libby

Pulling a double sucked. 

Actually—no—pulling a double was quite literally a nightmare carefully curated from hell. While you watched your fellow night crawlers get to go home and sleep, you stayed behind a chart, fingers lagging against the keyboard as your brain stuttered to find the right words. The Dunkin cup that John had so graciously brought you at the beginning of the shift had long since been refilled with literal burnt gas that had been filtered through dirt. No matter how much sweet cream you poured into it, the bitter taste still made you wince with every sip. 

The only silver lining of this whole ordeal was that Trinity and Dennis had promised to bring a fresh cup with them when they arrived in a few minutes for the start of their day shift. Normally, you’d be waiting for them, your belongings ready to go in your bag, to give them both a quick kiss before heading back to the shared apartment to fall asleep in the large bed that the three of you shared. However, with the upcoming weekend somehow being a day off for both Dennis and Trinity, you quickly asked to take someone’s shift so you could be off as well. The three of you hadn’t had time to spend together in what felt like weeks. 

So, if you had to pull a double from hell to spend a few days off with your lovers, you’d do it in a heartbeat, hence why you were pushing through double vision right as they walked in. 

Trinity spotted you and your frizzy hair first, and her small smile disappeared the closer she got. Her thermos clanked against the counter, making you jolt and turn her way with wide eyes. 

“I hate to say it, but you look awful,” she announced bluntly. 

You dragged a hand down your tired face. “You always know exactly what to say to a girl, Trin,” you muttered. 

She snorted before rounding the counter to place her hands on your shoulders. Your right hand lifted and gently rested on top of her hand. Squeezing lightly, your fingers held on as she began to gently massage the tense muscles beneath your scrub. 

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked. 

“Yeah. Abbot made me nap after we handled three overdoses in the span of two hours,” you replied. “It was not pretty.” 

“I bet.” She leaned down and pressed a small kiss to the side of your temple. “How long were you down?” 

“Couple hours . . . I think.” 

“You think?” 

You turned in your chair and stuck your head into her stomach. “Trin, it’s not even 7 yet. Can we not play interrogation today?” 

Even though you couldn’t see her face, you just had the feeling that she was smirking down at you. A quick lean back of your head confirmed your feelings. You breathed heavily against her scrub, the scent of the Tide you all shared filled your nose in a comforting way. The scrub you were wearing probably smelled like sweat and iodine, but you wondered if Trinity even cared going off the way she was holding onto you. 

After a few moments, you felt another presence arrive to your right. You pulled yourself from Trinity and looked up into wide blue eyes. 

“Good morning, Den,” you said with a wide smile. “Please tell me you brought coffee?”

Trinity snorted above you while patting the top of your head. “I think this one might die if you forgot her cup, Huckleberry.” 

“Good thing I packed her two then,” Dennis replied before putting the first cup down by your computer. 

You could have kissed him if HR wasn’t down your throat already. The cons of having both your partners working in the same department. You had also been day shift, but after the meeting, Gloria was quick to switch you over to Abbot’s kingdom of the creepy crawlies. Most days, you enjoyed the slower income of patients, but the lack of getting to see the two of them made you think of switching over to another department’s day shift. 

Dennis eyed you over with a flash of concern. “Did you sleep any last night?” 

“Wow,” you said dryly. “You and Trin should start a support group.” 

“She thinks she got in a couple of hours,” Trinity responded for you instead. “Though with the way she looks . . .” 

Your eyes narrowed up at her. “Again, you really know exactly what to say to a girl. Den, say something nice about me please.” 

The blond looked like he would rather kick a brick. “Um . . . your scrubs bring out your lovely eyes?” 

A loud grown flew from your lips. “I’m doomed. My boyfriend and girlfriend think I look ugly.” 

Dennis sputtered. “N-no. We didn’t say ugly—” 

“You look worn down, hun,” Dana announced behind him, gray eyes glancing your way. “Do I need to tell Abbot to lay off?” 

“No, Dana; last night was just rough,” you responded. You turned in your seat to now look at Dennis and Trinity, who had now sided up next to each other. “But in just twelve hours, we will be out of here and on our way to a relaxing weekend.” 

Trinity smirked. “Can’t believe your dad let us borrow his fucking cabin for the weekend.” 

“Family cabin,” you corrected. “Plus, he likes the two of you. Can’t say the same for my other partners before.” 

Dennis leaned against the counter. “Well, we have to go do handoffs. I’ll put your second coffee in the fridge for you.” 

That had you standing up from you chair and reaching out to hug him. He pulled you in quickly before parting. A stray curl had fallen in front of his eyes, and you were quick to fix it, Dennis’s eyes fluttering at the soft motion and feeling of your fingers in his hair. 

The moment was ruined when Dana started tsking through her teeth. “All right, love birds. Scram before Robby comes stomping through.” 

Trinity gave you one more look. “Are you going to be okay? I know you’re used to staying up during the night, but you normally don’t look this frazzled.” 

Your hands pushed at her in a soft nudge. “I’ll be fine. Imma finish up this chart, and then maybe Dana will be gracious enough to give me the easy cases.” 

“Sure, hun.”

“See? Now, go put your stuff up and stop worrying about me,” you said with a smile. 

They both held up their hands in surrender. 

“It’s our job to worry, though,” Dennis murmured before turning around to head toward the lockers. 

Trinity smiled once at you before following, and you all but swallowed the whine back down your throat as the two left, knowing the chart you had been working on was still unfinished. The chair squeaked under your weight, and the rhythmic sound of your typing almost put you back to sleep if it wasn’t for another tall body stepping in front of you. Your eyes glanced up and over the computer, and a groan threatened to creep up your throat. 

“What can I do for you, Ogilvie?” you asked like a sales person tired of meaningless questions, flat and bored. 

“Still can’t believe they’re both dating you.” 

Oh. So this was how it was going to go. 

“Well, they are. So, you can stop trying to make it make sense in your head.” 

Ogilvie should have taken the silent warning, but when had he ever? His next sentence had you pausing. 

“You know, it kind of makes sense though. You get two partners because obviously you can barely handle the nightshift workload. Especially if you’re looking like that.”

“Ogilvie!” Dana snapped. “Find Robby and get to your patients.” 

He at least had the audacity to look like he got caught saying the wrong thing, but the damage had already been done. For a moment, your ears rang, and a dizzying feeling flooded your body. His comment had been tossed out so casually like he really didn’t know what he was really implying. Suddenly, every mistake from last night felt bigger, every yawn felt like proof, every offer to help felt like you were grasping at straws. 

“You okay, hun?” Dana asked when you didn’t move for a solid minute. “He shouldn’t have said that.” 

You shook your head wildly like that might be enough to cast his words from your mind. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered. “Do any rooms need me yet?” 

She eyed you warily before looking over her board. “Room twelve was just filled. Ten-month-old and dad. Sounds right up your alley.” 

You took the chart without question, already standing to your feet before she had even finished her statement.  “Thanks, Dana.” 

“You sure you don’t want to take a small break? We have more than enough residents to let it slide!” she yelled after you. 

“I’m sure!” you responded, your eyes already scanning the chart in your hand. 

The information taken by the nurse listed the 10-month-old brought in by their parents for feeding concern. It was routine enough on paper that nothing should’ve stood out. But the moment you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that was settling low in your stomach. 

_______________________

“Good morning, Mr. Davis,” you greeted, a warm smile spreading across your face as you stepped into the room, letting the door stay cracked opened just a tad. “My name is Dr. L/n, and I will be your baby’s physician today.” Your footsteps were soft as you walked over to the bassinet. “What brings this little one in this morning?” 

As he rattled off the symptoms in a rather frustrated tone, throwing in an I already told the nurse this but whatever, you took the moment to look over the baby, her blue eyes staring up at the ceiling with a detached sort of stillness that made your chest tighten. You gently reached in and started prodding, hoping to get a small reaction, but the baby didn’t even whimper. 

“—and she’s been having trouble with feeding. The thing probably hasn’t had a full bottle in two days—” 

That was concerning. If the baby hadn’t eaten, she should have been screaming, should have been fussing so loudly that someone should have already complained about a headache. 

“Do you remember how much she was able to get down the last time she did eat?” you asked, hands reaching for your stethoscope. 

The cold metal at least made her flinch but nothing more while you listened to her breathing. 

“I dunno. The sitter feeds her.” 

“Does the sitter not write things down?” 

“Fuck if I know.” 

You tried not to side eye him as you slid your stethoscope back around your neck. “When was her last urination and diaper change?” 

The dad looked toward the celling. “Probably yesterday? Look, I have to work to keep a roof over her head after her bitch mother left us.”

A small rash near her neck caught your attention, looking red and very angry like it hadn’t been cleaned properly in a few days. The unsettled feeling reared its head when you scribbled down your findings plus the weight of the baby, which was much lower than expected. You tried to school your face, but apparently the father could find small changes in your expressions rather than pay that close attention to his child. 

“What are you writing?” he asked, frustration already evident in his tone. 

You glanced up from the chart. “We’re required to document what we’re seeing. Nothing other than the standard findings are being written down.” 

His jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It doesn’t mean anything, sir. I’m just doing my job.” 

“You keep looking at me like I’ve done something,” he hissed while rising from the chair in the corner. “And you keep asking all these questions that I’ve already answered.”

You took note of how much taller he was than you. 

“I’m just speaking with you, Mr. Davis. If I can’t get a history, I won’t know how to help your daughter. It’s my job to get her the best care possible.” You kept your voice calm and measured, taking a step back toward the door without trying to make it obvious. 

Unfortunately, he noticed that too. His breathing changed into a rapid up and down motion that sounded like a bull ready to charge. You’d heard this before, and usually it ended with security being called in just in case. But sometimes, it ended worse, and you were scared that the pin was about to drop. You forced yourself to remain steady. 

“Mr. Davis, please understand that I’m just documenting medical information.” 

“You need to stop lying to me.” 

“I’m not lying—” 

“Yes, you are. You’re probably writing down all this untrue bullshit about me that’s going to get my kid taken away from me. Do you really want to try that?” 

You swallowed thickly. “No one is going to take your baby away from you.” 

He took another step forward, and then another, causing you to match him with one backward step, but the door was still too far away. Your hands shook as he continued stalking toward you all red in the face, shoulders heaving under heaving inhales. 

“You think I’m some kind of bad father? Huh?” he spat. 

“Sir—” 

“You think I’m hurting my baby?” 

“I never said anything like that—” 

“But you’re fucking thinking it. Aren’t you?” his voice rose with every word. 

Behind him, the baby finally began to cry, however, it seemed like the sound only made him angrier. One look into his eyes showed you the panic and rage bleeding right through. Faintly, you remembered what training taught you on de-escalation. On the other hand, your instincts screamed at you to get the hell out of the room and find Robby. 

“Sir,” you tried again carefully, “I think we should take a small minute—” 

His hand slammed against the wall beside your head, effectively getting through to your brain that he now had you trapped with no way to slip out safely. The impact made you flinch violently. His hot breath hit your face, and you tried to turn away from the feeling. For one small moment, he didn’t move, and the sound of the baby wailing filled the room before his hands shot out at your neck. The sheer force of it knocked the breath from your lungs as your back hit the wall hard enough to rattle your teeth. 

Pain exploded across your neck and down your spine. You gas[ed instinctively, fingers instantly clawing at his wrist in attempts to get him off of you. He moved his face closer toward yours. 

“What the fuck did you write?” he shouted. “You think I’m hurting my kid? Neglecting her when I’m the only one fucking working to keep a roof over her head?” 

Your vision blurred as oxygen failed to reach your lungs. Through the haze, you at least remembered to plant your feet to create space, trying to keep your airway open under his fingers. He must have realized what you were doing, because the next moment, he tightened his grip even more, thumbs now pressing against your windpipe. A gurgled choaking sound ripped through your throat, and the sound of rushing blood flooded your ears. You tried to push back against him, but he was way too big for the attempts to do any good.  

Straining, you turned your head toward the door, jaw dropping to take any small gulps of oxygen you could so that you could yell. The words barely came out, the sound all strained and broken. 

“Hula—” You coughed violently. 

Under his grip, your face was becoming tight and red. Finally, like an open door, he adjusted his grip just enough for you to scream with every bit of breath you had left—

“HULA HOOP!” 

_______________________

Dennis and Trinity had seen you work exhausted before. 

Really, though, everyone in the Pitt worked exhausted. Long shifts, missed lunches, and enough caffeine to kill a small animal came with the territory. But the two guessed that they’d never seen you that tired, where you looked ready to drop to the nasty ER floor and take a nap there. 

Most of the time, they trusted you to know your own limits. You were stubborn as hell, but you weren’t reckless; you couldn’t be, especially since they knew you were wanting to get into a different department. However, that didn’t mean they could just shake the feeling of seeing you look so run through earlier that morning. 

“You know she’s going to crash eventually, right?” Dennis muttered, leaning against the counter while he held a tablet like he hadn’t actually read the thing through in the last three mintues. “This is—what?—her third double this month?” 

Across from him, Trinity was typing notes into one of the computers. “Yep. I think Robby’s going to deny her next request for one.” 

“Good. I think she’d rather die than actually admit she’s tired.” 

“Sounds like her.” 

“I mean this in the nicest way towards our girlfriend, but she looked awful.” 

“I know.” 

Dennis sighed. “You’re not helping me out here.”

Trinity turned around to look at him. “What exactly do you want me to do, Huckleberry? Chain her to our bed and force her to sleep for more than five hours?” 

“I’d pay money to watch you try. She’d probably kick you.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’d have you to hold her down.” 

He smiled at that before it dropped. His blue eyes roamed the department floor, desperate to at least catch a glimpse of you, but when you didn’t rush past, he turned toward Dana. 

“Hey, Dana?” Dennis called out toward the blond lady currently rewriting something on her board. “Do you know where Y/n is?” 

Dana didn’t even glance his way when she answered. “Room twelve, but she’s been in there a hot minute. Wouldn’t blame her though.” 

The last bit had been muttered but still loud enough that Dennis and Trinity caught it, their faces pinching in confusion. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trinity asked. 

“One of the med-students said something to her earlier. Saw the light just go out in her eyes.” 

Something in both of their chests clenched hard. 

“Do you know what it was about?” Dennis questioned. 

“Said she couldn’t carry the workload, and that’s why she’s with the two of you instead of having just one partner. Kid doesn’t know it’s fucking 2026 for goodness’ sake.” 

A feeling close to rage bubbled through their skin. From the summed-up statement, they could only guess that the med student who ran his mouth to you was probably Ogilvie. Trinity had half a mind to find him, but a shout from across the way had her freezing in place. 

“HULA HOOP!”

Dennis felt ever muscle in his body lock, because under the panic, he could never forget what your voice sounded like. Even though it was distorted by pain, it was truly yours. Their world snapped into motion, and the two took running towards room twelve with security and staff flooding behind them. 

Adrenaline hit them so hard their hearts pounded against their sternums. As they drew closer, the wails of a baby reached their ears. Dennis was first to throw the door open, internally grateful that you had left the door cracked enough so that it couldn’t have been locked at all. For a horrible second, he couldn’t even process what he was seeing. 

Your red face, body desperate for oxygen, and terrified eyes had him halting to access the man holding you against the wall. He didn’t even wait for security before he was tackling the man like a linebacker for the NFL. The two collapsed in a squirming mess on the ground, but years of wrangling farm animals had Dennis pinning the man down before he could retaliate. Like you, the man was definitely twice his size, but Dennis wasn’t going to let him back up in case he went after you again.  

When the man’s grip was finally loosened and gone, you collapsed forward, back sliding down the wall until you were seated on the floor. Violent coughs erupted in sporadic waves, and your hands gently touched your throat before dropping back down to your chest in a mad attempt as if feeling your chest expand would somehow draw in more air. Your head spun, and everything around you went fuzzy. The lights blurred, the sterile scent burned, but somehow, you didn’t flinch when strong hands rested on your shoulders. 

You somehow knew they belonged to the same woman that let you lean on her earlier that morning. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Trinity said, really trying not to bark the words out to not scare you any further. “Look at me.” 

Your eyes refused to meet hers, and every breath you tried to get down felt like glass as your lungs fought desperately to recover from the lack of oxygen. Panic started to crawl through Trinity’s body the longer you were unresponsive. Her hands gently traced from your shoulders and up to your jaw; her fingers gently lifted your face so she could see the damage. 

Behind her, security was finally helping Dennis detain Mr. Davis while a nurse was quick to grab the baby in attempts to quiet her wailing. Another presence dropped to his knees to Trinity’s right. 

“What happened?” Robby asked, pushing his hands toward you so he could also assess your state. 

His brown eyes fixated on the angry mottled bruises already forming around your neck. This time, you did finch when his fingers softly dug into the hurting skin. While he felt for any breaks in your airway, Trinity was already pressing her stethoscope onto your chest. 

“She’s tachypneic,” she called out to the attending. 

You tried to sputter something out, but another coughing fit interrupted you. Robby’s hands stilled around your face. 

“Don’t talk,” he muttered before gently pushing your head down to check the back of your head. “Answer with a nod or a shake. Did you hit your head?” 

A nod. 

“Did you lose consciousness?” 

A shake. 

“Are you nauseated? Dizzy?” 

Another shake. 

Robby looked toward Trinity. “There’s no laceration, and we can probably rule out a concussion.”

You gave him a look that totally said I could have told you that. The fact that Trinity could see some of your personality shining through eased her tension just a bit but still not enough for her to actually relax. 

Dennis finally appeared and crouched at Trinity’s left. Your eyes widened when you spotted a fresh tear in his scrub top, while his narrowed when they settled on the bruising around your neck. In real time, you watched the color drain from his face. 

Trinity noticed the distant look in your eyes and snapped her fingers a few inches away from your face. “Hey, stay with us, okay?” 

You managed the smallest nod, just enough confirmation that you were still there. Behind him, movement caught your eye in time for you to watch security escort the man from the room in handcuffs while the nurse carried the baby out behind them. The threat was gone, but your body refused to loosen. 

Robby stood, knees audibly cracking with the motion. “Okay, let’s get her to a bed. Can someone get me a gurney—” 

He wasn’t even able to finish before Dennis leaned forward and scooped you up into his arms. He hated the way your body felt limp, almost like a rag doll, in his grasp. Trinity followed the two of you as he passed the station, asking Dana what room was open. When he got his answer, he was quick to carry you through and gently place you onto the open bed. 

And throughout the whole ordeal, you kept a hold on Trinity’s hand like a lifeline to keep you stable. Robby followed through, and even though Dennis and Trinity weren’t subject to stay there, the two didn’t seem particularly interested in letting you out of their sight. 

_______________________

When all was said and done, you were finally given an ice pack to hold against the side of your neck as Robby finished documenting his assessment. While he talked, the bruising and swelling had definitely become more pronounced over the last few minutes. Every swallow hurt, and every cough hurt more. Even when he told you that nothing appeared seriously damaged, you couldn’t help but question if he was telling the truth to calm you down or if he was being genuine. 

“Now, I know that you know, but if the pain gets worse, you need to tell someone immediately.”

You nodded, still too scared to speak. 

“Or if your breathing gets to be too difficult.” He sighed loudly. “Now because of this, you’re going to stay in here for the rest of the day.” 

You opened your mouth to answer, but one glare from him had your jaw snapping shut again. 

“Good choice not to argue.” 

You rolled your eyes but winced when the movement made your neck ache. For your sake, they all pretended not to notice. Dennis looked away from where he was sitting in the chair nearest the bed, while Trinity crossed her arms from where she was leaning against the wall by the door. Neither of them had spoken much during the exam, and it made you nervous. Their silence should have been reassuring and not feeling like standing in front of a firing squad waiting for someone to say ready, aim.

Robby gathered the last of his paperwork, and his gaze moved between all three of you. “Keep her in the bed please.” 

Trinity saluted when he passed. “Oh, we’ll make sure of it.” 

Your attending gave you one last look before slipping back into the department. The second the door clicked shut, the room became painfully quiet. You dropped the icepack between your legs and stared at it; Dennis and Trinity stared at you. 

The firing squad had apparently received authorization to begin. 

Fire. 

“I know . . . what you both are thinking,” you managed to croak, finding that talking didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. 

Trinity rolled her eyes with an ease that made you jealous. “Then you should know exactly what we’re going to say then.” 

You stayed quiet, really not knowing. 

Dennis sighed before standing to get closer to you. His hand reached across and took a hold of yours as he looked into your eyes. “What happened?” 

Your tongue ran across your lips. “He got upset.” 

“Oh, really? Didn’t notice,” Trinity snarked sarcastically, earning her a glare from Dennis.

“Trin.” 

“Fine.” 

You shifted slightly on the bed. “I thought I could handle it. He was angry and upset, but people get like that often. I thought I could . . . I don’t know . . . calm him down if I just explained things better.” 

Tears started down your cheeks, surprising you at the feeling. You hadn’t cried when Mr. Davis chocked you out, hadn’t cried during the assessment, hadn’t cried when security wrangled him out of the room. Yet, your vision blurred the moment your boyfriend and girlfriend looked at you with such a profound concern. 

“Was he agitated when you walked in?” Trinity asked. 

“A little.”

She sighed, the sound laced the tiniest bit with disappointment. “Then why didn’t you come get someone? You know better, baby.” 

Your shoulders rose in a shrug. “I just didn’t—” You squeezed your eyes shut. “Didn’t want to seem too needy.” 

Dennis leaned in a bit. “Is this because of what Ogilvie said?” 

Your eyes flew open. “How do you—” 

“That’s not important. I’m asking you if you thinking you could calm down a man twice your size with just words is because of what he said?” 

A flap of skin from around your nail caught under your finger. “Maybe.” 

The single word broke something inside both of them. You’d listened to the false accusation so much that you could have been killed, and they wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. You, their sweet, loving partner, gone because of someone’s judgmental words. The thought caused anger to rise through their chests again. 

Trinity sat down on the bed. “I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.” Her hands rose and angled your face so that you’d be looking at her. “We’re not with you because we think you can’t handle anything. We’re not with you because we doubt your abilities as a doctor. We’re not with you because somehow that makes you needy if you only have both of us.” She inhaled sharply. “We’re with you because we love you. We believe in you so much. And thinking that you could have died today because a med student thought it was appropriate to put in his two cents about our relationship makes me want to strangle him.” 

You laughed softly. “What about the Hippocratic oath?” 

“Fuck the Hippocratic oath. No one is going to stand around telling my girlfriend that she can’t handle being a damn good doctor.” 

Dennis nodded along. “And you know that sometimes it is perfectly okay to not have everything handled. We’re dating a human, not a robot. Plus, what are we supposed to do if you don’t need us?” 

You mulled their words over, finally relaxing under their gaze. Deep down, you knew they were right. But through the exhaustion of staying up all night and pulling a double, your walls had been down enough to accept the words to the point they became the truth. But now, with them looking at you and reassuring you like this, you couldn’t help but accept their words instead. 

The two of them noticed the moment your body sagged against the bed as the fatigue you’d been ignoring since they got their returned with a vengeance. 

“So,” Dennis said carefully. 

“Nope. Not doing whatever you’re thinking of,” you said immediately. 

“You haven’t even heard my idea.” 

“I know it’s going to involve me sleeping.” 

Trinity pursed her lips. “Well, Robby did say that we needed to keep you in the bed.” 

You groaned loudly. “Fuck Robby.” 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” 

Dennis looked at Trinity with a smirk. “I’m amazed she’s still conscious.” 

“Fuck you too, Dennis.” 

He patted your leg. “Just wait for the weekend.” 

A heat rose so quickly through your face at the implication that it made him and Trinity laugh. The sound almost had you falling asleep then and there. Dennis stood and pulled a blanket from a nearby cabinet, and before you could say anything else, he draped it over you with Trinity tugging at the corner to tuck it beneath your chin. 

“You two are so annoying. Can’t believe you’re ganging up on the injured,” you whined. 

“Go to sleep,” Trinity replied. 

“Can’t—” You yawned loudly. “Can’t make me.” 

Dennis hummed. “Yeah, you’ve got about thirty seconds before you pass out.” 

You grumbled but shifted into a comfortable sleeping position anyway, all the fight draining out of you in a matter of moments. Your eyes drifted shut, because, really, the mattress beneath you felt surprisingly comfortable, and the blanket was warm. However, the real reason you were able to drift was the steady presence of Dennis and Trinity hovering by your bed. 

“Love you both,” you managed to slur before going silent. 

Trinity smiled down at your now sleeping figure before leaning over to place a quick kiss to your forehead. “Love you too.” 

Dennis mirrored her action. “Sleep well, angel.” 

Neither of them realized you were still partially awake enough to hear them. But as they stepped out of the room with the light going out, you smiled softly, finally drifting into the much needed nap. 

Turning right, (Y/n) headed into the dressing room and took a quick look around, but her eyes were always magnetically pulled towards her husband no matter where they were or what they were doing.

He was sat on the armrest of the sofa, knees parted to the sides and hands tapping away on his thighs as he sat slightly hunched forward.

The moment Luke glanced up and his eyes locked on (Y/n), a wide grin spread across his lips and it was clear by his expression that he was beckoning her towards him.

She made a beeline towards him, biting down on her bottom lip to try and dampen her smile that was threatening to take over her entire face from eye to eye and ear to ear.

As soon as she was within reach, Luke was leaning towards her and balancing his weight on the toes of his polished black shoes that were pressing down into the floor. His fingers hooked into the belt loops of (Y/n)'s jeans and with a swift tug, he pulled her towards him until she had to brace her hands on his shoulders so she didn't stumble and fall against him.

He pulled her close until she was stood in between his parted legs, his knees imbedding into her hips while his hands slithered around her waist. One palm pressing into the small of her back while the other hand rested higher near her shoulder blades. His fingers tracing the dip and curves in her spine like it was a path he was trying to figure out.

(Y/n) brushed her thumbs over his broad, pointed shoulders beneath the leather jacket he wore that matched the one she currently had on. Her fingers gripped tight as she leant forward against him, pressing into him while Luke leant forward and continued to balance on the edge of the arm rest.

He looked boyish and sweet when he tilted his head back and pressed his chin against the middle of her chest, digging slightly into her sternum. Those bright sparkling eyes stared up at her and (Y/n) knew in that moment that he could ask her for anything in the world, and she would do her upmost best to give him what he wanted.

She lifted one hand from his shoulder to tangle her fingers into his long black curls, wrapping them around her index finger and tugging slightly just to see his expression change and his eyes become dark and hooded.

"Redo my eyeliner?" He murmured the words so softly that they almost washed right over (Y/n)'s head.

And as he spoke, Luke batted his lashes and his mouth curved into a pointed grin. Giving her his best puppy dog eyes so that she would say yes and do as he'd requested.

The question made (Y/n)'s brow arch, though she did grin as she looked down at him, scrutinising his features to see whether or not he did in fact need some more eyeliner on. The black lines were visible beneath his lashes, but only just. Another layer would make the lavish green eyeshadow sparkling on his eyes stand out that much more.

"You know I'm a nurse, not a make up artist baby."

There was no chiding tone to (Y/n)'s voice, and she was already reaching for the eyeliner in the vast make up bag that was resting on the sofa next to Luke.

With one hand resting on Luke's shoulder and the other cupped beneath his chin, (Y/n) tilted his head back a bit more so his chin was no longer pressed up against her sternum. Her teeth chomped down on the inside of her cheek as she tried to be as accurate as possible whilst swiping the black pencil beneath his long lashes to make them stand out a bit more.

Luke grinned a bright smile, his eyes staring widely up at (Y/n) as he tried not to blink so she could finish her work.

"So if I fall on stage or pull a muscle, you can nurse me back to health."

A quiet hum left her lips before she pressed a sweet kiss to his lips as if sealing that promise.

(Y/n) was here as a supportive wife, to watch the show and see Luke hard at work. But if anyone needed medical attention, (Y/n) would be all too happy to step in and lend a hand. She was a nurse after all, and if someone needed help she couldn't stand back and do nothing; especially if it happened to be Luke who ended up hurting himself.

"Always." (Y/n) confirmed and punctuated the word with another kiss. "But please don't have a fall, I don't actually wanna work tonight."

The last thing she wanted was for Luke to get hurt or need her in a professional capacity. He was usually lucky not to have any slips or falls, though once or twice he had tripped but he never hurt himself. (Y/n) didn't want him to start now.

As Luke stared up at her, a bright smile worked its way onto his features and his eyes roamed up and down her frame, full of admiration for her.

Since he had chosen to wear a dark green shirt tonight beneath his leather jacket, (Y/n) had matched her make up accordingly to him. Her own eyeshadow was a vibrant shade of green with glitter sparkles over the top. She had eyeliner on too making her stand out just like him.

But it was her outfit that really made Luke smile; (Y/n) knew he loved it when their outfits fell in sync. It showed just who they were married to and that they were a team, that (Y/n) was proud and supportive of Luke because she was matching his style and here to support the show.

Luke loved the fact that (Y/n) was wearing her jacket which matched his, and the flared dark blue jeans she wore looked like his pale, faded blue denim jeans that always sat high and snug around his torso. And the high heeled boots she wore gave her a bit of triumph to the style and a bit of height like she was trying to match Luke's tall stature.

When she thought she felt him murmur something against her mouth, (Y/n) pulled back just enough to hear Luke better, their noses brushing together.

"It's true," he spoke quietly, tracing the tip of his finger up and down the length of her spine.

"What's that?"

Luke's eyes sparkled as they roamed up and down (Y/n)'s frame, taking in her outfit once again. "Everyone's a star."

The encore was loud enough that it was chorusing out and vibrating through the walls like the arena had its own heartbeat.

The feeling was invigorating, it made (Y/n)'s blood fizzle in her veins like alcohol and she had to try and stop herself from starting to skip as she headed down the hall. She wanted to get back to the stage wings in time for the band to come off stage. (Y/n) liked to be there waiting for Luke when the show ended, she loved the energy that radiated off of him and being there as the band came down from the high that performing live gave them.

She wanted to tell him how much she loved the show, how she thought it was one of their best, even if she was a bit biased.

Her hands toyed with the hem of her jacket as she turned the corner and aimed towards the big double doors at the back, then she would be in the backstage area of the arena where the band would go once they headed off stage for the final time tonight.

At least the night had been full of fun and games.

(Y/n) had spent some of the show watching from the sidelines, then she decided to head down towards the crowd to watch from a secluded corner. That way she had been able to see the stage and see Luke head on rather than from the side wings. She could see him sing to the crowd, crouch down to be near them, how he interacted with everyone.

Just before the encore, (Y/n) had gone into the standing area of the crowd to lend a hand; someone had fainted.

It happened a lot in the standing crowds, people all squashed together, dancing, pushing and shoving and using all their energy. Plus their combined heat and how they would sweat, it made people dizzy. And obviously they all kept forgetting to buy or bring drinks with them leading them to be dehydrated.

(Y/n) hadn't needed to do much, get the young girl in the recovery position, make sure no one cramped or crowded round her. Once she came back around and had something to drink she was much better, though she had still been taken outside to recover before she no doubt hurried back in for the encore.

She could hear the end of Everyone's A Star blaring through the walls and it made her grin. She was only a few feet away from the doors at the end when a low whistle cut through the air and made (Y/n) pause and glance over her shoulder to look behind her.

A young girl, very early twenties by the look of her. Clearly one of the fans, one of the crowd, with the bright pink stars she had painted onto her cheeks, the 5SOS lanyard hanging around her neck and the tour merchandise shirt she was wearing over her cropped denim shorts.

Her hair was done into two intricate plats and there seemed to be glitter in her hair and (Y/n) knew Luke would of smiled if he saw her.

"Cool jacket; looks just like Luke's leather one." The girl commented and pointed towards (Y/n) and the outfit she was wearing. Though there was something about her tone that made (Y/n) uneasy, something pointed and sharp and almost irritated.

She stood just a few feet from the double doors, putting on her best smile for the young girl. Her hands interlaced in front of her and she nodded, still glancing back over her shoulder.

"Well they are a matching pair," her smile was bright as she took a step forwards, wanting to get backstage soon so she didn't miss Luke when he came off stage. "Thanks."

The first few beats of Youngblood were now bouncing off the walls and vibrating through (Y/n)'s ribcage. There wasn't long before the end of the show and everyone would be packing out of the venue.

"Matching?"

With a hum, (Y/n) turned on her sharp heels so she was facing the girl's direction. "Can I help you, are you looking for someone? I think this is a restricted area-"

"Then you shouldn't be here."

The response was quipped back with enough force to make (Y/n) take a deep breath.

So she was one of those fans. The type that didn't believe the band deserved to be with their partners, who should only be devoted to the fans. Didn't it make sense to this girl that (Y/n) was Luke's wife, was that not clear by the fact that (Y/n) had matching clothes, his matching style? That she had an all access backstage pass dangling from her neck?

The girl eyed (Y/n) like she was someone suspicious, someone to be wary of, and placed her hands on her hips. "What are you doing, trying to hound Luke?"

(Y/n) really didn't want to be that person. She really didn't want to be the wife who argued with the fans.

It was different when she was at work, because she used her maiden name; no one at the hospital knew who she was married to or what her personal live involved, that her life involved this kind of magic and glitter.

The odd times that (Y/n) and Luke had been out and bumped into a few fans, they had always been kind towards (Y/n). They smiled, they were overly appreciative when she offered to take a picture of them with Luke, some even talked to her and asked her questions. Clearly this was not going to be one of those times; this girl wasn't that kind of fan.

She seemed to be the hounding, overly concerned about the band as if she were one of their close friends, one of their protectors.

"I don't think he'd see it that way…" as she trailed off, (Y/n) raised her left hand to flash the ring sat neatly on her ring finger.

Usually (Y/n) wore her engagement and wedding rings on her finger because they weren't suitable for work. Being in the ER meant constantly putting on and wrenching off latex gloves, washing hands and using sanitiser. Her rings would cut through the gloves and be a risk of contamination, so (Y/n) hung them lovingly on the chain around her neck that used to belong to Luke.

It also meant that no one in the ER knew she was married, since she used her maiden name and her rings were never on display.

But for the last three days (Y/n) had been on a running stretch of days off, and it gave her the perfect opportunity to put her rings back on her finger, where they belonged. It also made Luke happy to see them because he was always wearing his ring and he loved to see (Y/n)'s sat neatly on her finger where he placed them.

"It was nice to meet you, but you should probably head back to the arena now."

With a wave of her hand in the other direction, (Y/n) turned back around and headed towards the double doors that would lead her backstage. She needed to get back now, the song was almost finished, and she wanted to see her husband. Who she had every right to be around, contray to what this girl might think.

Her badge swiped against the lock and she headed through, seeing a few of the moving crew starting to pack up already, getting a headstart so they could get everything out of the arena as soon as possible.

It all happened so fast that (Y/n) could barely register what was going on.

A hand on the back of her neck near her shoulder blades, a forceful shove just as she stepped through the doors that sent her heels scraping against the floor as she stumbled forwards, trying to regain her balance. And then a horrible yelp as the girl seemed to lunge at her.

She had moved fast, faster than (Y/n) would have anticipated because she had managed to stride across the corridor in less than three seconds and reach (Y/n) just before the door closed and locked her out of this limited access area.

Words flew past the girl's lips that (Y/n) could barely make sense of, especially with the way her blood was pumping through her ears and making her head vibrate.

"He shouldn't be with someone like you."

(Y/n) spun on her heels, again, just in time to deflect a hand that was about to slap her.

"You're not good enough."

A pair of hands settled on (Y/n)'s shoulders and shoved her backwards. "You're not one of them."

(Y/n) resisted the urge to respond with 'and neither are you' because arguing such a silly point wasn't going to make this situation any better. This girl was clearly upset, she took the No.1 Obsession song to another level and (Y/n) didn't want to start giving her more ammunition to keep fighting like this.

She seemed to take five steps back and the girl simply lunged with one fierce leap and was in front of her again, trying to push, hit and whack at (Y/n). It wasn't clear whether her intention was to hurt (Y/n) or just to keep pushing her back, perhaps even to push her out and try and get (Y/n) out of this backstage area where the girl deemed she didn't belong.

"Please- that's enough!" (Y/n) rose her voice only so the girl could hear her and try and take note of her words. "This isn't helping anyone-"

(Y/n) raised her arms in front of her face and stepped back, her Respect training kicking in which had to be refreshed every two years. The training that taught them how to get out of tricky situations, how to protect themselves without fighting back because they weren't allowed to lash out or become physical with anyone, even if they were being attacked in the ER.

The last thing (Y/n) wanted ot do was hit this girl and actually fight her, that wasn't going to help and it wouldn't do the band any favours. She could just imagine the headlines if this got out. Luke's wife fighting with an obsessed fan backstage.

She could hear voices.

As she backed up, (Y/n) tried to look around, to gage where they were coming from while she realised something else; she could no longer hear the band. The show was over, the music had quietened down significantly to an audio track playing through the speakers to serenade the fans as they left. The walls of the arena were no longer pulsing and vibrating with the live music; the band would be backstage at any moment.

"You need to stop." There was a deafening, certain tone to (Y/n)'s voice as her hand collided with the girl's wrist, smacking her arm away in a defence mechanism to prevent herself from being punched this time.

Her body propelled towards the left, trying to aim for the steps that led towards the stage because she could hear laughter and pounding footsteps. If she reached the band then maybe this girl would stop.

Maybe she wouldn't keep fighting if she realised that the band were nearby and she could see them. That they would witness her trying to attack Luke's wife, which would really set them against her. And she wouldn't want the band to be upset with her, not if she was as obsessed with the band as (Y/n) thought she was.

Luke's name was on the top of (Y/n)'s tongue and she just caught a flash of emerald green and a wisp of black curls out the corner of her eye before her vision went white.

Rough hands landed on her shoulders, nails digging into her jacket and wrenching her back so fast that she lost her footing. All the air expelled from her lungs in a soundless scream, a punch of air that nobody could hear or understand.

One boot went flying into the air as (Y/n)'s balance went off-kilter, her body wavering backwards where the girl was dragging and pulling on her. But when the girl shoved her with a hiss of words that (Y/n) couldn't hear due to the panic blocking her mind, everything blacked out.

Her body swooned to the left, stomach lurching into her throat and eyes snapping closed as she fell with a hard bang.

This time (Y/n) did scream with what little air she had left in her lungs when her body hit one of the sound boxes with a resounding bang that echoed right up to the ceiling. The edge of the box slammed into her chest beneath her arm and the resounding snap shot through (Y/n)'s whole skeletal system and made her brain turn to mush.

Her head hit the floor with a thump that rattled her brain and her arms seemed to jerk and spasm against her chest as she flopped onto the floor on her side. A mess of trembling limbs and stuttering breaths, eyes rolled to the back of her head and hair fanned across her face like curtains trying to shield her and give some sense of dignity.

"Jesus- what the fuck are you doing?!"

The jet black sunglasses that had been perched on the bridge of Luke's nose were thrown to the side, landing carelessly on one of the many equipment units as he set into a run. The slight heel on his shoes clicking against the tiled floor as he went, hands clenched into fists as he aimed for his wife.

As soon as he was close enough, Luke wrenched up the flared denim around his knees so he could slam down on the hard floor and hunch over (Y/n)'s trembling frame.

He had no idea who the girl was standing just to his left. Clearly a fan, she had to be with the outfit she was wearing and the face paint and the top, but that didn't answer his multitude of other questions. Why was she here? How did she get backstage? What was her problem with (Y/n)? Why was she attacking his wife?

"Oh! Oh, I-"

"Get away from my wife."

Luke's tone was clearly one that startled the young girl because she took a stumbling step backwards. Shocked by his words and the way that he held his left arm out towards her to keep her a good distance away from him and more importantly, from (Y/n).

He heard Calum's harsh footsteps bursting forward as he uttered "We need security!"

It didn't take long for their security personal to crowd round and once they saw (Y/n) laid on the floor and the young girl looking rather horrified with Luke keeping her at bay, they knew what to do.

She shrieked when they caught her by the arms just before she had chance to turn and bolt. And once they were pulling her back to detain her, both legs were swinging in the air and she was practically screaming as if she were the one who had been assaulted.

"She shouldn't be back here." Michael pointed towards the doors, hinting for them to get her out of here. This was a restricted access zone, this was where the band and their families remained after shows and where all their equipment and the stage and crew stayed.

They couldn't have fans back here, especially not ones that were violent and lashed out against their families like this.

"Me? No I- I should- let go of me! She's the one who doesn't belong here!" Her hands tried to lash out and wave in (Y/n)'s direction, who was trying to blink back into focus and do her best to sit up.

"She's family."

The girl's shrieks and yells of protest could be heard even after she was escorted out, probably to be detained somewhere until they could get management down here and handle the situation.

Luke tried to simmer down his temper that was rising within him, not wanting to boil over when he needed to make sure (Y/n) was okay and stay here with her.

He felt (Y/n)'s hands trembling as she reached out for him and tried to grasp onto his biceps as he hovered over her. His hands slid around her waist, carefully easing her up from the floor so she was sitting upright.

"Baby, talk to me. Are you okay?" Concern lit up Luke's voice as one hand gently rested beneath (Y/n)'s chin, tilting her head back while his thumb traced her lower lip to try and get her attention.

He could see the tears flooding down her face, though she didn't seem to be consciously crying, more like it was a reaction than anything else.

When she shook her head Luke felt like his heart had been struck with a knife and he watched as she moved one shaking hand to hover over the right side of her chest.

"I h- I heard a snap," her watering eyes made Luke let out a shaky breath as he tried to look down and check her chest, but he was no medic or nurse, not like she was. If (Y/n) had heard a snap and she thought there was something wrong, that she might have broken a rib or two then she was most likely correct.

"Your ribs?" He confirmed, biting his lip as (Y/n) nodded, but she couldn't press her hand down on her chest properly. One little touch was enough to make her lungs seize up, she couldn't very well assess herself.

"Might n- need an X-ray." She mumbled before lolling her head forward so that her temple was pressed into Luke's shoulder.

She felt his lips smothering the top of her head, one arm delicately winding around her waist while his other hand cupped the back of her head, holding her to him as he breathed into her hair.

"The tour bus won't get out of that mayhem for ages, can we comandeer one of the ambulances?" Calum looked between the couple and one of the arena crew for confirmation.

The tour bus was stationed at the back of the arena, but the car park was going to be packed tight with everyone trying to get out and go home. It would take some people up to an hour to get out of the car park, and the band couldn't sit and wait in that mayhem to try and get (Y/n) to the hospital for a chest X-ray.

But they had ambulances here, lots of them stationed all around the venue in case someone took ill and needed quick transport to the ER. Surely one of them could give them a ride, this was a legitimate medical emergency and the ambulance would get fast-tracked out of here.

"We'll find the paramedics."

It wasn't until (Y/n) and Luke were in the back of the ambulance that she squeezed his hand and drew him closer so she could whisper, "You know where they're taking us, right?"

It sounded half like a question and half like (Y/n) was asking for reassurance or confirmation, to which Luke nodded solemnly.

He knew where this ambulance was going to go; it would take them to the nearest hospital, and that would be the Pittsburgh training medical centre. Exactly where (Y/n) worked, in emergency medicine. The only saving grace Luke could think was that at least it was almost midnight. The night shift would be in play, and (Y/n) didn't do many nights. Most of her colleagues should have gone home by now so the gossip mill shouldn't be as bad as what it would be if this had happened during the daytime.

"I can walk in," (Y/n) tried to sit forwards on the gurney when the ambulance finally came to a stop, but she didn't get very far.

The paramedic pressed his hand lightly to her shoulder to keep her sitting back against the propped up gurney, and Luke's free hand which wasn't tangled with (Y/n)'s was quick to rest on her thigh and lightly push her leg down. Not giving her a chance to swing her legs over the side of the gurney and try to stand up.

"Sorry, we've got to wheel you in and transfer. Procedure." The paramedic noted with a shrug as the driver came to open the back door for them.

"You know that," Luke murmured quietly and gave a squeeze to her hand as he hunched down once he was stood up so his head didn't hit the roof of the ambulance.

He hopped down first, waiting patiently and idly at the bottom of the ambulance for them to get the gurney down so he could take (Y/n)'s hand again.

The band were heading back to their hotel- since Luke was the only one who actuslly resided here and didn't need to book a room for this tour date- and all three of them said they would wait up for news to know how (Y/n) was and said to call if they needed anything.

A shiver crawled down (Y/n)'s spine when the gurney was wheeled through the doors and the rush of the Pitt settled around her as if she had turned up for an extra night shift.

She could feel Luke's hand tightening in hers as he stuck close to her side, eyes round as he took in the place he had heard so much about but never actually visited. He had no need, he was never a patient here and this wasn't the kind of job where he could pop by for a flying visit, not when he knew his wife would always be busy and rushed off her feet.

(Y/n) felt like she was an armed robber because the moment they headed inside, it was like all eyes were immediately upon them.

It was a mixture of many different things. A few colleagues noticed her, recognised her, and stared in surprise. Others seemed to clock her and Luke's lavish, brightly styled outfits and immediately stared to find out who hey were and what was going on. Curiosity bright within their eyes. And then there were those colleagues who recognised Luke, those who knew exactly who he was and what he did for a living, and stared with jaws almost dropping to the floor.

"What have we got?"

Even though it was Shen who approached them first, (Y/n) knew just from one look that he recognised Luke immediately.

The way his brows rose, that sly smile that crept over his features which he tried to hide behind a clipboard he clearly wasn't paying attention to. He was looking between (Y/n) and Luke, not wanting to stare but also wanting to get the gossip from (Y/n) because this wasn't normal. One of their bright, day shift nurses didn't just come in here with a celebrity attached to their arm.

This was proper gossip, and Shen wanted to be involved.

"Female, twenties, suffered a fall and has suspected broken ribs and possible concussion. BP slightly elevated at one-forty over eighty-six. Dose of morphine administered on route."

When Shen stepped closer, (Y/n) brought Luke's arm a bit closer so she could cling to it like it was a comfort blanket. She had to sit forward to ease the pain in her side, slouching down or lying back made her ribs feel like a weight was pressing down on them and made it harder to breathe normally.

"Where's Abbot?" Her eyes darted around for the attending she didn't usually work under.

On the few night shifts she had done, (Y/n) had gotten along well with Abbot, they were always talking in passing when their shifts crossed or the few times they got to work together.

"I suppose I'll go find him for you."

She heard Luke murmur "Is that the attending?" in her ear and she nodded, shivering when she felt him press a quick peck to her cheek. He had his free hand in his jean pocket now, his hip pressed up against the gurney since they were waiting here for the time being until they were directed to a free room.

His lips merged with the top of (Y/n)'s head after a moment, so his eyes could roam around whilst he contented himself with giving (Y/n) some affection and breathign softly against her hair. But his attention quickly diverted when he heard a little gasp behind him.

His brows raised in surprise and he turned, hands still grasped in (Y/n)'s and the other in his pocket, as he took in a rather young and exhausted looking girl.

Her hair was in a ponytail that was frazzled and coming loose around her features, she had wide brown eyes and small studded earrings that shone in the illuminescent lights. Her mouth was hanging open, hands digging into a paper file and her jacket seemed to be hanging off of one shoulder, but she wouldn't look anywhere but at Luke.

"Oh- oh my God, you- you're Luke." Victoria's jaw seemed to hang towards the floor as she pointed at Luke, as if he nor anyone else knew what she was talking about.

It was clear that she was now buzzing with energy whereas before she had been about ready to collapse from utter exhaustion.

Her eyes seemed to dart from Luke to (Y/n), then back to him like she thought he was a figment of her imagination.

"Hi," he smiled and nodded his head in her direction, trying to be kind because he could tell from the way that she was looking at (Y/n) that she knew his wife. He didn't want any of her colleagues to think he was rude.

"You know a celebrity?" Victoria whispered to (Y/n), amazement flooding her voice as she looked utterly starstruck.

(Y/n) felt the great need to drop her head into her hands and hide her face from them all. This was why she never let on that she was married and tried to keep her personal life to herself. No one here in the Pitt had ever seen her dressed up like this, they probably didn't know she had clothes or a style like this.

Much less that her husband had even more of a flare to his style than she did.

"Hey kid, look at you all dolled up."

A small glimmer of relief lit up (Y/n)'s chest that was still vibrating and aching with each shallow breath she took, when Dana's voice hit her ears. The charge nurse aimed towards her, a look of surprise written across her face and a smile curving at her lips. She brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear, one hand on her hip as the other rested on the gurney and she leant in towards (Y/n).

She seemed to look the young nurse up and down, taking in the jeans, the thin heeled black boots, the make up and sparkling glitter over her face and the vibrant, boyant style to her hair that made (Y/n) look so different from her usual self. Different from the tame, plain-clothed nurse who kept her head down and had a kind smile for any patient she looked after.

When Dana lifted her head and clocked Luke in all his glamour, she rose a brow and looked back down to (Y/n).

They were two of a kind; a matching pair; made for one another.

"And what have you been up to on your night off?" There was an air of humour to Dana's otherwise sympathetic voice and (Y/n) glanced down for a second.

"We were at a concert, I took a tumble… fifth and sixth might be broken," her left hand hovered over her right side to indicate her ribs which caused Dana to whistle through her teeth.

"This your fella?" It was clear that Dana had clocked the engagement and wedding rings now clad on (Y/n)'s fingers, and her gaze drifted to Luke who knew exactly who she was just from one look. "You look like you outta be on stage in all that gear."

"People tell me I'm a star." He tried to curb down his grin at the look on Dana's face, and he stepped a bit closer to the gurney, leaning into (Y/n) a little more since he was stood on her left side, and not in danger of leaning on her damaged ribs.

By now there was quite the crowd gathering round, both to see who (Y/n) was with and see how dolled up she was. And because others had realised who Luke was and were trying to be inconspicuous as they snapped a few photos of him here in their ER.

"Hey, I didn't know you had so many fans on the night shift." Robby's voice broke through the rabble as he moved towards the gurney, rubbing his sore eyes.

It had been a long shift that they all wanted to end. There was a mixture of day and night staff here, some still logging incident reports and charting, some pulling double shifts because they were short staffed, and a few here from an earlier incident emergency. The day staff were slowly starting to trickle out now and head home, but not everyone had gone yet.

(Y/n) felt like telling her attending that everyone was crowding round for Luke, not for her. But she didn't get chance when Abbot made an appearance, and his eyes narrowed as he looked between Luke and (Y/n).

"You know the band?" Was the first thing that came out of Abbot's mouth, and it pulled a few concerned looks his way, especially from Luke. He expected the younger generation to recognise him, but not someone like Abbot.

"Band?"

"Don't you guys listen to the radio during your shifts? His music is all we listen to down here on the graveyard shift."

"He's like, a rock star." Shen's words which came from a distance, made (Y/n) smile because she could see the tinge of red that tainted Luke's cheeks when he heard that.

Wordlessly (Y/n) raised her left hand to flash her ring. Clearly it wasn't going to stay secret for long that she was here with a celebrity, and they were going to wonder why. It was about time they knew something about her personal life, though it would be a big surprise that she had been married to a celeb for a few years now and had managed to keep it a secret from them all.

When they all clocked the ring, and the adoring look in Luke's eyes as he stared down at (Y/n) rather than looking any of them in the eye, gasps and murmurs spread through the air.

It was pretty clear with their matching outfits that they were a couple, they had the same style, the same matching freak persona.

"Him? You're married to him?!" Excitement flooded Victoria's voice before she could tell herself to be quiet.

"Damn, how'd you manage that?"

(Y/n) felt Luke's free hand ghosting beneath her hair and his thumb traced along her neck until pleasant shivers were rolling down her spine. And when he bent forward and hid his nose and lips in her hair, she just about managed to hear what he whispered, despite that last question not being aimed at him.

Your day goes by in a haze. Work was the same as always but you’re distracted.

You’ve been distracted a lot recently.

The last few months have felt heavy. Not only has work been overwhelming but your husband, Brendon, well, that’s been the heaviest part.

Between both of your jobs becoming busier, you both haven’t had much time together.

You both used to have ample time in a week to meet up for lunch, go explore downtown, go out to dinners, have date nights, and everything in between. But lately these things have become dry, especially in the bedroom. 

During your five years of marriage, this has never been a problem. Not to this extent.

You didn’t think much of it until it had stopped completely. Some days you were too tired or other days Brendon was tired too or busy working and not home as much. 

The few times you had been eager to be under him, it never made it past a heavy makeout and some groping. 

You acknowledged it had been a combination of you both not being up to it but then your mind began to wander.

Recently you had been trying to get things back to how they were only to have your advances turned down. Brendon either acted oblivious, was asleep before anything happened or ended up working late.

You thought it had been a mutual disinterest at the time but now?

 You’re not so sure.

Was it you?

Maybe he was bored of you?

He did spend a lot of time at the hospital these last few months. And again you guys hadn't had sex in maybe a month or two?

No, no Brendon wouldn’t do that.

Right?

Maybe you could really initiate it. Buy new lingerie, get your nails and hair done.

That could work.

Hopefully it did.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The next day is your day off and you decide to put your plan into action.

You get your hair refreshed and styled first. Then you go to the nail salon and pick out his favorite color.

Perfect.

Your last stop was a lavish lingerie store in downtown Pittsburgh. The selection was a bit overwhelming but then you find a winning piece.

It accentuated your breasts and made your ass look fantastic. A bonus was that it matched the color of your nails.

He wouldn’t be able to resist.

Once you’re home you fix your hair a bit and apply a light makeup before changing into the lacy material.

—-

About thirty minutes later you hear the front door unlock from your spot on the bed. You adjust your hair and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands.

Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall towards the bedroom.

Brendon steps through the doorway, scrubs in disarray and a slight frown on his face.

“Hey baby” you say gently.

He briefly looks up as he drops his bag by the dresser.

“Hey.”

You’re taken back a bit.

Hey?

Just hey?

You knew things had been a bit rough these last few months but this is the most distant he's ever seemed.

Like he just acknowledged a roommate and not his wife.

You don’t let the dry greeting deter you.

You stand up and walk up to him.

Running your hand up his bicep and the other up on his shoulder.

“Everything okay Bren?”

He huffs a bit sarcastically “Is it ever?”

Ouch.

You bring your hand from his bicep to his face.

“Maybe I could help you relax, hmm?”

You see a ghost of a grin but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone.

“That’s nice but not tonight.”

He gently moves your hands off of him and walks around you to the walk-in closet.

You stand in the same spot for a moment. Your heart drops into your stomach and a chill runs down your spine.

What. Just. Happened.

Is this it?

Does he not find you attractive anymore?

Is he….

Is he gonna leave you?

You hold back the tears and make your way to the ensuite bathroom and lock the door.

Gripping the counter and leaning against it, you look into the mirror.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

One tear falls, and then another. 

Then another until you can’t stop them from falling.

You hold both hands over your mouth to quiet the sobs that rack your body.

You back up until you meet the wall and slide down.

Your chest heaves from the sobs and agonizing pain in your heart.

He’s gonna leave me.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Brendon cracks his neck as he walks back out from the closet, scrubs discarded and now changed into fresh pajamas.

He sees your side of the bed empty but then sees the bathroom door closed and hears the shower running.

He lets out a sigh and gets into bed as he waits for you. All he wants is to get some rest and have you cuddled up against him. 

Brendon knew things had been a bit strained lately and he felt a bit guilty for not being as present in your relationship like usual but things were starting to get better at work and he hoped you guys could get back to normal now. 

Today has been rough like the last few months but things would change come his next shift.

He just needed to recuperate from today and then he’d have a good talk with you and apologize. Maybe take you out for dinner and a movie.

He smiles at the thought.

——

It’s been over an hour before Brendon still sees you’re not in bed.

He goes up to the bathroom door and presses his ear against it.

The shower is still on.

Weird.

He can’t hear anything else.

“Sweetheart,” he knocks lightly “you good in there?”

No response.

“Baby?” He grabs the door handle to open it but he finds it locked.

Panic starts to seep into his veins.

“Baby please open the door.”

He’s still met with silence.

Brendon’s heart starts to race as he reaches a hand up on the top of the door frame and grabs the spare key sitting there for emergencies.

Once he has the door open he looks around and then towards the shower.

His blood runs cold.

“Sweetheart!”

He runs to the shower where your naked form is sitting, slumped inside against the wall.

He practically rips the glass door off its hinges as he gets into the shower still fully clothed.

On his knees he grabs you by the shoulders and turns your face towards his.

He’s met with puffy, red rimmed eyes staring back at him.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong baby? Are you hurt? Did you fall?”

His fingers press gently but quickly around your head looking for any blood, bumps or injuries.

You slowly shake your head.

“M’fine” you mumble.

He furrows his eyebrows at your quiet words.

“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that to convince me. C’mon let’s get you out of here. It’s freezing.”

He scoops up your cold body and sits you on the counter by the sink.

He grabs your favorite fluffy towel and wraps it around you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to help warm you up.

His heart breaks at your sad demeanor.

“Baby,” he lifts your chin up to look at him “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Tears build in your eyes and your chin trembles.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Then the tears fall as you lean your head into his shoulder.

Sobs rack your body and Brendon holds you, tears building in his eyes.

“Leave you?” He asks confused

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Y-You don’t want m-me anymore.” You manage to say between the tears.

“What?” he leans you back and gently holds your face in his hands.

“Why wouldn’t I want my wife?”

“You’ve b-been distant. I th-thought maybe we could just have s-some fun tonight but then you didn’t want me a-and I’m scared you don’t want m-me at all. That you want someone else..”

The words completely shattered Brendon’s heart.

Had he really withdrawn from you that much that you felt he didn’t love you anymore?

That you thought he’d leave you? 

For someone else?

Fuck.

He had to fix this, quick.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

Your tired eyes meet his.

“First, hear me and hear me clearly. I’m never leaving you. I fucking love you. So damn much.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Second, I’ve not been honest these last few months. Gloria has been making big cuts. Letting go lots of staff, including surgeons and attendings. I heard my name was up on the list of potential ones to go. It got to me and I’ve been hauling ass every fucking day for my job. I didn’t want to admit that I was scared. I’m supposed to support you and give you everything. Give you the world…I couldn’t let you down.”

A tear falls down his cheek and without thinking you reach up and wipe it away.

“Lastly, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I let all of that affect our marriage and make you think I didn’t love you. That I’d leave you. I swore in my vows I’d love you forever and I meant that. Every word.”

You sniffle and take a shaky breath.

“Then why’d you turn me down tonight?”

“I was so upset earlier over everything. I found out I’m for sure not getting let go but I was angry. Angry my name was even brought up for it to begin with. I didn’t want to take that out on you in any form, especially sex. But I think I already did with the lack of it over these last few months. Which again I’m sorry. I just was so overwhelmed with everything and didn’t want to force things and fake it with you. I never want that for us.”

He closes his eyes, willing himself not to cry in front of you.

Then he feels you wrap yourself around him.

“Brendon. I love you. You could never let me down. Even if you did lose your job, I wouldn’t think less of you, be disappointed in you or love you any less. I know that stuff can be scary but next time please just talk to me. This is a marriage. I’m here for you as much as you’re here for me. I can’t support you and be there for you if you don’t let me in. If you’re not in the mood for a conversation or sex or anything, just tell me. I’ll always understand. But I really thought you were gonna leave.”

He shakes his head rapidly.

“God no, baby. Never happening.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I’d survive it.”

He grabs your face and kisses you slowly.

“Also I know I didn’t say it earlier but you did look hot as hell. I’m sorry I ruined that for you.”

You chuckle a bit.

“You can make it up to me later Bren. Right now I just want to get in bed and cuddle my husband.”

He smiles brightly at you.

As much as Ashton enjoyed coming up with new music on his own, it was better when he had someone around to listen to the melodies and bounce ideas back and forth with. And right now with (Y/n) being out, he was home alone, and Michael seemed to have rung just in time as Ashton wasn't too sure about this new song.

"Are you busy?" Michael spoke as if he hadn't heard or taken in what Ashton had said, and there was a nervous tone to his voice that made Ashton tense up immediately.

His eyes cast down to his phone though he wasn't sure why because it wasn't a video call but a regular phone conversation.

He could feel a frown forming on his lips; that wasn't the kind of tone he was used to and it made Ashton nervous when any of the band were anxious or upset. "Not particularly, why? What's up?"

"Right don't panic, but I'm with (Y/n) and she's alright now-"

"Now? She's alright now, what does that mean?"

He didn't like the sound of that. Saying she was alright now meant that she hadn't been alright earlier on, it meant something had happened or she was ill or something had gone wrong.

The guitar on his lap was quickly set aside on the cushion next to him and Ashton reached down for his phone, grappling to hold it closer to his face despite it being on speaker. He needed to hear Michael properly and figure out this situation and whether or not he had any need to panic.

"She passed out for a minute, but she's come back around and she's feeling a bit better. But we don't want her driving home, can you come pick her up, she's at our house."

Shudders crawled down Ashton's spine as he hastily got to his feet, uttering "I'm on my way."

He knew (Y/n) had said something about popping by Michael's place on the way home to see him and the girls for a bit, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise that (Y/n) was now at Michael's house. But it was worrying that she had passed out. (Y/n) wasn't prone to fainting spells or collapsing or feeling so unwell that she blacked out, it just wasn't like her.

He tripped oer his feet as he stumbled into the hallway, hurrying to put on his shoes before he remembered he was still on the phone.

"Why'd she pass out, what happened? You sure she's okay now?" He grabbed his keys from the side table and made his way out of the house, aiming for his truck, the phone still gripped tight in his fist.

"I don't know. One minute she was talking in the kitchen, then she was out cold. She still looks a bit drowsy to me."

Ashton wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he reached Michael's house, but (Y/n) seemed both better and somehow different to how he'd expected.

She didn't look as drowsy as Michael implied she had been earlier, though there was a faraway look in her eyes that were focused on something or nothing near the window. She was indeed awake and alert now which stopped Ashton's heart from racing and pounding like his bass drum on overdrive.

Her arms were coiled around her chest and her cheek was pressed up against the back of the sofa, one leg brought up near her stomach like she was trying to curl in on herself and become as compact as possible.

When he reached the sofa, Ashton went down on his knees and folded both arms over the armrest. His chin perched on top of his arm and a soft smile graced his lips when he looked up at her. He could see the tiredness behind (Y/n)'s eyes when she looked down at him, blinking in surprise as if she hadn't even heard Michael open the door or show Ashton inside.

When (Y/n) reached down and brushed her finger along Ashton's cheek, he sighed softly and leaned into the touch.

"Are you okay?"

(Y/n) resisted the urge to reach her hand up and rub her temple for what would hae been the hundredth time since she sat down in here, but the headache behind her eyes was one she wished to rid from her temple.

"Just a headache… and I think I jarred my elbow," her eyes cast down to her right arm as if to prove her point.

She wasn't sure what had happened. One moment she was in the kitchen being offered a drink, halfway through a conversation, and the next, her mind seemed to switch itself off. She woke up laid on her side on the tiled floor, Michael's concerned face hovering over her while the girls were ushered and taken out in the garden to play.

Her elbow must have caught on the counter or spasmed when she hit the floor because it felt stiff and aching, but it was a dull ache that (Y/n) could ignore and put to the back of her mind.

Her eyes locked back on Ashton when he reached out to curl his hand around her thigh as if gently trying to snag her attention back again.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

Her eyes followed Ashton as he leant forward and pecked her thigh before he slowly got to his feet and extended his hands down to her. He wasn't looking for an apology, he knew (Y/n) couldn't help it, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried about her.

"Shall we go home?" When her hands slotted into his, Ashton carefully pulled her up to her feet.

He studied her for a minute when he saw that inquizitive look in her eyes and saw the way that she bit down on the corner of her mouth. There was something on her mind, something she wanted to say.

"I- I guess I'll leave my car here?" (Y/n) glanced over her right shoulder towards Michael who was stood just behind the sofa.

She had driven herself here after being out all morning, and now Ashton had come here to take her home. She had tried arguing with Michael, telling him she could drive herself home after a while when she felt better, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said that either he called Ashton to come pick her up, or he drove her home, it was her choice.

"Come by whenever you want to pick it up; when you're feeling better. You couldn't drive home feeling like that."

(Y/n) knew it wouldn't have been a good idea to drie herself home, but she didn't want to be an inconvenience to anyone. She would just have to get a lift back here tomorrow to come get her car and drive it back home.

Her head was still spinning when they said goodbye and headed out to Ashton's truck.

The drive home wasn't much better. (Y/n) kept her arms enveloped around her middle like she was giving herself a comforting hug and her head pressed against the window. The cold seeping through her skin and doing something to relieve the headache she was suffering from.

This day just kept getting better and better.

When she felt Ashton's hand curl around her knee and his thumb began to graze over her skin, she reached down and held onto his wrist, though she continued to stay quiet and stare aimlessly out the window.

Whenever he could, his eyes would leave the road for a few seconds to glance in her direction, but she was constantly staring out the window. Ashton knew something wasn't right, (Y/n) wasn't usually this quiet and distant, but he couldn't be sure whether it was down to feeling unwell and what had happened today, or something else entirely.

Ashton's eyes followed (Y/n) intently once they were back home and she headed inside. She looked like she was moving on autopilot, like she wasn't really thinking about what she was doing or where she was going.

She aimed for the living room and sank down on the sofa like her legs had given out on her. There was a strange look in her eyes, and Ashton's chest tightened when he watched her reach out for one of the cushions beside her and pull it to her chest. Her arms bound around it, pressing it into her middle like it was a teddy she was clinging to for comfort.

With a sigh he aimed towards her and perched down beside her, sitting close enough that his knee nudged into hers.

"Baby what's the matter? Do you feel sick?" Stretching his arm across, Ashton gently pressed the back of his hand against her temple in case she had a temperature.

She hadn't mentioned feeling or being sick and Michael only said she had passed out for a minute and came back around soon enough. But perhaps she had passed out because she was sick or coming down with something and if that was the case then Ashton would rather she took some meds, even went to bed if she felt that unwell.

He didn't like how little she was talking to him. He was used to (Y/n) telling him when she wasn't feeling great or seeking comfort in him.

When his hand dropped from her temple it moved to curl around her arm, both of which were compressed into the pillow like she was trying to mould it into part of her being.

For a few seconds (Y/n) continued to stare down at her hands, but then she finally lifted her head, although her gaze wouldn't meet Ashton's eyes when she spoke.

"Michael showed me the tour schedule you've all agreed on; you didn't mention it."

Her voice was quiet, like the words didn't matter and this was no big deal, but it was. It was to (Y/n). When Michael casually brought it up in conversation while (Y/n) had been playing with Lua, she thought she had misheard him. She had to feign innocence and pretend she probably forgot that Ashton had mentioned it, when really he hadn't said anything about it at all.

The schedule was already set, it wasn't a proposition from the way Michael was speaking, it was already made and set in stone. He'd shown it to (Y/n) when she asked, and she smiled and said it looked good, because it did. They were doing a full world tour again, well over a hundred shows on the list.

A frown worked its way onto Ashton's lips and he pulled his hand back so he could knot his fingers together and rest his hands on his parted thighs.

"I… I guess I didn't, why what's that matter?"

So maybe he hadn't said that it was all agreed on, but (Y/n) knew all about the tour, where they planned to go, that it was going to be a big one this time and start at the beginning of the year. It wasn't like Ashton had hid anything from her, he just hadn't shown her the complete list, he would have gotten round to it at some point when it crossed his mind and he remembered.

"You didn't show or run it past me, Ash. You didn't think I needed to know that you're gonna be on the road for most of the year."

Rubbing at her temple, (Y/n) turned to look at Ashton on her left while she straightened up and sat forward.

This really wasn't the time to be having this conversation, but he had asked what was wrong and this was what (Y/n) had playing on her mind. The fact that she hadn't been asked or even shown it before it was all agreed on. She was his wife, she thought it would have been curteous to be shown the dates and ask fi there were any that conflicted something important for her and Ashton.

"It's a world tour, babe, you knew it was gonna be a big one-"

"That- that's not my point." An ache built up behind her eyes that was so profound (Y/n) was sure she was going to be sick.

This time when Ashton reached out for her, she turned her back to him and curled further around the pillow, but it wasn't helping.

"Then what is?"

Her lege shook when she pushed up to her feet, leaving the cushion in her place. A numb tingling sensation spread down her legs right to her toes and she sank her teeth into her lower lip, trying to control the irritation rising within her that made her feel even worse.

There was a slight tremble in her hands when she headed into the kitchen and got the juice out from the fridge. Something with a bit of sugar might perk her up and make her feel better.

(Y/n) could feel Ashton's presence behind her as she poured a drink and took a few small sips, not wanting to down it just to overwhelm herself and throw it back up again. She didn't have to turn around to know he was right behind her, to know that he was close enough that she could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest and the tension that seemed to be radiating off of him.

"What's the issue here? This is my job, the cycle of it. Write the album, produce it then tour with it, it's no different to all the other times." There was a calm, composed tone to Ashton's voice because he wasn't trying to start a fight, he was just trying to understand what it was he had done wrong.

This was the way things were, the way it had always been and he couldn't see how it was any different or how it was causing a problem, but there was one because he knew (Y/n) was upset.

"My issue is that you didn't tell me, you didn't show me the schedule before you went and agreed on it." Why was that so much to ask? Why was it so hard to Ashton to fathom that (Y/n) would of liked to be asked, consulted, thought of first before he blindly agreed?

When she turned around with her hips pressing back into the counter and her glass held shakily in her hand, she found Ashton staring at her with narrowed eyes and an upturned upper lip.

"You'll be coming with me." There was a sense of urgency in his voice as he held his hands out in front of him like he couldn't make his point any clearer.

(Y/n) always came on tour with the band even before she and Ashton got married. It wasn't like she would be staying at home and he would be off in other countries with them both separated for most of the year. (Y/n) would be there with him, even if she couldn't stay for the whole tour, she would be there for a good majority of it.

They always worked it out, sat down and went through the dates and figured out when (Y/n) could be there. Her job was flexible and remote, she could work during the day and when they were travelling as long as she had internet signal to send emails and send all her work across.

Tears sprung up in (Y/n)'s eyes as her lips pinched together both to try and keep her composure and stop her from saying something she shouldn't.

She knew that even if work commitments meant she couldn't make all of the tour, she would be there for some of it. That still wasn't her point, it was that she hadn't been consulted and furthermore, she had seen all the tour dates and the breaks in between.

When Ashton shook his head as if to signal for her to say something and his hand stretched out towards her, she set her glass down and kept her hands gripping the counter behind her until it cut into her palms.

"I've seen the dates!" Her tone was exasperated and her shoulders began to shake from the force of trying to remain composed.

"So?"

"So I've seen when there will be breaks, when the tour will end. It's been perfectly worked around everyone else but you. Breaks for Luke's family dates, it ends right before Michael's girls birthdays, I know Calum and his sister's birthdays are during that two week break near the middle of the tour. You didn't ask me if there was any dates you needed to pencil in, any specific times you needed the tour to avoid."

It wasn't just herself that (Y/n) was upset for, it was Ashton too. Deep down she knew it wasn't intentional, but it had been worked perfectly around everyone but Ashton.

Luke's anniversary, his daughter's birthday, those dates happened to be during the breaks in between the tour dates. Michael's anniversary didn't have any tour dates on and the tour miraculously ended before both his daughter's birthdays meaning he could be home with them. Even Calum's special dates were accomodated.

But Ashton hadn't asked (Y/n) if there were any dates or anything she would need him to avoid, any dates that she had something pressing or had planned something that included him.

As much as she could understand the guys wanting to be home and present for their kid's birthdays, that didn't mean that Ashton couldn't be accomodated for as well. This tour was about all of them.

A deep sigh rumbled through Ashton's chest like a thunderstorm and his hand rose to run across his face while his other hand curled around his hip. When he opened his eyes again, they were intently focused on (Y/n) as if he were waiting for some kind of revelation.

"Go on, what date have I forgotten? Tell me."

A stray tear escaped (Y/n)'s eye as she shook her head. This wasn't how she wanted to have this conversation, this wasn't how she wanted to tell him and this wasn't her arguing with him that he had forgotten something, that wasn't what she was doing.

"It's not about you forgetting Ash. I need- I need you, okay? I'll need you… all those fucking dates on tour and I can't-" every emotion seemed to bubble up within (Y/n)'s chest until her throat felt clogged and she couldn't get the words out properly.

"Need me… what? I'll be with you, you'll be on the tour babe what-"

"The tour that's slotted around everyone else's family but yours." (Y/n) snapped back, hating how selfish it made her sound even as she said it and knew it was the truth.

Even Ashton seemed to know it because his shoulders slumped and his foot stopped its incessant tapping against the floor.

"It has to work around them, they've got kids to think about-"

"So will you I'm pregnant!"

(Y/n) clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as she said it, wishing she could take it back. She didn't want to tell him during an argument. She'd tried so hard to come up with a more endearing way to tell him, to give him some kind of surprise or present to open and reveal the news.

Telling him in the middle of a disagreement like this wasn't how (Y/n) was supposed to do it, but the words fell out before she could register them or contain them.

Luke and Michael weren't the only ones with families to consider. (Y/n) was pregnant now, she was going to have a baby and that would happen smack bang in the middle of this new tour which was why she had wanted Ashton to talk to her about the dates.

She would have given him some surprise with the news and then he could have talked to the band and worked out a better schedule. One that gave him some dates off for when (Y/n) would be due to give birth and then to spend some time with her before finishing up the tour. Now it had caused a conflict without meaning to.

When (Y/n) dared to open her eyes as she sighed through tepid breaths, she found Ashton staring directly at her like he had turned to stone.

There was a strangely blank expression on his face, like it had been wiped clean of all emotion. His pupils had expanded, blown wide until they were almost fully black with no other colour in them. His lips were parted, jaw hung slightly loose while he stood frozen, his hands still outstretched towards (Y/n) like he had been put on pause.

"You, you're…"

(Y/n) tried to get the right words to form in her mind as she nodded, an apology of coming outright with it like that, on the tip of her tongue when Ashton suddenly became unstuck.

Within the blink of an eye he was there in front of her, arms around her and lifting her with little effort until (Y/n)'s feet left the floor and she was at his mercy as he spun her around in his arms.

"Oh!"

She was quick to loop her arms hastily around the back of Ashton's neck, clinging to him to make sure she stayed in his arms and wasn't at risk of being dropped. Her lips instantly curved into a grin she couldn't hide, the tears still welling up in her eyes, but for a completely different reason this time.

"Really? You're really pregnant?" There was an air of astonishment in Ashton's voice as his wide eyes stared up at her, begging her to tell him that this wasn't some prank or a joke that had gotten out of hand. This was real, this was happening.

(Y/n) nodded again, unable to stop herself from gasping when Ashton shifted his arms around her with his hands finding purchase on the back of her thighs. He lifted her up higher until she was able- and had no choice but to wrap her legs around his torso, sitting on his hips as he held her against his chest and stared adoringly up at her.

His smile was so radiant that (Y/n) was sure she was going to be blinded, though she found herself closing her eyes the moment Ashton's mouth was on hers in a searing kiss.

"I didn't wanna tell you like that," she murmured quietly against his mouth, her fingers toying with the short curls at the back of his neck.

He hummed against her mouth but she wasn't sure if he had actually taken in or understood what she said. He was that intent on stealing all the air from her lungs and kissing her until she felt lightheaded enough that she was glad she was held up by his strong arms and not back on her own two feet.

"I'll be due before the tour reaches Sydney, and I don't really wanna give birth without you."

That was why she had been worried and had an issue when Michael showed her the dates. She was happy and fine to travel with the band, but that meant travelling when she was close to her due date. Then she would either have to give birth in a foreign country and travel the remainder of the tour with a newborn. Or she would have to go home and possibly risk having the baby without Ashton there by her side.

There was a look of alarm that flashed across Ashton's face when those words finally sunk in and he realised why this little argument had come about in the first place.

"Oh you're not doing that; you're not having her without me. Nope, no way."

(Y/n) grinned, stroking her finger up and down the back of his neck until he was shivering and tilting his head back into the touch.

But (Y/n) suddenly went over Ashton's words in her head and her eyes narrowed as she looked down at him. "Her?"

"Yeah, I reckon it's a girl; every kid so far has been for the band." He had a deep-rooted feeling that they were going to have a girl, that seemed to be the way with the band at the moment.

They were an all boy band who seemed to be having all girl offspring, it seemed only right that Ashton follow that tradition and that he would end up with a daughter too. It sounded right to him and he would bet his money on it.

(Y/n) murmured "Oh is that how it is," and stole another kiss from his lips, feeling better already.

Her teeth sank down into her lower lip when Michael tipped his head back against the sofa to look over at her where she was stood near the dining table. She wasn't sure who it was who had messaged him; someone was setting up an escape room for later on this week. She figured it was his brother.

"Not for me it won't." She shook her head once again and reached down to clear away the remnants of drawings she had been doodling earlier.

(Y/n) couldn't imagine how it would be fun. She couldn't see how her panicking and overthinking and truly believing she was never going to get out, would be classed as fun. And it all depended on what kind of escape room it was, if it was a logical, scientifical one, then maybe she could contribute. But if it was about gaming or music or history or something else, then she might not be able to help solve the clues to get out.

And the last thing she wanted was for everyone joining in to think of her as the panicking one in the corner who couldn't even help them. Nothing about that situation would be fun for (Y/n).

"Yeah, well that's because you're not," the words died down on Michael's tongue when he realised what he said, and that (Y/n) was now a few feet from the sofa with such an unreadable look on her face.

He hated the look in her eyes, that glossing, churning look like the stars always captured within them had finally burned out.

He hadn't meant it like that, he hadn't meant to say it at all, not really.

"What, I'm not what?" (Y/n) found her hands curling at her sides until her nails were piercing into her palms when Michael didn't answer. So she answered for him. "I'm not fun?"

Even if he had been speaking in jest or off-handedly or if it didn't seem like such a bad thing in Michael's head, that wasn't how it felt to (Y/n).

She was used to people making comments about her. Commenting on what she wore, her hobbies, how she didn't join in on activities or going out all night drinking and partying. She thought Michael understood, after all he always felt like he was different, like he stuck out in a crowd and could never truly involve himself or be a part of anything.

The last thing (Y/n) wanted was for Michael to say or think that she was boring, that she wasn't fun or didn't try and participate because she did. There were so many times she had tried different games and activities and days out, but they weren't her thing. They weren't entertaining or 'fun' and she felt like a sore thumb. It seemed better not to go at all than to go and be the odd one out.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"You don't have to say it; that's what you're implying." Raw hurt cut through (Y/n)'s words and immediately her words made Michael's stomach clench and rotate like a cement mixer.

"I'm not, I'm not saying that. It's just… you don't like what I do for fun. Sometimes you seem like you're avoiding it."

He cringed as he spoke because even he could hear that he wasn't explaining this well. Maybe it was selfish to think that (Y/n) wasn't as fun when she didn't like or enjoy or participate in the things that he thought were fun. But Michael liked it when he got to do things and (Y/n) was there with him. She was his partner, she was someone he found his other half with, someone who understood him and knew him like the back of her hand.

He didn't feel so outcast or alone or uneasy when he was doing something with (Y/n). It didn't matter if his friends or family were joining in, he still liked to have (Y/n) there. And when she wasn't there, it felt like she was missing out. And when she was missing out by choice, then it seemed like she was avoiding the fun or that she didn't have much fun of her own.

He clamped his mouth shut before anything else could pass his lips and cause more of an argument or upset (Y/n). The last thing he wanted to dow as upset her, but that seemed to be what he had already done.

She wouldn't look at him, her eyes were downcast towards the floor and her hands were closed into such tight fists that her arms were starting to shake.

Hurt flashed through both of their eyes. When (Y/n) finally lifted her head, she made sure to keep her sights set far away from Michael as possible.

It was like something had suddenly set off in her mind because she turned and walked out of the room so quickly that Michael blinked as if he had been imagining her presence all along.

His legs shook as he pushed himself up from the sofa, socks ruffling and bunching beneath his feet as he hurried out of the room to follow in her wake and see what she was doing. His panic didn't dwindle down at all when he watched (Y/n) sling her bag onto her shoulder and grab one of her jackets from the hooks in the hall. And he realised she had put her heels on- rather quickly he might add- and was aiming for the front door.

Oh God what had he done?

"Baby, baby what're you doing?"

"Getting some air."

(Y/n) didn't look back over her shoulder as she opened the door and stepped out before she could stop herself, because she knew if she looked back at Michael, then she wouldn't get one foot out the door. Looking at him would break the resolve and the hardening façade building up within her. If she looked at him her eyes would gloss over and she would want to stay and talk.

She would want to tell him how what he'd said had hurt and ask if he really thought like that about her. If he really thought she was no fun at all and if that was such a horrible thing. And (Y/n) wasn't sure she wanted the answers to the question she would ask him.

As she headed out of the house and walked briskly down the path- hoping that Michael wouldn't follow- she fished her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. Once her eyes set on Luke's contact, she clicked the dial button before she could think better of it.

"Hey. Get dressed, we're going out," she took a deep breath to try and keep her tone level and calm, "we're gonna go have some fun."

Michael could join them later by all means once he found out where she had gone and what she was about to go and do. He could join them wherever they ended up to go and have a night out somewhere.

He could be utterly shocked and taken back when he found out that (Y/n) was going out, that she was going to go to a club or a bar and get drunk and dance and do whatever she could that would prove to him that she wasn't some boring hermit who never wanted to leave the house or do anything remotely interesting.

She would show him just how fun she could be.

Michael's leg began to jitter up and down until his knee was violently bashing into his elbow and causing his hand to knock against his mouth and chin where his chin had been perched on top of his clasped hands.

The jitters wouldn't stop, not when the anxiety dwelling through him was starting to get more and more violent and overwhelming.

Where was (Y/n)? What was she doing? Was she alright?

She said she was going out to get some air, but that felt like a lifetime ago. She hadn't answered any of Michael's messages and when he rang her she just let it ring out until he hung up. He wanted to know she was okay, he wanted her to come home so he could apologise and make it up to her any way he could.

He hadn't meant what he said to come out like it did and he hadn't meant it as a horrid or a bad thing. He needed (Y/n) to know that, to know that he wouldn't change her or have things any other way. He loved her just the way she was and he hadn't meant to make her feel bad or self-conscious or upset in any manner.

Adrenaline spiked his heart that almost broke free from his ribs when his phone went off. He lunged forward, hands grasping for the phone on the coffee table which rattled and shook as he wrenched the phone close to his eyes to see what she had finally messaged him.

A horrible ache swelled through his chest when he saw the nickname that flashed on his lockscreen. It wasn't (Y/n) who messaged him afterall; it was Calum.

*Hey, what did you do?

One text, simple enough, but it made Michael frown in confusion and before he could stop himself he clicked the call button. He couldn't talk for long, he needed to try ringing (Y/n) again and wait for her to message and let him know that she was okay and when- if- she was coming back home.

But Michael couldn't be bothered with back and forth texts to Calum over whatever joke he was going to try and pull. Usually a message like that would lead to a big rant or explanation over something, and right now Michael didn't have the time nor the patience for that.

"What does that mean?" Those were the first words that fell from Michael's lips.

Not 'hey you okay' or an introduction or anything as simple as 'hello'. He jumped straight into the waters at the deep end and let the conversation flow.

For a few seconds Michael didn't get an answer, clearly Calum had been expecting a greeting, not a straightforward question like that. And for those first few seconds, all Calum could hear was music.

Not the kind of music Calum would have playing through his speakers in the background of his apartment. It wasn't Calum's kind of music, nothing he would play along to or start singing or dancing to. There weren't any lyrics to it, the music sounded more like a simple riff with a drumbeat in the background.

It was loud, whatever was playing and whoever was playing it must have been deaf. Michael wasn't sure Calum would have been able to hear what he'd just said and wondered if that was why he was so silent.

"Where are y-"

"What did you say to (Y/n)?"

They both spoke at the same time, but Michael's voice faded into oblivion when he heard what Calum said.

He knew something had happened. Had (Y/n) rang or texted him? Was she speaking to the rest of the band but not to Michael? Was she with them? That meant Calum had to know whether she was okay or not and where she had gone. Michael needed to know, he had to know she was alright because he was going out of his mind with worry here at home.

"Has she messaged you, is she okay?" Worry flooded Michael's tone but he didn't care as long as he got the answers he needed.

He found himself sitting forward on the sofa until he was at risk of sliding off onto the floor. His feet were aching from how he was pressing all his weight down onto them and swaying from his heels to his toes every time he moved, but it was nothing compared to the fear growing in his chest like a swam of bees that were about to strike him down.

A bubbling laugh left Calum's lips in response. "She went out with Luke to a club, he rang me when he had trouble stopping her from climbing on top of a table. When I got here she was at the bar ordering cocktails- I don't think I've ever seen her drink. She's rambling on about showing us she's fun or something; she's here without you, what did you say to her?"

Although Calum didn't quite know what was going on, he was sharp enough to understand that if (Y/n) was here at a club, without Michael but she had asked one of the band to go with her, then that meant something was up between the couple.

(Y/n) would never come out somewhere like this without Michael. She wasn't the kind of person to be out at a club at all, not unless it was a group event and she was tagging along to be polite.

Usually she would be sat beside Michael, zoning out into her own world with Michael's hand on her thigh to keep her grounded to reality and as a form of comfort.

But here she was having invited Luke out to join her. Calum thought it had been a joke when Luke rang him, having to shout to be heard over the music, asking if he wanted to come and join them because Luke wasn't quite sure (Y/n) was alright. He'd never seen her so boysterous and when she tried to climb on the table, Luke had a hard time convincing her it wasn't a good or safe idea.

Now Calum was here, joining them with shots and drinks, though he had never seen (Y/n) go out on the dance floor or drink so much. He wasn't sure he could remember ever seeing her have more than one drink to be polite. Something was up and he thought it best to ask Michael about the situation and maybe get his help on this too.

A groan rumbled through Michael's chest and throat as he rubbed his hand up and down his face.

What had he done? This was his fault. (Y/n) was doing this to prove to him that he had been wrong. She didn't have to do this but she was, and Michael couldn't just sit here at home and worry because anything could happen or go wrong.

"Where are you, I'll come down."

***

It didn't take Michael long to find the pair of them when he headed into the club. He thought he would be searching round for a while, but the people crowding, pointing and hovering near a specific booth like flies, led Michael right to his band mates. The only one missing was Ashton.

He weaved around the people hovering and generally standing in the way, knowing he was getting a few looks from a lot of people as he went past.

He wasn't exactly dressed for a club. A pain grey shirt that was two sizes too big with a dozen safety pins clipped to one shoulder, a pair of baggy black cargo pants and thick platform boots. His right candy-red hair slightly stuck out in places and needing a good combing through. He didn't look like he was ready for a night out, but then again, did he ever?

He took to messing with one of the many piercings he had, fiddling with the one on his eyebrow as if to make sure there was no hair catching on it, but really it was just an anxious habit he was used to doing.

The booth seemed like the heart of the club with how all eyes seemed to aim towards it and people were looking and pointing towards it.

When he reached the booth, a swell of disappointment hit Michael like a train and he almost stumbled back on his heels.

(Y/n) wasn't there.

His glossed black and white nails pierced into the leather backing of the booth and he sank down with a bang into the seat opposite Calum.

Where was his girlfriend? She was the one he was here to see, she was the one who Michael wanted to give all his attention to and shower with apologies. So where was she?

It must have been written across Michael's face that he was nervous, that he wasn't here for a night out or for a good time. He wasn't happy, he was glum and serious and unsettled, everything he shouldn't be when sitting in a boombox club like this with high energy and deafening music and spilled drinks on every surface imaginable.

With a swift glance to his left, he locked eyes with Luke who was slouched back in the corner, knees parted wide beneath the table and his hands tapping and messing about on the tabletop. He looked slightly drunk, just over the edge of tipsy but not quite in the threshold of being wasted. He still had his senses and a lot of self-control left to lose.

"She wasn't joking when she said she wanted to have a good night," Luke reached for his glass and down the last mouthful of vodka before continuing. "She was almost up here dancing."

His hand patted the table almost affectionately after he put his glass down and looked towards Michael with a dopey kind of grin that showed off his teeth and made his eyes crease at the corners.

Now Michael truly felt horrid. He was the reason (Y/n) was here, he was the reason she had been feeling bad enough to come out and do this, to prove to everyone that she could be fun, that she wasn't boring or predictable or one to stay home and do nothing. This was his fault.

With an expression of utter gloom, Michael sat forward and grabbed one of the drinks from the middle of the table where there was a tray of quickly dwindling glasses. He downed it, grimacing at the bitter taste of too much schnapps, not enough vodka and only a morsel of juice, but he finished it all quickly to try and drown his own sorrows and make himself feel better.

When he'd finished the drink and set the glass down, he glanced around but his eyes didn't catch on the one person he was here to see. "Where is she?"

"Went to the toilet… probably at the bar by now." Calum made a vague gesture behind him to indicate to the bar.

(Y/n) had been gone a while, that was likely where she had gone because she knew their supply of drinks was dwindling down fast. And she was intent on staying here for a lot longer, so she would have gotten another round ready to keep them here and satisfied.

"I need another round, I'll go find her." With some effort, Luke pushed himself to his feet and weaved around the table, almost falling onto Calum's lap as he weaved around him to get out of the booth.

If (Y/n) was delayed or didn't know what to order, Luke would go and give her a hand. He was ready for another drink, and probably some shots now that Michael had joined them.

His fingers tangled in his hair, arms stretching up as he aimed through the throng of people towards the other end of the club where the toilets and the bar were located. He kept his head level, resisting the urge to look down at his feet because he knew he would bump into people if he did that.

He ignored the hands reaching out for him, trying not to shrug or elbow anyone and cause upset or make enemies. As long as Luke weaved around them and stepped to the sides, it was all good.

He was a few feet from the bar, ignoring the multiple different voices calling out his name when they knew who he was and recognised him, when something caught his eye and had his lips pulling down into a frown.

His eyes narrowed, head angling to the right as if it would help clear his vision and get a better look at what had caught his eye from the left corner of the vast club. His feet were already carrying him in that direction before he made the decision, the bar now long forgotten as Luke aimed for the little comotion and crowd that were forming in the corridor.

The corridor wasn't very large, it could barely fit three people in before the walls were closing in and it felt as cramped as a tin of sardines. There were vibrant green signs hanging from the ceiling signalling that there was both an emergency exit down this corridor and the toilets.

Luke didn't need to get far down the corridor to find the issue. A few feet towards the first set of toilets was enough for him to see what was going on, and it made his blood run cold.

(Y/n).

She seemed to be in the middle of the throng of people who were hovering, gathering and bypassing the situation. Some wanting to help, some just wanted to observe and witness, and others pushing by like it was nothing so they could get to the toilets or aim for the bar or dance floor.

It amazed and irritated Luke how it didn't seem to strike many people as odd or worrying that there was a girl, (Y/n), partially collapsed on the floor. Over half the people gathered round were just watching with half-bored expressions or drunken eyes that couldn't truly correspond to their brain what they were seeing. And the people who were just walking away and barging past really got on Luke's nerves, though he had no time to tell them this or make a scene.

(Y/n) was slumped awkwardly on the floor, a mixture between kneeling and slumping her weight on her right hip. She had her back against the wall and her right had trying to press into the wall to steady herself but she was slowly sliding down towards the floor, almost fully laid out on the scruffy tiled floor.

Her eyes weren't open and though she looked like she wanted or was trying to say something, her brain wasn't cooperating, no words left her lips.

Then there was her left arm, tightly snatched in some stranger's grip that he was using to try and drag her up to her feet to get her off the floor.

It was clear from one glance that this person wasn't trying to help (Y/n). No one saw a collapsed person on the floor and immediately tried to drag them up by their arm and pull them away. Whatever this guy was doing, he didn't have even the slightest of good intentions behind him.

"- babe come on, let's go."

A deep-rooted frown carved its way across Luke's lips when he caught those last few words.

He couldn't help himself. As he surged forward, his hand slammed into the guy's chest and forced him back a good two feet. "Whoever you are, you need to back off."

With that being said and with a slight mist from the alcohol washing over his mind, Luke slumped down to his knees in front of (Y/n). Her left arm was still dangling in the air, her hand flapping to try and get the guy to let go of her and leave her alone. Even in this kind of partially unconscious state, she knew something wasn't right. She knew this person wasn't trying to help, she knew he wasn't a good person or someone to be around in a panic.

Luke managed to prize the stranger's fingers from around (Y/n)'s wrist, watching her arm drop instantly back down to her side with a bang. He was sure she would have bruises in the morning from his viper grip.

"She's my girlfriend-"

"Then tell me her name or show me one picture of her in your phone." Luke rose a brow, looking up at the guy over his shoulder as he waited.

His words seemed to do the trick because the stranger didn't put up a fight or an argument and tell Luke he was an idiot. He didn't insist on 'helping' (Y/n) or try again to get her up to her feet. He was backing away, almost stumbling over his feet to lose himself in the crowd and aim for the main part of the club again.

He knew he had been bested; he knew if he stayed here then he would get himself into trouble. It was clear that out of them both, Luke was the one who knew the unconscious girl on the floor and he was going to look out for her and protect her.

"(Y/n), are you with me?"

Terror and worry manifested within Luke as one hand rested on (Y/n)'s shoulder and the other fished around in his pocket for his phone. There was no way he could leave her here like this, not even to run back towards the booth and get the others.

She couldn't have been here for long and that stranger had already tried swooping in and 'saving her' to make her go with him. If Luke left for a few more seconds, who knew what other creeps might crawl out of the woodwork and try to prowl around her?

It was Calum's contact that came up first, as he had been the one Luke had messaged earlier on in the night. He didn't have time to type out a proper message, so he settled for one simple word that would hopefully make Calum move and get his attention.

*Toilets!

Calum didn't know what to make of the message he received. If it was a code word, then he didn't understand it. If it was a joke, he didn't get the punchline and if it was an instruction, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

He showed his phone to Michael with furrowed brows and pouted lips before both of them scrambled out of the booth and headed past the dance floor in the direction of the toilets.

It was Michael who was moving first, who hurried up until his boots were threatening to break through the tiled floor with his heavy steps. He was practically running at this point until he ended up beside Luke, crashing down to his knees so harshly that shockwaves went all through his skeletal system and he was shuddering on the floor.

"What the fuck?!"

Why was his girlfriend on the floor? Why was she barely conscious? Why was there a crowd of people around her but no one- other than Luke- actually trying to help her? What had they all been doing?

His hair fanned around his face like curtains on a stage play but Michael didn't bother to try and brush them aside; his focus was on (Y/n).

His hands carefully cupped over her features, palms cradling her face like she was the most precious jewel in the world that he was afraid of breaking. His thumbs brushed and smoothed beneath her eyes, trying to coax her to open them and to get her to look up at him.

He was gentle when he turned her head so her face wasn't angled down towards the floor, but up at him as he knelt over her to the point he was almost about to fall on top of her.

"Baby, (Y/n), open your eyes. Look at me." There was an urgency in Michael's voice as he narrowed his own eyes and tried to check her over.

When her eyes fluttered, he could barely see her pupils that were constricted before all he could see was the whites of her eyes as they rolled towards the back of her head. Her eyelids kept fluttering, but she clearly didn't have the energy or the power to keep them open.

Her hand trembled horribly as her fingers brushed along the inside of his wrist and down his arm, desperate for some kind of touch, but she couldn't manage much when she could barely lift her arms that felt like bars of gold.

"She's- this isn't drunk, she's not just drunk." There was a certainty to Michael's voice that no one would have disagreed with even if they thought he was wrong.

He had seen (Y/n) when she was drunk. Granted, it didn't happen on many occasions, but he had still been there. She had never been like this; unresponsive, trembling on the floor, barely coherent. This wasn't her being too drunk, if it was then luke and Calum would have noticed the signs before Michael arrived, before (Y/n) went to the toilets.

Something must have been in her drink; someone could have slipped her something when she had a drink at the bar or she was having a bad reaction to one of the alcohols she had tasted. Something was happening, and it wasn't simply too much fun and drinks.

"I- I didn't see every drink she had." Luke sounded so apologetic and sympathetic that it was a surprise that he wasn't already in tears.

He hadn't been able to see every drink (Y/n) consumed, he hadn'e been the one to buy all the drinks tonight. Sometimes (Y/n) went up to the bar herself, alone, sometimes their drinks were brought to the table and God knows how many people could have tampered with them before they reached the table.

"We should get her out of here." It was Calum this time, his hand resting on Michael's shoulder as he leant over them like a bodyguard trying to make sure that no one else got close.

Whatever was going on, it couldn't be helped or sorted here in the club, they needed to get (Y/n) out of here, take her to a hospital or get her home and see how she fared. Anywhere away from here.

"Let's get you up baby."

With his hands leaving her face, Michael held onto her wrists, thumbs softly stroking along her skin as he lifted her arms and circled them around the back of his neck. He was careful when he then moved his arms beneath her chest and slid her closer to him until he was leant over with his chest almost glued down against hers.

He reeled back, lifting (Y/n) with him until she was no longer laid out on the floor but leant on his lap with their chests meshed together.

Her face burrowed into his shoulder and Michael felt his stomach tightening when he felt tears soaking into his shoulder. She was crying; she was afraid and upset and this was all his fault. If he'd never of said anything earlier, then (Y/n) never would have come here and this situation wouldn't be happening right now.

His left arm curved protectively around her lower chest and back while his right arm hooked beneath her bent knees. And with Calum's hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as if to make sure she was stable and not about to get hurt, Michael very slowly pushed up from his knees to his feet and straightened up.

He could feel (Y/n) whimpering into his skin, her shaky breaths making his blood run cold as he walked with Calum and Luke on either side of him, trying to form a shield around the couple so no one could see or stare or try and take pictures and reach out for them.

(Y/n) didn't bother trying to keep her eyes open, with her face tucked into Michael's neck, she felt content now. All she wanted to do was sleep.

She knew something hadn't been right when she'd gone to the toilets and threw up. Her head had been spinning like she was on the waltzers and she couldn't see properly when she tried to stumble out the bathroom. Then her legs had given in completely and she was sliding down to the floor, trying to ignore and push away anyone who helped.

All she wanted was to be back home with Michael; and now he was here holding her in his arms. It felt too good to be true, it felt like a dream, and (Y/n) was sure she was going to wake up at any moment, still on the floor or in an alley behind the club surrounded by strangers.

She wasn't sure what she muttered into Michael's neck, but she did feel him shiver against her and his hands clutched at her tighter before he whispered his response against her damp temple.

"We're leaving now, it's okay."

He could hear a few odd words here and there as he tried to hurry and get out of the club as quickly as possible. He was sure (Y/n) was uttering 'sorry' which made nails scratch and rake down his spine, but his heart severed into the pit of his stomach when she whispered "N- not fun," against his throat.

Tears glistened in Michael's eyes as he turned his head, smothering his lips against her temple near her hairline as he held her closer to his chest, if that were even possible.

"I know, I know and I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry I said anything."

Now that your coworkers had seen your relationship twice in person, they wanted to know more. After seeing the typically stoic captain go soft for you, they constantly asked you questions.

To say it was annoying would be an understatement.

Because now everybody treated your relationship like community property. And you know this is a champagne problem, but you and Sidney valued your privacy deeply. And your coworkers were making it very hard to hold up to your usual standard.

“You never actually told us if he cooks,” Dana said, spinning in her desk chair.

“I answered that one already,” you hadn’t even looked up from the notes you were taking, and your tone was portraying your disinterest in the conversation.

“No, you said he ‘tries.’ That’s not the same thing,” she said, tapping her chin curiously.

Whitaker looked up from his charting across the nursing station, “does he still do the hockey-player thing where he eats that chicken dish before every game?”

You continued writing, choosing to ignore them.

“Answer the question,” Dana said beside you.

Before you could respond, Robby walked into the nurses’ station holding his phone, saved by the bell… or so you thought.

“Your boyfriend’s ruining my department,” he said dramatically, placing his palm on the counter besides you and leaning.

You frowned, “what could he have possibly done?”

Robby tossed his phone on the counter so that it was facing you. Six tickets.

Six seats in your usual row and section. For tonight’s Penguins game.

The entire station exploded with excitement.

“NO WAY.”

“Are those real?”

“Oh my god.”

Dana grabbed the phone dramatically. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about Sidney Crosby.”

“You’ve literally never said a bad thing about him,” Javadi pointed out.

“Because they’re usually said in the comfort of my home after a bad game,” she answered obviously, looking between you and Javadi.

You groaned as everybody immediately started arguing over carpooling.

You pulled out your phone.

You: tickets… really?

His text bubble popped up almost immediately.

Sid: should you be texting at work dr? And just had to thank them for taking care of you after you passed out.

You rolled your eyes.

You: should you be texting from the rink, captain? And you didn’t have to do that… but they’re excited to say the least.

Sid: :) love you. See you tonight dr❤️

You smiled, trying to hide it, before sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“He didn’t have to do that,” you muttered quietly, trying and failing to continue hiding your smile.

Robby noticed instantly. “There it is,” he said, pointing. “That stupid little smile she gets.”

“You people are exhausting,” you rolled your eyes, for what felt like the millionth time in this shift alone.

“And yet we’re all going to the game,” he said with a smirk.

“Who exactly,” Dana started, “is getting one of these six tickets?”

Robby huffed a laugh, “me, you, Langdon, because he would murder me if he didn’t,” he looked around the room of hopeful nurses and residents, “Javadi, because why not,” she “yesed” dramatically in celebration, “Whitaker and Santos.”

Some disappointed grumbles were heard amongst the nurses and other doctors.

“This is the best day of my life,” Langdon whispered to himself, walking to his next patient.

You had taken yourself to the game, needing some peace prior to spending the evening with the same people you spent your entire day with.

You also needed time to perform your pregame ritual and change into your lucky jacket that Side demanded you wear. Put your hair in a bun because that’s what was currently working, and making sure the gold s was hung perfectly around your neck.

You took a deep breath as you sat in the friends and family parking lot, before willing the courage to meet your coworkers inside.

You could not let their presence mess up the routine, because if they lost, you knew Sidney would never let them come to another game.

By the time everybody reached the arena, the Pitt crew had somehow become more chaotic than the actual hockey fans.

Frank looked one step away from cardiac arrest.

“I have never sat this close before,” he whispered, staring down at the glass seats, “I can practically smell the ice.”

Dana rolled her eyes at him, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I don’t care, and that’s brave coming from someone wearing a sweatshirt that’s older than me,” Frank quipped back, glancing down at her faded and ripped Penguins hoodie.

She scoffed, “I had this on when they won the cup and real hockey fan knows you can’t wash the luck out.”

“Did you just admit that you haven’t washed that in ten years?” Frank said with a look of disgust.

Dana murmured “amateur” under her breath before bringing her attention back to warm ups.

Whitaker was already taking pictures of the rink, “this is my first hockey game and this is insane.”

Warmups had just started when Dana looked around suddenly. “Wait. Where’s Mrs. Crosby?”

You were gone.

Frank frowned. “Bathroom maybe?”

“No chance,” Javadi said immediately, “she was right here and then she disappeared suspiciously.”

Robby sighed, “you guys are worse than middle schoolers.”

Then Frank abruptly grabbed Robby’s arm hard enough to nearly dislocate it.

“Oh my God,” Frank said slowly.

“What?” Robby asked, prying Frank’s fingers from his forearm.

“LOOK,” Frank pointed down towards the ice.

Everyone turned toward the glass.

You were standing down near the boards by yourself in what looked like one of Sidney’s old jackets.

And directly in front of you, still in warmup gear, Sidney skated over to the glass.

“Oh my GOD,” Dana laughed, “this is so effin cheesey.”

“He came right over to her,” Javadi cooed.

“Look at his face,” Whitaker said with a smile.

The commotion actually made Santos glance up from her phone and fake a gag at the sight.

“Why did you even come?” Her roommate asked her.

She shrugged looking down at her phone again, “Robby said he would buy us drink.”

Dennis shook his head at her.

Frank looked deeply emotional already, “this is beautiful. My very own coresident, dating the man of my dreams.”

Robby turned his head, slightly confused and not even sure if Frank knew what he just said out loud.

Sidney tapped the glass twice with his glove and you smiled immediately.

Not your polite work smile that you gave to patients to make them feel better. You’re actual smile.

The one the ER only saw occasionally, when he called you, or when you were all out to drinks and you let a little loose.

Then Sidney pulled a puck from his pocket.

Dana gasped dramatically, “NO.”

“He’s giving her the puck?” Frank asked.

Sidney mouthed something through the glass they couldn’t quite hear from afar.

You laughed and shook your head.

Then he tossed the puck over carefully.

You caught it easily.

The entire section around them started cheering immediately, all the surrounding fans whistling and hollering.

Frank clutched his chest, “I can’t handle this.”

Whitaker narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “wait. That looked practiced.”

“Oh it absolutely was,” Dana agreed.

Sidney lingered for another second at the glass, eyes fixed on you with that same unbearably soft expression he always had.

Then one of his teammates skated by and shoulder-checked him hard enough to make him stumble.

You could actually hear the teammate yelling from the seats—

“QUIT FLIRTING!”

The row erupted in laughter, and your cheeks burned bright red.

Sidney flipped him off without even turning around. He gave a shy wave and you blew him a kiss as he skated off.

By the end of the second period, everybody had decided bullying you was more entertaining than watching the game.

Dana pointed accusingly with her french fry, “so. The puck thing.”

“What about it?” You asked nonchalantly, shifting in your seat nervously because of the close score.

Whitaker nodded, “it was very rom-com coded.”

You rolled your eyes, “it’s not romantic.”

“HE LITERALLY GAVE YOU A GAME PUCK,” Frank shouted across everyone from where he was seated.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “There’s a superstition.”

Frank leaned forward immediately. “A hockey superstition?”

You sighed, already regretting opening your mouth.

“Sid says if he sees me before warmups and gives me a puck, he plays better,” you shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t your favorite thing he had ever said to you.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Santos said casually, with an eye roll.

“You’re his emotional support doctor,” Javadi said sweetly, “this would be a really good hockey novel. There’s a whole genre for that now.”

You hid your face in your hands while everyone laughed.

Robby looked entirely too entertained. “How long has this been going on?”

“A while,” you said, looking at your popcorn.

“A WHILE?” Dana screeched. “How many pucks do you have?”

“…I don’t know,” you looked up, as if thinking about it, “I guess probably 72.”

Frank looked horrified, “that’s not a guessing number. That’s an ‘I’m counting’ number.”

You muttered into your hands, “please let the ice swallow me whole.”

Javadi was crying laughing now, “this man has hockey rituals about you.”

“He’s Canadian,” you defended weakly. “They’re weird about hockey.”

“You are dating the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins and he performs girlfriend-based sports rituals,” Dana said dramatically, “honestly, whatever works.”

Your phone buzzed against the table.

Sidney: stop letting them make fun of me…

You immediately looked down toward the ice.

Sidney was staring up at you from the bench already, where he had just returned from the locker room. The smile he wore immediately gave him away.

Dana noticed instantly, “oh my god he texted her.”

Frank looked ready to ascend into another plane of existence, “he can’t text during games.” He said offended, as if he were the coach himself.

You shrugged, holding up your phone, “he can text me.”

Although they made fun of you for what felt like the longest hockey game of your life, you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy having them there.

Three days later, you thought you were going to dinner with Sidney.

That was it. It was your birthday, and you didn’t want anything over the top. You just wanted to spend time with him. Since he was in Pittsburgh and had two days of no games, it felt like the perfect chance to actually celebrate your birthday.

Being born during hockey season and dating a professional hockey player usually made it impossible to do something. But, for the first time since dating, you got lucky.

So, he had agreed to just dinner. And you thought that was it, at least until he drove past the restaurant entirely.

You frowned, “Sid.”

“Hm?” He said, eyes still focused on the road.

One hand casually on the wheel, the other mindlessly drawing shapes on your thighs right where your skirt falls.

“Is that not where we were going?” You asked confused.

“Change of plans.” He said firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

Then he pulled into the driveway of his own house and you knew something was wrong because there were way too many cars there.

“…Sidney,” you said questioningly.

He looked painfully pleased with himself, smiling before turning to face you. “Happy birthday, baby.”

He hopped out of the car, jogging over to your side and opening your door before you could. You took his hand and let him guide you up the path to the front door.

The front door opened before you could react.

“SURPRISE!”

You jumped so hard you almost dropped your purse.

The entire living room erupted into cheers. It was filled with your friends, family, coworkers, and over half the Penguins roster.

You stared in shock while Sidney laughed beside you.

“You planned a surprise party?” You asked, looking over at him, “for me?”

He shrugged, “you said you never had one before.”

Emotion climbed into your throat so fast it caught you off guard, “oh,” you said softly, “yeah… that’s true. I didn’t think you caught that.”

Sidney’s expression immediately gentled, “c’mere.”

He pulled you against his side while everyone continued cheering.

You made your rounds while tucked into Sidney’s side, hugging your friends and family.

One of his teammates appeared with a glass of champagne for you and a beer for him, making you smile.

Frank appeared suddenly looking seconds from fainting.

“You did not tell me your boyfriend’s house looked like this,” he whispered, as Sidney talked to one of his teammates.

“It’s just a house,” you said, bringing your champagne to your lips trying to act like Frank wasn’t being weird.

Frank pointed wildly across the room. “Evgeni Malkin is standing by the chips.”

You started laughing, “go get’em tiger.”

Frank grabbed your shoulders dramatically. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME?”

He stomped away to go make small talk and try his best to act normal.

Across the room, several Penguins players were already openly amused by the Pitt crew, Dana and Robby were animatedly explaining their best ER stories.

Sidney disappeared briefly to grab refills, kissing your cheek as he moved and the second he walked away, Dana appeared and leaned toward you immediately.

“He’s in love with you,” she said while wiggling her eyebrows.

You snorted, “you say that every day.”

She simply shrugged before making her way back to her group.

Then Sidney returned, sliding an arm easily around your waist while handing you a drink.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, “I know you’re not big on the party thing. But everyone wanted to celebrate you. And you deserved it.”

The softness in his voice immediately made you smile. “Yeah,” you admitted softly, “you really surprised me. I had no idea ”

A tiny smile tugged at Sidney’s mouth, “good surprise?”

You looked around the room.

At your coworkers laughing with his teammates. At Frank still visibly malfunctioning. At the decorations Sidney had clearly spent way too much time setting up.

Then back at him.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Really good surprise.”

His hand squeezed gently at your waist. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. For a moment, all the noise faded into nothing and it was just you two standing in his living room.

And then from across the room Frank suddenly yelled— “SIDNEY! GENO SAID YOU CAN SIGN MY JERSEY!”

He pulled away from the kiss, you whipped your head around and glared at Frank.

The entire house burst out laughing.

Sidney sighed dramatically. “Frank.”

“You said we were friends now!” Frank said, throwing his hands up defensively. You groaned, leaning your head on Sidney’s shoulder.

And although it was chaotic, and somehow Whitaker and Santos had taken control of the aux, everyone you loved was there, and you had never felt more thankful.

Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237

The first rule of pediatrics was that fear moved faster than pain. You had learned that early.

Pain made kids cry. Fear made them bolt.

Eli Mereiter had been trying very hard not to do either for almost twenty minutes.

He sat in the center of the peds exam bed with his knees tucked under the thin blanket, his left wrist cradled against his chest, his cheeks blotchy from the effort of pretending he was fine. His mother stood near the head of the bed, one hand on his shoulder and the other twisting the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“You’re doing great,” you told him.

Eli looked at the IV tray and swallowed. “No, I’m not.”

You crouched beside the bed so you were closer to eye level.

“You are. Great doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. It means you’re still here with me even though you are.”

His eyes flicked to yours.

The honesty helped. It usually did. Kids could smell a lie faster than adults could dress one up.

“It’s gonna hurt,” he said.

You nodded.

“It’s going to pinch. I won’t call it nothing.” You rested one hand on the mattress, close but not touching him without warning. “But it’ll be fast, and you don’t have to watch.”

His mouth trembled once before he pressed it flat. “I don’t want it.”

“I know.” You gave him a serious nod. “That’s fair. We can hate it together.”

Eli looked at you like that was suspicious. “You hate it?”

“I hate it when kids have to do scary things,” you said. “But I like when they get through them and realize they were braver than they thought.”

His mom made a quiet sound behind him.

You glanced up at her and gave a small, reassuring smile before looking back at Eli.

“How about this,” you said. “You pick where you look. Mom’s face, the ceiling tile that kind of looks like a potato, or me.”

Eli’s brows pinched together. “The ceiling tile doesn’t look like a potato.”

You looked up. “It absolutely does.”

He glanced up despite himself. For one second, his attention shifted. Not enough to make him calm, but enough to give him somewhere else to put the fear.

“That one?” he asked.

You nodded. “Very potato.” His mom gave a wet little laugh.

The nurse beside you finished prepping the IV with practiced quiet. You saw Eli clock the movement anyway. His eyes cut to the tourniquet. Then the alcohol wipe. Then the catheter.

His breathing changed. You leaned in slightly. “Eli. Look at me.” His gaze snapped back to yours.

You kept your voice low and even. “Can you breathe in with me?”

He tried. His breath caught halfway.

“That’s okay,” you said. “Again. Smaller this time.”

The nurse reached for his arm. Eli saw the flash of the needle. Fear got there first.

“No,” he said.

His mother tightened her hand on his shoulder. “Eli—”

“No!” He jerked backward, fast and hard, trying to get away from the tray, from the nurse, from the whole room.

“Hey, hey.” You moved with him. “You’re okay.”

But he was already twisting. His sneaker slid against the paper sheet. His hip caught the edge of the mattress. The bed rail was down on your side because you had been sitting there with him, and his small body tipped toward the open space between the bed and the floor.

You moved before thought could catch up.

Your hand caught the back of his gown. Your other arm shot across his chest, bracing him before he could fall.

For half a second, you had him. Then his weight hit your shoulder wrong. Something shifted. Not cracked. Not snapped.

Slipped.

White-hot pain tore through your shoulder and down your arm so violently that the room went gray at the edges. You made a sound you did not recognize.

Someone grabbed Eli from the other side.

“I’ve got him,” the other nurse said. “I’ve got him.”

Good, you thought. That was good.

You went down hard on one knee, your right arm hanging wrong, breath gone from your chest.

Eli was crying now. Not the scared kind. The guilty kind.

“I hurt her,” he sobbed.

You tried to lift your head. Bad idea. Pain slammed up the side of your neck and behind your teeth.

“No,” you forced out. Your voice sounded thin. Far away. “No, honey. You didn’t.”

A hand touched your back. “Don’t move,” someone said.

You tried to breathe through your nose. “Is he okay?”

“He’s okay,” she repeated, firmer this time. “We have him.”

Eli’s mother had him against her now, both arms wrapped around his shaking body. His face was turned toward you, wet and horrified.

You managed to focus on him. “Eli.”

His crying hitched. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You swallowed down nausea. “I know you didn’t. You got scared. That’s different.”

His face crumpled harder. You looked at his mom. “Tell him I’m not mad.”

“We will,” she said quickly.

You closed your eyes for half a second. “Please tell him.”

“We will,” the nurse said beside you. “But right now, we need to get you downstairs.”

You opened your eyes. “No, he needs—”

“He has his mom,” she said gently. “And he has Megan. We’ve got him.”

You wanted to argue. Your shoulder pulsed once, deep and sickening, and the rest of the sentence disappeared. Someone called down to the ED before they moved you. You heard pieces of it through the pain and the blood rushing in your ears.

“Staff injury coming down from peds.”

“Likely right shoulder dislocation.”

“Caught a pediatric patient who panicked during IV prep.”

“Vitals stable.”

“Severe pain.”

Nobody said your name. Or maybe they did, and it got swallowed somewhere between the exam room and the elevator. Either way, by the time they got you into a wheelchair, your scrubs were damp at the collar, your vision kept narrowing at the corners, and your arm had become a separate, terrible country you refused to look at.

You hated being the patient.

You hated it so much you almost missed the part where you were terrified. Almost.

The elevator ride downstairs felt both too fast and too slow. Someone kept telling you to breathe. Someone else kept asking your pain number. You gave a number that was probably too low because saying the real one made it feel more real.

The ED doors opened.

The familiar noise hit first. Monitors. Shoes. Voices. The distant roll of a cart.

Robby was already at the mouth of a bay when they wheeled you in, tablet in hand, chief-of-the-ER face on. Dana stood beside him with gloves already pulled on, calm and unsmiling in the way that meant she had already cleared the room in her head. Santos hovered just behind her like she could smell a procedure from three bays away. Princess was at the computer, and Javadi stood near the supply cart, trying very hard to look like someone who was not internally rehearsing every step of a shoulder reduction.

“Peds called down,” Robby said. “Likely right shoulder disloca—”

Then he saw your face. The chief of the ER expression dropped clean off.

For one second, he was not chief of anything. He was just your friend. “What the fuck, dude?”

You tried to glare at him. “Great bedside manner.”

Robby was already moving. He came to your side, one hand bracing the wheelchair arm, his eyes sweeping over your face.

“Look at me,” he said. “You with me?”

You blinked at him through the pain. “No, Robby, I thought I’d dissociate recreationally.”

His jaw tightened. “Answer me like less of a pain in my ass.”

You sighed. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” He glanced at the peds nurse behind your chair. “They called down a peds nurse. They did not say it was you.”

“Would that have changed your medical plan?” you asked.

“No.” His eyes flicked to your shoulder, and the doctor came back into him all at once. “It would have given me thirty more seconds to emotionally prepare for both my friend being injured and Jack killing me.”

“Jack is not going to kill you,” you replied.

Dana made a quiet sound. Robby pointed at her without looking. “Do not contribute.”

Dana lifted both gloved hands. “I said nothing.”

“You thought loudly.”

Santos leaned slightly to see your arm better. “Is it anterior?”

You swallowed through the pain. “Is Eli okay?”

Robby’s attention snapped back to you. Then he looked to the peds nurse. “Eli is the kid?”

The peds nurse nodded quickly. “Eight-year-old. Wrist injury. He’s okay. Megan stayed with him and his mom.”

Your eyes closed. “Did someone tell him I’m not mad?”

Robby went still for half a beat. His expression changed again. Softer this time. Worried in a way he could not hide behind sarcasm fast enough.

“Yeah,” he said. “They told him.”

“He won’t believe them,” you murmured.

Robby looked at you. “He might.”

“He’s eight.” Your voice thinned around the pain. “Eight-year-olds think everything is their fault.”

Robby looked at you for one second too long. Then he nodded once, like he was putting that away for later. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to get you on the bed. Slow. Dana, support the arm. Javadi, do not look terrified.”

Javadi straightened. “I’m not terrified.” Robby looked at her.

Javadi swallowed. “I’m appropriately alert.” Robby nodded once. “Better.”

You hated how many people it took.

You hated the careful hands and the count of three and the way pain still broke through your teeth when they moved you.

You hated that Robby’s face stayed calm. That meant it looked bad.

Once you were on the bed, Dana slid a pillow under your arm with the clean precision of a woman who did not waste motion. Princess clipped a monitor to your finger. Javadi asked about allergies, her voice only a little too bright. Santos hovered at the foot of the bed, watching your shoulder with open interest until Dana glanced at her.

Santos lifted her hands. “I’m not touching anything.”

“Correct,” Dana said.

Robby looked up from your shoulder. “Pain number.” You hesitated.

He gave you a look. “Do not make me ask like I don’t know you.” You told the truth.

Robby’s mouth tightened. “Thank you for not lying to me twice.”

“I lied once,” you admitted.

Robby shook his head. “You lied badly once.” Your breathing hitched. “Did someone tell Eli?”

The peds nurse, still lingering near the curtain, nodded. “Megan did. His mom did too.”

“But did he believe them?” you pushed.

Robby braced one hand lightly on the bed rail. “Do not try to sit up.”

You looked at him. “I wasn’t.”

“You thought about it,” Robby replied.

Your eyes narrowed. “You can’t prove that.”

“I’m chief of emergency medicine,” he said. “I can prove anything if I chart creatively.”

A laugh tried to escape you. It did not make it past the pain. Robby saw that too. His voice shifted.

“IV, x-ray, then pain meds before we reduce it,” he said. “Let’s get films and make sure we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Love being discussed like a broken chair,” you muttered.

Robby leaned over you, penlight in hand. “I have never met a chair this mouthy.”

Princess found a vein in your good arm. You looked away while she taped the line down. That felt ridiculous, considering you had started hundreds of IVs yourself, but today your body had decided to be dramatic, and you were not giving it more material.

Robby watched your face. “You okay?”

“No,” you answered honestly.

Robby almost smiled. “Good answer.”

Princess glanced up from your IV. “Do you want us to call someone?”

“Yes,” you said immediately.

Robby’s eyes narrowed like he already knew where this was going.

Princess kept her hands near the computer. “Who should we call?”

“Jack Abbot.”

The room did not stop. Not yet. Princess typed, then paused.

Her eyes moved from the screen to you. “Dr. Abbot?”

You breathed through your teeth. “Yes.”

The room went a little too quiet. You opened one eye. “What?”

Santos looked from you to Robby. “Night-shift Abbot?”

“How many Jack Abbots do you know?” you asked.

Javadi made the mistake of whispering, “Dr. Abbot is her emergency contact?”

“He’s my husband,” you said, like that explained the entire universe.

It did, actually. Just not to the room. Santos stared.

Javadi looked like someone had changed the laws of physics in front of her.

Princess’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Dana, somehow, did not move at all.

Then her eyes narrowed. “The sandwich.” You closed your eyes. “Dana.”

Santos looked at her. “What sandwich?”

Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “Shift change. Three weeks ago. Abbot was coming off nights. She was passing the desk with a stack of peds charts.”

Princess leaned around Javadi. “I remember that.”

“He had half a sandwich in his hand,” Dana said. “Tore the crust off without breaking conversation, held it up, and she took it on the way by.”

You breathed carefully through your teeth. “I was hungry.”

“You said thanks,” Dana added.

Santos blinked. “That’s it?” Dana finally looked up.

“That’s the point.” A beat passed.

Then Princess pointed toward you. “Wait. The parking lot.”

You opened one eye. “Please don’t.”

“I saw you two by the employee parking last month,” Princess said. “He switched sides with you near the cars.”

Javadi blinked. “Switched sides?” Princess looked at her like this was obvious. “The sidewalk rule.”

Javadi’s brows pulled together. “The what?”

“When the guy walks closer to the street,” Princess said. “Protective thing. Old-school. Very romantic if he’s hot.”

Santos made a face. “That sounds fake.”

Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord. “It’s not fake.”

Princess pointed at Dana. “Thank you.”

You stared at the ceiling. “Can we not analyze my husband’s walking patterns while my shoulder is in another fucking zip code?”

“And he had your bag,” Princess added.

“It was heavy,” you said.

She looked at you. “It had little strawberries on it.”

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Jack carried a strawberry bag?”

You gave him the best glare you could manage while lying flat with your arm attempting secession. “You are supposed to be my doctor.”

Santos’s face changed. “Oh, my god. The fire alarm drill.”

“No,” you said.

“You had his jacket,” she said.

“It was cold.”

“No.” Santos pointed, too delighted to stop herself. “He put it around your shoulders before you asked.”

Dana’s gaze sharpened with recognition.

Santos nodded hard. “And took your clipboard so you could get your arms through the sleeves.”

Princess looked at Robby. “You knew?”

Robby held up one hand. “I was at the wedding.”

The room shifted again. Javadi whispered, “There was a wedding?”

You stared at the ceiling. “I’m starting to think day shift needs hobbies.”

Robby looked at you, and this time his humor was gentle around the edges. “You married a night-shift attending and then wandered around this hospital accepting crustless sandwich halves like that was normal.”

“It is normal,” you replied.

“For married people,” Dana said.

Santos looked personally offended. “I am usually very good at noticing things.”

You swallowed through another pulse of pain. “Sorry my marriage was inconvenient for your brand.”

Robby pointed at you. “Pain has not made her less mean. Excellent prognostic sign.”

Princess was still looking at you like she had discovered treasure. “So Dr. Abbot is your husband.”

“Yes.”

“And he brings you coffee,” Princess added.

You inhaled. “Yes.”

“And the sandwich,” she continued.

“Yes.”

Princess’s eyebrows rose. “And the parking lot.” You closed your eyes. “I would like drugs now.”

Robby’s smile faded enough for his concern to show again. “Soon,” he said. “We’re moving.”

Then he held out his hand toward Princess. “I’ll call him.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to.”

“I do, actually,” Robby replied.

“Why?”

Robby’s face softened around the edges, just enough that your chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with your shoulder.

“Because he’s going to be worried,” he said. “And if a stranger calls him, he’s going to scare somebody.”

You sighed. “Jack doesn’t scare people.”

“No,” Robby said. “But when he’s worried about you, he gets very concise.”

Dana hummed. “That’s true.”

You closed your eyes. “Tell him not to speed.”

Robby shook his head. “I’m not promising that.”

“Robby,” you said, trying to sound reasonable.

He sighed. “I’ll suggest moderation.”

Robby stepped a few feet away from the bed and tapped Jack’s contact. You watched him through the pain, sweat cooling at the back of your neck. He pointed at you without lowering the phone. “Try not to dislocate anything else while I’m gone.” The call rang once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, Jack answered.

His voice came rough with sleep and irritation. “What, Robby?”

Robby glanced back at you. You were pale on the bed, jaw tight, your good hand fisted in the sheet while Dana adjusted the monitor.

“Your wife is in the ED,” Robby said. “She’s fine. I’ve got her.”

The line went silent. Then Jack’s voice came back low and awake. “What happened?”

“Right shoulder dislocation,” Robby said. “Peds incident. She caught a kid before he fell and took the force the wrong way. She’s conscious, stable, and pissed off, which I’m taking as a good sign.”

Another pause. Jack breathed out once, sharply. “Of course she caught the kid.”

“Yeah,” Robby said, softer. “That was my reaction too.”

You lifted your head an inch off the pillow. “Tell him not to speed.”

Robby looked over his shoulder. You stared back, sweaty and serious.

“She says not to speed.”

Jack was already moving. Robby could hear it through the phone: sheets, a drawer, something hitting the floor. “Tell her I’m coming.”

“Jack,” Robby said carefully.

“I heard her,” Jack said sharply.

Robby nodded once. “Good.”

“Thanks, brother. I’m on my way,” Jack replied.

Robby’s mouth softened. “Yeah,” he said.

He ended the call and came back to the side of the bed. “He’s coming.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Good.” The word came out smaller than you meant it to. Robby heard that too. For a second, he was quiet.

Then he nodded to Princess. “Now give her the good stuff before she remembers she’s trying to be reasonable.”

Princess pushed medication into your IV. Warmth moved up your arm a few seconds later, strange and soft. The pain did not vanish, but the edges of the room began to loosen. The lights blurred a little. The monitor beep sounded farther away.

You blinked. “Wow.”

Santos leaned closer. “How’s that?”

You turned your head toward her slowly. “You have two faces.”

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Better?”

You inhaled. “I can still feel my skeleton making bad choices.”

“So, somewhat.” Robby grinned.

You looked toward the curtain. “Did someone tell Eli I’m not mad?”

Robby exhaled. “Yes.”

“I’m not mad,” you repeated.

“I know.”

You blinked hard. “No, but he needs to know.”

“He knows,” Robby replied gently.

You frowned. “You’re just saying that.”

“I am saying many things,” Robby said. “This one happens to be true.”

You tried to sit up. Every person in the room reacted.

Dana touched your good shoulder. “Nope. Stay back.”

“I should tell him,” you told her.

“You should keep your shoulder still,” Robby said.

You frowned at him. “You’re being bossy.” Robby shrugged. “It’s on the mug.”

“Jack has a mug that says World’s Sexiest Doctor,” you replied without thinking. The pain meds were softening things too much now. Words had started wandering into places you had not invited them.

Robby slowly turned his head. “I’m sorry. He has a what?”

You winced. “It was a joke. I got it for him when we were dating.”

Princess looked delighted. “And he kept it?”

You breathed through another pulse of pain. “He drinks out of it every morning.”

Santos stared. “Abbot drinks coffee out of a World’s Sexiest Doctor mug?”

Dana, dry as dust, added, “That explains more than I wanted it to.”

Robby pressed his fingers to his mouth like he was trying to hold in actual joy.

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my doctor.”

“I am,” Robby said. “And this is healing me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. The ED lights drifted above you. Your body felt heavy against the bed, but your mind kept circling the same places. Eli crying. Your shoulder slipping. Jack coming. You blinked slowly. “Did someone tell Eli?”

Dana adjusted the blanket around your legs. “Yes.”

“Did someone tell Jack?” you asked.

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Yes.” You nodded, satisfied for exactly one second.

Then you frowned. “Which one is coming to see me?”

Robby stared at you. “What?”

“Eli or Jack?” you asked.

Princess turned toward the computer with suspicious speed. Santos looked openly delighted. Robby’s expression brightened with pure, terrible affection.

“Oh,” he said softly. “This is going to be a great drug for you.”

You frowned. “Don’t be weird.”

Robby patted the bed rail. “Try not to say anything incriminating before your husband gets here.”

Your eyes closed, but you could still hear the smile in his voice. “Jack already knows everything.”

Robby made a thoughtful sound. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s test that.”

Robby stayed beside the bed after Princess pushed the medication. One hand rested on the rail. His eyes moved from your face to the monitor, then to your shoulder, then back to your face again. He was not joking as much now.

You hated that. “Stop looking worried,” you said.

His mouth twitched, but it did not quite become a smile. “Stop giving me reasons.”

You blinked at him, the lights blurring softly around the edges. “Rude.”

“Consistent,” Robby said.

Dana adjusted the blanket over your legs, brisk yet careful. “That’s one word for it.”

The medication had made the room strange. Softer, but not kinder. The monitors sounded farther away, and the overhead lights had started to bloom at the edges. Your shoulder still hurts. Not as sharply as before, maybe, but it was there under everything, pulsing and wrong. You tried to shift away from it. Your body disagreed. “Bad,” you muttered.

Robby leaned in a fraction. “Pain?”

You shook your head. “Existence.”

He nodded once. “Fair.”

Dana checked the line of your IV, then glanced at him.

Robby’s eyes returned to yours, and something in his face softened. “Hey,” he said. “World’s Sexiest Doctor.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The mug,” Robby said, voice lighter on purpose. “You said he drinks out of it every morning.”

Your face softened before you could stop it. “He does.” Princess turned from the computer with immediate interest. Santos, who had been pretending not to hover near the foot of the bed, stopped pretending. Dana’s expression did not change, but her eyes flicked toward you.

Robby leaned one forearm against the rail. “Still can’t believe he committed to the bit.”

“It’s not a bit,” you said.

Robby’s eyebrows lifted. “No?”

You looked at him like he was missing the obvious. “It’s true.”

Santos’s mouth curved. Dana looked down at the monitor. Princess pressed her lips together like she was holding something very large behind her teeth. You blinked at the ceiling, dreamy and annoyed all at once. “He is the sexiest doctor.”

Robby drew back like you had slapped him. “Rude.”

You turned your head toward him slowly. “You’re right.”

His expression softened. “Thank you.”

“Ellis is pretty hot, too,” you murmured happily.

Robby froze. Princess made a sound and turned sharply toward the computer. Santos whispered, “Wow.”

Dana closed her eyes. Robby stared at you. “That was not the correction I was requesting.”

You considered him through the pleasant fog around your thoughts. “You have nice hair.”

Robby’s hand went to his chest. “That was devastatingly lukewarm.”

“It is nice.”

“Nice hair,” he repeated, wounded. “That’s what I get after years of friendship.”

“You’re my friend,” you said.

His expression shifted. For one second, the joke left his face. “I know.”

You watched him through the blur. “You’re a good doctor.”

Robby’s hand tightened slightly on the rail. “You’re on excellent medication.”

“I mean it.”

“I know,” he said, quieter.

Dana looked away first. Santos suddenly found the supply tray very interesting. Robby cleared his throat and straightened. “Okay,” he said, his voice returning to a steady tone. “Let’s get ready.”

The words landed wrong. Your smile faded. The room shifted back into medicine too quickly. Gloves. Positioning. Dana adjusting the bed. Santos watching Robby’s hands intently. Javadi standing too still by the supplies, trying to look prepared. Your stomach dropped through the medication. “Wait.” Robby looked back at you. “Yeah?”

Your good hand tightened in the sheet. “You’re doing it now?” His expression softened. “Soon.”

“No.”

Dana’s hand settled lightly near your good shoulder. Not holding you down. Just there.

Robby stepped closer. “I know.”

“No, Robby.” Your voice stayed even, but barely. “I don’t want to do it.”

Robby did not flinch. “I know you don’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you mean it.”

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

Robby’s face changed again, not much, just enough to show you he hated this part too. “I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”

You frowned. “That’s what people say before they do stuff that sucks.” Santos muttered, “Accurate.”

Dana looked at her. Santos lifted both hands. “I’m validating.”

Robby ignored her and kept his eyes on you. “It is going to suck,” he said. “But the longer it stays out, the worse it’s going to feel. I want to get it back where it belongs.”

Your breathing went shallow. The medication had made everything loose except the fear. That stayed sharp. Clear. Mean. You looked toward the hallway. “Fine.” Robby waited. You glared at him, sweaty and medicated and angry enough to hide behind it. “I’ll do it if Jack is my doctor.”

The room paused. Dana looked at Robby. Princess looked at the hallway. Javadi looked like she had just realized this was not covered in any textbook.

Robby let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “That’s not how this works.”

You frowned at him. “He’s a doctor.”

“He is.” Dana’s voice stayed calm beside you. “He’s also your husband.”

You looked at her like she had helped your case. “Exactly.” Robby’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Before he could answer, Jack’s voice cut through the department. “Where is she?”

Your head turned. Completely. All the thoughts in your brain scattered like startled birds. Jack was halfway down the hall, moving fast and trying not to look like he was moving fast, a hoodie under his unzipped jacket. His hair was sleep-rough on one side. His jaw was tight, his eyes already searching, already locked on the room. The second he saw you, his pace changed.

Your good hand lifted off the sheet. “That one.”

Robby followed your gaze. For the first time since the reduction tray came out, true humor broke through his worry. “Oh,” he said softly. “Okay.”

Jack stepped into the bay. You pointed at him, certain now. “I want that one.”

Jack froze for half a second. His eyes moved over you. Face. IV. Monitor. Shoulder. Robby. Dana. Back to your face.

Then he was at your side. “Baby.”

The word hit the room like a dropped instrument. Santos stared very hard at the floor. Princess pressed her lips together. Javadi’s eyes went wide, then wider, like she was watching hospital folklore become sentient.

You smiled up at him. “Hi.”

Jack took your good hand, his palm warm and familiar around yours. “Hi.”

His thumb moved once over your knuckles. You exhaled. You felt it happen before you could stop it. Your shoulders did not relax, not really, but your breathing changed. Your grip loosened from the sheet. The sharp edge of panic moved back by an inch.

Robby saw it. His eyes flicked to the monitor, then to Jack’s hand. “Interesting.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”

“I’m observing.”

“You observe too loudly.”

Robby’s mouth curved. “I am her physician.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “You are enjoying being her physician too much.”

“I was worried,” Robby said.

The joke thinned for a second. Jack looked up. Robby held his gaze. “Still am.”

Jack’s face shifted.

You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do serious faces.”

Jack looked back down at you. His thumb moved again. “Sorry.”

You studied him, hazy and affectionate. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”

You turned your head toward Dana, solemn and proud. “I picked that one.”

Dana’s mouth twitched. “So I’m hearing.”

Jack closed his eyes. “What did you give her?”

“Pain control,” Robby said. “Not enough to explain all of this.”

You tugged lightly on Jack’s hand. “He’s being rude.”

Jack looked at Robby. “Stop being rude.”

Robby pointed at him. “You weren’t even here.”

“I believe my wife.”

Princess turned toward the computer again, but not fast enough to hide her smile.

Santos murmured, “That was hot.”

Dana said, “Santos.”

“What? It was,” Santos replied with a shrug.

Jack ignored all of them and leaned closer to you. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

His face softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, then regretted it. “Don’t let me do head stuff.”

“I won’t,” Jack promised.

You frowned. “Having a head is bad.”

“I’ll make a note,” Jack said with a soft smile.

Robby stepped closer to your injured side. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to try Cunningham.”

“No.” Your response was immediate.

Jack’s hand tightened around yours. Robby did not react like the word surprised him. “I know.”

“No, I don’t want Cunningham. It sounds smug,” you told him.

Robby’s brow raised. “It’s a reduction technique, not a man at a country club.”

You frowned at him. “Still smug.”

Jack’s thumb brushed your knuckles. “Look at me.”

You turned your eyes back to him. “No.”

Jack’s eyes softened. “You’re already doing it.”

You glared. “That’s annoying.”

His mouth almost smiled. “I know.”

Robby looked between you and Jack. Then his eyes moved to the monitor again. A thought entered his face.

Jack saw it immediately. “No.”

Robby blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dana adjusted the bed so you were sitting up more, angled slightly back against the raised mattress. The movement sent a pain-sparking sensation down your arm. “Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, this is worse than my fucking IUD insertion.”

The room went silent. Jack’s thumb stilled against your hand. “Okay,” he said carefully.

You opened your eyes and glared at the ceiling. “I thought I knew pain. I was wrong.”

Dana’s mouth twitched near the monitor. Princess turned very deliberately toward the computer.

Jack leaned closer. “Baby.”

“No.” You turned your glare on him. “This is your fault.”

His brows pulled together. “My fault?”

“Yes.”

Jack blinked once. “How is this my fault?”

“Because,” you said, furious and medicated, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know this was worse.”

Robby looked up. Jack did not move.

“I was doing fine,” you continued. “I was in my celibate phase. I was at peace.”

Jack’s face changed by exactly one dangerous millimeter. “You were not at peace.”

“I was close.” Your eyes narrowed. “Then you came along with your stupid handsome face and your stupid arms, and then I got the stupid IUD, and I thought that was pain. But no.”

Robby nodded slowly. “That is a clinically fascinating chain of blame.”

Jack did not look away from you. “So your shoulder hurts because I’m handsome.”

“And slutty with your forearms,” you added.

Jack’s jaw flexed. Santos whispered, “Slutty forearms.”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.” Your face softened immediately.

Jack noticed. His eyes dropped back to yours, something warm cutting through the mortification. “What?”

You blinked up at him, drug-soft and suddenly pleased. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah, baby.”

A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”

Robby looked from you to Dana. Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “What?”

“You’re enjoying this,” Robby said.

“I am maintaining room discipline.”

“You called her Mrs. Abbot.”

Dana’s mouth barely moved. “That is her name.” Your smile widened.

Jack looked at Dana, then back at you, and his face softened despite himself. Dana glanced at the monitor. “See? Therapeutic.” Robby’s eyes dropped to Jack’s sleeve.

Jack saw it happen. “No.”

Robby smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You looked at my sleeve.”

“Clinically,” Robby replied.

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked up at Jack, still angry, still hazy, still betrayed by the entire medical system. “He does have nice forearms.”

Jack stared at the ceiling. Robby nodded toward Jack’s arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Jack looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“She’s tensing.”

Jack gave Robby a look. “You want me to roll up my sleeves.”

“I want patient compliance,” Robby corrected.

Jack looked at Dana. Dana glanced at the monitor, then at you. “It would probably help.”

Jack’s face went flat. “Not you too.”

Dana shrugged. “I’m practical.”

Robby looked delighted. “See? Medicine.”

Jack exhaled through his nose, then dragged one sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm. Your eyes followed the movement immediately. You hated yourself a little. Not enough to look away. His forearm flexed as he pushed the fabric past his elbow, tendons shifting under skin, the veins at his wrist standing out when his fingers curled once around the bed rail. Your mouth went soft.

Robby pointed at you. “There.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him. “Do not point at my wife while she’s objectifying me.”

“I am pointing at a response to treatment,” Robby replied with glee.

You looked at Jack’s arm. “Treatment is good.”

Princess made a strangled sound. Javadi stared straight ahead like a resident determined to survive rounds with her soul intact.

Jack leaned closer to you. “You are making this very difficult.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“You.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “Very stubborn. Very pretty. Extremely bad at being a patient.”

The giggle came before you could stop it. Soft. Helpless. Embarrassing. Jack’s eyes warmed. Robby looked like he had just discovered a new antibiotic. “Oh, that’s excellent.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Ignore him.”

“You think I’m pretty,” you said.

“I married you,” Jack replied.

“That’s not an answer.”

His mouth curved. “Yes, baby. I think you’re pretty.”

You melted. Completely. It was humiliating. It was also his fault. Robby adjusted your injured arm, careful and slow, guiding your hand toward his shoulder. The position made pain spark hot and immediate. “No.” You tried to pull back. “No, fuck this.”

Jack’s face sharpened. Robby’s tone stayed calm. “I need thirty seconds.”

“I don’t want thirty seconds,” you said, frowning.

Robby’s expression softened, “I know.”

“No, I want that one to do it,” you said, looking from Robby to Jack.

Jack leaned closer. “You have that one.”

“I want that one to doctor me.” Your lower lip jutted out.

Robby, far too cheerful, said, “We’ve covered the conflict of interest.”

You frowned at him. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack looked at Robby. “Fix her shoulder.”

Robby looked at Jack’s hoodie. Jack saw it. His whole body went still. “No.”

Robby lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Jack stared at him.

Robby smiled. “She responded well to forearm.”

“Forearm is not a drug,” Jack shot back.

Robby shrugged. “It is today.”

Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

You, who had been blinking hazily at the ceiling, turned your head with alarming speed. “Yes.”

The room stopped. Completely. Jack’s hand froze halfway down his face. “No.”

You frowned, offended. “Rude.”

Princess turned toward the computer with the focus of a woman fighting for her life. Santos stared at the floor, shoulders shaking.

Dana checked the monitor. “Heart rate response noted.”

Jack looked at her. “Dana.”

She did not look up. “I report data.”

Robby pressed his lips together. “For the record, that was the fastest she’s oriented to verbal stimulus since the medication.”

You reached weakly for Jack’s hand. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy from medication and pain, your good hand tight around his, your face still trying so hard to stay mad because scared was too vulnerable, and both of you knew it. His irritation lost some of its shape. “Fine,” he muttered. Robby brightened. Jack glared at him. “Don’t look so happy.”

“I’m a scientist observing results,” Robby replied, delighted.

Jack stood beside the bed and reached back, fingers catching the sweatshirt at the back of his neck. Your eyes locked onto the movement. He pulled it over his head in one smooth drag, the hem catching for half a second on the white T-shirt underneath. The shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders when he lifted his arms. His biceps shifted under the fabric. His forearms flexed as he dragged the sweatshirt free.

The room went very quiet. You stared. Completely gone. Jack paused with the sweatshirt in one hand. Just for a second. Long enough to let you look. His mouth tilted, barely. “Better?”

You nodded slowly. “Wow.”

Robby made a sound that might have been spiritual.

Jack dropped back into the chair beside you and took your hand again. “Eyes on me.”

You obeyed immediately. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Robby looked at the monitor, then at Jack. “That was outstanding.”

Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not compliment me.”

“Clinically outstanding,” Robby corrected himself.

Jack’s gaze didn’t leave you. “Still no.”

Robby grinned. “You removed clothing, and her heart rate stabilized.”

“That is not what happened,” Jack replied with a sigh.

Dana glanced at the monitor. “It sort of is.” J

ack looked betrayed. “Dana.”

She shrugged. “I report data.”

Robby gestured toward you, far too pleased with the entire clinical situation. “Magic Mike: ED Edition.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “No.”

Robby’s grin spread slowly. “I don’t know, brother. You danced at your wedding. Pretty risky, if memory serves.”

Jack’s stare went flat. “Robby.”

“There was a certain Eminem song involved,” Robby continued.

Your head turned on the pillow. “Shake That.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Do not help him.”

Robby pointed at you, delighted. “That’s the one.”

Dana looked up from the monitor. “You danced to ‘Shake That’ at your wedding?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

You turned toward him with surprising speed. “Jack.”

His eyes opened. “Baby.”

Your brow furrowed, “Don’t you dare deny that.”

Princess pressed both lips together and turned toward the computer as if it had suddenly become fascinating. Santos stared between you and Jack, openly thrilled. You lifted your good hand as much as the IV allowed and pointed at him. “That moment changed my brain chemistry.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling. “Good Lord.”

Robby nodded solemnly. “For the record, I was there. It changed several people’s brain chemistry.”

Jack’s head turned slowly. “You cried during the father-daughter dance.”

“You and your wife offended decent people everywhere with that dance,” Robby said.

You nodded, glassy-eyed and completely unashamed. “Yep. My grandma left.”

Jack looked down at you, horror flickering across his face. “Your grandmother left?”

You blinked up at him. “You didn’t know that?”

“No,” Jack said. “I did not know that.”

“She came back for cake,” you added.

Jack looked at you. “That does not make it better.”

Robby’s grin widened. “I’m just saying. It was a lot of wedding.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him. “You ended that night with half your shirt unbuttoned because a bridesmaid took your tie off with her teeth.”

Santos’s head snapped up. “With her teeth?”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat wedding lore.”

Princess turned from the computer, delighted. “Did he go home with her?”

Robby pointed sharply at your shoulder. “We have a patient.”

Jack’s mouth curved, barely. “He did.”

Robby stared at him. “Betrayal.”

Jack shrugged. “You started this.”

“I started a medical discussion,” Robby defended.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You called me Magic Mike.”

Robby frowned. “In a medical context.”

You looked between them, soft and dreamy now, the medication turning the memory warm around the edges. “It was perfect.”

Jack’s expression shifted. “Our wedding?”

You nodded. “You danced. I danced. Robby got slutty.”

Robby pointed at you. “For the record, ‘Robby got slutty’ is not medically relevant.”

Your eyes drifted back to Jack. You studied him for one long, medicated second. “You got slutty.”

Jack’s brows lifted. “I did not.”

You gave him a look. “Tell that to your hips.” You kept looking at Jack, still dreamy and deeply serious. “And hands.”

Jack closed his eyes again.

Santos made a tiny sound. “He got slutty.”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Your face softened immediately. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. His thumb moved once over your hand. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

“I heard,” Jack said, quieter now.

A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.” Jack’s expression softened before he could stop it.

Robby looked from you to Dana. “You’re enjoying this.”

Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “I am maintaining room discipline.”

Jack looked at you slowly. He looked down at you, and something in his expression changed. Not embarrassed now. Worse. Amused. “You know, baby,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t hear you complaining that night.”

Your mouth parted. For one blessed second, the medication actually managed to quiet you.

Robby looked delighted. “Oh, that worked.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”

You blinked up at Jack, soft and glassy-eyed and deeply sincere. “I was thoroughly enjoying it.”

Dana closed her eyes. Princess turned fully toward the computer.

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “That is a lot of marriage for a workplace.”

Jack’s jaw flexed, but his thumb moved over your hand again. “Trouble.”

You smiled faintly. “You started it.”

Robby pointed at Jack. “She’s right.”

Jack looked at him. “You started it.” Robby nodded. “Also true. Still worth it.”

Dana adjusted the bed, then looked at both of them. “Shoulder now. Wedding crimes later.”

You frowned. “They’re not crimes if everyone had fun.”

“Your grandmother left,” Jack said.

“She came back for cake.”

Robby nodded. “Strong recovery.”

Jack looked at him. “You are done.”

Robby smiled. “Brother, I have barely begun.”

Dana’s voice cut through, calm and final. “Robby.”

Robby lifted both hands. “Shoulder now.”

Jack leaned closer to you, resigned and soft all at once. “Eyes on me, trouble.”

You looked at his white T-shirt, then his face. “I am looking,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

For half a second, he looked like he might say something that would make the entire situation worse.

Robby must have seen it coming, because he clapped once, sharp and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “Shoulder.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You heard the man.”

You frowned at him. “I don’t like the man.”

Robby adjusted his gloves at your injured side. “The man is hurt by that.”

Dana moved closer to the bed, one hand resting near your good shoulder. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, calm and even. “We’re going to sit you up a little more.”

Your face softened immediately. Jack saw it again. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You like that.”

You blinked at him. “Like what?”

His voice went quieter. “Mrs. Abbot.”

A small, helpless smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”

Jack’s expression changed. Not enough for anyone else to call him out on it, maybe, but enough for you to feel warmer than the medication could explain. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “That’s you.”

Robby looked at Dana. Dana kept her face neutral. “Therapeutic,” she said.

Robby nodded solemnly. “Marital nomenclature. Noted.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Do not note that.”

Robby shrugged. “I have a whole mental chart now.”

“Delete it,” Jack shot back.

Robby grinned. “HIPAA doesn’t apply to my thoughts.”

Dana raised the bed before Jack could answer. The motion sent your shoulder into a hot, mean pulse. Your good hand tightened around Jack’s. “Nope.”

Jack stepped in closer immediately. “I’ve got you.”

“Nope,” you said again, sharper this time. “I changed my mind.”

Robby’s voice stayed steady from your side. “You can hate it.”

“I do hate it. I hate the concept. I hate whoever invented Cunningham,” you groaned.

Robby nodded once. “Probably fair.” You went on, “I hate that his name is Cunningham.”

“It is a useful medical procedure,” Robby replied.

You turned your glare on him. “Don’t defend Cunningham to me right now.”

Jack leaned into your line of sight. “Look at me.”

You looked at him. Mostly because he was very close. Also, because the T-shirt was still doing hateful things across his chest. Jack’s eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew exactly where your attention had gone.

“My face,” he said.

You sighed. “Your face is also a problem.”

Robby glanced at the monitor. “Problem appears effective.” Jack turned his head a fraction. “Robby.”

“Data,” Dana said.

Jack gave her a betrayed look. Dana’s brows lifted. “I report it.”

Robby slid your injured hand carefully toward his shoulder. The second your arm shifted, pain sparked bright and fast down your side.

“Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, fuck that.”

Jack’s free hand came to your cheek. Warm palm. Steady fingers. No pressure, just contact. “Hey.”

You shook your head. “No, Jack, I really don’t—”

“I know.”

Robby paused, his hands still supporting your arm.

Jack’s thumb moved once beneath your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes. His face was right there. Close enough to blur at the edges. Worried in that contained way that made your chest hurt. Soft in the places no one else knew to look.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” you whispered.

Jack’s expression gentled. “I know.” Your throat tightened. “I’m being so stupid.”

“No,” he said immediately.

Robby’s voice came from your side, quieter now. “You’re not.”

Dana’s hand stayed light near your shoulder. “You are allowed to be in pain, Mrs. Abbot.”

Your mouth trembled. That was rude of her, honestly. Using the name like that.

Jack watched your face, and something in him settled. “Be mad,” he said softly. “Swear at Robby. Insult Cunningham.”

Robby lifted one hand. “I would like to opt out of one third of that.”

Jack ignored him. “But keep looking at me.” You swallowed. “You’re bossy.”

“I know.” Jack smiled softly.

You narrowed your eyes. “You like being bossy.” His mouth curved, barely. “With you?”

Your eyes widened a little. Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek. “Yeah.”

The room went dangerously still. Robby’s face brightened. “Oh, that was good.”

Jack’s eyes cut toward him. “Do not grade me.”

“I’m not grading. I’m appreciating the technique.”

Dana looked at the monitor. “Heart rate improved.” Jack exhaled through his nose. “Good Lord.”

You stared at him, caught between pain and medication and the unfair fact of him. “Sexy doctor husband.”

His jaw flexed. “Apparently.” Robby moved your elbow another careful inch. You tensed immediately.

Jack’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. “Eyes on me.”

You tried. You really did. Your gaze dropped to his mouth first.

Jack noticed. His mouth twitched. “My eyes, trouble.”

“I’m trying,” you groaned.

He smirked. “You’re doing terrible.” You made a small, offended sound.

Jack’s thumb stroked lightly at the base of your skull. “But you’re very pretty while you do it.”

A giggle escaped you before you could stop it. It came out wet, shaky, and ridiculous.

Robby froze. Dana glanced at the monitor. Princess made a tiny sound near the computer.

Santos looked like she might need to sit down. Jack’s eyes softened. “There she is.”

You frowned at him. “You’re flirting medically again.”

“I am not,” Jack replied.

Robby adjusted his grip on your elbow. “You are.”

Jack kept his face angled toward you. “No one asked you.”

“I did,” you said.

Jack looked back at you. “You did not.”

“I spiritually asked,” you said with a sigh.

Robby pointed at you. “She gets me.”

Jack’s hand tightened carefully at the back of your head. “That is what worries me.”

The laugh that tried to leave you broke into a gasp when Robby began working at the muscles around your shoulder.

Pain rose again, deep and threatening. “No,” you said, voice thin now.

Jack’s teasing vanished. Just gone. His face steadied. “Breathe with me.”

“I don’t want to breathe.”

He raised a brow. “Do it anyway.” You frowned. “That’s mean.”

“I know,” Jack agreed.

“Fuck, Jack.”

His eyes held yours. “I’ve got you.”

Robby’s voice came low and focused. “Good. Just like that. Try not to fight me.”

You turned your eyes toward him in outrage. “Try not to fight you?”

Jack’s hand at the back of your head guided you back. “Me.”

You sucked in a breath. “Robby is saying stupid things.”

“I know.” Jack nodded.

“I can hear you,” Robby said.

Jack’s thumb swept once under your eye. “Ignore him.”

“He’s touching my shoulder,” you said, miserable.

Jack tilted his head closer to you. “Because he’s fixing it.”

“I don’t like him,” you said with a frown.

Jack smiled softly at you. “You love him.”

“Not right now,” you said, brows furrowed.

Robby nodded without looking up. “Temporary friendship suspension. Accepted.”

Dana looked at you. “Hold still, Mrs. Abbot.”

The name hit exactly where it had before. Your breathing hitched, but this time it hitched softer.

Jack saw it. Robby saw it. Dana absolutely saw it. Robby looked at Dana. “You’re good.”

Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “I know.” Jack leaned closer. “You’re doing good.”

You stared at him. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Your eyes burned. “I’m making this difficult.” Jack nodded once. “You’re scared.”

“I’m swearing,” you continued.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

“I told everyone about our wedding crimes.” Your lower lip wobbled.

His mouth moved like he was fighting a smile. “That one we’ll discuss later.”

“You got slutty.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Not now.” Robby’s shoulders shook once.

Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not laugh during my wife’s reduction.”

Robby’s expression snapped back into focus. “Guilty.”

Pain flared again, sharper this time, and your whole body tried to pull away.

Jack’s hand held steady at the back of your head. Not forcing you. Keeping you with him. “Look at me.”

You blinked away tears. “I am.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “Really look.”

You did.

His eyes were dark and close and worried. His thumb moved against your cheek, slow and sure.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Stay right there.”

Your breath shook. “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” Jack murmured.

You went on. “Cunningham is a bad man.”

“Probably.” Jack nodded with a soft smile.

Robby glanced up. “Cunningham did not personally do this to you.”

You glared at him through tears. “He knows what he did.” Robby nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

Jack’s mouth brushed the edge of a smile.

You caught it. Even through pain. Even through fear. Even through the medication making the room swim around the edges. “You’re laughing.”

“I’m not,” Jack replied.

You glared at him. “You are.”

“Only because you’re mean on drugs,” he said, smiling softly at you.

You inhaled sharply. “I’m allowed to be mean right now.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, impossibly soft. “You are.”

Robby’s hands shifted. The pressure changed. Your body knew before your brain did.

You went rigid. “No.” Jack’s face sharpened. “Baby.”

“No, no, no, I don’t want—” You shook your head despite the pain.

His hand cupped your face more firmly. “Look at me.” Your eyes found his. “I am looking.”

“Good,” Jack said, his voice low and steady.

Your eyes burned as you stared up at him. “Jack.”

His hand stayed firm at the back of your head, fingers threaded carefully into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to pull away from Robby’s hands. “I hate this.”

“I know.” Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek.

Your breath hitched, half pain and half panic. “I hate your stupid face for helping.”

His mouth curved just enough to ruin you. “Use it.”

“What?”

“My stupid face.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “Look at it instead of your shoulder.”

You stared at him. “I hate that that works.”

“I know,” Jack murmured.

You glared at him. “Your face is medically annoying.” Robby murmured, “Groundbreaking terminology.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Not now.”

Robby’s hands shifted again. You felt the pressure build. Slow, careful, awful.

Jack saw you brace. Of course he did. His voice dropped. “Be good for me.”

Your face went soft immediately. “Oh, that’s unfair.”

Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye. “I know.”

“You’re cheating.” You tried to glare at him, but the medication and his hand in your hair made it a weak attempt.

His mouth curved, barely there and deeply unrepentant. “I know.”

Robby, without missing a beat, said, “Cheating is medically allowed right now.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Do it now.”

For one suspended second, there was only Jack’s face, his hand in your hair, his thumb on your cheek, and Robby’s steady pressure on your arm.

Then the joint shifted. Not violently. Not with a dramatic crack.

Just a deep, sickening slide, followed by sudden release. You gasped.

The wrongness vanished all at once. Your whole body folded toward Jack on a broken little sob.

He caught you carefully, one hand still cradling your head, the other braced at your good shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he said immediately. “I’ve got you.”

Robby exhaled. “Shoulder’s back.”

You breathed hard against Jack’s white T-shirt, your face pressed into the warmth of his chest, tears leaking more from relief than pain now. “Holy shit.”

Jack’s mouth brushed your hair before he seemed to remember there were witnesses. “Yeah.”

“That was awful,” you breathed, tears falling.

Jack kissed your head. “I know.” You turned your face enough to look up at him. “You were helpful.”

His expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, still floating, still furious, still very much on drugs. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Robby pulled off his gloves with great satisfaction. “For the record, Cunningham with targeted husband exposure: wildly effective.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Document that and die.”

Robby smiled. “Brother, this is medicine now.”

You blinked up at Jack, wet-eyed and dazed. “I picked that one.”

The room went quiet around the softness in your voice. Jack’s thumb moved once along your cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

You stared at him for another long, drug-soft second. “I picked good.”

His face changed. Not a lot. Enough. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. “You did.”

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “I need everyone to know I am handling this with incredible maturity.”

Dana looked at him. “You are not.”

“No,” Robby agreed. “But I almost did.”

Jack’s hand stayed against the side of your face for another second before he seemed to remember the rest of the room existed.

“Post-reduction films?” he asked, glancing toward Robby.

Robby pulled his gloves off and dropped them into the trash. “Already ordered.” Jack nodded once.

Robby gave him a look as he stepped back to your injured side. “Neurovascular was intact before. Checking again now.”

“I know you are,” Jack said.

Robby lifted his brows. “Do you?” Jack’s mouth flattened. “I’m standing right here.”

“Great,” Robby said. “Then stand there husbandly and let me be her doctor.”

You turned your head slowly against Jack’s palm. “You’re both doctors.”

Robby leaned closer, careful as he checked your hand. “Only one of us is currently allowed to practice medicine on you.”

You looked at Jack. “I vote that one.” Jack closed his eyes. “Baby.”

Robby did not look up from your fingers. “Your vote has been received and rejected by the ethics committee.”

You frowned at him. “I don’t like the ethics committee.”

“The ethics committee is me,” Robby said.

You blinked at him. “That tracks.”

Santos made a tiny sound near the foot of the bed. Dana glanced at her. Santos pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.

Robby touched your fingers gently. “Can you wiggle these for me?” You wiggled them.

Robby nodded. “Good. Any numbness or tingling?”

You stared at him, still dazed. “Just in my dignity.”

“That is not innervated by the axillary nerve,” Robby said.

You blinked. “Show-off.”

Jack’s thumb moved over your cheek again. The motion was small. Your body noticed anyway.

Robby saw that too, because of course he did, but for once he did not comment.

Dana adjusted the sling on the tray beside the bed. “We’ll get her immobilized once Robby’s done checking you,” she said. Jack’s attention shifted to the sling. His jaw tightened by a fraction.

You saw it even through the medication. “You’re doing the face.”

Jack looked back down at you. “What face?”

“The face,” you said.

Robby glanced over. “Oh, I know the face.” Jack did not look at him. “No one asked you.”

Robby’s voice stayed light, but not careless. “It’s the face he makes when he wishes he could make it easier for you.”

Jack went quiet. So did you. Your fingers tightened around his. “You did,” you said.

Jack looked down at you. “What?” Your smile was small and drug-soft. “You made it easier.”

His thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes glassy and sincere. “Yeah. Because you’re hot. And a doctor. And smart. And sexy. And my husband. And I love you.”

The room went very still. Jack’s face softened all at once.

Then you added, very seriously, “And you’re hot.”

Robby’s mouth opened. Dana looked at the monitor like it had become essential to her survival.

Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Is that all?”

You blinked up at him, exhausted and earnest. “No.” His mouth curved. “No?”

You shook your head once, barely. “But I’m tired and drugged.”

Jack’s expression warmed into something painfully fond. “Okay, baby.”

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. You swallowed, the edges of the room still warm and watery.

“And Eli?”

Robby’s expression gentled before the joke could get there.

“Megan called down while we were getting the films ordered. He’s okay.”

You stared at him. “She told him?”

“She told him,” Robby said. “His mom told him. He knows you’re not mad.”

You blinked hard. Jack’s hand tightened around yours.

Robby leaned a hip lightly against the counter, his voice quieter now. “He drew you a picture.”

Your throat closed. “He did?”

“Apparently it’s you with a cape,” Robby said.

Princess smiled from the computer. “And a very large arm.”

You made a sound that tried to be a laugh and almost became something else. “Is it anatomically correct?”

Robby looked at Princess. Princess shook her head. “Not even close.” You closed your eyes. “Good.”

Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

Your eyes burned again, but softer this time. “He doesn’t think I’m mad?”

Robby shook his head. “He thinks you’re a superhero.”

You went very still. Jack felt your hand tighten around his. Then your face crumpled. “Oh, no.”

Jack leaned in immediately. “Baby?” Your eyes filled too fast for you to stop them. “I’m leaking.”

Jack’s expression softened all at once. “You’re crying.”

“I know.” Your mouth trembled. “I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jack replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You sniffled. “It is in front of the day shift.”

Robby’s face softened from the counter. “Day shift can handle feelings.”

Santos looked suspiciously focused on the floor. Princess turned toward the computer, blinking too much.

Dana adjusted the sling on the tray without looking up. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said evenly, “day shift has seen worse.”

Your smile wobbled through the tears. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it reached your cheek. “Yeah, baby.”

You looked up at him, wet-eyed and overwhelmed. “He thinks I’m a superhero.”

Jack’s face changed. Not a lot. Enough to make you cry harder. “He’s right.”

Your chin trembled. “Jack.”

“He is,” Jack said, voice low. “You protected him.”

A tear slipped hot down your cheek. “I scared him.”

“You helped him.”

The words landed so gently that they hurt. You made a broken little sound and tried to wipe your face with your good hand, but Jack caught your fingers before you could tug at the IV.

“I’ve got it.” He brushed another tear away with his thumb.

You sniffed. “I’m leaking a lot.”

His mouth softened. “I know.”

You exhaled. “I hate this drug.”

“No, you don’t.” He smiled gently.

You thought about it, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “I kind of love this drug.”

Robby nodded from the counter. “There she is.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Let her leak.”

Dana smiled gently. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, crisp and even, “I’m going to help support your arm while we get this situated.”

Your eyes opened the rest of the way. A smile pulled at your mouth immediately, even through the tears.

Jack looked down at you. “There it is.” You blinked at him. “What?”

He brushed one knuckle lightly along your jaw. “That smile.”

You looked toward Dana, pleased and hazy. “She called me Mrs. Abbot again.”

Dana did not look up from the sling. “That is your name.”

Robby pointed at her. “You’re doing it on purpose.” Dana kept her hands steady. “I am doing my job.”

“You are weaponizing legal marriage,” Robby said.

Dana fitted the strap carefully behind your neck. “I am supporting patient cooperation.”

You sighed happily. “It is working.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Clearly.”

Dana adjusted the sling around your injured arm. “This may pull a little.” Your smile vanished.

Jack saw it instantly. “Hey.”

“Nope,” you said.

His hand found your good one again. “Look at me.”

You frowned. “I already did that.”

“Do it again.”

You looked at him.

His eyes stayed steady on yours while Dana adjusted the last strap. There was a brief tug, a hot little spark of discomfort, and then your arm was held against you, supported and still.

You exhaled shakily. Jack’s thumb brushed once over your hand. “There you go.”

You swallowed. “I swore a lot.”

Jack’s mouth softened. “You were allowed.”

You leaned and whispered poorly. “In front of Dana.”

Dana stepped back from the sling. “I’ve heard worse, Mrs. Abbot.” Your smile came back immediately.

Jack glanced at Dana. “Therapeutic.”

Dana picked up the chart. “Accurate.”

Robby checked the sling with a quick glance, then nodded to Dana. “Looks good.”

Dana stepped back. “It’ll do until ortho tells her the same thing in a more expensive voice.”

Princess laughed under her breath. Santos rocked back on her heels.

“So she’s going home?” Santos asked.

Jack looked at Robby before Robby could answer, the same question reflected in his eyes

Robby lifted his brows. “You asking as her husband or as the night attending who has forgotten he is not on shift?”

Jack stared at him. “Husband.”

Robby smiled. “Good choice.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Robby.”

“We’ll watch her a bit after the follow-up films, make sure pain is controlled, then yes,” Robby said. “Home. Ice. Sling. Ortho follow-up. No lifting. No heroic catching of children for a while.”

You frowned at him. “That feels targeted.”

“It is,” Robby confirmed.

Your frown deepened. “Eli was falling.”

“And you caught him,” Robby said. “And now your shoulder is in a sling.”

You looked away. Jack’s voice softened. “You did good.”

You looked back up at him. “I broke myself.”

Jack shook his head. “You protected him.”

You pressed your lips together. “That sounds like something you say when I broke myself.”

Jack held your gaze. “It can be both.”

You considered him through the medication. “You’re very pretty when you’re reasonable.”

Robby made a wounded sound. “Not this again.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Thank you.”

Your smile went soft. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack lowered his head for half a second like he was gathering strength.

Dana picked up the chart. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Santos closed her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.

Princess turned toward the computer, shoulders shaking. Robby looked between Dana and the monitor.

“Therapeutic and preventative.”

Dana’s eyes flicked to him. “Exactly.”

Jack gave her a long look. “I don’t know whether to thank you or be concerned.”

“Both is usually safest,” Dana said.

A little while later, after the films confirmed what Robby already knew, after Princess brought discharge paperwork, after Santos was banished from asking any more questions about the wedding, the room finally thinned out.

Dana left with one last check of your sling and one more calm, devastating, “Take it easy, Mrs. Abbot.”

You smiled so hard your eyes closed.

Jack watched Dana go, then looked down at you. “She did that on purpose.”

You leaned into the pillow. “She likes me.”

“She likes making me suffer,” Jack said.

You nodded solemnly. “People contain multitudes.” Jack huffed a quiet laugh.

Robby came back with the discharge papers and a pen. “Okay,” he said. “Because apparently I am the only person in this room still committed to medicine.”

Jack was sitting beside your bed now, his sweatshirt back on but unzipped, one hand wrapped around yours. “You loved every second of this.”

Robby held up the paperwork. “I loved several medically relevant seconds of this.”

“You called me Magic Mike,” Jack said.

Robby nodded. “In a medically relevant context.”

“You threatened to chart targeted husband exposure,” Jack added.

“I still might,” Robby said.

Jack stared at him. Robby smiled. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Jack warned.

“I’ll save it for the group chat,” Robby said with a shrug.

Jack’s expression went blank. “There is no group chat.”

Robby looked at you. “He thinks there’s no group chat.”

You turned to Jack, horrified. “You think there’s no group chat?”

Jack looked between you and Robby. “I hate this family.”

Your smile went dreamy. “You said family.”

Robby’s expression softened before he covered it with a cough.

Jack looked down at your joined hands. “I did.”

The air warmed around that. For one second, nobody ruined it.

Then Robby clicked the pen. “Anyway,” he said. “Sling stays on. Ice twenty minutes at a time. Pain meds as prescribed, not as creatively interpreted by the patient. Ortho follow-up within the week. No work until cleared.”

You opened your eyes. “No work?” Jack’s hand tightened.

Robby looked at you. “No work.”

“But peds is short,” you replied.

“Peds will survive,” Robby said.

You frowned. “You don’t know that.”

Robby leaned closer, his sarcasm gone soft around the edges. “I know you cannot care for children with a freshly reduced shoulder.”

You looked at Jack for backup. Jack shook his head. “No.”

“You didn’t even let me ask,” you said, brows furrowed.

Jack just gave you a look. “I know where you were going.”

“You always know where I’m going,” you sighed.

Jack shrugged. “Usually because it’s somewhere you shouldn’t.” Robby nodded. “Marriage.”

You sighed again and let your head fall back against the pillow. “This is oppressive.”

“This is discharge planning,” Robby said.

“Oppressive discharge planning,” you mumbled.

Jack stood slowly, keeping hold of your hand. You looked up at him. “We’re leaving?”

He nodded. “Soon.”

“Are you taking me home?” you asked, hopefully.

His expression softened. “Yeah, baby.”

Your whole face relaxed. “Good. I want that one.”

Robby pressed the paperwork to his chest. “She’s still doing it.”

Jack took the papers from him. “She’s on medication.”

He folded the paperwork and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Robby watched him for a moment, the humor easing out of his face. “You good to get her home?”

Jack looked at you. You were blinking slowly, exhausted now, the adrenaline finally draining out of your body.

His voice gentled. “Yeah.”

Robby nodded. “Call me if anything changes.”

Jack met his eyes. “I will.”

The two men looked at each other for half a second longer than the words required.

You noticed even through the fog. “You two are having feelings.”

Robby looked down at you. “We are absolutely not.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “No feelings.”

“Lies,” you murmured.

Robby pointed at you. “Pain meds have made her too powerful.”

Jack helped you sit up carefully. The room tilted as soon as you moved. You made a small sound and grabbed for him with your good hand.

He was already there. One arm came around your waist, careful not to jostle the sling, his body solid beside yours. “I’ve got you.”

You leaned into him. “I know.”

That seemed to hit him somewhere. His hand spread warm at your side. Robby stepped closer, but Jack had you steady.

“Slow,” Jack said.

“I am slow,” you grumbled.

The room tilted. You caught Jack’s shirt with your good hand, and his arm came around your waist before you could wobble any farther.

His mouth twitched. “That’s why I said go slow.”

You rolled your eyes. “Smartass.”

Robby nodded from beside the bed. “Fair assessment.” Jack shot him a look.

“Supportive environment,” Robby said.

Jack eased you carefully off the bed. Your knees felt uncertain, and the room stayed too bright, but his arm held you steady.

Dana reappeared at the curtain like she had sensed movement. “You good?”

Jack nodded. “I’ve got her.”

Dana looked at you. “Mrs. Abbot?”

Your smile came back, sleepy and immediate.

“I’m good.”

Dana’s mouth barely moved. “Clearly.”

Robby narrowed his eyes at her. “You did it again.”

Dana checked the hallway. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do.”

Jack adjusted his hold at your waist. “Can we leave before anyone learns anything else about my wedding?”

Princess, still at the computer, lifted one finger. “I have follow-up questions.”

“No,” Jack said.

Santos leaned against the counter. “I have several.”

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Robby grinned. “I have photos.”

Jack went still. You gasped softly. “You have photos?”

Robby’s grin widened. “And videos.”

Jack pointed at him. “Delete them.”

“Never,” Robby responded immediately.

“You have videos of the dance?” you asked, unable to contain your excitement.

Robby gave you a look. “You think I would witness neurological history and not document it?”

Your eyes went glassy again. “Can you send them to me?”

Jack looked down at you. “Baby.”

“What? I was there. I should have them,” you defended yourself.

Robby tapped his phone. “Already sent.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Your phone buzzed somewhere in the plastic belongings bag.

You looked up at Jack, delighted. “Brain chemistry.”

Dana held up one hand before Santos could speak. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Santos sighed. “I didn’t even say it.”

Dana looked at her. “You thought loudly.”

Jack shook his head and started guiding you toward the hallway. “We’re going home.”

You leaned into him, warm and sore and still floating enough that the ED lights looked like stars smeared across glass. “Home with you?”

Jack glanced down. His face softened. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “I picked good.”

This time, there were no monitors beeping too loud, no hands at your shoulder, no room full of witnesses waiting for the next outrageous thing you might say.

Just Jack’s hand at your waist, his body steady beside yours, his voice low near your ear.

“So did I.”

You walked into the department balancing one of those cardboard drink trays from Dunkin’ Donuts with practiced ease, scanning the room until your eyes landed on John.

Instant smile.

“There you are,” you said warmly.

Several heads lifted immediately.

Because nobody—nobody—talked to John Shen like that.

John looked up from his charting, and the second he saw you, his entire face softened in a way nobody in the department had ever witnessed before.

Actually softened.

Not polite.

Not professional.

Soft.

It stunned everyone into silence.

“You brought coffee,” he said, standing up immediately to take the tray from you.

“Obviously,” you teased. “You forgot breakfast again.”

A few nearby nurses exchanged looks.

Whitaker nearly dropped a chart.

You reached up automatically, fixing the slightly crooked collar of John’s scrubs before kissing his cheek lightly.

And that—

That was the moment the entire ER collectively lost its mind.

“WHAT?” someone blurted from across the desk.

You blinked.

John sighed quietly like he already knew exactly what was happening.

Langdon looked personally betrayed. “You’re married?!”

John glanced at him. “Yes.”

“Since when?” Cassie demanded.

John frowned slightly. “Three years.”

“THREE YEARS?!” Whitaker repeated.

You looked between all of them in confusion. “Wait… none of you knew?”

A chorus of no’s answered you.

Dana folded her arms, staring at John. “You never mentioned having a wife.”

John shrugged once. “It never came up.”

“It absolutely would’ve come up!” Langdon argued. “That’s huge information!”

You laughed softly while John handed you your own coffee cup from the tray.

“He’s kind of private,” you admitted.

“Kind of?” Cassie echoed. “We barely know what music he listens to.”

John took a sip of his iced coffee calmly while the department continued spiraling around him.

“You guys are being dramatic,” he said.

“The man has a secret wife and we’re dramatic?” Whitaker said incredulously.

“Secret wife?” you repeated, amused.

Dana pointed at John. “Do you know how many times this man has worked double shifts and never once mentioned going home to another human being?”

John looked genuinely confused. “Why would I bring that up randomly?”

The entire desk groaned.

You laughed harder now, leaning lightly against his side while he steadied the drink tray with one hand.

And somehow that made everything worse.

Because now everyone had to process the fact that John Shen apparently had a soft domestic side.

Cassie narrowed her eyes. “Oh my god.”

“What?” you asked.

“You’re telling me this guy goes home and acts like a husband?”

John looked offended. “I am a husband.”

“Yeah, but like…” Langdon gestured vaguely. “You’re so… John Shen at work.”

You grinned. “He’s still John Shen at home.”

John nodded once. “Correct.”

“But nicer,” you added.

John looked at you for a moment before the tiniest smile appeared again.

The room erupted instantly.

“Oh, that’s insane,” Whitaker muttered.

Dana pointed aggressively. “See? See what happens when she’s here? He has facial expressions.”

John sighed. “I’m going back to work now.”

“No, absolutely not,” Cassie said. “We’re interviewing her first.”

You laughed. “Interviewing me?”

“We need details,” Langdon insisted. “How did you even get him to date you?”

John immediately resumed charting like he planned to ignore the conversation entirely.

You smiled knowingly. “Honestly? He brought me coffee first.”

The room went silent.

Then every head slowly turned toward John.

John paused mid-typing.

“…traitor,” he muttered under his breath.

By the time Santos called Jack, you had been singing for twenty-three minutes.

Not continuously.

There had been pauses.

Important pauses.

One pause to tell Robby he was doing the background vocals wrong. Another to inform Whitaker that his attempt to close the tab was “emotionally hostile.” Another to point at a man near the jukebox and announce, with deep conviction, that he was not your husband because your husband had better shoulders.

Mel had tried water.

Javadi had tried fries.

Whitaker had tried logistics.

Robby had tried joining in, which had only made everything worse.

And Santos, because she had the glare of a woman who had spent years keeping doctors from making stupid choices, and no patience left, finally pulled out her phone.

You were standing beside the booth with one hand braced on the table, swaying to the beat of a song that was no longer playing.

“Baby! Woo-hoo, where the hell is my husband? Woo-hoo! What is takin' him so long to find me? Woo-hoo!”

Robby lifted both hands as if he were conducting you. “Great projection.”

Santos pointed at him. “Stop encouraging her.”

Robby shrugged, “She’s an artist.”

“She is refusing to leave a bar because she thinks her husband has been misplaced,” Santos replied. 

You turned sharply. Too sharply. Mel caught your elbow before gravity could make a compelling argument.

“He is not misplaced,” you said.

Santos lowered the phone slightly. “No?”

You frowned, “He is missing.”

Javadi nodded from the end of the booth, phone in hand, filming with the calm detachment of someone documenting history. “The distinction is important.”

Whitaker rubbed both hands over his face. “It is not.”

You slapped one palm gently against the table. “My husband is handsome and tall and sexy and has doctor hands.”

Robby leaned toward Mel. “Doctor's hands is specific.”

Mel nodded. “And accurate.”

“And,” you continued, because you were not finished and everyone needed to understand the scale of the emergency, “he has very serious pecs.”

Santos closed her eyes.

Robby whispered, “Here we go.”

You pointed at him. “Respect the pecs.”

“I do,” Robby said immediately.

Whitaker slid your glass of water toward you. “Can we respect the pecs from the parking lot?”

You shake your head quickly, “No.”

“Why?” He groans. 

You point towards the door, “Because my husband is not in the parking lot.”

Santos pressed Jack’s contact and lifted the phone to her ear.

You gasped. “Are you calling him?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“No!” You exclaimed. 

Santos looked at you. “No?”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to call him.”

“You have been singing for him for twenty-three minutes,” Santos said.

You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I want him to appear.” 

Robby slapped the table once. “That is marriage.”

Santos ignored him and turned slightly away as the call connected.

Jack answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”

His voice came through low and alert, and you froze.

Santos looked at you.

You stared at her phone like it had become sacred.

“Abbot,” Santos said.

There was a small pause on the other end. “Santos?”

“You busy?” She asks. 

“At home.” Jack’s voice sharpened. “Is she okay?”

You grabbed Mel’s wrist and whispered very loudly, “Is that my husband?”

Mel patted your hand. “Yes, honey.”

You looked down at your left hand.

Your wedding rings gleamed under the warm bar lights.

You gasped. “I have wife jewelry.”

Robby bent forward with a wheeze. “Wife jewelry.”

On the phone, Jack went quiet. “What was that?”

Santos looked at you as you lifted your hand in front of your face and admired your rings with genuine awe.

“She is okay,” Santos said carefully.

Jack exhaled. “Define okay.”

You turned toward the booth again, apparently remembering your mission. “Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?” You pick up your song.

Jack went silent.

Robby threw his head back and supplied a terrible echo. “Woo-hoo!”

Santos pinched the bridge of her nose.

Jack said, “Is that her?”

“No,” Santos said. “That is the jukebox haunting me.”

Jack sighed, “Santos.”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Is she hurt?” He asked. 

“No.”

“Sick?” He continued. 

“No.”

Jack exhaled, “Crying?”

You pointed at a man near the pool table. “Not him. My husband has a better ass.”

Mel covered her mouth with a hand.

Santos stared at the ceiling. “No. Not crying.”

There was a pause.

Then Jack said, dry as hell, “Did she say something about my ass?”

Robby lunged across the table, trying to get closer to the phone. “Tell him she said better.”

Santos shoved his forehead back with two fingers. “She is refusing to leave until her husband comes to collect her.”

You leaned toward Santos’s phone. “Tell him to wear the gray sweatpants.”

Santos pulled the phone away from you. “Absolutely not.”

Jack made a sound that might have been a cough. “I’m leaving now. Send me the address.” He was already moving.

“All right,” Santos said. “I’ll send it.”

In the background, Robby shouted, “Tell him she’s been reviewing his ass for twenty minutes!”

Jack went silent again.

Santos closed her eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”

You reached toward the phone. “Wait, I want to talk to him.”

“No,” Santos said, ending the call. 

Your lower lip trembled, “But he’s missing.”

“He’s on his way.” She told you. 

That stopped you. Your mouth fell open. “He’s coming?”

Santos slid her phone into her pocket. “Yes.”

You laid a hand on your chest, “To me?”

“Yes.” Trinity nodded. 

You pressed both hands to your cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”

Whitaker nodded toward the door. “Great. Now we can go.”

“No,” you said immediately.

His shoulders dropped. “Why not?”

You looked at him like he had just asked the stupidest question in recorded history. “I have to be here when my husband appears.”

Robby raised one hand. “I support her.”

Santos snapped, “No one asked you.”

You sat back down in the booth and folded your hands on the table like you were waiting for a job interview.

Mel slid the water toward you again. “Drink some water while you wait.”

You stared at the glass.

Then at Mel.

Then at Santos.

“What if he gets here and I’m drinking water?” You ask. 

Javadi tilted her head. “Would that be bad?”

You frowned, thinking hard. “No. Hydration is sexy.”

Whitaker looked at the ceiling. “Thank God.”

You picked up the glass, took one sip, and set it down with a proud nod.

Then you leaned toward Robby. “Do you think he knows he’s my husband?”

Robby’s face lit with dangerous joy.

Santos pointed at him. “Do not.”

Robby held up both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You were about to.”

Robby frowned deeply, “I have never done anything wrong in my life.”

Javadi looked up from her phone. “There are videos.”

You tapped your rings against the table, watching them sparkle. “I’m going to ask him.”

Mel smiled. “Ask him what?”

“If he’s my husband.” You answer. 

Whitaker muttered, “This will be efficient.”

“It will not,” Santos said.

And it wasn’t.

Because when Jack walked in seven minutes later, everything in you stopped working.

He came through the door in jeans, sneakers, and a dark hoodie under his jacket, like he had pulled on the first clothes he found and driven over without thinking about anything except getting to you. His hair was messy, his expression serious, and his eyes scanned the bar once before landing on your booth.

On you.

You stopped mid-hum.

Your hand tightened around Mel’s wrist. “Oh no.”

Mel followed your gaze. “What?”

You pointed. “That man has pecs like my husband’s.”

Robby twisted in his seat so fast he nearly knocked over Whitaker’s drink.

Santos sighed. “That man is your husband.”

You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on Jack as he crossed the bar. “No.”

Javadi kept filming. “Denial phase.”

Jack reached the table and looked you over first, quick and clinical, because he was Jack. No visible injury. No tears. No panic. Just you, drunk and bright-eyed and staring at him like he had been sent from some divine catalog of bad ideas.

His shoulders eased. “Hey, baby.”

You blinked. Then slowly turned to Santos. “He called me baby.”

She nodded slowly, “Because he is your husband.”

You whipped back toward him. “You are?”

Jack’s mouth twitched.

He lifted his left hand without hesitation.

His wedding band caught the bar light.

You looked down at your own rings.

Then back at his.

Then at your rings again. “Oh, my god.”

Jack’s face softened. “Yeah?”

You beam. “We match.”

“We do.” He replied.

You looked him up and down, with a long pause at his chest. “Hell yeah.”

Robby slammed both hands on the table. “And we’re off.”

Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Don’t.”

You leaned toward Mel, still staring at Jack. “He has very serious pecs.”

Jack closed his eyes for half a second.

Mel’s shoulders shook. “I know, honey.”

“Do you think he works out?” You whispered to Trinity. 

Santos answered before Jack could. “Occasionally.”

You nodded solemnly. “It’s working.”

Jack opened his eyes. “Okay. Time to go.”

You frowned. Then looked him up and down again. “Hey, soldier.”

The whole booth went quiet.

Jack stared at you.

Santos slowly turned her head. “Oh, my god.”

You gave Jack what you clearly thought was a seductive smile. “You come here often?”

Jack’s mouth twitched again, despite his best efforts. “To retrieve my drunk wife from a bar? No.”

Your eyes went wide. “Wife?”

He lifted his hand again.

You looked at his ring.

Then yours.

Your whole face lit up. “Hell yeah.”

Javadi, still filming, said, “The verification system remains functional.”

Jack looked at her phone. “Are you recording?”

“Yes.” She answered instantly. 

Jack groans, “Why?”

“Documentation,” Victoria answered. 

“It’s behavioral science,” Robby added.

Jack ignored all of them and reached for the water glass instead of you. “Drink.”

You froze. Then you sat up straighter, eyes suddenly sharp with drunk discovery. “Huh.”

Jack paused. “Huh?”

You pointed at him. “Attending voice.”

Robby made a delighted noise. “Oh, she clocked it.”

Jack gave him a flat look. “Do not participate.”

You leaned toward Santos, whispering very loudly. “He said drink like he was about to order labs.”

Santos nodded. “He did.”

“I did not,” Jack said.

Mel patted your shoulder. “You kind of did.”

Jack pushed the glass closer. “Three sips.”

Your lips parted. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Please just drink the water.”

You picked up the glass with both hands, still staring at him. “You’re very bossy for a stranger.”

Jack opened his eyes. “I’m not a stranger.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Then you looked down at your rings again.

Jack lifted his hand.

You inspected his wedding band with deep seriousness.

“Right,” you said. “Husband.”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. 

You took one sip.

Jack nodded once. “Good.”

You set the glass down too hard. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

“You can’t say ‘good’ with attending voice.” You frowned. 

Robby dropped his forehead onto the table. “She’s right.”

Jack pointed at him. “Not another word.”

You finished the water because Jack stood there with crossed arms and serious eyes, and the world had become a place where hydration was suddenly compelling.

When you set the glass down, Jack picked up your coat. “Arm.”

You inhaled sharply.

Santos pointed at him. “That one was attending voice.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “I need her arm in the sleeve.”

You looked at him, dazed. “You need my arm?”

Jack took a slow breath. “Baby.”

You melted back against the booth. “Oh, Jackie.”

That got him. Just a little. His expression shifted, the stern line of his mouth almost breaking.

Santos saw it immediately. “Don’t reward her.”

“I’m not rewarding her,” Jack said.

“You liked Jackie,” Santos replied. 

Jack held the coat open and looked at you. “Arm.”

You stared at him. Then slid one arm into the sleeve. “Bossy.”

He guided the coat around your shoulders. “Other arm.”

You looked at Mel. “He wants the other one too.”

Mel nodded, fighting for her life. “Coats usually do.”

You gave Jack your other arm. He pulled the coat into place and zipped it halfway with careful, practical hands. You looked down at the zipper. Then up at him. “That was hot.”

“It was a zipper.” Jack deadpanned. 

You sighed happily, “You did it like a procedure.”

Robby lifted his head. “Sterile field: wife edition.”

Jack did not turn around. “Robby.”

“Sorry.” Robby lowered his head once more. 

Santos stood and grabbed her bag. “We are leaving before she proposes to him.”

You froze. Then your head turned slowly toward Jack. “I proposed?”

Jack’s expression softened at once. “No, baby.” He lifted his left hand before you could even ask, wedding band, catching the bar light. “I proposed.”

You looked down at your rings. Then at his. Then up at him, stunned and pleased and drunk-happy. “You wanted to marry me?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Still do.”

Your whole face lit up. “Hell yeah.”

Robby dropped his forehead back to the table. “They’re disgusting.”

Jack crouched slightly in front of you and offered his hand. “Stand up.”

The booth went silent. You stared at him. Then you looked at Santos. “Attending voice.”

Santos nodded. “Full attending voice.”

Jack’s eyes flicked briefly to the ceiling. “I am trying to get you upright.”

You nodded, “You’re doing it with authority.”

“You are drunk in public,” Jack replied. 

You clicked your tongue, “You’re hot in public.”

Mel made a small sound into her hand.

Jack’s ears went faintly pink.

You saw it. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “Jackie’s blushing.”

Jack shook his head, “I am not.”

“You are.” You squeal with delight. 

Jack’s hand stayed steady in front of you. “Up.”

You pressed one hand dramatically to your chest. “Fuck.”

Santos stood and grabbed her bag. “We are leaving before she discovers a military kink.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “Santos.”

She shrugged, “What? She’s halfway there.”

You tilted your head, considering. “A what?”

“Nope.” Jack took your hand and helped you stand. “We’re going home.”

For one glorious second, you were upright and triumphant.

Then the room tilted. Jack caught you by the waist.

Your entire body went still. “Oh, fuck.”

“Balance,” he said.

You stared up at him. “You said that like an order.”

“It was an explanation,” Jack replied. 

You smiled up at him, “Do it again.”

“No,” Jack answered immediately. 

Robby lifted his head. “She’s not wrong.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him.

Robby lowered his head again. “Withdrawn.”

You touched Jack’s chest lightly with one finger. “Responsible soldier husband.”

Jack looked down at your hand. Then at your face. “Doctor husband. Former soldier.”

You nodded solemnly. “Doctor husband with command voice.”

Mel laughed into her hand. 

Jack took a slow breath. “Arm over my shoulder.”

Your eyes went wide. “Jackie.”

“Arm,” he repeated, then pointed to his shoulder. “Here.”

You looked at Santos. “He pointed.”

“I saw.” She answered. 

You licked your lips. “He pointed and said here.”

Trinity nodded solemnly, “You’re going to survive.”

You shook your head furiously, “You don’t know that.”

Jack guided your arm over his shoulders.

You held on to him and immediately looked delighted. “I’m touching him.”

Santos nodded. “You are.”

“Legally?” You asked, looking to Jack, bright and hopeful. 

Jack lifted his left hand in front of your face.

You checked his ring. Then yours. “Hell yeah.”

Jack slid an arm around your waist and pulled you carefully against his side.

You went very still. Then you looked down at his arm. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jack sighed. “Please walk.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and delighted. “Can you say it again, but like bossier?”

“No,” Jack said. 

“Absolutely not,” Santos said at the same time.

Robby lifted his head just enough to gasp for air. “I can’t believe it. This is foreplay with witnesses.”

Jack pointed at him without loosening his hold on you. “Not foreplay.”

You leaned into his side and whispered loudly. “But later?”

Jack closed his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

You nodded, “But later, when I’m not drunk?”

“Later,” Santos said quickly, “is between you, Jack, and God.”

Javadi nodded. “And possibly the HOA, depending on volume.”

You looked at Jack. “Do we have an HOA?”

He shook his head, “No.”

You leaned closer to him, “Then later?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Walk.”

You inhaled sharply. “Oh, that was better.”

Santos threw both hands up. “Door. Now.”

Jack started moving.

You went with him, tucked carefully into his side, one arm over his shoulders, his arm secure around your waist, your coat half-zipped and your dignity somewhere under the booth.

You made it three steps before he said, “Watch your feet.”

You looked up at him. “Attending voice.”

“Safety voice.” He corrected. 

You shrugged, “They’re cousins.”

“Eyes forward,” Jack replied. 

You sighed dramatically, “Oh fuck me, that one too.”

Santos followed behind you, laughing now despite herself. “This is the worst evacuation I’ve ever seen.”

Jack kept you tucked firmly against his side. “It is not an evacuation.”

“You’re using evacuation posture,” you said.

He looked down at you.

You smiled up at him, drunk and delighted. “I like it.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “I know.”

Halfway to the door, you twisted carefully to look back at the table.

“Everybody be cool,” you announced. “I’m leaving with my husband.”

Robby raised both hands. “Hell yeah, Mrs. Abbot.”

You stopped.

Jack stopped with you, patient but visibly suffering.

You looked down at your rings.

Then grabbed his left hand and checked his.

The band was still there.

You smiled, delighted all over again. “Hell yeah.”

Jack’s face softened.

Then you glanced behind him one more time. 

“And he has a great ass!” You cheer.

Jack immediately started walking again.

“Goodnight,” he called over his shoulder.

Santos waved. “Hydrate her.”

Mel added, “Text when you get home.”

Whitaker pointed at Jack. “Do not let her order fries.”

You gasped. “Traitor.”

Javadi lifted her glass. “The record will show we tried.”

Robby cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ask him to walk bossier!”

Jack pushed the door open with his shoulder and guided you into the cool night air.

The second the air hit your face, you sighed dramatically and leaned a little more heavily into his side.

Jack adjusted his hold. “You okay?”

You looked up at him.

The bar lights spilled behind him, catching the edge of his jaw, the tired concern in his face, the little pinch between his brows that meant he was trying to figure out if you needed water, food, sleep, or all three.

Your drunk brain, unhelpfully, sorted those options into one category.

Husband.

“Jack?” You asked quietly. 

Jack looked down at you, “Yeah, baby?”

“You’re really my husband?” You whispered the question. 

He lifted his left hand between you before you even asked.

You looked at his ring.

Then down at yours.

Then up at him.

Your smile went soft and bright and drunk-happy. “Hell yeah.”

Jack shook his head, but he was smiling now. “Yeah,” he said, guiding you toward the car. “Hell yeah.”

You made it halfway across the parking lot before you stopped again.

Jack looked down. “What?”

You stared at him very seriously. “You came when I sang.”

His mouth twitched. “Santos called.”

“But I sang.” You persisted. 

Jack nodded, “You did.”

“And you appeared.” You added with delight. 

“I did,” Jack replied. 

You nodded, deeply moved. “Powerful.”

Jack opened the passenger door and kept one hand at your back. “In.”

You looked at the seat. Then at him. “I like it when you give directions.”

Jack almost smiled, “I have noticed.”

“Can you say ‘in’ again?” You asked, looking up at him. 

His answer comes quickly, “No.”

“Meaner?” You tried.

This answer was faster: “Absolutely not.”

You sighed and got into the car anyway, mostly because Jack’s hand was warm at your back and he looked like that, and you were only human.

He leaned across you to buckle your seatbelt.

You went very still.

Jack paused immediately. “Okay?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “You smell good.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and clicked the seatbelt into place. “You’re drunk.”

“You smell good when I’m drunk.” You amended. 

Jack shook his head, “That’s not how that works.”

“It is for me.” You replied with a happy shrug. 

Jack braced one hand on the roof of the car and looked down at you.

His expression was amused. Tired. Fond in a way he would absolutely deny if Robby had been there to witness it. “You need water when we get home.”

You pointed at him. “Bossy.”

“You need sleep.” He added. 

You smiled. “Oh, fuck.”

“And no flirting with me until you can walk in a straight line.” Jack continued. 

Your mouth fell open. “You’re denying your wife?”

Jack held up his left hand.

You looked at his ring automatically.

Then at yours.

The distress vanished.

You nodded, “Hell yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. “And yes. I’m denying my drunk wife.”

You considered that, then nodded slowly. “Responsible husband.”

He smiled softly, “Trying to be.”

You looked him up and down from your seat. “Hot.”

Jack shut the door before you could say anything else. You watched him walk around the front of the car. The parking lot lights were doing very good things to him. His shoulders. His hoodie. His jeans. When he opened the driver’s side door, you were still staring.

He slid in and caught your expression immediately. “No.”

You frowned deeply, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to,” Jack commented. 

You looked out the windshield, dignified. “I was admiring privately.”

You looked at his hands on the steering wheel. “Oh, fuck.”

He closed his eyes. “Baby.”

You looked down at your rings.

Then, at his hand on the wheel, wedding band visible under the passing sweep of the parking lot light.

“You called me baby.” You sighed happily. 

He pulled out of the parking space. “I’m your husband.”

You smiled at his ring. “Hell yeah.” 

The drive home was mostly quiet. Mostly. 

You hummed under your breath until Jack, without looking away from the road, said, “No more husband song.”

You turned your head toward him. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

“I know.” He replied. 

You sat up straighter, “Say something else.”

“No.”

“That was something.” You mumbled. 

He sighed.

You smiled out the window like you had won.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, your energy had softened around the edges. The feral husband appreciation was still there, obviously, because Jack existed and you had eyes, but it had gone warm and sleepy.

Less bar announcement.

More gravity.

Jack came around to your side and opened the door.

You looked up at him.

He looked down at you. “Out.”

Your mouth parted.

Jack pointed at you. “Do not.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding seriously. Then whispered, “Attending voice.”

He helped you out anyway.

You wobbled once on the driveway, and his hand found your waist immediately.

You leaned into him. “Good catch.”

He gave you a little grin, “Good wobble.”

You gasped. “You praised me.”

“I should not have,” Jack replied, regretting his choice immediately. 

You smiled up at him, “I liked it.”

Jack looked down at you, “I know.” 

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Jack locked the door behind you, then turned back to find you standing in the entryway, looking down at your left hand again.

He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Checking?”

You lifted your rings toward the hall light. “Still married.”

Jack held up his left hand. His wedding band gleamed.

Your smile went loose and delighted. “Hell yeah.”

He took your coat off first.

Not because you helped.

You did not help.

You got distracted halfway through by the flex of his forearm when he pulled the sleeve down your arm. “Oh, fuck.”

Jack paused. “What?”

You didn’t look up, “Your arm.”

“My arm is removing your coat,” Jack said. 

“Yeah.” You stared at it. “That’s the problem.”

Jack exhaled through his nose and hung your coat on the hook. “Kitchen.”

You looked at him sharply. “Attending voice.”

Jack sighed, “I’m getting you water.”

“You said kitchen like an order.” You argued. 

Jack inhaled, “It was a destination.”

“A hot destination.” You corrected him. 

He pointed down the hall. “Move.”

You inhaled. “Jackie.”

“No.” He said instantly. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” You said with a whine. 

Jack gave you a look, “I do.”

You followed him anyway, because his hand settled at the small of your back and your drunk brain apparently classified that as a life-altering event.

At the kitchen counter, he gave you more water and two crackers.

You stared at the crackers. Then up at him. “Are you feeding me?”

“I am preventing tomorrow from being worse,” Jack replied. 

Your eyes went wide and affectionate, “You provide.”

“I provide saltines.” Jack amended. 

You picked one up and took a dramatic bite. “Sexy.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Chew.”

You froze. Then pointed at him with the cracker. “Attending voice.”

Jack tilted his head, “Chewing is not optional.”

“Oh, my god.” You fan yourself with the cracker. 

He dragged a hand down his face. “Please eat the cracker.”

You did, mostly because he watched you with that serious, focused Jack expression, and you had already learned at the bar that being perceived by your husband while he gave basic instructions was dangerous.

After water and crackers, he got you upstairs.

Barely.

There was a brief negotiation on the landing because you stopped to admire his butt from a lower step and whispered, “Perspective,” like you had made a scientific discovery.

Jack looked over his shoulder. “Keep walking.”

You gripped the railing. “Attending voice.”

“Stairs voice.” He corrected you.

You shrugged, “Same family.”

When you finally reached the bathroom, Jack set your makeup remover, toothbrush, and face wash on the counter as if he were preparing for a procedure.

You leaned against the doorframe and watched him. “You’re setting up supplies.”

Jack nodded, “I am.”

“Like an attending.” You add. 

“Like a husband who knows you’ll sleep in mascara if I don’t help,” Jack replied. 

You gasped and looked down at your rings.

Jack lifted his left hand immediately.

You checked. Satisfied, you nodded. “Verified.”

He handed you a makeup wipe. “Face.”

You took it, then blinked. “Huh.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“You said face.” You answered. 

Jack nodded, “I did.”

“Very direct.” You replied with a crooked smile. 

Jack looks over your face, “You have makeup on it.”

You touched the wipe to your cheek, still watching him. “Bossy skincare husband.”

Jack leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. That was a mistake.

You stared at his chest. 

He noticed. “Face,” he repeated.

You closed your eyes. “That was worse.”

“Makeup off.” He tried again. 

You threw your head back in defeat, “Oh, fuck.”

He held out his hand. “Give me the wipe.”

You handed it over without thinking. Jack stepped closer and gently tipped your chin up with two fingers. The bathroom went very quiet. He wiped beneath one eye with slow, careful strokes, his other hand steady at your jaw. His face was close enough that you could see the tired fondness in his eyes.

You swallowed. “Jackie.”

His thumb stilled for half a second. “Yeah?”

“You’re really good at this.” You whispered. 

He smiled softly, “At taking off mascara?”

“At being mine.” You said, almost breathless. 

His expression softened.

Then, because you were drunk and incapable of letting tenderness survive unbothered, you added, “Also, your pecs are close.”

Jack closed his eyes. “There she is.”

You smiled.

He finished with your makeup, then handed you your toothbrush.

“Toothpaste,” he said.

You looked at the toothbrush. Then at him in the mirror. “Attending voice.”

“Toothpaste voice.”

You brushed your teeth while glaring at him with exaggerated suspicion.

Jack watched you in the mirror, arms crossed, trying and failing not to smile.

When you finished, he pointed to the sink. “Spit.”

You blinked around the toothbrush. Then slowly looked at him. “Jack.”

“What?” He asked. 

Your eyes widened, “You can’t just say spit like that.”

His jaw tightened. Not anger. A smile he was trying to kill. “I am asking you to brush your teeth.”

“You are issuing commands in a bathroom.” You say, mouth foamy. 

Jack looked down at your mouth, “You have toothpaste in your mouth.”

You pointed the toothbrush at him. “Dangerous.”

“Sink.” He commanded. 

“Oh, fuck.” You spat, rinsed, and accepted the towel he handed you.

“Good,” he said.

You pressed the towel to your mouth and froze.

He sighed immediately. “I forgot.”

“You said good.” You grinned. 

He sighed again, “I did.”

“With the voice.” You say, eyebrows raised. 

Jack shrugged, “It slipped.”

You lowered the towel and pointed at him. “Dangerous.”

“Bed,” he said.

You stared. “Jack.”

He pointed toward the bedroom. “Now.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jack muttered something under his breath and guided you into the bedroom.

He found one of his old T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts from your drawer. Then he turned back to you, clothes in hand. “Can I help?”

You looked at the shirt. Then at him. Then down at your rings.

Jack lifted his hand before you could ask. You checked his wedding band.

“Okay,” you said. “Husband verified.”

He nodded once, “Good.”

You pointed at him immediately. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did not.” He replies innocently. 

You pouted, “You weaponized good.”

“I am trying to get you into pajamas,” Jack replied. 

Your frown deepened, “Domestic warfare.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the bed. Then he crouched in front of you and touched the hem of your top. “Arms up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is this a trick?”

He smiled, “No.”

Your brow furrows, “Because I’m drunk.”

“Exactly.” Jack agreed. 

You look at him suspiciously, “You’re not going to be weird.”

“I’m not going to be weird,” Jack promised. 

You leaned closer, whispering with great seriousness. “I might be weird.”

His mouth twitched. “I know.”

You lifted your arms. 

Jack changed you with the careful efficiency of a man determined not to let his drunk wife turn pajamas into a legal incident. Shirt off, sleep shirt on. No lingering. No teasing. No letting his eyes go where drunk you absolutely wanted them to go.

Which, naturally, offended you. “You’re very respectful.”

“I try,” Jack replied. 

You groan, “It’s annoying.”

“I know.” He said. 

You sighed, “It’s hot.”

“I know that too.” He said with a smile. 

He helped you step into the shorts while you held both hands on his shoulders for balance.

The second your palms settled there, you sighed. “Shoulders.”

“Balance,” Jack corrected.

“Shoulders.” You repeated dreamily. 

He pulled the shorts up to your hips and patted your side once. “Done.”

You looked down at yourself. Then at him. “You dressed me.”

Jack shrugged, “I helped.”

“You’re like a sexy pit crew.” You say with a wink. 

Jack stared at you.

You nodded, pleased with yourself. “Fast. Focused. Good with hands.”

He stood and pointed at the bed. “Lie down.”

Your eyes went wide. “Attending voice.”

He continued to point, “Bed.” 

You looked at him desperately, “Oh, Jackie.”

“Do not make bed weird.” He groaned. 

You pouted, “You made it weird when you pointed.”

He pulled the blanket back. “In.”

You climbed under the covers, mostly because the single syllable nearly took you out.

Jack tucked the blanket around your waist, then set the water on the nightstand.

“You need sleep,” he said.

You looked up at him, suddenly softer. “You’re staying?”

His expression shifted. “Yeah, baby. I’m staying.”

You looked down at your rings one more time. Then reached for his hand.

Jack gave it to you.

You checked his wedding band, slower now, your thumb brushing over the metal.

“You proposed?”

He sat on the edge of the bed beside you. “I proposed.”

“And I said yes?” You asked happily. 

His mouth softened. “You said yes.”

You smiled, sleepy and bright. “Hell yeah.”

Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“No sex,” You murmured. “I’m drunk.”

Jack huffed a laugh against your temple, “I know, baby.” 

Your eyes closed.  “It sucks, though, because you have amazing pecs. And a great ass.”

He laughed quietly and brushed your hair away from your face. “Go to sleep.”

You sighed into the pillow. “Attending voice.”

“Husband voice,” he corrected, softer.

Your smile was almost gone with sleep. “Jackie.”

“Yeah?” He answers quietly. 

“Still hot.” You murmur into your pillow. 

He stayed there until your breathing evened out, his thumb moving once over your rings before he let go. Then he slipped into the bathroom, changed, came back, and climbed into bed beside you. You rolled toward him automatically, even in sleep, one hand landing against his chest like you were verifying he was still there. Jack covered your hand with his. Your rings pressed lightly against his skin.

The Next Day...

In the morning, you woke up to pain, sunlight, and consequences.

Mostly consequences.

Your head hurts. Your mouth was dry. Your body felt like it had been assembled incorrectly. For one blessed second, you remembered nothing after the second round of drinks.

Then your phone buzzed.

You opened one eye.

On the nightstand, your screen lit up with a message from Robby.

MRS. ABBOT LIVE AT THE BAR: WHERE IS MY HUSBAND TOUR

You closed your eye again. “No.”

Beside you, Jack was already awake.

You could feel it.

You turned your head very slowly.

He was lying on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, watching you with the calm, devastating expression of a man who knew everything.

You swallowed. “How bad?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Define bad.”

You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.

He reached over and tugged it down just enough to see you. “You reviewed my body in public.”

Your eyes closed. “Oh, my god.”

“Pecs got mentioned several times.” He added. 

“Jack.” You whined. 

He grinned, “Butt got a standing ovation.”

You covered your face with both hands. “I need to leave the country.”

“You also called your rings' wife jewelry.”

A pause.

You peeked through your fingers. “That’s kind of cute.”

Jack nodded, “It was very cute.”

Your stomach softened despite the hangover.

Then he added, “You made me show you my ring every time someone told you we were married.”

You lowered your hands. “I did?”

He lifted his left hand. His wedding band gleamed in the morning light. Your eyes flicked down to your own rings automatically. 

Jack noticed.

A smile started at the corner of his mouth.

You pointed at him. “Do not.”

He raised both his hands, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You looked smug.” You replied, eyes narrowed. 

Jack tilted his head, “I’m allowed.”

“You are not.” You argued. 

Jack smiled, “You kept checking.”

“I was drunk.” You defend. 

Jack looked down at his ring. “You were thorough.”

You groaned again and rolled onto your back. “I hate myself.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack said.

You stared at the ceiling. “I hate Robby.”

“That’s fair.” Jack agreed. 

Your phone buzzed again.

This time, Jack picked it up before you could stop him.

“Jack.” You warned. 

He looked at the screen. Then his mouth twitched.

“No.” You groaned. 

He turned the phone toward you.

The video thumbnail showed you in the booth, hand dramatically raised, mouth open mid-song. At the same time, Robby performed backup vocals, and Santos looked as if she were reconsidering friendship as a concept.

You stared.

Then slowly turned to Jack. “Delete it.”

“It’s not on my phone.” He replied. 

You groaned, “Tell Robby to delete it.”

“I will,” Jack answered. 

You narrowed your eyes.

Jack’s expression stayed too innocent. “After I watch it once.”

You huffed, “Jack.”

He pressed play. Your own drunk voice filled the room with devastating commitment. On-screen, Robby echoed you terribly.

Then the video shifted as Santos muttered, “I’m calling Abbot.”

Your face lit up. You grabbed Mel’s wrist and shouted, “Tell him to wear the gray sweatpants!”

Jack paused the video. Silence. You stared at the ceiling. Jack stared at the phone.

Then he looked at you. “The gray sweatpants?”

You pulled the blanket over your face again. “I was unwell.”

“You were specific.” Jack corrected you. 

“I had a medical condition.” You attempted to explain. 

“Being horny for your husband is not a medical condition,” Jack replied. 

You slowly lowered the blanket.

Jack’s eyebrow lifted.

You pointed at him. “You’re a doctor. Diagnose it.”

He laughed then. Really laughed. Warm and low and unfairly pleased.

You groaned, but you were smiling too. He set the phone aside and leaned over you, bracing one hand near your shoulder. Your eyes flicked to his arm before you could stop yourself.

Jack noticed that too. “Still?”

“Shut up.”

His smile widened.

You looked down at your rings, partly because you were embarrassed and partly because the habit had apparently survived the alcohol. Then, quietly, Jack lifted his left hand beside yours.

The rings caught the same strip of morning light.

Your chest softened. “We match,” you said, voice rough from sleep and singing and terrible decisions.

Jack’s expression went gentle. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “We match.”

You stared at the rings for a second.

Then at him.

Even hungover, even humiliated, even with video evidence waiting in the group chat, you could not help it.

“Hell yeah.”

Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Hell yeah,” he said.

This is the last place you wanted to be right now.

It was the fourth of July and while you were trying to wrangle your children into their outfits for their friends house, your son fell. It was more of a crash than a fall, missing almost every step on your back deck and hitting the patio. The scream he let out alone nearly gave you a heart attack.

So, that’s how you ended up at the Pitt.

Your husband was moonlighting the SWAT team, given why he hasn’t answered any of your phone calls, once you had kids you made him promise to only help once a year. You knew he couldn’t give it up completely, Jack was addicted to helping others. But you couldn’t handle the stress of him being out in the field. So, one day a year was agreed upon. And, unfortunately that one day had to be when you were rushing your kids to the ER.

That’s why he wasn’t answering any of your calls. Luckily, Robby did, and you were able to surpass the people in the waiting room, being placed in a trauma room for some sort of peace with your seven year old son and five year old daughter. She sat pressed up against your chest, still hiccuping from the sobs she had just barely calmed down from.

She was terrified by the entire ordeal, seeing her brother in pain like that had her also crying the whole way to the hospital. You were trying your best to comfort the both of them, but in reality you were barely holding it together yourself.

You knew how lucky you were to be a stay at home mom, to have the privilege provided by your husband’s career to stay home and care for them. But, some days felt impossible. Especially since it’s summer and the hottest one Pittsburgh has seen in years. As the kids got older, it was harder and harder to keep them entertained.

All you had to do was get them out the door and to their friends house, where you could have a glass of wine and gossip while they splashed around. But you couldn’t even do that. So now, here you were spending the day in the emergency department.

You held your daughter against you, rocking her back and forth, your other hand firmly in your sons, who was holding onto you for dear life.

“Mommy, where’s daddy?” Your daughter asked, muffled into our shirt.

You sighed, kissing the top of her head, “he’ll be here soon baby.” Which wasn’t a total lie, he had a shift tonight, so he had to be here at some point.

A knock sounded at the door before Robby pushed it open, "How's the super star doing?" he asked, looking at your son.

“It hurts Uncle Robby,” he said it so softly it broke your heart.

“Mommy says he’s brave though!” Your daughter butted in, attempting to make her brother feel better.

Robby nodded in agreement, checking the IV on the other side of your son’s bed, “well, we are a little backed up today so we’re still waiting on XRay.”

You pursed your lips, giving him an understanding nod.

“But, I am going to sit here with my favorite god children while mommy takes a little walk,” he said, making your son smile and your daughter perk up. She hopped off your laugh and ran over to him. He scooped her up happily.

He nodded towards the door, where he met you half way.

“Trauma 2,” he whispered.

You furrowed your brows, but decided to just listen to him, you had nothing else to lose and you were truly too exhausted to argue with him. You stepped out, closing the door behind you, taking your first deep breath of what felt like all day.

You walked around the nursing station for a moment, a bit overwhelmed by the chaos around you. You were reading the signs on each door, Robby gave you no directions and seemed to forget that you were in fact not an employee of the hospital.

You finally found your way, noticing the door was open, you let yourself in, but when you pulled the curtain back you gasped.

A very shirtless Jack whipped his head up at you, and you scoffed once your eyes landed on the resident touching his bare back.

“Oh so this is why you can’t answer your phone?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, tone laced with confusion.

“I think I could ask you the same thing,” you snapped back.

“I got grazed in the field,” he said quietly. The pretty, young, probably very smart, resident froze behind him.

“YOU WERE SHOT?” You exclaimed.

He shook his head, “grazed.”

Samira excused herself, disposing of her gloves and passing you to leave the room.

“Unbelievable,” you said under your breath before leaving your shirtless husband in the trauma room by himself. You could feel everything from the day coming to a head. You felt like an awful mother, you hadn’t eaten, it was ninety seven degrees outside, and now your husband was shirtless with a resident behind a curtain? Is this why he wanted to do SWAT so bad? Why he worked so much? Was it all a ploy? You pushed the thoughts aside and tried to focus on your son.

Jack stared after you for half a second, completely blindsided. Then his brain caught up. What were you doing in the ER?

He shoved past the curtain immediately, pulling a shirt over his head while ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he jogged down the hallway. By the time he rounded the nurses station, you were already disappearing back into the room Robby had tucked you into.

Jack pushed through the door fast enough that your daughter jumped.

“Daddy!” She launched off the bed toward him and he caught her automatically, one arm around her while his eyes immediately locked onto your son.

The panic in him shifted so fast it nearly made him dizzy.

“What happened?” he asked, crossing the room in two strides.

Your son’s face was blotchy from crying, arm wrapped carefully against his stomach while the IV sat taped to his hand. The second he saw Jack, his lip started wobbling again.

“Hey, hey, buddy…” Jack’s entire voice softened as he crouched beside the bed. “What hurts?”

“My arm,” he whispered.

Jack carefully pushed his auburn hair back from his forehead, his cheeks red and somehow emphasizing the freckles that matched his. He checked him over with practiced eyes despite the adrenaline still pounding in his veins. He looked at the splint, then the monitor, then finally at you.

You wouldn’t look at him. That almost made his stomach drop harder than seeing his son in a trauma bed.

“What happened?” he asked again, gentler this time.

“He fell off the deck,” you answered flatly, still looking at your son and not him. “Robby said they’re waiting on XRay.”

Jack inhaled sharply through his nose. He looked back at his son immediately, keeping his expression calm despite the horror creeping up his spine. “You scared mommy pretty bad, huh?”

His son nodded miserably.

Your daughter was still clinging to Jack’s neck, sniffling quietly into his shoulder. Jack kissed the side of her head automatically before standing again, “you okay, peanut?”

“I cried,” she admitted sadly, “I was worried about JJ,” her tiny voice wobbled.

“I can tell you were brave though,” he said reassuringly.

That finally got the tiniest smile out of her. Jack looked at you again but you still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Can you stay with them for one second?” he asked quietly.

You shrugged, “been with them all day.”

Jack sighed and carefully handed your daughter back to you before stepping out of the room.

The second the door shut behind him, Robby looked up from the nurses station knowingly.

“Well,” Robby said, “you look like you’re about to throw up.”

Jack scrubbed both hands down his face, “she thinks—” he started before stopping himself with a groan. “Jesus Christ.”

Robby leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. Probably don’t love that she walked in on you half naked with Samira.”

“It wasn’t— how did you even know that?” He asked

“Oh, word spreads fast at the nurses station. And I know what it wasn’t,” Robby interrupted. “Does she?”

Jack’s jaw tightened, “no.”

Robby sighed. “She’s had the kids alone all day, Jack. Your son gets hurt, she can’t reach you, she ends up here exhausted out of her mind, and then she sees that.”

Jack leaned his palms against the counter, guilt washing over him in waves now that the initial panic about his son was easing.

“What even happened?” Robby asked.

“Samira was helping me clean up because I couldn’t reach the wound,” he said in a low voice,gesturing to his shoulder.

Robby nodded once, “then go tell your wife that.”

Jack looked back toward the room.

“She looked embarrassed,” he admitted quietly. “Not angry. Which is arguably worse.”

That made Robby soften a little. Jack exhaled hard.

Samira was young. Pretty. Brilliant. Confident. The kind of woman who was never overwhelmed by the thought of what to make for lunch or covered in popsicle stains and sunscreen. Meanwhile you’d spent the day carrying two terrified children through an ER after your plans blew apart.

Jack suddenly felt sick thinking about the look on your face.

“You’re supposed to start in a few hours, right?” Robby asked.

Jack nodded distractedly.

“Go home.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

“I’ll cover your first few hours. And Santos owes me a favor anyway.” Robby pointed toward the room. “Your wife needs her husband more than the hospital needs another attending tonight.”

Jack stared at him for a second before nodding slowly, “thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Robby muttered. “You still gotta fix it.”

By the time Jack walked back into the room, XRay had already come and gone.

Your son had finally calmed down enough to watch cartoons on the small TV while your daughter had curled up asleep against your chest.

You looked exhausted.

Jack’s chest physically ached at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You gave a small nod but kept your attention on your daughter. Jack sat carefully beside your son first, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“They said they think it’s just a fracture, buddy. You got lucky,” Jack said pushing his hair off his forehead.

“Can I still swim tomorrow?” He asked with bright eyes.

Jack smiled a little despite himself. “Probably not tomorrow.”

His son sighed dramatically and Jack looked over at you again, “I took the night off.”

That finally got your attention, “you did?” You tried not to let the hopefulness you felt seep into your tone.

Before he could answer, the door pushed open revealing Whitaker.

“I’ve been sent to relieve you both for a minute,” he turned to your son, “is it okay if I hang with you for a minute bud?”

JJ nodded shyly and you passed your daughter to Whitaker, he took a seat and you mumbled a thanks to him, knowing Robby assigned him this duty.

You followed Jack out into the hallway and into a small on call room right around the corner. He pulled the door shut before turning and looking at you.

“I should’ve answered my phone.”

You looked down immediately, “you were working.”

“I still should’ve answered.”

Silence settled between you. Jack moved closer carefully, and sat on the small cot, patting the spot next to him. You sat down and exhaled, rolling your shoulders back.

“You wanna tell me what that was out there?”

You swallowed hard.

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.”

You laughed once under your breath, tired and humorless.

“I just felt stupid.”

Jack frowned immediately.

“Why would you feel stupid?”

Your eyes finally lifted to his.

“Because she’s beautiful,” you admitted quietly. “And young. And smart. And you were standing there shirtless with her behind a curtain while I look…” you gestured vaguely toward yourself, “…like this. I wasn’t paying attention and he fell and now he’s hurt. I should’ve been watching him, and—“ your voice broke as you spoke so you stopped, taking a shaky breath.

Jack looked genuinely confused for a second before his face completely melted. “Baby.”

The nickname alone nearly cracked your composure.

“That’s what this is about?”

You looked away again, embarrassed now that you’d actually said it out loud.

Jack reached over carefully, taking your free hand, “I got grazed.”

“That somehow does not help your case.”

He actually laughed softly at that before shaking his head, “she walked in looking for a patient, I was trying to clean the sound but I couldn’t see or reach it, so she helped me. That’s it.”

You nodded once, still not looking convinced.

Jack leaned closer, “hey.”

Your eyes met his again.

“I do not see her. She’s nothing more than a coworker.”

Your expression softened just slightly.

“But I see you everywhere,” he said quietly. “In every room of my house. In my kids. In my entire life.”

Your eyes immediately glassed over, “Jack…”

“You think I want twenty-five year old resident?” he asked gently. “I want my wife. The one who keeps our entire world running while I play cowboy with SWAT once a year.”

Despite yourself, you huffed out a tiny laugh and Jack squeezed your hand.

“You’re allowed to feel insecure sometimes,” he murmured, “but don’t ever think for a second I’m admiring anyone but you.”

Your face crumpled a little then, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Jack leaned over immediately, pressing a kiss against your forehead carefully so he wouldn’t wake your daughter.

“I’m sorry I scared you today,” he whispered.

And for the first time all day, you finally let yourself lean into him. Jack stayed there for another moment, his forehead resting against yours while your breathing finally started to slow.

His thumb rubbed softly against your knuckles.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard. “I should’ve been watching him better.”

“No.” His answer came instantly.

You pulled back slightly, eyes glossy. “Jack—”

“He tripped on the deck stairs,” he said gently. “That’s what kids do. They fall. They get hurt. It doesn’t mean you failed him. He’s a kid. You work so hard to take care of them both. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You looked down at your lap, voice barely above a whisper. “It felt like I did.”

Jack’s chest tightened painfully. He shifted closer on the cot until his knee pressed against yours, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, your eyes lifted.

“You are an incredible mother,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me?”

Your lip trembled again.

“Our kids are happy. They’re safe. They’re loved beyond belief.” His expression softened. “JJ was only calm because of you, you make him feel safe.”

“And our little girl,” he continued quietly, “calmed down the second you held her.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “You walked into an ER alone with two terrified kids and somehow kept both of them together while you were scared out of your mind.”

A tear slipped down your cheek and he brushed it away carefully. “You didn’t fail today,” he whispered, “you handled it like super mom.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him again, your forehead falling against his shoulder. Jack wrapped an arm around you immediately, holding you close.

“And I’m done with SWAT,” he said softly into your hair.

You stilled. “Jack…”

“I mean it,” he said it gently, but with enough firmness to know there was no room for discussion.

You pulled back enough to look at him, “but you love it.”

“I love adrenaline,” he corrected gently. “I love helping people.” His hand slid up your back slowly. “But not enough to keep scaring my wife every time my phone stops working.”

Your eyes welled again immediately, “I don’t want you giving it up because of me.”

“It’s because of us,” he said firmly. “Because today made me realize something.” He glanced toward the hallway where your kids were waiting. “I already have the most important people I’m ever gonna save.”

Your face crumpled a little at that. Jack smiled softly and kissed your forehead again.

“So no more SWAT,” he promised. “No more one-day-a-year compromise. I’m done.”

You searched his face carefully like you were trying to see if he meant it.

“You swear?” You asked quietly.

“I swear,” he answered confidently.

The tension in your shoulders finally eased for the first time all day. He stood then, holding a hand out toward you.

“C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s go get our babies.”

The second you both walked back into the room, your daughter perked up in Whitaker’s lap, now awake.

“Daddy!”

Jack grinned immediately, opening his arms just in time for her to launch herself at him for the second time today.

“Hey, peanut.”

Whitaker looked relieved to hand her over. “She’s bossy.”

“She gets that from her mother,” Jack replied easily.

You rolled your eyes while JJ sat up straighter in bed.

“Are you staying?” he asked hopefully.

Jack looked over at you once before smiling at his son.

“Yeah, buddy. I’m going home with you guys,” jack answered as Whitaker slid out the door, leaving just your family.

JJ’s entire face lit up. “Really?!”

“Really.”

Your daughter gasped dramatically. “No hospital work?”

Jack shook his head, “nope.”

JJ looked at Jack suspiciously, “so… since you’re coming home…”

Jack narrowed his eyes playfully. “What?”

“Can we get ice cream?” He asked sweetly, “since it’s mommy’s favorite.”

You laughed for the first time all day, “oh very thoughtful of you baby.”

Jack looked over at you, smiling when he saw your laugh.

Then he looked back at his son dramatically, “buddy, after the day we’ve had?” He stood, still holding your daughter against his hip. “I think ice cream is medically necessary.”

Both kids erupted immediately.

“YES!”

Your daughter clapped excitedly while JJ nearly bounced despite the cast.

“You hear that?” Jack said seriously to his son. “Doctor’s orders.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Jack caught your eye from across the room. And for the first time since the phone calls went unanswered earlier that day, everything finally felt okay again.

Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237