I have too many fictional crushes

Sure, he really pissed you off, but at the same time the only person that can bring you comfort is him. And you don't want to be all alone and sad in his big house. You hate being away from him, even if you are mad at him.

You pad on your bare feet towards the garage, and stop in the doorway unsurely. Jack's already in the car, waiting for the garage door to roll up.

He sees you fiddle nervously with your sleeves before you finally walk up to the car. He rolls the window down because yeah, he might be mad but he'd never just blatantly ignore you.

"Can I... C-Can I come with you? Please. I'll sit in the back and I promise I won't say anything. I just...Can I?" Your wet, big eyes practically plead to let you in. To not be left here. You're scared that maybe if you let him go all alone, he might realise he doesn't want you one night.

Jack's eyes soften a bit, and you hear the lock open on the door. You immediately jump inside the car, not giving him a second to change his mind.

You quietly sit in the back as Jack backs out of the garage and starts driving down the road.

It doesn't take long for Jack's pent up energy to sizzle out. Especially, when he hears you sniffle with your runny nose every once in a while.

Jack tries to catch your eyes in the mirror but you just won't look his way, eyes strained on the road. And he can't have his best girl looking so, so down. Especially because of him. So he pulls into the nearest parking lot.

Jack kills the engine and jumps out. He rounds the car, opens your door all while you watch him with confused, but hopeful gaze.

"I'm so sorry, angel. I shouldn't have let it get so heated. And I shouldn't have tried to leave. I'm an idiot." It's his defence mechanism, he'd rather leave and cool down before he'd say something and regret it later.

Jack's hands hover inches away from you, holding onto the cushions next to your thigh.

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for yelling. And for making you take me for the ride with you, I was just...." You stop talking before you can say too much. You don't want to sound crazy.

You turn to him, and his hands immediately move and settle on your hips.

"What is it?" Jack's thumb brushes your exposed tummy. He softly urges you to answer his question. You both need to talk it out even if it can hurt.

"I was worried you might not want to be with me anymore." You explain sheepishly, eyes everywhere but on him.

"Wait, baby." He frowns at you. "Do you always worry about that after an argument?" He can remember all of the times you two argued, and every time you didn't let him go cool off alone. It's basically a routine by now that after you argue, you two go for a ride together.

You just nod, embarrassment settling in. "Why didn't you say something?" God, it pains him so much to think about it.

"Don't know. I was just worried." You shrug, but it's far from casual. You look like you might die from embarrassment any second now.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You know, that no matter how much we fight, I'm not leaving. You're it for me baby. There's nobody else I'd rather be upset with."

"Don't you think it's annoying though? Me being so...so clingy." Jack thinks that surely you must be joking. You look so uncomfortable at your skin as you ask him that, that Jack's swears he must be doing something wrong if you feel like that.

"Sweetheart, if it was up to me, we'd literally be attached to hip 24/7. I love being with you. You're my favourite person ever." Jack states, words all lovey and honest. Your eyes water from it, it overwhelms you for a second because it was exactly what you wanted, needed to hear.

"You're my favourite person, too." You mumble out, your hands sneaking out of your long sleeves to squeeze his. Jack chuckles because only now he notices it's his big-ass hoodie you have on.

"I love you, angel. So all is forgiven?"

"Yes." You nod quickly and lean in for a very much needed kiss.

You can barely even remember what the fight was about as his lips move against yours, and both of your bodies finally relax.

"I love you too, Jack." You breath out against his lips. He pulls away with a gentle smile and wipes away the left wetness on your cheeks with tender hands.

"Do you want to go get ice-cream?" Jack suggests, and your face lights up as you nod sheepish.

"Okay, c'mon, need my girl next to me." He scoops you up before you can protest and manages to put you in the front seat, all while you giggle at him.

At eight years old, she has lots of opinions. It had started that morning when she woke up and decided she did not want to brush her teeth (which you of course had to convince her to do), she’d been upset to find that Jack was working and could not ride bikes with her (as they liked to do on Saturday mornings he had off work), and then suddenly decided that she absolutely would not be getting her Flu vaccine you had already scheduled her for at your local pharmacy today.

It isn’t often you give in to your daughter's outlandish whims, but you also know that aversions to needles is something that can become worse the older a person gets. You dealt with parents fainting over their child getting a small shot in the arm enough to know that you did not want your daughter to one day fear needles that much. So that’s why you made her a deal.

Get your vaccine from mom at work and maybe you can see Jack.

She’d been all for it, of course. From the day you’d introduced her and Jack seven years ago, she and him had been attached at the hip. It’s why you know that bribing her with the thought of his attention is a sure fire way to get her on board. 

“Can we go see Jack now?” she asks the minute you step on the chaotic emergency floor. Even though she didn’t see her biological father often, and had known Jack since she was a baby, she still liked calling him Jack. You and Jack never correct her because you know that kids can have a hard time relinquishing titles like that.

“Have to get your shot first,” you tell her, weaving through doctors and nurses striding by in a frenzied hurry. You’re mostly trying to get off this floor before she sees something traumatizing.

You pass a young woman screaming at the top of her lungs in the psych hold area and you cringe, angling your daughter’s curious gaze away.

Entering through this floor had not been your first idea. Pedes was a few floors up, and not nearly as chaotic as the emergency floor. It also tended to not have nearly as much blood or gore. It had just about the same level of loudness, though—especially when babies are concerned.

“Is that my favorite pedes doctor coming in on her day off again?” 

You flinch and turn your head just as you and your daughter have just about made it to the elevators. Since Jack’s been working more day shifts recently (to get better aligned with you and your daughter’s schedules, bless him), a whole new cast of characters has been taking up residence in his stories.

This one you recognize immediately, though. 

“Dana,” you say with a short laugh, reaching out to give her a quick sidearm hug, the other still holding your daughter’s hand captive in your own.

She returns it softly, grinning at you with that warm, toothy smile.

“Hey hon.” She releases you after a quick pat on the back, eyes glittering. She looks down at your daughter and bends on her knees. “And here’s the one we’ve all heard so much about from Jack.”

You adjust your hand to rest between your daughter’s shoulder blades, gently nudging her forward. She’s dressed in a bedazzled rainbow dash t-shirt (the best My Little Pony, in her opinion) and a tulle skirt, and several butterfly clips in her hair. She’s been picking out her own outfits recently, but luckily they were still pretty cute.

She looks back at you nervously, but offers Dana a smile when she turns her head back. She gives the older woman a small wave.

“We didn’t want to have to spend the day at work,” you say to her, “but someone is a little hesitant to get her flu shot, so I thought I’d just bring her in and do it here.”

Dana shoots you a knowing look. “Well, let me know if I can help you guys at all.”—she turns to your daughter then, a smile on her painted lips—“Maybe if it all goes well, you can come see me for some stickers afterward?”

Your daughter grins, looking back at you. “Can we go do it now?”

You laugh at her sudden enthusiasm, turning to Dana. “You should come join us on the pediatric floor.”

“No thank you,” she says, shaking her head, “if I had to hear babies crying all day I’d lose my mind. Those days are over for me.”

“You have the touch!” you tell her over your shoulder as you weave into the elevator with your daughter in tow. 

“I have bribes.” Dana’s laugh follows you as the doors begin to slide shut. “Not the same thing.”

You continue to smile even as the doors slide shut and the familiar weightless feeling takes hold as the elevator moves. Your daughter slides her hand from yours and you quickly check your phone for any notifications. The last text you received was at 7am this morning—Jack sneaking out but not without telling you he loves you over text and that he’d made breakfast.

You bite your lip as you relive the butterflies that erupted in your stomach from the simple phrase. 

That is what is so rare, so special about Jack. He loves you unconditionally. Your last boyfriend, your daughter’s father, had practically skipped town when he found out you were pregnant. As far as you were concerned, he was just a sperm donor.

Luckily, you had met Jack about six months into your pregnancy. Somehow in that brief period when you spoke infrequently in between night shift consultations, you being single had come up in conversation and he made his move. 

Two years later, he was the one doing puzzles with your daughter and drawing with crayons at the kitchen table. Later, he was the one teaching her how to ride a bicycle and tie her shoes. When you and Jack got married four years ago, your daughter had beamed ear-to-ear during the entire reception—and had run up to give her new step-dad a huge hug that resulted in many resounding “awws” in the audience.

Your daughter knew no other male parental figure except Jack, not really. Your ex visited on holidays, often with some kind of lazy $20 Target gift card and a Hallmark card. There’s some kind of the mysticism that comes when you’re a kid that’s visited by an absent parent once in a blue moon that keeps them haunting the back of your mind like an apparition, always.

She doesn’t know him like you do, and she only sees him twice a year, so she doesn’t have a fully-realized image of what he is or what kind of person he could be. She gives him graces that she wouldn’t afford anyone else in her life that are constants because of that mysticism and childhood naïveté. You don’t blame her—can’t. You do blame your ex, but there’s really not anything you can do about that either—except demand child support and remind him with texts of her birthday coming up every year.

You reach over to squeeze her shoulder affectionately and she looks up at you, giving a small smile.

“It will be over in no time, I promise.” You let go of her shoulder just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open to the, thankfully, much quieter pediatrics floor.

In the distance, you hear a baby crying that is quickly soothed by their mother’s voice. You glance down at your daughter as she steps into the floor behind you and your heart pangs.

Her eyes are wide, taking in every person that walks by with scrutiny, and she tries to hide the slight tremble to her hands. 

You bend your knee, putting on your trained pediatrics smile. Her eyes dart to yours, a plea on her lips. “It will be over so quickly. I promise. And then we will see Mrs. Dana and she will give us stickers and we can go see Jack and give him a hug.”

She doesn’t seem entirely comfortable, still, but she nods and follows you as you lead her to the circle of desks near the center of the room. It’s a very similar setup to the emergency floor, except the rooms are less windowed for privacy and the walls are painted in a soothing nature scene for the kids to enjoy.

You find one of the pediatrics nurses, a friend of yours, and you ask him for some assistance. You set your daughter down in one of the stools at the front.

“Okay, this is mom’s friend Henry, and he’s going to help us with your flu shot. Is that okay?”

Your daughter looks over at the mid-twenty year old man standing across from her, hands clenched into little fists in her lap. She nods, then starts pulling at one of the strings in her rainbow skirt.

You look over at Henry, who begins prepping the shot. Your daughter stares at you with a tremulous chin, eyes beading with tears.

As Henry begins to wipe her upper arm with a sterile pad, she flinches and turns away, hiding her upper body from sight.

“I want Jack,” she says softly, “can Jack do it? I promise I will if he comes.”

You sigh and turn to Henry, who shrugs. You look down at your phone and raise a brow when it vibrates in your hand, as if beckoned.

Jack<3: how did little one’s shot go today? i’m on lunch

“Stay here with Henry for a minute, okay, honey? I'm going to go make a phone call.” Your daughter nods, but gives Henry a skeptical side eye as he continues to stand in front of her.

You back far enough away that your daughter can’t hear and press on Jack’s contact info to call him.

It only has to ring once before you hear his voice on the other side.

“You okay? Need me to head out?” 

Your stomach flutters at the concern in his voice, even though you think it might be a little sadistic to feel that. Maybe it’s just that every day, in little moments, you’re reminded how much you and your daughter mean to him.

“If I were to tell you I’m in pediatrics right now, with little Miss-Afraid-of-Needles near-hyperventilating at just the thought of getting her flu shot, what would you do?”

“I thought you guys had an appointment for that?” You can hear shuffling on the other end and the sound of someone asking him a question, which he replies in a muffled voice you can’t make out. 

“Well, I made a mistake,” you tell him, “I let her decide where we go to get the shot. I also promised she would see you after and that Dana would give her stickers. And she’s still upset about it all.”

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, you know that?” 

You snort a laugh through your nose. “Like you’re any better? Don’t think I didn’t see the smiley face you made her out of chocolate chips on her pancakes this morning.”

“It’s our Saturday tradition, honey. You know that.”

“I know, I know,” you laugh again, “just don’t try to lecture me about being too soft on her when I can literally hear you running to catch the elevator right now.”

He chuckles, then quietens.

“—I think the elevator’s about to arrive. I’ll see you in a minute?”

You nod, then you realize he can’t see you. “I love you. Thank you for making the time.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he replies. “For you? Always.”

The call cuts just as you hear the elevator doors ding on the other side of the call. You turn around to look at your daughter, only to find her putting stickers all over poor Nurse Henry’s arm. You grin at her enthusiasm, striding over.

“You getting Nurse Henry looking pretty over here?”

Your daughter clams up as if she’s expecting you to be angry at her sudden 180 in emotion. You know kids, though, and you know that her fear was real and that just because she’s been distracted doesn’t mean she was faking it before. You squat down to her level, gently stroking her hair.

“Jack’s coming up now to give you your shot.”

Your daughter beams, but after a moment shrivels in on herself, her lip trembling. 

You give her a kiss on the cheek. You pull back, forcing her to look at your eyes with a hand on her chin. “It will be okay. I promise.”

As if on cue, the elevator doors open and Jack comes striding in. He looks around for just a few seconds before his eyes land on where you stand across the room. He beams and quickly strides over.

Henry steps back as Jack takes his spot.

“Hey, bug,” he says to her. He pokes her arm and she lets out a soft laugh, turning away. “I hear you’re a little scared of your shot?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It hurts. And I can’t sleep on my arm at night when I get them.”

“Well,” Jack says, snapping on a pair of gloves from nearby, “sometimes life is about doing things that might make us hurt for a day or two so we don’t get really hurt later.”

“But I’ve never had the flu before,” she says, furrowing her brows.

“Do you remember what I told you about our bodies? That we have fighters inside of us that are usually really good at keeping viruses like the flu from making us sick?” She nods, so he continues. “Well, this shot”—he picks up the needle to show her—“has a code in it that those little fighters can learn, so that when you do get the flu, you might not get sick at all, because now they know what they’re fighting.”

Your daughter nods very seriously. “So my fighters are like Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash learning more about Nightmare Moon so they can stop her from taking over the world next time she shows up?”

You notice from the corner of your eye Henry biting his lip to smother his laughter. Meanwhile, you’re actually pretty impressed by her comparison to her favorite show. You also think in the same train of thought that maybe she needed less screen time.

“Yep, exactly,” Jack agrees enthusiastically. “And this shot is like the Elements of Harmony coming to change Nightmare Moon back into Princess Luna.”

Now you’re the one holding back your laughter. You look over at Jack, impressed by his knowledge. He shoots you a sly wink as if to say ‘I know more than I’m letting on.’

Your daughter squares her shoulders and nods. “Okay,” she says, “do it. I’m ready.”

Jack smiles and grabs the sterile swab to rewipe her upper arm. She flinches at the cold liquid and you walk over to stand in front of her.

“Just look at me,” you tell her softly, “it will be over before you know it.”

She follows your direction obediently as Jack lines up the shot with her arm. As the needle enters, your daughter winces and tenses, but keeps her eyes on you all the while. Jack pushes the liquid in then removes the needle. He puts on a colorful bandaid to the wound.

“All done,” you say with a grin, “you did so good.”

She bashfully drops her eyes. “It barely even hurt.”

Jack stands, removing the gloves with a small, affectionate smile pulling at his lips.

She stands up from her stool. You think she’s going to move toward you when she surprises you by turning to hug Jack around his waist. Jack tilts his head toward her, surprised.

“Thanks, dad,” she says into his back. “You’re the best.”

She continues to bury her head into his scrubs, and Jack pats her head as he meets your shocked gaze. You think your mouth must be hanging open, but you can’t help it.

She pulls away and looks up at him. She frowns. “Why are you crying, dad?”

Jack wraps her in a gentle side hug, wiping away the small tears that had leaked out. “Nothing, bug. Just happy.”

Your daughter lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. She begins to move away from the two of you quickly. “Okay, well stop crying and come pick out stickers with me.”

You snort at her drill-sergeant order and look over at Jack, who continues to grin and shake his head. You reach over to loop an arm around his waist, planting a kiss to his cheek.

“You earned it,” you whisper, “only a dad knows that many My Little Pony references.”

Jack lets out a laugh, leaning forward to capture your mouth in a full kiss.

The moment is broken when your daughter lets out a loud groan from across the room. “Come onnnn, gosh you guys are so gross!”

You laugh and pull away. You sweep your hand toward your daughter with a sarcastic grin. “C'mon, Jack. Fatherhood awaits.”

Across the desk, Lena caught your eye. But she looked at you with the expression of someone watching a romantic tragedy unfold in real time. She nudged the resident next to her, who glanced up, saw you, and immediately checked his watch.

"Any minute now," Lena murmured softly.

"What happens at any minute?" you asked, your voice raspy.

Before Lena could answer, Dr. Jack Abbot walked out from a trauma bay. The second his eyes scanned the floor and landed on you, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The entire nursing station went quiet.

You didn't notice.

You just thought everyone was as tired as you were.

Jack handed the papers he had on his hands to a passing intern without looking and detoured straight toward you.

"Hey," he said. "You look like you're about to collapse into the desk."

"I'm fine, Dr. Abbot," you breathed. "Just trying to finish up a discharge."

Jack looked at the dark circles under your eyes, the slight tremble in your hand, and the absolute exhaustion radiating from you.

A protective frown line appeared between his brows.

"Lena," Jack said, his eyes never leaving your face. "Who is covering the east wing for the next hour?"

"Dr. Langdon’s doing night shift today," Lena replied instantly, a small smirk playing on her lips. "And I can handle the paperwork. Go ahead, Abbot."

"Great. You're off the clock for sixty minutes," Jack told you, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Breakroom. Now."

You blinked, panic instantly cutting through your fatigue. You stood up on shaky legs, your heart hammering against your ribs as you followed him down the hallway.

Behind your back, Lena silently handed a five dollar bill to a nurse. “Told you he’d break protocol to get her off her feet before 2 AM,” she whispered.

Unaware of the betting pool you were currently central to, you walked into the breakroom. He closed the door behind you.

"Dr. Abbot, if I made a mistake on the trauma intake—"

"Oh, no, no," Jack interrupted gently, putting a hand out to stop you. "You didn't make a mistake. You've been on your feet for five hours, non stop, after days of fever. This is an intervention."

He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a protein bar along with a bottle of water, and placed them on the table.

"Take a break," he commanded softly.

You took the food and sank down onto the sofa; the relief of finally sitting up was so intense it made your head spin. Jack stepped out for a second and returned with a jacket in his hand. Without a word, he placed it on your lap. It was warm and smelled of his cologne.

"Jack, I can't sleep, I have patients," you whispered, using his first name only because the walls of the room felt like a safe haven. "It looks bad. The other residents..."

Jack chuckled and sat down in one of the chairs, elbows resting on his knees. "Let them talk. I’m the attending. If anyone has a problem with me making sure my best resident doesn't faint on a patient, they should talk to me."

Jack's gaze was entirely focused on you. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and tell you that he’d carry the weight of the whole hospital if it meant you could rest.

But he didn't. He kept his hands to himself, clamping down on the feelings he'd been harboring for months. You were his resident; there were lines he couldn't cross, no matter how much his chest ached every time he saw you smile or, worse, saw you cry.

"Eat. Drink. Rest for an hour at least," Jack said, his voice a low, soothing anchor. "I'll be out there handling everything. Nobody is going to disturb you."

"Thank you, Jack," you murmured, tearing open the wrapper with clumsy fingers. You looked up at him. "You're a really amazing mentor. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jack's heart did a painful twist. Mentor.

He offered you a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just doing my job. Get some rest."

He left the room and crossed paths with Frank as he reached the central desk. Frank glanced at him sideways, letting out a sigh.

"You've got it bad, Abbot," Frank whispered. "You know the entire night shift is currently running a pool on when you're actually going to tell her, right?"

Jack’s jaw tightened, his cheeks flushing slightly. "She's exhausted Leave it alone, Langdon."

"I'm just saying, the girl is brilliant, but she’s medically blind to the fact that you look at her like she hung the moon," Frank countered with a smirk. "You're going to have to spell it out for her. Preferably after she graduates residency."

"She needs to focus on her career. She doesn't need the complication of an attending crossing lines," Jack said. "And right now, she just needs a safe place to rest. That’s all I’m giving her."

Frank stared at him for a second. He patted Jack on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Jack. A miserable, pining man, but a good one. I'll cover her for the next hour."

"Thanks," Jack muttered.

At 7:30 AM, you were waiting for the day shift to finish taking report. You reached into your scrubs pocket for a pen, only to realize you were wearing Jack’s jacket. You smiled faintly, the scent of him clinging to the fabric.

"Alright, pay up," a loud whisper hissed from around the corner of the desk.

You paused, your hand still on the zipper of the jacket.

Lena was holding her palm out toward Mateo. He was grumbling under his breath as he fished a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and slapped it into her hand.

"I still say it’s cheating," Mateo complained. "You had inside information."

"I didn't have inside information, I have eyes and know how to bet," Lena countered smoothly, pocketing the cash. "He didn't just give her a nap break; he gave her his jacket."

You blinked, standing entirely still. His jacket?

Slowly, you stepped around the corner. "Is there a problem with Dr. Abbot''s jacket?"

Both Lena and Mateo froze. Mateo immediately looked down at the clipboard, suddenly fascinated by a trauma intake form.

"I definitely didn't say anything about a bet." Lena said. "Aren't you leaving? It's 7:30 already."

"Lena," you said, your eyebrows knitting together as you looked between her and the dollar bill sticking out of her pocket. "What bet? Were you guys betting on this jacket?"

"Oh, honey. Not just the jacket," Lena said, leaning her elbows on the counter and looking at you with a mixture of affection and disbelief. "We’ve been betting on the entire ecosystem of your life for the last four months."

"My life? Why?"

Lena let out a laugh. She looked at Mateo. "She’s serious. She really doesn't know."

"Know what?" you asked, a sudden spike of anxiety hitting your stomach. "Did I do something? Is there a rumor about me?"

Lena’s expression softened instantly. Seeing your genuine panic, she reached across the desk and gently patted your arm. "Hey, no. It’s not a bad rumor. It’s just... sweetie, how can someone so brilliant in the trauma bay be so blind?"

You stared at her, completely lost. "Blind to what?"

Lena sighed, shaking her head. "To Dr. Abbot, darling. To Jack."

The name made your heart skip a beat, though you tried to keep your face completely neutral. "What about Dr. Abbot? He’s a great attending. He’s incredibly supportive of my residency—"

"He is completely wrapped around your finger," Lena interrupted bluntly.

Your jaw tightened slightly. "What? No, he’s not. He’s just a mentor. He does things for everyone."

"Oh, really?" Mateo chimed in, unable to keep quiet any longer. "He didn't bring me a specific brand of protein bar last week just because I said I liked it."

"And the jacket," Lena pointed to the one you were currently wearing. "Jack Abbot is very serious when it comes to his personal stuff. I once saw a medical student accidentally knock a smoothie onto that exact jacket, and Jack looked like he was going to perform an unanesthetized appendectomy on the kid. And tonight he literally tucked you in with it."

You looked down at the jacket, your mind racing, replaying a dozen different interactions over the last few months.

The way he always happened to be near the desk when your shift ended.

The way his voice grew remarkably quiet and gentle whenever he spoke to you, completely different from his sharp and commanding attending persona.

The way he’d look at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

"Everyone knows," Lena said softly. "Nurses, residents, security staff. We actually have a timeline. Langdon put twenty bucks on 'After Graduation,' but I’m rooting for you two to figure it out by the end of the month."

"He... he has a crush on me?" you breathed, the words feeling entirely surreal on your tongue.

"Crush is a word for teenagers, sweetie," Lena said, looking at you with a gentle smile. "What Jack Abbot has for you is a profound case of being completely gone. He’s just too much of a gentleman, and too worried about crossing professional lines, to tell you himself."

Your hands gripped the edge of Jack's jacket, the warmth of it suddenly feeling entirely different. It felt like a protective shield of a man who was desperately trying to take care of you from a distance.

--

For days, you were a walking disaster of nervous energy and Jack noticed every single second of it.

Whenever he walked into a room, you suddenly found a patient chart that desperately needed your attention across the floor.

When you handed him a suture kit in the trauma bay, your fingers brushed, and you jumped as if you’d been zapped by a defibrillator.

You couldn't look him in the eye for more than two seconds without your face turning red.

A week later, the tension was unbearable. Jack was quietly losing his mind, convinced he had somehow crossed a line or made you uncomfortable during your shift.

Needing air, Jack retreated to the roof, the only place in the hospital where the noise couldn't reach him. The cool wind whipped at his scrub shirt as he leaned against the metal railing, his mind completely consumed by thoughts of you.

The door to the roof groaned open.

Jack turned, his breath catching when he saw you step out. You were holding his jacket tightly against your chest.

"Hey," Jack said softly. He took a step toward you, his eyes scanning your face, filled with worry.

"Lena said you came up here," you breathed, the wind catching your hair.

Jack stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to you. "Look, we need to talk. You’ve been... avoiding me? For days. If I did something to upset you, or if I made you uncomfortable by putting my jacket on you the other night, I need you to tell me. I’ll back off. I swear I will. Just please tell me what’s wrong between us."

The panic in his eyes broke the dam. You gripped his jacket tighter, took a sharp breath, and the words just tumbled out of you.

"It makes me nervous being around you because you like me and I like you and they have a bet about you with me, did you know that?"

Jack froze. He stared at you, his brain completely stalling out as he tried to process the words that had just exploded from your mouth.

"I... what?" Jack stammered.

"The nurses! And residents! And even security!" you blurted out, your face burning so hot it made your cheeks hurt. "They bet on what time you’d kick me out of the floor to take a break, they bet on when you’d give me your jacket, and they told me you bought a specific protein bar for me, and Langdon has twenty dollars on us figuring it out after I graduate!"

You stopped to gasp for air. "I didn't know, Jack. I swear. But now I do, and every time you look at me I forget how to read a lab report, and it just makes me so nervous because I do like you, and I didn't think you liked me back, and now I know everyone in the whole hospital is watching us and can't even look at you without blushing."

Silence fell over the roof, save for the sound of traffic below.

You squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly wishing the roof would open up and swallow you whole.

Great.

You just broke the professional boundary.

And sounded like a lunatic doing it.

Then, you heard him.

You opened your eyes. Jack was smiling. He let out a disbelieving laugh, his frown completely vanishing. What Langdon said the other day, "preferably after she graduates", kept echoing in his head for a couple of days.

"Frank put twenty on it?" Jack asked.

"That’s the part you’re focusing on?!" you wailed, hiding your burning face into his jacket.

Jack closed the distance between you. He grasped your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. You looked up and his soft eyes made your knees weak.

"No," Jack whispered, his thumbs softly tracing the inside of your wrists, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "That’s not the part I’m focusing on."

He took a deep breath, stepping even closer.

"You like me?" he asked, as if he needed to hear the words clearly just to believe they were real.

"Yes," you whispered, feeling nervous and a little dizzy. "I like you, Jack."

"Good," Jack murmured, his hands sliding up from your wrists to cup your face, his palms warm against your cheeks. "I like you, too. Langdon was right. I am completely gone over you. I’ve been trying to be the responsible attending, keeping my distance because I didn't want to complicate your residency. But it has been absolute torture."

"So... you're not mad about the betting pool?" you asked softly, staring into his eyes.

Jack laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned down, his forehead gently resting against yours.

"Oh, I'm furious!" Jack joked, his warm breath against your skin. "Especially because Frank made a bet about not having the guts to tell you I like you before you graduate. We're going downstairs, I'm going to kiss you right in front of them and make sure Lena gets all the credit."

You let out a soft laughter, the tension completely evaporating into the cool night air.

"Wait," you murmured, your hands finding their way to the lapels of his scrub shirt. "If you kiss me in front of them now, Frank loses his twenty bucks, sure, but Lena wins. And as much as I love her, she's been smug about this for days. Want her to suffer a little bit."

Jack paused, a spark lit up his dark eyes. "You want to see Lena loose her mind? You're evil," Jack whispered. "An absolute menace."

"I learned from the best attending in the hospital," you countered softly.

"Alright," Jack agreed, his hands sliding from your cheeks down to your waist, pulling you against him. "We keep it a secret a few days. No hand holding, no extra protein bars, and absolute professionalism in front of them."

"Deal," you smiled. "But, can you kiss me now? There aren't any cameras up here."

"No, there aren't." He didn't hesitate and leaned down, putting one of his hand on your chin to capture your lips. His hands held you firmly, securely, as if he were making sure you wouldn't walk away from him. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck, completely lost in him.

When he pulled back, his breathing was shallow, and your eyes were shining. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling away.

"Keep the jacket," Jack murmured, as he looked down at the jacket still clutched between your chests. "Looks good on you, baby."

You blushed and bit your lip as you walked back towards the rooftop door, Jack's fingers intertwined with yours for a moment, before he let go and took a step back to let you through the door first.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Your hands were trembling even though the sun had already risen. In the mirror, your reflection was hard to recognize: a purple bruise on your cheek, a split lip, and eyes reddened and swollen from so much crying. You swallowed hard, fighting against the tears that threatened to fall again.

You shouldn’t have stayed the first time he raised his hand against you. You knew that. But you did. You stayed because he promised it wouldn’t happen again. Now you were there once more, trapped in the same routine: him coming home furious, yelling at you, shoving you against the furniture while you begged in vain for him to stop. Then came the worst part: his hands on you in the most degrading way, leaving marks that hurt not only on your skin, but deep within your soul. You repeated to yourself that he was your boyfriend, that he had the right.

That’s what you believed.

With unsteady hands, you picked up the makeup and tried to cover the traces on your face. The foundation was a mask that failed to hide enough. You brushed on some blush, but your skin burned at the touch. When you finally left your apartment, you did it in silence, walking on tiptoe as if even the air could betray you.

You rushed to work, hoping no one would notice. You had no friends anymore; you had lost them one by one. Even the most important one: Clark.

Clark Kent, your best friend since middle school, through high school, and at university. You had shared so many years that it was impossible to separate his story from yours. Always together in the hallways, at lunch, in the laughter that filled every moment with life. Until he appeared in your life. Your boyfriend. The one who began to suspect your closeness with Clark, the one who forbade you from speaking to him.

You remembered his threats. “If you see him again, you’ll pay the consequences. And not just you.” The fear had branded itself into you like fire. So you stopped having lunch with Clark, stopped accepting his invitations, stopped sitting next to him. You went from being inseparable to behaving like strangers within the Daily Planet newsroom.

With heavy steps, you sat at your desk. Your back ached: you could still feel the blow from the night before, when you had crashed against the furniture. You remembered it clearly—your body arching, begging him to stop, and him ignoring you as if your pain didn’t exist. Did you deserve it? The question returned again and again, a cruel echo.

Cat’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Perry needs your article finished today. He says to send it to him and he’ll review it tomorrow for publishing.”

You nodded quickly, avoiding her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll finish it.”

You didn’t want her to notice anything.

“Well, sweetheart…” Cat replied with a smile, but her eyes lingered on your face with more attention. “All made up for someone special?” she asked casually, though her gaze reflected curiosity.

Your response was immediate, almost defensive.

“No.”

Cat frowned, holding back an unspoken doubt. She watched you a few seconds longer before finally walking back to her desk.

You remained there, staring at the blank screen, with the newsroom buzzing around you. The sound of typing, telephones, and conversations was normal to everyone else. But to you, that day, every noise seemed to pound in your head, reminding you how alone you were.

And at the far end of the room, Clark. His blue eyes occasionally lifting, searching for the contact you had denied him for months.

The afternoon dragged on, and you neither ate nor spoke to anyone. You only got up to print, grab coffee, or retouch your makeup in the bathroom, trying again and again to cover the marks that never truly disappeared.

When you finally finished the article, you removed your glasses and cleaned them carefully, rubbing the lenses as if the motion could distract you. Most of the staff had already left, half the lights in the newsroom were off, and only the echo of a few printers remained. You left the text on Perry’s desk and went back for your things.

“Hi.” Clark’s deep, calm voice sounded right beside you.

You looked up sharply. He was standing by your desk, with that same kind smile as always, though now it seemed uneasy, as if he didn’t know whether to step closer or not.

“Hi,” you replied, lowering your gaze immediately and stuffing your belongings into your bag.

Clark frowned, tilting his head.

“It’s really late. Let me walk you home.”

Your eyes shot up to him with a flash of panic you tried to hide.

“No,” you said quickly, almost sharply.

Clark blinked in surprise.

“No?”

“I… I can go by myself,” you answered softly, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Good night, Clark.”

You hurried toward the elevator. Bad idea. When the doors closed, he was already inside, standing next to you, watching you with a mix of sadness and confusion.

“Why haven’t you called?” he asked quietly, with a trace of guilt. “It’s been months without a single message.” He bit his lip before adding, “Did I do something wrong?”

Your hands clutched your bag. No, you never did anything wrong. The mistake was mine: pulling away, letting him control me. But you didn’t say it.

“You never do anything wrong,” you answered without looking at him.

“Then… what happened?” His voice nearly broke.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for an instant.

“It’s just… life moves on, Clark. It won’t always be like when we were young.” You tried to smile, but your lips trembled. “I have so many things: the newsroom work, sending money to my mother, taking care of my siblings… and my boyfriend.”

Clark tensed at that last word. His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened immediately after.

“I have many things too…” he whispered. “And still, you’re important to me.”

The elevator doors opened. And then you saw him. Damian was standing there, waiting with his arms crossed and a stern look.

“So that’s why you weren’t answering?” His voice was harsh, accusatory.

Your heart stopped.

“Damian… it’s not what you think. There were still people in the office,” you tried to explain, lowering your voice, softer, weaker.

Clark noticed how you took a step back at the sight of your boyfriend. He noticed everything: the rigidity of your body, the fear in your eyes.

Damian’s expression shifted suddenly, feigning a friendly smile.

“Of course, love. Shall we go?” he asked in a sweet tone that didn’t match the tension in his eyes.

You hesitated. You didn’t want to go. You couldn’t breathe. But you nodded.

“Yes.”

You glanced at Clark before leaving. His blue eyes were still locked on you, filled with concern, as if he wanted to pierce through your silence.

Damian, on the other hand, grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him with a fake smile. You lowered your gaze. Clark stepped out of the elevator, never taking his eyes off you.

Then Damian leaned close to your ear. Clark, with his flawless hearing, caught every word.

“Tell me, who’s going to suffer? You… or that idiot who won’t leave my girlfriend alone?” he whispered with venom, squeezing your arm tightly.

Your voice came out shaky, barely audible.

“He didn’t…” you tried to defend Clark.

Damian squeezed harder, smiling for everyone else as if nothing were happening.

“Shut up. We’ll talk at home, love.”

Clark stood frozen, heart in his throat, fists clenched, his soul burning. He had heard enough.

There was no time to speak. The moment the apartment door slammed shut, Damian threw it with violence. The crash made you step back, your eyes already brimming with tears before he even opened his mouth.

"Your stupid little friend…" he spat with rage, stepping toward you and seizing your chin harshly. "Always there, like a dog trailing behind you."

You tried to turn your face away, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"I don’t talk to him anymore," you whispered through your sobs. "I swear. He… he just came to me, but I pushed him away."

Damian laughed with contempt, a coarse sound that made your skin prickle.

"Pushed him away?" he repeated, leaning closer. "He looked insane for you."

Before you could reply, he grabbed your hair, yanking you roughly.

"I guess I’ll have to erase the touches that idiot surely left on you." His voice was venomous as he began dragging you toward the bedroom.

"No, Damian…" you pleaded desperately, your hands clawing at the wall, at anything that might stop him.

He spun you around with fury, and his hand struck your face. The blow staggered you, sending you crashing against the furniture. The sound of the frame falling and shattering against the floor pierced you like a gunshot. A photo of you both lay in pieces on the ground.

"Happy now?" he roared, grabbing you again. "You always destroy everything. That’s why your mother kept you away from your siblings. Because you’re the only one worth nothing."

The words broke you more than the strike. With a gasp of pain, you snatched the first thing at hand: an umbrella. In a desperate surge, you smashed it against his face. Damian staggered backward, stunned for just a second—the second you needed to rise and run to the door.

You rushed to the entrance, trembling hands fumbling at the lock. But the instant you touched it, his grip clamped around your arm.

And then it happened: the door flung open, slamming against the wall. And you saw him.

Clark.

Your body reacted before your mind. You darted to him and hid behind his frame, trembling, weeping, not daring even to lift your eyes.

Damian, enraged, charged forward.

"Let her go, you damn meddler!" he shouted, throwing a punch.

Clark dodged effortlessly and shoved him back with one hand. Damian was hurled across the room, crashing against the coffee table with a grunt.

"Curse you!" Damian roared, staggering to his feet and lunging again.

Clark let him come, calculating his movements. He could have ended it with a single blow, but he restrained himself, striking only enough to stop him without killing him. Damian swung a wild right hook; Clark blocked with his forearm and shoved him again, forcing him several steps back.

The struggle was short but fierce. Damian panted heavily, flailing, while Clark, calm and unyielding, subdued him—gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back until Damian let out a strangled cry.

"Listen closely," Clark said, his voice deep, firmer than you had ever heard it. "If you ever lay a hand on her again, if you so much as get near her, I swear it will be the last time you raise a hand against anyone."

Damian glared with hatred, writhing helplessly in Clark’s hold.

"She’s mine," he spat.

Clark’s eyes hardened.

"She is not yours. She never was." He shoved him down to the floor with force—without even using a fraction of his strength. Damian collapsed to his knees, gasping.

Clark turned to you, his voice soft now, in stark contrast to the steel of moments ago.

"Go get your bag and your coat," he said quietly.

Shaking, you rushed to grab them. You could barely breathe, your heart hammering violently in your chest. Clark took them gently from your hands, as though unwilling to let you carry anything else.

Then he looked back at Damian, still on the floor, his gaze like a frozen warning.

"If you come after her again, if you even dare to follow her with your eyes, you’ll have to deal with me."

Without waiting for a reply, Clark slipped an arm around your back and guided you toward the exit. You pressed yourself against his side, burying your face in his shoulder, feeling—for the first time in months—a breath of relief, a refuge.

When the door closed behind you both, your body gave out. Tears flowed freely as Clark tightened his hold, shielding you as if nothing in the world could ever reach you again.

The walk to his apartment was silent. Clark didn’t pressure you with questions; he just kept his firm hand on your shoulder as he guided you. Every step away from that place made you feel a little lighter, though fear still pressed against your chest.

When you entered, Clark closed the door carefully. Not like Damian, who always slammed everything. That simple gesture pulled a stifled sob from your throat. Clark turned to you immediately, his blue eyes filled with concern.

“You shouldn’t have gone through all of that alone,” he said in a low, deep voice, as if afraid that speaking any louder might break you. “You should have told me…”

The tears finally broke the dam. You covered your face with your hands and began to tremble. Clark took a step, then another, until he embraced you—gently, but leaving no space between you.

“Shhh… I’m here. No one else is going to hurt you,” he whispered as he stroked your back, his firm chest steady against your trembling cheek.

“Clark…” you managed to say through tears. “I didn’t want to bother you, I didn’t want to be a burden…”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His warm hands cradled your face with delicacy.

“Listen to me carefully. You will never, ever be a burden to me.” His voice was as firm as a vow. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you. Always.”

Your body gave in, and you hugged him with all your strength, crying into his shoulder. Clark closed his eyes, holding you tighter, as if he wanted to protect you from the entire world.

“Stay here tonight,” he asked softly, brushing your hair. “Don’t go back there. You’re safe here.”

You shook your head through your sobs.

“I don’t want to cause you trouble…”

Clark smiled sadly, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“The only trouble would be letting you go, knowing you’re afraid. I won’t do that.”

His insistence was so patient and so steady that you couldn’t find the strength to argue anymore. You just nodded, exhausted.

Clark took a deep breath, as though a weight had been lifted, and guided you toward his bedroom. He opened a drawer and pulled out a clean cotton t-shirt and a pair of soft, light fabric pants.

“Here, put this on. You’ll be more comfortable.”

When you came out of the bathroom wearing his clothes, the cotton smelled of soap and of Clark, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a touch of calm. He had already arranged the pillows and lowered the blinds so that only a thread of warm light came through.

“Sleep here,” he said, pointing to the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay nearby.”

“Clark… you shouldn’t…” you whispered hoarsely, feeling small in the doorway.

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he said with a soft smile and a steady gaze. “This bed is yours tonight.”

You approached and sank into the clean sheets. The weight of exhaustion and tears was overwhelming. Clark stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his calm expression hiding the storm of emotions within him.

Your eyes slowly closed, and the last thing you saw was that tall figure, still and unwavering, watching over you with tenderness from the doorway.

For the first time in months, you slept without fear.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was the first thing you noticed. You opened your eyes slowly, and for a moment, the calm of the place confused you. The room was dim, barely lit by the faint glow filtering through the curtains. No yelling, no banging, only silence. Then you heard the sound of a pan coming from the kitchen.

You sat up slowly, still wearing Clark’s shirt on your shoulders, and saw him with his back turned, focused on preparing something. His sleeves were rolled up, and he wore an apron, and the scene was so strange—so normal, so domestic—that tears stung your eyes once again.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Clark said with a smile when he turned and saw you standing at the door. His tone was soft, almost playful, as if determined to pull a smile from you at any cost.

“I can’t believe you cook,” you whispered, trying to sound light.

“Of course I do.” He shrugged. “Maybe not like you, but enough to keep from starving.” He lifted a pan of scrambled eggs and added, “Sorry, no time to prepare a feast.”

A fragile, broken laugh escaped you, but it was enough to make his eyes light up.

You sat together at the table. Clark served you eggs, toast, and coffee, watching every movement as if afraid you might fall apart at any moment. When you only managed a couple of bites, he didn’t press you.

“Clark…” you began softly, playing with your cup. “I need to go back to my apartment, get some clothes. I have to work today.”

He shook his head immediately, his brow furrowed.

“No.” His tone was firm, leaving no room for discussion.

“Clark…” you insisted, but he interrupted you, placing a hand over yours.

“While you were sleeping, I went out. I brought your things. Clothes, your bag, everything you need for work.”

You looked at him, startled, a knot forming in your throat.

“How…?”

Clark didn’t answer directly. He just held your gaze, steady, resolute.

“Damian is fine,” he said slowly. “He won’t bother you again.”

Your body tensed. You lowered your gaze, guilt stabbing into your chest.

“I’m worried he might hurt you…” you whispered.

Clark leaned closer, caressing your hand with patience.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re safe.”

The tears returned, and Clark brushed them away with his thumb.

“You’re not alone, alright?” he whispered. “Not again.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, for the first time feeling like you could believe him.

Shortly after, you both got ready to head to the Daily Planet. Clark offered you his jacket so you’d feel more protected, and you walked together to the office. This time, his presence by your side wasn’t just company: it was a shield. And though you still trembled, you knew that morning you had crossed a boundary—you were no longer completely trapped.

When you arrived at work that morning, every pair of eyes seemed to follow you. It wasn’t scandal—it was curiosity. You walked beside Clark, his jacket still draped over your shoulders. He looked serious, but every now and then he cast you quick glances, making sure you were all right.

Lois lifted her gaze from her papers and watched you for a few seconds. Cat did too, one eyebrow arched. Perry cleared his throat, as if unwilling to state the obvious. Jimmy, sitting closest, opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him with a gesture.

You took a deep breath. Your heart was pounding, your hands shaking, but you knew this was the moment.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper, yet enough to draw the attention of all four. Lois put down her pen, Cat tilted her head, and Perry raised an eyebrow.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Cat asked, her tone gentle yet probing.

You pressed your lips together before speaking.

“Damian… he’s not what everyone thinks. He… he’s been hurting me.” Your voice cracked, your eyes filled with tears. “Not just… arguments. Blows. Threats.” You looked down, ashamed, as your words hung in the air like blades.

A tense silence followed. Lois immediately stood, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“My God… since when?” she asked, her face serious, genuine worry shining in her eyes.

You swallowed hard.

“For months. That’s why I pulled away from everyone.” You turned your gaze toward Clark, who watched you carefully, letting you continue without pressure.

Cat let out a sigh, pressing her lips together.

“I suspected it,” she murmured, more to herself than to you.

Jimmy lowered his gaze, muttering, “I knew something wasn’t right… that guy gave me a bad feeling for a long time.”

Lois stepped closer, her eyes—almost always sparkling with irony—now filled with compassion.

“Listen, darling…” she said softly. “Sometimes life gives us signs. And maybe, just maybe, what it’s trying to tell you is that you’re not alone.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward Clark, and a fleeting smile touched her lips. “Maybe you should realize who’s been here all along.”

Clark blushed instantly, lowering his gaze to the floor like a teenager caught in the middle of a confession. You, however, were too lost in the memories, still feeling Damian’s shadow at your back, like a ghost that refused to leave.

Perry broke the silence with his usual gruff tone, though this time there was a different firmness in his voice.

“Listen carefully. From today on, that man is banned from the Daily Planet.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “I don’t want you worrying about him showing up here ever again. This place is yours, and here you’re safe.”

Tears filled your eyes once more, but you nodded, unable to form words.

Perry exhaled loudly, adjusting his glasses.

“And now enough with the sentiment. We’ve got work to do.” Though his tone was the same as always, everyone noticed the protective glint in his eyes as he looked at you.

The others slowly returned to their desks, giving you space.

The days began to take on a different rhythm. Clark adjusted quickly: sleeping on the couch, waking up early to make coffee, and gently waking you afterward. He didn’t care about the discomfort; every morning, the first thing he saw was your calmer face, and that was enough for him.

At first, you still trembled in your sleep. You woke in the middle of the night with a start. But Clark was always there, standing in the doorway, reassuring you with his low voice:

“You’re safe. Sleep.”

And little by little, you began to smile again.

You went to work together. You walked side by side through the streets of Metropolis, and though people didn’t notice, your steps were steadier because he was with you. At noon, when you once used to slip away to avoid running into him, you now accepted his invitations again.

“Want to grab a bite?” Clark asked with that shy smile.

“All right,” you answered, and that single word was enough to make his shoulders relax.

Between article discussions, shared coffees, and small jokes, you began to remember what it was like being with him back in college.

One of those nights, back at the apartment, Clark was helping you cook dinner. While he clumsily chopped vegetables and you laughed, a memory hit you square in the chest.

You looked at him, illuminated by the warm kitchen light, and saw him as he was then: the tall boy who always carried your books, who accompanied you to libraries, who looked at you as if you were capable of anything.

You remembered the campus walks, his easy laughter, the moments when you stayed silent just to watch him. You had been hopelessly in love with Clark in college. But you never told him. Never.

Now, as you watched him stir the soup with a concentrated expression, that feeling returned—strong and alive.

Clark looked up and caught you smiling without realizing it.

“What?” he asked, amused.

You shook your head nervously.

“Nothing… it’s just… it’s been a long time since I laughed like this.”

He blushed a little, but his gaze softened with tenderness.

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t forget again.”

And in that moment you understood that life was giving you back what you had lost: your laughter, your friendship, and perhaps, something that had always been there, quietly waiting.

════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════

Your backyard is buzzing with your family and your in-laws, from the kitchen window you watch as Frank flips a burger on the grill. Your stomach has been in knots all morning, your hands shake as you turn off the faucet. Since buying the house, your new home has been the go-to for every event. You don't mind hosting, not usually. Today is the exception.

The day is father's day. A holiday that is spent celebrating dad's, and dad's to be. Your hand briefly falls to your belly, staring at Frank as he laughs at something your mom says. You found out only just a few days ago, and what better time to tell him than on a day centered around fatherhood? Your plan had been flawless, until a text in the family group chat started and everyone practically invited themselves over. You hadn’t wanted the day to go this way, you wanted to tell him privately. Well, too late for that.

"Hey," Mel says from behind you. You turn to smile at her, dropping your hand from your belly. Since working at PTMC and learning about Mel's past, she's been invited to every party, especially family-centered ones. "Do you need any help in here?"

"Actually, yes. Could you help me carry out the salads?"

Mel grins, eager to aid you. The two of you navigate through the house and out to the back door, setting the bowls on the table outside.

You move to Frank, who is still standing at the grill wearing your apron you bought as a joke, you'd laughed as he tied it around his waist earlier that afternoon.

"Hi, baby," he says, closing the lid to the grill. Briefly, he turns to grab something, then offers you a plate. "Burger made your-way. Charred."

It wasn't actually charred, but you hated the pink inside and always made him cook your burgers longer, despite his protests of how that cooked all of the flavor out. As he handed you the plate, you tried not to blanch. The thought of eating anything, especially red meat instantly made you queasy.

Still, you took it with a faux smile. "Thank you. How are things going out here?"

"Great," Frank shrugs, gesturing behind you. At the patio table, your two families have merged, several bottles of beer and paper plates in front of them. "They're about two minutes away from playing cards and starting their gamble."

"Lovely."

He notices that you haven't started to eat. Clearly, because his brows furrow and his eyes glance to the full plate in your hands. "Do you want me to cook it more?"

"What? Oh, no. I'm fine. I'm not really hungry." He doesn't seem convinced, but you flash him another smile. "I'm gonna grab a drink from the cooler, you want something?"

"Whatever you have," he answers.

You're quick to scurry away back to the house where the coolers are by the door. You receive several requests as you're rummaging through the ice—another beer for your dad, a water for your grandmother, Frank's mom requests a soda.

By the time you return to your husband at the grill, you're out of breath. You know you shouldn't be from just crouching over, all you can do is hope he doesn't notice.

"Thanks, honey."

You sip your drink, leaning against the house. "I wasn't expecting everyone here today."

"Yeah," Frank agrees, scrunching his nose at you. "Don't worry, the second my sister buys a house they'll be out of our hair and in hers. It's just 'cause we're the newest homeowners."

"I don't mind it," you say, quietly. "I just.."

Frank blinks at you, curious. "Yeah?"

I wanted to tell you that you're going to be a dad without all of our family knowing, too. You don't say it, obviously. Instead, you step into his arms, your hands tucking in the pockets of his jeans, feeling the heat from the grill next to you. "Nothing," you lie, smiling up at him. He gazes at you, softly. Your hair is pulled up, but that doesn't stop him from sliding his fingers between the strands by your ear.

"Yeah?" He echoes again, giving you a little pout that makes you flush. "You sure?"

"Mhm."

You know he senses something is off, but you're grateful he doesn't push it. It's about an hour later when the gift exchange happens—a mug you got for your dad, a card for Frank's. The table is littered in tissue paper and small presents by the time you've mustered up the courage. Quickly, you head inside and open the closet where you've stored your secret. A small, blue bag that holds the reveal to why you've been so off with your husband that day.

Everyone is still sitting at the table, drinking and laughing, your dad is still reading the funny print on the mug you bought him. Frank smiles at you as you approach, eyes flickering curiously to the bag in your hand.

"Who is that for?" He asks. You feel several heads turn, your nosey family immediately noticing.

"You," you tell him, presenting the bag to him.

You don't think you've ever seen Frank so confused, it's clear he thinks it's a joke because he laughs a little awkwardly as he accepts the bag. "You definitely didn't have to get me anything, honey," he says.

"I definitely did," you reply. "Open it."

Frank casts a glance around your families to see if anyone knows what's going on, but they're all in the dark, too. Slowly, he pulls out the decorative paper, placing it onto the table, until finally, he reaches the small infant onesie you had tucked inside. It's a light yellow with little ducks on it. As he stares at it, you feel the realization settle through the backyard.

Your heart is in your throat as you wring your hands together, awaiting his reaction. He looks up to you, slowly. "Happy father's day," you murmur, softly.

The man next to you doesn’t look up. You give him a small smile anyway. Sorry for cutting in line and I hope you get seen soon.

When you reach the desk, Lupe is watching you from behind her glass. Her eyebrows are already up, perched high on her forehead. She knows you, seen you loitering near the exit waiting for Langdon to finish his shift.

“How long have you been waiting, honey?” Her eyes swept over your tired face, the clumsy bandage, the way you’re holding your arm so carefully.

“Not long.” You smile. It feels thin on your face.

Lupe gives you a look. She knows you’re lying. You can see it in the slight downturn of her mouth, the way her gaze flicks to the clock and then back to you. But she just looks down at her papers, shuffling them into neat alignment.

You hesitate, you're not sure if Langdon's working triage today, but still you'd prefer to be treated by any other doctor than him, not wanting to concern him. And you hear yourself speak before you can stop.

“Uh, could I—” You cut yourself off, but Lupe is already looking at you, waiting. Your face warms. “Never mind. It’s fine.”

“Dr. McKay will take care of you.” She nods at you as if knowing what you were going to ask.

You exhale. “Thank you.”

When you turn, Dr. McKay is already there, standing in the doorway of the treatment area with a warm smile. She lifts her hand in a small wave and you smile back, and it feels a little less thin this time.

Cassie was always kind to you. So when she smiles at you now, it's like a small weight lifts off your chest. Her hand finds the space between your shoulder blades, guiding you away from the noisy waiting room and down the hallway.

The treatment room is small and quiet. So quiet. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Loud, isn't it?" Cassie says, already pulling on gloves, smiling at you.

You nod, sinking onto the edge of the exam bed. The paper crinkles beneath you. "So loud."

She settles onto the rolling stool across from you, knees bumping gently against yours as she scoots in. She holds her hand out, palm up, and you place your injured one in it.

"Now," she says, tilting her head, "what happened to you?"

You open your mouth to answer, but then her fingers are very gently turning your hand over, resting it on your thigh so she can get a better look. The shift in angle pulls at the wound and you can't help the hiss that escapes.

Her eyes flick up to yours, apologetic. "Sorry, sorry." She lifts the edge of your sad little bandage, peeling back the tape bit by bit. When she sees what's underneath, she sucks air through her teeth. "Oh, ouch."

You grimace. "Yeah. It's—"

The door opens.

"—worse than it looks, actually," Cassie finishes for you, not looking up, because she's still peering at your palm.

"Hey, McKay, there's a—" Frank stops talking.

You watch his face cycle through about four different expressions in two seconds. Confusion first, eyebrows drawing together like he's walked into the wrong room. Then recognition. Then his eyes drop to your hand, cradled in Cassie's gloved fingers and the blood. Then it settles into something deliberately neutral.

Cassie's head has turned. She's looking between the two of you, her "oops" face already in place, clearly realizing Langdon did not know you were here.

"Crap," you mutter.

Frank is still holding the door open. He's not moving. Not coming closer, not stepping out. Just standing there, one hand on the frame and his gaze hasn't left your hand.

For a beat, nobody speaks.

Then Cassie clears her throat. "I should, um." She's already peeling off her gloves, already scooting her stool back. "I'll go check on that thing. The thing I was going to check on. Before I came here." She's standing now, edging toward the door.

Frank doesn't move to let her out. Doesn't seem to register her at all.

"Sorry," Cassie murmurs to you, and there's genuine apology in her voice beneath the sly curve of her mouth. She shoots Frank a look on her way past go easy on her and slips through the narrow gap between him and the doorframe.

The door clicks shut. And then it's just you and Frank.

For a moment he just stands there, hand still on the handle, looking at you. Then he takes Cassie's abandoned stool, rolls it close. His knees bracket yours. His fingers find your wrist gently, turning your hand over, tilting it toward the light. You watch his face as he studies your palm.

"What happened?" His voice is quiet. He lifts his gaze to yours and something in his expression softens like it always does when he sees you.

And when you meet his blue eyes, you suddenly realize how much you'd missed him.

You'd seen him three hours ago but still. You'd only gotten a glimpse of him in the early grey light. His early shifts eat up the best hours of the day, swallow him whole before the sun's even thought about rising. In the beginning you used to fight it. Set your own alarm, drag yourself upright, shuffle to the door to kiss him goodbye.

But after a while your body stopped cooperating. The alarm would go off and you'd burrow deeper into the blankets instead, surfacing just enough to feel the mattress shift as he stood up.

So, he started waking up ten minutes earlier just so you could have those ten minutes together. You'd lie there in the dark, your head on his sternum, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear. Talking sleepily about what you should eat tonight, if he was getting home early, what plans you had for his day off.

He'd, then, kiss your temple, untangle himself. You'd hear him in the bathroom and you'd drift. But you always woke again when the mattress dipped. He'd come back to the bedside, dressed, and face-plant into the curve of your neck. His breath warm against your skin, his body heavy. You'd lift your hand, stroke the back of his head, careful not to mess the hair he'd just spent five minutes gelling. Go to work, you'd murmur. And he'd groan, press one more kiss to your temple, and finally go.

Three hours ago he did all of that. Three hours ago his mouth was against your skin and his hand was in yours and now here you are, sitting on an exam bed in his hospital, bleeding into your lap.

You miss him. It's stupid, he's right here, his fingers circling your wrist, his knee warm against yours, but you miss him. The feeling sits heavy in your chest.

You sigh, and it comes out shaky. "Dropped orange juice," you mumble. "Tried to pick it up."

Your free hand lifts and your fingers find his hair, the strand that's come loose and you tuck it back. It's softer than the gelled parts. You let your hand linger.

Frank stares at you for a beat too long, his thumb still resting against the inside of your wrist. Then his gaze drops back to your hand.

"Does it hurt much?" His voice is like he's asking any patient, like he hasn't spent countless mornings with his face buried in your neck.

"No, it's not that—ouch, what the hell, Frank?"

You practically yelp, snatching your hand back on instinct. He'd pressed right at the edge of the wound.

His jaw is set, but there's something flickering at the corner of his mouth. "That's for lying."

"You—" You glare at him, fully aware that you look more pained than intimidating. "I wasn't lying, I said it's not that bad—"

His touch gentles immediately, fingers careful now as he turns your hand back over. He didn't mean to actually hurt you, you can see it in the way his brow pinches, the way his hold softens. But he's not apologizing, either. You keep glaring for another moment, then sigh, the fight draining out of you.

"Fine," you mutter. "Work your magic or whatever."

He releases your wrist long enough to stand, crossing to the supply cabinet. Your sad little bandage goes in the bin. He gathers what he needs and arranges them on the tray beside you.

"Why'd you wait?" He doesn't look at you when he asks.

You shrug with one shoulder. "Didn't want special treatment."

Frank's head turns. He gives you a look. The one that says are you serious?

"You were bleeding for two hours." His voice is quiet. He's making an effort to stay calm. "That could easily count as an emergency. 'Special treatment' doesn't matter."

He's mad. You appreciate the effort he's making to stay gentle. You also know you upset him, deeper than either of you are saying.

"I wasn't bleeding for two hours, Frank." You can hear how petulant you sound. You don't care. He looks up from the tray. "I had a bandage on!" You can feel your lower lip pushing out. Actually pouting, like a child, and you can't seem to stop. "A perfectly functional bandage."

"A bad one."

"You barely saw it. Cassie already took it off when you came in."

"I know you well enough to know it was bad."

That shuts you up and you look away. He pulls on fresh gloves and the sound of the latex snapping against his wrists is loud in the small room. He takes your hand again carefully, and positions the tray closer.

"Ready?" His voice is softer now.

You nod. The saline stings as it runs over the wound, and you hiss through your teeth. You can't see what he's doing, your view is blocked by his head, but you can feel it. Your eyes start to sting.

"Almost got it," he murmurs, not looking up. You don't answer. Your throat is tight. "Grip my arm."

He doesn't need to tell you twice. Your free hand finds his bicep, fingers digging into the fabric of his scrubs.

When he's done stitching, he snips the thread, discards needles, bloody gauze all vanishes into the red bin. His gloves come off with a loud snap, and then he's just standing there in front of you, hands empty, looking down at his work.

It's neat. You can see that much. Six tiny sutures, precise and even. He's good at this. "You okay?"

You shake your head. "No."

He exhales slowly, and then his arms are opening, just slightly. You fall into him. Your knees part wider and he steps into the space between, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through his scrubs. Your one good hand grips the back of his shirt. The other lies bandaged and useless against his chest. He wraps his arms around you properly, one hand spanning your shoulder blades, the other settling at your waist. You press your face into the curve of his neck and close your eyes.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Your voice is muffled against his skin.

His hand moves in slow circles on your back. "You didn't."

"I did." You pull back just enough to look at him. "You're upset. I can tell."

He doesn't deny it. His jaw shifts, that tell he can never quite hide. His hands come up to frame your face, thumbs brushing the curve of your cheekbones. He looks at you for a long moment.

"You know I worked my ass off to become a doctor." His voice is quiet. "The special treatment should be used."

You sigh, and it's mostly fond. "Come on, Frank. It's not fair to other people."

He opens his mouth, but you keep going.

"I saw a teenage boy in the waiting room. His ankle was the most purple color I've ever seen in my life. Like, eggplant purple." You shake your head slightly, his hands moving with you. "How is it fair that I just skip past him because my boyfriend works here?"

Frank's jaw does that thing again. He fixes a strand of hair behind your ear, tucks it gently, his fingers lingering. He doesn't say anything, but you can see him turning it over, weighing your words against his own stubborn concern.

"My point stands," he finally says softly. "Next time you come here immediately. Got it?"

You don't reply. He gives you a look and you give him a look right back. He makes a mental note. You can practically see him filing it away under Conversations To Have At Home, right next to Why She Doesn't Eat Enough At Work and The Thing About Leaving Wet Towels On The Floor.

But for now, he lets it go.

His hands are still framing your face and he smooths your hair again, tucking another stray piece behind your ear. His fingers trail down, adjusting the collar of your shirt, straightening it.

"When you get home," he says, his voice settling into doctor mode, "keep the bandage dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can shower normally, just don't soak it." You nod. "The sutures need to stay clean. Watch for redness, swelling, any drainage." His thumb brushes your jaw. "If it starts looking angry, you come back. No waiting."

"I won't wait."

He pauses. Looks at you. "No waiting."

"...I won't wait."

He doesn't look convinced. But his hands drop to your shoulders, squeeze once, and then he's reaching for the aftercare sheet on the counter, scanning it. His other hand finds yours, holds it carefully, the uninjured one.

"Elevate it when you sleep," he murmurs, still reading. "Pillow under your arm. And take the ibuprofen before the lidocaine wears off, not after."

"Frank." He looks up. "I'll be fine."

After a while, your head drops against his chest, right over his heart. Your fingers find the edge of your new bandage, toying with the tape, pressing gently to see if it still hurts. It does, but less now. Clean and closed and taken care of.

"How's work going, by the way?" You tilt your head up to look at him, chin pressing against his chest. Your smile feels easier now, the tension finally bleeding out of your shoulders.

Frank glances down at you, and the corner of his mouth ticks up. "Oh, you know. Much better ever since my girlfriend showed up with a bloody hand."

You poke his chest with your good hand. "Very funny."

"Not trying to be funny." His voice is dry, but his eyes are warm. "Really brightened my shift. Nothing like a little relationship crisis to break up the monotony."

"Relationship crisis." You snort. "Is that what this is?"

He considers it. "Minor relationship crisis then." His thumb finds the back of your head, threading through your hair. You shove at his chest, but you're smiling now, and so is he.

The silence stretches again and his hand keeps moving in your hair. Slow strokes from your scalp to the ends, over and over.

To be honest, Frank is quite happy to have you here. Happier than he expected. He's missed you. More than he guessed.

Usually it doesn't hit him until later. Until he's finally walking through the front door after twelve hours. Until he sees you on the couch in your pajamas, some show paused on the screen, your face lighting up when you notice him. You always jump up, always wrap your arms around him like it's been weeks instead of just a day. And he holds on too long, probably, his face pressed into your hair, his arms locked around your waist. He gets clingy after long shifts. Terribly clingy. You tease him about it sometimes, but you never pull away.

That's when it usually hits him. How long the hours really are. How much of the day he spends without you.

But now you're here. Right here, in his hospital, with your head on his chest and your breath warm through his scrub top. And all he can think is that this shift, this shift that was already shaping up to be chaotic, already had him running from room to room, is about to become the longest shift of his life. Because now he'll get to wonder if your hand hurts. Wonder if you're eating enough. Wonder if you'll still be awake when he finally gets home.

He sighs and keeps brushing through your hair. His fingers catch on a small tangle and work through it carefully.

"Do you think it'll be a long day today?" Your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to. It's your day off, the whole empty apartment waiting for you, the whole afternoon stretching ahead. You'd been hoping, maybe, for something else.

He's quiet for a moment. His fingers still in your hair. "No," he says. "I don't think so."Something loosens in your chest. "I'll get dinner on the way home, okay?" He says it casual, like of course he'll be home at a reasonable hour, of course you'll eat together. "And please don't touch any more dishes today." He pauses. "Or anything made of glass, actually. Just to be safe."

He's grinning now, that particular slant of his mouth that means he's very pleased with his own joke. You shoot him a look. It doesn't land.

"Fine," you sigh. "But you're doing dishes for a week."

"I'll clear my schedule."

You shake your head, but you're fighting a smile. His thumb is drawing slow circles on your scalp now, and you could honestly fall asleep like this, right here, with your head on his chest and his heartbeat under your ear.

But you shouldn't. He has patients. He has work. You're taking up his time, his attention, his hands that should be on someone who actually needs a doctor—

"I should let you get back to work." You start to pull away, shifting your weight off the bed.

"Uh uh." His hand on your shoulder, easing you back down. "Nope."

You blink at him. "Frank—"

"We're going to the cafeteria." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. His palm is already open, waiting for yours. "We're making you eat something so you don't get dizzy from blood loss. Then I'm calling you a cab. Got it?"

You open your mouth and close it. He's watching you with that particular expression, the one that says I'm not asking. You've learned your boyfriend's antics well enough by now. A year of him looking at you exactly like this until you sigh and give in.

And you sigh and give in.

Once you had more than enough food in you, it was time to go back home. At the entrance of the hospital, Frank hesitates, his hand hovering over his phone. He has been thinking about driving you home himself, about having a few more moments together before the long hours of his shift swallows him again, but he knows you’d argue with him if he tried. With a reluctant sigh, he taps the cab app and summons a car. Leaning back against the wall, he gestures for you to stay close, and you do, yawning and pressing lightly against him as you fiddle with your bandage.

“Careful with that,” he mutters for the third time, snatching your hand gently from your bandage. You sigh and he just shakes his head, brushing the hair out of your face instead, letting his hand linger there as you waited.

Frank exhales slowly, feeling the warmth of your body next to his. It was the kind of warmth that made him painfully aware he wouldn’t see you for another seven hours.

You look up at him and smile softly. “Thanks for taking care of me, by the way.”

“No need to thank me,” Frank smiles softly, brushing his thumb lightly over your cheek. “Next time, you visit me without a bloody hand, yeah?”

“Will do,” you murmur, smiling back. You glance down at the street just as the cab pulls up, then back at him. “Take care of yourself, okay?” you say softly. “I’ll see you at home.”

Frank nods, reaching out to cup your hand gently, inspecting the wrapping one last time. “I’ll try to be home as soon as I can. Be careful, please,” he murmurs.

Instinctively, you lean in to kiss him, your good hand sliding up toward the back of his neck. Out of habit, you try to tug him down to you, the way you always do, but you forget about your other hand. The bandaged one presses a little too firmly against the side of his neck as you reach, and a small groan escapes before you could stop it.

Frank reacts instantly. “Hey—” His hands are already gently lifting your injured hand away from him. His brows pull together, concern flashing across his face as he cradles your wrist carefully. “Easy.”

He turns your hand over in his, brushing his thumb lightly across the inside of your palm. “Let me do the work, yeah?” he murmurs softly.

This time, he steps closer instead of letting you strain toward him. One hand slides to your jaw,the other still loosely holding your wrist so you wouldn’t forget and reach again. He leans down slowly and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. His mouth moves softly against yours and for a second you forget about the throbbing in your hand, forgot about the shift waiting to swallow him whole.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead brushes yours, his nose grazing lightly against your cheek. “See?” he murmurs quietly. “Much safer.” You huff out a quiet laugh.

He studies your face for another second, before finally straightening just enough to look at you properly. A teasing glint returns to his eyes.“No dishes tonight, yeah?” he says, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “No cleaning. No heroic attempts at doing anything one-handed.”

You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “Yes, doctor.”

When you first get to the PTMC, Jack can’t decide what he thinks about you.

He vaguely remembers you— you’d done a rotation here, some time ago. One of the unfortunate ones who’d drawn the short stick and been stuck on the night shift. He has a hazy recollection of your face during an MVC, your jaw hard set and a permanent smile to your face. He vaguely remembers, at the time, the only thing he’d really though was:

Jesus, this kid needs to dial it back.

The sentiment, of course, remains the same when it’s handoff time, and Robby is telling him all about what an awful fucking day it’s been, and of course now he says “Oh, remember that med student you got stuck with awhile back? Smiley-face? You must’ve done something right, because she matched into the ED for her residency. She starts today.”

Not exactly the news an attending wants to hear right after the horror show the day has been so far. Especially when intern/baby resident in question is… charismatic.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ellis says, her eyes trained on you as you soothe a crying teenager who just got wheeled in. “If you ask me, we could use someone who actually smiles. Bit too dark and dreary in here for my taste.”

“You like dark and dreary.”

She gives him an unimpressed raised eyebrow. “So? We can’t all be doing it. Like, we’ve got Shen, but his is more iced-coffee induced than actual smiling charm.”

“I can be charming when I want to be.”

“No, you can be flirty or suggestive. There’s a difference.”

Jack does not justify her response with one of his own, instead choosing to look down at his tablet and pretend to chart while he listens to how you’re interacting with the patient. The teenager seems to be calmed down, and the parents don't sound frantic or worried.

Maybe Ellis is right. Unfortunately, this tends to be the case fairly often.

He sighs and focuses on the chart he’s supposed to be doing and attempts to wipe his mind of bright smiles and glittering eyes.

—

The PTMC and Emergency Medicine in general was not, actually, your first choice. It wasn’t even your second, or your third.

First was surgical. Everybody wants to be surgical. You wanted surgical. It’s flashy, it pays well, and it’s cool as fuck. Plus, unlike some of your classmates, you actually have the stomach for it (one of the many things that eventually translated well to emergency medicine.)

Second was Ortho. Because bones are cool. Ortho surgeries are fun too, when they’re not arthroscopy after arthroscopy.

Third was any kind of unit like Burn or ICU. A high stress program that wouldn’t let you think, let you run on adrenaline all day.

But then you did your rotation in general surgery and absolutely fucking hated it.

Surgeons are assholes. Surgeons are uptight nerds who like to subject anyone they consider beneath them to cruel and unusual punishment.

Even in during the short duration of your rotation through surgery, it almost killed you. You could practically feel the light in your soul dimming at every pointed comment, every sharp correction, every barked insult and something or other cruel word.

And then there was the PTMC. The stupid ED that wasn’t supposed to fun, was supposed to be grueling and exhausting (especially since you’d gotten assigned to the night shift.) But instead of awful you got amazing, which sucked.

Seems counterintuitive, but it’s true.

You wanted to like surgery enough to power though. But not a single rotation after the ED even came close to measuring up. The speed, the action, the gore, and the kind but firm guiding direction from the attending’s and residents.

Matching into the PTMC was an event actually worth celebrating. As in, you decided to un-tense minutely and splurge on actual champagne that you drank in your apartment while dancing to your favorite music.

And now, you’re here. Determined to not fuck this up. To keep moving, keep going, and be a fucking excellent ED doctor.

Except your attending, Dr. Jack Abbot, one of the reasons you joined the ED in the first place, keeps giving you funny looks when he thinks you’re not looking.

You’re not sure if he’s aware that you know that he’s staring at you. You do have a wider than normal field of peripheral vision, so maybe he doesn’t know that you can still see him out of the corner of your eye?

Regardless of if he knows or not, it’s unnerving. Because he’s your boss. And you know he’s capable of being an incredible doctor and mentor, because you see it every single day.

Just not directed at you.

He’s not really mean, or standoffish, or anything like that, he’s just… not necessarily kind. Not in the way that you see him with the other residents on his service or even with you, during your rotation as a med student.

Hell, he’s nicer to Santos than he is to you.

“Did I like, say something to offend him and I don’t know?”

Trinity makes a face at you from over the edge of the monitor. “Isn’t that more my area of expertise?”

“No. You offend people on purpose.”

“True.”

You prop your head on your hands, resting your elbows on the counter above her. Your keycard, attached to your breast pocket via a red, heart-shaped badge reel is lovingly adorned with pink rhinestones and cute stickers. The pocket itself is filled with several glitter gel pens (and regular pens, just in case.)

“I just don’t get it. I’m nice, right?”

“Disturbingly so.”

“Exactly. The only thing I can think of is that I’ve messed up or something, but it’s Dr. Abbot. He’d tell me if I did. He doesn’t exactly hold back.”

“Do you really need me for this conversation?”

You level her with a look, but she just groans.

“Why do you even care? So what, one guy doesn’t like you, boohoo.”

“He’s not just some guy. He’s my attending. And you might’ve secured your spot here, but i’m all shiny and new. I can’t exactly earn people’s respect if our boss doesn’t like me.”

Trinity doesn’t immediately respond with a scathing remark, which usually means that you’ve made a valid point.

“Should I talk to him?”

She sighs. “I think you’re overreacting. You’ve only been here for like, two weeks? Three? He’ll probably calm down the more you work together.”

“Did he stare at you all weirdly when you first started?”

“Well, no, but that’s because I don’t suck at my job.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

“Sorry. I guess you’re not completely hopeless.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Trin.”

She scrunches her nose up at the nickname like you knew she would, because she hates it, which makes it one of the only weapons you have against her.

Trinity wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped, and night shift means no Dana to ask for advice. There’s Dr. Ellis, but she’s pretty close to Dr. Abbot, which means there’s a high chance that whatever you ask her will make it back to him. You aren’t really close enough to Dr. Shen to ask him “Hey, how come Dr. Abbot stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking and isn’t as nice to me as he is to you guys?”

The question is stupid and kind of pathetic, so really, you shouldn’t be asking anybody, but you’ve always been crippled by an intense need to be well-liked. It feels like winning, and it feels good and safe. Safe is good. Safe is great.

Wanting the guy who's essentially your boss to like you is completely rational, right?

You just wish he’d tell you what you’re doing wrong, so you can fix it.

Also, it’s just driving you crazy.

Even if he just legitimately didn’t like you, and made that apparent, it’d be something. You could work with that. You could figure out what it was he didn't like via intense pattern recognitin and fix it. Problem solved!

But he isn't obvious about it. He behaves indifferent and detatched- like you could die tomorrow and he wouldn't care.

It’s the not knowing. If you could just ask him, if he could just give you an answer, then you’d know where you stood, and everything could be fine.

What changed? You want to beg, What happened after my med student rotation? Do you even remember that? What did I do? Where did I go wrong?

It eats away at you over the course of the week. It has been since you noticed, which was pretty much on day one. You don’t show this outwardly of course, because you’re pretty sure you can get through to him and level out the wrong-footedness you feel around him through stubborn determination. Surely, at some point your unwavering nature will win out and he’ll finally see there isn’t anything he needs to hate about you. This is an incredibly healthy mindset to move through life with.

The week closes with an MCI around 5pm, which is just everyone’s favorite thing in the world. The night shift gets called in, minus Trinity, who was already there working a double, and everyone sets in for the long haul. You do your best to focus on the patients and do not at all think about the ease and camaraderie between Mohan and Abbot, because that would be a very fucked up progression of priorities.

Eventually it’s all over— patients are stabilized, some aren’t. Overtime ends with phantom blood on your hands and being strong-armed into drinks in the park afterwards.

You feel awkward, because you don’t work with the day shift people that often, so you’re not really sure how best to be yourself and not come across as weird. Neither of your “safe” people (Trinity and Dennis) are present, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to be capable of relaxing.

You take the beer that’s tossed to you, even though you think beer is gross (why does it taste like that? Why do people enjoy it?) and sip on it excruciatingly slowly, trying to hide a grimace and occasionally chiming in with mentally rehearsed and carefully crafted jokes and comments.

It’s exhausting, and not at all how you wanted to spend your night after an MCI. In a dream world, you don’t have the social backbone of a wet paper bag, and you say no, and you go home to your house and shower, then watch one, maybe two episodes of a tv show, scroll through Pinterest, and then go the fuck to bed.

But for the low low price of much needed rest, you get to drink one of the most disgusting alcoholic beverages known to man and worry if everyone thinks you’re being weird! Yay!

Also. Side note. Minor comment. Little issue.

Jack Abbot is sitting next to you. Like, right next to you on the bench. Because he came late and it was the last spot open. So he’s just right there. Posture loose and open and not at all like he didn’t just help you try to save a girl your age who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like two hours ago your elbows weren’t brushing, elbow deep in a man’s organs, saving his life.

Jack, unlike you, looks comfortable to be at the park with everyone. He doesn’t look like he’s analyzing conversation to determine the best thing to say next.

Jack isn’t looking at everyone. He’s not looking at anyone. He’s looking at you.

You turn, give him a little smile.

Again.

Maybe he doesn’t know you can still see him out of the corner of your eye. (No, he’s a vet, he’d definitely also have wide peripheral vision. But maybe he thinks that you don’t have it, because you’re not a vet.)

(You’re probably thinking too much about the peripheral vision.)

Jack doesn’t stop staring at you. Instead, he reaches over to where your barely-drunk beer is in your hands, and says:

“Here, give me that.”

And then he just. Takes your beer. Straight out of your hands.

Jesus fucking fuck he so hates you.

—

“He took your beer?”

“Yes,” You groan from the kitchen island in Trinity’s apartment, “He said ‘here, give me that’ and then just took it. He didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the night.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Maybe he doesn’t like you. What could you have possibly done to make him not like you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, you better fix it. Having your attending hate your guts will like, majorly suck.”

“I don’t know how to fix it. That’s what i’m over here for. To brainstorm.”

“I thought you were here to steal the cookies Huckleberry made?”

Dennis peeks his head up from the couch. “Wait, what?”

You wave a hand. “Semantics. Focus.”

“Okay,” Trinity taps a pencil on a notepad, “Have you tried sleeping with him?”

“He’s like, probably over twenty years older than me.”

“So? I know your type.”

You roll your eyes. “As if he’d go after me, Trin. He doesn’t like me.”

“Hate sex is a thing.”

“Name one time hate sex solved the hate part.”

She purses her lips. “Touché. What about like, baking him shit, like Huckleberry does for—“

“Shut up Trinity!”

You both snicker.

“No dice,” You sigh, “I can’t bake for shit. Recipes never have enough context. They’re never specific enough.”

“Two tablespoons of sugar isn’t specific enough for you?”

“You’re not helping.”

Trinity holds up her hands in mock surrender. “To be fair, I never agreed to help. I just said we’d both be here if you wanted to come over.”

“I think you should just ask him.” Dennis pipes up.

He shuffles off the couch and slides into the second chair at the kitchen island adjacent to you. “Dr. Abbot is a straightforward guy. He appreciates honesty. Doesn’t beat around the bush. I can’t imagine him being truly upset that you tried to fix a problem.”

“I want to, but that’s like. Too straightforward. What if—“

“Oh my god,” Trinity moans, “Just ask him. Or fuck him. Do something so I don’t have to hear about it anymore.”

You frown, opening your mouth to object, then close it with a sigh.

She’s right.

You have to just move on. Either deal with it or deal with it by… not dealing with it. Talk to him or don’t.

Easier said than done.

—

It takes two more shifts of unrequited awkwardness for you to finally reach your limit. At a certain point, probably when you almost snapped at him for hovering (doing his job) while you were trying to intubate a patient, you realize that you cannot, actually, just get through to him via stubborn determination.

Damn.

So when you have a second, you corner him in one of the quieter hallways. The conversation has the potential to be horrifically embarrassing and mortifying, so it’s best if there’s no audience.

“Do you have a minute, Dr. Abbot?”

He glances down at his watch, then crosses his arms and leans against the opposite wall.

He doesn’t talk (unnerving, annoying) and his sharp, ever analyzing gaze makes your skin prickle as you cross your hands behind your back and mirror his position, leaning against the wall.

He’s so irritating. He won’t even give you a fucking inch. There’s nothing to go on.

“Did I do something wrong?”

For the first time since you became a resident in the ED, he makes an expression: surprise.

“Why do you think you did something wrong?”

“Because you won’t fucking talk to me!” You hiss, absolutely fed up with Dr. Jack Abbot, “Half the time you only look at me when you think I won’t notice. You don’t talk to me unless it’s required for teaching, and even then, it’s short and stilted. I’ve seen how you interact with literally every other person who works here. I know you can be nice. You’re just not nice to me, and I’d like to know why.”

You pause. “And you took my beer!”

There’s a moment of silence, and then there’s a breathy, almost wheezing sound that takes you a minute to place.

He’s laughing.

Jack fucking Abbot starts laughing.

You honest to God want to kill him.

“Sorry,” He says, eyes sparkling with mirth and shoulders loose, “I can see how all of that can be taken negatively—“

“How else was I supposed to take that.”

Jack levels you with a look, and you shut your mouth. “But it was not my intention.”

He just stops speaking there, like that’s a perfectly adequate explanation and not at all vague and almost more disconcerting.

“So…,” You drawl, “What was your intention?”

Something interesting, a little more heated than just analytical sparks in his gaze, and he tilts his head, eyes flicking up and down your body.

Under the silence and scrutiny, you resist the urge to squirm in place, hands squeezing themselves in an effort to subdue the itch.

“You hate confrontation.”

Your chest feels like a cinder block just slammed onto it. “What?”

“You,” He levels a finger at your chest, “Hate confrontation. You hate it so much that you lie about yourself to people instead of saying things they might not like.”

You laugh nervously, voice high and reedy. “A lot of people do that. I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“It’s not. But it doesn’t exactly make me want to trust you with my residents. With my team.”

“You’re worried I’ll what? Get somebody in trouble? Do something shitty?”

“I’m worried that something is going to happen to you, and you won’t tell anyone about it.”

The hallway grows silent. In this distance there’s beeping, someone shouting orders, a child crying. But not in the five feet of space you, Jack, and the conversion currently occupies.

“Why do all of this?” You gesture vaguely to the space between you two, unwilling to be more specific. He does not deserve the itemized list you assembled in your head.

“I wanted to see if you’d confront me about it or not. Confirm my suspicions.”

“That’s—“ You wrinkle your nose, “Actually kind of shitty of you.”

Jack just hums.

“So what now? Did I prove myself to you?” Your tone is mocking.

He scoffs, “God, you really hate confrontation, don’t you?”

Your skin prickles again. “No.”

“Lying again.”

“Shut up.”

He knows how uncomfortable he’s making you. He’s doing it on purpose. And right then and there, you decide you don’t care what Jack Abbot thinks, because if Jack Abbot is going to be a self-assured asshole, Jack Abbot can go fuck himself.

Your pager going off saves you from verbalizing any of this, and with one last glare, you’re gone.

—

If Jack was an obnoxious lurker before, it doesn’t hold a damn candle to how he behaves now.

He’s just. Everywhere. Around every corner. Driving you crazy.

When you bring this up to Trinity, she looks at you like you’ve finally lost it.

Which. Okay. You probably have. But that’s beside the point! The point is…

…The point is that Jack Abbot is getting on your last nerve and you really don’t have any to spare. Life has been stomping all over the other ones, so the singular nerve Jack is stabbing with his annoying pointed looks and almost lingering touches and stupid little questions (“Hey, that was a rough one, are you alright?”) is just worn out. It doesn’t have anything left to give. You don’t have anything left to give.

But, like you were brought up to do, you keep right on giving. And working. And smiling.

Because it goes a little something like this: There’s no one to pick you up if you fall. You pick yourself up when you fall, and you’ve gotten pretty fucking good at it. All of your friends (read: Trinity and Dennis and maybe Mel) are doctors, which means you all have shitty work/life balance and no one would even be available if you called and said “Hey, every morning I lie awake and stare at the ceiling and convince myself to get up while listening to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley, after which I will inevitably cry on the bus to work. Would you mind helping me with my laundry?”

Okay. Well. Trinity would probably show up if you asked because once she decides that you’re her friend she’s really intense about it (she’s a bit like a Doberman or some other dog like that, not that you would ever tell her) and Dennis probably would too, but only because he never says no when someone asks for help so it kind of just feels like you’re taking advantage of him. Mel is far too busy juggling being an ED doctor and caring for Becca for you to even think about asking her without feeling intense, soul crushing guilt.

So yeah. You don’t really have a best friend, unless one would count the singular romance book you’ve read so much the spine is completely fucked and the pages are yellow from years of travel and rereading. Counting any book as a best friend is probably very pathetic. But hey, don’t fix what isn’t broken.

So you have a system and a method and crying before and after work every single day is totally, completely normal, healthy, and sustainable. Probably even more so in the medical field, and especially since you’re a PGY1. Interns gotta suffer and all that jazz.

Jack Abbot does not need to make the suffering worse by existing near you constantly. Things are really honestly bad enough.

“Hey,” Trinity grabs your arm as you’re going by during a mellow shift, grip not tight enough to hurt but enough to be a bit past uncomfortable, especially for a girl not used to physical contact, “You good?”

‘No,’ You want to shout, collapsing on the floor in a heap of bones and tears, ‘I haven’t done laundry in so long that I’ve started wearing my cleanest dirty socks instead of washing more. I don’t have the energy to spend my days off doing anything productive, but every time I sleep instead of doing chores the anxiety eats me alive. I can’t sleep at night because the guilt makes me so nervous sometimes I throw up. Sometimes I don’t wash myself in the shower and I just stand in the water until it gets cold. Every day I wake up with the same headache, and then I take medicine for it, but by the time it’s gone I’m going to bed and then I wake up with it all over again. I think my liver is shot from over-the-counter medication usage. Everything hurts. I’m so tired.’

Trinity needs you to be okay. Trinity is too busy and under too much stress to worry about you. She needs you to be okay. Everyone needs you be okay.

“Mhm!” You nod, lips spread wide, “Pretty good day actually, all things considered.”

It’s not a total lie. The headache relief you’ve been taking religiously is kicking in faster than it usually does today.

Trinity scans your face, looking for signs of a lie, and she must find something (not shocking, it’s very hard to pretend that everything isn’t awful when Everything Is Really Awful) because her grip tightens minutely and she does that pursed lip thing she does when she’s worried and about to express it through anger or bitchiness.

“Don’t fuck with me. I don’t want to find out you’re like, doing drugs or something stupid like that. If you’re having a hard time—“

“Trin,” You interrupt, skin prickling uncomfortably as she implies that you’re not capable of handling things on your own, “If I need help, I know I can ask for it. And look,”

You tap your unbroken collection of glitter gel pens still intact in the front pocket of your scrubs. “It’s gotta be a good day. I still got my glitter.”

She wrinkles her nose, but drops your arm. “I don’t even know why you keep those. You can’t use them on like, anything. It’s against hospital policy.”

You shrug. “Glitter is a great motivator and mood elevator. Plus, kids love ‘em.”

You manage to feign something important coming up and duck out of the conversation and then, when the coast is clear, dart into one of the lesser used bathrooms and tuck yourself in the darkest stall.

Even in a hospital, toilet seats are disgusting, but you can’t quite summon any actual disgust as you plop down on the white porcelain, only lightly cracked, and cradle your exhausted head in your hands.

You have to keep going. There is no alternative. There is no other option.

Your chest feels tight and loose at the same time, and your skin feels clammy and wrong. Everything feels wrong. The lights are too bright and the material of your scrubs is scratchy and awful, and the longer you sit in the stall the more you want to throw up.

Someone knocks on the door before you get the chance to move down to your knees and start worshipping the porcelain altar. Assuming it to be Mel, who sometimes has a habit of showing up at the wrong time, you open the stall door to reveal none other than Jack Fucking Abbot.

You stare at him blankly for a few beats, too bewildered to feel sick. “You’re not allowed to be in here.”

“In the men’s bathroom?”

“This isn’t the men’s bathroom.”

“The sign on the door would say otherwise.”

Embarrassment brings the nausea back tenfold. You hold the stall door in a white knuckle grip to keep yourself upright and from hurling onto your boss.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t do this on purpose—“

Jack raises an eyebrow, his hands folded behind his back. Military man, right.

“Clearly.”

You stumble forward. “I need to go—“

“Woah, down girl. I didn’t knock because I cared which toilet you use. You work here. Use whatever toilet you want. Preferably not the one in the attending’s lounge.”

“There’s an attending’s lounge?”

“No.” He grins, a devilish upturn to just the corner of his lips.

“Oh,” You pause, then catch up to the rest of what he said, “Then why’d you knock?”

“Cause it kind of sounded like you were dying in there, and I’d rather if you didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“The paperwork, for one. Two, Santos would probably shank me.”

“Ah.”

“Also,” He shrugs, “I’d miss you.”

You scoff. “No you wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You don’t like me. You don’t even trust me.”

Jack gets this pinched look on his face; his lips pull down, his brows furrow and he narrows his eyes, just a bit.

He opens his mouth to respond when the door bangs open.

Jack doesn’t even look up before he’s barking:

“Find another bathroom.”

“But I have to—“

“Find another bathroom or I’ll cut your dick off.”

The guy grumbles away, but Jack never takes his eyes off you. It’s unnerving— to be the sole focus of his attention.

You’re the first to break the now tense silence of the bathroom.

“That seemed a bit extreme.”

“I’m not a man who does things by halves.”

“No,” You sigh, “I suppose you’re not.”

Jack cocks his head to side, almost predatory. More methodical than anything. He looks at you— really looks at you. Shamelessly drags his eyes up your body, likely cataloguing every mystery bruise, frown line, eye bag, freckle, and all the million lines of exhaustion that seem etched on your very being, right down through the bones and marrow.

He sighs, crossing his arms before leaning back on the opposite wall of the bathroom.

“What am I going to do with you?”

His words instantly have you on edge, bristling at all the unsaid things behind his tone.

“I’m not something to be dealt with. I’m a person, not some fucking—“

“You’re like a stray cat,” He interrupts, “Always hissing. Do I need to win you over with treats? Should I start bringing canned tuna?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re drowning.”

Just like that, all the humor gets sucked from the room, replaced with the cold, sharp grip of reality. Suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all, you drop back down onto the toilet seat.

Jack gives you a few moments to respond, get angry, or defend yourself, but you don’t. He’s too good at reading you, it seems. What is there to say?

When you don’t speak, he does.

“Did you think no one would notice?”

“No one has.”

“Am I no one?”

You lean back, closing your eyes and awkwardly resting the back of your head against the wall and the back of the toilet.

“You’re nosy.”

If this were any other moment, any other scenario with any other person, you would never ever act so contrary. But you’re tired and Jack seems to bring out the worst in you.

He makes an amused huffing noise. “You’re good at what you do, I’ll give you that.”

“What, exactly, am I doing?”

“Pretending.”

You scoff. “Fuck off.”

“Come on, sweetheart. How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?”

You lift your head off the back of the toilet. “You act like I’m killing myself:”

“You are,” His inclined his head, “Just really slowly.”

You scrub a hand down your face.

“Look. I understand why you think you have to care, but you don’t. I’m just going through a rough patch. I’ll get through them like I always do. I’m not gonna crash and burn or endanger myself or do whatever it is you’re worried I’m going to do, okay? So you can leave me alone. I’m fine.”

Jack doesn’t get to respond, because the second the words are out of your mouth the nausea that’s been churning in your stomach since you made it to the bathroom rises all at once, and you barely have time to slide off the toilet and turn before you’re throwing up hard enough to almost choke.

The worst part is that you forgot to eat lunch so your stomach is woefully, painfully empty. You’re throwing up nothing but bile, throat burning and tears streaming down your face.

“Alright, come on,” A warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back, and if you weren’t busy hurling your guts out, you’d marvel at the feeling and juxtaposition between the Jack you know, who’s all cold indifference, and the Jack currently holding your hair out of your face while you vomit.

“Let it out,” He soothes, hand still rubbing, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be over soon.”

“I hate throwing up.” You choke, coughing and gasping.

“No one does. But you’ll feel better when it’s over.”

Over feels like it’s never going to come. But eventually your stomach stops clenching, you manage to stop heaving, and you’re slumped over the toilet, sucking down gulps of air, sweat beading on your forehead and the back of your neck.

“This,” You mumble in between gasps, “Means nothing.”

You can’t see Jack’s expression, but his response is so quiet you almost miss it.

“Okay.”

You can’t see his face, but you know this isn’t over.

—

Jack sends you home once you’re capable of standing on your own two feet without shaking like a newborn fawn.

(“You can’t send me home.”

“Yes I can. You’re not allowed to come back to work after throwing up in the bathroom.”

“We both know I’m not the only person to do it.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t caught the other people in the wrong bathroom and held their hair back while they vomited.”

“…”

“You only have two hours left anyway. Go home.”)

The problem lies in the fact that the buses aren’t running yet, which means that you can’t, actually, get home. Your house is an hour away on foot. An hour you’d normally be capable of walking, but your phone is almost dead, you’re exhausted, and you still feel a little weak because of the vomiting.

So after retrieving your things from your locker, you find yourself sitting on the little bench outside the PTMC, waiting for the minutes to tick by. If you didn’t bring at least one book with you everywhere you go in case of emergencies (like this one) you probably would have just walked into oncoming traffic.

It’s cold out and your jacket is cheap so you have to burrow into it, hood up to retain any semblance of warmth. It would be almost cozy —huddled in your jacket, watching the city go by, tucked into your favorite romance book— if the shift hadn’t gone the way it had and if a grueling bus ride and half mile walk didn’t await you once the buses finally start running. Waiting for you beyond that is just chores and an empty apartment.

Your fingers tighten on the edges of your book.

“Why the fuck are you still here?”

You jolt in place, cracking your neck over to the side and blinking blearily.

Jack. Again.

He makes an expectant face at you as if to say ‘Well?’ when you don’t answer immediately.

Your eyes dart back and forth nervously, even though you know you haven’t done anything wrong. “The buses aren’t running yet. It’s an hour walk to my house.”

Jack scrubs a hand down his face and curses under his breath.

“How long until your bus gets here?”

You check your phone. Shit. Only four percent left.

“And hour and a half. Maybe a little longer if it’s running behind more than usual.”

He seems put out by your answer, as if the bus’s heavily fluctuating schedule is of personal consequence and offense to him.

“Um,” You start, both uncomfortable at having been caught reading a romance book in public and at the general air of frustration Jack seems to be venting at the moment, “I’m fine. I have my book. I don’t mind waiting.”

Jack just sighs.

“Do you really think I’m just going to leave you out here, in the cold, after you threw up in the bathroom, to wait for the bus, for nearly two more hours?”

You wince. “Well, it doesn’t sound great when you put it like that.”

He works his jaw. “Have you eaten?”

“No…?”

He shakes his head.

“Come on. You’re coming with me.”

—

“I have to admit, this isn’t where I thought we were going.

Thirty minutes later finds you seated on the cracked vinyl seat of a booth in a cheap diner, staring at a menu and rationalizing spending your last $15 on what will probably be mediocre pancakes.

Jack is seated across from you, already two mugs of coffee —black, but oddly enough, decaf— and not even bothering to pretend to look at his menu. He either comes here often or doesn’t care to act like he isn’t staring at you.

Probably both.

“Where did you think we were going?”

Steam curls out of your own untouched mug of coffee —ordered for you by Jack, also unfortunately decaf— and you debate just getting up and running out of here.

Too bad you’re too exhausted to run anywhere. Jack’s probably banking on that.

“I don’t know,” You shrug, setting the menu down, “Maybe to Gloria’s office to write me up or something.”

“What would I even be writing you up for?”

“Disobeying direction? I’m sure you could come up with something.”

The waitress chooses that moment to appear, notepad in hand. “Are we ready to order?”

Jack rattles off his order, and then two sets of eyes turn to you expectantly. Before you can order the single fruit bowl you were planning on getting (the cheapest thing on the menu) Jack pipes up:

“Order whatever you actually want. Not whatever you think is cheapest or easiest.”

The waitress, a middle aged woman who has probably seen much worse than whatever the two of you have going on, just chuckles lightly under her breath.

You hesitantly list the item you’d been eyeing and thank the waitress.

It isn’t until after the menus have been taken and Jack’s coffee re-upped for the third time that you manage to courage to speak.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean,” your fingers curl on the edge of the table, desperate for something to hold onto, “I can’t— It’ll be awhile until I can pay you back. I barely made rent this month.”

“Do you think I would take you to breakfast and then make you pay?”

“Yes…?”

“You’re not touching the bill, kid. I’m a gentleman.”

“Oh,” You didn’t really see that coming, “Okay.”

Jack gets a funny expression on his face, then resumes his drinking coffee and glancing out the window routine.

“So,” You say after a beat, “Was there something you wanted to talk about…?”

The silence just feels so awkward. It’s killing you.

He raises a brow. “Do you want to talk?”

“I’m asking you.”

“And I’m asking you what you want to do. What do you usually do when you come out to eat?”

“I don’t? Eating out is expensive, so. But when I do it’s usually by myself, so I end up just reading.”

Jack gestures to your bag beside you. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“What?”

“Read your book.”

“But that’s— isn’t that boring for you?”

He sets his mug down. “I didn’t bring you here because I wanted something from you. I brought you here because you had a shitty day and it seemed like you could use some cheering up. If reading makes you feel better, then do it.”

You have to look out the window to avoid his gaze. You don’t understand how your perfectly crafted facade just crumbles into fucking dust around him. How he manages to see right through you at every turn, how he manages to uncover every lie and every half truth.

“How did you even know I like diner food?”

“Because I pay attention to you.”

You finally look back over at him, arms folded across your chest; not really defensively, more like you’re trying to hold your entire body together by sheer force of will.

Jack’s lips twitch. Not really a smile, but almost. “You bring it up every time Santos wants to get food after a shift. She always says no, because she hates it, but it never stops you from suggesting it.”

It’s just one detail. One tiny, inconsequential detail that he’s apparently memorized and held onto because to him, it’s important. For some impossible to understand reason, he seems to care.

"Also," He shrugs, "I'd miss you."

You scoff. "No you wouldn't."

"I would."

“Do you hate me?”

Jack looks back at you, seemingly startled by the abrupt question.

“No.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Okay.”

—

“You did what?”

You wince from your spot lying face-down on Trinity’s couch.

“Not so loud, Trin. I have a headache.”

She ignores you, seated on the floor almost directly in front of you. “So you’ve gone from hating each other to going on a date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” You groan, “We spent almost the entire time in silence. I read my book and he stared out the window and did… whatever it is men like him do when they stare out the window.”

“Brooding,” Trinity says, “He paid. That means it’s a date.”

“No it doesn’t!”

It doesn't. It totally doesn't. Just because Jack said he doesn't hate you doesn't mean he likes you either. There are a lot of emotions in between hate and love. Like toleration, for example. Mild amusement. Exasperation. An appropriate amount of annoyance.

Trinity pokes you on the back of your head, having none of it.

"He likes you. Why else would he willingly hang out with one of us after work?"

"He goes out for drinks in the park sometimes." You mumble.

"Yeah, after an MCI."

What Trinity doesn't know is the events leading up to breakfast at the diner, because that would involve telling her about the whole throwing up from anxiety in the men's bathroom directly after a mini-panic attack because she confronted you about your unhealthy lifestyle (which all just sounds a lot worse than it is), so there isn't really a way to give her the kind of context necessary to get her off your back and dissuade her from her (insanely insane) belief that Jack likes you. Romantically.

"Trust me Trin, he was just being nice. Nothing romantic about it."

It was kind of romantic. Just eating surprisingly good food in the company of someone you don't need to pretend around, enjoying being in the company of another human being without worry or expectation.

Not that she needs to know that.

"Jack doesn't do nice. Have you seen him? What happened to the hating?"

You shrug. "You'll just have to ask him, because I don't know."

You do know. He told you. Explained it.

It doesn't make sense.

Trinity throws her hands in the air dramatically.

"Whatever. You two are impossible."

She finally withdraws, leaving you to wallow in your headache-induced misery by yourself on her couch.

Your phone vibrates on the floor next to you, and you groan, rolling further over to hide yourself in the crack of the couch, shunning the light like the reclusive vampire you are.

Your phone vibrates again.

“Dennis,” your voice is muffled by the couch cushion so it ends up sounding more like ‘denim’, “Can you please see who’s texting me and tell them to fuck off?”

Dennis, who was eating cereal at the tiny table near the kitchen when you first showed up fifteen minutes ago and has pointedly stayed silent throughout the entire exchange between you and Trinity, finally speaks.

“Your phone is two inches away from your hand.”

“I have a headache I don’t wanna look at the screen.”

You feel rather than actually see him roll his eyes, but then there’s the clink of a spoon against a bowl and the faint sound of socked —you’ve genuinely never seen him ever be barefoot under any circumstances, no matter what, he’s always wearing socks— feet as they make their way over to your temporary pit (couch) of despair.

There’s a quiet rustle as he picks up your phone off the floor.

“Oh.”

You whine, dramatic and upset. “What?”

“Um,” He grabs your shoulder, slowly rolling you over and away from the back of the couch, “It’s Jack?”

“What!?” You screech.

You throw yourself up, wincing as you immediately regret it when the pain in your head doubles, take a steadying breath to ignore it, and then grab the phone from Dennis’s outstretched hand.

You turn on the phone and— yep. Sure enough. A text from Jack, complete with the stupid picture of a dinosaur you made his profile picture. Because he’s old.

(It was funnier at the time.)

Somewhere behind you there’s a crash, and then the thump thump thump that can only mean a person running towards you at dangerous speeds for sock covered feet on cheap linoleum.

“Incoming,” Dennis mutters.

“Did I just hear that right?” Trinity gasps, nearly giving herself blunt force trauma via the back of the couch, “Did Jack just text you?”

“I don’t know!” You cry.

“How do you not know! Your phone is right in your fucking hands!”

“I’m tired! Stop yelling at me!”

“Guys!” Dennis shouts, holding up his hands, “I refuse to spend my day off listening to you two argue over the validity of romance with our attending. Give me the phone.”

He snatches the phone without waiting for a response, quickly typing in your password (if there was ever a moment you regret telling him in case of emergency…) and opening the text.

He makes an incredulous face at the phone before saying:

“He asked what you’re doing today.”

Trinity claps once. “Fucking called it!”

“Trinity!” Dennis snaps, before sighing and tapping at your keyboard, “I’m telling him that you have a headache and you’re at our place and to please not text again—“

“No!” You squeal, launching yourself off the couch, arms outstretched, but your legs tangle over each other and you fall and slam, gloriously and beautifully, face first into the coffee table.

“Oo!” Trinity winces, covering her mouth.

“Oh my god!” Dennis balks, “Are you okay?”

“Just give me the fucking phone.”

Peeling your face off, you grab the phone, squinting at the screen and ignoring the black spots in the corner of your vision.

hi, you type, I’m at Trinity and Dennis’s. Did you need something?

You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.

“We,” You haul yourself to your feet and stagger over to the kitchen table, “Will never speak of this.”

“I definitely am. When I’m the maid of honor at your guys wedding, I’m gonna give a speech and be all ‘you guys, she gave herself a concussion the first time he texted—‘“

“There will be no wedding!”

“That’s just what you think.”

Your phone vibrates again, signaling a response.

Just wondering how you were doing. Surprised to hear you’re not holed up in your apartment reading something.

Ah, sexy old men and their correct grammar and punctuation when texting. Shouldn’t be endearing.

“What’s he saying?”

“Go away!”

You tap out a quick response.

Not today unfortunately lol I have a headache so no reading for me

Isn’t this the sixth day in a row you’ve had a headache? Should I give neuro a call?

You stomach flips.

nooo I’m fine i get them all the time

That’s not exactly reassuring.

I went to the doctor for them awhile ago apparently they’re normal

Who?

if I tell you, are you going to call him and make him send over my chart?

Yes.

Your heart is starting to pound a fluttering beat in your chest, and you hunch over your phone.

then i’m not telling you. it’s fine, really

they usually go away when i take over the counter stuff

So your plan is just to destroy your liver?

pretty much

We need to work on your planning skills.

we?

I’m not doing all the work.

Now stop looking at your phone. Drink some Gatorade and take a nap.

this is a resident apartment there’s no gatorade here just redbulls

Have either of them buy you one. I’ll pay whichever one it is later. Go to sleep. You need it.

You turn off your phone, shuffling back over to the couch and flopping down onto it.

“I’m taking a nap. Jack wants one of you to go buy me a Gatorade. He said he’d pay you back later.”

“He said what?”

—

You end up sleeping the entire day away, which should have screwed up your sleep schedule, but thankfully you live in a state of perpetual exhaustion and are fully capable of falling asleep anytime, anywhere, no matter how much you last sleep. It’s a gift.

Shockingly, the shift you work the next day is actually much easier to survive and your smiles aren’t nearly as forced. Go figure. Who knew that getting an appropriate amount of sleep would be so helpful?

“Somebody’s in a better mood today.” Jack mutters as you sidle up next to him under the board.

“I’m pretty sure I slept for like, fourteen straight hours. Thanks for the Gatorade, by the way. I woke up around hour three, chugged it, and then went back to sleep. No headache when I woke up!”

“Wonderful,” He drawls, “It’s almost like taking care of yourself is actually beneficial.”

“I take care of myself plenty.”

He casts you a sidelong glance, expression pinched.

“When was the last time you drank water without being prompted?”

“That’s different.”

“Okay,” He dips his head, “When was the last time you ever felt truly relaxed?”

You give him a beaming smile, so wide it hurts. “We’re not going to talk about this right now!”

“You started this conversation. I’m trying to do my job.”

You snort. “You’re waiting to see if someone else is going to take the sunburn guy.”

“Are you accusing an attending of cherry picking?”

“Of course not. Just observing, sir.”

Jack’s turned to look at you now, head tilted up, hands folded behind his back.

When you say sir, his eyes flick down to your lips, and then his jaw tightens.

The air suddenly becomes charged, the space between you two filled with something too electric to be air.

It smells like aftershave, hospital antiseptic, wanting, and something that’s distinctly masculine.

You look away first, swallowing hard past the sudden dryness of your mouth.

“You know,” You say, crossing your arms and looking up at the board, “Trinity thinks you like me. Romantically.”

“Mm.”

“I told her that was dumb,” You babble, “Obviously it’s not true, but. She won’t let it go, so if she says something, just ignore her. Or not. Whatever you want.”

“Why wouldn’t it be true?”

You whip your head around so fast you’re pretty sure something cracks. “What?”

“I mean,” Jack’s voice is gruff as he shrugs once, “Is that really so unrealistic?”

“Of course it is,” You sputter, “You don’t like me.”

“I’ve actually never said that. That was a conclusion you came to on your own. I distinctly recall telling you that I don’t hate you.”

“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean that you like me, let alone— like that.”

Jack tilts his head, almost predatory, and all that sharp tension rushes straight back in.

“Like what?”

Something hot and dangerous is starting to unfurl in your chest, untethering from where it was previously lodged deep behind your ribs, out of sight, out of feeling.

“Code Blue en route, ETA two minutes.”

Jack jerks his head in the direction of the ambulance bay. “You gonna go get that?”

“Uh,” You’re pretty sure you’re stroking out, having a seizure, or something, because the only thing you’re capable of comprehending is the fact that Jack just not-so-subtly implied to actually liking you. Romantically.

“Get going then.”

You scurry away, hot all over and absolutely done with emotions in their entirety.

—

The rest of the week is hell on Earth. Perks of being in your twenties.

Things could be worse though!

Kind of.

It’s just that it’s been several days since Jack basically confirmed Trinity’s suspicions on romance and you can’t stop thinking about it. Obsessively.

It’s bad.

Bad enough that when Mel asked if there was any way you could cover her shift, you said yes.

“Okay,” Dennis stage-whispers as you’re downing your third coffee of the day, miserably charting at the nurses station, “I feel the need to ask how bad things can possibly be if you’re covering a day shift.”

“Mel asked.”

Dennis blinks incredulously. “You love Mel, but not enough to work a day shift voluntarily.”

“What exactly are you asking me here?”

“Did you and Jack hit a rough patch or something?”

“Keep your voice down!” You hiss, ducking your head as if you can hide from Princess and Perlah, “And for your information, no. We didn’t. I just wanted to do something nice for Mel.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t need you to believe me.”

Day-shift crawls on in a whirlwind of chaos and a level of dumb-fuckery that can only be achieved from the hours of 8 a.m to 8 p.m. As usual, the place is understaffed, overcrowded, and filled with a lingering sense of impending doom.

By the time night-shift starts filtering in, you’re ready to completely give up and start a new life a sheep rancher in New Zealand. It’s always been the plan if being a doctor didn’t work out.

Jack finds you in the locker room once the handoff is over, sitting on the little bench in the same position Dennis found you in earlier. Face in your hands, heels in your eyes, methodically counting breaths and wondering if that fluttering feeling in your chest is from caffeine consumption or sleep deprivation.

It’s fine. Your fine. Everything is fine.

“You don’t look too good.”

“I’m—“

“Don’t say you’re fine.”

“But I am,” You grit, “I just need a minute.”

“Okay.”

There’s the distinct sound of Jack’s slightly uneven footsteps, and then there’s a warm weight pressed against your side.

You take another shuddering breath that feels less like breathing and more like placing a single brick in a wobbly foundation.

“Shouldn’t you be out on the floor?”

“I don’t work tonight.”

You raise your head just enough to look at him. “You don’t? I thought I saw you on the schedule. Why are you here if you don’t work?”

Now that you’re looking at him and not starburst patterns on the back of your eyelids, you can see that he’s wearing casual clothes, not scrubs, and he doesn’t have his usual army-issue backpack with him.

“I got Shen to cover me. I came here for you.”

Your next breath in almost gets stuck in your chest, air struggling to move past that alive and wriggling thing that keeps moving every time Jack is around.

“What’d you do that for?”

The barest hints of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Dennis called me. He said you’d need picking up after your shift.”

Shame, guilt, and embarrassment flood your veins, turning your blood into sickly-sweet poison that makes your stomach roll and twist.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I have no idea why he did that. You really didn’t have to drive all the way over here, I swear I didn’t tell him to call you or something like that—“

“I know you didn’t,” Jack soothes, voice a rumbly, smooth timber that washes over your permanently-frazzled nerves like a balm, “Which is why I came.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jack stands, pulling your bag and change of clothes out of your locker.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me, so you don’t have to answer it again. Can you do that for me?”

You nod once.

“Words.”

“Uh— yeah. Yes.”

“Good.”

Thank god the locker room is empty— everyone’s either on the floor or already left for their homes.

He closes your locker down, shoulders your bag, and hands you your clothes.

“Is it easier for you to accept help when you don’t have to ask and don’t get the chance to say no?”

It sounds so pathetic, hearing it laid out like that. The ugly guts of you; cut open, laid bare, and marked for research. Exhibit A, the inside of the girl no one ever needed to worry about.

You don’t want to agree. You want to laugh it off, maybe run away from it. Sit up straight, wipe your face, take the bag from Jack and explain that this is all a big misunderstanding and you’re perfectly fine and he can stop worrying about you now.

“Yes.”

Jack doesn’t verbally acknowledge your response besides a single dip of his head, like he knows that if he does anything more it’ll turn your response into a confession and that’s just too vulnerable for the hospital locker room.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“I don’t mean to be this way, you know.”

The passenger seat of Jack’s car isn’t somewhere you’d ever imagined yourself being. Not even late at night or on the bus when you’re pretending to be someone else who’s better at chasing what they want.

“It stopped being intentional a long time ago,” your hands are fisted into the material of your sweatpants, nails digging into the fabric, “It was just the natural progression of things. I like being liked.”

What you don’t say, what becomes an unspoken truth that lingers in the air despite not being verbalized, is the survival aspect of it. Why and how a person fuses this kind of thing to their personality; to their life. The circumstances that makes the natural progression of things end it being better for everyone if you just don’t have needs.

“I know.”

“I know you know, I just… needed to tell you. Myself.”

It’s odd seeing Jack illuminated by streetlights instead of fluorescent overheads. It’s odd being able to watch his hand flex on the steering wheel, watching his forearm tense as he shifts gears in his old stick-shift.

“You like being told what to do.”

Your face heats, but you’re determined not to lose face now. Especially after managing to survive being emotionally flayed open, willingly, by him.

“It feels safe. If I know what yo— someone wants, then I can’t mess it up, and I can relax.”

You can practically see the gears turning in Jack’s mind.

“Makes sense.”

The rest of the drive is quiet, the silence only filled by the sounds of Pittsburgh around you and the gentle crackle of something from the radio turned down too low to hear.

And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you begin feeling something that approaches calm.

Jack doesn’t have any expectations. There isn’t any one particular way he wants you to act or expects you to behave like. There’s nothing he wants you to do.

So you do what you want to do.

You relax.

—

In the weeks following Jack driving you home, there is a quantifiable shift in behavior between the two of you.

He starts pulling back.

It strikes you as odd first, and your natural inclination is to pull back too— to guard the soft, vulnerable bits you’ve showed him in case he throws them back at you.

But then you realize what he’s doing.

Instead of telling you how to proceed on a case when you come to him for advice, he asks you questions and steers you to the answer. He holds back when he’s evaluating a case with you, patiently following your lead and only interjecting when necessary.

He’s making space for you try new things and learn without fear of rejection. Building your confidence bit by bit.

It feels more intimate than sex.

After much deliberation, screaming into your pillow, and Reddit forum searching for HR violations, you decide to get him a card. Because he’s actually been really kind and helpful and he makes you feel like you can actually survive residency.

“What’s this?”

“A thank you card.”

You’re staring at your shoes, eyes flicking up and down between Jack’s face and the floor.

“What for?”

“It says it in the card.”

You scurry away, attaching yourself to the closest patient to avoid seeing Jack’s face when he does finally open it.

But when you look back, he’s just staring at it, a small smile on his face.

—

It’s the card that does him in.

Jack hasn’t made his feelings for you a secret, despite your unwillingness to see him as anything other than standoffish in the beginning.

He came on too strong at first— that was his fault. He didn’t yet understand how imbedded your need ran and how long it’d been since anyone bothered to look deeper.

He’d hoped, at least, that you were letting Whitaker and Santos help, and though you let them closer than most, it was clear you still seemed intent on holding up yourself and everyone around you on your own.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you oozed kindness— like it was a byproduct of your existence. He watched you get so wrapped up in being the perfect resident, perfect friend, perfect person, that no one ever stopped to let you know how good you were just by being.

He hadn’t planned on developing feelings or anything of the sort. At first, you’d just been one of his residents. Smart and capable but lacking confidence in yourself to fully commit. Then there was that MCI, and drinks in the park afterwards where he’d painfully watched you sip a beer you clearly hated, and everything just clicked right into place.

He never intends to flirt with you. It just happens. He can’t help himself. He’s a weak fucking man when it comes to you.

And then you bring him a card. A fucking card. To thank him for doing his job as an attending, a job he should’ve been doing better from the start. It has an illustration of bananas on it and says “Thanks a bunch!”.

He knows he’s completely gone, then. He was capable of being in denial before, could delude himself into thinking that what he felt was casual, but the sight of you before him, hands nervously wringing, your glitter gel pens sparkling as they caught the light was just the final nail in the coffin.

He allows himself a modicum of flirting on a day to day basis, mostly because if he couldn’t tease that real smile out of you at least once per day, he’d lose his mind.

Sometimes he takes you back to the diner, especially on longer days where none of your smiles reach your eyes and you start obsessively uncapping and capping your gel pens.

Even though you think it “looks dumb” you’ve also taken to sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the booth, and he pretends he can’t see you sneaking fries off his plate because he knows how much effort it takes you to ask him if you can sit with him instead of on the opposite side.

Then he starts driving you home during a string of bad weather after you start sneezing from walking in the rain everyday, but even after the storm passes and the weather clears up he still finds you at the lockers, every day, car keys in hand. No matter how many times he does it, you always look so happily surprised that he’s still offering.

As if he’s not wrapped around your finger.

One day, after things have been mellow for awhile, Whitaker calls him and says that neither he nor Trinity have seen you in three days and you called out of work.

So naturally, as a calm and collected man, he showed up to your house.

You’d answered the door after the third time he knocked (which was great, because he was gearing up to force the door open) and you just looked miserable. Your hair was a mess, you head blanket wrinkles imprinted onto your face, and your eyes were puffy.

“Jack?” You’d mumbled, squinting your eyes against the not very bright light in the hallway, “Why are you at my apartment?”

“No one’s heard from you in three days.”

You wince. “I swear I meant to text Trinity. I just have a bad headache.”

His fingers twitch towards a penlight he doesn’t have. “How bad?”

“I don’t know. Like a seven on the pain scale?”

“Jesus— I’m coming in.”

“Nooo,” You cry, but shuffle back from the door and put up very little fight as he ushers you to the couch.

Your apartment is….. exactly as messy as he’d imagined a resident who lives alone would be. For someone who doesn’t drink enough water, there are an incredible amount of beverage bottles and cans littered about.

“Do you have headache relief?”

You gesture to the kitchen. “Cabinet furthest to the left.”

While rifling through your very disorganized medicine cabinet, he spies an orange prescription bottle with your name on it, dated for the previous year.

“Why do you have a prescription for a high level antihistamine?”

“Stop snooping. It’s for my migraines.”

“You’ve had a prescription this entire time and you’ve been taking all that over the counter shit?”

“Stop being mad,” You mumble into the couch cushion, “My migraine meds put me to sleep, so I can’t take them when I’m working. Plus I don’t have any refills left so I save them for when it’s really bad.”

“You called out of work and haven’t left your apartment in three days and you don’t consider this bad?”

“Could be worse. Could be throwing up.”

He sighs. Sets the bottle on the counter, breathes in once, then lets it out slowly. Imagines all the ways he could murder whoever made you think suffering alone for three days is preferable to asking for help.

“I’m going to help you back to bed,” He starts, voice low as he rounds the couch, “And then you’re going to drink some electrolytes, have a snack, and take your meds. Okay?”

The migraine has clearly taken it out of you, because you put up zero fight as he manhandles you to your feet and helps you drag yourself back to your bed.

“M’ sorry my apartment is a mess. I was supposed to clean it.”

“I’m not judging, sweetheart,” He says, tucking the blankets up around you, lips twitching as you make grabby hands for a giant triceratops plushie that looks to be the size of your upper body. “I’m gonna make you a snack, so try to stay awake until I come back. Can you do that?”

“Mhm. I’ll try.”

“Good girl.”

He manages to find a cucumber in your fridge, cuts it into slices and then adds a few pieces of lunch meat for protein. Last but not least, he snags a bottle of blue Gatorade from your pantry.

(He only knows they were there because he bought them for you a few weeks ago.)

He doesn’t make you sit up to eat, but instead scoots you a little ways away from the edge of your bed so there’s space for the plate.

You slowly nibble your way through, taking little sips of Gatorade when he nudges the bottle into your hands.

You finish the cucumbers, eat most of the lunch meat, and drink half the Gatorade before burrowing back into the blankets and declaring yourself done.

“Can I have my sleep mask please? I think it’s on the floor under my nightstand?”

“Of course you can.”

After your face mask is on and the curtains closed, he gives you the correct dose of your meds and gently shuts the door to your bedroom.

He fires off a quick text to Whitaker (he doesn’t have Santos’s number) that says you’re fine, stuck in bed with a migraine, and that he’s handling it.

And then he gets to work.

Two hours later your apartment is clean, your laundry is started, and Jack’s relaxing on your couch, aimlessly watching the news.

He hears the door creak open but knows you hate feeling on the spot, so he keeps his gaze trained on the tv even as he hears the sound of you shuffling over to the couch.

And then you pause.

“Jack.”

“Yes?”

“Did you clean my apartment?”

He finally looks over to you, and when his gaze reaches your face his stomach drops.

You’re crying.

He hauls himself off the couch (he’s thankful that he put his leg back on a few minutes prior) and stops in front of you, arms twitching at his sides with the need to fix, help, to stop whatever it is that’s making you cry.

“What’s wrong? Did I overstep?”

“No,” You warble, voice wet, “I just haven’t had the time or energy to clean in here for so long, and it’s been stressing me out so bad I avoid staying here during my off days. It’s just really, really nice of you.”

You look at him, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide with worry, “I— I’m not sure how to repay you for all of this. I know you said going to the diner was fine, but this is— a lot.”

“Sweetheart,” He starts, bracing one hand on the side of your face, thumb deftly sweeping across your cheek and wiping away the quickly drying tears, “I’m not doing any of this because I expect you to repay me. I’m doing it because I care about you and I want to see you happy.”

You sniff hard. “This is a lot of work, though.”

“I like doing it. I like taking care of you.”

Another sniff. “It doesn’t seem very fun.”

“I told you. You’re like a cat. Had to coax you over and now look at you,” he thumb rubs circles over your cheekbone, “Practically purring.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know if I like this metaphor.”

“Get used to it.”

You sigh, dramatic and long.

“I suppose I’ll allow it.”

“Oh, you’ll allow it, huh.”

You fold your hands behind your back, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Yes. I’ll allow it.”

“Well, aren’t I lucky.”

Later, when you’re lying on the couch, two movies into what Jack thinks is an unofficial early 2000s rom-com marathon (your favorite genre) you turn to look up at him from your spot tucked into his side.

“This is romantic, right?”

He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead, because he knows how much you like physical affirmations as well as verbal ones.

“Yes.”

“You’re serious about this?”

“You need confirmation?”

“I’d rather have it in writing, but this will do for now.”

He huffs a breathy laugh, tucks you closer to his chest.

“I’ll put it in writing for you later.”

You hum, pleased, and snuggle back into him, letting out a content sigh.

You’re both right where you want to be.

“I think you should clock out..” Jack whispers in Y/N’s ear, standing close to her desk to speak low enough for only her to hear, his eyes scanning the busy ED around them to make sure no one is watching this intimate moment too closely.

“Am I doing that bad?” She tries to joke back playfully as she focuses on charting.

“Y/N..” Jack says. She pauses at the tone of his voice. Jack Abbot not wanting to banter? This was serious...

“You haven’t been resting. I told you to take today off-“ She cuts him off before he can spark up the same argument they’ve have been having since yesterday.

“I am fine..” She argues simply as she backs away from him now to show she’s done with the conversation.

Jack and Y/N had managed to keep their relationship a secret for about a year and some change. But now, things were getting serious. Well.. Way more serious than they already were.

Y/N had officially moved into Jack’s apartment.

They’d done the move in one weekend. Jack was stubborn enough, and prideful enough, to do all the heavy lifting himself. Most furniture went to a storage unit, but the majority of her stuff was in Jack’s condo right now. And just as Jack had done, Y/N had stubbornly, and pridefully, spent the entire weekend putting everything in its specific space.

Meaning right now, on Monday morning, her sleep schedule was all out of whack, and caused Jack concern…

“You’ve had a full weekend of broken sleep, you just finished moving so your stress levels must be high, and last night we killed an entire bottle of white wine.” Jack lists his worries as he follows Y/N down the hallway..

“Ugh. Don’t remind me..” Y/N mutters playfully as she rubs her temple as if regretting that decision.

“Not funny.” Jack states quietly. He didn’t want to bicker with her at work, but he also was worried. She was sluggish all morning and surviving strictly on energy drinks. Jack had counted two of them in her trash bin already.

“I bet you haven’t had anything for your sugars, have you.” He accuses gently. “Or water.” He adds. Y/N raises an eyebrow at that and makes a big show of stopping at a water fountain to drink from before giving him a ‘there’ glance. He crosses his arms at that, unamused..

“Jack.” Y/N sighs. “I’m a big girl. I’ve been dealing with this for a good part of my life. I think I can handle today..” She says simply. Jack opens his mouth to argue more just as Santos walks over to them.

“Need an attending. Old patient. Came in through ambulance. She’s gonna need stitches..” She says with a heavy sigh that shows her own midday exhaustion.

“I’ll take it. Dr. Y/N was just clocking out..” Jack says. Y/N gives him a look.

“You’re so kind, Dr. Abbot. But I’ve got it.” She says shortly before nodding for Santos to follow her, much to Jack’s dismay..

“You know…” A voice comes from behind Jack, making him breathe out. “When you and Dr. Y/N first reported your relationship, I gave Gloria my word you two would rarely associate at work..” Robby states as he walks right over to stand at Jack’s side.

“Robby…” Jack mutters, as if warning that he’s not in the mood.

“‘No, Gloria. No one needs to move stations. I trust my doctors to be casual in the workplace. This is an ED, not love island..’..” Robby mocks anyways. Jack raise an eyebrow as he eyes his friend now.

“Love island?” He asks.

“Not the point.” Robby states with a firm shake of his head, as if not wanting to get into that right now.

“I’m behaving. For now..” Jack mutters. “Just… Worried..” He says softly.

Robby’s teasing presence cuts short at that, gently squeezing Jack’s shoulder in silent assurance…

*

*

*

“My father used to worry about her all the time..” The young college girl mutters as she steps outside of the hospital room with Y/N so Santos can handle the stitches her mother now needed.

“I’m sure.” Y/N says, voice calm. “According to her charts, she’s… Epileptic…” Y/N begins softly. The young girl shakes her head at that. Not to denounce the fact, but to show she’s lost as to how to handle all of this.

“Yeah. She’s… On medication, but.. I.. I don’t know..” The girl mutters, stressed as she holds herself.

Y/N opens her mouth to question that, but slows her roll. “I’m sorry, let me fully introduce myself. My name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N..” Y/N says instead, wanting to come off as compassionate..

“Sasha.” The girl mutters, shaking Y/N’s hand. “Is she gonna be okay?” Sasha asks before Y/N can speak further. Y/N hesitates at answering that.

“She’s… Lucky all she did was cut her chin on the way down.” Y/N finally lands on. “And that your little brother was home.” She adds on as both women turn to eye the 12-year old boy who had called 911 when he’d first heard the bang from the bathroom.

“You said she’s on medication?” Y/N continues.

“Yeah. But.. My dad always made sure she stuck to it. And her doctor appointments. He was on top of everything..” Sasha mutters.

“Was?” Y/N asks as she can’t help but picture Jack in the back of her mind..

“He passed. Almost a month ago. And… Now it’s just.. Her and my brother in that house. I live on campus..” Sasha sighs as she rubs her forehead.

Y/N opens her mouth to speak when she feels it. Building..

Oh no..

The nausea has hit her. She knew exactly what was coming next, so she’s able to stiffen the look of disgust on her face when she feels it. A metallic taste filling her mouth. She usually sits down at this point because the dizziness will start up soon enough. She knows soon the feeling in the pit of her stomach will change from a butterfly flutter to a twisting and turning.

But she’s at her job.

She’s with a patient.

And she can’t lay down…

‘Not here. Not now..’ Is all she can think before the dots begin to flood her vision. She can no longer hear Sasha anymore.

Fuck.

“Are you… Okay?” Sasha asks slowly, noting how pale Y/N seemed to be getting.

“One…” Y/N manages to breathe out before she turns fast, rushing to the nurse’s station, hoping she can get there in time. Hoping she can at least sit down.

Jack is in the middle of talking with Dana when he sees Y/N from the corner of his eye. She practically stumbles against the countertop, gripping it tightly, breathing uneven. He sees the fear in her eyes, her uneven breathing, and instantly knows what comes next. “Shit.” He says, moving away from Dana as fast as he can.

Javadi, who’d been at the nurse’s station to read the patient logs, pauses as she notices Y/N too. “Dr. Y/N?” She asks as she moves closer to check on her.

It all happens so fast…

“Catch her!” Jack shouts as he watches Y/N’s shoulders tense and her legs stiffen. She starts to fall and Javadi is so startled that she doesn’t reach out to grab her till Y/N has already hit the floor, landing on her left arm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! I said catch her!” Jack snaps at Javadi, not thinking straight anymore.

“I didn’t… I don’t…” She stammers a bit as Jack gets on his knees beside Y/N. He carefully wraps an arm around her upper, moving to sit on the floor with her in his lap. She’s as stiff as a board, muscles twitching and jaw tight.

“I got you, baby. I got you…” He whispers to her, seeing the fear in her as he holds her face with his right hand, his left arm still wrapped around her tense shoulders, holding her across his lap. As Dana curses quietly. Javadi watches in shock and a few other hospital staff try getting closer to see what’s really going on.

“Give her some room!” Dana begins to shout orders as Jack focuses only on Y/N.

He keeps his face neutral and calm. He needs to be her rock right now. He needs to hide the fact that this is breaking him to his very core.

That it’s hurting his heart to see her look so terrified and out of control. He whispers repeatedly that he’s got her now. That it’s gonna be okay. His voice cracks a bit when he watches the way her eyes gloss over for a moment…

Jack braces himself, tears in his eyes as he watches her head go back. Like it’s being forced back. Choked air wheezes from her, air that’s being forced out of rigid chest muscles. It causes her to let out a sudden groan as she goes completely ridged.

He holds her through it. Forcing himself to focus on how long she’s out for. He counts the seconds before her head jolts back up. She’s back to reality, gasping for the air her lungs were forced to squeeze out.

10 seconds.

The longest 10 seconds of his life…

*

*

*

Her head is fuzzy.

That’s to be expected in this moment though.

She sits in the hospital bed with water and orange juice both in front of her. And a cookie that Dana had snuck in. Jack hasn’t moved his forehead off of her hand yet. She hasn’t spoken yet. She doesn’t even know if Jack knows that she’s awake yet.

She opens her mouth to speak, but she doesn’t know what to truly say. Maybe a sorry? Maybe a hi? Maybe an assurance that she’s okay now?

“If you wanna be mad at me…” She finally settles on, her voice a bit hoarse. “Just… Keep in mind I have a hurt shoulder now..” She says gently. Jack doesn’t move.

“Like… Really hurt.” She tries sheepishly. Still no response. “Like, it might need to be kissed better, kind of hurt..” She says gently, trying to lighten the mood in the hospital room they were alone in.

“Y/N…” Jack breathes out finally.

“I’m sorry.” The two words slip out automatically. It was better than the alternative of Jack being pissed at her.

He looks up at her finally, his eyes showing just how concerned he was. His dark brown eyes were as somber as oak wood in the dead of winter.

It makes Y/N frown..

“What am I gonna do with you?” He finally whispers.

“Love me anyways?” Y/N asks hopefully, voice slightly timid as Jack sighs, looking down at the hospital bed she lays in.

“I should’ve been more on top of myself. I’m so sorry I put you through that again..” She mutters after another beat of silence.

The first, and only other, time Jack had seen Y/N like that was before they even started dating.

An eight car pile up at happened on the local freeway, and Y/N felt it coming on, so she ran straight to the break room. Jack had followed her in and caught her before she could hit the ground because she wasn’t fast enough to get to the chair.

That was the first time Y/N got a real good look at his eyes.

Jack watches her for a moment longer before he breaks, moving over slowly to cup her face. He kisses her tenderly and she tries to kiss back, but she can feel a headache forming. He pulls back a bit, stroking her hair. “I…” He begins quietly as he holds her face carefully. She bites her lip at his tone of voice.

“Am going to keep an eye on your levels..” He says ever so softly, watching her face closely. “And when they’re balanced… I’m gonna take you home. And when we get home, I’m going to run you a hot bubble bath with epsom salt for your shoulder. And then you will stay in bed, resting, while I worry about dinner tonight. And you’re not going to fight me… On any of this…” He says as he looks at her. Y/N presses her lips together at the plan, knowing she truly has no say right now.

“Okay…” She whispers. He pecks her lips tenderly and mumbles for her to drink her juice and water. He stands up and she settles in the bed again, looking down at her hands.

“Before I fainted…” Y/N begins when Jack is about to leave. He pauses and turns to her. “My patient… Her husband used to take care of her. And now she’s on her own. And I think… It just got me thinking about…” She trails off as she sheepishly messes with the hospital sheets. Jack slowly walks back over to her.

“I bet… He lived his life happily caring for her. Because having her in his life… Was worth it all..” Jack states confidently as he cradles the back of her head carefully as he watches her. “Every moment was a fair trade..” He whispers before kissing her forehead, making her blush a bit. He slowly steps back from the bed again.

“Even the moments where she was a stubborn pain in his ass.” He adds with a small smirk. Y/N playfully glares. He walks back over to the door and Y/N grabs the orange juice and pauses a bit.

“Where are you going?” She finally asks.

“Gonna go give a still very frightened med student a sincere apology..” He mutters sheepishly, recalling his blow up at Javadi.

“Oh god.” Y/N mumbles. “Jack! What did you do?!” She fusses softly as Jack quickly exits the room.

Much to your dismay, Jack had insisted you begin maternity leave weeks earlier than planned. The long twelve-hour shifts at PTM, once exhausting but familiar, were suddenly behind you. Trading the controlled chaos of the emergency department for quiet days at home had proven more difficult than you’d excpected. Nursing had always given your days purpose and structure. Yet every time you protested, Jack would simply smile, press a hand to your growing belly, and remind you that there was another job waiting for you now—the most important one you’d ever have: becoming a mother.

The excitement had only grown after you learned you were having a little girl. Suddenly, the spare bedroom became a nursery, shopping lists doubled in length, and every conversation seemed to drift back to the daughter you and Jack were so eager to meet. 

It was late, the house wrapped in a comfortable silence. For once, Jack wasn’t working. Your due date was only a few days away, though you had a feeling your daughter had other plans. Between the occasional cramps, the relentless pressure in your lower back, and the way your daughter seemed determined to use your ribs as a jungle gym, it felt as though she might decide to make her entrance at any moment.

Jack stepped into the bedroom and immediately noticed the loon on your face. Your features were pinched with discomfort, one hand braced against the small of your back while the other rubbed slow circles over your swollen belly.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s she doing now?” he asked, crossing the room and settling onto the edge of the bed.

As if she heard him, your daughter answered with a sharp kick that made you wince.

“Terrorizing me,” you muttered, shooting your stomach an accusatory look. “She’s running out of room. I swear she’s trying to claw her way out.”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he rested a hand against your belly, waiting to see if she’d offer him the same treatment. “Funny. She always seems much nicer when I’m around.”

“Because she’s already a daddy’s girl,” you sighed, settling father against the headboard.

Jack’s hand moved slowly across your belly, his touch gentle and familiar. The moment he spoke, the relentless kicks seemed to ease, as if your daughter recognized the sound of his voice.

You narrowed your eyes. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Smart girl.”

You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile followed. “She’s not even born yet and she’s already got you wrapped around her finger.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

Another flutter ripplied beneath his palm, softer this time.

Jack’s expression immediately softened. The teasing disappeared, replaced by the quiet wonder that still crossed his face whenever he felt her moved.

“Not much longer now,” he murmured.

The room fell quiet for a moment, both of you focused on the tiny life nestled beneath his hand. Only a few days remained until you finally got to meet the little girl who had already managed to completely change your world.

You let out a breathless laugh. “Easy for you to say.”

His brows furrwoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of the blanket.

“A few weeks before I went on leave, there was a woman who came into the ER,” you said quietly. “She was in labor. Everything was supposed to be routine until it wasn’t.”

Jack’s expression softened immediately. 

You swallowed hard. “I still remember how scared she looked. How scared her hsuband looked. Everybody was moving so fast….” Your hand instinctively tightened over your stomach. “I keep thinking about her.”

The room fell silent. 

“I’m the one who has to push her out,” you muttered after a moment. “The closer it gets, the more I keep thinking about everything that can go wrong.”

The admission hung in the air between you.

Jack shifted closer, slipping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey.”

You looked over at him. 

“I know,” he said softly.

You frowned. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” His thumb brushed gently over your shoulder. “You worked in that ER for years. You’ve seen people on some of the worst days of their lives. You know better than most how quickly things can change.”

Your eyes dropped to your lap.

“But that’s exactly why you’re scared,” he continued. “You’ve seen the exceptions. The emergencies. The cases that stuck with you because they went wrong.”

He waited until you looked back at him.

“What you don’t see are the thousands of deliveries that go exactly the wya they’re supposed to.”

You were quiet.

“Every appointment you’ve had has been good. Every scan has been good. Our daughter is healthy. You’re healthy. Your OB isn’t worried.”

His hand settled over yours on your stomach.

“Believe me, if there was something to worry about, you’d know. Neither of us would be able to stop your doctors from talking about it.”

A reluctant smile flickered across your face.

“That’s true.”

“Very true.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I can’t promise labor will be easy,” he said. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt. But I can promise that you’re not walking into it unprepared. You’ve got a great medical team. You’ve got people who know you. And you’ve got me.”

His fingers intertwined with yours.

“I’ll be there the entire time Every contraction. Every complaint. Every time you squeeze my hand hard enough to break a bone, telling me you hate me for getting you pregnant.”

A small laugh escaped you. “And when it’s over?”

His eyes softened. “When it’s over, you’re going to be holding our little girl.”

The thought alone made your chest tighten. 

Jack smiled, resting his forehead briefly agaisnt yours. “A few days from now, all of this waiting and worrying is going to be replaced by a tiny human who keeps us both awake at three in the morning.”

The time, your smile came easier.

“There she is,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “That’s the woman I know.”

You leaned against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder. 

For the first time all day, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosened just a little.

Jack’s hand drifted lazily over your belly, his thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of your night gown.  Beneath his touch, your daughter gave a gentle kick, as if reminding you both she was still there. 

“You need some sleep.” he said softly.

You wanted to argue, but the exhaustion sitting heavy in your bones made it difficult. Between the constant discomfort, the endless trips to the bathroom, and your mind’s refusal to stop worrying, a full night’s sleep had become a distant memory. 

“I’m not that tired,” you mumbled.

Jack raised an eyebrow. 

The look alone made you huff. 

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“A little?” he repeated, amused.

You rolled your eyes.

Without another word, he helped adjust the mountain of pillows that had somehow become necessary for sleeping. Once he was satisfied, he patted the mattress beside him.

“Lay down,” he instructed gently. “Get comfortable.”

You shifted with a groan, settling onto your side as carefully as your very pregnant body would allow. The moment your head touched the pillow, you realized just how exhausted you truly were.

“There we go,”, Jack murmured. 

His hand found your stomach again, rubbing smooth circles over the curve of your belly. 

The room was quiet except for the ceiling fan. 

“You know,” he said quietly, “ a few days from now, we’re probably going to wish we could get this much sleep.”

A sleepy laugh escaped you. “Speak for yourself.”

His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle. 

You snuggled closer, your eyes already growing heavy. 

“I love you,” he murmured.

Jack pressed a kiss into your hair.

“I love you too.”

With his hand still resting protectively over you and your daughter, it didn’t take long before sleep finally began to pull you under.

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you to fall asleep, or when Jack had finally drifted off beside you. At some point during the night, the two of you had shifted beneath the blankets, settling into the unconscious search for comfort that came with sleep.

A sudden wet sensation jolted you awake.

Your eyes flew open.

For a moment, you lay perfectly still, disoriented by the darkness and lingering haze of sleep.

Then you felt it again.

Your heart immediately began to race.

“Jack.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

Beside you, he stirred.

“Jack.”

This time it was sharper.

He sat up almost instantly, years of being in the army and being an ER doctor made him a light sleeper.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”

You pushed yourself upright, staring down at the damp sheets beneath you.

“I think….” You swallowed. “I think my water just broke.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, suddenly nervous. “I was asleep then I woke up because everything felt wet.”

The baby shifted inside you, earning a hand pressed instinctively against your stomach.

Jack reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.

Your eyes met.

The reality of it hit both of you at the same time.

This was it.

The waiting was over.

Your daughter was on her way.

He glanced down at the soaked sheets before looking back at you. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Your water broke.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The words seemed to settle over the room.

Your water broke.

It was such a simple sentence, yet it changed everything.

Your hand drifted to your stomach as your heart began to pound.

“No, no, no…” you whispered.

Jack's eyebrows shot up. “No?”

You shook your head, tears unexpectedly burning behind your eyes.

“We're not ready.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he reached for your hand. “The nursery's done.”

“I know.”

“The car seat's installed.”

“I know.”

“The hospital bag has been sitting by the front door for three weeks."

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you.

“I know.”

His thumb brushed across your knuckles. “We're ready.”

You swallowed hard.

A few hours ago, you'd been lying awake worrying about labor and everything that could go wrong. Now the moment was here, and somehow that felt even more overwhelming.

Jack seemed to understand.

He moved closer, cupping your face gently. “Hey,”he said softly. "Look at me."

You did.

His eyes were warm, steady, and reassuring.

“You've carried her for nine months. You've taken care of her every single day. You've done everything right.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

“You can do this.”

Your lower lip trembled. “What if I can’t?”

His expression immediately softened. “Then I'll remind you that you can.”

Another tear followed the first.

Jack brushed it away with his thumb.

“You're not doing this alone," he said. "Not for a second. I'm going to be right there with you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The baby shifted beneath your hand, earning a small laugh through your tears.

“Apparently she's ready,” you murmured.

Jack glanced down at your belly and smiled before placing his hand over yours. “Yeah.”

His smile grew softer. “I think she's tired of hearing us talk about her.”

That earned another laugh.

The tension in your chest eased enough for you to breathe again.

“Okay,” you said quietly.

“Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Jack stood and immediately slipped into doctor mode—not panicked, just focused.

“Let's get you changed out of those wet clothes.”

You watched him move around the room, grabbing your hospital bag from the corner and double-checking things that had already been checked a dozen times.

The sight made your chest ache in the best way.

This was really happening.

In a matter of hours, it wouldn't just be the two of you anymore.

Jack caught you watching him.

“What?”

You smiled. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

Your gaze drifted to your stomach before returning to him. “We're going to meet our daughter.”

The words stopped him in his tracks.

For the first time since waking up, his composure cracked.

Emotion flashed across his face, quick but unmistakable.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

He crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, we are.”

And suddenly, for the first time that night, the nerves were accompanied by something stronger.

Excitement.

The next few minutes passed in a blur.

One minute you were sitting on the edge of the bed trying to process the fact that your water had broken, and the next Jack was helping you change into dry clothes while reminding you not to rush.

"Slow down," he said for what felt like the tenth time.

You shot him a look.

"Easy for you to say."

“I’m not the one trying to sprint to the front door nine months pregnant."

“I am not sprinting."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

You ignored him.

A few minutes later, hospital bag in hand, you found yourself standing in the hallway.

The house was quiet.

Still.

For some reason, your feet refused to move.

Jack noticed immediately.

"What's wrong?"

You glanced down the hall. The nursery door was cracked open.

Without a word, you made your way toward it.

Jack followed.

The room was dark except for the soft glow of the nightlight plugged into the wall. Everything was waiting.

The crib. The rocking chair. The stack of books on the shelf. The tiny clothes folded neatly in the dresser.

For months, this room had represented the future.

Now it felt impossibly close.

Your throat tightened.

"The next time we're in here..." you began.

Jack's arm slipped around your waist.

You looked up at him.

"The next time we're in here," he finished softly, "she'll be with us."

Tears immediately filled your eyes.

"Oh, great," you muttered, wiping at them. "Now I'm crying."

"You've got a pretty good excuse."

You laughed weakly.

Jack leaned down and pressed a kiss against your temple. “Ready?”

You took one last look around the room.

The empty crib. The stuffed rabbit sitting patiently in the rocking chair. The blanket folded over the side.

Everything waiting for her.

For your daughter.

A deep breath filled your lungs.

This time when you nodded, you meant it. “Ready.”

The drive to the hospital was strangely quiet.

Not uncomfortable. Just quiet.

The roads were mostly empty at this hour, streetlights casting long stretches of gold across the windshield. You sat with one hand resting on your stomach and the other wrapped around a bottle of water Jack had insisted you bring.

Every few minutes he glanced over. "You okay?"

You nodded.

Three minutes later:

"You okay?"

Another nod.

A minute later:

"Jack."

"What?"

“You asked me that already.”

His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Sorry."

The admission made you smile. "You nervous?"

He laughed softly. "A little."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot."

That earned a genuine laugh.

"You're an ER doctor."

"Yeah."

"You deal with emergencies every day."

“Yeah."

You watched him for a moment.

“You seem scared.”

His eyes stayed fixed on the road.

"I wouldn't say scared."

You waited.

After a few seconds, he sighed. "We're about to have a daughter."

The words settled warmly in your chest.

His voice softened. "I've wanted this for a long time."

You turned to look at him.

For a moment, he was quiet.

"When I was younger, I always assumed I'd have kids someday." A small smile crossed his face. "I thought there'd be plenty of time."

You knew exactly what he meant.

Life hadn't turned out the way he'd expected.

His late wife had gotten sick, and somewhere between hospital rooms, treatments, and trying to hold everything together, the future he'd imagined had slowly slipped away.

"I stopped thinking about it after a while," he admitted. "Or at least I told myself I did."

Your chest tightened.

Jack glanced over at you before returning his attention to the road. "Then you came along."

A tear immediately burned at the corner of your eye.

His smile grew. "And now here I am, in my fifties, driving to the hospital in the middle of the night because my wife is about to have our daughter."

Emotion thickened his voice just slightly. "I don't think I've ever been happier to be scared."

Your eyes stung.

Jack reached over and found your hand.

"I've wanted to meet her for months," he said softly. "I've imagined what she'll look like. Whether she'll have your eyes or my nose. Whether she'll hate my music and think I'm embarrassing."

You laughed through the tears threatening to spill."She definitely will."

"Yeah, probably."

His thumb brushed across your knuckles.“I just want you both okay.”

You squeezed his fingers. "We will be."

For the first time since leaving the house, some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

A contraction rolled through your abdomen then. Not terrible. Just stronger than the ones before.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

Jack's head snapped toward you. “You okay?”

You laughed despite yourself.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The doctor."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

The contraction faded. You settled back against the seat.

A few minutes later, the familiar outline of PTMC came into view against the night sky.

Your heart skipped. This was it.

After months of waiting, worrying, planning, and dreaming—you were finally about to meet your daughter.

The moment Jack pulled into the hospital parking lot, everything suddenly felt real.

Not nursery-real.

Not baby-shower-real.

Not "we should probably finish packing the hospital bag" real.

Real.

You stared up at the familiar building as Jack parked the car.

For years, PTMC had simply been where you worked. Tonight, it was where your daughter would be born.

"You okay?" Jack asked quietly.

You nodded.

Then immediately shook your head. "I don't know."

A soft smile touched his lips. "That's probably the most honest answer you've given all night."

Before you could respond, another contraction tightened across your abdomen. Stronger this time.

You closed your eyes and breathed through it.

When it finally passed, Jack was already out of the car and opening your door.

The cool night air hit your face as he helped you out.

"You know," you muttered as you slowly straightened, "I used to walk into this place for twelve-hour shifts without a second thought."

“And?”

You looked up at the building. "I'm terrified."

Jack immediately slipped an arm around your shoulders."You’re not doing this alone, baby.”

Easy for him to say.

Still, you leaned into him as the two of you made your way toward the entrance.

The automatic doors slid open.

Within seconds, a familiar voice rang out.

"No way."

You froze.

Jack groaned.

A nurse from the emergency department looked up from the nurses' station and immediately pointed.

"Oh my God. It's happening."

Within seconds, it seemed like half the department had noticed.

The news spread fast.

A few nurses hurried over.

One of them immediately wrapped you in a careful hug.

"Look at you!"

Another glanced at your stomach.

"Finally. We were starting to think she'd never come out."

You laughed.

Jack sighed dramatically. “This is exactly why I wanted to sneak in.”

"You work here," one of the nurses said. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"You work here too," another added, pointing at you.

That only made everyone laugh harder.

A contraction interrupted before you could answer. Your smile vanished. You grabbed Jack's arm.

Instantly, the teasing stopped.

His hand settled against your back."Okay?"

You nodded through clenched teeth.

A familiar nurse's voice spoke up. "She's definitely in labor."

"No kidding," Jack deadpanned.

The contraction passed.

You let out a shaky breath.

The group immediately shifted from coworkers to professionals.

Within minutes, someone had called Labor and Delivery. Someone from transport appeared with a wheelchair despite your insistence that you could walk.

"Absolutely not," the nurse said.

"I can walk."

"Sure you can."

"I can."

The nurse pointed at your stomach.

"You are carrying an entire human."

You opened your mouth to protest. Then closed it.  “Fine.”

"Smart woman." Jack looked entirely too pleased with that outcome.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto Labor and Delivery.

The atmosphere was completely different from the emergency department.

Quieter. Softer. Anticipatory.

You were guided into a labor room while nurses introduced themselves and began asking questions you'd answered a hundred times before.

Name. Date of birth. How far apart were the contractions? When had your water broken?

Through it all, Jack stayed beside you. Never more than a few feet away.

Eventually the room settled. The monitors were in place. The paperwork was done. The nurses stepped out to give you both a moment.

For the first time since arriving, silence returned. You looked around the room.

The hospital bed. The clear bassinet tucked beside the wall. The tiny pink hat folded neatly on a nearby counter with the white blanket. 

Your breath caught. Jack followed your gaze. Neither of you said anything for a moment.

Then quietly: “That's for her.”

You nodded. A lump formed in your throat.

In a few hours—or maybe less—that bassinet wouldn't be empty anymore.

Your daughter would be here.

Jack pulled a chair closer and sat beside the bed.

Without a word, he took your hand.

The monitor continued its steady rhythm beside you. For a while, neither of you spoke.

You simply sat there together, listening to the sounds of the floor and feeling the weight of everything that was about to change.

Finally, you looked at him. "Nervous?"

Jack let out a small laugh. "Terrified."

You smiled. "Good."

"Good?"

"If I'm scared, you should be too.”

That earned a genuine laugh. The kind that eased some of the tension sitting between you.

Then his expression softened. He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. A simple gesture.

But one that said everything.

No matter what happened next, you wouldn't face it alone.

The room remained quiet for awhile. The steady beep of the monitor filled the space as Jack sat beside you, his thumb lazily brushing over the back of your hand. You were just beginning to relax when another contraction hit.

This one made you suck in a sharp breath.

Jack immediately straightened. "That one's stronger."

You nodded. “Yeah, a lot stronger.”

The contraction lingered longer than the others had. By the time it eased, you felt slightly breathless.

A knock sounded at the door before one of the Labor and Delivery nurses stepped back inside."How are we doing in here?"

You glanced at Jack. "Tired."

The nurse laughed knowingly.

"Well, unfortunately, I can't fix that part."

She checked the monitor before looking back at you. "Dr. Myers is on the way, but I'd like to see where we're starting if that's okay."

You knew exactly what she meant. A cervical check.

You nodded. "Okay."

A few minutes later, the nurse finished and stepped back.

"Well."

The single word immediately made your stomach drop.

Jack noticed. "What?"

The nurse smiled. It's not bad."

You stared at her. "That's not exactly reassuring."

She laughed. “You're four centimeters and completely effaced.”

You blinked. "Really?"

"Really."

Jack's eyebrows lifted.

For someone who spent his days around medical emergencies, he suddenly looked remarkably proud.

"See?" he said. "You've already done part of the work."

You rolled your eyes. "I hate when you sound optimistic."

"Good thing you married me anyway."

The nurse grinned. “I’ll let you two argue about that.”

After she left, Jack settled back into his chair. "You okay?"

You nodded. For now, you were. Still nervous. Still uncomfortable. But okay.

The reality was finally beginning to sink in. This wasn't a false alarm. You weren't getting sent home. You were having a baby.

Another contraction interrupted the thought.

You squeezed Jack's hand.

Hard.

His eyes widened slightly. "Wow."

"Don't."

"I'm just saying."

"Jack."

He immediately held up his free hand. "Not another word."

The contraction faded.

You leaned back against the pillows and closed your eyes. Exhaustion still clung to you.

It was sometime in the middle of the night—or maybe early morning by now. You weren't entirely sure.

Time felt strange. Minutes stretched. Hours disappeared.

At some point, Jack convinced you to drink water.

Then he convinced you to eat a few crackers.

Then he convinced you to stop apologizing every time you squeezed circulation out of his fingers.

“You know," he said, adjusting the blanket over your legs, "most husbands don't get to watch their wives work this hard."

You opened one eye. "Most husbands are the reason their wives are working this hard."

A laugh burst out of him. A soft smile crossed his face.

"There's my girl."

Another contraction arrived before you could enjoy the victory. This one was different. Your breath caught.

The pressure was stronger. Sharper. You instinctively curled forward. 

Jack was immediately on his feet. "Hey."

His hand found yours before you even reached for it. You gripped his fingers tightly as the contraction rolled through you. And kept rolling.

Longer than the others. Stronger.

Your breathing faltered. You squeezed your eyes shut.

Jack stayed close, one hand wrapped around yours while the other rubbed slow circles against your back. "That's it," he murmured softly. "I've got you."

You nodded, unable to speak. The pressure continued to build.

For a moment, frustration and exhaustion crashed into you all at once. Tears slipped free before you could stop them.

Immediately, Jack leaned closer. "Hey, hey."

His voice was gentle. "So good, sweetheart. You're doing so good."

You shook your head weakly. "It hurts." The words came out smaller than you intended.

His expression broke your heart a little. Not because he looked scared. Because he looked helpless. Like if he could take every ounce of pain from you himself, he would do it without hesitation.

"I know," he said quietly.

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “I know.”

The contraction finally began to ease.

You sagged back against the pillows, exhausted. Jack didn't let go of your hand.

Instead, he lifted it and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. A simple gesture. One he'd done a thousand times before. But somehow it felt different now.

More emotional. More meaningful.

Because in a matter of hours, the two of you wouldn't just be husband and wife anymore. You'd be parents.

“Ow.” The sound escaped before you could stop it.

Jack's expression changed instantly. That single word had sounded different. Like something had shifted.

The nurse must have noticed too because she appeared a few moments later. 

“Talk to us, baby,” Jack breathed. “tell us what’s going on.”

You took a breath. "They're stronger. They hurt so bad.”

The nurse nodded. "Let's take another look."

Jack remained beside you while the nurse prepared for another exam. You tried to focus on your breathing, but your heart was already racing. The contractions had changed.

You could feel it. Everything felt different now.

The nurse checked your progress while you stared at the ceiling, waiting for some kind of answer.

At first, she didn’t say anything. Then her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Well."

Your stomach immediately dropped.

Jack leaned forward. "What?"

The nurse finished and pulled away, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"That explains why things are feeling more intense."

You looked at her expectantly. "How far am I?”

She glanced between you and Jack. "Take a guess."

You groaned. "Please don't make me guess."

The nurse laughed. "Fair enough."

Your heart pounded.

"You're six centimeters."

For a second, you were convinced you'd heard her wrong. “What?”

"Six centimeters."

You blinked.

"Six?"

"Six." she confirmed.

Jack looked just as surprised. "Already?"

The nurse nodded. "Already."

You stared at the wall for a moment, trying to process it.

Just a little while ago you'd been four centimeters. Now you were six.

Labor wasn't just happening anymore. It was moving. Fast.

A strange mixture of excitement and panic flooded your chest. Six centimeters. You were more than halfway there.

Another contraction began building low in your abdomen, and suddenly the number felt very real. You gripped Jack's hand as it intensified.

He immediately squeezed back. “You're doing great,” he said quietly.

You laughed breathlessly. "I don't feel like I'm doing great."

"Trust me.” he smiled. “You are.”

The contraction finally eased. The nurse adjusted the monitor before looking at both of you.

"My guess?" she said. "You're going to be meeting your daughter sooner rather than later."

The words settled over the room. Neither of you spoke right away. The nurse gave you both a knowing smile before stepping out to update the rest of the team.

As soon as the door closed, silence filled the room again. Your eyes found Jack's. His found yours. For a long moment, neither of you seemed capable of saying anything.

Because suddenly this wasn't some distant event waiting somewhere in the future. It wasn't a countdown on an app. It wasn't another doctor's appointment. It was happening. It was now. Your daughter was on her way.

Jack let out a slow breath and shook his head slightly, almost like he couldn't quite believe it.

"Six centimeters," he murmured.

You nodded. "Six centimeters."

A smile slowly spread across his face. The kind that was equal parts joy, disbelief, and awe. And for the first time all night, neither of you looked nervous. Just a mix of excited and overwhelmed. 

The contractions became stronger. Closer together. Sleep became impossible.

At some point the nurses dimmed the lights. At another point, someone convinced you to drink water. Then came another contraction. And another And another.

By early morning, you had completely lost track of time. Another contraction began building, each one becoming more relentless than the previous. The nurse was in and out. So many times that you had lost count.

You gripped Jack's hand and focused on your breathing. The monitor beside the bed continued its steady rhythm.

Then suddenly—A different sound. A sharp beep. The nurse's attention immediately shifted toward the screen.

Your stomach dropped. 

Jack noticed it too."What is it?"

The nurse didn't answer right away. Instead, she stepped closer to the monitor. The silence was enough. Every terrible thought you'd spent weeks trying to ignore came rushing back.

The woman from the ER. The fear in her husband's eyes. The way everyone had started moving faster.

Your heart immediately began to race. "What's wrong?" you asked.

The nurse looked over. “Nothing's wrong.”

But she was still watching the screen. Which wasn't exactly comforting.

A second nurse appeared in the doorway. Then a third. Not rushing. Not panicked. Just…there. The sight made your pulse spike anyway.

Jack's hand tightened around yours. “Is she okay? Is our daughter okay?”

Things were a lot easier when it wasn’t happening to you. In the ER, you both could remove yourselves from the situation. It wasn’t personal. 

The nurse glanced between you both. "Her heart rate dipped a little during that contraction."

Your entire body went cold.

The nurse immediately continued. "Which can happen."

You stared at her. "Can happen?"

She nodded. "Sometimes labor puts temporary stress on the baby. We watch for it.”

The monitor continued to beep. A few seconds felt like a lifetime.

Then one of the nurses smiled. "There she goes."

Everyone's attention shifted back to the screen. The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The tension evaporated.

The first nurse looked back at you. "See? She's recovering beautifully."

You let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

Beside you, Jack did the exact same thing. He lifted your hand to his mouth to place a soft, reassuring kiss. 

The nurse pointed gently toward the monitor. "Strong heartbeat. Strong recovery. She's doing exactly what we want her to do."

Your eyes immediately filled with tears. Not because something was wrong. Because for a few terrifying seconds, you'd thought it might be.

Jack leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead. "She's okay."

You nodded. "She's okay."

You were trying to convince yourself. 

The nurse smiled. “She's already keeping all of us on our toes."

That earned a watery laugh from you. “Sounds like my daughter.”

"Definitely our daughter," Jack agreed.

The scare passed, but it left both of you quieter afterward. Every kick. Every heartbeat on the monitor. Every contraction. You noticed all of it.

As the hours passed, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. Another cervical check. Then another.

Until finally—"Nine and a half."

You stared. “What?"

The nurse laughed. "Nine and a half centimeters."

Jack blinked. "Seriously?"

He thought he might be hearing things or hallucinating…..maybe he needed his morning coffee. He wasn't a morning person after all.

"Seriously."

For the first time all day, the finish line felt real.

Not long after, the pressure changed. Heavier. Stronger.

The nurses noticed immediately.

One of them stepped back into the room and took a look at your face. "Feeling pressure?"

You nodded. "A lot of pressure."

The nurse smiled knowingly. "That's what I thought."

Jack straightened beside you.

You pointed at him.

"Don't."

“I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

His mouth twitched. “I was not.”

The nurse laughed. "You two are adorable."

You groaned before rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. “I’ve been in labor for twelve hours. I'm not adorable.”

Jack immediately shook his head. “For the record, you're still beautiful."

You stared at him. "Jack."

"I'm serious."

"I look like I've been hit by a truck."

"You look like the woman who's bringing my baby girl into the world."

The softness in his voice made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed across your hand. "And I think you're beautiful."

Heat crept into your cheeks despite everything. “You are unbelievably biased."

"Absolutely."

A little while later, the nurse checked again. You were getting more irritable each time. Jack could tell, giving your hand a gentle but reassuring squeeze. But then the nurse smiled.

"You're complete."

Ten centimeters. You were finally ready.

And before you knew it, the room became busier. Purposeful. Nurses brought in an infant warmer along with a tray full of tools. They were intimidating to see when you were the one about to give birth. 

Your OB, Dr. Myers arrived.

Equipment was checked. The bassinet was moved closer. And before long, it was time.

Time became strange after that. Minutes blurred together. Contractions. Pushing. Breathing. Jack's voice.

The encouragement from the nurses. The pressure. The exhaustion. Part of you wanted everything to stop. But you knew you had to do this. 

Every time you opened your eyes, Jack was there. Every single time.

At one point, your forehead rested against his. "I can't."

His eyes immediately met yours."Yes, you can."

"I'm serious, Jack.”

“So am I. You’re so close,” he breathed before kissing your damp forehead. “You’re almost done, baby. You’ve done so good.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Frustration and exhaustion coming to a head.  "I'm tired."

His expression softened. "I know."

His thumb brushed the tear away. "I know, sweetheart."

Then he smiled. The kind of smile that made your heart ache. "She's almost here."

The words settled over you. Your daughter. A real baby girl.  A little girl who would call him Dad. A little girl who would call you Mom.  Emotion tightened your throat.

For all the years he'd spent convincing himself fatherhood wasn't going to happen...He was only moments away from holding his daughter.

The nurse glanced toward. Dr. Myers. Then back at you.

"One more good push."

The next contraction built quickly. You pushed.

The room erupted with encouragement.

Then suddenly—

"Oh,” Dr. Myers smiled.  "Look at that."

“What?” you breathed. 

Jack had already looked. His expression changed instantly. Wonder. Pure wonder.

"Oh my God." Emotion cracked his voice.

"What?" you asked louder this time. 

The nurse laughed. "She has a lot of hair."

A surprised laugh escaped you. Another push. Another breath. Another.

Then—Relief.

The pressure vanished. And a sound filled the room. Small. Sharp. Beautiful.

A cry. Your daughter's cry.

Everything stopped.

For one perfect second, the world stood still.

The tiny cries filled the room.

Your eyes immediately flooded with tears. "Oh my God."

Jack wasn't any better. He never cried. But today, he did.  Tears streamed down his face as he stared at the tiny baby being lifted into the world.

For years he had dreamed about this. Wondered if it would ever happen. And now she was here.

Real. Healthy. Perfect.

A laugh broke through his tears. "That's our girl."

A few moments later, they carefully placed her on your chest. She was crying, obviously shaken up by her transition into the bright, loud world. No longer in her mommy’s warm, safe womb. Warm. Tiny.Perfect. The instant she touched you, everything else disappeared.

There was only her. Your daughter. One impossibly small hand stretched outward. Tiny fingers. Tiny fingernails. Tiny everything.

You stared. Completely overwhelmed. Nine months. Nine months of carrying her. Wondering about her. Dreaming about her.

And now she was here.

"Hi, baby girl,” you whispered.

Jack moved closer. His hand shook slightly as he reached out and touched her back.

Just one finger. Almost like he couldn't believe she was real.

Your eyes lifted to him.

Every dream he'd ever had of becoming a father was written across his face.

"She's beautiful," he whispered. “Just like her mother.”

The little girl shifted against your chest, letting out a tiny sound.

Jack laughed softly through his tears. "She definitely has your eyes.”

You smiled. “And daddy’s nose.”

A nurse smiled from across the room. “Have you decided on a name yet?"

You and Jack exchanged a look. The answer had been decided months ago. Still, saying it out loud suddenly felt monumental. Real.

You looked down at the tiny girl resting against your chest.

A smile touched your lips. "Lainey."

Jack's eyes immediately softened.

"Lainey Abbot,” he repeated. “My beautiful baby girl.”

The name sounded different now.

Not a name on nursery decorations. Not a name whispered during late-night conversations. It belonged to someone. It belonged to her.

You looked down at your daughter. At Lainey.

Jack leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. Then another against yours. His hand settled over both of you. His girls.

A quiet, emotional laugh escaped him. "Welcome to the world, Lainey."

And for the first time since she arrived, your daughter opened her eyes. As if she was saying hello right back.

*but really I truly love and appreciate you all so so much but please please if you read give feedback, it's so simple and easy and truly makes my day :)

The emergency department was chaos, there was a storm battering the city outside, rain hammering against the ambulance bay doors and every bed seemed full. Nurses were moving quickly between patients and somehow, in the middle of it all,  you sat on the hospital bed looking calmer than anyone else in the room

It had surprised everyone, your OB-GYN had sent you straight to the ER after an appointment that afternoon so there you were, sitting down in a wheelchair and watching everyone else in the perfectly disordered chaos, the words of your doctor still in your head

"You need to deliver today. I’m sending you to the ER and they’ll handle this, get there as far as you can please."

There was no arguing or even panic, you simply got in your car and made your way there as quickly but safely as you could

Now several hours later, another contraction rolled through you and you gripped the rail, breathing and waiting and then releasing a deep breath until you could relax again and across the room one of the doctors looked up from a chart and grinned

“You know,” he said, adjusting his gloves “Most people are yelling at me by now, but you are a total rockstar”

A tired smile tugged at your lips “I could always start if you want me to”

"Please don't.” he chuckled “Alright miss, I’m Dr. Jack Abbott and I’m gonna be helping you out tonight” You introduced yourself and shook his hand “Nice” “I have never seen someone this calm” a nurse grinned taking your vitals 

“I don’t think yelling or cussing would help anyone in this kind of situation” you shrugged 

Jack chuckled “Well that’s a mature answer” “You sound disappointed” you mentioned “I always like at least one good threat” he teased

Despite everything, you grinned and for a moment, the room felt lighter and soon the delivery itself came and it moved a lot quicker than you or anyone in that room expected. With a few tense moments that made you pale, a lot of coaching and several contractions that made you reconsider every calm decision you had made that day you had done it. A cry filled the room and the nurse gently held up your baby and brought her to your chest “A beautiful baby girl !” she beamed “Congratulations” You looked down at your newborn daughter and smiled, your eyes watering as you let tears finally fall and kissed her cheek

“Congrats Mom” Jack grinned at you “You and mini over here did great”

“Thanks Dr.Abbott” you murmured softly “Call me Jack” he met your eyes with a soft grin “I’ll check on you before you get checked out. Get some rest with the little miss” 

Shortly after delivery you were transferred to an actual room of the hospital where you took in the quiet and fed your baby girl as some nurses came in with a late dinner for you but all your energy was on your baby and how darn cute she was

Jack had kept his word and swung by a little later and it wasn’t because he had time, if anything he was short on time but somehow he kept finding his way back to your room and every time someone was looking for him. He kept telling them it was just another minute and kept checking your chart and vitals and of course the baby. When it came to her he’d simply look her over with his eyes and smile softly 

You knew what he was doing and you appreciated it anyway. Your baby had fallen asleep on your chest and Jack smiled “She looks pretty content to me, way to scare us kid”

“I think she's exhausted” you chuckled

“That's fair. She's had a busy day.” he nodded

A comfortable silence settled and then Jack glanced down at his paperwork “One thing before you and that little cutie distract me more, do we have someone we can contact ?”

The question was gentle, you knew it was routine and nothing unusual but still it made you feel just a tad small

“Family, partner…..father of this little angel ?” he grinned at you

The smile on your face faded a bit, just enough for Jack to immediately notice and his own expression changed as well into something more careful

You looked down at your daughter, running a thumb over her tiny hand “The father, my husband…passed away” you said quietly “6 months ago actually” Jack swallowed “Oh. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked in a different way, that was insensitive” “It’s okay” you shook your head “He knew about her…he was excited” “I’m sorry” he whispered “So am I” you murmured “What about family ?” Jack asked “They’re coming” you grinned weakly “My parents, my sisters and my brother in laws. They’re just delayed because of the storm but they’ll be here hopefully in the next 3 days” It was silent for a bit until your daughter who was now in her bassinet cooed and yawned making both you and Jack turn in her direction, smiling until a voice suddenly knocked and opened the door “Abbott we need you, come on” He nodded and looked back at you “You need anything ?” The question seemed to catch you off guard, you blinked and then smiled faintly “No, I’m okay”

“You sure ?” he asked again “I can get one of the nurses to come up here and stay with you or try to get you moved somewhere just a bit quieter”

“I think I'm just trying to figure out how to do this” you admitted “Just me and her”

Jack sat down in the chair beside your bed, ignoring the fact that he absolutely had somewhere else to be, ignoring the chaos waiting outside. He let out a soft sigh and turned to you “Then she'll have one hell of a mom. Just please listen to me when I say this,”

You looked up at him “Okay”

“She doesn't know who's here and who isn't” he nodded toward the sleeping baby “She knows one thing”

You followed his gaze “What's that ?”

“That she's safe and loved” he grinned “Because you’re here and you’re her mom”

You sniffled as you felt a tear slide down your cheek and Jack handed you a tissue from your bedside table “You’re good at this you know”

“Don’t tell anyone” Jack shook his head giving you a smirk “Can’t have you ruining my rep around here”

Dabbing your eyes with your tissue you grinned at him, watching him as he stood up and went to the door but not before stopping and turning back to look at you “I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay ?” “Okay” you nodded “See you around” Jack said softly as he closed the door leaving you and your daughter alone

The next morning you had just changed from your first shower since giving birth when you heard a gentle knock on your door , “Come in” It was Jack who walked in, holding a backpack as he gave you one of his signature grins “Hey” “Good morning Dr.Abbott” you nodded “Nice to see you again”

“I was just finishing up my shift” he chuckled

“The night shift ?” 

“Attending for the overnight circus as I like to call it” he nodded

“You survived ?” you teased

“Barely”  Jack pointed toward himself “Still standing though”

You laughed as sis eyes drifted toward the bassinet then back to you, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, he sounded casual, like he was trying very hard not to make a big deal out of something that clearly mattered to him.

You let out a soft sigh and nodded “We're doing okay.”

Jack stepped closer to the bassinet “How was your first night ?”

“Pretty damn tiring.”

“That sounds about right.” he nodded

“I think she sleeps for twenty minutes at a time just to keep me humble.”

“Smart kid.” he smirked

You rolled your eyes “Don't encourage her please Dr.Abbott” “I said you could call me Jack, remember ?” he grinned

Eventually his attention shifted back to the bassinet when the baby stretched slightly, still asleep and still impossibly tiny in all of her newborn bliss cuteness. Jack hesitated for a bit then glanced at you “Can I ask something ?”

“Sure” you nodded

“Can I hold her ?”, the question came out unexpectedly shy, as though he was worried you would think it was strange.

You looked at him for a moment, then smiled “Of course you can”

The relief on his face was immediate as his eyes shined a bit brighter, “Really ?”

“Really” you assured “Go ahead”

He left to carefully wash his hands in the bathroom and then applied some hand sanitizer as he moved closer to the bassinet and gently lifted your daughter into his arms. His entire posture changed and his movements became incredibly gentle

This clearly wasn’t unfamiliar territory and he looked like he'd done this before so you just watched. You watched him adjust the blanket around her, supporting her head without even thinking about it

Your daughter made a tiny fussing sound and Jack instinctively began rocking slightly, “Well hello to you too kiddo” he said softly “You made quite an entrance into the world”

The fussing stopped almost immediately and you laughed “Oh come on, that's just rude”

Jack looked up “What ?”

“I spent all night getting her settled and you just calmed her down in like seconds” you pointed out “So not fair”

“Natural talent.” he shrugged with a grin “I’m like a total zen baby person”

“You've had her for ten seconds” you chuckled

“What can I say ? I’m good” he grinned at you

A nurse suddenly opened your door and grinned at you “We’re all set to transfer you to the hospital for a better stay now miss, you’ll just stay there for 2 more nights before being discharged to be home. I contacted your emergency contacts and let them know and they’ll be flying in directly to there as well.”

“Oh good” you smiled as you stood up gently “I’ll go get you a wheelchair so we can bring you and the baby down to the ambulance” she nodded before leaving

Jack cleared his throat, suddenly looking  nervous. For a second he looked toward the baby then back at you and somehow the confident ER attending from yesterday was nowhere to be found. Instead he looked like a man trying to work up the courage to jump off a cliff

“Can I ask you something ?”

“I think we kind of established you can” you joked

He laughed softly then just let out a sign, “Listen….if this is inappropriate, you can tell me”

Your eyebrows lifted a bit in shock “Okay…”

“I know we just met “Jack took a breath in “But I'd like to keep in contact with you”

Your heart skipped slightly and his expression immediately became apologetic “Not because I think you owe me anything”

“I didn't think that” you shook your head

“And not because I want to make things weird.” he added

“You aren't at all” you assured him

He rubbed the back of his neck then looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again “Would you maybe give me your number ? Only if you're comfortable of course”

His voice softened a bit before continuing, “I just…” he glanced at your daughter then back at you “I think you're pretty cool and I think if maybe we got to know each other outside of this chaos we could find that we’ve got….we’ve got some stuff in common”

You nodded and met his eyes “You know Dr.Abbott,” “Call me Jack” he reminded you softly “Please, plus I’m off the clock so technically I’m just Jack now.” “Jack” you continued

His shoulders visibly tensed “Yeah ?”

“You look terrified” you chuckled

He let out a combination of a groan and sigh and nodded “I kind of am slightly terrified”

You laughed and after a second, you reached for your phone on the bedside table “I think that's a yes”

The grin that appeared on his face was so unexpectedly boyish that it nearly made you laugh again. He took the phone, trying and failing, not to look ridiculously pleased as he typed in his number and then took his own out handing it to you “I better be put in as Jack and not Dr. Abbott” he teased

You showed him and grinned “Jack it is” “Sweet” he said softly “I’ll text you later” “Okay” you said simply

6 Months Later

A routine had quietly formed between you and Jack, nothing romantic at all, just small things like text messages throughout the day, him asking for pictures of your daughter when she did something adorable, which was apparently every fifteen minutes according to you or him sending you pictures of his fellow nightshift doctors asleep in the most random of places

Your favorite was coffee at yours after his shifts, typically your conversations somehow stretched for hours and it was the most comfortable and easy thing. More often than not it led to you making him breakfast despite him insisting he was okay yet he’d eat seconds every time.

It was something neither of you had expected which was why, on a cool morning just before sunrise, you found yourself pulling into the hospital parking lot to pick him up

Your daughter was with your mother for the morning, the first time you'd left her for more than an hour. You had checked your phone three times before even leaving the house despite her constant reassuring. When you walked into the emergency department, the familiar chaos was already underway and standing nearby was Jack who looked his usual tired self

“Wow” you smiled

He glanced up and smiled back when he saw you “Oh hey, you didn’t text me back” “I was driving” you said back 

Before any of you could continue, another doctor approached, he had dark hair and a beard and appeared  tired in a way that seemed deeper than lack of sleep or from getting up too early considering he was still wearing sunglasses and had a tumbler of coffee 

Jack smirked as he looked him up and down “Well well well, look who the cat dragged in”

The man looked between the two of you then at Jack, then back at you, a slow smile appearing on his face “Oh” he pointed between the both of you “This is why you've been leaving on time.”

“This is Michael Robinavitch otherwise known as Dr.Robby, good friend of mine” Jack introduced him “Nice to meet you” you introduced yourself and shook his hand “Likewise” Robby grinned turning to Jack “Now a lot of things make sense, a lot” “Shut up” Jack shook his head “I’m just saying” Robby laughed

The sound surprised you because despite his kindness, there was something sad about him. Just beneath the surface there seemed to be a distance, a heaviness almost that was carefully hidden. It reminded you of someone, your husband.

The way he had smiled during difficult months, the way he had convinced everyone he was okay, the way nobody realized how much pain he carried until it was too late. The thought made your chest tighten and Robby seemed to notice your expression ever so briefly. Something understanding flickered across his face then it disappeared

“Take him home,” he told you softly “Please.”

You nodded and gave him a small grin as he kept eye contact with you, eventually leaving down the hall. Jack noticed but said nothing, he walked with you to your car and you both headed to a small diner a few blocks from the hospital

For a while you talked about normal things, your daughter, your mother's babysitting and a patient who had tried to bribe Jack with homemade cookies because she was too scared of needles. Eventually the conversation slowed as Jack stirred his cup of coffee and watched you, “You okay ?” You nodded “Sort of…you know” your fingers tightened around your mug “You know...I don't think I've ever actually told you what happened.”

His expression softened because you didn't need to explain what you meant. You were talking about your husband, the father of your daughter, the loss that hovered around every conversation without fully entering it

Jack set down his coffee, giving you his full attention “I’m here”

You took a breath “He died by suicide, he killed himself one night after work with a gun to his head inside the parking lot structure. He struggled for years, since I knew him back in college when we were 19….he fought for so so long and he just couldn’t hold on” your eyes drifted to the window “And a few months ago just a few days after his 35th birthday he decided it was enough”

“He…he hid a lot of it” you continued “He was always worried about everyone else. He spent so much time making sure other people were okay that nobody realized he wasn't. And that…that day I knew something was wrong, he didn’t call or text me all day and he always did, always. It was past an hour after he should’ve been home and I kept telling myself work was just busy until I got a call from the police department and….and that was it. He was gone”

Jack simply stared at you before letting out a long sigh “I’m so so fucking sorry.” “I know” you whispered

For several moments he stared into his coffee, thinking, until he took a breath “Can I tell you something ?”

You looked up and nodded “Of course you can, please do”

His gaze dropped toward the floor “I wasn't born with this you know” he tapped his leg lightly.

You had noticed his prosthetic that night you were in the ER but you had never asked, it wasn’t your business and there was no point in ever pointing it out when you didn’t know how it happened

Jack leaned back in his chair “I was an Army medic.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly “Whoa, that’s so badass”

He smiled faintly “Feels like another lifetime now."

“What happened ?” you asked

Jack’s smile suddenly faded “There was an attack one afternoon, I was helping bandage someone up and suddenly I heard an explosion and then I woke up in a hospital with the news that my leg had to be amputated”, his hand rested unconsciously against the prosthetic “I spent a long time figuring out how to live with it.”

The confession surprised you because Jack always seemed so confident, so capable, like he had always known exactly who he was but that was apparently not true. His expression changed and you could see him get more serious “There was something else too”

You listened and nodded “Okay, you can tell me”

“I was married too” Jack confessed looking at you

Your heart squeezed andJack smiled softly, the kind of smile people wear when remembering someone they loved “She was amazing” his eyes glistened slightly “We were having a baby too”

You immediately understood where the story was going and suddenly wished you didn't as Jack looked down at the table “Complications happened really fast, too fast” his voice became rough “They couldn't save either of them.”

The world seemed to stop after his confession and you reached across the table taking his hand, he squeezed yours immediately like he had wanted to hold onto something, anything, for a long time.

“All I had was my job” he laughed bitterly “So I went back to work” You stared at him “Jack” “I didn't deal with it.” he shook his head “I buried it, I worked” his voice cracked slightly “I worked and worked and worked until I convinced myself I was okay.”

The sadness in his eyes suddenly made sense along with the exhaustion and his constant urge to never want to be alone and constantly wanting to see you or hang out even doing the most basic of tasks, it was loneliness. He had seemed so determined to take care of everyone except himself

"It took years before I realized grief doesn't disappear just because you're busy." he whispered

You squeezed his hand “It waits”

He nodded “Exactly.”

The two of you sat there for a long moment, just two people carrying different losses and different scars yet somehow understanding each other perfectly

Finally Jack looked at you, really looked at you “You don't have to rush.”

You swallowed suddenly “What do you mean ?”

“This.” he gestured gently between you two “Everybody wants timelines.” a faint smile touched his lips “They want to know when you'll be okay.”

“You lost your husband” Jack squeezed your hand “You're allowed to miss him….even if you care about someone else.”

The words caught in your throat, you knew exactly what he meant. The feelings growing between you that you had tried to ignore for the last 6 months and the guilt that sometimes accompanied them

“Love doesn’t have to erase love” Jack’s expression softened “And grief isn’t something you just happen to finish one day”

You laughed quietly through the tears coming down your cheeks as you grabbed a napkin and wiped your eyes “You've thought about this before haven’t you ?”

“A few times.” he sniffled with a chuckle “So…..can I uh take you out sometime ? Like a date….a real date ?” “Yes” you nodded “You can” “Sweet” he grinned “Come by mine with the little lady, I’ll make sure it’s kid friendly don’t worry” “You want me to bring Penelope ?” you asked softly “Well yeah, I kinda miss her” Jack nodded “Last week she was asleep when we went on that walk to that bookstore, I feel like she misses me” “You’re so annoying” you shook your head laughing “Hey” he looked at you “I mean it…bring her over to mine…bring her stuff and bring your stuff so you two can spend the night” “Okay….” you said softly “I’ll see you tomorrow night, I got 2 days off” Jack grinned

Friday evening came and you found yourself standing on his front porch with a diaper bag over one shoulder with Penelope balanced on your hip and Jack opened the door almost immediately before you could even knock, as if he had been waiting there for you which, judging by the expression on his face, he probably had 

“There are my girls”, the warmth in his voice made your stomach flutter and Penelope immediately squealed, her little legs kicking excitedly as she reached for him You looked at her and stared “Wow P, all this for him ? I’m the one who cuddles you and feeds you” Jack grinned then carefully took Penelope into his arms “Hi, Penny girl”

She immediately grabbed his nose hard as Jack winced “Violence already I see”

You laughed and stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was how clean everything was. The second thing you noticed was the baby gate, then the outlet covers, then the cabinet locks, then the corner protectors on furniture.

You stopped walking “Jack, did you baby proof your entire house ?” “Maybe” he laughed

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped the diaper bag “She's six months old, she can't even crawl properly”

He shrugged “I wanted to make sure you could both be comfortable”

A bit later you had dinner, take out as picked by him from your favorite local place where you two enjoyed a feast of chow mein, orange chicken, crab rangoons and kung pao tofu that he judged you for eating. After that a movie that neither of you paid attention to while Penelope spent most of the evening bouncing between the two of you. At one point she fell asleep against Jack's chest, her tiny fingers wrapped around his shirt completely content

You watched him look down at her, something soft crossing his face as he rubbed her back gently. Later that night, after Penelope was asleep in the portable crib he had spent an embarrassing amount of time setting up, the house finally grew quiet. You sat together on the couch with the television muted as a lamp casted soft light across the room.

For a while neither of you spoke, you just enjoyed the peace until Jack shifted beside you and you immediately noticed “What ?”

He groaned “How do you always know ?”

“You absolutely get weird Jack” you chuckled

He laughed quietly, then rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you'd come to recognize and suddenly your stomach flipped, you knew something was coming. You just didn't know what.

Jack looked at you “I've been thinking”

You smiled but his expression remained serious and suddenly you weren't smiling anymore because you realized how vulnerable he looked. The same man who could handle trauma bays and impossible emergencies without blinking somehow looked nervous sitting beside you

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve never actually asked.”

Your heart started beating faster “Asked what ?”

He took a breath, then smiled almost shy “Will you be my girlfriend ?”

You stared at him, emotion immediately filling your chest. Part of you wanted to say yes immediately, without hesitation. But another part still carried grief, fear and guilt. You looked down, a small laugh escaping you “Jack…”

“I know” he nodded “I know” “It’s still….soon” you whispered

His expression softened “I know” “I loved my husband” you met his eyes “I know” he nodded instantly without a hint of anger, insecurity or jealousy 

“And I still love him” you murmured lowly “I know that too” he wrapped an arm around you “I don’t wanna disrespect what we had” you swallowed Jack reached for your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers “You aren't.”

You looked at him and his eyes never left yours “You know what I think ?”

“What ?”

“I think he loved you and I think he’d want you happy”, a tear slipped down your cheek and Jack gently brushed it away “I don't think love works like people imagine. I don't think someone dies and suddenly all the love disappears. I think it stays.” he squeezed your hand “And I think new love can exist beside it”

He understood and that’s all you needed for the moment as you leaned your head on his shoulder and took in his comfort. After a moment, Jack looked toward the hallway where Penelope slept then back at you “My wife loved me”, his words were soft and filled with affection

You nodded “She did, I know she loved you so so much”

“And your husband loved you.” he said softly 

“He did, he really did” you whispered

Jack smiled a sad peaceful smile “I don't think either of them would want us spending the rest of our lives alone because we feel guilty about surviving. I think they'd probably tell us we're being idiots.”

A laugh escaped through your tears as you nodded “Oh god probably”

“Definitely.” he looked in your eyes and caressed your cheek “So…is this a yes ?”

You stared at him for a bit, taking in the man who had helped deliver your daughter and who had sat with your grief and shared his own all while making room for both you and Penelope in his life without hesitation. The man who never asked you to move on but only to keep moving forward. You knew your answer and finally, you leaned forward and kissed him 

When you pulled away his smile was brighter than ever before “I’ll take that over a verbal answer any damn day” “Good” you smiled kissing him again

One Year Later

Jack's house didn't feel like Jack's house anymore, it felt like home. There were toys in the living room, tiny shoes by the front door, crayons in places crayons should never be, a stuffed giraffe that somehow migrated to different rooms every day….and Penelope.

Penelope was everywhere. At eighteen months old, she had become a tiny whirlwind with endless energy and absolutely no respect for personal space, especially Jack's. The moment he walked through the door after a shift, she'd launch herself at him demanding attention, snacks, to be carried, absolutely everything and somehow he loved every second of it even if he'd never admit it

The funny thing was that she still called him Jack, not daddy or dada, not anything remotely parental. Just Jack like a tiny coworker. The first time she had done it, you nearly dropped your coffee and Jack had laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. Now it was pretty much normal for you two

“Jack nack !”, whenever she wanted a snack “Night night Jack” when it was time for a nap or bed “Cuddle Jack” when she wanted a cuddle on the couch

It became a running joke with everyone you knew, especially Robby who was wrapped around her finger so when he heard the story he had nearly fallen out of his chair “No way she calls you Jack ?” “Watch this” Jack smirked “Penny, who’s that ?” he pointed to you “Mommy” she smiled “Very good” he grinned “And who’s that” he pointed to Robby who smiled as she waddled over to him and reached so he could pick her up “Unca wobby” Penelope giggled hugging him “Wait a minute when she learn to call you uncle Robby” Jack frowned “She just knows” Robby grinned giving her a hug “I’m uncle Robby and you’re just Jack” “Jack” Penelope nodded pointing at him You chuckled as Jack shook his head equally as tickled “You’re just Jack babe”

One evening, after dinner and bath time and you convincing your hard headed toddler she could not wear her Cinderella dress to bed, bedtime finally arrived. You were sitting on the edge of Penelope's bed while she held her favorite stuffed rabbit and Jack stood in the doorway watching like he always did, one hand resting against the frame with a small smile on his face 

You looked over and Penelope immediately pointed “Jack !”

Jack sighed dramatically “See ?”

He walked over and carefully tucked the blanket around her. Penelope yawned, rubbing her eyes half asleep already

Jack leaned down and kissed her forehead “Goodnight, kiddo. I love you very much. I’ll see you in the morning”

Your little girl blinked sleepily, looking up at him as she yawned “Night night dada”

You and Jack froze as you both watched her yawn again and snuggled her face into her rabbit “Night night mommy, night night dada wuvy you” and she was out like a light

You slowly looked at Jack, his face had gone completely blank. The kind of overwhelmed that happened when happiness arrives so suddenly your brain can't process it.

“Jack ?”, he was still staring at Penelope. His eyes were suspiciously shiny “Oh my God.” he looked at you then back at Penelope “She ?” “Yes” you smiled walking back to your bedroom with him

Jack sat down immediately like his knees had given out and you laughed so hard tears filled your eyes as you watched him mentally come to terms with it, he looked like someone had just handed him the moon “She called me Dada”

His hand covered his face and to your surprise, he started crying. Tears slipping down his cheeks before he could stop them and your smile softened instantly as you sat by his side and kissed his temple, wrapping your arms around him 

You understood why he was crying. After everything that had happened from losing friends in the army to losing his leg and normalcy as he knew it to then losing his wife and his child he never got to meet, he had spent years believing that chapter of his life was over forever and then this tiny little girl had chosen him all on her own to be his and he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe the life he was now living and he knew he’d never let it go

Later that night, after Penelope was asleep and the house was quiet, you found Jack sitting on the back porch looking up at the stars. You slipped into the chair beside him and neither of you spoke for a while.

Finally he smiled “She called me Dada.”

You burst out laughing “There it is”

"I can't help it” he smiled “I never wanted to push.”

You reached for his hand “I know”

“I wanted it to be her choice and it was” he whispered “She made that choice all on her own”

Suddenly Jack stood, “What are you doing ?” you asked

He disappeared inside and you heard drawers opening then he came back outside holding something and your heart immediately sped up “Jack..”

He was clearly nervous but also kinda happy, the same expression he'd worn when he'd first asked for your phone number, then he knelt down and your hands immediately flew to your mouth

“No way !”

“I know” Jack chuckled

“You planned this ?” you laughed through sudden tears

He shook his head “Not tonight babe, I had a whole plan”

“Of course you did”

"It was good too, Robby said it was too much though” he admitted 

“Then it was definitely too much because we all know he’s…out there in terms of what he likes” you chuckled

That made him laugh and broke his nerves, Jack let out a deep breath and looked up at you with eyes full of love

“You know," he said quietly “For a long time I thought my life was over. I thought the best parts had already happened, then I met a very calm pregnant woman who absolutely refused to yell at me in the emergency department and she changed everything for me”

A tear slipped down his cheek but he didn't wipe it away as he continued “You gave me a family again” his voice cracked “You…Penelope” he pointed to the house “And somehow I got lucky enough that both of you love me back."

You were crying openly now as Jack opened the ring box “I know we'll always carry people we loved” his voice softened “I know we'll always miss them and I think they'd be happy we're here."I know I am."

He took a shaky breath and finally asked the question “I love you more and our daughter more than anything in this world, will you marry me ?”

“Of course I will, yes !” you smiled through tears

The relief on his face was almost comical “Yeah ?”

You grabbed his face “Yes, Jack ! Yes !”

He slipped the ring on your finger and picked you up as he kissed you deeply and from upstairs, a sleepy little voice suddenly echoed through the baby monitor “Dada ?"

Jack looked toward the monitor then back at you, still smiling like the happiest man alive “So much for Dr.Abbott huh ?” “Whatever you say Jack, whatever you say” you rolled your eyes playfully and kissed him again "I'll be calling you all sorts of names later, don't you worry" "Just call me yours" he kissed "That'll always make me happy"

his hand.

bare.

you blink, like maybe you imagined it. but when he reaches for a pen, it’s still there—no ring, no familiar black metal you’ve gotten so used to seeing. it was never an issue jack wearing it, you understood why he still did. but still your chest tightens, not entirely sure why.

“jack,” you say quietly.

he hums, distracted. “yeah sweetie?”

“your ring…”

that gets his attention.

he pauses, just slightly, before looking at you. really looking this time, like he knows exactly what you’re asking without you having to finish the sentence.

“oh,” he says softly.

there’s something in his expression—steady, but careful.

you don’t push right away. “did you… forget it?” you ask, even though that doesn’t sound right. he’s not the type to forget something like that.

“no,” he answers.

just that. no.

you nod slowly, but your thoughts are already running ahead of you. “okay.”

it’s quiet for a second too long.

“you’re wondering why,” he adds.

you let out a small breath, offering a half-shrug. “i mean… yeah. a little.”

he studies you for a moment, like he’s deciding how to say it. then, without a word, he gently takes your hand.“come on,” he murmurs.

he leads you down the hallway, away from the noise and movement, into an empty consult room. the door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly everything feels a little more still. more private.

more real.

you turn to face him. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” he says, cutting you off gently.

you search his face. “jack…”

he exhales, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall again—bare, unguarded. “i’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits. “long before you asked anything.”

“i didn’t ask,” you say quietly.

“i know.” his gaze softens. “that’s kind of the point.”

there’s no pressure in your expression, no expectation—just concern. and somehow, that made it harder to ignore.

“i kept it on because… it felt like the right thing to do,” he continues. “respect. habit. maybe a little bit of not knowing how to let go.”

your chest aches a little at that.

“but that’s not where i am anymore,” he says, voice steady now. “not really.”

you swallow. “and taking it off… that means you are?”

“it means i’m ready to be honest about where i am,” he says. “with myself. with you.”

your eyes flick back to his hand again, then up to his face. “because of me?”

“not just because of you,” he corrects gently. “but you’re a big part of it.”

something warm and fragile settles in your chest.

“i didn’t want you to feel like you were… second to something i’m still holding onto,” he adds. “because you’re not.”

your breath catches slightly.

“you deserve more than that,” he says, quieter now.

for a moment, you don’t know what to say. so you step closer instead.

“you didn’t have to prove anything to me,” you tell him softly. “i never thought i was—”

“i know,” he says again. “but i needed to prove it to myself.”

that lands differently.

more certain. more grounded. your fingers brush against his, lingering where the ring used to sit. it feels strange, but not wrong.

just… new.

“are you sure?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “about this? about… us?”

his answer isn’t immediate—but it’s not hesitant either.

it’s deliberate.

“yes.”

the way he says it makes your chest tighten in the best way. “i wouldn’t be doing this if i wasn’t,” he adds, lifting his hand slightly, like it speaks for itself.

you smile a little, something soft and almost shy. “okay.”

“okay?” he echoes, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“yeah,” you murmur. “okay.”

there’s a pause—one of those quiet, heavy moments where everything feels like it’s shifting into place.

and then his hand comes up to your face, fingers gentle against your cheek.

“come here,” he murmurs.

you don’t hesitate.

the kiss is soft at first—careful, like he’s still giving you time to pull away if you want to.

you don’t.

instead, you lean into it, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. he deepens the kiss just slightly, still slow, still warm—like he’s memorizing it.

like he’s choosing this.

choosing you.

when you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you a little breathless.

“that was…” you start.

“yeah,” he says softly.

you smile, eyes still closed for a second. “you’re really doing this.”

“i am.”

your fingers lace with his again, more certain this time.

“no going back?” you tease lightly.

he huffs a quiet laugh, brushing his thumb over your hand. “no going back.”

and the way he looks at you—steady, open, completely there—makes you believe him.

for the first time, it doesn’t feel complicated.

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.

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