C

To take the time to cherish each other’s company, to be able to see each other. 

The dining table was stretched to its fullest length, every chair occupied. Platters passed from one pair of hands to another. Your dad was laughing far too loudly at something Ellie had said. Liv insisted she'd done absolutely nothing wrong, which only made everyone suspicious.

Dana sighed into her wine, "Every time you say that, I know something’s about to bite me in the arse."

"Mom," Liv groaned, “I really didn’t do anything that bad”

While you only laughed harder. 

"And yet I don’t feel any better from you saying that," your Mama teased her. 

Your Dad chuckled from beside her, he adds, "And I've learned not to ask questions,” whilst your Mama elbows him lightly. 

Around the table, conversation flowed effortlessly. 

Rosie and Finnick–now four years old and full of boundless energy–had long since abandoned the adults in favour of playing with their cousin in the lounge room.

Or...

At least they had.

"Daddy!"

Brendon looked up from helping your Dad clear a plate, "Yes, sweetheart?"

Rosie's curls bounced as she ran into the dining room, eyes gleaming whilst she pleaded, "We need you."

He smiled, tilting his head, "What for?"

"A very important meeting,” Rosie declared, about as headstrong as her grandma you thought. 

Finnick appeared beside her, gripping a tiny plastic teapot, "You have tea."

Brendon looked at you.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing, "I think you've been summoned."

Your Dad took the plates from Brendon’s grasp, "Oh, you've got no choice now,” he said with a knowing look. The look of a father who had been dragged into many tea parties before. 

Dana didn't even look up from cutting another slice of roast, "Good luck."

Brendon sighed with exaggerated resignation, "I suppose duty calls,” but even he couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face when Rosie seized one hand. And Finn took the other. 

Between the two of them they practically dragged the six-foot orthopaedic surgeon down the hallway.

Finn instructed, "Daddy sit!"

"I am sitting,” he claimed. 

"No,” Rosie pointed firmly, "There."

"Oh. My mistake,” he nodded before he folded himself with surprising grace onto a tiny pink plastic chair that looked as though it might collapse beneath him.

It somehow survived.

Barely.

His knees were practically level with his shoulders.

The children immediately began issuing instructions, "Cup,” Rosie poured a cup of tea for him. 

"Thank you,” Brendon nodded appreciatively. 

"Cake,” Finn passed a wooden plate over to him with a fake slice of cake. 

Miming taking a sip, Brendon plays along, just as he always had, just as he always will. Becoming putty beneath their demands, "Oh, very delicious."

"You have to pinky."

"I absolutely have to pinky."

They spent the next fifteen minutes correcting his tea-party etiquette with absolute seriousness.

"No, Daddy,” Rosie shook her head, “You sip. Like this,” Rosie demonstrated.

Brendon copied her exactly.

"Perfect,” Rosie grinned triumphantly, whilst Isla giggled along. 

Finnick nodded solemnly, "He’s learning."

The adults watched from the dining room doorway.

Your father laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

Dana quietly reached for her phone, "I'm taking a photo."

Brendon looked over, "Please don't."

"It's already been sent to the family group chat,” Dana claimed with a teasing grin. 

"Dana,” he sighs, but no bite laced his words. In fact, the shine in his eyes led you to believe he was enjoying this all. 

Everyone burst into laughter.

You couldn't stop smiling.

It was impossible to reconcile this gentle, endlessly patient father with the guarded man you'd first met all those years ago.

The one who had kept everyone at arm's length.

Who had spoken in clipped sentences.

Who'd hidden every vulnerable part of himself.

Now he wore a plastic tiara.

Entirely by choice.

This was your life. Your family. And you loved them all so much. 

And yet–

Despite you knowing that. 

Despite you being completely aware that Brendon would always love you. 

You had a little niggling of fear. 

Of worry. 

Creeps into the forefront of your mind. 

It was silly. 

Really. 

But weren't most fears at the end of the day, a little unfounded?

Fear might’ve been a bit too strong of a word. A better description for the way you felt might be fretting. 

Yeah. 

You were simply fretting. 

Later, while everyone was distracted by dessert, by the orange and poppy seed cake topped with cream cheese frosting and slight shavings of dark chocolate on top, delicate and spongy with each bite.

Whilst they ate and enjoyed the night, you slipped quietly onto the back verandah.

The evening air was cool.

Comfortable. 

Your hands rested unconsciously over your stomach.

You hadn't told anyone.

Not yet.

Not even Brendon.

The test sat hidden in your handbag.

Positive.

Again.

You should have been excited.

Instead...

The worry had arrived first.

The door creaked open behind you, "You've got your mother's thinking face."

You smiled faintly from the familiar sound of your Dad’s voice. 

You simply stare out at the garden, not meeting his eyes. 

Your Dad stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him. He leaned against the railing beside you.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

It never had been.

"You alright, Cupcake?"

You bite your lip with a furrow of your brow, "I don't know."

That was enough.

He didn't press.

Didn't interrogate.

Just waited.

Just like he’d always done. 

Just like he always would, for as long as you needed him to. 

He always made sure his girls were all good. 

And if they weren’t. 

Well he always made sure you all knew he was there for you. 

He was there for you during your first heartbreak. 

He was there to quell your Mama when you had called home to say you were staying in Paris. 

He soothed your worries, assuring you that your Mama was going to come around eventually. 

He was there telling you he was only a phone call away if ever you needed. 

Benji is the perfect girl dad. 

Long before girl dads were ever a thing. 

He was the original. 

He was Brendon’s role model. 

And your source of comfort without you ever asking him to be. 

Eventually...

"I'm pregnant."

His head turned towards you. A slow smile spread across his face, he reached over and squeezed your shoulder, "That's wonderful."

"I know,” You swallowed, sniffling lightly, whilst the next words came out shakily, "I think."

He heard the uncertainty immediately, "You're frightened."

You nodded, feeling the burning well of tears threaten to fall from your eyes whilst you continued, "It just–It just all came back, the miscarriage, the waiting, the appointments, the heartache–"

Your breathing shakes, your heart races, "And then I started thinking...What if I can't do this again? What if I'm not strong enough?"

Your dad was quiet for a long moment.

Then he smiled, "Can I ask you something?"

You hummed with a slight nod, feeling your Dad’s arm wrap around your shoulder comfortingly. 

"Have you met your husband?"

His question catches you off guard, whilst you raise your brow, “Dad, what–”

"I'm serious,” He laughed softly, before saying sincerely, "That man would move heaven and earth for you."

Your throat tightened, "You know..."

He looked through the window towards the lounge room.

Brendon was still pretending to drink invisible tea. Rosie was enthusiastically feeding him a plastic biscuit. Finn grinning whilst he drank from his own cup. 

"It wasn't easy watching you girls grow up,” His voice softened, rubbing your shoulder, "I know every parent says that. But one day you're teaching your daughter to ride a bike...and the next she's building a life of her own."

But then he smiled proudly, "I worry, every father does, every parent does. I worried whether someone would see you the way I always hoped they would."

His eyes stayed fixed on Brendon, "I don't mean that in some old-fashioned sense. It was never about needing a husband. It was about hoping you'd find someone who made your life gentler. Someone who'd carry the heavy things with you."

He nodded towards the lounge room, "I found out I didn't have to worry."

You followed his gaze.

Brendon was now allowing himself to be crowned "Princess Daddy."

Without complaint.

Without embarrassment.

Without a single thought for himself.

Your Dad smiled.

"Whatever you decide to do...Whether you keep this baby. Whether life throws another curveball. I know one thing,” He squeezed your shoulder again, "Brendon's going to be there. For whatever you choose. He'll never let you carry it alone."

Your eyes filled, leaning your head against his shoulder, smiling softly, "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime, Cupcake,” He nodded before grinning, "And besides–IIf he ever starts acting up. You let us know, you know your Mama and I won't let any nonsense or shit slide."

You laughed, with a slight shake of your head, "Dad."

"What?" He shrugged, “Just gotta keep him on his toes."

“You’re as bad as Mama,” you retorted. 

He only shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your head, your tears now dried, while he adds, “We just love you.”

And just perhaps. 

Your Dad’s words come into mind once more, later that very same night. After you had said your goodbyes at the doorstep of your parents. 

Brendon carries both Finn and Rosie, while their eyes flutter close, exhaustion taking over the two little kids. 

Taking Rosie into your arms, while you strap them both in the car. 

Your Dad’s words enter your mind. 

Watching Brendon’s careful movements, the unending admiration and love pooling in his bright blue eyes. 

The very same eyes that promised you a life shared together, forever. 

Your heart warms at the sight, and whilst he drives you all back home, his hand holds yours, gentle and sweet. 

It is those little actions. 

Those small moments. 

That reminds you why you stay. Reminds you why you fell in love with him in the first place, and continue to do so. 

That same evening, whilst you tuck the twins into bed, 

Rosie pleaded for Brendon to read them a story. Precisely two, actually. 

Finnick had corrected Brendon twice because he'd accidentally given the dragon the wrong voice.

Eventually...

Two sleepy goodnight kisses later...

The twins were asleep. Drifting off into a world of slumber. 

Brendon quietly pulled their bedroom door almost closed. Walking quietly down the hall, he found you sitting on the couch.

One hand resting over your stomach.

And somewhere. 

Deep down. 

He had a feeling–an inkling about what was happening with you. 

He had noticed, of course he had–he had seen the signs. 

The vaguely familiar look in your eye. 

"What’s going on with you?" He asked gently, stopping just a few feet away. Giving you space. Room to breathe. 

You looked up, hands shifting to twist in your lap, "I found something out."

He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling in front of you, "Were you waiting for the right time to tell me?"

You nodded.

He smiled gently, "Okay."

You reached into your pocket.

Placed the pregnancy test into his hand.

He stared.

Then looked back at you.

Then back at the test.

His eyes filled almost instantly, "We're?–”

You nodded, a small smile spreading across your lips, "We're pregnant."

He laughed. The soft, disbelieving kind that dissolved into tears before it was finished, "Oh, sweetheart..." He rested his forehead against yours.

For a long moment he couldn't speak.

When he finally did...

His voice was barely above a whisper, "I'm here."

Those two little words. 

Just as meaningful. 

Just as profound as I love you.

The very phrase was more than just words, more than just a promise. 

Because–

Because he always followed through. 

Always stayed true to his word. 

Because he truly was. 

Always here for you. 

"I know,” you smiled softly, eyes tracing the features of his face, simply drinking his appearance in. 

No matter how many years pass, no matter how tired, exhausted, or whatever else. 

Brendon was always the most handsome man in your eyes. 

He cupped your face, "I mean it. I'm here,” softly kissing your forehead, "For whatever you choose."

You nodded slowly. Nerves on fire. 

Mind buzzing from the way he made your heart pulsate. 

Brendon never pushed, never demanded. Every decision was made together, with each other in mind. 

Just like this one. 

"I've been thinking–I think..." A smile spread across your face, "...We'll keep them."

His laugh escaped before he could stop it, "Them?"

You blinked realising your mishap. Grinning sheepishly, "Force of habit."

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, "Let's hope it's just one this time."

You laughed, smile widening, "I'd be happy either way, it’d be nice for Rosie and Finn to have another sibling."

"I like that idea too," he agrees wholeheartedly. 

Silence settled between you.

Comfortable.

Warm.

You looked down, those worries coming back to your mind, no longer taking over, just simply there, always just there. 

"You sure you're up for this again?” You asked, before listing off, “You know, with all the late-night supermarket runs, the cravings–"

He laughed softly, "You mean the night you absolutely needed watermelon and cheetos."

“Don’t forget the cookie dough ice cream,” you added, before stating with a dreamy sigh, "They were perfect together."

"They absolutely were not,” he snorted a small shake of his head. 

"They absolutely were,” you protested. Before shifting slightly, reaching up to grasp his hands with your own, pulling them down into your lap. 

Your smile dampens, “Can’t forget the mood swings–I remember being terribly angsty the last time…” your voice trails off, swallowing the thick lump beginning to form. 

“And what if it’s not easy…What if it doesn’t go to plan?…” You say, airing out your fears. 

Smiling softly. 

Understandingly. 

“Sweetheart–I’m here for it all,” His hands still intertwined with yours whilst he lifts them to press a gentle kiss to yours, eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

"I didn't marry you because I thought life was going to be sunshine every day. And I didn't marry you simply because I wanted to wake up beside you,” he shared, "I married you because I knew life would be hard. Marriage is hard. Children are hard."

He pauses for a moment before adding, “Grief is hard, and so is growing old.” 

His thumb brushed across your wedding ring, "I wanted every single part of it. Not because it would always be easy...But because it would be with you. The woman with such a big heart that in the first time we met, gave me a delicious slice of rosemary shortbread, the woman I fell in love with"

Pure adoration. 

Pure love simply poured out of him, with each and every word, “I married you because I want to love you everyday, through every tough day, I want to be your rock through every curve ball. And simply be there with you through it all.”

Your heart simply melts from his admission. 

From the way he looks at you. 

Even after having been married for so long, he still makes your heart skip a beat just like the very first time he told you he loved you. 

"And if that means driving across the city at midnight because the baby you're growing suddenly decides watermelon tastes best with cheetos, and cookie dough ice cream–” He shrugged, "Then I guess I'm buying Cheetos."

You laughed so hard tears rolled down your cheeks.

He kissed them away.

Just as he always had.

…

And true to his word. Loyal to a fault. His promise to you, to always be there for you, never breaks. 

Brendon was there for you. 

In every way that mattered. 

He was there. 

Through thick and thin. 

Through the highs and lows. 

Through everything that life brought your way. 

Not only for the milestones people filled photo albums with–

But for the quiet moments that mattered just as much.

When your family gathered around the dinner table and you shared the news that there would be another little heartbeat joining the family.

When morning sickness stole your appetite.

When your ankles swelled.

When exhaustion made even standing at the kitchen bench feel like climbing a mountain.

He was there.

When your water broke halfway through baking a batch of madeleines. Whilst you had stared at the puddle on the kitchen floor.

Then at the tray still sitting on the bench.

Then back at Brendon, "I don't think these are getting finished."

He chuckled lightly, already moving to grab the preprepared bag, "The madeleines can wait."

A memory you both laughed about for years.

Especially after your daughter arrived.

Tiny.

Perfect.

Just a little impatient.

Little Madeline.

Maddie.

Named after the little cakes that never made it into the oven.

And just perhaps…

You just happened to know of a shark swimming in the gulf of Mexico named Madeline when she was tagged…just a little something you had seen when scrolling instagram. 

You never told Brendon.

You simply smiled every time he called your daughter by her name.

A private joke you'd keep tucked safely away for another rainy day.

Maddie arrived with all ten fingers.

All ten toes.

Bright eyes and cherub cheeks.

A determined cry that filled the delivery room with relief.

It hadn’t been the smoothest of pregnancies–not the easiest of times. 

Perhaps none of them ever truly were.

But she was finally here, in your arms. 

Perhaps a little premature. 

But she had made it. 

You couldn’t help but sob when you heard her first cry, leaning into Brendon’s embrace whilst you cherished this moment together. 

Brendon was there through all the moments that mattered. 

The Emergency Department staff watched Rosie, Finn and Maddie grow up one homemade baked treat at a time.

You'd appear carrying tins of cookies balanced on one arm.

Baby Maddie strapped against your chest.

Finn clinging to your hand.

Whilst Rosie proudly announced to anyone willing to listen that Daddy fixed bones.

They cooed over your kids, and even more so when they saw both Dana and Brendon become absolute putty for the kids. So soft hearted, the polar opposite of the more hardened facade they put up at work. 

You and Brendon were quite a team. 

The perfect parental duo. Perfect might be a bit of a stretch….but you’d like to think you came pretty close to it. 

You went through every experience. 

Together. 

Through scraped knees and bedtime stories.

Through toddler tantrums and endless "why?" questions.

Through to the first time you kiss your kids goodbye whilst they start their first day at school…

Until all too soon your little kids grow up. 

Soon becoming their own person. 

Through slammed teenage bedroom doors and arguments spoken in frustration rather than truth.

But no matter what the children always came home. 

Sometimes late.

Sometimes sheepish.

Always to find the porch light on.

The kitchen, warm with fresh baked goods, ranging from cookies, to brownies, or even muffins or savoury delights waiting on the bench.

You learned something your own parents had taught you years before.

Understanding first.

Questions later.

A cup of tea before advice.

Knowing better than to scold before understanding–even if it takes everything within you not to simply ground them. 

Brendon’s calm demeanor helps keep you settled, eased, before you completely lose it. 

Though he struggles to conceal his own concern behind a thinly veiled facade…considering mere moments before he was almost definitely pacing the halls ready to jump in the car and find his kid. 

Rather than pushing your kids away with screaming words and harsh conclusions…

You both learn to understand first. 

Just to show them that they can always come to you if ever they had a problem–however small or big. 

Brendon is right there by your side. 

Especially when you hold back, fail to hold back tears. Holding onto your little babies, now grown and ready to flee the coop. 

And with each child that leaves. 

When Rosie, Finn and eventually Maddie leave home…

Each of them leave with a neatly made recipe book. An idea that Brendon had given you. Late nights spent awake working together to put them all together. 

Inside were family favourites, each tailored to each child and their personal favourites. 

From brown butter oat cookies, to crumbling melting moments with a passionfruit tang, or red velvet cookies with a cream cheese glaze.

The perfect recipe for flaky croissants. And all the little tips and tricks you had learnt written all throughout the recipe. 

Varying versions of cinnamon scrolls. Always a crowd pleaser, whether they be coffee scrolls, vanilla scrolls or even your own specialty key lime pie scroll. 

Apple crumble, Finn’s favourite adding rhubarb to the recipe whilst Maddie’s had raisins in the crumble mix for an added sweetness.

Pasta sauces, including your Dad’s signature bolognese, whilst Rosie’s book included a pesto sauce that Brendon prided himself with.

Each recipe accompanied by your neat handwriting.

For when the world feels too loud.

For celebrating good news.

For when the marks weren't what you hoped.

For feeding friends.

For impressing someone you secretly hope becomes something more.

For homesick days.

For remembering that home isn't a place–it's the people who love you.

You and Brendon had thought it all out. 

Giving them a taste of home if ever they needed it. 

Each time, his own tears remain unshed, just until they leave your view. Just until they’re out of sight. By then the tears flowed from both of you, simply holding onto one another. 

Waited until the car disappeared around the corner.

Only then did his shoulders sag.

Only then did you wrap your arms around him.

And together...You mourned the beautiful ache of raising children well enough that they were ready to leave.

The hardest part was always saying goodbye. 

Even if it was exciting. 

Even if it was thrilling that your kids were finally going out into the world to make their own lives. 

You were so proud of them…

But that didn’t mean it didn’t make you or Brendon any less sad to see them go. 

Your Dad was right, saying goodbye and seeing your children leave was both the happiest and saddest part of being a parent…

…

“A vacation...really?” Rosie had asked whilst on the phone with you. Your phone precariously perched upon a shelf whilst your hands fold the dough before you. 

Going through the motions like it was second nature. 

The bakery had been going extremely well over the years, well enough that you had even established another two stores around the city. 

And well–

Considering how hard you’ve been working as of late. 

And how much Brendon’s been working…

You believed your family was overdue for a vacation. 

“And where did you have in mind Mom?” Rosie followed up. Breaking you from thought. 

Plucking a knife you begin slicing the dough into triangles. Preparing them to be rolled into croissants ready to be proofed, before sliding into the oven to become buttery flaky delights. 

“Paris,” you said with a smile. 

Mind drifting back to fond memories. 

You and Brendon had gone back every few years, and usually around the time of your wedding anniversary.

And even going to visit Paris to further your own training and understanding of all the trade secrets from some of the world’s best bakeries and pattisseries. 

But you had never once gone with your kids. 

Sure you had all taken family vacations together. But Paris was special for both you and Brendon, simply waiting for the right time to take them. 

“And why Paris?” Rosie probed. 

You shrug despite knowing she couldn’t see you, wiping your brow with your elbow, the warmth of the ovens around you starts to get to you. 

“I think it’ll be nice,” you vaguely explained, before rambling on excitedly, “We can make a whole trip of it, we can go to Paris and any other places in Europe, explore it together as a family, you’ve all got some time off between studies and jobs, and my bakeries will be fine–and your Dad has a lot of leave accumulated–so what do you say?”

“You still didn’t say why it has to be Paris specifically? Why can’t we just go to some resort and fully relax?” 

You clicked your tongue, “Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Is something going on?” A tinge of concern laces Rosie’s tone. 

“Nothing’s wrong, I just think Paris will be really nice–”

“I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a little touristy?” Rosie added a little unsure. 

You could practically envision her mouth twisting in thought. The very same look Brendon would have at times. 

“Did I ever tell you that me and your Dad went there on our honeymoon?” you said, whilst your fingers deftly arranged the croissants on the tray. 

“Only about a million times–”

“Well have I ever mentioned that’s also where I fell in love with baking–and lived there,” you cut her off. 

Somehow, throughout the years these little facts slipped through the cracks. 

It was hard for kids to see their parents as their own people with their own histories. It was sometimes easier to just see them as only parents and nothing more…

“What? No! How did grandma react to that?” she exclaimed, whilst you laughed from her outburst. 

“I could’ve sworn I had told you,” you said between laughs, “Doesn’t matter–I’ll tell you all about it, if you agree to come to Paris”

“Its a deal,” she said quickly. 

“Great! I’ll call your brother and sister, and get them on board–”

“No need, I’ve messaged them already and Maddie’s already asking when to pack,” Rosie added, “–and Finn’s asking when he can start booking tickets for the galleries”

And so… 

Plans were made. 

Flights booked. 

Hotels arranged. 

And soon you’re all landing in Paris, ready to share a little slice of your youth with your children. Your arm wrapped around Brendon, both smiling warmly, feeling a sense of home overcome you both. 

Walking the same streets.

Eating from the same little bakeries.

The city still felt like a love letter. 

And Brendon still adored the way your face would light up, reliving the past, the way you’d still after all this time, lead him down narrow cobbled streets, past doors he could’ve sworn led to nowhere. 

Regardless of that he trusted you. 

Whilst you lead the way, finding the perfect hidden little secrets. Showing him a different side to Paris that wasn’t plastered across social media. 

This time, however...

You weren't alone.

Rosie.

Finn.

Maddie.

All grown now.

Walking beside you, sending you a questioning look each time you led them this way and that. 

A little story with each place you went to. 

Now curating new memories with your entire family. The people you held dearest to your heart. 

It brought you a thrill to see them enjoy the city you still treasured after all these years. 

Seeing them explore and find little secrets of their own. 

But today. 

You were all together once more, strolling through the Jardin du Luxembourg. 

Finn and Maddie rent one of the little sailboats to sail around the pond. In an instant their behaviour morphs back into the children they once were whilst they playfully argue on how to steer the boat. 

Rosie sitting on one of the chairs, a sketchbook in hand supposedly tracing out the scenery before you…

Though you had a feeling she was sketching out anatomical images, her mind, not straying very far from her medical studies. 

But then. 

Just like that day all those years ago, despite the sun shining high in the sky. Clouds rolled in, sweeping overhead. 

And then the rain falls without warning. 

Soft at first.

Then steady.

Just as it had on your honeymoon. 

The crowds scatter, umbrellas pop up. 

But you can’t help but smile, closing your eyes whilst the rain cascades down and drenches your clothes and hair. A laugh bubbling out. 

"So..." Brendon asked, already smiling, "Still think Paris looks prettiest in the rain?"

You looked around.

At your children.

At the city that had witnessed your honeymoon.

At the husband who still reached for your hand without thinking.

At the life you'd built together.

"I do,” He slipped his fingers between yours. 

Exactly as he always had.

So warm and comforting. 

Pulling you closer, just to keep you a little warm whilst the rain falls. 

He hums lowly, a familiar tune filling your ears, whilst you rest your head onto his chest, falling into a gentle sway. 

The quiet murmurs escape his lips, for your ears only. 

I love you to the bone I love every beat of you Every measure and note And so, if I stand the chance May I ask you for this dance?

“Mom! Dad! C’mon!” Maddie calls out, all of your kids already ready to make a run for it, "Honestly. Now is not the time to live out the notebook!"

Rosie called out over the rain, "Can you stop looking at each other like that for five minutes?"

“We get it you’re in love,” Finn adds hurriedly, “Now can we please get out of the rain before we spend the rest of the vacation sick!”

Looking up you meet Brendon’s eyes, a little twinkle in them, full of amusement whilst you both laugh softly. 

Then, wordlessly, he pulled back not before placing one sweet kiss upon your lips, lingering for just a moment, you feel his lips curve into a smile whilst they press against yours. 

Sighing softly when he pulls away, his hand settles at the small of your back.

Your arm curling around his, before you follow after your kids. 

Lightly jogging to seek shelter whilst the rain continues to pour. 

Just as it had all those years ago.

"You know..." he murmured.

Looking up at the man who had loved you through grief and joy, through ordinary days and extraordinary ones, through every promise he'd ever made...

“Somehow, with each passing day I just fall more and more in love with you,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

A wide grin spreads across your lips. 

“Careful there, if you talk too loudly the kids are going to scold you for loving their Mom so much,” you tease lightly. 

“Let them,” he shrugged, “Let them see just how much I love you, I don’t want them ever thinking that I don’t,” he says so tenderly and sweetly. 

Your eyes drift up ahead, seeing Rosie, Finn and Maddie standing under an awning waving you both over, ready to spend the afternoon in a cafe and out of the rainstorm. 

But before you manage to continue over. 

Your sweet, dear husband. 

The ever loving Brendon. 

Twists you around, so smoothly, so fluidly. 

Before leaning down to capture your lips with his. 

Kissing you so slowly.

Tenderly.

Like he still had all the time in the world.

And perhaps...

He did.

Because the greatest love stories were never about the wedding. Were never about the honeymoon. Not even about the first date. 

They were about choosing one another...

Again.

And again.

And again.

Every ordinary day thereafter.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes peering down into yours, with an endless devotion that had never once faded. 

Even through the hard times. 

Through the arguments. 

Through the fights. 

You always found your way back together. 

Hearts grow fonder and fonder of each other with each passing day. 

Just as Brendon said. 

You simply fell in love with each other more and more. 

Your lips curl into a smile. Heart warming at the thought. Whilst his heart races, with one thought on his mind. 

He would always be so grateful to you. 

Grateful to share this life with you.

His face morphs into a gentle smile. A smile reserved only for you. 

You were the only one who truly knew him, inside and out. Beyond the steely facade he wore to work. Beyond the shark, cold blooded persona.

"You are my home, my family, my life," you whisper softly, "my forever"

"I love you," he says sweetly, echoing the sentiment, "forever"

Burying his nose into the top of your head, holding you close. Cherishing this moment.

One you were sure to look back on fondly.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed part 8 and the series! Sadly it is the final part, but it has been so fun writing such pure sweetness for these two! I've had a blast and hope you have too! Hope you enjoyed the little full circle moment of ending it in Paris - Just know that I am picturing Rosie has gone off to study medicine (not necessarily to go into orthopaedics - but you're almost certain that she's into it because Brendon used to read medical textbooks to them as story books - worked like a charm to get Finn to sleep) Meanwhile I'm imagining Finn might fall in love with baking while on the trip to Paris, so he might take over the bakery business, and little Maddie is very keen on studying marine biology something about Shark's just make her absolutely light up ♥️ Let me know what you thought of this part or of the series in general✨ Read my Bonus Part: The Evans' Family Tree here! Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Help yourself and check out my other Pitt Works on My Masterlist Here!

The next morning, you woke to Brendon’s hand on your shoulder.

Not shaking. Not urgent. Just there. Warm and steady through the soft fabric of your sweatshirt.

“Hey,” Brendon said quietly. “Pain medication.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

For one soft, disoriented second, you did not know where you were.

Then your body remembered for you: the soreness, the tight pull across your abdomen, the careful weight of the blanket over your legs, and Biscuit tucked somewhere near your shoulder.

Brendon beside you, already awake.

You made a small, miserable sound.

“I know,” Brendon said.

His voice was low. Rough with sleep. Careful in a way that made your chest ache before you were even fully conscious. The bedroom was soft with morning light now instead of darkness. On your nightstand sat a glass of water, two crackers on a napkin, and the small orange prescription bottle the hospital had sent home with you.

Biscuit lifted his head from your shoulder.

Brendon looked down at him. “Shoulder or legs. That’s it.”

Biscuit blinked, and Brendon stared back.

After a long second, Biscuit shifted higher against your shoulder and settled there with a deeply offended sigh.

You closed your eyes again. “He listened.”

“He understood the options,” Brendon said.

You smiled faintly, too tired to do much more than that.

Then Brendon’s hand slid carefully behind your shoulders. “Come on.”

You groaned.

“I know,” Brendon said again.

He helped you sit up slowly, one hand steady at your back, the other guiding the pillow into place before you could fold forward too far. Every movement pulled faintly at your abdomen, not sharp, not scary, just present enough to remind you that your body had been through something and did not appreciate being asked to participate in basic tasks.

You held the pillow against your stomach and breathed through it.

Brendon waited. He did not rush you. He did not tell you it was fine. He watched your face with that quiet, assessing focus he tried to hide and never quite managed.

When your breathing evened out, he handed you the crackers first.

You stared at the crackers. “Really?”

“You need oral intake before the narcotic,” Brendon said.

You blinked at him.

Then you looked at the crackers again. “Romance is dead.”

“No,” Brendon said. “Romance is preventing nausea and gastric irritation.”

You stared at him.

He held the crackers closer. “Eat.”

“That was somehow worse,” you said.

“You had abdominal surgery yesterday,” Brendon said.

“Also not sexy,” you said.

“No,” Brendon said. “But relevant.”

You took one cracker with all the dignity you could manage, which was not much.

Brendon opened the prescription bottle, shook one pill into his palm, then handed it to you with the water.

You swallowed it down.

“Good,” Brendon said.

The word was quiet, soft enough that it settled somewhere low in your chest.

You looked at him over the rim of the glass.

His hair was mussed from sleep. His shirt was wrinkled. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his phone was still open to the medication alarm he had set before you fell asleep.

He looked tired and serious, like he belonged in your bedroom in the morning with crackers in his hand and your cat pressed against your shoulder.

Your throat tightened.

Brendon noticed immediately. “Pain?”

You shook your head. “No.”

His eyes stayed on you.

You looked down at the water glass. “I slept really well.”

Brendon’s face changed, just enough for you to see the relief move through him.

“Good,” he said.

The word came out softer this time.

You looked back at him. “Did you?”

“A little,” Brendon said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Brendon.”

“I slept,” he said.

You kept looking at him.

His mouth almost moved. “Enough.”

“That is not reassuring,” you said.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Brendon said.

You huffed faintly, then leaned back into the pillows when the movement pulled at your stomach.

Brendon’s hand hovered near your side. “Careful.”

You closed your eyes. “You make everything sound like a discharge instruction.”

“You were discharged,” Brendon said.

You opened one eye. “See?”

He took the glass from your hand and set it back on the nightstand.

For a few seconds, the room settled around you. Morning light. Soft blankets. Biscuit’s low purr. Brendon’s thumb moving once over your shoulder, as if he hadn’t noticed he was doing it.

Then you looked toward the bathroom.

Brendon followed your gaze. “What?”

“I want to shower,” you said.

His attention sharpened immediately.

You looked back at him before he could say anything. “I feel gross.”

“You’re not gross,” Brendon said.

“I feel gross,” you repeated.

He was quiet for a second. Then he nodded once. “Okay.”

Your brows lifted. “Okay?”

“You can shower,” Brendon said. “Let me set things up for you.”

That made your chest feel strange. Not bad. Just full.

“You don’t have to make it a medical event,” you said.

“It is a fall-risk event,” Brendon said.

You closed your eyes. “Romance has been found dead at the scene.”

“You need assistance with ambulation,” Brendon said.

You opened your eyes. “Brendon.”

His mouth almost curved. “I’ll get the bathroom ready.”

You watched him stand.

“Brendon,” you said.

He stopped at the end of the bed and looked back at you.

Your fingers found the edge of the blanket. “Thank you.”

His face softened.

“Yeah,” Brendon said quietly.

Brendon came back a few minutes later and said, “Bathroom’s ready.”

You looked at him. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s warm,” Brendon said. “Not hot.”

You sighed. “Annoyingly appropriate.”

“Yes,” Brendon said.

Biscuit sat at the end of the bed, watching Brendon with suspicion, his tail flicking once against the blanket.

Brendon looked down at him. “You’re staying out here.”

Biscuit meowed.

“No,” Brendon said.

Biscuit meowed louder.

Brendon’s voice stayed level. “She has enough supervision.”

You looked at him. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Brendon said.

You sighed, but when Brendon came to your side of the bed and offered his hand, you took it.

Getting to the bathroom was still a production. A slow, embarrassing production, though Brendon did not make it feel embarrassing. He helped you sit up first, one hand steady at your back while the other reached for the pillow you had started using as a brace against your stomach.

“Pillow,” Brendon said.

You took it from him and held it carefully against your abdomen while you shifted upright. “This is very glamorous.”

“This is splinting,” Brendon said.

You looked at him. “Romance is dead again.”

“Romance is supporting your incision sites when you move,” Brendon said.

You stared at him. “That was the worst one yet.”

His mouth almost moved. Almost.

Once you were sitting, Brendon took the pillow from your hands and set it back against the headboard.

“Done with that,” Brendon said.

You glanced at the pillow. “Thank God. I was not emotionally prepared to bring a decorative throw pillow into the bathroom.”

Brendon glanced at the pillow. “It’s not decorative.”

“It has tassels,” you said.

“It was functional,” Brendon said.

“For thirty seconds,” you said.

“Important thirty seconds,” Brendon said.

Brendon waited while you breathed through the first pull of soreness, then shifted closer and offered his arm.

“Slow,” Brendon said.

You gave him a look. “I assumed we weren’t sprinting.”

“No,” Brendon said.

You nodded. “Good. I left my running shoes in the hospital.”

His eyes came to your face, and for a second, you thought he might actually smile. He didn’t, but it was close enough to count.

You pushed yourself up carefully, using his arm more than you wanted and less than he probably wanted. The room tilted a little when you stood, and Brendon’s hand tightened immediately at your elbow.

You closed your eyes. “I’m okay.”

“Take a minute,” Brendon said.

You paused, mostly because his voice left very little room for argument. Biscuit jumped down from the bed and trotted toward the bathroom like a tiny orange escort.

Brendon looked down at him. “No.”

Biscuit stopped and meowed.

“You’re not coming in,” Brendon said.

Biscuit meowed louder.

You leaned against Brendon’s arm and looked down at your cat. “He’s concerned.”

“He’s nosy,” Brendon said.

“He loves me,” you said.

“He lacks boundaries,” Brendon said.

You smiled faintly. “So do you.”

Brendon looked at you, and for a second, his expression changed. Not hurt. Not defensive. Just aware. You realized what you had said at the same time he did.

Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Brendon said.

His voice was quiet and steady, but something in it made your throat close. He did know. That was the thing. He knew what it meant to be too close. Too much. Too wanted. Too needed.

And he was still here.

Brendon guided you slowly toward the bathroom, one hand firm at your elbow and the other hovering near your waist without touching unless you needed him. Biscuit followed directly behind you, bell jingling with every offended little step.

At the threshold, Brendon opened the door wider and nodded Biscuit back with one foot. “Stay.”

Biscuit sat directly outside the doorway, deeply offended.

Brendon helped you inside first, then closed the door most of the way, leaving it cracked because Biscuit immediately shoved one paw underneath it.

You looked at the paw, then at Brendon. “He’s supporting me.”

“He’s trespassing,” Brendon said.

You laughed softly this time, carefully, and Brendon’s eyes stayed on you until he was sure it had not hurt too badly.

Then you saw the bathroom.

It was warm with steam. Not hot. Warm. Annoyingly appropriate. A clean towel sat on the counter; another was folded on the closed toilet lid; your face wash was within reach; and your clean clothes were folded neatly beside the sink. Your shampoo and conditioner were lined up on the shower ledge.

Your toothbrush and toothpaste waited in a neat little arrangement near the sink, like even your dental hygiene had been triaged.

You looked at the counter, then at him. “You arranged my toothbrush.”

Brendon glanced at it. “You said you felt gross.”

“That is a very generous interpretation of the problem,” you said.

“It’s the solvable part,” Brendon said.

Your throat tightened. Of course. Of course, that was what he found.

The part he could fix.

Brendon let the silence sit for a moment.

Then his eyes moved over your face, careful and quiet. “Still want to do this?”

You looked toward the shower.

The steam had softened the edges of the room, blurring the mirror and warming the tile beneath your feet. The water ran steadily behind the curtain, low and constant, and for the first time since the hospital, the idea of being clean felt bigger than being tired.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Brendon stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him beside you, but not close enough to crowd. “How much help do you want?”

The question settled over you differently than you expected.

Your throat tightened.

You looked down at your sweatshirt. Suddenly, the idea of lifting your arms felt impossible. The idea of bending felt worse. The idea of being looked at while you were sore, taped, and not entirely steady made your eyes burn.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

Brendon nodded once. “Okay.”

He did not look impatient. He did not look uncomfortable. He just waited.

You swallowed. “I want to shower.”

“I know,” Brendon said.

“I don’t want to feel helpless,” you said.

His face softened.

“You’re not helpless,” Brendon said.

You looked at him.

“You’re recovering,” he said.

The words were so simple that they almost undid you.

You nodded once, because anything more would have been too much.

Brendon stepped closer. “I can help with your sweatshirt. Then I can turn around.”

Your eyes lifted to his.

“Or I can step out,” Brendon said. “Or I can stay. Whatever makes this easier.”

Your chest hurt.

“Stay,” you whispered.

Brendon’s gaze held yours. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

He helped you slowly out of your sweatshirt, guiding the fabric over your arms without pulling at your abdomen. His hands were clinical only in their care. Steady. Warm. Respectful in a way that made the room feel safer instead of colder.

He did not stare.

That almost made you cry.

He just helped.

When you were ready, he helped you step out of your clothes and into the shower, one hand firm around your forearm, the other braced near your back, without touching until you leaned into him.

The water hit your shoulders. Warm. Not hot. Annoyingly perfect.

Your eyes closed.

For a second, you just stood there.

Brendon stayed outside the spray, close enough to catch you, far enough to give you room.

“Okay?” he asked.

You nodded, but your chin trembled anyway.

Brendon’s voice softened. “Too much?”

You shook your head. “No. It just feels good.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “Good.”

The word was low. Gentle.

You let the water run over your shoulders and down your back, careful to keep your abdomen mostly out of the direct spray. The steam softened your breathing. The hospital smell started to fade. Your body still hurt, but for the first time since surgery, it felt like it belonged to you again.

Brendon’s hand rested near the shower curtain. “Where do you want me?”

Your eyes opened.

He was watching your face. Not your body. Your face. Like the answer mattered more than anything else.

You swallowed. “Come in with me.”

Brendon went still. Just for a second. Then his eyes searched yours. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said.

His jaw shifted once. “You’re tired.”

“I know,” you said.

“And sore,” Brendon said.

“I know,” you said.

His voice lowered. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to let me close because I’m helping.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t,” you said.

Brendon stopped.

You held his gaze, water running down your neck, damp hair clinging to your skin, your body tender and strange and still somehow less frightening with him there.

“I want you close,” you said.

Something in his face changed. Not much. Enough.

“Okay,” Brendon said.

He stepped back from the shower.

You watched him through the steam as he undressed quietly, without hurry, without making it strange, without turning the moment into something your body was not ready for.

Still, your breath caught.

Because it was Brendon.

Because he was here.

Because the last time you had wanted him like this, everything between you had been different.

He stepped into the shower carefully, closing the curtain behind him.

The space changed immediately, not smaller, but warmer. Fuller.

He did not crowd you or touch you right away. He stood just behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him through the steam, close enough that if you leaned back even a little, he would be there.

For a second, neither of you moved. The water ran softly. Your breathing sounded too loud.

Then Brendon’s voice came near your ear, low and steady. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

You closed your eyes. “Okay.”

“Tell me if you get dizzy,” Brendon said.

“I will,” you said.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Brendon said.

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “I will.”

His hand lifted slowly.

“Can I touch your back?” he asked.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His palm settled between your shoulder blades, warm, steady, and careful.

You exhaled so deeply it almost shook.

Brendon paused. “Pain?”

“No,” you whispered.

His hand moved once, slow and gentle, down the center of your back. Not pressing hard. Not trying to fix anything. Just there. The heel of his palm moved over the tense place beneath your shoulder blade, then up again, careful and patient. His other hand stayed near your arm, a quiet promise that he would catch you if your body betrayed you.

Your eyes closed.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Brendon stilled. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.”

He kept going.

Slow, gentle pressure over your shoulders. Down your back. Careful circles where your muscles had locked up from sleeping stiffly, from guarding your stomach, from holding yourself too still for too many hours. You had not realized how much the rest of your body hurt until his hands found it.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly.

You shook your head a little. “It’s good.”

His palm slowed near your shoulder. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said.

He accepted that. No argument. No pushing. Just his hands, warm through the water, working tenderness into every place that had gone tight from fear and pain and the strange indignity of needing help.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands against the shower wall.

Brendon adjusted immediately, giving you room, keeping one hand near your side without touching your abdomen.

“That okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His thumbs moved carefully along the tops of your shoulders. Your head bowed. The sound that left you was small. Tired. Relieved. Brendon’s hands paused for half a second, then continued when you did not tense.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

His hands stilled. Not because he did not want to hear it.

Because he did.

Because the words had landed somewhere deep.

You kept your eyes closed. The water ran softly between you.

“I know I was right there,” you said. “At the hospital. Here. I know you’ve been here.”

Brendon’s thumb moved once near your shoulder blade.

“But I missed you,” you whispered.

His hand slid gently to the back of your neck, warm and careful beneath your damp hair.

“So did I,” Brendon said.

Your breath caught. He did not say it like a reflex. He did not say it like comfort.

He said it like the truth.

Like he had been carrying the same ache and had finally been given somewhere to put it.

After a moment, he reached for your shampoo.

You opened your eyes. “I can do that.”

“You can barely lift your arms,” Brendon said.

“I can lift them,” you said.

“Not comfortably,” Brendon said.

You looked back at him over your shoulder. He looked back.

You sighed. “You’re very bossy in here.”

“Yes,” Brendon said.

There was no apology in it.

None.

But his hands were gentle when he worked the shampoo into your hair. Slow. Careful. His fingertips moved over your scalp in small, steady circles, and your eyes closed again before you could stop them. The sound that left you was embarrassingly soft.

Brendon paused. “Pain?”

“No,” you whispered.

He continued, carefully. So carefully.

His fingers eased through your hair, working the shampoo in until the room smelled like you instead of hospital antiseptic. When he rinsed it out, he shielded your face from the water with one hand and tipped your head back with the other, barely touching, giving you control even when your body felt too tired to hold much of it.

By the time he reached for the conditioner, you were leaning more heavily against the shower wall. Brendon noticed immediately.

“Still okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Just tired.”

“We’re almost done,” Brendon said.

He worked the conditioner through the ends of your hair, then let it sit while his hands returned to your shoulders. Softer now. Slower. Like he was trying to tell your whole body to unclench.

You turned slowly.

Brendon’s hand dropped immediately, giving you space.

The shower water caught on his shoulders and ran down his chest. His hair was damp at the edges now. He looked tired and worried and open in a way that made your chest ache.

Your body was sore. Tender. Not ready for anything more than this.

But this was already more than enough.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

His eyes stayed on yours. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” you said.

He looked at you. You looked back. Then, softer, you said, “I want to.”

Brendon’s expression changed again. A small surrender. A quiet one.

He nodded once. “Okay.”

By the time he helped rinse the conditioner from your hair, your whole body felt heavy. Loose. Exhausted in a cleaner way. Brendon noticed the second your knees softened.

“That’s enough,” he said.

You did not argue.

He turned the water off and reached for the towel with one hand, keeping the other steady at your elbow. He wrapped it around your shoulders before the chill could catch you, then helped you sit on the closed toilet lid.

Outside the bathroom door, Biscuit shoved one paw beneath the crack and meowed as if he had personally been abandoned for six years.

Brendon glanced down. “He disagrees with the timeline.”

A tiny laugh left you. This time, it barely hurt.

Brendon helped you sit there for a minute before asking anything else.

Not because he was hesitating.

Because he was watching you breathe.

You could feel him doing it, that quiet assessment moving over your face, your shoulders, the way your hand rested carefully against the towel around your middle.

“I’m okay,” you said before he could ask.

Brendon’s eyes lifted to yours. “I didn’t say anything.”

You smiled gently. “You were thinking it.”

“I was assessing,” Brendon replied.

“That’s worse,” you said.

His mouth almost moved. “Probably.”

You looked down at yourself, wrapped in a towel, damp hair dripping slowly onto your shoulders, legs tucked carefully beneath you. The bathroom was warm, but the air outside the shower was still cooler than the water had been, and exhaustion had started moving through you in slow, heavy waves.

“Clothes,” Brendon said.

You looked up at him. “Is that a command?”

He looked down at you. “It’s a plan.”

“Once again, romance is dead,” you murmured.

“Romance is preventing hypothermia,” Brendon said.

You stared at him. Brendon looked completely serious.

You shook your head faintly. “You make it so difficult to swoon.”

“You shouldn’t be swooning right now,” Brendon said. “That would be clinically concerning.”

You closed your eyes. “Unbelievable.”

His hand touched your knee lightly through the towel, nowhere near anything tender. “Ready?”

You opened your eyes again.

The clean clothes he had folded beside the sink waited in a neat stack. Soft shorts. Loose shirt. Fresh underwear. Everything was chosen because it would not press against your incisions. Everything was arranged because he had thought about it before you had to.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m ready.”

Brendon helped you slowly.

There was no rush in it. No awkward fumbling. No sharpness. He kept his eyes where they needed to be and nowhere they didn’t, his hands careful and warm as he helped you step into clean underwear, then the soft shorts, then the shirt he guided over your arms with the same deliberate patience he had used before the shower. When the fabric settled over your body, loose and clean and not smelling like hospital antiseptic, you exhaled before you realized you had been holding your breath.

Brendon saw. “Better?”

You nodded. “Better.”

His expression softened, just a little. “Good.”

You looked at him then.

Really looked.

His hair was damp. Water still clung to his shoulders, and he had wrapped a towel low around his waist before helping you dress, like even in the middle of tenderness he was still trying to make the moment easier for you. He looked tired and serious and impossibly careful.

And you missed him again.

Which was ridiculous. He was right there. But you did.

You missed him in the place where the fight had left a bruise. You missed him in the space between your mouth and his. You missed the simple, certain press of being wanted when nothing was wrong and nobody was scared.

Your gaze slid to the sink.

Brendon followed it. “What?”

“I want to brush my teeth,” you said.

He looked at your face, then at the toothbrush he had already set out. “Can you stand that long?”

You gave him a look. “I can brush my teeth, Brendon.”

His expression did not change.

You sighed. “With supervision.”

“Better,” Brendon said.

He helped you stand at the sink, one hand close to your elbow while you leaned carefully against the counter. The bathroom door was still cracked, and Biscuit’s orange paw remained shoved beneath it like he had retained legal counsel.

Brendon looked down at the paw. “Still trespassing.”

Biscuit meowed from the hallway.

You picked up your toothbrush. “He’s concerned.”

“He’s dramatic,” Brendon said.

“You love him,” you said.

Brendon glanced at the door. “He’s useful occasionally.”

Biscuit meowed again, louder this time.

You smiled around your toothbrush before you could stop yourself.

Brendon’s eyes came back to you.

The bathroom was still warm from the shower. Your clean shirt hung loose over your sore abdomen. Your hair was damp against your neck. Your body was tired and tender and finally, blessedly clean. Brendon stood beside you, close enough to catch you if your knees went soft, far enough to let you do this one thing on your own.

You brushed your teeth slowly. Very slowly. By the time you rinsed, your arms felt heavier than they should have, and your body had started to hum with exhaustion again.

Brendon reached for the hand towel before you could. He handed it to you without a word. You wiped your mouth. Then you looked at him.

His gaze was already on you.

Warm and patient.

Yours, in a way neither of you had said out loud yet.

Your chest tightened.

“Can I ask you to do something for me?” you asked.

Brendon’s expression shifted immediately. Not alarmed. Attentive.

“Of course,” he said.

Your fingers tightened around the towel.

For some reason, this felt more vulnerable than asking him to help you shower. More vulnerable than letting him see the hospital bracelet still around your wrist. More vulnerable than leaning on his arm in the hallway.

Because this was not need.

Not exactly.

This was wanting.

And wanting him still scared you a little.

You swallowed.

“Kiss me,” you said.

Brendon went very still. The bathroom seemed to quiet around you. The fan. The drip of water from your hair. Biscuit’s small movements outside the door. All of it softened beneath the way Brendon looked at you.

Not surprised. Not uncertain. Just hit by it.

Because you had asked. Because it had been days. Because the last time he had kissed you, neither of you had known how close everything was to breaking open.

His eyes moved over your face.

“You’re sore,” Brendon said quietly.

“I know,” you whispered.

“And tired,” he said.

“I know,” you said.

His jaw shifted once.

You tried to smile, but it did not quite make it. “I’m not asking you to bend me over the sink.”

A breath left him. Almost a laugh. Almost pain.

“No,” Brendon said, voice rough. “You’re not.”

His hand lifted slowly.

Carefully.

He touched your cheek with the backs of his fingers first, so lightly it made your throat ache. Then his palm settled there, warm and steady, thumb brushing once near the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes burned.

He stepped closer, not crowding you, one hand still hovering near your side like even now, even like this, he would not forget your body was healing.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

His face changed. Something broke through the control. Not much. Enough.

“So did I,” Brendon said.

The words were quiet.

Certain.

They landed in you harder than they should have.

Brendon leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull back, every chance to change your mind, every chance to be too tired or too sore or too overwhelmed.

You did not move away.

His mouth touched yours. Softly. So softly, at first, that your breath caught more than the kiss did.

Then he kissed you again.

Still gentle. Still careful. But fuller this time.

Surer.

His hand stayed at your cheek. His other hand settled lightly at your waist, high and safe, nowhere near the tender places beneath your shirt. He kissed you like he had been holding the shape of it behind his teeth for days.

Like he had missed you there.

Like coming back, staying, setting alarms, feeding Biscuit, and washing your mug had all been ways of saying it, but this was the first time he could put his mouth to the truth.

You made a small sound against him. Brendon stilled immediately.

You caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Good sound.”

His forehead touched yours. For one second, his eyes closed.

“Good,” Brendon said.

The word came out rough. You breathed him in. Your shampoo. Expensive coffee. Brendon.

Your body ached. Your knees were tired. Your incisions pulled faintly beneath the loose fabric of your shirt. But his hand was warm against your face, and his mouth was close, and for the first time since the fight, something inside you unclenched completely.

Brendon kissed you once more.

A smaller kiss. A promise of one.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you. His thumb moved over your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. Your voice came out thin. “Yeah.”

His eyes searched yours.

You tried again. “I missed you.”

Brendon’s face softened in a way that made your chest hurt.

“I’m here,” he said.

“I know,” you whispered.

Biscuit meowed sharply from outside the door.

Brendon did not look away from you. “He disagrees.”

A wet little laugh slipped out of you.

This time, it barely hurt.

Brendon’s mouth almost curved.

Then he kissed your forehead, careful and lingering, before he reached past you to open the bathroom door.

Biscuit burst in like he had been personally wronged by the concept of privacy.

Brendon looked down at him. “We were busy.”

Biscuit yelled.

You leaned carefully into Brendon’s side, still holding the towel in one hand, still smiling despite the exhaustion pulling hard at your body.

Brendon’s arm came around your shoulders. Gentle. Steady. There.

“Couch,” Brendon said.

You looked up at him. “Not bed?”

“You slept well,” Brendon said. “You need to sit up for a while.”

You sighed. “You’re enjoying telling me what to do.”

“No,” Brendon said.

You gave him a look.

His mouth almost moved. “A little.”

That made you smile.

Brendon helped you to the couch slowly, one careful step at a time.

Biscuit followed at your feet, bell jingling with great purpose, as if he were also part of the medical team and had serious concerns about staffing.

By the time you made it across the apartment, your body had gone heavy with exhaustion again, the clean, loose kind that came after warm water and medication and being touched gently enough to remember you were safe.

Brendon got you settled against the pillows without making a production of it. He adjusted one behind your back, then another near your side, his hands careful and exact as he made sure nothing pressed too close to your abdomen. The blanket went over your legs. Your water went on the coffee table. Your phone went beside it. The medication bottle followed, turned so the label faced him.

You looked at it, then at him. “You arranged my prescription label.”

Brendon glanced down. “I need to read it.”

“You have it memorized,” you said.

“I like confirmation,” Brendon said.

You sighed. “Romance remains deceased.”

“No,” Brendon said. “Romance is verifying dosage.”

You stared at him. His mouth almost moved. Biscuit jumped onto the couch and immediately attempted to cross your stomach. Brendon caught him with one hand before he made contact.

“Shoulder or legs,” Brendon said.

Biscuit meowed.

“Those are the options,” Brendon said.

Biscuit stared at him. Brendon stared back. After a long, dramatic pause, Biscuit stepped over your hip with enormous resentment and curled across your shins like he had been exiled.

You looked down at him. “Poor baby.”

“He’s fine,” Brendon said.

“He’s wounded,” you said.

“He has been given boundaries,” Brendon said.

You stroked Biscuit’s head with the tips of your fingers. “Terrible day for him.”

Brendon looked at the cat, then back at you. “Devastating.”

The dryness of it made you smile.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth.

Only for half a second.

But you saw it.

The kiss was still there between you, warm and new and not new at all. It lingered in the damp ends of your hair, in the softness around Brendon’s eyes, in the way your body still remembered the careful pressure of his hand at your cheek.

Your chest tightened.

Brendon looked away first, but not like he was running.

More like he was giving you room to breathe.

He straightened from the couch and glanced toward the bathroom. “I’m going to put my sweats back on.”

Your gaze moved over him before you could stop it, taking in the towel wrapped low around his waist, the water still damp at the ends of his hair, the careful restraint in his posture.

“Right,” you said.

Brendon’s eyes came back to yours.

You tried not to smile. “Probably a good idea.”

His brows drew together slightly. “Probably?”

You grinned.

Then he nodded toward your water. “Drink some of that.”

You looked at the glass. “Was that a request or a discharge instruction?”

“Yes,” Brendon said.

You rolled your eyes, but you picked up the glass anyway.

Brendon watched until you took a sip, because of course he did, then disappeared into the bathroom.

You heard the soft rustle of fabric, the quiet shift of movement, the faint clink of something on the counter. Biscuit lifted his head from your legs, his ears tilted forward as if he had been appointed head of surveillance.

You looked down at him. “He’s allowed to change.”

Biscuit meowed.

“I know,” you said. “It’s been very difficult for all of us.”

A moment later, Brendon came back out in his sweatpants, towel draped over one shoulder, expression composed.

You looked at him.

Brendon crossed to the chair and picked up his phone. “I’m going across the hall to change.”

Something in you pulled tight before you could stop it. Not panic. Not exactly.

Just memory.

Brendon saw it immediately.

His voice softened. “Across the hall.”

You nodded once. “I know.”

“Five minutes,” Brendon said.

You looked up at him.

He held your gaze. “Then I’ll come back. If you feel good, we’ll walk the hallway.”

The specificity settled something inside you. Across the hall. Five minutes. Come back. Walk the hallway.

“Okay,” you said.

Brendon watched your face for another second, like he was making sure the word had landed where it needed to. Then he leaned down and pressed his mouth to your forehead.

“I’m coming back,” Brendon said.

Your eyes closed. This time, you believed him immediately.

“I know,” you whispered.

His thumb brushed once over your cheek before he straightened. Biscuit lifted his head from your legs and meowed at him.

Brendon looked down. “You’re in charge for five minutes.”

Biscuit blinked.

“Shoulder or legs,” Brendon said.

Biscuit’s tail flicked once against the blanket.

Brendon checked your water one more time, checked the medication alarm on his phone, and went across the hall to change.

The door clicked shut behind him.

For a second, the apartment was quiet.

You sat there beneath the blanket with Biscuit heavy over your shins, your hair damp against your neck, your mouth still warm from Brendon’s kiss.

And nothing broke.

The quiet did not turn sharp. The door did not become an ending. Your chest did not cave in around the space he had left behind. He had said five minutes. He had said he was coming back. And you believed him.

That, somehow, made your eyes burn more than if you hadn’t.

Biscuit lifted his head and looked toward the door.

“He’s coming back,” you told him.

Biscuit stared at the door.

You stroked between his ears. “He said so.”

This time, the words felt easy.

Brendon came back in four minutes.

You knew because you checked the time twice.

Not because you doubted him. Because you wanted to catch him being exactly as annoyingly reliable as he had promised.

The door opened, and Brendon stepped inside in clean joggers and a dark T-shirt, his hair still damp at the edges from the shower. He had his phone in one hand and his charger looped neatly around his fingers.

Your throat tightened.

His eyes followed your gaze to his hand, then came back to you.

“I said I was staying,” Brendon said.

You swallowed. “I know,” you said.

His expression softened. Not much. Enough. He plugged his charger into the outlet beside yours, then crossed to the couch.

“How do you feel?” Brendon asked.

You looked up at him. “Like I showered, kissed you, and survived being medically supervised by a man who called crackers oral intake.”

“Accurate,” Brendon said.

“Deeply unromantic,” you said.

“You kissed me anyway,” Brendon said.

Your mouth parted.

Brendon looked completely calm. Too calm.

You narrowed your eyes. “Was that smug?”

“No,” Brendon said.

“That was smug,” you said.

“That was an observation,” Brendon said.

“Romance is dead and now humility is too,” you said.

His mouth almost curved. “Walk?”

You sighed, but your smile stayed. “Fine.”

Brendon offered his hand. “Slow.”

You took it. “We are still not sprinting.”

“No,” Brendon said.

Biscuit lifted his head.

Brendon pointed at him. “You stay.”

Biscuit meowed.

“You are a trip hazard,” Brendon said.

Biscuit meowed louder.

You leaned into Brendon’s arm as he helped you stand. “He’s offended.”

“He’ll recover,” Brendon said.

You looked down at Biscuit. “Emotionally?”

Brendon’s hand steadied at your elbow. “Unclear.”

A laugh slipped out of you, small and careful.

Brendon noticed that too.

His hand stayed steady at your elbow. “Better?”

You looked up at him. The question was about pain. Probably.

Maybe.

You nodded. “Better.”

Brendon’s eyes stayed on yours for a second longer than necessary. Then he opened the apartment door and guided you into the hallway.

The walk was slow and deeply unimpressive, which Brendon did not say and you appreciated more than you wanted to admit. You made it to the elevator and back with one hand on his arm, one hand hovering near your side, and Biscuit yelling from behind the apartment door like he had been abandoned to war.

By the time Brendon unlocked the door again, your legs felt loose with effort and your pride had become deeply invested in twenty-six feet of carpet.

Brendon helped you back to the couch, one hand steady at your elbow until you were settled against the pillows again.

This time, sitting down hurt less.

Not nothing.

But less.

Brendon noticed.

Of course he did.

He did not say anything, though, and somehow that made it better.

Biscuit climbed onto the couch the second Brendon released you, tail high, bell jingling with righteous urgency.

Brendon caught him before he could step onto your stomach.

“Shoulder or legs,” Brendon said.

Biscuit meowed.

Brendon’s voice stayed level. “You know the rule.”

Biscuit stared at him for a long, furious second before climbing over your hip and settling dramatically across your shins.

You looked down at him. “He’s punishing us.”

“He lacks authority,” Brendon said.

“He has emotional authority,” you said.

Brendon adjusted the blanket over your legs. “That is unfortunately true.”

You smiled. It came easier now.

Not because you were not sore. Not because you were not exhausted.

Because something in the room had loosened.

The couch was familiar beneath you. Biscuit was warm over your shins. Brendon was moving through your apartment like he knew where everything went because, somehow, he did. His folded clothes sat on the chair by the door. His charger was plugged into the outlet beside yours. His phone was on the coffee table, close enough that you could hear the soft buzz when a notification came through.

He looked like he had settled into your life while you were not paying attention.

Or maybe while you were.

Maybe that was the terrifying part.

Brendon leaned forward and took the glass from the coffee table, then handed it to you.

You looked at the water. Then back at him. He did not say anything.

You narrowed your eyes. “Was that a silent instruction?”

“Yes,” Brendon said.

You took the glass from him. “Romance remains in critical condition.”

His mouth almost moved. “But alive?”

You took a sip and handed it back. “Barely.”

Brendon set the glass down, and for a few seconds, nothing happened.

Nothing big. Nothing dramatic.

Biscuit shifted across your legs and sighed like he had personally carried the family through a crisis. Brendon’s thumb brushed once over the edge of the blanket, smoothing a fold that did not need smoothing. Your damp hair cooled against the back of your neck. The morning light sat soft on the floor.

It felt easy.

That was the thing.

Not simple.

Not painless.

But easy in the way the two of you had always been when neither of you was trying to run from it.

Then Brendon sat on the edge of the coffee table.

Not beside you.

In front of you.

Close enough that his knees almost touched yours, close enough that you could see the damp edges of his hair and the tension sitting carefully in his jaw.

You looked at him. “You know there’s room next to me.”

“I know,” Brendon said.

“You can sit by me,” you said.

“I know,” Brendon said again.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You showered me. I know I don’t smell bad.”

His mouth almost moved.

“No,” Brendon said. “You don’t.”

“Then this feels suspiciously formal,” you said.

His eyes lifted to yours. “Does it?”

“Very,” you said.

For once, he did not give you the almost-smile.

He did not look away.

He sat there with his elbows resting loosely on his knees, his hands clasped between them, still and deliberate in a way that made your teasing fade before you understood why.

Your chest tightened.

“Brendon?” you asked.

His jaw shifted once.

There it was.

Not fear exactly.

Something quieter.

Nerves held under discipline.

A decision already made.

He looked like a man standing at the edge of something he had chosen to step into.

“I need to tell you something,” Brendon said.

Your fingers tightened in the blanket. “Okay.”

Brendon looked down for half a second, not like he was retreating, but like he was gathering the words carefully enough not to damage them.

Then he looked back at you.

“I realized something when you were in surgery,” Brendon said.

Your breath caught.

He looked down at his hands for a second, his thumb moving once over his own knuckles like he needed somewhere to put the nerves.

“When I came back here to feed Biscuit,” he said, “everything felt wrong.”

Your throat tightened.

Brendon’s voice stayed low. “Not because it was messy. Not because Biscuit was upset. Not because I was scared, although I was.”

You did not move. He looked up at you then.

“It felt wrong because you weren’t here,” Brendon said.

The words landed softly. Completely.

Your eyes burned.

Brendon held your gaze. He did not look away. He did not bury it under something safer.

“And then today,” he said, quieter, “you were here again.”

Your fingers tightened around the blanket.

His eyes moved over your face, your damp hair, the blanket tucked around you, Biscuit sprawled over your legs like a tiny orange tyrant. Then his gaze came back to yours.

“You were here,” Brendon said. “Arguing with me about crackers. Calling me unromantic. Letting your cat emotionally blackmail both of us.”

A watery laugh slipped out of you. Brendon’s mouth softened at the sound.

“And it felt right,” he said.

Your breath caught. The apartment went still around you. Biscuit’s purr. The hum of the refrigerator. The soft morning light through your curtains. Brendon sitting in front of you like he had chosen this exact place to stop running. All of it stayed. All of it held.

“I love you,” Brendon said.

For one second, you forgot how to breathe. Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Brendon’s jaw shifted once.

“I should have said it before now,” he said.

Your vision blurred.

His thumb moved over his knuckles again, careful and sure.

“I’m not saying it because something happened,” Brendon said. “I’m saying it because this is the first quiet minute I’ve had where I could look at you and not be afraid of saying it wrong.”

Your face crumpled. Just enough.

“Brendon,” you whispered.

He waited. He let you have the second. He let you catch up to the thing he had put in the room.

“I love you,” he said again. “And I want to be here. With you. Like this.”

A sound left you. Small. Unsteady. His face changed at once. Not alarmed. Open. Bare in a way you had never seen before.

You looked at him through the blur of tears. “I love you too.”

Brendon closed his eyes. Just for a second. Like the words had hit him somewhere deeper than breath. When he opened them again, his face was still controlled. Mostly.

But his eyes were different. Soft. Struck. Yours.

“You do?” Brendon asked before he could stop himself.

The question came out quieter than anything else he had said. Your heart cracked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His hand found yours then.

Not fast.

Not desperate.

Just certain.

His fingers slid around yours, warm and steady, and tightened just enough, like he needed to feel the answer somewhere real.

Biscuit chose that moment to stretch one forbidden paw toward your stomach.

Brendon’s other hand moved immediately.

“No,” Brendon said, voice rough.

Biscuit meowed.

Brendon looked down at him. “Do not ruin this.”

A wet laugh broke out of you. Brendon looked at you then, really looked, and something in his mouth softened.

He leaned forward slowly. Carefully.

His lips touched your forehead first.

Then your temple.

Then, after one quiet breath, your mouth.

The kiss was soft.

Almost unbearably so.

Not because he was holding back from wanting you.

Because he was done running from it.

When he pulled away, he stayed close.

Your eyes fluttered open.

“I love you,” Brendon said again.

This time, you smiled through the tears. “I heard you.”

His mouth almost curved. “Good.”

Biscuit purred loudly between you like he had personally approved the confession.

Neither of you corrected him.

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

you had a mega watt smile on your face as you reached the table. jack tried to ignore the slack jaws that his buddies were sporting as you smacked a kiss to his lips and rubbed his chest gently. "sorry jackie, but you forgot to put on sunscreen when you left and i can't have you burning up." you pouted as you added, "you know your freckles are extra sensitive in this heat."

jack abbot, military veteran and swat physician, fought a giddy smile as you batted your lashes while worrying over the fact that he could potentially burn up on the public parks basketball black top.

one of the guys coughed a laugh and you turned your attention towards all the weathered veterans that were missing limbs and marred with scars. and just like you had done with jack, you didn't tone your bubbliness down to match whatever hypothetical grief you thought they carried, you just kept that pretty smile on your face. "hi boys! jack has told me sooo much about you all! does anyone else need sunscreen after i apply his?"

you popped off the bottle cap and squirted some onto your hands while brightly introducing yourself, then started to rub the white paste on jacks already pink cheeks to between the creases of his crows feet with a tenderness that made his chest twinge. you had them all say their names one by one and what positions they played on the court.

"back court? that sounds like a tough one, do you play that too jackie?" you asked him innocently while you covered his freckled shoulders that were exposed from his muscle tee, your tongue cutely poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

one of jacks friends opened his mouth with a clearly crude intention at the ready, jack cut him off with a glare. "don't even think about it." jack raised a hand to point at him in warning, not realizing that he still gripped the pills in his hand.

your eyes snagged on the viagra bottle and your brows raised. "what's that?" jack tried to answer but it was too late, the vet with one arm and half a leg cut in swiftly, smuggly. "just a gift from us guys. from a few old timers to another, we thought abbot could benefit from some... alone time assistance." he winked at you.

you frowned in confusion. "but, jack and i have sex all the time."

jack choked on air, eyes widening instantly. "baby! you don't have to—" all the guys started to chuckle, half disbelief half pure amusement. "all the time?" someone chirped. "go on hon, tell us what you mean!"

you cocked your head to the side, truly not understanding that they were goading you. "well, he's never had to use any kind of pills if thats what you're asking. he can do it anywhere, anytime really. which we do"— jacks beet red face was not from sunburn as you started to list out examples on your fingers "—we've done it both of our cars—" his hand clutched at his chest, one guy spat out his water. "—we've done it in a few different elevators—"

the next few guys turned to gawk at jack, he felt faint all of a sudden as you just kept on talking "—oh! one time, i dropped him off thirty minutes early by accident and he was the first one here so we did it up against that tree over—"

"SWEETHEART!" everyone flinched at jack's shout. your pretty eyes simply blinked at him, innocent as a lamb, "w-what jackie?" he started to sputter, brain malfunctioning at the fact that you'd just shared more about his life to these guys than he had in the past twenty years. all the vets started to make their way to the court, patting jack on the back with congratulations and howling with laughter as they went, leaving the two of you alone.

jack exhaled when his heart rate was finally regulated, he didn't want you to know he was slightly mortified, you would've felt terrible. "just... i think they got the picture baby." he chuckled then placed a kiss to your forehead. the timbre of his voice dropped low, raising a suggestive brow as he added "you just had to add the time against the tree, huh?"

you bit your lip as you shrugged sweetly, "what? it's a personal favorite." jack shook his head as he pulled you into a deep kiss, the kind that had led to the tree rendezvous. only when you started to inappropriately paw at him did he pull back. "thanks for the sunscreen and a stroll down memory lane sweetheart." you rubbed in a stray streak of sunscreen on his stubbled chin. " 'course jackie."

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

“Motherfucker!”

You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black. 

Great. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast. 

You miss the night shift.

It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out. 

Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea. 

He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind. 

“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”

Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips. 

“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”

Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.

“You sound like Jack.”

You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments. 

“Have you talked to Jack recently?”

Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.

“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.

“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”

Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence. 

It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with. 

“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”

“Mhm.”

That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.

“A little help here?”

You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other. 

“What’s the story here?”

You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.

“Bar argument gone ugly.”

The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.

“Is that glass?”

Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face. 

“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”

You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”

Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground. 

“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”

You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance. 

“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”

Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.

“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”

“Oh, shit.”

Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.

“We need some help in here! You good?”

Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.

“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.

“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”

Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.

“Woah, what can I do?”

Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.

“Give them a hand, will ya?”

Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon. 

“Absolutely not!”

You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back. 

“What the hell is going on in h—?”

Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.

“Knock it off before I knock you out.”

Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.

“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”

Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.

“How you doing, Slugger?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”

Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient. 

This day can’t get any worse. 

Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.

“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”

His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.

“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”

You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.

“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”

You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.

Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s  a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.

Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him. 

“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”

Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.

“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”

If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.

“Abbot.”

Of course he is.

“I can’t get a hold of him.”

Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning. 

“He’s gone fishing.”

Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.

“Abbot is fishing?”

“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”

Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.

Oh. 

The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders. 

“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”

Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.

“I think I can manage that.”

Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage. 

“Where is she?”

Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity. 

“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”

Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you. 

“Exam room 11.”

Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You are a horrible patient.”

“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”

Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.

“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”

Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.

“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”

Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.

“Langdon. Out. Now.”

Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries. 

“It looks worse than it is.”

It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch. 

“Do me a favor?”

You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.  

“How are you here?”

Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be fishing.”

His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.

“I got a call.”

“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”

“To everyone other than you.”

Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with. 

“But how… Perlah.”

Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell. 

“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”

Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”

Jack’s brow furrows at your words.

“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”

You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.

“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”

You almost smile at that.

“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”

You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.

“Two weeks is too long.”

“You’re not my boss, Jack.”

Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this. 

“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”

A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you. 

“Do what?”

Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.

“Get through the fucking night.”

A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.

“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”

Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart. 

“Why would you want that?”

“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”

Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.

“You don’t know where you stand with me?”

You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?

He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”

You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face. 

“You never said anything.”

Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.

“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”

You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.

“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”

You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.

“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”

Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows. 

“Him being here was unnecessary.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.

“You were jealous.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I have no reason to be jealous.”

You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.

“What makes you so confident?”

Finding his presence to be perfect when working with young patients. 

At least that was what everyone else assumed. 

Unknowing that there was a little more behind you and Jesse always managing to be found side by side whenever you came down…

Unaware that you. 

Dr Y/N Park. 

Was in fact, Nurse Jesse’s longtime sweetheart. His very wonderful wife. 

Unaware that you and Jesse were well and truly deep in love with one another. 

Naturally gravitating towards each other’s presence if only to be soothed by having one another nearby. 

Those softened glances. 

Those sweet smiles. 

Murmured words of love you and see you later. 

All gone amiss by those in the ER. 

All unseen. Unnoticed. 

All unaware of the little matching tattoos imprinted upon your skin. A little reminder of your love for each other. 

You had met years ago. 

Having been dragged to an open mic night at a local bar by your friends. Even if all you had wanted to do was stay home and flop into bed. 

You had reluctantly left the house. 

Making the most of the night. 

Most of the music is drowned out by your friends talking your ear off. Until the strum of the new band that had come on had caught your attention. 

Turning your gaze to face the little makeshift stage, you had locked eyes onto one of the band members. 

It was kismet. 

The night had become a blur. 

From the way your friends had practically shoved you into the man’s arms noticing your starstruck gaze. 

Locked onto the very hot drummer. With loosely curled hair, to the glinting nose ring, and piercing in his ear, the small little J catching your eye beneath the dim lights. 

How his music had seemed to make you fall into a trance. 

“You guys sounded great,” you complimented, shooting your friends a scolding gaze before turning to meet his eyes once more. 

Trying your absolute best to play it cool. 

Despite having your heart simply melt from the way he smiled, a little lopsided, kind and carefree, “Thanks–I uh, noticed you in the crowd, you seemed to get pretty into it,” he scratched the back of his neck. 

The way the light seemed to make your eyes sparkle, capturing Jesse’s attention entirely. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he had asked. A little boldly, spurred on by his bandmates shooting him a thumbs up behind you.  

You flashed him your pearly white smile, nodding. 

The evening spent talking each other’s ear off, tucked away in some booth in the corner of the room. 

Relishing in the sound of his laugh, gravel like and melodic. 

Perhaps getting to know each other a little better in the privacy of his apartment…

One thing led to another. 

Until soon you were trying to match up schedules, trying to carve out time for one another.  

Until you were essentially building a life together. 

You had him meet your overbearing brother who didn’t know when to give you space. Who had played the role of intimidating your new partner far too well.

But Jesse had taken it well. 

Hadn’t backed down. 

And instead understood Brendon’s overprotective resolve. 

Rather than fighting him, arguing with Brendon. Jesse had taken to showing Brendon just exactly why it was you had fallen so deeply for him. 

How his considerate nature and care for you would never think to hurt you in any way. 

And just perhaps the next time Jesse saw Brendon he had given him a bottle of scotch, one Brendon had mentioned in passing as one of his favoured ones. 

With an arched brow, an impressed look crossing his features. 

Realising that Jesse truly listened. 

Truly paid attention to you – unlike a few of your previous partners who would unnerve Brendon to no end. 

This time it was different. 

This time Brendon could understand why you had insisted that Jesse was the one for you. 

Had understood why you chose to share your life with him. 

Finally having found your partner.

Your equal in life. 

With promises of being together, side by side. In this life and the next.

…It was something that those at PTMC were unaware of. 

What they did know however. 

Was that you and Dr Park were two sides of the same coin. 

Whilst Brendon was clipped and cold. 

You dissuaded others with humour and a softness to your resolve. 

Both keeping others at an arms length it seemed. It was just the way you both were. 

Nothing much was known about the Park siblings, apart from the work they did. 

You were both so diligent, and hyper focused. 

But at times it was hard to remember you were related. 

Brendon was the orthopedic surgeon that kept everyone on their toes. That moved through the room, like the Shark they knew him to be. 

His presence sliced through any and all conversations. 

A quiet falling over the room. 

Unlike you. 

Whenever you entered a room, you never failed to make it brighten just a bit. You lightened the tone. 

Always so considerate, friendly. 

No bite to your words. 

Unless you were teasing your brother. 

You were a paediatric doctor, your speciality was calming down even the most frightened of kids, helping quell nerves and always doing your best in the most dire of circumstances. 

You were quick to respond whenever needed – whenever you were required. 

And each morning, you always walked through the ED, passing by sharing quick hellos and good mornings. 

Little stickers plastered upon your stethoscope, key chains swinging from your bag, a medley of different charms, a small little shark, a star, a little guitar, and an assortment of characters from animated films like Dory, a little Eeyore, and a few other characters. 

They clinked gently as you moved through the ED, passing by before going to your department. 

Coming back through whenever a consult was needed. And whenever time allowed, you always stopped by to at least share a coffee. 

Always enthralled by the little tidbits of gossip. 

Pearly whites gleaming, not in a scowl, but in a glistening smile as your laughter would bubble out. 

You helped guide the med students giving them a little advice when handling younger patients. 

Santos absolutely adored you, and your humour. Whitaker was always amused whenever he saw you take Shark down a peg. 

Your heart was the size of a whale’s. 

With a demeanour that was soft around the edges, deeply understanding and kind hearted. 

So unlike the reputation of your brother’s. 

Who’s presence would make everyone who didn’t want to get chided to scramble out of his way. To be anywhere else except for the trauma room he was in. 

Well…

Almost everyone. 

There were of course a handful of people who could go toe to toe with PTMC’s Shark of the OR. 

Those who had garnered his respect. 

Such as Dana. 

And Robby.

And surprisingly. 

Nurse Jesse. 

If ever a particularly severe orthopedic trauma case entered through the doors, Perlah and Princess would be quick to shove Jesse over to help. 

To throw him to the shark. They had joked. 

Jesse would merely send them a side eyed look before moving quickly to work. 

And though the chances were slim, if it were a particularly complex case. 

Shark would appear. 

With piercing eyes. 

Controlled movements. 

Clipped tone. 

With a delivery so blunt it would make even the most thick skinned students rethink their life’s choices. 

But around Jesse, he would tip his head with a small nod. 

A mutual respect brewed between the two. 

Now, while most might assume this simply had to do with the fact that Park was simply civil with the nurses. 

The way Park would greet Jesse – or the way Jesse would manage to make Park’s lips curl up in a barely noticeable smile from some random joke would make anyone falter for a second. 

No one questioned it anymore.

The odd little dynamic between Brendon Park and Jesse Van Horn had simply become another accepted part of PTMC.

Somehow...

They worked together flawlessly.

Like clockwork.

Like they'd spent years learning each other's rhythms.

Jesse anticipating instruments before Park asked.

Park trusting Jesse's judgment without question, "Retractor."

Jesse handed it over before Park had even finished the word.

"You're getting predictable, Shark."

Brendon's expression remained perfectly flat, "...You're getting annoying."

Jesse grinned, "You say the sweetest things."

Whitaker blinked.

"Why does Dr Park tolerate him?" Santos frowned. 

Perlah snorted, "Dunno. Maybe Jesse sold his soul."

Princess nodded solemnly. Before shrugging as she offered, "Or maybe Shark respects competence?"

"...Or maybe Jesse has blackmail," Santos muttered, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

None of them noticed the way Brendon's eyes flicked toward Jesse.

The faintest twitch threatening at the corner of his mouth.

Before letting it simply slide under the rug. 

Forgotten for another day. 

Until…

One day. 

Just a random Tuesday. 

Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. 

Which, in the emergency department, generally meant it was only a matter of time before everything descended into chaos.

Santos was buried beneath charting.

Whitaker was just trying to get through the day without needing to change scrubs.

Princess and Perlah were restocking supplies. Sending each other little side glances or hushed comments whenever they caught a little snippet of gossip. 

Dana was coordinating traumas with her usual effortless efficiency.

And Jesse had been called out of work today. 

Barely midway through the day, he was tucked into the corner of the ER. A solemn expression on his face. 

Before moving to mutter quietly to Dana, “That was Mina’s school, she’s got a fever–”

In an instant she was shoving him towards the lockers, “Go, get out of here and make sure she’s ok”

He nods, a grateful look entering his eyes. 

Even as the others asked where he went, Dana kept the reason close to herself. No reason to divulge information that wasn’t hers to share. 

Waving them off, barely stating anything more than that it was for personal reasons. 

What no one expected to see however. 

Barely an hour later. 

Jesse had returned. 

But this time he wasn’t alone. 

Propped up on his hip, curling into his grasp was a young little girl. Face splotchy, eyes curled up tightly shut. Frown etched onto her face, as she buries her face into the fabric of Jesse’s top. 

Linked in his other arm, stands a young boy. A layer of concern laced in his eyes as they flick up to the little girl. 

Immediately, everyone noticed something was wrong.

Not catastrophic.

But enough.

This morning Jesse had arrived with easy smiles and dry remarks. But now that had all been wiped away. 

Now. 

He looked worried.

Dana looked up instantly, "What happened?" Rounding the desk to meet him, eyes darting down to scan over the little girl. 

The young boy slightly waved to Dana. A flash of recognition crossed his eyes.

"Mina’s been running a fever"

The little girl buried his face against Jesse's shoulder. Jesse adjusted her higher automatically.

"She started complaining his ear hurt an hour ago."

Dana softened.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Mina blinked watery eyes, "No."

Dana snorted, "Fair enough."

Princess immediately moved into action, "I'll get her checked in." Sympathy flooding her features. 

Whitaker froze. Javadi practically nearly stumbled into him, distracted by the scene before them. 

Santos practically buzzed from the new information. 

Because...

Jesse had a child.

A child currently wrapped up in his arms.

"...Jesse?" Whitaker asked carefully.

Jesse glanced over, "Hm?"

"...Is that your kid?" Santos completed. 

Silence.

Jesse blinked, before his brows furrowed "...Yeah–Whose else would it be?"

"...Your kid?" Santos repeated.

Mina lifted her head, tugging at him slightly. "Dad?"

Those watching in curiosity practically combusted from the new information. Muttering amongst each other in utter shock. 

None of the nurses appeared to be particularly surprised. Dana least of all. Robby glancing up to see all his med students frozen in place. 

He merely sighs from their utter surprise. 

The fact that Jesse was a dad was something that had come up over after work drinks with his fellow nurses more than a few times. 

But there seemed to be many in the ER who were in complete ignorance of this fact. 

"You never told us!" 

"You never asked?"

"You have a kid?!" 

Jesse shifted Mina again. His grip slightly tightening around Sammy’s hand. Glancing at him to make sure he was ok. 

Whitaker looked seconds away from fainting.

Before anyone could recover–

The lift doors open. 

"Jesse!"

Everyone turned.

You hurried into the department. Trying your very best not to break into a sprint. 

Stethoscope bouncing against your chest.

Tiny cartoon stickers decorating the tubing.

Relief flooded Jesse's face instantly, "Oh thank God."

You moved straight toward him.

Toward Mina.

Your hands automatically reaching for your daughter’s forehead, you murmured softly, sweetly, "Hey, sweetheart."

Mina whimpered, leaning into your grasp, "Mama."

The room went silent.

Because...

Mama.

Your hand moved to Jesse's arm,"You okay?"

He exhaled, "She spiked another fever."

"You should've called me sooner,” you said, brows knitted in concern. 

He looked at you as though it were obvious, "You were working."

"So were you,” Your tone was fond.

Not annoyed.

Jesse's responding look was soft.

"You know I would've come,” you added. 

"I know,” Jesse nodded, “But I had it covered. 

You let a small smile form on your lips in understanding, before crouching down to your little boy, reaching out to bundle him into your arms, “You ok, buddy?” 

He nods, before pointing up to Mina, “Is Mina going to be okay?” 

You smile at his concern for his little sister, “We’re going to make sure she’s ok, yeah?”

He lets out a small hum in agreement. 

Santos stared.

Then pointed.

Then stared again.

Everyone’s eyes flicking between you and Jesse. 

Even the nursing staff was stumped. Utterly shocked by the new information. 

Not once. 

Never.

Had either of you mentioned that you were married…Let alone parents of two little kids…

Mouths agape as they watch the scene unfold. 

Dana guiding you both to one of the open bays, you’re quick to slip into doctor mode as you check up on your little girl. Going through all the necessary checks. 

While Jesse sits with Sammy, occupying him. 

Javadi’s eyes widened even more if it were possible, tugging onto Santos’ arm, “Do you know what this means?”

Her brows furrow looking at Javadi in question. 

Mohan shares a look with Javadi as she makes the same realisation.

“What–oh!” Santos states. 

Whitaker furrowing his brows darting between them all before looking back over to the little family.

“What?”

Santos looks at him, “Jesse’s married to Y/N, as in Dr Park…which means”

“Means what?” He looks at her quizzically. 

“That means Jesse is related to–”

As though summoned, their mouths snap shut at the sight of the very man they were referring to. 

Steely eyed as they scan the room. 

Not a single orthopedic trauma in sight. 

And yet his locked jaw. 

His tense shoulders. 

Before meeting Robby’s gaze. 

Robby merely points a finger to the bay where you were, “They’re over there”

Brendon offers a curt nod in thanks, taking quick strides to reach the bay. 

Paying no attention to the audience formed nearby. 

His sharpness immediately melts as the young boy leaps out of Jesse’s lap scrambling to Brendon, who lifts him with ease. 

“Uncle Shark!” 

“Hey kiddo,” he said, eyes drifting for a moment to meet your eyes, the silent question residing behind his blue eyes. 

Whilst you shoot him a thumbs up, a curt nod. 

A silent. It’s all ok. Nothing major. 

His shoulders relax. 

His demeanor softens, looking back at Sammy as his little hands clasp at Brendon’s face to turn his attention back to himself. 

“Do you want to say it Mina?” Sammy calls back.

Your heart melts at his thoughtfulness for his little sister.  

“Yes!” she says, eyes gleaming at the sight of her uncle. A small spark in her eyes, as the medicine begins to kick in. 

Whilst you bite back a grin, already knowing what was about to be said. 

“Shark Bait!” she calls out. 

Brendon’s lips purse for a moment, before he mumbles. The noise, barely louder than a whisper.

Sammy grins cheekily, “Can’t hear you~”  

“Ooh Ah Ah,” he says louder. 

Whilst Mina giggles out, coinciding with Sammy’s laughs. 

Any sense of embarrassment never makes its way onto Brendon’s features, as he instead grins at his niece and nephew. 

It never failed to amuse them whenever they did this. 

Never getting old. 

Whilst you and Jesse laugh softly. With a small shake of your head. 

Santos clutches onto Whitaker’s arm, stunned, “Is it just me or did Shark literally quote Finding Nemo”

“I think I’m having a stroke,” Whitaker mutters out. 

Mina tugs onto your arm, eyes wide. Head tilting in question, “Can Sharkie come over to our house to play? He needs to be Elsa!”

You nod, “You’ll have to ask him nicely.”

She peers up at her uncle, whilst Sammy does the same. 

“Pretty please”

“Only if you promise to get better soon,” Brendon replies. 

Princess comes up beside Jesse, elbowing him gently, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us your wife was Park.”

“It never came up,” he shrugs. 

While Princess scoffs. Before raising her brows, with a slight impressed look, “She’s quite a catch”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies with a grin. 

“Though I don’t understand how Shark didn’t scare you away,” she adds. Watching as the doctor in question is busy entertaining the two young kids. 

You move to stand beside Princess adding, "Brendon isn't terrifying."

Jesse merely laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "You've lost perspective."

His grin faltered for a second, dipping lower, “Is it ok I brought Mina here?”

Your arm curling around his waist, “You made the right call”

He arches a brow, “ Even if I interrupted your day

“Never an interruption when it comes to you and the kids,” You say, shaking your head. 

The ER watched.

Speechless.

Because somehow...

None of this fit together.

Shark.

Warm-hearted paediatrician.

Sarcastic nurse.

Two very loved children.

Finding Nemo references.

Frozen sing alongs.

How you and Jesse always were side by side. 

Why Jesse never shied away from Shark’s cold resolve. 

The little matching tattoos that no one had noticed enough to associate.

Or the little rings hung around both of your necks, tucked beneath your scrubs for safe keeping. 

And yet somehow...

It all fit perfectly.

You smile softly at the little family you cherished so dearly. In simple awe of the overwhelming love felt in this moment. 

Jesse’s arm snug around you. 

Mina and Sammy consume the entirety of Brendon’s attention as they talk his ear off. 

Both Brendon and Sammy doing their best to distract Mina from her aches. 

As Sammy leads the way into singing, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming–”

He nudges Brendon, “C’mon Uncle Shark, it’s Mina’s favourite”

He reluctantly nods before singing along, voice low as he tries to keep it down, whilst Sammy beams, “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim, swim”

Your little baby girl, looking better by the minute. 

Your panic settles and subsides. 

A pager buzzes in your pocket, duty calling. You hesitate. Before Jesse plants a kiss to your temple in reassurance, “We’ve got it handled. We’ll see you at home–I’ll make chicken soup”

You nod, before wrapping up your kids in cuddles, promising that you’ll see them later. 

Brendon reassures you that he’ll help Jesse, whilst you thank him for the help. Grateful to have such a supportive brother. 

The ER watches you duck away. 

Before flicking back to the scene before them.

It was unbelievable that Jesse Van Horn, their witty colleague.  

Was in fact the brother in law to Brendon Park the Shark. 

It was safe to say that as soon as your girl was feeling better and as soon as Jesse would be back at work. 

That a flood of questions would be headed his way. 

But for now they let the little family simply bask in their peace. 

…

And just perhaps. 

Santos might just boldly mutter out with a grin, “Shark Bait,” the next time Brendon Park comes down for a consult. 

Whilst he lets out a disgruntled hum. 

...

It was safe to say there was never a dull moment in your life.

With Jesse as your loving husband.

Two little bundles of joy, in the form of your daughter, Mina and son, Sammy.

With Brendon as their doting Uncle Shark.

No matter what came your way.

No matter if the entirety of PTMC would flock to you in utter shock about the fact that your husband was Jesse.

No matter if his coworkers all looked at him in awe as he handled Brendon.

With endless questions about, how, when and why this had all come to be.

You both took it in stride.

With a little hum.

A bounce in your steps.

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed (I'm a lil iffy but overall happy with it) definitely wanted to incorporate Shark being the absolute fixation of his niece and nephew. And Jesse would totally be unafraid of Brendon (like you just have a stern face- is that meant to scare me??) and honestly that simply makes Brendon respect him a lot more. Fun fact Mina apparently means Fishy as well so that’s a cute little thing. Let me know what you thought ✨

Read the next instalment for the Shiver Collection

John Shen: Nocturnal here!

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The night shift at PTMC ran on caffeine, poor decisions, and the shared belief that the sun was a rumor the day shift invented to feel superior.

By two in the morning, you had already been vomited on once, threatened with a lawsuit by a man who tried to remove his own IV because he believed it was stealing his electrolytes, and asked by a drunk college student if nurses got discounts on “the good drugs.”

It was, by all measurable standards, a normal night.

You stood at the nurses’ station, finishing a wound care note in the EHR while the digital board refreshed above you. Room six was waiting for discharge. Room three needed repeat vitals. Room eight’s family had asked for “just one quick update” four separate times, which meant no part of it had been quick.

Shen typed at the workstation beside you with the grim focus of a man composing an obituary for his own patience.

Ellis stood near the counter, scanning lab results on a tablet.

Crus leaned back in his chair, watching the waiting room numbers climb as if they had personally offended him.

Lena, charge nurse and patron saint of not putting up with anyone’s nonsense, stood under the board with one hand on her hip.

Jack Abbot appeared at your side and set a to-go coffee cup beside your keyboard.

You looked at it.

Then you looked at him.

Jack’s expression stayed medically neutral in a way that meant it was not neutral. “Preventative medicine.”

You wrapped one hand around the cup. “For me or for everyone else?”

Jack leaned a hip against the counter. “Everyone else. You’re less likely to commit a felony when properly caffeinated.”

You lifted the cup. “Bold of you to assume caffeine prevents anything. It mostly improves my aim.”

Jack glanced toward Shen. “Good. Then I’ll stand behind Shen.”

Shen kept typing. “I would prefer to be excluded from whatever this is.”

Jack looked at Shen. “This is teamwork.”

Shen did not look up. “This is harassment over ice.”

You took a sip and sighed before you could stop yourself.

Jack’s eyes flicked to your mouth.

Only for a second.

Barely that.

Still, your stomach did something inconvenient.

You lowered the cup and forced your face into something less revealing. “This is the only reason Dr. Abbot gets to live through the hour.”

Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Just the hour?”

You turned back to your note. “I like to keep my options open.”

Jack looked at your screen. “That’s wise. Attachment makes people sloppy.”

Your fingers paused on the keyboard.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Jack probably noticed.

Jack always noticed.

That was the problem with Jack Abbot. He never did enough to make the thing between you obvious. He folded it into sarcasm, into coffee, into timing, into standing a little too close at two in the morning when everyone else was too tired to care. He remembered your order. He challenged you in trauma bays. He looked at you sometimes like he had thought of saying something honest and decided against it at the last second.

It was impossible to accuse him of flirting.

It was impossible not to feel flirted with.

Lena tapped the digital board beside room six. “If the two of you are done turning caffeine into foreplay, room six needs discharge instructions pushed to the portal.”

You choked on your next sip.

Jack’s face did not change. “That was a clinical intervention.”

Lena looked at the cup. “It was a medium iced coffee.”

Jack picked up his tablet from the counter. “Medicine evolves.”

You reached for the workstation on wheels. “I’ll handle room six.”

Jack stepped out of your way. “Heroic.”

You pushed the workstation forward. “Try not to miss me.”

Jack’s voice followed you down the hall. “I’ll document through the pain.”

You smiled despite yourself.

It was easy to smile when Jack was like this.

That was another problem.

You sent the discharge instructions to the patient portal, answered three questions from room six’s wife about wound care, retrieved a replacement blanket for room eight, and stopped room three from walking toward radiology with his gown open in the back before you made it back to the nurses’ station.

Ellis looked up when you returned. “So, are you still going out with Trent?”

Jack’s hand did not pause on his tablet.

That annoyed you.

Which was stupid.

You did not want him to pause.

You wanted him to be a normal coworker with normal coworker reactions to your normal dating life.

Unfortunately, Jack Abbot had never been normal in your life.

Crus swiveled in his chair. “Trent who?”

You reached for your coffee. “Trent from the dating app.”

Shen finally glanced up. “There was a Trent?”

Ellis nodded. “Tech guy.”

You corrected her automatically. “Cybersecurity, technically.”

Jack kept his eyes on the tablet. “Naturally.”

You looked at him. “What does that mean?”

Jack’s thumb moved over the screen. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounded like something.”

Jack looked up at last. “I’m sure he’s very stable. Very ergonomic.”

Crus snapped his fingers. “Cybersecurity Trent sounds like he owns more than one quarter-zip.”

Shen returned to typing. “And a standing desk.”

Jack nodded once. “Naturally.”

You lifted your coffee. “You all realize none of those things are crimes.”

Crus leaned back farther. “Depends on the quarter-zip.”

Ellis laughed.

You tried not to.

Jack saw you fail.

His mouth twitched like he had won something.

Ellis rested her elbows on the counter. “So are you still seeing him?”

You shook your head. “No, we went on three dates, then I ended it.”

Shen didn’t look up. “Somewhere, a standing desk has been lowered to half-mast in grief.”

You smiled, holding back a laugh.

Jack’s eyes came back to you. “You ended it.”

You looked at him. “That is what I said.”

Jack set his tablet down. “It was only three dates.”

You stared at him. “Why did you say that like a diagnosis?”

Jack folded his arms. “Three dates is enough time to develop a personality.”

You lifted one shoulder. “He had a personality.”

Jack’s brow lifted. “Did he?”

Lena pointed toward the trauma rooms without looking away from the board. “Careful, Abbot. You’re one sarcastic comment away from getting the next toe injury.”

Jack turned his head toward her. “I think I’ve earned better than toes.”

Lena tapped the board again. “You’ve earned documentation. Be grateful.”

Ellis looked at you. “Did he do something, or was there just no spark?”

You considered the question. Then you shrugged. “No spark. He was fine.”

Jack repeated the word. “Fine.”

You looked at him again. “Don’t say it like that.”

Jack spread one hand. “I repeated your endorsement.”

You took another sip. “You made it sound pathetic.”

Jack’s face stayed calm. “I didn’t have to.”

You pointed at him. “See, that is exactly the kind of comment that gets you toes.”

Jack leaned closer by a fraction. “I’m willing to risk it.”

Your face warmed.

You hated him a little.

Not enough.

Ellis grinned. “Fine is kind of the dating app dream, though.”

You turned gratefully toward her. “Thank you.”

Crus looked skeptical. “Is it?”

You nodded. “Yes. The apps are rough.”

Jack’s gaze sharpened with interest despite himself. “Rough how?”

You looked at him. “You want examples?”

Jack’s answer came too quickly. “No.”

Lena’s answer came at the same time. “Yes.”

Crus pointed toward Lena. “Charge outranks attending.”

Shen nodded without looking up. “Rarely in policy. Always in spirit.”

You leaned against the counter and counted on your fingers. “There was the guy who spent an entire dinner explaining pickleball strategy to me and did not ask me one question about myself.”

Shen looked briefly pained. “Tragic acquisition of knowledge.”

You nodded. “I know the difference between indoor and outdoor balls now, and I did not consent to that education.”

Crus sat up. “There are different balls?”

Lena held up one hand. “Do not make her relive it.”

You lifted a second finger. “There was the guy who sent me a dick pic while we were making plans for drinks.”

Jack’s hand stilled on the tablet.

Lena’s eyes narrowed. “Unprompted?”

You nodded. “Completely unprompted. I asked what time worked for him.”

Jack’s jaw shifted once.

Then his voice went deadpan. “And they say romance is dead.”

You looked at him. “I blocked him.”

Jack’s response was immediate. “Good.”

Too fast.

Too firm.

It did something strange in your chest.

You looked away first and lifted a third finger. “Then there was the guy who asked if being a nurse meant I was good with my hands.”

Lena closed her eyes. “Of course he did.”

You nodded. “And then he asked if I could give him an anatomy lesson.”

Crus grimaced. “Men really are out here making choices.”

Lena opened her eyes. “Bad ones.”

Jack looked at you. “So Trent cleared the bar by not being actively terrible.”

You pointed at him with your coffee. “Exactly.”

Jack shook his head. “That’s not a bar. That’s a line painted on the basement floor.”

Ellis made a sound as if she were trying not to laugh.

You looked at Jack over the lid of your cup. “He was nice.”

Jack went still.

It was subtle.

A quieting around his eyes. A tightening at the edge of his mouth.

You hated that you saw it.

You hated more that part of you wanted him to care.

You rushed to fill the space. “He asked about my job. He remembered my coffee order.”

Jack’s gaze dropped to the cup in your hand.

You realized what you had said too late.

Your hand tightened around the plastic.

“That’s different,” you said quickly.

Jack looked back up. “Is it?”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing useful came out.

Because it was different. Jack was different. Jack remembering your coffee order felt like being known. Trent remembering it had felt nice at first, then too pointed after you ended things. But there was no normal way to say that aloud in the middle of the nurses’ station with Shen pretending not to listen three feet away.

You inhaled sharply, “It is. You’re…” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

Jack tilted his head. “I’m?”

You exhaled. “Annoying.”

Jack’s expression warmed. “There she is.”

Your phone buzzed in your scrub pocket.

You should not have reacted.

It was just a phone.

People’s phones buzzed all the time.

But your smile slipped before you could catch it.

Jack’s eyes moved from your face to the phone in your hand.

You pulled your phone out, angled the screen toward yourself, and saw Trent’s name.

Trent: Hope your shift isn’t too awful tonight.

You stared at it for half a second too long.

Then you locked the screen and slid the phone face down on the counter.

Jack’s eyes moved from the phone to your face. “What?”

You picked up your coffee. “Nothing.”

Jack leaned one forearm against the counter. “Convincing.”

You reached for the workstation. “I need to finish room eight’s note.”

Jack did not move. “So Trent from cybersecurity is still texting.”

You kept your eyes on the screen. “Apparently.”

Jack’s voice stayed light. “Did the breakup not download correctly?”

A laugh almost made it out. Almost.

You typed your password into the workstation. “Maybe the Wi-Fi was bad.”

Jack watched you. “You okay with that?”

You clicked into the chart. “Yeah.”

Jack’s answer came quietly. “That was fast.”

You kept typing. “I’m efficient.”

Jack’s voice went lower. “Efficient is not the same as convincing.”

You looked at him then. “You interrogate all your nurses like this?”

Jack held your gaze. “Only the ones committing emotional malpractice at my nurses’ station.”

Something in your chest pulled tight.

It was easier to breathe when Jack was close.

That was not fair.

That was not useful.

That was definitely not something you were going to think about with Trent’s text sitting face-down beside your keyboard.

You turned back to the screen. “It’s fine. He’s probably just disappointed.”

Jack repeated the word carefully. “Disappointed.”

You shrugged. “It was three dates.”

Jack’s face gave nothing away. “Right.”

You looked at him. “Three dates, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “That’s what you said.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re making it sound dramatic.”

Jack lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t make it sound like anything.”

You pointed at him. “Your face did.”

Jack’s brow lifted. “My face is medically neutral.”

You scoffed. “Your face has never been neutral once in your life.”

The ambulance bay doors opened.

Lena looked up at the board, then toward the hall. “All right, reset. Shen, Ellis, room three.” She turned to you, “You’re with Abbot in trauma two.”

You clicked out of the chart and reached for gloves from the box near the wall.

Jack picked up his tablet. “You ready?”

You looked at him. “For trauma two?”

Jack stepped beside you. “For whatever bad decision is about to come through that door.”

You pulled on the gloves. “Always.”

Jack’s face softened for one second.

Then Dr. Abbot was back: focused, precise, unshakable.

You followed him into trauma two, and for a while, you got to be yourself again.

The patient was twenty-eight, drunk, bleeding from a deep laceration in his right thigh, and deeply committed to the idea that the concrete planter outside a bar had wronged him personally.

Two paramedics rolled him in while he gestured dramatically with one hand.

The patient lifted his head from the stretcher. “I almost cleared it.”

Jack pulled on gloves. “Gravity disagrees.”

You moved to the monitor. “Gravity usually does.”

The patient squinted at you. “You should’ve seen it.”

Jack stepped to the side of the stretcher. “I’m seeing enough.”

You connected him to the monitor while Ellis took position near the supply cart, and Crus logged in to the workstation mounted on the wall.

Lena appeared in the doorway. “Vitals?”

You watched the monitor. “Pressure is holding. Heart rate one-twelve. Sat ninety-nine.”

Jack glanced at the wound. “Good enough to keep annoying us.”

The patient lifted one hand. “I can hear you.”

Jack reached for gauze. “That’s how I know your airway works.”

The patient frowned. “Are you always this comforting?”

Jack held out his hand. “Pressure dressing.”

You placed it into his palm. “Already there.”

Jack glanced at you. “Show-off.”

You reached for saline. “Slow doctor.”

Jack pressed the dressing to the wound. “Careful. I’m sensitive.”

You checked the IV line. “That has not been clinically observed.”

Lena looked between you. “Focus, both of you.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on the wound. “We are focused.”

You adjusted the monitor lead. “Deeply.”

The patient groaned. “Ow.”

Jack’s voice softened instantly. “I know. Hold still.”

That was the thing about Jack.

He could be dry enough to cut glass and gentle enough to make people listen through pain.

He could joke in the middle of chaos and never once lose track of what mattered.

You hated how much you noticed.

You hated that you had noticed for months.

The case moved quickly after that. Bleeding controlled. Imaging ordered through the EHR. Tetanus added. Pain meds administered. The patient stopped insisting the planter had “come out of nowhere” and started asking whether he could still go to brunch.

By the time transport came to take him to imaging, the room had settled back into something resembling order.

At the sink outside trauma two, you stood shoulder to shoulder with Jack, washing your hands.

Jack reached for a paper towel. “Nice work.”

You looked over at him. “Careful. That almost sounded like praise.”

Jack tossed the towel into the bin. “I said nice. Don’t get greedy.”

You turned off the water with your elbow. “Too late. I’m telling Lena you experienced personal growth in trauma two.”

Jack grabbed sanitizer from the wall dispenser. “Lena will never believe you.”

You stepped back, still smiling. “She would if I said it was brief and medically concerning.”

Jack’s mouth curved before he could stop it.

His voice went quieter. “That sounded more like you.”

Your smile faltered.

Not much.

Enough.

Jack noticed that too.

You looked away, reaching for a clean pair of gloves you did not need yet. “What can I say? Blood loss brings out my charm.”

Jack watched you for one extra beat. “Apparently.”

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You hated that your whole body went tight when it did.

Jack’s eyes moved to your scrub pocket.

You kept your face neutral and stepped around him. “I need to finish that note.”

Jack did not stop you.

That somehow made it worse.

At the nurses’ station, you pulled out your phone.

Trent’s name waited on the lock screen.

Trent: I know you said you don’t want to keep seeing each other, but I don’t think three dates is enough to really know.

The words sat in your hand like something heavier than a text.

You locked the phone again.

Jack’s voice came from beside you. “Still medically neutral?”

You looked up fast. “Your face or my night?”

Jack’s gaze flicked to your phone. “Both have concerning findings.”

You slid the phone into your pocket. “It’s nothing.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on you. “That nothing has bad timing.”

You clicked into the EHR because looking at the screen was easier than looking at him. “He’s just disappointed.”

Jack leaned one hand against the counter. “He can be disappointed without making it your problem.”

You swallowed.

The words hit harder than they should have.

Probably because they were true.

Probably because you had spent your whole life making other people’s disappointment your problem.

You forced a shrug. “It’s fine.”

Jack’s voice stayed even. “You keep saying that.”

You looked at him. “Because you keep asking.”

Jack held your gaze.

For a second, you thought he might push.

For a second, part of you wanted him to.

Then room eight’s call light went off again, and the moment broke.

Lena looked over. “Someone please tell room eight that asking the same question six different ways does not unlock a secret answer.”

You stepped back from the workstation. “I’ll go.”

Jack did not move immediately.

When you passed him, his hand brushed the edge of the counter like he had almost reached for you and decided against it.

You told yourself you were relieved.

You were a terrible liar.

Jack did not ask again.

That was somehow worse.

He gave you room to pretend, but not enough room to disappear.

Forty minutes later, while you were hunched over the workstation finishing room eight’s update, something cold appeared beside your keyboard.

Your water bottle.

Full.

You stared at it.

Jack stood on the other side of the counter, already looking back down at his tablet like he had not done anything worth noticing.

You wrapped your hand around the bottle. “Did you refill my water?”

Jack’s thumb moved over the screen. “No.”

You lifted the bottle slightly. “So it hydrated itself?”

Jack did not look up. “Stranger things have happened in this department.”

You twisted the cap open. “That was almost nice.”

Jack glanced at you. “Don’t worry. I filled it from the fountain in the lounge.”

Your brows pulled together. “Why would I worry?”

Jack’s eyes returned to the tablet. “Because you’re ridiculous and think it tastes better.”

You paused with the bottle halfway to your mouth.

It was stupid.

Such a small thing.

The kind of thing anyone could have noticed if you said it enough times.

Except you were almost positive you had said it once, weeks ago, half-delirious near the end of a bad shift while complaining that the water from the nurses’ station dispenser tasted like someone had filtered it through a battery.

You took a drink.

The lounge fountain did taste better.

Jack did not look up when he spoke again. “You’re welcome.”

You lowered the bottle. “I didn’t say thank you.”

Jack’s mouth moved faintly. “You were about to.”

You hated that he was right.

You hated more that you almost smiled.

The rest of the shift did not get worse, exactly.

It got quieter.

That was worse in its own way.

Quiet left too much room for your brain to start arranging things into patterns.

Trent’s first text had been normal enough. Friendly. Almost considerate.

The second text had been annoying.

The ones before tonight had been annoying too, at first.

Trent: I still think we had something, though.

Trent: Maybe you’re just tired from work.

Trent:I can be patient.

The coffee shop had been easy to dismiss the first time. People went to coffee shops. The second time had made your stomach twist, but you had told yourself he worked nearby. Maybe he did. You had not asked enough questions to know for sure.

The grocery store had been the hardest one to explain away.

He had appeared near the pasta sauce, holding a basket with two things in it, smiling like the universe had done something charming.

You had laughed too brightly.

You remembered that now.

You remembered laughing because not laughing would have made it feel strange.

You remembered the way he had said your name.

Like he had found you.

You did not tell Jack.

Not during the next hour, while you documented, answered call lights, and updated the portal for room eight’s family.

Not when he passed behind you with his tablet and paused long enough to ask if you needed anything.

Not when you said no.

Not when he looked like he did not believe you.

At 6:56, the ED settled into the fragile pre-dawn hush that always felt like tempting fate.

Lena stood at the board, arms crossed. “If anyone says the word quiet, I’m assigning them every rectal foreign body for the next month.”

Crus looked up from his workstation. “Can you do that?”

Lena turned her head slowly. “Do you want to find out?”

Crus looked back at his screen. “No.”

Shen typed without looking over. “A rare moment of wisdom.”

Ellis stretched beside the counter. “I’m clocking out before the universe hears us.”

You logged out of the workstation and reached for your jacket from the back of your chair.

Your phone buzzed again.

You froze with one arm halfway through the sleeve.

Jack saw it from across the station.

You did not look at him.

You pulled out your phone.

Trent’s name lit up the screen.

Trent: I know you’re probably getting off soon. Can we talk?

Your breath changed.

Just a little.

Just enough.

Jack crossed the space between you without making it obvious. He did not rush. He did not announce himself. He simply appeared at your side, close enough that you could feel him there.

Jack looked from your phone to your face. “Him?”

You locked the screen. “It’s nothing.”

Jack’s voice stayed low. “You keep saying that.”

You slid your phone into your pocket. “Because it is.”

Jack glanced toward the clock on the monitor, then back to you. “He knows when you get off.”

You pulled your jacket fully on. “I told him I work nights.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on your face. “Did you tell him exactly when you leave?”

You only shook your head.

That told him what he needed to know.

Lena looked over from the board. “If you’re clocking out, go before the next ambulance decides to turn this into a hostage situation.”

You reached for your bag. “Gladly.”

Jack picked up his jacket from the back of a chair.

You looked at him. “Where are you going?”

Jack slipped one arm into the sleeve. “Parking garage.”

You frowned. “Your car is not in the parking garage.”

Jack looked at you. “I can be.”

Your mouth opened.

No argument came out.

Because you wanted to argue.

You wanted to tell him you did not need an escort to your own car. You wanted to make a joke sharp enough to turn this back into something normal. You wanted to say a man you had gone out with three times did not get to make you feel ridiculous in front of Jack Abbot.

But your phone felt heavy in your pocket.

And Jack was standing there with his jacket on, waiting like he had all the time in the world.

You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Fine.”

Jack’s mouth twitched faintly. “Glowing endorsement.”

You pushed through the employee exit ahead of him. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Jack followed beside you. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The hallway outside the ED was colder than the department.

Quieter, too.

Your shoes sounded too loud against the floor.

Jack walked beside you, not behind you, and not in front of you. He did not crowd you. He did not make it a production. He matched your pace like this was normal, like walking you to your car after a text from a man who would not stop contacting you was a thing people did casually at dawn.

You tried to joke because silence felt dangerous. “This is either chivalry or an insult to my ability to locate my own car.”

Jack kept his eyes ahead. “Could be both.”

You looked over. “Versatile.”

Jack’s mouth moved faintly. “I try.”

The elevator doors opened.

You stepped inside.

Jack followed.

The doors slid shut, and your reflection appeared in the metal between you.

You looked tired.

Not night-shift tired.

Something else.

Jack noticed your reflection at the same time you did.

His voice was quiet. “Tell me what happened.”

You looked at the floor indicator. “Nothing happened.”

Jack did not answer.

Somehow, that worked better than him calling you on the lie.

You exhaled. “I went out with him three times.”

Jack’s gaze stayed on the elevator doors. “Okay.”

You adjusted your bag again. “I told him I wasn’t interested. Clearly. Kindly. Very mature of me, actually.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Heroic.”

You shot him a weak look. “Don’t make me laugh right now.”

Jack’s expression sobered. “I won’t.”

Your throat tightened.

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened onto the parking level.

Neither of you moved for half a second.

Then Jack stepped out with you.

The garage smelled like concrete, cold air, and exhaust. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A few cars sat scattered across the rows. Somewhere below, a door shut hard enough to echo.

You kept walking.

Jack stayed beside you.

You heard yourself keep talking because stopping felt worse. “He said he understood. At first.”

Jack looked around the garage as you moved. “And then?”

You swallowed. “Then he kept texting.”

Jack’s voice stayed controlled. “Tonight?”

You shook your head. “Before tonight.”

Jack’s gaze cut to you.

You looked straight ahead. “He showed up at my coffee shop.”

Jack’s steps slowed by a fraction. “Showed up.”

You hugged your arms around yourself. “It’s a public place.”

Jack’s voice did not change. “Your coffee shop.”

You stared toward the row where your car was parked. “People drink coffee, Jack.”

Jack’s answer came quietly. “How many times?”

You hated the question.

You hated that he knew to ask it.

You kept walking. “Twice.”

Jack did not speak.

You rushed on. “And I saw him at the grocery store once, but that could have been nothing.”

Jack’s gaze moved across the row of cars. “Could have been.”

You looked at him. “You don’t believe that.”

Jack looked back at you. “I believe you don’t.”

Your mouth closed.

That landed too hard.

Because he was right.

You had been calling it a coincidence since the first time Trent appeared near the pickup counter at your coffee shop, smiling like fate had done something sweet instead of something that made your stomach turn cold.

You had called it a coincidence again when he showed up there two days later and remembered your order.

You had called it a coincidence at the grocery store because calling it anything else felt dramatic.

It felt like giving the whole thing shape.

It felt like admitting that your regular places no longer belonged only to you.

You turned down the row toward your car.

Then you saw it.

The rose came first.

A single red rose, tucked beneath your windshield wiper.

The stem was pinned awkwardly against the glass, the bloom bent slightly to the side, as if it had been placed there carefully and damaged anyway.

A folded note sat beneath it.

For one stupid second, your brain tried to make it ordinary.

Someone else’s car.

A mistake.

A romantic gesture meant for someone who wanted one.

Anything else.

Jack stopped beside you.

The air in the parking garage seemed to change.

He did not speak at first.

He looked at the rose.

Then he looked past your car.

His gaze moved across the row of parked vehicles, the concrete pillars, the stairwell door, the elevator bank, the dark gap near the far corner where one of the overhead lights had gone out.

You noticed the shift in him instantly.

Not panic.

Not anger, not yet.

Assessment.

You had seen him do it in trauma bays, in patient rooms, in the split second before a bad situation became something worse.

Jack stepped closer, not crowding, just near enough that you were no longer standing alone.

His hand came to your back, light and careful.

Jack’s voice was low. “Stay here for a second.”

You looked at him. “Jack.”

Jack glanced at you, and whatever he saw on your face made his hand still against your back.

Jack’s voice softened. “Just a second.”

His hand left your back as he moved around the front of your car.

You hated how quickly you noticed.

He checked the row beside yours first, then the space behind the nearest pillar. He looked toward the stairwell again, then crouched briefly near the front bumper and checked beneath the car.

Your stomach dropped.

Not because of the rose.

Not really.

Because Jack was looking.

Because Jack Abbot, who made jokes through blood and screaming and bad odds, had gone quiet in the parking garage because something about this did not feel like nothing.

He stood again and came back to your side.

Jack’s eyes moved once more across the garage before they settled on you. “Does he know your car?”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Maybe?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I don’t know. Maybe he saw me get into it after one of the dates.”

Jack looked at the rose again. “Maybe.”

You heard it then.

The difference between your maybe and his.

Yours was desperate. A way out. A possible explanation that could make this less frightening if you held it tightly enough.

His was flat.

Unconvinced.

You reached for the note and rose with fingers that did not feel entirely attached to your hand.

Jack watched the garage while you lifted the windshield wiper and pulled them free.

The rose dragged lightly against the glass.

One petal fell onto the hood.

You unfolded the note.

Only two lines were written inside.

I want to see you again.

I’m not giving up.

For a second, everything in the garage went too quiet.

The elevator dinged somewhere behind you, and you flinched so hard your shoulder brushed Jack’s arm.

Jack’s eyes went immediately to the elevator.

A woman in scrubs stepped out, glanced down at her phone, and walked toward the opposite row without looking at either of you.

Jack stayed still until she passed.

Then he looked back at you.

Your voice came out thin. “It could mean anything.”

Jack’s expression did not change. “No.”

You looked down at the note. “He might just mean—”

Jack cut in quietly. “No.”

You stopped.

He had not raised his voice.

He had not moved closer.

Still, the word landed like a hand on a door, keeping something out.

Jack looked at the note in your hand. “You ended it.”

You nodded once. “Yes.”

Jack’s eyes came back to your face. “You told him you didn’t want to keep seeing him.”

You pulled in a breath. “Yes.”

Jack’s voice stayed low. “Then this means exactly what it says.”

Your throat tightened.

You hated that.

You hated all of it.

You hated the rose. You hated the note. You hated the garage. You hated the fact that you had gone out with Trent three times and now Jack was standing beside your car, scanning the shadows like this was something real.

You crossed your arms tighter, crushing the rose slightly against your jacket. “This is so stupid.”

Jack’s head turned sharply toward you. “No.”

You blinked.

Jack’s voice stayed low, but something rough had entered it. “No. He doesn’t get to scare you and make you feel stupid for being scared.”

You looked away fast.

Because if you kept looking at him, you might cry.

And you were not going to cry in the parking garage over a man you had gone out with three times.

Jack looked around the garage again, then back at you. “We’re going back inside.”

Your instinctive protest rose immediately. “Jack—”

Jack caught himself before he could make it an order.

You saw the exact second he did.

His shoulders shifted. His jaw unclenched by force.

His hand came back to your back, gentle this time.

Asking, not pushing.

Jack tried again, softer. “Please. Come back inside with me.”

That got through in a way the firmer version would not have.

You looked at the note in your hand. “What about my car?”

Jack glanced at it. “It stays here for now.”

You hugged the rose and note closer, then hated yourself for hugging either of them at all. “I need to go home.”

Jack looked back at you. “I know.”

You hated how calm he sounded.

You needed him calm.

Jack nodded toward the ED entrance. “We’ll figure that out inside.”

You stared at him for another second.

Then you nodded.

Jack did not guide you forward.

He only walked beside you as you turned back toward the hospital, close enough that the space between your shoulder and his arm felt deliberate.

Close enough that your lungs remembered, shakily, how to work.

Behind you, your car stayed where it was.

The rose stayed in your hand.

The note stayed folded against your palm.

And for the first time all night, you stopped telling yourself it was nothing.

“You have a tattoo,” she noted standing behind you, paying close attention to how you examined the boy in front of you.

You nodded like you weren't trying to listen close down your stethoscope as you asked the boy to breathe in, listening at his back. “I do.”

“That's... really cool,” she said.

You smiled, small. “Thank you.”

Javadi watched your wrist move and arm flex as you put the stethoscope back around your neck, holding onto it either end. She'd called you down for a pedes case but was finding herself distracted by the beauty of the ink on you.

There were hard strokes of black and lighter ones, all drawn around in swirls that came together to make a sun. She thought it looked like the sun from tangled- one of her favourite movies. But you were a grown woman. Maybe you liked the movie as much as she did.

Javadi shook off the idea as you stood, telling the parents what you found. A small crackle in his breathing but as he'd been down with a flu and fever it might not mean anything terrible. Kept for observation and some blood work was ordered before the two of you were slipping away.

“What does it mean?” asked Victoria, hot on your heels as you walked to the nurses station. “The-the sun, I mean? Not crackles in the chest, I-I know that.”

You chuckled, tapping in to chart. Although you worked floors above on the pedes ward, your vintage disney top under the lab coat representing that, you were down enough on emergency and trauma cases to be a familiar and welcome face.

“Oh, you know,” you said, balancing your elbow on the table and checking on the ink. Your lips quirked at looking at it. “Just a little sun, for brightness and stuff.”

Javadi thought it was fitting. You were a sunshine person, hopeful and kind, like a ray of light in the depths of hell she called the ED. She supposed it came with the job, having to be the hope for the sick children.

Everyone down the Pitt could afford to be miserable, with a good enough excuse in working in the emergency department. You were with kids, helping them and their parents through anything minor to the worst days of their lives.

“Kinda, look to the light, kinda thing?” Victoria asked.

You slowly glanced up at her, finding a new perspective. “Yeah. I like that take.”

“Well, well, well,” said a hoarse voice coming closer to the two of you.

Beyond Javadi you looked past her.

Jack Abbot casually strolled over, hands behind his back, arms pulled in tight muscles and freckles in his dark scrubs. “You know, you're down here so often anyone would think you're after a Pedes attending job.”

You rose a brow, challenging him. “Are you offering?”

“Oh yeah, anything to keep sunshine down here.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaving Javadi to look between the two of you. She hadn’t realised the two of you knew each other so well.

Sure, you were the first everyone went to for a pedes case but how often was that?

“Sunshine! That’s funny,” said Javadi, standing between the two of you

Jack rose a brow. “It is?”

“Yeah- yeah,” she said with a clear of her throat. “Cause’- she has a sunshine tattoo.”

Jacks lips quirked up to a smirk. “Really?”

You leaned over the counter, chin resting in the palm of your hand. “Yeah. Got it some time ago.”

“Is it somewhere PG-13?” He asked.

“Well to know that you’d have to buy me a drink first.”

“I plan to.”

The two of you shared a smirk.

Suddenly, Victoria thought she was stuck in the middle of something.

It was Whitaker who discovered it next.

He was working with Abbot and Shen on a patient in trauma one, still waiting for the feeling in his feet to return to him after a twelve hour shift. But he wanted to see this patient through first, even if he could have left now the night crawlers had swept in.

He was shooting an x-ray for the guy in a car crash, checking his ribs after being found pressed up against his steering wheel.

Somewhere else you were stitching up his young daughter.

“The car came from nowhere,” fretted the patient, wincing with every breath. “I swear- I swear!”

“Don’t you worry, sir, we’re gonna get you sorted,” assured Jack, peeling off his jacket and replacing it with a vest.

“Is my- is my daughter okay?”

“She just needed a couple stitches,” said Denis.

Jack stretched up, moving the x-ray machine over the patient. “Don’t worry, your daughter is in the best hands. They lumped you with the second best, I’m afraid.”

The patient gave a huff of a laugh that evidently hurt more than anything.

“Okay… shooting!”

Everyone without a vest backed away.

It was at that moment as Jack hovered shooting the x-ray that Whitaker got his first glance at some ink peeking out from his wrist. His watch hid most of what Denis could make out as a tattoo but he thought it strange that Robby should have his own tattoo also typically hidden behind his watch.

Robby and Jack always called themselves brothers, from their years of friendship and shared experiences in the Pitt.

He just hadn’t realised they were that close.

The x ray was quickly done and the machine pushed away as everyone focused on stabilising the man.

A couple broken ribs, a severely bruised chest.

An OR was free to check on any internal bleeding, get the chest sorted.

The doors pushed open and you walked in, a maybe eight years old propped on your hip, little arms hugging around your neck.

Jack’s lips tilted up at once. “Second visit in one day, upstairs must be boring.”

“Well we do like to call this place the circus,” you teased. “This is Mr Peters daughter, she wanted to check in on her daddy.”

Jack tugged off his gloves and Whitaker watched as he approached you and the little girl. “Your daddy is doing fine, he’s strong. I reckon just as strong as you. He’s gonna go upstairs for a closer look but you can go with him, if you like?”

The girl hid her head closer into your shoulder, mumbling something that Whitaker could just about make out.

“Will you come up with me?” She’d asked you.

You bounced her gently. “Course. Upstairs is where all the fun is anyway.”

Jack hummed. “Hm. She has the best candy too.”

Whitaker watched the young girls eyes light up.

As a team from surgery came to drag the father away you followed behind with the daughter in arms, Abbot and Whitaker following out and taking a moment to watch the crowd dissapear.

“Did good in there, Whitaker,” said Abbot, the both of them tearing off their gowns and gloves.

“Thanks,” he said. The both of them went separate ways. Oddly enough, Jack was following in the steps of the team that took up the man and his daughter.

Doctor Robby wondered over, sliding into his seat. If even one of his day shift was left, so was he. It was his own morale code to not go till everyone on day had, Denis was learning.

“Hey,” greeted Denis. “You know I had no idea you and Abbot had matching tattoos.”

“Huh, yeah...” said Robby of absent-mind as he watched the computer. It took him a second to register what he was saying and look up. “Wait, what did you say?”

Suddenly Whitaker felt like he'd said the wrong thing, seeing his attending look over his glasses at him. Maybe nobody was supposed to know? Maybe it was super personal? Or it was a stupid drunk choice they were both trying to forget and he'd just brought it up.

“Oh god, I didn't, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

Robby scratched at his beard. “Jack and I do not have matching tattoos.”

“Oh.”

“What made you think that?” he asked. “Did someone... say something?” there was something akin to mischief in his eyes, alight.

“No! No! I just- I saw something that looked like a tattoo under where he keeps his watch, and I know you have one there too. Or- well- don't know but I've- I've seen-”

“Yeah, yeah I've got one there,” said Robby, looking back to the computer bored. “So does Jack. His is a moon. Mine's something to do with my grandmother.”

“A moon? Oh.”

Somewhere beyond Whitaker, past his shoulders, Victoria passed by, catching the conversation.

A moon on one. A sun on another. Interesting.

Samira was only looking for her patient when she found a shirtless Jack Abbot hiding behind the curtain with you standing behind him.

Both your heads shot up when the whirl of the curtain pulled back.

“Oh. I'm sorry,” said Samira. She was only momentarily shocked at Jack shirtless, SWAT gear discarded in the corner and the typical pedes case worker standing behind him, working on a bad obviously over eighteen.

Jack tried to shrug his shoulders but came away wincing. “S'alright.”

“Have you guys seen my patient?” she asked, going on to describe him.

“No, sorry. This room was empty,” you said, rolling a q-tip along Jack's shoulder blade. “Anything you need help with?”

Samira deflated, taking a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She was feeling sorry for the patient she couldn't get to in time she didn't realise the look you and Jack shared, one of mutual agreement of apprehension.

“What happened to you?” Samira asked.

“He got shot,” you said.

“You were shot?”

Jack made a 'pfft' noise at the two of you. “Shot at. It was nothing. Hardly a graze.”

You scoffed, reaching over for some bandage and applying it to the wound. “I'll be the judge of that.”

“You my doctor now?” asked Jack.

You bit back a smirk. “Someone has to be.”

Samira had worked with Abbot a handful of times, you maybe more on cases with children that required delicate matters. She never realised the two of you were close enough to tease. Close enough that you would be the first person he runs to for help.

Curious, Samira walked around Jack, standing on the other side of his bed as you showed her the wound.

“Oh. Ouch.”

“See?” you said with a raise of your brows.

Jack's freckled arms crossed over his chest in protest.

“You have a chart?” asked Mohan.

“No,” you said. “We're keeping this off the chart.”

Samira nodded, lips quirking. We?

“Don't need the paperwork from the hospital,” said Jack. “Got big plans tonight, can't have paperwork getting in the way.”

“Big plans?” asked Mohan.

Jack hummed in affirmation.

With your careful bandages around his shoulder he stood and reached for his shirt on the side.

It wasn't just a quick glimpse Samira got of where another tattoo lied. It was a long look as Jack made work at pulling over his navy shirt overhead. At the ache in his shoulder you helped pull it over him and he didn't object, he let you help him like it was natural.

But just under his armpit, on the side of his chest there was a clear stroke of black ink in the curves and strikes of a letter. Just one simple there, no bigger than a finger nail next to his heart.

“All good to go solider,” you said, rubbing his un-injured shoulder.

“Thank you, Doc.”

You smirked. “Don't go straining yourself this evening.”

Jack chuckled, low in his throat. “I make no promises.”

It was only when watching the two of you leave that the hole in her heart for her own devoid love life sung with something other that sorrow. With hope and joy. It was only when she noticed Jack's hand linger on the small of your back as he leaned into say something to you that she realised the slope of the letter at his chest matched the very first letter of your name.

A week later and slowly Samira was forgetting the whole thing. Not forgetting the patient that had ran out on her but forgetting the state she found Jack in, forgetting how you helped him and the letter etched into his skin.

She hadn't told anyone either, because what business of others was it.

It wasn't even hers.

Maybe Jack knew someone in the army had the same initial as you. Maybe it was his mothers name. It didn't have to be yours. It was only seeing him shirtless, seeing you with him that had her thinking of you, she was sure.

But a week later she was brought back to that room.

“Woah- what happened to you?” Robby chuckled as you walked through the ED, a mixture of bodily fluids over your scrubs.

“Emergency c-section, twins,” you said. “I had no time for a gown.”

Robby's smile creased as you squelched closer. Your blue scrubs, typically a baby blue, was dyed darker due to blood, amniotic fluids and what he guessed might have been urine. “They didn't call OB?”

“OB was busy, apparently.”

“Apparently?” he asked, tablet in hand as he followed next to you as you walked to the scrub bin. You walked, arms slightly raised to not let them drop. Robby walked close but not close enough to touch the mess of you.

“Someone in OB has it out me.”

“Evil ex?”

“Yeah, one of yours,” you teased.

“Ouch.”

“I'm cranky.”

“I can tell.”

Santos and Samira were on a case together but stopped when they got a look at you. “Woah, what happened? A pile up?”

“Don't ask,” you grumbled.

From behind you Robby mouthed 'twins' and both knew not to say anymore.

“You know we have gowns for such messy procedures,” said Trinity.

You flashed her a grimace. “You're funny, Santos, must get it from this guy,” you said, slapping Robby in the chest as you stood in front of the scrub bins. However, as an official upstairs pedes resident you didn't have authority for more scrubs. “Is Jack around?”

“No,” said Robby, tapping his own ID cared on the pad and getting you an order of scrubs.

“Thanks.”

Samira wondered, briefly why you asked for Jack when it was probably easier to find some woman for your size. Like herself, for instance.

But in seconds you were pulling off your scrub top, leaving you only in a bra. Your scrub pants were next but you had a thin pair of leggings underneath. No one batted an eyes, except maybe Robby who cleared his throat and turned away, hypothetically hiding you behind his back.

“Thanks again, Robby,” you said, gaining his new scrubs.

“No problem,” he said, leaning over to you. “But you can bring this up to Jack,” he added in a mummer that Mohan just caught.

As you reached up, pulling the scrub top over you Samira caught it again. It was a smaller trace, a think line but there with no doubt.

A simple J in black ink in almost the exact spot as Jack had one of his own.

“Is that-” Mohan didn't get the words out before your scrub top was pulled over, swallowing you from Robby's scrub.

Robby and you looked to her as you pulled on the pants. “What?”

They were all looking at her, expectantly.

“No, nothing, it was nothing.”

“Okay, then.”

But now there was a knowing in there. That she didn't believe in coincidences, not when they were etched into skin.

“You look lovely.” Jack crept up behind you, his voice falling upon your ears with his head quick over your shoulder. He was like hot breath on a glass, there and gone the next second.

You understood why. Knew it had been easier to keep it quiet when things were fresh, yet, things had moved on from new and simple a long time ago and neither of you made to say it. Did you get a banner? Make a public announcement? You had no idea how to do it.

Keeping it on the low was all you knew how to do.

And anyhow, it made things far more exciting.

“Thank you,” you said, passing him a quick smile.

Jack hummed, crowding next to you at the station, leaning an arm on the counter and looking you up and down. “You'd look even better in scrubs that were mine.”

Your eyes rolled. “They're Robby's-”

“Robby's-” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“I had a messy C-section and it was this or several bodily fluids.”

“I'd have rather bodily fluids,” he said.

You hummed. “You think that but then you see me and you'd think different.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You turned your attention onto him, knowing he wouldn't give it up till he had it all. It was something about Jack and un-divided attention, he thrived on it. Giving it to you, or taking it from you. He needed it like sustenance. “Think wet. Think baby fluids that should be in a body on me. Think blood. And probably puke on there somewhere too- I don't even know how.”

“And I bet you still looked beautiful,” he said.

“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” you chuckled.

“I would.”

His hand crept up to your ribs, holding there. As if he was anaesthetic himself, his touch was soothing.

He held over where your initial of his name was, just as you did with him where yours was. It still felt fresh though the ink was imbedded into skin for almost a year now.

It was the soft knowledge of carrying each other closer than you already did. Working in the same building wasn't enough, falling asleep next to each and waking up next to each other wasn't enough but the soft initial of each others name might just have been.

Even if it weren't romantical (which it certainly was) the two of you had at least always respected each other in the work setting. It was a bond running deeper than blood, than respect, than love.

Something the people hadn't come up with a word for yet.

Robby passed by the two of them. “I thought you two were being discreet.”

“We are,” you said, you and Jack turning to face Robby as he took his space behind the nurses desk.

“He's all but holding your breast,” said Robby.

“Physical exam,” Jack shrugged. “And I thought I told you to stop making moves on my woman.”

Robby held up his hands in surrender. “I don't want any funny business in my scrubs,” he warned, s sharp look past his glasses at the two of you.

Jack quirked his lips, pretending his innocence. “We'll change into mine.”

You smacked his shoulder.

“Hey,” said Robby, leaning on the counter next to you as if you were all gossiping nurses and not different attendings in your own rights. “You know, Whitaker thinks we have matching tattoos,” he said, nodding to Jack.

You laughed, tilting your head down.

“Oh yeah, I have an R over my heart,” he teased.

Robby scoffed. “Yeah and I got a J on my-”

You looked pointed at them both. “Don't you have jobs to get to?”

Robby surrendered and headed off, making himself busy.

Upstairs would need you soon enough too, there was only so much time you could leave your pedes ward alone. Your hands were gentle on Jacks, squeezing lightly.

Meaning to let go, Jack squeezed and pulled you back.

“Jack? Woah- what- where are we going?”

His thumb worked up and down the back of your hand as he dragged you off. He found an empty room, checking the room before closing the door and pulling the curtains around.

“Jack!”

His hands found their ways up Robby's shirt on your body, pulling at the skin of your waist and drawing you in till he was kissing you, open-mouthed. It was as if he hadn't kissed you that morning, hadn't stole a make out in the car before heading in, hadn't text you in his spare five minutes that he wasn't thinking about you.

He grinned into the kiss, licking into your mouth.

As bad as it was, stealing a kiss in an empty exam room, your hands wound up to his hair, tugging at the strands. Your body curled into his as his hands moved from under your shirt to over, pulling at it.

“Take this off.”

Biting back a smirk you pulled it off you as Jack leant down to kiss at your neck. He bit and sucked, dedicating time to one mark that would be a tattoo on your neck.

Jack was obsessed with marking you, considering you tried you best to be secret.

This wasn't very secret.

“Jack,” you moaned, own hands clawing at his shirt.

He pulled back long enough to toss his off. “When we're done here... when I've made you come on my fingers,” he uttered next to your ear, breath hot. “You're gonna put my scrub top on, you understand?”

Your lips pursed and nodded.

Jack pulled back enough, lips ghosting yours. “Yeah, baby?”

“Yeah,” you whined.

“Yeah.”

His lips crashed into yours again with fire like need. Hie entire body moved over yours, hands steady on your hips to bring you in. You were stumbling around the room, trying to find a wall or bed.

“God,” Jack whined at your lips. “I could eat you.”

He kissed down your neck, over your chest and leant to press a kiss over his initial. He'd been there when you'd gotten it done, as you had when he got his. The two letters in each others hand writing.

Jack came back up and kissed you again before the door sprung open.

“Room three's open why's nobody-”

Jack jumped in front of you like jumping in front of a bullet for you, his arms fell on either side of you, caging you in behind him.

A woman was sat on a gurney, eyes wide at the two of you.

Dana was leading the charge, Mohan, Whitaker and Santos following and eyes falling wide, jaws agape at the sight of you.

Robby walked past, shaking his head and- taking one look at Jack- decided it wasn't a HR nightmare he could deal with.

“We were just...” said Jack, hesitating. “Doing a physical.”

Dana smirked. “I'll say.”

“Sorry, we'll just-” you apologised.

The two of you fumbled with scrub tops but Jack still found enough time in the mess to pass you his own scrub top and take Robby's himself. In sheepish moves the two of you moved by the group, catching only a couple words.

“Did you see those tattoo's?” said Samira.

“Each others inititals, right?”

“How longs this been going on for?”

Jack Abbot was never really the type to feed himself the way a person should eat. He lived off of vending machine food and granola bars. He could cook—he’s actually a very good cook—but didn’t see the point after a twelve hour shift that left him dead on his feet.

But for you? He’d cook a three course meal if you asked. He made sure you had dinner when he was off, waited on you hand and foot.

You did the same for him. But more so; you kept him fed.

You started meal prepping lunches for him to take to work; sometimes just leftovers from the previous night or something you made new entirely the day before while he was at work. Then you started adding desserts and snacks; a donut or pastry from the corner bakery you both loved, homemade cookies or brownies.

You left yogurt and homemade granola, veggie sticks with dip, beef jerky. But the dinners you packed? God, Jack could die on that hill.

He couldn’t explain how happy and domestic it made him feel to open up his lunchbox and find you’d packed him leftovers from the lasagna you’d made. Or chili, or a sandwich that looked like it came straight from a deli. Wraps that were filled to the brim with turkey and lettuce and everything he liked in them. He’d groan every time he took that first bite, leaning back in his chair with a content sigh. Something dangerous playing in his heart.

You—his sweet girlfriend of a few months who lived in his t-shirts and padded around his apartment with a giddy step and had more kindness in your pinky than most people had in their entire body—packed him lunch like it was nothing. Taking care of him like it was second nature. For you, it was.

People noticed, because Jack Abbot didn’t eat on shift unless it was a handful of nuts or whatever stale thing fell out of the vending machine when he kicked it after it ate his money.

But along with Jack eating good, came the changes in his body. Not anything drastic or bad but…he got thicker. At first it was just a little more pull at his scrubs, nothing he couldn’t handle by adjusting his arms a little.

He didn’t get fat or out of shape just; broader, healthy fat lining his muscles. His pecs and biceps always strained against his shirts, but now they looked like they were seconds away from busting the seams open. His ass got rounder, cheeks slightly more plush that you grabbed every time he kissed you; making him yelp a noise of protest. Every. Single. Time.

Don’t even get started on his torso. Layered with a slight pudge at the bottom when he wore his belt, abs and back muscles visible and flexing underneath his movements. He looked divine. He was stronger, more solid and filled out. His scrub top looked more than two sizes too small, hanging on for dear life.

Even if people noticed, they didn’t say anything; not at first. But of course Robby would be the one to put a stop to that; coming to a halt as he walked by with an ipad in hand, looking at his best friend like he’d just committed a felony in front of him.

“Jesus brother”, Robby says; “Let that shirt breathe.”

Jack turned to look at him, pushing his elbows off the counter of the hub; “What?”

“You look like your shirt’s two seconds away from ripping”, Robby points out, like it’s common knowledge.

“I don’t-“

Dana appears out of thin air next to them; “He’s right. You’ve been eating actual food too.”

Jack’s mouth stays open for a second, before a smirk takes its place; “So what? People eat.”

“You”, Robby says, pointing at him with a look over his glasses; “Don’t eat.”

“This feels like a personal attack”, Jack scoffs, still slightly amused; “You don’t eat either.”

“Correct. But i’m not suddenly showing up two months later looking like an honorary Avenger about to bust out of his scrub top.”

Jack’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking between the two; “You’re unbelievable.”

Jack grabs his own tablet, throwing a mock glare at the two in front of him; “I have patients to see, you know, like a real doctor?”

Then he walks away, throwing a half-hearted wave and a middle finger at whatever Dana and Robby are calling out after him.

Robby shifts on his feet, scoff leaving his mouth; “Damn.”

Dana gives him a look; “Whatever you’re thinking Robinavitch; don’t.”

Robby shakes his head; “No…Abbot’s got a better ass than me.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A week later Jack finds himself standing in the break room, pulling out the lunch box you packed for him—leftovers from dinner the night before. Pasta and bread that he happily reheated in the microwave and toaster oven.

A small yellow sticky note was stuck to the top of the container, his lips already twitching at the corners.

‘Baby! I can’t wait to see you today. Go kick ass & save lives, sexy doctor man !! I love you sooooo much !! PS: I left you a surprise from your fav place !!’ with a little smiley face and heart drawn below it.

Jack’s heart skipped a beat, feeling the heat climbing up his neck and ears; settling on his cheeks as he slipped the note into his pocket to hang in his locker later with all the other notes of yours he kept.

He settled at the round table in the break room, looking further into the lunch box where sure enough—he found a pastry from his favorite bakery around the corner from his apartment.

He took a bite of it, sighing and letting his eyes close as the sweet taste hit his tongue. Shoulders dropping a bit as he relaxed a little into the chair.

He didn’t even open his eyes when the break room door swung open, whoever was stepping inside slipped to the back of his mind.

“Woah, is that homemade pasta?”, Shen’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Jack grunted quietly in response, nodding as he leant forward to take a bite; “Maybe.”

“You got a professional chef at home we don’t know about?”

Jack smirked a little; “Something like that.”

He took another bite, knowing more questions were coming and secretly hoping Shen would just do whatever he came in to do and let him eat in peace—but this was the ED, the night shift nonetheless; and Jack knew that was wishful thinking.

The door swung open behind them, Ellis sliding up next to Shen—stopping in her tracks.

“Abbot’s got homemade pasta”, Shen says, eyes wide.

Ellis leans over to inspect; “Now I know you didn’t cook that yourself.”

Jack raises his brows; “I can cook.”

“Not like that”, Ellis defends; “You burnt the noodles at last year’s potluck.”

“Robby was distracting me.”

“Excuses.”

Jack huffed and took another bite of his food.

“A pastry too? Who’s packing you this stuff?”

Jack takes the last bite of his pasta, pushing himself out of his chair and packing up the empty container; “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He can feel the eyes on him as he puts the lunchbox back into the fridge, pulls out a water and slips past them with a smirk; “Enjoy your break, crawlers.”

Ellis scoffs, turning to Shen; “Fifty bucks says he’s got a woman at home. He’s not cooking like that.”

“Sixty-five”, Shen says, holding out his hand.

Ellis shakes it; “Done.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

The buzz of Jack Abbot’s sudden new eating habits—that actually benefited his body more than a vending machine dinner—quickly reached every corner of the ED. Various bets and hushed whispers of different theories floated around med students and residents alike. Hell, even Robby’s name had made it up on the betting board.

Jack himself couldn’t care less, the hushed whispers of the bet made him smirk to himself; knowing it was driving his coworkers crazy.

He wasn’t keeping you a secret exactly; it had just never directly or seriously come up.

He didn’t pay too much mind to all the whispers about his new size, either—mostly brushing it off as teasing or Robby and Dana just trying to get him all riled up.

But now, as he stood in the bathroom of his apartment—tugging a soft grey t-shirt over his head after a much needed shower; he was starting to think what Robby had said may have some truth to it.

You can hear him huff to himself in the bathroom, words you can’t quite pick up on as you flip through TV channels. A soft groan of frustration or disbelief echoes through Jack’s room, making you sit up more.

“Baby?”, You call, “Everything ok?”

There’s another quiet murmur of something before Jack comes out of the bathroom; hair still damp, greying curls lightening up as they dry. Boxers clinging low on his hips, the grey shirt he has on doing almost nothing to cover the contour and outline of his muscles—clinging to him so close he might as well not even bother wearing it.

Your mouth goes dry, watching as he sets his crutches against the bedside table and slumps down onto the end of the bed—every muscle in his back moving and pulling the shirt fabric even tighter.

“M’fine”, He says, messaging his residual limb; “Just starting to think maybe Robby’s right.”

“Ok…?”, You breathe; “Don’t ever say those words again…but about what?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “I’m serious!”

You shimmy out from underneath the covers, walking on your knees to the end of the bed and letting your hands roam over Jack’s shoulders. He instantly leans into it—like he didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

“He said my scrub top looked too small”, Jack sighs.

“Really?”

“Well actually his exact words were ‘let that shirt breathe, you’re about to rip it’ but I was phrasing it nicer.”

You laugh; “What makes you think he’s right?”

Jack shrugs; “Didn’t notice anything until I tried to put this shirt on and it barely fits. It used to be loose on me…”

He trails off, something in his mind making him think extra hard.

You hum softly, continuing to rub at his shoulders and a little down his arms; playing with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

It’s quiet in the room as Jack continues to massage the tension out of his leg, eyes flicking over whatever TV channel you’d landed on before he came out. You press a soft kiss to his nape.

“Am I bigger?”, He asks suddenly.

Your eyes widen, a surprised laugh escaping your lips; “W-What?”

“Am I bigger?”, He repeats; “Have I put on weight?”

You soften immediately, realizing by the scrunch in his brow; he’s insecure about this.

“Baby, no”, You coo, slipping around to settle into his lap.

His hands come up to your waist, immediately steadying you.

“You’re just eating good”, You assure him.

His brow stays furrowed, a slight pout on his face and lips; eyes not looking at you.

“I mean maybe you’ve put on a few pounds, but with your job and SWAT; it’s all muscle, my love”, You say, letting your fingers comb through his hair.

He doesn’t answer yet, but his brow softens, eyes flicking towards yours now as you move your face in front of his.

“You’re so broad”, You whisper, hands roaming his shoulders again; “So strong.”

“Yeah?”, He asks, eyebrows raising a bit.

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth; “Yeah.”

You giggle softly when you feel his fingers flex at your waist, the way he shivers when you let your hands drift under his shirt—palms pressing flat against his torso. You let them settle there for a moment, fingers tapping against skin before you pull them back—tugging upwards at the hem.

His ears are pink now, but he doesn’t hesitate; pulling the shirt up and over his head with one pull at the back of the collar. It lands somewhere on the floor, but your attention remains on him.

Pale skin with a slight farmers tan disappearing by his elbows; laid out bare in front of you. His eyes flicking around the room, hands back at your waist.

With a soft hand on his jaw, you force him to look at you.

“You’re so thick”, You murmur, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

His grip of your waist tightens, a breath leaving his nose.

Your kisses travel over his skin, trailing over his shoulders and torso; leaving no spot unmarked.

“So full and filled out.”

Kiss.

“So muscular.”

Kiss.

“So handsome.”

Your compliments start drifting elsewhere as you let your kisses trail over him.

“So kind.”

Kiss.

“So caring.”

Another kiss.

“So good to me.”

A kiss to his neck.

Your hands stop at the bottom of his torso, just below his belly button where the slightest bit of softer skin sits just above his waistband. You smooth your hands over it, feeling the muscle below it tense.

You look up, finding Jack’s cheeks the same color as his ears—his eyes wide and waiting. You pinch his skin once, before letting your hands roam back up his freckled arms to his shoulders; cupping his nape in your hands.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack”, You murmur.

A shaky breath leaves him, your lips against his cheeks and nose. He pulls back, eyes searching yours.

“God, I love you”, He huffs, pulling you in for a kiss.

His lips press firm against yours, hands traveling up your back and settling on your ribs. Jack’s forehead stays against yours when he pulls back, eyes still closed.

“It’s your fault, ya know”, He smirks.

You shrug; “I know, and I’m gonna keep feeding my man good.”

He lets out a noise between a groan and something of disbelief when you move off his lap, finding your way back to your spot on the bed. He follows you, rolling over to lay on his stomach; arms framed around his head and tucked under his pillow.

“Besides”, You say, mischievous smile growing; “Your ass looks ridiculously good.”

He yelps when your hand comes in contact with his ass, eyes wide as pink practically runs up his neck.

“Baby!”

“M’not even sorry”, You say, leaning in to capture his lips before he can protest any further.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Something in Jack settles after that, most of the insecurity gone. He takes all the comments from Robby and Dana in stride. He still eats what you pack him, still keeps your notes.

He frowns when he goes to get his lunchbox out, finding it missing with a note in its place.

‘No lunch today, baby. Got a surprise for you!’

He can’t help the way his lips turn up at the corner, curiosity taking over when the door behind him swings open.

“Abbot! We got a MVA coming in”, Dana’s voice cuts him out of his thoughts.

“How long?”

“About two minutes.”

Jack sighs once, putting his bag away and following Dana out the door; the part of him trying to figure out what you were up to slipping to the back of his mind.

About two hours later, the bay doors open around you; boxes stacked in your hands as you wander towards the hub.

“You need help there, hon?”, Dana’s voice comes.

She’s standing at the hub, brows quirked in amusement and confusion.

“Oh hi!”, You chirp; “I just brought some lunch for my boyfriend and his co-workers. Not really sure where to put it though.”

Dana’s smile grows; “Well why didn’t you say so? Follow me, we’ll put those in here.”

She shows you to the break room, holding the door open as you slip in.

“So boyfriend huh? Which one of our lucky med students gets all this food?”, She asks, leading you back to the hub.

“Oh! He’s not a med student, he’s a doctor! Uh, Jack?”, You say.

Dana’s smile widens even further; “So you’re the one who’s feeding our grumpy guy?”

Robby’s head whips up from the other side of the hub, Ellis and Shen slowing to a stop behind him.

You can’t help the laugh the slips out; “He looks grumpy sometimes, but he’s actually not. It’s all a ruse.”

It’s Dana’s turn to laugh; “Huh.”

“He thinks he’s got everyone fooled, but he’s just a big—“

“Sweetheart?”, Jack’s voice breaks through.

Your eyes light up immediately, rushing to meet him halfway; “Jack!”

You meet his chest with a soft thud, arms wrapping around him as you lean up and press a kiss to his lips. He’s frozen for a moment, but immediately melts into the kiss once your lips meet his. His strong hands find your waist, smoothing over them; keeping you both grounded.

Nothing else around him matters in that moment—not whatever trauma he’d just stepped out of, not the fact that his leg was a little sore, not the fact that the ED had fallen almost silent around you; and not Robby or his coworkers bewildered gazes.

He’s melted into you as you wrapped your arms around his torso, tucking yourself under his arm; hand rubbing softly over his ribs.

“Baby!”, You hum; “I missed you.”

Jack’s eyes wander over you; “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a moment where his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly tilting your head up to look at him; worried eyes checking over your features.

“What’re you doing here? Are you ok? Are you hurt?”, His questions come rambling out.

You giggle, squeezing his side; “I’m fine! I brought you and your friends some lunch. It’s in the break room.”

Jack softens, a small graze of his lips against your head; “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know”, You shrug; “But I wanted to.”

The gazes around you narrow, mouths agape at this Jack.

Jack Abbot was a lot of things in the ED; assertive, leading, confident, level-headed, kind, always looking out for everyone in his own quiet way; but he wasn’t soft.

But with you? Jack crumbled under your gaze, the strong-willed and grumpy looking attending was a smiling and sweet puddle in your arms.

“I got that coffee that you like”, You hum.

Jack dips his head down closer to hear you; “From the deli?”

“Mhm, it’s at home on the counter. Where do you think I got the sandwiches from?”

Something sparkles in his eyes; “That’s what you brought us for lunch? Baby, that’s too much.”

But the glint of excitement stays in his eyes.

You tsk and wave him off; “Not for you.”

His face goes unbearably fond, eyes and smile soft. His lips brush against your ear.

“You’re gonna spoil us”, He says, voice low and raspy.

“Let me”, You smirk.

Behind you, Robby finally clears his throat; “Jack you gonna introduce us or do we all just not exist now?”

“You don’t”, Jack rolls his eyes, smirking as Robby feigns hurt.

Jack introduces you, pointing to each of his colleagues that have gathered around; “That’s Robby, he’s annoying.”

You smack his chest; “Be nice!”

Jack doesn’t falter; “That’s Dana, she makes this place run smoothly. Behind her are Ellis and Shen.”

“Oh! You’re Dana!”, You smile; “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

“Oh really—“, Robby starts before Dana stops him with a flick to the back of his neck; “Ow!”

Jack takes that as an opportunity to steer you away from the crowd and into the break room; Whitaker slipping out the door with a mouthful of sandwich from one of the boxes.

“Well it seems like they like the sandwiches”, You say, watching as Jack himself digs into the boxes you’d left on the counter.

“I labeled yours”, You add.

Jack finds his as the words leave your mouth, unwrapping it as he lowers himself onto the small couch—patting his lap; “‘Cmere.”

You drift towards him with a magnetic pull you’ll never be able to explain, finding your spot on his good leg. Hands drifting up to play with the curls on his head; a little sweaty now from working.

He hums around another bite of sandwich, his free arm resting at your back; “Thank you for this, really sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Jack. I like taking care of you”, You tell him.

The smile on your face matches his as he presses a kiss to your temple, offering you a bite that you gladly accept.

“Your friends seem nice”, You add; “Kinda quiet though.”

Jack scoffs, smirk crooked; “Give them a chance.”

“We should have them over sometime, for a barbecue or something.”

Jack hums, palm circling your lower back; “Whatever you want, baby.”

You reach out and grab his chin, catching him off guard; his mouth still half open as he went in for another bite—brows in his hairline.

“I love you”, You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He chases after your lips; “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You let his lips take over yours, warm and present. You jump when you pull back, checking your watch; “Oh! I gotta get going, I’m gonna be late.”

Jack pats your bum as you press another kiss to his lips, slipping out of his lap and heading towards the break room door. You turn back when you get there, smiling at Jack whose eyes have never left you.

“See you at home?”, He asks, not really wanting you to leave.

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth; “With dinner and a hot bath ready.”

Jack groans, already aching to be cuddled up with you and unwind from his shift. You blow him a kiss with a soft wave, that he happily returns before you slip out the door; leaving him alone in the break room.

He can still feel your weight on his lap, your fingers in his hair and your lips against his—a blush and smile creeping up on him as he leans forward for another bite of his sandwich;

“So ‘baby’, huh?”, Robby’s voice comes.

“Shut up, Robinavitch”, Jack juts.

The sound of a clipboard hitting the floor and Robby yelping as he jumps out of the way are all that Jack hears as the door swings shut; humming softly to himself—more than ready to come home to you.

Just check on her for me and make sure she's okay? Promise?

The last words Robby said to Jack echo through his head as he rings your doorbell. He’d left for his sabbatical 2 weeks ago, and Jack was making good on his promise. You don’t answer right away so he rings the doorbell again. He checks the window that looks into the garage. Robby’s truck is parked furthest from him, your car next to it and the empty spot for Robby’s bike on the other side. He walks back up the steps and rings the bell once more. Maybe you’re sleeping, he’ll call you tonight. He turns to leave. 

Promise?

With a heavy sigh, he finds the spare key Robby gave him before he left, slotting it into the lock and pushing open the door. 

“Hello?” he calls out your name, “It’s Jack. I was just - I wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

He hears shuffling from upstairs for a moment before you come to the landing in front of him. Your eyes are rimmed red and a bit swollen. You stand at the top of the stairs, wearing what he can only presume is one of Robby’s hoodies by the way it drapes over your body. 

“How’d you get in my house?” 

He holds his key ring up, shaking it so they clank together, “Robby gave me a key. Thought he told you, sorry.”

“He hasn’t been telling me much of anything lately,” you sniffle, wiping the corner of your eye with your sleeve.

Jack shakes his head. It’s one thing for Robby not to return his texts, but to ignore his own wife?

“He hasn’t called you at all?” 

You shake your head, “The only reason I even know he’s alive at all is because he sends me one good morning and good night text a day. I don’t even know where he is, he hasn’t told me. Did he message you?” 

You sit down on the top step, patting the one beneath you. Jack follows, climbing up the stairs and sitting next to you with a groan. 

“Nope. But he’s not married to me.” 

“Could have fooled me,” you jest, sniffling again, tapping your knee against his arm. 

He returns the gesture, “Any particular reason why you’re crying or just miss him?”

You pause, pursing your lips, “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell him, okay?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You shake your head, “You do TEMS for fun, swear on something else.” 

He’s a little offended, but has no rebuttal, “On Lucille’s grave, I will not tell him whatever it is you’re about to tell me.” 

You take a deep breath, putting your hand in your pocket and pulling out a small plastic stick. You angle it towards him. 

Pregnant - the little stick reads.

“Oh?” he clears his throat, thinking about his next words, “How do…you feel about it?”

You laugh, “Like God is playing some sick fucking joke on me. We tried for years to get pregnant. Finally made our peace with it not being in the cards for us and then, finally it happens when my so-called husband is backpacking through America like an angsty teenager.” 

“Any idea how far along you are?” Jack asks, unsure of what else to say. 

“Period’s always been weird,” you say with a shrug, “and this past month or so I’ve been pulling out all the stops to try and get him to stay. I’ll book an appointment with my OBGYN once it starts to feel real.”

"I’ve got a portable ultrasound in my truck if you want to find out now.” 

You stare at him, “Why the fuck do you have a portable ultrasound in your truck?” 

He stands, offering you a hand, pulling you up when take it, “For when my buddies’ wives need to find out how far along they are in their pregnancies, obviously.” 

About 10 minutes later, you’re laid back on the couch, hoodie rolled under your breasts to reveal your bare tummy along with worn out shorts that have your alma mater’s logo on them. He’s kneeling next to you, angling the screen in your hands so you can both see it. 

“Alright, little bit of cold gel and then let’s see if we can find this guppy.”

Your brows scrunch together in confusion, “Guppy?”

“Yeah, like the little fish,” he says as he starts to move the wand around your abdomen, "technically, this is a veterinary grade ultrasound, but the baby's tiny right now. It’s not chick or kitten-sized yet and a guppy is the smallest thing I can think of right now - stop laughing. I can’t find the baby if your stomach is moving.” 

“Sorry,” you say, unable to stop, “I just didn’t expect you to use your veterinary equipment on me.” 

“Do you want me to find the guppy, or are you going to keep making fun of me?” 

You put your hands up in surrender, eyes falling back to the screen. It takes him a minute - fetuses this small always give him trouble.

“Aha!” he yells out triumphant, “There’s your little guppy.” 

You squint at the screen, “Where?”

He points.

“That’s a blob.” 

He nods as he takes his measurements, “And that blob is your baby. It’s still early so we can only see your gestational sac right now, but guppy is well on their way to becoming a baby. Measurements put you at around 7 weeks, but your OB will be able to get you more accurate information and due dates and all that jazz.” 

Something about the mention of 7 weeks makes a tear spring to your eye, a small smile creeps on your face, “7 weeks?”

“Give or take. This ultrasound’s kinda old, might not be the most accurate.” 

A tear rolls down your face. Jack doesn’t think before he reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb.

“He should be here,” you whisper. 

“You can call him, you know.” 

“No!” your head whips over to him, “You can’t tell him either, Jack. He has to come back for me, not the baby.” 

"I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

And so, Jack ends up in your kitchen, dicing an onion while you sit across from him, sipping on the Shirley Temple he made for you with a bowl of mini pickles that you're crunching on one by one. He'd remember Robby mentioning your love for dirty shirleys while he was he passing by the orange juice and did another lap to get the rest of the ingredients for the mocktail version.

"Taste okay?" he asks.

You nod your head, "It's so good Jack. You really didn't have to."

"I made a promise," he waves a dismissive hand, "How are the pickles?"

"Weird, but I can't stop eating them."

Jack laughs, turning back to his cutting board. With his attention occupied, he misses the way you're entranced by his fingers. The way your eyes narrow as they continue their precise movements to chop it in neat little cubes before moving on to crush the garlic under his thick fingers.

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of your reverie.

"When'd you become a chef?"

"Liked cooking in the army when I had time," he says, moving to turn on the stove.

You scrunch your nose, “I’ve seen army rations, I think I’d rather have my boxed mac and cheese.”

Jack rolls his eyes, sauteing the onions on the pan and turning down the heat when they sizzle with too much intensity, “I can season.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, white boy.”

Turns out this white boy does have game in the kitchen. 

You moan around your fork as the first taste of his homemade baked mac and cheese passes your lips. 

“Told you I knew what I was doing,” he says with a little smirk as he takes his own bite. 

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” you respond as you shovel another heaping pile into your mouth, “In my defense, when it was Robby’s turn to cook dinner it was usually take out."

Jack huffs, “Well, I’m not Robby.” 

You smile at him as you take another bite, "How's everything at the hospital? Everything implode without him yet?” “The world keeps spinning.” 

You groan, “Don’t you get all existential on me too. If you leave me too then I really am pregnant and alone.” 

“You’re not alone,” he reassures you quickly, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be here ‘till he comes back.”

“If he comes back,” you say softly.

Jack takes a steadying breath, “Has he said anything to you?” 

“He’s been sending me money every Monday to ‘help around the house’ which isn’t necessary. We have a joint account I have access to and we each have our separate ones too, but part of me of me thinks that he’s doing it so that I’ll know when he…stops.” 

“Well,” Jack clears his throat, “until he’s back, I’ll be here for you.”

Jack yawns, shaking his head to snap out of his post-shift fog as he waits for you at the door. 

You open the door, eyes bright. 

“Hi!” You must have come home and started baking. Your clothes are worn, faded with time and accessorized with flour on the torso, “I hope you’re hungry.” 

His stomach growls as the smells of the kitchen flood his nose.

“You didn’t have to make all of this,” he says, as he piles chicken breast onto his plate trying not to let the drool seep out of his mouth. 

"I was excited when I came home,” you say with an extra bounce in your step, “I was kind of on edge about the whole thing with Robby being gone and also feeling like this might slip away from me, but I have a due date. An actual due date! I’m letting myself be excited about it - I’m not telling anyone else until 3 months, but I’m excited.” 

Your joy is infectious, and Jack is unable to keep his own smile off his face, “Yeah? When can we expect guppy to arrive.” 

“February 14th, mark the date.”

“Valentines Day? That’s fun.” 

"Well, actually it’s the 18th, but I’m hoping maybe she’ll come early.”

“She? You think it’s a girl?”

You tilt your head to the side, “I think that’s the first time I’ve given her a gender. I guess so. Wanna bet on it?” 

“No ma’am,” he shakes his head, “I want whatever you want since you’re gracing me with this delicious meal.” 

“I’m thanking you for the other night. If you hadn’t come over, I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for at least a week,” you give him a friendly shove as he passes you by on his way to the dinner table, “Save room for dessert. I’ve got chocolate chip cookies." 

Jack grunts as your finger digs into his ribs, waking him with a start. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“Easy, soldier,” you say, rubbing a soothing hand along his back, “everything is fine. You fell asleep on the couch. I was just trying to tell you that I’m going up to bed now.”

“Yeah, okay,” he nods, stifling a yawn, “Did I leave my keys on the counter?”

“Jack, stay in the spare room. It’s late and you just worked a full shift.” 

“No, I’m okay,” he shakes his head, “Just give me a minute to wake up properly.” 

“If you die because you fell asleep at the wheel, I would never forgive you for leaving me here alone,” you jest, offering a hand to him, “Come. I’ll get you some of Robby’s pjs.”

He's passed out in the guest bedroom 15 minutes later.

Jack understands why Robby used to complain that he could never lose weight now. Your baking business had really taken off in the last year, and the smell of fresh brownies in the oven will always cause his stomach to rumble. 

"Almost done?"

He can't see you given that half his body is inside of your dryer to figure out why your dryer no longer spins and if he needs to take you out shopping tomorrow.

"Just about," he grunts, trying not to get distracted.

"I have been baking all day and my back is hurting, so I'm ordering pizza. I hope that has enough nutritional value for you, doctor."

"It doesn't," his back cracks as he carefully maneuvers himself out from your dryer and stretches, "But I'll give you a pass because I also don't feel like cooking right now. You free tomorrow? You need a new dryer."

"No, I'm frosting the cakes and the cupcakes I made. They're picking up in the evening, so everything needs to be done by 4 pm tomorrow."

"I get back in 4 days, let me know when you've got time."

You nod, holding up your phone to show the food delivery app, "Any preferences for toppings?"

"I'm not picky."

"Barbeque chicken it is. It'll be here in 45."

By the time Jack finishes gathering his things, you're pulling something out of the oven that smells intoxicating to his empty stomach.

"And chance I can steal a slice of that?" he jokes.

"Not unless you want to ruin a teenage girls life by eating her birthday cake," you say, setting the hot tray down on a trivet before grabbing a pan full of batter and holding it up for him, "These brownies are yours though, they'll be ready soon.

"Oh, you didn't have to. If I'd known you were baking all day, I wouldn't have asked."

"Please, it's the least I could do. You just have to make sure to eat it all."

"If I must."

For the 3rd time in as many weeks, Jack finds himself sitting on your couch in front of the TV as you scroll through movie options.

"What are you in the mood for?" you ask, taking a bite of your pizza.

"I'm not picky," he shrugs.

"Don't do that. If you don't point me in a direction then I'm gonna be looking through the catalogue until midnight."

"Something funny," he says after thinking for a bit.

"You ever seen 'Monsters Inc.'?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, get used to watching kids movies, Uncle Jack."

Halfway through the movie, Jack turns to you.

"I said 'something funny'."

"You were laughing the entire time!"

"Her door is destroyed! He can't go visit her again, what part of that is happy?"

"Just watch the movie, Jack."

He turns back to the screen.

He watches the final scene, Sully placing the last piece of Boo's door, opening it and hearing the little girl scream "Kitty!" before the credits roll.

He feels your hand rub his arm, "See! Happy ending."

"You could have told me it was going to be sad in the middle."

"All kids movies are secretly tragic. This is one of the better ones," you laugh at him.

He looks at his watch, "I should head out before you traumatize me more."

"Just stay. It's late. You can be my taste tester tomorrow while I frost things."

He mulls it over, in his head. With the TV off your the lamplight casts a warm glow over your bronze skin and soft smile. Your thumb skirts along his knuckles, "Fine, but you're not always going to win me over with sweets you know."

"The fact that there is only half the pan brownies left says otherwise."

Jack ignores the insistent buzzing against his thigh while he works on the patient in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's worried something has happened to you - you're the only person that really texts him regularly now. But he shoves the rising panic away for now until he can give you his full attention.

He nearly drops his phone at the sheer amount of notifications - all from you. He tells Dana he's stepping out and to refer everyone to Mohan or Ellis for now.

"Hey," he says as soon as the line connects, "What's going on? Everything okay?"

Your sniffle makes Jack contemplate running to his truck immediately.

"Sorry, I-I didn't mean to bother you while you're working but I, um, started spotting a while ago and I googled - which I know I shouldn't have - and now I'm thinking worst case scenarios."

The waver in your voice makes his chest ache.

"How much? And when did you start?"

"Um, about an hour ago. And not a lot - but that's how my other…losses started. Not a lot and then a lot."

"Come in," he says immediately, "Some spotting before 12 weeks is normal and I'm sure everything is fine, but I want to get you checked out anyways okay? I'll send an Uber."

"I can drive," you sniffle again.

"No, I don't want you driving when you're like this. I'll send you the details, okay?"

"Okay," your voice is quiet.

"I'll see you soon. Lupe will send you back as soon as she sees you."

He pulls Samira aside as soon as he sees her.

"I can trust you to be discreet, right?"

She frowns, "That's entirely dependent on the situation. Patient care, of course. Hiding a body, absolutely not."

"That won't be necessary," he chuckles, "Though, I suppose it's good to know not to ask you to help me if I ever commit a crime."

"So what do you need?"she says with a smile.

"Robby's wife is pregnant, about 10 weeks along now, had some light spotting which started about an hour ago. She's had some miscarriages before so she's coming in to make sure everything's okay."

She nods along at the information, "Is Robby also coming? I didn't realize he didn't go on his motorcycle trip around the world."

Jack grimaces, "That's the thing - he doesn't know and she doesn't want to tell him. I'm not gonna get into it, but that's why I'm asking you to keep things under wraps while she's here. And if anybody recognizes her, just don't feed into any rumours."

"Of course."

"And I haven't forgotten about your letter of recommendation yet. I was going to start it tonight, so this is the perfect opportunity to show me your skills for the obstetrics fellowship."

"I won't disappoint," she's about to leave when she turns back to Jack, "Oh, if you're worried about people recognizing her, ask Dana for the new hire nurses. They started last week. They won't know who she is."

"That's why you're my favourite resident," he chuckles, "don't tell Ellis."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Dana rushes you into a room as soon as you get there, practically ripping Jack away from where he's supervising Javadi's sutures and commanding Mckay to do it instead.

"Why is Robby's wife telling me that she's pregnant and you know?"

"Because she is. And I know."

"Does he?"

"Not my business."

Dana pinches the bridge of her nose,"You didn't think this was the chance to get him back here in one piece."

"What I think means nothing. And you're not telling him either. She's now officially a patient and communication back to Robby becomes a HIPAA violation."

"You gonna report me?" she scoffs.

"No," no point in lying, "But if she doesn't want to tell then she doesn't have to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to attend to my patient."

With Samira in tow, he knocks on the door. You look so small on the gurney. You've already changed into your patient gown, eyes rimmed red as you stare off at the wall.

"Hey," he says quietly, "This is Dr. Mohan, I'm sure you've met before."

"We have," you nod.

"She'll be doing your ultrasound today, if that's alright."

You look at him with glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill more, "You're not going to do it?"

"Technically I'm not allowed to treat you because we're friends," he walks to stand by the bed, "But don't worry. You're in the best hands, other than me of course."

He lets out a small sigh of relief when you roll your eyes at his joke.

"So, Mrs. Robinavitch, I undestand you've been experiencing some spotting. About how much blood loss would you estimate?"

"Um, not enough to fill a pad. But I've had - I've had miscarriages before."

"Any cramping?"

"A little."

"We're waiting for your blood tests, but because of your history, I'd like to do a transvaginal ultrasound instead an abdominal one to get a clearer view."

"Do you-," you wipe the tear that rolls down your face, "Do you think it's ectopic?"

"It could be. And if it is, we want to catch it early," Samira says, voice soft, "It could also be something fixable or nothing at all."

You suck in a breath, taking a moment, "Yeah. Okay, do whatever you need."

Her eyes flick over to Jack before looking back at you, "If you'd like, I can ask Dr. Abbot to step out."

"Oh no," you shake your head, "I'd like him to stay. Just, you know, stay north of the border please."

"Scout's honour."

Samira preps the ultrasound before telling you to put your legs in the stirrups.

"Alright, you're going to feel some pressure. Let me know if you need a break, okay?"

"Okay," you say. Your fingers twitch in our lap as you look blankly at the screen.

Jack reaches out to clasp his hand in yours. It's not until you fidget idly with his wedding ring that he realizes you're not wearing yours, and he tries to remember when the last time he saw you with it on. He doesn't have an answer.

"You feeling okay?" he asks.

"Peachy!" you narrow your eyes at him.

"Just checking."

Jack adjusts the screen ever so slightly and watches with baited breathe. He slumps in relief when the ultrasound shows that your baby is exactly where it's supposed to be.

"There we are!" Samira says with a smile, "Not ectopic. Baby is safe and sound in your uterus."

"Oh thank god," you breathe, "Is she okay?"

"From what I can see, everything looks normal, but we're going to take some measurements and other tests just to be sure. We'll listen to the heartbeat first."

She nods to Jack who reaches over and hits the button. A telltale thumping fills the room. Your eyes start to water.

"That's good," he says, turning back to you, "Strong. Exactly what we want to hear."

After running every test Samira wants - being married to the chief attending does come with a fairly good insurance package - she deems you and baby to be healthy enough to go home. Of course, it comes with strict instructions to come back if anything changes.

"I hope everything goes well with the rest of your pregnancy," she says when she's about to leave, "Take your time getting dressed. And, if you have any other questions, you can ask me or Dr. Abbot."

"Thank you, Samira," you respond earnestly, "Really, I couldn't have asked for a better doctor."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Jack grumbles good-naturedly, "I'm going to stick around here for a bit longer. Think you can keep Dana off my case till I'm done?"

"Of course! You are in charge of my recommondation letter after all."

After she leaves, you turn to him in confusion, "You're writing the letter? I thought she's worked with Robby since she was a med student. Or did he forget to do it before he left? I swear-"

"No, no," he shakes his head, "Her and Robby's relationship kind of…deteriorated towards the end. She felt more comfortable asking me."

"Deteroriorated how?"

"I don't know the full story but on his last day here, there was an incident that involved him…reprimanding her harshly in front of her peers."

You know your husband well enough to know what that means.

"Did he fucking yell at her in front of everybody? I swear to god, if he ever comes back-"

"Stop. Stop. Don't stress yourself out right now," he pauses, "And he will come back."

You pause.

"At this point, I don't know if I want him to," you mutter, "He's missing everything. I didn't get to do a cutesy pregnancy reveal, I have no one to make me hot chocolate at 3 in the morning when the baby won't let me sleep, and I bother his fucking friend when I think I'm having a miscarriage. He's gone, my husband is gone and all I ever get as a sign of life is a lousy text every couple days and a fucking allowance once a week. When I heard the heartbeat, it really hit me - I'm fucking alone."

He wipes the tear rolling down your cheek.

"You're not alone. You did good calling me, okay? You are not a bother, I will answer everytime you call - even at 3 am when all you want is hot chocolate. I'll be there. Okay?"

"Okay," you whisper.

"The machine in the break room is shitty, but I can make a cup right now for you and the little squirrel."

"Squirrel?" you frown.