Stream Of Consciousness

Dana approaches you somewhere in the hour of 12PM. She looks at you over the rim of her glasses, all blonde strands of hair and each wrinkle in her forehead lined with concern for someone, more or less, adjacent to you. It makes you sink in your seat. You had been residing at the main workstation with three of the residents painfully assorting patient files since the CEO in his Fourth of July garb had made the announcement of preemptively shutting off all computer systems; leaving the ED without electronic health records, connected charting etc. 

(You know, all the stuff that makes the department chug on like a semi-well-oiled machine.) 

Being somewhat of a specialist in the art of expressions and the silence that comes with it, you were able to conclude that Dana Evans—the guardian of the PTMC—was not approaching you for a long-overdue chinwag. 

Quite the opposite, actually. 

“You need to talk to him.” Dana commands in her usual gravel tone. 

It makes you nervously scratch at your brow-bone. “I know. I’m getting round to it. Just after—” 

“Now.” Dana interjects. She leans her whole body into the workstation, her voice drops down to barely a whisper, “He’s acting up. Being a real Fourth of July spectacle. All this before he hops on that godforsaken motorcycle for three months. You’ve got the most Robby jargon out of all of us. Put it to use.” 

You let out a deep exhale. “Fine.”

You stand at full height and Dana gives you a half smile that was a tamer version of amusement.

Things were not fine. In fact, things were so far out of the ballpark of fine, that you would never put Robby and the definition of ‘fine’, or ‘okay’ or, overall just ‘good’ in one sentence. He was a man on the precipice of a life-altering decision that those around him would suffer the consequences that he had made; much longer after his three-month sabbatical on the road came to a screeching halt. 

The signs had been there. Ever since you had begun at the PTMC as a fresh-faced attending with a basket full of naivety. It just took a couple of years for the signs to start catching up to you. And by then, your efforts to salvage the good pieces of Michael Robinavitch, had fallen through the cracks of a prepaid tombstone. 

For the most part, colleagues would acknowledge the mental health problems that trickle down from behavioural changes from their peers, and then they’d be able to go home without the additional weight of it upon their shoulders. No skin off of their noses if they weren’t the ones paying for the extensive therapy sessions. 

However, for you, that wasn’t the case. Since—

“He’s your husband.” Dana calls after you. 

You throw a hand up in retaliation, the sizeable rock on your ring finger catching the hazy overhead light. “Thank you, Dana.” 

The reminder wasn’t needed. Everyone—including the one who married him—was well aware that Dr. Michael Robinavtich had managed to be tied down. Motorcycle and all.

You had fallen in love prior to the catastrophic events from COVID, that had been the pipeline to Robby's mental health downfall. It had been exhilarating, and sometimes still was, at the beginning of the inner workings of a relationship that was blossoming beneath Gloria Underwood’s watchful eye. All the sneaking around, keycards slid beneath clipboards, kissing on company time. The pair of you felt like giddy teenagers copping a feel. 

He proposed to you within two years. Now, you were waltzing around the PTMC with a double barrel surname that was seemingly quite the tongue twister for those who took the time to read it. (This including Dennis Whitaker who went beet red when you had corrected his feeble attempt of reciting it back to you.) 

You peer into Pedes to find him as predicted—coddling Baby Jane Doe.

Robby’s head turns as you speak, “Hi,” you tilt your head and smile softly at the infant lazily dozing on your husband’s shoulder. “How is she doing?” 

“Oh, just lonely.” he lilts. 

You nod, smoothing a finger back and forth against her cheek, “She likes you.” 

“Well…she’d be the only one.” Robby mumbles as he places the infant back into the hospital cot. You smother the growing frown on your face when he straightens to full height. “You need me for something?” he asks quietly. 

I need you to come back to me. 

You settle for, “Just making sure you’re okay. You know—After how we left things this morning.” you say, deciding to take the brunt of whatever force you may be hit with—taking Dana out of the collateral damage. 

Things had been left on a sour note in the apartment you both shared in the downtown area of Pittsburgh. The looming presence of Robby’s three-month sabbatical with his cognitive well-being balancing on the line of a fraying thread had made quite the topic of conversation over his black coffee and your nourishing choice of breakfast. Therapy was always at the centre of your tedious endeavours to ensure Robby came back to you in one piece during the early hours before work; and getting him to listen was no easy feat. 

Your last ditch attempt to undertake your husband’s reluctance to get help was thrown back at you beneath venom and animosity. It had almost given you whiplash. Robby escaped the confines of the apartment with a slam of the door after insisting that if you put more of your efforts into ‘minding your own business’, you’d be able to resolve whatever unearthed issues you had rolling about in your mind—such as your unrelenting desire to help those who don’t want it. 

The motorcycle ride without the helmet must’ve given his head a good shake, because when you entered the sliding doors of the PTMC; Robby began loitering around you enough to make it obvious he felt a little guilty on how he had left things.

(Never go to bed angry. Never hop on a death trap after searing your wife with the hot iron rod of your pent up anger. Or, something like that.)

Robby takes a deep inhale, there’s a sort of playful glint in his eye as he speaks, “You know, when you continue to ask someone if they’re okay, it starts to get a little repetitive.” 

“Marriage is repetition.” you don’t miss a beat, the lightheartedness that swoops the conversation feels a little foreign; considering the circumstances. “Sue me for taking my vows seriously.” 

“Hm.” Robby hums, the blue latex gloves snapping off his hands, “Is this a welfare check?” 

He shrouds your personal space for a moment. Not enough to seem intentional, but you knew his actions were the end result of your magnetic presence—hence why he married you. You watch him cock his head in a roguishly handsome way, crows feet beside brown eyes exposed when he scrunches on eye shut. Michael Robinavitch was many things; but dense was not one.

His flirtations were consciously placed. 

The room fills with the bustle from the central area of the ED when Robby pushes the door open, wedging it open with one foot to allow you to depart from Pedes. He looks down the slope of his nose at you, a faint smile catches at the corner of his lips when you size him up in passing. 

“Are you open to one?” you bump your elbow into the softness of his stomach, habitually holding your hand beneath the sanitiser. It takes all your efforts to not look up at him. 

You begin to walk together. 

“Uh…nope.” 

His answer takes a subtle jab at your heart. “Then consider it as me just being nosy about how you’re feeling.” 

“That—” Robby halts you both, his fingers ghosting your elbow to allow a gurney to roll past. His eyes follow it as he continues, “—Is just a less fancier way of dressing this up as a welfare check. Have you seen Dana?” 

She’s the one that sent me, is what you want to say. 

“She’s talking with Emma.” you reply nonchalantly, “Robby, can you just…talk to me? Please? You’re deflecting.” 

“No, I’m running an Emergency Department.” Robby retorts, placing a hand on your back to keep you with him as he wades through the chaos of going analog. His eyes flit to you for a second and he softens at the melancholy you carry in your expression. “Sweetheart, I’m fine and sort of in the middle of something. Pin this conversation for later, okay?” 

“Sure.” you murmur when he walks away. Dana takes up the rear-end of the conversation, slotting herself shoulder to shoulder with you—an iPad balancing in the crook of her elbow. You don’t look at her when you say, “That went well.” 

“Plenty of time, honey.” Dana grits, patting your back, “You’ll get through to him. As for now, I’ve got a case in South 15. Right up your alley. Lookin’ real pretty for a distraction, hm? Come on.” 

Robby is distracted when he returns to the central hub. The patient chart is a mere prop in his hands. The information untouched by his plethora of clinical knowledge, because all he can hear is you laughing at something that the handsome Radiologist—Dr. Barker—has said. It hadn’t bothered him when his staff members, Princess and Javadi, had been stood gawping at the man from afar. Was it a little inconvenient considering the circumstances the ED were squashed under? Yes.

Until it became a hinderance to their performance; it wasn’t his problem. 

As for you…it was different. 

There was no overt behaviour that would lead anyone to believe that you were doing anything but being friendly until the wet reads came through for your patient in South 15. At an arms length from the guy, but still conversing in a way that shows off two of Robby’s favourite things about you: your genuine toothy-grin and the nose scrunch do when you find something funny. 

When Dana throws him a look in passing, he reverts back to the patient chart. Then your laughter carries across the room a minute after, and Robby decides that’s enough time spent with the pretty boy from upstairs that has set up camp in the middle of the ED.

He idles up next to you with all the curiosity of a Chief Attending and not a husband that reeks of jealous intrigue. 

(Professional before personal. The walls of the PTMC were a shield to the outside noise.) 

“Dr. Robby.” Barker greets. 

You turn your head to see Robby practically flush with your back. “Oh—Hi.”

“Dr. Barker.” Robby glances at you from his peripheral and chooses to ignore the mild perplexity that sits in the crease between your brows. His hands clutch his elbows when he crosses his arms across his chest, head tilting at the Radiologist. “How long on this patient’s imaging?” 

“Another fifteen minutes. Tops.” Barker answers after checking the process. 

“Then I assume you can circle back on the jokes in fifteen minutes.” your head whips to glare at the Chief Attending-gone-rogue on being tactful around his professional peers, “Catalogue of patients on that whiteboard. They won’t treat themselves.” he chides. 

You give Dr. Barker an apologetic look and walk by Robby who follows like a dog on a leash. Once the Radiologist is out of ear shot, you speak freely, “Are you seriously time-keeping my conversations?” 

“No.” Robby drawls, “Just making sure one of my best Attending still has her head in the game.” 

“That’s rich.” you scoff with minimal malice, “Dr. Barker is a good guy. The way you spoke to him back there—” 

Robby interjects. “Ho-ho, sounds like you like him.”

“I do.”

“More than me?” he angles his body into yours to make room for an oncoming nurse. (He doesn’t miss the small but wicked smile on your face.) 

You mull it over when you reach the board. “Only time will tell. You’re still on probation from your morning tantrum.” 

Robby lets out a rare cackle that spreads the amusement across his weathered features and you beam up at the sight of his crows feet making an appearance under the circumstances of lighthearted humour. The palm of his hand rubs the span of your back as you stare at the whiteboard, making it a sight to behold for the forthcoming med students. 

“I—Uh,” Robby starts, removing his glasses and scratching the skin behind his ear, “I want to apologise for how this morning went.” 

“Mhm.” you only look at him when you feel his eyes bore into your side-profile, “I forgive you. Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be mad at you, Robinavitch.” you remark setting the base layer tone as nothing short of sarcastic. 

Robby inhales and speaks on the exhale, his voice only just audible to you, “Would…a five minute break in an on-call room make up for any of it?” 

He looks hopeful.

You pray he shares the same sentiment on his three-month sabbatical. Unlikely, but negativity didn’t pay the bills. 

The insinuation is clearer than glass. On-call rooms were meant for a sole purpose of providing the staff at the PTMC a safe space to rest in privacy. It required a keycard to gain access to. 

It was also the same space that Robby and you took advantage of for displays of affection that were crossing the boundaries classified in the Human Resources pamphlet you were both given on how to navigate an appropriate workplace relationship; and the power imbalances that could come with it. 

Gloria Underwood would turn in her ivory white tower if she knew what the pair of you got up to behind that particular closed door on the company dime. 

Robby’s offer was tempting. His handsome face and optimistic eyes were even more. 

“I’m happy where I am.” you advise him, without sounding too pained at the sacrifice. 

Robby surrenders. “Happy wife, happy life.” he states with his hands up, then deciding to give Ogilvie and Joy a show by pulling you in by your shoulder and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. It was the least he could do, if the on-call room was off the menu. “Shout if you need me.” 

“Shout.” you whisper when he trails off, leaving you with the ambient hospital noises. (And, Joy and Ogilvie.) You point at them, “You two. With me.” 

Eventually you return to the middle of the Pitt, swiping two patients off of the white board with two fingers—too lazy to find the eraser. You weren’t sure what part had soured your mood. Either from the med-student Ogilvie’s unwavering need to put his foot in his mouth in front of patients and plummet those all important patient satisfaction scores, Louie’s passing, the foreboding presence of your husband’s three-month sabbatical; or catching the loose ends of Noelle Hastings and Robby’s conversation. 

He catches sight of you in passing—your face providing nothing but the word: hypocrite—whilst he absentmindedly bobs his head along to Hastings sugary rambling over McKay’s patient case. His forehead creases as she speaks, scratching at the nape of his neck nervously. Robby’s eyes flit over to you in the hopes that just this once, you may be a figment of his own imagination. 

Despite jealously being relatively beneath you in your marriage to one of the PTMC’s eligible bachelors, without being too presumptuous, Robby feared that seeing him converse with his non-committal ex, may be the cherry on the cake for how your day was going.

(Hastings always had a habit of lingering. Which made it look even worse.) 

Perlah comes up beside you, patient charts in abundance in her grasp. 

“Not bothering you?” she asks with a subtle jerk of her head in Robby and Noelle’s direction.

You shuffle through some results, “Give it a couple of minutes.” you murmur. 

Perlah lets out a laugh that catches both Noelle and Robby’s attention nearby. Their heads turn at the abrupt sound, which in turn breaks up their train of thought over the long winded discussion. Noelle squeezes Robby’s bicep before they go their separate ways, and suddenly your patient’s results need to be read millimetres from your face; when Noelle strolls into the workstation with a content expression on her pretty face. 

“You did that on purpose.” you whisper to Perlah behind your clipboard.

Perlah shrugs innocently and departs to ask Robby for a second-opinion. 

The case manager perches at the edge of the workstation you happen to sit at, happily tapping at the surface of the workstation.

The thing about Noelle Hastings was, that she was neither a friend nor a foe to you. She was simply an extension of Robby’s history of avoidant attachment that extended the length of seven-weeks. There was zero animosity toward her as some would anticipate you to have. She was kind, assisted you in insurance cases on the best outcome for the patient and even when she stepped over the invisible boundary that separated a fleeting situation from a marriage, with nostalgic remarks over her shared time with Robby; Noelle Hastings well-manicured nails were always far from digging into your husband. 

She was aware of this. Respectful. Part of you assumes she was trying to find a middle ground to bond over with you. Understandably, it could get a little awkward when your previous sexual endeavours’ wife is waltzing around the workplace. 

Even more awkward when she catches herself going all gooey whenever she was within close proximity to his charm. (Worked on her for years. It wasn’t going to stop now. Even if it wasn’t intentional on his part.) 

She speaks in the direction of Dana, “You know what Motorcycle Mike’s sabbatical is really about?” 

Dana remains unbothered, “I never try to guess what’s going on in that head of his.” 

You shift in your seat, and it highlights yourself to Noelle. 

“You’re not going with him?” Noelle tosses the net with a polite smile and you’re suddenly pulled into the conversation, no longer a bystander pretending to be busy.  “Uh, no.” you shift, rubbing the palms of your hands against your thighs.

Dana also responds, “You kiddin’? We’d go cuckoo bananas if we lost her to a three-month sabbatical too.” she peers over the brim of her glasses at Noelle, “Behind every great man, is a greater woman.” she proclaims. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Noelle laughs. There’s a thought that churns over in her head and you’re left surrendering yourself to yet another boundary crossed when she decides to vocalise it. “It’s just…That’d drive me crazy. You know? Him being off the radar for three whole months. The man couldn’t sleep without the TV on in the bedroom. How is he going to survive all that silence?”

You take the comment in your stride, shutting the monitor off and standing. Dana throws you an empathetic look as a woman has been in the game for thirty years. Someone like that learns to become observational when being patient-facing means the little expressions matter.

And with the rise and fall of your chest; Dana can come to the conclusion that you’re upset by Hastings throwaway comment. 

So, she defends where you won’t. 

“Little respect, Hastings.” Dana is casual in her directness. She glances at the pretty woman, “It goes a long way.” 

Noelle looks mortified. “Oh—No. I’m sorry. I overstepped.” 

“It’s fine.” you reassure her, gulping at the tightness in your throat, “You made an observation that has stood the test of time. Robby is a big boy. Three months to reflect, alone, is healthy. TV on or not.” 

Now, you’re irritated. 

It’s enough for the conversation to not chase you when you depart the workstation—Dana left to lowly chuckle in amusement at the underlying sharpness in your tone. You weave through bodies on autopilot, ears ringing from the seed of doubt planted by Hastings over Robby’s time away. It made you think that perhaps you had been too enthusiastic over the idea of a three-month sabbatical with little to no contact with a man on the brink of catastrophe. Too laidback in putting the power in the hands of his mind that had nothing but malicious intent over his body. 

It had sounded like a good idea at the time. Neither you or Robby could recall an official vacation that he had partaken in—aside from your honeymoon. Now? You weren’t so sure.

Everyone else had told you otherwise ever since it had been announced. 

“Everything okay?” by some hideous trick of fate, Robby matches the strides in the walk you were taking around the parameters of the department.

He had spotted you from the window of South 22 and excused himself with the reassurance from Dr. Al-Hashimi that she could hold down the fort. Being married to you came with unlimited perks, one being that Robby was able pinpoint your tells that signalled a combative mood. Not necessary toward him; but the idea wouldn’t be so far fetched. 

(It was all in the downturn of your lips. And the tightness in your jawline.) 

“You tell me. Does having to listen to your ex question my decision to not saddle up on a three-month sabbatical with my flight risk husband, whilst also sorely reminding me that she also knows you leave the TV on through the night, make a good case for everything to be going okay?” you quip, narrowly avoiding Ahmed’s call to the betting pool. 

Robby blows out hot air. “Could’ve said devoted husband.” he jokes. It crashes and burns when you spare him a stern glance. “Okay. How about we take in some fresh air in the Ambulance Bay?” 

“Lead the way.”  It doesn’t take much further and the summer air of Pittsburgh clings to your bodies in all the wrong places. It preemptively sets the tone as you scuff your feet against the ground, arms tightly bound across your chest in an effort to translate your hardened exterior from the events of the day. 

Honestly, it felt close to dogpiling once Hastings became—unintentionally—involved. 

Robby takes in the scenes of the empty Ambulance Bay, his eyes find his beloved motorcycle still in tact at the side of the building. He takes a step forward in order to block it from your line of vision. 

After a moment, an arm wraps around your shoulder and you’re suddenly curled into your husband’s side. His lips find your temple and they stay pressed against your skin to resolve some of the bad feelings running about in your chest. 

You close your eyes as Robby repetitively presses chaste kisses to the same spot, relishing in the physical affection that you will be deprived off for three months. Or further; depending on how far Michael Robinavitch was willing to go. 

The thought alone makes you recoil out of his touch. 

Robby’s brows quirk in confusion. “Too hot?” he asks naively. Unprepared. 

“We—” you sigh, “—We need to continue the conversation from this morning.” 

“No…we don’t.” Robby informs, his expression still unwavering in adoration, “It’s water under the bridge. I apologised.” 

“I’m talking about the part where you accept the therapy sessions on this sabbatical.” you start, feeling the prompt shift in the atmosphere, “Jack has given me all the information for his therapist—” 

“Sweetheart. I am begging you not to start this shit again.” Robby has the palms of his hands flush against each other in a begging motion that’s sent in your direction. “I don’t need a therapist on this trip.” 

“Throw me a bone here, Robby.” you exasperate, “You’re obviously not well. Is it really so bad that I’m making sure I get you back by the end of this?” you feel your patience chip, the skin of your neck prickling with frustration.

Robby chuckles. “Oh, you’ll get me back. I’ll make sure of it.”

The morbidity of his answer makes you pause. 

You blink at him, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means…stop telling me how to feel.” Robby narrows his eyes, throwing a sarcastic smile your way. 

“Then what are you feeling, Robby?” you snap at him, the humid summer air clinging to your skin. 

He chuckles lowly, “I really don’t need you to be my shrink.” 

You shake your head, “This isn’t what a shrink does. You would know that if you just see one for two days of the week whilst you’re away. Jack’s therapist does virtual appointments—” 

“I already gave you my answer to that.” 

“Holy shit.” you clench your fists and tap them against your forehead to relieve your frustrations, “I’m not asking you to lobotomise yourself on this sabbatical, Robby. It’s fucking therapy.”  

Robby sneers, “No? This—” he gestures to the space between you in circles, “—feels an awful lot like a lobotomy. Cut it out.” 

“Cut it out?” you repeat, “I’m not a child.”  “Are you sure about that, sweetheart?” Robby crosses his arms, the argument was beginning to feel like being inside a pressure cooker, “You’re upset over this morning. Over the sabbatical, clearly over whatever bullshit Hastings said to you. About Louie. You can’t regulate your own emotions at work and you have the nerve to tell me I need fucking help? That is fucking hypocrisy.”  “Oh, quit projecting.” you look around for a minute to take a break from the intense stare down. 

“Why…are you doing this right now?” 

You watch Robby rub at his temples. “Why? Because you’re lashing out. You’ve been doing it to Mohan, Dana and Al-Hashimi all fucking day. You’re upset that Langdon is back and you’re punishing him for your own feeling of failure.” 

“Mohan is tough love.” Robby cherrypicks. 

“Cut the shit, Robby. You’ve been wearing her down and you know it.” you gesture to the ED just beyond the sliding doors, “She had a panic attack and you belittled her over the same shit you did last year in Pedes!”

Robby shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re really bringing that up right now?” 

“Yes. I am.” you retort plainly, “Robby. Can’t you see this is all happening because I love you?” you collect your voice beneath a whisper when an EMT strolls by you. 

Robby waits until they vacate the premises to speak as he drags his fingers along creases in his forehead. “Yeah. I do. And, right now…I need you to love me less.” he conveys cruelly.  Your worry ebbs into hurt. Fingers curling tight enough that your nails are pressing crescent moons into the palm of your hands. His words lay flat against your chest like wet cement. Any further rebuttals you had lined up dissipate and you’re left with a blank slate, jaw slack as you try to make sense of it all. 

The Ambulance Bay plunges into icy waters. Robby nervously drags his thumbnail across the top of his brow bone as he cranes his neck to look inside the building. It wasn’t evident to you at the time, but his inner turmoil flares at the sight of your broken expression. 

Even when you gather yourself up with watery eyes and a wobbling bottom lip, Robby does nothing. He allows you the action of brushing past him to escape the jaws of his verbal brutality, throwing yourself back into the chaos of a holiday weekend. 

He’s left with the whir of ambulances in the distance.

Robby watches you leave, mumbling a ‘shit’ under his breath. He drops his head back to take in the humid air through his nostrils; the brief solitude condemned when Baran Al-Hashimi appears. 

“Robby?” Baran calls from the doors, offering a hesitant smile, “Perlah has notified me that Ms. Kovalenko—the burn patient—is ready to be seen again.” 

Robby swings his hands around his body, releasing the tension by smacking his palm against his other hand that was curled up into a fist. He strains a smile, “I’ll be right there.” 

Robby takes a shot at a breath to exhale any leftover poison on his tongue from your spat—being wise to the fact that patient satisfaction scores would increase without personal baggage. The dispenser spits the sanitiser into his hand and he chooses to open the door with his back; checking for any sign of you amongst the sea of people marching about. 

The pit in his stomach grows when he can spot you in the middle discussing a case with McKay. Your back is turned, but Robby has been with you long enough to see the tension taught across your shoulder blades from the deep laceration he had caused by projecting his frustrations for a second time that day. 

He takes a mental note to make amends by any means possible. And promptly too. 

He enters the room with one last look at you. “Hello. How’s it going in here?” 

“We were just discussing your wife.” Perlah informs with a friendly smile, fingers busy with the task at hand. When Robby looks inquisitive about how the topic turned to you in his absence, Perlah adds, “She just came to find me for a patient. Said hello. Ms. Kovalenko was curious about the double-barrel surname on her badge. It got us talking. All good things.” 

Robby hums warmly. “A conversation I’m always happy to partake in.” he perches himself on the nearby stool—both Perlah and Ms. Kovalenko watching as he fixes his posture.

“Beautiful.” Ms. Kovalenko states. 

“Very.” Robby concurs earnestly—he wants to say that you are the eighth wonder of the world. 

(The argument puts that sort of compliment on hold for the time being.) 

“Too good for you.” The red-haired woman quips. 

“Ooh. I’ll have to agree there too.” he lilts, the pang of guilt smothered behind a professional glaze. He pats the tops of his thighs, “Did I miss all the gross stuff?” 

“Timed it perfectly.” Perlah replies. 

“Excellent. My job is all about delegation and time management.” Robby chides with a brave face; hoping his emotions weren’t too raw on his face over the mention of you. 

Perlah and him get into a lighthearted back and forth over his imminent departure at the end of the twelve-hour shift, which piques Ms. Kovalenko’s interest over the finer details. 

“He’s leaving us for three-months. On a motorcycle.” Perlah shifts in her chair, happy to invite Ms. Kovalenko further behind closed doors. 

Kovalenko’s brows raise to her hairline. “Motorcyle? You’re joking.” she whips her head round to stare at Robby, “Why would you do this?” she asks sternly. 

“Why? Why? Because…uh—” 

“You’re a middle aged man. Don’t be stupid.” she spits back, “What about your wife? Is she happy about this decision?” 

“She is…moderately humble about it.” Robby rolls closer to the sharp-tongued patient, narrowly averting his gaze to the injury concealed beneath a thin cloth. 

“Moderately humble.” Kovalenko repeats sardonically with a few nods of her head. “Forgive me for being blunt but, do you think that is the equivalent to being happy, Dr. Robinavitch? I pity your wife. Very sad.” 

Robby hangs his head and huffs out a laugh, “We cannot stop the world from spinning just because one person doesn’t like the way it goes round, Ms. Kovalenko—How about we focus on your care?”

There’s a significant pause. 

“Us women are what make the world go round,” her lips quirk in satisfaction when Robby’s brown eyes drift from her burn site, “Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Robinavitch?”

Once the elderly, fiery-haired patient with a nasty burn on her thigh is discharged from Robby’s care—not without a stern lecture and some wonderful insight about his lack of appreciation for women in general—it’s evident that all signs are pointing to resolving the conflict that had transpired between you two. 

If there was one person Robby was not willing to part with on a sour note for three whole months…it was you. 

The better half of him. The center of his gravity. The only person strong enough to flip the heavy hourglass in time before he drains himself entirely.

Also, the woman that was apparently hard to track down in a department he knew like the back of his hand. 

(He worries you left. But that wasn’t in your nature. Hurt feelings or not.) 

“Where—“ he pauses, “—is my Attending?” Robby checks the surrounding areas as he speaks directly to Dana who was standing at the workstation with Monica Peters—the Pitt’s once renowned cynical clerk until things went south over technology. 

Dana lets out an amused scoff, looking down at the clipboard pressed against her stomach; strands of blonde hair loose around her face.

“She’s been demoted to just Attending? What’d she do?” she quips in her usual tone that has Robby flaring his nostrils, “She’s writing up the death note for Javadi. McKay’s cancer patient—Roxie—she passed away.” 

Robby frowns, “Where’s McKay?”

“MIA.” Dana drawls, now fiddling with the prescribed box of nicotine gum, “She seemed pretty upset coming from the Ambulance Bay. Anything you want to tell me?” 

“It’s been a long day.” he calls flippantly, already parting through the sea of pandemonium. 

He puts the plethora of questions about McKay’s whereabouts on the back burner for the time being. 

Dana raises her voice over the hospital buzz, “Make amends, Cap.” 

He gives the charge nurse a two-finger salute. 

For once, he makes it to his destination uninterrupted by an emergency that requires his presence in the trauma room. The door to the room that had been dimly lit aside from the salt lamp glow, clicks open as Robby arrives; finding you slipping out the gap and closing the door quietly behind you. 

You haven’t seen him yet. 

For observational purposes, the Chief Attending watches you press your forehead against the cool glass of the narrow window of the door. His stomach sinks when he can see your shoulders shudder as you take a deep breath to fill your lungs with air that kept evading you. 

He doesn’t feel like there’s ever going to be an appropriate time to speak to you in order to rescind his previous declarations. Even more so now, as you conceal the notion of silently weeping in the middle of the ED. 

“You need a coffee?” Robby’s voice makes you jolt. For once, he shrinks in confidence under your unsteady gaze. His tired eyes take in the vision of your watery ones and his expression melts into tenderised sympathy. He nods, “Come on.”

The staff room is empty when you enter, aside from the manikin that Nurse Jesse took great pleasure in decorating, before he was wrongfully detained by ICE agents for intervening with patient care at the core of his interests—just another reason to confirm that the holiday weekend had been nothing short of twenty car pile-up that you were being forced to look at. 

The box of donuts from upstairs is empty, the clock above is ticking closed to the end of the day shift; even when the job wasn’t truthfully done at the stroke of 7PM. You take the seat closest to the wall, muscles sighing from the imminent relief of pressure. 

Robby stands at the coffee machine—if you can even call it that. It sputters a watery version of coffee into a styrofoam cup, and he dumps two packets of sugar into the liquid in order to salvage some sweetness amidst the bitter tone of the room. 

He slides the cup over to you and fishes a protein bar from his pocket, patting it to emphasise the notion that dinner had been served. 

Your stubbornness prevails as you push the bar away from you, despite having not eaten for almost seven hours. 

Robby sighs at that. The refusal doesn’t surprise him. You were always prone to a petty hunger strike when it came to Robby providing you with food to nourish your body after an argument. It was sort of his way to build up to an apology. 

He drags the spare seat across the flooring and plants it in front of you.

The fabric of your scrubs brush against his when his knees bumps yours as he sits. The close proximity invites his scent into your bubble, the undertones of his aftershave prominent enough for you to recognise the fragrance as the one he wore on your wedding day. 

Robby rests his elbows on the tops of his thighs as he lean into your space.

As the words form on his lips into a coherent icebreaker that he was easing into, the door to the staff room whips open to reveal Trinity Santos. 

You look up at her. Robby doesn’t. 

“I need an Attending.” 

Robby answers for the both of you. 

“Go find Dr. Al-Hashimi.” he sings. 

Santos mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes as she shuts the door behind her. You give Robby a certain look—one he’s been given before—that tells him you weren’t in favour of brushing off the RS2 in favour of squashing the hostility that he brought upon the both of you. 

He gives you a meek but crooked smile. Crows feet prominent as he tries to warm the atmosphere. 

“I need you…to understand something here.” Robby starts, his hands falling to the sides of your kneecaps. He can barely look at you when he talks, “If I don’t go on this sabbatical, I am not so sure it’ll stop me from…” he trails off. 

The room falls silent. 

He can barely say it himself because verbalising it would make that little more of a tangible thing. 

You can’t conjure up the fight to protest; so you hang your head. 

“What upset you about Roxie’s case?” Robby takes a different approach. He tilts his head like a curious dog when you look back up from your lap. 

You mull it over. “Do you ever stand in a room with a wife and a husband, one of them is dying in front of the other’s eyes.  And they just have to watch it happen at their bedside?” 

Robby gives a curt nod. 

“Do you ever put yourself in their shoes, Robby?” you question, “How that would feel? To have the most meaningful part of you slip through your fingers and you don’t have the control to stop it. This—” gesture with your finger between your bodies, “—Is how that feels for me.” 

“Yeah—”

“No.” you shake your head, “You don’t get to sit there and tell me you know how it feels from my perspective. I love you in ways that you aren’t reciprocating. You know why?” 

“Why?” Robby whispers. 

You continue, “Because, if we loved each other equally, there wouldn’t be a shadow of a doubt to get the help that you fucking need.” your voice trembles, “I cannot keep pushing through this fog around you, Robby.” 

“I know.” Robby’s expression melts. Brown eyes softer than ever. “I know.” 

“Then get help. Please.” 

Robby cups the back of your head when tears begin to shed from your eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.” he presses his lips to your forehead, “I’ll do it. I’m sorry.” 

The moment is held sacred against your hearts. There’s a particular weight that lifts off of your shoulders when Robby gives in, but even then…your heart was still heavy from the outcome of your previous argument in the Ambulance Bay. 

Maybe three months apart would mend those open wounds. (Absence made the heart grow fonder. Apparently.) 

Robby finally pulls back with a pained expression on his face; as he memorises your features close-up. “What I said before—I didn’t mean it. I’m not sure how I’d do in life if I didn’t have you up my ass about everything.” 

“I hear Montana has a lot of fresh oxygen. You can use all of that up with consistent apologies during your sabbatical.” you grouse, wiping at the wetness that Robby misses when he drags his thumb across your cheekbone—ridding you of a lash that had latched onto your skin. “You know, people divorce for less.” you say. 

Genuine laughter ripples from Robby’s chest, the moment of reconciliation solidified in your acerbic intonation. (Part of him wonders how many lives he has left before the reality of divorce comes to life.) 

Instead of answering back, Robby forgoes professional protocol by pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. It takes a few swallows to dislodge the lump in his throat, smothering his own upset when you pull away to meet his gaze.  

The door opens for a second time. 

Dana holds onto the handle, staring at the scenes before her over the rim of her glasses. “Would you look at that. It’s a Fourth of July miracle. Can this wrap up so we can do rounds and get the hell out of this godforsaken place? Two more minutes, lovebirds.”

Robby stands at the foot of the bed. It’s well after midnight and whilst you have shed into the comforts of your sleepwear, Robby is clad in a thick Carhartt jacket and dark jeans with his bag slung lazily over one shoulder. He is looking like the epitome of a reckless motorcyclist about to venture on the open road after a gruelling twelve—and some additional hours—shift at the Emergency Department.

You are sat with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Ready to bid your husband goodbye; praying it’s rather a ‘see you soon’ sort of farewell.

His confirmation in the Staff Room didn’t sit all that well in your stomach. 

“You have got everything?” you ask, twiddling with the hem of his jacket, “Wallet? Phone? Cash? The list of phone numbers I wrote down for you?” Robby nods along as you list it off, “Toothbrush? Phone charger? The little First Aid Kit I bought?” 

“Check.” Robby affirms. 

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rolling about in the air of your bedroom. Robby and you had rarely spent time apart—as unhealthy as it may sound to other couples, it just works for you. Nothing more than a week, when you decided to take a well-earned break from the seventh layer of hell named the Pitt. 

Three months would feel like a lifetime. 

You sigh deeply, “Call me. Or text me when you arrive at the first hotel. I love you. Kind of.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Robby leans down to kiss you sweetly. His hand captures your jawline to deepen the kiss to gratify his needs. He barely pulls back to look at you, “I’ll miss you.” 

“I’d hope so.” you kiss him again. Your hands rest against the broad-line of his shoulders, whilst his free hand clutches your back to press your body into him. You whisper against his feverish kiss, “You’re running late to get on the road.” 

“I’ve got time.” Robby answers back. 

The change in pace happens abruptly. One minute you’re exchanging a bittersweet goodbye, and the next, your t-shirt has been yanked over your head, leaving your chest exposed; nipples hardening from the cool air. 

Robby bends to capture a nipple into his mouth, his beard creating a sweet fiction alongside his tongue swiping at your bud. He groans against your tit, and you take the opportunity to slide his bag from his shoulder—his jacket coming off quickly after. 

Once he pays attention to your neglected nipple by repeating the same actions, he pulls back with his hair sticking up in all directions as a result of you tugging at it. 

His pupils are blown wide. 

“You want me to take care of you before I leave, hm?” Robby asks, his tone dripping in saccharine.

You nod, breathless. 

He dips his head to press wet kisses down your navel whilst you instinctively lift your hips when his fingers hook at the sides of your flimsy excuse for underwear; which he stuffs into the back pocket of his jeans for later. The air thickens, the silence filling with lewd groans from Robby’s mouth as he lifts and parts your thighs, pressing them up to your chest to expose your slick core. 

His callus palms smooth across the length of the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps in his wake. Brown eyes drift from your aching pussy, up to your face to observe your reaction when he drags two fingers from your seeping hole and upward to your sensitive clit. 

You jolt and whimper from the sensation and Robby clicks his tongue, shushing you as he repeats the same action. 

Once he gathers enough of your juices on his two fingers, he applies pressure to your clit and begins to rubbing in slow circles. You whine, legs making effort to drop down to relieve the pressure; only for Robby’s free hand to pin them against your chest again. 

“Robby…” you manage to say. 

Robby cocks his head to the side to watch your hole clench around empty air. “That feel good?” 

Your brows pinch with your eyes fluttering shut. Instead of answering his question, you bring a hand to bite down on—which Robby promptly swats away. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Let me know.” 

You nod, “Uh-huh.” 

“Good. Fuck, look at you.” Robby drags his fingers down to your hole and eases them in with little resistance. He groans when your walls clench tightly around his digits, “How can I leave this?” 

Unable to respond again, your hips tilt when Robby curls his fingers upward into you, enough to make your jaw clench. He presses his thumb-pad against your clit, rubbing at a pace that he’s well aware that you appreciate. 

Long-term commitment does wonders to mapping out the hot spots of your anatomy. 

The room fills with a schlicking sound with Robby pumping his fingers in and out of you at a gentle pace. 

“I’ve got you.” Robby mumbles, jaw slack at the sight of you arching your back off of the mattress. He takes his free hand that had your legs pinned and applies weight to your lower stomach, picking up the pace with his fingers. “Ooh. There it is.” he says as your walls fit snug against his fingers.

“I’m—Fuck.” you whinge, spots lining your vision. “Robby, please.” 

Robby bobs his head a handful of times, arm beginning to ache from the relentless back and forth motion. His restraint is minimal, quick to shift himself halfway off the bed so his eyes are level with your swollen lips. You’re soaked. He can see at the base of his fingers collects your cream, which allows his thought process is thrown out the window. 

Suddenly, Robby has all the time in the world before he has to leave.

When his mouths latches onto your clit, that’s when things become a little more desperate. His moans vibrate against you, sending you squirming; stomach tensing as he sucks at your swollen nerves—if anything, he wants to leave a lasting impression upon his departure. 

Robby swaps between kitten licks and suckling at your clit—his tongue occasionally dipping to taste the closeness at your hole. His thick fingers work at your insides. Eyes flit up to see your mouth open, bare chest panting from the coil in your stomach on the precipice of snapping. 

It is Robby’s favourite things; watching you come undone. 

His own hips find friction against the mattress as you let out a guttural moan from the back of your throat, body curling into the orgasm that your husband pulls from you. 

You push at Robby’s head when he sucks at your clit out of greed. Too sensitive, you slump into the mattress with the palm of your hand lying flat against your forehead. 

Robby straightens up at the end of the bed with a smug smile, eyes twinkling. “You okay?” 

You wordlessly give him a thumbs up, whining when he pulls his two fingers from your vagina.

After a minute, you rest on your elbows to watch your husband fiddle with his belt. “Let me help.” you advise, moving onto your knees to assist him. 

You’re brought into a bruising kiss as you tug the belt from the belt loops, tossing it to the ground with a ‘thunk.’ It’s light work—removing Robby’s jeans and boxers in one swoop—as you had been in this very position several times throughout your relationship; able to visualise the steps in which Robby matches your nudity. 

As you look down, Robby huffs, “Give it a second, sweetheart.”

His cock still semi-soft, he wraps a hand around the hardened base and gives himself a few pumps so the rest of his shaft could catch up. 

He sheepishly chuckles, “If I was a few years younger—” 

“I don’t care.” you kiss him to halt the self-deprecation, “Means I get to steal more time off of your sabbatical.” 

It had always been an explanation during sex. The first time it had happened, Robby insisted his level of attractions toward you hadn’t depleted, rather it was just his age showing at the worst possible time—something he’d take more gray hairs and wrinkles over any day. 

Never stunting his performance, nor was it a deal breaking factor for you, every time since Robby’s delay in stiffening; you had to remind him there was nothing wrong with it. 

Slow and steady wins the race. 

You lick your lips, watching Robby work his shaft in his hand, his wedding band catching the warmth of the salt lamp at your bedside. He lifts his free hand whilst you watch, the two fingers that had been deep inside you now edging their way into your mouth. 

“Taste that?” Robby asks lowly, “You’re ovulating, sweetheart.” 

His fingers leave your mouth with a faint ‘pop’ and it seems to do the trick as Robby’s tip is flushed red, his slit beginning to bead with precum.

You lower yourself back down onto the mattress with Robby following you. His callus palms come to the plushness of your hips, and he turns you over so your front is lying flush against the tousled sheets.

He dips to press a kiss between your shoulder blades before hiking your hips upward so you are resting on all fours.

Robby hums as he drags his cock through your wetness, “I’m going to miss you.”   

Your fingers curl into the cotton sheets, goosebumps trailing up the length of your spine. Robby kisses your back again, the tip of his cock nudging at your hole. He gives you both a minute before sinking himself in inch by inch; his lips pressing to your skin to smother the groan eliciting from his throat. 

There’s no rush in his movement. There’s around thirty seconds of adjusting before he sinks further into your pussy, his head dropping back when he is to the hilt. 

Robby stays in your warmth without moving for a minute. 

After a minute or so, his hips begin to shift, the softest part of his stomach pressing to your ass when he buries himself deep. Stabilising himself by grasping onto your ass cheeks, fingers digging into your flesh; Robby’s brows furrow from the searing pleasure as he looks down to see his shaft already coated in your arousal. 

You hang your head, letting out a whimper from feeling so full. 

“Jesus—You feel good.” Robby grits behind you. He watches your back muscles tense when he slides his cock out slowly, “Are you going to miss this, baby?” 

You can’t answer. The tip of Robby’s cock plunges into a spongy part, and your vision is lined with white spots. 

Robby gives you a second and repeats the motion until his desire to hear you reaffirm his question takes over. He frees a hand from grappling at your backside, his fingers curling around your throat to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. 

“Tell me.” 

You almost cry, “Yes—fuck—yes, I’ll miss this.” 

“Uh-huh.” Robby grins, “You will.” 

The hand being used to force eye contact is removed and you whine when Robby fully pulls out of you. He flips you back over onto your back with ease, folding your legs up to your chest again before sinking back into you without warning. 

Your back arches as much as it can from being pinned; Robby dips to smother it with a sloppy kiss. 

Your hands curl around his neck, whimpering when you feel him pulse inside you. Well aware that it wasn’t going to last long. 

His thrusts are shallow and restricted to contain his own climax for a little while longer. The tip of his cock brushes against a sensitive part, and he’s left breathlessly chuckling when you tighten yourself around him. 

“You’ll make me cum doing that.” Robby lifts his head, eyes squeezing shut. He drags himself out of you until the tip of his cock is at your opening. You clench to suck the majority of his shaft back in. “Shit baby. Fuck it. Keep squeezing me like that. Just like that.” 

“Fuck, Robby.” is all you can muster, hands clawing at his back when he picks up his pace. 

Robby folds your legs back up to your chest for a third time that night. His thumb catches your clit—unsure if he can drag another orgasm out of you with little recovery time. “Let me fuck you right there. You feel it? You’re so fucking tight.” 

“Robby—” you babble.

“Hm? What is it, sweetheart?” Robby pants, the slapping sounds echoing in the room. 

You free your legs from his grasp and wrap them around his middle. “I want—I need you to cum inside me.” 

“Fuck. Don’t say shit like that.” Robby laughs, his pace faltering. He looks at your expression and realises you’re being serious. “Is that what you want? For me to cum inside you? What if you get pregnant?” 

“I don’t care, I don’t care.” you plead. 

Robby shakes his head, “Okay, okay. I’ll cum inside you.” his thrust start to get sloppy at the thought, “Are you going to lay here, long after I’m gone, with my cum leaking out of you? Is that what you’re going to do?” 

You nod vigorously. 

“Fuck. Ask me nicely.” he commands. 

“Please, Robby.” you breathe out, “Please.” 

Robby nods, sweat beading his hairline from the exertion. He dips his head to bring you into a searing kiss, “I love you.” he mumbles against your lips. 

There’s fewer words spoken after that. The bed creaks as Robby begins to pound into your pussy with one goal in mind. His soft stomach brushes against your pubes as he barely pulls out of you, hungry with need to stay deep within your walls. 

Your legs lock around his middle and Robby lifts your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your backside as he brings your lower half up; fucking into you with desperation. 

You babble his name, “I’m going to cum again.” you repeat over and over with the hot feeling returning in your stomach. 

“You can do it, sweetheart.” Robby encourages, thumb applying pressure to your already sensitive clit. “Give me one last one before I leave. Let me feel it around my cock.” 

The climax ripples through you for a second time at his words. Walls clenching around him so tightly, it made thrusting into you near impossible. Robby continues as best as he can, watching your face twist in painful pleasure. 

It’s enough to send him over the edge with you. 

“Fuck, fuck!” Robby grits out before his words are smothered beneath deep groans as he shoots hot ropes deep inside you. His body weight slumps on top of you, skin slick with sweat as he ruts into you a few more times for good measure. 

You can feel his cum seep out at your opening, around his shaft that was still tucked deep in your pussy. Robby twitches inside of you, moving deeper a few times to ensure you’re stuffed to the brim. 

He kisses the side of your face as he pants out, “I have no idea what I’ll do without you for three months.” 

The familiar melancholy returns to your stomach at the realisation that this was the conclusion before three months without him. 

“…Just come back to me, Robinavitch.”

A/N: thank u to my sweet @novatheory for listening to my rambling over this fic and reading the snippets of drafts i would send at random times. mwah!!!!

What you don't expect, is the kiss he plants on your temple, turning his gaze to the now slack jawed Chad, frozen in front of you.

"Sorry I left you alone too long, baby," he mutters, eyes venomous as he stakes his claim. "Bathroom line was crazy long."

He punctuates this with a wave, grabbing your hand and spinning you to him. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you meet his pretty, satisfied face.

"Doctor Robinavitch!" You scold, lightly swatting his bicep. "What was that all about?"

It's then that realization dawns on his face, his cheeks going pink, a sheepish smile on his lips.

"I just…" he trails off, averting his gaze and shaking his head. "Couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."

As he speaks, his hands trail down from your back, to your waist, to the spot right above your ass. You sway in his arms a little, a hopeful hint for him to continue his journey. He smiles, a sardonic thing that spreads across his face like poison oak. It's infectious, spreading through your entire body.

"I love this song," you whisper, your noses grazing as your rhythm picks up, reaching back to link his hands between yours.

"I don't know it," he responds, still a bit sheepish for a man already growing hard against you.

"You're about to," you whisper, turning your body around so your ass flushes against his hips.

Your nails scrape up the back of his neck, something you see him do often in the ED, and it has its desired effect. He shivers against you, a light groan of surprise escaping his lips.

You smile, your hands reaching his hair, giving a few scratches before pressing his face into your neck, the point of his nose running down the length of it. His lips are eager, you can tell by the pants fanning your neck, so you turn your head to his ear.

"You can kiss me, it's okay, Dr. Robby," his title drips off your tongue like syrup, sticky and sweet and oozing through his body.

"God, you can't fucking call me that while I've got a hard on pressed against your ass in front of everyone we work with," he breathes, pressing one sweet kiss to your neck. "Not here, though, you hear me? We're gonna finish this song and then you're gonna meet me in the bathroom, nod if you understand me."

It's almost pathetic, how eager you are, his sardonic laugh flowing through you like lava. His hands find your hips, speeding them up, grinding them back against his cock. Butterflies release in your tummy, your heart pounding at the need coursing through you.

The song is sensual, some R&B singer talking about loving on his woman all night. You can only hope it's a manifestation of your night to come. You continue to maneuver your hips against his, heat rising between you like a sauna.

The way he grinds against you is easy, bodies fitting into place like puzzle pieces. You wiggle your own a little, moving down against him and back up, his hands grabbing your hips, your waist, desperate clutches for any piece of you he can have.

Throwing your head back, a light gasp spills from your lips. You turn your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper,

"I've always wanted you, Robby," he shudders at your confession, pressing you harder against his prominent length. "You're so hot when you're in charge, did you know that?"

He shakes his head no, eyes squeezing shut as you pout and coo.

"That's such a shame," you press a kiss to the shell of his ear, giving a little bite when he shivers. "When I go home, after a long day, and I reach my hand in my panties, I think about how you murmur in my ear when you help me intubate, I think about how you take your hoodie off when you get too warm, I think about-"

"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls, abandoning his own rule as he drags you off to the bathrooms.

You make the mistake of glancing over to the PTMC booth, which is full of slack jaws and wide eyes. You find Trinity, giving you a surprised thumbs up as you trail behind the chief attending.

You thank whatever deity lies above when the bathrooms reveal to be single stall, and available. Robby nearly tosses you in there, locking the door and resting his forehead against it.

"Did you like that?" He asks, and you quirk a brow, even though he can't see. "You like making me hard in front of my entire staff?"

He turns now, the look in his eye dark, cunning. Sinking your lip to suppress a smile, you nod, slinking over to him. He stays put, and you press him up against the door with your body.

"I really liked it, Robby," you whisper, grazing your lips over his.

"Call me Michael when I'm about to fuck you, understand?" He asks, waiting for a nod before crashing his lips into yours.

You let out a muffled 'mmph!' against him, eliciting a light chuckle from his throat. Teeth clacking, you nearly devour each other as you stumble backward, clamoring behind you for the counter.

He lifts you up, your short dress hiking around your waist as you spread your legs. Lifting his head back, he takes in the wet patch on your pink panties, a low 'ffffuucckkk' leaving his lips.

"You got this wet just from dancing with me, baby?" He coos, finger tracing the gusset of your panties.

You nod, biting your lip.

"I told you I want you, Michael," you try out his name, feeling formal on your lips. "Think about this all the time."

"Really? God, am I lucky?" He mutters, peeling the flimsy fabric down your legs. "Holy shit, look at that," he whispers, eyes wide as a string of your wetness clings to your panties.

"Can I put my fingers in you? Need to stretch this pretty pussy out, is that okay?" He asks, looking up at you as he kneels, now face to face with your glistening heat.

You nod, mumbling out a sweet, "Yes Michael, please."

He pouts, and you ache to lean down and kiss him.

"So polite," he muses, pressing the tip of his finger to your entrance.

Your head falls back, a light 'ah!' falling from your lips. The breach is intrusive, already feeling full. You have no idea how you're going to take his cock, but you're eager to find out.

Once he's reached the knuckle, he curls his finger, reaching a spot that sends electric shocks through you. You kick your legs out a little, squeezing your eyes shut with a moan.

"There it is, that's the spot, hm?" He asks, and you nearly weep.

He starts to thrust, moving his finger in and out as his lips find your clit. The feeling is euphoric, suckling mixed with yet another finger nearly pushing you over the edge already.

"So soon?" He murmurs against your clit, and the coil in your belly tightens even more.

"I'm sorry, Mikey, it just feels too good," you whine, and he releases a grunt against you.

"Fuck, love when you call me that, honey," he growls, and you look down to find him rocking his hips against the hard cabinet beneath the counter.

You chuckle, eyes glossy as you sink your fingers in his hair.

"God, Michael, you're just as desperate as I am," you remark, and his playful brown eyes find yours.

"That's right, princess," he says, placing a kiss to your button. "So you better hurry up and cum for me so I can sink my cock into that pretty pussy, hm?"

This does it, the coil in your belly snapping as euphoric waves wash over you. Your head hits the mirror as his fingers ride out your high, maneuvering your walls until you're shaking around him.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he murmurs, and you let out a sweet cry before you slump against the mirror.

He pops up, the cracking of his knees accompanying the lust in the room, and you let out a sweet chuckle. His cheeks go red, and he shakes his head, fiddling with his belt.

Your eyes are hazy as you watch, big hands quick and nimble against his button, his zipper. He pulls himself out, giving his thick length a few strokes. It's big, the biggest you've ever taken, and your wide eyes give you away immediately.

"I've got you, not gonna let it hurt, okay?" He reassures, and you nod.

He clears his throat, lining himself up against you as you grasp his biceps. There's a brief moment before he sinks in, where you spot his tattoos, Momento Mori. You run your thumb against it, resting your temple against his chin before placing a sweet kiss there.

"You done?" He asks, fondness dripping from his tone.

You nod, leaning back and spreading yourself even wider. He takes this as the invitation it is, pushing his head in. You gasp, nails sinking into the skin of his arms.

"Oh my God, Michael!" You whine, wiggling your hips to get more of him.

"Patience is a virtue, baby," he teases, giving you another inch.

He caresses your head, pushing your wild hair out of your face as he rests his forehead against you.

"So pretty, should tell you that a lot more," he murmurs, finally sinking into you all the way. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening around him at the compliment. "Yeah? Like being my pretty girl? Prettiest girl in the whole ED, smartest, too."

You whine, your pussy throbbing around him as he starts to rock his hips.

"Yeah, you like being my pretty girl, don't you?" He asks, and a tear almost slips out.

He licks his lips as he watches you, picking up his pace to the perfect rhythm. A light moan escapes your lips, raking your nails up his chest as he moves.

"'m all yours," you nod. "Your pretty girl."

His balls slap against your ass with lewd smacks as he nods his head, his eyes aglow.

"Fucking. Mine," he grumbles, leaning down to suck your neck into his mouth.

His hands find your tits, squeezing and pulling at the taut skin.

"So fuckin' pretty, gonna blow my fucking load baby," he rasps, his pace growing sloppy against you.

"Please cum in me, Michael," you keen. "Need you to fill me up."

He reaches down to rub your clit again, and the added pressure has you right at the edge.

"Please cum with me, baby," he practically begs. "Gotta feel you tighten around me while I empty these balls, got it?"

You nod, tears finally spilling as your second orgasm hits. The Earth stutters on its axis, mini explosions bursting through your tummy.

"Fuck yes!" He groans, his cock twitching inside of you. "That's it, that' s my girl, cummin' for me so good."

All you can do is nod, brain mush and body soup as your orgasm continues to pulse through you. Robby thrusts into you one last time, pulling you in for one last sweet kiss.

Soon enough, all you can hear is the heavy breaths exchanged between the two of you, followed by some sweet chuckles. Reaching up to the nape of his neck, you play with his hair and say,

"I don't know about you, but I'm not going to be the one to face our coworkers after all of this."

He laughs, cheeks going pink as he pulls out. Cleaning you up, he murmurs,

"I'll take care of it. You're my girl, remember?" You nod. "That means you don't have to worry, that I'm gonna take care of you."

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.

Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.

For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.

Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.

You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.

After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.

For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved. I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear "Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.

At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."

You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"

Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"

Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."

Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."

Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."

A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."

You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.

"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"

There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."

You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.

His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"

She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."

Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.

"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.

Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."

Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."

"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."

Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.

"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.

"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."

He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.

Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.

Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"

You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.

At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"

You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."

The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.

"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."

You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.

Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.

During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.

"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."

You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.

When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.

You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."

Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.

"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.

"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."

You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.

But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.

Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.

The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.

You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.

On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.

"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."

You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."

Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."

"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.

His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."

"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."

Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."

"Got it."

He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."

Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.

"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."

Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her? I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist? As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.

Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.

What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.

You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.

But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.

You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.

"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."

You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.

"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.

As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.

Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.

You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."

"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"

Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."

He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."

You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"

A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."

The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.

"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.

Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."

You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.

Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.

With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.

"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."

You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.

"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."

His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.

Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.

You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.

You had missed something.

Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."

He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.

"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."

You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."

"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."

You jolted just a bit. Go home?

"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"

"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."

Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.

You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.

Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.

Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.

Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.

Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.

"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."

In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."

Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"

"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.

He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."

Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.

"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."

And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.

With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.

Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.

Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.

"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."

You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.

After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.

It was impossible. I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust. You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.

Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.

Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.

Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.

You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.

You were you, and you loathed it entirely.

You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.

You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.

And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.

They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.

Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.

A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.

Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.

Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.

"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"

You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.

"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"

Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.

You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."

He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.

"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.

Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.

He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.

Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.

After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"

Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."

His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."

You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"

Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."

"But not good," you scoffed.

"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."

"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."

"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"

Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.

"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.

"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"

"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."

You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.

By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.

"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."

You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."

He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."

You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."

Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"

"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."

Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"

You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."

In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.

"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."

A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"

"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."

He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.

"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."

You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."

A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.

"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.

"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."

Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.

"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.

"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."

He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"

Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."

"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.

"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."

Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty. You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.

Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.

He'd seen the small changes too late.

The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.

His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.

He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.

He was slightly correct, but not entirely.

You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.

It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.

Someone helped you see that along the way as well.

"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.

Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"

Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."

"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.

"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."

"Dr. [Name] could do it."

Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.

Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."

An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.

You were with someone?

He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.

Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.

Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.

"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."

"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."

You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"

He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."

"You know I always do."

Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.

The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.

"Okay, you gotta go save lives."

You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."

From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.

"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."

Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.

But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.

his breath hitched when you took him in your mouth fully, "fuck baby", hand coming to fist your hair as the counter top took the rest of his weight. "what's gotten into you today hm" you hollowed out your cheeks, head bobbing as his cockhead neared the back of your throat on every take. you could tell he was close when his dick twitched against your tongue and the soft grunts grew louder above you. that's when you pulled off him, batting your eyelashes at his confusion.

"what-"

"it'll be fun" you lazily fisted his cock, keeping him alert. "please jackie, get to watch us fuck whenever you want" you licked a bead of precum away, his hips jolting at the feel of your tongue again. "don't you want that?"

"fuck" how could he say no to you? "fine"

you let him cum in your mouth to seal the deal. a sex tape.

-

he struggled a little at first. settling in as if there wasn't a camera capturing his every move on you. you'd set it up at the foot of the bed, feeling your pussy grow damp as you imagined the angles. being able to see how jack looked as he fucked into you, muscles straining, his face when he was cock deep in your cunt.

"relax baby" you purred against his stubble, nuzzling at him. "this is so fucking hot, gonna watch you fuck me over and over and oh-"

you needn't say any more. jack interupted you with his mouth on yours, sucking on your bottom lip with such fervour your chin was coated in his spit.

"gonna make you feel so good baby, make you cum for the camera yeah?" any performance anxiety he had disappeared when your back arched, bare tits pressing into his face as he circled his tongue around your nipple and rolled the other between fingertips.

"fuck jack 'm so wet, touch me, please" you weren't playing up to the camera. sex was always like this between the two of you, so much dirty talk and instruction, pleads and encouragement. you were just excited you'd finally be able to play some of it back.

your pussy jumped when you felt jacks breath between your legs. a kitten lick to your clit and a pull on your thighs then he was face deep, eating you to the high heavens. he moaned into you, hips gyrating against the sheets absentmindendly until he was chasing his own release in tandem with yours.

you fisted his hair with one hand and fucked his face til you were coming all over it. he came to his knees in time to avoid blowing his load all over the bed before he'd even had the chance of being inside you.

"on your knees baby"

you planted yourself at an angle that showcased your glistening cunt, all puffy and wide open for the camera to see. jack had already discarded his prosthetic at the same time as his clothes, positioning you just right in front of him. his hands smoothed over your ass, rolling the flesh before a palm came to thwack one of your cheeks.

"mmmpf, please jack-" he rubbed away the sting. "need your cock baby. please"

the whine in your plea was just too perfect for him not to give in. you looked back over your shoulder to see him stroking himself, eyes dark and concentrating on your sopping hole as he pushed into you. slow at first but you were too impatient, sinking back on your knees to take all of him hard and fast.

"jesus fuck- slow down angel" he huffed a laugh. "you tryna kill this old man?"

that didn't help his cause, pussy clamping down around his cock because he knew how tight it made you. to refer to the age gap between you, calling himself your daddy and you his baby girl. it always elicited pure pornagraphic moans from you and this was no exception.

his hand stroked up your spine, landing at the nape of your neck. he held you there when he started to fuck you hard, face shoved into the mattress and hair tangled between fingers. jack loomed over you, deep hard thrusts until just the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

"my good girl, takin me so well, so perfect"

"j-jack, my g-god" your words stuttered in line with each thrust.

"that's it, make some noise, show the camera how good 'm makin you feel yeah" his voice was low and gravelly, concentrating hard, snapping his hips harder and faster.

"so good jackie, fuck, so close-" your knuckles paled as you fisted the sheets above your head "gonna c-cum-"

that magic word had jack panting and pulling out of you at the same time. you whined at the sudden emptiness but it was mere seconds before he was pulling you up and round.

"want the camera to see how pretty you look when you cum" he leant back, tugging you on top of him til you were sinking back onto his cock, head thrown back at the returning fullness.

"come on that's it, fuck yourself on me" he moved the strands of hair from your face, a gentle gesture that opposed the roughness of his other hand digging into your hip. "fuck yourself baby"

you wasted no time in rolling your hips, a figure of eight then up and down, wanting to feel him hit every part inside you.

"god you look so good, not gonna last much longer..."

"oh, fuckfuckfuck-" the sudden shrillness of your pants accompanied his deep grunts, pushing eachother to the edge as your hips worked manically against him. you came when his thumb found your clit (with ease), the tight circles snapping the band in your stomach, gushing all over him with a silent cry.

jack came inside you a second later. fingers deep in the flesh of your thighs, hips jerking up, your name dripping from his tongue. he slowly rocked into you until his thick white mess was oozing out of you and collecting at the base of his cock.

you rode it out together, bodies relaxing against one another after a few minutes of silence.

Jack Abbot wasn’t used to living alone. He went straight from his parents house growing up to the army housing—to sharing a place with Robby during med school—to living with his late wife.

The townhouse he occupied now felt too big, too empty, too full of ghosts haunting him from different stages of his life. Still, it beat wandering around the lonely house he had shared with his wife before she passed. He couldn’t stand sitting there any longer, all the what ifs of what life could’ve been followed him through every room.

So he moved into a townhouse, smaller, still two floors, enough room to occupy but still feel empty. Mostly bare of decorations. A few medical textbooks books, pictures from his younger days, his wedding day. Random shit Robby and Dana had bought him to put out when he’d moved in.

He stuck to himself for a while; go to work, to the gym, come home; and sleep until his next shift to do it all over again.

Robby finally snapped him out of it a few months later. He started talking to old friends again, going out more with coworkers when Robby and Dana asked, even if it wasn’t his scene.

Years went by and he fell back into the swing of things. Moved around the ED with as much ease as he had when he first walked through the ambulance bay doors all that time ago. His humor came back, he joked more with residents and mentored better. Things seemed normal, well as normal as they could be after everything he’d been through.

It all came crashing down around him when a new attending walked into his night shift—when you walked in. You, the cheery and kind new attending Gloria hired to have two on each shift. You with the pep in your step, you who always spoke softly to scared patients and took extra time to explain things to them. You who wiggled your way into a spot under his ribs he didn’t even know existed anymore.

But more than that; you challenged him. You were just as quick and witty as he was—taking him aback the first time your sarcasm and teasing was directed at him.

The way it made the ED fall silent around you, all eyes watching as the staff held their breath.

Lena smirked behind you, Shen and Ellis’ mouths fell open.

You were gonna fit right in, even if it kept Jack on his toes—especially if it kept Jack on his toes.

You were at the hub with Lena when it happened—chatting in between patients when he came up behind you. His uneven gait was recognizable from two hallways down. The soft thump of his sneakered prosthesis hitting the floor.

He stood next to Joy, talking about charting and something else you couldn’t pick up on. His voice hit your ears before hers did.

“That’s how we rolled when I was a resident”, Jack smirked.

“Was that in the 1900s?”, Joy jutted back as she looked up at him.

Jack’s smirk didn’t waver; “Yeah, when charts were written by candlelight.”

Your smile was full of mischief now, words slipping out before you could stop yourself; “Written with ink and a feather pen too, Peepaw?”

The room stilled.

Jack let out a noise that almost sounded like a laugh.

Shen choked on his iced coffee.

Ellis let out a “Daammnnnn!!”

Jack just…stared at you. Lips still pulled at the corners, but his eyes were darker now; something lingering underneath that you couldn’t quite place.

“Only until typewriters became popular.”

He was giving it right back.

It continued that way—you and Jack ribbing each other back and fourth. He didn’t know when he realized how much he relied on that, relied on you. It hit him square in the chest; something new he didn’t quite know what to do with, or where to put it.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

To say the past month had been hard on Jack would be an understatement; he was exhausted.

The anniversary of his wife’s death was approaching, Robby had just gotten back from his sabbatical which had thankfully taken some of the work load off of his shoulders—but he was so ingrained in the new routine of constantly being the one on call and working overtime that he didn’t know how to stop.

His leg was bothering him more than usual lately, he could barely sleep at night; his anxiety was through the roof lately and to make matters even worse—there had been an influx of veteran’s coming through the ED like a revolving door.

Jack had lost too many people in his life; patients included.

His wife, his leg, countless numbers of his old army buddies and people he knew in the service. The biological family he had left was scattered. His chest felt tighter than normal, and now when he saw you; instead of immediately succumbing to the excitement in his chest—his blood ran cold.

He felt guilty. Guilty for thinking about anyone other than his wife, guilty for liking you, guilty for you being the best part of his day and looking forward to seeing you; guilty for wanting you.

As soon as he trekked into the ER that night the entire atmosphere shifted. The air around him went tense and cold, settling in the deep crease between his brows. He huffed under the pressure of his prosthesis digging into his skin with each step. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken it off for more than an hour.

He barely grunted a greeting back when Robby approached him, listening through handovers with silence and dark, tired eyes that looked way too sharp and miserable to be the same warm hazel ones he always had.

He’d lost his Jack spark.

When you approached him to sign off on an order of meds he barely moved.

“Doctor Abbot, can you sign these off for me?”, You ask.

A deep puff of air leaves his nose as he slides his readers on, taking the tablet from your hands with a grip that was too tight and stiff.

He didn’t say a word; just signed with his pointer finger after reading it over and handed it back to you.

You frowned; “Is uh, everything ok, Doctor Abbot? You seem upset.”

He inhales sharply; “Fine. Get those meds to your patient.”

No banter. No ribbing or poking fun with you. Just a flat voice empty of any of its usual emotions.

“Are you sure? Is there someth—“

“I said i’m fine”, He cuts you off, squeezing past you; “Get back to work.”

You watch him go with wide eyes and stunned silence.

“Brrr”, Lena says next to you; “Who pissed in his cheerios?”

“I don’t know…”, You trail off, watching him round the corner and disappear; staring at the spot he’d been seconds earlier.

You didn’t have much time to reflect on it or ask him anything further as the noise of the ED picked up. The ambulance bay door kept opening and closing like it was on a timed loop. Your hands were busy.

So were his.

You saw him across the floor a few times, looking down at his feet or off into space while Robby or another doctor talked to him. He still took care of his patients with efficiency; but he didn’t hover anymore.

He stood with his arms crossed, back tight and jaw the same. Lack of emotion. Normally, where he’d make sure he was on the same level as a patient to make them feel comfortable; he now stood towering over them. He didn’t let his hand brush their back or knee to offer comfort, didn’t smile; at least not real ones.

His visit times were quick; barely letting out a few words as he read a patients chart, asked a few questions and got a briefing before he was passing the case off to a med student or intern unless it was an emergency.

He was stiff as he assessed a younger man who had come in from a car accident. Dislocated shoulder, multiple fractures of the leg and arm. He grunted as he helped lift him off the stretcher and onto a hospital bed. A twinge of pain flickering across his face for the briefest second.

His jaw stayed tight as he called out directions and sent the man up to the OR.

He went completely rigid when a veteran a few years older than him came in with a multi-car pile-up. The man was mostly stable until he wasn’t; stats tanking suddenly and alarms blaring. Jack coded him for an hour to no avail. The time of death left his mouth between gritted teeth as he tore his gown off.

Nobody went after him. Nobody dared. Nobody wanted to set him off first.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Jack found a quiet hallway in one of the empty wings of the hospital, back pressed against the cool wall as he slid to the floor. His elbows dug into his knees, heels of his palms rubbing against his damp eyes. His leg burned and sent a jolt of lightning up his spine at the movement. A shuddered and shaky breath left his lips as he tried to regain his composure.

But he couldn’t, not with everything weighing down on him all at once. So he let himself cry softly, quietly in the way he trained himself to; cursed himself under his breath for doing so.

When his breathing lost its shakiness he finally pushed himself up off the floor, one hand pressed against the cool wall as he looked down at his feet—a hand on his hip.

He shook his head with a long exhale; “Come on, Jack…snap out of it already.”

He wiped his face once, forced himself to stand straight despite the still worsening pain in his leg; and walked back into the ED like a man on a mission. Though he wasn’t completely sure what that mission was.

Survive this shift, sounded like a good one.

You caught his gaze by accident as he walked back in. Standing at the hub going through patient lists to update the board, when the familiar sound of his footsteps filled your ears.

You looked up like you always did. His eyes found yours for a second before he looked away. He didn’t stop, didn’t speak; just kept going.

You frowned at the sight of him; cheeks pink and tear-stained. Eyes exhausted and devoid of their usual light. His jaw was ticked and clenched tight. The shift dragging on around him. He puffed his chest out as he walked by in an attempt to seem like everything was normal. But you’d seen him enough, learned things and taken in his very being to know that wasn’t true.

You didn’t know him that well personally, but you knew enough about him inside the hospital to know when things were off. Knew him enough to know there was something charged between you. To pick up on his usual mannerisms or when things were wrong.

Things were definitely wrong right now; but you couldn’t figure out what. Just that Jack Abbot clearly needed help.

You cornered Dana at the hub later; “Do you know what’s up with Jack?”

She took off her glasses, didn’t linger on the fact that you were on first name basis—and got straight to work.

She sighed; “No, but…whatever it is, it’s not good.”

You wanted to laugh at the obviousness of it.

“Have you ever seen him like this?”, You ask.

Her expression goes soft, a little sad; “He usually gets in his head around this time every year…his wife’s anniversary is in a few weeks”, Her brows furrow; “But I’ve never seen him this bad. Not like this.”

Guilt climbs up your spine; his wife. Of course that’s why he’s upset. But Dana’s words linger in the back of your mind; “I’ve never seen him this bad.”

You wanted to help him. Needed to help him. Whatever was going on between the two of you; flirting or not—could wait. You decided right then and there, standing next to Dana; that you were going to do whatever you could to help—to save him before he spiraled too far.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Jack Abbot fully cracked with two hours left in his shift.

Another trauma had come in, bystander in a bank robbery gone wrong. Clinging to life as the alarms split through the room around him.

You were gowned up next to him, following nurses and residents around as they prepped the trauma room. Robby and Jack were standing over the patient, calling out directions as they always did.

Another alarm started going off, Jack’s head whipping up.

“Oxygen is tanking! We need to intubate, get me a tube—now!”

You moved quickly, grabbing all the supplies you needed and getting them to Jack. He took them immediately. The scalpel in your hands slipped before he could get in fully in his grasp; the sound of it clanging against the floor echoed through the trauma room.

The room fell silent except for the sound of metal against linoleum.

Jack stilled, everyone’s eyes on you.

“Doctor Abbot—I’m so sorry! Let me get-“

“No”, He blurted out.

“What?—“

“Clearly you can’t be trusted in this room, and we need people who aren’t going to fuck up saving someone’s life”, He says through his teeth, face almost red.

You’d never seen Jack like this before. He never raised his voice at anyone. Not unless you were a patient threatening his staff or causing problems. Never over something simple like this; never over mistakes.

He’d usually talk lowly to you, reassure you it’s ok and encourage you. Tell you that you’ll do better next time as he guides you through the procedure. But that Jack was not in this room, you weren’t even sure he was in this hospital.

“Doctor Abbot, I-“

“Henderson, get me a new scalpel”, He orders, barely looking at you; “You step back, we don’t need anymore screw ups.”

Screw-up. That’s what you were to Jack in this moment? Just another thing that wasn’t going his way.

Your eyes and face burned. He saw it, but didn’t say anything else. Ignored the twinge of pain in his chest as soon as the words left his mouth; at the look on your face. More guilt hitting him.

“Jack”, Robby warned, making him look up.

“What?”, Jack snapped.

Robby raised his brows, sending Jack a look that didn’t need words. Jack silently got back to work with the intubation as soon as Henderson handed him the scalpel.

Robby’s eyes found yours as you hovered next to him, not sure what to do.

“Go take ten, kid. Get some water and some air”, Robby tells you quietly.

You don’t argue, just nod once in response before pushing the trauma doors open and leaving behind the humiliation of Jack’s words.

Jack watches you go, the pain in his chest doubling. Fuck, he messed up.

“What the hell was that, brother?”, Robby asks.

Jack doesn’t answer, only a sigh leaving his nose as he finishes the intubation.

You don’t know when you ended up in the bathroom splashing water on your face, but here you were.

A few tears lingered in your eyes; but they weren’t from Jack’s words. Sure they hurt, but the only thing on your mind was how worried you were for him.

Never in a million years did you think you’d see the day Jack Abbot snapped at someone during a trauma—let alone at you.

You dabbed at your face with a cold paper towel, taking a deep breath before you walked back out to find your water bottle.

“You ok?”, Dana asked softly.

“M’Fine. But he’s not.”

Both of your eyes found Jack’s figure across the room. Still working in the trauma, still rigid and still making your chest ache.

Jack Abbot hadn’t cracked yet, but he was seconds away from doing so.

The moment it finally happened the ED was filled to the brim, staff were running in every direction. Another vet had come in with chest pains, everything else seemed normal; until he tanked.

Jack moved like he was back in the field; nothing else around him existed except for the man on the table. He coded within a half an hour. Jack immediately started compressions, ignoring the ache in his leg that had turned to jolting pain in the last few hours.

He ignored Parker’s voice at hour one. Just kept doing compressions.

1…2…3…shock.

He ignored Shen’s a half an hour later.

1…2…3…shock.

He ignored Robby’s voice at the two hour mark. The first time, at least.

When Robby stood behind him, so close Jack could feel the heat of his words crawling up his spine; he couldn’t ignore him anymore.

“Jack…there’s nothing we can do, he’s gone”, Robby said softly.

Jack’s eyes stung as he finally, finally removed his hands from the patient’s chest—handprints almost visible in their wake. He took a step back, feet faltering and making him sway for a second. Robby reached out to steady him; but the touch burned him. He pulled away, looking around the trauma room at all the eyes on him.

His gaze landed on you; watching him with wide and concern filled eyes. Almost teary with his own. That stung like a punch; because if you were watching him, so was everyone else—which meant it was bad. Whatever he’d spiraled into, whatever he had tried so desperately to hide; he couldn’t anymore.

He left the trauma room in two wide strides, TOD leaving his lips in a brief huff; the door swinging shut with a loud gust behind him. He didn’t take off his gown or his glasses or the gloves that were sticky against his hands. He just moved to wherever his feet were taking him; wherever they knew best.

The ED paused around him.

Dana watched him rush by with horror and dread donning her face—in all the years she’d worked with him, she’d only seen him like this once. A few weeks after his wife had passed.

She watched him disappear into the stairwell, knowing better than to go after him. The silence following was deafening. She swallowed hard, looking around once before speaking.

“Alright, everyone back to work.”

The ED resumed like the pause had never happened.

But the whispers and concerned gazes remained; because Jack Abbot was a steady beacon in a place that became reckless.

What happens when the beacon itself becomes unsteady?

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

“Where’s Abbot?”, You asked Dana, breathless and cheeks red.

She sighed hard; “…Getting some air.”

You didn’t wait for her to say anything else before you were moving; climbing the same stairwell Jack had only a few minutes before.

Your footsteps were lighter, still just as hurried and charged—but they didn’t carry the same weight that his had.

You swung open the heavy door to the roof with a small grunt; the cool early-morning air smacked you in the face—making your already pink cheeks redder.

Your eyes landed on him immediately. Wrong side of the railing. Stethoscope hanging from the metal behind him. Like he’d already made a decision. You swallowed thick.

“Jack”, You spoke.

No movement except the faintest shake of his head. He didn’t answer, didn’t look at you, didn’t look away from the city below him. He was stuck there like a magnet; like something else was holding him down. Mental weight pushing down on his shoulders harder than it ever had before.

“Jack”, You try again, stepping up behind him but still leaving some distance; “Jack, go home”, You say.

“What home?”, He spits, eyes rimmed red; “I have no home.”

You see his face only for a second; but it’s enough to send your heart down to your stomach and a sudden spike of urgency down your spine.

His hands dig deeper into his pockets, heels of his shoes going with them against the rooftop.

“It’s just an empty fucking box. Too dark. Ghosts of everyone I’ve ever failed to treat that haunt me and keep me awake at night. Makes my head spin and digs me deeper into this fucking…hole that I can’t get out of.”

His chin wobbles now, a scoff escaping his lips despite himself. He turns further away, eyes flicking back across the city line—blurry and glowing behind unshed tears. Face red as he puffs out his cheeks with a breath, shaking his head like it’ll make all this disappear. The thoughts, the memories, the darkness; that fact that you’re seeing him like this. At his lowest. When he’s supposed to be the one there for you.

“I lost two vets today”, He grunts; “Two.”

“That’s not your fault, Jack. You did everything you could”, You say.

He scoffs again, tears still burning as he looks at his feet; his bad leg that echoes like a taunt.

“Are you still seeing your therapist?”

It’s an innocent question, but it hits Jack wrong.

Another scoff; “Yeah, fuck lot of good that’s doing.”

He runs a hand desperately through his hair; “I go in there, every week. It’s the same questions. Same schpiel, same routine….I spit some bullshit back that isn’t true just to get out of there.”

“Jack, you can’t do that…”

“Why not?”, He almost yells, almost, but not quite; “It doesn’t work anyways.”

You hesitate, wracking your brain before you take one small step forward. Just one, enough to test the boundaries. Jack doesn’t step away.

“I’ve seen too much. I’ve seen…so much”, His voice cracks, wavering and wet; “I’ve seen way more than any person should ever have to see. ‘Seen so many people die, slip right through my fingers like nothing I did mattered…”

He’s quiet, then a whisper; “…Maybe it doesn’t.”

You step closer at that, hand resting lightly on his shoulder; “That’s not true.”

He doesn’t look at you; “How do you know?”

“I know because i’ve seen you, Jack.”

He doesn’t say anything back, shuffling his hands back into his pockets, keys jingling quietly between his fingers.

“What you do, matters so much Jack”, You whisper; “You matter, so much.”

He finally looks up now, tear lines streaking his red cheeks—the whites of his eyes just as red. His face heavy and tired and holding the weight of the world in them.

“You’re the safety net, you’re the hope of so many patients. You’re the steadiness and the knowledge and what people need when they’re drowning. You’re kind, and competent and compassionate and caring. So many people see that; including me.”

He takes a deep breath; “Everything I care about, everything I fight so hard for. Fight so hard to protect, goes away. Gets taken away from me…like I was never meant to have it in the first place.”

His shoulders sage under your hands.

“My deployment, my leg…my wife”, He breathes, voice shaking; “It’s all gone…like some big joke.”

You hesitate before you speak; “You still have them Jack. Maybe not physically, but they’re with you all the same. In your heart, in your life story, your experience.”

He shifts his weight a little.

“A wise man once told me that just because you loose something doesn’t mean it’s truly gone. You get to choose how much it stays around.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth turns up the tiniest fraction; “Sounds like a pretty smart guy.”

You smile now; “The smartest guy I know…don’t tell Robby.”

Jack takes a deep breath, still a little shaky as he fully turns to look at you; “I don’t know how to do this without her…to allow myself to live without it feeling like I’m replacing her.”

“What do you mean?”, You ask.

“To allow myself you”, He exhales once, eyes dipping back down to the ground.

His words hit you in the chest hard. You scramble for words, somehow still managing to find the right ones.

“I’m not trying to replace her, Jack. I know I never could, and I’d never want to”, You reassure him; “…But maybe I want to find a different spot to fill.”

Jack softens at that, you see it in his eyes, in his entire face.

“You already have, kid.”

His hand finds your arm, finger twitching softly against your skin.

“Now please, for the love of god; come back on the other side of that railing before I have a stroke”, You say.

That earns a small laugh from him, before he pulls back and ducks under the cool metal—straightening his back when he’s on the other side.

“C’mere”, He breathes, pulling you against his chest without another word.

It knocks the air out of you. Being this close to him, you can smell every layer of his cologne. The sweat that’s lingering on his skin, the sadness. The warmth.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you”, He whispers; “I didn’t mean any of it. I know it was an accident and anyone could’ve done it and I wasn’t in the right space. I know that doesn’t excuse it. I was an asshole and i’m sor-“

“Jack”, You stop him with a hand at his cheek; “It’s ok. I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”, He asks it like his ears are lying to him.

You shake your head; “No”, You tell him; “I’m worried about you.”

He lets his forehead fall against yours for a brief second before pulling away.

“Thank you”, He breathes; “For coming after me.”

You pull back just enough the look at him; “Hey, wasn’t gonna let my best attending think himself off the roof. We need him too much.”

His chest rumbles a little at that. You find his hand with yours, interlacing your fingers to hold him closer, still scared he might change his mind and jump over the railing.

“M’not going anywhere, sweetheart”, He says, voice gruff and low.

You realize then he still has tears on his cheeks, brushing your thumb softly against his skin to wipe it away.

“You know…maybe you don’t have to do it alone”, You start; “Maybe we could go visit your wife together…if you want to.”

You offer it quietly, regret pulling at you when you feel him tense up.

“Unless that’s overstepping it, i’m sor-“

“I’d like that a lot”, Jack says, cutting you off and quieting all your worries with one breath.

He lets his hand find the back of your head, pulling you closer to press his lips to your temple. He lingers there for a moment; letting it ground him and bring him back to the place he matters most.

“I guess we should get back down there”, He finally says, grabbing his stethoscope off the railing and swinging it back around his neck.

You step in front of him; “No”, you say.

His eyes widen and he cocks his head with a disbelieving laugh; “No?”

“You”, You say, “Are going home. Dana’s orders.”

“She’s bossy”, Jack says.

“You’re tired”, You offer; “and in pain.”

His shoulders drop at that, finally letting the full force of his exhaustion show.

“Yeah”, He says; “I am.”

But then he moves closer to you, and you suddenly realize; he doesn’t want to be alone.

“Want to go get breakfast first? My treat”, You offer.

“I’d like that, too”, He says with a small nod and a quirk of his lips to match.

He follows you to the roof door, hand hovering at your elbow; holding the door open for you to step back inside the chaos of the hospital.

“But if you think i’m letting you pay, you’re wrong”, He says, stepping in after you.

The door shuts behind you both, his front pressed up against your back as he steadies you at the waist; big warm hands grounding you.

“Must you argue?”, You tsk.

“Makes things more interesting”, He says, shrugging once before moving you both forward; “Cmon kid, bed’s calling my name.”

You watch him go for a second, how he turns with a brow quirked as if to ask “you coming?” How his face is still slightly puffy from crying, the way he carries himself differently now, more vulnerable. More open.

You realize then that things will be different between you two. Different in the way he lets himself hover near you; touching now instead of holding himself back.

Different in how you end up in his bed that morning after breakfast, holding him close as he drifts off; silent cries and shaking shoulders finally relaxing.

The way he’d eventually kiss you for real, soft and surprising outside the ambulance bay after another stressful night like this one. How he’d start reaching for you when things got hard. How you ground him the way no one else can even get close to.

The remnants of outside air floated around you and Jack in the stairwell, your eyes sweeping over him one last time to make sure he was okay; that he wasn’t going to crumble right then and there.

“I’m ok”, He says softly when you step up next to him; “I’ve got you.”

Your heart clenches once, pushing sweaty curls out of his face with a small smile; because Jack Abbot is safe with you.

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"You made it," Jack said at last, stepping aside to let you both in, his voice steady. He clapped your father on the shoulder in greeting, easy and practiced, before his eyes returned to you for just a moment longer than necessary. You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze trailed your body, taking in every inch of you, lingering for just a second on your lips or your cleavage. Your skin felt hot under his scrutiny.

"Long drive?" He closed the door behind you, a hand carefully brushing your waist, guiding you further into the house. The warmth of the cabin closed around you, fire crackling somewhere deeper inside, and for a moment it felt exactly like it had in July, except now there was snow on the ground, Christmas lights in the windows, and the awkward presence of your dad.

He answered for you, laughed about christmas traffic as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat. Jack's eyes stayed glued to you. You were standing there, beautiful, with snow on your hair and a tired slouch in your posture, you looked slightly older, different in a way that felt sudden and unfair, like time had skipped ahead without asking him, like he should have been there to see it.

You were still the girl who used to trail behind him in the summer, barefoot on the dock, with wet hair and frayed shorts on, showing off your tan. You were still the girl who asked about his job, scrunched your nose at the gruesome details, laughter bubbling out of you at his jokes. Still the girl he'd kissed on a hot summer night when you'd both drank too much.

Jack had missed you, he had missed being able to press you against him, hold you down, hear you whimper his name like you had done in the past, sweet and breathless. He had missed the way your cunt felt around him, warm and tight. He had missed the way you looked at him through your lashes, the way you listened to him, did whatever he told you because he knew better, you had nothing to worry about. But unlike last summer, he hid it— the want, the need for you— not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Because you were standing next to your father. Because it was Christmas. Because the lights glowed in the windows, the fireplace crackled, and all he wanted to do was taste you, but he shouldn't.

"Let me show you to your rooms, that way you can get all set for dinner." He cleared his throat, a futile attempt to clear his mind. The image of you on your knees, mouth open and waiting so sweetly for him, hadn’t left his thoughts since you had last seen each other. It lingered in the back of his eyes when he tried to sleep, stuck in every corner of his brain at the hospital, followed him on dates, and even crept in when he spoke to your father. All he could think about was you.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

The wind, cold and persistent, howled outside the guest bedroom window rattling the panes and making the room feel even smaller. You laid in bed, the unpacked bags scattered at your feet, mind spinning. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. About Jack. About the way his eyes had landed on you earlier, and then how quickly he’d looked away, too fast, like he was trying to erase the heat he’d clearly felt. Did he still want you, or had it all been a mistake? Was he disgusted with you for what happened during the summer, for the way you’d begged him, the way you’d given yourself over so willingly? Your stomach twisted just imagining it. What if all the sweet words he’d spared for you were only that, words, with no depth or meaning, just a beautiful trap for a dumb girl like you?

Under the dim lights of the bedroom, you thought back to every detail— the set of his jaw, the way he had clapped your father on the shoulder, the soft, almost imperceptible brush of his hand at your waist— trying to find its meaning. What if he hated you? What if he thought you were reckless, stupid, or worse—easy? Every memory of his hands on you, his voice, his touch, rose up in your mind.

You pressed your face into the pillow, willing the thoughts away, but it was no use. You could still feel the ghost of his hands sliding over your skin, still hear the rasp of his voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

A sudden knock at the door made you jump, heart hammering. "Dad?" you called, voice shaking slightly.

"Not exactly," came his low, familiar voice, measured but not casual. Your stomach flipped. "Look, kid… we can—we should talk later. But for now, just come downstairs. Dinner's ready."

"Okay," You sighed and got out of bed. Your limbs felt heavy from lack of sleep and an excess of worry, both caused by the man waiting on the other side of the door. When you opened it and your eyes met his, you could have sworn you were back in that one fateful weekend in July.

Jack stood in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slightly tense like he was bracing himself. The light from the stairwell caught the lines at the corners of his eyes, the familiar set of his jaw. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He looked at you the way he always had when he was trying not to give something away, gaze steady, mouth tight with restraint.

"Food’s getting cold," he said finally, voice low, careful. His eyes flicked past you into the room, then back again, lingering on your lips just a beat too long.

He stood to the side to let you pass, his arm quick and careful brushing against yours, guiding you towards the stairs. You followed him down, each step slow, aware of his presence just ahead of you, the broad line of his back, the way his shoulders stayed tense as if he were holding himself in place with sheer stubbornness.

Your father was already at the table when you came downstairs, a drink in his hand. Jack offered you a beer; you glanced at your father, and when he nodded in approval, you nodded too.

Jack crossed the room to hand it to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took the bottle, a spark of heat shooting up your arm at the brief, deliberate contact. Your eyes met for a second before he looked away. You were tired of playing cat and mouse, but you couldn't speak up yet.

Dinner settled into an easy rhythm. Your father talked the most, as he usually did, relaxed in a way you rarely saw him at home. He spoke about work, about long flights and unfamiliar cities, about the exhaustion that came with being a surgeon, about never staying in one place too long. He and Jack fell easily into old stories, med school memories traded back and forth with the comfort of men who had known each other for decades.

You wished you had known him when he was young and reckless, with crooked teeth and ginger curls and a temper just as sharp as it was now. You thought he had made mistakes and taken risks the way you could only imagine. And somewhere deep down, the thought made your pulse quicken, wondering which of that recklessness still lingered beneath the controlled, calm exterior you saw tonight.

You listened, picking at your food, learning things you already half-knew. How they’d met young, how they’d survived brutal training together, how Jack’s lake house had always been the place your father trusted when he couldn’t be around. That was why you’d stayed there last July, used to having the place mostly to yourself, that was why everything had started with you and Jack.

He didn’t say much about it. He let your father talk, nodding along, smiling at the right moments. But every so often, his attention drifted back to you. A glance held a second too long. A knee angled just slightly in your direction, nudging your thigh under the table. Small things, controlled things, that made it impossible to ignore his proximity.

The conversation meandered through work, travel, and trivial updates, but your father’s curiosity eventually took a sharper turn. "So… how did you two get along last summer?" he asked casually, lifting his glass.

You stilled for a second, "Fine, I guess. Jack wasn't home much." You offered a noncommittal answer, simple and concise. A brief smile in Jack's direction, polite, as if to prove a point, to prove that you didn't dislike him, but you hadn't gotten close.

His hand tightened just slightly on your thigh beneath the table, pressing firmly enough that your breath hitched. His eyebrow rose, asking without words, really? Just “fine”?

Your pulse jumped, heat pooling low. You could feel him watching you, could feel him notice every small movement, every flicker of expression. The casual chatter around the table seemed to fade, replaced by the sharp awareness of him sitting just inches away, his warm hand atop your thigh.

Jack leaned back slightly, still maintaining the mask of polite attention, but there was a subtle curve to his lips, a glint in his eyes, that told you he remembered everything, that you had been wrong earlier and he did not regret it, that maybe he was willing to do it again.

Your father continued talking, oblivious, about a case he had handled overseas, but you barely heard him. All you could register was Jack—the brush of his hand, the pressure of his knee, the quiet, deliberate way he made sure you knew he was still in control. He yawned mid-sentence, stretching his arms out lazily. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” he said, voice thick with exhaustion. “You two carry on—see you in the morning, sweetheart.” With that, he pushed back from the table and headed upstairs, leaving you and Jack alone in the dimly lit dining room.

You waited quietly until you heard the soft click of the bedroom door, the final sound of your father disappearing for the night. The room seemed to shrink around you, the low light from the fireplace casting long shadows over the table. Your heart pounded.

Jack leaned back on his chair again, a nervous tic. His knee nudged yours under the table again, deliberate and teasing, and your stomach twisted with the familiar ache you hadn’t dared to feel all week.

"So," you said, hesitant, "we… really need to talk."

He got up from the table, "If we're actually doing this, I need another drink."

Jack moved to the sideboard, grabbing two glasses and reaching for a whiskey bottle. The firelight flickered over his profile, catching the angles of his jaw, the faint lines around his eyes, the silver at his temples—everything you had loved last summer, everything that made your stomach twist just by looking at him.

Jack poured slowly, the liquid catching the light as it filled the glasses. He didn’t rush it. Everything about him felt deliberate now, like he was bracing himself for impact, like there was inevitable heartbreak looming over his shoulder. When he turned back toward you, he didn’t hand the glass right away. He stood there for a moment, studying your face, the way your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the way your lips twitched up with the ghost of a smile when you locked eyes with him.

He sat back down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. Then he passed you the glass. This time his fingers lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, thumb warm against your knuckles.

"Alright," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the fire rather than you. "Let’s talk."

What now? What were you supposed to tell him? That it had started out as just sex, as summer fun without consequences but you had yet to stop thinking about him? You swallowed, fingers tightening around the glass as if it could anchor you.

"I just...want it to be like the summer again." Your voice shook with nerves, and a sense of impending doom that you couldn't quite shake.

"It's not summer anymore." Jack spoke matter-of-factly, a smirk grazing his lips.

You looked up at him then. "I know," you said softly. "I can read a calendar."

He turned to you, smile fading, his expression turning into something calculated, lacking the warmth he had been showing you earlier. "You’re talking about it like it was a place. Like we can just step back into that same rhythm."

"Well, why can’t we?" you asked, too quickly. You didn’t look away. You refused to. "It worked. We worked."

His jaw tightened. "It worked because it wasn’t real life," He let out a slow breath, setting his glass down with care, like he didn’t trust his hands. "You were on break. You didn’t have responsibilities, expectations. You weren’t thinking past the end of the week."

You frowned. That was what you’d thought too, that it was just a fling with an older guy, something you’d tell your college friends about after the break, something they’d cheer at or gasp over, maybe worry about for a second before laughing it off. That would be it.

You hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected to still be thinking about the way his hands, warm and calloused, had roamed over your body, or how thirty minutes apart had felt unbearable. How you’d grown used to the steady heat of Jack beside you, or behind you, the quiet gravity of him pulling you back in, his mouth at your throat, lingering there like he had nowhere else to be.

"And you were?" you challenged.

"Yes. But I was aware it had to be over. Look, you're young, you're pretty, there's probably a line of capable young men waiting to take you out—"

"You say that like I’m supposed to want them."

He glared at you then, brief and sharp. "You should."

You should. The words landed heavier than you expected, they stayed with you, lodged somewhere behind your ribs where it hurt to breathe. He had been so careful, as if you were a child reaching for a hot stove, dangerous and out of reach.

You tried, briefly, to imagine them. Men your age, with sharp tongues only good for lying, with inexpert hands and vacant eyes. It was so hard to want them when you'd had Jack.

Jack, who asked about your feelings and your interests, who listened as you rambled about something he did not care about, and yes, sometimes he'd get distracted when your sweater slipped off your shoulder or when your tongue darted out to wet your lips, but he tried so hard to stay focused, you were just too beautiful for your own good.

And that was the cruelest part of it, how easily your mind catalogued the ways he had ruined you for anyone else. Not in some dramatic, tragic sense, but quietly, through accumulation. Through the way he paid attention. Through the way he made space. Through the way his hand had settled on your thigh earlier, heavy and familiar, like it belonged there. The way he still called you sweetheart, kid, the same soft names he’d used when the days had been long and sun-warmed and uncomplicated. The way his eyes softened when he forgot himself, when he thought you weren’t looking, when you laughed at something small and stupid and he reacted on instinct instead of principle.

It made your chest ache, your heart heavy.

──୨ৎ──୨ৎ──

You thought about that week in the summer, back when it had all started. The cabin smelled different then, of vanilla and sunscreen, of chlorine and lake water.

You remembered waking up before him, padding barefoot across the cool floorboards, the quiet domesticity of it all making your heart feel too big for your body. How you’d stood at the counter with a mug between your hands while he moved around behind you, unhurried, brushing past you just to do it, just to remind you he was there.

You remembered the taste of toasted bread, eaten standing up, shared unceremoniously. The sound of the screen door slamming as you ran down to the dock, the sun already hot on your shoulders. The way he’d watched you swim, not hungry, but caring, attentive. The hungry looks came later, when you climbed out of the water and all but ran towards him in your bikini, wet hair over your shoulder, laughter bubbling out of you easily. Nights spent tangled up on the couch followed, legs draped over his, the television murmuring in the background while his fingers traced patterns on your skin absentmindedly, grounding you. The same fingers that traced your entrance slowly, same fingers that curled up inside you and made your legs shake and your throat sore from screaming his name.

"You make this place feel different," he’d said back then, with your head laying on his chest, breathing soft.

That was what hurt the most. Not just that he was pulling away now, but that he was doing it while everything else stayed the same. His hands hadn’t forgotten you. His eyes hadn’t changed. His voice still softened when he said your name. And yet he spoke like the future was already decided, like you were a chapter he’d enjoyed but fully intended to close.

──୨ৎ──୨ৎ──

"Kid… you should. You really should. I’m not… I’m not the one you should be thinking about." Jack's words snapped you out of your daydream.

"And if I don’t want them?" you asked softly, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger, watching the amber liquid swirl and catch the glow of the fireplace.

Jack’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You don’t understand what you’re asking for," he said, his tone condescending, almost tender.

The fire crackled low, a steady rhythm against the quiet hum of the cabin. Its light threw long, wavering shadows across the wooden floor and the stone hearth, catching the amber of the whiskey in your glass.

"I do understand, Jack, I just don't care. I want to go back to the way things were because I miss it, I miss you."

Jack went very still. You didn't care, you missed him.

It was subtle, the kind of stillness you only noticed if you were looking for it. His shoulders stopped resisting. His jaw unclenched. Even the air between you seemed to pause, thick with unsaid things and firewood smoke.

He looked at you then, really looked. You. Curled beside him on the wooden chair, knees angled toward his, glass forgotten in your hand. The fire cast shadows across your face, gold and amber specks of light caught in your eyes. You looked so sure. Too sure. And God help him, he loved that about you.

"Christ," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. When he dropped it, his palm rested on top of your thigh. He was casual about it, as if he had placed it there out of sheer luck, as if his heart wasn't threatening to burst out of his chest, as if his cock wasn't waging (and currently losing) a war against the zipper of his jeans— all thanks to you.

"Jack, you’re not being fair." Your eyes stayed glued to his rough hand, kneading the flesh of your thigh. He was playing dangerous, touching you only to pull away again, pushing you back with gentle words and steady eye contact that made your chest ache.

"You sit there," he said, voice tight, "looking at me like that, talking about summer, about fairness like I owe you it, and I’m supposed to… what? Be reasonable?"

You tilted your head, just a fraction, the smallest smile pulling at your mouth. Yes. "I don't know. You’re the one touching me."

Jack had passed the point of reasoning ten minutes ago. Maybe longer. Maybe sometime last summer, when he’d realized the wanting hadn’t faded, only sharpened. Sitting beside you now, feeling the familiar weight of your leg under his hand, he understood the truth with a clarity that scared him. This wasn’t about temptation or nostalgia or bad judgment. It was about the way you saw him. The way you challenged him without fear. The way you filled the quiet spaces in his life without trying.

His chest tightened at the truth he refused to say aloud: he didn’t care about the age gap, or the rules, or the consequences. He wanted you. All of you. Every last piece of you. And he’d spent hours pretending otherwise, pretending that he could hold the line, keep you at arm’s length, act like a reasonable, responsible adult while his own body betrayed him at every turn. The way you looked at him, the tilt of your head, the bite of your lip, the little smirks you threw his way.

Something in his expression changed, his restraint slipped. Not entirely, just enough to lean in closer to you, so close his breath fanned your face. His hand slid an inch higher, then stopped, like he’d caught himself mid-step at the edge of a cliff.

"I’m still trying to convince myself this is a bad idea," he murmured, voice low, nearly strangled by restraint.

"And how’s that going?" Your voice was soft, teasing.

His eyes drifted down to your lips for a second. "Terribly," he laughed.

"I’ve been trying," he continued, voice low, steady, the kind of calm that came right before a decision, "to do the right thing. Give you space, forget about all this."

"Jack, I don't want space, in fact…I would like it very much if there was no space between us right now." You spoke quickly, let the words leave your mouth awkwardly and quickly in a burst of confidence that was now making you blush.

Jack laughed. "Your wish is my command," he spoke against your lips before leaning in and kissing you, soft and tentative at first.

It grew more intense as your fingers threaded through his silver curls, pulling him closer, your tongue pressing insistently against his lips. Jack parted his mouth, letting you deepen the kiss, and drew you onto his lap, his hands settling possessively on your ass. You moaned softly against him, a sound that made him pull back just slightly to look at you, eyes dark, hungry, and calculating.

Jack didn't rush you, his hands stayed put on your lower back and he let you explore, let your soft fingertips trace the veins in his arms, let them move under his shirt and up his chest until they rested on his pecs. That's when he broke the kiss, which you chased with a soft whine, before he spoke.

"Get up." His voice was rough, his breathing uneven, and he looked at you like it would pain him to look away.

You followed his instructions, you always did. Jack stood up too, quietly eyeing you for a minute before he nudged you towards the hallway with a smile.

"You know the way, come on." He murmured as you stepped onto the stairs.

Your stomach flipped, you giggled, like you had last summer.

He took the steps slowly, deliberately, one behind you, close enough that you could feel him, warm and grounding. When you reached his bedroom, he opened the door just wide enough for you to slip inside before closing it again with an almost exaggerated softness. The click of the latch sounded final, the tension thick and sweet like honey.

The room smelled like him. Clean, like lavender and something woody, musky and familiar. He didn’t touch you right away. Instead, he leaned back against the door, arms crossed, watching you roam around the room like a hunter watches his prey.

You turned around to face him, tilting your head to the side, beckoning him closer with your hands, reaching for him. Jack walked over to you a smile pulling at his lips again, reaching his eyes.

His hands sat at your waist. "You remember how thin these walls are, right?" he asked calmly, his lips grazing your jugular.

You hummed in agreement, the sound barely there.

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still firm at your waist. "Use your words."

"Yes," you said, softer now.

"That’s better."

That was slightly better. But not yet what he wanted. Jack could already see where this would end, the way he always could. He knew how easily you folded when given structure, how naturally you softened under pressure. Last summer had taught him that. Taught him exactly how to guide you there, slow and patient, until resistance melted into something sweeter.

You’d get there again. He was sure of it.

"So, you've got to keep it down, 'kay, sweetheart?" He walked you towards the bed, sat you on his lap before his mouth latched onto your warm throat again. Jack's hands slipped under your sweater, tracing a path up your stomach, groping your tits until you moaned, breathy, in his ear.

He took your sweater off and threw it aside unceremoniously, right before pulling off his own sweater. He didn’t slow down after that. His hands slid to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric joined the rest on the floor.

You barely had time to react before he did the same with his, tugging it off and dropping it without looking, settling back against you again as if this was the only place he meant to be.

Jack pulled you closer against him, his grip iron-tight. You could feel the thick ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, twitching when it pressed into the heat of your clothed cunt. His hands slid up your back, fingers unhooking your bra with practiced ease. The fabric pooled at your elbows, and his mouth was on your tits before it even hit the floor—sucking, biting, proving to you how much he had missed you.

You shuddered, arching your back to rub against him. A whimper tore from your throat as you rolled your hips, grinding your soaked panties against the hard length of him. Jack groaned against your nipple, teeth scraping the peak before he sucked hard enough to make your knees buckle.

Jack unlatched himself from your chest, kissing and sucking his way up your neck. Your breath hitched when he tilted your head to meet his gaze. Jack had always liked holding eye contact, more so if it made you squirm and blush, if it made your heart beat that much faster.

"I missed you," he murmured, his breath hot against your lips. "I missed being able to touch you, to hold you."

"Missed you too..."

Jack's hands slid down your waist, gripping the hem of your skirt and bunching it up around your hips. The fabric of your tights stretched taut against his palms as he traced the curve of your thighs, his fingertips dipping beneath the waistband. "Always so pretty for me," he murmured, dragging his teeth over your collarbone.

You gasped as his fingers pressed harder, the thin material of your tights dampening where his touch teased your clothed cunt. He hummed approvingly, rolling his hips against yours—the friction of his jeans against the lace of your panties, the heat of him trapped beneath layers of fabric.

Jack made a soft, pitying noise as he hooked his thumbs into your tights, peeling them down with exaggerated care. "Oh, look at you," he murmured, fingers brushing your inner thighs as the fabric slipped past your knees and down your legs.

His hips rolled against yours again, the thick ridge of his cock grinding against your soaked panties in lazy, taunting circles. You arched against him with a whine, and he tsked, gripping your waist to still you. "You remember what I said about being quiet? Wouldn't want your dad to hear us, huh?"

"n-no, I mean, yes, I do. Uhm...sorry..."

Jack smirked, slow and deliberate, at the stutter in your voice. He liked that sound—your breath hitching, the way your lashes fluttered when he touched you just right. But he loved this even more—the way you squirmed under his control, the way you struggled to stay quiet when he tested you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you still as he rolled his cock against you again, the rough fabric of his jeans dragging over the lace of your panties, still soaked from earlier.

"Good girl." He pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. "But we can do better than sorry, can’t we?"

You whimpered, arching into him instinctively—only for his grip to tighten, stopping you.

"Ah-ah." He tutted, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, pressing down slightly. "You know what I want to hear."

"Jack..." You whined, face flushed with embarrassment. You knew—of course you did. He’d teased it out of you before, in the dark of his bedroom last summer, when his hands were buried in your hair and his cock was buried deeper inside you. But now—with your father just down the hall—the word felt heavier, more dangerous.

Jack’s hand slid down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties, teasing your slit. "C’mon, sweetheart," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Just wanna hear you say it."

"'m sorry, daddy...didn't mean to be loud." You buried your face against his neck, breathing him in as you ground against him, the friction leaving his jeans slick with your arousal.

He groaned at the feeling, his head falling forward until his forehead was resting against your shoulder. "Just like that," his hand slid from your underwear up to your hair, fisting a handful of it and tugging, just enough to tip your head back so he could look at you—at your wide eyes, full lips, red cheeks.

For a heartbeat, he just watched: the way your pulse fluttered in your throat, how your chest rose with each ragged breath, how your hips kept rolling against him, desperate.

Your fingers bit into his biceps, using them as leverage as your movements grew frantic, that tight coil in your belly winding hotter, sharper.

His fingers dug deeper into your hips, dragging you harder against the rough denim of his jeans with each slow, filthy roll of his body. "Fuck—feel how wet you are?" His lips curled against your ear, breath ragged. "Soaking through your pretty little panties just from grinding on me like a desperate slut."

Jack had never spoken to you this way, it had never been so filthy, so mean yet sweet it was giving you whiplash, and getting you closer to the edge every second that went by.

His hand abruptly slipped between you, two fingers hooking under the soaked lace to press firmly against your clit—circling once, twice—before dipping lower to push inside without warning.

You arched against him with a choked gasp, nails biting into his arms as he worked you open with slow, punishing strokes. He picked up his pace and the moment your whimper hit his ears his free hand moved to cradled your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Shhh, pretty girl, I know…feels good, huh?"

His fingers curled just right inside you, wrenching a sob from your throat as your hips jerked. "That’s it, baby—let me feel you." He pressed his forehead to yours, breath fanning your face as his thumb circled your clit in tight strokes.

"Daddy— I’m so close…" You whined, breathy and soft.

His breath stuttered, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "I know, baby," he rasped. "I can feel it. Just let go for me."

When you came, your head slumped forward against his shoulder, vision blurring as pleasure crackled through you, electric and overwhelming. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you close as he murmured against your hair: "Fuck, look at you. So fucking pretty when you come."

You were still trembling when he pulled his fingers free, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead before guiding your hips up just enough—his cock nudging against you, slick and impatient.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. His voice was rough when he praised you.

"You can take one more, for me. I need to feel you riding my cock just like this."

His cock slid into you with one smooth thrust, your body welcoming him effortlessly. The stretch burned just right, pulling a gasp from your lips as you braced your hands against his chest.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sharp pull sent a jolt down your spine, your hips rocking faster in response—like he’d flipped a switch inside you. You chased the friction, the heat, the way his cock filled you perfectly, over and over.

His grip tightened, guiding your pace as his other hand slid down your back, pressing you flush against him. Your lips crashed together, messy and desperate, tongues tangling between panting breaths. Every thrust drove the kiss deeper, your moans swallowed by his mouth.

"feel how deep I am inside you, baby?" Jack panted out, his palm pressed firm against your lower stomach, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper—each thrust punctuated by the dull ache of his touch, reminding you exactly where he reached. Your hips stuttered, thighs shaking as the pressure built impossibly tighter, every nerve alight.

"Jack—" Your voice cracked, hands scrambling for purchase against his sweat-slicked skin.

"I know, sweetheart," he rasped, teeth grazing your earlobe. "Let go. Fuck, I wanna feel you come on my cock."

And you did—a broken cry tearing from your throat as you clenched around him, his groan ragged against your shoulder while he chased his own release, driving into you deep, deeper, until he stopped abruptly, pulling out of you with a groan.

"Get on your knees for me, baby." He muttered, thumb swiping over your spit-slick lips.

You didn’t hesitate, sinking to your knees as he leaned back against the headboard. His cock was hot against your tongue, already dripping with pre-cum—you swirled your tongue over the tip before taking him deep, one hand working his shaft in quick, tight strokes.

Jack cursed, hips jerking. "Fuck— Just like that...Good girl."

You felt him tense up suddenly, felt him twitch in your mouth when you moaned around it. Your lips stretched taut against him, nose pressed against his skin. His hips jerked, a ragged curse tearing from his throat as he came in your mouth—bitter and thick, but you swallowed greedily, fingers tightening on his thighs.

You looked up at him when you were done, glassy-eyed and grinning.

Jack’s thumb brushed your swollen lower lip, wiping away a stray drop before nudging it back into your mouth. "Christ," he muttered, his voice still wrecked. His other hand slid from your hair to cradle your jaw, calloused fingers tracing the hinge like he was committing it to memory.

You nuzzled into his palm, all lazy satisfaction, while his breathing slowly evened out.

"I should go to the guest bedroom," you said after a moment. "I need to sleep."

"Or," he replied quietly, "you could stay here."

"My dad—"

"Just stay," he cut in, softer now. "For a bit."

You hesitated, then nodded. "Fine."

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

The next morning came slowly, filtered through frost-edged windows and thin curtains that glowed pale gold with early light. You woke up first, to the sound of birds chirping outside, and soft rain pattering against the window.

You were curled against Jack’s side, one leg draped over his thigh without remembering when it had happened, your cheek pressed to his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, warm and grounding. He was stretched out on his back, plaid pajama pants low on his hips, shirtless and snoring loudly, careless and relaxed in a way that made you want to be there forever. One arm was slung loosely around you, heavy and possessive even in sleep, his hand resting at the small of your back. You blinked, disoriented for a second, then it all came rushing back.

The way he'd kissed you like he meant it, fucked you right and asked you to stay in his room. Careful not to wake him, you shifted just enough to look at his face.

He looked different like this. Softer. The lines at the corners of his eyes relaxed, mouth slightly parted, lashes darker against his skin. You traced the shape of his jaw with your eyes, the faint stubble already growing back, the freckles you’d memorized last summer. This was the Jack you never got to see in daylight, the Jack you always missed.

You wondered, briefly, if this was what it would be like to wake up beside him every morning. If you’d get used to the weight of his arm, the quiet hum of his presence. If this feeling, warm and safe and terrifying, could last.

As if he sensed you staring, Jack stirred.

He inhaled slowly, his arm tightening just a little at your back, pulling you closer without waking fully. His chin dipped, brushing the top of your head. You froze, heart racing, then relaxed when he didn’t pull away.

"Mornin’, kid," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

You smiled before you could stop yourself. "Morning, daddy."

His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. Steady.

"You sleep okay?"

You nodded, "Better than I have in a while."

It was true, you hadn't slept like that in ages, with the comfortable warmth of another body, with a mouth against your collarbones and an arm around your waist. You hadn't been so spent, so tired that you felt weightless, in a long time. And you hadn't woken up beside Jack in months, not since you'd spent the summer there, when your dad was traveling— oh, shit, your dad.

“Jack,” you whispered.

He hummed in response, eyes half-closed, thumb still tracing your back. “Mm?”

“My dad,” you said softly. “He’s… literally next door. Do you think he heard?”

That got his attention.

“He didn’t hear,” Jack said quietly, certainty slipping into his voice like armor. “If he had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, forehead dropping briefly against his chest. He smelled like soap and sleep and something unmistakably him. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

Jack tipped your chin up with two fingers, gentle but unmistakably directive. “Hey. Look at me.”

You tilted your face up to see him.

"Here's what we're going to do," he said quietly, slipping back into that calm, controlled tone you knew so well. “You’re gonna get dressed,” he continued, gentle but firm.

"I am dressed."

"Sweetheart the only thing you're wearing is my shirt, it's freezing out, too. I'll go downstairs with your father while you change."

You nodded, even though part of you hated the idea of putting distance back between you. “Okay.”

He leaned down then, pressing a quick, careful kiss to your forehead.

He pulled back just enough to look at you one more time, thumb still warm beneath your chin, eyes steady and serious like he was committing the moment to memory. The house was waking up around you, pipes humming, floorboards settling, reality knocking politely but insistently.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

You dragged the sleeve of your scrub across your forehead, wiping away a layer of sweat. The ED had been a war zone today, one brutal trauma after another, codes and families collapsing in the hallway. Six hours in and it still felt like the shift was nowhere near over. Your stomach let out a loud, embarrassing growl, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since before dawn. With a tired sigh, you slipped into the staff lounge, desperate for five minutes of peace and the slightly squashed turkey sandwich waiting at the bottom of your bag. The moment you dropped into one of the chairs, the door swung open behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around. The scent hit you first, unmistakably masculine, the cologne he always wore. Then came the familiar rhythm of his stride. Your body recognized him instantly, a traitorous flutter blooming in your stomach despite your best efforts to ignore it.

“Caught you,” Robby said. You glanced over your shoulder and found him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His eyes flicked to the half-eaten sandwich in your hand. “Eating on the run again?”

You swallowed quickly, offering him a sheepish smile. “Gotta fuel up somehow, Dr. Robby.”

He chuckled, stepping fully into the room. The lines on his face were deeper today, and you wondered if it had anything to do with his sabbatical and how much he needed to rest after years without taking any real time off. Three months away from the Pitt still felt surreal. He’d been your teacher ever since you began your residency two years ago, and with Robby not being here felt like the ED was losing its spine.

He watched you for a beat, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, setting the wrapper from your sandwich down. “Shoot.”

“As you already know, I’m heading out for my sabbatical soon. House is just gonna sit empty. Thought maybe you’d want to house-sit for me while I’m gone.”

The words hung there. You blinked, caught off guard. “Me? I thought you’d have someone else in mind. Abbot, maybe?”

Robby shook his head, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “I was gonna tell Abbot, yeah. But then I thought about you. You’ve been crashing with Santos, right? This could be a good way to save on rent for a few months. And you’re responsible. I trust you not to burn the place down or throw ragers.”

You let out a laugh. The offer felt too good, a quiet space, no Santos blasting music at 2 a.m, or worse, hearing her and García going at it for hours when you were trying to rest. You’d have actual privacy, at least for three months. But the offer also felt intimate in a way that made your pulse tick up. 

House-sitting for Robby felt like crossing a line you could never uncross. He wasn’t just your boss or the attending who had mentored you through the worst shifts of your life, the patients you lost, the nights you thought you wouldn’t make it through. He was the man you’d been quietly, desperately in love with for the last two years. The man you had watched from a careful distance, with your heart aching in silence, convinced nothing would ever happen. You’d told yourself a thousand times that your feelings were one-sided, that your late-night fantasies would stay exactly that… fantasies.

“So… you want me to live there?” you asked, clarifying the offer. “Not just go there and water the plants and grab the mail?”

He shrugged casually, but his eyes met yours. “You can do what you want. Crash in the guest room, use the kitchen. I’ll give you the keys later and show you around after shift. Just a few rules: No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies. And if I don’t come back, you’ll have a swinging bachelor pad all for yourself. Deal?”

You froze mid-breath, “If I don’t come back.” Robby had said it so casually, the same way someone might say if it rains tomorrow or if the coffee’s cold. But you heard the weight behind it, like he’d already flirted with the ides more times than you wanted to count. Like part of him had already started rehearsing the absence. Your stomach twisted, you knew that tone, you’d heard it before. You were no stranger to Robby’s shadows, anyone who paid attention could see them if they looked close enough, but you… you studied him. Maybe too closely. The way his smiles never quite reached his eyes anymore, the way he rubbed at the back of his neck when the weight of the department felt like too much to hold.

All the classic signs were there, PTSD, burnout, the creeping depression he tried to outrun, but he hid them so well behind camouflaged jokes and not-so-innocent comments, that most people missed it. You never had, because you couldn’t stop noticing, couldn’t stop caring. 

The question slipped out before you could stop it. “But you’re coming back, right?”

Robby paused, looked at the floor, and then he laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll find you after shift to hand over the keys and show you around. Sound good?”

You nodded. He didn’t bother answering your question, just pretended it never happened. But you didn’t push, you cared about him, deeply so, but you still didn’t know him enough to make him talk about something he clearly didn’t want to address. “Sounds good, Dr. Robby.”

He gave you one last look, almost fond, before heading back out into the chaos of the ED. The door swung shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Three months in his house. Just you, in his space, with whatever he was leaving behind.

You couldn’t help feeling special, it was almost embarrassing. Robby had thought of you. Not Abbot, the man who was basically his brother, not Dana, who he’d known for years, not any of the senior residents who’d been here longer. Not even Noelle, the case manager nurse you heard from whispers he’d been seeing for at least over a month. He thought of you. 

By the time the shift finally ended, Robby found you in the parking lot like he’d promised, shrugging into his jacket. “Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, grabbing your bag. “Yeah. Lead the way, Dr. Robby.”

You trailed Robby through the quiet streets, your hands steady on the wheel as your headlights stayed steady on the taillight of his bike. You kept a careful distance, your heart beating a little faster every time he leaned into a turn. He never looked back, but you knew he was aware of you.

He signaled a turn onto a tree-lined avenue in a nicer part of the city. A few more blocks and he slowed, pulling into a private drive beside a modern building. You parked behind him, the condo complex rose three stories in glass and dark brick. It wasn’t flashy, but it was clearly well-appointed. 

He swung a leg over the bike and pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his hair. He glanced over at you as you stepped out of the car. 

“Home sweet home,” he said dryly. “For the next three months, anyway. It’s yours.”

You followed him inside. He held the door open for you without a word. The lobby was warm, with polished floors that gleamed under the light, and a long leather bench that sat against one wall. You followed him to the elevator, and the two of you stepped inside. As it rose to the third floor, the small space felt even smaller with him in it. The elevator opened onto a wide, carpeted hallway with only four doors. His was at the end, unit 302. 

He unlocked the front door and held it open for you. You stepped inside, straight into a wide living room with high ceilings and hardwood floors. A big sectional couch faced a fireplace, bookshelves lining one wall crammed with books and framed photos you didn’t let yourself stare at too long, but you could catch a glimpse of a younger Robby in them.

“Kitchen’s through here,” he said, flipping on lights as he walked. The kitchen consisted of granite counters and stainless steel appliances that looked barely used. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge before it goes bad.”

Upstairs, he showed you the guest room, simple, with a queen bed, a dresser, and a window overlooking the city skyline. “This is yours if you want to stay here. Sheets are clean. You have a set of towels in the bathroom.”

The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, with a king bed, dark wood furniture, and a small balcony door leading out to a view of the street. You lingered in the doorway while he pointed out the thermostat, the tricky window locks, and the frequency with which you needed to water the plants.

Back downstairs, he dropped a set of keys into your palm. “Garage code is 1971. Wi-Fi password’s on the router. If anything breaks, text me. I might not answer right away… but I’ll leave you the building’s manager number too just in case.” 

You closed your fingers around the keys. He was really leaving. This was goodbye. Three months on the road, on that stupid motorcycle, chasing whatever peace he thought he could find away from the Pitt. He headed for the door, grabbing a duffel bag he’d left by the entryway.

You follow him out to the building hallway. “Robby,” you said quietly as he called the elevator. 

He paused, turning back to you. Those eyes, tired, carrying the weight of every person he’d lost, met yours. “Please drive safe,” you told him. “And wear the helmet. I mean it. I’ve seen what happens when people don’t.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. He nodded once. “I will.”

You swallowed hard, then added the rest before he could turn away again. “I’ll be here waiting until you return. The house will still be standing, promise.”

He stood there a moment longer, studying you like he was memorizing the scene, then he gave you a small, crooked smile. “Take care of the place,” he said. “And yourself.”

With that, he stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind him. You stood in the hallway long after he disappeared, the big empty apartment waiting behind you. Yours for three months, until he came back again.

The first night without Robby felt strangely monumental. You locked the door behind you, and for a long moment, you stood in the entryway, just breathing in the scent of his personal space. You chose the guest room because it felt like the respectful thing to do. You unpacked a few things and showered in the bathroom before crawling under the sheets. Sleep came eventually, but every unfamiliar creak of the house made you think of him, out there on the road, hopefully with his helmet on like you asked, chasing whatever demons he needed to outrun.

By the second night, curiosity won. You told yourself it was harmless. You were just… getting to know the space better. Making sure everything was in order. That was what a responsible house-sitter did, right? After another long shift, you stood at the threshold of the master bedroom, the door already ajar from when he showed you around. You pushed it open fully and flipped on the bedside lamp instead of the overhead light. The room felt more intimate in the warm glow, and it still smelled just like him. The king bed was neatly made, and you hesitated only a moment before sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

Your crush on him had been simmering for months, maybe longer. Maybe from the first time he corrected your technique during a procedure, maybe because of the way he looked at you when you were presenting a case, like he was really listening. He was handsome in that lived-in, capable way. And what you loved the most was how brilliant he was, steady when the whole world was falling apart, like he was the one holding all the pieces together. 

You stood up and started exploring. The dresser drawers were mostly organized, with socks, pants, and t-shirts folded neatly. In the top drawer, you found a small envelope of old photos: Robby much younger, laughing with friends, with a little kid and a woman, you supposed Jake and Janey. You put them back exactly as you found them.

The closet held a couple of dress shirts, a suit that looked rarely worn, and a leather jacket. You ran your fingers along the sleeve for just a second. Then you moved to the nightstand, the drawer slid open and revealed a couple of books, a spare pair of reading glasses, a small bottle of melatonin, and, tucked toward the back, a box of condoms. An opened box of condoms.

Your face heated instantly. You stared at them longer than you should, imagining things you immediately tried to push away. Robby, capable in every way, apparently. 

The thought sent a guilty thrill through you,he’d trusted you with his place, and here you were, snooping through his personal items. 

You sat back down on his bed, then lay back against his pillows. The mattress dipped under your weight in a way that felt welcoming, like you belonged there in his bed. You pulled the comforter over yourself, still fully clothed, and just breathed. It was just you, in Robby’s space, surrounded by pieces of the man you’d quietly wanted for so long.

That night, you slept in his bed for the first time. It became a habit faster than you expected. By the end of the first week, you’d moved most of your clothes into the guest room closet, but you were spending every night in the master. You told yourself it was because the bed was better, the room quieter, and the balcony door let in nice morning light. But the truth was undeniable, being here felt like being closer to him. 

You woke slowly in Robby’s bed, stretching, your arms reaching across the wide empty space beside you, brushing cool fabric where another body should be. Where his body could be. Your mind, still hazy with sleep, slipped easily into the daydream that’d been growing stronger every night you’d spent here. It started innocent enough, but it never stayed that way for long. Not when it was about Robby.

You imagined him waking up first, he’d roll toward you, sliding one arm across your waist, pulling you back against his chest before you were fully awake. His beard would tickle the back of your neck as he pressed a lazy kiss there. “Morning,” he’d murmur softly, just for you. 

You’d feel the solid heat of him all along your back, his hand splayed wide over your stomach, tracing idle circles. Tangled together like that, just the two of you in this big. You turned onto your side, hugging his pillow tighter, letting the fantasy unfold in vivid detail. In the daydream, you’d stay like that for long minutes, your bodies warm, your legs intertwined. Eventually, he’d kiss your shoulder, then your jaw, then your mouth, slow at first, then deeper, the kind of kiss that said he’d been thinking about you all night too. He’d slip his hand under the hem of whatever shirt you’d stolen from his drawer, and you’d arch into him, whispering his name, Michael, because in this version of your life, you got to call him that.

Then came the moment where you two would shower together. In your mind, steam filled the bathroom as he guided you under the spray. He’d wash your hair first, massaging your scalp with surprising gentleness. You’d return the favor, soaping his broad chest, tracing the lines of his soft muscles. His hands would wander down your back, over your hips, pulling you close so you could feel exactly how much he wanted you. The kiss under the water would turn heated as he lifted you just enough to press you against the cool tile, his mouth on your throat, your collarbone, and then lower.

Breakfast would come after, because Robby was the kind of man who made sure you ate. You imagined the two of you in his fancy kitchen, still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but robes. He’d stand at the stove flipping eggs or pancakes, competent here too. You’d lean against the island, stealing bites from his plate, and he’d pretend to be annoyed before pulling you in for another kiss. He’d ask about your patients from the day before, really listen when you vent about a difficult one or a missed diagnosis, offering advice without ever making you feel small. “You’re good at this,” he’d say, the same way he did in the pitt, but here it would mean something deeper. “I see how hard you work.”

The fantasy deepened as the day progressed in your mind. You pictured coming home together after a long shift. Both of you exhausted, walking through the front door at the same time. He’d drop his backpack in the foyer, pull you into a hug right there against the door, murmuring, “You did good today.” Then the two of you would unwind, maybe a glass of wine on the balcony if the weather was nice, or just collapsing on that big couch with takeout and whatever was on the TV. 

He’d rub your feet without being asked, those clever hands working out the knots from hours on the floor. Conversation would flow easily, and he’d open up to you in ways he didn’t with anyone else, because you were the one he chose, the one he trusted. And at night… Your breath caught as the daydream turned explicitly intimate. You imagined him fucking you right here, in this very bed. In the fantasy, the room was dark except for the glow of the bedside lamp. Robby would be above you, shirtless, his body moving, kissing down your neck, your breasts, your stomach, murmuring praise against your skin. “That’s it… just like that.” His hands would grip your hips with strength, guiding you exactly where he wanted you. When he finally pushed inside, it would be deep, locking his eyes on yours so you could see every flicker of pleasure cross his face. 

He’d talk you through it, telling you how good you felt, how long he’d wanted this, how perfect you were for him. The rhythm would build slowly, then faster, the headboard knocking softly against the wall as you both chased release. He’d make sure you came first, always, because that was who Robby was, attentive, making sure everyone in his care is taken care of. Afterward, he’d pull you against his chest, both of you sweaty and sated, stroking patterns down your spine with his fingers while he kissed your temple and whispered that he loved you.

You lay there in the quiet house, with your heart racing and your thighs pressed together as the fantasy lingered. It felt so real you could almost hear his laugh, almost feel the scrape of his beard against your inner thigh, almost taste the salt on his skin after a long day. In this imagined life, the pitt still existed, but it was not the only thing. There was balance. There was him waiting at home, there was someone who saw how hard you tried, who respected your mind and wanted your body, and chose you every single day.

You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, a secret smile tugging at your lips. You know it was just a daydream. Robby was somewhere on the road, and he had his own complications: Noelle, the weight he carried from work, the reasons why he needed to leave. But God, it felt good to imagine. To pretend the capable, handsome man who taught you everything might one day love you back the way you already loved him.

As the days passed, they blurred together in Robby’s house. Mornings started with coffee in his kitchen, you watered the plants on the windowsill, collected the mail, and kept the place neat, exactly as a house-sitter should. And every few days, you texted him.

You: Plants are thriving. They all have new leaves out.

You: Got your mail sorted. It was mostly junk anyway

You: Shift was brutal today. I hope you’re having a better time than we are, lol

You: I stocked your fridge this morning. Took the liberty of throwing out your expired milk.

No replies, not a single one. The silence gnawed at you more than you wanted to admit. Every unanswered message tightened the knot in your chest. You started keeping your phone volume up at work, checking it obsessively between patients, but the screen stayed dark. By the end of week three, the worry had settled into something heavier, you needed to talk to someone before it ate you alive.

You texted Trinity on a rare mutual off-day: Hey, want to come over for dinner? Robby’s kitchen is actually decent. No ramen for you tonight.

Her reply came fast: Hell yes. Address?

She showed up at seven sharp, carrying a six-pack of beer and a suspicious look on her face.“Damn,” she whistled as she stepped inside, scanning the open living room and kitchen. “Robby’s got taste. This place is way nicer than our shoebox. You’re basically living the dream.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s temporary. Come on, I made pasta, Robby had this really expensive spaghetti.”

You both ate at the kitchen island while Trinity tore into the food like she hadn’t seen a meal that wasn’t cheap ramen in days. Between bites, she teased you mercilessly about the setup. “So,” she said, smirking as she twirled pasta on her fork, “how’s it feel sleeping in Robby’s bed every night? Bet you’ve got a little shrine to him in there. A picture of his face on the nightstand?”

Your face heated instantly. “I’m not… It’s just a better mattress.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward. “You’ve had a crush on Robby since like, week two. And now you’re living in his house, sleeping in his sheets… Have you gone through his drawers yet? Found anything interesting?”

You thought about the condoms in the nightstand and quickly shoved the image away. “Shut up.”

“Oh, I’m just starting.” Her grin turned wicked. “Be honest. Are you writing little fanfictions in your head every night? Chapter one: Dr. Robinavitch comes home early and finds you in his bed, wearing nothing but his scrubs. Chapter two: He teaches you a very hands-on lesson in anatomy.”

You laughed despite the heat flooding your face. “Shut up. It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh. So no wet dreams in the sacred chief bed? No imagining him coming back all rugged from the road, pulling you close and—”

“Trinity!” You threw a dish towel at her, which she caught one-handed with a cackle. “We are not doing this.” The teasing faded as you pushed your plate away and finally voiced what’d been weighing on you. “I’ve been texting him updates about the house,” you admitted quietly. “Little stuff. How the plants are doing, mail, and how work is. He hasn’t replied once. Not in three weeks. I’m starting to get worried. What if something happened?”

She waved a hand dismissively, cracking open another beer. “He’s on his magical self-discovery motorcycle trip, right? Riding across the country, finding inner peace, growing a long beard, all that crap. Guy probably hasn’t charged his phone in days. Or he’s in some dead zone in head-smashed-in-buffalo-whatever.”

You fidgeted with the label on your bottle. “Yeah, but… what if he crashed? Or worse? I keep thinking about how tired he looked before he left. He… he didn’t look like himself.”

Trinity leveled you with a steady gaze. “If something happened to him, we would’ve found out by now. Someone from the pitt would know. Abbot, or the hospital admin, someone would’ve called. Relax. He’s coming back. It’s only three months, remember?”

You nodded, but the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. Trinity watched you for a beat, then kicked your foot lightly under the island. “Hey. He trusts you enough to give you his keys. That’s not nothing. Just keep the place nice, water the damn plants, and stop spiraling. When he gets back, you can hand over the keys and go back to staring at him longingly like normal.”

You managed a small laugh. “Thanks for the reality check.”

“Anytime.” She clinked her bottle against yours. “Remember, he asked you because you’re reliable as hell and not a total disaster. Not because he wants daily check-ins. Give the man space. He’ll come back when he’s ready, probably with a new tattoo and some profound life lesson about not letting the pitt eat your soul.”

The conversation drifted back to work, to hospital gossip, to Garcia cancelling her last “date”. For a few hours, the big empty place felt less lonely. But later, after she left and you locked the door behind her, you climbed the stairs and slipped into Robby’s bed again. You pulled out your phone one last time.

You: Santos came over for dinner. No crazy parties, just pasta and a few beers. Miss having you around to keep us all in line.

You: Text me back when you see this. Just wanna know you’re safe.

Another week passed. It’d been a month now since you started living in Robby’s place. Every night you slid into his king bed, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts you “borrowed” from the closet and a pair of simple panties. The shirt was huge on you, soft from many washes, and you told yourself you wore them because it was just practical. Tonight was no different, you showered, pulled on his shirt, and crawled under the duvet.

Sleep came fast, deep, and dreamless for once. Until it didn’t. A soft sound pulled you out, floorboards creaking in the hallway, the click of the bedroom door opening wider. You snapped your eyes open in the darkness, your heart slamming into your ribs before your brain could catch up. A tall shadow moved near the doorway, someone was in the room.

You screamed instinctively and bolted upright in bed, clutching the duvet to your chest. The shadow froze, and a familiar voice cut through the dark. 

“Shit—hey, it’s me. It’s Robby.” The scream died in your throat. He flicked the bedside lamp on a second later, bathing the room in a warm light. And there he was, standing just inside the doorway, his duffel bag dropped at his feet, his motorcycle jacket still zipped halfway, his dark hair tousled like he’d been riding for hours. His beard was a little longer and scruffier than when he left.

Your heart was still hammering inside your chest. “Robby?”

He raised both hands slowly with his palms out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you’d be staying in the guest room. I was just going to drop my bag and crash.”

You stared at him, your brain scrambling to catch up with all this new information. He was here. He was here early. The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, and it’d barely been one. “What are you doing here? It’s only been a month.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, looking a little uncertain. “I know. I just… decided to come back early. The road was good for a while, but it turned out I missed the noise more than I thought I would.” He flicked his eyes around the room, taking in the book still on the nightstand where he left it, the slight disarray of clothes you’d left draped over the chair, the way the bed was clearly occupied. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

You were suddenly painfully aware of how you looked. Sitting up in his bed, your hair messy from sleep, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt and a pair of black panties underneath. The hem of the shirt had ridden up your thighs. Heat flooded your face as you tug the duvet higher, clutching it like a shield. “I’m so sorry… I just… I liked this mattress better. The guest room one is fine, but this one is softer, and I sleep better after bad shifts and—I swear I was obviously gonna wash the sheets before you came back. I’m really sorry, I know I should’ve stuck to the guest room, I crossed a line—”

“Relax,” Robby said gently. He took a small step closer, then stopped, like he was giving you space. “It’s fine. It’s not such a big deal. You’ve been taking care of the place. The plants look good. It’s still standing. I appreciate it.” He glanced toward the hallway. “I’ll go stay in the guest room tonight. Give you some privacy to… go back to sleep.”

He started to turn, reaching for his duffel. “Wait,” you blurted out, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. The relief crashed over you so hard it stole your breath, because he was here, and he was safe. No wrecked motorcycle on some remote highway, no disappearing into the darkness he was carrying when he left. Just Robby, standing in his own bedroom, looking tired but whole. “I’m so glad you’re back. And you’re safe. I was really worried… You didn’t answer any of my texts. Not once. I thought maybe something happened, or the sabbatical was… I don’t know. I missed having you at the pitt. Everything felt a little off without you there.”

You pushed the duvet aside and climbed out of bed before your brain could talk you out of it. The shirt fell to mid-thigh, but it was obvious what you were wearing underneath. You crossed the room in three quick steps and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. It was awkward. God, it was so awkward. You’d never had any kind of physical interaction with Robby before, not beyond the occasional shoulder brush during a resuscitation or the professional pat on the back after a good save. He was your chief, your mentor, and also the man you’d been secretly fantasizing about while sleeping in his bed. 

Your arms went around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest through the leather jacket, and you held on tighter than you probably should. His body was solid and warm under your hands, broader than you even imagined in all those daydreams. Robby stiffened for half a second with surprise. You felt his hands hovering uncertainly at your sides, not quite returning the hug but not pushing you away either. His breath caught just slightly when he registered exactly what you were wearing: his shirt, and the bare skin of your thighs brushing against his jeans. 

He tried very hard not to react, you could tell his jaw was tight, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder. But you didn’t let go. The relief of seeing him alive was too big, too overwhelming. He was back, safe and sound, with you. You buried your face a little deeper against his chest. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

You stayed wrapped around him in that awkward, desperate hug. This was it. The only real opportunity you’d ever had to be this close to Robby. Before you could talk yourself out of it, before the rational part of your brain could intervene, you tilted your head up, rose onto your toes, and kissed him.

Your lips met his softly at first, tentative but determined. Robby didn’t react immediately. His body stayed tense under your hands, his shoulders rigid and his arms still hovering uncertainly. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t exactly kiss you back either. His mouth remained still against yours, unresponsive, like he was processing the sudden shift to this unexpected intimacy. 

You didn’t stop, this might be your only chance, so you pressed closer, sliding one hand up to the back of his neck, threading your fingers gently into his brown, slightly overgrown hair. Your lips moved against his with soft and slow kisses that begged him to respond. 

You kissed the corner of his mouth, then full on again, pouring every unspoken “I’ve wanted this” into the contact. You could feel the internal war in the way his breath hitched, but he finally settled his hands lightly on your waist, resting there as if he was deciding what the hell to do with his resident currently kissing him in his own bedroom while wearing his clothes.

The silence between kisses felt deafening, broken only by the soft sound of your mouths meeting and your own quickened breathing. But you kept going, kissing him deeper, tilting your head, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips in a plea. Another kiss, slower this time, molding your body against his taller frame. The hug had dissolved into something else entirely, your chest was pressed to his, one of your legs shifting slightly between his as you tried to get even closer. The fantasy versions of this moment flooded your mind: his big and strong hands on you, his voice murmuring praises, the weight of him in this very bed. You wanted it so badly it ached.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Robby reacted. A rough sound escaped his throat, and his mouth finally moved against yours. He started kissing you back. Tentatively at first, then with growing certainty. He parted his lips, meeting your rhythm, the scrape of his beard intensifying as he angled his head to deepen the kiss. It wasn’t gentle anymore, it felt like pure hunger.

Robby tightened his hands on your waist, then slid them lower, one of them cupping your ass over the fabric of your panties, digging his fingers in with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. He massaged the soft flesh slowly, kneading it in circles that pulled you harder against him. The other hand joined soon after, both palms gripping and squeezing, lifting you slightly onto your toes as he explored the curve with appreciation.

His touch was confident, brushing the edge of your underwear, spreading your buttcheeks to claim more of you. Each squeeze sent heat straight between your legs, your body was responding instantly to the contrast between his rough hands and your soft skin. Robby kissed you harder now, sliding his tongue against yours in a stroke that made your knees weak. The kiss turned messy, heated, as he tilted your head back, taking control of your entire body. 

Flushed against his body, you felt the growing hardness pressing through his jeans, and it made you moan softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another deep kiss. You tugged his hair with your fingers, hard enough to draw another groan from him.

With surprising strength, he walked you backward a few steps toward the bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you tumbled down onto the rumpled sheets. Robby followed immediately, climbing over you with grace, his taller frame caging you in without crushing you. The weight of him above you was everything you’d fantasized about and more, it felt solid and warm, but most importantly, it was finally real.

He didn’t say a word, but his mouth found yours again in a deep, consuming kiss as he settled his hips between your parted thighs. The denim of his jeans pressed against your bare skin, and you arched up into him instinctively, sliding your hands under his jacket to grip the back of his shirt, but Robby was already moving, breaking the kiss only long enough to grip the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing, and tugged it upward. You lifted your arms willingly as the fabric slid up your body and over your head. 

The cool air hit your bare breasts, and he found your nipples already tight from how aroused his kisses had gotten you. Robby tossed the shirt aside without looking, dropping his now dark eyes to your chest with hunger. Still silent, he lowered his head, closing his mouth over one breast, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak before he sucked it deeply. The sensation made your back bow off the bed, a moan escaping you as he worked your nipple with pulls. 

His free hand came up to the other side, cupping and massaging your flesh with his large palm, brushing his thumb back and forth over the hardened nipple, rolling it gently before pinching just enough to make you gasp. The contrast was overwhelming, on one side the wet heat of his mouth sucking and licking one breast, while on the other side, his rough hand working the peak in firm strokes.

Your hands flew to his hair, threading through the strands, holding him to you as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. This was Robby, your Robby, not the one from your perfect fantasies, but the real one, the one you’d been in love with for two long years, the one who’d taught you everything you knew, now devouring your tits with hunger.

He switched sides without pause, latching his mouth onto the neglected breast while he continued massaging the first, slick with his saliva. The suction was perfect, deep pulls that made your toes curl, then flicking his tongue rapidly over the bud before he sucking it again, harder. You were panting, soft cries falling from your lips as the ecstasy kept building. This was really happening. The man you’d fantasized about while sleeping in his bed, was finally touching you.

Robby’s free hand began a slow, inevitable descent. It trailed down your side, over the curve of your hip, hooking his fingers briefly under the waistband of your black panties before sliding lower. He cupped your pussy with his palm, over the fabric first, applying enough pressure that made you jerk your hips up into his touch. He rubbed you there in broad circles, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit while his fingers stroked along your covered folds. The fabric quickly grew more and more damp under his touch, and the friction became maddening, teasing, but never quite enough.

It was better than every daydream, every stolen fantasy while you wore his shirts and pretended to be his woman while lying in his sheets. Tears of pure overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes as you moaned his name softly “Robby…” but he still didn’t speak.

He finally slipped his hand inside your panties. Two fingers gliding through your slick folds, parting them with care. He gathered the wetness there, spreading it upward to circle your swollen clit in strokes that got your thighs trembling. The pleasure was sharp, and it made you chase the contact right away, bucking your hips against his hand. Robby responded by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles around your clit before sliding lower again. 

One finger teased your entrance, circling it once, then twice, then slowly pushing inside you, stretching you open with a smooth thrust. You cried out in response, arching your entire body as his finger filled your hole. He curled it expertly, stroking that spot inside while his thumb continued working your clit in a steady rhythm. He added a second finger after a moment, stretching you further. Suddenly, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of your soaked pussy were filling the quiet bedroom.

His fingers were thrusting faster now, he was curling and scissoring them gently enough not to hurt you, but deep so you could feel every inch of them. You fisted your hands in his hair, rolling your hips desperately against his hand as moans spilled freely from your lips. You were so wet it was embarrassing, shaking, gasping, whimpering, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of finally having the man you loved touching you so intimately, so expertly. Tears slipped down your temples from the sheer intensity of it all. 

“Oh my God, Robby…” you gasped before your voice broke as the pleasure coiled tighter in your core. “It feels so good… your fingers… fuck, they’re so deep. I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you for so long…”

He didn’t answer with words, but his response was immediate. He curled his fingers deeper against that spongy spot inside you, stroking it with precision while he pressed the heel of his hand harder on your clit. His mouth switched to your other breast, sucking deeply, his teeth grazing just enough to send sparks shooting down your spine.

“I want you so much,” you moaned, tightening your fingers in his brown hair. “You’re so good… so fucking good at this. Please don’t stop… I’ve dreamed about you touching me like this… God, Robby, I’m so close—”

The pressure built until the point of unbearably, until it finally snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity. A broken cry tore from your throat as waves of ecstasy ripped through your body. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers, pulsing and fluttering as he kept stroking you through it, drawing out every last shudder out of your climaxing body. Your thighs were shaking violently around his hips, your toes curling, your vision whiting out for a few blissful seconds. It was this intense, and overwhelming bliss taking over you because it was Robby making you cum, it was finally him.

He didn’t stop until the last aftershocks faded, only then did he gradually slow his fingers, gentling their movements as your breathing evened out. Robby eased his hand from your panties, leaving you slick, pulsing, and utterly spent in the best way.

You watched him sitting back on his heels for a moment, looking down at you, flushed, bare-chested, panties askew, legs still trembling. Without a word, he reached for the zipper of his jacket and shrugged it off, tossing it toward the chair in the corner of his room. His shirt followed quickly, revealing the broad chest and arms you’ve only ever glimpsed under scrubs. His chest was dusted with a perfect scattering of silvery-gray hair that looked impossibly soft against his skin. Not too much, not too little, just enough to scream man in the most intoxicating way. Your fingers itched to touch it, to feel the texture of it beneath your palms, to press your face against the heat of him and breathe him in.

Your gaze drifted lower, and heat flooded your entire body. A soft, rounded belly curved gently over the waistband of his pants. God, the sight of it made your mouth go dry with want. You’d imagined this so many times, running your hands over that giving flesh, digging your fingers in just to feel how real he was, pulling him closer until that belly pressed flush against you, skin to skin. A dark, tempting happy trail started just below his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband, leading exactly where your mind had already gone. 

Then his hands moved to his belt. He pushed his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, kicking them off the edge of the bed. His cock sprang free, looking thick and heavy, and already fully hard. It was huge, both in length and girth, the head flushed dark and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. The shaft was veined and perfectly proportioned, curving slightly upward in a way that made your mouth water and your freshly-orgasmed pussy clench with need. It was gorgeous. Intimidating and beautiful at the same time, exactly like the rest of him.

Your breath got caught at the sight, the heat flooded your face and core all over again as you stared, unable to look away. This was Robby’s cock, big, hard, and ready for you after all those lonely nights imagining it. He leaned toward the nightstand, the same one where you’d once nervously discovered the box of condoms, and opened the drawer. He pulled out a foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth in a quick motion. You almost wanted to beg him to skip it, to fuck you raw, to feel every inch of him skin-to-skin, filling you completely without any barrier. 

The words hovered on your tongue, “Please, Robby, I want you bare… I want to feel all of you,” but they stayed trapped behind your lips as he rolled the condom down his impressive length with steady hands, sheathing himself completely. Once the condom was securely in place, Robby settled back between your thighs, one hand bracing beside your head while the other gripped the base of his cock. The thick head nudged against your slick entrance, teasing your folds with shallow strokes that made you twitch with anticipation.

He finally broke his silence, his voice gravelly from arousal. Robby locked his brown eyes onto yours. “Are you sure?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes… I’m sure. Please, Robby.”

That was all he needed. Robby pushed forward slowly, only the head of his cock parting your slick folds and sinking into you inch by inch. The stretch was intense, his girth filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent gasp. He was huge, and even with the latex barrier you felt every ridge and vein as he pressed deeper, until his hips were flush against your ass and he was buried to the hilt inside your pussy.

A rough groan escaped his throat, the first real sound he’d made since he started kissing you back. He dropped his eyes immediately to your breasts, watching them rise and fall with your quick breaths, the flesh still glistening from his mouth. He stayed there for a long moment, buried deep, letting you adjust to his size while his gaze stayed fixed on the way your tits moved every time you inhaled.

Then he started to move, his thrusts began slow and deep, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with force. The wet sound of your pussy taking his thick cock filled the room as each stroke dragged against that perfect spot inside you, making moans spill from your lips. 

His grip tightened on your hips, his thrusts growing just a fraction harder. “It feels so good,” you whimpered, breathy and broken. “You’re so deep… so big… God, Robby, I’ve wanted you inside me for so long… You don’t know how many times I imagined this.”

He answered with another groan and a particularly deep thrust that made your toes curl. His pace stayed steady, with strong strokes that rocked the bed beneath you, making the headboard tap against the wall in time with his movements. 

You craved his eyes on yours. In this raw, breathless moment, more than anything, you wanted Robby to see you. Not just your body, but the way he was unraveling you, the overwhelming pleasure flooding your veins, the terrifying depth of what this meant to you. You wanted to lock gazes with him while he moved inside you, to share this perfect, fragile second and know he felt even a fraction of what you did. But he wouldn’t give it to you. His eyes stayed glued to your chest, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced and jiggled with every deep thrust. 

His jaw was tight, lips slightly parted, breath coming in grunts each time your bodies slammed together. Every so often, he dropped his gaze lower, fixated on the filthy sight of his thick cock sliding in and out of you, your slick, swollen lips stretching obscenely around his shaft, glistening with your arousal. The visual seemed to rip a primal sound from his throat almost involuntary.

The lack of eye contact stung even as it turned you on. It felt like he was hiding. Protecting himself. Keeping this physical, safe, compartmentalized, the same way he kept everything else. Without thinking, your hands flew up to his face. You cupped his bearded cheeks, your palms warm against his flushed skin, and you gently but firmly tilted his head up. For one devastating heartbeat, his eyes met yours. The connection hit like a spark, you saw the storm in him. Your own eyes were glassy, brimming with tears of overwhelming pleasure and emotion. In that single second, everything felt exposed. 

Then his lashes fluttered, Robby squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face down again, breaking the connection. His hips never faltered, if anything, they drove into you harder, deeper, as if he could fuck away whatever had just passed between you. He dropped his forehead to rest against your shoulder, while locking his gaze once more onto the hypnotic bounce of your breasts and the joining of your bodies.

Robby suddenly pulled out, making you whine at the sudden emptiness you felt without his cock filling your insides, but before you could complain any more, he was already moving you. He used his strong hands to flip you onto your stomach, then gripped your hips and pulled your ass up so you were on your knees now, with your chest still pressed to the mattress. This new position left you completely exposed, with your ass raised, your back arched, and your used pussy dripping and ready for him.

He didn’t hesitate, just lined himself up and thrusted back in with one powerful stroke, burying himself even deeper than before. Like this, Robby could hit spots inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. A moan ripped from your throat as he bottomed out, pressing his hips flush against your ass, his cock was so deep it felt like he was reaching the deepest parts of you.

“Fuuuck—” he groaned. From behind, the fucking became even deeper. “Goddamn it,” the words were barely leaving his mouth as he drove into you harder.

Robby was gripping your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, until his pelvis met your ass in a punishing rhythm. Each stroke felt long and powerful, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making the tip of his cock drag perfectly against your g-spot over and over.

You were crying out with every thrust. “Robby—oh God, it’s so deep… you’re so deep like this… don’t stop—”

He groaned again, louder this time, and quickened his pace, snapping forward with more urgency. Robby pressd one hand between your shoulder blades to keep your chest down while he kept the other clamped on your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. He stayed mostly quiet, other than for his broken groans, and occasional curses

“Shit.” He let out when your pussy clenched around him particularly tightly. “Fuck.” The words escaped his lips, almost as if he didn’t mean to let them out.

His breathing grew ragged, the slap of his hips against your ass growing louder and faster. Robby kept staring down, at the way your tits were squished against the mattress and jiggling with every thrust, at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy, your ass rippling every time he bottomed out.

“I’m yours… I’ve always been yours,” you whispered breathlessly as he pounded into you. “Cum for me, please… I need to feel it. Cum inside me.”

“Fuck me…” He cursed under his breath as he lost his rhythm for a moment. This angle allowed the head of his cock to grind against that spot inside you until you were shaking.

The way you shook, the way your pussy fluttered and pulsed around him, it made his rhythm falter more and more, his thrusts were  becoming shorter, harder, more desperate. Robby tightened his grip on your hips almost painfully as he drove into you again and again. With a final, deep groan, he finally came.

His hips stuttered and he pressed them flush against your ass, spilling inside the condom. His release was warm, and you could feel the pulses even through the latex. His cock throbbed deep inside you, shuddering as he rode out his orgasm with several shallow and grinding thrusts. Low sounds escaped his throat, groans and curses, while he kept you pinned in place, holding you tight as he emptied himself.

He stayed buried inside you for several long seconds afterward, breathing hard against your back. When he pulled out, the loss of him made you whimper softly, you felt empty once again. You heard the snap of latex as he pulled the used condom off, tying it quickly and tossing it into the trash bin beside the nightstand. 

The mattress shifted as he climbed off the bed. His bare feet pad across the floor toward the master bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, but you still didn’t move. You stayed lying there on your stomach, with your cheek against his pillow. From the bathroom, you heard the steady stream as he peed. The faucet running. The rustle of paper towels or a cloth. The toilet flushing. He was cleaning himself up, wiping away the evidence of what you two had done, washing his hands, probably splashing water on his face. 

You closed your eyes and let the reality settle over you. This had really happened. Robby came back, he kissed you back, and you two slept together.

The bathroom door opening again snapped you back into reality. Robby walked back into the bedroom completely naked, he didn’t look at you directly, his expression was unreadable… tired, maybe a little distant. He didn’t say anything, simply lifted the edge of the duvet on his side of the bed, and climbed in. 

As he settled onto his back, Robbby rested one arm across his stomach, the other by his side. He stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, there was no reaching for you, no pulling you against his chest, no soft kiss to your shoulder or murmured “come here.” The space between your bodies stayed empty, with several inches of sheet separating you.

You stayed on your stomach, turned slightly toward him, watching him from the corner of your eye. Part of you wanted to scoot closer, to curl into his side, to feel his arm wrapped around you the way it did in all your daydreams. But you didn’t.

Robby’s voice finally broke the quiet, barely above a murmur. “You need anything? Water?”

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry from all the moaning and gasping earlier. “No… I’m okay. Thanks.”

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. That was it. No further conversation, no questions about what this meant, no acknowledgment of the fact that you were sleeping in his bed, or that you just had intense sex in the middle of the night. 

Robby exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting shut. Within minutes, his breathing evened out completely, and he fell asleep fast, just like that. One moment, he was awake beside you, the next his face had softened into sleep. 

You lay there watching him for a long time. The king bed felt enormous with the two of you in it, but not touching, no cuddling, no spooning. Just the two of you sharing the same space after something that felt life-altering to you and… something else entirely to him. The fantasy had been so vivid: waking up tangled together, his arms around you, soft morning kisses. Reality was quieter, messier, more distant. 

You woke the next morning, and for a disoriented second, the events of last night felt like one of your daydreams. The pleasant ache between your thighs and the faint soreness in your hips confirmed it was real. Very real. But the bed beside you was empty. The sheets on Robby’s side were rumpled but cool, no warm body, no arm draped anywhere near you.

Your clothes from last night were scattered. You found the black panties twisted near the foot of the bed and pulled them on, then located the t-shirt you’d been wearing and slipped it over your head. After running your fingers through your messy hair and splashing water on your face in the bathroom, you headed downstairs. Robby was standing at the island, back to you, dressed in jeans and a plain dark t-shirt, his hair still damp from a shower, and his beard looking a little neater than it did when he arrived last night. 

He turned when he heard your footsteps. There was no awkward smile, no heated glance over your body in his shirt. Just a small nod of acknowledgment. “Morning,” he said. “House looks good. You took real good care of the place. Thanks for that. Appreciate it.”

The words were simple, professional, the same tone he used when you two were at the pitt. You stepped into the kitchen, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “You’re welcome. It was… nice, getting a little break from Trin… don’t tell her I said that.”

He nodded again, taking a sip of his coffee, leaning back against the counter. You gathered your courage. “Why did you come back so soon? Wasn’t your sabbatical supposed to be three months?”

Robby drifted his gaze to the window, overlooking the backyard for a long moment. He set the mug down, tapping his fingers once against the granite. “Just…  wanted to end it.”

You blinked, processing his words. “You mean… the trip to end?” 

He stayed quiet for a while, longer than felt natural. You watched the way his jaw clenched, like he was chewing on the words before deciding how much to give you. Finally, he said, simply, “Yeah.” The vagueness sat between you two. 

The sabbatical was supposed to help with that heaviness you knew he was carrying, but he never named it outright. Coming back after only a month didn’t feel like success. You leaned against the opposite side of the island, trying to keep your voice light, but you sounded concerned anyway. “Are you gonna start working again? Back at the pitt?”

“Probably,” he answered, still not elaborating. 

You nodded, pushing a little more. “Did you… find what you were looking for out there? On the road?”

Robby flicked his eyes to yours briefly, then away. He shrugged one shoulder, the movement tight. “Found some quiet. Some miles. That’s about it.”

The answers were so vague they felt like deflections. You could see the exhaustion lingering in the wrinkles around his eyes, the way his shoulders carried so much tension even in his own kitchen. The worry you’d been holding since his unanswered texts bubbled up. 

You softened your voice. “Are you okay, Robby?”

He looked at you then, really looked, with those warm brown eyes that could undo you in just a second. A small, tired half-smile touches his mouth, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m here, right?”

You shook your head gently, not letting him off that easy. “That doesn’t really answer my question.” 

For a second, something flickered across his face, maybe acknowledgment, maybe irritation at being pushed, but it smoothed out quickly. He picked up his mug again, taking a slow sip before setting it in the sink. “You should get going. You’re gonna be late for shift.”

The dismissal was polite, but clear. He didn’t want to have no deeper conversation, no processing last night. The distance he was putting between you two this morning, and his careful vagueness made everything feel unsteady. “Yeah… okay.” You paused, then added quietly, “I’ll pick up my stuff when I get back from shift.”

“Thank you again for taking such good care of the place. I appreciate it more than you know.” Robby paused, like he was remembering something. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small object, a simple metal keychain with a little buffalo charm attached. “Wait,” he said, holding it out to you. “Got you something.”

You took the keychain, turning it over in your palm. It was surprisingly thoughtful, it meant Robby thought of you enough to pick this up somewhere along the road and bring it back. He brought you a gift. You felt special once again, the way you did the night he first asked you to stay here. “Thank you,” you said softly, closing your fingers around it. “I really like it.”

He gave you a small shrug, almost dismissive, but there was a faint softening around his eyes. “Least I could do.”

You clutched the keychain a little tighter, gathering the courage to say more. “I’m really glad you’re back, Robby. The pitt needed you. It felt… different without you there. We all missed having you around.”

Robby leaned against the island. “I’m sure the place still stood. It’s bigger than just me. You all did fine.”

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping a little closer. “But we still missed you. The place feels steadier when you’re there. I missed you. I was worried when you didn’t answer any of my texts.. I thought maybe something happened on the road. I kept checking my phone like an idiot.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah… sorry about that. Wasn’t really in the headspace for replying. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

You nodded, accepting the half-apology even though it didn’t fully ease the knot in your chest. “Well… I should leave for work,” you said finally, gesturing toward the door. “Give you the house back. Let you settle in.”

Robby straightened, nodding once. “Yep. Thanks again.”

You slipped the keychain onto your own keys, the little buffalo charm dangling beside your apartment key. It felt special, proof that he thought of you while he was gone, but the lack of any reference to the intimacy you shared last night left an empty ache in its place. “Take care of yourself, Robby. If you need anything… I’m around.”

He gave you another small nod. The house felt both familiar after a month living there, but suddenly foreign again. You turned and headed back upstairs to change into your clothes for the day. Last night had felt like a crack in the wall he kept so carefully maintained, but this morning, that wall was back in place.

A week had passed since you’d slept with Robby, and your mind still wouldn’t let you rest. Every quiet moment replayed it like a fever dream you couldn’t shake. The weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. The rough hunger in his hands as they roamed over your skin, like a man who’d been starving for a month on the road and finally found relief. You could still feel the scrape of his beard, the heat of his breath, the way his fingers had dug into your hips hard enough to leave faint bruises you’d traced alone in the shower the next morning. But the memory that hurt the most was the way he’d refused to look at you. Even buried deep inside you, moving with that rhythm that had you crying out his name, Robby never once met your gaze. And when you’d forced him to, just for that fleeting second… he’d shut down. Closed his eyes, and turned you away. 

Then came the cold shoulder afterward. The way he’d rolled off you, cleaned up in silence, and acted the very next morning like nothing had happened. Polite but distant. As if the night had been nothing more than a physical release. Now seven days had gone by with no sign of him at work. No one seemed to know he was even back in town, only you and Trinity. The absence gnawed at you constantly, an anxious hum beneath your ribs that made it hard to breathe. 

You’d picked up your phone at least a dozen times, your thumb hovering over his contact. What could you even say? “Hey Robby, how are you? You coming back to work anytime soon? Do you still remember the way you fucked me until I cried… because I can’t stop replaying every second of it?”

Every draft felt wrong. Pushy, pathetic, and desperate. If he wanted to talk about that night, about anything, he would have reached out already. You knew him too well. The same man who deflected every question about his month away, who shrugged and changed the subject the moment you tried to ask how he was really doing… that man didn’t want to be reached. He was avoiding you the same way he avoided everything else that mattered.

You arrived early for your shift today, swiping your badge and pushing through the glass doors. You’d barely slept, Robby had invaded your thoughts all night long. You told yourself to focus, you were a second-year, you had patients to see, people whose lives depended on you. You could do this. But the moment you stepped into the ED, you felt the change.. Robby was already there.

He was back in his element like he’d never left, standing at the nurse station, reviewing a chart on one of the computers, giving instructions about an incoming transfer. You kept your distance at first, throwing yourself into your assigned cases, but every time you glanced over your shoulder, Robby was there. It should’ve felt good to finally have him back, to know he was okay. Instead, the memories of your night together twisted something painful in your chest.

Around mid-morning, during a brief lull between patients, you were charting when you heard their voices. Robby and Noelle. They were standing just outside the glass doors of the trauma room, partially hidden from the main floor but close enough that you could hear their conversation if you paid attention. 

Noelle was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, a playful smile on her face as she talked to him. “I knew you weren’t gonna last the full three months,” she said teasingly. “Motorcycle, open road, ‘finding yourself’, please. You made it what, five weeks? I should’ve put money on it.”

Robby let out a low chuckle, leaning one shoulder against the wall opposite her, his arms crossed in a mirror of her posture. “What can I say? Figured the pitt would fall apart without me.”

Noelle lauged softly, reaching out to lightly play with the collar of his scrubs. The gesture was casual, intimate in its smallness. She looked comfortable around him, familiarized, like two people who shared history. So different from the way you acted around him. “You should’ve told me you were back. I would’ve brought over dinner or something. Saved you from whatever sad frozen meals you’ve been eating.”

The flirting was effortless, and Robby didn’t pull away from the touch. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Dinner sounds better than the leftovers I found in the freezer. But I’m still catching up after a month away. I haven’t finished unpacking, needed a while to get settled.”

Your heart squeezed painfully. You remembered the way his hands felt on your bare skin, the way he touched you while kissing you, the deep thrusts that had you moaning into his pillow. And now he was standing here joking and flirting with Noelle like none of it happened.

Her smile widened. “Well, if you’re free tonight… my place? I’ve got that bottle of red you like. We can catch up properly.”

Robby paused for half a second, then shook his head with a small and regretful smile. “Can’t tonight. Still need to get settled at home. But Saturday… Saturday I’m free.”

Noelle’s eyes lighted up, clearly pleased. “Saturday it is. My place. I’ll text you the time.”

“Sounds good,” Robby replied, lingering his gaze on her a moment longer than necessary. They shared one more quiet laugh before Noelle pushed off the wall and headed back upstairs. 

He waas going back to her. The sex between you meant nothing to him. Not enough to mention, not enough to change anything. He’d fucked you, and then he went right back to his comfortable situationship with Noelle like it was the most natural thing in the world. No awkward conversation, no “we should talk”, no acknowledgment that he’d had his cock buried inside you less than a week ago. He gave you a silly little keychain as thanks for house-sitting, and now he was making Saturday plans with the woman everyone knows he’d been seeing.

The sadness hit you like a wave, suffocating. Your eyes burned, making you blink hard to force the tears back before anyone could see. This is what you got for letting the fantasy run wild while you slept in his bed. For believing, even for a moment, that the way he kissed you back, the way he touched you, the way he fucked you meant something more than a momentary lapse after a long, lonely ride home. 

Hours later, you stepped through the door of the cramped apartment you shared with Trinity. You’d kept your head down, done your job, and somehow made it through without breaking in front of anyone. But the moment you pulled into the parking lot outside your building, the tears you’d been swallowing all day started leaking out again. You kicked off your shoes in the tiny entryway and dropped your backpack with a thud. 

Trinity was sprawled on the couch in the living room, where she had been since you left, enjoying her day off from work with shitty reality shows in the TV she claimed to hate. She glanced up when she heard you, narrowing her eyes immediately. “Whoa. What the hell happened to you?” she asked, sitting up a little. “You look like you’ve been crying. You killed someone today or what?”

You hesitated in the doorway. Trinity was the closest you had to a friend, and right now, you needed someone to vent. “If I tell you,” you said quietly, “you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul. Promise me.”

Trinity raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from concern to skepticism. “Look, if you’re gonna be all dramatic and make me swear on my future fellowship or whatever, then maybe just don’t tell me. I don’t do secrets that come with conditions. Either spill or don’t. I’m not a priest.”

You stood there for a long moment, part of you wanted to retreat to your room and cry into your pillow alone. The other part, the part that’d been carrying this alone since last week, needed to say it out loud to someone. You walked over and sank onto the opposite end of the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest. 

“I slept with Robby.”

Trinity stared at you. Then she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, right. Funny. Try again.”

“I’m serious,” you insisted, meeting her eyes. “I slept with Robby. For real.”

She studied your face, her smirk slowly fading as she registered how wrecked you look. “Wait… you’re actually serious? Like, with Robby? Our Robby?”

You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. The words started spilling out slowly, the pace of the night replaying in your mind as you spoke. “The night he came back… I was already asleep in his bed. He walked in late, scared the shit out of me. I screamed, he apologized, we talked for a minute. Then I hugged him because I was so relieved he was safe. And… I don’t know what came over me. I kissed him. He didn’t kiss me back at first. He just stood there, but then he started kissing me and… we… we did it.”

You left out the explicit details, you didn’t need to paint the full picture. Her eyes were wide now, finally catching up on what you were telling her. “Holy shit. You actually slept with Robby.”

You nodded again, feeling the tears threatening to spill again. “Yeah. And the next morning he acted like nothing happened. He thanked me for taking care of the house, gave me this stupid little keychain he picked up on his trip as a thank-you gift, and that was it. No mention of the sex. Not a word. Then today at work… I saw him talking to Noelle.” Your voice cracked on the last part. “They were flirting… laughing, made plans together for this weekend. He’s going back to her,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes. “Like what happened between us meant absolutely nothing. He pretended it never happened, and now he’s making plans with Noelle like everything’s normal.”

Trinity was quiet for a long beat, then she leaned back against the couch, letting out a slow breath. Her tone was blunt, the way it always was when she was being brutally honest, no matter how much it might hurt you. “Okay. Real talk? He obviously regrets sleeping with you.”

The words landed on you like a slap. You flinched visibly, but she continued, not softening the truth behind her words. “Think about it. He comes back from a month on the road, probably horny as hell after being alone with his motorcycle in the middle of Canada. You’re there, in his house, in his literal bed. You basically offered him your pussy on a silver plate. Men are weak. They can’t say no to that, especially not when they’ve been away for weeks. It was a moment of weakness. He took it. And then in the morning he realized it was a mistake. That’s why he didn’t mention it. That’s why he’s acting like it never happened. He’s going back to Noelle because she’s the safe, familiar option.”

You stared at her, fresh tears spilling over. The sarcastic edge slipped out before you could stop it. “Wow. You’re a great friend, Trinity. Really uplifting.”

She shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m honest. You know it’s true. I’m not gonna sit here and feed you some romantic bullshit just because you’re crying. You wanted the truth.”

You pulled your knees tighter to your chest, your voice breaking. “I thought it had been amazing. I felt… great. I thought he did too. The way he kissed me back, the way he touched me… it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt real.” 

Trinity gave you a long, almost pitying look. “He has a penis, of course it felt good for him. Men are simple creatures, you put a warm hole in front of them and they’ll take it every single time. That doesn’t mean it meant anything deep. It was just an easy fuck. He’s an older guy, been around the block dozens of times. He’s probably had plenty of good fucks in his life. This one happened to be convenient because you were literally living in his house. Doesn’t make it special.”

The tears came faster now, and you found yourself incapable of holding them back anymore. They rolled down your cheeks as the weight of her words sank in, mixing with your own exhaustion and the ache in your chest that’d been growing since that night.

“I really love him,” you whispered. “I’ve loved him for so long. Not just the sex. Him. The way he teaches, the way he looks out for everyone, how steady he is even when everything’s falling apart…”

Trinity groaned softly, running a hand over her face. “Are you seriously crying over Robby? Come on. He’s our boss. He’s emotionally unavailable, and clearly still tangled up with Noelle. You slept with him once, and now you’re devastated because he didn’t suddenly fall in love with you? That’s not how this works.” 

She didn’t move to hug you, she just sat there, watching you cry. You buried your face in your knees, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Trinity sighed after a long minute, softening her voice just a fraction. “Look… you’re gonna be okay. It sucks right now. But crying over Robby isn’t going to change the fact that he went right back to Noelle. You need to decide if you’re going to keep pining after him or if you’re going to pull it together and focus on not tanking your residency because your feelings got hurt.” 

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t just let it go now. We slept together, Trinity. It wasn’t some random thing. It was… it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. The way he touched me, the way he looked at me… I felt like he saw me. Really saw me. Robby’s it for me. I’ve been in love with him for over a year, and now that it actually happened, I can’t pretend it didn’t.”

Trinity stared at you for a long beat, her expression unchanging. She let the silence stretch,  and when she finally spoke, it was as if she was explaining a difficult diagnosis to a patient who didn’t want to hear it. “Robby’s just a guy,” she said. “That’s the part you’re forgetting. He’s not some tortured romantic lead in whatever fanfic you’ve been writing in your head. Your brain is doing that thing where it confuses really intense emotions with really good sex. You built this whole fantasy while you were living in his house, sleeping in his bed, sniffing his cologne or whatever. Reality was just a quick fuck. Your hormones are lying to you right now.”

You felt the sting of her words like a slow burn spreading across your chest. “It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t convenient. It felt… real. I thought he felt it too.”

Trinity gave you a small, almost pitying shrug. “That’s the crush talking. You’re romanticizing it because you’ve wanted him for so long. But it was just a convenient nut for him. You really thought sleeping with him once after you basically ambushed him with a kiss was gonna change anything?”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. “So… he wants nothing to do with me?”

She snorted. “Obviously not. If he did, he would’ve said something that morning instead of handing you a touristy keychain. Let’s be real, he’s probably relieved you didn’t make it weird at work. And it’s kind of a miracle he’s lasted this long with Noelle anyway. The man has the emotional availability of a brick wall. You’re better off pretending it never happened and moving on before you make it awkward for both of you.”

You stared at the floor, tears slipping down your cheeks again, slower now but steady. After a long minute, you lifted your head again. “What does Noelle have that I don’t?”

Trinity let out a dry laugh. “Where should I start?” She shifted on the couch, turning more toward you, clearly settling in for the full list, like she was ticking off boxes one by one. “First off, she’s insanely pretty, put-together in a way we’re not. Noelle shows up at work in actual suits and high heels. She does her makeup, and she has that stupid ponytail with every single little hair in place. We roll in all sweaty and looking like we just ran a marathon and haven’t had a good night of sleep in ages.” 

You swallowed hard, wiping at your face again, but you didn’t interrupt. Trinity kept going, her tone matter-of-fact. “She has a good job. She’s closer in age to him, too. He wouldn’t want to deal with the drama of dating someone way younger who’s also his resident. Noelle gives him what he wants without any of the emotional baggage, that’s why he keeps coming back to her. She doesn’t look at him with puppy-dog eyes; meanwhile, you text him worried little updates about his house plants.” Trinity paused before she delivered the final blow. “You? You’re a complication. A big one. You’re emotionally involved. Like, deeply. Noelle is safe. You’re not. He’s not going to choose the complication. He’s going back to easy.”

The words hang in the air between you, each one landing heavier than the last. Your eyes burned again, but this time the tears fell silently, tracking down your cheeks without the full sobs from earlier. Part of you wanted to argue… to insist that the sex was more than that, that the way Robby gripped you and kissed you back meant something, but the exhaustion and the heartbreak made it hard to find the words. So you stayed quiet.

She reached over and patted your knee, a half-comfort gesture, the closest of comfort you could get. “That’s the truth,” she said simply. “Whether you want to hear it or not.”

You felt suddenly exposed and foolish. Robby was back at the pitt. He was making plans with Noelle. And you… You were just the stupid resident who thought one night could change everything.

The next day at the pitt feels like walking through a minefield. Your eyes were still a little puffy from last night’s conversation with Trinity, but you’d done your best with concealer and cold water. You kept repeating her words in your head like a mantra: focus on residency, stop the stupid crush, he’s just a guy. It didn’t help much. Every time you blinked, you still saw flashes of his body over yours.

Robby glanced up as you approached, offering you a small, professional nod. Nothing more. He stood there completely unaffected, while you were quietly falling apart, knowing the sex meant nothing to him. 

After working on a patient together, you and Robby were left alone for a moment while the trauma room cleared. You couldn’t stop the words from slipping out, trying to sound normal even though your chest ached with every heartbeat. “How have you been settling back in? It’s… really good to have you back here. The pitt feels different when you’re around.”

“It’s been okay. Still catching up on meetings. It feels weird… being back after a month away.” He offered you a polite smile before turning away, ready to leave the room.

Your heart hammered against your ribs so hard you were sure he could feel it. This was it, now or never. Robby was standing right there in front of you, close enough to touch, if you didn’t speak now, you knew you never would. The words would rot inside you, unspoken, until they poisoned everything.

“I was meaning to ask you… Do you have a minute to talk? In private?” 

He stopped, turning to face you. His expression was calm, for a split second, you thought you saw something flicker there, recognition, maybe wariness, but it was gone before you could be sure. “Is it about work?” he asked. You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really.”

Robby exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m really busy right now. If it’s not work-related, it’s going to have to wait. We’ve got three pending admits and a full board. Only work stuff today, okay?”

The dismissal was polite but firm, it landed like a door closing in your face. You felt the sting spread through your chest, he wouldn’t even give you five minutes. Not after everything. You nodded once, forcing your expression to stay neutral even as your throat tightened. “Yeah. Okay.”

You made it through the first half of the shift on autopilot, but that was before the worst part hit. A six-year-old boy, MVC passenger, ejected from the back seat. He came in unresponsive, CPR already in progress from EMS. You threw everything at him, intubated him yourself, pushed epi, called every medication, every intervention. For forty-three minutes, you fought alongside the team. But he didn’t make it. 

When Robby finally called time of death, the room went quiet except for the flatline tone that seemed to go on forever. You stood there frozen for a second before you ripped your gloves off and walked outside of the trauma room. You made your way behind the ambulance bay, leaning against the cold brick wall. Your breathing came in short, ugly gasps. Tears streaming down your face, no matter how hard you tried to wipe them away. You just needed a minute. One minute to fall apart before you had to go back inside and pretend you were fine. 

You were crying for the boy you couldn’t save, for the innocent life that had slipped through your fingers, no matter how fast you moved, how hard you pressed, how desperately you begged him to stay. But you were also crying for yourself, because everything in your life felt like it was crumbling at the seams. You couldn’t fix the boy. You couldn’t fix the growing distance with Robby. You couldn’t fix the ache in your chest that had only gotten worse since the night he’d touched you like you mattered and then pretended you didn’t. No matter what you did, no matter how much you cared, some things simply refused to be saved. And right now, it felt like you were one of them.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind you. Once again, you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Leave me alone,” you choked out before he could speak.

Robby stopped a few feet away. “It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. I watched the whole code. You ran it clean.”

“I said leave me alone.” The words came out sharper this time. You kept your back to him, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you could hold all the pieces together. “Don’t talk to me. Just go.”

He didn’t leave. “You did good in there,” he said quietly. “Kid had injuries we couldn’t fix. Massive head bleed, internal bleeding… you kept him alive longer than most residents could have. That matters.”

The kindness in his voice, that low tone he used when he was teaching or comforting a family, only made it worse. You spun around suddenly, tears running down your face. “I don’t want you here!” you shouted, your voice breaking on the last words. “Just leave me alone! Don’t talk to me, don’t comfort me, don’t do anything! Go back inside!”

Robby furrowed his brows. He took one careful step closer, searching for your face. “What’s wrong with you? What happened? This isn’t just about the kid.”

You laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that turned into a sob halfway through. “You happened!” The words exploded out of you, it was a mix of two years of longing and the last few days of humiliation pouring out all at once. “You came back early. You walked into your own bedroom and I kissed you and you let me and then we had sex and it was the best night of my fucking life and I thought, I actually thought, it meant something to you. Because why else would you ask me to house-sit instead of Abbot or Noelle or anyone else? I took care of your house, I slept in your bed, I watered your stupid plants, and then you fucked me and the next morning you acted like nothing happened. You gave me a keychain and ignored me after it!”

You were crying harder now, your chest heaving as the words tumbled over each other. “I saw you with Noelle the other day. You two looked fine. Like nothing had changed. You don’t care. You never cared. I was just convenient. I was there, in your bed, throwing myself at you, and you took what was easy. And now I can’t even look at you without remembering how good it felt and how little it meant to you.” Your voice cracked completely on the last sentence. You were shaking, tears dripping off your chin.

Robby stood there, completely still. He opened his mouth once, then closed it. For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant wail of another ambulance approaching. Finally, he rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar gesture you’d seen a thousand times. “Look… I gotta go back in there. They need me on the floor. We’ve got another incoming.”   

He took one step back, then another, his eyes still on you like he was not sure whether to stay or leave. You didn’t say anything else, just turned your face away, pressing your forehead against the cold brick as your shoulders shook with silent sobs. Robby lingered for another few seconds, then he turned and walked back toward the sliding doors, leaving you alone with the sound of your own broken heart, somehow still beating.

Three hours later, the shift finally ended. You clocked out mechanically, and headed toward the locker room to change. You were almost at the doors when a familiar voice stopped you.

“Hey. Wait a second.” Robby said. After everything you screamed at him outside earlier, you expected him to avoid you. Instead, here he was, blocking your path to the parking lot. “Look,” he started saying, like he was delivering bad news to a family. “I’m sorry if I was confusing. Or if you misinterpreted anything that happened that night.”

You stared at him. The apology sounded practiced, he was being gentle, but it still landed like a punch. He continued, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was uncomfortable. “I was tired. Really tired. That’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I should’ve said no when you kissed me. I didn’t. That happened, and I’m sorry if it gave you the wrong idea. Or if asking you to house-sit made you think there was more to it. You’re an extraordinary physician. You’re smart, you’re capable, you care deeply. But that’s all there is. I’m not looking for anything right now. I couldn’t even mentally handle anything resembling a relationship.”

The words hang between you, sounding final. You felt your eyes sting again. The grief from the lost patient mixed with the humiliation you were feeling until it was hard to breathe. “Except for Noelle,” you said quietly, the bitterness slipping out before you could stop it. “You seem to handle that just fine.”

Robby let out a surprised laugh. He shook his head. “Noelle and I are not together. At all. We never were. It’s… casual. Very casual. She understands exactly what it is and she’s okay with that.”

“But you still see each other on the daily. You slept with me and didn’t even address it the next morning. You gave me a keychain and talked about the plants like nothing happened. Why is it one way with her and another with me? Why does she get the easy understanding and I get… this? I get nothing.”

He exhaled slowly, looking older than his years. “Look… Noelle knows how this works. She’s not looking for more, and neither am I. What we have is simple. I’m sorry I let things get too far with you. That was my bad. I should’ve stopped it before it started. You’re a resident. I’m your attending. It was a mistake on my part to let it go that far. I take responsibility for that.” 

His tone was steady, almost kind, but every word felt like another layer of distance between the two of you. You stood there, watching the man who had you pinned to his mattress, who made you come so hard you cried, now apologizing for “letting things get too far” like it was a procedural error.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but you blinked them back fiercely. “So that’s it?” Your voice was small. “I was just a mistake because I was convenient?”

Robby’s expression softened just a fraction, but he didn’t reach for you, he kept his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m not saying you’re a mistake. You’re not. But I’m in no place to give anyone what they deserve right now. My head’s not right. Hasn’t been for a while. The sabbatical didn’t fix it the way I hoped. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of that. You’re a great girl. You are. You’re smart, you’re responsible, you work hard… you’re going to find someone. But that person isn’t me.”

“Yeah,” you said, above a whisper, the hurt turning into something bitter. “I was just convenient. I was there, in your house, threw myself at you, and you took it. That’s all it was.”

Robby looked away for a long moment, then back at you. “It wasn’t… look, I’m barely keeping my head above water right now. The pitt, the department, everything that sent me on that sabbatical in the first place… I’m drowning. I came back early because the quiet out there was worse than the noise here. I can’t deal with this shit on top of everything else. I can’t.” The silence that followed was long and painful. He glanced toward his bike, then back at you. “I gotta head out. Try to get some rest. And… if you need to talk about the kid from today, my door’s open. As your attending.” 

The professional offer felt like throwing salt in the wound, but you nodded once, unable to trust your voice. Robby gave you one last look, tired, a little regretful, but final, and then turned and walked away.

Trinity appeared at your side almost immediately, as if she’d been just a few feet away, quietly waiting for the conversation between Robby and you to end. She was unusually quiet for once. “You okay?” she asked, surprisingly soft.

You shook your head, your eyes burning as you watched Robby disappear on his bike around the corner. “No,” you whispered. “Not even a little.”

A/N: Your support genuinely means so much to me. Nothing makes me happier than reading your comments and thoughts about my fics, and if you don’t feel like writing anything, just know that a reblog takes one second and helps writers so much🩷

I’ve had this idea sitting in my brain for such a long time. I thought about it a lot and had so many scenes already fully pictured in my head, and I finally managed to put it into words.

I know the ending might feel a little underwhelming. I’m not really used to writing endings that aren’t happy😭 I honestly don’t know if I’ll write a second part or not, but just know that even when I don’t write sequels, my stories always get a happy ending in my head… because if you’re not happy, then it’s not really the end. I hope you enjoyed the angst, it’s been a while since I last wrote something like this.

I know all of you love unprotected sex and creampies, and trust me, I do too. I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic where the characters use a condom (sue me lol). But in this case, it felt necessary. I wanted the sex between them to feel colder, more distant, more emotionally detached. Using a literal barrier that prevented full skin-to-skin contact just felt perfect for what I was trying to convey. I wanted people to feel some of the same frustration reader was feeling, wanting to feel Robby fully, wanting that closeness, but not being able to have it.

Jack most assuredly ripped Ogilvie a new one. He's never been so enraged here at work, since he's a man who prides himself on the trained ability to keep his cool under duress. After all, if he could bark orders while bullets rained down on his unit overseas, then an ED would and has been a cakewalk in comparison.

Until you came along, apple of his eye.

You'd been so shy initially—presumedly because you felt intimidated—but intent on seeking you out, Jack refused to let you slip from his grasp. So he tutored you in field medicine (maybe to show his skills off, even a little), gifted you a beautiful hardback copy of Gray's Anatomy, a fancy carrying case for your stethoscope, and this year for your birthday, a $200 prepaid Visa gift card to spend as you pleased. A present you'd been insistent on giving back, until he threatened to up the amount to $300 if you didn't accept it.

The more you bonded, the more the scales tipped from teacher and student to something else that he didn't really have the words for. What is it the kids call it nowadays? He heard it from one of the residents before... Situationship. Obnoxious, but he supposes appropriate.

What else is he meant to call it when he barely even calls you by your name anymore—instead opting for sweetheart, darlin', honey, baby doll, pumpkin; any and all pet names that he can come up with which earn him a sweet, bashful smile in return?

When the two of you are on a case together, he's always at your back or side to supervise your actions and decision making while showering you in quiet praise all the while. And anytime you have a particularly hard day? Jack gathers you in his arms and holds you suffocatingly close while insisting on taking you to a quiet dinner after... Or breakfast. Whatever you wish is his command.

But it's not all heaviness and burnout. It's also joking around by snapping rubber bands at your ass and tickling you until you're begging for a reprieve—lest you wet yourself—because your smile is his favorite sight, and your musical laugh or joyous cackle his favorite sounds.

He's waiting for the day HR comes down on his head like a hammer, but he's also aware that PTMC can't exactly afford to lose his expertise, so he feels pretty comfortable in toeing the line here and there.

So when your body went stumbling back because of Ogilvie acting first and hardly thinking at all, he hit the roof.

A gurney was unnecessary when he cradled you against his chest and carried you into a private room before lying you back on a hospital bed so he could wait at your side for the medication to wear off.

He continually took your vitals every handful of minutes, afraid the substance would wreak havoc on your system. With him being unaware of any possible allergies you may or may not have, sitting idly by while watching the clock simply wasn't an option. He needed to make himself of use somehow.

While running a soothing hand over your forehead is when you finally stir and blink up at Jack from beneath drooping lids.

Loosing a long, ragged breath of relief, the tightness in Jack's chest dissipates. "Hey, sweetheart," he coos quietly. "How you feelin'?"

Your tautly drawn features quickly morph into that of a scrunched nose and a toothy grin. "You're s'handsome," you slur while lifting a wobbly hand toward his cheek.

Practically slapping it against the stubbled skin, you giggle, which is then followed by your eyes suddenly widening to the size of saucers while your lips form a perfect O. "Are you my husband?" you inquire breathlessly.

Are you taking the piss or is the injection still wearing off?

"Honey—"

You toss your head back. "Jus' kidding," you drawl. "Never be that lucky," you mumble with a pout.

Waving your hand floppily that he should lean in closer, he does so with an amused smirk.

"I think 'm in love with you," you murmur while fisting the neck of his shirt and tugging him toward you.

Suddenly pulled out of his seat, Jack stumbles forward and barely manages to catch himself by planting a hand on your hip before you guide his lips down to your own.

Thank God he pulled the curtain around to give you a bit of privacy, because if anybody caught him in such a compromising position?

He jolts when you slip your tongue in his mouth and moan lustfully while exploring the warm, wet lay of it. Not a man to take advantage, though, especially of you, Jack breaks away reluctantly. A gesture which is met with a long, drawn out No from you.

Seating himself again, he tries literally to wipe the smirk from his face by scrubbing a hand from his cheekbones to jawline, but it does him little good.

"You're s'posed to say it baaack," you whine between chattering teeth.

With a sigh, Abbot shakes his head, then reaches over you to grab the remote for the electric blanket he draped over you just incase, until you lift your head and chomp down on his forearm.

Your lips recede into a smile while you nibble on the skin between your teeth.

He barks a laugh, then slips the limb from your mouth while turning the blanket to high heat. "You're somethin' else," he commentates while tucking the edges securely around your shivering form.

"But you love me," you whisper before your eyes flutter closed.

Cupping your cheek in his hand, he smiles softly. "If only you knew how much."

When you come-to, you feel groggy and ran through. Your memory pretty well begins and ends with you passing out just after being injected with something you shouldn't have been.

You've seen the videos—funny little snippets where people divulge hilarious admittances and embarrassing secrets while under the influence—so you of course begin to panic a little when your eyes slowly draw open. What if you said or did something? Maybe you were left alone to recuperate on your own?

When your head lulls to the side, that hope is quickly shot dead at the sight of Robby leaned back in a chair with an iPad held at a bit of a distance.

"Got my test results on there?" you ask quietly.

Lowering the device, the daytime attending studies you from over the rim of his glasses. Robby sets the tablet aside, then leans forward and caresses your cheek with a smile. "How you feeling?"

You blink sleepy eyes. "Tired. Which I shouldn't be if I slept long enough for you to get here."

He snorts quietly. "Being under anesthesia is hardly the same as sleeping. You know that."

You roll your eyes. "It's called sarcasm," you groan while sitting up.

"Easy," Robby mutters while settlings his hands over the crowns of your shoulders to keep you steady.

Hanging your head in exhaustion, you sigh. "Was anybody in here when you clocked in?"

"Abbot."

You wince. "Did I...do or say anything?"

His lips twitch into a smile. "If you did, he didn't tell me as much. Just asked me to sit with you so he could get back to it before his shift ended."

You lift your head. "You don't have to waste your time in here—"

He clicks his tongue while giving your chin a gentle, affectionate tap. "I'd never call it that." Robby slides a hand down the back of your head after standing. "Watching you sleep was the most peace I've gotten in..." he shakes his head while turning and pulling the curtain aside. "Too long," he mutters.

"Could have that all the time if I could only get you to come onto the dayshift with me," Robby states while turning around with hands on his hips. "Might do you some good to see a bit of daylight every once in awhile."

You grin while swinging your feet. "Are you trying to poach me from Abbot's team?"

He meets your smile. "Always." Robby walks over and grabs the iPad again. "It'd give me a reason to look forward to coming in here again every day at least."

Robby offers you a hand, which you take. Once you're standing on two feet again, you take a moment to catch your bearings.

Sliding an arm around your shoulders, Robby slowly leads you toward the door. "You're not just Abbot's favorite, you know?"

You glance up to him. "Oh?"

He presses a kiss to your brow before swinging open the door and holding it for you. "Just something for you to consider. Incase the nights ever get too long."

With your shift at an end, you decide to head in the direction of your locker to gather your things before heading home. A long soak in the tub, followed by plenty of rest sounds pretty nice. Maybe some Chinese takeout while you're at it. Or Thai.

"Robby tells me that you seem to be feeling better."

Clicking your locker shut, you turn and smile at the sight of Jack standing just a few feet away with an easy grin playing on his lips, matched by hands stuck in his pockets.

"Think so," you reply with a quiet, casual shrug.

"You heading home?" he asks while ambling closer.

"Planning on it."

Slipping your bag from your shoulder, he hefts it onto his instead. "How about," Jack begins while leading you in the direction of the elevators with your hand held in his, "You come up on the roof with me now that you're awake and let me watch you for a bit to make sure there's no residual effects."

You huff dramatically. "Jack, I really do feel fine."

Pressing the button that'll lead the two of you up, he cups the crown of your shoulder in his hand and brings you in close. "That is to still be determined."

The elevator dings and steel doors slide apart, inviting the two of you into an empty chamber.

"By me," he concludes while ushering you inside with an encouraging push.

With one arm wrapped around yourself, you settle the other over your mouth to suppress a laugh of disbelief. "Of course you and Robby have folding chairs up here," you remark with a giggle.

Popping one open, Jack nods to it, indicating it as your designated seat. "Could always look into a tent," he states while settling the other beside it. "If it meant getting you snuggled up next to me in a sleeping bag."

Plopping down in the offered chair, you rest an elbow on the fabric arm and your chin in your palm.

Jack tugs off his prosthetic, then leans back with a sigh. "That feels better."

"Maybe we get an extra big one. Or a blow-up mattress," you quip happily.

Jack clasps his hands over his belly. "Why's that, pumpkin?"

You flash a grin. "Maybe Robby can join us."

Hanging his head back, he shakes it from side to side. "Don't tell me he was making moves on my girl while I was busy saving lives this morning."

You shrug while wiggling your brows playfully.

"So..." You begin while picking nervously at your nails. "Did I say anything?"

"To me or Robby?" Jack asks while massaging his leg.

You roll your eyes. "Apart from me asking Robby to take his shirt off," you remark sarcastically.

Jack snickers and his mouth curves into a lopsided grin. "Without me there to see it?"

You remain silent as you wait for him to fess up.

"You, uh..." he trails off, then barks a laugh.

Oh no...

Jack glances at you. "You might've bit me," he says while cringing mischievously in an attempt to downplay things.

"I what?!" you cry while leaning toward him in shock.

Jack throws himself back against the chair and lies his arms palm face up. "Well, after you got done harping on my good looks, you got cold, so I went to switch on the heated blanket that I put you under and you just chomped down," he explains whole gesturing toward his right forearm with his hand drawn into the shape of a claw. "It was more like a nibble, though." He shrugs and bestows a reassuring smile. "You didn't break skin, so don't worry about it."

Burying your face in your hands, you shake your head. "Oh, this is mortifying." Dropping them into your lap, you stare at the skyline. "I'm so sorry."

Studying him from beneath your lashes, you nervously chew your lip. "Anything else?"

Please say no, please say no.

He smiles warmly—almost bashfully, in fact. "Asked if I was your husband. Then you broke character, and let me know you were just kidding."

It can't get any worse, surely.

Doubling over, you rest your elbows on your knees, then press your forehead against the heels of your palms. "Please tell me that's it."

He should let it go—leave things as they are. But Jack can't help it: wanting to hear that it wasn't just because you were high as a kite.

That feelings are mutual, and always have been.

When the sound of silence descends, you raise your head. "Jack?"

He sighs. "I just want you to know that I know it was strictly because you were out of it." Jack turns fully toward you. "That you didn't mean it."

"The more you talk, the more worried I'm getting," you reply with searching eyes.

Clasping his hands together, Jack leans forward slightly. "You..." he sighs. "You told me that you were in love with me."

His eyes flit to yours—attempting to gauge from expression alone whether it was a true utterance, or mere sarcasm. "And then you kissed me."

Your eyes pop wide open. "I—" You clam up.

Is this it? The defining moment that either makes or breaks your and Jack's...situation?

"You know how they say drunk words are sober thoughts?" you ask quietly and with a pattering heart that leaves you short of breath.

Jack's chin wobbles, but only slightly. "Yeah?"

You nod, and a sob breaks last your watery smile.

"C'mere, honey," he commands with a wave of his hand.

Rising from your seat, Jack guides your hips until you're seated on his generous lap. "Can you say it again?" he asks quietly while smoothing a hand across your brow.

You press your forehead to his and hum from the feeling of the rising sun warming your back. "I love you," you whisper while winding soft, gentle hands around his neck. "Jack."

Cupping his own around the curve of your neck, he guides your lips down to his this time. "'Bout damn time we got that outta the way," he murmurs before kissing you the way he's meant to so many times.

Jack teases your tongue with a wet, pointed tip which he slides along the underside of your own.

"How about," he pants. "I take you home just to be safe." A calloused palm scratches its way along the polyester that covers your inner thigh.

"Y-Yours or mine?" you whimper.

Squeezing your hip temptingly, he nips at your chin. "Better take you to mine to keep an eye on you. Help you in the shower," he drawls with a bored shrug. "I have a chair in there. It'll make things more comfortable when I help. Then I can fix you dinner before we go to bed. Together."

Carefully, he prods at the heat which radiates from between your thighs. "Would you like that, sweetpea?"

"Pretty dizzy all of a sudden," you sigh.

"Let me get my leg back on and I'll take you home, baby."

You woke up tangled together this morning.

It wasn’t intentional, at least not at first. But now after a second morning of waking up half draped over him with his arm locked around your waist like it was any other sunrise, there was no point in pretending otherwise.

The showers had become routine too. ‘Efficient’, supposedly—because Jack Abbot suddenly cared about saving water. 

“You won’t even be around to see the world lose its water supply,” you’d said as he handed you the sleek bottle of shampoo.

“Ouch,” he chuckled, sitting up a little straighter against the marble shower bench. “I’m letting you use the expensive stuff and here you are calling me old.”

You rolled your eyes, squeezing some into your palm before scrubbing your hands together. 

“Who said I’m using it?” you smirked, stepping closer.

His brows lifted slightly just before your fingers disappeared into his damp hair. And then he went still. Like the act caught him off guard, but in the best way. 

You worked the shampoo through slowly, watching with immense satisfaction as his eyes fluttered shut for a brief second, head tipping back just slightly into your touch before he caught himself.

“You would use Redken,” you teased softly. “Boujee bitch.”

A quiet laugh rumbled out of him, low in his chest. “What’s the point of being an attending if you don’t live lavishly?”

Steam curled thick between you both, warm against your skin and fogging the glass around the shower. You tried very hard to focus on what you were doing—your fingers in his hair, the water running over your wrists, the very normal task of washing shampoo out.

Not the fact that you stood between his thighs. Not the toned stretch of his shoulders directly in front of you.

Definitely not the water slowly tracing down his chest and making your brain short-circuit every couple of seconds.

You shifted your footing slightly and nearly slipped down the drain.

Jack’s hand shot out instantly, gripping your thigh to steady you before you could stumble backward.

“You okay there?” he asked, eyes squinting open now, amused.

“Wet floor,” you muttered weakly.

“Mm,” he hummed, not sounding convinced in the slightest. “Careful. This would be the worst way to tell all of our colleagues about us.” 

Your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the subtle mention of this stretching beyond quarantine—but you wouldn’t get your hopes up too high. You’d continue with this new routine, taking it one hour at a time. In the chance that, in four more days, this would come to end. 

So you focused on what was in front of you: now, breakfast. 

You stood at the stove in one of his faded police training shirts and sleep shorts, flipping pancakes while Jack stood at the island cutting fruit with a focus typically used for more intense operations. 

It shouldn’t feel this natural, you told yourself. 

“You’re burning them,” he said without looking up.

“I’m literally not.”

“You’re thinking too hard. Your pancake technique could use work.”

You scoffed. “My pancake technique?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re incredibly bossy in the kitchen.”

“Hasn’t kept you from it,” he murmured, finally glancing up. 

You pointed the spatula at him. “You’re getting cocky.”

“I’ve earned it, haven’t I?” He threw a blueberry into his mouth. “How many times was that last night?”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my God.”

That earned you a real laugh. Low and warm. It caught you off guard every time.

Because you wanted more of this version of Jack—the one who laughed in his kitchen at eight in the morning, hair still damp from the shower, looking at you like you were something he wanted around. 

This Jack felt almost…fake compared to the man you’d spent three years arguing with in trauma bays.

But somehow, both versions of him were real.

And that was something that still kept you on edge, blinking at the ceiling while he snored softly next to you. At what point would that version of him return? 

You slid a slightly burnt pancake onto a plate with a huff. “I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”

“That’s a lie.”

It was. 

“Yep. You’ve gone cocky on me.” 

“Not smug?” 

“You’ve graduated,” 

“Dangerous thing to tell a man,” 

And there it was—that intensity in his stare reserved only for you. He looked at you like this in moments of argument, and just recently, in moments of passion. Making you think back to how long he’s been looking at you in this way, and you couldn’t really remember a time when he didn’t. 

The realization made you pause for half a second too long. And unfortunately for you, Jack noticed everything.

His brows lifted slightly, satisfaction flickering across his face so quickly most people would’ve missed it. 

Which meant he knew he’d won that round.

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“That.” You pointed vaguely at his face. “Whatever smug little internal celebration is happening right now.”

“Thought I was cocky?” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes so hard you thought you might actually topple over, which only worsened when he caught you around the waist before you could escape. A noise of protest left you immediately as he tugged you back against him, your shoulders hitting his chest.

“Get of—”

His laugh rumbled low against your ear, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as you attempted to pry his arms off.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, squirming halfheartedly in his grip.

“You like it,” he said smoothly, tightening his hold just enough to keep you there. “Always have,” 

You huffed, stubbornly resisting on principle alone, but his embrace stayed firm around you. Quicker than you’d like to admit, though, you found yourself relaxing, your back settling more fully against him as his chin brushed your temple.

It was ridiculous. 

You were standing barefoot in your attending’s kitchen making pancakes while he held you against him like he’d been doing it for years.

But you knew you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

Later that afternoon, you were stretched across the couch pretending to read.

Pretending being the operative word.

Your book had sat open to the same page for the last fifteen minutes while your attention drifted toward the front windows every couple of seconds. Outside, the sky had turned overcast again, condensation thick on the glass from the faint drizzle that had started twenty minutes ago. 

And you missed him. There, you said it. 

You could admit that when he said he was going for his afternoon run—the one he did daily, and shouldn’t be a surprise to you—you were slightly bummed. So, here you sat, waiting. 

You heard the front door unlock before you saw him. Followed by the soft pad of running shoes against hardwood.

Your eyes lifted immediately.

And your stomach dropped a little.

He looked… off.

Subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t notice it. But after ten straight days trapped in a house together, years of watching his every move, learning the cadence of his breathing and the look of his face when he was tired versus irritated versus relaxed—

Yeah, you noticed the things most people probably wouldn’t.

His cheeks were paler than usual beneath the flush of physical exertion, hair damp and pushed back from his forehead. His chest rose heavier than it normally did after a run, each inhale sounding rougher, congested somewhere deep in his lungs.

And then he spoke. 

“Hey,” he greeted, voice noticeably raspier than it had been that morning.

Your brows pulled together instantly. “You sound terrible.”

He snorted softly, toeing off his shoes near the door. “Very warm welcome home.”

You ignored the flip of your heart at that last word. 

“Jack.”

“What?”

You sat up straighter, book forgotten entirely now as he moved toward the kitchen. There was a stiffness to him too, you realized. Like his body ached and he was trying not to show it.

“You’re breathing weird.”

That made him glance over his shoulder, unimpressed. “Breathing weird?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, now standing with your arms crossed. “Like an eighty-year-old smoker.”

“Bit dramatic.”

You gave him a pointed look. “You sound congested.”

“I just ran five miles.”

“I know how much cardio you can do without losing your stamina.” 

That earned you a small hmph of amusement, though it dissolved quickly into a cough he tried to hide behind the back of his fist.

Tried.

Failed.

Your expression shifted immediately.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m fine.”

“Where’s your kit?”

“Absolutely not.”

The response came fast and sharp, his voice dropping instantly into that familiar tone of authority that used to make residents scatter.

It almost caught you off guard. Almost. 

“Jack, come on. You helped me—”

“I don’t need your help.”

Your brows furrowed immediately, that old spark igniting in your chest so naturally it was almost muscle memory. There he was. Your attending again.

“Oh, you don’t?”

“I don’t.”

“Funny,” you scoffed, crossing your arms, “I don’t remember needing yours the other day either, but you didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“That’s because you did need the help.”

“Actually,” you fired back, stepping closer, “I manage just fine without you. I do it every single day outside of this quarantine, by the way.”

His lips pursed slightly. “You need me all the time.”

He may as well have dumped a bathtub full of gasoline on the fire in your chest. 

You barked out an incredulous laugh. “No, I don—”

“Who’s the first person you come to when you’re questioning a med dosage?”

“That is not—” but he continued before you could recover.

“Who do you look for across the ED after a bad code?” he cut in smoothly. “Who do you hand difficult family conversations off to when you know they’re getting under your skin?”

You could only stare at him, eyes narrowing. 

Jack pushed off the counter slowly, stepping closer despite the exhaustion still written across his face.

“And who,” he said quieter now, “goes up to the roof pretending to look for me when really you just want five minutes to breathe?”

Your stomach dropped a little.

Because that one…that one hit too close.

You blinked up at him. “You knew that?”

His expression softened just slightly, though his voice stayed rough from illness.

“You think I don’t know you by now?” He murmured. “‘Sides, I know the look of someone sneaking off to the stairwell,” 

Your brows pinched together. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He gave you a look that immediately flipped the question back onto you. “Why didn’t you?”

You shrugged one shoulder, suddenly feeling strangely shy about it. “I figured you’d think it was weird I was kind of hijacking your spot.”

“I always hoped to find you up there at the same time.”

You physically felt some of your irritation thaw at the confession. Warmth slipped into your chest before your brain caught up.

Your gaze narrowed immediately. “No. Absolutely not. You do not get to flirt your way out of this.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Worth a shot.”

“You need to be examined.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“You can’t treat yourself or family,” you shot back instantly. “You know the rules.”

“Then I’ll make it through the same way I did in the desert,” he said. “Tough it out.”

You stared at him flatly. “Jack.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious too,” you argued, “Your breathing sounds worse, you’re pale, you’ve been coughing every five minutes, and your voice sounds like you swallowed gravel.”

“Again with the dramatics.”

“You say that every time I’m right.”

That earned you a tired sigh of amusement, but it dissolved quickly when another cough caught him harder this time. He turned away slightly into his elbow, shoulders tightening through it before he exhaled slowly.

And when he looked back at you—

you saw it.

The exhaustion was clear on his face. The effort it was taking to pretend he wasn’t feeling as bad as he clearly was.

Your frustration softened immediately.

“Hey,” you said quieter now.

His eyes lifted to yours.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Something in his expression shifted at that. Not fully falling apart—Jack Abbot probably wouldn’t know how to do that if he tried—but enough that you could see the crack in the facade.

“You’ve spent your entire career taking care of everyone else,” you continued gently. “Let somebody take care of you for like…ten minutes.”

For once, he didn’t immediately argue.

He just looked at you for a long second, jaw tight like accepting help physically pained him.

“Five minutes?” he asked, voice rough.

Your mouth twitched slightly. “To start.”

A reluctant smile pulled at his face despite himself. “Bossy,” he muttered again.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said softly, guiding him toward the couch. “Sit down, Abbot.”

He obeyed, though, letting you trail after him into the living room as he lowered himself onto the couch with a sigh. His head tipped back against the cushion for a moment before he lifted a hand vaguely toward the closet near the front door, silently directing you toward the medical kit.

You tried not to look too smug about the fact that he’d finally given in.

“Good choice,” you muttered as you crossed the room.

“I take it back already.”

“Too late.”

You found the kit exactly where he’d pointed, still organized in that irritatingly precise only Jack could. Everything was neatly stocked, every compartment was zipped and labeled like he took pride in it. Which, knowing him, he probably did. 

By the time you returned, he’d slouched slightly deeper into the couch, muscled legs spread out in front of him, eyes half-lidded with fatigue.

This felt very different than when he’d taken care of you. Then, every touch had been careful. Restrained. Heavy with tension and things unsaid.

Now, you moved toward him easily.

You pulled the stethoscope from the kit, slipping the earpieces in before slowly stepping between his thighs. You knelt down to be at his level from where he sat, but his eyes were downcast to you. 

“Shirt up,” you instructed.

One of his brows lifted faintly. “You enjoying this a little too much?”

“A concerning amount, actually.”

A tired laugh rumbled out of him as he reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up enough for you to press the diaphragm against his chest.

And there it was again—that irony. The ease of it.

You didn’t even pretend to hesitate the way he had with you. You didn’t hover in anticipation of what touching him might feel like.

Because you knew. 

Your hand settled naturally against his side to steady yourself as you listened to his lungs, fully focused now in the way practicing medicine always sharpened you.

Though unfortunately for your professionalism, his body did not help.

Warm skin beneath your fingertips. Damp from sweat still lingering from his run. His breathing deeper now that he was sitting still, chest rising slowly under the stethoscope as you moved it across different points of his chest.

“Deep breath,” you murmured out of habit. 

He obeyed, but immediately coughed afterward.

Your expression flattened. “Oh, that sounds fucked.”

”You always speak to patients this way?” He grunted. 

“Only my favorite ones.” 

“Oh, a compliment. Finally.” 

“I’m serious.” You pulled the stethoscope away slightly, brows furrowing as you listened again. “You’re thick.”

Jack tilted his head back against the couch dramatically. “Please never say that to me while sitting like that.”

You stared at him for half a second before a disbelieving laugh escaped you despite yourself.

“Calm down old man, we don’t need you any more tachy than you already are.” 

One of his brows lifted lazily. “Then change your position.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly before flicking downward, realizing how you were sitting—half perched between his knees, leaning in close enough to feel the tension rolling off him.

“The best thing you can do right now is rest,” you said, shifting back into doctor mode before he could capitalize on your embarrassment any further. “If yours follows the same timeline mine did, it’ll probably hit hardest tonight.”

His expression tightened slightly at that, subtle. You noticed anyway. 

Your voice softened a little. “Want some soup?”

“I don’t need you doing all this.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I just—” He cut himself off abruptly, turning away as another cough hit him harder this time. Lower. Throatier. The kind that made your own chest ache from just remembering how that felt. 

When it finally subsided, he exhaled slowly through his nose, clearly annoyed with himself more than anything else.

You watched him for a second before speaking more gently.

“Why don’t you go grab a shower,” you suggested. “I’ll bring you some meds after.”

One of his eyes opened excitedly. “In the shower?”

You stared at him flatly, though heat still crept annoyingly into your cheeks.

“Nice try.”

That earned you a tired grin—small, fleeting, but real. “There she is,” 

Despite your attempts, Jack didn’t let you help with much else.

He refused to eat in bed on principle alone, even though the effort it took to sit upright at the kitchen counter was visibly taxing on him. You watched him stubbornly straighten every time his posture started to slump, jaw tight with determination. 

“You know you’re not getting graded on this, right?” you’d muttered while setting a bowl of soup in front of him.

“I have an image to maintain.”

“You’re sweating into the soup.”

“I’m persevering.”

The medicine had somehow been worse.

You’d opened the bottle and handed him the appropriate dose only for him to squint at it suspiciously like you were attempting to poison him. As if you didn’t do this for your literal career. 

Then he said something that made you believe he didn’t do this for his career: “I’ll sleep off the fever.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Did it all the time overseas.”

“You mean in the military?”

“In the war, yes.”

“In the war.” You repeated, staring at him flatly. “That is the least medically sound sentence you’ve ever spoken to me.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious too,” you argued, shaking the pills slightly in your hand. “You’re running a fever, your lungs sound awful, and earlier, you coughed so hard I think it was autotuned. Take the medication.”

“I don’t like taking meds unless I absolutely have to.”

You scoffed. “You are literally a doctor.”

“Exactly. I know what side effects they all have.”

That’s how you ended up where you were now: leaning against the side of his bed sometime close to midnight, watching him sweat through a 102-degree fever. Sans medication.

You’d argued all evening over the smallest things. How much water he needed to drink. How many blankets to use. At one point, the two of you had spent a solid five minutes debating if he was technically “chillsy.” Then another two debating if that was even a word. 

And somehow, despite the fever burning through him, he still had enough energy to be the exact same Jack Abbot you knew in the PTMC. 

Arrogant. Stubborn. Positively infuriating.

“You’re hovering again,” he rasped from the bed without opening his eyes.

You stared at him in disbelief. “You have a hundred-and-two-degree fever.”

“Mhm.”

”You’re burning up. At least take a layer off.” 

“You just want to see me without clothes on.” 

“So far, I haven’t needed you to be sick to achieve that.” 

One corner of his mouth twitched faintly despite the exhaustion dragging at him. His dark hair was damp against the pillow, curls forming slightly at the ends from sweat as he shifted restlessly beneath the sheets.

You watched him for another moment, concern tugging harder in your chest than you wanted to acknowledge.

Because he looked bad now. Not catastrophically bad—you knew how to spot the difference—but bad enough that your brain refused to fully relax.

“You should really take something,” you tried again, softer this time.

“No.”

“Jack–”

“--I don’t need it–”

“You are not invincible!” you snapped.

The words came out louder than intended, sharp enough that his eyes opened immediately, squinting slightly up at you like the size of your reaction had genuinely caught him off guard.

“I know that—”

“Do you?” you cut in, quieter now but no less firm. “Because your hobbies are genuinely lethal, you hang out on the roof for Christ’s sake, and now you’re refusing to take simple acetaminophen for what? To prove some point?”

Jack exhaled slowly through his nose, looking suddenly exhausted, and not from the fever.

“…I don’t need you thinking I’m weak, okay?”

Your face twisted instantly. “Why the hell would I think you’re weak for taking Tylenol?”

“No,” he corrected tiredly, dragging a hand over his face. “The whole thing. Having to do all of this. Take care of me.”

The admission sounded rough coming out of him, like every word had to be pried loose by hand. But you weren’t going to get in the way of something real finally coming to the surface. 

He stared up at the ceiling for a second before continuing more quietly.

“I’m already a hell of a lot older than you.” A humorless breath escaped him. “Kind of a turn-off seeing me all fragile and dependent like this.”

This wasn’t about Tylenol. It wasn’t even about him falling sick.

It was about Jack—steady, capable, impossible-to-shake Jack—genuinely believing that needing care from you would somehow make you want him less.

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Jack,” you said carefully, like you were approaching something delicate. “You really think I look at you right now and see someone weak?”

“I’m just…not used to being on this side of it.”

Jack Abbot was the one people leaned on. The one people called into mass casualties because he would know what to do. The one who held the building together so everyone else could fall apart safely around him.

And the man who, at the end of those terrible days, took his suffering to the roof where no one had to witness its depth. 

Which begged the question: if he took care of everyone else, who took care of him? 

You scooted closer to the bed slowly, now slightly pressed against his torso. 

“Listen to me,” you murmured. “You being sick doesn’t suddenly make me stop…” You trailed off briefly, heat rising into your cheeks despite the seriousness of the moment. Hopefully, he would forget about it in the haze of the fever. “Feeling the way I feel about you.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve been trying to show you that all day.”

His eyes dropped for a moment, thoughtful, like he was debating something internally. You watched the conflict move across his face before he finally sighed and glanced back up at you.

“My leg is killing me.” 

Your brows furrowed softly, before you realized what he was asking of you. The air surrounding you suddenly felt thicker. 

Over the last few days, you’d grown used to the more private realities of Jack’s life. In the emergency department, he was put together. Efficient. Most patients didn’t even know that Jack Abbot was missing a major part of one of his limbs. 

But here, in his home, it was more obvious. The extra time it took after showers. The absentminded adjustments he made after long periods on his feet. You’d watched him move through it all with such practice that half the time you forgot there was effort involved at all.

But this felt different.

He’d never let you help. Not when you shared his bed, or when you showered together. This was something else entirely.

Something way more vulnerable.

You held his gaze carefully, giving him every opportunity to take it back.

But he didn’t.

Your head was nodding before your mouth moved. “Okay,” you answered quietly.

Something in his face loosened at your expression alone. His eyes held something close to…hope. 

Slowly, he pushed himself upright against the headboard, movements noticeably stiffer now that the fever had settled deeper. Your chest tightened watching him try not to show it.

“You don’t have to—” he started automatically.

“—Jack,” you interrupted gently. “It’s okay.”

He went quiet after that.

Carefully, you shifted closer as he reached down beneath the sheets. There was no embarrassment in the motion, no shame—just habit. Routine. But you still noticed the faint tension in his jaw when he detached the prosthetic, setting it carefully beside the bed.

Like some part of him was bracing for your reaction anyway.

Your eyes lifted back to his immediately.

Nothing about him looked smaller to you. If anything, the trust sitting between you now felt enormous.

“C’mere,” you murmured softly.

He hesitated only briefly before extending his leg toward you slightly.

Your hands moved carefully, mindful and gentle as you worked them along the muscles of his thigh, feeling how tight everything had become beneath your touch. He exhaled sharply through his nose the second your thumbs pressed into a particularly tense spot.

“There?” you asked quietly.

“Mm.”

You glanced up instinctively, only to find him already watching you. It wasn’t guarded, or tense, but it was…soft. Almost reverent. 

“You know,” you said lightly, trying to ease some of the intensity suddenly building in the room, “for someone who hates being taken care of, you’re being weirdly cooperative.”

A tired smile tugged weakly at his mouth. “Don’t ruin it.”

You breathed a quiet laugh, continuing to work your hands carefully over the soreness.

And after a long silence, his head tipped back against the headboard, eyes finally falling shut with trust.

You continued for several more minutes, gradually relaxing into the rhythm of it. Your hands moved slower now, more confident, learning him through touch the same way you had in every other aspect of this relationship—attentively listening for every subtle cue his body gave you.

The room had gone quiet outside of the soft rain tapping against the windows and the occasional roughness in his breathing. His fever still flushed his skin warm beneath your hands, but he looked more comfortable now than he had all evening.

You glanced up briefly and found him watching you again, lids heavy with exhaustion.

“What?” you murmured.

His thumb brushed absently against the comforter beside him. “Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

A faint smile ghosted across his face. “You’re very good at this.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard.

You looked back down at his leg, focusing on smoothing your hands along the tense muscle there so he wouldn’t see the way your expression softened.

“I’m literally just rubbing your leg.”

“You’re taking care of me.”

The simple way he said it made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“I, uh…” You suddenly took interest in where your thumbs continued to create circles into his muscle. “I don’t mind it. I like doing it.” 

“Thank you.”

That almost undid you entirely.

Because Jack thanked people all the time in the automatic, professional way doctors did. Quick acknowledgments between trauma calls and impossible shifts.

This was so much different.

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

“I know.” His eyes stayed on yours. “Still wanted to.”

Heat crept slowly into your chest at the look on his face.

Not from desire this time, but from something way deeper, that you weren’t ready to name.

You cleared your throat softly, trying to recover first. “Your fever’s making you emotional.”

“Probably.”

“And needy.”

One of his brows lifted faintly, eyes darkening slightly. “Careful.”

You smiled despite yourself, looking back down before he could see too much on your face.

But your hands never stopped moving.

Tugging at the hem of your scrub shirt, Jack pulls you to the other side of him and places himself between the two of you with crossed arms as he answers all of Park's questions. Though, his inquisition turns more into grilling when his tone suddenly changes shape into that of utter stoicism which borders on downright unfriendly.

Not unusual for him, but there was a reason you had been asked to be present when he came down: you're one of very few in this hospital that a man as hard and daunting as he has a soft spot for.

Before your choosing to practice medicine, you started out your career as his receptionist upstairs. It being one of your first ever jobs, you had wanted to make a good impression, so you constantly strived to meet his needs before he even gave you orders to schedule this, or check on that, or contact so and so about such and such. Didn't take terribly long before you could read his mind by simply reading his chiseled face.

Your first day in his office started with you handing out cookies and fudge and earning a judgmental glare, but ended with him muttering a quick 'See you tomorrow' as he headed out the door.

You had deemed that a good sign that you weren't fired yet, even if he had scoffed at your cutesy stationary and glittery lanyard.

The job had initially felt a tad demeaning, though, in truth: fetching him coffee and lunch from across the street, or scheduling his haircuts and dentist appointments... Until he went from handing you cash to his black card instead once you earned his trust, and told you to 'get yourself something nice' with a wink whenever you ran his errands thereafter.

When he caught you looking at med school applications on your work desktop a handful of months later, you'd panicked and flew into a fit of apologies for using a work device for personal reasons, until he settled a large palm atop your shoulder and told you that he'd write you a glowing letter of recommendation if you were truly serious about it.

Now that he's lost you to Abbot and the ED, however, he wonders if he made the right choice. He takes little shame in being selfish to get what he wants, but he found himself unable to do so when it came to you.

Just can't help but wonder at times why ortho wasn't your chosen specialty, since he likes to believe that working under him played into your decision to go to med school. That he made that much of a positive impression.

Too bad he never got a chance to make another... Like a swollen belly and a ring wrapped round your finger to show that he had finally made a catch of his very own.

Once the patient is prepped for transport, Park nearly shoulder-checks Jack to get around him and to you before giving your waist a gentle squeeze and a murmured 'Come and see me again some time. New one just doesn't know me like you did', to which you force a nod and a feigned smile of agreement while standing back so the gurney can be taken on its way elsewhere.

When you glanced to Jack, he granted you an uneasy look before moving onto the next case which he insisted you join him on.

"Now, grab an 11 blade and I'll guide you through how to do an incision for a pleural effusion."

You turn to head in the direction of the supply cart, until Toomarian reaches you first with the required surgical tool, which you take with a quiet, grateful thanks.

Bending over the patient again, Jack keeps a steady hand against the middle of your back while his other gestures horizontally the way you need to cut. "Fifth intercostal space," Jack drawls close to your ear. "Posteriorly. Good, good."

Once fluid begins to successfully drain, you glance to him with searching eyes for what you should do next.

He's been very attentive this shift. More so than usual, which is remarkable given that Jack tends to keep you with him for at least half his cases anyway. You don't complain, though, as you're always grateful for not only the education and training, but the attention.

Greedy thing that you can tend to be when it comes to the likes of him, getting it at home clearly isn't enough for you, because seeing him in action is so much more attractive.

"Maybe I should come up with a nickname for you," Jack mumbles while studying a perfusion scan from over your shoulder.

"What?" you ask dumbly while slightly turning your head back to him in confusion.

"Angel," he jeers. "I'm sure I could do better than a damn fish."

You snort while scrolling. "You're joking, right?"

"Something different than just honey, sweetheart, baby doll..."

You sigh and shake your head. "Jack, I share your house and let you between my legs every day. You have no reason to be jealous of a silly little nickname."

"Maybe pumpkin," he grumbles while walking away, as if he didn't hear you.

Handing Jack a protein shake fresh from the fridge, he takes it from you with a peck on the lips and quiet "Thank you, sugar."

You raise a brow while fighting off a smirk that's threatening to overtake your features.

Untwisting the cap, his lips tug into a frown. "No, only sounds about half right," he remarks before taking a swig. Returning the cap to the open bottle neck, he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers—causing your lips to pucker.

You know that making a fish joke right now will only set him off further.

"Just remember whose resident you are, alright?"

You blink. "Okur," you murmur through pouty lips.

He releases you. "Might not have been mine first, but you are now," he states while diving in for a kiss.

Just to finish things up, you and Jack end up hanging around the ED for another hour while dayshift begins to file in, including their own attending who finds you before long for a curious conversation.

"Any reason he's such a miserable bastard this morning? Rough night, or did you two have your first fight?"

Tucking unused supplies back into a storage cabinet, you glimpse at Robby. "Huh?"

"Abbot," he explains with crossed arms. "I don't think I've ever seen that man pout, but when I mentioned that I was looking for some follow-up results from ortho, it's like his mood shifted in a completely different direction."

You roll your eyes upward. "I thought he was over it."

"Park do something?"

You press the cabinet shut, then slide your hands into the roomy pockets of your pants. "Around the beginning of my shift, he was called down for a consult. He called me an old nickname, and for whatever reason, it seems like it's really gotten under Jack's skin. It's stupid."

Robby grins slyly and studies you with an affectionate gaze.

"What?" you ask with furrowed brows.

Robby shrugs slightly. "It's not exactly a hidden secret that Park is fond of you. That the two of you have history."

Unfurling, a brow is instead raised in question. "I was his receptionist. That's it..."

He shakes his head. "The few times I've seen him around you down here, it seemed like something more to me. At least on his end. But I guess it's not surprising that you've failed to notice."

These men and making mountains out of molehills...

"You have no idea," he says quietly. "What it feels like to be in love with you. The kind of jealousy that it can stir up."

Like a fish gasping for air, you open and close your mouth a few times before finally shutting it entirely.

"Just let him take you home," he says while grabbing a pair of nitrile gloves. "And remind him that you're his and his alone."

He gives you a peck on the top of the head. "It's what I'd want if I were in his shoes and thought another man was encroaching on what's mine."

He's very quiet on the ride home. Constantly shifting in his seat, you watch from the corner of your eye as Jack runs a hand through his hair, then rests his forearm against the window to his left before placing his palm atop the wheel.

"You okay?" you ask quietly.

He nods while remaining frontward facing.

"You seem sorta upset."

He sighs. "I'm fine. Just tired."

You chew your lip. "Are you mad at me?"

He shakes his head, then switches on the radio to a country station. "Everything's fine."

"I just don't get," Jack grunts while pulling off his prosthetic. "Why, after all this time, he's still calling you that."

You drop your badge onto the dresser and exhale silently. "If you let on that it bothers you, he's just going to keep doing it."

"It should bother you," he complains lowly. "My damn girl."

Your lips tilt into a smile, but you make sure not to let him see it: that you find his jealousy to be entertaining. "C'mon," you say while padding around the bed and grabbing a crutch before extending it toward him. "Let's take a shower together."

"Sure you don't want a bath so that you can swim around a bit?" he asks snidely.

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him.

Pushing off the bed, he throws an arm over the offered crutch. "Alright, that was petty of me."

You wait for him to go around you before you slap his ass hard enough to make your palm sting.

"Hey! Behave yourself back there, young lady."

You pinch it next. "No, thanks, old man."

Giving Jack head in the shower didn't exactly go as planned. Due to how long it took to help him develop an erection without the aid of medication, the water was cold by the time he was finally there.

So now he's tired, horny, and irritated. And above all, absolutely a pouty puss.

Dinner is eaten in silence, but at least he finishes the meal you place before him. While he's busying himself with cleaning up the kitchen, you scamper off to the bedroom to throw on a thin piece of lingerie that's seen minimal use since its purchase some time ago, and you wait in a staged, sultry pose upon the bed for him.

And when he pulls back the door, he turns right back around to go get his Viagra with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You're absolutely soaked and throbbing between your legs where he has his cock bottomed-out against you.

Sucking on the tender skin of your neck, Jack's full weight is lain atop your body while he gently rocks his hips against yours.

"Ah, ah, please," you pant needily with arms wrapped around his neck and legs thrown over the backs of his thighs.

Releasing your carotid with a pop, he licks his way to the other side to get to work there next. "That feel good, pumpkin?"

He nibbles on your chin, then kisses your neck again. "Hm, sugar?"

Oh, not the names again...

You know what? Whatever, you're not complaining.

"Talk to me, baby doll."

You nod while sinking your fingers into his sweaty grey curls. "S-So good. Can't get enough."

He withdraws until just his bulbous tip remains against your soaking entrance, then slams back in in one brutal thrust that causes you to cry out his name in ecstasy.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Enjoy my cock, baby." he leans back and brushes sweat from your brow with his palm. "Because I'm definitely enjoying the pussy that belongs to me."

You squeeze around him and he dips his head to suck on the hollow of your throat.

"Think I might finally have a name for you," he murmurs while gently nipping at your breasts.

"O-Oh?" you sigh.

Bracketing his arms on either side of your head, he leans in close to the shell of your ear. "Mrs. Abbot," he growls.

Your walls flutter around his swollen cock.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he mutters before sucking on your chin.

You nod slowly; noting how lightheaded you feel. "Yes," you whimper.

"So that's a yes? You'll marry me?" Jack bites your earlobe. "Take my name so everybody knows whose property you are?"

God, he's never been so possessive before, even in bed.

You very much like this side of him.

"Really?" you whine in disbelief while opening blurry eyes and gazing up at him.

"Really," he confirms while thrusting his hips against yours. "Awful romantic of me to ask while we're making love, huh?"

You grin with an adorably scrunched-up nose before agreeing wholeheartedly between excited giggles.

"Oh yeah," he says while roaming your soft, naked body with calloused hands. "All of this is mine."

"Jack, what the hell did you do?!" you cry incredulously from the bathroom.

Utterly sated and content, he remains lying back in bed while thumbing through an old western novel without granting a reply.

Roaming your naked skin with a tender palm, you press gingerly against the numerous hickeys that litter your body with hesitant fingertips.

They're absolutely everywhere—your neck, your chin, your breasts, your clavicle. Jack has covered you in signs of him wherever he could reach that would be visible.

Stomping back into the bedroom, you fill with fury at the sight of the lazy grin that's plastered on his smug face. "I can't go to work like this!" you shout. "It's almost July, Jack, so I can't exactly wear a turtleneck to hide these!"

He shrugs while flashing a toothy smirk. "Had to mark you as mine somehow." He settles the novel atop his bare chest. "Which reminds me." He nods toward your shared closet while maneuvering over the edge of the bed. "Your engagement ring is in there."

You throw your head back and groan in irritation... But your anger is soon supplanted by happy tears and a full heart as he retrieves the gleaming piece of jewelry before seating himself on the bed again and asking you with a practiced speech if you'll be his forever.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, man," Robby says, nearly doubled-over with laughter as you march past with a huff to reach your locker.

You grit your teeth at the sound of him howling behind you.

"You were that jealous over a dumb little nickname?" he cries.

Jack shrugs while tossing down his backpack. "You got any cases I could page him down here for before you take off?"