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Michael's apartment was dark except for the low, flickering light of his TV that was almost painfully familiar.
Robby stood in the doorway much longer than he needed to, his bag strap cutting into his shoulder as he just… breathed it in. The smell of the place. The low murmur of some game coming from another room.
The fact that he was here at all.
It all felt comically familiar and yet so strange. Like he was coming back to a house that used to belong to a version of him that he had buried weeks ago.
He dropped his keys into the little bowl on the counter, noticing a different, awfully familiar pair already stuck in there. The sigh that started to leave him, got stuck right in the back of his throat as he slowly but surely followed the light down the hall.
Jack was in his bed.
Not on top of the covers, no; in them. On the left side… his side, the TV remote loose in his left hand like he'd fallen asleep while channel-hopping. His stump was sticking out from under the duvet the way it always did because the man ran hot and his scar was sensitive.
All of these years and he still couldn't keep both legs under the damn covers.
Michael leaned against the doorframe and just looked at him.
Honestly, he didn't know what he'd expected to come home to. Whitaker had texted him that he appreciated the offer to crash long-term but he decided to just pop in every now and then. So… an empty apartment, probably?
An empty apartment with that nice quality of silence a place gets when no one had been living in it.
Ultimately, Michael hadn't let himself think too hard about coming home at all for a long time. And then, when he finally started to- when he finally decided, somewhere in the middle of week seven, in a dirty motel with bad plumbing and an inexplicably good view, he had finally gotten that thought.
Jack.
Not the apartment. Not his own bed. Just Jack.
And here Jack was. In his bed. Wearing his hoodie… the grey one with the bleach stain, Michael hadn't worn outside for the longest time. Looking old and rumpled and completely unbothered by everything around him.
Something cracked open in Michael's chest. Slow and close to painless. Like ice thawing out in spring.
Maybe he'd made a sound, or maybe Jack had felt his presence - the way he usually did, always half-aware of everything despite the unbotheredness - because he stirred, blinking at the ceiling and then turned his head.
The disorientation on his face lasted only a second. A second that was enough for him to come completely undone. One second of Jack not knowing where he was, eyes unfocused, reaching back through the dark for his bearings.
When he found Robby in the doorway, though, something in his face just settled. Like a compass finding north. Like that was all he needed.
"Hey…" Jack said, his voice absolutely wrecked with sleep.
"Hey."
"You're back."
"Yeah."
Jack looked at him for a long moment and Michael recognized that look. It wasn't one to check him over, not one cataloguing any kind of damage but just… looking at him. The way one were to look at something they thought they might not ever see again.
"Good," he finally said. Like that was enough. Like it was everything that needed to be said.
"Good," Robby repeated, his own tone similar but not the same. "You're in my bed."
"Well, your couch sucks ass."
"I know."
"You should replace it."
"Yeah… I know."
Jack shifted and reached over to turn the TV off, turning the room dark almost instantly.
"You eat?"
"Not really. Not for a while."
"You sleep?"
Michael didn't even need to answer that one, knowing the silence would be enough to serve as a reply. Even if it was one that Jack didn't appreciate much.
"Mm." A pause. "Come to bed, Robby."
Pushing off the doorframe, he simply abandoned his bag in the hall. Michael didn't even bother to turn the light back on as he moved towards the bed. Instead of letting himself fall onto it though, he merely sat on the edge for a moment, elbows propped up on his knees, just breathing.
He could feel Jack waiting behind him, giving him both the space to process and the time to do so before Michael finally decided to lay down.
The darkness of the room was quiet. The city outside was doing its city thing, distant and indifferent, and Jack's breathing was already slowing back toward a light sleep. Or something performative that was supposed to act it.
Michael, though, was staring at the ceiling, feeling that specific weight of being horizontal in his own bed for the very first time in two months settle over him like something he hadn't yet earned.
"Jack."
"Yeah?"
A long pause followed. Long enough that even Michael believed he imagined himself speaking.
"I almost didn't."
Jack didn't answer him right away, didn't ask for clarification. Because he didn't need to.
The mattress shifted ever so slightly as Jack turned towards him in the dark. He didn't close the distance between them, but merely reoriented himself, facing him.
"I figured," Jack finally said.
Eventually, Jack's hand found his arm in the dark. Not grabbing or gripping, just landing there. It was heavy and warm and so still in the way Jack went still whenever he tried to get Michael to understand that something mattered.
Michael felt his throat close around a heavy lump in his throat even if he couldn't exactly name why it was there in the first place.
For a good while, they neither moved, nor spoke, until finally, Michael gave in.
It wasn't so much a decision, as it was a surrender. His body made the call way before his head could even begin arguing it. He turned into Jack's side, forehead dropping to his shoulder. Jack's arm came around him with no hesitation, no fumbling, like he'd been waiting for it. Like it was very simply the next thing.
His chin came to rest against the top of Michael's head.
"Glad you did," Jack murmured after a while; his voice low and rough and right against his ear. "Come back, I mean."
Michael closed his eyes.
"Yeah…" he replied into the worn grey cotton of his own hoodie. "Me too."
Jack knew that the flowers were practically rotting. The white tulips had been sitting in a vase on his kitchen counter for around 9 days now, and the petals were slowly becoming droopy, some even dropping, and the stems were losing its shape and becoming mushy. He knew they had to go. Yet, he had no intention of actually following through with that.
The thing is, those were flowers Robby had gotten him for their first date. Sure, they had been dancing around the idea of them being together for years at this point, but the flowers reminded Jack of how official it became. Additionally, Robby was the first ever partner of Jacks to get him flowers. He hadn’t been with many men in the past, most being fleeting relationships that had to stay hidden due to DADT. When he was with his wife, he was always showering her with flowers which he never minded and in fact enjoyed doing.
This time however, he was the one getting the flowers — something that for some reason lit a small fire in Jacks chest, keeping him all warm and fuzzy. They are 9 days old, and this thing with him and Robby is extremely new, but Jack, deep in his heart, knows that it’s going to last. He doesn’t want to part with an item that reminds him of how loving and caring Robby is or holds memories of their first ever date. He is dreading the day that he can no longer ignore the smell coming from the flowers or the water that is becoming more and more opaque by the day.
Throwing them out would just be criminal. Maybe he could let them decompose outside, but he would also have to pass his little garden that will hold the decomposing flowers every day. Not exactly a sight he wants to see constantly.
So, instead of truly figuring out a solution, he snaps out of his thoughts, finishes packing his work bag, and walks out of his house, deliberately ignoring the flowers.
————————————————————————
Thank god it was a quiet shift because Jack feels dead on his feet. His prosthetic has been digging into his leg, and his patience is wearing extremely thin. Some days just are like that, and he always hates how much he lets it get to him.
Walking home, he can’t stop thinking about he is just going to collapse into bed and let himself recharge. Part of him wishes he had seen Robby at handoff, but the other man has the day off. Maybe I should go see him, Jack thinks. Or maybe it’s too soon to do that.. I mean we’ve been friends for years though.
His mind wanders back to Robby, just like it has been doing for the last few days. If he is given the chance to relax and take time for himself, he is constantly thinking of the other man. Thinking about how his hand felt in Jacks during their first date, thinking about how Robby had softly kissed Jack, thinking about Robby’s small smile when Jack had asked him out.
His thoughts carry him all the way home as he sluggishly inserts his key, wishing Robby was here so he could cuddle up next to him and fall asleep like he did 2 days ago when Robby stayed the night.
Once he is inside, he drops his bag, toes his shoes off, and makes his way to the kitchen for a quick bite before dozing off. He immediately stops once he takes in the sight of a familiar tall, brown haired man in his kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” Jack asks a little sharper then intended, his exhaustion clearly catching up to him.
Robby jumps in place, quickly turning around from his spot near the counter to look at Jack.
“Shit…” Robby starts, one hand coming up rub the back of his neck while the other stays behind his back. “ Okay don’t freak out. I slept here last night while you were at work.”
Ah, so it wouldn’t be weird if I were to do that, Jack thinks, confirming his earlier train of thought during his walk home.
“No, no it’s okay, just shocked me is all,” Jack replies as he makes his way over to Robby to give him a small kiss. Before he is able to kiss the other man, he stops and takes in the fact that Robby’s hands are behind his back.
“What you got back there, huh?” Jack teasingly asks.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Robby says disappointingly as he reveals what he was hiding. Before Robby can say anything more, Jack breath catches as he looks as the dark brown frame Robby is holding my. He isn’t looking at the frame but instead the flattened, dried white tulips that the frame holds. That fucker, he thinks.
His head whips to the kitchen counter to see the vase gone and the counter cleared. He apparently had missed it during his sleepy daze when he walked in.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to keep them, I am just kind of assuming based on how disgusting they looked when I walked in and the fact that you hate anything that isn’t clean,” Robby rambles.
Instead of replying, Jack slowly takes the frame out of Robby’s hands and places it on the counter with a click.
“You hate it don’t you? I can-“ Robby starts, insecurity creeping into his voice. Before he can finish though, Jack is grabbing Robby by the shoulders and bringing him down for a heated kiss.
Once they break for air, both of them smiling widely, Jack says “you’re such a sap,” in a voice that comes out much fonder then he intended it to.
“Mmmh,” Robby hums in agreement against Jacks lips as he starts their kiss again. “Only for you though.”
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Warnings: really just tooth-rotting, sweet fluff. A small warning alluding to sex at the end and having another baby but other than that, it's soft.
Author's Note: This idea came to me very late and even though I am busy with a shit work schedule this week and college, I had to get this out of my head. I was also insired by the latest pics of Shawn 🤪 Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! For my besie @josephs-quinns
Between raising a daughter and working nights as an ER attending, Jack Abbot rarely had a moment to himself. Yet no matter how long the hours or how heavy the exhaustion settled into his bones, he always made time for his daughter and you. Somehow, he never stopped showing up. Today was no different.
After twelve relentless hours at PTMC, Jack was running on little more than caffeine and stubborn determination. Yet as he stepped out of his truck and looked toward the warm glow of the house, a small smile tugged at his lips. He knew exactly what was waiting for him on the other side of that door.
With a tired sigh, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the stainless-steel tumbler that had carried him through the night. Empty now, it swung lightly from his hand as he climbed the front steps. With his free hand, he fished around in his pocket until his fingers found the familiar shape of his key.
He eased the key into the lock and slipped through the front door as quietly as he could. Chances were you and his baby girl were still asleep, and he intended to keep it that way. The house was peaceful, and after the chaos of the emergency room, he found himself reluctant to disturb it.
He dragged a hand down his face, feeling the coarse stubble that had taken over his jaw over the last few days. Shaving had fallen somewhere near the bottom of his priority list.
Easing out of his tennis shoes, he left them by the door and carefully set his backpack beside them. The house was quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that only existed in the hours before the rest of the world woke up.
He crossed the hardwood floor on silent feet and slipped into the kitchen. Setting his tumbler in the sink, he winced at the faint metallic clink that broke the stillness, then paused to listen. When no movement followed, he continued on, relieved he hadn’t disturbed anyone.
He decided a quick shower downstairs was in order before making his way upstairs. Then he’d crawl into bed beside you, burying himself in the familiar comfort of your arms and the scent of your shampoo before exhaustion finally claimed him. It had become a rountine neither of you ever spoke about, but one he looked forward to after every shift.
In a few hours, you’d wake before he did. You always did. While he caught up on the sleep he’d sacrificed all night for strangers, you’d keep your daughter occupied downstairs, filling the house with breakfast, cartoons, and quiet laughter so Daddy could rest a little longer.
As the hot water poured of him, Jack felt some of the day’s weight begin to slide from his shoulders. Twelve hours of chaos, fluroscent lights, and life-or-death decisions swirled down the drain along with the soap and sweat.
By the time he shut off the water, the knot between his shoulder blades had loosened, if only a little.
He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, the familiar scent of fresh detergent clinging to the fabric. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.
You always made sure the towels smelled good.
Dressed in a pair of sleep pants, he paused in front of the mirror and studied his reflection. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and several days worth of stubble covered his jaw,.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.
He looked exhausted.
Worse than exhausted, really. Worn down. Like the last few weeks had caught up to him all at once.
It felt worse than when his daughter had first been born. At least back then, there’d been a reason for the sleepless nights. Tiny cries at three in the morning. Bottles. Diapers. The indescribable joy of holding his little girl against his chest.
This?
This was just work. Endless, exhausting work.
He decided—one again—that shaving could wait. Another day. Maybe two. At this rate, he might accidentally end up with a beard.
The thought made him huff out a quiet laugh.
Leaving the bathroom behind, he made his way upstairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots he knew by heart. The house remained silent around him as he climbed the staircase and headed down the hall toward the master bedroom.
The door was closed.
Of course it was.
You always slept with the door shut. Whether it was for privacy, comfort, or simply habit, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore. He’d stopped questioning it years ago. Now the sight of the closed door waiting for him at the end of a long shift felt oddly comforting—a small sign he was finally home.
He took a deep breath as his hand settled on the doorknob. Turning it carefully, he eased the door open, mindful not to disturb the peaceful scene he was certain awaited him on the other side.
As the door cracked open, you came into view.
You were curled up on your side of the bed, buried beneath the blankets, your hair spread across the pillow.
A smile immediately tugged at Jack’s lips.
Then his gaze shifted, and the smile grew.
Nestled beside of you was your four-year-old daughter, fast asleep and sprawled halfway across the mattress as if she owned it. One tiny hand rested against your shoulder, her favorite stuffed animal trapped beneath her arm.
Of course she’d ended up in your bed.
She must have wandered in sometime during the night after another bad dream or a sudden need for Mommy cuddles.
The sight alone was enough to melt away what remained of the exhaustion clinging to him. After twelve hours spent dealing witht he worst moments of other people’s lives, this felt like stepping into a different world entirely.
His world.
Jack quietly crossed to your side of the bed and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His fingers slopped through your hair, brushing a few stray strands away from your face.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured.
You let out a sleepy hum, your eyes still closed.
“Mornin’,” you mumbled.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You awake?”
“Barely.”
Your hand drifted up, finding his jaw. The moment your fingertips brushed the rough stubbe there, you paused.
A sleepy frown crossed your face.
“Ow.”
Jack snorted. “Ow?”
You rubbed your thumb against his jaw again. “Your face is scratchy.”
“I just got home.”
“Mhm.” Your voice was thick with sleep. “And still haven’t shaved in days.”
He laughed quietly. “Is that a complaint?”
“It’s an observation.”
Your eyes fluttered open just enough to look at him. “A very, sexy concerning observation.”
Jack shook his head. “It isn’t that bad.”
“It absolutely is.” You yawned. “You kissed me and I thought a cactus had attacked my forehead.”
That earned a geniune laugh from him.
His gaze drifted down to your daughter, curled uop between the two of you, her stuffed rabbit tucked tightly against her chest.
“What happened here?”, he whispered.
You glanced down at her, your expression immediately softening. “Bad dream.”
His smile faded into concern. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “Came into our room around two in the morning crying about a monster in her closet.” You brushed a hand through your daughter’s messy hair. “I checked three times, but apparently sleeping with Mommy fixed everything.”
A sleepy chuckled escaped Jack. “Sounds serious.”
“Oh, extremely serious. The monster was apparently ‘this big’.” You held your fingers a few inches apart. “Terrifying stuff.”
He smiled, watching his daughter sleep peacefully now. “My poor baby girl.”
Careful not to wake her, Jack leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
The moment his stubbel brushed her skin, your daughter scrunched up her face in her sleep and let out a displeased little whine.
“She was okay after a few cuddles.” You glanced back up at him. “Though she did steal your side of the bed.”
Jack looked at the little girl sprawled diagonally across the mattress and huffed a laugh. Her tiny hand came up and rubbed the spot on her forehead before she burrowed deeper into the pillow, still fast asleep.
You immediately bit down on your lip, fighting a laugh.
“Even she thinks it’s scratchy.”
Jack groaned. “She’s four.”
“And yet she still agress with me.”
“I will shave soon,” Jack sighed, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Mhm.”
“I will.”
“That’s what you said three days ago.”
Then your hand found his jaw again. “I do mean it, though.”
Jack looked back at you. “What?”
“The stubble.”
A sleepy smile curved your lips.
“It’s sexy.”
His chest warmed instantly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, almost makes me want another one of these with you.”
You nodded towards your daughter.
“Maybe we can arrange that. Later.”, he laughed before kissing you on the lips.
“But seriously,” you began, breaking the kiss. “If it gets much longer, our daughter is gonna start introducing you as a mountain man.”
Jack laughed hard enough that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from waking her.
“Now come to bed, mountain man”, you whispered, lifting the comforter for him. “Before you fall asleep standing up.”
Jack carefully climbed beneath the blankets, trying not to disturb his daughter. The moment he settled in, she instinctively scooted toward him in her sleep, throwing a leg across his waist.
You snorted. “Looks like she missed you.”
Jack wrapped an arm around her tiny frame and smiled, careful to kiss her hair this time. “Missed her too.”
There was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
authors note: i didn’t proof read this! wrote this on a walk :p
—
thinking about how the apartment is dark and quiet when sammy got home.
okay, he deserved that.
the fight had been his fault.. well not entirely…maybe, but enough! it was enough that he'd spent the entire drive home replaying it.
it was enough that he decided on stopping for her favorite hot chocolate on the way back and it was certainly enough that he'd already rehearsed three different apologies.
but the problem is that all three disappeared when he walked into the living room. because she's there, curled up on the couch.
she’s asleep like she was waiting for him to come back home. or at least she had been.
her favorite blanket is tangled around he much shorter legs. and shes now wearing one of his hoodies— it hangs off her frame, sleeves swallowing her hands. the tv in the living room is still playing some movie she never got to finish.
he sighs, standing over her, and suddenly all at once the fight feels very small.
stupid.
he shouldn’t have said those words.
he shouldn’t have left.
her cheeks are still a little pink like she cried after. he decided to leave and gain some distance. he thought he was doing what was right.
it all just twists at something deep in his chest.
"fuck," he mutters.
he made her cry.
he did this.
quietly, he set his keys and the to-go cup down on the island before he crosses the room.
she doesn't stir when he kneels beside the couch. she's exhausted, he can tell because she pobably stayed awake longer than she meant to.
waiting for him even after everything that they said.
sammy brushes a strand of hair away from her face, the movement is gentle and he almost hesitates.
he whispers her name, "i'm sorry, babygirl.” he’s so quiet she doesn’t hear.
but maybe that's why he's brave enough to say them.
"i'm sorry." he coos.
his thumb strokes her cheek once.. twice and the familiar softness immediately grounds him as she shifts slightly under his touch.
a sleepy little frown appearing.
then, without opening her eyes, she leans toward his hand instinctively like she always does.
and sammy… he nearly loses it right there, because even angry, and hurt, and after a fight she's still reaching for him.
he closes his eyes eyes briefly before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead which causes his lips to linger as he breaths in her faint vanilla scented perfume.
when he pulls back, his voice is rough. "let's get you to bed."
and before he can move, her small fingers catch the sleeve of his shirt. her eyes are open slowly, heavy with sleep and a little confused but of course she knows it’s him who is home.
"s-sammy?"
his heart cracks. “yeah, baby."
she swallows like she’s holding in tears, “you came back."
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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