Winging this shit like my eyeliner

“You guys are getting like, really serious.” Cassie remarks, taking a piece of sushi from the tray. Cam’s head snaps up quickly from her wasabi and soy sauce she’s mixing together with her chopsticks. 

“I mean…I don’t know if it's really serious.” Cam scoffs, reaching for a piece of nigiri.

“What would you call it?” Cassie McKay asks, raising her eyebrows at her over their shared sushi plate. Cam goes to argue, but begins reminiscing instead, her heart blooming at all the time they’ve spent together this summer, making dinner, watching movies, and tasks of domesticity that suddenly feel novel when done in a pair. Cam nearly squirms in her chair when she thinks of all of the other carnal activities they’ve gotten into lately. Last week, the preparation for dinner was abandoned halfway through to fly upstairs into the bedroom, Jack taking charge, nearly tearing her shorts in order to breach her petals. Cam looks up, realizing Cassie is staring at her still, making her go back to stir her soy and wasabi. 

“We’re…cohabitating on occasion.” Cam shrugs, reaching for another piece of nigiri. 

“Occasion? Do you like…switch whose place you stay at?” Cassie asks softly, leaning more forward. Cam shakes her head around her bite of sushi. 

“No, he comes over to my house. I told him he didn’t have to stay at my shitty house, but he said there’s a lot of memories at home, so he prefers my place. It works, but I feel bad that he’s staying in my hovel in Duquesne Heights.” Cam stumbles through. What Jack had really said was he felt his house was full of ghosts of his past, that it was easier to move forward outside of that enviroment.  

She’s desperate to make it sound more casual than it is, despite the fact that Cam knows Jack has filled a third of her dresser drawers with clothes, that he has a key to her house, and a hook by the door for his work bag. She doesn’t want to say any of it out loud. She fears it will evaporate before her eyes, becoming a memory so distant it is covered in a deep haze, like vaseline on a camera lens. Loneliness has been her baseline for as long as she can remember. It’s second nature, after keeping her family at an arm’s reach for her sanity, leaving home and traveling as a scrub tech. Even when her father was dying, it felt more clinical to care for him than something done out of kindness. She loved him, and tenderly took care of him in his last few months, but she still felt secluded. Jack is the first person she has been close to in possibly decades that she feels she can depend on. Cam has never been good at asking for help; growing up in her family, it was easier to find a way to do something without ever notifying her parents that it would necessitate their attention. At first she felt feeble, having him help her do small things, like carrying groceries from the street, making her coffee, or helping her hang new curtains. Now, it seems so easy, no longer having to work twice as hard, the companionship making her softer and more vulnerable. It scared her at first, but now she realizes how truly serious their relationship is for her to become so trusting of Jack. Her mouth dries, and she reaches for her water glass quickly, hoping the ice water will distract her from her thundering heart. 

“That sounds serious.” Cassie smirks, making Cam chuckle nervously. 

“I don’t know.” Cam mumbles, ducking her head slightly, feeling her cheeks heat. 

“I mean, it’s okay that it’s maybe serious. Your secret is safe with me, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Cassie nearly whispers, leaning over their small cocktail table at the Penn Ave Fish Co. 

“It’s not…not serious?” Cam squeaks, relieved when the waiter comes by to check on their table.

“Are you guys like…not…” Cassie stops, brushing her bangs back for a moment.

“Are you asking about–” Cam asks slowly. 

 “Nevermind. I don’t need to know about my attending’s sex life.”  Cassie says quickly, shaking her head. Cam swallows hard, relief flooding her bloodstream. 

“I’ve…never had a successful relationship. His last relationship ended in death. I am perfectly content with what we’re doing. Also, I’m too old to have a ‘boyfriend’.” Cam sighs. 

“I would just be content for some good sex.” Cassie murmurs.  “Between residency, the street team and Harrison, I don’t have any time for myself, let alone time for someone else.” she scoffs. 

“You know, there’s an adult entertainment shop on the way to my house, it’s probably more efficient to just shop there.” Cam chuckles, making Cassie roll her eyes and shake her head. The waiter comes by, bringing by the next plate of sushi, making silence wash over the table, the steamy topic cooling quickly in front of company. 

“How’s your brother?” Cassie asks, clearing her throat as the waitstaff refills their water. 

“He’s good. The program at the V.A helped him connect with some people. He’s leaving the residential housing on the campus and getting an apartment with some other vets.” Cam explains. 

“He doesn’t want to live with you? I know you were offering.” Cassie asks, grabbing another piece of nigiri. 

“He said he doesn’t want to ‘cramp my style’, but I think he also maybe doesn’t want to live in my grandparents' old house. Not like we have an excess of good memories with our family. Probably doesn’t need the stress of that place.” 

“Maybe it’s because he knows it’s getting serious with Abbot.” Cassie smiles, making Cam roll her eyes. 

“You know, you could go to lunch with him and talk about your shared dreams for my relationship.” Cam snorts.

“Someone has to have some luck for romance, and it’s not me. When does your brother have to move from the V.A housing?” 

“At the end of the month, since that will be the end of the ninety day time period. Can’t believe it’s been three months since that whole debacle.” Cam sighs, running a hand through her hair, her heart caught in her throat, swept into the memories of that stressful time.

“Can you believe it’s almost July?” Cassie remarks. “I’m nearly a fourth year resident, I’m going to be responsible for so much, and medical students, and other residents.” Cassie groans, sweeping her bangs off of her forehead. 

“Oh, my God, I completely forgot about medical students in July.” Cam laments. 

“At least you don’t have to worry about them ordering so much heparin that the patients are going to hemorrhage out of every orifice. Last year, a med student ordered thirty thousand units on a woman who weighed 50 kilos. One too many zeros. Thank God Mateo called her out before she gave the dose.” Cassie chuckles, shaking her head. 

“Well, now I get to keep medical students from touching every sterile thing in the O.R with their bare fucking hands.” Cam sighs. 

“I mean, I guess it’s our opportunity to teach the next generation of doctors. Teach them, do better than the people who taught us, maybe one of them will change the world.” Cassie says with a dreamy tone in her voice. Cam snorts out a laugh, beginning to cackle as Cassie’s shoulders start to shake. 

“How about they just don’t contaminate my shit? We can build the next Doctor Debakey when they make it out of intern year.” Cam declares, grabbing another piece of sushi. 

“Sounds good.” Cassie sighs, smiling. 

—---------------------------------------------

Cam unlocks the front door, ditching her shoes and purse in the entryway.The living room is empty and dark, and she heads down the hallway, toward the glow from the back bedroom. Cam peers around the doorway, seeing Jack finishing up yoga, wiping the sweat from his neck and face with a thin, blue towel from the O.R. He’s shirtless, in a pair of shorts, making Cam gawk at the view. 

“How was dinner?” Jack asks softly.  

“Not bad. Got sushi. Thinking about making a snack, though. Are you hungry?” Cam asks, Jack walks up to her, pressing himself into her, grabbing her waist, making her recoil. “Jack, you’re sweaty.” She chides, a smile pulling at her lips despite the feeling of his body slick against her and her clothing. 

“You look good. Really good.” Jack says, not letting go of her until she allows him to give her a kiss, which she relinquishes. “I made chicken, with those tiny roasted potatoes.” 

“Ooh, with the parmesan?” Cam asks, smiling wide. Jack nods, the warmth of his damp body spreading to her, his smile matching her own. 

“And brussel sprouts.” Jack recites, making them sound explicit and sexy. Cam laughs, pulling away from him now. 

“Okay, now I’m definitely hungry.” Cam says, heading into the hallway. Jack pulls her hand back toward him, making her look at him again. He’s got that small grin on his face that drives every part of her body mad. “What?” She asks, eyeing him as he wraps his hands around her waist again. 

“You look so good.” Jack says softly.

“And you are so sweaty.” Cam laughs. 

“We could both be sweaty.” Jack replies, his hands sliding toward her hips, his eyebrow raised. Cam exhales, a rush of heat enveloping her, a surge of pressure forming in her pelvis. 

“You act like I can resist you when you’re dry.” Cam simpers. 

“I just like reminding you that I’m that good.” Jack says, opening the door to the stairs. 

“You’re a braggart.” Cam sighs, walking up the stairs. 

Jack pulls up on the street, his bumper as close to the mini cooper as it can get without trading paint. He steps out onto the pavement, already warming beneath his feet. He pulls his old army bag out of the back, hauling the olive beast onto his other shoulder from his work bag before heading up the stairs. He goes to knock, before a smile pulls at his lips, putting his hand back in his pocket. Cam had given him a key ten days before, making his keys suddenly foreign to him; the weight and the sound of his keys changed, but he was grateful that he could get into the house without looking like a crazy man, ringing the doorbell and calling her name.

“Cam?” Jack calls softly. He drops his black work backpack by the door, joining the heap that is Cam’s work bag, purse, lunchbox and shoes. He opens the door upstairs, calling her name again. He doesn’t hear anything in response, no shifting mattress, no creak from the upstairs hardwood floor. He closes the door, now heading into the kitchen, beginning to feel like he’s playing detective. The coffee pot is off, half full, and only slightly warm. His brow furrows now. He looks out the back door from the kitchen, onto the back porch, and his mystery is solved. He drops his olive bag onto one of the dinette chairs, heading out the back door and stepping down the old steep stairs carefully. Cam is on a vintage metal chaise lounge with a throw blanket. Her sunglasses are on her face, barely, and her mouth is open, snoring softly. He chuckles softly before bending down and touching her shoulder.

“Good morning.” Jack announces, making Cam jump. The book that she had squirreled away in her blankets leaps from her arms as she sits more upright. She squints at him before correcting the position of her sunglasses and stretching.

“What time is it?” Cam asks, yawning. 

“Almost 9. How long have you been out here?” Jack asks, picking her thrown book off the cracked patio. 

“I don’t know. Dusk? What time was dusk today?” Cam asks, swinging her legs over to maneuver her way out of the chair. 

“I have no idea. You’re going to get sunburned sleeping out here. Actually, with your complexion, you might just burst into flames.” Abbot simpers. Cam rolls her eyes in response as she gathers everything and heads towards the door.

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I would come out here and enjoy the sunrise at least.” Cam explains, shuffling up the stairs with her blanket around her neck. 

“How was it?” Jack asks.

“I fell asleep.” Cam mumbles, making Jack chuckle. “You hungry?” She offers, entering the house and throwing the blanket and book on the loveseat. 

 “No, I had a protein bar in the car. Ready to hit the sack.” Jack sighs. Cam opens the door to the upstairs bedroom, giving Jack a flourishing bow for him to go first. Half way up the stairs, she makes a noise of disgust from behind him on the stairs.

“That bag smells terrible.” Cam coughs out. 

“It’s the waterproofing. It’s got a unique smell.” Abbot explains. 

“You know, I emptied out some of my dresser drawers, so you don’t have to keep hauling that thing over.” Cam explains. Jack turns to look at her in the doorway of the bedroom, eyebrows raised. “You just always pack out and pack back in, like it’s some kind of military mission. You can leave stuff here. You don’t have to ‘leave no trace’, or whatever. It’s my home, not a campground.” 

“You don’t have to throw out your clothes. I can leave this here, if that’s better.” Abbot sighs, dropping the bag next to Cam’s dresser. 

“It was old stuff. None of it fits anymore. No point in keeping jeans that I can’t get in without breaking a fingernail.” Cam scoffs. 

“You were trying on jeans that took a lot of effort, and I wasn’t here?” Jack asks softly, smirking. He sees Cam’s neck and chest flush red in his peripheral vision, making his smile wider.

“I’m serious, Jack. I mean if you don’t want to…cohabitate in a more efficient manner…” Cam stumbles, now crossing her arms. “I get that. I won’t push about it again. You’re allowed to leave stuff here. I like…feeling your presence in the house when you’re not here.” She finishes softly, looking at the floor. Jack’s pulse slams in his neck, and he swallows hard before turning to her.

“I spend more time here than at my place. I have a key, which I actually used this morning. If you really don’t like my old sea bag, I’ll put my stuff in the dresser. It’s a good bag, Cam. It’s been around the world.” Jack says, gesturing to it on the floor. The attachment to that bag is palpable and foolish, he knows. The black spray painted lettering with his name on it is faded, but not invisible. His unit had been blacked out with his DoD number since he got out, but he kept his name, remembering the stench of spray paint lingered on it for months, soaked into the canvas.

“I know it’s been around the world.” Cam sighs. She has a small battery operated vacuum she keeps up in the upstairs closet, and she pulls it from its cradle. She hefts Jack’s bag up off the floor and turns the vacuum on, the crackling sound of dirt, sand and rocks being sucked into the small canister as she runs it around the space where the olive cylinder always lands. She turns the vacuum off, eyebrow raised at Jack. “It’s leaving half of the world on my hardwood floors.” She growls. Jack locks his eyes onto hers, taking the canvas strap from her hands. 

“It’s a little dusty.” Jack shrugs. 

“Like you?” Cam snorts. 

“Better than burnt to a crisp, like you almost were.” Jack ripostes. 

“Oh, please, you just want to put aloe all over my body.” Cam says, rolling her eyes, getting her side of the bed ready. 

“I’m just mad about not watching you try on tight jeans.” Abbot explains, taking his shirt off and putting it on top of the olive sack. 

“Jack!” Cam cries, turning on her bedside lamp and closing the black out curtains. 

“If I get a dresser drawer, does that mean I can get a lamp on my side of the bed? I almost ended up needing a hemicraniectomy trying to go downstairs to pee last week.” Jack asks. 

“I can get you one of those little kid night lights, the ones that come apart, so you can carry it downstairs with you, since you’re so afraid of the dark.” Cam snorts. 

“I’m not scared of the dark, I only have one fucking leg, Cam.” Jack retorts. “You’re the one who covers the house in complete darkness, it’s like sleeping over at Doctor Frankenstein’s house.” 

“It’s good for nightshifters, to create a false circadian rhythm.” Cam argues, shimmying under her quilt. 

“You barely sleep three hours at a time.” Jack huffs, adjusting his pillows under his neck. 

“Can you imagine how little I would sleep without being shrouded in darkness?” Cam asks. 

“You slept just fine, out on the patio.” Jack remarks, grabbing Cam by the waist and pulling her closer to him in the bed. 

“Well, maybe, it’s because I don’t sleep as well, without you in the bed.” Cam mutters. Jack pushes her hair out of her face and kisses her deeply. 

“I understand. I sleep better with you next to me, too.” Jack murmurs. Cam shifts, putting her head closer to his chest, and Jack wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Are you going to dinner with McKay tonight?” Jack asks softly. Cam grumbles an affirmative, pressing herself further into him.

People often talk about physiological synchrony in relationships; people's heart rates matching up, beating together. Jack has had more than enough training to know it’s bunk science, that it’s just a matter of statistics and physiology that pulses match one another on occasion, but as Cam is pressed against him, he can feel his pulse slow as her breathing deepens as she falls asleep in his arms quickly, and he is sure he can feel her pulse thrum in time with his own.  

Jack’s eyes open, his mind groggy and his body aching from the last few shifts. He realizes he’s alone in the bed, as he often is with Cam’s insomnia. He moseys downstairs, finding Cam at the dinette table, tools splayed across the table. 

“What’s burning?” Jack mumbles, squinting as the low sun shines through the windows at the back of the house, illuminating dust motes, and the small tendril of smoke coming off the table. Cam jumps, looking up from her work. 

“Soldering. Almost done. Coffee in the pot if you want some.” Cam says, furrowing her brow and leaning back over her project. She’s dressed for her dinner with McKay, a navy dress hugging her chest, giving him a chasm of cleavage to view.

“You look nice.” Jack remarks, pouring himself a cup of coffee before leaning against the counter, admiring her lost in her work. Cam never sleeps, it seemed, as if she was the old energizer bunny from battery commercials, she was constantly doing projects or fixing something. Often it seemed, they weren’t even for her or her house. Jack had come by one evening to realize despite assuring him she would be home, she wasn’t in the house. After two phone calls, she finally picked up, explaining she was down the road, having walked to help the elderly neighbor with her dryer that wouldn’t heat up anymore. She kept her hands busy constantly, and it amazed him everytime he saw her deep in focus. Her hair was pulled back as she hunched over the table, soldering a few more pieces before sitting up. It looks like she’s heading headfirst into a bowl, she’s so lost in her project. 

“What was that? I’m sorry.” Cam asks, blinking as she leans back in the chair, stretching her previously hunched form. 

“What are you soldering?” Jack asks, pulling out the chair across from her. He’s grateful he looks down at the chair, because it’s covered in parts, he recognizes some of them, at least, now guessing at what she’s doing. 

“Are you making a lamp?” Jack asks, pulling out the next chair and sitting down next to her. 

“Fixing a lamp.” Cam explains, unplugging the soldering gun and standing to grab the pieces off the chair. She takes the base, sitting it upright. “It’s been broken in the basement for a while, but I figured if I secure that one loose piece of stained glass and re-wire it, it would be perfect.” Cam explains, now flipping over the lamp shade and securing it to the socket, before screwing a bulb into the base. 

“Perfect for McKay? Are you taking a lamp to dinner with you?” Jack asks, watching her intently as she untangles the cord and plugs it into one of the outlets above the counter tops. She flicks it on, smiling as it makes her face glow, flecks of color shining on her skin.

“No. For you.” Cam says, holding it out. Jack freezes for a moment, as she offers him the lamp. “You said you wanted a lamp for your bedside table.” 

“You already got me a lamp?” Jack asks, incredulous. It’s an old Tiffany style lamp, blue with flecks of orange, dragonflies surrounding the edge. It definitely still needs some TLC with a toothbrush and some glass cleaner, probably from her father’s habit of two packs of cigarettes a day for forty something years. The man had a pack history that looked like two milennia before he died, and Jack understood why Cam had to paint every inch of the house when she had told him that information in passing.

“I didn’t buy it. I fixed it. I had the repair parts, it was in the basement, I had been meaning to finish it, I just hadn’t had the time. Did you want something different? I can order you the nightlight if you want inst—” Cam remarks, but Jack stops her, giving her a kiss, his hand wrapping around her own around the base of the lamp. 

“You’re incredible.” Jack murmurs.

“I wouldn’t say that, it’s just a dusty old lamp. I think it was in the living room.” Cam says, switching off the light running her other palm across the base. She swipes her hand on her dress, leaving a dark grey streak across the skirt. 

“Honey, your dress.” Jack says, now taking the lamp from her and setting it gently on the counter. Jack takes the towel off the oven bar, running it under the faucet for a moment. 

“It’s fine.” Cam scoffs, rubbing her hand over the grime, but it doesn’t budge. Jack bends down, putting one hand under her dress and the other blotting the dust covered spot with damp water. “Did you call me ‘honey’?” Cam asks, her brow furrowed. 

“Is that bad? You look nice.” Jack says, sandwiching the streaks with his hand and the tea towel. 

“Is that why your hand is under my dress?” Cam asks, snorting. 

“I’m getting the spot out. You know, I was always asked to help get stains out of uniforms back when I was in the military.” Jack explains softly,  now lifting the towel, the sign of any grime gone from the hip of her dress. “Is it okay? That I called you ‘honey’?” Jack asks, focusing on ensuring the fabric is clean, rather than looking in her eyes. He had said it without noticing, the affection escaping his lips before his brain could catch up. 

“Is it okay that I fixed a lamp so you stop feeling like you sleep in a crypt?” Cam asks softly. Jack stands, nodding at her. “It was really sweet, honestly. I think I liked it? I expected you to say something more old-timey, though. Maybe ‘sweet cheeks’, ‘doll’, ‘sugar’. Can I call you something old-timey?” Cam asks, smiling wide. 

“Aren’t you gonna be late to dinner?” Jack asks. 

“What’s that, dear?” Cam asks, chuckling as she washes her hands at the sink. 

“I can clean up, you should get to dinner.” Jack explains, unplugging the lamp and picking it up off the counter. 

“I was going to clean that first.” Cam explains, drying her hands. 

“Don’t dirty your dress, go enjoy your time with Cassie.” Jack says, shooing her away as he begins to gather tools. 

“Okay, honey bunch, you’re in charge!” Cam calls, seemingly trying to imitate a trans-Atlantic accent, but sounding like a warbling Julia Childs. 

“Drive safe!” Jack calls, a wide smile on his face as he begins to sort through the mess on the table in front of him.

Cam has never been a good sleeper. As a young child, her mother would rage at her for getting up out of bed. Cam learned quickly it was better to be silent, mastering the art of sliding out of the bedroom she shared with Maureen to read in the living room, play solitaire by herself or when she was older, stealing her brother’s game boy. It was part of the reason that night shift attracted Cam so much; she never slept much at night, so she might as well make extra money with shift-differential pay. 

Cam usually wakes up two or three times before her alarm around four in the evening, but she knows it’s later by the orange light seeping into the room in the gap between the curtains. She rolls over, reeling at her sleeping heavily, when she sees the rumpled side of the bed that contained Jack hours before. Her heart aches slightly, realizing he left, but another part of her awakens when she realizes the scent of him is on her bed. Cam has to pull herself out of the bed, throwing a pair of opaque pants and t-shirt on and heading downstairs. She heads into the kitchen, seeing the coffee pot is on and warm. Cam shuffles into the living room, and sees him. Jack is outside, the hood of her car open, leaning on the fenders. She slides on a pair of sandals, stepping out onto the porch over to the car, which is running. 

“You got it fixed?” Cam asks as Jack closes the hood of her car. 

“The battery was dead. The light in the trunk was switched on.” Jack explains, taking the keys from his own car, which is pulled up close to her Mini. 

“I didn’t know you were so mechanically inclined.” Cam grins at him, unsure if she's more relieved that he hadn’t left or her car is running. 

“I’m not. If it wasn’t a battery or a flat tire I’m useless.” Jack says with a smirk. 

“Do you need to head to work soon? Or do you want to stay for breakfast?” Cam offers, heart now thundering against her sternum.

“I can stay for breakfast.” Jack says, now cutting the engine of her car and handing her back her keys. 

Jack sits at the dinette set, in the kitchen as Cam rummages through the cupboards and refrigerator.

“Uhh, I don’t have any eggs. I can do…no, I’m out of milk. Uh. Shit.” Cam mumbles, leaning down into the open freezer. She turns back to see Jack with that small little smirk on his face, making her blush. “What? She asks, standing. 

“Just enjoying the view.” Jack demures, making Cam scoff. She sits beside him at the dinette, slouching. 

“I can make fried rice, and spaghetti." Cam says with a chuckle, running a hand through her hair. 

“What if we did something else?” Jack asks, stirring his coffee with the spoon sitting in the cup. 

“I mean, I can order breakfast. We could go to DeLucas…”  Cam lists, but Jack’s expression looks serious, making Cam stop and furrow her brow.

“Do you want to go back upstairs?” Jack asks softly, looking up from fussing with his coffee cup. 

“Oh, if you’re tired, you should for sure go back upstairs. You don’t need…Oh.” Cam stops talking, realizing that Jack’s hesitation was not from fatigue. 

“We could go out to breakfast, if you want.” Jack says quickly, leaning back in his chair. 

“No. It’s not that. I just…Yeah, sure. We should go upstairs.” Cam says, her voice developing a small tremor. She stands quickly, the dinette chairs rubberized feet screeching across the vintage linoleum. Cam’s face feels hot as she heads towards her bedroom, like her grandmother is going to suddenly appear and ask her why she’s taking a boy upstairs. Jack holds the door for her, and she walks up the steps first, her hands starting to shake as she holds onto the bannister. 

She reaches her bedroom, the sheets and blankets still a rumpled heap in the middle of the bed. Cam is sweating, so she tosses the blankets off the bed onto the floor before sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m going to take off my prosthesis. It can…get in the way sometimes.” Jack explains haltingly.

“Okay.” Cam says softly. Jack starts to take off his pants, and Cam averts her gaze from him. She shimmies off her own in response, folding them neatly for some foolish reason, despite the fact Cam is more the type to ditch them to her ankles and fling them across the room toward the hamper. She shimmies off her shirt, tossing it on the floor this time. Cam fights the urge to cover herself up, sitting exposed on the edge of her bed.

“What do you want, Cam?” Jack asks softly. 

“I thought me taking off my pants was an indicator.” Cam snorts, although she’s breathless from nerves. She turns to look at him as he sits at the foot of the bed.  

“What do you like?” Jack asks, taking off his shirt. Cam gawks at him, the freckles and brawn of his shoulders and chest. She’s grateful he doesn’t have visible abs at least, which would make her more nervous than she is now. 

“I’ll be honest, it’s been, uh, a long while.” Cam mumbles, sliding onto the bed, no longer resisting the urge and grabbing a sheet to cover her body. Jack’s still in his underwear, so Cam keeps her bra and underwear on. She wishes she had worn something more exciting, something with color, lace or frill, but it’s all cotton and plain, her bra just a worn out bralette with no underwire. 

“It’s been over two years for me, I understand.” Jack says nervously, his thumb turning his wedding band. 

“I think it’s been 4 years for me. Maybe more.” Cam says softly, pulling the sheet up to her armpits. 

“Well, I think we should just…scope things out for now. Does that sound okay?” Abbot asks, sliding onto the bed himself, laying on his side next to her, arm propping up his head. Cam nods, letting out a shaky exhale.  “I don’t want you to feel like you should cover yourself up. I like seeing you.” Jack says, nearly a whisper. 

Cam nods, and she slides the sheet down, Abbot helping her get the cool cotton to pool onto her knees. His hand trails back up, a chill zipping up her spine as his fingers slide along her thigh. His hand pulls at the excess flesh at the inside of her thighs, callouses scraping at the stretch-marked soft skin. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, a handful of her flesh against his hand, fingers probing under the seam of her underwear. Cam nods, too stunned and shy to speak.

 Jack slides his fingers under the gusset, and Cam rotates her knee out, trying to give him more space. This feels foolish, a nearly forty year old woman having a man slide his hand in her underwear like they’re teenagers. Cam nearly laughs at their position, but Jack’s fingers begin to explore further, making Cam gasp. His mouth latches onto hers as he delves deeper into her, pushing himself up so he’s nearly on top of her, his fingers penetrating her core, making her pull her mouth off of his to gasp for air. His mouth now navigates her neck, down to her chest. Cam begins rocking her hips, trying to increase the pressure and pleasure from his hand. Her orgasm erupts from her, making Cam let out a low moan despite herself. She’s slightly embarrassed, being so eager for him to pull pleasure from her. Cam looks at Jack, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he’s smiling, her bralette pulled aside like her underwear, unlatching his mouth from her breast, a devilish look in his eyes. 

He plunges his fingers in at a different angle, and Cam writhes at the bliss crashing down, her right hand scrabbling at Jack’s chest as goes back to  kissing her decolletage. Her hips begin to rock again, her core building pressure and her body greedy for his touch. The noises in Cam’s bedroom are reprehensible; Cam’s increasing wetness wrapping around his fingers, the panting, almost whimpering noises coming from Cam, Jack’s small hum of appreciation against her chest as the pressure builds inside of her, making her feel as if there’s a lightning strike coming and the pavement is getting hot under her feet. Cam can’t help the moan that comes from her mouth, the build up to her orgasm feeling like nearly too much for her body. She rocks her hips further in rhythm with Jack’s fingers, trying to get herself over the edge, now fearful of her own climax. 

“Jack.” Cam tries to speak calmly, but a whine comes out, her voice shaking and high pitched. He unlatches his mouth from her neck and chest, a small sly smile pulling on his lips, his temples slicked with a small amount of sweat, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. 

“Come for me, Cam.” Jack asks, like he’s asking for a glass of orange juice, or a dosage of cefazolin. His fingers are unrelenting, Cam’s hips still moving with him. Her climax begins, and Jack kisses her lips again hungrily, pressing his body onto hers

“Oh...” The noises that escape Cam’s throat sound like a prayer, cried out in desperation at the pews of a great cathedral. Her vision blurs as her whole body shudders under his touch. She stops rocking her hips, the pressure now like standing too close to a volcano, her whole body washed in heat, but shaking like she’s hypothermic. Her fingernails dig into his shoulder, her neck straining as she throws her head back, crying out. Jack is beginning to relent, exhaling a satisfied sigh. The world comes back to focus, and Cam can’t help but mirror Jack’s satisfied smile. There’s something pushing slightly against Cam’s thigh, and she looks to see his hardness trying to breach his boxer briefs. Her first instinct is to take hold of it, but she hesitates, unsure if that’s past their “scoping out” boundary. 

“Do you…uh I could...” Cam asks, her gaze flashing between Jack’s face and groin. 

“Do you want to?” Jack says. Neither of them seem to know what to say, both high off endorphins, sweating, breathing heavy. 

“Yeah…you should…feel good too.” Can murmurs haltingly.

“I want you on top. Is that okay?” Abbot asks quietly, pushing himself up off the bed effortlessly. Cam’s eyes widen in shock at the calm request as Jack lies back on the bed. 

“If you’re sure.” Cam says, standing up beside the bed. She shimmies her bra over her head, kicking her underwear off her ankles. 

“I am.” Jack says, removing his own underwear, revealing himself to Cam, making her mouth fall open. Cam straddles him, his hardness now touching Cam’s apron belly, making her shrink back slightly. Jack doesn’t flinch, pulling Cam closer, kissing her deeply, gathering her breasts and kissing the full flesh. Cam moans, grasping at his member. 

“You ready?” Abbot asks softly, looking up at her, and Cam nods, seeing sweat beading on Jack’s forehead, his obliques flexing as he breathes heavily, his rigidity still upright. Cam kneels over him, stomach heading to the floor as she imagines the unflattering angle that Jack sees of her body. She averts her gaze, grasping him without looking and sinking down, putting him inside of her slowly. 

Jack lets out a quiet groan as Cam gasps, the feeling not unfamiliar, but long forgotten, possibly better than ever before. It’s as if she’s only seen fire in the form of a candle, and is now witnessing a bonfire set with accelerants. Before Cam can sink down all the way, Jack grabs her, in the crease between her stomach and hips, driving himself into her, making Cam yelp. She tips forward, catching herself on his chest before righting herself, desperate not to feel like she’s performing sexual cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Jack’s hands dig further into her hips, using her love handles as intended, guiding her up and down, his length filling her, making body quiver at the pressure. Cam throws her head back, marveling at how Jack doesn’t seem to notice how much Cam weighs as he lifts her knees off the mattress with the drive of his hips. Jack doesn’t seem to be straining, an infatuated and determined look on his face as he continues to collide his pelvis into hers, Cam merely trying to balance. The electric charge climbs from her pelvis up her spine, and she can’t help but let out a groan as she builds once more. 

“Jack.” Cam says, this time a deep moan, drunk off of his touch, his strength, the deep stretch she feels as he fills her with every inch of his cock. She tilts her body forward, another orgasm washing over her, and he slows his thrusts as tears blur her vision. Cam’s knees finally settle back on the bed, Jack is no longer bouncing her up and down, and Cam takes the opportunity to seek her own angle. She hovers just slightly above being filled completely with him, grinding forward and backward, hitting her g-spot, which makes her start to yelp. Jack smirks before grabbing her ass with force, and guiding her along.

 “That’s it. Ride for me.” Jack pants. Every forward stroke feels as if he buries his shaft even more than before, her cavity filled so completely it makes Cam feel as if she could explode. Her wetness increases still, making them slide along one another with a sinful noise, Jack using the lack of friction as a way to pound into her more, his brow furrowing as he grips her ass harder, making her rhythm fast as his dick begins to throb increasingly inside of her, giving her walls a new sensation to send her to the abyss. Jack is panting, his eyes closed. 

“Cam…” Jack moans softly, as he orgasms, painting her walls.  The wash of heat with the pulsing of his shaft brings Cam to the peak once more, making Cam throw her head back, howling like some kind of beast of the night. They stick together like this, his hands still firm on her ass, Cam still perched on his pelvis, until Jack’s brow furrows again and Cam snaps back to reality. 

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.” Cam says, clambering off of him. “Did I hurt you?” She asks, laying on the bed beside him.  

“You were a knockout up there.” Jack chuckles, making Cam smile. His brow furrows once more. 

“What’s wrong?” Cam asks, still breathless.

“I need to shower.” Jack explains, wiping the sweat from his brow. His body is slick with sweat, and Cam knows that the sheets on the bed are forfeit.

“I have a shower.” Cam says with a chuckle.

“Do you have a shower chair?” Jack asks dryly, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Cam stands, her knees buckling for a moment be

“It’s in the basement.” Cam says, grabbing a bathrobe and tying it around her waist.

“Why do you have a shower chair?” Jack asks, his brow furrowing.

“The whole reason I moved back was my dad was dying, remember?” Cam calls, heading toward the stairs. “Give me 5 minutes.” 

Cam wobbles down to the basement, two flights on stairs on unsteady legs, a likely reason for some of the patients that arrive at The Pitt. Cam finds the shower chair, and spots an old metal cane. It was her grandfather's, the kind that has four small feet on a metal base. The grey rubber grip is cracking, but she snags it, using the sleeve of her robe to wipe off the most egregious dust bunnies as she carries both up the stairs. Cam jumps when she sees Jack, who is wearing the shorts he slept in and has maneuvered down the second story stairs, now leaning against the hallway wall. 

“I’m sorry, this house isn’t exceptionally accessible. Here.” Cam says, handing him the cane. He removes his palm from the wall, now more steady with the metal support.

“It’s fine. I just didn’t bring anything to help me get around. I wasn’t expecting to stay the night.” Jack explains, heading to the bathroom behind Cam. She puts the shower chair in the wide tub, turns out the water to ensure it's warming up. 

“Sometimes the water takes a minute to get warm.” Cam explains, stepping toward the hallway. Jack is smirking at her, and Cam can’t help but smile back, eyeing his shirtless form. He’s blocking the entryway to the bathroom.

“Did you pee?” Jack asks her, raising her eyebrows. 

“What?” Cam asks, a sneer forming on her face. 

“Do you know how many women with UTIs we get a week in the E.D?” Jack asks, as Cam rolls her eyes at him. She shuts the bathroom door in his face, using the bathroom quickly as steam has begun to fill the room. 

“Happy?” She asks, opening the door from the bathroom, drying her hands on the hand towel. She feels a cool breeze on her chest, and pulls the tie tighter, closing the gaping front. 

“Tier 1 Trauma, ETA 8 minutes.” 

Cam is hauling down the stairs, sweat beading on her temples as she walks quickly into the emergency department, sliding between patients stranded in the halls, waiting for labs, medication or discharge. She shimmies into the doorway of the trauma bay, trying to catch her breath. 

“You okay?” Jack asks softly, grabbing a gown and putting it next to her, not actually glancing her way as he puts on his gloves. 

“My car wouldn’t start. I don’t know why. I ordered an Uber, the first one canceled halfway to my house, and the second one was basically downtown when he accepted the ride. So, I just got here, and I’m sweating, and short of breath, and I think I feel as much of a mess as I look.” Cam says, her voice wavering. 

“I’ll take you home in the morning.” Jack dictates, before lowering his voice again. “ If that’s okay.” Jack finishes, looking at her now, as he puts on his safety glasses. A smile pulls on Cam’s mouth despite the stress coursing through her veins. 

“We can talk about it later.” Cam murmurs, hearing EMS gurney wheels rolling rapidly. 

“17 year old male, motor vehicle versus tree, going at a high rate of speed, GCS of 12, T-Pod up for likely pelvic fracture, last BP was 109 over 67, access is a 16 in the right forearm.” 

“This one is all Dr. Henderson, Crus, you call it for the move.” Abbot explains, standing back against the wall as Crus takes control of the head of the stretcher. Cam keeps an eye on the exam, but looks at Abbot, who is yawning in the middle of a trauma evaluation. Cam slides over toward Jack, sidestepping along the wall as she keeps an eye on the chaos in the middle of the room. 

“Are you okay?” Cam asks him. Looking at him more closely, Cam realizes how tired he looks. 

“Pulling a double. Robby needed some coverage. Chief residents out on leave, and honestly, Mike probably just needs a second attending.” Jack explains, not breaking eye contact from the evaluation. 

“Jesus, what’s a double for you? 18?” Cam asks, her face screwing up with shock. 

“Proably 19 by the time I get out of here.” Jack sighs.

“Yikes.” Cam sighs. 

“Cam?” Crus calls, making Cam stand up straighter. “You’re good. I think Ortho will want to stabilize his pelvis tomorrow, but we will pan scan him and call you if something changes.” Dr. Henderson explains, taking off his gown. 

“Sounds good. Thanks, Henderson.” Cam nods, sliding out the door, locking eyes with Jack for a brief moment before heading toward the stairs. 

Time sails by, Cam focused on organizing the operating rooms, which have been left in increasing disarray each night as it grows warmer. Trauma season begins to creep upon them; more motorcycles out on the road, people outside, the high of sunshine and warm air washing all sense of logic and self-preservation out of every yinzer. The O.Rs are running later, more cases straining the barely appropriately staffed department. The coming summer means that Cam comes in to work to find equipment and supplies strewn across all the rooms, the load actively breaking the camel’s back. Night shift is supposed to set up rooms for the next morning, but Cam spends half of her shift clearing out the rooms before she can even contemplate putting equipment into the rooms. By the time Cam gets suture and trays laid out in all of her rooms, O.R beds made up sharply, she sees the sun glaring through the back windows, making her flinch. 

“Jesus, what time is it?” Cam asks, seeing Madison pushing a suction machine into a room. 

“It’s already ten past seven!” Madison calls, struggling to push all her equipment in line. Cam follows behind her, grabbing the piece of equipment Madison was pushing on and rolling it out of her way. 

“Do you need a ride? I know your car wouldn’t start.” Madison asks, making Cam’s eyes go wide. She has, until now, only thought of her mile long to-do list that only just got cleared. Now, she remembers her car is at home, and Abbot’s offer of giving her a ride home is ricocheting around in her head. 

“Uh, I scheduled an Uber.” Cam says, heading out to wash her hands and avoiding Madison’s scrutiny. 

“You sure?” she offers once more. Cam can feel the heat of her shame flush her face, avoiding eye contact as she dries her hands. 

“I’m sure. Thanks.” Cam says, checking her phone as they head toward the locker room. 

“Robby wants me out of his hair. It wasn't just you, I guess I look like shit. I’ll be ready to take you home in 15. Meet me in the ambulance bay?”  

Cam replies with a quick thumbs up, shoving her phone back in her pocket as she heads downstairs to change out of her scrubs. She barely listens to Madison chat about her last date from Tinder, or whatever online dating site she’s been using as she gets dressed. Madison has been trying to get Cam to download the apps for weeks, and she had been close to doing it for a while, but now she’s completely unsure of everything. 

“You sure you don’t need a ride?” Madison offers as Cam opens the door to the stairwell to the E.D and Madison heads towards the staff garage. 

“I’m good. Thanks. See you next week?” Cam asks, suddenly nervously looking at her phone, trying to pretend she’s checking on her rideshare. 

“It’s my weekend, so I’ll be here Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Ugh.” Madison says, a disgusted look covering her face.

“Jesus. Good luck with that.” Cam says, heading down the stairs. Cam can’t help but avert her gaze from everyone in the E.D as she tries to slink out to the ambulance bay without attracting attention. Cam clings to the wall outside of the covered bay, the brick starting to warm already. The door slides open, and Jack swings around the corner, backpack slung across one shoulder. Cam puts her own bag on her back, her heart thundering in her chest. 

“ Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Jack says, putting his sunglasses on, Cam following behind, putting her own aviators on to block the glare of the spring sun. They climb into the cab of the car and Jack sighs, rubbing his eyes. 

“Are you good to drive?” Cam asks, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah. I’m good.” Jack says, starting the car. They cruise down the street toward the Pitt tunnel, chatting quietly about work and the weather. 

“God, am I going to have to mow the lawn soon? Good Lord.” Cam remarks, looking at the grass and trees flush with greenery by the river. The car drifts slowly, leaning further to the left. “Jack?” Cam says softly. The bridge’s blocked lane is coming up, and the car drifts into it, the small thudding rhythm of the diagonal paint jostling the car. The car is now sharply turning into oncoming traffic, a pickup two hundred yards away. “Jack? Jack!” Cam now yells, reaching for the wheel. Jack jolts, his arm twitching as he rights the car, slowing them down as they reach the red light at the end of the bridge. Cam’s chest is heaving, a cold sweat coating her back. Jack turns on the radio, rock music playing loudly. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, over the raucous guitar. Cam nods, trying to slow her breathing down from her current state, catching her breath like she just sprinted across the hospital. The rest of the drive is quiet, Jack’s jaw set, his ears flushed. He pulls up next to her house, putting the car in park. 

“I’m sorry.” Jack says softly. “I didn’t realize how tired I was. I haven’t pulled a double like that in a while, I should’ve…I’m sorry.” 

“C’mon in, at least get a cup of coffee.” Cam mutters, getting her bag and heading up the stairs. She holds the door as Jack follows her into the house. Jack slouches into the armchair by the fireplace as Cam heads into the kitchen. “Coffee’s brewing, I’m gonna grab a shower.” Cam explains, Jack nodding, arms crossed on his chest. 

Cam brings her most guest-appropriate sleepwear into the bathroom with her, scrubbing quickly and shimmying her pajamas over her wet and freshly lotioned skin. She pads into the kitchen, pulling the stray wet hairs stuck under the collar of her worn out t-shirt out from underneath her collar. She swings around to the living room, two cups in hand, to find Jack slouched in the chair, snoring softly. 

“I don’t know if coffee is going to cut it.” Cam says, sitting on the loveseat near his armchair. His eyes open slowly, brow furrowed. 

“I don’t know if coffee is going to cut it.” Jack says, with a yawn. Cam snorts out a laugh as he stretches. 

“It definitely isn’t, especially since you almost drove us off the bridge.” Cam sighs, putting down the second cup and focusing on her own. 

“Can I crash on your couch?” Jack asks. 

“What about just sleeping in my bed instead?” Cam asks, eyebrows raised. Jack’s eyes fully open now, blinking hard. “I don’t mean, to like, fool around. Or get frisky, to borrow a phrase. This old loveseat is…old. And a loveseat. Unless your other leg comes off, you’re not going to have a good time.” 

“Are you sure?” Jack asks, sitting upright now, putting a hand through his silver curls. “I don’t want to impose.” 

“I feel like crashing your car on the way home is more imposing than sharing a bed in a slumber party-like fashion. C’mon.” Cam says, grabbing both coffee mugs and heading through the kitchen to deposit them in the sink. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“I think I’ve got a pair of shorts in my backpack, I’m gonna use the bathroom and, uh, meet you upstairs.” Jack says, and Cam opens the door to the upstairs loft bedroom, her footfalls fading up the carpeted stairs, and Jack closes the bathroom door. He puts his backpack on the top of the toilet seat lid, laying out all his everyday carry items he is incapable of leaving the house without, although it makes him feel like a paranoid maniac, putting his trauma kits out onto the sink in Cam’s master bathroom. Jack finally fishes out a worn out pair of polyester basketball shorts that he keeps as backup, in case his scrubs become too disgusting to wear home. He slides them on, folds up his scrub pants, and packs up his backpack. He glances at himself in the mirror, the steam of the shower still making the edges of the mirror fuzzy with droplets of water, realizing he should have shaved last night, the grey and copper stubble becoming increasingly obvious, and his eyes look sunken, from fatigue and definitely not enough water. He sighs, putting his backpack on his shoulder. 

“Courage under fire.” He mumbles, closing the downstairs door behind him as he climbs up the stairs. He’s a bit shocked when he sees the bedroom, soft floral wallpaper covering a wall with powdery periwinkle blue wainscotting at the bottom. There’s floor length double hung curtains, a soft pink gauzy fabric billowing in the fan in the corner. Cam is too busy digging through a chest at the foot of the bed. 

“Sorry, are you a warm sleeper? I have a few things, I just wasn’t sure. It gets kind of warm up here sometimes, but I thought you should have…options.” Cam explains, holding up a two different blankets. 

“I sleep warm.” Jack says, nodding at the woven cotton blanket in Cam’s hand. She unfolds it on the bed, and then folds it in half, grabbing her own brightly colored weathered quilt and folding it on her side. 

“I have extra pillows, too. They’re just in that closet.” Cam says, pointing to the tall closet next to the bedroom door. 

“Cam, I used to sleep in the dirt. In the desert.” Jack says, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“So I guess that means you don’t want a satin pillowcase? Don’t want to muss up the curls.” Cam smirks, closing the blackout curtains, shadowing them in near darkness. Cam quickly flips on her bedside table lamp. “Sorry.” 

“I have to take off my leg.” Jack explains, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Okay. Do you…need something for that?” Cam offers haltingly. 

“I just…thought I’d warn you, I guess. It’s why I sleep warm. All amputees tend to have warmer body temperatures. Same blood volume in a smaller body. Harder to remove heat from the body.” Jack rambles as he slides off his socket and puts his prosthesis beside the bed. He shimmies the sleeve off the stump, laying it over the top of the socket, like he always does every night, just not usually against such colorful walls. 

“So I should cuddle with you in winter for maximum benefit?” Cam says, sliding into the bed. Silence invades the bedroom. “We don’t have to cuddle. I said it was like a slumber party. You’re too tired to drive, and I just want you to be safe and I–” Cam rambles quickly, sitting back upright, suddenly silent. “Oh my God, why did I say that?” Cam whispers. Jack chuckles, nervousness running down his spine. 

“Cam?” Jack interrupts softly. There’s a long pause before she replies. 

“Yeah?” She says, almost a whisper. 

“I think I do want a second pillow.” Jack hisses. 

“I got it.” Cam says, throwing herself out of her bed to head to her closet. Jack turns, appreciating the view as her shorts ride up while she reaches the top of the closet. 

“You know those shorts are see-through, right?” Jack asks, making Cam cover her butt with the pillow she just managed to snag from the closet. 

“Maybe I should sleep on my own loveseat…” Cam mumbles, turning toward him to get a pillowcase for the pillow. She shimmies the pillow violently until it slides into the case, handing it to him. Jack touches her hand, which is white knuckling the pillow as she passes it to him. 

“Cam, I am in no way opposed to cuddling. Also, I am so tired, I feel drunk. Get in the bed.” Abbot says, adjusting his position with the second pillow, laying on his side facing Cam. She slides into the bed gingerly, as if making the bed bounce will set off an explosive. She turns off the bedside lamp, covering them in darkness once more, turning over and nearly gasping when she sees the shadow of Jack’s face. Jack can’t even breathe, as he puts his hand on Cam’s waist. Her abdominal muscles tighten for a moment, before beginning to relax. “Is this okay?” Jack asks softly. 

“Yeah.” Cam says softly. This all feels so strange, laying in this bed, holding on to a woman for the first time in years, nervousness coursing in his veins. Jack leans in, giving her a tender kiss on her cheek. 

Cam is sitting in the courtyard, the daffodils beginning to push themselves through the earth. The sun is getting low, the stone bench she’s sitting on rapidly cooling as the sun no longer heats the surface. Owen sits next to her, baseball cap on backwards. He’s been at the veterans recovery center for more than thirty days, and Cam can finally see her brother as more the man she knew before, although he was barely a man before the Army took him to faraway lands to fight for oil and so-called freedom. 

“Meds working out okay?” Cam asks, enjoying her cup of coffee her brother brought to her from the small cafe in the residents library. They’ve got their routine down, ever since he settled in, Cam always sees him before dinner the day after her last twelve hour shift of the week and they always enjoy coffee outside if the weather allows. 

“Good. They think I’m leveling out. I stopped getting so nauseous. Here’s a better question. How’s things with Jack?” Owen teases over the rim of his paper cup. Cam rolls her eyes. 

“Come on, I am working the steps, taking my medication, exercising, going to church service. I’m analyzed, baptized, and therapized. Now, I want to hear about my little sister’s doctor boyfriend.” Owen says, crossing his legs like he’s a day time talk show host. 

“Ew, Owen, I’m too old to have a boyfriend.” Cam says, shoving his shoulder lightly. Owen sits next to her, a sardonic smile on his face as he stares down his sister and the spring wind blows the sparse grass into movement. 

“Where’s your date tonight?” Owen teases, grinning at Cam. 

“Argentinian place. Gaucho Parilla.” Cam sighs, a smile pulling at her lips despite her irritation at her brother’s ribbing. “Jesus, I don’t know who’s worse, you, Maggie or my coworker Madison.” Cam laughs as her brother pulls a face. 

“Look, we don’t get that much T.V time, and someone else keeps getting all the sci-fi books I want from the resident library before me. I need something to entertain me.” Owen sighs, squinting into the sun. 

“Do you want me to get you some books? There’s a book store on the way here.” Cam offers softly, as she takes her brother’s ball cap off of his still buzzed head and flips it around so the brim is actually useful. 

“No, I want to pull juicy gossip from my sister about her boyfriend.” Owen taunts, chuckling as he goes in for a sip of his coffee. There’s a chime, and they both look back at the door to the facility, which a staff member has opened and is now waiting expectantly at the door. “That’s the dinner bell.” Owen sighs, standing up. “I’d hang out more, but it’s Italian night and I really want to cajole Sherry for extra meatballs.” 

“Cajole? You have been reading a lot.” Cam chuckles, getting up off the cold bench and walking toward the door with her brother. He puts his hat backwards again, and begins to softly sing the Four Seasons tune to the woman at the doorway. 

“Sheerrrryyyyy, Sherry Baby, Sheeeeerrrrrrrryyyyyyy…” Owen croons at her, making the woman crack a smile as she rolls her eyes. Owen heads towards the dining area, but Cam goes to head toward the exit. 

“Is he always this happy with other visitors?” Cam asks, a warm grin on her face as her brother continues his tune down the hallway. 

“Cam, honey, you’re the only that’s been to visit him since he got visitor privileges." Sherry explains calmly as she shuts the door to the courtyard. Cam’s smile fades, it’s as if someone threw her in a tank of cold water. 

“What? I thought surely my mom or my sister would have…” Cam trails off, realizing how stupid of a statement she’s trying to utter. “I don’t know why I’m fucking surprised.” Cam sighs, running a hand through her hair. Cam is digging her keys from her pocket, as she’s not allowed to bring her purse, only bringing her keys and her phone inside. She’s heading toward the exit when Sherry speaks again. 

“You take care of yourself, Cam. You’re not responsible for other people.” Sherry instructs. Cam turns back, a bitter smile on her face. 

“Most of my job is literally being responsible for other people’s needs, but thank you Sherry, have a good night.” Cam sighs, buzzing the door to exit. 

The drive home her mood is dour. She knows that Sherry is right, but she is  so angry ay her sister and mother for not giving a damn that Owen is doing everything he can to get back on track. She keeps opening her phone, increasingly tempted to call her sister and scream and rage at her for being so self-absorbed. She’s marinating in her anger on the couch when her phone rings, she answers it quickly, without paying attention to the name on the screen, half hoping its her sister so she can give her a piece of her mind. 

“Hello?” Cam nearly barks through the receiver. 

“Hey, I’m on my way to pick you up, I’ll be there in like 10 minutes.” Jack explains, his voice echoing through his car. 

“Fuck.” Cam hisses, jumping off the couch. “Sounds good, go ahead and come in when you get here.” Cam says, jumping off the couch and heading to her bedroom. 

“Everything okay? Should we do a raincheck?” Jack asks. 

“No. I mean, I’m okay. Just got…thrown for the day. I’m just running behind. I still would like dinner. With you.” Cam huffs, now searching frantically through her meager closet for decent clothes. She has no need for dressy clothes, so her wardrobe is mostly joggers, shorts and leggings, but she knows that Jack is making effort, and so she is trying to reciprocate. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna let you go, I gotta get dressed. The front door is unlocked.” Cam says, hanging up before he can say goodbye. “Jesus suffering fuck.” Cam sighs, running a hand through her hair as she slides her hangers back to further examine her clothes. 

Cam hears Jack open the door and call her name when she’s finishing up fixing her hair in the bathroom, having finished brushing it and now putting product in it. Her palms began to snag her hair as a sheen of sweat begins to take over her body. She plucks and adjusts her clothes, walking around the corner to the hallway to the living room where Jack is standing. 

“Hi.” Cam says softly, still adjusting her clothing. She looks at Jack, his eyebrows raised nearly to his curls, as he eyes her body. 

“Madison talked me into ordering  this outfit at four in the morning one night. It’s a bodysuit.” Cam chuckles, still tugging at the fabric, pulled taut across her torso. It’s a deep red, baby soft ribbed long sleeve body suit. It clings to her, showing the rolls and creases in her flesh, but the jeans are loose, almost baggy, and keep falling lower on her hips, and Cam’s unsure how to hold still without trying to hide her belly and hike up her pants. 

“Bodysuit…” Jack mumbles confused, now raising one eyebrow instead of two. Cam grabs one of  the hip seams pulling it slightly out of her jeans and snapping it, making the fullness of her hip quiver at the impact. She looks up to see Jack swallow hard. 

“It’s a big too gen Z, isn’t it?” Cam asks, averting her gaze. 

“No, it’s…it’s nice. You look really nice.” Jack murmurs quietly, putting his hands behind his back. 

“Thanks. Let me grab my purse, we can get going, sorry I’m running behind, I went to see Owen, and…”

“Is he okay?” Jack asks, clearly jumping at an opportunity of normal conversation topics. She’s tempted to ask him what his favorite suture is, just to break the shimmering wall of tension between them. 

“He’s doing great. My sister and mom, they haven’t seen him at all.” Cam sighs, rooting through her purse to make sure she has everything. 

“You can’t hold yourself responsible for other people.” Jack said dryly. Cam swings her purse over her shoulder hard, huffing, sudden thickness entering her throat, her eyes stinging. 

“You and Sherry from the V.A must read the same books.” Cam huffs. 

“Probably the same therapist.” Jack murmurs, putting his eyes on the floor and his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m sorry, we have dinner reservations, don’t we?” Cam says, opening the front door. 

“You know you’re still not scaring me off.” Jack remarks, following closely behind her as she locks her front door. 

“Even in this skin tight getup?” Cam laughs, stepping carefully down the stairs. 

“You know my childhood crush was Catwoman right?” Jack retorts, opening the door for her and giving his head that small tilt that makes heat rush up to her chest. 

How Cam managed not to spill chimichurri sauce on her bodysuit was a miracle beyond her imagination. Jack insisted they get paella, steak and shrimp, although Cam is much less nervous than their last date, so it’s easier to eat, no longer feeling like she has a rock in her stomach. 

“I’m standing there, just, gobsmacked, wondering how the hell this gets so damn out of hand, and Ellis is looking at me, horrified, and I ask her ‘why didn’t you go get Shen?’ because John was R3 at the time, about to be chief, and she just shrugs at me and goes ‘would you trust him with this if it was you?” Jack laughs, nearly wheezing  “And I just stood there, the patient right in front of us, and I totally panicked, grabbed Ellis by the sleeve of her scrubs and then pulled her to the nurses station to put orders in for the poor bastard.” He chuckles, wiping tears from his eyes. “Shortly after that is when I started working for SWAT, because my therapist said I needed a hobby and I needed to be with adults.” Jack sighs, leaning back in his chair as Cam picks at the crispy rice stuck in the bottom of the paella dish. 

“You could’ve just taken up tennis, Jack.” Cam snorts. 

“Does Tennis pique your interest?” Jack asks.

“Fuck no.” Cam says around a bite of crispy rice, making Jack simper. 

“What does pique your interest? You type A? Quilting?” Jack asks, raising his eyebrow at her.

“Quilting? C’mon Jack, I know I’ve got some greys but I’m not Martha fucking Washington. Also if you had ever seen my back table set up, you’d know I’m not type A.” Cam sighs, leaning back in her chair. 

“That’s good, because I am definitely not Type A either. This entire time I’ve been scared to see if you’re one of those people with a perfectly organized linen closet.” Jack remarks. 

“Rest assured, my linen is in a chest my grandfather built, unfolded and exceptionally wrinkled.” Cam says, grinning. 

It kept coming back up in her mind. Like a pesky weed refusing to be plucked out completely by the root, appearing again and again. All weekend, while she was on the turnpike, while she was unpacking, doing her laundry, cooking for the work week. It was like a malignancy, sapping the energy from the rest of her, pushing her train of thought off the tracks.  She had done nothing but think about it on and off for nearly five days. Cam wanted that kiss. 

She was grateful when she went to the control desk of the O.R and she was assigned to finishing an orthopedics case. Snagging her gown and gloves, grabbing her lead from its hiding place. She opens the door, trying not to cause a ruckus on the way into the room. There’s music in the room, low in volume but high in energy, thrashing guitar and cymbals flowing through the room.

“You don’t need lead.” Dr. Park growls. Cam hangs her lead up on the rack near the door, opening a gown and gloves. “Do you really need to interrupt us right now?” Park snaps, breaking his gaze from the patient’s arm, lying flayed open under bright lights. 

“Johnny needs to go home. His shift is over.” Cam says, leaving the room to scrub her hands. As she starts scrubbing her fingers individually, she can see Dr. Park is getting increasingly irritated, his jaw set behind his mask. As she rinses her fingers to her arms, she sees the resident is getting nervous as well. She gowns and gloves herself, quietly pushing the table back to accommodate her sliding in next to Johnny.

“We’re finishing up this ulnar plate, we have to do a buttress plate after this. You have saline and this is the last of your suture.” 

Cam surveys the space where all the instruments are laying, as Cam and Johnny count everything on the field that could be left inside the patient. Dr. Park is increasingly agitated by this distraction, but it’s required; every shift change, the scrubs and nurses have to count, so you don’t call someone after they’ve left to figure out why there’s something missing. They settle back in, Johnny leaving for the evening and Cam settling into the case. 

“Manny? Can I get some sterile water please?” Cam asks the nurse in the room. 

“I don’t irrigate with sterile water. Ever.” Dr. Park growls again. 

“It’s to clean instruments.” Cam explains calmly. She refuses to engage with Park’s bad attitude, knowing that if she gets defensive, he’s going to go in for the kill. Park always wants to start a fight with people, seeing if he can make you flinch. Cam has played this game of surgical chicken many times before, and is happy for the exceptional distraction from the rest of her life. 

“I need a fourteen screw.” Park snaps, holding out a hand. 

“Cortical or locking?” Cam asks, grabbing the screwdriver. 

“Cortical.” Park nearly shouts. Cam sighs, loading the screw onto the screwdriver and checking it’s actually a fourteen, as sometimes they get placed wrong in the organizing caddy. 

“Can I have that screw today?” Dr. Park snaps. 

“I’m checking the length. Don’t want to hand you the wrong size.” Cam explains flatly. Park snatches the screwdriver from her, putting it into the plate in the patient's forearm. 

“Are you going to be this annoying all night?” Dr. Park asks, looking over his Pit Viper safety glasses to stare her down. 

“Who could know?” Cam sighs, taking the screwdriver from his hand and wiping it off with a damp sponge. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Park asks, trying to stare Cam down. He towers over her, despite her five foot seven frame, and he’s built like a Roblox character, all sharp corners. 

“I mean, I scrubbed for Matt Carty in Boston about…2 years ago? I think I should be okay.” Cam says, not looking at Park, but cleaning off more instruments with dried blood accumulating on the gleaming metal. 

“You worked at Mass General Brigham?” Park asks, his tone suddenly changing. 

“MGB, Northwestern, Baltimore Shock Trauma, Detroit, G-Dub, Methodist in Indianapolis.” Cam lists, swapping out the saturated sponge Park’s been hoarding in his hand for a dry one. Park’s jaw seems to unclench finally, and a wave of calm seems to finally come over the room. 

“Who’s Matt Carty?” The resident asks Dr. Park, as he begins to reveal the next fracture from underneath the skin. 

“He was one of the guys in Boston who did all the microsurgery to save people’s limbs after the Boston Marathon bombing. Putting people’s feet backwards so the distal tibia could act like a knee joint for a prosthetic.” Park explains, no longer growling like some kind of feral animal. 

The rest of the case is smooth, like a plane flying through a brief pocket of turbulence, everyone is far more relaxed after they’ve climbed through it. The music is turned up, and despite the fact the room is still far from jovial, it no longer seems that there’s a hair-trigger on the mood. The resident starts to finish the last few sutures, Dr. Park fist bumps the resident, and even offers one to Cam, who accepts the silent thanks. Cam is grateful for the case to be done, but suddenly the thoughts about Jack come flooding back into her brain, like the dam blew open. She drags the heavy case cart to the elevator, suddenly yearning for an excuse to go downstairs to the emergency department, trying to will the pager to start singing. Cam stays busy for most of the shift, getting tomorrow’s rooms ready, even putting away stray supplies she usually ignores for the sake of her own sanity. She wants to see Jack, but she knows how embarrassed she will feel when she gets down there, especially since she’s not even sure he’s working tonight. She turns the music up in her earbuds, putting her head down, and sorting through a heap of abandoned suture. It’s an oddly quiet night, especially since it’s starting to get warm outside, but no matter how desperate she is to see Jack, she doesn’t dare utter the dreaded ‘q’ word out loud. Cam leans on the window sill of the back hallway, the only window to the outside world they have in the department, staring at the sun beginning to peak over the other side of the river, the clouds thinning to show the orange and pinks radiating through the navy sky. Cam is lost for a moment, basking in the sight, when she jumps at her phone buzzing in her pocket. She unlocks it, seeing a message, making her heart race. 

“I thought you were working tonight.” The message reads. It’s as if Cam has summoned Jack with her mind to reach out, since she’s too cowardly to do it herself. 

“I’m here. Been busy. O.Rs were trashed.” Cam replies, huffing at her brisk reply. 

“I want to hear about the flower show. Giving report to Robby as soon as he puts down his backpack. Pick you up by the elevator on the second floor?” Abbot’s message reads. 

“Sounds good.” Cam replies, her heart racing and her stomach trying to escape into her pelvis. Cam walks to the elevator, taking her hair out of her scrub cap. She fusses over trying to fix it for a few minutes before realizing it’s a lost cause. This desperation to primp is such a strange feeling, nerves alight as if there’s a craniotomy coming up from the E.D, but it’s just Jack. Cam sees a box gloves sitting on an abandoned EVS cart in the hallway, and snags two, tearing the wrist cuffs off. She puts up her hair, twisting it with the gloves cuffs, trying to put it in the semblance of a decent bun.  Cam scoffs and shakes her head, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back. 

“Oh my God, I am so dumb.” Cam scoffs, humiliation beginning to seep in as the brief adrenaline rush fades. She considers going back to the desk, lying about an emergency case, and hiding from this clandestine meeting. Before she can bolt, the elevator dings, Jack leaning against the back wall, hands clasped behind his back, chin held up in that defiant way that makes her heart flutter so hard she wonders if she needs an EKG. 

“Going up.” Jack says dryly, sticking to his posture against the wall. The silence outside of the whirring of the elevator is startling, and Cam starts looking at the floor, the energy in the small metal box seems askew. The door opens to the roof and the air is chilly, but it no longer has the bitter bite of winter. 

“How was your night?” Cam asks, as Jack looks out over the portion of the city still coated in darkness, the sun not yet high enough to crest over the tall hills and bathe them in light. 

“I think I pushed too hard after The Parlor, and I’m sorry.” Jack says shortly. Cam’s throat feels thick, sudden panic rising in her chest. 

“I thought you wanted to ask me about the flower show.” Cam sighs, sudden tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Cam’s heart goes from a flutter to a thundering race, realizing her instincts to bolt were correct, but it’s far too late now. She crosses her arms, turning toward the side of the building where the sun is rising. 

“I did. I just wanted to apologize. I don’t know how to do this, I’m out of practice” Jack says, his eyes now turning toward Cam. She can see his fidgeting with his wedding band in her peripheral vision. “But I don’t want to push you. I feel like all I do is push. I push residents to learn the skills necessary, I push patients to do better, feel better, make better choices, and now I’m pushing you.” 

“Maybe I need a push.” Cam shrugs, her gaze turning toward him. “I should have said yes, at the incline.” Cam says, finally locking eyes with him. She drops her arms from the defensive position, staring at him as he puts his hands in his front pockets. Cam really wishes her O.R scrubs had front pockets as gooseflesh ripples across her arms. 

“Yes to the kiss?” Jack asks softly, kicking at some loose gravel nervously. Cam can’t speak, only nod. Jack steps closer to her, tilting his head as he leans further into her, his hands still in his pockets. “Can I kiss you now?” Jack asks, his eyes glancing between Cam’s eyes and lips. Cam stares at him, the hazel of his eyes beginning to shine as the sun rises higher. Cam realizes the part of her that’s kept her alone is trying to take over once again, like those tropical ants who lose control of their bodies because of a fungus. Some part of her wants to look away, to go back downstairs. This time, she does not listen to that part of her brain, instead closing the gap between her and Jack, sliding her fingers through his silver curls at his nape and pressing her lips to his. It’s a brief but gentle embrace, breaking apart with Jack’s right hand resting on her hip, and the left on her shoulder. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Jack murmurs, his smirk making his eyes crinkle in the corners. “C’mon. If Robby finds us up here again, he’s gonna put it together, and he’s the biggest gossip in the damn hospital.” Jack says, putting his hands in pockets as they mosey back to the elevator.

“I think Robby put it together months ago.” Cam chuckles, shaking her head as he presses the second floor for her to head back to the O.R.

“Yeah,  Ahmad in security is making bets on us, and if it all comes out to the rest of The Pitt, and I want to make sure Robby loses.” Jack says, crossing his arms as he leans onto the elevator wall. The elevator slows as it reaches the second floor. 

“You really want Robby to lose that badly?” Cam asks, raising an eyebrow as the doors open and she steps out near the surgical department. 

“You ever had shakshuka? Shit is incredible.” 

“Are you taking pictures of your food?” Maggie asks, taking a bite out of a spring roll.

It’s been twenty years since she and Cam went to high school together. It’s strange, looking at someone who you were close to when you were young, getting sunburnt and freckled at the pool, turning your hair a strange shade of orange with lemon juice and peroxide, to two women graying at the temples.Somehow, they’ve still ended up cramming themselves into a table with their food in a crowded space, likes its sophomore lunch. The Reading Market in Philly is massive, a veritable maze of eateries and vendors. It’s packed, barely enough room to squeeze through the walkways between the crowds, clumps and lines of people. Somehow, they found a table, Cam landing with her Georgian food just after Maggie opened up her bag of Thai. 

“I’m…trying. Maybe too hard?” Cam cringes, sending the photo and flinching as she slaps her phone down on the table. 

“Tighe the terrifying, sending food pics.” Maggie says, smirking, finishing off her spring roll. Cam drops her fork and knife, cringing again. 

“Jesus.” Cam groans. 

“You scared the shit out of most of the football team. Remember when you get the quarterback a shiner?” Maggie laughs, taking a sip of her tea. 

“It was a wayward softball pitch in gym glass!” Cam cries. 

“You got asked by like…6 guys to go to prom.” Cam exclaims, going back to cutting into her bread dish.

“You couldn’t get a date to prom. I couldn’t get a date to prom because we were friends.”

“They were poseurs.” Maggie scoffs. 

“The guy with the liberty spike mohawk died orange wasn’t punk enough for you? God, what was his name?” Cam asks, grinning now at her friend. Maggie had let a lot of her old piercings heal over, but she still had all her earrings, her lip, tongue and nose piercings. 

“Xavier. He was a total fucking poseur. He thought Sum41 was the peak of punk music.” Maggie scoffs, digging into her pad see ew. 

“Ah yes, because everyone knows the Dead Kennedys are really where it’s at.” Cam snorts over a mouth full of food. 

“Don’t besmirch my band.” Maggie cries, pointing her chopsticks at Cam across the table. 

“Hey, I always liked Bikini Kill.” Cam shrugs. Her phone buzzes on the table, making Cam jump. Cam goes to unlock her phone, but lifts her head to look at Maggie, who starts to giggle at Cam’s visible embarrassment.

“This is funnier than your crush on Bobby Boyd junior year. What’s this guy's name again?” Maggie asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Jack.” Cam says, wary of oversharing about a man she’s only been on one actual date with, although it certainly feels like they’ve spent lots of time together. 

“Do we have pictures of Jack?” Maggie asks, holding out her hand expectantly Cam realizes she has no idea how to get a photo of Jack, and then realizes he likely has a medical profile through PTMC’s website. After a bit of scrolling, Cam finds an older picture of Jack, unsmiling, in his white coat, something Cam couldn’t imagine him wearing for even a moment. . 

“It’s an older photo, but…” Cam says, sliding her phone toward Maggie, increasingly embarrassed at her foolishness. 

“Bitch, is he a doctor? Holy shit! Here I am with an HVAC repairman for a husband and you’re out here getting doctors. Oh my God, do you work with him?” Maggie gasps, making Cam want to crawl under the table. 

“Not really. He’s not my superior. He’s a night shift emergency room doc.” Cam explains, waving off Maggie’s conspiratorial gaze. 

“Did he text you back?” Maggie asks, wiggling her eyebrows. Cam unlocks her phone again, going to her messages. 

“I used to work with a doctor from Georgia. His wife made us cheeseboats and puff pastries for christmas one year. The E.D was insane that year with the flu but we ate like kings. Glad you’re having fun on your trip.” 

“Yeah, nothing fantastic.” Cam says, sliding her phone over to Maggie and digging into her food in earnest. 

‘You know what’s missing from that?” Maggie asks, sliding her phone back. “The part that says ‘I miss you’.” 

“Oh, shut up. Don’t put those ideas in my head. We’ve been on one actual date. A date that got interrupted by Owen going to a psychiatric facility. Also, we’re gonna be late for that speaker about shade gardening.” Cam says, polishing off her shakshuka and packing up to leave the crowded market. 

“So, how is a guy that hot single?” Maggie asks, as they flow into the crowd of people heading into the convention center;s lecture area. 

“His wife died two years ago.” Cam replies softly, trying not to announce it to the crowd mingling before the speaker starts. 

“Oooh, hot widower.” Maggie teases, making Cam shush her as they sit on the end of a row of older women. “Did you text him back?” 

“No. not yet.” Cam says, rooting through her purse for nher phone. “I was going to send him a picture of the lecture slide.”  

“Ew that’s boring. You should send him a hot photo. Something with your boobs.” Maggie mumbles.

“Oh my God! Margaret!” Cam shrieks softly. 

“Camilla, your boobs are great, and I’m sure he would appreciate them. You should be more flirty.” Maggie scoffs, shimmying her shoulders at Cam as she nearly sinks to the carpeted floor of the convention center in shame. 

—---------------------------------------------------

They spend the rest of the day at the convention center, heading back to the hotel when Maggie has to call home. 

“If I don’t call Eric and the kids, they’re gonna freak out. Last time I went out for cocktails with some coworkers, I didn’t call home, the kids wouldn’t go to bed. I crawl out of an Uber at midnight, and my fucking kids are still awake. I love them, but Jesus Christ they’re fucking weird.” Maggie sighs, pressing her phone to her ear. “Hiii baby! Where’s dad? Can you put me on speaker?” Maggie coos, the tone of her voice becoming soft and saccharine. 

Cam unlocks her phone, pacing to the back of the small double suite to give Maggie some space. She’s been trying hard not to check her phone every two minutes, but now, it seems like there’s time to indulge in living like a desperate tween. 

“I just got here an hour ago and already could’ve used your talented hands.” 

A wave of heat climbs up Cam’s neck, making her lock her phone and put it down on the desk next to the window. Maggie waves at her silently, phone still pressed to her ear, making strange faces at Cam across the room. Cam waves her off, digging through her duffel bag for clothes for dinner.

“Okay, Mom has to go eat dinner with her friend! Love you guys!” Maggie calls through her phone with a chipper voice. She drops the phone and raises her eyebrows at Cam. 

“You’re beet red, bitch.” Maggie snorts. 

“Shut up.” Cam huffs back. “Where are we going for dinner again?”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“Maggie, this place had better be worth it.” Cam sighs, standing out in the chill. The restaurant is so small there’s no 

room to wait inside without being squeezed. They’ve been standing around, watching drunk people stumble out of the building for nearly an hour. 

“It’s worth it. I’ll order, it’s gonna be great. See? They’re calling me right now.” Maggie says, digging her phone out of her coat pocket. 

The crush of the crowd in the restaurant is worse the further back they go, sliding into a tiny table that Cam feels like she’s being put in the cockpit of a plane. Maggie orders swiftly for them, before draping her jacket over her chair. 

“So, did you text Jack back?” Maggie asks as the waiter fills their water glasses and Maggie scoots her chair in further. Cam shakes her head, going for her water. Cam asks questions about the kids, distracting Maggie into talking about Olivia’s obsession with horses and Daniel’s new fascination with heavy machinery. 

“My living room TV is nothing but youtube videos of CAT excavators. I wake up at 7am on a Saturday to the sound of ‘Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!’ of some asshole on the internet backing up an excavator in a construction site. I thought our neighbor's house was getting knocked down.” Maggie laughs. 

“Here we are, ladies.” The server announces, deftly swinging the two dishes onto the table, a large plate of chicken and a gleaming mussel pot. There’s a mountain of short, skinny fries accompanying it, the small table now fully occupied. Maggie and Cam both thank the waiter, and begin to sort through the dishes. 

“Oooh. I got it. Hold on.” Maggie says, rearranging the table, moving the mussels closer to Cam and sliding the chicken wings back toward herself. “Unbutton that button of your shirt.” Maggie orders. 

“What?” Cam asks, confused. 

“Fluff that side of your hair and unbutton the next button on your shirt, I’m going to take a sexy picture you can send to Jack.” Maggie insists, now grabbing Cam’s phone off the table. 

“Jesus.” Cam huffs, but obliges, her fingers fumbling with the tiny button of her blouse. 

“Pick up the water glass. There you go. Smile. Not that smile. A ‘fuck me’ smile.” 

“What is a—” Cam interrupts, brow furrowing. 

“Shut up. Think of that time that Bobby Boyd rejected you and tried to push you in the pool but you threw him in instead.” Maggie blurts quickly, taking several photos. Maggie hands Cam’s phone back, and Cam barely recognizes the woman in the photos. She seems poised, smart and definitely sexy. There’s a bushel of cleavage showing and Cam wants to delete it, but she turns the phone away from herself. 

“What do I say back?” Cam asks, as Maggie starts digging into the fries. Maggie takes the phone back, looking at Cam. 

“Can I send it for you?” Maggie asks, eyebrows raised as she grabs another fry. 

“Yes.” Cam says begrudgingly. Maggie slides the phone back to Cam, who is far too worried about what Maggie just sent to start on dinner. 

“Sorry, my talented hands are occupied tonight.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------

The Pitt is buzzing, the standard Friday night regulars mixed with the stray true emergencies. Abbot is trying hard to keep up on charting in between supervising residents and the still very young Dr. Shen. His phone buzzes, making him pull it out of his cargo pocket and squint slightly at the notification screen. He unlocks it, seeing a photo of Cam, bathed in warm orange light, obviously taken by her friend. His mouth starts to go a bit dry, looking at the message and the accompanying photo.