“Have you ever thought about swapping to the night shift?” Jack asks as you walk together to your next patient,

“Uhm… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought of it actually.” you’re unable to read Jack’s face as he pulls you to the side,

“You should really consider it, I think you’d be great on the team.” he says quietly, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you. your brows furrow in confusion at his sudden approach, sensing an ulterior motive behind,

“Look, he’s my best friend but I see the way he talks to you. I’m not trying to make up shit to excuse whatever's going on with him, but you know how he is. I just think maybe you need a break, a change in teams, y’know.” you flash Jack a sympathetic smile as he speaks,

“Doctor Abbot, I’m fine, really. I appreciate your concern though.” you say as you hold the tablet out to pass to him. he takes a deep breath as he takes it from you, letting you walk away to finish your handoffs. 

Jack wants to throw a lifeline to you. change your shifts without your permission, let you see what you’ve been missing out on firsthand and ask for forgiveness later. he doesn’t care about whether you might resent him for it or not, he just knows that you’re too ambitious, too smart and too keen to let it be diminished by the other attending.

as you type out your final chart of the day, Robby taps your shoulder, 

“Mind if we chat?” he says, tilting his head to indicate he wants to pull you aside. Dana stands nearby, watching carefully. her and Jack have talked about it numerous times and not even Dana can get through to you or Robby. though, neither of them really understand, and you know that they wouldn’t,

“I trust my residents, all of them. I trust that whatever undergrad program you’ve done has taught you the value of thorough charting and why we do it,” you nod as Robby starts, “So, I would love an explanation on why I see that your charts from earlier this morning are half done. They’re sloppy, disorganized and there are typos that could lead to wrong prescriptions.” he has that same slight condescending smile on his face that Dana recognizes even from afar. 

“I got caught up with helping on a peds case, then that overdose came in and then Langdon asked me to help in triage— I’m sorry —they’ll be fixed before I go.” you tell your attending with your head low. 

“They should be done properly after every single patient. I expect better from you, not excuses.” he says, arms crossed. you stare at the lines of the beige coloured floor, waiting for this to be over so you can get back to work. it goes quiet between the two of you and you miss seeing his eyes softening suddenly after scolding you, 

“Hey,” Robby says softly, grabbing your attention. when you look up, his expression is entirely different. he no longer looks at you as your attending but with a face pleading with desperation. it’s the kind of face only you get to see in private and no one else. 

“Same time tonight?” he says. If Jack was around, he’d argue that Robby sounds like he’s borderline begging,

“Of course.” you reply with the smallest of smiles. he nods, silently dismissing you from the room. Jack sighs as he watches you leave the room, quickly walking back to your station to continue your charts. Dana stands beside him, putting her hand on his back

“I tried talking to her again today. Still isn’t budging.” Jack says in disappointment

“Some people just don’t wanna be helped. You know that better than anyone.” Dana says sympathetically. Jack however strongly disagrees with her and is newly motivated by his need to prove Dana and Robby wrong about you. he might finally follow through with his idea of changing your shifts and begging for forgiveness later, for one week at least. 

your arrangement with Robby happened fast and out of nowhere. it started the way all messy, casual relationships do; at a bar, drunk, and with a little bit of playful flirting. 

you stared at the other residents scattered across the bar. some were in line for more drinks, some playing pool and others even dancing on a nonexistent dancefloor. you always like people watching and it was sweet to see them let loose after work. you sat quietly, and close beside Robby, knees brushing against one another every so often.

“So, have you applied to any fellowships for next year?” he starts as he takes a casual sip of his beer,

“I’m thinking of neurology right now and I know what you’re gonna say, it’s competitive, it’s for the best of the best and—” Robby cuts you off,

“I think it’s great, it’s perfect for you,” Robby looks at you smiling. No caveat, no sneaky comments, he stops with that. “You’re incredibly good at what you do in the ER, I think neuro would be very lucky to have you.” you smile at the praise from your attending, feeling yourself getting shyer by the second. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying to ignore the lustful way Robby looks at your lips, then back up to your eyes. maybe it’s the liquor but the words continue spilling out of you, “You’ve taught me a lot over the years and I don’t think ‘thank you’ will ever be enough. I never take anything you teach me for granted.”

Robby thinks of closing the distance between the two of you, kissing you right then and there in front of everyone and dealing with the consequences tomorrow. he’s so damn close to it but before he can make a move, you check the time on your phone, 

“Fuck, it’s late. I should head home.” you shuffle around to grab your bags and chug the last bit of your drink down. you know you might regret it later, but getting your money's worth from the last bit of alcohol outweighs the potential hangover or bad decisions you’ll make,

“Let me drive you.” Robby offers, desperate to keep you longer.

“Oh, no. Please, it’s okay!” you plead.

“I’ll drive you, it’s okay. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re home safely.” Robby is already standing up from the booth with his hand reaching out to help you stand. neither of you say goodbye to the rest of the day shift and quickly slip out the bar doors.

the car ride was a comfortable kind of quiet. the radio played at a low volume, and you’d hum some bits of a song you heard one too many times. he parks his car outside your apartment building, leaving the engine running. Robby still wants to kiss you, but feared that he’d come off too strong or like he’d been expecting something if he turns the car off,

“Thank you, Doctor Robby, I really appreciate it.” you say turning to look at him. he smiles softly, acknowledging your thank you with a nod. he looks at your lips again, then back at your eyes, similar to what he did in the bar before leaning in slowly. you don’t stop him, if anything you lean in to meet him halfway over the center console. he kisses you softly and with hesitation, as if he’s testing to see if what he’s doing is okay. when you don’t pull away, he puts his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper and deeper. your lips taste like a mix of vodka and the cherry lipgloss he always sees you wear, tempting him constantly. he’s always wanted to taste it and now he’s dizzy with lust and only continues to kiss you harder and deeper. he can’t hold back any longer and pulls away for a second,

“Can I come upstairs?” he asks with his hand still on your cheek making small circles. you hesitate for a second before nodding. Robby shuts the engine off before the two of you head up to your apartment. 

in hindsight, you should have said no. you should have told him that what you two were doing violated pages worth of HR guidelines and that your medical career wasn’t worth putting on the line for him. but the way Robby praised you earlier that night, the mentorship he’s given you for years, confiding in him felt natural to you but it wasn’t necessarily love. 

you could argue that you wanted him just as bad but in a different way. Robby was infatuated, desperate to feel your love, call you his and only his. on the other hand, you craved his validation, his leadership, his guidance. his desire for you to be wanted and needed by him was so strong, it made for a horrible combination. you, highly ambitious but docile, combined with his overbearing mentorship, your relationship or whatever you wanted to call it, was made to crash and burn. 

he towered over you, looking down at you as you stared up with big eyes, waiting for instructions. he always found that you were especially pretty to him like this; waiting for his instructions, only acting when he commanded. even in the bedroom, he naturally fell into a leadership role for you,

“So pretty.” he purred as he put his hand on your cheek again, leaning down to kiss you again. 

you never addressed your arrangement to each other but sleeping together became a routine most days after work. Robby only ever came over to your place, never his, and part of you is convinced that because of that, you have control over your arrangement; that you have the control to stop it whenever you want.

you laid in bed with your head on his bare chest, unable to rid your mind of the conversation you had with Jack that day. it replayed over and over in your head. maybe it was a ploy to poach you and have you join the night shift, or maybe he was genuinely concerned about the way Robby spoke to you. now that Jack mentioned it, you have noticed Robby has been a bit meaner to you than usual, and unfortunately it only made his rare praises more desirable,

“You were a little mean today.” you blurt out, not thinking your words through. there's a small moment of silence while Robby processes your sudden thought,

“You understand why I have to though, right?” Robby responds calmly. of course you know the answer. it was something he reiterated to you only ever in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I know.” 

“Say it.” there’s a tinge of Robby’s usual condescending tone. 

“You’re pushing me to do my best and you want me to be the best. Better than you.” your voice suddenly goes monotone, as if you’re reading from a memorized script.

“And?” he says with no change in tone. 

“And because it’s not fair to everyone else if you’re easy on me.” you say increasingly quieter.

“That’s right,” Robby says. the lack of an apology leaves you feeling empty and he can tell that’s exactly what you were looking for, 

“You know I started on your letter of recommendation for your fellowship next year,” your eyes look up at him with a sudden new sparkle, something he hasn’t seen in a while. it was close enough to an apology that was never coming, and you were taking what you could get.

𝜗ৎ 

the following week, you noticed a change in your schedule. for the first time during your residency, you were working nights. something about the change made you nervous; would Robby be upset? would it affect your letter of recommendation? you silently reminded yourself the schedule change is out of your control, but you can’t help but feel at fault for it. 

as you walk into PTMC, Jack and Shen stand together at the workstation,

“Here comes our newest Nightcrawler! How does it feel?” Doctor Shen says with a smile and his usual iced coffee in hand. 

“Really weird, I think it’s gonna take me a sec to adjust to the sleep schedule.” you say a bit on edge. even though you know everyone on the night shift, it still feels like you’re in unknown territory,

“I’m surprised you managed to almost avoid being on nights your entire residency,” John says as he passes you an energy drink, 

“As a welcome gift.” you smile as you take it, cracking it open before heading to your locker. 

as you put your things away, Robby approaches from behind, putting his hand on the small of your back to grab your attention. you turn to see him with slightly worried eyes, 

“So you’re working nights, huh?” he starts.

“I didn’t ask anyone to swap me to nights.” your defensiveness catches him off guard. 

“I know. And I know you’re smart, just don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,” he says, shaking his head slightly, 

“I would hate for this to affect your recommendation letter.” Robby feels ashamed to hold the letter above your head, but how else could he remind you where you belonged and who taught you everything you knew? Jack rounds the corner suddenly, seeing Robby speaking with you. there’s a notable shift in your energy from the way you were speaking with Shen minutes ago, 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice grabs both you and Robby’s attention, 

“Why don’t you catch up with Lena? We’re gonna huddle in a few minutes.” you scramble to lock everything away and head back towards the central area of the ER. Robby stays back, expecting Jack to confront him on the sudden shift in your energy,

“Did you ask to have her on nights?” Robby starts before Jack can say anything, 

“Because she was doing perfectly fine on the day shift.”

“She’s in her last year of her residency and hasn’t worked a single night shift. Don’t you think she should have an opportunity to see what it’s like?” Jack avoids his question but Robby already knows the answer. he’s too tired to fight, the day was already gruelling and exhausting enough on him,

“Just don’t go easy on her. She’s talented and she’s got a real shot at this neuro fellowship she wants for next year.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck up your protégé.” Jack says with his sarcastic flair. though he fails to mention that he’s serious on planning to show you what proper leadership looks like to him. 

𝜗ৎ 

Robby leaves PTMC right as he hears the usual HOOAH! from the nightcrawlers. he thinks the way Jack leads them is too laid back and filled with too many opportunities to bend the rules. he silently prays it doesn’t rub off on you. months worth of progress he’s made with you would all go to waste. 

“Eric Lake, twenty nine years old, had a bottle hit over his head at a bar tonight. multiple lacerations on the skull, possible skull fracture. BP, one thirty over seventy, heart rate, one twenty.” the paramedics call out as they pull the gurney towards trauma two. you look up to see Jack waving you over towards the room. 

as you enter trauma two, Jack is already working to get a gown on you,

“You’re going to need to make an incision on his skull. Neuro is on their way but there's a larger piece of glass that’s too deep. If we don’t do it now, it might press into his frontal lobe.” Jack says calmly as he can sense your panic set in.

“Doctor Abbot, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” you say with a shaky voice.

“I’ll walk you through it,” he says decisively. you walk over and he passes you a scalpel,

“Deep breath, go slow and gentle.” you take a deep breath in and follow his instructions exactly. once you make the incision, Jack takes the scalpel from your hand and passes you a set of tweezers next. you carefully remove the piece of glass and it feels like you can finally breathe properly again,

“Atta girl, let’s get him up for a CT scan next.” Jack says as he moves to take his gown and gloves off. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, following the same motions as him and removing your disposable gear. 

there’s a noticeable difference in the way Jack walks you through traumas. Robby was much less gentle, he would have reminded you of your neuro fellowship application a dozen times before you got to making an incision. he would’ve probably scolded you for taking your time, whereas Jack was calm, he trusted you and in turn you trusted yourself. 

the rest of the shift goes by as smoothly as possible. by the last hour or so, you’ve managed to finish most of your charts with your shaky, over caffeinated hands,

“You got a second to talk?” Jack says as he passes by you, waiting for you to follow. anxiety begins bubbling in your stomach, it’s a usual routine for Robby to put your mistakes on blast but it never fails to make you uneasy. Jack pulls you aside in one of the empty trauma rooms,

“You did good today, really good. You should be proud of how you handled that head laceration,” Jack starts. you look up at him nervously waiting for whatever caveat he has. he can see the nervousness in your eyes and something about the way you look at him makes him feel a sense of pity, 

“Mind if I give you some advice? Nothing bad, I promise,” you nod at his request, 

“You’ve got all the answers in you. All the right ideas and you need to own them more. Your technique, your approach with patients, it’s all great, but you need to be more confident in yourself.” you nod again at his advice. you’ve got all the answers in you repeats in your head like a new mantra,

“Thank you, Doctor Abbot. I appreciate it.” Jack nods in acknowledgement. 

from afar, Robby watches as Jack and you leave the trauma bay. he turns to Lena who is already carefully examining his every move,

“How’d she do tonight?” Lena already knows who he’s referring to,

“She did perfectly fine without you, Robinavitch.” Robby laughs dryly in response to Lena, shaking his head. perfectly fine without him sounds like an exaggeration. he wants to ask you how your first night went; were you pushing yourself hard enough still? are you learning better things from Jack than what he could’ve taught you? did you miss him? the questions continue popping up as he watches the way you interact with the night shift attending from afar. 

𝜗ৎ 

the end of your first week on nights was merciless– a mass crowd crush at a concert forced some of the day shift to come back in early, including Robby,

“He’s experiencing hyperkalemia, let’s administer nebulized albuterol now please!” you call out. Jack watches close by, nodding in agreement with each order you make. as Jack passes you by he quickly says,

“You’re doing great, keep calling orders just like that.” Robby watches as your eyes squint slightly, indicating a smile coming from under your mask. Jack leaves the crowded trauma room and heads towards the ambulance bay, Robby is quick to follow, grabbing his arm as the automatic sliding doors open, 

“She should’ve seen those hyperkalemia symptoms earlier, she didn’t deserve that win.” Robby says in a low and firm tone. Jack stops to face the other attending fully,

“But she still ended up identifying it, and that man is alive because of that,” Jack defends you quickly. Robby stares back with a deadpan expression, 

“Just because she doesn’t do it the way you would, doesn’t mean she’s not capable, Robby. A win is a win, and I’m still her attending on shift.” Robby is taken aback by Jack’s response, leaving him to walk back to the ambulance bay. 

you watch the two interact from afar as your patient is pushed out of the trauma room. you can’t make out their exact exchange but can only assume it’s about the way you’ve handed trauma after trauma tonight. 

as Robby turns to head back inside the ER, your eyes briefly meet. neither of you have spoken since you started on nights, nor has he tried to come over. Robby’s eyes have a familiar softness to them as you look at each other. part of you is torn between feeling guilty about not seeing him, but the other half is relieved to have your space, even if its temporary. you quickly look away, tearing your gown off and heading out of the trauma room through the rear door. there are silent prayers in your head hoping he isn’t following after you. 

the ER finally slows as the majority of the crowd crush patients either rest or head up to surgery. Jack watches as you type quickly to get through each chart. he can sense your fear of falling behind and having to pick up another patient so he rolls his chair beside you, casually looking at his watch,

“Down to the last hour,” you smile at his comment, still typing relentlessly. it had felt like there was no end in sight to today and you didn’t want to stop until then. Jack puts his hand on your forearm, finally putting a stop to your typing, “I’m really noticing improvement in your confidence especially in your verbal orders. Keep it up.” for the first time all day, you feel your shoulders drop and body begin to relax,

“Thank you, I’m really trying.” you say as your turn your body towards him.

“And I see it.” Jack holds his eye contact with you as he tries to continue emphasizing his praise to you,

“If you want, we could go for breakfast to celebrate your first week on nights?” heat spreads across your face quickly before you start frantically nodding. he flashes a smile, unable to hide his overwhelming excitement. 

the way Jack looks at you and treats you feels different than what you’re used to. you feel like a deer in headlights whenever he compliments you and this time, it felt genuine, authentic, like there isn’t some trick behind his words. the walls you put up to protect yourself from getting hurt are slowly coming down around him and you’re fucking terrified. 

he doesn’t tell you where you’re going, except that he knows you’ll enjoy it. the car ride together is quiet, he doesn’t push for conversations nor do you. it’s comfortable, there’s no pressure to talk about work or anything else, it’s a mutual space to silently decompress. Jack pulls into the parking lot of a small breakfast diner, looking over at you as he pulls the keys from the ignition,

“You okay?” he says with raised eyebrows, waiting on confirmation. you nod and head in together. 

it’s your traditional breakfast diner, a time capsule stuck in the 60s with posters reminiscent of those times. the floors have the usual black and white checker print with contrasting bright red booth chairs and tables. Jack guides you to a seat as a server passes you both menus,

“Did you pick this place ‘cause it reminds you of when you were a teenager?” you tease. it’s the first time he’s heard you make a joke in a while and he doesn’t care it’s at the expense of his age,

“Yeah, and sometimes I like to go to those renaissance fairs to remind me of my childhood.” he replies, smirking. you let out a laugh and he’s willing to do or say anything to hear it again. 

you both place your orders and it’s quiet again. you stare out at the window, still trying to decipher what him and Robby were talking about earlier,

“What’s on your mind?” Jack says, grabbing your attention away from the passing cars on the road. you stare back at him in hesitation,

“Can I ask you something?” Jack lets out a hum, opening the floor to you,

“What were you and Robby talking about earlier? When we were dealing with the crowd crush.” Jack breathes in deeply, shifting in discomfort,

“We just disagree sometimes on how we approach things.”

“Approach… Me?” you ask, still hesitant to continue. 

“Yeah, sort of.” Jack answers. it goes quiet again between the two of you,

“I heard you’re applying for a neuro fellowship next year?” he says, trying to steer the conversation away from Robby. he knows he’s failed when you’re suddenly the one shifting uncomfortably,

“I’m trying, yeah.” 

“Good for you. You’re great at what you do, neuro would be very lucky to have you.” Word for word, Jack repeats the exact same thing Robby said when you first told him about your plans to apply. something about hearing it again from Jack instead makes it sting,

“Is Robby writing your letter of recommendation?”

“He’s trying to apparently. Not sure he’s happy with me being on nights though so I haven’t really heard much about it.” Jack hums at your response, not pushing further. 

“Y’know for a while, I thought about changing to something else. I don’t know, maybe I felt burnt out but I just didn’t feel like I was good enough for it anymore.” there’s another small pause, Jack knows you aren’t finished yet,

“But that kinda changed recently, after being on the night shift. It reminded me why I’m here and that I’m good at what I do.” you say, looking at Jack. he tries to keep a straight face, feeling his chest swell with pride.

“You’re more than welcome to stay on nights.” he replies. you might just take him up on that. 

𝜗ৎ 

Can I come see you tomorrow? Saw you’re off. 

your half awake eyes scan over the text from Robby again. it’s been a few weeks since you’ve started on the night shift and neither of you have really spoken to each other outside of the usual patient hand offs. it was too early (or too late now that you worked nights) to be thinking about Robby and what your relationship meant. 

when you enter PTMC that evening, Robby is quick to follow you to your locker,

“Didn’t know we were ignoring each other now.” he starts with a slight bitterness,

“I haven’t had a chance to respond to anyone, Robby.” you say as you struggle to clip your badge to your scrub. it’s a half truth, you’ve been tired from the sleep schedule change but he didn’t need to know that. 

“I get it, you’re busy, I just didn’t—” he stops mid sentence to gently grab your badge and clip it on you. your arms drop as a click noise confirms that he’s secured it, 

“I didn’t think you swapping to the night shift would mean I wouldn’t see you anymore.” he says a bit quieter. you’re not sure how to respond to him. it’s not that you didn’t want to see him, you just didn’t want to deal with all the criticism and baggage that came with seeing him. Robby can tell you’re at a loss for words,

“How about I come over tomorrow, cook some dinner for you and show you the first draft of the recommendation letter I wrote?” before you can respond, Parker rounds the corner,

“Hey, that patient with dementia from last night is here again. She’s asking for you.” your attention is brought back to reality suddenly, remembering the events of your previous shift,

“Right, Mrs. Williams, I remember her. I’ll be there in a second.” you start to walk back towards the ER but Robby is quick to stop you,

“Let me know, okay?” you nod, trying to hurry back. 

𝜗ৎ 

the rest of the night passes by quickly. it’s a friday night and you learned quickly that weekend night shifts mostly included stitching up frat guys or tending to bar hoppers who drank too much. 

by the time the morning rolls around, you’ve already forgotten about Robby asking to come over. you had been preoccupied with whatever assignment Jack was throwing your way and for some reason that night, he was insistent on putting you on as many as possible. 

“Can we talk?” Jack says, interrupting you mid-chart. you follow Jack to a vacant room and there’s suddenly a familiar anxiety in your stomach that never goes away when you’re singled out by either attendings. 

“Here,” Jack says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you, 

“Open it.” he steps back with his arms behind his back, watching you carefully open the PTMC branded envelope up, eyes quickly skimming across the paper inside,

“To whom it may concern,

… A fantastic fit for a neurology fellowship…

… Extremely detailed in her work, highly competent, all while approaching every case with kindness and empathy…

… Knows all the answers within herself…

… I highly recommend her… she would benefit the team greatly…

Signed,

Dr. Jack Abbot

Attending Physician, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre”

“Whatever you choose to do, I just hope you get to stay in Pittsburgh.” Jack says with a quieter voice, filling the silence. you stare in awe at the letter,

“You didn’t have to.” you managed to get out,

“I wanted to. It’s the least I could do.” the ‘least he could do’ had possibly changed the trajectory of your medical career. 

you’re not sure what to do with yourself but your body naturally goes in to wrap your arms around Jack’s neck. he holds you close, putting his chin on your shoulders. the smell of your light perfume mixed with your skin consumes him. you pull away first, your hands still around his neck and his hands suddenly on your waist. 

neither of you have spoken but the longer you look at one another, you swear you can hear each other's thoughts.Jack just hopes he isn’t misreading anything as he slowly leans closer to your face kissing you hesitantly but softly. you don’t move, you don’t pull away, instead letting him pull away first,

“Jack, I don’t wanna mess this up.” you say in an almost whisper. it’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name and he wants to hear it again and again, 

“I know.” 

“And I need you to know I’m not doing all of this because you gave me that letter.”

“I know,” he reiterates again. “We can take it slow.” you look at him before awkwardly leaning up to give him a small kiss. Jack smiles,

“We can start with breakfast again?” 

outside in the ER, Robby walks in starting every shift the same way; staring at the portrait of Doctor Adamson. his need to continue his legacy and be half as good of a mentor is constantly consuming him and the portrait was a reminder of it. Dana walks in a few minutes later, standing next to Robby. 

“He woulda been proud of what you’ve done with the place.” Dana starts.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” Robby huffs shaking his head. 

“A bit of advice?” Robby looks over at Dana before reluctantly nodding.

“Some of the best mentors I’ve had are the ones who trust their mentees to make the right decisions. I know he did with you,” Dana says, motioning at the portrait. she leans in a bit closer, “It also helps when there are no feelings attached.” Dana leaves Robby with her thoughts and heads towards the nurses station. 

in the corner of his eye, you and Jack exit a room and Robby immediately notices the bright smile on your face. it looks out of place for someone who just worked a twelve almost thirteen hour shift. he watches you walk together and notices a bright white envelope in your hands that he can only assume is your letter of recommendation. the two attending’s eyes meet and Jack gives Robby a sly smile— a smile that reads you’re too late. Robby sighs as he looks back up at Adamson’s portrait for one more moment. Jack, on the other hand, has you both exactly where he wants; Robby feeling sorry for his mistakes and you on the night shift with him for the reminder of your residency.

The problem was that you had finally reached a point in your life where you weren't looking for anyone.

It had taken years to get there.

Years of confusing attention with affection. Years of convincing yourself that if you were patient enough, understanding enough, accommodating enough, eventually someone would become the person they kept promising they could be. Somewhere along the way, you had developed a habit of falling in love with potential instead of reality. You would meet a man, notice one or two good qualities, and then spend months filling in the blanks yourself. You'd build entire relationships around who somebody might become rather than who they actually were.

It was exhausting.

Eventually, after enough disappointment, enough nights spent staring at your ceiling, wondering why effort never seemed to be reciprocated, something shifted.

You stopped romanticizing people who gave you the bare minimum.

You stopped applauding men for doing things that should have been expected in the first place.

You stopped mistaking inconsistency for mystery and emotional unavailability for depth.

Most importantly, you learned how to walk away.

You discovered that being alone wasn't nearly as frightening as being with somebody who made you feel lonely. And once you'd learned that lesson, really learned it, your standards began to change.

Working as a social worker in the emergency department probably accelerated that transformation. Every day you sat with families experiencing the worst moments of their lives. You helped parents process devastating diagnoses. You comforted spouses after traumatic accidents. You watched people discover, over and over again, what truly mattered when everything else was stripped away.

It gave you perspective.

After spending twelve hours helping a family navigate a life-altering crisis, listening to some twenty-eight-year-old man explain that he "wasn't ready for labels" felt almost laughable.

Your dating history suddenly looked absurd when viewed through that lens.

There had been the self-proclaimed entrepreneur whose business seemed to consist entirely of talking about starting a business. The musician who forgot your birthday and then somehow managed to make you feel guilty for being upset about it. The man who spent six months deciding whether he wanted a relationship, as though you were a job offer sitting in his inbox waiting for approval.

Six months.

You could still remember sitting across from him at dinner, listening to him stumble through another vague explanation about timing and uncertainty and needing space, and feeling something inside you finally click into place.

Not heartbreak.

Clarity.

Because for the first time you realized that someone who truly wanted you would not require six months to determine whether you were worth choosing.

You left that relationship with surprisingly little sadness.

Mostly because by then you understood something you hadn't before.

Every mistake contained information. Every disappointment taught you something. Every failed relationship clarified what you actually needed.

Past mistakes weren't failures, they were data.

And the data had led you here.

To a place where your expectations were no longer negotiable.

Nothing unreasonable. Nothing impossible.

You wanted someone who communicated honestly. Someone who worked hard. Someone who respected women. Someone emotionally mature enough to express what they wanted instead of expecting you to decipher it through mixed signals and half-hearted text messages. Someone capable of making a decision without treating commitment like a hostage negotiation.

The bar, in your opinion, remained embarrassingly low.

You weren't asking for perfection or a fairytale. You were asking for competence. Consistency. Effort.

Which was why the universe's timing felt particularly cruel.

Because roughly three months after making a dramatic declaration to your friends that you were done prioritizing men, done settling, done chasing people who weren't sure about you, Jack quietly walked into your life and proceeded to embody nearly every expectation you'd spent years developing.

And somehow that felt significantly more dangerous than all the wrong men combined.

The first thing you noticed about Jack wasn't his face, or his job title, or even the fact that half the emergency department seemed to adore him.

It was that he remembered things.

Not the big things people were expected to remember. Not birthdays posted on Facebook or major life announcements that everyone in the department had heard about. It was the small things. The things most people acknowledged in conversation and then immediately forgot the moment they walked away.

You first noticed it on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

The department had been relatively calm for once, which in emergency medicine usually meant disaster was quietly building somewhere. You'd been walking beside Jack toward radiology after helping arrange temporary housing resources for a patient. The conversation had been casual, the kind that happened when two people spent enough time crossing paths at work. Somewhere between discussing a difficult discharge and complaining about hospital coffee, you'd mentioned that your younger brother was graduating from nursing school that weekend.

Jack had smiled.

"That's a huge accomplishment."

Then a trauma page had gone off overhead, he'd been pulled away, and you'd assumed that was the end of it.

Three weeks passed.

Three weeks filled with twelve-hour shifts, ambulance arrivals, difficult family meetings, social work consults, endless documentation, and the particular kind of exhaustion that came from working in an emergency department. You forgot the conversation entirely.

Jack apparently didn't.

You were carrying a chart toward the nurses' station when he passed you in the hallway.

He slowed slightly.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How'd the graduation go?"

You stopped walking.

Not because of the question itself, because it took you several seconds to understand what graduation he was talking about.

"What?"

"Your brother." Jack looked mildly confused by your confusion. "The fact that he graduated from nursing school?"

For a moment you simply stared at him.

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks and dozens, maybe hundreds, of patients. Endless consults. New admissions. New traumas. New crises. An entire emergency department's worth of information had passed through both of your brains since then. And yet somehow he'd remembered a single passing comment you'd made while walking down a hallway.

"You remembered that?"

Jack's forehead creased slightly. "Yeah?"

The answer came so naturally that it almost made you laugh. There was no pride in it, no expectation that he should be praised for paying attention. No awareness that he'd done anything unusual at all. As if listening when people spoke was simply normal. As if remembering details about someone mattered because that person mattered.

The realization caught you more off guard than it should have. Because the truth was, your surprise said far more about your past than it did about Jack.

You thought about the men you'd dated before. The ones who needed reminders for conversations they'd had the day before. The ones who forgot important events, forgot stories you'd told them, forgot preferences, forgot plans. Men who claimed they cared about you but somehow never seemed curious enough to remember the details that made you who you were. You remembered one ex who'd forgotten your birthday. Another who repeatedly mixed up your brother and cousin despite meeting both of them. One particularly impressive candidate had even asked what your undergraduate degree was after nearly four months of dating.

At the time, you'd laughed those things off. Made excuses. Told yourself they were busy, distracted, bad with details. But standing in the middle of a hospital hallway while Jack looked at you as though remembering your brother's graduation was the most ordinary thing in the world, those excuses suddenly felt a lot less convincing.

Because maybe caring looked like this.

Maybe it wasn't grand gestures or dramatic declarations. Maybe it was paying attention. Maybe it was listening closely enough that information stayed with you, remembering things simply because someone had taken the time to tell you.

You eventually answered his question and told him the graduation had gone well. You even showed him a picture your mother had insisted on taking, one where your brother looked deeply uncomfortable in his cap and gown. Jack smiled, asked a few questions, congratulated him through you, and then got called away to evaluate a patient before the conversation could continue. The interaction lasted less than two minutes. By the end of your shift, you should have forgotten about it.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about it on the drive home. Then again while brushing your teeth. Then again a few days later when you spotted him across the department, calmly talking a nervous patient through a procedure. It wasn't a grand romantic moment. There was no music, no revelation, no sudden realization that you were falling for him. It was smaller than that. Quieter. More dangerous.

Because for the first time in a very long time, someone had shown you what genuine attention looked like. And once you'd noticed it, you couldn't stop seeing it everywhere.

The emergency department had descended into chaos the moment the alert came through. Mass casualty incident. School bus versus commercial truck. Multiple patients inbound. You still remembered the way the atmosphere shifted in seconds, as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment people were finishing notes, grabbing coffee, discussing discharge plans. The next, every available trauma bay was being prepared, stretchers lined up, supplies restocked, and teams assembled. The department moved with a kind of organized urgency that only came from experience. Physicians pulled on trauma gowns while nurses prepared medications and respiratory therapists checked ventilators. Overhead pages echoed through the halls. Ambulance arrival times were shouted across rooms. Whiteboards filled with names faster than anyone could process them. Thirty-seven patients arrived over the course of the evening. Multiple critical injuries. The kind of shift where hours disappeared without notice and everyone operated almost entirely on instinct.

You spent most of the night with one family. Their son was sixteen years old, a quiet kid with braces who had been sitting near the front of the bus when it rolled. The trauma team identified a pelvic fracture almost immediately, and later imaging revealed internal bleeding that required urgent intervention. While physicians worked in the trauma bay, your role was with the people waiting outside. The mother had started crying before the ambulance doors even closed. The father somehow seemed worse. At least the mother's fear had somewhere to go.

The father's stayed trapped inside him, building pressure behind every breath. His hands shook every time someone in scrubs walked through the doors. He stood up whenever footsteps approached and sat down again when they passed by. Over and over, he asked the same questions because panic made it impossible to hold onto answers. Was his son awake? Had he said anything? Was he going to be okay? What exactly did internal bleeding mean? You explained what you could. You tracked down updates. You translated medical terminology into language terrified parents could understand. You brought cups of water they barely touched and sat beside them through every agonizing stretch of waiting. Over the years, you had learned that waiting was often the cruelest part. Pain had something concrete to focus on. Fear could be addressed. But uncertainty lingered. It settled into people and hollowed them out from the inside.

By the time their son was stabilized and transferred to the ICU, nearly two hours had passed. The mother squeezed your hand before she left. The father looked at you like he wanted to say something important but couldn't quite find the words. Then they followed the transport team upstairs, and suddenly the adrenaline that had been carrying you all evening vanished. Your feet hurt. Your shoulders ached. The headache you'd been ignoring since noon had settled somewhere behind your eyes and started pounding. You couldn't remember the last time you'd sat down. You couldn't remember the last time you'd eaten either. Breakfast felt like it had happened days ago. At some point you'd grabbed coffee. Maybe twice. Maybe three times. The details blurred together beneath the weight of the shift.

You slipped into the staff lounge hoping for five uninterrupted minutes before the next crisis found you. The room was quiet for the first time all night. No monitors. No overhead announcements. No crying families. No trauma alerts. Jack sat alone at one of the tables finishing documentation. His trauma gown was gone, wearing only his black srubs. Reading glasses rested low on his nose as he typed. A half-empty coffee sat beside his laptop. He looked exhausted.

You had barely stepped into the room when something slid across the table toward you.

A granola bar.

You stared at it.

Then at him.

Jack didn't even look up.

"You haven't eaten."

For a moment your brain struggled to catch up.

"What?"

"I saw you skip lunch."

His fingers never stopped moving across the keyboard.

"Eat."

Your eyes dropped back to the granola bar. It was completely ordinary. Yet something about it made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

"You got me food?"

That finally earned you a glance. Jack looked up just long enough to give you a mildly unimpressed expression.

"You look like you're running entirely on caffeine and wishful thinking."

A beat passed.

"Which isn't sustainable."

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. A real laugh. The first one you'd managed all night. Something softened in his expression when he heard it. Not quite a smile, but close.

You sat down across from him and opened the wrapper. The sound crinkled loudly in the otherwise silent room.

"You've been observing my dietary habits now?"

"Someone has to."

"You say that like I'm a child."

"Well you’re a social worker, kid. We wouldn’t survive with you guys. So yeah, I’m observing."

You opened your mouth to argue and immediately closed it again because he was, unfortunately, correct. Jack returned to his charting, and the conversation could have ended there. Probably should have. But as you sat there eating the granola bar, something kept nagging at you.

"How did you even notice?"

He looked up again.

"Notice what?"

"That I hadn't eaten."

The question seemed to genuinely confuse him.

"You always eat lunch."

You blinked. "What?"

"You usually disappear around one, and come back around one thirty."

He shrugged as if the answer were self-explanatory.

"Today you didn't."

Something shifted quietly inside your chest, because he wasn't talking about one day.

To know that, he had been paying attention for weeks. Maybe months. Not in a deliberate way. Not in an intrusive way. Just enough to notice patterns. Enough to notice your absence from one. Enough to realize something was off. And somehow that affected you far more than it should have. You'd dated men who couldn't remember your favorite food. Men who forgot important conversations, forgot birthdays, forgot promises they had made themselves. Yet here was Jack remembering something as insignificant as the fact that you usually took lunch around one o'clock.

Not because he wanted credit.

Not because he was trying to impress you.

Not because he expected anything in return.

Simply because he cared.

As the silence settled between you again, you found yourself watching him over the edge of the granola bar wrapper. The tiredness beneath his eyes. The slight slump in his shoulders. The concentration on his face as he finished documentation after one of the hardest shifts either of you had worked in months. He was exhausted too. He had spent the evening intubating patients, coordinating trauma care, delivering updates, and making impossible decisions under impossible pressure. Yet somewhere amid all that chaos, he'd noticed that you hadn't eaten. He'd noticed. He'd remembered. And he'd acted.

No grand gesture.

Just a granola bar quietly pushed across a table.

A simple act of care.

And for reasons you couldn't fully explain, it felt more intimate than every expensive dinner, every bouquet of flowers, and every romantic gesture you'd ever received. Because those things had often been done to impress you. This had simply been done because you needed it.

"You like him."

Santos' voice appeared beside you during one of those rare moments when the emergency department wasn't actively falling apart. You were halfway through documenting a consult and attempting to drink a coffee that had long since gone cold when Santos delivered the statement so casually that it took a moment for your brain to catch up.

"Excuse me?"

She didn't even look up from her computer.

"You like him."

You stared at her.

"Who?"

That finally earned you a glance. Santos turned slowly, giving you the kind of look normally reserved for people who had just asked whether the sky was blue.

"Abbot."

You nearly inhaled your coffee.

"Come again?"

"It's so obvious it's actually starting to piss me off."

A laugh escaped her as she turned back toward her charting, while you sat there feeling personally attacked.

"I don't have a crush on him."

"Sure."

"I don't."

"Okay."

"Santos."

"What?"

"I do not have a crush on Jack."

The grin spreading across her face immediately told you this argument was already lost.

"You absolutely do. "You get weird when he walks by."

"I do not get weird."

"You do."

"I don't."

Santos raised an eyebrow.

You groaned and rubbed a hand over your face.

"Don't you have patients?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject."

"You are."

You pointed at her dramatically.

"Is this what you do all day? Stare at your coworkers instead of charting?"

"Partially."

At least she was honest.

Unfortunately, before you could continue arguing, movement across the department caught your attention. Your eyes found Jack automatically, and the triumphant noise Santos made beside you was immediate.

"There."

"Oh, shut up."

"There!"

Across the emergency department, Jack stood beside Robby reviewing imaging results on a computer screen. The CT images glowed against the monitor while the two physicians discussed findings. You couldn't hear the conversation from where you stood, but you could recognize the expression on Jack's face. Focused. Attentive. Completely engaged. His arms were crossed as he listened to Robby explain something, occasionally leaning forward to point out a detail on the scan before the conversation continued. There was absolutely nothing romantic about the scene. It was two doctors discussing a patient. That's all it was.

And yet you found yourself watching.

Not because he was handsome.

Although he was.

Not because he was charming.

Although he could be.

It was something far more annoying than that.

Because every day you watched him be good at what he did.

Not perfect.

Good.

There was a difference.

You'd seen him struggle too.

Medicine was full of mistakes, uncertainty, and moments where nobody had the right answer. Every physician encountered them eventually. The difference was how Jack responded when they happened. You'd seen him ask questions without embarrassment. Consult specialists when he wasn't sure. Accept feedback from colleagues without becoming defensive. Admit when someone else's idea was better than his own.

A few weeks earlier, Javadi had suggested a diagnosis he hadn't initially considered. You still remembered standing nearby while she carefully explained her reasoning, clearly nervous about disagreeing with an attending. Jack had listened. Really listened. Then he'd thanked her when additional testing proved she was right.

Such a small moment and ordinary moment. And yet, it had stayed with you.

Because you'd spent years dating men whose egos were so fragile that being corrected felt like a personal attack. Men who treated every disagreement like a competition they had to win. Men who would rather be wrong than admit someone else might know more.

Jack never seemed threatened by not knowing everything.

In fact, the more competent he was, the more comfortable he seemed admitting what he didn't know.

And somehow that made him even more competent.

That was the problem.

Attraction built on looks was manageable. Attraction built on charm eventually faded. But attraction built on respect was dangerous because it rooted itself deeper. It wasn't about chemistry or butterflies or fantasy. It was built on observation. On evidence. On watching somebody reveal who they were over and over again until you couldn't deny what you saw.

You respected him.

You respected the way he treated people.

You respected the way he worked.

You respected the way he showed up, day after day, even when the job was difficult and exhausting and thankless. You respected the fact that he never acted like caring was beneath him. You watched him mentor residents, advocate for vulnerable patients, comfort grieving families, and choose kindness over convenience again and again. Not because anyone was watching. Not because he wanted recognition. Simply because that was who he was.

And somewhere along the way, without your permission, he had become the standard.

Not perfection. Not potential. Not promises. Effort. Consistency. Character. All the things you'd spent years searching for in men who only ever seemed to offer excuses instead.

Santos was still staring at you when you finally dragged your attention away from the other side of the department.

"You done staring?"

You immediately looked anywhere but Jack.

"I wasn't staring."

"You were."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

A comfortable silence settled between you before Santos leaned slightly closer. "For what it's worth?"

You sighed. "What?"

Her gaze flickered toward Jack before returning to you. This time, when she spoke, there was no teasing in her voice.

"I get it."

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because she was making fun of you, but because she wasn't. For once, Santos sounded completely sincere.

"He makes people feel safe."

The words settled somewhere deep inside you because they were true. You looked back across the department. Jack was still standing beside Robby, still discussing scans, still completely unaware of the conversation happening about him. Completely unaware that somewhere along the way he'd become the measuring stick against which every other man was now being compared.

And maybe that was the most frustrating part of all.

The realization happened at a bar.

Which was ironic, considering bars were exactly the sort of place you'd spent the last year insisting your future husband would never be found.

Not because you thought there was anything wrong with meeting people at bars. You'd simply reached a point in your life where you no longer believed meaningful relationships appeared because you were looking for them.

The emergency department's New Year's gathering was nothing particularly special. Just a local bar rented out for the evening, cheap decorations still hanging from Christmas, music playing slightly too loud through old speakers, and a collection of healthcare workers desperately trying to remember they were human beings outside the hospital. For one night nobody was discussing lab values, trauma activations, consults, or difficult patients. Nobody was running toward alarms. Nobody was delivering bad news.

People were simply existing.

Laughing.

Drinking.

Living.

You stood at the bar with a vodka cranberry in hand, watching your coworkers scatter across the room. Mel and Santos were butchering a karaoke song with enough confidence to make up for their complete lack of talent. Mohan and Javadi had somehow ended up in a corner gossiping about Mateo. Robby was engaged in what looked like an unnecessarily passionate debate about football with Shen. The room buzzed with the easy familiarity that developed when people spent their days surviving chaos together.

You had entered the new year single. But more importantly, you'd entered it happy. Not pretending to be happy. Not telling yourself you were happy.

Actually happy.

You weren't wondering who might text tomorrow morning. You weren't looking around the room hoping someone would notice you. You weren't mentally calculating whether this year would finally be the year you met somebody. For the first time in your adult life, your happiness wasn't being held hostage by your relationship status.

You had already chosen yourself.

And once you did that, everything else began feeling different.

"Vodka cranberry."

Jack's voice appeared beside you before you noticed him approach.

You glanced over.

"What about it?"

He nodded toward your drink.

"You always order vodka cranberries."

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. "Are you keeping a file on me?"

"Maybe."

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"I like knowing things."

"Yeah, I've noticed that."

The exchange was simple. Easy. The kind of conversation that had somehow become normal between the two of you over the past several months. You hadn't noticed when that happened. At some point the awkwardness disappeared. Conversations stopped feeling intentional and started feeling natural. You found yourself seeking him out without realizing it. Found yourself looking for him during difficult shifts. Found yourself collecting stories to tell him later.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

For a few moments neither of you spoke. Jack leaned one shoulder against the bar, his attention drifting briefly across the room before settling back on you.

"You seem happy."

The comment caught you off guard—not because of the words themselves, but because of the way he said them. Most people would have asked if you were happy. Jack stated it like an observation. Like he'd noticed.

You looked over at him. "So do you."

"No."

The small smile on his face faded slightly.

"I'm serious."

Something about his tone made you pause. You studied him for a moment. Really studied him. The soft lighting of the bar. The tiredness that still lingered beneath his eyes after another year in emergency medicine. The way he watched people when they spoke, as though they were worth listening to. And then you realized he wasn't asking a casual question. He genuinely wanted to know.

"Yeah," you admitted quietly. The answer came easier than expected. "I am."

For a moment neither of you spoke. Then something shifted in his expression. Small. Subtle. But unmistakable. Relief. Not satisfaction. Not pride. Relief, like he'd been hoping that would be your answer. Like your happiness mattered to him independent of anything he might gain from it.

"Good."

The word came quietly. Sincerely.

"You deserve that. It suits you."

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because it sounded romantic—it didn't. That was what made it so dangerous. Jack had never flirted with you the way other men had. Never treated conversations like transactions. Never acted as though kindness earned him something in return. He never made you feel like a prize to be won or a challenge to be conquered. There was no game underneath his attention. No hidden agenda. No constant pressure to define things before they naturally became something.

He simply saw you. The real you. Not the version trying to impress people. Not the version performing confidence. Not the version who always had the right answer. Just you.

And somehow that felt more intimate than all the grand romantic gestures you'd spent years convincing yourself were meaningful.

You thought about every relationship you'd had before. The men who wanted to be needed. The men who liked the idea of you. The men who loved being chosen more than they loved actually knowing you. How often you'd felt as though your worth depended on being wanted.

Jack had never made you feel that way.

Standing there in a crowded bar on New Year's Eve, surrounded by music and laughter and coworkers singing off-key in the background, the realization settled quietly into your chest. The reason you liked Jack wasn't because he made you feel chosen. It was because, somehow, he made you feel seen.

And after years of confusing those two things, you finally understood the difference.

Several weeks later, after a shift that had somehow managed to be both exhausting and uneventful, you found yourself standing on the hospital roof with Jack. The city stretched beneath you, Pittsburgh glowing against the darkness, thousands of lights scattered across the hillsides and reflected in the rivers below. The wind was stronger than usual, tugging loose strands of hair across your face and making the fabric of your jacket flutter around your arms.

Jack stood beside you, close enough that you could hear him breathing when the wind quieted, but not touching. He never seemed to force closeness. Never crowded your space. Never inserted himself where he wasn't invited. There was simply a comfortable ease between the two of you now, built slowly over months of shared shifts, late-night conversations, and stolen moments between emergencies. The silence wasn't awkward. It never was. With Jack, silence felt less like an absence of conversation and more like another form of it.

For several moments neither of you spoke. You watched headlights move across one of the bridges in the distance, tiny streams of light weaving through the city. Eventually, the thought escaped before you could stop it.

"You know," you said, your voice almost getting carried away by the wind, "I used to have terrible taste in men."

Jack laughed immediately.

"Past tense?"

You smiled. "Definitely."

"What changed?"

The question should have been simple. Instead, it made you pause. Because the answer wasn't one thing. It wasn't a single heartbreak or one defining relationship. It was years. Years of disappointment and lessons you hadn't wanted to learn. Years of convincing yourself to stay when you should have left. Years of making excuses for people who never seemed willing to make the same effort for you.

You leaned your elbows against the railing and looked out at the city. "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

You exhaled slowly. "I stopped making excuses."

Beside you, Jack stayed quiet, listening the way he always did. Not waiting for his turn to speak. Not trying to solve anything. Just listening.

"I used to fall in love with potential."

The confession felt embarrassingly honest, but somehow easier to admit with him than it would've been with anyone else.

Jack nodded. "I think a lot of people do."

"Yeah, well." A small laugh escaped you. "Turns out that's a terrible strategy."

His smile widened. "Very terrible."

"I'd meet someone and immediately start imagining who they could become. I'd see one good quality and build an entire future around it. I'd convince myself that eventually they'd communicate better. Eventually they'd grow up. Eventually they'd be ready. Eventually they'd become the person I needed them to be."

You shook your head, laughing softly at yourself. "It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud."

"It doesn't."

"It should."

Jack glanced toward you, his expression thoughtful rather than amused. "It sounds hopeful."

The answer caught you off guard. Most people would've called it naïve. Or foolish. Or desperate. You'd certainly called yourself all three at different points in your life. Hopeful felt different. Kinder. More generous. More accurate somehow. You stared back out at the city lights scattered across the darkness and found yourself being honest in a way that had become strangely easy with him.

"I overlooked a lot of things," you admitted quietly. "I ignored red flags because I wanted things to work. I convinced myself that if someone cared enough, they'd eventually become who they were supposed to be. I'd meet someone and immediately start imagining who they could become instead of paying attention to who they actually were. I thought loving somebody enough could somehow bridge the gap between reality and potential."

The wind swept across the rooftop again, lifting strands of your hair across your face.

"What do you look for now?" he asked after a moment.

The question made you smile because, for the first time in your life, you actually had an answer. Not the answer you would've given at twenty-two when chemistry felt more important than compatibility. Not the answer you'd have given when you were still measuring your worth by whether someone chose you. The real answer.

"Consistency."

Jack nodded slightly.

"Kindness."

You thought for another second.

"Emotional intelligence."

Then, completely serious, you added,

"A guy with a real job."

The laugh that burst out of him was so unexpected that you immediately started laughing too.

"A real job?"

"I'm serious."

"No, I know you are. That's what makes it funny."

You pointed at him.

"Do not underestimate how low the bar can be."

His shoulders shook with laughter.

"I stand corrected."

"I've dated men who described unemployment as a spiritual journey."

"What?"

"I'm not joking."

"C'mon, kid, that is not a real sentence."

"It is, trust me."

By then you were both laughing, the sound carried away by the wind and swallowed by the city below. The conversation should have felt ridiculous. Like gossip. Like complaining about exes. Instead it felt strangely freeing. Because for years you'd treated your standards like something embarrassing. Something that needed justification. Something that made you difficult or demanding. Somewhere along the way you'd absorbed the idea that wanting consistency, effort, communication, and emotional maturity was somehow asking for too much. Standing there now, laughing with Jack beneath the Pittsburgh skyline, it suddenly felt absurd that you'd ever believed that. Those weren't impossible standards. They weren't extraordinary. They were the natural result of finally valuing yourself enough to stop accepting less.

When the laughter eventually faded, a comfortable silence settled between you again. The city continued glowing beneath the darkness. A helicopter crossed the distant skyline. Somewhere below, another ambulance was probably pulling into the emergency bay while another shift began. You turned toward Jack and discovered he was already looking at you.

Not intensely.

Not romantically.

Just honestly.

Jack wasn't attractive because he met your expectations. Plenty of people met your expectations on paper. Plenty of people could say the right things. Plenty of people could check boxes. Jack was different because he had expectations too. For himself. For his career. For the way he treated people. For the kind of life he wanted to build.

You had never once gotten the impression that he was waiting for someone else to save him from himself. He wasn't drifting through life hoping a relationship would magically provide purpose. He wasn't looking for a woman to fill an emptiness he refused to address on his own. He already had a full life. A demanding career. Meaningful friendships. Purpose. Ambition. Values. A strong sense of who he was and who he wanted to become. And because of that, his kindness never felt needy. His attention never felt possessive. His interest never felt desperate.

It felt intentional.

Steady.

Healthy.

The realization settled quietly into your chest.

Every relationship you'd had before seemed to revolve around potential. Around waiting. Around promises of who somebody might become one day if you just loved them enough, supported them enough, stayed long enough. You'd spent years investing in future versions of people who never actually arrived.

Jack wasn't potential.

He wasn't a project.

He wasn't a possibility.

He was already there.

Already doing the work.

Already growing.

Already becoming.

And maybe that was what made room for something real.

Not two people searching for someone to complete them.

Just two people who had already built lives they were proud of and, somewhere along the way, discovered they genuinely liked standing beside each other in them.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn't feel like something you had to force into existence. It felt like something you could simply let happen.

And standing beside Jack on that rooftop, with the wind tangling your hair and the city glowing below, you realized that might be the healthiest thing you'd ever felt.

The first kiss happened months later.

Not because either of you were playing games. Not because there was confusion about what existed between you. And definitely not because one of you was waiting for the other to make the first move. If anything, the opposite was true. By that point, there was very little uncertainty left between the two of you. The feelings had settled slowly, steadily, over months of shared shifts, rooftop conversations, coffee runs, trauma activations, and stolen moments in hospital hallways. It wasn't the kind of connection that arrived all at once. It was built piece by piece, conversation by conversation, until one day you realized Jack had become the person you looked for first when you walked into a room.

You knew the sound of his laugh.

You knew how he took his coffee.

You knew which patients stayed with him long after his shifts ended.

You knew the tiny crease that appeared between his eyebrows when he was concentrating.

You knew how he listened.

And somehow, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, friendship had become something deeper.

The shift that night had been brutal. Too many patients. Not enough beds. Multiple traumas. A pediatric code that left the entire department quieter afterward. By three in the morning, exhaustion hung over everyone like a physical weight. The parking lot outside the hospital was mostly empty, illuminated by scattered streetlights. Spring had settled heavily over Pittsburgh, the air warm even at that hour and carrying the faint sounds of distant traffic.

As usual, Jack walked you to your car. At some point it had become routine. Neither of you remembered exactly when it started—maybe after a particularly difficult shift, maybe after a late-night safety concern, or maybe because he simply wanted a few extra minutes with you. Whatever the reason, neither of you questioned it anymore.

You walked side by side through the parking lot, your conversation fading naturally as you approached your car. Neither of you seemed particularly eager to say goodnight. That had become another pattern lately. Conversations stretching longer than necessary. Lingering. Finding reasons for one more minute together.

When you finally reached your car and turned toward him, you immediately noticed something different.

Jack looked nervous. Not obviously, but enough that you recognized it.

The realization startled you because nervous wasn't a word you often associated with Jack. You'd seen him lead trauma teams through impossible situations, make life-or-death decisions under pressure, and calmly deliver devastating news to families. Yet somehow standing in a mostly empty parking lot seemed to unsettle him more than any trauma activation ever had. The thought was unexpectedly adorable.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

The corner of your mouth lifted automatically.

"You just did, big guy."

His eyes rolled immediately, a familiar gesture that somehow managed to make your chest warm every single time. You smiled. Then he smiled too.

And there it was.

That look.

The one you'd spent months trying not to think too much about. The one that always seemed to appear during quiet moments when neither of you were distracted by work or patients or responsibilities. The one that made your stomach flip despite your best efforts.

For a moment neither of you spoke. The warm night air settled around you, carrying the distant sounds of traffic through the city.

Jack looked at you like he was making a decision.

Then finally he said, "Can I kiss you?"

Just like that.

No games. No confusion. No carefully crafted ambiguity. No inching closer and hoping you'd somehow read his mind. No forcing you to analyze every interaction afterward with your friends. No making you carry the emotional burden of figuring out where you stood.

Just honesty.

Direct. Simple. Certain.

The question hung between you, and suddenly it felt like time slowed. Because it wasn't really about the kiss. Not entirely. It was about everything the question represented: respect, communication, intentionality, choice.

You looked at him and, for one brief moment, every relationship that had come before felt impossibly far away. The men who weren't sure. The men who wanted you, but never enough. The men who expected you to do all the emotional labor while they sat comfortably in uncertainty. The men who treated commitment like a threat and vulnerability like a weakness. The men who left you constantly wondering where you stood because they themselves never seemed willing to stand anywhere.

For years you'd viewed those experiences as failures. Evidence that something was wrong with you. Evidence that you were choosing poorly or expecting too much. But standing in front of Jack, you understood something you hadn't before.

None of it had been wasted.

Those relationships had taught you what inconsistency felt like so you could recognize consistency when it arrived. They had taught you what emotional unavailability looked like so you could appreciate emotional maturity. They had taught you what effort wasn't so you could recognize real effort when it finally appeared.

Because all of it had led you here. To someone who listened. Someone who paid attention. Someone who remembered things. Someone who showed up. Someone emotionally mature enough to know what he wanted and secure enough to say it out loud.

Your smile widened before you could stop it.

"Yeah."

The answer came easily. Without hesitation. Without fear. Without overthinking. Because for the first time in your life, saying yes didn't feel like taking a risk.

It felt like trusting something that had already proven itself.

Jack smiled then. A real smile. Warm. Relieved. Certain. And somehow seeing that expression affected you almost as much as the question itself. Like he wasn't taking your answer for granted. Like he understood exactly what it meant. Like he knew this wasn't just a kiss. It was months of friendship, trust, consistency, and care finally being acknowledged for what it had become.

Slowly, he stepped closer. Not enough to overwhelm you. Not enough to presume. Just enough. Still giving you room. Still giving you time to change your mind if you wanted to.

You noticed the tiredness lingering beneath his eyes from the shift. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. The way his gaze flickered briefly toward your lips before returning to your eyes, as though even now he wanted to make sure you were certain.

Then his hand lifted.

Gentle. Careful.

He brushed a strand of windblown hair behind your ear.

The gesture was so small, so simple, and somehow it made your heart ache. Because that was Jack. Not grand gestures. Not performances. Not declarations made for an audience. Just small moments of thoughtfulness repeated over and over until they became something extraordinary.

When he finally kissed you, it wasn't rushed. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't the kind of kiss movies spent two hours building toward before swelling music played in the background. It was better because it felt real. Warm and patient and certain. Familiar somehow, despite being entirely new. Like coming home after a very long day. Like finally setting down something heavy you'd been carrying for too long. Like exhaling after holding your breath for months without realizing it.

When you eventually pulled apart, neither of you moved very far. Jack's forehead nearly brushed yours, both of you smiling, both of you slightly overwhelmed, neither of you in any hurry to leave.

Standing there beneath the hospital lights, with the city sleeping around you and Jack looking at you like you were something precious, you realized something. For years you'd been told that having standards would leave you lonely. That expectations were unrealistic. That wanting more meant asking for too much.

But the opposite had turned out to be true.

Having expectations hadn't prevented love.

It had protected you until the right person arrived.

Because these days, you had expectations.

And for the first time in your life, someone hadn't just met them.

He'd exceeded them.

“ What ?” You asked. Your limbs sneaked into his hairs. You liked how they curled on his head, a sea of salt and pepper beauty you definitely liked long enough to be played with. Or held. Especially when he went down on you. One of his slithered to your face and tipped your head down. It was your turn to frown, but not without a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “ It’s new.”

“...What’s new ?”

“ Your gloss.” You look at through your falsies. He stares back and you lat out an amused laugh. 

“ Jack, how come you remember what gloss I don’t have ? Yes it’s new. It’s Riri’s gloss bomb. My friend gave me one, you know ? The one working at Sephora downtown.”

“ You like it ? ” He asks absent mindly, eyes contemplating your sparkling lips. The glitters scattered all over your petals made them look more appealing, more kissable. And if he didn’t want to kiss you again he’d be a mad man.

“ Yeah. It’s nice, I guess.” 

The following day when you pull out your keys to open your apartment door, you can’t help but notice the box sitting on your doorstop. You don’t recall ordering anything and your monthly deliveries were not even shipped yet. What on Earth ? You kick your heels off and slip into your more comfortable indoors one. Curious as ever you unpack the mysterious box and your eyes wide at the sight of a pink fenty beauty heart shaped box. 

It had to be Jack. Your generous and devoted boyfriend, Jack Abbot. Who else would that be ? 

“ I can’t believe him. ”

"No," you said flatly, but your lips twitched.

Shen sighed dramatically, stood up and shuffled toward the door. "Unbelievable. I give and I give." He paused in the doorway, looking back at you with genuine affection. "You know I'm just gonna keep asking, right?"

"I know," you said softly.

Shen shook his head and left, the door closing behind him and just like that, it was just you and Jack.

You sat there for a moment, trying to recover from the overwhelming embarrassment. You pulled at your hair tie again, snapping it against your wrist just to feel something other than the weight of his presence in the room.

Jack finished making his coffee and finally turned around. He leaned against the counter, cradling the warm cup in both hands, and looked at you across the room.

"So, a crush, huh?"

You met his eyes and immediately shook your head. "Not you too," you mumbled, dropping your gaze back to your hands.

He chuckled weakly as he watched you.

You pulled at your hair tie again and again and again and again, until the silence was too much.

"Just a small one," you mumbled. "Nothing will come of it. Probably. So don't worry. HR won't have to get involved." You looked up at him then, meeting his eyes with a weak and embarrassed grin. Because he was your boss, after all.

He laughed at that, still weak. "Why do you think nothing will come of it?" he asked gently, and then he took a sip of his coffee, but his eyes stayed on yours.

"Because I'm not going to say anything."

Jack lowered his mug. "Why not?"

You swallowed. The hair tie snapped against your wrist one more time, and you forced yourself to stop, to let your hands fall limp in your lap. "I don't feel like being rejected, Jack," you said softly.

You had the privilege of calling him Jack because he'd told you so once, months ago. You never used it as much as you wanted to.

Jack watched you for a long moment, his hazel eyes piercing yours. "Now who would reject you?" he asked.

You couldn't help the shy smile that formed on your face.

Jack smiled immediately in return. His heart was hammering in his chest, loud enough that he was sure you could hear it from across the room. He took another sip of his coffee just to have something to do.

"I'm not taking a chance with that," you said, still smiling. "Thank you, though."

He shook his head slightly, the mug still near his lips. "You should."

He only said it so he could figure out who it was. That's what he told himself. He just wanted to know. It was just professional curiosity.

You stared at him, and then you plucked at your hair tie so hard it left a mark on your skin. "Jack, I am not confessing to someone I have a crush on at work," you sounded genuinely appalled.

He chuckled at your reaction. "Who is it? Maybe I have some intel."

You shot him a sharp look. "Don't even try."

He laughed for real this time. "Oh, come on, sweetheart. I've had lifetimes of experience. I'm sure I can help you out."

"Not happening," you said, shaking your head, but you were smiling again.

Jack tilted his head, studying you. "Is it a resident?" he asked, watching your face for any tell.

"Jack," you said, half a warning, half a plea.

"Intern?" he pressed.

"Ew, no," you mumbled, and the disgust in your voice was so genuine that Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

You hadn't had any pleasure with any of the interns. For some reason, every new batch that rotated through thought they were above everyone else. Too smart for bedside manner and too important for basic respect apparently. You didn't get along with them, and Jack knew that. He'd had to save you from social interactions with them more than once.

Jack nodded slowly, pretending to think. "So not an intern. Not a resident." He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours. "That doesn't leave many options."

There was a long pause and the Jack broke the silence first. "Attending?" he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. If you said no right now, if it sounded genuine— he wasn't sure how he was going to deal with heartbreak at the ripe age of fifty, but he knew it would hurt.

"Yup," you mumbled sarcastically, still not looking at him. "You got it. I'm crushing on Robby."

Jack paused. "Seriously?" he asked, and his voice had dropped an octave.

You finally looked up from your hair tie. Your eyes met his, and you saw genuine horror in his eyes.

"What? No!" you called out, waving your hands in front of you like you were physically erasing the words from the air. "I'm joking!"

You giggled and you could have sworn you saw him let out a sigh of relief. His shoulders dropped just slightly and his grip on his coffee mug loosened.

"Jesus—no way, no." You shook your head in disbelief that he'd even thought for a second you'd be interested in Robby. "Robby? Really, Jack?"

Jack grinned, but it was shaky around the edges. "Who then?" he asked, and his voice was steadier now.

"Jack," you said, and you stood up from your seat.

Jack raised his head, following your movements as you crossed toward the door. His eyes stayed on you the whole time until you were standing at the doorway, and only then did his gaze drop back to his coffee.

You paused with your hand on the door frame, watching him for a second. Your eyes drifted to the back of his head, to those gray curls that were always just a little too long, that always made you want to reach out and—

You quickly opened the door before he could notice you standing there, watching him like some kind of creep.

Hours passed. You moved on autopilot, your body knowing what to do even when your brain was somewhere else entirely.

You tried not to think about Jack. You tried really hard, but every time you turned a corner, you expected to see him. Every time someone called your name, your heart jumped. It was pathetic.

Jack finally got a breather around 4am.

He sat down at one of the computers and let out a small groan under his breath as he stretched his leg out in front of him.

Despite feeling the need to always be working, he didn't exactly hate charting as much as other people did. Mostly because it gave him an excuse to rest his leg for a moment without feeling like he was taking an actual break. Charting was work. It counted. No one could look at him typing up notes and accuse him of slacking off.

He moved his mouse around, pulling up the next chart, when he heard the squeak of wheels.

Shen rolled his chair next to him, sipping what appeared to be a new iced coffee. Jack didn't know how Shen's heart was still functioning.

"So," Shen said, taking a loud and obnoxious sip, "did she confess?"

Jack shot him a look from the side, not turning his head, still moving his mouse around in slow circles on the screen. "Confess what?"

He knew Shen meant you. He could feel it in the way Shen was looking at him, that weird look he always got when he talked about you. Jack had never been able to figure out what that look meant. He'd brushed it off for weeks as Shen just being friendly, or maybe Shen having a crush on you himself. Which was fine. That was fine. Jack had no claim on you. He had no right to feel anything about who you spent your time with.

Shen shrugged, taking another sip. "You know. Who she's crushing on. She tell you after I left?"

Jack's jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the screen. "No."

"Did you ask?"

Jack finally turned to look at Shen, and something in his expression must have been sharper than he intended, because Shen held up his free hand.

"Okay, okay. Just wondering." Shen leaned back in his chair, spinning his coffee cup between his palms.

Jack didn't respond. He turned back to his computer and started typing, his fingers moving faster than necessary, the keys clicking loudly in the relative quiet of the nursing station.

For the past two hours, as he'd worked, his mind had been circling back to that moment in the breakroom. You'd said no to Robby, but there was only one other attending left. Shen.

He'd been trying his best to avoid both you and Shen for the rest of the shift, because if Shen was so desperate to know if you had a crush on him, if Shen wanted to take you on some fancy Dunkin' date, Jack wanted to know nothing about it.

He thought about how many times he'd paired you up with Shen over the past couple of months, how many times he'd specifically assigned you to Shen's cases, how many times he'd told you to go ask Shen for help. He'd done it on purpose, because when he'd first realized he had feelings for you Jack had tried his best to get rid of them. He couldn't be crushing on his resident, could he?

Well, he had been.

So he'd done the logical thing and distanced himself and now look what he'd done.

Months later, he still had feelings for you. They hadn't gone anywhere. They'd just buried themselves deeper, grown roots, wrapped around his ribs and squeezed every time you laughed at one of his stupid jokes.

Except now you were in love with someone else.

He didn't know that for sure, but you were just so close with Shen.

Shen took another slow sip of his iced coffee. His eyes were fixed on Jack with an expression that hovered somewhere between curiosity and concern. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but then he changed his mind, swallowed whatever it was along with the last of his caffeine.

"Did she at least tell you an initial?"

Jack closed his eyes for a second and counted to three. He reminded himself that Shen was his friend, that Shen had never done anything to him and that Shen was relaxed and chill and genuinely a good person to have around during a bad shift.

Then he opened his eyes and turned to look at Shen.

And look Jack really did like Shen, but right now, he was also pissing Jack off.

"She didn't," Jack gritted out through his teeth, trying his absolute best to appear kind.

Shen took another sip, completely oblivious. "Nothing?" he asked again. "No hint? No cryptic clue? She didn't even give you a vague direction to point us in?"

Jack wanted to rip that Dunkin' cup out of Shen's hands and pour it over his head. He wanted to watch the brown liquid drip down Shen's perfectly relaxed face and soak into his perfectly unwrinkled scrubs. He wanted Shen to sputter and cough and look at Jack with betrayed eyes while coffee pooled in his lap.

"No," he mumbled, turning back to his computer screen even though he hadn't typed a single word in the last three minutes.

Shen hummed thoughtfully, spinning his empty cup between his palms. "Huh."

Jack stared at the blinking cursor on his screen. It mocked him. It blinked and blinked and blinked, waiting for him to be useful. He didn't mean to say what came next.

"It's probably J or some crap like that."

He knew he sounded pissed, but he also knew that this was the only way to get John Shen off his back, to hand him the answer on a silver platter so Shen could go find you and live out whatever romance he had brewing in his head.

Shen's face lit up. "See!" he called out, loud enough that a passing nurse glanced over at them. "I knew it! I knew it!"

Jack's fingers curled into a loose fist under the desk.

"God, Parker owes me like fifty bucks." Shen was practically glowing now, grinning from ear to ear. "I knew she'd admit it first. I told her. I said, 'Parker, she's going to crack before the end of the week,' and Parker said—"

Jack tuned him out. He closed his eyes again, and this time he let himself picture Shen drenched in iced coffee. The image brought a small amount of satisfaction. Jack opened his eyes and kept moving the mouse in slow useless circles.

"—so anyway, I really owe you one, man." Shen was still talking. "This is huge." He smiled happily, before finally looking back at Jack. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"What am I going to do about it?" he repeated slowly. Jack turned his head fully toward Shen, not even bothering to seem friendly this time.

Shen tilted his head further, studying Jack's face. "Did you at least ask her out?" he asked slowly as if Jack might be stupid.

And maybe Jack was stupid, because he had no idea what Shen was talking about.

"Why should I ask her out for you?" Jack mumbled, turning back to his computer. He was done with this conversation and with Shen's grinning face. He wanted to go back to his charts where nothing hurt and no one had crushes on anyone.

"What?" Shen finally said.

Jack didn't reply. He prayed that Shen would take the hint and roll his chair back to his own computer and leave Jack alone with his misery.

"If you guessed the initial was J," Shen said slowly, drawing out each word like he was explaining something to a child, "why didn't you ask her out?"

Jack's fingers froze over the keyboard. He was feeling stupid now, really genuinely stupid.

Shen leaned forward slightly. "You do know your name starts with a J, right?" he asked, and he sounded genuinely confused now.

"Well, so does yours," Jack shot back.

He was well aware that this was a baseless theory. He'd just made up the fact that you were crushing on someone with a J because he'd assumed that you liked John Shen.

The two men stared at each other.

Before Jack could say another word, Shen burst into laughter and made a couple of nearby nurses glance over with raised eyebrows.

"Is this a joke?" Shen asked between gasps. "Did you already ask her out and now you're messing with me so I won't get my fifty bucks?"

Jack stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What?" Jack asked, genuinely lost now. "I didn't ask her out. Why'd you keep asking me that?"

The grin slowly faded from Shen's face, now almost pitying. He stared at Jack for ten full seconds before finally speaking. "Because, she's crushing on you." Shen pointed at Jack with his Dunkin' cup for emphasis, drops of brown liquid splashing onto the desk. "J. As in Jack Abbot. Which, by the way, is you."

Jack didn't move or say anything as he stared at his coworker.

Shen set his cup down on the desk and leaned back in his chair, looking almost amused again. "Parker and I were just teasing her. We've known she liked you since like day one." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm glad she finally told you. I didn't think she ever would."

Jack's hands had gone still on the keyboard.

Shen, oblivious, kept talking. "We've been betting on who would confess first—you or her." He picked up his cup again and took a long sip. "Guess I won. Finally."

After a long pause Jack finally spoke. "Guess you did," he mumbled.

He turned back to his computer screen, clearly dismissing Shen and Shen finally took the hint. He stood up, grabbed his empty cup, and patted Jack on the shoulder one more time. "Good luck, man," he said quietly, and then he was gone.

Jack stared at the screen.

What?

There was no way.

It didn't make sense. You were too smart to like someone like him. You had too much common sense and too much going for you. You couldn't like him.

And yet his brain started supplying him with little moments he'd filed away and tried very hard not to think about.

You were exceptionally kind to him. You'd told him once, like it was nothing, that you loved working with him. You spent a lot of time around him, more than you needed to. You always seemed to find a reason to be in whatever room he was in.

And whenever he went to the roof, you'd find him.

You'd just sit down against the wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. You worried about him. He could see it on your face whenever he came off the roof edge and walked back to you. You usually didn't say anything, which he appreciated more than he could ever put into words. You'd just hold out your hands, and he'd pull you up and you'd walk back inside together without a word.

You also got flustered around hima lot, especially when he called you sweetheart.

Jack turned his head. Through an open doorway he could see into one of the exam rooms. You were in there, talking to a mom who'd brought in a child with a broken wrist. The kid was maybe six years old, totally absorbed in an iPad.

There's no way, right?

Jack didn't even want to think about his own behavior, because God knows he spent his free time flirting with you. He loved flirting with you.

You were checking the little girl's wrist once more and the girl looked up at you and you smiled at her. You softly patted her head, smoothing down her hair, as you continued to comfort the mom with words Jack couldn't hear from this distance.

Did he have a chance with you?

It was just rumors, but if Parker believed you were crushing on him, it had to be true. Parker loved gossip, but she only enjoyed true gossip.

He trusted Parker, not so much Shen, but still.

He didn't even notice you walking up until you were standing at the nurses station right in front of him. You leaned against the counter, peeking down at him with a smile.

"Hi, Jack," you said, and his name sounded different in your mouth now or maybe he was just hearing it differently. "Charting?"

"Yeah," he finally managed. He cleared his throat. "Bit behind."

He eyed you as you pushed off the counter and rounded the corner. You pulled out the chair Shen had abandoned twenty minutes ago and rolled it next to Jack's. "Need help?"

You stared at the computer screen, scanning the chart, before looking back at Jack. He was still staring at you, he realized. He was mostly now seeing you in a different light, because now he had to be observant of your reactions to him.

So he just smiled. "No, I'm good, sweetheart."

He moved his chair aside slightly, making room, and you rolled closer without hesitation. Your knee bumped against his for just a second before you pulled back, and Jack saw you bite your lip right as the word sweetheart left his mouth.

"You did a good job with that little girl," he added, deciding to push a bit.

You looked at him, leaning back in your chair, a surprised smile spreading across your face. "Yeah? You saw that?"

He nodded. "Could see how relieved the mom was."

"Oh, I'm so glad. She came in so terrified, and the little girl wouldn't stop crying." You paused, your smile softening. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack smiled back. "You always do a good job. You don't have to thank me for pointing out the obvious."

You lit up even more and you looked down at your hands, then at your shoes and then back at him

Yeah, Jack thought. Parker was right.

That was all he could think as you looked down at your shoes. Your shoes, which were pointed right at him.

Jack took risks that night.

He dragged you from room to room with him and by the third time he called your name, Lena shot him a weird look from across the hall, but she also seemed weirdly happy about it.

You, on the other hand, had zero complaints.

Every time he called for you, your head whipped around like some excited puppy, a smile already forming on your lips before you even knew what he wanted. He found it endearing.

As he led you into an exam room, his hand found the small of your back and when he glanced down at you, you seemed delighted. But you stumbled over your greeting to the patient and you got so flustered that you could barely talk to the next patient either.

Jack happily took over.

By the time day shift started trickling in, the night crew was shuffling exhausted towards the lockers.

You seemed awfully happy for someone who'd worked twelve hours and so was Jack.

Jack leaned against the row of lockers, watching you. You shook your hair out slowly, your fingers working through the tangles. You were humming something under your breath and you looked so happy that he almost didn't want to interrupt.

He admired you for a second, before he stepped closer.

"I'll walk you to your car," he said softly.

You looked up, startled and then your face broke into that smile. "Thank you." You grabbed your bag quickly, swinging it over your shoulder, and turned to face him with the biggest smile.

You happily chitchatted about everything and nothing. Conversation came easy with you, it always had.

Jack thought about that as he led you to your car, how much he enjoyed just sitting next to you in comfortable silence and how much he adored seeing you. How much he adored you.

When you finally got to your car, you stopped talking. The sunrise painted everything in soft gold and he saw you admire it for a second, before opening your car door.

"Thank you, Jack," you said softly.

Jack shot you a smile as you tossed your backpack onto the passenger seat and then you turned back to say goodbye.

Jack finally found the courage to say what he'd been thinking about the entire time. "Did you know Shen and Parker have a bet going?"

You raised your eyebrows, finally meeting his eyes again. You leaned back against your car and crossed your arms over your chest.

"No," you said, confused. "About what? Why didn't they include me?" you asked, and now you actually sounded offended. "Shen always loses. I could've won some money."

Jack chuckled. "It's about us."

You froze, your arms fell to your side and your eyes widened. "What?" you asked, and your voice came out smaller than before. "What do you mean us?"

The way you said us made Jack's heart stutter. For a second, he almost backed off. "They're betting on which one of us will confess to the other first," he said.

Your brow furrowed deeper. "Confess what?"

You sounded so dumbfounded that Jack almost laughed again. You sounded like he had earlier with Shen. He chuckled nervously. "That we like each other," he said.

"Like how?" The words came out fast, you looked like you were in genuine distress

Jack laughed out loud now, still nervous. "Sweetheart, I think you know how," he said softly.

You stared at him and then finally mumbled, "Right." You shuffled your foot against the pavement, scraping the toe of your shoe back and forth. Your hands found each other in front of you, fingers twisting together. "Weird bet," you mumbled.

Jack tilted his head, still watching you. "Is it that weird?"

You glanced up at him, and your expression exposed you fully. You looked terrified.

Jack felt awful and also deeply endeared by you. He tilted his head, angling himself so he could meet your downcast eyes. When he finally caught your gaze, you stared at him.

"Is it weird to you?" you whispered.

Jack smiled. How endearing, he thought. "No," he said softly. "I don't think it's weird."

You stared at him and he stared at you. And that's when Jack finally made a decision. "Think Shen's going to lose this one," Jack mumbled as he finally stepped closer.

You lifted your head, trying to figure out where this was going. Your heart was slamming against your ribs and it only got worse when he framed your face with his hands.

His palms were warm against your cheeks and his fingers were gentle. "I like you," he said, and his voice was steady even though his hands were not. "And I'd like to kiss you. Is that okay?"

This was the scariest thing he's ever done in his life.

You were staring at him, eyes wide open, barely grappling that he was holding your face.

"What?" you whispered.

Jack's lips twitched into a small nervous smile. He pulled back just a fraction and asked again. "You okay with me kissing you, sweetheart?"

He was grinning now, because as he pulled back, you followed him, just enough that your chin tilted up, your eyes dropping to his lips.

"You wanna kiss me?"

"Very much so," he said gently.

Your whole face lit up and you finally nodded.

He quickly pressed his lips to yours. Your hands flew up and gripped his wrists as you pressed back against him with a happy little sound that Jack felt more than heard.

Jack couldn't believe what was happening. He certainly couldn't believe he was kissing your sweet lips. You were such a sweet kisser too, soft and eager and wonderfully responsive, and he couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips even as he kissed you.

He pulled back after a moment just to look at you, but you hurried to chase his lips with yours, and Jack chuckled as he allowed you to kiss him again. He tilted his head, changing the angle, and you sighed against his mouth like you'd been waiting for this your whole life.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were wide. Jack chuckled softly as he pushed your hair behind your ears, his fingers lingering on the shell of your ear, trailing down to your jaw.

"You're a nice kisser," you whispered.

You smiled when he tilted his head so your lips would keep brushing with every word. His breath was warm against your mouth, and you didn't want to pull away, not ever.

"So are you, sweetheart," he mumbled against your lips. "Really good."

You beamed up at him and then he pressed a kiss to your nose. "I can't wait to tell Shen that he lost another bet," he mumbled, and there was a smugness in his voice that made you giggle.

But then you perked up. "He bet on me?"

Jack nodded, his hands still cradling your face, his thumbs still stroking your cheekbones. "He thought you'd confess first."

You giggled again. "Well, that's on him. He should've known I'd never take the first step."

chapter song: Be Like a Woman by Chris Rainbow

"it’s only fifteen minutes." she sighs, sipping into her iced latte.

jack hummed in acknowledgment before he opened his mouth to say, "you said that twenty minutes ago."

"because you stop every time you see a dog." she scoffed.

"i like dogs."

"i know you like dogs." she says, lifting her latte up for him to take a sip of.

he gets grumpy when he gets hot and he finished his before they even left the coffee shop.

she then reached back, lacing her fingers through his as they wandered through the west village, weaving around people spilling out of little cafés and boutiques.

sunglasses rested on top of her head, a light sundress fluttering around her legs every time a warm breeze found its way down the street.

jack couldn't stop looking at her and he wasn't even pretending not to anymore.

"what?" she smiled.

"nothin'." he smirked, his hand snaking to cup the back of her neck and give her a playful squeeze.

"you’re staring." she said bashfully.

"can’t look at my little lady?" he asked in mock offense, pulling her close to him when a group of finance bro’s stumbled out of their local bar.

she rolled her eyes with a laugh and tugged him along.

"c'mon, our photo booth's this way."

they'd made it exactly half a block before someone called out to them from behind causing jack to look down at her quizzically.

"excuse me!"

she turned.

a woman around her age hurried over, smiling apologetically.

“i’m so sorry to bother you." she said putting her hands up to show she wasn’t some sort of threat.

she smiled back as jack loosened his grip a bit.

"no, you're okay!" she beamed, adjusting her sunglasses.

"i just— i love your dress. where did you get it?" she said quickly.

jack watched her entire face light up. "oh my gosh, thank you! it’s actually from reformation."

"i knew it!" the woman laughed. "i saw it on instagram yesterday and then i see you wearing it! this is definitely my sign to buy it. you look incredible."

"that's so sweet, thank you." she beamed. “i’m literally living proof that you need to buy it. it’s so comfy.” she added.

"and your bag too?" the women wanted to know.

"oh!" she looked down. "it’s vintage. i found it in brooklyn yesterday when we went for dinner." she said smiling before looking up as jack and squeezing his hand tenderly.

the conversation carried on for another minute— talking about little boutiques, summer trends and a pair of puma ballet flats the woman had been trying to find.

jack moved to stand off to the side, hands tucked into his pockets as he looked out onto the trafficked road.

he was just smiling, never impatient or annoyed. he just wanted to give her her space to talk and meet someone new or even a potential friend.

when the woman finally said her goodbye and continued down the sidewalk, she turned back.

"what?" she giggled as he held out his hand for her.

"you’re growing a fan club in this city."

she laughed at that— this was the fourth time in three days that they’ve been here in which she’s been stopped.

"she just liked my dress."

"i think she liked you."

she shrugged shyly. "hmm, i guess."

jack stepped closer, sliding an arm around her waist as they started walking again.

"you know..." he trailed.

"hm?"

"i love when people stop you." he said, his voice dropping an octave causing her to shiver as his breath fanned her ear.

"you do?" she looked up at him in surprise.

"mhm."

"i kinda thought it was annoying you."

he shook his head.

"no, baby."

"why?"

he smiled to himself before answering.

"’cus i get to stand there listening to someone tell my girlfriend how beautiful she is."

"jack..." she whined, her cheeks immediately turning a rosy pink.

"they're just saying what i’m already thinkin’ baby.”

she nudged his shoulder.

"you're biased." she protested.

"i am." he said proudly. he looked down at her, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "and i'm also right."

"yeah you look sexy as hell," the other giggled, smoothing out her matching pink visor.

"we kinda look like a girl band." she laughed out as they walked in sync.

"a pickleball girl band." her friend sang.

"exactly."

the three of them checked in at the front desk before making their way toward the courts.

"wait." she frowned. "we only have three. is that.. like, okay?" she blinked.

"yeah! but we can see if someone will join just to even us out" her friend chirped.

the three girls looked around the busy courts. there were couples, families, groups of friends. but then they spotted man on the court beside them. he caught a ball one handed before casually serving it back.

he had big broad and brooding shoulders, grey athletic shorts that revealed his prosthetic and and a faded navy t-shirt that clung to him in all the dangerously right places.

she looked away almost immediately.

"oh my god, he's cute," one of her friends whispered.

the other was already waving.

"hey! excuse me!"

her eyes widened.

"w— what are you doing?" she panicked, thinking that they’d bother him for even asking. they’d never played the game before and he looked.. experienced.

the man turned around, paddle tucked under one muscled and tan arm.

"yeah?"

“my friends and i only have three people. would you wanna play with us?" her friend said, resting her hand on her hip as she looked up at him.

she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. she mentally cursed as she kicked at her tennis shoe expecting him to politely decline.

“he’s gonna say no.” she said under her breath.

her friend ignored her completely.

"it's just for fun! we haven’t played before and you look like you know what your doing.” she told him honestly.

the beautiful stranger said happily.

"i can do that."

he walked over, flashing an easy smile.

“i’m jack."

the girls all introduced themselves one by one and when it finally came to her, she smiled politely and shook his outstretched hand.

"hi."

jack waited, his brow cocked. a curious smile plastered across his lips as he peered down at her.

she said her name as she shielded her eyes with her paddle from the sun as she looked up at him, craning her neck.

"nice to meet you." he smiled.

she nodded once. “you too.” she let out as her ponytail swayed behind her.

and that was that.

her two friends glanced at one another, giving each other the knowing look. smiles itched into their features as they watched her and jack interact.

—

it became painfully obvious she had never played pickleball before. for some reason she wasn’t as good as her friends were as first timers, but she took it in stride.

she completely missed the ball, she swung too early or swung too late and when they first started, she accidentally hit the ball straight into the fence.

she told herself it was mainly because her friends pushed her onto his side of the court. how could they did this to her? she’d never know.

"oh my gosh," she groaned, covering her face. "i’m so sorry."

jack couldn't help but smiling.

"hey, you’re good.”

"no, i’m literally the reason we're losing."

"we're losing because apparently we’re playing against your two shark friends."

"yeah,” she chuckled. “they’re kinda competitive."

one of them yelled from across the net, waving her paddle violently, “aye! i heard that!”

jack let out a deep laugh making her smile without meaning to.

—

when she finally managed to return on of the serves the ball barely floated over the net. it really wasn't impressive but it landed and her eyes went wide as she felt how smooth the ball flew.

"ha!! i did it!” she yelled, jumping up and down.

she caught him looking at her with a smirk causing her to immediately clap both hands over her mouth, embarrassed she'd gotten so excited.

"nah, be excited. you absolutely did." he tutted.

she looked down, trying to hide her smile. "it was kind of a lucky shot."

"a point's a point." he pressed.

—

after another game, everyone agreed to take a water beak and she wandered over to the benches, unscrewing her water bottle.

"you don't have to keep apologizing." jack suddenly said, taking a swing from his water bottle.

she looked up as she watched him sit beside her, his legs subconsciously spreading out making her throat go dry. he was so big.

"...i know."

"yeah?” he chucked, “you've been apologized to me.. what,” he pretended to count on his fingers.

"like seven times?"

"it was at least seven." he blushed.

"i just—“ she shrugged, "obviously i'm not very good."

"you've never played before." he bumped his shoulder into hers.

"i— i know."

"so why are you expecting yourself to be good?" he wanted to know.

"i guess i never thought about it like that." she blinked.

he smiled, "well you smiled every time you hit the ball."

"even when it went out?"

"especially when it went out." he laughed making her join him.

he leaned back on the bench.

"I liked watching you smile." he said suddenly making her heart do a tiny flip.

"...oh." she said, her eyes diverting to the non existent camera to see if anyone caught that.

across the court, both of her friends exchanged identical looks.

"he's flirting." she smiled, smacking her friends shoulder.

"she's oblivious." the other swooned.

—

when they finished playing nearly two hours later, everyone was sweaty, sun-kissed, and laughing after the grueling last match.

she bent down to zip her tennis bag as jack huffed out around them, "well,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “i had fun."

she smiled as she stood back up.

"me too."

one of her friends cleared her throat dramatically from a few feet away.

“so..”

but neither of them looked over.

"so..." jack repeated, “if you ever need a fourth player again.."

she nodded.

"okay." she cut him off making her friends look at her in surprise. both biting the inside of their cheeks to keep from giggling at how cute they were.

"you should probably exchange numbers," one of her friends blurted out loudly so they could hear her.

she nearly dropped her water bottle as jack hummed

"i was actually gonna ask." he said.

she looked anywhere but at him.

"oh.. um— yeah.. yeah okay." she blabbed as she reached for her phone with shaky hands.

"great." he smiled as she handed him her phone.

he typed his number in before handing it back.

"there." he said lowly, rubbing his hand over his scruff as she looked down at the new contact.

Jack :)

a smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.

"thank you."

he slung his bag over his shoulder. “i'll be waiting for my rematch." he pointed.

she tilted her head, her pretty eyes locking onto his as she spoke, "you think you'll win next time? against these two?”

"i think you'll stop apologizing next time."

she laughed, ducking her head. "no promises."

jack watched her walk away toward her friends. her pink skirt swaying with every step as it hugged her curves in every way that made him want to bite his finger to stop from groaning.

one of the girls immediately grabbed her arm, whispering something that made her hide her face in her hands.

He had found that thought enough incentive to shut his eyes after setting an alarm for an hour—and five minutes—time to haul himself and the tender muscles in his shoulder back to the PTMC to go old school with fax machines and white-boards. 

It took all of the three minutes out of the spare five he had added to his alarm, for his phone to light up and buzz against his chest. Thumb against the button on the side to preemptively end the call before it even started. Jack almost chose himself over whomever decided that 4PM was the sweet spot to catch a conversation with the physician. 

And then, in one sweep of realisation that thrashed its way to the forefront of his mind, Jack remembered that it might’ve been a perfect time for you to call. 

Shit. 

Without much deliberation, he flipped his phone over, eyes halfway to being peeled open, when he saw your Caller ID spread across the top of the screen with a photo of you and Jack smooshed together on your fourth date as the chosen background image. 

(You hated the photo. Which made Jack love it even more.) 

His thumb swiped to answer, phone pressed to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Jack-y Jack-y. Break my back-y.”

Wow. That was a crude—but not unwelcome—way of introductions over the phone. Jack could practically smell the Fourth of July bottomless brunch through the phone, not to mention that the slur of your words may have given away the level of intoxication you were experiencing from a couple of patriotic cocktail mixes of red, white, and blue and two stolen Mimosa’s from another table. 

That was yours and the empty Table 12’s little secret though.  Jack let a chuckle slip, “Hey, baby. What can I do you for?” 

“Just calling—” You hiccuped, “—To ask how your Fourth of July has been? Uneventful? Boring?” You teased, knowing fine well, a SWAT shift was far from those two adjectives. 

“Oh, you don’t even know half of it.” Jack pandered to your drunken taunt, his eyes fully shut now. “How are the girls?” 

“Well…” You took in your surroundings of a litter ridden street and a tired sun dropping below the horizon and let out a puff of air in response.

Jack opened his eyes at that. 

Suddenly, dosing off to the dulcet tones of your voice on the other end of a phone call seemed like a far fetched idea. Who needed sleep anyway? Especially when their—unlabelled—significant other blew out hot air in response to a simple question of how her impenetrable fortress of her friendship group made up of women from all walks of life were. 

Oh, Jack couldn’t wait to hear this one. 

He zeroed in on your hesitance. “You still with me?” When you hummed lazily, Jack narrowed his eyes at the wall across from him, “Is that a hard question to answer all of a sudden?” 

“Sheesh, Abbot.” You drawled, “Let me just…think for a minute.” 

(Absolutely not.) 

“Where are you right now?” Jack asked with the phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder. Already tugging at his prosthetic leg. 

You frowned, “Why?” 

“Why—?” Jack let out an impatient laugh. Not at you. Never at you. But, at the conclusion you would eventually come to during the phone call. He stood to full height and added, “Because, I’m coming to get you. That’s why.” 

“Uh, correction. You’re not invited.” You held your forefinger up in the air to draw emphasis on the correction you were making. You spoke again with one eye closed, “Don’t style my cramp. Or, however that saying goes.” 

Jack fished his keys from the bowl at his front door, “Oh yeah? Let me talk to one of them.” 

OK. Part of you took a mental note to be more consistent in recalling the fact that Jack Abbot was incredibly intuitive. Perceptive to a fault. Which meant, before you could even string a coherent excuse together from the jumble of words sloshing about in your brain, Jack had already been two steps ahead in deciphering the lack of female presence in the background of your phone call. 

Because, if it was a bottomless brunch that stretched far beyond the definition of ‘brunch’, that meant Jack would’ve been met with more than just one voice. How could he possibly know that? Perhaps, you had just stepped outside. Jack Abbot knew because of two things: 1) You never just called. It was always FaceTime, regardless of your location. And, 2) Your friends took every opportunity to interfere in your phone calls with Jack, because he had made a good, lasting impression on all of them. 

Put two and two together. The equation was…you had been ditched. 

Your fists clenched as you mouthed a profanity at Jack’s request. No, it hadn’t been entirely intentional that you were the last woman standing at the get together. The rest of the group—besides one who was married and left well before the lines got blurry on it being brunch drinks, and just, all day drinks—were single, and heavily active on all dating apps. Thus meaning, a holiday celebration statewide, and eight drinks thrown back; all your girlfriends were out for some metaphorical fireworks with someone they’d never cross paths with again. 

So, they all were picked off, one by one. Completely innocent. You’d never get in between a woman and her sexual prowess. 

With that, and a short-lived chastising from Jack after you held your phone further away from your mouth, your voice raised two octaves higher to imitate the bubblier friend; Jack had your location and was already on his way before the call had officially ended. 

He found you sat on the sidewalk of East Carson Street. Knees drawn up to your chest with your chin propped up on the palm of your hand, you were a vision of tranquil inebriation. (You know, considering you had been abandoned like a dog after the novelty of owning one wore off.) 

You visibly brightened when you saw Jack round his truck, shoulders squared as he scoped the surrounding areas.

You could take the man out of the military. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks.” You announced when he reached you, admiring the way that he did his best to crouch to meet your half-lidded eye level. You scratched lovingly at the stubble on his chin, “Fancy a drink? Some guy gave me, like, $150 for the night.” 

Jack mulled it over. “Tempting. I think I’ll pass.” His eyes dropped to your purse, because he couldn’t help himself, “You didn’t use the money I gave you?” 

You blinked, “Some guy gave me, like $150 and I have $20 of it left.”

That had Jack’s smile grow wider. Just as he had intended. 

“How about…we save it for later, and I’ll even throw in some Tylenol, if you get in the car.” Jack tilted his head. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Jack Abbot.” 

Without much resistance, you allowed Jack the triumphant win of getting you off of the sidewalk infested with gum and other substances, and into the passenger seat of his car. If you hadn’t had a hard time knowing which way was up, you would’ve noticed the small act of kindness in which Jack had ensured that the passenger side of his car was flush against the curb; so you weren’t reduced to playing with the traffic whilst trying to get inside the vehicle. 

That was his problem. And the zero sleep under his belt. 

He strapped you in with the seatbelt, and when the metal clicked inside the mechanism, Jack planted a kiss to your cheek, amused by the way you melted into the seat from his affection.

The drive to his house was comfortably silent. Jack had brought bottled water and two sachets of Liquid IV to ensure the electrolytes were pumped back into your body to ease the foreboding hangover you would experience in a day or so. His hand would occasionally come to rest on the meatiest part of your thigh, or lovingly rub against the nape of your neck and you would lap it all up under hazy vision. 

And then you sobered up a little when you pulled up to his apartment. 

“I’m staying here?” You asked, a little surprised. 

Jack pulled at the handbrake, his voice low, “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah.” You blinked and mustered up a smile that wasn’t the average expression for you, “That’s absolutely fine.” 

It was fine. Even if your face painfully didn’t translate that. 

The thing about it was…you had never officially stayed over at Jack’s apartment. The two of you had reached a consensus that whatever affectionate adjacent companionship that had blossomed through the cracks like pretty delicate flowers, there was no reason to hasten to the end result. Let the flowers grow at their own pace, without unintentionally yanking at their stems to forcefully encourage them out. 

This meaning, the whole staying over thing was a month ahead of schedule. 

You had been in Jack’s apartment before, because, he wasn’t a brick wall. The apartment itself was pretty clean, everything had a place and if it didn’t…it would be organised neatly for a later day. He had a little fern that he took care of, and then you bought him an another house plant under the guise of keeping the fern company.

(Really, you just enjoyed the limited times that you were able to spend money on Jack.)

“Don’t panic.” Jack mumbled, leaning in between the two front seats to grab a plastic bag of goodies from the backseat of his car. A place you both had come nakedly accustomed to. He gave you a lopsided smile when he pulled himself back to the drivers seat, “I can see those thoughts. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.” 

“No thoughts here, Abbot.” You tapped a finger against your temple, “Just alcohol.” 

“Uh-huh.” Jack mocked before exiting the car, quick to shut the passenger door after you had cracked it open to get out yourself. You let out a laugh at his stern glare through the tempered glass of the window, and when he re-opened the door for you, he said, “We had a deal on who opens doors.” 

You slid down until your feet met the ground, “Put that patriarchal tone away.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

And then, you let Jack open the doors anyway. There were three doors to get through, and each time he’d gesture for you to step through the threshold, not missing an opportunity to let his hand come into swift contact with your backside. Jack wasn’t the type of guy to take advantage of your drunken state, however, he wasn’t opposed to letting you know—physically—that he liked the way your ass looked in that outfit you had chosen for your night out in Pittsburgh.

When you entered his apartment, Jack flicked the lights on and guided you with a hand on your hip, through the corridor and to the room on the left; his bedroom. 

But, you already knew that. 

Hands planted behind you, you sat on the edge of Jack’s bed and watched him lower to kneel on his better leg in order to solve the mystical contraption that were your heels. The last time you had worn them, Jack had gotten thus far in his attempt to strip you naked in record breaking time, and then had forgone the idea of seductively taking your shoes off when he couldn’t figure out how they came off. 

Albeit, a good anchor for him to hold onto at the time, Jack Abbot would conquer the removal of the heel this time round. 

You nudged his chest gently with your foot, a smile growing on your face when he pressed a kiss to your inner ankle. He mumbled against your skin, “Why did the girls leave you at the bar?” 

“Alcohol induced libido.” You muttered nonchalantly, “They’re all single and well—”

Jack eyed you carefully as he gently wrangled your foot free of your heel, watching as your brow furrowed. You were truthfully stumped in the piloting of your own thoughts through the definition of whatever you and Jack were. Not that slapping the sticker of approval on the whole boyfriend thing would have Jack running in the opposite direction. But, it was the principle of it all. 

You were intransigent in not being the one to leap over that hurdle. 

Jack nodded slowly, “And you’re with me.” (Call a spade, a spade, you guess.) When the skin of your nose wrinkled in a scrunch, Jack lifted himself to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “We can talk about it later. For now, take a look in the bag. Got you some stuff for tonight.”

Grateful for the diversion, you peered into the plastic bag tossed onto the bed. The contents had your heart warm. A toothbrush—in your favourite colour—makeup wipes for sensitive skin, the pot of (rather) expensive moisturiser that Jack knew you worshipped the ground of, and a pyjama set that was made for the scorcher of a July you were already having. 

When you gave him an all-knowing glance matched with the smirk on your face, Jack deadpanned and smacked your backside for the fifth time that night, to get you and your smart mouth moving into the bathroom to de-shed the bottomless brunch attire off of you. 

He helped where he could, respected the part where you told him to turn around whilst you changed—despite seeing you naked several times—and even let you apply a dollop of moisturiser onto his face, because he wasn’t getting any younger. (That part earned a pinch to your hip.) 

You sauntered out of the bathroom, feeling less weighted down by the buzz of alcohol, and more lighter on the aspect of being loved correctly. Jack close by as if he were a dog on a lead.

Where you’d go, he’d follow.

It was just a bonus that he got to appreciate the view whilst doing so.

You flipped his duvet sheet back as you spoke, “I don’t know, Abbot. Seems like you’re going soft on me.”

Jack rounded the bed to approach you as you nestled into his bed, pillows propped up with all intentions of watching some re-run of Love Island. A show Jack swore against, but still somehow managed to catch up on it intermittently. One hand came to your hip as he leant down and kissed you like he meant it. And then two more times for good measure.

He spoke quietly against your lips, “Well, you make it pretty easy to fall in love.”

Oh.

You were really doing this.

Jack stood at full height, gratified by rendering you speechless.

“Alright, honey.” He continued with his voice laced with amusement, “I gotta go. The PTMC waits for no man.”

You slapped a palm to your forehead. “Oh my god. I completely forgot you had a shift at the Pitt today. Jack! I should’ve just gotten an Uber, holy shit.” 

“I am your Uber. Don’t forget it.” Jack reminded you on the agreement that was made that, it didn’t matter what time of day it was. If you needed help—no matter how small—you call him first. He was also feeling a bit playful as you reeled in guilt, “Plus, the SWAT shift wasn’t exciting enough. I only got shot at once.” 

“You got shot?!” 

“Shot at.” Jack corrected, “I’m fine. You should see my buddy. Not good.” 

“And you didn’t think to say anything.” You gawked, but deep down, you weren’t surprised. You let out a hefty sigh, “Did you even manage to sleep?” 

“Nope.” 

Looks like you owed him a couple of homemade dinners, and an abundance of leg massages. 

You dragged your hand down your face, “Why not?” 

Jack looked at you, amongst the sheets of his bed, now fresh-faced and sobering by the minute, and it left him confused as to how it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. Sleep, and everything in between, came second to you. 

You were like a goddamn Northern Star to someone like Jack Abbot. 

Yeah. You two were definitely having a conversation about labels and all that ooey-gooey relationship shit, when he got back from his shift in the morning. 

With his camo bag thrown over his good shoulder, the answer was readily available for you. 

He smiled softly, the flowers beginning to flourish between the cracks as he spoke the words that would come naturally for the rest of his life.

Jack had appreciated emergency medicine over the years for a plethora of reasons, one of the greatest being how he had no other choice but to turn off his mind and any outside thoughts when operating within the walls of the hospital. For someone who’d been running from a lifetime of haunting memories, this was ideal. It seemed that he’d finally been reached by the exception.

Because as he tried to make it through the twelve hour night, he was thinking about you at home, and whether your ankle was okay, and if you’d taken anything to help with your head, or eaten, and on and on and on until he was fairly certain he was going to drive himself to psychosis from thinking about you so fucking much.

It got to the point that Shen, of all people, had to snap Jack out of his own thoughts as he stood staring up at the patient board, taking in absolutely zero information. He’d probably been there, statue-like and holding a now cold cup of coffee, for minutes now, and was only pulled out of his haze when Shen had sidled up next to him and taken a ridiculously loud sip out of an iced coffee cup that made Jack bristle.

“You okay man?” His co-attending asked.

“Fine.” Jack grunted in response, finding himself still unable to completely pull his mind away from thoughts of you. 

“Seems like something’s bothering you.” 

“Well, there’s not.” It comes out snappier than he means for it to. He eyes the top case on the board and immediately starts walking, leaving Shen without another word. He needed to throw himself into the work as hard as possible, do whatever he could to straighten himself the hell out at least for the next few hours and get his mind off of you.

Not that he’d had much luck with that over the past few months.

By the time his shift is ending, Jack has managed to make more tiny stupid mistakes than he’d made in the past ten years of being a doctor combined. A mis-stitch on a pediatric patient, leaving an elderly woman waiting for her discharge papers for nearly twenty minutes, and a handful of other brainless missteps that he couldn’t believe he’d made.

But his mind was completely occupied, all corners of it filled with you, you, you.

And now it was time for him to go home. And you had the day off. And you’d be home, in the house, together. 

And Jack Abbot knew without a doubt that he had raced against his own feelings for too long and couldn’t keep them inside any longer.

You wake up much earlier than you would’ve liked the next morning for a day off, and your ankle is sporting a throbbing ache that matches the bruise on the back of your skull. After a few minutes of torturous tossing and turning, you accept that you won’t be falling back to sleep.

Your alarm clock says it’s just past seven, and you stretch out, yawning as you slip out from under your comforter. When you look down, your ankle sticking out from the bottom of your loose pajama pants, your eyes land on streaks of blue, black, and purple decorating your entire ankle. You’d clearly slept restlessly, the rewrapping job you’d done last night now just a bandage hanging loosely around your foot, and putting the violent bruising on full display.

Huh.

It definitely wasn’t uncommon, but you’d never bruised like that before from a simple sprain. Timidly putting weight on it, you find that it’s just as it was the night before, if not a bit stiff from sleep. It couldn’t be broken if you were able to bear so much weight on it, but it was certainly jarring to see it so swollen and irritated.

With another yawn, you begin to make your way carefully down the stairs, much slower than normal, and as you're descending the last few steps you hear a key rattling in the front door lock. You pause, momentarily distracted, and the door swings open to reveal an exhausted Jack Abbot stepping in. 

Like, much more exhausted than normal, to the extent that he doesn’t even see you standing there as drops his bag and keys and turns to the bench to take off his shoes. When Jack sits with a soft grunt, his eyes finally dart up to you, the only surprise registering silently across his rugged, tired features.

“Hi.” You whisper, and you’re not sure why it comes out so quiet and timid. 

Maybe because it was rare for the two of you to meet each other like this, in the soft quiet mornings where the sun is still just coming up and the walls are glowing soft and yellow. Any shared time you’d had in the house had typically been in the evening, when you were getting back from a shift exhausted and mind set on sleep as soon as possible, or Jack was shuffling out the door for a SWAT shift or going in early for the night.

Something felt different now, in the way Jack was looking up at you, in the way you fiddled with the hem of your long, ragged pajama shirt nervously, the way your heart rate sped up imperceptibly and you weren’t quite sure why but could almost swear Jack seemed to be breathing a bit quicker than a moment before too.

“Hi.” He replies, voice gruff, and you can’t help but focus again on how palpably exhausted he seems.

“Long night?” You ask, unsure what else to say. You’re still on the same step, hand gripping the banister a bit. You don’t know why you feel frozen in place.

Jack is just staring up at you, as if completely lost in thought. He then shakes his head as if physically trying to clear it.

“Uh, yeah. Kind of.” He says, he lets out a shaky laugh, looking down at the floor and unlacing his work shoes.

You just watch him for a moment, trying to read the lines of his face to find exactly what’s weighing on him. When Jack sits back up, shoes now discarded by the door, he makes no move to stand. His eyes drift back up to you, not annoyed but clearly curious why you’re still standing there, staring at him.

You jump into motion, or more so slowly step into motion, taking the last few stairs with abundant caution and trying not to wince at the pain in your ankle under Jack’s gaze. He seems to remember all at once what happened last night, and you certainly don’t blame him after twelve plus hours of work he’s done since then.

“How is it?” He asks, gaze now on your ankle that’s covered by the blue polka dot pants you’re wearing.

“Uh…” You see the displeasure quickly enter his features at your hesitation. “It’s fine.” Jack’s eyebrows are both raised, and he gives a short nod for you to show him.

You hesitate for a moment before gathering the fuzzy fabric of your pants and lifting it slightly, revealing the harsh black and purple streaks of bruising.

“What the hell?” Jack huffs immediately, going to stand before he remembers his shoes are off. You watch the quick flash of frustration on his face as he leans down to grab his house shoes, quickly slipping them on. You move as he does, feeling bad that you’d worried him and shuffling over to sit on the bench next to him.

Jack freezes for a moment, stiffening before straightening up and turning toward you.

The realisation of how close you’ve situated yourself next to Jack hits you like a train, and you’re sure he can feel your sharp exhale of breath hit his face.

“It’s fine. Not broken, obviously.” You choke out, eyes darting around everywhere but his.

“It’s obviously not fine.” Jack replies, and you know he’s looking right at you, and you wonder if he can see right through your rapidly dwindling resolve.

“For a doctor, you’re being really dramatic about some light bruising.” It comes out light, casual, with a soft laugh you hope makes you sound more confident than you’re feeling.

Jack doesn’t laugh back.

And when, after a few too long moments of silence, you finally look up and meet his gaze- you have the sobering realization that he doesn’t seem to be focused on your ankle anymore.

You can’t go on in silence any longer, and out of a need to say anything you say what you’ve been trying to believe about this whole thing for months now.

“You don’t need to worry about me so much, Jack.” You whisper.

“But I do.” He responds, with no hesitation. No strain in his words. 

Jack is looking at you earnestly, only a few inches away, and you feel your knees bump together as he speaks again, somehow even quieter this time.

“I worry about you. Because I care about you.” A lump builds up in your throat that you can’t get out, that you can’t get any words past. Your head swims in a way that reminds you all too much of your fall last night, and your heart is racking your chest.

“Don’t you know how much I care about you?” You almost think you’ve heard him wrong, that you’ve imagined it. That you’re still imagining it as Jack stares at you earnestly, his eyes a mirror of your own as they turn glossy and wide. Your knees bump again and he doesn’t pull away.

His hand blankets your own where it rests on your thigh and you can almost step out of your own body, see the two of you sitting side by side on this little bench in his entryway and listening to him say the things that you’d spent the past five months thinking you’d always have to keep inside.

“What?” You choke out, voice breaking a bit. Jack simply repeats himself, as if pleading with you.

“Don’t you know how much I care about you?”

And your mind is racing, cartwheeling through every single interaction you’d had with Jack. 

Jack dropping everything to pick you up from the bar that night, not even blinking when you treated him like shit for being nice to you and threw a fit over your own stupidity. Jack never missing a single chance to check in on you, to stop his work and responsibilities at every shift change and every passing moment in the house to ask how you were doing, how your shift had been, if he could do anything for you. Jack proving to you over and over that he was there for you, that he wanted to take care of you. 

Jack letting you move into his house as if that was just a normal fucking thing to do.

And he’s watching you now, with that same patience and understanding and caution as he lets you take in his words, let you think for yourself and respond in your own time.

And maybe it’s the soft morning light hitting his chiseled features, so soft for you, his silver curls glowing. Maybe it’s your dizzy head, the heat burning up your chest and cheeks. Maybe it’s just the absolute overflow of the feelings you’ve been fruitlessly trying to deny every time you’ve looked Jack Abbot in the eye and felt your heart swell with something much stronger than simply like or respect.

It could be a combination of any of those things that makes you lean forward and kiss him. Your lips crash against Jack’s and three seconds that feel like thirty minutes pass in which he just sits there like a statue. Just as you begin to panic, think you need to pull away, Jack’s hand is shooting up and carding through your sleep tangled hair.

His broad palm encases the back of your head, even now cautious of the tenderness from where you’d hit it yesterday, and he pulls you in closer and kisses you back with a ferocity that has you convinced you’re dreaming.

You’re both panting, teeth clashing and hearts pounding as you press and claw against each other. Your hands run over his shoulders and up the nape of his neck, threading through the soft curls there.

Only the necessity for air and the way your heart stutters when Jack lets out a stuttered gasp into your mouth pulls the two of you apart, and you suck in a deep breath as you stare up at him.

Jack’s eyes are blown wide, cheeks flushed pink and chest heaving. He’s smiling, the kind that’s automatic, as if he doesn’t even realize what he's doing.

You feel your lips pulling up into their own shocked, breathless grin as you watch Jack’s drop in real time.

His eyes are wide, but not in the way they were before, the way that made your stomach warm and heart race in a good way. No… he’s looking at you like he’s terrified, like the walls of the house are crumbling around him.

You feel the warm joy that had just blossomed in your heart crumble right along with them. As he jerks back, stands up stiffly and paces a step before looking back at you with both hands tugging at his hair.

“Fuck.” Jack huffs. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” He’s squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“Wha- I… What?” You hear yourself stutter, trying and failing to form any sort of response that will keep Jack from sprinting out the door like he looks like he wants to. “I kissed you.” You don’t know why he’s apologizing over and over, why he looks like he’s just done something unforgivable.

“I know.” Jack says shakily, hands dropping to his sides. “Fuck!” He huffs again, and you watch in horror as he does exactly what you feared, throwing a broken I’m so sorry over his shoulder as the front door swings closed behind him.

You don’t know how long you sit in silence on the bench, fingers ghosting over your lips as if unsure any of it had truly just happened.

You only notice the silent, hot tears slipping out when they begin to pool in a wet spot on your shirt.

Days like this make you wish you’d chosen a career that was easier to call out from. But not showing up to the Pitt right after your already scheduled day off and the week before the holidays.

And so, despite every nerve and broken heart string screaming in protest as you do, you make your way through the doors of the hospital on Monday morning.

You’d spent the majority of the day yesterday alternating between staring into space and replaying the most humiliating moment of your life, half-heartedly searching for apartments on your laptop in bed, and listening for any possible sound to announce Jack’s return (to no avail). You’d slept like shit, and when you’d left for work this morning there’d been no sign of him other than the absence of his work shoes and bag. He must’ve come to get them after you’d already fallen asleep sometime early last night.

In a sea of awfulness, you’re at least grateful that your ankle is definitely improving, not smarting as much when you walk but still sporting the same ugly bruise. You breathe in deeply as you enter the ED, physically bracing yourself for what you know has to be coming. But to your surprise, Jack is nowhere to be seen.

You obviously aren’t seeking him out, much the opposite, but when you don’t see a single shadow of Abbot the entire way from the entrance to your locker, you’re shocked to realize he isn’t even there. You didn’t know for sure if he’d had the night off or not, now that you think about it, but had only assumed since his things had been gone this morning.

Had he left early just to avoid you?

You really couldn’t blame him, like at all. You’d spent hours this morning trying to puzzle out how you might be able to guarantee avoiding him this morning and coming up with nothing.

You decide it’s for the best, that you should be grateful to not run into him. You wish there wasn’t such a loud, gnawing part of your mind shouting that you wanted to see him even more than you didn’t.

You slam your locker closed with an echoing bang and trudge back out to the hub.

You’d spent months pretending your mind wasn’t constantly plagued by thoughts of Jack Abbot. There was no reason you couldn’t keep doing it now. Right?

Somehow, the tortures of your mind and personal life help the shift pass quickly, albeit leaving you exhausted and yearning to do literally anything in the world but the ED gift exchange. You’d somehow remembered Langdon’s gift as you left this morning through the haze in your mind, and the repercussions from Dana of skipping out on it seemed worse than simply suffering through twenty more minutes in the hospital.

And so you shuffled after Trinity and Dennis as they bounced excitedly toward the grouped up mass of your coworkers at the nurses’ station.

Dana is speaking, summoning everyone, but you feel as though your brain is on a different frequency. You’d felt the moment he’d walked in, and your shoulders had been tense since his voice had carried across the ED as he greeted someone.

You were completely honed in on Jack Abbot for the past five minutes, yet making every effort to look anywhere but his direction. As you all circle up, Dana trying to get the chaotic group organized as quickly as possible (patients couldn’t just wait around all night for a gift exchange, after all), and you finally zone back into reality when the group quiets down and the first gift is given out.

Robby, voluntold to be first, crosses the circle and passes a gift to Dennis in a more sheepish manner than you’ve ever seen your attending behave. He mutters something to the younger doctor that you can’t quite make out before going back to his spot. You process vaguely that you were correct in your betting.

It continues on like this, one person after another presenting their person with a gift and quiet, excited mutters about people winning or losing big on their bets.

Your foot is tapping incessantly on the cold tile of the ED as person by person goes, until there’s only about half of the group left to receive their gift, you included. It gets to your turn to hand out, and you paste on the bravest smile you can muster as you venture into the middle of the circle, crossing it to get to Langdon.

His face brightens as you step up to him, a boyish grin on his lips. But all you can focus on is the man now much too close for comfort, only a few steps away as you hand Frank his gift and smile shakily.

“Thanks!” He says brightly, and you nod before quickly retreating back to your spot. You’d at least been successful in keeping your eyes glued away from Jack the whole time, but as soon as you get back across the circle they immediately find him. And he’s staring right at you.

Your cheeks burn immediately, and you’re just as quickly pissed that you’re so obviously affected by him.

You keep your eyes on your shoes for the rest of the exchange, and when it dwindles to the last handful of people you’re jostled back to reality by Trinity nudging you.

You look up, first at her and then following the path she nods towards, presumably toward the person bringing you your gift.

Except no, because Jack is walking toward you.

But, yes, unfortunately and horrifyingly yes, Jack is walking toward you and only stops when you’re inches away, and he’s handing you a bright, flashy box that would make you smile in any other situation.

And you’re accepting it with shaking hands and a whispered thank you, and Jack is staring at you and waiting way too long to walk away and you can’t tear your eyes from his.

He’s back across the circle before you even realize he’s moved and the last two gifts are being handed out.

“Alright!” Dana’s voice calls out. “Go nuts!” 

The sound of everyone unwrapping boxes and digging into tissue paper filled bags fills the ED, quiet gasps and oohs and awes and thank you’s making their way through the din of conversation. You realize people are already starting to filter out or break away to thank their mystery gift givers, and you’re still standing still with a racketing heart, gift unopened.

It’s all too much, too loud, too hard. You’re turning on your heel and beelining out the doors before you even know what you’re doing, backpack swinging from your shoulder and gift tucked haphazardly under your arm as you try to steady your breath. You end up in the ambulance bay, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath and feel hot tears trying to force their way out.

What the hell was wrong with you?

You’d known. Known from the beginning that you couldn’t fuck it up like this, couldn’t let your feelings take over, couldn’t let a stupid little crush derail your entire life.

And still you’d kissed him. You’d let Jack Abbot sneak into your life and heart with all of his evil kindness and completely tear you apart, and now you were crying in the ambulance bay over a Christmas present that you hadn’t even opened yet.

The footsteps approach from behind you quietly, the soft hesitation of someone not knowing whether they should keep coming. You don’t need to look to know who it is, and he doesn’t stop until he’s right behind you, hand on your shoulder.

“Will you sit with me?” 

It’s not what you’d expected to hear, and you can’t bring yourself to respond. You follow Jack silently to a bench around the corner, the bustle of the ambulance bay fading a bit behind you. You almost laugh at the irony of this picture when you’re both sitting down, right next to each other on a bench. You can tell that Jack sees the realisation in your eyes. Silence stretches as you wait for him to talk, fingers picking at the gift in your lap.

“I’m so sorry.” Jack says at last. You still, watching him as he stares at you earnestly. Jack turns a bit then so he’s facing you fully, and tentatively grabs your hands in his. You’re too shocked to stop him and you don’t want to pull away. “I am so, so sorry. I know it was wrong to run off on you like that. I’m so fucking ashamed of myself.” He sighs, and his hand squeezes yours imperceptibly. “I panicked. Obviously. I…” Jack trails off then, as if he’s physically fighting to go on.

“Why did you?” You speak, unable to keep waiting in the painful silence. He doesn’t answer at first. “Why did you leave? Why did you let me kiss you in the first place?” The last part comes out biting, the hurt clear as day in your voice. 

You wanted the truth, needed to know why he let you embarrass yourself like, made it seem like he could’ve wanted it just as much, just to run away.

“I kissed you back.” Jack says, voice breaking. His bright blue eyes are shining and you feel your own tears pressing at the back of your eyes.

“I know!” You sigh, laughing pathetically. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been trying not to for the past five months!” Jack huffs, hands splaying out in front of him as if it must be the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t have these feelings for you, I thought I could keep them down, get rid of them. I didn’t realize when I’d offered you the room, I swear, or I never would’ve… I- I just…” He rakes his hands through his hair anxiously, yours dropping from where he’d held them in your lap. “I thought I could stop it. I haven’t felt this… I… I don’t even know-”

“Jack.” You cut him off, a hand on his shoulder. You’ve never seen him this way, wrapped up in his words and breathing raggedly as he fights to get his words out. “Breathe.”

His eyes flick to you, wide and watery as he takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I thought…” He closes his eyes as he forges on. You leave your hand on his shoulder, and you’re not sure if it’s more for Jack’s benefit or your own. “... that I could handle this. But every day has just been harder. I know how inappropriate it is, and what a terrible position I’ve put you in.” Jack gets quieter and quieter. “And I would never want to do anything to hurt you.”

The tears are truly welling up in your eyes now, and you have to pinch your thigh with your free hand to check that you aren’t dreaming. “I never wanted to tell you. But then you kissed me and I… I just couldn’t stop it.”

He looks to the ground and goes quiet. You think that you’re crying, and only realize when Jack sucks in a shaky breath that they’re his tears splashing down onto your hand.

“Jack.” You say, reaching to hold both of his shoulders in your hands and urge him to look at you. “Jack, look at me. Please.” 

It takes him a moment, but he looks up, red rimmed eyes searching your face for any hint of a reaction to his confession.

“Are you really being honest with me right now?” You’re whispering, voice almost unrecognizable to yourself. “You meant all of that?”

“Every word.” Jack chokes out. It’s all you need to hear, the confirmation clicking in your mind like a lock at long last clicking into place.

You kiss him. It’s softer this time, slow, and you can feel what is definitely now a mixture of your own tears and Jack’s slipping down your cheeks. Your hands stay planted on his broad shoulders and you grip them tightly, needing to be closer to him in any way possible. You pull away with a stuttering inhale, only a breath away from Jack as you stare into his eyes.

“Don’t you know how much I care about you?” You ask him, his own words spoken back to him blooming warm and bright in both of your chests.

Walking away from PTMC and having to leave Jack inside is much harder than you could’ve imagined. He’d already been pushing it following you out into the ambulance bay, and as strong as the need to keep sitting out in the parking lot kissing Jack Abbot- or even better, having him come back to the house with you- was, the fact that he was the attending physician of a steadily filling emergency room was more pressing. Apparently.

You walked all the way home with a grin that couldn’t leave your face, and you kept reaching up to press a hand to your cold flushed cheeks as if proof that you were really smiling, that that had really just happened. The same giddiness follows you all the way up to your room, as you shower and eat and crawl into bed. 

Jack Abbot had kissed you. Again. 

Well, technically you had kissed him both times, but he’d kissed you back! Jack Abbot had kissed you back and confessed his feelings for you and bared five months worth of turmoil out right in front of you, thinking that you truly wouldn’t reciprocate in the same way.

You nearly giggled out loud in your room, alone, at the thought of Jack tiptoeing around his own feelings all this time, worried about the same ridiculous things you were. Thinking that you wouldn’t be interested because he was older, because you worked with him, because of all the same things you had harbored inside and torn yourself up about.

You had never been more thankful for the complete physical exhaustion brought on by your job, otherwise you would’ve tossed and turned like an excited child all night.

You wake in the morning before your alarm even rings, slipping out of bed with an eagerness for the day that was unfamiliar. 

The juxtaposition of your hesitancy to be around Jack all these months, afraid to reveal your feelings for him, is almost unbelievable in the face of how much you just want to be with him today. You want to see his face, and kiss him again, and hear him tell you over and over how he cares for you the way you do for him.

When you pad down the stairs, your eyes land on the abandoned gift that you’d left by the door with your work bag last night, too caught up in the events of the evening to even remember to open it. A quick glance at your watch tells you you have a minute, and you sit at the bottom of the stairs to carefully open the shiny box.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the contents, vision immediately blurring.

When you enter the ED, feet moving as fast as possible on your sore ankle and eyes still misty, you’re on a mission. You scan the nurses’ station and the closest rooms for any sign of Jack to no avail. You’re about to check the locker room and staff lounge when a presence comes up next to you.

“I think he went out to the bay.” Robby speaks, leaning down toward you slightly and smiling knowingly over his thermos of coffee. You simply smile in thanks, not wanting to waste time in conversation about how he even knows what you’re looking for, and beeline to the doors leading outside. 

When you emerge back out into the morning, your eyes land on him immediately, leaning halfway into a car as he helps Ellis transfer an elderly patient to go home. When he emerges, stretching his back and shoulders a bit from the exertion, his eyes immediately land on you.

You’re rushing toward him before you can slow yourself down, right past Ellis as she heads back inside, and into Jack’s arms.

He lets out a soft oof as you collide, strong arms coming to wrap around your back.

“Woah. I missed you too?” Jack laughs softly, but when you pull back to look up at him and he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks again, his brows pull together. “Wha-”

“I opened your gift.” You say, and it comes out as a half sob, choked sort of thing. 

Jack’s face softens instantly, searching yours as you peer up at him.

“Thank you.” You whisper, burying your face back in his chest. I think I love you. You think silently.

I love you. Jack thinks silently in response.

7 months later

You reach down to retrieve your earrings from the jewelry dish on your nightstand, smiling fondly at it as you fasten them to your ears. 

“You ready honey?” Jack calls from down the hall, and you holler back in response as you pull on your shoes and walk out to meet him in the kitchen.

Jack turns as you enter, eyes catching on you and taking you in. Your face heats in that familiar way it always does as Jack’s eyes flit from your eyes to your feet and back up again, his own cheeks dusted pink.

“You look beautiful.” He murmurs.

“Thank you.” You hum. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Dr. Abbot.” 

Jack chuckles as he crosses the room, hands falling on your hips. You feel the heat of his skin through the silky material and lean into the soft familiarity. 

“You sure you still want to go to dinner?” Jack asks through a smile and he leans in and kisses you, slow and soft and perfect. “I think I can come up with a better use of our time…” Your quiet laughs vibrate against your lips, still pressed together as he speaks.

“Jack….” You whine, trying to step back but giving up as he trails down your neck, to your shoulder, and kisses all the way down to your hand.

“I’m kidding…” He replies, mocking your tone. You roll your eyes and take a few steps backward, out of the kitchen.

“We’re going to be late for our reservation.” You say, an eyebrow raised. Jack’s eyes run over you once again before he follows after you, an arm slipping low around your waist.

He holds the front door as you walk out and doesn’t move his arm from your back as he locks it. The two of you descend the steps of your little townhouse, the same one you’d moved into a year ago now, and drive off to your anniversary dinner. You’ve been officially together for six months now, though Jack argues that it’s your one year anniversary- saying he’s starting the measurement from the day you moved in and he realized he was head over heels for you.

All you know is that you’re happier than you’ve ever been, and don’t plan on leaving this sweet free roommate deal any time soon.

a/n: THANK U ALL SOOOOO MUCH for reading lover, you should come over! every single comment and interaction has truly meant the world to be and motivated me to keep writing

i didn't have a solid plan for this fic and i'm so grateful that you guys stuck along for the slooOOOOoooww burn with jack and reader! i'm sad it's over but can't wait to work more on my next fic (jack and samira!!) and start putting the first few chapter out!!

again, thank u forever if you've been reading along with this, it was my first real time posting and I appreciate u all so much :'))) please let me know what u thought!! -- reef <3

“I had an amazing time tonight, Jack.”

Sitting in the passenger seat of Jack’s car, you look over at the older man, enjoying the warm, spicy aroma that envelopes you from being so close to him.

“Me too, kid.” Jack reaches over the center console, taking your hand in his and interlocking your fingers. 

“Do you want to come up….?” 

Despite all the texts and the constant flirting between you two, you can’t help but still feel a little nervous. 

“I do…. but…” 

“But?” 

“I need you to know… this isn’t casual for me. If we do this… I’m all in.”

“Good, because I don't think I could ever do casual with you Jack.”

He looks down, shaking his head, letting out a breathy laugh. Gripping your hand a little tighter, Jack brings his lips up to yours. The kiss is gentle, with a hunger simmering beneath the surface. Your hand reaches out to caress his stubbled cheek, deepening the kiss. Your lips move in unison, setting a rhythm that gives you butterflies. 

Your tongue darts out, tracing his bottom lip, asking for entrance. Jack moans, opening his mouth to let you in. Your tongues battle for dominance, the kiss becoming messier and more fevered. 

Jack releases a groan, deep from his chest when you bring your hand to his crotch. You palm the bulge in his trousers, feeling him grow beneath your touch. 

Letting out a throaty growl, Jack grips your wrist before pulling away reluctantly. You look into his eyes, your brow furrowing. 

“If we keep going like this, I won’t be able to stop… And I don't think you want to have sex in my car.” Jack chuckles. 

“Not yet… anyway.” you bite your lip, giving him a wink. 

‘You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.” 

────﹒♡﹒──── 

As soon as the door to your apartment door closes, you don’t waste any time picking up where you and Jack left off. Your lips crashing together once more, you walk Jack back towards the couch. He quickly strips his jacket off, tossing it to the floor. You both giggle into the kiss as you almost take a tumble while kicking off your heels, Jack gripping your hips to keep you stable. 

You push Jack back onto the couch, straddling his lap. Bunching your dress over your hips, you grind your lingerie covered core over the prominent tent in his pants. Jack groans into your open mouth, gripping onto your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises in the shape of his hands tomorrow. 

He breaks the kiss, a string of spit connecting your lips. 

“Honey, fuck-  you gotta slow down. Got me feeling like a teenager again.” 

“You gonna cum in your pants, Dr. Abbot?” you tease, causing Jack to deliver a harsh slap to your ass. 

“Behave.” 

“I’ll try… might have to make me though.” you giggle, brushing your lips against his. 

You lift your dress over your head, tossing it to the side, exposing your lingerie that leaves very little to the imagination. Jack throws his head back, groaning at the sight of your heaving breasts. Grinding against him one last time; you stand up from his lap, holding out your hand to him. He looks up at you, his lips kiss bitten, before letting you lead him into your bedroom. 

────﹒♡﹒──── 

Jack stands at the end of your bed, admiring you. You’re laying in the middle, your hair splayed out on your pillows. Thighs spread, beckoning him closer. 

“Jaaaack, wanna see you” you say, resting your hand against your mound

“I’m right here, honey.”

“Oh my god, Jack-  you know what I mean.” you whine, rubbing along the wet patch growing in your panties. Jack lifts his shirt up and over his head, revealing his full pecs and thick stomach. 

“You really have no business being this hot Dr. Abbot.” you sigh longingly. 

“Quit it, my ego won’t be able to handle it.” he chuckles, as a blush running along his chest and up to his neck.

You giggle, biting your lip as your gaze travels down to his cock straining against his pants. 

You sit up, crawling to the end of the bed. Sitting on your knees, you reach out for his belt buckle.

“Wanna see all of you, Jackie."

Jack holds you back slightly, clearing his throat. 

“You okay?” you say, rubbing your hands along his stomach. 

“Yeah… yeah I’m okay. I just…”

“We can stop if you want.” you say pulling away slightly, concern etched on your face.

“No! I mean… no. I don’t want to stop. really don't want to stop, honey.” he rubs along your shoulders reassuringly. “I just… I gotta take off my leg… wanted to warn you.” His eyes briefly flicker away. 

“Jack… you don’t need to warn me about that, really.” You smile up at him, leaning forward and hugging his body to you. “I want you, every part of you.” 

Jack caresses your cheek, you nuzzle into his palm. His thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, letting out a shaky exhale as you take it into your mouth, never breaking eye contact. 

Your lashes flutter as you suck along the calloused digit, your hands reaching out to his belt buckle again, looking up at him for confirmation. He nods, pulling his spit covered thumb from your mouth with a pop, dragging it down between your breasts. 

You unbuckle his belt and pull his pants down over his thick thighs, leaning forward, nuzzling your face against the bulge in his boxers. Looking up at him through your lashes, you give a kitten lick to his clothed tip; tasting the precum that’s leaked through. 

Letting out a whimper; Jack grips a fistful of your hair gently, pulling you off of him.

“Enough teasing, lay back on the bed for me.”

You bite your lip, nodding your head. Moving back to your original position, you remove your bra and begin caressing your breasts as you lay back. 

Jack kicks his pants off, moving around the bed to sit beside you. He stretches his legs out and removes his prosthetic with deft hands, leaning it against your nightstand. Groaning at the relief of his limb being free, rubbing the sensation back into himself.

Dragging himself up on the bed, he lays down next to you. He turns his body towards you, propping his head up on his elbow. 

“Hi” you smile at him, blushing. 

“Hi…” he smiles back, brushing the hair out of your face. 

Jack drags his hand down to your chest, kneading your breast with his hand. You whimper, arching into his touch, spreading your legs wider. 

“Please, Jack…” 

“Please what?” pinching your pebbled nipple teasingly. 

“Mmmm please. Wan- want your mouth….”

Leaning over you, Jack traces his lips along your collar bone, “Here?” 

You shake your head, whining. 

He brings his mouth to your nipple, swiping his tongue across it, “Here?”

“Mmm fuck, Jack…” arching your back.  

“Use your words, kid. Tell me what you need.” 

“Need- ungh!” Jack bites your breast lightly, laving his tongue along the fresh mark. “Need your mouth on my pussy. Wanna feel your tongue. Jack, please.” you beg, running your fingers through his greying curls. 

“Good girl.” 

Jack moves himself down your body, pulling your soaked panties off and down your legs, before settling himself in front of your aching core. He wraps his arms around your legs and spreads your thighs wide, holding you in place. 

He runs his index and middle fingers up and down along your folds, bumping your clit with each pass. Collecting your slick, he brings his fingers to your clenching hole, thrusting them into you. 

You throw your head back, letting out a breathy moan, threading your fingers through his silver curls. 

Jack drives his thick, rough fingers in and out of your tight hole. Moaning against you as he delivers languid licks to your swollen clit. 

“Mmm fuck, Ja-ack.” you let out a high pitched moan, as the grip on his hair tightens. 

Jack looks up at you, mumbling against your pussy. “Fuck… you taste so good.” He sets a deep, punishing pace with his fingers, making your toes curl. “Taking my fingers so well. Like a good girl. Gotta prep you for me, stretch out this tight little hole.” 

You giggle breathlessly, looking down at the older man through your lashes. “Talking dirty, Dr. Abbot?” You tease, giving his curls a tight pull. 

“Oh you little…” Jack dives back to your clit, licking and sucking at the twitching bundle of nerves with renewed vigor. He continues thrusting into your hungry cunt, curling his fingers so they hit that spongy spot inside of you. 

“Oh- oh my fu-fucking god. Don’t stop, Jack. Gonna cu-cum.” You spread your thighs as wide as they’ll go, writhing under his unrelenting mouth. 

You let out a silent scream, feeling yourself gush against Jack’s face and fingers, as your orgasm washes over you. Jack works you through it, not stopping until you're shying away from over stimulation.

Coming back down to earth, you look down at the older man, smiling at the love-struck look in his eyes. 

Jack drags himself up to you, so you're face to face once again. Bringing your lips together; you taste yourself on his tongue, enjoying the way the taste of him mixes with your natural, heady flavor. The kiss is sloppy, all spit and tongues licking into each other's mouths. 

Pulling away to catch your breath, you nuzzle your nose against his, looking deep into his eyes. You rub your hands up and down along his firm biceps, giving him another quick peck. 

“Lay on your back, baby. Wanna make you feel good now.” 

Jack kisses you once more before flopping onto his back. You waste no time; throwing your leg over his lap, straddling him. Leaning down to kiss along his chest, you drag your teeth across his nipples, making him suck in a breath. 

You nuzzle into him, before unexpectedly biting into the meat of his pec, causing Jack to jolt and laugh in surprise.  

“What’re you doing, kid?” Jack raises an eyebrow at you. 

“They’re just so… biteable. Can’t help myself.” a mischievous smile gracing your features. 

Continuing your assault, you move to his biceps next. Delivering playful little bites there too. 

You pull off of him, delivering one last nibble, admiring your handy work. Jack’s arms and torso are covered in love bites. 

“You might want to wear long sleeve underscrubs for a while.” you giggle. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Jack huffs, gripping your hips firmly. 

“I can think of a couple things…” you tease, rubbing your bare pussy along his stomach.

“Kid… you know I love the teasing but I think I might explode if I'm not inside you soon.” 

You smile at him again, dragging your drenched folds along his hot, throbbing cock. 

“Cant have the hottest doctor in Pittsburgh exploding now, can we?” 

Gripping him firmly in your hand, you raise your hips up, guiding his leaking head to your entrance. Slowly you lower your hips down onto him, feeling his thick girth stretch your walls. 

You’re both breathless by the time you're filled to the hilt. 

Letting yourself adjust to him for a moment, you set a quick pace. Bouncing up and down on his cock, bracing your hands against his chest. 

“You’re so fucking perfect.” Jack groans, tightening his grip on you, thrusting his hips up into your squelching cunt. “That feel good, honey? Talk to me, tell me how it feels.” 

“Fuck- Jack! Feels so good, feel you so deep. So big… filling me up so good.” You punctuate each word with another deep, hard thrust, feeling his cock hit that spongy spot inside you. 

Your eyes roll back into your head; the sounds of slapping skin, your choked whimpers, and his deep groans filling the room. 

The coil in your belly tightens, another orgasm heading towards you like a train. 

“Ja-Jack… mmm fuck! Go-gonna cum.” 

Jack drags his fingers up to your swollen clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. 

“Cum for me, Honey. Give it to me.”

You throw your head back, cumming all over his cock with a high pitched shout. Your body convulsing as you ride out your orgasm. Letting your body fall on top of his, Jack kisses the side of your head. 

“That’s my girl. Did so good.”

Jack’s grip tightens on your hips, using you to deliver sloppy thrusts onto his cock, bringing him to his peak. 

“Oh shit- Honey I’m gonna-” Jack cums with a deep groan, hot white ropes coating your still pulsing walls. 

You let your body relax completely against him, his cock softening inside you. Resting your chin on his chest, you smile at one another, both of you sweaty and out of breath. 

“Looks like you still got it, old man.” 

“Old man huh?” Jack chuckles, delivering a playful spank to your ass. 

“Yeah… but you’re my old man.” you giggle, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips. 

────﹒♡﹒────

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You wake to the sensation of soft kisses brushed against your skin—your forehead, your cheek, and your chin. It's the best sleep you've had in months, muscles warm and at ease. The feeling grows with each kiss as you're reminded of the fact that last night was real.

Jack loves you.

It wasn't just a vivid dream; the tender kisses he places on your skin confirm that. You're tempted to pretend to stay asleep just to enjoy more of this, but you instinctively scrunch your nose as his lips land on it, his scruff tickling you gently.

"Morning," he murmurs warmly, his voice husky with sleep, as he breathes against your cheek. You can feel his smile before your eyes fully open as he presses another soft kiss to your face.

Jack rests on one elbow, his hair tousled, with the soft morning light catching the strands that are more white than grey. God, he's handsome.

Yesterday, you might have convinced yourself that this look of adoration he’s giving you is just a figment of your imagination, but today, you know it’s real. He’s actually gazing at you like this, as if nothing else matters—not your messy morning hair nor yesterday’s mascara remnants around your eyes. He simply looks like he’s glad you’re here with him.

"Morning," you grin back, stifling a yawn into your hand.

His smile broadens. "Hi."

You chuckle softly. "Hi."

He keeps staring at you with a smile on his face. His other hand finds your waist, and your cheeks flush in response as he drags you closer. Although his touch isn’t new, the familiarity feels different now—seeing as you now know the intent behind it means what you want it to.

"What?" you ask, a bit self-conscious, rubbing your eyes in hopes of wiping away the stubborn mascara stains.

"Nothing," he shrugs, yet the grin on his face suggests otherwise.

"Jack." You pout at him and watch as his gaze drops down to your lips.

"I just..." he laughs lightly and shakes his head. "I can’t believe this is real."

You know exactly how he feels, and you hope he's able to see it in your eyes. If he doesn't, then you hope he feels it as your hand brushes through his wild strands. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, and when he opens them again, you’re convinced he does.

You both lock eyes for a moment before he leans forward. At the last moment, you turn your head, and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. He makes a comically disgruntled noise.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you lament, though unable to suppress your laughter at his pouty face.

"I don't care," Jack says, placing a kiss against your jaw.

"Jack," you giggle louder. "I’m serious. My breath stinks."

"I've wanted to do this for months," he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "A little morning breath won’t stop me. Honestly, you could have rotten teeth, and I’d still kiss you."

"Ew," you grimace, but he just laughs and plants another kiss at the corner of your mouth.

You debate it for a second, then your cringe morphs into a grin as you lean in, stealing a quick kiss from his lips.

When you pull back, Jack stares at you with wide eyes. You can see when realisation hits him; his eyes darken, and he leans in quickly, giving you no chance to dodge him again. His mouth meets yours, soft yet persistent, each kiss lingering a bit longer than the last. He swallows your giggles with his lips, but he can't help but laugh, too.

Eventually, he presses his forehead against yours, and you stay there for a little while, wrapped up in each other, letting the reality of last night fully settle. The room is quiet except for your breathing, and for the first time since yesterday, the silence feels comfortable.

"I missed waking up next to you," Jack confesses, his voice low in your ear.

You press a kiss to his cheek before resting your head against his shoulder. "Me too."

You breathe in, nose buried deep in the crook of his throat, and his arms tighten around you when he realises what you're doing—breathing in the scent that's purely him. You've never been able to do this freely, and it feels surreal to be able to be this close with no excuses needed.

The moment's broken when your alarm rings softly. Jack shifts to turn it off while still holding you close, and makes no move to let you go or get up.

"We need to get up," you say after a minute, trying to pull back.

"Says who?" he answers cheekily, pulling you in even closer.

"Check-out, for one," you reply, pushing gently against his chest. "And I’d like to shower before we have to sit in an enclosed space for two hours."

"What if I like the way you smell?" he says, and usually, your stomach would be fluttering at a sentence like that, but you know him too well—

"—Fritos are my favourite chips," he continues. His chest bounces a bit as you playfully swat him.

"Rude," you grin, and this time he allows you to slip out of his grasp. "And you’re a liar. I know your favourite isn’t Fritos."

"Says who?" he repeats with a grin as he watches you sit up. You move to the edge of the bed, and he sits up to be able to see you better.

"Says the several bags of Doritos in your cabinets," you counter with a raised eyebrow. You move to slide off the bed, but he catches your arm, pulling you back over to him.

"Ja-ack," you laugh as you land against his chest.

"Those are for Robby," Jack says, and before you can argue, his mouth captures yours again. He keeps you there for another five minutes before your alarm blares again.

"Fine," he concedes when you pull back again. "Just leave me all alone here."

You shuffle forward, but pause at the doorway to the bathroom, meeting his eyes with a mischievous smile. "You could always join me."

Jack freezes, and you can see him process the offer—the way his eyes darken and the slight swallow as his gaze trails over you.

"Or not," you shrug, stifling a grin as you turn away.

He's got his crutches in his hands before your sentence finishes.

The checkout line is ridiculously long, and under normal circumstances, you’d complain about it—after all, how hard can it be to hand over a keycard and walk out? But with Jack’s arm wrapped around your waist and soft kisses peppered onto your hairline, you just can’t find the energy to care.

Even as Jack offers to give you his car keys, so you can wait in the car, you shake your head. You want to stay close to him despite the line barely moving. The lobby is crowded, and it really makes no sense for both of you to be standing here. Still, after spending weeks keeping your distance, torturing yourself, the thought of being apart now feels absurd.

Jack doesn’t push the issue; he simply nods and pulls you closer again. You're plastered to his side for the ten minutes it takes before you finally reach the desk.

"Hey," a warm voice greets you just as Jack hands over the keycard. Jeremy stands off to the side, a bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

"Hi," you respond with a smile, stepping out of the queue to approach him.

He returns your smile. "I’m glad I caught you—you left before I could tell you how nice it was to see you again yesterday."

"Oh, sorry about that," you start, embarrassment flaring at the reminder of your jealous outburst. "I had—"

"We had some stuff to do," Jack interjects, slipping an arm around your waist again. He gives Jeremy a tight smile.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Jeremy responds. "Warren was asking about you, but honestly, I’m not sure she even remembers anything now." He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I had to extend her hotel room for her—she got pretty wasted after you left. The ushers had to escort her to her room after she threw up in the plants in the hallway."

"What? Really?" Laughter bubbles out of you. "Well, that's very professional."

Jack squeezes your waist admonishingly but still huffs an amused breath.

Jeremy grins. "Anyway, it was great to see you again. You’ve really done well for yourself, Sleepy." He nods at you, then glances at Jack, offering him a nod as well.

"You too," you say, and you mean it. Jeremy was a great guy in med school, even if he wasn't the best at relationships back then, but you're sure he's grown up more. You certainly have.

You're more certain of what you want, more certain of what you deserve, and somehow, that has landed you with Jack.

"Maybe we'll see you around," you finish. Presby isn't that far from PTMC after all.

"Yeah, I hope so," Jeremy replies, pulling his sunglasses down. He smiles at you one last time before he walks off. "Get home safe."

Jack grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'yeah, I hope so' as he steers you towards the exit. He keeps a neutral face until you're outside, where it turns sullen. A laugh escapes you the moment you’re near the car, and away from prying eyes.

Jack narrows his eyes at you as he pops open the trunk. "What’s so funny?"

Another laugh leaves you. "You're just a silly, jealous man."

"I'm not silly," he replies immediately as he places your bags inside the trunk before shutting it again.

"That's the part you focus on?"

"I'm not jealous," he insists, crossing his arms.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not."

"Hey," you say, stepping closer. His arms drop the moment you gently press down on them. You curl your fingers into the front of his t-shirt. "You have nothing to be jealous of."

Jack huffs, staring at your hands.

"Jack."

His eyes lift to yours.

"I love you." The words still feel new in your mouth, but no less right.

His eyes search yours, still checking after everything revealed yesterday that you mean it. The tight line of his mouth softens when he finds a satisfying answer.

You draw him in closer. "Okay?"

"Okay." His hand slides to your cheek and you meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a tender kiss.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he pulls back. "Let's go home."

Coming home feels strange.

Not in a bad way, but it feels different than it did when you left. The air has shifted inside, the furniture moved without being an inch out of place, and the smell is different, and yet everything is exactly the same.

Jack's sweater still hangs over the back of the dining room chair. Your blanket is still draped across the couch, unfolded in that way Jack always grumbles over, but never does anything about.

Everything feels new and somehow the exact same. The only different thing is you and Jack. There's finally nothing unspoken between you, with all cards on the table. No uncertainty, no wondering, no pretending.

There's still the question of what this means for you, but it doesn't feel pressing. It's just there in the background, waiting until the moment feels right. There's no rush to speak.

You're free to enjoy this moment for what it is. The pleasantness from the drive, where Jack spent the entire trip with his hand firmly planted on your thigh, carries into the house.

The bags get unpacked together, clothes thrown into the washer by four hands rather than two. You follow Jack to the bedroom when he puts the bags away; he follows you into the bathroom when you put your toiletries back. You make lunch together, hips nudging, shoulders brushing—a task that normally takes ten stretches into thirty because neither of you can stop talking and laughing.

He keeps looking at you like he still can't believe it's real. You can keep leaning in close to prove to him that it is.

The day settles eventually as you both curl up on the couch with books. The laundry tumbles quietly in the background as warm sunlight spills in through the living room windows.

You're leaning against his chest, reading, but more focused on the hand that's trailing slowly up and down your arm. Every so often, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the scruff on his jaw that's slightly longer than usual, the way he scrunches his nose at passages in his book, and how his face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before.

As if sensing you, he glances over at you. His mouth immediately curves into a smile when he catches you swiftly looking away. He huffs a little cute sound, squeezing your shoulder.

You grin into your book, nudging his leg with your hand. You try to refocus on the pages, but it doesn't take long before you're blinking heavily. Without even really thinking about it, you slide down until your head is resting on his lap instead.

Jack's hand follows soundly, petting your head softly and lulling you to sleep.

By evening, neither of you has spent more than a few minutes apart.

Dinner comes and goes. The dishes get washed. The laundry gets folded. Around you, the house gradually darkens, shadows stretching across familiar rooms. You try to stay awake as long as possible, hoping to drag your sleeping schedule back toward something resembling normal before your next shift. By the seventh yawn in under a minute, Jack gives you a look.

"Okay," he says with an amused huff. "Time for bed."

You grumble half-heartedly but still let him steer you toward the bedroom. Blearily, you grab at clothes in the closet. Jack doesn't comment on the fact that you grab one of his shirts, just glances at it with a pleased smile before he heads into the bathroom.

When he's done, you brush past him in just his shirt and underwear that he can't see, biting back a smile at when he swallows harshly. You don't fight the grin once you're alone in the bathroom, letting the giddy feeling take over.

Your phone vibrates against the counter, just as you've put your toothbrush into your mouth.

>> Hello??? Are you alive?!

It's Olivia. Fuck. She's already texted you three times earlier today, and you'd ignored her, unsure of what to say that won't reveal everything immediately.

<< Yes

>> That's it??

<< Yes, I'm fine <3

You add the heart, toothbrush hanging loosely from your mouth as you try to act normal.

>> Uh huh. How did it go?

You can picture her narrowed eyes when you read it. Your thumbs hover over the screen for a minute, thinking of what to say.

<< It was fine. Nothing worth mentioning.

You can see her typing, deleting, then typing again several times.

>> And what about Jack?

<< He's fine, too.

You pause before adding:

<< We're fine. Things are okay again.

>> What does that mean??

You take too long to answer her, but her following text shows that it doesn't really matter anyway—she knows you too well.

>> oh😏

When you reemerge, you've decided to keep this to yourself until the morning. No need to reveal to Jack that the plan has failed immediately. This can still be just yours tonight.

He sits against the headboard, prosthetic off, and duvet covering his lap. He looks nervous. "Are you gonna—?" He gestures vaguely toward the empty side of the bed before clearing his throat. "I mean..."

The uncertainty in his voice surprises you. You'd just spent the entire day together, and he's unsure if you want to share the bed. It's kinda cute.

"Yeah," you say softly. "If that's okay?"

His answer comes fast. "Of course it's okay." He pauses. "I just didn't know if—" he shrugs, trailing off.

You climb into bed, into the arm that was waiting for you. You both sink down until your head settles against his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.

You guess this is as good a moment as any other to finally have the conversation.

"I...uh—" you start. "I have the divorce papers printed on my desk."

Jack goes very still.

"I also still have that apartment viewing on Thursday." You stare at a loose thread on his shirt. "I know we've done this in a weird order. Getting married, moving in together, and then confessing."

You force out a laugh. "If you want to do this properly, we can."

The room goes quiet. Jack's arm tightens around you. "Properly?"

"You know." You shrug. "Dating. Separate places. Normal people stuff."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything; then, he says: "Do you want that?"

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate but answer truthfully. "No."

Jack lets out a breath. Just a small exhale that sounds suspiciously like relief. "Oh."

You lift your head. "Oh?"

Jack's mouth twitches. "I don't either." He rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want you staying because you think you have to."

Your chest squeezes. "Jack."

"You've spent months trying to make decisions based on what you thought I wanted." His fingers trace idle patterns against your arm. "I'd rather know what you want."

You stare at him for a second. "I want to stay. I want to stay here."

His eyes soften immediately. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We don't have to rush to figure things out. I like having you here. We can't figure the rest out later."

"Yeah?"

"Mm," he hums, his grip tightening around you. "I slept like shit when you weren't here. I'd prefer not to do that again."

You huff a breath. "Me too."

Even though the apartment had been nicer than the others you'd looked at, you really didn't want to move. You're happy he feels the same as you do. Maybe it doesn't matter if you do this in an order that doesn't make the most sense—as long as it makes sense to you, that's all that matters.

The room quiets again until Jack speaks again. "Can I ask you something?"

Your chest tightens, but you still nod.

"Why Lily?"

You knew he was going to ask eventually, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing. You sigh into his chest. "That day—" you don't have to specify which, he already knows. "The way you ran inside looking terrified—"

You swallow. "And how you yelled at me after..." The memory of it still stings now, even after his countless apologies. "It was the difference in how you treated me and her."

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"I know."

"No." His voice is quiet. "I need you to understand what happened."

You lift your head enough to look at him.

"I got there seconds after—" His jaw tightens. "I barely managed to pull you away. I was already petrified when I heard the code being called. I could only imagine you—" he stops, breathing heavily. "...I can't explain what that felt like."

He continues, "When I realised it wasn't you, I was relieved. And then I felt guilty for being relieved because someone had still gotten hurt, but all I could think about was how happy I was that it wasn't you."

The confession lands heavily between you.

"I was scared out of my mind. Angry at the patient. Relieved that you weren't hurt. Guilty that I was relieved. All at once. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

You squeeze his hand.

His eyes find yours. "It was never about Lily."

You believe him. Now, you do. But back then? Back then, you'd been drowning in uncertainty.

You shrug helplessly, revealing more of how you felt. "After that, I started noticing every little thing. The way you talked to her. The way she made you laugh."

"You make me laugh," he says firmly.

You roll your eyes at him, a slight smile tugging on your lips. "I think I was trying to make peace with losing you. If I wasn't the one for you, then she could be. She could be better for you. Kinder than me. Easier than me."

Jack's face falls. "Sweetheart..."

Your mouth twitches sadly, looking down at his shirt again.

"You genuinely thought that?"

You nod.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, lifting your gaze back to his. "Do you have any idea how much time I spent wishing you'd look at me the way I looked at you?" His thumb brushes across your skin. "It was always you."

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. You sigh. "We wasted so much time."

"Yeah."

Moments stolen by fear and assumptions and bad timing. You think about every dinner that could have been a date. Every movie night spent pretending not to notice how close he sat. Every almost-confession. Every chance that slipped away.

But now, everything's finally out in the open. The conversation drifts after that. You talk about everything. The first dinner. The first kiss. The kiss cam. The bar. Every misunderstanding. Every moment one of you had walked away convinced the other didn't feel the same.

Sometimes you laugh until your stomach hurts. Sometimes you bury your face in a pillow because neither of you can believe how oblivious you've been. Sometimes there's silence while you mourn all the things that could have been.

By the time the conversation finally slows, pale morning light is spilling through the curtains. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but your chest feels lighter than it has in months.

You don't know what happens next.

You don't know what being married and newly confessed and hopelessly in love is supposed to look like. But for the first time, that uncertainty doesn't scare you. You'll figure it out together.

Beside you, Jack shifts closer beneath the blankets until there's barely any space left between you.

His lips brush your hair. "I love you."

You smile immediately. The confession still feels unreal. "I love you too."

The smile you feel against your forehead is warm and content. And wrapped in his arms, with the future still unwritten and endless possibilities stretching ahead of you, sleep finally finds you both.

The next evening finds you faster than you'd like.

As you step in through the door to the hospital, side by side, it reminds you of the first time you walked in carrying a secret on your shoulders—only this time, your shoulders are light, and your stomach is fluttering with happy jitters.

Somehow, you manage to make your way to the lockers without meeting anyone. With your bags dropped, you sneak a brief kiss against the door before you reenter the Pitt. Jack's hand brushes yours, your pinky catching his for a second, before you take a step apart.

You try to bite back the smile that threatens to break through. If you want this work, you need to stop acting like a lovestruck teenager. It's incredibly hard, though.

Robby stands at the hub, tablet in hand and a frown on his face.

"Rough day?" Jack says, clapping his back. He leans against the counter as you trail closer.

"Yeah... Good luck." Robby rubs his face, dropping the tablet on the counter. When his eyes open, they narrow in on the space between you and Jack—or rather the lack of it.

You shift to the side, trying to act nonchalant, but Robby's a hound. His eyes follow the movement immediately, nose twitching as he tries to sniff out everything you're trying to keep quiet.

"How was the conference?"

"Fine," Jack replies, glancing up at the board. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the counter.

"It was?" Robby raises an eyebrow, staring at him. Jack nods at him, shifting his gaze away quickly. Robby watches him for a moment, then turns to you.

"Mm," you nod, offering a tight smile. "The usual."

Robby stays silent, shifting his gaze from Jack to you, and then he grins widely. He chuckles, "If you so."

"Yeah," Jack nods with an awkward smile.

"Well, that's good." Robby keeps grinning as he pats the counter twice. "I'll see you later." He salutes you, still smiling, then walks off without any further questions.

You stare at his disappearing figure with a sense of dread. With a hand around Jack's wrist, you pull him into a quiet corner, hissing: "He knows."

Jack frowns. "How could he? We were acting normal."

You stare at him. "Normal? If you call 'you not looking at him at all' normal, then yes. Very normal."

"I did look at him."

"For two seconds. Normally, you don't look away at all," you counter.

Jack crosses his arms. "Well...You gave it away to Olivia."

"I didn't—I told her nothing."

"Exactly!" Jack points out. "That's not normal for you."

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows and then sigh. "...Yeah, okay. Maybe I did."

Jack sighs, too. "I guess I did, too." He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips as he leans closer. "But to be fair, I think we forgot that they've spent months dealing with our sorry asses. Of course, they know. They knew we were in love before we did."

"—Abbot, there you are! Stop hiding in corners with your missus—trauma incoming," Lena interrupts with a wink. She doesn't even look back as she disappears down the hallway.

Jack squeezes your hand briefly on the way out, sending you a soft smile. "See you on the other side."

You watch him disappear around the corner before you head after him. The familiar knot of anxiety never comes. For weeks, every shift had felt like walking a tightrope. Every glance from Jack had meant something, and every action had been dissected. Now, the uncertainty is gone.

The Pitt is still loud. Still chaotic. The same as it always was. It's you who is different.

Across the department, Jack glances back. Just for a second, but long enough to catch your eye. Long enough to smile, and then he's gone into a trauma room.