mlm blog

"Hi, baby," he says, a tired smile sent your way. 

You return it. "Hi, handsome. Long day?"

It was one of the few weeks that Jack adapted to day shift, allowing him to be home at a decent time and actually present when you were settling down for the evening. You enjoyed having him around, but you knew it pained him. He lived for night shift. They were his people, his confidants when you weren't in the picture. 

Only a few more days, then he had a week off—after, he'd return to his regularly scheduled life, and you'd return to the steady groove the two of you created. 

"You don't know the half of it," he says, snorting softly. It had been a hell of a time. Little did he want you to feel the brunt of his frustration, so he found some gumption deep within him and held onto it like a buoy in a large expanse of ocean. He ran a hand through his short hair, salt and pepper strands slipping through the cracks between his fingers. "You?"

You shrug. Eventful was a fair assumption.

"One of my kids decided it would be a good idea to try and to walk on a banana peel and actually fell. Nurse Harris had a field day with it."

He snorts softly. "Not bad enough to go to the emergency room, huh?"

"Busted his chin," you say. "I saw him with a bandage, but... It was in the cafeteria, so I only saw it in passing. I don't know much more than that." 

You flip over the food, the aromatic scent of your favorite dish wafting in the air. 

"Testing has been terrible, too," you continue, shoulders tense. "The program completely froze up halfway through the morning so a few of my classes went without their state testing. They'll have to come in another day for it."

"You're kidding," Jack says, leaning his chin against his hand as he watches you, elbow in the table. He likes the wood—it's calming, somewhat, smooth yet rough enough that he stays alert, watching and waiting.

You snort. "God, I wish."

"Just a few more days, though, right?"

"Three more."

"Three more, then we've got a few days to ourselves," Jack says, voice carrying over the sizzle. "You've no idea how ready I am to have you all to myself."

You smile at him over your shoulder. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, baby," he says, pushing himself to stand up. He walks over, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna go shower. Should be done when you are," he reasons, nodding to the food. 

You scrunch your nose at him. He kisses the tip of it, grinning. 

"I won't be long. Then you can tell me more about your day."

You roll your eyes. "It's not that interesting. Bunch kids acting like hooligans. I'm telling you what. Sometimes I don't know how I ended up here. I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine."

It's Jack's turn to snort and roll his eyes. His strong, calloused hands settle on your waist, thumbs gently brushing against your body. 

"You are smart enough. It's why you decided to be a teacher instead of dealing with life or death every day."

"Yeah, yeah," you deflated, waving him off. "Go shower, stinky. You want your usual?"

He hums and kisses your cheek one last time before he nods, smiling all the while. 

"My usual. Sounds good."

Jack walks to the entryway, pausing just before he looks back at you. "And baby?"

You do not look at him, but the way you tilt your head just so your ear is turned to him a bit more tells him all he needs to know. 

"Don't beat yourself up too much. Someone's got to teach these kids how to avoid slipping on banana peels."

"Go shower," you snap, but there's no real bite to your words. 

Jack laughs as he leaves, letting you stay in the kitchen to finish everything up. 

He loves your cooking. He loves teasing you. He especially loves knowing that the two of you were so much alike—both finding ways to give back to your communities, both in public service for the hell of it, because it was what you were made to do. 

His little teacher.

Did that make him your little doctor?

Nah. Maybe big doctor. (Was that too much?)

𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩

● He came home after an exhausting shift to music blaring at 8AM from your shared apartment. ● He cautiously walked in and saw you truly dancing like no body was watching and just kinda just stood in awe as you do so. ● It takes you a long while to even know he is there. You went to pick up your phone to change the song when in the corner of your eyes you see him just standing there, arms folding and just watching in awe. ● You got scared shitless. ● "Don't stop on my account, I'm enjoying the show," He'd say. ● You got flustered. Beet red. And wanted to hide. ● When asked, he told he was here for a while and that made things much worse. ● He pulled you into a hug as you buried yourself into him, telling you that it's alright. That its nothing to be embarrassed about, and that if he wasn't so exhausted that he might just join up with you next time. ● He does keep his promise.

𝙈𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 '𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮' 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝

● Hearing music from his shared home was not an oddity (seeing as he was an avid music collector), but hearing it at that time of night (almost 9pm) was. ● To be fair, it was low soft music; so you weren't blasting rock & roll or T-Swift or whatever. ● He ended up walking in on you swaying and humming to the music as you prepped food for the both of you. ● He stood there for a moment taking it all in, before clearing his throat to make his presence known. ● Your eyes snapped to him. When you registered who it was, you smiled and a welcomed him back home. ● He proceeds to join you in the kitchen, warping his arms around your waist from behind, burying his head in your neck and swaying together with you to the music. ● It took you both a while to get food made that night, but you both were okay with that.

𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙨

● Trinity catching you dancing was a whole ordeal. ● She got back home, heard the music and made sure to not make that much of a noise. She assumed you had friends over or were having a party of one; It was the latter. ● You were going at it. Dancing like you were putting on a concert, and what's a concert in this day and age without someone pulling out their camera? ● When you had noticed her, she basically taunted you saying to keep going and that "the video would look good on the 'gram." You can't be blamed for chasing her. ● She was in it to win it, and in this case, to not get caught. You had to full body tackle her to the couch to get the phone from her. ● She laughed at your ridiculousness, but also groaned at the full force you put into taking her down. ● But Trin doesn't lose easy. That shit's in the cloud.

𝙑𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙖 𝙅𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙙𝙞

● When Javadi catches you dancing in that apartment, she watches on with a grin; cause what is more beautiful then watching a person existing like they have no care in the word. ● When you caught her watching and asked her to join, she thank you for the offer, but says that she doesn't know how to dance. ● Despite being a tiktok gally, she never did learn a tiktok dance, but she does enjoy watching them! ● That was your starting point. That is how you got her to dance with you! ● It was silly. There were lots of tripping on your own feet from both of you, but at the end you ended up having fun together.

𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙙𝙤𝙣

● When Frank came home to you dancing and having the time of your life, how could he not join in? ● He isn't much of a dancer and he knows it. He doesn't think he can move in a way that doesn't seem some semblance of awkward, and so he owns it. ● You had turned around not realizing he was even there, and when you spotted him, he was doing his own thing, dancing to the music waiting for you to spot him as he did with you. ● They were big uncoordinated moves, and they frankly looked silly, but that wasn't the point of them. The moment he realized you were watching him, you both met eyes and just fell into a fit of laughter. ● You later just just danced around each other, grabbing at each others hand moving wilding and sharing in each other's company.

𝙈𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙖 '𝙈𝙚𝙡' 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜

● When she caught you dancing in the apartment, she was quick to ask what caused this level of unabashed joy simply because she wanted to share in your happiness. When you told her that you just simply felt like dancing, she was confused by happy for you regardless. ● You decided to pull Mel into dancing with you. The movements were awkward and stiff at first, but eventually Mel loosened up. ● The dancing never went further then you holding her hands and moving it back and forth between the both of you, with the occasionally spin or swinging, but you didn't need much. You both were having funny in each other's company.

𝘿𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧

● The thing with Dennis catching you dancing is the fact that before the point, you had never did so publicly and unabashedly danced. He'd do so with you when out and about, or sometimes around the apartment when doing chores and whatnot, sometimes just cause, but never caught you doing the same. You were relatively embarrassed about it. ● So when he heard his playlist playing, and saw you dancing your heart out, it brought him unspeakable joy. ● You yelped when you saw him, embarrassed that you have been witnessed. ● He apologized then asked if you'd go on cause he loved seeing you like this. ● You let on that youre too embarrassed to go on, but then he offered to maybe dance with you till that wasn't the case. You wanted to turn him down, but then, the way he asked... you couldn't really say no. ● From simply sway, to moving about each other to spins, you slowly got comfortable him to dance as you'd want, and he was more then happy to share that with you.

images created @/foggymaster on Pinterest

Jack was having a normal night shift, filled with the occasional bat shit patient, usual banter with Ellis and Shen, and enough coffee to kill a cow. All in all, pretty good. Shen had even bought him one of his iced coffee

“Thirty year old male, broken nose, swelling over left eye, possible fracture to his orbital socket.” The EMT rattle off, “Pulse is high, possible concussion, ribs are bruised - possibly broken. Internal bleeding unclear.” 

Rushing over, Jack immediately began to assess the injuries he could see, focusing on finding any outwardly injured areas that had not been listed. Until his gaze settled on your face. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Ay, hey man,” You grin up at Jack from the gurney. “What's up?”

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

“Man, the guy was massive. I'm talking massive.” You replied. “Like, a foot taller than you, massive.” 

“You're a fucking idiot,” Jack gave a laugh, clapping your shoulder slightly, “Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

“You got it doc.” You gave a thumbs up, letting your head fall back against the gurney with a wince. “I got a bit fucked up.” 

“Just a bit.” Jack remarked, “I’ve definitely seen you in worse conditions.”

Huffing a laugh, you gave a groan at the jar that spread through your ribs. “Such a dick,”

“Come on, lets get you stitched up and heading for a CT,” Jack said, clamping his hand over your shoulder. 

You stayed put while they led you into one of the trauma room, Jack listing a bunch of different things he wanted checked. “Jack, Jack, I’m pretty sure I don’t need my bloods taken-”

“Are you the doctor?” 

“No,” 

“Then shut up,” Jack resorted, before turning back to the nurse - Princess, according to her name badge. “I want an MRI too,” 

“Jack for the love of-” 

“(Y/N), shut the fuck up.” 

“Bit harsh.” You grumble, but other than that, you let Jack ramble on. 

“Abbot, multiple car pile up incoming.” A head poked in through the door, Jack sighed.

“Alright,” He turned to Jesse, who was covering a night shift. 

“How do you know Abbot?” 

“We served together for a bit,” You replied, giving a small shrug. “I was eighteen when I enlisted, got put with a bunch of oldies.” 

“I was thirty eight,” 

“And I was eighteen, to me, you were ancient,” You scoffed.

“And you guys kept in contact when you left?” 

You nodded, “Yeah, Jack became the older brother I didn’t want.”

“The feelings mutual.” He snorts, “Now, I would do the sutures myself, but car pileup, so my good intern Whittaker here’ll do it for you, okay?”

“Sounds good doc.” You gave a half salute, grinning when the older rolled his eyes. 

“Get those sutures done and I want you to take him up for scans, okay?” Whittaker nodded, dragging a stool closer to the bed as Jack patted Whittaker’s shoulder and left. 

It was a few hours before Jack reappeared, only mildly covered in blood - which for him, was a good day. “And how’s the patient doing?” 

“Ready and raring to go.” You smiled up at him, “Ready to go and kick that guy’s ass.” 

“Yeah, no fighting for you for at least a month I’m afraid.” 

“That’s just harsh man.” 

The world entered through a wormhole of tissue paper, emerging through the darkness in blotches and fuzzy shapes. Yet you were able to feel the intensity of your hand being held.

Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, your doctor’s voice occasionally pushing through the forest of fluff to remind you that you had to keep sipping water. Accepting the straw that materialised in front of your face was easy enough. It led you back to the man sat at your side who was holding it – and your hand still in his other one – for you. You tried to squint at him whilst you drank to abate the overwhelm that came with looking at someone you were half sure was handsome, but catching and keeping the straw between your pursed lips took all your concentration.

“Woah there,” he dabbed a napkin – where did he get a napkin from? – around your mouth.

Ah, you were dribbling, not swallowing.

At some point, he’d placed the cup back on the table. You only realised when he squeezed your hand in both of his, his smile making you weak at the knees. Probably. Your legs felt like you hadn’t moved them in years. His face was in full focus now, and goddamn if it wasn’t the most beautiful one you’d seen.

“Hey.” The “y” was really drawn out by whoever was saying that. They sounded close by.

The stranger’s smile grew bigger, creating lines at his eyes that sweetened the deal, “Hi again.”

You took in the black sweater he was wearing, how cosy it looked around his arms and how you wanted to snuggle into them.

“’M I dreamin’?” said the voice. You looked to your right to catch who it was, but no one else was there, not even the doctor. Where’d she go? Where’d the chatterer go?

“You’re awake,” the stranger answered. He cocked his head to the left; you copied him.

“Cool.” Oh, it was your voice talking. “’Ve we met?”

He chuckled and you would be offended if he didn’t look so damn attractive doing it. The joy echoed clearly out of his throat; your eyes latched onto the dimples that framed his mirth like a painting.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” he confirmed. A corner of his mouth stayed upright in a smirk.

Eh, fuck it.

“Can I buy you a drink?” you slurred.

Your own tongue poked out of your mouth as you watched him wet his lips, his head and shoulders shaking before he replied, “How about I buy you one and you get the next round?”

He ended his proposal with a wink which sent you reeling like he’d spun the world and you on a plate.

“’Kay, charmer,” you smiled goofily at him. If you looked dumb, who cares? No you, you were getting propositioned by a hottie with a body – seriously how’d it taken you so long to notice his arms?

“Be right back.” He kissed your brow, still smiling down at you. Woah, this guy was forward!

In your anaesthetic haze, you went to playfully slap his chest, but he was already out his chair and the room. You would’ve scrunched your body up in on itself to keep the view of his behind in sight, except you were achy still and could barely lift your head off the pillow.

You were left staring at the popcorn tiled ceiling, brightly lit. Stupid interior choice for a flirting hot spot, you’d have to take this guy somewhere else.

“Just checking your-”

“Swee’ Jesus,” you winced in slow motion at the sudden voice.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” apologised the voice, now appearing at your side in the form of a nurse by an IV bag. Your gaze trailed down the tubing and frowned when it found a needle plastered to your hand, but you didn’t fight against it.

“What’s’is name?” you pointed vaguely in the direction he’d gone and pouted. How long did it take to get you a damn drink?

“Jack?”

“Ohhh, nooo,” your head lolled back and forth on the pillow, “Not supposed to date a ‘J’ name. ‘S cursed.”

Your nurse tapped the tautly full IV bag (that you were sure was nearly empty a second ago), “Bit late for that. He’s your husband.”

“M’husband?” You gawked, eyelids slipping halfway in shock as all other energy was directed on trying to remember what this man looked like on your wedding day. “I married that?”

The nurse smiled down at you, “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Y’see those biceps?” slipped out your mouth before the idea of being embarrassed could even be conjured from the recesses of your subconscious. “Could bounce a dime off that ass… ‘R a nickel.”

What would be harder to aim? You couldn’t remember their sizes or shapes, so calculating the prime aerodynamics would be tricky. Getting past the number seven of counting the ceiling tiles without getting bored was already threatening you with another round of sleep.

Thank God, the hot guy came back with two drinks in hand. Instantly, this room was better.

“Hey, handsome,” you cooed.

“Well,” he balanced the drinks on a moveable table, “Hello, gorgeous.”

Beaming at him, your head rolled back towards him and you demanded, “Gimme some sugar!”

Hopefully you were pouting. You were telling your lips to pout. If they were listening, that was another thing.

His arms – Christ, his arms were bulging out of that black t-shirt – bracketed you into the bed as he drew closer to you. Each freckle, speck of stubble, line across his skin brightened with clarity. You could happily stare at him for days. Why was he this close again?

Oh yeah, you’d requested a kiss from his pretty mouth.  

No sooner were his lips brushing yours, you collapsed into giggles as if he was tickling you five drinks deep, batting him with all the strength you had. He barely moved.

“Glad to see the meds are working their magic,” What’s-his-face barely moved to leave a prickly kiss on your cheek before he withdrew back to his seat.

A gasp escaped you as you covered where he’d left his affection. The laughter kept spilling out like water from your mouth though. Then your fingertip caught on something on your left hand. Before What’s-his-name could take your hand again, you lifted it in front of your eyes which widened five long seconds later.

“Oh shit! I’m married?” You gawked at the ring. How long had that been there?

“Yeah,” He showed his hand where a ring glinted teasingly at you, “We’re married.”

Jaw slack, you reached a shaky hand out and prodded his ring then yours.

“We’re married?” you said softly, eyes big and beaming.

“Yeah. Two years in a month.”

Before you could feel any embarrassment at forgetting your husband’s name again, you spotted your nurse passing the corridor.

You flinched at the volume you couldn’t control as you bellowed, “Will I be outta here in time to have anniversary sex?”

A low cackling echoed beside you and you frowned at your husband who was hiding his crimson blush in cupped hands. Evidently, your expression conveyed your concern at his lack thereof; he took your hand back in his and kissed your knuckles.

“I’ll take you home tonight if you behave,” he squeezed your fingers gently, “Get some rest?”

The break room is quiet when you slip in, the hum of the vending machine the only sound cutting through the stillness. It feels almost unreal, this pocket of calm tucked inside the chaos of the emergency department. You close the door behind you with your hip, already reaching for the kettle, your movements automatic, familiar.

You lean back against the counter while you wait, arms crossed loosely, eyes half-lidded as the exhaustion settles heavier in your bones. It is the kind of tired that sits deep, that no amount of caffeine really touches anymore.

Still, you push through. You always do.

The microwave beeps, sharp and abrupt, dragging you back. You straighten, grabbing the cup carefully, peeling back the lid just enough to let the steam escape. The smell hits you, cheap and artificial and somehow still appealing in your current state.

“Gourmet,” you mutter under your breath.

You grab a fork, stirring absently, letting it cool for a moment before you move to the sink to drain some of the water. It is a delicate balance, one you have perfected over time, tipping the cup just enough without losing the noodles entirely.

You do not hear the door open behind you. You do not hear the footsteps. What you do hear is his voice.

“Planning on poisoning yourself or is that intentional?”

You startle so violently that the cup slips straight out of your hands. It happens in slow motion. The tilt. The splash. The unmistakable, tragic sound of your dinner disappearing into the sink. You stare at it. Then at your empty hands. Then back at the sink.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jack?” you say, your voice somewhere between disbelief and genuine distress.

There is a pause behind you. Then, quiet, riddled with uncharacteristic sheepishness, “That’s my bad.”

You turn slowly. Jack stands just inside the doorway, looking, for once, not entirely composed. There is a flicker of something like guilt in his expression, sharp and unfamiliar against his usual calm detachment.

“You think?” you reply, incredulous. “I had that handled.”

“Yeah, no, you looked like a professional chef.”

“You scared me.”

“You know I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, you did,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the sink. “And now my dinner is gone.”

“Sweetheart, that was barely dinner to begin with”. Jack glances at the sink, then back at you. “You can’t eat that now.”

“Thank you, Jack. I wasn’t planning on scooping it back out.”

Jack huffs, something almost like a quiet laugh, and steps further into the room, letting the door shut gently behind him.

“When did you last eat?” he asks.

You hesitate. It is a simple question. It feels loaded anyway. “I don’t know. Earlier.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Jack studies you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, like he is weighing something up. You cross your arms, bracing yourself for a lecture, for something stern and clinical about taking care of yourself, about how you cannot function properly if you are running on nothing.

Instead, he says, “Stay here.”

You blink. “What?”

“Stay,” he repeats, already turning towards the door.

“You’re not my boss,” you call after him.

“I am. Give me five minutes,” he replies over his shoulder, and then he is gone.

You stare at the door. Then at the sink. Then back at the door. “Unbelievable,” you mutter.

You consider leaving. You consider going back out there, throwing yourself into the chaos, ignoring the hollow ache in your stomach and the way your hands feel just slightly less steady than they should.

You do not. You lean back against the counter again, exhaling slowly, letting your head tip back for a second. Five minutes. You can give him five minutes.

It feels longer. Time moves differently when you are waiting, when you are aware of every second passing, when your body is reminding you exactly what it needs and exactly how long you have been ignoring it.

You hear the door before you see him this time. You straighten instinctively, pushing yourself off the counter.

Jack steps back into the room, holding something in his hand. Another cup of noodles. You stare at it. Then at him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, your voice softer now.

“I did,” he replies simply, holding it out to you. “My fault.”

You take it, your fingers brushing his briefly. It is nothing, and it is not nothing all at once.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter still.

Jack nods once, like that is enough, like that settles it.

You move back to the counter, repeating the process, filling it, microwaving it, the routine grounding in a way it had not been before.

This time, when you go to the sink, you are very aware of him standing there. Watching.

“You going to scare me again?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

“Not planning on it.”

“Good.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “You look exhausted.”

You snort softly. “That’s because I am.”

“Yeah.”

You drain the noodles successfully this time, setting them down with a small, satisfied nod. “Progress,” you murmur.

“Proud of you,” he says dryly.

You roll your eyes, but there is a small smile tugging at your mouth as you pick up the fork. You hesitate. Then you glance at him.

“You staying or…?”

Jack leans back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. You do everything in your power to not stare at his scrub shirt hugging his biceps.“I can.”

Something in your chest shifts, subtle and unexpected. “Alright,” you say.

You take a bite. It is still terrible. It has never tasted better.

You do not usually sit still this long.

Even on night shift, even in the rare quiet moments, there is always something pulling at you. A chart to update, a patient to review, a nurse asking for a second opinion. You have built yourself around that constant motion, around being needed, around never quite letting yourself stop long enough to feel how tired you actually are.

Sitting here, in the break room, with a cup of noodles and Jack leaning against the counter like he has nowhere else to be, feels almost unnatural.

“You’re not eating,” he says after a minute.

“I am,” you reply, even though your fork has been hovering halfway to your mouth for longer than you would like to admit.

“You’re thinking.”

“Dangerous habit, I know.”

“Depends what you’re thinking about.”

You take a bite, more to prove a point than anything else, chewing slowly as you consider whether to answer him properly or brush it off. You should brush it off. You do not.

“Next year,” you say instead, your voice quieter now. “Attending.”

He does not react immediately. Of course he doesn’t. “That’s the plan,” he says after a moment.

“It is,” you agree, even though the words feel heavier out loud than they ever have in your head.

You set the cup down, suddenly less interested in the food than you were thirty seconds ago.

“It’s just different, isn’t it?” you continue, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the counter. “Being the one everyone looks at for the final call. No buffer. No one to double-check you.”

“You’ve been doing that already,” he replies.

“Not like that.”

“No,” he concedes. “Not officially.”

“That’s what I mean.”

There is a pause, the kind that stretches just enough to make you aware of it. You glance at Jack. He is watching you in that same steady way he always does, like he is taking everything in without making a show of it, like he has already picked apart the parts of your worry you have not even put into words yet.

“You’re good,” he says.

It is simple. It should be reassuring. It is not enough.

“I know I’m good,” you say, a little sharper than you intend. “That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face.

“It’s the weight of it,” you admit. “It’s knowing that if I get it wrong, there’s no one else to catch it. It’s mine. Completely.”

Jack nods once, like he understands exactly what you mean. He probably does.

“You will get things wrong,” he says.

You let out a short, humourless laugh. “Wow. That’s comforting.”

“I’m not trying to comfort you.”

“No, I gathered that.”

“I’m just being honest.”

You look at him, something in your chest tightening again, that familiar mix of frustration and something else you cannot quite name.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You always are.”

There is no edge to it this time. Just truth.

“You’ll get things wrong,” he repeats, his voice steady, grounded. “Everyone does. The difference is what you do after.”

“And what, I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”

“No.”

“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Learn,” he says simply. “Own it. Fix what you can. Carry the rest.”

The words settle heavily between you. You swallow, your gaze dropping to your hands. “Sounds easy when you say it like that.”

“It’s not.”

“I know.”

Silence creeps in again, softer this time, less uncomfortable, more reflective. You pick at the edge of the noodle cup, your appetite fading under the weight of your thoughts.

“You ever think about leaving?” you ask suddenly.

The question surprises even you. It clearly surprises him too, if the slight shift in his posture is anything to go by.

“No,” he says after a moment.

“Never?”

“No.”

You frown slightly, looking back up at him. “Not even after, like, everything?”

You do not elaborate. You do not need to. Jack’s gaze sharpens slightly, something guarded slipping back into place, a familiar defence.

“This is the job,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s the same answer.”

You study him for a moment, recognising the wall for what it is. You could push. You do not.

“Fair enough,” you say instead, softer now.

He watches you for a second longer, like he is deciding something. Then, “You thinking about it?” he asks.

You hesitate. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Not seriously. Just when it gets a bit much.”

“It will always get a bit much.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not going to change somewhere else.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why think about it?”

You shrug slightly, your shoulders feeling heavier than they should. “Because it would be easier,” you say quietly. “Walking away.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then he pushes off the counter, stepping closer. Not too close, but more than close enough.

“It would be easier,” he agrees.

You blink, caught off guard by that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There is no judgement in it. No disappointment. Just acknowledgement.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Jack looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second the guard drops just enough for you to see what sits underneath it.

“Because it matters,” he says.

The words hit you square in the chest. You swallow hard, something in your throat tightening unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” you echo, softer still. “It does.”

You shift your weight slightly, grounding yourself in the present. Jack is still standing there. Closer than before.

“You’re ready,” he says after a moment.

“For what?”

“For it. Attending.”

You shake your head slightly, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple.”

“Then stop saying it like it is.”

Something in his expression shifts again, softer this time, less guarded. “You want me to lie to you instead?”

“No.”

“Then this is what you get.”

You huff out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more fragile. “Great.”

He almost smiles. “You’ll be a good attending,” he says. “I promise.”

It is not the same as before. Not just ‘you’re good’. This is different. More certain. More personal. You feel it.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expect.

“Yeah.”

There is a pause. You realise, distantly, that you are still holding your fork, that your noodles have gone slightly cold, that none of that seems to matter as much as it did before.

“Thanks,” you say.

Jack nods once. The silence that follows is not empty. It is full of something you are only just starting to understand.

You tell yourself it is just a conversation.

A late-night, slightly too honest, slightly too quiet conversation in a break room that smells faintly of instant noodles and disinfectant. The kind that happens when the shift slows just enough for people to breathe, when the adrenaline dips and something real slips through the cracks.

It does not mean anything more than that. It cannot mean anything more than that.

“You’re not finishing that,” he says, nodding towards your cup.

You glance down, mildly surprised to find it still half full. “I was going to.”

“You weren’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a flicker of something lighter cutting through the heaviness that had settled between you.

“You’re very confident.”

“I’m very observant.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, picking up the fork again and forcing yourself to take another bite, mostly out of stubbornness.

“Happy?” you ask.

“Ecstatic.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

There is a brief pause, the kind that feels less like silence and more like something settling into place. You set the cup down again, conceding defeat.

“Fine. You win.”

“I usually do.”

“You absolutely do not.”

Jack shrugs slightly, the movement casual, almost dismissive, but there is something softer in his expression now, something that has not quite been there before.

You notice it. Of course you do. You notice everything when it comes to him, even the things you probably should not.

“You heading back out?” you ask, gesturing vaguely towards the door.

“In a minute.”

You nod, even though you are not entirely sure what you are nodding for. You should go too. You both should. There are patients waiting, charts piling up, the constant hum of the department calling you back to reality. Neither of you move.

It is strange, the way time bends around moments like this, stretching just enough to make them feel separate from everything else.

“Do you ever slow down?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“You,” he says, his gaze steady on yours. “Do you ever actually stop, or is this it?”

You consider the question for a moment. It feels more loaded than it should.

“This is kind of the job,” you reply, echoing him from earlier without really meaning to.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You almost smile at that. “No,” you admit after a second. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

You shrug, a small, helpless motion. “Because if I stop, I think about things,” you say lightly.

“And that’s a problem?”

“Usually.”

Jack watches you for a moment, like he is trying to decide how much to push. You brace yourself.

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” he says finally.

“Do what?”

“Run at full speed.”

You let out a quiet breath, something in your chest tightening again. “It’s easier,” you say.

“I know.”

The simplicity of it catches you off guard. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

You study him, really looking this time, at the way he carries himself, at the stillness that sits under his movements, controlled and deliberate in a way that feels learned rather than natural.

“You don’t, though,” you point out. “You’re… you.”

He shakes his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in something almost like amusement. You exhale slowly, your shoulders dropping just a fraction.

“Maybe I’ll figure it out,” you murmur.

“You will.”

There it is again. That certainty. It settles into you in a way that feels both reassuring and dangerous.

You shift your weight slightly, suddenly very aware of how close he is, of the way the space between you has narrowed without either of you acknowledging it.

“Five minutes,” you say, almost to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

He does not push. Of course he does not. You glance at the clock on the wall, the numbers blinking back at you like a reminder that this moment has an end, that it always does.

“We should go,” you say, even though you do not move.

“Yeah.”

Jack does not move either. You let out a small, breathless laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“Probably.”

“People are going to start wondering where we are.”

“They already do that.”

You roll your eyes, but there is no real heat behind it. “Speak for yourself.”

“I am.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, before you can overthink it, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say, “Thank you.”

He looks at you, his expression shifting slightly.

“For what?”

“For the noodles,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “And the… everything else.”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, the conversation, the quiet understanding that has settled in the space. Jack nods once, like he understands exactly what you mean without you having to spell it out.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m going to anyway.”

Something in his expression softens again, just slightly. “Alright,” he says.

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you probably should. It feels like standing on the edge of something. Not falling. Not yet. Just close.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment, stepping back just enough to put some space between you again.

“Come on,” you say, nodding towards the door. “We’ve got patients.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees.

You move first this time, pushing the door open, the noise of the department rushing back in immediately, loud and relentless and familiar.

You step into it without hesitation. Of course you do. It is what you do.

You glance back once, just briefly. Jack is right behind you. Something settles in your chest, quiet and steady and a little bit new.

The shift is not over. It never really is. Still, as you move back into the chaos, you realise you are not quite as tired as you were before. Not fixed. Not magically better. Just steadier. It is not the noodles, nor is it the break. It is something else entirely. Something you are only just starting to understand.

And, for the first time in a long time, the thought of what comes next does not feel quite so heavy.

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Stolen kisses and secret glances, if that’s how Jack could remember his time in the Marines, he would’ve been a happy man. He’s reminded of you every day, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. 

He remembers you when he ties his laces in the quick way you taught him, he remembers you when the sun warms his face, he remembers you when the silence of his apartment is so loud against his ears he can't think. He can’t breathe and— fuck he can’t even see anything. Then his phone lights up, a call. 

It reminds him of you again. You would sneak out from your barracks to meet him, a flashlight placed on the floor so you could at least see him a little. It was never much, but it was always enough. 

“My arms are killing me,” You grumble, climbing into his bed. He welcomes you, arms outstretched and a lopsided grin. It’s well past any normal guest time in the barracks, but neither of you cared. 

“No one told you to carry everyone’s bags up the hill,” He laughs as you drop into his open embrace. Immediately, he starts massaging your arms, loving the way you relax instantly. Your head drops onto his chest, sure you’re about to be lulled into a nice sleep.

“I was being nice,” You murmur. “And I was showing off,” 

“For who?” He teases. Cracking an eye open, you laugh into his shirt. Leaning forward, you kiss the underside of his jaw. 

“You,” 

His hands trail up from his neck, settling on his ears as he tries to fill the silence. His phone rings again, and he pulls himself from the memory before answering it. It’s Robby. It’s never you. 

—

Abbot’s driving into work, annoyed that he’d accidentally taken the long route, and now he’s fighting the morning traffic. It’s one of those rare occasions when he was needed for the morning shift. And he couldn’t say no. He’s about ten minutes out, waiting at a red light, when the next song starts up. The guitar strings start, and he inhales slowly, his eyes closing. 

The squad was inside of a tent, passing the time until there was something to do. Thankfully, someone had brought along a speaker, and everyone was taking turns playing music. It eventually turned into a lip-syncing competition and you were up. 

It didn’t take long before the song could start up, two of the guys laugh as they know the song, while Jack leans back. You step into the middle of the tent, using a water bottle as a microphone. You rock with the beat, each guitar string pluck is a new rock. 

“I used to think that I wasn’t fine enough, and I used to think that I wasn’t wild enough. But I won’t waste my time tryna figure out why you playing games, what’s this all about?” Everyone catches as your eyes drift to Jack’s. You continue, fake singing your heart out until you look at Jack again. 

“Oh, love! Never knew what I was missing. But I knew once we start kissin’ I found… love!” Your eyes meet, and you point at him before desperately clutching your chest. 

“Abbot’s blushin’!” One of the men laughs, smacking his arm. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t look away from you, still lip-singing. 

A car honks and he opens his eyes, the light is now green. Another honk. Smacking the wheel, he pushes forward, trying to push the memories backwards. 

It was never a relationship, at least in concrete boyfriend-boyfriend terms. But it was. It fucking was. You’d both said I love you, you both had imagined lives together, you were each other's person, and you were his and he was yours. 

And then Abbot got discharged, and you didn’t. You stayed in the Marines, something had scared you. He knows it. He knows it in his bones. He knows it like he knows the human body. 

“Hey, brother!” Robby gives Abbot a high five as he walks into the ED. Abbot blinked, his body moving on autopilot, he hadn’t realized he was at work already. “Thank you so much,” He’s almost desperate, the ED is more packed than usual. Apparently, an entire school grade had come down with random spouts of dizziness, weird vision, and vomiting. 

“Where am I needed?” He asks, glancing around the room. There are a lot of parents talking outside the on-call rooms with doctors. 

“Uh, room eleven.” Abbot nods and gets himself ready, grabbing Mohan on his way to the room. Mohan has the kids' chart and tells him the basics while he nods, still looking around. She has to leave, though— everyone has one patient. There’s not enough doctors to double up today. 

He glances at the patient's chart and stops for a small laugh, pushing into the on-call room. Jackie Maria (L/n). 

“Is your full name Jack or Jackson?” You asked, it’s the first thing you’d ever said to him. First day at boot camp and that’s what his barrack roommates says to him.

“Jack,” He responds and you nod, carefully setting your bag on your bed. 

“That’s crazy, cause I’ve always wanted to name my kid Jackie. What do you think, would he get bullied?” Jack laughs, shaking his head. He’d never been bullied for the name, and he relays as much to you. “That’s good to know.” Your smile reaches your eyes and you scan him up and down. Your heart flutters a bit and you force yourself to look away. 

You stare at him, your hand in a woman's— your wife’s hand while holding your daughter's head. Jackie. Your daughter, Jackie. She’s clutching a bucket that already has bile inside of it. She’s about twelve. Abbot checks the chart and licks the inside of his mouth. Thirteen. 

You’re in civvies, which checks out because you always hated the uniform. Hated the attention it brought when you were off base. He looks down at your wedding band, it’s simple, a thin silver ring nestled on your finger. It’s old and worn, Abbot guesses it’s older than ten years old. You preferred gold, or at least a darker silver than that. And you always wanted something a little different than the basic silver band. 

For a moment, you relax and smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since he left the Marines. The first time in fourteen years that you’ve honestly felt at peace. Well, mostly. Jackie throws up again and you move to rub her back. 

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” He stiffly says, closing the door behind him. He needs to be professional, there’s a sick child he needs to attend to. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” You admit, your voice is more mature than the last time he heard it. There’s a bigger bass to it and he just knows if Jackie was in Little League your voice was drowning out the crowds. He wonders if his voice would’ve done the same. 

“He usually doesn’t like doctors,” Your wife says, a little confused, and Jack nods. He knows this. He’s known this long before she was ever in the picture. 

“Jack,” You whimper, clutching his hand as you hold your bleeding leg. “It’s too high for a tourniquet.” There’s a shudder to your voice that he doesn’t like, a sort of finality that puts his stomach through the ringer. Which is odd, considering you’re on an active battlefield and something explodes in the background. 

“I got you, sweetheart,” He grunts, pulling you into a more covered area. “This is gonna hurt but do you trust me?”

“Hmm,” You nod, eyes closed tight and lips tucked into your mouth. “With my fuckin’ life, baby.”

“We were in the Marines together,” You softly explain and she hums. She’s not delighted to hear that, but she doesn’t show any outward distaste in it either. There’s some history behind that, he has a sneaking suspicion he knows what it’s about. 

“Can you give me a rundown of your symptoms, Jackie?” Abbot asks while putting on a pair of gloves on. Jackie just groans, looking for relief and finds it in you. You smile, rubbing her sweat-soaked forehead. 

“She texted me, she was in science class and was feeling lightheaded. You know diabetes runs in my family so I assumed she was starting to show signs. I told her to eat some of the snacks and drink something. She said it didn’t help. Then she said she was having trouble breathing but she felt better after class. I knew she was having a test, so I assumed it was anxiety.” You hurriedly explain, recounting her day. “And then she had lunch, she called me. She was throwing up and seeing spots. Apparently, other kids were, too.” 

“Were these kids in your science class?” 

“Some,” Jackie croaks. Abbot nods, considering most students have a similar experience, it’s probably something in the science room. 

“I want to have your blood sent in for a tox screen. It could possibly be something in the classroom. It’s sounding a bit like the flu, maybe someone was sick and spread it around the school and then maybe some food poisoning. Did you eat the school lunch?” Jackie nods but she looks at you for support. 

“It’s pizza Friday. She loves it,” You add, watching as Jackie throws up again. “Once you’re done, sit up, bud. Dr. Abbot needs you to be steady.” 

“The mess hall is serving us the good food,” You whisper, staring down at your lobster, mac and cheese, and the good mashed potatoes. “We’re getting shipped off, ain’t we?” 

“Sure are,” Jack laughs. The two of you sit side by side, not even a millimeter of space between the two of you. You drop your head, ready to succumb to your inevitable fate. 

“I would’ve preferred pizza as my final meal.”

Abbot finishes drawing Jackie’s blood and leaves the room for a moment. You watch as the doors close and sigh, knowing what’s about to come and just continue to rub the top of your daughter's head. 

“You never mentioned an Abbot before,” Your wife carefully says, messing with her nails. 

“No, Katy. I didn’t.” You agree. “I also never mentioned Tasso, or Navarro, or Dukarea. Or half of my squad before.” 

“You haven’t,” She stresses. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Looking at her, you lace your fingers together before letting your hands hang between your legs. She shrugs and looks at the door. 

“Your mother did.” She said after a beat had passed. 

“Don't bring her up,” You glare over at her. “Not now, Katy.” 

“She said something about an Abbot who was tempting—“ She doesn’t get to finish before you stop her. 

“Jackie is sick. We are not going to talk about whatever she told you, Katherine.” She pauses but eventually nods. You look at Jackie as she looks between the two of you, you hate being tense around him. You hate having fights around her, or even being slightly angry around her. It’s not a part of you that you want her to experience. 

“I’m going for a smoke,” She pushes herself from the wall as the door opens again and Abbot walks inside. 

“Okay,” You reply, not sparing her a glance. She leaves using the opposite doors, snatching her purse from the chair with an exaggerated huff. 

“I’ve sent your blood for testing. We should know within an hour,” Abbot explains and you nod, looking between him and Jackie. Your stomach twists as you imagine that this was your family. The three of you. 

“Is there something she can have for the pain?” You ask, looking between the two of them. “She’s not good with pain and I know this is a ten for her.” Weakly, Jackie nods. 

“Alright, I’m going to give you an ibuprofen. It’ll help with the nausea and the pain. If, after an hour, you’re still in pain, I’ll switch it up. Does that sound good?”

“Mhmm,” Jackie winces and then starts gagging. You help her sit up, wincing as she throws up again. 

“What if she can’t keep the pill down?” You ask, looking up at him with worry clearly written all over your face. His chest tightens, and he inhales, looking between you and Jackie. As much as he’d hate to admit it, his mind runs blank for a moment. 

“An IV drip is always an option.” Abbot explains once he composes himself. “Would you be okay with that, Jackie?” Your daughter nods and Abbot nods in response. “We’ll get that started as soon as possible.”

“Would you be a step-dad?” Robby whispers, pulling Jack to the side. They’re about to do a shift change and this is how Robby is planning on spending their small overlap together. 

“Depends,” Jack responds, crossing his arms. “Is the kid bad? Is there an affair that causes the step-parent-ness?”

“No, and no,” Robby squints. “I didn’t— I wouldn’t help someone cheat. But this woman I’m seeing has a son, we haven’t met but she wants us to. I wanted your opinion,” Jack nods, imagining himself as a step-parent. It’s hard because he keeps placing his partner as you and not some random person. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “See if you can handle that dynamic. Every step family is different,” In turn, Robby nods before leaving in a rush. Apparently soon meant tonight. 

“Has there been an update with the others?” You ask. “Jackie’s friend, Charlie. She’s here too,” 

“I can certainly ask, what’s her last name?” Turning to Jackie, she inhales. It’s shaky and it looks like it hurts her but she still tries. 

“Hunt.” She replies. 

“Charlie Hunt, got it.” He leaves again and it’s just the two of you now. 

“It’s not drugs, right?” You whisper, looking up from the door. Jackie feverishly shakes her head and you nod, trusting her. Looking back at the door, you inhale. 

A part of you hates that out of all the places you could’ve settled after the Marines, you picked the one place Jack lived and then out of all of the hospitals, this is the one your daughter is being treated at. But another, bigger, part of yourself loves that. Loves that you’re still connected to him after all these years. It’s like a sign. 

The door opens and you see Abbot return with Charlie. Her parents are not there yet, their jobs are hard to leave from what you remember. 

“How you feeling, Char?” You ask, a small smile on your face. 

“Not horrible, Mr. (L/n),” She replies, looking at you before her eyes lock on Jackie. “How’s Jackie?”

“Could be better,” Jackie croaks and Charlie takes the seat you’d been in. She has a small oxygen mask around her neck but it doesn’t seem like she needs it anymore. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” You tell them to which they nod. Looking Abbot up and down, he calmly follows you into the hallway. 

“A wife,” He whispers. “How long?”

“Um,” Scratching your eyebrow, you shrug. “About fourteen years. Are you… have you gotten married?” For a moment, you look at his hand. Barren, no tan lines to indicate a ring either. 

“No.” He confirms what you already know. “Are you happy?” The pause that follows the silence is all he needs to know. Although he could’ve guessed that already, he’s seen happily married people but you and Katy? That wasn’t a happy marriage. 

“I always said you’d make a great doctor,” 

“You did,” He nods, a breathless chuckle passing by his lips. “I always said you’d be a girl dad.”

“Light of my life,” You smile. “She had a small interest in medicine, which is crazy cause she’s—“ You pause, stopping yourself. Katy walks back in from her smoke break and you blink. “She gets woozy at the sight of blood.” You finish. 

“Has anyone seen Charlie Hunt?”  A doctor calls, standing in front of an empty on-call room. “I have her lab work,”

“She’s in here, Robby!” Abbot calls. “Is (L/n)’s also done?”

“Uh,” He checks his tablet. “Yes- yup,” 

“Alright, let’s go!” That special request to speed up Jackie’s tox screen worked. Which is a first. The four of you head back to the on-call room and Katy enters without knocking. 

“What the fuck?” She shouts and you see Charlie stand up to her full height. Jackie looks between the two of you, shocked, and her heart monitor is beeping faster. She looks at you, and you know, you just know what Katy saw. “Did you know?” She spins to you, finger pointing. But you don’t see her, you don’t hear her. 

You hear the rapid beeping, you see your daughter's fear, and it’s like you’re her. It’s like you’re your father and Katy is your mother and you’re about to repeat a cycle you could never break. 

“Breathe,” Jack forces you out of the rec room and into the dark outside. The party continues inside but you can feel yourself dying. Your life is in the hands of the letter dropped off earlier in the week that you’d refused to open. “What’s wrong?” Your free hand touches the dewy grass as you sit. 

“Sweetheart,” His hand covers yours, blocking the letter from your vision. 

“Someone told my parents,” You manage out. “My mom she’s asking about why her church is whispering about her ‘faggot’ son. They know us-- they know you.” 

“I thought they knew?” 

“No,” Holding both of his hands, you kiss them softly, grounding yourself. “I never told them. That's why I left.”

You never understood why your parents were such a big part of your life, why you let their hate infect you so much. That your fear wasn’t strong enough to stop you from going to the Marines, but it was for telling your parents no. But it’s not stronger than your love for Jackie. 

“Get out,” You tell Katy. 

“Let’s see what your mother has to say about this.” She hums, digging into her purse for her phone. She’s used that line so many times and so many times you’ve given in at the expense of your peace and sanity. 

“Let’s see what Vincent has to say,” She pauses at the door, her eyes filled with pure hatred. She says fine, along with some colorful words and you sigh, joining the now crying Jackie’s side. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Doctor Robby takes Charlie back to her room while Abbot stands there, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry,” Her cries turn to gagging and you sit her up, letting her vomit into the bowl. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for not doing better,” Holding her tight, you shudder, wishing so desperately you’d been your father all those years ago. “Let’s focus on your health first, honey. And then everything else after.” 

“Alright, your tox screen does show levels of carbon monoxide and it is showing signs of food poisoning,” He turns the screen and points to an assortment of letters and numbers that only he understands. 

“Good news is-“ He turns the screen back to him. “It looks like you won’t have any long-term side effects and the nausea should lessen with time. For now, I’m going to start your IV drip and give you an oxygen mask. That’s to help your body filter out the carbon monoxide faster.” She nods, holding your hand tightly. He gently puts the oxygen mask over her and you watch as she takes a deep breath in. 

He nods to the door and you stand up. Jackie reaches for your hand, shaking her hand but you reassure her that you’ll just be outside the door. She lets go and you meet Abbot in the hallway. 

“We have social workers available,” He starts. “If you or Jackie want to talk to someone.”

“I’m definitely getting a therapist for us,” You huff a laugh. “I know divorces can be rough on kids.”

“Divorce?” He asks. 

“That’s who Vincent is. He’s my friend and a divorce lawyer. I can’t let her grow up the way I did,” 

“That’s good,” He smiles an honest smile.