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You snorted into your glass, staring at the screen. The wine gave you a reckless surge of courage, and your thumbs moved before your brain could filter them.

You: you gonna show me how to use it?

His reply came back within seconds.

Jack: Yeah. My place tomorrow?

…

So that’s how you were here. On Jack Abbot’s lap, writhing as his thumb guided a small, buzzy, impossibly effective vibrating bullet directly against your center. His hand was around your hip, holding you steady while his hard length pressed hot against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Told you the other one was overrated." he murmured against your neck, his voice raspy.

You let out a breath, hands clutching his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his palm.

The music from the club drowns out as soon as the cold Pittsburgh air smacks you in the face. Your heels stumble across the concrete and you finally grip the wall next to you. You take a deep breath and tug down your right dress — feeling exposed.

Your purse is hanging on your forearm and you dig through it to find your phone. It takes you longer than expected to click on the contact you were searching for.

Brr

Brr

“Hello?” You huff at the manly voice on the other end.

“Hellooo.” You drag out your response. It was the alcohol in you talking.

“You okay, kiddo?” Jack asks.

“Never been better. Actually, I feel — fantastic!” You start giggling at yourself.

“Are you drunk?” Jack’s voice is laced with concern.

“Psh, no.”

“You telling me that or yourself?” He chuckles.

“Don’t know. I miss you, though.” You mumble and tilt your head back and lean it against the brick wall.

“Where are you?” He asks.

“Some club, Dennis an Trin took me here but I can’t find them now. I’m sooo lonely.” You pout as if he can see it.

“I’ll come get you. What’s the name of the club?” You can hear him rummaging around on the other end of the line and you hear him grab his keys.

“It’s called — Midnight Club.”

“I’ll be there in a few, just please stay put.” His car door shuts you smile to yourself.

“I’m excited to see you,” You slur and speak softly into the phone.

No response.

“Jack?”

“I’m here.” He reassures.

“Okay.” You hum.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes, you still doing okay, kid?” He asks you.

“I’m not a kid.” You grumble and this makes him laugh.

You watch as people leave the club with their friends or people that they’re kissing. You watch one couple makeout in front of the club and it makes you think of Jack. The way the man roams his hands all over the girls body — sliding and grabbing at whatever he can.

It doesn’t take long until Abbots truck pulls up in front of you. He parks the car and opens his door. He’s wearing a black long sleeve, jeans, and some sneakers. He looks comfortable. He rolls up his sleeves and walks over to you. Your eyes fixate on his arms and the way the sleeves are snug on his forearms.

“Ready to get out here?” He asks you. His eyes roam over your pink satin dress that hugs your curves. Your breasts on display nicely and you smile up at him.

“Yes,” You walk forward a a bit but you stumble. He grabs your waist quickly to avoid any accidents and you giggle.

“You’re so strong,” You squeeze his bicep and he shakes his head you.

He helps your walk over to the truck and you opens the passenger door side. His truck is a bit elevated and your heel tries to get on top of the step but it was difficult.

“Got it?” His hands hover in your waist and you shake your head.

“Help me.”

He wraps his hands on your waist and lifts you gently, placing you up into the truck. You plop down on the truck seat and lean back a bit. He shuts your door and he comes around on his side. He climbs into the truck and starts it up.

Your body feels like it’s in cloud nine as you watch the street lights pass by. The radio is playing some podcast that is quiet, but you can hear the sound of two men talking. The heater warms up your body and the engine hums; giving you nice white noise. Your eyes travel over to Jack who is driving with one hand on the wheel. His arm muscles flexing every now and then when he turns. His other arm is propped up on the door next to him.

You kick off your heels and bring them up to the seat. You watch him for a moment and hesitantly you put your legs in his lap. He briefly looks and you and lifts his arm to make more room for your legs. He didn’t seem to mind. You scoot a bit closer to him. His other hand takes control of the wheel so his arm can rest on your thighs.

You can smell him for where you’re sitting. Like he freshly showered and sprayed some cologne. You inhale, “You smell nice.”

“Do I?” He gives you a questionable look and you nod.

Your hand slides up to his peppered, curly hair and you rack your fingers through it. You look at the side of his face and admire it for a moment.

“I miss that night,” You say.

The atmosphere shifts slightly.

“The way your hands were all over my body,” You continue. You see Jack shift in his seat a bit; eyes still focused on the road. “The way your fingers went inside me, stretching me,” you softly speak. You watch his adam’s apple bob and you feel proud of yourself.

“Too bad dad interrupted,” You say and you lean a bit closer to his ear and whisper, “I would’ve let you fuck me on that couch.”

“Jesus Christ,” He breathes. “You’re too drunk for this right now.”

“I sobered up a bit when I saw your face.” You fire back.

“That’s not how that works—“

“It’s how it works to me.” You argue.

You guys remained silent for a bit longer until he pulls into your driveway. Again, your beetle sits there, broken and useless.

“My dad’s gone tonight.” You whisper just enough so he can hear it.

“This can’t happen again.” Abbot shakes his head and runs a hand down his face.

“Then just help me to bed,” You look at him desperately, “Please, Jack.”

His eyes avert to yours and he sighs, “Okay.”

You both get out of the truck and you give him your purse, “I can’t find my keys.” You were lying. You just liked seeing him do things for you. It made your heart beat fast and your stomach get all twisted.

“You didn’t lose em’ did you?” He digs in your purse and pauses when he sees something. He takes out a condom and your eyes go a bit wide. He holds it in the air and looks at you with an expression unreadable.

You quickly snatch it away from him and you feel your face getting out.

“Expected to use that tonight?” Abbot points at your clenched fist that holds the condom.

“What? No — Just find my stupid keys.” You fumble over your words and look at the concrete below your feet. You left your heels in his truck.

“Here they are,” He holds them up. He turns around and puts the keys in the hole. He unlocks the door and open it for you to step inside first.

It felt like Déjà Vu, the way Cinnamon was sitting by the front door again. You smile at her and kneel down to rub her fur, you pick her up.

“Okay, let’s go to my room.” You smile.

“You’re bringing the cat?” He questions.

You clutch her like you’re clutching your peals, “Yes, problem?”

He shakes his head, “Nope.”

You shuffle to your bedroom, which is down the hallway by the living room. Your dad’s door is the first door, yours is at the end of the hallway. You open it revealing your room, your bed is unmade, you have some shirts littered on the floor, and your lace curtains are open for enough moonlight to creep into your bedroom.

“This is my room.” You awkwardly say.

Abbot’s head looks around your room. He takes in your vanity, the bed, the clothes, some posters on your wall, and importantly you sitting on your bed.

“Jack,” you softly speak.

“Hm?”

“Can you unzip my dress, please.” You scoot over on the bed so Abbot can sit next to you.

He walks over and sits down on the bed. You can feel it caved in slowly on his side.

You move your hair out of the way, bringing it over your shoulder. You feel the tip of his finger graze your upper back causing goosebumps to prick your skin. He grips the zipper and slowly unzip it. Revealing your white lace bra under it. You stay turned away and your breath hitches when you feel both his hands traveling up your arms. He reaches for the spaghetti straps of your dress. His hands slides under the straps and you can feel him slowly bring them down.

Your head slowly turns and your eyes lock with Abbot’s. You turn your body to face his. His face is light up from the moonlight creeping into your room. Your eyes flick between his. Your faces are inches away from each others. You watch as his eyes drift to your lips and you swallow the lump in your throat.

Carefully you place your hands on his face. His stubble on his jaw rubs against your hand. You slide your other hand gently into his air. Your mouth gets closer to his and you both fill the gap between each other.

Your breath gets caught into his mouth and you close your eyes. Feeling every touch he gives, the way his tongue slides against your lower lip and fights against your tongue, and the way his hand is on your waist while the other is on your neck.

You softly moan at the feeling, and he swallows the moan — hungry for more.

You feel your body lean back and Abbot takes the initiative to push you back to where your back is on the bed. Your hands go to his neck and you two both continue to kiss. His arm wraps under your back and he lifts you two up to get higher up onto the bed.

With confidence you tuck on his shirt and lift it. He understand quickly and brings the shirt over his head without hesitance.

Your eyes take in his muscular body and his shoulders. The way his chest is large; it makes you mouth water.

Your legs are spread apart as Abbots waist and knee are between your legs. Abbot Kisses down your neck gently and you gasp at the feeling. His teeth tug softly at your collar bone. You love the way his lips feel as they latch onto you. Your mind is fuzzy and all you can’t think about is him. Your whole mind is consumed with the idea of him, and wanting him.

Meow.

You both break away breathlessly and glance down at Cinnamon watching you two. You both look back at each other and begin to laugh.

“You need to get some sleep.” You whine at the thought of not being able to touch him and have his hands roaming your body anymore.

“I want more of you.” You slide your hand up his chest.

“You’re drunk, and I need you to sleep so you won’t have a terrible headache tomorrow.”

“You’ll stay though, right?” You sense some hesitance from him.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” He assures.

“Kay.” You mumble. “Can you slide off my dress?”

He looks down at the dress still on you, hanging loosely on your stomach. Slowly, he tugs the bottom of your dress down to your legs which shows your white lace underwear with a pink bow on it to match your bra. He takes off the dress completely and throws it somewhere on your floor.

“Hold me.” You order.

He wraps his arms under your neck and lays by your side. He pulls you by your shoulders making your back press against his chest. You feel his body heat radiating against yours. His arms wrap around your bear stomach and you tuck your hand under head as you lay against your pillow. Your legs curl up and they press against his longer legs. You feel his breath against your neck and you let your eyes flutter close. You let yourself relax into him and into your mattress. You’ve never felt such comfort in your life before, and how good it felt to have someone hold you this close.

“We’ll talk about that condom from earlier later.” He blurts out and you let out a sleepy laugh.

“Night, Jack,” You softly say.

“Night, kid,” His voice rumbles against your neck.

It didn’t take much longer for you to fall asleep.

Your eyes flutter open at the sound of birds chirping outside your window, and the way the sun is beaming onto your face from your window.

On top of that your head is pounding from all the shots you took the night before.

You rubs your eyes and stretch to feel if Jack was still there. Once your hand made contact with the empty, cold side of your bed you snap your head to where Jack slept last night.

Of course. He was gone.

You sit up disappointed and you look over to your night stand to see a bottle of Advil, water, and a note.

You pick up the little note and begin to read it.

I stayed longer after you fell asleep. Couldn’t say forever though.

Take this for the headache.

-Jack

You smile softly at the note and his sloppy handwriting that suited him. You take the note and put it into your nightstand drawer. You look down at yourself and notice you only had a bra and underwear on.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” You grumble to yourself.

THE LEAK STARTED SMALL. A fat, lazy drop rolling off the ceiling corner and splattering onto the kitchen tiles. Lando noticed it one morning standing barefoot at the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. He frowned up at the stain spreading across the plaster, an ugly bloom of brown in the white, and thought about ignoring it.

But the second drop came quicker. Then a third. By the time he put his mug in the sink, there was a steady, rhythmic tapping, water darkening the grout line between the tiles.

He swore under his breath. Summer storms in London had been brutal that year, humid days cracking open into violent downpours at night. His flat had held out fine until now, but when he climbed onto a chair to press his palm against the ceiling, the plaster felt soft, swollen like skin around a wound.

Within an hour, there were buckets scattered across the kitchen floor. One under the main leak, another catching the stubborn drip that had snuck down near the fridge. Every sound in the flat seemed to echo, the hollow plink, plink, plink of water hitting plastic, the buzz of his phone on the counter.

The plumber had taken one look, sucked his teeth, and told him what he already feared: it would take weeks, maybe longer. Temporary fixes weren’t worth it. Heaps of black mould. Better find somewhere else to stay, mate.

And so he did.

He didn’t want to call anyone. Didn’t want to deal with landlords or repairs or the hassle of being shuffled into some temporary stay. His head was still fogged from last night’s drinking, his body bone-tired in a way that sleep didn’t seem to fix anymore.

So he scrolled through his contacts instead, most of his mates apologetically telling him they were on holidays. They all had their lives sorted: wife, house, kids, the works. His thumb paused on one of his best mates—James—a friend from childhood, one he hadn't seen in years. He called.

“Mate,” came the voice, warm and familiar, a half-laugh folded into the syllables. “Haven’t heard from you in months. What’s up?”

Lando rubbed his temple, staring at the water sliding down the bucket’s side. “Got a leak. Ceiling’s fucked. I can't stay here.”

There was a pause. Then, casual as anything, “Come here. Guest room’s empty.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, course. Stay as long as you need. Haven’t seen your face in years now.”

It was true, it’d be nice to see James, and of course, his daughter. You. The last time he’d seen you, you were nine maybe—sweet, cheeky, and following him around like a lost little lamb.

“Cheers, mate.”

It made sense. A couple of weeks, max. Somewhere quiet, tucked away on the edge of the countryside where the air tasted different, softer somehow, like damp earth and sun-warmed hedgerows. He’d stayed there heaps before. Back when things were simpler. When James and his ex-wife were still together, and the bustle and stress of life hadn’t sent their friends separate ways. Back when summer meant barbecue smoke and beers on the back step, music humming low through open windows.

He wasn’t expecting trouble. Wasn’t expecting anything but a bed that didn’t have a water stain blooming above it.

The drive out was long and hot, roads shimmering under the afternoon sun. He pulled up to the house with his arm resting out the window, sunglasses biting the bridge of his nose, sweat threading lazy down his spine beneath the cotton of his shirt. The place looked the same as it always did—whitewashed brick catching the light, roses curling around the porch, that crooked wooden gate that had never hung straight. It hit him with a wave of something he couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia, maybe. The past reaching out in warm fingers to hook him by the throat.

He cut the engine, slung the door open, and stretched until his joints cracked. The house was quiet from here. No sign of James. Probably still at work. He grabbed his duffle from the boot, heavy against his shoulder, and headed up the gravel path, stones crunching under his boots.

꩜

The house smells the same.

That’s the first thing he notices when the door clicks shut behind him—James must have left it unlocked—the scent rolling in soft and familiar, like something pulled straight out of a drawer he hadn’t opened in years. Cedar polish and laundry detergent. The faint ghost of dish soap, something warm lingering in the air like an oven switched off hours ago. It hits him in the chest before he’s ready, drags a memory up by the roots: long afternoons when he was in his twenties, dropping his boots by the door after a football match, cooing at you wrapped in a swaddle, sprawling on this very couch with a can of Coke sweating in his hand while voices laughed in the kitchen.

The same hallway stretches ahead, low ceiling, beige carpet worn thin in the same places. The same scuff marks on the skirting board from when your Barbie Jeep used to batter every corner. He swallows hard and adjusts the strap of his duffle, forcing his shoulders to loosen. No reason to feel weird. It’s just a house. Just a couple weeks crashing here while his flat gets patched up.

There’s a framed photo in the guest room, the one from years ago. The three of them in the garden, sun glaring so bright it makes him squint in the picture. You’re in the middle, all elbows and pigtails, front tooth missing. He can still hear your voice in that high, excited pitch. Lan! Lan, push me higher! The little girl who climbed everything and begged him for piggybacks, who kicked his shins when he wouldn’t let you win at Monopoly.

He dumps his duffle by the bed, heading back to the kitchen to help himself to a drink when something glints at the corner of his vision, a ripple of light, fractured and bright, bending across the walls like liquid silver. Water. A pool.

He’d forgotten they put one in.

He drifts toward it like a moth, slow, unsure, until the hallway yawns open into sunlight... and stops dead.

Christ.

For a beat—just a breath—he doesn’t know what he’s seeing. His brain stutters, skips like a warped record. Because there’s a girl out there, stretched on a lounger by the pool, the kind of sight that shouldn’t exist in daylight.

All he registers, at first, is limbs. Bare, bronzed, slick with oil that catches and holds the sun like molten gold. Her bikini is red, or something close to it, and it’s not a bikini so much as a question: two triangles and a whisper of string, tied in neat little bows that look like they’re begging to be undone. One leg is bent, knee cocked, the other trailing lazy fingers through the water. Her head’s tipped back, eyes closed, throat a gold, gleaming column.

Something hooks low and hard in his gut before he can stop it, and it’s pure, filthy instinct. One of his mate’s new girls, maybe? Wouldn’t be the first time. His best mate hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend, but hell, he wouldn’t blame him if he’d kept this one quiet. The bloke has a type—wild, too-hot-for-their-own-good—and this one looks like she was carved straight out of every bad decision Lando’s ever made at 3 a.m.

The thought crawls through him like heatstroke, and for a half-second, he lets it happen. Lets his eyes trace the soft sweep of her hip, the faint shadow between her tits where the bikini barely holds. Lets his mind flicker to how easy those strings would come loose, how quick she’d probably let him. 

And it’s easy how his brain misfires, supplying the wrong label, tells him this was one of James’ new girlfriends, maybe one of those summer flings they joked about over beers. Because the body in front of him doesn’t fit the file he had stored away. All bronzed skin and sharp hipbones, water beading across her stomach, a bikini top that looks two sizes too small, strings biting into flesh like they’d been tied deliberately to tease.

Lando feels a grin tug slow and mean at his mouth before he can stop it, the beginning of some flirty quip curling on his tongue. His eyes trace the line of her leg, all the way up to where the scrap of her bikini bites into the soft dip of her hip. Christ, those legs—

She moves. Rolls onto her side, head tilting toward him, and that’s when the world tilts too.

Because he knows that face. Knows it like a brand burned into memory.

It’s you.

For one shattering second, everything inside him seizes up, sharp and wrong and molten all at once.

No. No, no, no.

But it is. It’s you. Except not. Because you aren’t nine anymore. Not the kid with sunburn peeling off her nose, not the gap-tooth smile and the hair that always smelt faintly of chlorine and strawberry shampoo. Not the little girl who used to climb onto his back screaming faster! as he tore through sprinklers in the garden, who begged him to teach her a kickflip and squealed when he let her hold the controller during late-night FIFA sessions. The kid who trailed them everywhere in summers past, a tiny shadow who couldn’t pronounce half her words, who squealed the first time he said fuck and then used it for a week straight because he’d taught her.

You’re nineteen.

And Jesus Christ, you look it.

He sees your eyes go wide for half a beat, then your whole face splits into a grin, bright and unguarded, that same grin from the photo in the hallway, only sharper now, more dangerous because it sits on a mouth he can’t stop staring at.

“Lando?” Your voice is all summer, warm, golden, wrapped in disbelief.

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. He’s rooted to the spot, every muscle screaming move while his blood roars in his ears like surf. His body doesn’t get the memo. It tightens all at once, heat flooding low and mean, the kind that feels like a bruise blooming under the skin. He drags his gaze away before you can catch it, fingers curling hard around the edge of the counter like that might anchor him. He is not getting a stiffy right now.

You sit up, he catches the curve of your waist, the flat plane of your stomach, the cut of the bikini bottoms riding so far up your hips it should be illegal.

He can’t speak. Can’t move. His throat feels sandpaper-dry, and every muscle in his body is screaming two things at once: Get out. Get closer.

Then you’re rising from the lounger, water slipping down your skin in beads that catch the light like diamonds, trickling from the wet ends of your hair to the curve of your spine. And when you bound forward, barefoot and laughing, he thinks he might actually black out, feels something hot punch through his ribcage and settle low, ugly and undeniable.

“Oh my god, Lando!” You’re close now, so close he can see the freckles scattered across your nose, the sunlight tangled in your lashes. Your arms go around his neck before he can stop it, body slick and hot against his shirt, pressing to every inch of him like some fever-dream he never asked for.

His hands hover—awkward, trembling, suspended in no-man’s-land between decency and disaster—then land hesitant, one splayed awkwardly at the small of your back where the bikini dipped into nothing but a triangle of wet fabric doing nothing to hide the swell of your ass.

He feels everything in that split second: the heat of you, the softness, the way your breath ghosts his jaw when you say his name again, laughing like this is the easiest thing in the world. Like you have no idea what you're doing to him. 

And God help him, Lando hugs you back.

Just for a second. And that’s it. That’s the moment he knows he’s fucked. Because as he awkwardly tries to keep his arms in respectful places, heat floods every nerve, something primal and wrong digging its claws in deep.

He drags his eyes up, forces them to your face, but it doesn’t help. Not when the image of your body is burned into him like an afterimage from staring at the sun too long.

꩜

Your arms are tight around his neck, wet skin sticking to cotton, hair dripping against his jaw. Lando breathes you in before he can stop himself, chlorine and coconut oil, a thin edge of something sweet like mango. Your body presses to him all warm and bare, and for one horrifying second, his mind goes black except for the sensation of soft curves where there shouldn’t be any, not in this catalogued version of you that he remembers. 

And you’re hugging him like it means nothing. Like they’re still what they were ten years ago. Then you pull back, still grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. That smile should save him. It doesn’t. It makes it worse. Because it’s yours, but it isn’t. Your mouth curves the same way it did when you were seven and he bought you sherbet at the corner shop, but now your lips are fuller, teeth whiter, skin sun-glossed and flushed from heat.

“Jesus, kid—” The word rips out of him like a reflex, rough, almost a growl, his throat scraped raw by heat and disbelief. He says it because he has to. Because it’s a rope he can cling to while the ground gives way. Kid. Kid. That’s all she is. That’s all she can be.

You lean back, arms sliding off his neck, and for the first time in years, he sees you up close. Sees you properly. And the air goes out of him like a punch to the ribs.

It’s in the face first—familiar and not, a memory rewritten. Same freckles across the bridge of your nose, same grin that used to split wide when he bought you ice cream, only now it’s curved, sharp-edged. Still soft, yeah, but everything else is pure woman: the long lines of your legs glistening under the sun, the bikini top straining over perky tits he has no business noticing, the narrow waist and the hipbones jutting sharp above the scrap of red fabric. Water sliding in slow beads down your stomach, gleaming where oil catches light. He drags his gaze up before it burns him alive, locking on your eyes—big, dark, so open it hurts.

You don't notice. Or if you do, you don't care. You're too busy talking, words pouring out in a rush: how you’re home for the summer before uni, how you went travelling for a year, how weird it is seeing him after so long. Your hands gesture wide, water flicking off your fingertips like diamonds, and he stands there mute, his brain tripping over itself just to keep up.

“You look—” His voice fractures. He swallows, drags it back, rough and low. “—different.”

Smooth, Norris. Fucking hell.

You laugh, bright and breathless. “Yeah, well, it’s been forever.” 

Forever. Nine years, maybe ten. You were what—nine the last time he saw you? And now— Christ.

“You’re… tall,” he manages, because it’s safe, and because if he opens his mouth for anything else, something filthy might spill out.

“Yeah?” You giggle like he said something funny, and take a step back, finally—thank God—but only to perch on the edge of the lounger, legs crossed at the knee, droplets sliding down your calves to darken the concrete. He clears his throat, drags a hand through his hair, tries to shake the image burned into his retinas. Tries to focus on anything else—the cracked tile by the pool, the faint whine of bees over the garden wall, the creak of the old porch swing. Anything but the way your stomach tightens when you laugh, the sharp little gleam of a hipbone against slick skin.

“When’d you… get back?” His voice is steady. Miraculously.

“Last week.” You tilt your face to the sun, lashes catching light. “School’s over. Thought I’d come home for the summer before uni.”

Uni. The word slams into him like cold water. You’re barely out of school. Barely grown. And yet...

“That’s… good,” Lando says, because there’s nothing else. His tongue feels thick, his head too hot. “Your dad around?”

You shake your head. “He’s at work. Won’t be back till late. You hungry?”

Hungry. Christ. The word coils low in his gut, ugly and molten, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes iron.

“No,” he says too fast, too sharp. Then, softer: “I’m good.”

You hum, easy, like you haven’t noticed the war going on inside his skull. Like you have no idea you’re standing there in a bikini that looks painted on, legs stretched out under the sun like something obscene. How wrong it is. How disgusting he is.

You nod at him to come inside, turning toward the house, hips swaying in that unthinking, unconscious way that makes his pulse hammer against his throat. The ties at the back of your bikini swing loose, ends flicking like a dare. He forces his eyes up, up to the mess of your wet hair, the curve of your smile as you glance back and says, “You coming, or you just gonna stand there melting?”

He follows like an idiot, because what else can he do? Your voice winds around him, lazy and bright. He catches fragments: so hot today… been trying to tan… lucky I didn’t go topless today…

That last part makes his throat seize. You say it like a joke, but his eyes betray him, flicking to the tiny red straps biting into your oiled skin, the bow at your hip that looks like it would come loose if you breathed too hard. He looks away so fast his neck clicks.

“You want a drink?” you ask suddenly, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. “There’s iced tea in the fridge. Or beer if you want one.”

Beer sounds like the worst idea in the world. He nods anyway.

꩜

The heat hasn’t let up by late afternoon; if anything, the air feels thicker, like someone wrung the clouds dry and left only humidity behind. His shirt is sticking to his back where it clings damp against his skin, but he hasn’t bothered changing it yet. You’re leaning on the island table, now that they’ve migrated to the kitchen, still in that scrap of a bikini, towel draped loosely over your shoulders like an afterthought.

Lando stands opposite you, a beer in his hand. He watches you talk—God, do you talk—like the silence of ten years bottled up and now you’ve unscrewed the lid and let it all fizz out in one breathless rush.

“So then I told Dad, like, if I have to do law just because everyone else is doing it, I’ll die, right? But mech eng, that’s—like, something I like, you know? I wanna do automotive engineering. You and Dad used to let me help work on your cars, remember?” You laugh, bright and girlish, and toss wet hair over your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, taking a swallow of beer to keep his mouth from going dry. “You were bossy as hell about it, though. Always had an opinion.”

You grin at that, wide and easy. “Still do.” 

“You’re quiet,” you say suddenly, peeking at him from under dark lashes. “You used to talk more than me.”

“Used to,” he says, voice rougher than he intends. He clears it, adds, “Guess you grew into it.”

You tilt your head, studying him like he’s some puzzle you used to know the answer to. “Guess so.” A beat, and then, softly, “You still call me kid.”

He smirks, forces a shrug. “Because you are one.”

You wrinkle your nose, playful, almost wounded. “I’m nineteen.”

“Nineteen’s nothing,” he says before he can stop himself, and instantly regrets the way it sounds. Too sharp. Too loaded. Your brows lift slightly, curiosity pricking in your eyes.

“Not nothing to me,” you murmur, and then, with a quick laugh, launch into another tangent: cars this time, this one you’re saving up for, how you crashed yours into a ditch when you were drunk. He lets your words wash over him, nodding when required, laughing when you expect him to, all the while acutely aware of the evening pressing closer, of the birds fussing in the trees like they know something he doesn’t.

꩜

The sun had softened by the time they end up in the shade of the back veranda, a lingering honey-glow sliding over the timber deck. The heat of the day still clings to the air, heavy and syrup-thick, but a slight breeze starting to tease the edges of it, stirring the scent of chlorine and cut grass.

You’ve changed out of the bikini, though not by much—a thin white tank and a pair of tiny denim shorts frayed at the hem. He isn’t sure if this is better or worse. Probably worse. Definitely worse.

Lando sits opposite you at the old outdoor table, one elbow hooked over the back of the chair, a beer sweating condensation against his palm. You’re curled up cross-legged on the bench seat, still talking about the jobs you’re applying for, like you haven’t just stepped back into his line of sight after years and detonated every steady assumption he’d had about the world.

“That’s a lot of options, kid,” he says finally, the word kid heavy in his mouth, like a desperate anchor. He’s been throwing it out every time he speaks to you, like he can trick his brain into remembering the girl with scraped knees and bubblegum-sticky fingers instead of this version sitting cross-legged in front of him, bare legs glowing warm in the honey light.

You smile when he says it. Of course you do. He wonders if you notice the way he kept using it. Maybe you thought it was just habit.

“I like having options.” You prop your chin in your hand, grin lazy, eyes catching on his. “You always said I’d get bored easy.”

“I said that?” He frowns like he doesn’t remember, though he does. He remembers saying it while you trailed after him and your dad’s mates down at the river, throwing rocks into the shallows. You couldn’t sit still back then. Guess you still can’t.

“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p,’ your smile flickering into something softer, nostalgic. “You also taught me how to swear. Dad loved that.”

Lando smiles, low and rough, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “He nearly killed me for that.”

“He did,” you giggle. “Worth it though. My Year 3 teacher was horrified.”

The laugh that tears out of him cracks something, lets some kind of heat rise up from the pit of his stomach he doesn’t want to name. He tips back the beer, swallowing, because you’re looking at him like you trust him, like ten years and the awkward gap of growing up hasn’t done a thing to carve out the space between them.

And then you ask it. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

Lando’s throat closes around the sip. He coughs hard, setting the bottle down with a clunk. You just blink at him, head tilted, like you’d asked whether he still drove that old pickup.

“No,” he says after a beat too long, voice roughened. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you grin, teasing but not cruel, and your bare foot nudges his boot under the table without a thought, the same careless touch you’d had as a kid. Every nerve in his leg feels like it’s caught fire at once.

The screen door slides before he can answer.

Your head snaps around, a bright smile blooming. “Dad!”

And there it was—the reprieve, the slap of reality. James steps out onto the deck, still in work boots, shirt damp at the collar from the day’s heat. He looks older than the last time they’d all been in a room together—grayer at the temples, deeper lines cut around his mouth—but that same easy strength.

“Mate,” James smiles warmly, “Been a while.”

“Yeah,” Lando says, standing too quick, dragging his voice into something casual, something steady. “Roof’s a fucking mess, thanks for letting me crash.”

“Good man.” James claps him on the shoulder, solid weight dragging him back into the orbit of responsibility. Come on in. I’ll throw something together.”

You head inside ahead of them, barefoot, tank top clinging in a way that makes Lando fix his eyes anywhere but you.

The kitchen fills with sound as your dad moves around, pans dragged out, garlic crushed, oil heating. The smell blooms warm and familiar. Home.

Lando takes the chair at the table, trying to look like his chest isn’t a cage for something restless and sharp, watching while you dart around the kitchen with easy energy. 

Each time, he catches a whiff of your shampoo, vanillas and something summery like mangoes. 

“Good to have you back under this roof, mate,” James breaks his thoughts. He turns from the stove, wiping his hands on a tea towel, face split in a grin. “Been too bloody long. Feels like you never come round anymore.”

Lando forces a smile. “Yeah, well. Life, huh? Gets in the way.”

James nods, oblivious, stirring the pan again. “This one’s been buzzing all week since I told her you were coming.”

Lando glances up before he can stop himself. You’re setting plates down, and at your dad’s words, a slight pink rises up your chest, face heating. You shoot Lando a sheepish grin.

“What?” you mumble, shrugging. “I was excited.”

His throat gets tight. He drags his eyes back to James.

Dinner itself is a blur. Pasta, salad, the scrape of cutlery against plates. James asks about his life, about old mates they used to kick around with. 

“So you still seeing any of those idiots?” James asks, mouth full, already grinning.

Lando snorts. “Couple of ’em. Most grew up. Some definitely didn’t.”

“Shocking,” James says dryly. “I was hoping you’d say they all became respectable.”

“Not a chance.”

He tries to slip into the old rhythm with your dad like no time’s passed at all. But every time he looks up, you’re looking at him softly, knees tucked onto the chair, fork twirling idly, eyes on him more often than not. Sometimes you grin, sometimes you just… watch, lips parted like you’re listening harder than anyone ever has.

You don’t know what it does to him. He clings to kid. Calls you it twice during the meal, each time watching you wrinkle your nose.

“Kid, pass the salt.” “Cheers, kid.”

Like it’s armour, like it can remind him where the line is.

But the word sounds hollower each time.

After dinner, James pushes back from the table with a satisfied groan. “Right. I’m knackered. Long day.”

Lando chuckles. “Soft.”

James chuckles, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Says the bloke who’s been sitting on his arse all day.”

“Oi,” Lando shoots back, smiling despite himself.

James disappears into the lounge, the TV flicking on a second later. You linger in the kitchen, rinsing plates at the sink.

“You don’t have to help,” you say, water splashing your wrists.

“I don’t mind,” Lando replies. His voice comes out quieter than he intends.

You bump your hip into his as you pass a dripping plate over. “Thanks”

The contact jolts through him. His eyes catch on the damp hem of your shirt, the way it clings to the curve of you. He swallows hard, forcing a laugh. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” James calls from the lounge, already half-lost to some late night show.

You grin, flicking a drop of water from your fingers onto Lando’s arm. “Hear that? Curfew.”

Your eyes sparkle like you’re sharing a private joke, like you want him in on it.

Lando’s mouth goes dry.

“Yeah,” he mutters, tugging the dish towel from your hands. “Go on, kid. I’ve got it.”

You linger a second longer, searching his face. “Night, Lando.”

And just like that, you pad off down the hall, bedroom door clicking shut. He wants to follow you in.

Jack leant over the counter at you, peering through squinted eyes. “Disappointment? I think you've just made my night.”

There was a blush on your cheeks as you looked away, studying the Pitt to find something to distract yourself with.

“You might regret that. We've got a lorry car collision, ETA ten minutes out,” you explained, dropping the granola bar into your scrub pocket. “I might just be your bad luck charm.”

Jack loved working with you. He loved getting your opinion on cases that didn't need a second opinion. He liked the quiet moments in the night shifts you covered where it was just the two of you and the night sky. He liked being able to make you blush, to make you laugh in the middle of the darkness.

Because there was a darkness lingering in you. The sort only the Pitt could latch onto a person.

He'd seen it in Robby.

He despised seeing it in you.

There were some nights you covered- because you were always the first to volunteer to do a double- you started with a sparkle in your eyes and ending the night in despair, dragging yourself home. You'd return hours later, not at all long enough to have had a good sleep.

Jack worried, but he liked having you around to keep an eye on you.

Jack shook his head. “Nah. The bad luck is this place. You're the good.”

You laughed, hesitantly.

Lena patted your arm, kindly, the way a mother did. “I'll go get the guy from trauma two moved.”

“You want some help?” you offered.

“No, sweetie, I got it.”

You looked around like you needed to make myself busy. Like you couldn't be alone with Jack. He'd seen it in the ED many times, even in the military, the need for people to stay busy instead of succumbing to a sort of numbness.

It had been him some years back before he managed to deal with his demons.

“Any interesting cases in the ED today?” Jack asked, following you around with his hands behind his back, restraining himself from guiding you through with a hand on your back.

“Well, we had a woman who didn't realise she was eight months pregnant who gave birth today. A priapism-”

Jack seethed. “Ouch.”

“- and a man with a toothbrush stuck up where the sun don't shine.”

“Double ouch,” he said, checking the side of you. “So you had quite an interesting day, huh?”

“You could say that,” you mumbled. “There's also a girl in five with Fancomi anemia. She came in four hours again and we're still waiting to hear from her parents. She has a half sister half way across the country that might be a bone marrow candidate that they've never tried.”

Jack nodded, listening and catching the far away look in your eyes. “You're doing everything for her,” said Jack. He didn't even have to ask to know you would be doing everything possible for the girl. Even if it meant exhausting yourself.

Jack nodded to himself, debating with himself if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. The devil and angel arguing on his shoulders. “A little birdie told me you had a date,” he said, the both of you knowing the little birdie was, in fact, Robby. “How'd it go?”

You sighed and stopped in the middle of the corridor.

He cut you off before you could start. “I'm just asking to check you're okay. That... that he was nice.”

You nodded slowly, not meeting his gaze as your hands rested at your hips. “He was- he was fine.”

Jack ignored the wince of pain as he crouched to get a look at you. “Just fine?”

If Jack couldn't have you, he loved you enough to just want you happy.

It was only four months ago you'd broken up with him, after seven months of beautiful moments. Of coming home to you in his sheets, making a coffee and waking you up to it. He wanted to steal every moment with you, choosing sleep when you went to work, spending the morning just watching you get ready. The lunch dates where he'd turn up to the ED, the place he could never escape, with a delicious home made lunch for you and sometimes extra for Robby who kicked up a fuss that he got nothing and had known Jack longer.

Jack missed the kisses in the night and the morning. He missed holding you when he had a night off. He missed when you'd think he was asleep and map his freckles, tracing I love you into his skin.

Because the tender moments were always there, yet gradually they began to hide themselves in the cover of night, when you thought he was sleeping.

Jack knew things weren't perfect. With both your schedules it was hard to balance but you tried to make it work. Then the light in your eyes started to fade and when you told him it isn’t working anymore, I love you, I'm sorry, he hadn't thought to keep your relationship alive. He'd just been fighting to keep you.

He was terrified he'd lose you.

Then what would he do?

He wouldn't survive it.

“Just fine?” he asked again.

“Don’t sound too pleased.”

“I’m not,” he denied but bit back a smile.

You looked up to him, shuddering a deep breath. “He was just... whatever.”

“Just a whatever kind of guy?”

“Why are you asking so much?” you asked, mildly annoyed.

Because he still loved you? Wasn't it painfully obvious? Weren't you just trying to act like you didn't know he was helpless for you to spare him embarrassment.

“Just, checking in on you.”

You looked down at your shoes, scuffing them on the floor. “It- he was nice but... I dunno, not what I wanted.”

Jack hummed. “No?” did you still want him? He'll be honest, he didn't think he'd hear about you going on a date. Least of all with some guy from Pedes. When you'd broke up with him he expected it had something to do with you wanting to focus on you. Rest up. The sort of stuff like that. Then he had to hear from Robby that you were going out for dinner.

There was only a small bite of anger before Jack felt sorry for himself.

“No,” you sighed.

There were deeper circles under your eyes than usual, sharp half moons dark in colour lingering there. Your eyes were dark and lifeless, scrubs hanging off you.

“Is there anything else going on?” he asked, tugging at your arm slightly to hide yourselves at a corner.

You looked up to him, lips pulled down in a frown as you shook your head. “Nope.”

His brows rose, eyes looking at you, pleading. “You can talk to me if there is, h-” the pet name he had no right to almost slipped from his lips. He gulped it down and felt it sting down his throat. “You can tell me.”

“We're...” you hesitated. “We're not together anymore, Jack. You don't have to do all this chivalry thing.”

“Can't help it,” Jack shrugged. “Not when it's you.”

Your hands wrung together and Jack looked down. There was flakes of dry skin on along your fingers. He knew the sanitiser in the ED could be harsh on your skin, but he also knew he'd replaced your hand moisturiser in your locker just two weeks ago and that you should have plenty. It was a nervous habit you had, to rub your hands together like so.

Jack remembered it from your first date. He’s used it as an excuse to reach over and take your hands.

“I'm just tired,” you mumbled.

Jack nodded, slow and listening. “That it?” he prodded gently.

He'd heard countless doctors slip those words out in answer to the everything okay type questions. He'd seen Robby break as the words chocked in his throat. You said them without emotion. Without even trying to prove your lie.

“Why don't you go home? Get some rest-”

“Ellis is-”

“- we'll manage,” he insisted. His hand had un-consciously started to move up and down your forearm in comfort.

You winced as you turned your head aside, thinking about it.

Jack didn't know how much he really wanted you to go home. He wanted you to rest, yes, but preferably in the family room with a blanket thrown over you where he could drop by and check in on you. Check you were okay.

Check you weren't doing something stupid.

He knew that not everyone felt like a ticking time bomb. That not everyone's mind would wonder as dark as his did sometimes.

But he feared you weren't far off.

“Go rest-”

At the same moment Jack spoke the ambulance doors were pushed open and two bodies were pushed through on gurneys, bloody and broken. Stats were yelled out and Jack was called for.

At the same time, Matteo popped out of five, calling for you.

“She's crashing!”

You rushed over, falling into the room with the young girl and Matteo.

With a heavy sigh, Jack followed the other path of emergency responders and doctors.

He and the team worked on them. A father and son involved in a lorry crash that ploughed right into the side. The kid was only seventeen with a broken leg and collapsed lung. The father was much better off. The boy would need surgery and Walsh was already down and wheeling him up.

It was all done in a quick blur of thirty minutes. He took care of it all clinically like ticking through a to do list, not looking to close at the kid to remember shades of hair or lines of the face.

By the time Jack was stepping out the trauma room, Crus at his side, you still had not returned to the floor of the ED.

“How does she seem to you?” Jack asked Crus, the two of them pulling off their gloves and gowns. He said your name in clarification.

“Hot!” said Crus with a shit-eating grin.

Jack glared at him. He should have known not to expect a serious answer from Henderson. Or at least he hoped that wasn't the serious answer.

“I don't know man, how do you want her to seem?” asked Crus.

“She seems tired. For a while now,” Jack noted.

“Aren't we all chasing sleep?” he asked him, leaving his side with a pat on his back.

Jack found himself at the nurses station, leaning over.

Lena's glasses slid down her nose, a chart in hand and her red hair messily pulled back. She ditched all efforts to seem busy however when he beckoned her over. “She's been in there the last thirty-five minutes,” she told him. “The little girl she'd been looking after crashed.”

“Nothing back?”

Lena shook her head.

Jack shook his head. “Shit.”

With a heavy heart he dragged himself to room five, already hearing the stillness of the monitor, the hard breathing and orders.

“Push another round of epi and charge to two hundred.”

The room smelt of septic cleaning products and the faint aroma of sweat. There was a faint burn smell from the defibrillators that had apparently already been charged and used.

Jack lingered in the doorway.

Your body was curved over the small girl, knees denting into the crappy hospital bed that hadn't been updated in years. Your hands were cupped over her chest, pumping down as Matteo pushed another round of epi. Catching Jack's eyes, he shook his head.

Jack tutted, quietly to himself. “Hold compressions, check for a rhythm.”

It took you a second but you stopped, looking to the monitor in hope.

There was nothing but a flat line.

Jack didn't tell you to resume compressions but you did anyway.

“Charge to three hundred,” you said to Matteo.

He was caught in the middle, looking toward Jack for confirmation.

Jack nodded and Matteo got the paddles, warming them and handing them to you.

Your grasped them in an all too familiar hold. “Clear!”

The small girls body lurched before flopping back on the bed. Everyone in the small room waited for a rhythm. There was nothing in answer.

Jack had no time to tell you not to carry on before you were. He took a slow step in, patting Matteo on the shoulder, in a silent gesture to have him leave.

The nurse gave a sad look before leaving, closing the door gently behind him.

There was Jack and you over the girls body.

He said your name, slowly.

You didn't react.

“Honey, come on,” said Jack. “She's gone.” He could see the tremble in your arms from the compressions you hadn't given up on.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Her parents aren't even here,” you said. “They didn't even pick up their phone when Dana called. We-we left a message. They deserve to see their daughter one last time.”

Jack nodded. “They will.”

You glanced up at him. “Alive.”

He clocked his head to the side. “That's not gonna happen. It's been forty-five minutes. She's gone.”

Losing kids were the hardest. Losing anyone was hard but kids weren't supposed to be found in hospital beds, tubes poking out of them. If they had to be found in a hospital, they deserved loved ones around them. Not strangers in black and blue.

Jack knew you were trying to do the right thing. Sometimes there was no right thing to do.

“Come on.” Jack was slow in moving around the bed to your side. He gave you time to slow down, to feel the exhaustion in your arms. His own hovered over you. “Come on.”

You shuddered when his arms fell over you, holding you softly as you slumped back into him, falling from the bed on feet that weren't ready to catch you. His arms were; strong where you were weak.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he mumbled into your hair, peppering kisses there. “You did everything you could.”

Neither of you knew how long you stood there in his embrace. Somewhere between the consoling you and you slowly leaving his arms- like it was paining you physically to do so- Jack called the time of death so you wouldn't have to, pulling the plug on the monitor to kill the sound of dying.

When he turned back you were stuck at the door, eyes downcast as if you couldn't bring yourself to look at the small body he pulled the cover over.

He returned to your side, hand gentle on your arm. “Go take some time in the family room.”

You shook your head, a tear betraying your words. “I'm fine.”

Jack reached up and cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand. He looked at you like you were still his whole world. You were. To him. His thumb delicately wiped the tear away as your gaze reached his. “Ten minutes, please. For me.”

It took some time, some great mental calculations sparring inside of you but you nodded and Jack led you from the room, closing the door behind him.

His hand was a gentle breeze against the small of your back as he led you out, giving a gesture of a nod to Lena about the room. It was enough for her charge nurse bells to go off as she nodded and sent someone over.

“Take all the time you need, okay?” Jack whispered to you.

You nodded, stepping out his hold and slowly walking to the family room.

Jack waited and watched closely, marking every step you took to the room. He only let out a sigh when he saw you close the door behind you.

“Everything okay?” asked Lena as he slouched over the counter.

His face scrunched up as he fought his own pain. Pain for the little girl but a greater pain chocked at him as he closed his eyes and pictured the heartbreak marring your face, taking over your entire body. He sniffed back his own grief. “No. No, not really.”

Slowly he explained the situation to Lena. He re-encountered the break up that had took the night crew by shock. They were all so sure it was happy ever after for the two of you. When Jack had to slowly explain the break up (he lied and said it was mutual, it was very much not) there were distraught faces as if the night-crawlers were all going through a parental divorce. He told Lena he knew something was going on with you. He told her about the girl that had just died.

“And I just-” said Jack, chocking on a cry that threatened to escape the lodge in his throat. “Sometimes when I see her, it feels like I'm gonna be seeing her for the last time.”

“Hey,” Lena whispered and reached for his hand, squeezing it. “None of that. She'll be okay.”

Jack nodded, repeating the words to himself. “Yeah, she'll be okay. Keep an eye on here?”

“Already on it.”

By the time Jack next had the spare moment to check his watch he found thirty minutes had flickered by since he last saw you. When he passed by the family room you weren't there. Instead Caleb was, talking to a family.

Jack went in search of you, checking the board for your initials. He didn't see anything up on there, nothing that jolted his heart with the usual sparks.

“Shen!” he called in passing. “Have you seen her?”

“Er, no, sorry.”

Jack cursed. He was turning around the ED, spinning on his heel and looking around every corner for you. You weren't by the lockers, weren't out in the ambulance bay. Trauma one was empty and trauma two had a large team in there already, devoid of you.

His heart beat like a drum in his chest, growing louder and louder, the thud of the bass growing the more time went on and he couldn't find you. Had you gone home without a word? Were you hiding away somewhere else?

Jack was losing hope, running on anxiety when he pushed back the curtain to fourteen hard enough to almost tear the thing.

You looked up at him from your place on the stool next to your patient, a middle aged woman with an ankle not as it should be.

“You're here,” he said, breathless.

“Er, yeah?” you said with a small chuckle. “I'm just telling Mrs Greene here about the surgery to reset the bone in her foot.”

Jack nodded, looking from you to your patient.

He wasn't an idiot. Your eyes were scratched and red, cheeks flushed. Yet you'd tried to put yourself back together. You'd scraped back your hair in a neater pin up, had clearly splashed cold water on your face, maybe even dunked your face in a bowl of it. You sat with your hands in your lap, a leg kicked over the other, caving in on yourself.

As soon as you left the room, chart in hand, Jack was hot on your heels.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You startled, looking at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?”

“You lost a patient,” Jack reminded you, a small frown pulling at his lips. “It's tough on all of us.”

You glanced down to the chart, lifting your shoulders. “We lose people all the time. It's the job.”

He surveyed you as you slid into a seat, logging into the computer in front of you. No eye contact, distractions pulling at you. Jack knew your tactics; they were everyone else's. Ignore the pain till it went away before mounting up and crashing down at the worst time possible. Heck, he was chair of the club.

“Sure,” he mused. “Doesn't make it any easier.”

You sighed, pulling your lips up into a strained smile. “Jack, seriously, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me.”

Jack leant over the counter. “Well, you want to know a secret?”

“What?”

“I'm always worried about you.”

“I don't think it's much of a secret,” you said, moving your fingers quick over the keypad.

He wondered if your hands were steady. Or even if you were writing anything with meaning, or just trying to occupy yourself. “If you need to go home-”

“- I don't-”

“- take some time-”

“- I don't want to take time,” you huffed.

“You’re starting to sound like Robby.”

“Now that’s insulting,” you huffed. There was a moment were you fell silent, your body slumping under the weight of the argument. You dragged your hands down your face. “Jack, please.”

When you're a kid they teach you that manners are an important basis in the human condition. A show of respect. A nicety. They don't tell you the effects the simple words hold when used on the tongue of a loved one. When someone you love is begging you to leave them alone, even against your better judgement.

Jack never liked to hear you beg as it was.

He hung his head in surrender. “I'm staying close.”

“You'll be loitering.”

“Observing,” he corrected.

He loitered around you the rest of the night. He checked your name on the board every time he passed. When the parents of the young girl arrived five hours later Jack spoke to them, he didn't even tell you they had arrived but somehow you knew. A silent nod of thanks was passed. The sun started to rise and Jack had counted three coffee's, two over your usual. The granola bar he'd handed you was left abandoned at your station and before Jack could find you to make sure you eat the rest, Crus had taken it in one bite.

Six am was a blessing. The night hadn't been full of patients, no more than usual at least but it had been more stressful to Jack.

Every time you moved and he couldn't find you he was worried. Even if it only lasted a minute or two. It was the same blind panic he'd felt the day Robby left for his sabbatical, yet the relief when he saw you didn't last.

Jack had left to go to the bathroom in the morning. When he came back Robby was there, fleece pulled up and talking to you. He couldn't tell what was going on, only that Robby's hands were clasped together in a prayer like motion.

Then he saw you nod and Robby sigh before giving you a high five and leaving.

“What was that?” Jack asked, falling at your side.

“What?”

“What were you and Robby talking about?”

“Er,” you hesitated. “Langdon can't make it, there's something at home, I don't know his kids are sick or something, Abbey's away visiting family.”

Jack was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “So?”

“He's asked me to stick around for a bit, help him out-”

“You've just pulled a double,” Jack snapped.

“It's only a few hours,” you shrugged, as if you weren't the walking definition of sleep. “Beats going home.”

“I'll cover.”

“Then you'll be pulling a triple,” you pointed out. “I'm younger, more spry.”

His jaw pulled tight, hands falling on his hips. “I'll talk to Robby.”

“I've told him I'll do it,” you said, firmly. “I don't want to go home and sit with this, I'd rather be here.”

“For how long?” he asked. “You gonna stay here forever now? You can't run away from this.”

“I can't sit with it either,” you snapped back, heat rising up your neck. “I'm not like you, Jack. I can't leave the shift at the door and go home and just sleep it off. I need to... I need to do something.”

Jack stood and listened. He knew you all processed things differently. He knew that you were never good at staying still, always rising early in the mornings even if you weren't working, cooking before he'd even said he was hungry. Siting still and thinking didn't work for you.

You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. It took you a couple moments to drag your eyelids open. “I'm gonna go sleep through hand over. I'll see you soon, okay?”

Jack didn't bother saying anything as he watched you go.

Your place was taken up by Robby. He looked down the way you'd walked.

“You had no right to ask her to stay,” Jack argued.

Robby chuckled low in his throat. “You have no right to be mad that she said yes. She's not yours anymore, Jack.”

“She's exhausted!” he grit.

“Then she wouldn't have said yes.”

“She wouldn't have said no, either!”

Robby grit his teeth and backed up a step. “Brother, I know you care about her. I'm only asking a couple hours to figure things out. She's a grown up. She knows what she's doing. I don't think you do.”

Robby walked off then, leaving Jack to it.

The worst part was, Jack knew he was right. He had no idea what he was doing.

It was two days later and Jack wasn't even supposed to be in.

It was only three in the afternoon, he had at least three more hours of snooze time, lying back in his bed, counting the flecks of paint in his ceiling- if he hadn't been out on the SWAT team.

A bunch of boys- punks really- were holding hostages for a total of six thousand dollars and a PS5. Considering the wars and losing his leg and the shoot outs it was a relative easy thing to deal with. Still, when the larger one of the trio took a run at him and landed his shoulder square in the chest, pushing Jack to the floor, it still hurt.

He'd pulled up his shirt, caught a glimpse at the bruising and thought it better safe than sorry. Best to get it checked out by your hands.

Any excuse really to feel your hands touch him.

“Hey,” he greeted, walking through the ambulance doors.

It was like walking into a morgue.

Dana and Javadi were at the nurses station, both turned to look at him in shock. “Jack, honey, what are you doing here?” she asked without her usual smile.

Jack clocked his head aside. “I took a tumble, thought I could get a look at, you know.” He was hoping she'd catch just who he wanted examining him without saying your name.

Javadi gasped at her side, hands flying over her mouth. “Oh my god.”

Jack looked to her. “What?”

He glanced around the Pitt.

Princess and Perlah were in the corner, talking in Tagalog quietly while glancing at him. Others were looking at him but Robby wasn't. He wasn't around. He counted: neither Samira, Whitaker, Santos or McKay were there.

Nor were you.

Dana slowed around the counter, lifting an arm to him. “Why don't we get some coffee? I can take a look at you-”

But Jack had already found trauma two, where all the doctors he was looking for were.

Robby stilled, gloved hands and gown covered in blood. At his side Samira was much the same, behind him Whitaker too. “Jack! Get out!”

It took him a minute to realise why everyone was looking at him, why the ED had felt colder than usual. Why you'd been missing from the floor.

The blood surrounding everything was yours.

“Jack!” Robby yelled.

You were on the gurney too still, so un-natural for you. Had he not been complaining you wouldn't take a break just forty-eight hours ago?

Jack looked to each face that was frozen, wondering what to do. Whether they should work on saving you or work on getting rid of him.

Jack made their choice for them, throwing off his jacket and pulling on latex gloves over the sweat of his palms. “Talk to me!” he yelled to anyone in the room.

Robby gave one un-impressed shake of his head and a groan. “We found her in the bathrooms. Stab wounds to the left chest, two to the belly, right and left upper quadrants.”

Jack was over you know, looking down.

You were pale, eyes dark and closed and not opening as he pressed a hand to the top of your head, feeling around just to be able to touch and know you were there. It was a relief to know as much as it was a nightmare to see you. He inhaled but it was shaky.

“She- she was stabbed?” he asked.

“We think it was a patient,” said Santos from behind him. “Or-or a relative of a patient, we don't know.”

Jack shook his head, brows creasing. “Oh god.”

“Pule ox eighty-two!” called out Donnie.

Jack snatched the central line tray away from Robby, lying it out and doing it all himself. He looked at you and saw a patient. For the sake of your life he was looking at you and cutting you open like he didn't love you. “Call- call someone,” he said.

“What?” asked Whitaker.

“Robby,” said Jack. “Call- call her emergency contact. A friend. A family, I don't know just get her someone! She-she doesn't like patients being alone so for gods sake, call someone!”

Robby was adamant to argue. It was evident in the lines in his face and the frown on his lips but Jack heard the sharp tug of elastic and the sound of him giving up.

He remembered how distraught you'd been when the little girl had no family with her. You weren't going to die- you weren't. But Jack wanted someone you trusted to be with you.

“BP's ninety over fifty!”

“Okay, c'mon, c'mon, honey,” said Jack as he carefully and skilfully intubated you, the bag going on. “Don't do this to me.”

Robby had pulled over the computer, logging in and typing away.

“Pulse ox is dropping!”

“Belly is distended,” said Whitaker. “Probably an intra-abdominal bleed!”

“Get four more units of O-neg in here!” ordered Jack.

“Pressure's down to sixty!” yelled Samira.

“Oh... god,” Robby uttered, staring intently at the computer screen.

There was a harsh beeping screaming through the room and everyone looked.

“We've lost her pulse!”

By the time Mohan had finished announcing it Jack had already climbed up, compressing down on your chest.

“No. No,” he said, harshly. “You are not doing this to me. You're not! Push a round of epi!”

There was another beeping that would haunt Jack for the rest of his life.

“She's in V-fib!”

Jack grunted. “Charge to one hundred!”

“Stop!” Robby called out. His head was hung low between his shoulders, one hand held up. “Stop.”

Jack did not stop pushing down to your chest. Over you, Donnie did not stop pressing down on the bag. Nobody was stopping. “Robby, What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he snapped.

Robby was pale, his eyes down cast as he turned his body to the room but didn't have the strength to look at anyone. He rested a hand on his hip, the other stretched out to the cart with the computer to steady himself. “Her chart. She's DNR.”

Jack didn't hear him, not right away. Or he did but didn't want to. He knew the letters DNR. Sometimes a mercy for the elderly that had lived a long, good life and wanted to go out on their terms. For the terminally ill who didn't want to live the rest of their life in pain.

You were young. You were healthy. You were not dying.

“What?” said McKay.

“You're kidding,” said Denis.

Robby shook his head, spinning the computer to them.

“Doctor Mohan!” Jack called, a silent plea for her to take his place. With steady hands, she did and Jack stumbled down next to Robby.

He stared at your name, your birthday. Your file sat there staring at him, the DNR mocking all the love he held for you.

“She's DNR, Jack, I'm sorry,” said Robby, a hand on his shoulder. “We have to respect that.”

His fingers moved around the keyboard till he highlighted the DNR.

You'd signed a DNR. You'd never said anything. Why had you signed a DNR?

Jack moved around on the keypad and did the only reasonable thing. Everyone behind him waited with bated breath.

Jack dragged his finger to the bin icon and deleted your file.

Robby stared at him in shock.

Jack looked away from the now empty computer screen and didn't so much as glance at Robby as he returned to your side. “Charge to one hundred.”

A wave of shock rippled through the doctors and nurses as Jack marched back to your side. There was disbelief that you, someone so young, would ever be a DNR. That Jack- who they'd all argue was a little bit more responsible than their own Doctor Robby- would erase a file!

Jack looked around at them all. “Charge to one hundred, now!”

Santos and Whitaker were the first to jump to attention, charging and handing over the panels.

“Clear!”

The waiting room was colder, quieter and whiter than Jack was accustom to. He was used to working down in the Pitt, with its white walls and ghosts but there was always noise. Always monitors going off and names being called, usually there were wails or cries of relief.

In the waiting room there was nothing.

Only lines and lines of chairs, a fish tank that last time he'd counter had a dozen or so goldfish and a clock that ticked by every second you lay under the knife.

Every second ticked away and nobody came to fetch him, to update him.

Every second Jack was left alone to guess why you'd have a DNR order.

The door creaked open and the only other waiting woman and child in the room looked up. As did Jack.

Robby walked in, boots shuffling, lips tilting up into an apologetic smile as he raised a hand to the mother and daughter. He found Jack. “Anything?”

He shook his head. He learnt almost two hours ago not to trust his voice from shaking anymore.

Robby settled in the chair next to Jack, stretching out his legs. Not to impose but just to press his boot next to Jack's and assure him he was there. It was a small move but none the less appreciated. “The guy was only came in for a headache,” he explained quietly in the silence. “We were waiting on a psych consult from some erratic behaviour-”

“- he should've been restrained,” said Jack, through eyes that were heavy in tears. He knew that most patients came in erratic, that they didn't always have to be tied down but he still he remembered your blood all over the trauma room, your blood on everyone's gloves.

Jack had to get a change of scrubs from the lockers just to get out of his clothes stained in your blood but as he looked down at his boots he found a spec of your blood.

“The guy had no infection, we've no idea how he got the knife. He ran after the attack. Word is he's at Westbridge being treated for schizophrenia.”

“How long?” Jack asked, a shake in his voice as he angled his head down to Robby. He gulped. “How long do you think she was lying there, alone, bleeding to death before anyone found her?”

Robby's own inhale was shaky, his body wracked with it. “I don't know.”

Jack's breath shuddered. He hunched over himself, resting his elbows on his knees.

Had you been conscious? Aware of the fact litres of your blood were leaving without being able to call for help. Were you trying to call for help but un-able to find your voice? The thought had Jack's stomach churning.

“What if-”

“Don't-” warned Robby.

“What if she doesn't make it?”

“She will.”

Jack tried to imagine a world without you but he couldn't. He tried to picture walking into work and not finding your face, smiling or on the verge of collapse. He imagined not being able to text you just to say he was thinking about you and for you to just reply, don't. He couldn't imagine the last photo he'd have of you on his phone was the morning you broke up with him, when you were sleeping and he thought you looked so beautiful and at peace that he had to capture the moment.

He wanted to tell you there'd be no peace on the other side. Not if you left him.

“Two stab wounds to the belly,” Jack sniffed. “Could've been the spleen.”

Robby didn't try to sugar coat it. He only nodded and listened. “It could.”

“It could've got the heart, she was stabbed in the chest.”

“Maybe.”

They sat in silence.

Jack saw Robby watch the clock for an entire minute.

“Do you know why?” asked Robby. “Why she had a DNR?”

Jack winced at the memory. The stamp standing out to him. It was offensive to him, that you'd do such a thing. He rested back in his chair. “No. She.... she never said anything about it, not to me.”

Robby nodded.

“She's healthy,” said Jack.

“Maybe... maybe it's something else,” Robby uttered.

Jack didn't need to ask what he might have meant. They knew it better than most.

Maybe it wasn't a want to die, but an indifference to live.

Yet, a DNR wasn't an indifference. It was a choice that if anything happened to you you'd never want to come back from it.

“I can't do it,” said Jack, looking down to his boots. He struggled to put the rest of it into words. “I can't... without her- I can't. And I want nothing more than for her to wake up. But... I'm so angry she's done this.”

There was grief, despair also behind that anger but the fury masked it.

“So am I,” said Robby. He was the closest thing to a mentor you had, someone to look out for you when Jack wasn't around. “When she wakes up-”

Jack shook his head. “We don't know that.”

Robby's body hunched over, focused on Jack. “When she gets out of that OR you get to argue with her first.”

Jack dared to hope in the silence that paraded between them. “You think she knows?” he asked. “That we brought her back?”

It seemed Robby didn't even have to think about it.

“She knows.”

There was another tick of the clock before the door opened again.

“Doctor Abbot.”

He shot up at the call of his name, pushing through the door with Robby following behind. Out in the hallway the lights radiated a ghostly white and Jack felt haunted already.

Garcia stood there, a mask lose around her neck.

“How-how is she?” he asked.

Garcia looked between them. “Recovering. There's a long road ahead of her, but she's stubborn. Far more stubborn than the two of you combined. She's going to make it.”

Jack let out a shudder of a breath of relief, his entire body curling. He felt the need to throw up all the words he'd wanted to say to you and hadn't. That coil in his stomach released and his last good leg trembled.

He felt Robby's hand on his shoulder and dully heard him and Garcia talk about what had gone on in the operating room but it was as if Jack was under water.

A score of surgeons started to wheel you out, pushing you into recovery.

Jack saw you in a new gown without blood, bandages around you. You were still asleep but that's all it was, a sleep. Your skin was still pale but there was the smallest bit of life in your cheeks. You moved so slow, or maybe that's how he was seeing you, trying to slow it down to memorise you.

When you disappeared Jack came back to with enough time to thank Garcia and rush off after you.

By the time you woke up Jack had gone through his mind a thousand times, trying to think of a way to approach the topic of you seemly wanting to die without coming off as angry and afraid as he felt.

You woke slowly with flutters of your eyes and your hand coming up to rub at the sleep only to be held down by the IV in your hand.

Jack jerked at the movement, claiming your hand and holding it in his, squeezing. “Hey. Hey, you're okay, it's okay,” he said, coaxing some comfort into you.

You turned to find him, eyes groggy as you blinked at him. Your lips parted, dry and chapped, just barely mumbling his name.

“Yeah, yeah, it's me,” he said with a watery smile as tears sprung to his eyes. “It's me, you're okay, you're safe.”

You glanced around the room in post-op. The blank walls with cards about various health hacks, at the monitors all around you, then down to yourself in a gown, the blanket that Jack had asked Robby to bring from his place gently tucked close to you. Selfishly, he'd wanted to keep just one thing when you left. You gulped. “What-what happened?”

Jack steadied himself. “You were- you were stabbed, one to the chest. Tw-two to the belly.”

You blinked, taking in the information. Slowly, your free hand rose and rubbed over your heart. “My-my chest-”

“Does it hurt?” asked Jack, ready to begrudgingly let go of your hand and rush to get someone.

You shook your head, closing your eyes and resting your head back in the cushions. “It... aches, a little.”

Jack knew the pain from other people winces. From the jutting of chests when they were shocked to the burn marks left there after. He'd seen your wince on hundreds of other patients, often described as a pain like being kicked in the chest.

He wondered if his heart breaking was a similar pain.

“Your- your heart stopped. We lost your pulse. We had to bring you back,” he said slowly, studying your face for any sign of grief. “We had to shock you.”

He waited.

You only slowly closed your eyes and opened them again. “Oh.” Your hand gave his a little squeeze.

Jack gulped down his troubles, shuffling closer and resting his arms on the bed, caressing your hand close to his chest. “We had to go against the DNR. Your DNR.”

You looked at him, a small knot of confusion between your brows before it quickly smoothed over. He watched you slowly avert your gaze, turning away to stare at the ceiling instead. You didn't cry- in rage or relief- you didn't say anything for a while leaving Jack to guess if you wanted him to bring you back.

“Why?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “Honey- why was there a DNR order on your file?” deep down he knew he should have been letting you rest, taking care of you and whispering soothing words but he couldn't see past the order on your file. He couldn't forget the way he watched your body lie still and bloody without breath and the dread that filled his chest when he found out you didn't want to be brought back.

You blinked a tear. “I don't know.”

Jack shuffled closer still, his knees digging into the bed. “Baby... honey, please. You-you can tell me,” he begged, holding the back of your hand to the stubble growing in stress. “Please, honey. I... I thought I was gonna lose you forever.”

His salty tears rolled onto the back of your hand and like it was acid, you cried, the sort that had your bottom lip jittering.

“I-I really don't know,” you uttered. “I guess I was young and-and stupid. I didn't want to die... didn't care much about living either. I just put there as a.... as....”

Jacks thumb slowly soothed your hand, resting it on his cheek as he listened. “As a what, honey?”

You glanced his way before your expression turned pain and you stared down at the blanket instead. “A failsafe. I didn't think anything would happen to me... but if I did I guessed it was life's way of telling me to be done.”

Jack took a deep breath that didn't reach deep in his lungs, it sat and burned. He knew it wasn't about him and he wasn't trying to make it so but he'd had a long time to think about life without you while waiting for you to come out of surgery.

Who else was he supposed to talk to if he didn't have you?

Who else was he supposed to laugh with if you weren't there?

Who else would take up all the love he had if you didn't have it?

“I did it ages ago, Jack, I swear, I forgot about it. Things were different, when-when I was with you. I just... I...”

He nodded, trying to hide his tears. He turned his head to wipe his cheek against his shoulder.

You squeezed his hand again.

“You didn't- you never said anything,” he mumbled.

You lips parted and hung open lamely. “I'm sorry.”

Jack shook his head again and looked at you with his best, un-stable, smile. “I just don't know what I would've done without you.”

Your finger tapped his hand, almost pityingly. “You'd have been okay.”

He scoffed. “Like fuck I would have,” he said, looking at you. “Do you realise how scared I was when I saw you in trauma? Do you realise what my life means without you? Nothing. Nothing, it means nothing.”

You frowned. “But I... I broke up with you?”

Jack shrugged. “So? You think I was gonna stay away long?”

You looked down at the blanket again, the one you'd picked up at a store- Jack couldn't even remember what store- he just remembered you'd seen it and said it would look good at home. At his. It was the first time you'd said his place as home and the first time he realised it could have been just that. “I dunno, I'm kind of a mess.”

Jack looked at you like you were the stars in the sky. “So am I, baby. That doesn't change anything.”

He thought to how sad you'd looked breaking up with him, like you didn't want to. All the extra shifts you'd been carrying, the silent pain. “You can't carry on like this. Being distracted, running from the pain. You have to... talk about it, face it.”

You swallowed, bitterly, as if even thinking about doing just that was the last thing you wanted to think about.

“If I hadn't been there today, I... I don't even want to think about what could've happened,” he admitted, quietly.

“How- how did you do it?” you asked. “Go about the DNR?”

Jack looked up sheepishly. “I deleted your file from the records.”

There was the smallest hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Gloria's not gonna like that,” you warned, pulling at his hand.

Jack chuckled to himself. “Gloria can kiss my ass.”

You laughed. It was small and pained but it was the first laugh from you Jack had heard in months.

He smiled at the sound.

“Jack?”

You pulled on his hand, beckoning him closer.

Jack hovered over you, checking where he could rest as to not hurt you. He rested his arm over yours, gently stroking back your hair while keeping your hand in his, resting it over your chest where the firm and promising beating of your heart lay.

“Thank you,” you said. “I don't... I don't think I'd want to have died. I know I act like it some times with... with all the work and the distance-”

Jack nodded along. It was a good start, a fresh one that he could build with you.

“But I want to be alive. With you.”

“Well that's good,” he said, tasting the own salt of his tears on his lips that were bitten down on in anxiety. “Because I want you to be alive. With or without me.”

You smiled up at him.

Jack stroked back your hair again. “But I'd prefer with.”

“So would I.”

Jack kissed you gently and slow, letting you set a pace of push him off. You did neither. Your lips puckered and were light against his but he grew solid then, an un-moving block at your side.

And you'd start again with each other, gentle and slow.

if you need help or related to the dark ideas in this fic, please talk to someone!

Jack didn't know he was territorial about his bar. But he found himself sliding into another bar stool with a sulk. “Usual please, Terry,” he said, letting his backpack drop with a heavy thud.

“You got it, boss!”

A whiskey would soon be slid over the counter, chased by another and maybe another till a small fuzz clouded the edges of his mind and he could sleep easier. He forgot just how gruelling days could be.

But then he spotted you.

You were still smiling with the remnants of a laugh. One finger on your right hand was chasing the condensation down your emptying glass. He did a double take at you, looking past the hair falling to the smooth skin, doted with a mole or two.

You were young. The sort of young you didn't find in a bar- at least not alone. But this bar also wasn't the busiest, exactly why he liked it.

You didn't look like you belonged there. At the same time, you looked like there was nowhere else you wanted to be. Your chin rested in your other hand, your jacket was slung over the back of the stool and you weren't shying away from anything around you.

Jack's whiskey was dropped off in front of him and finally Jack got a look at you. Beautiful. There was no other way around it. He wasn't going to judge a book from its cover but he had a feeling your beauty wasn't the last thing to surprise him.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked you once he held your attention for more than a second.

Your eyes widened, as if you hadn't expected him to talk to you. “Oh no, thanks, I shouldn't drink too much tonight.”

“What?” said Terry, pretending to wipe over a 'dirty' spot on the counter. “I thought you were celebrating, huh?”

Jack's brows rose. “A celebration?”

“She just moved to the city,” said Terry.

You smiled, bashfully. “I got a new job.”

“Congratulations,” said Jack. “And welcome, this is Pittsburgh's finest.”

“Thanks,” you said.

There was a moment passed in silence where the both of you seemed to understand the two ways the night could go. If you mutually decided to keep it there, a polite congratulations and a kind offer of a drink maybe you'd just remember him as the kind, older stranger.

You turned to him. “If the offer of that drink still stands I think I'd like to take it.”

Jack moved his body to face yours. He glanced at Terry, who waited happily. “Another one for-”

You told him your name and it chimed a bell in Jack's head, as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear your name from your lips. He introduced himself and his fate was sealed.

“So, are you a native to Pittsburgh?” you asked, twirling a bit of hair between your fingers.

Jack lifted his shoulders. “Came her to settle down after some things.” He didn't want to get into the whole collage and tours and losing his leg and moving here after losing his wife. He didn't want to watch that pretty face of yours contort with worry or sympathy. “Are you new here, or?”

“Kinda. My dad's around her, parents divorced so I only see him sometimes,” you explained, flippantly.

“And now you got a job here?”

“Now I'm here.”

You told him where abouts you were living which had him worrying if he was any other random guy at a bar that you'd be telling him, putting yourself in (potential) danger. Or maybe Jack was special. It wasn't a very good area, the sort he never even looked at when he was moving, but he knew it was cheap.

“I passed this place driving in, looked good,” you said.

Jack chuckled and leaned in to avoid Terry's ears as he'd gone off to change the channels and some other guys requests. “Clearly your new around here. When I said it was Pittsburgh's finest.... it might have been an exaggeration.”

You laughed and Jack wondered what other stupid jokes he could make to have you laughing again. “Well, nobody's offered me the grand tour yet.” You took a swig of your beer.

There was an opening.

Jack didn't know why he was looking for one but it was out of his lips before he really understood what he was doing. “If you ever need a tour guide,” he said, gesturing to himself. Did he look dumb doing so?

You raised your brows. “You might regret that. I ask a lot of questions. I'm really into my history.”

“Good thing I know a lot about this place.” He did not, but he could read some stuff up.

“You know, you're quite the charmer, Jack,” you said, seizing him up.

He nodded his head side to side. “You've caught me on a good day. Any other day I'm an asshole,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he doing? “I- that was a bad joke. I'm not an asshole. At least I don't think so.”

“I don't think so,” you said. “After all you're keeping a lonely girl like me company.”

“You moved alone?”

You smirked. “Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”

Jack usually came to this bar for a quiet one after work. At 6 am he'd nurse a whiskey, an un healthy habit he knew. Sometimes he was called in early and only had a couple hours to spare before his actual shift started he'd hang around, have a glass of water of a crappy cup of black coffee. He didn't come here to flirt with girls. Young girls who would probably attract some stares if he walked around with you on his arm.

Yet the idea of doing just that thrilled him.

“I guess so, yeah.”

A small dusting or blush rose to your cheeks. “Well, I'm alone. There was this guy back where I used to live but.... meh, he was stupid.”

Jack nodded, listening as if you were one of his patients. “He dump you?”

“He cheated on me.”

“Then he's the stupidest guy around.”

You smiled, laughing off your blush. “You know, you don't know me yet. I could be a massive asshole.”

“Well that's up for me to decide,” he said, as if he hadn't decided you were anything but.

It didn't take long for the place to fill up after that, people finishing work or deciding to end their nights of drinking there. It wasn't usual for Jack to be around at that sort of time, so the in flood of people surprised him, crowding the two of you at the bar.

That's how he ended up in a booth with you, an arm slung over the back of the cushioned seat as you sat in the ghost of his touch. You were almost leaning into him but keeping a conscious decision not to fall into his arm. The both of you were still nursing the same drink an hour later, sharing stories from each others lives.

Jack didn't ask about your new job and you didn't tell him.

“How long's your dad been out here?” Jack asked.

“Practically all his life,” you said. “But he moved when he met my mom, they separated when I was like five? He came back here so usually I'm just visiting.”

Jack nodded, briefly eyeing how close his hand was to touching you. So far he'd kept it polite. A hand helping you off from the bar stool (you did not need his help), a gentle hand on the small of your back as he led you to the booth, a finger brushing away lint that wasn't on your shoulder. He just wanted to touch you again.

“You close with him?”

You smiled, un-easy. “Well I'm about to be. I'm working with him.”

Jack made a wince and an O face.

Soon enough you were shuffling out of the booth, saying you needed to use the restroom. Jack knew stories about girls who went to the bathroom and didn't come back out, climbing through the window and leaving the guy to wonder what he'd done wrong.

He tried not to let his mind wonder. He checked himself, kept an eye on any guy wondering closely and tugged your drink closer to him, though the bottle was practically empty as well as his glass. He chucked a mint from his pocket into his mouth and chewed it down quickly.

He checked his phone once and then sat and waited.

When you got back to the table, you weren't alone.

Jack frowned as he saw the guy at your side, big enough to swallow you up and shirt so tight on him Jack had a suspicion he brought a size too small on purpose. He straightened at the pinch in your brows and purse of your lips.

The guy at your side was equally studying Jack.

The both of you stopped in front of him and you gestured down to Jack.

“Told you,” you said in answer to a conversation he wasn't apart of.

Jack didn't know what was going on and he wasn't picking up on any social cues. He lifted up a hand, grey hairs rising along his arms in a shiver. “Hi.”

“Oh,” said the guy. “That's cool, I guess. Maybe I'll see you around.”

You shrugged and took your seat next to Jack, this time tight into his side. He let his arm drape around your shoulder.

The guy took his cue and dismissed himself, wandering back to his buddies at the bar, looking back to you once.

“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking the guy one more time.

You didn't move from his side, only turned into him and he didn't move his arm. “Sorry, the guy was waiting for me to come out the bathroom. I told him I was here with... my dad.”

Jack had expected a lie you'd told the guy. Maybe you said you were already here with someone, a boyfriend maybe? “Your dad?” he chocked on his breath. Was he old enough to be your dad? Probably.

“I'm sorry, I panicked!” you said with a laugh.

It was infectious. Jack couldn't help but chuckle to, rubbing away at a wrinkle in his forehead. “I couldn't have been your partner? Or something.”

“C'mon, you think me saying I have a boyfriend will change him hitting one me?” you asked. “A guy like that?”

“You weren't interested in him?” Jack asked, looking over your shoulder to pass a small glare over to the guys. “Buff. Blonde. Young.”

You shook your head, pushing yourself further into his arm. “Nah. I like mine with meat on their bones. Darker... maybe greyer hair,” your eyes looked all over him, lingering at the lower part of his face. “Older.”

You were a treat dangling in front of him and Jack was starved.

He licked at his lips. “Well, I don't think dads do this-”

Before you could question him, Jack took a risk and kissed you.

You welcomed him warmly, your lips soft and eager against his. Where he tried to take it slow, you let him. His hand spread across your back, drawing you in as his head tilted, nudging you to be closer, closer, closer. His tongue traced the bottom of your lip and you opened obedient, tongue hot as you fought his, gasping into his mouth.

He felt the twitch of himself in his trousers, the tightening around his crotch.

Your mouth was warm, tinged with the bitter beer you'd sipped and something sweet on your lip-gloss.

He dragged himself away to catch a breath that his whole body burned for. Your lips chased his, body leaning into his.

Your lip-gloss was smeared down your chin and Jack was all too happy to swipe his thumb and wipe it off, savouring the sticky-ness of it and slight shine on his thumb.

Jack dared take a look at the bar where the guy and his pals stood. His mouth was slightly agape at witnessing the kiss and Jack was all to keen to keep his eyes on him as he kissed you again.

Jack couldn't tell which one of you was more ravenous. If his hands were fumbling with your jean buttons with more need than your own was trailing under his shirt and tugging it over his head.

He thinks it might be him but if you wanted the title he'd give it to you gladly, eager to please.

He had you leant back on the sofa left only in your pretty pink bra, your legs thighs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted upon you, boxes you hadn't un-packed building your own kingdom around you. He was a devout solider upon his queen, if anything.

Your chest heaved in a breath you just couldn't catch, gasping in the pleassure he was drawing out. “J-Jack-”

If he thought your lip-gloss smeared down your chin was a sight your arousal slowly making a mess of his face as he licked into you was a new delight entirety.

He wanted your slick mess to slide down his chin, down the greying hairs of his chest and all the way down to where his cock stood at attention under his trousers.

Jack's hips were bucking, chasing any small friction in his denim. “You like that?” he asked, flicking the tip of his tongue into you.

“Yes, yes, I do.”

He puckers his lips and slurps up your arousal, fingers digging into your thighs and keeping them open, supporting you as your hips bucked up helplessly.

He looks up, the bliss on your face a small indicator of your end coming soon. Jack lets you come, coaxes it out of you with avid sucks and licks.

You came on his tongue on gasps of his name. He'd heard his name yelled before, heard it whispered in dying urgency. Heard it snapped in anger but nothing was better than the sweet call of his name from your lips, drunk on your first orgasm.

He crawled back up you once your body had started to calm. Jack pressed his mouth into your own, sharing the taste of yourself as his hands were skilful in sneaking around your back and un-clasping your bra.

You sighed into him at the freeing feeling and his hands cupped you at once, messaging your breasts.

Jack kissed at you, moaning at the softness he felt in the palm of his hands. “You're so-mmph- so fucking beautiful.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder and look down to him, bringing him back up with your hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing into the palm of your hands.

He licked into you, groaning at the taste of your mouth. At every taste of you it was new, like he'd forgotten what you tasted like before and it was the first time.

“Wanna-” he said, breathless pulling away. “Wanna kiss you all the time from now on.”

“Is that a promise?” you said, grinning and pecking his lips.

Jack smiled too, your teeth clashing as he nodded.

He let himself be led like a dog to your room. There was a mattress on the floor, a suitcase or two pressed up against the wall and a box left open. Jack wanted to peak inside, wanted to see what else was about you. He wanted to know everything.

Your lips promised more, more, more.

Jack's hands fell useless at his sides as he felt the brush of your knuckles go to his belt. He closed his eyes, letting you work. He heard the clatter of the belt whipped off and thrown aside carelessly. He bit down on his lip with a smile.

He only opened his eyes as he felt you tug off his jeans, the fabric catching at his prophetic.

You looked at it for a second before looking up at him.

He hadn't felt insecure about his leg in years. It knocked on his consciousness then, keen to enter. He couldn't think of what to say. “Urm- yeah-”

He was calmed when you slowly sank to your knees and kissed over the lingering scars there, your nails scraping down his thighs. His cock twitched happily in his boxers and you could see the excitement leaking from him early.

“Come here,” he said with a rumble of his voice.

You were up on your feet and he was kissing you again, holding your mouth open to just taste you. He pulled off his boxers, kicking them away before his hands traced up the sides of you.

“I have- I have condoms,” you said, hands pushing him away lightly. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier.”

Jack was glad you'd turned your back to fetch condoms you'd packed luckily in the easy and already open box in the corner of your room. It gave him time to ease himself down on the mattress and watch as you bent over to find the condoms.

He was shocked he wasn't tasting blood as he bit hard down on his lip. If he wasn't so desperate to feel your warmth around him he'd have given himself a little tug, but he was too scared he'd come too soon.

Settling comfortable on your mattress on the floor, Jack tugged on the condom and sat himself up to brush your hair back.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

You nodded and leant into kiss him.

Jack wrapped a light hand around you neck and urged you back, looking in your eyes. You knew what he wanted.

“Yes, Jack. I'm very, very sure.”

He smiled and was ready to move when you stopped him with hands on his thighs.

“Can I... I want to be on top.”

Was Jack supposed to say no to you? You may as well have asked him to build your mattress, un-back all your boxes, re-paint your walls. If you'd asked, he would have done anything for you at that moment.

When you gripped the base of his cock he held his breath. When his tip was pushed into you he exhaled with a loud groan.

“Ssh,” you laughed. “I don't want to get noise complaints from the neighbours already.”

Jack held onto your hips, supporting you. “Fuck your neighbours.”

He focused on the feel of you as you lowered yourself all the way, his cock stretching you open.

“Oh shhiiiit... god,” Jack gasped, seeing where you sat flush on his lap, the head of his cock twitching inside of you.

Your head was leant back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

“No- look at me, look at me,” he said, lifting his hand to pinch your chin and drag your gaze back down. You opened your eyes that had turned dark with desire. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”

And you did as you leant back onto your hands, slowly dragging yourself from him and then back down, setting a pace you were comfortable with.

Jack let you take the lead, lying there and taking it with mutters of encouragement and groans of disbelief. He laid his hand upon the bottom of your stomach, almost being able to feel him inside you. That- or you were driving him crazy.

When the sound of skin on skin sounds you switch your tactic, leaning over him and grinding down.

Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, your mouth left open. You were still trying so hard to keep your eyes on him just as he'd told you to. “Oh fuck, Jack, it's-it's too much.”

“No it's not, honey,” he coaxed, brushing back your hair and holding your cheek in hand. “You're being so good for me. Just a- just a little longer.”

You whined, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in.

Jack didn't know where he was finding the restraint not to come from. It had been a while for him, since he'd talked to someone as pretty as you, since he'd been in a bed that wasn't his. Since he'd had something other than his own hand to come onto.

Your grinding became un-stable, your thighs squeezing around him. “Jack, I think- I'm gonna come.”

He wrapped an arm around you and drew you in till you were held against his chest. The sweat against your bodies rubbed and mixed with the saliva shared between your mouths in kisses where you both fought for dominance.

At the angle of you pushed down on top of him his cock was deeper. He was so close to you, so close in more ways than one.

Jack groaned out your name, his cock twitching inside of you, begging to be released. “Come for me, honey... come for me-”

With a loud moan into his neck you let go around him, walls clamping down on him.

Jack let go of his restraint, planting his good foot on the mattress and thrusting up into you at an odd but delicious angle, once- twice! Before he came, slumping down on the mattress.

The both of you laid there, his hands brushing down your back and bringing out shivers.

“I have never come like that in my life,” he panted, catch his breath.

You looked at him. “What? On your back, on a mattress on the floor with boxes piled up. Or was I just that good?”

He hummed and pretended to think about it. “How about all the above?”

The both of you laughed.

Once you'd both used the bathroom and had returned to your room Jack was still naked while you'd thrown on his shirt, drowning in the smell and feel of him. He'd never wished he was younger and could get it up quicker than in that moment.

You fell back down on your mattress, nodding and inviting Jack to lie down next to you. To stay the night. So, it wasn't that kind of one night stand. Good. He wanted it to be an every night stand.

Jack got down on your mattress but resigned himself to the bottom, slowly pulling apart your legs, taking his time like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do out in your living room.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “Jack, what are you doing?”

“Ssh,” he said, finding himself between your legs again. “We don't want noise complaints from the neighbours, already.”

Jack woke with his body like soup. His body was drifting in bliss, the sort one got after swimming all day, leaving limbs sleepy with exhaustion and the activities still sat in your bones.

His body ached with you. With the feel of your hands tugging at his hair as he had you coming on his tongue a second time, your hands on his chest as you moved on top of him.

He reached for you, finding an emptiness with nothing but the smell of you left on your pillows.

Jack inhaled sharply before he heard the shower turn off and door thrown open. A cloud of hot condensation and the scent of your shampoo hit him as you stepped out, wrapped in a towel.

Jack rolled over, peering at you through sleep. “Morning.”

“Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was hoping to let you sleep in for... like, ten minutes,” you said.

“Don't worry about it. I'm an early riser,” he said, checking his phone for the time. Half six in the morning. It wasn't technically a lie. He was up at this hour, finishing his shift. “First day at the job today?”

“Yes, and I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.”

Jack pushed himself up, finding his boxers. “You get ready. You want me to make some coffee? Providing you've un-packed it.”

You rose a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You trying to make a wife out of me, Jack?” you teased.

He smiled down at you when he stood, almost challenging.

“Coffee pots on the side, it was one of the first things I un-packed.”

Jack kissed your cheek before sleepily making his way through your place, manoeuvring with far less grace than lust had him moving the night before. He flicked on lights, started the coffee and took the extra couple minutes to peer into boxes that had been ripped open. There wasn't much, clothes, a couple trinkets and such. Text books that were so large and piled up he couldn't make one from the other.

He'd just caught a glimpse of you as a kid, hands in between two other people. One, a woman he assumed was your mother and the other he didn't get to see before he heard your trainers squeak on the floor and was backing up from the boxes.

He poured you a coffee and handed it to you, watching you take large gulps.

“Thanks. I'm sorry, I wouldn't usually do this but I really got to run,” you apologised.

“That's fine, I'll dress and I could give you a lift in?” he offered. “I'd really like to see you again.”

You smiled, cheeks popping. “Well, I'd really like that too. But you don't have to give me a lift in, I'll drive myself, otherwise I'd have no way of getting back.”

Jack was seconds away from offering to pick you up too. Any excuse to see you before he realised he was back on nights tonight. Would it even be plausible? To be able to spend more time with you?

He'd move heaven and earth to make it possible. He'd got his first sip of you and was addicted.

“Take your time,” you added. “Shower. Eat left over takeaway in my fridge. You can steal from me if you want but I warn you I have very little worth taking.”

Jack sighed playfully. “I'm sure I can think of something you'll miss. You have your phone?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You handed it to him, un-locking it first.

Jack typed in his number, adding his name as a contact and in brackets added- guy from bar/a good lay. Just in case you forgot. “You can call me when you want that tour of the place,” he said, as nonchalant as possible, wishing at once he'd slid his jeans on just to be able to slide his hands in the pockets.

You read what he saved himself as and laughed. “A good lay, you were a bit more than that, solider.” You slid your phone into your jacket pocket, hiding your inform or something underneath.

Jack smirked, leaning in. “Really?”

“Really.”

He leant in and kissed you. He wasn't forcing your mouth open, he wasn't grabbing at you although he wanted to do both. He knew, maybe more than most, the importance of getting to work on time. But he could almost imagine this was his life. Waking early to make you coffee and food, kissing you and sending you on the way to work. Coming home to find you waiting for him, his name laced on your lips.

“I really have to go,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Then go,” he said, kissing you again.

He walked you to the doors, quick kisses being shared, small touches he dared tempt himself with before you were fleeing, practically running away to not regret leaving.

Jack did take you up on your offer and had a very cold shower.

The rest of the day Jack thought about you, teased himself with you. He'd never felt so infatuated before. He returned to his place in the late afternoon after spending time just breathing your things in. His apartment felt shockingly empty, too neat even though Jack hadn't cleaned in a while. It didn't feel lived in, loved in. It was probably painfully obvious it was a bachelor pad.

However he didn't have to linger long. He showered again and dressed in scrubs, checking his phone once and finding a text from you.

I've been thinking, a good lay really doesn't cover it, a solid nine out of ten.

He smirked down at his phone, tutting.

Only a nine?

Your reply came almost instantly.

Well, there's always room for improvement.

I'll show you improvement. Maybe a nice dinner would get me to an 11/10?

Already got yourself a 9.5 solider :)

The smile that wasn't an emoji tugged at his heart strings.

Jack didn't know how he was supposed to take you to a dinner when he worked nights and your job was a day thing apparently but he'd work it out. You wouldn't have to worry a thing.

By the time he was clocking into work that evening he was so distracted in checking the best restaurants around (what had the best food, or the best views, which played nice music, which were expensive...) he was so distracted he didn't even notice he was in early.

“Brother!” Robby called, greeting him with a wide grin and hug.

Jack was slow in hugging him back. Hiding his phone in his back pocket from your texts before hugging him back, worry pulsing in his veins. A happy Robby always worried him. “Hey, you're cheerful.”

Robby pulled away, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Nobody die today?”

“No, two people dead.”

Jack frowned. “And we're happy about that?”

Dana called his name from the nurses station, urging him over.

Robby's hand was steady with a firm grip as he led Jack over. “Glad you could make it in early, there's actually someone I want you to meet.”

“Someone, huh?” Jack wondered if Robby had finally decided to ditch his seven week itch thing and maybe try seven months, maybe even get to a famous seven years. Had he been waiting till it was serious to introduce him to the special woman?

“Picked them up from the airport yesterday while you covered my day, thank you.”

Jack had only just dropped his back at the counter when your name was called.

And suddenly there you were- glancing up at Robby in a way that gave no shock to hear him call you.

You looked at Robby then found Jack.

Scrubs. You were in black scrubs just like him, a navy top underneath. Your hair was scraped back from this morning, showing the expanse of your neck that he remembered nipping and licking the night before. Your eyes were plain, expression dropped as you stared at him, feet carrying you over to Robby on autopilot.

Jack watched as Robby's hand laid on your shoulder like it was always meant to be there.

And I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.

Oh, god no.

“Jack, this is my daughter,” said Robby, saying your name with practised ease and a proud grin. “This is Jack Abbot, night attending. My best friend.”

Oh fuck, no.

One thing you hated was the fact your dad worked in the ER. Especially the ER in Pittsburgh that never seems to get a break.

You wait on a bench outside of the noisy hospital. Ambulances rolling in and out every now and then. Your hands are tucked away in your dad’s green coat. You sniffle as your nose runs from the cold. It grows numb at the cold breeze.

You didn’t mind waiting in the cold though.

Every time the sliding doors open you can’t help but glance up in hope it’s your dad. Each time it’s someone different; some familiar faces but it was never your dad.

The sliding doors open once more, your eyes flick up, and to your surprise it’s a more than familiar face.

"Dr. Abbot?" You say, almost like it was a question.

"You waiting up for your dad?"

You scoot over on the bench as he inches closer. He just has on black scrubs, a grey shirt under, and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck.

"Yeah." You kept your response short.

With a soft grunt he sits down next to you. He leans back a bit and his legs spread open slowly in a manspread you can’t help but notice.

Your eyes flick away quickly.

"Robby is going to be held up a bit tonight." His tone makes you worry. Your eyes flick to his.

"Should I be worried?" Something in your stomach twists.

"There was a car pile up on the freeway tonight. Some of the local hospitals computer systems went down, so they had to transfer them over." He explains.

"He’s been in there for almost twenty-four hours." You mumble.

"You know how your dad is, kiddo."

Kiddo.

"The sun is rising practically, and I see the night shift doctors going home." You point at the night shift doctor who has a Dunkin' drink with him everyday, leaving.

"I know you’re upset-"

"Upset? Yeah, I hardly get to see my dad because his second home is a hospital for crying out loud." You shout angrily.

Abbot seems taken aback at your frustration, but he understands. He places a hand on your knee and gives it a squeeze.

"I get your frustration — I do. Your dad just works hard," Abbot tries to defend your dad.

You shake your head, "But when do I get a say when I want to see my dad."

You squeeze your hands into a fist, they’re tucked away in the long sleeves of your dad’s coat. You feel the tears of frustration starting to rise in your eyes. You bite your lower lip to try to stop anything from escaping but it’s hard with the cold air smacking you in the face. A tear escapes and so does a hushed sniffle.

"Hey, hey, woah," Abbot turns to you and you refuse to look up at him. "These tears aren’t worth it."

He grabs your face and his calloused hand glides against your cheek. Your eyes flinch at the touch. His hands are surprisingly warm. His thumb brushes away a tear under your eye.

"How did you get here?" Abbot asks you.

"I took the bus." You sniffle.

"I’ll text Robby that I’m taking you home today, okay?" You feel your heart rate increase at the idea of being in Abbot’s truck, just you and him, going to your house.

You nod and wipe away the tears from your face, "Okay." You softly say.

The car ride felt like it was the longest car ride. The soft hum of the engine, and the smell of the cars heater blowing in your face. You can tell his truck is a little older. It is a nice rustic red, and it suits him. Everything Abbot has or does suits him.

He pulls into the driveway of you and your dad’s house. Your own car, a 2016 Volkswagen Beetle, which broke down on you about a month ago, sits peacefully next to his truck.

"You took the bus but you have your beetle?" He points to your red beetle.

"She broke down on me last month. I think something’s wrong with the transmission. Dad was supposed to take it to the shop last week, but he got busy."

As usual.

"I can always take it into the shop. I know a mechanic who could probably get her back up and running." You can’t help but smile.

"You’d do that?" Your eyes flick between his.

With a soft nod and a smile that you can’t help but stare at, "Of course. I’d do anything for you, kiddo."

Your heart skips a beat and you can feel your palms grow sweaty. Your stomach twists and turns like you have to throw up.

"You should come in," You blurt out.

Abbot looks surprised, "You want me to come in?"

"I mean, dad wouldn’t like you to not come in. You drove me here you must be hungry or thirsty or — something." You ramble a bit.

Abbot chuckles at you and shakes his head. He reaches for his key fob and turns off his truck.

"Okay, I’ll go inside." He rests his hands on his legs.

His black scrubs fit nicely on his body. It squeezes around his legs and his black shirt accentuates his biceps.

You guys get out of the truck and you take out your key. It’s on a keychain with a picture of you and your dad, a small stuffed bunny, and a red heart. The keys jingle and you fumble a bit trying to unlock your door. You can feel Abbot staring at the side of your face and at the lock.

Once you get the door open you are instantly greeted by your cat Cinnamon. She’s a smaller tabby cat, and she rubs against your legs. She doesn’t hesitate to go to Abbot next. Rubbing on his black scrubs; her fur clings to it.

He leans down to pick her up. He lays her on her back and she purrs loudly. He takes his middle and ring finger and begins to pet her gently in the stomach.

"Such a pretty girl," He hums and rubs her fur slowly.

You lick your lips and swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your eyes can’t help but focus on his veiny hands and the thickness of his two fingers rubbing your cat.

He sets her down and when he gets back up he softly groans.

You blink out of whatever fantasy you were playing in your head.

"Are you thirsty?" You ask and walk over to the kitchen.

"Coffee would be great," He nods.

"Coffee after doing the night shift?" You tease and he huffs as he sits down on your sofa.

"Coffee is like water to me now, kid."

"You realize I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid," You glare at him.

"I know, I know. I just like saying it," He smiles.

You put the pod of coffee into your Keurig. It begins to rumble as the water starts to heat up. You awkwardly stand in the kitchen not knowing if you should go over to the couch or not.

"Don’t be so uptight in your own home," You flinch at the husky voice and look over at Abbot.

He pats the cushion next to him and hesitantly you begin to walk over. You stand in front of him and his head tilts up to look at you. You sit down slowly next to him. You can feel his eyes on you; watching your every move.

You guys sit in silence, you can hear your heart beating loudly. You’ve been around Abbot many times but this one time you’re with him alone.

You notice him bringg his hand up, and it finds your leg. He places his hand on your leg and brings your chin over his lap.

You watch him.

He knows you’re watching.

He slides his hand up to your chin slowly — rubbing your skin. Shivers run up your spine at his warm hands caressing your legs.

He turns his head and his eyes lock with yours.

You swallow.

"Abbot," you say almost breathlessly.

"Yes?" His voice is deeper than before.

You lean in more, your butt pressing against his thigh. Your legs are now both over his lap, but you’re not sitting in his lap — yet.

"Keep going," you say. "Please."

His eyes flick between yours. Something new lights in them and you can tell he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

You lean in to his neck as he continues to stroke your legs. You get a smell of his musk that makes him smell more like a man. You place a soft kiss on his neck and his hand halts on your chin.

You pull away and look up at him.

"Kid," Abbot begins.

His hand reaches out for your cheek. His thumb traces your bottom lip as he holds your face. A breathy gasp escapes between your lips. You stare up at him; he licks his lips slowly. Before you left him finish his sentence you place your mouth on his. His breath gets caught in his throat, but he doesn’t fight the kiss. His mouth wanders yours; his tongue protruding the entrance to your mouth. Your tongues fight against each other.

You find yourself now straddling him. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, squeezing and pulling on his shirt. The more you two kiss, the more you want.

He breaks away from you. You’re both breathless and he stares into your eyes. You can feel your lips are swollen but you don’t mind.

"Kid, we shouldn’t have done that." He says.

"But I wanted it to happen," You whisper.

He tilts his head back a bit and you bite your lip. You inch towards his face again and he doesn’t mind. You place another soft kiss on his lips. You can feel the heat from his breath on your lips. His breath smells like peppermint, and you can’t help but crave it.

Your tongue glides along the bottom of his lip, and slowly you rock your hips forward. With the movement of your hips you can hear him grunt in your mouth.

Everything around you disappears. All you can focus on is the feeling of your pussy slowly grinding against his growing hard on, and the way his breathing grows erratic against your mouth.

"Fuck," He groans.

He stared at you intensely through hooded eyes. You rock your hips and a shot of pleasure shoots through you.

You lean forward a bit and your head meets his muscular shoulder. His hand slides into your hair and the fingers that were once petting your cat were now racking through your hair.

You let out a muffled moan into his shoulder at the feeling of your cunt grinding and his hand roughly playing in your hair.

"Keep going," He encourages through a groan.

You press down harder and roll your hips. Your breath hitches softly.

"Yeah," He breathes. "Just like that."

You moan again at his words.

"What would your dad think?" He whispers. "Him coming home and seeing his daughter grinding against his friend, huh?"

You whimper in response.

You lean back and look at him. Your chest heaves up and down.

"I want more," You gasp. "Jack, please."

"Jack, hm?" He moves his hands down onto your thighs and up to your hips.

He squeezes and massages them slowly.

"What more do you want?" He asks.

"Touch me, anything, please." You beg.

"Touch you?" His hand slides closer to the button of your jeans.

He rubs his finger around the button. You watch the way his index finger slowly does circles on the piece of metal. You feel yourself pulsing at the idea of his fingers doing that to you.

He unbuttons the button and glides down the zipper. He can see your pink lace underwear you’re wearing. His thumb glides against the silky underwear and he looks up at you — looking for an answer.

"Please," you beg. "Touch me."

Without anymore hesitation he slides his hand inside of your underwear. You let out a mixture of a gasp and a moan as his index finger slides up your wet folds and runs over your clit, slowly. You rub is back and forth in a slowly flicking motion. You moan and tilt your head back a bit and rock your hips forward.

"You think you can take my fingers?" He wraps his free hand around your neck and tilts your head back to look at him.

You bob your head and he gives a smirk.

Slowly he pushes between your folds and slides his index finger inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling of his finger going in. A mixture of pain and pleasure rush over you. His index finger slides in and out slowly but his thumb finds its way down back to your clit. In a motion you fingers you and rubs circles on your clit.

"Look at that," he hums. "Such a good girl."

You moan loudly at the way he’s treating you and the words he speaks. You can feel the nerves bundling up and the pleasure becoming intense on you.

"Oh God," You whimper. "I’m going to cum." You moan out.

"It’s okay," He reassures. "I got you; cum for me."

With those words, it felt like an explosion hit you. Your body trembles as you reach your climax and you let out a loud moan. You bite your lip and collapse onto his shoulder once again. He pumps his finger slower inside of you until all that’s left is your body twitching.

You sit up and catch your breath. You two are both breathless and you can’t help but smile. Jack cracks a smile back at you.

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing gets out as you both hear the sound of keys entering the front doors lock.

You jump off Jack’s lap and zip up your jeans. You quickly tuck your hair behind your ears and glance at Jack once more. You notice him adjust his dick in his scrubs before the door opens.

"Hi dad," You blurt out.

"Hey sweetie," Robby sets down the keys in the bowl by your door and he walks over and kisses your forehead. "Sorry I’m home so late."

"It’s fine," you say. "Dr. Abbot kept me company."

You turn your head and smile at Abbot.