respectful pedro and noah blogging

That's why you find yourself at the fridge at nearly four in the morning taking out the leftover Pad Thai and putting it in the microwave. You wish Jack was here with you. If he was you'd be asleep in bed, which sounds lovely. The insomnia comes close to disappearing when he's in bed sleeping or lounging with you. But since he's at work, you also wish it was a slow early morning at the Pitt so he had more time to text you.

You don't hold it against him and you do your best not to text him seventy times in a row so that he's not totally overwhelmed when he gets a minute to check his phone. There's a literal note in the notes app of your phone with stuff you wanted to tell him or talk about so that you remember it all.

When Jack found out he told you that wasn't necessary, that you could text him a thousand times in a row and he wouldn't care, that he wants to hear everything you want to tell him and doesn’t want you to hold back. And you know he wouldn't, but it's hard to reply to all of that and Jack likes to reply to every set of messages on a topic or point. You know he feels bad when he doesn't or can't and you know how overstimulating the Pitt can be and don't want to add to that by making him feel the pressure of having a million things to reply to.

Plus, he says it would be okay but now you’re pregnant, and you think if you did it now Jack would find himself half way to a panic attack when he looked at his phone and saw eighty texts from you or if he felt his phone going off constantly and couldn't look at it.

You texted him probably a little less than four hours ago, a reply to whatever the two of you had been going back and forth about when he got a few minutes to text you, and his text that you should try to get some sleep as it hit midnight. He hasn't replied yet but sending something else won't leave him a million texts from you to respond to so you shoot him another one.

You - I've decided the best thing to do right now is heat up the leftover Pad Thai and I thought you would like to know

It's silly. There's no real reason for you to share that. It just made you think of him for some reason.

A little shot of adrenaline hits Jack when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket at this time of the morning. He knows it's you. He just knows it. And you've been silent for almost four hours and now you're texting him. It's only one message so far, sure, but more could be coming, or maybe all you had the strength to do was get one message out before you passed out or something.

The next thirty seconds he spends in trauma one before John walks in just to see if they need another set of hands is one of the longest thirty seconds of his life. But at the same time he's so fucking grateful it was only thirty seconds. "Dr. Shen, take over?"

"Course boss," John says with a single nod as he puts on some gloves. Jack is already halfway out the door and walking toward the ambulance bay doors as John says it.

He pulls his phone out as he walks, looks at your message and lets out the biggest sigh of relief and soft laugh to himself as the cool air of the early morning hits him. There is something so incredibly adorable about your message. Something so you. He smiles as he types out a response and feels the adrenaline wane.

J - I love knowing what you're up too Baby, but why are you awake? It's 3:47 a.m. You need sleep

You're walking back to bed with the Pad Thai and a drink when your phone goes off. It takes you a minute once you get to bed to get yourself comfortable and everything situated but once you're good you grab your phone and read Jack's message. You smile to yourself, know that his message isn't meant to be chiding at all. It's coming from a place of concern and worry about you and your health and from how much love he has for you.

You - Insomnia. And now the baby wants Pad Thai

Jack laughs to himself softly and shakes his head a little.

J - The baby, huh? Have you slept at all?

You take a bite of Pad Thai before replying.

You - Yes, the baby. And no, I figure I can when you get home. I sleep much better with you here. So does the baby

The last two sentences absolutely melt Jack. All he wants in life is to be a safe and comforting space and presence for you and now for your child.

J - Okay but I'm keeping you in bed with me and you're getting some real sleep. Not three or four hours so you can be up and doing things at a reasonable time. You need the rest

Your insomnia isn't really much better during the week when Jack isn’t here, though you're more apt to at least try to force yourself to sleep since you have work. It's starting to make Jack almost annoyed with working nights. If he worked days he'd be there to help you sleep every night.

You - Oh no, I have to spend the day in bed with my husband. I am so upset, how will I ever survive?

Jack can hear you saying it, can hear the playfully sarcastic tone you'd use.

You - You know I almost came to see you because I was bored and missing you but I knew you would flip out seeing me and I'd end up with an OB consult and NST, and doing blood work and a urinalysis as a little preeclampsia screening regardless of my BP all because I wanted to see my husband and give him a kiss 😛

He clicks his tongue at your message and scoffs a little, a smile on his face the whole time as he shakes his head slightly.

J - Okay, that happened once because your BP was arguably borderline

You snort a laugh at his reply, can see his adorable fake defensive expression he'd be making if you were together.

You - Arguably borderline to whom? Because the OB team, you know the people who specialize in pregnancy, wasn't concerned 😉

Your blood pressure hadn't been borderline. Jack had a mom come in a few nights before whose preeclampsia was missed by another hospital, and while her and baby ultimately ended up being completely okay, seeing it was still scary and hard. It rocked him. So when you came by a day or two later to visit one night while he was working he took your blood pressure and convinced himself it could be considered borderline.

You haven't told him but you came in deliberately that night. You knew exactly what would happen, and sure enough, it is exactly what happened. Jack had needed it. You were able to see how distressed he was and how he was more affected than he wanted to let on because he didn’t want to worry you, so you went in and let him and OB look you and baby over.

Jack had started the teasing about the situation, teasing himself largely to show you that it was okay to tease him, that he knows he was intense that night. You joined in with him on the light teasing once you were sure he wasn't going to take it wrong or like you were making fun of him because you absolutely weren't and aren't when you tease him lightly like you did in your text. He knows how loved and cared for it made you feel, you told him how sweet you found it. The smile your reply pulled from him doesn't leave his face as he replies.

J - Better to be safe than sorry. Nothing can happen to you

J - And it's very adorable of you to want to come visit

He worries so much, your Jack. Part of it is circumstance. He's a doctor, he knows the vast majority of the things that could go wrong, with you and with baby. And no, he's not an OB, but he's an emergency medicine attending so he sees obstetric emergencies with both good and bad outcomes frequently enough. And those all hit him so much harder now, especially the bad outcomes.

And part of it is just Jack. He's a worrier, largely because he's a lover. He loves you so much and can't imagine his life without you so he worries when he thinks you're in danger, loves your baby so much and can't breathe at the thought of something happening to them either. The thought of losing both of you is enough to make him dizzy and completely breathless as it passes through his mind, panic working its way through his body in seconds if he stays on the thought too long in his mind.

You know all of that, recognize that he knows way too much, sees way too much and you can't blame him in the slightest. You can't imagine seeing and knowing everything he does and then having to watch him walk around with all or most of the same risks. There's so little you can do to reassure him and help calm his worry about this stuff and it's made all the more difficult when you're not with him like this. But you do your best.

You - I know Baby and I hate that you worry so much but it's very very sweet and makes me feel very loved. Everything is going to be okay, I'm doing well and healthy and so is the baby. We're good

Jack lets out a breath and reads your text until he memorizes the last two sentences and replays them in his mind over and over as he starts walking back into the Pitt. He lets himself hear them in your voice too just for the extra comfort.

J - I know and I'm just trying to do my best to help keep it that way

A soft smile pulls onto your face. You love this man so god damn much that it doesn't make any fucking sense and that's the best and most beautiful and perfect part of it.

You - You're doing more than enough to help keep it that way, Baby. You're the sweetest

He doesn't have to even think about his reply.

J - And you're the cutest and the funniest

You melt this time. Those two words from all those years ago on the day you met. You actually get a little teary because it's so sweet and loving. God, you're going to suck his dick so fucking good for that when he's ready and not tired.

Jack sighs when Lena tells him they have a trauma arriving.

J - Trauma pulling in so I have to go but I'll text you when I can. Please try to get some sleep though and enjoy your Pad Thai. Call me or the direct Pitt line if you need anything. Lena and Bridget are here

J - I love you so much

Before he puts his phone away Jack schedules a message to send to you in about two minutes.

You pout a little to yourself when you read his message but you don't blame him for it of course. He's at work, there's nothing he can do.

You - Okay, be safe. And I'll try and I will. I love you so much too

When your phone goes off a minute or so later you're confused until you read it. You just know that he scheduled the message to send. That slick bastard.

You adore him, beam to yourself at the message.

J - I love you more

Jack is exhausted and so beyond done with his day by the time he gets home. He just wants to shower to rinse off and slide into bed with you. When he gets to your bedroom he's happy to see that the TV is on standby mode and you've fallen into at least a light sleep. He turns the bathroom light on and keeps the door open to use its light to check on you.

Unsurprisingly, you're asleep on his side of the bed, your head on his pillow. He chuckles to himself as he takes in your sleeping face. Your mouth is open a little bit and a little bit of your drool has gathered on his pillow. It's so fucking precious he wants to take you in his arms and hold you and smother you in kisses and never let you go.

The covers aren't up over you all the way, you likely fell asleep while watching something. They're low enough that Jack can easily see that you're in one of his old t-shirts that you love and the sight will never fail to make his cock stir, even after all these years together. And tonight with the position you're in Jack has a good view of the way your growing bump fills his shirt out and he's well past a semi.

He forces his eyes to unglue themselves from you and heads to shower. He's quick, just wants the shift rinsed off him and to get in bed with you as quickly as possible.

You stir as Jack settles behind you in bed. "Oh thank god you're here. I can finally sleep well," you mumble drowsily.

"Hi," Jack whispers. He stays sitting up a little since you're awake, leans over you so he can give you more of a proper kiss than he'd be able to if he was spooning you already. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." The kiss he gives you is soft but lingers as your smile grows into it. His hand rubs up and down your side, works your top shoulder blade in a little massage.

He always does this, has his hands on you first. On just you. He wants you to know that you're still appreciated as you, as his wife and the woman he loves and wants and adores and needs. After a few runs of his hand up and down your side and shoulders Jack slides his hand down to your bump and rubs it, leans over your side and presses a kiss where he can reach, just barely onto it. "Hi, Kid," he murmurs, lips moving against your skin as he continues to talk to them. "I hope you enjoyed your early morning Pad Thai."

You let out a soft, sleepy laugh through your nose. "They did," you assure him.

"Good," Jack chuckles. "You need anything before I settle in?"

"Just need my husband cuddling me," you mumble, yawning as you finish the sentence.

"A given, Baby." Jack gets himself into a good position, pulls the covers up over both of you as he spoons you from behind.

You sigh happily as you wiggle your way back against him to try to get even closer. "What time is it?"

"8:30ish," he murmurs as you settle into him. Once you're good he brings his top arm over you and your bump to hold you close.

His hand slips its way under his shirt that you're wearing and rests skin to skin on your bump, his thumb brushing back and forth over it absentmindedly. "When we wake up we need to figure something out to help you sleep because you need more sleep. Staying up is okay on the weekends since you can sleep to make it up, but during the week it's really not good."

He's not upset or nagging, doesn't sound irritated or like he's trying to be mean, and certainly it's not controlling. It's from that same place of worry and concern and love.

"Probably, we do, yeah," you agree.

"I'm not trying to be an ass or controlling-"

"Hey," you interrupt him softly, "I know you aren't, Baby, and I didn't feel for a second like you were. I know you just care and worry."

Jack lets out a short breath. "As long as you know."

"I do," you nod. "Work okay?"

"It was what it was," he half laughs, voice low. "You should sleep, Baby."

"Yeah?" you hum, ignoring him saying you should sleep. You will soon enough. "Wanna talk about it?" You don't think you hear anything in voice that says it was rough, but you just want to make sure, don't fully trust yourself this sleepy even though you should because you'd absolutely hear it no matter how sleepy you are and how subtle Jack is. That's how much you love him. You know him. Better than he knows himself.

"No. Nothing too exciting happened." He kisses your head over your hair, nuzzling his nose and smelling your shampoo for a second. "It was about as typical as an emergency room gets."

You scoot yourself forward away from Jack a bit and he makes a noise of protest but nevertheless lets you go, his hand sliding from your bump. It feels like it's already a production for you to get yourself sitting up enough to pull Jack's shirt off and you're only a few days into being six months pregnant. "God," you huff as you toss the shirt aside. "I'm not going to be able to do that alone by the end."

"Mm, well, I'll be here to help, Baby." Jack helps you settle back onto your side, this time so that you're facing him. He runs his hand up and down your side, sometimes trailing to the side to rub you bump. "You could've left it on.”

"You wanted it off," you smirk at him, both your and Jack's eyes adjusted enough to the low light that just slips in at the edges of the blackout curtains that you can make out each other's faces. "And so did I. I like feeling your skin. Plus I want a real kiss."

"Yeah, I like feeling your skin too," Jack murmurs as he leans forward and gives you the proper kiss you asked for. Several of them, in fact. He loves kissing you, would do it forever if it was at all feasible. You try to snuggle in closer to him as you kiss and you manage to a little before Jack can feel the pout your lips want to pull into as you kiss. He pulls his head away so he can see you and sure enough, your lips settle into it. "Why the pout?"

"It's dumb," you sigh, half rolling your eyes at yourself. "And it sounds bad and awful."

"Try me," he whispers, one of those kind and soft and caring smiles that made you fall so so deeply in love with him pulling onto his face.

You shrug your shoulder. "I just miss you and being able to hug and cuddle with you properly. You know, like closer. My bump gets in the way. And I know how bad and ungrateful that sounds, but I promise I really am grateful and love them so much and desperately want them to be okay and my bump to get bigger."

"It's okay, Baby. I understand. I promise you that I do and that it's not dumb." He gives you a look and a small smile that tells you he feels the same way. "You're allowed to miss hugging and cuddling with me closer while still being thankful and grateful that you're pregnant and have a growing bump and healthy baby who you love and want to keep growing." His hand slides to run up and down your back now to help you feel closer. "I know it's easy to say, but we just have to hold onto thinking about how good that first hug and cuddle postpartum will be."

"Can we do it right away?" you ask quickly with big pleading eyes. "The hug at least. I don't think a hospital bed is super conducive to this kind of cuddling."

Jack nods, gives you a smile so soft and sweet your heart and mind ache because you love him so much and know he loves you that much too. "I promise you that I will help you out of bed and hug you the second it's safe for you and you can and are feeling up to it."

"Thank you." You push your lips out and Jack kisses you, lets you take as many kisses as you want. You start to giggle and pull out of the kiss, another postpartum thought crossing your mind. "I'm excited to watch you do the dad walk out of the hospital."

Jack shakes his head lightly and playfully rolls his eyes at you. "You know, you should shut your eyes and dream of that while you get some sleep."

You hum at him, a smirked smile starting to pull onto your lips. "You know what helps me sleep even better?"

Jack gives you an amused smile. Your answer could go in a lot of directions right now, sex, a certain drink in the fridge, a massage, a specific snack, watching your favorite show. Realistically, Jack knows the answer. He asks anyway. "What's that?"

"An orgasm or two," you breathe.

"Yeah?" Jack smirks at you, eyebrows flashing up. It's painfully attractive and goes straight to your cunt.

"Yeah." You bite your bottom lip gently as you nod and glance down at his lips before looking back up into his eyes.

"Well," Jack murmurs, the sex in his voice with just that single word making you shiver. "Anything to help."

He kisses you again, sucks at your bottom lip and swipes his tongue across the seam of your lips during your next kiss so he can start truly making out with you. Jack keeps just as it is for a bit, just makes out with you because you both love it before he slides his hand along your skin from your back to between your legs. He groans into your mouth at how wet he finds you and you take advantage, slip your tongue into his mouth to taste him. It doesn't last long though because the second Jack lets his fingertips nudge your clit you jolt and pull your head away as you moan, already breathing hard and in need of oxygen.

"You get worked up so easily," Jack rasps, smirking as he drags his fingers through you. He loves the way you absolutely keen for him when he starts to rub your clit the way you love.

"Second trimester thing, I guess," you pant. "Better make the most of it while it lasts."

"We better," Jack hums against your lips, the words edged with the groan that his now hard cock rubbing against your bump pulls from him.

You know each other perfectly, move in a beautiful, erotic synchrony to get you onto your back and Jack hovering over you. He balances himself on his knees and one hand and reaches over and turns on the small nightlight on the nightstand that gives off the perfect amount of light for you to see all of each other in a sensual warm glow.

You and Jack don't have much time left with positions that require you to be laying on your back. You've already had to make adjustments that have worked largely because Jack has the muscle and control to support his weight enough with his hands and arms and knees so that he can hold his body weight while thrusting and be on top of you in a sense, let himself press down onto you the slightest bit at times just to feel it.

At your suggestion he's also taken to being on his knees and pulling your ass onto his thighs just a little, his hands on your hips to help move them and stabilize himself so he can fuck you deeper, faster, harder. It's a position you both love. Jack loves the way he gets to watch his cock slide in and out of you as he fucks you and you take everything he gives you, and you like watching Jack watch himself fucking you and the way the angle of your hips and ass on his thighs lets his cock drag so heavily along your g-spot that it takes only the slightest bit of attention to your clit before you're coming hard around him, so hard he swears he can feel it get harder to pull himself out of you and so hard you both hear the way your pussy sounds even sloppier as he continues to fuck you.

"You've been insatiable," he husks, getting himself positioned so that he's hovering over you and can kiss you and grind his cock against you without putting too much of his weight on you. "So needy," he whispers at your ear as he kisses the angle of your mandible in that tone that's low and pure sex.

"Yeah, Jack," you moan, turning your head to give him better access to your neck. He's so fucking hot and handsome and yours and you're so fucking turned on for him that you're restless, your hands finding his upper arms and rubbing up and down to feel his muscles, working yourself up further in the process. "For you."

His hum turns into a possessive growl at your words as he moves his lips down your neck. "I love it."

"Me too." Your toes curl and back arches slightly when he sucks at just the right spot on your neck, nips at it and laves his tongue over your skin to soothe, your entire body fucking electric for him you're so turned on and worked up. "Oh god," you moan again, shivering when he teases your collarbone with his teeth and tongue and lips. "I'm gonna suck your cock so good tomorrow, I was already thinking about it earlier when you called me the cutest and funniest."

"Fuck," Jack groans, his hips bucking slightly to grind his cock against you harder. "I'll never say no to that," he starts kissing across your chest to your other collarbone, "as long as you're feeling up to it and can and want to."

At one point late in your first trimester and into the beginning of your second something happened where your body just couldn't do it, the first time you hadn't even had his head all the way in and you were gagging and it only got worse and worse the more you had tried to push through it thinking eventually you'd relax into it. And then you’d gotten just a hint of a taste of precum and had actually had to run and be sick.

It took weeks for Jack to even let you try it again and when you'd gag at just the head he'd shut it down. Eventually it went away much to your delight, you'd missed the feeling of him in your mouth and how powerful and good in that unique way sucking him off and making him feel incredible and watching his reactions made you feel.

So his add on that he'd never say no as long as you're feeling up to it and can and want to makes your heart ache with how loved and protected you feel. It's one of those moments that confirms what you already know and have known for a long time now, he's the sweetest, most thoughtful and loving and caring man and husband in the world. It just makes you want to suck his dick even better and sloppier and deeper and longer.

Jack's lips kiss the tops of your breasts and then start to make their way down to your nipple when he stops. "Wait… Oh my god." He lets out an amused laugh of disbelief and brings his head up to look at you. "Is this why you almost came to visit me? To get fucked by your husband?"

Your mouth falls open a little and you scoff in disbelief. "No! God for-fucking-bid a woman want to go visit her husband just to see him, especially when it's extra romantic because that's where they met and had their first kiss." You shake your head at him and Jack tilts and bobs his head, raised eyebrows and a smirk that asks really? on his face. "I mean… you know," you bob your head back at him against the pillow and give the smallest shrug of your shoulders, "it would've been a nice bonus. That may or may not have crossed my mind."

Jack's smirk deepens and it's so fucking hot you let out the softest whine. "I would've done it too, you know." He drops his voice so that it gets even more gravelly and raspy, presses a teasingly light kiss just above your nipple. "Very, very happily."

"You would've- Fuck!" You're cut off by a jolt of pleasure as Jack's lips wrap around your nipple and he sucks while teasing it with his tongue. They've gotten even more sensitive since you got pregnant and hit the second trimester. His hummed laugh sends another shock of pleasure through you and one of your hands finds salt and pepper curls that still threaten to send you into cardiac arrest after all these years. "Oh, Jack" you moan, trying so hard to remember what you wanted to say. "You, you would've been too busy anyway."

You can feel his lips pull up into a smile against your skin and Jack sucks hard as he pulls away from your nipple, keeping it in his mouth until it has to slip away. "Oh," he chuckles darkly, moves his head over to your other nipple and teases it with his tongue, gives it a quick suck and nip before he pulls away again to look down at you. "I'd have made time, Baby. Don't you worry about that."

"Fuck, Jack," you breathe, his words and the fire in his eyes as he looks down at you and holds your gaze going straight to your cunt where you can feel yourself getting wetter for him.

"All in good time, Baby," he hums as he dips his head back down to your body, spends another minute or so lavishing your breasts with attention and pulling several shivers from you before his lips start to trail down further, over your growing bump and your hips.

"You don't have to, Jack." There's a soft pant to your words with how worked up you are but you mean it as much as you want very little more than his tongue on you. "I know you're tired, Baby, you can just fuck me."

Jack presses a kiss just above the crease of your hip, the path he'd normally take to your cunt right there for him to continue to kiss. "Trust me," he pulls his head away so he can look at you, show you how absolutely consumed with need for you with the look in his eyes, "I want to do this."

You nod at him. "Okay," you breathe.

He continues to kiss your skin, but instead of going where you want his lips head straight down one of your thighs, and it still feels obscenely good and teasing, but it’s not what you want. "Jack," you whine for him, flex your thighs a little. "Please."

Jack hums at you and moves his lips to your other thigh and starts kissing down it again, and you can feel him smirk when you whine again. "Need to get fucked to sleep by my tongue and my cock, Baby?"

"God!" his words catch you slightly off guard, not because the man doesn't have good dirty talk, he has the best you've ever experienced, you just weren't expecting something quite that erotic in this moment. "Yes, Jack, fuck," you pant softly, "yes."

He finally starts to kiss inward toward your inner thighs and you part your legs even further for him and it tests Jack and his commitment to the bit because all he wants to do is dive straight into your cunt with his tongue. "Isn't that sweet?" he murmurs before nibbling at your skin so very close to where you want and yet so very far away.

Jack moves his lips to your other thigh, still teasing you but making it feel like he's giving you what you want at least a little bit. "My needy girl." He sucks at your inner thigh, his hips rocking against the sheets now for the friction as he keeps his mouth just below where your arousal has spread onto your thighs. "Anything for you."

"The mother of my child," his lips just graze your outer lips as he moves his lips to your other thigh again, presses them back down just below your arousal again. With the way he moves and positions his head you're unable to keep your hand in his curls with your bump, your other hand falling off his arm a while ago. Your fingers clutch at the sheets hard. "Working so hard to grow our baby," he hums, keeping a light ‘mm’ sound going once he finishes the word because he knows the vibration is teasing. "And doing such a good job while looking so fucking beautiful."

"Jack, Baby," the needy desperation to your whine tells Jack he has you right where he wants you. "I love you so much," you're cut off by a small moan as he nips at your skin, "and I love how much you talk, I truly do, you know that…" You don't say anything further but it's obvious you want to.

"I love you so much too." He presses a soft kiss to your thigh. "And I know you do, I promise." The smirk in his voice is so obvious and yet somewhat missed by you as your mind gets foggy from how good you feel, how good Jack's making you feel with all this. "But?"

You take in a deep breath and try to use it to moderate yourself as you speak while exhaling it. "But you are talking way too goddamned fucking much for a man with his mouth inches from my cunt."

"Just appreciating you-"

"Yeah, yeah, I love it, thank you, I feel so appreciated, now can you just please, please fuck me with your tongue or something, anything," you half groan and half moan.

"I can." Jack finally lets himself kiss up to where your arousal has already spread along your thighs and lick at your skin. "You taste different, you know." And you do know. Because he's told you before and he's just continuing to talk to be a teasing ass and you love it and him and are hanging on at the promise of how good you know it's going to feel with the teasing build up like this. "Not better or worse. Just different." His tongue moves to your other thigh and he groans at the taste of you, teasing himself all the same. "You're so, so fucking good. Get so fucking wet for me."

"You're still talking." You push your hips up again to try and get his mouth on you but it doesn't work.

"Despite your best efforts to shut me up." Jack smirks, his hands going to your hips and pinning them down with a delicious pressure now that he doesn't have to use his arms to hold himself up over you since he's laying against the bed between your legs. His head is up enough he can look you in the eyes over your bump. "So desperate and needy."

"Yes I am!" you whine completely unabashed and unashamed. You're desperate for your husband and you don't care if the entire world knows. "So, so fucking desperate, please Jack."

His smirk widens. He loves hearing you admit like this, getting you to admit it like this, in a whine, likes seeing your face when you do.

"Alright, Baby, I've got you." He moves his hands and presses a kiss to each of your hips and the gesture is so fucking sweet you almost forget how long the man has been working you up for. Almost.

You'll definitely remember it when you suck his dick later like the two of you talked about and you thought about earlier, will drag it out until he’s shaking and pleading and happily and easily admitting he’s desperate just like you are.

Jack settles himself comfortably against the mattress between your legs. "Up, Baby." He's barely finished calling you 'baby' before you've complied with his request and put your legs over his shoulders. "Good girl." He drags each of the words out perfectly, the breath of them hitting the seam of your cunt and you shake without him even touching you, cunt clenching around nothing, something you know he saw and probably heard and almost felt in a way. 

He slips his arms up and finds your hands, nudging them so you stop fisting at the sheets and then interlaces his hands with yours. You don't know why it's that move of all the moves he’s made this morning that tells you he's about to rock your entire fucking world and eat you out better than he ever has before, but it does and you tremble in anticipation and arousal and need and sheer fucking desperation.

Jack uses his abs to pull his chest and torso off the mattress enough so that he can make eye contact with you over your bump again, lets his nose bump your clit to give you the briefest taste of relief that steals your breath. He says one last thing while smirking and looking you in the eyes before finally giving you what you want and licking a hot stripe cunt to clit and sucking your clit into his mouth. "This is a good look on you. Desperate and pregnant."

I hope it was fluffy and fun and light and okay and that you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading!! ♥️ You can also find more of these two here, here, here, and here! We're so close to getting Jack back on our screens!!!!! And I'm so ready!!!!

Want more Jack and the Pitt content? Check out my masterlist here. I also write for Pope from Animal Kingdom!

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Your palm rested on Jack’s chest, directly over his heart. The IV port was still taped to your arm but the line had been disconnected sometime while you slept. Carefully, you lifted your head to look at him.

His face was softened in sleep, the perpetual furrow between his brows had smoothed away and his lips were slightly parted. His silvering auburn hair was a mess and stubble darkened his jaw. Your heart hurt. God, he was so beautiful and you were still so stupidly in love with him. Even after everything, you couldn’t stop, as much as you wished you could.

But he wasn’t for you. Not anymore.

Whatever this was, this tenderness, this care, it was just his doctor instincts kicking in, or maybe his guilt. It didn’t change anything. It couldn’t.

You eased yourself up, careful not to wake him. Jack stirred slightly, his hand reaching for the empty space you’d left before settling back into sleep. For a moment, you simply watched him, cataloged him to store in the depths of your heart. It was a luxury to look at him like this without the fear of being caught staring, without needing to measure how long your gaze lingered.

You grimaced as you peeled the tape away from the IV and slid it from the vein, pressing a tissue to the small bead of blood that welled up. The sharp sting was a welcome distraction from the ache in your chest.

Your legs felt weak as you made your way to the bathroom, muscles protesting after too many hours of fever. Inside, you leaned against the counter as you examined yourself in the mirror. You looked like shit. You splashed cold water on your face, and brushed your teeth with the toothbrush you’d left behind. The familiarity of these motions in this space made your throat tighten. How many evenings had you stood there getting ready for work, Jack reaching around you to get his toothbrush while he dropped a kiss on your shoulder?

You stepped back into the bedroom, pausing at the foot of the bed. Jack rolled onto his side, arm outstretched across the space where you’d been. For a moment, you imagined crawling back into bed, curling against him again, pretending the last week hadn’t happened. But that would be a lie. You were tired of living with lies.

You padded slowly into the kitchen, your stomach painfully empty. You needed to put some food into it before you took anymore meds. You moved to the freezer, opening it to find containers of homemade food you’d prepared for Jack. Each was labeled in your handwriting with contents and instructions. You pulled out some chicken soup and put the frozen portions in a saucepan to heat.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

You startled at Jack’s voice, turning to find him leaning against the doorframe. He looked rumpled, hair sticking up slightly on one side, but his eyes were alert and concerned. He’d put his prosthesis back on.

“You need to be resting,” he continued, coming toward you.

You turned back to the soup, avoiding his gaze. “I’m feeling much better. I just need to get some food in my stomach.”

His footsteps approached and then he was beside you. One hand reached for your forehead while the other gently took your wrist, fingers finding your pulse. You stood perfectly still, allowing him this moment of care.

“Well, your fever’s down,” he said after a moment. “Pulse is still fast, but better than before.”

You nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “The soup should be ready in a few minutes.”

Jack hesitated, then stepped back, giving you space. “I’ll get some water and more Tylenol. The fever might be down but we should keep it that way.”

You focused on stirring the soup, grateful for the simple task that allowed you to keep your back to him. Jack moved through the kitchen gathering glasses, medication and utensils. The soup began to simmer and you turned down the heat.

“There’s enough for both of us.” Your voice was thankfully steadier than you felt.

“Thanks,” Jack replied. You got the impression the gratitude wasn’t just for the food but for allowing him to take care of you, for staying, for not shutting him out completely.

You ladled the soup into bowls, the rich aroma making your stomach growl. You placed the soup on the table and Jack slid into the seat across from you. How could something as simple as sharing a meal feel so complicated?

You ate in silence for a few minutes, the familiar taste of the soup oddly comforting. Jack’s eyes rarely left your face as he searched for signs of fatigue or returning fever. The quiet between you wasn’t the easy silence you once shared, but something heavier, sharper. You focused on your bowl, each spoonful an excuse to not meet his gaze.

“You need to take me home,” you said finally, breaking the silence. The words came out more abrupt than you intended, but you needed to end this temporary return to a life that wasn’t yours.

Jack set his spoon down, shaking his head firmly. “Absolutely not. You still need looking after. I want you here where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I can take care of myself. The fever’s down. I just need rest.”

“Which you can get here.” His tone brooked no room for argument. “Better than at your place where you’ll probably try to clean or do laundry or some other shit you shouldn’t be doing.”

You stared at your half-eaten soup. “Aren’t you worried Samira will get upset?” Your voice was quiet, almost broken.

Jack leaned back in his chair, brow furrowing. “That is the second time you’ve mentioned Samira to me like she should mean more to me than just being your friend. What is going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?”

Heat crept up your neck that had nothing to do with the fever. You pushed your spoon around the bowl, not meeting his eyes. “I know, Jack. It’s okay.”

“What is it exactly that you think you know?” He leaned forward, frustration coloring his words.

You sighed and looked up. “I know you’re together. It’s fine. You deserve each other.” You wanted to tell him that you were happy for him but the lie lodged in your throat.

Jack stared at you, expression cycling from confusion to disbelief to something closer to horror. “Baby, that is insane. Why would you ever think that?”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “I saw you together that day. And when I called to check on her, I heard you in the background.” You hesitated before adding, “And you sent her all those flowers.”

“Stop right there.” Jack held up a hand, confusion shifting to dawning comprehension. “Firstly, I have only talked to Samira about you. She agreed to get coffee with me that morning because I am desperate to fix what I fucked up and she was tired of me cornering her at work.” His voice softened. “And those flowers were for you. Why would you ever think otherwise?”

You blinked several times trying to process his words. “Oh.” There was a beat before you added, “They’re very pretty. It’s just…”

“Just what, baby?” Jack prompted when you trailed off.

You drew a shaky breath. “Mira’s perfect for you. She’s everything I’m not. You would be good together.”

Jack snorted. “Like hell we would. Samira would castrate me in my sleep.”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped you before you could stop it.

“There is only one woman in this world that is perfect for me, and I’m looking at her. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

The sincerity in his voice made hope rise in your chest. You squashed it down, unwilling to give in so easily.

“What do you want from me, Jack?” You hated the plea in your tone. The hope. The desperate need for this man that had hurt you so badly.

He reached across the table, hand stopping just short of yours. His gaze locked on yours. “Right now, I want you to stay here and let me take care of you. After that, I want a chance to show you I mean every apology. I was an asshole but I didn’t mean anything I said that day.” He paused, swallowing visibly. “That’s all. Just a chance.”

You sat in silence, absorbing his words, afraid to believe them fully. Finally, you looked down at your hands. “I don’t know. I need to think.”

“Of course,” he said with no hesitation. “Take all the time you need. Just please stay here until you’re better?”

The plea in his voice was your undoing. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Relief washed over his features. “Thank you. Finish your soup, then you should rest some more.”

You managed a few more spoonfuls before exhaustion swamped you again. He helped you back to bed without comment, tucking the covers around you. You were asleep before he left the room.

For two days, Jack cared for you. He brought you medication on schedule, made sure you drank enough fluids and never pushed for further conversation about your relationship. He was giving you the time you asked for. By the evening of the second day your fever was gone and it was clear, even to him, that you were well on the road to recovery.

“I’ll take you home,” he said as he gathered your things. “You’re past the worst of it, but you should take it easy for a few days.”

Yeah, you weren’t going to do that and you both knew it.

The drive to your apartment was quiet but not uncomfortable. Jack carried your bag up, ignoring your protests. Samira opened the door before you could find your key and pulled you into a hug.

“I was worried,” she said, stepping back to examine you. “You look good, all things considered.”

“I’m sorry for this week, I was…Well, it doesn’t matter.”

She shook her head and took your bag from Jack, pointedly not inviting him into the apartment. “Thank you for looking after her. You can go now.”

Jack cleared his throat and looked past her to you. “I’ll check on you. Rest.”

“Thank you,” you said again.

He nodded in acknowledgment before Samira shut the door in his face.

Your lips twitched as you looked at her.

She shrugged. “What?” When you just shook your head, she said, “Your flowers brightened up the space while you were gone.” She gestured at the three flower arrangements set in various spots around the apartment.

You moved to the closest one and ran a finger over a petal. “They’re beautiful. I thought they were for you.”

“Who would buy me flowers?” Confusion dripped from her voice.

You didn’t answer, didn’t face her.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She moved up behind you and hugged you from behind. “Even if he was the man of my dreams, I would never do that to you. Not in a million years.”

She stepped back and turned you to face her with her hands on your arms. “And Jack Abbot is far from the man of my dreams. He loves you, though. Never stopped, as much as it pisses me off to admit it.”

“I know,” you replied, surprised to find you meant it. “He wants a chance.”

She tilted her head and studied you for a beat. “And what do you want?”

“I want to feel like I did before all of this, when I wanted nothing more than to be his forever.”

“Do you think that’s possible?” she asked softly.

You took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but I think I want to find out.”

She gave you one of her wide genuine smiles as she pulled out her phone. “I love you. You know that right?”

“I love you too. Thank you, Mira.”

Her fingers flew over her screen as she hummed in agreement, giving a satisfied smile when she stopped.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“I texted your boyfriend and told him if he fucked up again I was going to kick his ass, attending or not.”

 You couldn’t stop your laugh as your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to find a text from Jack.

Since I’m being threatened, is that a yes?

You thought for a moment before replying. Yes. Breakfast after our next shift. Your treat.

You gave Jack his chance. For weeks he approached your relationship with deliberate care. “Courting you,” he called it with that half-smile that always made your heart skip. There were breakfasts after shifts and fancy dinners. Movie nights where he let you choose every film, quiet evenings walking through the city with his fingers loosely interlaced with yours. Every gesture meant to show you that you were enough, that you were what he wanted, that he was sorry.

Three weeks into this new normal, Jack walked you to your door after a date, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “I have something for you.” He pulled a small object from his pocket and held it in his palm. The key you’d slipped through his mail slot that terrible morning.

A sick feeling settled in your stomach as you stared at it. “What’s this?”

“I want you to take it back.” He pressed it into your hand and closed your fingers around it. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but I’d feel better if you had it. Just in case.”

When you started to protest, he shook his head. “This isn’t pressure. It’s me telling you my home is open to you, whenever and however you want to enter it. I’m not expecting anything. I just want you to know the door is always open.”

The familiar weight of the key was both comforting and terrifying. It represented something you weren’t sure you were ready for. The idea you could walk back into his life, his space, without the fear of being too much.

The following weekend, Jack took you to the botanical gardens followed by dinner. Jack reached across the table and took your hand. “What would make you happy right now?” he asked, thumb tracing circles on your palm.

The question caught you off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted.

“Think about it. Anything at all. Big or small.”

You hesitated, then said, “I’d like to get ice cream, take it back to your place and eat it on the couch while we watch a movie.” It was a simple request but you’d made it without any considerations beyond your own desire. And you didn’t apologize for it.

Jack’s smile lit up his entire face. “Done.”

This became his pattern. He’d ask what you wanted at random moments, encouraging you to voice your desires without hesitation. He created a safe space for you to ask for more, to do more, to be more, always responding with enthusiasm to whatever you asked.

When you mentioned missing a book you’d left at his place, he brought it to you with a stack of others he thought you might enjoy. When you remarked how much you loved the Chinese food from a little place on the other side of town, he went out of his way to get it.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you told him one night as you sat tucked into his side as you watched a movie.

“I know. I want to,” he said simply.

He was attentive, loving, generous. Everything you’d fallen in love with and continued to love. He told you constantly how much he loved you, how perfect you were for him.

But beneath it all, a voice still whispered. What happened when he was tired and in pain again? When his patience finally slipped and he remembered that you were too much, too needy, too demanding?

He laughed at something on the screen, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way you loved, his hand absently stroking your arm. Jack was trying so hard, you could see it in every word, every considerate action. He was showing you in a hundred different ways that he meant what he said.

And you wanted to believe him. God, how you wanted to.

But you weren’t certain it would ever be enough, that you would ever fully believe him when he said you were perfect, that you weren’t too much. That voice, the one that had been in your ear since childhood, was too deeply ingrained, too much a part of who you were. It whispered that this was temporary, that eventually the reality of who you were would eat away at his patience, his love.

Jack turned to you, catching you watching him. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.” You returned his smile with one of your own.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but as you settled back against him, you wondered if there would ever come a day when you could believe that you were exactly enough.

Jack arrived at the Pitt ten minutes early for his Thursday night shift. He exchanged nods with staff as he passed, heading toward the hub and Robby for handoff. Things with you had been good these past two months. Not perfect, not quite where they’d been before, but moving in that direction. He could feel the remaining distance, the slight hesitation that you sometimes showed when he told you how much he loved you. But patience was something he had in abundance, at least when it came to you. He’d wait as long as it took.

He'd started to greet Robby when Samira materialized at his side, her expression a mixture of disbelief and absolute fury.

“What the hell are you doing here, Jack?” she demanded.

“Woah, Mohan,” Robby interjected. “Whatever this is about, Abbot is still an attending.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “Stay out of this, Robby.”

“Yeah, stay out of this, Robby,” Jack said then turned back to your roommate. “Now what is this about? I’m here because I’m scheduled to work tonight.”

“Why didn’t you go with her? She’s going to be alone with them all weekend.” Her voice was hard, but she’d lowered her volume.

Jack frowned. “Go with her where? She flew to Richmond to spend the weekend with an old college friend. Unless you know something I don’t.” It was supposed to be a quick getaway for a quiet weekend with your friend. Nothing that raised any alarm bells.

Samira’s eyes widened then narrowed. “College friend? Is that what she told you?” She let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand down her face. “Her cousin is getting married this weekend. She’s in the wedding party.”

Jack’s chest felt tight. “What?”

“Her cousin Ellie? Getting married? Big family event in Richmond?” With each question, her eyebrows climbed higher on her forehead.

Jack stared at her trying to process this information. You had lied to him. And not just a small omission, but an outright lie about where you were going and what you were doing. His first reaction was hurt, quickly followed by confusion. “She never mentioned it, Samira.” His voice was rough with emotion.

“Shit. I thought you knew and just didn’t take the time off. I was going to yell at you for letting her go alone.”

“Why would she lie about this?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. You didn’t trust him enough. The distance he’d felt wasn’t just residual hurt or caution, it was a wall you were maintaining between him and certain parts of yourself.

Samira leaned against the counter with a sigh. “She’s going to be with her family all weekend. Once she gets around them, she just…shrinks.”

Jack closed his eyes, the realization hitting him hard. Of course you hadn’t told him. You’d been protecting him from your family, from who you became around them. And perhaps too, you’d been protecting yourself from his judgment, his pity or worst of all his agreement with your family’s assessment of you.

“I told her to get a hotel, but I doubt she listened. She’s probably staying with her parents.” She made a face that clearly conveyed her opinion of this arrangement.

Anger and worry churned in his gut. Anger not at you, but the situation, the family that made you feel so small you couldn’t even tell him the truth about where you were going. “Where in Richmond?” he asked, already calculating the drive time in his head. “Where’s the wedding?”

Samira pulled out her phone. “She sent me all the details in case of an emergency. I’ll forward them to you.”

Jack glanced at Robby who had been watching with undisguised interest. “Robby—”

“Shen will be here in an hour,” Robby said, cutting him off. “We’ve got it. Go.”

Jack nodded once, already mentally packing a bag, planning his route. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“Damn right you do,” Robby agreed but his tone was light. “Now go rescue your girl.”

The neighborhood was quiet in the early Virginia morning. Neat suburban homes with manicured lawns lined the street. Jack double checked the address Samira had texted him against the house number before pulling into the driveway. It was 07:05, early enough to be considered rude by most standards but Jack didn’t give a shit. He wasn’t letting you spend a minute longer here than you had to. He grabbed the coffee he’d bought for you from the holder and stepped out of the truck.

The doorbell echoed in the house. Jack shifted his weight on his feet as he waited. After a moment, footsteps approached then the door swung open to reveal your father already dressed and ready for the day.

He blinked several times, recognition slowly dawning on his face. “Jack? We weren’t expecting you. We thought you had to work.”

There was no warmth in the greeting. Just mild surprise and an underlying irritation. Jack stepped forward, not waiting for an invitation to enter. The older man moved back, allowing Jack into the foyer of the house.

“Got things moved around. Thought I’d surprise her.” Jack said tersely as he glanced around the room. Family photos lined the walls, you noticeably absent from most of them. He stretched his neck as he clenched his teeth.

Your father called your name as he closed the door, gaze flicking to the coffee cup in Jack’s hand. “This is unexpected. She didn’t mention you were coming.”

Jack gave him a narrow-eyed look. “That’s generally how surprises work.” Dipshit.

“She’s still getting ready. The rehearsal isn’t until this afternoon. She wanted to get some sleep but I abide no laziness in this house.”

“She works nights. You can’t expect her to flip her whole schedule because you don’t like it. She’s the least lazy person I know.”

Your father cleared his throat and pursed his lips as he glanced from Jack to the stairs and back again. “To be honest, we thought you’d finally broken up with her and she was just too embarrassed to tell us.”

The casual cruelty of the statement crawled under Jack’s skin. The implication you weren’t worth staying for, that abandonment was the expected outcome. It was breathtaking in its callousness.

Jack’s voice was dangerously calm as he spoke. “Well, that’s a fucked up thing to think about your child. Worse to say it.”

Your father’s eyes widened slightly, his posture stiffening. Before he could respond there was movement on the stairs. You stood halfway down dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Jack?” His name on your lips was a whisper, part question, part hope.

His expression softened immediately, the tension in his shoulders easing at the sight of you. “Morning, baby. Brought you coffee.” He lifted the cup slightly.

You descended the rest of the stairs quickly. When you reached him, you took the offered coffee and pressed a kiss to his cheek that made him smile.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Surprise.” He gave you that half-smile. “Get your stuff. I got us a room at the hotel.”

You glanced at your father who was watching with obvious disapproval then back to Jack. For a moment he feared you might refuse, might insist on staying in this house.

Your mother appeared from what Jack assumed was the kitchen, her expression pinched. “I don’t know who you think you are, coming into our home and talking to my husband like that,” she said, ignoring you completely. “This is her home. She’s staying here with her family.”

Jack turned to face her fully, eyes hardening. “Her home is with me. Her family is with me.” His voice was calm but firm.

Your mother took a step forward. “Now listen here—”

“No. You listen. I know exactly what kind of ‘home’ and ‘family’ this is.” The quotation marks around the words were audible in his tone. “I am not leaving her here.”

You set your coffee on a small table and moved toward the stairs pausing briefly at the bottom. “I’ll get my things.” Your voice was steadier than Jack had expected.

While you were upstairs, an uncomfortable silence descended on the foyer. Every time one of your parents attempted to break it, he’d glare them into submission.

You returned quickly, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a garment bag draped over your arm. Jack reached for them. “Get your coffee. I’ll take this.”

Your father stepped forward then, drawing himself up to his full height as if that would make him more intimidating. “Get back upstairs this minute,” he demanded, gaze fixed on you. “Stop begging for attention and be a good girl.”

Your body went rigid beside Jack, the coffee cup in your hand trembling slightly. In that moment, he understood exactly what Samira meant about you becoming small around your family. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched the way you shrunk under the weight of your father’s disapproval.

“Go baby,” Jack said softly, nudging you gently toward the door. “I’m right behind you.”

You walked to the door, back straight and opened it without looking back. Jack had never been prouder of you. He followed, ignoring the sputtering protests of your parents. You were silent as you walked to Jack’s truck but once inside you reached across the console and took his hand, holding on with surprising strength.

“Thank you for coming. And for that,” you said as he started the engine.

“Always. Anytime, anywhere. You’re not alone anymore.”

Jack managed to obtain a suite in the same hotel as the wedding. The two of you ordered room service and crashed until it was time for the rehearsal. Being able to just take the elevator down to the festivities made every penny of the cost of the room worth it.

The rehearsal went smoothly, a testament to the efficiency of your cousin Ellie’s wedding planner. Jack watched from the sidelines as you walked through the ceremony with the rest of the wedding party. When the rehearsal finished you brought your cousin over to introduce them. “This is Ellie, the single best person in my family.”

“And this must be the famous Dr. Abbot,” she said, offering her hand.

“Just Jack.” He smiled and shook it firmly. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

“Thank you,” Ellie said. “And thank you for rescuing this one. I was hoping you would. Kept your seat open and everything.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, let’s eat.”

When the wedding party moved to the banquet room, Jack spotted your family lingering along one wall. He steered you to the opposite side of the room to one of the tables there. Five minutes later, your family took the open seats at the same table. Jack groaned in annoyance. You placed your hand on his thigh and he stayed his tongue. For now.

“Well, look who it is,” your brother-in-law drawled. “Your sister and I went by the house to see you and mom and dad said you’d left so rudely. Doctor boyfriend more important than family now?”

“What does my occupation have to do with anything?” Jacks’ voice was quiet, not wanting to make a scene. “Maybe I thought my doctor girlfriend was more important than her shitty family.” Okay. Maybe he wanted to make a small scene.

You coughed beside him and pressed a fist to your mouth to hide your laugh.

Before anyone could respond, your uncle stood from the head table to thank everyone for coming as dinner was being served. Your family shifted from outright antagonization to subtle barbs throughout the meal. Your mother’s snide comment about how bridesmaid positions are for people you felt you had to have in the wedding but didn’t really want there. Your sister’s remark about how flattering your dress was ‘considering’. Your father just refused to acknowledge any contribution you made to the conversation, as if you’d never spoken at all.

Jack felt you growing smaller beside him with each passing minute, your hold growing tighter on his leg whenever a pointed comment landed. “Not here,” you whispered when he shifted forward after your father cut you off mid-sentence. “Please. For Ellie’s sake.”

He covered your hand with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. But his patience was wearing dangerously thin.

It was your brother-in-law that finally pushed him past his breaking point. As dessert was being served, he leaned toward Jack, voice dripping with false concern. “Has she started planning your entire life for you yet? That was always her thing, scheduling every minute. Needing to spend all our free time together. Policing who I was with. Exhausting, right? I mean let a man breathe.” Then he laughed.

You visibly flinched. Your eyes dropped immediately to your lap, shoulders curling forward as you tried to make yourself small, less visible, less of a target.

And Jack was done observing social niceties.

He stood, chair scraping against the floor with enough force to draw attention from nearby tables. He glanced to your cousin at the head table. His voice carried easily in the sudden hush. “Ellie, I apologize in advance but I need to say something unpleasant to your extended family. Would you mind?”

Ellie didn’t miss a beat. A slow smile spread across her face as she leaned back in her chair. “Oh, please do. You can consider it my wedding gift.”

Jack nodded in thanks then turned to face your family, his expression cold with fury. “I have sat here for an hour watching you belittle, dismiss and undermine someone I love deeply. Someone who has achieved more than any of you seem capable of recognizing. She graduated in the top 3% of her class in med school. She saves lives every day. She is respected and admired by everyone who works with her.”

He paused, sweeping his gaze over their faces. “And she did all of that in spite of you, not because of you. In spite of parents who made her feel unwanted from birth. In spite of a sister who betrayed her in the most fundamental way possible and then had the audacity to expect forgiveness. In spite of,” his eyes settled on your ex with particular contempt, “a man so insecure in his own mediocrity that he needs to tear her down to feel significant.”

The room had fallen completely silent, every eye on Jack as he continued. “Don’t text her. Don’t call her. Don’t fucking look at her. You aren’t family. You’re vermin. And you aren’t shit compared to her.”

He turned to your mother who had a sour expression of humiliation on her face. “You’re used to her not fighting back but she has me now. You created a world where she had to apologize for her existence. Where she had to make herself small to be acceptable.” His voice cracked slightly with emotion. “She deserved so much better than what you gave her.”

“I believe we’re done here,” Jack said, reaching for your hand and gently pulling you to your feet. He turned to Ellie once more to find her beaming. “I apologize again for the disruption. We’ll see you tomorrow for the ceremony.”

“I look forward to it.” Her gaze shifted from Jack to you. “And they won’t be in attendance. I told mother they were only allowed if they treated you with the respect you deserved. It’s evident they didn’t. They are no longer welcome.”

Jack expected someone to come to your family’s defense. No one did.

He led you from the room, your hand trembling slightly in his. He didn’t look back, didn’t need to see the aftermath of his words. His only concern was you, giving you space to process what just happened, being the safe space you deserved.

Jack guided you away from the banquet room, his mind racing. Concern for you overshadowed any regret about the scene he’d caused. Perhaps he’d overstepped, perhaps he’d made things worse, but watching them chip away at you broke something inside of him. He was so focused on finding a quiet place to talk that he barely registered your hand slipping from his until your palm landed in the middle of his chest to press him against the wall.

“Whoa.” His eyes widened at finding himself suddenly pinned, your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Your eyes blazed, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath. He couldn’t read your expression and braced himself for whatever was coming.

Your eyes darted between his. “You see me. You love me. You think I’m perfect.”

There was wonder in your voice as if you were finally allowing yourself to believe. His expression softened, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. A smile curved his lips. “I’ve been telling you that for weeks now, baby.”

“Yes, but now you’ve shown me.”

Your grip on him loosened slightly. “No one had ever stood up like that for me before. No one has ever seen me clearly enough to do that.”

He’d spent months trying to prove his love with careful gestures and thoughtful words when what you needed most was someone to face down the voices that had diminished you for so long.

“I meant every word. They don’t deserve you. They never did.”

“I love you, Jack.” The words were low and urgent. “I’m sorry it took me so long to believe you.”

Head in the fucking game, you tell yourself. Eyes on the target—you cannot fuck up in the middle of a procedure. Just because some guy can’t be bothered calling you back? People are literally dying in the walls of the hospital. You cannot afford to be so vapid that you’re more worried about unread text messages and zero call backs.

You refuse to fail anywhere else, hovering, anticipating the doctors’ needs before they verbalise it. This is what makes you valuable to the team. They’ve said it again and again—they need more nurses like you.

And especially in front of Jack. You admire him—respect him a lot. You never wanted to be a doctor, but you love working as a nurse. With him. Being useful to him and the night shift.

“Swap out with Tim in Trauma 1,” Jack says, eyes darting to you.

“You got it, boss.” You don’t even try to argue with what you think is his judgement call of getting you out of his way. Making you someone else’s problem.

The thing was, he noticed. Of course he fucking noticed. Nothing happened in the ED, to his staff, without his knowledge. It was his job as an attending to ensure he was on top of it.

He noticed it in your docile greeting, normally a little more upbeat. He noticed it in the questioning look that Parker shot him when you were quieter than usual, citing the fact that you were tired. When Shen picked up on your dour mood, offering some coffee that you flatly dismissed, telling him you weren’t in the mood. For coffee, or for him; you left it up to interpretation.

It was downright rude. Rude and you didn’t go together. It was why they liked having you on night shift.

It worries him. The not knowing. The questioning. The way everyone looks to him for answers and he can’t provide them. You’re usually the kind one, the one that’s happy to help. But today, there’s a cloud hanging over you. Something bogging you down.

“What’s going on?” Shen whispers, nodding his chin towards you. You’re at the desk in central, blankly staring at the screen more so than typing the notes you should be inputting.

“Don’t know,” Jack confesses, and he hates that he doesn’t know. So much for being the one that protects the hive. As much as he makes himself the reliable one that everyone, especially his night shift team, can depend on, someone always falls through the cracks. “Been weird all day.”

“There you are,” Lena says, walking up to lean against the desk. Hovering over you. “We need you in central 8. Patient barely speaks English. Wanna see if you know what language she knows?”

You shoot her a clearly unimpressed look. “Right, because I must speak every language under the sun,” you bite out.

Lena pauses, eyes narrowed at you. “Are you—?”

“Hey.” Jack steps in, frowning. Not that he thinks it’ll escalate into a fight, but he’d rather not entertain that possibility. Night shift was meant to be chill; have less personality clashes compared to day shifts. Less staff, as well, which was why it was essential everyone worked well within the team. “Lena asked for a favour.”

You look away from him, cowed. Chastised—again. “Central 8, yes sir.”

You scurry off to the patient in central 8—Indonesian, which happened to be a language that you taught yourself for the fun of it, years ago. This isn’t even the first time they’ve asked you to try and communicate with a patient in another language. Ridiculously, it’s the first time you’ve taken offence to it.

You and Princess have a bet on who could learn the most additional languages. It’s been a long 18 months since she and Perlah initiated the bet. You refuse to lose, and Princess is competitive. Between the two of you, you’ve got a conversational handle on a minimum of 15 languages right now. It’s circulated around the hospital like common knowledge at this point.

“Hey.” Lena follows you when you’re exiting the room. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything—”

“It’s okay,” you say, quick. You feel embarrassed by your earlier reaction. “Really. I’m sorry. I’m feeling really crabby today, and I took it out on you. I’m really sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You’re absently massaging the back of your neck in a self-soothing fashion, and it’s the only reason she sees.

“Whoa,” Lena gasps. “Hey, did someone hurt you?” Ever the medical professional, she steps close, reaching.

Really, it’s on you. The bodily flinch before she makes contact with your shoulder. You both know she’s done it before—calming, gentle touches. Reassuring. Maternal. Her and Dana, mother henning the hospital when they step into the role of the respective shift’s charge nurse. You’ve always accepted those.

Except this time, your skin feels like it’s burning and itching at the same time.

She stares at you.

You feel frozen, heart thudding too fast in your chest. A dramatic reaction to a familiar touch. A mountain out of a mole hill.

“Hey—” Lena starts, softer. Like you’re a wounded animal in need of comfort.

“South 16’s opened.” Jack’s voice, clear and sharp.

You wince, pivoting to the side, where his eyes are on you. “I don’t need—”

“Get in there.” And his tone brooks no room for argument. “Now.”

With a sigh, you march yourself into south 16. Jack follows after a few minutes, no doubt gathering whatever supplies he thinks he needs. Door closed, curtain drawn.

You’re both silent, waiting for the other to cave. You’re perched on the edge of the bed. He’s standing by the door.

He breaks first. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

His jaw clenches. Takes a seat on the stool. Wheels it to the foot of the bed. “I need to see how bad it is,” he says, carefully. Like he’s actively choosing every word.

“Nothing’s bad. Nothing hurts.”

Which, apparently, is the wrong thing to say, based on the breath released between his teeth. Maybe the right thing would have been to deny any source of pain.

He says your name, eyes analytical as he studies you. Something in his face softens. Pushing the stool back. “Would you be more comfortable if I got Dr Ellis or Lena to do the examination?”

You frown. “What examination?” You look—really look, this time—at the supplies he brought in. One of them is a white cardboard box, Sexual Assault Evidence Kit printed in bold letters among other black ink. You’ve catalogued enough of them to know you’re not mistaking it for any other kit. Have done a few on patients as well.

“I’m not—this, this wasn’t—” You take in a breath. Eyes boring into Jack’s, trying to impart the determination of your next words. “It was consensual.”

It’s silent in the room, with the door closed. With neither of you speaking. Jack doesn’t move; you barely breathe.

“Are you sure?” he asks, finally.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” And just like that, the weighted worry drops. He’s still concerned, of course. As soon as Lena had asked if someone had hurt you, everything in his mind jumped to a horrifying conclusion. He’s glad their shared assumptions aren’t correct. In his relief, he’s forgotten about your other symptoms—the moody countenance. “Can I still check you over? For my peace of mind?”

“Sure,” you sigh out. Shuffling further on the bed, back turned towards him, shucking your scrub top, then turtleneck beneath it. You know where the worst of it is.

“Jesus, kid,” he hisses. With you turned away, you don’t see the way his jaw ticks, compelling his fingers to unfurl from taut fists. He forces his attention to remain on the bruises and red wounds, and not the black lines of intricate artwork sprawling further down your back. Accentuating the lines of your body.

You hear the snap of the disposable blue gloves.

“It looks worse than it is,” you say.

“Bruising looks like it’s at least a day old.” His voice is clipped. Tight. Overcorrecting professionalism into cold and distant.

They must be purpling by now, you assume. “It’s been—uh, since Saturday night.”

You feel the cool swab of antiseptic on the bruises; the bite marks, the scratches.

“You know,” Jack says, and you feel his warm breath fan across your bare skin. That, alone, makes you shiver. “Even if you changed your mind part way through, it’s still sexual assault.”

You shoot a look over your shoulder at him.

He attempts a poker face. Do not react.

“I didn’t change my mind,” you say, firm. You turn back to face the wall. Stare down at the bed beneath you. “It’s—” And maybe it’s easier to admit when you don’t have to look at him. “I wanted it to hurt. For him to be rough.”

Jack breathes in. Do not react. He’s a doctor. He’s also tended to previous partners like this before. His own wife, even. Clinical hands; he’s seen this before. He cannot treat this like a new thing, just because it’s you.

“Where’d you even find the guy?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking. To twist the knife lodged between the fourth and fifth ribs, maybe.

“On an app.”

“What? Just a random dating one?”

“No. It’s—you know, specifically for hook ups of the non-vanilla kind.”

“The what kind?”

Oh my God, he’s going to make you say it outloud. Gaze resolutely stuck on the creases of the white, sterile bedsheets. “The kinky kind.”

A pause. “They have those, now?”

You can almost hear the beginnings of a ‘back in my day’ spiel. And isn’t that a thought? Dr Jack Abbot searching for his own BDSM partners—in his youth, maybe. You don’t want to think about his exploits in his current era. You’re already topless in front of him. You cannot bare yourself to him any more than this.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, a little breathlessly. Get it together. You can’t get all giggly in front of your boss. “They do, grandpa.”

“Hey. Careful now,” he remarks, amused. Something loosens in his chest, allowing him to breathe easier. It’s probably the first time he’s heard you express something akin to a laugh during this shift. He doesn’t realise how much he missed that today; how much he needs it to carry him through.

The ED can be a harrowing place, but it’s a lot less dark with you by his side.

You hum, letting the silence relax you. It must be past 3 AM, you think. There’s always that patchy, tranquil moment after the sporadic rush between midnight and 3 AM.

“So what?” he asks. Cotton swab dabbing ointment onto the wounds. “Your date just fell asleep and forgot to take care of you?”

You let out a huff, humourless. Head dipped. Embarrassed, again. It flushes down your neck. “He left as soon as he was done.”

Jack goes deathly still. The swab hovers, pinched tightly between his fingers. “What?”

“He, uh—left,” you sniff. Do not fucking cry over this. “And I’m pretty sure I got ghosted too, because I’ve been trying to—um, call him. Or text him. Which sucks, because, I…” You suck in a breath. “We took our time. Went on three separate dates before Saturday. Dinner. Movie. Museum. Four fucking months of talking and he dipped as soon as he got his dick wet.”

Jack is uncharacteristically silent over your shoulder.

You shuffle around, facing him.

He’s frowning. Lips downturned. Eyes stormy. Lines of his body wound tight. An older man outraged by the woes of modern dating, you assume.

“It’s fine,” you say, because you feel the sudden need to mollify that anger. To appease him. You try to covertly rub your eyes to wipe the tears that have collected. “Honestly, I’ve always been a bit bad about handling rejection, but I’m working on it.” It explains your shitty mood since Saturday. The dull awareness after he left.

Jack blinks, jaw unlatching at your words. Stares at you. “Is that what you think this is?” he asks, hollowly. “You feel hurt because of a little rejection?”

You make an obviously face. “I’ll feel better by next shift.”

“How much research did you do?”

“I read a few articles; people’s blog posts. There aren’t any peer reviewed journals on this.”

“I know,” he huffs out. He remembers his own reading journey, all those years back. “Did you read anything about dropping? Sub drops?”

Your forehead creases in thought. It sounds vaguely familiar. “Maybe?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, waiting.

You stare. The confusion eventually smooths out. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he echoes. “You’re in a sub drop.”

You have been, since Saturday. That’s—mortifying, you think. Your kinky extracurricular affairs brought forefront and centre to your attending because you weren’t a good judge of character.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Something humiliating thickens your throat; wells tears into your eyes. They avert from him, dropping somewhere low. “Fuck, I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s—hey. Look at me,” Jack says.

You’re not listening.

“Fuck. Hey. Hey, quit spiralling. Listen to me.” Jack yanks the gloves off his hands.

This is disgusting. You’re disgusting. This was something that was supposed to remain within your bedroom walls, far, far away from the hospital. Instead, you brought it right to the night shift’s front porch.

A rough palm slotted against your cheek.

The effects are near instantaneous—a shuddering inhale, a trembling whine. Glassy eyes shedding tears as they slide close. Cheek nuzzled against callused flesh.

His hand tipping your face upwards. “Open your eyes.”

And you do.

Shiny, blinking. Unfocused, then landing on him. Something registers, clicks in your mind. “Please,” you whisper. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

But he does. Something bittersweet in this throat. “I know,” he rasps. He wants this. Fulfilment delivered on a silver platter. But not like this. Not from someone else’s abymal attempts.

He’d seen the way you brightened when he passed by with a compliment. A well timed ‘great work in there’, and your shy smile followed him. Like a sunflower chasing the sun. Maybe it’s his ego stinging, now. Maybe it’s something else; something tender, something primal.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle.

Jack hushes you. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” If he could get his hands on the man that called himself your date, he wishes for once, he could take back the sworn oath to do no harm.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

He manoeuvres himself onto the bed. Pulls you into his lap, chests aligned. His arms encircle your waist, avoiding the bruises decorating your upper back. Settling on top of the tattoos. “Breathe with me,” he instructs.

So you do.

In and out. In and out. Inhale, exhale. Again and again.

Just until the dizziness fades a little. Until you feel like you have a few fingers back on the ledge.

“I’m sending you home,” Jack says.

“I don’t want—”

“Do not,” he demands, tense, “argue with me.”

Your mouth clicks shut. Face buried into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“You go home,” he says, “you get yourself cleaned up. Eat. Rest. I’ll come by and take care of you when I’m done here.”

You suck in a breath. “No—”

“What did I just say about—”

A noise of complaint in the back of your throat, hand wrapped around his bicep, squeezing. “Red,” you utter.

It jolts him. Admittedly, it’s been a while, but the colours are ingrained in him as much as the safewords that he used. This isn’t a scene, but you’re so far down that you can’t tell.

“What?” he asks, around the thudding in his chest. He overstepped, somewhere. He doesn’t know you like this, can’t anticipate your needs like he would in the ED.

“I can’t,” you tell him, quiet. Small. “You can’t.”

“I can’t what?”

“Take care of me.”

Jack inhales gravel. Pissed off. “Did he tell you that? Is that why he left you alone?”

“No,” you say.

“Then what is it?” One of his hands lift from your waist, guiding your face away from where you’re hiding. Thumb brushes across tear stained cheek. “Talk to me,” he murmurs.

You peer down at him, positioned higher only because you’re straddling his thighs. You swallow against this heavy thing in your chest.

How do you even admit that the sole reason you started researching BDSM in the first place, is due to the man in front of you? Due to the way he doled out praises in the ED, unlocking something within you? You imagined it was him, pinning you down, hands around your neck, teeth sinking into skin, telling you to be good for him.

“I can’t have you mean nothing,” you whisper, eventually.

Jack swallows past the lump suddenly in his throat. “What does that mean?” A burgeoning of hope. “Sweetheart, what does that mean?” And maybe that’s the cruelty in him, a manipulative side that fools him into thinking that if he calls you as such, you can remain tucked inside his heart. Can convince you to stay there.

“You’re everything,” is all you say. Maybe it’s enough.

“Everything,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

Jack’s hand is a gentle thing against your cheek. No pressure, no guidance. Just slight pressure tracking your movements as you nose against his jaw. Scrape your skin against stubble.

His hand slides to the back of your scalp. “And that means I can’t take care of you?”

“Yes,” you say.

“Why?”

“I…” You’re not selecting words. Just trying to find them through the fog. “Because it’s only for today. Until I feel better.”

“And you don’t want that.”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“Everything,” you say again. And your lips land on his pulse point, You feel it thrum. “With you.”

He doesn’t know how much of this is the drop. How much of this is you. All he knows is that you wouldn’t admit any of this if you were in the right mind.

Fingers flex at the roots of your hair. He tugs you up to look at him.

Your hips buck on their own accord. You keen, thighs tightening around him. Teary eyed.

His other hand against your waist digs in. Stopping your movements. “Fuck,” he swears, hoarse. “Sorry.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, reassuring.

He can’t do this. Here. While you’re like this. He needs you up and out of sub drop before he can have this conversation with you. But you don’t want his help unless he can promise you everything. He can only hope he knows what that means.

“Please,” you utter.

“I know,” Jack soothes. His hand braced against your cheek again.

You lean forward, weight against him. Lips almost on his.

His fingers lead you away. “No,” he murmurs, sandpaper in his throat.

You let out a cracked whine. He doesn’t want to kiss you.

“No,” he says, sharp, like he can see what conclusion you’re reaching. “Not yet.” His lips against your forehead. “Not here.”

Jack doesn’t know how long it takes. He can’t spend the whole shift in there with you, as much as he wants to.

The contact helps. His touches, the soft susurration aimed into the soft flesh of your neck. At some point, you’re coherent enough to be functional. Turtleneck and scrub top on.

Jack tells you to go home. You do.

Lena meets Jack’s gaze. Worried. Questioning.

He shakes his head. It wasn’t what she initially thought, but he’s still concerned. Not completely out of the woods yet.

The final two hours of his shift stretch. All he can think of is you. By the time he sees Robby, he feels dead on his feet.

“You good, brother?” Robby claps him on the shoulder, frowning.

“Long story,” Jack says, scrubbing at his face.

“Yeah? You don’t got time?”

“I gotta head out. John can hand off.”

“Seriously?” Robby blinks, surprised.

Jack’s never passed on a hand off before. But he feels like Shen was probably more present, anyway. Less distracted.

“Robby, my guy,” Shen says.

Robby fixes the other attending with a deeply unimpressed look. “John.”

“See you,” Jack says.

“I better get the short version some time,” Robby says.

“Me too!” John adds.

“You don’t even know what we were talking about…”

Their voices trail away as Jack walks. No rooftop. No drinks in the park. Just over to your apartment, the address memorised from your staff profile. Probably a privacy concern, but Lena turned the other way when he said he wanted to check on you.

You’re asleep on the couch when he comes. You were cogent enough to text him your apartment number and a picture of your welcome mat, letting him know your key was under there.

Not the most secure hiding place, but by the time he arrived, it was still there.

The back of his hand pressed against your forehead, taking your temperature. Fingers brush through your hair.

You stir. “Dr Abbot?” Spoken softly, eyelids heavy.

“Hey, kiddo.” He shifts, handing you your water bottle you’ve left on the coffee table.

You sip from it, blinking yourself awake. Scrubbing at bleary eyes. “Are you wearing shoes?” you ask around a yawn.

Jack blinks, not having expected your question. He looks down at the shoes he’s wearing—one on his foot, the other on his prosthesis. “Yeah.”

“Shoes off,” you say. “There are guest slippers in the bottom cubby hole.”

“Bottom cubby hole,” he repeats. More so to remember, than mock you.

“Please,” you add.

He rumbles a laugh before he follows your instructions. He takes out the ointment from his backpack before depositing it near the coat rack at the door. He shuffles back towards you, now clad in the slippers. “Did you eat yet?”

You hum your confirmation. “I have leftovers in the fridge. And I showered. You can use the shower too. Towels are in the cupboard in my room.”

“Alright. When I’m done, I’m going to check your back again.”

“Okay.”

He lingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Feeling like yourself?”

You think. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay.”

When he’s done, you’ve relocated to your bedroom. It’s a strange situation for him to be in, invited into your apartment and encouraged to explore the place himself. Complete trust in someone else’s life.

He finds you curled under the soft blanket you have spread over your king single bed. Sprawled out, sleeping in a prone position. He pops his prothesis off.

Ointment in hand, he gently tugs the blanket down. Sees you in sleep shorts, no shirt on. The consideration of making your back easily accessible isn’t lost on him. He touches up the ointment while you remain asleep. Fingers applying pressure, massaging tense muscles even though you’re not awake for it. He feels you relax under his touch.

“What am I going to do with you?” he wonders aloud.

And he stays there, next to you, until he too, falls asleep.

When you wake up, you kind of forget what happened. It feels like a blur—something you could write off as a dream if you didn’t have any reminders. And in this moment, you don’t. Tiredly stumbling to the bathroom, then to your bedroom, wrapped in a towel.

You’re, somehow, too out of it to hear the noises in the kitchen. Once you’re in comfortable loungewear, you take your reusable water bottle with you. The intention is to fill it, grab some snacks, then head back into your room. Maybe pop on a show. Let your brain turn off.

“Hey.”

You startle, almost dropping the bottle. Pivoting to see Dr Jack Abbot in front of your stove. Cooking—something. Eggs, you think. It’s one of the things you always stock up in the fridge.

Yesterday in the hospital was not a dream. It was real. Very real. And he came to check in on you in your apartment. And stayed over.

“Hey. I…” you start. Trail off.

“Forgot?” Amusement lifting the corner of his lips. Trying to hide it for your sake.

“No,” you say, quick. You both know it’s a lie. Lips pressed into a line, heading to the water dispenser attached to the fridge to fill up your bottle.

Jack grins when you’re no longer looking at him. “Eat first.” The toaster pops with two slices. He’s made himself at home, studying your kitchen. Pantry, fridge, cupboard, drawers. He’s memorising the layout. Two plates, eggs, toast, slices of ham. You, apparently, didn’t have bacon. He searched.

Sitting at the tiny thing you call a dining table, Jack waits for you to tuck into your food. Despite the fact that you’re more lucid, he can tell you’re still off. As he eats, you’re not. Pushing food around. Tearing off pieces of your toast to nibble at.

Since Saturday, he remembers. Wonders if you treated all your meals like this before coming into the Pitt. You must have been running on fumes. Wonders how many times you’ve done this; if this is your first time, or just the first time it’s gone wrong.

Jack clears both the plates away. His empty; yours mostly full. Half your toast gone. He decides to glad-wrap yours, putting it in the fridge. Cleans his own plate in the sink, washing his hands after.

“You didn’t have to… be here,” you say. To stay. To make you food.

“I said I’d take care of you,” he responds, evenly. Leaning against the sink. Eyes on you.

And you both remember what happened after. What you said. Not unless you could have everything.

You feel—embarrassed. You meant it, of course you meant it. A stupid torch you’ve carried for two years. The humiliating realisation that it wasn’t going away. You tried to put those feelings onto someone else, tried to go out, go on dates. You were young. And yet.

The sinking knowledge that this wasn’t just some kind of silly crush born of proximity and praises.

“It’s not your responsibility,” you state. “You’re not my—” Mouth snapping shut, self-editing.

Even if you don’t finish it, the tilt of his head, the challenging tick of his eyebrow says he heard it. Arms crossing over his chest.

You can’t help the way your eyes fixate on the stretch of the short sleeves of his t-shirt around tensed biceps.

“I’m not your what?” Jack asks.

You clear your throat, moving to stand up. To get away, even if for a second. Even if he’s trying to do you a favour by being here.

“Stay down.”

You almost do. The chair scrapes backwards, instead. “Fuck off, Abbot,” you snarl, standing fully.

Hostility rearing its head again. Like with Lena, except this time, you’re not restraining yourself at an attempt at professional conduct. You’re biting. Pushing.

Jack knows there’s probably a few ways he can take this. Can respond. “Don’t do this.”

Gone is the sweet thing he held in his lap yesterday. Instead, you’re aching, scared of rejection and lashing out because of it.

“Quit patronising me. You’re not my—anything. And I’m not yours.”

His teeth scrape together, jaw squeezing. Jack knows this game. Can read you like a book. He can’t fall for the bait; if his temper wins, he proves you right.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice soft despite the urge to snap. He knows this is born of insecurity. One that was fed by some prick that abandoned you on Saturday. “I’m not like him—”

“Don’t,” you hiss out.

“—I’m not going to leave.”

It makes something ripple inside you. An age-old wound that tells you you’re unlovable. Something complicated passes over your face. You can’t decide if you want to believe him or squash it down. False hope.

Jack moves towards you. Three steps to close the distance between the sink and table.

Your eyes are wet, bright with tears. “Dr Abbot—”

“Jack,” he corrects. Chest twisting.

“Jack,” you say.

He nods, eyes darting between yours. Eye contact connoisseur. “Can you sit down?” He changes his approach. “Please?”

You do. Slipping into the dining chair. The backrest to your side. Legs facing him and not tucked under the table.

And Jack.

He sinks.

One of his knees makes contact with the floor. His other leg bent, foot on the ground. His hand resting on the flesh above your knee, balancing.

A tremulous breath releases from you. Shock. “What are you—?”

“You wanted everything,” Jack says. “Let me give you everything. Please.”

And hasn’t he been carrying a torch for you, too? Your first day with the night shift wasn’t anything special. It’s not that he was struck by you immediately—the consequences of being an attending physician, having a million things on his mind, and a hundred other things clamouring for his attention.

You were always quick. Responsive. Observant. At his elbow, two seconds before he asked, handing him everything he needed like you were a mind reader. It was fascinating, in a way.

He hadn’t even registered when the change happened. There was no adjustment period. One day you were that damn good nurse on his team, and the next day, he realised he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

Watching, always watching, when you pushed the gurney from the ambulance bay into the trauma room; when you playfully saluted Parker after she asked for an IV on her patient; when you adopted that childish voice to say Nurse Lena, Nurse Bridget is being mean to me again, just to make them laugh after a tough patient; when Shen tried to get you to learn Mandarin but that was already in Princess’ arsenal, and the only rule established was no repeats.

As time went on, he noticed the way your tightly wound shoulders would relax at his words. The way your gaze lingered, like you wanted to ask for more. You never did, and he never pushed.

How could he? He was an attending. Much, much older than you. Had skeletons in his closet that he would rather shove down than let anyone sign up for.

Somewhere, he fell. Softly, then all at once.

You reach out, fingers drifting across his cheek. “Jack,” you whisper, an incredulous sound.

“Right here, sweetheart.” He cups your hand, angling his head to kiss your palm. Eyes never straying from yours.

Tears knocked loose. “I’m sorry,” you say, wet. Once again, ashamed of your behaviour.

“You did nothing wrong.” If he could spend the rest of his life reassuring you, he would. Maybe he can. Everything, after all.

“But I… yelled.”

Jack grins, wry. “I get yelled at all the time.” By patients. By admin. It’s no skin off his back.

“I said…” You inhale, wobbly. “I said I wasn’t yours.”

And there, that darkening of his eyes. Studious. Trained on nothing but you. “Are you?”

“I want to be.”

“So you are. Mine.”

You wet your lips. His eyes track the movement, unabashed. “And…” you say.

He waits, patient. Lets you find your words.

“You’re mine?”

“Yes. Yours,” he rasps. Kneeling before you, whatever else could he be?

“Get up. Please.” A murmured plea.

He does. It’s not a swift movement, but you’re past paying attention. You stand, slot your body against his. He’s meeting you halfway. Your palm splayed against his chest; his hand cupping your cheek.

A soft capture of your lips. Jack’s thumb sweeping, tugging lightly at the corner of your mouth. Fingers digging into the sharp of your jawbone tucked beneath your ear.

You let out a stuttering breath at the pressure, something fuzzy clouding your eyes. He slips his tongue inside your mouth. A welcomed weight against your tongue, a spit slicked slide.

A drawn out noise, broken into pants.

His hands gathered at your waist. Walking you backwards into the table. It grates against the linoleum floor, thudding into the wall. Neither of you pay it any heed. You’re perched on the table. He steps between your legs, hitching one thigh against his side.

“Please,” you gasp into the infinitesimal space between you, “I’ll be good.”

“I know,” Jack whispers. Something gentle and soft and so, so sweet tucked against him. Honeyed and viscous, coating his throat. Choking, unbidden tears in his eyes. “I’ll give you everything,” he promises.

Your arms hooked around his shoulders, lifting your core, angling up. Pressing the heat between your legs against his growing bulge.

“Fuck,” Jack groans. A palm laid against the surface of table, the other keeps a bruising grip on the flesh of your side. Stabilising himself. His face tucked to your neck, kissing a line against your throat. Buying himself time. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says.

“Jack.” A breathy moan, as his lips trail down. Hips rolling up against him. You reach, fingers scrabbling against the waistband of his pants.

“Uh uh.” Digits wrapping around your wrist, pressing your hands against the cold wood beneath you. “Hands on the table.”

“I want—” Despite your protesting words, your palms remain flat on the smooth surface. “I want to make you feel good.” To get on your knees for him, to feel the heavy weight of his cock in your mouth, the stinging strain in the corners of your lips as you struggle to fit him, an aching in your jaw. You know he’d be big enough for that.

“I know, sweetheart.” His lips on yours again, a reassuring kiss. The problem isn’t you—it never is. It’s the fact that he’d finish within minutes if you get your mouth around him. He’s strung tight, and he doesn’t know if his refractory period is as short as it used to be. The reality is he’s old.

“Please,” you whine.

“Hands on the table,” he reminds, despite the fact that you hadn’t move. He lowers himself to the ground, eyes on you. Watching you watch him. Roughened fingers tugging your pants down. Lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Kissing up further and further.

Air catches in your throat.

Jack leans forward, closes his mouth around your clothed core. Tongue finding the split between flesh.

You moan, breath hitching at his touch. Fingers twitch against the table. You want to bury them in his grey curls, but he told you to keep them where they are.

“Good,” he whispers, hot breath fanning across your skin. “You’ll be good, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

Jack pulls down your underwear. Rests his cheek against the side of your thigh. Stubble scratching against overheated skin. “Look at you,” he says, reverent. “You’re so wet, baby.”

You whimper. Your hands inch further behind you. Angling your body. “Jack.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Fingers around your calf, hiking it over his shoulder. Every touch, searing.

“Please.”

“So sweet,” he purrs. And then his tongue, finally, finally glides into the drenched heat. He hums through the wrecked sound you make, licking up. A brief kiss to your clit before his lips seal around it. Tongue lands, tip of the muscle working up and down repeatedly, then around.

You—shatter. No other way to describe it. Your hands are still somewhere behind you, maybe numb at this point. Your leg still hooked over Jack’s shoulder, heel digging into the scretch of his back. Hips rolling upwards, into his face. “Jack,” you cry, heavy with relief and something fractured, all at once.

His eyes are dark, captivated by you, preoccupied with taking in every reaction, every movement. His tongue never ceases. Fingers collect the slick from your opening, using his thumb to rub it along his middle and fourth finger.

Whining aloud. Fingertips digging into unrelenting wood. You want to touch him. You try to enclose your legs around him.

Jack pushes his free hand against your thigh, the one that’s not on his shoulder. Keeping you open. Then he sucks, tongue flicking against your clit at the same time.

Your hips grind upwards. “Jack—”

He presses his middle finger into you. He doesn’t take his time. Pumps it once, twice.

“Jack, please, please—”

He draws his finger out. Pushes his ring finger inside at the same time. You feel the stretch with two fingers, wider than yours. Longer than yours.

Jack doesn’t mean to rush, but he feels so lightheaded with want. Knows his knees will probably complain tomorrow morning. He needs you to come, wants to hear you fall apart. Crooking his fingers towards your belly, feeling around the spongy inside. Pads of his fingers massaging.

You feel it building in your core. Breaths escaping. “I’m—oh, fuck, I’m—please—”

You can feel him responding, fingers moving faster. Working you from inside. And he keeps the suction on your clit.

“Jack, please, I need—” Almost there but not quite. You feel right at the precipe, but you can’t tip over. Chasing it, though, the way you grind into his face. Onto his fingers. Hands splayed on the table, head tipped towards the ceiling. Every sound punched out of you.

He hums, a deep thing that sends vibrations through you.

“Talk to me, please, Jack, please I want to hear you.”

Jack shifts, mouth opening, tongue pressed flat against your clit. The hand pushing your thigh moves, fingers rubbing against the sensitive nerve. Still fucking you with the fingers inside.

“Yeah?” he asks, and his voice is frayed. “Need me to talk you through it?” There’s spit and you on his chin, glossing his lips. Tongue swipes across petals, swallowing like it’s nectar. Cheek resting against your upper thigh. Stubble scraping against skin.

You shudder. “Yes, yes please, Jack, please.”

“Yeah. Need me to tell you’ve been good, honey?” A kiss pressed to your leg. Your sensitive skin burning, itching every time he moves. The scratch of his shadow. His eyes are lava on you, even if you can’t see him.

“Just like at work, is that it? I tell you you’ve done a good job and you walk around the hospital all wet and pent up? Tell me, baby, do you come home and think of me when you get yourself off? Hear me in your head?”

The nail knocked on the head. The hole-in-one.

You can’t be surprised, and yet, somehow, you are, that he figured it out. You’re clenching around his fingers, tight. Gasping. You don’t even need to verbalise that you’re coming. He can feel it. Your hips bucking up, his elbows digging into the meat of your thighs to keep your legs apart.

Wordless litanies of moans. High pitched and wrecked. Jack pushes his fingers in further, letting you ride yourself through it. And he doesn’t stop his ministrations over your clit. “Jack,” you sob.

“There you go, baby. This is what you wanted, right?” Jaw clenching, hips stuttering against air. He’s so painfully hard. It could almost be concerning, how ready he is. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful.”

He stands, knees cracking, back sore. Yet, he keeps his fingers moving. Inside and outside. Your thigh slides off his shoulder. He positions himself between them, your legs drawing up at his sides. He leans down towards you, hissing something ragged when his cock makes contact with your thigh. “Come here,” he says.

You weep with relief, arms moving from behind you, wrapping around his shoulders. You meet his lips. The fingers inside stop moving, but press insistently on that spot. He keeps rubbing your clit, just to hear you moan, to feel the tremors of your body, to feel the way you contract around his fingers. Imagining that it’s his cock.

“Jack,” you heave. “Too—ah, too much—”

“No, baby,” he says, “I say when it’s too much.”

“Jack,” you whine. “Please. Please, I need you.”

Oh, the unfair games you’re playing, begging like that. He huffs impatience through his nose, jawline ticking. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Not going anywhere.”

And you feel it—the way you’re falling into the second orgasm. One of your hands gripping his bicep. Harder than necessary, maybe. Complaining. Retaliating. “Fuck, mmm, Jack, I’m—oh, I’m coming—”

Your back arches upwards into him. Hips grinding down between his fingers again. Fingers crooked inside you, rubbing against the soft spot. Fingers rubbing your clit. Sensitive.

He grunts, head falling onto your shoulder. Hears the pathetic little sounds that you don’t even realise you’re making.

Your head’s fuzzy, your ears dulled like you’re underwater. And yet, so aware of where he’s touching you. Every point of contact ignited, like he’s leaving a brand on this mortal vessel that was created to contain nothing but love for him.

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushes. And finally, his fingers still. Small mercies as he removes the hand from your clit. Not yet sliding his fingers out.

Jack kisses you. Your chest heaving, craving air. Trembling, clenching around the fingers still inside you. “Fuck,” he breathes out. “There you are.” Observing those glassy eyes. The lazy limbs that cling to him. Lips pressed to your temple.

You cup his erection through the fabric of his pants.

He hisses, jerking into your touch. “Fuck,” he swears.

You stroke him, feeling the length.

“You—shit—you gotta stop, sweetheart,” he says.

You make a questioning noise. You want to make him feel good.

“You really want our first time to be in the kitchen?”

You’re slow to gather your words. “Anywhere,” you slur out. Too much effort to talk. “Whatever… you want.”

Jack huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah,” he whispers, tender at your deference. He kisses you again, sliding his fingers out of you. He parts momentarily, eyes locked on yours as he brings his fingers into his mouth. Licking, fingers splitting, tongue moving down the groove between his fingers.

Your hips twitch, a lazy movement that brings you flush against his body. Smearing your come and his spit against the fabric of his pants. He’s still fully clothed, you realise.

“Bed,” you croak, even though you told him it was his choice, just moments before.

Jack laughs, a gentle thing. Nose bumping against yours. Hands lifting you. Legs wrapped around his waist. “Get your bottle,” he says.

You blindly grab for it before he walks you towards your bedroom. Door closing behind him, even though there’s no one else here. He deposits you on the bed. Tells you to take a sip of water before placing it onto the nightstand.

You don’t move. You’re exactly where he left you on the bed when he turns back to you.

He sits on the edge of the mattress. “C’mere,” Jack says.

You shuffle towards him. He’s expecting you to crawl into his lap, maybe. What he doesn’t expect, is the way you slide off the bed to kneel by his feet.

His breath hitches in his throat. Fingers twitching, as your cheek rests against his thigh. Digits threading into your hair. You angle your face to look up at him, blinking. Slow.

“Hey,” he says, fraught with something delicate. Raw and soft.

You nuzzle against him. Head feeling stuffy. Floating. Sinking. Contradictory, yet somehow. True.

“What do you need?”

Nothing. Everything. Wordlessly, you feel at his leg, calf down. Almost like you’re palpating it. Onto the next leg. You unbuckle the prosthesis, hearing him hiss at the twist, at the unlatching. Pained or relief, you can’t tell. Pressing a kiss to the bend of his knee when you remove it, prosthesis intentionally placed aside. You want him comfortable.

You’re slotted back against his thigh, like you didn’t just change his world, like you didn’t just show him the kind of tenderness he never thought he’d deserve after losing the leg.

Jack breathes, unsteady and ragged, but you blink up at him like you’ve never been surer of anything in your life. Complete trust.

You inch forward, nosing closer towards his crotch. Mouthing a long, lingering kiss to his dick. Slow and muted through layers of clothes. Sucking, wetting fabric. An unspoken request.

Jack groans, hips jerking. Fingers reach out, cradling. Callused pads against your jaw, thumb sliding across your lips.

You part them.

His thumb slips in, access easily granted, applying pressure against your tongue. Gliding down. Molten eyes on yours. Your brain is hazy with static. Blissful. Half-lidded eyes. Moaning as you swallow around his digit.

Jack laughs. You feel the reverberations of it, rather than hear the sound. His thumb lets up, still inside your mouth, but no longer pressing down. You blink your eyes opened, questioning, protesting.

“I asked what you prefer, baby,” he rumbles, corners of his lips lifting. Revelling in the way you’re so lost, so dazed. “Do you want me in here?” Thumb circles your tongue. “Or in here?” His good foot shifts, tucked under where you’re kneeling. Front of his ankle catching just right on your bare clit.

A hitched whine, hips grinding down. Sticky heat on his skin.

“I can only do one, sweetheart. You’re killing me, here.” He’s so gone on you, it’s almost devastating. Man made soldier, thickened skin to take on the sins of the world. And his Achilles heel is a precious thing by his knee.

You lap at his thumb, tongue flexing along the grooves of his fingerprint. For a second, he thinks this is how you want him, but you move. An obscene, wet pop as you back away from his hand. You treat it as if it were his dick, licking, tongue against nail and skin, like it’s the leaking seam of his cock.

“Jesus,” Jack groans. You’re going to be the death of him. Completely and absolutely. No differential diagnoses required.

You rise into his lap, nothing shy or uncertain in the way you straddle him and grind yourself against his clothed erection. Lips against his, kissing like you need it to breathe. Need him to breathe. Maybe you do. A low and quiet buzz in your head.

Fingers bracing against your jaw, then lips travel down your neck. You’re still rolling your hips against him. It feels heavenly, the graze of fabric against your already sensitive clit.

Jack lets out a pained noise, shifting. One moment to the next, you went from being in his lap, to facing the ceiling, back against the soft blanket. You rise to your elbows, blinking, eyes moving to the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t make a show of taking off his clothes. It’s quick, the way he removes his shirt, pants, and briefs. He’s pretty sure that if you continued moving on top of him like that, he was just going to come in his pants like he’s in college again.

“You’re killing me,” he says again. He crawls towards you. Body on yours. Divests you quickly of your top.

The slide of his palm to one of your breasts. Cupping. Squeezing. “Been thinking about this since your first scrub change.” Fingernails pinching the tip of your nipple.

You cry out.

Lips over your other tip, a mimicry of the attention he paid to your clit. Licking. Tongue slathering. Then, teeth, biting.

You rut up against him, one leg hooking over his back. Feel the length of him against you. “Please,” you whine.

His hips stutter. “Fuck me,” he groans. Inhales, then lets it out heavily.

“Trying to.”

He laughs, then, a sound that’s disbelieving, even though he should have expected nothing less from you. You’ve been hanging around the night shift too much. A hand in your hair, tugging, born of your insolence. Stealing the sound you make with a kiss. Fucks his tongue into your mouth again.

You feel like you’re losing your mind with the need to feel him. The slide of him, the delicious drag of him against your walls. To clench around and feel his dick inside you. Instead, you’re still empty.

Gasping when you part for air. “Jack,” you plead. “Please, I want to feel you.”

Jack smacks a kiss to your cheek. “Where are your condoms?” He has some in his bag—was part of his prepared care kit alongside the ointment he brought. But he’s left that by the doorway, and he doesn’t want to leave this bed with you in it, wrapped around him.

A hand smoothing over his chest, up his shoulder, clasping around his nape. “No, we don’t need—”

“Uh uh, no,” he says. “Not today.”

“But I’m—”

“No.” Stern. Lifting up, leaning back. “If you don’t listen to me about this, we’re not doing this today.”

“Sorry,” you hiccup, the easiest acquiescence. “Sorry. Nightstand. Bottom drawer. Sorry.” Tears in your eyes. Gripping at his arm, then letting go, undeserving. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

Jack lets out an agonised noise. You both know that if you were more cognisant, you would agree with him, would want this too. But it doesn’t make it any less hard to say no when you’re like this. “I’m not mad,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again. Soft. Apologetic. The last thing he wants to do is to let you believe that he could up and leave you so easily. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bottom drawer,” you say again.

Jack gets up, moving towards the nightstand to grab what he needs. The distance is close enough that one leg remains on the bed for balance. Tucked under rumpled towels, a box of condoms. And if he happens to see some toys, cuffs, other accessories you’ve clearly purchased for yourself, haphazardly hidden—oh, that’s something that he can use next time.

Packet torn, condom slipped on. Muffled groan at the relief of being touched, even if it’s just himself. Returning to the bed, to you. You’ve been watching him the whole time, eyes dragging over his skin, his body.

He doesn’t feel shy under your gaze. Exposed, though, is a different feeling.

“Can I go on top?” you ask.

He falters. He usually doesn’t. Usually surefooted. But this—you. You have a tendency to cleave apart his every defense. Every sure thing he knows about life. “You want to?”

“Yes,” you say. “Feels better.”

Tucked and saved somewhere safe. To keep and know about you. “Okay,” he says, and settles at the head of your bed, back against the wall. You draw close, slipping your pillow under his calf. Then you climb into his lap, a soft sigh releasing, like homecoming. Kissing him again, a silent addiction. His arms are warm and weighted around your middle. And he lets you take your time.

Once again, the slow rolling of your hips down to his. Your entrance flushed against the length of his dick. The torturous drag, up and down.

Jack grips your waist, lips against your collarbone. Harsh breaths of air. “Fucking Hell.”

And when you seem content to let it draw on like this, he bites at the flesh under your collarbone. Warning.

You downright mewl at the threat his teeth breaking through your skin. “Ah—mhm.”

“You gonna let me fuck you anytime soon?”

It takes a little to register that not only has he asked you a question, but you should probably respond as well. “If you want to,” is what you end up saying.

“If I want to.” Mocking, a dangerous scoff. He feels like he’s on fire. Lifting you, one hand around his cock, lining it up against your entrance. Tip catching between your folds.

And finally, you’re sinking down on him.

The hitched sounds coming from you, trapped in your throat. Arms hooked around his shoulders, keening into the side of his throat. The stretch of your walls making way for him. The soft, spongy insides, swallowing, welcoming. And it keeps going.

Your fingers digging into the corded muscles of his arm, his hands petting the sides of your stomach. Soothing. “You’re—you feel—oh—” Sinking further around his girth. Until you’re sure he’s completely inside you.

Jack lets out a low groan. “Fuck.” Breathes in deeply. Holds it. Then out.

You try to rise.

His arms immediately snap a tight brace around you, holding you in place. “Fuck. Give—give me a minute.”

“Jack—”

“You,” he grinds out, “have no idea how tight you feel. Just give me a minute, sweetheart.”

And of course, that involuntary spasm of your walls around his cock.

Jack swears. Forehead thuds against the space above your sternum. “Quit that.”

“Wasn’t on purpose.”

He notices the lack of apology. “Brat,” he says fondly, and kisses you again.

You don’t know how long you stay like that for. Lips and air. Arms refusing to budge around you. His cock inside you. You swear you feel him in your diaphragm. Your skin feels like fire. “Can I move?” you beg. “Jack, please, can I move? Please, I need—can we—I want to feel you—”

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. I got you, honey. You’re okay.” A hand reaches up to wipe a thumb across your cheeks.

It comes away wet. You hadn’t realised you started crying.

“Please,” you sob.

His hips snap upwards.

Your next breath comes trapped between a moan and a cry.

Both arms wrapped around you again. An iron band. Then he fucks up into you.

“Oh,” you whimper. “Oh, fuck, ah, ah—thank you, thank you thank you—”

The noise Jack releases is inhuman. He keeps an unrelenting pace, punching out moans from you. He’s flooded by the need to feel you come around him. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re doing so well, honey. Taking what I give you.”

You’re meeting him halfway. Grinding down against him, desperately keening. You feel his hands slip between you, thumb against your clit. You white out. Pressure, more so than stimulating you. Fucking yourself onto his cock, then up against his thumb, making you chase what you need. “Please, more, more, please.”

“Yeah? You want more? You want to come again? You want to come with my dick inside you?”

“Yes, please, I need it. I need you, please.”

“Yeah, you do.” Unmoored, slightly. His thumb rubs circles on your clit. “Come on, baby, I wanna hear you.”

Your chin hooked over his shoulder, angling your head towards his ear. Discarding every notion of shyness. Every sound, every cry, every thought about him; needing him, wanting him, released. The burgeoning that starts in your belly. The fiery licks of something wonderful.

Jack hears it in your gasping breath, feels it in the velvet walls convulsing around him. “There you go, sweetheart. Give me another one. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.” Tenderness in the way his lips press against your shoulder.

You whine. Close.

“Poor baby needs to hear my voice to come, is that it? So fucking obsessed with me. Be good and come for me, baby, let me hear you—fuck—there you go.”

Holding you in place, your hips riding through the orgasm that crashes into you. His thumb rubbing incessantly on your clit. He stops fucking his cock into you, but his hips still move. Rolling, grinding.

You’re outright crying, heaving in gasps of air. Overstimulated. His thumb never stops. Your walls spasming around him, again and again.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m almost there. Can we keep going until I’m done? Is that okay, baby?”

“Yes,” you sob. You’re so so gone. Floating. “Please. Use me.”

You’re flattened on the bed.

From one blink to the next, Jack had shifted up, pressing you onto the mattress. Legs around him. The pillow at his calf tucked under your hips. The angle slides him in deeper. “Fuck,” he grinds out, hoarse. “Fuck. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect, baby. So fucking good for me.”

“Yes, yes yes yes yes yesyes.” Litanies of yesses, completely overloaded with pleasure. With the feeling of him inside. Everywhere. The fingers digging into your thigh. Forehead shoved against your chest, somewhere above your heart.

Then, the broken groan. Low, ragged. “Fuck. Coming, baby, I’m coming.” His thumb back on your clit, circling once more. Fucking his hips into you while your walls flutter around him.

You’re completely spent. Keening, whining, hiccupping.

He stops, eventually. Dragging his hand over your belly, stroking. Up your chest. Petting overheated skin. Then cups your face to kiss him.

You feel so faraway. Numb. On fire. Both.

He flips you both, somehow. Arms straining. You’re folded into his chest, his dick still inside you.

And he stays.

You’re too out of it to realise he’s reached over to the nightstand until the straw to your bottle is pressed against your lips.

“Drink,” he says.

You do. Eyes fluttering shut. Cheek against his chest.

“You did so good for me, baby,” Jack murmurs. “You were so perfect. You are perfect.”

His fingers trace the tattoo that sprawls along your back. You shiver, accidentally grinding against him again. You both hiss.

Tilting your head up, lips finding yours again. Kissing. Gentle. Soft.

“Love you,” you whisper.

Robby’s lips curled into a smile as he shook his head in disbelief. You were amazing. Incredible. Sweet. Perfect. Damn it, Robinavitch. He knew better than to let his mind stray in that direction. You were far too pretty, far too smart, far too soft for the likes of him. He tore his gaze away and focused on the computer in front of him.

“You should ask her out.” Dana’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He didn’t look at her. “Who?”

She huffed a laugh. “Don’t be an idiot. Our resident peds expert, that’s who.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “You know, the one you keep staring at when you think no one will notice.”

Robby still didn’t look at her as he made a mental note to not look at you so much. Even as he had thought his eyes darted up to watch you lead the kid over to Kiara. Fuck. He forced his eyes back to the computer. “That is not going to happen.”

Dana came to lean beside him so she could see his face. She crossed her arms and frowned down at him. “And why not? What’s wrong with her?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Dana—”

“No deflections. She’s sweet, good with kids, a fucking knockout. And I know you like her so what’s the problem?”

“There is nothing wrong with her. That’s why she deserves better than an old Alpha like me.”

Dana stared at him for another beat before shaking her head. “Whatever you say, Cap.”

You loved your job.

Even when it was hard, you loved it. You had specialized in pediatric emergency medicine and were offered an attending position at PTMC as soon as you finished your residency. You served as a general attending as well, but the peds cases were always directed to you.

You loved the people you worked with. You were normally on day shift but had been known to cover a night shift on occasion. There wasn’t anyone you worked with that you didn’t like. No one made you feel lesser because of your designation. No one hesitated to come to you for help. You and Dana had become quick friends both on duty and off. Princess and Perlah were teaching you Tagalog. Jesse and you met for coffee once a month or so. There was only one problem.

You loved one Michael Robinavitch. You tried not to but the moment you saw him, your inner Omega started jumping with glee. He was the perfect Alpha in your opinion. He was patient and kind and protective of those he considered his ‘pack’. The more you got to know him, the more your feelings shifted from a harmless crush to full blown love.

You’d caught him watching you more than once as you worked and had hoped he’d ask you out, but no luck. You didn’t want to ask him as some Alphas didn’t like forward Omegas. Robby didn’t seem the type but you didn’t want to chance it. A little hope, no matter how small, was better than none at all.

Dana found you in the lounge when you were brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “Hey you.”

You smiled at her. “Hey yourself. How’s it going?”

“Same as always, semi-controlled chaos.”

That got a laugh out of you.

“We’re friends, right?” she asked, causing you to frown.

“Of course we are.”

She leaned toward you. “Good. Then you’ll listen to me when I tell you that Robby is hopeless, clueless and crazy about you.”

Your eyes went wide. “I…What?”

Her lips tilted in a crooked smile. “You heard me. He is also very unlikely to make the first move. That puts the ball in your court, kid.”

You tried to swallow down the fluttery feeling that was threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

“There is nothing that says Omegas can’t court their Alphas. Show him what he’s missing.”

“Robby doesn’t seem like someone that appreciates attention,” you said.

She nodded. “He’s not. He’s stubborn, set in his ways and convinced he’s better off alone. But he’s also one of the best men I know. You should show him that. He won’t know what hit him.”

And with that she walked off, leaving your head spinning with possibilities.

You started slowly, leaving fresh coffee and a protein bar at his work station. Making sure the station was always clean and tidy. As the day progressed, you’d replace the coffee with water. One day you brought his favorite sandwich from the deli across the street and tucked it in the fridge with Robby written across the foil.

“Someone’s leaving me food, water, coffee,” Robby told Dana that afternoon. “Every day this week.”

Dana glanced over to where you were consulting with one of the residents on a case, your back carefully turned to the conversation. “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she suggested.

Robby snorted. “More likely someone feels sorry for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid someone actually do something for the great Michael Robinavitch because they care for him. What a thought.”

Despite his protests, you noticed he ate every offering, sometimes closing his eyes briefly as he appreciated the coffee or a fresh pastry. You timed your gifts for when he wasn’t likely to catch you, when he needed the sustenance or comfort the most. Every time Dana caught you, she’d give you a look that said ‘where are you going with this’ and you’d just shrug and hurry away.

Then one Thursday you were offered an unexpected opportunity. Robby slipped out of his favorite navy hoodie and held it up to look it over. It had seen better days. The front was stained, both pockets had holes in them, there was a tear on one sleeve and the elastic in the cuffs was all stretched out. He’d taken to rolling the sleeves instead of pushing them up.

“Think it’s time to let it go.” He sighed and showed it to Dana. “Can’t even keep a pen in the pocket anymore without losing it.

“About time,” she replied. “That thing has been on it’s last leg for at least a year.”

He draped the hoodie over the back of his chair. “It’s broken in just right though.”

“Guess you’ll just have to get to work on a new one,” she said with a shrug.

Robby shook his head before heading to an exam room for a consultation.

You pretended to be engrossed elsewhere but your mind was racing with possibilities. The hoodie was more than just a piece of clothing to him. It represented comfort, familiarity. The way his fingers had lingered on the fabric told you everything.

Not caring if Dana saw you made it easy for you to tuck the hoodie under a blanket and stash it in your locker. She’d simply smiled and shook her head.

Robby panicked briefly when he couldn’t find it later but all it took was a simple “What difference does it make? I thought you were throwing it away,” from Dana for him to move on.

That night after you showered and changed into comfortable clothes, you spread the jacket out on your table to assess the damage while you ate cereal for dinner. The pockets needed to be fixed and reinforced. There was a tear in the sleeve where it had caught on something. Some holes where the fabric had worn around the hood. And the stains on the front that you really hoped were coffee. All in all it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

After picking up some supplies, you spent the next two days restoring Robby’s beloved hoodie to the best condition you could. You removed the stains as much as you could. You stitched up holes and fixed pockets. You even replaced the cuffs. And if you happened to wear it while you watched TV that night so it smelled like you, well that was your business.

The next morning, you arrived at the hospital early. You placed the folded hoodie on the bench near Robby’s locker, then hurried out. Forty-five minutes later you were at the hub chatting with Jack waiting for Robby so you could do handoff. When he appeared from the direction of the locker room he was wearing the hoodie, running his fingers over the mended areas.

“Isn’t that the hoodie you were going to throw away?” Dana asked, looking up.

Robby nodded. “Someone fixed it. Found it in the locker room this morning.” He pulled the fabric closer around himself. “Wish I knew who to thank.”

Dana hummed in agreement, eyes flicking to you as you listened to Jack go over the board. When he finished, he left with a quick goodbye. You grabbed a tablet to go check on the three current peds cases when Robby spoke up again from where he’d parked himself in front of a computer. “This thing is seriously better than new. And it smells amazing.”

That had your steps stuttering. Dana glanced at you again before looking back at him. “That so? What’s it smell like?”

His face flushed red as he turned to face her fully. “You’re going to think it’s stupid but it smells like home.”

Oh. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you turned away to keep him from seeing the small, satisfied smile curling your lips. Throughout the day you caught Robby burying his nose in the collar of the hoodie when he thought no one was looking, inhaling deeply. Each time, a thrill ran through you. Your Omega instincts jumping for joy at having provided comfort to the Alpha you were quietly courting.

Robby was walking through the ED while he scrolled through lab results on a tablet when an angry voice cut through the air.

“I don’t give a shit what you say. Who qualified you to be a doctor anyway? Omega bitch.”

You were the only Omega doctor on shift today. Robby caught Frank’s eye and they headed toward the treatment room you were in seeing to a child with abdominal pain. Ahmad was right on their heels.

“What’s going on here?” Robby snapped as he stepped into the room. You were pressed up against the wall with an angry Alpha towering over you, exuding enough pheromones to make Robby’s nose wrinkle. He could only imagine how bad it smelled to you.

Tension visibly flowed from your body at the sight of him and he couldn’t help the spike of Alpha pride he felt that you trusted him to protect you. Robby immediately put himself between you and the other Alpha. “Back off,” he ordered.

The smaller man stepped back, clearly not as willing to face off against a much larger Alpha. “I’m just trying to get some help for my kid.”

“And she is the best pediatric specialist in the hospital so what is the problem?” Robby said. Your hands gripped the back of his hoodie.

“She barely looked at him and said he needs surgery. How could she know that?”

“Suspected appendicitis,” your voice came from behind him, soft but sure. “I told him we’d need imaging to verify then consult with the surgeon.”

Robby hummed. “If that’s what she said, I’d bet my license that’s the problem. Dr. Langdon here is going to take over this case. If we have any more issues, you’ll be escorted out. Is that understood?”

He could tell the man wanted to argue, that he was used to being in charge. Not here. This was Robby’s domain and he’d guard it fiercely if needed. The other alpha nodded and stepped back.

Robby nodded to Frank as he reached back to take one of your hands in his and pulled you out of the room behind him. He didn’t look at you, just led you through the ED, nodding at Dana to let her know everything was handled. Only once you were in locker room did he turn to face you. You were unlikely to be bothered here mid shift.

His hands settled on your upper arms. “Are you okay?” He kept his voice soft, knowing the last thing you needed right now was another loud Alpha.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, though your hands were still trembling. “Thank you for stepping in and for everything you said.”

“It was all true. And that guy was incredibly out of line. Using his status to try to intimidate you was unacceptable.” His jaw tightened at the reminder.

You nodded. “It happens sometimes. Not often, thankfully.”

He narrowed his gaze as he studied your face. “It’s happened here before? With other patients?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Robby. I’ve been an Omega in medicine long enough to develop a thick skin,” you said with a small smile.

Frustration and no small amount of anger bubbled up at the thought that you had to deal with any of that. For a moment the air between you seemed charged and he found himself desperately wishing he could remove the suppressant patch on your neck and bury his nose in your scent gland.

The fact that his Omega had been threatened—Robby physically moved back, shaking his head. His Omega? It was the same thought that had risen unbidden when he’d seen the other Alpha threatening you. It was inappropriate, unprofessional and exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do with you. You were his colleague, not an Omega to be claimed or protected by him.

He cleared his throat. “If it happens again, call for me immediately.”

“I will,” you promised though you both knew you probably wouldn’t.

He lingered for a moment wanting to say something more. To offer more reassurance, maybe. Or beg you to let him protect you all the time. Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him today? He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I should get back. Take some time if you need it.”

When the door closed between you, he released a shaky breath. He lifted the edge of the hoodie to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent. He immediately felt better, relaxed. Now he needed to put some space between you and hope he’d quit thinking of you as his.

A few days later you’d had a particularly brutal shift. A pileup on the parkway, two gunshot victims, and a four-year-old who’d fallen from a third-story window. Despite your best efforts, the child had died on the table, his tiny heart refusing to restart. You and Robby had worked the case together and you could see the toll it took on him with each minute that passed. When he finally called time of death, his voice had been steady, but you’d noticed the brief closing of his eyes, the slump of his shoulders before he straightened and moved on to the next crisis.

By the end of shift, everyone was drained but Robby looked utterly exhausted. The lines around his eyes had deepened, his movements slowed by a weariness that seemed to seep from his bones. Your eyes followed him as he trudged toward the exit, his shoulders curved inward.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled to your favorite Chinese place ordering a small selection of food. Some you’d seen him eat before, others you just thought he’d like. You’d been to his house a couple of times for get togethers so you pulled his address up from your notes app and added it to the order. You hoped the food would offer some solace. Under the delivery instructions you said to ring bell and leave at the door as you didn’t know if he’d beat the food home or not. You added a generous tip and pressed order, your heart beating a little faster.

“Whatcha doin’?” Dana said from beside you making you jump. Her tone said she knew exactly what you were doing.

“Why are you still here?” you asked instead of answering her.

“Lena’s running late. Why are you?”

“Just taking care of something.” You didn’t meet her gaze as you slid your phone into your bag.

She hummed. “I see that. You know it’s real cute how you’re taking care of him, but it doesn’t do any good if you don’t let him know it’s you.”

You sighed. “I know that. I want to tell him.”

She arched a brow but said nothing.

“I do,” you insisted. “But what if he doesn’t want me?”

She patted your shoulder. “I really don’t think you need to worry about that, honey, but I get it. Just think about letting him in on the secret, huh?”

You nodded as she walked away, Lena finally arriving. As you walked home, Dana’s words kept running through your head. She was right, you just weren’t sure you could do it.

The next morning, you were already at the hub talking to Dana when Robby came in. “Morning,” he said, greeting both of you. “You didn’t by any chance send food to my house last night, did you?” he asked Dana.

“Now why would I do that?” Her lips lifted in a smirk. “I already have a mate. Don’t need to court one.”

Robby scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who would bother courting me?”

“Right. Because you’re such a terrible catch, Robinavitch. Absolutely nothing to recommend you.” She put on her readers and looked at her computer. “Idiot,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear it and you had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing.

Over the next two weeks you tried many times to tell Robby that you were courting him but it seemed every time you worked up the nerve, something happened to stop you. You were beginning to think the universe just wanted you to keep your mouth shut.

A flu outbreak was sweeping through Pittsburgh, filling the ED and leaving shifts shorter staffed than usual. Robby had worked eight days in a row and was scheduled for the next day as well. You continued bringing him coffee and making sure he ate or at least shoved a protein bar down his throat. It was about all any of you had time for at the moment. You didn’t want any acknowledgement, you just wanted to take care of him. To offer him a bit of support.

You were standing outside a room looking through labs when you spotted Robby at his computer. He was slumped forward, dark smudges under his eyes. He looked haggard for lack of a better word.

Dana approached and leaned against the counter beside him. “You look like hell.”

Robby grunted and scratched at his beard. “Been a long week.”

“Always is,” she agreed. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just need a decent night’s sleep.”

Dana studied him thoughtfully, her eyes darting up to find you. “What you need is an Omega to take care of you. Don’t you ever just want to be taken care of?”

Robby’s response was sharp. “The absolute last thing I need is an Omega to be responsible for. I actually can’t imagine anything worse than that right now.”

You sucked in a breath. Well, that answered that didn’t it? Dana’s gaze darted back to you. One look told her you’d heard every word. She frowned at Robby. “You’re an ass.”

Confusion contorted his features. “What the hell did I do?”

“For someone so observant, you can be incredibly blind.”

“What are you talking about?” His annoyance at the topic was clear in his tone.

“Figure it out,” Dana snapped, pushing away from the counter. Her eyes found you again. You gave her a small smile and stepped through the curtain putting the ED and Michael Robinavitch behind you.

You had one more plan for him. One more thing you wanted to do for him and then you’d leave him alone. The last thing he needed was you.

That evening you caught Dana before she left and told her your idea. “You’re a better woman than I am. But you’re right. He needs it.” She handed you the sweater she kept in her locker in case she got cold.

You hung around until Robby had completed handoff and headed home before you hunted down Jack. “Got a minute?” you asked when you caught him near the hub.

He frowned and looked you over with concern. “Everything okay? Why are you still here?”

You led him to a corner where you could talk and not be overheard. “Have you ever wanted to do something for someone even when you knew they might not appreciate it?”

He leaned against the wall and tilted his head. “Depends why you’re doing it. If it’s to get something in return, probably not worth it. If it’s because you genuinely think they need it, that’s different.”

You nodded. “Then I need a favor. Two favors actually.”

“Name them.”

The next night Robby dragged himself up the front steps to his door. He was ready to crawl into his bed and not leave it for the next two days. He was exhausted. When he stepped into his house, he felt a prickle of awareness. Something was different, but he couldn’t place it.

He moved through the house quickly, eyes darting around but not noticing anything significant, just a subtle feeling that things were out of place. Odd. Deciding he was too tired to figure it out now, he headed to the bedroom. He froze in the doorway, exhausted brain trying to process what he was seeing.

His bed had been transformed. Where normally there were rumpled sheets and a single blanket now stood an elaborate nest. Plush pillows in varying sizes had been arranged creating a barrier around the bed. Soft blankets in shades of blue and gray were layered with obvious care, building a den of comfort in the middle. Even from the doorway he could see how thoughtfully every element had been positioned.

“What the hell?” he whispered, approaching slowly.

Nests were deeply personal structures, typically created by Omegas for themselves or for their mates and families. It wasn’t unheard of for them to do it for unmated Alphas in need but he’d never heard about it being done like this. Robby hadn’t had a nest since childhood when his grandmother would build one when he was ill or had a bad day.

He sniffed the air trying to place the aromas he was picking up. Dana. Jack. And a third scent he’d only recently become familiar with. That heavenly scent of home that permeated his hoodie. He picked up one of the pillows, bringing to his face and inhaling deeply.

Home. Home. Home.

Jesus.

Robby set the pillow down and pulled out his phone scrolling to Jack’s number.

“What’s up, brother?” he answered after two rings.

“Who was it?” Robby demanded, pacing around the bed, taking it all in.

There was a beat of silence and Jack cleared his throat. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re the only one with a key. Who did you let in my house? Who built me this nest?” His voice cracked at the end.

“Ah. You found it.” Amusement colored his words. The fucker was enjoying this.

“Of course, I found it. It’s on my bed. Who was it, Jack?”

“Sorry. Told her I wouldn’t tell.”

“But why?” Robby slumped onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to disturb the nest. “Who would build me a nest?”

“Someone who thinks you’re worth taking care of.”

He closed his eyes, chest tight. “Please just tell me.”

Jack sighed. “I’ll try to convince her to tell you but if all you’ve seen is the nest, I suggest you look around before you crawl into it.” With that, he hung up.

Robby stared at the phone then looked around his bedroom. The nest wasn’t the only change. Things had been straightened, cleaned. A new book sat on his nightstand next to a bottle of water.

He rose and moved back through the house, flipping on lights and taking his time to look with greater attention. An incredibly soft blanket was draped over the back of the couch and things had been dusted.

The kitchen truly stunned him. His normally half empty cabinets were now stocked with food. The refrigerator and freezer were both filled with prepared meals in containers labeled with contents and instructions. He pulled out one labeled: pasta salad. Eat cold.

He grabbed a fork and took a bite, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was good. As he stood in the middle of the kitchen eating, he was utterly overwhelmed by the care he was being shown. He was certain he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

After a few more bites, he put the container back in the fridge and the fork in the sink. He returned to the bedroom and stared at the nest once more. This wasn’t just carefully arranged bedding. It was comfort, a space where he could rest and heal.

He stripped out of his clothes and moved to the bathroom where he found a new super soft towel hanging on the hook by the shower. And as he stood under the shower’s hot spray, he looked over the new bath products arranged on the shelf. A body wash for relaxation, another for invigoration, fancy shampoo he probably didn’t need but it smelled heavenly.

Back in the bedroom, he hesitated only briefly before carefully crawling into the center of the nest, burrowing in the blankets and the smell of home. The nest cradled his exhausted body perfectly, the blankets settling around him. Tears welled up and one ran down his face to the pillow beneath. “Thank you,” he whispered to the empty room, voice rough with emotion.

His eyes grew heavy, the perfect comfort of the nest lulling him toward sleep. For once, his restless mind quieted and he fell into the deepest sleep he’d had in years.

For three days, Robby badgered Jack about the identity of his mysterious caretaker. He sent multiple texts (Just tell me her name), harassed him during handoff (this isn’t funny anymore, Jack) and even resorted to bribery (I’ll take your Christmas shift). Jack remained unmoved, showing only amusement with Robby’s constant questioning. “If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.”

Meanwhile, you’d been gathering your courage. When Jack told you about Robby’s reaction, how desperately he wanted to know who created the nest, you figured you needed to tell him. Even if for no other reason than to get him to quit pestering Jack. It was possible you’d tell him and he’d ask you to leave him alone. But a part of you refused to give up hope that he might feel for you a portion of what you felt for him.

That evening you left after your shift and lingered outside, waiting for Robby. He passed by without noticing you, pulling his earbuds out of his pocket. You stepped forward before he could put them in his ears. “You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

Robby turned, clearly surprised to find you standing there. Despite his evident fatigue, his face brightened when he saw you. “Hey. I’m sorry, did you say something?”

You stepped closer, hands clasped in front of you. “I said you don’t owe me anything.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow, sweetheart.”

“For taking care of you, I mean.”

Emotions played over his face. His confusion gave way to disbelief melting into wonder as understanding struck him. His lips parted, eyes widening. “It was you.” The words were barely audible.

You nodded, biting your lips nervously, unable to meet his gaze.

“The food, my hoodie, the nest. It was all you?”

Another nod, your eyes still fixed on the ground between you.

He closed the distance in two long strides. His voice was rough with emotion when he asked you, “Why?”

You forced yourself to look up then, to meet his eyes. “Because I think you’re amazing,” you said simply. “And there is no Alpha I could want more.”

He made a sound of disbelief and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’m cranky and overworked with more gray hairs than patience. There are dozens of younger, less damaged Alphas in this hospital alone.”

“I don’t want them.” If you were doing this, you might as well go all in. “I want the Alpha who stays with bereaved parents long after his shift ends. Who explains complex procedures to scared patients and med students with endless patience. Who defends staff against aggression and administrative bullshit.” That earned you a small laugh. You barreled forward. “I want the Alpha who orders food for everyone on rough days and doesn’t even ask for a thank you. The Alpha who protects everyone he deems as his.”

Robby stood motionless for a long stretch. “You see all that?” he asked quietly.

“How could I not?” you said. “All I see is you.”

He swallowed hard, taking another small step forward. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why the secrecy?”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested. You’d never given any indication you noticed me as anything but a colleague, regardless of what Dana said. Then you said an Omega was the last thing you needed. I didn’t want you to think I expected anything from you.”

His eyes widened. “You heard that? God, Dana was right. I am an idiot.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “I was…I mean, I didn’t know it was you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Robby. I just wanted you to know. I’ll stop if you want me to, leave you alone.” You looked away, preparing yourself for his rejection. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“Please don’t stop.”

The raw emotion in his voice drew your eyes back to his face. Longing and something you couldn’t decipher reflected in his gaze.

“Let me earn the right to be called your Alpha.” His voice was soft as he reached for your hands. His fingers were warm as they enfolded yours. “Let me show you that I’m worthy of all you’ve done for me.”

You shook your head, a smile curving your lips. “You don’t have to earn anything.”

Robby’s lips curled into a smile as he shook his head in disbelief. You were amazing. Incredible. Sweet. Perfect. Damn it, Robinavitch. He knew better than to let his mind stray in that direction. You were far too pretty, far too smart, far too soft for the likes of him. He tore his gaze away and focused on the computer in front of him.

“You should ask her out.” Dana’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He didn’t look at her. “Who?”

She huffed a laugh. “Don’t be an idiot. Our resident peds expert, that’s who.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “You know, the one you keep staring at when you think no one will notice.”

Robby still didn’t look at her as he made a mental note to not look at you so much. Even as he had thought his eyes darted up to watch you lead the kid over to Kiara. Fuck. He forced his eyes back to the computer. “That is not going to happen.”

Dana came to lean beside him so she could see his face. She crossed her arms and frowned down at him. “And why not? What’s wrong with her?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Dana—”

“No deflections. She’s sweet, good with kids, a fucking knockout. And I know you like her so what’s the problem?”

“There is nothing wrong with her. That’s why she deserves better than an old Alpha like me.”

Dana stared at him for another beat before shaking her head. “Whatever you say, Cap.”

You loved your job.

Even when it was hard, you loved it. You had specialized in pediatric emergency medicine and were offered an attending position at PTMC as soon as you finished your residency. You served as a general attending as well, but the peds cases were always directed to you.

You loved the people you worked with. You were normally on day shift but had been known to cover a night shift on occasion. There wasn’t anyone you worked with that you didn’t like. No one made you feel lesser because of your designation. No one hesitated to come to you for help. You and Dana had become quick friends both on duty and off. Princess and Perlah were teaching you Tagalog. Jesse and you met for coffee once a month or so. There was only one problem.

You loved one Michael Robinavitch. You tried not to but the moment you saw him, your inner Omega started jumping with glee. He was the perfect Alpha in your opinion. He was patient and kind and protective of those he considered his ‘pack’. The more you got to know him, the more your feelings shifted from a harmless crush to full blown love.

You’d caught him watching you more than once as you worked and had hoped he’d ask you out, but no luck. You didn’t want to ask him as some Alphas didn’t like forward Omegas. Robby didn’t seem the type but you didn’t want to chance it. A little hope, no matter how small, was better than none at all.

Dana found you in the lounge when you were brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “Hey you.”

You smiled at her. “Hey yourself. How’s it going?”

“Same as always, semi-controlled chaos.”

That got a laugh out of you.

“We’re friends, right?” she asked, causing you to frown.

“Of course we are.”

She leaned toward you. “Good. Then you’ll listen to me when I tell you that Robby is hopeless, clueless and crazy about you.”

Your eyes went wide. “I…What?”

Her lips tilted in a crooked smile. “You heard me. He is also very unlikely to make the first move. That puts the ball in your court, kid.”

You tried to swallow down the fluttery feeling that was threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

“There is nothing that says Omegas can’t court their Alphas. Show him what he’s missing.”

“Robby doesn’t seem like someone that appreciates attention,” you said.

She nodded. “He’s not. He’s stubborn, set in his ways and convinced he’s better off alone. But he’s also one of the best men I know. You should show him that. He won’t know what hit him.”

And with that she walked off, leaving your head spinning with possibilities.

You started slowly, leaving fresh coffee and a protein bar at his work station. Making sure the station was always clean and tidy. As the day progressed, you’d replace the coffee with water. One day you brought his favorite sandwich from the deli across the street and tucked it in the fridge with Robby written across the foil.

“Someone’s leaving me food, water, coffee,” Robby told Dana that afternoon. “Every day this week.”

Dana glanced over to where you were consulting with one of the residents on a case, your back carefully turned to the conversation. “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she suggested.

Robby snorted. “More likely someone feels sorry for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid someone actually do something for the great Michael Robinavitch because they care for him. What a thought.”

Despite his protests, you noticed he ate every offering, sometimes closing his eyes briefly as he appreciated the coffee or a fresh pastry. You timed your gifts for when he wasn’t likely to catch you, when he needed the sustenance or comfort the most. Every time Dana caught you, she’d give you a look that said ‘where are you going with this’ and you’d just shrug and hurry away.

Then one Thursday you were offered an unexpected opportunity. Robby slipped out of his favorite navy hoodie and held it up to look it over. It had seen better days. The front was stained, both pockets had holes in them, there was a tear on one sleeve and the elastic in the cuffs was all stretched out. He’d taken to rolling the sleeves instead of pushing them up.

“Think it’s time to let it go.” He sighed and showed it to Dana. “Can’t even keep a pen in the pocket anymore without losing it.

“About time,” she replied. “That thing has been on it’s last leg for at least a year.”

He draped the hoodie over the back of his chair. “It’s broken in just right though.”

“Guess you’ll just have to get to work on a new one,” she said with a shrug.

Robby shook his head before heading to an exam room for a consultation.

You pretended to be engrossed elsewhere but your mind was racing with possibilities. The hoodie was more than just a piece of clothing to him. It represented comfort, familiarity. The way his fingers had lingered on the fabric told you everything.

Not caring if Dana saw you made it easy for you to tuck the hoodie under a blanket and stash it in your locker. She’d simply smiled and shook her head.

Robby panicked briefly when he couldn’t find it later but all it took was a simple “What difference does it make? I thought you were throwing it away,” from Dana for him to move on.

That night after you showered and changed into comfortable clothes, you spread the jacket out on your table to assess the damage while you ate cereal for dinner. The pockets needed to be fixed and reinforced. There was a tear in the sleeve where it had caught on something. Some holes where the fabric had worn around the hood. And the stains on the front that you really hoped were coffee. All in all it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

After picking up some supplies, you spent the next two days restoring Robby’s beloved hoodie to the best condition you could. You removed the stains as much as you could. You stitched up holes and fixed pockets. You even replaced the cuffs. And if you happened to wear it while you watched TV that night so it smelled like you, well that was your business.

The next morning, you arrived at the hospital early. You placed the folded hoodie on the bench near Robby’s locker, then hurried out. Forty-five minutes later you were at the hub chatting with Jack waiting for Robby so you could do handoff. When he appeared from the direction of the locker room he was wearing the hoodie, running his fingers over the mended areas.

“Isn’t that the hoodie you were going to throw away?” Dana asked, looking up.

Robby nodded. “Someone fixed it. Found it in the locker room this morning.” He pulled the fabric closer around himself. “Wish I knew who to thank.”

Dana hummed in agreement, eyes flicking to you as you listened to Jack go over the board. When he finished, he left with a quick goodbye. You grabbed a tablet to go check on the three current peds cases when Robby spoke up again from where he’d parked himself in front of a computer. “This thing is seriously better than new. And it smells amazing.”

That had your steps stuttering. Dana glanced at you again before looking back at him. “That so? What’s it smell like?”

His face flushed red as he turned to face her fully. “You’re going to think it’s stupid but it smells like home.”

Oh. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you turned away to keep him from seeing the small, satisfied smile curling your lips. Throughout the day you caught Robby burying his nose in the collar of the hoodie when he thought no one was looking, inhaling deeply. Each time, a thrill ran through you. Your Omega instincts jumping for joy at having provided comfort to the Alpha you were quietly courting.

Robby was walking through the ED while he scrolled through lab results on a tablet when an angry voice cut through the air.

“I don’t give a shit what you say. Who qualified you to be a doctor anyway? Omega bitch.”

You were the only Omega doctor on shift today. Robby caught Frank’s eye and they headed toward the treatment room you were in seeing to a child with abdominal pain. Ahmad was right on their heels.

“What’s going on here?” Robby snapped as he stepped into the room. You were pressed up against the wall with an angry Alpha towering over you, exuding enough pheromones to make Robby’s nose wrinkle. He could only imagine how bad it smelled to you.

Tension visibly flowed from your body at the sight of him and he couldn’t help the spike of Alpha pride he felt that you trusted him to protect you. Robby immediately put himself between you and the other Alpha. “Back off,” he ordered.

The smaller man stepped back, clearly not as willing to face off against a much larger Alpha. “I’m just trying to get some help for my kid.”

“And she is the best pediatric specialist in the hospital so what is the problem?” Robby said. Your hands gripped the back of his hoodie.

“She barely looked at him and said he needs surgery. How could she know that?”

“Suspected appendicitis,” your voice came from behind him, soft but sure. “I told him we’d need imaging to verify then consult with the surgeon.”

Robby hummed. “If that’s what she said, I’d bet my license that’s the problem. Dr. Langdon here is going to take over this case. If we have any more issues, you’ll be escorted out. Is that understood?”

He could tell the man wanted to argue, that he was used to being in charge. Not here. This was Robby’s domain and he’d guard it fiercely if needed. The other alpha nodded and stepped back.

Robby nodded to Frank as he reached back to take one of your hands in his and pulled you out of the room behind him. He didn’t look at you, just led you through the ED, nodding at Dana to let her know everything was handled. Only once you were in locker room did he turn to face you. You were unlikely to be bothered here mid shift.

His hands settled on your upper arms. “Are you okay?” He kept his voice soft, knowing the last thing you needed right now was another loud Alpha.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, though your hands were still trembling. “Thank you for stepping in and for everything you said.”

“It was all true. And that guy was incredibly out of line. Using his status to try to intimidate you was unacceptable.” His jaw tightened at the reminder.

You nodded. “It happens sometimes. Not often, thankfully.”

He narrowed his gaze as he studied your face. “It’s happened here before? With other patients?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Robby. I’ve been an Omega in medicine long enough to develop a thick skin,” you said with a small smile.

Frustration and no small amount of anger bubbled up at the thought that you had to deal with any of that. For a moment the air between you seemed charged and he found himself desperately wishing he could remove the suppressant patch on your neck and bury his nose in your scent gland.

The fact that his Omega had been threatened—Robby physically moved back, shaking his head. His Omega? It was the same thought that had risen unbidden when he’d seen the other Alpha threatening you. It was inappropriate, unprofessional and exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do with you. You were his colleague, not an Omega to be claimed or protected by him.

He cleared his throat. “If it happens again, call for me immediately.”

“I will,” you promised though you both knew you probably wouldn’t.

He lingered for a moment wanting to say something more. To offer more reassurance, maybe. Or beg you to let him protect you all the time. Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him today? He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I should get back. Take some time if you need it.”

When the door closed between you, he released a shaky breath. He lifted the edge of the hoodie to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent. He immediately felt better, relaxed. Now he needed to put some space between you and hope he’d quit thinking of you as his.

A few days later you’d had a particularly brutal shift. A pileup on the parkway, two gunshot victims, and a four-year-old who’d fallen from a third-story window. Despite your best efforts, the child had died on the table, his tiny heart refusing to restart. You and Robby had worked the case together and you could see the toll it took on him with each minute that passed. When he finally called time of death, his voice had been steady, but you’d noticed the brief closing of his eyes, the slump of his shoulders before he straightened and moved on to the next crisis.

By the end of shift, everyone was drained but Robby looked utterly exhausted. The lines around his eyes had deepened, his movements slowed by a weariness that seemed to seep from his bones. Your eyes followed him as he trudged toward the exit, his shoulders curved inward.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled to your favorite Chinese place ordering a small selection of food. Some you’d seen him eat before, others you just thought he’d like. You’d been to his house a couple of times for get togethers so you pulled his address up from your notes app and added it to the order. You hoped the food would offer some solace. Under the delivery instructions you said to ring bell and leave at the door as you didn’t know if he’d beat the food home or not. You added a generous tip and pressed order, your heart beating a little faster.

“Whatcha doin’?” Dana said from beside you making you jump. Her tone said she knew exactly what you were doing.

“Why are you still here?” you asked instead of answering her.

“Lena’s running late. Why are you?”

“Just taking care of something.” You didn’t meet her gaze as you slid your phone into your bag.

She hummed. “I see that. You know it’s real cute how you’re taking care of him, but it doesn’t do any good if you don’t let him know it’s you.”

You sighed. “I know that. I want to tell him.”

She arched a brow but said nothing.

“I do,” you insisted. “But what if he doesn’t want me?”

She patted your shoulder. “I really don’t think you need to worry about that, honey, but I get it. Just think about letting him in on the secret, huh?”

You nodded as she walked away, Lena finally arriving. As you walked home, Dana’s words kept running through your head. She was right, you just weren’t sure you could do it.

The next morning, you were already at the hub talking to Dana when Robby came in. “Morning,” he said, greeting both of you. “You didn’t by any chance send food to my house last night, did you?” he asked Dana.

“Now why would I do that?” Her lips lifted in a smirk. “I already have a mate. Don’t need to court one.”

Robby scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who would bother courting me?”

“Right. Because you’re such a terrible catch, Robinavitch. Absolutely nothing to recommend you.” She put on her readers and looked at her computer. “Idiot,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear it and you had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing.

Over the next two weeks you tried many times to tell Robby that you were courting him but it seemed every time you worked up the nerve, something happened to stop you. You were beginning to think the universe just wanted you to keep your mouth shut.

A flu outbreak was sweeping through Pittsburgh, filling the ED and leaving shifts shorter staffed than usual. Robby had worked eight days in a row and was scheduled for the next day as well. You continued bringing him coffee and making sure he ate or at least shoved a protein bar down his throat. It was about all any of you had time for at the moment. You didn’t want any acknowledgement, you just wanted to take care of him. To offer him a bit of support.

You were standing outside a room looking through labs when you spotted Robby at his computer. He was slumped forward, dark smudges under his eyes. He looked haggard for lack of a better word.

Dana approached and leaned against the counter beside him. “You look like hell.”

Robby grunted and scratched at his beard. “Been a long week.”

“Always is,” she agreed. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just need a decent night’s sleep.”

Dana studied him thoughtfully, her eyes darting up to find you. “What you need is an Omega to take care of you. Don’t you ever just want to be taken care of?”

Robby’s response was sharp. “The absolute last thing I need is an Omega to be responsible for. I actually can’t imagine anything worse than that right now.”

You sucked in a breath. Well, that answered that didn’t it? Dana’s gaze darted back to you. One look told her you’d heard every word. She frowned at Robby. “You’re an ass.”

Confusion contorted his features. “What the hell did I do?”

“For someone so observant, you can be incredibly blind.”

“What are you talking about?” His annoyance at the topic was clear in his tone.

“Figure it out,” Dana snapped, pushing away from the counter. Her eyes found you again. You gave her a small smile and stepped through the curtain putting the ED and Michael Robinavitch behind you.

You had one more plan for him. One more thing you wanted to do for him and then you’d leave him alone. The last thing he needed was you.

That evening you caught Dana before she left and told her your idea. “You’re a better woman than I am. But you’re right. He needs it.” She handed you the sweater she kept in her locker in case she got cold.

You hung around until Robby had completed handoff and headed home before you hunted down Jack. “Got a minute?” you asked when you caught him near the hub.

He frowned and looked you over with concern. “Everything okay? Why are you still here?”

You led him to a corner where you could talk and not be overheard. “Have you ever wanted to do something for someone even when you knew they might not appreciate it?”

He leaned against the wall and tilted his head. “Depends why you’re doing it. If it’s to get something in return, probably not worth it. If it’s because you genuinely think they need it, that’s different.”

You nodded. “Then I need a favor. Two favors actually.”

“Name them.”

The next night Robby dragged himself up the front steps to his door. He was ready to crawl into his bed and not leave it for the next two days. He was exhausted. When he stepped into his house, he felt a prickle of awareness. Something was different, but he couldn’t place it.

He moved through the house quickly, eyes darting around but not noticing anything significant, just a subtle feeling that things were out of place. Odd. Deciding he was too tired to figure it out now, he headed to the bedroom. He froze in the doorway, exhausted brain trying to process what he was seeing.

His bed had been transformed. Where normally there were rumpled sheets and a single blanket now stood an elaborate nest. Plush pillows in varying sizes had been arranged creating a barrier around the bed. Soft blankets in shades of blue and gray were layered with obvious care, building a den of comfort in the middle. Even from the doorway he could see how thoughtfully every element had been positioned.

“What the hell?” he whispered, approaching slowly.

Nests were deeply personal structures, typically created by Omegas for themselves or for their mates and families. It wasn’t unheard of for them to do it for unmated Alphas in need but he’d never heard about it being done like this. Robby hadn’t had a nest since childhood when his grandmother would build one when he was ill or had a bad day.

He sniffed the air trying to place the aromas he was picking up. Dana. Jack. And a third scent he’d only recently become familiar with. That heavenly scent of home that permeated his hoodie. He picked up one of the pillows, bringing to his face and inhaling deeply.

Home. Home. Home.

Jesus.

Robby set the pillow down and pulled out his phone scrolling to Jack’s number.

“What’s up, brother?” he answered after two rings.

“Who was it?” Robby demanded, pacing around the bed, taking it all in.

There was a beat of silence and Jack cleared his throat. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re the only one with a key. Who did you let in my house? Who built me this nest?” His voice cracked at the end.

“Ah. You found it.” Amusement colored his words. The fucker was enjoying this.

“Of course, I found it. It’s on my bed. Who was it, Jack?”

“Sorry. Told her I wouldn’t tell.”

“But why?” Robby slumped onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to disturb the nest. “Who would build me a nest?”

“Someone who thinks you’re worth taking care of.”

He closed his eyes, chest tight. “Please just tell me.”

Jack sighed. “I’ll try to convince her to tell you but if all you’ve seen is the nest, I suggest you look around before you crawl into it.” With that, he hung up.

Robby stared at the phone then looked around his bedroom. The nest wasn’t the only change. Things had been straightened, cleaned. A new book sat on his nightstand next to a bottle of water.

He rose and moved back through the house, flipping on lights and taking his time to look with greater attention. An incredibly soft blanket was draped over the back of the couch and things had been dusted.

The kitchen truly stunned him. His normally half empty cabinets were now stocked with food. The refrigerator and freezer were both filled with prepared meals in containers labeled with contents and instructions. He pulled out one labeled: pasta salad. Eat cold.

He grabbed a fork and took a bite, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was good. As he stood in the middle of the kitchen eating, he was utterly overwhelmed by the care he was being shown. He was certain he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

After a few more bites, he put the container back in the fridge and the fork in the sink. He returned to the bedroom and stared at the nest once more. This wasn’t just carefully arranged bedding. It was comfort, a space where he could rest and heal.

He stripped out of his clothes and moved to the bathroom where he found a new super soft towel hanging on the hook by the shower. And as he stood under the shower’s hot spray, he looked over the new bath products arranged on the shelf. A body wash for relaxation, another for invigoration, fancy shampoo he probably didn’t need but it smelled heavenly.

Back in the bedroom, he hesitated only briefly before carefully crawling into the center of the nest, burrowing in the blankets and the smell of home. The nest cradled his exhausted body perfectly, the blankets settling around him. Tears welled up and one ran down his face to the pillow beneath. “Thank you,” he whispered to the empty room, voice rough with emotion.

His eyes grew heavy, the perfect comfort of the nest lulling him toward sleep. For once, his restless mind quieted and he fell into the deepest sleep he’d had in years.

For three days, Robby badgered Jack about the identity of his mysterious caretaker. He sent multiple texts (Just tell me her name), harassed him during handoff (this isn’t funny anymore, Jack) and even resorted to bribery (I’ll take your Christmas shift). Jack remained unmoved, showing only amusement with Robby’s constant questioning. “If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.”

Meanwhile, you’d been gathering your courage. When Jack told you about Robby’s reaction, how desperately he wanted to know who created the nest, you figured you needed to tell him. Even if for no other reason than to get him to quit pestering Jack. It was possible you’d tell him and he’d ask you to leave him alone. But a part of you refused to give up hope that he might feel for you a portion of what you felt for him.

That evening you left after your shift and lingered outside, waiting for Robby. He passed by without noticing you, pulling his earbuds out of his pocket. You stepped forward before he could put them in his ears. “You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

Robby turned, clearly surprised to find you standing there. Despite his evident fatigue, his face brightened when he saw you. “Hey. I’m sorry, did you say something?”

You stepped closer, hands clasped in front of you. “I said you don’t owe me anything.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow, sweetheart.”

“For taking care of you, I mean.”

Emotions played over his face. His confusion gave way to disbelief melting into wonder as understanding struck him. His lips parted, eyes widening. “It was you.” The words were barely audible.

You nodded, biting your lips nervously, unable to meet his gaze.

“The food, my hoodie, the nest. It was all you?”

Another nod, your eyes still fixed on the ground between you.

He closed the distance in two long strides. His voice was rough with emotion when he asked you, “Why?”

You forced yourself to look up then, to meet his eyes. “Because I think you’re amazing,” you said simply. “And there is no Alpha I could want more.”

He made a sound of disbelief and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’m cranky and overworked with more gray hairs than patience. There are dozens of younger, less damaged Alphas in this hospital alone.”

“I don’t want them.” If you were doing this, you might as well go all in. “I want the Alpha who stays with bereaved parents long after his shift ends. Who explains complex procedures to scared patients and med students with endless patience. Who defends staff against aggression and administrative bullshit.” That earned you a small laugh. You barreled forward. “I want the Alpha who orders food for everyone on rough days and doesn’t even ask for a thank you. The Alpha who protects everyone he deems as his.”

Robby stood motionless for a long stretch. “You see all that?” he asked quietly.

“How could I not?” you said. “All I see is you.”

He swallowed hard, taking another small step forward. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why the secrecy?”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested. You’d never given any indication you noticed me as anything but a colleague, regardless of what Dana said. Then you said an Omega was the last thing you needed. I didn’t want you to think I expected anything from you.”

His eyes widened. “You heard that? God, Dana was right. I am an idiot.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “I was…I mean, I didn’t know it was you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Robby. I just wanted you to know. I’ll stop if you want me to, leave you alone.” You looked away, preparing yourself for his rejection. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“Please don’t stop.”

The raw emotion in his voice drew your eyes back to his face. Longing and something you couldn’t decipher reflected in his gaze.

“Let me earn the right to be called your Alpha.” His voice was soft as he reached for your hands. His fingers were warm as they enfolded yours. “Let me show you that I’m worthy of all you’ve done for me.”

You shook your head, a smile curving your lips. “You don’t have to earn anything.”

The inn buzzed with life around him but you were the only thing demanding his attention. You moved with practiced efficiency, delivering bowls of stew and sliding mugs of ale in front of thirsty travelers. Your tasks were completed with quick, deft movements despite the weariness that clung to you.

A year ago, when your mother still lived, your laughter had rung out above the din of the tavern, genuine and warm. You had teased the regulars and chatted with strangers. And you had always found the time to sit in an empty chair at his table and ask about his travels. About what the stars looked like outside of the city. About the people he’d met, the places he’d seen.

The atmosphere of the inn was welcoming as always. The fire in the great hearth warmed the room and cast light and dancing shadows from its depths. The smell of his pipe mixed with the aroma of roasted meat and ale and the hum of conversation ebbed and flowed around him. But Aragorn’s keen ears caught other sounds, ones that made his jaw tighten.

“Girl!” Your father’s voice cut through the air. “Move faster!”

You hurried toward the kitchen, shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow. Aragorn took another draw from his pipe, eyes narrowing as they followed your father’s form. The innkeeper had never been a gentle man but there had been a time when his wife’s presence had tempered his harsher tendencies. Now, without her influence, his true nature had emerged.

“Can’t you do anything right?” the man hissed as you returned with full plates, one tilting precariously as you set it before a merchant. “That’s the second time tonight you’ve nearly dropped something.”

Aragorn’s fingers tightened around his pipe. Someone called out for more ale, his voice slurred. You nodded in acknowledgement but Aragorn caught the flash of exhaustion in your eyes. How long had you been on your feet today? Your movements, while still efficient, had taken on the careful consideration of someone preserving their last reserves.

As the evening deepened, the inn grew more crowded, the air thicker with smoke and conversation. You disappeared briefly into the kitchen and when you emerged, Aragorn noted the redness of your eyes. Had you been crying? Or perhaps it was merely the sting of the kitchen smoke? His gut told him it was the former and a cold anger settled in his chest.

You passed near his table, close enough he could have reached out and touched you had he wished. He remained still, watching as you deposited a fresh mug before a traveler two tables away.

“Thank you, lass,” the man said in a kind voice. Your smile in return was genuine if fleeting. Aragorn found himself grateful to the man for his small moment of kindness.

Your father looked up from the bar. When his eyes fell on you, lingering to chat with the traveler, something ugly twisted his features.

“Stop flirting with the customers!” he called out, loud enough that several nearby conversations paused. Your head dropped, your humiliation visible.

Aragorn set his pipe down with deliberate care. He had seen enough.

His purpose here had been to gather information, to listen for whispers of movement in the East before continuing on his journey. But seeing the light within you repeatedly dimmed by the man who should have protected it, protected you, called to the part of him that could not walk away from injustice.

He would not leave you here with this man. Whether Aragorn’s path led to the throne of Gondor or continued through the wild places of Middle-earth, he would not abandon you to this fate. The realization came with a quiet certainty as natural as his next breath.

Aragorn’s eyes never left your form as you continued your work. He leaned back against the wall, one boot propped casually against a table leg, his posture deceptively relaxed. He watched as you approached with a steaming bowl of stew, meeting his gaze with a genuine smile that finally made its way to your eyes. There was his little dove.

The rich aroma reached him from halfway across the room, rabbit, he guessed. Your hands, he noted, were red and chapped from hot water and lye soap, yet they held the bowl with care. You navigated between the crowd with practiced steps. Aragorn’s eyes narrowed as he registered the tension in your shoulders, the way you held yourself as if expecting a blow.

He saw the trouble before it happened. A red-faced man, too deep in his cups to mind his surroundings, rose suddenly with a laugh. His heavy frame swayed. Aragorn was already rising when the man stumbled backward, directly into your path.

Your eyes widened in alarm, body twisting in an attempt to avoid the collision. The man’s broad back struck your shoulder and the bowl tipped from your hands. It crashed against the wooden floor, chunks of meat and vegetables spraying across three sets of boots and the hem of a cloak. The bowl itself cracked into three pieces.

Conversation dimmed as heads turned toward the sound and Aragorn heard your sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, dropping to your knees, fingers scrambling to collect the pieces of the broken bowl. “I’m so sorry.”

The man, realizing what had happened, stuttered an apology, the words stumbled and slurred. His voice fell away as your father emerged from behind the bar, his face twisted in fury.

“Useless!” The word sliced through the room. Aragorn’s hand moved instinctively to the hilt of the knife on his belt. “Always costing me money!”

Your father strode across the room, patrons moving out of his path. “How many bowls this month? How many spilled meals?” Your father loomed over you, specks of spittle flying from his lips as he yelled. “Your mother would be disgusted with you.”

You remained on your knees, fingers trembling as you tried to scoop stew back into the broken bowl. It was a pointless task that spoke volumes about your desperation to appease this man. That cold fury that had taken residence in Aragorn’s chest grew into a raging inferno.

The inn had gone utterly silent. Some patrons looked away in discomfort, others watched with morbid fascination. None moved to intervene.

Your father’s hand rose, ready to strike.

Aragorn moved without thought. Before the innkeeper’s hand could complete its path, Aragorn’s fingers closed around his wrist. “You will not touch her.” His voice was low and dangerous.

Your father’s head whipped around, eyes widening as he registered who held him. Aragorn applied slight pressure, turning the wrist until a small sound of pain escaped the man’s throat.

“Ranger,” your father gasped, recognition and fear mingling in his eyes. “This isn’t your affair.”

“I’m making it my affair.” Aragorn’s grip remained steady. His gaze shifted to you, still kneeling amid the spilled stew, your eyes wide as you looked between the two men. “Get your things, little dove. You’re coming with me.”

You hesitated and Aragorn saw the conflict in your eyes. The fear warring with desperate hope.

“Now, dove.” His tone was gentler but no less commanding.

You rose to your feet, wiping your hands on your apron. With one last glance at your father, you turned toward the small staircase that led to the upper rooms. Only when you had disappeared from view did Aragorn turn his full attention to your father. He leaned in closer until their faces were mere inches apart. The inn remained deathly quiet.

“She belongs to me now,” Aragorn said, his voice pitched for your father’s ears alone. The phrasing was deliberate, words that this man would understand, that would prevent him from pursuing you. “If you value your life, you will never look in her direction again.”

He applied slightly more pressure to the captured wrist, feeling the delicate bones shift beneath his fingers. Not enough to break, but enough to demonstrate how easily he could.

“Do you understand what I am?” Aragorn whispered, allowing a glimpse of his true nature to surface in his eyes. A man who had hunted creatures far more dangerous than a petty innkeeper.

Your father swallowed hard, a sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. He nodded once.

With a final squeeze, Aragorn released the other man’s wrist. Your father staggered back, cradling his arm against his chest, his eyes wide with fear.

The sound of light footsteps on the stairs drew Aragorn’s attention. You had returned, a small bundle clutched in your arms. Your eyes moved between him and your father as if expecting your chance at escape to dissolve before your eyes.

Aragorn moved toward you, positioning himself between you and your father. His hand settled lightly at the small of your back. “We’re leaving,” he said loudly enough for the room to hear. His eyes swept the room, daring anyone to interfere. No one moved.

“That’s okay. C’mon. Take what you need, baby. Take it—”

“Shut up…” you huff bitterly, with your eyes shut tight.

Your nails dig crescent shapes into his pale skin as you brace yourself on his scruffy chest. The bed creaks beneath your bodies as you grind over his hairy thighs in rapid, rhythmic motions, hopelessly chasing your orgasm.

The need to cum swells within you, knotting somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach, but never snapping the way you need it to. Your body denies you the pleasure you so desperately crave and, for the first time ever, Jack’s fucked-out babbling isn’t helping.

“What is it, baby?” he mumbles in a gruff voice that borders on sympathetic. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the distant smile in his voice. “You still mad at me, huh? Is that it? ‘Cause this pussy’s still obsessed with me, honey, I can tell—”

“Oh, my god— Shut up—”

You lift your left hand from his chest and cup it over his mouth, with your thumb resting under his stubbly chin. His eyes widen at the sudden act of dominance, and you feel his smiling curling beneath your palm.

You stopped being mad at him for calling you out during a particularly intense surgery a while ago, but his insinuation that you still were reignites the fire within you — a simmering that you can feel in your stomach, a tightening coil threatening to snap. You chase that feeling when it begins to rise within you once more, so close you can almost taste it.

Your heavy head tips back, and your mouth parts with a silent moan.

You feel Jack humming against your palm. “Mhm,” he mumbles in muffled praise. “That’s it. Take what you want—”

You press your hand tighter to his mouth, suffocating his words as your orgasm rushes through you. The warm feeling in your stomach spreads to your tingling limbs as your drooling pussy flutters with merciless aftershocks.

You melt on top of the hard body beneath you, hiding your face in his neck and pressing your racing heart against his. Your bare chests heave together with panted breaths. You feel his rumbling with a quiet laugh as his wide, softly calloused palms smooth over the expanse of your sweat-slick spine.

“Atta girl…” he praises lowly, between the wet kisses he presses to your shoulder. His scruff scratches your delicate skin and sends chills pebbling in his wake. “There she is… My sweet girl…”

The honeyed moment is shattered by your monotone voice, half-muffled in his neck, “Jesus Christ, do you ever stop talking—?”

His right hand parts from your hip to swat your ass.

Your whine gets buried in his neck then, too, as you writhe against him at the distant stinging feeling. His smile curls against your shoulder as you arch your back, pressing your ass further into his hand, silently begging him to spank you again — to tame you.

“See?” he hums into your skin. “You can be sweet for me, can’t you?”

—————

Michael Robinavitch is methodical to a fault.

He forgets, sometimes, that sex is more about the experience than the endgame. He gets so focused on making you feel good that he forgets that he can take his time — that sometimes you want him to, that sometimes you want to feel him for as long as you’re possibly able.

Your buzzing body is pressed between his broad one and the mattress below. Half of your face is buried in the pillow, while the other half is pressed into the side of Robby’s. His beard is coarse against your delicate skin as his mouth brushes the shell of your ear.

“Cum for me,” he commands in a whisper, panted breaths fanning over your burning skin. “C’mon, baby. You can do it. Cum for me—”

Your whine swells in the silent bedroom. You are completely at his mercy this way, smushed beneath his large body, with his scruffy chest flush against your back, and with his left hand curled under your thigh. The pads of his gently calloused fingers rub mercilessly at your clit as he punches into you in shallow thrusts, never pulling too far out of you, and forcing you to feel every ridge of his twitching cock.

“No, Robby,” you whine in protest.

“It’s okay,” he coos sympathetically in your ear. “I’m right here. You can cum for me—”

“Don’t want to,” you say in a broken whisper. “Not yet.”

Robby laughs, sharp exhales through his broad nose. You can feel his stomach shaking against the curve of your spine. “Not yet, huh?” he echoes. “When have you ever turned down an orgasm?”

You sigh when his thrusts slow to a stop, and his fingers still on your swollen clit. You melt into the mattress when the urge to cum dwindles like a snuffed-out flame.

“Don’t want it to be over too soon…” you confess in near-inaudible murmurs. “Want it to last…”

“We have all night, baby,” Robby murmurs into your ear, softening all over again, as his hips tilt forward and back again.

His cock presses further inside your velvet walls. Your cunt clenches around him despite yourself, suckling him in deeper. His mouth curls into a smile against your skin when a whimper sounds in your throat.

“Go ahead and cum. I know you need it. It won’t be the last time, either, I promise—”

“See? No—” you moan and lift your head from the pillow. Your bleary eyes open to glare half-heartedly at the man behind you. Robby’s deep brown eyes are squishy around the edges, far too soft for how sinfully he’s fucking you now. “Don’t talk like that. That makes it worse.”

“You don’t want me talkin’ to you?” he laughs breathlessly, almost hurt.

You lift your left hand from where it had previously been fisting the sheets below. You cup his cheek, and his scruffy beard scratches against the soft skin of your palm.

“I want you to stop coaching me,” you correct in a gentle murmur, lidded eyes darting back and forth between his darker ones.

His brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

“We’re off the clock, Robby,” you remind him with a soft smile. “You’re not my boss anymore. You don’t have to tell me what to do.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” you interject in a quiet coo, scratching gently at his brunette beard, growing slowly gray in patches. You smile when he leans instinctively into your hand. “But you’re allowed to take things slow. You know that?”

Robby melts against you at the reminder. He nods lazily against your palm.

“So let’s go slow,” you whisper, with a hint of a smile quirking at the edge of your mouth. “We got all night, remember?”

“Gulliver!” Shen and Ellis greet you conspiratorially. You take your headphones out, laughing as you walk to approach them at the hub. You’ve quite literally just walked into work. It’s unfortunate that Abbot’s nickname for you has made it through the entire night shift, but at least you’re making friends. 

“How’s it going?” A dramatic yawn leaves your mouth first. They’re both quick to echo it. 

“You working tomorrow?” Ellis asks. Noncommittal, you shrug. 

“I could pick up a night shift if your offer is good enough,” you say with a smug grin. Although you really hope she doesn’t take you up on that offer. This is already your fourth shift this week. She laughs and swats your arm. 

“No, no. It’s my birthday and the four of us are all off.” She waggles her eyebrows at you. You giggle, relief and excitement washing over you. 

“The four of us?” You tilt your head. 

As if on cue, the big bear arm of one Jack Abbot comes folding around you. Touchy bastard. He’s leaning his entire body weight on your shoulders with his arm slung around you like you’re his son who just scored a homerun. For a moment you think he might even give you a noogie.

“Me, you, Shen, Ellis,” he says cheerfully. “Oh what fun we will have. You coming?”

A disbelieving laugh leaves your mouth. 

“Coming where?” You shriek, bothered by this type-b coordination. The three of them immediately hunch over in fits of laughter. Children. They are children. Jack’s head is digging into your shoulder with how violently he’s shaking. 

“How come everytime I walk in here everyone is laughing at you?” Michael’s voice is close. You turn to see him approaching, sliding his coat off his shoulders. His eyes rake up and down your position, Abbot still completely leaning into you. 

“Gulliver was just telling us about where she’s coming.” Shen’s voice is so high-pitched, so juvenile, that you crack up with them. It’s loud and rowdy and oh my god your face is so red. 

“What?” Michael almost shouts, which only fuels everybody’s fire. Oh, if only they knew. You’re clutching your stomach. Ellis is slapping the counter in front of her. Jack is upright with his hands on his head in recovery like he’s just run a marathon. 

When you finally stand, wiping tears from your eyes, you’re facing a bright red attending physician. Michael’s eyes are fixed on where you stand, wide and afraid and maybe a little bit proud. Your mouth pops open.

“Oh my god, not actually!” You squeak out. Cackles, howls, really echo around the room. It’s so hard to speak through your wheezing laughter. “They’re trying to invite me out tomorrow but won’t tell me where I’m supposed to go!”

“Well hurry up, you guys have work to do.” His voice is a little snippy. It sobers everyone up a tad, earning a few sniffles and wiped eyes. He turns to face you then. “Be ready by 7. Stuff up, on the board.”

You like bossy Dr. Robinavitch. 

“Yes, doctor.” You nod. When he turns away, the four of you snicker to yourselves like school children. “Ok, ok. Where are we going tomorrow?” You amend. 

“Day drinking. Starting at 11 a.m. sharp. We’ll start at Joe’s and go from there,” Shen reports like he’s giving combat instructions. 

“Gotcha.” You nod once. “Who is Joe?”

Another round of laughter, this one you have to excuse yourself from. 

“11!” Ellis calls after you. 

When you enter the locker room, Michael is at his locker, moving especially slow. You go to yours, not facing him when you talk so as to both keep yourself on track and not draw any attention. 

“You ok?” You ask quietly. Suddenly you remember a couple of weeks ago. How upset he was when he saw you being friendly with the night shift. God, you can’t endure another shift like that. The air feels a little thinner with anxiety. 

“All good.” He sounds far away. He moves to leave. 

“Dr. Robby.” It comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Finally, you turn to look at him. You’re so busy trying to formulate this sentence in a way that nobody will be able to decode that you don’t take the time to appreciate the softness in his stare when he’s looking at you. “I want you to know that I’m very happy on the day shift.”

He nods, gaze lingering a little too long on your face. 

“Thanks for letting me know.” His voice gives no indication of how he feels. He turns and leaves with an expression you can’t read. You think that went over well. You finish putting your things away and hurry out of the locker room. Diving head-first into the day, you make your way to the board. 

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

It’s a long shift, but not one that particularly stands out in any way. Except for when you go to collect your things from your locker before leaving for the day. A small slip of paper falls out of your locker and onto the floor in front of it. You bend over, picking it up and unfolding it. A handwritten letter. 

I’m not upset with you. Just didn’t get much sleep. I’m sorry if I worried you. Your thighs look fucking amazing in those scrubs. (Please don’t wear them to work again).  I hope handwritten notes are still romantic. Thinking of you (and those scrubs). 

It doesn’t need to be signed.

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

The next day, you park your car across from the bar. At 11 in the morning. In the snow. To go day drinking. With your coworkers. On a Wednesday. At 11 a.m. if that wasn’t made clear already. 

Sometimes working in healthcare meant having a… unique schedule in your personal life.

Scarf wrapped tightly around you, you hustle across the street and into Joe’s bar. It’s a small, red-brick building nestled between a barbershop and an antique store. When you walk in, there’s Ellis, Shen, and Abbot all at the bar ordering already. 

“Gulliver!” Shen cheers when you enter. The others turn to face you as well. It’s warm inside, and you exhale in relief. 

When you reach them, you give each of them a small hug.

“Happy birthday, Ellis!” You squeeze her extra tight. “I have your gift in the car. I think it’ll take a couple of drinks before you’ll really appreciate its value.”

“I knew inviting you was a good idea.” Shen ruffles your hair. 

“What do you want to drink?” Abbot asks. “First round on me.”

“Oo, tequila shot for me please,” you answer with a smile. “Thanks, Abbot.”

Each of them side-eye you for a moment. You look back, blissfully unaware of what they could be looking at you like that for. 

“Gulliver, do you know our first names?” Shen narrows his eyes. You narrow yours right back. 

“Do you know mine?” You challenge. They do. Each of them does. Actually, somehow, Ellis even knows your middle name. Grumpily, you admit that you in fact do not know any of their first names, minus Jack’s. “Parker and John. Huh. Weird. I like Ellis and Shen better.”

The bartender, a young woman with red hair, places four drinks on the table. One tequila shot, two whiskeys on the rocks, and one espresso martini. You don’t need to ask who that one belongs to. 

You throw back your shot and set the glass back on the counter. 

“Thank you.” You smile sweetly before following your group back to your seats. The four of you are the only ones there besides two young men in two-piece suits who are sitting at the bar. Probably on their lunch break or using the quiet place for a work meeting.

Ellis picks the vinyl booth that’s settled in the far corner of the small establishment and you all file in. Ellis, Shen, you, Abbot. 

“Do you do this every year?” You ask once you’re all situated. She nods over the rim of her glass. 

“We do. We all request off like a million days in advance so that the hospital can scramble to get the schedules worked out. Not easy to get both night shift attendings approved for the same night.” She twirls the glass in her hand. 

“So does Dr. Robby have to work a double or something?” Of course you know that he only works tonight. He told you last week. You’re just trying to make conversation. 

“Nah. He’s too old for that,” Shen remarks, making you snort. “Jack and I take turns covering the rest of his shifts for the week so he just has to work our one night. Fair trade.”

You nod understandingly. 

“Where’re you off to after this?” Abbot directs the question at you. Your face wrinkles in confusion. 

“Home?” Your answer is really more of a question, unsure of what he’s asking you.

“Oh, baby, we’re going at least four more places before you’re headed home,” Ellis tsks. Abbot’s laugh rumbles the back of the booth cushion behind you. 

“I meant after your PTMC contract is up,” he amends. “Any big plans?”

“Oh, no, no.” You wave your hand in the air. “Usually I wait until crunch time to sign my next contract. The offers are better when it’s last minute and I’m not picky about where I end up.”

“How long have you been doing it?” Ellis asks. 

“Almost three years.” You think back to your early career. “I was an L&D nurse back home for about a year and decided I wanted to get out and travel.”

The three of them hum thoughtfully. It’s interesting talking about work like this, outside of the hospital with a light buzz starting somewhere in your head.

“What would it take for you to stay somewhere?” Shen asks. 

“Mmm maybe three good coworkers and some daydrinking,” you trail off like you’re thinking about it. They all laugh. It feels nice, to be here with them and feel like you fit in. Usually you don’t get to establish friendships through your work. Clearly, PTMC is shaking up a lot of your typical routines. “What about you guys? Why are y’all at the Pitt?”

“Wife’s from here,” Ellis answers first. “Met her in med school. She’s a professor at Penn State now.”

You gasp. “I didn’t know you were married!”

She flashes the modest black obsidian wedding band on her left hand. 

“Last spring. We got married on the beach in Greece.” Your jaw drops. “I just don’t wear the ring on my finger when I’m working. I loop it around my chain.”

“Oh my god why wasn’t I invited?” You shriek, earning another chuckle out of the group. You turn your head between the two men on either side of you. “Don’t tell me I missed both of your weddings, too.”

Both men shake their heads. 

“And on that note.” Jack places both palms down on the table and stands up to let you out of the booth. “Gulliver, I think this next round is on you. Up, up.”

You obey, sliding off of the bench and letting him take your hand to help you to your feet. 

“Everyone want a refill of their same drink?” You ask, taking the three empty glasses from the table. Jack is quick to take each of them from your hands. Ellis and Shen nod. Jack leads the way to the bar, glasses in hand. Apparently he’s accompanying you, now.

Just before you reach the bar, the bartender walks over to the two young men at the other end. One of the men catches your eye, waving apologetically with a tight-lipped smile. 

“How are things with you and Robby?” Jack draws your attention amazingly with that question. You nearly choke on air. 

“What?” You whisper harshly. His brows draw together. 

“The last time I saw you, I left you on a roof with him and told you not to apologize,” he whispers back. His eyes are narrow, cautious. “Just wanted to check in. He’s not giving you too much trouble is he?”

A sharp exhale leaves you. 

“Gosh, no. He said he was just taking a bad day out on me.” You dismiss the comment with a shrug. “Which I get. Temporary nurse, who cares if she likes you or not?”

It comes off a bit more stinging than it’s meant to. 

Unfortunately, it’s a reality of the job. At every hospital you go to, you’re disposable. Nobody is trying to be kind to entice you to stay longer. It’s not the nature of the profession. A couple of months, in and out, that’s how it works. So, a lot of the time, that means being discarded by other professionals who need someone to blame for their bad days. Your temporary status makes you the easiest target for poor treatment with the least repercussions.

Jack frowns, goes to speak, but is interrupted by one of the men from across the bar walking over. Jack clears his throat in warning to you and looks up to feign interest in the menu right as someone comes up beside you. 

“Hi,” he greets you softly. You turn in your stool to meet his eyes. They’re light, sweet, and complimented by the dark freckles that scatter almost every inch of visible skin. “Saw we’d taken the bartender at a bad moment. Thought maybe I could buy you a drink to make up for it.”

Your face grows hot. For the first time, you’re glad you took your scarf off when you all sat in the booth. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jack move. You know he’s trying not to laugh, and you also know that as soon as you look at him, you’ll both crumble. So, you keep your eyes trained on the man next to you.

“I’m actually buying the next round for all my friends. Won’t make you pick that check up.” You laugh, hoping it’s enough of a clue to shoo him away. “But thank you for offering. No hard feelings about hogging the bartender.”

He looks from the table where Ellis and Shen are watching closely, then to Jack, then to you. 

“I can buy this round.” He shrugs. The bartender approaches then, gaze wandering to Jack who is obviously stifling a laugh behind his first. “I’ll buy them a round. And put whatever she drinks for the rest of the day on my tab.” 

Jack’s shoulders are shaking beside you. For some reason, you find this incredibly embarrassing. Being hit on while day drinking with your senior attending. Not an ideal situation in your book. 

“What are you guys drinking?” She asks sweetly. 

“May we please have two glasses of whiskey on the rocks, an espresso martini, a tequila shot, and a mango margarita?” You smile widely. If this guy is paying, you’re treating yourself. “With a salt rim, please.”

She nods, pouring the shot quickly and placing it on the counter in front of you. You throw it back and place the now-empty glass on the countertop with the other glasses that Jack brought up. 

“Damn,” your investor chuckles. “I’m Keith, by the way. I think I’m in love with you.”

The tequila sits warm in your stomach. Two shots in, you’re definitely a little buzzed. 

“Hi, Keith.” You do your best AA impression and introduce yourself. Then, you clap Jack on the shoulder. “And this is my boss, Dr. Abbot.”

He’s wearing a shit-eating grin as he shakes Keith’s hand in greeting. You feel bad that you’re both being kind of assholes to him, but neither of you can help it. It comes naturally to you both, you suppose.

“Nice to meet you. Thanks for the round.” He tips his head. The drinks are placed in front of you both on the table. 

“We’re celebrating a birthday, so we should head back. But thank you for the drinks!” You have a perky grin on your face. “It was very nice to meet you, Keith. I hope you have a good day! Thank you again!”

Jack has scooped up his and Ellis’ drinks, so you grab your margarita and the espresso martini and follow him back to the table. Ellis and Shen are talking amongst themselves, and you already know they’re debriefing about the interaction they just witnessed. 

Except, the interaction seems to have followed you to the table. You look up at him from where you just took your seat between the two night shift attending physicians.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry.” Keith is standing at the head of your table, much like a waiter. “We’re about to leave, and uh- I was just wondering if I could get your number.”

You’ve never seen Jack hold back laughter for this long. Honestly, you’re proud. Ellis and Shen are silently watching now, distracted from whatever conversation they were having before. He rubs the back of his neck, and you feel extremely guilty. 

“Sure.” You nod. He hands his phone to you, the new contact screen already open. A small grin falls into place on his lips. He’s cute, your age, and you’re flattered. But not interested. You feel guilty even pretending to give someone your number. Sure, you and Michael aren’t officially dating, but you don’t want to give the wrong idea. You hand the phone back to him. “There you go. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, thank you.” He turns away but comes right back. “Oh, and happy birthday to whoever is celebrating. Cheers.”

You all laugh and he walks away. Ellis calls out her thanks. As soon as he and his friend leave the bar, all eyes are on you. You bring the straw of your margarita to your lips. You’ve not even been here an hour. Two shots and starting on your first marg. They make it easy to ignore the way Jack is howling with laughter next to you. Face red, tears racing down his cheeks, gasping for air.

Ellis and Shen look between the two of you, obviously confused.

You shrug, still sipping on your straw. 

“He was cute! Why are we laughing?” Ellis asks curiously. You groan. “And he wished me a happy birthday. I like him.”

You shrug again, a drunk staple of yours. 

“Not interested. He was nice though,” you say thoughtfully.

“Intro-” Jack gasps for air. “Introducing me a-as your-” gasp “boss w-was the fucking-” big gasp “funniest thing!”

He is absolutely beside himself. Surely Jack Abbot isn’t a lightweight. Surely one and a half glasses of whiskey haven’t done him in like this. Surely a seasoned combat veteran can handle his liquor. Surely. 

He can’t stop laughing, and it has you starting to giggle, too. It’s infectious. Before you know it, you’re both tickled, giggling like schoolgirls in the corner of your group booth. Heaving for breath, cheeks pink, the whole nine yards. 

“Finish your drinks,” Ellis announces. “We are off to location dos.”

You slurp down the rest of your margarita, bad idea. And Jack tips the remainder of his glass into his mouth. Also a bad idea. 

When you reenter the chilly outdoors, you both hook arms square-dance style and walk behind Ellis and Shen to the next bar. It’s only a little ways down the street, and you don’t get so cold on the short walk. The liquor that has settled in your stomach is more than enough to keep you warm. 

It’s just past noon when you enter the doors. Just like the last bar, this one is relatively empty. No surprise, given the time of day. The bartender, you recognize, is the waiter from your dinner date with Michael last week. Drunkenly, you wave your hand to him in greeting. He waves back, but you’re not sure that he recognizes you. Probably just a guy who is used to lots and lots of drunk friendly people. 

“I believe it’s my turn to order drinks,” Shen says as you all approach the bar. Your arm is unlinked from Jack and you’re leaning into Ellis’ shoulder. You can tell she’s barely tipsy. She smells good, like pine trees. “What do you guys want?”

Brady, the bartender, approaches your group. 

“Is it gonna be on one tab or separate ones?” He asks, eyes finding Ellis. Who is currently petting your hair like you’re a dog. 

“One, please,” she answers. 

“Got it. What can I get started for you guys?” His accent is thicker here. You think it’s British now. Think. Pittsburgh, silly place for a British bloke.

“Can I have a diet coke?” Jack orders, inhaling deeply. 

“Me too,” you say with a grin. You need to slow down if you’re gonna make it through the day without puking. “Please.”

“Can I please have a gin and tonic?” Ellis orders for herself. 

“Cup of coffee and a vodka cranberry,” Shen says. “I’ve got this round.”

The four of you linger at the bar while Brady makes the drinks. The two diet cokes come out first, and he meets your eyes again. You smile and hold the drink between your hands like it’s holy.

“You look really familiar,” he comments, eyes narrowing as he tries to place you. “Do I know you?”

You take a sip of your diet coke. 

“You do too. Were you at this Italian restaurant last week?” You pretend to have trouble placing him, too. As if you don’t remember his name and mysterious accent. “Yes!” He snaps his fingers and pours a cup of black coffee. “Ok, yes, I remember. You had on the black dress.”

You nod, and Ellis whistles. You lift your head from her shoulder to send a glare at the side of her face.

“Gully, were you on a date last week?” Her smirk is beaming. So unbothered by your disgruntled expression.

“I don’t think so,” Brady answers for you with a low chuckle. “This guy was old enough to be her dad.”

Diet coke is actually running down Jack’s chin. You put your face in your hands and wish you’d gotten something alcoholic. This conversation was far too sobering. 

“I didn’t realize your dad came to visit!” Shen says happily. “And he took you out to dinner? That’s so nuclear family, awe.”

Ellis and Jack laugh, both very aware that your dinner was not with your dad. The last of the drinks come out, and you hop off your barstool immediately. The four-top table you end up at is sticky, and you don’t care. You put your forehead down on it to hide your face.

“Why is this the most embarrassing day ever?” You moan. 

“What’s embarrassing?” Shen nudges your leg under the table. “Boys hitting on you, daddy daughter dates. It’s nothing embarrassing.”

“Shen. My dad did not come to visit me. I was on a date,” you say through gritted teeth. His jaw drops. 

“I want to see a picture,” Ellis demands. 

“Agree.” Jack.

“Please!” Shen. 

“Nobody needs to see a picture!” You squeal, shooing them away with your hands. You sit up and sip on your coke. “Leave me alone.”

“Is it a sugar daddy thing?” Jack blurts like he tried to help himself and just couldn’t. 

“What?” You whip your head to him. “Jack, how do you know what that is?”

“Oh don’t go trying to turn this around on me.” He points a stern finger at you. “So, is it?”

“No, oh my god!” You pout. “It’s not a sugar daddy thing. He’s very nice and hot and I like him and there’s no sugar involved.”

Ellis eyes you suspiciously. 

“What is your Tinder age range set at?” She questions. Jack cackles loudly.

“I didn’t meet him on Tinder.” You roll your eyes.

“Seeking Arrangements?” Shen asks. All heads turn to him. The group is so quiet for a moment, you can hear the carbonation in your glass. Ellis is the one to break the silence.

“Ok so now we’re gonna ask you about that,” she says. “You know that, right?”

Thankfully, they do, and the conversation does not come back to your date.

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

It’s about another hour until you all move to the third bar. Under the 1 p.m. sun, you and Jack have just about sobered up. Ellis and Shen continued drinking there, clearly both requiring much more liquor than you or Jack to feel inebriated. 

“Older than me?” Jack asks as you’re all walking. You bump him with your shoulder. 

“I’m bad at guessing ages,” you defend weakly. “He’s probably a couple years older than you. Not a lot.”

Jack lets out a low whistle and clicks his tongue.

“Didn’t think you had it in ya, Gulliver. Batting with the boomer crowd,” he teases. 

“Oh, fuck off. He’s not a boomer,” you complain. “I think you’d like him.”

“Probably not,” he responds honestly, holding the door to the third bar open for you. It makes you chuckle. If only he knew just how well he’d get along with your date. 

“This round is on me,” you say, given you still haven’t actually paid for any drinks today. 

The crowd here is a little bit fuller than the others. There’s three other small groups of people, mostly in business casual, probably in meetings. Still, the bartender wastes no time coming to get your drink orders. You order a shot of tequila and another margarita. Surprisingly, everyone else does the same. 

“Four margs and four tequila shots,” the male bartender says as he sets them down in front of you. You hand him your card. “Starting a tab?”

“No, thank you! Thanks for the drinks!” Everyone grabs their own and finds a seat. 

“Race to see who can finish them first?” Shen proposes, and you all have your cups to your mouth before you even answer. 

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

“I don’t know if I have another in me.” Ellis stretches her arms toward the sky. You’ve all done three shots and had three margs since getting here forty minutes ago. 

“I’ve had a brain freeze for like ten minutes,” you whine. 

“I heard putting your head in the snow helps with that,” Shen offers. 

Nobody needs to speak. You’re all up from the table and outside of the bar immediately. 

Snow is still falling outside, leaving a coating along the sidewalk. You’re all too drunk to rationalize proper warmth in the weather. Your scarf is tied around your waist like a belt. 

“How do I do it?” You ask, looking to Shen. “Just like a snow angel?”

“No, like this.” Shen grabs the backs of his knees and folds himself forward into the snow. All of you erupt into laughter immediately. Even he does, still upside down in the snow and grabbing his pants.

A few feet away, you mimic his position, let yourself dip forward, and hit your head on something hard.

“Ow,” you whimper, sitting up and holding your hand to your head. When you pull your fingers away, they’re bloody. Jack is the first one at your side, tripping to get onto the ground next to you and busting his ass. He almost ends up on top of you.

“Are you ok?” He grabs your face in one large hand and squishes your cheeks on accident, giggling to himself and making you laugh, too. “Did you hit your head?”

“Should’ve made sure the snow was deep enough,” you pout. “Does it look bad?”

Jack clamors to his knees to inspect. Ellis helps him part your hair to locate the crack in your head, and Shen is still face-first in the snow. When Jack comes back to meet your eyes, there’s a somber look on his face. 

“Bad news.” He puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m so drunk. I have no clue if it’s bad or not.”

You cackle loudly and move to stand. You’re able to get yourself up and then help Jack back onto his feet. 

“Ok.” Ellis has her game-face on. “I say we get drinks to-go and then make our way to the Pitt to get a check-up.”

“Better idea.” Jack puts his finger in the air. 

“Eureka!” You mock him. Ellis snickers.

“I have a friend who lives like a block from here. And he’s a doctor and he’ll have stuff to do staples if she needs ‘em.” His words slur. You frown. You don’t want staples.

“But can we still do the margaritas?” Shen is present now, powdery snow in his dark hair. 

“Usually I would say no because it could make the bleeding worse,” Ellis starts, “but we’re already so drunk, and it’s just one more.”

With that, you all hurry inside and order four margs to go. 

As you start walking, you tilt your head. With the motion, a drop of blood falls onto the snow beside you. You’re already moving past it before you realize.

“We’re going toward my house,” you comment. “That’s silly.”

“Wait, that’s so silly,” Jack agrees with a giggle. Such a lightweight.

“Are we close to your friend’s house?” Shen asks. 

“Take a right up here and it’s at the far end of the street.” He drunkenly points a finger in the general direction. “Like two more minutes.”

“Is your friend older?” Ellis asks.

“Little older than me.”

“Maybe we can get Gulliver to date him instead of her other old boyfriend.” The comment is so off-handed that you don’t even think to respond to it. Your headache is growing and you’re mad that Jack insists on keeping one hand pressed to your head while the other holds his drink. 

You all take a right at the end of the road coming from the Pitt, and walk down the short side street. When you see a motorcycle parked in the driveway of the home, you frown. No doctor should be driving a motorcycle. Not a trustworthy one, at least. 

“I don’t think I trust your donor-cycle-driving friend, Jack,” you complain. He huffs a laugh. 

“Someone knock on the door. My hands are full.” Full holding your head and his alcohol.

Shen does. And then he rings the doorbell. And then he knocks again. All in about ten seconds of each other. And then Michael Robinavitch swings the door open with the grumpiest frown you’ve ever seen. And then his eyes meet yours and he loosens up. Your name falls softly from his lips. 

“What happened? Why is she bleeding on my porch?” He questions, but ushers the four of you inside anyway. 

“Brain freeze,” you explain with a dramatic sigh. “Didn’t know you were Jack’s friend.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you. He knew you were joining the three stooges on their annual adventure, but he didn’t think you’d all be this wasted before 2 in the afternoon. 

“Jack, can you grab the--” you cut Michael off. 

“He’s so drunk and useless,” you tell him. “Don’t even bother.”

Anyway, Jack already stopped applying pressure to your wound. He has removed his prosthetic and made himself comfortable on Michael’s couch. He grabs the remote and turns toward him. 

“Mind if I change the channel?” He asks. Michael rubs his hand down his face and waves his hand dismissively. Jack takes it as a yes and starts flicking through the TV guide. Shen and Ellis are sitting at his dining room table. Shen has a bag of pretzels in front of him.

“Dr. Robby, do you date younger women?” Ellis asks. His ears turn bright pink. “We found out Gully’s been seeing older guys.”

“Guy,” you amend. “Singular.”

“That is what she said,” Shen affirms, backing you up. “No sugar, just daddy.”

Jack howls with laughter from the couch. You chuckle lightly, but it hurts your head. 

“Dr. Robinavitch I have a headache,” you complain. In all honesty, calling him by his work name was really just more of the roles at play here. Too drunk to decipher that this is your no-sugar-sugar-daddy and not your boss. Then, you make eye contact. Through his glasses. “Oo, I like your glasses.”

His eyes widen. He can’t tell if you’re too drunk to keep your relationship under wraps.

“Come into the bathroom, I need to grab my first aid stuff and see this wound under the light.” His voice is stern, and you worry that you’ve annoyed him. With a frown on your face, you take yourself and your margarita and follow him into the bathroom at the front of his house. Wordlessly, he closes the door, not all of the way, and pulls you into a hug. 

“You’re so nice,” you say, letting yourself relax all of your weight into him. The sweatshirt he’s wearing is soft, worn in. You rub your cheek against it. “And I really like your glasses.”

He laughs softly and then pulls away. For a moment, he rummages beside your head, rifling through the cabinet above his toilet. He emerges with a large first aid kit, and then another.

“Where are you bleeding from?” His voice is quiet. It doesn’t hurt your head, not at all. You silently point to the spot on your head that you hit. Right at the top of your skull. His hands part your hair over the cut, gently moving it around until he’s cleared the wound. “Oo, ouch. How did you do this?”

“Tell Shen to show you,” you grumble. Michael narrows his eyes at you. 

“Did he do this to you?” His voice is quiet, hard, unforgiving. 

“No.” It’s cute, how grumpy you’re being. “He told me it would fix my brain freeze and it did not. And my head hurts. And I’m bothering you before your night shift.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He chuckles sweetly. “I’m glad you came. Did you guys have fun?”

“Having,” you correct, bringing your straw to your lips. He purses his lips. “We have one more bar to go to after this. Maybe you can come, too. I’ll buy you a drink to express my gratitude.”

“I’ve got a few things in mind you could do to express your gratitude.” He smirks and you gasp sharply. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, jaw dropped. “I don’t think you need staples. The bleeding has mostly stopped. Head wounds can bleed a lot, but you’ll be just fine.” 

After his suggestive comment, you don’t really care about your head. You nudge the bathroom door closed with your foot. Immediately, Michael opens it. 

Your responding glare puts a cheeky smile on his stupidly handsome face. 

“Let’s come back out to the kitchen so I can keep an eye on everyone while I get you situated,” he suggests. You shake your head with a pout. “Baby, come on.”

“Robby!” Jack calls from the living room. Michael lifts his eyebrows at you in a very I told you so manner. You let him pick you up off the counter and follow him into the kitchen. “Phew. Had to make sure you weren’t her next target.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You raise an offended hand to your chest. “I’m very loyal to my older-not-boyfriend-not-sugar-daddy.”

“You gave the cute guy your number.” Shen points out. 

Michael’s head turns to you and you shake your head.

“Did not. I gave him a fake one.” You protest. “I like my guy.”

“Have you slept with him?” Ellis questions. Your eyes widen and so do Michael’s. Jack giggles childishly on the couch. 

“Good question!” He supplies. Very helpful. All eyes turn back to you, where you’re still standing statue-still in the kitchen of the older-not-boyfriend-not-sugar-daddy that you’ve definitely slept with. Actually, who you slept with this morning before joining them at the bar.

“Oh my god, you so have! Gully gives it up on the first date!” Ellis laughs manically. “Did you get his test results? Use protection?”

“Please stop asking me responsible questions.” You bury your face in your hands. 

“At least his hardware still works,” Shen says offhandedly. “Well, it does, right?”

“I’m gonna go ahead and end this conversation here,” Michael interrupts. “I’ve heard too much. Don’t need these images in my head.”

As if. 

“You really need to make sure you’re not sleeping with guys who have STDs,” Jack lectures from the couch. “Especially if you’re not going to use protection.”

You groan loudly. 

“He’s a doctor, he would know if he had an STD,” you grumble. Mistake. Huge mistake. Ginormous mistake. 

“Oh my god!” Ellis gasps loudly from the table. “So you’re sleeping with an older doctor who you didn’t meet on Tinder or Seeking Arrangements. He totally works in the hospital!”

“Who is it?” Shen moves to stand next to you. 

“I’m not telling you guys,” you protest. “Leave me alone.”

Michael points to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair, and you sit obediently. He lays the first aid kit out on the table in front of you, and you watch his fingers as he shifts the contents around until he finds what he’s looking for. 

“If he works in the hospital you won’t be able to keep it a secret,” Michael says from behind you, playing along with everyone else’s teasing. He’s blotting the top of your head with a gauze. “Might as well get it off your chest here.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“I’m not telling anyone.” An exasperated sigh leaves your mouth. “I don’t need you guys tormenting him, too.”

Michael sets the bloodied gauze on his table and starts working a new one up the stream of blood that’s fallen down your forehead. You have to actively avoid making eye contact with him, otherwise you’re fucked and you know you’ll kiss him because god him taking care of you is kind of really definitely a major turn on.

“What’s your plan for when you leave, though?” Shen asks. “Gonna leave grandpa here all alone with only stories to show for his young affair?”

You suck in a breath of air. Of course nobody understands how invasive this question is. They don’t know that grandpa is the man whose face is four inches from yours patching up your wound. He pulls away, mouth pulled into a tight line. Your heart stutters. You want to reach out and hold him tight and reassure him that you’ll find a way to make this work.

But you can’t. Not here, not now.

“I’m not answering any questions from you,” you gripe. “You’re the reason I’m bleeding out.”

“She’s bleeding out?” Jack shouts from the couch. You squeeze your eyes shut again, willing everyone to disappear. 

“She’s fine, Jack.” Robby’s voice is neutral. “Almost done here and then you all can get back to your questionable celebration.”

You frown. Ellis and Shen fall into a conversation at the table next to you. Jack stays on the couch, watching whatever reality show he found. Your eyes find Michael in the still moment. He grins at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Come let me look at it again now that it’s all clean,” he instructs. He gathers the bloodied cotton from the table and throws them away. You pad after him down the hallway and into the bathroom. When you get there, you shut the door, and he lets you this time. His hands cup your jaw. “You ok?”

“I’m sorry that he said that,” you apologize quickly. “I promise this isn’t an affair to me. They’re just trying to give me a hard time, they don’t know its you, and-”

He cuts you off with a soft kiss. You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding on tightly. His tongue darts into your mouth to deepen the kiss and you let him, opening your lips to give him as much access as he wants. 

His hand runs from your jaw down to your waist, gripping your hip firmly to pull you into him. Easily, his hands grip the backs of your thighs and lift you up. He sets you on the counter, one hand steadying himself atop the granite while the other runs up the back of your shirt. 

You need this, need him, so desperately. 

“Michael,” you whisper, and it comes out like a plea. His head rolls back like pulling away from you is painful. “I need you.”

He shakes his head and presses another chaste kiss to your mouth. 

“Not now, sweetheart. Not with you like this.” He tousles the hair on top of your head. “Can I come over after my shift tonight?”

Your responding nod is hurried, excited, and a laugh spills from his lips. He adjusts himself at the waistband and then helps you off of the counter. 

“Text me when you get back home, ok? And come in if your head gets any worse.” He kisses your hairline and then opens the bathroom door for you to walk out in front of him. And you do. 

Your body feels heavy, the alcohol and lust weighing you down. When you get to the living room, you flop down onto the couch next to Jack. He pokes your side, earning a groan from you. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” he whines. “We still have more places to go.”

“‘M not,” you mumble, swatting his hand away. “Robby said I’m good to go. But my feet hurt.” 

Jack sits up straight, grabbing his prostehtic from the floor and smacking you with it. 

“One of us has a right to complain about feet hurting, and it’s not you.” He points firmly at you. You giggle. He slides his leg into the prosthetic and shifts until it’s settled properly.

“It so is me! You don’t have a foot to complain about!” You fire back. He’s off the couch in a moment, sweeping you into his arms and heading for the door. You squeal loudly, smacking his arm. “Jack! Put me down!”

“I thought your feet hurt!” He mocks, but lets you go anyway.

And with some scattered thank yous to Robby, you’re all headed for more drinks. You with the flutter in your stomach that always appears when you get to see your favorite man. 

𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔

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