ghost of past regrets

You’d spent your one day off scrolling through listings, chasing anything that even remotely fit your budget. Nothing did. Or at least, nothing that felt livable. 

One place had walls so thin you could hear every car passing by like it was in your living room. Another reeked of damp, with pipes that looked like they might burst if you so much as turned on a faucet. And then there was the eighth-floor walk-up—no elevator, of course—as if hauling yourself up eight flights after a twelve-hour shift was somehow reasonable.

At this point, you told yourself you’d take anything. A bed, a door that locked, a space that was yours. But even that felt like too much to ask.

You also hadn’t told Jack.

You’d only been seeing each other for a month, and it felt too fragile, too new, to drop something like this into the middle of it. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off with the mess your life had suddenly become. Because then you’d be left with nothing—no apartment, no safety net, no him.

And then, because the universe clearly had a sense of humor at your expense, you lost your first patient at 7:29 a.m.

You’d worked her for over ten minutes, refusing to give in even when the odds had already slipped out of your hands. Compressions, meds, another round, your voice steady even as your chest tightened. Until Robby finally called it.

Just like that.

He didn’t soften the aftermath, didn’t give you a second to breathe before tossing out a sharp comment about how you should be better at catching STEMIs.

All in all, things weren’t going well.

It was now 17:28, barely two hours left on your shift before you’d be forced to face everything you’d been trying to outrun.

You had lost two patients so far.

And both times, Robby had made sure you felt it with sharp comments.Each one chipping away at whatever confidence you had left.

People had noticed.

They also noticed that for the past few days something about you had been off, like a storm building just beneath the surface. Today, it was impossible to ignore. 

Even Dana had pulled you aside, her voice softer than usual as she asked if you were okay, if you needed a breather. You did. But admitting that felt like handing Robby another reason to hover, another excuse to dissect every mistake you made.

So you shook it off and kept going.

Now, the pressure sat heavy in your chest as you worked a GSW to the chest alongside Whitaker and Robby.

The patient was crashing too fast. Blood everywhere, slipping through your hands no matter how quickly you moved. Garcia had been paged less than a minute ago, but even in that short span of time, you could feel it—you had already lost him.

Wrong place, wrong time. That’s what the paramedics had said when they rushed him in, the police echoing the same hollow explanation. His family had been called, but they were still an hour away.

Your eyes locked on the monitor and didn’t even flinch when it flatlined.

No rush of adrenaline, no frantic movement to fix it but instead just a quiet, hollow stillness as you stepped back, letting Whitaker take over. Robby would guide him. Whitaker would listen.

You were just in the way.

So you left.

Like a ghost, you moved through the room, ignoring your name sharply being called. Ignoring the looks, the movement, the noise of the ER around you. Your feet carried you on autopilot, straight out to the ambulance bay.

You tried to breathe.

In. Out. Slow. Controlled. The way Jack had shown you once, his voice steady, his hands warm where they’d rested over yours.

It didn’t work.

The air wouldn’t come.

Your chest tightened to the point of pain, your airway closing as if something inside you had finally snapped. 

The realization hit fast: you couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not nearly enough.

Tears blurred your vision, spilling over before you could stop them, your cheeks drenched as everything you’d been holding in finally broke free.

One of the paramedics in an ambulance rushed to your side, his voice cutting through the noise, though you couldn’t make out a single word. Strong hands steadied you before lifting you up, carrying you back into the ED and drawing the attention of everyone in your path.

Langdon was there in an instant, a wheelchair already in front of you.

“What happened?” he asked, voice sharp but edged with worry.

“Can’t…” you wheezed, fingers clawing weakly at your throat and chest.

“Dana, what’s open?” He called over his shoulder.

Dana’s eyes landed on you, concern flashing across her face before she snapped back into motion. “North 5’s open!”

Langdon didn’t waste a second, guiding the wheelchair once the paramedic helped settle you onto it. The world blurred as he pushed you down the hall and into the room.

Once inside, he moved immediately.

Vitals, pupils, airway—his hands moved steadily, efficiently, practiced as he checked everything, only to find nothing wrong except your heart racing too fast and your breaths coming too shallow.

He didn’t need to call psych to know what this was.

A panic attack.

You had started to settle, focusing on matching his breathing as he reassured you that, physically, you were fine.

Once you could finally string a few words together, you thanked him.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he said, offering you a soft, easy smile. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Still… thank you.” you whispered.

He exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll go let Robby know you’re alright.”

You nodded faintly, already dreading the inevitable.

Would he care that you were barely holding it together? That with each passing day, you felt like you were unraveling a little more? You wanted to believe he would.

But wanting didn’t make it true.

“So, I hear our doctors are just abandoning their patients over a little panic attack?”

Robby’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside. He let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as his eyes landed on you lying on the gurney.

“Robby, that’s not what—”

“I don’t care what happened,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I care that I trusted you to help me with a patient—a critical patient—and you walked out without a word.” His jaw tightened. “What would’ve happened if you’d been alone with that patient, hm? How is it that a first-year resident can handle the pressure better than a fourth-year?”

“Things have just been difficult—”

“Welcome to life,” he shot back. “Things get tough. But you’re a doctor. People depend on you, so you put it aside and you do your job. Who the fuck cares what you’re going through? Do you think that guy who just died cared?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears slipped free.

“Don’t you dare cry,” he hissed. “I think you should go home—and seriously consider whether you’re actually cut out for this. A breakdown like this from a med student? Fine. Expected, even. But from a fourth-year resident?” He shook his head, eyes cold. “It’s pathetic.”

“I still have an hour left,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended.

He let out a sharp breath. “Then stay in triage. Or finish your charting. I don’t even care at this point. And if you’re going to have another panic attack, do it off the clock.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, swallowing everything down, and nodded.

Robby didn’t say anything else before turning and walking out.

For a second, you just sat there, forcing yourself to pull the pieces back together. You wiped at your face, steadying your breathing, willing the last traces of it to disappear.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart again.

When you finally stepped out, the shift in the air was immediate.

People were looking.

Quick glances, not-so-subtle ones—everyone who had been within earshot now pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. You exhaled slowly, pushing past it, past them, making your way to the board.

Focus. Just focus.

You scanned for a patient, anything to keep your hands moving and your mind occupied.

As the clock ticked by, the night shift began to roll in.

The worst of it had passed—at least on the surface. Your eyes were no longer swollen, but a faint redness lingered.

The cases coming through triage were manageable. Surface-level, almost mercifully so. A chronic headache. A deep but clean laceration. Nothing critical. Nothing that could slip through your fingers and haunt you later.

No way to lose anyone now.

At 18:49, you heard Jack Abbot’s voice, and it felt like a lifeline—like something solid cutting through the noise and pulling you back to shore.

You focused on your last patient, careful and thorough, even as something in you itched to go find him. To just see him. But you didn’t rush. You couldn’t. Not after everything.

A few minutes later, you heard his voice again.

But this time, it was different.

He was using the kind of tone you’d only ever heard him use with combative patients.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Your hands stilled.

“Excuse me?” Robby scoffed.

“What makes you think that berating your residents for having emotions is in any way helpful?”

Your chest tightened at the words. Before you could stop yourself, you excused yourself from your patient and followed the sound, your pulse quickening with every step.

You found them just outside the nurses’ station.

Jack stood rigid, his finger pointed at Robby’s chest, his jaw tight, brows drawn together in a way that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

“I don’t know why that’s any of your business,” Robby shot back, crossing his arms.

“You mistreating residents isn’t my business?” Jack challenged. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what your job is, but you’re not just a doctor—you’re supposed to be teacher, too.” His voice was controlled, but the anger underneath it was unmistakable. “If they’re having a hard time, you help them. You don’t tear them down until they start questioning whether they even belong here.”

“This isn’t therapy, and I sure as hell am not their therapist. This is an ER, and they’re doctors.” Robby fired back.

“And that gives you the right to what? Humiliate them?” Jack stepped closer, his voice dropping, more dangerous now. “Push them until they break?”

Robby let out a dry laugh. “If they break, that’s on them.”

Something in Jack snapped.

“No,” he said, firm, unwavering. “That’s on you.”

The space around them had gone quiet, the usual chaos of the ED dimming as people pretended not to watch.

And then Jack spoke again, his voice cutting clean through the tension.

“You want to be an asshole? Talk to me like that. Try it.” Jack snaps, “But you don’t get to talk to her like that.” 

Robby let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “So that’s what this is about?” He shook his head. “And here I thought you’d suddenly become some kind of advocate for residents. Guess it’s just the ones you’re involved with.”

“You need to back off,” Jack said, his voice low, controlled. “Now.”

“No, no—let’s be honest,” Robby pressed, gesturing loosely to the room. “Let’s make sure everyone knows just how noble you are.” His smile was thin, biting. “You don’t care that I went off on a resident. You care that I went off on your resident. It’s almost impressive how quickly you claimed the moral high ground when you’re the one who should be reported to HR.”

“Then report me,” Jack shot back without hesitation. “I’ll return the favour.”

Robby scoffed, shaking his head like the whole thing had suddenly bored him. “You know what? Fine. If you want to deal with that mess, be my guest.”

His gaze swept across the onlookers, lingering just long enough to remind everyone they’d been seen—before it landed on you.

A slow, cutting smile spread across his face.

“You’re officially on night shift, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Hope you don’t have a panic attack about that, too.”

You were left stunned, mouth slightly open as you watched Robby storm off.

“Back to work, people! There are lives to save,” Jack called out, his tone leaving no room for argument. Slowly, the tension broke, and everyone dispersed, slipping back into the rhythm of the ED like nothing had happened.

Then he turned to you.

He crossed the distance quickly, his hands coming up to rest on your arms, grounding you where you stood, still stiff at your sides.

“You okay?” He asked, his gaze softening as he took in your tear-bright eyes.

You shook your head, a hollow laugh slipping out. “This is a nightmare.”

“Hey—no,” he said immediately, his grip tightening just slightly. “This isn’t your fault. What he said was completely out of line, and I’m glad Dana told me. You should never have been put through that.”

“We’re so going to get reported to HR,” you whispered.

“You let me deal with that.”

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spiraling faster than you could keep up with. 

“I’m going to have to find a new job,” you murmured. “And I definitely can’t afford that.” You closed your eyes for a second before looking back up at him. “But… thank you. For defending me.”

“Someone had to,” Jack said, worry written all across his face. “Robby’s been out of line for a while now. But today…” He shook his head slightly. “Something snapped when I heard how he was talking to you. How often it’s been happening.”

“I’ve been off my game,” you admit quietly.

“That’s not an excuse,” he countered gently but firmly. “And even if it were, it still wouldn’t justify any of that.” His expression shifted, concern settling deeper into his features. “I’m more worried about why you had a panic attack. Langdon said you haven’t been yourself for a while.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, I’m always worried about you,” he replied softly. “So help me understand what’s going on.”

The words sat heavy in your chest for a moment before they finally spilled out.

You told him everything.

About the rent. About how you weren’t sure where you’d be living next week. About the apartments that didn’t work, the exhaustion, the patients you’d lost. About how you hadn’t given yourself even a second to process any of it—just kept going, pushing it down, pretending it wasn’t catching up to you. And how now, you would probably have to start looking for a new hospital to work at after Robby’s words.

As you spoke, the frown in his brows deepened, his hands moving slowly up and down your arms, a quiet, steady attempt to soothe you as everything unraveled.

After a moment of quiet, he spoke.

“You’re not going to lose your job. I won’t let that happen.”

“Jack…”

“I’m not finished,” he cut in gently. “I just… I wish you’d let me help you. You know I would do anything for you. I’d throw myself down a flight of stairs if it meant making things easier for you.”

A small, disbelieving breath left you. “I thought it would scare you off,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“The day I ever say you’re a burden, you better slap some sense into me,” he said, completely serious. “I mean it. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me with this kind of stuff—to let me carry some of it with you.”

You reached up, wiping away a tear before it could fall.

“Move in with me,” he said suddenly.

You froze.

“I know it’s fast—too fast, probably—but I can’t just stand by while you’re this stressed when I have a perfectly good place you can stay at,” he continued, his voice softer now, but no less certain. “You can take the guest room if you want. Or I will, if you like my bed more. I don’t care how we do it, just…” He exhaled, searching your face. “Please. Move in with me.”

You stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up with what he was offering.

Everything in you wanted to say yes—to fall into the safety he was offering, to let someone finally take some of the weight off your shoulders. But there was still that hesitation, that voice in the back of your mind reminding you how new this was, how quickly everything was moving.

“Jack, it’s only been a month,” you said quietly, searching his face. 

“I know,” he admitted, not even trying to argue it. “It is. But this isn’t about how long we’ve been together. It’s about you needing somewhere safe to land. And I can give you that.”

You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to his.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered. “Whatever this is between us… I don’t want to ruin it by rushing into something.”

“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “We’ll take it at your pace. Separate rooms, space, whatever you need. Nothing has to change unless you want it to.”

There was no pressure in his voice. No expectation.

Your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was something softer, something that made your throat ache for a completely different reason.

“…Okay,” you breathed.

His expression shifted instantly, relief flickering across his face. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, a little more certain this time. “I’ll… move in. At least for now.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, something warm and genuine, like you’d just handed him something he wasn’t going to take lightly.

“Good,” he murmured.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then the noise of the ED filtered back in, grounding you both in reality.

Jack exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you, something sharper slipping into his expression again. “I should get back to work.”

You nodded, though your hand instinctively caught his wrist for just a second before letting go.

He hesitated, then leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping.

“I also need to go find Robby and punch him for making you cry,” he muttered.

Despite everything, a weak huff of laughter escaped you.

“But,” he added, straightening, his tone shifting back to something steadier, “we’ll talk later. We’ll figure everything out, okay?”

“Okay,” you said softly.

He then leaned in—and slightly hesitantly—placed a tender kiss to your forehead, before slipping back into doctor mode as he turned and disappeared into the chaos of the ED.

You stood there for a minute taking it all in. Still shaken, still overwhelmed, but no longer feeling completely alone.

Now in a panic, you search for an exit. A path which will lead you to a secluded corner, or hall, or room where you can escape prying eyes as you...clean the evidence of what you've done off of yourself before finally washing it down the drain. "Just... A patient," you explain. You lie. To your attending, no less. "I wasn't paying attention."

You feel like you're going to be sick.

"I'll go change. I'm so sorry."

Before Abbot can so much as formulate a reassuring reply that you've done nothing which warrants an apology, you've already slipped past him, and are headed in the direction of the back hall which houses the machine that contains freshly laundered scrubs.

His jaw flexes as he considers. Your reaction being due to humiliation because the stain is from your period isn't wholly out of the question. But because of how low it is, and in such a neat little line at that, makes it unlikely.

He doesn't want to acknowledge the evident truth that lies obvious before him.

Jack grips the counter of the nurse's station tightly, trying his utmost to convince himself that it's none of his business. His patient the next room over is. But if he didn't want to make you his responsibility, then he shouldn't have spent the last few months cozying up to you. Buying you lunch, walking you to your car once your shift has ended, making easy conversation on your breaks (not to mention him changing to the time of his own to match up with yours).

With a quiet curse, he stomps off in search of you.

The fucking machine is malfunctioning. This can't be happening. Not now. Not to you. Not today. Standing in front of it with nothing to cover your modesty below the waist, you keep shoving your card in to earn yourself a new pair of bottoms, only for it to grant you an angry red display and a loud buzzer-like screech while its screen repeatedly states 'invalid input' instead.

"God, please," you quietly plead—jerking your head every time the sound of tennis shoes near, terrified that someone will see. Because if they do: what comes next? Will you be fired? Involuntarily committed? Be forced into a therapist's office as they dissect your brain to see what's gone wrong with you, specifically?

You can stop any time you choose. You're just not ready to yet.

Just as you've reeled your leg back—ready to kick the damn thing out of sheer spite—Jack quickly jogs to your side before you cost the hospital a couple thousand in repair bills.

"Hold on, hold on," he insists, shooting his arm out in front of you to hold you back before he shoves his own card in, types what must be some special, hidden code, allotted only for important big-shots like himself, and voilà: a new pair of pants are presented to you.

Snatching them away, you turn in the direction of the restroom, wanting to clean yourself up first so you don't soil your new garment, thus sending you back to square one again.

Just as you make to turn, however, you take note of where Jack's line-of-sight is currently stationed: between your legs. Rather, on the one which blood is currently running down and dribbling onto the floor from.

Countless tiny silver slashes are carved into your inner thighs, displayed prominently for him to take fleeting stock of before you finally race past and lock yourself in the women's restroom.

Now spiraling, you sink to the floor and shove your head between your knees. "One. Two. Three—"

An unwelcome knock sounds against the heavy metal door, causing you to jolt in surprise.

"Y/N," Jack starts "Sweetheart, just..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're not hurting yourself in there, are you?"

You tuck your chin in close to your chest and blubber like a child. "No," is your succinct reply. You don't want to have this conversation. Don't want to provide elaborate answers to questions you don't know how to reply to. Or, much more, have no wish to.

He settles his palm over the door handle, but ultimately decides against it. Jack knows you have it locked, so he doesn't want to come off like he's attempting to force his way in. "Y/N, it's just you and me. Can you let me in so that we can talk? Please. Honey, I'm just worr—"

Click.

You figure the longer he stands out there, the more likely a crowd is to gather, curious as to what is transpiring at current. Nevermind that it's nobody's business but your own.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he gathers himself before making entry.

Once the door is shut securely behind him, and the lock pushed into place, he kneels with a groan before plopping down beside you.

"Gettin' old," he mumbles before settling back against the wall you're seated before.

He rolls his head to the side, frowning at the sight of you curled in on yourself. "I'm not gonna ask why. The reasoning can be different for everybody, I guess. But the one thing they all have in common, I'd assume, is feeling like they deserve it. Or...like it's an impulse they can't fight anymore. Maybe you don't want to."

Jack pulls himself closer to you before sliding an arm around your shoulders and tucking you against his side. "Honey, you need to talk to somebody. It's somethin' my therapist deals with. I can give you their number—a business card—whatever you want so that you can get the ball rolling."

You squeeze your eyes shut and lie your cheek atop your bent knee. "I don't know if I can."

He rubs his hand comfortingly against your arm. "What if you cut too deep at some point and hit an artery? There's other ways. Have you tried the ice cube method?"

You shrug. "Couple times."

"And?" He asks.

"It helped. Just...a razor is what I'm used to. Like it's a habit. An...old friend."

"Any friend worth their salt would never do something which would bring harm to you," Jack replies.

You loosen up and spread your legs in front of you, draping your new scrubs atop them before settling your head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that—"

He shakes his head. "Don't apologize. I'd rather know than not. To look after you a bit better, if nothin' else."

You turn and cross your legs, now facing him. "That isn't your—your responsibility, or—"

He taps his own leg with his knuckle, the metal quietly reverberating from the action. "It helps: divulging the darkest parts of yourself to others who get it. So you can have a different perspective. Hear how they got through it so you can gain some hope that you will, too."

Unsure how to even continue, you stand and walk over to the sink. It's one way to cut this conversation short, you're sure.

Once you've wetted a paper towel, you bend over to begin cleaning your wound before applying a fresh Band-Aid from the first aid kit that's mounted beside the soap dispenser.

Until Jack takes the damp towel from you and kneels at your feet. Gently, he wipes away the dried blood which clings to your skin. "You think about doing this again, come to me. If it happens when we aren't here, then call me. I'll come running."

He slides his opposite hand up your calf. "Understand?"

You blink down at him stupidly, now at a loss for words. So you simply nod instead.

"Good." He nods to the first aid kit. "Band-Aid."

Once you've plucked the plastic box from the wall, you hand it to him. If you try unclasping it right now, with the way that your hands are currently trembling, the sterile supplies is likely to scatter across the tile floor.

Once Jack has peeled opened a Band-Aid and spread a small dollop of Neosporin across the absorbent pad, he applies it to your cut. Next, he takes your pants from where they sit on the lip of the sink and holds open the right pant leg for you to step into, followed by the left.

Once he's cinched the waist in the front and tied a pretty little bow, he stands. "I don't want you to worry," he says quietly, running his knuckles down your soft cheek. "What happened today stays between us. Alright?"

You nod yet again, grateful to him. You swipe away budding tears before taking the first aid kit back from him so that it can be returned to its rightful home on the restroom wall. "Thank you."

“What class are you taking,” you ask, your keychain clinging against your water bottle as you make your way over to him. “I could show you where to go.”

“The restorative one? I think," he says slowly, trying to recall.

“That’s the one I take! Follow me,” you squeal, gesturing for him to follow you. “We’re a little early. What’s your name, sweety?”

“Jack,” he stutters out, completely thrown off balance by you.

You repeat his name, testing it out and tell him yours. Opening the door to your respective room before following him in. 

“I usually stick to the back,” you explain. “I don’t like being watched.”

“Well, looks like I’m in the back with you.”

You glance at him with a twinkle in your eye as you roll out your pink yoga mat, “Really! You wanna stay with me? You don’t have to if you don’t want to-”

“Nope,” Jack sighs, rolling out his black yoga mat. “You’re stuck with me. You did this to yourself.”

-Jack who finds himself smiling with you silently as the class starts. You both are respectful of the rules, not talking the entire class but the silent solidarity between the two of you is nice

-You both chat a little after the class, you learn that he is married and just recently moved here from Pittsburgh. He learns that this was only your 4th class here and that you’ve lived here for a while.

-You both trade numbers and he goes home and immediately collapses into Robby, who wraps his arms around him

“How was the class?”

“I met someone.”

-He raves about you to Robby, how you just walked right up to him. You didn’t even stare at his leg, or lack thereof. He also tells him about the restaurants you recommended to him after you learned he just moved here. 

“She even offered to show us,” Jack grinned. 

“Us?”

“Yep. We’ll be going to this one Indian spot on Thursday. You’ll love her Rob.”

-Thursday rolls around and Jack is practically buzzing with energy, Robby even begins to feel it as they walk up to the hole-in-the-wall. Jack opens the door for Robby, tapping his butt as he walks into the small restaurant. 

-From across the room, your eyes widen as Jack walks in with a man. You mentally smack yourself for assuming he was married to a woman before you leave your claimed table

“Jack,” you smile, bounding up to them. 

“Hey, kid,” he grins, opening his arms up for you to embrace him. “This is Robby, my husband.”

Before Robby can even say hi, you move to embrace him too, your smaller form wrapping around him and encasing him in your strong perfume. Jack was right, he liked you already. 

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, finally releasing him. 

-You show them over to the table, feeling equal parts bummed and excited. Bummed that they’re gay but excited for a new friendship that might be blossoming

“How’d you find this place,” Robby asks, sitting down. 

-They quickly learn how much you love to talk. From that one question they somehow learned where you work, that you’re in nursing school, that you still live with your family but hope to move out after you graduate

-Married!rabbot who begin glancing at each other as the dinner progresses, knowing looks shared when you would glance away. Their younger years flashing behind their eyes, it had been a very very long time since they had shared someone, not since before they got married

-Robby who nearly pops one when you pull out your lipgloss after you are done eating, mouth parting as he watches you glide the applicator across your lips. Jack who isn’t doing any better but pinches Robby gently, prompting him to look away

-You, who are none the wiser to the two men in front of you as you pull out a stick of pink gum. Jack nearly scoffs at how stereotypical that was. You offer them a piece, frowning when they both decline but putting it back in your bag. 

-You all end the night with a walk around the city, different things you see prompting different debates. They find themselves even more enamored with you as you smile at a kid crying or frown when you see a group of loud men. 

-You go home, grinning at the idea of having two white older male friends with correct political opinions(which you learned as you all rolled your eyes after seeing a Trump 2024 hat). You liked how off-brand that was for you.

-They go home and practically break down the door, unable to keep their hands off of each other. 

“I thought I was going to combust when she sprayed her perfume,” Jack groans as Robby takes his shirt off and pushes him against the nearest wall.

“And then she had the nerve to blow us kisses,” Robby chuckles as he latches onto Jack’s nipples, grinning as the vet arches into him

Jack’s groans fill the room. They’re soon accompanied by Robby’s whines as Jack's hands find his bulge, palming it cheekily. 

“Damn baby,” Jack smirks through his grunts. “Is that for me or for her.”

“Both of you,” Robby whines, bucking into Jack’s hand. “Fuck.”

Much to his surprise, though, you were far more understanding and patient than anyone should have been. The first time that he stood you up on account of a mission running long, he came to your door in the middle of the night with a bouquet of your favorite flowers held in apology.

"I'm real sorry, sweetheart", he grumbled, pulling the hood of his jacket off of his head. The corner of his eye was an angry red and his bottom lip swollen with a tiny but lethal cut in the middle - he didn't need to tell you about his night for you to know. Still, he tried to offer an explanation. "Ain't right I stood you up. Wish I had a better reason than these assholes keeping me on my toes all night", he continued, extending the crumpled flowers to you with a manner that seemed almost bashful.

And you gave him a smile. An honest, radiant smile, while your dainty hand clasped around the bouquet, fingers brushing against his warm and calloused ones in the process.

"It's okay, Frank", you insisted, stepping aside to let him into your apartment. "I understand."

His eyes narrowed slightly but you sounded and looked just as genuine as you always did. He entered your home even though he didn't feel the slightest bit worthy, his mind running a million miles an hour. It felt like a trap; like a siren song inviting him close just for you to bite his head off. But you didn't, you just beamed at him like you were truly grateful that he was here now.

Like an idiot, he let himself be lulled to a sense of security by your open arms and kind smiles. It wasn't so much that you were trying to deceive him, but it did dawn on him that despite the brave front you put up, it did hurt. Of course, it hurt. Who wouldn't feel a sting when their loved one disappears unannounced, doesn't respond to texts, drags blood every time they step through the door? Still, somehow, he had let himself believe that you were fine with it; fine with him.

It wasn't until the umpteenth time that he let you down that he realized all his past transgressions had slowly chipped away at your heart. He had shown up late again and you had ushered him into the shower to get cleaned up while you heated up some leftovers for him, taking care of him like always. You hadn't even realized he had peeked out of the bathroom to ask for an extra towel, only for his heart to sink at the sight of your sniffles. You were moving around the kitchen so casually despite the tears streaming down your cheeks, despite the tremor in your hands that he could see even across the room. He didn't have the heart to tell you because he knew it was his fault and he was too much of a coward to face the truth. That he was bad for you, bad to you and somewhere deep down, you knew it, too.

He tried to show up more after that. Tried to do better, because somewhere down the line, he had found himself wanting to be worthy of you. What had once been a blunt acceptance of the fact that he never would be, had shifted into the desire to at least try.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asked more often, observing your face as you sat on your couch or laid in his arms in your bed. He tried to get a read on you, but you were pretty damn talented at masking the hurt in your soul. It had convinced him, anyway.

Not anymore.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" you always smiled back, shrugging meekly. Like the mere idea of being anything other than compliant was unfathomable. He could see it in your eyes, that you were upset. Sometimes it wasn't even his fault; sometimes you just had a bad day but even then, you always shrugged it off.

"I don't wanna talk about it", you said casually, "it's not important."

As if anything about you could be anything but.

So, slowly but surely he realized that you weren't as happy and tranquil that you seemed. Even worse, he realized that it was far easier to see than you thought. All this time, you had been trying to placate him by removing your own issues from the equation. You offered solace, a safe haven, and he could no longer enjoy it because he figured out your trick to doing it - you made space for him at the expense of your own.

He finally had enough when he inadvertently pushed you to your limit once more. In his defense, like you pointed out too, he showed up on your doorstep holding his cracked ribs, his face bloodied and his breathing shallow. He had taken a proper beating and still dragged himself up your stairs just to show you that he wanted to be here, and that should have been enough for you. Or so you thought - he didn't.

"Frank, I get it. You look like shit, let me-", you started, reaching for him as he slumped against your door. He huffed, pulling away from you almost petulantly, giving you a tired look.

"Sweetheart, enough. I know you're mad. You gotta be mad. Tell me I fucked up, tell me you're sick of my shit", he gritted out, his words encouraging but his tone irritated. He sucked in a breath, standing up as straight as he could while clutching his ribs. "I keep droppin' the ball. Don't let me get away with that shit."

A frown pulled at your face and you tilted your head at him. "You're angry, because... I'm not angry?" you clarified, almost chuckling at the idea.

"Damn straight", Frank said firmly, huffing and puffing. The pain throbbing throughout his body wasn't nearly as bad as the pain of knowing how blind he had been. "And I dunno why you ain't."

You sighed, reaching for him again. This time, he didn't protest, just let you wind an arm around his waist. He grimaced and hissed at the sting in his ribs but you simply shushed him softly while guiding him to your couch. It proved difficult to set his heavy body down with any sense of grace, but a relieved sigh escaped him, nonetheless, once he sank into the cushions. You stood in front of him, twisting your bracelet nervously.

"I don't know how to be mad", you offered quietly, nerves building in your stomach. You had never been good at being loud, being demanding. And with Frank, it felt especially difficult. How could you ever yell or snap at someone who had been through so much but found comfort in you? You couldn't take that sanctuary away from him.

"You oughta try." Shaking his head, Frank exhaled. "Makes me sick to see you make yourself small like that, sweetheart. You shouldn't have to do that for anyone. Least of all me", he went on, hurt bleeding into his own voice now. It was killing him, knowing now that you were so used to shrinking. Taking up as little space as possible. He wanted to see you flourish, be honest with him, let him see you at your worst - because Lord knows you had seen him at rock bottom, too.

"Well, I am upset", you exhaled, fidgeting on your feet. This felt so incredibly strange, owning up to the hurt inside you, but the way Frank was looking at you was every bit encouraging. "I-I wait up for you and you never even text me. Sometimes you leave me on read, and-and it really hurts my feelings", you rambled on, your eyebrows knitted together as the emotions bubble to the surface. You were used to crying to yourself, behind closed doors, but this was different. This was frustration.

Frank said nothing. This wasn't the time for him to interject or make any comments. This was your moment to unload.

"It makes me feel really unimportant, Frank", you huffed. You swallowed hard before continuing, finally meeting his eyes. "I feel so... so lonely and dismissed when you pull stuff like this. I like you a lot and I want to keep seeing you but I need you to give me something in return, okay? I can't keep doing whatever this is."

Nodding along, Frank broke into a small smile. "Attagirl", he whispered approvingly, bowing his head in apology. "I'm real sorry for the way I've treated you, sweetheart. I'mma do better, I promise. 'Cause I really like you too, you know?" he continued, beckoning for you to join him on the couch. You hesitated before sinking down next to him, curling up against his good side.

"Thank you", you sighed softly, resting your hand on the skull on his chest. "Was that okay?"

Chuckling gruffly, Frank nodded before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Jack and Robby are attendings, senior attendings at that. Why would they want anything to do with you.

You blinked hard, forcing your attention back to the task at hand. The O2 saturation hovered at 93%. The number was acceptable but you could do better. You made a minor adjustment and watched with satisfaction as the numbers slowly climbed.

You’re convenient. A distraction. Something new. They’ll be tired of you soon enough.

The monitor beeped confirming your improved readings. You made a note in the chart, hands trembling. Three months into your relationship with both men and these thoughts still ambushed you at the most inappropriate times.

You’d had trouble with intrusive thoughts your entire life. Sometimes they’d be quiet, rare for months at a time. And sometimes they never fucking stopped. Sometimes they sounded just like your father.

How long before they get bored? Before they realize you’re not worth the trouble?

STOP IT! you screamed in your head. Just stop.

You shook your head as if that might dislodge the toxic thoughts clinging to your brain. You finished documenting the new ventilator settings, double-checking each one. The routine was comforting. Numbers didn’t lie, didn’t pity, didn’t pretend to want you around. Measurements were reliable in ways people weren’t.

“Hey, RT,” a nurse called as you exited the room. “Bed four’s back from CT and ready for that nebulizer when you get a chance.”

“On it,” you replied, grateful for the distraction from your spiraling thoughts.

But as you prepared the nebulizer treatment, your mind betrayed you again.

Dinner was so awkward last night. They kept exchanging those looks. They’re probably trying to figure out how to let you down easy. To tell you this was all a mistake.

The medication slipped from your fingers, clattering on the cart. You caught it before it rolled off, but not before Parker Eliis noticed your fumble from the hall as she walked past. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched you recover.

You managed to finish preparing the nebulizer without further incident, administered the treatment and were updating the chart when Parker appeared at your elbow.

“Breakroom. Five minutes.” Her tone left no room for argument and she disappeared down the hallway.

For the next five minutes, you completed your tasks mechanically. By the time you pushed open the breakroom door, your palms were damp with sweat.

Parker sat at a table, two cups of coffee in front of her. She nodded at the chair beside her. “Sit.” She slid one of the coffees toward you. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“Bullshit.” Her directness was both her most jarring and most appreciated quality. “You’ve been checking and rechecking vent settings all night and you dropped meds earlier. You’re not tired. You’re distracted.”

You wrapped your hands around the warm cup. “It’s personal.”

“Is it about Jack and Robby?”

“How did you—”

“Everyone knows you’re seeing them.” She shrugged. “Hospital’s worse than a high school for gossip. Plus, they’ve both been a better mood. Which can I just say thank you for that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“So what’s the problem? Trouble in your three person paradise?”

You stared into your coffee. “I don’t know if they’re serious about me. If this means anything to them. Sometimes, I think…I think they might just feel sorry for me, or I’m convenient, or—”

“Have they given you any reason to think that?” Parker interrupted.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” You rubbed your forehead. “Last night at dinner they kept having these silent conversations and when I asked what was going on they both said ‘nothing’ too quickly. And sometimes when I talk about future plans they get this look like they’re just humoring me.”

Because they don’t see you in their future. Why would they?

You shook your head again, harder this time. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.”

Parker studied you for a long moment. “You know what your problem is?”

“I have anxiety and abandonment issues?” you offered.

“You’re not talking to them,” she said with a raised brow. “You’re having full conversations with them in your head and getting upset about things they haven’t even said.”

The accuracy of her assessment stung.

“Jack’s catching up on admin right now,” Parker continued, glancing at her watch. “And you’re almost off shift anyway. Just go ask him what’s up.”

Your heart rate accelerated. “Now? In the middle of his shift?”

“Yes, now. Before you check that poor man in Twenty’s vent for the fifteenth time tonight.”

“But what if…” Your mind immediately constructed the worst possible scenario. Jack annoyed by your interruption, dismissing you and your concerns before asking when you’re going to get the hint and leave them alone.

He’ll think you’re needy. Clingy. He’ll tell Robby and they’ll both realize that you’re too much work.

“Stop that,” Parker said as if she could read your thoughts. “Whatever you’re imaging, it’s not going to happen. But if you don’t talk to them, you’ll sabotage everything with your assumptions.”

You took a deep breath, knowing she was right but dreading the next few minutes all the same.

Parker softened her tone. “Just talk to them. I’m told that’s what adults in relationships are supposed to do.”

She stood and placed a hand on your shoulder. “You deserve to be happy. The worst that can happen is you get an answer instead of torturing yourself with maybes.”

Your feet were heavy as you left the breakroom, every step toward Jack requiring conscious effort.

What if he’s too busy? What if he doesn’t care? What if this is the beginning of the end?

But you kept walking.

Jack sat hunched in front of a computer, frowning at the screen. His fingers tapped on the keyboard with far more force than necessary. You hesitated at the edge of the hub gathering your courage.

This is a mistake. Turn around.

Parker’s words echoed in your mind, pushing you forward. Three steps brought you to Jack’s side, though he didn’t look up as you approached.

“Hey,” you said softer than you’d intended.

Jack’s eyes flicked up briefly before returning to the screen. “Hey yourself.”

“Do you have a minute to talk?” You asked, fingers playing with the hem of your scrub top.

He’s going to say no. Look at his face. He doesn’t want to be bothered with you.

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his silvering curls. He still didn’t look fully away from the screen.

“I’ve got to get this done. Gloria’s been up Robby’s ass about it, but we can talk later.” His tone was clipped with frustration that probably wasn’t directed at you, but it felt personal nonetheless. The dismissal, however reasonable, stung.

“Sure. That’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady despite the sudden hollow feeling in your chest.

Of course he doesn’t want to talk to you. You’re such a fucking idiot.

You took a step backward, then another.

It’s just pity. They feel sorry for you. That’s all.

The air suddenly felt too thin, the lights too bright. You retreated, backing away from Jack’s hunched form, from the conversation that never happened, from the reassurance you desperately needed but couldn’t bring yourself to demand.

First, he’s too busy. Then he’s too tired. Then you’re just too much trouble.

The negative thoughts gathered momentum feeding one another. You returned to your rounds, mechanically going through the actions you needed to take until your shift ended an hour later. You handed over to your replacement, professional even as you felt pieces of yourself flaking away.

It was another hour before Parker approached the hub where Jack remained, now closing out of programs. She leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Did you talk to her?”

Jack glanced up, fatigue evident in the slump of his shoulders. He fucking hated the admin shit. Was happy to leave it to Robby most of the time. “Who?”

Parker’s eyebrow arched dangerously. “Your girlfriend. The one who came to talk to you earlier. The one who looked like she was about to cry when she walked away.”

He stilled, dread settling in his stomach. “She said it could wait.”

“And you believed her?”

“I had to finish this paperwork. Gloria’s been—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted. “She needed to talk to you and you brushed her off.”

His brow furrowed as he stood. “I didn’t brush her off. I just said we could talk later.”

“And did you look at her face when you said that? Did you even look up from your screen?”

Jack’s silence was answer enough.

“Seriously, Jack?” Parker pushed away from the counter, her annoyance evident. “For someone so observant in a trauma, you are remarkably blind to what’s right in front of you.”

“What?” Jack’s confusion was genuine. “What did I do?”

Parker merely shook her head and walked away, leaving Jack staring after her, the first seeds of concern finally taking root in his head.

The nurses station buzzed with the controlled chaos of shift change. Robby stood with his tablet, black scrubs crisp and fresh compared to Jack’s rumpled ones. Around them the day shift filtered in while night shift wrapped up their final tasks. Jack rubbed his tired eyes, the conversation with Parker still gnawing at him as he waited for the right moment to speak to Robby. When Dana stepped away, he seized the opportunity.

“I think I screwed up,” Jack said, voice pitched so only Robby could hear.

Robby’s brown eyes focused on Jack with immediate concern. “Patient?”

Jack shook his head and said your name. His eyes found Parker on the other side of the ED updating another resident.

Robby sat the tablet down and followed Jack’s gaze to the resident. “What happened?”

Jack explained your brief interaction and the conversation with Parker later. With each detail, Robby’s frown deepened.

“She seemed fine with waiting,” Jack finished lamely. “She said it was fine.”

“And you believed her?” Robby’s voice carried the same disbelief Parker’s had. “Jack, when a woman says ‘fine’ like that, it is the opposite of fine.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I realize that now.”

Robby leaned closer. “Call her when you get home. Check in with her. Don’t let this fester.”

“You think it’s that serious?”

“I think she’s been pulling away all week and neither of us has addressed it,” Robby said carefully. “This might just be the breaking point.”

Jack’s expression shifted from concern to surprise. “You noticed too?”

“Of course I noticed. I’ve been hoping she’d bring up whatever was bothering her.” Robby sighed. “Call her. We’ll figure it out.”

The following days were a series of moments where you masked your internal struggle.

You’d smiled when Jack called, assuring him everything was fine, that you understood how busy work was, that you weren’t upset. All while your mind tormented you.

He’s only calling because he feels obligated. Parker probably said something about how pathetic you were being.

You laughed at Robby’s jokes but pulled your hand away when he reached for it.

Don’t get used to his touch. It won’t last. They’ll realize you weren’t worth it.

You continued to do your work without fault. But each time Jack or Robby appeared, you found reasons to be elsewhere.

Better to withdraw slowly. Make it easier for everyone.

You answered their texts promptly but without your usual warmth.

It will hurt less when they leave if you don’t show them how much you care.

Every interaction with them became an exercise in restraint, in maintaining the distance that would protect your heart when the inevitable happened.

But Jack and Robby weren’t blind. They noticed how you turned your face slightly away when Robby kissed your cheek. They saw how you tensed when Jack placed a hand on your lower back as you walked. They felt the growing space you inserted between your body and theirs whenever you were together.

Their concerned glances increased in frequency. During a quiet shift change, Robby caught Jack’s eye over your head as you updated a chart. You were physically present but emotionally miles away. Jack’s slight nod confirmed they were thinking the same thing. Something had to be done.

A week after Jack’s casual dismissal, schedules aligned and the three of you were off at the same time. The invitation to their home seemed casual. Normal.

“Just dinner,” Robby said. “We haven’t had a proper night together all week.”

This is it. They’re going to end it. They were just waiting for a chance they could both be there. Makes sense.

You almost declined, almost manufactured an excuse. But some part of you wanted to rip the bandage off, to face the rejection head on rather than prolonging the agony. So you agreed, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands.

Their house felt different this time. The warm familiarity had been replaced by a tension that hung in the air. Dinner passed with forced conversation and empty laughter. When Robby suggested moving to the living room, your stomach clenched with dread.

You perched on the edge of the couch, shoulders tight, hands clasped in your lap. Jack and Robby exchanged another one of those aggravating looks.

“Are you not happy with us?” Jack asked, his hazel eyes searching your face with an intensity that had you looking away.

The question pierced through you. You opened your mouth to deliver another reassurance, another ‘I’m fine’ but what emerged was a choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Happy? I’m terrified.”

Robby moved closer to you on the couch, not touching you but close enough you could feel his warmth.

“Of what?” he asked gently.

“Of this ending.” Your voice cracked. “Of being temporary. Of you both waking up one day and realizing I don’t fit.”

Everything you’d been suppressing came pouring out. How you analyzed every look and gesture for signs they were tired of you. How you questioned why the two of them would ever want someone like you in the first place. How you’d convinced yourself that you were just an experiment they would eventually outgrow.

“Every time you have those silent conversations, I think you’re figuring out how to let me go,” you admitted staring at your hands. “Every time one of you is too busy to talk, I think you’re avoiding me. Every time you say something nice, I think you’re just being kind because you pity me.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “Why the fuck would you think we pity you?”

“Because why else would you want me? You two make sense together. I’m just…extra. Unnecessary. Complicated.”

Robby reached for your hand, his touch gentle but insistent. “You are not extra. You’re essential.”

“We don’t pity you,” Jack added, his normally guarded expression open and vulnerable. “We love you.”

Those three words that should have comforted you, sent a fresh wave of panic through you.

“But I haven’t earned it,” you whispered. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it and someday you’ll realize that and I’ll be gone.”

The confession exposed the truth at the heart of your insecurities. Love was something to be earned, not freely given. Love was conditional, transactional, temporary, and if you fucked up it was so, so easy to take it away.

Jack and Robby exchanged another look, but this time you could read it clearly. Concern mixed with a bit of newfound understanding.

“Love isn’t something you earn,” Robby said softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s something you feel.”

“And we feel it for you,” Jack added, voice laced with sincerity. “Those silent conversations? Half the time we’re checking if the other one noticed how beautiful you look or if we’re both thinking the same thing about something you said.”

“The other half we’re arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash,” Robby said with a small smile, pulling a watery laugh from you.

“I’m sorry I brushed you off the other night,” Jack said, moving closer until you were bracketed between them on the couch. “I was stressed about paperwork but that’s no excuse. You’re more important.”

“And I’m sorry if we’ve done anything to make you feel temporary,” Robby added. “Because you’re not. Not to us.”

You glanced from one to the other, searching their faces and finding nothing but concern and love. The knot in your chest loosened just a bit.

“I don’t know how to stop these thoughts,” you admitted. “They just come and they sound so convincing.”

Jack took your other hand in his. “Then tell us when they come and we’ll help you fight them.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to lean into them, to accept their touch without pulling away, to consider the possibility they meant what they said.

Once he finally found a moment of quiet in the usual chaos of the ED, he made his way over to Dana. He leaned against the counter as he called her name. She turned immediately, brows lifting in question.

“Hey, Dana… do you know if she took the day off today?”

Dana didn’t need to ask who “she” was. Neither of you had ever bothered to pretend there wasn’t something going on, so anyone who doubted it was either oblivious or choosing to be. Dana was neither.

“Why? Worried about your star pupil?” she teased with a grin.

Robby only shook his head, used to it.

“She’s always the first one here. She’s an hour late. I don’t remember her mentioning anything… but maybe she did, and I just didn’t hear.”

Dana clicked away at the keyboard, searching for something.

“Well, would you look at that?”

“What? What is it?”

She looked over at him with that same teasing smile.

“Looks like your girl moved onto the night shift.”

Robby’s brain stalled. Had she really said what he thought, or was his hearing just choosing to mess with him today?

“She—what?”

“Yeah. Looks like she switched to nights starting today. So she’s not going to be working with us anymore. Total bummer. I’m gonna miss her,” Dana muttered with genuine sincerity.

But Robby wasn’t listening anymore. The only thing in his head was: Why the hell would you move to night shift without telling him?He wasn’t getting answers anytime soon—not until his shift ended and he could actually reach you. But that didn't mean the thought wasn’t going to plague him all day. 

He threw himself into work, letting the ED’s chaos drown out the worst of the overthinking. But even while treating patients, his mind kept spinning. You’d had fights before—dumb little spats resolved with a soft sorry and a kiss on the cheek. Communication had never been a problem. So what had changed?

By the end of his shift, he was exhausted—physically and mentally. He leaned against the counter, staring into nothing as the tiredness hit him hard.

And then he saw you. Bag slung over your shoulder as you walked into the ED beside Jack.

A million thoughts flooded his brain—especially your most recent fight… the one where Jack, unlike Robby, had taken your side. So that was it. Had to be. What else made sense?

He wanted to pull you aside right then and there, demanding to know why you’d switched shifts without telling him. But you and Jack barely had time to shove your belongings into your lockers before being swallowed by the chaos. There was no chance for a quiet moment. Not now.

The entire way home was torture. He kept wanting to turn back and find a way to talk to you. He knew he wouldn’t sleep until this was resolved—and he was right. He lay awake all night, mind refusing to shut up even though he had another shift in the morning.

The next day, Robby walked in looking worse than usual—if that was even possible. When he reached the nurses’ station, he didn’t need to say anything. Dana gave him a knowing look.

“She’s taking a breather,” she muttered.

Robby nodded, knowing exactly where to go.

When he pushed open the door to the roof, he found Jack standing at the edge, eyes fixed on the world below, and you sitting on the floor with your back against the railing, eyes closed as the sun warmed your face. To anyone else, it might’ve looked odd.

Robby was used to it.

He approached quietly. Your eyes snapped open when his shadow crossed your face. They traveled up from his jeans to his face, squinting against the sun. You gave him a soft smile.

“Hey, Robby.”

Jack turned at the sound of your voice, nodding once toward Robby. Robby’s eyes flicked from Jack to you.

“You babysitting?” he teased.

You smiled, glancing at Jack. “Just making sure this idiot’s not gonna jump.”

“I’m just admiring the view,” Jack said behind you, earning looks from both you and Robby.

It stayed like that for a moment—Jack looking down at the world below, your eyes glued to his frame, and Robby’s eyes glued to you. Then Jack let out a sigh, turning on his heels so he was facing you too. He patted the railing softly before ducking under it and stepping back onto the “safe side” of the rooftop.

“Alright, that’s enough sightseeing for me,” Jack said, trying to lighten the mood.

You let out a soft chuckle from your spot on the ground, which made him glance down at you. He gave you a small smile when your eyes met before reaching his hand out. You took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Thanks.”

He just nodded, starting toward the door—pausing only to give Robby’s shoulder a quick pat on the way. You watched his back for a moment before beginning to follow, but just as you stepped past Robby, his hand closed gently around your arm.

You stopped abruptly, your gaze shifting from Jack’s retreating form disappearing behind the door to Robby’s face. Your brows furrowed when you saw his distant, spaced-out expression.

“Robby?” you said softly. “Everything okay?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said, letting go of your arm.

“Okay.” You took a small step back so you were standing directly in front of him. “What’s up?”

You watched him fight with himself for a moment, trying to figure out how to say what had been plaguing him since yesterday without making it sound like he was placing blame on you—or like you owed him an explanation. Your hand moved to rest gently on his arm, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. You looked up at him with a soft, steady expression.

“Hey, it’s just me, Robby,” you said quietly. “Just talk to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were switching to nights?” Robby blurted, his voice rough.

Your expression softened instantly—guilt flickering across your face like cloud-shadow.

“Robby…”

“No,” he said, taking a step closer. Not angry—just tired, raw, confused. “I mean—did I do something? Are you avoiding me? Because yesterday I spent the entire shift trying to figure out what I could’ve possibly screwed up.”

“Hey—no. You didn’t screw anything up,” you answered quickly, concern sharpening your voice.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked around the edges in a way that made your chest ache.

You finally sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as you looked away from him. “Robby… it wasn’t about you.”

“Then what was it?” he asked quietly. “Because if it wasn’t me, then I really don’t get it.”

You hesitated. And it wasn’t the guilty kind of hesitation — more like you were trying to figure out how to say something without it sounding weird.

“Okay,” you finally muttered, huffing out a breath, “but you can’t laugh at me.”

Robby blinked. That was… not what he expected. “Why would I laugh at you?”

You gave him a look — wide-eyed, almost embarrassed. “Because it’s stupid.”

He softened. “Hey. Nothing you say is stupid to me.”

“…Do you promise you’re not gonna get mad?”

“Why would I—” he stopped himself, sighed, and nodded. “I promise.”

You exhaled through your nose, bracing yourself.

“I switched because Jack was alone.”

Robby froze. “What?”

“Jack,” you repeated, a little faster, like ripping off a band-aid. “He was alone. You—” your hand lifted vaguely toward his chest, “—have Whitaker on your shift. You have someone. But Jack didn’t. He was just spending the whole night shift by himself, and I felt… bad.”

Robby stared at you, brain trying to take in what you were saying. You kept talking, words tumbling out now.

“And it didn’t feel fair. Like—you get two of us. Whitaker’s always with you on mornings, and I’m always with you on mornings, and Jack was just kinda… by himself. And I know none of us ever actually said what we are, but it didn’t feel right that he didn’t have anybody.”

Robby’s jaw worked soundlessly.

You swallowed. “I just wanted him to have someone, too. That’s all. I wasn’t leaving you. I wasn’t avoiding you. I just… wanted to even it out.”

A long moment passed.

Robby blinked again—slow, like his brain was rebooting.

“You switched shifts,” he said finally, “because you felt guilty that Jack didn’t have somebody with him during night shift?”

You nodded.

“And you think me having Whitaker makes mornings ‘balanced’ for me?”

You nodded again, smaller this time.

Robby dragged a hand down his face, let out a hoarse, incredulous laugh, and then shook his head.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “I thought you were mad at me. I thought you were pulling away. I thought—” he gestured helplessly, “—I thought I’d messed something up.”

Your expression melted. “No. God, Robby, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He stepped closer, close enough that your shoulders brushed when you breathed.

“You moved to nights,” Robby said softly, “for him.”

“Yes.”

“And it wasn’t… because you didn’t want to be with me?”

Your brows pinched in confusion, almost offended. “Robby, when have I ever not wanted to be with you?”

That hit him dead center.

He inhaled shakily. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was choosing Jack over you.”

Robby laughed—quiet, almost disbelieving. “Sweetheart, you moved shifts to make sure Jack didn’t feel left out. That’s not choosing him. That’s just… you being you.”

You exhaled, shoulders finally dropping in relief.

He reached up, brushing your cheek with his thumb, voice softening.

“You don’t have to carry all of us alone, you know.”

You smiled faintly. “I kinda like carrying you.”

Robby’s eyes softened. “Yeah, well… next time you’re rearranging your entire life to make things fair for the four of us? Let me help, will you?”

Your smile widened as you stepped a little closer. “Deal.”

Robby grinned down at you and leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against your lips. When you pulled apart, your foreheads stayed pressed together, both of you caught in that warm little bubble you always seemed to fall into around him.

You were so focused on him you didn’t hear the door creak open—only snapped your head over when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“I thought you two were right behind me. Turns out I was talking to air the whole way down.” Jack deadpanned.

You burst into laughter before you could stop yourself, leaning into Robby’s chest as the sound shook through you. Both men joined in—your laugh was way too contagious for either of them to pretend otherwise.

When you finally lifted your head again, trying and failing to catch your breath, Jack was already watching you with that signature crooked smirk of his. 

The three of you made your way down from the roof. Jack kept glancing back every few steps to make sure you and Robby were actually following him this time. You knew he was being dramatic on purpose, but his antics still made you smile.

Once you got back to the ED, you pulled Robby into a hug. Even though everyone could tell there was something between the two of you, you avoided kissing him at work—you tried to stay at least somewhat professional. Robby’s shoulders relaxed under your hold, soaking in your proximity for as long as he could.

“How about we have a sleepover at mine on Friday? All four of us,” you whispered into his ear.

Robby smiled, turning his head just enough to whisper back, his beard scraping your cheek in the way you secretly adored.

“I’d like that.”

You pulled away, hands lingering on his forearms as you smiled up at him.

“Good.”

Jack lingered nearby, waiting patiently for your exchange to finish so he could give Robby his own parting hug. As soon as you stepped away, Jack stepped in. Your eyes drifted over to Whitaker as the two men hugged each other, and you found yourself moving toward him.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Whitaker’s head lifted from the chart he’d been reviewing, his expression easing the moment he realized it was you.

“Hi.” His brows furrowed gently. “I thought you’d be gone by now. Didn’t your shift end a while ago?”

“Yeah. I was just about to head out, but I had to get something straightened out with Robby.”

Whitaker’s eyes widened in understanding, flicking briefly toward Robby and Jack before returning to you.

“Oh—you told him about the switch?”

You nodded.

“He thought I was mad at him. Can you believe that?”

Whitaker gave you a look that very clearly said This is Robby we’re talking about. You couldn’t help laughing.

“Yeah, I guess I should’ve seen it coming.”

You sighed, watching as Jack said something that made Robby laugh—really laugh. His head tipped back, hand on Jack’s shoulder, eyes crinkling in that rare way he saved for the three of you.

You nudged Whitaker gently with your elbow.

“You’ll… be okay handling him on your own, right?” you teased softly. “Make sure he doesn’t spiral again?”

Whitaker huffed a tiny laugh—the kind that barely left his throat—but his eyes were fond.

“Yeah. I’ve got him,” he said, and there was a quiet certainty there that made something in you relax.

You smiled, stepping a bit closer. You pulled him into a hug—his body tensing for a moment before he finally relaxed into your embrace. He still wasn’t used to being physical with you at work. And when you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, he couldn’t help the flush that bloomed across his skin.

When you pulled back, his eyes darted around the room, searching to see if anyone had noticed the exchange. You simply shook your head, your hand sliding up to squeeze his shoulder.

“Relax. Nobody’s paying attention to us.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward—small, almost hesitant, but definitely there.

Before you could say more, Jack’s voice echoed across the ED.

“Hey! You ready to go or am I walking home alone?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Drama queen,” you muttered under your breath.

Whitaker’s mouth twitched again—his version of a grin. “Be safe,” he said softly.

You gave him one more quick, stealthy squeeze of his hand before stepping away. “Always.”

Jack was waiting for you at the doors, hands shoved into his pockets, that crooked smirk aimed right at you the second you approached.

“Finally,” he said, bumping your shoulder as you reached him. “I was about to send out a search party.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you laughed.

And together, you and Jack stepped out of the hospital, the morning air washing over you. 

Robby arrived at Whitaker’s side just as the two of you disappeared from view. Whitaker exhaled through his nose, gaze lingering on the empty doorway.

 “…I’m gonna miss her,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard.

Robby didn’t tease him for it. He just stepped up beside him and clapped a hand on Whitaker’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah,” Robby sighed, eyes softening. “You and me both, kid.”

The two of them stood there for a moment—equal parts hopeless, fond, and a little lovesick—before a nurse shouted Robby’s name from across the ED.

Whitaker turned to him with a knowing look. “Back to work?”

Robby groaned, shifting his focus to the day ahead. “Let’s get to it.”

They headed off together, matching steps, both already counting the hours until the four of you were tucked back into the same orbit again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know it's bad to bottle everything up.

You know in the long run that the metaphorical bottles that store every little bad emotion you have will crack and then shatter.

But it is all you know how to do; all you've been told to do.

Growing up, you were in your brother's shadow. No matter what you did, your brother did first and better in the eyes of your parents. And if you complained at all? They'd shoot you down and tell you to suck it up because either they or your sibling had it worse and did fine. Are your classes difficult? Well the college prep classes and the highly competitive university courses were worse and he never complained. Feeling burnt out? You're the first in the family to feel that way. You need motivation and reassurance for your work or you're self-conscious? Maybe that's your own mind telling you there IS something wrong with you. Depressed? Anxious? Not allowed. Suck it up.

So you decided at some point in high-school to just keep it bottled up. To try and put on a brave face until you could find time to be alone when it all inevitably breaks out. It's worked for you so the habit stays. It was easy when you moved away from your family and lived alone in Pittsburgh. You keep up your forced, customer service smile at your retail job while struggling to find a job for your degree and then cry at night when that bottle finally bursts, only to repeat the process with a new bottle.

But then you met Jack Abbot and Michael Robinavitch. 

It was a rare night out for you at some bar near the hospital. A shitty day at work had you feeling like you had to go out to take your mind off everything. You didn't feel like staying home, so after work you found yourself heading to a bar you’ve heard your co-workers rave about for its cheap drinks and heavy pours. The two were sitting at the bar, both sipping on the same type of beer. That sat close with their knees brushing against one another, hands dangerously close to touching. Both were older than you and were so handsome. Just your type.

When their eyes drifted to you in your lonesome corner booth you nearly melted… and then almost combusted from embarrassment. You remember how your face flared with heat that they caught you staring and you were quick to divert your staring to your drink. Never were you more fascinated with condensation dripping down a glass cup than you were in that moment. Your racing heart barely got a chance to calm down when their two forms slid across you in the booth–both wearing charming smiles. 

Both men were already in a relationship when they brought you home with them that night. A one night stand isn't something you did much, but with two hot, older men who were into you? You didn't pass up the opportunity for a night of fun after a shitty day. 

And boy was it an exhilarating night with them both. 

You were expecting to get dressed and get an Uber home once the passion died down and you each took a shower, but they asked you to stay the whole night. Jack lent you a shirt while Robby gave you some sweats and the next thing you knew you were sandwiched between them both. When you woke, Jack was still beside you but Robby was missing. You almost tripped trying to get dressed silently in yesterday's clothes before tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the short hall of their apartment to your shoes.

You nearly had a heartache when you saw Robby on the couch, sipping coffee as his gaze snapped up to you. He offered to take you to breakfast once Jack woke up and asked you to sit with him. That chat with him was earnest and surprisingly deep, despite only knowing him for the night.

That breakfast with them both fully cemented them into your life because it wasn't long after that did they bring you into their relationship. You were quite surprised when they asked you out as their partner but they said they found you charming and refreshing, something separate from the chaos at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ER where they worked. That was a year ago and you've been happy since.

Well, lately, not so much.

Despite the happiness your two loving partners bring you, work is really pulling you down. In order to get your hours up, you work various positions in various departments. Yet despite all the hard work you put into your minimum wage job, your bosses treat you like garbage. You put up with angry customers and if one of your managers was upset? You had to put up with them taking their anger out on you. You've been yelled at, cursed at, had items thrown at you, and the forced happiness slowly drains you. And you swear one of the male customers is purposely going up to your register, going through the self-checkouts you're watching, finding a reason to go up to the customer service desk, or if you're shopping for online orders, he's following you through the aisles. 

It seems this past month it's been almost amplified for some reason. It's wearing down your mental health slowly but surely. Any confidence you had has been slowly whittled down by the insults you get or the overall drag you feel. You don't feel good about yourself anymore. You feel so tired you are sure your appearance reflects that, no matter how hard you try to do yourself up. Because you've noticed the better treatment you receive if you make yourself look better before a shift, but lately that hasn't been working either. 

And yet, you can’t find yourself to tell Jack and Robby when they ask you about your day. What can you say that could compare to the hectic and traumatic shifts they do at the Pitt? They deal with much worse and on top of the baseline of their job, they have Gloria breathing down their necks about ratings and the more ‘business’ side of the hospital. They’ve been screamed at, had punches and kicks thrown their way, probably had almost every bodily fluid possible end up on their clothes at one point or another… What could you complain about?

They both end their respective shifts tired and drained, and the old voices of your family tell you to stay quiet about your own problems. How can a minimum wage retail job compare to them saving lives, you ask yourself constantly. So, you simply smile and say the day was fine. Sometimes you add in that the day was a little tiring, otherwise, you're just bottling it all up.

But you always managed a smile, even if your eyes didn't quite match. 

It is another day and it's dragging behind the register despite how slammed the store has been. Already you've been yelled at twice. Since you were the only one willing, you did several heavy carry outs and your limbs and back ache from each. Your manager came in pissed about her kid for something and decided to snap at you for not smiling, and worst of all, at the end of your shift someone's child uncapped their soda and spilt over you when you went to scan the under cart items. Thankfully you were able to buy some clothes on your last break. Towards the end you were feeling warmer, but you chalked that up to the longer sleeves of your new shirt and from just how many bodies were in the store.

Your only solace is that you get to go out with your boyfriends on their night off tonight and have some drinks with their co-workers. You push through the rest of the shift begrudgingly with a fake smile and ready to help attitude. And while the last hour drags like always, you finally get to clock out and get back to their apartment. You haven't moved in yet, but half your things are already there. You look forward to your lease ending so you can be with them completely. 

Thankfully, despite the shitshow at work, traffic wasn't bad and you got home right at 7:30pm.

When you unlock the door Jack and Robby were already ready to go. They smile at you when you enter the building with affectionate looks. You see their eyes flicker down to the bag holding your original clothes before confusion is apparent. 

“What's with the bag of clothes, sweetheart?” Jack asks softly as he approaches you. He cups your jaw and gives your forehead a small kiss, then pulls back to look you over. “And you feel warm. Are you okay?”

“Welcome home by the way.” Robby adds with a quirk of the corner of his lips. He leans down and places a kiss on your temple. “But I am also curious about the bag of clothes and concerned about your health.”

“Oh, just…” Your voice trails off for a moment but then you smile. “We had a sale on some cute clothes so I bought some on my break, decided I should wear them out tonight. And I’m warm because I worked in this shirt and did a lot of walking today. I’m fine.”

The lies roll easily off your tongue and you feel the guilt bubble up. You swallow thickly and maintain your smile as they eye you.

“Well, they do look good on you.” Robby murmurs as his fingers touch the fabric covering your arm.

“Probably looks better off and on the floor though.” Jack rasps with a quick grin, making you flush and shake your head with a laugh. His hand drops and squeezes your hip. When did I gain weight?

“Weren't we supposed to leave as soon as I got home?”

“And we are.” Robby laughs, taking both the plastic bag of your old clothes and your work bag to set them down by the door. His large hands take your shoulders and spin you around towards the door, leading you out of the apartment while Jack locks up. You three mosey on down to the parking garage underneath the building to Jack's truck.

“I only plan to have a beer, I'll drive.” Robby offers with his usual smile.

“If you’re sure. I could always drive if you want to have more though.” You try to suggest but he is already getting into the driver's seat. You slide into the back behind Abbot before buckling up.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure you need a few drinks more than I do. The holidays have to be making the store crazy, right?” 

“Oh… No, it hasn’t been too bad, surprisingly. A few rushes and Jillian called out again but it’s been fine.” You lie again and look away from the front of the truck. You keep your focus on the passing view outside the window as you tap your fingers against your knee. The ride to the bar was relatively silent except for the low sound of the radio and Jack and Robby chatting idly about the Pitt.

The journey was short and the next thing you knew Robby was pulling into a parking spot outside the very bar they found you in. Robby is quick to hop out of the truck and open the door for you, making you giggle softly when you take his hand. He helps you out and wraps his arm around your shoulders while Jack joins you both, intertwining his fingers with yours. You three walk up to the bar like this but the door isn't wide enough, making Jack laugh softly. Robby drops his arm and opens the door for you both with a slight, comical bow of his head. Jack leads the way in, still holding your hand until he spots the others. 

Melissa King, Frank Langdon, Dennis Whittaker, Trinity Santos, and a girl you’ve only seen a handful of times are already sitting at a large, circular table with three spots open. You give them each a smile and take your seat next to Melissa, while Jack sits between you and Robby.

“We haven’t ordered drinks yet. We weren’t sure if you wanted that piss water you call beer or a real drink.” Langdon jabs at the two older men who both chuckle and shake their heads.

“I don’t know how you drink your IPA. It tastes like literal sewer fluid. We may need to have you get an MRI in case of a head injury.” Jack retorts, making the others ‘oh’ around the table. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll start us off with some shots and then get a pitcher of whatever sounds good on tap.” Robby laughs and gets up from the table, glancing at Jack. “Help me carry over the glasses?”

“Of course.”

You watch your two partners get up and leave the table, heading to place their order at the bar.

You hear Mel call your name so you turn your head to face her. “How are you doing?” 

“Not too bad. I'm a little busy from the holidays, but I’ve been doing good. How about you? How’s your sister?” You give her a smile and you see her own little smile appear.

“Oh she is doing great! The facility is doing a little sleep over night tonight and she was so excited, especially since they are playing Elf. It’s her favorite movie. It’s actually a relief too since I never get to come out after I get off.” 

“That’s great. I’m glad to hear that place is working out for her and you.” You smile at how happy she is to talk about her sister, until you hear a voice cut into the conversation.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met! I’m Jaimee Coudray, I transferred to PTMC as an R1.” The woman across from you nearly shouts to be heard over the chatter with a grin. Her hair is long and wavy with her bangs clipped back. She’s thin and her tight shirt shows off her curves tastefully. She’s very beautiful, you can’t help but think. “You came in with Robby and Jack?”

You offer her your name with a polite smile. “Yeah, we are close.” Your answer is a little vague since the others aren’t aware of you, Jack, and Robby dating. They just assume you’re dating one of them as far as you know.

You can see her looking you over, one of her perfectly shaped brows twitching upwards with each passing second. You felt almost scrutinized and judged, making you sink down in your spot. It’s the same look customers give you when they get their way; looking down at you as if you are underneath them. “How’d you guys meet? I’ve been dying to try and get close to Robby but he has a wall up.”

“We met at this bar actually.” You smile awkwardly as you’re aware the others are watching this interaction. “Just…hit it off I guess enough to keep me as a friend.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty great.” Dennis jumps in, sensing your awkwardness at the look Jaimee is giving you. “It’s nice having a normie friend, you know?”

“What is it that you do?” She cocks her head to the side and smiles when she sees the two attendings, mainly Robby, come back to the table.

“Oh, I work at the big grocery store across the Allegheny River. I do a little bit of everything there.”

“Oh!” She sounds surprised as she blinks at you, her smile twisting into something more akin to a smirk. “It must be so nice not having a stressful job then like us, huh?”

Trinity shakes her head and blinks in surprise at Jaimee’s words while Dennis looks almost appalled. Langdon is quick to pour himself a beer as his eyes dart between you and the R1. Jack and Robby don’t even seem to pick up what she said, too engrossed in their hushed conversation right now. 

“Hey, retail can be pretty gnarly.” Santos comments, giving her an ‘are you serious’ look. “I worked at some mall gig when I was starting out in med school.”

“Yeah, but that’s while you were studying. Totally understandable.” Jaimee rolls her eyes but gives Santos a smile. She is quick to turn her attention back on you. “Gosh, med school was so stressful. Did you do any schooling?”

“That they did.” Jack smiles as he and Robby come back to the conversation. He places his hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze with a proud look on his face. “A Master’s in History.”

“Oh, that is so neat. Must have been a breeze compared to what we did, huh?” Jaimee smiles and you feel like shrinking more, which she picks up on. 

“It…was a lot of work and studying but-but I guess so. I can’t imagine what med school was like.” You muster up a reply before grabbing one of the shots and downing it. You wince as the tequila rushes down your throat and it almost makes you want to gag, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, you probably can’t. But you know, a master’s is still cool.” She speaks to you as if you were a child before she leans across the table, looking right at Robby. “Say, Dr. Robby…”

They fall into an easy conversation and one you can’t really follow; all of it is on medicine and how to navigate an ER and the field. You glance around at the others as they chime in with their own experiences or jokes. You reach for another shot and take a sniff–vodka this time–and down it all the same. You can’t offer advice to anyone, or share experiences about health care. The familiar voices of your parents and brother echo in your head and you take another shot in hopes to drown them out.

“Hey, you downed those pretty fast. Maybe slow down?” Mel asks you as softly as she can, her brows scrunching and her head tilting a little like she always does when she is concerned.

“I’ll pause for a bit. I just…wanted to have my favorites before anyone else.” You try to muster up a smile but Jaimee’s words stung against your already fragile self. 

“If you need any water, let me know. I can grab a pitcher.”

“Thanks, Mel.” You give her a single nod of your head and focus back on the group.

“So did everyone have today off?” Jaimee asks the table but puts her eyes back on you.

All but Melissa answered yes, having asked for it off for this little hang out. Everyone looks at you for your reply and you hate it.

“I had to work. Since it's the holiday season it's harder to get time off even with PTO, but my manager scheduled me early so I could get off right before tonight.”

“You work hard for that place.” Robby says softly, just loud enough to be heard over the bar with a look of concern on his face. You feel Jack's hand gently squeeze your knee underneath the table as well. 

You hear Jaimee scoff but her voice is sweet when she talks to you. “Oh that really sucks, I can tell you rushed home to be with us. I’m so happy you could make it though. I’ve heard your name around and wanted to meet you.”

“Yeah, we talk about you a lot. Dana’s always asking for you to come by so she can gossip.” Jack chuckles. You blink because he is not reacting at all to her passive aggressive comments disguised as genuine interest and compliments, and neither is Robby. Santos is getting angrier each time Jaimee speaks, Frank’s brows furrow with each comment she makes, Whitaker keeps giving you sympathetic looks, and while Mel doesn’t acknowledge the hidden jabs in any sort of capacity she still tries to talk with you and make encouraging comments your way.

But why aren’t Robby and Jack noticing?

Are they…do they agree with her?

The night wears on and so do her words. The three shots you took turned into five along with a cocktail, and you’re certainly feeling it now. You’re sure no one has noticed since you’ve always managed your alcohol well (and you totally aren’t dissociating as Jaimee turns her focus to just Robby and occasionally Jack). Your stomach feels tight, both from the amount of liquor you’ve consumed and from everything wearing down on you. All the little comments she made overfilled your already cracked bottle and with the alcohol mixed in you know tonight is a breaking point.

You can feel your eyes sting with tears and you're quick to excuse yourself for the restroom. You stumble a little as you get inside the bathroom and only have to wait a few seconds before a stall cleared. You did your business, feeling a little more grounded after ‘breaking the seal,’ and then washed your hands. You glance in the mirror and your appearance did look a little run down from your shift today. You feel your bottom lip tremble and you take a deep breath. You just need to hold it all in until you get home.

You splash a little water on your face to help cool you down a little. All that alcohol must be making you feel even more warm now.

When you left the bathroom you were surprised to see Trinity, Dennis, and Melissa standing there waiting for you. 

“Are you okay?” Whitaker is the first to ask.

“Yeah, because what Jaimee was doing back there was not okay.” Santos chimes in before lowering her voice. “What a bitch, right?”

“If you need to talk to anyone, we can help. Or we can tell Robby or Jack.” Mel adds.

Oof, that hurts to hear that they needed to be told what seemed so obvious.

“Th-Thanks guys but it's fine.” You fish out your phone from your pocket and wave it a little. “I’m just going to Uber home, you guys can keep up the night out.”

“What about Robby or Jack?”

“What about them? I’m…just going to head to my apartment.” You shrug your shoulders and unlock your phone. You’re quick in pulling up the app and setting up someone to pick you up. Thankfully, since you were at a bar there were plenty of drivers close by. “Can you guys not tell either of them now? I just need to be alone.”

You see how the three of them look at each other before looking at you. Santos was the first to crack with a dramatic groan.

“We know you’re with both of them.” 

“W-”

“We were taking bets on if you were Jack’s or Robby’s partner, but we see how they both look at you.” She then laughs softly and nudges Dennis’ shoulder. “Plus none of you are exactly subtle.”

“What Santos is trying to say is they both care for you and both should know how much Jaimee’s words hurt you.” Dennis tries to explain in a soothing manner. You open your mouth to speak but he doesn’t let you. “Don’t run and hide from them.”

But that's all you know how to do. Bottle up your problems and then isolate yourself when it gets too much. Maybe later you can finally express everything to them both but right now you can’t.

God, my head is spinning.

Mel murmurs your name and steps a little closer to you. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Just the alcohol…I think.” You mumble and feel your phone vibrate. The Uber must be close. “Please, don’t tell them. I really, really need to be alone for the night.” 

The three don’t get another word in and you're turning to leave out the backdoor. You made sure it wasn’t an emergency exit and saw someone leave through it when you went up to the bathroom.

Trinity, Dennis, and Mel stared at the door and then at each other.

“We should tell them.” Both Whitaker and King said at the same time.

“I agree, but maybe a little later when the two notice? Because if they haven’t noticed what Jaimee kept saying, what makes you guys think they’ll notice their partner gone?” Santos shrugs. “I’m worried about them but…it may make Abbot and Robby be more aware that something is up?”

“Or we can just tell them?” Mel offers.

“Tell who what?”

The three turn around and see Langdon with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall of the hallway. He looks between the three while King stutters trying to find the right words.

Dennis rolled his eyes subtly. “They said they were going home and they just left. It was clear they were about to start crying and honestly looked like they were sick too. We were just discussing if we should tell Robby and Jack or not.”

“We tell them.” Frank shrugs with ease. “If what happened here happened to my wife and I was so unaware of it to the point I don’t see her shrinking physically in her seat and downing drinks left and right? I’d want someone to slap sense into me as soon as possible.”

Langdon doesn’t give the three a chance to speak. He’s already turning around and sauntering over to the table, but instead of taking his seat he puts his hands where you were sitting. The others quickly made their way back to the table, not wanting to miss whatever was about to happen. 

“Hey, Jaimee, we are cutting the night short so if you wanna get your Uber in order…” Frank gave her a fake smile he gives patients who get on his nerves. 

“Oh, okay.” She blinks and then looks at Robby with a smile. “Uhm, Dr. Robby, can you give me a ride home?”

Frank can’t school his expression and neither can the others when he looks up at them.

“Unfortunately, Coudray, I am Abbot’s and-” When Robby looks to his left and sees Frank’s hands on the back of the chair and not you sitting beside Jack, his brows furrow and he looks up at the senior resident. “Where are they?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you and Abbot about. They left.”

“Wait, they left?” Jack suddenly stands from the table as he feels his protective instincts rise up. “They had five shots and a cocktail, they’re in no shape going off on their own.”

“They went to their apartment if that helps. They got an Uber.” Dennis offers while nervously moving one of his hands as he speaks.

“They’re probably fine.” Jaimee rolls her eyes and stands up, pulling her coat back on and shouldering her purse. “They drank too much and wanted to go home.”

“More reason for us to go check on them.” Robby gives her a more polite smile than a genuine one. He stands up from the table and pulls out his wallet to pay the tab he started. “Everyone get home safely and I will see most of you tomorrow.”

Neither Jack or Robbt give Jaimee enough time to stutter out whatever she was going to say. They are quick in getting to the bar, paying off the tab, and leaving. The cold air nips at their faces but they are too focused on getting to you.

“Robby! Jack!” Langdon calls out to them, jogging as they open the truck doors. “You both had to have seen and heard what happened, right?”

Both Jack and Robby look at the younger man, who states expectantly at them. Langdon presses his lips together before letting out a frustrated noise.

“For two super smart doctors that can pick up the littlest change in a patient's behavior and respond quickly to Garcia's teasing, you sure can't tell shit about your partner–yes, we all know about them and you both. It's not that hidden when we go out.” Langdon takes a moment to catch his breath before he continues, “Jaimee was being completely rude and passive aggressive to them. They already came in looking upset and she made it worse by talking down about their job and life.”

“Oh.” Both Attendings said at the same time. 

“They did seem tense when we left the apartment…” Robby murmurs.

“And have been tense for the last couple weeks.” Jack sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “We've just… been taking their word for it anytime we ask about their day or how they are.”

“Maybe talk to them. It's clear something is going on and it's eating at them.” Frank gives them both a small smile before waving at them. “Be safe and take care of them, okay? We are all worried. I'll see you both later.”

----

When you get dropped off at your apartment, you figure you're running a fever at this point. You tried telling yourself it was just the alcohol making you so warm, but you just felt run down completely. You feel fatigued, your body aches deeply, despite your hot face your body feels so cold, and a headache has quickly started pounding at your temples.

You glance around your apartment as you stumble through to your bedroom. Your hot tears fall down your cheeks as your bottom lip trembles. Every emotion hits you at once as you flop onto your bed. 

Worthless. Cry baby. Failure. 

You didn't hold back your sobs into your pillow. You'll just have to cry everything out and start a new bottle. Your mind flashes back to all the insults customers have given you and you bring your legs up to your chest when you remember all of Jaimee’s passive aggressive words. You just want to curl up into a tight ball and hide away for the night.

Your thoughts feel hazy except for that single one; hide and cry. Your bedroom felt too open. So you clutch your pillow against your chest as you sit up and pull your comforter with you when you stand. You take in shaky breaths and your tears don't stop as you find yourself in your bathroom. You don't bother turning on the light as you toss your pillow into the bath. You don't care about anything as you step into the tub and cram yourself down. Your body aches more but strangely enough you feel comforted. You keep your comforter over your form and press half your face against the cold porcelain. 

You really ached to be between Robby and Jack right now. To feel their warmth and hands soothe you but you could never let them see you like this. They'd probably realize it was a mistake getting involved with you. And of course because you are spiraling and breaking down you can't help but think back to the bar. Everyone seemed to easily have a conversation about medical research and new procedures coming out.

You could only pick up a few terms Robby and Abbot told you. The rest was lost and you couldn't participate. 

Maybe Jaimee’s comments were right.

----

Jack nervously bounced his leg as Robby parks along the street outside your apartment. He is quick to open the parking app and pay for a full eight hours of parking before they both hop out of the vehicle. 

“I can't believe we haven't noticed they've been off.” Abbot lets out a humourless laugh as he runs his hand through his curls.

“We asked them how they were and we took their answer for it.” Robby tries to reason but his little sigh and shake of his head shows even he doesn't believe himself. “I don’t know. Just…we should have done more.”

“Agreed.”

The two don't waste anymore time as they walk through the little courtyard of your apartment complex until they get to the building you reside in. Thankfully, once they are inside, they only climb one flight of stares and walk past a few doors before reaching your apartment. Jack fishes out the spare key you gave him from his pocket and unlocks your door with familiar ease. 

Your apartment is quiet and they both try their hardest to hear any sounds from you. Robby is first to call out your name before Jack does the same. When they get no response, they move to your bedroom in hopes of finding you. 

“They aren't here. Where the fuck are they?” Jack mumbles as he gets on his knees to look under your bed just in case. “What if they didn't make it home?”

“I think they did. Their comforter and a pillow are gone.” Robby stares at your bed as he mulls over everything. He recalls something you told him when it was stormed a few months back. You mentioned you found comfort in smaller spaces when you were a child, especially when it stormed hard. If you weren't under your bed…

Michael quickly darts from your bedroom and enters your bathroom while Jack gets up to follow him. He doesn't turn the light on, leaving the door open so enough light comes in without being overwhelming. He pulls back the shower curtain and his heart breaks at the sight of you, curled up under your blanket.

“Hey, honey.” He calls softly, kneeling down as he feels Abbot’s presence behind him. You groggily open your eyes and make a soft noise, but you don't say anything. Robby stretches his arm in and cups your cheek. The first thing he notices is the dampness–you've been crying. Then, he picks up the heat radiating from your skin. His brows furrow and he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jack, they have a fever.”

“Shit. Hey, sweetheart, do you hear us?” Jack slips between Robby and the wall so he can press the back of his hand against your cheek. He can’t help but move his hand lower to place his index and middle fingers besides your trachea near your jaw. He just wants to be sure when it comes to you. “Pulse is a little fast but nothing alarming.”

“Did they tell you I was here?” You mumble, sitting up slowly with a soft groan.

“Frank said something and we are glad he did, sweetheart.” Jack speaks softly as he gently squeezes your shoulder. “Let's get you comfortable and in bed. You can tell us everything tomorrow.”

“O-Okay.” Both of them help you stand up and get you out of the bathtub despite your protests that you can do it yourself. Robby keeps an arm wrapped around your frame while Abbot gathers your pillow and comforter in his arms. You stumble but your partner keeps you up right as he guides you to your bedroom. “Why is everything spinning?”

“You have a fever and you drank a lot, sweetheart.” Michael mumbles to you while Jack is quick in putting your things back on your bed. Robby is the one that helps you undress and Abbot picks out comfortable clothes for you. They both helped get you redressed with the utmost care before letting you lay back against the headboard. Both men change into their sweats they have in your dresser–Robby joins you in bed first. Jack leaves the room and you whine softly for him. “He's just getting you some water.”

“I just want to lay between you both.” You mumble, your words slightly slurred.

A fond smile grows on Robby's face as Jack is quick to come back into the room with a glass of water.

“Take a few sips, sweetheart.” Jack murmurs as he hands you the glass, sitting on the other side of you.

“Small sips and then we can lie back, okay?” Robby guides your hand up and you oblige them both with a few, slow sips. The cool water definitely helps with the heat you were feeling. You have one of your partners take the glass once you are finished with it and the next thing you feel are their gentle hands guiding you down. Someone turns off the lamp and the three of you are enshrouded in darkness.

At first, when you rolled onto your side, you weren't sure whose chest you were snuggled into. But when you take a deep breath you just know it's Robby. You feel Jack press himself against your back and his face nuzzling against your neck.

“Aren't you both worried about getting sick?” You feel immediate drowsiness hit you. You shiver from your own chill and someone pulls up the covers over the three of you. 

“If my diagnosis is right, you have a fever from stress so there is no need to worry.” You feel the vibrations in Robby’s chest when he talks.

“Besides,” Jack sighs against your neck. “We have enough sick time to call out if needed. We just want to be with you.” 

Robby murmurs your name, “We are sorry about tonight. We should have caught on to what Coudray was saying and how she was saying it. We should have done more for you.”

“It’s okay-” You start to speak but the little nip Jack gives your neck shushes you.

“Don’t say it’s okay. We’ll talk more in the morning, but what happened wasn’t cool. Now sleep, doctor’s orders.” He kisses your neck again and Robby presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You wanted to say something else but found yourself too tired to open your mouth. You’re not even sure what you wanted to say as your body relaxes and your eyes shut on their own.

“Love you both.” You barely manage to murmur out before sleep takes over you.

----

You feel like a truck hit you the night before when you woke up. Your head pounded something awful, your stomach was slightly upset, and you felt so warm. You crack open an eye and you find yourself pressed against Jack, your cheek pressed against his shoulder blade. You feel soft breaths against your hair and immense warmth coming from behind you: Robby.

You can't stop the groan that slips past your lips before you yawn. Jack immediately tenses–he was always the lightest sleeper of you three. He rolls around slowly and immediately gives your forehead a kiss before shifting to place the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Still a little warm.” His voice is gravely and rough from sleep.

“Probably because I'm sandwiched between two furnaces with a heavy comforter over all of us.” You whisper back. “I'm so sweaty now.”

“And if I recall, you were shivering all night long. Your fever must've broke.”

“My stomach is still upset.”

“You drank a lot last night…” He raises an eyebrow and maintains eye contact in a way you both love and hate.

“Y-Yeah. Uhm, I have to get up.” You want to avoid the conversation. After a good cry, you felt a little more okay.

“Do you actually have to get up or are you trying to avoid the inevitable conversation?”

“I need to pee, Jack, and take some painkillers.”

He stares at you for a moment and relents and sits up while you carefully lift Robby’s arm off you. You push off the bed and crawl over him, hissing softly at the cold floor against your feet. You quickly scamper off to your bathroom and get done with your business. You take your painkillers and a few anti-acid tablets for your upset stomach before you sigh.

You'll have to face your partners sooner or later.

You exit the bathroom and quietly walk back into your bedroom. Your eyes widen slightly when you spot Robby sitting up, now awake and smiling your way. Time to face your fears and open up, you tell yourself.

You crawl up the foot of the bed and sit across from them both, sitting criss-crossed with your hands in your lap. They both look at you and you look down as if your fingers and hands are the most interesting things in the world.

Robby's gentle voice calls your name and you slowly look up to meet his warm gaze. “You can tell us what's been bothering you. I know Coudray's comments weren't the only thing bugging you.”

 “You haven't been doing well for a while, have you?” Jack adds softly.

You look between them and you feel like you're being scolded at first. You know rationally that these two–who've been nothing but kind and patient with you–are not scolding you, but the memories of your parents and brother flood through you. You can feel the tears sting your already tender eyes.

You sigh deeply before the floodgates open.

You spill everything about work that frustrates you. You tell them both how your managers treat you, how the customers treat you, and how overworked you feel while still getting your hours cut. You tell everything that happened at work yesterday. You tell them how you're pretty sure a customer is stalking you at work. The tears you were trying to hold back spilt over as you reveal how disappointed you are in your own damn Masters because no one has gotten back to you for a job in your field.

When you finish, you can see them both giving you sympathetic looks.

“You could have told us this, you know?” Abbot murmurs. He moves in his spot and leans forward, clasping his hand over one of yours. 

“Have we made it to where you feel like you can't talk to us?” Robby's eyebrows scrunch in concern. “I apologize if either of us did.”

“No, you both didn't. It's me.” You press your lips tightly together for a few moments before continuing. “Growing up, my family wasn't very…supportive of me. Anytime I was struggling or had a complaint about something they'd just compare me to my older brother and tell me to suck it up. I… hold it all in until it gets to be too much.” You take another pause and deep breath. “I just kept comparing myself to you guys and told myself I couldn't complain about my job when you two work in The Pitt. I work a minimum wage job. You both save lives. What do I have to complain about?”

“Oh, honey.”

“Baby…” They both gesture for you to come back in between them and you move. Immediately, Jack pulls you against him and gives your forehead a tender kiss. Robby leans against you with an arm around your waist as he kisses the side of your head. 

“You can come to us if you need to vent. You work just as hard and deal with the public all the same.” Robby mumbles against your head before he pulls back, a warm smile on his face. “Your work matters too.”

“I have connections that can get you a better job…if you want me to help. I know people who deal with historical materials, I can get your name and CV out there to my buddies.” Jack speaks softly, his hand caressing your shoulder. “We can help you with whatever you need: whether it's a shoulder to cry on or us coming to your job and scaring the shit out of that guy that's bugging you.”

That gets you to chuckle.

“There’s that smile we love.” Robby grins and kisses your cheek this time, his beard scratching against your cheek. “But he is serious and so am I. If you want us to come in and scare that man off we will.”

“I know you both will and I appreciate that. I appreciate everything you both said to me.” You let out a sigh and further relax against Robby. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Don’t apologize about that, baby. Don’t.” Jack whispers and presses himself against you to an almost smothering degree. “You’ve seen me when I’ve woken up from nightmares.”

“And you’ve put together my pieces after rough shifts. We love you no matter what, okay? Remember that.” Robby adds and then there is silence between the three of you. 

“You know, my therapist is pretty great.”

“Jack… I don’t know how ethical it would be for him to be all three of our therapists.” You murmur with a slight laugh.

“Fair, but I trust he knows other great ones out there. Have you thought about therapy?”

“With the way they keep cutting my hours and keeping me from getting full-time, I can’t afford to do therapy without insurance.” 

“I can cover the cost.”

“And so can I.” Robby chimes.

“I can’t ask you both to do that…” You sigh.

“You don’t have to. We are offering if it’s something you want to do. We can take care of you so let us.” You feel another kiss to your temple and you can tell by the full beard who it’s from.

“I will…think about it for now.”

“Of course, when you’re ready let me know.” Jack murmurs. “We lean on each other, okay?”

“Okay.”

There is silence between the three of you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. You just rest and relax for what feels like the first time in a long time now that all of what's been bothering you has been lifted off your shoulders. You feel like you can breathe again.

Two loud grumbles break the silence. You feel Robby shift to look at both you and Jack with amusement and with raised brows, making you both chuckle.

“Want to go to the usual diner for breakfast?”

“Of course.”

“Always.” You and Jack reply at the same time. 

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.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. You’d cried yourself to sleep only for Robby to call less than three hours later to see if you could work a partial shift.

But that wasn’t what had you distracted. Jack’s words that morning had only confirmed what you’d always feared. That beneath his patience and kindness was the same irritation and frustration everyone eventually felt toward you.

Too needy.

Too much.

A burden.

The fact that he’d apologized didn’t change anything. He’d shown you who he was and you couldn’t help but believe him.

You glanced up from the chart and froze. Jack and Samira were talking at the far end of the corridor. Samira wasn’t even supposed to be working but she was covering for another sick coworker. Their heads were bent close together, his hand briefly touching her shoulder. A stone settled in your belly and you swallowed down the sudden queasy feeling that accompanied it. You looked away quickly taking a deep breath to settle your nerves. It was nothing. They were colleagues. Friends.

Lena called to Samira that she was needed in South Fifteen and you pulled your attention back to your work. You worked your shift with practiced efficiency, handling traumas, ordering labs, consulting with patients.

Two hours later, you spotted them again, this time at the hub. She was smiling, not her professional one that she used with patients but her soft small smile she only used with friends. Jack was leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed. They looked good together. Right.

You clenched your teeth and gave a tight nod. Samira was everything you weren’t. Confident. Direct. Comfortable in her own skin. She never worried about taking up too much space. Never felt the need to apologize for her existence. And Jack responded to that, you could tell.

Maybe that was what he always wanted. Someone that matched him better than you. Someone who didn’t need constant validation or reassurance. Someone who wasn’t you.

You ducked behind the curtain of an empty bay. You pressed your palms against your eyes, willing away the stinging sensation. You weren’t doing this. Not here. You were a doctor, not a teenager nursing a broken heart.

“Get it together,” you told yourself. “You’re fine. This is fine.”

When you emerged, you nearly collided with Bridget. She glanced from you to the bay behind you. “You alright? You look a bit peaked.”

“Fine. Just needed a moment.”

She studied you closely. “You know if you need to talk—”

“I don’t.” You winced at the sharpness in your voice. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

She nodded. “Well, the offer stands.”

Later, as you scrolled through labs at a computer, you caught sight of Jack and Samira for the third time that night. They were in the hallway, their conversation apparently intense. Jack ran a hand through his hair while Samira nodded, her expression serious.

Without warning, Jack’s eyes flicked up and met yours across the room. For a beat, the world dissolved to only you and him. Then Samira said something that pulled his attention to her and the moment was gone.

You looked down at the keyboard, a dull pain spreading through your chest. They made sense together. Both beautiful. Confident. Self-assured.

The worst part was you couldn’t even be angry. Not at Jack who had simply reached that inevitable point that everyone did with you. Not at Samira who deserved every happiness in the world. You could only be angry with yourself for believing things might be different this time.

You’d get through this shift and the next one and the one after that. You’d keep your head down and be professional with Jack. Friendly but distant with Samira. You’d survive this like you survived everything else. Alone.

Jack slid into the booth across from Samira placing two cups of coffee on the table between them. The little coffee shop wasn’t far from the hospital. He’d brought you here after shifts on multiple occasions. He knew Samira was exhausted and he couldn’t be more relieved she’d agreed to talk to him about you.

Samira hadn’t talked on the way over. Her shoulders were tense with anger as she wrapped her hands around her cup. “Let me be clear with you, Jack. I am only here so you will stop cornering me at work.”

Jack nodded. “I appreciate you agreeing to this.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” she said flatly.

“I know.” He ran a hand over his face. “I fucked up. I need to fix it.”

Samira’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Fix it? You think an apology and some sweet words are going to fix what you did?”

Jack leaned forward. “No. But I need to try. I love her.”

One brow arched. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting you confirmed every horrible thing she’s ever been told about herself. Do you have any idea what that did to her? Do you really?”

“I was exhausted and in pain. I said things I didn’t mean—”

She cut him off. “She’s heard it all before. Her whole damn life she’s heard it.”

The bitterness in her tone made Jack pause. He got the feeling it wasn’t directed at him. Not really.

Samira took a sip of her coffee and sucked in a fortifying breath. “Did you know she was an unwanted pregnancy? Something her parents remind her of whenever she asks for ‘too much.’”

Jack clenched his teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “No.”

“Of course not, because she doesn’t talk about it.” Samira’s eyes were hard. “Her sister was planned, wanted. The golden child. But her? They made sure she learned early that her existence was an inconvenience.”

“She never said anything.”

“Why would she confirm what she thinks you already know, that she’s a burden?” Samira shook her head. “When she was in school, she stopped telling her parents about events and achievements because they made it clear it was too much trouble to attend. But they never missed anything for her sister.”

A memory surfaced in Jack’s mind of you downplaying an award you’d received, saying it wasn’t worth mentioning. He’d thought you were being modest. Now he understood it wasn’t that at all.

“She made herself small,” Samira continued, her voice softening. “She learned to take up less space. Ask for less, need less. She became an expert at anticipating others’ needs and hiding her own. And you know what’s even more fucked up? They still called her needy. Too clingy. Too much. That was her mother’s favorite phrase. Too much.”

Jack’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. “Christ.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Samira’s smile was bitter, her eyes drilling into him, making sure he understood just who he had hurt. How monumentally he had fucked up. “Did she ever tell you about the high school sweetheart turned college boyfriend?”

Jack shook his head.

“He cheated on her. With her sister.” She paused a beat to let that sink in. “Her family told her it was her fault. That she was too clingy and demanding and her sister was just easier to love.”

His chest went tight. “What the actual fuck, Samira?”

“Yeah. And then they expected her to get over it and be happy when her sister married the guy.”

“Wait,” he frowned, his mind processing what he’d just heard. “The brother-in-law I met at that dinner?”

“Yep.”

“That smug bastard that kept calling her ‘little sis’?” Jack’s voice had dropped into a dangerous growl.

Samira studied his reaction. “Now you’re getting it. This isn’t just about you being an asshole, Jack. You confirmed everything she’s been told her entire life.”

He ran both hands through his hair as he remembered that dinner with your family. Your father’s surprise when you’d introduced Jack, your mother’s fake smile and whispered words, you sister’s condescending tone. He’d wrote it off to normal family awkwardness but now he was seeing it all in a very different light.

“I can’t believe she dated that asshole. He was so patronizing.” He couldn’t help but think your sister had done you a favor by showing you the guy’s true colors. You were better off without him. Without all of them.

“Now you know why she never talks about her family,” Samira said. “Why she asks you three times if you have plans before she suggests doing anything. When you two started dating she told me that she was just going to enjoy it while she could before you realized she wasn’t worth the trouble.”

The coffee in his stomach soured. “I had no idea she felt that way. I noticed little things sure, but any time I pressed she’d just brush it off.”

She nodded. “She works very hard to make sure no one sees that part of her. She builds walls and makes jokes and takes care of everyone else first.” She sighed. “And then you threw the same damn words in her face that she’s been hearing her entire life.”

He was silent for a long moment, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “I have to fix this.”

“I’m not sure you can,” Samira said honestly. “But if you’re going to try, you need to understand what you’re really dealing with. This isn’t just about one bad morning.”

“I love her,” he said. “All of her. I’ve never thought of her as too much of anything.”

“But you said it, and it’s not going away just because you regret it.” Her gaze was as unwavering as her loyalty to you.

Jack nodded. “I’ll get us some more coffee.” He didn’t need more coffee, he needed a moment to collect himself. To process the weight of what he’d learned. His mind raced as he rethought every interaction the two of you ever had. How could he have been so blind when it was so obvious now? And more importantly, how could he convince you that were exactly enough when a lifetime of experience had taught you otherwise?

You frowned at the clock in your living room. Samira had left work before you but there was no sign of her. You’d thought maybe she’d stopped off somewhere but she should be home by now. The rational part of your brain reminded you that Mira was an adult who was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But the irrational part couldn’t help imagining worst case scenarios as she was usually so good about texting if she was going to be late.

You stared at your phone wondering if a call would be too clingy. This was different. This was Mira who told you to never hesitate to call if you needed something. And you needed to make sure she was okay.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit the call button. The phone rang twice before Samira picked up.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Hey, Mira,” you said, relief flooding through you. “Sorry to bother you. I just thought you’d beat me home and I was worried.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I should have texted. I stopped to get some breakfast.”

“It’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll let you go.”

“No, you’re fine,” she said. “I should be home soon.”

You were about to end the call when a male voice in the background said, “Here’s your coffee.”

Jack’s voice.

Oh.

Your stomach turned. Samira and Jack. Together. Getting coffee after their shift. Like you used to do.

“Thanks,” Samira said, muffled as if she’d turned away from the phone.

Your hand trembled as you pressed the phone closer to your ear. “I should go,” you managed to say and sound mercifully steady. “See you at home.”

“You sure? I can talk for a minute.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I’m fine. Just tired. Going to crash.”

There was a pause and for a horrifying moment you thought she’d picked up something in your voice. “Okay. Get some rest, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You ended the call and sat frozen. Your mind tried to offer explanations. Maybe they’d just run into each other. Maybe they had a case to discuss or Mira had questions about a procedure.

But your heart knew better. The same heart that had been shattered yesterday morning with Jack’s cruel words. Now here he was, the very next morning, getting coffee with your beautiful, confident best friend.

A sob finally broke free, clawing its way up your throat and escaping in a ragged, wounded sound. You curled into yourself, arms wrapping around your middle as if you could hold the pieces together.

Of course. Of course this would happen. Samira was everything you weren’t. Strong. Self-assured. She took up space unapologetically, never doubting her right to be exactly who she was. They made sense together.

Another sob tore through you and you pressed your face into a throw pillow to muffle the sound. How many times would you have to watch people choose someone better than you before you learned?

Your mind flashed to your sister and your ex-boyfriend turned brother-in-law. It was your own fault your mother had said. If you were better, he wouldn’t have needed to look elsewhere. And when they’d announced their engagement six months later, you’d been expected to smile and congratulate them like your heart hadn’t been broken twice over.

And now history was repeating itself. The two people you trusted most, finding solace in each other after cutting you out of the equation.

You wiped your face with your sleeve. You should have known better, should have protected yourself. Should have remembered that people like Jack Abbot didn’t end up with people like you.

You dragged yourself off the couch and to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Mira would be home soon and you couldn’t bear to face her. Couldn’t bear to see the guilt in her eyes. Or worse, the pity. You crawled under your covers still fully dressed and pulled them over your head.

Jack walked through the ED doors, the familiar rush of cool air greeting him. A week had passed since that disastrous morning. A week of unanswered texts, of flower deliveries you never mentioned. Of you avoiding his gaze, of professional but distant interactions when work forced you together. He’d tried to talk to you but you had perfected the art of being unreachable even when you were right in front of him.

His eyes scanned the department, landing on you standing outside of a room bent over a chart. By all appearances you had been here for some time.

Robby approached, coffee in hand. “Evening, sunshine. Ready for handoff.”

Jack nodded. “How long has she been here?”

Robby glanced at you. “Since two. Flu’s decimated the staff. She’s helping cover.”

“She did that yesterday too and the day before.” Jack frowned. “And she’s worked nights all week.”

“Has she?” Robby shrugged. “She volunteered. I didn’t think much of it, honestly.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “Can you pull up her schedule? I want to see how many shifts she’s worked this week.”

“You sure that’s your business anymore, brother?”

Jack shot him a narrow eyed look. “Just check, would you?”

Sighing, Robby moved to the nearest terminal and logged in. A few clicks later, his brows shot up. “Huh.”

“What?” Jack moved to look over his shoulder.

“She’s been here every night this week, like you said.” Robby scrolled through the schedule and groaned. “She’s worked at least part of every day shift as well.”

Jack stared at the screen, disbelief quickly morphing to anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? You know how many hours that is? That’s insane.”

“Look, I didn’t realize—”

“Didn’t realize? It’s your goddamn job to know who’s working in your department,” Jack snapped. “What if she makes a mistake with a patient? What if she gets hurt because she’s not paying attention when she should be?”

Robby’s expression hardened. “Back off, Jack. We’re short staffed. I’m juggling schedules with everyone out sick. She volunteered for the shifts.”

“Of course she volunteered,” Jack grumbled. Because you always volunteered trying to prove you weren’t a burden. That you had value.

Robby studied him for a moment. “You couldn’t give a shit less about the patients. This is about her.”

Jack ignored him. “Call her over.”

“I’m not your messenger boy, Abbot.”

“Fine.” Jack called your name to get your attention. “Come here, please.”

You looked up, and for a brief moment, Jack saw something raw in your expression before your mask slipped back into place. You approached the hub, keeping distance between you and Jack.

“What’s up?” you asked Robby, ignoring Jack completely.

“When was the last time you had a day off?” Jack asked before Robby could speak.

You stiffened. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to patient care, Dr. Abbot.”

The formal address stung but Jack pressed on. “Seven night shifts in a row plus partial day shifts? That’s not safe.”

“I’m fine.”

Robby cleared his throat. “He has a point. I didn’t realize you’d been working so much. You can go home, we’ll manage.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated. “I’m sleeping between shifts.”

Jack huffed. “For what? Four hours? You’re gong to burn out.”

Your eyes flicked to him, fury burning in their depths. “Thank you for your concern, but I know my limits.”

“Do you?” Jack snapped. “Because from where I’m standing you’re running yourself into the ground.”

“Dr. Abbot, I appreciate your professional assessment but I am fully capable of completing my shift.”

“Go home before you crash out.”

Your spine straightened. “Is that an order?”

“You bet your ass it is,” Jack said with no hesitation.

“No, it’s not,” Robby interjected stepping between you. “As long as patient care is not compromised, I’m not going to send you home. But I want you to take tomorrow off. Both shifts. That is non-negotiable.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you, Robby.” With a final glance at Jack, you turned and walked away.

Jack round on his best friend the moment you were out of earshot. “What the hell, Robby? She has to be exhausted.”

“You are not her keeper, Jack,” Robby shot back. “You lost that right when you broke her heart.”

Jack clenched his teeth together. “I’m trying to protect her.”

“No, you’re trying to control the situation because you feel guilty.” Robby’s voice was hard. “Did it ever occur to you if you’d just kept your mouth shut and let me talk to her, she might have gone home? Instead, you ordered the woman who is justifiably pissed at you to do something she doesn’t want to do. How did you see that going exactly?”

“Oh, fuck off, man.” Jack raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “She’s working herself to death to avoid dealing with what happened.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s doing what she always does, stepping up when needed. Not everything is about you, Abbot.”

“I never said it was but you know as well as I do that this is dangerous. People die from exhaustion-related car accidents every day.”

A look of amusement crossed Robby’s face. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing she doesn’t drive then. Look, I’m making her take tomorrow off but I’m not sending her home just because you’re worried about her. I need the staff and she wants to work.”

“She needs to rest,” Jack insisted.

“What she needs is for people to respect her decisions, even if you don’t agree with them.” He paused, making sure his words were sinking in. “Now, can we please do handoff so I can go home and get some sleep?”

Jack bit back another retort. He couldn’t override Robby and send you home. He had no right to make decisions for you. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. But watching you push yourself, knowing he was part of the reason for it, was killing him.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But if she makes a mistake or shows any sign of impaired judgment—”

“I’ll sign off on it myself,” Robby promised. “I care about her too, you know. We all do.”

Jack nodded once, accepting the reminder. As Robby began handoff, Jack’s eyes drifted across the ED to where you stood, still taking care of others when you clearly needed someone to take care of you.

Jack caught glimpses of you throughout the night, always in motion. Always with a patient or coworker. You worked with your usual efficiency, but the sluggish quality of your movements betrayed your exhaustion. Twice, he had tried to approach you, but both times an emergency had pulled one of you away. It was just after 0100 when Jack saw you duck into the lounge and he saw his chance.

He found you leaning against the counter, eyes closed while you waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing. You didn’t open your eyes when the door closed behind him.

“If that’s you, Lena, I swear I’ll check on Five in a minute. I just need to caffeinate first.”

“It’s me,” Jack said quietly.

Your eyes snapped open, body tensing. “Dr. Abbot.”

“Jack. My name is Jack to you. Always.”

You didn’t respond. Instead turning to the coffee pot and pouring the steaming liquid into your cup. Your hands trembled slightly, another detail that didn’t escape his notice.

“You need to go home. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m halfway through the shift,” you replied without looking at him. “I’ll go home when it’s over.”

Jack moved closer. Not crowding, but needing to close some of the distance. “At least take a break. Use one of the on call rooms and get an hour of sleep.”

“I’m fine.” The words came out clipped, automatic.

“You’re not fine,” he countered. “You haven’t been fine for days. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

A flash of something he couldn’t decode crossed your face. “Samira’s been working almost as many shifts as I have. If you want to worry about someone, worry about her.”

The mention of Samira caught Jack off guard. He’d spoken to her several times throughout the week about you. Always about you. But you’d been avoiding them both so thoroughly he wasn’t sure how you’d know that.

“Samira is not my concern. You are.”

“Why?” Your tone was flat, almost bored.

He stared at you, momentarily speechless. “Why? Because I love you. You’re my girlfriend. I’m trying to take care of you.”

“No.”

“No?” he asked, voice dropping. “What do you mean, no?”

But you were already moving past him, coffee abandoned on the counter. “I mean no.” You pushed through the door without looking back.

Jack froze, gaze locked on the doorway you’d just disappeared through. No. What exactly had you rejected? His love? His right to care about you? The very idea you were still together? He realized with a sinking feeling that it might be all three and he had no idea how to convince you of his sincerity when you wouldn’t even listen to the words.

Jack continued to keep an eye on you as the shift progressed. He noticed that you were stopping to lean against the wall or sitting at the hub more often. Rubbing at your temples with your eyes squeezed shut. But you never missed a beat on your cases, as competent and caring as always.

An MVA trauma came in around 0400. You gloved up to work it with him. “I’ve got this one. You can take the next,” he offered.

“I’m fine.”

He was absolutely fucking tired of that phrase coming from you. He didn’t argue further, just set to work stabilizing the patient. Throughout, he remained hyperaware of you. The way you swayed slightly when you moved, the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

Twenty minutes later, the patient was stable enough for transport to CT. As they wheeled him out, Jack saw you reach for the edge of the table and grip it.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Fine. I just need some water.”

You took a step toward the door and stumbled. Jack was at your side in an instant, arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. “Whoa. Easy.”

You tried to pull away. “I’m okay. I just turned too fast.”

He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, ignoring your weak attempt to shove him away. “Shit. You’re burning up, baby.” He turned to the nurse cleaning up the trauma bay. “I need a bed cleared right now.”

“I don’t need a bed,” you protested but your voice was weak.

“You have a fever of at least 102,” he countered. “And you’re about ten seconds from passing out.”

As if to prove his point, you swayed again, this time leaning into him. Your body was too warm, too weak.

“Lena,” Jack called, spotting the charge nurse waling past. “I need a bed. Now.”

Lena took one look at you and nodded. “Eight’s clear.” Jack led you there, arm firm around your waist, feeling each small shiver that ran through your body.

“I can walk,” you muttered.

“I know you can. Humor me.”

When you reached the bed, you dropped onto the edge. Jack helped you swing your legs up. “Can I get vitals and an IV?” he asked Bridget as she passed before he pulled the curtain closed.

She nodded, immediately gathering supplies. Jack turned back to you, his concern mixing with his desperate need to take care of you, to fix what he’d broken.

“Let’s run a flu panel,” he instructed Bridget.

“This is unnecessary. I can finish my shift.” Your glassy eyes made your argument rather unconvincing.

“Not with a temperature of—” He glanced at the thermometer Bridget had just removed from your ear. “102.8. Christ.”

“It’s just a fever.”

“Pulse 110. BP 100/70. Definitely dehydrated.”

Jack nodded. “Hang a banana bag and get some Tylenol on board.”

“I don’t need—”

“You do,” he cut you off. “This isn’t a debate. You’re sick and you’re staying in this bed until the end of shift.”

“My patients—”

“Will be distributed among the team. Everyone gets sick. Even stubborn doctors who think they’re invincible.”

You closed your eyes and huffed a humorless laugh. “Takes one to know one, Abbot.”

Jack couldn’t help the small curve of his lips at your quip.

Bridget started the IV and got the fluids running while he watched, fighting the urge to take your hand in his.

“I’ll run this swab to the lab,” Bridget said when she finished. “Want me to pull the overnight protocols for influenza treatment?”

“Please.” When she’d gone, he moved closer to the bed. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well.”

You didn’t open your eyes. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“It would have,” he insisted. “We’re short staffed but not so short we’d make someone with 103 fever finish their shift.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden.” The words slipped out, telling him just how bad you were feeling that you would let them.

His chest tightened painfully. “You are never a burden. Not to the department and not to me. Never.”

Your eyes fluttered open to study his face. “You mustn’t tell lies, Dr. Abbot.”

The formal address and dismissal of his words stung but Jack didn’t argue with you. Not now. You needed to rest. “I’m going to check on patients then I’ll be back to see how the fluids are helping. Try to rest.”

He pulled the curtain closed, pausing for a moment to collect himself. Through the gap, he watched you turn toward the wall, curling in on yourself as if you were trying to disappear.

He’d fix this distance between you. Somehow. But first, he needed to make sure you were healthy. One crisis at a time.

Jack completed handoff, informing Robby that neither of you were available for at least the next two days. Jack had checked on you throughout the night after the flu panel came back positive. You needed rest, fluids and monitoring. None of which you’d get if left to your own devices. He pulled back the curtain to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, attempting to remove your IV.

“What are you doing? Stop that.” He stepped forward, putting his hand on yours to halt your movements.

You looked up, eyes still fever bright but defiant. “Shift’s over. I’m going home.”

“Not by yourself, you’re not.” He pushed your hand away from the IV port. “And that’s staying in until I’m sure you don’t need any more fluids.”

You frowned at him. “What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said. “Our things are already loaded in the truck along with another banana bag and two liters of saline. So the IV stays in, sweetheart.”

“I can get another ride,” you argued, weakly.

“You’re getting a ride from me.” He helped you put your shoes back on. “The fever’s down but not gone and you need someone to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t want to be a bother, Jack.” The words were quiet, vulnerable.

He ducked his head to catch your eye. “Listen to me. You being sick is not a bother. You needing help is not a bother. You are never a bother.”

Something flickered in your eyes before you looked away. “Samira can check on me.”

“Samira is working a double today.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders slumped.

“I can take you to your place if you prefer, but I’m staying either way,” he told you.

You stared at your hands for a long moment. “Just take me home. I’ll do what I’m supposed to. I just don’t want to be a burden on anyone.”

“You won’t be,” he assured you as he helped you stand. You leaned your weight against him. “I’ve got you.”

The drive was quiet, your head resting against the passenger window, eyes closed. Jack kept glancing over, monitoring your breathing. When he pulled up in front of his house, you stirred.

“This isn’t my building.”

“Sure isn’t. I have everything we need here and it’s closer to the hospital if your fever spikes again. Besides, my bed’s more comfortable. And I have a chair in the shower.”

You looked like you wanted to argue but you simply nodded instead. He came around to your side, opening the door and helping you out. The fact you let him without protest told him just how terrible you were feeling.

Inside the house, he guided you to the bedroom. “You need a shower and clean clothes. It will make you feel better.”

“I can manage,” you said.

“I know you can,” Jack assured. “Leave the door cracked please so you can call if you need help.” He covered the IV for you then left you in the bathroom.

While you showered, he gathered supplies. Fresh clothes (his shirt and a pair of your sweats he’d found in the wash along with fresh underwear from your bag), Tylenol, a thermometer and a glass of water. He’d try to get some soup in you later but right now, you needed rest.

When the water shut off, he called through the door. “I left clothes on the counter. Take your time.”

You emerged ten minutes later. “Better?” he asked.

“A little. Still feel like I got hit by a truck.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the bed. “Take these,” he said, offering the Tylenol and water. I’ll warm up some soup later, but you should try to get some more sleep first.”

You swallowed the pills then slid under the covers. Jack checked your temperature again. 100.9. Better than before but still elevated. He set up the banana bag so it could drip while you slept. He noticed you blinking at him with a small smile on your face. He swallowed hard. “What?”

“Why do you own an IV pole, Jack?”

He looked from it to you then back with a shrug. “Why not?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head as he hooked the catheter into the port. “Try to rest,” he said, adjusting the blanket over you. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

He turned to go, but your voice stopped him at the door. “Jack?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, fingers twisting in the blanket. “Would you…would you stay? Please?”

He sucked in a surprised breath. “Yeah. Of course, I will.”

You watched with tired eyes as he removed his prosthesis, a routine he’d performed dozens of times in your presence. Jack slid under the covers carefully, maintaining a small space between you as he sat up against the headboard, unsure of what you wanted or needed.

To his surprise, you shifted closer, curling your body against his, your head settling on his lap as it had so many times before.

“Thank you,” you murmured, eyes already closing.

Jack’s hand hovered for a moment before gently coming to rest on your back. When you didn’t pull away, he began stroking is softly. “Get some sleep.” His voice was rougher than he’d intended.

He felt the exact moment you slipped into sleep, your breathing deepening. Only then did he allow himself to fully relax, to acknowledge the fierce joy that had flared when you asked him to stay.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t even necessarily a step toward it. But for Jack it was the first positive sign in this horrible week. You let him take care of you. You’d asked him to stay.

For now that was enough.

He fumbled his keys, dropping them to the hardwood as he opened the door. Bending to retrieve them had an uncomfortable jolt of pain shooting up his spine. He huffed a tired sigh. He hadn’t even been able to sit for more than a five minute stretch and was utterly wiped. Usually the post-shift adrenaline would carry him through getting some food and a shower but even that seemed to have abandoned him leaving him with only a bone deep fatigue.

Soft yellow light spilling from his kitchen made him pause. He hadn’t left any lights on, he was sure of it. It was the last thing he always checked when leaving the house.

“Jack?” your soft voice called from the kitchen.

He closed his eyes briefly. Not now. Please, not now.

You appeared in the kitchen doorway with a soft smile. “Hey. Go get cleaned up. I made you some breakfast so you could get some food in you before you crashed.”

Jack closed the door, wincing as his prosthesis pinched when he shifted his weight. “What are you doing here?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended but he couldn’t summon the effort to soften them.

Your small smile faded but didn’t disappear completely. “I just wanted to take care of you. I know it was a tough night so I—”

“So, I can’t give you the attention you’re always begging for because I’m having a shit night so you show up here to get it in person?” Jack cut you off, watching your face fall with a detached sort of awareness. He knew he was being cruel. He knew he would regret it, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now.”

Your shoulders climbed up around your ears as if you were trying to shield yourself from his words. “I wasn’t…I just wanted to help.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” The devastation on your face should have stopped him. Instead, it spurred him on, as if your pain would somehow alleviate his own. “You can’t just show up here whenever you want. I need space. Quiet. Neither of which you are capable of giving me.”

You took a step back, your gaze falling to the floor. “I’m sorry, Jack. I just thought—”

“That’s the fucking problem. You’re always thinking about what you want. What you need. What about what I need?” Even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t true. You were nothing but considerate, always careful not to push too hard, always willing to give him space when he needed solitude. The guilt began to seep in but exhaustion kept it at bay. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

He brushed past you, catching a glimpse of your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a split second, he nearly turned back. Nearly apologized. Nearly pulled you into his arms and admitted he was being an asshole that he didn’t mean any of it. Instead, he kept walking. The bedroom door closed behind him with a click, leaving you alone in the hallway.

“Yeah, of course,” you whispered to the empty hallway. The sound of the shower soon provided a steady backdrop to your pain. You pressed a palm against your mouth, forcing back the sob that threatened to escape, and blinked rapidly to clear the blur of tears. It was happening again. You’d fucked it up again by being too needy, too clingy. What the fuck was wrong with you. One tear escaped despite your best efforts, trailing down your cheek before you angrily wiped it away with the back of your hand.

Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. You’re suffocating him. Men don’t like clingy women. Your father chimed in. Give the poor guy some breathing room. Then your sister. This is why your relationships never last. You’re just too much.

Too much. The words had followed you most of your life no matter how small you tried to make yourself. You glanced at the plate of bacon and eggs you’d made, hoping to get some protein into Jack’s stomach before he slept. You’d thought it a loving gesture, one full of concern but now you saw it for the invasion it was.

The shower continued to run in the background as you moved through the apartment gathering your things. There wasn’t much. You’d been so careful not to leave too many things at his place, not wanting to encroach on his space. But things had accumulated over the months just the same.

You pulled your overnight bag from the closet and began methodically collecting your things, as quickly and as quietly as you could. The spare clothes from the drawer he’d given you. The items from the nightstand on your side of the bed. Your gaze flicked briefly to the bathroom door, deciding to leave your belongings there so you didn’t disturb Jack any more than you already had.

In the living room you grabbed a couple of books before moving to the kitchen to grab your mug and the book on phantom limb pain you’d been reading while you waited for him to come home. You’d been so eager to help with his discomfort, to show you could be useful, that you’d spent hours researching. Just another example of you pushing yourself into spaces where you weren’t wanted.

You considered leaving a note. The pen hovered over the notepad on the counter. What should you write exactly?

I’m sorry for bothering you?

I didn’t mean to love you too much?

I’ll try to be less needy?

Each message seemed more pathetic than last. A further burden on someone who had already made it clear they didn’t have the energy for you. In the end, you sat the pen down without writing a word. A note would be just another demand for his attention.

You glanced around one more time, memories flashing through your head as you did so. Jack pulling you into his lap as you brought him coffee, his sleepy smile against your neck. The two of you lounging on the couch, legs tangled together under a blanket. When he’d given you his key, telling you to use it whenever you wanted. That he liked having you here. That he wanted you to feel safe, comfortable.

Perhaps you’d imagined the affection in all of those moments. Saw something you wanted to be there rather than the reality that Jack tolerated you more than he wanted you. Maybe you were overreacting. You knew his shift had been shit. Maybe he was just lashing out due to exhaustion and stress. Maybe you should stay, talk it through when he emerged calmer from his shower.

Then you remembered his words. I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. Deal with. As if you were a chore, something to be managed or handled. You swallowed hard. Your family was right. You were too much. Too needy, too eager, too clingy. And now Jack had seen it too, just as you’d always known he would.

The shower was still running when you shouldered your bag and slipped out the door. You closed it gently behind you, careful not to make a sound. Your final act of consideration was to leave without disturbing him. To give him the space and silence he so desperately needed and you were apparently incapable of giving him. You locked the door with the key then slipped it into the mail slot, knowing he’d find it later, sure he’d be relieved he didn’t have to deal with you anymore.

Hot water pounded against Jack’s shoulders as he sat slumped on the shower seat. It did nothing to wash away that expression on your face when he’d snapped at you. Steam filled the bathroom, making it hard to breathe, yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn down the temperature. He deserved the discomfort. A minor penance for the words he’d hurled at you when all you’d done was try to take care of him.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he squeezed his eyes shut, but your face appeared in the darkness behind his eyelids. The way your smile had crumbled as you tried to make yourself smaller as if trying to disappear. You hadn’t even fought back. That was the worst part. You’d just accepted his cruelty as if you’d deserved it.

He'd been a fucking asshole of the first order. Exhaustion and pain had loosened his tongue but the words had been his own. He couldn’t blame them on anything but his own stupid embarrassment. He’d been embarrassed you’d seen him at his lowest, limping and exhausted. Embarrassed he couldn’t be strong for you. Embarrassed by his need for the comfort you were offering. And in his embarrassment, he’d lashed out.

You’d just wanted to help and he’d thrown it back in your face like your care was an imposition rather than the gift it was. As he rinsed the shampoo from his hair, his mind ran back over his outburst. I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. Christ. As if your presence wasn’t the very thing that restored him during horrible shifts. Your smile, your humor, the way you seemed to understand when to talk and when to let him be silent.

He shut off the water and reached for a towel. He’d apologize. Make it right. You’d understand. You always did. Sometimes he wondered if you forgave his moods too easily. He wrapped the towel around his waist and used his crutches to maneuver to the door and opened it.

“Baby,” he called, his voice softer now. “I’m sorry about before. I was a dick.”

Silence answered.

He frowned, as he moved into the bedroom calling your name, louder now. “Are you still here?”

His eyes landed on the bed, taking in the details he’d missed when he’d passed through to take his shower. The bed was made with fresh sheets, the super soft gray ones you’d bought him. Lounge clothes were laid out on the bed and everything he needed to take care of his leg was arranged neatly on the nightstand.

He closed his eyes briefly before getting dressed as quickly as he could. He headed toward the kitchen, calling out for you again but knowing you were already gone. The breakfast you’d prepared remained on the table, covered with plastic wrap. A note should have been next to his plate. You always left messages whether they be funny or sweet or practical. But there was no note. His stomach sank.

He sat in the chair, staring at the food that had gone cold. His stomach rumbled reminding him he hadn’t eaten since a hasty protein bar somewhere mid-shift. Mechanically, he pulled the plate toward him and took a bite. Then another. He was certain the food was good, you’d always been an excellent cook, but it all tasted like ashes on his tongue. With each bite, his guilt intensified. You’d come over here on your night off to take care of him and he’d treated your sacrifice with contempt.

After finishing half the plate, he returned to the bedroom where he’d left his phone. He scrolled past notifications desperately hoping you’d sent him something. Anything. Finding nothing, he typed out a text to you.

I’m sorry.

It was woefully inadequate. There should be more but his brain was foggy with exhaustion and the right words wouldn’t come. He hit send. After a beat, he sent another.

Please call me when you can.

As he slid between the sheets, he checked his phone one more time. No response. Not that he was surprised, he’d hurt you badly.

Tomorrow, he promised himself as his eyelids grew heavy. He’d find you and make this right. He’d explain, apologize properly and beg if necessary. The thought of losing you, made his chest tighten with panic. But exhaustion won out. His last conscious thought was of your face.

Jack jolted awake, heart hammering against his ribs. For a moment, he couldn’t place what had woken him. He couldn’t recall a dream and no alarm was going off. Then the memory of that morning rushed back.

He fumbled for his phone, knocking over a bottle of moisturizer. The screen showed it was just after 15:00. More importantly, there were no missed calls or texts from you. “Shit,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

He dialed your number, pressing the phone to his ear as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Your warm voice asking him to leave a message made his stomach clench.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said after the tone. “I…Listen, about this morning, I was a total asshole. Please call me back. I need to talk to you.” He paused, then added, “I’m sorry,” before hanging up.

Jack put on his sleeve and secured his prosthesis with practiced movements despite the slight tremor in his hands. Standing, his gaze swept the room only to pause when he noticed that your nightstand was empty. No book, no charger, nothing.

He yanked open the drawer he’d cleared for you in his dresser to find it empty. A glance in the closet showed your overnight bag missing as well. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine as he moved through the house, checking spaces where you’d left pieces of yourself over the months. The books you’d had on the living room bookcase were gone. That stupid mug with the cartoon dog that he pretended to hate but secretly loved was gone as well.

The only place there was any trace of you was the bathroom where he’d been showering when you left. “No, no, no, no,” he muttered, his movements becoming more frantic as he searched. This wasn’t you giving him space, this was you removing yourself from his life entirely.

He called again and again it went to voicemail. “Please pick up,” he said this time, not trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please just let me know you’re okay.”

Jack ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. “Shit, shit. Fuck,” he hissed as he paced the living room. You hadn’t just left, you’d erased yourself from his space. He needed to find you. His stomach growled reminding him he hadn’t eaten.

He wrenched open the refrigerator door to grab a protein shake and froze. Neatly stacked containers lined the shelves, each labeled in your handwriting. ‘Tuesday lunch,’ ‘Wednesday dinner,’ etc. Enough meals to last him through the week. He stared at these tangible reminders of your care. Several of the notes had small hearts or smiley faces drawn on them.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with me?” he whispered, closing the refrigerator door and resting his head against the cool surface. He’d been tired and in pain but nothing excused what he’d done. Nothing excused making you feel like a burden when you were anything but.

He needed to find you. Needed to explain. To make you understand. Jack dressed in cargos and a t-shirt, shoving a scrub top into his bag in case he didn’t have time to come home before his shift. The apartment you shared with Samira was a short walk away but his body still ached from yesterday’s shift so the truck it was.

Securing his keys and wallet, he headed for the door, freezing as the light caught something lying on the floor. A lump formed in his throat as he bent over to pick your key up from the floor. His hand fisted around it and a guttural yell escaped his lips. He almost threw it before stopping himself and putting it into his pocket instead. He’d need to give it back to you after all.

Twenty minutes later, Jack stood outside your apartment door. He knocked sharply, then again more gently, not wanting to piss off your neighbors.

No answer.

He knocked again, calling your name. The hallway remained silent except for the sound of a TV in another unit. He tried the doorknob. Locked, of course. He pressed his ear to the door but heard no movement from within. He stepped back, rubbing his hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping against his palm.

Where were you? At work maybe but you weren’t scheduled. Your family lived hours away (thank fuck for that). You could possibly be with friends, but he wouldn’t know how to start tracking you down.

Jack pulled out his phone again, thumb hovering over Samira’s contact. She would know where you were. She might even be with you right now. But if he called her, he’d have to explain why he was looking for you, would have to admit how badly he’d fucked up.

Pride warred briefly with necessity before he hit dial. The call went straight to voicemail. She was either working or had her phone off while sleeping.

He sent one more text to you.

I’m at your place. Please let me know where you are. I need to see you.

He slumped against the wall opposite your door. Neither you nor Samira were home and he had no idea where else to look.

He glanced at his watch. It was after 16:00. He had to be back at the Pitt for his sift at 19:00. The thought of working twelve hours not knowing where you were or if you were okay made his stomach turn.

Jack sat in his truck outside your apartment building staring at his phone as if it might suddenly reveal your whereabouts. His thumb hovered over Robby’s contact. He was expecting Jack to relieve him for the night shift but the thought of working tonight was impossible. He couldn’t focus on patients when his mind was filled with you, with the need to find you and fix what he’d broken.

He hit dial, pressing the phone to his ear. Robby answered on the third ring. “Brother, tell me you’re calling to say you’re coming in early,” Robby said in lieu of a greeting. “I’s a zoo here today.”

Jack closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. “Actually, I’m calling to say I can’t work tonight. I’ll need to find someone to cover.”

A beat of silence. “Are you sick?” Robby asked, concern coloring his voice.

Jack gripped the steering wheel with this free hand. “I fucked up, Robby. I need to find my girl.”

There was another pause, filled with the background noise of the ED. Then Robby said, “She’s here.”

Jack’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“She’s been here since noon. We had three call out with the flu.”

“She’s there right now?” he asked for confirmation, already turning the key in the ignition and putting the phone on speaker.

“Yes, I’m looking at her right now.” There was a shuffling sound then Robby’s voice became clearer as if he’d moved to a quieter area. “What the fuck did you do, Jack? She’s been acting weird all day.”

Jack winced, backing out of the parking space with more speed than caution. “I was an asshole after my shift. Said things I didn’t mean.”

“Must have been some horrible shit, Jack,” Robby remarked. “She’s doing this fake smile thing. And she called me Dr. Robinavitch. Twice.” He sighed. “Mohan’s been hovering as much as she can, but they’re on different cases, of course.”

So Samira was there too. That explained while neither of you had been at the apartment. “Don’t let her leave,” Jack said.

“She’s working her shift. I don’t think she’s just suddenly going to leave,” Robby grumbled, but his tone had softened. For all his gruff exterior, Robby had a soft spot for you. “Just get here and fix whatever you broke, Abbot. I hate seeing her like this.”

Jack ended the call and focused on getting to the hospital as quickly as possible without breaking any major traffic laws. His mind raced trying to decide what he’d say when he saw you. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t going to cut it. Not when you’d taken all your belongings from his place and returned his key.

Twenty minutes later, Jack strode through the ambulance bay doors, scanning the ED for any sign of you. He found Robby first who motioned down one of the corridors.

Jack moved past the hub where Samira stood reviewing a chart. She glanced up, her expression hardening when she saw him. Whatever you’d told her about what had happened, had clearly painted him in the light he deserved. “I know,” he said as he passed without stopping.

He found you in the quiet corridor at the far end of the ED, your back to him as you studied a chart. Your shoulders curled forward like you were trying to hide when he said your name. You didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge him.

“Baby, please look at me,” Jack begged, his voice low but urgent.

Your body went completely still but you didn’t turn around. “Please don’t call me that, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack made a sound low in his throat. Part protest, part pain. “Please,” he said moving closer but not touching you. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

Slowly, you turned to face him. The sight of your eyes, usually so warm and expressive, now dulled, made his chest constrict. You’d been crying, though he doubted anyone else could tell.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Jack,” you said, voice unsettlingly calm. “I know I’m a lot. I told you when you asked me out that I wasn’t worth the effort. I’m too pushy, too clingy, too needy. I’m too much.”

Each word sounded like an accusation, though they were directed at yourself rather than him. Jack reached for your hand, relieved when you didn’t pull away even though you didn’t return his grip.

“You’re not,” he insisted, ducking his head to try to meet your gaze. “You’re not too much. I was an asshole. I was tired and in pain and I took it out on you. There is no excuse for that. It’s not enough, but I am so fucking sorry.”

Your lips curved into a smile though there was no warmth in it. “It’s okay. I get it. I’ll be fine.” You gently pulled your hand from his. “I need to get back to work. Make sure you eat something before—” You cut yourself off abruptly. “I’m sorry. That was pushy. You know when you need to eat.”

“No,” he said firmly. “No. That is not pushy. That is you caring about me and I threw that back in your face like an ungrateful bastard.”

But you were already stepping away, creating distance between the two of you. “I really need to finish this chart,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

Jack watched helplessly as you walked away, catching the whispered “stupid” you directed at yourself. That single word told him everything he needed to know about how deeply his words had wounded you. Not just because they were cruel but because they’d confirmed your worst fears about yourself.

How was he going to fix this? He ran a hand through his hair remembering the only time he’d met your family. Your father’s barely concealed surprise that you were dating someone he clearly thought was out of your league. Your mother’s whispered warning that he’d heard anyway. “Don’t get too attached, sweetheart. Once he finds out how you really are, how much work you are…well, men like that have options.”

He hadn’t said anything then, though he should have. He’d been afraid of embarrassing you. You’d laughed it off at the time, but Jack saw now that you’d believed it on some level. You’d been waiting for him to realize that you were ‘too much’ and this morning he’d confirmed that fear in the cruelest possible way.

He spotted Samira watching him, her expression a mix of disapproval and concern. If anyone knew you better than Jack did, it was Samira. She’d know how to help him fix this. Or at least understand the depth of the damage he’d done. Jack took a deep breath and headed toward her. He might have screwed this up spectacularly, but he wasn’t giving up. Not on you.