Half human, half asleep

It's Thursday the last day of classes before fall break. You sit at your desk, scribbling in the corner of your paper as you wait for the day to end. You don't really have anything to be rushing off to yet you're still antsy. As your foot taps beneath your desk you stare down the center of the classroom to the man up front.

Professor Abbot stands at the board, giving you all a reading assignment for the long weekend. A few quiet groans fill the air, the sounds of books closing and zippers gliding all mixing together. You could care less about the reading as you see Professor Abbot's biceps flex in his button up.

When class is dismissed you take your time packing up your things, waiting for most of your classmates to leave. When you start walking down the aisle you notice he's finally looking back at you. Your bag hangs in the crook of your elbow as you stand in front of him, his messy desk in between you. With the classroom empty now you wait for him to speak first. He doesn't though, instead he just eyes you up and down with thoughtful eyes and his signature scowl.

"Reading homework over Thanksgiving break? Really?" You ask, tilting your head with a smirk to match your sarcasm.

"It's two chapters." He rolls his eyes at you, a hidden smirk on his lips. He rolls his sleeves up before grabbing stacks of papers from his desk to organize.

"I thought I could come over tonight. Before your holiday plans." You suggest, thinking about how it's been a few days since the two of you have had alone time.

You're not really sure how it all started. One day he's asking you to hang back to discuss your work, he gives you extra advice and attention - and then all the sudden you're in his car late at night and he's buying you ice cream while touching your thigh. One day he's avoiding eye contact while reviewing my work, the next he's calling you puppy and making you come like no one else possibly could. Of course you never protested, you've always had a little crush on him. It's been a few months now and you seem to spend most of your free time at his whim.

He bites his lip in thought, creasing his eyebrows at you as if he's deciding something. You stand tall, pretending that you're not wanting to rub your thighs together.

"Do you have plans?" He asks.

You hesitate but decide to answer honestly because you're he'd be able to tell otherwise. "No."

"Go home and pack a bag. I'll pick you up tonight." He instructs in that firm tone you just love.

"Where are you taking me, Professor?" You ask, anticipation all the sudden flooding your thoughts. He stands up straighter, his face turning a little grumpier and it makes you smirk.

"Baby, you know it's Jack when class isn't in session." He reminds you, as if you don't already know. But he's rounding his desk to step up on you now, so you're getting exactly what you want. His attention.

Jack stands tall in front of you, glaring because he knows he can't touch you here, especially with the door still open. But his eyes tell you what he's thinking, that he'd like to just shut you up already.

"Baby?" You ask, pouting your lip at him. You don't mind any pet name really, you're not picky in that sense. But one you never thought you'd like, one you'd never even heard of before him has a special place in your heart now.

He comes closer until his chest is practically brushing yours, his cheeks a little pink when you feel his fingers brush yours. He's as close as he can be without losing control.

"Puppyyyy." He drawls out in a whisper, his eyes flickering between yours. He watches you like a hawk when you grin up at him, blushing at your favorite pet name coming from your favorite set of lips. "You're spending the weekend with me, at my cabin. I'll pick you up in an hour and we'll drive up tonight." Jack tells you, his tone so stern and matter of fact you couldn't argue with him even if you wanted to.

You nod earnestly, biting your lip to hide the true size of your smile. The idea of spending the entire long weekend in a cabin, alone with Jack makes you flustered instantly. You two have been wanting more alone time, with true privacy, so you can explore one another more. It's just hard when you share an apartment with two other students. And since the divorce Jack has been in a short term rental while he builds his new house. It dawns on you that one day you might get to the house, when it's all finished.

Maybe that doesn't matter.

"Quit looking at me like that." He grumbles, his composure clearly slipping. Anticipation about the weekend settling over him right here in his classroom. "Go on. Get." He shoos you away, tapping your butt and winking as you stumble towards the door. "Be ready when I show up." He points a finger at you.

"Yes, sir." You whisper back as you step out of the room, waving goodbye until he disappears from your sight.

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You sit on a bench by your front door with a carry on bag by your feet, waiting on a message from Jack to pop up. You don't mind waiting, the anticipation gives you something to look forward to.

Your roommates are already gone for the weekend, heading home to their family's for Thanksgiving. Part of you is grateful you'll be with Jack instead of your family this year. Most of you actually.

When Jack texts to let you know he's arrived you feel your heart lurch in your chest. You can't wait to see him again even though the last time was only just over an hour ago. His message is simple and straightforward, and you feel it all over.

Parked out front. Come.

You stand up immediately and rush out the door, locking up your apartment for the weekend. He waits for you with his arms crossed, leaning back on the passenger side door as you skip down the sidewalk. He takes the bag from your hands as soon as it's within reach, using his free hand to welcome your hug. He pecks your lips, the familiar warmth making you squirmy. His hand grips your waist tight as he holds you to his chest.

"You're so quick. - Good girl." He praises and you practically melt in his hold. You lay your head on his shoulder and kiss his neck gently instead of saying thank you. "Let's get you in the car. You can do your reading for class on the drive." He suggest but deep down you know you don't have a choice. And truthfully, you don't really want one.

He gets you settled in the passenger seat with a pillow, blanket and a bag of snacks he packed just for you. He buckles you in before handing you the book you're supposed to be reading, with a bookmark already on the right page. He drives with a firm hand on your thigh, redirecting your attention back to the reading when you get distracted.

But it's easy to once you're up in the mountains, the trees are so green and lush you can't help staring. Your feet rest on the dash, the book open in your lap but you're watching the scenery fly by. A few moments pass before Jack realizes, this time getting more stern about it.

"You're not listening, hon. Read your book." He demands, nodding with his head towards the open pages. He reaches over and grabs your ankle, yanking your feet to his lap. He digs his thumb into the center, massaging gently. You feel the pleasant pressure all the way up your leg.

"It's so pretty out." You whine a little. "Can't I read at the cabin?" You look over to him with your best doe eyes. He glances between you and the road, his jaw clicking as he squeezes your foot tighter.

"Read. Out loud." He's curt and demanding, you know better than to keep pushing him. So, you clear your throat and start speaking the words on the page. You only get through one page before you feel his fingers dancing up your thigh.

You try to ignore it, stuttering over a few words before finding your groove. His warm touch makes you shiver. When you glance over at him his focus stays on the road entirely. Even when his finger slips into the loose leg of your linen shorts. You try to ignore, acting just as casual as him.

But you can't. Your hips squirm and you lose your place on the page. Jack teases the lace of your panties, you lose your breath and quit speaking altogether for a moment.

"Keep reading, puppy. Go on." He encourages, the pads of his fingers meeting your clit. Chills cover your entire body, you squirm in our seat as you try your best to keep reading.

You stutter through it, losing and catching your breath every other sentence. He only touches you enough to make you squirm, enough to ruin your panties but not enough.

You make it through a few more pages, sweat brimming your brow as it becomes increasingly harder to focus. His fingers are all over your clit and it's becoming too much. You need him inside of you already.

Somehow you make it through the rest of that chapter, internally grateful that's all you have to do for now. You slam the book closed in a huff, throwing your head back on the seat.

"There. I'm done - Please, Jack." You start to beg, grabbing wrist to try and force him to touch you more. He stiffens against you, your protests and yanking useless against his strength.

"Keep begging, puppy. You know how much I love the sound of it." He grumbles, trying to focus on the road.

"Please," You moan, grinding yourself into his fingers as your heels slide over his thighs. You can feel his muscle tensing as he presses the gas and brake peddle.

He finally slides a finger in your slick cunt and you melt into your seat. It's exactly what you need. He slides in and out, all his teasing makes you wet enough there's no resistance. He curls his finger in just the right spot, the one only he's ever been able to find.

"That's it, that's it." He coos when you start to clench around him. He slides a second finger in and it jumpstarts your orgasm. You writhe and whine, your joints tingly as you ride it out. You collapse in your seat when it all fizzles out, your chest heaving as your search for your breath.

Jack reaches to grab your arm, rotating your body to lay your head in his lap instead of your feet. You can feel his cock, hard and stiff, against your cheek as he pets your tousled hair away from your face.

"Sweet thing, you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Can't resist the chance to come for me, hm?" He coos gently at you, his rough fingers scratching your scalp and caressing your cheek.

"Never." You whisper, admitting just how wrapped up in him you are.

"Rest your eyes, hon. We'll be there soon."

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You arrive to the cabin just after sunset, there's even a little orange still left on the horizon as Jack carries you inside. You hold onto him tight, yawning as you look around the area, still trying to wake up from your nap.

The cabin is nice and secluded, lush green trees hang over the roof and surrounding paths. There's a stone path he takes you down to get to the cabin, propping you up over his shoulder so he can fumble with the keys. Once you're both inside he sets you down and then turns back for your bags.

You take a moment to look around, admiring the rustic furniture and natural wood walls. It's cozy and handsome, just like Jack.

He comes back moments later with the bags, setting them to the side so he can latch the door closed. He walks forward, grabbing your hand on the way to the kitchen. He grabs you by the hips to lift you up on the center counter.

"We'll go to the store tomorrow for groceries. Tonight it's frozen pizza and beer." He tells you like a warning.

"That works for me." You giggle, letting your feet dangle as you watch him step around the kitchen; preheating the oven and digging around in the freezer. A few minutes pass in silence as you spectate, your mind running wild with thoughts of how you ended up here.

This situation is not only uncommon but also wrong. You both know that but it doesn't seem to discourage either of you. You're discrete on campus, you haven't spoken a word to any of your friends. They'd probably freak out, especially after seeing the shiny, gray hairs spreading from his sideburns. They just don't get it like you do.

Somehow, things progressed and now you're comfortable with him, you actually quite like him and the way he treats you.

"When is your house done?" You ask.

"After the holidays. Then I can get my stuff out of storage and get my mustang back from that crazy woman." He grumbles a little as he speaks, the mention of his ex wife making him tense.

You don't know much and you dont ask, it's not really your business. He was divorced long before you two got involved. You know they grew apart and started resenting each other.

Jack steps closer and you reach for him, guiding him to stand between your legs as you rest your arms on his shoulders. His hands rest on your hips and you instantly feel him relax. His eyelids get heavy as he looks up at you and you blush from the intensity of his gaze.

"Will you touch me on your mustang like you did in your truck?" You ask, hoping to distract him. And it works, he smirks, blushing and leaning in to kiss your lips.

"You're a filthy thing." He huffs through a chuckle. You kiss him a little more, enjoying the warmth of your bodies being so close together.

When you pull away you look at him deeply your mind thinking even deeper. Your fingers slip through his short, graying curls.

"What made you pick me?" You ask, looking at his lips to avoid his heavy gaze. He makes up for it by gripping your hips tighter, pulling you closer to him.

"Pick you?" He asks to clarify.

"Yeah. Why did you pick me to - touch? And to bring here?" You ask further, curiosity getting the best of you.

"I didn't pick you. I'm drawn to you. You happened to me." He clarifies earnestly and it makes your belly twinge with butterflies. You don't want to say anything and mess up the moment so you just lean in and kiss him.

After a moments of passionate kissing - and a little grinding - Jack carries you back to the couch. He hands you a flannel blanket and the remote to the little satellite TV in the corner. Moments later he returns with crispy pizza from the oven and cold beer from the fridge.

He opens the beer for you, holding the bottle and your jaw to give you your first swig. You as you gulp it down, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand when he sets the bottle on the coffee table.

You share the pizza with him, sipping on your beers as the tv hums. When you're full and the perfect amount of buzzed you lay your head in Jack's lap. He pulls your shirt up a little, his palm flattening over your belly as he gently massages you.

It's blissful under his care, you reminisce on it the whole time you lay in his lap.

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You wake up in the same bed as Jack, his wood bed in the upstairs loft with cotton sheets and more flannel blankets. It's the coziest bed you've ever slept in and with the body heat from Jack cuddling you so close, you never want to leave.

He stretches against your back, groaning loudly before letting out a hefty sigh. His muscular arm falls over your waist and he pulls you closer to his chest.

"I could get used to this." He whispers, sounding groggy and starstruck. You hum happily, scooting back into him further and gripping his arm. He groans into your shoulder as his hips rut forward to meet you. His cock, large and proud, presses into your ass.

It makes you shudder, blushing into the blanket as you push back again. You know you're testing him by teasing but you just can't help it. You love the way he feels and sounds.

"Be careful, hon. It's too early to start that." He warns, his gravely voice giving you chills. Despite the urge to keep pushing his boundaries you settle down, letting him cuddle you until you both felt like getting up for the day.

He whips up a small breakfast of eggs and toast, rewarding you with freezer burnt, chocolate ice cream for eating everything on your plate. After breakfast you ride with him to the closest town and you shop for the rest of the weekend.

Neither of you say but you both feel it, the relief of being far away enough from campus that you can go out together like this. You keep a hand around his bicep the whole trip, he loves it, kissing your knuckles every so often.

After getting the groceries put away you end up on the couch again. Jack sits with his arms crossed and legs spread. You're curled up next to him, playing with the ruffles on your socks.

You're restless, you can't seem to sit still. Maybe it's because you aren't cuddling him, maybe you're just horny and don't know how to say it. You look over at Jack who's giving the television a grump-face. You find it endearing.

Something comes over you in the heat of the moment and you're acting before thinking; you lurch forward and sink your teeth into Jack's taught biceps. He flinches and pulls away, looking down at you with furrowed brows.

"What was that?" He asks, his voice makes you jump a little. He uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on the tops of his thighs as he gives you a stern look.

You go in for his bicep again, biting down on a different area, this time harder than the last. He jumps and grunts, one his hands nudging your shoulder back.

"Why the fuck are you biting me?" He snaps, his brows sinking into a look of anger as his voice lowers to match. You stare at one another for a few seconds, waiting on each other to act first.

You move first, going back in for a third bite. But Jack is quicker this time, he catches you by the throat to stop you. You resist, pulling at his wrist and swinging at his chest.

He lets go long enough to wrestle your arms, reach for your wrists. You continue to fight back, giggling as you fight with him. As soon as he gets a good hold on you, you manage to slip out just long enough to get pinned again.

"What has gotten in to you?!" Jack strains as he attempts to tame your outburst. In the midst of it all your arm slips from his hold and you end up slapping the side of his face. His eyes flash and he reacts before you can even see a full thought behind his eyes. His palm lands across your face in a too-quick retaliation.

You yelp as the impact sends you sliding off the couch onto your ass. Your palms hit the thin rug sitting on the hardwood behind you to break the fall. You stare up at him with glossy eyes and a burning cheek, he's frozen, not sure of he should to you or not.

Another something unknowing washes over you, maybe it's the mess in your panties or the adrenaline in your veins but the next thing you know you're reach for him.

You shuffle on your knees to grab his neck, pulling his lips to your lips and his body over your body as you lay back onto the rug. The hardwood strains against your spine as his body weight settles on top of you.

"This is what you want, huh?" He taunts, grabbing you by the throat and slamming your head back down on the hardwood floor. You yelp but he muffles it with a hand over your mouth. "You want it like this?" He continues, grinding his hard cock between your legs until your panties are out of place and soaking.

"Mhm." You hum behind his palm, squirming beneath his warm body.

He keeps one hand on your mouth as he leans back to expose himself. His cock always give you a little shiver when you see it, so big and pretty.

"I'm gonna fuck you raw, puppy, you hear me?" Jack growls, his pupils blown out so far you can almost see your own reflection. "Claim you as mine." He adds in a whisper, kissing down the side of your neck and grinding his hips again.

You whine, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. You feel his bare shaft graze your clit every few strokes as it continues to mess up your panties.

"Spread your legs." He demands, nudging them apart. You let your knees fall open, giving him full access. "Good girl." He praises, touching your thighs with his free hand. He dances his fingers up your core, sliding your panties to the side and your long t-shirt up your torso. "Look at your pretty pussy, already dripping for me. - Jesus christ." His finger play in your arousal a moment before spreading the mess on his tip for lubrication.

He thrusts deep inside of you in one fell swoop, starting a relentless pace instantly. You squeal and whine, the feeling of him pounding into you makes you dizzy and tingly. All the noises forced out of you get muffled against his palm as he continues to fuck you. Your head bounces off the rug every few thrusts, your fingers wrapped around his wrists as you watch his face.

He's lost in his pleasure, watching you like he owns you. His thrusts are harsh and bruising and you love every last second of it.

Jack leans down so you're chest to chest, his thrusts shortening length but not potency as he cages you in. "You pathetic mutt, you wanna get fucked like this because you know you deserve it. Don't you?" He growls, brushing his nose against mine. "You know you need it - to be put in your fucking place. Hm?" He taunts.

Your legs hang open as your muscles start to go limp, the force from his thrusts taking a toll on your body. Tears prick your eyes and stream down the side of your face, the blur your vision and cool down your face when you nod 'yes'.

"That's fucking right, baby." He moans with a satisfied grin. He grabs your knee and pushes it up so he can reach deeper and get closer to your chest. You squeal under his hand again, blinking fast to clear the tears so you can see his face.

He's practically feral as he pounds into you, your spine and hips aching against the floorboards. Jack reaches places inside you you never thought existed, you start to become light headed as it all catches up to you.

Small sobs start bubbling in your chest, your breathing becoming erratic. You can't get enough air in through your nose when Jack is fucking you this fast and this deep. Your skin turns cold and hot back and forth, the pressure becoming almost unbearable.

He removes his hand from your mouth so he can touch your clit, you jolt instantly. You gasp for full breaths, choking down sobs from the overstimulation.

"Let it out, hon, cry for me." He coos, kissing your cheek as he works you closer to the edge. He kisses you through your cries and you feel your heart bursting in your chest. "I need you to come, puppy."

His words are enough to have that similar build up staring in your belly. He slows his pace just enough for your body to find a more reasonable pace and rhythm. His fingers swirl in tight circles over your wet clit, making you tighten around him.

"Take deep breaths." He whispers, pecking your lips while coaxing you into your orgasm. You breath heavy with your chest, letting your body writhe into your climax at its own pace. "Good girl, come all over me." Jack encourages, touching and kissing you all over while he fucks you through the waves of it.

The euphoric feeling seems to get better and better with him, it's like he learns you and your body a little better each time.

You lay limp on the floor, gasping for air as you come down from your orgasm while Jack continues to ruin you.

"I'm gonna come so deep inside of you, puppy. - You'll never get rid of me." His hips stutter and eventually he's laying on top of me trying to catch his breath too. His large pecks press to your breasts and you feel his rapid heartbeat. Your hands are on his sides, clinging tight to feel grounded.

When he's caught his breath he gently pulls out of you and scoops you up in his arms. Your panties and tank top aren't even covering you at this point, but you pay no mind. Instead, you nuzzle into Jack's neck as he carries you up the stairs.

He passes the bed and goes for the bathroom, setting you on the counter before turning the water on. He slips his sweatpants and boxers all the way off as the tub fills with water.

You watch the steam puff into the air around him as he turns back for you. He wiggles you out of your disheveled clothes before pick you up and taking you to the bath. You get in together, him sitting against the back and you with your back to his chest.

The water is warm and comfortable, you lull your head back on his shoulder and feel almost like you could fall asleep. He massages your arms and shoulders, making you feel dizzy all over again. It's tender, he touches you like it's something he's meant to do.

"Don't fall asleep, hon. Not yet. Let me get you cleaned up first." He says softly, kissing your shoulder and reaching for the soap.

"I like it here, with you, Professor." You mumble sleepily, admitting only a fraction of what he make you feel.

"Me too, puppy." He responds sweetly, kissing your lips to seal it.

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The next morning you wake up in Jack's arms just like you did before, snuggled close to his chest and extra warm against his skin. But it's early, the sun is barely cresting over the horizon as you stir in his arms. After your bath Jack didn't put you in any pajamas, instead you both slept naked.

You secretly hope you do this every night you're together now.

Jack breathes heavy in his sleep, his chubby fingers twitching over your bare stomach and it makes you blush. Even in his sleep he works you up to know end, maybe you're insatiable or maybe he has some sort of spell over you. But you don't care.

You nuzzle your head further into the pillow you're sharing with him, squeezing your eyes shut and beckoning sleep to return, just long enough to put you out of your horny misery. But it doesn't work, you can't ignore the ache between your legs growing as his warm breath travels down your spine over and over again.

The skin of your bare thighs is warm and smooth as you rub them together, trying anything to numb the aching between them. It's only a dull relief, and quite honestly it's working you up more. You whine a little, biting your lip to hold it in so you don't wake Jack.

He stirs a little behind you, groaning and shifting his hips forward, his clearly hard cock rubbing into your back. It gives you chills and you feel yourself get wetter, especially when his arm lifts up your body to rest between your shoulder and jaw.

Your clit throbs so intensely it buzzes through your whole body. It's unbearable, you're nearly in tears trying to ignore the arousal building in your core. You're weak, you can't fight it off with Jack so close and warm and smelling like himself.

The choice is lost in your brain when you slip a hand between your legs and start playing with your clit. You sink your teeth gently into his un-tensed bicep, the taste of his smooth skin egging you on. The relief sparks through your core and up your spine, your whole body tensing up as you spread your arousal over your clit for more lubrication.

Your eyes water, warm tears trickling down the side of your face as you hold your breath around his bicep. It feels so good, you needed this so bad. Your hips shift harder the more you touch yourself, the pleasure building and forcing your legs farther apart.

In the midst of chasing your orgasm you get carried away with your teeth in Jack's arm. You bite down hard when your fingers find the perfect pattern to lead you to the edge. You hear Jack huff behind you, shuffling in his sleep. You know you should calm down, release your bite and let your orgasm subside. You know you should just wait on him but you're too far in now, too worked up, too desparate.

So, you don't bother controlling yourself. Jack stirs behind you, this time more aggressivley as you bite down again, your hips bouncing off his cock as you ride your own fingers. You whine and pant, barely even noticing the noises he's making now.

He groans, waking up in a little daze as he tries to move his arm away. But you don't budge, whining when he tries to take away your chew toy. He hisses when your sharp teeth dig deeper, you feel his already hard cock twitch against you and it spurs you on.

Your orgasm approaches quickly and you're so excited for the release you've needed all night. Jack catches on quick though, snatching your wrist with a hold tight enough to make you wince. When your orgasm dwindles away from the lack of touch you cry out in pain, grinding your hips into nothing as you chase the lost sensation.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He grumbles, his voice gravelly and you can tell he just woke up. He lets go of your wrist to grab your face, yanking your face to the side so you can see his sleepy glare. You don't answer, instead you give him your best bedroom eyes through your frustrated tears. "Huh?" He squeezes your jaw tighter when you don't answer and you sniffle while grinding your ass back into him.

He realizes your predicament, looking up and down your flushed, naked body, still writhing as you chase an orgasm that was nearly yours. But he doesn't look sympathetic, no, he looks devious. He glares at you, grabbing your throat and rutting his hips forward just to tease you.

"Couldn't even wait for me to wake up, could you, puppy?" He taunts, his hard cock leaving a warm wet spot on your ass as he grinds into you. You're whining like you do, shaking your head 'no', not even bothering to hide how desparate you are. "You know better than to touch yourself without my permission." He warns, squeezing your throat tighter, making you light headed.

"I didn't want to wake you, sir." You whisper, batting your eyelashes for effect.

"You impatient, pathetic mutt." He sneers, his nose brushing yours as he pecks your lips. It's only long enough to steal a few of your tears before he lets go of your neck and sits up behind you.

He grabs you by your forearms to roll you on your stomach, your head to the side so you can see him kneel next to you. His fat cock hangs between his legs and you resist the urge to reach for it. But you know it might ruin your chances of getting stuffed with it later so you control yourself for once.

Jack straddles the backs of your thighs, petting your messy hair away from your face as his other hand gropes your ass. His hands are rough and methodic, you'd barely be able to tell he'd just woken up.

"You're ungrateful too, aren't you, puppy? I fuck you whenever you want and your ungrateful ass can't even wait for me to get a full night's rest." He spanks one of your ass cheeks with a flat, open palm, the noise reverberating through the room. You yelp from the sting but it's muffled when Jack presses your face into the pillow you'd just been laying together on.

"I'm sorry." You gasp, trying to turn your face out of the pillows. He lets you for a moment, to catch your breath some as he glares down at you. "I'm sorry, sir." You start to get teary eyed again.

"You should be, I trained you better than this." He grumbles, smacking your ass again, hard enough that you're yelping and blinking tears away. "After your little outburt last night and now this, I'm starting to think you need to be put in your fucking place." His words come out tight and punctated. He's clearly dissappointed in you and you can't stand it. You want to make it up to him and behave better but the aching between your legs makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything but relieving it.

He backhands your cheek to show you he means business, the impact bounces your head on the mattress as you let out a pained cry. He chuckles at your tears, wiping them up with his thump despite you flinching away from him. "Keep crying, puppy, god, it makes me so hard for you." He groans, licking your tears from his thumb and rubbing his fat cock between your butt cheeks. "Tell me who you belong to." He demands, ruttung his hips to fuck himself between your plump ass cheeks, his precum lubbing up his shaft along with the mess from your pussy.

"You, Jack!." You say through broken breaths, trying to hold in your sobs but it's no use. You really are pathetic, you're a mess and you need him to fix you.

"Who does this pretty little pussy belong to?" He continues to taunt you, smearing your tears all over the side of your face with his thumb.

"You! It's yours." You cough out as he puts more of his body weight on you. Your chest is heavy as it's pressed into the mattress but you don't mind, Jack's body weight keeps you grounded and you can't help enjoy how dizzy it makes you.

"Is that why you're crying, puppy? 'Cause your pussy needs it's owner to claim it anytime you get antsy, huh?" His taunting works you up, you continue whimpering into the pillow even though it's true. He makes you an easy, gooey, needy mess with just one look.

"Mhm." You hum, unable to get enough air in your lungs to form words.

Jack grabs the back of your thighs and nudges them apart so he can lower himself between them, he pressed his blunt head to your sopping wet entrance and sinks into you so fast the air gets caught in your lungs on the way out.

You're choking and sputtering, the wind knocked out of you as he fucks you fast and hard with no warning. He taps the side of your face with the back of his knuckles to get your attention and you do what you can to peak back at him as he leans over you.

"Fuck! Your cunt is soaking wet, you're already dripping on the bed." His voice is still deep and gravelly but there is nothing sleepy about the way Jack is fucking you right now. Sounds of your skin slapping and your wet pussy being stuffed over and over fill the room.

You're so dizzy you can't see straight and you're not quite sure if you're taking full breaths or not. But it doesn't matter because you know Jack will take care of you. He pounds into you so hard your stomach aches, broken sobs being forced out of you from the impact.

"Tell me you're not going to touch yourself without my permission again." He demands, breathless himself from the force of his thrusts. His hands grab your hips for balance, sliding your mostly limp body up and down his shaft. "Tell me a stupid mutt like you knows how to listen." He's panting through his demands but you can tell he's not going to run out of stamina anytime soon.

"I w-won't, sir. I'll wait f-for you." You stutter out, losing your breath while tears soak your face and the hair on your cheeks. The back of his hand swipe across your face again, the tingling dulling out as you start to feel incoherent. You're dizzy and light-headed, your body is like jelly and your joints tingle with the threat of numbness.

"I know, baby, I know you try to be good for me. You're just so filthy you can't help it." He coos, grunting between his words as he continues to pound into you. "It's like you need to be split open on my cock all the time, huh? Like you aren't whole without your owner so deep you can't breathe." He whispers, arching down over your back to kiss you damp cheek.

His hips still thrusts with brute force as you whine about how he's right, about how you need him and his cock all the time. You mean it with your whole heart, so much that for a split second you wonder how you two are going to go back to normal when class starts again.

"You'll never have to want for anything as long as you're mine." He grumbles, nibbling at your shoulder, forcing you to arch deeper for him. "Will you be my good girl so I can keep taking care of you?" He begs, as if your answer would be anything other than a resounding yes, so you say it for him.

"I'm your good girl, Jack, sir. I'll be so good for you." You're practically whispering, the weight and force of him keeping you from regulating your breathing.

He hums happily into your neck, thrusting in time with his kisses as he cages you in. You start to clench around him as your orgasm builds again, your hips writhing all on their own and you chase it. Jack feels your pussy react and changes his pace, all the build up dissapating.

You cry out just like the first time he ruined your orgasm, sobbing like the cry baby you are because you just can't handle it.

"You're not getting off that easy, hon." Jack grumbles, threatening this torture on you. And he follows through. He fucks your pussy just the way you need for just long enough to have the build up returning. As soon as you feel like you may finally fall over that beloved edge, he slows down. You continue to sob, the frustration turning to pain as your pussy weeps along with your eyes. He does this to a few more times, you lose count after the third.

Considering how fuzzy your brain is you're suprised you can even still make out the pain of losing your orgasm over and over. But it stings and aches every time it's stolen prematurely and Jack gets off on every last second of your misery.

His eyes are wide as he watches you closely, like he's comtemplating something. His thrusts slow down just enough that you can start to make out a clear picture of him.

"Do you trust me?" He whispers, rocking into you slower now as he brushes the hair from your face. You nod vigorously, slow blinking up at him while his fingers dance along your inflamed cheek. "Be the obedient puppy you are and relax, hm? Trust me…" He whispers.

There's a brief halt to his movements as he places his hand over your mouth, pinching your nostrils shut with his thumb and pointer finger. You attempt to breathe in and obviously it doesn't work. Your eyes widen as he starts rocking in and out of you again, slower this time so he has time to gauge your response and watch you close.

Jack continues to hold his hand over your nose and mouth as he fucks you, you try not to panic, the pleasure fighting with the pressure in your chest. The need for air sits heavy in your lungs, your throat tightening as you try to focus on how his cock slips in and out of you. Considering everything else he's put your body through this morning it only takes about 30 seconds before you start to gag and hiccup.

Jack looks at you with furrowed brows, likes he's worried about how turned on he is over this. The look in his eyes is so full of adoration you feel it searing into your chest, all the way to your heart where he sits, comfortably. He watches you like a hawk as you start to convulse, your eyes roll back in your head before your body finally gives out.

You go limp in a second, your body like a doll on the mattress under Jack's muscular body. Jack removes his hand from your mouth, grabbing both your hips as he continues to fuck you. His mouth hangs open as he watches you slide up and down the bed, making a mess of the sheets and pillows.

He checks to make sure you're breathing, once confirmed he forces your back to arche and hits an angle that he's usually too big for. He throbs inside your pussy, hitting you so deep it makes his spine ache, you'd usually tell him it's too much at this point and he'd make sure not to give you every inch all at once. But now - with you passed out and still clenching around his cock - he's the deepest he's ever been.

His heart nearly bursts out of his chest because of your beauty and dedication. He can't call it love but it's something stronger, something better. He has a sweet, needy little puppy who trusts him enough to use her body even when she has no control over it. The connection forming between you two is something beyond special, he knows it'll bond him to you forever and it only spurs him on.

He's not sure how to reconcil the fact that this is all happening with his student. You're smart, wondeful, beautiful, funny, the light of his life if he's being honest with himself. You graduate in the spring which is only six or so months away, he could keep you satisfied that long and then you wouldn't have to be secret. You wouldn't have to leave town to spend time together in public.

When the time is right Jack will tell you how he feels, when he can say it proudly and without having to hide you. For now though, he doesn't mind that you're his special secret puppy. He couldn't be happier about it actually.

You start to stir moments later, your breath quickening as you come to. Your eyes blink open, immedietly filling with tears, at the same time a sob rips out of your chest. You're disoriented for a few seconds, unsure of where you are or what's happening as your body flashes hot and cold.

It doesn't take long for you to feel the impact of Jack's cock hitting your sensitive walls and his warm hands massaging up and down your spine. You suck cold air into your lungs, relishing in the feeling of control of your own breath. Your head pounds in a way that tingles rather than aches and you know he's spelled you - you know exactly where you are and you know you'll never get enough of whatever it is he does to you.

Jack kisses your face, running his hands under your arms to grope your breasts. "Ohhh, baby, you have no idea what you do to me." He whispers, pinching your nipples and licking your lips as you moan and pant. "My good girl knows how to take me, you do it so well." He praises and it gives you chills. Your pussy is beyond raw but you'd never ask him to stop, you'd let him fuck you forever if that's what he asked of you.

"Take deep breaths for me, puppy, - You poor thing. You're so pretty when you're fucked senseless, but I need you to breathe and come back to earth a little bit. - Can you do that for me?" He's sweeter now, rocking his hips just enough to keep himself hard. "Can you come back to me?"

He keeps deep eye conact with as you slowly nod your head 'yes', giving him a tired smile so he knows you're not completely out of it anymore. He guides you through a few sets of deep breathing until you've settled your heart beat and regained some feeling in your joints. His cock moves in and out of you at the same pace as your breathing while Jack pets your head and kisses your cheek.

"Atta girl. Look at you, puppy. You're so strong." He praises and you blush all over, unable to form full sentences. His hips start thrusting faster once you've caught your breath, shoving his hand between your hip and the bed until he finds your clit. "You can come now, you've earned it. - Just relax and breathe, puppy, I'll take care of you." He promises, kissing your lips as he swirls his fingers over your clit.

He fucks you at a steady pace, gauging what you need as he works you into it. You're incredibly sensitive but he knows just how to angle himself inside you to hit the best spots. He talks sweet to you, making sure you're breathing full breaths the whole time.

Your orgasm pulses through you so strong you start to convulse again, you scream for Jack, your sir, your owner, and he muffle your noises with his mouth. He gets himself drunk off your moans, whimpers and pleas as he fucks you through your orgasm. Every wave of pleasure is matched by a skilled stroke of his cock, swirl of his fingers and kiss of his lips. He truly knows just how to take care of you.

"Oh, my sweet puppy, you did so well. You make me so proud, -fuck, hon - I'm so proud." Jack praises you in gentle coos, petting your head gently and kissing your face all over. "Your cunt was made for me, you'ew make me come like no one ever has - not even myself. - Fuck, baby, m'gonna come, gonna come so deep inside you. Tell me you want me to fill this cunt to the brim." He babbles on, clearly getting so close he's losing his mind a little.

"Please, please, Jack, I wanna feel how warm you are." You beg, encouraging him. He ruts his hips in an odd fashion, stuttering and moaning as he comes and fills you just like you wanted. You feel every last warm sprut coat your walls and it makes you nearly come all over again.

Jack grunts, his hips hitting your ass with so much force you wonder how much more it would take for you to melt into the mattress. When he's finished he pulls out of you quick and turns you over on your back, laying next to you before dragging you under his arm. You cuddle close, swinging your leg over his waist and touch his face as you both catch your breath.

He kisses your temple a few times, squeezing tight to his chest. He sniffs your scalp for the comforting scent of you sweat and shampoo mixing together. He commits it to memory so he can think about it when they're not under the same roof anymore.

A few minutes pass where you both just lay comfortably in one another's arms, you feel as at peace with him. You'll be trying to make sense of the things he does to you for weeks to come and why you like them for even longer but - it's all worth it.

"My sweet puppy, please promise you won't ever let anyone else touch you like this, - like you let me touch you. I need to be the only one." Jack asks of you, his eyes closed as he faces the ceiling, his hands touching your body with strength and passion.

Your heart swell in your chest like it often does when you're with him, you hold him tight back, nuzzling your face into his peck. You let his scent soak into your skin and your heartbeat catch up to his.

"I wouldn't dream of it." You whisper, meaning it more than either of you truly undertsand.

⋆˚꩜｡

Jack gives you the pampering of a lifetime after you manage to drag yourselves out of bed. You're adorned with special soaps when you share a bath again. His rough hands are gentle as they wash your hair and body. He dries you by hand with a towel, kissing any marks on your skin he left behind and touching you with tendrness.

When your hair is braided and he's put you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his, he carries you downstairs for breakfast. You sit in a barstool on the oppisite side of Jack as he cooks for you. Your body still feels quite weak even after all of Jack's touching and massaging, you're sure it'll take a day or two to fully recover.

"I don't want to go home tomorrow." You admit, playing with the ends of your shirt as your bare feet kick back and forth. You mean it, you want to stay in this cabin where no one can get you. Where no one can judge the fact that you're falling for your disgustingly older professor - and maybe he's even falling for you too a little bit - you think to yourself.

Jack spins from the stove top to look at you, his face gentle as he approaches you. He leans down on his elbows so you're closer to eye level from across the island counter.

"It's because you're so spoiled up here." He grins and so do you.

"Well, of course." A hint of honesty in your words. Jack thinks hard for a moment, tilting his head at you as if he's deciding what to say next.

"I promise to spoil you like this when we go back home too. - I think I'd like you to stay over on the weekends. You know, if you're not busy." Jack offers and you melt in your seat, blushing like an idiot when you see him doing the same.

"I'd like that too, sir." You say through a grin, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. "You mean, like, when your house is done, right?" You ask to clarify.

Jack slides a few panackes onto a plate and set it in front of you. He's smirking ever so slightly as he spins around to grab the scrambled egg pan and scrape some next to the pancakes. You watch his face closely because you can tell he's stalling, pouring your glass of milk at a liesurely pace just like pulling the bacon from another pan.

Once, your plate is full he rests his hands on the counter top edge, looking at you with a more firm smile now. "I don't think I can wait that long. My apartment isn't all bad…" He shrugs, as if he's worried you may not agree to it.

"Yeah, okay. I'll have to figure out what to tell my roommates but - yes." Your heart flutters a little in your chest, you can't hide your blush. Jack reaches across the island to touch your face, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"Eat your food, puppy. I want a clean plate." He raises his brows at you to solidify his command. You lean into his palm, nodding your head 'yes' before placing a kiss to his palm. He pulls away to fix his own plate, coming to sit next to you while you both eat. You two talk about maybe going on a hike for the day, maybe fishing down by the lake. By the time you're full and can't eat anymore it's still undecided.

You push your plate away, sighing with satisfaction and smiling over at Jack. "Thank you so much." He scowls at your plate, looking back to you expectantly.

"You're not finished." He points to the few bites of pancake left on your plate. You look between it and him, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm full." You tell him, rubbing your stomach to prove it.

"Do as you're told, puppy. Finish your food." He's more stern now, sliding the plate closer to you as he picks up your fork. "Come one, I'll help." He encourages, bringing a fork full to your lips. "Good girl." He coos, watching your throat swallow his homemade food. Once he's fed you the last few bites you feel too full.

Your eyes are a little heavy and you feel ready for a nap even though you've only been up for a couple hours. But you sit up straight, smiling at Jack while you thank him again for the meal. He scoops you up and carries you to the couch, setting you down with a pillow under your head. Jack curls up behind you, pulling you tight to his chest as you settle in the little spoon position.

"I know a pretty trail we can walk through later. I'll pack us lunches before we go." He tells you quietly, rubbing up and down your arm as you pretend to watch the reruns playing on the tv.

You groan at the mention of more food, squirming for a moment as you try to fight off the effects of the food coma he forced upon you. His large hand engulfs your bloated belly, massage you gently and kissing the skin under your ear.

"Keep resting, hon. I know we had a busy morning." He whispers. You snuggle back into his chest, soaking up his warmth and sweetness as he touches you back into a light sleep.

⋆˚꩜｡

You're sound asleep on the couch as Jack's little spoon, you've been like this for the better part of an hour. The clock under the tv shines the time in green - 10:45 AM. Jack touches your belly underneath his shirt that your wear so well. He can't help how worked up you make him. He finds himself in the same position you were in earlier this morning.

He looks down at your sleeping face, kissing your pinked cheeks to feel your sleepy warmth. He knows he's in too deep with you but he'll find a way to rationalize it until you graduate, then he won't have to feel guilty or perverted about how he feels for you.

His hand ventures up your torso to cup your perked breast, he squeezes gently, massaging you gently a while nuzzling his nose in your hair. Your scent drives him crazy, he can't help it when his hip push forward, grinding his half hard cock into your back. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger until you squirm.

But it doesn't wake you, you're still tired from this morning and too full from breakfast. He continues to play with your nipple gently, placing his cock between your legs so he can feel you get wetter and wetter. He slowly starts to shift his hips, fucking your thighs and using your arousal as lube.

When he's made a certain mess of your thighs and his cock he reaches down to angle himself upward, the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaking wet entrance. Part of him is surprised he can handle so much of this, he's just grateful he hasn't lost his stamina with age. In fact, he's sure you're his personal form of viagra.

Jack kisses the hot flesh of your neck as he slowly slides himself into you, groaning softly and groping your tit for comfort. He whimpers into your skin as he pulls out and sinks back in, his pace slow and soft. You grip him so well even in your sleep, it nearly brings him to tears.

You start to stir heavier now, the sensation of his fat cock stretch you out setting off your nerve endings. At first you think you're having the most intense sex dream of your life but then you realize you're not dreaming, you're just incredibly groggy and full.

You're barely concious as it starts to register, the swaying of your body and burning between your legs, Jack's cock is in fact deep inside you - and not just in your dream. You blink your eyes open, gasping for air and reaching behind you for his hip.

"Jack!" You cry, wiggling against him as tears prick your eyes.

"Oh, puppy, I'm so sorry." He coos, kissing your face and fucking you deeper, forcing more cries out of you. "You're just so beautiful sleeping in my shirt - I couldn't help myself, I needed your pussy wrapped around me again." He explains, making his excuses.

"I'm too sensitive!" You try to tell him, crying into your arm as your pussy throbs. You're so sore and raw you can barely handle it. In face, you're not sure you can. Jack tries to comfort you, touching your face and belly with his gruff hands, slowing his pace down some as he finds your lips.

"I know, baby, but I need you. I need this pussy. I can't stop." He whines, confessing to you his lack of control. You want to please him, you always want to please him but it's just too much this time.

"I'm so sorry, Jack!" You say through a broken, sleepy sob as your grip the couch cushion for dear life. "I can't take it, I can't." You whine, being honest about how sore he's made your pussy.

"I can't stop, puppy." He admits, sounding a bit worried himself as he keeps pounding into while you two spoon. Your sobs turn hysterical, you blabber on and on about how it hurts and you can't take it. But Jack doesn't stop, like he confessed, he can't.

He grabs the pillow your sleepy head had been resting on, pressing it over your face with force. You squirm at first, tyring to move away from it to see and breathe but Jack tames your body. He holds you to his chest under his arm as the other hand keep the pillow smushed to your face.

"It's okay, puppy, just relax. I promise I'll take care of you" He coos in your ear, his thrusts making your body buzz as you start to get dizzy. "That's it, sweet thing, shhh. Go back to sleep, baby." His voice soothes you as your vision blurs over and you go limp for him again.

He holds you close and tight, pumping his cock in and out of your pussy at a relentless pace now that you're out. He throws the pillow somewhere to the floor and checks to make sure you're breathing even in your unconcious state.

Your body moves like a ragdoll in front of him, swaying uncontrolabbly every thrusts but he uses his hold to keep you on the couch with him. He's all the sudden closer than he anticipated considering your state. He didn't expect you to be so sore but he should've, he should've thought about it before sinking into you and not being about to stop.

You looks just as peace as you did when you were sleeping not too long ago, taking his cock like a sleepy angel. He fucks you at whatever angle and speed he'd like, taking advantage of your altereted state to get what he wants.

He doesn't experiment for too long, determined to come before you wake back up so you don't have to be in pain while he finishes. Even in your sleep and even when you're too sore to take it, your pussy swallows him up like that was it's only purpose in life. He fucks you so deep, pressing his hand against your belly to feel the depth of his reach.

He hits his own palm over and over again as he presses on your stomach, you flutter around him at you start to stir and it sends him over the edge before he's truly expecting it. His hips stutter as his orgasm rips through him, he pumps every last drop of his come inside your sensitive cunt, practically in tears himself from the intensity.

He stops his thrusts moments before your eyes flutter open and you start gasping for air again. He touches your faces, tapping your cheek to get your atenttion quickly. "Jesus christ, puppy, you made me come so hard. You're so fucking good." He coos, his words fuzzy as you try to pull yourself back to reality. "Thank you so much, god, puppy, thank you." He rambles, panting into your shoulder as he touches you gently to comfort and ground you. "Can you talk to me, hon?"

"I love pleasing you." You whisper, groggy and disoriented but you mean it.

"You do it so well." He promises, turning your head to the side so he can kiss your mouth. He's slow and languid, his tongue hypnotizing you. "I have to pull out, okay? Take a deep breath for me." He warns and you listen, inhaling and exhaling in time with him sliding his half hard cock from your swollen cunt.

He cuddles you for a while, touching you and kissing you until you've fully come back down to earth. He keeps a hand over your chest and every so often you catch him counting the pace of your heart beat. At some point your grab the back of his hand and look back at him.

"Why are you doing that?" You ask.

"I have to make sure you're breathing right." He tells you very matter of fact, nudging your face forward so he can nuzzle into your neck. You two lay like that for a little while longer, until you've both calmed down and settled. "Think you'll still be up for that hike?" Jack asks around Noon, mostly teasing as he massages your shoulder.

You look back at him with determination, batting your lashes and scooting back into him. "Anything for you, sir." He catches your lips at the end of your sentence, taming any attitude that might have been creeping up in you.

"I can't wait to have you like this every weekend." He murmurs and you internally agree. You can't wait to give yourself to him like this two days every week.

The day Robby rides into the hospital without his helmet on, you don’t chew him out. You watch from a distance as Dana has her way with him, shoving him on the chest like he isn’t a doctor but her teenage son misbehaving. Then you watch Jack have a go, face all stern and unforgiving before he storms out for shift change. There are threats about going to Gloria, having him committed, killing him with their bare hands.

He’s fully expecting to get it from you, too. That’s part of why he does it, of course. The punishment that he deserves for failing over and over again. So he struts into the locker room where you’re waiting for him, drops his things haphazardly on the bench in front of his locker, and turns toward you. Knowing full well you saw the display by the hub, he keeps his expression neutral as he touches your waist. “Morning, baby, how’d you sleep?”

He braces for impact as you look him up and down. At the windswept hair on his painfully fragile, human skull. At the flush in his cheeks from the biting Pittsburgh morning whipping by him at fifty miles an hour.

Then you rock up onto your toes and kiss him, soft and professional, the way you always do when you didn’t spend the night before together, which happens surprisingly often given you live together. You’re both attendings now and pulling alternating doubles is routine. You scratch your nails lightly through the short hair at the back of his neck, smile at him like you love him, and reply, “Pretty good. I had that same dream about my childhood cat again, though. Weird, right?”

Robby buffers for a few seconds. He tilts his head to the side like a puppy staring in confusion at its owner. Then he just opens his locker and starts getting ready for the day, telling you, “That one’s been haunting you lately. Maybe we should have a seance or something.”

“I don’t want to hear ghostly meows all night.” You playfully shudder and then affectionately run your hand across his back once he’s in his scrubs. “See you out there, sweetheart. Let’s grab lunch at that new cafe around the corner?”

He leans up for one more kiss that you happily provide. “Sounds perfect. Go save some lives.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Not your boss anymore,” he reminds you with a warm, proud smile.

“Will do, equal coworker and life partner.”

“That’s more like it.”

Once you have Robby thinking he’s off scot free, you head out of the locker room with a devilish smirk on your lips. Dana gives you a wide-eyed, disappointed look at your total lack of response and you just shrug innocently.

Because you know Robby. After five years together, you know how these toxic phases of his work better than anyone. Lectures don’t work. Interventions and earnest concerns don’t work. You see through his passive suicidality and blase cockiness to the terrified, hopeless toddler of a man underneath.

It may not be healthy, but you know how to get through to him.

That night, you leave the ED without seeking Robby out to say goodbye.

Hours later, when he’s halfway through his second shift, Robby flicks through your Instagram story, expecting to see your usual rants about your annoying neighbors, political reposts, and pictures of your shared chihuahua in her pajamas. A sort of documentary of your night after work that always reassures him you’re safe and cozy at home, allowing him to relax his shoulders even a little.

Not tonight.

It’s a long story, maybe fifteen photos and clips long. He watches the montage of your night unfold with a bomb ticking in his chest.

Your outfit: A skirt so short that the very bottom of your ass pokes out when you stretch, a tiny sparkly tube top, and heels so tall you’d be able to look him in the eye. No jacket even though it’s in the fifties out. You’re covered in body glitter with heavy makeup, a far cry from frumpy pajamas and snuggling in bed.

Then it’s you and your friends in an Uber, all of them wearing similar getups. The irresponsible, flighty friends from back in your wild college days that Robby’s absolutely not crazy about at all. He always begs you not to invite them to Super Bowl parties because they inevitably get drunk and embarrass themselves in a room of doctors trying to unwind and have fun.

A video of you and said friends downing a round of clear shots and squealing as you wrap your lips around limes and laugh.

A clip of the crowd thrumming and dancing, the flash illuminating your sparkly tits. After studying it closely, Robby recognizes the club from when he was in his 20s; it’s in a bad part of town and it’s full of handsy guys and drunken girls.

A shot of you in the crowd flipping the camera off with both fingers, a haze of liquor over your features. Robby can see a couple of guys checking you out in the background, way too close to you.

Panicky, Robby opens up your text thread. You always text him when you’re home from a night out – and usually you also apologize for missing him as you left the hospital and send updates every hour or so just to connect.

Nothing.

He calls you three times in a row. 

Voicemail, voicemail, off.

His heart’s pounding as he gets back to work, unable to focus or steady his hands for an hour straight.

At shift change, Robby’s stewing while he waits for you. You’re clearly hungover with your oversized sunglasses, stolen hoodie of his, and extra large coffee, but you still smile when you see him. You press a kiss to his cheek and unceremoniously get ready for the day by changing into your scrubs and chugging the coffee. You lean against the closest locker and ask him, “How was your overnight? Any good patient stories for me?”

“Not so bad,” he offers slowly, eyeing you as he decides how best to bite your head off for scaring the shit out of him. He starts gruffly, “Looks like you and the girls had fun.”

“We definitely did,” you flit back, adjusting your hair in the mirror until it sits in a way that doesn’t scream ‘crazy night out.’ “Shayna had just dumped her latest boyfriend, so we were all-”

“I would’ve appreciated it if you told me what you were doing,” he cuts you off. He crosses his arms over his chest in full Disapproving Doctor Robinavitch stance. “I was worried.”

You pat him on the shoulder and tease with a pout, “Calm down, dad, it was just a night out. I’m a big girl.”

With other doctors nearby, he hisses out, “You didn’t even text me.”

“Didn’t realize I had to,” you cut back. You keep your tone almost flirtatious, which only pisses him off further, as you back out of the locker room and lilt,  “Thought you weren’t my boss anymore.”

You escalate from there. Taking on argumentative patients in front of him until they swing. Not sending him texts when you’re home safe. Going out to progressively seedier locations. You even ride on the back of a friend’s motorcycle with no helmet, just for a kicker, one-armed so you can take a selfie.

Robby just about has a heart attack every time.

He tries to sit with it. Tries to cope. Tries to convince himself this is some new attending version of a rebellious streak and it’ll pass because you’re still the responsible, respectable, level-headed woman he fell in love with underneath the sticky layer of glitter and sweat you come home covered in.

But then, the first night of your shared seven off, your Instagram story contains a picture of you with an unknown pastel tab of something melting on your tongue. He doesn’t need to know it’s a piece of candy from your purse; just the image is enough to make his skin crawl with an all-too-familiar mix of rage and fear.

The moment you’re home at the ass crack of dawn, he pounces. Doesn’t even give you time to shower or change into your pajamas. Just corners you by the door and demands, “What the fuck is wrong with you lately? Are you actually trying to give me an aneurysm?”

“Robby, I can make my own decisions. I’m not some kid who can’t be-”

“No, you’re my partner,” he spits back, right on the very of breaking. “You’re the one person I’m supposed to be able to rely on to – at the very fucking least – keep yourself alive for six goddamn hours without me having to be terrified.”

“There’s nothing to be terrified about,” you reply, voice ice cold as you wait it out. “You just have to trust me to-”

“Trust you? Trust you?” Robby’s tone turns shaky. Panicky. You cross your arms over your chest and let him rant and rave: “Baby, I can’t- I can’t live like this. Worried about you all the time. Watching you do things that could get you hurt or assaulted or worse. What if you end up on my table in the ED? Don’t you think about me when you’re doing that shit? Acting like you don’t have someone who loves you at home? It’s fucking killing me knowing that-”

His face falls. The realization washes over him as he watches tears fall down your cheeks. He knows they aren’t from him yelling at you, something that happens so rarely it still jolts you even though you were anticipating it. Goading him into it. His worry lines smooth out and his eyes soften until they water. His shouting voice shrinks like the wind’s been knocked out of his lungs. All he can manage is a small, “Oh.”

“Yeah, dumbass. Oh.”

A long time passes. Long enough you wonder if your hair’s made of snakes and you’ve frozen him into stone. He’s chewing on his words and tasting the bitterness of his own medicine, no spoonful of sugar to help it go down.

Eventually, he rests his big hands on your waist, presses his lips to your forehead, and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

You know how much he’s apologizing for; he doesn’t have to give you the specifics for it to land hard and heavy in your gut. You nudge upwards to touch your forehead to his. “I love you, Michael. No matter what.”

“I love you,” he replies, quiet and choked because it would tremble otherwise. He kisses you hard and, between the ache of your lips, he says like a vow, “I love you so much.”

The kiss lingers. It’s desperate, in a way, but not the kind of desperate that has you shoving toward the bedroom. Just toward each other. It’s a reminder that you’re real. Both of you.

“It was a Smartie, by the way,” you tell him as you break the kiss at last. “I’m sorry if that was too far. I know how things went down with Frank and- You know what I’m getting at, right?”

“Consider me scared straight,” he confirms. He hugs you so close you’re a little worried about your ability to breathe, but you’d give that up for him if you had to. “Please don’t ever teach me this lesson again, though.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.” You kiss him on the bridge of his perfect nose and say sternly, “I wrote down the numbers of some therapists who specialize in your particular cocktail of fucked up. We’re gonna go sleep for twelve hours, eat a carb-filled breakfast, and call them together. Got it?”

“Got it.” Robby takes one more deep breath, strokes your cheek with his thumb, and whispers, “Thank you.”

And the next time he goes out on his bike, Robby wears the damn helmet.

You looked up. Not guilty — you never looked guilty — but something close to it. "I've been here for three days. Besides, the doctor said you're fine. Also the President asked me directly to go with him."

Jack opened his mouth. Closed it.

The President.

He couldn't fight that. There was absolutely no universe in which that was a reasonable argument to counter. He looked back at his book. "Fine."

A knock at the door saved both of you from the silence that followed. It opened without waiting for an answer — Robby's particular brand of entry — and he leaned against the frame with the expression of a man who had been looking forward to this moment.

"Look at that," Robby said, taking in Jack flat in the hospital bed, book in hand, thoroughly stationary. "The most restless man I know, horizontal and staying that way." He shook his head with theatrical sadness. "Adrenaline junkies really do crash hard."

"Tell him," you said, already sliding your phone into your jacket pocket. "Oh, it feels good not being a patient this time. "By the way, Robby, do you want new medical tools? Japan has a lot."

Robby blinked, he looked at Jack. Then looked back at you. "It's your call."

"Great." You pressed a brief kiss to Jack's temple, your hand resting on his shoulder for just a second. "I'll bring more toys."

And then you were gone. The door clicked behind you. The room resumed its suspended quiet.

Robby stayed where he was, listening to the sound of heels on the corridor floor until they faded. Then he turned to Jack with a specific expression. "Did she realize Japanese medical equipment runs to millions?"

"Don't," Jack said. "That logic doesn't resonate with her."

Robby huffed a quiet laugh and pushed off the doorframe, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He sat down, the amusement settling into something more genuine. "She never left your side," he said. "Three days, Jack. I had to practically order her to sleep."

"I know," Jack said.

He did know. He had woken up twice in the night and she had been there both times — not hovering, just present. Working quietly on her laptop or simply sitting, like being nearby was something she had decided and didn't need to explain. He had watched her for a moment each time before closing his eyes again. He hadn't told her he'd noticed. He wasn't sure why.

Robby huffed a quiet laugh and pushed off the doorframe, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He sat down, the amusement settling into something more genuine. "She never left your side," he said. "Three days, Jack. I had to practically order her to sleep."

"I know," Jack said.

He did know. He had woken up twice in the night and you had been there both times — not hovering, just present. Working quietly on your laptop or simply sitting, like being nearby was something you had decided and didn't need to explain. He had watched you for a moment each time before closing his eyes again. He hadn't told you he'd noticed. He wasn't sure why.

Robby reached into his coat and pulled out a folded set of papers. "Speaking of which." He held them out. "Administrative update. Everyone's redoing emergency contacts and next of kin. Yours are blank."

Jack took the papers without comment.

Robby stood, patting the back of the chair. "Oh — and before I forget. You're not allowed to work. Not for at least three weeks."

Jack looked up from the papers. "Hmm."

"I thought you'd fight me on that."

"I promised her I wouldn't work for a while," Jack said. "And I'm going to try golf again."

Robby stared at him. "You hate golf."

"Yeah," Jack said simply. He looked back down at the papers.

Robby shook his head slowly. "She's done something to you, Abbott." He said it without any edge, just quiet observation. "Something permanent."

He left without waiting for an answer.

Jack sat with the papers in his lap for a moment. Then he uncapped his pen and started filling them out. Name, position, department — the routine information moved quickly. He turned the page.

Next of kin.

He stopped.

The line sat there, blank and official, and he looked at it for longer than made sense. He thought about the hallway outside the OR. The way Robby had said your girl is here and the words had reached him through the fog of blood loss like something physical — a rope thrown into dark water. He thought about the limits that existed because of what you weren't, technically, legally, on paper.

If something happened again — another callout, another surgery, another night where it all went wrong — you would be back in that hallway. Waiting. Powerful enough to move governments and helpless in the one moment it mattered because there was no form with your name on it.

He looked at the blank line.

Your name should be here, he thought. Your name should be the first one written.

He finished the rest of the form. Left next of kin blank for now. Folded the papers and set them on the nightstand.

Outside the window Pittsburgh was gray and ordinary and moving without him. Somewhere above it, a private jet was climbing toward Japan.

He picked up his book. Didn't read it.

He had three weeks and a golf course he hated and a next of kin line he couldn't fill in yet.

He thought about that for a long time.

The next morning Robby appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

"She bought the Pitt a hinotori system," he said.

Jack looked up from his book.

"Japanese surgical robot," Robby clarified. "Medicaroid. The director got the shipping confirmation an hour ago. He's been sitting very still ever since." A pause. "And an AI endoscopy suite. For the ER specifically."

Jack said nothing.

"The endoscopy system isn't even widely available in the US yet," Robby continued, with the measured tone of a man reading from a fact sheet he was still processing. "She apparently went directly to the manufacturer. In Tokyo." He paused. "While accompanying a head of state."

Jack looked at him for a moment. Then back to his book. "She mentioned the equipment there was good."

Robby stared at him. "That's what you got from that."

"Robby."

"Yeah."

"She bought it for the ER," Jack said quietly. Not a question.

Robby was quiet for a second. "The endoscopy suite, yeah. Specifically." He watched Jack's face. "She didn't tell you."

"No."

"Hm." Robby pushed off the doorframe. "You should probably figure out that next of kin form."

Jack didn't answer. He looked back at his book.

He didn't read it.

**********

When He Helped You Make A Business Deal

Jack had been following you around for two weeks.

In those two weeks he had probably covered more ground than most people did in a year. Singapore on Monday, back by Thursday, Dubai the following week, and somewhere in between a twenty minute video call conducted from the back of a moving car that apparently closed a nine figure deal. Your schedule was insane. He worked twelve hour night shifts in a trauma bay and your schedule made his look leisurely.

But Greg had pulled him aside on day three with the quiet satisfaction of a man whose prayers had been answered. "The schedule is better since you've been here," he said. "There's time to eat now. Actual meals. And she slept eight hours last Tuesday. Eight. I almost cried."

Jack had said nothing. But he started showing up earlier.

He also learned quickly that almost none of your real business happened inside an office. The office was for paperwork and appearances. The actual work happened elsewhere. Golf courses, private clubs, invitation-only dinners where the menu was secondary to the conversation. Your world operated on proximity and leisure dressed up as relaxation.

Like today.

"I hate this," you said, looking at the building in front of you.

Jack looked at the sign above the entrance. A private shooting range. Clay shooting, from the look of the equipment visible through the glass. "Why? I thought you liked hunting."

"I don't."

Greg appeared at your other shoulder without looking up from his tablet. "She can shoot you dead with a balance sheet from three continents away. With an actual gun?" He tilted his head toward the sky with the expression of a man searching for diplomatic phrasing. "I believe the last bullet she fired is still out there somewhere. Wandering. Lost. Looking for purpose."

"Shut up, Greg," you said.

Jack looked at you. The specific look of a man filing away new information with great interest. "That's why you mentioned the hunting week with the King of Britain."

"I'm bad at sports," you said, with the dignity of someone refusing to elaborate.

"Most sports," Greg murmured.

"Greg."

"Yes, boss."

You turned to Jack and pointed through the glass at a broad, silver haired man already positioned at the range, waiting. "That man has been making fun of my aim for three years. Every single time." You looked at Jack. "Could you do it for me?"

Jack looked at the range. Then at you. "Of course." He straightened slightly, something shifting in his posture. "Let's shut him up."

The three of you walked in together.

Your business partner turned at the sound of the door, his face opening into a wide, familiar grin when he saw you. He was the kind of man who filled a room without trying, the sort that had shaken hands with presidents and still preferred to conduct business outdoors. "Ah. Trying to beat your previous record?"

"Not today," you said smoothly. "I hurt my fingers." You held up your hand as evidence, the picture of regret. It was an absolute lie and everyone in your immediate vicinity knew it. "My boyfriend will be shooting for me."

Your business partner's eyebrows rose with genuine interest. He looked at Jack with the assessing curiosity of a man who had spent years wondering what kind of person had managed to become important to you. "So. Finally I meet the famous surgeon boyfriend." He extended a hand and Jack shook it. "I heard they're good with their hands." He held out the gun with a grin. "Show me what you've got, doc."

Jack took the gun.

He checked it first. Quietly, efficiently, with the automatic habit of someone for whom this was never casual. He tested the weight, checked the sight line, settled his stance. Not performing. Just preparing.

"One at a time to start," your business partner said to the operator, nodding toward the clay trap machine at the far end of the range.

"Throw five at once," Jack said.

The range went quiet.

Your business partner looked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Five," Jack said. "At once."

Your business partner looked at you. You looked back at him with an expression that said you had absolutely no idea what was about to happen either, which was the truth.

"You're sure," the operator said.

"Do it," Jack said.

The operator shrugged and reset the machine. Everyone took a small, instinctive step back.

Five clay discs launched into the air simultaneously, scattering across different angles and heights, the mechanical crack of the trap cutting through the quiet of the range.

Jack fired.

Five shots. So fast the sound bled together into something almost continuous. Clean, precise, no hesitation between them.

Five fragments rained down.

Nobody spoke.

Greg started clapping. Slowly at first, then with genuine enthusiasm. "New record. And that concludes our portion of the meeting."

You stared at the empty sky where five clay targets had been approximately four seconds ago. Then you started clapping, and you were not a person who clapped easily.

Your business partner let out a laugh that came from somewhere genuine. He turned to you with an expression of absolute delight. "What kind of surgeon is he?"

"He's a war veteran," you said.

The man stopped laughing. He looked at Jack with an entirely different quality of attention. Then he stepped forward and shook Jack's hand again, slower this time. "You should have told me that before." A pause. "That is genuinely impressive. I mean that."

"Thank you," Jack said simply.

Your business partner shook his head, still smiling, and turned back toward the range. "Alright. I'll admit it. I'm not following that." He glanced at you sideways. "Your fingers healed fast."

"Remarkable recovery," you agreed.

He laughed again and waved you both toward the seating area. "Come on. Let's talk business. Your boyfriend just bought you at least an hour of goodwill."

You fell into step beside Jack. Quietly, low enough that only he could hear: "Thank you."

Jack handed the gun back to the operator. "You owe me a vegetable at dinner."

You gave him a look.

"One," he said. "Your choice."

You considered this. "Fine."

Greg, two steps behind you both, looked at the sky again. This time with an expression of complete peace. Then he leaned slightly toward Jack and lowered his voice. "You just helped close a billion dollar deal."

Jack stopped walking.

You were already three steps ahead, already in conversation with your business partner, already working.

"What?" Jack said.

"One clean shot at this range means ten minutes of his time," Greg said, with the calm of someone explaining a rule everyone else already knew. "That's the tradition. He established it years ago. Nobody gets more than that unless they impress him." He paused. "You shot five in one go. Nobody has ever done that." Another pause. "Ever."

Jack looked at you across the room. You were laughing at something the man had said, easy and genuine, the meeting already moving at a pace that suggested it would run well past ten minutes.

"So that's why she wanted me to shoot," Jack said.

"She didn't know it would go like that," Greg said honestly. "She just didn't want to embarrass herself again." He straightened his jacket. "The billion dollar part was you."

Jack stood there for a moment.

He had thought it was a simple favor. A business lunch dressed up as a day at the range. The kind of thing her world did instead of conference rooms. He had picked up a gun because she asked him to and because shutting up a man who made fun of her for three years had seemed like reason enough.

He had not considered that five clay targets might be worth a billion dollars.

**************

The Time He Met Your Family (He Hates Them)

It wasn't planned.

The private jet had just landed in London, the car moving through the grey afternoon toward the hotel, when Greg looked up from his tablet with the specific expression of a man who had been waiting for the right moment and had decided this was it.

"Your cousin is getting married tomorrow," he said.

You looked up from your phone. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because if I told you earlier you wouldn't have come," Greg said simply. "And your father would have called me. For a long time. Loudly."

You looked at him for a long moment. Then you exhaled the sigh of a woman who had lost this particular battle before it started and knew it. "My aunt. Is she going?"

"She said she'll attend if you do," Greg said. "I've already ordered the dress. Doctor Abbott's suit. My suit." A brief pause. "And the makeup artist is booked for eight."

You looked at him.

"I also confirmed your seats at the family table," Greg added, returning to his tablet. "Next to your aunt. Away from the three cousins you don't like."

"Which three?"

"All of them, technically, but I've narrowed it to the worst three."

You hummed and looked back at your phone. The matter apparently settled in your mind, one way or another.

Jack watched this exchange from the seat beside you. He waited until Greg had gone back to typing. Then he asked, quietly, "Is this normal?"

You glanced at him. "Greg planning my life without telling me?"

"Greg planning your life without telling you and you accepting it."

You considered this for a second. "He's been doing it for four years. I just write the cheque." You turned a page on whatever document you were reading. "He always wins."

From the front seat Greg said, without looking up, "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment," you said.

"I know," Greg said. "Thank you anyway."

Jack looked out the window at London moving past. Grey skies, familiar chaos, the kind of city that felt like it was always in the middle of something.

"Your father's side," he said.

"Yes."

"You don't like them."

"Most of them."

"But you're going."

You were quiet for a second. "My aunt will be there." Something in your voice shifted, just slightly. The professional register dropping a degree or two into something more honest. "She was close to my mother. She's the only one from that whole side who ever." You stopped. Started again. "She shows up. That's all. She just shows up."

Jack nodded. He didn't push.

The car moved through the city. Greg typed. You read. Jack watched the streets and thought about a woman who flew across the world for business without blinking but needed a reason — one specific aunt who showed up — to walk into a room full of her own family.

"What do I need to know?" he asked.

You looked at him.

"About the family," he said. "Before tomorrow."

Something crossed your face. Not quite surprise. Something softer than that. You lowered your phone.

"How long do you have?" you said.

"We're twenty minutes from the hotel."

You looked at Greg. "Greg. Brief him."

Greg straightened with the energy of a man who had been waiting for this exact assignment. He turned slightly in his seat, tablet already open.

"Right," he said. "So. The father's side. Here's what you need to know."

Jack settled back in his seat.

It was going to be a long twenty minutes.

***********

At The Wedding 

The church was beautiful in the way that only old money could produce — flowers along every pew, light coming through stained glass in warm fractured colors.

You and Jack sat toward the middle. Close enough to see clearly, far enough from both sides of the family to breathe.

At the altar your cousin stood in white, holding the hands of the man beside her. You studied him briefly. Steady. Unhurried. Different from the others. You had lost count of the engagements somewhere around the fourth one. But this felt different.

Good for her, you thought. Finally.

Beside you Jack went still in a specific way. You recognized it immediately.

Then, from three rows back, just loud enough to carry:

"Three months, I'm telling you."

"I say eight. He looks committed."

"Committed or not, fifty says they don't see a second anniversary."

"I'll raise you a hundred. One year maximum."

Quiet laughter. The sound of money changing hands during a wedding ceremony.

Jack turned to you slowly. "Did they just make a bet?"

"Yes," you said.

"On how long the marriage lasts."

"Yes."

"During the ceremony."

"It's tradition," you said. "It started after my father's third wedding." You kept your eyes forward. "I hate it."

Jack looked at the group once more. Then back at the altar. His jaw had that specific set to it — not anger exactly. Just a man filing something under wrong and leaving it there.

"The Pitt makes bets," he said quietly. "Not like this." He found it disrespectful. Making bets on someone's wedding day, in the middle of the ceremony, while the couple stood at the altar believing the people behind them were there to wish them well. 

He Meets Your Family

At the wedding reception, Jack met your aunt from your mother's side. Warmer than your father's family but with a different kind of intrusiveness — the kind that wraps nosiness in affection so you can't object without seeming rude.

She takes both of Jack's hands when she meets him, which visibly surprises him, and looks at him with the searching intensity of someone conducting an evaluation.

"So you're the doctor," she says. "She never brings anyone. Not once. Not in years."

"Auntie—" you start.

"I'm talking to him." She doesn't release Jack's hands. "Do you love her?"

The question lands in the middle of the conversation like a dropped glass. Around you, a few nearby relatives go slightly quiet.

Jack doesn't hesitate. Doesn't perform. Just looks at the aunt steadily and says "yes."

She studies him for another long moment. Then she releases his hands, pats them once, and says to you: "Keep him."

She walks away. You stare after her. Jack watches her go with something like genuine respect.

"I like her," he says.

"She's the only one," you looked at your aunt back. She actually doesn’t want to come here, but she’s here because of you. 

********

He saw your aunt really nice, but only her. Because the rest of them are… He saw why you don’t want to come within the first ten minutes.

"Is that really him? The doctor?" A short scoff. "I thought she was smarter than that."

You had heard it. Jack could tell by the specific quality of your stillness as you stepped into the corridor. You walked toward your cousin with an unhurried pleasant expression that didn't reach your eyes.

"Cousin," you said warmly.

He turned. Smiled. "I was just—"

"I know." You stopped in front of him. "I was thinking about you recently. About the race car team."

The smile began its retreat.

"Ten million," you said, conversationally. "No conditions. No timeline. No expected return." You tilted your head. "Do you know what I recorded it as internally?"

He said nothing.

"Charity," you said. "I watched ten million dollars finish fourteenth and filed it under charity and never mentioned it again. Not because I forgot. Because I decided you weren't worth the conversation."

You stepped closer. Your voice dropped.

"I have a favorite hobby. Finding a business that deserves to be taken apart and doing it so quietly the owner doesn't realize what happened until there's nothing left to sell." You held his gaze. "I have never pointed that at family. Family is a courtesy I extend by choice." Another step. "So the next time you want an opinion about who I bring into my world, ask yourself whether your current ventures could survive my full attention."

The corridor was very quiet.

Your cousin looked at Jack. Really looked this time. Not the dismissive scan but the look of a man recalculating everything. Jack sat with his coffee, watching with the calm of someone who knew exactly how this ended.

"I'll watch my words," your cousin said. Smaller than he intended.

You patted his shoulder once. Light. Final.

"Good. Very good."

But, it seems like your warning to stop looking down at Jack is still not clear enough. Your uncle found you during the cocktail hour, glass in hand, with the particular energy of a man who had been waiting to say something and had decided now was the moment.

"So," he said, looking Jack over with an undisguised assessment. "He's the one who made you cancel the meeting with the Prime Minister."

"Because he's my top priority," you said simply.

Jack heard it land before he had time to prepare for it. Something moved through his chest, quiet and immediate. You had said it the way you said everything that was simply true — without ceremony, without softening, without looking to see how it was received. Just a fact you had already decided on.

He kept his expression neutral. But he felt it.

Your other cousin found Jack near the drinks table forty minutes later.

He was the kind of man who wore his ambition loudly, the sort who treated every social event as a pitch opportunity and every new face as a potential investor. He had a startup. He always had a startup.

"I'm developing an AI system," he said, sliding into the space beside Jack with rehearsed casualness. "Hospital efficiency. Faster processing, smarter scheduling, reduced overhead." He smiled the smile of someone who had given this speech many times. "The kind of thing that could transform how a place like the Pitt operates."

Jack went still in a specific way.

Your cousin read the stillness as interest. He leaned in slightly, already calculating. If Jack was interested then perhaps you would be interested. The investment practically walked itself in.

"The ROI projections are significant," your cousin continued. "We're talking about real transformation. Smarter systems, better data, faster throughput—"

"Throughput," Jack said quietly.

"Exactly, faster patient—"

"You're not saving time," Jack said. His voice was level and unhurried, the voice he used when he had already assessed a situation completely. "You're clearing the schedule so the board can push five more patients into every shift. That's not efficiency. That's how you burn out a doctor." 

He tilted his head slightly. "And the patients? They're already being squeezed by insurance on every side. Now you add licensing fees on top of that. Then the hospital spends a fortune on cybersecurity to protect the database your system runs on." He paused. "You get richer. The hospital looks efficient on paper. And the patient gets a bill they can't afford at the end of it." A beat. "Don't call it care. It's just better math."

The space around them had gone quiet.

Your cousin stood very still with the expression of a man whose rehearsed speech had been taken apart with surgical precision and handed back to him in pieces.

Jack picked up his drink and took a calm sip.

You had caught the last half of it from three feet away. You looked at Jack with an expression you rarely wore in public. Genuine, unguarded surprise.

"How do you know all of that?" you said.

Jack glanced at you. "Being with you twenty four hours a day teaches you things."

From your left your aunt appeared, materializing the way she always did, at exactly the right moment. She looked at Jack. Then at your cousin's retreating back. Then she leaned close to your ear.

"He's a doctor," she whispered. "He understands business. And he just made that smug boy very quiet." A pause. "I like him."

************

The Kids

You didn't see them coming.

Suddenly there were small hands grabbing your dress and a chorus of voices saying your name with the shameless urgency that only children under ten could produce.

Three of them. Your cousin's kids. Dressed in miniature formal wear that was already coming undone — a loosened tie, a flower crown slightly sideways, a jacket abandoned somewhere entirely.

"Auntie!" The oldest grabbed your hand with both of hers. "We didn't know you were coming!"

"Auntie, Star cleared the oxer last week!" she continued, squeezing your hand. "Papa said she might be ready for junior circuit next year."

"She better be," you said. "I didn't pick that bloodline for leisure riding."

The middle one tugged your sleeve. "Can we get another one? For competitions?"

"Let's see if you can stay on the first one before we discuss a second."

All three erupted in protests simultaneously.

Jack leaned toward you. "Star?"

"I bought them a horse," you said simply, patting the oldest one's head. "He joined equestrian. Wants to be in the Olympics."

"Yes!" The youngest grabbed your arm and started pulling toward the dessert table. "They have the little cakes. Come on, come on!"

You looked back at Jack over your shoulder. The expression on your face was something he had never seen in a boardroom or a hospital. Pure and unguarded and completely unaware of itself.

Jack held up a hand. Go.

You disappeared into a wave of small formal wear.

He watched you go. The woman who had once calmly asked if hackers should be neutralized was currently being dragged toward a dessert table by a five year old and letting it happen. Willingly. With something that looked unmistakably like joy.

He stood there with his drink and thought quietly that there were entire rooms inside you that most people never got to see. The world knew the shark, the CEO, the woman who made boardrooms go quiet. Almost nobody knew this.

He wanted to be the person who always knew this.

"The doctor."

Jack turned. Your father had materialized beside him with the unhurried ease of a man who moved through rooms on his own schedule.

"The father," Jack said.

They stood side by side. A silence settled between them, not hostile, just two people deciding how much to say.

"I heard you were shot," your father said.

"I survived."

Your father looked at him properly, with the measuring gaze of a man who rarely updated his conclusions. Something in it seemed to satisfy him. "You have more balls than any man in this room." A short genuine laugh. "No wonder my daughter likes you."

Jack said nothing. He took a quiet sip of his drink.

Across the room you reappeared from the dessert table, the three kids still orbiting you like small overdressed satellites. The youngest held a miniature cake. The oldest was telling you something with elaborate hand gestures. You were listening with the same full attention you gave boardrooms and crises.

Your father watched this. "Where is their nanny," he said, less a question than an observation.

You rolled your eyes without looking at him. The gesture was clearly decades old.

Your father glanced at Jack and tilted his head toward you. "This is why the children have no respect for her."

The kids shuffled immediately behind your back, using you as a shield. The youngest peered around your hip at your father with enormous eyes.

"And this," you said pleasantly, "is why they're afraid of you."

"They need structure," your father said. "A proper nanny. Boarding school when they're old enough."

"That's how you did it," you said. "And look how well that turned out."

"I will hire help when I need it," you continued. "But I am not sending my children to boarding school."

"Your children."

"Hypothetically."

"You're already decided."

"That's why I turned out more human than the others," you said quietly. "Because my mom was there for me."

The words landed with the weight of something long overdue.

Your father went still. Not the boardroom stillness. Something older. He looked at his glass for a moment, then at you. The sharp edges of his expression shifted into something that looked briefly like a man confronting an accounting he had been avoiding for years.

"She was," he said finally. Just that.

It wasn't an apology. You both knew that. But from him, in this room, it was the closest thing to one you had ever received.

"Regardless," he said, voice returning to its usual register. "You cannot run a company and raise children without proper structure."

"I didn't say it without help," you said. "I said without shipping them off so I don't have to look at them."

"That is not what boarding school is."

"It's exactly what it is for people like us and you know it."

"It builds character."

"It builds distance. I've seen enough of the results to know the difference."

"You are so."

"Like you," you finished. "I know."

He pointed at you. "That is not the compliment you think it is."

"It wasn't meant to be one."

Greg appeared quietly behind Jack, materializing from nowhere the way he always did.

Jack looked at him. "How long are they going to argue like this?"

Greg considered this with apparent sincerity. "Oh, this is actually them getting along."

Jack stared at him.

Then he looked back at you, still holding the youngest child's hand, still squaring up to your father with complete calm, the other two kids peering around your back like you were a personal fortification.

Jack thought about the blank line on the next of kin form. He thought about it for the rest of the evening.

**************

After The Wedding

The car was quiet on the way back.

Jack was looking out the window, and you recognized the particular quality of his silence. He was processing. Filing things away in the careful methodical way he processed everything that mattered to him.

"I realized something tonight," he said finally.

You looked at him.

"It's not just your father who talks down to you," he said. "It's most of them."

You were quiet for a moment. Outside the city moved past in the dark. "They have loose mouths," you said. "Always have."

"How did you live through that?"

You considered the question honestly. "Spite," you said. "My spite toward them fueled me to be better. Every time one of them wrote me off or talked over me or bet against me, I went back to work." You shrugged one shoulder. "It was useful."

Jack crossed his arms slowly. "It'll destroy you."

"It already destroyed my appendix," you said.

He looked at you. You looked back at him with the calm of someone stating a simple fact.

He shook his head. Then he reached over and pulled you into him, his arm coming around your shoulders, steady and certain. You let yourself lean in without making a thing of it.

"I don't like it here," you said against his shoulder. "But with you here it's bearable. A bit."

Jack rested his chin lightly against your hair. "Next time just send Greg."

********

The Proposal 

After months of traveling, Jack finally came back to the Pitt.

He found Robby between cases, the way he always found Robby, leaning against the nurse's station with a coffee and the expression of a man with five minutes before the next thing arrived.

Jack told him everything.

The wedding. The betting. The cousin and the ten million dollars and the way you had dismantled him in a corridor without raising your voice. Your father and the conversation that was somehow both a confrontation and a consolidation. The kids grabbing your hand at the cocktail hour, dragging you toward the dessert table, and the look on your face when you let them. The way you stood at the back of the reception watching the couple on the dancefloor with something quiet and unguarded in your expression.

The way you had said, almost to yourself, "somewhere like that."

Robby listens to all of it. Then sets down his coffee.

"Marry her."

Jack is quiet.

"You already know," Robby says. "You've known for a while. So stop thinking about it and do it."

That's it. That's the whole conversation. Jack doesn't argue because there's nothing to argue. Robby is right and they both know it.

He goes home that night and calls Greg.

******

The Night He Asked

It was quiet on the drive home.

That was the first sign something was off. Greg was never quiet. Greg filled silence the way other people filled paperwork — efficiently, continuously, without being asked. But tonight he drove without commentary, his eyes on the road, his tablet conspicuously closed on the seat beside him.

You looked out the window. The road wasn't the way home. "Where are we going?"

"There's a firework event," Greg said. "At the park."

You checked your watch. At least half an hour to spare. You didn't want to keep Jack waiting too long at home. "There's time."

Greg had been driving you here for years when the pressure built past a certain point. You didn't always ask him to. He just knew. The walking helped. The trees helped. The fact that it was a place with no conference rooms and no agendas helped most of all.

He pulled up to the entrance and you got out without waiting, already feeling the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease just from the smell of the air. Grass and evening and something cooling after a long day.

You walked.

The park was quieter than you expected for a firework event. The path was lit softly, small lights threaded through the trees on either side, and you followed it without thinking, letting your mind go through its usual process of unwinding. A problem here, set it down. A meeting tomorrow, noted and released. The accumulated weight of the week, item by item, left on the path behind you.

Then you stopped.

Ahead of you, where the path curved toward the open space near the water, there was a flower arch. Your favorite — white and soft and full, lit from within by small warm lights that made the whole thing glow against the darkening sky. More lights were strung between the nearby trees, catching the last of the evening and turning it into something else entirely. A small table. A musician sitting quietly to one side, an instrument in his lap, not yet playing.

You stood there for a moment just looking at it.

You had wondered why the firework event felt romantic. You understood now that it was not a firework event.

And then you saw Jack.

He was standing at the center of it, under the arch, in a suit you recognized because you had watched Greg pack it three weeks ago and hadn't thought anything of it at the time. He was watching you with the expression he used when he had made a decision and was completely at peace with it.

Your feet carried you toward him before you consciously decided to move.

"You did all this," you said. It came out quieter than you intended.

"Greg helped," Jack said.

You looked around at the arch, the lights, the musician, the table set for two. Then back at him. "Greg helped," you repeated.

"Significantly," Jack said. "He cried twice during the planning process."

"He cries at everything."

"He cried at the flower selection," Jack said. "Specifically."

A breath of a laugh escaped you. Unexpected and unguarded, the kind that came out when your armor was already gone without you noticing. You looked at him and felt the full weight of the moment settling around you like something physical.

"Jack," you said softly.

"I know you don't need anything I can give you," he said. His voice was steady but there was something underneath it that you had never quite heard before. Something he was choosing to let out. "I know that. I've always known that. You have everything. You've built everything. You don't need someone to take care of you financially or professionally or in any of the ways people usually talk about when they talk about partnership."

He paused. Not because he lost the words. Because he was choosing the next ones carefully.

"But I've watched you carry things that nobody else sees," he continued. "The weight of your name and your father and a company you've been fighting for your entire life. I've watched you sit in hospitals and boardrooms and cars and planes and I've watched you hold all of it together without ever once asking anyone to help you hold it."

His voice dropped slightly.

"You came back from Japan when I was in surgery," he said. "You left a head of state. You sat in a hallway where they wouldn't tell you anything because you weren't family and you stayed anyway." He looked at her steadily. "I don't want you to ever be in a hallway again where you're not family."

You were very still.

"I can't give you what you can give yourself," Jack said. "I know that. I'm not going to pretend otherwise." He took a breath. "But I can give you somewhere to put it down. All of it. I can be the place where you don't have to hold anything. Where you don't have to be the CEO or the shark or your father's daughter or anyone's successor." He held your gaze. "I can be your person. Permanently. Legally. Completely."

He reached into his jacket pocket. The ring caught the light from the arch as he held it out — and you recognized it immediately. Your mother's ring. Your grandmother's before that. The one that had never belonged to your father's story.

Your hand came up to cover your mouth before you could stop it.

"I went to your aunt," he said simply.

"She cried," you managed.

"Twenty minutes," he said. "Before she said yes."

You let out a sound that was almost a laugh and almost something else entirely. Your eyes were doing things you would never normally allow in front of anyone. Jack had seen them before. He was the only one who had.

He went down on one knee.

"You're the most capable person I have ever met," he said, looking up at you. "And you deserve someone who sees every part of you. Not just the part that runs rooms." A pause. "I see all of it. I want all of it."

A beat.

"Marry me."

Not a question. A statement of intent from a man who had already decided and was simply informing you of the facts, the way he always did, the way that had somehow always worked on you more than anything else ever had.

You looked at the ring. At him. At the ring again.

Your aunt had kept it all these years. Jack had found it. He had gone quietly and carefully and found the one thing that connected you to the version of love that hadn't been ruined yet, the version that existed before your father made a mess of everything, and he had brought it here and gotten on one knee in your favorite park under your favorite flowers and said the truest thing anyone had ever said to you.

You took the ring from him. Slid it onto your own finger, which made him exhale something that was almost a laugh.

"Yes," you said. Your voice was steady. Mostly. "Obviously yes."

Jack stood. He took your face in both hands, careful and certain, and kissed you once. Quiet and complete.

Behind you, at a distance he had calculated to be respectful but not so far he couldn't see, Greg lowered his phone from recording position. His other hand was pressed flat against his mouth. His shoulders were shaking.

The musician began to play.

Somewhere above the park the first firework went up — a real one, as it turned out, because Greg had arranged that too — and the light broke open across the sky in a wash of gold.

You didn't look up at it.

You were already looking at Jack.

*******

The Preparation

It started with a question, the way most things between you did.

Jack had been leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, watching you work through your morning emails with the focused efficiency of someone who had already mentally scheduled the next six months. He waited until you looked up.

"Where should we have the wedding?"

You went quiet. Not the thinking quiet, not the calculating quiet. Just still for a moment, like the answer had been sitting there already and only needed to be collected.

"Pittsburgh," you said.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

"We could do it abroad," you said. "But it would take a lot of work. And I want the Pitt crew there." You looked at him. "I want people who will actually wish us well. Not people who will bet on how long we last."

Jack was quiet for a second. Something moved across his face that he didn't try to hide. You had said it simply, practically, the way you said most things. But the fact that his people, his second family in their scrubs and their chaos, were the ones you wanted around you on that day, that you had chosen Pittsburgh not for convenience but for them. It settled in his chest like something permanent.

"There's a hotel we own," you continued, already reaching for your phone. "I'll have Greg reserve it for three days. Full building."

"We?" Jack said.

You looked up. "You own my business, Jack Abbott." A small, certain smile. "You married into this. No turning back. Welcome to the board."

He stared at you. "I didn't sign anything."

"Greg will send the papers."

"Of course he will."

You were already typing. "Have you told your family?"

"Yup. Have you told yours?"

You didn't look up. "I only want my father and my aunt. That's it."

"Perfect," Jack said. He picked up his coffee. "I was this close to preparing sleeping pills for the rest of your relatives anyway."

You looked at him.

"Medically appropriate dosage," he said pleasantly. "Nothing they wouldn't wake up from."

"Jack."

"They'd miss the wedding. Feels terrible about it. Send very expensive gifts out of guilt." He took a sip. "Everyone wins."

You stared at him for a long moment. Then you looked back at your phone. "I'm pretending I didn't hear that."

"That's probably wise," he agreed.

The Wedding

The guests arrived through the afternoon.

There were not many of them. That was the first thing people noticed. No sprawling guest list, no industry names, no faces borrowed from a networking spreadsheet. Just people who actually knew them. The room felt like breathing space rather than performance, and everyone in it seemed to understand, without being told, that this was intentional.

The Pitt crew arrived together.

This was not a surprise. They had carpooled from the hospital with the coordinated chaos of people who spent twelve hour shifts in close proximity and had stopped pretending they needed personal space. They came through the hotel entrance in a cluster, still mid-conversation, and then stopped collectively as the lobby registered.

Mateo turned a slow circle, taking in the ceiling, the floors, the fresh flowers arranged at every surface. "She rented the whole hotel," he said. "For three days."

"Yeah," Shen said.

"The whole hotel."

"That's what three days means, Mateo."

Ellis was already moving toward the front desk with the focused energy of a woman who had been promised a spa and intended to locate it immediately. "We have free rooms," she said, mostly to herself. "Free spa. I cannot wait to see my room." She paused at the desk and looked back at the group. "Do you think the robes are the good kind?"

"They're her hotel," Dana said. "They're the good kind."

Mateo found the coffee machine in his room twelve minutes later and sent a photo to the group without comment. The photo was of the machine. Just the machine. Centered. Well lit. It required no caption.

Shen sent back a single word. Same.

*******

Down the corridor, in the room set aside for the groom, it was considerably quieter.

Jack was standing at the window in his shirt and trousers, jacket hanging on the back of the chair, tie not yet on. He was looking out at Pittsburgh with the stillness of a man who was not anxious exactly but was feeling the full weight of a moment.

Robby came in without knocking, which was his way, and closed the door behind him. He looked at Jack. Jack looked at the city.

"You good?" Robby asked.

"Yeah," Jack said.

Robby crossed the room and stood beside him. They were quiet together for a moment, the way they were quiet in the Pitt between cases, comfortable and unhurried.

"She reserved the whole hotel," Robby said. "For the crew."

"I know."

"She didn't tell anyone. It was just ready when we got here."

"That's how she does things," Jack said.

Robby nodded slowly. He looked at Jack's profile for a moment. "You nervous?"

"No," Jack said. Then, after a beat. "Maybe a little."

"Good," Robby said.

*************

Upstairs, in the suite at the end of the east corridor, the morning had been considerably more emotional.

Your aunt had cried three times before the makeup artist finished the first eye. She had been escorted out gently but firmly after the second round of damage, still dabbing at her face with a handkerchief, still trying to say something coherent through the tears, and told that she could come back when she had collected herself.

She had not yet collected herself.

The room was quiet now. You stood in front of the mirror in your dress and looked at yourself for a long moment. Not checking. Just looking. The person looking back at you was the same one who had walked into a trauma bay years ago clutching her stomach, refusing surgery, convinced that stopping for even a day would mean losing everything.

She had been wrong about that. It had taken a night shift doctor and a plastic chair and a prescription slip to show her how wrong.

A knock at the door.

"Come in," you said.

Your father stepped into the room. He was dressed impeccably, as always, not a detail out of place. But he stopped when he saw you and something happened to his face that you had seen perhaps twice in your entire life. The careful architecture of his expression simply came apart for a moment, undone by something he hadn't expected to feel this strongly.

"What?" you said.

"You look beautiful," he said. Quietly. Like the words surprised him on the way out.

"Thank you," you said. The two words came out softer than you intended.

He moved further into the room. He looked at you the way people looked at things they knew they were about to let go of, taking inventory, trying to hold the image.

"Is he the right one?" he asked. "There's still time. If you have any doubt at all."

You turned to face him fully. "You should have asked yourself that question. Approximately three marriages ago."

He had the grace to absorb that without deflecting. "I went through it," he said. "Those were my mistakes. I know what they cost." He paused. "You're my only daughter. I don't want you to go through any version of what I put your mother through."

You had not expected that. Not the words and not the look that came with them, something tired and honest and stripped of the usual performance. He was not making a point. He was not positioning. He was just a father standing in a hotel room looking at his daughter on her wedding day and meaning what he said.

"He's the one," you said.

Your father was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded once, the nod of a man who has updated a position and will not revisit it. "Good," he said. "I believe your judgement. I always have. Even when I made it harder than it needed to be."

He offered his arm.

You looked at it for a second. This man who had turned your inheritance into a competition, who had made you fight for every room you walked into, who had driven you to a hospital bed and a stranger's plastic chair and accidentally, unknowingly, to the best thing that had ever happened to you.

You took his arm.

It had never once crossed your mind that you would walk down the aisle with your father. Too much history, too many rooms where you had stood on opposite sides of everything. But here you were, his hand over yours, moving together toward the doors at the end of the corridor.

"You're not going to cry, are you," you said.

"Absolutely not," he said.

A pause.

"Your aunt has cried enough for both families," he added.

"She has," you agreed.

The doors opened.

The hall was warm and full of light, flowers arranged along every surface, candles burning in rows that turned the whole room golden. And the faces. You saw them before anything else. The Pitt crew, cleaned up and dressed in their best, looking like a completely different set of people from the ones you usually found in scrubs over a trauma bay. Mateo in a suit that actually fit. Ellis with her hair done, sitting straight and bright-eyed. Shen looking quietly emotional already and trying not to show it. Dana watching the door with an expression she would later describe as composed and which was not composed at all.

Your aunt in the front row, handkerchief already raised.

Greg, three rows back, recording everything on his phone with the focus of a man documenting history.

Lilly, standing at the front, who had been holding herself together all morning and was now very clearly not holding herself together.

And Jack.

He was standing at the altar in his suit, hands clasped in front of him, and he was watching you walk toward him with an expression that had nothing held back in it. No clinical neutrality, no careful composure. Just him, fully present, completely undone in the quietest possible way. His jaw was tight. His eyes were bright.

Robby, standing beside him as best man, noticed. He leaned slightly toward Jack and pressed a folded tissue into his hand without a word, with the efficiency of a man who had come prepared.

Jack took it without looking at him.

You kept walking. Your father's arm steady under your hand, the room warm around you, every face you passed a person who had genuinely wished for this.

When you reached the altar your father stopped. He looked at Jack for a moment. The two men regarded each other with the particular understanding of people who had already said the hard things and arrived somewhere on the other side of them.

"Take care of her," your father said. Not a command. Not a warning. Something quieter than either.

"I know," Jack said.

Your father took your hand and placed it in Jack's. Then he pulled you into a brief, firm hug, the kind that said more than he would ever find words for, and stepped back to take his seat.

You turned to Jack.

He was looking at you the way he had looked at you in the ER the very first time, like you were the clearest thing in the room. Like everything else was background.

"Hi," you said softly.

"Hi," he said.

His thumb moved once across the back of your hand. Steady and certain and very him.

The priest began to speak.

The room settled into a hush, warm and full and held by everyone in it. Outside Pittsburgh moved through its ordinary afternoon, entirely unaware that in a hotel ballroom two people who had found each other in an emergency room were making it permanent.

Inside, it was everything you had said you wanted.

Small. Real. People who knew you.

The rest of it, the rings and the words and the moment the priest said what he said and Jack looked at you and you looked back at him, that part belonged only to the two of you.

Some things don't need an audience to be true.

They just need to happen.

And this one did.

*************

The Reception and The Morning After

The reception was everything a wedding should be and nothing it didn't need to be.

The food came out in waves, each one better than the last, the kind of meal that made people stop mid-conversation just to acknowledge what was happening on their plate. The DJ read the room perfectly, pulling the energy up and letting it breathe at exactly the right moments. A singer came on after midnight and the dancefloor, which had started cautiously, became something genuinely joyful.

It was loud and warm and real in the way that only happens when every person in a room actually wants to be there.

But the moment that made the hotel truly erupt was later.

When the guests finally made their way upstairs, full and happy and slightly overwhelmed by the evening, they found their rooms waiting. The coffee machine they already knew about. The massage gun they had discovered earlier. But on the desk beside them was something else. An envelope. Inside, a cheque.

Each one different, each one specific. Some covered rent. Some cleared medical school debt that had been sitting quietly for years. Some handled bills that people had stopped mentioning out loud because mentioning them had stopped feeling useful.

The calls started within minutes. Room to room, corridor to corridor, voices spilling under doors and through walls. Mateo's laugh was audible from two floors down. Someone, nobody admitted who, started crying in the stairwell. The hotel, which had been built for quiet luxury, handled the noise with grace.

Greg, sitting in the small office he had commandeered near the lobby, listened to the sounds traveling down through the building and allowed himself exactly one minute of satisfaction before going back to his tablet.

******

The next morning the hotel restaurant was warm and unhurried, sunlight coming through the tall windows, the kind of breakfast that had no agenda attached to it.

You and Jack came down together.

The crew was already there, spread across two tables that had been pushed together at some point without asking permission. They looked up when you walked in and the table got louder immediately.

Dana stood first. She crossed the room and hugged you before you could say anything, properly, with both arms, the way Dana did everything when she decided to do it. "Thank you," she said quietly, close to your ear. "For all of it. The room, the cheque, everything." She stopped. Started again. "Just. Thank you."

Ellis was next, which surprised you because Ellis expressed warmth in precise, careful doses. She took your hand in both of hers and looked at you with the direct, steady gaze she used when she meant something completely. "You deserve every good thing," she said simply. "Both of you."

Mateo bypassed formality entirely and hugged Jack first, which Jack endured with the expression of a man who had accepted that this was happening. "Best wedding I've ever been to," Mateo said, pulling back. "And I've been to eleven. This was the best one. It wasn't close."

Shen raised his coffee cup from across the table without getting up, which was entirely Shen. "Congratulations," he said. "Long marriage. Many years. And please keep the coffee machine coming."

Then Robby stood up.

The table went quiet on its own, the way it always did when Robby had something to say. He was holding an envelope in one hand, different from the others, thicker. He had not opened it at the table. You knew he had opened it last night, alone in his room, because Greg had told you so in a single text message. Just the words: he sat with it for a while.

He looked at Jack first. "You're the best doctor I've ever worked with," he said. "And I've worked with a lot of doctors. Most of them insufferable." A beat. "You're only occasionally insufferable. That counts for something."

Jack said nothing. But something in his face shifted quietly.

Then Robby looked at you. He held up the envelope slightly. "Round the world tickets," he said. His voice was steady but carrying something underneath it. "For two." He paused. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," you said.

"She mentioned she wanted to see more of the world," Robby continued, and you knew without asking that he meant his girlfriend, the cardiologist who had borrowed your jet and changed everything. "I don't know how you knew that."

"She mentioned it to me," you said simply.

Robby let out a breath that was almost a laugh. He looked down at the envelope for a second, then back at you both. "I've watched a lot of people come through the Pitt," he said. "Patients, staff, families. You learn pretty quickly who people actually are when things get hard." He looked at Jack. Then at you. "You two are the real thing. Anyone who's been paying attention knows that." He raised his coffee cup. "Long marriage. Many years. And maybe some kids who inherit her bank account and his patience."

"Hear hear," said Mateo immediately.

"Strongly seconded," Ellis added.

You looked at Jack. He looked back at you. "I told you," you said. "I told you they would wish us well." You felt it settle in your chest, warm and certain. "Not a single bet. Not like my family."

Jack pressed his lips together. Something in his expression shifted in a way you recognized.

"Jack," you said slowly.

"Hm."

"They're not making bets."

A pause. Brief. Telling.

"Jack Abbott."

He leaned toward you and lowered his voice so it landed only at your ear. "The bet," he said carefully, "is on how many kids we're going to have."

The heat reached your ears before your brain finished processing the sentence. You turned to look at the table. Mateo was studying the ceiling. Shen had become very interested in his orange juice. Dana had her coffee cup raised high enough to cover most of her face. Ellis was the only one who met your eyes, completely unashamed, with the expression of a woman who had put money on a specific number and felt good about it.

The laugh came out before you could stop it. Sudden and real and completely unguarded, the kind that turned heads at the neighboring tables.

Jack watched you laugh with the quiet, settled expression of a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted.

"How much?" you managed finally.

"The pot is considerable," Jack said.

"Who started it?"

Everyone at the table found something else to look at simultaneously.

"Greg," Jack said.

*********

The Abbott Kids

Just like the Pitt crew had wished, you and Jack had two kids. Robby, Dana, and Ellis won the bet. Their names were Nora Abbott and Leo Abbott. 

By the time Nora turned six and Leo turned five, the Pitt staff had collectively accepted that the Abbott children were simply part of the hospital's ecosystem now.

Nora was yours in every way that mattered. She had your energy, your confidence, and your absolute refusal to accept any situation she hadn't personally approved of. She walked into rooms like she already owned them or was actively considering the purchase. She could negotiate her way out of anything and expressed her opinions with a directness that made grown adults briefly reconsider their positions. She was six years old and she already had a preferred table at two restaurants in Pittsburgh.

Leo was a different story.

He had Jack's eyes. Jack's quiet. Jack's way of standing slightly apart from a situation and watching it fully before deciding to enter it. He followed Jack to the Pitt on weekends with the focused dedication of someone who had already picked a direction and was simply gathering information. He was five and had already correctly identified two ear infections and one case of strep throat among the neighborhood kids. Jack confirmed all three without comment, but something in his expression each time suggested he was filing it away carefully.

They were nothing alike. Except that both of them were completely certain of themselves.

Jack said this was good. You said it was inevitable. You were both right.

************

Leo had been following Jack around the Pitt since he could walk fast enough to keep up.

He was quiet about it the way Jack was quiet about everything. He watched the nurses with careful attention, sat at the station with a juice box and said very little, but his eyes moved constantly. The staff had adopted him completely. Mateo taught him card tricks. Ellis let him listen through her stethoscope. Shen had made the mistake of explaining blood pressure readings and now Leo checked his own wrist with two fingers every morning at breakfast.

He was five and the Pitt already felt like home.

Which meant he had opinions about it.

"Dad," Leo said, falling into step beside Jack between bays, small legs working double time. "You could be the director."

"No thanks," Jack said.

"Mom doesn't officially own the hospital. But you're her husband. You have authority."

"I've seen your mother run things," Jack said. "I know what it costs. No thanks."

Leo considered this for two seconds. "Then why stay if you could have more power?"

Jack stopped. He looked down at his son and gave him the real answer, because Leo always knew the difference.

"Because the director gets nervous when I'm around," he said. "And I find that extremely entertaining."

Leo stared at him. Then came the slow quiet smile — Jack's exact smile.

Robby appeared from around the corner. He looked at Leo. Then at Jack. "What kind of vocabulary are you teaching him?"

"His kindergarten is already teaching him to buy gold," Jack said.

Robby looked at Leo. "Is that true?"

"Next week we learn about stocks," Leo said seriously.

Robby patted his head slowly. "Good job."

Leo accepted this with a small dignified nod and kept following Jack down the corridor.

Robby watched them go and shook his head.

"He's going to take over this place someday," he said to nobody.

From the nurse's station Ellis didn't look up. "He already knows which attending to avoid and where the good coffee is." A pause. "He's halfway there."

*************

Nora had been following you to work since she was four.

It started because you had a breakfast meeting, the nanny called in sick, and Greg said with complete confidence that it would be fine. It was fine. Nora sat at the corner of the conference table with a juice box and a coloring book and didn't make a single sound for two hours. Three board members commented afterward that she had better meeting presence than most of their junior executives.

She was six now and Greg had stopped pretending she needed supervision.

She walked beside you through the office with the proprietary ease of someone who had decided this was also her domain. Occasionally her small hand would reach up for yours in a crowded corridor, but otherwise she moved with complete independence.

"Greg," she said, passing his desk without stopping. "The eleven o'clock ran over yesterday. It shouldn't run over."

Greg looked up from his tablet. Then at you. Then back at Nora. "You're right," he said seriously. "I'll adjust the buffer."

"Thank you," Nora said, and kept walking.

You looked at Greg over your shoulder. He was already typing, completely unbothered.

You caught up to Nora. "You're six," you said.

"The meeting ran over," she said simply.

You had nothing to argue with that.

The harder moments came at family events.

Your father's side had not entirely adjusted to the fact that you were no longer available to be pressured into financial decisions. Most had learned this the hard way. But there were always one or two who tried again at gatherings, convinced that the presence of children would soften you.

They had not accounted for Nora.

At a family lunch one of your cousins cornered you near the drinks table, already three sentences into a pitch, when Nora appeared at your side.

She looked up at him. He looked down at her with the instinctive softening people had around small children. First mistake.

"My mom is busy," Nora said.

"I'm just having a conversation—"

"She's busy," Nora said again. Final.

He looked at you. You looked back with the neutral expression of a woman genuinely curious how this would resolve.

He tried again. "I just wanted to discuss a small opportunity—"

Nora's face crumpled. Carefully. Gradually. The lip wobble, the glassy eyes, one single tear tracking down her cheek with impeccable timing.

"I just wanted to spend time with my mom," she said, at exactly the frequency that activated guilt in every adult within ten feet. "But someone always takes her away."

Your cousin looked like he had committed a crime. He muttered something about catching up another time and retreated quickly.

Nora watched him go. The tears stopped with the efficiency of someone turning off a tap.

You looked down at her. "Where did you learn that."

"Learn what?" she said.

You studied her face. It gave you nothing.

Later you stood in Greg's doorway. "Did you teach my daughter to fake cry."

Greg maintained eye contact with the composure of a man who had prepared for this. "I taught her that emotional intelligence is a valuable tool in high pressure social situations."

"Greg."

"She asked," he said simply. "She was very specific. I provided educational support."

You stared at him. Then left without responding because you didn't entirely disagree.

That night at dinner Jack watched Nora  and Leo eat their vegetables unprompted. Unlike you, they like to eat veggies.

"What did she do?" he said quietly.

"Made a grown man feel guilty for existing," you said. "Using tears."

Jack looked at Nora. Nora looked at her plate. The picture of innocence.

Jack looked at Nora. Nora looked at her plate. The picture of innocence. 

"She took it seriously," Jack said. 

"It was you?.” 

"I told her to guard you when I'm not there," he said simply. He picked up his fork. 

You turned to Nora. She looked up and caught you both watching her. She smiled. Your smile, arriving with complete confidence, knowing exactly what it was doing. 

"She's yours," Jack said. 

"She really is," you agreed. 

*********

It started at the dinner table, the way most things in the Abbott household started — without warning and with complete commitment from both parties.

"Doctors don't make as much money as CEOs," Nora said, with the casual authority of someone stating a fact she had verified personally.

Leo looked up from his rice. "Doctors save lives."

"CEOs create jobs," Nora said. "Which also saves lives. Indirectly."

"That's not the same thing."

"It's related."

Leo put his chopsticks down, which in Abbott family body language meant he was taking this seriously. "Dad pulled someone back from a flatline last week."

"Mom pulled three companies back from bankruptcy last month," Nora said. "That's three sets of employees who still have income. Which means they can afford healthcare." She tilted her head slightly. "Which means they can afford doctors."

Leo stared at her. "You can't put a price on saving someone's life."

"You can't run a hospital without funding," Nora said. "Who do you think pays for dad's equipment?"

A brief silence.

"Mom," Leo said.

"Exactly," Nora said.

You and Jack had stopped eating approximately thirty seconds into this exchange. You were both sitting very still in the way of people who had recognized something extraordinary was happening and did not want to interrupt it.

Jack looked at you. You looked at Jack.

Leo picked his chopsticks back up, regrouped, and tried a different angle. "Dad works nights. He misses sleep. He misses dinners. He does it because people need him." He paused. "That's noble."

Nora considered this genuinely, which you recognized as a dangerous sign. It meant she was about to say something that would end the argument.

"Dad is noble," she agreed. "Mom is powerful." She picked up her glass. "Noble people make the world better. Powerful people make it possible for noble people to do that." She took a sip. "They need each other."

Leo was quiet for a moment.

Then he looked at Jack. "Dad."

"Yeah," Jack said.

"She's right."

Jack picked up his chopsticks. "I know."

"That's annoying," Leo said.

"Yeah," Jack said again. "Get used to it."

Nora said nothing. She returned to her dinner with the composure of a woman who had made her point and saw no need to elaborate.

You pressed your lips together very hard.

Jack nudged your foot under the table without looking at you.

You nudged back.

Above the table your two children ate their dinner in the temporary peace of people who had reached a conclusion and were already, quietly, preparing for the next disagreement.

After a moment Jack leaned slightly toward you. Low enough that it stayed between the two of you. "Noble and powerful," he said.

"She's six," you said.

"She quoted supply chain logic at dinner."

"She learned it from me."

"She applied it correctly," Jack said. "That part was her."

You looked at Nora, currently eating with perfect posture and the satisfied energy of someone who had filed the evening under completed business. Then at Leo, who was asking Jack something about blood pressure with the focused intensity he brought to everything that interested him.

"We made interesting kids," you said quietly.

Jack considered this for a second. "Terrifying kids."

"Same thing," you said.

Jack picked up his glass. "Yeah," he said. "Same thing."

He turned to you with those sad eyes and immediately pulled you into his arms. “Thank you for coming in. It’s been…a day.”

“I gathered.” You wrapped your arms around him to return the hug. “You okay?”

“Better now.”

The two of you parted and he gave you a quick rundown of the patients and the situation in chairs. While you worked you made a habit of finding Robby whenever you could. Your fingers would find the hair at the nape of his neck and rub gently. It was a self soothing gesture he’d done since he was a kid. One you’d picked up on to help him when he was really stressed, you calming him better than he could ever do by himself.

Every time he closed his eyes and just let himself sink into the sensation for a moment. Neither of you thought much of it, having done the routine for years at this point.

Jack returned from his SWAT run expecting to find you still in bed or maybe curled up on the couch. Instead, he found a note stating you’d headed into work. He frowned then got ready to follow you. He wasn’t sitting around the house by himself.

His eyes scanned the ED taking in the chaos before falling on you standing behind Robby while he sat at one of the computers. Jack’s gaze narrowed at the sight of your fingers playing with the fringe of hair on Robby’s neck.

He walked over to the hub. “What are you two doing?” he asked, not sounding at all accusatory. (This is a lie. Though the tone didn’t affect you and Robby in the least.)

Instead of answering, you gave Jack a small, sad smile and looked pointedly at the man in front of you. Jack studied him for a moment then he realized what this was. You were comforting Robby.

“Oh no.” Jack’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Carry on,” he stated louder before heading to the locker room.

“Did I call him in? I don’t remember calling him.” Robby asked as his friend walked away.

No one answered him.

A couple of hours passed, the end of shift growing ever closer. Night shift started to trickle in. Jack was moving past the hub when his gaze fell on Robby sitting at the desk, palms pressed against his eyes.

Jack’s gaze frantically moved around the department searching for you.

“She’s in a trauma,” Dana’s voice cut in.

He glanced over to find her gesturing toward Robby. ‘Do something,’ she mouthed.

Jack sucked in a breath, nodded once and moved up behind his best friend. His fingers attempted to replicate the comforting pattern that you’d long memorized.

Robby froze.

His hands dropped as he blinked. Once. Twice.

“Jack?” Robby drew out the word. “What are you doing?”

“She’s busy. I’m all you have. Deal with it.”

Robby huffed a laugh and tried to duck away, but Jack’s hand merely followed. “Believe it or not, it’s not near as comforting when you do it. In fact, it’s fucking strange. Knock it off.”

“No. Let me comfort you.” Jack was nothing if not stubborn.

Robby started to protest before just deflating. “Fine.” A pause. “Go a little higher.”

Melissa King walked past the hub, tablet in hand, nodding to the attendings as she passed. Then she stopped, processed and turned to face them. “I…um…I’m not certain that’s entirely appropriate.”

Her words caught Crus Henderson’s attention and he turned to see what had snagged her attention. He grinned and stepped up beside her. “Oh, you don’t want to get in the middle of that. Trust me. Just keep moving.”

Jack narrowed his gaze. “I’m soothing him. Do you have a problem with that? I didn’t realize you were so closed minded, Dr King. What if he’s my husband? Have you considered that?”

Crus snorted and patted Mel’s shoulder. “Good luck.” Then he walked off and left her to the wolves—or rather the Abbot.

Mel stuttered, her brow furrowing. “No. I mean…” She huffed in annoyance. “Aren’t you already married to Dr. Abbot?”

“I am Dr. Abbot,” Jack answered, lips twitching as he fought his amusement.

You’d stepped out of the trauma room during the initial conversation and made your way over with a shake of your head.

Robby looked from Mel to you and glanced over his shoulder at Jack. “I’m keeping my last name. Three Abbots is too many.”

You shrugged. “I could always switch to Robinavitch.”

A resounding “No!” came from both men and you smiled.

You turned to Mel. “Ignore them. They’re just like this. It’s a problem really. Hand off your patients to Dr. Henderson, please.”

She nodded slowly, clutching the tablet to her chest as she walked away. She looked back once with a heavily furrowed brow as she tried to process what had just happened.

“You two are menaces,” you said to the men once she’d left.

“I’m soothing,” Jack insisted and Robby chuckled. A real smile was on his face for the first time all day.

You smirked and huffed a laugh. “You just going to keep letting him play with your hair all night or do you want to do handoff?”

Robby straightened and brushed Jack’s hand away. “Stop it.”

“I mean, it’s fine. I don’t want to interrupt your bonding moment or anything,” you continued.

“Oh, shut up,” Robby said as he stood, cheeks flaming red.

Bonus:

As Mel gave Crus a rundown on her patients, she kept glancing back to the hub where the attendings were in conversation.

“Hey, you with me?” he asked drawing her attention back to him.

She startled and cleared her throat. “Yes, sorry. Yes.”

Crus chuckled as he flashed her a smile. “I take it you haven’t seen the three of them interact much.”

“Not really. No.”

“You’ll get used to it. They’re a little chaotic, but there is no one better to learn from.”

Mel nodded absently. “So, the Doctors Abbot are married and Dr. Robby is…”