Emma

After the day you heard Dr. Al and Jack, no Dr. Abbot, you felt as if someone had drained the soul out of you. Their words, his laugh and grin constantly replayed in your mind—finding new angles and new thorns to prick you. That night you cried. You weeped. You sobbed. But you realised that you needed to back off.

Jack was not yours. He didn't owe you anything.

He was a free man, allowed to ask other women out and that he did. Just because your heart was torn due to illusions created by your mind, the feelings that you held for him didn't mean that he was held responsible. He never ever even smiled at you. Wasn't that the whole premise of this? How were you so humiliatingly blind?

The mornings you would wait just for him, so that you could tease him one last time before going home. The smirk that would catch you off guard, the huffs and eye rolls you held dear—why? They were mere reactions, a crumb of what he could have actually given. The afternoons you would spent baking, imagining his face, when he tried it.

If he tried it.

Would he finally smile?

Would he gaze at you with his twinkling eyes?

God, you wanted to dig up a hole and die.

Why did you create this world by yourself? Where he would reciprocate your feelings? Why would he like you?

You with your chubby stomach, your endless rolls down your back, the way your scrubs stuck to them and and tightened around your thick thighs. Your visible pouch and overbearing love handles which poured out that your scrubs tugged at every single day.

He must be entertained by it, you thought.

The way he would be amused by your one liners, your silly attempts which he must've seen as desperation. You know he loved the attention, sensing every time he heard your a little too enthusiastic pitter patter growing as you got near him, he would immediately expect some flirty dig.

How much ever you tried, he never gave in.

It was a reminder—he was your attending. You were his nurse. And he would never go for you. He would never break that professional barrier with you.

But what about that moment on the roof? Samira asked you when you were telling her everything and almost flinched when you scoffed.

Tears almost brimmed your eyes at the thought of that sunrise, his words, that smile. The hope you built in your heart, the sliver of belief that had grown into something wildly inappropriately out of proportion which had been shattered.

"He probably felt responsible. I am a nurse under his authority and he noticed how I was on the verge of fucking losing it. Can't lose another nurse when there's a statewide insufficiency of nurses." You laughed humorlessly, sipping the wine in your hand. She had just stared at you, reading you meticulously, but that's when you realised one thing. This was your workplace. These were the people you worked with.

And you had let yourself get too personal.

The sunshine of the night shift.

Where had you gone wrong?

Like why could Samira read you so well?

"You know, you don't have to make yourself feel dumb over something that wasn't in your hands."

"But wasn't it Mira? I should've stopped myself from...whatever that was."

"What? Stopped yourself from what exactly, hon? Being yourself?" She questioned. You let out a huff. "You don't understand, Mira. It wasn't just that—I–I got way too involved in this whole...thing. Flirting with my attending to make him smile?" You retorted. Samira just rolled her eyes and smiled softly.

"That's who you are, bub. Making others smile and laugh. Spreading joy!"

"Don't make me sound like a Disney character." You had playfully rolled your eyes.

However, she couldn't convince you and after that you had decided that you had to refrain. Refrain yourself from getting too involved, too personal. You mentally reprimanded yourself for sharing that little story with Abbot. You had to pull back. So you did.

You decided no baking. Not for someone who doesn't even have a bite. No flirty comments or digs for someone who doesn't even give a smile. No bonding over past trauma or tragedies. Professional boundaries must be set. For your own sanity.

Now the thing is Jack Abbot doesn't believe in coincidences, so the first time you called him Dr. Abbot in a flat and weirdly un–you way, it bugged him. His mind said its been a hard shift. But instinct said that he knew you, and that this wasn't normal.

He can tolerate the lack of attention and then he'll get used it, you figured. Besides, he has Al Hashimi now. Your chest tightened.

He probably didn't even care about you that much, did he?

So, you pulled back.

Little did you know, Jack Abbot noticed everything immediately.

—

"Hey, sunny,"

Your back tensed. Your attention on the chart in front of you wavered, but you didn't want to show him that. Not him. You had to back off. You had to push the stupid giddy feeling you get at that nickname. Your eyes hardened on the chart.

You hummed in acknowledgement. Jack's eyes furrowed. "You know, while I appreciate you not bringing in treats to distract our pittlings, they are complaining to me about it."

Everyone. Not you, you figured.

You gulped. It was hard to figure out what to say in a way that didn't seem rude or too standoffish. Or too obvious to the fact that you were trying to avoid him.

"Sorry, Dr. Abbot. I didn't realize that, do you want me to tell them to back off?"

You didn't notice the way he flinched. Or maybe you chose not to. Because even if you chose to not let your eyes drift off to the attending, your body didn't stop understanding him. It didn't stop feeling him.

Jack swallowed in the feeling of his heart squeezing. His jaw tightened for a small second, before returning his focus on you. His mouth opened to give a reply before someone called your name. His heart's pace quickened, almost in panic, but all he knew that something was wrong with you. You started moving, didn't even wait for his reply, like you were afraid of what he was going to say. How he was going to react. Your heart was on the line.

But before you could slip past him, he stopped you, his hand on your elbow. Your eyes widened at his touch. His grasp around your elbow, firm yet not harsh, soft and almost careful. His calloused fingers' touch was almost feather-light, yet it burned through your body. Your mind flashed to the roof, to the way he took care of you on the other side of the railing. You let out a shaky exhale.

"Sunny, are you okay? You know if there's anything—"

"Three traumas incoming! Car collison, two adults, females, and a 7 year old boy! ETA is 4 minutes!" Lena yelled over the nurses' station and you immediately snatched your hand from his hand as if it scorched you. You couldn’t even look in his eyes anymore.

But his didn't leave you. "Sunny, are you fine?"

"I'm okay." Jack furrowed his eyebrows at your short tone.

You gulped. "I have to get the...carts ready." You mumbled and sprinted off.

—

You put up a verbal guard, a professional mask, something other people, who didn't know you wouldn't question at all. But Jack wasn't "other" people. He knew you, atleast that's what he thought.

So, he approached you more.

It was like the world was cruel, you thought. Why is he coming after me, now?

You were just trying to protect yourself from the hurt. The pain. The ache of seeing him every time and the reminder, pricking you like needles, that he chose someone else. Maybe you were being unreasonable. Afterall, none of it was his fault. But wasn't this what he wanted? Professional boundaries. So you boarded up walls that you wished he wouldn't break through with his saccharine tone and honey dipped kindness.

But you had to be strong.

So when he came up to you with his concerned yet hopeful eyes, searching your soul for something you didn't want to name, you closed off. He was just a man who was searching for the sunlight which blessed these insufferable nights. "Hey,"

But before he could even say something, he could see the walls go up, your guards that weren't up before. His throat tightened. He didn't understand what was happening.

"Dr. Abbot, do you need something?"

He stared at you for a bit too long. His stare burned on your body, as if it was consuming your entire being, luring you to look at him, give him something. The gaze seemed too critical to you, like he was trying to figure you out, a secret. It was stripping you bare.

"Are you sick?"

You pursed your lips and pretended that your body wasn't begging to just lean into him. "No, not at all." You said, nonchalantly.

"Are you sure? I can check you out—"

The warmth inside your sternum flared up, threatening to redden your whole face. You had to get out of there. "Really, I am good. I appreciate your concern, Dr. Abbot. But its not required."

You walked away.

Jack's throat went dry. Usually, you would throw in a retort at him, a flirty dig or some insinuation he would be too flustered to acknowledge. He imagined it, your wicked grin, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes and he would expect the comment—"You can check me out at dinner, Abbot." or "A little eager are we, Mr. Grumpus."—and now, nothing.

He watched you walk away as if you had burned him with your absence of words.

Why was this affecting him so much?

But he was in denial and he knew that. If he wasn't so obvious, maybe Lena wouldn't have started teasing him about how his gaze lingered on you. The way you smiled, they way your hips would sway in that playful way of yours after getting the slightest of reactions out of him, the way the room would light up due to your laugh.

He gulped and walked away.

But Jack Abbot knew one thing—something was wrong with you. And he couldn't let his the night shift's sunshine dim out.

—

You groaned and hit your head against the locker. This was too difficult. Had you actually fallen for this man so hard that you saw him everywhere now?

Every where you went, he was there. His scent, his gravelly voice, his eyes followed you literally everywhere. Every single patient, you were partnered with him. You had to give your best fake smiles, swallow in every instinct to make him smile and focus on the patient in front of you.

"Hey, I am Nurse—" you introduced yourself, "and this is Dr. Abbot," and him, stopping yourself from glancing at him in his glory. "He will be inspecting your wound, is that okay?"

The 72 year old woman in front of you just nodded, a reassured smile forming on her face as she looked up at the man you tried so hard not to adore. He glanced at you and gave the woman a gentle smile, making your heart skip a beat. Can he not?—

"Sunny, can you please hand me the gloves?" He asks you and you just nod, trying to hide your face from him. Your ears had turned cherry red and the way his fingers brushed against yours was not helping you. He gazed at you for a moment and you had to remind yourself that you had a patient in front of you. Who was noticing everything.

"Now, can you tell me how this happened, Mrs Lowery?"

The woman told her dilemma. How she was trying to make a dish her husband used to love. She was out of practice unfortunately, as her husband died four years ago, but today was their wedding anniversary and she refused to sulk. Rather wanted to celebrate him. While cutting something the knife slipped and cut her.

He listened to her intently, his care burrowing deep into his veins. Ignoring the way his delicate touch or gentle eyes made absurd butterflies erupt deep in your stomach, you handed him everything he needed to clean her wounds and prevent any infections.

"Sunny, can you hand me the—"

"Have you always called her Sunny? That's such a cute nickname!" She gushed at the both of you. Heat crawled up your neck, making your whole face go crimson as she looked expectantly between the two of you.

"You both make such a cute couple!" She beamed.

You couldn't look at Jack, not when everything was making your eyes water.

"I—um, no—we aren't—" You stammered frantically. Your brain was going in a frenzy. Were you still being obvious? How could she insinuate that—

Jack cleared his throat, and you side glanced him. He looked dejected. God, he must've been so embarrassed by this. You felt a sharp sting inside your ribs.

"Ma'am, your wound is clean, I will come back to do some tests though. So, just stay right here, alright? Do you need anything else, like water or some food?"

"No, sweetheart, you're such a doll. You just keep that sweet smile on that face, don't you agree, Dr. Abbot?"

"Um—yeah—" He rasped, the tip of his ears turning pink. "Her smile is," He swallowed, "sweet, makes everything easier." He turned his head towards you, your eyes meeting his, his hazel meeting yours. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears because it was too intense. The way he was looking at you, gazing at you, as if you were worth something in his life, someone he cared so intently about. The soft green specks in his eyes sparkled at you and you had to force yourself to look away. There was a lodge in your throat.

You had to get away.

"Thank you," You mumbled to him or the lovely lady, you didn't particularly know but you had to escape. Escape before your heart decided that he was in love with you, too. Increased your hope by a ridiculous amount which would ultimately crash and you would have to consume an insane amount of ice cream while weeping.

Not happening.

Not over the man who couldn't even smile at you.

So, you almost ran out of there.

"Hey, hon! Can you get some gauze from the supply room for me?" Lena asked Kelly. But you saw your opportunity, and ran before her, "I got it, Lena!" You chimed in, a fake smile creasing your face weirdly. "Listen Kelly, could you take South Eight? She needs some tests done. Don't worry, Dr. Abbot is there, he'll tell you what to do," You pleaded.

"But—"

"Thanks, Kels, I love you—"

__

"So, why did our honeybee just dump her case with you to nurse Kelly just to get some gauze for me?"

"I—I don't know. God, does she seem weird to you lately?" He ran a hand over his face. His forehead held exhausted creases, his muscles sore and he felt like something had been tugging at his chest. Your sudden absence in his life was confusing him to no ends. Why were you acting like—like—

"Oh, you mean the fact that she doesn't try to make you smile anymore?"

He blinked. And again. His eyebrows furrowed. "Can you read minds or something?"

She raised her eyebrows at him and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, suspiciously. "So, you were thinking the same thing?"

"What? No. That's not—Oh, no."

"Uh huh," She stared at him, "Listen, nobody here knows what's going on with her, but you should at least try to cheer her up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. Thanks, Mama nurse. I swear this place would go to shit if it wasn't for you." He boasted.

"Don't I know it," She grunted.

—

The next shift, Jack walked towards you with the confidence of a man who knew the secret to the most infuriating woman. As if he knew how to break down all your guards successfully with having to move a muscle. And Sunny, he thought pridefully, he can't wait to see the look on your face.

He strutted in, ignoring inconsequential, judgemental looks by Ellis and Shen, with a coquette brown bag in his hand. It had the label of The Moonlight Bakery, written in a sweet font, with bows tied on its handles. Inside it held your most favourite pastry, the one you were yapping about a few weeks ago. Its aroma floated towards you before Jack reached you. You could taste the sweetness of the blueberry compote topped on the sweet tres leches cake that you love so much.

Your eyes drifted from the board in front of you to everyone near you. Why can you smell that? Where is that coming from? Before you could figure out the person who was gatekeeping your favourite pastry, the last man, the last person you would expect such a menial thing about you, stopped beside you.

His fresh cologne hit you, threatening to lure you in a dreamy state. Anxiety coursed through your veins and you frantically looked around, finding a way to avoid conversing with him. But before you could move away, he plopped down a bag next to you. Your eyes widened at the label and the pastry inside.

You cursed.

"For you. Your favourite pastry from that bakery you couldn't stop talking about last week. Gotta admit your taste is not half bad, Sunny." He grinned smugly. What?

He remembered.

Why does he remember?

Why did he even pay attention?

You swallowed, glancing at his satisfied expression and to other peering eyes near you, too eager for your reaction. "Um...Thanks Dr. Abbot."

His grin immediately faltered. "What?"

"Thank you for this, you didn't have to." You said mildly. His face fell. Almost crumpled. Your heart pace increased as you witnessed his eyebrows furrow, his lips form a discouraged pout and his hazel eyes dimmed. Something tugged at his chest. Yours ached.

"Why are you being weird?" He muttered, with a gruff voice but it was disheartened, as if he was taken aback. But you had to pretend there wasn't anything wrong. That this was normal. This is normalcy. That the very weave of every moment you spend with Jack now didn't change the way your heart pumped deep inside your sternum. How all of it isn't inherently unnatural. That it didn't unsettle your bones. Every time you had to create a formal boundary or throw a polite word at him to protect yourself, you felt as if your soul was losing itself, the very sparkle that held you and him. Because as every detached conversation widened this distance between you and the man you loved brilliantly, an ache spread through every muscle, to an extent where your lungs couldn't process the oxygen it inhaled. Or maybe it wasn’t the oxygen that your body needed desperately.

You swallowed that desperation.

"I'm not being weird?" You blinked, cluelessly.

He pursed his lips, his frustration boiling, like a 5 year old who was refused his favourite candy, something he expected so cockily but he didn't show that, no. His face was unreadable.

You almost rolled your eyes. Shocker. No reaction by Jack Abbot.

"Don't do that."

"What do you mean, Dr. Abbot?"

Every instinct in your bone was screaming at you to lean into his body, touch his forearm, give him your sweetest smile or a kiss on his cheek as a thank you.

He looked like his frustration was about to boil over, force him to say it outright. He stopped himself in his own irritating, out–righteous way because half the hospital was shamelessly spying on you. He glanced at the pastry in front of him, untouched. Then at you, whose eyes had returned back to the chart, as if he was unimportant. Disposable.

"Nothing," He muttered.

He walked away.

The next shifts, you didn't come back. Didn't go back to being the Sunny he knew. You had stopped leaning into his space. You stopped calling him old man, stopped haphazardly and inappropriately complimenting his looks, stopped your dramatic winks, your warm waves and soft smiles when his day was going unexceptionally difficult.

It was becoming impossible to ignore. Not by just Jack but by your fellow, lovingly nosy, coworkers.

"Do you think we should do something?" Javadi asked Ellis, who, along with Crus were observing the very entertaining scene in front of them.

You were assisting Jack on a cardiac patient. Your movements were mechanical and detached and your eyes were focused on the patient but they were still vacant. His kept drifting back to you, your face, as if he was seeking something in the way your features expressed, as if they held the answer to all his questions. Yet Jack's eyes had this look in them, something akin to melancholic, because the answers he sought weren't what he was searching for.

Shen—who was also there with you—and the patient were looking between you and the attending back and forth as if this was the best and worst entertainment they had gotten since Sophie's Choice.

Shen side eyed Ellis across the room. "O—kayyy, this is so much worse."

"What even happened between them?"

"Whatever it is, they refuse to talk about it which has amped up the tension."

"Which is simultaneously slaughtering employee morale. Seriously, I will write a formal complaint to Robby." Crus chimed in at which Javadi snickered.

"So, do we get it involved?"

"Nahhh, let them figure this out themselves." Ellis declared as Crus groaned next to her.

"Care to make this interesting?" Princess smirked. Javadi jumped out of her place and Ellis flinched. "Jesus, where did you come from?"

"40$ on 4 more shifts after which they have a huge fight and makeout in the supply room."

Javadi scoffed but Ellis raised her eyebrow. "50$ on 3 shifts, and makeout on the roof."

"You really think they will last that long? Abbot looks like a volcano about to reach its bursting point. 30$ on 2 shifts—"

"Abbot can last longer, the most patient man I've ever seen." Javadi stated, mindlessly playing with her pen while gazing at the two of you.

Crus gave her a deadpan look. "Not for the girl he's so crazy in love with."

Ellis leaned back on the counter.

"Does he even know that?"

—

He still didn't stop his tries, his kindness and compassion pouring its way into every shift as he brought you your lattes he once complained about—how they are not even coffee, just random flavours mixed in milk—he helped you with your charts and made sure that Shen didn't finish that absurdly spicy ramen you like from the vending machine.

But you had stopped seeing it as hope, in order to save your heart and feelings from any more damage, but only seeing it as your attending looking out for you. As he must be with everyone else.

It was only that. Professionalism.

It could be only that.

But you didn't know how hard misery had hit Jack. Every time he looked at you, something made his chest stutter. He tried to deny it, the way he felt at peace whenever you were near him, always smiling. The way he would feel like the universe blessed him with you, the way you would be determined to make him happy. Denying the way he would gladly surrender to your shenanigans, your attempts, your exclusive sparkle if it wasn't for his stubbornness.

It almost scared him.

He didn't expect to care so much for someone, yet find someone who cared so much for him after his wife's death.

He lost someone he loved and then fell to the crutches of loneliness and emotional numbness. He didn't find happiness, scratch that, he didn't believe that he deserved happiness nor care. It was Robby and Dana who took him out, reminded him that there is so much to live for and that there are still people who care about him.

But love? He forgot that. Forgot what it feels to be in love. Forgot what it feels to be loved by someone. He carried his wife deep inside his heart, but the thought of finding another person to love, our rather another person feeling him worthy enough to love was unthinkable.

Then came you.

A blast in his life, you entered with a box full of chocolate chip cookies, the most annoyingly sweet smile on your face, and the biggest heart on your sleeve. It took him less than a second for his brain to decide you were trouble and his heart comprehend you were significant.

And beautiful.

So simply beautiful.

Your wide eyes, to your curvy hips to your thick thighs. Everything had him unnecessarily malfunctioning. The way your scrubs stuck to your back rolls, and your cute pouch which poured out in the front and how the neckline couldn't hold your cleavage, knowing his large hands could hold your body just they way you liked, sent him spiraling. He would've done anything to see you out of the scrubs. He didn't know why he was suddenly acting a 16 year old boy who had discovered women for the first time.

Then there was your pretty smile. It used to send heat waves through his body, a giddiness along with it which he thought he would never experience again. The way you would look at all the patients with kind eyes, always chirpy for the kids who were scared, compassionate with the parents. He didn't know what to do with himself and what he was feeling when you sent him your warm waves every time you saw him and all he could do was purse his lips and nod.

The danger in his mind and heart would grow whenever you brought some of your delicious food to try. Always making sure the kids (doctors in the their mid 20's) were fed, along with everyone else who overworked themselves. This was just a step towards—imminent doom?—he didn't know. But he knew that the way his heart raced with the urge to just be near you and your kindness all the time, make you smile, make you blush and fluster you wasn't exactly normal.

Yet, his body never stopped your ridiculous attempts, his smile and feelings coming slowly to the surface. But he had to put up a wall. Because this sudden lack of inhibitions when it came towards you was dangerous, wasn't it? No, it was scary. Not exactly dangerous. This lack of control was, in a way, good. But he could never admit that. So, he put up a wall and never smiled. Never gave you a reaction.

But never stopped you either.

So, when all of it had stopped all of a sudden, his heart malfunctioned. His brain couldn't process this change. Rather refused to adapt to it.

Denial is a river in Egypt, Ellis had said.

He didn't understand what it meant. Or rather, he didn't want to.

It was when Robby cornered him that he knew he wasn't just being ludicrously unsubtle but he was being moronic as well.

"You know, you're being stupid, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sunny."

Jack's eyes hardened.

"That's my nickname for her. Find your own." He scowled at Robby.

But Robby laughed outright, boisterously. "Do you hear yourself? God, do you even understand what you're doing?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He claimed.

"You know she made that Afghan food you like. The one you used to yap about in your letters."

"Wait, what?" Jack breathed out. He gulped and reminisced the sunrise on the roof with you. The way you looked in the sun, how your eyes lit up when he smiled for you, the kindness in your eyes when he told you about his times in Afghanistan—his heart lodging in his throat. You actually listened. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Look at you, man. You're flushed." Robby gasped out, his eyes unbelieving. Jack's gave was pink, a dreamy look in his eyes, his pulse quickened at an alarming rate. "You're down bad for her, aren't you?"

Jack just let out a shaky breath. His eyes were glassy.

"Listen, I don't know what happened between you both, man. But you gotta get your shit together, Jack. You've met a woman so kind and so loving, someone that you won't find in a million lifetimes. She likes you. You know that? Who spends half their time trying to make you laugh?"

He took a soft pause as Jack let's out a soft, unbelievable chuckle. "She is amazing."

Robby nodded, "The universe is giving you another chance, man. Ridiculously easy one because she's right there. You just gotta do right by her, Jack. I swear to god, if you fuck this up, the whole E.D is not going to forgive you. She might be your Sunny. But she's everyone's sunshine here. No one wants to lose that."

Jack breathed in, trying to process every word Robby just said. He sighed and shook his head. "I'm so fucked."

"That's right."

—

The end of the shift Jack felt like he couldn't breathe. Not with you still looking at him like you didn't know him. You still ignored every single opening he gave you. By this time, you had gotten better at hiding your pain behind a mask of smiles and propriety. The civility you had structured masterfully between you and Jack was meant to be protecting you. You tried to convince yourself shift over shift, yet you knew it was killing you from the inside.

What you didn't know was that it was killing him too.

His own decorum was slipping. It was frustration that was seeking through the crevices of his well maintained reputation as a composed doctor. Not anger though. Never anger.

He felt like he was losing you.

His Sunny was slipping away from his fingers.

"Dr. Abbot? Dr. Park is here for the ortho consult?"

He merely nodded, his head not in the right state. But it worsened when he got to North Four. You were there. Not alone. With Park.

He entered, his footsteps heavy with the storm his heart had been enduring. The fluorescent lights pierced through him, not like they did before, when you were there to warm him up. When your smile would warm the whole place up. You would always look at him first. But as he entered this room, a coldness spread through his veins, because this time he realised you didn't look at him first.

Instead, as his sight settled, he saw you.

Laughing.

With Dr. Park. Your gaze set on him.

A wrenching pain shot across his chest.

No. No. No.

He glanced between you and Park.

Jack's eyes narrowed. You had your hand loosely covering your pretty mouth as you giggled to yourself, but he was not the cause. Dr. Park stood there in all his glory telling the young teenager some hilarious tale of an injury he went through while playing football in his high school years. The teenager seemed more relaxed and comfortable now. You stood there beside him with a suture kit in your hand, your eyes never leaving the ortho attending, with a sparkle in your eyes that Jack never saw.

You didn't notice him.

At least that's what he thought.

You had sensed him entering as you always did. Your body had an instinct when it came to him, as if seeking him out or leaning into him was more of a nature to you. Something you had grown comfortable to. You recognized his presence immediately and somehow, even if you had tried to get in the habit of forgetting him, your body hadn't forgotten him at all. After all, muscle memory is muscle memory.

So, your shoulders had relaxed but your heart raced. You had difficulty focusing on what Dr. Park was saying so you just kept your eyes on him.

"Dr. Park. Took you long enough." A rough voice came from behind. Your eyebrows immediately furrowed. Jack's voice was tight, as if he was holding something back. Some kind of pain or discomfort. You had seen him get shot at, yet his voice had never been like this before. It was new for you.

He saw you turn away from him, almost an inch closer to the other attending. His breathing had become shallow, teeth grinding one another as if he was trying to control himself. The distance between you and him had never been more suffocating. He couldn't breathe in your lavender and vanilla scent, couldn't feel your warmth, hear your silky, cheery and kind voice.

But he thought he witnessed it, an ease in your body, the way it hasn't been with him in past few nights. The laugh he hadn't earned in ages. Something that, apparently, Dr. Park had earned.

His heart was starving. Lungs felt hollow.

But something about the proximity between you and Dr. Park made irritation gnaw at his chest.

"Why? Did the ED miss me, Abbot?"

He let out a huff that sounded much like a scoff, like he couldn't believe the audacity of the man. "Oh, don't worry, ED is doing just fine." He gruffly said. Dr. Park's mouth twitched slightly.

You stood between them, a tension attaching you to him. Yet you felt like there was something going on in his mind, something that was making the veins in his neck pop. The intensity with which he was glancing at you was magnetic, a force you wished you weren't so pulled towards. You resisted and resisted. A string between you both losing its elasticity moment by moment as you not only avoided him but refused to name it.

So, you did what you thought was best.

You deflected. You deflected and turned your attention on Dr. Park in front of you.

"Well, don't worry, Ortho is perfect for me. I was just convincing this lovely nurse to join me up there. I swear—"

"Excuse me?"

Your breath hitched.

Something beneath him, inside his lungs, set on fire. A cold fire. It knocked the air out of him. His brain stuttered. Stopped functioning thoughts except for a tangible reality of you actually going away. A warmth he couldn't hold onto first.

"Sunny? You call her that, right?" He smugly added, unknowing of the fire he was adding fuel to. "Sunny, can you pass me the chart?"

Jack's irritation whitened into something else. Hot anger. Frustration. Panic.

Absolutely fucking not.

"You don't call her that." His eyes had darkened, jaw clenched to an impossible extent. The room had fallen to a deadly silence. The air had escaped, a cold settled around which had nothing to do with the weather. Your throat had gone dry. Face flushed. Heat spread through your body.

You hadn't ever seen Jack with such a dark expression.

He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowed—hazel covered with an envious green—and whatever burned inside him was creeping out, ugly and unseen. "Only I call her Sunny."

"Dr. Abbot—"

He ignored your gasp of voice, unbelieving of his claim. It was scalding and irrational, he knew, but he couldn't stop it.

He could only see what his brain flashed in front of his eyes, undesired. An image of you moving away, another person making you laugh, flustering you the way he used to. You looking at someone else with the same caring eyes. Because he did, now. He looked for you first. He didn't want to lose being the first person you looked for, forever.

He felt something coil and tighten under his sternum.

Especially not because of fucking Dr. Park.

"So what should I call her, Abbot—sweetheart, darling, honey? She looks like a honey." He teased on.

"You call her nothing, Park. She's not your anything."

Park's eyebrows raised in amusement, finally getting a hang of what exactly was going on. He moved his gaze back and forth Jack and you, a tension he didn't know he had stepped into.

"I see, Abbot. Of course. She's yours—"

"I'm not!" You cried, a desperation in your voice that pierced through the tensed air set in the room. "I am nowhere near his. Dr. Park, please continue with the consult." You whispered with a frustration lodging in your throat.

You moved to leave, glaring at Jack before storming out.

—

Jack didn't go after you. Not this time.

Because at this point, he felt like he didn't understand you anymore.

Or rather he felt like he was losing you.

The worst part was that he knew your laugh. It rung in his ears every time he felt like the darkness was going to absorb him again. He knew every version of it, every version that you gave him—with your heart open. It was the way the room used to light up every time your eyes brightened with it, a loud laugh, one that bounced off of every single surface just to get to him and wrap him in its velvety warmth. Then there was the sly giggle or the snort you couldn't help but let out. They gave him a kind of delight that would linger.

Yet when he heard this one, something lurched behind his ribs. Because he didn't expect this. Didn't expect to hear a new one which he hadn't catalogued himself yet. A swirl of ugliness and breathlessness tightened under his sternum because it was not him that was the cause of it.

White frustration surged through the man as he thundered across the ED. A type of storm people had not seen before.

"What happened?" Lena asked, fearlessly. His gaze sharpened as he remembered the foreign sound again. "Fucking Dr. Park. And Sunny."

She raised her eyebrows. "What?

"This man thinks he can just swoop in and try to poach her. Fucking called her Sunny," He ranted. "Everybody here knows I call her that. And then when I told him that, Park had the fucking audacity to ask me whether he should call her 'honey' then."

Lena pursed her lips at him, amusement visible across her face. "Right."

"I mean, can you fucking believe that?"

"I can't fucking believe you, Dr. Abbot." Samira muttered to herself, resentment laced in her words. Her eyes had sharpened as if to cut Jack, but they were still focused on the chart in front of her.

"Excuse me?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "If you seriously don't know what you've done, I can't help you." And tried to walk off. Before she could, Jack caught her. "Mohan, what are you talking about?"

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Dr. Abbot, I have patients to catch up with."

"Seriously? Listen, I care about her. A lot. And I have no idea why she is acting like this and its killing me. If you know something—please tell me." He pleaded.

"You have no right to act all jealous and possessive of her when you asked out Al Hashimi."

"Wait, what?"

"She's been trying to make you smile for months and she bakes for you goddammit! You give her nothing, never! And then the poor girl walks in on you and Dr. Al—"

"I never asked her out."

"Excuse me?"

Jack's heart dropped down in the pit of his stomach. "I never asked out Dr. Hashimi."

"But she—"

"Never. I did ask her to get beer together but that was just because Robby wanted me to get a a clear image on her. It was never meant—Fuck."

Samira pursed her lips and blinked at the man as he went through a plethora of emotions. He swallowed and raised his gaze at her to find her eyebrows shot up, expectantly, as if to say you need to fix this now.

"I need to find Sunny."

—

You needed a breather.

And what better place than the roof?

You breathed in the air, a calm that you wished would stop the storm inside you. The whirlwind of emotions and stupid feelings. All for that one man. One man you couldn't seem to let go of. It was almost humiliating how much you wanted to hold on, hold on to the brittle dream of him loving you back like you did him.

The look you saw on his face. God, did you imagine it? Did he also miss you? No. No. You stopped yourself. You just needed some more time. Away from him. Away from the chaos which was a few floors down. A bit of silence—

The door creaked open, destroyer of your attempts at peace up here. You wished it was Lena or Ellis but you knew who it was.

"What are you doing here?" You asked weakly.

"Sunny—"

"What do you want from me, Jack?" Your voice broke.

"I need to know why out of nowhere you've been acting like you don't fucking know me, Sunny." He confessed, his frustration laced in the words. "I need to know what the hell your problem is, cause'—"

"Jack, please—"

"No, I need to hear it from your mouth, okay? What is it? You hate me all of a sudden—" He kept pacing towards you, as if without the close proximity he won't survive.

"No, you fucking dumbass! I love you! I've been in love with you and you don't—" You hiccuped, turning around, tears finally rolling down your cheeks. "You don't a–and if I stay any longer with you, I'll break my own heart because I will keep falling a–and you won't."

"You're in love with me?" Jack gasped out, disbelief in his breath. You pulled yourself together, your hands wrapping around your cold body, shoulders hunching, trying to hide yourself. Humiliation made your tears well up again, your brain was hurting and you embraced your body, bracing yourself for the inevitable rejection. "Are you serious?"

You nodded slightly before your gaze flickered back to the sky. "Listen, I–I know this is bad, especially since you like Dr. Al Hashimi and you asked her out. I am going to give in my request for a shift to days, or even out of the ED—"

"Like hell you will. Like hell I will let you."

"What?" You whispered.

"I never asked out Al."

There was a heavy pause between, as your heart stopped itself, almost as if because it couldn't hear Jack's words perfectly.

"Excuse me?"

"I never asked her out. Whatever you heard was me doing a favour for Robby."

His gaze pierced through your soul, begging you to understand what his words couldn't convery but you deflected. You didn't let yourself believe. "Still. It doesn't mean you don't want her—She's perfect. She's mature, beautiful, absolutely brilliant—"

"She's not you."

You couldn't have heard the words right. "Excuse me?" You breathed out.

He stepped closer to you, your heart threatening to pump out of your chest. You could see him clearly now, through all of your tears. His perfectly freckled face, gorgeous salt and pepper curls, his eyes filled with so much tenderness and pain it caught your breath.

"She's not you."

He titled his head slightly, gazing at you with so much adoration. He reached out, his hand so careful, feather light touch as he tucked a strand away, as an unfortunate whimper escapes your mouth. Not a moment of weakness. An indication of the longing. Longing for the same touch.

"She's not Sunny. Yes, she is intelligent, mature, brave and pretty too. But she's not you." He let out a shaky exhale before continuing.

"She's not the person who is so determined to make me laugh. She's not the one who makes the room brightened up by just being in it. She's not the one...the one who made me feel worthy of being loved again."

Your gaze flickered up at his eyes again.

"But Jack—you never," you gulped again, stopping the tears to blur up your vision again, "you never even reciprocated it. Never..." You trailed off, mindlessly flashing back to the times you put yourself down while wondering why he never flirted back. "But when—when I saw you with Dr. Al, you smiled—so freely, it hurt. W–Why did you never—"

"I was afraid." Hs cut you off. "Afraid that after I smiled for you, you w–would move on. Stop doing what you're doing. I didn't want you to stop. You were the best part of my day."

There was a pregnant pause before he added.

"Besides you made my brain malfunction."

A chortle left your mouth, a remark of disbelief. "Excuse me?"

A sly lopsided grin touched his face. "I never could give you any reaction because you stopped my brain from giving out any coherent orders to my body. My throat would become concerningly dry and I couldn't even give a reaction without making myself look like a dumbass."

You let out an unwarranted giggle. You shook your head, but behind your eyes, there was still the blinding cover of uncertainty. A cloud of doubt still stopped you. Your body was not letting yourself lean into him completely, but not pushing him back either. Reluctancy had settled over your bones.

"Jack. This is not making sense—"

"You're the first person I look for in a room." Your breath hitched. "And when you stopped looking for me...I felt empty. I was losing my mind and Robby had to knock some sense into me—and I—I was too afraid to lose you, Sunny."

He grabbed the rails around you, his arms framing around your body, his figure radiating a kind of restlessness. His fingers had gripped the metal so hard, his knuckles were turning white in frustration, as if he was holding himself back from...well, you.

A heated flush spread across your cheeks. Your eyes met his, a soul found another, the love and yearning that had been hidden behind fear finally blown out in the open.

"Why did you never tell me?" You whispered.

"I was afraid." There was a pause before he moved his body close to you, the proximity both of your hearts had been starving for. "But I realised the fear of losing you is far more than the fear of...accepting love."

Your hand slowly reached out to his face, cradling it, his stubble grazing your hands, your eyes boring into his. A shy smile broke out on your face, something eternally beautiful, he realised as his heart skipped a beat. You both leaned in, his forehead leaning against yours, as you let yourself finally be pulled into his warmth. Falling into his soul. Never leaving his heart.

"Say it for me. Please."

His gaze flickered to yours, a vulnerability shone in them as he searched your face before realisation dawned on him.

"I'm falling for you, hard."

He took a deep breathe.

"I love you, Sunny."

You opened your eyes and sighed, as if you were holding a breath for the longest time.

"One more time."

Jack's eyes never left you. Instead, they flickered to your lips. The ones he dreamed about. The ones he wanted to—

He tilted his head and went in, a brush of his lips against yours, as if asking for permission, but only a whimper came out. Soft and delicate, something that gave him the courage he needed.

You gasped as his hand grabbed at your waist, gently squeezing your pretty love handles before pulling you into him as he smashed his lips against yours. He swiftly molded his lips against yours, getting drunk on your taste. While you just melted into him, holding onto him like he was your lifeline.

Your hands travelled up from his torso to his chest to his collar, your fingers grabbing them and passionately pulling him impossibly closer. His explored your body in the way it didn't even daydream about. They hoisted you with their bulging strength, sliding from your back to your mane and back to your hips. He groaned in your mouth and you whined softly before he sucked on your lower lips.

The kiss wasn't aggressive nor was it too shy. It was the perfect amount for two lost people finding themselves again. For the two people who had been too afraid to grab the love right in front of them. Two people who were stunningly starved for each other's touch. Two souls who had finally found each other.

You slowly whined as both of you pulled back for air and he smiled against your lips.

"Look, who's smiling now." You teased gently. You played with his curls, reveling in this feeling, the giddiness consumed your body, and the anxious buzz in your muscles had disappeared because he was here. Holding you. Loving you.

He chuckled wholeheartedly. He softly pecked your lips. "Only because of you, Sunny."

—

The elevator dinged open.

The sight could heal all longing hearts. And it did.

"Oh my god." Santos whispered.

Everybody at the nurse station looked at her, puzzled at her widened eyes. That was until they followed her eye sight.

There you were.

Not alone.

Jack and you appeared, fingers intertwined, shy smiles on both faces, but the satisfaction and love glowed on both of you, unsubtly. Plus, your lips were chapped.

Crus crossed his arms over his chest, "Fucking finally."

Robby cheered with Shen. Dana and Lena said something on the lines of 'took you long enough', as Princess and Perlah looked kind of disappointed, but for a different reason.

"I fucking won!" Ellis beamed.

Everyone groaned.

You both just grinned at each other. Jack, finally happy, because he faced his fears, and finally reached for the warmth and love that was always there. Because he got his girl. His Sunny.

And you? Well because you finally realised that the man you loved also looked for you before even entering a room.

That was love.

In a room full of people, I look for you.

—sombr.

AHHHH FINALLY DONE WITH THIS.

I love you guys so much for the love you gave me and sunny <3

PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG

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He hums in acknowledgment, “Give me a moment.” He strains his eyes further causing you to smile to yourself.

“You know, maybe you wouldnt have such a hard time reading if you put on your reading glasses.”

“I told you I dont need them.” He mumbles. Its comedic really, how close he holds the book to his face while claiming he can see perfectly.

“Thats funny, because the optician said you do and I think he might know more about sight than you do.” Your words are teasing in a way that will hopefully goad him into finally wearing the glasses that have been sat on the bedside table since he got them.

“Hes an idiot.” His voice is a low grumble. He finally shuts the book after finishing his page (or giving up) and begins to shuffle out of bed.

“Oh the highly renowned optician is an idiot? Because he told you- correctly -that you need reading glasses? And you dont like that?” You block the doorway and slide your hands up to his shoulders. “I dont know whats happening in your head but it needs to stop. You are going to cause yourself more damage if you dont wear them.”

His hands naturally hold your waist, sighing and leaning his forehead against yours. “They make me feel old.”

“You are old.” He pinches the fat of your hips as you share a low laughter just for the two of you. “But that doesnt mean youre worth less. Or suddenly unattractive. Its okay to need help with stuff like that, its natural, and refusing to wear them doesnt change the fact that you need them.”

He snorts. “Well reading glasses are hardly a turn on.”

For weeks, it had become a running joke between you and Jake that he wasn't able to feel your baby kick. Every time the baby started their nightly dance party, you would eagerly grab Jake’s hand. The moment he touched your skin, your baby would stop moving. It was as if they knew he was present and got shy.

Jake always handled it with a reassuring smile; he knew how bad it made you feel when he wasn't able to enjoy the moments with you. He would kiss your forehead, rub your shoulder, and remind you that it was okay.

He'd always encourage you the time would come where he'd feel the baby - your baby, but you knew deep down how badly he wanted that connection with your little one. You were determined to make it happen.

The moment finally came on a random Thursday evening. You were both exhausted after a long day of work, your brain fried and his body drained from running new drills.

You were laying in bed, the room illuminated only by the soft, flickering glow of the movie playing quietly in the background - a movie neither of you were truly watching.

Jake was sprawled out beside you, his heavy head resting against your chest. His hand rested lightly on your stomach, his thumb mindlessly tracing slow circles over your skin. It was a new habit of his now; a quiet way of anchoring himself to the two of you.

Then, you felt it.

A series of familiar flutters started up; your baby was starting to stir.

Your entire body went still. You froze, the sudden jump of adrenaline stopping all of your movements. You didn't dare shift an inch. You felt like you had stopped breathing, straining to keep your chest from moving too much against his head. You were silently praying that your heartbeat wouldn't tip the baby off. Just keep moving. Please don't stop this time.

For a few moments, though the seconds felt like minutes, there was only the quiet murmur of the television.

Then, the baby didn't just flutter: they rolled, shifted, and brought an unmistakeable kick right against Jake's palm.

Jake’s head shot off your chest so fast. He bolted upright, his eyes wide and completely locked onto yours in the dim light of the bedroom. The exhaustion was gone and was quickly replaced by an overwhelming look of hope, excitement filling his eyes.

"Was that-?" He cut himself off. His voice cracked, too afraid to finish the sentence in case he had only imagined it.

You couldn't even speak, relief and joy taking over your body. You nodded quickly, a large smile forming on your face.

The realization hit him hard. A smile broke across his face, bigger than the one on yours. He lowered his head back down, but this time he pressed his ear directly against your stomach, wrapping his arms securely around your hips.

"Do it again, please baby," he whispered against your skin, pleading for the next movement.

It happens again. A light chuckle escapes his mouth, followed by a quiet, "holy shit."

You can't help but smile at him as you move a hand through his soft locks, trying to decipher what emotions he's feeling. You intervene slowly, "It's crazy, isn't it?"

He shakes his head, almost speechless. "It's unbelievable. That's our little one, our baby is really in there."

You want to joke about how it's just now feeling real for him, and question how the back pain, nausea, body changes, and random cravings just weren't enough evidence for him. But as you think about it a little deeper, you tell yourself that this is the first thing he actually gets to be a part of when it comes to you being pregnant.

You let him have his moment, just him and his baby. You continued to run your hand through his hair as he continued to rub your stomach - trying to find the exact spot he felt the movements.

Within moments you felt small kisses begin to be placed on your stomach and heard small whispers fall from his lips:

"Hi baby, it's your daddy."

"I want you to know that whatever you are, and whatever you decide to do, I love you so much already."

"I promise I am going to do everything I can to take care of you."

"I promise I am going to do everything I can to always come home to you and your mommy."

"I promise to be the best dad I can be, for you."

"I can't wait to meet you.”

"I love you so much."

Not knowing if he knew you could hear him, you chose not to say anything. You knew he wasn't talking to you anyways.

Eventually, Jake rose up from your stomach and came back up to lay next to you. You turned your body to face him, placing your hand on his cheek. You could tell that his mind was racing; you knew him too well.

"Talk to me," you whispered, "what are you thinking about in that handsome head of yours?"

He sat there for a moment before he spoke. "I've spent the last five months watching you be pregnant, but this is the first time I've been able to feel it, to understand it. This moment made it feel so real for me. I just got to feel our baby."

Your heart soared at his openness. You slowly rubbed his cheek with your thumb. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" you murmured, smiling softly.

He couldn't form a sentence, he only nodded his head against your palm. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. The kiss was gentle and filled with a quiet gratitude. Almost as if he was saying a silent thank you for everything your body was doing.

"We're really a family," he whispered after a moment, looking deep into your eyes. The usual, playful glint in his gaze was now replaced with something affectionate.

"We are," you whispered back to him, pressing another kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away from him, every racing thought going through his head had been calmed. He settled back down into the pillows, pulling you to his side as close as possible. His hand immediately found its way back to your stomach, his fingers resting protectively over your bump. It felt almost as if he was shielding your little family from the rest of the world.

The movie continued to play quietly in the background, casting a soft light throughout the room. You laid your head on his chest, breathing in his familiar scent while his fingers mindlessly traced slow patterns on your skin again.

Your eyes finally closed as you were wrapped in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

For the first time in five months, you weren't carrying the physical weight of this pregnancy alone. Jake was right there with you, anchoring your new little family in the quiet of the night.

---

The cabin you’ve got for the weekend is not the peaceful paradise you had hoped for this late at night. You can hear every little thing, from the critters skittering across branches and leaves outside to the soft ticking of the heat kicking on. Every single sound feels like it presses in and hangs weighty over your chest now that you’re awake. Your eyes are wide open, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling above you. You sigh. Might as well keep them open, every time you shut them you keep drifting back into the same nightmare that's plagued you since Sam deployed. The clock ticks, your eyes droop, and sleep keeps coming for you, again and again. So does the nightmare.

There's sand in your mouth. The air is so hot you feel like it's strangling you with each breath. There's a ringing in your ears so loud you can't hear your own voice— even though you know it's always the same. It's his name. You're there and screaming his name over and over and over again. You lock eyes with him, and—

You swallow hard, opening your eyes again and letting your gaze drop from the ceiling. You drag your attention across the wall, counting the picture frames until you settle on that worn leather jacket hanging on the hook on the back of the door. He refuses to throw that thing out, swears he's gotten it broken in just enough. 

The mattress dips behind you and you hear a body shift. A warm hand drags over your side and then his voice comes out rough, thick with sleep, lips brushing against the back of your shoulder as he mumbles, "why're you awake?"

You don't answer him. You can't, really. Your eyes are still locked on his jacket, the one thing keeping you from sinking back into the nightmare you had woken up from. 

"Hey." He tries again, softer, nudging just a bit closer. His arm slides properly around your waist now, pulling you back against his bare chest. The heat he radiates bleeds through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. "C'mere. What're you doin' all the way over there?"

Your eyes sting a little, your voice coming out quieter than you intend. "I had a nightmare."

He hums against your shoulder, "Yeah?" He mumbles. "Lemme guess, huh? I die heroically, everyone claps, you go and date someone hotter." 

A weak laugh escapes you at the same time a tear does. "You're so annoying, you know that?"

"Mm. S'what I'm here for." His nose bumps lazily against the back of your neck and he sighs. "What was it then?" He asks quietly. 

You let your eyes linger on the jacket longer, "you didn't come back."

His arm tightens around your middle, and then he moves. His arm slides up and down your arm. His fingers are rough, calloused. A familiar touch you'll never get tired of. "I'm here though." He says softly, trying to reassure your racing mind as he follows your line of sight to that leather jacket. "Bit of a plot hole in that dream, don't you think?" 

"I don't know… It just felt really…" You sigh and stop, letting your words trail off quietly as more tears streaming down your aching cheeks. 

He nudges you until you roll slightly, landing on your back. His hand comes up to your face, clumsy but gentle, and a thumb drags underneath your eye to swipe away a stream. "Stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?" You sniffle, letting your eyes find the soft brown ones you love in the darkness. 

"Going all quiet on me in the middle of the night, while you’re crying." He mutters and yawns. "It's rude, I'm trying to sleep here." 

You let out a quiet laugh at that, shaking your head just a little. "Oh, well in that case. I'm sorry my subconscious is inconveniencing you."

"Yeah, well… stop apologizing and just knock it off." His thumb lingers on your cheek for a second before his hand drops down. He slides it back around you and pulls you back into his chest, not leaving an inch of space between you. He maneuvers you around until your face ends up tucked under his chin, his heartbeat strong and steady against your ear. He smiles. "Feel that?" He asks softly.

You nod. 

"Good. Means I'm not dead." He teases. He holds you tightly against him, letting his eyes close as he starts to drift back to sleep. “Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”

Your breathing starts to even out, syncing up with his. His hand drifts lazily up and down your arm, stilling at your shoulder. Then his fingers start to drag across your skin in little circles and he kisses a spot just against your hairline. "I'm not goin' anywhere. Promise." 

After your nightmare of a dream last night, Sam wanted to take you on a hike to “clear your mind”, in hopes that it wouldn't happen again tonight. So now, you've been suckered into what feels like a ten mile hike through woods that smells just like wet pine bark. It's a different kind of cold up North too. Nothing like San Diego. This is the kind of cold that steals your breath right from your lungs the second the wind picks up. You'd personally, rather be on the porch of the cabin, holding a mug of hot coffee in your hands. Preferably wrapped in your boyfriend's favorite blanket. Preferably not walking fucking uphill at 10am. 

Sam, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. He's a few steps ahead of you, Whiskey's leash in his hand as that little blonde furball sniffs everything within her immediate vicinity. He looks looser out here, like the tension he usually carries has melted away. Every now and then he'll glance off into the trees at your right, taking in something that you're pretty sure is more than just the green pine needles, but you don't see it and you definitely don’t want to ask. You heave out a heavy sigh. 

He glances back at you this time. "You're hating this way too loudly. Can you quiet down?"

"I'm not hating it." You frown, lifting one foot to miss a root that trails across the path. "I just don't see why we couldn't have done this on flatter ground, or ya know… not in March." 

"It is flat." Sam chuckles softly ignoring your other comment, shaking his head. 

You stop walking and sigh heavily, "Sam." 

He turns, walking backward a few steps as he spreads his arms wide so your gaze follows. "Just look at it, babe. It's beautiful out here."

You roll your eyes, "this is not flat. This is very much a hill."

"This, my love, is nothing." He chuckles, "you'd die on a real trail." 

"Good." you frown. "Maybe I wouldn't have to fucking finish this one." 

He laughs then, his head tipping back just enough you can see that smile you fell in love with so many years ago. The dimples in his cheeks, the squint of his eyes. "Jesus, you're being dramatic." 

"I was warm." You whine, gesturing back vaguely towards where you thought the cabin would be. "There was coffee, a chair, a porch."

"And now there's a view." He teases as he turns back around, continuing up the path just a bit quicker. Whiskey barks once and jogs after him. 

"You better be right about that." You huff. "If I hike all the way up here and it's just more damn trees, so help me—"

"It's not just more trees. Relax. There's a clearing up here." 

"Oh, how exciting. Differently shaped trees." You grumble. He laughs again, slowing down just enough for you to catch up to him. You shove your hands in your pockets. He glances at you and then nudges your arm. 

"Hey… You agreed to come." 

"I agreed to a vacation." You say softly. "This feels like a fitness test." 

"You're doing great." He jokes softly as he pushes a bit of foliage away from the path so you can scoot by. "Figured I'd share something I actually like with you for once." 

You glance at him, softening. He's been really leaning into your gardening lately. If he wasn't helping, he at least sat outside to be near you. "You like this?" You ask softly. 

"No." He snorts, "I hate it. That's why I suggested we take a hike." 

You look around and nod, smiling slightly. It's still cold and everything is just trees for as far as your eye could see. "Okay, It's not terrible." 

"Wow, a glowing review of the mountains. Thank you." He chuckles. 

The trail opens up into a clearing near the end. It overlooks all of the pine trees you'd been walking beside, your eyes drifting across their tops and to the mountains surrounding you on all sides. You smile at him and he smiles back— dimples and all— his eyes shining under the golden evening light. He leans down and unclips Whiskey's leash, letting her run amuck in the tall grass. God, you're going to have to check her— and him— for ticks later. Then he drops his backpack and slides an arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side. He presses a kiss to your temple, just resting his head against yours as he looks out at the view outstretching wider than you can even begin to comprehend. 

Maybe you'd take this view into your next dream. Seeing him out here, instead of the usual sand and explosions. And maybe you start to think this hike wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

"You wanna ride some rides?" you ask.

"Meh," Travis shrugs, seemingly content just to walk a few steps ahead of you and Mac.

"You wanna ride some rides?" you tease, giving Mac a nudge. He scoffs in response, because you know damn well he's not gettin' on any of those rickety-ass carnival rides.

You walk the big circle twice, waiting for something to catch Travis's eye. You pass rigged games that he used to beg to play, but he doesn't seem interested anymore. You still have a stuffed bear that Mac won for you on the first official family outing. Too bad Waylon's not here, you could give those kids a few bucks and not see 'em again until midnight.

But he's not, so your sullen child wanders alone down the fairway, taking in the sights. Mac catches your eye, and you share a smile that says "we tried."

"Hey!" a somewhat familiar kid in a polo shirt who's planted himself in front of Travis greets. "I'm Brantley. You're the new kid from the end of my street, right?"

Travis looks back to you, like he needs permission to speak. Apparently, the look on your face grants it.

"Yeah?" he says, turning back to... Brantley? The hell kind of name is Brantley?

"You wanna come hang out with me and my friends?"

You clock Travis's uncomfortable squirm from behind.

"Look," the kid says, pointing to a gang going to town on a cone of blue cotton candy. "That's my brother Buckley, and those are our friends. We've got an odd number, and most of the rides seat two, and Dane's tired of riding with strangers. Wanna roll with us tonight?"

Roll with us? Is your son about to be initiated into a child gang? Mac bites back a laugh beside you.

Travis looks back, and… doesn't appear entirely opposed to the idea?

"He's gonna need a bracelet, though," the kid says, finally addressing you. "For the rides."

You make eye contact with your child, trying to read him without having to ask in front of a potential friend.

"Please?" he asks, giving you the puppy eyes. He's actually into it? He's voluntarily going to hang out with kids his own age, instead of laying around the house with his mom and step-dad?!

You can't get your wallet out fast e--Mac beats you to it, handing Travis enough cash for a ride-all-you-can-ride bracelet and a snack.

"Thanks, Mac," he grins.

"Meet us right here at," you pause to check your watch, "9:00, on the dot."

Travis gives you a mock-salute, and the two kids run off to join the others. Quick introductions are made, and then Travis scrambles off in the direction of the nearest ticket booth for an ugly orange bracelet that'll let him ride all night.

"Did I just give my son permission to join a gang?" you wonder.

Mac laughs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Gotta let him go sometime, Mama," he whispers, kissing your temple. "But right now, it is imperative that you feed me a funnel cake."

"Do I have to actually feed it to you, or can I just help you eat it?"

"Oh, no, you gotta feed it to me," he insists. "Them's the Carnival Rules."

"If you say so," you laugh, heading for the funnel cake line.

It's 9:09 and your son is not where he's supposed to be.

You and Mac are facing opposite directions, watching for your dang kid to show up. You're checking your watch every ten seconds, like that's gonna make him get here faster.

"He probably thought he had time for one more ride," Mac says calmly, eyes scanning the crowd on his side. "He'll be here."

You can't think of anything to say, so you don't. Your eyes rake over the crowd, arms crossed. You're seconds away from leaving Mac and going kid-hunting. When you find the little twerp, you're going to toss him over your shoulder and bring him back like a damn deer.

"There he is," Mac says, reaching out to touch your arm. You swirl around with fury, and Travis's eyes widen when he sees you. You aggressively lift your wrist and point at your watch. 9:14.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing Travis says. "We were in the Starship 3000. Buckley assured me that the ride would be over in time. He also didn't tell me that I wouldn't be able to walk when I got off it. I stumbled around for a while 'cause I couldn't see straight."

Damn this kid's innocent eyes… and his green face.

"Okay," you whisper, pulling him to your side. He leans into you like he's grateful for the support. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

You look to Mac, who's watching you both. You give him a smile, grateful that he didn't let you go kid-hunting at 9:05 like you wanted to. He returns it, and you all start walking toward the exit.

"You have fun?" you prod.

"Kinda."

"Only kinda?" Mac asks.

"It's…" Travis sighs. "It's not like it is when I go with Waylon. They all know each other. Nobody really talked to me. I was just kinda there."

"That's the joy of a carnival," you shrug. "The rides are the main event, so you can just hang. It's low-pressure. Nobody's expecting you to carry on a conversation, 'cause there's so much fun stuff to do."

"Meh," Travis shrugs.

You and Mac share a look over his head. This is the first time he's hung out with kids his own age since you moved here, and his reaction is a meh?

"Did you guys have fun?" Travis asks.

You look to Mac and smirk. You fed each other a funnel cake. You shared a powdered sugar kiss that would've sent Travis retching. You walked around and watched people lose money at rigged games. You tailed Travis and his new gang for a little bit. And then you parked yourselves on a bench and ate sno-cones like the old married couple you are.

"Loads," Mac grins.

"Best carnival ever," you smile.

The god awful smell of burnt pizza fills the cafeteria around you as it buzzes just a little too loud for your liking. The noise, that you've learned to live with over the years (from age five onward), bores deep into your ears— the chairs scraping, the people yelling, girls laughing a little too hard at jocks that aren't even that funny.

You're picking at your fries and trying to drown out the sound with your own headphones when you notice him just standing there. 

He's got his hands full of a lunch tray that contains either cheese or pepperoni as his eyes scan the room. You think maybe he's looking for an empty place to sit. He's a new kid, that much is obvious. His face is unfamiliar and no one is waving him over to their table. His hair's short, cut for convenience and not style. Someone bumps his shoulder as they pass laughing with a friend. He adjusts his grip on his tray and straightens himself back up. 

You slide off the headphones, shove them down into your bag, and don't even give it a second thought before you open your mouth, "Hey!"

The word comes out louder than you had really meant it to. But it cuts through the noise just enough that he hears it. His head snaps towards you, brown eyes meeting yours. You just nod your head towards the empty spot across from you. "You can sit here, if you want." 

He looks at you, confused, trying to figure out why you would ask him to sit with you in his head. "…Why?" 

You shrug as you respond, pushing your straw through the little cardboard carton of milk. "Because you've been standing there for like, a full minute and it's starting to get a little sad."

His expression shifts to something close to amusement. "Yeah?" He chuckles softly. "You feel bad for me?"

"Not really." You banter back easily. "It's more for me. I don't like watching awkward shit while I eat."

He laughs at that. It's a quiet one, but it's a laugh. He shakes his head, adjusts his tray in his hands, and makes his way over to you to sit. "Alright then." He chuckles. "Guess I'll save you the discomfort." 

Up close, you can notice the faint shadows under his eyes. Tired in a way none of the other boys here will ever understand, but the brown in them almost glows gold under the light. You look away from him and back down to your tray before you get caught for staring.

"You got a name?" You ask, picking at another fry. 

He sets his tray down on the table and pulls out the chair, planting himself in it. "Sam." 

You nod. "Okay, Sam." 

He starts in on his food. You think about introducing yourself, but this kid doesn't seem like he really cares, or he would’ve asked. You sit together quietly, or as quiet as the bustling cafeteria will alow. Then after a few more moments, curiosity gets the better of you. "You just move here?" You ask, your voice quieter than it had been before. 

"Yeah." He nods. 

"From where?"

He shrugs. He could tell you a plethora of things, but those answers didn't really matter. "Different places." 

You raise an eyebrow and chuckle, trying to get that laugh back out of him. His laugh is a nice sound. "Moving around like that sounds pretty exhausting." 

He huffs lightly, a soft puff of air through his nose but it’s not a laugh. "You get used to it." 

There's something in the way that he says it that has the wheels in your brain turning. You take in his clothes, his haircut, the way he sits with his back straight without having to be asked. You even take in the way he inhales his food instead of just simply taking his time to eat. "Military?" You try. 

His hand pauses for a moment, fry mid route to his mouth. "Yeah. My step-dad was.”

Was? You don't push it. 

"Guess you’re stuck here then?" You say instead. 

He chuckles and nods, "for a while, it seems." 

You nod, lifting your burnt slice of pizza, taking a bite. You chew, thinking on his words before you glance back at him. "Well… Could be worse."

"Yeah?" He barks out a laugh then. But not in the same tone as the one earlier. You don’t like this one. It’s angry and annoyed. He looks up at you again, his eyes dark, sad, "This is fucking Ohio. How could it be any worse?"

You gesture vaguely around the cafeteria around you. "The food here is bad, but it's not bad enough to poison you. The people are mostly tolerable if you ignore enough of them. There’s an aquarium that’s pretty cool not too far from here. And—" You pause and bring your hand to your chest, continuing on teasingly, "— you found me." 

He smiles then. It's not quite the laugh you were hoping for but it's enough to call it a success. "Right." He chuckles and shakes his head, swiping three fries through his ketchup at once. "Got lucky then." 

Now you're both smiling. 

You continue eating together until both of your trays are empty. You look at the clock, about five minutes left. He leans back in his chair, his eyes raking over you. Then his eyebrows knit together, "You do this a lot?"

You look at him confused, starting to gather up your trash. "Do what?"

"Pick up the wandering strays."

Before you can answer, the bell rings. Chairs start scraping back and a whole lot of people start moving all at once. The two of you wait for things to clear out a bit and then you make your way to the garbage cans waiting at the end of the room, dumping trash and what food scraps are left. You put the trays in the chute and head back to grab your things from the table.

"What have you got next?" He asks softly, tugging out a paper schedule from his back pocket. He sounds different now, a bit more reserved, nervous even?

"English." You say softly, trying your best not to peek at the schedule in his hands. 

His eyes scan the paper and then he nods once when he finds his next class period, "Same."

"Guess I'll see you there then, Sammy." You tease, adjusting your bag as you start your walk back to the hallways. You turn, taking a few steps backwards as you send a salute his way, "try not to get lost on the way." 

Typical Park behavior involved three things: looking mildly annoyed and inconvenienced, saying as few words as possible, if any, and leaving immediately after doing the bare minimum, leaving no room for small talk with residents and med students.

He was currently standing beside trauma room 3, reviewing X-rays with Robby, sleeves rolled to his elbows, expression blank as usual. Santos stood to the side, taking notes and trying to learn from the two attendings without getting in the way.

“…fibular head’s intact,” Park said, “tibial plateau’s a mess though.”

Robby nodded. “Think surgery tomorrow?”

“Assuming he stops trying to stand on it, yes,” he stated simply, no smile, not trying to make a joke, as serious as he always was.

Then, the service elevator opened.

You stepped out pushing an empty gurney, coffee balanced beside the paperwork squeezed by your elbow as both your hands held the bar of the gurney.

Trinity noticed the way you caught Park’s attention and she thought back to the first time she met you. You were wheeling a gurney with a body into the elevator while eating a blueberry yogurt. She remembered being confused how you could stomach food in the morgue. And she’ll never forget when you looked at her after she asked you why you didn’t mind “all the death” and you simply responded: “it’s the only thing in life guaranteed, Dr. Santos.”

She shook her head of the memory and went back to analyzing the effect you seemed to be having on the Shark.

Park looked up automatically and smiled. It wasn’t a big grin, just his lips twitching up at the corners as he caught sight of you, which for Park might have been a celebration.

Santos nearly dropped the chart in her hands.

“Hey, corpse bride,” he called casually.

“Hey, butcher.” You glanced over at him without breaking stride. “So kind of them to let you out of surgery.”

Park’s eyes flicked to your coffee. “That your third one today?”

“Fourth. I work with dead people, Brendon. I’m tired,” you gave him a playful frown.

Robby immediately looked down to hide his expression and both men stepped aside to let you maneuver the gurney through the hallway.

“You stealing another patient?” he asked.

“Depends. You all done gawking at him?” You flicked your eyes through the ED.

Robby shrugged, Brendon did the weird lip twitch thing again.

You nodded toward the trauma room behind them as you moved passed them. “Try not to break that one.”

“No promises.” Brendon replied dryly.

Santos stared openly as you disappeared toward the back hallway. Then she whipped around slowly “…what the hell was that?”

Park blinked at her once. “A conversation.”

“No,” Santos said. “No, that was chemistry.”

“It was sarcasm,” Park corrected.

“Sexually charged sarcasm,” she said like it was obvious.

Park looked exhausted already, “I don’t even know why I’m engaging. I’m going back upstairs.” He flipped the chart, passing it back to Robby.

The second he left, Santos rounded on Dana and Robby, “you saw that, right?”

Dana kept typing, “saw what?” She asked flatly.

“The flirting!” Santos nearly shouted, growing frustrated with everyone’s denial.

“I think Dr. Park was discussing orthopedic treatment.” Robby said matter of factly.

Santos pointed aggressively. “Dana. Robby. That man looked at her like she was the prettiest girl in the ED. He nearly smiled. Do you understand that. He made a joke! A JOKE!”

Robby failed to hide a smile behind his coffee cup.

Whitaker looked between the two seasoned ED members, “you guys are being weird.”

“We’re not being weird,” Dana said carefully.

“You’re absolutely being weird,” Santos replied.

Dana and Robby exchanged the briefest glance. The kind shared by people actively withholding information. Santos narrowed her eyes at them immediately.

“Oh my God. You know something.” Trinity said with a glare.

“We know many things,” Robby said vaguely before shoving another chart in her direction and waving her and Whitaker off.

Over the next month, Santos became obsessed, once she noticed it, she started noticing everything. Park somehow always appeared downstairs when you were in the ED.

Never lingering. Never obvious.

But always there: an ortho consult, a pre-op check, a fracture reduction.

And somehow, somewhere in the middle of it, he’d run into you, nearly every single time. And the conversations were always more bizarre than the one before.

One afternoon you walked past while Park was scrubbing blood off his hands at the sink down the hall.

“Busy day?” you asked.

“Teenager launched himself off a roof,” he responded quietly.

“Ouch,” you said with a wince, bringing the straw of your smoothie up to your lips.

“He said he was trying to impress a girl,” he dried his hands and turned to face you.

You nodded solemnly. “Closed head injury then.”

Park huffed a laugh.

And then, without another word, you tilted the straw towards him… and he took a sip. An actual sip from your drink.

Santos clapped a hand over her mouth and nearly fainted from where she was spying around the corner.

Another night, you arrived to pick up a body while Park was waiting for radiology results.

You stopped beside him. “You eat today?”

He answered with a shrug, not even looking up from his chart, “crackers.”

“Those little peanut butter ones?” You asked furrowing your brow.

He nodded in response.

You grimaced. “Jesus. No wonder you surgeons are miserable.”

“Bold statement from the woman who willingly works in a basement full of corpses,” he said with a smirk.

“At least my patients don’t complain,” you smiled as you moved past him, putting your gloves on.

Park’s mouth twitched and Dana physically swiveled her chair in the other direction because she was smiling. Santos caught it instantly.

“YOU KNOW SOMETHING.” She yelled, pointing in her direction.

Dana straightened immediately. “I know lots of things.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Santos said, narrowing her eyes at Dana in suspicion.

“I’m actually excellent at it.” Dana quipped back with a proud smile.

Eventually the residents decided they had to take matters into their own hands and prove it. Because they couldn’t take Dana and Robby gaslighting Santos into thinking she was insane.

“You’re reading into things,” Dana said one morning.

“She called him Brendon,” Whitaker added as they crowded around Dana.

“So?” She said casually.

“NO ONE calls him Brendon,” Santos said, raising her hands in frustration, “not even Robby or Gloria call him Brendon.”

Whitaker looked up from charting. “Actually that’s true. Attendings call him Dr. Park because they’re just as scared of him as the rest of us.”

“He let her steal fries off his plate one time in the cafeteria,” Santos hissed.

“Maybe he wasn’t hungry,” Dana shrugged.

“He looked happy, Dana. He even sipped from her straw once. I saw it. With my own eyes.” Santos said confidently.

Dana made a thoughtful face. “Hm. That is concerning. But you were probably tired, who knows what you saw.”

Trinity nearly screamed out of frustration. Whitaker sighed, “unbelievable.”

So the residents began engineering situations.

“Hey, can someone page ortho?”

“Call the morgue upstairs for a transport.”

“Wow, Park’s here again… coincidence!”

“Maybe if we lock them in a closet they’ll kiss!”

The betting board went wild.

The first few times, you and Park ignored it completely. But the fourth time, Park caught Santos physically trying to shove Whitaker toward you both so he could “observe naturally” is what you think you overheard.

“You people need hobbies,” Park said flatly.

The breaking point came during a particularly brutal overnight shift.

The ED was packed, there were distant groans and whines in the distance of all the people around you having the worst days of their lives. Santos was already emotionally hanging by a thread when you appeared at the desk carrying paperwork.

Park happened to be there reviewing scans with Robby, as he always seemed to be doing when you appeared.

You set your clipboard down beside him. “You forgot your wedding ring in the bathroom this morning,” you placed it gently in front of him.

The entire desk went silent. Park closed his eyes briefly. “…thank you.”

Santos stopped breathing and Whitaker slowly lowered his energy drink. Robby suddenly became very interested in his computer screen. Dana bit the inside of her cheek so hard she nearly lost composure.

Santos was pointing at you dramatically, right where your wedding ring sat on the chain around your neck, which you had never worn on the outside of your clothes before.

You looked around at the silence, “…why does everyone look constipated?”

Santos pointed violently. “WEDDING RING?” She wheezed like she was hyperventilating.

You blinked once and then looked at Park. He looked back at you with the exhausted expression of a man realizing the secret had finally died.

“You left it by the sink,” you clarified weakly, giving a casual shrug, as if that would solve the problem. He calmly slid the ring on his finger and it fit there like that was its home.

Santos looked moments from cardiac arrest. “You’re MARRIED?”

Neither of you answered immediately, just glancing at one another, which was answer enough.

“WHAT?” Victoria suddenly chimed in, making you jump, “ugh. I’m out $60. I had it on sleeping together NOT married.”

“How long?!” Whitaker asked.

Dana finally cracked, laughing into her hand. Robby shook his head. “I told you this would happen eventually.”

Santos spun toward them so fast she almost slipped. “YOU KNEW? I KNEW YOU KNEW SOMETHING,” she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger between the two of them.

“Knew what?” Dana asked, feigning innocence.

“Santos,” Robby said calmly, “you’re making assumptions,” but the smirk he was trying to hide gave him away.

“You were at their wedding, weren’t you?!” Javadi asked accusatorily.

Dead silence.

Dana burst out laughing like she was going to combust if she held it in any longer and Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a laugh.

Park muttered, “Fantastic.”

You covered the lower half of your face, covering the smile you were wearing, but your eyes gave it away.

Whitaker looked horrified. “YOU GUYS KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME?”

Dana was still laughing. “We were sworn to secrecy!”

“YOU LET US INVESTIGATE THEM FOR WEEKS.”

“To be fair,” Robby said, “it was very entertaining.”

Santos looked betrayed on a spiritual level, “you gaslit me.”

Dana pointed at her. “You called it ‘sexual sarcasm.’ We couldn’t encourage that.”

“Because I WAS RIGHT. AND YOU TWO,” she said turning towards you and your husband.

He was already rolling his eyes, and you were smiling beside him.

”You did this on purpose. This is how you decided to blow it?!” Santos sounded borderline offended as she glared between the two of you and Brendon’s ring.

You simply shrugged, Brendon mumbled something under his breath before turning back to his chart.

“How did you guys meet?” Whitaker pressed.

You shook your head, Brendon’s eyes snapping up, “you already know too much.” He said it firmly, enough for all the residents to go back to being scared of him.

After that, the secret obviously didn’t survive.

Not that you or Park particularly cared.

The ED just slowly adjusted to the fact that the terrifying orthopedic surgeon and the deadpan morgue attendant were disgustingly in love and weirdly domestic.

People noticed Park bringing you coffee during shifts and realized he wasn’t just a manly man with no feelings who fixed bones all day.

There was also you fixing his badge as you caught up in between transports and dropping off food upstairs whenever you got a chance.

There was the fact that he always waited downstairs patiently by the service elevator if your shift ended late.

One night Santos caught the two of you near the ambulance bay taking a break together. You were leaning against Park while he scrolled through his phone one-handed, the other resting automatically at your waist.

Santos sighed dramatically. “I need you both to understand this ruined my life,” she shook her head, “Langdon walked away with almost $700 from this bet. He was literally the only one that got it.”

You looked up. “That feels like you’re redirecting your anger. You lost a bet that you started, might I add.”

“You’re too compatible,” she accused. “It’s upsetting.”

Park nodded thoughtfully, “you should probably lie down before your head starts to hurt. You’ve been thinking way too much.”

Santos groaned.

And Park smiled down at where your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, a real smile this time.

Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989

You seem to notice it all. All of the little things he barely picks up on himself. Like the way his hand flinches when someone draws near, or the way his shoulders sag in company, only to be corrected around that of royals or nobles. That every touch — a practical, brotherly clap on the shoulder, Egg tugging at his sleeve, or townsfolk shoving by.

It’s far from gentle.

Because it’s something he’s never known. Something he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around.

So you ease him into it, with the small things, things less likely to frighten him off.

The first is when you began reaching for him more in crowds. Your shoulders brushing, arms touching, even holding on loosely to the corner of his cloak just to keep up with his long strides. He blushes at first, the tips of his ears turning pink at the sudden movement, but it was useful, nothing more, something to protect you.

And that he held onto.. that he reassured himself it’s all it was.

The time it happens again, is softer, quieter with you both lazing on the bank of the river. The night had been drawing in for some time, dusk crowding the countryside and a chill settling your bones. You had moved up to him a mere inch before he flinched away, nothing dramatic, but enough and by the slightest you had felt it. Dunk had thought had had taken up too much room, shifting sideways to give you more of it. But you stopped him.

“Stay put.” You wriggle backwards, easing into the side of his shoulder, and this time he doesn’t move a muscle, “It is far too cold.”

That he couldn’t argue with, and so he didn’t. Again he’s simply looking after you, providing, trying his best to ignore the ticking in his chest, the longing.

Then comes the hand holding, more intricate and more testing but you do it anyway. The market stalls are bustling, apple carts pulled by horses and sellers airing out their wears, he had slowed as much as he could so that you had kept up, but it was too much. Your hand reached as far as it could go in front of you until your fingers slipped through his. They stayed loose at first, large, calloused hands stuttering around ones smaller than his own.

A joke it must have looked like.

His hand stays there, closing around yours slowly, hesitantly just as you catch up, but neither of you pull away. Instead you take in the sights around you, striding beside him without a care in the world, like it’s normal, like it’s so simple. Like he isn’t darting his eyes back and forth every second to where you’re both connected.

And when you finally let go, his hand remains open, flexing his fingers around nothing, the foreign feeling of holding something so warm and soft.

And he’s already missing it.

Somewhat of a confession finally comes with a night under the stars. Spring had came and gone leaving summer in its way, the heat of it too and for once it wasn’t cold, the cloaks and ragged blankets were shrugged from you, and yet you found yourself cuddled up to Dunk, further by the hour.

The fire had burned low, the moon twinkling shadows from the branches overhead. A tiredness overwhelmes you, sleep clinging to your eyes as you lean back without another thought. A huff escapes his throat, chest jolting up behind you as you collide with it.

“Are you comfortable?” You call out through the dying light, hand splaying out onto his chest.

“Yes.” Dunk grits out carefully, so sharp you can feel the way he stares out into the treeline. You raise your head slightly to see him, blinking up at him as he looks wearily down at you.

“You look terrified..”

“I ain’t terrified, I just..” He pauses, stuttering before he can stop himself, and you urge him on, nodding your head carefully. “Nobody’s done this before.”

The words come out quietly, his body stiffening under you like the wound him even to say. Like it’s some shameful secret. And your chest tightens, heart breaking a little, because of course they haven’t. No one has given him this, even the time to, let alone to hold him, comfort him the way you have.

A hedge knight doesn’t get softness, he doesn’t get love. He gets a space on the ground surrounded by mud and stone, tourneys to compete in and duties to take care of. That’s it.

And so you made that difference. You made it your task to start teaching him. That it was alright, that he was deserving.. and most of all that you wanted to do it. But it wasn’t lessons or reprimanding that did it, it was patience.

Your hand brushing the hair from the sweat beading at his brow from practicing in the meadow. Or chopping wood on the bench.

A hand on his arm when he grows tense, stroking your fingers up and down the broad muscle, and feeling him ease in real time.

Your head resting against his shoulder as you both curl up on the far too small bed of an inn you had found from long days on the road. And he finally stops jolting, arms moving awkwardly to search for you, curling around you with a deliberate care. He starts reflecting you, searching for you as soon as you leave his side, hand pressing at the dip of your back as you stand in the tents.

And from then on, Dunk seeks it out. Some sort of seal is being broken and you realise further just how starved he’s been, because he wants that too. He wants to be relied on, to be touched by you, to be held and to hold you.

1. The Coffee

The first time Trinity Santos flirted with you, she did it over a burnt cup of hospital coffee.

You were standing in the break room at 6:43 in the morning, half-awake, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other scrolling through patient notes on your tablet. The ED was already loud beyond the door. Monitors beeping, residents calling for labs, nurses moving with the sort of speed that made the whole place feel like a hive someone had shaken.

Trinity came in still tying her hair back, black scrubs wrinkled in that very specific I slept for three hours and woke up angry about it kind of way.

She stopped when she saw you.

“Wow,” she said.

You looked up immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Your brow furrowed. “Is there something on my face?”

Trinity’s mouth twitched. “No.”

You lifted a hand to your cheek anyway, because people always said “nothing” when there was, in fact, something. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She moved past you toward the coffee machine. “You just look good in the morning.”

You blinked at her.

Then you looked down at yourself.

Your scrub top was slightly untucked. Your badge was twisted backward. Your hair had been put up in the dark and had mostly surrendered. There was a pen tucked behind your ear that you didn’t remember putting there.

“I look exhausted,” you said.

“Both can be true.”

You stared at her for another second, waiting for the joke to finish forming.

It didn’t.

So you nodded seriously.

“Thanks. You look tired too.”

Trinity paused with her hand on the coffee pot.

Slowly, she turned her head toward you.

You offered her a polite smile.

Her lips parted like she was going to say something, then closed again. She poured her coffee with the expression of someone deciding whether or not to walk into traffic.

“You’re killing me,” she muttered.

You looked back down at your tablet. “I can switch the coffee out if it tastes bad.”

Trinity stared at the back of your head for a full three seconds.

Then she laughed.

Not loudly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Just this small, helpless thing that made her shoulders dip.

“No,” she said. “Coffee’s fine.”

You hummed, already reading again.

Behind you, Trinity leaned against the counter, watching you like you were a puzzle box with no visible seams.

“You’re really something,” she said.

“Thanks,” you answered automatically. “You too.”

She smiled into her mug.

You still had no idea.

2. The Scrub Cap

The second time, it was during a psych consult.

You’d been called down for a patient who was refusing treatment, paranoid and overstimulated from the chaos of the ED. Trinity was the resident assigned to the case, standing outside the room with her arms crossed, explaining the situation fast enough that most people would’ve missed half of it.

You didn’t.

You listened, nodded, asked two questions, and then went in.

Twenty minutes later, the patient was calmer, sitting on the bed with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of water in her hands. Trinity watched you through the glass with something unreadable on her face.

When you came back out, she stepped aside to let you through.

“That was impressive,” she said.

You tapped something into the chart. “She needed less stimulation, not six people talking over each other.”

“Yeah, but you got her to trust you in, like, two minutes.”

“She was scared.”

Trinity tilted her head. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound simple.”

“It was simple.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Trinity moved closer, voice lowering. “You’re just good.”

You glanced up.

There it was again. That look. Warm. Sharp. Like she’d found something she wanted to touch but knew better than to reach for in the hallway.

Your brain politely sorted it into professional compliment and moved on.

“Thank you,” you said. “You handled the clinical side well.”

Trinity blinked.

Then her eyes narrowed slightly, amused and offended all at once.

“You’re complimenting me back?”

“Yes?”

“Like this is peer review?”

You frowned. “Was I not supposed to?”

She huffed a laugh and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Okay. Let me make this easier.”

You looked at her fully now.

Trinity reached up and tugged at the edge of your scrub cap. It had slipped slightly, probably from you running your hand over your hair too many times.

“There,” she said, smoothing it into place. Her fingers lingered just long enough to be noticeable to anyone with a functioning sense of romance.

You did not have one of those.

You immediately touched the cap yourself.

“Oh. Was it crooked?”

Trinity’s hand dropped.

Her face went blank.

Then she looked away, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah,” she said. “Terribly crooked. Medical emergency.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I did, in my own way.”

You nodded. “Thanks for fixing it.”

Trinity inhaled slowly through her nose.

“Anytime.”

And because you were you, you added, “It’s good to know you’re observant.”

Trinity stared at you.

Then she whispered, “Unbelievable.”

You smiled faintly, assuming she meant the patient case.

3. The Ambulance Bay

The third time was in the ambulance bay.

It was raining hard enough to turn the pavement silver. You’d gone outside for air after a difficult consult, the kind that left something heavy sitting behind your ribs. You weren’t crying. You weren’t even close.

You just needed the world to be quieter for two minutes.

Trinity found you anyway.

She always did that, somehow.

The door opened behind you and she stepped out, immediately making a face at the weather.

“Gross.”

“You can go back inside.”

“And leave you out here looking tragic and beautiful?” she asked. “No thanks.”

You glanced at her. “I don’t look tragic.”

“No. You do.”

You considered that.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Trinity looked at you like you’d just handed her a scalpel blade-first.

“No,” she said slowly. “That was not the part I expected you to question.”

You tucked your hands into your scrub pockets. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

She smiled then, soft and lopsided. “Maybe I just wanted to stand next to you.”

That should have done it.

That should have clicked.

The rain. The quiet. The way Trinity had stepped close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. The way her voice gentled only when she spoke to you.

Instead, you glanced toward the parking lot.

“Are you avoiding someone?”

Trinity’s smile fell open into disbelief.

You kept going, because unfortunately, once you found a possible explanation, your brain liked to trot after it like a little hound.

“Because if you are, I can stand here longer. Make it seem like we’re discussing a patient.”

Trinity pressed her lips together.

Her eyes dropped to the ground.

For one strange second, you thought she might be upset.

Then she laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.

You stared.

“What?”

She shook her head, rain catching in the loose pieces of hair near her face.

“Nothing. Nothing. You’re just…” She looked at you again, eyes bright. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m trying to be helpful.”

“That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

You frowned harder.

Trinity softened.

She reached out, carefully brushing a raindrop from the shoulder of your scrub top.

“Come back inside before you freeze.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re shivering.”

You looked down at your own arm.

You were, actually.

“Oh.”

Trinity’s smile returned, smaller this time.

“Yeah. Oh.”

She opened the door and held it for you.

You walked in first.

Behind you, Trinity murmured, “One day, I’m going to flirt with you so directly you’ll have no choice.”

You half-turned. “Did you say something?”

“Nope.”

4. The Dinner Invite

The fourth time, she brought food.

That was serious.

You were in your office with the lights dimmed, your shoes kicked off beneath the desk, and a stack of notes glaring at you from the screen. It was past the end of your shift. Technically, you could leave.

Realistically, the charting goblin had its claws in your ankle.

A knock sounded at the doorframe.

You looked up.

Trinity stood there holding two takeout bags.

“Are you busy?”

“Yes.”

She lifted the bags.

You paused.

“Less busy than I was.”

She grinned and came in like she’d won something.

You moved a pile of papers so she could put the food down. The smell hit first. Warm rice, grilled meat, garlic, something spicy enough to make your stomach wake up and file a formal request.

“You didn’t have to get me dinner,” you said.

“I know.”

You looked into one of the bags. “Did someone order too much?”

“No.”

“Did the restaurant mess up?”

“No.”

“Did a patient’s family bring this?”

Trinity stared at you.

“I bought you dinner.”

You looked up.

“Why?”

The question came out genuinely.

Trinity’s expression did something complicated. Amusement first. Then fondness. Then a little flicker of exasperation.

“Because I like feeding you.”

You absorbed that.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Still incorrectly.

“That’s very kind.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Kind.”

“Yes.”

“I brought you your favorite.”

“You know my favorite?”

“You get the same thing every time we order from there.”

“That’s pattern recognition.”

“That’s interest.”

You nodded. “Both can be true.”

Trinity dropped into the chair across from your desk and rubbed a hand over her face.

“I swear to God.”

“What?”

She looked at you through her fingers. “Do you think I bring dinner to everyone?”

You thought about it.

“You’re friends with Dennis.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“And Mel.”

She lowered her hand. “You are dodging the point so hard it’s becoming athletic.”

“I’m not dodging. I’m answering.”

“You’re not answering the right question.”

“What’s the right question?”

Trinity leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

Her voice softened.

“Why do you think I know your favorite order?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

The answer that came first was practical. Because you worked together. Because she noticed things. Because doctors noticed patterns. Because residents learned people’s habits when they were sleep-deprived and trapped in the same building for too many hours.

But Trinity wasn’t looking at you like this was about sesame chicken.

She was looking at you like she had been standing at a door for weeks, knocking with flowers, fireworks, a brass band, and a handwritten sign, and you had kept asking if the noise was maintenance.

Your face warmed.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

Trinity’s gaze flicked across your face.

For once, she didn’t make a joke.

“Think about it,” she said.

Then she pushed one container toward you and picked up her chopsticks like she hadn’t just rewired half the room.

You did think about it.

For the entire meal.

For the rest of your charting.

For the drive home.

For two days after.

+1. The Time You Did

The time you finally noticed, Trinity wasn’t even trying.

That was the ridiculous part.

It was late again. Of course it was. The ED had been brutal all day, one long unraveling thread of chest pain, psych holds, trauma alerts, and family members crying into vending machine coffee.

You found Trinity sitting alone in the nearly empty break room, head tipped back against the cabinet, eyes closed.

For once, she looked truly tired.

Not cute-tired. Not Trinity-tired, with sarcasm sharpened and ready.

Just tired.

You stepped inside quietly.

“Hey.”

Her eyes opened.

The second she saw you, her face changed.

Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to catch.

But you did.

Her shoulders eased. Her mouth softened. Something guarded in her expression loosened, like her body had recognized you before she decided whether to allow it.

“Oh,” she said, voice rough. “Hey.”

Your stomach flipped.

Small.

Dangerous.

Warm.

You stood there with one hand still on the door.

And suddenly, all of it came back.

You look good in the morning.

You’re just good.

Maybe I just wanted to stand next to you.

I like feeding you.

Think about it.

You had thought about it.

Apparently your brain had needed to receive the evidence, organize it, mislabel it, archive it, retrieve it, then finally set it on fire.

Trinity rubbed at one eye. “You okay?”

You walked farther into the room.

“I think you’ve been flirting with me.”

Trinity went very still.

Then she sat up.

Slowly.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve been flirting with me,” you said again, more certain this time.

Her expression cracked.

A smile crept in at one corner of her mouth.

“Have I?”

You gave her a look. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you haven’t.”

Trinity leaned back in her chair, now far too pleased for someone who had been half-dead thirty seconds ago.

“I don’t know. This is a pretty serious accusation.”

“You told me I looked good in the morning.”

“You did.”

“I looked like I’d been dragged through a supply closet.”

“Still worked for me.”

Your face heated.

Trinity noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Her smile softened into something less smug and more careful.

“You finally caught up,” she said.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Don’t be.” She shrugged, but the movement wasn’t casual enough to fool you. “It was kind of cute.”

“I thought you were just being nice.”

“I am nice.”

You stared at her.

She sighed. “Fine. Nice adjacent.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Trinity’s face changed again.

That was when you really knew.

Not because she flirted. Not because she teased. Not because she brought you dinner or stood too close in the rain or looked at you like you were the only steady thing in a collapsing hospital.

Because when you laughed, Trinity looked relieved.

Like she’d been waiting to hear that sound all day.

Maybe longer.

You stepped closer.

Her eyes followed you.

“Are you flirting with me right now?” you asked.

“No,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow.

Trinity smiled.

“Now I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to decide what you want to do about it.”

The room went quiet.

Beyond the door, the ED kept roaring. Phones ringing. Wheels squeaking. Someone calling for an attending. Life continuing in all its fluorescent chaos.

But inside the break room, everything narrowed down to Trinity Santos sitting in front of you, watching you with that impossible mix of patience and nerve.

You took another step.

Then another.

Her smile faded, but only because her lips parted slightly.

You stopped in front of her.

“I want you to flirt with me again,” you said.

Trinity’s eyes darkened with amusement.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“But more directly this time.”

She tilted her head back to look up at you.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I want to kiss you.”

Your breath caught.

There it was.

No room for misinterpretation.

No clinical loophole.

No colleague-shaped excuse to hide behind.

Just Trinity.

Just wanting.

Just you, finally understanding.

You swallowed.

“I noticed that one.”

Her smile returned.

“Good.”

Then she stood, slow enough for you to move away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Her hand touched your waist first, careful and warm through the fabric of your scrubs. Your fingers curled lightly into the front of her scrub top, exactly where you’d wanted them for longer than you had allowed yourself to admit.

Trinity leaned in.

Paused.

Still giving you a way out.

You closed the distance yourself.

The kiss was soft at first. Almost questioning. Then Trinity made this small sound against your mouth, half relief and half finally, and you forgot every clever thing you had ever almost said.

When you pulled back, she stayed close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“You know,” she murmured, “for a psychiatrist, you are impressively bad at reading romantic cues.”

You breathed out a laugh. “In my defense, you’re very sarcastic and I’m very autistic.”

Trinity paused.

Then her expression softened so quickly it almost stole the air from the room.

“Okay,” she said, thumb brushing once over your waist. “Fair defense.”

“In my other defense, you’re very pretty and that makes your sarcasm harder to decode.”

Her grin came back slowly.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“You flirting back.”

Your face warmed. “Was that flirting?”

“Baby,” Trinity said, delighted now, “that was practically a love letter.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

“In my defense,” she added, “I bought you dinner.”

“I understand that now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because I can do it again. For clarity.”

You smiled.

Trinity’s thumb swept once over your waist.

This time, you noticed.

This time, you leaned closer.

“Dinner sounds good,” you said. “But I think I need more evidence.”

Trinity’s grin turned slow.

Dangerous.

Delighted.

“Oh, I can provide evidence.”

Baelor

Your foot tapped anxiously beside your husband, your eyes set on the table as if you were trying to imagine you were anywhere else. It had been his suggestion to stop in and visit your homelands on your back to King's Landing after a tourney, but now he was wondering if that was the right choice.

Your father seemed, fine. Nice enough shoveling the food into his mouth as if it was his last meal. Your mother sat next to him, her nose turned up in disapproval, rolling her eyes every few minutes. He imagined she too wished she was somewhere else.

Your elder sister. Who still remained unmarried, sat next to her. She seemed to be the real issue. Her burning gaze has been boring into you all night. Assessing your every move as if she was waiting for you to slip up so she could point it out.

Your hands, which had been shaking all dinner, had finally given her what she wanted. The silverware fell form your hands with a loud clutter. Your eyes, to which were always filled with happiness broke his heart.

They were wide, scared and you looked more like a timid animal then his wife. Your mouth hung half opened as if you were about to let out a giant sob, "I am sorry. I am so sorry," you began immediately, your entire body shaking like a leaf.

He stared at you a moment going to reach out in an attempt to comfort you, but before he could a shrill voice met the air. Your sister had decided now was time to make her attack, "How are you suppose to be a Queen if you can not handle making it through a dinner without looking pathetic."

Baelor's mismatched eyes widen as he stared at you for a moment, "Excuse me?" he questioned, his eyebrows drawn together as he turned toward her. She went to open her mouth to reply, but stopped as she noticed his face.

The perfect prince was gone and instead in his place was the reminder of just what he is. A dragon. A knight with prowess who had gained his own reputation. His jaw was locked as he looked to her daring her to continue, but she did not.

 He nodded seeming pleased, "I suggest you watch the way you talk to my wife. Your future Queen next time," he said, before turning to the head of the table toward your father, "I expect that behavior will be corrected. It will not be tolerated again," he told her.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he said, with a bow of his head. "Apologize to your sister," he then hissed to the elder.

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before your mother's stern expression met hers causing her to let out a small whine of defeat, "I am sorry—"

"Princess. Call her what she is," Baelor added.

Your sister stared at him for a moment blinking, as you watched the whole scene in bewilderment wondering if you were living in a dream for a moment. He nodded in prompting waiting for her to continue.

She swallowed harshly, "I am sorry for offending you, Princess. It will not happen again."

You said nothing only staring at her slightly before turning to Baelor, clearly not knowing what to do. He said nothing, but shrugged. He would rather you not accept her apology and make her squirm a little longer.

He picked up your silverware handing it to you, "There you are, darling," he said, with a small smile, "Better finish your plate. We have a long trip back home to King's Landing on the morrow."

Maekar

Maekar had not wanted your family to visit in the first place, but you had assured them they would not be staying long.

 But as dinner waged on he could tell that you did not seem to want to be here anymore than he did. Your eyes, usually bright a full of life were cast down on your plate as you glanced to your mother every thirty seconds.

Your shoulders were tense as if you were awaiting a striking blow that he could only himself prepare it. His hands moved under the table resting against your covered thigh giving it a firm squeeze.

 He watched the tension from your shoulders melt away and you turned toward him giving him a tight lipped smile. Your eyes moved down toward his plate then, without word he slid it over to you knowing that you wanted the potatoes that you had not been granted on your own.

Your name was then called out and you froze, "Mayhaps you should skip the potatoes tongiht. You are looking a bit pudgy as of late," your mother said, off handed, completely normal as if it had been said hundreds of times.

You opened your mouth to reply, but it was not your booming voice that filled the hall first, "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Maekar," you whispered, tired, defeated as if you expected him to sit there and allow them to degrade you like that.

His burning violent gaze turned from you to your parents at the head of the table, both looking to each other mouths open trying to form a coherent thought, "I did not mean to offend," your mother tried, but it did nothing to dim the fire burning through him.

"And yet you did. Your daughter is my wife. A member of House Targaryen and I expect you to talk to her with respect now. Anything less will be seen as treason," he barked, before sliding the plate over to you, "Now get her more fucking potatoes."

Maekar shook his head, as you said nothing picking away at the potatoes. Your mother and father sat still at the head of the table eyeing him. Your father opened his mouth, and your husband caught it from the corner of his eyes.

His head snapped toward him, his scowl deepening, his eyes squinted as if he was trying to burn the man, "Unless you have learned manners within the last few moments I do not wish to hear a word from either of you," he said, his voice low, the edges catching just the way he wanted it too.

The rest of dinner was silent and you left the next morning.

baelor taglist: @sacha1slytherin @erylilly @thebl00dwyrm @ilocuras24 @xkatherinexo @alaeratrrn @ynnlvrs @theonewhoshallbeunnamed @sem-ra @darylandbethfanforever9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This one you recognize immediately, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay? Need me to head out?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, then quietens.

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

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

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

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

“You getting Nurse Henry looking pretty over here?”

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

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

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

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

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

Henry steps back as Jack takes his spot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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