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-- -- --

Jack was fine. He wasn’t staring and he certainly didn’t just snap his pen on accident. 

“I swear to god if that’s the pen you borrowed from me,” Lena said beside him. 

“Your pen is back in your pocket,” Jack replied shortly. 

“When the fuck did you do that?”

“When you were arguing with Shen. I didn’t want to interrupt something so integral to the ecosystem,” he said, finally tearing his eyes from the scene across the ER. 

You weren’t often paged down to the ER, but when you were Jack had a hard time not keeping track of you. He’d met you years ago, shortly after COVID when you had worked with him on a patient who had long COVID and high risk for stroke. For a neurologist, you were exceptionally down to earth. 

He had a bit of a staring problem when you were around. He had probably catalogued every hair style, badge clip, even pen you ever used in the ER. He knew what it looked like when your fingers drummed on the counter next to him. He knew what it looked like when you bit your lip and flared your nostrils. He knew what it looked like when you crossed your arms and frowned at him. 

And now, he knew what it looked like while you were getting flirted with by the very attractive new nurse higher, Quinn. Quinn was younger than Jack by at least fifteen years, they had warm features and the confidence of someone who had never been turned down before. 

What was worse: they were a phenomenal nurse, and Jack actually liked them quite a lot. It was silly to feel betrayed by a colleague. But he felt a little betrayed.  

You were older than Quinn, and Jack knew that they weren’t in it for the long haul. They had said they didn’t care for settling down. Still, Jack quietly seethed while watching them help you readjust your scrub top—fingers lingering too long to be friendly. 

You looked bashful. You never looked bashful around him. Most of the time, you looked pissed around him. It could be because he enjoyed pulling on your metaphorical pig tails to get your attention, but really he could be worse. 

“Looks like Cassanova over there is making moves on Dr. Hottie,” Lena faux-whispered. 

“Cassanova? Dr. Hottie?” Jack asked. 

“Have you never watched TV? Opened a book?”

“No, I went to war.”

“You’re not at war now. What the fuck do you do in your free time?”

Jack gave her a flat look. “Not working on my third divorce.”

“I’m only giving you the difficult patients for the rest of the night.”

“You always give me the difficult patients.”

“It’s because you’re difficult.”

“So you say.”

“You know, if you were just a little bit nice to Dr. Hottie, you might actually get a smile or maybe a little flirty touch, kind of like the one Quinn is getting now,” Lena pointed out. 

“I don’t do nice,” he grumbled. 

“Yeah, we know.”

Before Jack could respond, you were approaching them. You looked…bright. Happy, maybe even a bit giddy. 

“Quinn putting the moves on you?” Lena asked. 

“I’ve never been flirted with quite as…rigorously before.”

“I can have a conversation with them,” Jack said. 

“Oh no, it was completely appropriate and they stopped when I said I wasn’t interested.”

Jack perked up. 

“No?” Lena asked. She knew what she was doing and if her sidelong glance at Jack had anything to say about it, she wanted him to know too. 

“No, they’re charming. But I’m not looking for short term,” you said shrugging. “Anyways, patient in North 5 is being admitted to neurology.”

“We love it when you guys come down here and take someone with you,” Lena said. “I’ll get the techs to run the patient upstairs.”

“Perfect. I have another consultation right? Which patient?”

“South 19,” Jack spoke. “Presenting with frequent headaches and personality changes.”

“Have you done any imaging?” 

“Inconclusive,” Jack said. 

“Faraday is on imaging tonight, right?” You asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Useless motherfucker,” you grumbled. “Can you pull up the chart for me?”

Jack nodded and stepped to the side so you could look at his computer. You were so close he could almost taste you. When he first began to think this way—think about how you smelled, how you might taste—he felt like a creep, now he was just excited for you to be close. Before he could further revel in how close you were standing, Quinn appeared again. 

“If anything changes, let me know,” they said, winking and sliding you a piece of paper. Jack could see a few pen strokes; their number most likely.

You cleared your throat and seemed flustered by the reappearance, but slid the paper in your pocket, “Oh, thank you. I will.”

Quinn left and Jack couldn’t help but say, “Maybe you should reach out.”

“Don’t think that’s any of your business, Abbot.”

“It’s not everyday the hottest nurse in the ER gives you their number,” he continued. What the fuck was he doing? 

“It’s not everyday, Faraday misses a pituitary tumor,” you replied. 

Jack scoffed, “Yes it is.”

“Good point, yes it is. Alright, I’m going to go chat with them and probably give them a referral to neurosurgery,” you told him. 

“Wait,” Jack said. 

He wanted to say something. To tell you that every time you were within the confines of his ER he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He wanted to give you his number and wanted you to call him. He wanted you to know he wanted long term. 

“Yes?” You prompted. 

“Nevermind, forgot.”

“Getting foggy in your old age, Abbot,” you grinned. 

“Fuck off.”

You chuckled, walking towards the patient room. 

“Christ,” Lena scoffed. 

“Leave me alone.”

“How the fuck did you ever get married?”

“…She asked me.”

“You’re hopeless.”

-- -- --

He hadn’t expected to see you at Ellis’ party. Well, it wasn’t a party yet. This was still more of an adult get together before the residents got too shitfaced and the attendings left to maintain plausible deniability. 

You were talking with Shen. Jack liked Shen. He liked Shen a lot, in fact. Shen was his favorite (after Parker of course). But every kind, beloved, and positive thought towards the man flew out the window when he saw how close he was to you. 

You both were standing against the back wall of the kitchen. There was barely 15 centimeters between you both and Jack wanted to shove himself in there. But he’d barely said a word to you in the last three months, not since the last time you’d been flirted with in front of him. 

“Leave room for Jesus!” Santos shouted in her tipsy state as she walked by. 

Santos was his new second favorite because you and Shen both startled a few more centimeters away from each other. 

“Shen!” Parker called from the living room. “I need you on my beer pong team!”

“Coming!” He called. Shen turned to look at you and you smiled, waving him off. 

“Go get her, grandpa,” Santos whispered as she passed Jack. 

Nevermind, she was no longer his second favorite. But he still did as she suggested. 

“Hi,” he said. God he was so bad at this. 

“Hi Jack,” you said smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

The conversation died. You watched him patiently with an amused smile on your face. 

“How are you?” He added far too many seconds late. 

You snorted. “I knew you could do it. I’m pretty good. I’ve had a lot of fun, but I’m looking forward to making my exit pretty soon. I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m kind of starving.”

“I know a good diner nearby,” he said without thinking. 

“Do you have enough words for an actual conversation?” You asked, smirking at him. 

He deserved that. “I’ll brainstorm on the way over.”

You chuckled. “Do you want me to see if Parker has some notecards she could lend you? Maybe I could give you some pointers.” 

“Pointers?” 

“On how to flirt.” 

“Am I flirting?” 

“I think you’re trying to, but now's the time to tell me if you’re not.” 

He frowned slight, “...Yeah I’m trying.” 

“Wow, you’re really bad at it.” 

“I am a man of action.” 

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty certain I’m the one who gave you the opening for dinner.” 

“I asked you to get dinner.” 

“You said you know a diner.” 

Releasing a harsh breath through his nose he said, “Will you get dinner with me?” 

“Yes I will. Think you can get through a date with me?” 

“I can’t think of better company,” he said, far too earnestly. 

You gave him an appraising look. Throughout the course of the conversation, you both stood a polite and respectable distance from each other. Farther than you had stood from Shen. Now, however, you slid a step closer, barely an inch between you both. 

Despite not touching you, Jack could feel your skin on his body like a phantom touch. For years he had been imagining how nice it would be to stand this close to you, to just be this close to you and now he was, now he was asking you to go to dinner with him. Not only that, but you had said yes. 

He wasn’t a man that often did giddy, but he felt giddy. 

“So you do smile,” you murmured. 

“For you, I certainly do,” he replied. To his growing excitement, he saw that same bashful look on your face that Quinn had elicited all those months ago. The same look that made him snap a pen. 

“Want to get out of here?” 

You have lived in your body your whole life. You knew a couple of days before it really hit that you were getting sick. It started with a bone deep exhaustion. Normally, a single flight of stairs didn’t leave you breathless, but your chest was heaving as you walked up the stairs to your apartment.

The second clue had been a weird lump in your throat—typically something you only felt when your allergies had gotten really bad, or when you were getting sick. (According to your new-ish boyfriends, who were doctors, it was called post nasal drip, but that was such a gross term you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.)

So while you were still on your feet, you straightened up and cleaned your apartment. Being sick in a messy apartment only made you feel worse. You washed your dishes, finished folding and putting away your laundry, and then took out the trash. You had to take a break once on the way down to the dumpster and once on the way back.

You could feel the small amount of energy you had left waning, so you showered. When you got sick, your body didn’t do it by halfsies. You knew there was no chance you’d shower until you got better.

Ensconced in your comfortable pajamas, you made a little nest on the couch with tissues, some painkillers, and a trash can. Before drifting off, you did two more things: first, you doordashed some more supplies to help you get through the week, and second, you texted Robby and Jack canceling your date tomorrow.

-- -- --

So here’s the thing: running a fever makes you feel a little crazy. Your head feels like it’s caught under water and any critical thinking skills you’d built took a hiatus. It’s why you didn’t initially clock the clattering in your kitchen. You were pretty certain all the clattering had been done by you earlier when you were putting away your dishes.

Your eyelids were heavy, but as sleep left, you felt someone brush your hair away from your face.

Startled, you jolted upright, then groaned as your vision swam.

“Hey, take it easy. It’s just Robby and me,” Jack said softly.

“What?” You asked, struggling to comprehend what was happening.

“We got your text and came over to check on you. Your neighbor let us in, which is actually concerning,” he muttered.

“Showed her a picture of you both. Even though she’s very Mormon, she seemed happy for me,” you mumbled, falling back against the couch.

Jack’s hand pressed against your forehead softly. You let out a pathetic groan. It felt like a balloon had been blown up in your head and you had just finished a marathon. After the hand left, you heard rustling and then felt a stethoscope on your chest.

“Deep breath for me,” Jack said quietly. You obliged, keeping your eyes closed.

He moved the device and you took another deep breath.

After checking your pulse and gently pressing on your sinuses, he announced,

“I think you have the flu.”

“I could have told you that,” you grumbled. “If this is how I feel after getting my flu shot, I can’t imagine what it would be without it.”

“We’re getting a lot of bad flus,” Jack agreed. “I’m glad you got the vaccine.”

“It would be rude to date doctors and not get the vaccine.”

Jack snorted. “Can’t disagree with you, there.”

“What’s happening in my kitchen? I just cleaned it.”

“Robby is making dinner. We’ll clean up, don’t worry. We like your spread though.”

“Spread?” You asked, coughing and heinous dry sounding hack.

“Your set up. Water and Gatorade within reach, tissues, a lazy Susan full of medication.”

“Been around the sick block a few times,” you said burrowing back into your covers. “When you guys came in did you happen to grab my delivery?”

“Of more medication and menthol rub?” Jack asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“We did. Menthol rub doesn’t really work, though, babe.”

“I know that, but it reminds me of being sick at home. Sometimes the nostalgia gets me through,” you said.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

“When was the last time someone took care of you when you were sick?” He asked. If you hadn’t been so tired, you would have seen the frown on his face and heard the concern in his tone.

“I dunno, probably before college,” you replied. You were half asleep again.

“That was a long time ago,” Jack said, but you had already fallen asleep and couldn’t answer.

-- -- --

You hadn’t deep cleaned your apartment when you realized you were getting sick. That would have been uniquely untenable with how exhausted you were. But when you woke up your apartment smelled like your household cleaner and there were vacuum lines in your carpet. How asleep had you been that someone vacuuming next to you hadn’t even roused you slightly.

There weren’t any ambient noises floating around your apartment, suggesting Robby and Jack were still around. Blinking your eyes to clear the sleep from them, you saw Robby reading something while sitting the chair across from your couch. Jack was on the end of your couch with your feet sitting in his lap. He seemed content to exist within your bundle of blankets.

“What is happening?” You asked. Your throat was dry and while you had never hallucinated running a fever before, there was a first time for everything.

“We made you dinner and then finished cleaning,” Robby said closing the book. It was the shitty fantasy book you had checked out from the library on a whim. “Your taste in literature is interesting.”

“It’s really not very good,” you laughed. “Did you get to the part where the dragon is actually a sexy prince?”

“I did,” Robby replied. “It feels…irresponsible to fuck someone who used to be a dragon, but I can’t put my finger on why.”

“I’d do it,” Jack said looking up from his phone.

You snorted while Robby said, “Case and point.”

“Did you guys vacuum?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “You were dead to the world.”

“Why?”

“Your body needed the rest. Your immune system is working on over drive,” Robby replied.

You rolled your eyes, “Not that. Why did you clean?”

“Because you’re sick.”

“And you didn’t want to get sick either?” You asked.

“No.”

“You clearly didn’t want your apartment to be messy,” Jack added.

“So you deep cleaned it while I snored on the couch?” You asked, still trying to wrap your head around what was happening.

“You stopped snoring when we turned you on your side,” Jack stated.”

“Sure, that was the important part of what I said.”

“Why do you seem so shocked?” Robby asked.

“Because I’m shocked.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re both doctors. Why would you want to take care of another sick person?”

They looked at you like you’d grown three heads.

“Wouldn’t you do the same?” Jack asked quietly. He seemed more serious.

“I might not vacuum, but sure. Except I’m not a doctor.”

“So why wouldn’t you expect us to do the same for you?” Robby inquired.

“You spend all day taking care of germy gross people. Why would you want to be around another germy gross person?”

“Because we care about you,” said Robby, sounding troubled.

“And we want to take care of you,” added Jack. “Has no one done this for you before?”

You thought about it, and realistically no, at least not a romantic partners. You’d had friends bring you meals when you were sick and sometimes they helped you clean after you were better, but no one had done something like this for you before.

“I’m not a fan of this silence,” Jack said. He was rubbing your leg softly. It felt comforting.

“Friends have done something similar,” is what you finally said.

“But no partners?” Robby clarified.

“No?”

“Huh,” he said.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked. You were grateful for the change of subject because you didn’t like the sad look Robby was giving you.

“Like I have the flu,” you replied.

“Can I take your temperature?” Robby asked. You nodded and he stood, grabbing something from your pile of sick gear on your coffee table.

You did not recognize the thermometer they used. You had a shitty, old under-the-tongue one. This one was a fancy laser one.

“That’s not mine,” you said.

“Shh,” Jack said. You kicked him lightly making him laugh.

“100.4,” Robby said. He typed something in his phone.

“Are you cataloguing my fever?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And when we give you meds. Which we’re about to do. Let’s start with acetaminophen.”

“Got it,” Jack replied, getting up. “Want to heat up dinner?”

“Sure thing,” Robby said.

“What’s happening?” You asked, mainly to yourself.

“You’re being taken care of,” Jack said. “You deserve to be care for.”

Your befuddlement must have been obvious because Jack pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Let it happen. You can return the sentiment later.”

Beside you, your phone lit up with a picture of Robby. He had mentioned wanting to hear how your friend’s birthday dinner went–you weren’t sure how much he really cared or if he was just looking for an excuse to hear your voice. It was cute this morning, annoying now. You debated on whether or not to let it ring to voicemail, but instead answered it, 

“Hello?” you didn’t care you sounded pissed and tired. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You okay? You sound angry,” he said. 

“Mm, something like. What were you up to tonight?” you asked, curious what he would say. If he confessed to eating with Janey, then you could be confident it was either a miscommunication or something you didn’t have all the details for. 

“Nothing much, had dinner and watched the game.” 

“Really?” You couldn’t hide how little you believed him. 

“Yes?” 

“So you weren’t at that Greek restaurant in Highland Park?” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone. At some point, you knew it would break your heart. But right now, it pissed you off. 

“Got it, okay. Well, I’m not super into dating someone who wants to date other people, so we should probably call it before either of us get hurt,” you said, sharply. 

“Wait, sweetheart–” he called, but you had hung up. 

Robby tried to call you back, but you silenced your phone. It was not something you wanted to deal with tonight. Instead you crawled in bed, allowed yourself a few tears, and then fell asleep. 

Days passed and you continued to ignore Robby’s calls and texts. You hadn’t told anyone what happened or what you had seen at the restaurant. It was a hard feeling to pin down. Perhaps it was embarrassing; the idea of telling your friends your new boyfriend who you had been singing the praises of, had cheated with his ex, was not exactly a conversation you wanted to have. 

You knew without a shadow of a doubt, none of them would bring it up, but you just couldn’t force yourself to say anything. 

Coming home after a long day at work, you were surprised to see Robby in front of your door, sitting on your stoop. 

“I think this is trespassing,” you said, blandly. 

“Please just talk to me,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to explain,” he said. You were standing at the foot of the stairs while he sat at the top. You were eye level with him. 

“Explain what, Michael? It’s not what it looked like? If that’s the case, why lie about what you were doing.” 

“Because I didn’t want you to think it was something it wasn’t,” he protested. 

“And completely keeping it from me better accomplished that?” you snapped. “Get off my porch.” 

Robby stood and walked down the stairs as you walked up. He grabbed your hand and said, 

“Please, sweetheart. Please hear me out. If you don’t want to see me after this, then I’ll accept that. But I–” his voice wavered and before he continued he cleared his throat, “don’t want to give up without a fight.” 

You sighed and dug around your bag for your keys. 

“Should have fucking thought of that earlier, asshole,” you grumbled to yourself. Louder, so Robby could hear. “Fine, but you have until my doordash arrives. It’s been a long day.” 

“I’ll take anything you can give me,” he replied. 

You rolled your eyes, but opened the door nonetheless. Without looking at him, you unwound your scarf from your neck, hung your work bag on its peg, and toed off your shoes. Robby also removed his shoes, remembering how strict you were about tracking dirt in your house. He hovered awkwardly by your door while you walked into the kitchen and grabbed a drink from the fridge. You didn’t offer him one. 

Collapsing against your couch, you gestured for him to start, “Time’s ticking.” 

Robby didn’t move from where he stood by your door, as if uncertain whether stepping closer would make things better or worse. His hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, the picture of someone who had rehearsed a speech a dozen times only to forget every word. There was spiteful enjoyment you got out of him being so uncomfortable. 

Eventually, he said. “It wasn’t what you think.”

“Starting with a classic line,” you said flatly. 

Robby exhaled sharply through his nose and ran a hand over his face. “Okay. I’ll start with the facts. I—I had dinner with Janey and Jake.”

You raised your eyebrows, silent. He mistook it for surprise, not confirmation.

“She called that afternoon,” he went on quickly. “Jake’s been having a hard time at school—some kid’s been pushing him around, and she wanted to talk about maybe getting him into therapy again. I said sure. We grabbed a meal, that’s it. We hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“You didn’t think having dinner with your ex at one of the nicest restaurants in the city might be a big deal? Especially when I didn’t see a teen boy anywhere nearby? And trust me, I looked.”

His head snapped up. “Wait—how do you—” He stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning on his face. “You were there. Someone didn’t just tell you they saw me.”

“Congratulations,” you said coldly. “You figured it out.”

He winced, like the words had physically hit him. “Christ. Sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Please,” he said softly, hands coming up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear I didn’t. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t—”

“It looked like one,” you cut in. “You were leaning in close, she was laughing, candles on the table, wine glasses, the whole damn thing. Do you know how humiliating that was? Sitting there pretending I didn’t see you with another woman? With a startling lack of teenage boy?”

He took a small, instinctive step forward. “It wasn’t like that,” he said again, quieter now, the fight draining out of him. “Janey picked the restaurant. She said Jake liked the food there. Jake bailed last minute because his friends wanted to hang out. I didn’t even think about it.”

“Didn’t think,” you repeated. “That seems to be a theme.”

Robby’s hands fell back to his sides, helpless. “I should’ve told you. I didn’t because—” He broke off, then tried again. “Because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I figured it was easier to just not bring it up.”

“So you lied when I asked what you were doing.”

He closed his eyes, head bowing slightly. “Yeah. I did.”

You took a deep breath, forcing your voice to stay level, though the anger in your voice was more than evident. “You know what I hate, Robby? Being lied to. I’m not a doll; I’m not going to break because of an uncomfortable conversation.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, and you’re right. You have every reason to be angry. I just—fuck, I panicked. You make me nervous sometimes.”

You snorted. “Nervous?”

He nodded, meeting your eyes again. “You’re so…stable, steady. You know what you want, you don’t play games. I spend all day dealing with chaos, and then I see you and it’s like my brain can breathe. I thought if I told you, you’d think I still had something with Janey, or that I wasn’t over her, or—”

He stopped, shaking his head, frustrated at himself. “I didn’t think. I just reacted.”

You stared at him, exhaustion washing over you. “You’ve been married. You’ve raised a kid. You run an emergency department. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a difficult conversation.”

He flinched and with a hoarse voice said, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. And I’d give anything to go back and do it differently.”

Silence filled the room again. You leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms, while Robby took a hesitant step closer, close enough now that you could smell his deoderant and the faint smoke of the cold air clinging to his coat.

“Please,” he said finally, almost a whisper. “Please don’t end this over a fuck up. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll show you the texts, hell, I’ll call Janey right now if that’s what you need. But please don’t walk away.”

“Robby—”

“I love you.” The words came out rough, like they’d been sitting in his throat for days. “I know it’s early, I know I’ve got no right to say it now, but I do. And I’m begging you to give me a chance to prove it. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to come home to in years. You’re the first thing in my life that feels like it’s not just going through the motions. I can’t lose that because I was an idiot with a guilty conscience.”

You stared at him, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. His eyes were glassy, his breathing uneven, his usual composure gone. For once, he wasn’t the calm, steady doctor who knew what to say. He looked small in a way you’d never seen him before.

He took another step forward, voice cracking. “I’ll do the work. Whatever it takes. You can scream at me, ignore me, tell me I don’t deserve a second chance—I’ll take it. Just don’t shut me out completely. Please.”

Your phone buzzed against the table—your food, finally arriving. Neither of you moved. The sound seemed to exist in a different world from the one in front of you, where Robby was unraveling piece by piece.

You set the glass down, keeping your voice steady. “You should go.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he exhaled hard, like the words knocked the air out of him. “Not until you know how sorry I am.” 

His hands were awkwardly clasped together and then, without another word, he sank down in front of you. One knee hit the carpet, then the other.

“Robby,” you warned, startled.

He looked up, voice rough. “I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight. I just—I need you to see that I’ll do anything to make this right. I’ll prove it. However long it takes.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead. It had been such a long day. You were so tired. More than that you were torn between whether or not you believed him. In your gut, you really didn’t believe the man in front of you would cheat on you; he just didn’t seem like the type. But then again, no one seems like the type until they do it. 

Was what you had worth the risk? You really weren’t sure. 

“Get up,” you said, but there wasn’t much force behind it.

“I can’t,” he said simply. “Not until you tell me it’s really over—that you don’t love me at all.”

The silence stretched thin between you. He looked older like this—kneeling, worn down, stripped of every ounce of his practiced and practical calm. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, trying to reconcile this man with the one who had lied to you days ago. It felt like a different person. 

Finally, you sighed, your voice low. “You don’t get to come back like nothing happened. You lied to me. I can’t forget that overnight.”

He nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the floor. “I know.”

“And trust me when I say, if I let you back in, and there is even a hint of infidelity, I will castrate you and feed you to pigs,” you hissed. 

He nodded again. “I know. There won’t be, I promise.” 

“But…” you continued, “if you want to try—if you really mean what you just said—then I’ll let you.”

His head lifted, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“I’m not forgiving you,” you added firmly. “I’m just giving you a chance. Don’t fuck it up.”

He let out a shaky breath, relief flickering across his face. 

“I won’t,” he said hoarsely.

You stepped back, crossing your arms. “Then go home,” you murmured. “We’ll talk when I’m ready.”

Robby hesitated for a long moment, then finally pushed himself to his feet. Before leaving, he brushed his hand over his eyes and said, “Thank you.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, the quiet that followed wasn’t as hollow as before—but it still pressed heavily against your chest. 

-- -- --

“A great time,” he said, leaning against your shoulder. He smelled faintly of beer and fried food and cold night air. “Missed you, though.”

You smiled, closing your laptop and setting it aside. “Charming.”

“Did you miss me?” he asked, looking up with a lopsided grin.

“For the six hours you were gone? Sure,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He rarely drank enough to get even a little tipsy, and the warmth in his eyes made something in you soften.

“We were talking about our partners,” he murmured.

“Mm-hmm.” You traced your nails lightly across his scalp.

“And everyone else had all these photos with theirs. We only have two. One’s blurry. You look great in both of them, of course.”

“We can fix that—when you’re sober,” you said with a small laugh.

He groaned dramatically, then cupped your face in both hands and started peppering your cheeks with sloppy kisses.

“Oh my god, knock it off,” you laughed, squirming.

“No,” he mumbled, lips brushing your jaw. He clutched you tighter laughing with you. “Kiss me,” he nearly whined.

“If I kiss you, will you drink some water and go to bed?”

“I don’t need to go to bed.”

“You’re not twenty anymore, Robby. If you don’t go to bed, you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.”

He sighed heavily, as if you’d just broken his heart. “But we don’t have any photos together. I can’t go to bed before we fix that.”

“Fine,” you said through laughter. “Give me your phone.”

“It’s in one of my pockets,” he said, still nuzzling at your shoulder.

“Then hand it over.”

“But I want to keep kissing you.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling for his phone until you found it. He was half sprawled on top of you, all solid warmth and sleepy weight, and it made you laugh even harder.

“Are you feeling me up?” he teased, voice soft and amused.

“You’re in a strange mood tonight,” you said, tugging the phone free.

“Maybe, or maybe I just like you a lot and wanted to kiss you,” he grinned.

“Cheesy,” you replied.

There were so many night where it seemed like the day had taken a hammer to Robby, hitting him smaller and smaller. Tonight, he felt joyful, goofy, larger than life. It was hard to be annoyed with his slightly obnoxious behavior when he had such a big smile on his face.

You held up the phone. “Smile.”

“Anything for you,” he said, grinning.

You held the phone up. He leaned close, cheek pressed to yours, his expression loose and content. The first photo came out crooked but sweet—his smile unguarded, yours fond. Then, before you could lower the phone, he turned his face toward you expectantly. You rolled your eyes but kissed his cheek anyway, his blush caught in the camera flash.

“There,” you said. “Now it’s bedtime.”

“I’m kinda gross,” he muttered.

“I know, let’s get you in the shower.” You stood, tugging gently at his hand until he followed.

“You could join me,” he offered hopefully as you steered him toward the bathroom.

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not having sex with you while you’re not sober,” you said, tugging off his shirt.

He blinked, and pouted. “I just want to hold you.”

“Pouting won’t work on me. Take your pants off.”

“You’re sending some mixed signals here, babe,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t keep the fond look off your face.

You turned on the water and helped him through washing up—him mumbling stories about the game between shampoo and rinses, you keeping him upright and teasing him when he forgot what step he was on. When he was finally clean, you handed him a towel and a soft T-shirt, coaxing him into pajama pants and steering him toward bed.

Back in the bedroom, you pressed a glass of water and two painkillers into his hand. “Drink.”

He did, obediently, draining the glass before setting it down. “You’re bossy,” he murmured, smiling faintly.

“Thank you,” you said, tucking the blanket around him.

As you adjusted his pillow, he caught your wrist, his thumb brushing your pulse, a soft kiss following.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I know I’m kind of a mess tonight, but I mean it—I missed you.”

“I know,” you said softly.

“No, I mean—really missed you. I was sitting there watching everyone talk about their partners, and all I could think was how lucky I am that mine’s you.” His voice had dropped to a drowsy whisper. “Coming home to you is the highlight of my day.”

Robby loved to joke. He always had a pun in his back pocket, but genuine vulnerability was something not oft come by. So his words warmed you.

Swallowing hard, you brushed a hand through his damp hair. “You’re sweet when you’re half-asleep.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “But it’s true. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

He blinked slowly, fighting sleep. “I don’t say it enough, but I love you. I really love you.”

You leaned down, kissed his forehead. “I love you, too. Go to sleep, Robby.”

He sighed, eyes slipping closed. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive,” he mumbled, drifting off.

You stayed for a moment, watching him breathe, his features soft in the low light. Then you got ready for bed, brushing your teeth in the quiet bathroom, the steam from his shower still hanging in the air. When you came back, he was already asleep—one arm sprawled across your side of the bed, like he was still reaching for you even in his half drunk state.

You sat beside him, lifted his phone, and turned the camera on. You leaned in and kissed his temple, catching the soft flash before setting it back down.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains. Robby stirred, groaning quietly as he reached for his phone. He blinked blearily at the screen, then froze.

His new lock screen was the photo from the night before—you kissing his temple, his face relaxed and peaceful.

You hadn’t expected much from Robby. (You could hear your therapist saying something about always dating emotionally unavailable people because of a fear of vulnerability, but what did she know?) What you wanted from your dalliance was a good, thorough fuck and maybe some cute dates here or there.

For a number of months that’s what occurred. He’d text you or you’d text him, and within a few hours—plans willing—you’d be face down on his bed getting fucked within an inch of your life.

He never went over to your place, well, he did but only to pick you up or drop you off. While his place screamed of minimalism and leather furniture, yours was filled with bits from your life. Photos of friends and family, goofy art prints found at random fairs, a few awards won throughout your life all decorated your walls and apartment.

“This is cute,” he commented one time while waiting for you to pull on your shoes. He was standing next to a photo of you and some of your friends at a wedding. You all were mid dancing. It was a fun photo that made you smile as well.

“Thank you. I have a good friends.”

“You look adorable.”

“Adorable?” you questioned.

“I don’t see you smiling like that often,” he replied.

You certainly had a big grin on your face.

“Most of the time you’re fucking me within an inch of my life, Michael,” you laughed.

“I guess that’s fair.”

“I very much enjoy it.”

“Well, never hurts to hear that,” he replied, a small smile on his weathered face. He didn’t continue the line of questioning, if it couldn’t even be called that, but you suspected he wasn’t going to let it go.

That night he fucked you so hard you cried for the first time ever. It was phenomenal.

As the weeks ticked over to months, Robby became more constant. He came over more for reasons other than sex. He had just come off a 24-hour shift, though had stayed an extra few hours, so it had been more like a 28-hour shift. Working from home, meant that while you clicked and clacked away at your desk next to your bed, Robby was passed out behind you, fast asleep.

You skipped a couple meetings that day to make sure you didn’t disturb him.

It was around the one year mark when he had his head pillowed in your lap while you both watched so stupid sitcom. At some point, Robby had turned so his face was buried in your stomach (something you only felt passing insecurity about now that Robby had spent most of the past 12 months showering you with dedicated attention and calling you sexy all the time.)

He was nuzzled against you when he said,

“Can we order dinner? I don’t wanna cook.”

“Course, do you want that deli place again?” You asked patting around for your phone.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “My phone is in my pocket. Use that to order. I want to pay.”

“Is this an excuse for me to feel you up?” You asked. You felt, more than heard his laughter.

“Only if you want to.”

Digging in his pocket for his phone, you gave him a cheeky squeeze to feel him jump. He grumbled against your stomach, but you couldn’t make out the words.

“Wanna unlock it?” You asked. Instead of moving he just told you the password. It was an odd feeling to have that knowledge. So much of Robby’s life lived on his phone.

“My order is in the notes app,” he said.

Robby was a notes app fiend. Any thought he had that he might want to recall lived there. When you pulled it open there were a handful of pinned notes. One of them said “Orders” while a few entries down, you saw your name.

“You have a note about me?” You asked. Your voice didn’t sound normal, you knew that much.

“Mm-hmm,” he replied. He sounded remarkably non-plussed. “You can look at it.”

You clicked on the note not sure what to expect. Maybe, you thought, it might include your birthday and address. Maybe it included your parents’ name or other basic information. Instead you found a decently long, semi-organized list of your likes, dislikes, and response to different things Robby did.

“What am I looking at?” you asked. Part of you wanted to cringe away from the man on your lap, but part of you was touched. No one had ever cared enough to take notes on you. To study you.

“The info I’ve learned about you. I don’t have a great memory, so I always want to have it.”

“Oh,” you replied. It wasn’t hard to hear the thickness in your voice.

He rolled on his back, looking up at you from your lap.

“Should I worry?” he asked calmly. You hadn’t even realized you were showing so much emotion.

“No,” you stated. The earnestness in his voice was too much and you muster a fake sounding laugh before saying, “Don’t you need a life, if this is what you get up to?”

-- -- --

His “claim” on you was tenuous at best. (Claim was probably too much of a caveman/patriarchal word, but he was pissed and couldn’t think of something more appropriate.) There had been a night, a few weeks ago, after a full moon shift, that Jack had ended up in your bed. You hadn’t even been at The Pitt for year, but you had been so competent jumping into an empty attending position that Jack fell in love with you a little bit.

He’d never heard someone so polite and yet so mean while speaking to an insurance company. He had to check to make sure his interest was well hidden by his pants. (Was it weird to get turned on by watching you bully an insurance rep into paying for a necessary procedure? He didn’t think so.)

The full moon had been stranger than usual. Every couple of months the Pitt would get a psychosis patient who believed they were a werewolf. And almost 100% they were patients who were afraid they were going to hurt someone else due to this werewolf-ness. But this time, there were two werewolf patients, a first for their ED.

Odd people just seemed to crawl out of the woodwork on these shift. There was a full witches coven who had been burned while casting a healing spell; he appreciated the irony. There was an old couple who broke a hip while fucking; they were his favorite. And there were so many anal foreign bodies. It was another Pitt record.

After the sun rose and the day shit clocked in, you and Jack were walking out when you said,

“You want to get breakfast? I feel like I still need time to process that shift.”

“You need time to process the wine bottle dildo?” He asked dryly.

“I gave him the website for Bad Dragon,” you said chuckling.

“Don’t let Gloria find out.”

“That I recommended a website for safe dildos I won’t have to use half the lube bucket to remove?”

“Could you imagine her googling It?” Jack chuckled.

“They should partner with ER’s. Who needs private equity when we can be sponsored by inhuman dildos to satisfy even the kinkiest of needs?”

“I’ll run it by Robby,” Jack laughed.

“As long as I can watch. I want to see his face twitch.”

Jack laughed. “Let’s get breakfast and we’ll come up with the rest of the pitch.”

Jack had given you a ride home from breakfast. It led to you offering your bathroom to him. Which led to a long conversation awkwardly standing in your living room, neither committing to leaving or staying. Eventually he moved to the door to leave. You brushed by him to walk him out and the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours and he was kissing you as though his life depended on it.

“They aren’t Bad Dragon, but I have a fun selection of toys we could use,” you whispered, but immediately cringed. “That sounded sexier in my head.”

“A beautiful woman offering to take me to her bedroom is always sexy,” he replied.

The sex was fun. The first time was a little fumbling and awkward while you both tried to make this new connection work. He couldn’t look you in the eye during the next shift without hearing the way you moaned his name while cumming on his dick.

You both have hooked up two more times since, each better than the last.

And now, he was at your home but instead of making use of that vibrator that caught his eye last time, he was watching a med tech flirt with you, badly. It was too aggressive and the med tech, Arnie, was far too close to you.

Each time he spoke, you winced.

The party was a simple game night and as much as he didn’t really want to go, he was glad he did. He and Ellis destroyed at Charades and there was a bracket style game competition you had facilitated. You hadn’t participated much which you excused by saying,

“I’m a competitive monster. I’m either a sore winner or sore loser. No one is happy.”

But now that the winning team had been announced (Jesse and Santos of all people), the party had dwindled. Arnie had lingered far too long to be appropriate. Only a couple people remained and they were helping clean up.

“Arnie!” Jack called sharply. The man seemed to jolt out of his conversation with you. “Thanks for volunteering to take the trash out.”

“I didn’t—“ Arnie began.

“Yeah, you did,” Jack said thrusting a black trash bag at the man. “It’s out back in the alley.”

You were silent until Arnie had exited the house, grumbling about being “cockblocked”.

“You good?”

“Just a lot of talking at me,” you grumbled, dumping your cup in the sink.

“Not a fan of yappers?” He asked. Santos had taught him that word; he liked it.

“I like some of them,” you said. Your eyes roved over Jack and he felt his skin heat under your gaze. “Wanna stay a little later?”

“And miss a chance to join the children at whatever bar they’re heading to next?” He asked. “Please.”

Your soft laugh chimed. Jack knew that he was probably standing too close to be considered friendly, but he wanted Arnie to see. He wanted everyone to know that he was the one you took to bed, not Jesse or Mateo, or—god forbid—Arnie. (Who thankfully took the hint and left after taking out the trash. It wasn’t clear if he was looking to avoid more work or feeling embarrassed.)

When the two of you were alone, Jack wasted no time herding you back to your bedroom. With a swift movement, you pulled off your shirt and tossed it on the ground leaving you in your bra and jeans. Jack’s shirt followed shortly after.

With a firm push, he sent you falling backward on the bed. Caging your body with his, he began sucking softly at the skin of your shoulder and chest. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the outline of skin around the top of your bra. One of your hands was fisted in his hair while the other raked your nails down his side.

Sex with you tended to leave marks and Jack loved it. The last time you both had hooked up two people had asked if he’d adopted a cat after seeing the scratches you left on his arms. As much as he wanted to “claim” you, he adored being claimed by you.

“You’re such a tease,” you grumbled, lightly pinching his side. He blew a raspberry on your chest in response making you giggle.

“Can I get your pants?” He asked. Your nod sent his hands away from your torso to your waist. He quickly released the button and began shoving them off your hips. It wasn’t graceful, but it got the job done. He made sure your underwear came off at the same time.

“Yours, off,” you commanded.

“As you wish,” he replied, pulling off his pants. They got caught on his prosthetic and he collapsed next to you on the bed.

You laughed at him, but also reached down and helped him remove the leg. The first time you hooked up, he kept it on. The second time, you’d removed it before he had a chance to fight you. After gently setting it next to the bed, you rode him until he almost cried.

“You’re so pretty,” you breathed kissing his knee.

Your kissed worked up both his legs, and by the time you reached his groin, his half hard erection was still and leaking.

“So pretty,” you repeated.

Without warning, you wrapped your lips around him. Jack nearly came off the bed. Your mouth was so warm and wet and he was glad he’d jacked off yesterday otherwise he wouldn’t have lasted once you started rotating your hands at the base of his dick he was pretty certain he saw god.

“You’re so good at this,” he panted. “Did you sign a deal with the devil?”

You looked up at him and grinned around his cock, before sucking harder. The sounds were obscene and he tried to memorize how you looked between his legs. He wasn’t sure if this was anything, but he never wanted to go without you—and not because you could suck his soul out through his dick.

“I’m about to cum, you have to stop,” he hissed, trying not to flex his hips too harshly.

You pulled off his dick with a wet “pop”, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his dick. He wanted to take a picture. He wanted to do this for the rest of his life. Anytime he thought about someone else seeing you like this…having you like this, he felt his blood pressure skyrocket.

“You’re so good to me,” he said pulling you back up on the bed. “Mouth? Fingers? Both?”

“Fingers, but I want you to talk to me,” you said settling back on the bed. You flung your legs out and he got his first look at your glistening sex.

“Want me to tell you all the filthy things I’ve thought about you?” He asked. He shoved his fingers in his mouth to moisten them, but saw how your eyes darkened at his movement.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his mouth.

“That’s the idea, sweetheart,” he told you, swiping his wet fingers through your soaking folds.

“Stop teasing me,” you groaned. He continued to lightly circle your entrance.

“But what if this is what I dreamed of? Shoving you into that supply closet that only has the old the scrub machine, teasing you until you’re dripping and then making you wait for it?”

“Then I’d kill you or a patient,” you grumbled.

“No,” he laughed. “I don’t think you would. I think you’d squirm like you’re doing right now and then beg me.”

“What would I say, hmm? That you make me wet just by looking at me? Or that the way you basically shoved Arnie out of my house was not?”

“Good start,” he said breathlessly. “I would like to hear I’m the best lover you’ve ever had, though.”

Your bright laugh was interrupted by a moan, as he plunged his first finger inside you. You were so warm and tight around his fingers. He loved how plush you felt. The next best thing to having his cock in you, was getting his fingers in you.

“Christ, you feel so good.”

“Not what I was asking for,” he said, sliding his finger out and returning to circling your entrance softly.

Your keen went straight to his dick. Your hips rolled, trying to entice him to enter you again.

“Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he whispered, bending over you to suck on a nipple.

“Oh my god,” you whined. Your nails were digging into his biceps and he relished in the burn. “You’re the best I’ve ever had. No one compares. I fucking dream about you.”

Even if it wasn’t true, and in the heat of the moment, it’s always hard to know, the idea that you dreamt of him made him growl against your chest and he shoved two fingers into your pussy. You squeaked and arched your back as Jack languidly finger fucked you. The fleshy part of his thumb—thenar eminence, his brain unhelpfully supplied—grinded against your clit.

“Yes, just like that,” you breathed. “God, I love when you do this.”

“Yeah?” He asked, still sucking and nipping at your tits.

“You feel so good in me. Never want it to stop,” you panted.

“Your so pretty when you’re worked up,” he whispered. “I love watching you lose control. I think about all the time. I want to know every sound you make, every way your hips move, I want to be able to make you fall apart better than any toy.”

“God,” you laughed in between breathy pants. “I want another finger. Stretch me out for your cock.”

“Want to feel me stretch you out, baby?”

“God, yes. No one fills me like you.”

Once again, it didn’t matter how true it was—the sheer fact you said it made Jack feel a little crazy. He met your lips harshly, suck and licking into your mouth while he made sure to finger you until he felt the tell-tale shake of your thighs indicating you were close.

“I want to cum on your dick,” you groaned.

He pulled his fingers out and made eye contact with you while he licked them clean. The look on your face could only be described as pure lust and desire. It made him feel powerful, on top of the world. Everything you did made him feel like he was about to have the best day of his life.

“Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to ride me?” He asked.

Before answering, you pulled him back down to you and kissed him. Kissing was generous, it felt more like you were trying to taste yourself on his mouth and tongue. Not that Jack was complaining of course, a sloppy makeout was a great addition to the night.

When you pulled away, he watched you roll over so you were on your knees and elbows. Wiggling your ass slightly, you said,

“Fuck me, please.”

“My pleasure,” he replied. Before he adjusted, he couldn’t help but grab your hips and lick a long stripe along your cunt making you squeal. “Such pretty noises.”

“Jack,” you whined. “I feel so empty.”

“You really know what to say to a man.”

“Just you.”

To hide his too-emotional reaction, he bit into the fleshy part of your hip just enough to make your jump and regain control of his brain and mouth before he did something he regretted, like confess he was in love with you.

“I have to honor such sweet words, don’t I?” He asked as he positioned against your entrance.

The first slide inside felt heavenly. Stretching you out had ensured you were warmed up and the initial glide was just as magical for you as it was for him. He paused once he was fully sheathed inside, trying to keep his orgasm at bay.

“You fill me so good. Perfect. Made for me,” you mumbled into the bed.

Jack’s first thrust had you crying out, but soon, he had your hips in a vice grip, pounding into you ferociously. He couldn’t stop imagining having you like this every day: splayed out perfectly for him, only for him. He knew he was a possesive bastard, but even the idea of someone else trying to talk you into their bed—even Arnie’s fumbling attempts—filled him with such jealousy, he couldn’t help but say,

“You look so pretty like this. Love getting to have you. No one else knows how you sound for me. The sighs, the moans, even the little laughs, god they’re so good. I want you everyday, sweetheart. Want you so bad,” he huffed through harsh thrusts that sent the bed careening into the wall. Each pump was punctuated by a soft cry from you.

“I’m yours,” you hiccuped. “Don’t stop.”

“Want to watch you lose it. Want to feel you clench against me,” he continued making you whine.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied your favorite small wand vibrator. It wasn’t hard to reach and shrill cry you relased when he turned it on had him biting his knuckle to keep from coming too quickly.

“Feel good, baby?” He asked.

“Feels so good,” you groaned. You weren’t on your elbows anymore; you’d fully collapsed against the mattress. “Won’t last much longer. Make me cum, please, Jack. Want to cum on you.”

“Nothing I want more,” he hissed, adjusting his hips just a bit to rub more intently on your g-spot.

For the second time tonight, he felt your thighs quaking against him. It was hard to describe the euphoria he felt, knowing he was responsible for bringing your body to the brink of ecstasy.

“I’m close,” you whine. “Just like that.”

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” panted Jack.

Your arm reached back to grab at the hand so firmly gripping your thighs. You clutch against him as you started changing, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

He knew you came, not just because you were pulsing against him so deliciously, but because your body had gone taut as a bowstring, only heavy breathing accetef the silence.

“Fuck, baby,” Jack said. “You’re grabbing me so tight.”

As the orgasm crested, you began to twitch. It was watching you so overwhelmed with pleasure that all you could do was shake which finally sent him over the edge.

When he pulled the vibrator away, you were still twitching on his dick—still buried inside. Jack felt tingles under his skin traveling through his body while his hormones settled back down. As he gingerly pulled out of you, you collapsed against the bed.

It wasn’t hard to coax you into a shower with him. Neither of you had energy for a second round, but he enjoyed the soapy, wet make out with you. It felt…softer than the way you both normally touched each other. He couldn’t help by relish in the feeling.

Tucked in your bed, you looked at him and said, “You have a crush on me don’t you?”

“Wha—?” He spluttered, taken utterly off guard.

“It’s good I have a crush on you, too,” you said.

Warmth bloomed in his chest. “A crush, huh?”

“Oh yeah, a full middle school-esque love affair.”

“Does that mean I can take you on a date?” He asked pressing soft kisses over your face. You snickered and pushed him away.

“Name a time and a place,” you said. “And feel free to keep up that possesive shit.”

“Your noticed that?” He asked embarrassed.

“You kept chanting “mine” while you came, babe. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“Jesus.”

“If that possessive bullshit leaves the bedroom, I’ll castrate you,” you added.

He laughed, “Yes ma’am.”