Charley

Chapter 1 - Jack

Summary: Jack becomes obsessed with the woman who tries to take Robby's life.

Chapter 2 - Robby

Summary: Coming soon...

Chapter 3 - You

Chapter 4 - Together

a/n: super open to any and all request y'all have for these three!!!

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Jack is used to Robby’s life of glamor at this point.

It’s all pretend anyways.

The flashing lights, the obnoxiously expensive suits to attend twenty-thousand dollar dinners for some cause or another, the need for fully armored cars and a security detail of six — he’d accepted the offer with no hesitation.

Jack convinced himself that he was done with the life of an ER attending. He was tired. Getting old. This job would give him the respite that he claimed to want. But in Robby’s new line of work, well, he never truly knew.

At first it was fine, nothing he hadn’t dealt with before, nothing as bad as being in an active war zone.

It’s easy to take care of Robby, to be alert and aware of their surroundings at all times.

But man if it isn’t fucking boring.

As his head of security, Jack has one job and one job only, but Robby is well liked, respected, thought of highly amongst his peers.

No one wants him dead. Sure, some want to harm him, but it doesn’t normally turn confrontational. It’s a war mostly played online, on forums and through his team of lawyers.

It isn’t until that fateful gala that he meets you and everything changes.

It had all started a few years ago. Robby, fed up with the bureaucracy of the hospital, of the exhaustion, burn out, heaviness that came from being overworked and seeing the people he loved, his peers, his fellow doctors and nurses practically falling into despair, had finally accepted the offer from his uncle and agreed to become a part of the family business.

With him finally incorporated, the business could expand and boy did they.

Robby purchased the hospital, practically took over the board and set everyone up with high paying jobs, administrative if they so wanted, if not, he still padded their salaries to a point where it made no fiscal sense, but he didn’t care and no one said anything, no one complained.

Since then it’s been a slew of…well…public appearances, parades across the country, medical conferences and doing everything in his power to not get himself killed due to his family name. But even that has been fine, no one wants to be the one to “take care” of a doctor anyway, it’s bad business, even worse karma.

Jack smells danger in the air before he can even fathom a reason why. And then he sees it sauntering into the room in red satin.

The dress clings to you in a way he’s certain he has never seen before. You’re a vision, angelic and demonic at the same time, hair flowing effortlessly, makeup complimenting the dress but definitely letting it be the center focus.

You want to draw attention, want to be the focus in the room and he’s instantly hooked. He misses how Robby also notices you, how he notices Jack notice you, but the second his gaze leaves you, you’ve disappeared into the crowd.

Robby doesn’t move from the small group that has gathered to speak with him, so Jack has no reason to follow you, to let curiosity win and dig in, figure you out.

But man if the desire to do so doesn’t ignite something deep inside of him that he thought to have been long snuffed out.

Jack has never been a simple man. No, he’s confident and secure in what he likes, in what draws him to a person. It’s the same feeling he had when he first met Robby all the way back in med school, it’s the same feeling that pushed him to work for the man, and it’s the same feeling that’s pushing him towards you now.

He can’t stop thinking about you all night but he’s a dutiful man. He follows Robby like a shadow, never too close, never too far. He’s the only one working tonight given that the venue provided their own high end security given the amount of high profile attendees that evening.

The night is winding down when he finally spots you again, champagne flute in hand, hips swaying rhythmically as you stalk towards their table.

Jack had gotten up to open space for some old money fuck who wanted a private moment with Robby but he was there, watching like a hawk, his feet just about to move him forward as the man stands up and you slide in.

Robby looks up at you as if he’s been able to pull the moon down from the sky and have it hanging in front of him like a trophy. Something twists in Jack’s stomach. Of course you would come down to orbit around Robby’s magnetic pull. Jack was only the tides in Robby’s earth anyway, he could never compete.

You lean in, fabric straining against your ass and Jack can’t help but stare, unabashedly so, since no one ever pays attention to him, he doesn’t need to be subtle, unlike Robby who is clearly trying his best to look at your eyes and not your hanging cleavage.

It happens so quickly Jack barely has time to react.

Your hand reaches out, presumably to touch Robby in what can only be perceived as an obvious sexual advance. But as it makes its way towards the man’s chest, a tiny white pill slips from between your fingers into the glass of whiskey Robby had been nursing.

Jack blinks in confusion, his brain working overtime to process what he’s just seen, pushing away the fog of lust that has already clouded his mind.

You brush your hand against Robby’s jaw before you straighten and leave.

Robby’s hand grabs his drink, something he clearly needs after the minute long interaction with you apparently.

Jack’s eyes widen, his body springs into action before he can even process what he’s doing.

The glass moves uncharacteristically slow towards Robby’s lips as you step back into the crowd. A trolly problem right in front of Jack’s very eyes.

He yells at Robby but the man doesn’t quite process the words as fast as you do, turning around to meet Jack’s daunting stare with your own perplexed one.

For a second he can swear you’re confused at being caught, aroused that there was someone else watching you, and deeply annoyed that he’s now seen your face.

Jack commits it to memory. The fullness of your cheeks, the way your brows arch, the satisfying slope of your nose, the plumpness of your lips, the freckles across your eyes, the darkness within the windows to your soul.

But the moment is gone far too quickly as you disappear into the crowd and his hand comes down to slap the glass from Robby’s hand before it can even make contact with his lips.

“What the fuck, brother?” Robby reacts, poorly, his remaining lust clearly snapping into annoyance at the scene Jack has just created.

“Poison.” He responds stoically as Robby blinks away his shock. But Jack doesn’t notice, he’s already on coms with the event’s security team, already giving a description of you to the police, knowing fully well that you’re long gone and that none of them are ever going to find you.

No. He won’t let them find you. 

The satisfaction will be his and his alone.

He takes the next day off almost immediately.

Robby doesn’t question him. He simply nods his head and goes on with his morning as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for Jack to spring something like this on Robby at the last possible second.

He’s too blinded by the need to start his investigation to question Robby. After all, he got exactly what he wanted.

Jack makes his way down to the venue and bullies the head of security to show him the footage from the night before.

It’s just as he remembers, only now he notices how there’s an air of familiarity between you and Robby. He’s certain his friend has never mentioned you before, so that must be all you, the ease in which you’re able to warm up to your victims. Yes, victims, because now he’s sure by the way you expertly avoid cameras, the way your body language never changes from cool and detached, and the ease through which you drop that damn fucking pill—

You’re a professional.

Maybe someone does want Robby dead. And the sick and twisted part in Jack’s brain warms with happiness at the knowledge that now he has something to do, a mystery to unravel.

He practically skips out of the hotel, calling the one person he knows might have some answers.

“Heard you had a little scare last night,” Dana’s voice is full of sass, unforgiving and a little cruel.

Jack’s cheeks heat up a little but he’s known the now hardened COO at PTMC for long enough to know that’s just what she wants, to rile him up for good banter. 

“You’ve got your facts twisted, boss” Jack replies. She can never know.

“So you’re not calling for information on your mystery woman?”

Jack doesn’t reply. It’s enough to let her know she’s won and he’ll be damned if he gives Dana an ounce of extra satisfaction.

“Well, either way, I don’t have any information to give you.”

“You? The Dana Evans, don’t have information?”

“What can I tell ya? She’s good.” Dana chuckles. “Maybe Interpol can help you out.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah right, cold day in hell.”

“You never know.”

His phone beeps with an incoming call.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

He doesn’t have time to process the words of warning, uncharacteristic to the woman herself as he switches over the call.

“Abbot.”

The line is silent for a second. A second that Jack doesn’t have. He’s run out of leads before he can even start investigating. He’s already annoyed that Dana didn’t have any information and that it means he’s gotta go to the cops. A second is far too long—

“Heard you were looking for me?”

Your voice is so sweet, too sweet and it turns him to stone.

It takes him a second, another long, drawn out second to get his bearings and respond.

“You left in such a hurry last night, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You laugh, a sound that could easily topple empires. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay over, I had a flight to catch.”

“Well you sure know how to leave a man high and dry.”

“How rude of me,” you sigh. “You’ll have to let me make it up to you next time.”

A shiver runs down Jack’s spine. Next time. You were going to try again. You were going to be back.

Part of him tenses at the knowledge that there’s an active threat against Robby’s life now but another part of him, the selfish and twisted one he’s allowed to come forward after years of working for Robby, is elated at the fact that he’s going to get to see you again.

“You’ll have to work for the honor, sweetheart.” He’s unsure where the boldness comes from but the pet name is out of his mouth before he can even stop himself.

“Oh, I definitely will,” you practically purr. “I’ll see you around, Jackie.”

You hang up the call before he can think to keep the conversation going. It’s not long enough to get a location pin, he didn’t get your name, he only got the sick satisfaction of getting to hear your voice, of committing it to memory.

All he has is a phone number, a promise of something more, and a raging hard on.

Jack is definitely fucked.

He doesn’t see you again until a month later.

The cops were…completely fucking useless, exactly what he had expected. And since nothing had really happened, the investigation went nowhere.

When he updated Robby, the man seemed almost amused. Jack was worked up, definitely more upset than his friend about he blatant attempt on his life who had simply shrugged and gone back to business as usual.

 But your existence gnaws at the back of Jack’s skull like an itch he can’t scratch. And he’s tried, desperately. The day of the phone call he’d rushed to get home, stumbling into his apartment in feverish desperation so he could take his dick out of his pants and stroke himself into the sweetness of release.

Your voice boomed in his head, imagined moans and whimpers, fantasy scenarios of how your skin would feel under his, how soft and supple and tight you would be, how satisfying it will be to torture you with his cock to get the information he needs out of you.

He came hot and heavy, quickly and in the entrance to his bachelor pad. It was pathetic and he definitely felt the shame creeping in for a few seconds as he came down from the high, but, at the mere thought of you catching him in the act, he was rock hard all over again, something that hadn’t happened to him in a long time.

That first week had been a struggle to get through. He had lost count of how much he’d had to take care of himself just to be a functioning human being. His brain was foggy, his reflexes lagging, everything that he’d learned to be true about himself was failing him.

But he wasn’t bored anymore.

No, he had found a new resolve to get out of bed in the morning, one thing to look forward to every day.

And that fated day is now.

He almost doesn’t recognize you, hair pulled up, pants and a heavy coat covering your frame as the season has been getting colder, huge tote bag hanging from your shoulder and even bigger headphones over your ears.

He stops his jog abruptly, sliding behind a tree as he watches you like a hawk from across the street. You thankfully don’t notice him as you continue down the road, not a care in the world apparently.

It takes him a second to will his legs to move, to follow, to stalk behind you. 

He’s not stalking you, that word is too ugly. He’s simply…getting more information. And that he does.

He notices everything. The way you move with confidence and ease, as if you know the city intimately and don’t need to know where to go next, you simply do. The way you bob your head to the music you’re listening to and how you let your hips sway without fear of being judged by the commuters beside you.

You take a sharp right then and he’s forced to cross the street, to get on the same sidewalk if he wants to keep…getting more information.

What he doesn’t expect, what he would’ve never expected, was for you to enter a coffee shop. It feels too ordinary for the version of yourself that he’s built in his mind. He keeps walking, straight through, casually glancing inside and noticing how you greet the barista before heading straight to the back.

What the fuck?

The alarm on his watch abruptly stops his racing thoughts as he’s reminded that he has a life to get back to. He does, begrudgingly so, rushing home to shower, get changed into his casual, all black ensemble that definitely makes him look like an undercover agent (he really needs to work on that) and his gun.

The day greets him with meetings. More security measures for the hospital, more security measures for Robby (who cannot even be bothered to be at the meeting, having a sudden and unspecified lunch meeting he needs to attend to which is usually code for “appointment to get his dick wet”).

It’s late when he finally gets to leave. He practically rushes out of the conference room, making his way back downtown to see if he can catch you at the coffee shop still.

He parks his car. Turns the engine off. But he simply cannot make himself get out.

So instead he waits.

He doesn’t catch another look at you until closing time. It’s apparently your turn to close down the store and he watches from the comfort of his tinted car as you turn off the lights, step outside to lock the door, and begin to walk back the way you came in the morning.

He waits for you to round the corner before he follows on foot. This time he accepts it, he is stalking you. All the way back to your apartment.

It’s an older building, no private security, no cameras. Just a good old fashioned key pad and a buzzer. He watches you buzz yourself in with your four digit code, something he’ll try to figure out another time.

It’s getting chilly, the moon hanging low and full above him and he can’t help but let his thoughts wander back to a time when he used to be up at this hour, starting his twelve — let’s be honest, fifteen at least — hour shift in the ED.

To say he misses it dearly would be an understatement. Jack loves the ED, loves the adrenaline, loves how, unknowingly, you have brought him right back to that place, to that rush of dopamine.

His thoughts are interrupted as he watches the light turn on in your apartment. Highest floor to the left. The curtains are open and for a split second he catches a glimpse inside your place.

It looks cozy, warm, soft lighting, plants that don’t look dead. It’s surreal, a complete one eighty to who he had built you up to be in his head.

He stares until you draw the curtains closed, until he can no longer intrude in your privacy.

He smiles gleefully. He may not have your name, yet, but he’s got an address. And that’s something tangible. Something he can pull at.

He doesn’t mean to keep following you around. It’s just something that ends up happening.

He doesn’t allow himself to look into you. He doesn’t want to know your name, doesn’t want to know any details. No, he wants to learn them.

He knows you’re the owner of the coffee shop. Knows you live alone. Knows your banana bread is a secret recipe that he’s tried to figure out for weeks but no matter what he does it is never as good as yours. Knows you make the best lattes with that Latin American sweetener that he has now become obsessed with.

Every second of free time Jack has is now devoted to you. He knows your schedule like the back of his hand, knows exactly where you’ll be at any given time, knows how long it takes you to get places and can anticipate every single one of your movement.

That’s why he finds himself at your apartment on a random Tuesday morning after he made sure you made it to work safely. Yes, he’s been doing that too. Every morning and every night since he’s become appalled that you’re walking yourself everywhere you go. Don’t you know how dangerous the streets of Pittsburg can be for a single woman walking alone at night?

It doesn’t matter because you’re not alone anymore. He’s here and he’ll be damned if anything happens to you before he can catch you trying to poison Robby again.

That’s why he’s here. That’s why he cares so damn much. Definitely no other reason.

He steps up to the buzzer, his eyes looking through all the names written out beside the buttons. Yours is empty, smart girl. 

He still hasn’t figured out your code so he begins pressing random buzzers until someone answers. And that someone is Mrs. Delilah, your downstairs neighbor.

While he hasn’t done any research on you, that courtesy has not been extended to the people who live in your building. He simply had to make sure you weren’t surrounded by psychopaths and murderers.

He gives the nice old lady a lazy excuse about forgetting his keys and she buzzes him in without a problem. Maybe he’ll even convince her that he’s your boyfriend, who knows, the day is young and there’s so much to do.

He skips up the steps to your apartment, hands immediately searching eagerly around the frame of your door to see if he can find a hidden key but he’s out of luck there.

Well, lock picking it is. He takes out his tool kit and masterfully unlocks the door, careful not to swing it open in case you’ve got the place boobytrapped.

But you don’t?

He scans the entrance with a red flashlight, catching no wires, no sensors, nothing that could potentially get him into any trouble.

When he finally steps inside, he’s taken aback by how normal everything looks.

He does a quick sweep of the the place with his RF scanner. The living room is spacious, filled with light and comfort in the form of a giant couch. Your kitchen is stocked to the max, obviously, and you’ve got a bunch of projects and recipe tests that you’ve been workshopping under glass containers and inside your freezer.

He greedily takes out your recipe book and takes a picture of the banana bread recipe, of course you would whip instead of mix, that’s what made it fluffy.

As he moves further into the house, he can’t help but get excited at the prospect of finally being inside your space.

He doesn’t linger in every room, he’s simply there to get a better sense of who you are, who he’s up against. He glances into your medicine cabinet, noting your expensive taste in face serums and the rizatriptan prescription.

Unfortunately for him, because he cares, he manages to read your name on the label before he quickly adverts his gaze. It’s beautiful, suits you completely. Too bad he now has to wipe it from his memory. You’re just sweetheart, and that’s how you will remain until he’s got you in handcuffs.

He closes the cabinet and finally allows himself to move into your bedroom.

He inhales deeply, the scent of fresh laundry and pears filling his senses in a comforting warmth. He slowly pushes the door open, stepping into the heart of it all.

Your bed is made up, messily but it’s still put together. A soft orange comforter with pale green sheets, about five stuffed animals that he finds adorable, an overflowing nightstand with jewelry, essential oils, books, your reading glasses, anything and everything you could possibly need to fall asleep, on the left side and a lounge chair on the right, facing the bed.

He can’t help the heat that rushes through him as he imagines just why you could possibly have that there.

There’s a dresser to his immediate right and a closet to the left. He starts with the dresser, no longer afraid of being disgusting. After all, there’s no one here to stop him.

He unabashedly opens the drawers in search for your underwear. They’re color coordinated, each drawer belonging to a color. He practically salivates as he picks up a deep maroon lacy piece.

His dick twitches against his pants and whatever reservation he has of bringing the garment to his nose disappears as he catches a whiff, a mere lingering smell of your previous arousal on the cotton.

He inhales deeply, thoroughly, greedily, a moan leaves his lips, mouth hanging open and tongue coming into contact with the fabric. He shouldn’t— he really shouldn’t, but who’s going to know? You’re at work for another two hours until your lunch break and the odds of you coming back to your apartment were—

Fuck it.

He falls back on the lounge chair, already panting.

Shaking hands unbuckle his belt, undo the button of his pants, slide down the zipper. The second his palm comes into contact with his dick, even through his boxers, he moans at the feeling. He’s so hard, so sensitive, this is going to be heaven.

He slides his cock out, pulling his boxers down enough for him to get a good grip. The chilliness in the room hits a nerve on his tip just the right way, causing goosebumps to erupt all over his body. He moans again, finally bringing your panties down to wrap around him.

The roughness of the material forces another wanton moan from his chest. He should definitely feel bad, ashamed even, but he doesn’t. He can’t, he won’t. You started this, it’s your fault that he’s here now, that he’s stroking his length with your underwear.

He settles on a steady pace, enjoying the feeling, high off the mere thought that you could, technically, walk in at any moment and catch him. You won’t, he knows that, but it’s still thrilling to no end.

He’s here, in your home, in what should be your most sacred space, and he’s defiling it.

Maybe he does have you all wrong, maybe you’re not the person he thinks you are, maybe you’re just a sweet girl who got caught up with the wrong crowd and have been desperately trying to hide ever since.

Or maybe, maybe you’re just that good at what you do. That good at hiding in plain sight, that good at manipulating him into thinking that you’re just innocent, in which case, he cannot wait to mess you up.

The thought has him cumming on his hand suddenly, hot spurts splashing over the garment in his hand, sticky and wet. Fuck he really, really wants to fuck you up, wants to see you come undone under him, wants to see your mascara smudge under your eyes and your lipstick smear over your cheeks.

He does his best to clean up, tossing your panties into a plastic bag so he can take them with him as a much deserved souvenir. He leaves everything as it was, makes sure of it, and just for good measure, he installs one camera on the light fixture above your bed and another in the living room.

Now that he’s got you, he’ll be damned if he lets you get away again.

This goes on for the next few weeks.

He’s gotten into the habit of going to sleep with the camera feed on, the comforting glow of his phone and the gentle sounds of your breathing the only way he’s able to find the sweet respite of sleep.

He also wakes up to you. When your alarm goes off and you stir, so does he. He’ll watch you get ready for the day, often times catching glimpses of your uncovered thighs or your towel wrapped body as you exit your bathroom.

Fortunately for him, the angle of the camera he’s placed over your bed allows him to see you on it perfectly. Unfortunately, it doesn’t give him a complete view into your room, which is fine, he doesn’t need to see you every second to know you’re inside the room.

He can still hear you. Hear your voice as you sing along to the music you listen to, hear you on the phone with your friends and family, hear you moaning at three in the afternoon on a random Friday?

Jack sits up on his desk chair. He’s supposed to be paying attention to a conference call but he couldn’t give two shits about that now. He’s had his phone propped up all afternoon, waiting for you to come back home since you have a half day today, one headphone connected so he can hear if anything changes within the feed and still be somewhat present in the conversation that he’s actually meant to be engaged in.

“I apologize,” he says haphazardly. “There’s a situation unfolding that I need to take care of.”

He logs off the call before the panel can even begin to question him. He’ll make something up later, get Robby to cover for him or something.

His gaze sharpens as you stumble into the bedroom. You’re already haphazardly shedding your clothes, pants off, shirt quickly after. You’re wearing a matching set he left for you earlier in the week. He’d put it with your other pieces hoping and praying that you would simply not notice it was something new and clearly you had.

It clings deliciously to your curves, the wire pushing your breasts up just right, the flower lace design hugging them in the most sensual way possible, and the thong he’d gotten you? Practically swallowed by your ass.

Jack lets out a huff, acutely aware of where he is. He quickly turns on the privacy screen of his office and puts his calendar on do not disturb, automatically locking the door so no one can even dare come inside.

He watches you riffle through your bedside drawer, pulling out a pink dildo and a cute little purple vibrator to match.

Jack swears he’s lost the ability to think, he just does, instantly pressing the record screen button on his phone and leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

You turn onto your back, legs spread open as you run your hand over your clothed pussy. His dick pulses, begging for release and he gives it exactly what it needs. Pulling it out from its confines, Jack begins to mimic your movements, slow and sensual.

You pull your panties to the side, fingers checking to see just how wet you are. Your face bursts with excitement as he guesses you’re satisfied that you don’t have to work yourself out before you can stuff yourself full.

And that you do.

You grab the dildo and bring it up to your mouth, giving it a good lick all over to coat it in more wetness before you waste no time lining it up with you entrance. Jack’s breathing hitches as you slide it in, inch by inch, your eyes rolling back, your legs spreading open even more, giving him the perfect look at how you open to give it room.

God what he wouldn’t do to be there with you. He should call you—

The thought pierces through his lustful haze. He should do a lot of things. But he doesn’t.

Instead he becomes transfixed on the sight of your walls gripping the silicone tightly, the way it slides in and out of you, the huffs and moans that leave your lips. They’re too soft, too contained, he wants you to scream, needs to hear you come undone like you deserve, hard and fast and safe.

Jack’s own pace speeds up, his leaking tip coating him with the wetness needed to keep going, faster and faster to match your movements. It’s when the vibrator hums on that Jack allows himself to let a groan fill his office.

You bring it down on your clit, body shaking at the contact. You must be so sensitive, God, he needs to know how it feels to do that to you, needs to—

“Fuck, Jackie—”

Jack’s entire world ends right then and there. He’s finally gone insane. He’s got to be hearing things but it’s too late for schizophrenia and too early for onset dementia. 

But then he hears it again.

“Please Jackie can I cum? ‘M so close, please—”

He should’ve called you. All he can do now is pant an incoherent string of yeses as he comes undone himself, your moans becoming more and more heightened as you too allow yourself to succumb to the pleasure.

It takes him far too long to stop cumming, staining his boxers and pants with his spend. Oh you’re evil, evil. There’s no way he can do anything in this state now.

He keeps watching as you pull the toys out of you, your chest heaving as you come down, slow and euphoric. He wishes he could be there with you, wishes he could wrap you up in his arms and kiss down your body, show you how devoted to you he truly is.

Instead all he can do is watch as you take off your underwear and slide under the covers. He knows you don’t mean to fall asleep, but you do. He’s going to have to correct that behavior, he can’t have you neglecting your health just because you’re so tired after a session.

Fuck, does he want to take care of you, needs it desperately. He will, he certainly will when he finally has you.

Jack gets comfortable, too comfortable, to the point where he has almost forgotten what brought you into his orbit in the first place. You’ve become a fixture in his life now.

You’re all he thinks about when he goes to sleep at night and all he thinks about when he wakes up every morning. You're all he can think about right now that he’s back in his penguin suit, ear piece in, gun strapped next to his heart.

He looks good, he knows he looks good, because after a few months of no public appearances, this is when Robby will show himself in public again, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t look his best to catch you.

Fortunately for Jack, the night goes off without a hitch.

PTMC is hosting their yearly gala. Everyone has a great time. The hospital reaches their donation goals which will go directly to their outreach and patient beneficiary programs. His friends seem to be happy, long gone are the days of heavy eye bags and pretend smiles.

Unfortunately for him, you’re nowhere to be seen.

Instead, it’s Frank Langdon who has his blood pressure spiking, but not from deranged glee but rather exhausting annoyance.

“Abbot!” He greets, always too familiar.

“Langdon.”

“Oof, what’s the attitude for?” He smacks Jack’s arm playfully. “I’m not here to cause any trouble, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Are you offering?”

Langdon laughs, unafraid. “You’re still exactly the same, old man,” something catches his eye and his demeanor shifts. “I’ll catch you later, bud, I’ve got a date to get to.”

Jack follows his gaze and finally, finally they find you at the other end. His blood boils. Be it jealousy or extreme anger at what feels like a personal betrayal, he doesn’t know, all he knows is that he cannot let Langdon reach you first.

So he does the very adult thing and slides his foot forward, tripping the man who used to be his colleague and has now turned himself into the worst version of capitalism imaginable, the head of a pharmaceutical company.

Langdon stumbles, face planting on the tile. Everyone’s attention turns to him, especially yours, and when your eyes land on his, Jack can’t help but see the panic in your eyes. But it’s not directed at him, no, it’s directed at…Langdon?

You bolt and he follows you, cutting through the crowd as he notices Langdon’s men have also began their pursuit.

“Something’s going down,” he yells into his coms. “Stay with Robby, lock the place down.”

“Copy boss.” Shen’s voice is the only reassurance in the current uncertainty he’s facing.

He knows exactly where you’re going, the parking lot. But the rest of the building is locked down, if you wanted to go down or up you’d need a key card.

To his surprise you make a left instead, down to the emergency department which is definitely operational tonight as it is every, single night. The henchmen don’t catch on as quickly and they keep going forward, thinking the same thing Jack had.

He smiles politely at his old coworkers as he enters, hand inside his jacket firmly on his firearm. The staff know the drill now, they don’t scream, don’t startle. Instead they part to let him through, but they also don’t rat you out. Weird.

The door to the ED slides open and two of Langdon’s men step through. Well, so much for a head start.

“Where’s the girl?” One asks Jack who simply shrugs, gaze sharp.

They begin to reach for their weapons when suddenly you pounce out from central six.

Steel tray in hand, you swing it with all your might and smack the living shit of the man on the left with it. Startled, he groans in pain but doesn’t go down, turning to face you with fire in his eyes.

Jack reacts, finally, drawing his gun and firing two shots into the open chest of the man on the right. He does down without a fight, blood pooling from his wounds onto the sterile floor of the ED. He yells at the nurses to stay back before he’s stepping forward.

You’re doing alright standing on your own, but the other guy is bigger, stronger and pissed off. He lands a punch across your face that has Jack seeing red. Shooting him isn’t enough, he needs to make him pay with his own two fists for that.

He grabs the man by the back of his jacket and pulls him off you, wasting no time kicking him in the balls before he uses the butt of his firearm to break his jaw. He falls to the floor, limp and probably lifeless, Jack doesn’t give a fuck, not when there’s a gash on your cheekbone and blood dripping onto your dress.

He doesn’t dare move towards you, doesn’t dare startle you more than he already has. He just wants to take care of you, just wants to patch you up and make sure you don’t have a concussion.

His gaze on you softens as you dare to meet his stare.

He’s certain he’s never witnessed such a storm of conflicting emotions before. His heart feels heavy, his soul aches. He steps forward, called to by you, and you flinch, stepping away before you finally bolt out the ambulance entrance.

He springs into action immediately.

There is no way you made it that far, you were right there, but as the cold night air hits his face, you’re nowhere to be seen. There’s only the stillness of Pittsburg, the radiance of the moon above him, and knuckles meeting the supple skin of his cheek as the momentum forces him to crash against the cold pavement and pass out.

Jack doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious, all he knows is that his entire body is on fire. He’s definitely too old for this.

It takes him a second to fully wake. His lungs fill with air suddenly and he’s acutely aware of his surroundings. His hands are tied behind the back of the chair he’s sat on, his prothetic is off, the familiar weight of his gun is gone, his cheek is pounding, a definite headache that he’ll have to deal with later from both the fall and the punch to the face.

The air smells stuffy, as if he’s been stuck in an apartment that has had all its doors and windows closed. There’s rays of sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains and he’s able to see the disgusting, bare bones room he’s in. It’s not a lot to write home about, your typical police safe house, only it doesn’t feel like the police are responsible for this kidnapping, they know better than to dare touch him.

He can hear shuffling in the room next door. One, no, two sets of footsteps. A door opens, one to the outside world, and a set disappears down the hall. The other talks with someone, but it’s muffled and unintelligible from where he is.

He needs to get out of here. He twists his hands, trying to break free from his restraints but they’re on too tight. He thinks about breaking his thumb, maybe that’ll—

“Well, well, look who’s awake!”

His gaze snaps to the man at the door. He’s young, cocky, wild curls, almost familiar.

“Ogilvie?” Jack cannot believe it.

“You do remember, that’s nice,” god, he’s just as insufferable as Jack remembers. “This is gonna be much more fun then.”

The blade of a knife glints under the little light filtering into the room. Jack lets out an annoyed huff. This is what he gets for thinking he’d get to torture you. 

“I would love to get to use this, truly, but my employer was very clear that I exhaust all of my other options before so,” Ogilvie kneels down in front of Jack. “Just tell me where the girl is and you’ll be free to go.”

Jack practically bursts out in a relieved smile. They didn’t have you, good. He’ll make sure to keep it that way.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, everything’s just peachy.”

Ogilvie laughs, his patience starting to run out. “Great, then where is she?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I genuinely do not know?”

“We’ve seen you staking out her apartment, we know she’s not there, or at her place of business, so, since you’re the only person we know who has had unrestricted access to her for the past few months — where the fuck is she?”

Fucking hell Jack truly had gotten careless and put you in danger. Wait, unrestricted access? What the fuck was Ogilvie talking about?

“Fine, let’s try this another way,” the tip of the knife broke the skin of Jack’s thigh and he had to suck in a sharp breath to not scream in pain. “Why is she back in Pittsburg?”

“I don’t know.”

The blade digs a little deeper. “Try again.”

“I don’t know!”

Ogilvie stabs him, deep enough for it to hurt, not deep enough to cut bone.

Jack tenses, his entire body going into fight or flight mode as he desperately tries not to overreact. The pain is bearable, he’s been through worse, he can—

There’s a knock at the door, the front door and Ogilvie groans in annoyance, like a kid being told that playtime is over. He slides the knife out, blood oozing from the wound he’s just created. Fuck, he is definitely going to bleed out. Just great.

After an unbearably long second, the door opens and to his surprise, he hears…gunshots? Silenced but they're unmistakable.

Ogilvie falls backwards on the floor, still very much alive and breathing as whoever entered the room comes up to him and picks up the knife he’s now let go of, still covered in Jack's blood. He watches as the knife comes down into Ogilvie’s chest again and again and again.

The sharp smell of iron fills the room, reminding Jack of his own bleeding out problem just in time for his eyes to grow heavy. Fuck, he’s running out of time. He struggles against his restraints again, so much so that he manages to topple his chair over, crashing on the floor unceremoniously.

Heavy footsteps hurry into the room and stop right in front of him. It’s your giggle that he hears before darkness takes over him once more.

Jack springs awake at the pain shooting from his leg.

“Motherfucker!” He screams, coming up off the bed as he blinks away the white spots blurring his vision.

It’s you. You, dressed in nothing but your underwear as you tie a tourniquet over his still leaking wound.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you tighten the knot, causing him to jolt in even more pain. “Gotta make sure you don’t bleed out before the ambulance gets here.”

Jack shivers at the sound of your voice. This is real, this is very, very real and he doesn’t know how to act anymore.

“How’d you find me?” He asks instead, trying to not burst from the knowledge that you had searched for him.

“I know where you are at all times too,” you joke, casually, almost as if the two of you are friendly enough to joke.

He stiffens, have you been keeping tabs on him like he has on you?

“Is this your way of making it up to me?”

You laugh. “No, this is me repaying the favor from last night.”

He grunts in understanding. Yeah, you’re definitely even now.

“What does Langdon want with you anyway?”

You go quiet all of a sudden. Maybe you’re not that great of friends.

Yet.

So instead he goes for a more obvious question. “Why are you naked?”

You look down at yourself, somehow just remembering that you’re barely dressed.

“Clothes got all bloody, he was a squirter,” the answer is so simple yet stupidly convoluted that he can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

“So what’s the plan now?”

“I dunno, was gonna see if they had a change of clothes laying around.”

Not the answer he wants but he'll take it, he'll take your adorable naiveness, your almost innocent outlook on the horrors you have just inflicted.

Your gaze shifts around the room and land on a rundown wardrobe at the other end. Jack watches as you lift from your knees and walk towards it, your ass, oh my god your ass, swaying slightly as you clearly want him to ogle.

And he does. There’s no use in hiding it now.

You open the wardrobe and pull out a pair of pants and a white button down. Jack can hear sirens approaching and it’s clear you hear them too as you get dressed in a huff, slipping your boots back on before you crouch back down next to Jack.

He’s practically rendered speechless as you run your thumb along the gash on his jaw, your touch featherlight and absurdly gentle.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He doesn’t know why, but he knows that you mean it.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he finally says, as if you could ever understand or much less reciprocate all the feelings he’s been harboring for the past few months.

“You’re very welcome, Jackie.”

And with that, you place a kiss on the side of his mouth and fade out of view the apartment, leaving Jack unbelievably dizzy, only this time, the blood loss has nothing to do with it.

Robby is understandably furious as he enters Jack’s private room at PTMC. He listen as Jack tells him everything, even the fact that you showed up to save him which Robby visibly stills at. It’s the first time that Jack notices his friend’s reaction to you, to your presence, to your actions.

But he doesn’t push, he doesn’t prod. No, for the first time in his life, Jack accepts the bed rest, accepts the medical leave, accepts the two weeks he’s stuck at the hospital and doesn’t give a fuck about chasing after you, not when you start calling him to check in every night.

It starts innocently enough. His phone rings, he picks it up without looking at the caller ID and your voice fills his senses instantly.

“How’re you doing?”

“Good, surgery went well,” he manages, the heaviness he feels in his heart not allowing him to keep the conversation going.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there in person.”

That catches his interest. “Why’s that?”

“I’m under house arrest.”

“Where are you?” The monitors start to beep uncontrollably, his heart beating out of his ears. "Did someone get you?"

“No one’s got me, I’m fine, calm down,” you huff. “I’m just…not allowed to go outside on account of, well…everyone wanting me dead I guess.”

He sighs, deeply, thankful. “Why does everyone want you dead, sweetheart?”

“Oh you know, politics.”

“Who’d you kill?”

You go silent for a second but he knows, deep in his gut, that you’re going to tell him.

“Frank’s boss.”

“His dad?”

“It sounds so bad when you say it like that!”

“Well that’s because it is bad, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Why did you do that?”

“It was a job!”

“Whoever sent you to do that is an idiot.”

The line goes dead silent instantly.

“Sweetheart? You still there?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Not my smartest move, that’s for sure. In my defense, I didn’t know who he was until after I killed him.”

“Did this mystery client not brief you?”

“I may or may not have been a little distracted when he hired me.”

Jack doesn’t push but the jealousy burns hot and heavy within him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be distracted when conducting business from now on.”

“Yeah, lesson clearly learned.”

There’s an organic lull in the conversation, one that neither of you are eager to fill.

“I…” you start but he can hear a voice in the background. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

He sighs, saddened. “Okay, sweetheart.”

Your conversations kept up like that for the next two weeks. Short, sweet, revitalizing.

If he was whipped before, he was definitely lost to his devotion of you now.

His first stop when he gets discharged is to your apartment. He’s unsure what he thinks he’s going to find but to find it totally desolate is a jarring experience.

He goes to your work after and asks after you but the barista working the morning shift informs him that you’re on an undefined sabbatical and has no idea when you’ll be back.

She does, however, hand him his usual order, made to perfection, because you've apparently taught them all how to make it just in case you could not be in to do it yourself.

Life becomes pretty monotone after that. He goes back to work, to Robby, to the dullness that is routine and paperwork and endless meetings. Your phone calls also stop and when he finally musters the courage to call you, he finds out the line has been disconnected.

To say he grieves you is an understatement.

He mourns. He prays to every god imaginable to bring you back into his life. He loses himself to the pain of it all, because what else is he supposed to do now that you are no longer the moon that gives his tides meaning?

Robby had left for a conference out of town that morning and left special instructions for Jack to take care of his apartment. In all his time working with and for Robby, Jack has never been demoted to house sitter.

But when he gets a notification of activity from the front door of Robby’s apartment on his phone, he simply cannot believe his eyes.

He breaks every traffic law known to man in his rush to get down there. He doesn’t even wait for the regular elevator, opting to use the staff’s one to get to his destination quicker.

His head is dizzy with excitement as he uses his keys to open the front door of the apartment.

“Hi baby!” Your voice fills his heart up in a way that he never knew he needed. “I thought you’d be home later?”

He can’t help the smirk that curls his lips upward, his hand griping his gun tightly, and he can barely contain his excitement as he sets his trap.

He rounds the corner into the kitchen and finds you there, fluffy purple slippers, legs bare, body covered only by a large PTMC t-shirt. God, whoever was listening, his prayers had been answered.

You turn around to face him, face dropping as you process who it is and what’s being pointed at you.

Anger quickly joins the mix as you pick up your phone, a new and shiny one, and dial, putting it on speaker.

“Honey, I know, I’m so sorry the meeting ran late, we’re just getting off the plane now—”

“Mikey, why is Jackie pointing a gun at me right now?”

The line goes silent in an instant.

“You didn’t tell him?”

More silence.

“Michael what the fuck!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” When he doesn’t answer— “Fuck right off a bridge you insufferable asshole!” Your eyes lock with Jack’s, an amused smirk on his lips. Your brows furrow in question. You finally notice it. The motherfucker has played you. 

Your expression drops, sullen like a child who has just been caught in a lie. “Never mind, I’ll talk to you later”

You don’t even wait for him to respond as you hang up the call.

With that, Jack lowers the weapon and puts it away. “Safety was on.”

“Hmm.” You huff, ever the sore loser.

“You got sloppy.”

“How’d you know?” You shift, relaxing.

“The cappuccino. He’s the only one that knows how I like it.”

You hum, cursing yourself in your head for being so careless. “I made it that first time.”

“I figured, it tasted the same.” He smirks, forcing a smile out of you. “Why’d you try to kill him then?”

“I didn’t? It’s a game that we play,” you chuckle. “He always loses and I always tell him to get better security—”

“But the poison was real.”

Your eyes widen immediately and Jack’s follow suit. Fuck.

Foot meet mouth indeed.

“No wonder you hate me!” You shriek, heart racing. “I did not try to kill him, it was baby aspirin.”

Jack manages a dry laugh, but that still doesn’t put you at ease.

“Someone’s trying to kill him?”

“I don’t— I didn’t say—”

“Jackson Theodore Abbot I swear to god—”

“Yes, someone is trying to kill him.”

You tense, rage slowly creeping up every inch of your body.

“You know my full name?”

It’s an honest attempt to calm you down but it simply doesn’t work. Instead, it ignites something else from within you.

You slowly step away from the counter and towards Jack. “I know a lot of things about you.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s nervous and he’s sure you can hear it in his voice. “What do you know about me?”

You smile, brightly. “I know you’re an only child, I know you used to be married, I know you were in the army and were an ED attending at the pitt,” all publicly available information, nothing salacious. “I know you installed cameras in my apartment and have definitely masturbated to me before,” Jesus fucking Christ. “I know you’ve heard me scream your name as I came and I know you’re definitely going to to take care of me right now.” 

It’s the way you look at him that makes him forget, instantly, of your relationship with Robby. It’s the way you smile at him, sweetly and almost innocently that settles the determination in his gut, it’s the way you practically throw yourself at him that makes it easy to decide he’s willing to lose it all for one night with you.

He doesn’t waste one more second.

His hands shoot out to wrap themselves around your body, pulling you flush against him as his lips claim your own in a desperation he’s never experienced before.

It’s fucked up, definitely, but he’s wanted you for so long that nothing else matters.

One hand squeezes the back of your neck as the other slides up your thigh, under your shirt and right into your panty-less hip.

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart,” he groans against your lips, hand eagerly exploring, moving further up your body to graze your breast. You’re naked underneath, and he doesn’t care that it wasn’t meant for him, he’s the one enjoying it now and that’s all that matters.

He quickly pulls the shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere in the apartment. He knows he looks ridiculous, as if he’s just found the treasure he’s been searching for all his life, and you can’t help but melt under his hungry stare.

His hands cup your breasts tenderly as his kisses begin to lower. One on your healed cheekbone, another below your ear, the next on your collarbone. He leaves a trail of devotion down your body until he reaches your chest.

You shudder, letting him do what he has to in order to make you feel good, in order to finally snap free the tension that has amassed between the two of you.

He pinches your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, bringing your attention back to him, to how good he’s making you feel. You moan, deliciously so, and his fingers are quickly replaced with his mouth, hot and eager, his tongue swirling around your hardened buds, his teeth biting down and pulling on them, greedily wanting to have you devolving into an unrestrained choir for him and him alone.

So you do. You sing and it pushes him over the edge.

He bites down in between your breasts, teeth marking you now, on their way down your soft and supple stomach, leaving behind a trail of his devotion in the form of purpling marks.

“Jackie, fuck please—”

He hums against your hip, placing a comforting kiss over the bone before he spreads your legs open and he finally kneels down between them.

You groan at the movement, eagerness clouding your judgement, and you thread your hands in his hair, practically shoving him towards where you need him the most.

He almost thinks about punishing you for it, correcting the behavior so it doesn’t become a habit, but he needs to taste you just as much as you need him to devour you. So he obliges to your desperation, his hot tongue flat against your already dripping pussy.

You scream, entire body shivering as he begins to move, slurping up ever drop. His hungry mouth makes out with your folds, tongue clashing against your clit eagerly as he sucks.

Your thighs clamp around his head and his hands finally become more commanding, forcing them open as his gaze pierces through your lust. He’s not going to keep dealing with your shit, you either do what he needs or he’ll stop.

On shaky legs, you obey, forcing your body to relax, to be good for him. He hums in satisfaction, giving your ass a reassuring squeeze before he returns to his movements.

He releases your clit and slides downward towards your opening. He doesn’t wait for you to process before he shoves his tongue inside of you, lapping methodically against your entrance.

You squirm above him, clenching around him, abdomen scrunching in determination.

“Jackie—” you try, desperation impeding your ability to speak. “Fingers, please.”

He’s too far gone to ask you to be coherent. Who the fuck cares about syntax now? He removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers, two, instantly sucked up into your warmth, curled upward to make you unravel faster.

You do, screaming in pleasure as his lips latch onto your clit again as he continues his ministrations, thrusting into you with fervor.

“Oh my god, Jackie, please, please I’m so close, can I—”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, you simply don’t have to. He forces you over the end he as his teeth sink down on your overly sensitive bud.

You’re screaming into the night, trembling above him to the point where he has to hold you upright before you fall over. He chuckles, delighted and high off the power that you’ve given him, his mouth and chin covered in a layer of your glistening arousal.

You’re angelic like this, broken down and writhing in pleasure that he has been give the honor to give you. If this is what religion can feel like then he’s finally become devout.

He patiently waits until your waters have calmed enough to scoop you into his arms and finally move you over to the couch where the two of you will be more comfortable.

He wraps you up in a blanket and sets you down while he gets himself situated, prosthetic off, jacket discarded, pants unbuttoned. He watches you watch him through glossy eyes, tired and content.

You look so innocent, so pliable and soft, he truly can do whatever he wants to do and you’ll let him. He should feel bad, should stop himself from wanting more, you’re not alert or able to enthusiastically tell him you want more.

But at this point, he doesn’t care. He just needs to be inside of you and so he lifts you up and brings you down to straddle his legs.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he coos, just the right amount of condescending to have you eager to please him. “I just need to be inside of you, then you can sleep.”

You nod against his chest and he takes it as all the confirmation he needs to sink you down onto him.

You’re so fucking hot. He hisses under his breath as your walls constrict around him. Thank fuck you’re soaking wet or else there would be no way he could slide into you so easily. If he’s having trouble, he can only imagine how hard it must be for you to take Robby.

Jack twitches inside of you, causing you to shiver in distress. He shushes you gently, strong hands rubbing down your arms and thighs to comfort you.

You practically melted back into him, hips finally settling against his, ass finally comfortable against his thighs, his dick buried so far inside of you he finally feels peace for the first time since he’s known you.

He kisses your temple, reverent. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You hum in response, your hands wrapping themselves around him tightly as you place a soft kiss to his chest, above his clothed heart.

His entire body burns at the action. He could stay here forever, and he would’ve, if it wasn’t for the front door slamming open and the overbearing presence that is Michael Robinavitch entering the room.

“What the fuck are you doing to my wife?”

a/n: guys I swear I will finish everything I've started, but just enjoy the manic energy please