nara

You groaned, coughing and choking on your own blood for a bit, while Trinity Santos walked by you said and rubbed your arm, “Breathe, breathe.” she kept reminding you. 

“Really guys…I–I can wait like everyone else.” Que another coughing fit, this time with some of the blood landing on the doctors around you, “If you could just point me to the waiting room.” you looked up and around hopefully to the physicians around you, “..Please?” 

“Please?” the husk voice of the man to your right made your throat dry up, with sharp features grey hairs peaking you couldn't help but gulp at his gorgeous face. “You’ve definitely got more than a few broken bones, possibly a punctured lung, and a concussion. Trust me you're right where you're supposed to be.” 

You let your head fall back onto the gurney, seemingly giving up the fight, but not before letting out a whispered murmur, “Whatever you say Dr. Handsome.” you were then out like a light, with your eyes rolling back into your head. 

With no time to spare Dr. Santos placed her fingers onto your neck's pulse, only letting out a quip after she felt a live beating, “Who knew Dr. Abbot was such a hotshot.” As they enter room twelve, she turns to Lena, “Is he always this popular?” 

Lena laughed, as respectfully as she could as she placed an oxygen mask over your face, “Oh you have no idea.” 

────

The next time you would see Jack Abbot would be nearly eight hours later. Groggy and on three different pain killers, you rolled your head side to side, blinking twenty miles an hour. As you registered where you were, you started breathing harder, mouth opening up to speak only to realize your throat was being restricted by something. Clawing at your throat you started to panic, way too hazed to even register the voices around you. 

Jack Abbot watched in discomfort as you couched and gagged at the tube placed in your throat. He softly gripped your chin, trying to catch your eyes, he repeated your name firmly. “I know, I know it feels gross but you needed the tube to breathe better, alright? You were coughing up a lot of blood.” He tried for only a few moments before deciding you were doing way too much damage to your throat. 

He shook his head, turning to Lena as she closed the door behind herself, "I'm taking the tube out,” Lena was on your side in an instant. 

He kept talking throughout the process, although you were in no state to listen. 

Only a minute later the tube was out and you were spitting out blood into a bedpan. Jack rubbed your back soothingly. “Yeah,” he mumbled, watching you practically throw yourself back onto the bed. 

“Yuck.” you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, while Lena handed you a plastic cut full of water. “Thank you.” 

“Course sweetie.” she gave you a smile before heading to the corner of the brightly lit room and starting to type (incredibly fast) on the computer. 

You threw your head to the other side of the room, facing a man who was giving you a small smile. It all came back to you at once. Stumbling into the emergency room, insisting on waiting like everyone else, and of course, calling that handsome doctor well–handsome. 

“Oh no,” you groaned, grabbing your forehead with an embarrassed look on your face, Jack tried to purse down his smile, Lena made a poor attempt to stifle her laughter. 

As professional as ever, Jack didn't waste any time waving you off, “I’ll chalk it up to a strong case of delirium. No harassment claims just yet.” He snapped his gloves off, and it took an awkward moment for you to laugh at his joke. 

He gave you another dazzling smile. “Alright, first things first. Can we get your name?” 

You blinked. Oh yeah huh. You didn’t come in with a wallet or anything, in fact you remember leaving your…items in an alley a couple blocks down. 

Still in a haze, you muttered your name. He gave you his hand, “Jack Abbot, I was your primary physician when you came in.” 

You weakly took his hand. “Thanks…” you looked down at your body, you could stretch a mile with the amount of bandages you had. “Looks like you did a good job.” You muttered. Definitely better than the at home fixes you do yourself after bad nights. 

“I have a good team.” He brushed off your compliment, “Could you explain how you got these injuries? Do you remember?” 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Lena turn from the computer, giving you her complete attention.

Right. You couldn’t exactly explain that you got into a bad altercation with bank robbers after trying to stop them. Then you would have to explain that yes, you were the friendly neighbor spiderwoman. A title given to you almost a year ago when you first started making headlines. 

It would be better to avoid that conversation altogether.

“I fell down the stairs and through a window.” 

It didn’t take a mathematician to know they didn’t believe you. But it also didn’t take a mathematician to know that they didn’t have to. You just had to lead them as far away from the truth as possible. 

“Right.” Jack cleared his throat. “Was this at your home?”

“Yeah. I live on the second floor. Fell right down and through the window all the way down.” 

Jack gave a glance to Lena, who when you turned to look at you, gave you a comforting smile. 

“A couple of your injuries were a couple days old. The cut on your leg was infected. And your arm has been dislocated for at least a week.” 

Okay maybe the bank robbers had gotten more then a couple hits in. Or maybe it was the hostage situation from last week. You could barely keep your head straight. 

All you could struggle out was, “Yeah, I’m um clumsy.” You scratched your forehead with a grimace. 

You avoided his gaze. He could obviously tell you were lying. It was all over his face. 

“Alright.” He sighed, leaning closer to the bed, by instinct you leaned back. “A social worker will be in here to talk to you, is that okay?” 

Suddenly you felt awful. They thought you were a victim of domestic violence, you were wasting whatever small resources they had. 

You looked between the two medical professionals, mouth opening and closing, “Oh! No—no really that’s not—no, really?” Is what you could get out. 

Jack and Lena simply took your exasperation as another reason for you to talk to the social worker. 

“She’s not gonna pry, and you don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want too.” Lena jumped in, and you felt so much worse, “we just want you to know that help is available, if you need it.” 

Oh god, you were an awful person, bottom of the barrel awful. 

You came into the hospital, disturbed the peace, cut in front of everyone in the waiting room, harassed your doctor, and now you were using domestic violence resources, when there was probably someone in the very hospital who actually needed them. 

You were awful. More so because you knew at this point there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t say the truth, that would destroy everything you’ve built. It would destroy your protection and safety. 

So you did what you had too. You sat there and listened to the social worker talk for thirty minutes, you accepted the pamphlets she gave you, and you took her phone number. The whole time you felt like a fraud.

────

Jack leaned against the triage desk, not so discreetly looking into room twelve. Watching you discuss with the social worker. 

The doctors and nurses said nothing to him, although they all noticed how off he was acting. That was until he damn near broke his back leaning towards the room, eyes steady. 

Lena reached over with a huff and landed a clean smack on his arm. Jack snapped his head back with a dramatic look. Lena pointed a stern finger at him, “Stop staring. It’s creepy.” 

Jack mediocrely rolled his eyes, waving her off, “I’m checking in. That’s what doctors do.” 

“Good doctors let social workers do their job without someone creeping on them.” 

“Creeping is not the same as staring.” 

“Okay. You’re not staring, you're creeping.” 

Lena went back to charting. Only to slam her hands down onto the desk after feeling Jack stare into the side of her face for what felt like eternity. 

“Do you need something Abbot, or has my beautiful face mesmerized you again?” 

Jack ignored her quip, looking around conspicuously before leaning in and whispering, “This isn’t a domestic thing. I’m sure of it.” 

Lena made a face, “You really believe that story about falling down stairs? Did you hit your head or what?” 

Jack ignored her, “I'm serious Lena.”

Lena leaned back into her chair, “So am I Abbot. You saw those injuries. They weren't from falling down the stairs.  All signs point to a domestic situation.”

Jack sighed, “I know, I know. And any other day I would agree. But Lena, that look on her face when we were talking about the social worker?”

“I know Jack, she looked scared.”

“No. She was guilty.” 

Lena only stared at the doctor for a moment before shaking her head. She didn't understand why Jack was so set on this, but she knew he was wrong. She'd seen too many of these cases to think otherwise. 

“All victims react differently when confronted with help. Jack, you know this.”

Jack peaked back into the room, where the discomfort was clear on your face. “This is different.” He genuinely couldn't explain why this one situation was so different. He'd been in this position one too many times. He knows. He really does. But the look on your face earlier was different. It was riddled with guilt, for what? He wasn't sure. 

He turned to Lena, desperate to have her believe him, “You noticed how quickly she healed right? I mean, she's good to leave today. Injuries like that should have her bedridden for a month.” 

Lena paused. He made a good point, it was astonishing how well and quickly you had healed, the bleeding and purple wounds she came in last night with were now practically scabbing over. Hell, your dislocated arm was now perfectly fine. It had in fact shocked everyone last night. The usually sure physicians didn't have an explanation for the medical students who were watching in awe as you healed in real time. 

But Lena sure as heck did not want to indulge Jack, so she quickly changed the topic, “How about instead of conspirating, you call the number she gave you so she can leave this depressing place.” 

Jack glanced down at the crumpled paper he held in his palm and frowned. You didn't have a previous record with the hospital so before leaving the room, he asked you to give him a name and number of something that could pick you up. 

Clark Kent 312-586-293

Jack stared down at the paper with a thoughtful look on his face. Although he didn't believe that you were a domestic victim, part of him thought he was being stupid and the reality was that you possibly were, and he questioned whether this Clark Kent was the one who did this to you in the first place. 

He shook the thoughts out of his head and reminded himself that you gave him this number. He was under obligation to do what you asked of him. 

“Well I would if you gave me the phone to call.” 

Lena gave him a sarcastic smile, which he returned, and she pushed herself back from the desk. “It's all yours Abbot,” she presented him with the desk. 

As she walked off, Jack rounded the desk and sat down at the chair, rubbing his knee slightly. He picked up the phone and punched in the number. It didn't ring more than twice before he heard a voice on the other side, “H-hey, hello?”  

It was clear this is so called, “Clark.” had just woken up from slumber. 

“Hello,” Jack straightened and glanced back into room twelve where he caught you staring down at a pamphlet that read ‘You are never alone’ that same shameful look on your face. He tore his eyes away, “This Jack Abbot from the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center,”

He heard frantic shuffling from the other side, “What? It is my ma, my pa? What happened?” 

“No, no, Mr. Clark. Nothing like that.” 

He could feel the relief through the screen. He said your name, “It's her I'm calling about.” 

He huffed through his nose when Clack interrupted once more, “Is she okay? Oh no what happened?”

“I'm calling to let you know just that. She came into the emergency room last night, in a, um, poor state. She gave me your number to call. We're discharging her soon, and she needs someone to, um, take her home and care for her for a bit.”

Clark, once again interrupted. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, could you let her know? I’ll be there.”  

Jack paused, with all things considered, this most likely was not the person who beat you black and blue. He’d had calls like this one before. Where a wife would give them their husband's phone number, and it was clear that they were the ones who sent them to the hospital in the first place. Ten times out of ten the husband on the other line sounded bored, or mad that their victims had the gall to show up at the hospital. This was a three sixty, and it simply confirmed the suspicions he already had.

He cleared his throat, “Yes, yeah, I’ll let her know.” He winced, knowing what he was about to do crossed the line, “Just to um…put it in the system, what is um,” he paused before his mind took over, “your relation to her?”

Clark didn't hesitate, “Oh we're very good friends. Thank you so much for the call. I'll be there soon.” 

The call beeped over. Jack stared down at the desk in uncertainty. What the heck was it about you and your secret that had him crossing lines he never had before? 

That question didn't nearly nag him as much as the other one. What the hell were you hiding? And who was the cause of your trip to The Pitt? 

He had a feeling it would be a while until he found out.

────

You watched the social worker leave with heavy eyes. Guilt and nausea consuming your entire being. Lena was right, she didn't push, and she didn't badger. 

You rubbed your eyes with a sigh, you have only been to the hospital for around thirty hours, and eighty percent of that you spend unconscious. You glazed down at the scabbing injury, wondering how many of the doctors who tended to you noticed your odd healing time, the only thing that comforted you was that no one brought it up. Neither Lena or Jack, so maybe they just hadn't noticed. 

Truth be told, you didn't feel as awful as you looked. Quite the contrary, the hours of rest did wonders. You felt fantastic. But you couldn't exactly show or tell anyone that. So you had to act achy and in pain whenever you thought someone was looking. Therefore you couldn't walk out of the hospital with a pep in your step, and you couldn't argue your way out of having someone take you home. So your hand was forced and you gave Jack the only number you could think of. 

Clark Kent. Secret superman Clark Kent. Your best friend Clark Kent. 

You hated to bother him, but you practically had no choice. You could almost imagine the look on his face. The sad worried puppy dog eyes he would give you. You felt nauseous all over again. 

A sensitive knock woke you up from your thoughts, you snapped your head up and saw Jack standing up the door, Clack looming over him from behind. He gave you a concerned wave. 

“Hey,” Jack walked into the room softly, Clark following him in like a lost duck giving you a look over with a grimace. He squeezed past Jack and hurried over to your side.

Jack let out the tiniest frustrated sigh. As promised, the so-called ‘Clark’ showed up in exactly ten minutes. And he had not shut up since. Question after question the giant didn't give Jack a moment of rest since his arrival. 

Although it did officially solidify something to Jack. Clark was definitely not the one who beat you to a pulp. A small victory in his mind. 

“Youre all ready to be discharged..” Jack trailed off, heading to the computer in the corner and logging into his credentials, to start the official discharge process. 

After a few seconds, he glanced to the bed, where Clark was looming over you with wide eyes. Both of you whisper suspiciously to each other. Jack slowly and quietly rolled over the computer stand. 

He didn't get much, but after a few minutes of listening in, he came out with “Bank ... .fifth avenue…five guys ... .bigger then ... .fine now.” from your end. 

He saved that in a special spot in his mind.

He cleared his throat, and tried not to laugh at the way you both snapped your head over to him with the widest eyes he had seen. “You’re all cleared in the system. You're good to go home if you're ready.” He grabbed a wheelchair from the other side of the room and rolled it over to you two. “Some pain medication is ready for you at the pharmacy you picked. They should get you the instructions there.” 

He watched Clark practically carry you into the wheelchair, letting you down without as much as a strain. He tried to not roll his eyes.

“Thanks again Dr. Abbot,” you called back to the doctor as he started to walk you out of the room, with Clark behind the chair and pushing slowly. “And I'm sorry about that,” you cleared your throat and avoided eye contact, “...Handsome thing.” 

Jack smiled cheekily, “Just doing my job,” You couldn't help but fidget at the way he said your name. “And no harm no foul right? Take care. I don't want to see you anytime soon.” and with a final wave, he walked away. Your eyes glanced down to his leg, which carried a not noticeable limp. Well, not noticeable to anyone with you. Call it spidey senses. 

Clark leaned down to whisper in your ear as he rolled you further and further away from the hospital, “Are you staring at his butt?” 

“What?” you yelped, turning your neck straight as quick as possible. “No weirdo. God. No.” 

Clark huffed, “Sorry for assuming.” He looked around the area, before whispering again, “Can I stop rolling you now? This is making me feel more guilty. Someone could've actually used this wheelchair, you know?” 

You huffed, turning in all directions before you declared the coast was clear. You practically jumped from the wheelchair and immediately rolled into a stretch, “Was I supposed to deny the wheelchair? Sorry I know I'm battered and bruised and my leg is practically broken but I'm fine walking?” You and Clark broke into a brisk walk, Clark throwing the wheelchair into a dark alleyway and wincing. “Dr. Abbot was already suspicious, I saw it on his face.” 

Clark laughed, having to break into a slight jog to catch up with your fast pace. “I think he just liked you. You know, like liked you.” 

You didn't pause, turning a few corners as the hospital becoming distant in the background, “What are you, twelve?” 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I think he had romantic serious adult feelings for you–Hey where are we going anyways?” Clark questions, making a full turn, “This isn't the way to your apartment.” And yet he continued to follow after you. 

“Are you just realizing that now?” you asked, making a sharp turn into an alleyway, and letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of your backpack laying near the dirty dumpster. Exactly where you left it days prior. 

“What are you?-” Clark watched you practically run to the random backpack lying on the ground, “You probably shouldn't touch that, it’s…it's next to the dumpster.”

“It's mine.” you sighed, ripping the backpack open and tilting it over so he could see the contents, inside laid your suit. Red and Blue body fitting spandex with the now memorable black spiderweb design. Clark let out a sound of recognition. “What's it doing..here?” He looked around the dirty and honestly smell alley. 

You huffed, closing the bag and flinging it over your shoulder, “I threw it here after the bank robbery. I realized that I was in a worse shape than I could fix. And I couldn't exactly walk into the hospital with it on.” you shrugged. 

“You should've called,” Clark murmured. “I would've come to help.” 

You gave him a small smile, “I know you would've. I think I seriously overestimated how many burglars I could take on at once. At least I know better now, you live and you learn right?” 

Clark didn't look amused. He never did when it came to his friends being hurt.

You huffed, nudging his shoulder, “C’mon big guy, give me a ride home? I’ll order takeout.” 

Clark tried for a couple seconds before breaking out into a smile and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Up, up and away!” your voice faded and you flew higher and higher into the sky.

The second time you came back into The Pitt, it was much less dramatic, and it wasn't because of something big like an alien threat, or a burglary. But because of your own true clumsiness. 

After training with Yelena for hours, and getting beat for the majority of those hours, you decided it was time for your training to get better and longer. 

So you set down a small yoga mat in your more than small apartment and got to work. You didn't even finish your stretches before your foot caught the end of the mat and you fell straight down. Hard. You heard your right arm crack in the worst way. And after lying on the ground for ten minutes, you decided it wouldn't be the worst thing to visit Jack Abbot once more. 

Oh, salt and pepper Jack Abbot. You obviously wouldn't be going to the hospital only for him, you probably would've gone regardless. But he was definitely an added bonus.  

It was odd the way he was occupying your mind. You thought of him at the most random times, like when you were stopping a robbery at a jewelry store, you peered into one of the cases and thought, ‘Oh I wonder if Dr. Abbot would like that watch?’ And when you were grocery shopping and wondered how he liked his steak. 

It was very very odd. And when you looked up your feelings on google, the first reddit post was, "Congratulations! You have your first crush!” 

Crush? Seriously? 

You were in denial for days, until you broke and confided in Bob, the newest new (not) avenger. He gave you a look that said, “Yes, it's a crush,” and for Bob, Bob, of all people, to give you that look. Yeah, you listened. 

After spending most of your teenage years fighting crime and stopping alien invasions, it felt nice to lay and daydream of a possible relationship at night. But that's all it was, just a daydream. You couldn't put Jack in that position. It was the same reason you didn't have any friends who weren't superheroes, or vigilantes, or mutants! 

You couldn't bear putting someone who couldn't defend themselves in danger. Not after Aunt May. 

So just a daydream it would stay. 

But him staying daydreaming didn't mean you couldn't enjoy talking to him once and a while. And what better place to do so then at his place of work? Where he had to be professional and nice. 

It was perfect–he couldn't ask for any too personal information and (although you felt awful saying it) the worst he would think is that you were in a domestic violence situation. He would never find out the truth. 

Hearing your name ring out through the waiting room, you snapped your head up and stood quickly. Your left arm holding the right one up. You walked towards the door with an embarrassed grin. The long curly haired nurse eyed you as you walked closer to him. 

“Broken arm right?” He led you towards an open room, holding the curtain open for you. 

“Yeah, um at least I think so. I heard a pretty loud crack so..” You sat on the bed while explaining. 

He walked over and grabbed your working arm, wrapping a white band on your wrist, “Could you confirm the name and day of birth?” he asked, walking over to the computer in the corner of the room. 

“Yeah, that's me.” You gave him an awkward smile. He shot you a dazzling one back. 

“Hey you were here a couple weeks ago right? I think I remember you.” he asked mindlessly. “You had a broken…well everything.” 

You laughed slightly, “Yeah, yeah that was me.” 

He shot you a glance “Looks like you made an awesome recovery.” 

Shit. Was that tone one of genuine astonishment, or suspicion? 

“Yeah I, um, bought tea from a..lady. It worked very well.” one of your worst lies.

The nurse–who introduced himself as Jesse, nodded after a second. Clearly not caring enough to ask any follow ups. “Alright, we'll get a doctor in here in just a moment..” he trailed towards the door. “Give me a shout if you need anything.” 

Before you could even think about asking if you would be graced with the presence of Jack Abbot, the sexy nurse slambed the curtain shut.

────

After making his rounds once more, popping into rooms and making sure everything is orderly in order, Jesse trailed over to the hub walking beside Dr. Abbot, who seemed to be working on charts, leaning on one leg. 

“Hey, have you checked in on the broken arm in South Ten?” He leaned on his arm. 

Jack paused, seemingly racking his brain, before letting out a small sigh. “No, no, I haven't. Broken arm?” he closed the chart. 

“Yeah. Well, I mean, suspected. I know I'm not allowed to legally diagnose or whatever..” he mockingly rolled his eyes, leading the older doctor to the designated room. 

Jack huffed a laugh. “How long have they been waiting?” The two men paused on the other side of the curtain. 

Jesse glanced down at his Apple Watch, wincing a bit, “...an hour? An hour and a half?” 

Jack groaned a bit. Jesse didn't bother staying for long, giving Abbot a sympathetic pat on the back and trailing off. 

Jack gave himself a small mental pep talk, ready to walk into the room and be berated for taking so long. He held the curtain in for a second before quickly ripping it open, mouth already open, ready to introduce himself, before he paused and took a small stumble back. 

Inside the room was not the grown man with a twisted arm he was expecting. No. It was you. 

You. The woman his brain would constantly go back to whenever he had a quiet moment. You. The woman he was a hundred percent sure was hiding something much bigger than an abusive home. You. The woman who was staring at him with a small, awkward smile. 

“Do I have to get the social worker back in here?” He tried to joke. But it came out more snappy than anything. 

Your face conveyed shock, and you shifted uncomfortably on the table. “No! No, definitely not.” You watched the doctor snap gloves over his large hands and walk over to you. 

He hummed, “A broken arm only weeks after you came into the hospital with multiple bruises and other broken bones? You know how this looks, right?” 

You sighed, refusing to look him in the eyes, choosing to glance around the room instead. You knew he was suspicious, and it seemed he didn't care for beating around the bush anymore. “I know. But you seriously have to believe me. I don't have an abusive alcoholic partner at home.” You winced as he grabbed your arm. Choosing to look down at your injury rather than down at you. 

He only hummed, which you took as him not being convinced. "Seriously, I don't even have a boyfriend or whatever…I haven't,” you suddenly realized how much you had revealed when you looked up at you with a clearly shocked face, “...even gone on a date since college...” you practically mumbled.

Which definitely wasn't a lie. Ever since you got bitten and one day woke up shooting spider webs out of your wrist, you hadn't really had time for anything romantic. Not that you ever really bothered. 

Jack eyed you, realized that for one of the first times ever you weren't lying. You didn't hold that guilty look in your eyes; you just seemed embarrassed. And he liked you being embarrassed more than you being guilty. At least then you weren't lying. 

But he knew he could get more information out of you if he prodded, “What about that kid, Clark? Big man like that..” he let out a low whistle. “He could do a lot of damage.” 

He saw your demeanor change in an instant. “Clark would never lay hands on anyone! He literally couldn't hurt a fly.” You almost rolled your eyes, scoffing at the idea, although the look on Jack’s face told you he wasn't convinced. “Plus, he lives like five hours away. I only see him occasionally.” Occasionally meaning when he wasn't buried in his Superman duties, or reporter ones for that matter.

Jack paused, recalling how quickly Clark was able to get to the hospital that night he called, five hours away, but he was able to make it to the emergency department in nearly ten minutes? “He got here pretty quickly the other night.” He commented offhandedly, slowly and carefully placing your arm back down. Definitely a broken arm. 

You froze, clenching your eyes shut for a split second. How was it that you kept getting caught in lies? Although this one wasn't technically a lie, Clark did live five hours away in Metropolis; he just had an incredibly fast and efficient way of getting places. Flying.

“He was visiting me then.” You nodded. 

Jack didn't hesitate. “Why didn't he bring you into the hospital?” Jack didn't need any more confirmation. You were lying. No doubt about it. But why? You weren't covering up a domestic situation, so what exactly were you hiding? 

Suddenly you felt a wave of anger overcome you. If he thought he knew something, why didn't he just come out and ask, “The social worker didn't even ask these many questions,” you gritted through your teeth. 

“Would you like me to go get her?” 

“God no! Could you just patch me up or whatever so I can leave?” The excitement you felt before entering the hospital over the potential of seeing the doctor was long gone. Instead, you were left with the bitter resentment of knowing you would never allow yourself to see him again. He was obviously too curious for his own good, and curious doesn't mix well with a hidden identity. 

“Can't exactly just patch you up, sweetheart. A broken arm means at least a couple more hours in this place.” The obnoxious smirk on his face was enough to push you off the edge. 

“Then could I get another doctor? Preferably not a nosey one.” You would look back on this moment and cringe; definitely not the way to go if you didn't want him to think you were hiding something. 

Jack's face didn't change. It read, ‘I caught you in a lie. We both know you're hiding something,’ and it just angered you more. “Please,” you gritted out. 

Jack started for the curtain. “Sure thing. Someone should be back in a minute.” he gave you a sarcastic smile, and before he shut the curtains he held back, “Should I call your friend? Clark?” 

You huffed, “No. He's back home.” 

“So he can't pick you up?”

“Nope. Hence me saying he’s back home.” 

Jack stared for a flip second before huffing and walking out. 

────

A few minutes later, Jack was sitting at the nurses' hub, swinging back and forth lightly on the chair, fiddling with a pen and eyeing the phone. 

His best friend and day shift attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, walked up to him slowly, eyeing him from above his glasses. He was supposed to clock out hours again, but like most days, he ended up staying longer than expected. Here he was, nearly four hours after his shift. “What's with the look?” 

Jack startled, staring up at him with a blank face, “Hm?” 

Robby set down the iPad he was holding and leaned further into the nurses' station,” You look off.” 

“Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

Jack hesitated; he had brought up your situation to Robby a few nights ago, and he was basically brushed off. He said your name slowly. 

Robby's eyebrows shot up, "What does she have to do with the face you're sporting?” 

“She's the reason.” 

“The reason you look equal parts aroused and vindicated?” 

Jack threw his pen at the taller man, who laughed. “She's in South Ten with a broken arm.” 

Robby hummed, glancing that way briefly, “Did you get the social worker yet?” 

Jack huffed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “No. I'm not calling her.” 

Once again, Robby looked confused, “...Why not?” 

“Because it's not a domestic thing. She doesn't even have a partner.” 

The look on Robby's face made a flush of annoyance start in Jack; maybe this was the reason he wanted to learn what you were hiding so badly. Maybe if he found out the truth, his coworkers wouldn't look at him crazy when you were brought up. It was infuriating knowing the truth and not having anyone believe you. It was driving Jack crazy. 

“Jack–” Robby tried, but was immediately cut off.

“I know it sounds crazy. I know liars exist. Alright? Spare me the lecture, Robby, I've heard it enough.” 

Robby leaned back in slight shock, raising his arms in defense. Obviously, the topic of you was a sore one, and he did not want to indulge. “Alright, man. But if she's in South Ten, then what are you doing out here?” 

Jack shifted on the chair uncomfortably. “She requested a different doctor. I already sent Whitaker in there.” 

Robby simply stared for a moment. “Okay, listen.” he held up a hand when Jack tried to interrupt. “Whatever you have going on and whatever you believe about her, it can't affect how you treat her, alright? She's just another patient” 

“Jesus, Robby, I know.” 

“I'm serious, Jack.” The two men stared at each other. “I can't deal with another complaint today. Ogilvie already got three.”  

The two huffed a laugh. Jack took a deep breath before nodding, "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll stay away…I just–I don't know. Something about her, I guess.” he shrugged. 

Robby leaned over and gave him a soft pat on the back before reaching back. “Alright,” he cleared his throat, "I'm clocking out. Seriously this time.” They both laughed before Robby treaded off with one last look. 

The conversation alone was enough to convince him of what he was about to do. He wasn't crazy, and he was about to prove it. Even if it's just to himself. 

He picked up the phone and dialed the phone, it didn't ring for more than a minute before he heard the husky voice on the other side, “Hello?” 

“Hello Clark, this is Jack Abbot from Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, I’m calling about..” he said your name, and Clark sighed from the other side, mumbling, ‘not again,’

“She came in with a broken arm and asked for you. Would you be able to–” 

“Yeah, yes, of course. Give me ten minutes.” 

“Ten minutes?” Jack confirmed with a small smirk. 

“Ten minutes,” Clark repeated before the line went dead. 

Jack put down the phone with a satisfied smile. 

────

Ten minutes later, Jack watched Clark walk into the hospital, with that stupid pep in his step. He walked over with a smile and led him to south ten. 

“How have you been, Dr. Abbot?” Clark asked. Jack ignored him and chose to practically rip the curtains open instead. 

Inside the room were you and Dr.Whitaker, who had an X-ray propped up and was seemingly explaining it to you. You both jumped, and your eyes went wide as saucers when you saw who was looming over Jack. 

“Clark?” you gasped. Quickly, you glanced at Jack, who was staring at you with a smirk. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Okay. Now he was definitely suspicious. He knew you were lying, and a million thoughts started running through your mind. 

Before Clark could even mumble a greeting, Jack was patting him on the back. “Yup. Clark Kent. Your friend, who lives five hours away? Couldn't pick you up? Got here in ten minutes,” he started for the door. “Ten minutes,” he hummed before walking out, not bothering to close the curtains. Not knowing that would be the last time he saw you for nearly a year. 

Dr. Whitaker glanced between you and Clark, and you and the door. “Um,” he started, “I'll get everything ready for the cast.” he quickly dashed out. 

As soon as he passed the curtains, you were jumping from the bed and picking up everything you brought with you, “Go, go go! Clark, now we have to leave.” 

Clark looked around the room frantically. “What? Why? What's going on?” 

You paused briefly. “Why are you here?” 

He stared at you, confused for a moment. “Dr. Abbot called, he said you needed me?"

“Shit!” you whispered, “I told him you weren't in town, that you lived five hours away.” 

Clark stuttered for a moment, “So?” 

“So this is him calling my bluff! He knows I lied.” 

Clark still didn't understand, "But you didn't lie. I do live five hours away.” he tried to grab you as you frantically tried to take him out of the room.

“And how quickly did you get here?” His silence was the loudest thing in the room.

“So–so what do you think he knows?” 

You shook your head. "I don't know! I–maybe? He at least suspects, and his calling you here tells me that. And since you got here so quickly, he's probably connecting the dots right now! Go, we have to leave!” 

You pulled him out of the room, not bothering to look around the hospital before you were practically dashing out of the hospital. 

“What about your arm?” Clark asked, running after you. 

You shook your head. "I'll go somewhere else. I can't go back there again.” 

The third time you rolled into the pitt it was not by any means voluntary. There was an issue with a train, going 200 mph towards a straight dead end. There were hundreds of people on that train. And you, in full spiderman gear, shot two webs onto the nearby buildings and used yourself as an anchor to hold the train back. 

After a few grueling minutes the train came to a complete stop, only a few hundred feet from the wall. You swung away before anyone could look twice. 

You had used more force and strength then you ever had, and it had clearly taken a giant toll on your body. The physical exhaustion was immense. And when you tried to climb into your apartment and failed, falling to the ground from three stories you decided it was time for a hospital. But it seemed as more time passed, the worse your pain became. And as you walked towards UPMC Presbyterian (because like you promised yourself, you would never step foot in The Pitt again) the exhaustion and pain became too much. You fell to the ground unconscious. 

Since the moment he last saw you, Jack Abbot never went a day without thinking about you. 

At first it was simply thoughts about what you could be hiding. A secret underground fighter. A firefighter. A witch. A demon. A supervillain. A superhero. Then his thoughts trailed more to you as a person. And when he realized the mistake he made calling Clark that day.

He started to think of you doing random things such as sleeping, getting ready in the morning, grocery stopping and so much more and it seems like the more you were out of his life the more he thought about you.

He never thought that by calling Clark and proving that you were lying, you would practically run out of his life and never look back.

But by the six month mark, Jack had come to accept that he would probably never see you again, and it was his own fault.

He couldn’t blame you. It was clear that you were hiding something important to you, something that could probably hurt you if it came out and he still dug and dug until you couldn’t handle it. 

On the other hand, it was incredibly embarrassing for him as a nearly 50-year-old man to practically run a patient out of the hospital. And nothing Robby could do kept him away from a disciplinary hearing where he had to explain why one of his patients ran out right before she could get a cast on her arm.

And how for a couple weeks after he couldn’t look Whitaker in the eye. Or any of his coworkers for that matter, they knew, and he knew that he had taken it too far and the worst part was that he couldn’t explain why.

Why was he so obsessed with you? Why did he feel the need to know every single thing about you? Why an entire year later was he still thinking about you daily?

Maybe it was because he was in love with you. 

At least that’s what his therapist suggested. He called it bull. He barely knew you, proven by the fact that you were hiding so many secrets. How could he fall in love with someone he didn’t know? 

Que him cutting off the therapist for two months only to realize one random afternoon that maybe he was right, maybe he was in love with you and maybe the reason he wanted to know why you were lying and what you were lying about was because he was in love with you. 

Or at least liked you in some large strange adult way? It was weird because Jack Abbot was never one to believe in love at first sight. 

Jack chose to believe it was like at first sight because loving someone without knowing a deep part of their soul, felt unreal. 

So he stuck it as a strong like towards you. 

Although it didn’t really matter because he would never see you again. 

Or so he thought. 

It was another random morning, a shift change in particular when an ambulance called that they were bringing in a disoriented, badly injured female and that they were going to need all hands on deck.

And then they rolled you in. In worse shape than he had ever seen you, he was able to hear his own heart beating from how loud it was. 

You were on the gurney, “Take me to Presbyterian, please I don’t wanna be here” you were mumbling in your delirium “Please”

Jack felt his throat close up, and Robby glanced back at him. “Jack, you're not on this case. Go home.” It was a direct order. This wasn’t Robby, his friend. This was Robby, the chief of emergency medicine.

And for the first time ever, Jack listened, he backed away and hurried into the break room. Ignoring everyone’s eyes on him.

It was there in the break room where he would later tell you it all clicked.

The TV was playing as a low sound, sort of like quiet noise. He glanced up and saw a special emergency news report on the spider woman incident at the train station. Jack didn’t know if it was just his regular doctor brain, but it was something he found himself thinking of often. When he would see an injury happen on screen or on the news, he would automatically connect the incident to what type of injuries they would have. 

In spider woman’s case she would clearly have exhaustion, severe muscle, tears and deep tissue bruising with shoulder dislocation, and possibly spinal compression. 

He shook his head and quickly put his mind back to you and the fact that you were here only a few feet away. And then it all clicked.

In a few seconds, he was able to look at you. He knew the diagnosis, exhaustion, severe muscle, tears, and deep tissue bruising, shoulder dislocation, and possibly spinal compression. Exactly like spider-woman.

Was it a coincidence that you had come in exactly after the train incident with the exact same injuries, spider woman would have? 

He thought back on the first time he met you. He had been watching the new station then too, a few moments before there was a burglary a few streets down with spider woman saving the day. Then you came into the hospital with the same injuries, spider woman would’ve had. 

Shit. 

────

The last thing you wanted to see when you woke up a few days later in the hospital bed was Jack Abbot. He was in the corner of the room, sitting in a visitor’s chair, not in hospital gowns or wearing gloves, instead in a black T-shirt and pants.

In your days, you shuffled around the bed glancing everywhere before you registered where you were. Jack perked up, not speaking, not asking anything, simply watching.

You watched him back. Both of you didn’t speak for what felt like eternity. The look in his eyes was one you recognized. Aunt May had the same looking in her eyes then too. 

Then, after what felt like forever, you croaked out,”I don’t want you here.” 

And Jack felt his heartbreak. 

“I’m sorry.” was all he could get out. His eyes were red rimmed and his eyelashes were wet.

He felt stupid crying over someone he had only known for a total of maybe a couple of hours, but it had gotten to the point where he didn’t care. He didn't care if nobody (including himself) understood why he was so hooked on you, and he didn’t care if anybody walked in and saw him there in the hospital room. You had to know he was sorry. 

“Jack—“ 

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for chasing you away and making you feel unsafe. I’m sorry for calling Clark that day. It’s not an excuse— but, I’m so prideful and I just wanted to prove that I knew you were lying.” 

You shuffled and turned your head away from him. 

“But I don’t care anymore. I don’t care that you’re lying. I don’t care what you are. I don’t care about what Clark is cause he’s definitely not human, I mean, seriously no human is that big.” he tried to joke.

You hide your smile from him. 

“I don’t care anymore, but I care about you and I care about you getting the help you need,okay? You can come here anytime for whatever reason.” He sniffed, “whether you’re falling from a building or you get beat up by a bunch of masked men, come here we will help you, no questions asked.” 

“No questions asked?” You turned to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“No questions asked,” he confirmed before getting up from his seat with a grunt. He walked towards the door. “ Seriously, don’t go to Presby. They’re abysmal at best.” You couldn’t help the smile that returned to your face.

He gave you one last look before turning towards the door. Before he turned the knob, you called out, “You know, don’t you? My secret.” 

He turned for only a second. “I think I do, yeah.” 

You winced. 

“I’m not gonna tell anyone. Seriously, I don’t think anyone will believe me anyway…And I might be wrong, just…don’t worry about that.” He turned the door. “I’m sorry,” and walked out.

────

True to his word, Jack Abbot did not once look at you oddly throughout the rest of your days at The Pitt. 

Aside from a smile here and there, you didn’t see much of him at all. Which in an odd way was disappointing although you knew it was for the best. You couldn’t raise your hopes over him.

He now possibly knew the truth and you definitely had to stay away from him. Every time you even thought about pushing things further and what your life could be like with him by your side, your mind involuntarily flashed to Aunt May and what you could’ve done to save her. 

“So what he just knows now? He knows about the webs and the spy gear and everything?” Clark gasped from his side of the couch, where he was huddled under a pile of blankets with warm soup in his hand.

It had been not even a day since you were discharged from the pit and you were now in your apartment with Clark by your side, watching some comfort movies that you so desperately needed.

You thought for a second, “I mean, I guess? I asked if he knew and he said yeah, but I didn’t ask what he knew. I’m assuming he just knows about the spider woman thing.”

“But how do you—do you think anybody saw you?”

You shook your head, “I don’t think so.” you took a sip of your soup “he’s always had his doubts. I mean from the first day we met I knew that, so I’m assuming he eventually just connected the dots.” 

“Does he know about me?” 

You shook your head, “he commented on it. Said there was no way you were human.” 

Clark pouted, “I think I look perfectly human. Thank you.” 

You laughed before shaking your head,”I don’t know. It was weird, not having him down my neck the entire time. I don’t miss that, but…”

“You miss him?” 

You sighed. “I miss his face. There’s not much else I know about. I’ve seen him maybe three times and one of those I literally ran away. I know he’s a good doctor.”

Clark stared at you for a moment, “Why don’t you try to get to know him? I don’t think he’ll oppose that. He clearly likes you.” 

Immediately you shook your head. “No.” 

Clerk side and kicked your feet lightly from under the blanket, "I'm curious what you expect from this life. Are you just going to be alone forever?” 

His question hit harder than you expected. You swallowed thickly, “I won’t be alone, I have you and I have… Yelena, Bob—“ 

“I’m serious. I know you’re still hurt from what happened. But you can’t be alone forever. I don't want that for you.” 

It was hard for you to admit that you didn’t want that for yourself either. You wanted a happy life with someone to come home too and talk to. 

“Look it was hard for me too, okay?” Clark tried one more time. “Letting in Lois, but genuinely it’s been one of the best things I’ve ever done, and I want that for you.” 

You shook your head, taking another sip of your soup and stretching your legs slightly, “how is she by the way?” 

Clark immediately perked, maybe he realized it was you changing the subject or maybe he just really wanted to talk about Lois but he dove right immediately, “She’s great! She just started on this article—“ 

It was hard listening to Clark talk about how much he loved Lois and it was even harder to pay attention knowing there was someone only a few miles away who could fill that gaping hole in your heart. 

True to your word, you started going to the pit often. So often that the doctors and nurses automatically redirected you to Jack when you walked in. 

Whether it was a scar or another broken limb, Jack didn’t ask.

You could tell he wanted so incredibly badly to reach over and ask, “who did this to you?” but every single time he restrained himself.

It was around the two month mark where you came to the realization that you were no longer setting your feelings aside for his protection. He knew what you were. 

What difference would it make if you started a relationship? He knew now and he would know then. 

But then it was just so scary to ask him, “would you like to go on a date?”

You knew Clark was right back then, when he was still curious and he didn’t know your secret, he might’ve harbor some feelings for you? But what if that’s all it was? Just the thrill of the chase. What if he didn’t want you anymore? 

And that’s what kept your feelings aside. You were no longer hiding them for his protection. You were hiding them to protect your heart.

You chose friendship over love. And you resented it almost every single day. 

“How is my favorite patient doing today?” he asked, closing the door behind him and snapping on some gloves the routine you knew very well.

“My leg hurts.” You pointed down at your very healthy leg.

The truth is you’re fine. You don’t have a broken leg or any pain for that matter. You just wanted to see Jack, and for some reason the moment when you needed some burglars to beat you up, they were nowhere in sight.

“Hm. Let’s take a look.” He sat on the chair and rolled over to you. Taking your leg and pressing down on certain parts.

You were so dazed by him you forgot to wince. 

He gave you an odd look putting your leg down slowly, “Looks like it’s fine to me, sweetheart.” 

You shook yourself out of it, swinging your leg back-and-forth gently, “Hm. Weird. it was hurting earlier?” 

“Yeah. Weird.” he chuckled before snapping off his gloves. "Is that all?” 

You honestly couldn’t explain what came over you in that moment. Maybe you were tired of being alone and being a coward. 

Or maybe it was that dream of Aunt May you had the previous night, where she held her hand and told you that you needed someone. Someone to keep your heart safe. And that she wouldn’t want you to be alone. That was the last thing she wanted.

You had plenty of dreams of aunt may. And without fail, after every single one, you would wake up with a broken heart, and tears running on your face. 

This one was different, you woke up exhilarated.You felt capable of everything and you felt like she was there, supporting you.

You cleared your throat softly, “Are you busy later?” 

Jack walked over to the computer thinking for a moment, “No. No plans.” 

Here goes nothing. You could do this, you told yourself. This wasn’t putting him in danger you told yourself. He already knows.

“Would you like to go on a date?” 

The silence in the room could be sliced with a knife. 

He dropped his pen, you looked anywhere but him. After a few moments of him, simply staring into the side of your face and you looking straight ahead, he squeaked out, “Really?” 

“…yeah?” 

——-

Jack couldn’t believe it. He had thought his chances flew out the window when he made you run away from the hospital nearly a year ago. And here you were asking him out? 

Don’t get him wrong. He would’ve gladly asked you to a nice dinner date if he thought he had a chance. But he really didn’t think so.

He hadn’t been this nervous since his late wife, and here he was standing outside of your apartment, a bouquet of roses in one hand he kept wiping his shaky, sweaty hand on the side of his pants, hoping that you wouldn’t grab it and notice how nervous he was. 

He was practically new to all of this. It was almost 2 decades since his wife passed and he knew how much everything had changed. Not only based on social norms, but also you.

You were different. literally. He was 99% sure you were spider woman and he didn’t know how to approach that. Was he allowed to ask you questions? Was this your full-time job? Was Clark human? 

But he decided he would tackle that at a later date, he didn’t care if you kept everything a secret. You could keep him in the dark as long as he got to hold your hand in it.

He could deal with the unknown. As long as he had you. 

After a few minutes of waiting outside the door slowly creed open, “Sweetheart?” he called and he hesitantly. 

The door was open, but there was no sight of you. 

Panic shot through Jack, he stepped into the door and peaked side to side before looking straight ahead. There you were. In the spider woman suit.

Arms to your side, body straight, no doubt, giving him the awkward smile underneath the mask. You called out, “I'm spiderwoman.” 

He dropped the flowers, “I fucking knew it!” 

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to make the old springs squeal beneath you and Jack’s first hiss isn’t one of pleasure.

“Shut. Up.” 

His hand closes around your jaw before the laugh can properly make it out, fingers digging into the hinge just shy of painful. His thumb finds the soft under of your chin and presses until your mouth falls open for him.

It’s supposed to be corrective, presumably. Intimidating. To make you reconsider whatever smart thing you were about to say.

Instead, you turn your head just enough to catch the heel of his palm between your teeth. Salt. Sunscreen. Jack.

You bite down lightly and watch the quick flare in his eyes that says try me again.

It makes you want to try him again.

This is perhaps your most enduring character defect, the congenital need to worry at Jack Abbot until something gives, to poke one finger into every concealed pressure point and keep pressing until that pleasant facade finally fractures and you get the man underneath, irritated and looking at you like patience is a finite natural resource you have personally exhausted.

Conveniently, this defect has also made the two of you very easy to hide.

Wanting Jack has never looked substantially different than hating him. Same symptoms, really. 

At work it manifests as narrowed eyes across the nurses’ station, remarks delivered half an octave louder than necessary, shoulders knocking in hallways wide enough to accommodate two functioning adults.

In private, the argument merely changes medium.

You end up underneath him with your thighs spread around his hips while he fucks every complaint back into you, and somehow neither of you has to concede the point.

That is, more or less, what is happening now.

Jack is attempting to fuck a confession out of you, specifically the admission that he had been right when he told you not to challenge the ocean after three frozen margaritas and one declaration that rip currents were mostly “a mindset.”

In your defense, this had sounded perfectly reasonable at the time. The ocean disagreed.

You made it maybe six yards before a wave hit your broadside, folded you clean in half, stole your sunglasses, and deposited you at Jack’s feet with enough seaweed caught in your bikini to suggest the beginnings of marine conservation.

You called him an insufferable bastard for saying he told you so. 

Now he keeps insisting he “rescued” you because he hauled you upright by the waist while you sputtered saltwater.

He would like an apology. You would like him dead. Compromise remains unlikely. You would swallow your own tongue before giving him the satisfaction. 

You nip him again, sharper this time, then grin around his thumb. “Go on — make me. You’ve been trying all day.” 

“Fucking brat.” He drags his thumb free, replacing it with two thick fingers that press insistently at your tongue. “Keep talking and I’ll stuff you so full the only word you remember is sorry.” 

He’s close to delivering on that promise, hips battering the breath from your lungs until all you can do is claw the navy sheets below you.

You almost give him the noise he’s hunting for, but feeding Jack’s ego has never been on your to-do list, so you smother the sound and glare your defiance instead.

You clamp down on his fingers, hard enough to make him grunt, and he jerks back, slick digits slipping free. 

“Jesus — watch the teeth,” he growls, shaking the sting before flattening your wrist to the mattress. “You want a muzzle, sweetheart?” 

You swipe your tongue over enamel, savoring the residue. “So many threats, Doctor. I’m starting to think you’re all talk.” 

“Careful,” Jack murmurs with a hollow laugh. “You might hurt my feelings.”

He apparently decides conversation has exhausted its usefulness.

One second you are on you looking at him; the next he has you flipped facedown, dragged your hips into the air, and buried himself back inside you with enough force to make the entire bed complain in sympathy. 

His chest covers your back, breath searing the shell of your ear. A half-moan, half-sob cracks loose out of you, palms skidding for purchase as your pelvis jerks forward as if distance could blunt the stretch, make it more manageable.

Jack only laughs again, settling both hands over your shoulder blades as he lets his weight weld you to the sheets.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” Each thrust stakes you there, sensation cresting so hot the edges of the room tremble out of focus and into watercolors.

You mash your face into the pillow, trying to hide the choked noises bleeding from you but they seep through cotton and feathers just the same.

“Listen to you,” he croons, mock-tender, thumb stroking a false comfort along your spine. He grinds you down while he pushes in again, slow enough you feel the catch of every ridge. “So fucking mouthy until I start making you feel good.” 

His hand snakes beneath you, palm burning a trail down your stomach until two fingers find your clit. The first tight circle detonates in your core. Supernova heat.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t fight common sense,” he purrs. “Just admit it — You were right, Jack. Should’ve trust you. Smartest guy I know. That’s all I want.” Another figure-eight of his thumb, another planet collision behind your eyes. “I keep you safe, I make you feel good — why’s it so hard to give me a little credit?”

“Because — you’re such — a cocky — asshole,” you gasp, the insult dissolving into a helpless whine when his thumb presses harder. 

“Dirty mouth on you,” Jack tuts. “C’mon, honey. Be sweet for ten little seconds — tell me I’m right — and I’ll let you come.”

You give him nothing but a furious side-to-side wobble, hair stuck wetly across your cheeks.

He can make your thighs shake and turn your brain into warm soup but he cannot make you surrender a point you are still technically convinced is yours. 

The knot low in your belly winds tighter in retaliation, every muscle beginning that little climb towards something inevitable, and then Jack simply stops.

Fingers gone. Thrust halted. He holds himself inside you like a blade sheathed to the hilt, every inch throbbing but inert, punishment by deprivation. 

Your muscles fire once more on instinct, grasping at a phantom that’s already gone, walls twitching uselessly around empty air.

The knot loosens with insulting patience — twist, release, release — until climax slips from reachable to hypothetical. 

A brittle, involuntary sound hooks in your throat, proof that your body has accepted what your mind refuses to: Jack Abbot means to leave you suspended in this awful limbo until you fold. 

“Please — no.” You writhe beneath him in shallow arcs, powerless under the weight pinning you. “Need you — need you to keep going.” 

He slips a broad palm under your jaw, lifting your mouth off the pillow for your gasps to reach him unfiltered. “You know what I need, honey. Say the words, and I’ll give you everything you’re begging for.” 

“I — I’m sorry,” you finally spit out. “You were right, Jack. Always are. Just — please — don’t stop.” 

The words hit like blood in the water. He buries himself with a hoarse snarl, rhythm turning brutal, inexorable, as though the apology were a starting gun. Wood knocks hard against the plaster wall and your body jolts forward with every drive.

“Was that so hard?” His voice drips triumph while his teeth worry a shallow crescent into your shoulder. “Christ, sweetheart, what’re you always fighting me for? You know I’m gonna get my way.” 

The only reply you manage is a shaky “uh-huh — ah, Jack —” strangled into the pillow, every syllable climbing higher until it breaks apart in a thin, urgent keen that tells him exactly how close you are. 

“There you go, pretty girl. Give it to me — yeah, just like that.” 

That’s all it takes.

Your body locks, squeezes, and he answers with a raw-throated groan, bracing you inside the bracket on his arms while your trembling tries to shake both of you off the bed.

Then everything goes incandescent. A long, rushing hush, white and depthless, flooding every corner of your mind as you come all over his length.

Somewhere inside all that brightness, Jack loses whatever rhythm he had left.

He lasts two more strokes. 

“Fuck — sweetheart.” His hips snap tight against your ass, burying himself as deep as he can go, filling you in heavy surges that make your already-softened core flutter all over again. 

You barely understand it at first, only feel another strange wave roll through you, your body squeezing reflexively around every throb until his arms tighten and his forehead drops heavily between your shoulder blades. 

Jack stays folded over you until both your breathing begins to settle, the hard rise and fall of his chest gradually slowing against your spine.

When he finally moves, it is with considerably more care than anything he has done in the last thirty minutes.

He withdraws from you slowly, and your cunt manages one useless twitch at the emptiness he leaves behind. Pathetic, really, but apparently it's all the reaction your spent body can afford.

Sensing the weakness, the bastard takes advantage.

He rolls you onto your other side until you're nose-to-nose, the world tilting under the authority of a man rearranging furniture. Normally, you'd bark at him to ask first. Right now you just marvel that you're the furniture.

You blink at him through the pleasant cotton packed between your ears.

Jack studies the damage he's done, mouth curling like he's content with his handiwork, then lowers himself to press a kiss above your hipbone.

He works upward without hurry, lips brushing warm over skin still prickling with aftershocks, teeth occasionally catching in a light nip that makes you squirm before he kisses the same place better.

Your fingers slide into the silver-flecked hair at his temples, nails scratching lightly until you feel the growl rumble against your ribs.

“Funny how suddenly you like me again.”

“Like is generous.” You give the silver strands at his temple a tug. “Give me five minutes. I’ll remember everything I hate about you.”

“Mm. I can do a lot with five minutes.” He lifts his head just enough to give you that smug, crooked look.

“Four and a half now.”

Jack laughs, apparently delighted by the threat of your imminent return to hostility, and works his way up until there is nowhere left between you for him to kiss.

He folds down beside you and takes your mouth one final time before you can decide whether final kisses are perhaps too affectionate for people who supposedly cannot stand each other.

“Better use ’em wisely, then.”

He does, in fact, use them wisely. Spending what remains of his allotted minutes with his mouth between your thighs and apparently deciding there is some obscure world record for orgasms induced out of spite that he intends to break before sunrise.

But by breakfast, the consequences have arrived.

You sit at the island with a fork slack between your fingers, pancakes cooling untouched beneath a generous pour of syrup.

Your eyelids keep flirting with gravity; every time they drop Jack clears his throat in exaggerated warnings, as if falling face-first into breakfast would somehow be his fault.

It would be. Somehow. You'd make it so.

“Late night?” Frank asks from across the island, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s doing to his coffee.

Your head lifts approximately half an inch.

“No, I'm fine,” you say, far too quickly. You hear it the second it leaves your mouth, that bright little note of guilt you have apparently developed overnight, and clear your throat before anyone else can appreciate it. “I'm fine. Just tired. All that swimming yesterday wore me out.”

Dana, standing at the sink with her sleeves pushed up, lets out a thoughtful hum as she rinses a plate.

“Funny, everyone seems to be dragging this morning,” she remarks, flicking water off her wrist. “Can’t imagine why.”

“I can.” Robby lifts his mug. “Some of us were awake until two in the morning. Against our will.”

There is a tiny, merciful interval where you almost misunderstand him.

Of course people were awake. There are more than twenty coworkers crammed into one beach house, sleeping on couches and air mattresses and whatever other horizontal surfaces they could claim before someone else did.

Somebody is always awake. Somebody is always opening a refrigerator or flushing a toilet or talking too loudly in the hallway.

But when you finally drag your eyes up from your pancakes and find several people already looking at you with expressions ranging from tired amusement to outright accusation, the alternate interpretation arrives all at once.

They heard you. They heard Jack. Possibly extensively.

Fuck.

You lower your eyes and shovel another piece of pancake into your mouth.

Then again, maybe they're staring for some completely unrelated reason. A syrup stain, bed hair, the fact that you still haven't blinked in ten seconds.

“So, Jack,” Trinity suddenly says from the other side of the island, casual enough that for one stupid second you don’t hear the trap opening beneath your feet, “how's it feel being right all the time?”

You keep chewing.

“I mean, so right,” she adds, her voice climbing into a suspiciously breathy imitation. “The rightest man alive, apparently.”

The pancake becomes significantly harder to swallow as a hot ribbon of mortification slides up your throat. You manage a strangled cough and focus on sawing your next bite into pieces the size of atoms so you don't have to lift your head and meet anyone's eyes.

Without missing a beat, Jack wipes a smear of syrup from his thumb and shrugs. “Feels pretty nice, if I’m honest.”

“You are such a smug little —”

“Language,” Dana cuts in from the sink without even turning around.

You clamp your lips together, cheeks still burning, then lean just enough into Jack’s line of sight and mouth, shit.

His smirk cuts sideways across his face, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before coming back up darker than they were a second ago. His nostrils flare faintly, then his thighs spread another inch beneath the island as he leans back.

A minute repositioning of his hips that would mean nothing to anybody else and means everything to you because you know exactly what Jack looks like when his body gets ahead of his better judgment.

“Ew,” Trinity says suddenly, pointing between you and Jack with her fork. “This is flirting, isn’t it? You two have just been doing foreplay in front of us for, like, years.”

Robby grimaces. “Freaks.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you insist, despite the heat steadily colonizing your entire face.

Jack undermines you immediately as he shoots you a wink. “It’s worked pretty well for us.”

Your eyes widen ten sizes. “Shut. Up.”

His grin only gets worse, teeth showing this time, and something about that makes you want to kick his ankle under the island just to restore the natural order of things.

Frank shakes his head. “Get a room.”

“We had one. Apparently that was the problem,” Jack says.

A chorus of disgusted groans answers him.

MARIA NOTE jack abbot getting pussy as a direct consequence of being annoying… terrible precedent to set actually 🍋🫧🌀 HOPE YOU ENJOY I LOVE YOU ALLLL