Oh Yes, In The Pit Of Despair

They finished handoff in under ten minutes. Robby gathered his things and headed for the doors. Jack followed. That was…unusual. Typically, he jumped right into his shift but tonight, he fell into step beside Robby, hands in his pockets.

The air outside was cool as he caught Robby’s elbow and pulled him off to the side and out of the way.

“She met me for breakfast this morning.”

“Did you tell her?” Robby’s voice came out rough, broken. “About how sorry I am? That I’ve started seeing Gemmill again? That I’m…Jesus, Jack, did you tell her I’m falling apart without her?”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and nodded once. “I told her.”

“And?”

“She was going to walk out until I promised to stop talking about you.”

Robby stared at him. “What?”

“She says you have to make the effort on your own, without me being in the middle.” Jack’s voice was quiet, steady. “I won’t risk losing her, Mike. Not even for you.”

Robby felt something inside of him just collapse. A slow, inward crumpling of the little bit of hope he’d held that Jack could help him fix this. He dragged a hand over his beard. His hand was shaking and he stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie.

“So, what do I do, Jack? How do I fix this?” The question came out small, pleading. He’d fucked up, lost his way, and he needed Jack to help him find the way out.

Jack huffed out a breath. “Well, first you need to quit trying to buy her affections.”

Pure white-hot panic shot through Robby. “I’m not…that’s not what I’m doing. Is that what she thinks I’m doing?”

Jack nodded. “You accused her of using us for our money and now you’re…well, you’re using our money to try to get her to forgive you. That’s not going to work, babe.”

“I just need her to talk to me,” Robby said, the words sounding pathetic even to his own ears. Pathetic but true.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, try something else, because that’s not working.”

Then he was gone, heading back into the depths of the Pitt, leaving Robby alone in the ambulance bay. He walked home in the dark, and he didn’t cry. He was too tired for tears. He was tired and alone and the silence in his head was louder than any trauma bay had ever been.

A knock came at four in the afternoon when you were working on a spreadsheet for your grandfather’s foundation. You paused, saved and set your laptop aside. You knew what it was before you opened the door. Another delivery with no communication, no heart behind it. You sighed.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to be met with a wrapped bouquet on the doorstep rather than a careful display. It was the kind of arrangement that looked like someone had had gone into a field and picked whatever was in bloom. They were beautiful in an unrefined way, nothing like the formal bouquets that preceded them. You carried them into the kitchen, setting them on the counter while you filled a vase with water.

The note was tucked between two stems, folded in half. Your fingers found it as you started to arrange the flowers. Robby’s handwriting was unmistakable, a hurried slanting script that always looked like he’d been rushed through whatever he was writing.

I’m sorry.

Two words. Nothing else.

But it was enough to cause the slightest lift of the corner of your mouth. He was learning. The flowers had a personal touch finally and he’d written a note. A stupid, short note but it was a start. You set the note on the counter beside the vase and went back to work.

The next day, the knock came around lunch time. A teenager handed you a delivery of soup from the deli near the hospital that Robby favored. You opened it and inhaled the aroma of your favorite offering from there. You ate it standing at the counter, spoon scraping the bottom of the container. When you went to throw the bag away, you found the note in the bottom.

I miss you.

You set it with the first note and went on about your day.

The third delivery arrived the following afternoon. Pastries from your favorite bakery. Three of your favorite treats nestled inside the bag. This note contained only one word. Please.

You rolled your eyes and set the note with the others. The anger had burned itself out. The pain less sharp than it had been. You’d cried it away on your couch. Shouted it into your pillow. Let it run through you until there was nothing left but remnants. Jack had told you Robby was back in therapy. You’d turned the information over in your head for days. It changed the shape of things. Just a bit. Enough for you to acknowledge that he was aware that what he’d done was inexcusable. And that he was attempting to make certain it never happened again.

Understanding didn’t mean forgiveness. It was merely the first step toward a conversation you weren’t ready to have just yet.

Notes accumulated on your counter. I’m sorry. I miss you. Please. I’m thinking of you. I was wrong. Short. Unpolished. All written by Robby’s own hand. You’d read them all precisely once before adding them to the pile on the counter and returning to whatever task you’d been working at when they arrived. You appreciated the thought behind every bouquet, every meal, every cup of coffee. But thought wasn’t enough.

Not responding had nothing to do with punishment. It was about respecting yourself. You loved him. God, you loved that stupid, broken, beautiful man. But you loved yourself enough to wait for something real. The brief notes weren’t it. The flowers weren’t it. The rent most definitely wasn’t it. You were waiting for words that hadn’t come yet. The words that acknowledged not just that he was sorry but why. The understanding of what he’d done and how fundamentally it had hurt you. Of the damage he had done. You needed something deeper than a couple of words tucked amongst the flower stems.

He had broken you. He’d taken away the trust you had, the feeling of safety and security. The home you had with him and Jack. Until he recognized all of that, there was no room for him in your life.

The Luck of the Draw hummed with activity even on a Tuesday night. Sam’s endeavor was a success and you couldn’t be prouder of him. The customers had only increased since your livestream of Chelsea’s humiliation. Word spread fast that the owner was your bestie and he was enjoying the rewards. He’d begged you to pick up a few shifts until he could get another permanent bartender on board.

You moved behind the bar with the ease of many long nights working in the same spot, reaching for bottles without really looking. You mixed drinks and carried on conversations with the customers. Sam worked beside you, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he shook a cocktail vigorously.

“Take it easy, Reynolds.”

“Gotta put on a show for the ladies.”

You blinked at him. “No one is impressed by you shaking the hell out of a whiskey sour.”

Sam shrugged. “A man can dream.”

“Idiot,” you said, affectionately. All of your best friends were idiots, but they were your idiots.

The door opened and you glanced up only to freeze for a beat as your gaze landed on Robby.

He was still in his clothes from the hospital. His beard had gotten a little longer, or maybe he just hadn’t groomed it. You usually did it for him. He looked tired. No, he looked like a man who hadn’t properly slept in weeks. He took a seat on a stool at the far end of the bar, as far from you as he could, and set his elbows on the polished wood. Your eyes met his. One second, then two. And then you looked away and didn’t look back.

Sam’s gaze flicked from Robby to you and back again. His back straightened and you recognized that flash of protective instinct he’d carried for you since high school. The one that had gotten him suspended when he punched your junior prom date for trying to feel you up. He moved to you and leaned in.

“You want him gone?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine, Sam.” You poured two fingers of whiskey and handed it to him. “That’ll be his order.”

Sam studied you for a beat, then nodded and went to deliver the drink without a word to Robby. And you worked. You opened beers and made drinks and laughed at bad jokes from the regulars. Through it all you felt the weight of Robby’s eyes on you. You knew without turning exactly how he was sitting. Elbows on the bar, one hand around the glass he wasn’t drinking from while he watched you move through your world.

An hour passed, the customers changed out. Robby’s drink was still mostly full, he’d barely sipped at it. He’d just sat there, watching you. When he finally stood, you didn’t turn. You heard the stool slide back, watched from the corner of your eye as he left too much money on the bar top. Your gaze followed him as he left and you sighed as tension flowed from your shoulders.

As you were walking home just after midnight, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You waited until you got to your building to check it.

I’m sorry. I just needed to see you. I miss you. I love you.

You stared at the words as you rode the elevator up, too tired for the stairs. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard before you typed a response.

Laying in the bed that was too big without you or Jack, Robby stared at the ceiling. His phone vibrated on his chest and he grabbed it, fingers fumbling in his hurry.

I miss you too

His mouth curved just slightly. He read it again. And again. Elation rose in his chest. This was the first contact he’d had from you and it wasn’t telling him to fuck off.

But he was just as aware of what you didn’t say. Not I love you too. Not I forgive you. Just I miss you too. But it was a start. An opening he wasn’t going to mar with what wasn’t said.

He sent a message to Jack asking him to call if he had a minute.

The phone rang almost immediately. “What’s up?” Jack greeted when Robby answered.

“I went to the bar. I needed to see her.” He needed Jack to know but he worried the other man would be angry.

Jack’s voice was completely normal however when he asked, “Did you speak to her?”

Robby shook his head though Jack couldn’t see it. “No. I just…watched. Sent her a message after I left.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I’m sorry and that I miss her and love her.” The words were rough around the edges. “She told me she missed me too.”

“That’s good. She didn’t shut you down, not completely.”

Robby swallowed the lump in his throat. “Do you think she still loves me? She didn’t say it.”

“I know she does.” Jack’s voice was quiet. “But I’m pretty sure you haven’t earned her saying it yet, baby.”

There was a long stretch of silence. “Yeah. Thank you, Jack. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Get some sleep.”

Robby disconnected the call and looked at your message one more time before putting the phone on the nightstand. He went back to staring at the ceiling, hot tears leaking from his eyes.

He was back the next time you worked. Same stool, same tired eyes and hunched shoulders. Another glass of whiskey sat in front of him barely touched. He watched you for an hour before shuffling out the door to go home to an empty house. When he left, your phone buzzed with another message.

I miss you. I love you. I’m so fucking sorry.

This time you didn’t respond.

The third night, Sam came over, leaning against the counter beside you. “Should I be concerned that he always seems to know when you’re here?” He tilted his head toward Robby who was sitting in his usual spot, staring into his untouched drink. “He’s not stalking you, is he?”

That pulled a laugh from you. “Pretty sure he has more important things to do with his time.” You shrugged. “I shared my location with him and Jack months ago. Never changed it.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just. It’s a very easy thing to fix. Couple of seconds on your phone and no more sharing if you were so inclined.”

You huffed in annoyance. “Well, I’m not so inclined so drop it.”

He raised his hands and backed away. “Understood.”

Robby had been sitting there for forty minutes, looking more forlorn than the last time he’d been in. You set down the glass you’d been drying, squared your shoulders and walked the length of the bar. He didn’t see you coming at first, staring at his drink, one finger tracing the lines of the glass. And then he did.

His head came up. His face changed. The tired lines around his eyes smoothed. His mouth opened, just slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. Finally, he settled on, “Hi.” His voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “Hi.”

“You have to stop this, Robby.” He flinched at the name. You kept your voice low so only he could hear you. “You can’t keep coming here. Watching me. It’s…I miss you and this is too hard on me. Do you understand that?”

He nodded once, quick. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He stopped, swallowed. “It’s the only way I can see you.”

You started to turn away. His hand came down to rest on yours where it sat on the bar top. His palm was warm, his skin dry and rough from the endless amount of sanitizer he used all day long. You looked at his hand on yours and then up to his face.

“I’m off tomorrow. Let me take you out to breakfast. Or lunch. Coffee. I just want to talk to you. Please.” The words spilled from his lips like he was incapable of holding them back, desperate to be heard.

You studied him. The gray in his beard. The shadows under his eyes. The desperate hope in his gaze. You could feel your resolve cracking, not because of the flowers or the notes or the rent money, but because of this. Because of the man sitting in front of you asking for a conversation, his hand on yours like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“I’ll think about you,” you finally said. “I’ll let you know.”

He nodded. Didn’t push. Didn’t say another word. His hand left yours, the absence leaving you cold. He stood, dropped too much cash on the bar as usual and walked out, pausing at the door to look back once. With a nod he stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind him.

A couple of hours after Robby left, you were moving constantly, serving a steady flow of customers. You didn’t see the fight start. One minute a table by the dancefloor was just a table. Four guys drinking and laughing about whatever. The next, there was shouting, the scrape of chairs and the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. A pint glass shattered on the floor in a spray of amber liquid and sharp edges.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice cut through the noise. “Knock it off!”

The two men, both large and at least slightly drunk, shoved each other, chest to chest, voices raised. You couldn’t make out the words, but you supposed it didn’t really matter. Another man soon joined the fray and then another. One of the tables fell over with a crash and people moved out of the way. Some headed for the door, others just the edges of the room.

Sam vaulted the bar in one smooth motion. “Stay put!” he yelled in your direction without looking back.

You ignored him completely, moving out from behind the bar intent on bringing up the lights and shutting down the music. The brawl spilled sideways as four guys became five which became seven as a couple of the regulars jumped in to help Sam break it up. You reached the switches and cut the music while you brought the lights up to full intensity. As you turned to check on the chaos behind you, a bottle arched through the air from somewhere in the melee.

You saw it coming. You registered it was going to hit you and you should get the hell out of the way. Unfortunately, your body was about half a second behind. The bottle hit you square on the head, just at the edge of your hairline above your left eyebrow. The crack was immediate and stunning, a sound you felt more than heard, followed by a sharp flare of pain that radiated out from the point of impact. “Motherfucker,” you shouted as your vision blurred.

Hands grasped your arm and tugged you back behind the bar. Kira, one of the waitresses, pressed a folded bar towel against the wound. Her hold was firm, insistent. “Hold this. Press. Hard. I’m gonna help Sam clear the bar.”

You did as she said. The towel was immediately warm and wet against your skin. Fuck. You could feel blood running down the side of your face.

On the floor, Sam had one of the fighters in a headlock and was dragging him toward the door. Two of the regulars followed behind with two other assholes. The remaining customers were closing tabs and gathering their things before heading for the exit. It took less than ten minutes for the bar to clear after that until it was just you, Sam and Kira left with the broken glass on the floor and the blood running from your head.

Sam came straight to you once the last patron was out the door. His face was flushed and he was disheveled from the fight. His hands were steady as he lifted the towel from your forehead.

His expression did the talking. His mouth tightened and his eyes shone with worry. “Sorry, beautiful,” he said, pressing the towel back firmly. His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a streak of blood. “Looks like a trip to see your boyfriend at the hospital.”

“Grab it please.” He answered to the scrub tech who informed him.

“I think it’s your niece? It says Sophia.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Okay. Put her on speaker.” He answered worriedly.

And then Sophia’s voice filled the phone, with the sound of… a siren he swore, heart in his throat.

“Uncle Brendon?”

Wobbly.

“What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?” He nearly barked.

“Me.” Came Hayley, who was apparently also on speaker. “What happened? Are you in an ambulance? Who are you with?”

“It’s just us. We are. we told them to take us to PTMC- we’re supposed to do that right?”

“Yes, honey, you are. What happened to Hayley?”

His heart hammered. Bile in his throat.

“She fell down the steps at the park and really ate shit-“ “hey!-“ “and she like, really ripped her shin open. She totally needs stitches.” Sophia informed.

“Did you call your mom?” Brendon grilled.

“Not yet…”

For fuck sake.

The weekend his sister was in Michigan for work and the girls were with him this happened.

Damn it.

“For fuck sake Sophia. Call your mom.”

“Are we in trouble?”

He could see her little wobbly lip in her voice and it gutted him. Fuck.

“No, Princess. You’re not gonna be in trouble I promise.”

He heard her sigh in relief.

“Can you call her?” She asked softly.

“Are you kidding me? I’m in surgery, Sophie.” He sighed. Swore under his breath.

“Yes, I’ll call your mom. But it’s gonna be worse for you later and you know it.”

“Thank you!”

He shook his head. “Yeah yeah. You’re welcome. Look. When you get here, you’re gonna ask for Dr Robby. And you’re gonna say your uncle, Brendon Park told you to do that, okay. And tell them if anyone but him touches Hailes I’ll kill them.”

Sophie giggled.

“Not fucking around Soph.” He insisted.

“No hacks allowed. And tell them to page plastics for the stitches. Or else.”

Sophie winced.

“I don’t wanna be mean.”

“Sophia. It’s your little sisters health. You have to be mean.”

“Fine.” Sophia wavered.

“Are you gonna come down?” Hayley worried.

Brendon’s heart cracked.

“I’m in the middle of surgery, baby. Look. I will be there as soon as I can, I promise. But I just- I can’t right now and I’m so sorry. I- look. I’m gonna see if Y/N can come down to watch you guys. I know you’ve never met her but you can trust her.”

“We know.” Sophia swore.

See, Brendon had never let a girlfriend meet his girls before.

That was, as far as he was concerned, the most serious thing he could do.

So he was really hesitant to.

No one before you had gotten that close. That far. That serious and real.

But…

The girls knew of you. They’d heard all about you.

3 months into your relationship Brendon told them he was dating someone. He never really did that. Nothing was ever that serious. He was never that serious about someone.

So they asked questions. And he answered them. They’d seen photos. They were sweet about it. He told stories. They knew you existed. They knew the broad strokes. But he hadn’t gotten the chance to formally introduce you.

And this was far from optimal. But.

Well. What else was he to do?

You heard stories too. Many.

You knew just how important Brendon’s girls were to him. They were his entire fucking world. You got that.

“I mean I was literally the one who brought Hayley home from the hospital” Brendon explained one day while telling a story, making a slight detour for context.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Erica and Craig got divorced when she was pregnant and he was already a useless sack of shit when Sophie was born, so I was there. They’re my girls.”

You understood. They were essentially his kids. So they mattered to you, simply on account of how much they mattered to them.

He’d called you in a panic a few weeks back, maybe 2 months now really, asking if you had pads at his place, that Sophia got her first period.

Your drawer in the bathroom, you informed him. You were pretty sure it was a full pack.

Which he yelled through the door.

“Do you… need help with it?” He asked, then, nervously, you overheard.

“No they show us in health!” You heard Sophia yell back.

He breathed in relief.

“Thank fuck” he mumbled to you.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll restock if you just uh. Send me the details.”

“It’s fine” you swore.

“Is there anything else I should do?” He asked you shyly.

Cute. Cute cute 40 year old man.

“Not really. Tylenol or Motrin. Heating pad. You know.” You reminded him.

“Right. Right.” He nodded.

“She can have my good chocolates if they want.” You informed. “But those you have to restock.”

“You’re a lifesaver, baby. Thank you.” He sighed. “I gotta go.”

Is nausea normal? He texted you not long after.

You laughed.

Didn’t you go to med school?

Y/N please. Before I go to the ER just answer me.

Yes it’s normal. Unfortunately. She’s fine.

Thank you.

So is back pain, headaches, migraines, chills, soreness….

Ouch. Well. Thank you. Love u.

He turned his attention back to the girls.

“Y/N says the nausea is normal.”

Sophia barked out a laugh. “That’s what you were doing? Come on I could have told you that. Didn’t you go to med school?”

“Jesus do you two know eachother or something?” He shook his head.

So.

Yeah.

You were both familiar with the others existence.

This was just a final line that you hadn’t crossed yet.

“Page Y/N to the observation room if she’s available, please.” He sighed and asked his scrub again, bracing himself for impact.

You were there in 5 minutes, looking as gorgeous as you had that morning, looking worried through the glass.

“What’s wrong?” You asked immediately.

You were so good.

“I gotta ask you a huge favor. Hayley’s in the ER-“

“Our ER? Is she okay?”

Your concern for his niece’s mirrored his own, tugging on his chest.

“She sliced her leg open taking a fall. Sounds like she’s fine. Look I can’t get out of here. Can you-“

“Are you sure?”

You looked worried. “I know you have boundaries when it comes to them-“

“You’re different.” He swore quickly.

“You’re um- I wanted you to meet them soon anyway. This isn’t ideal but-“

Fuck, he hated having an audience for this.

But you nodded.

“Of corse I will. I’ll- I’ll keep you posted okay?”

He breathed in relief.

“Yes please. Thank you. You’re a saint, baby. Really.”

You nodded.

“I told Hayley that no one but Robby touches her, and to make sure he calls plastics. I don’t want her with a hack job scar, she’s a pretty girl she doesn’t need something to be self conscious of.”

You nodded in understanding.

“No clowns are touching my girl.” He reiterated.

You nodded.

“I’ll make sure. Does she have like allergies or anything I need to tell them-“

“Their PTMC charts are my Sistine Chappell” he informed.

You nodded.

“Okay. Uh, well. I’ll see you later right?”

You found your way to the ED circulation desk, to looks of surprise.

“If it isn’t Miss Y/N. Been a while. What can I do you for?” Dana grinned.

“I’m here on personal business I’m afraid.” You informed. She looked worries

“What’s the matter kiddo?”

“I’m here to check on my boyfriend’s nieces. It’s Hayley Park?”

You watched Princess’ eyes sparkle at the desk behind Dana.

There goes everything.

“Park huh. Jesus Christ kiddo good for you. C’mon I’ll bring you by.”

You stood outside a room, one of the few with a real door, a note on it stating who the patient was and who her uncle was, like a warning. Shark infested waters.

You understood the reputation Brendon had, but he’d always been so sweet to you. You presumed his nieces were equally oblivious to that reputation.

You knocked twice before opening the door.

“Hey, I’m-“

“You’re Y/N” Hayley confirmed instantly, looking you up and down.

“Yeah. I don’t know if your uncle told you, he can’t get out of surgery right now so he wanted me to come stay with you guys. How are you feeling?”

You sat on the family chair in the corner.

Terrified of making a bad impression.

She shrugged.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad cut.”

You nodded.

“Has a doctor seen you yet?”

She nodded.

“But only for like. A second. He said he’d be back.”

“Dr Robby, right?” You confirmed.

Sophia nodded.

“Okay. Your uncle was very incessant on that. It’s just because he loves you” you insisted.

Despite your anxieties, the girls were so sweet. You got on so easily with them. Conversation flowed naturally. Some good natured jokes at Bren’s expense, some questions about music they liked and tv shows, and you were off to the races. The were so much like Brendon it almost hurt. You weren’t sure how similar Brendon and his sister looked, but the girls definitely took after the Park side of the family.

When Brendon finally got down to the pitt, he was exhausted and frankly, terrified.

He was worried. Really worried.

Not just about Hayley’s shin, but about you three meeting. He wasn’t there to referee if things went badly. wasn’t there to observe or monitor. He didn’t know how he’d cope with it if things went bad. He could never chose a woman over his nieces. And god, he really, really hoped he wouldn’t have to make that choice today.

So he’s surprised with the scene that greets him in Hayley’s room.

All three of you are in Hayley’s bed, whose leg appears stitched up neatly and cleaned well.

And your hands are in Hayley’s hair as Sophia explains the fucking Olivia situation to you- which Brendon has now heard 40 times, but is obviously new to you. And you’re listening with rapt attention, while you braid his fucking niece’s hair.

His heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“Hey” he breathed.

Eyes turned to him.

A smile broke out on your face.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi honey.”

He came over, greeting each of you with a kiss on the head which warmed your chest in a funny fuzzy way. Very domestic. It was almost like you belonged here.

“How was surgery?”

He made a dismissive gesture.

“Fine. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry. How are you feeling princess?” He worried, looking Hayley’s leg over.

“Fine.” She promised.

Brendon let himself into the charting station carelessly, looking over who’d seen her.

He grunted in approval.

“Okay. I like Walenski. He’s good.”

You couldn’t disagree.

“He said you’d met before. Told us some stories.” You winked.

“All bad I hope.” Brendon teased.

“Are they ever good?” You replied in jest.

He grinned.

“You two have no clue how much of an asshole I can be.” Brendon smiled. He joined the three of you on the edge of the bed, somehow fitting.

“They’ve both been very brave. You should be proud of them.” You insisted.

“Oh, I always am. Always. Was Soph mean like I told her to be?”

“No” Hayley giggled.

“We’ll get her there” Brendon smiled.

“You did good today. I am proud of you. Very brave.” He said softly to Sophia, squeezing her hand.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

“They ready to discharge?” Brendon asked you.

You shrugged. “No clue.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go bust some heads.” He grunted, standing up to go back towards the hub.

You believed that he definitely would.

You’d driven with Brendon to work today, so the four of you piled back into his car after Hayley was discharged.

“We’re hungry” Hayley announced.

“We have food at home” Brendon scoffed.

The backseat groaned loudly.

Brendon groaned back. “Don’t give me that!”

“I bet you don’t subject Y/N to your boring healthy food” Hayley snarked.

No. Y/N, much like the 4 other women in Brendon’s life, has his fucking balls in a vice grip. Y/N gets whatever she wants. Y/N unlike his mother, sister, and nieces, though, lacks the Park name. Which suddenly strikes him as a problem.

“You’re such a spoiled little brat.” Brendon snapped, with no malaise taken from his harsh tone by two little girls who saw the shark as their harmless uncle. “Whose fault is that?” For fuck same. “What do you want-“

Brendon stopped looking at you.

“Is that okay? You were up early I don’t want to-“

“I’m okay with dinner.” You insisted, cheeks warm.

He nodded.

“Okay. So? What’s your price?”

Dinner was… fine. It was weird to see Brendon Park in a junk food filed, crap from a freezer cheap chain restaurant, but his girls wanted, so they got. Your standards weren’t as high as Brendon’s. Clearly, looking at the two do you that was obvious. You were more than happy to partake in boneless wings and mozzarella sticks too. Things flowed so easy with the three of you. Comfortable, like you’d known them their whole lives. You were easy and comfortable, laughing about some sudden inside joke made at the hospital. He could weep. He could just watch the scene for hours.

You kept catching Brendon’s eyes on you, this look in them that you couldn’t quite name. Something deeper than love. Something more he was figuring out. It made something deep in you shine, too.

“Need anything anywhere before I drop you off?” Brendon checked with you, in the car as he reversed out of the spot.

Becuase he had the girls at his place, you’d been spending the longest time apart that you had since you met. The longest time out of each others beds.

Which. Sucked. But was appropriate.

“You’re not coming home with us?”

Sophia sounded devastated.

You and Brendon froze.

“Uh-“

You froze too.

“I… do have work clothes at your place” you admitted.

Brendon pinkened. That was different.

“If… you girls want that” Brendon asked carefully.

They confirmed. Loudly and quickly as tweens do.

“Okay” you agreed.

“Yeah.”

And so you went back to Brendon’s.

You’d spent so much time at Brendon’s the last few months. But the place was so different with them here. Two gigantic Stanley’s on the kitchen island accompanied your water bottles now. Things were louder. School bags by the door, homework still on the coffee table, sneakers by the door untied and messily abandoned.

Things were lively. It wasn’t like his house lacked life when you were in it, but this was different. The energy of children.

You’d say in the living room watching the horrible reality show the girls had apparently suckered Brendon into the last few days for a while, leaned against his chest, pretty out of it as you enjoyed the feeling of his hands in your back, and his heartbeat under your ear.

“You sleepy, baby?” He checked. You confirmed. “Then go to bed.” He insisted. “I’ll be up in a few. Really. Go.” He insisted.

It made you feel a bit guilty. Leaving the party. “These two gotta get to bed soon to anyway, school in the morning. It’s fine. Go.” He insisted, and you finally got up on wobbly knees.

“I’ll wait up.” You instead to Brendon who would rather you didn’t. He just rolled his eyes. “Night girls, it was nice to meet you.” You told them genuinely, to a harmony of “goodnight y/n” and “it was nice to meet you too.”

Brendon’s heart leaped out of his chest when his bedroom door clicked closed and Hailey informed him “we like y/n”.

A relief he didn’t know he needed.

When Brendon slid into bed behind you, you fit against his body like a glove like always. You fit perfect. In his hands and in his life. His arm settled over your waist in a cozy snug hold, his lips to your cheek.

“Did I do okay today?” You croaked.

Still awake apparnelty.

He kissed your cheek again. “You did perfect. The girls fucking adore you.” He informed you. “They love you. And you took care of them and kept them safe for me today. Thank you. I love you so much, baby.” He whispered.

Two weeks. 

Fourteen days. 

Before Jack offered to be the father of your baby and so much more, you had waited that long and longer for yarn deliveries. But every morning after shift, as you crawled into bed and curled into Jack’s chest. Your mind was swirling with what ifs. It had even affected your work. You were security. You were supposed to wade into the fight, separate the drunks, try to subdue patients in the midst of psychiatric episodes. 

Now you found yourself hesitating, and one memorable night, when an angry patient in chairs had burst past a nurse, going to call another patient, had burst back storming toward trauma two. Ranting and raving about his broken wrist and the wait time. You had been alone in manning the floor that night. Ahmed had food poisoning, and Collins was visiting family in Hershey. So you had been alone trying to contain a powder keg waiting for a spark. And the spark was storming the central hub, looking unhinged. You had placed a hand on your taser and stepped forward. Placing yourself between Princess and the man. Holding one hand out, you had tried to defuse the situation, telling him to head back to the chairs, or you were going to call the cops.

The man, however, was in no mood to be cooperative and had swatted at you. Missed, stumbled, and nearly flattened both you and Princess when he tipped forward like a felled tree. Then Jack seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He drove his palm into the guy's chest and propelled him backward, where Mateo grabbed hold of his arm and forcibly removed him.

The look of terror as he turned, cupping your face as he took you in. Not seeing a scratch, he looked over your shoulder to check on Princess, who smirked, gave a cheeky thumbs-up, and hustled off, muttering about winning a bet. 

But it was after the holiday party for the kids, as your boobs throbbed in your Mrs. Clause costume, and you watched Jack interact with the kids, that the wait became unbearable. 

It was now three days before Christmas, and it was finally day fourteen. Jack was also a nervous wreck, but he hid it better. Hovering constantly, touching you, pressing kisses into your neck and shoulders, and promising that no matter the results, everything would be fine. 

You remember the sexy little grin he had given you that morning over breakfast. “Either way, I don’t intend to let you out of bed.”

His hazel eyes had darkened, and he dragged the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, and you flushed when a tiny whimper escaped your throat. His answering groan was deep and made his chest rumble against yours. 

“My girl likes the sound of that, huh?” He whispered hotly in your ear. He nudged your legs apart on the stool at your counter and stepped between your thighs. “Of your legs thrown over my shoulders.”

Your hands had gripped his bare shoulders, and you felt him hard and hot, straining against the front of his boxer briefs, pressing into the thin cotton of your panties. “My cock so deep inside you, you can’t even remember your own name.”

You tilt your chin up, nipping at his stubbled chin. The salt and pepper stubble rough against your lips. Your hands smooth up the warm flecked skin of his shoulders into his curls and try to pull him down. He gives a rough chuckle as you try to pull him down into a kiss. But he playfully pulls back, placing a kiss on your nose. His grin was smug as he pulled back with a soft tick.

“Ahah, sweetheart,” Jack growled, the hazel eyes totally eclipsed by black. But you could also see playfulness shining through. Your nails dug into his neck, but he just gave an approving rumble. “Your shimmying in your seat.” He drawled, one hand lazily tracing up your bare, thick thigh, his callused hand rasping across the smooth, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

“Hey, eyes on me, baby.” He squeezed your leg as your eyes squeezed closed at his teasing. “If I pushed aside these panties, just how wet would you be? Hmm.” 

“God, Jack.” You gasped as his fingers danced across the sopping cotton of your underwear. Your hips jerked on the leather seat. Jack’s answering groan was feral. 

“Good girl,” he gasped as his lips fell to your neck. Sucking a mark into the place where your shoulder met your neck. You gave a mew of desperation. “You’re fucking soaked. My girl always so ready for me.”

“Always!” You sobbed, your hands falling to his narrow hips to pull him into you, needing friction and pressure before you combusted. “Only for you, baby. Oh God—please!” You gasp out as one hand slipped around to slip beneath his boxer briefs to dig your nails into his ass. He gave a surprised hiss, and his hips snapped forward, drawing a soundless cry from your lips. Your head fell back, lips falling open in a cry that refused to leave your throat.

His callused fingers hooked in the wet fabric and pushed them to the side. There was a frantic fumble as you helped push his underwear out of the way. With one hand, he tilted your hips and pulled from your neck, resting his forehead against yours. Dark hazel eyes locked on your own and, with one smooth motion, slid deep inside you.

“Fuck,” he gasped, breath puffing over your lips. Your cry echoed through the kitchen. In the back of your mind, you hoped Kyle was anywhere else but on the other side of your shared living room wall. If that twitchy teen broke down another of your front doors, right now you would kill him. 

Unlike the night before, when Jack had insisted on edging you until your eyes crossed. This was in no way slow. Your bar stood rocked with each powerful movement of his hips. Your nails scored down his back as he nudged your head to the side and sucked a bruise onto your flesh. A mark that no doubt would not be hidden by your uniform top. 

Desperate to take him deeper, your knees crept up around his ribs, and you arched your back. His muttered curse and the bruising grip he had on your hip tightened. 

“Ja—oh—oh!” You could not form a coherent thought as the coil in your abdomen finally snapped and your blissful cry was smothered as you bit into his shoulder. Your teeth pressed into his flesh, leaving your own mark. 

“Fuck—baby.” He murmured as, with one final snap of his hips, he pressed as deep as he could go. Filling you.

It took a few minutes for your brain to come back online—sweat cooling on your skin, making you shiver. Jack nuzzled your jaw with his nose, leaving soft kisses along your jaw, before placing a reverent kiss on your lips. 

“As I was saying.” He rasped, a smug grin curling his lips, making his eyes crinkle. “Whatever the results. Whether it's another month of tracking and three days keeping you in bed.” Jack leaned in just close enough to catch your bottom lip between his teeth. “Well, who am I to complain?”

An hour later, Jack insisted on taking you to the outpatient lab at PTMC, which was why one young phlebotomist looked terrified as Jack hovered over his shoulder.

“Jack,” you sighed, turning your eyes on the anxious doctor. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. His biceps were tense and flexing beneath his sweater, and you fought a besotted sigh. His hazel eyes were narrowed as he watched the tech tie the tourniquet around your arm.

“How old are you?” He drawled in that deep, gravely tone that seemed to drop an octave with every syllable. Despite why you were there, that deep rasp sent a shiver down your spine and made your thighs clench. 

Joel swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he fumbled with the plastic packaging of the needle. "I'm twenty-four, sir. Er, Doctor Abbot."  

"Twenty-four," Jack repeated, tasting the word as if they tasted rancid. He took a slow, intimidating step closer, casting a broad shadow over the small blue, uncomfortable phlebotomy chair. The pleather creaked as you shifted, trying to get comfortable. “And did they teach you in your vast experience that the median cubital vein requires a gentle touch, or were you planning to harpoon her?"

"Jack," you whispered, trying to place a placating hand on his tense forearm. But your own heart was hammering against your ribs. The full fourteen days of waiting had frayed both of your nerves, and seeing him go full protective-attending mode was both terrifying and undeniably hot. 

Joel's hands were noticeably shaking now. He tried to uncap the needle, but his trembling fingers slipped, nearly grazing his own glove. A tiny, pathetic sound escaped the poor kid's throat, and you could actually see a sheen of panicked tears welling in his wide eyes.

Jack’s patience, already paper-thin from two weeks of anticipation and tracking your cycles, completely snapped.  

"Give me that," Jack growled, stepping in and shoving Joel out of the way with his broad shoulder.

Joel stumbled back, practically hugging the wall of the outpatient lab at PTMC, as Jack took his place. The terrifying, overbearing doctor instantly vanished the moment Jack knelt beside your chair. His demeanor shifted into something so intensely gentle it gave you whiplash.  

He discarded the standard needle Joel had been holding with a scowl and reached into the compartment for a much smaller, pediatric butterfly needle. "I've got you, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into that soothing, low register.

His calloused hands were perfectly steady as he adjusted the blue rubber tourniquet around your bicep. With the precision of a man who spent his life saving people in the trauma bays, he slipped the tiny butterfly needle into your vein with barely a pinch.  

When blood appeared in the tubing, he pressed the vial into the hub. His hazel eyes locked on yours, warm and shining with an unfiltered, desperate hope that made the breath catch and your bottom lip tremble. Your nose burned in a herald to oncoming tears. You bit your lip and shifted your free arm slightly. Your chubby arm pressed heavily against your breast, making you cringe.

Jack froze his while his right hand kept the needle perfectly still, his left hand cupped your arm, his thumb dropping to the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist. He began to rub soft, rhythmic circles against your pulse point. The soothing friction grounded you, sending a wave of calm crashing over your jittery nerves and making your chest ache with how much you loved him.

"Almost done, baby," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. He swapped the vials with practiced ease until they were full of the blood that would determine your future. “Then we’ll get you home and out of the bra.”

You nearly whimpered in relief at the thought of removing the torture device that was pressing into your sore breasts. For the past week, they had been sore and incredibly sensitive. You were desperately hoping it was from hCG levels and not your oncoming period. But only the blood test would tell. 

With a swift, fluid motion, Jack popped the blue rubber tourniquet, releasing the pressure on your arm. He grabbed a square of sterile gauze, pressing it gently but firmly over the puncture site as he smoothly withdrew the needle.

"Hold that," he instructed softly. As you pressed two fingers to the gauze, Jack secured it with a strip of medical tape, his thumb lingering on your warm skin for just a second longer than necessary.

Standing up to his full height, Jack turned back to Joel, who looked like he was contemplating a career change to something less stressful, like bomb defusal.

Jack gathered the filled vials, dropping them into the little blue plastic basket. He shoved the basket into Joel's chest. The tech scrambled to catch it, holding it like it was a live grenade.

"Mark this STAT priority," Jack demanded, his voice returning to its gruff, authoritative bark. He glared down at the trembling phlebotomist, his jaw clenched. "If I don't have those results uploaded to the portal in two hours, I am coming back down here, Joel. Am I clear?"

Joel gave a pathetic sound that sounded like a squeaky toy that Pebbles loved to chew on at 3 am. Turned on his heel, collided with the door frame, his head snapping back so as not to break his nose, and hurriedly corrected his trajectory and disappeared down the hall with a squeak of his sneakers on the tile. 

You gave Jack a look as he smoothed the red mark on your bicep with his thumb. “You didn’t have to scare him like that.” You scolded softly, and Jack gave an unrepentant roll of his eyes. 

“He looked like the type who had to play seek and find with your veins.” He grabbed your purse off the counter and handed it to you. His arm fell around your waist as he led you out of the room and into the hall and finally out into the cold halls of the atrium. 

You gave a fond sigh, and Jack felt the need to defend himself. “He was going to leave a bruise the size of a grapefruit on your arm.”

Now you laughed as automatic doors opened and you stepped out into the freezing late December air. It was three days til Christmas, and the cold bit at your nose. “So what, you're the only one allowed to leave a mark, Jack?”

He reached into his pocket for his key fob and hit the unlock button. He gazed down at you, pulling you closer into his side. He dipped his chin to look at you; the expression was both loving and possessive, and he answered. “Damn, straight.”

—-

Your apartment may not have been huge, but it was comfortable. Normally. Now it felt like a cage. You had tried to relax. You changed into your lounge pants and an old Army shirt you had stolen from Jack. It was nearing eleven in the morning, and both of you should have been asleep. You had work tonight, and this close to the holidays, there were always brawls over last-minute shopping, slips on black ice, or disastrous results from ice skating dates. Even the occasional burn from the test run from deep frying the holiday poultry that turned into a trip to the ED and having to endure debridement and cleanings. If these well-meaning people only knew what would await them if the deep fryer caught back, they would order takeout. You may only be a security guard, but you knew it was best to leave the deep fryer to the professionals. 

Jack was lying in bed beside you. His prosthetic rested against the nightstand; the light icy blue satin sheets pooled on the bare skin of his stomach. He was not much better. He had tried finding a movie. Lasted five minutes into Rush Hour before growing restless and flipping to the animal channel, where they took you behind the scenes of the San Diego Zoo.

But as much as you loved animals, you really didn’t care about the P Horses and the conversation project right now. By the time the clock struck 12:30 p.m., you could hear Jack’s teeth grinding as you sprawled across his chest, trying to get some sleep. But even the soothing stroke of his warm hand down your back did nothing to soothe you. If you looked up, you were sure you would see a scowl on his handsome face, as he plotted the demise of Joel. He had said two hours, and it was going on three. If they reached four without an answer, you had no doubt Jack would make a very unfriendly call or visit to the head of the lab. 

It was just when you thought you could hear the final threads of Jack’s patience crumble to dust that your phone dinged. If that was from the group chat and Dennis was asking if anyone had seen his ID badge again, you were going to scream. But you dove across the bed, your hand closing over your phone and spotting the notification on your MyChart app. You logged in with your fingerprint, then paused and handed it over to Jack. You couldn’t look. 

Jack propped himself up against the headboard, reaching for his readers on the bedside table and thumbing through the app, bringing up your results. Your heart fluttered against your ribs like a caffeinated hummingbird, your teeth clamped harshly on your bottom lip as he read. Then finally, when you thought you would scream, the phone fell from his fingers into his lap, and he turned wet eyes on you. 

For a second, you felt your stomach drop, worried that he was upset by a negative result. Then he laughed. Not one of his deep chuckles or even a belly laugh. This was a sound of surprise and all-consuming joy.