addie mae

Not much thought comes into it, not used to wearing them if not in the comfort of your home late at night but simply a necessity now. You don't not use them for thinking that they look bad, but because they used to bother you more than help you and now you've simply gotten used to the contacts.

Once you arrive at the bullpen, you're only five minutes late and don't seem to be the last one arriving. You let that be a victory.

With your morning drink close by, you finally start working on the mountain of files pilling up at your desk.

"Good morning." You're only half an hour in when the familiar voice sounds behind you, steps sounding closer as Aaron comes to stand beside your chair.

"Hey." You greet back, leaning your head to look up at him.

"I don't mean to put even more in your plate but i really need you to fill these out." It's only now that he looks away from the papers and at you, eyes widening for one second in surprise.

You try to ignore it, though it settles something in you. It's a strict rule that have to act professional around each other at work — all an atempt to not have Strauss ripping your heads off.

"No problem." You take the files from his hands with a polite smile, setting them in front of you to start working on them.

Aaron lingers on his spot, clearing his throat. "You're wearing glasses."

“I am.” You state carefully, not sure where he’s getting at. Though you find yourself shifting on your seat a little subconsciously.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so dumbfounded.

“Since when?” His eyebrows are furrowed as if wondering if he’s missed this trait, sweet Aaron.

“Always?” You say with confusion, “I just usually wear contacts. Was a bit late today and forgot them.”

Your boyfriend nods at your explanation, eyes still fixated on you with concentration as you feel your skin grow hot under his gaze.

“You look good.” His words are gentle as he speaks after a moment.

His hand comes to tug a little on his tie — something you’ve noticed he does when nervous. It’s hard to believe you’d be the one to make him nervous.

“Thank you.” You answer just as soft, a little like a question.

It didn’t cross your mind that he’d never seen you with your glasses when you put them on earlier. But you suppose his reaction makes up for it.

Aaron’s lips pull into a small, “Anytime, honey.” Even lower than before. And then he’s walking back into his office like he didn’t leave you melting.

You almost forget about it as you distract yourself with work, getting up from your chair once you’re done and knocking on the door to Hotch’s office.

Once you’re given the green light to come in, you slip inside and close the door behind you before heading to his desk.

“Here you go.” You leave the files on it, moving to get back outside.

But before you can reach the door, you feel his hand catch your wrist. A gasp leaves your lips as he turns you around and presses his own to them in a hard kiss.

Aaron’s hand are on your face as he kisses you, a sight escaping his nose as he gets the first taste of you in the day. Instinctively your hands come to rest on his arm, fingers slightly gripping his button up.

He tastes of coffee with a mix of the mints he always has while working. The bump of his nose against the rim of your glasses has him pulling you closer, one hand moving to your waist to help with doing so.

You let your own hand wonder to his shoulder, feeling the muscles relax under your fingers as you softly massage them.

“You’re driving me crazy, sweet girl.” He mumbles after pulling way, lips still dangerously close to yours.

“What?” You giggle with curiosity.

To prove his point, you feel his fingers tap the rim of your glasses with care. “These are the reason.”

Your heart thumps furiously, shy grin on your lips as you keep him close. “You like them?”

“Love them.” Aaron corrects with an arm tightening around your waist, eyes set on every detail of your face.

“Not too nerdy?” You muse, mostly teasing compliments out of him.

“Just enough.” He reassures nevertheless, lips to your cheek for a sweet peck. “So pretty.”

You squeeze his elbow in return, not surprised when his lips chase you for another kiss. Not that you can complain, relished by the attention.

This one is softer, as if he knows you should get back soon and not wanting to get himself worked up.

“Wear them to our date tonight.” He practically begs, lips shiny from you.

“Pervert.” Your joke earns a grin from him.

“Can’t help it when it comes to you.” Aaron says with honesty. His grip loosens, mouth pressed to your temple.

“Pervert and corny. Wow, Hotchner.” You snort, hitting his chest with your pointer finger.

He catches it with ease, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss there before reaching to adjust your slightly crooked glasses. “There.”

Your stomach drops, and you’re like Jack in letting the fear overtake you enough that you almost forget you’re at the cash register. 

“Cute baby.”

The cashier smiles at you. Your hands tighten on the stroller. “Thank you.”

“She’s got perfect cheeks.”

“Yes, she does.” It’s true, and as her mother, you have every right to talk about her perfect, fat cheeks until the sun explodes.

“I'm very proud of them.”

But you’re too busy trying to convince yourself that you’re a little crazy. It’s a small store. People are allowed to buy only one thing, and awkward moments where your glance catches someone else’s happen all the time. 

By the time you look back to where the stranger was checking out, he’s gone. By the time you get to the parking lot, you’ve convinced yourself that you are ridiculous. Your nervous system has just been heightened by the beauty of motherhood.

There’s a beauty in that, even if it’s the reason you’ve been googling ‘is my baby choking or discovering she has saliva?’ recently. You have to find the silver linings. 

You load the bags and buckle Chubby in. You get behind the wheel. 

Your stomach turns when you see the man in denim near the cart return area, and you don’t think it’s your fear clocking that he’s watching you. 

But you don’t…you don’t panic. You see no need to peel out or to call Jack, because that would mean him asking a million questions that could turn a relatively good day cold.

If you were to even just slightly mention being uncomfortable because a weird man has decided to stare at you, he’d probably abandon his shift, and that would mean probably abandoning a patient. Poor, hypothetical patient. 

Calling or texting him your worries wouldn’t do anything but give a gruff n’ tough fear to a beautiful, thick, freckled body.

Yeah, let’s make it about it being for Jack’s sake instead of yours. That’s much easier. 

The park’s for kids, but it really does calm you down. Compare that to Chubby, who might excite herself in the swings so much that it’s not going to be hard to put her down for her nap later.

You press your mouth into the warm, sweet smell of your daughter’s hair. Inhaling all her sweetness is enough to cancel the sourness crawling along your nerves, and you’re just so, so enamoured by the squeaky-bellied laughs she gives every time you push her.

You hope it’ll always be this easy to entertain her.

“Are you having fun, my little tax deduction?”

Chubby kicks both feet, and your smile drops when you see that one is only socked. 

“Where did your shoe go?”

Just as she grins suspiciously proud with her gums, you look past the swing set to see a car you’re not supposed to recognize.

You don’t know why you do. It’s not like recognition in the way of seeing something you’ve seen 1,000 times before.

It’s an older, dark car. You don’t know how long it’s been parked. It gives you nothing as you watch it for ten to fifteen seconds. The windshield’s reflecting a blur, you’re not even sure if there’s anyone inside. 

..But you’re sure you’re recognizing it in the way of recognizing something you’ve just seen. 

You’re scaring yourself, but pretending it’s nothing won’t stop you from being scared. Time to go home. 

The thought comes with Jack’s voice, except Jackie would never tell you you’re scaring yourself. You take Chubby out of the swing, cooing when she fusses and not giving a damn about finding her shoes. Her dad would buy her every pair if she wanted. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. We gotta go.”

You drive home while checking the rearview mirror more times than you can count, but even as every dark car becomes that one, you’re selfish in the safety you feel as you walk through the door, past the plants you keep forgetting to water.

At least Jack keeps watering them without comment. He’s against plant murder. You can only try to be.

The camera Jack installed when Chubby was born watches you go inside. You remember rolling your eyes when he kept lecturing you on home invasions and the statistically unlikely but not impossible chance of some “freaky fuck” trying to get near you while he’s not home. 

You’re certainly not rolling them now, are you?

You lock the door. Then the deadbolt. Then the chain. You set your chubby baby down in her playpen, and you can’t even give a shit about the way your hands tremble once you’re not holding her.

Your phone buzzes. It’s Jack. 

You home?

You text back.

yes ❤️all good. Chubs kept kicking off her shoes in public and i think she's taken to trying to do the same with her socks

The dots appear immediately.

Send proof of life.

You laugh despite the day. You're home. You're safe. The both of you are safe.

You enter the playpen to take a picture of Chubby on her back, both fists around her bare foot. She looks innocent, like she's never committed the crime of wasting shoes in her life.

You send it. Jack answers immediately. Duh.

Sockless and disgraceful. That's my girl. You okay?

...You know what? For the sake of you both, you can take to half-truths.

yeah, just tired.

Eat something.

You smile faintly and look down to find your daughter has managed to take off her other sock.

You hunch over to kiss her baby belly.

"I think your dada's teaching me how to be a worry wart, are you gonna grow up to be a worry wart---"

A knock on the door interrupts your tease.

You nearly drop your phone as Chubby startles. After she decides to not care, she blinks up at you with mild interest. You do not move.

The knock comes again.

"Ma'am?"

It's the voice of a man through the door.

Your blood goes as frozen as you are.

...He sounds polite.

"...Yes?"

You try putting on your nurse voice, but it's cracked.

"Sorry to bother you, but I think you dropped something. At the park. Your baby dropped something. I didn't want you to lose it."

You slap your hand to your mouth.

Oh. What the fuck? What the actual hell?

You think you might black out, everything within your line of sight stretches and blurs with the beat of your heart harsh against your bones.

"...What is it?"

"A shoe."

At that, your heart just might lurch out of you and turn you into a screaming mess.

"I---thank you," You can hear yourself becoming smaller, even though you want to ask him if he followed you all the fucking way home to give you your daughter's shoe. "You can leave it where you now."

Being harmless might make this situation easier. Maybe not. Maybe you should scream at him to leave. Maybe you should call the police.

But you don't know how many windows are locked, and making him angry might make him want to figure it out.

“I don’t want it to blow away. It's pretty windy. I can hand it to you.”

“It won’t. Please, leave.”

Leave, weirdass! Leave---

You almost drop your phone when it buzzes again. Again.

What’s going on?

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard as the man knocks again.

“You there?”

You type fast.

Nothing

...Jack's reply comes so impossibly quickly that it feels more like his fingers pinching the back of your neck than an actual text.

Nothing is the man at the door?

You freeze. Again.

Move away from the door. Now.

...You had forgotten that he'd be able to see everything through the app on his phone, the one linked to all the cameras around the house. He can see the man.

He can see your lie.

And you practically jump when you hear his voice come through the speaker outside. It's low, rough in the gravel of his beautiful throat. Too calm.

“Step away from the door and leave.”

You can hear a scuffle outside, maybe the man shuffling back as he gives a nervous laugh.

"I'm just returning something. She dropped---"

"No."

Jack's decided not to yell or get loud, which is worse. You hate the voice he uses when he doesn't want to ask people for compliance more than once. It's usually with residents. Or drunk patients.

It's funnier with them.

You can hear scraping against the porch.

“Look, man, I was just trying to help.”

“You followed my wife to my house? How else would you have my daughter's shoe?”

“I didn’t follow her.”

The man sounds genuine, at least. Like, he actually believes that. You imagine Jack at the hospital, his shoulders high and tight, and face emptied out to let rage in. He's watching the camera feed, the man with Chubby's little shoe in his hand.

...But Jack, seeing that, calling him out on that, tells you he does have her shoe. Isn't that a perfect excuse to stalk you for miles?

“...You’re on camera, fucker. Leave."

Jack's voice puts the chill in you. Chubby starts fussing.

You back away from the door and hurry to the playpen, scooping her up. She's offended by the suddenness and tells you that with another fuss, but she just presses her warm cheek against your collarbone.

Not afraid like you, thank God.

Your phone rings. Jack's name flashes on the screen. You answer instantly.

"Jack—"

"Bedroom. Lock the door."

"Jack, I’m sorry—"

His voice is now in your ear. You can hear his clipped breath.

"Bedroom. Lock it. Take the baby."

"I have her."

You hear him swallow.

"Good. Good girl. Go."

You move down the hall with Chubby clutched to your chest. She grabs a fistful of your shirt and chews on the neckline.

You get into the bedroom and scramble to lock the door.

"I'm in the bedroom, it's locked. Is he gone?"

You can hear movement on Jack's end now, the sound of the Pitt before a demand leaves him, away from the phone and controlled.

"Robby. Take my rooms." A pause, a muffle. "No, I’m not asking. I'm supposed to be leaving here, anyway."

A muffled, distant voice sounds out. Robby, probably. The sound of footsteps, Jack's, are what become the forefront of noise.

"There’s a man at my house. I have to go."

"Jack, I’m locked in. He’s probably gone. You can't just leave. I'll call the police if you want---"

Jack's voice drops when he decides he's having none of your excuses.

"You lied to me."

You feel your spit caught in your throat. Chubby nuzzles.

"You were scared, and you lied to me."

"I didn’t want you to---"

"What?" ...He's snapping. "To know? React like anyone would? Come home? Keep you alive? Pick one."

Your throat might close up on you. It makes for the rushing silence that sits between you and him, just until you hear him inhale.

"Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not---kid, I’m not mad at you. I'm just out of my fucking mind."

His apology comes out angry, really. Ironic. Like he can still find ways to be mad at himself in this situation.

"I saw him at the store, then I thought--I thought I saw his car at the park. But I didn't know. I didn't want to be dramatic---"

"You saw him at the store. And at the park. And you came home?"

...Jack might as well be swallowing the knives in the kitchen with how he sounds. You stutter things that are barely words, bouncing Chubby.

"I didn’t know what else to do, Jack."

I did. But I didn't want to deal with this on top of everything else.

"You call me!"

"I didn’t want you to scare me more!"

That's your and Jack's talent. Escalating. You regret your words when the lines go quiet.

When Jack's voice returns, it sounds stripped. It's quiet, and you'd rather he'd yell like he just did.

"Yeah. Okay. That makes sense."

"...Did I hurt you?"

There's a breath with a hmph. That's an answer enough. You hold in your breath, only letting it go against Chubby's hair.

"You did. And that doesn’t matter right now. Stay where you are. I'm going to hang up to call the police. I'll be there soon, Sleepy."

Jack hangs up. You start crying then, and your baby lifts her head and stares at you with confusion, even more offended than before.

You don't know how long you cry, but you're finished when Jack's truck tears into the driveway. He gets home before the police do. The distance between here and the Pitt...him getting home so quickly shouldn't be possible.

But shouldn't be one to not believe in him.

The front door opens, and you think it's okay to disobey his demand and leave the bedroom.

You find him pale with a jaw locked down so hard that you want to tease him and tell him that he's going to eat his lip. He looks at you, then at Chubby, then at every window in the room.

Chubby lights up.

"Da bah bahhhhh!"

He crosses the room, and you want this to be something you can tease later so badly, even though you're sputtering and reaching for him, because he looks like he could be called Dr. Violence right about now. Violence got himself a medical degree and scrubs and beautiful, silver hair.

Dr. Violence. Papa Bear. Jackie.

"Jack."

His arms come around you and your baby. One hand cradles the back of your head as you instantly fall into his stern, stoic body. He holds you too tightly. Never too tightly. Never tight enough.

"I’m sorry I lied."

He slips his fingers to your neck, squeezing there with the rough tumble of his voice against your skin.

"Don’t apologize yet. I’m deciding how mad I’m allowed to be without becoming fucked about this.”

Call the progress, baby. He's trying.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

"You’re shaking."

"I watched a man stand on my porch with our daughter’s shoe in his hand. It's there. I can't touch it. I need to...I need to check the locks. The police should be here soon."

"Jack...let's just...let's just talk about this---"

"I need to check the locks. And the windows. And I'm getting more cameras tomorrow. And motion lights. I don't know why I didn't get motion lights before. That fucking...that fucking bastard. You don’t know what it was like seeing him there and knowing you told me nothing. Knowing there was a whole day of you being afraid that I wasn’t inside. I wasn’t there. I didn’t know. I didn’t---"

"Jack, let's get you sitting down---"

"You’re not going anywhere alone for a while."

...You should've guessed that's what would be the answer to this at some point. You swallow, voice softening carefully.

"We can talk about that."

Jack blinks. He rubs your neck. He only looks slightly helpless when he glances at Chubby.

He kisses her perfect, tubby cheek.

They were filled with fireworks injuries, drunk men staring at the space where their fingers used to be, children flushed and trembling, forgotten in the heat by their distracted parents and other heatstroke victims collapsing on sidewalks. It was always the same bunch of disasters.

But this one…

This one was the worst fourth of July since you became a nurse. Louie had died. The word still felt wrong in your mouth, dead, dead, dead. The bed where he should have been had been stripped, disinfected, remade and a new patient had been rolled in within half an hour. The sound of his laugh had been replaced by someone else’s breathing, someone else’s pain. Someone who wasn’t Louie.

The world hadn’t paused to let you grief.

And Langdon came back. You had rehearsed apologies in your head since the beginning of the shift (long before that if you were honest to yourself). I’m sorry Lang. Sorry that you think that our friendship existed until your situation became serious. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls. That I didn’t call back. We were friends. We still are, if you accept. I’m the one who failed you. But when he stood there in front of you, the words refused to surface. There was always a patient waiting, something more urgent than your own guilt.

And as if all of that was not enough, the department had been gifted Oglivie. You were fairly certain that this guy was the incarnation of Satan on earth, sent to test the limits of everyone’s patience and to destroy all of you, Dennis first.

So yes, you fucking hated fourth of July shifts.

And it was only just noon.

──────────

You were halfway through inserting an IV into someone’s arm in the hallway (because of course, there were no beds left) when Robby appeared beside you, waiting for you to finish and standing there, hands in his jacket’s pockets. That never meant anything good. It reminded you too much of the day he told you about the pills in Langdon’s locker. Of the day he told you he was going to leave for three months away on his motorcycle like it was casual and not something that made you and Jack consider slashing the tires.

“What?” you asked, tone clipped, still focused on the vein.

“You’re going to hear this from someone, kid,” he said quietly. “So I’d rather it be me.”

Your stomach dropped before your brain could catch up, a sickening sensation spreading through your body, like his words had pulled all the warmth out of your blood at once. Robby must have seen you pale, because he immediately added:

“Jack’s fine, but…”

Your pulse felt like detonation in your ears. “But what?”

“There was a call from his SWAT team,” Robby said, choosing his words carefully as you finished securing the IV. “Some shots were fired in a house and he brought one of them in. Pretty bad shape but he’s gonna make it.”

“Is he hurt?” you asked, trying to stay controlled, professional.

“Minor. Something near his shoulder, but…he wouldn’t let anyone look at it until his guy was stabilized.”

Of course he didn’t. Of course Jack Abbot fucking didn’t.

Your hands dropped from the patient’s arm, finally turning fully toward your attending.

I want to see him Robby. I need to. I have to make sure he’s okay.

“Where is he?” you questioned instead.

“Trauma five.”

You nodded once, with a muttered “Thanks Robby,” before walking toward there, stripping off the gloves you were still wearing and tossing them into the nearest bin.

You didn’t run. No, worse: you couldn’t run. Running was for codes, meaning that someone was dying. Jack is not coding, Jack is okay, he is fine, that’s what Robby says. That it’s minor. Minor. Fuck, how I hate that word. Minor compared to what? To a body bag?

Your throat tightened as you continued to walk, each step feeling too heavy, like the floor was trying to swallow your legs. You forced your breathing to steady. Inhale. Exhale.

If he were critical, Dana would have made sure the code could be heard by everyone in the hospital. If he were unstable, Princess would have ran up to me. If he were dying…No.

Your hand brushed the wall as you turned the corner towards the room, your fingertips against the cold surface to ground yourself, to confirm that the building was still solid beneath your fingers.

You had to get in there and confirm with your own eyes that he was still breathing and alive, because you couldn’t survive being the one standing in a room and hear Robby say, ‘We did everything we could,’ knowing that Jack’s bed would soon get stripped, disinfected and remade.

You pulled the curtain open and for one brief suspended second, your heart stopped. Not because of what was there, but what could have been there.

It was him. Just him, sitting on the edge of the bed, still entirely dressed up and his hands braced on his knees like he had been waiting, waiting for me? He looked up the second the curtain moved, his hazel eyes locking onto yours.

He is here. Alive. Breathing. He is not being open on a table, not flatlining. I am not gonna see him being zipped into a body bag today.

You stepped inside, closing the curtain behind you, sealing the two of you away from the loud noises of the ER even just for a few minutes.

“Take it off,” you ordered, refusing to let any weakness slip into your voice.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“The vest, the shirt. Don’t make me repeat myself, Jack.”

A faint corner of his mouth twitched despite the circumstances. “Yes, ma’am.”

He reached for the straps first, his movements slowed by the adrenaline leaving his system, the vest ending up on the chair with a heavy thud. Then, he caught the hem of his black shirt and pulled it over his head.

Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare.

His chest was broad, muscles still defined from his years as a soldier and maintained by the whole SWAT ordeal and…fucking tanned, is that what happens when you do the night shift? You get to know what it’s like to feel the sun on your face?

You stepped behind him, checking the aspect of the wound among the lighter scratches. “Don’t move.”

“I wasn’t planning to, specially if you have scalpels nearby. Wouldn’t want to scrape this body.”

You pulled on fresh gloves, rolling your eyes. Up close, you realized that it was shallow: a long red abrasion near the shoulder blade and no blood pouring out of it. That meant no need for stitches, just cleaning, disinfecting, patching and giving a few instructions that Jack would absolutely ignore.

“You’re lucky,” you muttered, pouring saline slowly over the wound, running down his back in thin rivulets and washing away the dried blood.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Funny.”

You focused on the scrape, on dragging the gauze carefully over the torn skin and pressing it down firmly, that’s what I know by heart, to care and to heal, I could do this in my sleep: pressure, clean, protect. if only everything were that simple.

“How’s the officer?” you asked after a moment, forcing your voice to settle into a normal conversation rather than speaking about the abyss of desperation you had spiraled into all the way up to this room.

“Stable,” he replied. “The bullet entered through the neck but I intubated him on scene and I don’t think there’ll be major damage.”

Your fingers paused briefly before resuming. “That’s…that’s good.”

“It is. Officer Hiro is a good man.”

You taped the dressing down carefully, smoothing the edges with your fingertips longer than would be necessary.

“There,” you breathed, stepping back in front of him. “You’ll live.”

That was when the feeling hit you again. The fear. The images of what could have been: the version of this room where he wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bed, the version where you were outside the curtain, listening - or worse, inside it, handing the instruments to Robby, checking the vitals, bringing the defibrillator closer, hearing yourself ask ‘time of death?’ like it wasn’t also yours. The version where you promised everything you had if they would just let him stay, the one where you followed the casket down into Earth because if his body went still, you were certain that something in yours would stop answering too.

He saw it. You didn’t know how, maybe something in your face had shifted or maybe he noticed that you weren’t entirely there, your focus still somewhere past him and the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, but you couldn’t reply.

You were still in that other version of the room, I need another blood bag, clear, we’re losing him, time of death?

His hand came up slowly, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. “Sunshine.”

That pulled you back enough, your throat trying to swallow a thick ache that wouldn’t quite pass. Without a word, he guided your hand until your palm pressed flat against his chest. Right over his heart, where you felt it immediately: the steady rhythm, the most perfect, fucking stubborn cycle of thuds you ever heard.

He covered your hand with his, keeping them both there, where each beat was dragging you further and further away from the other room, he’s not flatlining, he’s okay, I won’t have to hear silence where his heart should be.

“Still here, okay?” he murmured carefully.

“Don’t…Jack,” you sniffled.

He rose slowly from the edge of the bed, not letting your hand slip from his chest as he stood, leaning forward to rest his forehead gently against yours while his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a repetitive motion. “I’m here,” he said again.

“I know,” you whispered, trying to calm your uneven breaths, to focus on the brush of his breath against your skin and the unmistakable sounds beneath your palms, alive, alive, alive, the word pulsing with each heartbeat.

After a few moments of quiet, he smiled. “I liked this morning.”

You let out a disbelieving breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“I’m very serious,” he replied, pulling back just enough to properly look at you before continuing, softer, “I was in the ambulance and all I could think about was how nice it had been to wake up next to you.”

You blinked at him. “While you were holding pressure on someone’s neck?”

“I can multitask,” he shrugged with the smallest smug smile at the corner of his lips before brushing a loose strand of hair away with the back of his fingers. “And I also thought about last night.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. “Jack.”

“And about…” he murmured, his fingers trailing from your hair to the nape of your neck, his thumb lingering just under your ear, “how I had to keep my shirt on until it was you checking me. Wouldn’t want to explain to Robby how I got those little marks and how his very professional and very sweet nurse is absolutely not that sweet in the sheets.”

Your eyes widened.

He tilted his head slightly, studying the way the redness spread along your neck, his gaze dragging slowing over your face. “But more like…” he continued, voice dropping lower, “a feral cat with very sharp claws.”

You swatted his arm, mortified and glancing toward the curtain. “You’re insufferable!”

“What?” he asked innocently, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“You cannot say things like that in here!” you grumbled.

“Well…you’re the one who started, telling me to take my clothes off the second you walked in.”

“That was on a purely profe-”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, closing the small space between you, his lips finding yours as his hand moved from your neck to cradle the side of your face, thumb slowly caressing your cheek and silencing the whole ER. You felt the exhale he released into the kiss, almost a sigh as your hand moved from his heartbeat to cling on his shoulder.

When he finally pulled back, he kept his forehead close to yours.

“You were saying?”

You blinked at him, words gone entirely from your tingling lips, like he had just wiped your mind clean.

“That it was…purely professional?” he supplied, his smugness slipping back into his tone now that he seemed to understand that the sadness in your eyes had eased.

“Yes,” you replied, clearing your throat. “Exactly. And…anyone could walk in here.”

You stepped back a little, smoothing down the front of your scrub top while he looked at you, one eyebrow slightly lifted.

“Sunshine.”

“I’m serious,” you insisted, lowering your voice. “We’re not…official to the service. And we,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “are not a public spectacle for our colleagues. Between HR who will become a nightmare, Zidan who will start betting pools about how long this lasts and Princess and Perlah sharing it to the whole department before…”

He sat back on the bed, arms folding across his bare chest, looking way too amused as he watched you unravel, which would definitely be easier if he could just put. a shirt. on. seriously, is that too much to ask? there really is no god above or at least none who has mercy on you.

“You can’t just…” you waved your hand, frustrated, “do this in the middle of a trauma bay.”

“Do what?” he asked mildly.

“This!” You gestured again, to his torso.

He glanced down at himself, then back up at you. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Put a shirt on!”

“I thought you liked the view,” he smirked. “Isn’t it what you begged for last night?”

You closed your eyes, sighing. “Where is your shirt?”

“Took a spare in my locker. It’s on the chair.”

You turned towards the corner where the vest had been dropped, the spare shirt folded neatly with it.

“You could have put this on when I finished the bandage,” you muttered, grabbing it.

“I was enjoying the lecture.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, before handing it to him, earning a “Thanks ma’am” as he, careful of the fresh dressing, pulled it over his head.

You gave him a once over, folding your arms, am I…starting to act like him? is that what’s happening? is this how it works? the more time you spend with someone the more you become insufferable like them?

“Better.”

“Disappointed?” he asked lightly.

“Oh immensely, Doctor Abbot,” you replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes okay, no, I’m definitely starting to sound like him, no wonder Dana and Robby are looking at me like I’ve been body-snatched. “How will I survive without the view?”

“I’ll file a complaint to the HR,” he smirked. “What an unacceptable loss of morale from a nurse to an attending.”

“You…” you sighed, stepping closer to adjust the collar of his shirt. “You are a nightmare, you know that?”

“And yet you keep me.”

You inhaled through your nose, trying very hard not to smile. “That is still under review.”

His grin widened as you continued: “Now, stay sit on the bed. Ten minutes. I want to make sure that you don’t get dizzy.”

“Noted.”

“And no more comments about last night in here.”

“Also noted.”

“And keep down the…smirking,” you finished, pointing at his face.

“That one might be more difficult to control.”

“Try.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You folded your arms, giving him a stern look that most definitely betrayed your fondness, hey you know what? let’s have sex Jack. like…right now, on this gurney, in a room where I thought I’d find you dead. no, I’m not insane, just very grateful that you are alive.

 “Good. Now if you don’t mind Doctor Abbot, I have other patients to check on.”

He gave you a slow, exaggerated nod. “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of monopolizing such…invaluable hands.”

You stared at him. “I should be the one complaining to HR.”

He pressed his lips together, though the amusement was still written all over his face.

You turned toward the curtain but paused with your hand on the edge of it, staring at the thin strip of hallway visible through the gap.

“Jack?”

He looked up immediately, all smugness and teasing gone from his voice at the tone of yours. “Yes?”

You didn’t turn fully back around, cause if you did, you were fairly certain that the words would spill out of your mouth without your permission.

“I…” you stopped and tried again. “I wanted you to know that I…”

“Hey.”

The softness in his voice made you finally look at him: he had stood up again and stepped closer, his fingers wrapping delicately around your wrist before lifting it up and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of it. “You don’t need to,” he whispered gently. “We have time, you and I. And you don’t have to tell me today, not if it’s because you were scared, okay?”

You nodded, a quiet, “Okay,” slipping out.

“Now go,” he added, brushing his thumb over your pulse once last time. “Before someone wonders why you’ve been gone this long for a graze on the back of an attending doctor.”

You huffed a breath, pulling the curtain open. “As long as you stay exactly where I left you. Which is on the bed. For still…” you glanced at an imaginary watch on your wrist, “…six more minutes. Five, if you promise to behave.”

“Then it will be six.”

A horn split the air from behind you and you jerked your head back to the front and saw the green light, "Fuck—Alright, alright!"

Your knee shook the entire rest of the way to the hospital and once you were parked, your hands were so shaky as you tried to open the envelope you immediately received a paper cut. But the pain was nothing compared to the agony that you felt ripple through your chest as your eyes traveled over the invitation, gold and pink glitter floating around the car onto your scrubs.

After staring at the piece of cardstock in your hand for too long, you felt your phone vibrate. Blinking rapidly you pulled it out to see a text from Jack Abbot: You good?

Your eyes traveled to the time at the top of your screen to see you were nearly five minutes late to the start of shift. Normally you walked through those doors at least fifteen minutes early. He was clearly showing heroic levels of restraint by waiting until you were several minutes late to contact you.

Sorry, running late. Be there in 5. You texted back hurriedly and were rewarded five seconds later with a thumbs up reaction.

Taking in a shaky breath, you closed out of your messages app to dial your mom.

She picked up after the second ring, "Hey, honey, everything okay? Thought you worked tonight."

"Has Maya lost her fucking mind?"

Your mom was quiet for a few moments, "…So you got the wedding invitation then?"

"I'm not going," You said, angry tears already burning the backs of your eyes, "and to top it all off, she's getting married at the exact fucking venue I wanted to get married at but David and I couldn't afford it at the time. She knew that, she fucking knew it was my dream wedding—"

"I know, baby," your mom said sympathetically, "I don't expect you to come."

"Why would she do this?" You asked, and finally, the anger evaporated from your voice, replaced with the pure devastation, "I mean, she already fucking won, what else does she want? Having my husband and my dream wedding isn't enough for her? She needs to humiliate me in front of everyone we know as well?"

"I don't think she's doing it to hurt you," your mom said quietly, "believe it or not, I think she just wants her big sister at her wedding. She misses you."

You laughed humorlessly, straightening your shoulders in an attempt to rid your body of the despair that now saturated it, "She should have thought about that before she fucked my husband."

Your mother sighed on the other line, "I told her that you'd react like this, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"You think I'm being unreasonable?" You snapped.

"Of course I don't," She said firmly, "and you know that. You know exactly how I feel about this whole thing and so does she. It's a goddamn shame. And if she ever wants to fix things with you she'll probably have to wait until she's divorced or that son of a bitch is dead."

You snorted at that and your mother, normally a perfectly poised saint, rushed in to damage control, "Sorry, I didn't mean that, I actually think his mother's a sweet lady."

You swiped at a tear and sniffled, "Yeah, she is. Thank you for listening to me scream and cry again, but I have to go to work now, I'm late."

"Anytime, kiddo. I love you."

As you hung up, you saw another text from Abbot come in: Come find me when you get here.

You sighed, "shit."

As senior resident, you had a pretty close relationship with your attending. Professionally, anyway. But you being late was out of character for you and Jack Abbot was perceptive. He'd want to get to the bottom of whatever was wrong and no matter how you tried to deflect, you knew he'd persist.

But that wouldn't stop you from trying.

"Hey hun," Lena peered at you over the rim of her glasses as you approached the hub, "you alright?"

"Yeah, just overslept." You forced a smile, "You know where I can find Abbot?"

She directed you over towards the beds in north where you found Abbot discussing a treatment plan with Ellis outside a patient's room. When he saw you, he gestured for you wait a second while he finished up with Ellis. Once she walked off, he gestured for you to follow him.

You fell into step beside him as you walked around the ER, "Everything okay with you?" he asked.

"Yes."

You'd arrived back at the hub and Jack turned fully to you, hazel eyes laser focused on you. You hated this about him, how he demanded your eyes on his at all times so he could properly assess you, as if you were a patient in need of fixing.

"That's it?"

You shrugged, "Yes."

He tilted his head slightly, "In the entire time you've been on my shift, you've never been late. Not even once."

"Yeah," You said, annoyance coating your tone, "which is why you should cut me some slack."

"You're not in trouble," he said mildly, "I'm just checking in. You sure everything's fine?"

You sighed, "Yes."

He stared at you a moment longer before taking an iPad from the docking station, "Okay, fine. Grab a med student and handle chairs."

"Chairs?" Your eyebrows shot up your forehead, "You are pissed at me."

"No," Abbot said shaking his head, eyebrows raised as he looked up from his iPad into your face, "You were late and I need someone to triage and who better than my senior resident?"

You scoffed, and pivoted on your foot, "Unbelievable."

"Call me if you need me," he shouted after you.

"I won't," you called back.

Jack watched you go, wrangling a student by the arm as you went, and then turned back to Lena, "She tell you what her problem is?"

Lena shook her head, "No, she even fake smiled at me when she got here."

He shook his head, "There's definitely a problem though, right? I'm not imagining things?"

"She's been off for weeks now," Lena looked over her glasses at him conspiratorially, "I know you hate the rumor mill, but there is one going around that she got divorced recently. And it wasn't mutual."

He looked up at Lena, incredulous look on his face, "That's ridiculous. She would've told me."

Lena shrugged, "Look, I'm just telling you what I've heard."

Jack turned towards the door to chairs where you had disappeared and frowned. You would have told him, right? The two of you had always been professional, but he did consider you something like a friend after you had been here for nearly four years. When there were social events after work or on days off, you had always gravitated towards him and Robby. A bit older than most of the other residents and students, it was easier to find common ground with them. Things had never gotten overtly personal, but there had always been some level of sharing about personal lives. And he really thought the two of you were close enough that you would have told him. Especially if you were struggling.

"When did that start swirling around?" He asked, turning back to Lena.

"Few months ago, I think," she said, "Jesse said he overheard her take a call with a divorce attorney when he was heading out one day."

Jack ran a hand through his curls and sighed. Jesse wasn't the gossiping type and if he did, that usually meant it was true.

"Okay," he said finally, "you'll come find me if things go to shit?"

"You got it."

***

You could feel yourself slipping as the shift went on, beginning to snap at patients and beginning to snap at the med student you'd pulled, Whitaker, who wasn't even really supposed to be here. He was usually on the day shift, but the usual single med student allotted to the night shift was out on bereavement and Whitaker had volunteered to fill the gap. You liked him, honestly, even if he was a bit spacey at times, he was earnest and never made the same mistake twice.

Except today, when he got you the wrong antibiotics, not once, but twice.

"Whitaker," You said slowly, "am I not speaking clearly?"

"Wha—? I—No—I mean, yes. You are."

"Then why are these still the wrong meds?"

Whitaker was starting to get flustered and you were getting more and more annoyed— "Because I changed the order."

It was Abbot's voice that came behind you and you turned to see him standing there, arms crossed with that disappointed look on his face you had had the displeasure of encountering just one other time while working on his shift. When you had tried handling an aggressive patient on your own without calling him or security and ended up with a black eye.

"Whitaker, you can finish up here?" Abbot asked, eyes never leaving yours. When Whitaker agreed, Abbot steered you out of the waiting room by your arm back into central.

You wrenched your arm away from him, "You don't need to drag me, I can walk."

"What is going on with you?"

"Nothing," You threw your hands up in exasperation, "I'm irritated that I'm out in triage—"

"You're too good for triage?"

"I know you're doing it to punish me—"

"When have you ever known me to punish anyone?"

"You changed my order, why? You don't even trust me to prescribe simple antibiotics?"

He sighed, "We didn't have the dosage you were looking for up here, it would've taken longer to call the pharmacy and Whitaker was too scared to come back to you empty handed, so I told him to get something else. It had nothing to do with your decision making, though the way you've been treating Whitaker all shift is absolutely unacceptable for a senior resident and you know that."

You never cried at work. It was your one rule. Even crying in the parking lot felt like sacrilege. No matter how fucked up things got, and they'd gotten well and truly fucked, you tucked it away until you got home.

But with Abbot looking at you like this, his judgment heavy as stone, on top of the invitation… It was too much. PTMC had always been your one safe haven from everything, but you had managed to ruin that, too.

Abbot looked at you with alarm when he saw your eyes water and your chin wobble, "Hey, what the hell?" he said softly and then quickly ushered you out to the ambulance bay, shielding you from anyone else's prying eyes.

"I'm sorry," you blubbered after you'd gone through the double doors, "I have to apologize to Whitaker."

"Not now, later."

You leaned against the wall of the hospital and scrubbed your hands over your face, "I was so mean to him all shift."

"I know, he told me," At the look you gave him through your hands Abbot shook his head, "Not to get you in trouble, he was worried about you. Said you weren't acting like yourself. And I have to agree, you're normally a very kind and patient teacher."

His praise—which you felt was undeserved—made you want to cry all over again, but you managed to swallow past the lump in your throat. Abbot leaned up against the wall next to you and pushed his hands into his pants pockets, "So, I'll ask you again: What is going on with you?"

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, fought the urge to self soothe by wrapping your arms entirely around yourself, "You won't let it go unless I tell you, right?"

"Damn straight," He said immediately, "We can keep it between us, but it's starting to effect your work now, so I'd like to know what's going on. And maybe I can help."

You scoffed and looked down at your feet, "No one knows besides my family and that's only because I had no choice," You swallowed, "It's humiliating. You might look at me differently."

He narrowed his eyes at you, "If you really don't want to tell me I won't force you. But I promise there's very little you could say that would make me think less of you."

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall. You weren't sure why it even mattered to you what your attending thought of your personal life. Despite your borderline friendly relationship with Abbot, there had still always been the irrepressible urge to impress him, to make sure he both liked and respected you. Probably had something to do with your absent father, but that was something to unpack in therapy.

"I got my baby sister's wedding invitation in the mail today," You said slowly, could already feel the heat bubbling beneath your skin, "And the man she's marrying is my… ex husband."

You felt the double take that came from his direction, but you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his eyes.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat, "I—I didn't know you got divorced."

You nodded, "Finding out they were having a year long affair was a hell of a motivator to get it done quickly and quietly."

"Fuck," he murmured under his breath, "When did all this happen?"

You chewed the inside of your cheek, "They started sleeping together while I was recovering from the miscarriage."

You thought you heard his sharp intake of breath at that, but you still couldn't look over at him. The miscarriage had happened almost two years ago now and marked the beginning of your life turning upside down.

You had lost a pregnancy you didn't even know had been in your womb. Fighting with David as he drove you home in stony silence while you cried about how you couldn't understand why he was acting this way, you'd always said you didn't want kids.

How when the bleeding didn't stop, didn't slow the way it was supposed to, and you told David you needed to go back to the hospital he—the lawyer—somehow convinced you—the doctor—that you weren't bleeding that much. You thought about this moment almost daily, now. You felt so stupid for letting him debate his way out of taking you to PTMC. It had taken you hours to finally text Abbot, feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, if he thought you should come in.

He had left the hospital to come get you and you remembered his quiet anger as he condescended to David while carrying you to his truck.

In the end, surgical intervention had been required to stop the bleeding and when you woke up to David beside himself with remorse beside you, you'd forgiven him.

And yet, you'd find out much later that while you recovered from surgery, he began sleeping with Maya.

"Well," Abbot said after a few moments of shocked silence, "Knowing that you've been holding all that in for… months now, I'd say you've actually shown remarkable restraint."

You huffed a laugh through your nose, "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. If I were you they'd probably both be six feet under by now."

You hummed, "I considered it when I opened the invitation today."

"Why don't you go home?" He said quietly and you finally turned to look at him, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight, "We can handle the rest of the shift without you."

You shook your head, "I feel worse when I'm not working. I'm still not used to going home to an empty apartment."

At that moment Lena poked her head out into the ambulance bay, charge phone pressed to her ear, "Incoming MVA, five minutes out."

You both pushed yourselves off the wall to head back inside, "Hey," he said, fingertips ghosting over your wrist as you walked ahead of him, "if you won't go home, will you get breakfast with me after shift?"

You bit your lip as you looked back at him, "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to babysit me."

He shook his head, "No, I'm asking for me. You wouldn't make an old man eat by himself, would you?"

He had that easy smirk on his face as he followed you inside, helped tie your trauma gown at the base of your neck. Your stomach flipped the way it sometimes did when he showed you too much attention. You had always dismissed it as a silly crush, the cliche daddy issues you couldn't quite shake even in adulthood.

"Okay," you said finally, turning back to face him as sirens called in the distance, "fine, I'll get breakfast with you."

His grin widened, "Atta girl."

And then he was darting back outside to meet the ambulance, oblivious to the way your cheeks heated and your heart fluttered in response.

***

The only thought in your head as you sat across the diner table from Jack Abbot and the waitress poured you a cup of coffee was that your lips were chapped and you'd been picking at them all shift.

After the waitress took your order and walked off, Jack's eyes traced your face and watched as you chewed on your lower lip, "Stop that," he said softly, "You've been tearing your lips up all day."

Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together and clasped your hands in your lap, "Sorry."

He frowned, "What was that?"

"What?"

"Did you just apologize to me?"

The corner of your mouth tugged up just slightly, "Don't act like you've never heard an apology before."

"I have," he smirked, "just not from you. Now I've heard you say it twice in one day."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, that is not true."

The waitress returned with your food and after thanking her, Jack speared a homefry into his mouth before turning his attention back to you, "So," he said, "What're you gonna do?"

You frowned, swallowing the eggs you'd spooned into your mouth, "About what?"

"Your sister's wedding."

You shrugged, "Nothing. She knows how I feel, it was fucked up of her to even invite me. I'm not even gonna RSVP."

His eyebrows knitted together, "What d'you mean? You're not gonna go?"

You snorted, "A weekend full of watching my baby sister and ex husband celebrate their love and solidify their union in the place I dreamed and gushed about getting married at myself to my sister for years?" You shook your head, "No thank you. I'm not a masochist. I'll probably spend the weekend with several bottles of wine on my couch watching Vanderpump Rules."

Jack balked, his head pulling back in that way it did sometimes when he was passing judgment on someone. You'd seen him direct it at patients, other students, occasionally Robby, but never you.

"If you don't go, they win."

You sighed, "Oh, come on, Abbot. They already won."

He shook his head, "No. They're shackling themselves in a relationship built on lies and betrayal. They've lost. And seeing you happier than ever at their wedding would be great revenge."

"Yeah, well there's only one problem with that," You stole a homefry from his plate and stuffed it in your mouth, "I'm miserable."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes assessing you, "Do you have a plus one on your invitation?"

You blinked, "Why are you asking me that?"

He cleared his throat and rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward you conspiratorially, "I just think that even if you don't feel it, think about how much it would bother them to see you show up with someone else. Happy."

Was he delusional? You narrowed your eyes at him, and in turn leaned forward towards him, "My dating life is abysmal right now. So, pray tell, who is this imaginary knight in shining armor who's going to accompany me?"

Still smirking, he leaned back in his seat and shrugged, "I'd do it."

You nearly choked on your coffee. Once you'd caught your breath, you felt your eyes nearly bulging out of your head, "What, pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend? Make them think we're in love? Why would you agree to that?"

He shrugged, "You're my best resident and I'm tired of seeing you off your game. And I already told you, I want to help."

You hummed, "By forcing me into my worst nightmare?" You nodded, "Yeah, solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?"

He sighed, "Look, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but I think you should consider that this might… Give you closure. And it won't hurt to get in a few shots yourself by bringing me along."

You narrowed your eyes at him for a few moments before laughing quietly, "This is insane."

"Well just…Just think about it before you say no, okay?"

You raised your eyebrows at him skeptically, but he was still smirking, "Okay. But don't hold your breath."

After you'd both finished your food, Jack paid despite your insistent attempts to slip your card to the waitress and drove you home.

"I left my car at the hospital."

He shrugged, "I can give you a ride in tonight."

As he pulled up to your house and put his car in park, he leaned over and squeezed your knee lightly, prompting you to look at him, "You'll get some sleep, right?"

Doubtful, you thought, but you nodded, "Yeah, of course."

His eyes narrowed and he held out a clenched hand, pinky outstretched towards you, "Promise?"

You snorted, "Seriously?"

He raised his eyebrows, pinky still held out insistently. So, sighing, you wrapped your pinky around his, "Promise."

Jack smiled and released your finger, "Get out of here then. I'll be back here at 6:30."

"Yes sir," You mocked, and jumped out of the car before he could give a snarky reply.

You wouldn't tell him, but spending time with him had done wonders for your mood. You were even considering taking him up on his offer to come with you to the wedding.

But surely, that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"I think that's a great idea!" Your mom said enthusiastically over the phone an hour later.

Your black out curtains were pulled down tight over the windows, shuttering your bedroom in darkness. You likely wouldn't sleep much, but you would still try. The only light a dim glow from your phone.

You scoffed, "You think it's a great idea to pretend to be in love with my boss at my ex's wedding?"

"I've been saying for months that you let them off too easy. And David's always asking me if you're seeing anyone. Possessive little fuck."

"Mom—"

"—Sorry, sorry. He really gets under my skin. I met Dr. Abbot, didn't I?"

"Yeah," You said, rubbing a hand over your eyes, "When I miscarried."

"He seemed nice. Handsome."

You sighed, "He's just being nice. And also, I've apparently been doing a really shitty job at work and he thinks this'll help."

Your mom hummed, "Sure, sweetie."

Already once before at your bedside after your miscarriage, your mom had implied that she believed Dr. Abbot looked at you as more than just a resident, "I'm not saying it's romantic," She had said at the time, when you had still been married to David, "I just think… He sees you as a person outside of all this." She had gestured around the emergency room.

Now, it seemed, she had changed her tune.

You looked at the watch on your wrist, illuminated in the dark to see that it was nearly noon. If you had any hope of sleep, you'd have to try soon. You said your goodbyes to your mom, and to your surprise, sleep came easy… along with dreams of freckled arms and a face with gray stubble, smirking at you slow and sweet like molasses.

***

You climbed into Jack's truck that evening, immediately engulfed by the hum of his heater, the warmth cocooning you away from the harsh winter air. You let him drive in silence, his radio quietly playing, tuned to the classic rock station.

When you pulled up to the hospital, the two of you walking side by side inside and then by the lockers, "Steak, chicken, or fish?"

You felt it when his head slowly turned towards you, eyes assessing as he draped his stethoscope over his neck, "Steak," he said finally and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you closed the locker and turned to face him, "You understand that this is a whole weekend affair, right? It's in upstate New York. If you come you have to stick it out the whole weekend. We'll have to share a room—maybe even a bed—"

"You think I didn't already think of all this?"

He was so…unbothered. It didn't make any sense to you. That he would do all of this for you.

You ignored his question—Of course you knew he had, you knew how over prepared Abbot was for every scenario no matter how unlikely—But you thought at the very least you'd detect some discomfort, some acknowledgement that it might not be so easy. "What about the fact that I'm your resident? You're not worried about how this could effect our professional relationship?"

He shrugged, "You only have a few months left and it's not like we've ever had a normal working relationship."

You were reminded of your miscarriage. You couldn't remember everything, the blood loss had muddled some things, but you did recall the way his voice rose when speaking to David, insisting he wouldn't leave until he saw you. The way he'd so easily slipped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then last year when you had noticed Abbot limping around the ED and trying to hide grimaces a bit too much, you were the only one he'd admit to that he was in pain. The only one he'd listen to when you demanded to take a look at his prothestic. You didn't scold him when you saw the blood and pressure sores. Just gently cleaned and bandaged them, asked him if he'd been fitted for a new socket yet since this one was obviously causing problems. It was you who gently followed up with him day after day until it healed. You were the only one he allowed that close.

He was your teacher, your boss, but the two of you had always had something a bit deeper, a bit more intimate, that you each always tried to brush off. But now, here Jack was, declaring it openly.

You swallowed and broke eye contact, "You should know that after I found out he was having an affair and with who… He tried to deflect. He brought you up, accused me of sleeping with you—"

"That's ridiculous," Jack said, sounding irritated.

"I know," You said quickly, "I'm just telling you because… If you show up to this wedding as my date, if we're pretending that we're in love, he'll probably see it as vindication that he was right. He'll probably act like it absolves him of any wrong doing."

He nodded, "Will that be a problem for you?"

You raised your eyebrows, "For me? No. Personally, I hope it eats him alive thinking I cheated on him." You shook your head, "No, I just want you to understand what it is you're signing up for. It might… put a target on your back."

The two of you were at the hub now and Jack chuckled as he picked up an iPad, "I'm not afraid of David. He's a fucking coward and he's always punched down," He raised his eyes to you and added quickly, "no offense."

You dismissed him with a shake of your head, "None taken. So it's settled then. We're going."

He nodded, a smile on his face, and reached out his pinky towards you again, "It's a date."

You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped and your heart rate likely doubled when you wrapped your pinky around his, hazel eyes soft and gentle on yours. The moment passed quickly and then he released you, off to find Robby to start hand offs.

***

As the weeks passed and the snow thawed you were beginning to wonder what you had gotten yourself into. Your sister had texted you when you RSVP'd as if everything was fine now, saying she was so excited to see you and who were you bringing she wanted to see pics was he hot how long had you been seeing each other? She wanted to gossip with you as if nothing had transpired since the last time you talked to her, probably a year ago now. As if the last time you saw her you hadn't told her that she was no longer your sister as far as you were concerned.

You had ignored each text, telling your mom everytime you spoke to her to ask Maya to stop texting you. That just because you were coming to the wedding didn't mean all was forgiven.

"It doesn't matter what I say to her baby, she has her heart set on the fact that you coming means you're ready to be her big sister again. She won't stop talking about it."

It made you both angry and incredibly sad that Maya was naive enough to believe that you could just forgive and forget like that. You had meant what you said about her no longer being your sister. Truthfully, you still felt like you never wanted to speak to her ever again.

"And what does your husband think?" You asked as carefully as you could. It was something you had wanted to ask for a long while, what your stepfather thought of the whole thing. He had been the only father you'd ever really known after your biological father cheated on your mother and skipped town. He was Maya's biological father, but he had always treated you as his own—granted, you knew your mother wouldn't have accepted anything else. But when all this happened, you had assumed you'd lose him. After all, Maya was his real daughter.

"He understands why you need your distance, even though he hates seeing you girls fight. I've caught him more than once digging up old home videos of the two of you playing dress up or putting on plays. He misses you."

Your eyes had watered and you made a mental note to text him after, "I wish it didn't have to be like this." You'd said softly, and meant it.

But you didn't know how to be in the same room with Maya and David and not have a world ending meltdown. And you were realizing as the wedding drew closer and closer that maybe you were making a colossal mistake.

Which was how you ended up paralyzed staring at your half packed suitcase the day you were set to leave while Abbot repeatedly beeped from his truck outside.

You had left the door unlocked, so eventually after you ignored phone call after phone call and didn't come to the door, he made his way inside, calling your name.

When he walked in your bedroom and saw you, he breathed a sigh of relief, "Christ, I thought I was gonna walk in here to see you fuckin' passed out or something. What's going on?"

You chewed on your thumbnail and then shook your head frantically, "I—I can't do this. I'm not going."

"Yes you can and yes you are."

"Abbot—"

"I think it's time you start calling me Jack if you want to convince people we're dating."

You sighed and looked up at him, panic fluttering around in your chest like a trapped bird, "This is a bad idea," You whispered.

He shook his head, "If nothing else you and I are gonna have a really fun weekend away from the ER, alright? When was the last time you skipped town?"

You rolled your eyes, "This isn't exactly my idea of a vacation."

He feigned offense with a hand to his chest, "You're not excited to spend a whole weekend with me upstate?"

Despite the impending panic attack you felt brewing, you tried to banter back, "Bringing you to my ex husband's wedding wasn't exactly how I envisioned our first date, no."

You were pleased to see his grin widen, "So you've been dreaming about our first date, then?"

You rolled your eyes again and started throwing more clothes haphazardly into your suitcase, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. Ignoring how easy it was to play with him, how quickly it soothed you. With his voice in your ear, you thought maybe it'd be almost tolerable getting through this weekend. Almost.

"Shut up and help me close my suitcase."

***

As Jack pulled away from your apartment, you turned around to look in the back seat. It was filled nearly to the brim with duffel bags, first aid kits, bandages, emergency food kits, warming blankets—

"Do you know something about this weekend that I don't?" You asked as you took in all the supplies.

He shrugged, "It's always good to be prepared. Besides, do you know how many weddings I've been to where at least one drunk idiot injured themselves or someone else and needed a doctor?"

You would not admit to him how endearing—or sexy—you found it that he had overprepared like this. You turned back towards the front, "Fair enough."

After a few minutes of riding in silence, he cleared his throat, "So, what should I know? About fake dating you?"

You fought a smirk, "I don't think there's much to know. You know me already. Besides, I doubt we'll be spending much time with anyone who'd be able to spot it since I'll be avoiding Maya and David like the plague."

He frowned, "What about your parents?"

"Oh, my mom and step dad know we're not actually dating."

His head turned towards you, "So they know this is actually just a revenge tour?"

You nodded, "Yep."

"And they're… Fine with that?"

You chewed the inside of your cheek, "I think secretly they're hoping being in the same room with Maya will… help repair our relationship. Or something."

Jack scoffed, "They don't honestly expect you to forgive her, do they?"

"I don't think my mom does, no. My father cheated on her when I was really little and left us. So she… Knows how I'm feeling."

He paused, "I'm sorry, that must've been really hard on you as a kid."

You stared out the window, chewed on your thumbnail as trees blurred past your window, "I used to think, when I was a kid, that I'd never be like my mom. I saw how… hurt she was and I promised myself I'd never pick a man like my father. And David wasn't anything like my father. He was ambitious, kind, funny, romantic…" Your eyes watered, "He took care of me until he didn't. So maybe it's me, maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I was just doomed to repeat generational patterns by virtue of being my mother's daughter."

After a moment, Jack gave what sounded like an almost pained groan, "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Let him off the hook like that and put the blame back on yourself. He fucked up. Not you."

You knew there was no sense in arguing with him, convincing him that you must've done something to cause him to stray. To look to someone who was so much like you, but younger and less damaged. He could've picked anyone to cheat with, but he fell in love with your baby sister. The same sister you had cared for so vigilantly to make sure she avoided the missteps you took. So that she wouldn't have twin scars to match yours. Practically made in your image, except she was less damaged. How could you get Jack to understand what that felt like? How could you not blame yourself?

So you didn't say anything. You let the silence fall instead and tried your best to keep your sniffling to a minimum. After a few minutes Jack reached across the cabin and gently took your hand in his own.

***

A few hours and many gas station stops later, Jack pulled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at. You hopped out of the car first and he watched you from the rearview mirror for a few minutes before following suit.

You were so sad and quiet on the ride up he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake, convincing you to come here. But he couldn't stand the thought of you moping at home, building this wedding up in your head to be more than it was. Obviously, you had every right to be upset. Frankly, if you came to him and said you wanted to burn the whole place to the ground, he'd start googling where he could find kerosene nearby.

What he didn't want was you deciding that this wedding marked the end of your life when really, he thought it was probably liberating you. He wished he had known when you were getting divorced because he would've thrown you a party. He would never suggest that you were lucky for the way things had played out, but he was relieved on your behalf that it had all happened so early in your marriage, in your life. You had so much left of it. He wanted you to see that, that it was possible to be happy again even after your whole world had imploded as violently as it did.

He hated that you had so much shame wrapped up in the dissolution of your marriage when that fucker was the one the blame. It was horrible enough he had chosen your little sister, but the timing of it, right after your miscarriage, made his fucking blood boil. When you needed him the most he was busy warming your sister's bed. It made him sick with rage. And then to hear you blame yourself on top of it all? It was too much. Jack thought it would be a miracle if he made it through this weekend without punching the coward's lights out.

And then, to top it all off, he wondered if he had an ulterior motive for all this. That maybe he was so eager to play the part of your boyfriend because he really did want to be your boyfriend. It wasn't a novel thought, he had wondered to himself many times before if the reason he allowed you to get so close when he had historically pushed everyone else away, especially after his wife, was because he was harboring feelings for you. He had never been able to answer the question. Or maybe he was just too afraid to be honest with himself about it. For a while he had told himself it didn't matter how he felt about it because you were married. But now…Well, things had changed.

He settled his hands on your hips when he came up behind you as you were beginning to unpack the bags from the back seat, "We should probably set some ground rules before this goes any further."

You spun around, his hands still on your hips. You didn't seem bothered by his closeness, "What d'you mean?"

"Well," Jack started, feeling the heat begin to crawl up his neck at having this conversation while standing this close to you. His leg was beginning to ache from driving with the prosthetic all day and he leaned into the pain in an attempt to ground himself, "I'm a very physically affectionate man when I'm in a relationship. So, if you're uncomfortable with that, we should talk about it."

He watched the bob of your throat as you swallowed, "That's fine."

Jack hummed and looped his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and gently pulled until your hips were pushed up against his, "Maybe we should have a safe word."

"A safe word?" Was it his imagination that you sounded a bit breathless? You had only been here a few minutes and he was already in danger of crossing the line.

He nodded and bit his lip, "Yeah, so I know if I need to back off."

"That sounds… Like a good idea. Very mature."

"You pick, what's our safe word?" While walking around to you at the side of the truck, he had noticed what looked like a couple standing by the entrance of the hotel, watching. It could have been Maya and David, it could have been anyone. But on the off chance it was someone you knew, he wanted to make sure he was playing his part well. At least, that's what he told himself he was doing when he nudged his nose gently against yours.

He thought he felt you gasp against his mouth and it was taking almost everything he had not to kiss you.

"Troponin." You said, and he blinked. Confusion clouding his features.

"Troponin?" He repeated, eyebrows knitting together. He wondered if he had heard you correctly. He was this close to you, close enough to devour you, and you were thinking about a STEMI?

"Our safe word," You said and licked your lips. His eyes trailed the path of your tongue hungrily.

"You want our safe word to be troponin?" When you nodded he smiled, "Okay, troponin it is," he pressed a kiss to the bridge of your nose and then backed away slightly, "In the spirit of total transparency, I do think we have an audience."

He almost wished he hadn't told you. You had relaxed so much under his touch and he watched the tension return to your shoulders as you peered around, trying to locate the possible enemy.

But then when you saw them, beginning to walk towards you, your shoulders drooped, "It's just my mom and stepdad."

Jack watched a few steps away as your mother pulled you into a tight hug, your step dad watching with a bemused smile on his face and hands in his pockets. You looked so much like your mother. He remembered thinking it the first time he'd met her after your miscarriage and it still held true. She talked like you too, or rather, you talked like her. The same mannerisms and same lilt to your voices, the same warm laugh. If he closed his eyes, he might have a hard time telling you apart.

"Mom, you remember Jack."

He shook your mother's hand in both of his, murmured that it was good to see her again.

"And you, Dr. Abbot. Thank you for looking out for her, even outside of the emergency room."

"My pleasure, but call me Jack, please."

You introduced him to your step dad who seemed to be a reserved man of few words, but friendly enough.

"Well the two of you must've had a long drive so I'll let you get settled, but—" Your mom turned to look at you pointedly, "—We knew you were here because Maya knew you were here so I wouldn't be surprised if she shows up at your hotel room unannounced."

You frowned, "How did she know I was here?"

"Well," Your mom sighed, "It would seem that you never stopped sharing your location with her on your phone."

You groaned and clawed your phone from your pocket, "Oh, Jesus fuck—"

Your stepdad winced, "Language, please."

"I don't want to see her." You said, hands shaking as you unlocked your phone, undoubtedly trying to quickly stop sharing your location, "Can you please tell her I don't want to see her right now? I'm not—" Your voice sounded close to breaking, "Please, I'm not ready to see her."

Jack's hands itched to reach for you, but he clasped them behind his back instead. As far as your parents were concerned the two of you were not really dating, he was just here as a friend. He didn't want to make anything more complicated for you. But still, he felt like you were still in the ED, and thus his responsibility. He wanted to fix it.

"We'll tell her," your stepdad said softly, "But it's her wedding, you'll have to talk to her eventually—"

"I know that," you snapped, then immediately softened, "Sorry, I—It's been a long day. I'll talk to her, I promise. Just not today."

The three of them began hushed conversations that were becoming more and more strained. You had downplayed to him what your stepdad was hoping for, he thought now. You had been here only a few minutes and he was already laying into you about how "that's your sister" and "you're her big sister you should be the bigger person" and "you can't ignore her forever."

You absolutely could, if that was what you wanted. And Jack understood the man's stake in it. It had to hurt watching the girls you raised become estranged. But had he sat his other daughter down and explained to her the consequences of breaking your trust like that? Of betraying you like that? It sounded like the two of you had been close, best friends. Not only did she sleep with your husband, but her actions had resulted in you losing your best friend. You had a traumatic surgery and you ended up cheated on and divorced within a year and you hadn't been able to talk to your best friend about it. It was cruel to now ask you to be the bigger person.

Jack began walking back towards the back of the truck so he could continue unloading your baggage, heavily favoring his right leg. He was in a decent amount of pain, but he may have been playing it up so—

"Jack, is your leg bothering you?"

You were by his side in a moment, taking bags he had unloaded and carrying them on your shoulder.

"I'm fine," he said, "Just a little sore from driving all day." You started rummaging through his back seat, "What're you looking for?"

"Your cane or crutches or something—"

He scoffed and gently pulled you from the car, "They're in my duffel, I don't need them right now."

"But—"

"Sweetheart—" Your mother interrupted, "Your dad and I are gonna go, we'll see you at breakfast?"

You nodded and quickly hugged them goodbye and Jack felt immediate relief at their absence. They were nice enough people, especially your mother who he could tell was more on your side about the whole thing, but they were still being too hard on you in his opinion.

Once inside the room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic with a soft groan. He didn't look up, but he felt you watching him, knew you were trying to think of some way to help.

"Can I get you anything?" You asked finally.

He shook his head, massaging his limb gently, "No, I'll be fine after a hot shower and working some lotion into my leg."

"Oh, that reminds me—" You walked off towards the bathroom and then returned a few seconds later, "—Good, they remembered. I called a few days ago to ask them to put a shower chair in here. Just wanted to check so I could call down if they forgot."

Jack blinked, "Well, that was… Very thoughtful of you, thank you."

"Least I can do," You sighed, "After the ledges you're sure to talk me down from this weekend."

Digging into your pocket, you pulled out an unopened pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.

"What the fuck?" Jack laughed, "You don't smoke."

"I know, I thought it was a great weekend to start—Hey!"

Jack had snatched them from you before you had the chance to unwrap them, "Do you know how fuckin' hard it is to kick a nicotine addiction? Do you?"

You sighed, "You're really gonna lecture me about this?"

"Yeah, I absolutely am. I'm not gonna watch you be self destructive all weekend. That's not why we're here. It's so you can see how better off you are."

You pushed your lower lip out into a pout, "You don't think I deserve a cigarette in this situation?"

Fuck, why'd you have to go and do that? It was unfair. Now all he could think about was your lower lip between his teeth— He could not let you know how easily you could wrap him around your finger. Clearing his throat, he pushed the packet of cigarettes into his pocket, "You take the shower first, you'll feel better after. I'm going to hide these while you're in the bathroom."

You looked for a moment like you might argue, but then your eye caught on what looked like a welcome basket on the dresser, filled with snacks and—wine, "Fine. Have the cigarettes. But I will be opening the wine after I get out of the shower."

Jack fought a smirk, "Only if you let me order us some room service. You've eaten nothing but jerky and Red Bull all day."

You glared at him from where you stood, arms crossed over your chest before turning on your heel towards the bathroom, "Fine, fine. Whatever. But only because I'm starving, not because I think you're right."

He watched as you sauntered into the bathroom, holding your bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. Then, with a sigh, he laid down flat on the bed.

"Abbot, you are so fucked," he murmured to himself. Then he propped himself up and reached for the phone on the nightstand.

***

Troponin. Troponin. It was so stupid, that that had been the only word you could think of.

A safe word. The very implication meaning that there could be a scenario where Jack Abbot could touch you and you wouldn't like it. Absolutely absurd.

No, the only real, looming danger of this weekend was that Jack Abbot would touch you and you would like it too much. You didn't think he knew it yet, but Jack had the power to break your heart even more than it already had been. You were afraid of him, but not for reasons he'd understand.

Jack was sound asleep next to you, snoring softly. The moonlight that spilled through the balcony doors lit up his watch enough that you could see it was a bit past 3:20 AM.

There hadn't been much back and forth about sharing the bed. Jack had said when you got out of the shower that he didn't mind calling and asking for a cot, but you had waved him off. Besides which, if you were going to be convincing that you were actually a couple, on the chance that your sister stopped by unnanounced you didn't want her seeing you were sleeping separately.

So you had each climbed into opposite sides of the bed, bid each other goodnight, and that was that.

Between being a night owl by default and the number of Red Bulls you'd had that day, sleep wasn't an option for you. You would've been surprised that Jack was able to sleep at all, both of you accustomed to working through the night, if you didn't also know he had a prescription for his insomnia.

So it was just you wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about troponin. A protein used to detect heart damage. Faced with the impossibility of the weekend, seeing both your ex and your little sister for the first time since you found out about their affair, all with your attending by your side, pretending to be in love with you, you thought it likely you might end this weekend with an abnormal troponin reading.

That's ridiculous, he had said when you told him David had accused you of sleeping with him. And while it may have seemed ridiculous to him, you understood why David had thought it. The hero worship was likely blatant in your voice and on your face whenever you talked about him.

You turned your head to the side and looked at Jack's sleeping face. Peaceful, wrinkles smoothed out. His silver stubble glinted in the moonlight. You liked when he grew it out like this, just a little bit.

You would never admit you were in love with him, but weren't you, just a little bit?

You blew out a long breath and turned your face back towards the ceiling. It was going to be a long weekend.

***

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

Jack turned to look at you as you said it. You were walking to the welcome breakfast, which was being held at the venue. It was a winery draped in greenery and curtained by trees. The couple would be married in the garden that overlooked the pond outside.

"Do you need to sit down?"

You shook your head and stopped walking, "I feel like there's a boulder on my chest," your breathing quickened and you brought your fist to your sternum, rubbing clockwise, as if it would free the pressure.

Jack stepped in fromt of you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, left hand sliding below your jaw to your neck so he could feel your carotid. Your pulse jackhammered against his fingers and sweat glistened on your forehead and upper lip.

"Panic attack?" He asked softly and you nodded, "We don't have to go in right away, we can be late. Take a lap around the pond."

You shook your head, "No, no Maya's in the door she's watching us. I don't want—Ah, fuck David's there too."

"Hey, look at me," Your eyes darted to his and he shook his head, "Don't look at him. What d'you wanna do?"

"Well I want to go home, but that's not happening."

Jack smiled, "Okay, let me rephrase that, what do you need to get yourself in there?"

Your chin was wobbling as you looked at him and you shook your head slightly, "I don't know, I don't—" Your eyes trailed over his shoulder.

Jack angled himself in order to block your view, "Hey—" Your eyes met his again, wet and frantic, "It's just you and me right now. They're not as scary as you think they are. You've built them up to be these scary monsters in your head and what they did to you was monstrous, but they're still just people. They should be afraid of you. Do you want to piss them off?"

Finally, your lip curled up the tiniest bit, "Yeah."

"Great. What should we do then? What would piss them off?"

You bit down on your lip gently and tilted your head. You seemed a bit shy, a feeling he wasn't used to seeing on you.

"Could you kiss me, you think?"

Immediately, Jack felt heat spread through his chest. He smirked, hoping he looked more nonchalant than he felt, "Are they watching still?"

Your eyes darted over his shoulder and then you nodded.

Hands still on your cheeks, he moved one hand to cup the back of your neck and gently pull you to him. His heart raced as he tasted you, slowly explored your mouth, relished in the way it felt for your lips to move against his.

It took enormous effort for him to pull away from you, but he managed it. Your pupils were blown out and you seemed a bit breathless, but he wasn't sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see. You had only asked him to kiss you to make your ex jealous, he reminded himself.

"What do you think? Did it work?"

You peered over Jack's shoulder and nodded, "David stormed off. Maya's still there."

Jack hummed, running his fingers over your cheeks one last time before dropping them, "She probably wants to talk to you. Are you ready?"

You inhaled, slow and deep, "Will you hold my hand?"

Jack felt himself melt. He thought there was little he wouldn't do for you, "Of course," he slipped his hand into yours, ran his thumb over the soft skin on the back of your hand, "Remember, you've done nothing wrong. They should be afraid of you."

You kept pace with him, the venue looming ever closer in front of you, "Right."

Jack squeezed your hand reassuringly as you approached your sister, and shit, did your mother have strong genes. Even only being half sisters, the two of you were nearly identical, though there were obvious differences to Jack. Your sister was perfectly manicured, nails done, lips glossed. She obviously had some sort of workout regimen if her toned arms and legs were any indication. Likely pilates, he thought.

Obviously, Jack found you gorgeous. He knew your bitten down nails and often chapped lips were a symptom of the job—Long, manicured nails often led to broken gloves and who had time to constantly reapply chapstick in the ER?—But there was something to the two sisters standing side by side. He could see the stress and heartbreak of the last year on you whereas your sister looked nonplussed. Whether that was just an image she wished to project on her wedding weekend or if she really felt no remorse, he wasn't sure.

But he wasn't in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. He disliked her instantly on principal.

Her throat bobbed as you approached. You came to a stop, a roughly three foot buffer between you. The two of you seemed unsure what to do next, staring at each other, both of you glassy eyed.

And then, without warning, Maya threw her arms around your neck. For a moment, you froze, and then you released Jack's hand, slowly easing your arms around her. He watched your face crumple just slightly, half hidden by Maya's shoulder.

"I'm so happy you came," Maya said, and Jack had to strain to hear it, her voice muffled by your shoulder, "I couldn't imagine getting married without you here."

You didn't say anything at all, but you kept holding her, that bereft look in your eyes.

Maya pulled away, a smile on her face, though tears began to cascade over her lash line. Then she turned to Jack, "And Dr. Abbot, I'm glad you're here too. You know, I always said there was something more between the two of you, the way she always talked about you."

You were despondent, eyes aimless as you stared at nothing. Jack turned his attention to Maya and he didn't smile, "It wasn't like that."

Her mouth fell open, maybe realizing her mistake, the implication, "Oh—Oh n—no, of course not—"

"Jack," you said softly, "save me a seat inside?"

He knew he had just got done telling you they weren't monsters, but he was ready to take it back. He didn't want to leave you alone with her. He had encouraged you to come here and now he thought maybe he'd been wrong.

But he nodded anyway, walked into the venue with his hands clasped behind his back. You weren't his. He kept forgetting that. He was acting like a fucking guard dog and you weren't even his to defend.

It was barely 10 AM and Jack strode over to the bar.

***

"I really am so happy you're here. Mom said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would— And this place! Isn't it gorgeous?"

Maya babbled on and on while you felt… Empty. She was discussing wedding planning with you as if nothing had changed. You remembered sitting with her on your living room floor after you'd gotten engaged, scrap booking your dream wedding.

You wished you could dig up that scrap book now because while you had had to settle and compromise on most things, it seemed that she had gotten everything.

The venue, the welcome breakfast in the tearoom, the open bar— You bet from the floral centerpieces on each table that she'd even gotten the same florist.

You had ended up getting married in a courthouse with a small dinner party afterwards. It was all you'd been able to afford between law school and med school.

Still, it had been the happiest day of your life because you loved him. You would have done anything for him.

And now you saw that same pure giddiness on your sister's face.

"Look, Maya, I don't—The last time we talked, I'm sorry I was so harsh, but I meant what I said. I'm not here to make amends."

She stared at you, almost disbelieving as the happiness began the melt off her face. You almost felt guilty, "Then why are you here?" She asked, bitterness slipping into her voice.

"I don't know. To get closure." You shook your head, "Maybe there's also a small part of me that thinks I can convince you not to go through with it."

Without hesitation, Maya stepped away from you, "I've had this conversation with mom already several times. Just because he wasn't good for you doesn't mean he's not good for me."

You tilted your head slightly and felt the tears burn the backs of your eyes, "You think you're the exception to how he treated me? Did you know you weren't the first woman he stepped out on me with? You were just the final straw."

She was shaking her head rapidly, "No, no, that's not true. He left you. He said—He said you wanted to make things work after… After you found out, but he wanted to be with me."

Your breath shook, "Well he lied to you. I told him that same day I found out that I was calling an attorney and he got down on hands and knees and begged me to stay—"

"You're lying!"

"—Ask mom! I stayed with her and dad that night, she sat next to me when I called the lawyer."

Maya shook her head, "Mom has not been subtle about how she feels about everything. She's just as bad as you, trying to convince me to leave him—"

"That's because we both know how it feels to love a man like David and we're trying to spare you from that—"

"I'm not a fucking child!" Her voice came out shrill and startled the couple that happened to be walking by at the time. But Maya, always perfect, flashed a perfect smile at them and recomposed herself before turning back to you, "I know it's difficult for both you and Mom to believe but I'm happy. And I'm sorry for how things played out, really and truly, I can't apologize enough and I feel sick about how I hurt you, but I don't regret it. He's the love of my life."

There was a pit in your stomach, but you knew when a battle was a lost cause. She really and truly believed he was it for her. And maybe he was, maybe she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. But you had a difficult time believing that your sister was capable of reforming a man so quickly. Once a cheater, always a cheater. There was a reason that was the saying.

You swallowed and looked down at your feet, "Did you at least get a good lawyer for the prenup?"

"The… prenup?" The uncertainty in her voice made you look up. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she shook her head, "What're you talking about?"

You blinked for a moment, sure you must've misheard, or maybe she had misheard you, "The prenup. He made us do a prenup before we got married, said it was only practical. It was why the divorce was finalized so quickly."

You watched as her face transformed, defensiveness replaced with something that looked a lot like pity, "We don't have one," she said softly.

Confused and a bit nauseous now, you shook your head, "That… That doesn't make any sense. He was so insistent on it when we—Are you sure?"

She nodded slowly, "I'm sorry. But it really is different between us. I'm sure of it."

The room was spinning and you felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you. You were freefalling.

"That makes sense, actually," you said eventually, beginning to step away from her to go inside, "I've always been the person people use for a trial run. Just didn't realize my husband was rehearsing marriage on me."

Maya called after you, but you had heard enough. You needed to get away from her. To get away from David. You didn't hear Jack when he called after you and you didn't notice him trailing behind you while you looked for somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe to fall apart.

But when you found an empty room, likely the bridal suite that Maya would get ready in tomorrow, you moved to close the door— But found Jack's foot shoved between the door and the frame.

"Hey—what's going on? Can I come in?"

Immediately, you felt yourself soften at his voice. You felt nearly conditioned at this point to feel relief and comfort at his presence. There were many times during your residency where that voice had calmly talked you through a very scary case or his warm hand had guided you through an intense procedure. He was like a balm to your nervous system.

So after just a moment, you pulled the door back and let him in.

"What happened?" He asked as he closed the door behind you.

You shrugged helplessly and felt the tears begin to fall, an unstoppable wave behind your eyes, "They—they didn't get a prenup."

Jack frowned, "Okay…I don't understand."

You looked up at the ceiling, a halfhearted attempt to stem the flow of tears. All of this had been a terrible, awful idea, only spurned on by your schoolgirl crush on your attending. And now he was seeing you like this, humiliated. It seemed every time you thought you'd hit rock bottom, the ledge would collapse beneath you, revealing several more stories to go.

"Before we got married he insisted on a prenup. I didn't really mind it, I thought it was pragmatic at the time. Very modern," You sniffed, "and in the end it made the divorce a lot easier. But he didn't make Maya sign one." You scrunched your mouth to the side in an attempt to stop your lip from wobbling, "I don't know why it hurts so much. Of all the things he's done to me, I don't know why it bothers me so much that he didn't have her sign one—That he must think she's it for him and he didn't think that when he married me.

"And if that wasn't bad enough," You continued after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes, "He lied to her. Told her he was the one who ended it between us because he wanted to be with her." The memories flashed behind your eyes as you spoke, finding them in bed together, David chasing after you when you fled, tears streaming down his face as he got down on his knees and swore it was a mistake, "He begged me to take him back. Not even just that once, but for a while afterwards. He stalled on signing the papers for weeks. But he somehow convinced her that it was him who asked for the divorce so he could be with her."

When you were brave enough to look up at Jack, he was just watching you quietly, arms crossed, "It just feels like…" You said slowly, "It would be so much easier if she was just the other woman, but he did give her the wedding I always wanted and he didn't make her sign the prenup and it feels like maybe he did just upgrade to a newer model—"

"That's not true—"

"—And then I feel awful for not wanting that because that means in a few years he'll probably hurt my sister the way he hurt me. But the alternative is that I just wasn't enough for him, I wasn't a good enough wife and she is. And either way I'm still the one alone and heartbroken and miserable."

The more you spoke, the more frantic and rushed your speech became and you couldn't catch your breath.

"Okay—Can I—? Is it okay if I hold you for a minute?" Jack asked, arms already outstretched.

In the back of your head, you knew it was dangerous to keep seeking out his touch for comfort. But here he was offering and you were at risk of falling apart. So you nodded, let yourself fall into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around his waist in turn, further closing any distance between you.

"We knew this was going to be difficult no matter what," He said softly, running a soothing hand from your neck down your back, "But you need to remember that the decisions they made don't reflect back on you."

You scoffed, "Oh, they don't?"

"No!" Keeping his arms around you, he pulled back from you so he could see your face, "Fuck them. I don't care if they're fucking soulmates, it doesn't justify what they did to you."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head and Jack gently grasped your chin, pulling your face just slightly down so your eyes met his. His eyebrows were raised and the way he was looking at you so intently, his face so close to yours had your heart in your throat, "Maybe you don't believe me right now, but I'm gonna do my damnedest to get it through that pretty head of yours this weekend that you deserved better. You deserve the world. Nobody deserves what they did, but especially not you."

His closeness was so soothing to you, you rested your forehead against his, "Why're you so nice to me?"

He hummed, "Because you're one of my favorite people in the world and it makes me… fucking irate to think that you don't know how incredible you are."

Suddenly embarrassed by the way his words made your stomach flip, you buried your face in the crook of his neck instead, "You're one of my favorite people, too."

His arms tightened around you and he kissed your head, "You ready to go get a drink?"

You sighed and pulled away from him, "God knows I need one."

With that smirk on his face that made your knees weak, he led you back out by the hand, turning his head back over his shoulder to give you a quick wink. With him by your side, real date or fake date, you thought maybe people would see you as worthy. If someone like Jack Abbot could love you then maybe you weren't the pathetic mess that they all thought you were.

***

"You doing okay, baby?" Your mom asked immediately as Jack led you over to her table, "I saw you rush by after talking to Maya, you seemed upset."

Jack pulled your chair out for you and as you sat down he gently squeezed your shoulders, "Better now," you said honestly as Jack sat down next to you.

"You wanna talk about it?" Your mom reached to squeeze your hand.

You shook your head, "No, I'm good. I promise."

Jack leaned over to you, lips brushing against your ear in a way that sent chills down your spine, "David just walked back in the room. He can't keep his eyes off you."

You turned your head so you were nose to nose with Jack. You expected him to put space between you, but he remained there. You were both surprised and pleased to see his pupils dilate in front of you.

"Well," You reached out and ran your fingers through his silver curls, "We should make sure we give him a show then, yeah?"

A wolfish grin spread across his face and he took your hand, pressing your fingers to his mouth before curling his pinky around yours, "Let's make it one to remember."

For the rest of the breakfast, Jack hand fed you cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, kissed on your shoulders and neck, and kept a firm hand on your thigh, a hand that steadily wandered higher as the morning waned into afternoon.

"I'm gonna go get us another round of drinks," You said quietly in his ear.

"Okay," His eyes trailed down your face until they landed on your mouth. You watched, arousal spreading like fire through your veins as he bit his lower lip, "Gimme a kiss first?"

You were pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk enough to not feel the fear of your own desire. Things were getting precarious. You wanted him too much. You had had just a taste of him earlier and you were greedy for more.

But you knew, somewhere, David was watching. Maya was watching. You could worry about your feelings for Jack later. When you kissed him this time it felt full to the brim with tension, Jack moving his hand to the back of your neck so you couldn't move. It sent all your neurons firing, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of wine on his breath.

You felt almost dizzy by the time you pulled away from him and headed to the bar.

***

Jack was in his own head as he watched you walk off to the bar. It was a good thing you weren't looking at him because he was sure there were hearts in his eyes right now after getting to kiss you twice this morning. He was aware that he was toeing a line with you, that you were likely only humoring him to make your ex husband jealous.

But he couldn't help it. Especially after you'd been crying to him just a bit before. He wanted to make you feel loved and wanted, it was the least he could do for you this weekend.

"So, when're you gonna tell her?"

Jack turned to look at your mother who was now leaning across your empty seat to talk to him, a knowing smile on her face.

"Sorry?"

"When are you gonna tell her that you're not pretending?"

Well, shit. He thought maybe he was just coming across as a very convincing actor, but your mother had seen right through him already. Jack laughed nervously and shook his head, "I just… I just want her to feel good, that's all. She deserves better."

Your mother hummed, "No, I think you're exactly what she deserves. Handsome, intelligent, and most importantly, you've always looked out for her. I think you'd find she feels the same."

Jack shook his head as his eyes wandered back to you, "She's still in love with David."

"She's in love with the future she almost had with him. But I think a future with you would be even brighter."

He ran a hand along his jaw, "She doesn't need me or anyone else for that, she's created a bright future for herself all on her own."

Your mom's grin widened, "The fact that you know that just reinforces how good for her you'd be."

Jack was smiling, but he sighed. Your mother meant well and he knew the two of you were very close, but nothing was going to happen between you beyond the show you were putting on this weekend.

He was old, sad, widowed, an amputee. He wasn't even close to the man you deserved.

He wouldn't sit and explain all that to your mother. Besides, you were on your way back to the table now. He surprised himself with the force of his own grin when he met your eyes as you walked back over.

You were too good for him, but that wouldn't stop him from savoring every second pretending you were his.

***

After breakfast had morphed into lunch, everyone broke off to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

Still buzzing, you and Jack stumbled arm and arm back to your hotel room. Immediately, Jack sat at the edge of the bed and pulled off his prosthetic and liner, groaning with relief as he did.

You bit your lip, "Can I help?"

He looked up at you and shook his head, "You don't have to—"

"I want to. Please."

He must have been more innebriated than he thought because eventually, he gave in, watching you intently as you wiped down his leg and then his prosthetic. All he could think as he watched you was that no one had taken care of him like this since his wife.

You warmed lotion in your hands before gently massaging it into his leg and he couldn't hold in the groan that clawed up his throat.

He heard a chuckle from you and finally had the good sense to be embarrassed, "Sorry," he said quickly, "I'm just—I'm not used to anyone else—"

"It's okay, Jack. You don't have to explain." You finished massaging the rest of lotion into his skin and then leaned back on your heels, "Is that better?"

He nodded, "Much."

You sat on the bed next to him and without thinking much about it he slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you back until you were both laying flat against the mattress.

You burrowed closer to him, head on his chest, "Thank you for everything this morning. I don't know how I would've gotten through any of it without you."

He pressed his cheek into your forehead, "It's me and you this weekend. I'm here for whatever you need."

You propped yourself up to see his face, "I don't know of anyone else in my life who would've volunteered to come do this with me."

"Why not?" He smirked, "It's a pretty good gig. Paid for hotel and food and drink. I get to kiss a girl way out of my league all weekend long."

You tilted your head a bit to the side, a look on your face he usually associated with when you ran a list of differential diagnoses in your head. You were focused, assessing—On him, it seemed.

"I won't forget it," You said finally, "What you've done, what you're trying to do for me."

"Sweetheart, I'd do a hell of a lot more to make you see how wonderful you are. And I mean that."

He watched your eyes grow wet and then you sniffed and looked away from him, "Um, I'm gonna jump in the shower now, if that's alright with you?"

He nodded slowly, "'Course."

As soon as you removed yourself from his arms, he missed you. If things were different, if you were actually a couple, he likely would have followed you into the shower. As he listened to the spray of the shower against the walls and your soft humming, he closed his eyes and imagined himself in his shower chair, you stradling his lap.

When you walked back into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around your still wet body, Jack had to wave you off when you rushed to help with his crutches so that you wouldn't notice the tent in his pants.

He felt ashamed of himself when he finally did get in the shower and continued with the fantasy, grunting softly as he came down the drain, wondering what it would have felt like to spill inside you instead.

***

Your breathing was still erratic as you arrived to the rehearsal dinner, but knowing Jack would be next to you the whole time was a relief.

When your knee began jumping under the table as speeches were beginning to start, a warm hand engulfed your leg and squeezed gently.

"I think maybe I should step out," You whispered when your ex father in law began to stand, headed for the microphone. You felt nauseous. You hadn't prepared for the fact that people who used to be your family and friends, who had made speeches at your wedding would now be making speeches about your sister.

Before you could high tail it out of there, your ex father in law was speaking and though Jack was in your ear asking if you needed some air, you were transfixed. Unable to stop listening. He talked of the last year as if it was a revelation for his son. There was no direct mention of you, but instead a "black spot" in David's life for more than a decade. His father watched him wither under your love like a neglected house plant. It was only when your sister entered his life—conveniently no mention of how they had met—that he began to really flourish. That David grew to be a man his father was proud of.

You were gonna be sick. You were hurt, but mostly angry. You had thought your relationship with David's family had been good. But clearly, they had fallen in love with Maya and become disillusioned with you. Just like David.

In your cloud of rage, you pushed back from the table, chair scraping loudly against the wood floor and stood. You realized heads had turned to you at this point, but you didn't care about that much right now. You needed to get out.

As you spun on your heel to flee, you heard your father in law make a stupid joke to redirect everyone's attention away from you. You thought maybe you heard Jack call after you, but you kept walking, blood pounding in your ears.

The late spring evening air had a chill to it now that the sun had set. You walked some distance away from the building, still shaking, before reaching into the pocket of your dress and pulling out your pack of cigarettes and lighter. Jack hadn't put much effort into hiding them and you'd found them earlier in his nightstand while he was in the shower.

You weren't a smoker, but during med school you had been known to smoke the occasional cigarette while drunk. You thought as you went to take a pull that your lungs might forget the habit, force you to choke the smoke back up, but it went down smooth. Like riding a bike.

"I thought you'd quit those once you started your residency," The sound of David's voice behind you had your shoulders tensing.

"I'm having a mid life crisis," you managed to deadpan and brought the cigarette back to your lips.

"Well," He stepped next to you, but you avoided looking at him. It would be the first time you saw him up close like this in a little more than a year, "Maybe with it you'll finally grow out of making everything about you."

He wanted a fight. You wouldn't rise to the occasion. It was amazing, really, that after everything he had come out here to fight. You wouldn't give it to him.

"You've really upset Maya today. I thought you were here to support your sister, but it seems like you're just hell bent on ruining her day."

"Yeah, well, she ruined my life so the least she can do is give me a day."

He scoffed, "You love to make yourself the victim, but you cheated too. And you had the audacity to fucking bring him here to rub it in my face."

You hummed, "We only started seeing each other six months ago. I never cheated on you," Finally, you turned to look at him and it hurt as spectacularly as you thought it would. It felt like fireworks erupted in your chest. There was the tiny mole on his jaw that you used to kiss every morning. There was the curl on his forehead you used to brush out of his eyes when he went too long without a haircut. "But if I had cheated on you, would it really bother you? Or would it just be a weight off your conscience to think maybe you didn't hurt me as badly as you did?"

He shook his head, "I'm not blind, the way he came in our house that day—That wasn't the way a leader treats their subordinate. Not unless they're fucking."

"He was trying to save my life," You ground out, and with it, your cigarette, "something you should have been just as concerned about, you know, as my husband."

As you turned to leave, you felt his hand circle your wrist and you snapped back towards him like a rubber band. You were briefly shocked at his touch, not afraid necessarily, just surprised that he was trying to prevent you from leaving.

"You had a miscarriage," he said, and you felt his hot breath fan your face, the sickly sweet smell of bourbon flooding your nostrils, "you weren't fucking stabbed."

For a moment, his words took you back two years ago, to texting Jack, alone in your bed. How even to him you tried to sound dismissive. It's probably nothing but… Tell me if I'm overreacting… I feel a little lightheaded, but I can probably sleep it off. How much of a burden David had made you feel like, that you felt you should downplay everything to Jack. The pain you were in, both physically and emotionally. How excruciating the loneliness was, how clearly repulsive David had found you.

You thought maybe you would've preferred being stabbed. Maybe it would have come with less complicated emotions. Maybe your husband would have taken your pain seriously. Maybe he would have laid in bed with you and comforted you instead of sexting your sister.

"Hey sweetheart," Jack's voice floats through the air before you can say anything else to David and he drops your wrist, "Everything okay?"

You took a step back from David, into the warmth of Jack's chest, "Fine, I was just taking a smoke break."

That earned you a double take, but he must have decided it wasn't worth scolding you over in front of David because he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, "Your mother's looking for you, why don't you head back inside? I'll be right behind you."

You frowned and turned back to him, but he just winked at you in the moonlight and then nodded his head back towards the building.

***

Jack had been watching you and David from a distance as soon as you'd left. Frankly, he hadn't wanted David to speak to you alone at all, especially after the speech his father had made, but you didn't run away when David approached you. And he knew you could handle yourself, had watched you do it with difficult patients. You would even hold your own around him on the rare occasion the two of you butted heads in the ER.

But there was something about the way your body language shifted when he was around. You tensed and then seemed to curl inward on yourself. Like you were afraid of taking up too much space around him. He'd never seen you like that around anyone. It was what made him stay, watching you both carefully, just in case.

He waited patiently. Until you turned to leave and David stopped you.

You weren't helpless. Jack knew you knew how to get out of a hold like that. You had told him once before you took self defense classes pretty regularly and you tried to convince the nurses to go with you when you could. You could've thrown David on his ass easily.

But you didn't, you just wilted further. It infuriated him, just like it infuriated him when you had the miscarriage. There was something about David that turned you into someone he didn't recognize. He wondered if David knew it, if he realized how vibrant you became when you pushed yourself out from underneath his thumb.

When you let him keep you there, keep you from leaving, Jack couldn't watch it anymore. He knew you didnt need rescuing, but the blood was roaring in his ears and suddenly his legs were moving of their own volition and then— Hey sweetheart.

You seemed relieved by his intervention, and that bothered him even more. Because you could have left at any time, but David made you feel trapped.

He watched you walk away after he'd told you your mom was looking for you—a lie—and then turned back to David, "You touch her again," he said quietly, "and I'll break your fucking neck."

David laughed and ran a hand along his jaw, "Threatening a man on his wedding weekend. Very classy, Dr. Abbot. And bold considering you had an affair with my first wife."

Jack shook his head, "I never touched your wife inappropriately while you were still together. Unlike you, I greatly respect the sanctity of marriage."

For the first time, David's projected mask of casual indifference slipped. It bothered him immensely to be accused of anything immoral and it seemed no one in his life, except you, had pointed out to his face that he had. It didn't bother him that he had hurt you, Jack realized, it bothered him that anyone else thought less of his values. Or worse, thought he had none at all.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jack smirked as he backed away, "That was your one and only warning. Congratulations, man. I hope the second marriage sticks better than the first."

When he found you back inside, you were sitting with your mother, heads huddled together as you drank a dirty martini. He sat in the empty seat next to you and reached for the pack of cigarettes you'd left on the table.

"Hey—" You said indignantly, but Jack pocketed them before you could reach for them.

"You weren't supposed to have those." He said, eyebrows raised.

You pushed your lip out in an exaggerated pout, "But they made me feel so much better."

"Hm," Unable to resist, Jack ran a thumb over your lower lip, "so much better that you forgot your self defense training when he grabbed you?"

He had said it softly enough that only you could have heard, but you still found yourself glancing around, "He wouldn't have hurt me."

"That's not really the point though, is it? Why do you still let him make you feel small?"

Your eyebrows knit together and you shook your head, "I—I don't do that."

He nodded, "Yes, you do. I don't see you behave like this around anyone else—you shrink."

You pulled back in surprise and scoffed, "He was my husband." You said simply. As if it explained everything.

"So you just roll over and submit to him because he was your husband?"

Too far. He had pushed too far. He watched the wall go up behind your eyes, your features turned stony, "I need another drink." You said coldly and jumped up before he could say anything else.

"Fuck," Jack murmured, hesitating for only a second before jumping up to follow after you, "I'm sorry," he said sidling up next to you, "I didn't mean to upset you."

You were eating the olives from your empty martini glass as you waited for another, "Everyone is watching me today and will be watching me tomorrow. Picking apart my every move, foaming at the mouth hoping that I implode."

Jack glanced around and for the first time saw what you saw. At any given time there were at least four sets of eyes on you, whispers behind hands.

"I don't need you picking me apart as well."

He turned back towards you, "I didn't mean it like that. I just… feel very protective of you and I don't like the idea of anyone making you feel less than. Even if they were your husband."

You nodded and then thanked the bartender when he handed you another martini. With your free hand, you held out your pinky to Jack, "It's me and you, right?"

Jack smiled and nodded, wrapping his pinky around yours, "You and me."

There was a vulnerability in your eyes as you looked at him, a fragility you hadn't yet shown him until now. He was just now realizing how much of a show you must be putting on for everyone—for him. He didn't want you to hide from him.

Maybe you initiated it because you were drunk, but Jack didn't stop you when you slowly inched your face close to his. Mouths centimeters apart, he cupped your cheek with his hand, felt it when you leaned into his palm.

"Jack?"

"Hm?"

"I really like kissing you," you said softly, "probably more than I should."

His stomach flipped and he wet his lips with his tongue, "I really like kissing you, too. Definitely more than I should."

He felt it when your breath stuttered against his mouth, "Good."

It felt like a relief, admitting that. He had his suspicions you weren't kissing him back just for show, but to hear you say it outright electrified him. With your mouth on his, warm and tasting of olives and vodka, he didn't notice the likely dozens of eyes that must've been on you.

Jack hadn't dated since he lost his wife. He'd maybe shared a drunken kiss with a couple of women at a bar, but nothing beyond that. He hadn't wanted to. There had never been anyone else that he wanted to get lost in like that.

But kissing you now, his longing burst from him. Tongue sliding into your mouth, his heart felt like an open wound. Would you help him suture it closed? Or would you rip him open and dig deeper?

Tearing himself from you, he pulled back enough to look into your face, "Do you want to… Go somewhere else? Alone?"

Your fingers raised to your swollen lips, you looked around at all the people who were now acting like they hadn't been watching. Your eyes stopped on David for a moment as he brushed Maya's hair off her shoulder and kissed her bare skin.

You cleared your throat and turned back to Jack, "Yes."

***

Your heart was racing as Jack led you by the hand down the hall until you were in the bridal suite again, Jack pushing you against the door to close it.

His mouth was hot and insistent on yours, low groans deep in his throat stirring the fire in your belly.

It felt euphoric, being able to touch him and taste him like this. Though, every second, was the gnawing thought in the back of your head that this was only situational.

He didn't want you, not really, not fully. He just was caught up in the moment. You knew you weren't a bad kisser and you suspected Jack's private life was fairly nonexistent since his wife passed. He had only taken off his wedding band a couple months ago. Taking all that into consideration, he was just having some fun.

The problem, of course, being that you wanted more than that. Being newly divorced you guessed you should have wanted something uncomplicated, but you knew if it was Jack who was involved, you'd only want unfettered devotion. You cared for him far too much, there was no world where your heart was capable of being casual about him.

But fuck, you wished you could turn your brain off and just focus on the way it felt to kiss him, the way his hands on your body felt like heaven. He hitched your hip up to meet his, one hand roaming up your dress, your head falling back while he kissed your neck.

When he pulled back from you, you chased his mouth and he smirked. Repeating the movement, he leaned back into you before pulling away while you chased him.

You couldn't help the whine that slipped from you, "Fucking tease." You grumbled.

Jack brought his fingers up to his mouth and you watched, jaw going slack as he sucked two fingers in his mouth.

When he brought them back out, they glistened with saliva and you swallowed, eyes following as they went down—

"Eyes on me, sweetheart." Jack said softly and your eyes snapped back to his, even as you felt his hand beneath your dress. His deft fingers shifted your panties to the side and your eyes stayed locked on his as he gently slipped a finger inside you.

Your eyelids fluttered at the pleasure and Jack's sigh fanned your face, "That feel good, baby?"

You nodded, barely able to keep your head on straight. He was so close to you, you could smell the liquor on his breath, heady and intoxicating. You wanted him so badly, you ached, it wasn't enough with his fingers inside you. You felt greedy, you wanted to feel him wholly.

Your hands twitched, wanting to unbuckle his belt, see how hard you had made him. But along with the desire, panic was brewing. Through your haze as his fingers slowly thrust in and out of you, a thumb lazily circling your clit, you were panicking.

There had only been one serious relationship in your life and it had been David. Before David, you had done the hooking up while in college, the one night stands and friends with benefits. But it had never been enjoyable, you had never been able to come. For a while you thought maybe there was something wrong with you. Maybe you just didn't like sex.

But as you began dating David and then sleeping with him, you realized that wasn't it at all. It was just that you needed an emotional connection to get off. You needed to be attracted to someone's heart, you needed to trust them to get there.

And now with Jack's fingers inside you, it fucking terrified you how quickly your peak was approaching.

He was more than likely just trying to get his rocks off and you were falling in love with him, you could feel it. You were in danger of getting broken if you didn't find an escape hatch soon.

"Fuck—" Your walls were beginning to flutter around his fingers—It was becoming hard to breathe—

"There you go, sweetheart, I can feel you, go on—"

Swallowing, you put a hand on his wrist and pushed lightly, "Troponin," you gasped.

Immediately, Jack froze. Embarrassed, you avoided looking at him as he pulled his fingers from you and stepped back. You mourned the loss of his touch immediately.

"Sorry, did I—Did I hurt you?"

"No," you shook your head quickly, "No, you did nothing wrong. I just, um—" You grasped at nothing for the words, for what to say, heat spreading up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain," He said quickly, but you heard the disappointment in his voice, "I'm gonna step outside so you can straighten yourself out."

He was gone before you could say anything else and you were alone. Straighten myself out, you thought as you pulled at your panties and dress, putting everything back the way it should be. If only it were that simple to straighten out your head, your heart.

This whole thing, coming to the wedding, bringing Jack here, had been stupid. Reckless.

At this point, there was no way you left this wedding better off than when you came. Your eyes burned as you braced yourself to go back out there.

Jack had said you didn't have to explain, but didn't you? Didn't you have to give him some excuse after the confusion you'd certainly just caused?

But when you came back out, he was waiting with a smile. The only way to tell something had changed was just his subtle check in with you to see if he could put a hand on your back or hold your hand.

After another couple of hours of socializing and another drink or two, you were leaning your back against his chest. He kissed the side of your face and then leaned into your ear, "Time to get you to bed?"

When you nodded, he gently led you around to your parents so you could say goodnight before beginning to walk you towards your hotel.

"Jack, I'm really sorry about earlier—" You started when you were outside, the only sound was of the cicadas chirping and the muffled music and talking from the rehearsal dinner behind you.

"You have nothing to apologize for, I moved too quickly. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

You bit your lip. You wanted to tell him that he hadn't moved too quickly, that actually you wanted him so badly he hadn't moved quickly enough.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," You said slowly, "What you said earlier, when you said you didn't understand why I let David make me feel small—"

He sighed, "That was out of line—"

You moved in front of him and shook your head, "It wasn't. You were right, that's how our relationship always was. I let him… Tell me what to do, when to do it, I let him talk down to me, I let him do anything. He was the only relationship I ever knew," You blinked, tears blurring your vision, "I thought that was being loved. I still think that, sometimes. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and I know it's fucked up, but I thought to myself 'He still cares. He still loves me.' Sometimes I think maybe I should have forgiven him when he cheated on me. At least then I'd still have just that little bit of love." Your face crumpled, the emotion swelling even as you tried to stop it, "I'm just so fucking lonely. But I don't know how to be with anyone who's not him."

Jack's face softened and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest, "It's okay, baby, I've got you," As you cried into him, he kissed the top of your head, "It's gonna be okay."

When you got back to the hotel room, it was Jack who sat you at the edge of the bed and took a facecloth and your micellar water and gently removed your makeup while you cried, the most tender look on his face. He got your toothbrush for you, a cup to rinse and spit in after. And then with the softest voice, asked you if it was okay if he helped you out of your dress.

He tucked you in, following on his side a few minutes later.

You were still crying silently when you felt him next to you, careful to keep his distance. After the gentleness he'd shown you all night, even after your blatant rejection, your restraint was frayed.

"Jack?" You said after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think…Could you hold me?"

Without hesitation, you already felt him shifting on the bed, "Of course," He slung an arm around your middle and tugged you to his chest.

You closed your eyes and focused on the warmth of his body behind yours. Without meaning to, your hand grabbed ahold of his and you tucked his arm even tighter around you. You brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his calloused palm.

He sighed in what sounded like contentment into your neck and pressed a kiss just below your ear.

When you were about to drift off to sleep, comforted by the warmth and solidness of Jack behind you, his scent enveloping you, you thought you heard a muffled, rough "love you."

He was likely already half asleep, maybe thinking of his wife. But for just a moment, as you slipped further into sleep, you allowed yourself to believe he was talking to you. That you got to fall asleep like this every night, wrapped in his arms, safe and loved.

***

Jack wasn't sure what he should be feeling when he woke up the next morning, still wrapped around you. You were still sleeping when he woke, the sun streaming in from the windows haloing around your head.

As his eyes carved paths down your face, the curve of your neck and shoulders, he felt overwhelmed with adoration. He wanted to stay like this forever, transfixed by the peaceful expression on your face. Unable to resist, he gently stroked a knuckle against your cheek. You didn't wake, but you hummed softly at his touch.

Man, was he in love with you. He knew especially after last night that you'd likely never return those feelings. You were still hung up on David and even if you weren't, you deserved something that was uncomplicated. Not a traumatized, widowed, amputee, vet who was pushing fifty. He was grateful just to be your friend and to have this weekend with you to play pretend. He'd lock the memories carefully away when you returned to Pittsburgh, only to revisit when he was alone and wistful.

You interrupted his thoughts with a heavy sigh, blinking slowly until you woke fully. You shifted in his arms until you saw him, awake next to you, and smiled.

"Good morning," you murmured, voice raspy from sleep. He wished it didn't, but the sound of your voice the first thing in the morning had him wanting to do unspeakable things with you in this bed.

"Morning," he said softly, smothering his desire as he pulled his arm away from you, "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," You said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and then stretching your arms over your head. He pretended not to notice the way your nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton of your shirt, "You?"

He nodded, "Good. How're you feeling about today?"

You inhaled and exhaled slowly and then shook your head, "I don't know. I'm not looking forward to it."

He nodded, "Do you wanna go home?"

You frowned, "After all this, you would drive me home right now?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, "I think maybe I was wrong about this whole thing. You've been hurting the entire time."

You shook your head, "Not the entire time," you said softly and squeezed his hand, "Anyway, I spent a fortune on a dress and I look hot as fuck in it so I can't let it go to waste."

Jack smiled slowly, "You're sure?"

You nodded, "I don't want to give them the satisfaction of leaving early."

He nodded, "Alright, let's get ready then."

You weren't kidding about looking hot in the dress. It was black and clung to your every curve, flowing out just below your knees.

"What do you think?" You asked, moving to bend down to put your shoes on.

Jack was faster though, sinking to a knee at your feet with a heel in his hand and gesturing for you to lift your foot into it, "I think," He said, buckling the strap around your ankle, "You look breathtaking."

Having helped you into your shoes, he straightened to standing, letting his fingers trail against your calf as he did. Face to face with you, you reached out to straighten his tie, which he thought was mostly just an excuse to step closer to him. His tie was already straight.

"You look good in a suit, Abbot." You said, smoothing your hands across his shoulders before meeting his eyes.

Pleased, he smiled and ran a hand along his jaw, "I was thinking about shaving—"

"No, don't—" You said quickly, causing him to meet your eyes in question. You bit your lip and looked away, "I just, um, I like the… scruff."

You were a tough puzzle to crack. Clearly, you were into him, physically anyway. Yet you had cut it off when you got too close to the edge. He knew he hadn't imagined your moans and the contracting of your walls around his fingers. You had been close and something about that had spooked you. Your explanation had been David, and he believed that for the most part, but he couldn't stop noticing the way you reached for him when you were scared or uncomfortable. How you had asked him to hold you the previous night. The physical intimacy between the two of you that had grown over the last two days seemed to soothe you.

And maybe that was all there was to it. That you were lonely and you trusted him and his touch made you feel safe. Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see when he thought there was a bit more to the way you looked at him.

His mouth twitched, "Alright, no shaving, then."

***

The ceremony was difficult to sit through. You and Jack had done a shot of tequila before walking over, which had been helpful in loosening you up, but still. You looked almost anywhere else the entire time. Tried to ignore the nearby gushing of guests of how beautiful Maya was and how great they looked together and David tearing up when she walked down the aisle.

The vows were the most difficult to sit through and thankfully, you couldn't recall what had been said. The entire time, Jack's hand had been on your knee. But when that hadn't proved to be enough of a distraction, he had taken your hand and started thumb wrestling you. By the end of the ceremony you were having such a difficult time not laughing, people's heads were beginning to turn towards the two of you.

Once you'd made it to the reception, Jack had immediately tugged you to the bar— and was promptly disappointed when the bartender refused to serve you shots.

"Really, man? This is the bride's sister—"

"Jack—"

"I'll tell you what," Jack fished out his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, sliding it across the bartop, "Can we have those shots now?"

Your head swiveled as you watched the bartender pocket the hundred to see if anyone else was watching. Jack turned back to you, "What kind of bar doesn't serve shots at a wedding?"

You scoffed, "Have you been to a wedding in the last ten years?"

He turned to you, frowning, "Are you implying that I'm old?"

You smirked, "I didn't say that. Every wedding I've been to in the last decade that had an open bar refused to serve shots."

He narrowed his eyes, "That's insanity."

You shrugged, "As an emergency physician I would think you could understand why that may be the case."

"Eh," he shrugged, "Weddings should be a little messy. What's a wedding if your uncle doesn't get a little too drunk and start a fist fight with your third cousin?"

You laughed as the bartender slid you each a tequila shot, lime wedges on the rims. You took the lime off and turned to Jack, "Cheers," you said, clinking your shot glass against his.

After you both had slammed empty shot glasses back on the bartop, you were wincing as the tequila burned a path down your throat.

Jack winced too and then gestured yuou over with his hands, "C'mere."

You frowned, but stepped to him nonetheless, "What—?"

His hand cupped the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a bruising kiss. At first, the surprise of it had you tensing, but then you went molten in his arms, his tongue licking languid strokes in your mouth.

As quickly as it started it was over and you felt dizzy as you pulled away, clearing your throat, "What was that for?" You asked, conscious of the heat in your cheeks.

"Needed a stronger chaser," He said and winked at you, "lime wasn't enough."

Smirking, you let him lead you away from the bar and to your table. What the fuck were the two of you doing?

***

You probably should have been more careful about your drinking. Drinking when feeling vulnerable and sad and also wistful had never ended well for you. You were staring at Jack for too long, which for his part, he seemed to find amusing.

"I look that good, huh?" He leaned in and joked, nudging his nose against yours.

You had nodded, biting down on your lip, "You look sinful."

And it was true. As the night progressed, he had removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoned a couple of buttons at the top of his shirt and you could see some of his chest hair peeking out. You had an idea of what he was working with, broad chest and muscled arms that you had long admired in t-shirts and scrub tops, but tonight you felt like ripping his shirt off entirely. You wanted the buttons to pop and you wanted to ravage him.

You were drunk enough that the fear had seemed to leave you and Jack was a welcome distraction from everything else. But when the home videos started playing after they had cut the cake it was difficult to keep a smile on your face.

"You were adorable," He whispered in your ear, arm resting on the back of your seat. A video was playing of you helping your dad teach Maya how to ride a bike, "And a great big sister," You were about seven years older than Maya and had taken a lot of pride in being a big sister.

You inhaled slowly through your nose and pushed the ice in your glass around with your straw, "Yeah, and look where that got me."

Jack tilted his head, "Come on, don't do that."

You shrugged, "It's the truth." You felt the tears pinpricking the back of your eyes. This was what the alcohol did to you, brought everything you tried to bury to the surface. "I did everything for her and she stabbed me in the back. Sorry," You said immediately shaking your head, "I just need a second."

You pushed away from the table and went to collect yourself outside. Your hands shook and you cursed lowly under your breath. When you heard heels clicking behind you, you expected to see your mother, but when you turned it was your sister following you outside, white dress billowing behind her like an angel.

"Hey, are you okay? I saw you run out—Oh, you're crying."

You knew immediately that Maya had no idea how to comfort you. It was always you comforting Maya. And even after everything had imploded with you and David, you had never cried in front of her.

Awkward and stilted, she tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shrugged her off, "Please don't touch me."

"I'm just trying to help—"

"Don't you think you've done enough?" You snapped.

She scoffed and took a step back, "God, can't you just for one fucking day get over yourself? Today is supposed to be about me."

You laughed and shook your head, "Every day of my fucking life from the day you were born has been about you!"

"Oh, God, I'm so fucking sorry for the crime of being born—"

"That's not what this is about and you know it. Even my marriage ended up being about you—"

"I'm sorry he wanted me and not you! But that's not my fucking fault! Get over it!"

You scoffed, "Me? You want me to get over it? You stole my fucking husband—"

"You can't steal someone who doesn't want to be stolen!"

"Oh my fucking God," Your rage felt like a living thing in your chest. For a moment, you forgot where you were and it was just you and Maya. "Are you ever going to take accountability for what you did to me? Don't you think it's time you finally grow the fuck up?!"

"That's enough!" David swept in and placed himself between the two of you, Maya behind you, and lowered his voice to a hiss, "People are fucking staring, could you shut the fuck up?"

It was the alcohol, it had to have been. You never would have been behaving this way if you hadn't been innebriated to the level you were. But the rage you had suppressed for months and months was finally bubbling to the surface and the alcohol was like gasoline on the fire.

"Go fuck yourself," You said to David before you spat on his shoes.

Turning, you intended to leave and go back inside, but then your arm was being grabbed and pulled so aggressively, you thought your shoulder might pop out of your socket.

"Did you just fucking spit on me?" You were face to face with David again, his hand still gripping your arm no matter how you tugged.

"You're hurting me." You said calmly. If you were less drunk you might've been able to use those self defense classes Jack had mentioned last night to get out of his hold. But your brain was muddled and all you could focus on was your anger.

"Dave, let her go." Maya was saying in the background, but David wasn't listening.

"Hey!" That voice, you would recognize anywhere. But you were only used to hearing it that angry in the emergency department. With an unruly patient or fighting with admin. But Jack was pissed now as he stormed outside, laser focused on David and where his hand gripped you tight enough to bruise.

Upon seeing Jack, for his part, David immediately dropped you. But that did nothing to deter Jack, who although a couple of inches shorter than David, had no problem getting right in his face, "What did I fucking say to you last night, huh? You think this is a game?"

"Jack—" You said gently in warning, but he was lost to you.

David smirked down at Jack, "You gonna throw fists at my wedding, old man?"

You hadn't ever seen Jack this angry before and you were worried that he would start throwing punches. He fisted the lapels of David's suit in his hands and spun until he slammed David's back into a wall.

"Jack—" You said more insistently, a little more desperate since you heard Maya getting hysterical behind you, "It's fine he didn't hurt me—"

"You are so fucking lucky she's here—" He jerked his head in your direction, "—And I don't wanna embarrass her because I would take such fucking pleasure from ramming my knee into your groin if we were anywhere else. I may be an old man, but all that means is I've won way more bar fights than you have. And you're a fucking coward if your baby soft hands are any indication."

David set his jaw and looked around Jack to you, "Could you get your fucking meathead boyfriend off of me?"

Jack rammed David against the wall one more time for good measure before dropping him. Grabbing your hand, scowl still on his face, he dragged you back inside, "Jack—"

"I know, I'm sorry," He said finally, dropping your hand and running it over his face, "I know you can handle it yourself, but he just makes me wanna fuckin'—"

"Hey, it's fine," You said quickly, ignoring everyone else who was whispering about the scene you'd just made, "It was my fault anyway, I—" You bit your lip and looked down at the floor, embarrassed, "I spit on his shoes."

"I know, I saw," Jack said, sounding amused. And then his finger curled under your chin, pullng your face up gently so you could see the shit eating grin on his face, "It was kinda hot."

You snorted and rolled your eyes, "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious. It was nice to see you stand up for yourself with him for once. And your sister too. Did it feel good?"

Shyly, you nodded, "It feels awful to admit it, but yeah it did feel kinda good."

"'Atta girl," He said softly and your stomach did a somersault. You weren't sure what was going on between the two of you anymore. The line had blurred so much between what was being done for show and what was real that it was impossible to find anymore.

You weren't blind, you knew he wanted you physically and clearly he cared about you, but neither of those things necessarily combined to I'm in love with you.

And even if he were in love with you, that didn't mean he wanted to be with you. Love wasn't always enough, you knew that more than anybody. There was work to be done in a relationship and not everybody was willing to put in the work.

You were drunk enough that you were thinking of articulating all this to Jack, though a small part of you knew that was a mistake, but the second you opened your mouth someone was tapping you on the shoulder.

You turned to see Brandon, David's best man, glaring at you with a beer in hand, "Can I talk to you alone for a second?"

Brandon was known to be an explosive drunk. There were several times when out with a group of friends at the bar that David had had to carefully remove him from situations that would have gotten him arrested for assault. In fact, when David wasn't there, it wasn't unheard of for him to get a call in the middle of the night from Brandon saying that he needed to be bailed out of jail.

You didn't like Brandon, never had, and you certainly did not want to be alone with him when he'd been drinking.

"You can talk to me right here."

Brandon shook his head, then shrugged, "Fine. I think it was disrespectful of you to show up here with him and now you've made your own sister cry, saying her wedding's ruined—"

"Oh, give me a break, no one's gonna remember our little spat by the end of the night," You said rolling your eyes, "And if David and Maya wanted a perfect wedding they probably should have married different people. I'm so sick of everyone acting like what they did to me was fucking normal!"

"Stop acting like the victim when you cheated with him first!"

You blinked, "I never cheated and frankly I'm tired of everyone saying I did. I was recovering from surgery after miscarrying his fucking baby and he was busy sleeping with my sister! It's sociopathic behavior and I'm so tired of all of you making excuses for him!" You were shouting again, angry tears streaming down your cheeks, all the people around you were quiet and staring.

Brandon stepped closer to you and you stepped back—into Jack's broad chest behind you. Immediately comforted, you softened, until Brandon was wagging a finger in your face, "If you had any fuckin' decency you wouldn't have come here."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, go kick rocks, Brandon. You're a drunk loser who's been riding David's coattails for the last decade. You don't know anything about decency."

You turned on your heel and grabbed Jack's hand as you tried to lead him away from the growing wildfire—When there was a sound like shattering glass and then a scream.

You and Jack both turned towards the commotion on instinct—And found that Brandon had gotten so angry, he'd thrown his beer bottle in your direction, but his piss poor aim meant it had shattered about three feet to your right—Right where Maya was standing with David—And there was blood on the floor.

It wasn't immediately clear where the blood was coming from because of Maya's billowing wedding gown, but judging by her tears it was definitely her who was injured.

Without thinking about it all that much, you and Jack both began walking towards her—

"Both of you, get away from her," David said, "I think you've done enough."

Jack's hands were raised in surrender, "We're probably the only doctors here, I just wanna make sure she doesn't need stitches, that's all." You noted his immediate shift in tone and posture: this was emergency medicine physician Dr. Abbot in front of you. All traces of Jack were gone.

"It's okay, David," Maya said softly, "Let them take a look."

Reulctantly and with his jaw set, David stepped aside. As you both moved to Maya, turned and pressed his car keys into your palm, "Why don't you go grab some supplies from my truck? And a suture kit just in case?"

You frowned, "But I—"

"Don't take this personally, but I think Maya's still upset with you and would be more comfortable with… someone else assessing her injuries."

You looked from Maya, who was carefully avoiding eye contact with you, back to Jack. He really had shifted into supervising attending mode. You were his senior resident again and he had just given you an order. You were annoyed, but shrugged and backed away, "Fine."

***

Jack trailed behind as David carried Maya off into another room. As he did, he couldn't help but think how David had downplayed you almost bleeding out from a miscarriage, but was now babying his new wife over a cut on the foot. He wasn't sure what that said about the man. If maybe he was truly better off with Maya or that maybe he was like this with you in the beginning as well. Maybe that was why you seemed to have such a hard time letting him go.

When David set Maya down on a chair in the bridal suite, Jack took a step toward Maya, but she stopped him with a raised hand and turned to David, "Davey baby, why don't you go check in with my parents? I'm sure they're wondering what all the commotion was about, they'll be looking for me."

David frowned, "No, I—" He glanced at Jack, "I don't want to leave you alone with him."

Maya gave him a skeptical look, "Whatever beef you guys have, I don't think Dr. Abbot would do anything to hurt me," she turned to look at Jack, "Right?"

Jack shook his head, "I just wanna check on that laceration."

Maya turned back to David as if to say see? And eventually, he folded, sighing, "Fine. I'll be right back."

With David gone, Jack lowered himself to the floor to get a look at Maya's ankle. She had pulled the skirts of her dress up so he could access it more easily. His limb was beginning to ache where it sat in his socket, and the lowering of himself to the ground wasn't helping, but the alcohol was doing a pretty good job at masking the discomfort.

There was one lac, about three inches long on her ankle and it seemed to already be clotting. He turned her ankle this way and that to see if there was anything else, but it seemed to be just the one. He'd have to flush it out with saline to make sure there was no glass in the wound, but she'd just need a bandage. He told her as much and she sighed in relief.

"Look, um—" She sighed, "You seem like a loyal man who really cares about my sister so I understand if you probably don't like me, but I just wanted to say that I am really happy for you both. You seem really good together." At the look on Jack's face she added quickly, "And I'm not just saying that to relieve my own conscience, I—" She sighed, "I know what I did, what I allowed to happen, I know why she can't forgive me, I just—" She blinked, eyes going glassy, "I just really miss her, you know?"

She looked a lot like you when she cried and it softened Jack to her immediately, "I think that in your rush to be forgiven and not lose her, she feels like you keep trying to dismiss why she feels so hurt."

Maya sniffed and nodded, "Is she really still that devastated? Now that she has you?"

God, she was so young. You and Jack weren't together, but he thought even if you were this would still be a sore spot for you. Did she really not get it? "Two of the people she loved and trusted most in her life lied to her and snuck around behind her back for almost a year. That's not something that heals that easily, and not without a scar."

Maya was silent for a moment and then her voice came out small, almost childish, "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

Jack sighed and shrugged, "I can't answer that, kid. I know she really misses you, but I think she's just as angry."

She nodded, fingers knotted in her lap, "Can you at least promise me," She said, reaching out her pinky to him, "That you'll take care of her? She's always taking care of everyone else and I think she really just… Needs someone else to. At least for a while."

Well, that was easy. He'd never stop looking out for you. "Sure," he said and wrapped his pinky around Maya's, "I promise."

***

You don't think they heard you when you stepped into the bridal suite, but what a sight it was. Jack on his knees in front of your sister, smiling up at her, his pinky wrapped around hers.

You wished you could say the way you reacted had nothing to do with jealousy or trust issues. That it had nothing to do with how the last person you had been in love with had turned you in for the newer, fitter model in front of you.

It wasn't even the way he was looking at her. You'd worked with Jack for years, you knew he smiled at everyone like that. You knew he was a habitual flirt.

It was the pinky promise that really gutted you, combined with everything else. You felt like you were being slapped in the face with the fact that you weren't special, not to anybody, and certainly not to Jack. Something that had felt almost like a secret handshake over the course of the weekend now trespassed upon by your sister.

And of course, the alcohol in your system just fed on these insecurities, nurtured them until they were all you could see.

So, heart aching in your chest, you walked towards them and set the supplies you'd brought down next to Jack.

For your sister's part, she jumped away from him when she realized you were there, but Jack seemed unbothered, "Hey, could you start a saline flush? She just needs a bandage—"

"I need another drink, actually, so do it yourself."

You saw Jack stiffen at your curtness, but you turned and started walking before he could say anything else. He barely got out your name before you had left the room.

It wasn't long, though, before he caught up with you, "Did I do something wrong?" He asked quietly.

"Nope." You tried to feign cool and casual, but the truth was it felt the walls were closing in on you. You had nothing and nobody. You were so goddamn lonely it had started feeling like karmic punishment, for what you didn't know.

"Really," he said, "so there's no reason for the way you spoke to me back there? In front of your sister?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I need a drink—"

He grabbed your arm, not unkindly, and turned you so that you were facing him, "I think you've had enough to drink today—"

You pulled away from him, stumbling a bit so that he reached out for you, but you regained your balance without his help, "We are not in the ED so you don't get to tell me what to do."

His brows knitted together and he shook his head, "I don't understand, we were just good like five minutes ago, why are you acting like this?"

"What does it matter? You're not my boyfriend, it's not your responsibility to figure it out." You turned and started walking again, "I'm actually just gonna leave, I think, I don't wanna be here anymore."

"Okay," Jack said slowly, "That's fine, let's go then—"

"No," you said, "Not we, me. I'm going. Alone."

Jack threw up his hands, exasperated, "Are we not friends, at least? Can you tell me where you're going? You're drunk, you shouldn't be wandering by yourself—"

"I'm going back to our room, getting my things, and then I'm calling an Uber to take me home."

You started walking again and Jack had to jog to catch up. You felt a pang of guilt when you noticed his slight limp. He'd been on his feet most of the day.

"You're gonna call an Uber to take you back to Pittsburgh? Right now?"

"Yes."

He sighed heavily, "Sweetheart, please, throw me a rope, anything: Why are you so upset with me?"

You felt childish when your vision swam in front of you, "What did you promise her?"

He frowned and shook his head, "What? Who?"

"My sister," You said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, "You pinky promised her something, I thought that was our thing."

His face fell and you could almost see his brain doing calculus behind his eyes as he shook his head, "That is our thing, we were just talking," You were shaking your head, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, "Come on, baby, it's you and me, remember?"

He was holding his pinky out to you and you hated the way you instantly softened at his term of endearment. Anytime he called you baby or sweetheart you melted. But that was how you'd been for David, too, and look how that had turned out. Jack himself said you gave into him too easily and you used to think that's what love was. You wouldn't fold like that anymore, not for anybody.

"I'm going home," You said again and then began walking outside.

Jack chased you the whole way, going on and on about how he knew you were hurting but he thought you were misdirecting your anger at him. When you got to the room he kept talking, begging you to stay and just get in bed with him and you could talk when you were sober. Please, I'll drive you home first thing in the morning, I promise. He was growing increasingly more desperate the longer you ignored him and when you went downstairs to meet your Uber, he carried your bag, but still repeatedly asked you to stay with him.

"Please don't get in the car," He said quietly, even as he put your bag in the trunk for you, "Please come back upstairs with me, I'm sorry. I was talking about you the entire time I was talking to your sister, I didn't mean anything by it."

Looking back on it later, you knew you should've stayed. Somewhere deep behind the anxiety and the pain you knew you were being unreasonable. Punishing Jack for crimes he hadn't committed.

You were looking for problems to make it easier for you to leave so he couldn't leave you first.

The truth was, in all the time you'd been with David, he had never once chanced after you when you were upset with him. He'd never made the effort to try to understand why you were upset. Not even when things were good between you.

Jack was nothing like him, but you were punishing him anyway because you were afraid of how much you cared about him. It was easier to think it wouldn't work out between the two of you because he had fucked up instead of the truth that he more than likely didn't want you like that.

So you got in the car, stared at your phone instead of Jack's receding form as your driver pulled off the curb.

***

Jack Abbot thought himself a patient man. After you left that night, he'd stared off after the Uber feeling sorry for himself and only sent you a single text: Please just let me know when you get home.

On the way back upstairs to the hotel room, he ran into your mother who he apologized profusely to as he explained you had left.

"It's not your fault," She said quickly, "Honestly, I'm impressed she'd made it this far. I expected her to cuss them out as soon as she set foot on the property."

Jack frowned, "Why'd you encourage her to come then?"

"Oh, well, that was the outcome I wanted," She smiled, "I know it seems crazy, what mother wants their daughters to have it out in front of everyone they love? But I've watched her bury it over the last two years. It was eating away at her. And I know that because I did the same thing."

Jack nodded slowly, "She mentioned. That you'd been in a similar situation with her father. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, "The only thing I regret now was not letting myself get angry." She sighed, "I'm sorry you were in the cross fire though, that I didn't want. I was actually hoping that you being here would remind her that her life wasn't over, but I underestimated how much she likes you."

Jack frowned, "I don't follow."

Your mother looked at him with a sad smile on her face, "She's scared of you. Of how you make her feel. That's why she left."

She had left him with that and he'd mulled it over in his head for a while, but decided he couldn't confront that and what it might imply right then. He was still drunk and now he was sad. He had only shared a bed with you for two nights, but he thought he'd probably sleep like shit without you.

He woke up the next morning in the empty hotel bed and saw you'd texted him just before dawn: home.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to call you, he wanted to hear your voice, make sure you were actually alright. But he didn't do any of that. He packed up his truck and headed out without saying goodbye to anyone and drowned out his thoughts with the radio.

Jack was patient when he arrived at his first shift back since the wedding, eager to see you, only to have Lena tell him you had called out. Fine. You had never done that before, but fine. If you still wanted space he could do that.

The second night you called out, he was irritated and finding it difficult to think about anything else. But still, he remained steadfast. He would not push you when you clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

The third night, he snapped.

"What the fuck?" He hissed to Lena, "She can't keep calling out like this, have you—I mean, have you actually spoken to her?"

"No, just texts," she leaned closer to Jack, "What happened while you guys were upstate?"

Jack scrubbed at his face, "Doesn't matter. Could you please call Shen and see if he'll come in tonight? I need to go check on her."

He tried calling you while he waited for Shen to get there, knowing you wouldn't pick up, but at least you didn't deny his call. You had enough decency to let it ring until it went to voicemail instead.

As he headed to your place, his fingers drummed anxiously against the steering wheel. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say to you when—if you opened the door. Regardless, he was eager to see you. Even if you just screamed at him to fuck off.

He paced outside your door after ringing the doorbell, fists clenching and unclenching—he felt like a fucking teenager.

When the door cracked open, he stopped and turned, taking you in.

You were barefoot in sweats and a hoodie, eyes swollen and puffy. It was clear to him immediately that you hadn't been sleeping and you hadn't been taking care of yourself.

"Hey," he said softly, feeling like he was trying to coax a stray dog into his car, "How are you?"

Stupid. Dumb question. Especially when the answer was written all over you.

You crossed your arms, "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Shouldn't you?"

"I'm sick."

Jack hummed, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe I can take a look at you since I'm here."

You sighed and shook your head, "I don't understand why you're here."

He tilted his head, "You don't?"

Your eyes grew wet and you sniffled, "Are you here to fire me? Is that it?"

"No," He said softly, "Of course not. I'm here because I'm worried about you. Why're you calling out? Is it me? You don't wanna see me? Because I can—I can talk to Robby and see if we can move you to his shift, but I don't want you throwing your career away—"

"I don't want to work on Robby's shift, but I—I have a hard time even looking at you right now," You looked up and screwed your mouth to the side, the way you sometimes did when you were trying to stifle an emotion. He waited, though he was hanging on your every word, "I'm… mortified by how I acted when I left. I—I shut down I was too drunk and I got scared—"

"Scared of what, honey?"

Your lip wobbled, "Scared of loving someone again, of giving someone else the chance to hurt me."

Oh. Jack's heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Your mother had said something similar to him just a few days ago, but after sobering up and the repeated call outs, he assumed she'd gotten it wrong.

"It's stupid and you probably don't even feel like that about me—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," He said and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up to stroke your cheek, thumb swiping at the tears just below your eyes, "I am madly in love with you."

You hiccuped, bringing up your hand to rest on Jack's wrist, anchoring him to you, "Really?"

He nodded, "And I—I can't promise you that it'll never hurt, I'm…not the easiest to love. I'm old and sad and stubborn and probably have more PTSD triggers than the number of years you've been alive. But I won't ever treat you the way he treated you," He reached his pinky up between you, "That I can promise."

You wrapped your pinky around his and then used your intertwined hands to pull him closer and rested your forehead against his, "I don't think you're hard to love at all. I think I'd be very lucky to love and be loved by you, Jack Abbot."

He sighed shakily against your mouth before kissing you. You'd kissed before, but this felt transformative. As his mouth moved against yours, warm and soft and pliant, he felt overcome by how much he loved you—Something he didn't think he'd get to feel again after his wife passed. But when he was with you, it felt like he was starting over. Like maybe he could step in the light of the sun again and not get burned.

With a groan, he pulled away from you, breathless and euphoric, "I don't want to be presumptuous, but… may I come inside?"

You smiled and looked away shyly, "I… was not prepared for guests I know how neurotic you are."

He gaped at you, eyebrows raised, "I am not neurotic."

You laughed and stepped aside, allowing him a path inside, "I give you thirty seconds before you hightail it out of here."

Jack barely made it past the entryway. There was clutter everywhere, the kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, towels and clothes in varying states of clean and dirty littered the floors and hung over the doors.

He could tolerate mess, really, he could. But this level of mess reminded him of living with three other men in college, something he promised himself once he had the money he'd never live with again. He could not fathom wooing you and taking you to bed in this pit of entropy.

"You still love me?" You asked, voice small.

He gave a surprised laugh and ran a hand through his hair, resting at the back of his neck, "Yes, but we're leaving. Pack a bag."

"Where are we going?"

"You're staying with me tonight," He eyed your overflowing trashcan, a takeout container perched precariously on top of it, "Maybe forever," he added softly.

He helped you pack, dismissing every embarrassed apology you threw his way about the state of your apartment. He had been to your place before when you lived with David, once, after your miscarriage when you ended up needing surgery. He remembered the place had been neat and tidy—not sterile, but cozy. The state of your apartment didn't worry him, it was simply a manifestation of your mental health as of late. Something that was fixable. And fix it he would—later.

Once at back at his place, Jack immediately started running you a bath. He had copious amounts of epsom salts to ease his muscles, especially his leg, and he poured these in while the hot water ran. You stood in the threshold of the door alternating between watching him and taking in his house.

"When was the last time you ate anything other than Doordash?" He asked, gently tugging you by the hands fully into the bathroom.

"Um, I don't—" You sighed, "I don't remember."

"I'm gonna make you dinner," he said softly, thumb running over your lower lip, "Do you like bolognese?"

You bit your lip as you looked up into his face, "You don't have to do that."

He shrugged, "I want to. If it makes you feel better I was gonna make it for myself anyway when I got off shift." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth, "Do you want a glass of wine while you're in the bath?"

"Sure," You smiled, and when he went to step around you, you squeezed his hand, "Jack?" He turned back to you, question in his eyes, "Could you stay with me while I'm in the bath?"

He smiled softly and walked back over to you, kissing you a bit deeper, worrying your lower lip between his teeth before pulling away, "Of course."

***

It felt a bit surreal, sitting in Jack's bath with a glass of red wine in your hand and the man himself staring at you with adoration as you soaked. This morning when you'd woken up you'd contemplated moving across the country so you'd never have to see him again. Now you were in his home and he'd told you he was in love with you.

You were still afraid, terrified really, of giving him the power to hurt you. It wasn't something that could be turned off so easily—but still, you trusted him. There was a persistent voice at the back of your head that reminded you you had trusted David at one point as well. But with Jack, it felt different. With David, even when you trusted him, there was an anxiety, a resentment, quietly brewing in the background. With Jack you felt only peace.

Your legs were thrown over the lip of the tub and the hungry look in Jack's eyes as he eyed them was not lost on you.

"You can touch, if you want," You said quietly.

His eyes dragged up to yours and then he smirked, "Is that why you asked me to stay?"

You sank lower beneath the water and shrugged, "Maybe."

His fingers tread carefully along your skin, at first kneading gently at your feet. You couldn't help the groan of contentment that escaped you almost immediately at his touch. It had been a long time since someone had touched you so lovingly.

Soon, you felt his lips at your ankle, pressing featherlight kisses along your leg as his hands traveled further up—Until they dipped beneath the water.

Your eyes stayed locked on his as his calloused fingers ran slowly up your thigh, your breaths quickening.

Slowly, he ran his tongue along his lips as his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, "You sure?" He asked, and his voice was rough and husky.

When you nodded, you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and beneath the water his fingers parted your lips. He began slowly, gently circling your clit as you sighed and arched your back. When you began whining beneath his touch, he pushed a finger inside you and you moaned in earnest as he slowly and gently curled it upward, thrusting in and out of you.

His fingers felt so good, warming you up and stretching you out, but you needed more. Your hands wandered up your torso until the cupped your breasts and you began pulling and pinching at your nipples.

"Fuck," Jack cursed and you watched as he palmed the bulge in his pants with his free hand, "You're gonna fuckin' kill me, kid."

Already, with Jack's fingers inside you, you were embarassingly close to the edge. You hadn't slept with David since before the miscarriage, so it had been something like two years since you'd been with someone. Since anyone had touched you with desire.

"You close, sweetheart?" Jack cooed, "You wanna come on my fingers?"

"Mmm," You whined, "Please, Jack."

There would be time for slow, for teasing, for edging later, you thought. Much later. Now you were ravenous for him. Altogether you thought it had only taken him about two minutes to get you to unravel on his fingers, and when you did, crying out, he hummed appreciatively, "You're so gorgeous when you come for me, baby."

As soon as Jack pulled his hand away from you, you were standing up. Jack laughed in surprise, "Where are you going?"

"Need you to fuck me," You said shortly, "Can't do that in here."

"Oh," Jack said, seeming surprised, and you watched as a flush worked its way into his cheeks, "You want to—Now?"

Getting cold now, you lowered yourself back down into the water, "Do you not want to?"

"No—No, of course I do. I'm just, um—" He shook his head quickly, "—It's been a—long time for me."

You nodded, "Me too."

He sighed and hung his head, "No, I mean, I haven't slept with anyone. The last person I slept with was my wife."

Ah. Well, that was quite a bit longer than you. Still, it didn't bother you, "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," You said slowly, "I hope that goes without saying. But I'm not going to be judging you on performance, Jack. I just want to be close to you right now."

He looked back up at you, a hesitant smile on his face, "I wanna be close to you, too."

Jack held your hand as you climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around you, kissing you tenderly as he helped you dry off. But his kisses became hungry, sloppy as the two of you maneuvered to the bedroom, his hands wandering to your hips and ass.

"God, you're so sexy," he murmured into your mouth. You licked into his in response, making every kiss impossibly deeper and hungrier, like you wanted to consume him.

When the back of his legs hit the bed, you dropped to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes as you began unbuckling his belt. From this angle, from any angle, he was gorgeous to you, but he bit his lip now as he watched you free his cock and you felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sight of it.

He hissed when his cock sprung free and you wordlessly tugged him down to sitting on the edge of the bed as you admired him. He was thick and leaking, a patch of graying curls at the base, beautiful. You were practically salivating at the sight of it. Taking him in your hand, you lapped at his tip, taking his precum onto your tongue. Immediately, he was groaning and you watched him fist the sheets.

Looking up at him, you took one of his hands, watched it uncurl from the bed and placed it on the back of your head, "I want to feel how desperate you are for me," You said, looking up at him. He looked a bit helpless, almost stunned, and you nodded at him, eyebrows raised, "Okay?"

Finally, he nodded. This time, when you took him in your mouth, his hand gripped you. As you found a rhythm, bottoming out with him hitting the back of your throat, you were pleased when his hips began bucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head on and off his cock.

After a couple of minutes of this, Jack groaned and gently pushed you off him, "Come up here," he said softly and watched carefully as you wiped the spit from your mouth with your arm and rose to standing.

He kissed you greedily and began to pull you into his lap, but you pulled away slightly, "Can we take all this off, please?" You tugged lightly at the shirt he was still wearing and his half off pants, "Want to see all of you."

Already nodding, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. You knelt back down to the floor to help him take his prosthetic off so the pants could come off too.

With everything off, Jack pushed himself backwards towards the pillows and you admired him from the foot of the bed for a moment. He was as broad chested as you imagined, covered in freckles you wished to connect like constellations. He was muscled, but soft around the middle, a generous happy trail that you longed to lick in its entirety.

You shook your head, almost at a loss for words, "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Jack blushed, but rolled his eyes and shook his head immediately, "Stop that, my body's—It's not what it used to be."

You shook your head, "I'm sure you were gorgeous then, too, but you're—" You bit your lip, "I wanna lick every inch of you."

You crawled over to him and straddled his hips, hands wandering eagerly across the planes of his chest while you ground your slick folds over his cock. Jack groaned appreciatively, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, "Fuck, you're so wet," You dragged your folds along the length of him again and he sighed, "That all for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded, eyelids fluttering as you rubbed your clit against him, over and over.

"You wanna come again, baby? Rubbing your clit on my cock like that?" He lightly slapped your ass and you moaned, quickening your pass to chase the friction.

You were close again, could feel your impending orgasm just on the cusp and Jack saw it all over your face, "Go on, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock."

His praise easily pushed you over the edge, Jack continuing to forcefully move your hips along his length as you came down.

With a hand on the back of your neck, Jack pulled you down to kiss him again, "So good," he mumbled, "feel so good."

Gently, he maneuvered you off of him and positioned you so you were on your side, you back to him, as if you were spooning. Flexing his left leg over your hips for purchase, he pushed inside you slowly from behind, the stretch of him making your eyes roll back into your head.

He kissed the back of your neck, "I'm—I'm not gonna last long like this, fuck—"

"That's okay," You ran a hand down his thigh and rocked your hips back into him, "We can go again later."

He chuckled and then started rocking into you fully, cursing occasionally or biting down on your shoulder hard enough that you were sure it would bruise later. Jack was overwhelming every one of your senses as he thrust in and out of you and you were being very vocal about. So loud, in fact, that Jack reached around and stuffed his fingers in your mouth and ordered you to suck on them as if they were his cock. This quieted you, but only just.

As you moaned around his fingers, he began slamming into you with more force, the sound of his hips snapping into yours filling the air until he stuttered and you felt him fill into you, warm and wet.

The two of you were panting as he finished, hips slowing until they stopped completely. After a moment of recovery, Jack tightened his arms around you and kissed up the side of your neck, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"

You almost laughed, "'Okay'? It was incredible. How was it for you?"

"Yeah," He said, kissing your shoulders, "About the same."

For a long while, the two of you laid there in the quiet, just holding one another—Until your stomach rumbled.

Chuckling, Jack ran a hand over your stomach, "Let's go make you dinner, sweetheart."

***

With the dishes cleared and your stomachs full, you had gotten ready for bed in Jack's en suite bathroom. When you walked back into the bedroom, he was under the covers, his face lit up with the blue light from the TV. When you climbed into bed next to him, you looked to see a baseball game on.

"Do you mind this? I can change the channel—"

You yawned and shook your head as you snuggled up next to him, throwing an arm over is chest, "I'm gonna pass out probably in the next five minutes, so, no need."

He hummed and ran a hand over your back, "Well I was planning on working tonight so I might be awake for a while longer."

"That's okay," You burrowed your nose into his neck, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, "As long as you stay here with me."

He kissed the top of your head, "No place else I'd rather be."

As you fell asleep, Jack kept looking back down at you, as if to check if you were still there. Every so often, he'd touch your face or kiss your head and you'd hum in contentment.

With you sleeping in his arms like this, he began to fantasize of another wedding, a couple of years from now. The dream wedding you'd always wanted, but didn't get the first time. He could practically see it, you in a white dress, him watching you walk down the aisle to him.

Both of you beginning a new chapter together, starting over. He didn't think he'd ever get to be a husband again. But with you warm and safe in his bed, he thought he'd very much like to be yours.

Leaning over you, Jack kissed your cheek and then whispered in your ear, "I love you."

Still half asleep, you murmured back, "Love you."

You were leaning against the nurse’s station,  half-focused on a chart in front of you, pen tapping lightly against the clipboard as you filled in the last few details. The charts were overwhelming, and you were hoping to get caught up before you were needed again.

“I need someone in room three with me,” 

Jack yelled, not even looking up as he flipped through the newly picked-up chart, then, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re coming.”

You didn't even argue. Duty called, and charting could wait.

“Wow,” you muttered, pushing off the counter. “I didn't even get a please.”

“You say that like you had a choice,” Jack muttered, already moving down the hall.

And you followed anyway.

Room three wasn't anything dramatic, thankfully. The patient, an older man, maybe in his late sixties, sat propped up in bed with the blanket pulled over his lap. He had a pair of reading glasses perched low on his nose and glanced up the second you both walked in.

Jack slipped into his usual tone immediately as he examined.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he said, voice steady, professional. He gestured to you briefly.

“This is–”

But you cut him off. “Hi, I’m with him. We’ll be here to take good care of you.”

The man hummed, watching the two of you closely.

You moved around the room easily, grabbing the blood pressure cuff, checking the heart monitor, and adjusting the IV line so it wouldn't get tangled. It was all just second nature at this point. Jack asked the man questions; you filled in the gaps, handing him things before he even needed to ask.

It was quiet coordination. Familiar. Comfortable.

The man’s gaze flickered between you, a small smile forming as he leaned back against the pillows.

“You two remind me of my wife and me when we were younger,” he said suddenly.

You paused, glancing over at him with a grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “Same flow. She always knew what I needed before I admitted it.” His eyes shifted towards Jack briefly. “You’ve got that look, too.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I don't know if that's supposed to be a good thing or not.”

“Oh, it is,” he assured you. “You just don't realize it yet.”

You smiled at that, something warm and easy.

“Yeah, we’re basically inseparable,” you added, glancing at Jack with a grin. “Probably, best friends actually.”

Jack didn't react right away, but when he did, it wasn't the reaction you were expecting either.

“We’re not friends.”

His voice was calm. Flat.

No teasing. No humor.

Just a statement. 

One that landed harder than it should have.

Your chest tightens. Weren't we friends? 

You did everything together, inside and outside the hospital.

The room felt quieter for a second, like even the monitors had dulled.

The old man shifted awkwardly, clearly thinking he’d misread the situation. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” you let out,  still smiling, still easy. You weren’t about to make him feel worse than he already did,

Jack didn't correct it.

He didn’t acknowledge it at all.

Just kept filling out the cart.

And for the first time that shift, something about you just felt…off.

Hours passed in a blur, one patient bleeding into the next.

But the tension between you and Jack never settled back into place.

You kept moving. I kept working. Keep doing everything like you always did, checking charts, helping where needed, laughing when Ellis said something under her breath, but it felt off.

You felt off.

It was subtle, easy for anyone to miss.

Unless you were looking for it.

“Hey,” Robby's voice cut in as you passed the desk, tablet tucked against your chest.

You glanced over. “What?”

He leaned back into his chair, studying you in that annoyingly observant way of his. "What'd you do?”

You frowned at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Robby hummed, not believing you for a second. His gaze flickered past you towards Jack, who stood across the room, focused on a chart but very obviously irritated.

“Right,” Robby muttered. “Because that,” he motioned lazily between the two of you, “is totally normal.”

You didn't follow his gaze.

“We’re fine,” you stated, paying full attention to the tablet.

Robby snorted. “You haven't looked at him in what, twenty minutes?”

“I’m working.”

“Yeah, well, it's usually you two working together, not avoiding one another.”

You shot him a look. “Do you have a patient or are you just here to psychoanalyze me?”

“Both,” he said easily. Then, quieter, “Jack said something, didn’t he?”

You didn’t answer right away. That was enough.

Robby sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course he did.”

“Drop it,” you muttered, already stepping away.

“Mm,” he called after you, not convinced. “Good luck with that.”

You weren't avoiding Jack.

Well, not really anyway.

You just stopped gravitating towards him. Instead of filling the space around him like you usually did, you found other places to be.

When he needed something, and you were there, you handed it over. When he spoke to you, you answered.

But that was it—No extra comments. No teasing. No lingering.

Later in the shift, the pace finally slowed.

You decided to restock, hands moving on autopilot, when Jack stepped into the supply room behind you.

You felt him before you saw him.

The door clicked shut.

You didn't turn around, continuing to restock like you hadn't noticed him enter.

“You've been ignoring me.”

Jack’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm.

You let out a small breath, setting a box down before finally turning to face him. 

“I've been working.”

“That’s not what I said.”

You crossed your arm slightly, leaning back against the shelf. “Then what did you mean?”

Jack stepped further into the room, jaw tight, frustrated sitting just under the surface.

“You haven't looked at me since the start of the shift.”

You let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to?”

Jack tilted his head slightly, watching you like he already knew how this was going to go.

“You really think we’re just friends?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground. “Well, apparently not, considering what you said.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh, low, almost amused.

“I let you follow me around all shifts,” he said, counting it off like it was obvious. “I take you out to eat. I’ve got you curled up next to me on the couch half the time–”

Your breath caught.

“And you really think we’re friends?” he finished, raising a brow.

The way he said it, so sure of himself, so knowing. It made your stomach do flips.

You forced a scoff, anyway. “Wow, you’re really full of yourself.”

“I'm not wrong.”

Jack studied you for a second, something sharper settling into his expression.

“You know exactly what this is.”

You shook your head immediately. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “you do.”

You held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“Then say it,” you challenged. “Because apparently I’m getting it wrong.”

Jack didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t look away, either.

And for the first time, his confidence faltered just slightly.

You caught it.

Of course you did.

So you pushed.

“Well?” you said, a little breathless but still stubborn. “What are we, then?”

Silence stretched.

“Or is that too hard for you?” you added.

Jack’s jaw tightened, ​​something shifting in his expression.

He stepped closer. Now there was no space left at all. Your back pressed fully against the shelf, nowhere else to go.

His voice dropped when he spoke again.

“Careful, darling.”

You tilted your head slightly, a hint of a smirk breaking through despite everything. 

“Well, old man,” you muttered, “maybe try putting a label on it.”

That hit.

You saw it land, the flicker in his eyes, the way his gaze dragged over you for just a second too long. Something deeper slipped through the cockiness.

For a second, neither of you moved.

The air felt heavier now. Warmer.

Charged.

Jack’s gaze dropped, just for a moment–to your lips, then back up.

Slow. Deliberate.

“Are you sure you really want that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.

Your breath hitched.

You didn't answer. Didn’t move.

Jack leaned in just a little, not enough to make contact, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“If I put a label on it,” he continued quietly, “I’m not taking it back.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“You’ll be mine,” he murmured near your ear. “And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

Your fingers curled at your sides, the urge to reach for him almost overwhelming but you held yourself still.

“Try me”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. 

You saw it immediately, the shift in him. The cockiness didn’t disappear; it deepened into 

something darker. More certain. More possessive.

Jack’s hand lifted, brushing just barely against your side as he leaned in closer, still not touching, but close enough to make your breath uneven.

“You act like you don't know what you are to me,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened because you did know.

You just needed to hear him say it.

The silence stretched again.

So you stepped forward.

Closing the space yourself this time.

Your hand caught his wrist lightly, stopping him from pulling away.

“Then don’t say it,” you murmured.

Jack’s brows pulled together slightly.

You held his gaze, steady this time.

“Show me.”

That did it.

Whatever control he had left snapped.

His eyes darkened.

His gaze dropped to your lips–then to your hand on him.

His jaw tightened.

And for the first time, all shift, he had nothing to say

You didn’t move.

Just waited.

You’re too kind-hearted, Aaron thinks sometimes. Too soft for the world put before you and too sweet for the horrors you see on a day to day basis.

He used to doubt that you’d make it in the BAU, that you’d buckle and be swallowed whole by the cases and their victims.

But you don’t, you seem to thrive in it. It’s like you need somewhere to channel all of your energy.

You’re still soft, going into situations with warmth and empathy in place of Aaron’s stoicism and cold practicality.

But you’re effective all the same, families are more willing to trust, and unsubs are more easily disarmed with you.

You’re a great asset to the team, Aaron knows that. He respects you not just as an agent but as a person as well.

To have seen what you have and to still be as kind and loving as you are, takes talent.

Most of the team has hardened during their time at the BAU, having chiselled all the soft parts of their personality into jagged edges.

But not you, you’ve stayed just as sweet and bubbly as the day he first interviewed you.

He’s simultaneously grateful and annoyed by it.

Because just as he knows how lovely you are, so does everyone else.

It’s no longer something he cares to admit—having come to terms with it long ago, but he’s a jealous man.

A ridiculously possessive and jealous man that hates when anyone gets to see the parts of you that he cherishes the most.

Even if it’s his own teammates.

“Oh, Spence honey, what happened to your face?” You can’t help but coo as the youngest member walks in with small scratches over his face.

“N-nothing—” The young doctor stutters are you grab his face and Hotch can’t keep his scowl at bay.

He hates watching you fawn over someone else. Hotch calls your name with frustration edging his tone.

You startle slightly, leading to you pressing into Spencer’s bruised skin too harshly. Whispering scattered apologies, you turn your blinding smile back onto your husband.

“Yeahhhhh?” you call back. To anyone else, it might seem like you’re teasing him, but he knows you’re being genuine.

“Lunch.” He informs you. You give him a funny look. He realises he had told you that he’d had a lot of paperwork to catch up on and couldn’t spend his lunch break with you.

While that was heartbreakingly true, the other option of having you coddle his much younger and age-appropriate subordinate just steps away from his office is unfathomable to him.

He’d like to pat himself on the back for not bursting a blood vessel from holding himself back vocally.

He’s a good man, honest. Just not one willing to share you at this current moment. If anything, he has more of a right to your affection than anyone else in the room.

You make Reid promise to ice his face and that you’ll bring him some scar ointment you have at home before making your way back up the stairs to Aaron’s office.

He’s opening the door and shuffling you into the room with little to no patience.

“What’s up?” you ask, smiling softly at him and completely unaware of his inner turmoil. It’s moments like these that would normally bring him shame, yet it seems he’s grown more accepting and accustomed to the less inviting parts of himself.

“I thought you had reports due.” You murmur concernedly, your brows furrowed as you walk over to where he’s standing. Your arms encase his hips, and he can smell your perfume.

He indulges himself slightly by leaning down and hugging you tightly, inhaling reflexively as if commemorating your smell to memory.

“Did you just sniff me?” you ask suspiciously, your voice muffled by still being held into his chest.

His apparent shamelessness is made aware to you when he just hums, “Yes. You smell good.”

He’s smirking, you probably can’t see it because he’s about 2 heads taller than you, but he takes pride in his unabashed nature.

He’s your husband, he’s allowed to indulge every once in a while.

You take a peek out of his hold to catch a glimpse of the window showcasing the rest of the bullpen to see the rest of the team watching you both.

You squirm, “They can all see us you know” you whisper, embarrassed.

He huffs a laugh, “Us hugging is barely the worst thing they’ve seen” he teases.

You huff, pushing against his chest in playful frustration, “Whatever.”

Your complaint is muffled by his shirt fabric and Hotch would like to have it known that the rumbling from his chest was not a laugh.

“You’re very wriggly today,” Hotch remarks, a smile still on his face as his hold on you tightens. You groan, twisting back and forth to have him let go of you.

“You are annoying.” You snark back. He snorts. “You also have work to—stop it! You have work and I also have work to do. Reid and I—"

“Reid and nothing.” He complains, tucking his head into your neck without further adieu and pressing a small kiss into the crook of it. It must look weird considering your height difference, Hotch having to basically contort himself in order to do so.

“What?” you laugh, as if Aaron has just said something unintelligible. “You have a problem with Reid all of a sudden?”

“…No.” His answer is muffled into your skin, and you squirm again from the sensation.

“Oh, you so have a problem with him, what did he do?”

“Stop it.” He huffs.

You laugh, “Uh uh, you brought this up—spill, what did he do to get on your shit list?”

He pauses.

“He didn’t do anything.” A lie.

“Let’s try that one again.”

He takes his face out of your neck to glare at you reproachfully,

“It’s dumb.”

“Tell me anyways.”

“You called him honey.” He says at last, his tone petulant and achingly familiar to a brown haired toddler you both know.

“Did I?” you ask quizzically, looking perplexed.

“When he hurt his face.”

You look as if you’re trying not to laugh, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He deadpans.

You can’t help but let a small smile break through, “I couldn’t help it, the only person I get to take care of is Jack—forgive me if my toddler bedside manner isn’t up to par with how we’re supposed to treat our colleagues.”

“You’re making fun of me.” He frowns.

Your smile widens, “Only a little.”

You soften at the sight of his troubled gaze, “Honey, I didn’t even realise. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried—when was the last time Reid got hurt outside of work?”

Hotch contemplates your question as he realises he can’t recall. You nod, “See—its rare. I was just concerned; there’s nothing more to it than that alright?”

He’s sure he’s still got somewhat of a frown on his face, “You never call me honey when you patch me up.” He mumbles prickly.

Your gaze turns pointed, “When you get hurt it’s because you take down unsubs without back-up, Reid probably got injured tripping over one of his novels.”

Hotch rolls his eyes, “No it’s fine, I understand. You just hate me.”

You jaw slackens in shock before you swat his chest, “Take!” smack “That!” smack “Back!” smack