💫

Jack loves your skin. He'll often find himself admiring it from across the floor of the ED, your freckles reflected in the fluorescent lights. Sometimes he trails off from his sentences when he feels your hand in his because it's just so soft. He's made it his sole mission to kiss every single inch of it.

He thinks you haven't noticed. You absolutely have.

It's a rare day off for the both of you - a morning spent pressing soft, loving kisses to each other's lips on the kitchen counter. Freshly baked bread sits on the side, filling the room with its aroma. Jack's head is buried in the crook of your neck as you both slow dance to whatever song is playing from the radio. You distantly acknowledge it's from the first album Jack ever shared with you on his record player, but you don't seem to be able to focus on anything besides him right now.

It doesn't help that he's kissing along your clavicle and his thumb is pressing circles into the back of the hand he's holding.

You scratch at his scalp gently with your free hand and press a kiss into his hair and he lets out a small sound of contentment.

"Jack," you murmur, voice still weak from slumber.

He hums back in response, his mouth now preoccupied with kissing up your neck.

He brings his kisses up to your jaw, along to your chin and, finally, onto your lips.

"Jack," you laugh softly.

"Someone's feeling touchy today," you smile, still faltering a little under his loving gaze, even after all these years.

"What, I can't love on my wife now?" he grins back, leaning in for another kiss.

You grant him one, then two, then maybe four more.

"Never said that," you murmur between pecks.

Jack's hands come up your shoulders, the callouses on them catching on your skin. He slowly moves them up to your face to cup your cheeks.

"Beautiful," he whispers, before letting you bury your head in his chest as he wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on the top of your head.

"You okay?" you ask quietly.

He nods against your hair. "Just missed you. Feels like I've not seen you in forever."

You look up at him. "We work together every day," you smile.

He kisses your forehead. "Not the same as this, though," he whispers.

You shake your head.

"I'm a lucky man," he says softly, holding your gaze, "to get this twice in my life. I never thought I'd get this feeling again."

"Don't make me cry at this time in the morning," you murmur, leaning up to kiss his lips again.

"You're my world," he whispers, his thumb running along your cheekbone.

You place a hand over his on your face and bring it to your own lips.

"Pretty thing like you," he says softly, "can't believe you still want to be mine, baby."

You feel every ounce of the self-deprecation in his tone, and it breaks your heart a little.

"I'll keep wanting to be yours until the end of time, baby," you promise him.

"You swear?"

"With my whole heart."

You squeeze the hand you're holding.

"I can't get over how soft your skin is," he murmurs under his breath. You're not even sure if he meant to say those words aloud.

You feel heat running to your cheeks at his compliments.

"You really are the prettiest girl in the whole world," he whispers.

"Stop it," you giggle, embarrassed.

You know why he's so obsessed with your skin. It's a constant reminder to him that you never had to face some of the terrible things he has. That you're safe from it all in your office a couple floors above the ED. He knows your life has been far from easy, but he's glad to keep you well away from the chaos of his line of work.

You try not to think too hard about horrors your Jack has seen. It makes your stomach churn to even pass thought to it.

"I'd pick you in every lifetime, you know," you say quietly.

He smiles against the top of your head.

"I'm glad, sweetheart. I'd pick you, too."

"Even if we were both worms in another timeline?" you ask, a smile creeping onto your face.

"Even if I was human and you were a worm, I'd find you."

"That almost feels like a threat," you giggle.

"Be prepared," he teases back, placing his hands on your ass and lifting you onto the kitchen counter.

You squeal at the movement, wrapping your arms around his neck while laughing.

"I love you, baby," he whispers, tickling you with his stubble as he kisses all over your face.

"I love you more, silly," you laugh back.

Jack thinks his life has never been more beautiful.

You and Jack have been together for six months now, and everything is beyond perfect. He is so sweet with you, endlessly caring, and an absolute gentleman in every regard (what kind of real-life guy buys you flowers every week?!). You’re head over heels for him, and you know he is for you, too. You can see it every time you catch his eye over dinner or run your thumb over his cheekbone. He is yours entirely.

There’s only one problem. It isn’t even really a problem, just something that niggles at you when you’re still awake at 3am and Jack’s on shift.

You two haven’t ever had sex.

Jack’s tried to initiate a few times, but each time you shut him down, terrified. He’s never pushed for it, and has said on many occasions that you never have to do it if you don’t want to, and he’d be perfectly happy like this for the rest of his life, but that doesn’t make you any less insecure about it. You know it has to happen soon. You just dread the thought of when.

It’s not that you don’t want to, it’s just… complicated. Or, at least, that’s what you’ve told him up until now.

He’s just taken you for one of the most romantic dinners of your life for your six-month anniversary and you’re making out on his couch like teenagers. Jack’s top buttons on his shirt are undone and your dress is crumpled. You let out a soft whimper into his mouth as he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, tightening your fingers in his hair.

He pulls back slightly at the sound, cupping your face in his hands and gently rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“This okay?” he murmurs.

You nod eagerly, kissing him again. He lets out a laugh into your mouth at the force of it.

One of his hands moves to the skirt of your dress and you tense suddenly, making him pause.

“Hey,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay. ‘S just me.”

“I know,” you say quietly.

Jack sighs - not frustrated, just changing the tone of the conversation for a moment. “Talk to me,” he says gently, putting a finger under your chin and making you look him in the eyes.

“I just… I can’t,” you whisper.

“What do you mean you can’t, baby?”

It was your turn to sigh, swallowing down the lump in your throat that was forming. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

He kisses you softly. “If it’s tearing you up like this, sweet girl, it’s absolutely not stupid. I care about you. I always want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You fumble under his kind words. 

“I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he promises.

“No, I know you’re not,” you assure him. “I just… don’t… I don’t want you to see me differently. And if we do this… you might.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of kinky shit are you into?” he grins, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ew, Jack, not like that.” You roll your eyes and heat rushes through your body as he kisses your nose when you do.

“Then what do you mean, angel?” he asks, his eyes so tender and kind that you melt.

You take a deep breath. “You know how we’ve talked about the ways I struggle with my mental health?” you ask slowly.

He nods kindly, giving you the space to continue.

You blink at him, kind of unsure of how to carry on.

“I guess… I guess I could just show you,” you say quietly.

Jack takes his hands off your body to let you lift up your dress. As you reveal the top of your thighs, his eyes land on a constellation of scars, each at various stages of healing. Some could have been made less than a week ago, others are years old. 

He exhales slowly.

“Sometimes, when it gets bad…” you start and cut yourself off, your eyes welling up with tears. 

He doesn’t say anything, just brings a hand to hover over the scars as if he’s tracing them in the air.

“I’ve never shown or told anyone before,” you whisper with a quiet sniff.

Jack looks up at you the moment he senses your tears. “Come here,” he says gently, pulling you into a hug. 

You bury your face in his neck as you sob, wetting the shoulder of his shirt and ruining the makeup you’d spent hours perfecting earlier that evening.

“Ssh,” he murmurs, his chest aching. “It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

After your breathing slows, he moves back a little to hold your face. 

He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away some tears. “I am so sorry that you’ve ever felt the need to do this to yourself,” he says quietly.

Your bottom lip wobbles and he kisses it softly.

“I want you to know,” he whispers, “that I’ve been there. And I know how scary it is.” He shuffles back and folds back the waistband of his trousers to reveal a bit of skin on his hip. To your surprise, you see old scars just like your own, all faded. 

“I know that pain, sweetheart. And the thought of you knowing it too… breaks my fucking heart.” He blinks back a few tears of his own. “Please, don’t ever sit in that feeling alone. I’m only ever a phone call away, baby.”

You kiss him carefully.

“I wish you didn’t know how it feels, too,” you say tearily. 

He nods. “Is this why we haven’t…?”

You nod with a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Although I feel pretty fucking stupid about it now.”

“Hey,” he urges. “Never stupid, baby. You wanted to wait, so we’ve waited. If you want to wait longer, we can wait longer.” He kisses your cheek.

You give him a soft, fond smile. “How did I ever get so lucky?” 

He rolls his eyes and squeezes your cheeks, pressing kisses across your whole face to make you giggle.

“I’m the lucky one,” he grins. “I wouldn’t wish any companion in the world but you.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you pull back in laughter.

“Sorry, did you just quote The Tempest?” you tease.

He shrugs. “I’ve been reading up on my Shakespeare since you love it so much. I was gonna quote it at dinner but it slipped my mind. Was too busy staring longingly at your gorgeous, gorgeous face.”

Your whole body heats up. “I’m gonna marry you someday, Jack Abbot,” you grin, kissing him hard and rolling the two of you over so you’re straddling him.

“So we’re doing this, hm?” he winks with a smirk.

“Shut up and get to work, mister. We’ve got a lot of time to catch up on,” you whisper as you press kisses down his neck.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You are miserable.

Your cramps are worse than they’ve ever been and absolutely nothing seems to be kicking the pain - not naproxen, not ibuprofen, nothing. And to make it all worse, Jack is home late today, so you’ve been hurting all alone in your shared bed.

The sound of the door opening makes your eyes well up with relief. 

“Oh, my baby,” Jack coos in the bedroom doorway, face fond. He looks exhausted, his hair mildly tousled, the curls damp from the shower he’s clearly had at the hospital, and the shadows under his eyes darker than they were when he left. 

A small whine leaves your mouth at the sight of him. You’re in agony, and Jack sees it instantly, moving to come and sit on the edge of the bed and take your hand in his.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your temple. “I’m home. I’ve got you.”

You groan as a cramp hits deep, squeezing your eyes shut tight and reaching for him. Jack gets the message and lifts you into his arms so you’re completely wrapped around him, one hand holding you steady and the other cradling your head underneath his chin.

“They hurt so bad,” you whimper, trembling with the pain.

Jack sighs, kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. Have you taken anything?”

“About four hours ago when I couldn’t sleep,” you confess quietly. “But now it’s so bad I can’t even get up to make food to take my meds with. And I already feel so sick, I don’t want to make it worse.”

Jack’s heart breaks for you. You both thought you might have escaped your period this month when it didn’t show up for a week, but when it showed up yesterday he knew it’d be back with a vengeance. 

“I can go make you something light?” he suggests softly, putting a hand to your forehead when you nod. “You feel a little warm, angel.”

“It’s because my body refuses to regulate because my ovaries hate me,” you grumble.

That gets a soft laugh out of him. “Let me go make something for y- oof, okay,” he’s silenced when you squeeze him tighter. 

“You’ve been gone for fifteen hours,” you say quietly, a hint of sadness lacing the edges of your voice. “Let me at least have you for five minutes before you go running away elsewhere.”

He softens. “Okay, I’ll stick around,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “But as soon as five minutes are up I’m going to grab your heat pack, some food and your meds, okay?” When he only gets a sniffle out of you in response, he puts a finger under your chin and lifts your face to look at him. “Okay?” he prompts gently.

When you meet his eyes, the tears start falling. Tears of frustration, of pain, of missing him. Jack feels split in two. He reaches for your cheeks, wiping away the drops that fall down, then holds you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry I was gone for so long, sweetheart. Just let it out on me. It’ll pass, baby, it’ll pass.” 

You cry harder at the sentiment. 

“Ssh,” he whispers. “I know, I know. Oh, baby, I’m right here.”

“I hate feeling like this,” you sob. “It’s not fair. Some people hardly get cramps but as soon as my period hits I’m debilitated for four days. It’s just not fair. It makes me so fucking angry.”

Jack slowly rocks you both to try and calm you, just letting you talk it out.

“And then I’m putting all this on you when you’ve just worked a fifteen-hour shift, and I’m making you look after me as if you’ve not been doing that for other people for hours,” you ramble breathlessly. “I’m sorry I can’t give you a break, that I’m just adding to your mental load, that-”

“Hey,” Jack stops you quietly, but firmly. “You’re not adding to my mental load by being in pain. You’re not making me do anything. You’re not just something to tick off my chores list. You’re my girlfriend, and I want to help you,” he assures you gently. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me if I didn’t want to be here for you in every capacity, good and bad.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his own. “I love being able to take care of you. Let me.”

You wipe a tear with the back of your spare hand as your breath settles and he grabs it, kissing the back of it. “You never have to wipe your tears alone when I’m here, okay? You’re my girl. My gorgeous, kind, intelligent, beautiful girl. I love you so much, and I want to help relieve the hurt in any way I can.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you sigh.

“Oh, hush,” he smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You deserve the world. Now, I’m going to go and get your meds, some food, your heat pack and some water.” You let out a grumpy whine at the suggestion of water. “Oh, I know, water’s gross, but it’ll help you, baby. Promise.”

You reluctantly let him go after he tucks you back under the covers, watching as he blows you a kiss in the doorway.

When he comes back, it’s like he’s heaven-sent. Your heat pack is at perfect temperature and he places it on your abdomen in the exact right position to provide relief. He brings plain toast to settle your stomach and has already dosed out your meds so you just need to throw them down with the huge bottle of water he’s brought, too. 

“I actually think you’re some kind of blessing from above,” you murmur in thanks, taking a sip.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Just doing my job,” he whispers. “I picked up some extra tampons on the way home because I saw you were running low last night. I’ve left them in the cupboard.”

Your heart does a flip in your chest. “If I didn’t feel like my uterus was being put through a pasta-maker, I would give you the best head of your life for that,” you sigh.

Jack laughs. “Maybe another time, sweet girl. For now, let’s just get you feeling up to moving, hm? If you can get to the kitchen later, there’s some ice cream in the freezer for you, too.”

You groan at the thought. “Fuck, Jack. And I thought you couldn’t get sexier.”

He winks. “I’m just full of surprises. Come on, we’ll take a nap once you’ve got all this down you. I’ll even let you pick the movie to fall asleep to.”

“You’re my dream man,” you smile softly, resting your head on his shoulder.