#carmy

            Instead, he’d had to leave the pasta bowl in the microwave, and he didn’t even have time to put on the prosthesis sock. He just had to raw-dog it out of the house, when the police scanner informed him of the mass shooting. He didn’t even get a chance to look towards the greeting mat in front of his door for a Tupperware; that was how quickly he rushed back to PTMC.

            112 people lived. 6 died. It could have been worse, he tried to compartmentalize. They were in the trade of balancing the scales of life and death, so anytime the life one tipped lower, Jack could breathe a sigh of relief.

            However, injuries and death, he knew how to deal with, despite the impact it always had. Having to talk your best friend off the ledge though, was a different beast. Because this time it was different. This time, as Jack watched Robby stand on the wrong side of the railing, he thought he might actually take that final step.

            So he talked, he was the voice of reason, like Robby had been to him on the mornings when the weight of the world just pressed down a bit too hard on his shoulders. The first proper breath Jack got to take was when Robby stepped back onto the safe side of the roof, walking with him back down to the chaos that was their workplace, where finally, a few hours later, they could emerge into the night, surrounded by their residents and students and interns, all sharing a drink of victory.

            And where most of their days would end, they’d go back home, get a full night’s rest, hopefully, one not filled with nightmares, Jack’s had only begun. He still had a night shift to manage.

            So, with a clap on Robby’s back, and a promise from Shen they'd hold down the fort, he drove back home for a couple of hours, if only to regroup and clean his scrubs before returning to the maw of the beast.

            This time though, he did glance down beside his door, only to be met with disappointment, when nothing awaited him. On the one day he so desperately wished for a sweet thing, there was nothing.

            Jack’s brows furrowed as he glanced across the hall towards the door of 14B.

            He’d never met the inhabitant of the flat. He’d never once seen anyone enter or exit, and would only sometimes hear quiet shuffling or soft humming.

            For a while, after Mr Redford who’d lived there for the past twenty years, only to move away to Sicily as some sort of a midlife crisis thing, the apartment had stood empty. And then one morning, about four months ago, as Jack had dragged his tired and sore body home, he noticed a new greeting mat by the door.

            His head slowly moved in a nod of approval. His only hope was that whoever now lived there, was a quiet and respectful person, but his brows rose in surprise when he went to unlock his own door, only for his foot to meet a Tupperware container, a neatly folded piece of paper on top.

            With a grunt he leaned down and took the glass square, opening the note.

Hi! This is from 14B across the hall. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Miss June from 2nd floor said you’re a doctor, so I dunno when or if we’ll have a chance to see one another, but I just wanted to do the neighborly thing and say hello. :) Inside are some Millionaire-shortbread-brownies. I swear they are not poisoned, but I am trying to perfect the recipe, so any and all feedback is appreciated, as long as it’s constructive. (If you actually throw them out, it’s fine, but please don’t tell me that). Besides, I need a new taste-tester, living in a new place and all that. P.S. ingredient list is attached to the bottom, just in case you have any allergies or food restrictions. Hope you enjoy! :)

            Jack stared at the container, finger slipping over the other paper attached to the back with tape, and turned to look at 14B as if he had some sort of laser vision, and could see through into the apartment.

            He waited for a minute, two, three, but still the door remained closed. He could just go there and knock, do the neighborly thing like 14B had tried and introduce himself to the new occupant, but then he heard the entrance door on the first floor click open, and took it as his cue to enter his own flat, Tupperware in hand though. He didn’t wanna get caught looking at the apartment like some sort of a creep.

            Slipping his bag down his shoulder, he left it by the couch, before plopping onto it. For a second, the dessert and 14B were forgotten, as Jack rolled up his scrub pants and removed his prosthetic.

            The leg had been killing him the entire shift, as the heel of his prosthetic had been worn down really bad on one side, and the new one was still in transit, so his weight distribution was completely off. The thought of having to walk up those five flights of stairs had made him want to go back to PTMC and finally fling himself off the edge.

            Jack allowed himself a couple of moments of pleasure, of simply existing in silence, before he stood up, grabbed the crutch he’d left resting against the couch, and ventured to the bathroom.

            He stripped off, throwing the scrubs in the washing machine, and allowed the hot water of the shower to wash away the thoughts of the day. After he’d run the water cold, with just a towel around his hips, he went back to the living room, but not before putting his scrubs into the drier, and finally took a real look at the Tupperware and its contents.

            Even without fully lifting the lid off, Jack was immediately enveloped by the sweet scent of chocolate, caramel and butter.

            He’d never been a desserts kind of a man, but he swore after taking the smallest bite of the brownie, quite literally popping a piece of crumb into his mouth, he would marry whoever had made it.

            It was decadent in all the ways that mattered, but not so dense you would be filled up by just one bite. The shortbread bottom had a nice, salty flavor to it, and how 14B had managed to keep the caramel the stretchy kind, was beyond Jack’s understanding. But he didn’t really bake either, so there was also that.

            There was no police scanner on, there was no TV or radio, just the sounds of Pittsburg in the morning, as Jack, for the first time in ages, enjoyed something sweet.

            The beeping of the drier was his cue to get up and get to bed, needing to grab at least a couple of hours of sleep before going back to PTMC, but before he did that, he took out the rest of the brownie and put it in his own container, washing 14B’s. As he exited and ventured over to the apartment, clad in some plaid pyjamas, he placed a note inside with a small comment,

“hope you’re settling in well, 14B. maybe some flaky salt on top, and it’d be a 10/10. current rating – 9.85/10. have a good day. 13A”

Once more, Jack debated whether or not he should try and knock, but it was already close to ten in the morning, and most normal people would be at their jobs, so he just placed the container down by the door, but not directly in front of it. Their doors swung out.

He lingered for a second, as if maybe whoever was on the other side would feel his presence. Why in the world was he so intrigued by 14B’s new inhabitant? Better yet – why did he suddenly feel so drawn towards someone he’d never met?

With one final glance, it was time for Jack to go, and dive into his bed. This time, he actually slept quite well and felt fairly rested for the night ahead. When he got to the Pitt, Robby passed the baton onto him without the need to venture up to the roof.

By the time he got home, leaving Robby in charge again, and was walking up to the fifth floor of his home, he was greeted by another Tupperware.

            Jack lifted it and took off the Post-It on top.

“Thank you!” it read in neat handwriting. “Will add it to the next batch! In the meantime, try this instead!  From 14B”

            And that is how this weird exchange began as an anonymous stranger managed to make Jack find a silver lining even on his bad days.

            Jack would return home to find some sort of a dessert in a glass container waiting for him, a piece of paper explaining the ingredients and allergens attached to it. He had given back a note once saying he didn’t have any restrictions, but still, it showed up, though it seemed like his words had unlocked some closed creativity and flavor vault, as 14B started to experiment with taste profiles.

            Sometimes it was as basic as a butter croissant, the flakiest one he'd ever eaten, pastry dough no doubt hand-laminated, and then sometimes it was as extravagant as a panna cotta with passion fruit jam and candied orange zest on top.

            More often than not, as Jack would dig into the sweet treat of the day, his eyes would roll to the back of his head in pleasure. After thoroughly enjoying it, he’d take a piece of paper and write down his thoughts, though he didn’t actually think he had much insight to give. Then he’d clean out the container and leave it by 14B’s doorstep.

            It was shift after shift, and they continued on with this dance. Sometimes he got a repeat dessert, but with whatever improvements Jack had told it needed, however, the one thing he looked forward to most was the notes, as he tried to figure out who 14B might actually be.

            Jack had a few theories and he wrote down the small deductions in a little notebook he’d started to keep.

            He was fairly certain it was a woman. Call him stereotypical, as much as he wouldn’t like to hear it, but he just couldn’t imagine a man doing such a thing, especially for so long.

            The handwriting was also too neat. Too clean and precise. But then again, maybe normal men who didn’t work in the medical field and didn’t have illegible cursive also had normal-looking handwriting.

            Jack had debated whether or not this person could be in the same profession as him, or maybe the same field due to the way 14B always gave him a full-on ingredient and allergen list, but he’d struck that out. The timing and consistency of the desserts appearing by his doorstep, were way too precise because even techs and sanitary workers couldn’t predict their hours so well. A hospital was one big hamster wheel that was spinning non-stop, and people just had to try and find when to jump if they wanted to get home.

            Finally, after dessert number 44 (thought he’d come to that conclusion by dessert 5 really), Jack had settled on the fact that 14B had to be a chef or a chef in training because when he’d gotten home, a still-hot dark chocolate lava cake had waited for him, a yuzu and raspberry sauce in a smaller container to the side. It was still something he dreamt about on the darker days.

            So now, returning home on one of the worst days he’d had at the Pitt, after one of the worst mass-casualty events they’d had to deal with, without a container and note waiting for him, was anxiety-inducing.

            A horrendous thought entered his mind – could 14B have been there at Pittfest? Could she have been one of the people he treated? Or had she been one of the unlucky ones who got a ride directly to the morgue?

            His feet carried him to the door in an instant, heart pounding in his chest. He was just about ready to knock when something crashed behind there.

            “Fucking hell,” Jack heard muffled swearing. “That’s batch number fucking three for the trash.”

            She was there.

            14B was right there, and seemingly warring with her food.

            Jack’s heart rate returned to normal and as it did so, he took a step back. Then another. And another until he was back at his own door.

            14B was alive, which meant Jack could get some rest.

            By the time he was back on his feet ready to finish off the shift, this time a proper prosthetic sock on, if only to help out a bit with the pain, it was dark outside, but Pittsburg seemed quieter. Like it was still reeling from what happened during the day.

            He could make his way to the Pitt blindfolded, as he’d taken the route so many times in his life by then, however, what was unusual was finding Robby there by the lockers. Jack was sure he had left to go home.

            “Brother, and I mean this with love, what the fuck are you still doing here?” he pulled him in for a hug. They both needed it.

            Robby ran a hand over his face, leaning to rest against the metal doors. “I know we took an oath to help and save people, but God, do I think we all should be afforded one murder per year. And I know how that sounds after today.”

            Jack snorted, putting in his combination and unlocking it. “Tell me about it.”

            “I get dibs on Gloria.”

            “What’d she harass you about now? I mean seriously, tonight after everything?”

            “Got on my ass about Santos.”

            The vet raised a brow. The intern was reckless, that was for sure, but her instincts were in the right place, as Jack had found out about her having done a REBOA unsupervised. She just had to hone them and start to listen to authority, otherwise, it could end badly for someone, and most likely, she wouldn’t be the victim.

            “Some reporter wants to sue. Says she chucked his phone into a mop bucket. Damage of personal property or some sort of bullshit.” Robby slammed his head back against the doors. “He literally took an actual victim’s hoodie just to get inside the hospital, and now he wants to sue?”

            “Jesus, and Gloria’s on his side? It hasn’t even been 24 hours!”

            “Gloria’s on the side that costs the least amount of money for PTMC.” Robby let out a scoff. “And a lawsuit is definitely on the expensive list.”

            “Yeah, well sucks to be her. She should start properly staffing us with nurses and security, and this kind of shit wouldn’t happen then.”

            Robby gave his friend a tired smile. It was a soul-tired kind of smile, something Jack understood intimately. “And yet despite all that, we always come back.”

            “Someone has to.”

            For a moment they basked in the silence between them, but it was never fully quiet. Not at the Pitt. Sirens could still be heard somewhere in the distance, probably coming towards them. For others, they had white noise in the background, or maybe a thunderstorm app on. They? They had ambulance wails and heart rate monitors.

            Robby clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to take on the night, brother?”

            “As I’ll ever be,” Jack responded with the same gesture. “Someone has to keep Shen from saying certain stupid words.”

            “Heard this full moon’s gonna be one of those super moons or something too.” Robby slung his backpack on his shoulders, chuckling at Jack’s groan.

            “Then god help us all, and someone better find some tape for John’s mouth.”

            “You know what does help?” Robby took a glance from the side. “Those cookies from 14B. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything that tasted that good. Maybe you could ask for the recipe?”

            It had been day 84 when 14B had given him a larger container filled with browned butter, and dark chocolate chip cookies, dusted with freeze-dried raspberry powder. Robby had come over for a drink, as he had a day off, and when he’d found them on a plate, after taking just one bite, had pretty much melted into the cushions.

            “There is no fucking way you made these,” he practically moaned at the taste. Not that Jack could say he was any better when he’d tasted them. “And these are way too good to be store-bought.”

            “What? You don’t think I can bake?”

            “Not like this. Your speciality is Kraft. This is fucking artisanal.”

            That was when Jack had come clean about the situation with the apartment across the hall.

             Ever since that day, his brother-in-arms had been on his ass about getting the actual recipes with step-by-step instructions on how to make these wonderful desserts, because when Jack had given Robby the ingredient list for one of them, it hadn’t come out nearly as well, as when 14B had done it.

            One time, during day 99, Jack had brought in a piece of rum-soaked chocolate sponge cake, filled with blackberry jam in between the layers and coated in a chicory Mascarpone and Philadelphia cream cheese frosting, only to have Robby basically attack him like a vulture about how he still hadn’t made any contact with 14B apart from the notes they exchanged.

            “Don’t you wanna know who it is?”

            “Sure,” Jack shrugged. “But this way works too. Besides, I don’t think our schedules really align.”

            Robby just raised a brow at the dry rebuttal, stealing a bite from the cake, which Jack could only accept with a sigh. “Well, if you don’t I just might, and I just might and go on marry them. This is fucking nuts!”

            Jack couldn’t fault him for the sentiment, because it wasn’t the food he had slowly started to fall for either, it was the person on the other end making it.

            He still didn’t know how old she was (if 14B even was a she, but he was 99% sure he was right about that), or how she looked, but he knew her favorite book. Her favorite song and color. He knew she loved thunderstorms and lightning, that it was how she slept the best. He knew she loved indie rock, but pop-punk was her favorite music genre. He knew that and so many other little things that’d allowed him to form a version of the person behind 14B. Someone with a heart as sweet, as the desserts she made.

            But in the present, Jack just shook his head, giving Robby one last goodbye for the night. He hoped he would take the next day off, maybe a week or so. However, who was he to talk about a work-life balance when his whole life practically was his work. And, well, being a dessert taste-tester, but that was more a side gig.

            The night was surprisingly calm, a word he didn’t dare say out loud, and anytime anyone thought Shen just might, someone physically clapped a hand over the man’s mouth. A patient even shushed him as she was being prepped for an appendectomy, eyes wide as she looked at Jack and Mateo.

            “Isn’t that like totally illegal to say here?”

            “It is if he wants to remain an attending.” Jack gave Shen a look, a good-natured one, but that still said – do not say the ‘q’ word or the ‘c’ word or the ‘p’ word. Not after the day they’d had.

            John just rolled his eyes but did lift his hands in surrender, as he left the room to deal with other patients.

            And so, the night rolled on without too many intense traumas, as if even the supermoon hanging over the world, had decided to give them a break because they needed it. Jack needed it. Methodical, almost tear-jerkingly borking kind of work, where he didn’t need to call a time of death or watch someone code or try and get a life-saving surgery scheduled with all ORs already full.

            By the time it was 3:26 in the morning, Jack was on his third cup of coffee, when a soft voice invaded the ED.

            “Carmy, seriously, I’m fine,” a young woman, mid-to-late twenties by the looks of it, was trying to calm down the clearly anxious man next to her, as they walked to Lupe sitting behind the clerk’s desk. “They’re just gonna stitch me up, and I’ll be back on track.”

            “I mean that seemed way deeper than the usual cuts.” The blond man was chewing on the bottom of his lip.

            “Yeah, well, it’s why we’re here,” she rolled her Y/E/C eyes, thanking Lupe for the forms and venturing to sit down in one of the open chairs. “Per your insistence, might I add?”

            He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Oh, sorry for caring about how you were bleeding all over the counter.”

            “It’s just a cut! Honestly, I would’ve been fine with the first aid kit at home.”

            The man, Carmy as she’d called him, gave her a look. “We’ll see what the doctor has to say.”

            With that, Jack glanced up at the monitor as a new name appeared, one of the only three there at the moment. He nodded to Princess who was sitting behind the HUB. “I’ll take care of this.”

            This he could do. This was not a critical, high-stakes thing. This was hooking someone up to fluids, cleaning and assessing a wound, and giving some nice stitches, telling them to take it easy, and schedule a follow-up with their PM to get the threads out.

            As Perlah instructed the woman to follow her, Carmy going with like a puppy, Jack trailed on behind, eyes scanning the print-out Princess had given him.

            Name: Y/N Y/L/N

            Gender: Female

            Age: 27

            Type of injury: cut on the hand; the bleeding hasn’t stopped after thirty minutes of continuously applied pressure.

            “My name is Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself, entering the room Perlah had settled Y/N in. “And I will be your doctor today. What seems to be the issue?”

            She lifted her towel-covered hand, the material soaked through with blood. “Hi! I’m uh, Y/N and, I just gave myself a bit of a cut.”

            “A bit?” Jack snorted, eyeing the cloth that was still getting visibly soaked through.

            “Look, I was just a bit distracted while cutting some lemons, and the knife slipped. Sliced through the skin by my thumb. Honestly, the juice in the wound hurt more than the cut itself,” she let out a weak chuckle while Jack put on some gloves and sat down on the rolling chair, sliding in between her legs.

            “It’s not just a ‘flesh wound’,” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jack threw him an appraising look, mouth pursed while he untied the injured hand.

            “Are you her partner?”

            But before he could reply, Y/N butted in with a warm smile. “If this is some way to try and figure out if he was the one that cut me, then no. He didn’t. But I’m grateful you’re looking out for me like that.”

            “Just doing my job.” Jack shook his head. “Seen such things one too many times, and it’s hospital policy only family or legal guardians are allowed into the room, unless otherwise stated.”

            Y/N snorted. “Carmen’s more than okay to stay, but I mean on the other hand…” she wiggled her brows at her friend, who just stared back as deadpan as Jack was. “Geez, tough crowd.”

            “We’re co-workers,” Carmen offered as he sat down on another chair that was in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. “And we’re both chefs, so I know it’s more than just a surface cut. I think she might’ve severed a tendon.”

            “Now why would you say that!?” Y/N snapped her head to him. “I say this is just a couple of stitches, and I’m on my way. Right, doc?”

            Carmen sighed. “All I’m saying is, we kept steady pressure on the wound, wrapped it for fifteen minutes straight, and fifteen more minutes later, she is still bleeding. Went through two towels already. Look, Y/N has a really high pain tolerance, but I’m worried about this.”

            “Oh, please!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You men just like to exaggerate everything.”

            “You literally told Syd one of those what was it, ovarian cysts? Yeah, it burst, and you thought it was cramps when you should’ve been at the hospital.”

            “PCOS is a bitch, what can I say,” she shrugged like it was a self-explanatory thing, and Perlah who was helping Jack place a sanitary pad underneath her hand, disposing of the dishtowel in the trash, muttered a small ‘word’ underneath her breath, eliciting a smile from Y/N.

            Jack, the good doctor he was, had been listening the whole time, making mental notes and asking Perlah to jot down some physical ones as well, but where he’d had to take in a breath and clear his throat had been when Carmen had told him their profession.

            Chefs.

            No, he reasoned. It couldn’t be, could it? Probably not. Pittsburg was a huge city and populated by many people with many different professions, and there had to be thousands if not tens of thousands of chefs even in the area they were in.

            Just in case he leaned over her chart and checked the address, but a Chicago zip code stared back at him, sending a pang of disappointment through his chest, because ever since Y/N’s eyes had met his, Jack swore she was his mysterious pastry fairy.

            There was this unexplainable warmth that’d seeped through his veins as if they already knew one another. As if he could ask what was the latest book she was reading, and Y/N would give him the answer from the post it from two days ago. But she wasn’t 14B. However, she was still a woman in need of medical attention.

            “Alright,” Jack finally positioned her hand in a way where he could see the issue better. “I will have Nurse Perlah hook you up to some fluids to counter the blood loss, in a bit too. Are you allergic to any medicine?”

            “Nope,” Y/N shook her head. “At least none I’ve been given before.”

             As gently as possible, Jack took hold of her wrist and helped her expand her fingers as far as they would go without causing much pain.

            It wasn’t a horrible bleed, but still a steady one, no doubt the worst of it having happened right after the cut. Even through the gloves he had on, Jack could feel the calluses marring her palm, signs of a skilled laborer. He trailed over where blisters and nicks had left small scars, and fuck… did her hand feel perfect in his.

            Well, apart from the massive cut sitting right at the base of her thumb. Clearly, the knife had gone through the commissural ligament. As he pressed against the wounded area, testing the nerves and reflexes, Perlah was already prepping gauze and oral painkillers, as both without a word understood there would be no simple stitching for them that night.

            “Okay, Y/N,” he murmured, taking hold of her wrist and twisting it as carefully as he could, and still, something in his heart tugged at the sharp intake of air, and the swearing she did under her breath. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of 14B swearing just the same way a few hours prior. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

            “Uh, good?” She raised a brow, as Perlah handed her a small cup of pills and water, explaining it was for the pain. Y/N took them down in one gulp.

            “We’ll need some x-rays to confirm, but once they’re back, we can get you scheduled for surgery in a few hours.”

            “You said you had good news!” she scoffed.

            “Well, the bad news, at least for you, is that your friend’s right. This is more than a surface cut. It looks like you’ve managed to potentially sever one of the ligaments that's attached to your thumb.”

            She threw both men a scathing look, before settling on Carmen. “Not. A. Word.”

            “I didn’t even say anything!”

            “Then keep doing that.” She looked back at Jack. “But like how serious are you about that surgery? Because honestly, it doesn’t hurt that bad. Can’t you just pop in a couple of threads and send me on my way?”

            A smile he had no control over, bloomed on Jack’s lips at Y/N’s words, while Perlah helped her lay down onto the bed, going to the other side of the woman and asking for her hand to prep an IV line. “I promise you, you want this surgery, and you want this done by a professional. You have a cut, potentially severed, ligament, and it needs proper stitching. The hand is incredibly complex, and this unfortunately isn’t the kinda thing you want me to have a go at.”

            Y/N eyed him up and down. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?”

            “Well, unless you never want to use your thumb again, I can always give it a go.” He pulled off his gloves, trashing them.

            “Well, not with that attitude,” she grumbled.

            “It’s quick,” Jack could feel the way he wanted to give a full smile, but if he started grinning like a madman, Perlah would make sure he got put in a padded cell at the sight. “You won’t even be fully under, and I will make sure you have the best on it.”

            She huffed, head lulling to the side and giving Carmen a dirty look. “You know this is all your fault, right?”

            “Wh – what? How?” He looked affronted, face completely red.

            “Well, you made me come here, didn’t you?”

            If Carmen pinched the bridge of his nose any harder, Jack might need to get him in for a rhinoplasty. “And if I hadn’t, you maybe would’ve lost all hope at ever moving your thumb! Did you not listen to a thing the doctor said?”

            She tried to cross her arms, but when she realized she couldn’t – one bandaged by her side the other being examined by Perlah as she tried to find a good vein on the top of her hand, Y/N glared at Carmen and then Jack. “I hope neither of you expect me to say you’re right.”

            “Please,” Carmen sighed running a hand through his hair. “I think Syd would have an aneurysm if she found out. Bet she could feel it all the way from Chicago; such a drastic shift in the cosmos.”

            Good, Jack thought as they talked, let him distract her from it all, as Y/N clearly had understood the severity of the situation while he went to call up ortho and ask for the hand surgeon, as he had a possible severed ligament on the way.

            “Thank you for putting up with me,” Y/N no doubt muttered to Carmen, as Jack tried to focus on the person at the other end of the line, confirming her slot for the OR.

            “Hey, I need my best pastry chef to be right as rain.”

            “Now I think Marcus might have a stroke,” she laughed, and Jack’s head almost snapped around at her words.

Chef was one thing, but a pastry chef? A chef specialising in desserts?

            Too many coincidences had happened that night.

            Way too many to be just coincidences.

            And he’d always been a man who followed his gut, despite it being no-man’s-land.

            Jack was positive he’d never seen her face before; he was sure of it. There would be no way in hell, he’d ever be able to forget it, but her whole being… her smile, the kindness in her eyes, the intensity of her words… it was like coming home and having the nightlight left on for you.

            Maybe the previous day’s mass-casualty event had impacted him a lot more than he thought. Maybe he was trying and hoping to find 14B safe and sound, all because a single dessert hadn’t been left out for him.

            But it was the way all the small details 14B had revealed about herself, that fit Y/N to a T, that made him truly wonder.

            14B who always managed to make him smile.

            14B who always took into account his suggestions, and gave him an improved recipe to try.

            14B who made sure to give him just enough of the sweet treat, that he had leftovers for the next day.

            “Oh,” it was Y/N speaking up that brought Jack out of his thoughts about the pastry ghost down the hall. “And also, can you tell Luca to give me a call when he can? I’d like his opinion on the blueberry and lemon pie. I think I might change up the ratio of the lemon, but I dunno if it’d be good overall unless I also increase the amount of basil in the peppermint drizzle.”

            The penny finally dropped.

            Blueberry-lemon pie with a basil and peppermint drizzle.

            No doubt with a saltine and Grahm cracker-mix crust.

            No. There was no such thing as coincidences, at least Jack didn’t believe in them anymore, not when it was way too specific of a recipe. One that he’d been a test subject to four days prior. One where he’d commented on how, maybe it was just what his taste buds liked, but he thought it’d be a bit more balanced if it was tarter.

            It took everything in him to wait until she’d given Carmen the rundown of the things she wanted from her apartment, Jack almost blurting out how he could get it, because they lived across from one another until he remembered he was her doctor, and he had to stay to make sure she was alright.

            He took one breath, another, and cleared his throat, drawing her attention away from where Carmen had left to go grab her some clean clothes, her wallet and a phone charger.

            Fuck it.

            “Alright, 14B, let’s get you prepped for the stay.”

            Y/N’s eyes were wide as saucers, head snapping up at him so fast, Jack almost thought he’d have to schedule a CT for whiplash. “What did you just call me?”

            “14B?” He raised his brows as if in nonchalance, even though his heart was beating out of his chest. He could actually be so far off with this hunch and just turned himself into a massive weirdo in his patient’s eyes, but he was curious to see if he was right, because hope was a bitch if nothing else.

            “Are…” She squinted at him, eyeing him up and down again as if seeing Jack in a new light. “Are you my taste-tester? Are you my salt-bae?”

            “Salt-bae?” Jack choked out through a laugh. God, he was glad Perlah had gone off to find a saline bag.

            “Yeah.” A warm smile blossomed across her lips. “That’s what you always write in your feedback if you think something is missing. ‘Needs a bit more salt’. It’s your most often-used suggestion.”

            And as Jack thought back to it, to all the little comments he left, he mainly did say he would prefer the dessert, if there was some flaky salt on top, or maybe in the crust or base, or mixed with the caramel. “Hey, you were asking for honest feedback. But in truth, I’ll uh, I’ll eat just about anything, so rest assured, nothing of yours has ever gone to waste. When you’ve lived off of army rations, you learn what cardboard tastes like. And then you try to make it edible, more often than not with salt, so you learn what... saltier cardboard tastes like. And that is at least digestible.”

            She chuckled. “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard?”

            “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard, yes,” he confirmed, soaking up the sound of Y/N’s laugh like a sunflower soaked up the rays of the sun.

            “Guess now I understand why you didn’t answer the door that first day.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or why our paths haven’t crossed. You work just as shit hours as I do. Worse, actually.”

            “What time do you get home?”

            “Midnight usually,” she said, as Perlah returned and finally put on a tourniquet around her bicep. Jack frowned at the words, not liking the idea of Y/N walking across town during the dark hours of the night. Too many times, he’d seen people in the ED because they were just trying to get home, and someone decided to interfere with that. Violently. “Then I knock out for a few hours before I have to get back up and be ready to go to the restaurant for morning prep at around six-ish. You?”

            “Nightshift. Twelve hours on a good day, usually 7 to 7,” he explained, very much so avoiding Perlah’s raised brows at how ‘intimate’ the conversation was.

            “Alright,” the nurse said. “It’ll be just a little poke, but try and relax.”

            Y/N hummed a nod but turned her head away. Jack’s eyes trailed to how her wounded hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to grab onto something, to hold herself through it. On almost instinct, he placed a palm on her knee, squeezing it. He could feel the tension melt away, and fuck, if that didn’t make his heart stutter in his chest.

            “Good job,” Perlah gave Y/N a smile, as she taped down the IV line. “I’ll get you a gown before we hook you up, so you can change out of those bloody clothes.”

            “Oh, right.” Y/N took a glance down as if only now remembering she looked like a walking-talking murder scene.

            Perlah gave a warm laugh, patting her bicep. “And a bag too.”

            “Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you.”

            Jack helped pull the curtain closed and put up the standing partition, so Y/N could have as much privacy as possible while changing. Just as he informed her, he was gonna step out for a moment, she asked if he could stay.

            Jack froze on the spot. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with Perlah here?”

            “ ‘S fine, I don’t mind,” she looked at him from around the partition. “I trust you not to peek. Also, I just think you’ve probably seen one too many butts in your day-to-day life for mine to be anything special. But uh,” she stammered as if suddenly realizing something and hiding behind the curtain again. “But if you are uncomfortable, you can go. I mean, fuck you probably have other patients to see, and I’m wasting your time with this.”

            “Nope, I’m uh, right where I need to be.”

            He wasn’t uncomfortable, he was, however, worried he might say something beyond stupid. How he’d pretty much fallen in love with a person he didn’t know a thing about, but being able to put a face to the ghost across the hall, had only intensified the crush growing in his chest.

            Jack hadn’t had any romantic feelings in ages. Not since his wife had died. He still wore the ring she’d slipped on his finger, a steady comfort during the darker moments, like he could feel her hand holding his, guiding him towards the light when he couldn't find it himself.

            He wondered what she’d think about this whole situation, about the mystery desserts and him catching feelings for a neighbor he’d never met. Of course, he wouldn’t make any sort of move on Y/N, not while at work. She was his patient, almost half his age, and despite his ‘cowboyish’ nature, he’d never try and hit on her while she was in such a vulnerable position. But he would like to think, his late love would nudge his shoulder in the right direction… tell him it was okay for him to want to be happy again.

            “So,” Jack cleared his throat and busied himself with Y/N’s chart. “What brought you to Pittsburg? You put down a Chicago address by the way.”

            “Shit, yeah. I sometimes still do that… But uh, Carmen, the guy who brought me in, he’s opening up a restaurant not too far from here actually, and he wants me to be the pastry chef for it. It’s why I didn’t have a dessert for you today. We were at the restaurant testing things out, trying to get a feel for how we worked as staff.” Y/N bit down on her lip as she emerged from behind the screen, giving him an apologetic smile. “Wanted to leave a note too, but time just slipped by, and when I did try to make one at home, the food started fighting me.”

            Jack laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, you don’t have to feed me you know. But I… I can’t say I wasn’t worried about you. With everything that happened today… I just… I was scared you might’ve already been here and I hadn’t known. Had missed my opportunity to find you… but uh, then I heard you break something at the apartment, so we’re all good.”

            He tried to act as if the thought of her, of 14B, his one constant of the past four months, having possibly died, hadn’t gauged a hole in his chest.

She raised a brow, clearing her throat. “Why didn’t you knock? If you uh, if you were worried…”

            “Honestly?” Jack put his hands on his hips, as he looked at the floor, unable to keep his eyes on hers, but it was like Y/N understood him, so she turned her back. He stepped closer, tying the strings into knots, not once peeking below her waistline. “I was scared you might not answer. That there might be nobody there left to answer.”

            “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, turning around as Jack helped her settle in the bed and under the covers. “For what you had to go through today.”

            And when she didn’t try to pry, didn’t try to get anything else from him, simply offered her support, all Jack could do was say, “Thank you,” as emotions started to gather in his throat, forming a ball. “Where you uh, where you at the festival?”

            He just had to know Y/N had been hopefully as far away from it all as possible.

            “Uh, no,” she shook her head to his relief. “I was at The Bear with Carmy at that time, when we heard about it. We did have plans on going for the evening concert, but obviously... yeah...”

            “The Bear?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something he might’ve skimmed over in some article, but wouldn’t deem interesting enough to read the full thing. And Jack had to focus on that information, rather on how closely she and her friend had avoided a mass shooting.

            “It’s named after the OG one in Chicago. I told him, he should call it The Cub,” Y/N snorted. “You know, like the first one, the mother, if you will, is in Chicago, and the second, the child of The Bear, is here. Carmy and Syd thought Pittsburg people wouldn’t get it, though, and not come."

            “I think the Pittsburg people would come even if it was called The Trashcan, as long as you served your desserts there.”

            Jack couldn’t help the glee he felt, couldn’t stop the pride from rising as Y/N had to avert her gaze from him when her heart rate spiked, the monitor Perlah had hooked her up to, beeping in a quicker rhythm.

            He also made a mental note to find out where in Pittsburg exactly the new restaurant would be opened, so he could go and check it out sometime. And if he gathered enough courage, maybe give compliments to the chef there as well.

            They filled the time in between awaiting the x-ray results and getting sent up to the OR, by small talk. Jack asked about her background, how she got into cooking and how she’d met Carmy and their team back in Chicago. And miraculously, Jack shared too. Even some of the truly deep stuff - how he'd had a wife, how he’d been an army medic, how he liked to listen to the police scanner as he tried to catch some sleep, because the way Y/N looked at him, so disarmingly, did something to Jack. It made him want to share, it made him want to show his heart to her.

            Soon enough, he got a call the x-rays confirmed his suspicions and they were ready for her to be operated on.

            “So, how long until I can hold a knife?” Y/N asked as she was wheeled out of the room to the elevators. It was only at that moment, that Jack realized nobody had come in to ask him for a consult or even a second opinion. He was just about to thank the lucky stars of the night when a glance over at the HUB - Shen, Ellis and Princess all huddled together with sly grins on their faces - made him sigh.

            “Well, given how it isn’t your dominant hand, you can hold a knife with no problems.” He pressed the elevator button. “It’s the other one holding the ingredients, you’ll need to be careful with. And if you want the best outcome, you'll have to go to physical therapy at least two-three times a week, with at-home exercises.”

            “Physical therapy?” Her brows rose to almost her hairline. “And I get assigned homework? This sucks.”

            “I told you,” Jack shrugged but smiled down at her from where he stood at the side of her bed. “The hand is very complex. It’s why surgeons specialize in specific fields. Trust me, you wouldn’t want internal medicine operating on your money-makers.” He did a little jazz hands for emphasis. “And given how you almost perfectly severed the ligament in half, you’ll have to put in some work to get the full range of motion back, but I uh, I can refer you to some pretty good physios if you need some recommendations.”

            Y/N threw her head back against the pillow with a huff, earning a chuckle from Mateo who was wheeling her bed. “Yeah, I guess I’ll need some. Thank you.”

            “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Jack looked at her pouting face, and his stomach did a somersault. “Besides, I am very personally invested in the health of your hands. You’ve turned me into a dessert addict when I used to hate sweets.”

            “Well, we can’t have you munching on salted cardboard, can we?” she threw him one last laugh.

            And then the elevator arrived, taking her up and away from Jack. But he didn’t remain on his own for long. There was nowhere he could hide in the ED, not from the gossip vultures that were Shen and the rest of his posse.

            “So,” he dragged the word out. “Is this the mystery dessert ghost?”

            Jack schooled his face into one of his straight masks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Robby does. And Robby has been talking Dana’s ears off about these specific cookies made by your neighbor for months, at this point. And Dana talks to Princess and Perlah, who talk to me.” Shen shrugged, rolling back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands in his scrub pant pockets. “I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “From what I’ve heard down the grapevine, they’re divine. And also – The Bear?”

            Jack raised a brow as John said the name with such reverence like it was something monumental.

            “You get food made by one of the best chefs in the world. The least you could do is share.”

            Jack clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, trying to hide a smile that wanted to tug at his lips and this time he succeeded. “For one, she baked them for me. And two, don’t you have patients to check on?”

            With a gentle shove, he sent Shen on his way, needing to return to his own attending duties, but not before hearing, “I see who your favorite is. Just tell Robby I can fight, especially when cookies are on the line.”

            As much as he’d thought about finding some cosmic way of speeding up time, it still ticked by in its usual tempo. At one point, though, Carmen returned, with everything Y/N had asked neatly placed in a bag.

            “I need to get back to the restaurant, so I can't really stay,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair while Jack put the bag on the chair in her assigned room. “How is she doing?”

            “Still up in surgery, but she’s in great hands.”

            “Good,” Carmen nodded. “ ‘Cause I need her great hands too.”

            “We’ll do our best,” Jack affirmed and agreed to give a call if anything was needed. He was Y/N’s emergency contact after all, but Jack guaranteed him, she’d be fine. He himself would make sure of it.

            Soon enough, the sky started to lighten, and people from the day shift trickled in, the first one being Dana, much to Jack's surprise. The shiner was badly concealed by some make-up, but honestly, Jack thought she should leave it as is. Maybe if Gloria had to look into the consequences of her own incompetence in the face, she’d hire the staff they so desperately needed.

            “How did everything go?” Dana asked, settling in behind the HUB.

            “Better than we could’ve hoped for. Everyone’s stable, no codes. It was like… like someone was watching over us, if only for a few hours, and you know I don't much believe in such a thing.” But just as Jack was about to start explaining about the patients they had, who was priority and whatnot, the elevator dinged, and he watched Mateo wheel Y/N back out into the ED, and into her room. “Give me a sec.”

            If Dana said anything, he didn’t hear it, not as he made for Y/N, and a boulder rolled off his lungs allowing him to breathe once more, when she turned to look at him in the doorway, eyelids half-closed and body, no doubt exhausted. Just because she wasn’t fully under, didn’t mean it wasn’t a strain on her.

            “Hey, how’re you feeling?” he lowered his voice to just barely above a whisper.

            “Tired,” Y/N mumbled, drowsy from the medication if he could gather anything from the slight slurring of her words. “But honestly, I don’t give a shit if I need even a microscopic surgery in the future. I am now and forever more, requesting to be put to sleep. Period.”

            The right side of his lips quirked up. “That bad?”

            “It was more so the sounds, and god when they first strapped me down, I thought I was gonna have a panic attack.” Y/N winced as she adjusted on the bed, Jack by her side like a lightning strike, a steady hand on her hip to help out. “I just… yeah… it’s one thing to watch a horror movie and it’s something else to hear it and feel it happen to yourself.” She let out a heavy exhausted sigh, as she sank against the thin pillow.

            “Carmen stopped by earlier. Brought you the stuff you asked,” Jack informed her and got a soft hum in response. “He had to go back to the restaurant though. Anyone you can call to take you home?”

            She shook her head, eyes closed. “I’ll just Uber.”

            Jack frowned at that. He didn’t like the thought of Y/N needing to figure out how to get back to their apartment complex on her own, especially when in such a state, so the offer slipped past his mouth before he had time to think. “I can take you home.”

            “Isn’t your shift just about over?” her brows furrowed, and his fingers itched to smooth the grooves out with just his touch. He also wondered if a kiss would help him achieve the goal, but that was better left to his imagination.

            “I can wait.”

            Y/N hummed again, snuggling deeper into the duvet, that he gently tucked under her neck. “No need to waste your time on me like that. Go home. Get some rest.”

            But Jack’s words fell on deaf ears, as he watched her breathing even out, and soft snores permeate the air, and yet, he still murmured, “wouldn’t be a waste at all.”

            Again, his hand twitched at his side, wanting to brush his thumb along her cheekbone.

            Nope.

            Jack was not gonna do that. She was still his patient, and he was still at work. Besides, just because he’d gotten to know her cooking talents for the past four months, didn’t mean he truly knew Y/N. Not yet at least, he hoped.

            He didn’t manage to even go to the other side of her bed to check the drip of the IV, when Robby poked his head inside, an almost insidious smile on his face. Well, Jack thought it was insidious, especially with the way his brown eyes darted over to Y/N’s sleeping form.

            “What in the world are you doing here, brother?” Jack let out a grunt. “Thought I’d told you to take some time off.”

            Robby crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I will when you do the same.”

            “Fat chance of that happening,” Jack snorted, shaking his head.

            “Exactly, so the pot better stop calling the kettle black, and rather start explaining who this lovely person in here is.”

            “My patient.” Jack turned his head to scan Y/N’s vitals if only to make it seem like that was the true reason. He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, not on Robby, seeing as he was probably one of the few people who could glimpse past the mask he wore.

            A knowing smile pulled on the day-shift attending’s face. “I mean, I have heard some rumors that this might be the famous 14B. Did the mystery-baker’s identity finally get revealed?”

            Fucking Shen and fucking Dana and fucking Princess and fucking Perlah and fucking gossip, travelling all over their ED at the speed of light. God, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes since Y/N had been wheeled down from the OR, and they were already on his ass.

            Jack just lifted his shoulders, acting like this revelation didn’t mean anything. “She’s a chef, just like I thought.”

            “A pretty chef, no less.”

            “Yeah, and she’s like half my age,” Jack scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

            Robby stepped inside the room, hands in his pockets as he took a glance at Y/N. “First of all, that's an exaggeration, and second of all, she’s an adult woman capable of making her own decisions.”

            “She’s my patient,” Jack emphasized the last word, turning on his heel and exiting the room, but not without a final glance over his shoulder. Just to make sure everything was good. That she was good.

            “Oh, give me a fucking break. It’s day-shift hours now, so technically, she’s, my patient. So come on, spill…” Robby wiggled his brows a bit, but Jack wouldn’t break as easily, not even with his best friend.

            “There is nothing to say. Yeah, she's 14B. Yeah, she's a chef. And she got a really bad cut, almost severing the commissural ligament completely. Sue me for caring about a neighbor.”

            “Right,” Robby nodded as they walked to the lockers together. “And it has nothing to do with the fact you’ve been keeping 14B like some sort of a secret lover, and now that you finally know it’s a gorgeous young woman, you might be crushing just a bit harder.”

            Jack ran a hand down his face. “Look, I – I had my hopes, okay? But she’s a kid! Besides, I’ve only known her for a couple of hours, all of them as my patient.”

            Robby gave him a deadpan look. “She’s been giving you dessert to eat almost every day without a fault for the past four months.”

            “She’s a chef trying out recipes. She needed a taste-tester.” Jack shrugged. “That’s like a huge part of her job, man. Getting people’s opinions on food and stuff.”

            “Just explain this to me – why on Earth would she go out of her way to feed a neighbor she’s never met, to get an opinion of someone she’s never met, when she literally has chefs around her? You know, her fellow professionals that have taste buds made by the fucking food gods or something?” Robby raised his brows. “But no. She asks you – salted cardboard man.”

            God, Perlah could run her mouth faster than Usain Bolt could run 100 meters.

            “Research?”

            Robby looked at him and sighed, shaking his head. “Look, just because you didn’t know who she was, doesn’t mean she didn’t know who you were.”

            “We’ve never seen one another before,” but even as Jack said those words aloud, he thought back to how intuitive 14B had always been about when to give him the newest dessert.

            He took a glance towards Y/N’s room. How had the lava cake still been hot? It would’ve been amazing cold too, and yet… Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been the only one paying attention to the apartment across the hall from theirs…

            But all Jack said was, “You’re a hopeless fucking romantic, brother,” while moving back out towards the HUB to hand Dana off his final charts.

            And yet, the thought of leaving Y/N on her own, or her having to Uber home, just didn’t sit right with him.

            “I’m uh,” he cleared his throat, watching Robby’s brows raise. “I’m just gonna wait until she wakes. Take her home.”

            “And you’re not gonna help out, man?” the words were teasing, but given Jack’s workaholic tendencies, probably shocking as he shook his head this time.

            “The daytime is your kingdom, brother. But, do call if you need me.”

            With that, Jack slung his backpack over his shoulder, venturing back over to Y/N’s room and he just sat there. Sometimes he just looked at her, tracing her profile with his eyes, memorizing the features, putting them onto the vague shape of 14B he'd developed in his mind's eye. Sometimes he scrolled through his phone, pulling up some articles about The Bear and their team.

            Jack almost choked reading about Carmen, how the timid man was a Michelin-starred chef, a James Beard award recipient and so much more. Not to say the whole team behind the original restaurant wasn’t just as talented.

            And then there was a section on Y/N herself. A culinary prodigy, having staged in Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, New York, Zurich and so many other cities Jack didn’t even know existed. There was even a huge New York Times article about her and the food scene in the bustling city, and how at just 23 years of age she was dealing with helping run one of the most famous patisseries in the state.

            “Holy fucking shit,” Jack murmured in awe, and when he looked up, he was met with Y/N’s open eyes, a pout on her face.

            “I thought I told you to go home and catch some Zs.”

            Jack locked his phone, standing up and leaning over her. “How are you feeling?”

            “Sore. Hand hurts like a bitch. But I just wanna get back to my own place, and rest there. Not to sound ungrateful, but I really don’t wanna stay at your workplace longer than I have to.”

            His lips quirked up at that, and when she responded with a smile of her own, Jack’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Then let’s get you checked out, and out of here.”

            Dipping out of the room, he asked for Robby, as he was the one person he truly trusted to handle this, no interns or students allowed, to start the discharge process.

            “Hey,” Y/N’s face lit up at the sight of Jack’s friend, which made him frown. “I know you.”

            “Good to see you again. I’m Dr Michael Robinavitch, but you can just call me Robby.”

            Jack cleared his throat. “How exactly do you two know one another?”

            “We met down at the lobby one time. My mailbox was being a little shit and wouldn’t open, and he helped out,” Y/N said while Robby took her hand and unwrapped the bindings, checking over the incision place and how the stitches were looking. Spraying on some antibacterial solvent, he had Princess help him rebind the wound and prescribed some oral antibiotics for the next week as a precautionary measure.

            Robby chuckled, signing the end of Y/N’s chart and giving it to Princess so she could finalize the discharge with Dana. “Had I known the woman by the mailbox was also the author of the best cookies I’ve ever eaten, I might’ve just had you struggle with it a bit more. Could've picked your brain a bit for the recipe.”

            She tilted her head to the side. “Which ones?”

            Robby raised a brow. “What do you mean which ones?”

            “I mean, I’ve made a lot of cookies for Jack to test out, I-,” she scoffed in the middle of her sentence, throwing the man in question a look. “Jack, you don’t share?”

            “No,” he said with a straight face. “And the only reason Robby got a piece was because he’s a damned thief. Now, can you please discharge her, so I can take her home?”

            Y/N tilted her head down a bit, a small shy smile blooming on her face. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

            Jack wanted to say he knew that, that he was just being a friendly neighbor and it was the least of how he could repay her for all the desserts, but he just shrugged, a sudden bashfulness taking over his own body. “Honestly, it was more for my peace of mind.”

            “Well, thank you anyway… You didn’t have to stay, especially after a twelve-hour shift, and everything before that... but I appreciate it.”

            And he just nodded, nudging his chin in the direction of her bag, as Perlah came in to assist, Robby moving away with a small 'Hope you feel better soon,' while Jack nodded in thanks, turning his attention back on Y/N. “There are some clean clothes for you there, and when you’re done, we can get going. Let me know if you need any help.”

            With that, he left Y/N behind the partition, and closed the curtain and then the door. He was met with Dana’s smirking and Robby’s obnoxiously smug faces as they converged by the nurse's station. “Not a word.”

            “Oh, Jack,” the charge nurse shook her head, laughing at him. “You have no idea about the storm that’s coming your way.”

            Maybe he could move, Jack thought. He’d gather up his stuff and go somewhere deep into the Appalachian Mountains, where nobody would ever find him. The problem with that plan though, was when he started to wonder if Y/N would be willing to at least make a trip out there, if not move with him completely.

            “Ready to go?” She opened the door he’d been guarding like a knight, her bag over her shoulder, while handing him his own.

            Immediately, Jack took the strap of hers too, sliding it down her shoulder, despite her protests, and ignored her insistence on carrying her own stuff. “Got everything?”

            “Uh, yeah, I think so. But I mean, if I have forgotten anything, I know who to ask.”

            Jack’s lips pulled up in a smirk as they walked side by side, one of his hands hovering over the small of Y/N’s back as he guided her out of the ED and to the parking lot. “And you think he’d just jump at your every whim and request?”

            “I dunno. I’d like to think I might’ve sweetened him up a bit with all the desserts. After all, he did stay and wait for me.”

             “Maybe just a bit,” he let out a low laugh, heat crawling up his neck. “Can’t tell that to anyone though. Might ruin my street cred.”

            And with just a single smile, Y/N sent him spiralling.

            He helped her up into the passenger seat, putting their bags in the back and, reversed out of the parking lot in record time. They rode in silence, as she unrolled the window a bit, allowing the morning breeze to wash over her face.

            The ride home was too short for his liking, as any minute spent in her company, was a minute Jack cherished, but soon enough he was helping her out of the car, and holding their complex doors open. Step by step they moved up to the fifth floor.

            Jack waited as Y/N rummaged through the bag until she found her keys and unlocked her door.

            “Thank you, again.” She turned to face him. “For taking care of me.”

             “Just… doing my job.”

            “I mean yeah, but…. Giving me a ride home? Staying after hours?”

            “We live in the same house. On the same floor. It was no big deal.”

            Y/N cocked a hip. “You’d already worked your night shift.”

            And Jack had nothing to rebut. He just awkwardly cleared his throat and hoped she didn’t see the blushing staining his cheeks.

            “Do you uh,” she started, “Do you maybe wanna come inside for a bite and some coffee? I’m not much of a barista, so you’d have to take my shitty pour-over as is, but I still have some leftover millionaire-shortbread brownies I made two days ago.”

            Jack gave a small smile. He’d smiled more throughout that one night than in the past few years combined. “Flaky salt on top?”

            “Haven’t made it any other way since.”

            And when he followed her, closing the door behind them with a soft click, his eyes ventured over to a coffee table beside the couch.

            She’d left a night light on.

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

It wasn't like you hadn't tried to vet the new braised beef spot that opened up on west Avenue. In fact, you had heard all but stellar reviews from friends and family, meeting you with suprise hearing that Carmen hadn't taken you. You decided to bring home a small plate, their signature braised meat with plums, red onions and atrichocke hearts.

You had meant to share it with Carmen, and you were going to, but a botched catering order had him staying back another hour than what had been planned. And well..you say you tried to save some for Carmen, but despite its bacteria laced beef and vomit inducing sides it was pretty fuckin' good.

Was this God's wrath coming down upon you? Punishing you for your gluttony? Food poisoning did feel awfully close to perpetual hellfire.

The TV was blaring some indescriptive show, the kind with dramatic introductions and soap opera worthy screams. It helped fill the space of absence when Carmen worked long nights, and you felt quite comfortable wrapped up in a blanket with a full stomach and a warm sofa.

Your phone had pinged with the sound of Carmen's text, letting you know he was on the way when it started. At first you had written it off as mere indigestion, probably from shoveling the cursed meal into your mouth too quickly.

Then, around the time the show's main character had found out her boyfriend got her mother pregnant, the nausea set in. Swirling aches that felt like a whirlpool in your stomach had taken over, sloshing and swirling and never leaving. You couldn't mistake it, as you tried to swallow past a dry throat and the creeping sweats of a headache inducing fever began to ravage your body.

You hated sitting in discomfort, it wasn't as though you were afraid of vomiting no, you just could not bare to feel the way your stomach skipped and jumped with every wave of nausea that took over.

You thought of making yourself sick, but shook your head when the alarming disapproval of Carmen's voice loomed over.

"It's just gonna make it worse, you gotta sit with it till it passes"

Fuck him and his medical knowledge. What did he know?

You had ripped off the blanket that had once felt comforting, peeling of layers of clothing that stuck to your body like a second skin. You just felt hot, so hot, is anyone else feeling this heat? You try to move from the couch to reach your phone, but the sudden movement has nausea bubbling up your throat.

You fall to the ground in a heap, hand clasped around your mouth to stop the possibility of projectile vomiting on the rug you had just bought and shoot your hand up to reach for your phone.

You press Carmen's number, begging him to answer you in genuine crisis rather than when you were drunk with friends and missed him. You feel the urge to heave and crawl quickly to the bathroom, phone clasped in hand and suddenly desperately needed his medical knowledge.

Carmen phone rings from the behind the stack of documents in the office, and he hastily wipes his hands across his apron before trying to reach it before it rings out.

Guilt fills his stomach at the thought of you, he was meant to be home hours ago. The catering order needed a few extra hands to help, and once Carmen began he got lost in it, and now you had spent nearly the entire night alone.

"Fuck- Hey baby, I know I said I was comin' but I had to finish a couple things-" Carmen quickly responds as he swipes the call button.

The groan of pain that responds has Carmen freezing in the middle of the kitchen.

"Baby? What-, are you okay?" Carmen replies quickly, his voice going short as his mind turns every possible scenario that had you whining in pain over the receiver.

"Please come quickly, Carmen I think I might-" You gulp and make a retching sound "I think I got sick from that place I was telling you about" You plead out, breathing heavily into the speaker.

The guilt that had filled Carmen seems to morph into an anger that rushes up his chest as he shakes his head.

"The new place? The one with the fuckin' smoke meat? They did this?"

"Mhm" You mumble "I should've just listened to you" You groan out in sadness.

"Fucking idiots. How the fuck did they even? Okay, okay honey just gimme a second yeah?"

How did he let this happen? Carmen has half the mind to stop at the restaurant that more of a Instagram attraction that a respected place of business. You were so eager and excited t try it, Carmen had his own thoughts but would glue his mouth shut if it meant making you happy.

He'll make sure they get shut down, or at least black listed from Chicago as long as he's concerned. His hands shake with the eager want for the fight, to smash someones jaw for resorting you to a heap of tears and sick. He would, he knows he will, but at this moment he needed to take care of your first.

He mumbles out a rushed reply, phone between his shoulder and ear as he slips out of his work shoes and into his sneakers. He thinks for a moment to grab his things but immediately shut that thought out when he hears you groaning into the phone.

"Just stay on the phone okay? I'm coming now, I need to get you some things alright?"

You let out what you hope is a reply, hunched over the toilet.

Carmen rushes to the store fridge, grabbing containers of soup Tina had prepared for family as the Chicago winter was getting close.

"You alright kid?" Richie mumbles, walking into the kitchen entry way, scratching his stomach as he watched Carmen's erratic movements around the store.

"Fuckin-, she's sick. And I'm here chopping up tomatoes for fucking Guy while she was in pain for god knows how long-"

"Woah, Bugs sick? We talking COVID or.."

"I'm such a fucking idiot. No it's not COVID Rich, Jesus Christ. Some rookie new spot trying something outside of their abilities gave her food poisoning. Fuckin' hipsters"

"Oh that's bad. You know when I got food poisoning the one time I took Tiff to this romantic getaway. Had me projectile vomiting in the AirBnb bathroom. Couldn't even get a deposit back, had to pay some dumb ass cleaning fee-"

Carmen wipes a hand across his face shaking his head. He was already pent up, he might throw a pan at Richie if he doesn't stop talking.

"Richie, I don't have time for this, I need to get her some Sprite or"

Richie shuffles across to the cupboard near the back of the house, grabbing bottles of Gatorade and a pack of saltine crackers.

"How do you even have this stuff lying around"

"You're the one with the inhuman alcohol tolerance Carmy, someone of us actually have hangovers you freak" Richie retorts

"Yeah yeah, thanks. Fuck- I gotta" Carmen replies, to which Richie nods.

"Go. I'll wrap up anything here" Richie replies, understanding in his voice. You took precedence over pretty much everything in Carmen's life.

"And Carm?"

"Yeah?" Carmen calls out, slipping on his jacket as he turns to Richie

"Tell me when we're going to sort out those bearded wearing flannel ass wipes"

Carmen shakes his head with a smile, before nodding and pushing past the kitchen doors. The traffic lights better be green green fuckin' green tonight.

You were stripped to a singlet and sleeping shorts as you knelt over the toilet, blinking back exhausted tears at the state of you.

You suppose you have no one else to blame but yourself, but the indignation righteousness burns almost as bright as the acid reflux crawling up your throat.

You hear the faint opening and loud clang of the apartment door opening and closing and you sigh in relief as you hear the familiar footfalls of Carmen down the hall.

It had felt damn near torturous suffering without him, and as he calls out to you following the trail of loose clothing he spots your figure in the bathroom sprawled.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry" Carmen says

And it was as if your body needed to finally feel safe in Carmen's presence before you felt the nausea spill out of you and splash offensively into the toilet.

You feel Carmen crouch above you, dragging your hair that had gone loose from it's wrapped up do away from your face. Gently rubbing your back, his large hands softly dipping up and down your spine.

"That's it, 'atta girl. Let it all out" Carmen coo's softly

You purged the insides of your stomach into the toilet bowl, retching loudly with every heave as Carmen comforted you. After what seemed like hours, and the nausea had subsided Carmen carefully wrapped his arms up under your armpits picking you up of the floor.

"Slowly, yeah? You damn near emptied out you're entire water content" Carmen murmurs, flushing the toilet and helping you walk to the basin and wash out the taste of bile from your mouth.

"I probably look insane" You cry out, blinking back exhaustion from your eyes as Carmen shakes his head furiously.

"Never, my pretty girl. Need you to go easy okay? Gonna take you to bed and let you sleep through it. Can't have you collapsing on me" Carmen murmurs, wiping at the edge of your mouth, patting the sweat that stuck to your forehead.

You let Carmen carefully maneuver your body, one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back walking to the bedroom. Your wring dry and can barely keep your eyes open as Carmen placed you on the cool sheets you immediately moan at.

You hear the faint rustle of movement as Carmen brings in a paper bag. The clunk of bottles placed on the bedside table as you sing praise for the very short bit of relief you have before the next bout of nausea rolls in.

Carmen pads to the adjacent bathroom, the door opened so you can see the stream of light that illuminates him. Hes running a cloth under water, squeezing the excess and looking up to check on you every so often.

He looked so...domestic, like he hadn't come back from working at one of the most decorated restaurants in Chicago. Stripped of his shirt so he stood bare chested, golden curls pushed behind his ears, sweatpants hung low on his hips and the furrow of his eyebrows in concentration and worry.

Your eyes flutter shut as you thank the midnight sky for bringing him to you, for keeping him for you, this one good thing that was yours.

The skies answer by the sound of his voice listing off all the things you will not be doing in this stage of recovery. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he places the cool rag against your forehead, lips between teeth as he feels your temperature under his skin.

"Just bone broth, Gatorade and bread sticks for you, doll. And no, before you even think it, its not the garlic ones." Carmen tsks.

You were thinking it. He knew you too well, but when he kisses your eyelids and measures out careful tips of the Gatorade bottle, you don't mind it.