Grace

Now, normally, this kind of thing is against the rules. But tonight is a slow one, with most of the usual patrons choosing a bigger sports bar to go to after the win, and you don’t see a reason to deny this team much of anything right now. 

So, you turn and a handful of shot glasses from the shelf, snagging a fresh bottle of tequila, too. 

“Hey, could I get a glass of water?” A voice calls behind you. 

“Sure thing, do you want—” you start, but freeze when you look up to see who just sat down at the bar.

He smiles, white teeth flashing in the lights. His bleached hair is parted down the middle, falling over his forehead in frizzy, crimped waves. 

“…Ice?” you finish lamely. 

His brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and your stomach does a little flip. 

“Ice? Nah. Well, just—whatever you got’s good. Thanks.”

You nod, swiping a glass and filling it quickly from the tap. 

“Hey, great assist tonight by the way.” The words tumble from your lips as you set the glass down in front of him. 

His eyes flicker with interest as they meet yours again. “You saw the game?”

His jacket gapes a little off his waist, the width of his shoulders filling it out as he reaches for the glass.

“I always turn the TV to local sports.” You motion to the TV in the corner of the bar. As if he couldn’t see it for himself. 

“Shit, seriously? That’s cool.” His gaze lingers on you for a second before he clears his throat, then shifts on the barstool to hold out his hand. “Hey, I’m Teacake, by the way. Well, Travis, technically, but everybody calls me that. Or Tea.” 

You smile, setting down the glass you were holding and reach out to clasp his hand in yours. But when you look down at your hands, you forget entirely how to introduce yourself. 

His hands are so big that his palm practically engulfs yours, and his long, blunt fingers brush your wrist, warm against your skin. 

“How we doin’ on those shots?” Someone calls. 

You jump, the music swelling back into your ears, and you drop Teacake’s hand. Looking up, you find Gus now standing at the bar. He’s tall and lean, with black hair that’s shaved down short. You recognize him as the team’s right winger. 

“Y-yeah! Yeah, got ‘em right here,” you say, flashing Teacake an apologetic look before flipping open the tequila bottle and pouring eight neat shots, all in a row. The liquor gurgles from the spout, splashing right into the glass bottoms without spilling a drop.

“Jesus, you’re really fast at that,” Teacake muses under his breath, and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile. 

Gus turns around to face the bar, then cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Body shots!”

An answering chorus of whoops and cheers echo through the bar, and you shake your head in amusement. This is definitely a bad idea, but hey—it’s not every day you win the semifinals. 

“We’re celebrating you tonight, man!” Jamison shouts over the music, coming up behind Teacake and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. A few of the girls fill the gaps between the stools in front of you, a cloud of sparkling tops and perfume. “What’dya say, girls?” he says, turning to them with a charming grin, sweaty brunette curls sticking to his face. “You wanna show our boy, Teacake, a good time?”

You grab a knife and slice into a fresh lime, the tart smell filling your nose, the sticky juice spilling over your fingers as you try not to look up at him. 

“Hey, hey,” Travis says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

A shadow falls over your cutting board, and you look up to see one of the girls shimmying herself up onto the bar top.  

“Where do want it, Tea?” The girl asks coyly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Here?” She brushes her hand over her cleavage, and the boys crowd around, eyes eager, drinks hooked lazily in their hands. Her hand travels lower, circling the flat stomach peeking out under her top. “Or here?”

He swallows hard, then opens his mouth to say something, but she turns over her shoulder to you before he can. 

“Hand me that, would you?” She says. The neon lights catch in her lashes, and she smiles. 

You reach over to hand her a tequila shot, but she stops you, one manicured finger pointing beside you. 

“No, I meant the bottle.”

Wordlessly, and a little reluctantly, you hand her the tequila bottle, as well as a pinch of margarita salt, and a fresh lime wedge. When she turns back to Travis, a chant starts up from the crowd. 

"Tea-cake, Tea-cake, Tea-cake!”

The team’s bellows are so loud, they temporarily drown out the music. Everyone crowds in even more, and even Landon, their shy goalie, grabs a hold of Teacake’s jacket and shakes him a little in anticipation. 

Travis raises his big hands, motioning for them to stop. A small smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, but he shakes his head, and the cheers dies out. 

The girl on the bar starts to pout, her bottom lip slick with lip gloss. “You’re not any fun.”

“Oh, me?” Teacake asks, pointing a finger into his chest. “I’m fun. I’m huge fun! But look—” He fishes something out of his pocket, then holds it out proudly. “Fourteen months sober.”

He’s holding a sobriety coin. It’s a smooth, slightly tarnished bronze, but Teacake holds it like its treasure. It winks under the flashing lights as he weaves it between his knuckles in a practiced motion. 

Gus groans. “That’s right. Sorry man. I forgot. I didn’t mean—”

“Nah, man, you’re good.” Teacake says, with a little shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, he holds out his hand for the drunk girl still perched in front of him. “Shit, here, let me help you down. And it’s not that I don’t want to, okay? Your tits look good. Great, I mean! They look great. Seriously.”

She looks up at him, then, and flashes him a small smile, turning back to her friends. You recognize that look. Pity.

It makes your stomach twist. 

Travis is a fairly new addition to the Bucks. Apparently, after spending a short time in the slammer for something stupid, his childhood hockey coach decided to give him a fresh start. Saw his potential. Saw his heart. 

He’s got more to prove than the others because of this, though, and you recognize that earnest desire to succeed. It matches your own.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself leaning over the bar in front of him and saying, “You know, you don’t have to drink alcohol in order to do a body shot.”

Travis looks over his shoulder at you, and his lips part in surprise. Like, he almost can’t believe you are speaking to him again. The rest of his team still stands around, but they aren’t listening anymore. 

“There are…other ways.” you continue, mouth suddenly dry.

He twists towards you, wide shoulders taking up your vision as he leans over the bar, meeting you halfway.  “Oh yeah?”  His hair flops in his face as he tilts his head. “What other way are we talkin’ about here?”’

You smirk to yourself, then plant your hands on the sticky bar top and level his gaze. 

“Oh. Oh, shit. You mean off me?” His eyes widen and he glances at the girls, then back at you. “Trust me, these girls don’t wanna—”

“I bet they would,” you interrupt with a shrug you hope looks casual. “But I wasn’t talking about them.”

He lets out a quiet, stuttering laugh. “Are….are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’ right now? You want to do a body shot off me?”

Landon, Gus, and Jamison all turn around sharply in unison. It’s honestly kind of impressive for three guys as drunk as they are.

“Wait, what did he say?” Landon asks. 

Jamison gestures towards you with his glass. “I think the bartender’s doing a body shot off Tea.”

At that moment, the song changes. It turns into something with a deep bass, and a sexy tempo that sits low in your hips, humming up your spine. 

“Ohhh yeah. Yep, this is happening!” Gus shouts. “Clear the bar top!” 

A blur of hands grab their drinks from the ledge before you can blink. Gus sure knows how to command a room. 

Travis rubs his neck. “I don’t know, man. I’m trying to get better at not getting talked into shit, you know?”

Jamison scoffs. “What’s the harm in this, T? You’re not the one drinking!”

A cheer runs through the crowd, and in a matter of seconds, the boys have Teacake laid out on the bartop like your personal offering. He’s scoffing, batting their hands away, lips twisted in disgust as they try to rip up his shirt. 

“Ah—okay, what the hell, man? Jesus,” he hisses. “Can take off my own damn shirt…”

Getting a knee up on the counter for leverage, you climb up onto the bar top with him, and man, that really makes the crowd go crazy. 

You seek out his eyes underneath the neon lights as your knees find their place on either side of his hips. His jacket is gone, leaving his chest heaving underneath a mussed white T-shirt, and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip as his gaze meets yours. 

He blushes, but doesn’t look away, so you turn to the girl from before, who’s standing on the ground watching. 

“Can I see that?” You ask. She hands the tequila bottle up to you, clearly a little chagrined she didn’t think of this first. “Thanks.”

 Snatching a pinch of salt from the counter, and a fresh lime wedge, you lean back on your heels and look down at Teacake.

He’s so wide and broad underneath you, your knees almost ache from being spread so far, planted on either side of his ribs. His chest is warm through the cotton shirt, brushing against your inner thighs. 

The rest of him is just as good, from the sliver you can see. His stomach made up of strong muscles under a thin layer of fat you just want to sink your teeth into. 

“There’s no fucking way this is happening,” he mutters in awe.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Why not? I mean—look at you! You’re, like, insanely hot and shit.” 

You smile. “So are you.”

And he is. 

You raise your head to look at the crowd. They’re all gathered around, awaiting your next move as the song’s tempo picks up.

“Where should I put the salt, boys?” You yell over the music. 

A chorus of suggestions rise, each one more risqué than the last, but you turn back to Teacake and move down his body. 

“I think…” You tilt your head, pursing your lips. “Here.”

“Jesus,” Travis hisses, dropping his head back against the bar as you swipe the lime across the sliver of skin just above his waistband, then sprinkle salt over the gleaming strip. “Are you sure you—”

“Hold this for me, would ya?” You reach up and press the lime wedge peel against his mouth, muffling his words. 

Slowly, under your watchful gaze, his lips part and his teeth accept it. 

“Atta girl!” Jamison shouts. “Show him who’s boss!”

Gus cheers, slinging an arm around one of the girls. “Finally, someone who knows how to shut Tea up!”

Travis’ nostrils flare as the lime invades his senses, his pupils dilated and fixed on you. The swinging lights skitter across his lashes, painting his freckles in gold.  

“Good boy.” You murmur, smiling. “Now pull that shirt up higher.”

The boys whoop so loudly the vibrations travel through your kneecaps planted on the bar. They crowd around closer, slamming open palms into each other’s chests, slinging drinks around. 

You’ll have to stay late cleaning this place up. But, considering the view in front of you right now, it’s so worth it. 

Teacake scoffs against the lime at your order, but his lips quirk. The veins in his hands flex as he reaches down and grabs his shirt and drags it higher.

The glass bottle feels slick in your sweaty palm, salt chunks digging into the pads of your fingers in the other, and your heart hammers against your ribs as you stare down at him. 

Lick. Shoot. Suck. 

Easy. 

But as his shirt lifts, revealing hard pecs beneath warm, soft fat, and a chestful of dark hair, your mouth parts on an exhale. He’s so big, and so warm. Like a damn furnace underneath you right now. 

Suddenly, you’re consumed by the urge to know what it’s like to burrow into his side and use that heavy arm like your personal weighted blanket. Your head swims like you’ve already slammed the shot, and—fuck, what are you supposed to do again?

Right. Lick. 

You shuffle down until your face is practically level with his crotch as the song builds to the chorus. He’s wearing dark jeans, spread tight over his thick, muscular thighs. God, if you were alone right now…

But you’re not. And you have a job to do. 

Slowly, you lower your body. You’re utterly entranced by the way his breath heaves once, twice, his head tipping up to look at you, and then your mouth descends—just as the beat drops. 

Cheers erupt, but you hardly hear them over the blood rushing in your ears. 

The harsh bite of salt invades your tongue, but you swipe it across his skin eagerly, looking for the taste of him underneath it. 

With the hand that isn’t clenched around the bar top for stability, you tip the bottle just enough for a small pool of tequila to land on his stomach. His core clenches as it splashes over his body, pooling in his navel before running in rivulets down his sides.  

He curses again from behind the lime, but you swoop in, slurping the alcohol off his body, letting your lips drag over the dips and valley of skin and muscle. His stomach jerks beneath the hot, velvety glide of your tongue, and despite everything, a groan escapes him. 

It’s muffled under the music, you more so feel it than hear it, but it sends a thrill down your spine. 

The tequila bites your taste buds, hot and bitter, but the scent of his skin is overwhelming. Warm, but clean, probably from his shower after the game, with just a hint of sweat that makes embers stir between your hips. 

Hollowing your cheeks, you suck gently, intent on getting every drop, and his hand twitches at his side as if he wants to grab your hair for you.

You look up when his chest vibrates under your lips and find him trying to say something to his teammate from behind the lime. One of the boys has his phone out, filming over Teacake’s shoulder with a wicked grin. 

Travis waves him away, but it’s no use, and when he turns back to you, he’s laughing from behind the fruit, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

You laugh too, heartbeat fluttering against Travis’ thigh as you slide your tongue over his abs again. The tequila is gone now, but he deserves to have a video his teammates can wave around, make inside jokes about, or threaten to show everyone at the fancy hockey galas.

Finally, you pull back and crawl up his body. He looks up at you, brown eyes wide and pupils blown. That lime still pitifully stuck between his lips, flesh part facing you. Your hair brushes his cheek and his hand flies up. You think he’s going to brush it away, but instead, he reaches up under your hair, and cups the nape of your neck.

Your heart stops. His hand is so heavy, so warm, as he pulls you down. Your lashes flutter and you try to keep from grinning in excitement as you slowly, slowly lower your mouth down to his. 

His breath ghosts along your cheek as your teeth sink into the flesh of the fruit. The sour tang hits the back of your throat, but you barely feel it, because your bottom lip slides across his. 

Your stomach swoops, heat pooling in your belly. It feels like, for a moment, it’s just the two of you. No music. No onlookers. And when his other hand brushes your thigh beside his hip, you nearly forget how to breathe. 

The hoots and hollers coming from the boys rip you back into the present, and you pull back just far enough to take the lime from your own mouth, but you stay hovered over him, your eyes on his. 

He swallows hard, and his thumb brushes your thigh again. Intentional, this time. Earnest, and almost…grateful. 

“So, you still think girls don’t want to do that to you?” You tease. 

“I think—” He breaks into a helpless laugh. “Shit, man, if this is what’s waiting for me at the afterparty, I’ll win every fucking game.”

“Hey,” you smile down at him with a shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”

a/n: god, I need him bad. like, badddddddddd. expect more hockey!teacake soon. (my sports romance side is coming out, if you couldn't tell)

also, if you liked this, you might like soccer player!travis (football, for her lol) by @moonstoneandmoonlight.

teacake taglist: @xoxocelestial , @s3xytosomeone , @tellcherhesgone , @another-widow , leave a comment here if you want to join!

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

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

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

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

The reply came almost instantly.

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

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

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

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

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

“What?”

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

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

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

“What?”

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

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

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

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

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

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

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Apparently so.”

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“What?” You asked warily.

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

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

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

Your brows knitted together.

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

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

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

“Well I’ll be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Someone has to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

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

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

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

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

You snorted. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

“Wait let me guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

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

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

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

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

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

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

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

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

"He also has excellent aim."

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

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

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

“You’re happy?”

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

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

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

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

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

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

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

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

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

“Sloan.”

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

Mark's grin returned instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

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

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

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You two know eachother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

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

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

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

Your eyes narrowed.

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

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

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

"I hate all of you."

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

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

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

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

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

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

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

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

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

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

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

“I’ve heard of him.”

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

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

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

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

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

“You’re not.” You insisted.

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

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

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

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

"Jack."

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

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

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

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

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you eat?”

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

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

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

Jack raised a brow.

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

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

“I know I am.”

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

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

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