down to where the locket lay tipped on its side in the hollow of it.

you made a small, nonsensical noise, eyes fixed on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “you don’t look single. i put so much on you,” you’d say, the words coming out of you with no weight.

“and i love ‘em all,” he’d say. “but they’re so sweet, angel.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” you’d say through a laugh, eyes narrowing, as you moved your arm up to curl your fingers around his wrist by his throat. “is my hard work too nice for you?”

“i just think you could be a little meaner to go along with it,” he’d say casually, musing. he’d shake your fingers off his wrist, only to grab your own and guide it to his neck. “c’mon. gonna leave me like this?”

your fingers would spread over his throat, and his hand pressed yours in a little further. you could feel the corner of his jaw working under your littlest finger as his pulse thudded against your palms.

your lips would curve into a smile off your own accord, the familiarity of what you wanted to do settling over you after you’d forgotten how good it felt. you’d gotten so good at this and it’d been a long three weeks without doing it. what a stupid three weeks.

then you’d turn your body around, maneuvering yourself so your legs would bracket his. jack would immediately settle into a better position to accomodate you, shoving himself up on one elbow, then another, and his hands would find your hips to steer you down onto him.

it didn’t take long for your mouth to latch onto his neck, and jack let out the biggest sigh of relief at the pressure, so embarrassing, the nature of it, but he’d hardly care. he wasn’t sure what had happened to his girl, because whatever had happened to you had very clearly affected him, too. it’d be evident in how he would go so loose-limbed under your mouth like he was a dog being scratched in the right place.

“you’re so weird,” you’d say against his neck after a small ‘pop’ as you unlatched. “i think you like this more than me.”

“not really a competition, baby,” he’d say, eyes shut. “but yeah.” he’d find the back of your head again, tracing the shell of your ear. “why’d you stop anyway?”

“didn’t stop,” you’d murmur, softly biting at the soft of the skin beside his adam’s apple before your head would drop to his shoulder, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. “wasn’t a decision.”

he’d snort, knowing you were lying and also about the fact that you thought you could get away with it. “liar.”

you’d stay there a while, tucked, breathing him in as you fiddled with the short curls at the nape of his neck. “i don’t know,” you’d say eventually. “didn’t want people making fun of you. or – i don’t know. people thinking you’re the guy whose girlfriend does that to him.”

jack’d feel his features twist. “pretty sure i am the guy whose girlfriend does that to him.” at your groan, he’d add, with a small, chuckle (even though he’d felt his entire mind race at the idea that there’d been a part of you you’d tried to take away for his sake, a part he loved to no bounds, too), “i like being the guy. y’know this.”

“i know.”

“then what’re we doing here?” he’d pull you in by the hips.

“i don’t know,” you’d say through a groan, suddenly feeling silly for ever taking it so seriously. “never listen to robby again?”

jack huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “robby?” he’d tap your hips twice. “seriously? pretty sure just wanted one. of his own.”

and jack believed it! though he’d never, ever want to know if his best friend is truly jealous because that’d mean you’d been running around in some other man’s mind. jack found he had no interest whatsoever in that thought. for all he knew, you simply were his: to think about, to know, to picture. if that made him a small man about it, well, he’d been called worse by better.

when he’d feel you ease under his hold, he’d grab the soft of your hips with his whole palm. “now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he’d murmur. “you’ve got some backlog to make up for.”

“you’re so greedy.”

“and i’d like you to keep making me things,” he’d add, almost sheepishly, trying to force his voice to casual.

“greedy,” you’d repeat, letting out a chuckle.

if you could know what it felt like with you, you, too, would be greedy. and you’d spend the entirety of the next few hours letting your mouth go over his skin, fidgeting with the little things you’d accessorized him with. you’d turn over the bracelet around his wrist so the charm sat just right, thumb the scrunchie down then back up, untwist the knot that’d gotten on his chain he hadn’t noticed.

he would deal with the questions later, which meant he wouldn’t deal with them at all. it was nobody else’s business but yours, anyway. he wanted to be nobody else’s business but yours; he was sure he’d been conditioned in some way. god, all these years and he’d gone and turned himself into a dog that hears a leash, completely content with it, with the idea of spending the rest of his life at your mercy, at your beck and call for whatever else you decided to put on him next.

somewhere in the middle of it all, you’d get an idea. you’d crawl further up his body as he lay horizontal, spent completely, and prop up your elbow over his bare chest. he’d crack an eye open at the feel of your gaze.

“uh oh,” he’d say, eyeing the mischievous curl of your mouth. “what is it?”

“you should get a tattoo,” you’d say.

“oh? of?”

“me.”

“okay,” he’d say, eye falling back shut again. that was all he had left. you’d taken it out of him and now he was down to short words, arms heavy at his sides, palms open on the sheet, and mouth slightly parted.

“will you?”

he’d hum in response.

“okay.” you’d drum your fingers against the side of your cheek, thinking. “you can get a qr code to my instagram right here.” you’d tap the flat pane beneath his collarbone twice.

he clicked his teeth, letting out a short laugh. “no.”

“why not?”

“‘cause.” he’d open his eyes then, furrowing his brows. “don’t need some random guy scanning me and finding your pictures.” his hand would come up off the sheet and press down at your back, forcing your elbows to give out so you’d land flat against his chest. “you wanna become famous, you build your own fanbase.”

he’d move his hands between your shoulder blades to keep you tucked there against him.

“what about,” you’d start, words muffled against his chest, “do not flirt.” you’d maneuver one hand out from between you, finding the one he lay on the mattress as you traced your fingertip down the top of his index finger. “here.”

he’d sigh. “no.” then, he’d move his hand up from your back to your hair, fingers disappearing underneath it, to lift your head up slightly from his chest, then pull it down to his face, mouth capturing your lips. making a satisfied sound when you sank into it, his fingers would fingers yours where they still lay slumped against the top of his palm, intertwine them, and pull them up between your faces.

he’d break the kiss just enough to speak against your mouth. “i think i got one.” he caught your top lip between his teeth for a second, pulling for barely a second, then settled his head back against the pillow, turning over to look at your hands. “think you’ll like it.”

“okay,” you’d say a little dumbly because your mouth was still stinging where he’d caught it.

his thumb would move slowly across the back of yours, brows faintly furrowed. he’d take long enough that you’d start to shift against him, and he’d have to curl his palm around your shoulder to still you.

after a moment, he’d turn your joined hands over to let go, and spread his fingers wide beside his head on the pillow, nudging your attention onto it with his eyes.

he knew it was lots of big things wrapped in a small one, and he knew you’d know it, too.

“here.” he’d tap the base of his fourth finger with his thumb. “your name, right here.”

he’d hear your breath hitch, and then you’d promptly duck down to nuzzle your face against the crook of his neck. letting out a short, amused laugh, he’d bring up the palm to the back of your skull again, murmuring, “would you like that?”

you’d nod, face still hidden.

“s’that a yes?”

you’d nod again, and his hands would tap your head lightly twice. “words, baby.”

“i’d want to pick the font,” you’d mumble eventually.

“gotcha,” he’d say, pressing his lips to your hairline.

a thick sound grunts out of you when john collapses on top of you, his cock slicks the remaning veined legnth inside you. you curse, eyes trying not to roll when the man readjusts, somehow sinking himself deeper, head nudging against a place that warms you well past the capabilities of the setting sun.

“oh, my g-god.” you gasp. and then gasp again, reaching but failing to grab onto something as his beard drags along the skin of your shoulder.

“i mean it, dove. give y’anything ya like. get ya set up real nice. a house. dog. whatever you want… jus’ come home with me.” john’s vows come out low, just at the shell of your ear. in between each sentence, a long, dragged-out drive of his hips. always concluded with a smacking of his sack, heavy with need, and a squeezing of john’s embrace around your shivering, sweaty figure. he’s holding you like you’re already his. as if you’ve already agreed to leaving all you know by replacing it with him. john fucks you the same way, raw and sticky skin and to pattern of silent claims. “and just think… we can do this every night, ’n then some. keep y’nice ’n full. drunk on me, yeah?”

with blurred vision, you mumble and nod. drunk on him. drunk on the way he’s fucking you from behind, smushing you under him. drunk on the very recent memory of how you sucked him until he painted your mouth, then the feeling of his fingers swiping against your swollen lips to rub in the thick seed. drunk on the pants at your ear and the cream you can feel forming a ring at the base of john’s cock. drunk on the possibility of feeling like this again and again.

tears in your eyes, you clench at the building of hot pressure that has you barely able to breathe. john’s really taking you now. less rambly and more focused, hips striking your ass, pumping inside you with deep desperation. he’s got you pinned and closer enough to wail at how his weight won’t let you do anything but take it.

“ah… f-fuck. go-gonna come again… i–john…” your croaks tug a smirk at the man's lips.

“s'alright. go ‘head ’n come if it’s a yes, dove.”

andrew cody who's working as a mechanic in a little shop in some suburbs, away from oceanside. he never liked his family or the role he played in that mess. but if there was one andrew was, and you might even consider a fatal flaw of his, is loyal. andrew’s nothing but loyal, even if it kills him. 

ever since he's known himself, he wanted to change. change his life around, walk away from his mother and brothers, especially after his twin died. he just never had a reason strong enough to do it. 

that is, until you came into his life. 

andrew never thought he deserved something as good and as pure as you, but he'd keep you anyway. he's a selfish man, after all. 

you never liked his family, but he didn't let you go around them too much. he wanted to keep you separated, untouched by the filth of the name cody. but you never interfered with that; it was his family, and you trusted that andrew knew his limits — even if he sometimes chose to ignore them. 

one night, one of the many that he couldn't sleep, he confessed his desire to run away. he said he wanted to start over. try to be different. not good, just different. and in response you said ‘why not?’

you thought that maybe he'd regret the decision and want to go back to his family, but no. the loyalty he had to you suppressed whatever it was he had for the people that raised him. 

that's how you ended up on the other side of the country, in a small town in whatever state you moved to. he had enough money to buy a small house, just for the two of you to live comfortably.

andrew was quick to find a job for himself. he had no diplomas and he wasn't that smart, he told you when you suggested getting enrolled with a community college class. you wanted to go back to california and kill his mother with your bare hands for making him believe such thing. but you only nodded, deciding not push him. 

and now he's a blue collar man. your blue collar man. you're happy with your new life; you get to live a normal, and most important safe life with the man you love. you get to pack his lunches and send him off with a kiss and a hug. 

you get to see a future with andrew. 

you get to see him every day, safe and in a better headspace he's ever been. you get to see him come home covered in grease and not blood — his or anyone else's. you get to go to work and come home and stop worrying every time the phone rings, thinking something went wrong with the jobs he pulled for his genitor. 

it's a particular hot day. the sun is out with full force, seemingly wanting to burn the planet. thankfully, it's your day off, so you stay home, with the ac blasting. you hate the heat, it's not your fault. 

you jump from the couch when you hear keys jiggling on the door. it's only noon, he wasn't supposed to be home yet. before the door's fully open, you're scrambling on your feet to meet him halfway. 

“andy, you okay?” you ask first as soon as he comes into your view. “did i forget to pack your lunch?” 

“no, sweets, you packed my lunch,” he answers, dropping his keys on the the rack by the door, his work bag on the floor. “i just wanted to come home and see you,” he explains, coming to wrap both arms around you. he stops himself short though; he's sweaty and covered in car grease. 

you don't care and throw yourself into his arms first. 

“i missed you,” he mumbles, rough hands going up and down on your back. 

“missed you too,” you say, voice muffled on his neck. 

few seconds later, when you pull back, andrew pulls something from his back pocket — a single little flower. its petals and soft colors in contrast with his callused, dirty hands — grease and who knows what else from working in cars all morning. 

you gasp, eyes widening a bit as you look between the flower and his expectant face. 

“i saw this on the side walk when i was taking my break,” he says, almost timidly, you can tell, his cheeks dusted with a pink hue. “and it reminded me of you. i wanted you to have it.” 

“andy, it's so pretty,” you say, reaching for it like it's the most precious thing in the world. andrew's heart flutters in his chest at your expression. it looks like he just gave you the best gift of your life, and not just a flower he picked up from the sidewalk.

but it is, in fact, the most pretty thing you've received. of course, he's given you gifts before. expansive ones, by the way. but this one — this simple, almost too small to miss, made him think of you. made him leave his job to come all the way back just to give you this. 

it brightens up your whole life. 

“i love it, andy. thank you so much,” he takes the daisy from your hand, carefully arranging it on top of your ear. a little flower for his favorite person. you hug him again, mindful to not crush the flower between your bodies. 

“About?”

“You want the truth or should be beat around the bush all night?”

He’s got you there, with a huff, you turn on your heal, “‘Ve had a shit night, as you can see.”

“A little scuffle?”

“Little considering how quickly it ended. Not the reason.”

“And that being?”

It might as well been an interrogation, you could be police for all you knew and what do you look like running from police at a time like this in the middle of fuck ass no where. But tonight, just for tonight, less than 30 minutes you’ll let this beared stranger be your therapist.

You cross your arms over your chest, letting out a dry laugh, “About money. It’s always about money around these parts though right?”

“I’m really not a hard girl to pay, really. I can be sweet if someone wants me sweet, or mean if they want me mean. But that son of a bitch— why do you gotta be such an asshat and a stingy fuck for a pinky sized dick?! Makes no fuckin sense! And then fight me about it? Fight fuckin lady about paying?!”

You didn’t realize how loud you were getting, your voice booming with anger, resentment you’d been holding on for so long. Working constantly for a living, to get the fuck out this shitty town in no man’s land. But you’re stuck. In a sink hole, how many other girls have disappeared from your line of sight out here and never to be seen again, how many street walkers end up on drugs out here.

This wasn’t even you plan, to be living like this, day to day. You were supposed to be in Hollywood— lights the cameras, writing some tv show. Or some fucking intern for a shitty pay— not- not like this.

You sniffle, hold yourself tighter, “I- I’m talking too fuckin much, I gotta get home. Call it a night.”

John hates it, the thought of it, of you going. Of you goin back to that life. Even if he’s only known you for less than a couple hours, he’s got tattoos and beard hairs older than you. But it’s something about you, that’s him dead set on you. The way you’re talking to him, your walls, rightfully, miles and miles high.

If he knew what was best for him, he’d be casual. Leave you alone. Knows better than to get too deep.

“Don’t you wanna get outta here?”

You look back at him, confused, but shake your head, “I wouldn’t even know how if I tried. Where would I even go?”

And there’s a silence from the man, still but strong look on his face, one that has you wanting more answers to unrealistic questions. “With you?”

“It’s an option better than being stuck here.” He starts, watching you scuff and walk towards the motel. Heals clicking against the pavement, with John hot on your tail, the flickering sign buzzing as you get closer, crickets singing.

“Don’t follow me.”

“Give me a ‘no’ and I will.”

You let out a frustrated noise, squeezing your eyes shut, “Sir, I really will do better without the hopeful shit you and everyone else who comes through here thinks I’m willin to fuckin buy!”

“I’m not sellin you shit for fucks sake, ‘m givin you a chance.” Price griped, jaw tightening, “You come for a day, even a fuckin hour and you if you like it, we’ll go. Give yourself a chance to think about what you wanna do. You hate it, I’ll get you on the first flight back to this shit hole, you hear me?”

You look around, the near silence of this cool summer. Music coming from someone’s room, cars passing by, blue ocean eyes glued to you. In a dry desert, he was a drop of rain.

You rock on your heels, biting your lip, you stare at your feet, “Where are you goin?”

“North.”

He’s a liar.

This man you’ve just met is a god damn liar.

And you’re aiming to get yourself killed.

“Do you wanna get outta here, or not?”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Trucker!Johns semi truck is nice.

Much nicer than you expected it to be.

Tattered and worn books stacked in crates, his clothes stored in drawers of the small bed, bed neatly made, rustic, plaids and brown bedding, cross dangling from the sun visor. John takes your duffle bags and puts them in the overhead.

“You can sit upfront or go to sleep, ‘s your pick.”

You meekly take a seat in the passages side, watching as John ignites the truck to life, lettting a hand wipe down his beard with a incoherent grumble, checking his mirrors.

You’re already down the road by the time you’re able to say anything, the sign of the motel getting smaller and smaller as you drive away. Your heart threatening to leap out of your chest. Everything you’ve known for the last couple of years suddenly now gone. And your alone.

In a truck.

With a Mr. John Price who you just do not know other than he drives this truck and that he’s getting you out of the country for a change of scenery.

“How am I gonna pay you back?”

It catches the older man off guard for a moment, it never crossed his mind. All he knew was that he wanted you. Call it naive for his age. John leans back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, takes a glance over at you, “Didn’t ask you to luv, think of this as my good deeds to the world. Helpin an angel out.”

An Angel? You want to roll your eyes but you don’t, biting the inside of your lip, “but I don’t have enough money to give anything to you, unless you want my stash— I- how can I be useful to you Price?”

“Sit there and be pretty.”

“But-“

“—You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you that doll?” He interjects, ends of his lips curving upward. Handsome face going in and out of the glow of the highways few lights.

John puts out his hand for you to take. You hesitate but slip yout hand in his. Letting his thumb go over your knuckles, he sighs, “Not expecting much ‘f you. But you do what you want, ‘s your trip too. All I ask if you keep the place clean, just as you see it. And don’t ask what’s in the back.”

Should be simple of enough. No- it is simple enough. You’re good at not asking questions that can lead to bad answers.

You’re free living, easy living.

For the first time in years.

It’s early in the morning when John wakes you up to go to bed with him. You’d shoo’ed him away the first couple of times he tried to get you to go to bed alone. Made sure his warm calloused hand was rested on your thigh, yours atop of his like it was instinct.

It’s what you really liked about Price so far, how warm he ran with small touches. How he made you feel like you didn’t always have to be on edge.

The old man tried to be good, really he did.

Instructed you to sleep on the inside and John would basically sleep on the edge of the cramped bed. But you slipped you hand onto the plush roundness of his torso, fingers tiptoeing up his chest to cup his face, you straddled his hips, beard hair prickling your hand. “Can I- lemme repay you, Price.” His voice so hushed, sultry, your manicured thumb going over his bottom lip, “please.”

Trucker!John is bigger than any man you’ve ever been with. To the point it shows on your face, lips full lips slightly parted, it’s fat and girthy, large and slapping against your stomach when you pull it out. Crown of his length leaking down every vein.

“Not too late to back our love.” He lets out low rumble of laughter.

You gulp down, shaking your head, “Can handle it, just- hah- just need a second.”

Right? All you needed to do was stretch yourself out for it!

And that would be the perfect thing to say after the old man lazily finger fucked you, lips brushing against each other every time the both of your fingers, all messy in your juices, fucked into your heat. Had your lower half shaking just from three of his thick digits paired with a slow kiss, wrapping your tongue around yours, swapping saliva till you came and hard.

But even with some fingering, it only made you dizzy just from the way his tip was stretching you out. The sweet burn that had you choking up as you eased yourself down on him, your jaw slack, and head thrown back. Covering your mouth to try to hide the scream you so desperately want to let out.

“Eaasssy luv, you’ve got it. Can take it for me.” John croons, large hands firm on your hips. Guiding them up just enough so you slowly rock more and more of him inside.

Your pussy so throbs, mewling at his words, your mind already hazy, “I- can- shit- I can take it. Aaangh! god its so good. Feels so gooood Price.”

His blushing cockhead is probing your insides, only reaching higher and higher as your thighs smack against his with every thrust. Your hands lay flat on his hairy chest, bouncing yourself up till just the tip is in, and down, hiccuping on a moan, “Fuck- wanna move f-faster. Wanna make you feel good.”

John lets out a low grunt, loving just how warm and soaking you are even through the thin condom that’s just barely fitting him. Threatening to break with every sleazy drop of your hips onto him. “No baby, gotta let you feel every bit of my cock, get your cunt nice ‘nd used to me. Doin so good fuckin me slow.”

John must be a miracle worker, getting you all worked up, hushed moans as his hands travel down to your supple ass, spreading them apart and squeezing the globes of your ass while you gyrate your hips on him. So hipnotic, sensual, desperate to meet every sledgehammer of his member up into you. His Pubic hairs damp with your slick with every squealch of your greedy and tight pussy brushing against your g-spot. The little bed is creaking, unsure if the truck itself is moving along with it.

Price’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, bringing you down closer to him, your nipples hard and brushing against him through your shirt, “Bloody good at this aren’t you hun, atta girl.”

You whimper as rolls your hips, lashes flirting shut, “Wanna hear you Price, nngh- please, need it.”

“‘F course you do baby, wanna hear juuust how gorgeous you look all fucked out on me. How you tremble and pull me away when you feel too good. Hck- How good you make me feel, How your cunt chokes me out every time i press, right here,” he thrusts up with a heavy thwack, pushing against your sweet spot that makes you keen out in pleasure. “Desperate fuckin thing, wanna hear how I could stay deep inside you all day. Wrapped up this all fuckin day-“

“Yes!” You gasp, head falling against his shoulder, clawing at his broad shoulder. Your fingers going through his greying brunette locks, lips weaving together is a wet and steamy French kiss, his beard tickling your face. Hushed groans and moans filling up the space. Meeting each other half way with each grind of your hips till you’re feeling every shockwave rush through you to the tips of your finger tips.

“Good work lovie.” He coos, slipping his cock out after filling the condom with his cum, it’s heavy and creamy. Price kisses your forehead, both of you exhausted from the long day, his hands patting you back to soothe you in his beefy arms, “We’ll make perfect partners from now on won’t we sweetheart?”

Being a doctor is challenging, because you are always expected to be the best. Being an autistic doctor is even more challenging, because your mind was in a constant battle with your emotions and senses, finding a balance between not going into overdrive, but working in an environment that requires your senses to be heightened all the time. 

Your colleagues were no strangers to your autism — it was once mentioned in passing conversation. But even medical professionals often forget how to talk to someone autistic, and what to do if that person is overwhelmed. It is in human nature to forget, truly, but it also doesn’t take any effort to simply remember. 

Jack Abbot however, the handsome and kind attending, who remembers everything about everyone, never once overlooked your neurodiversity. 

He had asked you once, whether calling you by your last name is too formal and you might not like it, or if you prefer a first name. He understood that the tone of voice he uses with you has to be specific, otherwise you might not be fully be able to understand it. Because autistic individuals often process tone differently than a neurotypical person. 

So it was agreed, that he would only call you by your last name if he is talking about something serious. Your first name, if it was a causal conversation, and a nickname, when he is talking to you as Jack. Your friend Jack.

“Do you have a nickname in mind for me?” You ask him, not maintaining eye contact with him. It made you feel uneasy, maintaining his gaze — sometimes causing sensory overload if you had to stare at anyone too long. So you opted to look at just over his shoulder when you spoke with him. Jack on the other hand, never took offence once.

“I don’t have one in mind no… what is it you are interested in? Hobby wise.” Jack asks you a direct question, not an open question that would require a lot of conversation of thinking. Because with overthinking, comes spiralling. 

“I like… puzzles. They calm me down.”

“How about Patch? Or patchy?” Patch because you’re patching people up, but also because of your love for puzzles.

“I like that!”

“Are you sure?” Jack asks again, to check if you are okay with it.

“Of course!” You smiled and look at him for a brief second, “so last name for formality, first name for informality and conversation, and nickname when we are talking as friends?” You like to double check the information, because over the years you realised that people don’t often say exactly what they mean. 

“Exactly!” Jack smiles widely. “I’ll let you go, Patchy; it was good speaking with you.”

You sigh of relief once the conversation ends, not because you didn’t like speaking with Jack, but often maintaining a conversation with someone can be exhausting. Especially working in the ER — where you don’t get a moment of silence.

You and Jack became incredibly close at work because it was easy to speak with him. He maintained a great balance between pressuring you to do a task so it would benefit your career and delivering it in a way that you felt comfortable doing. He was incredibly gentle and patient, and you found yourself at ease whenever you were with him. You grew fond of him very quickly and found yourself looking forward to seeing him every day.

This fondness grew into something much warmer; something that made your chest flutter and not because of anxiety. The way he'd say your nickname made your stomach flip, and the crinkles around his eyes were so prominent when he smiled at you.

He never made you feel like you had to be anything other than yourself.

Jack, on the other hand, had grown deeply attached to you, too. He admired everything about you, including how resilient and determined you are. He loved the way your face lit up when he used your nickname, and how you always chose to present to him and not Shen. Over time, Jack found himself lingering after shifts just so he could speak to you or coming up with excuses just to check in on you.

You found your safe person and Jack found his.

Today had particularly started off wrong. First, everything went wrong when you tried to make your food. You burnt the toast, which set off the fire alarm, and that was your first push. You then had to turn on the extractor fan, which was incredibly loud and overstimulating. You then gave up on food and decided to grab it on your way in. But the restaurant was far too loud and busy, and you were starting to sweat as you waited for your takeout. You also overthought the conversation you had with the waitress, and worried you came across rude when you were simply too overstimulated.

You made it to work just on time, and that was another thing that almost tipped you off the edge. You hated being late. You didn’t have the time to take a breath before you got called into a trauma room, along with Jack. He instantly notices that you’re not yourself, given the subtle shaking of your hands as you put gloves on. He doesn’t ask; instead, he waits a few more minutes and studies your demeanour. You did well, hiding how overwhelmed you were and focusing on the task ahead. But with every noise, you felt as if someone was digging a knife in your ear. With every touch, you felt your skin crawl. You needed a minute, and your shift hadn’t even started yet. You hadn’t done rounds yet — and that required a lot of memorising, and your mind was already mushy. 

Once the patient was stable, which felt like hours later, you managed to finally breathe. You rushed out of the room, wanting to get to the bathroom for some silence, but Jack caught up with you. 

“Hey wait up”

“Sorry Dr Abbot I really-“

“Need a minute, I know” he says quietly. “Let’s go to the supply closet. It’s dark and much quieter than the bathroom.”

“I’m fine truly” you say quickly, rubbing both of your palms together to soothe yourself, “I just- today it was- I don’t know what I’m trying to say it’s all-“

“Hey, let’s not talk. No one needs to talk. Let’s go.” He doesn’t touch you, but instead gestures for you to follow him into the supply closet. “There’s no lock on the door but no one ever goes in here. Well, I do, when I need a minute. Take five.”

“Five?”

“Five minutes”

“Like literally five minutes?” You ask again, wanting to know the exact amount he’s allowing you to take. 

“Yes five minutes. Close your eyes and focus on slowing your breathing down.” He says softly, “I will set a timer so the noise doesn’t interrupt you, okay? I’ll come back and knock quietly.”

“I’m sorry, im really sorry I’ve only just started my shift and-“

“No one is angry or upset with you. It seems like your day’s going terrible and it’s not even started yet. Take five, I’ll be back.” He says quietly, and leaves you in the closet, closing the door very gently behind him. He sets a timer for five minutes — although he wants you to take longer, but he knows that punctuality is essential when it comes to you so taking ten when he said five, will only upset you further. 

You sit in the corner and hug your knees up to your chest, and focus on nothing but your breathing. You remind yourself that just because today started off wrong, doesn’t mean it should end this way. But it’s not always as simple as that. Because once you’re hyper aware of everything that could remotely affect your senses, everything automatically becomes heightened. The five minutes are up, and Jack slowly opens the door and whispers, “hey”

“I feel okay now” 

“Can I sit with you?”

“Don’t they need us out there?”

“Day shift is actually still here, something to do with an unfinished case so they’re helping.” He whispers again as he lowers himself on the ground slowly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure”

“How can I help you when you’re feeling overwhelmed?”

“What you did today was good, Jack”

“But how can I do it better?”

“It’s difficult.. because I don’t know what helps me sometimes.”

“Do you benefit from deep pressure stimulation?”

“I try and do it on myself sometimes but… my hands are usually shaky and I start fidgeting a lot so I cant maintain the movement.”

“Want me to try? So you tell me if I’m doing it right?”

“Yes please”

“So from what I’ve read….” Jack murmurs as he shifts on the ground, “it’s best to apply pressure on large muscles, could be arms or legs…” 

He had read about it? You wonder what else he researched and it warmed your heart how attentive he is. 

“I’m gonna touch your shoulders, let me know if it’s good.” He shifts and faces you, leaning in and gripping each side of your biceps and he squeezes gently. 

You murmur, “maybe a bit harder?”

“Sure?”

You hum and nod. 

He squeezes your biceps harder and you feel your body as it grounds itself to his touch. You can’t help but close your eyes and focus on his squeezing. Jack smiles to himself, noticing how your face had already relaxed. “I’m gonna move down slowly…”

He moves down to your forearm, squeezing hard then reaches your hands. “I’m gonna go gentler now.”

He holds your hand, making small gentle squeezes on your palm. For a moment, your mind goes silent, your breathing is back to normal and you want nothing more but to stay here with him. 

“Patchy?”

“Yes Jack?” You murmur, opening your eyes slowly and you’re met with his warm gaze. 

“Feeling better?”

“So much better. Thank you”

“Anytime sweetheart. Do you think you’re ready to go back out there with me?”

In that moment, you felt like you would go anywhere with him. The feeling of being this content around someone was so incredible and comforting, and you never wanted it to end.

“Hey Mateo, you know that patient in room eleven — does he seem a bit… odd to you?”

“In what way?” 

“Just… not right. I don’t know how to explain it.” You had just left his room and asked him a couple of questions, but he didn’t seem… stable. It’s incredibly difficult to explain to a neurotypical individual how well you can read people's expressions. Maybe not tone of voice... but facial expressions or body language were different. Others may see him just like any other person, but over the years you’ve learnt to recognise patterns so you can truly understand one’s behaviour. It wasn’t always so simple, but in this particular case, something was not right. You went to find Jack, who was finishing up with a patient. “Hey Dr Abbot, do you have a moment?”

“Not this second — I’ve got a meeting in 2 minutes. Everything alright?”

“Ummm” you hesitate, not entirely sure how to explain it to him, “never mind.”

“You sure? Do you need me or an attending?” You, you thought. You needed his attention to explain how you’re feeling, but you figured it wasn’t his responsibility to take ten minutes out of his day so you could try to explain a feeling. "I can be late for my meeting, no problem." He smiles softly and approaches you closer. "Is something bothering you?"

"No, don't worry about it." You mumble and quickly walk away.

He calls after you, “Hey, Patchy, we’ll catch up after my meeting, I promise.”

“Okay” you smile, and hold onto his promise as you head in the direction of room eleven.

“Caleb?” You knock and walk in, but he was not in bed. “Mr Richard?” You say quietly. Where has he gone?

“You” an animal like growl hisses from behind you. You turn around and see him standing in the corner by the door, with a psychotic look on his face. Psychosis eyes. That’s exactly what that look was. That was the feeling you couldn’t explain. 

“Caleb?” Your voice instantly shakes as you walk away from him. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“He’s behind you” 

You look over your shoulder in a panic, but no one is there. “Okay, what-what does he want?” 

“He’s telling me things, things that are not good!” He yells. You look over at the panic button across the room, but you have to pass him to get to it. 

“Don’t listen to him, maybe listen to me? Okay?”

“No!” He yells again, “he’s telling me to hurt you!”

“Please, please don’t hurt me” you plea, “don’t listen to him!”

He yells something inaudible again, and so you yell at the top of your voice, “hula hoop”

He charges toward you but you jump on the bed to avoid him, wanting to get to the panic button. But he was too quick, and too big. He gets hold of the back of your neck, pulling you back up. You scream hula hoop again, repeatedly, until he slams your face into the wall. Pain, like you’ve never felt before, wraps all around your face, and not a muscle in your body has the energy to fight him. Everything then goes silent, and you are well aware that you have now dissociated.

Ahmed was the first one to run in, pulling the patient off you, followed by Lena, Parker, Mateo who are now surrounding you. 

Commotion had taken over the atmosphere as everyone started yelling, security is now in the room, dragging the patient away, who’s aggressively fighting them off. 

“Hey, you’re okay” Parker wraps her arms around you in an attempt to protect you from the chaos, but the walls were closing in on you, and the last thing you needed was someone being this close. “I’ve got you”

Her fingertips on your shoulder feel like sandpaper as you push her off and fall to the ground.

“Sweetheart” Lena crouches down next to your, lifting your bloody chin up, “come with me.”

Your hands cover your ears, tapping on them repeatedly as your body starts to rock back and forth. 

"He's not gonna hurt you now." Parker crouches down next to her, "Can I please touch you so I can stop the bleed?"

But you don't respond. You wouldn't be able to even if you tried.

"Mateo, can you call Abbot, please?" Parker adds, "He might be the only one who can help."

"Already did, no answer. I’ll text” ER. Stat. Hula hoop

Jack doesn’t need to know who was involved in code Hula Hoop, but as he runs into the ED, he goes to room eleven. Call it a gut feeling, but he knew it was about you, and blamed himself for not taking the few minutes of his time to talk to you, maybe the outcome might have been different,

Everyone’s surrounding you, desperate to try and check for injuries, but he finds you stimming, eyes closed, and rocking back and forth. 

“Everyone out!” He doesn’t mean to yell, knowing it’ll only make it worse for you but he’s far too anxious. “Now!” Bodies hesitate to move at first, but Jack pushes through them to get to you, saying once again in a firm and authoritative tone, “Everyone out now!”

He crouches down to your level, shaking his head at the mess the patient had made of you. Seeing you like this broke his heart, and he tries not to think about the guilt that sat deep in his chest.

He whispers, “It’s just me” and then slowly reaches for your hands that are hitting your ears. He holds both of your hands and starts squeezing them gentling, without saying a word. Calming you was his priority first, then attending to your injuries. He rests your hands on your knees then grabs hold of your biceps, squeezing them gently at first, then increasing the pressure slightly a bit by bit, until your rocking eventually slows down. 

He says gently, “You don’t have to answer me but I need to know what he did. Nod for a yes shake for a no”

You give him a shaky nod, eyes still closed. 

“Did he hit you anywhere apart from your face?”

You point at your neck and Jack slowly moves to look at it. “Did he do anything else, like hit your body?”

You shake your head. 

“Can I take you to another room so I can properly examine you? Please?”

You shake your head quickly, and your hands move back to your ears.

“Okay sweetheart let’s stay here.” He pulls up gloves from his pocket, snapping them on quietly, “I’m gonna touch your face so I can look at your nose.”

You nod and eventually open your eyes, wincing at the brightness of the fluorescent lights above your head. Your eyes meet his for a moment before he looks away. He can’t risk tearing up in front of you. He murmurs, “I’ll turn them off in a minute. I just need to check your injuries, okay?”

You whisper, "Jack?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Don't leave."

"Not going anywhere," he murmurs, "I'm right here...I’m so sorry this will probably stress you out even more but I need to know how hard you hit your head”

You shake your head, not wanting to think of what happened.

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna check for a concussion, then we’ll go to a dark room. Hmm?” Jack carries out his checks gently and slowly, careful not to startle you. Despite not saying much or answering his questions, your pupils showed signs of a concussion, but refused to be moved to a room. "Shall we go home? Instead of a dark room?"

"I can't take the bus or-" you whisper.

"I'll drive you home and i'll stay with you."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Patchy, I'm not going anywhere."

Jack keeps his promise, not letting anyone near you as he finishes up the last bit of paperwork before guiding you out of the ED through the side entrance. He unlocks the car, opening the door for you and patiently waits as you get in and settle. He starts the engine, reaches over, clicking the seatbelt in, "no radio, close your eyes if you need to."

The drive is quiet, and every few minutes he glances over, checking on you without making it obvious. When your hands start trembling again, he doesn’t say a word; instead, he rests his hand palm up on the centre console, as an open invitation if you want it. After a few minutes, you take your hand in his and start squeezing hard. He squeezes back -- the exact deep pressure that you prefer.

Your apartment is dark when you arrive, and Jack only turns on a small lamp in the corner. "Couch or bed?"

"Couch", you whisper.

He guides you over to the couch, helping you sit comfortable in the corner,, i'll go get you a change of clothes, can I go through your closet?"

"Sure"

He disappears and returns a few moments later with one of your jumpers and joggers, along with antiseptic wipes and a warm cloth. He helps you out of your shirt first, and slowly starts wiping the dried blood away. His jaw tightens at the bruises that sat on your face and neck, "is this okay?"

You nod.

Once your face is clean, he hands you the change of clothes, and helps you change slowly and quietly.

“I'll go get you some water." He brings it with a straw so you don’t have to sit up too much. After you drink, he sits next to you, keeping a respectful distance, but also staying close in case you need him. "You don’t have to talk,” he murmurs. “But I’m right here. I’m staying the night...on the couch if you want space, or in the chair if that’s better. Whatever you need, Patchy.”

You reach out and tug lightly at his sleeve until he shifts closer. He understands immediately and carefully lies next to you, letting you nestle against his chest. He pulls a weighted blanket on top of both of you, feeling you relax under his touch.

"You're safe, and I've got you." He murmurs against your head, "It's just you and me in here, and no one else."

"Thank you" Your eyes sting, and you feel physically exhausted, "for being here with me."

"I need you to promise me something."

"Sure."

"Promise me next time you have a bad feeling about a case, you come to me." He murmurs, gently lifting your chin up to look at him, "Promise me that you'll tell me everything. Because I never want to see hurt like this ever again."

"I promise you, Jack."