𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒔

Starting your rotations at PTMC would have been terrifying if you didn’t get stuck with the group you follow now. On your first day, you came in off a terrible experience at Mercy upstate, and when you met the other R1s and fourth-year med students, they seemed to be familiar with each other. You were the odd man out. But Dennis was, too. While Mel reconnected with Samira and Trinity struck gold with Perlah and Princess– not to mention Victoria's parents literally being on the upstairs payroll– you two were the only ones who hadn’t made a connection. Well, some might say that your floundering was the connection. You hit it off in your first hour, and have been inseparable since. 

The year was hard on both of you during the transition from student to resident. You were intent on specializing in pediatric emergency medicine while Dennis had his sights set on being attending chief, just like Robby. Outside of the traumas, Dennis followed Robby for teaching, and you used each spare second to pick up younger patients and build on your study. 

You were working on an experimental treatment study that gave kids power over how they treated their pain– letting them choose their dosage, their care, their desired results. Children were more honest when they were trusted, you found, and it was all being done in the hopes of drawing attention not only to the sheer volume of peds cases that came through the ER, but the necessity of having a pediatric resident on at all times, and possibly even a pediatric attending physician. So, you and Dennis technically weren’t so different… Either way, it was a mountain of effort. 

Even though he didn’t have the same academic drive to make change, Dennis admired you helplessly. He thought you were a genius, an angel-doctor, someone who they should give awards to for how sweet you were with children and how devoted to improving patient care you could be. You made him want to be a better agent of change, not just a good doctor. 

While it took twelve months to get the hang of the place, you and Dennis were finally doing well. As a pair, you got accepted into the residency program at PTMC and were finally getting paid. You went in on a shitty downtown apartment with Trinity, hoping to save money by carpooling and splitting rent. And you were hopelessly, disgustingly in love. 

At first, Trinity couldn’t stand you two. It was easy enough to ignore at work, because in order to stay focused you and Dennis decided to be neutral around the hospital. It made your lives easier and avoided any potential teasing or prying, especially from the nurses, who were dead set on sniffing out everyone’s business. But the second you guys were off the clock, he had his arms wrapped around your waist and he was steering you, petting you, kissing you; it made her sick sometimes. The lip smacking, the little giggles. Sometimes she would purposely get a ride home with Mel just to beat you to the apartment and lock the door, if only to preserve her peace for a few measly minutes. The frustrated banging on the wood was better than hearing you guys canoodle. 

But once Trinity got together with Garcia, her frustrations were far and few between… and hard to even see anymore. She was never home. The girl had started keeping clothes and scrubs at Garcia’s place, and if she did come back, it was to do laundry or eat the fridge. So, you and Dennis finally had peace and quiet. After those long days in the emergency department full of staring eyes and stress and death, you could come home to each other and soak up the softness of each other’s silence. Like tonight.

It had been a particularly hard one– nearly seventeen hours on the clock. There was some freak toxic spill in a factory across town, and over twenty patients had come in with chemical burns and gashes from slipping and falling down stairs onto machinery. Hazmat came and closed off half the emergency wing, and everyone had to be cleared from quarantine and hosed down in the frigid air before coming or going. It was torture. Dennis drove home in his truck, the both of you soaked to the skin in paper-thin sterile scrubs, starving and shivering. 

You stumbled through the apartment door, dead on your feet. Dennis took your bag and trotted off to drop the belongings in the bedroom, while you veered into the kitchen, yawning and shaking out the shivers as you yanked the refrigerator open. 

“God,” you pouted, “We forgot to go shopping again.”

The soft patter of footsteps echoed down the hall, and a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle. Dennis tucked his chin over your shoulder, squeezing your tummy. “I can call the Chinese place. They’re 24/7, right?”

“Think so,” you grumbled, rubbing your eyes. “I’m just hungry. And tired. And annoyed.”

“Anything else?” Dennis laughed, the rumble soothing your spine. You spun in his arms and faced him, leaning back against the counter and moping. 

The apartment was a mess. The kitchen hadn’t been cleaned in days. There were clothes and shoes littering the living room, and Santos had a pile of papers covering the coffee table. Your research scattered the work desk by the bookshelf. It just felt like you never had time to catch up anymore, to take two seconds to clean up; when you got a day off, you slept through it on Dennis’ chest or your sad and forgotten pillow, just in case it would be another week before you got the chance. As you looked around, you felt the overwhelm of it all rushing back, and you dropped your head on his shoulder.

Dennis sighed softly and pressed a few smooches to your hairline. “I can see your wheels turning.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Bee, I lived on a farm. I’m used to the mess.” 

You managed a tiny smile at the name, nodding to yourself. He was right. It could always be worse. You could still be living in the med student dorms, where the showers were riddled with mildew and your roommate slept with her boyfriend all night, forcing you to get no sleep. At least you had this privacy, and this man in front of you who ensured you kept it. 

“I’ll call in an order.”

You sighed quietly as he pulled away and wandered back to the bedroom to grab his phone. For all the things he admired about you, you admired that about him: his ability to let things roll off, to take the good and leave the bad. You let everything affect you, but he never failed to have a good sense about him. He was way too wise, and it was why patients adored him. That and maybe his warm eyes, or his gorgeous, crooked smile, or the way he said “ma’am” and “surely” with that midwestern charm. 

You rooted through the medicine cabinet to grab some acetaminophen as you listened to the dull babbling of Dennis on the phone, and you rested against the counter as you took the pills dry. Your feet ached, the black work shoes worn down from any support they once offered. You were still cold from the wet roots of your hair. You were in a miserable mood, and the apartment was lonely without his warmth. You closed your eyes and tried to take your mind off it all, and that was when you felt hands scooping you off your feet. 

“Oof– Dennie!” You squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck in case he dropped you. 

Dennis grinned and hoisted your legs around his hips, bracing you against his chest. The pads of his fingers dimpled the soft, bunching skin of your thighs. “Yes?”

“Why am I being handled like a ragdoll?”

“Because you flail, and it’s cute.” 

“That’s not a good enough reason,” you laughed, and he readjusted so his palms could cradle you dubiously close to the spot where your legs jointed to your ass. “I think you just wanted to squeeze me.”

“That, too,” he hummed, kissing your cheek. 

“Put me down,” you mumbled, nosing his jaw. 

“Why?”

“I’m heavy.”

“You are not,” Dennis scoffed, giving you a comical look of offense.

“Yes I am! Come on,”

“No,” he frowned, and he squeezed the underside of your legs to drive the point home. “You’re lighter than a hay bale.”

“I really don’t think that’s possible.”

Dennis narrowed his gaze playfully and slid you onto the kitchen counter, caging you in. You huffed at the relief of being put down and ruffled his hair, to which he shook the mess out like a dog. 

“Did you get me an egg roll?”

“You’re not heavy,” he interjected. 

“Okay, I’m not heavy.”

“Good. Correct,” he confirmed, and with a tiny glint in his eye, Dennis slid his palms up your legs and sides, caressing the spots where you curved and rolled. The farmboy was quick to trap you in a soft, unassuming kiss, and you melted on the faux marble, coiling around him once again. 

Dennis grunted softly as he pressed close to the counter and wrapped his arms around your back, sneaking his fingers under your scrubs. Your mouths worked in tandem as he drew patterns down your spine with one hand and kneaded the pudge of your tummy with the other, making you squirm. 

“Just been so stressed,” you mumbled, trailing your kisses down his neck. 

“I know, honeybee,” he panted, nipping your ear and pressing you against the cabinets. 

“You always make it better,” you confided, tugging sluggishly at his shirt. 

“Come here.”

The air settled softly over the room as you two gave into the urge. It wasn’t a tense moment, not even a worked-up one. It was just like letting a breath out. His hands were so welcome on your hot skin as he freed your legs from the chafing prison of those hazmat-issued scrubs. Your mouth was so grateful for the traces of soap on his collarbone as you nibbled and suckled on the meat of his chest, caressing the ridges of the abs that formed in secrecy over the last year of hauling patients and volunteering at the shelters and community farms after hours. It was a simple exchange of love between two people who have been leaning on each other for over a year, and who simply didn’t want to function without their counterpart. The mesh of passion in a quiet little safe place.

Dennis tucked his thumb under the cotton lip of your panties, sinking the pad into the wet heat between your folds. He sought the throbbing nub that required his attention. You choked on a moan as your back straightened out, and you curled your fingers in his hair, breathing the air of his mouth as he began to encircle it. 

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he murmured, prodding softly at your clit, smearing the mess over your mound. 

“You had one, too,” you wheezed. 

“Yeah, but I’m not upset,” he purred, giving you a little nip and kitten lick at the juncture of your neck and jaw. His palm adjusted to let his greedy fingers tuck under the cloth, and you grunted as he cupped your cunt. “I hate seeing my girl so drained. You’re too pretty… too smart for that.”

“Dennie,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? Right there?” Dennis asked as he sunk two fingers past your entrance, feeling the pulse of your needy walls like a heartbeat around his knuckles. “Oh, baby… you’re so wet, sweetheart.”

“S’all your fault,” you whimpered, grinding gently onto his palm. 

Dennis hooked an arm behind your hips to help angle you forward, and he crooked his fingers inside your cunt, grinning as the familiar squelch gargled around the digits. Your face twisted with need, and he began to gently thrust, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit and working out circles. 

“That’s it, honeybee, come on– just take what you want,” he cooed, giving you every opportunity to rock against his fingers and use him up. “My little bee, yeah? You like it when I’m sweet.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, breathless and dizzy with pleasure. His hands should be exhausted from all the work he did on those trauma patients, but he made no show of it. The man’s fingers petted your g-spot like it deserved a treat. 

“You’re so pretty, baby, did I tell you today?” Dennis whispered, attaching his mouth to your neck. You felt the scrape of his teeth. “So, so pretty.”

“Dennieee,” you begged, feeling the heat building in your gut. The combination of his pressure on your bud and fingers stroking your walls was enough, but the words made it impossible to hold out. 

“Gonna cum, honeybee? Yeah? You can, don’t worry, baby. Come for me, let me see your face.”

Dennis always had that tone when you got desperate. Easy, gentle, as if you were a spooked horse. There was no fighting off the butterflies as they flitted happily around your spinning, floating orgasm, making you shiver and twitch as he wrought a crashing wave of pleasure down on your body. You moaned hoarsely and clung to the corded muscle of his arms, bucking into his palm and babbling weak, “Ah, ah, ah…”s. 

Dennis smiled against the curve of your neck and pulled his fingers free, sliding them between your lips and exploring the hot slick of your tongue. He watched your pouty lips close around them and suck, and his cock twitched in his pants. “That’s it. Good girl, honey.”

You flushed from the praise, body buzzing and shaking with stimulation. You reached down to cup his erection. Dennis tensed and hooked his fingers over your teeth, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jesus, baby.”

“You need it, too,” you pleaded, gently palming him, watching his cheeks burn and his lips part. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, and you tugged the string on the scrub bottoms free so he could shimmy them down. 

Dennis was not one to get greedy often, but it was so hard not to let the urge overcome him when you watched him with those bog doe eyes and begged to be fucked. Your legs wobbled like a calf as he dragged you to the edge of the counter and lined himself up, gliding the head of his cock through your folds to coat the pink, hungry skin in the residual slick. The two of you let out a freakish, synced sigh, and he pressed the tip in with impatience. He was met with no resistance– your cunt stretched dutifully for him, and soon enough he was grunting like an animal, pinning your hips to the counter and watching your breasts bounce from the force.

Your knees hitched around his hips as the deep, eager force of his length speared you, and you lolled your head back against the cabinets, clawing at the edge of the counter. “Dennie, baby, please, please…”

“You feel so good, baby,” he whined, thrusting harder, watching the creamy rings start to form around the base of his cock. “Fuck. Such a sweet girl, honeybee, such a good girl!”

“S-so… so…”

He chuckled weakly as you lost your train of thought. He thought you were pretty without fail, but there was something to you when he had you at the mercy of your own pleasure. You seemed to glow, skin shimmering with sweat, all your bountiful curves twisting and turning with marshmallow torque. He gasped hungrily as he dug his nails into the fat of your thighs and moaned, “So fucking beautiful… God, could just squeeze you ‘til you pop.”

The heat wrapping around your womb in vines was pernicious and unrelenting. You licked up a stray droplet of drool from his chin as he pounded into you, and you threaded your fingers into his hair, dragging him into a sloppy, wonderful kiss. Dennis’ lashes mingled with yours as you swirled your tongue past his lips, jolting with every thrust, milking him to his breaking point. The heat between your bodies was overwhelming, and it was so good, so deep–

“Hello? Guys, I’m home–”

The apartment door swung open, and Trinity was ambushed by the sight of Dennis fucking you like a jackrabbit on the kitchen counter, your scrubs pushed up over your tits and his pants at his ankles. The poor girl covered her eyes and swallowed a spontaneous upchuck reflex. “What the actual fuck?!”

Dennis didn’t stop, he only slowed. A mortified expression crossed his face as he begged, “Get out!”

“Yeah, no fucking shit!”

The door slammed, and Trinity could be heard barking and grumbling down the hall. Maybe Garcia had to cancel their plans tonight. Maybe God had planned to embarrass you. It didn’t matter now, though, because Dennis was spurred on by the intrusion, and he pumped into you hard enough to burst. The two of you fell into a messy fit of laughter and lost, climactic whimpers as his hips stuttered and warm, thick ropes clung to your insides. 

“Shit,” you wheezed, “She’s gonna kill us.”

“It’s our apartment, too,” he grinned, kissing your chin and resting his heavy forehead in the dip of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you flushed. “Maybe you should go get her.”

Dennis lifted his head again and slipped two fingers into your mouth, shutting you up with drooping, sated eyes. “Just shut up and stop worrying about everything, honeybee… yeah?”

You could explode all over again. It was that stupid farmer’s voice. All the adrenaline and weight of the day dissipated again as you hummed around his fingers, a tiny “mhm.”

Dennis sighed happily and tugged you close again, feeling his cock jump inside your heat, and he kissed your cheek. “That’s my girl.” 

"So, Dr. Whitaker," you leaned back against the kitchen island, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "How does it feel to know your bedside manner was officially rated as 'worse than a wet piece of cardboard' by a seventy-year-old man?"

Dennis let out an exhausted sigh, tossing his keys onto the counter and locking his hands behind his head. He didn't look at you immediately, but the slight tightening of his jaw gave him away. "The patient was frustrated because of the wait time. It had nothing to do with me..."

"Oh, come on. He didn't just complain about the wait." You scoffed. "He looked you dead in the eye and called you an 'incompetent intern'." You let out a laugh, thoroughly enjoying the faint flush of annoyance creeping up his neck. "I was holding back tears. It was too funny."

"It was rude and uncalled for," he corrected quietly, leaning his palms against the counter, looking down, trying to breathe through the stress of this particular shift.

You hadn't stopped all afternoon, sending him teasing texts while he was trying to finish his charts, whispering shots in his ear as your paths crossed, and now that you were both back at his place, you had no intention of letting up.

You walked over, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek to his shoulder blades. "If it helps, I think you're very competent. You're a bit of a Debbie Downer, though. Pick your head up—"

Dennis turned around in your embrace, his eyes fixing on yours. The irritation simmering, replacing his typically calm and reserved nature. "Alright. You've had your fun. All day." He sighed. "Please, drop it."

"Or what?" You tilted your head up, deliberately pushing his buttons. "Are you going to chart my non-compliance, Doctor?"

That? That was his breaking point.

Before you could blink, Dennis’s hands gripped your hips, moving you backward until the small of your back hit the edge of the kitchen counter, your lips parted in shock.

He was directly in your space, his surprisingly tall frame completely eclipsing the light and trapping you between his body and the wood. His face was inches from yours, his expression dark, and entirely devoid of the patience he'd been clinging to all evening.

He murmured your name, voice dropping an octave, "quit it."

The proximity made your heart skip a beat, but instead of backing down, you smirked right into his face, your chest rising and falling against his. "And what if I don't? What're you gonna do, Dr. Whitaker?"

Dennis didn't answer. Not with words, anyway. A dark look crossed his features, hands sliding up from your hip, fingers tangling firmly into the hair at the back of your neck to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat.

His other hand slid down, catching the hem of your scrub top, his fingers warm against your now clammy skin as he pushed the fabric up. He didn't hesitate, his hand moving lower, slipping past the waistband of your bottoms, finding you already growing soaked.

You gasped, the warmth of his touch destroying your smug composure.

"Still funny?" Dennis whispered against your lips, his fingers finding your sweet spot, a firm pressure that made your knees go weak.

"Dennis—" you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders for balance as you pressed yourself further against the counter.

"That's not what you called me a second ago," he murmured, his fingers slipping past the damp patch of your underwear. He slid one finger inside you, making you cry out.

He didn't let up, thumb working in tandem as he curled his finger inside you, finding the exact spot that made you arch your back, trapping your whimper against his chest. "Tell me what you were saying. I'm listening."

"I—" You gasped, your head spinning as he increased the pace, his touch unyielding. You could feel yourself dripping down your leg as his fingers pumped in and out of you. "Dennis, wait, please—"

"Please what?" He nipped at your lower lip, his fingers moving faster, the friction building so quickly it made your vision blur. He added a second finger, stretching you open, his rhythm merciless.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed out, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as the tension coiled tight in your lower stomach. "I'm sorry, Dennis, I swear—"

"Say it right," he ordered, his breath hot against your ear, fingers driving into you. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry,"

"To who?"

"Shit. You—"

"Who am I?" he teased.

"Dennis—"

"Nuh-uh. Try again."

"C'mon, don't make me—"

"Who are you saying sorry to?" he cut you off with a particularly deep thrust of his fingers.

"Fuck!" you cried out. "I'm sorry, Dr. Whitaker," you whined, completely undone, the heat of the moment making the words spill out without a filter. "Please, I'll stop... I'm gonna—"

"Go ahead," he whispered, his thumb pressing down hard, sending you over the edge.

You clamped down around his fingers as an orgasm tore through you. You hid your face in his neck, sobbing softly, your entire body trembling against his. Dennis held you up, his fingers staying inside you for a few moments longer, feeling every last ripple of your release before he slowly withdrew.

You leaned heavily against the counter, panting, your eyes half-closed and your face grew hot from embarrassment now.

Dennis stepped back, completely unbothered. He looked down at you, a smirk breaking across his face.

He leaned in one last time, his voice dark with satisfaction. "It isn't so funny now, is it?"

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“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.

Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.

“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.

Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”

“ Your address. ”

“How do you have my address?”

He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”

Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.

“Right, yes. You should delete that.”

“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”

There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.

Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.

It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.

He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.

You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.

There was nothing wrong with his affection.

You just didn't know what to do with it.

The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.

Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.

You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).

His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.

“Hi,” you greeted.

You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.

Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”

You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”

“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”

There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.

“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”

Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”

Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.

“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.

“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”

“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.

Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”

It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.

“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.

“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”

Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.

Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”

“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.

“It's on my way,” he shrugged.

“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.

You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.

“Just take the lift.”

“Thank you.”

“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.

You groaned.

There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.

Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.

“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”

She smirked. “Nice of him.”

“I've told him not to do it again.”

“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”

He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.

“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.

“That he is.”

“You deserve someone like him.”

You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.

And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.

You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”

“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.

“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.

“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”

He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”

“I listen to your advice-”

He levelled his gaze onto yours.

“- I try to.”

His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”

You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.

Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”

He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.

Your silence was an answer.

“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”

He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.

“Will we?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”

You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.

You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.

“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.

This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.

“No, I guess I didn't.”

“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”

“I'm sure I'll manage.”

Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Helping you.”

“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”

Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”

His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.

Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.

You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.

Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.

“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.

Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”

You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.

Though you hadn't technically asked.

“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.

“Nothing more important right now.”

Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.

Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.

“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.

Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”

His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”

You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.

Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.

He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.

“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.

The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.

The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.

“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.

“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.

“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.

You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”

“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”

The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.

“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.

That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.

There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.

Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.

Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.

But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.

“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.

“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.

“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”

Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”

“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.

“I like running fast,” she said.

Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.

You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”

You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.

So you supposed there was a double meaning.

Jack's gaze was heavy.

“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.

“Rude,” Jack mumbled.

It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.

The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.

“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.

You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.

“Why not singing?” asked the girl.

“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked

You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”

Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.

Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.

A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.

Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”

“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.

“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”

The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”

Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.

Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.

You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.

“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.

“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.

“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.

You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”

Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”

“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”

Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.

You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.

It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.

“You cooking for me now?”

Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”

You took a careful spoon.

Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.

“You like it?”

“It tastes... kind of...”

“Healthy?”

You looked at him, feigned aghast.

Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”

“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.

“I like to take care of you.”

He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.

“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.

“Why what?” he asked.

Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.

You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.

Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.

“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”

At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”

You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.

Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”

“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”

You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”

“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”

Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.

So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.

“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.

Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”

His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.

You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.

“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”

“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”

Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”

“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.

“But-”

“- a minute!”

You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”

“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”

You waited.

There was nothing.

Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.

One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.

“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”

Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.

The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.

You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.

There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.

“I need you, GSW to the chest!”

The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.

It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.

“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”

The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.

“Three... two... one- move!”

All together you lifted her over.

There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.

You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.

Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.

“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.

Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.

Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.

“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.

Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.

“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.

“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.

“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”

You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.

“Clear!”

The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.

You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.

“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.

“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.

Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”

Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”

Two units were hooked up.

“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”

It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.

“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”

“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.

Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”

Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”

You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.

Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.

“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.

“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”

“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”

Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”

It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.

Five minutes later she was stable.

Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.

But there was life.

And that was the most rewarding part of the job.

“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”

“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.

Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.

Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”

You stared at him.

It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.

Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.

Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.

You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.

Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.

As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.

“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”

You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.

“Can you tell me your name?”

You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.

The doors to the trauma room pushed open.

A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.

“Is she alive?” she asked.

Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.

“Do you know her?” you asked.

“She's my sister.”

“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”

You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.

Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.

“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.

Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.

Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.

“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”

“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”

Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.

Everyone ducked.

People screamed.

Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.

Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.

They came from behind him.

From the room he'd just left.

“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.

Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”

You.

“No!”

The two of them took off toward the room.

A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.

She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.

“Gun!” someone screamed.

Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.

There were three shots.

He knew three shots were enough to kill.

Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”

The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”

“Oh god-”

“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.

You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?

It was already gone.

“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.

The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.

Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.

The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.

“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.

There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.

Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”

Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.

“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”

“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.

There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.

When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.

Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”

You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.

He heard retching as the door closed.

Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”

He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.

The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.

One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.

Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.

Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.

Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.

What kind of doctor did that?

The cowardly type- you.

“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.

Jack.

His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.

“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.

“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”

You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.

He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”

If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.

You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”

You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.

Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”

You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”

“Yeah.... it always does.”

You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.

This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.

“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”

“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”

“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”

You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”

“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”

Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.

“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”

It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.

“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”

He sniffed.

“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?

He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”

His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.

Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.

Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.

“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”

I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.

“I'm sorry.”

His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”

“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”

“- you weren't horrible, no-”

“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”

“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”

“- I don't know why you put up with me-”

“- well, it helps that I love you-”

If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.

You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.

“What?” you asked.

Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”

Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.

“Oh.”

“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”

It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.

“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.

Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.

You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”

He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”

You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”

Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”

Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.

Parker scoffed a chuckle at that, the rest of the crew seemed to be thinking the same, furrowed brows as you stood out under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights .

“Team, I just wanted to introduce our newest recruit with legal. She’ll be working closely with the ER—handling complaints, risk management, patient disputes,” Gloria said, as the early morning day shift hovered around the nurses’ station. “She’ll be reviewing incident reports, advising on liability, and stepping in when anything escalates.”

A couple of them groaned quietly at that. Gloria ignored it.

“She’s your first point of contact for anything legal or ethical. Reports to the head office, but she’s based upstairs. Available during the day—and on nights if needed.”

You stood beside her, posture straight, hands clasped neatly in front of you—fingers fidgeting just slightly against each other, like you’re holding them there on purpose. Hair slightly messy in a way that felt unintentional, Mary Jane heels, peppered with pink and off-whites, skirt and all. Bright eyes. A smile that was just a touch too careful.

“Really nice to meet you all,” you said, well rehearsed, polite as ever. “I’ve interned at VA hospitals, children’s hospitals, so I’ve dealt with a... diverse range of people” You paused, a small, self-aware breath. “I’m just, you know, here to help keep things from turning into lawsuits, basically.”

That got a few more looks.

Gloria continued—something about OFIs—but most of them had checked out. Some nodded politely, some looked half-dead from night shift, others clung to their coffee like it was life support.

PTMC has a... somewhat sliming legal team. The budget is already parsed through to not be given to nurses and other staff.

Your eyes moved across the group, taking them in, assessing.

They landed on Jack. Just a second longer. Then moved on.

He frowned faintly, not thinking much of it as he leaned toward Ellis.

“Think she’ll last?” he murmured.

Parker shrugged, zipping her bag. “Maybe. Looks a bit uptight.”

“Probably why Gloria likes her,” he muttered.

He glanced back—caught you looking again.

You looked away quickly this time, your smile slipping for half a second before it reset, a little tighter.

★★★

He didn’t see you again for a few weeks.

He heard about you, though.

From both shifts. Little things.

You’d diffused a situation with a patient’s family threatening legal action. Sat in on a complaint review and apparently tore apart the timeline in ten minutes. Got someone to rewrite an incident report because, according to a nurse, “it read like a drunk text.”

You, in fact, had not been eaten alive. Despite the carefully put-together, polite, slightly squirrelly exterior, you were apparently… well-suited for PTMC.

Robby had filled him in one morning, leaning back in his chair with his coffee, eyes wide as if he were still in disbelief. “It’s ridiculous,” he said. “Some guy comes in complaining I nearly got his wife killed over the flu. He wants to sue for millions. I go up to her office—he’s there, she’s there—and twenty minutes later, it’s sorted. I even get to go back with time off because she noticed I’d been on sixteen hours. Nothing to hold against me, nothing to hold against the hospital.”

Jack furrowed his brows, amused, impressed, confused all at once. “Seriously?”

“Yup,” Robby said, leaning back further. “All my years here, I don’t think I’ve worked with a lawyer this young who can actually handle the shit we put up with without even cracking. Gotten used to... ambulance chasers and Gloria's pitbulls.”

Parker quickly changed her attitude on you when she'd come right up to your shared office, solely with the intent of trying to figure out where she could change her contract. You managed to negotiate her a pay rise with Gloria after a figuring out she'd had a particularly rough shift.

You existed somewhere in the building. Just not in the Pitt, not usually.

Until one night.

Sometime past 3AM, he's finishing a report when he hears you before he sees you. The soft, precise tap of heels against linoleum.

“Hey, sorry—um, I’m looking for Doctor Abbot?”

A nurse pointed across the floor. “Right over there, sweets.”

“Thanks!" You say quickly, already heading his way.

He straightened slightly as you approached.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, closing out his tab.

You smile, a little breathless but contained. “Hi—sorry, I don’t think we’ve properly met.” 

You hold your hand out.

He hesitates—not long, just enough to take you in properly this time.

Your hair’s come a little loose now—flyaways catching the light, a hint of frizz where it’s fallen out of whatever you did to tame it hours ago. There’s pen ink smudged across your fingers, even faintly along your forearm, like you’ve been working faster than you can keep up with.

Still neat. Still put-together. Maybe not quite holding as the night ticked away.

Your skirt sits just right, tailored and careful, and your button-up—something soft, a little too pretty for this place—has its sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Practical, but not by design. Like you didn’t plan to be here this long.

He shakes your hand. You give your full name, your title, crisp and practiced.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Know who you are.” He stepped around you, already moving. You followed immediately, hot on his heels. “Heard plenty.”

“Great,” you say, a small laugh. “Good things, I hope.”

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” he mentions, stopping at a screen.

You nearly walk into him.

He glances down as you caught yourself, just a fraction too close before you stepped neatly to his side, smoothing your skirt like it didn’t happen.

“Right, uh—” you mutter, then recover. “Well. Sleep’s for losers.”

“That’s what I keep telling the day shift,” he remarks.

That got a real smile out of you. He couldn’t help but think of it as a win. This close, he can smell your perfume. It's far from the smell of sanitiser and every kind of bodily fluid of the ER. It's sweet, something with strawberries maybe. Whatever it is, it's made him want you around longer.

“Anyway,” you continue, reining yourself back in, “I realised we hadn’t actually met. You know, properly. I’ve been working mostly with Dr. Robinvatich—reviewing incident reports, flagging potential liability issues, sitting in on complaint escalations—so I thought it made sense to acquaint myself with the night attending as well. I've heard a lot about you as well.”

“Good things, I hope,” he echoes, scanning the screen, arms crossed over his chest.

Then he looks at you. You're already looking at him—open, curious, intent. He holds your gaze a second longer than necessary. A precise beat passes as his own curiosity gets the best of him. Bright eyed, seemingly angelic young lawyer... at PTMC.

“How old are you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Sorry?”

“You mentioned you interned around. Don’t know many lawyers who do that unless they’re fresh out.”

“Right—yeah. I’m 24,” you answer. “I went straight into law school, then did about a year of hospital placements. I do want to specialise further—medical law, likely. I actually enjoy working with doctors, mostly, they can be… an acquired taste, but—” you gave a quick, self-conscious smile, remembering who you were speaking too. “—I think I’ve got the stomach for it.”

You stop, eventually, maybe a beat too late. "I didn't... I'm 24, is the point. Qualified, I swear it."

"I don't doubt it." He nods.

He watches it happen again—the shift. The way your confidence dips when you realise you’ve said too much.

Amused, he bites back a smile.

“You?” you add quickly. “I mean—how old are you? I heard you were military, so—”

“Guess.”

You let out a small laugh. “Older than me.”

“By a bit.”

"...40?" You try.

"Flattery will get you far, kid. 45." He corrects, chuckling at that. "But I'm not qualified for this. Just put on gloves and they let me at it."

You grin and nod. "'Course. You've got the look down. Could've convinced me."

He tilts his head a bit at that. He opens his mouth to respond, before he's interrupted.

“Abbot! Need you over here. Kid’s got some… centipede or some shit in his ear,” Parker calls out from Central 4.

Parker's face relaxes when she sees you, she calls your name out and gives a small wave. You give a polite wave back.

He exhales through his nose, already halfway moving. “Alright, be right there.”

He looks back at you, like a kid he’s been stuck with supervising.

“You’re welcome to… hang around,” he adds, a little rough around the edges. “Nurses won’t bite. Unless you ask ‘em to.”

There’s the faintest hint of something in his tone—dry, but not entirely joking.

You nod, a little too quickly. “Cool. Yep. I’ll just be… around here. I did actually need to speak to you about something, so, whenever you have the chance."

He gives you a once-over—quick, but not careless—then heads off, already scrubbing sanitiser into his hands. "I wouldn't wait up, sweetheart." He tells over his shoulder to you.

Your hand tightens slightly around the notebook in your hands at the petname.

It takes a while till you get the chance to chat with him again.

A call comes in, barely minutes later—car accident, five people, a few blocks out—and suddenly the whole floor shifts. People moving faster, voices sharper, stretchers rolling in before you’ve even fully registered what’s happening.

You stay. You tell yourself it’s observational. Useful. Context for your job. You probably should've just ditched for your own office at some point, leave the doctors to do their work. But it’s quiet in your office. You share it with two other people, and they aren’t exactly staying back till 3AM. 

You keep out of the way, mostly. Hover near the station, ask the occasional question, get a few curious looks in return.

At one point Shen ends up next to you, mid-charting, clearly thinking out loud.

“So if a patient refuses treatment but they’re being, like… objectively stupid about it—”

“That would not legally be discrimination,” you tell him, glancing up from the notes you’re pretending to read. “But it would be rude to tell them that they're being stupid... even if they are.”

He snorts. “Great. Good to know.”

“Also,” you add, a little primly, “document this. You’d be shocked how often ‘we told them’ doesn’t actually appear anywhere.”

“Got it, thanks,” he mutters, typing faster.

Across the room, Jack catches that.

Just a flash of it—your posture, the way you tilt your head when you’re explaining something, hands clasped like you’re holding yourself in place. Eventually, once the worst has passed, as it reaches 5AM, he manages to find his way back over to you.

Inbetween the flashes of bodies around you, people quickly going between patients, bandages, surgeons coming down to move patients.

"What did you wanna talk to me about, again?" He recalls to you as he's filling out a chart.

"Patient, three days, Ronny Jones. Remember him?" You ask quickly with this second of spare time he seems to have, notebook out.

"...Broken arm?" he tries.

"Yes. And..." You trail off as you try to translate your own handwriting.

He looks over at your notebook, squinting at your scrawl. You might not be a doctor but you have the handwriting of one, he notes. “...Compound fracture of the distal radius, open reduction internal fixation yesterday. Why? Something off with the chart?”

“Yep,” you say, flipping a few pages. “I was reviewing the incident report. It says he was discharged yesterday afternoon, but the orthopedic note says he needs post-op neurovascular checks every four hours. The discharge paperwork doesn’t reflect that. Liability risk if he comes back with... compartment syndrome or some sort of nerve compromise. I just need clarification—was the follow-up actually ordered, or did someone skip it?”

Jack straightens his back slightly, clearing his throat, tapping his pen onto his palm quickly. “Uh, the ortho team documented it in their EMR, but it didn’t make it onto the discharge instructions for nursing. That’s on me for not double-checking before signing out... Not ideal.”

You scribble quickly, biting your lip. “Right, okay. So legally, if Ronny returns with a preventable complication and the discharge instructions didn’t match the physician orders… technically, that’s a risk. Could be framed as a deviation from standard of care. I just want to make sure we document the corrective steps. Maybe an addendum or clarification note?”

Jack pauses, glancing at you, then back at the chart. He can’t really argue with that.

“Yeah, that’ll—” he nods once. “Sounds right. You need me to… sign anything, or—?”

“Yeah, once I draft it,” you say, already halfway through another note. “I’ll bring it down. I just—” you hesitate for a second, then add, almost as an afterthought, “I use my favourite printer. The formatting comes out cleaner.”

There’s a beat.

“…You have a favourite printer?”

You pause, pen hovering, like you’ve just realised how that sounds.

“…Mhm.”

Another beat. Jack exhales a quiet, amused breath, shaking his head. “Yeah. ‘Course you do," He says. "Good catch on the Ronny guy. Slipped my mind entirely."

You smile at that. "Thanks"

He shakes his head slightly, looking around the ER, seeing he is very much needed away from this conversation, as Emery calls out a code for their stroke patient past Central Six.

“Alright. I’ll put in the clarification note, and send an updated discharge instruction to nursing. That way, if he comes back with any problems, documentation's all straight.” He tells.

You relax a fraction, but only a fraction. “Perfect. Thanks, Doctor Abbot. I… I just want to make sure nobody gets blindsided.”

Jack smirks, stepping back into the flow of the ER. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got that covered, kid.”

You watch him move through the chaos, sharp and efficient, and scribble a few more notes. Even in the middle of an ER storm, he’s methodical. Impressive. And exhausting.

You end up just finishing your work in a space set up for you at the nurses' station, making conversation whilst you write up documentation templates. You had to keep your head down at points to stop seeing people be brought in with their leg half off, crying and panic from people. Hearing doctors call out a million different solutions.

By the time it slows, it’s morning.

Not properly morning—grey light bleeding through the windows, fluorescent lights still doing most of the work—but enough that the edge comes off everything.

7AM creeps in quietly, Day Shift enters with ease.

People start peeling off.

Handovers. Half-finished coffees abandoned. The kind of tiredness that settles into bones.

Jack finishes his last chart, shoulders heavier now that he’s standing still. When he finally steps away from the computer, he spots you again. Still here.

Perched on the edge of a chair, one leg crossed over the other, heels dangling slightly off your foot now like you’ve given up on pretending to be fully put together. Your hair’s loose in places. There’s a crease in your skirt you probably don’t know about. You’ve managed to move most of your work down here, laptop out as you scramble something in your notebook.

You look… exhausted.

He walks over.

“You always stay this early,” he asks, voice low, “or am I just lucky?”

You look up, a second slower than before, like your brain has to catch up.

“Oh—hi.” A small blink. Then you straighten a bit, reflexively. “No, I—this is not standard practice. I promise I don’t just linger.”

“Shame,” he says.

If you had another brain cell available after being up for too long, you’d think that was a flirt. You hesitate, then huff a quiet laugh, rubbing at your eye before you remember you’re wearing makeup and stop halfway through.

“Yeah, well,” you murmur, “I got a bit sidetracked.”

He nods, glancing out over the floor.

“You saw the fun part.”

“That’s one word for it,” you say. Your voice is softer now, a little less tightly wound. “I think I prefer reading about it, actually.”

“Give it time,” he replies. “You’ll start missing it.”

You look at him like he’s insane. “I sincerely hope not. That looked stressful as fuck. Excuse my language.”

That gets a faint smile out of him.

A beat passes.

You shift slightly, slipping your heels back on properly, smoothing your skirt like you’re putting yourself back together piece by piece.

“I should probably head out,” you say. “Before I fall asleep on one of these chairs and become a liability issue.”

“Mhm,” he nods. “Paperwork on that’d be a nightmare.”

You smile—small, but sincere. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for letting me… you know. Linger.”

“Any time,” he shrugs. “You alright to get home?”

“Uh-huh,” you say, standing, gathering your things. “Bus is always late, so.”

He nods, slowly. Watches you for a second too long—hair a little out of place now, smudged ink still on your wrist.

He speaks before he can overthink it.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

You blink. “No, really, I don’t—”

“—It’s no trouble. I insist,” he cuts in, not harsh, just firm. “Grab your things. I’ll be right outside.”

You hesitate.

It’s subtle—just a second. Fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook, your teeth catching your lower lip like you’re weighing it properly.

He notices that. Of course he does.

“…Fine,” you say finally, a little quieter. “Sure. Thank you, I mean.”

He gives a short nod, like it’s already settled, and turns to head out.

★★★

The morning air is colder than it looks.

He waits outside, sitting on a bench, arms folded, watching the automatic doors slide open and shut. Staff trickling out. Shift changes. The usual.

Then you.

You step out, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, pausing for half a second when you spot him—like you weren’t entirely convinced he’d actually be there.

He stays seated on the bench..

“You always take this long,” he asks, “or just keeping me waiting for fun?”

You huff a quiet laugh, walking over. “I was considering making a run for it, actually.” 

“Yeah?” he pushes himself up, a slight hitch in the movement, subtle, but there.

You notice it without really thinking, hand coming out instinctively, light on his arm for a second. “Oh—sorry, I—”

He steadies, more out of habit than need, glancing down at your hand briefly before looking back at you. “You wouldn’t get far in those shoes anyway.”

You pull your hand back, smoothing it over your skirt like you didn’t just do that. The two of you start toward his truck.

You glance down at your heels, then back at him.

“Watch it. These are Louboutin,” you point out as he opens the passenger door for you.

“My point stands.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile as you slide into the seat. He shuts the door behind you, walks around, gets in.

The car’s quiet when it starts. Low hum of the engine, early morning stillness bleeding in through the windows.

You give him your address—quick, efficient. He nods, pulls out.

A few minutes pass. You aren’t too far from the hospital. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly. Just… new. All your time working around doctors, and not one of them has ever offered to drive you home.

You sit a little straighter than you need to. Hands folded in your lap, then not, then back again—like you can’t quite decide how you’re meant to exist in this space.

"You don't seem forty five." You remark, seemingly out of nowhere.

He glances at you briefly, then back to the road, slowing at a red light.

“Is that right?” he hums.

“My dad hit fifty the other day,” you add. “He’s way grumpier.”

A beat.

“You’re a ray of sunshine in comparison.”

That gets something out of him—barely there, but real. The corner of his mouth pulls, just slightly.

He hums. “Give it time.”

You smile faintly at that, glancing over.

Up close like this, it’s different. You notice things you didn’t before—grey through his hair, not just at the sides. The lines around his eyes. The way he sits, solid, like he’s used to holding himself together through long hours. His arms. Just... he has nice arms, you note.

Your gaze drops—brief, unintentional—to his hands on the wheel.

You look back out the window quickly.

“You don’t act like it either,” you add, a little softer, like you’re correcting yourself.

“Act like what?”

“Forty five,” you say. “I mean—” you huff a small breath, already backtracking, “not that forty five is old, obviously, I just—”

He glances at you again, something almost amused there.

“No, really, go 'head,” he insists.

You press your lips together, trying not to smile. “I’m saying that… you know, you’re… I don’t know, a person. I’ve met a lot of doctors your age, they lose a lot of that humanity as they…”

“Get old as shit?” He finished as you trailed off.

“Yeah, that,” You sigh.

He nods, actually appreciative of that. “Never a met a lawyer who hangs around the Pitt willingly.”

You shrug. “It's lonely upstairs.” You say simply.

The light turns green. He pulls forward.

You shift slightly in your seat, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, then immediately smoothing your skirt again like you’ve remembered yourself.

You go on, a little stiff. “Besides, it’s part of the job. I should understand what actually happens down there. Not just what ends up in reports.”

“Mm.”

“I mean, if I’m going to defend you people,” you add, a little more animated now, “I should probably know what I’m defending.”

“You people,” he repeats.

You wince slightly. “That came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

You look over at him, trying to read if he’s serious. He’s not giving you much.

“I just mean—doctors,” you say. “Not… you specifically.”

“You don't wanna defend me?” he wonders, teasing.

You snicker at that. You look at him properly this time. There’s something in your expression, curious, a little thrown, interested.

“Are you always this charming at seven in the morning?” You ask, sarcastic.

“Only when I haven’t slept,” he says.

“Ah. So this is you at your worst.”

“Pretty much.”

You nod, like you’re filing that away. “Good to know.”

A small silence settles again, but it’s lighter now. Easier.

The car slows as he pulls up outside your place. You unbuckle, but linger for half a second, fingers still on the seatbelt.

“Thank you,” you say. “Really, Doctor Abbot, I appreciate it. The lift, I mean.”

He nods. “Get some sleep. And just… Jack’s fine, sweetheart.”

“Alright. Thanks, Jack.”

You step out, shutting the door behind you.

He watches you briefly, making sure you get into the apartment building before driving off, your perfume lingering around his car.

part two | strawberry + part three | optics + part four | luck + part five | orbit

a/n: omg hi first the pitt fic… girls i truly finna be in the pitt, like put me in coach !! okay so havent seen season 2 yet. ANY of yall spoil shit for me i'm throwing a fit. i'm rewatching s1 now w my friend who hasnt seen, then we doing s2 together. i dont know much except that robby got a motorbike for whatever reason. anyway. this is just a lil cute thing, workshopping this. def wanna do like a little series of this or somethin like. idk. if yall are feeling it cool, if not.. im probably gonna do it regardless. i def wanna make a little moodboard for this lawyer girly reader, i fuck w her vibe heavy. im also in law school so manifesting this. except i dont wanna do health law that shit is messy. ok anyway ! have a good day/night :3

“I need a favor.”

Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.

He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.

It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.

You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.

Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.

You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.

Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.

It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.

“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.

“I need you to have sex with me.”

You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.

There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.

He’d picked up four after his shift that night.

“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.

“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.

This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.

“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.

You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.

He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.

It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.

Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.

“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.

He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.

“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.

There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.

He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.

That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.

There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.

You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.

It was completely innocent.

Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.

Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.

Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.

About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.

He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.

The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.

Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.

He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.

“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”

If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.

But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.

So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.

“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.

He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.

“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.

Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.

Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.

The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.

He was attracted to you.

Maybe even liked you.

You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.

The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.

You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.

You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.

That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.

You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.

But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.

Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.

“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.

“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.

You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.

“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”

He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.

And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.

“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.

“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”

“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”

His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.

You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.

There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.

You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.

He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.

“I’m not doing it.”

—

Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.

He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.

The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.

Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.

Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.

Virginity.

Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.

You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.

He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.

The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.

“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”

You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.

Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.

But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.

You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.

“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”

“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.

You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.

“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.

A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.

“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”

It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.

Manners.

He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.

“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.

The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.

It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.

You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.

Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.

Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.

“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.

He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.

“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.

His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.

Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.

“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.

While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.

He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.

“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”

You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.

This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.

You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.

It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.

Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.

You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.

You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.

“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”

You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.

He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.

-

Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.

It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.

He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.

The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.

He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.

He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.

It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.

You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.

“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”

He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.

Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.

For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.

But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.

“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.

Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.

“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”

“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.

His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.

You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.

“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.

“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”

He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.

Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.

Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.

“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”

His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.

It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.

Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.

“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”

“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.

You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.

Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.

“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.

“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.

You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.

“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.

At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.

He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.

It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.

He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.

And the effect was completely undeniable.

A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.

You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.

You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”

“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”

“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.

“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.

He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.

Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.

That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.

So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.

“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.

“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”

“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”

That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.

“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.

His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”

That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.

“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.

He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.

He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.

“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.

You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.

You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.

“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”

“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”

He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.

Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.

“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.

It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.

He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.

Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.

“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.

You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.

You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.

He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.

It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.

“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”

Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.

Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.

You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.

“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.

“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.

He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.

“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”

You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.

He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.

There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.

He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.

Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.

“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”

The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.

Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.

You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.

You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.

Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.

You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.

It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.

He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.

There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.

“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”

“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.

“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.

“Next time.”

It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.

“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.

“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”

That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.

“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.

“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.

He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.

You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.

You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.

There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.

He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.

Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.

Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.

He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.

You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.

Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.

It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.

He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.

You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.

You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.

It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.

Then he figures that might just be worse.

He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.

There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.

(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)

It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.

“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.

His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.

“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.

He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.

You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.

Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.

“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.

His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.

“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.

You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.

“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.

You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.

He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.

You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.

It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.

His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.

That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.

“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”

“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.

You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.

“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”

“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”

He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.

“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”

“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.

You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.

He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.

It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.

“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”

He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.

You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.

He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.

It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.

“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”

“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.

You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.

“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”

He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.

You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.

“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.

You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.

“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.

Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.

He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.

“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.

He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.

You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.

That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.

Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.

Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.

He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.

“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.

“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”

It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.

“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.

You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.

You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.

Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.

You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.

Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.

Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.

“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”

“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.

He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.

You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.

He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.

“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.

Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.

His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.

“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”

“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”

“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.

It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.

Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.

“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.

It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.

Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.

“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.

You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.

“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”

Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.

“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.

You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.

He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”

It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.

“Jack stop.”

He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.

“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.

You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.

He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.

He especially likes that.

You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.

He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.

There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.

He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.

You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.

Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.

“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.

“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”

“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.

Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.

Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.

—

It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.

His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.

You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.

It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.

Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.

He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.

You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.

You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.

It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.

“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.

“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.

“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”

“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.

You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.

He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.

The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.

He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.

There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.

You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.

He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.

His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.

“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”

Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.

“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”

You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.

You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.

“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.

“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”

Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.

He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.

“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.

You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.

You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.

He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.

He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.

He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.

Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.

Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.

So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.

Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.

It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.

Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.

So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.

He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.

Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.

He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.

There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.

He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.

Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.

He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.

Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”

“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.

He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”

He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.

“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.

You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.

“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”

The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.

“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”

You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.

“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”

Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.

That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.

“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”

“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.

You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.

“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.

He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.

It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.

“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”

“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.

He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.

“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.

He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.

You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.

Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.

“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.

Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.

It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.

Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.

“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.

“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”

He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.

You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.

“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.

“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”

“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.

Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.

Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.

It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.

Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.

“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.

You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.

It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.

“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.

He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.

“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”

“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”

You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.

It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.

He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.

He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.

“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.

“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.

Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.

You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.

He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.

You weren’t exactly sure where the need for perfection even came from. It might have been something you were innately born with or maybe it was nurtured by the indifference on your parent’s faces whenever you came home with your report cards.

At first you had tried rebellion but that didn’t even get an eye blinked in your direction so you figured you had to switch it up, go as hard as you could for as long as you were able to handle and then maybe you’d be able to satisfy the itch to be something better than whatever you were.

Eventually the need to prove yourself to your parents went away but the lack of tolerance for mistakes didn’t, growing heavier and heavier until your back was aching over your desk and your migraines were almost constant from lack of sleep.

You made it through school with barely a single conversation held that was beyond surface level, your entire being obsessed with studying and what your talents could bring to the table even if nobody knew or cared enough about you to even be sitting at it.

Emergency medicine wasn’t your first choice, it was actually pretty close to the last but you realized quickly that a large amount of med students were just as anal as you about being perfect and your studying habits didn’t seem as outrageous when surrounded by your actual peers. There was no more casualness and the sudden feeling of genuine competition was almost beyond what you were able to push through.

It didn’t take long for your first round picks to be taken by somebody who worked harder, came from a better family, or just had more natural talent. And then your second and third were filled too and before you knew it you were three years deep into your time at the PTMC.

You didn’t dislike it and you figured the long grueling hours were just par for the course in this career, you even felt a sense of relief when you got home and felt the ache in your body and saw the bruises coloring your skin.

To you it felt like a small victory, visible proof that you had worked harder than anybody might have assumed you were capable of if they had bothered to assume anything about you at all.

You weren’t really sure why it hurt you so bad when you were suddenly moved to a different shift last week. You didn’t have any real friends in the department, not even somebody you’d feel comfortable enough to borrow a protein bar from but the routine was something you’d become used to and you’d just started to perfect your way around any avoidable social situations.

The scowl on your face must’ve been more prominent than you realized when you walked in on your first day on the night shift, hand curled tightly around the single backpack strap were wearing.

You saw all of the same faces you had seen each morning for the last three years but now they looked weathered and tired in the way they did when you typically bid them a quick goodnight nod. Finishing their shifts as you began yours, a new normal that didn’t seem to disturb the flow of things at all for anybody minus you.

Robby gave you a nearly sympathetic look when he passed by you in a hurry and you didn’t meet his gaze out of anger, not necessarily at him since you knew the lack of staffing for the night shift wasn’t his fault but you felt a weird sense of betrayal.

“He feels bad you know.” The low voice to your left would have made you jump if you weren’t so exhausted already, failing to properly flip your schedule in the two days you’d had to prepare for such a drastic change.

“Yeah I bet.” You replied back to Ellis, barely giving her a once over as she leaned on the desk next to where you were currently frozen in place.

Your voice was flat and laced with irritation that you almost felt bad about. You knew these people well enough, been through shift change talk throughs hundreds of times and even sat around for a few awkward drinks on the nights out you were forced to go to by the newer student doctors.

There was an uncomfortable feeling when her face fell and she sighed softly, hating the fact you were being so standoffish and ruining any chance of making a friend before you even really started. You tried to loosen your posture a little to look more approachable and even half planned to tell her you were just tired before she was walking off with a pitying smile pointed your way.

You groaned inaudibly as you kept walking and made your way to the locker room, instinctively trying your old one with your code before remembering halfway that they’d moved you. One of the night shift doctors already had yours and had you beat in seniority by nearly a decade.

The deep breath left you shakier than you intended and you rested your forehead against the cold metal for a few more, letting the grates press hard into your skin to try and wake yourself up.

“Heard coffee is effective.”

You knew who the low drawl belonged to without turning around so you didn’t bother, eyes opening and another louder sigh leaving you with intention.

“Really? You should patent that.” You only responded after a few seconds went by without the sound of departing footsteps, turning around at the end of your sentence to raise an eyebrow at the man who was standing leaned against the door with his arm crossed.

Jack Abbot was one of the only faces on the night shift that wasn’t a near stranger. He spent enough time picking up unnecessary hours and lingering around the desk long after his shift ended to talk to Robby so you’d had your fair share of encounters with the older man.

He gave you a barely noticeable smile at your quick comment back, his ankles crossing over each other as he relaxed in the doorway.

“You used to smile more when I first met you.” He said in return and you fully rolled your eyes at this, ignoring the lack of professionalism considering you knew he didn’t care for it much anyways.

You turned again to open your new locker, trying not to fumble with the code under his watchful eye from behind you. Abbot was a direct opposite of Robby who felt like such a natural leader in every decision he made down to the tone of his voice, that cadence that some people were just born with.

Abbot seemed like he was always trying to leave a room as unnoticed as possible and despite being charming and as personable as anyone working the graveyard shift could be, he was more prone to quick nods of approval and silent pats on the back when someone was in desperate need of encouragement.

Sarcastic quips replaced the inspirational speeches Robby would give after a hard day and you didn’t need to work a full shift with him to understand that his methods were something you’d clash with.

You were self admittedly very sensitive, slow to understand a joke especially when you were the butt of it and unable to hide the insecurity in your chest that seemed to be clawing its way out almost constantly.

“No I didn’t.” You replied back and you finished putting your things away, closing your locker softly and walking past him in the doorway.

There was no surprise when he followed behind you, both because he was your new first in charge and also because he was never really one to let a conversation end so briefly when you were in a sour mood.

“He really does feel like shit about this whole thing.” He continued on and you kept your gaze forward as you slid into one of the rolling chairs behind the main desk and scanned your badge. He leaned forward onto the counter in front of you, the hair on his arms just barely visible out of the top of your eyes as he folded them together. “Robby.”

“He doesn’t have to.” You said smoothly with a light shrug like it wasn’t something that had been keeping you up for the last two nights wondering what you had done wrong to get booted at the first chance.

“He said you’re his best.” Abbot continued on and now you finally stopped the fast paced typing you’d barely been paying any attention to, eyes flickering up to him as he watched you with a sense of knowing that made you feel nauseous suddenly.

“He also said not to listen to anything you said about him.” You said flatly once you finally had your light dinner back down your throat, looking at him beneath your lashes to catch his reaction and feeling a bit smug when he snorted a small laugh and nodded as he looked off towards the entrance.

“Fair.” He replied in a softer tone as he pushed himself up off the counter and took a few steps back, pointing in your direction until your eyes rolled again.

You figured you saw Abbot a few dozen times during your shift but it was such a blur of red and stark white that you barely registered him, your medical vocabulary rolling off in autopilot and your hands moving through procedures before your brain could catch up.

It wasn’t until the fourth hour in, nonstop damage control from the shift change off and post dinner rush in the waiting room leaving you feeling dizzy when you stood still, that you actually got a chance to focus on his presence again.

Robby had a sort of nervous energy to him that followed him around the room like a static, catching the attention of his staff and keeping you in your toes.

Abbot was nearly the polar opposite in this way too.

He felt like a solid force in your corner, there enough to remind you that you were supported but letting you do the leg work as much as possible. The night shift certainly had a different level of darkness and chaos to it but the staff themselves seemed to be operating in a way that left you a little awed.

They almost seemed to be finding downtime in the endless stream of injuries and traumas, including Abbot who was currently leaning back on the counter and fidgeting with the corner of a file cover.

You were a similar position as you were before when he was giving you a half assed attempt at helping you understand Robby, but now you were on the other side of the counter.

It had to have been the delirium that left you leaning on the space next to him, enough distance between you for two people to fit but still more comfortable than you probably would have been after a power nap. He sent you a glance from the side of his eye that made a sigh leave you.

“You know…” He started slowly and his voice graveled in a way that made the traitorous hair on your arms stand up. “It’s okay if you take a breath, nobody is going to sue you.”

“Don’t jinx it.” You say back and your gaze lands on him, staying there until he meets it and then looking away with the new feeling of his eyes on the side of your head.

“We are happy to have you here.” He adds suddenly and you feel your eyebrows furrow at the sincerity of it, feeling like it’s misplaced considering you hadn’t exactly been a delight the entire night. “Hey.”

It’s a call for attention and you give it to him, picking up your gaze to lock with his and trying not to sink into yourself at the intensity of it. He gives you a firm nod like you’d passed some invisible test you didn’t understand and yet you still feel a surge of pride blossoming deep in your chest.

“Really?” You had really meant to quip something smart back at him but instead you croaked out the single desperate word and clenched the counter in a tight fist.

“I mean it.” He says back and it’s nearly soft now, halfway to a whisper and your head starts to buzz beneath the sleep deprivation. He doesn’t even slightly shy away from the eye contact, not that you expected him to considering you had definitely noticed it was a habit of his. “Hope you stick around.”

He was gone before you could let out another breath and you let your head sink down against the chilled counter top, pressing your forehead down until it turned red and you felt a dull ache.

Then you were picking yourself up and getting back to work.

—

The first three weeks flew by and you felt yourself adjusting to the changed shift way faster than you had anticipated. You’d picked up one or two day shifts when needed and your rhythm there was now awkward, fumbling around more than you ever had and finding yourself longing for the nights instead.

You felt beyond relieved that your brain and body seemingly decided they were okay with your new assignment and it was a breeze to sleep through the daylight now.

You knew part of it was because the staff and their demeanor, another half dedicated to your own hard work and your determination to make the most out of it. But there was a large portion that was reserved for the man currently standing in front of the room and talking calmly.

Abbot was leaned back against the desk, somewhere he apparently frequented considering it always seemed to be where you found him. He was talking with his hands outstretched and his posture as straight and military as it had been since the day you met him, favoring the side without his prosthetic leg.

To his left was Robby, nodding along with a drained expression that made you think he was barely listening to the brief. You couldn’t necessarily judge him considering you were pretty sure you hadn’t heard a single word that was said in the last five minutes but you figured you could ask Ellis later since the two of you actually managed to become sort of friends after your interaction on your first day.

It wasn’t like you to get distracted so easily and you had spent the better part of the last few weeks beating yourself up over whatever the actual fuck was happening to you whenever your attending looked proudly in your direction.

You’d sought after Robby’s approval yes, beamed under his praise and blossomed when you felt like he was truly trusting you to save lives, but whatever it was that you felt deep in your chest when his other half merely gave you an approving nod was nearly dangerous for your career.

Crushes were not something you had any experience with considering how study focused you were your entire teenage years, you’d felt a flutter here and there but you had never let your eyes linger too long and it was almost criminal to have your thoughts entertained by any fairytale fantasies.

So the fact the entire staff was dispersing without your awareness, leaving you standing in place staring at Jack Abbot like a lovesick puppy, was a serious problem.

You shook your head to try and get yourself together, hurrying away to busy your hands and mind with low risk patient cases. You spent the first half of the night talking to sick old ladies and stitching up simple knife wounds that any student doctor could do with ease.

It was a little after midnight when you were stopped by a firm hand on your shoulder, freezing you in place with a sharp breath as you turned around to see Abbot looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Could’ve used you in trauma two.” He said lowly and you felt shame immediately rush over you like cold water. “Where were you hiding out at?”

“I…” You trailed off in an automatic lie that got caught in your throat, sighing and letting your shoulders deflate under his palm. He removed it but only to slide down your arm and briefly cup your elbow before letting it hang back at his side. “I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to hide. I just… needed to slow the pace down a little.”

“No you don’t.” He replied immediately and now it was your turn to furrow your brows as you watched him crossed his arms and adjust his posture. “You can handle it and I need you by my side when the hard cases come in because I know you can.”

You looked down at your feet as he half scolded and half praised you, not sure if you were touched by your own apparent importance or embarrassed that he had realized what you were trying to do so easily.

The embarrassment must’ve shown clearer on your face because his gaze softened and he exhaled, rubbing a palm over his stubble and looking towards the busy hub where some student doctors were currently fussing over the ever growing patient chart.

“Pass off your easy patients to the newbies.” He said and his voice dropped down into a whisper, leaning in just enough for your cheeks to momentarily inflate from the way you suddenly held your breath. “Let them learn something, you know plenty.”

“Isn’t this a teaching hospital?” You finally managed to get your voice back and you glanced upwards at him just in time to see the amusement pass over his face. “Technically I could always learn more.”

It was silent for a few seconds long enough for you to regret making a sarcastic joke when he was clearly trying to make you understand a legitimate point about your abilities. You almost started to apologize, already internally beating yourself up for thinking his usual dry humor was appropriate at any time when his low chuckle stopped you short.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” He nodded slowly as he spoke, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes stayed locked on the movement. His gaze drifted back to you and you hoped the way your eyes widened was minuscule enough he wouldn’t notice. “But let me teach you. Deal?”

You didn’t even notice his hand had extended inbetween your bodies until the tips of his fingers lightly brushed your scrub top, head turning down to identify the feeling and laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all.

Your hand wrapped around his much larger one, trying not to flush at the roughness of his palm against your soft skin. You squeezed around it and he returned the action before you shook them between you. Yours was retracted and stuffed into your pocket after barely three seconds of touching but it was enough for you to press your nails deep into your skin once it was out of sight.

“Deal.” You gave him a firm nod that you hoped looked more professional than that little moment felt.

The rest of the shift consisted of following behind Abbot from trauma to trauma and trying to act like his steady voice and calm demeanor wasn’t still somehow sending you into a state of nerves despite it having the completely opposite intentions.

—

You didn’t spend as much time in the ambulance bay as some of the others did on a hard night, from the nurses with smoking habits they couldn’t kick to the students who felt like they couldn’t breathe around their eight hour.

But now you were on your fifth minute of standing outside the automatic doors with tense shoulders nearly up to your ears, breathing in and out so audibly you would have felt self conscious if there was anybody else around.

It really wasn’t that grand of an offense considering your shift was ending in less than ten, the sun already peeking around the cement pillars and making your headache sting even sharper than you thought was possible. Plus it had actually been a relatively slow night when it came to the flow of foot traffic but that hadn’t made it any easier.

You’d lost somebody young before it had even hit midnight and the entire ER felt the typical shift that came along with something like that for the rest of your time there.

Then there’d been a drunk man getting rough on his way in that had sent you and two nurses flying against one of the environmental carts, insisting you were fine and rushing to glove up to attempt to assist him with the beer bottle currently sticking into his thigh.

You’d been stopped by a sharp glare from Abbot that you knew wasn’t necessarily directed towards you but it still made your throat tighten with the urge to cry.

He didn’t even need to say a word to dismiss you, head hanging low as you ripped off the glove you’d gotten on halfway and threw it roughly into the trash can on your way out.

After that you spent the next few hours taking patient after patient as the ache in your ribs built steadily. You hadn’t even noticed it at first in the chaos but a trip to the bathroom around five alerted you to the large bruise forming under your chest, wincing as you tugged your undershirt back down and splashed some water on your face.

So you didn’t feel too awful for standing outside and taking a nearly meditative amount of breaths while the shift change happened somewhere in the building behind you.

The doors sliding open didn’t alarm you nearly as much as the slow measured footsteps did, the slight drag of one of them making you stop your breathing entirely. You knew Abbot by his stride on a regular day and even more-so when he had been on his feet beyond comfortability and his leg started to bother him, the slight limp he adopted nearly unnoticeable if you weren’t paying as much attention as you always seemed to be.

Next was the smell of him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with you, the fabric of his shirt barely brushing your hoodie sleeve. He carried the same sterile scent you all did after a long night but there was the unmistakeable musk and light cologne hidden underneath it.

“You know what that was about right?” He said lowly and you pursed your lips at the sound of his voice, not realizing how close you’d been to crying until the silence was broken.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” You replied as smoothly as possible but your voice was tight and lacking any air.

“But I’m going to.” He shook his head and stepped forward so he could turn and be in front of you, giving you no choice but to stare at some part of him as he blocked the sun coming up behind his solid frame. “It wasn’t about your ability as a doctor but your safety as a member of my team.”

You didn’t want to talk because you knew you were tired enough to try and argue with him that you had been fine, that you didn’t need to be wordlessly booted out of the trauma room in front of half a dozen people like you were an intern. You almost wished he had yelled at you for a mistake rather than that disapproving look he gave you when he saw you gloving up.

Your silence must have bothered him into boldness because suddenly his hand was moving between you, sliding under the undone zipper track of your hoodie and pressing lightly around your rib cage. You immediately hissed in pain and shrunk away from his touch, nearly taking a full step backwards from the sensation.

“That’s what it was about. Do you understand that?” He asked quietly and you kept your mouth closed shut tightly as the scratchy sob like feeling continued to build. He pressed on the area a few more times in a wider range like he was trying to examine how far the bruise stretched out under your clothes.

You stayed quiet and let him do the same routine you’d done hundreds of times in your career, heart racing only a few inches above where his fingers were softly pressing.

“How bad was it?” He continued to whisper in that low tone as you avoided looking at him.

“It’s fine.” You said back because you knew the silence was pointless and you were partially paranoid he was concerned enough to look himself if you didn’t answer soon. “I looked at it a few hours ago and it wasn’t anything to worry about, just tender.”

“You of all people know how misleading a bruise can be.” He shook his head and you sighed again at the light show of disappointment even if it was as light hearted and casual as a comment could be from your boss. “I filed a report. For the two nurses too.”

Your back tightened up and you reached down to grab his wrist loosely, just enough to get him to stop touching you so you could focus on the conversation. His arm tensed and his gaze left your midsection to watch your expressions closely at the touch.

“You didn’t have to do that, he was drunk and probably confused. It wasn’t that big of a deal and I really would rather not deal with the paperwork.” You were nearly rambling but you couldn’t handle the thought of this becoming a larger issue than it already was.

You felt a sudden sense of humiliation despite the fact you hadn’t done anything wrong, it was almost a selfish feeling considering there had been other people affected to but you wanted the situation to be left behind with the rest of the shitty shift.

“Then I’ll handle the paperwork.” He said firmly and his voice took on that stern tone you hated so much. “Drunk or not, he hurt you.”

You knew his words and actions were coming from his place as a concerned boss, protecting you and the nurses as a mass collective being his only determination to carry out a consequence for what had happened, but you still felt almost touched by his want to handle this.

It was much easier to finish off the final few minutes of your shift after that conversation with the single delusional thought stuck in your head and the phantom feeling of his fingertips pressing against your clothing sending shivers down your spine.

—

You had the terrible habit of spending any day off you had in your bed scrolling on your phone until your eyes stung, possibly making up for the years in school you spent solely studying before you fell asleep.

It wasn’t something you had felt the need to break your first few years considering you thought friends were a distraction but you’d drastically changed your tune lately when it came to your social interactions. You felt nice when Ellis greeted you comfortably and a buzz of optimism when Shen remembered your coffee order three weeks in, the sudden desire to have friends hitting you.

So this time around, when you were invited to get drinks with some of the team, you actually accepted.

It had become a formality to just invite you regardless of the knowledge you’d decline so they all seemed thrown when you actually arrived.

The bar was smaller than it looked when you investigated it on google reviews before leaving and the music was a little too loud for it to be as casual as Ellis had suggested. She similarly had a day off and was sitting with a few of the day shift students you recognized more than the others.

Santos and Whitaker were in a quiet debate about something you couldn’t pick up, pushing a nearly full glass back and forth between each other like it was moderating their argument.

You’d expected to look at the other half of the circular booth seat to see Ellis by herself and ready to greet you but you froze halfway across the room when you saw who was currently occupying the spot.

Jack Abbot was not included in the list of names Ellis had casually said might be here tonight so you’d fully lowered your defenses that typically needed to be enabled to withstand being in a room with him.

You considered turning around and leaving before they spotted you, well aware that they wouldn’t be too shocked or disappointed to learn you weren’t coming. It was already too late considering Santos was glancing upwards and waving you over as soon as she saw you, mouth moving rapidly like she was trying to call you over.

You sucked in a breath, gathering as much air as you could manage to stuff into your lungs before heading over to them. Your greetings were stiff and awkward but they seemed to be buzzed enough to not notice, other than the older man who was watching you with a careful eye.

Abbot didn’t look much different outside of the hospital, black t-shirt pulled tightly around his biceps and the jeans worn out in a way you knew was from actual use and not design. You could see the shine of a belt buckle if you looked too hard under the table but you decided not to when you landed on his boots.

There was no where else to sit other than beside him but you perched nearly halfway off the booth seats to avoid touching him in any way.

“I never thought I’d see the day you actually spoke to us outside work hours.” Santos was quick to start her comments as soon as you settled down and got mildly comfortable. She was smiling as she spoke and you retuned it tensely even though it gave you a similar feeling to cruel comments you’d heard in high school.

“Don’t take it personally, I’m just boring.” You said back with a bashful laugh, glancing downwards as you picked at the loose wood under the tabletop.

Whitaker, who’d insisted you called him Dennis after you’d greeted him by his last name, was already shaking his head before you could finish your self deprecating statement.

“We think you’re cool.” He said simply and you gave him a disbelieving look. “Seriously, even Santos.”

You sent the same look her way and she shrugged her shoulders with a buzzed grin that made you laugh a little. You felt yourself growing comfortable with the small group which you were extremely thankful for, not sure you’d feel the same ease if anybody else had been there instead.

Although you hadn’t even begun addressing the quiet presence beside you, staying silent even when you all dove into conversation after conversation. You listened and added on occasionally, genuinely interested in their lives outside of work and fascinated by their dynamics, but he barely spoke a word at all.

You’d almost forgotten he was there by the time you slipped out of the booth to go to the bar and order a drink for yourself, barely sliding into the stool before his arm was in your line of vision.

He had it resting on the counter beside you, slightly caging you in unless you wanted to squeeze out the other direction past the large man who already was rocking drunkenly back and forth.

“I thought you worked tonight.” You said softly, feeling a wave of shyness you had never felt before in your entire career.

Being in the ER with Abbot came with clear guidelines on how to interact and a long list of boundaries that didn’t give you many opportunities to embarrass yourself. However, being in a dingy bar with him smelling too much like that rich cologne was a whole different playing field you had no idea how to navigate.

You figured talking first would soften the damage on whatever he was planning to say but you didn’t think it would matter anyways.

“Scheduling error.” He replied back simply, eyes on the side of your face as you desperately and silently willed the bartender to head in your direction so you could get back to the booth. “Disappointed?”

You sent him a confused glance, shifting on the circular seat. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”

“Not everyone wants to hang out with their boss.” He said and tilted his head down enough to try and catch your eye again.

You turned a little in your seat so you could actually give him a clear view of your face, enough so he could hopefully tell your next comment was meant to be a joke.

“Isn’t Robby technically my boss?” Your voice was mockingly curious and you felt a surge of pride when he laughed lowly. “No offense Dr. Abbot.”

His nose scrunched up at the sound of the title falling from your lips, something he’d asked you to avoid on your first day and you hadn’t missed the lack of it coming from the other residents.

“Jack works fine.” He said softly and his fingers tapped against the wood as the bartender passed.

You followed the movement as you listened to him order another drink, mumbling your own preferred one when he casually asked you what you wanted. You barely processed he had added your drink to his tab before it was placed in front of you.

You looked back at him to find him already watching you closely, hand curled around his glass but not taking a sip yet. You felt awkward drinking from yours under his gaze but you also craved the extroverted feeling alcohol gave you so you took a bigger sip than you probably should have, keeping eye contact as you slightly tipped your head back.

The glass touched the wood with a soft clink when you set it down and his hand move his own towards yours, lightly dragging it by the rim closer to him. It wasn’t out of your reach but enough so you’d have to lean your arm into his space to grab it.

You gave him a curious look but didn’t outwardly question it, like it made perfect sense to you that he would control where your drink was.

“You look different with your hair down.” He said suddenly and you watched his eyes track over your head and down past your shoulders.

It took you a second to respond and by the time you were starting to his hand was already lifted and softly touching the ends of your hair, not pulling or even really grasping but just letting it tickle his fingertips. You laughed at the way he stared, making his hand freeze in the air and his eyes go back up to you.

“How much have you had to drink?” You asked him with a smile you definitely had never showcased in the walls of the hospital before, a bit looser knowing he must be drunker than he seemed to be touching you so casually.

His hand on your ribs was a different story, the way it snuck under your hoodie may have felt historic but it was simply his doctor brain taking the lead in his decision making. Even the lingering hand shake had been sourced from a legitimate professional interaction, at worst just a bit too friendly.

This however, was completely unnecessary and out of character.

“I’ve been drinking since before you were born.” He rasped back and you felt a shiver run over your entire body, gaze narrowing a bit when his fingers started to move again just to twirl a strand of your hair. “I’m fine.”

The reminder of your age gap, not that you really needed one considering it was absolutely impossible to ignore, made you feel drunker than any amount of drinks could have even attempted.

You tensed up when the man next to you was attempting to get off of his stool, tipping sloppily in your direction and leaning against your side. You hissed in pain at the pressure and waved him off when he started to slur out an incoherent apology.

Jack went similarly rigid, standing to his full height from where he’d been leaning until the man stumbled away and then shrinking down a little to get a better look at you. Suddenly his hand was back on your ribs, large and encompassing almost the entire injured side of your midsection.

It felt different now than it had outside in the ambulance bay, the professional aura of the hospital surrounding you and layers of scrub and undershirt blocking out the warmth from his skin. Now you were in an intimately sized bar with a thin long sleeve pulled tight on your body, already feeling heated from the quick chug of your drink you’d done without the added effects of his touch.

“Still bothering you?” He said lowly and his eyes were locked on where he was touching, pressing lightly with his fingers tips and not backing off when you squirmed uncontrollably.

“It’s really not that bad it’s just sore when you touch it.” You breathed back, wincing again when he pressed down on the center of your large bruise. “That hurts you know.”

“Does it?” He hummed in response, his eyes meeting yours despite the fact his hand didn’t stop its light pulsing against your side.

You felt your throat tighten up and you knew you wouldn’t be able to speak even if you wanted to, not sure what words you could even say in this moment. This was clearly not appropriate for about a dozen reasons but the hidden school girl in you was ecstatic that a man like Jack Abbot was actually possibly flirting with you in a bar right now.

His fingers stopped pressing down on your bruise but he didn’t move his hand right away, letting the warmth of his palm cover your ribs until you squirmed on the stool.

“I’ve noticed something.” He hummed out and your eyebrows furrowed at him, gaze darting around to escape his intense staring.

“Yeah?” You hated that you sounded a little breathy and you halfway considered ripping his hand away from you just so you could focus for a second or two. “What’s your observation Dr. Abbot?”

His eyes darkened just enough to be noticeable and not for the first time, you wondered if you were making a mistake. You couldn’t tell enough to figure out if he had drank a lot before you came, his gaze seemed as steady as anyone’s could be but the way he shifted closer made you search for any sign of intoxication.

“You perform better when you’re told so.” He said it slowly like it was an indisputable fact and you watched him closely, trying to think of a way to deny what he was saying. “You like it.”

“Who doesn’t like it?” You whisper back, the only tone you could take without letting your shaky voice show.

“Everyone likes it but you need it.” He continued on easily and you inhaled sharply as his fingers started to lightly press on your bruise again. His lips curled up in a slight smile when your face contorted in a pained wince. “That okay sweetheart?”

You should have felt embarrassed for the near gasp that left you in response, head nodding rapidly the only translation to what the noise might have meant.

The pet name was spinning on a loop in your head and you were sure you looked completely ridiculous by now, seconds from falling off the stool if it meant being any closer to him. You could smell his cologne now under the faint scent of the whiskey he’d been sipping on since you got there and it was a nice change from the typical sterile smell you all carried at work.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” You found yourself whispering and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips and his hand was retracting back down to his side.

He cleared his throat, stood up straighter and you knew right away that you had messed it up.

Jack Abbot may be a flirt and he clearly had some sort of interest in you, you’d be stupid to try and deny that after how he was just looking at you a few second ago, but he was a good man above that all. You had signaled wanting to stop and he had done so right away without any hesitation.

He was a gentleman and that much was clear but more importantly, he was your boss.

You’d given him shit about it actually being Robby but you knew the specifics wouldn’t matter to HR and all they would see is the indisputable fact that he was your superior, both in rank and in age. You wanted to protest and take the words right back from where they sat awkwardly in the air but you didn’t know how to.

“You’re right.” He said gruffly and he didn’t look at all upset with you, just mildly disappointed and maybe even a little sheepish like he hadn’t realized just how far he’d taken it until you said something. “It’s not.”

—

The effects of that night out were carried with you to your next shift, sitting heavy in your chest and making it nearly impossible to get anything right.

Jack hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to you but it was the absence of his usual banter and quick check ins that made your stomach turn. He wasn’t being cold, wasn’t even giving you any weird looks that would indicate he was ever in a bar with his hand on your ribs, but something was missing and you knew it was your own fault.

You were slow with your response time, fumbling around when you needed to quickly grab tools or make space for another set of hands in an operation. You were acting like a complete idiot and although you were still preforming above the average quality for any other doctor around, it was below your usual standards and obvious to anybody used to you and how you normally carried yourself.

At first you had been attempting to avoid Jack but you realized that was pointless considering he was removing himself from any room you were in anyways before you got the chance.

You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t upset with you but rather himself, he believed he had made you uncomfortable and you were the reason he thought that.

The trauma one room was heated with loud frustrated voices, overlapping commands and hypothesis about what could be wrong with the little boy currently seizing on the table below you. Your brain completely blanked out, something that almost never happened to you and you barely registered one of the nurses yelling for another attending to help.

You moved over on autopilot out of the way of whoever had arrived, lightly bumping into Shen on the other side and only coming back down to earth when you felt a hand brush against your back.

“C’mon kid.” The low rasp from next to you sent you spiraling right back down to reality and your head snapped up and over to lock eyes with Jack. He had worry all over his face from the way you’d seemingly gone absent for a few long seconds at a crucial moment. “You know what to do.”

It wasn’t a question but a solid and trusted statement.

You hesitated for a breath before nodding firmly at him and turning back to face the room, your brain finally catching up with your mouth as you easily spout out the steps to take to help the boy settle down enough to continue his care safely.

There isn’t another moment to breathe until he’s sent up to the ICU and you’re able to leave the room, barely able to get your gloves off before you’re slumping against one of the hallway walls.

You don’t need to open your tightly shut eyes to know who the approaching footsteps belong to, reluctantly opening them again to meet with Jacks concerned face. He looks hesitant to even be in a slightly private space with you, looking over his shoulder like he needs an exit plan.

“You did good.” He says it softly and your shoulders deflate a little in a large breath followed by a scoff.

“I could have killed him.” You say back in denial, voice painfully tight as you run a shaky hand over your messy hair to try and smooth the flyaways.

“You couldn’t have.” He denies as he takes a step closer and you want to correct him, to tell him all the ways it was possible and remind him of the times it had happened before regardless if it was directly your fault or not. Instead you just fall silent and give him a long pitiful look. “And I wouldn’t have let you. But you did good on your own, you pulled it together.”

Now it’s your turn to take a step closer even though you immediately miss the support of the wall against your back. He peers down at you and your chest tightens.

“I’m sorry.” You say it so softly it’s barely audible under the chaos of the night and the beeping of machines, his eyebrows furrowing just enough to be noticeable but the rest of his face impossible to read. “For the other night.”

“Don’t.” He says immediately once he understands what you’re referring to. “That was my fault. I should be the one apologizing for making you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head and somehow gather enough courage to let your hand raise and land on his bicep, squeezing softly to try and communicate with him through some sort of physical touch morse code. Thankfully he softens a little at the feeling and you can brave yourself through an actual audible sentence.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable Jack.” You reassure as sincerely as you can even though you see the contemplation passing over his features, like he’s not sure if you’re just trying to save face or if you actually mean it. “I was nervous. I just… I haven’t really done that.”

“Flirted with your boss in a shitty bar?” He rasps as he steps closer and you know he’s joking, especially considering the way his lips curl up in a soft smile, but you feel a little sick knowing you’ll have to explain yourself further.

“Jack.” You sigh out, eyes locked on his before glancing away nervously and squeezing his arm a few more times.

You’re not sure if it’s just something about you that leads him to understand what you mean, an inexperienced nature that you’re sure could be relatively obvious to anybody interested in you, or if he had just came to the conclusion on his own but his lips part in realization as he slowly nods.

Your face flushes and you drop your hand from his arm, not losing contact for long considering he’s immediately bringing his own much large palm back up to your ribs, his thumb rubbing back and forth right under where your bras underwire starts.

“That’s alright sweetheart.” He says in a soft whisper and you suddenly feel like you want to cry.

Both from the adrenaline of everything that’s happened in the last few hours, the way he avoided you throughout the day, and especially from how embarrassing it feels to get such an automatic relief just at the sound of the pet name coming from his mouth.

You hope you don’t look as visibly torn up as you feel but you’re sure he can see it on your face, his eyes softening even more if that was possible.

“Yeah?” You find yourself whispering back in desperate need for reassurance and he’s quick to give it, nodding his head and shifting close enough that your chest could brush if he moved his hand and leaned forward. “That doesn’t… freak you out?”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs a little but it’s lacking any real humor, like he finds you genuinely ridiculous for ever thinking along those lines. “Nobody’s ever touched you right sweetheart?”

It takes a few seconds before you’re nodding your head and biting at your bottom lip from nerves, face undoubtedly bright red from the blunt way he put it.

“I promise that does the opposite of freak me out.” He rasped back and your eyes reluctantly met his again just to make sure he was being honest with you, finding whatever you were searching for in his gaze almost immediately.

His eyes are actually a little darker than you expected and you feel your cheeks flush immediately at the mere idea of him being the first one to touch you like that. Not some drunk hookup with a guy who can barely pay his taxes, not a stiff and awkward first time with a boy your age who isn’t focused on your pleasure at all.

Instead you finally let yourself imagine what it would be like with Jack.

Jack and his rough weathered hands and low rasp, his decades of experience that started before you were even a thought in your mother’s mind. His never ending attentiveness and easy dominance that he carried through the ED without ever needing to raise his voice or assert himself, the thought out and specific praise he gifted you whenever he could sense you needed it.

You knew the direction your mind had gone was probably written all over your face, his amusement leaving his own as soon as he registered what it was you were so quiet about.

“Sweetheart.” It was low, the lowest you’d heard from him and your slightly watery eyes immediately darted back up this face despite you not even realizing they’d been drifting down his broad chest. “You have a few more hours to go.”

He kissed his teeth like he was disapproving and you felt a little sick at how eager you were to fix that.

Who knew Jack Abbot could so easily slip into the role of a complete menace the second he realized you were interested in him that way?

You nodded your head and visibly gulped, straightening out your scrubs and doing your best to avoid contact with him in any way as you turned to leave the hallway.

—

There was almost a sense of fear as the end of your shift approached although you still had your doubts Jack would ever cross that professional line with you.

You knew he wanted to, he wasn’t being very subtle anymore with the very hungry gaze he kept fixated on you whenever you were in a room together for the rest of the night, but wanting and doing were two very different things.

A large part of you hoped you’d just be able to leave the hospital and head home to obsess over him in your own bed like any good doctor with a raging crush should do, stuff it down and keep living your life solely for the medicine and the job. You didn’t have time for this, you didn’t have the ability to make the time for it either.

But Jack Abbot was somebody who walked around like they had all the time in the world, shoulders relaxed after a brutal shift and humor dry and witty as ever behind you as he said goodbye to the day shift.

You’d expected him to walk past you, maybe give you a light parting statement possibly accompanied by another knowing half smile in your direction.

Instead you felt his warm hand on your lower back, wordlessly guiding you with him out the doors. You didn’t bother telling him that you hadn’t even grabbed your backpack yet, absolutely no protest coming from your lips as you walked with him.

You wondered what you might look like to any other staff members, maybe just like a mentor giving you a ride home and guiding your exhausted body to keep you upright. A caring boss who was providing comfort after a long night.

His truck was parked further back than necessary, high up on the parking ramp and in one of the corners you’d only use on a really full staff day. You didn’t have time to fixate on the minuscule details of what this meant about his character, willingly walking extra minutes uphill just to be parked in solitude on the highest point of the ramp.

You barely even had the time to gasp when he was turning you around, suddenly in front of you with his hand on your hip as he gently backed you up against the driver side door of his truck.

Your eyes must have been wide and unfocused because he made sure to take his time, gaze raking over you and your messy hair that he was brushing behind your ear. He let his calloused hand cup your cheek after the hair was tucked neatly and you instinctively leaned against it.

“You sure baby?” He asked softly, croaked out in a gentle way you didn’t even know his voice could produce.

You didn’t even really know what he was referring to but you could definitely make a few guess and after running through a handful, you realized there was very little you would deny Jack Abbot of.

Your stomach buzzes as Ellis approaches you, a smug look on her face, tablet tucked beneath her arm. Her eyes flick past you, making sure that Dennis is within earshot, stifling a laugh into her hand. 

“Hey,” She greets. You casually look up from your computer, giving her a smile. 

“Hi,” You say. 

“No makeup kinda’ day, huh?” She says. You let out a wavering exhale, keeping yourself from breaking before responding. 

“Oh, uh, no,” You say. “I’m wearing makeup.”

“Seriously?” She asks, sounding as agog as possible. “Damn, rough night?”

From behind you, Dennis looks towards the interaction, his brows furrowing at the out of character comments coming from Ellis. He frowns when he realizes that she’s talking to you, watching as you lean away from her and defensively cross your arms over your chest. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, trying to act offended. “Does it not look nice?”

“I mean…” She trails off, purposefully looking at Dennis again, just for a split second. “You’ve definitely had better days.”

Dennis waits for your response, knowing that you can take care of yourself, but also having to fight the anger that grows in his chest. Ellis is your friend, is she not? Why the hell is she talking to you like this?

“What the fuck, Ellis?” 

You recognize the voice without needing to turn around, but even if you couldn’t, the look on Ellis’ face would be a dead giveaway. Her eyes widen, and she ducks her head towards you. 

“Say nice things at my funeral,” She mutters. You actually laugh, just in time for Jack to make his way over, aggressively setting a hand down on the counter to stop Ellis from going anywhere. 

“Shouldn’t you be focused on handover?” He asks, the veins in his forearms popping, a probing look on his face. Your eyes go wide, face heating up as you try to hold in another laugh when Ellis turns to you. “Don’t look at her.”

“Jesus, Abbot, it was just-”

“I heard you’re applying for an ultrasound fellowship next year,” He says, lowering his voice, cutting her off. “I’ll be keeping the way you speak to your colleagues in mind when you ask for a recommendation letter.”

“Oh my god,” You say, laughing through the words, your jaw dropping at the end of the sentence. “We were just fucking around, Jack, I wanted to mess with Dennis a little. You weren’t even supposed to hear that.”

His head snaps to look at you, brows still furrowed threateningly, but they slowly relax as he takes in your words. 

“What?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, looking at Dennis. “You hearing this, Whitaker?”

Dennis clears his throat. “Uhm, yeah, yes. I thought it seemed out of character, but-”

“But what?” Jack asks. “You were gonna’ let someone talk to her like that?”

“Jack!” You exclaim, standing up, setting a hand on top of his. “You kinda’ stepped in before he had a chance.”

He squints, looking back at Ellis. “You didn’t mean it?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” She asks. “She’s who I think about whenever I hear ‘Lips of an Angel.’”

You snort. “You’re an idiot.”

Dennis is standing behind you now, his hands on the back of your chair, his shoulders back slightly as though good posture will somehow convince Jack to not be mad at him. You sit back down, and his hands slip onto your shoulders, fingers tapping against you. Jack gives you and Ellis a final glare, then walks off to check on the most recent trauma patient. 

“You almost got me killed,” Ellis says, laughing, jabbing a finger in your direction accusatorily. “The only person I thought would be getting mad at me was your fiancé, and at least I could take him in a fight.”

“Sorry, you think you could take him in a fight?” You ask. “You know I love you, but you’re losing that one, babe.”

“Oh, why, cause he spends his free time carrying hay?” She asks, sarcastically, lifting her arm up and flexing, her bicep bulging against her scrub top. “You’re going down, funky music.”

“Luckily we don’t have to find out,” Dennis says. “But now Abbot thinks I’m a wimp, so, thank you for that.”

You look over your shoulder, smiling innocently. “He’s just protective, he actually really likes you.”

Dennis scoffs, smiling back at you. “Sure seems like it.”

Later that night, long after the dayshift has gone home, Ellis checks her phone between patients, tapping on a notification from you. She can’t figure out what the picture is at first, but then she turns her brightness up, realizing it’s Dennis’ arm, bicep flexed and veins pressing against his skin. 

Around your fucking neck. 

‘Still think you could take him?’

tags:

You have a deep love for your office. It’s not far from the pit itself, just a left turn down the hallway, and it’s not necessarily impressive, a shoebox filled with paperwork, cute pens, and arranged trinkets.

However, it might as well be Nirvana in the way it shelters you from the fluorescent lighting that makes your temples throb. From the metal-on-metal shriek of trauma carts. From the constant, looming threat of someone bleeding out within splatter range of your vintage suede ballet flats.

And you really hate blood. It hates you back, with passion.

An unfortunate dynamic for someone working as an administrative assistant in one of the busiest emergency departments on the eastern seaboard. But fate has always struck you as the kind of entity that laughs after delivering the punchline.

Today, the pit is practically foaming at the mouth. Before noon, someone’s child launched a juice box at you, the phone has been ringing off the hook with people demanding to speak to someone with actual authority (rude), and the discharge paperwork that you printed, you stapled (with a bow sticker, for morale), and you left in the outbox is apparently missing.

Which is how you find yourself back in the belly of the beast, bracing yourself as the noise and motion crash over you all at once.

You spot Dana’s blonde ponytail across the sea of moving heads. Your girl. Your one-woman who once stitched up a guy with a fork sticking out of his thigh while telling you your blouse looked cute and asking if you brought cupcakes again.

If anyone will know where your papers went, it’s her.

You take two steps toward salvation.

You do not make it to her.

“Hey there. You just gonna walk past without saying hi?”

You turn around with your usual default smile (the one you save for lost visitors and mildly terrifying surgeons), expecting someone familiar, or semi-familiar, or at least someone you’ve exchanged passive aggressive breakroom eye contact with once or twice.

But the man’s face that greets you doesn’t ring a bell. He’s got that aggressively forgettable look, like if you asked someone to draw a generic white guy from memory using only vague guesses and sad lighting. Pale. Tired-looking. Baseball cap pulled low over dull eyes. He could be someone’s uncle. He could be someone’s tax accountant. He could be a ghost. 

You blink at him, brows drawing together. 

“Sorry — do I… know you?” you ask, like maybe you forgot a name or an appointment or an entire conversation, which, in your defense, does happen.

“Nah,” he says. “But I swear, I’ve seen you in my dreams.” His smile widens, showing slightly uneven teeth. “I didn’t think angels worked the day shift.”

You laugh, because honestly, what else are you supposed to do? It’s not the worst pickup line you’ve heard. Not even top ten.

This place is practically a petri dish for bad flirting and worst timing, a simmering stew of hormones, narcotics, and people who’ve been sitting in plastic chairs for six hours with nothing to do but stare and develop confidence they did not arrive with. 

You’re pretty sure there was a study about it. Or maybe that was a tweet. Either way, it feels peer-reviewed by lived experience.

“That’s sweet,” you say, defaulting to sugar-coating like your life depends on it, even though it’s not sweet. Not at all. It’s weird. It’s deeply un-sweet. And you would very much like to disintegrate into a puff of strawberry-scented vapor and waft gently toward Dana’s desk. “But I’m pretty sure dream-me doesn’t work doubles. She’s probably napping. Or retired. Or, I don’t know, on a yacht somewhere with a pina colada.”

“Doubles, huh? I can tell,” he says, eyes dipping, just briefly, but long enough to make your skin prickle. “You’ve got that worn-in look. Real cute on you.”

Is that supposed to be a compliment?

Because worn-in sounds suspiciously close to run into the ground, and you’re not entirely convinced real cute is strong enough to save it. It’s like being called brave in a dress you didn’t realize was see-through.

You force a light laugh.

“Well, you know what they say,” you chirp, breezy, harmless. “No rest for the wicked.”

“Maybe what you need is a little after-hours entertainment.”  Then, casually, “What time you get off tonight?”

Your lip curls before you can stop it, and you have to mentally smooth it back into submission. Gross. The hospital air isn’t even sterile enough to filter out the way it sours between you, something rancid creeping in where banter (if you can even call it that) used to be. 

You don’t want to imagine what after-hours entertainment means to him, don’t want the visuals nor the explanation. 

But you do imagine what happens if you tell him to back off. Best case, you’re a bitch. Worst case, he follows you into the staff lot.

So you give him an out. Wrapped in politeness, sealed with a smile. Just enough plausible deniability to keep things from tipping. You tilt your head, shrug like it’s nothing.

“Tempting,” you say. “But my boyfriend’s already booked me for after-hours entertainment.”

You do not say that your boyfriend lives in your imagination. That he’s cobbled together from soap opera plotlines, your worst instincts, and a half-formed mental sketch labeled man who could end someone. 

“Yeah? Where’s he at then?”

You should have expected that response. Men like this only register rejection if it arrives somene else’s fists.

So you switch tactics. Fast. Panic jumps a little in your chest, but you press it down. Flatten it. Replace it with a square of your shoulders.

“He — he’s around,” you say, lifting your chin. “He works here. In the hospital. You know. With the… medicine.”

Smooth. So smooth.

And of all the people in this very large, very populated hospital, your brain reaches into its little Rolodex and picks Dr. Frank Langdon.

Mr. Monosyllabic Trauma Bay. ER Ken with rage issues and cheekbones that could slice steel. Professional proof that repression is alive and well in the greater Pittsburgh area.

Probably the single worst option for a fake boyfriend. He’s the guy who barely looks at you unless you’re blocking his path, and even then it’s just to sigh like you’ve personally ruined his afternoon. He’s moody. Dry. Practically allergic to small talk.

And yet somehow your brain plasters his face across your internal romance billboard like he’s the star instead of a guy who once told you to “get off the gurney, it’s not a toy.”

You tell yourself it’s because he’s convenient. Because no one would question a man like that defending you. He looks intimidating enough to scare off someone with a single glance.

But that’s not the truth. The truth is you’ve always had a thing for fixer-uppers, for a challenge.

And Langdon is the epitome of a challenge: rehab, recent divorce, a kid he only sees on alternating weekends because addiction rearranged his life into neat, painful compartments. 

He’s locked behind walls you’d very much like to scale, if only to prove you could. 

And despite your charm, your wit, your general tendency to leave people a little bit in love with you after three sentences, he remains immune. 

Still. Imagining him as your fake boyfriend has a certain appeal.

The man’s gaze sharpens. “Must not be very good at his job if he lets guys talk to you like this.”

You open your mouth to respond, something feminist and devastating in a fuck-you sort of way — something about how your boyfriend respects your boundaries and believes in your agency and doesn’t need to play caveman to prove his love — but then the universe does what it rarely, rarely does for you: it delivers.

A miracle in navy scrubs appears to your right. Langdon. 

You seize him. There’s no other word for it, treating his bicep as your personal stress ball. You worry you might be a second away from popping a blood vessel.

“He’s excellent at his job,” you blurt.

You are so going to hell for this. Straight to HR medical prison. Is that a thing? Doesn’t matter. You are definitely not passing Go, not collecting Frank’s approval. 

He looks down at you, startled. “What —”

“Aren’t you, honey?” you chirp, turning to him with the most desperate approximation of casual affection, your eyes doing all the heavy lifting as you beg him, silently and with every fiber of your being, please don’t ruin this, I’m in too deep, I’ll knit you another scarf, I’ll stop calling you Doctor Daddy in public (for a week), just go with it.

Langdon looks at you, then over at the guy, then back at you.

“I mean,” he finally says, in that same begrudgingly-human tone he uses when you ask him to open your pickle jars, “I’d like to think so.”

He’s still frowning. You’re not sure he understands what’s going on.

“Well, aren’t you a lucky bastard,” The man says, loud enough for the entire nurse’s station to hear. His voice is thick with something slimy, all false cheer and veiled challenge. “Good for you, man. You’re really punching up. Hope you’ve got a good grip on her.”

Langdon blinks once. Then again, slower. You can almost hear the internal gears clicking together, the pause where he reads between the lines and then draws a big red circle around the situation.

His head tilts, just barely, but enough that it radiates condescension, surgical grade.

“Yeah,” he says, voice dry as bone. “I’m still adjusting to the burden of being this blessed.”

“See? This is why I keep him around. The self-awareness. The humility.” You turn to the guy. “And the sarcasm? Complimentary. Limited time offer.”

Langdon doesn’t say anything at first. Just shifts his weight a little closer, the edge of his arm brushing yours, hand drifting to the small of your back like a warning, you’ve made your point, Barbie, let’s not give this creep another reason to open his mouth.

“Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back before I start living up to the reputation.”

You nod like you’ve been programmed to obey, limbs still buzzing with aftershock as he guides you down the corridor.

Your heart’s doing that fluttery, hummingbird thing it does when you almost trip in front of someone hot, or when Langdon says your name with too much gravel in his voice. You’re riding the adrenaline high and trying to walk in a straight line, which is difficult because your knees? Fully made of Jell-O.

Then, from behind, sleazy and absolutely not whispered enough —

“She’s even prettier from the back.”

Before your brain can register rage or disgust or a comeback involving a clipboard to the jaw, Langdon’s arm wraps around your waist.

He pulls you directly in front of him, his own body suddenly a full barrier between you and the hallway. Between you and that guy.

“Boyfriend privileges,” he says without looking back, “That’s a restricted angle.”

Interesting. Because that sounds a lot like proprietary language for someone who doesn’t notice you and definitely isn’t interested.

You try not to smile. You’re a mix of emotions right now, a contradiction in every right of the word. Angry with the stranger, a little hot for Langdon.

Once you’re finally out of sight, and earshot, you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. It escapes out of your lungs all at once, dramatic and overcompensating, and you immediately try to reel yourself back in. 

You slow your steps, glance at Langdon, and smirk. It’s shaky at first, but you smother it with sheer willpower. 

“Punching up,” you repeat, “Wow. I mean, congrats. That must be exhausting for you. Dating someone this far out of your league. I’m sure you’re doing your best.”

He side-eyes you, brow ticking up like he’s debating whether you’re worth engaging or just tolerating.

You can see the exact moment he gives in.

“You’re right,” he says flatly. “I should’ve gone for someone more attainable. A woman like you is not worth the stress.”

“That sounds like an admission that I’d ruin you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“So you think you could handle me?”

“I could handle you without breaking a sweat,” he says, too sharp, too fast.

“Prove it.”

Langdon goes still. The only part of him that betrays any reaction is his throat, tightening around a swallow so slow, you swear you can hear it. Like he’s physically pushing the words down. Forcing them back.

And for one single, stupid second, your heart dares to hope. You swear he just might do it. You imagine him stepping in, crowding your space, that unreadable look in his eyes sharpening into something hungry. You imagine his hand braced your head and his voice wrecked when he says, “Fine.” You imagine a lot of things. Because you are you, and your brain is an unmedicated place set to a Lana Del Rey soundtrack.

But none of that happens. 

Instead he swallows again. Clears his throat. Refuses to meet your gaze. “That… was hypothetical.”

You don’t let him off so easy. 

“That’s crazy, because it didn’t sound hypothetical.” You lean in. “But if you want to pretend you’re not tempted, that’s between you and your therapist. Assuming you have one. Which… mm. Might explain a lot.”

His jaw flexes. “If I needed a therapist, it’d be because of you.”

You beam at him. “Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“That’s not a compliment.” 

“Didn’t say it was. You can insult me as long as you’re thinking about me afterward.”

He mutters something under his breath.

“I’m not participating in this conversation any longer.” He turns like that’s the end of it, then pauses. “And if that idiot tries something, come get me. You’ve got the situational awareness of a soap bubble.”

Another insult. You can recognize that. You can also recognize that your whole body is doing that glittery, fizzy thing it does anytime he’s around.

Because he just exists like that. Hot, mysterious, fundamentally allergic to saying what he means.

Anyway. Lost discharge papers. Terrible lighting. Emotional whiplash. Show must go on.

You meet Frank Langdon your first day of Med School. You end up sitting beside each other in a packed lecture hall. As soon as he sits down, you know he is competition. Your hands shoot up within seconds of one another when the professor asks a question in that first semester. But when Langdon finds you crying in the library, he got a bit, well, softer.

You were dating, Dale, a carryover from pre-med. He was in Law School, entirely competitive and entirely an asshole. But he swore he loved you. And you thought, at the time, that's what love was. But love wasn't supposed to make you cry. Not like this.

Langdon brings you for coffee (his treat), and the icy competition soon becomes friendly rivalry.

"You could do so much better than Dale," he tells you one afternoon as you lay in the quad soaking up some sun.

You snort, "Uh, huh. Like who?"

You roll onto your stomach, peering at Langdon over the frames of your sunglasses. And for once, the golden boy of Med School is silent. You blink, your mouth going dry as you realise the words that are left unspoken.

But you and Langdon aren't like that. Boys and girls can be friends. You tell everyone this. Especially when you move into your second year of Med School, and you have matching Halloween costumes. (It's Luke and Leia for god sake, they're siblings!) You're just best friends.

But best friends don't look at each other the way Langdon looks at you...Or you him.

It's the reason why one January night, Dale turfs you out. He's jealous of Frank. You snort. You've been having this argument since they first met almost a year ago now. You and Frank Langdon are nothing more than friends.

Except for one night. You're studying (likely place for two med students to be). You've swapped the library for Frank's dorm room and a selection of Red Bulls. You're pacing, trying to memorise...something. Your brain is so fried you can't even remember what you're supposed to be remembering. So you flop onto the floor beside Langdon, he has his eyes closed, and he's mouthing a passage of the thickest textbook you've had the misfortune of coming across.

"This is pointless!" you moan, slamming your hands over your eyes. "Let's just drop out and join the circus."

He laughs and rolls onto his side to look at you. You can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. And you know you shouldn't...you really shouldn't, but you roll to face him. Your noses are touching, you're that close. His eyes are so blue. Have they always been this blue? They flit from yours to your lips and back again.

Studying has been abandoned, and you don't know who is the first one to move, but you do. You're going to kiss Frank fucking Langdon until there's a knock on the door. It jolts you from your reverie.

And after that, nothing happens; you don't even mention the near kiss after that night. So when Dale throws your shit onto the floor outside his apartment, you're in disbelief. The idea of Langdon being anything more than your best friend is crazy.

Right? Right!

It's a thought that circles your mind until Christmas break is over and you sit down beside him in your first lecture of the semester.

"Hey, are you busy tonight?" he asks you, and you immediately shake your head. Maybe you can be more than friends. New Year, New You!

It all sounds good, maybe too good, as you walk into the diner Langdon suggested, and you see him with a beautiful brunette woman. He introduces her as Abby. They met skiing over the winter break. You didn't know Langdon skied! But you grin and bear it and push down these newfound feelings for Langdon.

You tell yourself that you're just mourning your relationship with Dale. You needed a rebound. So you find one a few weeks later. But nothing sticks. You always imagine big blue eyes and strong, steady hands... While you're failing at finding a boyfriend, Abby and Frank (she calls him Frank) are going from strength to strength.

You're about to finish your third year in med school, you've just done a gruelling rotation with Langdon, and you're exhausted. You're sitting in the ambulance bay of the shitty County Hospital, you were both assigned decompressing after your last shift when he tells you.

"Abby's pregnant."

And with that, any secret glance, any fleeting smile, any brushing of hands or close encounter in the drug lock-up is gone. Any chance that you and Langdon could be anything more than friends disappears.

You're the first person he calls when Abby says yes to his proposal. You're the first person to visit Tanner (outside of their families). And of course, you're in the congregation as Abby and Frank say "I do".

And you let it go. You match with a hospital in Boston while Frank goes to Pittsburgh.

"Where the fuck is that?" you tease him.

You stay in contact, of course. He's still your best friend. And over time, things get easier. You miss seeing him everyday. And it's embarassing how quickly you jump at the chance to move to PTMC to be with your best friend for your R2 year.

Langdon meets you at the airport and drives you to your new apartment. He helps you settle in. It's like being back in med school all over again.

You giggle together as you fail to build a Billy Bookcase. You end up lying down on the floor of your partially furnished sitting room. Just like you did in the quad and Langdon's dorm room. And when you meet each other's gaze this time, you can feel the static in the air. His blue eyes are focused on your lips. Then his phone rings. Abby is asking when he'll be home.

You wave him off, of course. You like Abby. She's like a friend-in-law. And she likes you, as much as any sane woman likes their husband's girl best friend.

The morning of your first shift, you can't believe that he is waiting outside to drive you.

"You're ridiculous," you tease him as you sit in his passenger seat, your hands wrapped around a large to-go cup of your favourite coffee order.

And when you walk in giggling together, people take notice. They know a new doctor is starting today but they don't think that when they see Langdon walk in with his arm slung around a woman. Obviously they think...

"You must be Abby!" a musical voice says from the nurses' desk. "Abby Langdon!"

Your face blanches and Langdon jumps away from you as if he's been hit by electricity.

"Oh, um no! I'm the new resident starting today," you tell the red-headed nurse, whose name you soon learn is Lena.

"Old friend?" she asks nodding at Langdon who has scurried away to the lockers.

"Yea, yea. We went to Med School together," you explain. "I'm just happy to have a friendly face. Emergency medicine isn't all that friendly."

But you fit in, you soon make friends with Samira Mohan, a fellow R2. You go on a few dates. You let Dr Robby take you under his wing as you find your way around the Pitt. He likes how you mellow Langdon out, you bring him a peace that doesn't go unnoticed by the staff.

You settle into life in PTMC.

"You good?" you ask Langdon as he comes in one sunny September. He seems more agitated than usual. You know he's been having issues at home. He hurt his back a few months ago. Penny's arrival couldn't have come at a worse time. Abby has been spending more and more hours at work and the childcare bills were racking up.

You knew that the fellowship applications had been tough on both of you. Your boyfriend broke up with you in the middle of it all after one too many missed dates. You didn't blame him.

"You chase off another one?" Dr Abbot teased you about it a while after the wound from the heartbreak had scabbed over.

"Why? You offering?" you teased him right back.

Jack didn't miss the way Langdon's eyes flicked up, flitting between your face and the Attending.

"Inappropriate workplace relations," Abbot sighed. "Get back to me when you're a fellow."

Langdon let out a little huff and walked away which had both you and Jack falling into a fit of giggles.

But now you were worried about your friend, who was practically bouncing as he looked at the board. It had just gone 7am and you were concerned about how much caffeine he had already ingested.

Langdon ruffles your hair and smiles.

"Of course! Why are you always worrying about me?" he responds with that smile that always makes you just a little weak at the knees.

"Okay, well I'm off, François," you tease him in return. "We're still on for drinks tomorrow night?"

You're both off and it's the first time in so long you can both hang out not at work and not with his kids. You have no idea that Frank has lied to Abby about working a double so he can spend some time with you.

You go home and sleep. You've been on night shift for the past few weeks. You like Abbot, so you asked him for a letter of recommendation for your Fellowship. Hell, if you didn't think it would cause a commotion, you would ask him out for a drink. And hey, what if you've flirted a little bit with him every now and then? You knew that Collins and Robby dated when she was still an intern. You and Samira would giggle about Jack Abbot in the breakroom when you got a free minute. It usually had Langdon refusing to spend any time with the two of you for the rest of the shift.

You grumble, pressing pause on the trashy reality show you're watching as you try to get your body clock back to normal, when there's a knock on the door. Who the hell is at your door right now? You smooth down your Penguins t-shirt, you got it your first week in Pittsburgh when Langdon took you to a game. He immediately banned you from bringing up how dreamy Sidney Crosby was. When you open the door you take a step back... Frank Langdon is standing there. Did you dream him up? Why is he here?

"Your shift?" you ask in confusion taking him in. He looks worked up. "Wait is there an emergency? Do they need me to come in?"

Langdon just looks at you. He takes a deep breath, and then he's on you. His big hands cupping your face and his lips crash against yours. A kiss almost a decade in the making. It's not soft, like you imagined so many times. It's desperate, and he is pushing you back into your apartment. His hands move from your face to your hair as he pulls you closer. You can't help the moan that escapes your parted lips. He kicks your door shut before spinning you and pinning you against it. Neither of you breaks the kiss, your tongues exploring each other, something that should have happened back in Med School.

You have the wherewithal to lock your door before Langdon's hands slide down your sides to your hips and around to cup your ass. Finally he scoops you up and your legs hook around his waist. His lips break from yours to pepper kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck. This is what causes you to whimper out for the first time and you can feel Langdon smile against you.

"Yea, lemme hear ya baby," he breathes against your neck.

Your head is swimming you can't compute what is going on. Your fingers are running through Frank's dark hair, something you've fantasised about for, well, years. Your eyes lock and you don't need words. You've been beyond words for so long now. Langdon carries you to your bedroom and deposits you on the bed.

"I woulda cleaned up if I knew I was gonna have company," you exhale as your legs fall open for him. He stands at the end of your bed, just watching you. He deserves to admire you. He's waited for so long. You have no idea how many times he fantasised about this. And he knew now was bad. That new intern had figured him out within a few hours of her first shift. Robby had blown up on him. He might lose his job, be barred from practising medicine ever again. He's sure he was going to lose his marriage.

If he's going to hell, he might as well get what he wants first. His blue eyes are focused on the wet patch on your white panties that have little pink bows emblazoned over them. He can't help the groan that escapes his lips.

"That all for me, baby?" he asks as he pulls his scrub top over his head and crawls onto the bed.

If your head was screwed on properly, you would ask him why he left the Pitt before he dropped his scrubs off. But you're too turned on. Your brain isn't functioning, your tongue is too heavy.

Instead, you just nod in response to his question, which has him groaning. He immediately dips between your parted thighs. He presses open-mouthed kisses onto your clothed core. And you whimper and squirm under him. You hear the tear of the cloth more than feel it. But when his hot, wet mouth meets your sopping folds, you feel it. You buck off the bed.

"Oh baby, when's the last time someone touched you?" he growls between peppering kisses and hot licks on your cunt.

You just shake your head as you tangle a hand in his perfect hair. You have no idea how to answer him. But you can feel him smirk against you, satisfied with that answer. His attention goes straight to your clit. He has one goal - to make you cum. His blue eyes focus on your expression, screwed up in pure pleasure. And when you meet them, you have no other option, you cum with a scream. You don't care about your paper thin walls.

Langdon climbs up your body, dragging your oversized t-shirt up your sides and over your head. He lets out a practically feral groan as he sees that you're bare underneath it. He drops his forehead to your shoulder.

"You're even more perfect than I imagined," he growls against your skin.

He's kissing you again, the taste of yourself mingling with him. He tastes like Red Bull and mints and something that is just so Langdon. Your hands are all over him, dragging nails down his back, gripping his thick biceps, running through the hair on his chest.

"Need you," you finally breathe against his lips.

And Langdon, despite everything, is a gentleman. He shucks off his scrub bottoms and boxers in one swift movement. Your legs hook around his hips, giving him all the space he needs. He gives himself a few pumps, you try to move to touch him but he's already pressing his head to your sobbing core. You need him, he needs you. There are no words, no time to think, to talk. He finally pushes into you and finds a home in you. He lets out a soft, breathy moan, just one little, "Yes." This is where he was meant to be since that first day in college.

And you knew it too. You were both entirely fucked in that moment as Frank Langdon bottoms out in you. You know you can't take this back. You lock eyes and he presses his forehead against yours before he starts thrusting. He's like a man possessed. He hooks your legs behind your knees and presses them up so he can get deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your eyes are screwed up as he hits that sweet spot inside you. You don't expect him to pull out, you certainly don't expect him to flip you around onto your stomach. Where was this Langdon hiding?

He pulls you onto your knees, back onto his cock so he can start fucking you. His hand grips the back of your head, pushing your head down into your pillows. Your moans are muffled which clearly Langdon disagrees with as he is quick to pull at your hair and force your head up.

"Need to hear ya," he groans. "Need to hear ya when you cum over my cock. Cos you're gonna cum aren't ya?"

You don't know how he does that. How does he know you're on the brink?

"Cum for me, baby," he growls in your ear, and you can't deny him anymore. You cum for a second time, crying out his name.

Langdon has been holding back for a minute, thinking about a research paper he was working on. But when your pussy tightens around him, he's a goner. He knows he should pull out. He really does. And you know it too. But you're just so hot and wet and tight. He squeezes his eyes shut as he cums in you in hot spurts.

He releases you and you both tumble unceremoniously onto the bed. You both lie there, your chests heaving, you stare at the ceiling as your brain comes back together.

You and Frank Langdon have just slept together. Frank Langdon, your best friend. Frank Langdon, who is married to a beautiful, kind, smart woman. You turn to look at him but before you can speak, he sits up.

"Lemme clean you up," he breaths, before pushing off the bed. He cleans up the mess between your legs with your ripped up panties.

"Langdon," you breathe as he kneels between your legs. He doesn't look at you, just focuses at the task at hand.

"Langdon," you repeat, but nothing.

"Frank!" you exclaim, which has him finally meeting your gaze. "We need to-"

Both of your phones are buzzing. You look at him before grabbing yours. There are so many push notifications.

"There's an active shooter at Pittfest," you whisper, any thought of discussing what just transpired gone.

"What are you doing here?" Samira asks you rush into the Emergency Department.

"Saw the news," you respond as you get gowned up.

Robby's eyes find yours. He looks completely wrecked. You've never seen him look like that before.

"Glad to see you, kid," he tells you before he assigns you to the red zone.

You get to work alongside Jack Abbot, there's no flirting now. There's no time, there's no energy. There's so much death. You meet Langdon's eyes, confused as to why he seems to be avoiding Robby. Did something happen?

When things eventually calm down, Robby catches you and nods for you to come to the breakroom.

"I haven't clocked in, Robby. I won't ask for overtime. You needed hands and-" you begin but he shakes his head.

"Did you come in with Langdon?" he asks.

You nod, "Yea, yea. He came over to see me before we saw the news. Was he on a split shift? I thought-"

Robby interrupts again, "Doctor, you didn't know?"

"Know what?" you whisper, horror covering your face. What happened?

"Frank has been stealing controlled substances from this ED. And I know he's your friend. Did you know?" he asks plainly.

Your face blanches. Frank was fired for stealing drugs! Frank was fucking high when he came to your apartment! Frank fucked you because he was so out of it he probably thought you were Abby. Did he even say your name?

Tears prick your eyes, threatening to spill out. You can't trust yourself to speak. So instead, you just shake your head. Robby places a hand on your shoulder, he's always been there for you when things get too tough.

"I'm sorry, kid. I just needed to know," he said gently before leaving the room. He had so much shit to finish up.

You don't know how long you sat in the breakroom but you finally push yourself up and walk out of the ED. You don't say goodbye to anyone. You just leave. You're not scheduled on for that night.

You blink when you come face to face with Langdon in the ambulance bay. He looks flushed, like he's been yelling...

"Hey, I can drop you home," he tells you, catching your arm, the coldness of his wedding band pressing into your bare skin.

You pull away from him like he's burnt you. And you wouldn't be surprised if the ring has branded you.

"Are you high?" you hiss at him.

His whole face changes. You have no idea that he's just had another fight with Robby. He's exhausted, he's wired and he's scared. And you've just set him off again.

"What?" he snarls. "Are you fucking serious? Did Robby tell you some bullshit?"

You shake your head, "Were you high when you came to my apartment? Were you high when you fucked me?"

Langdon lets out a laugh then, taking a step back and scrubbing a hand over his face. Then he looks at you, his face completely closed off, cold, icy. You haven't seen him look like that since before you became friends.

"Yea," he says simply. "Only reason I'd ever fuck you is if I was high."

With that he turns on his heels and storms off, leaving you standing in the ambulance bay, with your broken heart in your hands.

☆ part two ☆

The blood disappeared after the first wash. You know that. You've spent enough years in hospitals to know exactly how long it takes soap and water to do their job. Yet somehow you're still standing there, staring down at the sink while hot water rushes over your hands. It takes several seconds before you realize you've been washing the same spot on your palm over and over again.

"No."

The word slips out before you can stop it.

You shut the faucet off and brace both hands against the edge of the sink. Water drips from your fingertips into the basin below.

"No. Absolutely not."

A moment later, Perlah squeezes past you on her way back into the department. She takes one look at your face and immediately slows.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"You look like you're planning a murder."

You grab a paper towel with perhaps slightly more force than necessary.

"I'm considering several."

Perlah studies you for another second before nodding.

"You know what, yeah."

Then she's gone, leaving you alone with the growing certainty that your life has somehow become a practical joke.

Because this is ridiculous.

Not embarrassing. Not inconvenient.

Ridiculous.

You are a third-year emergency medicine resident. You work shifts that blur together until entire weeks disappear. Most days begin before sunrise and end long after dark. You survive on caffeine, stubbornness, and the increasingly fragile belief that residency will eventually end. You have career goals. Fellowship considerations. Research obligations. Student loans. More unfinished charting than any one human being should reasonably possess.

You do not have time for feelings.

You especially do not have time for feelings involving your attending.

The realization had arrived ten minutes ago with all the subtlety of blunt force trauma.

Not because Jack smiled at you.

Not because he looked good.

Not because of any of the things people usually point to when describing the moment they fall for someone.

It happened during a code.

One second you had been discussing a possible appendicitis workup. The next, alarms were sounding down the hall and everyone was moving. There had been no time to think. No time to hesitate. Just immediate action.

You can barely remember crossing the department.

You remember the rhythm instead.

The compression count.

The monitor.

The medication doses.

The familiar cadence of voices in a crowded room.

Most of all, you remember Jack.

Not in a romantic way. Not in the dramatic sense your brain seems determined to insist upon now.

You remember him because he was simply there, occupying his place in the room as naturally as if he'd always belonged there. Orders were exchanged before either of you had fully finished speaking. You knew what he needed before he asked. He knew what information you were gathering before you reported it. Months of working together had built something efficient between you, a kind of professional shorthand that made difficult situations feel manageable.

The patient got pulses back.

The room relaxed.

People dispersed.

And somewhere in the aftermath, while entering orders and trying to slow your own heart rate, you'd looked across the room and felt something shift.

The realization itself had been deceptively simple.

You trusted him.

Completely.

At first, that realization hadn't seemed particularly alarming. Trust was necessary in emergency medicine. Lives depended on it. Every day you trusted nurses to catch mistakes before they happened, residents to communicate important changes, attendings to make the right call when things became complicated. Trust wasn't remarkable. It was the foundation of the entire department.

The problem was that the thought refused to leave.

Even as you finished documenting the code and moved on to your next patient, it remained lodged somewhere in the back of your mind, irritating and persistent. And the longer it sat there, the more another uncomfortable truth began to emerge. You didn't just trust Jack. You trusted him more. More than other attendings. More than people you had known longer. More than was probably reasonable.

The realization spread through your mind with horrifying efficiency, illuminating things you had somehow managed to ignore for months. Suddenly every strange habit, every reaction you'd dismissed as professional admiration, seemed impossible to explain away. You thought about how your eyes automatically searched for him whenever you walked into the department, how his opinion carried a weight that nobody else's did, how criticism from him could linger for hours while a single compliment could improve an otherwise miserable shift. You thought about the strange sense of relief that settled over you when you saw his name on the schedule, the way difficult cases felt more manageable when he was nearby, and the fact that whenever something good happened, some part of you always wanted to tell him first.

One realization became several. Several became dozens. Before long, it felt as though your own brain had assembled a meticulous presentation entitled Evidence That You Are Completely and Irrevocably Screwed, complete with supporting data and peer-reviewed conclusions.

You closed your eyes and immediately searched for alternative explanations.

Exhaustion seemed like a reasonable place to start. You had worked six shifts in seven days and consumed an amount of caffeine that would probably concern a cardiologist. At some point that morning you had stared directly at a medication label and temporarily forgotten how to read. Your judgment was compromised. Your cognitive function was questionable. There had to be a physiological explanation for whatever was currently happening.

Maybe it was sleep deprivation. Maybe it was stress. Maybe residency had finally broken something important in your brain after years of threatening to do exactly that. Any of those possibilities would have been preferable to the obvious answer, which was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Because the obvious answer was that somewhere between overnight shifts, trauma activations, endless charting, and months of standing shoulder to shoulder in crowded resuscitation rooms, you had fallen in love with Jack without noticing it.

The thought landed with enough force to make your stomach drop.

Your eyes flew open. For a moment you simply stared at your reflection in the steel basin, as though the exhausted woman looking back at you might offer a more reasonable explanation. Instead, all you saw were dark circles beneath your eyes, hair escaping from its ponytail, and the expression of someone experiencing a genuine personal betrayal.

"No."

The word sounded ridiculous even to your own ears.

You straightened slightly, pressing your palms against the edge of the sink as though physical stability might somehow compensate for the complete collapse of your emotional equilibrium. This was not happening. It simply wasn't. You refused to accept it.

You had survived medical school. You had survived surgical rotations, which should arguably qualify as a form of psychological warfare. Compared to those things, this should have been manageable. All you had to do was ignore it. Pretend it wasn't happening. Continue functioning exactly as you had before.

It was a solid plan.

Ignoring it lasts approximately thirty-seven minutes.

For thirty-seven whole minutes, you manage to convince yourself that whatever happened at the sink was nothing more than an unfortunate side effect of exhaustion. Residency has done stranger things to your brain. You've worked enough overnight shifts to know that sleep deprivation can make a person emotional, irrational, and occasionally incapable of distinguishing between a genuine crisis and a completely manufactured one. By the time you've finished documenting a trauma evaluation and worked through half your patient list, you've almost succeeded in talking yourself down.

Then you hear his voice.

"Dr. Y/N."

Your hands pause briefly over the keyboard before continuing to type.

"Mm."

The response is deliberately noncommittal. You don't look up. Instead, you focus intently on your chart, suddenly fascinated by documentation that had felt mind-numbingly boring only seconds earlier. If you acknowledge him, you'll have to look at him, and at the moment that feels like an unnecessary risk.

Unfortunately, Jack has never been particularly respectful of strategic avoidance.

A second later he appears beside your workstation, leaning one shoulder against the desk as though he has every right to occupy your personal space. The irritating part is not his presence. The irritating part is that you know he's there before you even glance up. Somewhere over the last year your brain has developed an alarming ability to track Jack's location without conscious effort, the same way it tracks monitor alarms or trauma activations. The awareness is immediate, automatic, and deeply unhelpful now that you've realized what it probably means.

"Trauma One."

Suspicion immediately replaces avoidance.

You finally look up.

"What about it?"

"You forgot to order repeat labs."

You stare at him.

"I did not."

"You did."

"I absolutely did not."

Jack doesn't argue. Instead, he reaches over, rotates your monitor slightly, and points toward the order set currently displayed on the screen. The movement is annoyingly confident, made worse by the fact that he already knows exactly what he's going to find. You follow his finger to the chart, scanning through the orders once, then twice.

There are no repeat labs.

For several seconds, you continue staring at the screen in the vague hope that the orders might spontaneously appear if you give them enough time.

They do not.

Beside you, Jack waits with the patience of a man who knows he's right and is enjoying the experience.

You lean back in your chair and let out a slow breath.

"...I may have forgotten the labs."

The corner of his mouth lifts immediately.

"That's not an apology, kid."

Under normal circumstances, being called kid would irritate you. Today it irritates you for an entirely different reason.

"You know what?" you say, pointing at the chart. "Maybe I forgot on purpose."

"Really?"

"Really. I wanted to experience what it feels like to forget something important. I figured attendings seem to enjoy it, so I'd broaden my horizons."

For a moment he simply looks at you. Then a laugh slips out before he can stop it.

The sound settles somewhere directly beneath your ribs.

That is new.

Or maybe it isn't new. Maybe the laugh has always affected you this way and you've only just become aware of it. The possibility is significantly worse.

Jack shakes his head, still smiling slightly.

"You've got a lot of confidence for somebody who forgot basic patient management."

"I learned from the best."

"That's not the insult you think it is."

"Damn."

The smile widens despite his obvious attempt to suppress it. Then he taps the edge of your monitor and says, "Order the labs."

You sigh heavily enough to qualify as performance art.

"Yes, grandpa."

"I'm not old enough to be your grandfather."

"You sure act like him."

His eyebrows rise.

"Careful."

The warning carries no actual threat behind it. That's the problem. Somewhere along the way the two of you established a rhythm that feels less like resident and attending and more like an argument that has been running continuously for months. You challenge him. He challenges you back. Neither of you seems particularly interested in stopping.

Looking back, you suspect that should have been your first clue.

Because the truth is that this is your favorite part of the day. Not trauma activations. Not procedures. Not difficult diagnoses. This. Standing at a workstation arguing about forgotten lab orders while the department buzzes around you. Trading sarcastic remarks. Making each other laugh. Existing together in a way that has become so familiar you stopped noticing how much you relied on it.

The realization lands quietly this time.

Not with panic.

Not with horror.

Just certainty.

This is why.

Not because he's attractive. Not because he's your attending. Not because of some dramatic moment lifted from a romance novel.

It's because somewhere between overnight shifts and impossible cases, he became your person.

The one you look for.

The one whose opinion matters most.

The one whose presence makes impossible days feel manageable.

Across the department, someone calls his name. Jack glances toward the trauma board, immediately shifting back into attending mode as another problem demands his attention.

"Order the labs, doctor."

You wave him away without looking up.

"Go save lives."

His eyes narrow slightly.

"You forgot the labs."

"You'll never let this go, will you?"

"Not a chance."

A moment later he's gone, disappearing back into the flow of the emergency department. You watch him leave for longer than necessary before forcing your attention back to the chart in front of you.

The realization arrives almost immediately.

You watched him leave. Again.

Your stupid heart follows right after him.

Traitor.

"So."

The voice appears so suddenly that you nearly drop from your chair.

You look up to find Santos leaning against the neighboring workstation with the unmistakable expression of someone who has witnessed something entertaining and intends to make it everybody else's problem. Whitaker is sitting a few feet away working on his charts, though the grin already tugging at the corner of his mouth suggests he knows exactly where this conversation is heading.

Immediately, you become suspicious.

"Guess we're flirting with our attendings now, huh?"

You don't bother looking away from your chart. Partly because you still have work to do, but mostly because looking up would require acknowledging that she may have a point, and you're not emotionally prepared for that conversation.

"I don't know," you reply, clicking through a patient's lab results. "Are we sleeping with trauma surgeons and pretending it doesn't suck the life out of us?"

The reaction is instantaneous.

Whitaker makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter disguised as a cough. Santos whirls around and points at him before he can contribute anything useful.

"Don't."

"I'm not saying anything."

"You're literally smiling."

"I can't control my face."

"You absolutely can."

Whitaker wisely returns his attention to the computer, though the grin lingering on his face suggests he's enjoying this far more than he should. Santos narrows her eyes at him for another second before turning back toward you with renewed focus, apparently remembering that she was in the middle of interrogating you.

"First of all, how dare you, bitch. Second of all, way to deflect. Not answering my question."

"What question?"

"The question where you were staring at Abbot like he personally hung the moon."

You scoff and finally look up from your chart. "I was not."

Neither Santos nor Whitaker appears remotely convinced. They exchange one of those infuriatingly knowing looks that people only seem capable of when they're absolutely certain they're right, and you immediately regret acknowledging either of them.

"You absolutely were," Santos says. "In fact, I think you've got a little drool right here."

Before you can stop her, she reaches toward your face. You slap her hand away on instinct.

"Get off me, you weirdo."

"I'm just trying to help."

"You're being extremely annoying today."

"And yet," Santos replies, entirely unbothered, "I'm still waiting for an explanation."

"There isn't one."

"Interesting, because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like flirting."

You return your attention to the chart, hoping silence will accomplish what logic apparently cannot. Unfortunately, Santos interprets your refusal to engage as confirmation. The dramatic gasp she lets out is loud enough that two nurses glance over from the desk.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You didn't deny it."

For reasons completely beyond your understanding, this immediately becomes the highlight of her evening. She looks genuinely delighted by the discovery while you rub a hand over your face and wonder whether transferring hospitals is still a realistic career option.

"I hate this department."

"No, you don't."

"I really do."

"No," Santos says with the absolute confidence of someone who has never once questioned her own conclusions. "You just hate that I, the smartest person here, noticed."

The worst part is that she's probably right. The even worse part is that before you can think of a comeback, your attention betrays you completely. It's automatic, lasting less than a second, but your gaze drifts toward the hallway Jack disappeared down a few minutes ago.

You catch yourself immediately.

Santos catches it faster.

The woman's ability to identify gossip-related developments borders on supernatural.

Her grin becomes unbearable.

"Oh, you've got it baaaad."

"Shut up."

"Bad."

"Santos."

"Really bad."

"Drop it."

By now Whitaker has abandoned any attempt at professionalism and is openly laughing into his coffee. You briefly consider throwing a chart at both of them, but before you can determine whether the resulting paperwork would be worth it, Mel appears seemingly out of nowhere and drops into the empty chair beside Santos.

"Hey," she says, looking between the three of you. "What are we laughing about?"

Santos doesn't even hesitate.

"Nothing. Just discussing how Miss Sunshine over here apparently enjoys doing charity work for the elderly."

Mel's eyes widen immediately.

And you begin seriously reevaluating the consequences of workplace violence.

The problem is that once you've noticed it, you can't seem to stop.

For the first few days, you tell yourself you're imagining things. You're hyperaware because of the realization, that's all. Anyone would be. If you spend enough time thinking about a person, naturally you'll start paying more attention to them. It's confirmation bias. Selective observation. A perfectly normal psychological phenomenon that definitely does not indicate you're catastrophically in love with your attending.

Unfortunately, that explanation starts to fall apart almost immediately.

The issue isn't that you're noticing new things about Jack. The issue is that you're suddenly recognizing the significance of things you've apparently been noticing all along.

You see it during overnight shifts, when the department finally quiets for a few precious minutes and exhaustion begins catching up with everyone. Most attendings disappear into offices when they get a chance to breathe. Jack usually stays on the floor. Sometimes you'll glance up from a chart and catch him rubbing a hand over his face, eyes closed for a brief second before the next patient pulls his attention away. The fatigue is obvious in those moments, written across his expression in a way he'd probably hate if he knew anyone had noticed. Yet somehow, no matter how exhausted he is, he never seems to let it affect the way he treats people.

You start seeing that everywhere.

You see it in the patience he shows family members asking the same question for the fourth time because they're scared and not really listening to the answer. You see it in the way he explains procedures, diagnoses, and risks without ever making people feel stupid for not understanding medical terminology. Most patients leave the emergency department remembering the diagnosis they received. Somehow, many of Jack's patients leave remembering how he made them feel.

The more attention you pay, the more examples you find.

A nurse mentions her son has been sick for several days. Three shifts later, Jack asks whether he's feeling better. A patient comes back to the department weeks after an initial visit, and Jack remembers the dog's name they'd spent half the appointment talking about. One morning he hands you a cup of coffee before shift change and, without thinking, orders it exactly the way you drink it. Not because you've reminded him recently. Not because you've mentioned it at all. Simply because he remembered.

The realization shouldn't affect you as much as it does.

Plenty of people are thoughtful. Plenty of people are kind.

But medicine has a way of grinding those qualities down. Long hours, impossible patient loads, endless administrative demands, and constant exhaustion tend to strip people down to their essentials. You've watched it happen to residents, attendings, nurses, and even yourself. Everyone becomes shorter on patience. Less generous with their energy. More focused on simply surviving the shift.

Yet somehow Jack remains stubbornly, frustratingly himself.

Even on terrible days, he stays late to help with difficult patients. He answers questions he doesn't technically have to answer. He takes responsibility when things go wrong and shares credit when things go right. He never asks residents to do work he wouldn't do himself, and you've lost count of the number of times you've found him transporting patients, helping nurses, or handling tasks that someone with his level of seniority could easily hand off to somebody else.

The worst part is that none of it feels performative.

He isn't trying to impress anyone.

Most of the time, he probably doesn't even realize you're watching.

But you are watching.

That's the problem.

You notice everything now, and every new observation feels less like discovering something about him and more like uncovering evidence that has been sitting in front of you for months. Each detail slots neatly into a picture you were somehow too blind to see before.

By the end of the week, you've reached a conclusion that is both humiliating and impossible to dispute.

You are paying far too much attention to Jack.

And the more attention you pay, the more hopelessly doomed you become.

Three weeks later, you're stitching a laceration on a sixteen-year-old's forehead when Jack walks into the room.

The patient, Dean, is recovering from what the chart diplomatically describes as a "fall from height," though the actual story involved a garage roof, a trampoline, and a level of confidence that far exceeded his coordination. Fortunately, the resulting injuries are limited to a forehead laceration, a badly bruised shoulder, and what will hopefully become a valuable lesson in decision-making. Unfortunately, Dean appears to have learned absolutely nothing.

"So how big is the scar gonna be?" he asks while you place another stitch.

"If you're lucky, barely noticeable."

"And if I'm not lucky?"

"Then you'll have a permanent reminder not to jump off buildings."

"I wasn't jumping off a building."

"You were on a roof."

"That's different."

His mother immediately disagrees from her chair in the corner. "It is literally the same thing, Dean."

While Dean launches into an argument that seems destined to continue indefinitely, you focus on the repair in front of you, grateful for the distraction. For the last several weeks, distractions have become increasingly valuable. Ever since the unfortunate revelation in Trauma Two, you've been attempting to proceed with your life as though nothing has changed. The strategy has been moderately successful right up until the moment Jack enters a room, at which point your brain abandons all professional objectives in favor of becoming deeply irritating.

The curtain shifts, and before you've even looked up, you know exactly who it is. That realization is becoming alarmingly common. Somewhere along the way, you've apparently memorized the rhythm of his voice, the sound of his footsteps, the way he moves through the department. It's information you never consciously decided to learn, yet it exists in your head anyway, filed away alongside medication dosages and trauma protocols.

"Hey," Jack says as he steps inside. "I'm Dr. Abbot. Just checking in. How's it going, Dean?" He glances briefly at the chart before looking back at the teenager. "Looks like you took quite a fall."

Dean immediately brightens. Patients tend to respond well to Jack. You've observed this often enough to stop finding it surprising, although you still find it mildly annoying. Children trust him. Parents trust him. Even the difficult patients who spend half their visit arguing usually soften after speaking with him for a few minutes. He has an irritating ability to make people feel heard, which unfortunately turns out to be an attractive quality.

"Yeah, but I'm okay now," Dean says. Then, after studying Jack for a moment, he adds, "Are you the boss of this hospital?"

Jack looks genuinely confused by the question. "No."

Dean points directly at you.

"She seems like the boss."

A laugh escapes before you can stop it. Across the room, Jack follows Dean's gesture, glances at you for a second, and then nods with the kind of certainty that suggests he's been waiting for an opportunity to say exactly that.

"Yeah," he agrees. "That sounds about right."

You roll your eyes, but Dean's attention has already sharpened. Teenagers possess an extraordinary ability to identify dynamics between people, especially when those dynamics would be embarrassing if acknowledged. You can practically see him studying the two of you, assembling information, drawing conclusions. The process is visible enough that a sense of dread begins creeping up your spine long before he actually opens his mouth.

His mother notices it too.

"Dean," she says warningly.

The fact that she says his name before he's spoken is not reassuring.

"What?" he asks.

Whatever instinct normally prevents people from saying inappropriate things appears to have completely abandoned him.

"You guys married?"

The question lands like a grenade.

For one terrible second, the room goes completely silent except for the monitor beeping beside the bed. Your hand actually pauses in the middle of tying a stitch. Dean's mother immediately closes her eyes as though she's reconsidering several major parenting decisions.

"Oh my God," she mutters.

"Absolutely not," you say at the exact same moment Jack says, "No."

The overlap only makes things worse.

Dean narrows his eyes.

You recognize that expression. It's the look of someone who believes they've discovered something interesting and intends to investigate further.

"That's very suspicious."

"It isn't," you say immediately.

"It kind of is."

"It really isn't."

"It definitely is."

You finish tying the stitch with perhaps slightly more force than necessary. "Dean, I am currently holding a needle."

His mother starts laughing. Jack is visibly trying not to. Neither response improves your mood.

The conversation somehow continues from there despite your best efforts to end it. Dean remains convinced he's uncovered a mystery. His mother continues apologizing. Jack contributes absolutely nothing helpful, choosing instead to stand there with the unmistakable expression of someone enjoying your suffering. By the time you've finished the final stitch and started explaining wound care instructions, the entire room has accepted that you're never going to hear the end of this.

What bothers you most is not the question itself. Teenagers say ridiculous things all the time. What bothers you is the tiny moment beforehand, the fraction of a second when Dean looked between you and Jack and apparently saw something worth asking about. The possibility lingers in the back of your mind throughout the rest of the procedure, unwelcome and impossible to dismiss.

When Jack finally heads toward the door, Dean calls after him with all the confidence of someone who has decided he's correct.

"Good luck, man."

Jack laughs, shakes his head, and disappears into the hallway.

You hate how long your gaze remains fixed on the doorway after he's gone.

You hate even more that Dean notices.

The breaking point arrives during a night shift.

Of course it does.

There is something about three o'clock in the morning that strips people down to their essentials. By then, the coffee has stopped helping, the adrenaline reserves are running low, and everyone in the emergency department is operating on habit, instinct, and sheer stubbornness. The waiting room is overflowing. A chest pain patient has become a STEMI halfway through an evaluation. One of the psychiatric patients has attempted to leave twice. A drunk college student managed to vomit directly onto your shoes and then had the audacity to apologize by calling you "bro."

You have been moving almost continuously for ten hours. You cannot remember the last thing you ate. You vaguely suspect it was yesterday.

By the time the twelve-year-old arrives, you're already exhausted.

The kid is struggling to breathe before he's even fully through the doors. Severe asthma exacerbation. Retractions. Tachypnea. Oxygen saturation dropping. The panic in his mother's face is somehow worse than the panic in his own. Cases like this always hit harder when they're children.

The next hour disappears into work.

Nebulizers. Steroids. Magnesium sulfate. Oxygen. Reassessment after reassessment. Watching every rise and fall of his chest. Listening to every breath sound. Waiting for improvement while trying not to think about all the ways things can go wrong.

Eventually, mercifully, they begin to go right.

The wheezing softens. His respiratory rate slows. The terrified look in his eyes begins to fade. By the end of the hour he's sitting upright in bed, exhausted but breathing comfortably, while his mother wipes tears from her face and thanks everyone in the room with the kind of overwhelming relief that only comes after genuine fear.

You give discharge planning another few minutes, answer questions, make sure they're both okay, and then finally step into the hallway.

The moment the door closes behind you, the adrenaline disappears.

Not gradually.

Completely.

The crash is so abrupt it almost makes you dizzy.

You lean back against the wall and close your eyes for what is intended to be only a second. Around you, the emergency department continues moving at its usual pace. Life continues exactly as it always does.

You simply no longer feel capable of keeping up with it.

"Hey."

You know the voice immediately.

How could you not?

Opening your eyes feels like a mistake, but you do it anyway. Jack is standing a few feet away, studying you with an expression that instantly makes you defensive.

"How long since you've eaten?"

You groan. "I'm not doing this."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm busy."

"So eat while you're busy."

"I don't have time, dr. Abbot."

Jack reaches into the paper bag he's carrying and holds out half a sandwich.

You stare at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the sandwich.

"What is this?"

"A sandwich."

"I know what a sandwich is."

"Congratulations."

You narrow your eyes.

Unfortunately, you're too tired to sustain proper indignation. After a few seconds you take the sandwich, mostly because arguing requires energy you no longer possess.

Jack settles against the wall beside you without asking permission. The gesture should probably feel strange. It doesn't. That's part of the problem. Somewhere over the last year, his presence has become so familiar that your brain accepts it automatically.

For a while neither of you says anything.

The silence isn't awkward. That's another problem.

It would be much easier if it were awkward.

Instead, the two of you stand there eating stale cafeteria food while the department moves around you, and somehow it feels more restful than the fifteen-minute breaks you've spent alone in the resident lounge.

After a minute, Jack nods toward the room you'd just left.

"You did good in there, kid."

The words settle heavily somewhere beneath your ribs. Anyone else would probably assume he was complimenting your medical management, and maybe he was, partially, but you've worked with him long enough to understand what he actually means. He's talking about the way you sat with the kid when he was scared, the way you stayed calm when his mother couldn't, and the fact that you always seem to carry difficult cases long after everyone else has moved on.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

Jack glances over. "Do what?"

"Act like every difficult patient is somehow my responsibility."

Something shifts in his expression then, not enough that most people would notice, but enough that you do.

"You know you can't save everybody."

The statement is gentle, which somehow makes it worse. You look away before he can see your reaction. Of course you know that. Every physician knows that. It's drilled into you from the beginning because it has to be. If you carry every loss, every complication, every patient you couldn't help, eventually the weight becomes impossible to bear. The problem has never been knowing it. The problem is believing it.

"You care too much."

A weak laugh escapes you.

"That's rich coming from you."

The corner of his mouth lifts, and some of the tension eases despite yourself. The conversation falls quiet after that and neither of you seems particularly interested in leaving. Your shoulder brushes his when someone pushes a stretcher past, and neither of you immediately moves away. Standing there in the middle of a crowded emergency department, exhausted enough that your usual defenses have finally worn thin, you realize something that should have occurred to you weeks ago.

For all the time you've spent treating your feelings like a problem to solve, you've never seriously considered the possibility that you weren't alone in them.

The thought hits hard enough to make your pulse stumble. You turn your head before you can stop yourself and immediately regret it. Jack is already looking at you.

That shouldn't matter. People look at each other during conversations all the time. You've worked entire shifts together. You've stood side by side through traumas, codes, procedures, and disasters of every imaginable variety. There is absolutely no logical reason his attention should affect you differently now than it did a month ago. Unfortunately, logic stopped being relevant somewhere around the moment you realized you were in love with him.

The emergency department continues moving around you, but it suddenly feels farther away. The overhead pages, monitor alarms, and constant movement blur into background noise as your brain focuses on one deeply unfortunate detail. Jack isn't looking at you because you're speaking. He isn't looking at you because he's waiting for an answer. He's looking at you because he wants to. The certainty settles into your chest with terrifying ease, bringing with it the quiet understanding that whatever has been growing between the two of you for months has not been happening exclusively inside your own head.

"No."

Jack blinks. "What?"

Horror arrives immediately. You actually said that out loud.

Years of education. Years of training. Countless high-pressure situations requiring calm, professional decision-making, and somehow this is the response your brain produces when confronted with mutual feelings. For a brief moment you consider pretending it never happened, but Jack knows you far too well for that.

Straightening abruptly, you shove the last bite of sandwich into your mouth and point at him with the kind of accusatory conviction usually reserved for criminal investigations.

"No."

His eyebrows rise.

"...No?"

"No."

What exactly am I being accused of?"

The fact that he's amused immediately makes everything worse.

"You know what."

"I genuinely don't."

"You absolutely do."

For a second he simply watches you, and then you see the exact moment understanding arrives. It appears first in his eyes and then in the slow curve of his mouth. It's not the grin he gives you when you're arguing with him or the expression he wears when you're being particularly stubborn. This is something quieter. Warmer. The kind of look that instantly confirms every suspicion you've spent weeks trying to suppress.

"Oh."

You close your eyes.

Of all the possible responses, somehow that one is the most infuriating.

"Oh is exactly what I'm trying to avoid."

His smile only widens.

"That's usually not how this goes."

Suspicion immediately replaces embarrassment.

"How what goes?"

"When people realize they have feelings for someone."

You nearly choke.

"There is no universe in which we're having this conversation."

"We're definitely having this conversation."

"I refuse."

"You already started it, sweetheart."

The betrayal is immediate and profound. You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for some indication that he's joking, but Jack simply looks back at you with infuriating patience. A second later he laughs, not politely or under his breath but genuinely, and the sound catches you completely off guard.

For weeks you've been carrying this realization around like a catastrophe waiting to happen. You've treated it like a problem that needed solving, an obstacle that needed eliminating before it could do any real damage. Every instinct you've had since that afternoon at the sink has been focused on containment. Ignore it. Suppress it. Outwork it. Pretend it isn't there. Yet standing here now, exhausted after a miserable shift and listening to Jack laugh at your complete inability to manage your own emotions, you discover that none of the disasters you'd been expecting have actually occurred. The hospital is still standing. The emergency department hasn't burst into flames. You have not died of embarrassment, despite several close calls.

Against your better judgment, a reluctant laugh escapes you too.

The feeling that follows is strange. The weight you've been carrying doesn't disappear entirely, but it shifts. For the first time it feels shared rather than hidden, acknowledged rather than buried. The fear is still there, but it's no longer yours alone.

When the laughter fades, Jack is still looking at you, and there is something in his expression that makes your chest ache. Affection, certainly. Understanding. Maybe even relief. Whatever it is, it strips away the last of your excuses. You should be terrified. Realistically, this is the point where panic would make the most sense. Instead, for the first time since this whole disaster began, you feel something unexpectedly steady.

Because this no longer feels like something happening to you against your will. It feels like a choice sitting quietly between the two of you, a possibility neither of you has touched yet but one that suddenly seems real enough to reach for.

Your first instinct remains exactly the same.

Absolutely not.

The problem is that, for the first time, you're no longer entirely convinced that's your final answer.

The first time Jack had seen you read the morning paper after staying over, he thought that might have been a poke at his old age. 

But what else was he supposed to think when you literally stepped outside, grabbed the plastic covered paper, brought it over to the table, and actually opened it, your eyes scanning the lines with careful precision. Every so often, you’d pick your mug up and take a sip of your straight black coffee before going right back to the paper. 

He bit his lip, either to stifle a laugh or stop him from blurting out something so sarcastic it might sound mean.

Instead, he settled on, “You know you don’t have to do that?” 

The paper crinkled as you folded it in half, your sleepy face pinched slightly in confusion. “Do what?” 

“Read the paper,” he responded, running a nervous hand through his curls. “I get that my age is showing, but you don’t have to read the paper.” 

“Oh.” You looked down at the paper before looking back at him. “Um, no, I actually read the paper, honey. It slows my morning. Less phone time, less eye strain, yada yada yada.” 

His eye brows lifted. “Okay.” 

You covered a giggle. “Surprised?” 

Jack shook his head, mouth pulling to the side. “A bit. Just didn’t know people over the age of sixty-five read the paper.” He walked over with two plates full of breakfast food and placed them on the table. 

A hum rumbled through your chest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s fine. I know it’s a bit out of the blue, but—” 

“No, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, groaning as he sat in his chair next to you. “It’s cute; you’re cute.” 

“Thank you.” 

He’d never say it out loud, but he enjoyed seeing the hint of blush rise through your cheeks as he cut through the first bite of pancake. You had been right after all, he though while sitting there. The quiet morning was indeed nice and slow. Without the noise of a doomscroll or messages buzzing, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t in a long time. He didn’t even care if he couldn’t see your face throughout the breakfast. 

When you finally placed the paper on the table, you smiled over at Jack, leaning in to plant a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for letting me read your paper, honey. My apartment canceled the paper sub two weeks ago.” 

And if Jack Abbot started hoarding his newspapers for the next time you slept over just to see you in your cute oversized glasses wearing just his shirt during breakfast? That was between him and the kid who threw the paper at his door at 6 a.m. 

_______________________

Now, the morning paper had been one thing, but Jack seeing you pull out a flip phone of all things was another. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the hot pink bedazzled thing you took from your scrub pocket and held between your fingers. Hell, he didn’t even know the last time he used a flip phone. 

And he guessed he wasn’t the only one to noticed since Trinity stopped a few steps away and gawfed loudly, causing you to look up at her. 

“What?” you asked. “Never seen one of these?” 

Trinity rolled her eyes. “Only in movies that got released in like 2000-something. Why are you using that?”

You sighed rather loudly. “My iPhone fell in a puddle, and I needed something quick and easy. This bad boy was less than two-hundred bucks at Walmart, and I had a few rhinestones hanging around and thought why not.”  

The resident stepped closer and rounded your body, now peering over your shoulder. “How do you even type with that?” 

“You just push the button until you get to the letter you want.” Jack watched you demonstrate. “And then send it off. See, not that hard. Rotary phones are kind of the same way—” 

“Rotary phones?” Trinity giggled. “What are you, fifty-two?” 

Jack caught the way you glanced at him. 

“Nah, I’m sixty and some change.” 

Trinity followed your eyes. “Hear that, Dr. Abbot? You got yourself a cougar.” 

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “Basically a cradle robber at this point.” 

The flip phone shut with a click before it disappeared back into your pocket, and for some reason, Jack was sad to see it go. Not that he was happy your iPhone was broken (he was already planning to upgrade it for you), but seeing you with something so simple and personalized, it was almost healing to his soul in a way. 

His late wife had had a flip phone. 

It wasn’t sparkle-ified like yours, quite the opposite actually. He remembered the black, scratchy feeling of the plastic whenever he needed to use it. If he thought long about it, he would remember that the same phone is sitting dead in his bedside drawer. The phone that was now in your pocket must have been a sign for something.

When Trinity walked away, he took the opportunity to side up next to you, arm brushing yours in a soft, controlled motion. “Am I going to have to ask you for your number again?” he teased. 

You scrunched your face in mock contemplation. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around since I robbed your cradle?” 

His arm raised and wrapped around your shoulder tightly, bringing you into his side. “My favorite cougar. What’s next? Am I going to be your sugar baby?” 

“Ew, Jack!” you squealed. “Not when you practically beg me to use your credit card all the time.” 

“What can I say, baby. I like taking care of my girl.” 

_______________________

In the middle of a massive cyber-attack after getting shot at was not the time for Jack to be so endeared by you to the point he wanted to squeeze you like one of those squishy dogs where the eyes pop out of socket. 

He handled the newspaper well, the flip phone even better (he thinks). However, nothing—and he really means nothing could have prepared him for the utter glee on your face when Dana hauled a fax machine out of nowhere. 

The machine had made a booting up noise, to which the newest shadowing-nurse Emma had questioned what it was. 

Dana, in all her spare sarcasm and patience, responded with, “UFO landed. Aliens are invading,” as she placed a paper into the slot. 

Jack had pointed at it with a large smirk. “That is a fax machine.” 

Joy, one of Robby’s new daytime residents, peered over it at like it personally offended her. “They still make those?” 

You giggled slightly. “I love fax machines.” 

Jack had barely heard you say that over the chaos of everything, but he still turned toward you with a questioning look. “When on earth did you learn to run a fax machine?” 

“Probably around the same time you were still writing charts by feathered quill and candle light.” 

That earned a snort from every person born before 1990 in the room. Even Robby looked surprised by the quip that had flown out of your mouth. Jack at least looked a bit stunned before he shook it off. 

“Careful, dear. I think I just heard your newspaper quiver.” 

“And I think I just heard your heated blanket frizz out.” 

Joy blinked over at you before looking at Jack. “I like her.” 

By the time Jack glanced over at you, you were already moving to help Dana run the fax machine, your hands carefully placing papers in the top to run through. He couldn’t help the smile that formed across his face. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

_______________________

Some days, life was just hard. 

Jack knew that better than most. His shift had been filled with loss after loss after loss to the point he wanted to leave halfway through just to catch a break. Thankfully by sunrise, the Pitt wasn’t his problem anymore, but then his mind remembered that Robby was still on sabbatical, and his mood dropped even further. 

However, the moment he stepped inside and the smell of a plethora of baked goods hit his nose, he almost melted right then and there at the threshold. He paused, taking in the sight of his crutches that definitely were by the bed he left last night. You must have moved them for him with some supernatural ability to sense that he’d want his prosthesis off immediately. He couldn’t even hold in the groan that rumbled through his chest the minute his stump was free to hang in the air. 

“Jack?” you called out. 

“Yeah, baby,” he grunted. “It’s me.” 

His crutched clicked against the flooring in rhythmic sounds. The closer he got to the kitchen, the sweeter the smell got. His hazel eyes widened at the sight of his counter. Small loaves, cookies, and even a pie rested against the granite. He wondered how early you’d been up, because one glance to the clock on the oven told him it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, crutching closer to you. 

You gently smiled and wrapped your arms around his middle, not caring that he still smelled like hospital and sweat. “Woke up antsy. Needed to get my mind off stuff.” 

Jack carefully leaned his crutches against the counter and held you close. “Wanna talk about it?” 

A sigh pushed through your lungs. “My grandpa died around this time a few years ago, and I always miss him a lot.” You sniffed quietly. “He practically raised me. Guess he’s the influence as to why I do a bunch of old people stuff.” 

He stayed quiet while you talked, absorbing every word carefully. 

“He always drank his coffee black; said the frou-frou stuff wasn’t necessary when you knew how to make a good cup of joe.” You laughed softly, the sound full of fondness. “He never knew how to use a smart phone, and I’d always want to play with the buttons on his.” Your cheek pressed into Jack’s chest so hard you could feel his heartbeat against your skin. “Fax machine too. Could never get a computer to work, so I started faxing things over when I wanted to talk to him, especially when it got really bad, and he couldn’t move much.” 

Jack felt your shoulders raise just a bit before falling back down. 

“I miss him a lot.” 

Tears pricked your eyes when he kissed your forehead before leaning down to press one to your lips. When he pulled back, you were startled to see tears in his own eyes. 

“He sounds like a good man,” he whispered. “And I am so glad for the little things that you do.” 

The next sound out of your mouth sounded like a watery chuckle. “Yeah? You don’t care that I act like I’m thirty years older than I actually am?” 

Jack shook his head. “Just means you got an old soul, sweetheart. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” He hugged you tighter. “Absolutely nothing.” 

The fluorescent lights still hummed overhead with the same dull persistence they had at midnight. The air stilled smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold metal and the industrial cleaner the day shift janitors liked to use too heavily. 

The prep tables remained clean and pristine despite the three autopsies that you had preformed. It was peaceful for lack of a better word. But upstairs, however, the hospital would be just beginning to wake up. 

The emergency department at six in the morning was an entirely different beast than the morgue tucked neatly beneath it. This place moved fast even when exhausted. 

The whole floor pulsed with motion and noise and overstimulation. 

You hated it. 

Don't mistake your dislike for the environment for the dislike of the people inhabiting it. You wouldn't say you were friends with the ER staff, but you were on chit chatting terms with a lot of them since beginning dating Jack. But the sheer amount of everything put you especially at unease. 

Too many voices, too many bodies darting from one side of the ER to the other, and that meant too many opportunities for someone to accidentally touch you in passing. 

Which is why you usually stayed downstairs until Jack came to get you. That had become your routine somewhere along the line. Most mornings, by the time you clocked out and gathered your things, Jack was already leaning against your desk in the morgue office with that perpetually exhausted look on his face and a coffee in his hand. 

Then the two of you would leave together before either of your brains fully registered another twelve hour shift had passed. 

This morning, however, he hadn't shown. You were a little disappointed but you weren't outrageously upset about it. You knew that Jack got held up all the time and while this meant you would have to brave the ER again, it wasn't his fault. 

Trauma cases sometimes came in unexpectedly, shift hand off lasted longer when it was busier than usual, and you knew that Robby had a tendency to trap Jack into talking about things that didn't have anything to do with the hospital. Like his new on again, off again situationship with Noelle Hastings from social work. 

So after a few minutes, you simply slung your bag over your shoulder, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way upstairs. The elevator ride alone nearly convinced you to turn around. 

By the time the doors opened onto the ER floor, the department was already in full swing. Phones rang somewhere in the distance. Someone laughed too loudly near the nurses’ station. A monitor beeped insistently from one of the trauma bays, while an exhausted nurse muttered something under her breath about needing a Red Bull.

You immediately regretted coming up here. 

Keeping your head down, you slipped towards the break room near the back hallway, careful not to drift into anybody's path. The last thing you wanted after twelve hours underground was to become collateral damage in the organized chaos of emergency medicine. 

You set your things down carefully on the small table inside the break room before leaning your head just barely out the doorway. To the left sat the employee lockers and a supply alcove. To the right was the command desk, where everyone eventually flocked and housed the patient boards.

Jack stood there with Robby and Dana, one hand braced against the edge of the counter while the other rested loosely on his hip. 

Even from across the department, you could easily see the exhaustion that sat heavily across his shoulders. 

The dark scrub top stretched across his back whenever he shifted slightly, and the dark wash cargo pants he wore instead of scrub bottoms sat low on his hips beneath the hem of his shirt.

You couldn't hear from where you were, but you could see Robby's mouth moving and Dana's wholly unimpressed look. You can only imagine what they were talking about. Jack, meanwhile, looked like a man mentally calculating how quickly he could escape the conversation. 

Whether he saw you immediately when you entered the ER or simply felts your stare, you didn't know, but his head turned after a moment. 

His eyes landed on you instantly and his whole expression changed, annoyance discarded and replaced with pure unadulterated affection. The change was small enough that most people wouldn't have noticed it. But you spent more time staring at Jack Abbot's face than most, so it was easy for you to spot. 

Jack's brows lifted slightly before he brought his hands together in a quick apologetic and his mouth formed the word sorry from across the room. You smiled at him despite yourself. He glanced down at his watch before holding up five fingers. 

You nodded once. His mouth curved with something guilty and fond all at once before his expression returned to what it was before he saw you and he turned back towards Robby. It was almost comical how fast the stoicism settled over his face again like armor sliding back into place. 

You watched him for another moment longer than you probably should've. Long enough to notice the slight tension around his jaw. Long enough that you begun to wonder if his prosthetic was bothering him after being on it all night and then forced to stand there while Robby prodded him for dating advice. 

Long enough that the clap against your back caught you completely off guard and nearly sent your soul directly out of your body. You startled violently. "Oh my god—"

"Morning, Morgie." 

You turned to find Trinity grinning at you like she'd just caught you with your pants down and your hand in the cookie jar. Dennis lingered behind her with the distinct energy of a man who already regretted participating in whatever conversation was about to occur. 

You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your pulse. "Hi, Dr. Santos."

"You headed out?" she asked, a mischievous look in her eye. 

"Trying to," you answered honestly. 

Trinity barely acknowledged the response. She leaned casually against the doorway beside you like the two of you were old friends instead of occasional workplace acquaintances who primarily exchanged polite nods in passing. 

You had known people like Trinity your entire life. Loud people, you mean. People who filled silence immediately and naturally. People endlessly willing to push boundaries just to see what would happen. That wasn't to say you didn't like her. 

If anything, you suspected under different circumstances you could probably even be friends. Unfortunately, friendship required social energy you often did not possess after working nights in basement with dead people. 

Still, you tried. If not for your sake, then for Jack's. These were his coworkers and you were his girlfriend, you were bound to run into them more often than not, so a good relationship was paramount in your opinion. 

"How are you doing?" you asked politely. She had ignored the question entirely, opting for her own line of questioning. "So," she started, eye bright with mischief already, "you and Abbot are like a thing, right?" 

You stomach dropped. "What?" Never in a million years did you think that was going to be her question. 

Dennis looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him whole. Trinity, meanwhile, looked absolutely delighted with herself. "Oh, come one," she said. "You guys are not subtle."

You blinked at her. 

You genuinely had not realized that people knew. You and Jack were not actively hiding your relationship persay. The two of you just simply hadn't announced it. You didn't exactly have a social circle to update, and Jack was not the type to stand in the middle of the ER making declarations about his personal life. 

But apparently none of that really mattered. 

Apparently the entire hospital had functioning eyeballs. Before you could figure out how to respond to that, Trinity continued. "But I gotta ask," she said lowering her voice slightly despite the wicked grin still pulling at her mouth, "is he packing? Because that man walks like it's heavy."

Your brain stalled completely. 

Packing? Walks like it, what? Those were only some of the thoughts running through your head. You frowned in confusion. "What?"

Trinity stared at you, disbelieving. "You know," she waved her hands slightly as if that would suddenly make you understand what she was referring to. 

"No," you admitted slowly, "I actually don't."

For one horrifying second, you genuinely thought she was talkng about his prosthetic. You eyes flicked instinctively toward Jack again. He shifted slightly near the desk, probably trying to relieve pressure from standing too long. 

Concern immediately sparked in your chest. Was his leg hurting him?

"Santos," Dennis whisper hissed, scandalized, "you cannot ask people stuff like that."

"What?" she asked. "I've been catching print for the last hour. I'm curious!"

Now you were even more confused. What did that even mean, catching print? Surely she wasn't referring to his prosthetic. You didn't have the greatest view of his leg as it was obscured by the other, but even so it was very difficult to notice it under his cargo pants even under the right circumstances. 

"Catching what?" you asked.

She blinked at you incredulously. Dennis covered his face with one hand. "You don't know what that means?" she asked. 

"Should I?"

In hindsight, the grin that spread across Trinity's face then should have terrified you, but all you felt was embarrassment beginning to creep up your neck. "Oh my god," she breathed. "Okay. Wait."

Before you could react, she stepped closer beside you and pointed subtly towards the command desk. You followed her gaze automatically. Jack still stood talking with Robby and Dana, completely unaware he was currently the subject of discussion. 

"I'm confus—"

"Wait for it," Trinity interrupted. 

Jack shifted his weight to his good leg, trying to relieve some of the pressure. You noticed immediately because you always noticed when he was compensating with his good leg after a long shift. You eyes dropped instinctively toward the prosthetic, mentally cataloguing the stiffness in his posture and the slight adjustment of his hips. 

Beside you, she groaned dramatically. "Higher," she muttered. 

Your brows furrowed but you did as you were told and slowly your gaze dragged upward. Past the heavy line of his thigh. Past the dark wash cargo pants that stretched tighter from the weight shift. You finally understood as your gaze landed on his crotch. 

Oh.

Oh. 

Your entire body stilled because now that you saw, there was no way for you to unsee it. The fabric across the front of his pants had pulled taut enough to reveal the unmistakable outline of him beneath. 

It wasn't obscene or at all intentional. But it was incredibly, horribly noticeable once pointed out. Your stomach dropped directly into hell. Which is exactly where you felt you were. Was it getting hot in here?

It wasn't like this was new information to you. It wasn't like you hadn't seen him naked plenty of times before. It was quite the contrary. You knew exact what Jack looked like beneath his clothes. 

You knew the weight of him in your palm, the way his hands gripped your hips when he lost control, you knew the vulgar things that came out of his mouth when he got worked up enough. 

This was different. This was public. 

This was your boyfriend standing in the middle of the emergency department discussing hospital operations while his coworkers apparently conducted active investigations into the outline of his dick. 

Another reason you hated the ER, pointless conversation about topics that were better left unspoken.

And to make matters worse, Jack clearly had no idea. Because you knew that had Jack been turned on right now, his neck would be flushed under his stubble, his fists would flex unconsciously, his shoulders would tense. 

Instead he remained entirely relaxed, still focused on whatever Robby was saying. Meaning that it was simply him. Your face went hot enough to physically hurt. Beside you, Trinity looked seconds away from tears from how hard she was trying not to laugh. 

You couldn't speak. 

You couldn't breath. 

Trinity watched your expression transform in real time and absolutely lit up with satisfaction. Because not only had she succeeded in getting her answer, she had effectively embarrassed the life out of you. 

"There it is." 

Your eyes remained locked on Jack against your will. Because now that you noticed, your brain seemed insistent on replaying memory after memory. Dear God. 

Had it always been that noticeable?

You felt mildly sick and somehow even sicker knowing Trinity was watching you realize it. "I, um, have nothing to say on the matter." She finally broke and a loud laugh burst out of her before she slapped Dennis on the shoulder. 

"Come on, Huckleberry," she cackled, still grinning wildly. "We've ruined Morgie's morning enough." Then she simply walked away. Leaving you standing there in the break room doorway, staring at your boyfriend across the ER. 

You almost didn't answer the door. 

The thought had crossed your mind somewhere between your bed and the kitchen island, sometime after you'd buried yourself beneath your comforter and convinced yourself that if you ignored the problem it would eventually disappear. 

Unfortunately, simply not answering the door wouldn't make everything alright again, because Jack wasn't actually the problem. 

The problem was you. 

It was how Jack made you feel. 

Jack was thoughtful and kind. 

The sort of man who noticed when you skipped meals, remembered your favorite takeout order and worried when you took the bus home when he was supposed to drive you. 

The sort of man currently standing in your apartment hallway balancing enough food to feed a small family. You chewed nervously on your lip for a moment as you stared through the peephole. 

You hesitated opening the door but ultimately unlocked the dead bolt and pulled open the heavy door. "Jack?" you questioned. 

The second the door opened, his attention settled on you. "Hey, pretty girl."

The greeting came naturally as if it had been your name forever rather than just for the last few months. His gaze moved over you quickly but it didn't feel invasive or scrutinizing. You could tell he was looking for signs of the sickness you had told him you'd suddenly come down with. 

"Can I come in?"

You didn't really understand why but with those four words, your guilt doubled. Your stomach lurched as you stepped aside without argument. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Yeah, I did," he muttered. 

He leaned his crutches against the kitchen island as he began to pull out the various food items. 

The apartment suddenly felt smaller with him inside it, and it wasn't because his large frame took up most of your kitchen. His broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than physically possible. But more importantly, when he was here, it felt warmer and homey. Jack made your tiny studio feel different simply by existing in it. 

"You look better than I expected."

You could tell the statement was carefully curated. Meant to reassure himself of your state but not as to blatantly say I knew you were lying when you said you were sick. 

So you did what you do best in these situations. You doubled down. "I told you it wasn't serious," you explained. 

"Mhm." The hum could have meant absolutely anything and the different possibilities were making your head spin. 

You watched him continue unpacking the food. Container after container appeared. Then you also noticed the drink carrier and the large water bottle he pulled out from under his arm. 

"I didn't know what sounded good," he explained. "So I got options."

You stared. "Jack . . ," you trailed. 

"Breakfast sandwich. Turkey club, incase you were thinking lunch and chicken noodle, if you're feeling nauseous." Another container joined the lineup. "Hash browns, too."

"Jack, thats too much."

"I know you forget to eat sometimes and I am almost ninety nine percent sure that's what's making you feel sick." He finally glances over at you. "So please. Eat."

Your chest tightened because there it was again. That awful problem. The caring and the concern. The complete inability to stop looking after people. 

You had spent the entire bus ride home feeling ridiculous. Now you felt ridiculous and guilty. A terrible combination, especially when it came to you. 

"You sure your head's the only thing bothering you?" Your eyes snapped upward. 

Jack had settled on to the couch now, crutches leaned against the coffee table as he pulled off his prosthetic. Then leaned back against the cushions with the exhausted posture of a man who had spent twelve hours standing. 

He tilted his head back and rolled his neck. His legs spread as he shifted further into the couch. Your eyes gravitated towards his thighs and for the first time, you noticed he was wearing gray sweatpants. You immediately looked elsewhere. 

"I'm just tired," you said quickly, averting your eyes by any means necessary. 

"Baby, you've been tired before." His voice remained calm, very matter-of-fact. "This is different," he continued. 

You cursed yourself for letting this silly situation spiral like this. You cursed yourself for letting him in the door and most of all, you cursed yourself for being so damn readable. 

He had been in your apartment for all of ten minutes and he had already noticed the change in your behavior. Very Jack Abbot of him and very much the bane of your existence. 

You groaned loudly, "Oh my god, I'm acting weird."

"A little." You hadn't expected him to agree with you so outright, so your face fell a little when you heard his words. Jack immediately softened. "Not bad weird. Just a little off."

The apartment fell quiet. You looked away. Suddenly finding everything else more interesting. The outside city noises. A dog barking somewhere down the street. The soft hum of your ancient refrigerator. 

"Honey?"

"Hm?" You respond but you definitely don't look towards him.

"Tell me what's going on."

You continued to stare stubbornly at the floor. If you didn't answer maybe he'd forget. At least that's what your were foolish enough to think. Unfortunately for you, Jack Abbot possessed the patience of a man who spent his life talking terrified patients through terrible situations. 

Silence didn't scare him. It merely encouraged him to wait longer. When you sill didn't answer, he sighed. A change in tactics was in store for you. "C'mere." 

You blinked, confused, "What?"

"Your shoulders are practically touching your ears." He tipped his chin towards the couch. "Sit down," he ordered. 

"I don't think—"

"Sit."

His command wasn't malicious or harsh. It wasn't even particularly forceful. Yet somehow you found yourself crossing the room anyway. He shifted immediately to make space for you. The moment you sat down, he maneuvered you until your back was facing him and his hands settled on your shoulders. You nearly folded in half at the feeling. 

"Oh my god."

"I told you." His thumbs worked slowly through the knots gathered at the base of your neck. You hadn't noticed how tense you'd gotten until this moment. How every muscle in your body had tightened up in your fucked up sense of self preservation. 

But as his hands continued to work over the area, the more you relaxed and in more ways than one. The problem was that Jack's hands felt entirely too good. The problem was also that Jack himself felt entirely too good. The problem was definitely not helped by the gray sweatpants and the fact that you were still very much in the proverbial doghouse you had put yourself in. 

"You're tight as hell," he mumbled and a strangled sound escaped before you could stop it. Jack froze, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, seriously. What is going on?"

You immediately covered your face as heat flooded your cheeks. "Hey." A hand squeezed your shoulder. "Come on, baby. We talked about communicating, it's important to me."

You groaned into your hands. "Ugh, it's so embarrassing. I don't wanna tell you."

"Well, now you have to," he teased. "It's just me."

"Exactly my point. It's you." You swear if he lifted his eyebrows any further they'd brush his hairline. "Alright, now I'm definitely confused."

You debated lying again. Considered a different excuse, something wholly more believable. But again, Jack had that way about him, which somehow made honesty inevitable. 

"While I was waiting for you," you finally muttered, "Santos came up to me and she said—"

Jack straightened immediately. "What? If she crossed a line, I'll have a talk with her."

"No." You sat upright and turned to him so fast his hands slipped from your shoulders. "No. That would definitely not help."

"Okay," he conceded, though suspicion still laced his voice. "Can you tell me what she said?"

You sighed. "She was just being . . ." You searched for the appropriate description. "Being Santos."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"No, I know." You looked down at your hands. "She asked if we were together."

Jack frowned. "Does that make you upset? That people know?"

"No." You almost shout, the answer coming immediately. You softened slightly. "I mean, I know we weren't necessarily hiding it. I just didn't realize how many people knew."

Understanding flickered across his face. Then disappeared almost as quick as it had appeared. "Alright," his voice gentled. "Then what's got you so twisted up?"

And there it was.

This was the moment. The point of no return. 

You stared at the wall. Then the floor. Then your hands. Anywhere except Jack. Finally, mortified beyond belief, you mumbled, "she asked if you were 'packing.'"

The silence that followed was immediate.

"What?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, mentally preparing for your next words. "And then she said—and I quote—'he walks like it's heavy.'"

For one glorious second, Jack looked too stunned to react. Then he laughed.

It wasn't a cruel laugh or mocking. Just genuinely surprised. Which somehow made it worse. "Oh my god." You buried your face in your hands. "You're laughing at me. I knew this was stupid."

"No, baby." He was still smiling but he was shaking his head and waving his hands. "I'm not laughing at you."

"You literally are," you said bluntly because he really was still laughing. 

"It's just kinda silly," he confessed.

"Silly?" you repeated. "What about this is silly?"

Jack shook his head. "So what if people noticed?"

"You don't understand."

"No. I do."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "So what if you noticed? Ain't nothing you haven't seen before."

"Jack."

"What?"

His expression remained entirely too innocent. "It's the truth."

"Jack!" Your panicked voice earned another laugh. You groaned dramatically. "Stop laughing."

"I'm trying." He absolutely was not. The smile gave him away. 

"C'mere." His hand found your wrist before you could retreat again. The gesture was gentle and familiar. "Baby." The amusement faded slightly and he continued, "you're acting like this is some terrible thing."

"It is terrible."

"Why?"

"You weren't there."

"No." His thumb brushed across your skin."Sounds like I missed a hell of a conversation though," he joked. 

You glared. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he looked unbearably fond. “I just—" you exhaled. "I know what you look like, okay? Obviously. But that's private."

Your hand waved vaguely between the two of you. "That's ours."

For the first time since arriving, Jack's smile softened completely. "Then suddenly she points it out and now I'm standing there staring at your pants in the middle of the ER like some kind of pervert."

"Oh."

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean oh?”

The grin returned instantly. "Are you jealous other people noticed?"

"No!"

You stood without really thinking it through. This was how it was with you. Your instinct was always flight over fight. Unfortunately, Jack caught your wrist. "Nope." The grin widened. "You started this conversation. You're finishing it."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

His eyes lingered on your face. "You're embarrassed because Dr. Santos pointed out something you already spend a lotta time thinkin' about."

Your mouth dropped open.

"I do not."

One eyebrow lifted. You immediately looked away. Which told him everything he needed to know.

His laugh returned. "Hey." Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the opposite wall. "Pretty girl."

"Jack, that's not helping."

"You know I like knowing you think about me like that, right?"

Your face somehow became hotter. "Stop."

"What?" His expression remained shameless. "Sweetheart, we've slept together. More than once."

"Please stop talking."

"There is nothin' embarrassing about bein' attracted to me." You stared. Jack shrugged. "Frankly, I'd be a little concerned if you weren't."

Despite everything. Despite the embarrassment. Despite Trinity Santos. Despite spending over two hours making yourself miserable, a laugh escaped.

The moment it did, Jack's expression softened.

"There she is."

You rolled your eyes. The words settled somewhere warm despite your best efforts to resist them.

And the knot that had been sitting in your chest since sunrise finally began to loosen.