I Just Come To Read

The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.

On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.

You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.

He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?

You didn’t answer.

You don’t plan to.

The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.

Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”

Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”

His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”

“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”

As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”

Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”

She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”

Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”

“Whatever you say, cap.”

The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.

In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”

She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”

He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”

The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.

—

It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.

You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”

“No worries, gorgeous.”

Your focus snaps.

Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”

Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”

You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”

He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”

You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”

“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”

“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”

Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”

You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”

Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”

Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.

“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”

Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.

Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”

“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”

He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”

“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”

Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”

You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”

It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.

He sends you texts. You don’t reply.

He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.

After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”

“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”

Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”

Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”

“But I’m not your girlfriend.”

“And thank god for that.”

“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”

“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”

“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”

“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”

“And you repaid her by leaving.”

Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”

“But she did.”

“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”

“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”

“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”

“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”

“Flatterer.”

“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”

Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”

“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”

At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.

When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”

His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”

Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”

“Not hostile, just professional.”

“You were definitely hostile.”

Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”

She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”

Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”

“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”

“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”

“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”

Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”

Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”

“At the door.”

Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”

Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”

“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”

Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”

“It’s ten thousand dollars.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”

Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”

You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”

“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.”

“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.

Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”

Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”

Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”

“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”

“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.

She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”

“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”

“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”

“And you’re not forgiving enough.”

You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”

“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”

Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”

“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”

With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.

I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life. That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice. But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that. So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that. It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please. I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more. And I promise I love you. Both of you. I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it. Love, Sincerely, Yours, M.

All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.

Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”

Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”

Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”

You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”

Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”

Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”

You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.

In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.

In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.

I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.

Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should let him grovel.”

Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”

“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your co-parent or sperm donor or whatever. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”

“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”

“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”

“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”

You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”

“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”

“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”

“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”

“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”

Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”

“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”

You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”

And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.

Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.

Then.

After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”

“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”

Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”

Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”

Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”

“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”

The world tilts slightly.

Robby’s breath catches in his throat. 

Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?

You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.

You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.

“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”

“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”

You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”

Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”

You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”

His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”

Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”

“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”

“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”

Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”

“I’ll pick you up at ten.”

You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”

With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”

“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”

Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”

You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.

“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”

You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”

“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”

“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”

‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.

After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”

One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”

You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”

“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”

You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”

His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”

“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”

Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”

You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”

He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m 100% confident.”

“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”

That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”

“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”

Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”

“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”

Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”

“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”

He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”

Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.

Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.

With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.

Noted. Thanks for the tip.

Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.

I’m rooting for you.

If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.

Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.

Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.

“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”

“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”

With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”

Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”

“Kids. Plural.”

He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”

You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”

Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”

You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”

“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”

Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”

“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”

Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”

You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”

“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”

“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.

“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”

You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”

He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”

“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”

“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”

You tease, “Sounds horrible.”

“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”

Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”

“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”

“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”

Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.

…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…

After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”

Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”

Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”

“You were just talking to her.”

He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”

She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”

Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”

You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”

He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”

Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.

“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”

You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”

“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”

“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”

“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”

“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”

He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”

“Michael!”

“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”

“I will not hesitate to splash you.”

Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”

Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”

“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”

After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”

His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”

You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”

He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”

And you want to kiss him.

You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”

He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”

You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.

As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”

You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”

Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”

You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”

“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”

You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”

He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”

You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.

Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”

Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”

Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”

Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”

“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”

Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.

Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.

You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.

For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.

So you decide.

Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”

His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”

“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”

“What would it be, then?”

He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”

You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.

When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-

Woah, asshole.

Calm down.

He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.

All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”

When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes. 

To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”

Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”

Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.

He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”

“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”

Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”

“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”

“You do?”

There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”

With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”

“See you soon, Michael.”

“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”

When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.

Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.

Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”

He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”

You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.

As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”

“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”

You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”

When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”

You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”

“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”

“God forbid.”

“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”

“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.

“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”

“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”

Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”

“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”

Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”

You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”

“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Good. As he should.”

Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”

“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”

“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.

Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”

Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”

You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”

“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”

You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”

He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”

The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”

And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.

Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”

You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”

“What? You don’t want a shower?”

“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”

Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.

Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.

She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”

“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”

“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”

Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”

“We’ll see.”

You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”

“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”

Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”

You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”

Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”

You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”

Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”

You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”

Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”

When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”

He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”

You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”

So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”

Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”

Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.

You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”

Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”

He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.

Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.

From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.

That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.

Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”

Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”

Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”

Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”

He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”

Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”

“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”

“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”

As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my boyfriend or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”

Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”

“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”

“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”

A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”

“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”

“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”

“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”

Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.

“Rest of your life, huh?”

“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”

You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”

“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.

Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”

Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.

Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”

Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”

You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”

Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”

You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”

“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”

Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”

“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”

He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”

“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”

You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t play dirty with me.”

“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”

He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”

“Now who’s playing dirty?”

“I would never.”

Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.

God.

God.

Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.

Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”

“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”

“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”

You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?” 

Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”

He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”

The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.

Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.

And you kiss him.

It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”

Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”

You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”

“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”

“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”

Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”

“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”

He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”

You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”

Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”

“I want a hot tub.”

“Okay.”

“And a soaking tub.”

“Okay.”

“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”

“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”

Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”

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

Pain made kids cry. Fear made them bolt.

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

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

“You’re doing great,” you told him.

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

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

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

His eyes flicked to yours.

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

“It’s gonna hurt,” he said.

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

His mom made a quiet sound behind him.

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

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

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

You looked up. “It absolutely does.”

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

“That one?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

He tried. His breath caught halfway.

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

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

“No,” he said.

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

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

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

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

You moved before thought could catch up.

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

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

Slipped.

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

Someone grabbed Eli from the other side.

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

Good, you thought. That was good.

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

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

“I hurt her,” he sobbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You managed to focus on him. “Eli.”

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

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

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

“We will,” she said quickly.

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

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

You opened your eyes. “No, he needs—”

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

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

“Staff injury coming down from peds.”

“Likely right shoulder dislocation.”

“Caught a pediatric patient who panicked during IV prep.”

“Vitals stable.”

“Severe pain.”

Nobody said your name. Or maybe they did, and it got swallowed somewhere between the exam room and the elevator. Either way, by the time they got you into a wheelchair, your scrubs were damp at the collar, your vision kept narrowing at the corners, and your arm had become a separate, terrible country you refused to look at.

You hated being the patient.

You hated it so much you almost missed the part where you were terrified. Almost.

The elevator ride downstairs felt both too fast and too slow. Someone kept telling you to breathe. Someone else kept asking your pain number. You gave a number that was probably too low because saying the real one made it feel more real.

The ED doors opened.

The familiar noise hit first. Monitors. Shoes. Voices. The distant roll of a cart.

Robby was already at the mouth of a bay when they wheeled you in, tablet in hand, chief-of-the-ER face on. Dana stood beside him with gloves already pulled on, calm and unsmiling in the way that meant she had already cleared the room in her head. Santos hovered just behind her like she could smell a procedure from three bays away. Princess was at the computer, and Javadi stood near the supply cart, trying very hard to look like someone who was not internally rehearsing every step of a shoulder reduction.

“Peds called down,” Robby said. “Likely right shoulder disloca—”

Then he saw your face. The chief of the ER expression dropped clean off.

For one second, he was not chief of anything. He was just your friend. “What the fuck, dude?”

You tried to glare at him. “Great bedside manner.”

Robby was already moving. He came to your side, one hand bracing the wheelchair arm, his eyes sweeping over your face.

“Look at me,” he said. “You with me?”

You blinked at him through the pain. “No, Robby, I thought I’d dissociate recreationally.”

His jaw tightened. “Answer me like less of a pain in my ass.”

You sighed. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” He glanced at the peds nurse behind your chair. “They called down a peds nurse. They did not say it was you.”

“Would that have changed your medical plan?” you asked.

“No.” His eyes flicked to your shoulder, and the doctor came back into him all at once. “It would have given me thirty more seconds to emotionally prepare for both my friend being injured and Jack killing me.”

“Jack is not going to kill you,” you replied.

Dana made a quiet sound. Robby pointed at her without looking. “Do not contribute.”

Dana lifted both gloved hands. “I said nothing.”

“You thought loudly.”

Santos leaned slightly to see your arm better. “Is it anterior?”

You swallowed through the pain. “Is Eli okay?”

Robby’s attention snapped back to you. Then he looked to the peds nurse. “Eli is the kid?”

The peds nurse nodded quickly. “Eight-year-old. Wrist injury. He’s okay. Megan stayed with him and his mom.”

Your eyes closed. “Did someone tell him I’m not mad?”

Robby went still for half a beat. His expression changed again. Softer this time. Worried in a way he could not hide behind sarcasm fast enough.

“Yeah,” he said. “They told him.”

“He won’t believe them,” you murmured.

Robby looked at you. “He might.”

“He’s eight.” Your voice thinned around the pain. “Eight-year-olds think everything is their fault.”

Robby looked at you for one second too long. Then he nodded once, like he was putting that away for later. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to get you on the bed. Slow. Dana, support the arm. Javadi, do not look terrified.”

Javadi straightened. “I’m not terrified.” Robby looked at her.

Javadi swallowed. “I’m appropriately alert.” Robby nodded once. “Better.”

You hated how many people it took.

You hated the careful hands and the count of three and the way pain still broke through your teeth when they moved you.

You hated that Robby’s face stayed calm. That meant it looked bad.

Once you were on the bed, Dana slid a pillow under your arm with the clean precision of a woman who did not waste motion. Princess clipped a monitor to your finger. Javadi asked about allergies, her voice only a little too bright. Santos hovered at the foot of the bed, watching your shoulder with open interest until Dana glanced at her.

Santos lifted her hands. “I’m not touching anything.”

“Correct,” Dana said.

Robby looked up from your shoulder. “Pain number.” You hesitated.

He gave you a look. “Do not make me ask like I don’t know you.” You told the truth.

Robby’s mouth tightened. “Thank you for not lying to me twice.”

“I lied once,” you admitted.

Robby shook his head. “You lied badly once.” Your breathing hitched. “Did someone tell Eli?”

The peds nurse, still lingering near the curtain, nodded. “Megan did. His mom did too.”

“But did he believe them?” you pushed.

Robby braced one hand lightly on the bed rail. “Do not try to sit up.”

You looked at him. “I wasn’t.”

“You thought about it,” Robby replied.

Your eyes narrowed. “You can’t prove that.”

“I’m chief of emergency medicine,” he said. “I can prove anything if I chart creatively.”

A laugh tried to escape you. It did not make it past the pain. Robby saw that too. His voice shifted.

“IV, x-ray, then pain meds before we reduce it,” he said. “Let’s get films and make sure we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Love being discussed like a broken chair,” you muttered.

Robby leaned over you, penlight in hand. “I have never met a chair this mouthy.”

Princess found a vein in your good arm. You looked away while she taped the line down. That felt ridiculous, considering you had started hundreds of IVs yourself, but today your body had decided to be dramatic, and you were not giving it more material.

Robby watched your face. “You okay?”

“No,” you answered honestly.

Robby almost smiled. “Good answer.”

Princess glanced up from your IV. “Do you want us to call someone?”

“Yes,” you said immediately.

Robby’s eyes narrowed like he already knew where this was going.

Princess kept her hands near the computer. “Who should we call?”

“Jack Abbot.”

The room did not stop. Not yet. Princess typed, then paused.

Her eyes moved from the screen to you. “Dr. Abbot?”

You breathed through your teeth. “Yes.”

The room went a little too quiet. You opened one eye. “What?”

Santos looked from you to Robby. “Night-shift Abbot?”

“How many Jack Abbots do you know?” you asked.

Javadi made the mistake of whispering, “Dr. Abbot is her emergency contact?”

“He’s my husband,” you said, like that explained the entire universe.

It did, actually. Just not to the room. Santos stared.

Javadi looked like someone had changed the laws of physics in front of her.

Princess’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Dana, somehow, did not move at all.

Then her eyes narrowed. “The sandwich.” You closed your eyes. “Dana.”

Santos looked at her. “What sandwich?”

Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “Shift change. Three weeks ago. Abbot was coming off nights. She was passing the desk with a stack of peds charts.”

Princess leaned around Javadi. “I remember that.”

“He had half a sandwich in his hand,” Dana said. “Tore the crust off without breaking conversation, held it up, and she took it on the way by.”

You breathed carefully through your teeth. “I was hungry.”

“You said thanks,” Dana added.

Santos blinked. “That’s it?” Dana finally looked up.

“That’s the point.” A beat passed.

Then Princess pointed toward you. “Wait. The parking lot.”

You opened one eye. “Please don’t.”

“I saw you two by the employee parking last month,” Princess said. “He switched sides with you near the cars.”

Javadi blinked. “Switched sides?” Princess looked at her like this was obvious. “The sidewalk rule.”

Javadi’s brows pulled together. “The what?”

“When the guy walks closer to the street,” Princess said. “Protective thing. Old-school. Very romantic if he’s hot.”

Santos made a face. “That sounds fake.”

Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord. “It’s not fake.”

Princess pointed at Dana. “Thank you.”

You stared at the ceiling. “Can we not analyze my husband’s walking patterns while my shoulder is in another fucking zip code?”

“And he had your bag,” Princess added.

“It was heavy,” you said.

She looked at you. “It had little strawberries on it.”

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Jack carried a strawberry bag?”

You gave him the best glare you could manage while lying flat with your arm attempting secession. “You are supposed to be my doctor.”

Santos’s face changed. “Oh, my god. The fire alarm drill.”

“No,” you said.

“You had his jacket,” she said.

“It was cold.”

“No.” Santos pointed, too delighted to stop herself. “He put it around your shoulders before you asked.”

Dana’s gaze sharpened with recognition.

Santos nodded hard. “And took your clipboard so you could get your arms through the sleeves.”

Princess looked at Robby. “You knew?”

Robby held up one hand. “I was at the wedding.”

The room shifted again. Javadi whispered, “There was a wedding?”

You stared at the ceiling. “I’m starting to think day shift needs hobbies.”

Robby looked at you, and this time his humor was gentle around the edges. “You married a night-shift attending and then wandered around this hospital accepting crustless sandwich halves like that was normal.”

“It is normal,” you replied.

“For married people,” Dana said.

Santos looked personally offended. “I am usually very good at noticing things.”

You swallowed through another pulse of pain. “Sorry my marriage was inconvenient for your brand.”

Robby pointed at you. “Pain has not made her less mean. Excellent prognostic sign.”

Princess was still looking at you like she had discovered treasure. “So Dr. Abbot is your husband.”

“Yes.”

“And he brings you coffee,” Princess added.

You inhaled. “Yes.”

“And the sandwich,” she continued.

“Yes.”

Princess’s eyebrows rose. “And the parking lot.” You closed your eyes. “I would like drugs now.”

Robby’s smile faded enough for his concern to show again. “Soon,” he said. “We’re moving.”

Then he held out his hand toward Princess. “I’ll call him.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to.”

“I do, actually,” Robby replied.

“Why?”

Robby’s face softened around the edges, just enough that your chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with your shoulder.

“Because he’s going to be worried,” he said. “And if a stranger calls him, he’s going to scare somebody.”

You sighed. “Jack doesn’t scare people.”

“No,” Robby said. “But when he’s worried about you, he gets very concise.”

Dana hummed. “That’s true.”

You closed your eyes. “Tell him not to speed.”

Robby shook his head. “I’m not promising that.”

“Robby,” you said, trying to sound reasonable.

He sighed. “I’ll suggest moderation.”

Robby stepped a few feet away from the bed and tapped Jack’s contact. You watched him through the pain, sweat cooling at the back of your neck. He pointed at you without lowering the phone. “Try not to dislocate anything else while I’m gone.” The call rang once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, Jack answered.

His voice came rough with sleep and irritation. “What, Robby?”

Robby glanced back at you. You were pale on the bed, jaw tight, your good hand fisted in the sheet while Dana adjusted the monitor.

“Your wife is in the ED,” Robby said. “She’s fine. I’ve got her.”

The line went silent. Then Jack’s voice came back low and awake. “What happened?”

“Right shoulder dislocation,” Robby said. “Peds incident. She caught a kid before he fell and took the force the wrong way. She’s conscious, stable, and pissed off, which I’m taking as a good sign.”

Another pause. Jack breathed out once, sharply. “Of course she caught the kid.”

“Yeah,” Robby said, softer. “That was my reaction too.”

You lifted your head an inch off the pillow. “Tell him not to speed.”

Robby looked over his shoulder. You stared back, sweaty and serious.

“She says not to speed.”

Jack was already moving. Robby could hear it through the phone: sheets, a drawer, something hitting the floor. “Tell her I’m coming.”

“Jack,” Robby said carefully.

“I heard her,” Jack said sharply.

Robby nodded once. “Good.”

“Thanks, brother. I’m on my way,” Jack replied.

Robby’s mouth softened. “Yeah,” he said.

He ended the call and came back to the side of the bed. “He’s coming.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Good.” The word came out smaller than you meant it to. Robby heard that too. For a second, he was quiet.

Then he nodded to Princess. “Now give her the good stuff before she remembers she’s trying to be reasonable.”

Princess pushed medication into your IV. Warmth moved up your arm a few seconds later, strange and soft. The pain did not vanish, but the edges of the room began to loosen. The lights blurred a little. The monitor beep sounded farther away.

You blinked. “Wow.”

Santos leaned closer. “How’s that?”

You turned your head toward her slowly. “You have two faces.”

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Better?”

You inhaled. “I can still feel my skeleton making bad choices.”

“So, somewhat.” Robby grinned.

You looked toward the curtain. “Did someone tell Eli I’m not mad?”

Robby exhaled. “Yes.”

“I’m not mad,” you repeated.

“I know.”

You blinked hard. “No, but he needs to know.”

“He knows,” Robby replied gently.

You frowned. “You’re just saying that.”

“I am saying many things,” Robby said. “This one happens to be true.”

You tried to sit up. Every person in the room reacted.

Dana touched your good shoulder. “Nope. Stay back.”

“I should tell him,” you told her.

“You should keep your shoulder still,” Robby said.

You frowned at him. “You’re being bossy.” Robby shrugged. “It’s on the mug.”

“Jack has a mug that says World’s Sexiest Doctor,” you replied without thinking. The pain meds were softening things too much now. Words had started wandering into places you had not invited them.

Robby slowly turned his head. “I’m sorry. He has a what?”

You winced. “It was a joke. I got it for him when we were dating.”

Princess looked delighted. “And he kept it?”

You breathed through another pulse of pain. “He drinks out of it every morning.”

Santos stared. “Abbot drinks coffee out of a World’s Sexiest Doctor mug?”

Dana, dry as dust, added, “That explains more than I wanted it to.”

Robby pressed his fingers to his mouth like he was trying to hold in actual joy.

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my doctor.”

“I am,” Robby said. “And this is healing me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. The ED lights drifted above you. Your body felt heavy against the bed, but your mind kept circling the same places. Eli crying. Your shoulder slipping. Jack coming. You blinked slowly. “Did someone tell Eli?”

Dana adjusted the blanket around your legs. “Yes.”

“Did someone tell Jack?” you asked.

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Yes.” You nodded, satisfied for exactly one second.

Then you frowned. “Which one is coming to see me?”

Robby stared at you. “What?”

“Eli or Jack?” you asked.

Princess turned toward the computer with suspicious speed. Santos looked openly delighted. Robby’s expression brightened with pure, terrible affection.

“Oh,” he said softly. “This is going to be a great drug for you.”

You frowned. “Don’t be weird.”

Robby patted the bed rail. “Try not to say anything incriminating before your husband gets here.”

Your eyes closed, but you could still hear the smile in his voice. “Jack already knows everything.”

Robby made a thoughtful sound. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s test that.”

Robby stayed beside the bed after Princess pushed the medication. One hand rested on the rail. His eyes moved from your face to the monitor, then to your shoulder, then back to your face again. He was not joking as much now.

You hated that. “Stop looking worried,” you said.

His mouth twitched, but it did not quite become a smile. “Stop giving me reasons.”

You blinked at him, the lights blurring softly around the edges. “Rude.”

“Consistent,” Robby said.

Dana adjusted the blanket over your legs, brisk yet careful. “That’s one word for it.”

The medication had made the room strange. Softer, but not kinder. The monitors sounded farther away, and the overhead lights had started to bloom at the edges. Your shoulder still hurts. Not as sharply as before, maybe, but it was there under everything, pulsing and wrong. You tried to shift away from it. Your body disagreed. “Bad,” you muttered.

Robby leaned in a fraction. “Pain?”

You shook your head. “Existence.”

He nodded once. “Fair.”

Dana checked the line of your IV, then glanced at him.

Robby’s eyes returned to yours, and something in his face softened. “Hey,” he said. “World’s Sexiest Doctor.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The mug,” Robby said, voice lighter on purpose. “You said he drinks out of it every morning.”

Your face softened before you could stop it. “He does.” Princess turned from the computer with immediate interest. Santos, who had been pretending not to hover near the foot of the bed, stopped pretending. Dana’s expression did not change, but her eyes flicked toward you.

Robby leaned one forearm against the rail. “Still can’t believe he committed to the bit.”

“It’s not a bit,” you said.

Robby’s eyebrows lifted. “No?”

You looked at him like he was missing the obvious. “It’s true.”

Santos’s mouth curved. Dana looked down at the monitor. Princess pressed her lips together like she was holding something very large behind her teeth. You blinked at the ceiling, dreamy and annoyed all at once. “He is the sexiest doctor.”

Robby drew back like you had slapped him. “Rude.”

You turned your head toward him slowly. “You’re right.”

His expression softened. “Thank you.”

“Ellis is pretty hot, too,” you murmured happily.

Robby froze. Princess made a sound and turned sharply toward the computer. Santos whispered, “Wow.”

Dana closed her eyes. Robby stared at you. “That was not the correction I was requesting.”

You considered him through the pleasant fog around your thoughts. “You have nice hair.”

Robby’s hand went to his chest. “That was devastatingly lukewarm.”

“It is nice.”

“Nice hair,” he repeated, wounded. “That’s what I get after years of friendship.”

“You’re my friend,” you said.

His expression shifted. For one second, the joke left his face. “I know.”

You watched him through the blur. “You’re a good doctor.”

Robby’s hand tightened slightly on the rail. “You’re on excellent medication.”

“I mean it.”

“I know,” he said, quieter.

Dana looked away first. Santos suddenly found the supply tray very interesting. Robby cleared his throat and straightened. “Okay,” he said, his voice returning to a steady tone. “Let’s get ready.”

The words landed wrong. Your smile faded. The room shifted back into medicine too quickly. Gloves. Positioning. Dana adjusting the bed. Santos watching Robby’s hands intently. Javadi standing too still by the supplies, trying to look prepared. Your stomach dropped through the medication. “Wait.” Robby looked back at you. “Yeah?”

Your good hand tightened in the sheet. “You’re doing it now?” His expression softened. “Soon.”

“No.”

Dana’s hand settled lightly near your good shoulder. Not holding you down. Just there.

Robby stepped closer. “I know.”

“No, Robby.” Your voice stayed even, but barely. “I don’t want to do it.”

Robby did not flinch. “I know you don’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you mean it.”

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

Robby’s face changed again, not much, just enough to show you he hated this part too. “I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”

You frowned. “That’s what people say before they do stuff that sucks.” Santos muttered, “Accurate.”

Dana looked at her. Santos lifted both hands. “I’m validating.”

Robby ignored her and kept his eyes on you. “It is going to suck,” he said. “But the longer it stays out, the worse it’s going to feel. I want to get it back where it belongs.”

Your breathing went shallow. The medication had made everything loose except the fear. That stayed sharp. Clear. Mean. You looked toward the hallway. “Fine.” Robby waited. You glared at him, sweaty and medicated and angry enough to hide behind it. “I’ll do it if Jack is my doctor.”

The room paused. Dana looked at Robby. Princess looked at the hallway. Javadi looked like she had just realized this was not covered in any textbook.

Robby let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “That’s not how this works.”

You frowned at him. “He’s a doctor.”

“He is.” Dana’s voice stayed calm beside you. “He’s also your husband.”

You looked at her like she had helped your case. “Exactly.” Robby’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Before he could answer, Jack’s voice cut through the department. “Where is she?”

Your head turned. Completely. All the thoughts in your brain scattered like startled birds. Jack was halfway down the hall, moving fast and trying not to look like he was moving fast, a hoodie under his unzipped jacket. His hair was sleep-rough on one side. His jaw was tight, his eyes already searching, already locked on the room. The second he saw you, his pace changed.

Your good hand lifted off the sheet. “That one.”

Robby followed your gaze. For the first time since the reduction tray came out, true humor broke through his worry. “Oh,” he said softly. “Okay.”

Jack stepped into the bay. You pointed at him, certain now. “I want that one.”

Jack froze for half a second. His eyes moved over you. Face. IV. Monitor. Shoulder. Robby. Dana. Back to your face.

Then he was at your side. “Baby.”

The word hit the room like a dropped instrument. Santos stared very hard at the floor. Princess pressed her lips together. Javadi’s eyes went wide, then wider, like she was watching hospital folklore become sentient.

You smiled up at him. “Hi.”

Jack took your good hand, his palm warm and familiar around yours. “Hi.”

His thumb moved once over your knuckles. You exhaled. You felt it happen before you could stop it. Your shoulders did not relax, not really, but your breathing changed. Your grip loosened from the sheet. The sharp edge of panic moved back by an inch.

Robby saw it. His eyes flicked to the monitor, then to Jack’s hand. “Interesting.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”

“I’m observing.”

“You observe too loudly.”

Robby’s mouth curved. “I am her physician.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “You are enjoying being her physician too much.”

“I was worried,” Robby said.

The joke thinned for a second. Jack looked up. Robby held his gaze. “Still am.”

Jack’s face shifted.

You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do serious faces.”

Jack looked back down at you. His thumb moved again. “Sorry.”

You studied him, hazy and affectionate. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”

You turned your head toward Dana, solemn and proud. “I picked that one.”

Dana’s mouth twitched. “So I’m hearing.”

Jack closed his eyes. “What did you give her?”

“Pain control,” Robby said. “Not enough to explain all of this.”

You tugged lightly on Jack’s hand. “He’s being rude.”

Jack looked at Robby. “Stop being rude.”

Robby pointed at him. “You weren’t even here.”

“I believe my wife.”

Princess turned toward the computer again, but not fast enough to hide her smile.

Santos murmured, “That was hot.”

Dana said, “Santos.”

“What? It was,” Santos replied with a shrug.

Jack ignored all of them and leaned closer to you. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

His face softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, then regretted it. “Don’t let me do head stuff.”

“I won’t,” Jack promised.

You frowned. “Having a head is bad.”

“I’ll make a note,” Jack said with a soft smile.

Robby stepped closer to your injured side. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to try Cunningham.”

“No.” Your response was immediate.

Jack’s hand tightened around yours. Robby did not react like the word surprised him. “I know.”

“No, I don’t want Cunningham. It sounds smug,” you told him.

Robby’s brow raised. “It’s a reduction technique, not a man at a country club.”

You frowned at him. “Still smug.”

Jack’s thumb brushed your knuckles. “Look at me.”

You turned your eyes back to him. “No.”

Jack’s eyes softened. “You’re already doing it.”

You glared. “That’s annoying.”

His mouth almost smiled. “I know.”

Robby looked between you and Jack. Then his eyes moved to the monitor again. A thought entered his face.

Jack saw it immediately. “No.”

Robby blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dana adjusted the bed so you were sitting up more, angled slightly back against the raised mattress. The movement sent a pain-sparking sensation down your arm. “Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, this is worse than my fucking IUD insertion.”

The room went silent. Jack’s thumb stilled against your hand. “Okay,” he said carefully.

You opened your eyes and glared at the ceiling. “I thought I knew pain. I was wrong.”

Dana’s mouth twitched near the monitor. Princess turned very deliberately toward the computer.

Jack leaned closer. “Baby.”

“No.” You turned your glare on him. “This is your fault.”

His brows pulled together. “My fault?”

“Yes.”

Jack blinked once. “How is this my fault?”

“Because,” you said, furious and medicated, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know this was worse.”

Robby looked up. Jack did not move.

“I was doing fine,” you continued. “I was in my celibate phase. I was at peace.”

Jack’s face changed by exactly one dangerous millimeter. “You were not at peace.”

“I was close.” Your eyes narrowed. “Then you came along with your stupid handsome face and your stupid arms, and then I got the stupid IUD, and I thought that was pain. But no.”

Robby nodded slowly. “That is a clinically fascinating chain of blame.”

Jack did not look away from you. “So your shoulder hurts because I’m handsome.”

“And slutty with your forearms,” you added.

Jack’s jaw flexed. Santos whispered, “Slutty forearms.”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.” Your face softened immediately.

Jack noticed. His eyes dropped back to yours, something warm cutting through the mortification. “What?”

You blinked up at him, drug-soft and suddenly pleased. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah, baby.”

A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”

Robby looked from you to Dana. Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “What?”

“You’re enjoying this,” Robby said.

“I am maintaining room discipline.”

“You called her Mrs. Abbot.”

Dana’s mouth barely moved. “That is her name.” Your smile widened.

Jack looked at Dana, then back at you, and his face softened despite himself. Dana glanced at the monitor. “See? Therapeutic.” Robby’s eyes dropped to Jack’s sleeve.

Jack saw it happen. “No.”

Robby smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You looked at my sleeve.”

“Clinically,” Robby replied.

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked up at Jack, still angry, still hazy, still betrayed by the entire medical system. “He does have nice forearms.”

Jack stared at the ceiling. Robby nodded toward Jack’s arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Jack looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“She’s tensing.”

Jack gave Robby a look. “You want me to roll up my sleeves.”

“I want patient compliance,” Robby corrected.

Jack looked at Dana. Dana glanced at the monitor, then at you. “It would probably help.”

Jack’s face went flat. “Not you too.”

Dana shrugged. “I’m practical.”

Robby looked delighted. “See? Medicine.”

Jack exhaled through his nose, then dragged one sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm. Your eyes followed the movement immediately. You hated yourself a little. Not enough to look away. His forearm flexed as he pushed the fabric past his elbow, tendons shifting under skin, the veins at his wrist standing out when his fingers curled once around the bed rail. Your mouth went soft.

Robby pointed at you. “There.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him. “Do not point at my wife while she’s objectifying me.”

“I am pointing at a response to treatment,” Robby replied with glee.

You looked at Jack’s arm. “Treatment is good.”

Princess made a strangled sound. Javadi stared straight ahead like a resident determined to survive rounds with her soul intact.

Jack leaned closer to you. “You are making this very difficult.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“You.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “Very stubborn. Very pretty. Extremely bad at being a patient.”

The giggle came before you could stop it. Soft. Helpless. Embarrassing. Jack’s eyes warmed. Robby looked like he had just discovered a new antibiotic. “Oh, that’s excellent.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Ignore him.”

“You think I’m pretty,” you said.

“I married you,” Jack replied.

“That’s not an answer.”

His mouth curved. “Yes, baby. I think you’re pretty.”

You melted. Completely. It was humiliating. It was also his fault. Robby adjusted your injured arm, careful and slow, guiding your hand toward his shoulder. The position made pain spark hot and immediate. “No.” You tried to pull back. “No, fuck this.”

Jack’s face sharpened. Robby’s tone stayed calm. “I need thirty seconds.”

“I don’t want thirty seconds,” you said, frowning.

Robby’s expression softened, “I know.”

“No, I want that one to do it,” you said, looking from Robby to Jack.

Jack leaned closer. “You have that one.”

“I want that one to doctor me.” Your lower lip jutted out.

Robby, far too cheerful, said, “We’ve covered the conflict of interest.”

You frowned at him. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack looked at Robby. “Fix her shoulder.”

Robby looked at Jack’s hoodie. Jack saw it. His whole body went still. “No.”

Robby lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Jack stared at him.

Robby smiled. “She responded well to forearm.”

“Forearm is not a drug,” Jack shot back.

Robby shrugged. “It is today.”

Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

You, who had been blinking hazily at the ceiling, turned your head with alarming speed. “Yes.”

The room stopped. Completely. Jack’s hand froze halfway down his face. “No.”

You frowned, offended. “Rude.”

Princess turned toward the computer with the focus of a woman fighting for her life. Santos stared at the floor, shoulders shaking.

Dana checked the monitor. “Heart rate response noted.”

Jack looked at her. “Dana.”

She did not look up. “I report data.”

Robby pressed his lips together. “For the record, that was the fastest she’s oriented to verbal stimulus since the medication.”

You reached weakly for Jack’s hand. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy from medication and pain, your good hand tight around his, your face still trying so hard to stay mad because scared was too vulnerable, and both of you knew it. His irritation lost some of its shape. “Fine,” he muttered. Robby brightened. Jack glared at him. “Don’t look so happy.”

“I’m a scientist observing results,” Robby replied, delighted.

Jack stood beside the bed and reached back, fingers catching the sweatshirt at the back of his neck. Your eyes locked onto the movement. He pulled it over his head in one smooth drag, the hem catching for half a second on the white T-shirt underneath. The shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders when he lifted his arms. His biceps shifted under the fabric. His forearms flexed as he dragged the sweatshirt free.

The room went very quiet. You stared. Completely gone. Jack paused with the sweatshirt in one hand. Just for a second. Long enough to let you look. His mouth tilted, barely. “Better?”

You nodded slowly. “Wow.”

Robby made a sound that might have been spiritual.

Jack dropped back into the chair beside you and took your hand again. “Eyes on me.”

You obeyed immediately. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Robby looked at the monitor, then at Jack. “That was outstanding.”

Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not compliment me.”

“Clinically outstanding,” Robby corrected himself.

Jack’s gaze didn’t leave you. “Still no.”

Robby grinned. “You removed clothing, and her heart rate stabilized.”

“That is not what happened,” Jack replied with a sigh.

Dana glanced at the monitor. “It sort of is.” J

ack looked betrayed. “Dana.”

She shrugged. “I report data.”

Robby gestured toward you, far too pleased with the entire clinical situation. “Magic Mike: ED Edition.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “No.”

Robby’s grin spread slowly. “I don’t know, brother. You danced at your wedding. Pretty risky, if memory serves.”

Jack’s stare went flat. “Robby.”

“There was a certain Eminem song involved,” Robby continued.

Your head turned on the pillow. “Shake That.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Do not help him.”

Robby pointed at you, delighted. “That’s the one.”

Dana looked up from the monitor. “You danced to ‘Shake That’ at your wedding?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

You turned toward him with surprising speed. “Jack.”

His eyes opened. “Baby.”

Your brow furrowed, “Don’t you dare deny that.”

Princess pressed both lips together and turned toward the computer as if it had suddenly become fascinating. Santos stared between you and Jack, openly thrilled. You lifted your good hand as much as the IV allowed and pointed at him. “That moment changed my brain chemistry.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling. “Good Lord.”

Robby nodded solemnly. “For the record, I was there. It changed several people’s brain chemistry.”

Jack’s head turned slowly. “You cried during the father-daughter dance.”

“You and your wife offended decent people everywhere with that dance,” Robby said.

You nodded, glassy-eyed and completely unashamed. “Yep. My grandma left.”

Jack looked down at you, horror flickering across his face. “Your grandmother left?”

You blinked up at him. “You didn’t know that?”

“No,” Jack said. “I did not know that.”

“She came back for cake,” you added.

Jack looked at you. “That does not make it better.”

Robby’s grin widened. “I’m just saying. It was a lot of wedding.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him. “You ended that night with half your shirt unbuttoned because a bridesmaid took your tie off with her teeth.”

Santos’s head snapped up. “With her teeth?”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat wedding lore.”

Princess turned from the computer, delighted. “Did he go home with her?”

Robby pointed sharply at your shoulder. “We have a patient.”

Jack’s mouth curved, barely. “He did.”

Robby stared at him. “Betrayal.”

Jack shrugged. “You started this.”

“I started a medical discussion,” Robby defended.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You called me Magic Mike.”

Robby frowned. “In a medical context.”

You looked between them, soft and dreamy now, the medication turning the memory warm around the edges. “It was perfect.”

Jack’s expression shifted. “Our wedding?”

You nodded. “You danced. I danced. Robby got slutty.”

Robby pointed at you. “For the record, ‘Robby got slutty’ is not medically relevant.”

Your eyes drifted back to Jack. You studied him for one long, medicated second. “You got slutty.”

Jack’s brows lifted. “I did not.”

You gave him a look. “Tell that to your hips.” You kept looking at Jack, still dreamy and deeply serious. “And hands.”

Jack closed his eyes again.

Santos made a tiny sound. “He got slutty.”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Your face softened immediately. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. His thumb moved once over your hand. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

“I heard,” Jack said, quieter now.

A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.” Jack’s expression softened before he could stop it.

Robby looked from you to Dana. “You’re enjoying this.”

Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “I am maintaining room discipline.”

Jack looked at you slowly. He looked down at you, and something in his expression changed. Not embarrassed now. Worse. Amused. “You know, baby,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t hear you complaining that night.”

Your mouth parted. For one blessed second, the medication actually managed to quiet you.

Robby looked delighted. “Oh, that worked.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”

You blinked up at Jack, soft and glassy-eyed and deeply sincere. “I was thoroughly enjoying it.”

Dana closed her eyes. Princess turned fully toward the computer.

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “That is a lot of marriage for a workplace.”

Jack’s jaw flexed, but his thumb moved over your hand again. “Trouble.”

You smiled faintly. “You started it.”

Robby pointed at Jack. “She’s right.”

Jack looked at him. “You started it.” Robby nodded. “Also true. Still worth it.”

Dana adjusted the bed, then looked at both of them. “Shoulder now. Wedding crimes later.”

You frowned. “They’re not crimes if everyone had fun.”

“Your grandmother left,” Jack said.

“She came back for cake.”

Robby nodded. “Strong recovery.”

Jack looked at him. “You are done.”

Robby smiled. “Brother, I have barely begun.”

Dana’s voice cut through, calm and final. “Robby.”

Robby lifted both hands. “Shoulder now.”

Jack leaned closer to you, resigned and soft all at once. “Eyes on me, trouble.”

You looked at his white T-shirt, then his face. “I am looking,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

For half a second, he looked like he might say something that would make the entire situation worse.

Robby must have seen it coming, because he clapped once, sharp and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “Shoulder.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You heard the man.”

You frowned at him. “I don’t like the man.”

Robby adjusted his gloves at your injured side. “The man is hurt by that.”

Dana moved closer to the bed, one hand resting near your good shoulder. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, calm and even. “We’re going to sit you up a little more.”

Your face softened immediately. Jack saw it again. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You like that.”

You blinked at him. “Like what?”

His voice went quieter. “Mrs. Abbot.”

A small, helpless smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”

Jack’s expression changed. Not enough for anyone else to call him out on it, maybe, but enough for you to feel warmer than the medication could explain. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “That’s you.”

Robby looked at Dana. Dana kept her face neutral. “Therapeutic,” she said.

Robby nodded solemnly. “Marital nomenclature. Noted.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Do not note that.”

Robby shrugged. “I have a whole mental chart now.”

“Delete it,” Jack shot back.

Robby grinned. “HIPAA doesn’t apply to my thoughts.”

Dana raised the bed before Jack could answer. The motion sent your shoulder into a hot, mean pulse. Your good hand tightened around Jack’s. “Nope.”

Jack stepped in closer immediately. “I’ve got you.”

“Nope,” you said again, sharper this time. “I changed my mind.”

Robby’s voice stayed steady from your side. “You can hate it.”

“I do hate it. I hate the concept. I hate whoever invented Cunningham,” you groaned.

Robby nodded once. “Probably fair.” You went on, “I hate that his name is Cunningham.”

“It is a useful medical procedure,” Robby replied.

You turned your glare on him. “Don’t defend Cunningham to me right now.”

Jack leaned into your line of sight. “Look at me.”

You looked at him. Mostly because he was very close. Also, because the T-shirt was still doing hateful things across his chest. Jack’s eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew exactly where your attention had gone.

“My face,” he said.

You sighed. “Your face is also a problem.”

Robby glanced at the monitor. “Problem appears effective.” Jack turned his head a fraction. “Robby.”

“Data,” Dana said.

Jack gave her a betrayed look. Dana’s brows lifted. “I report it.”

Robby slid your injured hand carefully toward his shoulder. The second your arm shifted, pain sparked bright and fast down your side.

“Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, fuck that.”

Jack’s free hand came to your cheek. Warm palm. Steady fingers. No pressure, just contact. “Hey.”

You shook your head. “No, Jack, I really don’t—”

“I know.”

Robby paused, his hands still supporting your arm.

Jack’s thumb moved once beneath your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes. His face was right there. Close enough to blur at the edges. Worried in that contained way that made your chest hurt. Soft in the places no one else knew to look.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” you whispered.

Jack’s expression gentled. “I know.” Your throat tightened. “I’m being so stupid.”

“No,” he said immediately.

Robby’s voice came from your side, quieter now. “You’re not.”

Dana’s hand stayed light near your shoulder. “You are allowed to be in pain, Mrs. Abbot.”

Your mouth trembled. That was rude of her, honestly. Using the name like that.

Jack watched your face, and something in him settled. “Be mad,” he said softly. “Swear at Robby. Insult Cunningham.”

Robby lifted one hand. “I would like to opt out of one third of that.”

Jack ignored him. “But keep looking at me.” You swallowed. “You’re bossy.”

“I know.” Jack smiled softly.

You narrowed your eyes. “You like being bossy.” His mouth curved, barely. “With you?”

Your eyes widened a little. Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek. “Yeah.”

The room went dangerously still. Robby’s face brightened. “Oh, that was good.”

Jack’s eyes cut toward him. “Do not grade me.”

“I’m not grading. I’m appreciating the technique.”

Dana looked at the monitor. “Heart rate improved.” Jack exhaled through his nose. “Good Lord.”

You stared at him, caught between pain and medication and the unfair fact of him. “Sexy doctor husband.”

His jaw flexed. “Apparently.” Robby moved your elbow another careful inch. You tensed immediately.

Jack’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. “Eyes on me.”

You tried. You really did. Your gaze dropped to his mouth first.

Jack noticed. His mouth twitched. “My eyes, trouble.”

“I’m trying,” you groaned.

He smirked. “You’re doing terrible.” You made a small, offended sound.

Jack’s thumb stroked lightly at the base of your skull. “But you’re very pretty while you do it.”

A giggle escaped you before you could stop it. It came out wet, shaky, and ridiculous.

Robby froze. Dana glanced at the monitor. Princess made a tiny sound near the computer.

Santos looked like she might need to sit down. Jack’s eyes softened. “There she is.”

You frowned at him. “You’re flirting medically again.”

“I am not,” Jack replied.

Robby adjusted his grip on your elbow. “You are.”

Jack kept his face angled toward you. “No one asked you.”

“I did,” you said.

Jack looked back at you. “You did not.”

“I spiritually asked,” you said with a sigh.

Robby pointed at you. “She gets me.”

Jack’s hand tightened carefully at the back of your head. “That is what worries me.”

The laugh that tried to leave you broke into a gasp when Robby began working at the muscles around your shoulder.

Pain rose again, deep and threatening. “No,” you said, voice thin now.

Jack’s teasing vanished. Just gone. His face steadied. “Breathe with me.”

“I don’t want to breathe.”

He raised a brow. “Do it anyway.” You frowned. “That’s mean.”

“I know,” Jack agreed.

“Fuck, Jack.”

His eyes held yours. “I’ve got you.”

Robby’s voice came low and focused. “Good. Just like that. Try not to fight me.”

You turned your eyes toward him in outrage. “Try not to fight you?”

Jack’s hand at the back of your head guided you back. “Me.”

You sucked in a breath. “Robby is saying stupid things.”

“I know.” Jack nodded.

“I can hear you,” Robby said.

Jack’s thumb swept once under your eye. “Ignore him.”

“He’s touching my shoulder,” you said, miserable.

Jack tilted his head closer to you. “Because he’s fixing it.”

“I don’t like him,” you said with a frown.

Jack smiled softly at you. “You love him.”

“Not right now,” you said, brows furrowed.

Robby nodded without looking up. “Temporary friendship suspension. Accepted.”

Dana looked at you. “Hold still, Mrs. Abbot.”

The name hit exactly where it had before. Your breathing hitched, but this time it hitched softer.

Jack saw it. Robby saw it. Dana absolutely saw it. Robby looked at Dana. “You’re good.”

Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “I know.” Jack leaned closer. “You’re doing good.”

You stared at him. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Your eyes burned. “I’m making this difficult.” Jack nodded once. “You’re scared.”

“I’m swearing,” you continued.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

“I told everyone about our wedding crimes.” Your lower lip wobbled.

His mouth moved like he was fighting a smile. “That one we’ll discuss later.”

“You got slutty.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Not now.” Robby’s shoulders shook once.

Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not laugh during my wife’s reduction.”

Robby’s expression snapped back into focus. “Guilty.”

Pain flared again, sharper this time, and your whole body tried to pull away.

Jack’s hand held steady at the back of your head. Not forcing you. Keeping you with him. “Look at me.”

You blinked away tears. “I am.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “Really look.”

You did.

His eyes were dark and close and worried. His thumb moved against your cheek, slow and sure.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Stay right there.”

Your breath shook. “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” Jack murmured.

You went on. “Cunningham is a bad man.”

“Probably.” Jack nodded with a soft smile.

Robby glanced up. “Cunningham did not personally do this to you.”

You glared at him through tears. “He knows what he did.” Robby nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

Jack’s mouth brushed the edge of a smile.

You caught it. Even through pain. Even through fear. Even through the medication making the room swim around the edges. “You’re laughing.”

“I’m not,” Jack replied.

You glared at him. “You are.”

“Only because you’re mean on drugs,” he said, smiling softly at you.

You inhaled sharply. “I’m allowed to be mean right now.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, impossibly soft. “You are.”

Robby’s hands shifted. The pressure changed. Your body knew before your brain did.

You went rigid. “No.” Jack’s face sharpened. “Baby.”

“No, no, no, I don’t want—” You shook your head despite the pain.

His hand cupped your face more firmly. “Look at me.” Your eyes found his. “I am looking.”

“Good,” Jack said, his voice low and steady.

Your eyes burned as you stared up at him. “Jack.”

His hand stayed firm at the back of your head, fingers threaded carefully into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to pull away from Robby’s hands. “I hate this.”

“I know.” Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek.

Your breath hitched, half pain and half panic. “I hate your stupid face for helping.”

His mouth curved just enough to ruin you. “Use it.”

“What?”

“My stupid face.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “Look at it instead of your shoulder.”

You stared at him. “I hate that that works.”

“I know,” Jack murmured.

You glared at him. “Your face is medically annoying.” Robby murmured, “Groundbreaking terminology.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Not now.”

Robby’s hands shifted again. You felt the pressure build. Slow, careful, awful.

Jack saw you brace. Of course he did. His voice dropped. “Be good for me.”

Your face went soft immediately. “Oh, that’s unfair.”

Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye. “I know.”

“You’re cheating.” You tried to glare at him, but the medication and his hand in your hair made it a weak attempt.

His mouth curved, barely there and deeply unrepentant. “I know.”

Robby, without missing a beat, said, “Cheating is medically allowed right now.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Do it now.”

For one suspended second, there was only Jack’s face, his hand in your hair, his thumb on your cheek, and Robby’s steady pressure on your arm.

Then the joint shifted. Not violently. Not with a dramatic crack.

Just a deep, sickening slide, followed by sudden release. You gasped.

The wrongness vanished all at once. Your whole body folded toward Jack on a broken little sob.

He caught you carefully, one hand still cradling your head, the other braced at your good shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he said immediately. “I’ve got you.”

Robby exhaled. “Shoulder’s back.”

You breathed hard against Jack’s white T-shirt, your face pressed into the warmth of his chest, tears leaking more from relief than pain now. “Holy shit.”

Jack’s mouth brushed your hair before he seemed to remember there were witnesses. “Yeah.”

“That was awful,” you breathed, tears falling.

Jack kissed your head. “I know.” You turned your face enough to look up at him. “You were helpful.”

His expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, still floating, still furious, still very much on drugs. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Robby pulled off his gloves with great satisfaction. “For the record, Cunningham with targeted husband exposure: wildly effective.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Document that and die.”

Robby smiled. “Brother, this is medicine now.”

You blinked up at Jack, wet-eyed and dazed. “I picked that one.”

The room went quiet around the softness in your voice. Jack’s thumb moved once along your cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

You stared at him for another long, drug-soft second. “I picked good.”

His face changed. Not a lot. Enough. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. “You did.”

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “I need everyone to know I am handling this with incredible maturity.”

Dana looked at him. “You are not.”

“No,” Robby agreed. “But I almost did.”

Jack’s hand stayed against the side of your face for another second before he seemed to remember the rest of the room existed.

“Post-reduction films?” he asked, glancing toward Robby.

Robby pulled his gloves off and dropped them into the trash. “Already ordered.” Jack nodded once.

Robby gave him a look as he stepped back to your injured side. “Neurovascular was intact before. Checking again now.”

“I know you are,” Jack said.

Robby lifted his brows. “Do you?” Jack’s mouth flattened. “I’m standing right here.”

“Great,” Robby said. “Then stand there husbandly and let me be her doctor.”

You turned your head slowly against Jack’s palm. “You’re both doctors.”

Robby leaned closer, careful as he checked your hand. “Only one of us is currently allowed to practice medicine on you.”

You looked at Jack. “I vote that one.” Jack closed his eyes. “Baby.”

Robby did not look up from your fingers. “Your vote has been received and rejected by the ethics committee.”

You frowned at him. “I don’t like the ethics committee.”

“The ethics committee is me,” Robby said.

You blinked at him. “That tracks.”

Santos made a tiny sound near the foot of the bed. Dana glanced at her. Santos pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.

Robby touched your fingers gently. “Can you wiggle these for me?” You wiggled them.

Robby nodded. “Good. Any numbness or tingling?”

You stared at him, still dazed. “Just in my dignity.”

“That is not innervated by the axillary nerve,” Robby said.

You blinked. “Show-off.”

Jack’s thumb moved over your cheek again. The motion was small. Your body noticed anyway.

Robby saw that too, because of course he did, but for once he did not comment.

Dana adjusted the sling on the tray beside the bed. “We’ll get her immobilized once Robby’s done checking you,” she said. Jack’s attention shifted to the sling. His jaw tightened by a fraction.

You saw it even through the medication. “You’re doing the face.”

Jack looked back down at you. “What face?”

“The face,” you said.

Robby glanced over. “Oh, I know the face.” Jack did not look at him. “No one asked you.”

Robby’s voice stayed light, but not careless. “It’s the face he makes when he wishes he could make it easier for you.”

Jack went quiet. So did you. Your fingers tightened around his. “You did,” you said.

Jack looked down at you. “What?” Your smile was small and drug-soft. “You made it easier.”

His thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes glassy and sincere. “Yeah. Because you’re hot. And a doctor. And smart. And sexy. And my husband. And I love you.”

The room went very still. Jack’s face softened all at once.

Then you added, very seriously, “And you’re hot.”

Robby’s mouth opened. Dana looked at the monitor like it had become essential to her survival.

Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Is that all?”

You blinked up at him, exhausted and earnest. “No.” His mouth curved. “No?”

You shook your head once, barely. “But I’m tired and drugged.”

Jack’s expression warmed into something painfully fond. “Okay, baby.”

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. You swallowed, the edges of the room still warm and watery.

“And Eli?”

Robby’s expression gentled before the joke could get there.

“Megan called down while we were getting the films ordered. He’s okay.”

You stared at him. “She told him?”

“She told him,” Robby said. “His mom told him. He knows you’re not mad.”

You blinked hard. Jack’s hand tightened around yours.

Robby leaned a hip lightly against the counter, his voice quieter now. “He drew you a picture.”

Your throat closed. “He did?”

“Apparently it’s you with a cape,” Robby said.

Princess smiled from the computer. “And a very large arm.”

You made a sound that tried to be a laugh and almost became something else. “Is it anatomically correct?”

Robby looked at Princess. Princess shook her head. “Not even close.” You closed your eyes. “Good.”

Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

Your eyes burned again, but softer this time. “He doesn’t think I’m mad?”

Robby shook his head. “He thinks you’re a superhero.”

You went very still. Jack felt your hand tighten around his. Then your face crumpled. “Oh, no.”

Jack leaned in immediately. “Baby?” Your eyes filled too fast for you to stop them. “I’m leaking.”

Jack’s expression softened all at once. “You’re crying.”

“I know.” Your mouth trembled. “I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jack replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You sniffled. “It is in front of the day shift.”

Robby’s face softened from the counter. “Day shift can handle feelings.”

Santos looked suspiciously focused on the floor. Princess turned toward the computer, blinking too much.

Dana adjusted the sling on the tray without looking up. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said evenly, “day shift has seen worse.”

Your smile wobbled through the tears. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it reached your cheek. “Yeah, baby.”

You looked up at him, wet-eyed and overwhelmed. “He thinks I’m a superhero.”

Jack’s face changed. Not a lot. Enough to make you cry harder. “He’s right.”

Your chin trembled. “Jack.”

“He is,” Jack said, voice low. “You protected him.”

A tear slipped hot down your cheek. “I scared him.”

“You helped him.”

The words landed so gently that they hurt. You made a broken little sound and tried to wipe your face with your good hand, but Jack caught your fingers before you could tug at the IV.

“I’ve got it.” He brushed another tear away with his thumb.

You sniffed. “I’m leaking a lot.”

His mouth softened. “I know.”

You exhaled. “I hate this drug.”

“No, you don’t.” He smiled gently.

You thought about it, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “I kind of love this drug.”

Robby nodded from the counter. “There she is.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Let her leak.”

Dana smiled gently. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, crisp and even, “I’m going to help support your arm while we get this situated.”

Your eyes opened the rest of the way. A smile pulled at your mouth immediately, even through the tears.

Jack looked down at you. “There it is.” You blinked at him. “What?”

He brushed one knuckle lightly along your jaw. “That smile.”

You looked toward Dana, pleased and hazy. “She called me Mrs. Abbot again.”

Dana did not look up from the sling. “That is your name.”

Robby pointed at her. “You’re doing it on purpose.” Dana kept her hands steady. “I am doing my job.”

“You are weaponizing legal marriage,” Robby said.

Dana fitted the strap carefully behind your neck. “I am supporting patient cooperation.”

You sighed happily. “It is working.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Clearly.”

Dana adjusted the sling around your injured arm. “This may pull a little.” Your smile vanished.

Jack saw it instantly. “Hey.”

“Nope,” you said.

His hand found your good one again. “Look at me.”

You frowned. “I already did that.”

“Do it again.”

You looked at him.

His eyes stayed steady on yours while Dana adjusted the last strap. There was a brief tug, a hot little spark of discomfort, and then your arm was held against you, supported and still.

You exhaled shakily. Jack’s thumb brushed once over your hand. “There you go.”

You swallowed. “I swore a lot.”

Jack’s mouth softened. “You were allowed.”

You leaned and whispered poorly. “In front of Dana.”

Dana stepped back from the sling. “I’ve heard worse, Mrs. Abbot.” Your smile came back immediately.

Jack glanced at Dana. “Therapeutic.”

Dana picked up the chart. “Accurate.”

Robby checked the sling with a quick glance, then nodded to Dana. “Looks good.”

Dana stepped back. “It’ll do until ortho tells her the same thing in a more expensive voice.”

Princess laughed under her breath. Santos rocked back on her heels.

“So she’s going home?” Santos asked.

Jack looked at Robby before Robby could answer, the same question reflected in his eyes

Robby lifted his brows. “You asking as her husband or as the night attending who has forgotten he is not on shift?”

Jack stared at him. “Husband.”

Robby smiled. “Good choice.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Robby.”

“We’ll watch her a bit after the follow-up films, make sure pain is controlled, then yes,” Robby said. “Home. Ice. Sling. Ortho follow-up. No lifting. No heroic catching of children for a while.”

You frowned at him. “That feels targeted.”

“It is,” Robby confirmed.

Your frown deepened. “Eli was falling.”

“And you caught him,” Robby said. “And now your shoulder is in a sling.”

You looked away. Jack’s voice softened. “You did good.”

You looked back up at him. “I broke myself.”

Jack shook his head. “You protected him.”

You pressed your lips together. “That sounds like something you say when I broke myself.”

Jack held your gaze. “It can be both.”

You considered him through the medication. “You’re very pretty when you’re reasonable.”

Robby made a wounded sound. “Not this again.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Thank you.”

Your smile went soft. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack lowered his head for half a second like he was gathering strength.

Dana picked up the chart. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Santos closed her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.

Princess turned toward the computer, shoulders shaking. Robby looked between Dana and the monitor.

“Therapeutic and preventative.”

Dana’s eyes flicked to him. “Exactly.”

Jack gave her a long look. “I don’t know whether to thank you or be concerned.”

“Both is usually safest,” Dana said.

A little while later, after the films confirmed what Robby already knew, after Princess brought discharge paperwork, after Santos was banished from asking any more questions about the wedding, the room finally thinned out.

Dana left with one last check of your sling and one more calm, devastating, “Take it easy, Mrs. Abbot.”

You smiled so hard your eyes closed.

Jack watched Dana go, then looked down at you. “She did that on purpose.”

You leaned into the pillow. “She likes me.”

“She likes making me suffer,” Jack said.

You nodded solemnly. “People contain multitudes.” Jack huffed a quiet laugh.

Robby came back with the discharge papers and a pen. “Okay,” he said. “Because apparently I am the only person in this room still committed to medicine.”

Jack was sitting beside your bed now, his sweatshirt back on but unzipped, one hand wrapped around yours. “You loved every second of this.”

Robby held up the paperwork. “I loved several medically relevant seconds of this.”

“You called me Magic Mike,” Jack said.

Robby nodded. “In a medically relevant context.”

“You threatened to chart targeted husband exposure,” Jack added.

“I still might,” Robby said.

Jack stared at him. Robby smiled. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Jack warned.

“I’ll save it for the group chat,” Robby said with a shrug.

Jack’s expression went blank. “There is no group chat.”

Robby looked at you. “He thinks there’s no group chat.”

You turned to Jack, horrified. “You think there’s no group chat?”

Jack looked between you and Robby. “I hate this family.”

Your smile went dreamy. “You said family.”

Robby’s expression softened before he covered it with a cough.

Jack looked down at your joined hands. “I did.”

The air warmed around that. For one second, nobody ruined it.

Then Robby clicked the pen. “Anyway,” he said. “Sling stays on. Ice twenty minutes at a time. Pain meds as prescribed, not as creatively interpreted by the patient. Ortho follow-up within the week. No work until cleared.”

You opened your eyes. “No work?” Jack’s hand tightened.

Robby looked at you. “No work.”

“But peds is short,” you replied.

“Peds will survive,” Robby said.

You frowned. “You don’t know that.”

Robby leaned closer, his sarcasm gone soft around the edges. “I know you cannot care for children with a freshly reduced shoulder.”

You looked at Jack for backup. Jack shook his head. “No.”

“You didn’t even let me ask,” you said, brows furrowed.

Jack just gave you a look. “I know where you were going.”

“You always know where I’m going,” you sighed.

Jack shrugged. “Usually because it’s somewhere you shouldn’t.” Robby nodded. “Marriage.”

You sighed again and let your head fall back against the pillow. “This is oppressive.”

“This is discharge planning,” Robby said.

“Oppressive discharge planning,” you mumbled.

Jack stood slowly, keeping hold of your hand. You looked up at him. “We’re leaving?”

He nodded. “Soon.”

“Are you taking me home?” you asked, hopefully.

His expression softened. “Yeah, baby.”

Your whole face relaxed. “Good. I want that one.”

Robby pressed the paperwork to his chest. “She’s still doing it.”

Jack took the papers from him. “She’s on medication.”

He folded the paperwork and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Robby watched him for a moment, the humor easing out of his face. “You good to get her home?”

Jack looked at you. You were blinking slowly, exhausted now, the adrenaline finally draining out of your body.

His voice gentled. “Yeah.”

Robby nodded. “Call me if anything changes.”

Jack met his eyes. “I will.”

The two men looked at each other for half a second longer than the words required.

You noticed even through the fog. “You two are having feelings.”

Robby looked down at you. “We are absolutely not.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “No feelings.”

“Lies,” you murmured.

Robby pointed at you. “Pain meds have made her too powerful.”

Jack helped you sit up carefully. The room tilted as soon as you moved. You made a small sound and grabbed for him with your good hand.

He was already there. One arm came around your waist, careful not to jostle the sling, his body solid beside yours. “I’ve got you.”

You leaned into him. “I know.”

That seemed to hit him somewhere. His hand spread warm at your side. Robby stepped closer, but Jack had you steady.

“Slow,” Jack said.

“I am slow,” you grumbled.

The room tilted. You caught Jack’s shirt with your good hand, and his arm came around your waist before you could wobble any farther.

His mouth twitched. “That’s why I said go slow.”

You rolled your eyes. “Smartass.”

Robby nodded from beside the bed. “Fair assessment.” Jack shot him a look.

“Supportive environment,” Robby said.

Jack eased you carefully off the bed. Your knees felt uncertain, and the room stayed too bright, but his arm held you steady.

Dana reappeared at the curtain like she had sensed movement. “You good?”

Jack nodded. “I’ve got her.”

Dana looked at you. “Mrs. Abbot?”

Your smile came back, sleepy and immediate.

“I’m good.”

Dana’s mouth barely moved. “Clearly.”

Robby narrowed his eyes at her. “You did it again.”

Dana checked the hallway. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do.”

Jack adjusted his hold at your waist. “Can we leave before anyone learns anything else about my wedding?”

Princess, still at the computer, lifted one finger. “I have follow-up questions.”

“No,” Jack said.

Santos leaned against the counter. “I have several.”

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Robby grinned. “I have photos.”

Jack went still. You gasped softly. “You have photos?”

Robby’s grin widened. “And videos.”

Jack pointed at him. “Delete them.”

“Never,” Robby responded immediately.

“You have videos of the dance?” you asked, unable to contain your excitement.

Robby gave you a look. “You think I would witness neurological history and not document it?”

Your eyes went glassy again. “Can you send them to me?”

Jack looked down at you. “Baby.”

“What? I was there. I should have them,” you defended yourself.

Robby tapped his phone. “Already sent.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Your phone buzzed somewhere in the plastic belongings bag.

You looked up at Jack, delighted. “Brain chemistry.”

Dana held up one hand before Santos could speak. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Santos sighed. “I didn’t even say it.”

Dana looked at her. “You thought loudly.”

Jack shook his head and started guiding you toward the hallway. “We’re going home.”

You leaned into him, warm and sore and still floating enough that the ED lights looked like stars smeared across glass. “Home with you?”

Jack glanced down. His face softened. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “I picked good.”

This time, there were no monitors beeping too loud, no hands at your shoulder, no room full of witnesses waiting for the next outrageous thing you might say.

Just Jack’s hand at your waist, his body steady beside yours, his voice low near your ear.

“So did I.”

Abbot rolls his eyes as he halfheartedly listens to Shen. The med students don't seem all that amused either as they look at one another with out a care in the world, waiting to clock out of their shift. Rounds end after Shen's ghost story and night shift is on duty.

The night goes on without a hitch. Nothing too extreme happens and Abbot continues working throughout the night working at the hub for his students' convenience. That is until he sees one of Trauma One Room's doors open. He leans back to see a woman in a patient gown just standing there idly. She circles around the gurney that is in there before stepping out into the hall.

Abbot looks around and sees that nobody else is paying the patient any mind. Maybe a docile psych patient waiting for a bed. He checks his watch: 3 o'clock. He checks the status board but doesn't see any patients matching her treatment. They should be in beds waiting instead of walking around. He peaks around the wall to watch her continue to walk but she seems to have disappeared when he was looking. With his brows furrowed, he looks around again to see that still nobody saw the woman like he did.

He shrugs it off as possible sleep deprived hallucinations. He goes through charts a little more then sees the woman again. She walks right behind him and he feels a cold chill pass as she does. She stops at the ambulance bay doors and stares out into the darkness. Ellis comes up beside Abbot to present a case for him. She notices him not paying attention but when she looks in the direction he is, she sees nothing. "You okay, Dr. Abbot?"

"Yes," He snaps his head around, "What is it?"

As Ellis explains the case, Abbot's eyes wander back to the doors. The woman is gone. He shoots around to see she is back in Trauma One. He reverts his gaze back to the tablet then follows Ellis to her patient.

When he is walking back to the hub he looks into Trauma One but doesn't see the woman anymore. He goes to Charge Nurse Lena, "Do we have a psych patient down here waiting for a bed?"

"If it's not on the status board then its a 'no,' babes." She looks up for a second then goes back to the computer, "I don't see anything so I don't think so." He simply nods and continues about his shift.

The next night, she returns. This time Abbot is walking back from triage and sees her looking at the toaster over and coffee maker in the corner. He furrows his brows in confusion as he watches her. She stays completely still before turning on her heals and continuing down the corridor. Back to Trauma One, he thinks. Who was she? He racks his brain for a patient that looks liked her but nothing comes to mind. As he follows behind her, he sees her stop in front of the hub looking at the status board. Patients don't usually pay any mind to the screens. It doesn't make sense to the common man.

She looks both ways before walking to Trauma One just like he thought. Shen stands in the way of his line of sight at the counter. Abbot walks closer to get a better look but once again the woman is gone.

Time and time again this continues, the clock strikes 3 o'clock in the morning and the woman appears. She wanders the halls for the hour and by 4 o'clock she is back in Trauma One and gone for the night. Abbot did not want to tell anybody about what he saw but of course he did mention it to his therapist. If it was some kind of hallucination he wanted it fixed.

"Has she spoken to you?" His therapist asks.

"No, she doesn't talk." He sighs, "She just wanders around."

"But she comes and goes from your line of sight?" He scribbles down some notes, "Like she's on a track?"

"Yes, exactly. I don't have time to keep an eye on her but she's around."

"Have you tried touching her or acknowledging her?" He clears his throat, "This doesn't seem like an ordinary hallucination, Jack. It may not even be one. This woman seems to know her way around the ED, maybe even belongs there. From my understanding, some form of psych care especially for hospitals is to let them wander as long as there is no obstruction. Is it possible for her to have been a nurse or doctor?"

"She's wearing a patient gown and no shoes." Jack reminds him.

"Right of course. I don't want to push you out of your comfort zone and I wouldn't usually recommend this course of treatment but next time you see her, try to touch her; or at least speak to her. See if the pattern breaks. I think this will give us more insight and a better course of action if there needs to be treatment."

Abbot was nervous. He didn't really want to touch the woman. What if she was a ghost and attached herself to him? He squeezes his eyes shut trying to push the thought away. Ghosts are not real. If they were, he would be haunted by worse a long time ago.

At The Pitt, 3 am rolls around and just as Abbot checks his watch, paramedics enter with a patient on a gurney headed to Trauma One. "Harvey Thomas, 45, male. Car accident, found out the scene most likely ejected from his car. He was combative on the scene, we were only able to put on the C-collar and place him on the backboard. Vitals are 100/40 ,Respiratory Rate 28, Heart rate is 110"

Dr. Abbot follows after them, "He doesn't seem too combative now." He rubs his knuckles against Harvey's sternum but gets very little reaction. His eyes can barely open and is making small gurgling noises.Jack Abbot opens his mouth about speak.

"He needs to be intubated." That's what he was going to say. He looks over his shoulder at the woman. She is there beside him watching the professionals work around the patient. Who are you? He thinks before focusing on the patient again. "Ellis get ready to intubate." A nurse follows Ellis and remove the C-collar to stabilize his neck and head for the tube.

"His respiratory rate is increasing. There is pressure building in his chest." The woman speaks again. Abbot looks at the vitals. She was right. Was she a doctor here?

"He's going to need needle decompression and a chest tube. Pressure is building in his chest since he can't breathe on his own."

As they continue working the woman murmurs again, "His left foot is fractured, his ankle is turning blue." Abbot, looks down to see the discoloration. He pulls off the shoes and checks for a reaction, nothing. "Can I get a splint for this to alleviate the pressure."

"X-ray, CT. Several broken ribs. Pneumothorax. No head trauma. No pelvic injury." She speaks. She's going through the steps in her head but she can see everything without the machines. The portable X-ray comes in and the specialist repeats some of the same things the woman just did.

Once the patient his stabilized they send him up for his CT and get an OR prepped. Everyone takes off their gowns and clean up the sharps for the cleaning crew. All but Abbot leaves. He stays and stares as the woman watches the patient go to through the elevator. She blinks out of her daze and turns to see Abbot staring at her. Their eyes meet but the woman looks at him confused. She looks over shoulder then back at him. "Can you see me?"

You haven't been seen since… well ever. You were starting to feel hollow. You'd wake up at 3 o'clock in the hospital bed everyday. You'd watch the patients, the nurses, and the doctors all come and go. It was all noise to you. Not enough energy to care or desire to do anything but walk around.

You see yourself in the reflection of mirrors and glass but see a face you didn't recognize. For years since being trapped in this emergency room you had no idea who you were. What you were doing there. Or what your name was. At first you did try to get peoples attention. Anybody who would answer or look you in the eye. But it didn't take long for you to feel defeated in your attempts.

You chose to wander the halls instead. Everyday for eternity you would force yourself to walk around until you exhausted yourself. Which didn't take long these days. You felt so hollow. The only time you ever felt excitement was when a Trauma was happening when you were awake. It was rare but when it happened you'd get this random knowledge— which you had no idea where it came from— about it. It was like you were a doctor like the ones in the room with you. Your eyes would glaze over and you could see the patients bones, their muscle tissue, and the organs. You felt important without being able to do anything really to help.

Now, this doctor, the night attending was staring at you as you stand in the room. "Can you see me?" You point to yourself. You take a step closer but he takes a step back. "You can. You can see me." You laugh and jump around in delight. "You can see me! You can see me!" You turn back towards him and see he has left the room. You quickly follow after him, "Wait! Wait please!" He quickly hides in the men's restroom in a stall to catch his breath. You enter having no bounds to societal standards anymore. "I know you're in there."

"I'll respect your privacy but can you at least acknowledge that you can see me? Hear me?" You tap on the stall door. Abbot holds his head. This couldn't be happening. You were phasing through people in the hall. You could see things no one else could. He takes a deep breath. "Look I know it's scary but imagine how I feel. I've been dead for… I don't actually know how long. The years seem to blend together now. But I've been all alone until now. Please. You're— shit um— You're Jack Abbot, right? The attending physician for night shift? You lead the charge. I'm— fuck— I don't actually know my name. You can call me whatever you want but please tell me you can see me. Please."

The door swings open startling you. He's staring at you at again. "I see you." He says. He steps forward and analyzes you. You shrink a little under his gaze, "Why have I never seen you until now?"

"I don't know. I don't know how any of this works." You shrug, "But I'm happy you can see me. Maybe you can help me!"

"Help you?" He brushes past you and goes to the sink to wash his hands.

"I can't leave this place. The farthest I've ever gone is the waiting room. I can't use computers or possess stuff like in movies. But maybe you can help me find information about me?"

"I can't be very helpful if you don't even know your name." He clicks his tongue and walks out of the bathroom.

"But you can help! You have access to patient records and stuff like that, right?" You follow close behind but he doesn't answer. He stops at the hub to type up the patient report for the trauma. "Don't you want to know how I know all that in the trauma back there? I do. Who was I? Why am I stuck here? Why can't I remember?" Tears well up in your eyes as you sniffle. The lights begin to flicker. "Shit." You feel a shortness of breath. "I have to go." You stumble back to Trauma One. A new bed in its place. You lay down and this time Abbot watches as you fade into the fabric. He checks his watch: 3:55 am; 5 minutes before you usually disappear.

"She spoke to you?" Back in his therapist's office. He sits on the couch staring off in the window as his therapist sits across from his taking notes in his leather bound book. "She seems to know how to work in an ED."

"But I don't recognize her. She's not a resident or a med student I've seen working in The Pitt." Abbot rubs his hands together. "She's young though. Or she appears young? I don't know how any of this works. I feel ridiculous."

"It's okay to feel that way, Jack. What you are experiencing is… unnatural but your state of mind suggests you are not experiencing any other forms of hallucinations. She is interacting with the world not your mind. She respected your privacy by not entering the stall but still entered the men's bathroom. There is no suggestion of distortion or reality breaking. Just a metaphysical distraction. She's begging you for help but struggles to remember her own name. It all seems too elaborate."

"So, I'm not losing my mind?"

"No, you're not, Jack." His therapist takes a deep inhale through his nose, "Whatever is happening is deeply affecting you and I think the best course of action is to continue the way you have. I see no harm in what you have been doing and as long as you feel like it is not harming your mental state, you should be okay. But if you ever feel the need, I am just a call away." He assures.

3AM rolls around and you appear again. You've broken your pattern. You sit on the counter beside Abbot as he works. "Do you like working here?" You ask, "Blink twice for yes." He glares at you. You look away quickly, unnerved by his gaze. "Okay, some other time." You look up at the status board and let out a puff of air between your lips. "You should check on the pregnant asthma patient in North 5. She's probably finished her two nebulizers by now." You check your wrist as if you had a watch on.

Abbot narrows his eyes at the status board. You were right, she's been here close to an hour and was ordered 2 nebulizers but her status hasn't changed since. He grabs a chart and rushes to the room to find the woman still having a hard time breathing. He calls in a couple nurses, "Give her 75mg of methylpred and prep a BiPAP machine in here." He puts his stethoscope up to her chest to give a listen. Her breath was laborious and her lungs were squeezing for air.

The BiPAP machine is brought in and Abbot immediately alters the settings and puts it on the woman. "Let's call our OB down here to check on your baby and we'll call the ICU for a room for close monitoring." He explains to the woman. As he walks out of the room, you stand by the curtain with a smile on your face. "I was right."

He walks the opposite direction towards triage. "C'mon gimme the win here. We saved her life. Any longer and she and her baby would have been in serious danger." He enters the family bathroom and slams the door behind him. You stop short of the door for a moment before speaking, "Knock, knock?"

"Come in." He's quiet but you are close enough to hear him through the door. You phase through cautiously and smile at him. He walks past you to lock the door. "I don't like speaking to you out there when I am the only one who can see you." He paces around.

"You're talking to me. That's better than nothing!" You grin harder, the fluorescent lights seeming to glow brighter in the room.

"Calm down, or you'll get tired." He says sternly, "Don't you notice when you do that?"

"No, I do… It's been a long time since I've done it," You pick at your nails, "when it was dreary down here and I started to get… sad."

"You've been here a long time then." He sucks in a breath, "You caught that without even seeing the patient. How?"

You shrug, "I was just paying attention. I heard your intern present the case to you. I have nothing better to do so I am always looking at the status board."

"Were you a resident here?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about myself." You look down at your gown, "I'm clearly a patient with these on…"

"Did you just learn from observing?" He looks a little surprised. An hour isn't really long enough to learn a lot of medicine. Especially with the acceleration of technology in medicine and the world as a whole in the past 2 decades alone.

"I always knew. I would blurt out answers and stuff when I could stick around longer. Before I gave up." You shuffle your feet then smile again, "That's not helpful. I'm sorry. I wish I could remember, maybe then I could leave."

"You've tried?"

"Yes, a few times. On a gurney, through the ambo bay, the coroner's, through the waiting room. I can't even step onto the elevator." You sigh, "Maybe you could um… look though, on a database?"

"Do you know how you died?" He asks. You shake your head. "Then it's going to take a very long and I have to still do my job as an attending."

You sigh, "What's a few more years of waiting? I'm just happy to be seen and heard. Thank you, Dr. Abbot."

Although he seemed reserved about you and slightly distrustful, he was also entertaining you. He gave you the space to talk. He didn't say much in response but he was glaring at you like he once was when you first met. You helped him keep an eye on his students and their patients like a ghostly babysitter. He was still hesitant to answer but he had no reason not to believe you.

However, you were using a lot of energy and towards the end of the hour, like a zombie, you slogged your way to Trauma One. Abbot checks his watch: 3:56. To do what the machines could, you were using a lot of energy and given less time to stay the full hour you usually do. He watches you fade away into the bed like usual.

"She's helping you." His therapist smiles, "And being medically accurate. This is incredible."

"I mean, she could still be in my head. It's stuff I know how to do."

"But without machines, she is seeing things you can't. You're not Superman but she seems to have his x-ray vision. An apparition version of him, if you will."

"You're really entertaining this?"

"Not entertaining, Jack. You are provided me the information and I am basing my assessment of the situation on those facts. So, unless you're withholding a truth here than I think what you're dealing with is a real ghost."

"A ghost…"

"There have been sightings at hospitals all around the country. It wouldn't be uncommon that the PTMC would be one of these hospitals as well." He shrugs, "There's nothing in the DSM-5 that could help us about your ghost situation. The best I can do is assure you that you're not out of sound mind and what you're doing is not a bad thing. Help her, Jack. She's already been helping you."

"Boo!" You pop up beside Jack at the north side nurse's station. He actually looks surprised to see you as it was 15 minutes before 3am. "Surprised huh? I couldn't sleep so I decided to wake up early."

"So you choose." He mumbles.

"I do. 3 AM is the witching hour, right? Things get kind of crazy so I wake up to see the excitement. It used to be like that back then but now it's gotten calmer."

"Why don't you wake up during the day?"

"What kind of ghost haunts during the day?" You laugh, "Day shift is too crowded anyway. One hour of that would give me a headache."

He laughs a little. The first time he's smiled at you. You smile back, "I think you actually like me around, Dr. Abbot."

"I don't need more knuckleheads bothering me."

"But I just got here?" An intern purses his lips as he stands beside you at the station with a chart in his hands.

"Sorry, I was talking about— Whatcha got?" Abbot hangs his head in defeat before giving the intern his full attention. You giggle before also turning your attention to the intern.

Later, Abbot notices that you're still around the ED. It's a little past 4 and you were still lingering. You catch his eyes on you and you tilt your head. He beckons you to follow him. You oblige cutting across the hub and several nurses and following him to the family bathroom.

Once inside he speaks, "You staying longer."

"Well, I'm happier now. Not so alone. I have a lot more energy." You bite your lip, "Something to look forward to."

"But I haven't even started looking for you."

You wave your hand, "It's fine. I'm happy with just this. You talking to me; hearing me. You didn't have to do that. Back when that guy came in from the car accident, you looked at me. For the first time ever, someone actually looked at me. Not through me or past me. You looked me in my eyes. I want to feel that every day."

Abbot feels an itch in his throat as he watches you smile at the ground. You were real. He's seen patients act the same way after finally getting their pain relieved and their conditions diagnosed. Finally being advocated for and looked after.

"Sorry,I know that sounds so silly." You kick your foot up.

"It's fine." He smiles warmly in return, "I'm going to help any way I can."

"Thank you, Dr. Abbot." You bow your head, "I have a few patients I want to check on before bed." You pass through the door. Abbot leaves moments later and watches you skip down the hall. He heads to the closest computer and begins his search on who you are.

You leave at around 5 AM this time around. Abbot is impressed with how long you could withstand it. 2 hours later, before he does rounds, he stands next to Robby and leans in, "Do you remember a resident that may have passed away here?"

Robby raises his eyebrows in surprise, "Uh no, I think I would know something about that if that happened, why?"

"No reason, a patient mentioned it. I didn't know if it were true or not." He shrugs.

"You don't seem to be the type to believe rumors."

"Just a question." He purses his lips.

"I think I remember this guy." You appear over Robby's broad shoulder examining his face. Abbot tries to control his emotions on his face as he witnesses you awake during the day. "Maybe? 'Michael Robinavitch.' No, not ringing any bells." You pout then look at Abbot and smile, "I like surprising you. Your face is priceless."

"Something wrong, Abbot?" Robby looks at him expectantly.

Abbot shakes his head, "Nothing. Just a long night. Better get home and get some sleep."

You nod, "Good night— er, good morning, Dr. Abbot." You wave as he walks out of the ED.

At home, Abbot continues his research. If you weren't a resident that worked at The Pitt, surely you were from somewhere else. He tries to google you. 'Young doctor passes away…' 'PTMC, Resident, dies, 20s…' 'Pittsburgh doctor passes away…' There were no hits sounding remotely like you. No pictures of you, no articles or anything. Which could mean you were a resident in the 90s when he was. That narrowed it down more. You mentioned it being dreary, a time when floors and ceilings were all the same color. Which meant you were probably as old as he was now, wandering The Pitt. It also meant you've spent about 30 years in the PTMC and most of that time you spent walking circles and sleeping in Trauma One.

"Do you see other ghosts?" He asks in the bathroom. You shake your head.

"Not in the time I've been here." You scratch your head, "30 years? It's really been that long?"

"It's my theory. I mean this place hasn't been renovated in a long time so not much has changed except for more screens."

"I guess I never noticed. I mean, I did but I didn't care. Things were changing but I was still a nobody, so why should I care?" You sit on the floor, "Did you learn anything else?"

He shakes his head, "But I am confident you are a doctor. You're too good at what you do now. You can read x-rays well and you're level headed in traumas. Even if you aren't physically here you still have a good head on your shoulders."

"Thanks." You smile, "I would have loved to hear that when I was alive." He blinks in surprise. Your brows furrow and your smile falters. "I… I don't know why I said that. It felt right to. That means something right?"

He nods, "We'll figure it out. Together."

"A resident from the 90s who died at the PTMC." Once again back at his therapist's office. He's pacing the room. "It's interesting that her subconscious revealed more about her. Your praise seemed to have stirred up some lost emotions."

"I can't shake the way she said it. Her face, her eyes were so distant and tired. I've seen it plenty of times."

"From other healthcare workers?"

"From vets too. The look of pure exhaustion; resignation."

"You're worried about her. Or what happened to her?"

"It might be a case of… that. And if it is, is she ready to face that fact?"

"Are you more afraid of her facing that fact or you?"

Abbot stays silent. The thought that you and him were once at the same level at the same time. That you could met once by chance during your time as residents. Or in the future, you could be by his side physically helping in traumas.

"Food for thought, Jack. You don't have to answer." His therapist adjusts himself in his seat, "This has taken up majority of your visits. Is there anything else you would like to talk about?"

Abbot sits back down to continue the session.

At work, he comes in to do rounds with Robby and do the hand-offs with the day shift crew. As they go through the rooms and the residents speak about the patients, he notices you standing behind everyone else in the group. Something about you was different. His eyebrows quirk together for a split second before he averts his gaze again. When rounds are over and the group disperses, he notices that you were no longer wearing a patient gown. You were wearing black scrubs like a doctor would. "You've changed clothes." He says.

You look down at the uniform and smile, "I woke up with them on! Nothing helpful came with it like a name tag though but I think we're getting close to solving the mystery."

"You seem happy."

"It's different is all." You wave it off, "I've got work to do." You walk away.

You were in a new pattern. One Abbot wasn't sure he liked. You had fallen into the rhythm of an alive doctor. You presented cases to him as if they weren't already presented by somebody else. You were using your powers more often and pretended to actually do charting but what it actually was, was you looking over the shoulder the true doctor on the case. You began to get frustrated with yourself when you tried to intervene in traumas. It was like you were forgetting you were a ghost.

It's not until you actually begin to affect the work of the real doctors that he says anything. It was close to midnight now and you were getting weary. He notices you standing in place staring at Trauma One. Your eyes roll back and the status board screens begin to pixelate and distort. Everyone stares confused at the confused except for Abbot, who watches you sway forwards and backwards. He takes a deep breath before walking through you.

You snap out of your daze and take a gasp of air like you were drowning. You look around to see everyone talking about the weird occurrence. Abbot stands in Trauma One before walking towards your meeting place in the bathroom.

"What was that?" He folds his arms

"I don't know." You shrink under his gaze.

"I think you should rest for the day. You've been up for hours, using your powers."

"No! I can do it! Please don't bench me!" You fall to your knees.

Abbot looks at you in shock, "Look at yourself. Look what you're doing to yourself. This isn't healthy."

"But I want to be a doctor! I get to be a doctor again!" Tears stream down your face and the lights flicker and dim, "I miss being a doctor!"

"Hey, you are a doctor." He kneels down beside you, "You are still a doctor." He wishes he could comfort you. Rest his hand on your shoulder or pull you in for a hug. Instead he sits beside you as you cry.

"I feel it. This emptiness in my heart. Something is missing and being here isn't enough. I need to work, I need to help people. I need to be a good doctor." You weep, "Why couldn't I have more time? How did I run out of time?"

Abbot sees your grief and swallows the tightness in his throat. His lip quivers as he holds out his hand, "We'll figure it out, okay?" You look down at his hand then up at his face. You place you hand in his. He feels your cool skin against his. There was no weight to it but he could feel the pinpricks of skin connecting in certain areas. The only way you two could truly touch. "Rest. You need to rest." He whispers, "Please, just rest for now. I'll take care of it, okay?"

"Let me watch. Let me watch the rest of shift." You whisper back. "I won't use my powers or say anything. I just want to finish a shift. Just one shift."

"Stay by my side the entire time." He looks you in your eyes. You nod in response before getting up. He follows suit, using a railing to help himself up. You follow him out of the bathroom and just like he asked you stayed by his side the rest of the night.

Before morning arrives, Abbot tries to search online for you. You sit on the desk beside the computer and watch him. He scrolls through the endless death certificates and find nothing notable. "Back to square one." He sighs.

"Why square one?" You look at the screen.

"I thought I knew how you died but now I don't think that is right."

"How?" You look at him hopefully.

He looks back at you regretfully.

"Oh," Your face falls, "But now you don't think so?"

He shakes his head, "No. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. For most of the time I've been here I thought so too. I thought this was my hell." You sigh. "Everyone kept calling it The Pitt."

He chuckles, "It's not so bad now, huh?"

You shake your head, "No it's not."

Day shift arrives and Abbot watches you disappear for the day. He leaves the building still feeling the pit of sadness from earlier. The misery on your face as you begged to work. Had it been something you've done in your past life too? He goes home and sits in darkness on his computer to find more answers online.

He spends hours looking but without much to go on he couldn't help. With every search was the articles upon articles of burnout in healthcare workers rising. Maybe you walked away in the middle of a shift? Got hurt and was sent to The Pitt. There weren't many other teaching hospitals in the Pittsburgh metropolitan area that have emergency rooms. Maybe Westbridge? Or St. Bernadette? Maybe farther.

He thinks back to you in the bathroom. The feeling of your hand on his. It feel like cold water resting in his hand. He wishes he could have engulfed his hand over yours. He thinks about what you'd be like as an attending. How you would react with the staff. How nice if you were able to. A small smile creeps on his face.

"It sounds like you like her." He was starting to think he was living at his therapist's office with how often he was visiting. Not that his therapist minded, anything to line his pockets, he figures. "Is this a possibility as why you've been a little slow on solving her mystery?"

"No."

"Sure," He doesn't push, "Well, based on her behavior it doesn't exactly sound like burnout… She maybe on the younger side. An intern maybe?"

"Year 2 or more." Abbot corrects, "I don't know if it's because of what she already knows or what she learned in The Pitt but she's not like an intern. Her pattern changed."

"She graduated." His therapist suggests, "Her time with you is making her evolve. Return to her former state. From a patient, an intern, a senior resident, then what?"

"Her memories completely return." Abbot blinks. "She gets to walk out of the ED."

"There's a chance she may not come back. Are you willing to let go?"

"I promised to help her."

"But does that mean you'll let her go when the time comes? Food for thought."

Abbot stares blankly at the tablet in his hands, he's mindlessly requesting the labs for a particular patient still thinking about what his therapist's question. When the time came would he be able to let you go? He finishes and sets the tablet on the desk for an intern to take back.

Over his shoulder he sees you behind the hub watching the staff walk by. He watches you look around before locking eyes. You smile at him and give a wave before walking around the wall out of his eye sight. His brows furrow before he diverts his attention elsewhere to give you space.

The two of you don't interact much during shift. Abbot's heart aches a little. Is this what not having you around will be like? He hardly saw you and he missed you. He's lost in thought at the nurse's station when he feels your presence next to him.

"I wanted to apologize about the other day, when I got upset." You chew you inner cheek, "I was overwhelmed and I was out of my mind."

He nods.

"I felt your hand under mine." You place your hand next to his. "It was warm. You make me feel so human that I forget what I can and can't do. I don't know if its a good thing or not. But like I said when we met, I'm just happy that someone can acknowledge me." He looks at you and smiles. He turns over his hand holding it palm up. Delicately, you runs your fingertips over his palm. It tickles his skin like cool water running over his palm. You trace the lines of his hand and up each of his fingers. You were surprised he was letting you do this.

"Hey, Abbot." Shen calls from down the hall. He closes his hand and looks down in surprise when he catches your fingers. You yank your fingers away startled. Both of you look to each other in surprise before Abbot looks back at Shen, "One second." He turns back around to see you missing. His brows knit together then he turns to Shen, "Never mind, what do you need?"

He's only half listening to what Shen is saying. The feeling of your fingers in his hand tingles. Like a buzz of electricity on his skin. When Shen walks away, he goes to look for you. He walks around the department until he sees you standing in front of one of the North curtain rooms. You stare into the room with your brows knit together in concern and a look of distraught.

Slowly, he approaches your side and look into the room. It is an older gentleman laying the bed with small reading glasses. He was reading the newspaper as he waited to be seen. He looks the two of you, "You know him?"

"I feel like I do." You shake your head, "He looks so familiar."

He grabs a tablet and pulls up the man's chart. "He's a doctor. Doctor Charon coming in for a check up after a fall. I'll find out more." He goes into the room. "I'm Dr. Abbot the attending physician for the night."

Dr. Charon chuckles, "Oh, I get the attending tonight, lucky me. Dr. Maury Charon. I'm retired now but I was doing Emergency Medicine for about 40 years. I taught at St. Bernadette for 30 years."

"That's impressive." He smiles, "Well, I actually have a question for you. It's a long shot but I had a friend who may have worked there in the 90s. We lost touch and she passed away when she was working there as a resident."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He purses his lips as he thinks to himself then he smiles, "Only one resident comes to mind. She was a bright young woman and had a lot of potential. She worked the day shift. She was resilient and had so much care for her patients. She left an impression on everyone she encountered, nurses, doctors, and patients. An all around hard worker." Abbot smiles as he listens and notices that you had stepped closer into the room, now beside him.

Dr. Charon's smile faded, "It was a shame what happened; It was a cold January and she was half way through her 3rd year of her residency in Emergency Medicine. She was going home from work. They say she fainted at the bus stop waiting. The snow was pretty bad so it took a while for an ambulance to arrive. They brought her here to save her. A brain aneurysm ruptured in her head. She always complained of minor headaches, a few dizzy spells but she chalked it up to menstruation. For weeks, she was suffering and had no idea. It was possible that due to the stress of her residency, it weakened her blood vessels causing the aneurysm and subsequently the rupture." Dr. Charon snaps out his daze, "Her name was (Y/N) (Y/L/N.) I think about her often. How talented she was. I don't give the compliment generously but she was a remarkable doctor."

Abbot's face softens and gives a small smile, "Thank you for telling me about her. I'm sure she knows how missed she is." He looks over at you. Your patient gown has returned and your nose was bleeding from both nostrils. "Sorry, please give me a moment. I'll have one of my senior residents come in and help you get out of here."

"Take your time, Dr. Abbot. I get emotional too sometimes." He nods.

Abbot grabs your hand covertly, a firm grasp that sends shock waves through your body. He's touching you, holding you. He pulls you into the bathroom and hugs you tightly. You don't move as you see yourself in the reflection of the mirror. "It was an aneurysm. I died from a brain bleed I didn't even know I had." You croak out the words, "I didn't even have a chance."

"I know, it's okay. You're okay." He rubs your back. Just when he's getting used the physical sensation of you in his arms, you phase through.

"I remember." Your breath is labored, "I saw myself on that gurney as they operated on me. I watched them drill a hole in my head in hopes to stop the bleeding. There was too much blood and I had a brain hemorrhage. I begged to stay. I wanted to live but I never stood a chance." You hug yourself, "I was already fading. How else would I have been able to be out of my body? I never had a chance to be anything."

"But did you hear what Dr. Charon said? You were incredible. You left a long lasting impression at St. Bernadette—"

"I'm not at St. Bernadette! I'm here, where nobody knows me. Nobody sees me."

"I see you." He grabs your hand. "I see the wonderful doctor you are. I feel you now too and I don't want to let go."

You look down at your hands and up at him, "You don't?"

"Never." He pulls you back into a hug. He rubs your back gently and feels the patient gown morph and change on your body. When he pulls away, your face is clean of the blood and you're wearing your scrubs again. This time a badge rests on your chest with your name and picture on it. It's a PTMC badge. "Look at that." He smiles.

"I guess this tiger earned her stripes." You smile back, "Thank you for being there for me, Abbot." You hands move down over his arms. He leans his head closer to yours.

"Of course. I couldn't ignore you forever." He whispers, "You were a beautiful ghost haunting the halls. I had to know more."

"Now, you do." You whisper back. You were centimeters apart now. You hesitate for moment before pressing your lips against his. You grip on his arms tighten as he holds you closer to him. He deepens the kiss pushing you against the wall. You moan against his lips letting his tongue enter your mouth. His hands move south to you hips and gives them a squeeze. When you pull apart, you're out of breath. You can feel his breath on your face. You move your hands to the sides of his face. You rub your thumb against his bottom lip. You feel the scruff on his face. He grabs your wrist and kisses the palm of your hand.

The rest of shift there is an intense air surrounding Abbot after he leaves the bathroom. He's antsy. Constantly looking over his shoulder, at something; at you. You had to stop your intense make out in the bathroom. You were controlling the lights and the sink started to make a croaking noise. He couldn't keep his hands off of you either. They would roam your body over every curve like he was trying to memorize your personal anatomy. His lips were on any exposed skin you had. Your hands, your lips, and your neck. Too bad he couldn't leave any marks. You push him away, "We have to stop. You have to go back out there." You vanished through the wall forcing him to also leave the bathroom.

"Hey are you okay?" Shen asks, "You've been acting weird today."

"Just hoping shift will go by a little faster." He mutters. He sticks his tongue into the corner of his lips. "It's been a long day." Shen pats his back and walks away.

You sit in Trauma One but you don't feel the need to rest. It usually comes quickly. Lay down and fade until the next night. You were tired but sitting on the bed brought you no comfort like the many nights before. You sit up and see Abbot still watching you. He fully turns his head giving you a look of confusion. What was the matter?

You walk over to him and whisper, "I can't sleep. I can't fade like I used to." He quirks his lips to think.

"Maybe you can leave now." He suggests. You look at the bay doors and purse your lips. "When shift ends we can try it."

It feels like a full eternity before the shift ends. You spend most of it pacing the doors. The last time you tried to leave you felt a searing heat and saw a flash of light blinded you before you found yourself back in Trauma One. Same for the front door to the ER.

Day shift arrives and the two teams do their usual rounds before night shift leaves for the day. Abbot grabs his bag and slowly walks to the door, his hand is in his pockets. You walk beside you and hook you arm around his elbow. "Ready?" He asks. You nods and together you walk through the threshold. You close your eyes expecting to feel the burning pain and bright light but instead you're still moving, away from the hospital.

"I'm out!" You pull on Abbot's arm and jump around, "I'm out of The Pitt! I'm free!" You let go of him and start to running around. He chuckles as he watches you practically bouncing around the parking lot. You walk ahead of him with a big smile on your face, "I can go anywhere I want now!"

He stops walking. He's made it to his car. "Will you?"

You turn back to him and see the sad expression on his face. You walk back to him and grab his hand, "I will."

He looks down at the ground.

"And I want to go where you go." You place your hand on his face.

His cheeks get a little red and he's squeezing you hand. You give him a peck on the lips, "I want to haunt you for eternity. If you're okay with that."

"I'm more than okay with it." He pulls you between the cars and hugs you tightly.

Epilogue:

Morning shift arrives for hand-off and Robby stands with Abbot when he notices a doctor he's never seen before walking around rather leisurely. Over his glasses, he watches he breeze past everyone effortlessly before standing in front of Abbot. "Can we sit by the river today?"

Robby frowns at her audacity to try and interrupt their conversation. He looks at Abbot who doesn't bat an eye and continues to talking. "Oh and then can we please go to the bakery so I can smell the donuts?" Smell donuts. Who was this chick?

"Excuse me, but the attendings are having a private conversation right now." He says sternly.

Abbot hangs his head and sighs. The woman's eyes widen at Abbot trail to Robby. "Can you see me?!"

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

thank you for reading! likes comments and reblogs are always welcome!

taglist: @cosmicneptune

By the time Santos called Jack, you had been singing for twenty-three minutes.

Not continuously.

There had been pauses.

Important pauses.

One pause to tell Robby he was doing the background vocals wrong. Another to inform Whitaker that his attempt to close the tab was “emotionally hostile.” Another to point at a man near the jukebox and announce, with deep conviction, that he was not your husband because your husband had better shoulders.

Mel had tried water.

Javadi had tried fries.

Whitaker had tried logistics.

Robby had tried joining in, which had only made everything worse.

And Santos, because she had the glare of a woman who had spent years keeping doctors from making stupid choices, and no patience left, finally pulled out her phone.

You were standing beside the booth with one hand braced on the table, swaying to the beat of a song that was no longer playing.

“Baby! Woo-hoo, where the hell is my husband? Woo-hoo! What is takin' him so long to find me? Woo-hoo!”

Robby lifted both hands as if he were conducting you. “Great projection.”

Santos pointed at him. “Stop encouraging her.”

Robby shrugged, “She’s an artist.”

“She is refusing to leave a bar because she thinks her husband has been misplaced,” Santos replied. 

You turned sharply. Too sharply. Mel caught your elbow before gravity could make a compelling argument.

“He is not misplaced,” you said.

Santos lowered the phone slightly. “No?”

You frowned, “He is missing.”

Javadi nodded from the end of the booth, phone in hand, filming with the calm detachment of someone documenting history. “The distinction is important.”

Whitaker rubbed both hands over his face. “It is not.”

You slapped one palm gently against the table. “My husband is handsome and tall and sexy and has doctor hands.”

Robby leaned toward Mel. “Doctor's hands is specific.”

Mel nodded. “And accurate.”

“And,” you continued, because you were not finished and everyone needed to understand the scale of the emergency, “he has very serious pecs.”

Santos closed her eyes.

Robby whispered, “Here we go.”

You pointed at him. “Respect the pecs.”

“I do,” Robby said immediately.

Whitaker slid your glass of water toward you. “Can we respect the pecs from the parking lot?”

You shake your head quickly, “No.”

“Why?” He groans. 

You point towards the door, “Because my husband is not in the parking lot.”

Santos pressed Jack’s contact and lifted the phone to her ear.

You gasped. “Are you calling him?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“No!” You exclaimed. 

Santos looked at you. “No?”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to call him.”

“You have been singing for him for twenty-three minutes,” Santos said.

You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I want him to appear.” 

Robby slapped the table once. “That is marriage.”

Santos ignored him and turned slightly away as the call connected.

Jack answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”

His voice came through low and alert, and you froze.

Santos looked at you.

You stared at her phone like it had become sacred.

“Abbot,” Santos said.

There was a small pause on the other end. “Santos?”

“You busy?” She asks. 

“At home.” Jack’s voice sharpened. “Is she okay?”

You grabbed Mel’s wrist and whispered very loudly, “Is that my husband?”

Mel patted your hand. “Yes, honey.”

You looked down at your left hand.

Your wedding rings gleamed under the warm bar lights.

You gasped. “I have wife jewelry.”

Robby bent forward with a wheeze. “Wife jewelry.”

On the phone, Jack went quiet. “What was that?”

Santos looked at you as you lifted your hand in front of your face and admired your rings with genuine awe.

“She is okay,” Santos said carefully.

Jack exhaled. “Define okay.”

You turned toward the booth again, apparently remembering your mission. “Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?” You pick up your song.

Jack went silent.

Robby threw his head back and supplied a terrible echo. “Woo-hoo!”

Santos pinched the bridge of her nose.

Jack said, “Is that her?”

“No,” Santos said. “That is the jukebox haunting me.”

Jack sighed, “Santos.”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Is she hurt?” He asked. 

“No.”

“Sick?” He continued. 

“No.”

Jack exhaled, “Crying?”

You pointed at a man near the pool table. “Not him. My husband has a better ass.”

Mel covered her mouth with a hand.

Santos stared at the ceiling. “No. Not crying.”

There was a pause.

Then Jack said, dry as hell, “Did she say something about my ass?”

Robby lunged across the table, trying to get closer to the phone. “Tell him she said better.”

Santos shoved his forehead back with two fingers. “She is refusing to leave until her husband comes to collect her.”

You leaned toward Santos’s phone. “Tell him to wear the gray sweatpants.”

Santos pulled the phone away from you. “Absolutely not.”

Jack made a sound that might have been a cough. “I’m leaving now. Send me the address.” He was already moving.

“All right,” Santos said. “I’ll send it.”

In the background, Robby shouted, “Tell him she’s been reviewing his ass for twenty minutes!”

Jack went silent again.

Santos closed her eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”

You reached toward the phone. “Wait, I want to talk to him.”

“No,” Santos said, ending the call. 

Your lower lip trembled, “But he’s missing.”

“He’s on his way.” She told you. 

That stopped you. Your mouth fell open. “He’s coming?”

Santos slid her phone into her pocket. “Yes.”

You laid a hand on your chest, “To me?”

“Yes.” Trinity nodded. 

You pressed both hands to your cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”

Whitaker nodded toward the door. “Great. Now we can go.”

“No,” you said immediately.

His shoulders dropped. “Why not?”

You looked at him like he had just asked the stupidest question in recorded history. “I have to be here when my husband appears.”

Robby raised one hand. “I support her.”

Santos snapped, “No one asked you.”

You sat back down in the booth and folded your hands on the table like you were waiting for a job interview.

Mel slid the water toward you again. “Drink some water while you wait.”

You stared at the glass.

Then at Mel.

Then at Santos.

“What if he gets here and I’m drinking water?” You ask. 

Javadi tilted her head. “Would that be bad?”

You frowned, thinking hard. “No. Hydration is sexy.”

Whitaker looked at the ceiling. “Thank God.”

You picked up the glass, took one sip, and set it down with a proud nod.

Then you leaned toward Robby. “Do you think he knows he’s my husband?”

Robby’s face lit with dangerous joy.

Santos pointed at him. “Do not.”

Robby held up both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You were about to.”

Robby frowned deeply, “I have never done anything wrong in my life.”

Javadi looked up from her phone. “There are videos.”

You tapped your rings against the table, watching them sparkle. “I’m going to ask him.”

Mel smiled. “Ask him what?”

“If he’s my husband.” You answer. 

Whitaker muttered, “This will be efficient.”

“It will not,” Santos said.

And it wasn’t.

Because when Jack walked in seven minutes later, everything in you stopped working.

He came through the door in jeans, sneakers, and a dark hoodie under his jacket, like he had pulled on the first clothes he found and driven over without thinking about anything except getting to you. His hair was messy, his expression serious, and his eyes scanned the bar once before landing on your booth.

On you.

You stopped mid-hum.

Your hand tightened around Mel’s wrist. “Oh no.”

Mel followed your gaze. “What?”

You pointed. “That man has pecs like my husband’s.”

Robby twisted in his seat so fast he nearly knocked over Whitaker’s drink.

Santos sighed. “That man is your husband.”

You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on Jack as he crossed the bar. “No.”

Javadi kept filming. “Denial phase.”

Jack reached the table and looked you over first, quick and clinical, because he was Jack. No visible injury. No tears. No panic. Just you, drunk and bright-eyed and staring at him like he had been sent from some divine catalog of bad ideas.

His shoulders eased. “Hey, baby.”

You blinked. Then slowly turned to Santos. “He called me baby.”

She nodded slowly, “Because he is your husband.”

You whipped back toward him. “You are?”

Jack’s mouth twitched.

He lifted his left hand without hesitation.

His wedding band caught the bar light.

You looked down at your own rings.

Then back at his.

Then at your rings again. “Oh, my god.”

Jack’s face softened. “Yeah?”

You beam. “We match.”

“We do.” He replied.

You looked him up and down, with a long pause at his chest. “Hell yeah.”

Robby slammed both hands on the table. “And we’re off.”

Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Don’t.”

You leaned toward Mel, still staring at Jack. “He has very serious pecs.”

Jack closed his eyes for half a second.

Mel’s shoulders shook. “I know, honey.”

“Do you think he works out?” You whispered to Trinity. 

Santos answered before Jack could. “Occasionally.”

You nodded solemnly. “It’s working.”

Jack opened his eyes. “Okay. Time to go.”

You frowned. Then looked him up and down again. “Hey, soldier.”

The whole booth went quiet.

Jack stared at you.

Santos slowly turned her head. “Oh, my god.”

You gave Jack what you clearly thought was a seductive smile. “You come here often?”

Jack’s mouth twitched again, despite his best efforts. “To retrieve my drunk wife from a bar? No.”

Your eyes went wide. “Wife?”

He lifted his hand again.

You looked at his ring.

Then yours.

Your whole face lit up. “Hell yeah.”

Javadi, still filming, said, “The verification system remains functional.”

Jack looked at her phone. “Are you recording?”

“Yes.” She answered instantly. 

Jack groans, “Why?”

“Documentation,” Victoria answered. 

“It’s behavioral science,” Robby added.

Jack ignored all of them and reached for the water glass instead of you. “Drink.”

You froze. Then you sat up straighter, eyes suddenly sharp with drunk discovery. “Huh.”

Jack paused. “Huh?”

You pointed at him. “Attending voice.”

Robby made a delighted noise. “Oh, she clocked it.”

Jack gave him a flat look. “Do not participate.”

You leaned toward Santos, whispering very loudly. “He said drink like he was about to order labs.”

Santos nodded. “He did.”

“I did not,” Jack said.

Mel patted your shoulder. “You kind of did.”

Jack pushed the glass closer. “Three sips.”

Your lips parted. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Please just drink the water.”

You picked up the glass with both hands, still staring at him. “You’re very bossy for a stranger.”

Jack opened his eyes. “I’m not a stranger.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Then you looked down at your rings again.

Jack lifted his hand.

You inspected his wedding band with deep seriousness.

“Right,” you said. “Husband.”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed. 

You took one sip.

Jack nodded once. “Good.”

You set the glass down too hard. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

“You can’t say ‘good’ with attending voice.” You frowned. 

Robby dropped his forehead onto the table. “She’s right.”

Jack pointed at him. “Not another word.”

You finished the water because Jack stood there with crossed arms and serious eyes, and the world had become a place where hydration was suddenly compelling.

When you set the glass down, Jack picked up your coat. “Arm.”

You inhaled sharply.

Santos pointed at him. “That one was attending voice.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “I need her arm in the sleeve.”

You looked at him, dazed. “You need my arm?”

Jack took a slow breath. “Baby.”

You melted back against the booth. “Oh, Jackie.”

That got him. Just a little. His expression shifted, the stern line of his mouth almost breaking.

Santos saw it immediately. “Don’t reward her.”

“I’m not rewarding her,” Jack said.

“You liked Jackie,” Santos replied. 

Jack held the coat open and looked at you. “Arm.”

You stared at him. Then slid one arm into the sleeve. “Bossy.”

He guided the coat around your shoulders. “Other arm.”

You looked at Mel. “He wants the other one too.”

Mel nodded, fighting for her life. “Coats usually do.”

You gave Jack your other arm. He pulled the coat into place and zipped it halfway with careful, practical hands. You looked down at the zipper. Then up at him. “That was hot.”

“It was a zipper.” Jack deadpanned. 

You sighed happily, “You did it like a procedure.”

Robby lifted his head. “Sterile field: wife edition.”

Jack did not turn around. “Robby.”

“Sorry.” Robby lowered his head once more. 

Santos stood and grabbed her bag. “We are leaving before she proposes to him.”

You froze. Then your head turned slowly toward Jack. “I proposed?”

Jack’s expression softened at once. “No, baby.” He lifted his left hand before you could even ask, wedding band, catching the bar light. “I proposed.”

You looked down at your rings. Then at his. Then up at him, stunned and pleased and drunk-happy. “You wanted to marry me?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Still do.”

Your whole face lit up. “Hell yeah.”

Robby dropped his forehead back to the table. “They’re disgusting.”

Jack crouched slightly in front of you and offered his hand. “Stand up.”

The booth went silent. You stared at him. Then you looked at Santos. “Attending voice.”

Santos nodded. “Full attending voice.”

Jack’s eyes flicked briefly to the ceiling. “I am trying to get you upright.”

You nodded, “You’re doing it with authority.”

“You are drunk in public,” Jack replied. 

You clicked your tongue, “You’re hot in public.”

Mel made a small sound into her hand.

Jack’s ears went faintly pink.

You saw it. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “Jackie’s blushing.”

Jack shook his head, “I am not.”

“You are.” You squeal with delight. 

Jack’s hand stayed steady in front of you. “Up.”

You pressed one hand dramatically to your chest. “Fuck.”

Santos stood and grabbed her bag. “We are leaving before she discovers a military kink.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “Santos.”

She shrugged, “What? She’s halfway there.”

You tilted your head, considering. “A what?”

“Nope.” Jack took your hand and helped you stand. “We’re going home.”

For one glorious second, you were upright and triumphant.

Then the room tilted. Jack caught you by the waist.

Your entire body went still. “Oh, fuck.”

“Balance,” he said.

You stared up at him. “You said that like an order.”

“It was an explanation,” Jack replied. 

You smiled up at him, “Do it again.”

“No,” Jack answered immediately. 

Robby lifted his head. “She’s not wrong.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him.

Robby lowered his head again. “Withdrawn.”

You touched Jack’s chest lightly with one finger. “Responsible soldier husband.”

Jack looked down at your hand. Then at your face. “Doctor husband. Former soldier.”

You nodded solemnly. “Doctor husband with command voice.”

Mel laughed into her hand. 

Jack took a slow breath. “Arm over my shoulder.”

Your eyes went wide. “Jackie.”

“Arm,” he repeated, then pointed to his shoulder. “Here.”

You looked at Santos. “He pointed.”

“I saw.” She answered. 

You licked your lips. “He pointed and said here.”

Trinity nodded solemnly, “You’re going to survive.”

You shook your head furiously, “You don’t know that.”

Jack guided your arm over his shoulders.

You held on to him and immediately looked delighted. “I’m touching him.”

Santos nodded. “You are.”

“Legally?” You asked, looking to Jack, bright and hopeful. 

Jack lifted his left hand in front of your face.

You checked his ring. Then yours. “Hell yeah.”

Jack slid an arm around your waist and pulled you carefully against his side.

You went very still. Then you looked down at his arm. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jack sighed. “Please walk.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and delighted. “Can you say it again, but like bossier?”

“No,” Jack said. 

“Absolutely not,” Santos said at the same time.

Robby lifted his head just enough to gasp for air. “I can’t believe it. This is foreplay with witnesses.”

Jack pointed at him without loosening his hold on you. “Not foreplay.”

You leaned into his side and whispered loudly. “But later?”

Jack closed his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

You nodded, “But later, when I’m not drunk?”

“Later,” Santos said quickly, “is between you, Jack, and God.”

Javadi nodded. “And possibly the HOA, depending on volume.”

You looked at Jack. “Do we have an HOA?”

He shook his head, “No.”

You leaned closer to him, “Then later?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Walk.”

You inhaled sharply. “Oh, that was better.”

Santos threw both hands up. “Door. Now.”

Jack started moving.

You went with him, tucked carefully into his side, one arm over his shoulders, his arm secure around your waist, your coat half-zipped and your dignity somewhere under the booth.

You made it three steps before he said, “Watch your feet.”

You looked up at him. “Attending voice.”

“Safety voice.” He corrected. 

You shrugged, “They’re cousins.”

“Eyes forward,” Jack replied. 

You sighed dramatically, “Oh fuck me, that one too.”

Santos followed behind you, laughing now despite herself. “This is the worst evacuation I’ve ever seen.”

Jack kept you tucked firmly against his side. “It is not an evacuation.”

“You’re using evacuation posture,” you said.

He looked down at you.

You smiled up at him, drunk and delighted. “I like it.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “I know.”

Halfway to the door, you twisted carefully to look back at the table.

“Everybody be cool,” you announced. “I’m leaving with my husband.”

Robby raised both hands. “Hell yeah, Mrs. Abbot.”

You stopped.

Jack stopped with you, patient but visibly suffering.

You looked down at your rings.

Then grabbed his left hand and checked his.

The band was still there.

You smiled, delighted all over again. “Hell yeah.”

Jack’s face softened.

Then you glanced behind him one more time. 

“And he has a great ass!” You cheer.

Jack immediately started walking again.

“Goodnight,” he called over his shoulder.

Santos waved. “Hydrate her.”

Mel added, “Text when you get home.”

Whitaker pointed at Jack. “Do not let her order fries.”

You gasped. “Traitor.”

Javadi lifted her glass. “The record will show we tried.”

Robby cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ask him to walk bossier!”

Jack pushed the door open with his shoulder and guided you into the cool night air.

The second the air hit your face, you sighed dramatically and leaned a little more heavily into his side.

Jack adjusted his hold. “You okay?”

You looked up at him.

The bar lights spilled behind him, catching the edge of his jaw, the tired concern in his face, the little pinch between his brows that meant he was trying to figure out if you needed water, food, sleep, or all three.

Your drunk brain, unhelpfully, sorted those options into one category.

Husband.

“Jack?” You asked quietly. 

Jack looked down at you, “Yeah, baby?”

“You’re really my husband?” You whispered the question. 

He lifted his left hand between you before you even asked.

You looked at his ring.

Then down at yours.

Then up at him.

Your smile went soft and bright and drunk-happy. “Hell yeah.”

Jack shook his head, but he was smiling now. “Yeah,” he said, guiding you toward the car. “Hell yeah.”

You made it halfway across the parking lot before you stopped again.

Jack looked down. “What?”

You stared at him very seriously. “You came when I sang.”

His mouth twitched. “Santos called.”

“But I sang.” You persisted. 

Jack nodded, “You did.”

“And you appeared.” You added with delight. 

“I did,” Jack replied. 

You nodded, deeply moved. “Powerful.”

Jack opened the passenger door and kept one hand at your back. “In.”

You looked at the seat. Then at him. “I like it when you give directions.”

Jack almost smiled, “I have noticed.”

“Can you say ‘in’ again?” You asked, looking up at him. 

His answer comes quickly, “No.”

“Meaner?” You tried.

This answer was faster: “Absolutely not.”

You sighed and got into the car anyway, mostly because Jack’s hand was warm at your back and he looked like that, and you were only human.

He leaned across you to buckle your seatbelt.

You went very still.

Jack paused immediately. “Okay?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “You smell good.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and clicked the seatbelt into place. “You’re drunk.”

“You smell good when I’m drunk.” You amended. 

Jack shook his head, “That’s not how that works.”

“It is for me.” You replied with a happy shrug. 

Jack braced one hand on the roof of the car and looked down at you.

His expression was amused. Tired. Fond in a way he would absolutely deny if Robby had been there to witness it. “You need water when we get home.”

You pointed at him. “Bossy.”

“You need sleep.” He added. 

You smiled. “Oh, fuck.”

“And no flirting with me until you can walk in a straight line.” Jack continued. 

Your mouth fell open. “You’re denying your wife?”

Jack held up his left hand.

You looked at his ring automatically.

Then at yours.

The distress vanished.

You nodded, “Hell yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. “And yes. I’m denying my drunk wife.”

You considered that, then nodded slowly. “Responsible husband.”

He smiled softly, “Trying to be.”

You looked him up and down from your seat. “Hot.”

Jack shut the door before you could say anything else. You watched him walk around the front of the car. The parking lot lights were doing very good things to him. His shoulders. His hoodie. His jeans. When he opened the driver’s side door, you were still staring.

He slid in and caught your expression immediately. “No.”

You frowned deeply, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to,” Jack commented. 

You looked out the windshield, dignified. “I was admiring privately.”

You looked at his hands on the steering wheel. “Oh, fuck.”

He closed his eyes. “Baby.”

You looked down at your rings.

Then, at his hand on the wheel, wedding band visible under the passing sweep of the parking lot light.

“You called me baby.” You sighed happily. 

He pulled out of the parking space. “I’m your husband.”

You smiled at his ring. “Hell yeah.” 

The drive home was mostly quiet. Mostly. 

You hummed under your breath until Jack, without looking away from the road, said, “No more husband song.”

You turned your head toward him. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

“I know.” He replied. 

You sat up straighter, “Say something else.”

“No.”

“That was something.” You mumbled. 

He sighed.

You smiled out the window like you had won.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, your energy had softened around the edges. The feral husband appreciation was still there, obviously, because Jack existed and you had eyes, but it had gone warm and sleepy.

Less bar announcement.

More gravity.

Jack came around to your side and opened the door.

You looked up at him.

He looked down at you. “Out.”

Your mouth parted.

Jack pointed at you. “Do not.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding seriously. Then whispered, “Attending voice.”

He helped you out anyway.

You wobbled once on the driveway, and his hand found your waist immediately.

You leaned into him. “Good catch.”

He gave you a little grin, “Good wobble.”

You gasped. “You praised me.”

“I should not have,” Jack replied, regretting his choice immediately. 

You smiled up at him, “I liked it.”

Jack looked down at you, “I know.” 

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Jack locked the door behind you, then turned back to find you standing in the entryway, looking down at your left hand again.

He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Checking?”

You lifted your rings toward the hall light. “Still married.”

Jack held up his left hand. His wedding band gleamed.

Your smile went loose and delighted. “Hell yeah.”

He took your coat off first.

Not because you helped.

You did not help.

You got distracted halfway through by the flex of his forearm when he pulled the sleeve down your arm. “Oh, fuck.”

Jack paused. “What?”

You didn’t look up, “Your arm.”

“My arm is removing your coat,” Jack said. 

“Yeah.” You stared at it. “That’s the problem.”

Jack exhaled through his nose and hung your coat on the hook. “Kitchen.”

You looked at him sharply. “Attending voice.”

Jack sighed, “I’m getting you water.”

“You said kitchen like an order.” You argued. 

Jack inhaled, “It was a destination.”

“A hot destination.” You corrected him. 

He pointed down the hall. “Move.”

You inhaled. “Jackie.”

“No.” He said instantly. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” You said with a whine. 

Jack gave you a look, “I do.”

You followed him anyway, because his hand settled at the small of your back and your drunk brain apparently classified that as a life-altering event.

At the kitchen counter, he gave you more water and two crackers.

You stared at the crackers. Then up at him. “Are you feeding me?”

“I am preventing tomorrow from being worse,” Jack replied. 

Your eyes went wide and affectionate, “You provide.”

“I provide saltines.” Jack amended. 

You picked one up and took a dramatic bite. “Sexy.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Chew.”

You froze. Then pointed at him with the cracker. “Attending voice.”

Jack tilted his head, “Chewing is not optional.”

“Oh, my god.” You fan yourself with the cracker. 

He dragged a hand down his face. “Please eat the cracker.”

You did, mostly because he watched you with that serious, focused Jack expression, and you had already learned at the bar that being perceived by your husband while he gave basic instructions was dangerous.

After water and crackers, he got you upstairs.

Barely.

There was a brief negotiation on the landing because you stopped to admire his butt from a lower step and whispered, “Perspective,” like you had made a scientific discovery.

Jack looked over his shoulder. “Keep walking.”

You gripped the railing. “Attending voice.”

“Stairs voice.” He corrected you.

You shrugged, “Same family.”

When you finally reached the bathroom, Jack set your makeup remover, toothbrush, and face wash on the counter as if he were preparing for a procedure.

You leaned against the doorframe and watched him. “You’re setting up supplies.”

Jack nodded, “I am.”

“Like an attending.” You add. 

“Like a husband who knows you’ll sleep in mascara if I don’t help,” Jack replied. 

You gasped and looked down at your rings.

Jack lifted his left hand immediately.

You checked. Satisfied, you nodded. “Verified.”

He handed you a makeup wipe. “Face.”

You took it, then blinked. “Huh.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“You said face.” You answered. 

Jack nodded, “I did.”

“Very direct.” You replied with a crooked smile. 

Jack looks over your face, “You have makeup on it.”

You touched the wipe to your cheek, still watching him. “Bossy skincare husband.”

Jack leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. That was a mistake.

You stared at his chest. 

He noticed. “Face,” he repeated.

You closed your eyes. “That was worse.”

“Makeup off.” He tried again. 

You threw your head back in defeat, “Oh, fuck.”

He held out his hand. “Give me the wipe.”

You handed it over without thinking. Jack stepped closer and gently tipped your chin up with two fingers. The bathroom went very quiet. He wiped beneath one eye with slow, careful strokes, his other hand steady at your jaw. His face was close enough that you could see the tired fondness in his eyes.

You swallowed. “Jackie.”

His thumb stilled for half a second. “Yeah?”

“You’re really good at this.” You whispered. 

He smiled softly, “At taking off mascara?”

“At being mine.” You said, almost breathless. 

His expression softened.

Then, because you were drunk and incapable of letting tenderness survive unbothered, you added, “Also, your pecs are close.”

Jack closed his eyes. “There she is.”

You smiled.

He finished with your makeup, then handed you your toothbrush.

“Toothpaste,” he said.

You looked at the toothbrush. Then at him in the mirror. “Attending voice.”

“Toothpaste voice.”

You brushed your teeth while glaring at him with exaggerated suspicion.

Jack watched you in the mirror, arms crossed, trying and failing not to smile.

When you finished, he pointed to the sink. “Spit.”

You blinked around the toothbrush. Then slowly looked at him. “Jack.”

“What?” He asked. 

Your eyes widened, “You can’t just say spit like that.”

His jaw tightened. Not anger. A smile he was trying to kill. “I am asking you to brush your teeth.”

“You are issuing commands in a bathroom.” You say, mouth foamy. 

Jack looked down at your mouth, “You have toothpaste in your mouth.”

You pointed the toothbrush at him. “Dangerous.”

“Sink.” He commanded. 

“Oh, fuck.” You spat, rinsed, and accepted the towel he handed you.

“Good,” he said.

You pressed the towel to your mouth and froze.

He sighed immediately. “I forgot.”

“You said good.” You grinned. 

He sighed again, “I did.”

“With the voice.” You say, eyebrows raised. 

Jack shrugged, “It slipped.”

You lowered the towel and pointed at him. “Dangerous.”

“Bed,” he said.

You stared. “Jack.”

He pointed toward the bedroom. “Now.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jack muttered something under his breath and guided you into the bedroom.

He found one of his old T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts from your drawer. Then he turned back to you, clothes in hand. “Can I help?”

You looked at the shirt. Then at him. Then down at your rings.

Jack lifted his hand before you could ask. You checked his wedding band.

“Okay,” you said. “Husband verified.”

He nodded once, “Good.”

You pointed at him immediately. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did not.” He replies innocently. 

You pouted, “You weaponized good.”

“I am trying to get you into pajamas,” Jack replied. 

Your frown deepened, “Domestic warfare.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the bed. Then he crouched in front of you and touched the hem of your top. “Arms up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is this a trick?”

He smiled, “No.”

Your brow furrows, “Because I’m drunk.”

“Exactly.” Jack agreed. 

You look at him suspiciously, “You’re not going to be weird.”

“I’m not going to be weird,” Jack promised. 

You leaned closer, whispering with great seriousness. “I might be weird.”

His mouth twitched. “I know.”

You lifted your arms. 

Jack changed you with the careful efficiency of a man determined not to let his drunk wife turn pajamas into a legal incident. Shirt off, sleep shirt on. No lingering. No teasing. No letting his eyes go where drunk you absolutely wanted them to go.

Which, naturally, offended you. “You’re very respectful.”

“I try,” Jack replied. 

You groan, “It’s annoying.”

“I know.” He said. 

You sighed, “It’s hot.”

“I know that too.” He said with a smile. 

He helped you step into the shorts while you held both hands on his shoulders for balance.

The second your palms settled there, you sighed. “Shoulders.”

“Balance,” Jack corrected.

“Shoulders.” You repeated dreamily. 

He pulled the shorts up to your hips and patted your side once. “Done.”

You looked down at yourself. Then at him. “You dressed me.”

Jack shrugged, “I helped.”

“You’re like a sexy pit crew.” You say with a wink. 

Jack stared at you.

You nodded, pleased with yourself. “Fast. Focused. Good with hands.”

He stood and pointed at the bed. “Lie down.”

Your eyes went wide. “Attending voice.”

He continued to point, “Bed.” 

You looked at him desperately, “Oh, Jackie.”

“Do not make bed weird.” He groaned. 

You pouted, “You made it weird when you pointed.”

He pulled the blanket back. “In.”

You climbed under the covers, mostly because the single syllable nearly took you out.

Jack tucked the blanket around your waist, then set the water on the nightstand.

“You need sleep,” he said.

You looked up at him, suddenly softer. “You’re staying?”

His expression shifted. “Yeah, baby. I’m staying.”

You looked down at your rings one more time. Then reached for his hand.

Jack gave it to you.

You checked his wedding band, slower now, your thumb brushing over the metal.

“You proposed?”

He sat on the edge of the bed beside you. “I proposed.”

“And I said yes?” You asked happily. 

His mouth softened. “You said yes.”

You smiled, sleepy and bright. “Hell yeah.”

Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“No sex,” You murmured. “I’m drunk.”

Jack huffed a laugh against your temple, “I know, baby.” 

Your eyes closed.  “It sucks, though, because you have amazing pecs. And a great ass.”

He laughed quietly and brushed your hair away from your face. “Go to sleep.”

You sighed into the pillow. “Attending voice.”

“Husband voice,” he corrected, softer.

Your smile was almost gone with sleep. “Jackie.”

“Yeah?” He answers quietly. 

“Still hot.” You murmur into your pillow. 

He stayed there until your breathing evened out, his thumb moving once over your rings before he let go. Then he slipped into the bathroom, changed, came back, and climbed into bed beside you. You rolled toward him automatically, even in sleep, one hand landing against his chest like you were verifying he was still there. Jack covered your hand with his. Your rings pressed lightly against his skin.

The Next Day...

In the morning, you woke up to pain, sunlight, and consequences.

Mostly consequences.

Your head hurts. Your mouth was dry. Your body felt like it had been assembled incorrectly. For one blessed second, you remembered nothing after the second round of drinks.

Then your phone buzzed.

You opened one eye.

On the nightstand, your screen lit up with a message from Robby.

MRS. ABBOT LIVE AT THE BAR: WHERE IS MY HUSBAND TOUR

You closed your eye again. “No.”

Beside you, Jack was already awake.

You could feel it.

You turned your head very slowly.

He was lying on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, watching you with the calm, devastating expression of a man who knew everything.

You swallowed. “How bad?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Define bad.”

You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.

He reached over and tugged it down just enough to see you. “You reviewed my body in public.”

Your eyes closed. “Oh, my god.”

“Pecs got mentioned several times.” He added. 

“Jack.” You whined. 

He grinned, “Butt got a standing ovation.”

You covered your face with both hands. “I need to leave the country.”

“You also called your rings' wife jewelry.”

A pause.

You peeked through your fingers. “That’s kind of cute.”

Jack nodded, “It was very cute.”

Your stomach softened despite the hangover.

Then he added, “You made me show you my ring every time someone told you we were married.”

You lowered your hands. “I did?”

He lifted his left hand. His wedding band gleamed in the morning light. Your eyes flicked down to your own rings automatically. 

Jack noticed.

A smile started at the corner of his mouth.

You pointed at him. “Do not.”

He raised both his hands, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You looked smug.” You replied, eyes narrowed. 

Jack tilted his head, “I’m allowed.”

“You are not.” You argued. 

Jack smiled, “You kept checking.”

“I was drunk.” You defend. 

Jack looked down at his ring. “You were thorough.”

You groaned again and rolled onto your back. “I hate myself.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack said.

You stared at the ceiling. “I hate Robby.”

“That’s fair.” Jack agreed. 

Your phone buzzed again.

This time, Jack picked it up before you could stop him.

“Jack.” You warned. 

He looked at the screen. Then his mouth twitched.

“No.” You groaned. 

He turned the phone toward you.

The video thumbnail showed you in the booth, hand dramatically raised, mouth open mid-song. At the same time, Robby performed backup vocals, and Santos looked as if she were reconsidering friendship as a concept.

You stared.

Then slowly turned to Jack. “Delete it.”

“It’s not on my phone.” He replied. 

You groaned, “Tell Robby to delete it.”

“I will,” Jack answered. 

You narrowed your eyes.

Jack’s expression stayed too innocent. “After I watch it once.”

You huffed, “Jack.”

He pressed play. Your own drunk voice filled the room with devastating commitment. On-screen, Robby echoed you terribly.

Then the video shifted as Santos muttered, “I’m calling Abbot.”

Your face lit up. You grabbed Mel’s wrist and shouted, “Tell him to wear the gray sweatpants!”

Jack paused the video. Silence. You stared at the ceiling. Jack stared at the phone.

Then he looked at you. “The gray sweatpants?”

You pulled the blanket over your face again. “I was unwell.”

“You were specific.” Jack corrected you. 

“I had a medical condition.” You attempted to explain. 

“Being horny for your husband is not a medical condition,” Jack replied. 

You slowly lowered the blanket.

Jack’s eyebrow lifted.

You pointed at him. “You’re a doctor. Diagnose it.”

He laughed then. Really laughed. Warm and low and unfairly pleased.

You groaned, but you were smiling too. He set the phone aside and leaned over you, bracing one hand near your shoulder. Your eyes flicked to his arm before you could stop yourself.

Jack noticed that too. “Still?”

“Shut up.”

His smile widened.

You looked down at your rings, partly because you were embarrassed and partly because the habit had apparently survived the alcohol. Then, quietly, Jack lifted his left hand beside yours.

The rings caught the same strip of morning light.

Your chest softened. “We match,” you said, voice rough from sleep and singing and terrible decisions.

Jack’s expression went gentle. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “We match.”

You stared at the rings for a second.

Then at him.

Even hungover, even humiliated, even with video evidence waiting in the group chat, you could not help it.

“Hell yeah.”

Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Hell yeah,” he said.

Abbot stands at the door and looks in either direction. He looks in either direction then Dr. Ellis quicksteps past him. "Hey Ellis, do you know if any patients are missing a kid?"

"A kid?" She backs up and looks in the room, "Definitely not. Should I get security?"

"Not yet. I'll find out more. Go ahead." He dismisses her and enters the room.

The girl hears his foot steps and looks up at him curiously. "Hi."

"Hi, I'm Dr. Abbot. What is your name, sweetie?"

"Miracle." She turns back to the fox on the wall.

"What a pretty name." He kneels down beside her on his good knee, "Are you here with your family?"

She shakes her head, "I'm here all by myself."

Abbot purses his lips in worry, "Oh yeah? How did you get here?"

"The elevator." She smiles, "I remember the fox from last time and came down all by myself."

"The elevator…" He thinks for a moment. He notices on her chest as a name tag. Similar to his badge was a photo of Miracle and the words PTMC childcare center. Miracle was not a patient or a child of one but a child of an employee at the hospital. He lets out a sigh of relief, "Well, this is a long way from where you belong isn't it?"

Miracle shrinks and clasps her hands together, "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, sweetie but we'll need to take you back. Don't want your people to worry right?"

"Uh huh." She nods, "My mommy works in the hospital. She helps really sick people."

"You know, I do that too." He smiles, "Why don't we go sit somewhere and call your mommy? Let her know you are okay."

"Okay!"

Abbot stands up and holds out his hand for the girl to hold but she instead holds up both of her arms with the expectation of him to pick her up. He smiles and obliges, carrying her back to the main nurse's station. "I think I know where some stickers are that you can have. Do you like stickers?"

"Yeah!" She squeals.

Miracle had a smile that could melt the coldest hearts. As they walk, she rests her head on Abbot's shoulder. He tries to steel his resolve but his heart swells at the feeling of her little head on his shoulder.

"Oh my, who is this little one?" Lena smiles at the girl.

"This is Miracle. She is a long way from the daycare upstairs."

"Oh Geez. I heard the bathrooms are broke down on their floor so they have to go to a different one." Lena says, "No wonder this little lamb got lost." She pinches the little girl's cheeks. An infectious giggle comes from the girl as she squirms in Abbot's arms.

He sets her down on a stool and takes a look at her tag. It had her full name on it with a phone number underneath. He recognizes it as the ICU floor. He dials it on the office phone.

A soft woman's voice answers in a quiet tone, "ICU?"

"Hi, this is Dr. Abbot here in the ED. I have a sweet little girl named Miracle down here lost from the daycare."

"Oh my god." He can hear the woman panic. Faintly, she tells her colleague, "Thank you Dr. Abbot. I will be down in just a moment."

Before he can respond the line goes dead. It must have been Miracle's mother on the phone, "Good news, Miracle. Your mommy is on the way."

"What about my stickers?" Oh right…

He snaps and opens a random junk drawer and finds some stickers in the bottom. "Here you are."

She takes them from him and rips off one and places it back on his hand. He smiles down at the sticker.

Just a moment becomes a long while as Abbot and Miracle wait. Although young, Miracle was able to keep herself entertained at the desk. She ran out of stickers and Abbot's arms and face had run out of surface area. His staff laugh and take in the adorable sight of Abbot with the little girl.

"Miracle! Oh thank god, you're still here."

"Mommy!"

Abbot whips his head around and feels his heart leap out of his chest. You come flying down the stairs and jog over to the nurse's station. He can't take his eyes off of you as you come around and pick up your daughter.

"What were thinking coming down here all by yourself?"

"I wanted to play with this fox on the wall."

You shake your head and move your eyes to Abbot's sticker riddled body. "Hi… you must Dr. Abbot."

"You'd be correct." He holds his hands behind his back, "Miracle was keeping me company down here."

"I can see that," You giggle, "You have discovered her obsession with stickers. Sorry."

"Not a problem. Anything to keep her entertained."

"I appreciate it. I really do. She has gotten into this adventurous stage of wandering off and I can barely keep up. I'm glad you were able to keep her occupied." Your smile was just as criminal as Miracle's.

"She's welcome back anytime." He waves it off as he tries not to stutter under your sweet gaze.

"Alright then. Say bye to Dr. Abbot, Miracle."

"Bye Dr…. Abby." She giggles.

"Dr. Abby? You're so silly." You tickle her side then you look at him again, "Bye Dr. Abbot."

"Bye Dr. Abbot." Miracle waves as you carry her back up the stairs to the daycare center.

Abbot watches you go with a longing look. He looks down at his arms and chuckles before he starts to meticulously peel them off. It takes a few minutes to do, a few of the stickers leaving a mark.

He thought that would be the last time he would see you and Miracle. The next night, he looks in the Pedes room longingly before continuing on his way back to the hub.

He stops short just a few feet. Then backtracks and looks into the break room to find a familiar figure. Little Miracle was squatting down in front of the vending machine looking through the slot in the bottom.

"Hungry?" Abbot enters the room.

Miracle sheepishly withdraws from the machine and clasps her hands together. A tell that she did when she thought she was in trouble. She looks at the machine then back at Abbot.

"It's okay." He holds his hands out to her. She approaches him quickly and jumps into his arms. He lifts her and rest her on his hip. "It's a bit late for a sugary snack. How about… some goldfish?"

She nods quickly. He smiles at her and opens one of the pantries where some small snacks were available. He grabs out a package of goldfish and hand them to the little girl. Then he takes her back to the nurse's station.

"Little Lamb!" Lena smiles when she see the little girl then the smile turns shit-eating, "She's taking a liking to you, Abbot."

"She was just hungry. She probably saw the vending machine from the last time she was here." He sets Miracle down on a stool. "You are real sneaky, aren't you?"

Miracle shakes her head as she smirks. She continues to eat her crackers without a word. She was very cunning for her age. Able to get away from the daycare staff and get down to the ED without arousing suspicion of being alone. You must really have your hands full with her.

You were a single mother working as an ICU nurse. You transferred from an ICU clinic out of state due to your toxic ex, Miracle's dad. You had taken the job at the PTMC due to their 24 hour daycare program. You were able to spend time with your daughter during the day and without support at home, she would need to come to the hospital to sleep for the night. It was only a few nights a week so it was hard not to pass up.

Not that Abbot knew your situation. It wasn't like, after that night he met you, he asked one of the medical assistants about you during an ICU transfer.

He picks up the phone and dials the ICU line. "ICU?" It's you again. Speaking softly. A mental image pops up in his mind of you speaking that way to him in the morning.

"Uh, this is Dr. Abbot in the ED."

"Hi, are you looking for a bed?"

"No, actually, I have Miracle down here. She seems to have gotten away again."

"You're joking…" You grumble. You mutter to your coworker again. "i've gotta go… the ED… Miracle… yeah again… unbelievable i know…Are you still there Abbot?"

"I am."

"I'll be down in a minute. I am so sorry. See you soon." You say defeated.

"See you…" The line goes dead and Abbot turns his attention back to Miracle.

She spins on the stool without a care. She finished her goldfish while he was on the phone. He grabs an office chair and sits beside her, "Miracle, your mommy is on her way."

She beams at him, "Yay."

"Do you come down here because you like when you mommy comes to pick you up?"

Miracle shakes her head, "My mommy picks me up all the time. I like when you pick me up and we play."

He leans back, "I see. But Miracle, your mommy and I are busy working. We can't play all the time you know that, right? It's night time and you need rest. So while we work, you sleep."

"But I can only see you at night time. Mommy said so."

Abbot chuckles, "What did your mom say?"

"You work night time at the hospital so that means we can only see you at night time. We can't come in the day time."

"Do you ask to see me in the day time?"

She nods. "You are fun to play with."

"You are fun too." He boops her nose, "Do you like to draw?" She nods rapidly. "How about you draw something for us to put up back here?" He grabs some printer paper and some colored pens from the cup of supplies on the desk.

"You draw too." She hands a pen to him.

"I'd love to sweetie but remember what I said? I have to do my work. It's so I don't get in trouble. Ms. Lena will keep an eye on you."

Miracle pouts like a kicked puppy. It tears Abbot's heart to shreds to look at. He bites down on his bottom lip before looking away. Be strong, be strong, he repeats the mantra as he walks away.

It doesn't take long for him to return though and at the same time that he is back at the nurse's station you come jogging down the stairs. "Hello again," He smiles at you.

"Hi," You return the smile and look at Miracle, "She is going to become a permanent resident by the end of the week down here. C'mon little mama."

Miracle jumps from her stool and hides behind Abbot's legs. "No."

You let out a huff and smile awkwardly, "Heh, Miracle, sweetie it's time to say goodbye to Dr. Abbot."

"No." She grabs onto him. She touches a part of Abbot's prosthesis, she hesitates then moves to wrap both her hands around his other leg.

"God, this is so embarrassing." You mutter then you look up at Abbot, "I'm sorry, she is cranky at this point."

"That's okay." He chuckles, "How about I walk her with you to the daycare?"

"Oh, no it's fine. I'm sure they need you down here being the shift attending and all." You tighten your lips. You didn't mean to reveal that. You may or may not have asked a medical assistant about him during an ED transfer.

"It is not a problem. It's Lena that keeps this place running." He turns to Miracle, "If I come with you will you be good for your mommy?"

She nods rapidly and holds her hands up to him. He picks her up and smiles at you, "Shall we?"

"We shall." You lead them to the elevator. As you enter, you hear Miracle whisper to Abbot.

"What happened to your leg?" She cups his ear to whisper but she wasn't too discreet as you still heard her question.

"I got hurt in an accident. My leg was no good so they gave me a new one." He whispers back.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore." He shakes his head, "I eat good and take care of myself to be big and strong." He tickles her side, making her giggle in his ear.

You can't help but smile. His patience with your daughter warmed your heart. It was something about him treating her like a small person and not a nuisance unlike someone you once knew. She was disrupting him at work but he didn't let it bother him. He seemed to enjoy it, actually.

As you walk back to the daycare, you notice Miracle has gone quiet. You look over and see she had fallen asleep on Abbot's shoulder. "That girl is something else." You shake your head.

"She gives you a run for your money." Abbot whispers.

"You have no idea." You sigh, "She has not been infatuated with anything ever until she met you. I've never heard her speak about someone so highly after meeting them once."

"So she says. She told me, she stays awake to play with me."

"All day, non-stop. 'Mommy, you should invite Dr. Abbot to our house to play.' 'Mommy, Is Dr. Abbot at the hospital yet?' 'I got a booboo, Dr. Abbot should help.'" You laugh at yourself then notice Abbot smiling at you. You avert your gaze and stop at the Pre-K door. "This is her." You scan your ID and open the door for Abbot.

He lays her on one of the cots with the other kids. You tuck her in and kiss her forehead. You apologize to the staff and they apologize too. The bathrooms should be finished by tomorrow so hopefully this is the last time Miracle elopes.

You walk with Abbot back to the elevator, "I really can't thank you enough, Dr. Abbot."

"Miracle is a sweetheart. Just as much as I left an impression on her she's left one on me." He holds his hands behind his back as he walks.

"Hopefully, this will be the last of her hijinks and my blood pressure will lower." You take a deep breath. Abbot purses his lips as his heart wilts. You stop in front of the elevator, "This is where we part ways. You've gotta go down and I've gotta go up." You hit the down button, "I'll take the stairs."

"I'll see you around?" He steps on to the elevator.

"At this rate? I'll be seeing you tomorrow." You joke.

You joke but Abbot hoped that it was a promise.

The next night, Miracle appears again. Abbot makes his rounds when he finds her curled up on the couch in the family room. He almost didn't catch her this time if it weren't for the door being propped open by the janitors. He enters the room quietly and sits beside her.

He rubs her back as he tries to rouse her from sleep. The little girl rises out of her ball like state and crawls into his lap and rests on his chest. He sighs and continues to rub her back and rocks her side to side. He pulls out his hospital phone and dials the ICU.

"ICU?" A firm voice speaks. It definitely wasn't you, "Hello?"

"Yes, hi, this is Abbot down in the ED. I've got Miracle down here and was wondering if her mother was available to pick her up."

"Uh…unfortunately she is unavailable at the moment. Are you able to keep an eye on her for some time? She is tending to a patient at the moment. I will pass along the message as soon as I can." There was a wobble of nervousness in the nurse's voice. It was always life or death in the ICU.

"Yeah, I can. Just let her know when you can." He hangs up the phone and continues to rock her. When he knows he has spent too much time he will carry her to the hub.

"Lena, occupy Central 6 for me." He points to the sleeping girl in his arms, "Her mom might take a minute."

"You got it." She opens a tablet and fills in some random information to occupy the room on the status board.

He lays Miracle on the gurney and tucks her under the covers. "Thank you for making me so special." He whispers to her then shuts out the lights and leaves the room closing the door. Through out the hour he keeps an eye on her.

You come down the stairs looking disheveled. Your eyes were puffy, it looked like you had been crying. Abbot approaches beside you and rests his hand on the center of your back, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, where is Miracle?" You sniffle.

"Right in here." He leads you into Central 6. You lower the rail on one side of the gurney and pull up a chair to caress Miracle's face as she sleeps. He can see tears fall indiscriminately from your eyes. "Is everything okay?"

You let out a chuckle, "Is everything ever okay in our departments?" He sighs and pulls up another chair to be beside you. "Just before I come down here, every time, I've had to stabilize a patient, or at least try. A different person each time and afterward I'd come right down here and see the smile on my daughter's face like everything is okay. I have to act like I haven't just witnessed the scariest thing 5 minutes before coming to get her. I don't have to brave it when she's at daycare. In my mind, she seems worlds apart from the madness. Safe. I freak out thinking about her down here. What she might see. As if I didn't just watch someone die minutes ago." Abbot hears your voice waver as you speak but you laugh again, "But even still, with you, she is safe. She's so comfortable in your arms like she's known you her whole short life. You make it look so easy." You lean back in your chair and sniffle, "It makes me think I'm not cut out for this."

"Woah, that is a severe overstatement." He leans forward and takes your hand, "Had you not told me, I would have never known what you've done before coming down here. The first time you came down, you had this infectious smile on your face. And Miracle ran into your arms, you didn't falter for a second. Scooped her right in your arms. If you were scared you never showed it. You are her world. She knows you're there for her. You make it look effortless"

You look down at his hand on yours. He gives it an affirming squeeze. It's warm to the touch. "I bet you say that to all the single mothers." You bite back a smile and pull your hand away.

"Usually when they're here they are preoccupied with… you know an emergency?"

You giggle, "Really? None have made a move on you?"

"I fear that is day shift only. At this time of night, I only get the drunks playing grab ass." He sighs.

"Oh poor you," You rub his shoulder. "And here I thought you were like this dangerous and sexy combat medic that flirted with all the moms."

"Dangerous and sexy?"

"The other nurses on my floor say that, at least."

"So you talk about me to other people."

"I had to. I have to make sure the men in my daughter's life aren't dirt bags." You shrug, "They said you were a flirt too. Any defense?"

"I'm playful." He surrenders, "It's only to liven up this dreadful place."

"Right." You purse your lips into a thin smile, "Well, I should probably be taking her back to the daycare." You remove Miracle from the gurney and rest her on your hip, "You have a good rest of your night, Dr. Abbot."

He follows you out of the room, "I hope my playfulness hasn't scared you away from coming back to work."

"Only time will tell, I guess. Maybe I'll consider transferring to the ED and have some fun with you down here instead. " You shoot him a playful wink. He licks his bottom lip as he watches you walk to the elevator and back upstairs.

"She's got you whipped." Ellis shakes her head.

"Both of them do." Lena smirks, "Forget a work wife, he's got a whole work family."

"It's not like that." He waves them off, "Miracle is a troublemaker and her mom—"

"Is the hottest nurse you've ever laid your eyes on?" Ellis cocks an eyebrow, "You're not the only one with eyes, Abbot."

He averts his gaze to the status board, "Do you have anything better to do right now, Ellis? How does triage for the next hour sound?"

"Sounds like I should keep my mouth shut and get back to work." She leans over and mutters to Lena, "See how defensive he got. Whipped."

It had been a week since Miracle's escape attempts. The bathroom in the daycare was up and running again so there was no way for her to escape. Abbot stares at her drawing she had left behind. He missed that little rascal. He missed you too.

When things get slow enough, he decides to try and take a trip up to the daycare to check on Miracle. It was possible that she was sleeping but just seeing her would keep his spirits high. He tells Lena he's going to be out for a few minutes and hits the elevator button.

When the doors open his eyes widen in surprise. You stand there with a smile on your face and a look of surprise yourself. "Hey, I was just coming down to look for you."

"Oh? What for? Patient transfer?"

"No actually," You beckon him onto the elevator, "Miracle is having a hard time sleeping and misses her friend Dr. Abbot. I was wondering if I can steal you for a few minutes to put her to bed." You hit the button for the daycare floor, "Is that okay?"

"Uh yeah… I was actually going to head there."

"Felt a disturbance in the force, Jedi?" You chuckle.

"I just wanted to make sure she was alright."

"You've spoiled her." You say, "Now she can't live without you. It was inevitable, she's imprinted on you like a little duck. You are her mama now."

He laughs. It's a hearty laugh that warms your chest. You can't help but laugh too. The two of you walk out of the elevator side by side and enter the daycare. Miracle lays in her bed and beams when she sees the two of you from the window.

You both enter and sit beside her bed. "Okay, Miracle, this is a one time thing. Dr. Abbot can't come and go whenever you want while you're here." You explain as you tuck her in, "But he did say he missed you too."

She grins at him, "Do you still have my picture, Dr. Abbot?"

"I do. I look at it everyday." He grabs her hand and squeezes it tight.

"Maybe because you miss me we can play not in the hospital." She pouts.

You purse your lips and nod, "Maybe… But Dr. Abbot is super busy—"

"If your mommy says it's okay, I would be more than happy to."

You swivel your head at him in surprise, "You would?"

"Sure," He shrugs, "We can all play together outside of the hospital."

Your face is cooking as he speaks. Was he saying what you think he was saying?

"But that is for your mommy and I to talk about. You, little one, need to sleep." She nods and shuts her eyes. Your eyes are still on him. He notices and smiles, "Did you want to talk about that now?"

"Uh no I just… thought…"

"I was too sexy and dangerous? Or did you still believe I am too playful?"

You bow your head in defeat, "I guess I did."

After Miracle falls asleep the two of you leave. "I am going to be honest. I fully believed that this would be the last we saw of each other. We would go our separate ways, officially." You confess.

"I knew that wouldn't be the case after second time Miracle came to the ER." He chuckles, "I'd find a way to see you again."

"So were you the one sabotaging bathroom maintenance?" You giggle, "If you wanted to meet with me so bad you could have asked. Like you asked Edgar about me."

"You found out about that…" He winces.

"My good looks get me my way up there." You tease, "I'm kidding. When I asked about you he told me you had done the same. So I asked for more information."

"That's when you got the sexy and dangerous thing from."

"Yes, you are really stuck on that." You nudge him, "Don't believe it."

"I just like the way it sounds coming from you. You believe it."

"I do not."

"For a moment you did. In your mind, there was an image of me next to those words."

You cover your mouth as you refrain from laughing out loud, "Alright, what's it going to take for you to not bring that up anymore."

"When are you free?" He asks, "We can go somewhere and have breakfast after work? Or lunch? Go to the park for Miracle."

"Breakfast sounds good." You take out your personal phone, "How about you put in your number and I'll let you know."

"Promise?" He takes your phone and puts in his number

"If I don't you can put me on blast by calling the ICU and bug me. They all need something juicy to keep them entertained." You smile as he hands back your phone, "But I like you. So I won't keep you waiting too long. How does 10am tomorrow sound?"

"Sounds like a deal."

The two of you stop short of the elevator. You bite your lip before leaning in and kissing Abbot's cheek. "This is where we part ways." You hit the down button, "I'll take the stairs. See you at breakfast."

Abbot's cheeks burn as he watches you jog up the stairs. He tries to control his smile in the elevator as to not tip off the others to his glee. He didn't need them spoiling his fun just yet.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

thank you for reading! likes, comments, and reblogs always appreciated!

“Damn baby, why didn’t you tell me you had all this good pussy?”

Cameron mumbled against your bare leg that were currently hiked over his broad shoulder, his voice dripping with admiration a lot sweeter than the way he was fucking you.

The question was rhetorical but emphasised just how much he was enjoying being inside of you.

Goosebumps broke all over the surface of your flushed and damp skin, choking on a whiny moan as your cunt tightly squeezed and pulsated around him. The throbbing sent a shiver down the length of his spine and settled in his bones. A flurry of chopped sobs poured from your mouth as your climax began to climb. You were so close. And he could feel it all.

You would have tried to answer his question but in truth - you didn’t know how to.

The two of you met during freshman in college - sharing the same physiotherapy classes and the two of you instantly clicked. When he first approached you - you couldn’t believe that he’d even talk to you. When you first arrived on campus, his name was uttered in every corner. He was the person to know because of his projected career. You had wanted to keep away from him - you didn’t like attention being drawn to you at all but Cameron just had to be enrolled on your course.

Even worse, he came to sit next to you.

You stilled at just making eye contact with him. Low sitting blue eyes, dimples deep as he smiled, rosy lips begging for attention and from his seated position alone you could tell that he was tall. He made sure that you couldn’t ignore him and you hated that fell for his charm, hook, line and sinker.

The attraction was shared and the chemistry intensified with each interaction but nothing ever came off it.

Football. Girlfriends. Endorsements. A great rookie career - all of it got in the way.

So friendship is what you settled for and you were grateful just to be a part of his journey.

Unfortunately for you, he was relentless. The friendship status did not matter to him at all and Cameron steadily flirted with you like the devil of temptation resided in his flesh. Always hanging around, giving you his undivided attention when you were close. Treating you just on the edges of a girlfriend, yet always teasing the word ‘friend’ in front of you. You always let it wash over you because being close to him in any capacity was worth it.

That attraction however, could not be denied and could not be hidden. And he’d picked up on it and he played with it - he played with you. He enjoyed teasing you. Kissing you on the neck, hands on your lower waist as he moved past you, hugs that lingered. Girlfriends be damned - you were the apple of his eye even if you denied what you were to him.

So that was how you found yourself in his penthouse - on a supposed regular night in with your best friend on his days off. So how you ended up in your current predicament was unbeknownst to you.

A movie, typical gossip, a game of tease.

From there all it took was a kiss.

A soft brush of your lips when he leaned down above you, whispering teasingly against your lips, fingers underneath your chin before gripping your jaw so that you couldn’t shift your eye contact away from him. So that he could see all of that want dripping out of your eyes.

“Do it.” You dared him.

And it was no surprise that he listened.

You had been so determined not to fall into his orbit and now you were on your back, sweating out your hairstyle, tank top ripped and panties pulled to the side as he manhandled you in every way. Your pussy stretched out and creaming around the thickest dick you’ve ever had in your life as you moaned in bliss. Fuck, you loved every second of it.

Cameron’s thrusts were deliciously brutal, his hips snapped into yours as your legs hang over his shoulders. He fucked you like you were a bitch in heat and you sounded just like one. Your mouth dropped open as your cries and whines could not be contained, sounding real pretty for him.

He breathed heavily through his nose at the sight your cream coating the length of his dick. Cam wedged his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and gripped tight. He used your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper.

The heat of the bedroom was making you delirious as much as the way his fat mushroom tip was pushing against your softest spots. You were so loud and Cameron drank all of your sounds by shushing you with rough kisses.

The wet clapping emitting from where your bodies connected was getting so loud, Cameron had to look down. His loud moan barely registered through the fog clouding your senses.

“You’re sooo fucking wet baby. Gushing all that good shit all over me, fuuuccckkk.”

You were looking up at him, doe eyed, a soft crease pinching in-between your eyebrows with your teeth biting onto your bottom lip as you tried to control it. He was hitting all of your good spots and it was so intense, it sat like a weight on your chest.

Then, Cameron pushed your legs back so that your knees were touching your ears and he moved to hover directly above you. He used his upper body to contort you into the perfect position for him - ready for his taking and you were in awe with how it left you feeling. The weight of pleasure sinking into your bones, deeper and deeper.

“O-oooh!” You gasped as you pulled on the sheets underneath your fingertips.

His beautiful, blue eyes never left your face as he watched your pretty face surrender into the pleasure he was delivering. Your eyebrows drew together tighter, as if you were about to cry, your lips forming into an ‘o’ form as he slowed down his strokes, letting you enjoy the feel of him. Inch by inch.

Soft curves and hard muscles colliding into each other. Naked,skin on skin - still, felt like there was a barrier between the two of you. The thought slamming into you, nothing will ever be enough, you will always want more. Cameron groaned as he felt the pain of your nails breaking into the skin of his back as you unintentionally brought him closer.

You were begging for him without words and that caused him to smirk in satisfaction. Cameron couldn’t believe you had been keeping this type of connection away from him. The type of connection that quenched your thirst but left you famished for more.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling fingers tracing his bottom lip, tugging it free from his teeth. He placed a tender kiss on the inside pad of your thumb before his eyes drew back to where your bodies connected. The sight of it caused all of his blood to soar down to his aching dick.

Slathered all over his base was milky white. It built up generously and it accumulated so much the flapping wetness caused his eyes to roll to the back of his head. He couldn’t believe you’d ever get this wet.

“Yeahhh mamas, I can’t believe she’s this wet for me …”

Cameron doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slammed back in, the wetness drawing a delicious drag with drag. He threw his head back as a deep groan left him. The sound was so primal it sent nasty shivers down your spine and settled in your pelvis.

But you didn’t move your hand away from his pelvis as he was folding you even deeper. In fact, Cameron, lowered his upper body until he was completely folded over yours. His pelvis ground against your clit, his trimmed hair brushing your clit - hard.

Cameron was wild in his lust.

He sucked bruising kisses into your neck, his tongue trailed hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It was all consuming, overwhelming. His long tongue flattened against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth which made you lightheaded.

Blood rushed to your ears as he ground his hips up again, hammering away at that spot inside you but not enough to make you cross eyed and your hand pressed on his abdomen.

Cameron kept his eyes on as you gasped desperately. Your eyes closed as he nipped at your bottom lip which caused you to sigh softly. His tongue darted out and soothed the sting of your bite before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed, “Move that hand, baby.”

You didn’t move your hand but he did it for you. He grabbed your wrist and trapped it above your head as he drilled into you. Your mind was mush the more he thrusted into you so you didn’t even try to think straight. Cameron was so caught up in the moment - not just from the heat of your pussy but how tight and how creamy you were.

Letting out a string of swears, Cameron captured them by bringing your mouth into another overwhelming kiss. His cock aching whilst he swallowed your wails as you twitched and ached around him.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Cam gave another harsh yet hard roll of his hips into your swollen opening while he was battering at that tender spot inside of you and then … you were coming.

And fuck! You were coming, hard. Your nails clawed at Cam’s rigged muscles as a swarm of stars completely eclipsed your vision whilst your body went into shock with wave after wave of vicious pleasure.

Your wails were so loud, you struggled to recognise your voice. But Cameron had a clear view to the ecstasy flooding your face he pumped his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.

“That’s it, babygirl … I love the way you’re cumming all over me…”

Tears spilled from your eyes and you were close to passing out when Cam dropped his head into your chest and took one of your swollen nipples into his mouth, his thrusts slowing down in tempo as he shot his cum deep inside of your heat with a muffled groan.

He filled you up to the brim and then popped out your nipple out of his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

The both of you were riddled with tiredness, thighs were killing you, and your body was trembling like a leaf but a grin had etched onto your lips regardless as Cameron placed calming kisses everywhere his lips could touch.

He slowly pulled out, warm yet concerned eyes checking over you for any sign of discomfort as you basked in the glow of the aftermath. Your eyes closed as you sank into the softness of the blankets beneath you. You left his kisses on your cheeks in the tender way that you’d grown accustomed to.

“You okay sweet girl? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, baby. I’m good.” You shook your head as you hummed in satisfaction. You felt him shift away from the bed, leaving you in your peaceful lonesome until you felt him wipe you down gently with a wet towel. You heard a thud as he tossed to rag onto on the floor when he was done.

You felt the bed dip beside you before Cameron slipped up behind you. Your hands reached behind you and brought him closer with a soft hum. You had crossed that line in your friendship and you couldn’t process what it meant for the future for the both of you. But you’d bask in whatever this moment meant for you.

Cameron nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “We’ll never just be friends after this.” He mumbled.

He was right about that. Nothing would ever be the same.